#Snowfall's Solace art

[waywardstation]

Heart Full, Bowl Empty

Chapter 6 - Late Night Thoughts

Ingo returns to his noble and her kits. Akari considers reaching out for answers. Irida has an important discussion with Gaeric.

FINALLY chapter 6 is here!! I apologize for it taking so long, life has been busy! But it is here, and on Pokémon Legends Arceus' first anniversary!! Happy first anniversary PLA! What a wonderful game that has given me so much joy, a fun community to be a part of, and amazing friends!

Huge thanks to @monsoon-of-art and @ingo-ingoing-ingone for beta reading this, the help and contributions are very much appreciated!!

OR read here on AO3!

Enjoy!

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Keeping his head down so the brim of his hat would keep the recently-started snowfall out of his eyes, Ingo carefully trudged his way up Mount Coronet, holding his insulating coat closed around himself. 

The sun had since slipped under the horizon, leaving the highlands in a frigid, muted darkness. He had to be careful traversing the terrain with his limited vision. 

Proceed with speed, but not haste. 

As Ingo made his way up the familiar path, his thoughts drifted to what the Pearl Clan was possibly serving for dinner. Tonight it was Lian and Calaba’s turn to bring in gathered supplies, so he was guessing a sootfoot-rich apricorn soup was on the menu. Deeper roots were the most typical spoils of their gathering efforts, due to Ursaluna’s knack for digging.

He always hoped dinner would go well for the Pearl Clan on nights he didn’t attend. Irida didn’t entirely approve of him skipping every other night, knowing he was doing it just to conserve their food supplies. But she had eventually settled on this compromise after Ingo had insisted his duties as warden required him to stay with Lady Sneasler, to ensure the safety of her newborn kits.

“Lady Sneasler’s litter is rather large, with nine kits to keep track of,” He had explained. “And she requires assistance in protecting them at night, until they develop enough to fend for themselves.”

And she couldn’t deny him of his obligations to his noble, even more so now with what was starting to occur in the highlands. 

Though, that was not to say Ingo didn’t miss the dinners; the only thing that brought him solace was knowing that even if it was only by one meal, skipping nights at the mess hall was lessening the clan’s consumption. His efforts would not save much in the moment, but over time, Ingo knew it would add up. He was aware he still made a dent in their stock.

Despite it being all the way back when he was only an injured stranger to the clan, Ingo still remembered how Calaba would not-so-quietly mutter to Irida outside of her medicinal tent, about how he was such a bothersome extra mouth for the clan to feed. How he must have been from one of the Ginkgo merchant ships or the developing fieldlands village, seeing as how the clan’s two daily meals didn’t quite sate him in comparison to the aforementioned groups’ usual three.

But Ingo was not doing this because of Calaba’s old comments (and he knew her opinions of him had long since changed anyways, even if she didn’t outwardly voice it), he was doing it to help the clan. If he had his way, he would have chosen to attend only on the two nights a week he was assigned to gather. But, with Palina already doing that (albeit against Irida’s wishes), he considered himself lucky he was allowed to skip any days at all.

Ingo knew Palina’s reasons were more out of hurt than a desire to help; the clan’s scathing comments questioning her eligibility as warden had only recently stopped, with Lord Arcanine’s seat having finally been filled barely two months back. Having caught wind of some of the comments himself, he at least understood her desire to keep her distance, deny Irida’s pleas to join them for dinners more often, and give the Pearl Clan Leader no choice but to allow her to continue in her seclusion.

But Palina had the advantage of being stationed out in the coastlands, as far from the barren wastelands as one could get in Hisui. Judging by how many berries, mushrooms, and meats she always brought back to the clan, Ingo was aware of how abundant the food was down along the shoreline, even going into the winter months. 

He was also aware, like Irida, that Basculegion’s warden from the Diamond Clan was likely helping her with gathering materials and fishing, both for herself and for the settlement. Iscan was an exemplary fisherman, and the amount of basculin, remoraid, finneon, and octillery that were often brought back spoke more to his skills than Palina’s.

These were the reasons why Irida ultimately let Palina continue staying out in the coastlands, Ingo suspected. The Pearl Clan leader knew that she would be fine with Iscan, and that his help usually ensured the biggest dinners for the clan, providing an abundance of much needed, protein-packed seafood.

Ingo swallowed as his mouth reflexively watered, recalling the tasty white-striped basculin that Palina would often bring back. In his opinion, the finned Pokémon of the coastlands - mild and perfectly saturated with healthy fat - were much more appetizing than their rubbery, bland icelands counterparts. At least, the ones Gaeric always returned with always seemed so scrawny in comparison. And he had never tasted a highlands basculin for reference, not quite able to go through with the hunting process by himself.

Ingo wondered if at some point, his inability to go through with hunting Pokémon himself would become a serious detriment. Tracking for the Pearl Clan’s hunting parties was one thing, easy to do when Gaeric and the others would take over and finish things after he had helped. But when he was by himself and responsible for every part of the process, he found he could not bring himself to do it.

However, with his new job at the training grounds, he wouldn’t have to. His income was small, but it allowed him the option to purchase meat from Choy’s general store rather than face the ultimatum of hunting Pokémon, or letting Lady Sneasler’s kits go hungry.

Reaching the particular landmark of a split tree jutting out of the ground at an angle, Ingo looked around briefly but observantly. Making sure he was not being watched, he took several steps forward into the nearby shallow stream, before backtracking over his steps to turn right and push through some thin underbrush. He dragged his feet all the while, making his tracks appear more like an unappetizing belly-crawler, such as a paras, or a hard-shelled roller like voltorb, rather than a human’s shoe prints.

Something was out here tonight that should not be here, and Ingo would not have it following him. Something that had crept in from the icelands.

He had already waded through shallow spots of rivers and crossed over his own path a few times once he had noticed quiet whispering that was always the same distance away from him, no matter how far up the mountain he went.

Something was trying to track him.

Attempts to spot it were avoided (and if by some chance he did see it, he knew it would not appear as itself - the fact he had not seen it yet was a good sign. That meant it had not locked onto his location, instead only aware he was something of interest somewhere on the mountain), but Ingo could sense it out there, somewhere. With the way the mountainside was eerily void of any surrounding sounds from the wild Pokémon, and how the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, prickly and uncomfortable, the suspense was too heavy to be anything else. 

Ingo supposed his larger size compared to the wild psyduck and zubat, or his softer flesh contrasting the hardened armor of bronzor and nosepass, already made him a big enough target - there were only so many species up here suitable as prey. The bundle of cake lure base in his coat pocket must not have helped either. 

But he could easily hold his own with his Pokémon. It was where he was going that made it so important that he ensured he was not being followed. And he’d rather it not be aware of his tracks on this mountain at night at all, or else it would only make the following nights harder. 

Faint jingling that was reminiscent of a chingling or chimecho was discerned far off in the distance, but it still tipped Ingo off - the sound was familiar, but the tone and frequency were completely bizarre. 

It did not know the communication patterns. 

Ingo suspected the predator had taken to wearing the skin of one of these calming Pokémon to appear pacifying, hiding its wispy fur and keen claws.

His mind drifted back to the observational sketches he had seen earlier in Akari’s Pokédex, of the stantler she had studied. While it was just a sketch recreating the injury, the gashes had indeed seemed wide. 

…But certainly not wide enough to come from a wyrdeer’s thick, blunt horns. They fit something more like claws.

It had been bothering him ever since he saw it. While he earnestly wondered if it was the work of Lady Sneasler and her kits, Ingo felt his noble might think her kits were still too inexperienced to take on a stantler. And she had started confining her hunts closer to her den high up on the mountainside, to make it easier for her kits. Stantler did indeed reside higher up on the mountain, and his Lady had brought one back to the den more than once, but more often than not, the antlered Pokémon spent their time grazing out of reach at the base of Mount Coronet.

He was beginning to suspect Akari had witnessed the aftermath of a failed ambush from one of these predators that was now trying to track him. He hadn’t been sure enough of it at the time (Akari’s sketches were very good, but still not as exact as a primary account), but even if he did feel confident in it, he wasn’t sure if he would have wanted to share that with Akari.

He knew she would connect the dots with that. Maybe it wouldn’t be immediate, but with how suspicious she already was, it would only be a matter of time.

Again, Ingo wondered why Irida was so insistent that no one outside the clan know anything about what was going on. Akari said she wanted to help. And if anyone could help, surely it would be her-

The eerie jingling in the distance was closer. It was catching up, whether it knew it or not.

Making his way further into the underbrush, Ingo reached out and pushed away the overhanging fronds of snow-nettle that clung around the approaching ridge. The sharp scent the plant released when damp did a good job of hiding the scents of other Pokémon (and himself) from curious predators. And with frequent snowfall saturating it, the aroma was cutting enough for Ingo’s nose; he could only imagine how overpowering it would be for a more sensitive muzzle. 

Pulling himself up over a ridge obscured by the canopy of overgrowth, Ingo brushed himself off and gazed into the cavernous opening that stretched before him. He took a moment to catch his breath, moving to lean against the cave wall and rest there briefly, sheltered from the snowfall. 

That was, until a sudden bout of intense, low growling interrupted the stretch of silence and reverberated from the dark mouth of the cave. 

A clear warning for the lingering, potentially curious intruder to stay away and keep moving on, lest they prefer to be sliced to ribbons. 

Of course. One of the drawbacks of pushing through saturated snow-nettle. His noble could not identify his scent through the sharp veil, but she could hear his movements, and could tell he was something large remaining in the opening of the cavern. Though to some degree, Ingo felt a sense of relief that she concluded him to be a predator rather than prey for her kits - otherwise, she might have preemptively snatched him up in her hooked claws without warning.

“Lady Sneasler?” Ingo called out to the warm darkness in response, peering the best he could into the dim cavern as he sloughed off the snowfall that had accumulated on his frame. “It is just me. I apologize, I know I am a bit ahead of my usual scheduled arrival. It is too risky to go foraging tonight, so I departed straight here.”

Silence muzzled the growling, before an apologetic yowl of greeting resounded from the back of the cavern. Several smaller, sleepy chirps followed soon after - barely audible, but excited now that it was deemed safe to be vocal.

“Ah!” Ingo lit up, relieved to hear no sign of stress from his noble or her kits. He made his way into the cave, a hand tracing the wall as the tunnel angled downward into her warm den, so he could get his bearings until his eyes adjusted. “I will be right in, my Lady.”

The walls tapered from a wide opening into a tighter squeeze the further he went in - a cinch for Lady Sneasler and her little kits to maneuver through with their flexible bodies and limber bones, but a deterrent to more bulky, less lithe predators.

And while this extra barrier of protection and insulation discouraged these large and dangerous Pokémon, it also made for quite a snug fit for people, her own warden included. Ingo tucked his hat under his arm, sucked in his chest, and carefully pushed himself sideways through the narrow cavern tunnel, ducking as the rocky ceiling dipped down. A good few feet of tight squeezing rewarded Ingo with a chance to take a deeper breath again as the rock walls opened back up around him into a warm, dark cavity.

“My Lady, I take it you returned back to your station with the kits in time, last night?” Ingo brushed the dirt, dust, and any remaining snow off of himself, talking into the darkness as he situated his hat back upon his head. The tight opening of the cave only allowed a sliver of weak moonlight into the cavity, barely useful for vision.

“Snnnr,” a growl of affirmation followed, though it sounded incredibly remorseful as well. Ingo could see the soft glint of light reflecting off of Lady Sneasler’s sharp claws in the back of the cave as she clicked them together apologetically.

“It is alright, you acted accordingly to ensure the safety of your young. I am proud of your decision-making! Your kits are safe because you were with them. And… likewise, Miss Akari was taken care of with me.” Ingo reassured his noble of her actions as he made his way further into the den. The scuffle of his shoes against rocks and hardened earth in the darkness ceased, the rough ground giving way to the copious layers of soft nesting materials that enveloped the entire floor of the den. 

Ingo blinked as he slowly began to make out the inside of the cavern. The shapes of his minimal supplies were seen piled against the wall, a few extra clothes and blankets he had brought up for himself, for colder nights - thankfully, tonight was not one of them. Next to the supplies, he could discern the obscure forms of Lady Sneasler and a few of her mewling kits in the unlit cavity, but he was still careful when moving; he did not want to discover the location of a sleepy sneaslet snuggled under the nesting material by accidentally stepping on them. 

However, the choir of excited chirping thankfully made the kits’ locations known as their smaller forms shifted away from their mother. Making their way through the layers of bedding, they shuffled over to the warden’s shoes and collected around him.

They sounded hungry, as he suspected they would be. 

Thank Sinnoh he had stopped by the general store earlier, and didn’t assume the mountain would be safe to forage on tonight.

It hadn’t been, for several nights now. Ingo suspected most nights onwards would be the same.

“…You didn’t happen to take the kits out and practice hunting stantler today, did you?” Ingo questioned hesitantly, stepping around the mass of sneaslets with great care as tiny claws hooked onto his pant legs and attempted to cling.

The stantler’s gashes Akari had sketched were prevalent in his mind, but he also worried over the additional observation she had made regarding tufts of fur stuck in the antlers. He was concerned he’d have to check on the sneaslets or Lady Sneasler herself for scrapes or puncture wounds.

A confused but disagreeable snarl answered Ingo’s question and relieved him. No, they’re way too young for that.

“I thought so… in that case, have the kits eaten enough? I have brought extra provisions for them.” Ingo reached into the pocket of his coat for the pouch, before pulling out chunks of the plain cake lure base he had bought. “Assuming that… certain events repeated themselves once again, and that a final round of evening hunting wasn’t an option. I am sure they are growing tired of it, but I could only secure more cake lure base tonight. Though I can assure you, I will provide them with meat soon.”

The kits mewled excitedly at the mention (and scent) of another meal, clearly not as ‘tired of it’ as Ingo assumed. They crowded tighter around his legs, pawing at his pants as he held the food out. 

Meanwhile, Lady Sneasler seemed incredibly distraught at her warden’s question, sniffing as she clicked the blades of her paw together apprehensively. Her behavior, along with the kits’ enthusiasm, gave Ingo the answer he had been hoping he wouldn’t get. 

The warden’s heart ached for his noble. She was trying so hard to be a good mother. 

She was a good mother. 

She was doing her best, just like every other beast out there was trying to do for their young, but the current circumstances were out of her control. And with the kits being at an age where daily meals had to be small but numerous, it was hard - even with Ingo’s assistance. They were wild, just like his noble; Ingo could not simply tuck them away in Poké balls like the rest of his Pokémon, in a stasis that suppressed needs such as hunger and thirst.

It had been a terribly inopportune time for her to have kits, especially with a litter as large as nine, and the reasons why were growing with time. But how could anyone have known it would get this difficult?

“I… know it’s becoming harder to hunt up here.” Ingo tried to reassure his noble as he handed cake lure to the kits one at a time. Well, as best he could, anyways; the second he held out a chunk, multiple sets of tiny claws started competitively swiping to snatch it, and Ingo had to be careful not to get his bare skin nicked; he currently had no pecha berries on him. “But we will make do.”

A disheartened, animalistic huff and quiet shifting of nesting material was Lady Sneasler’s only delayed response to Ingo’s words, silently watching her kits eat from her warden’s hands.

The sneaslets’ eagerness to scarf down the food as he kept handing out more relieved some of the grief that gripped Ingo, previously pestering him for not being able to afford enough meat for them all. Perhaps he could have, if he had gotten the full day’s pay today. But no matter, he would probably have enough with one additional day of saving. He did not make enough money at the training grounds to just purchase ten sizable cuts of meat on a whim… not unless he sacrificed buying lunch at The Wallflower during the following shift.

Ingo looked forward to the night he could put together a nice hearty stew for himself, rather than make due with cake lure base. But with meager pay and nine wild sneaslets to feed, Ingo suspected that night would not come for a while.

Once every kit had gotten their fill of cake lure, now sated as they situated themselves within the nest and licked at the sweet sticky rice that stuck to their claws, Ingo carefully stepped around them and made his way to his noble. Rooting through his pockets, he handed another handful of cake lure base to her.

It was not meat, but it would do. 

“There is nothing to be ashamed of. It is not your fault, my Lady; the zoroark should not be traveling this far inland.” Ingo offered words of support along with the gift. 

Was it not enough that they were already stealing from the clan’s traps? Catching anything in those was already enough of a feat, with rarely any extra provisions available that were enticing enough to be used as bait. Resorting to placing non-baited traps on the sides of hills, based on hopes that Pokémon would accidentally stumble into them instead, had not proven successful either.

“Snnnr,” A discouraged huff rumbled in the thick-furred Pokémon’s chest, but after a moment, she sat up from her slumped position, and with her claws, cleanly skewered the offering in Ingo’s waiting fingers.

Hands now free, Ingo rubbed at his sore neck as he backed up and watched her eat, her sturdy teeth slicing through the rice dough easily, but slowly with small bites.

He told her this was not her fault, and he knew this realistically was not his fault either, but something still nagged at him. Even though he had absolutely no control over Hisui’s ecosystems and how they adapted to certain changes, he was Lady Sneasler’s warden. Her caretaker. He was appointed to a very important position by the Pearl Clan, a group of people he owed so much to, and was expected to do a good job dedicating himself to providing for her. And now by extension, her kits. 

Lady Sneasler was doing her best.

And likewise, he was doing his best. 

With a sigh, Ingo preemptively cracked his aching back to loosen it before he moved to sit down in the soft, insulating nesting materials. Dropping into the layers with bone-deep tiredness from the events of the last two days, Ingo rested against the cavern wall. The warmth of the soft fur, feathers, and foliage immediately welcomed him as he made himself comfortable, thawing any lingering cold that had managed to burrow its way through his protective layers.

This would be his last stop for the night, sleeping here in the nest amongst Lady Sneasler and her kits until the sun rose. And he was glad to finally rest - everything ached.

Satisfied with his position, Ingo retrieved the last bit of cake lure base from his pocket for himself, and took a bite. Perfect for absorbing the flavor of whatever it was mixed with, the rice itself was disappointingly bland and tasteless, the only faint flavor being provided by the barely-sweet syrup that held it together.

Normally, a handful of cake lure base would not satiate him at all, but tonight it was easier - breakfast and lunch with Akari today had given him the boost he needed to make up for it. And while it was not hot apricorn soup, or steaming savory soba, it would do. He may not be eating in a warm hall with the Pearl Clan, or enjoying his time with close friends at the Wallflower, but he was still with beloved company in an insulated den, and that was just as good of a situation to him.

“...My Lady, might I suggest foraging further down the mountain?” Ingo verbalized his thoughts on the situation following a moment of comfortable silence, wiping rice from his mouth. “I have noticed the magikarp traveling down south, to warmer waters by the Fabled Spring. I am not aware of the zoroark traveling down that far, or pursuing magikarp at all while hunting - it should be safe for the kits. Though, the alpha golem blocking the tracks down to the spring may pose an issue…”

Lady Sneasler clacked her claws together with a soft clinking sound. She knew just as well as Ingo did that magikarp were bony, cartilaginous creatures - the pathetic amount of meat they carried under their crunchy hides was tough and stringy. The highlands population would practically need to be over-hunted in order to yield enough meat for a single meal - likely the reason why the zoroark left them alone. And her growing kits needed good meat. They were developing into the age where beans and berries alone would no longer sustain them and their omnivorous diets. 

It was no longer enough as is, and both Ingo and Lady Sneasler knew it.

Lady Sneasler would not give up so easily though. Not after trying so hard to have kits. So many despondent nights, and heartfelt but worried reassurances from her warden, before she finally produced a healthy litter which she deeply loved. After all that, she would not just watch them get weak, and sick, and…

But what else could she do? The zoroark, bleeding out of the icelands and sneaking their way into the edges of the highlands, encroaching on her territory and hunting her meat, were leaving little other option.

They were mothers too, Lady Sneasler assumed, also having to feed their young. Why else would they be desperate enough to intrude on a noble’s territory? And hunt in such a cowardly fashion, stalking from the shadows and disguising themselves as disarming prey Pokémon in the middle of the night?

But of course, Pokémon who had already succumbed to cold and starvation once would be more desperate than anyone to prevent it from happening again, both to themselves and their kits.

This invasive method of hunting was damaging Lady Sneasler’s own hunting routine, as well as the routine of every other predator Pokémon this high up on the mountain. It was simultaneously thinning the population in the area, and teaching what prey Pokémon were left to hide away. And on the cusp of winter no less, which was already driving many of the more floral Pokémon of the area into a sluggish, withered state. They now carried even less nutrients in them than before winter.

And if prey Pokémon were being over-hunted, the top of the food chain would start reconsidering weaker predator Pokémon as prey before long. 

Lady Sneasler’s eyes lingered on her beloved kits, still focused on licking the sticky rice from their fur. 

And to think, she once thought having a den this high up on the mountain, close to the Icelands, would be a safer choice for her young. 

She might be a noble, a blessed Pokémon that other beasts avoided challenging out of regard for this, but this same protection did not extend to her kits. Not from the native Pokémon in the area, and certainly not from the invasive, desperate phantoms inching further in.

Her kits were growing stronger, faster, and smarter every day, but they were still much too young to defend themselves in an environment that was growing hungrier. She had to be quick to return to them at night or during bad weather, and slow to let them hunt independently. They were still learning to hunt after all, and that limited their options already. On top of winter approaching, and now this new problem-

But little was better than nothing.

So… magikarp it would be.

Ingo finished his dinner of cake lure just as a tiny mewl was heard, and even tinier claws carefully gripped the edge of his coat, a stunted feathered ear poking up over his side.

“Ah, Powder! Hello, little lady,” Ingo greeted the tiny sneasel. Powder (affectionately nicknamed by Akari) was the runt of the litter and the youngest out of Lady Sneasler’s kits, having been very late to hatching. Ingo let her climb up onto him and sniff around curiously into the fabric of his coat, where the scent of cake lure still lingered.

“I have no more food, I’m afraid.” Ingo let her know her search was for naught, shifting his position to accommodate her better in his lap. He presented his hands to her to prove they were empty, but she only took it as an offer to enthusiastically lick the sticky rice from his fingers. “Likewise, if I granted you seconds, I’d have to be fair and grant more to all of your siblings as well.”

The thought of possibly not providing enough dampened Ingo’s spirits slightly, but he had to remember they were at the age where they would always want more regardless.

“Snea!” Powder pouted as she sat back on his lap, giving up searching about, but her disposition quickly changed as Ingo gently pet her, ears going back as he scratched at the sweet spot behind them.

“You’re never satisfied, are you?” Ingo huffed a laugh as the tiny kit leaned into his hand. The smallest one always seemed to be the most insatiable with anything, whether it be food or attention. But as the runt who was often left behind by her siblings in many aspects, Ingo was inclined to give her the extra attention.

…He remembered that (Emmet) often relented the (same)(way) with the small yellow (joltik), letting the runts (cling) to (his) white (coat) and hide, and sneak extra (batteries) to them. Ingo would tell (Emmet) he was spoiling the (tiny)(joltik), but the runts’ love for the (attention) was (irrefutable).

…

He remembered that the other often relented with the small yellow ones, letting the runts hide with the white, and sneak extras to them. Ingo would tell him it spoiled them, but the runts’ love for it was…

…Ingo was inclined to do the same. 

Noticing that their baby sister was getting pets from the big man who helped take care of them, all of Powder’s siblings halted the licking of their rice-covered paws, and scrambled over to the larger warden.

Ingo sat up as eight more small bodies crawled onto his lap, chirping demands for pets of their own. They impatiently tried to shove their siblings out of the way, while simultaneously pushing their own tiny heads into his hands.

The petty antics and the quarreling taking place on his lap caused Ingo to laugh, and he lifted poor Powder out of the sudden squabble so her larger siblings wouldn’t accidentally hurt her in their rough-housing. She gripped onto his sleeves with her tiny claws, thankful for the save, and Ingo supported her body by holding her up against his chest. 

Lady Sneasler chuffed at the sight of her warden and her kits together.

It was clear; he loved them just as she loved them.

“They will be taken care of, my Lady,” Ingo turned to his noble as Powder latched onto his shoulder, retreating under the wide flap of his coat’s tattered collar. “Tomorrow, I will ask Tangrowth if she would like to accompany you, should you and your kits venture down the mountain to hunt. I am sure she would be pleased to offer her assistance; you know how much she loves the kits. With a capable grass-type like her escorting you, that alpha golem will keep to their own tracks. And, I suspect she would enjoy soaking up the last of the sun’s warmer rays, before winter settles… and please keep in mind that I am always open to assisting with the search of a possible new den further down the mountain, even if it is temporary.”

Lady Sneasler’s features brightened some in the darkness, an expression akin to a small smile driving out some of the stress she wore as she propped herself up on her elbows.

“Snea!” She exclaimed as she moved closer to him, having risen from her spot in the back of the den for the first time since he had entered. 

Ingo knew what was coming, but with nine kits piled on him, he couldn't do much to escape it. Instead, he scrunched his shoulders, and braced for impact.

A set of gnarled claws tipped Ingo’s cap back as a rough, sandpaper tongue licked the side of his face; an act of affection and gratitude to the noble, but a ticklish sensation to the warden.

“Lady Snealser!” Ingo snorted out a laugh, scrunching his neck further against his shoulder as his noble continued to express her appreciation. Moving to lick his scruffy hair, each comb through it with her prickled tongue left tufts of it to jut up at awkward angles. “Alright, Alright! You’re welcome!”

Seeing Lady Sneasler expressing affection, and their caretaker making various sounds they recognized as happiness, the other sneaslets stopped squabbling. Instead, they collectively started trying to lick Ingo’s face as well, eager to copy their mother. Even Powder joined in, peaking over the side of his coat collar to enthusiastically lick his cheek.

