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fencesandfrogs · 3 years

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names. leaders. meaning.

i’m working on a master post with a list of my influences but i’m impatient and i have my own ideas. warrior cats lore post. bracketed numbers are things that broke flow but i wanted to include. under the cut.

THUNDERCLAN leaders are addressed by their name. there is no honorific, just bluestar or firestar or pinestar. the names of a leader become hallowed names. no kit will be named bluekit for many seasons after her death, until those who knew her have passed, and her name is just another in the list of leaders kits are taught. their names, kits are told, are powerful. just as kits can be summoned by their name, so can a leader. firestar’s compassion and fairness will be with us as long as we remrember his name.

a kit’s name is its mother’s choice, although a generous queen might allow a tom some input. kits are named for what they look like and what their mother wants them to be. dovekit for a grey kit who deserves peace. ivykit for a grey kit who deserves to put down roots.

after the great journey, these peaceful names have been more common. everyone wants to stay, be stable and calm. it won’t be until all those who made the journey have passed for it to even be possible for the old fighting to start again. maybe then, more grey kits will be named stormkit for power.

and their warrior name is always for them. recent leaders may have made unique choices, but perhaps older leaders were too conservative. bluefur and snowfur, from the same litter no less, is a tad unoriginal. but a kit is named for who their mother wants them to be, and a warrior is named for who they are. names describe who we are. [1]

SHADOWCLAN leaders are addressed by their name at times, especially during the day, but during hallowed and holy times, they are addressed by star seer. never in front of other clans. this is a powerful name. kits are taught this from birth. the stars are their ancestors, and the leader has been blessed by nine. it is only fair to show reverence for that. but the other clans do not understand this. they would only dishonor the tradition.

a kit’s name is chosen by all the queens in the nursery, and sometimes the elder queens. the mother has final say, but she is only first among equals. it takes many heads to remember as many warriors who have borne a name as possible.

when tawnypelt insisted on tigerkit, they decided it was a dangerous name. that’s why they had dawnkit and flamekit. because firestar was the downfall of tigerstar, and the dawn is a peaceful time. tigerkit would turn the power of his father for good.

their warrior names are, similarly, a more open discussion. leaders discuss it with mentors and senior warriors and medicine cats. hints are often dropped to the apprentices. their names must complete what the queens started. tigerheart so that he would remember it was the strength of his heart. puddleshine so that he would be able to find the light of starclan. names shape those they are given to.

RIVERCLAN leaders have a litany of names. weather caller, storm seer, spirit walker. a new leader being made is a chance to find another for the list. these names are to honor leaders for the role they play in their lives. the names themselves, mistystar, crookedstar, leopardstar, they are not held with the same reverence as in thunderclan and shadowclan. a leader leaves behind their claim to that name, becoming known by that only by their friends from before.

a kit’s name is chosen by the queen and her mate, regardless of the father. [2] they are chosen to honor the kit and the name. silverkit, out of love for trinkets, hoping their daughter would feel loved. graykit, hoping for a peaceful life, like still water. featherkit for a half-thunderclan kit, that they would not forget their blood, even though they would be raised riverclan.

stormkit was a debated choice. graystripe was not silverstream’s mate. he had little say over their names, but in lieu of either silverstream or her mate, stormkit would have to stick. it would come to honor spirit and power, courage to stand on your own. stormkit would have a new meaning, a new honor, after that.

their warrior name is chosen to honor their environment, to honor them. silverstream, for a daughter who had grown beautiful and loved. feathertail for a riverclan cat who knew where she belonged. crookedjaw for a warrior who had grown into the hardship he had dealt. the bearer of a name changes its meaning.

WINDCLAN has no name for their leader but their name. tallstar. heatherstar. harestar. but their medicine cats are honored. kestrelflight might become spirit seer in honor of a bird’s vision, and barkface could become moor healer, a tribute to the gift of herbs of the moor. no one decides on these names, but the clan agrees. it is not a name gifted in haste. only one medicine cat can ever have another name at a time, but to receive it is honor.

kits are named for prey and plants. harekit for a kit who looked fast and wry, crowkit for a kit with the old power of tunnelers. heatherkit for a kit with a pelt apt for stealth, and barkkit for a kit who looked out of place on the moor. the queen suggests, but the medicine cat confirms. without a blessing from starclan, no name could be a good omen. [3]

barkface didn’t like breezekit, he said it was a poor chosen name. said the kit was too solid for a name like breezekit, that rabbitkit or gorsekit was better. nightcloud asked if he was forbidding the name. barkface said he would not deny a queen to choose the name of her only kit. but breezekit would only bear ill wind.

warrior names are chosen for accuracy. breezepelt for a cat with a thin pelt. heathertail for a skilled hare runner. a leader seeks approval from a medicine cat, that they will bring no misfortune for their chosen name. _crowfeather _was a shocking interruption to begin with, but made worse that barkface could not ensure it was not ill-fated. names describe our future.

SKYCLAN has no honorific for its leader nor its medicine cat. to treat them differently would be to devalue their role. they are part of the clan as any other, and that is why they can lead it. so the names of a leader are not hallowed, but fought over once they have passed. the first kit to be named leafkit will be of the first litter born after leafstar loses her last life. [4]

a kit’s name is chosen with careful consideration. they may go unnamed for up to a moon as the queen searches for a good name. a cat who passes away while a litter is unnamed is almost sure to find themselves reborn in a name. firekit, stormkit, harrykit. all named for who was, but isn’t anymore.

firekit and stormkit may seem like they started this tradition, but it was harrykit far more than the other two. skyclan proved they would form their own clan, make the rules work for them, and that meant names like harrykit. it was honoring not just who was but also who they were.

so far, warrior names have been chosen exclusively by leafstar, and no one has complaints. the other clans might protest, but their names are a mark of what skyclan is, now that they live with the others. a warrior’s name is an honor, either in memory of another, or to bring honor to the name being given. violetshine that both names might enter the skyclan canon, frecklewish for a granted wish, _billystorm _for the she-cat that helped shape their clan. names honor those who came before.

PERHAPS THEN it’s not strange for bramblestar’s names to be unique. he has lead his clan during a strange time. and if riverclan’s names grow similar, that is because they know what they love. names have meaning. they always do. [5]

[1]: this is my explanation for the elder’s names in series one. i’ve also seen some lostface commentary i like.

[2]: cats can have multiple fathers in one litter. not going into it. this has nothing to do with adoption stuff. i mean it could, but i’m specifically saying it doesn’t.

[3]: other clans do get medicine cat approval, but it’s a formality, a wives’ tale.

[4]: modern skyclan, as per usual. old skyclan used -sky as a sort of friendly greeting? a personal, in thing? skyclan’s territory was furthest from high stones, so they probably weren’t super spiritual. leafsky. cloudsky. and so on. not in front of other clans, though, who would interpret it as extremely disrespectful, both to the leader and to starclan.

