#PUMICE IN MY NOSE
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AUGH.
#if this looks excessive#it is because it's been THREE FULL DAYS#MY SINUSES#I WILL FIGHT GOD#PUMICE#PUMICE IN MY NOSE#MY BRAIN IS BOILING#THROUGH THE FEVER#AND THE VECTOR OF ITCH#OUT DAMN ITCH
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🜁 Air Witch Guide 🜁
Requested by the lovely @wonderfulmangotea, who wanted more elements to accompany my Fire Witch and Water Witch posts. I hope it’s as good as those ones :)
Air Correspondences
🎐 Represents: The Mind, Intelligence, Communication, Telepathy, Psychic Powers, Inspiration, Imagination, Ideas, Knowledge, Dreams and Wishes, Divination, Thought, Mental Power, Astral, Clairvoyance/Psychic Abilities, Travel, Creation, Creativity, Inspiration, Freedom, Joy and Happiness, Laughter, New Beginnings, Change, Teaching and Learning, Dreams
🎐 Colors: Yellow, Blue, Sky Blue, Silver, White, Lavender/Light Purple, Gray, Turquoise and Violet
🎐 Gender: Masculine
🎐 Direction: East
🎐 Energy: Projective
🎐 Pentagram Placement: Upper Left
🎐 Day: Wednesday
🎐 Time: Dawn
🎐 Moon Phase: Crescent
🎐 Chakra: Heart Chakra
🎐 Life Cycle: Childhood
🎐 Season: Spring
🎐 Zodiac Signs: Gemini, Libra, Aquarius
🎐 Tarot Suit: Swords
🎐 Major Arcana: The Fool, The Magician, The Lovers, The Star, Temperance, The Hermit
🎐 Senses: Smell, Hearing
🎐 Incense: Lilac, Myrrh, Orange, Peppermint, Pine
🎐 Stones: Topaz, Pumice, Amethyst, Alexandrite, Mica, Fluorite, Turquoise, Diamond, Quartz, Aventurine, Azurite, Goldstone, Celestite, Citrine, Dream Quartz, Aura Quartz, Fuchsite, Lapis Lazuli, Glass Crystals/Marbles
🎐 Metals: Iron, Tin, Copper, Aluminum
🎐 Plants: Acacia, (Gum) Arabic, Alder, Almond, Alyssum, Anise, Apricot, Aspen, Baby’s Breath, Bamboo, Benzoin, Bergamot Mint, Bluebell, Citron, Cottonwood, Dandelion, Endive, Eucalyptus, Eyebright, Goldenrod, Hazel, Lavender, Lemon, Lemon Grass, Lemon Verbena, Lilac, Lungwort, Mace, Marjoram, (Gum) Mastic, Mistletoe, Nutmeg, Olive, Oregano, Parsley, Peach, Pecan, Peppermint, Pine, Pistachio, Rice, Sage, Star Anise, Snow Pea, Sweet Pea, Tangerine and Willow
(research plants, herbs and trees before burning, ingesting or using on skin for some are toxic and even lethal)
🎐 Animals: Birds of all Kinds, Hawk, Eagle, Owl, Moth, Butterfly, Bat, Dragonfly, Spider, Crickets, Bees, Wasps, Most Flying Insects, Horses
🎐 Mythical Creatures and Spirits: Pegasus, Griffon, Hippogriff, Sylph, Zephyr, Fairies, Angels, Sirens, Harpies, Gremlin, Garuda, Winged Unicorns, Thunderbird, Most flying creatures/beasts, Most/all Dream related entities
🎐 Instruments: Flute, Panpipes, French Horns, Oboes, Wind Instruments
🎐 Ritual Tools: Athame and Knives, Bells, Besoms and Brooms, Books and Journals, Breath, Brushes, Cotton and Cotton Balls, Dowsing Rods/Poles, Dream Journals, Dream Sachets, Fans, Feathers, Incense, Knots, Masks, Mirrors, Music and Musical Instruments, Needle and Thread, Pendulums, Poetry and Written Word, Reflective Objects/Reflections, Ribbons, Smoke, Song/Voice, Swords, Wands, Whistles, Wind chimes
🎐 The Body: Mind/Brain, Head, Nose, Lungs, Throat, Ears, Hair
🎐 Air-related Magic: Art, Written, Verbal/Spoken, Dream Work, Astral, Song/Music, Storm and Weather, Flying, Illusion, Glamors, Mirror and Divination, Incense
Types of Air and their Ritual Uses
🌬️ Breath: Use for meditation, to cleanse or “breathe life” into an object and charge it. Often associated with life and the soul, and therefore can represent Spirit.
🌬️ Breeze: A distinctly light and gentle wind. Use to send and receive messages, remove negativity from yourself and others, become more gentle and constant, or in spells that require something to be gently removed from your life. Whisper wishes when a breeze passes by to send it to the universe.
🌬️ Tornado/Hurricane Winds: Use to remove curses, banish abusers and bad habits, curses and to drive away negativity or gossip.
🌬️ Wind: Use to carry spell remains and energy away, carry messages to the universe, cleanse objects and people, speed up spells, or add a chaotic element to banishing spells.
Deities for Air Witches
🌬️ Hermes
Culture: Greek
God/Goddess of: Messenger of the God, Heraldry, Omens, Animal Husbandry, Poetry and Fables, Trade, Travel, Boundaries, Thieves, Wit, Language, Education, Psychopomp
Offerings: Wine, Olive Oil, Water, Strawberries, Foreign Foods and Items, Honey, Water, Fruit, Chocolate, Wheat, Lemons, Almonds, Cinnamon, Coins, Dice, Beer, Meat, Chamomile Tea, Pineapple, Bread, Milk mixed with honey
🌬️ Arianrhod
Culture: Celtic
God/Goddess of: Fertility, Fate, Reincarnation, Beauty, Difficulties
Offerings: Silver Coins, White Candles, Wheat, Fruits, Home-cooked meals, Salads, Wine, Water, Hot Teas, Smoothies, Study the Constellations and the Zodiac
🌬️ Rhiannon
Culture: Welsh
God/Goddess of: The Moon, Horses, Songbirds, Wind, Gates and Horseshoes
Offerings: Soft-sounding Music, A white candle with the number 7 carved into it, White Flowers, Apples, Willow, Ivy, Evergreens, Caring for Horses, Caring for Dogs, Studying liminal spaces and astral work
🌬️ Nut
Culture: Egyptian
God/Goddess of: Night
Offerings: Milk, Cool Water, Star-shaped Foods, Blue Goldstone, Blue Flowers
🌬️ Thoth
Culture: Egyptian
God/Goddess of: Knowledge, Wisdom, Writing, Mathematics, Science, Magic, Truth, Integrity, Time, The Moon
Offerings: Black Tea, Water, Honey, Blackberries, Apricots, Salmon or Tuna, Oranges (and orange-flavored things), Walnuts or Cashews, Quills, Fountain Pens, Leather-bound Books and Journals, Books you think he’d enjoy, Silver, Poetry, Dark Chocolate, Whiskey, Gin, Mead, Mint Tea, Moon Water
🌬️ Odin
Culture: Norse
God/Goddess of: Wisdom, Healing, Death, Royalty, The Gallows, Frenzy, Knowledge, War, Battle, Victory, Sorcery, Poetry and The Runic Alphabet
Offerings: Red Wine, Mead, Beer and Ale, Quality Alcohol, Whiskey, Smoked Salmon, Red Meat, Beef, Leeks, Asparagus, Garlic, Honey
🌬️ Nyx
Culture: Greek
God/Goddess of: Night
Offerings: Milk, Black Coffee or Tea, Dark Chocolate, Silver Jewelry, Dragon Fruit, Dew gathered before the run rises, Wine, Dark Beer or Liquors, Starry and Celestial Items
🌬️ The Morrigan
Culture: Celtic
God/Goddess of: Magic, Battle, Life and Death, Sovereignty, Fresh water, Prophecy, Fate
Offerings: Red Meat, Red Wine poured into the ground, Apples, Mead, Milk, Whiskey, Mead, Storm Water, Crow Feathers, Knives and Daggers, Artwork
Common Signs of an Air Witch
🍃 You LOVE to study and make art
🍃 You’re very creative and free-spirited
🍃 You believe communication is key to a good life and are good at communicating with others
🍃 You are open-minded, caring and non-judgemental
🍃 You’re very intelligent and a free spirit
🍃 You have a fast metabolism and are very agile and active
🍃 You get stuck in your head and daydream a lot
🍃 You suffer from: skin dryness, blood pressure problems, lung disorders, dry cough, bloating, constipation, lethargy, insomnia, muscular spasms, depression
Ways to bond with Air
🍃 Go cloud watching
🍃 Spend time around birds
🍃 Open the windows and get some fresh air
🍃 Breathing meditations
🍃 Listen to wind chimes
🍃 Practice mindfulness
🍃 Use incense
🍃 Go with the flow
🍃 Sit outside during a windy day
🍃 When you go outside, try to notice what direction the wind is blowing
#long post#air witch#air element#air elemental#elemental witch#elemental witchcraft#air#witch#witches#witchcraft#baby witch#witch tips#witchblr
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Hi again, thank you. I was really worried about that college interview for art— but anyway that's not the point. The point is, I just had a thought while in school:
Were there any times where Birb was genuinely smart or knowledgeable about something? Because other than identifying what type of bird just took a shit on Xavier, we don't really get to see our lovable idiot knowing something random.
I think Birb aould be interested in history or geography. Not just because she's a bird, but I think it woupd be really cool if she gets lost one day but realises "Hm. Those trees over there thin out further up there. That might mean there's a clearing."
Or genuinely taking an interest in dufferent cultural history. Not only for the food inspirations but maybe a specific county's history.
As much as I live my country, I don't think Birb would very much like British history. I think she would, however like Greek history or mythology. Cue Birb making a shit ton of Sappho jokes.
The gang would probably be baffled to find 6 foot dumbass Birb sat calmly reading some type of mythology with glasses.
What would be Wednesday's reaction to Birb's glasses? Asking for a friend.
—🕊️
Damn, with an art interview too? Way to go, bestie, you did amazing, I'm so proud of you!
So yes, our dear Birb is actually smart, believe it or not. Our sweet Birb is obsessed with geology AND geography (and she was one of those Mythology kids growing up, obviously). Like, this little nerd is constantly picking up rocks like "oh my god look, it's going in my collection"
Has 100% stolen a pumice stone from Mt St Helens when she visited Auntie C one summer, but don't tell anyone because she's convinced it's literally illegal and she's a criminal on the run
Birb also absolutely has glasses, just never wears them cause she always breaks them. So when Wednesday makes her way back home after classes and finds Birb staring at rocks with glasses practically falling off her nose? Oh, she swoons, it's too much
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Nicola and Mary Tease Mackenzie..and has Mackenzie put his foot in it?
Mackenzie Boyd Fanfic.
"Last night was a great success Mack" said Nicola as he came into the cafe to sort the rota's out.
"It certainly was" Mack replied.
"We just keep getting better and better" she said making a coffee for Mackenzie.
"That's coz we've only got top notch people on our team" said Mack
"You can say that again" said Nicola
"By the way what's with the change of napkins?" Mack asked Nicola.
"Well I'm trying to save the planet" said Nicola.
"Don't you mean impress your cronies in the council" laughed Mack.
"Well something like that" said Nicola
"Bernice told me all about it when I popped in the salon to make an appointment" Mack explained.
"Take no notice of her. She's pinched my ideas" said Nicola
"Well I don't want to come between two sisters" said Mack.
"She should stick to cutting toenails and let me be the eco warrior" Nicola answered.