Ingo slumped back into the nesting material, using his hands to gently defend his face from the onslaught of rough tongues and tiny muzzles, but he was laughing, feeling loved as they showered him in well-deserved affection. 

Outside the cozy den, the lighter snowfall still rushed down, and a solitary white specter prowled about through the mountainous underbrush, having shed its illusionary skin of a chimecho. Its sharp nose attempted to find a new trail to follow, searching for an easy meal to snatch up after failing to stay on the scent of the lone human it had detected traversing up the mountain.

————

The rain came down, pattering against the sloped roof of Akari’s unit and sliding down the awning to splash against the saturated ground and collect in puddles. 

Akari listened to the muffled sounds against the roof as she stared up at the ceiling of her dark room from under her covers, Ember pressed up against her side under the blankets to provide warmth. 

If it was raining in Jubilife, it was most likely snowing in the highlands, and maybe even the icelands too. 

Ingo was surely in one of those places, she figured - she only knew he hadn’t gone to the Pearl Clan’s mess hall tonight. 

She hoped the snowfall wasn’t coming down too hard for him, wherever he was.

The insulating blankets rose and fell as Ember heaved a tired sigh from under them. Akari copied her soon after with a sigh of her own, hand moving under the covers to pet her warm companion reassuringly. 

For the second night in a row, Akari was finding it hard to get to sleep. 

Hypotheticals disturbed her, and kept her brain running through scenarios and situations - this time on what could possibly be wrong. 

Akari replayed what she knew in her head, revisiting all of the questions she had thought about over the previous twenty-four hours, and updating them with new information she had learned over the course of the day.

Volo had said that the icelands seemed to be suspiciously empty of berries and the like. She had noticed that herself, when searching for breakfast. But why?

And his more direct hints that the Pearl Clan had been struggling with food lately lined up sickeningly well with the morning’s subtle observation that Ingo had been… distracted, for at least a week. She had subconsciously noticed it, and Rei had inadvertently commented on it unprompted.

It also lined up with a lot of other things that had happened over the last two days, upsettingly so.

Like why Irida hadn’t wanted her at dinner last night, and why Ingo hadn’t initially invited her either. And why he had mentioned they were so against the thought of wasting food.

Why the Pearl Clan was prepping their fields for farming on the cusp of winter, and maybe even why they had all of those traps set out. 

Why the clan’s kids were trading away their beloved toys and trinkets in exchange for less valuable food.

Why Ingo had tried to hide how hungry he was instead of simply just admitting it, and why he had been gathering with Lady Sneasler yesterday, even though she hadn’t remembered him or the other wardens doing anything like that before.

It was probably even why Lian had seemed so stiff when she asked him about the wardens gathering. And now that she thought back on it, had Calaba brushed off that conversation as well?

And Ingo’s constant reassurance refuting this and affirming that everything was alright only made her more apprehensive about the whole thing; he always did that, regardless of whether things were really alright or not. To a point, it had now become more indicative that something was wrong than anything. 

The only assurance she had that he was truly alright - or that this hadn’t been going on under her radar for too long - was confirming that he hadn’t lost any noticeable weight when she had hugged him earlier. 

But that didn’t mean he would stay alright forever. Or anyone else, for that matter. Something was wrong. That much felt obvious to her now.

Just… what was it? Why was it happening?

Akari shifted under the covers, agitated as her thoughts circled back to Volo. He was the one who had openly said something about the Pearl Clan struggling with food. He seemed to be the only one who was being truthful with her about all of this, and the only one who could possibly give her the answers she was looking for.

She wanted to get dressed and go out looking for Volo at one of the Ginkgo Guild camps so that they could resume their morning conversation, but she didn’t know if he would appreciate sudden, late-night drop-ins like that.

Ingo never seemed to mind them, and he always welcomed her company with a reassuring genuineness, but she had to remind herself that not everyone was like Ingo. Not even close friends like Volo. 

Plus, the rain was coming down a little too hard for her liking anyways; with a quick glance out one of her windows, Akari could see the cascading raindrops rushing down against the clouded dark glass. She knew Lord Wyrdeer would faithfully come if she summoned him, but she was sure he wouldn’t appreciate her doing so in this weather.

With a sigh, Akari threw the covers off of herself and stood up out of bed. It spurred a drowsy Ember into attentively peeking out from under the blankets, and the cold chill of the room immediately embraced her in a rather unpleasant manner, but Akari couldn’t help it. She felt like she had to move, opting to pace just to try and dissipate some of the building nervous energy. She let herself fall into the cycle of treading about her room by her bed, the cold wooden floorboards creaking gently beneath her feet, arms crossed close and hands tucked away into her pits for warmth.

Ok, think… she may not be able to go talk to Volo, but she could try and work through things the way he would.

So, what would Volo possibly say if she was with him right now, sharing what she had observed? Her conversation with the merchant had effectively ended with him asking if she knew anything; he would probably try and connect anything she knew with one of his prior hypotheses.

…And one of those hypotheses was that everything that was happening was ‘another trial from the almighty Sinnoh’, as he put it.

Akari kept pacing, eyes on the floorboards. At the time, she had discarded the thought after some initial contemplation, not finding much sense in it - this was uncharacteristic of all the trials she had endured before, and it seemed especially punishing to a group of people who hadn’t done anything to deserve it.

Volo had also asked her if she had received any information about what was going on from her ‘perplexing device’, her Arc Phone. 

Again, she had also disregarded this thought at the time, perhaps even faster than the first one.

Ever since she had quelled the last frenzied noble and reported her success to Lord Kamado several weeks back, the device had fallen disturbingly silent. She had expected it to tell her what to do next like it always did, a new set of instructions filling her screen.

But nothing had happened. And weeks later, the rift was still hanging over Mount Coronet, a gash in the sky now often obscured by the rolling winter clouds. 

And the device was still as silent as the day she had quelled Lord Avalugg. 

It no longer talked to her. 

In her repetitive pacing down these beaten mental roads, Akari’s apparent dead end revealed a secretive and small, but hopeful side path. 

It was not talking to her - They were not talking to her. But she knew that somehow, sometimes, They listened. What if she talked to Them?

More floorboards creaked as Akari made her way across her dark room, back to her bedside. Crouching over her belongings, she fumbled through her satchel in the darkness until she felt the cold, smooth screen of the strange device.

The teenager held her breath for reasons not quite known to her as she slipped the Arc Phone out of her satchel, standing back up. The screen dimly lit up the dark room, the artificial light bright against her eyes as she turned the device on. Akari herself couldn’t directly send messages through it - she had looked for a way to do so several times - but They had sent messages through it to her before. And They had guided her when she needed it, and sent information at just the right moments, seemingly aware of what she was doing.

They knew what was going on, surely.

“...Hello?” Akari half-whispered into the silence. 

Soft rustling was heard as Ember once again perked up under the blankets at her voice, but aside from that, there was no direct, audible answer. And why would there be? The Arc Phone didn’t work like that, and Akari knew it. 

“I, um… look, if you’re listening, or watching, it’s been a while since I’ve heard anything… about what I’m supposed to do.”

The teenager reached up to bite on her thumbnail out of habit, the silence feeling heavy and awkward. It was difficult directly speaking to someone that didn’t respond back, even when she expected They were listening.

“It’s been several weeks now, close to a month since I’ve quelled Lord Avalugg. That was the last frenzied noble, wasn’t it?”

The floorboards creaked quietly as Akari shifted her weight from one leg to the other.

“...Did I do something wrong? I’ve continued doing research, but nothing’s happened. What am I supposed to do next? Or was that all I had to do?”

Is this all there is? Am I done? Am I stuck here? Will you not send me back home?

Ember huffed as she laid her head back down, snuggling under the blankets.

The device was unresponsive, its dim screen still unresponsive as ever in the darkness. Akari’s features tightened.

“I… ok, something’s going on, I’m sure you know about it. With the Pearl Clan. My friend, um, Volo… he says that something is happening in the icelands, and that things aren’t growing. That food is running low. He says he doesn’t know why though, and that the Pearl Clan won’t say anything about it. But… I’m starting to wonder if the Pearl Clan even knows why either? I don’t know. It just sounds bad. Worse than people will admit to me. Do you know why this is happening?”

The rain pattered down against the roof gently yet incessantly.

“Do I… is this something for me to fix? Is this what I’m supposed to do next? Am I supposed to figure out what’s happening in the icelands, and fix it?”

The screen remained dim. The device stayed silent, heavy in her hands.

“How do I help them?”

Akari stood there in the dark, waiting for something to happen. For the device to light up with a new message, telling her what to do now that she’d fallen silent, hoping it had just been patiently waiting for her to finish. 

But as the minutes went by, and she began to shiver from the cold temperature in the room, the unresponsive Arc Phone tightened in her fingers. It was becoming obvious that no message would ever come. The dim screen darkened as the Arc Phone powered back down, inactive.

Of course.

Akari’s frown tightened as she swallowed, and sighed through her nose, defeated. She leaned back down next to her bed and tucked the Arc Phone back into her satchel, before tugging the blankets back with heavy hands. Ember shuffled to the side from under the stacked layers to accommodate Akari as she wiggled back under them, and settled into her warm bed.

“I don’t know, Ember,” The disappointment thickly coated Akari’s throat, saturating her words as she felt her heated companion snuggle back up against her side. “I don’t know what’s going on. But something’s really wrong.”

She didn’t know what the exact problem was that was causing such a shortage, or why it was happening - why it was so hard to find good berries, why it was only affecting the icelands, or why the Pearl Clan was not saying anything about it - but something was definitely wrong, and no one would admit it to her. Not even Ingo. 

If Ingo was downplaying a problem, she figured it was because he was trying to protect something. This was not the first time he had done this, and it was always done to protect something, almost always at his expense, no matter how large or small the problem was.

Whenever one of Lady Sneasler’s kits accidentally nicked any bare skin of his, he would always do his best to bear through and hide the numbing effects the venom inflicted on the effected nerves (usually the hands, which led to a useless grip many times…very hard to hide that). He always tried to protect the sneaslets from unfavorable opinions that the Jubilife villagers, who were still warming up to Pokémon, might form about them.

Whenever he would get sick, he wouldn’t tell her because he knew she would come around to help him if she found out. And he wanted to protect her from getting sick as well, instead hoping he’d recover at least most of the way before she started looking for him - Hisuian illnesses were not merciful on their modern-day immune systems.

Whenever the deep pain from that scathing back injury of his would flare up, he wouldn’t say anything about it to anyone until someone (usually herself) would inevitably notice his discomfort and send him to Pesselle or Calaba, in order to protect his own… dignity, she supposed?

Akari blinked as she realized she had been staring rather intently at one of the Pokeshi dolls she had carved, sitting on her window ledge. As an attempt at carving Professor Laventon’s rowlet, the unassuming, non-judgemental eyes stared back at her.

Akari sighed as she realized how worked up she had made herself. She turned onto her side and slid her arms around Ember to embrace them like a warm, oversized teddy bear. The side of her face sunk into her soft pillow as she burrowed further under her covers, staring at the rainfall through the window by the door from the back of the room. 

…So who or what was Ingo trying to protect this time?

————

“Hey… Gaeric?” Irida asked with audible trepidation as she stacked a wooden plate, one of several from tonight’s clan dinner. With the meal finished and everyone having gone back to their warm homes (even the meal prep team, Irida urging them to go home and rest as soon as they finished cleaning, and to let her at least pack everything away), it was just the Pearl Clan leader and her former mentor in the kitchen. Cleaning didn’t take long anymore; there was never much left on the plates and bowls to scrub away.

“Yeah?” From across the kitchen, Gaeric was packing away various herbs and spices onto shelves and into cupboards. His back was to her, but he was listening attentively.

He had been waiting for her to speak up since dinner had ended. In fact, he would have asked her himself if she was alright, if she had gone on much longer without saying anything - he could see how stressed she was tonight, no matter how hard she had tried to hide it from her clan.

“Do you think I should be handling things differently?”

“With...?” Gaeric resumed packing away the supplies. He knew very well what this was about; it was all his mind had been focused on lately. But he wanted to give Irida a chance to get her thoughts out first. He knew her well enough to know she needed to talk before she could listen, and she had a lot to talk about.

Becoming the leader of the Pearl clan had delegated a leader persona of sorts to her that never wanted to show uncertainty or weakness. And to him, part of the blame for its creation fell on the more traditional, strict elders of the community. 

Gaeric still thought the expectations they all set on poor Irida at such a formative age had been much too demanding after the passing of their beloved Pearl Clan leader. The community may have lost an irreplaceable authority figure, but Irida had lost a mother, her last parent.

Irida was young. She was doing well for her age, he thought, but she was still learning. She didn’t know everything, even if she felt like she had to act like she did. And as her former mentor, Gaeric acknowledged this young, uncertain part of her that still had a lot of questions, just as much as he acknowledged her position as the respectable Pearl Clan leader. 

“With, just…” 

The words always came slow at first, and Gaeric knew this was a hard topic for Irida to be direct with.

“...Everything, I guess. I don’t know-”

Almost there.

“-Should I have opened the fields back up? Was I too hasty?” The words, previously stopped up, flowed freely now. “Because now we have to plant and manage crops in those fields, and that’s going to take a lot of work away from our foraging - work that might not even pay off! And even if anything somehow does grow - what if the zoroark steal those too? Is it not enough already that… that they follow our hunting parties and take from our traps?”

Gaeric closed the full cupboards, avoiding laying his gaze on the stressed clan leader. She continued to stack the clean bowls together in an effort to keep herself busy as she kept talking.

Let her keep talking, she’s not done yet. Don’t stop the flow.

“The traps obviously need guarding. But I already feel like I had them set out too many, I can’t ask people to start guarding them now too! That’s too risky, for several reasons!” Irida’s voice wavered a moment with emotion as she set the stacked bowls aside. “And… if the traps need guarding, then the crop fields will too, and we’re only a group of just under forty people, half of them children or elders! With so many already assigned to hunting, we either patrol the traps, or we grow crops… we can’t do both! And our wardens are already doing so much with their gathering, but it feels like it’s still not enough! I mean, look at what happened last night with Ingo and Akari! We didn’t have enough-!”

Her voice cracked, and Gaeric could already tell her eyes were getting misty without even looking at her. Stop the flow.

“Irida,” Gaeric’s voice picked up from across the kitchen, where he had moved on to hanging cooking tools back up on the wall. “It will work out! Everything will work out.”

Irida sniffed as she turned her head to face him with blurry eyes, searching for some form of reassurance in his. He could see the tightness in her shoulders, forcing the emotion down in order to listen to him.

“We’ll plant the sand radishes,” Gaeric rationalized, hanging up a chopping cleaver. “In every row! Those grow strong and fine all year round! I picked up extra radish starts just for this, along with my swordcaps from Volo this morning. We have enough to fill the fields now! As soon as the rows are ready, we’ll get the starts in the ground. And we’ll make sure the zoroark know to keep away from them.”

He didn’t know how they’d do that last part yet, but he’d figure it out with Irida. Their answers were usually found with Ingo, and Gaeric suspected that would be the case once again with this issue. Perhaps he could help guard the fields? But the highlands warden could only do so much, and he already seemed very occupied with the recent, ill-timed arrival of his noble’s kits. He wasn’t sure how much more they could ask of him…

Irida sniffed again as she picked up the stack of bowls, taking her time with moving them to an empty cabinet. While still despondent, she seemed somewhat soothed by Gaeric’s words of assurance. At least her voice was somewhat stable again.

“That’s still almost…three weeks of waiting, at the very least.” Irida moved on to another concern, beginning to stack the scrubbed mugs. “What will we do while we wait for them to grow?”

Fortunately, radishes were one of the fastest growing vegetables available in Hisui, able to be harvested within a timeframe of three to four weeks. But what could they depend on during that month of waiting time, as winter’s hold on the region grew stronger, and their stock depleted?

“We had even less meat in the soup tonight than we did last night,” Irida went on, staring into one of the mugs, her mind somewhere else. “and our apricorn stock won’t last forever. Do you think we should ask Volo about trading for actual ingredients rather than crop starts now?”

Gaeric held in a sigh. He had already asked the merchant that very same thing this morning when meeting with him to receive his delivery of swordcaps and sand radish starts. After briefly trying - and failing - to pry for more information, Volo had told Gaeric even if the Guild allowed him to make trades like that (he had made Gaeric well aware that the Guild was rapidly de-valuing their ice with the winter months approaching), he couldn’t possibly make ends meet with the restrictions Irida had given him. He could only bring so much up here at a time by himself, if he was unable to involve other Ginkgo merchants.

“And besides, the Guild cannot supply the amount it seems you need.” Volo had added with a concerned look that seemed almost surface-level, seemingly already focused on solutions. “We’re not farmers. We’re traders, and with the harvest season coming to a close, food is not a terribly common thing that people are trading right now.”

Though, to Gaeric’s surprise, Volo had offered to set up a trading agreement for them between either the Diamond Clan, or Jubilife Village, and act as the middleman - while it still was not a lot, the Diamond Clan was the main trader of food supplies and ingredients with the Ginkgo Guild right now, and Jubilife had fields capable of yielding a multitude of crops. Surely, they could help out for the winter.

Gaeric had known what Irida would say about this - no, of course not. And even then, Volo’s prices for being involved were becoming a little too steep for his liking. It felt like it was becoming advantageous at this point.

“We’ll discuss it,” was the only answer Gaeric had given. “I cannot make a decision like this without our leader Irida’s input.”

“Of course, of course! By the next delivery then, I’d love an answer from her!” Volo had responded without missing a beat, having turned around to trudge back through the snow, towards the nearest Ginkgo encampment. “She needs to make a decision soon.These things take time to set up, you know, and I’d hate for your settlement to run out of time… you’ve been valuable customers!”

That conversation had left Gaeric with a sour taste in his mouth; his supplier had seemed to be treating their plight like a simple game of strategy. He appeared eager to offer suggestions, but not too motivated to actually help unless he got something out of it, and this had only become more apparent with each delivery he’d made.

“I already asked about that this morning with him.” Gaeric finally answered - he was not motivated to share his recount with Irida, but he knew stalling it would only hurt them in the long run. “He said, all he could do was help us establish trade with the Diamond Clan or Jubilife Village, and he would work as the middle man-“

“-No!” Irida turned away from him again, stacking the remaining bowls before putting them into the cupboard. The task of stacking was needless, as she ended up putting them away one by one - she just needed something to busy her hands with. “He knows we can’t do that! And let me guess, he asked for steeper trading prices in return? Did he say the value of ice dropped again? Gaeric, we can’t keep doing this-”

“-I know! I was thinking about it today,” Gaeric cut her off in an attempt to keep her grounded. “And I agree, I don’t think we can afford his help. But…”

The Icelands warden paused on this last word as he gave her a sharp look, emphasizing he needed her to hear him out.

“...the idea of setting up a trade agreement with the Diamond Clan is… not a bad one. Why don’t we cut out the middle man, and try to strike a deal with them ourselves? We don’t have to explain everything that's going on, we can just frame it as a gesture of growing relations, and trust. Which in a way, it is.”

“I just said we can’t do that!” Irida’s voice swelled with emotion, but frustrated sadness was more prevalent than the anger Gaeric had expected. “Cutting Volo out of it doesn’t change what we’d be doing!”

 Gaeric crossed his arms, posture stiff. “Irida. The elders are not the Pearl Clan’s leader. You are. Things are changing. They need to respect your decisions, even if it means they don’t agree.”

That was easier said than done when Irida respected them so much. They helped take care of her when her mother had tried to fight off her sickness, and did their best to raise her after the sickness had won. They checked in on her when she needed it, and gave her advice that she still found useful to this day. 

She had grown up with their guidance just as much as she had with Gaeric’s.

So it was hard to hear them voice their poignant disapproval over her gradual efforts to tolerate the Diamond Clan and better relations, and Gaeric knew it influenced Irida’s behavior towards Adaman’s people somewhat, acting more standoffish than she wanted to be. If the elders found out Irida was considering going to them for help, expressing vulnerability and inadvertently showing weakness to the people who constantly disrespect their Almighty Sinnoh, they would… Well, Gaeric wouldn’t be surprised if they tried to strip her of her authority, deeming her unfit to lead by disregard of their traditions and ancestors.

But this wasn’t the time to be prejudiced, or to place the elders’ complaints above properly providing for the people. Gaeric himself still held some of his own reservations about the Diamond Clan, but he could clearly see the issue at hand was much bigger than their differences. 

“I hear the things they whisper between each other at our meetings, Gaeric,” Irida relented to her complacent side anyways. “This would make things worse.”

“Have Calaba go with you, then,” Gaeric advised. “They respect her.”

Irida knew Calaba would gladly go with her to discuss trading if she asked - despite being the oldest elder of the clan, she was actually the most open-minded of that group. Her developing friendship with Lady Lilligant’s warden had softened her outlook towards the Diamond Clan considerably, and while this friendship was not exactly public knowledge to the settlement, she was respected enough that her willing involvement might lessen the backlash from the elders.

Irida seemed to consider this extensively. The dark, taut look in her blue eyes lessened, the storm clouds behind them parting with a few clarifying blinks. She finally tucked the last bowl away, having gripped it in her hands for the last minute. 

“Yeah. Maybe I should.”

A few more blinks. The dark clouds returned.

“But… It’ll take time to set up trading negotiations, and that’s even if they agree to them! How do we manage ourselves until then?”

She was beginning to drown again.

“Well then!” Having finished with his previous chore, Gaeric moved across the kitchen to stand next to her and help her finish up her own tasks. He started sorting through the untouched pile of utensils, categorizing them together. “This is what I think! And listen, I know how you feel about it. But, it might be a good idea if instead of putting more people on the traps, we start considering bulking up the hunting parties for bigger targets. I’ve been watching Draugr’s herd out by Avalugg’s Legacy, and a few of the older piloswine should be easy to take down. We really should-”

Irida interrupted Gaeric with a distressed heave. Even the mention of that alpha mamoswine - that living mountain that terrorized the white wastelands - was too much for her to think about on top of everything else. Gaeric’s words died as he noticed more options were only putting more stress on her. He needed to stop piling things onto her plate, and instead take a few things off of it. She needed time to digest it all.

“You are Pearl Clan’s leader,” Gaeric reiterated as he tried to ease the situation, studying her expression carefully. “And I can only make suggestions; it’s up to you whether you want to listen to them or not. But, I say we should start considering bigger options ahead of time, while we still have the energy, supplies, and people for them. Don’t you think so?”

Irida wiped at the corner of her eye, silent.

“Yeah,” she brushed it off. “It’s just… a lot. To consider, I mean. These are really important decisions. And everyone’s telling me different things.”

Gaeric placed a hand on her shoulder, and she leaned into his arm, searching for comfort in the gesture. Just like she did as a child, when the new burden of leading the clan felt like too much for her. 

Both of them knew very well that with the way things were going, they were not improving, and Irida would have to start making hard choices that she didn’t want to make. But if she didn’t make the hard choices now, she’d have to face even more grievous consequences later.

Irida took a shaky breath. Gaeric hated having to watch her relive a situation so similar to her mother’s.

“You’re handling things the best you can.” The Icelands warden finally answered Irida’s initial question. “The avalugg will be ending their sleep soon. Once mighty Lord Avalugg arises, the zoroark will not dare steal from our traps! And our radishes can grow in peace! But until then, we still have food stocked up. The elders and the children are still getting full meals. Everyone is still eating every day. And that is because of the choices you have made as our leader.” 

Irida said nothing, but Gaeric knew she appreciated his words. Though he could tell something was still on her mind, nagging at her and telling her she wasn’t doing good enough. And he knew exactly what it was.

“What happened last night with Ingo and the kid was just an honest accident, and it was taken care of.” Gaeric attempted to pull the thorn out of her side.

“Ugh, let’s not talk about that.” Irida sighed into Gaeric’s shoulder, another release of pent-up pressure from recalling the massively stressful event that was last night’s dinner. She lifted a heavy hand to massage her eyes. “I’m still waiting to have a proper conversation about that with him, and I’m not looking forward to it.”

Last night, Akari's sudden appearance made her realize just how conscious she had to be of possible surprises like that. They couldn’t afford to have the situation strained even more. And Irida knew just how close Akari was to the warden, but Ingo could not bring her around so carelessly anymore. Not around to see the settlement trying to make up for its struggles, and especially not around mealtimes. 

And Ingo… she already felt like he was stretching himself far too thin.

And things hadn’t even gotten hard yet. 

Having come to their clan at the tail end of last winter, he had no idea how difficult things could get. And Irida had to admit that Ingo was a man of selflessness to a fault; with his habit of overextending hospitality, she worried he was going to burn himself out in his efforts to help. But when she insisted he not forget himself whenever he expressed the importance of helping the clan, he always assured her he was taking care of himself too. 

…Just like he did last night, at their headache of a dinner, where he obviously didn’t eat after an extensive day of hard work. Irida knew enough about Ingo to surmise that this could possibly become a pattern, and she was sure at some level, he was aware she suspected as much. 

The creaking of the back door slowly opening initially went unnoticed by Irida and Gaeric, but the sudden temperature drop and flurry rushing into the room caught their attention. 

Gnarled, withered fingers gripped the side of the door as it was cautiously pushed open, so as not to let too much snow inside. A moment later, Gaeric’s froslass poked her head around the corner. A crackly, yet gentle hiss of breath slipped through her human-like teeth to announce her arrival. 

Irida’s glaceon and her two eevee slipped through the door a second later, the pair of brown, furry Pokémon much more eager to enter the warmer room than their evolved equivalent. Gaeric’s glalie hung behind his froslass, comfortable in the cold and content with waiting outside by the door. 