[5]: to be clear, i did this not to justify naming choices, but because i thought it worth my time to spend an hour (holy shit i can’t believe i’ve done this for an hour) writing lore about various names. i try to ground these things in canon, but this is for wing & feather (i.e., jaywing and dovefeather world building), so i don’t mind changing things. i don’t want to change names if i can help it, though. that said, when people say the old names were good: come on, man, i love bluestar’s prophecy, but really? bluefur and snowfur? i guess that means i have to say thunderclan is literal in their names.

#q #mine #txt #1st #March #2021 #March 1st 2021 #long #essay #warrior cats #jaywing #dovefeather #cloudtail's daughter

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talesofealdancynedom · 3 years

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Sunaeth, in makeshift fairy robes.

Tale 0: Death at the Wolf Gate (chapter 3. Sunaeth, Eaowaeth, & Behxfineth 3/4) part 2. Stories of Fey

none

Sunaeth was the eldest remaining daughter of the wolf kingdom. She loved to hunt in the shadow veil, and bring carrion to the griminthrope raven princes, in the death tree; just to tease her younger siblings by showing how close she could get. When Sunaeth ran through the veils, she was unmistakable; for her coat was as white and bright as her mothers. Unlike Eobreth, she did not admire the day veil and humanity. She preferred to be one with magic, and a strong Aliki Wolf protecting and teaching her siblings. The vibrance of the day veil was dandy and all, but it was scary; so many Aliki Wolves had been forced into war or hunted for fur. Sunaeth had even witnessed one of her sisters die protecting her as a wandering pup. To be a wolf running freely, in the magic ether of Ealden Cynedom, was all she wanted. She wanted to be free of judgment, hate, expectations, and rules. Sunaeth liked running on fours, hearing, seeing and smelling everything in detail, and possessing the strength of a powerful warrior. She could not imagine being anything other then a great white wolf. Staying in the shadow veil with her family, made her a good caretaker and big sister to all the fey, and kept her safe. By the time she was fully grown, she was only middle child Flowen had left. If Eobreth had inherited Flowen’s love of humanity and the day veil, Sunaeth had inherited her free spirit and caring.

Sunaeth mainly cared for the youngest Aliki Wolves; the twelve-year-old twins. Flowen had more then one puppy on a few occasions. Most Aliki Wolves lived longer than most men, and in fact did not die until killed. but Flowen accepted she would always outlive her children, as a beast queen. It made them even more precious to her. It also made Flowen happy to see Sunaeth each day, caring for her family with youthful energy. Sunaeth, also had the qualaties Flowen loved most in her husband. The Wolf King had that same childlike way about him, and a stupid amount of loyalty, courage, and an undying love for his family. Suna, alongside her father, taught her younger royal siblings to hunt, play, act around humans, and transform into human form. While Suna was a wolf whiter than sunlight, the twins Eaowaeth and Behxfineth, were grey and chestnut respectively. In human form, their hair and wolf kingdom robes were the colour of their pelts; adorned with gilded steel armor about their heads, collars, back and breast. Engraved with the symbol ‘Ing’ for the rune of the wolf kingdom. Their human faces were like that of their mother’s people, in the Far North. Out of all the wolf children, Sunaeth was the Aliki wolf who spent the most time in human form. She did it to see and appreciate her human half, which her mother gave her. Even though she spent time in a human form, Suna still loved being a wolf most of all. Thus, when she arrived to the scene of her father’s death, unable to turn into a wolf, she was destroyed. As if her father’s death wasn’t bad enough.

Suna had lost her father and identity at the same time. Even her lovely royal robes and armor had gone; leaving her cold, bare, and completely human. She appeared no more then a normal young lady of the Far North. All that remained of her former self was her hair; which was still white like her fur. It scared her to be vulnerable in the day veil. Sunaeth did not want to accept she was a murderous human, and her father was dead. Sunaeth would not let go of the fact she once was a princess of the wolf kingdom. She did not want to admit she was no longer strong, keen and skilled. ‘I am not a human mage like mother says, I am not going to be restrained to the day veil, I will not give in. I am not weak.’ Sunaeth thought to herself, sobbing and grasping her remaining two siblings. Only the twins accepted their humanness while grieving their father; they coped by helping their mother Flowen restore the gate and live in the village. It had been two long sad days, before the Fairy King came with wolf kingdom fairy robes to protect the new mages. They needed new armor, now that they were no longer powerful fey. The Fairy King said nothing, while delivering the gifts. though she likely also grieved her brother, and did not know what else to do. Faries, and fey, are not the best at offering emotional support to humans. Sunaeth graciously accepted, but she didn’t want fairy robes: she wanted her fur coat.

Flowen had little free time left after opening and restoring the Wolf Gate. The silver was now completely chipped off, leaving behind the polished soap stone it was originally made of. The rest of the time, Flowen was caring for Eaowa and Behxfin, because they were her youngest remaining children. Caring for them, and the magic forest, gave her life meaning. Eaowaeth was easy to care for; they wanted to be a warlock, and had a calm and curious nature. Behxfineth was also only a slight hassle; he was picky about everything, and wanted to be a witch by apprenticing his mother. There was no local magic school, so the village and forest helped teach the two former wolf children. Flown considered sending them to the same school as King Mage Morgan, near Tiberius Gate; but she wanted Eaowa and Behxfin to adjust to being human first, and prove they could cope with the loss of their father. They were still quite young. For now, North Moon would have to do.

Like many magic forests, those who chose to live here, were happy to have magic in their lives every day. Especially now that Flowen solved their qualms with the fey. Then there was Sanueth; Flowen’s personal nightmare. She was not serene like the common folk, nor becoming adjusted like Eaowa and Behxfin. Sunaeth would have been a good paladin, or seer, if she took the time to accept her new reality. Every time Flowen asked Suna to do something for their cottage, Sunaeth did it the wolf way. Flowen would ask for Suna to fetch something for dinner; Sunaeth would return in an hour, naked, covered in blood, carrying four rabbits she caught; with three in her bare hands, and one in her mouth. Then Sunaeth would rant about how the forest was doing, while uncouth in the cold. She had no focus, and was determined to remain an Aliki Wolf. In the past, Flowen would have been endeared, but this time horror overcame her existence.

“Suna. You’re going to get sick eating that raw! You’re not a wolf! And you’ll catch a cold without clothing! You can’t keep acting inappropriately like this. There is no problem with you wanting to pursue magery; aside from modern discrimination towards old magic in most places… But you can’t live a normal life in the day veil, by acting like a literal animal. I know it’s hard, but you can talk to me; I am only interested in what is best for you and your happiness. I don’t know what to do anymore. I heard the other day you bit men who were trying to help you cut firewood!” Flowen exclaimed in distress.

“But mother, I got us dinner! And I will not be wearing uncomfortable clothes, thank you. Neither am I using complicated tools when I don’t need them. Humans are soft little pigs, who are violent and touchy; I refuse to be like one. I am still a princess of the wolf kingdom; even if father is dead, and I am no longer fey.” Sunaeth growled.