"Can't let Bernice or Mandy near my feet" said Mack. "Very sensitive"
"Yes I heard you had erotic feet" said Nicola.
"I wouldn't go that far" Mack laughed but if any one touches my feet I won't be held responsible"
"I'm a dab hand with a pumice stone" said Nicola. "Its not pleasant but nothing a good rub with a good moisturiser won't put right afterwards"
"Stop Nicola. I've come over all hot and bothered" said Mack blushing.
"So it's true what Meena said about you in the papers and mags then" said Nicola.
"Oh please don't remind me" said Mack cringing.
"Well who cuts your toe nails now then?" asked Nicola.
"Faith has cut them a couple of times. She knows how to calm me down" said Mack.
Faith? said Nicola. "Calm you down? Bet she took advantage of your foot fetish then" laughed Nicola.
"It's not a fetish" said Mack who was blushing.
"You should let me have a go" said Mary. "I've got healing hands and I'm partial to a toe or two"
"Think I'd better go now ladies. "I've come over all wobbly" Mack said as he headed for the door nearly pushing Charity over on the way out.
"Maybe next time then" Mary said giving Mack a wink as he left.
"What's with him?" Charity asked as she came into the cafe.
"He came over all funny" said Nicola.
"We've found out where his erogenous zones are" Mary explained.
"Oh yes. Tell me more" said Charity with a big smile on her face. "I've been trying to find out where they are for months"
"Well Meena didn't leave anything to the imagination when she dished the dirt on their sex life" laughed Nicola.
"All I can say is Aaron and Lucy are two lucky people" smiled Mary.
"You've had a quick romp with him Charity haven't you. So did you get friendly with his feet?" laughed Nicola.
"Ooh! This is intriguing Charity. We want more" said Mary
"Not much more to tell other than the only dealings I've had with his feet was on New Years Eve" said Charity.
"And....?" said Nicola.
"Well we were drunk and we bunked up together. Me at the top of the bed and him at the botton" said Charity. "His toes were practically up my nose. You know how long his legs are"
"Different I suppose" said Mary.
"Well I can assure you nothing happened" said Charity. "He was out for the count as soon as he hit the sack"
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between cat-lick exfoliation and slimey mud masks I think charlie kellys skin is absolutely glowy and it pisses Dennis off.
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I miss Deimos could you write more about him 🥺
Please accept this humble offering of more Deimos.
Deimos!Alexios x fem!Reader
ONE LAST NIGHT you sigh, looking down at a low table covered with freshly milled blades and fletched arrows. The Cult would be meeting in Delphi on the morrow, but you had already been given a new assignment in Messenia and would be leaving at first light. They had not said how long this would take, though you suspect it is a ploy to keep you away from their prized champion.
Some of the members of the Cult had already tried to force the two of you apart. It hadn’t worked. Turns out, you were Deimos’ temper —the only person in Hellas capable of calming the beast. You recognize the sound of his footsteps resonating off the pale marble floor, purposeful and proud. Deimos.
He’s covered in blood and filth when he enters the villa courtyard, dark eyes still aflame with the thrill of battle. Deimos was not supposed to return to Phokis for another four days, but when Elpenor mentioned you’d be on a ship to Messenia by the time he returned, he’d made it a point to get the job done quicker. The grim, deep-seated anger in his expression starts to fade when he sees you —looking over a slim throwing knife.
Deimos traps you in his arms —his nose pressed into your hair, breathing in the faint hint of rose petals and figs. He reeks of sweat and spoiled wine. You turn to face him, and he dips down for a kiss, but you turn your cheek laughing softly. “You smell atrocious.” It’s the truth, but the kink in your lips makes it more of a teasing remark than anything.
He scoffs, taking a long whiff of himself. “This is the scent of victory,” he proclaims, and you roll your eyes. Luckily, a bath had been drawn upon your insistence —you’d always liked to have a proper soak before a mission, it could very well be your last until you returned. Deimos starts to strip off his armor when you point to the sunken pool of steaming water. Each piece clatters on the smooth stone floor, leaving a bloody trail to the edge of the bath.
Pleased with the state of your armor and weapons you move toward the bath as well, circling around the circumference —removing the pins from your hair and the ties of your peplos. Deimos watches every move you make until you slid into the warm water across from him. “You’re back early,” you muse, eyes tracing the sharp lines of his face as you rub a piece of pumice down your arms. Handsome as ever. He shrugs, unwilling to give you the satisfaction of knowing his hasty return is because of you.
Pushing off the edge of the pool, he reaches out, gripping your hands and pulling you to him and half in his lap. He’s always been different when the two of you are alone —softer than when the eyes of the Cult are upon him. There’s a scar on his breast shaped like a waning crescent moon, your fingers trace the raised patch of skin. It is one of the only scars he bears, save the long jagged one on his back. It’d been then since he was a boy. Deimos’ thumbs rub circles on your thigh and lower back.
“Can I have that kiss now?” He queries. You roll your eyes, unable to hide a coy smirk. Laying your hand on his cheek, you lean toward him —lips settling against his. Deimos’ hand flattens against your back, urging you closer. Emboldened, you tug on his bottom lip with your teeth. His soft groan reverberates through his entire body. He pulls away for a brief pause, eyes flitting from your eyes down to your lips before surging forward again. His kiss is demanding and full of unbridled fervor.
Even after the kiss has ended, Deimos holds you in his arms. One last night he thinks. In this profession, there were never any guarantees you or he would live to see the next day or one another again. Every moment could be the last —that is how he treats this moment right now. “Deimos?” you whisper, lifting your head from his shoulder. He makes a noise in the back of his throat hmm. “The water’s getting cold.” Steam had stopped rising some time ago and now it was clear the only warmth was him. He rises, you in his arms.
Your shared bedchamber is a sanctuary —everything outside these four walls ceases to exist when you and Deimos lie together, limbs entangled. He brushes the hair from your face, fingertips wandering to trace over your lips too. “Come back to me,” Deimos breathes. There are many meanings disguised in the gentle plea. You nod with a faint smile before scooting closer to him and pressing another gentle kiss to his lips.
Deimos wraps you in his arms wholly, unwilling to let go though he knows he must. His strong, steady heartbeat a lullaby sweeter than even Orpheus’ lyre could play. The dawn will come too soon.
tagging my Deimos crew @nemo-my-name-forevermore @levikra @wallsarecrumbling @withered-poppies @novastale
#Alexios#Deimos#Alexios x Reader#Deimos x Reader#Alexios Imagine#Deimos Imagine#Alexios Fanfiction#Deimos Fanfiction#Assassin's Creed Imagine#Assassin's Creed Fanfiction#Assassin's Creed Odyssey#AC: Odyssey#my writing#Anonymous
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If benders elements smell... when do the gaang notice zuko's fire smell? And what does Aang's fire smell like?
They don't really notice until the Western Air Temple or maybe hiding at the beach house, when they start cuddle-piling the heat pack. Toph notices a bit sooner, what with making him carry her around. Sokka is the loudest about noticing. Only Zuko and Aang grew up in environments where bending smells were taken for granted (the Southern Water Tribe's culture had lost this, and Toph was too isolated from regular bending society) so they are the only ones with any idea of don't-obviously-sniff-people etiquette and we all know how badly Aang sucks at using etiquette when it's more interesting not to. So there are cuddle piles and there are debates over the exact type of wood and spice combinations that Zuko smells like, and there is Zuko in the center, slow-roasting himself in embarrassment, but kind of in a nice way because they're not making fun of him, they're just... doing whatever this is.
"Making friends, Sparky," Toph clarifies.
Oh.
...Okay.
*temperature of cuddle pile levels out somewhere between "wrapped in favorite blanket" and "toasting pleasantly next to campfire"*
Aang's firebending smells really airy, Zuko is super concerned at first, like his flame looks okay but that smell is all wrong and it's got to be weak--
But then Katara bursts out with how his waterbending smells bubbly and it tickles her nose and she hadn't even realized what it was for forever because she didn't know bending could smell--
And Toph is like "yeah, I might have pounded him into the ground extra hard at first because his earthbending smells like some lame-ass pumice stone my mom would use on her feet." (Toph always knew bending had a smell, but it took until all these discussions at the Air Temple for her to realize it wasn't just a blind people have super powers thing, it was something everyone else smelled too and just didn't talk about because sighted people are really weird about communicating their other senses.)
And Aang realizes exactly how awkward Zuko must have been feeling for weeks when he walks in on all his teachers commiserating over how much of an airbender he smells like, is this normal for an Avatar or are they training him wrong? What do they dooooo--
*backs away slowly*
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and i write just to fill the hole in my chest that is overcome with longing for touch and some semblance of fingertips along rough cut edges, my heart is
calloused and blistered; these scars do not heal, this wound does not seal shut like a tomb full of cobwebs and soot. it burns and crackles and cools into stone and pumice. (i want to be handsome, i want to be pretty. take my hand and run your fingers against the grain, bump your nose against mine, trace out the slit in my eyebrow and card through my homemade undercut and deep fried curls. can you look me in the eyes and tell me what you see?)
there is no subject, no return address, no caller id. just an overgrowth of want amongst bramble and pine. i have no pearl in this shell and no muse for these paintings but dear god do i long for autumn breeze and winter wool; heat pricks my pores and sets my skin ablaze, and the switch flips in the grey matter of my skull and suddenly i am frantically searching for some sick reasoning for why i have such a carnal desire for love in this way.
i am searching for a reason for why i can’t seem to let go. i am searching for a reason for why i seem to give. i am searching for a reason for why i feel the need to lay down at your feet in reverence, regardless of whether the halo atop your ears is just some refraction of light or truly a headpiece meant for you; i ask myself why do i pray to this god of you that might never exist?
(why?)
(was it suburban princesses and a home gone north? was it lilac and lavender? did it stem from my roots, from the soil under my soul and the sap of my blood? perhaps, the water i have been so greedily lapping up is poisoned. perhaps, the sun as yellowed my leaves and now there are termites in my core. i am riddled with this need to know why.)
(i can pin everyone else. i can pin everyone else under my thumb. without them knowing i can take their words and peel back the layers and polish them with spit and empathy and know what they really mean to say. the river in my brain begins the froth and i pick apart every whisper, every text, every word, and so suddenly i will know you better than you know yourself;
it’s terrifying, and i do not dwell on this hum in my head for fear of what it can do, but what is even more horrific is that i cannot see myself. i cannot look into this mirror. i can’t see hazel reflected back in streams and puddles, i see nothing but the sky above me and i plunge my fists into water and break apart the picture in the stars and all at once i am crying and praying to god that i will learn—
and i don’t.)
and this hungriness persists;
and i write to fill this void.
#poetry#poem#poet#poems#lesbian poet#lesbian poetry#nb lesbian#creative writing#writer#writings#writing#late night writing#poems about longing#poems about love#poems about heartache#vent poetry#creative writer#hesbian#theysbian
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Mythology AU, Pygmalion and Galatea
There were no preliminary studies required, no charcoal sketches, no model had needed to come into his studio to pose. As soon as Jon had laid eyes on the marble, he had known what he must do.
He had undertaken the task immediately; with hammer and chisel he began to carve life out of formless stone - eyes, ears, nose, chin based on some hazy, yet familiar image in his head. Day and night, he worked with fevered focus, stopping only for the occasional meal and a few fitful hours of sleep.
This was dedication was unlike anything he’d ever experienced before, but there was an urgency here, a sense of purpose. Almost as if there was a fully-realized woman trapped inside the marble, and it was only his duty to set her free. It was a madness that he could not explain, would never say out loud. His feelings for Sansa – for that was her name, and he knew it with the same conviction that he knew his own – ran deeper than an artist’s devotion for his work.