“Eevee, Glaceon!” A genuine smile made its way to the corners of Irida’s mouth as she turned, kneeling down to greet her Pokémon as they rushed over to her. She pet their heads as they yipped, the three of them leaning into her warm hands.

“Were you all able to find something to eat?” Gaeric asked his froslass as she drifted through the door, letting it close behind her.

“Frss,” The icy Pokémon slowly nodded her head in affirmation, her cold breath failing to make any clouded puffs herself, but only making Gaeric’s more prevalent. She held one of her hands out to Gaeric, her fingers curled around something. When he held out his own in response, she placed a handful of pep-up plant roots into his palm.

Ah. The only part of the plant that was often considered too spicy to eat raw, even with ice-types. They worked wonders when included in medicinals, though.

“Pep-up roots! Thank you, Froslass. I’m sure Calaba will appreciate these; I’ll let her know you all found them yourselves.” Gaeric tucked the roots into one of his satchels for later. Froslass seemed appreciative of his gratitude, tucking her face into her hands in a rather bashful manner.

“Now… did you have any encounters?” The warden’s voice lowered some as he took a glance at Irida and her own Pokémon, still receiving pets.

“Frrrrssl,” froslass hummed, before turning her head back at the exit, out where Glalie was still waiting. She drifted over the floor back to the wooden door, and opened it with a creak to return to her icy companion.

Even between the small sliver of the frame and the door, Gaeric could see some of his Pokémon’s frozen coating had been harshly scraped off - claws desperate to break through and reach the vulnerable black core. Yet despite the damage, Glalie visibly perked up and presented an affirming smile when it spotted him through the crack.

Curse those hungry zoroark.

“Irida, are your Pokémon alright?” Gaeric called from the door.

A pause as Irida quickly inspected her Pokémon, checking them over and combing through their fur for any hidden injuries.

“They’re fine!”

Another pause as she realized why he was asking.

“Are yours?”

“Nothing that can’t be helped with an ice bath. Those zoroark can’t get through Glalie’s ice armor that easily!” Gaeric reassured her. It felt weird to admit he preferred it was one of his own Pokémon that was attacked, but he was relieved that it was Glalie, and not one of Irida’s more vulnerable Pokémon. It’s why the two of them always asked their Pokémon to hunt and forage together; it was safer with the zoroark prowling about, and Glalie was essentially their de facto protector.

Glalie would get lots of pets and affection from him later, as thanks for their efforts.

Irida stood up as she brushed stray fur off herself, her Pokémon still close by her legs, and looked around at the tidied kitchen in the chance they missed something.

“Well, it seems we’ve cleaned up everything. Thanks for your help Gaeric, I know you didn’t have to stick around and do this. You should go home now, and tend to Glalie.”

“You’re talking like you’re staying here. You have more work to do, or something?” A chuckle was heard in Gaeric’s voice. “You know, you can tell me if I did a bad job cleaning the dishes.”

“No, no!” Irida brushed it off with a small laugh of her own, the unexpected joke catching her off guard. “I just… I’d like to double check the storage before going back. Just making sure, you know? With the zoroark around, and everything.”

Gaeric normally would have told her it’s fine, or that she’d be checking for no reason. But after tonight’s conversation, seeing her so stressed and worried… she was doing it just for reassurance, and he knew better than to downplay that.

“Well that’s just down the hill! Here, I’ll go with you.” Gaeric opened the door wide for her as an invitation to step outside, and a flurry of cold rushed into the room. “And don’t argue, it’ll only take a few minutes.”

Irida took the stance of someone who seemed ready to indeed argue for about two seconds. But she appeared to quickly think better of it, and instead moved to blow out the few candles that still illuminated the room. 

“Fine,” She blew out the last candle, leaving the empty kitchen in a cold, dark blue that matched the frigidity of the night outside. Finally, she moved to slip past him through the door, her Pokémon trailing behind. “...Thank you.”

The snowfall that drifted down instantly began to collect in her hair and accumulate on her frame in an attempt to freeze her, but Irida seemed indifferent to it as she waited for Gaeric to shut and secure the mess hall’s door behind him. The icelands around them were dark and silent, the settlement barely illuminated by what dim moonlight could find its way through the thick winter clouds.

Gaeric passed by Irida and took the lead down the hill as she followed close behind, their Pokémon sticking close by. He wondered if Irida would choose to be silent the whole way down to their storage, essentially ending their earlier conversation, and leaving him in the dark about her plans moving forward. But halfway down the hill, he heard her voice piercing the heavy winter atmosphere.

“About our conversation tonight… Thank you, Gaeric.” Irida kept her eyes on the snow before her, making her way through the heavy blanket of white as she kept behind Gaeric. “I will try and plan out a trade proposal for the Diamond Clan with Calaba tomorrow, as well as discuss moving focus off of our traps, and the possibility of forming a few hunting parties at our next meeting.”

Gaeric hummed a sound of approval. He was the one who organized the hunting parties. He knew she’d want his help discussing that with the rest of the clan.

“Just… not for Draugr,” Irida urged, her weariness audible in her voice. “I won’t have anyone going after Draugr. I don’t think we could even take him down with Ingo’s help, and… we’re just not at that point to take risks like that yet. He’s too dangerous.”

#submas #ingo #warden ingo #akari #Pokemon akari #lady sneasler #irida #pokemon irida #gaeric #pokemon gaeric #Pokémon legends arceus #pokemon legends arceus #pokemon legends #Pokémon legends #pokemon #pokemon fanfic #pokemon fanfiction #illustrated fic #waywardstationfanfic

[bysumex]

七転び八起き Fall seven times, get up eight

七転び八起き Fall seven times, get up eight 👀 👉 https://bysumex.com/%e4%b8%83%e8%bb%a2%e3%81%b3%e5%85%ab%e8%b5%b7%e3%81%8d-fall-seven-times-get-up-eight-japan/

In the heart of Tokyo, amidst the bustling streets and towering skyscrapers, there lies a profound philosophy deeply ingrained in the Japanese culture – 七転び八起き, which translates to «Fall seven times, get up eight.» This age-old saying embodies the spirit of resilience and perseverance, a philosophy that has shaped the identity of Japan and its people. As a photographer exploring the vibrant tapestry of Tokyo, this mantra becomes not just a saying, but a visual narrative captured through the lens.

Section 1: Unveiling Tokyo’s Diversity

Begin by delving into the diverse landscapes and neighborhoods that make up Tokyo. From the traditional charm of Asakusa to the modernity of Shibuya, each district represents a different facet of the city’s character. Explore the juxtaposition of ancient temples against futuristic architecture, showcasing the resilience of Tokyo in preserving its rich history while embracing progress.

Section 2: Capturing the Moments of Adversity

Embark on a visual journey through the crowded streets and quiet alleys, where the ephemerality of life unfolds. As a photographer, document the moments that reflect the challenges faced by individuals in their daily lives – be it the salaryman navigating through the concrete jungle or a street performer finding solace in their art. Each photograph becomes a testament to the trials faced, echoing the sentiment of falling and rising again.

Section 3: Seasons of Change

Explore the seasons in Tokyo, capturing the city’s metamorphosis throughout the year. Witness the cherry blossoms blooming in spring, symbolizing renewal and the transient nature of life. Move through the scorching summers, the vibrant hues of autumn, and the serene snowfall of winter, mirroring the cyclical pattern of challenges and triumphs experienced by both the city and its inhabitants.

Section 4: The Resilience of the Human Spirit

Zoom in on the individuals who personify the spirit of 七転び八起き. Photograph the faces of Tokyoites who have faced adversity – from the aftermath of natural disasters to the everyday struggles of urban life. Share their stories through captivating images, highlighting the strength and resilience that define the human spirit.

Conclusion:

As a photographer in Tokyo, capturing the essence of 七転び八起き is not just about showcasing the city’s aesthetic beauty but immortalizing the indomitable spirit that courses through its veins. Each photograph becomes a visual poem, echoing the sentiment that in the face of adversity, Tokyo and its people will continue to fall seven times and rise up eight – a timeless dance of resilience, captured frame by frame.

#visitjapan #jpn #artline

#japan #art #street #photo #photographer #bysumex #port #neon

[rk099]

Winter Whispers: Secrets Shared in the Snowy Silence

Winter, with its icy grip and pristine landscapes, has a unique way of inspiring introspection and fostering a sense of intimacy. As the world outside transforms into a serene white canvas, a profound hush settles in, giving rise to what can only be described as "Winter Whispers." It is in this snowy silence that secrets are shared, and a subtle magic unfolds.

Embracing the Stillness

Winter carries with it a quiet charm that encourages us to slow down and appreciate the stillness around us. As the snow blankets the earth, a serene calm descends, inviting us to pause and listen. In this hushed atmosphere, nature seems to speak in whispers, revealing its own secrets and inviting us to share ours.

A Canvas of Tranquility

The snow-covered landscape serves as a canvas for tales untold. Each delicate snowflake, falling gently from the sky, encapsulates the hushed stories of the season. As we navigate through the winter wonderland, we become part of a living narrative, where secrets are shared in footprints left behind and conversations carried by the crisp, cold air.

Fireside Confessions

Winter nights, adorned with the crackling warmth of a fireplace, create the perfect backdrop for heartfelt confessions. The dance of flames mirrors the flickering emotions within, encouraging whispers of dreams, fears, and aspirations. The cozy ambiance of a winter evening becomes a confessional, where shared secrets find solace in the crackling embers.

Frosty Friendships

In the chill of winter, friendships deepen, and bonds strengthen. The shared experience of navigating through snow-covered landscapes, sipping hot cocoa by the fireside, or engaging in playful snowball fights becomes the backdrop for the exchange of confidences. Winter, with its frosty breath, seems to weave an invisible thread connecting hearts and encouraging the sharing of personal mysteries.

The Silence of Snowflakes

Snowfall, a mesmerizing spectacle, has a way of emphasizing the power of silence. As each snowflake descends, it brings with it a unique tale, a story of its journey from the clouds to the ground. Winter Whispers, embodied in the delicate descent of snowflakes, prompt us to reflect on our own narratives and share the untold chapters of our lives.

Conclusion

Winter Whispers remind us that secrets are not always meant to be hidden; sometimes, they find their voice in the quietude of the snowy season. Embracing the winter stillness, we discover the profound beauty of sharing our innermost thoughts and experiences. In the gentle hush of winter, amidst the pristine landscapes, secrets find a safe haven, and the snowy silence becomes a canvas for the art of revelation.

#nature

[snowfall-designs-random-cats]

6 of 104 designs from a ‘Super Edition’-style fanfic I’m working on! Character information under the cut.

Snowfall’s Solace is a work-in-progress fanfic with names and appearances generated digitally. 105+ unique names and designs are being forged by the internet, and the designs are being produced in an order determined by a random number generator. All cats in the Allegiances page at the start of the fic WILL BE DRAWN before the writing begins.

Oaktail is a calm and compassionate warrior of ThunderClan. He hardly resembles his parents, but his personality more than makes up for it. He cares deeply for his brother and sister. At the start, he’s named Oakkit, and is generally accepted as part of the Clan by his mother. He’s later mentored by the deputy, Wolfwater, before obtaining his Warrior name at the age of 16 moons after a battle.

Robinheart is another ThunderClan warrior. Oaktail’s younger brother and complete opposite, this tom has a strong ‘fight or fight’ instinct, and never backs down. Born as Robinkit and later mentored by Sagetooth, he gains his warrior name after a hunting assessment a mere two moons after his brother.

Ravenfeather is a third ThunderClan warrior, and the older sister of the other two. Appearing very similar to their mother, she was understandably the favorite child, according to most. She was given the name of Ravenpaw at eight moons instead of six, and her mentor was Feathertalon, a new warrior at the time that her brothers were apprenticed. Ravenfeather has a low-impulse personality, and knows when a situation is too dangerous to pursue.

Mooseheart is a ThunderClan she-cat who enters the story as Moosepaw. Her mentor was Badgerclaw, the stand-in deputy. She’s bouncy and excitable, much unlike her little brother, Deertail. She has her serious moments, but they’re few and far-between.

Whitedust is a RiverClan queen at the story’s start, mother to Spiderkit(later Spiderfang). She took care of the WindClan kits during the tradeoff. Whitedust is a very brutal warrior, and a frequent preacher of a “no mercy” fighting style.

Owlmist is the WindClan medicine cat apprentice at the story’s start, and was the one who suggested the tradeoff to the other medicine cats, who discussed it with their leaders. She has a calm disposition, and can tell when a problem must be addressed immediately. However, she is also kind, and refuses to let needless harm befall anyone, ally or enemy.

#Snowfall's Solace art #Original Character designs #Warrior Cats #warriors designs #art #Stresslitzia's Art

[mollyollypuddingpolly]

Home For Christmas

Anne and Gilbert

A/N : I began writing this way before Christmas, I don't know why a was in a Christmas-y mood this summer but anyways I thought it turned out good enough to post.

---

He'd told her he'd only be home two days before Christmas. He told her it was the only ticket he could get because he had been so busy studying for finals that he forgot. She was disappointed, but didn't let that show in her letters. The last few times she has seen him where in two day intervals when she ventured up to Toronto on a free weekend, so she had hoped for much longer. Of course the break continued after Christmas, but his classes resumed early, so they couldn't even ring in the new year together.

Anne decided she'd make the most of her time before he arrived, spending it with Marilla and Mathew so when he did come she could spend more with him without feeling guilty of neglecting her family through the holidays. Of course, they'd share Christmas dinner together. A tradition since Bash joined Gilbert at the Blythe farm.

Anne and the other girls stepped on to the snow dusted platform and pulled their coats tighter across themselves as the warmth from the train gave way to the chilly December air.

Anne smiled, remembering her first time standing on the platform. She glance at the small bench where she once sat, eagerly awaiting what would become her home. As the train cleared the station, She spotted the cherry tree now not white with bloom but with snow. Still beautiful and breathtaking. Pure white amongst many evergreens. Still a bride, she thought and a warmth filled her cheeks when her brain reminded her, you'll be a bride someday after all Anne. And what an adventure that will be. She shook her head to clear away the thought, still plenty of time before that of course.

"Anne!" Diana's voice pulled her from her thoughts, she turned toward the sound and noticed Diana had already approached her parents who had offered to bring Anne home too. She quickly made up the distance, allowed Diana's father to take her bag and climbed into the carriage.

"What ever had you so preoccupied?" Diana asked with an raised brow. Anne smiled sheepishly.

"I was just remembering the first time I got off at this platform. When Mathew picked me up and didn't have the heart to tell me they'd sent for a boy," Diana smiled and took Anne's gloved hand.

"And I am forever grateful to him for doing so," She said. Anne hummed with a smile, "Just think, if you'd been sent back not only would you and I never have met, but I'd be in Paris being 'finished'," she said saying the last word with such distaste she she received a sour look from her mother next to her. Anne only smiled, she could only imagine where she'd be if the Cuthberts hadn't kept her, and her imagination could come up with some horrifying possible alternatives.

To keep her mind off that she looked at the passing scenery. Snow had fallen the night before, just enough to give the fields a soft cover but not cause difficulty along the roads. She inhaled the cold air and exhaled watching her foggy breath disappear into the winds. She gazed at the lake of shinning waters, it's beauty enhanced by it's now glistening frozen surface. And she held her breath when the crossed the bridge, as she always did because her imagination didn't often like to let her think crossing one wouldn't end in tradgedy.

The carriage slowed as it approached the gate of Green Gables. Anne's heart jumped at the sight of her home. She hadn't been to visit recently due to spending her free time preparing for finals, but now she was home. And there was nothing that could make her happier.

Or almost nothing.

Anne walked towards the front door, which flew open before she reached it. Mathew stood, arms outstretched, which she willingly jumped into. Dropping her bag onto the wooden deck. He squeezed her tight and she breathed in the warm smell of a wood fire on him. Then he picked up her bag and led her inside.

"Marilla!" Anne said, walking into the kitchen. Marilla stood inspecting a tea cup. Which she quickly set down at the sound of her name. She turned to her Anne and beamed before pulling her in as well.

"Oh how we've missed you!" She said, then more sternly, " I trust that you did well in your exams."

Marilla leaned back, her hands still resting on Anne's shoulders.

"I believe I did, we get our results when we return," She said. Marilla nodded asking about Diana and the other girls before Mathew spoke up once more.

"Well we best get you set up in your room, I can carry up your bag," he offered, halfway to the steps.

"Nonsense," Marilla said quickly with a sharp look at Mathew, "Anne can carry her bag up herself," Mathew nodded suddenly.

"Right, here you are then," He said passing her the bag. Anne looked at the two quizzically.

"Okay… just let me take my jacket and scarf off first," she said, setting the bag down again. The two nodded, smiles plastered on there face. Anne looked at them with narrow eyes before turning back out into the hall.

She took the steps slowly, taking in the comfort of being back home. She remebered again her first day at Green Gables, she was too upset then to enjoy her walk down the simple hallway, but now this was a place filled with memories. Like the time she and Diana had raced up the steps giggling about bosoms before getting in terrible trouble that almost forced them to stop being friends. When Ruby Gilis had to stay with the Cuthberts after her house burnt down. And Anne finally made a second friend. When she realized she did love Gilbert and raced down the steps and to his house, but then thought she was too late. Caught up in her thoughts, she almost didn't notice that her bedroom door was slightly open.

Almost.

She shrugged, Marilla probably left it open after dusting. She pushed open the door, excited to see her simple, cozy room after the long train ride. But when the door pushed back her heart leapt with joy, and it wasn't over her small, comfortable bed.

"GILBERT BLYTHE, YOU DEVIL!" She hollared, tossing her bag and running into his arms with a grin. He grinned back and laughed as he squeezed her tightly.

Anne wouldn't know it, but down stairs Mathew and Marilla were giving each other a knowing smile.

She leaned back before diving back in, this time their lips met, his arms twist up her back, her finding solace in his hair. A chill went up her back every time they kissed and her face turned warm. She couldn't help but smile into the kiss as did he, she pulled back unable to contain her laughter, instead resting her forehead on his.

"What are you doing here? You said you couldn't get in untill the 23rd!" She said, her arms at rest on his shoulders. He adjusted his around her waist with a cheeky smile.

"I actually got back yesterday, but I wanted to suprise you. So when you told me that you wouldn't be home untill today…" he left it off letting her fill in the rest. She pulled back, lips pierced, intending to give him a sour look, which gave way to a smile.

"You sneak! And Marilla and Mathew where in on it?" She leaned back, still in disbelief, how did you convince Marilla to let you up here she thought but didn't ask. He smiled.

"They were, and so was Diana. I had to make sure you wouldn't get some funny idea of coming up to Toronto to suprise me," he said, she sucked in a breath at the thought, she wouldn't put it past fate to cause that kind of chaos.

Anne lead Gilbert downstairs, where tea and family was waiting for them.

"Bash!" Anne shouted, dropping Gilbert's hand to give the man a hug, he accepted squeezing her back tightly.

"Anne! Ah it's so good to see you! Gilbert's been here only one day and he's already talked my ear off over how much he missed you," he said as he let her go, she turned to Gilbert, smug, who suddenly seemed interested in a spot on the ground.

Anne greeted Delphine she's so big! Then everyone sat down for tea and scones.

Anne laughed when Delphine bit into a scone, smearing jam all over her face. She leaned forward and helped the small girl by whiping the corners of her mouth. Marilla was having what started out as a friendly conversation about Gilbert's studies turned into a long, explaination of all he'd learned so far, Anne commented when she could, and made a mental note to check out some medical books from Queen's when she returned so she could keep up.

It warmed her heart to see him so passionate about becoming a doctor. She remembered briefly a time when he almost gave that up, thinking the task too much for him bare. She didn't know if it was her words that day or his own self reflection that brought back his desire to purse medicine, perhaps some combination of both.

After tea, the two went for a walk through the forest. The path that she took to school untouched since the snowfall, their foot steps were the first.

"Diana isn't sure yet if she'll be aloud to continue to Redmond, but I really am excited about the idea," Anne explained, she knew he'd heard it all in her letters but something about him being here made it feel more real. " Of course, I can only go if I get the Avery Award, but everyone says I have a shot at it. Oh! And Cole has applied to an art school in Nova Scotia too! So at least I'll have one friend,"

Gilbert smiled, rubbing his thumb in circles on her hand as he held it.

"There's not a doubt in my mind that you won't win it, Anne," He said turning to look at her, she peered into his eyes. Eyes she could get lost in and had many times before, even before realizing what that meant.

"I hope so," She said, still unsure. But she wouldn't know until end of spring, so no point in worrying.

Gilbert seemed to think the same thing, taking hand he turned her around, spinning her slightly so they stood face to face, she laughed as he did it.

" I was just thinking about when we first danced together, and how we haven't had the chance to do that again,"

"Well," she said with a smile, "There isn't any music, but I do believe my imagination is more than strong enough to make up for that," she said holding out her hand and he took it, guiding her in a waltz as he hummed along to a tune he'd heard once before.

They stepped back and forth, through the clearing in the woods, as snow began to gently fall down on them. Anne looked up at Gilbert with such happiness and piece in her mind that nothing could have ruined this moment.

Nothing.

Stepping into the middle Gilbert spun Anne once more, but it was hard to tell with all the snow how safe the ground was, and catching a bit of ice, Anne slipped, falling down and taking Gilbert with her.

"I'm so sorry, are you alright?" He turned to her urgently worried she'd hurt herself. But she was staring up at the sky with a smile, and when she turned to him she began to laugh, which he returned as well. They laid there, laughing for far longer than anyone in there right mind would lay in the snow. Then Gilbert laced his hand in hers and began to help her up.

"Merry Christmas, Anne," he said once they both were on two feet again.

"Merry Christmas," she replied, giving him a kiss.

"

#anne with an e #shirbert #awae #gilbert blythe #anne shirley #anne shirley cuthbert #anne x gilbert #awanefanfic #fan fiction #anne with an e fan fiction #christmas fanfiction

[crqstalite]

in autumn.

OCtober prompt ‘autumn’.  yes! i am four days late as of publishing this 10.4.2020 at one in the morning but i digress. the prompt wouldn’t leave me alone, so here it is lol. just a fluff piece about a bit of reflection and one cold elf girlfriend.

ship: marzeyna lavellan/cullen rutherford word count: 2,060

-

Skyhold in autumn.

Creators, it was beautiful. 

Or at least, Marzeyna thought so. Sure, she’d experienced it year after year with Clan Lavellan in the Free Marches, but it made her smile at the fortress they’d moved into earlier this year. The shades of red and orange and the hues of yellow that had slowly taken over the trees as the year wore on, she couldn’t think of any other place that she’d want to be. Other than back in Wycome to assist with rebuilding, sure, but she was happy enough to wander the place on an off day.

Of course, nothing ever just lasted forever did it? She’d also be ripped away from it in favor of visiting Halamshiral -- damned place within the next few weeks to prevent an assassination. Beyond the fact she would be the first of her living Clan to be there in their lifetimes, she would also have to endure nobles.

Plenty of human nobles. With all their fancy dresses, and all their fancy wines and the Games they liked to play with the people who attended the event, and their distaste for elves.

To say the least, she wasn’t particularly excited. 

Evidence of their impending trip being the overly complicated ‘art’ Vivienne had done to her hair earlier this afternoon. She trusted the woman with anything and everything presentation (the dress she’d commissioned from Val Royeaux was nothing short of show-stopping, something Marzeyna would have to get used to the idea of but was still drooling over hours later), but she’s still picking the glitzy pins out of her hair nearly three hours after the afternoon spent bathing in the cooling sun in Vivienne’s loft. Relaxing, sure. She rarely had time to talk about the mundane with anyone.

By the time they got back from Orlais, chances are the snow would start to set in and it’d be Haven all over again. No more crunching leaves under boots or the off-chance she’d see a stray cat lounging on a window sill, just the freezing cold (well, more than usual at least) starting to set in to her bones and making her grateful she could get out of the mountains.

Then again, there’s also the impending doom of Corypheus.

But for now, she could enjoy the cool and crisp air whipping around the battlements, playing with her hair like flames fanned by the wind. She loves it, and there haven’t been enough moments as of late to take solace in what she likes. For the first time in weeks she’s actually sat down in her own desk, and for the first time in other weeks, she’s sat down with Josephine to go through every diplomatic issue she’d missed since she set out for the Arbor Wilds.

(They could not pay her enough to do that again, Inquisitor or not she did not have the attention span or willpower. There are still stacks of reports left for another date in her quarters. Under a paperweight, because she hasn’t gotten enough of the beautiful autumn breeze and has left the windows open. If a few blew away, well, nobody would be any the wiser.)

A door clicks open on her left, and she turns from scenic view of the snowy valley, pushing another rogue curl behind her ear and blowing another out of her face. Marzeyna had come up to the battlements mostly just to walk, but also to pull another diligent person away from his work, as she typically did whenever she was back in Skyhold. She smiles to herself anyway, as annoying as the rest of the world could be, at least she still had Cullen Rutherford by her side.

As tired as both of them have been as of late, it is still good to see him. Since they’d been decidedly moving further and further out from Skyhold, the more and more he had to deploy soldiers and the like. Another thing that not even Varric could pay her enough to do -- that wasn’t her favorite thing to do and she was not interested in learning.

“Long day?” She asks, leaning against the half wall while he runs a hand through his hair, “Looked like you could use a break.”

“I could, yes. Though--”

“Though nothing. Look how nice of a day it is out, it’s already autumn here.” Marzeyna replies, grinning.