“I understand this is a big change for you. You were never one for rules, or liked the day veil. But fey or not, you were always part human; and thus, a part of me and the day veil. It brings me shame when you do thing’s like this. Now go take a hot bath while I cook dinner. I trust you’ve learned enough magic here to alchemize water and heat?” Flowen scolded. Sunaeth looked away from her mother while entering the cabin. Eaowa and Behxfin sat at the table, reading magic text books and mage journals. They shrunk into their seats from the tone of their mother’s voice. But decided to tattle nonetheless.

“Na, mother. Sunaeth does housework all day; she hasn’t attended a single demonstration, or read one of these books.” Eaowaeth said. Suna grumbled as she grabbed a level one alchemy book from Behxifn, and headed to the bathroom. Fifteen minutes later, Flowen heard Sunaeth call for Eaowa to help her start the bath. Flowen gave a big sigh as she stood over the boiling pot of rabbit stew. Hopeful, Flowen looked out the window and into the brush for another wolf child. Anything to know Eobreth was ok. Or at least, doing better then her and Suna. Flowen wanted to focus on anything that wasn’t her feral eldest daughter. Then Flowen had a thought: ‘sunaeth isn’t legally fully grown yet, she would be considered seventeen by human standards. She is still young enough for magic school... Maybe this village is too lenient for her.’

After dinner, Flowen took Sunaeth aside to clean the dishes. Sunaeth loathed this chore; she hated wet hands. Flowen looked out the window in a daze while she dried. There was a thin coating of old snow on everything, giving it a soft glow.

“A few weeks ago, I saw a grim in those trees. If there are new wolf children, that means there is a Wolf King. Are you happy for your older brother Eobreth? In your uncouth hunting games about North Moon, have you seen other wolf children?” Flowen asked

“Yes mother.” Sunaeth said despondently. She had gotten along well with Eobreth when she visited him in the day veil years ago, but they were never close. A centuries long age gap will do that to siblings.

“Do you remember Morgan? The King Mage who I would heal and snuggle? Morgan would hunt and rough house with the three of you; and Eobreth had a great liking for him,” Flowen smiled, rinsing a dish. “He was a young boy, and said he wanted to go to magic school; and he had his dream come true. A special school by Tiberius Gate, for troubled youth, and international students. It pained me to see Morgan hurt himself, or come to me with injuries from his family when I first met him. Yet, when he went to that school, and opened the gate, he found friends and seemed to be more adjusted.” Flowen said. She was now feeling a little uplifted recalling those fond memories. However, Flowen had an agenda.

“Yes mother, I remember him. He was a blast! Didn’t realize he was just a kid; probably because I was a fey, and age means nothing to us. Morgan felt more like an uncle then a human child. And now I’m sad, because that makes me think of the shadow veil and father,” Sunaeth whined. “and Eobreth, he must have a special lady. Wonder if her family misses her… like I miss my old life. She must miss her old life too.”

“Well, you’re in luck Suna! How would you, in proper dress, like to go through the shadow veil to Tiberius Gate, and attend school with Morgan? Tell that family were their daughter went, learn to alchemize water, and socialize with humans your age! Make friends, and find new good in your future. You’re human now; which means you will age, and need those connections for your wellbeing. You get to go to the shadow veil on your free time, and I will rest easy knowing you’re getting reformed into a civilized capable lady.” Flowen said. She had already made the arrangements for a dorm room and classes; Though it did take a while for Eaowa to show her how to use a computer. It was worth the pain of experiencing dial up internet. Flowen had even packed Sunaeth’s things to leave the next day. Sunaeth, finished the last dish, pulled the drain plug, and stormed into bathroom to get away. It was the only door in the cabin with a lock. Sunaeth could not say no to her family. Particularly not her mother. Flowen was not asking however, she was informing Suna of her plans, and Suna had no choice in the matter. Suna proceeded to take off her uncomfortable clothes, grabed a towel, and then scream into it for a thirty-minute breakdown. She was freezing; the bathroom was right next to the cold room.

NEXT--->

<---PREVIOUS

#art #tales of ealdan cynedom #short stories #fantasy #death at the wolf gate #flowen #sunaeth #morgan #eobreth

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vide0-nasties · 6 years

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if you were an ocean, i’d learn to float

Pairings: Asra/MC, extremely NSFW

Content Warnings: Pegging, anal fingering, anal sex, brief cunnilingus, brief simulated blowjob on sex toy, some coarse language, blindfolding, overstimulation, edging

Word Count: 5057

Author’s Note: Pre-game, pre-memory loss, lots of loving sex and praise. Kind of a whopper, a little emotional, and a lot of stuff I’ve never written before. Big learning experience lol. Hope you enjoy!

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Asra is her home—first and only.

Eustacia doesn’t feel the wind tugging at the wide-brimmed cavalier hat she keeps clamped on her head, or the rain pelting her back, or the pack strapped over her shoulder that weighs heavy with coin, interesting Nevivon blown glass, and others gifts for Asra. Offerings to throw on his altar, hoping to please him. A bigger offering—the biggest offering she’s ever made to anyone.

No, her entire world narrows down to a corona of pearl-colored hair, the most capable hands she’s ever seen in her life, and a mouth of beauty beyond her limited reckoning hanging open in disbelief.

All of this stands beyond the threshold of her inherited, shuttered shop, barefoot and at ease.

Hello, beautiful, she wants to say, like tradition, but she can’t. The words, with ten thousand more, crowd in her stoppered throat. Paralyzed, stymied, bewitched, she looks and looks, all her suave plans and flirtations gone straight to hell.

With no warning and a running start, Asra leaps at her, throwing his arms around her necks, his legs around her waist. The collision knocks her back, takes some of the wind from her lungs, but she catches him and holds tight. “Asra, the rain!”

He laughs, and trembles, and buries his face against her neck, and she mirrors all of it in tandem. She angles the brim of her hat to shield the both of them as best it can, their heads drawn down and together.

“You’re home,” he wheezes, fingers scrabbling all over, like he can’t touch enough of her to make sure she’s real. It makes her weak—no one has ever touched her like that, and she would now ridicule the hands of any other that dared to try. “You’re home.”

Why she had fought this so bitterly—a dream the better part forgotten.

Melting against the warmth of him, squeezing her free arm around his waist and grabbing a handful of his ass with comfortable familiarity, she kisses the shoulder laid bare by his slipped shirt. She could be on the blank and barren surface of the fucking moon and be home, so long as he was there beside her.

“What?” she teases, teeth against skin, spinning their ensnared bodies in a slow circle through the downpour. “Did you worry that I forgot whose hands I left my heart in?”

Always, she’s thought the lines that make up Asra are stunning. Beautiful as her golden threads, but coming together to create something wonderful, not to break apart something living.

The vulpine tilt of his lips, the fanning arc of his eyelashes, the carved-marble cut of his calf muscles, the elegant arches of his feet. The fine bones that make up his wrists, the shadowed dip between his collarbones.

She hopes her staring doesn’t feel heavy, doesn’t looked wild-eyed. She hopes her looks aren’t a burden.