—–
By nature, he was a reticent man (and she, obviously, an inanimate object), but Jon often found himself speaking to Sansa as he sculpted. At first, it was merely murmured commentary on his progress (”an additional fold to your gown here, I think”), but later, he began reminiscing out loud of his childhood in the wintry lands of the North, of the games he used to play with his siblings, of the snow-white wolf pup that had been his unlikely shadow while growing up. Once, when on a whim he had started engraving her name upon her pedestal, he sang a half-remembered ditty that had been his youngest brother’s favorite tune, before he caught himself and stopped, embarrassed, and then amused at his embarrassment. After all, it wasn’t as though he had an audie-
Oh please don’t stop.
Jon froze, eyes darting up to the still-unfinished face above him. There was nothing unusual to see (of course), so he shook his head in exasperation and returned to his work. He supposed he might be slightly delirious. Had he had anything to eat earlier? Or perhaps it was companionship he was starved for, that was all. When was the last time he had set foot outside his studio? He really ought to accept Tormund’s outstanding invitation for a meal and a drink.
He winced as he recalled the aftereffects of the last drink he had shared with his friend.
No. No drinks.
He carved the final “A” in her name, unaware that he was humming underneath his breath.
—–
Jon wondered if he was truly going mad, for he had begun to fancy that Sansa was actually listening to him. Worse – that she was talking back.
He would ask her a question, or for her thoughts on his efforts, and he imagined he could almost hear her responses.
Yes, I like how you’ve made the curl drape over my shoulder, or
Actually, my nose seems a trifle long, Jon, she’d tease.
“Nonsense,” he’d reply out loud, smoothing out the contours of said appendage with a pumice stone. “It is exactly you –” he finished the thought in his head – perfect.
He adjusted its shape anyway. Just a little.
—–
He carved a single rose by her feet, a tribute.
—–
And then finally, finally, many months after he had first set chisel to marble, he laid down his tools for the last time, knowing instinctively that his work was done. He stepped back to look upon her form – long-limbed and lovely and lithe as the Maiden herself, but human, so achingly human in the details. From the slight creasing around her mouth that suggested an easy tendency to smile, to the roughened pads of her fingers that he had imagined to come from a passion for sewing, so lifelike was her countenance that he was filled with elation and melancholy both. He delighted in her completion even as he grieved in the certainty that he would never again achieve such heights of inspiration. More painful was the realization that he no longer had reason to – to indulge in whatever this strange connection was that he shared with his creation – no! – with Sansa.
Overcome, he clasped her hand and pressed his lips upon the fingers he’d so carefully, lovingly shaped. Immediately he felt like a fool. Loosening his grip, he began to withdraw, only…only suddenly it seemed to him that it was not cold, unyielding stone beneath his touch, but warm, pliant skin. Impossible. And yet –
Pulse racing wildly, he stumbled back and laughed with incredulity as he watched a miracle happen before him – the manifestation of life, true life, and not just the appearance of it. For there was movement, in the rise and fall of her chest, the fluttering of her lashes. And there was color, traveling slowly from her head to her feet, where there had been only the stark whiteness of marble.
Her hair, red as the fire that burned in his heart for her. Her eyes, a luminous blue, turning to meet his gaze. A glow on those pale cheeks, and a sudden flush as she took in his astonishment. And her rosy lips, parting slowly as she drew in her first breath –
He did not dare to believe, to hope.
And yet –
Sansa bent to pick up the flower he had sculpted – soft-petaled and blue now, a true winter rose. She brought it close to her face and inhaled deeply, smiling in pleasure and wonder –
And stepped off her pedestal.
—–
Written for the Jonsa 100 Drabble Challenge. Was tagged by @amymel86 with the the prompt “starved”. Cross-posted on (Hugo Award Winner!) Ao3.
—–
Part of my GoT in Art series
* Original painting is Pygmalion and Galatea by Ernest Normand
#jonsa#jon x sansa#actuallyjonsa#jon snow#sansa stark#game of thrones#gotedit#got fanart#got fanfic#got au#mythology au#pygmalion au#painting edit#my edit#flibbertigiblet#flibbertigiblet: GoT in Art series#my drabbles
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a longing sigh
and i write just to fill the hole in my chest that is overcome with longing for touch and some semblance of fingertips along rough cut edges, my heart is calloused and blistered; these scars do not heal, this wound does not seal shut like a tomb full of cobwebs and soot. it burns and crackles and cools into stone and pumice.
take my hand and run your fingers against the grain, bump your nose against mine, trace out the slit in my forehead and card through my homemade undercut and deep fried curls. can you look me in the eyes and tell me what you see?
there is no subject, no return address, no caller id. just an overgrowth of want amongst bramble and pine. i have no pearl in this shell and no muse for these paintings but dear god do i long for autumn breeze and winter wool; heat pricks my pores and sets my skin ablaze, and the switch flips in the grey matter of my skull and suddenly i am frantically searching for some sick reasoning for why i have such a carnal desire for love in this way.
i am searching for a reason for why i can’t seem to let go. i am searching for a reason for why i seem to give. i am searching for a reason for why i feel the need to lay down at your feet in reverence, regardless of whether the halo atop your ears is just some refraction of light or truly a headpiece meant for you; i ask myself why do i pray to god of this to might never happen?
why?
was it suburban princesses and a home gone north? was it lilac and lavender? did it stem from my roots, from the soil under my soul and the sap of my blood? perhaps, the water i have been so greedily lapping up is poisoned. perhaps, the sun as yellowed my leaves and now there are termites in my core. i am riddled with this need to know why.
i can pin everyone else. i can pin everyone else under my thumb. without them knowing i can take their words and peel back the layers and polish them with spit and empathy and know what they really mean to say. the river in my brain begins the froth and i pick apart every whisper, every text, every word, and so suddenly i will know you better than you know yourself; it’s terrifying, and i do not dwell on this hum in my head for fear of what it can do, but what is even more horrific is that i cannot see myself. i cannot look into this mirror. i can’t see hazel reflected back in streams and puddles, i see nothing but the sky above me and i plunge my fists into water and break apart the picture in the stars and all at once i am crying and praying to god that i will learn —and i don’t.
and this hungriness persists; and i write to fill this void.
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How do you feel about a reincarnation plot? Centuries ago, V and reader cherished each other deeply. All was well until a natural disaster struck, prematurely ending their lives. When reader meets V now, she remembers certain things. Another natural disaster threatens to tear her and V apart, but somehow the lovers get to safety. Enduring nature’s wrath alongside reader stirs up long-forgotten feelings. He realizes she’s his soulmate- they’ll end up together regardless of date, place, or time.
So first off THANK YOU for this prompt!!! I have loved it since the first time I read it and I am so sorry it took this long for me to respond to it. There’s so much potential and I wanted to do it justice, so there’s going to be at least two chapters for this. Once the next one is ready I’ll link it at the bottom here. Enjoy!
Word count - 1,923
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A Dance of Souls
Your eyes were glued to the sky in shock and awe, watching the massive column of darkness rise from the mountaintop you’d lived beneath for years. Mere moments had passed since the ground shook under your feet, the force of the rumbles strong enough to bring you to your knees. Others in the crowded courtyard mirrored you, faces turned to the realm of the gods above.
Many were praying. Two or three cried. Not one person looked like they knew why the gods were so angry.
You tightened your grip on your dark-haired lover’s hand. His locks concealed his features, but you could tell he was shaken.
“Gods… what do we do?” you asked.
He grimaced and lowered his gaze, his familiar hands seizing your shoulders and helping you to your feet. Together, you made your way through the bewildered crowd. The cloud was growing, spreading to the sides and you shuddered in growing fear. Someone must have deeply offended the gods to cause such a display of their power. You prayed to them for mercy and forgiveness, promising tribute if only they spared you and your beloved.
At first you didn’t notice the shadows growing, too distracted by navigating the swarm of people. It wasn’t until you reached the square you lived in that your worry retreated enough to notice. Your eyes shot skyward and you staggered.
The sun was gone.
The gods have taken away our sun?!
“What forces could darken the sky?” your companion murmured. You lacked the logical answer you knew he craved and supplied the only one you had instead.
“The gods are angry.”
Before he could respond, something clattered on the rooftop on your right. Another, to the left. More and more, almost like rain but the ashen smell was all wrong. You brought your tunic to your nose, but it did little to help.
Are those… stones?!
You crouched and picked up one of the clattering objects, running your fingertips over the rough surface. The texture was similar to the tablet you used to scrape your feet in the bath – pumice.
It was raining pumice.
“We need to get inside, now!”
The urgency in his tone betrayed his panic and your fear bloomed into mind-numbing terror. Nothing scared him. Nothing. Never in the ten seasons since you met him had you heard him speak with fear. Not even when you were screaming, bringing his son into the world. Even then, he held your hand and told you how lovely you looked and that he was right beside you through every moment. The child died soon after and he held you all through the night. Still, he had not been afraid.
You didn’t resist as he pulled you inside the home you shared and slammed the door behind him. His hands were shaking as he set the lock in place. What began as an ordinary day was rapidly becoming anything but.
The stones pattered on the roof for hours while you tried to withstand the chaos. It was easy to hear the screams and shouts from the street, the children crying for their mothers. You prayed for salvation, but the acrid aroma of ash only grew stronger. The gods weren’t listening to you.
He stayed with you, offering his own prayers despite his lackluster faith. If the situation wasn’t so dire you would’ve kissed him.
Ominous creaks joined the rhythmic clacks of the falling stones. Your eyes shot to your lover, wide and swimming in fear. He hummed and pulled you into his arms, cradling you against his chest. Despite the reassurance his embrace offered, the hammering pace of his heart only heightened your panic.
“It’ll be all right, there’s nothing to fear. Tomorrow we’ll be busy clearing away the stones, you’ll see,” he said.
No, we won’t! We’re going to die!
Tears spilled forth like a fountain. It was too soon, you weren’t ready. You didn’t want to die. There was still so much left to do, like give him another son. It wasn’t fair, what could you have done to deserve such a cruel fate?
“We’re going to die. The gods have abandoned us,” you whispered.
He tightened his arms in reply, crushing you to him until you could almost forget the horror consuming your home.
Almost.
Outside, the screams were almost gone, most throats silenced forever. The roof creaked again and you whimpered, sure that this was the end. You buried your face in his tunic, thankful for every second you spent engulfed in his scent and his warmth. What a blessing, to not be alone in your final moments.
“At least we’re together.”
He pressed a kiss to the crown of your head. “I’d gladly sever my every limb if it meant you were far from this place.”
A surge of shame flooded you. Here you were, thanking the gods that he was with you, and he was wishing you were somewhere else. You leaned away to meet his eyes, though you couldn’t see him well in the darkness. He was such a treasure. How fortunate you’d been to have him.
“I love you,” you said, aching with grief and regret.
A rumble in the distance reached your ears as his lips opened, closer with every pounding heartbeat. You reached out to stroke his cheek one last time.
“I lo- “
He couldn’t finish as the air turned to poison, burning its way into your lungs with each breath as the rumble came to an end. His eyes went wide, his hands clawing at his throat as he fell prone. You joined him a beat later and struggled to bring his head to your lap. You curled over him as fluid filled your lungs. Both of you were crying, eyes red and swollen.
There was so much you wanted to say. You wanted to tell him how precious he was, how every moment with him was a gift. How much you cherished and admired him. You wanted to list all the things he did for you that meant so much; his kisses, his hand in yours, the sound of his laugh, the sound of his moans in the night…
But you couldn’t breathe. All you could do was stroke his obsidian hair, cough and watch the light fade from his eyes as his features went slack. The moment he was gone, your soul shattered. Nothing was ever so painful as watching the love of your life die.