That pulls a smile out of him, “That it is. I’d assume you like the change in weather?”

“Well, it’s no longer sweltering but it’s not freezing just yet either. Like a lull in the storm,” A leaf flutters up from one of the trees in the courtyard, dancing in the wind before disappearing back down the wall, “Relish in this, I’m sure we’ll come back to snow by the time Orlais has had it’s way with us.”

She nearly pouts at the smirk he gives her, mildly offended he’s taking amusement in her dislike of the coming snowfall, “Then the Inquisitor isn’t a fan of the winter months?”

“Just because you have the fluffy mantle and heavy armor doesn’t mean the rest of us can compensate nearly as easily,” She teases, just barely holding herself back from crossing her arms, “It gets so cold at night, there’s no using a fireplace to offset it.”

“Didn’t Josephine requisition more of the down blankets?” Genuine concern, that was sweet the way he asked.

“She did. But it’s also been weeks since I’ve been back in Skyhold. I got used to the warmth in the Wilds and the Plains,” She pulls at her overcoat as if to wrap it tighter around her. It wasn’t like she could drag them around the fortress either, collecting dirt and who knew what else on the tail of it. She really needed to find a proper coat that didn’t hinder her magic if she intended to make it through the winter, “It’s not a fair comparison.”

“Isn’t it?” Her look must be that sour that it’s at least amusing, “Fine then.”

Marzeyna pauses again, letting them bask in the quiet for a bit, admiring the changing colors of the leaves and wind blustering around them. It’s been nothing but fighting Venatori for the last few weeks, that and the undead and whatever giants they can imagine. No more running for now, and she’s not kept to Cassandra, Blackwall and Dorian for company anymore (not that she doesn’t adore them, but...well). It’s good to just sit and acknowledge how much they’ve gotten done, how much things have changed. 

Cullen looks at peace at least, a far improvement from how he’d been just before she left the last time. He notices her smiling directly at him, and visibly flushes.

“I did...miss you,” She offers, pointedly looking up at him. She pulls her hair over her shoulder, standing properly again, “Were things okay while I was gone?”

He knows what she’s referring to -- more withdrawal symptoms, “Not as many, no. A minor improvement, I assure you. You needn’t worry.”

“I will worry regardless, Cullen, I don’t want you in pain,” Another pause, “But...that is good to hear.”

“Most likely only because you pushed to keep me off of it.”

“That was all you, and you know it. I can’t fight that battle for you, but you’re still winning it.” She offers. That much was true, she may have been another opinion in the situation, but he was recovering, little by little.

He sighs, glancing out to the horizon for just a moment, “Yes. I suppose you’re right, and I thank you for the strength to go on.”

“I do what I can,” She steps closer, gauging his reaction, “And yet? No one can quite replace you, as I’m finding. I was wanting to be back sooner than this -- letters are just not the same. Surely you understand?”

“As much as you love to write them.” He responds, surely referring to her inability to write the shorter reports than the others of the Inquisition are capable of. She likes to go on and on and doesn’t even realize it until she’s run out of parchment paper. Usually she only has enough room to squeeze in her own name at the bottom of the page in the loopiest handwriting.

“You read them?” She asks, surprised, and maybe a tad embarassed now -- considering they aren’t always the most academic. She would’ve thought they’d go directly to Leliana, considering just how much sneaking around they’ve done as of late, “I thought you were only getting the shorter ones.”

“The ones you send to me directly?” He smiles to himself, “Yes, I read those as well.”

An arm snakes around her waist, careful, tentative as she goes on, gently leaning into the touch and placing her hands on his chestplate, “You know it’s almost been a year, Cullen. Since all of this started, and now we’re here. Could you have imagined we got all of this done in such a short time?”

“It has been an experience, yes. Demons, Venatori, among other things. I don’t believe my past experiences would’ve prepared me exactly for that.” He responds, only slightly flinching when she leans her head against his chest.

“You’re telling me there wasn’t anything on what to do if demons started falling out the sky in the Templar instruction book?” She’s got such a stupid grin on her face again, but he chuckles anyway at her joke, “I’m surprised, they really didn’t teach you enough to be effective.”

“I don’t believe such a manual exists, but should you wish it, I’ll write one and distribute it to our Templar allies,” And now she’s chuckling herself, as halfway serious as he sounds. 

Oh why does she care for him so? A mage and a Templar, for Creators’ sake.

The humans’ Maker is probably throwing some sort of fit right now, wherever up in the sky He is.

“I’m serious though, Cullen. It seems like just yesterday Cassandra was content to yank me out of the chantry’s dungeon to force me to answer for the Divine’s death,” That was one downside to the mostly...interesting memories, “And here we are, such an international power that we’re being invited to make an appearance at the Winter Palace.”

“Believe me, I am aware,” He muses, “You’re a very capable leader, Lavellan.”

“I didn’t do half of this -- you know the Inquisition would simply fall apart if any of you just walked away,” She rolls her eyes, sighing, “I just close the rifts with the glowing hand, not much else.”

He’s quiet for a moment, “You act as if this isn’t a result of your determination to save the world. It is. I would say you’re doing an admirable job.”

She highly doubts she would get the same flood of affection with anyone else, or that anyone else’s compliment would feel nearly as genuine as his does.

“Thank you, Cullen. We made it to Kingsway, I can’t say anything else about the rest of the year though. That’s decidedly still up in the air.”

Marzeyna feels distinctly...tingly. The good kind, like just before her magic would flare again during a fight, except the fight or flight response doesn’t accompany it. She’s just undeniably happy, and if anything arcane flickers under her fingertips, she doesn’t notice. Her ears are twitching though, probably moreso than usual when he presses a tentative kiss to her forehead.

It was much too pretty a day out, but she was content to rest her for just a moment, letting the world continue on. 

The wind gusts around them again, and she shivers, audibly chilled by the cold and trying to press herself further into his embrace, the fur of his mantle tickling her cheek, “It’s much too cold out here.” Marzeyna barely keeps the whine out of her voice, she wasn’t a child, but she also didn’t feel as if she had to hide the fact she was having no fun dealing with the change in seasons from him either.

“Would you like to go inside then? You...could come and sit for while, there isn’t much work to be done this evening.” He offers.

“I...would like that. As long as you don’t want me reading any reports,” She makes a face, “I would be happy to spend the evening in your presence.”

#marzeyna lavellan #cullen rutherford #cullavellan #oc #original character #dai fanfiction #marzeyna/cullen

[turuses-blog]

Space Suede

Space~Suede

  }}}}

UUUNNNN

       Copyright 2017 Johnathan Urbalonis… Meant to be read, rendering the borders of thy most – mephistopheles, intertwining tango.

         E

  taste

Without spectacle or speculation To disprove either, why this contrite act Of order - wrought twice over now - with patience Is an obedience foreign to lapse… Within perfect solitude and solace that To rend an addict’s said, dictatorship… Oh! in bellows, battling always, lapsed Steering clear of crystals from any hip… Oh! trapped for good in ambient control A wave formation, phalanx, to peruse Notwithstanding ministry! to unfurl Freedom, from nothing in essence. Peruse A’ some chapters’ few, and connect To an indeterminable static.

    sallow / pallor

it must be the burnt lemon tree fall upon us solid-crysallids of almondine kiss and please, never let go of this almond fists’ criss-cross lisp to hold boiling fugue it is that the dusky forever’s took a tan gentle shrub enough of a lover’s hug wild at first yet plunging into cupid’s burning lungs o, that sweet passion, to be thy mouth of windless notion… promontory, flora where to end thy’s pursed-when, or  begin, what fond of recoil and jettison-nonplus we’ve bout begged to dine at its smouldering tartine  plagued with ragged snakes and flame to please for the sakes of this lonely burnt lemon tree I’ll assail all with what the burnt lemon takes to consume

                  breakneck

the ivy has pigment on the crux of the arch. the sagging arch of ivy’s pass. it used to be a pasture for silent matters and setting an eye-on and detach. i fear yet the ivy grows me down to this domicile. in the atrium for tea. oh i hate making flavored drinks for such a characteristic ship, sewn together by and by leaves. dare i yank it dare i pull, double-dare i uproot it; and tassle with it’s finland barbs…  wait does it flower? does it own this home? where does it retreat at night when the lamp post posits chrome * no this ivy has a freedom. almost sent from thy heaven’s aftermath… calculating cold evenings alone, and sunny days for scaffolding craft… *it has the right to my door I guess, yet, I must depart tonight… I wish it wasn’t that easy to spot the lamplight’s goneth out tight a splaying, praying, hinge!, yet amorous as pups, that gild by day, and sleep by night… ’just where to go, least infected, so and so, I had for breakfast… as yet, to, I follow the light trodden path out of this dwarve’s town quite, all the while pretty sure - with baggage, light - I may endure a night made up for sleep, not just the itch of playful ivy. and which it’s poison is though soft, maest expedia is complicated as if gazing on twilling willows, accord perpindicular armed these pillows made by man, i completely can’t understand how it got there, or if it’s coming down, whether or not storm of protest, or friendly nether… I’ve tide us together… with a silent jag… the keystone pocketed by horse… to ride out until yet

              serious settlement issue

“oh its just an odd-knocker, this storm.” Praytell forsooth not for teeth clenching prone to roarish brethren. the typeset that abhors onlookers and grave shade yet, whet for grass movements in an erroneous of swivel-floods and tourist. oh and Percival protecting the glass sass root, cellar with ornament and scone (already on hand) “oh it is quite an odd-knocker, this storm.” grassroots do tell of its aberration, the middle of fall.  When and where a witch could scold up a cauldron of cabbage and sugar… to melt your eyes, she switches the lever on… yet no flying, nor sabbotage, in the old bottom-smith, glass loot, cellar for pause. “oh its dying down. this storm, what an odd knock.” as I was in teem, miserable-mind-sleeping… the middle of this seeping womb - the steady creaking of antiquated quaking - without cause. and till the water breaks I shall whisper twas an odd-knocking, as if nothing at all. nothing devoid of a forecast for glasses to toss shadows on the floor which soon shall bind all my fastest convex as storm!

          peti teach

if it weren’t as bad as it was the shelter would have taken scorned crops to this hearth but snowfall brawn on the spruce young guns - find the children-chimerical toast points everywhere… green pea pods appear! everywhere, just for a few seconds from way up here…looks toyish, wonda’ if it id be a boy’s-wish!I

‘lest ye revolve around a stick! (once again) a kernel of hope! a bravish…with wits, rope and vhs tapes as these oils, and balsamic vinegarette! my choose, you,

the scalding hot crouton, bouillin outside like noodle… the exposures almost ready….! ‘spooky’-A.R. battle for the prestige of having a show to perform, the second night… the sun is a baffling cradle, lullaby magnets to master for when rapheal posee’s 

                     tittilage

a truck stop south of the horizon… three perfect miles tilled in tile and daily tallied, the lapse being ticket to a calm shout-out…I’m ’talkin max shout out

                  too many at the table...

shelter… pass it around, At least floridian-meritous, pass the dish… thanksgiving gobbs, out his final mouth. “what is this? a poet convention? I’ve heard the cooking from the fridge. “strange postulate…mmm” Jason takes a sweet friccasi… pass the dish… the moon lost its directions, sitting clock-wise, to floridian-merit boasts! lucky guise… pass that dish… and someone reignite this/that candle, oh yet…” the braille-felt ham tasted too-full, aux musing at last “is that ham from the fridge Jason? is already cooked? shelter, why, I will get it…

                       oh, it has to… bottom of the jar stuck in pretzal’s sobriety… it has to so it can reach the others! the end of the bag, I do say! inquisitive little grasshopper… oh, it has to last… past the two twilights we caught… develop sobriety like a hawk’s bitten chalk… screeching out the taffy just to feel how hops oh, it has to last shorter? why are we backwards like arks? why do we persevere on this quest for the arts? sobriety teams with the green, forensics will catch sight… of a drunkard, with wallabees stationed peruvial at night…. but, might, this door, be friendly? be friendly this door? how can i call my licensure insured? sobriety oh it has to last longer, take a look at this fjord, theres room for candy, Now, I wonder, it’s make! high fortutious exhibition that three some odd twilights i see on television… all requited and paid trick fore, “i keep mine in elastic bands twirling orange fashioned melt-corn-caramel-candy…’ ‘where did i put my sword…’ ‘in fact next year I’ll get the hang of this and cut the corn out’ “bags of melt-caramel-candy” which is what i would frau, to peaceable elements of the nightgown i see crown…” “oh, the door,” “can this last any longer?” the fastest way to sink a tooth into something, valued like sales!, when the aliens embody us, do they where costumes… pouring ale?  ‘i sent a message to an alien once, now in closest procedure, it said, nothing like servicing the eccentric and the outfit’s they where, colloquial as procedure!…’ that’s enough flapping your lonely gums, man, the candles are out…yours?

         jump

the snowy peat piques under our feet a week to bend around the corner till cumbersome cleets - may! - be whittlin the trees and run, ran, tepid in a gauzy defeat all along the terrace, yet not where whet marks’ from… oh the dance of fall, trance-like snow and inward expansion, that is, from a handsome dole of ears on farmer’s land some mottled and took shape to swindle ransomed territorial foot jerks, root/root-marm type glances - a lot of this would happen  the peckish birds in order the final cloud stops to talk the defunkt plough hits its rhythm when they crash into Noah’s Arc

                       block-q

liquid frozen cherry hearts

“used to plunder, here, pitch” “nitrogen in the gun, a black shark”  appointed toward with the pistol ridge. sequential ultra-violet lights hearken

now, aiming at perfect concentric circles a miracle to miss, a martyr scorned at every outer or other disc a lively ancestral adagio of bank clutching triggers affronting notions of hands with gifts on cigarettes, alleviating the end of this type of pistols’ training measure, arriving behind, now, through doors, a field of ace-cards, to score, Since, as all alive, they arrive via assault rifles brought by forklift to the mire

                       january in code

although they do know hospitality, and efficiency among the dreary… well, since the nurse left,   it was sweltering inside the cabin.  which forsook the season came early, Good Heavens  and when we couldn’t take it at all, we issued out into the ramps of snow as blockade and like beforehand spotted the of tufts tobacco far off, gunfire outlets and discoed merrily gauging, yet gouging our gait…

we still had the ridge around this necropolis half-faced, and as we spread, like butter on a skillet, we lost contact, our breathe no longer visible, plodding on into the flurries laying in graves

possibly still warm, we had moved out earlier than as expected… the extra flattering isometric movements we made were cantankerous. at mortar - we lay along the ridges - a fresh footsteps’ walkway past the trekked banks, still with us. ,  digging now back, surrounded by snow, towards the cabin, which this bearing clod and snow curtain imposes in testimony to a feverish loan, …before we start freezing, submachine guns on our postuler comprisals’ with whoady-demons hiding in the banks… whoa… I had strong, black coffee in a flask, which acted fast, yet put me at a loss with the frostbite of that cabin drought…

                       etc

As he gaze past the blinds, blinded by sun and shade, he pulls the chord aperture, at an angle and walks away to the study… Now as some say he makes beautiful sonnets… he to turn on the light to dawn it - these unbelievable inexplicably structured poems, which, in delight - glaze as he flips through; and raise the top right hand corner at the dancing wick to see the roman numeral to expedient light…  Waiting to shop for milk and cheese, just to go ‘home… …and count [his] poems.’ again - replete, with pen names and invisible device, catalouge and camoflauge - jagged jarring shadow mare, bleached-Marrakesh, displaying their centre of weight. - just to eventually feed the perishable… Yet so - conceited,  fashion to vague response and acquisitions, sometimes wrought - not just with his abundance of makes and modellas - conceited to the even very first time he ridiculously took time to stray from couplets and into: haikus, tankas, couplets, stanzas, coupons, colored leaves, radio jazz limericks, sonnets and shoes, just you-bet that until you read his work, that’s all you hear about, etc…

           spot spice

i trot alien to the moon, passive and plausible to make the rise soon… its still early - while she ties her frown in thoughts, laying down - for her. mirth married to tarrier, wincing fairy-gilded to answer the wrought specs ‘in step with the window - the next possible contact swoon so certain and so far away the curtains of fall and May destined to be some other day - the dry champagne - co-ordinates slow - and the clamor, cauterized by locks of snow… until, ray upon ray of thy whetted smile - the merry festoon parlay as he gestures in a hard place… ‘I shall climb this tower, and rescue thee, not since Aesop, hath I believed, that there, a way to contest in speech, win and render this read heir besmirched your fate-meet, to a tender of every mention of my search… to seek. if I don’t climb to Luna, I may not resolve A pageantry for my waking ours’ and roses, in which to impeach.’

            sandy welts

I went through there a while ago… it was fun crouching and dodging the trees… pressed to be, at war with the cite pleading-seething, not early enough to sneeze, yet being and in the beating pulse fleer of a rich,slow, (atomized) culture… in a way it felt untouched, I author… yet as i went on it seemed the way was receding towards an uncomfortable nature. First: the crickets’; sharp territorial lacerations, and the grass; against my calves, the smells of raw dirt; sobbing & the static-firecracker chlorophyll, all dashing ample pressure without building moisture, nonplus- with a bark of tree-like controlled temperature, ready as the rain and sun… it was cool, like an artic-submarine, as i wilted my holder’s keep then yet the thinning sun through the vertices’ expenditures clearly dipped to keep what expedience eye to eye… - I had trekked in a straight line so I took an about-face and marched back through…

‘talk about a red forest; passchendale spread dirt worked crescendo in quiet anticipation… scene from fantasies with a clumsy flourist…(stocked to the teeth) possibly enroute to explore the extra toxic mycological experiential plummets of the sport, known around here as half-plums - down-the-road, flash-back driven to protect snails…that’s all to say about it… yet I know they left trails… all waiting beside, an unevenly undulating mossy-short-fringed-shore… 

The forrest sweat with me. It was on fire, the sun reached the luminescence cast from mark… on this relief of a march (more a thoroughfare) I couldn’t remember sites or paths or anything except the cyphered boughs… I dare say the leaves (in control) had me trapped, or lesser-oblong, blinded a gigantic swirling record of historians…! twas, more a terrestrian color brigade’s way of choosing way; and off to the sides: hay and what have you on one side, and a hedge high as high buildings envisioned from the fence ‘far off feudal.  ‘all it needs is a fashionable mortuary on this plot to clear the woods I say… ‘next to congregational fences therefore, for they say the woods ain’t no normal woods…could be… I don’t frequent forrests too much, but maybe

 the cedar incarcerated graveyard to last past wroughten fig draws

the screech of an antique drawer… the ‘screams at night to be extra visible, in the swift wind. almanac worthy, sale-item, pearl-obelisks of miniature mince through acumen fro-whistling.  thats it with the fields, yet a myriad of several more super-imposed ghastly victims float through the dying leaves, kicking up dusts and leaf-coupons…  I hear the roof belongs to the moon, and the smallest matters’ seek the light…

            partridge

a twisted piece of grass in his responsible thumbs. he takes in, and lets out and some crickets jump in. had he known, grass-gowns for licorice, he’d had not blown his cover, oh so covetted as a tomb ground nearby, so surly, metamorphic reprise done under. what with a sandal stepping on top of small hills. ants and moth and flower and soil… best if he heads home the sun seems to be toiling

           may weather

the bulbous’ businesses bias is of this hyacinth park - next to a frequency-trip rhododendron mention -parched my upper and hidden tensions of sinuses on a timeprint trip toward the sun. blocking the way a few feverish violets graying on the task ‘afront. ‘ i uncontrollably thought of sneezing, i know just the one… with a muddy print flurring off into the grassiest patches of hatchwork passes… chastised with practices of cold mashed potatoes and born of bread in sandwhiches…just to get past this…

she wore along with a song of the ancients - some climactic recession - that of butterflies and their swift tangential progressions; more than half - by a bit - past suspension… yet hammer’s smith smith moat,  floating - to say - and blinking infinitely on a saucer of dismay… what several willows’ pillows at thought to bade, arrays of colorific centrepieces no more than just a bit clay… yet cloisters holsters sprays and sprays… while indeed the worthiest longlash fashions the gray. running away takes more time… i guess

              rest

it was like destiny’s letters… cheavauh brawten… myriadical faucet (on) break-up patents, loose jean, palindromatic headdress on the lap of conclave…

‘just building, destroying miracles.. sorry worry-issue,  razing glass tubes with the fictitious friction, how so~ felicitous                                                         at mention… rented a co-op back to baccyus (too)      painted leisurical

   praytell

an oriented cat figured its way across my lap and sat  ‘correction, with articulation… and that, these

witchy-cat’s-eyes did stare at my frozen-folded slacks of worrisome pseudo turmoil - contingent on witches-cats’ body prompting hyphenetic enfolding upon, yet may not capture, the riding - crumpled - as i got up. and, yet let the yarn of her fretful sorcery fold mercurially into a snow man’s legs…which happened backwards…accidente’ ‘thought i might snatch my in-hand-done papers; plucked like a c string…out and on this same diaspora singular-editions… of which might defribulate a countenance leaving hooks cards’ on door knobs…quo now and forever, and with thinning trim as, whispering spurs dropped that witchy cat into the time-signature of my noumenal greeting prepositions to date, and all anti-slack band fashion - to temper to hands off and on… for instance I grasped the gnomon that i construed out of wrought natural materials, including but not limited to mangoes, caramel and magnesium… shaving the time…~ it wears like glue I had forth created the sheathing effect of its width set, scent, and scoal that is that time and time again cat’s are proven to exist forever… the scary-witch-cat caught up with me at the door harboring a big, black, bubbly cauldron-stir… with a peacemeal glance back at the forth chapter and muttered, just a bit, whetted. the air quickly jetted to phenomenal… what time was it, was it? i left my apothecary, things were looking up! soon to spread the time ah the settlling slug, the maniacal ant reserves the bald men selling rugs and the pills that people deserve…  - always awake yet - and feverishly asleep;  sleeping all the time away my undulations and motion-derivatives tart in series and sets complexed the fluish tenders of the herrendous heat tarp to act art contradictory veritas minutely and breathe hearty of the daze chalk if thats what is entailed - the job was simple yet met with some combattant like.

            - perhaps outside where the cigarettes burn;  platonic mnemonic, reindeer begged for antlers cash spent enroute to the spot, most of it traditional cat’s telephone machine… who knows?

 a semi-efficient compromise of plexiglass scratch flat - the vivid pock marks of the projector, which’s capacity was quite muddled. and the cat had it (either way) yet the cat call worked the cat, santa claus, some other big names… kicked a freestyle session, pretty dope stuff. for instance… “i bring you presence” that guy has way too much time on his hands.

   Houndstooth is soundproof

  1.         quay

1.tell everyone, the basement’s done flooding…

1.my house, a crumb within a flute sharps of embankments

1.patients testing lesser things for flooding or dried fish

1.“you’ll have yours”

1.“its windy outside”

1.the basement is whetted while i rinse through blades and shower my facial

1.while spirits sink from the comforter - morse code balancing, with this art

1.blinking, blinking, blinking…

1.stridents

1.0

1.kneedeep

1.‘back in the day, when i was young, i’m not a kid anymore’

1.

1.bliss crystals sift through stealth, miss you ‘xoxox’

1.

1.plagarize dexterity for another half-surmised

1.blur of the edges insofar fit for a fistful of life, twitch, came short and sought wife-

1.Those, curious pledges to deltoids, the -esiuz of the ledger

1.blasting surfeit in two lasting past the forth, fortnight eclipse…

1.you get to fight; aside a private glass of modern man’s ant-hill

1.some tvo granted chain of command through the grass blades,

1.

1.sit, fantasy, break, elven toxicology…speak worldly through a spasm i once had…

1.no doubt it would wash away in mineral deposits, so accursedly shallow… 

1.

1.

1.

1.

1.pressur

1.patches, on delt’s quay -

1.milk and chips…

1.chocolate on the mint press procedural stress

1.need so many…

1.

1.tell me about it,

1.abdicate

1.

1.

1.

1.

1.

1.

deltoid

i fell into a double-pronged - gift - marriot of song. play flacons fillial fish bladed oblong…merro sketched on sever audacity (semblance) with a crew-dillitant - as if fading hair to a nightmare of irrevocable capacity, to grow there…

poppin off, lots of toss, to the clouds though, the floss (ignoring bliss?) which topped my chart, on my single hit-or-miss mark… flakes of gentle seabass, of which it wash… bark bark! 

seriously took a reel in to exist…

chalk melted and bladed the number’s drawn on a pheonix,

of which was sent to bring her flowers? can you believe that, ‘girls in the shower’

metabolizing her voice, rainy day style opaque sky? cast me a derivative - oh ‘that.

coy, built, fahrenheit height, instant passion

the bastings

it truly is beautiful,

which does not

for some instance, at insinuating loss

most of all, the givance-

of tectonic call & calf

which tends to break ocean’s in full yet in half…

mildly tending an impish flame,

the fire texture, fixed-ie-feeling pane

and a flame, for all - yet the forth!

a myriad of haggus or something borne

blurring ant mimic in god’s resin - like an earthworm

nu

a notable fishhook… scraggled into my salmon… my salmon; port.

in don quiote’s fashion he swam on land, like a sailor; port.

a wednesday never came faster in the history’s of monday; though I don’t calm thence…

and an umbrella-spider taut, taught me spider-lingo: i was like, one cheese order…

a peacable reason to deal with whilst vacant… perhaps a book caught the fish, caught the grip, caught the sights, hit the port

2.         waltz

2.oh willow, play me crazy, breeze by my censorship on your trip up to a bird’s eye-spicate-spies-especially-willow in my eyes…

2.with each farther and ruse planted to ferment the lurch of dues, of perfect clot and tie, why don’t you turn to the appeasement of the highest skies in you 

2.they say

2.be forth written and climactic, aimed at with telephones, tilled derision, still precision, still precision and make marks sifting shifting sniffling, to , to mother, to bride bring down your own centre and break the sky… ive been there, many times

2.what will open the dice face, for miser, in fact, ive never seen a bead of it’s echo the perpetration of a perpindicular tie. 