It makes her feel guilty.

Stripped of her newly tattered coat, the victim of a truly nasty thicket of thorns, the rest of her clothes still drip on the floor, water pooling dark around her pointed boots. The boards are already warped, so it doesn’t worry her overmuch. Great Aunt Koulmia had run an antiquities business, and then she died. In between, she’d stagnated, bitched endlessly, and let the place come to smell of mold, tarnished brass, and hoarded coin. Many artifacts remain in the cobwebbed ground floor, packed away in trunks and burlap.

It all reeks of iron, and Eustacia can’t find many reasons to linger very often as-is.

“Exactly right,” she tells Asra, flicking her hat in the vague direction of a steamer trunk, gently setting her pack in front of a stove that hadn’t known fire in years until they’d begun to haunt the place. Giving her lip a sly curl, she glances at him from the corner of her eye and points down at the leather bag. “I wanted to surprise you with surprises.”

“I like surprises,” he says, cunning as she, and game as can be. There’s a dare in his eyes, and he doesn’t let go of hers as he starts for the bag in lazy, sweeping steps. Such quiet feet, quiet as little fox paws when he wants them to be.

Only when he reaches for it, does she stop him, with two index fingers under his jaw to draw him back up to height. Rumbling, she leans down to him and brushes her lips against his mouth, “You know damn well I’ve cursed my pack to the burning kingdom and back.”

“What kind of curse?” he asks, trying to surge forward. He doesn’t care much about the curse or the pack, he only wants to find his limits and push them. She lets him, it’s something he’s good at.

“If a single finger that doesn’t belong to my hand touches it, that finger and its sisters will blacken and wither to nothing,” she tells him, cocking her head. She darts her tongue out to skim his bottom lip, a shiver running up his body and turning his eyes dark, and she snaps her teeth shut with a crash.

“Teach me?” he asks, wrapping his arms around her neck, standing on his tiptoes to pull her closer.

She puts her hands flat on his waist under his shirt and nods. All that and more, she’ll teach him. It’s part of the deal—in return for teaching him curses, sigils, and a few uglier things, he will teach her gentler, more practical magic. Healing, fortune telling, dream work, a sweeter transmogrification than she knows now.

She teaches him grifter magic tricks—coins and cards and pulling rabbits out of hats if he desires—and he teaches her reading and writing—almost belligerently, demanding she shed her shame so that she may learn.

Asra takes her hand, and leads it below his waist. He bucks against her palm and cuts a gasp off at the knees by biting into his lower lip when she lands over the strain in his trousers. Her eyes could roll in the back of her head, and she fails to stifle the pleased growl in her throat.

“Euffie…do you want to…?” he breathes, swallowing hard. He nods his head, perhaps hoping she’ll mirror the motion, but she does the opposite and withdraws completely.

“Yes,” she croaks, body almost too electrified to let her run on anything more than instinct to retrieve the wooden box from her pack. She plunks it on the counter to add emphasis, “But—baths, and a present first.”

He looks affronted—shocked and appalled—but she’s delighted. Everything is how she wants it. “I’m an idiot—you’re the cruelest person I’ve ever met, and I’m in love with you,” he accuses.

She drops a fleeting and intentionally unsatisfactory kiss to his lips. “That one’s on you, Cottontail,” she hums, shrugging. “You first. No touching yourself in the bath.”

She opts to switch into her finer jewelry—the gold and abalone pieces, because they both like them better than the steel rings and comparably cheaper quartz plugs in her lobes—while he bathes. When it’s her turn, she uses an armada of enchanted concoctions to fade bruises, heal nicks, and disappear the broken blisters on her hands and heels.

An equal amount of lotions bring her skin a little closer to luminosity, and she emerges, less worse for the wear, to the mouth-parching image of Asra in her dressing robe. The black silk one, with a shawl collar and eyelash-edged viridian lace trimming the hems. It’s short-short on her, silk coming up near to the ass and elbows, but on Asra? Perfect.

He studies the interesting Nevivon blown-glass, and smirks up at her. “Please, tell me this is for me?”

“No, sorry,” she croaks, drawing closer. “That’s for the other white-haired magician in my life.”

“Aren’t they the luckiest,” he hums, lifting the piece out of its velvet lining. Six inches long, with ridges spiraling up the shaft in a pretty shade of blue, and a flared base to be worn in her harness. He could take bigger—she’s used bigger on him before, to wonderful effect—but this pretty chunk of glass had cost a pretty chunk of change, and could be used forever if taken care of.

Asra isn’t short compared to most people, but he’s half a foot shorter than her, and very easy to wrap around from behind. Looping her arms around his waist, she takes the pendant around his neck and sucks on it, clicking against her teeth and tongue stud. “You like it?”

“Eustacia,” he near-pouts, turning his head to speak against her cheek, “I really, really want this inside me.”

“Mm. Alright. That other wizard can go to hell, then. They’re not nearly as lovely as you,” she chirrups, grinning with his pendant between her teeth. She slips a hand under the robe, circling one of his nipples with two fingertips, and then she grinds against his backside. “We’re going to need you somewhat relaxed first.”

His breath catches the tiniest bit, but he lolls his head back against her shoulder and grins with the same intensity. “Are we?”

“Negotiation before even that,” she adds, ignoring his bemused frown. “I was thinking blindfold, bound hands, some fingering, aaand I’d really, really love to tease you.”

“If you work in some denial,” he proposes, hissing and pressing against her hand when she pinches the nipple, “and if you untie me, and take the blindfold off when I ask—yes, I’m all for everything.”

“Excellent, I accept you terms. Now, what kind of oil do we have? Any we wouldn’t mourn the loss of.”

“Coconut, I think.”

She drops the pendant, ducks her head, and finds his pulse point with her lips. Brushing a gold-capped wolf tooth against his heartbeat, she runs a hand down his belly, below the sash of the robe. “Let’s say we grab it, and move along to the bedroom? Is that agreeable to you?”

Great Aunt Koulmia’s bed stank of spinster, so she and Asra threw it out.

They literally kicked the mattress down the stairs and left it on the curb, dusting their hands and using their thumbs to draw sigils on their foreheads to ward off evil spirits. Eustacia never felt bad about ridding the shop of the woman’s personal belongings—she was a massive twat in the mortal realm, and Eustacia is sure she’s being a massive twat in hell.

Fuck her, Gods bless, amen.

They’d kept the bedframe though, that was of the highest quality. Beautiful ebony behemoth with carvings of sea monsters and intricate knotwork. They keep it piled high with blankets and over-sized jewel-toned cushions.

Asra helps her step into her harness, starting by ridding her of the towel around her torso, kissing a line south from her lips, down her chest. He holds onto her hips as he kneels in front of her, pressing his mouth to her navel, dipping his tongue into the divot. She can feel his nose, eyelashes, and grin when she laughs and tries to jolt away, kept close by his hands.