At least you wouldn’t be far behind him.
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You bolted upright with a gasp of agony. Sweat stained your skin, thick on your forehead and under your arms. You could still feel the fluid in your lungs, the poison in the air as you desperately tried to slow your racing heart.
What the hell was that?!
Nightmares weren’t new to you, but this one was so real… Who was that man, why did it hurt more to see him die than to do it yourself? Why did your heart still ache with grief?
Any why can’t I remember his face?
You closed your eyes and rubbed your temples, dispelling the lingering images. It helped to hear the clacking keyboards surrounding you as your colleagues worked. Nothing like working in a cube farm to make you drowsy, especially doing mindless data entry. After another beat, you shook your mouse to keep the screen from going dark. They monitored that kind of thing here, and it never hurt to cover your ass.
On that note, better get back to it.
You hadn’t even loaded the next invoice when the lucky bastard with the window seat cried out. Steven, if you remembered right. All you knew about him was his appreciation for crunchy snacks and tendency to curse when his computer didn’t work.
“Holy Hell! Did anyone else feel that?”
To your left, Shannon hushed him, but he refused to calm down, waving his arms in a gesture of panic. Whatever he was talking about, you weren’t going to let it ruin your numbers for the day. You clicked through the invoice and entered the tax codes, moving on to the next in less than five seconds.
That was when the building started shaking.
At first, you thought it was the nearby train passing, but the sound was all wrong. Too deep, guttural instead of tinny and the tone didn’t change over time. Something was wrong.
“Duck and cover! It’s an earthquake!” Steven shouted, already halfway under his desk.
The fancy artwork rattled against the walls. Drawers slammed open and closed, monitors crashed to the floor and you knew he was right with a rush of terrified adrenaline. Living on a fault line meant most people in the building saw this regularly, but you moved here two months ago. All you had to go off was Hollywood and rumors.
Not exactly trustworthy sources of survival training.
Better than nothing!
You stood and tore your keyboard from the CPU, lifting it as a shield as you crossed the aisle to the nearest pylon. Carrie always complained that the massive structure meant her cube had less functional space, but it was sturdy and thick.
The office was in pandemonium, men in suits and women in pencil skirts hustling to cover as fast as their desk job legs could carry them. You were on the eleventh floor, so they had a long trek down the stairs ahead. Someone was screaming, but they fell silent after a loud crash.
You looked up to see cracks forming in the ceiling. Why wasn’t it over yet? Weren’t quakes supposed to be short? If this went on much longer, the building wasn’t going to last. The only options you had were to wait it out or make a run for the stairs.
With a muttered curse, you ripped Carrie’s keyboard free and doubled your cover, promising yourself you’d go for it on three.
The lights flickered, cube walls waving like stalks of grass as you sprinted to the stairwell. The door was already open as people flooded the narrow opening, clawing at each other for even an inch of room. Every single one of them went down and you went with the flow, not strong enough to fight it.
“Hey! You’re all going the wrong way! We need to go up!” a voice yelled at the next landing. Black hair hid the man’s face, barely brushing against the collar of his white button up and tie. His actions matched his words as he struggled to ascend.
It made sense. With this many people crammed into a small space, the speed you’d be able to move was negligible. Not to mention that there were only six flights to the roof.
Still…
You shoved your way closer to him, muttering apologies to those you jostled out of habit alone. “Hey! Why up?”
Just as piercing jade eyes met yours, the horrendous shaking stopped. Gasps of relief filled the stairwell, laughter and cheering a beat behind but the tightness of the man’s expression never wavered. There was still something to fear.
“It’s an old building, we’re safer with nothing over our heads,” he replied.
An echoing crash rattled the railing under your grip. The crowd screamed as the building quivered, chunks of plaster breaking free and falling to the steps. Your eyes widened as the man took your hand and started running, dragging you along with him toward the elevator.
You were only three feet away when the floor dropped from under your feet and everything went black.
#fanfic#ask response#v x reader#soulmates#tw: natural disasters#dmc#reader insert#devil may cry#my writing
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5 Tips for your 1st Job
I've beening a lot of posts about people gushing about landing their first ever job or mentioning how badly their legs ache from work and all that. I got a few things to put out there after seeing all that.
1) Congrats on landing a job--regardless if it's your 1st or your 30th or whatever. Regardless of whatever job it is, you've got something to be proud of. It's hard to find work nowadays and a lot of good people are struggling to make ends meet and remain employed with economies the way they are now. Ultimately, having a source of income--especially a steady and dependable one--for any period of time is an amazing feeling. Be proud of yourself and don't let anyone bring you down if they try to make you feel bad with phrases like 'under-employed', 'minimum wage', 'blue-collar work', or 'part-time' or whatever. If you've got a steady source of income for the foreseeable future that's something to be proud of right now and don't let anyone bring you down for it. It doesn't matter if they make more than you or have a 'career' or even if they're your role model. They're not you, they're not living in your shoes--and they have no right to judge or snub their noses at whatever it is you do.
2) Almost hand-in-hand with the above...take pride in your job--whatever it is. Please be accountable and make it a priority in your life. Skipping work 'cuz you don't like wherever you're stationed to work or because you'd rather be doing other stuff isn't cool. Your co-workers are going to have to pay for that sort of decision. Someone is going to be called in or have to stay longer to cover your shift. That means that someone's plan to sleep-in or cook a decent meal or go on a date will be ruined if you decide to play hooky. Even if you're doing it to spite a less-than-desirable manager please know that you're hurting your fellow employee with this sort of behavior--the manager isn't going to be as hurt by your actions as you think they're going to be. Show up on-time or at least give ample notice if/when you need to ditch (unless it's an emergency). Please be kind to your co-workers. It's much more enjoyable for everyone if you can chat and joke around with your co-workers instead of sullen silence or acting all cut-throat or whatever. Gossiping about each other is also in poor taste. You don't have to be buddy-buddy with your co-workers...but if you're on-shift together then at least be civil if not friendly.
3) About aching feet/legs...it usually comes with the territory if you're working retail or fast-food or anything else that requires you to stand and/or walk around all day. See if your employer can get better mats for the workspace. I've found that the thick ones with holes in them are head-and-shoulders above the solid-black flat ones...if that makes sense. Also, invest in shoe-inserts for comfort. They're kind of pricey but not having sore heels is definitely worth an hour or three of my paycheck...I think. I'd suggest not buying the cheap ones or the ones that only cover half the sole...get the full-sole insert 'cuz the smaller/shorter ones are going to slide around and make things worse. Also, cheaper ones wear out faster or otherwise end up really uncomfortable. Make sure you are wearing shoes that fit if you want to avoid blisters. When resting (on-break, or sleeping) try to elevate your feet. When I started my first retail job I found that sleeping with my feet propped up on some rolled up blankets/pillows gave me immense relief in the morning. Soaking your legs/feet in hot water is also a good way for some relief. And using a pumice stone for skin build-up is heavenly. Seriously, pamper your feet. Along the same lines, if your job is the type that requires a lot of sitting and inactivity, remember to stretch. I know more than enough people with major back problems because they sit for 5+ hours a day. Seriously--set an alarm to go off on your phone every hour as a reminder to stand up and stretch properly before continuing your work. No amount of pay or “work ethic recognition” is worth the chronic aches and pains that come with the job. Prevent back problems and don’t bank on the whole “eh, I’ll just find a good chiropractor”--3 minutes of stretching and moving about every hour will save you a bunch of money, a bunch of time, and a heck of a lot of pain and grief.
4) Know your rights. The government in your area should have a worker/employer rights and obligations thing. Read up on that. It often includes things like how many minutes of rest (breaks) are required for how many hours of work. E.g. Lets say you have an 8 hour shift and your manager makes you go on your break 2 hours into the shift...that would mean you're working for another 5.5-6 hours after your break. Check your worker's rights--it's possible that legally, you're entitled to some form of break for every 4 straight hours of work. Decide for yourself if you're going to bring up such things with your manager(s) if conflicts arise.
5) Track your hours. I can't stress this one enough. Don't just assume that your workplace/manager(s) are good people that will always give you your full pay every pay-period. Me and my friends have experienced many pay-periods where we were short-changed on pay. We track our hours--we know exactly how many hours and dollars should be recorded on our paystub/paycheck. Check and compare. Invest in some sort of calendar where you can record your hours worked and know the exact number of hours/pay you are expecting each pay-period. A lot of the time, it’s an accident. The manager mis-counted or forgot that we took on an extra shift within that pay-period. Often times, it’s an honest mistake...but be wary about managers that seem to make these mistakes often, or the ones that will cut your hours as ‘punishment’ for confronting them about the short-change. You are entitled to your pay. Even if you love your job, it’s still a job and you deserve to be paid for every hour you put in.
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Sinbad of the Shores
Rating: T
Pairing: AiJunko
WC: 5,786
Summary: While out of the manoir de mort for a beachside performance Ai wakes up from a dream to new feelings about Junko. But these aren't feelings she hasn't had before. After mourning the past and bemoaning the future Ai finally seeks safety in Junko and they get heart-to-heart.
FF AO3
"Aphrodite had the beauty; Zeus had the thunderbolts."
-Esther M. Freisner
Mizuno Ai sat on a beach towel gazing out toward the sea. It was calm today and the waves rolled slowly, broken only by two girls playing in the water close to the shore. One of them was her friend and groupmate Sakura. The other was another groupmate and her girlfriend Konno Junko.
A voice next to her piped up: "You know that scene –" Ai jumped and turned to see Saki sitting next to her "– in cartoons where two guys are stranded on a deserted island and they're starving and one looks at the other and he turns into a turkey feast with waves of deliciousness coming off him?"
"Yeah. Everyone knows that one. What about it?"
Saki grinned. "That's kinda how yer lookin' at Junko right now."
Ai looked away. "How do you know I'm looking at her?"
"'Cause if you were lookin' at Sakura like that we'd have a problem." Ai heard a popping sound and when she turned back she saw Saki cracking her knuckles. "Do we have a problem?"
"No."
"Good." She smiled and sat back.
Ai hugged her knees and hid the lower half of her face in them. Her eyes were back out toward the ocean. Toward Junko. Was I really looking at her with such a perverted face? Sure, what happened last night was weird, but she was over it. She was!
The average person cannot help what they dream about, but Ai was not the average person. This wasn't a point of pride, either. She was a frequent lucid dreamer. And when she dreamed last night of showering she was very aware of it. She felt the stream caress her face, the water pelt her body like hot bullets, and she thought, Oh, when was the last time I had a nice hot shower? The ones in winter were always the best. And then: Is Junko in here?
"Mizuno-san."
Ai's gaze swung from the showerhead and there she was. And in that weird way dreams can be sometimes she could see everything and nothing at the same time. Lucidity faded and Ai was then fully in the lap of whatever god is appointed the duty of dispensing dreams on the sleepers.
Until then Ai had never dreamed of sex.
Out in the water Junko and Sakura continued to swim and splash and play. Ai supposed most people would find Sakura sexier, but she liked Junko more. Her body was more delicate and gentle, her skin pale and soft, her… well, chest…
Stop it! Don't get those thoughts again!
Her tummy…
This isn't you anymore! Enough!
Ai was so consumed with her own thoughts that she didn't notice Junko duck underwater. She didn't come back to reality until moments later when Saki called out, "Had fun out there?"
"Yeah!" Sakura called back. She and Junko were walking towards them. "The water's great. Why don't you join us?"