2.start first and end where you began in fact, delineate between a restitution that each petal will latch; yet closest, the fountain needs tract, spritz and follow ornate heaven’s grasp…

2.blasphemy bounded and gave you a match!

2.… pluck a further moment with the lass, who brought sew… she writes, willow, oh you breezy, easy going, so-so. 

2.response edition 2

2.s’matter o’dillitant to the number 2

2.catoring brevity points for instant revery’ dilute with two thirds hair and rose…

2.i spose i could check the bars again,

2.

2.mine would be “diaspora co-lect’ my favorite make to model, yet i have one lingering rose point, stemming off and finding water in …well

2.

2.i just walked from here to tim hortons three times in 3 hours, thats prosaic dystolic for a fortress made of forgotten lure…

2.

2.tho’ yo’ spoiler, which stands accrued such as more luke warm cadmium.

2.playin safe here, the number, the winter, you forgot about me… iced percentages, that may melt

2.

2.no edit

2.‘past the point of g hosts’, a dendria lantern for my soul *i press the tip of clasp-broken oration to extend my thumb like a chapter, in the book of yet to put down (robert frost, selected poems) it moved my lighter into a rolled lighter, and right now i was ignorant of the place, where I watched, and what i’ve got. blink

2.20 fast minutes clocked a wall of brick to assail my placard heart, hearing art - and arabic insinuendoes… mesmerized by chalk…when? my knee placed my whole shoe, yet built with the shock, destitute rhythms i misused… i did not want to die, fore my word, lifts strong, then or now a peacable remission into what i thought cool lingo for was ‘friction’… and i stuffed my pecan dish with egyptian ecstacy bliss crystals’ remarks… plark, quarked down and through the nicest police car parlor with talk of being stopped. and there i was for 3minutes i was responsible for, divining my belief in stop…so awake… so awake… the ghosts sought a magistrate… i told my sister of mummy-eating practises in Egypt.. what saved me was television’s widest spectrumx2 tv… on TVO…. i i, and today, more subtle it was Ron Burgundy 2… 

2.

2.for the record, i prefer articulation to humour 4 times out of 5

2.

2.

2.

2.

2.double minks

2.the pharoah decreed: we shall not stop, till, there is a top… and with lightening fast reflexes Albert Camus later recites loop and/or ladder building as a mechanism distributed by mountains and rocks… that lead to an uphill battle, all around - yet more importantly - he with the thalidomide predominantly scare out the bliss that’s inside of us, mark, he felt the only logically question is…

2.

2.the pharoah walkled up to the ledge of his honour and a hissing snake caught his attention - waltzing primarily in its unyarned crinkle, and shushed it with great calamity… oh what a great calamity it was. and so, he, was, rejoiced~

2.the outsider l’etranger, excites a little snake into the forces of egyptian solitude, at a reasonable price…

2.

2.

2.

2.

a list of treason

a single wrinkle on the rose petal, arose such suspicion, roses’ thorn’d build failed to permeate…

a paschendale of artifact magic cards crinkled in the pack age… in jumps a soldat- of basketball-talent!

left remission for the hard-wood floors,

a list of treason

 —-bleek bloom

watching the 9:10pm its darker than most, clouded thou drought. thought-catching

a misty 9:30pm, conceptualized way far for enough backings baccus  flow like foam,

a wooded section of way back.

attaching to too petals, square like a orchid-skin-electric game-docket…

 3.         russians

3.braille she dots furtive longeurs parting…

3.into a frosted flute

3.braking and entering into the fury of a jazzman’s jazzhand

3.which came with a breathe of fury…. wasn’t, chapped-so

3.

3.quite why i had a myriad of worry

3.so surly to surely moresal-piece wear and tear the lury,

3.whilst penury from pencil tip equitable myriads of lury… into

3.questing for a stop-end bureau or bearer… to bust open the dirty, six-piece cylinder making shift shift shift shaft and lury…

3.and spin

3.

3.

3.a sizeable gap of educative dually provocative slurry, of a book!

3.and rampart the ignitable fruition of a head(strong) blasphemy out of order..

3.departed… roman,

3.arrived… prosaic,

3.middleman… Proxy,

3.-to the cause,

3.and manage the intern, pattern-stripped clasp of a low-riding pair of jeans’ilk

3.bludgeoned to malady, (my lady, my silk) myriad….

3.

3.

3.rare wilting sun of the sun… run with me, ‘till i see the pageantry, build… let alone a quill, that does

3.

3.

 stacked mind

i battled minutely and broke the index chapter-area-rearish and pristene in itself; that is an arrangment cloaked within a book’s barriers thinner than the thick letter-plaque, laced and unthinned; it didn’t get me down so much as to renew it, in fact, it seems like its gaining worth, like precious candy, i don’t know, obviously there is a worthier cause to incur growth, yet, none as sweet.

oh the smell - elemi - delicatesans’ sanitation with food… green, mini blade thickets…. ie. take some brick laying liasons… how meddlesome…and obstruct passage in libraries - and those the thought.

  turuses

oh its like we are entitled

to every fabric across from this foliage, even the varying fabrige undergrowth wrought of this, a mason's fable, nightmare or shovel

catch us

tracking a whirlwind of pollen as dust onto available petals

and i wonder, if any cross-pollinated beeless… 

and that bugle’s horn is to die for

submissive in pledges to and fro, discerning incoming autos

 ________

turuses

wrags

many…pennies-weight, within the jurisdiction of an edicette known to falter, pre-empts, plausible postulates of which, from all but one can hitherto alter. and yes you or you may have pennies for all the angles of a pressed coin, yet, emblazoning idols with them spastically hurdled through the air in one show of robust emblazoning, does not yield it’s capacity to promote growth against time. and against time is supremacy I guess forthwidth the renegade that it is… whatever bevels it connects eventually in surplus determines the surface of the moment a wrecking ball broke through; entrepreneurial, sadistic. Neitzsche’s “atavism” clocking in….

a direct line of command somehow got contraband…

r.i.p.

     4.         herbs.

4.a well, felt next to the smooth-shop, and rainwater doused it from time to time.

4.it fell upon the worthiest of the town, to stop and take some time.

4.at once one day,

4.a coin did break,

4.the surface of the water…

4.and just on time - or the clock that authored - it was surfeit with tea and proper.

super

cajolery

blazon, directory from the mashed out

maison, perfunctory list watchers, flout…

grazin’ perfunctory wist latchers, gout…

break the beak or break bread? i mean, what is the dire mutation doing now?

                safety

on a samosa of a backwards warpath, petty - perhaps pedestrian - recall from the HQ led Preston into the net structure and pronds of the opposite of oblivion, ‘eh sos goes for us all… by that mark…. engagement where, in the microscopic-frothing-tangiblity experiment-ecosystem, the variety of decedent in   ‘sublimated level 3″ unknown section to requisition note biene  , ‘a new verse of well-crystalized piety was tinging for recall as those Mills marbled the petrie-centre. some powder, of, magnesium, later; the very small, yet informed hallo-wentrepreneur took just under full form…element 7.5 tacked to his right wrist band with insignia from some government chap, beside~ it

before much, and before long, the thing surprisedly formed around one side of the dish and taut predictable effervescence… again, more much, same long. as it stands, a hatching period known to the subdivision failed to mention or document that this was subservience of the…device!? willing to form - and that it was taking shaped around the slight, circular concave that- thinning?-turning to water? which was growing in uniform metabolism… like the focal prism scratch on the refracted index… element 7.5, has been recalled, ad diminue’ pro quo, and as deciduous’ are pronounced, tangled - appropriately - into the vacuumed perforations of the topiary inert proficiency of shell-like…larger than usual octopus vessels…

 str

beyond progress within the computer mainframe and it’s strictly-digital capacity to preface backing up several attempts to testify -  these as experienced coherent hackers - sent a rumikab of articles (known as an infinitely singular testament) wheeled light… gyro-cryptic, ‘shells, had a light disco sliding through the avenue fresh with baking soda and drink… blotches of small resisters; which accounted for the eerie glow, tilt-pink. i pieced together the sata and its particle party-favour cable… instant spring…

        stand tall

placid it sits; a remonstrance, in the midst… of what-is-it? that of where the best cherry blossom hath splits… cider says hard: its the pits, the fits, the ritz russet-dark cherry molasses tis’ it for a list of super nintendo-binding dualisms to exist,, so jinxed…ummm it would take minxs to douse themselves - and we’ve two shots at this… quick, as a back up, before a tail up, yet ipso-facto… elastic like that of dopamine to endorphins perhaps yet the cherries ferry chariots and arrive in focal piety…the pits,  again! we sit with the cherries across the fence. to climb, to the condensation-swine-rhetoric, sits… uhh, blimp? clenched like a rinsed hand, i grab the retrograding-officiated root, and route my right foot for the first elbow of a live one… pinching 2 bundles of hoodlum-ante and jump down and then to eat them… the cabbage-like puncture, to just graze the centre, piece, tincture of light vinegar…. and He’s cleaning the eavestrough for another… on second chomp, a brandish of sheer pheromone, thigh… spots a ladder to the shed and fro… before i brandish another, i’ll throw the rest in my pockets to rest - professed to cherish! yes, they’re unbreakable… —————hey you, where’d you get those… like he didn’t know?

      eucalyptus

I”ve gots a shallow for-aloe, wound, wound from malpractise already, 

my atlas stabbed my marble backward ‘back gammon theism, with warding capabilities crestfallen to thee tree, and it’s galvanized antissory film decay’a’wedding with the moisture involved in distraught dust and underage car… my first wishes was to dish wash the woven bovine roving of a uut disorganizing pallete entrepreneur in sevens… yet when i arrived tango, it was obviously a “jericho” moment, and i clicked the six six six… my emblem was duty; payed.

 (mind on plinko, straight shooter on the hip) -turuses which has x2 paved the way for an astral projection that’ll guide me into the centre of the known solistice - forever just a teem - to deserve uut zero inert… inertia to a rotisserie clocked, rocketflag tango. Bounced that check ‘thralled, in specs. flekked one gold - the army stock in check, slivered to the dentist cuz i swallowed a praying mantis- at best and was the width of elastic band with working man’s best specs… perhaps>>> might need to run through a bit more radial arguments in the past; to, durst, deposit seriousness in my clay-abiding ipso-nouns, pro-abiding, to send in my resume of duality when it comes to rooting out clowns! thanks for the lovely slug you set loose on my concrete slab… x

                     Set’till

contralto vivified in plurality reign to indict the heart ache of such departure sparks in-dissent the friction of smart boxing, in three fold. a diorama 

from

the pandering window, maybe the soda water crystals aside at my desk. Sometimes its good to hear about perfect leisure, when the legions are brass-steel self-alleged

   i use to be quite a pro with pencil-spinning, and its strictly from my heart, the art that begins with pencil-rinsing… oh, i gave mechanical pencils something to believe in. doesn’t matter, twas a glorious match up of mechanical pencils, and spinning them, that i partook in. clad in an unsharpened… no question…

 bark

a larger than normal tarantula poised to eat a small tree outside the restrictive park area came to the conclusion that, if he had studied medicine, he might have enjoyed eating sooner.

who knows?

              title wave

darling loss, providing hosts with mothballs, independent of cause… the objection of walls corrects its paucity - dash costs… and in betrothal of sauces, paints - if thats what you call them - a dish, is left… cold fish… best viewed with a hook

its all wrong, maudlin fathoms, deep brilliant eyes of squid… the watch of witches in the crow’s nest, explode, then make fire for fish 

        the ice has originally melted - that, thin straw stout route to two too nihilist dire platforms of the underaffected that are down for precedence, that be: ignorance, either side of the fence with indescribable turmoil already, or even just because of the actions which seem impossible; and a strict mouthpiece, within limited to authority, via sanctioning and the underfunded promises therein…  yet… as Mephistopheles has it, logic lasts till the last sentence… and the USA is in jeopardy 

 order some CATs to skulk around and sit and dig

tunnels to offshore…? trenches from spawn fly some jets in there if it helps with aerial footage perhaps isolates of pressure. ie. lots of liquid nitrogen! & even some type of bomb….. i know, bomb a hurricane w/ convoys of concrete trucks and/or logs

 yet my venture permits both lines of caring to be merry, i was ready to say fish may need to swim onland for some reason and no that doesn’t help anybody, studying where fish are during so might be beneficial…same thing with people…helicopters!

makeshift trailer bridges? leaving taps on? gtfo of there? the final clue is: where would you like to live? and, the answer: florida

    bitter stasis

why is it the sand gold? speakth before’n to see the moulds: grazing iguanas claim, climb, clad the folds, where ‘ and all the little pharoah scald with drolery- it must be the summer-line, crossing into the spill, long-horn, to horn, to horn exploding instruments turn to soil and nefarious- deltoids rest in summer-line wrest,

and as I am for ease of etching…sorry,  possibly just saw a necklace-peice of a pendent permeate itself into an anubis coat-  of- strictly fashionable-that-some-green,  which as the light accustom brown-pouting was incandescent at best,   maximized i, its deliverance as a frosted-scarab… motionless, iceberg of fabric from the mathematical subscriptions limited upon brick face, to seize armiture as one and one, yet but not captured… either purpose or meaning… tbc

               pick me up twice

that and a night drought came in with a robust, roving massive darkness; across spanning over the minute divits of thunder clods, over this land gratefully, without its gander of low pressure; finally welcomed where the lakefront promenade - municipality to mine own - met the lake. i heightened up and spritzed the window to a cramp. like i say its not everyday one can live among confused feathers and disco lamps. i sped to my notebook and sketched the nuthatch i saw dabbling the air - like my vision was relegated to all and/or most of the movement in the bands - of sleevefilled horizon lines and the figurines. the hedges here to there, the short paved escape, the trees; flanked so-on forever, and the firmament.  yet it moved fast, twas twice as vast, iconoclast clear skies bank where aroused was a shaky 5pm red sun- only visible now and so-where, a wind picked up and doused the downed whiskey rinsing through some impossibly pretentious banter, along the shore.

               diagonally

it hasn’t even been a lock since my prized synced sundial ammended even blacksmith’s blind… the twilight hour… a still rather elliptical - outfit of my lot’s labor had I could sense turning a final austerity and gently top-heavy field gamon alotting that which continues moderate growth without locusts. at first its like watching a fire, then they settle down around 4:00am. but thats neither here nor there. unless you count the visits I get from Samson I get at all hours. and here we shall share him odd on envoy particular. reticent, self-evident.. my weather vane was drowsy so and so… wishing it could give me a clear patch as a black horse stamped with rider and pulled up… at the hour of 10:00pm Thelma made him a scarlet blend of herbal tea, I the same. Upon courtesy I seated him in my study and we both had at some fresh lemon tobacco. “how are the yellow and red water?” “fresh coal, have you another blend?” “why yes.” I fetched a Drumson Wood and asked Samson, “how long will you stay?” “Oh, just on my way back from town.” Samson took out a newsprint partially twisted in his back over-all pocket. “I’m gonna lay it straight for those aliens.” “…The crop circle people?… they seem vengeful and organized…” “More Drumson Wood, and I’ll just finish this tea here. I say, a price on their heads…” Samson pulled out the page, “seems a group of people do the circles too in order to show the ‘aliens’ we are intelligent too, near the back, smaller part of the publisher, called locustfocus.” “Why that’s as clever as it sounds.” “it says here we’ve seen the last of them this season, or they’re spreading, ready to ground.” “so what am I to do? What are we to do?” “stay vigilant. drink tea. in the extra fine print it says they are a judgement call, a reflection tranmorgified, a mirror as transition through life can only manage, all run by those who use livestock, those who value life.

            onew one

its so noiseless that i ask you nobody knows this if i left without a trace to let loose my face,

existence, would start with thee last left bashful eyelash by alibi that to leech around a winding hill of coal at rest and, yet when abreast two fifths fine grass, and a wine glass, broke at home

finishing with an invisible penny for twisting, an oasis reminding me that im out one seashells finding colored beigh with patina of five sevenths temple displacement that striking up on mine own binds of

where my eye is a filament for the engrossment of ‘those’ others - skeptically close- but don’t you know you were never one to run away, from the salted roads

                    hey cold warm 2

I was on the brink of falling asleep, late and complacent on the couch in the front - for once one floor above the basement. My eyes slightly jumped open now and then, revealing - honestly - the life that played with myself and the scene… Decorations abounding around the walls and shadows from all that was seen. On one extended viewing of the partially lit walls covertly at the door - the indigo ceiling melting into normal orders - did buckle and remotely douse me with ubiquity and order of operations to discretion in architecture, the culpability of movement arrayed. my blanket in disarray - knit and white - became a sleeper’s foyle as it reigned on me as ordinary occurence; yet this, I was deeper.

why yes, the blocks of ceiling, my ballast; window and furniture, shifted, all to make something, something I either slept through or woke up suddenly into subriety - and had come about from all my condescension, with an expedient opt to reassign the ceiling to whatever it was. That know I knotted locales and a opaque ceiling.

My eyes began doubting the stillness, several times. My best guess was a moving candle operative, of fairy or pixie dissent, ushering me into the basement through the vent… the comfort from the blanket growing exponentially, I jarred my eyes, feigning fright. at which the ceiling came bearing down on me and started a lament for the rug in front of the door… I swear I wanted to move; somehow I just knew I was not in the malady of a malevolent being, perhaps just proverbially and most likely - an impish flame rekindling from closed eyes’ near blind, and sallow angles reshaping…

I had been in this purgatory gearbox, for an hour or two… I waited for the birds to chirp. when the candle went out… it was now well-past midnight hour and I lay in the darkness, comfortable, yet partial to wakefulness. I lit another candle… the indigo folds, the impish flame, the blanket, all the same

There it was… the first bird chriping like a lovely siren.f

   hey cold warm

a brazen on the barometric deep in the throat of recognition, plumes in loose flute position, angled a slolom solemn, so-seam - so-so - slotting into my lower chest, such as do dotted candy strips and just as memorable as the swindle mentioned specifically its the purple opal octagonal-pointed and the brunt cindrous dazzling cinammon my eyes yet its dark

arising phase I flew on land, a kite that racked from a bird’s nest in the clouds… angels… swiftly upon me eleven albatrosses came down I"m like, “where’s the waitress?” once as was thought, I throttled the full-armor-car-aft-facade on quickwork-flat blatant dune backing up to pull the chord down “all this from from the former backseat the lower order keeping distracted with menial attempts at diction    drifting through the world, there she was,     she cast a thoroughfare glistening aura,      beside - on the board walk

Guage of an arrow, splinted roughhousing nothing more to climb, cherries full and waiting - and flagstone, drops in x. waiting for labels

razings’ dreams    drifting through the world… heralding minutely, and casually on a mini skateboard, albatross full foyle ~ about. most - some pure coasting,.., buoyantly why I mean Cinderella had some natural artifice actually restricting limitation the wake of sheer wind, her able lateral shark of compute, which limiting more but hair it just comes to some things thats shes just into and really, across, where onto the window my reflection plucked my core,

the flagstone remorse. searching distance.

"check them, check them.” the limits that attest to, ward, all those feesible mentions… in both edges of a carrion dispositions of regret now, now… I’ve pent the stencils to be filled in and over with ink, the nets can’t even capture prize still frames to sync can’t even think in the now its so quick - the odd neglect cubism tares cares to fasten - yet? so -  so finish quick

~moon cycle had i

it gets predictable the miserable  the madness talent and those who wrap the falcon’s beak around and break the brow from beaten artists,  (going )far'n finite for    marbles quark, florid fauna, fond of a final fantasies for real, just how those are where those naught (reached…) phantoms lanterns saturn asprin a symposium where shadows’ riot for platony, create a credenza of its spectrum, a two-something measure of disparity insofar as he who was brought pox inequal pressed-to silhouettes  of rockness frets, yes, sir, thats rounded-edges-talk of  fast-misery wave-technology all-so spaced out like emaciated chocolate or space cadets… spying loch ness even the uneven

!54   104

as will lace’d rivulets of feathers felt into italic line, become barbarous against a feverish fire where no friction echoes of finite time  perhaps already forgotten there own make marking burning - like this very poke - spokes of wind super-tropical winnding and,

nothing but glorious ignition as soon as bent backwards…to the ground, from the grind, as iconic rivulets of home break apart the hands… and posit… pheonix seeds, brought to term in ff7 to plant and plead with reality sometimes…

130

to sew the wounds up… my hand to play the part of spoon, hook, ransacking tolerance. I, with swoon in hand and maudelin talent  even if i make a pamphlet on benelovent rancor, someone’s prediliction might ignore the horseshoe plants still stiff as to lay on my to-do list as one thing to hand out once its… in print and then wander into the abyss. till vastness becomes iconoclastic and I last this matress out till its endoplasmic reticulum becomes a magnet, and then on until it fractures, and polarity shifts, do it all backwards, with stronger magnets

farther into the w

breaking broke stuff that’ that satellites back-up flashes that sound as diamond scratches on doctor’s recommendations I vaccine some dollar bills for entertainment crystals - thats non-nickel-cadmium adjacent the cinema with her

just flashin’ against the line

I broke through the borrowed past, presented myself - bounced on calves… neck nexus to the side panorama first strident, an attack secondly merely contender ballast dear hearts with the task of fast or faster.

assured,

                    entry 3

Journal Entries in Blood Part three I went out to the market at midnight tonight, just to look around. A howling the other day made me think there might be a stray dog or wolf or something. I could probably train a wolf couldn’t I? The shop was dim though the neon open sign still cycled, coupled with metal bars and the lock, I somehow found my way home, and then it was… a howling, not of wolf, but of upset life or wind. It grew closer with another, then it stopped. My eyes were out like a dog, not a wolf, surveying the area for something other than leaves twisting attached to branches. I started my way home, a different way this time, I ate my trailmix and made safely to this attachment. It is nearly waking hour, and there it is again.

                       new new 1

i reckon there was a coast about 20 seconds ago, the earth drops’ moon cycle

i left without a trace to let loose my face, by alibi that to leech around a wind of fine grass, a wine glass, broke at home reminds that im out one seashells find that striking up on mine own binds of my suitcase working my shovel into an ovendouble shift one for mistakes, one for muscle… and one for miscellanious my find was called a jarhead and was for strictly  pure profit in the warbly march sand and soil at this time of night

yes, yes here, where fleeting doesn’t cost - anything - except the loss of a waist here and there, below the flaying gargoyles which embed one’s soul lies some treble conspiracy quo and today in cue stone, turnt to evening fire cutters, even welcomed evening grace, and i don’t see it happening any other way

little foggy, like always probably won’t rain, but i’ll jog if it gets on me… twenty past a single digit, and drunk mates had made a religion to stop me… not on my map, they don’t even know where i live systems down, this was hardly… what you would get out of me.. like always i shutter and i see a zombie, it’’s me

        new new 2

i reckon there was a coast about out and abrupt up about 20 seconds ago, the earth drops’ moon cycle had it different

on land. oh how!   docking reminds that im out one seashell - my first boat - and up around $1000 each toss of the new one. for that striking up on mine own binds - of my bane suitcase - working my shovel into an ovendouble shift one for mistakes, one for muscle… and one for miscellanious a net growth my find was called a jarhead and was for strictly  pure profit in the warbly march sand and soil at this time of night ‘that in treasures found scintillating matches, sparks, and clods

yes, yes here, where fleeting doesn’t cost - anything - except the loss of a waist here and there, below the flaying gargoyles which embed one’s soul lies some treble conspiracy quo and today in cue stone, turnt to evening fire cutters, even welcomed evening grace, and i don’t see it happening any other way

little foggy, like always probably won’t rain, but i’ll jog if it gets on me… twenty past a single digit, and drunk mates had made a religion to stop me… not on my map… they don’t even know where i live systems down, this was hardly his heart, always bound… what you would get out of me.. like always i shutter and i see a zombie, it’’s me

 one one

its so noiseless that i ask you nobody knows this if i left without a trace to let loose my face,

existence, would start with thee last left bashful eyelash by alibi that to leech around a winding hill of coal at rest and, yet when abreast two fifths fine grass, and a wine glass, broke at home

finishing with an invisible penny for twisting, an oasis reminding me that im out one seashells finding colored beigh with patina of five sevenths temple displacement that striking up on mine own binds of

where my eye is a filament for the engrossment of ‘those’ others - skeptically close- but don’t you know you were never one to run away, from the salted roads

                    zrunning

breaking broke stuff that’ that satellites back-up flashes that sound as diamond scratches on doctor’s recommendations I vaccine some dollar bills for entertainment crystals - thats non-nickel-cadmium adjacent the cinema with her

just flashin’ against the line

I broke through the borrowed past, presented myself - bounced on calves… neck nexus to the side panorama first strident, an attack secondly merely contender ballast dear hearts with the task of fast or faster.