He drops the leather and brass harness at his knees, and laughter—nervous and gleeful—jags up her throat at the sight of him. Hands still on her hips, eyes heavy with haze, lips turning rosy. The fabric of the robe pooling over his thighs catches like lightning under the glow of the witch lights in the bedroom.

He wraps his hands around the small of her back, pulls her close enough to nuzzle against her sex and press a kiss to her labia. “Mm—Asra,” she almost seethes, fingers in his hair. The muscles in her torso clench and unclench without reason, her entire body an ember being blown into a flame. She nearly wants to go onto her tiptoes.

“You taste good,” he mutters against her skin, kissing her two and three more times, darting his tongue between her lips to barely catch her clit, digging his fingers into her muscle. “Eustacia, you taste so good.”

And he thinks her cock tastes good, too. Greedy and impatient once the glass cock is loaded into the harness, pulled up and tightened around her hips, he takes the shaft in hand and closes his lips around the tip, never once breaking his line of sight to her eyes. With every bob of his head, he takes more into his mouth, closing his eyes as if in ecstasy.

It’s amazing that she can feel so much through something that isn’t physically a part of her body. That she can feel the drag of his lips over her cock through even a piece of leather. That she finds herself wanting to buck into his mouth, that she moans when he takes it to the base without gagging, and that he grunts and nods to encourage her noises.

“Asra, you’re going to kill me like that,” she complains, but there isn’t an actual grievance backing it. Maybe she would like to die with Asra sucking her cock. There are worse ways to leave the world.

She can feel his tongue run flat against the bottom as he pulls back, and the piece shines brilliantly with his spit. Lips gone rosy and swollen, face glistening with her slick, he smiles the way he does when he’s drunk, and tells her, “Are you going to fuck me, Eustacia? I want you to fuck me.”

As you wish, Asra.

Asra is always pretty.

He’s pretty with his hands bound to the headboard with a thread she weaves from the cosmic nothing—shining, gold, nearly impossible to break, and weightless as spider silk.

Pretty in her lingerie, silk and lace folded between his legs, dropping away from his chest, pooling around his raised arms, all of it striking in contrast and complement. She’s never seen him in a color that doesn’t favor his tones.

Pretty-pretty-pretty with her oil-drenched fingers inside of him, bucking and wriggling against and into her touch. His murmurs and gasps override the silver clatter of rain falling on the rooftop and the window. The sweet scent of the silky coconut oil and the sweat of their skin mingles in the humid air between them, a pleasant cloud that grounds her, keeps her focused on her work.

Oh, he’s going to look exquisite taking her cock, riding it, begging for it.

She leans over him in nothing but her harness and skin, teasing kisses to his swollen lips. She lets her fingers do their work, taking turns either brushing the sweet spot that makes his back arch and toes curl, or laying into it so relentless she thinks he’s liable to scream—veins and tendons standing out on his neck, head thrown back against the cushions.

In a voice backed with the kind of smoke that rises from house-fires, she growls against the shell of his ear, “Asra, I have some very important things to confess to you.”

“Tell me,” he breathes, almost a whine. Tries to turn and catch her mouth, or maybe dislodge the magenta scarf she’s tied around his eyes. “You can tell me anything—anything.”

Rearing away, she bites the inside of her cheek when he realizes she’s moved and pipes his complaint loud and wordlessly—a drawn out, full-body keen that finds the other point of contact, bearing down on the fingers inside him and clenching. The keen turns into a gasp when she runs the flat of her tongue over his nipple, pinching it sweet and gentle between her teeth before a firm suck that leaves his arms straining against his bindings.

“Here is the beginning of my confessions,” she tells him, kissing his stomach and working him so hard her fingers and wrist might snap. “I know I don’t tell you enough that I love you—”

“You—you don’t have to,” he croaks, “I know. I know you do.”

She slows almost to the point of halting, savoring his yelp. “You deserve to hear it more,” she insists, rewarding him with speed.

Asra twitches, and pants, and gasps, sucking on his lower lip, the muscles in his stomach jolting. She can see ever hard swallow that moves his throat, every instance that his pink tongue darts out to relieve his bitten lips. Admittedly, her mouth goes dry seeing him try to clamp his legs shut, the robe gathered up between his thighs, the sash around his waist coming untied from his fidgeting.

“Eustacia!” he nearly howls the moment she retreats completely, leaving him panting and empty.

Taking hold of his hips, she settles between his knees, letting the head of her false cock brush against the swell of his ass until she takes it in hand. With an obscene amount of oil, she strokes the length and tells him, “I’m ready to go, Asra. Do you want my cock in you?”

“Yes.”

Slowly, she presses her cock against him, until he’s taken the head of it within himself. His sigh is pleased and fraught with excitement, mouth slightly slack with surprise and relief. She works through the burn in her hip flexors as she fills him, stroking his lean obliques and the curve of his ribs under the robe, asking constantly whether he’s okay, if the slide is smooth enough, does he need more oil.

“How do you feel? Are you alright?” She wants him taken care of—safe and comfortable, and that need eclipses the desire to see him fucked apart and babbling. Even when every drop of blood in her veins dumps directly into her crotch with painful velocity—so fast she’s gone light in the head and sopping between the legs.

“Full,” he murmurs, shifting against her hips as if he can take more, though he’s taken her to the base. “Fuck, Eustacia, it feels so good. So fucking good.”

If that isn’t the most heart-stopping thing she’s ever been told. Another delighted bout of laughter surges up her throat, and Asra smiles and pants, “I love that sound—love your laughs, all of them.”

Tentatively, she draws back to test him with an easy thrust. His breath hisses and he nods—more, please, more—and she gives him what he wants. Setting a languid, easy pace to the roll of her hips as she draws her thrusts longer, drives them deeper. Her hand wraps around his cock, stroking it in a loose, teasing grip, and she counts every instance he nods, makes a sound, or his breathing catches.

The first time she’d ever laid eyes on him, she’d thought him too beautiful, like staring at the sun. She’d almost disliked him for it, for being the kind of beautiful that was hard to process into a long term memory, but she didn’t, and never did. She’d felt bad for it. He was, and is, so much more than his looks.

“You’re clever, Asra, so damned clever,” she tells him, picking up speed, eating up his muttered needs for assurance. “The cleverest person I know. Even quicker than a four-century sea witch. You think in ways I couldn’t conjure in the most virile quarters of my imaginings. When I cursed myself dead—you broke apart what I knew, showed me something different, and it worked, Asra. You gave me what I needed to take back my heartbeat—”

“Close,” he wheezes, straining tight against the headboard and his bindings, “close-close—!”

“Oh!” Eustacia stops altogether, gaping down at him. He swallows hard, breathing in shallow laps. She reaches up to stroke the column of his throat, making soothing sounds. “Champing at the bit, Rah? I’m glad you said something, I’m enjoying myself. Are you?”

Another swallow passes under her hands, and he nods, a smile showing off the gleam of his wonderful teeth. “Very much so,” he purrs, relaxing again. “I can’t even think when you get going like that. You must’ve had some practice out in the great, wide world.”