"Maybe later. I just ate."
"Ai, look what I found!" Junko held her hand out.
"Woah!" It actually managed to knock away all thoughts of sex and perversion. "A conch shell! I've never seen one!"
"Really? Haven't you ever been to the beach?"
"I have, and I used to go shell-hunting, but I never found a conch shell! Wow!" Totally impressed, she took it and turned it over in her hands. It was yellow and spiky and everything. She couldn't believe she was holding this. Can't help being a Pisces, I guess.
Similarly affected, Saki said, "Put it to your ear and see if you can hear the ocean!"
Ai did. Its currents whispered. Noticing Saki's demeanor, she said, "Do you want to listen too?"
"Yeah!" Saki took it and held it up. "Oh, I can hear it!" She smirked at Sakura. "The ocean says you're hot, babe."
Sakura kicked sand at her.
Ai frowned. It was just like Saki to come right out and say stuff like that. Ai never could. If she did Junko might get upset or disgusted. Or worse, she might laugh.
Ai held the shell back out to Junko.
Smiling, Junko shook her head. "It's yours."
"Really? That's okay?"
"Mm-hmm. I was going to give it to you anyway. I saw it and thought of you."
Ai's stomach fluttered and her cheeks prickled. She looked down, finding refuge in the shell, safe from Junko's open smile and wet body. "Th-thanks." She found herself wanting to kiss her. Between her affection at this gift and her tumultuous feelings she felt ready to kiss Junko a lot. It would have to wait until they weren't in public.
If only it didn't. I feel ready to have her right now.
Oh, would you stop it!
Junko was reapplying her sunscreen, as were Sakura and Saki. This was Kotaro's plan for waterproofing: reapply every ten minutes. They had a performance here tomorrow, and after what happened in Ureshino he wasn't taking any chances.
"Ai, can you get my back?"
Want me to wash your back? Junko had asked that in the dream and Ai had let her until one thing led to another and they –
"Sure." Ai took the spray can. Stupid dream. She hated it.
After the sunscreen was reapplied Junko hoisted a pail and asked Ai if she wanted to collect beach rocks. Ai said yes. They started off down the beach. It was mostly empty as by now kids had gone back to school. It was August and dog-hot. Ai was certain that if they weren't wearing waterproof SPF 130 sunscreen they'd both sweat their makeup off.
"I love beach rocks," Junko said. "They're pretty colors and they feel so nice. I wonder how they got that way?"
"Abrasion and resistance," said Ai. "Rocks collide with each other and sand smooths them further. As for the color, it depends on the minerals in the water, but most stones are made of quartzite, granite, slate, pumice, and marble."
"Wow. You know a lot about rocks."
"Well, my dad was a geology professor." She itched an eyebrow and looked down. "And I did some beach rock collecting of my own."
"You like the beach too?"
"Yeah, I love it." She wasn't loving the heat, though. It was clouding her thoughts a little. Or maybe it was that dream. She was trying not to look at Junko in her black swimsuit too much. She wanted to. Seagulls were squeaking overhead, and the deliciously salty air breathed with the waves' movement. Ai loved the beach and she loved Junko. Yet, here she was unable to enjoy them to their fullest. It sucked.
"It's weird we've been – you know – for this long but we haven't talked about our families." Junko giggled. "We have a lot in common. We both love the beach and we both have parents who are teachers."
"Your dad was a teacher too?"
"Mm-mm. My mother was. She was a music teacher."
"She must have pushed you hard."
Junko drew her lips in and nodded. "Some pushing was involved as far as my singing went, yes. But she did it out of love for me and I love her for that."
"No wonder you're such a good singer."
"Aw," Junko muttered uncomfortably.
Silence passed. Occasionally the two of them would stop to scoop up rocks and drop them in the pail. A track of sweat got into Ai's eye and she tried to rub it out.
"That heavy?" she asked when she saw the pail was three-quarters full.
"A little. But I'm fine."
"Let me take it." When Junko hesitated Ai held out her hand and said, "Go on, I'll be okay."
Junko forked it over. "Thank you." She briefly put her hand on Ai's back and that alone was enough to bring those thoughts back with a vengeance. She couldn't help it. She had never felt Junko's hand touch her skin-to-skin there. Let me wash your back. Oh my goodness. Oh, Ai!
"Oh, Ai, look at this one! It's beautiful!" Junko bent to grab the rock. She didn't stoop, she bent, giving Ai a good view of her derriere. In her heat-and-lovestruck state Ai couldn't look away. Her eyeballs grew heavy as red and black dots dazzled in her vision. She was floating. She was sinking. She was both.
"It has all the same colors as us. We can put it in the practice room – Ai? Ai!"
Ai had fallen face first in the sand. To her right was the pail, its rocky contents scattered. To her left was the conch shell.
Ai surfaced quickly after, but by then Junko had run off. All good, you know, it wasn't like she could salvage this embarrassing situation in the best state of mind. And right now her state of mind was horrible at best. She had just enough mental awareness to beat herself up. I fainted. I actually fainted over Junko. I'm like some ditzy shoujo manga protagonist.
Consciousness ebbed and flowed. She felt her body being lifted up and carried. Voices clanged in her throbbing head.
"Dehydration, you think?" Sakura.
"Prolly. Hot as balls out." Saki.
"B-buh…" Junko's voice. "She was out in the sun for a shorter time than I was."
Saki: "Weak."
Cool air kissed her face and she came back up again. They were carrying her through the inn lobby. People gawked. The woman at the front desk asked, "Is she okay?"
"She's fine," Saki said. "She just needs water."
"Sorry," Ai slurred at the woman. She knew nothing sold your comfy inn like a semi-conscious person being dragged through the lobby. Somebody call a bellhop, we got baggage here. See, that would be funny if they were staying at a Western-style inn. She was really failing at everything today.
A doorway passed overhead and the cotton of her futon rose up to her back. Sakura and Saki appeared above her.
"Feeling okay?" Sakura asked.
"Yeah, I'm fine. Sorry about all this."
"Face it, Ai," Saki said. "You're just doomed to never have a good time."
"You have boogers in your nose." It was true. She could see them.
Saki showed her her middle finger.
Sakura disappeared and returned with a bowl of water and a towel. Ai heard splashing, dripping, and then felt a cold wet towel laid on her forehead.
"Here," Sakura said. "Drink this."
Yes. Water.
Eyes closed, Ai took the bottle. She opened them.
Oh, what the hell.
"A baby bottle?"
"It's so you can drink without sitting up!" Sakura said, beaming proudly. "My brother used to do it when he got sick in college."
Thanks. I'm humiliated and I have a gross mental image. Still, it was with good intentions and Sakura did help carry her, so that snide remark would have to go in the unsaid file. "That is pretty clever. Thank you."
"Oh, no, happy to help. You want us to stay and keep you company?"
"You don't have to. I might nap as long as I'm here."
"That's the spirit!" Saki said. "C'mon, Sakura, let's get some yakitori. I'm starving."
"Didn't you just eat?"
"I get bad mileage. My gut's like a Canyonero bike."
Their voices faded out of the room and down the hall.
Holding the towel to her head, Ai sat up a little and looked around. The room was empty. She lowered herself back down and grabbed the bottle. Stared at it. Glared, more like. Deciding thirst was priority, she sighed and did something she likely hadn't done since 1993. And, drinking, she thought maybe Sakura and her weird brother were onto something. This was nice and convenient, even if she felt stupid as hell.
The AC kicked on and that plus the water gave Ai a little energy. She lurched up to the closet, grabbed a robe, and donned it.
After laying back down she got to thinking about the myth of Aphrodite, Greek goddess of sexual attraction. She wasn't looking for Mr. Right; she wanted Mr. Right Now. Aphrodite's legend began with her emerging from the ocean to shore and ever since everyone's private parts never again knew peace. Wasn't the ocean a perfect symbol for sex? Wave upon wave crashing against the stone piers of some girl's pride and stubbornness.
If Junko's Aphrodite then I'm goddamn Sappho.
The door slid open and light, quick footsteps stuttered inward. Ai smiled. She knew those footsteps. They moved toward her, cloth rustled, and the bowl of water blooped, sloshed, and dripped. The cold wet towel landed slowly and gently on her forehead.
"Hi," she said.
Junko squeaked. "You're awake!"
"Yep." Smiling, Ai opened her eyes.
Junko cleared her throat and smoothed the end of her robe. "How are you feeling?"
"Much better."
"Good."
"Junko?"
"Hmm?"
"I love you."
"Oh, Ai." Junko brought a curled hand to her mouth and giggled. "I love you, too." She leaned downward and kissed her cheek. Ai liked when she kissed her cheeks. It felt so sweet.
"I'm sorry," Junko said.
Ai was so wrapped up in the sweetness that the apology sounded outrageous. "For what?"
"For not paying attention. If I had been I would have noticed that you were tired and hot and thirsty, and I would have gotten you out of the sun before you fell over. I get too wrapped up in things and…"
"You're not at fault, Junko. I could have said at any time that I wasn't feeling well, but I didn't."
"I really don't think you're to blame, though. Maybe neither of us are."
"Yeah, maybe."
Junko then said, "Weather does not seem to like you very much."
Ai snorted. "No kidding. My dad had me focused on the ground when it was the sky I should have watched out for."
"See, I had the opposite problem…"
Ai gaped at her, then burst out laughing. That was the first time she had ever heard Junko crack a joke about her death. Junko joined her laughing. Ai loved the sound of their laughter. She loved Junko's laugh, and she loved being able to be a part of it.
Their laughter died down. They looked at each other for a moment and then got laughing again.
"I guess I missed on helluva joke," Saki said as she entered.
"Not really," Ai said, wiping her eyes. "Just Junko doing what she does best – keeping me grounded."
Junko snorted and turned aside, shaking.
Saki stared at them, then said, "Uh, okay. Well, anyway, we're gonna tell ghost stories in the other room."
Ai looked at the clock. It was seven already. The sun was still out.
"You guys wanna join us?"
The two of them looked at each other. Then they looked back at Saki and shook their heads.
"Hmph. Couple of zombies afraid of ghosts. Suit yourselves, scaredy-cats." And she left, closing the door behind her.
They were quiet a moment.
"Um," Junko said. "Can I ask you something?"
"Sure."
"Is there a reason you're drinking from a baby bottle?"
Ai could feel her heart snap as it kicked up into her throat. "It – it's so I can drink laying down! It's very convenient!"
Junko nodded, looking more than a little weirded out.
"It was Sakura's idea!"
"Oh. Is this what everyone's doing nowadays?"
"No, boomer, it's not. We might be the 'entitled' generation –" using the e-word made her mouth taste like throw up "– but we can sit up to drink if we're feeling well." Ai sighed, pinched the bridge of her nose. "Now can I ask you something?"
"Yes."
"Do I…" She took her hand away and looked at her. "Do I seem childish to you?"
Junko shook her head. "No. Why would I think that? If this is about the bottle I thought it was strange more than childish."
"Well, I mean, you're about the same age as my parents."
"Your parents are nineteen years old?"
"No. But you would be around their age if you lived. I'm not saying I look at you as like a mother, but sometimes I wonder if I should."
"You said if I lived. But I didn't. I died and now I'm nineteen forever. I don't look at you like a child because I've never had children, and I didn't know anybody with them. I guess I can see how you'd see your parents in me, especially if they used a lot of lingo and liked a lot of things from the 70s and 80s. But if you look at the way things are instead of what they could be, the difference between us age-wise is three years. No mother and daughter have that age difference."
"Yeah." And as the words sank in, smoothing the worries off her brain and airing it out, Ai nodded. "Yeah, you're right."