I lick my pen against the flower to appear chic yet damage nothing… How subject - of abstraction - forms torque on normally debatable craft ending, mending within art’s perametre; thus stated reverence, may exceed instead of submit to vision - though limited - image which is contrary in most cases, hitherto where this percent of contraction may hold true in reverse for cubism garullously settling upon it’s true form…

            sober slurry

a puzzling equivalent - unto which i know of at very least twofold - habilitated itself with my side order of large onion rings…to go was and will be, cheddar jalapeno dip, oh, and a bottle of soda, a small pricey one…  it seems these were on side as i gazed at the game sippin on my gazzeiu, that of the way over yonder to the other half of the staggering petition to heresay glee club mods who say no and who’d attribute new age convention with extremely age’d tradition… bless them. and their future seeds

      nor zeus, nor he be the king of wizards, and poseidon - damned to eat plankton, that i relish eating wagon wheel cookies

— 

turuses

       curiously appetizing

I passed the telephone company’s brick building on the way back (like always) and like always it caught my glance (and probably, properly stored my electrolytes’ dot product in it’s heaving face) 

I couldn’t fit inside the telephone machine building. for some reason, the telephone, had it in for me! yet, after 3 hours i sit by it’s ‘therefore’, wondering… why i must get inside this telephone.

               soma

a riddle what starts with a middle four fretting that is, not ice cream, yet just as meddlesome when together between them specimens vary very robust, that is when not brushed… you can pick it up some say you can master it, some do as a clutch rapport, and clash together, with so much but sport. some think silence can take hold of the being… calming astronauts and marrying marigold flocks all abandoning the forge of earthly locks… consuming this tug of war with this rebel heart

destined for back pane, yet strained resonating with two thumbs on next whatever that may mean its suspect to a violence sometimes only ascribed to in old folks home, where the bloods been beaten hot and that 

                  outer space

fare long freight to dim dimensions rate penchants whilst trenches, in… a way.. never saw them coming yet hospitals frost the tips fitness and fair stipulation lips conjugation of list - equivalent -  while separation wiles, stat-wiley over intact, nothing - like platitudes dilution of concrete blocks add attitude yet painful memories by diminished blocks are subdued?

        wool

Oh, it’s certain… hundred-thousand militant measures of a broken yard by metre (estranged for the reader) a meteor shower amends the broken pleasures of such a Neapolitan attack on the criticism for the cynicism had me open! Yes, oh my… plenty coin-like credit-card-scam-brilliance, sign the marks on my frail, weathered effacement into a blithering commensurate, yet forever emblematic union of staccato! The moon, was following me yet, and As I had sprained my ankle, I were had to, run over roots, scurry past pledges, that with a fluid limp-jump… mildly hopping over tracks, which my upper-back, caught on to splayed roots on the ground… as to be seen, wildly kicking up the scarce twig and twixt, ‘and anon: oxygen millennials - when and where necessary my powers of narration became anaesthetised and somehow configured itself somewhat, that into an old VHS tape conception format. After a little tracking the odour of odium prices on wolf masks with that plastic diffraction slips And the moon by the window, cocked it’s wonder-gun at me, Pleasure of unthinkable amounts, resting in negative, all conceived

   v.1 “lemon tree”, postaged bout 10 days, (lemon-earth days)

sallow / pallor

it must be the burnt lemon tree fall upon us solid-crysallids of almondine kiss and please, never let go of this almond fists’ criss-cross lisp to hold boiling fugue it is that the dusky forever’s took a tan gentle shrub enough of a lover’s hug wild at first yet plunging into cupid’s burning lungs o, that sweet passion, to be thy mouth of windless notion… promontory, flora where to end thy’s pursed-when, or  begin, what fond of recoil and jettison-nonplus we’ve bout begged to dine at its smouldering tartine  plagued with ragged snakes and flame to please for the sakes of this lonely burnt lemon tree I’ll assail all with what the burnt lemon takes to consume

   dendrose

1 this is for that usury,

used to be     awake, censorship encumbered-package, usually~ Asleep,             clad in yesterday’s haze, beep, beep, beep first to rise, which just happens to be a phase… 6, clock, spearmint 6:15, cries. 2 identical clock cavities, brustlin’ busts of oven-cannot, trallop suites… I’ve officially dye-cast silver from coin to sweat, wheat and parametres, of which i’ve never spoke! 3 down by the second leap of day’s scales, the moon’s lymph tickle, play trick on the sicler…  ‘say Death creeps out like how it does North Farther… ‘say don’t be scared of the ion, curtain, cascades… they say they break soon enough, that is                                                                  as the iris tissue combusts!

4 and the parliament in laymens, rise like spite, muscly, and whelk; totally combobulated enough to qualify for thalidomide and seeing wealth. documents privvy to a living type of surrepititious musical scale.

5 around noon, the shops are broken into, the salad’s tossed, the forks, mashed in the gravy… without the sauce… stocktips holdfast like plateaus - how pleasant - bout the size of a yogurt…  rain flares out of specifics… and barbers, leave there parlors… cars park - forward and backwards! 6 round about now the static combs diagonals,   slate and tie, like an Egyptian wedding order for two,  who killed you, and how you survived… 7 soon enough one must become one, and it always may… if i had to I would pat your heart a lullaby in your mummified chestplate just to be certain that I could breathe ~somehow.

8 its safe now for the mystriant, or the leader clad in torn bloody clothes in plain deniable site… to march upon the moons tumultuous creators,  now maybe high noon                                      all night.

     just x 3

(bystand…)s are outnumbered by and yet while the juri is in… weather the atmosphere is tight enough, expediant and gruesome for the sudden fog! !oh what a sudden fog! plus, the lust for cummulative lush and hush, of, flesh, rut rooted room for relish, oh, im out of legalities to logician’s flexfit fever, ferver-fluish…                                 “rabbitfoot-talisman” and, that they are

    at least     for now     and sheesh     I couldn’t count all these…

maudlin, vaudvillian pleats and hill battling in fleets, bleeding the tattle, in thieving the leaves,     as this somehow presents itself,     in a waltz within the season -

whilst, some reassuring sequence that thy betwixt bane and bosom, slaying, and slalom straight, out the demonic cellar of  Helen Keller, ~looking for a piece of plastic - bendy, black -  whilst sweating through tissues as would molasses !oh quite reluctant~

just to envelop the feasting concept in enamel-persona, that, “looks”, could be a snug fit as slang for glasses!oh

well, no match for shelves or sleeves in it among mashed-out color additives, “Madvillain” - trapped like tylenol packages… just too, pry that thing off my sling, slang sugar rifle, .35s to just need to carry this for triflin’ broken-oxen+wrought-trophy, a token for the inert.

marching through the swampy mud

          balm

~a drag with bisquick, mistaken. a martyr broken, out spoken a pledge  ‘though,’ mystics saw - in blind pageant -  that it had been coming, the change in self / perpetual melting (maybe even wealth      and static (theduality ))(- of practise expedient…) patient momentum  quite like:                 eddies now, that tend to slop up off with the the prophets.’ toxicity and all textures on hand! mesmerism-synthesizing-metabolic, clox                  “A tall tail of uncommon fixtures to abed the solstice!” Ail uncommon Oxbridge- flyers…

who! ~ never saw this it coming - it, being.  antithesizing avec beau shashay - passing by  -round noon -,a  slash a dash of anti-septic aid from the atmospheric changes )oh what a terrible 1 haiku )                             2 cacoon cannot forget the forfeit with a timurus attendant addendum of excess lemonade, -the patchy landing on cobblestones as a final order of direct ability to access sweet lemon merange pie! so cold! slay the dragon Oh, how moylent  whoa, whoa, whoa dragon wings circled, moving more tweaked than lofty, that the shady concentric, crown-ambulent missletoe fleers stocatto flamed resisting arrest,  sat down to rest on the ashy rooty charred bark deposit, chalk outline and all. And he seemed to pout, resting in his petulance, all on final penguin-feat exhuming the fallen lemon tree + roots Why? The sky - a death sentence, yet the crestfallen three-dimensional tilt of matter integrity beaming so honest from the sky’ now just past noon, sliding through like a dull lens (ingenuity), christened expedia! as and sent through the bloody-rack of fossilized hub temperature, gaily enjoying and blasting & mashing hulls lithosphere to the dragon, for now. the size of one third day, tending in an ache, forced tired like ambulances, and breaking off chips of lemon rinds like toothpaste…. oh! perambulating fonder chest cavitity status by chasing marche,’ strips, off commonly dragon mouth chaste stasis places, ready to eat pate’ and break blades off a graceless fairy ring,  situated for bleak outlooks with its correct gargoyle smile missletoe at every sharp corner and as it was granted that this crystallizing dead tantrum of claws, wings, thighs, to be scaled for consumption 

        boe-loose

it crumbled like cartlidge, brisky-brisk then nonchalant at its content - ever so rich, in, conch shell whistleblowing labella, labelled able in its lapel to cache and cast a spell,  upon which the worthiest pearl-whirring, cat-nip tail made for cats, some effect… for people, zizing - and whizing the cats backwards-bats… out of hell, surprisingly distasteful… cruella deville

perhaps atrocities, within the minds of these pilfered oddities by the hundreds, take malnurish me,  on second thought its usually redundant asunder opposition to Gravity that spots of wine cause catastrophe

flying, like snails at a clean stop operation ~loosed from the grave

                    topsicology

the scarecrow glided past as apostacy towards err. perhaps more than air. the long corn crops gilded the found floundering stare-off. perhaps more wispy than fair…  the greatest movement jackal, basically all impaired… just waiting in its frothy, slow-growth to find a child or conjugate terror why, ‘see that, I am a child of burden,  sent from ion ridges and whisked past ice-sturgeons with respect to facilitate the growth - that in tandem - sent into the proximate atmosphere for a slow-burning ‘till its torn apart, and till its worn to wrought all a vision a scarecrow, which rends his smarts, filled totally gut of surroundings, and one day imparts a version of itself, which had lorn to lock, but had to step down from the part.

                               bark

a larger than normal tarantula poised to eat a small tree outside the restrictive park area came to the conclusion that, if he had studied medicine, he might have enjoyed eating sooner.

who knows?

[quvsvrs]

— °❖｡× ⌜welcome to...⌟

RUBRUM MALEVOLIA: THE SUMMER COURT OF THE FAERIES

Nicknamed ❝ RUMA ❞ for those traveling through or in tales about the magical lands, Rubrum Malevolia is a wondrous land that never experiences snowfall’s harsh winds, that never has its leaves fade to yellow to orange to red to brown, that never floods and blooms with the hopeful of spring. In Ruma, all year is summer. The only precaution you have to take on whether it is scorch, storm, or solstice. Summer is many things and often, people forget how merciless it can be. 

Rubrum Malevolia’s borders are heavily wooded forests, wild fruits hanging off the trees and bright flowers constantly abloom. Inviting, but untelling of what lies within. A day or two of travel will land a traveler into the heart of Ruma, where most of the fae reside. It’s a harbour town, consequently named the Harbourfront, opening up to a crystalline lake with dozens of lands dotting its horizons and thousands more beyond that. Although there are no qualms amongst the people, there’s a pensive anticipation. The fae are constantly preparing for what summer brings.

SOLSTICE is a joyous time. Songs play in every corner of the bustling town. Large bowls of fruit are passed along from faerie to faerie, whether they are family, friend, or stranger. Travelers hope to come during this time, as solstice brings calm nights where you can clearly see the stars, bonfires can roar and grumble all throughout the day and night without worry. The lake is welcoming, soft waves washing along the shores of the numerous beaches the Harbourfront has to offer. Animals of all kind, as well as enchanted plants and spirits, come to visit all the fae during solstice. It’s a time of celebration. 

SCORCH is tribulating and only dangerous if carelessness takes reign. The heat intensifies to the point that anything unprotected is subject to melting and burning. The fae are wary, tired, but continue to use charms not meant for their magic for the most basic of cool-offs. Many fae disappear from the Harbourfront and into the lake, finding solace in shadowy swamps and cooling marshes. Caution is given to travelers to not light any fires, as the scorch will not be kind to any flame. Many fae are equipped with knowledge of how to stop forest fires from spreading. 

STORM is dangerous, enthralling, and how many people can identify if a faerie belongs in the summer court. Thunderstorms, cyclones, and monsoons dominate the lands and waters during this time. Traveling is not advised, as the lakes are bloodthirsty and the winds aim to destroy. What differs a summer court fae from the others is the adrenaline that spikes through their wings and fingers during storms. It’s hardwired into their magic, to indulge in the disaster that becomes of what the worst of nature has to bring. Nearing the end of storms, the court often comes together to rebuild anything that wasn’t prepared enough, though as the years go on, the Harbourfront has infrastructure against the storms down to an art.

The royals of Rubrum Malevolia reside in an unusual castle. Built farther down the coast, away from the Harbourfront, the shore eventually chips way into a steep, rocky cliff. The castle is built both atop the surface and into the cliffside. It is a sturdy structure, built for withstanding any storm or scorch. It is a tradition for each newly instated King to build new quarters, ballrooms, or galleries into the cliff and has become a labyrinth of enchanted walkways to explore. The latest King built a veranda on the outermost side of the cliff, looking out at the lake. Charmed crystals are nestled onto the doorframe of each entry into the veranda, designed as a barrier so storms cannot get inside the maze inside the cliff. The veranda is nestled well below the top of the cliff, so close to the water level that if one dares to stand outside during a storm, the lake sprays and attempts to take them. 

The lake is large but the forest that surrounds Rubrum Malevolia is larger and completely encompasses it. Rivers flow into the lake from other areas and make easy access points for those wishing to enter. And although Ruma welcomes any benevolent travelers to stay at the Harbourfront, there are seekers who wish to pillage the islands. It’s why the summer court was created around this lake, as precious, magical jewels of all kinds manifest themselves on the islands. Many of them provide a variety of uses in spells, enchantments, curses, and overall magic enhancement. Anywhere else, they are rare and difficult to mine, but they simply rest in the veins of the rocky islands of Ruma. The fae of the summer court have no need for them, they seek their thrills and bounties right there in Harbourfront.

Guardians of the forest hide in the shadows of the thick forest, making sure that all those who travel to Ruma are indeed only seeking to travel. They are resilient and strong, proud and unwavering. All sorts of guardian fae dwell within the forest, all with the same task of protecting Ruma’s splendour. Those who access the realm through the rivers will always see a guardian. Those traveling by foot are often guided by them in the shadows to the town and if there is resistance, they will show their face.

Fae of the summer court come in all different varieties. All of them have enhanced endurance to combat the storm and scorch. But, depending on when a fae was born, their powers match that aspect of summer. Those born during solstice are musically talented in both song and dance, bear the power to manipulate summer fruits and plants, manipulate water as if it was a dancing being, and use the solstice sun’s magic to heal. Those born during scorch can manipulate the hottest of fires, can make people see illusions with heat shimmer, and have an astounding resistance to the hottest of temperatures, some even manifesting fire as a form of flight in addition to their wings. Those born during storm have lightning coursing through their veins they can channel out of their body, can create destructive torrents of water, bend the sharpest of winds to their whim and command, crumble and shatter rock with their very strength, and are the only summer fae able to manifest ice without hindrance ( albeit in the form of hail ). 

Fae of the summer court have a wide range of wing shapes and sizes. Notable mentions are Corentin Auster, Prince of the Summer Court, whose wings are iridescently glassy, quick, agile, and strong like a dragonfly’s with veins that electricity courses through to provide power and Vitaflora Darling, whose wings are so large they trail on the ground when she stands and are hooked and feathered like an eagle’s. Although heritage does play a part in what size and shape wings are going to be for a faerie, rumour has it that any nearby jewels within the lake can influence a faerie’s wings and make them manifest in a new and unique way. No data has been collected to prove this claim and frankly, the summer court does not feel it worthy enough to research.

#•✕┅ « files » #•✕┅ « files: corentin auster » #•✕┅ « files: vitaflora darling » #•✕┅ « files: rubrum malevolia »

[piersdowell]

How Custom Helmets are gaining popularity in the UK? And for all the right reasons!

Custom helmets and custom bikes were not meant to be born together. In any case, they were brought into the world for one another. The excursion of helmets began nearly 80 years ago. At first, crash caps were utilized as defensive gear worn to secure the head.

From vintage cowhide skullcaps to advanced carbon fibre made helmets, head protectors have their evolutionary history. With the passing ages, protective caps structures have evolved in various ways.

Today no rider can imagine going on a ride without head protection gear. Drivers, athletes, and different riders like to tweak their protective caps. It enhances their look by enlivening them with examples and shadings. This is why custom helmet painters in the UK are getting acknowledgement in extraordinary ways.

Let’s learn how a custom painted helmet proves to be a lot better choice than a regular one.

# Characteristics of a Great Custom Helmet

As riders evolved, their style proclamations got advanced. Custom helmets are a critical part of this excursion. Piers Dowell, being one of the most amazing imaginative artistic helmet designers, always put security on top.

However, alongside they add a decent configuration to keep up the uniqueness and differentiating tones for the riders. Collecting the greatest solace with the style of the client makes a helmet ace every consideration.

In entire Great Britain, Piers Dowell craft head protectors like a craftsman. Every helmet is made to furnish the best nature of style with worldwide norms of security & head protection.

# Why Helmets are an important aesthetic for riders?

Specialists say that wearing a cap diminishes the danger of a head injury by up to 70 per cent. You will see no master rider having a good time without a helmet. It secures the driver’s head and increases the fun associated with your riding experience.

Here’s a long list of reasons for wearing a helmet. Cookie points, if it’s a customised one:

1. Elevates Safety:

While riding your bicycle, your head and face are the pieces of your body that are generally defenceless to mishaps. Without protective headgear, they can undoubtedly get seriously injured. As a guideline, consistently wear your head protector while riding any bike is the best way to dodge undesirable outcomes.

2. Shield from Bad Weather:

Your helmet can prove as security against brutal climate conditions. Some custom helmets come with a unique glass shield to save your face from UV beams. It goes as an assurance against outrageous climate conditions like dews, smog, fog, heavy rain, snowfall or hail storms.

3. Sets a Good Example

Today, everybody knows that a protective helmet is the main piece in the road safety game. If the fellow riders see you wearing a protective cap, they’ll feel inspired. Crazy riders will understand that it is in their best interest only to begin wearing one.

4. Aesthetic Appeals

A custom head-gear adds more fascination and style to your riding character. It will finish and commend your all-over biker look. You might be an occasional rider yet custom helmets can help you look more genuine and energetic. You might even bag a welcome invitation from the local rider’s club.

5. Be Visible at Night

Riding around nights can be dangerous, particularly when there are fewer light sources around. In such times, your helmet’s protective cap’s reflector will assist you as a secure indicator. It helps you get seen by the other drivers on the road.

Owning a bike without a helmet is like living a life without insurance. You can! But it’s not worth the risk. It’s better to always have the head of your insurance with you. And if you want to get a customised head insurance (helmet), then reach out to Piers Dowell.

We are the best custom helmet painting shop in the UK. We offer you a guarantee of your security, combined with tasteful art and a riding solace. Keeping our client’s choices in mind, we tweak each helmet to give it a novel mark and an unmistakable style.

Using the creative arts, popping tones, and unquestionably the best quality material to make a security gear. Visit our website and find out why we are a preferred choice of half of the riders in the UK. You may join the list too.

#custom helmet #helmet painting

[wazafam]

Netflix confirmed 27 movies are releasing in 2021, and here's every one of them. Hosted by three Red Notice stars - Ryan Reynolds, Gad Gadot, and Dwayne Johnson - Netflix's 2021 Film Preview video packs in a lot of information for curious streamers, which may feel both exciting and slightly overwhelming.

Netflix's preview video doesn't include all of their upcoming 2021 movies, but rather a select group of films across various genres - including their biggest releases. The sneak peek reveals that new movies will be released once per week throughout the year, which means that just over half are included in the clip. Several celebrities make brief appearances to hype up their upcoming projects, and Red Notice unsurprisingly receives the most attention during the the Netflix 2021 Film Preview.

Related: Every New Movie Releasing On Netflix In 2021

With the streaming wars being more intense than ever, Netflix wisely enlisted some big names for their 2021 Film Preview. But while the star power and assortment of clips are indeed impressive, there's little information provided about details that audiences may be curious about.

Directed by Mikael Håfström, Outside the Wire follows a drone pilot named Harp (Damson Idris; Snowfall) who works in a militarized zone for android officer Leo (Anthony Mackie; the MCU's Falcon). Together, they seek out a device that could end the world. Outside the Wire co-stars Pilou Asbæk (Game of Thrones) and Emily Beecham (Hail, Caesar!). Netflix's 2021 trailer features an aerial shot, along with Mackie's character doing a somersault and pointing his weapon. Outside the Wire released on January 15, 2021.

As the latest feature from acclaimed filmmaker Ramin Bahrani (Chop Shop), The White Tiger follows a poor man named Balram Halwai (Adarsh Gourav; Leila) who becomes a wealthy entrepreneur in India. The crime drama (release date TBA) co-stars Priyanka Chopra (Quantico) and Rajkummar Rao (Shahid), and is based on Aravind Adiga's eponymous 2008 novel. The Netflix trailer features a close-up of Gourav, along with Chopra and Rao's characters embracing. The White Tiger releases on January 22, 2021.

Starring John David Washington (Tenet) and Zendaya (Dune) as the respective title characters, Malcolm & Marie follows a couple who celebrate their impending professional success but then argue about their relationship. The black-and-white drama was written and directed by Sam Levinson, with the Netflix trailer featuring close-ups of the primary leads. Malcolm & Marie will release on February 5, 2021.

In the third and final To All the Boys movie, Lara Jean Covey (Lana Condor) finishes high school and imagines a possible life with Peter (Noah Centineo). Janel Parrish and Madeleine Arthur reprise their roles in the latest adaptation of Jenny Han's novel series. The first image in the Netflix teaser (above) shows Lara Jean with a content grin, while the second reveals that she's reacting to Peter - perhaps a "grand gesture" that's typical of rom-com films. To All The Boys: Always and Forever is scheduled to release on February 12.

Based on the eponymous 2009 book by author Amy Krouse Rosenthal and illustrator Tom Lichtenheld, Yes Day follows a couple who allows their children to set the family rules for 24 hours. In the Netflix teaser clip, Edgar Ramírez (Carlos) and Jennifer Garner (Alias) have fun with their children in Los Angeles. Yes Day co-stars Jenna Ortega (Iron Man 3) and Nat Faxon (The Way Way Back). Netflix will release Yes Day on March 21, 2021.

Directed by Zack Snyder, Army of the Dead centers on a group of mercenaries who attempt to pull a heist during a zombie outbreak in Las Vegas. The main cast includes Dave Bautista (the MCU's Drax), Ella Purnell (Sweetbitter), and Ana de la Reguera (Eastbound & Down). In the teaser, Netflix shows an aerial helicopter shot, an image of Bautista's character entering a room full of money, and visuals of the main characters engaging in battle. Army of the Dead will release in summer 2021.

Isla Fisher (Wedding Crashers) stars in an animated comedy about deadly Australian creatures who plan to escape from a zoo and relocate. The Netflix teaser includes a brief landscape shot and a character close-up (above). Back to the Outback co-stars Rachel House (Thor: Ragnorok) and Eric Bana (Star Trek).

In Bad Trip, Eric André (The Eric André Show) and Lil Rel Howery (Get Out) star as friends who travel cross-country to New York City. In the Netflix teaser, the main protagonists laugh together on the hood of a vehicle (above). Netflix hasn't announced a release date for Bad Trip.

Related: Best Netflix Original Horror Movies & TV Shows Of 2020

Set in 1980s New Jersey and directed by Andrew Dosunmu (Mother of George), Beauty follows the titular character (Gracie Marie Bradley; The Secret Lives of Cheerleaders) who is on the verge of becoming a musical sensation. Written by Lena Waithe (Ready Player One), Beauty includes supporting performances from Giancarlo Esposito (Breaking Bad) and Sharon Stone (Casino). The preview clip includes a stylized character close-up (above), along with a complementary second shot of the two characters from a different angle. Beauty doesn't yet have an official release date.

Bruised takes place in the world of mixed martial arts and marks the directorial debut of Halle Berry (Monster's Ball), who stars as a disgraced fighter named Jackie Justice. The Netflix preview shows Jackie walking through an arena, presumably before a big match, and the second visual shows her being hit by real-life UFC star Valentina Shevchenko. Bruised doesn't have an official release date yet.

Written and directed by Adam McKay (The Big Short), Don't Look Up stars Leonardo DiCaprio (The Revenant) and Jennifer Lawrence (The Hunger Games) as astronauts who try to convince the public that a meteorite will soon destroy the Earth. The Netflix comedy features a star-studded supporting cast, including Timothée Chalamet (Dune), Chris Evans (the MCU's Captain America), Cate Blanchett (The Lord of the Rings), Meryl Streep (The Devil Wears Prada), and Jonah Hill (The Wolf of Wall Street). The Netflix trailer includes six shots of DiCaprio and Lawrence preparing to depart from an airplane, with both characters appearing visibly nervous. Don't Look Up doesn't have an official release date.

A Brazilian film, Double Dad stars Maisa Silva (Carrossel) as an 18-year-old girl who flees from her hippie commune. The family comedy was directed by Cris D'Amato, who is best known for helming S.O.S.: Women to the Sea and S.O.S.: Women to the Sea 2. In the Netflix clip, Silva's character rides her bike and then smiles in a close-up visual (above). Double Dad is "Coming Soon."

Based on George Saunders' eponymous short story, Escape from Spiderhead follows convicts who participate in a drug experiment program to shorten their sentences. Chris Hemsworth (the MCU's Thor), Miles Teller (Whiplash), and Jurnee Smollett (Lovecraft Country) star as the primary leads, and the film was directed by Joseph Kosinski (Oblivion, Top Gun: Maverick). The Netflix preview shows Hemsworth transporting Teller's character to an unknown destination. Escape from Spiderhead doesn't have an official release date.