“Didn’t,” she admits willingly, “haven’t. I didn’t take anyone else to bed this time. They all looked gray. I just…wanted to get back to you.”

“Me neither. No one else,” he says, licking his lips. “I really don’t want anyone else. Ever.”

She could play flip or coy, but she doesn’t. Too much time has already been spent skirting this thing between them, and that’s what this last trip was for in the first place. One last trip, and never again would they be apart. “Good.” Her hands settle back on his hips. “I don’t either. Ready?”

They come together again. She picks up the pace, slows it, stops when he calls close, again and again. Teasing him mercilessly, grinding against the harness to chase what she is denying him, only to be denied herself. Praise spills from her lips like a water spigot cranked to flow and forgotten. You are generous, you are considerate, you are brave, you are funny.

Your laugh sounds safe like guardian bells. Sun- and moonlight feels at home in your hair. You stand up for the lonely monsters even when they’ve never needed your help.

You are the sun, and you burn away the shadows.

“You make sure I eat, Rah. No one has ever made sure that I’ve had enough to eat,” she rasps, throat dry, eyes wet, fucking him in earnest. Sweat rolls down her back in beads, down her forehead, and down her chest. Her legs are on fire, her back is screaming, her arms buzz near numbing as she keeps herself propped over him.

He doesn’t bother keeping quiet anymore, his moans bouncing off the walls when he isn’t sucking on the fingers she offers him, or biting his lips and the inside of his cheek. He’s hoarse, too, when he shouts for the fifth time, “Close! F-fuck, close!”

Again, she stops, hanging her head and breathing in ragged bursts. She can’t even think, and it’s a sweetly painful blessing. She can’t think, all she can do is pour her heart out onto him, split open all her veins and bleed for him.

Treat him right, fuck him right. Fuck him like she loves him, because she does love him. She loves him so fucking much it goes beyond frightening her.

She loves him so much it quiets her. It undoes the bone that makes up her spine, and puts it back together with the polished steel of swords. It makes her a courageous monster, a monster with a purpose.

Her thrusts begin again, slow and forceful, and he bites back on a sound that sends lightning up her spine, straight into the cotton her brain has turned into.

Maybe that’s part of why she loves him so badly—the fact that he does quiet her, that her hands go still around him, that he can put all of her nervous tics to rest, and never judges her for them in the first place. He makes the world stop hurtling around her.

There’s a talent in him for drawing out the better part of her, teasing that beaten and starved dog over a warm threshold. Come here, come closer. I’m not going to hurt you, even when you bite me. You’re more than skin and bones. I know the shape of your soul. I know it is lovely.

How the hell had anyone like Asra seen anything worthy in her? This is a question she thinks she will wrestle the rest of her mortal life.

“I love you,” she says, voice pitching high into a plea. “I love you, Asra.”

“Mm-muh, I love you,” he moans, using the entirety of his throat, nodding feverishly as he cants his hips to find a little more friction.

Her rhythm stops without his asking, and she ignores his indignant bark, pulling the scarf from his eyes. She cradles his jaw in both hands, waits until his eyes focus and meet hers—such brilliant gemstone violet striking against ocean-bottom black—and she bores into them with all the gravity and urgency she can muster. “I love you, Asra. Do you understand that?”

Do you know how impossible that is? How grateful I am?

On their lonesome this way, he’s easy to read. He wants to ask if she’s okay, and call her Euffie doing it. But he won’t, because she hates that attention and doesn’t want that name attached to it. Because she hates that he fears the armor she named anger, and that he knows she built it around a pale and feeble thing he names fear without using words.

“Untie me, please,” is what he asks of her instead.

She does, making the thread around his wrists dissolve back into the nothingness from whence it was summoned, trying not to move much as she does it.

“Can you—mm, can you—ah,” he sighs, nodding as she pulls out of him, rubbing her arms and not letting her back away too far. “Can you…I want to finish on top, if that’s alright. If there’s an easy way to make the pillows, you know, like a chair?”

“That can be done,” she says, and it is. The pillows are easy enough to manage, even around her self-inflicted and insipid sentimentality, and she sinks back against them more lounging than perching, but that works well enough for Asra. He straddles her pelvis, the slip of silk whispering over her skin, and wraps his arms around her neck, bringing their chests together.

With a palmful of oil, she slicks the piece up for the last time, and he sinks down on it inch by slow inch. He buries his face against her neck, dropping sloppy kisses in an upward trail until he finds her mouth.

“I’m, pffaha, I’m probably not gonna last for much longer,” he warns, grinning and red through the face.

He doesn’t, keeping wrapped around her python-tight and barely doing more than rolling his hips, hissing yes-yes-yes when she thrusts up into him. When he cums hot over her stomach, it’s with a wordless shout into the crook of her neck, and she fucks him through it until he’s had as much as he wants, trembling and long-gone past overstimulated.

He hisses when he rises off the cock, telling her to lift her hips. She obeys, helping him with the buckles on the harness, and dropping it on the floor. “Come here,” she says, reaching for him, but he shakes his head and sinks between her knees. “Asra, come on. I can bring myself off.”

“You took care of me,” he laughs sleepily. “I want to take care of you.”

And he does. With his fingers, with his lips, with his tongue, he takes care of her one—two—three times in rapid succession.

Boneless and knowing she will ache like she’d been trampled in a riot come morning, she leaves Asra shed of the robe and melting into the pillows under her rabbit fur blanket. All she can see is his face nuzzled into the red satin lining, the scantest flash of white hair and bronze skin lovely against the gray-brown hare pelt, perched on the edge of sleep, to the chorus of the rain still pouring outdoors.

Carrying a flower vase of water and her pack, she settles down next to him. They’d cleaned up the bare minimum they would need to stand themselves through what will likely be a deep and long sleep, and did no more. She passes him the water first, hearing more than seeing him guzzle it down, and pats her pack. “I have more surprises,” she hums, arching a brow his direction.

Swallowing and smacking his lips, he laughs, “I don’t think I can take any more surprises tonight.”

“I think you’ll be wanting to. This is the sort of surprise that needs two to agree upon.”

“Well,” he sighs, passing her the vase and propping up his head on one hand. “I do like surprises.”

Without further prompting, and after setting the vase aside, she opens the pack and renders the curse on it inert. Hundreds of coins gleam in the belly of it like gilded seeds, mixed through with a magpie’s bounty of jewelry and other trinkets. It all catches in the light of the remaining witch lights, and, though she has no knack for divination nor the desire to learn it, she sees a future spelled out in the gleam.

“We could do it,” she whispers, hoarse and ridiculously hopeful. “We could have a place here. Together. No more…trips, or working out of booths, or odd jobs.”

“You mean the shop?” he asks, saucers for eyes, a hand squeezing her wrist as if in want of an anchor. “You want to open the shop?”

If she’d known then all the suffering they were going to shoulder on this path, she would’ve scraped her earnings back into the bag, taken his hand, and run until the soles of their feet bled.