Junko smiled and laid her hand on Ai's. "Don't worry, I've thought about the same thing. I thought, 'If me and Ai were alive, why, I'd look like a real freak. Some old hag who's past her prime and looking to reclaim lost youth by taking advantage of some girl.'"
"There's no lost youth, though." Ai sat up and her towel fell off. There was a gray smear where it had soaked off her makeup. "You're still young."
"Exactly."
"Also…" Ai leaned forward, her eyes locked with Junko's, and tilted her head. She smiled. "I'm not so easily taken advantage of."
Junko hesitated, then leaned in and kissed her. Ai leaned into the kiss, her hand coming up to Junko's cheek. It was hot. Hers were as well. Her heart was drumming away. If it wasn't anchored to her chest she supposed it would just fly right out. Every soft stroke of Junko's lips sent intense sensations all the way down to her toes. When they broke off the kiss Ai let out a deep breath.
"I think you're feeling extra-affectionate tonight," said Junko. Ai noticed that she was also breathing quicker.
"You think right. I am." Months ago such a conversation would have embarrassed Ai, but they were closer now so it wasn't so bad (but still a little nerve-wracking). "I love you. I'm glad I met you like this." Unable to help wanting more, she kissed Junko again.
"Feeling's mutual," Junko said before giving Ai a kiss of her own. When she pulled back her eyes drifted downward, popped wider, then darted toward the ceiling.
Do you think about it, Junko? Ai couldn't ask her that, but she couldn't help feeling like that downward gaze confirmed it, confirmed that Ai wasn't the only one between them starving on a deserted island. Do you ever feel anything like what I've been feeling?
"We're alone," Ai said.
"We are. Um, Ai, do you… I mean, do you w… want to…"
She trailed off, but Ai thought she knew what she meant.
"Have heppei?"
The second that left her mouth she regretted it.
Junko recoiled. "He… h-hep… Hep…"
In Japanese the common term for copulation is sekusu, unless you come from a certain part of Hokkaido.
"I – I had no idea you were from Akita."
"I'm not! I'm from Ueno! My dad's from Akita, the way he talks rubbed off on me."
"Your father talked to you about… that?"
"Yeah, yeah, he always told me and my sister to stay away from boys because they were lying dogs who only wanted hep – sex." If it wasn't bad enough that the man had to give such embarrassing lectures to his daughters he had to use that scummy word, that word that made any decent civilized person in Japan feel slimy inside. And now the real nail in his coffin was Ai was here saying it in front of her beautiful decent civilized girlfriend.
"Oh. Well, he was probably saying that to protect you."
Ai grunted.
"Anyway," Junko said, "that word aside, that was what I was going to ask about."
"If I want to have sex?"
Junko nodded, blushing.
Feeling like a cyborg in a certain 2004 film, Ai asked, "Do you?"
Junko fidgeted with the sash on her robe. "I – I've… I've never… done it before…"
"There's nothing wrong with that."
"I guess." Junko scratched the back of her head. "I don't know why I think that matters when neither of us have."
"I have, actually."
"You what?"
Ai flinched. She hadn't heard Junko yell that loud in a while.
"When? With who? How?"
"Okay. I'm not going to tell you about this if you keep looking at me like that."
"Like what?"
"Like – that." Ai gestured toward Junko's face.
"This is my listening face. I'm listening."
"That is not your listening face."
"It is."
"No, girl. This is." Ai motioned around her own face, which was set in a neutral expression. "This is how you're looking at me." She popped her eyes and mouth open.
"Well, sorry." She didn't make the listening face, but it looked a bit less like she would call her… whatever they called girls who did it back then. Hussy. Jezebel. Jesus, you may as well go all in and call her a slut as long as you're being judgmental. "I just never saw you as the type. Not like you're childish, mind you, but straightlaced."
"Gaylaced, more like." Before they went out Ai would have rolled her eyes so hard at such a joke.
Junko smiled at the joke, then asked, "Where'd you find the time?"
"There wasn't much of it, admittedly. But we lived together, and it wasn't like we were in a relationship."
"Who was this girl?"
"Nina."
"Your groupmate?" The You-Hussy-You-Jezebel face returned.
Ai cocked an eyebrow. "And you are…?"
"Right. Sorry. If you weren't in a relationship though how did it happen?"
"It just… happened."
Junko shook her head. "That sort of thing doesn't just happen."
Ai sighed. She was getting that feeling of being pulled again. But not under by passion. It was back by years. The undertow of time claimed her as she told Junko how it happened.
The year was 2008. It was the end of June and the Tokyo Pride Parade was coming up. Iron Frill's producer decided to tie this in with the announcement of his wife's pregnancy in a way he hoped would show the girls his paternal caring.
"I'm hoping it'll be a boy," he said. "We already have a boy, and if you have a girl after the boy there's a chance she'll turn out funny."
The other girls nodded, but Ai wasn't buying it. "Funny how? Funny as in no arms and legs?"
He glared at her. "That is not funny, that is tragic, and you should feel bad for implying that it's funny. I mean funny as in…" He sighed, turned his eyes upward, then shook his head. "You know what I mean, right?"
Ai shook her head.
He looked at her pityingly and said, "I mean funny as in she'll turn up to the pussy-eating parade that's going on this weekend."
"Gross!" one of the girls exclaimed.
The producer behind Iron Frill knew the industry in and out, but he wasn't terribly articulate. Usually lack of articulation comes with a quiet personality, but this fellow had the opposite problem.
"A faggot could dance better than you! You're just a bunch of club-footed dykes!"
The other girls shrugged their shoulders or giggled. He could have called them communists or vampires; they were insults, yes, but unless these girls drank blood or espoused anti-capitalist ideologies they could never have understood the sting of recognition or the fear of discovery.
Well, most of the members of Iron Frill were like that. Taimajima Nina was not. A tall girl from Shibuya, Nina tended to look away when talking to girls, shifting her eyes upward as though she were studying the weather conditions. Like Ai, she didn't seem interested in anything this man had to say. While working together on song lyrics one morning the producer tore the unfinished work out from under the two of them and exclaimed, "What are you, a pair of dykes who can't write prose?"
Ai had laughed out loud at his stupidity. If there was anyone who could write prose, it was a dyke. It was the other girls he had to watch out for. She saw Nina laughing too and soon they took to mocking this producer, referring to each other first as dykes, then as "stinking dykes." They were "lazy dykes" and "sunburned dykes" before they became "dykey dykes." They couldn't protest the word as that meant acknowledging the truth in it. The most they could do was embrace it as a joke. Embodying the term in all its cliched glory, they called each other "Dyke-oneesama" and straightened pretend neckties, played at lit club members who cried in the most ridiculous over-the-top fashion over Iseiaisha-senpai, an imaginary girl they made up purely for them to discover again and again that she was (cue sob) straight. Dyke, as a word, was always delivered in a harsh and unforgiving tone befitting those weak and stupid enough to act upon their impulses. They used it as a joke, an accusation… and then as a dare.
Late at night Ai would hear the futon next to hers swish, Nina's breath quickening. Either she was masturbating or having a terrible nightmare. Is it me she's thinking about? Ai would follow her lead and wake up the next morning to find their futons had scooted a good nine inches away from where they originally lay. Their love had the power to move futons.
Having no willpower, they relied on circumstances to keep them apart. This cannot happen was accompanied by the shift of sheets whispering, Oh, but maybe just this once. There came an afternoon when, running late to practice, they found themselves alone in the apartment. What started off as name-calling escalated into a series of mock-angry slaps. They wrestled each other onto the futons, both of them longing to be pinned. "You kids think you invented sex," her father was fond of saying. But hadn't they? With no instruction manual or federally-enforced training period, didn't everyone come away feeling like they had discovered something unspeakably modern?
What produced in others a sense of exhilaration left Ai with a mortifying sense of guilt. She remembered sitting cross-legged by the futons, staring at her clasped hands, her back to Nina, who was napping. This was more than a stupid mistake. This was a huge one. This wasn't the sort of mistake you could come back from. The joke was stripped away and all Ai had that afternoon was reality. What dyke could bring dreams and inspiration to her fans? What dyke did every little girl want to grow up to be?
Earlier that year word got out that a seiyuu idol (a Legendary Heisei Idol in her own right) had had a few casual flings with the guys in her band. She had been branded a whore and canceled. If that was the punishment for a girl and a guy Ai imagined the punishment for two girls involved a wooden frame, samurai swords, and lingchi.
Whatever fear and humiliation Ai lived with was apparently lost on Nina, who afterward took to her side at all times. And since at the time Ai believed in opposites attracting, she let her coax her into a few more mistakes. With each mistake Nina grew closer and Ai grew warier.
"Christ, Nina," Ai whispered as they ducked into an equipment shed. "We have to be backstage in fifteen minutes."
"That's enough time." Nina pulled her shirt off. Her breasts jiggled fetchingly in her bra, but this time Ai finally found it in herself to not be fetched. It was raining out. They both stank of rain. If you could still sleep with someone who smelled like that your libido was either very good or very not good.
Nina came in for a kiss. Ai jerked her head aside.
"Not in the mood?"
"Yeah, no, I'm not," Ai said.
"Nothing you can do about that then." Nina stepped back. "I guess we shouldn't go on stage tired after an orgasm anyway."
Do you really like sleeping with me? She must have, considering how many times in the past month she had approached Ai to do so. But after each mistake she would go right to sleep. Oh, she would wake up and then wax romantic and philosophical about their relationship. But first came the sleep.
"Nina, I don't think we should do this anymore."
She froze in the middle of bending to grab her shirt.
"It's just a bad idea. Everytime we do this we get closer and closer to getting caught. Someone could be outside this very shed."
"They're probably not."
"Probably's not good enough."
"Oh, Ai." Smiling, still shirtless, Nina stepped toward her and put a hand on her face. "I know how you feel about all this, but I think you might be worrying too much."
"If you knew how I felt you wouldn't think that!" Ai backhanded her hand away. "If you knew how I felt you'd know that what happened should have only happened once! I do not want to do this anymore!"
"Well, why not? They hate us! We need each other!"
Why, Ai thought, couldn't I have waited for her to put her shirt on before I went in? She looked so sad standing there in her Hawaiian print bra.
Nina tried to grin, but in her state it looked more like a grimace. "Think of how mad they'd be if they found out about us."
"They're plenty mad enough about us existing. Think of how mad I'll be when we're out of a job. You think they'll still be mad when they fire and blacklist us?"
"Well, we'll still have each other. Isn't living well supposed to be the best revenge?"
"Yeah, if you call that 'living well,'" Ai said and Nina flinched. Great going, Ai. Why don't you just punch her in the face? Would be faster and easier.
"So it's about the money."
"No, Nina, it's about me liking myself more than you."
"That's bull. I thought you loved me."
"I don't."
Nina seemed to get smaller still. Ai felt the same way. She had ripped off the proverbial Band Aid, yet she didn't feel any better. Maybe, she thought, there were hings she shouldn't have said that afternoon, things she would have to apologize for. And she would. In due time she would.
"What did Nina-san say when you apologized to her?"
"I didn't," Ai said. "At that day's performance I was hit by lightning."
"Oh my God." Junko's shoulders dropped; her whole body seemed to sink as if screws holding it together had popped off.
"So yeah. That's how it happened."
Junko sighed and looked down. Silence spun out. It wasn't bad silence. In it they grew closer. Ai thought of Nina, but she thought more of Junko, how she had snapped at her over a simple "I love you." Junko had said she thought Ai was too straightlaced to deal with crap for too long. Ai presently fought back laughter at that. The opposite was true: she held her tongue until she exploded. At least this time all she did was faint. There was no yelling but instead the two of them talking to each other like normal people. I might be getting better. But maybe next time something's on my mind I should come right out and say something.