Fear Street marks the first film of a trilogy based on R.L. Stine's eponymous book series. Set in 1994, the horror movie follows various teenagers in Shadyside, Ohio who believe that their bizarre experiences are intertwined, with Gillian Jacobs (Community) headlining the main cast. The Fear Street teaser includes a close-up of a scared female character, which is followed by a close-up of a masked character (above). A release date hasn't been announced.

Directed by Cedric Nicolas-Troyan (The Huntsman: Winter's War), Kate follows a woman who gets poisoned and subsequently targets her enemies over the course of 24 hours. Meanwhile, she forms a bond with the daughter of a past victim. Kate stars Mary Elizabeth Winstead (Birds of Prey), Michiel Huisman (Game of Thrones), and Woody Harrelson (True Detective). The teaser images shows close-ups of Harrelson (above) and Winstead, along with an overhead street shot. Kate will release sometime in 2021.

Related: Every Upcoming Sci-Fi Movie In 2021

Set in Harlem, Monster follows a 17-year-old named Steve Harmon (Kelvin Harrison, Jr.; Luce) who gets charged with murder. The character study co-stars Jennifer Hudson (Dreamgirls), who appears with Harrison Jr. in the Netflix teaser. A premiere date hasn't been announced.

Directed by Amy Poehler (Parks and Recreation), Moxie follows 16-year-old Vivian (Hadley Robinson), who publishes an underground zine called Moxie to expose the questionable behavior of classmates. The protagonist then inadvertently creates a revolution, which was partially inspired by her mother, who is portrayed by Poehler (above in a close-up from the teaser). Moxie co-stars Josephine Langford (After) and will release on March 3. The teaser clip also includes a wide shot of teenagers leaving a building.

In Night Teeth, a chauffeur picks up two mysterious women in Los Angeles and becomes immersed in a dangerous underworld. The Adam Randall thriller stars Alexander Ludwig (Vikings) and Sydney Sweeney (Euphoria), along with Lucy Fry (Bright) and Debby Ryan (Insatiable) - both of whom appear in the above trailer visual. Night Teeth will release sometime in 2021.

Directed by the French filmmaker Alexandre Aja (High Tension), O2 stars Mélanie Laurent (Inglourious Basterds) as a woman who wakes up in a cryogenic chamber with no memories. The thriller co-stars Mathieu Amalric (Quantum of Solace), and was written by Christie LeBlanc. Netflix's teaser includes a visual of Laurent's character who seems to be just waking up. O2 doesn't have a release date yet.

In Red Notice, Dwayne Johnson (Jumanji) stars as an Interpol agent who tracks an art thief. Written and directed by Rawson Marshall Thurber (Skyscraper), the Netflix blockbuster co-stars Ryan Reynolds (Deadpool) and Gal Gadot (Wonder Woman). Netflix's 2021 movie teaser includes various close-ups of Johnson, and shows Reynolds walking through a private plane. Gadot also displays her combat skills, and there's a comedic moment between the two male leads during a fight sequence. A final explosion visual teases the scope of production. Netflix hasn't announced a premiere date for Red Notice.

Sweet Girl stars Jason Momoa (Aquaman) as a man who seeks vengeance for the murder of his wife and attempts to protect his daughter, portrayed by Isabela Merced (Sicario: Day of the Soldado). The Netflix action film marks the feature directorial debut of Brian Andrew Mendoza, who previously produced the Momoa films Road to Paloma, Frontier, and Maven. The teaser clips show Momoa's character frantically running and later battling with someone. Also, Merced's character appears with a bruised eye (above). A release date hasn't been announced for Sweet Girl.

The Harder They Fall follows a man who seeks justice for the murder of his parents. Directed and co-written by Jeymes Samuel (They Die by Dawn), the Netflix western stars Idris Elba (Luther), Regina King (Watchmen), Zazie Beetz (Deadpool 2), LaKeith Stanfield (Sorry to Bother You), and Jonathan Majors (Lovecraft Country). In the first shot, King, Elba and Stanfield seem ready for a street confrontation, while the second shot shows an intimate chat between King and Majors. In the third and final shot (above), Majors and Beetz fire at unknown enemies. A premiere date hasn't been set for The Harder They Fall.

Related: The Best TV Shows Of 2020

In The Kissing Booth 3, Elle (Joey King; The Act) begins a new journey in college and must deal with the consequences of leaving someone behind. Vince Marcello directs the third franchise installment, which co-stars Joel Courtney as Lee Flynn and Taylor Zakhar Perez as Marco Peña. In the Netflix teaser, a wide coastline shot teases the "journey" premise, and the second clip show Elle embracing her long-time pal Lee. In the third and final clip (above), Elle and Noah Flynn (Jacob Elordi; Euphoria) have some fun in the sun, with Chloe Winthrop (Maisie Richardson-Sellers) right behind them. Netflix hasn't set an official premiere date for The Kissing Booth 3.

The Last Mercenary stars iconic action star Jean-Claude Van Damme (Bloodsport) as a former secret service agent whose estranged son is falsely accused of drug trafficking by the French government. Directed by David Charhon, the Netflix film co-stars Eric Judor (Platane) and Miou-Miou (The Science of Sleep). The Last Mercenary teaser shows a stretched-out character (above), and also someone being smashed into a mirror. Netflix hasn't announced a release date yet.

Based on A.J. Finn's 2018 novel, The Woman in the Window stars Amy Adams (Arrival) as an agoraphobic character who spies on her neighbors in New York City. The Netflix thriller was directed by Joe Wright (Darkest Hour), and co-stars the aforementioned Anthony Mackie, Gary Oldman (Darkest Hour), Julianne Moore (Magnolia), Bryan Tyree Henry (Atlanta), and Fred Hechinger (News of the World). In the Netflix teaser, three consecutive shots show Amy witnessing some type of crime, and then taking a picture. The Woman In The Window doesn't yet have an official release date.

Related: Why Hillbilly Elegy's Reviews Are So Brutal

Starring Melissa McCarthy (Bridesmaids) and Octavia Spencer (Hidden Figures), Thunder Force follows two childhood best friends who gain superhero powers and protect their city. The Netflix comedy film was written and directed by McCarthy's husband and long-time collaborator, Ben Falcone. In the teaser clip, the main characters Lydia (McCarthy) and Emily (Spencer) share a knowing grin, and the second shot shows the former displaying her strength by throwing a vehicle, which is followed by the focal duo reacting to the moment. Thunder Force is "Coming Soon," per Netflix.

Directed by Hamilton creator Lin-Manuel Miranda, Tick, Tick... Boom! takes place in 1990 and follows an aspiring theater composer named Jon (Andrew Garfield; The Amazing Spider-Man) who seeks his big break. Tick, Tick... Boom! is based on Jonathan Larson's musical, and features supporting performances from Vanessa Hudgens (High School Musical), Bradley Whitford (Get Out), and Alexandra Shipp (X-Men). In the teaser, a wide shot shows Jon at a piano in an empty building, while the second features a close-up of Garfield's character trying to avoid a library crowd. Tick, Tick... Boom! doesn't have an official premiere date.

Next: Every New Show Releasing On Netflix In 2021

All 27 2021 Netflix Movies Explained | Screen Rant from https://ift.tt/3oIedBU

#Blogger

[cover2covermom]

Today I am sharing my favorite reads of 2019!  I read 130 books in 2019, so narrowing down my list to only 10 books was not going to happen #SorryNotSorry

Here are my favorite 24 books of 2019….

» The Winter of the Witch (Winternight #3) by Katherine Arden

Now Moscow has been struck by disaster. Its people are searching for answers—and for someone to blame. Vasya finds herself alone, beset on all sides. The Grand Prince is in a rage, choosing allies that will lead him on a path to war and ruin. A wicked demon returns, stronger than ever and determined to spread chaos. Caught at the center of the conflict is Vasya, who finds the fate of two worlds resting on her shoulders. Her destiny uncertain, Vasya will uncover surprising truths about herself and her history as she desperately tries to save Russia, Morozko, and the magical world she treasures. But she may not be able to save them all.

The Winter of the Witch was the perfect conclusion to the Winternight Trilogy. The Winternight Trilogy really has it all: political intrigue, Russian folklore, magic, action, adventure, a bad ass leading lady… I cannot recommend this series enough.

You can read my mini review here ⇒ Mini Book Review: Winter of the Witch

» The Snow Child by Eowyn Ivey

Alaska, 1920: a brutal place to homestead, and especially tough for recent arrivals Jack and Mabel. Childless, they are drifting apart–he breaking under the weight of the work of the farm; she crumbling from loneliness and despair. In a moment of levity during the season’s first snowfall, they build a child out of snow. The next morning the snow child is gone–but they glimpse a young, blonde-haired girl running through the trees. This little girl, who calls herself Faina, seems to be a child of the woods. She hunts with a red fox at her side, skims lightly across the snow, and somehow survives alone in the Alaskan wilderness. As Jack and Mabel struggle to understand this child who could have stepped from the pages of a fairy tale, they come to love her as their own daughter. But in this beautiful, violent place things are rarely as they appear, and what they eventually learn about Faina will transform all of them.

There was so much that I adored about this book: the beautiful writing, the characters, the plot inspired by Russian folklore, the magic realism elements, the frontier setting of 1920s Alaska…

You can read my mini review here ⇒ Mini Book Review: The Snow Child

» Moloka’i by Alan Brennert

This richly imagined novel, set in Hawai’i more than a century ago, is an extraordinary epic of a little-known time and place—and a deeply moving testament to the resiliency of the human spirit.

Rachel Kalama, a spirited seven-year-old Hawaiian girl, dreams of visiting far-off lands like her father, a merchant seaman. Then one day a rose-colored mark appears on her skin, and those dreams are stolen from her. Taken from her home and family, Rachel is sent to Kalaupapa, the quarantined leprosy settlement on the island of Moloka’i. Here her life is supposed to end—but instead she discovers it is only just beginning.

This book was absolutely heartbreaking on so many different levels. I cried on two different occasions while reading it, and I seldom cry while reading books.

Moloka’i included themes like family (traditional and nontraditional), friendship, freedom, hope, love, religion/faith (Christianity vs. Paganism), illness, loss, and grief.  This book blew me away.  I read it along with one of my book clubs, and every member enjoyed it.

You can read my mini review here ⇒ Mini Book Review: Moloka’i

» Circe by Madeline Miller

In the house of Helios, god of the sun and mightiest of the Titans, a daughter is born. But Circe is a strange child—not powerful, like her father, nor viciously alluring like her mother. Turning to the world of mortals for companionship, she discovers that she does possess power—the power of witchcraft, which can transform rivals into monsters and menace the gods themselves.

Threatened, Zeus banishes her to a deserted island, where she hones her occult craft, tames wild beasts and crosses paths with many of the most famous figures in all of mythology, including the Minotaur, Daedalus and his doomed son Icarus, the murderous Medea, and, of course, wily Odysseus.

But there is danger, too, for a woman who stands alone, and Circe unwittingly draws the wrath of both men and gods, ultimately finding herself pitted against one of the most terrifying and vengeful of the Olympians. To protect what she loves most, Circe must summon all her strength and choose, once and for all, whether she belongs with the gods she is born from, or the mortals she has come to love.

I adore how Madeline Miller weaves her Greek Mythology retellings. The more of Madeline’s retellings I read, the more I want to read Homer’s The Illiad & The Odyssey. Even though I have not read Homer’s books, from what I’ve researched, Miller stays true to the original story while creating an entirely new spin on the story.  Honestly, I hope she will continue this trend because I will read every one she comes out with.

Circe includes themes like complicated family dynamics, mortality vs. immortality, sexism/gender inequality, destiny, motherhood, sex positivity, and love. I was engaged from beginning to end.

You can read my mini review here ⇒ Mini Book Review: Circe

» The Poppy War (The Poppy War #1) by R.F. Kuang

When Rin aced the Keju, the Empire-wide test to find the most talented youth to learn at the Academies, it was a shock to everyone: to the test officials, who couldn’t believe a war orphan from Rooster Province could pass without cheating; to Rin’s guardians, who believed they’d finally be able to marry her off and further their criminal enterprise; and to Rin herself, who realized she was finally free of the servitude and despair that had made up her daily existence. That she got into Sinegard, the most elite military school in Nikan, was even more surprising.

But surprises aren’t always good.

Because being a dark-skinned peasant girl from the south is not an easy thing at Sinegard. Targeted from the outset by rival classmates for her color, poverty, and gender, Rin discovers she possesses a lethal, unearthly power—an aptitude for the nearly-mythical art of shamanism. Exploring the depths of her gift with the help of a seemingly insane teacher and psychoactive substances, Rin learns that gods long thought dead are very much alive—and that mastering control over those powers could mean more than just surviving school.

For while the Nikara Empire is at peace, the Federation of Mugen still lurks across a narrow sea. The militarily advanced Federation occupied Nikan for decades after the First Poppy War, and only barely lost the continent in the Second. And while most of the people are complacent to go about their lives, a few are aware that a Third Poppy War is just a spark away . . .

Rin’s shamanic powers may be the only way to save her people. But as she finds out more about the god that has chosen her, the vengeful Phoenix, she fears that winning the war may cost her humanity . . . and that it may already be too late.

If I had to sum up The Poppy War in a few words, they would be epic, brutal, and morally gray.  I flew through this book despite it being 544 pages!  I cannot wait to get my hands on the second book next month.

You can read my mini review here ⇒ Mini Book Review: The Poppy War

» Speak by Laurie Halse Anderson

The first ten lies they tell you in high school.

“Speak up for yourself—we want to know what you have to say.”

From the first moment of her freshman year at Merryweather High, Melinda knows this is a big fat lie, part of the nonsense of high school. She is friendless, outcast, because she busted an end-of-summer party by calling the cops, so now nobody will talk to her, let alone listen to her. As time passes, she becomes increasingly isolated and practically stops talking altogether. Only her art class offers any solace, and it is through her work on an art project that she is finally able to face what really happened at that terrible party: she was raped by an upperclassman, a guy who still attends Merryweather and is still a threat to her. Her healing process has just begun when she has another violent encounter with him. But this time Melinda fights back, refuses to be silent, and thereby achieves a measure of vindication.

In Laurie Halse Anderson’s powerful novel, an utterly believable heroine with a bitterly ironic voice delivers a blow to the hypocritical world of high school. She speaks for many a disenfranchised teenager while demonstrating the importance of speaking up for oneself.

Speak was a 1999 National Book Award Finalist for Young People’s Literature.

Books that explore sexual assault victimization are so important, especially in the YA target age range, because they can inform, increases empathy, and challenge problematic rape culture.  Speak needs to be required reading for all high school aged kids.

You can read my mini review here ⇒ Mini Book Review: Speak

» Daisy Jones and the Six by Taylor Jenkins Reid

Everyone knows Daisy Jones & The Six, but nobody knows the reason behind their split at the absolute height of their popularity . . . until now.

Daisy is a girl coming of age in L.A. in the late sixties, sneaking into clubs on the Sunset Strip, sleeping with rock stars, and dreaming of singing at the Whisky a Go Go. The sex and drugs are thrilling, but it’s the rock and roll she loves most. By the time she’s twenty, her voice is getting noticed, and she has the kind of heedless beauty that makes people do crazy things.

Also getting noticed is The Six, a band led by the brooding Billy Dunne. On the eve of their first tour, his girlfriend Camila finds out she’s pregnant, and with the pressure of impending fatherhood and fame, Billy goes a little wild on the road.

Daisy and Billy cross paths when a producer realizes that the key to supercharged success is to put the two together. What happens next will become the stuff of legend.

The making of that legend is chronicled in this riveting and unforgettable novel, written as an oral history of one of the biggest bands of the seventies. Taylor Jenkins Reid is a talented writer who takes her work to a new level with Daisy Jones & The Six, brilliantly capturing a place and time in an utterly distinctive voice.

I know this book has very mixed reviews due to its format, but I LOVED this book.  Since Daisy Jones and the Six is told in interview format from many different characters, many people were turned off.  Since I knew this was the format going into the book, this read like a classic rock band documentary playing out in my mind.  This book was meant for TV or film adaptation.

You can read my mini book review here ⇒ Mini Book Review: Daisy Jones and the Six

» The Storied Life of A.J. Fikry by Gabrielle Zevin

As surprising as it is moving, The Storied Life of A. J. Fikry is an unforgettable tale of transformation and second chances, an irresistible affirmation of why we read, and why we love.

We are not quite novels.

We are not quite short stories.

In the end, we are collected works.

A. J. Fikry’s life is not at all what he expected it to be. His wife has died; his bookstore is experiencing the worst sales in its history; and now his prized possession, a rare collection of Poe poems, has been stolen. Slowly but surely, he is isolating himself from all the people of Alice Island—from Chief Lambiase, the well-intentioned police officer who’s always felt kindly toward him; from Ismay, his sister-in-law, who is hell-bent on saving A.J. from his dreary self; from Amelia, the lovely and idealistic (if eccentric) Knightley Press sales rep who persists in taking the ferry to Alice Island, refusing to be deterred by A.J.’s bad attitude. Even the books in his store have stopped holding pleasure for him. These days, he can only see them as a sign of a world that is changing too rapidly.

And then a mysterious package appears at the bookstore. It’s a small package, though large in weight—an unexpected arrival that gives A.J. the opportunity to make his life over, the ability to see everything anew. It doesn’t take long for the locals to notice the change overcoming A.J., for the determined sales rep Amelia to see her curmudgeonly client in a new light, for the wisdom of all those books to become again the lifeblood of A.J.’s world. Or for everything to twist again into a version of his life that he didn’t see coming.

What bookworm doesn’t love a story about books, bookstores, and the people that love books?  The Storied Life of A.J. Fikry was heartwarming, funny, and emotional.  I’d recommend this book to fans of quirky characters & fans of books like A Man Called Ove.

This made for an excellent book club discussion with the moral dilemmas in the story.

You can read my mini book review here ⇒ Mini Book Review: The Storied Life of AJ Fikrey

» With the Fire on High by Elizabeth Acevedo

With her daughter to care for and her abuela to help support, high school senior Emoni Santiago has to make the tough decisions, and do what must be done. The one place she can let her responsibilities go is in the kitchen, where she adds a little something magical to everything she cooks, turning her food into straight-up goodness. Still, she knows she doesn’t have enough time for her school’s new culinary arts class, doesn’t have the money for the class’s trip to Spain — and shouldn’t still be dreaming of someday working in a real kitchen. But even with all the rules she has for her life — and all the rules everyone expects her to play by — once Emoni starts cooking, her only real choice is to let her talent break free.

I adored Elizabeth Acevedo’s debut novel, The Poet X, so I was very excited to read her next book.  I listened to her first book via audiobook, and fell in love with the author’s narration.  I chose to listen to Fire on High via audiobook as well.  I loved this one just as much as her first!  Elizabeth Acevedo has a beautiful way with words & I adore her characters & plotlines.  I typically stray away from YA contemporary, but I’ll read anything Acevedo writes!

You can read my mini book review here ⇒ Mini Book Review: With the Fire On High

» The Read-Aloud Handbook by Jim Trelease

Recommended by “Dear Abby”, The New York Times and The Washington Post, for three decades, millions of parents and educators have turned to Jim Trelease’s beloved classic to help countless children become avid readers through awakening their imaginations and improving their language skills. Now this new edition of The Read-Aloud Handbook imparts the benefits, rewards, and importance of reading aloud to children of a new generation. Supported by delightful anecdotes as well as the latest research, The Read-Aloud Handbook offers proven techniques and strategies—and the reasoning behind them—for helping children discover the pleasures of reading and setting them on the road to becoming lifelong readers.

The Read-Aloud Family is about the the reasoning and the research/evidence behind why you should be reading aloud with your children.   Since childhood literacy is a passion of mine, this book was absolutely fascinating!  This book should be read by all parents, educators, and librarians!

You can read my mini book review here ⇒ Mini Book Review: The Read-Aloud Handbook

» Red Sister (Book of the Ancestor #1) by Mark Lawrence

I was born for killing – the gods made me to ruin.

At the Convent of Sweet Mercy young girls are raised to be killers. In a few the old bloods show, gifting talents rarely seen since the tribes beached their ships on Abeth. Sweet Mercy hones its novices’ skills to deadly effect: it takes ten years to educate a Red Sister in the ways of blade and fist.

But even the mistresses of sword and shadow don’t truly understand what they have purchased when Nona Grey is brought to their halls as a bloodstained child of eight, falsely accused of murder: guilty of worse.

Stolen from the shadow of the noose, Nona is sought by powerful enemies, and for good reason. Despite the security and isolation of the convent her secret and violent past will find her out. Beneath a dying sun that shines upon a crumbling empire, Nona Grey must come to terms with her demons and learn to become a deadly assassin if she is to survive…

From the very first line, I was completely captivated by Red Sister.   The characters are complex.  The world is well developed and fascinating.  The plot was fast paced, action-packed, and an adventure from start to finish.  This book has everything I love in my fantasy books: bad ass leading lady, action, magic abilities, school/training setting, political drama, and an emphasis on friendships.

You can read my mini book review here ⇒ Mini Book Review: Red Sister

» A Game of Thrones (A Song of Fire and Ice #1) by George R.R. Martin

Here is the first volume in George R. R. Martin’s magnificent cycle of novels that includes A Clash of Kings and A Storm of Swords. As a whole, this series comprises a genuine masterpiece of modern fantasy, bringing together the best the genre has to offer. Magic, mystery, intrigue, romance, and adventure fill these pages and transport us to a world unlike any we have ever experienced. Already hailed as a classic, George R. R. Martin’s stunning series is destined to stand as one of the great achievements of imaginative fiction.

A GAME OF THRONES

Long ago, in a time forgotten, a preternatural event threw the seasons out of balance. In a land where summers can last decades and winters a lifetime, trouble is brewing. The cold is returning, and in the frozen wastes to the north of Winterfell, sinister and supernatural forces are massing beyond the kingdom’s protective Wall. At the center of the conflict lie the Starks of Winterfell, a family as harsh and unyielding as the land they were born to. Sweeping from a land of brutal cold to a distant summertime kingdom of epicurean plenty, here is a tale of lords and ladies, soldiers and sorcerers, assassins and bastards, who come together in a time of grim omens.

Here an enigmatic band of warriors bear swords of no human metal; a tribe of fierce wildlings carry men off into madness; a cruel young dragon prince barters his sister to win back his throne; and a determined woman undertakes the most treacherous of journeys. Amid plots and counterplots, tragedy and betrayal, victory and terror, the fate of the Starks, their allies, and their enemies hangs perilously in the balance, as each endeavors to win that deadliest of conflicts: the game of thrones.

Game of Thrones is full of action, adventure, humor, political intrigue, plot twists, and lots of death.  I was completely engrossed in this book from start to finish.  I cannot wait to read the rest of the books in this series!

You can read my mini book review here ⇒ Mini Book Review: A Game of Thrones

» The Library Book by Susan Orlean

On the morning of April 29, 1986, a fire alarm sounded in the Los Angeles Public Library. As the moments passed, the patrons and staff who had been cleared out of the building realized this was not the usual fire alarm. As one fireman recounted, “Once that first stack got going, it was ‘Goodbye, Charlie.’” The fire was disastrous: it reached 2000 degrees and burned for more than seven hours. By the time it was extinguished, it had consumed four hundred thousand books and damaged seven hundred thousand more. Investigators descended on the scene, but more than thirty years later, the mystery remains: Did someone purposefully set fire to the library—and if so, who?

Weaving her lifelong love of books and reading into an investigation of the fire, award-winning New Yorker reporter and New York Times bestselling author Susan Orlean delivers a mesmerizing and uniquely compelling book that manages to tell the broader story of libraries and librarians in a way that has never been done before.

In The Library Book, Orlean chronicles the LAPL fire and its aftermath to showcase the larger, crucial role that libraries play in our lives; delves into the evolution of libraries across the country and around the world, from their humble beginnings as a metropolitan charitable initiative to their current status as a cornerstone of national identity; brings each department of the library to vivid life through on-the-ground reporting; studies arson and attempts to burn a copy of a book herself; reflects on her own experiences in libraries; and reexamines the case of Harry Peak, the blond-haired actor long suspected of setting fire to the LAPL more than thirty years ago.

Along the way, Orlean introduces us to an unforgettable cast of characters from libraries past and present—from Mary Foy, who in 1880 at eighteen years old was named the head of the Los Angeles Public Library at a time when men still dominated the role, to Dr. C.J.K. Jones, a pastor, citrus farmer, and polymath known as “The Human Encyclopedia” who roamed the library dispensing information; from Charles Lummis, a wildly eccentric journalist and adventurer who was determined to make the L.A. library one of the best in the world, to the current staff, who do heroic work every day to ensure that their institution remains a vital part of the city it serves.

Brimming with her signature wit, insight, compassion, and talent for deep research, The Library Book is Susan Orlean’s thrilling journey through the stacks that reveals how these beloved institutions provide much more than just books—and why they remain an essential part of the heart, mind, and soul of our country. It is also a master journalist’s reminder that, perhaps especially in the digital era, they are more necessary than ever.

The Library Book is an ode to libraries, and how they are such an important staple in a community.

You can read my mini book review here ⇒ Mini Book Review: The Library Book

» The Great Alone by Kristin Hannah

Alaska, 1974. Unpredictable. Unforgiving. Untamed. For a family in crisis, the ultimate test of survival.

Ernt Allbright, a former POW, comes home from the Vietnam war a changed and volatile man. When he loses yet another job, he makes an impulsive decision: he will move his family north, to Alaska, where they will live off the grid in America’s last true frontier.