But she didn’t, and she wanted to give him a home—a proper home, something he’d never had until she gave him a key to Great Aunt Koulmia’s mothballed shop and told him to do as he pleased.

He’d already given her more than she ever dared to want, and the wedding-ring, teeth-mark scars on the web between her thumb and index finger pulse in a thick way. Superstition, old wives tale: bite and bite and bleed, then true shall your love ever be.

“That’s your choice to make, Asra,” she tells him, pushing the pack off the bed and hunkering close to him, pulling the blanket over her flank. “I love you, and I’m as settled as I ever want to be. We could open the shop, or catch the first ship out of Vesuvia, and I’d be happy either way.”

“Yeah,” he laughs, low and warm and satisfied, taking up her hands and leaning to meet her mouth halfway. Against her lips, he laughs, “Let’s do it. Let’s open the shop.”

She puts her arms around his back, curls into him the way he curls into her, and lets the world go quiet apart from the rain and his breathing.

Asra is her home—first and favorite.

#the arcana #the arcana fanfic #NSFW//#Asra #Asra x MC #this is pretty much the filthiest thing i've ever written and i'm nervous af haha #rags wrote a thing

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sjohnson24 · 5 years

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Legends of the Zodiac

The history of astrology dates back thousands of years to recorded data contributed by the Babylonian peoples. This comes from a time when astronomy and astrology were so closely linked that they were considered one in the same. From there, it spread like wild fire through Greek culture and then exploded into various others worldwide.

The zodiac in Greek means, ‘circle of animals’ and represents 12 symbols, associated with the cycle of dates, planets and seasons. The signs are then divided up by elements, stars and then multiplied by personal adaptations. There are certain ones that we are compatible with and those which are more prone to be in opposition to us, in turn reminding us that we may become stronger.

Astrologers do not use the times we see day to day. They use what is known as side reel time to measure the Earth and all that which is alive within the circumference of celestial timing. From this, we can map out our horoscopes for guidance and inspiration in order to better draw our destinies!

Below, I am going to do a short overview of each sign of the zodiac and from which constellations they were given eternal life. Remember that although we consider our sun signs, as explained later in this article, to be most dominant, there are more aspects to us than we realize. One can find the answers that they seek by simply typing in “free astrology birth chart” into google.

Pisces– Sign 12 representing water. Symbolized by a pair of fish! February 19- March 20. The rulers are Neptune and Jupiter. Pisces is focused on spiritual aspect and the journey there. They can feel the emotions of others and oftentimes express their selves in an emotional manner! Jupiter symbolizes the king of the Gods and Neptune is of the sea!

Pisces oftentimes feels misunderstood. Their empathic ways define their lives and those around them as well. Pisces will tend to want to go with the flow instead of trying to change things around! They do not want to cause any upheaval as they are greatly in touch with the energies that abound!

The two fish in the stars represents Venus and Cupid. They are the Goddess of love and beauty and her son, who is the symbol for passion and desire. It also has a galaxy inside with known planets! The Piscids is the meteor shower that comes from this direction. Aquarius– Sign 11 representing water. Water represents the collective unconscious universe. The symbol for Aquarius is an overflowing urn. January 21- February 19. It is an air sign, fixed and ruled by Uranus, traditionally by Saturn. The constellation Aquarius is powerfully persuasive emotionally. Some trademarks of the energy can be described as masculine, positive and extroverted. They express themselves with reason and moderation, being too shy at times as well. They are independent and do not follow the crowd. Many are gifted in the arts.

One legend that is particularly attributed to Aquarius is the story of Ganymede. He was an attractive prince of Troy. He was so good looking that Zeus decided to take notice of him. He took the form of an Eagle, the king of the skies and took him into the Heavens. Eagle conveys the messages of the spirit. Eagle also represents the need for honesty and truthful principles. At this entrance, Hera became shocked and demanded that he be returned for he rivaled the youthful beauty of her daughter. But, instead he was glorified in the stars above us for his masculine beauty represented the divine emotion at its strongest peak!

The constellation is the tenth largest in the sky. This number represents a completed course in cosmic time. It is a symbol of harmony. It is the number used frequently in ranking something, with ten being the best that you would want to achieve! It means to focus and stay determined! Do not stray from the path! It is the pair, 0 and 1 together. Capricorn– Sign 10 representing Earth. December 22- January 19. This sign’s energy is one of discipline, structure and maturity. The animal for this sign is the mountain goat. Foundation and skill join elements in order to support the ambition of this sign. The ruling planet is Saturn.

Saturn is Cronus, known as the “Father of Time.” This eludes to Capricorn also being seen as the “Father of the Zodiac.” They are known to be paternalistic and like to set out guidelines, rules and dreams to accomplish. Saturn stays in each sign for about two and a half years and is very strong over Capricorn.

Capricornus, is the sky’s legendary myth. It is known as a goat-fish creature. It is connected with the moment that the Gods sought out safety in Egypt. This is because of a fearful enemy known as Typhon. Even the other Gods had to transform in order to be saved. Unfortunately, by the time that he reached Bacchus or Pan (many interpretations differ…) he was only able to change halfway into a goat and was so stuck in that form forever embedded into the cosmos.

Sagittarius– Sign 9 signifying the element fire with Jupiter overlooking. The symbol is the archer, the arrow and the centaur. Nov 22- Dec 22. Sagittarius is independent, strong and righteous. Jupiter is known as the lucky planet.

Sagittarius is known to be the truth tellers. They are naturally truthful, sometimes lacking necessary empathy for others. Also known as ones who love adventure, travel and change, there is no holding back those lone wolves. They have a burning energy that cannot be contained so easily.

In the sky, Sagittarius is the archer centaur who is pulling back a bow. Legend goes that it stands in place for Crotus, who is the son of Pan, who also invented archery. He was close to the nine muses and so was respected and honored. Because of this he was placed into the stars. His arrow reaches out into the heart of Scorpio.

Scorpio– Sign 8 representing the scorpion. Oct 23- Nov 22. Scorpion represents passion, control, death and sex. It can also symbolize isolation as well, seeing as it is a solitary creature. Because of its fast and quick nature, it is known as a sharp cutting-edge sword energy. Mars and Pluto oversee this sign.

Scorpio is strongly linked to Orion in astronomy mythology. It is also closely connected with the sun. They express themselves in clever, calculated and seductive ways. This tells the tale of someone who is in total control of their destiny. Many are great at picking themselves up and protecting their energy passionately!

Mars is the God of war. Pluto speaks for the underworld. It is this collaboration that brings about otherworldly dreams. This combination creates an occult, supernatural and sexual undertone. If you want something done, Scorpios are highly motivated. In ancient times, the scales of the Libra constellation were actually noted as the claws of the Scorpius.

The Scorpius was thought to be, in mythology, a true creature, thrown into the sky because Orion wanted to hunt every animal and Athena protected them. Because he was bragging to Artemis and Leto at the time about the competition, they sent a Scorpion against him and it did cause death and Zeus wanted to let the world see the lesson in vanity and senseless passions, so he made the legend for all to know.