"Sex makes everything complicated," Junko said. "Someone told me that once."
"They were right."
"They also told me – oh, how do I say this." Junko got a bit red. "That once you start having it you can't stop having more."
"They're right about that, too. That's partly why I stayed with Nina for as long as I did."
Junko looked at her. "I don't want that to happen to me. I don't want what happened to you and Nina to happen to us."
"I don't think it will. You're different than her."
"But what if sex changes me and suddenly I'm asking you to do it fifteen minutes before we're due backstage?"
The idea of Junko turning into a sex maniac was incredibly tickling, and Ai almost laughed. "If that happens I'll say no, but we'll still be together. Because I like you more than Nina. I love you."
Junko smiled. "I love you." Then she said, "But what if I'm bad at it?"
"Didn't you learn anything from that porn you saw?"
"Ai!"
She laughed. "Sorry, sorry. You won't be. It'll be good as long as it's with you. That's what I think."
Junko's eyes were on hers. They were such beautiful eyes. Ai loved them. They pulled her in, blue and irresistible, until the were kissing. When their lips met Ai felt it all over her body. Chasing emotional with physical, she pulled Junko close. The kiss deepened, becoming so good and so hot that Ai didn't want to come up for air. And while kissing her, she thought, Wherever I am she meets me there. She's so good to me. She had always worried she and Junko were a mess together, but talking about Nina made her realize what true messiness looked like. Junko wouldn't morph into a sex maniac because that wasn't who she was but also because that wasn't who she was. She didn't make people give up things about themselves in order to gain her love.
God, what do you do with someone like Junko? Ai was at a loss. She gives me so much and I guess all I can give her tonight is a better first time than I had. She wanted to make her feel so good in herself that everyone worldwide, even the people who hated her, would quake in pleasure.
Ai started to nudge Junko onto her back.
A collection of voices screaming exploded like a cold snap in sultry summer instead of winter and they flew apart.
But the room was still empty.
Then Ai remembered. "Ghost stories."
"Yeah." Junko's chest was heaving. Her robe had rucked up, exposing her thighs, and she yanked it down. "Thin walls."
They sounded like cavewomen. Oonga oonga. Like heppei. Ghost stories. Thin walls.
"I don't want them to hear us."
They looked at each other and giggled.
"I guess we're waiting until some other time," Junko said.
"But Junko," Ai said, "I thought this was your sex addict awakening. Don't you want to insist on it?"
"Oh, you." She grabbed the bottle and tossed it at Ai's feet.
"I am so frustrated by your ability to leave me spellbound."
-Pink Lady, Sinbad of the Shore
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part two of that thing i’m working on
so it turns out this is gonna be a thing.
Part One |:| Part Three
It’s early sunrise when Sarco awakes, to the sight of Pardinus pawing at her nose. She groans and picks up the lynx by the shoulders, glaring halfheartedly. “I’m up, I’m up, you lazy cat.”
Pardi licks her nose, purring as she puts one huge paw up. Sarco grumbles, carrying the lynx to the rickety window that faces the forest. She lifts the curtain, and Pardi hops out and down the scaffolding that leads to the ground, looking back after a moment. Sarco rolls her eyes. “I’m not going out, Pardi. I have to prepare for scavenging today.”
Pardi yowls in outrage, scratching at the dirt, but Sarco yowls back. “We can’t all eat mice, cat. Some of us have work to do.” Pardi grunts and stalks off into the underbrush, gone until sunset like she usually is when Sarco can’t go with her.
Sarco lets the curtain hang open, watching as sunlight hits the specks of floating dust. The fourth-story attic where she lives with her Babi and any passing Vultures is small, dusty, and filled to the brim with various items of varying worth. Some are her Babi’s, like the dented iron sword from that war when she was a baby or the rusty compass that never points north. But others belong to her, like the beautiful Pietersite amulet she managed to swipe from beneath the hooves of an ox, and the cold-iron armguard found in the scrap heap near the Armory.
She rolls up her bedroll, storing it away for the day, before retrieving the leftovers of their dinner last night. She splits the thick stew into two portions, storing the larger part for her Babi. It’s fine- she slips out of the apartment and returns with three ugly, but still delicious pink apples. She idly snacks on one while she portions the second up, spreading a bit of olive oil and jalapeno on it for flavor. Babi says that her tastes are strange, but she likes her food hot, and preferably with a bit of poison to it.
Once breakfast is over all-too-soon, she begins to dress. Despite the fact that Babi sleeps like a bear in the dead of winter, she still steps behind a curtain while she changes out of her sleepwear and into one of her nicer outfits- a matching salwar and kameez, both pale cream in color, and a traveler’s hood.
“Babi!” Sarco grins as she pulls her hair back into a long ponytail, the last sign of her childhood. Her Babi has only been training her for a half-season now, but she gets better every time they spar, and she’s anxious to start scavenging with them instead of working on her weapons with Auntie Gyps or doing endurance training with Calvus. She glances back and throws a mangled sandal at their torso. It lands on their hip, but all they do is grunt and pull their blanket over their head. “Babi, c’mon! Early bird gets the worm, is what you tell me!”
Babi groans, burrowing back into their bedroll. “It’s barely dawn, chickadee. There’s a few more hours before anything good to find.”
She whines, shoving at their shoulder. “Babi, c’mon!” They’re right about that much, she knows, but she wants to prove herself capable. ”There won’t be anything left by the time you get up!”
They sigh, finally getting up. “You’ll be the death of your parent, you know that?” They pull her into a warm hug, rubbing their scruffy beard on her cheeks as she squeaks in protest.
Sarco wriggles out of their grip, grabbing a clean towel. She wipes the sweat and dust from her face, before she grabs a scarf, winding it around her face and over the welting red birthmark on the left side of her face. Once she’s satisfied, she twists and turns, checking her reflection in the curved surface of her Babi’s shield. “Do I look good? Am I presentable?”
Babi snorts as they pull on a shirt. “You’re fine, chickadee. And if you don’t believe me, you can ask the other Vultures tonight.”
Sarco whines. “That’ll be forever! And I’ll look awful by then!”
“Well, whoever said a Vulture was beautiful?” Babi pulls their boots on, hand rubbing over their scalp. They groan, pulling out a shaving blade. “Damn, I need to keep better track of my head.”
Sarco rolls her eyes with warmth, grabbing the oil and cloth. “It’s not that bad, Babi. Or, well, not as bad as Fulvus.” The appraisal expert of the small band of scavengers, Fulvus’s shave is patchy and ragged, nearly an inch long in some spots. “Why is his shave so bad, anyway? Aunt Gyps said it’s because he won’t let anyone else come near him with a razor.”
Babi sighs, handing their daughter the blade. “That’s half the reason, anyway.” The two are silent for a few minutes as Sarco rubs down their scalp with oil, before cutting away the hair that she can. Babi hands her the pumice stone with a grunt. “A burst of sickness hit some apartments Uptown, and there’s nearly a dozen dead from it.”
Sarco grins wickedly. “Which means their stuff is ours for the taking.”
“No,” Babi cautions, their tone close to a growl. “The sickness is still in the air, and Barbatus is already checking that area out.”
Sarco groans, rubbing the stone a bit harder than absolutely necessary against their skull. “This is bull! C’mon, where are we scouting if not there?”
Babi swats her hands away gently, rubbing their scalp. “That’s the problem. I’m not entirely sure yet.”
She hums, tapping the toe of her sandal against the floor. "We could scour the marketplace, we could go check out the Haunted Wing of the Palace, we could raid the crematorium, we could check under the seats of the Coliseum-"
Babi grunts, standing up as they rub their head with the towel. "The crematorium is off-limits for a reason, chickadee."
Sarco groans in protest. "They’re already dead! I’m not going to take the coin from their tongue, what does it matter?”
Babi rolls their eyes, as they always do whenever she says sacrilegious things. “What matters is that we don’t stoop so low to rob still-warm bodies. You know better.” They reach out, attempting to smack her thigh.
Sarco pouts, dodging away from Babi’s hands. “You raided the battlefields back when the War was going on! Why is that any different?" Truth be told, she doesn’t have much to go on when it comes to the war- people don’t like talking about it, and Babi has always been tight-lipped on the details.
Babi glares and looks like they want to argue, but they simply pull a long-sleeve tunic over their head. "Because war has plenty of valuable things for living people. Nowadays we have to respect the dead, but when death surrounds you, you have to harden your heart."
Sarco wants to roll her eyes at her Babi’s attempt at sounding philosophical. Instead, she hands them their belt before grabbing her satchel. They pull on some leather pants and stand, examining their face in the cracked mirror Sarco found two months ago. “Have you eaten yet?”
“Mhm!” She shoves their portion of stew to them, along with one of the apples. While he eats she gathers her things in her satchel, including her dagger and a vial of dry smoke- if she runs into trouble, she’d rather cause a scene than wind up dead. “C’mon, let’s go!”
“I’m coming, I’m coming.” They grab their bag, tossing it over their shoulder. "What do you say to some market-stalking?"
---
Sarco trails just a few meters behind Babi as they pass through the thick throngs of the market. It’s been a few hours after their departure, and the sun is already high in the sky, the shadows short and the heat beating down on her neck. In her satchel hides an ingot of copper, several handfuls of dates, and a spare set of sandals. While Babi insists that they scavenge instead of steal, Sarco’s not as stupid as they apparently think she is- uncle Fulvus has repeatedly taken her to plunder bits and pieces from the better-off citizens of the city. No point in sticking to their morals if it means they starve.
Babi doesn’t look back to her, and she tries not to look at them. It’s best if people don’t catch on to the closeness between the two, lest folks assume she’s their young wife, or worse- an escort. The first- and last- time someone had asked that, Babi had nearly killed the man at the assumption that their daughter was a prostitute. It had gotten bad enough that only the timely arrival of auntie Gyps and Neophron spared the man from being beaten to death. The look of rage in their face- she’d never seen anything like it.
As she passes by the spice trader, her eyes catch the faint glimmer of something shiny beneath the rickety table. Out of habit she bends down to examine what it is and cusses lightly as her fingers snag on what was apparently the edge of a sharp blade. She pulls her hand to her mouth, lapping up the blood that’s seeped out before it hits the dust. She carefully takes the handle of the blade, pulling out a dagger. She sits down to the side of the booth- she’s lagging behind Babi, but they’ll be fine without her.
She pulls the dagger from the hilt, marveling at the craftsmanship- unlike a lot of imitations, this blade was forged with the curve in mind. It’s a beautiful make, the gray-silver metal of the blade slowly melding into gold near the hilt. The hilt itself is bronze if she had to guess, engraved with some sort of writing system she’s unfamiliar with- the letters are all angular and sharp, instead of the flowing characters she’s used to. She’d almost think it were ceremonial if not for the nicks and scratches along the length- whoever lost this dagger, they use it a lot, and it’s too high-quality and much too expensive to just be lost without notice.
“Excuse me, goodsir?” She taps the merchant gently on the shoulder, careful to keep her veil up over her mark. “Is this yours?”
The man turns towards her, jerking a little at the knife. “No, no, of course not. What would I use a knife like that for?” He waves his hand, avoiding her eyes.
Sarco taps her foot, returning the dagger to its sheath. “Fine, then. Do you know who might have lost it, then?” The Vultures are already hunted enough, they don’t need the magistrate after them.
The spice merchant thinks for a moment, then snaps his fingers. “Ah, yes, there was one group passing through. Outsiders, the whole lot of them, and with a fae sense to boot. Stopped by here asking for cayenne.”