Thirteen-year-old Leni, a girl coming of age in a tumultuous time, caught in the riptide of her parents’ passionate, stormy relationship, dares to hope that a new land will lead to a better future for her family. She is desperate for a place to belong. Her mother, Cora, will do anything and go anywhere for the man she loves, even if it means following him into the unknown.

At first, Alaska seems to be the answer to their prayers. In a wild, remote corner of the state, they find a fiercely independent community of strong men and even stronger women. The long, sunlit days and the generosity of the locals make up for the Allbrights’ lack of preparation and dwindling resources.

But as winter approaches and darkness descends on Alaska, Ernt’s fragile mental state deteriorates and the family begins to fracture. Soon the perils outside pale in comparison to threats from within. In their small cabin, covered in snow, blanketed in eighteen hours of night, Leni and her mother learn the terrible truth: they are on their own. In the wild, there is no one to save them but themselves.

In this unforgettable portrait of human frailty and resilience, Kristin Hannah reveals the indomitable character of the modern American pioneer and the spirit of a vanishing Alaska―a place of incomparable beauty and danger. The Great Alone is a daring, beautiful, stay-up-all-night story about love and loss, the fight for survival, and the wildness that lives in both man and nature

 This book was a roller coaster of emotion & heavy topics.  Themes included in The Great Alone include survival, coming of age, PTSD, domestic violence, family, & resilience.

You can read my mini review here ⇒ Mini Book Review: The Great Alone

» The Dragon Republic (The Poppy War #2) by R.F. Kuang

The searing follow-up to 2018’s most celebrated fantasy debut – THE POPPY WAR.

In the aftermath of the Third Poppy War, shaman and warrior Rin is on the run: haunted by the atrocity she committed to end the war, addicted to opium, and hiding from the murderous commands of her vengeful god, the fiery Phoenix. Her only reason for living is to get revenge on the traitorous Empress who sold out Nikan to their enemies.

With no other options, Rin joins forces with the powerful Dragon Warlord, who has a plan to conquer Nikan, unseat the Empress, and create a new Republic. Rin throws herself into his war. After all, making war is all she knows how to do.

But the Empress is a more powerful foe than she appears, and the Dragon Warlord’s motivations are not as democratic as they seem. The more Rin learns, the more she fears her love for Nikan will drive her away from every ally and lead her to rely more and more on the Phoenix’s deadly power. Because there is nothing she won’t sacrifice for her country and her vengeance.

The sequel to R.F. Kuang’s acclaimed debut THE POPPY WAR, THE DRAGON REPUBLIC combines the history of 20th-century China with a gripping world of gods and monsters, to devastating effect.

I’m happy to report that there was no second book syndrome for this epic series! The Dragon Republic was an excellent follow up to The Poppy War.

You can read my mini book review here ⇒ Mini Book Review: The Dragon Republic

» Other Words for Home by Jasmine Warga

I am learning how to be sad and happy at the same time.

Jude never thought she’d be leaving her beloved older brother and father behind, all the way across the ocean in Syria. But when things in her hometown start becoming volatile, Jude and her mother are sent to live in Cincinnati with relatives.

At first, everything in America seems too fast and too loud. The American movies that Jude has always loved haven’t quite prepared her for starting school in the US—and her new label of “Middle Eastern,” an identity she’s never known before. But this life also brings unexpected surprises—there are new friends, a whole new family, and a school musical that Jude might just try out for. Maybe America, too, is a place where Jude can be seen as she really is.

This is such an important middle grade book because it deals with a refugee experience with mild tones of Islamophobia.  Warga handles these topics with care & authenticity

You can read my mini book review here ⇒ Mini Book Review: Other Words for Home

» Heroine by Mindy McGinnis

An Amazon Best Book of the Month! A captivating and powerful exploration of the opioid crisis—the deadliest drug epidemic in American history—through the eyes of a college-bound softball star. Edgar Award-winning author Mindy McGinnis delivers a visceral and necessary novel about addiction, family, friendship, and hope.

When a car crash sidelines Mickey just before softball season, she has to find a way to hold on to her spot as the catcher for a team expected to make a historic tournament run. Behind the plate is the only place she’s ever felt comfortable, and the painkillers she’s been prescribed can help her get there.

The pills do more than take away pain; they make her feel good.

With a new circle of friends—fellow injured athletes, others with just time to kill—Mickey finds peaceful acceptance, and people with whom words come easily, even if it is just the pills loosening her tongue.

But as the pressure to be Mickey Catalan heightens, her need increases, and it becomes less about pain and more about want, something that could send her spiraling out of control.

This book is one the best portrayals of drug addiction that I’ve ever read.  It was raw, gritty, and deeply unsettling.

You can read my mini book review here ⇒ Mini Book Review: Heroine

» The Ten Thousand Doors of January by Alix E. Harrow

In the early 1900s, a young woman embarks on a fantastical journey of self-discovery after finding a mysterious book in this captivating and lyrical debut.

In a sprawling mansion filled with peculiar treasures, January Scaller is a curiosity herself. As the ward of the wealthy Mr. Locke, she feels little different from the artifacts that decorate the halls: carefully maintained, largely ignored, and utterly out of place.

Then she finds a strange book. A book that carries the scent of other worlds, and tells a tale of secret doors, of love, adventure and danger. Each page turn reveals impossible truths about the world and January discovers a story increasingly entwined with her own.

Lush and richly imagined, a tale of impossible journeys, unforgettable love, and the enduring power of stories awaits in Alix E. Harrow’s spellbinding debut–step inside and discover its magic.

  I adored this heartwarming story of love, grief, and perseverance.

» Brave by Svetlana Chmakova

In his daydreams, Jensen is the biggest hero that ever was, saving the world and his friends on a daily basis. But his middle school reality is VERY different – math is hard, getting along with friends is hard…Even finding a partner for the class project is a big problem when you always get picked last. And the pressure’s on even more once the school newspaper’s dynamic duo, Jenny and Akilah, draw Jensen into the whirlwind of school news, social experiment projects, and behind-the-scenes club drama. Jensen’s always played the middle school game one level at a time, but suddenly, someone’s cranked up the difficulty setting. Will those daring daydreams of his finally work in his favor, or will he have to find real solutions to his real life problems?

The charming world of Berrybrook Middle School gets a little bigger in this highly anticipated follow up to Svetlana Chmakova’s award winning Awkward with a story about a boy who learns his own way of being Brave!

LOVED this graphic novel from the illustrations to the story.  A wonderful depiction of the struggles of middle school.

» Emily of New Moon (Emily #1), Emily Climbs (Emily #2), &

Emily’s Quest (Emily #3) by L.M. Montgomery

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Emily Starr never knew what it was to be lonely — until her beloved father died. Now Emily’s an orphan, and her mother’s snobbish relatives are taking her to live with them at New Moon Farm. She’s sure she won’t be happy. Emily deals with stiff, stern Aunt Elizabeth and her malicious classmates by holding her head high and using her quick wit. Things begin to change when she makes friends: with Teddy, who does marvelous drawings; with Perry, who’s sailed all over the world with his father yet has never been to school; and above all, with Ilse, a tomboy with a blazing temper. Amazingly, Emily finds New Moon beautiful and fascinating. With new friends and adventures, Emily might someday think of herself as Emily of New Moon.

If you enjoyed Anne of Green Gables, you’ll enjoy this series too!

» Educated by Tara Westover

Tara Westover was 17 the first time she set foot in a classroom. Born to survivalists in the mountains of Idaho, she prepared for the end of the world by stockpiling home-canned peaches and sleeping with her “head-for-the-hills bag”. In the summer she stewed herbs for her mother, a midwife and healer, and in the winter she salvaged in her father’s junkyard.

Her father forbade hospitals, so Tara never saw a doctor or nurse. Gashes and concussions, even burns from explosions, were all treated at home with herbalism. The family was so isolated from mainstream society that there was no one to ensure the children received an education and no one to intervene when one of Tara’s older brothers became violent.

Then, lacking any formal education, Tara began to educate herself. She taught herself enough mathematics and grammar to be admitted to Brigham Young University, where she studied history, learning for the first time about important world events like the Holocaust and the civil rights movement. Her quest for knowledge transformed her, taking her over oceans and across continents, to Harvard and to Cambridge. Only then would she wonder if she’d traveled too far, if there was still a way home.

Educated is an account of the struggle for self-invention. It is a tale of fierce family loyalty and of the grief that comes with severing the closest of ties. With the acute insight that distinguishes all great writers, Westover has crafted a universal coming-of-age story that gets to the heart of what an education is and what it offers: the perspective to see one’s life through new eyes and the will to change it.

This memoir was absolutely heartbreaking & horrifying.  Educated makes for a perfect book club selection.

» All-American Muslim Girl by Nadine Jolie Courtney

Allie Abraham has it all going for her—she’s a straight-A student, with good friends and a close-knit family, and she’s dating cute, popular, and sweet Wells Henderson. One problem: Wells’s father is Jack Henderson, America’s most famous conservative shock jock…and Allie hasn’t told Wells that her family is Muslim. It’s not like Allie’s religion is a secret, exactly. It’s just that her parents don’t practice and raised her to keep her Islamic heritage to herself. But as Allie witnesses ever-growing Islamophobia in her small town and across the nation, she begins to embrace her faith—studying it, practicing it, and facing hatred and misunderstanding for it. Who is Allie, if she sheds the façade of the “perfect” all-American girl? What does it mean to be a “Good Muslim?” And can a Muslim girl in America ever truly fit in?

ALL-AMERICAN MUSLIM GIRL is a relevant, relatable story of being caught between two worlds, and the struggles and hard-won joys of finding your place.

This was a beautiful coming-of-age story about a girl that is struggling with her identity and feels the need to hide her true self.  I loved the growth of the main character, Allie, from start to finish.  I also think this book does a beautiful job of laying out what Islam is, and what it isn’t.

Did you read any of the books on my list?  If so, what did you think?

What are some of your favorite books of 2019?

Comment below & let me know 🙂

Favorite Books of 2019 #BookBlogger #Bookworm #Bibliophile #Books #Reading Today I am sharing my favorite reads of 2019!  I read 130 books in 2019, so narrowing down my list to only 10 books was not going to happen #SorryNotSorry…

#Am Reading #Bibliophile #book blog #book blogger #Book Chat #Book Nerd #Book Talk #Book Worm #Bookish #Books #Bookworm #Reading

[jessicaaniston-blog]

Book Cheapest Airlines To India and Explore the Hidden Gems

Source: Book Cheapest Airlines To India and Explore the Hidden Gems

Are you planning for your next holiday destination in India? You will be surprised to know that India has more than 100 destinations that can leave you spellbound with their mesmerizing beauty.

After you have availed cheap fares to India, you will discover some unpopular places that are more beautiful than the popular ones.

Plan your trip to India and add to your bucket list these hidden gems:

1. Chettinad Palace, Tamil Nadu

For those who love art, the place is a treat to their eyes in Tamil Nadu. The site is a beautiful example of indigenous art and culture. It has a huge mansion that is famous for its wide courtyard and spacious rooms.

Moreover, the greenery around the palace gives it the much-needed picturesque beauty.

The paintings on the ceilings are beautiful and depict the rich heritage of the country. But, one needs to take permission before visiting the place.

Things to Do

Visiting Chettinad Palace is like a visit to a heritage home.

Chettinad has seven different temples that can be visited.

These temples are 25 km away from the village

The place is also famous for various differently designed buildings. Best Time to Visit

You can make a flight booking to India from October to March to explore the beauty of this beautiful mansion.

2. Laitmawsiang, Meghalaya

Call it a paradise on earth or a beautiful small village in India, Laitmawsiang in Meghalaya is a place famous for its garden of caves. Meghalaya, also known as Scotland of India has gained its name from Sanskrit word Megh.

This place is a beautiful destination to quench your thirst for natural scenes. You can satisfy your cravings for isolation in this beautiful village.

Book flight tickets from the USAand spend some days in the lap of nature. You can be sure of experiencing solace like never before.

Things to Do

Watch out the seasonal waterfalls fed by rain

Enjoy the walk at the double-decker living root bridge

Visit Mawphlang Sacred Forest with a drive of around one and a half hour from Laitmawsiang village

Best Time to Visit

The place can be visited at all times. But, if you want to experience massive rainfall, plan your trip between August and September.

3. Jhatingri, Himachal Pradesh

Himachal Pradesh is a famous tourist destination in India with plenty of hill stations. With many prominent tourist spots, Jhatingri is one such destination that is a hidden spot.

The place has Deodar and Blue Pine Forests. Your heart will be full of joy and happiness with the mesmerizing beauty of the vistas.

Also, one can experience various historical structures at this ancient destination.

Things to Do

Visit Diana Park situated near the Jhatingri road.

Barot valley is another breathtaking destination located near Jhatingri in Himachal Pradesh located at a distance of 20 km from here.

Visiting here in winter will help you to enjoy snowfall to the fullest.

Best Time to Visit

The scenic beauty of the place attracts tourists all year round. From April to June and November to February, you can enjoy the beauty of the location to the fullest.

So next time when you book cheap tickets to Mumbai, plan a visit to this hidden gem in Himachal Pradesh.

4. Arvalem Caves, Goa

A place primarily known for its beaches, Goa has some of the ancient monuments hidden and preserved. Arvalem Caves is one such hidden gem of the site. Not only this Pandava cave is another architectural marvel present here.

These caves are located in the village and date back to the 6th and 7th centuries. Situated in the Bicholim village, people say that the Pandavas used the place during the time of their exile.

Things to Do

Rudreshwar Mahadev Temple located at someplace near these caves

Also, you can visit Maruti temple

The place is also an attraction for people who love sightseeing

And, cinematographers find this place and the beauty around it as a perfect setup for photoshoots.

Best Time to Visit

September to March is the perfect time to visit this place. And, when you book your return air ticket to the USA, you can be sure of capturing the best holiday memories with you.

5. Doodhpathri, Kashmir

Kashmir a heaven on earth, you might have heard of the name before. Undoubtedly, everyone wants to visit this destination, once in their lifetime. But have you heard about Doodhpathri before?

This place is located at a distance of 42 km from Sri Nagar and is another unknown destination. You can also call this place an unexplored jewel. To experience solace from your busy schedule, you can spend your vacations in these beautiful meadows.

Things to Do

The place is a perfect site for horse riding

Also, for those who love trekking can enjoy the same in the nearby mountains

Camping is another activity that one can enjoy. One can set up tents and spend the nights under the stars.

Best Time to Visit

For those who love snowfall, February is the best month to visit. In case you want to enjoy beautiful green sights, you can plan a visit to this destination during July and August.

6. 13 Arch Bridges, Kerala

Leave all the stress and anxiety to one side and travel this beautiful place to find peace. The beautiful bridge has a structure that cannot is incomparable. You will observe that the structure is made of rocks only.

Also, the structure is around 100 years old and stands firm. After you have booked flights to Mumbai, India, this place can be visited conveniently. You can also explore other beautiful destinations in the state.

Things to Do

You can get your house-boat booked. It is yet another beautiful experience.

Another fun activity that you can consider is bathing an elephant.

Enjoy the hospitality at the Veli village nearby.

Best Time to Visit

July to August is the best time to visit this destination.

If how to book cheap flights to India is your question, Flyopedia is the answer

You can explore these hidden gems and spend a beautiful vacation. Find beauty in the laps of mother nature while you travel to India and these fantastic destinations.

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#book flights to india from usa #cheap flights to india #desitnations in india #usa to india flight

[experientialholidays-blog]

Offbeat Places Near Popular Indian Destinations

KHAJJIAR, HIMACHAL PRADESH

Paharon ki Mallika! Known as the “Smaller than usual Switzerland of India,” Khajjiar is a lovely, languid slope town close to Dalhousie that is packed with slopes, lakes and meadows, and Bollywood Ghost Movies. Guests, separated of delighting in the peaceful riddle of this radiant, yet misjudged slope town, can likewise share of different experience sports like paragliding, horse-riding, trekking and so forth. Khajjiar can be effectively visited consistently.

Notwithstanding, amid the cold months, streets are frequently closed because of substantial snowfall. This may wind up being an excursion spoiler. Be that as it may, in case you’re a brave explorer, carry woolens. V Resorts Kullu is the home which you have dependably thought to work in the slopes. Neglecting a valley underneath, the chalet has five visitor rooms and a typical lobby. The atmosphere and stylistic theme of our retreat is an excellent mix of ethnic and contemporary solace. The wooden stylistic layout of the rooms gives the vibe of living in a typical “Himachali style” chalet.

 NUBRA VALLEY, JAMMU & KASHMIR

This place where there is ethereal, ageless magnificence, which appears as though it has ventured right out of a book of Advanced Art, is a supernatural occurrence worth seeing. Nubra Valley lies on the Silk course, around 140 kilometers from Leh. The streams Shyok and Nubra route through the valley, giving it a delightful quintessence. This is the goal to visit in case you’re hoping to be entranced by the marvels that our nation has on offer. June to October is the perfect time frame to visit Nubra Valley.

Found 117 km from Leh in the core of the merry environment that is the Sumur town in Nubra Valley, V Resorts Lharje Nubra is as Ladakhi a withdraw as one can get. The retreat is put appropriate along the upper spans of Sumur, around 2 km from the principal street and scarcely 400 meters from Samstanling Monastery. While the rooms (the majority of a similar class) are situated crosswise over three distinct dimensions, every one of them is done up in basic and insignificant courses with large glass front, offering perspectives of the mountains and the great Poplar trees, remarkable to this land. The retreat additionally houses an in-house eatery, and even though web availability is something of a fantastic goal in Nubra, the eatery likewise flaunts a TV for visitors to appreciate a T20 coordinate or maybe look over the news.

 V Resorts DUDHWA WILDERNESS CAMP

An offbeat wildlife camp at a distance 401 km from the national capital, Delhi. The picturesque resort built upon 2,5 acres of land is a treat fro nature lovers and those looking to escape city blues. The property boasts of cottages and rooms, a restaurant with an outdoor area and a park. One can go for a long walk in to the villages for experiencing nature's retreat.

 BUNDI, RAJASTHAN

Bundi is a town in Rajasthan best known for its old intrigue. Its name has been changed a few times in the hundreds of years that are behind us, and what remains is the delightful substance of the past. Bundi makes for a stunning unconventional occasion in Rajasthan, not the same as any semblance of Ajmer, Jaipur, and Jaisalmer. October to March have an excellent climate for an outing to Bundi. Stay luxuriously in the midst of vast landscape in the cradle zone of Sariska National Park and investigate natural life and forests, as well as different spots of chronicled premium. Resonant sound of wind stirring leaves, meandering peacocks, small plantations, the perspective of Aravalli slopes, and the fragrance of wild blossoms will satisfy your faculties. A delay in this wild place will savor you with boundless energy. Wake up with enthusiasm to observe seeing wild creatures intently. Come, GET LOST with V Resorts Sariska.

 MAUSYNRAM, MEGHALAYA

We have all studies our Social Science books in Middle school and know Mawsynram to be the wettest place in India. The Rain God is to a significant degree liberal with regards to showers in Mawsynram. The bounteous precipitation makes the area a standout amongst the loveliest places to occasion in but underestimated. The first fascination here is an immense development of stalagmite, which takes after a ‘Shivling.’ Best time to visit: September to November.

Notwithstanding, on the off chance that you wish to treasure the inexhaustible downpours, visit amid the rainstorm season.

Notwithstanding, make sure to convey great storm equip along! Situated close to the NH6 roadway in Meghalaya, V Resorts High winds Lakeside offers voyagers a fantastic base to investigate the district helpfully and straightforwardly. The retreat opens to picturesque perspectives of lakes and gardens and gloats of an indoor hotel, open zone, stopping and meeting room.

Begin your day with some tea, post which you can appreciate a privately motivated breakfast, either at the indoor eatery or open air. It will be ideal if you educate our director if you mean to have your supper outside at the season of registration itself. Likewise, keep in mind to approach our servers for nearby treats.

#offbeat places #offbeat destinations in india

[finishinglinepress]

FINISHING LINE PRESS BOOK OF THE DAY: The Place of Our Meeting by Donna Emerson $19.99, Full-length, paper https://www.finishinglinepress.com/product/the-place-of-our-meeting-by-donna-emerson/ In a heart-stopping poem in Donna L. Emerson’s richly varied debut volume The Place of Our Meeting, a woman and her daughter find a fawn whose leg is caught in a fence. Will the poet be able to lift the barbed wire without cutting and killing the young animal that struggles against it—and assuage the terrified child? Read the tensely significant “For No Reason” to find out, then read on to discover a panoply of places where human beings meet nature, where generations (especially mothers and daughters) meet one another, where frenzy meets solitude, health meets illness, the rural life of the past meets the California of the present, and where modern love meets modern death. A new American pastoralist, Donna L. Emerson uses poetry’s own set of special lyric keys—observation and metaphor—to bring a vivid specificity and profound importance to all the startling meetings and transitions of our lives. –Molly Peacock, Author of The Analyst, poems Donna Emerson‘s The Place of Our Meeting is full of meticulous observation of the natural world and of its connection to people and to art. While there is grief and loss in these poems, more importantly there is peace and gentleness, serenity and celebration. These poems are rooted in a rural California landscape and the poet leads us almost by the hand to bathe in the still beauty that she describes. This a book you will return to again and again for the comfort and beauty it offers. –Maria Mazziotti Gillan, Author of All That Lies Between Us, winner of the American Book Award What does a poet see, when she goes away from the city of our moment in time? Donna Emerson sees trees stand like pews and cornfields’ spirited congregation. In this book, Emerson brings together different tonalities, writing both from the landscape of memory and the natural world of her beloved California, often bringing the two into the same poem, even the same stanza: “Remember when we listened / to Vivaldi’s Four Seasons? / Only one season here: / red summer hum.” This is a poet of many tonalities, yes. On one page you will find an elegy or an image of a memorial for her father, and right next to it will be the world of hollyhocks, stalks growing “beside her house, / up the windows, toward the roof. The abundance here feels natural: one is grateful for the wild abandon of riding horses in shorts “so I’d feel her girth” or by flying with “cousin Shelly…a full gallop.” And, one is also heart-broken by the moving scene of verbal assault in a poem such as “Standing on the Desk” where the young girl is placed on the table, in front of the whole room, and told to stand there, quiet. In the center of the many portraits and eulogies, pastorals and rhapsodies of this book, stands the poet herself “buoyant, a trumpet in a brass choir.” There is much to choose from in this book, this journey of days. But always the poet is open to the sensual: open these pages and you will find “every shape greets us—new, soft, still.” –Ilya Kaminsky, Author of Dancing in Odessa I spent a tender afternoon with these poems. Donna’s ability to focus on and carefully describe a bed of hollyhocks, a snowfall, a cow on a hill, gives them almost mythical properties. She starts and ends with the family farm. These poems seem to spring from the soil of the farm where the poet spent her childhood, ground so deeply known we can almost feel the sun, wind, and rain that shaped her sensibilities. Here, in The Place of our Meeting, the beauty Emerson finds is solace for the lessons in heartache and cruelty human relationships can offer. It has given her a place to stand and meet whatever comes. She tells hard truths without bitterness. I am deeply impressed about the way the land itself comes alive in these poems. Always in her poetry. No matter how intellectual and wise she can be, she is so of this earth. I mean this as a compliment, the biggest compliment I know. –Susan Bono, author of What Have We Here: Essays about Keeping House and Finding Home www.susanbono.com RESERVE YOUR COPY TODAY PREORDER PURCHASE SHIPS JANUARY 5, 2018 https://www.finishinglinepress.com/product/the-place-of-our-meeting-by-donna-emerson/ #poetry

#poetry

[thestillnessandthedancing]

October 4th 2017

Sweet friends, I made my way to campus through a haze of gentle rain. It's a forgiving feeling, it's been a tough couple days in the global sphere, terror from within, storms from without. There is a sense in which nature attempts to wash itself of the darkness that seems to cover the land. There's always a theme here of carving out some solace and I hope todays show finds you well. We wandered the first hour through a tapestry of experimental ambient and electronic soundscapes. The second hour we started with an interview with Montreal artist/musician Lyndsie Alguire, we wrapped our conversation with selections from her newest cassette tape and some selections on her recommendation. Next week we celebrate the 2 year anniversary of this little show, look forward to highlights from our history, a greatest hits of sorts. Take care. -hour1- Norihito Suda - Traversing a Dream from One Side to the Other (From.. Light Snowfall - 2017 - Facture/Fluid Audio) Evan Abeele - RE: Bruise (From.. Feed Motion Picture Soundtrack - 2017) Ben Rath - Hidden Contract (From.. Black Heart Music - 2017 - Eilean Rec) Jacek Doroszenko - Resochords (From.. Wide Grey - 2017 - Eilean Rec) That Faint Light(Adrian Lane: Art & Music) - Lanterns (From.. That Faint Light - 2017) Leyland Kirby aka The Caretaker - Oblivion of Experience (From.. We, so tired of all the darkness - 2017) Coastal Miner - Sewn (From.. EP 1 - 2017) Boliden - Nanterre (From.. Backyard - 2017) -hour2- Interview with Lyndsie Alguire Lyndsie Alguire - Dirty Glass (From.. Cities of the Interior - 2017) Lyndsie Alguire - You'll Never Know (From.. Cities of the Interior - 2017) Lyndsie. Alguire - horses in Prehistory (From.. Suspended in Light - 2011) Morgen Wurde - Murky Affair (From.. Assassinous Act - 2017 - Time Released Sound limited edition music label) Body Sculpture - Feet Into Soil (From.. A Body Turns to Eden - 2016) Tinycastlesmusic - Turrets (From.. Lull - 2016)

#drone #ambient #lyndsie alguire #cfru #guelph #community radio