Libra– Sign 7 is the scales. September 23- Oct 23. Libra is protected by the planet Venus and is considered an air sign. It is the one sign that is attracted to partnerships. The worst feeling for a Libra is that of being alone. A Libra will strive for beauty, harmony and equality. They are known as the most indecisive ones!

In relationships, a Libra desires to completely give their body and soul. This means that they enjoy constant touching and reassurance. A Libra wants peace and balance because with that comes the riches and comforts that life has got to offer. They will always strive to make a home life.

Libra in Latin literally translates to mean weighing scales. The legend states that Libra represents the seasons changing and also the difference between day and night. Libra in the stars holds a planetary system within it’s confines. It is known as the legendary love sign!

Music, nature, libraries and shopping malls are all things that a Libra enjoys. They are the only inanimate object in the Zodiac, thus in turn they can develop a great love of expensive and material things!

Virgo– Sign 6. The virgin. Aug 23- Sep 23. An Earth sign ruled by Mercury. Virgo is a very organized energy. They like to be in control in life, especially also in relationships. They like to know the details of every situation in order to trust better. The Virgo is a beautiful strategizer.

They can seem distant at times but, this is only when they withdraw inwards. Mercury rules over communication and so at times can prove overanalytical in terms of home life and family. They do have a hard time listening to complaints and request only positive energy in their wake!

The Virgin constellation is the largest out of all of the zodiac in the sky. In the universe, it is second, only under Hydra. The appearance of this star structure is a reminder of fertility and agriculture! Dike is the inspiration behind the symbology. She is the Greek goddess of Justice.

Leo– Sign 5. The Lion. July 23- August 23. A fire sign ruled by the Sun. Leo loves being the center of attention! They enjoy being center stage and in the spotlight! First impressions are very important to them. They are creative, passionate and generous!

The lion oftentimes symbolizes royalty. They have a dignified and pragmatic approach to life. Leo is known as strong and powerful. They have a lust for life that can oftentimes be dampened by any insecurities. Leo likes to feel the best way possible and supported in order to move forward confidently.

In the sky, Leo represents the Nemean lion that Hercules had to kill as one of his tasks of retribution. It was the first goal that he had to accomplish. This is because the pelt was used as a means of protection and armor, due to it’s cosmic strength and resilience. Cancer– Sign 4. The crab. June 21- July 22. A water sign ruled by the moon. Cancer is deeply loyal, imaginative and persuasive. It is also a deeply emotional energy which can have a hard time dealing with criticism and unasked for advice by close persons.

They seem to slightly change with each moon phase. Cancer can have a hard time dealing with emotions and its best to use something beautiful for self-expression in art. All of cancer’s motives are emotion based and can lead to a life of self-centeredness and manipulation sometimes.

Cancer is the Latin name for crab. It is the dimmest of the Zodiac constellations. This lies in sync with how water dims fire and makes a lot of sense! The legend alludes to that of Hercules! This task was one that he was given in order to tame a giant crab. It was sent by Hera, because he had killed his whole family in an insane rage and he was trying to prove himself. She let it loose while he was battling the Hydra to make things even more difficult but, he endured!

Gemini– Sign 3. The Twins. May 21- June 20. Air signs ruled over by Mercury. Gemini often display a duality in their being. This is consistent with their desire to connect to all aspects of the mental subconscious of ourselves and also with the cosmic universal consciousness.

Gemini dislike being alone and will often become depressed if put in this position. They are highly intellectual and get along well with other airy signs. Within this magic is love. Gemini are very good at nurturing relationships to their full potentials and displaying affections!

In the stars, Gemini’s story is glorious. It is named for the twins in Greek mythology, Castor and Pollux. The legend goes that they had the same mother (Leda) but separate fathers. Castor’s father is Leda’s husband, Tyndarus the king of Sparta. Their other sister is Helen of Troy! Apparently only Pollux was immortal and so Castor died in a war they were fighting on behalf of their people. Zeus knew how to remedy the situation and made Castor eternal by placing her in the sky. Taurus– Sign 2. Recognized as the bull. Apr. 20 – May 21.Venus is the guide of this one. Earth is the element of habitation. This energy is always seeking the rewards of a situation. They do crave the finer things of life and look for good things materialistically.

That being said, Taurus is also known as the stubborn one. Getting so caught up with the moment that they often loose sight of the bigger picture and just go full speed ahead forward. On the other end of the spectrum, they are also very reliable.

The constellation celebrates Zeus, who turned himself into a beautiful white bull to capture the attention of a Phoenician princess named Europa. They fell in love and gave birth to the famous king Minos of Crete. The sign rises and sets with the sun and is lost in the sun’s glory during the solstice in June. In November you can expect a meteor shower from this point! Aries– Sign 1 representing the ram. March 21- April 19. Aries greatest lesson is relying on their intuition. Mars stands for Aries power. This makes it a fire sign. It comes through in the personality where Aries takes charge in a forcible way. They dislike compromising as they view it as a form of submission. Aries likes to have their way most of the time!

Aries is a constellation in the Northern Hemisphere. The myth that is most often identified with it is the Greek legend of King Athamus of Boetia and his second wife, Ino who was extremely jealous and resentful of his children, especially Phrixus. So, she devised a plan where she destroyed the corn crops and paid an oracle to falsify information and say that one of his sons has to be sacrificed in order to escape starving to death. So, Phrixus and his sister were to be the ones to go. Zeus heard of this horrible evil woman and decided to send a golden ram and got them out of harms way. Unfortunately, the sister perished but Phrixus was saved and sent to Colchis. He in turn sacrifices the ram back to Zeus and gives it’s golden fleece to King Aeetes. The fleece was eventually stolen.

Aries energy tells us to trust our instincts and be brave in executing our dreams and desire. They are always focused towards action and adventure. Aries ponders the mysteries that lie within each person and circumstance, even when there is really no deeper meaning, they will find one. People with strong Aries energy feel best in leadership positions. They are ambitious and goal oriented. Sometimes they can get caught up in one way of doing things and not be too keen to change. Legends of the Zodiac Astrology is meant to heal us, help us and give us strength to move forward. We can take what we learn and shape ourselves to it but, also listen to the inner sense inside of us which gives us individuality and unique views as well. Astrology is said to predict major events but, because of the vague advice we sometimes receive in general, it would benefit us more to seek a professional or more knowledge in the subject to get the best we can from this situation.

Many cultures have adapted different versions of the zodiac and this is all good because we are all in different positions of the universe. There are definitely infinite secrets which the cosmos holds close that we may never truly understand but, we can come close in order to find comfort in our cosmic consciousness as one whole together.

Be on your best path, take that one which your dreams show you and always as your first step, take the world around you as a stepping stone to shift into multiple dimensions and realities, all waiting to be manifested by you! You have the power and the universe is our guide. Blessings.\\Deanna

By Deanna Jaxine Stinson, HPI’s Esoteric Detective Halo Paranormal Investigations Sacramento Paranormal Help www.facebook.com/HaloParanormalInvestigations/

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