Well, they have good taste then. “Did you see where they went afterward? I might as well return this to them before I’m accused of thieving.” Plus, it might give her something smaller that she can reasonably take without them noticing.
“They said they were heading towards the town center. What for, I haven’t the faintest idea.”
“Thank you, goodsir!” She tugs her scarf a little more just in case it’s fallen loose and begins her way towards the center of the city. The roads become more and more choked with people the closer she gets to the center, but she knows this city like her mark, and a few strategic detours through alleyways and over roofs mean that she soon makes it to the Dunram Fountain.
She sits on the edge, enjoying the warmth seeping into her clothes from the stone. She’s never paid much attention to the installation before, aside from skimming it at midnight for coins, but the more she focuses the more she notices. Though the foundation of the fountain is white marble, the statue and spout are carved from white granite. The statue itself, Lord Dunram holding out two cups overflowing with the water of the fountain, seems harsher in this light, angrier than she’s thought before.
She shakes her head and turns towards people-watching, trying to catch sight of any foreigners. She fiddles with the found dagger, running her finger along the grooves as she looks. There’s the usual mix of folks- the white-clothed Vrainists mingling with Ceplons, a few masked Niirns foretelling the apocalypse- as usual- some visiting nobility dressed in gaudy velvet and satin completely unsuited for the wet heat of the city. All outsiders, the lot of them, but none that particularly fit the-
“Hey!” Sarco jumps as she’s dragged from her daydreaming and her spot, a firm grip on her upper arm. “Thief! That’s Alban’s dagger!”
A few tears spring from her eyes, and she gives a tiny shriek. “Stop it! You’re hurting me!”
The grip only tightens, shaking her roughly. “Shut up, thief.”
Sarco yelps and shoves the dagger at the person holding her. “I came here to return it! It was at the spice merchant’s stall, now let me go!”
The person holding her growls, but takes the dagger and releases her. Sarco rubs her arm gingerly, taking slow, deep breaths to try and ease the pain. They back off a few feet and Sarco curls into herself protectively as they continue. “What kind of story is that? No one goes to that much effort.”
“I did. Clearly, I shouldn’t have, if it meant you were going to hurt me.” She looks up at the man who attacked her, nearly a head taller than herself and with a mean look on his face. Probably from the Western continent, if she had to guess. His skin is a lot paler than most people who’ve grown up in this area, with pale yellow hair cut too short to be respectable.
“Lothar, what’s going on?” A young lady steps up, her skin as pale as her companion but with shiny black hair. “I heard yelling and came to investigate.”
Sarco glances around, noticing the whispers and stares of the crowd too cowardly to help a girl in trouble. She puts her hand up to her forehead, only to notice that her veil’s gone loose with the shaking she received. Her heart jumps into her throat, and she hurriedly fixes it while the two outsiders argue loudly about manners and such. Luckily, it looks like no one’s noticed her mark, as once the commotion is over people begin to dissipate.
Sweat rolls down her neck and back, her stomach twisting into tight knots at the thought of her mark being discovered. She still remembers the time an elderly Malachti had been discovered hiding in the sewers- the poor woman was little more than meat hanging off a skeleton by the time her neck finally snapped, the beatings from the guards that found her and the attacks from the citizens who’d gotten to her first left her flesh hanging off her bones like wilting leaves. The sight hangs in her vision, a mockery of Sarco. This is you. This is what you will be when they find you.
“Miss?” Sarco jolts as the woman taps her on the cheek. She skitters back a few paces, hand instinctively going up to cover her mark, but the woman has nothing but concern on her face. “Are you alright? You look like you’re about to pass out.”
Sarco nods, swallowing around a wave of nausea. “Yeah. Just- just lightheaded.” She sits back down on the edge of the fountain, letting the spray cool her off. “The knife is yours, right? I saw it beside the spice merchant’s stall. Thought I’d return it to its owner.”
The woman claps her hands together. “Oh, how kind! Lothar, you really should say thank you.”
Lothar, as the man is called, turns away. “Not my fault. Thought she was a thief.” He skulks off towards a few other foreigners, one dressed in deep reds and the other two in much more practical browns and gray.
The lady sighs, shaking her head. “I’m so sorry about his behavior. I’m Dáiríne MacMourna, and he’s Lothar Sigrunson. We’re traveling the continent for a while.”
Sarco tilts her head. “Oh, are you with a trading caravan?” If that’s the case, there may be some things she can skim off the top without hurting anyone- if it’s practical things, of course. If they’re transporting luxury goods like furs or gold, she’ll leave it be- no point in taking something she won’t use, and besides, they probably keep better track of those things.
Dáiríne shakes her head, seeming a tad more nervous now. “No, no, nothing of the sort. It’s a private matter, but an important one. We’re just stopping here for the night to rest and recuperate.”
Sarco nods in fake understanding. “Well, you have my good wishes.”
She turns to leave, but Dáiríne gently takes her hand. “No, wait! I-” she bites her lip, thumb running idly along Sarco’s knuckles. “Are you familiar with the area?”
“Yes, I suppose you could say that.” It’s an understatement- Sarco knows she’s a bit of an egotist, but she’s worked hard to hone her talents, and every part of the city and its surroundings is carefully mapped and marked in her brain, every hideaway, nook, and niche.
Dáiríne’s smile returns, all sunny and genuine in a way that Sarco wishes she could imitate. “Great! Could I ask for your help again?” She pulls out a worn and torn map, handing it over to Sarco. The parchment is local, smells like the gum of papyrus reeds. “See, we’re not exactly familiar with this continent- all from the West, you know how it is. We could use a guide until we reach the border with Msaad- after that, we should be able to manage.”
Sarco hums. “Honestly, it depends on whether you value speed or safety more.” She traces the lines of the Khasib river. “You could take the Spice Road to cross in Alsih, then use the canals to travel south into Msaad. You’d have to pay the tolls, but it’s safer than braving the mountain passes to go directly there.” She gives an involuntary shiver- the mountains are home to true bandits, men who would gladly kill a brother if it meant another coin in their pocket. There’s a reason the Vultures don’t travel there.
She hands the map back to Dáiríne. “I have to ask, though. Why would you ask me, and not an experienced guide?” She knows that turning away potential money is a poor business practice, but Babi taught her to be a good person as well. “It can’t be that more expensive, and you’d certainly avoid anything unexpected.”
Dáiríne gives a soft sigh. “Honestly? You’re the first person to go out of your way to help us so far. Everyone else either wants something for themself or was out to trick us.” Dáiríne gives a soft laugh. “Plus, it’d be nice to have another girl on the team for a while, especially a girl my age.”
Sarco blinks, surprised. Surely the woman can’t be that young? Unless she was fae-blood, but even then, the protections on the city gates would keep out any arcane… She shakes her head, focusing on the woman again. “How old are you?”
“Nineteen since last March. And you?”
“Eighteen today, actually.” Sarco gives a soft laugh. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you look much older than nineteen.”
“I get that a lot.” The woman- girl, though she doesn’t look it- runs a hand through her long black hair. “It’s the hair, I think. Haven’t cut it since I was nine.”
“Uh-huh.” Sarco rubs her neck, shrugging. “I’d have to ask my Babi if I could go with you, but otherwise I don’t see why not.” Babi’s always pushing for her to experience different things, whether that be baking or clayware or what be it. “Though, I would be missing some work…”
“Oh, don’t worry about that!” Dáiríne takes her hands, grinning from ear to ear. “If you’re joining us to Msaad, I’d be happy to pay you!” Her smile falls quickly, and she pulls away slightly, mumbling, “though I’d have to get the money exchanged, I don’t know the current exchange rate for this area- what currency does this area use?”
Her energy is infectious, and Sarco gives a soft laugh. “We use the Dinal, same as our neighbors. And I’d be happy to if you’re paying- a girl has to eat, after all.”
Dáiríne’s smile returns. “It’s a deal, then! Can we meet you here tomorrow, at sunrise?”
“Sure thing, Dáiríne.”
“Great!” She gives a soft look, and Sarco melts. “And please, call me Dái.”
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Environmentally Friendly Skincare
Skincare can be expensive and wasteful at times. It always seems like there’s a new skin care product to be bought, and tried, and either used again or pushed to the back of your bathroom cabinet where it will collect dust for eternity. There’s no need to be ashamed of it; lots of people do it, I myself have been guilty of hoarding various fragrant lotions, shower gels, etc. in hopes I will one day be able to use them. The bottles took up so much room on bathroom shelves in cabinets until I finally found a way to get rid of them, and establish a skin care routine that doesn’t leave me drowning in millions of half empty bottles.
Step 1. Throw (or recycle) that sh*t away!
So maybe they were gifts, maybe you like the way it smells, or maybe they just look really pretty? No matter what it is, if you haven’t used it in the last 3 to 6 months chances are you never will. Easy solution for this! Throw the bottles out, or empty and then recycle them. You may feel bad initially for throwing stuff out, but you have to remind yourself this is a step to low waste. Waste once now, save millions after.
Step 2. Do your homework!
Find out what type of skin you have. I have super dry skin that gets oily around my nose and chin after I sleep. Check in with your skin when you wake up and when you go to bed. How does it look? Feel? And not all skin is the same! You may have dry skin on your cheeks with an oily t-zone (that T-shaped area from your nose through your forehead). Whatever it is, figuring out what type of skin you have (oily, dry, combination, etc.) is the first step in creating a successful routine! Monitor your skin and recognize if it feels tight, fine, or if it changes with the seasons.
If you go by your local sephora or just surf the web you should run into plenty of helpful people to get your skin care routine just right.
Step 3. Exfoliate with zero waste!
If you’re having texture issues try gently rubbing your face with a 100% cotton washcloth whenever you wash your face (everyday). Use slow circular motions. You most likely own a cotton washcloth, but if not check out some local thrift shops first. There are other zero waste exfoliaters that don’t invlove diy, such as body brushes or pumice stones. Whatever you use make sure it feels okay on your skin. If it hurts don’t use it.
Additionally there are also many zero waste diy scrubs if you’re into that. You can buy the ingredients in bulk and use glass jars, or tuperware to keep your scrubs in.
Step 4. Zero waste and plant based!
Using more natural products can be great for your skin (especially if you’re prone to breakouts and/or have sensitive skin). There are some amazing “clean” brands (brands with 50 or fewer ingredients in them). Remeber to always get samples first! You may feel wasteful, but you can always bring your own container, plus if you buy a full size and don’t use the product that can be far more wasteful. Some products may be more expensive than others based on brand/packaging, but they will most likely last you alot longer and have better quality which means better results.
Step 5. It may take trial and error. This is okay.
As someone with sensitive skin I have gone through my fair share of trial and error. An important thing to remember is if it burns or stings wash it off right away! Trial and error is completely normal, but also remember that you’re most likely not going to see results overnight so give new stuff a little extra time. Trial and error is what samples were made for. Just listen to your skin.
BUY CRUELTY FREE PLEASE!
As always please make sure your products are leaping bunny certified. This means cruely free. Animal testing is an archaic concept. Did you know that Beagles are one of the most commonly tested on animals? If you would like to learn more about this and get involved you can join the Beagle Freedom Project here.
#mylow-wastegreenblog#Environment#environmentalist#environmental#Environmental Blog#green#green blog#green tip#Greenblog#greenbloggers#sustainable#sustainability#crueltyfree#beagle#bfp#skin#skincare#skin treatment#makeup beauty#beauty#environmetalists#environmentallyfriendly#environmentallyconscious#environmental health#earth#earth day#earth month#low waste#lowwaste#zero waste
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