it has been one of the greatest and most difficult years of my life. i learned everything is temporary. moments. feelings. people. flowers. i learned love is about giving- everything- and letting it hurt. i learned vulnerability is always the right choice because it is easy to be cold in a world that makes it so very difficult to remain soft. i learned all things come in twos: life and death, pain and joy, sugar and salt, me and you. it is the balance of the universe. it has been the year of hurting so bad but living so good, making friends out of strangers, making strangers out of friends, learning [sweet tea] will fix just about everything and for the pains it can’t, there will always be my mother’s arms. We must learn to focus on warm energy, always. soak our limbs in it and become better lovers to the world, for if we can’t learn to be kinder to each other how will we ever learn to be kinder to the most desperate parts of ourselves.
i can’t tell you my memories but i can act them out the safety of home with my arms. the betrayals i felt of my mother when i withdraw and shut you out of inside me the wounds my father left they erupt in my suspicions the way i expose my vulnerabilities i wish i could feel simply i am the essence of everything that has happened to me every word you have spoken and every moment we made together be careful when you touch me it will burn forever
Edited version of my previous Lusamine sprite,this time i edited her skin to look a bit more like Lusamine’s and featured the first WIP for my Mother Beast sprite (fun fact:Mother Beast doesn’t have any arms,just the Nihilego jelly arms)
It has been one of the greatest and most difficult years of my life. I learned that everything is temporary; moments, feelings, people, flowers. I learned that love is about giving. Everything. And letting it hurt. I learned that vulnerability is always the right choice because it is easy to cold in a world that makes it so very difficult to remain soft. I learned that all things come in twos; life and death, pain and joy, salt and sugar, me and you; it is the balance of the universe. It has been the year of hurting so bad but living so good; making friends out of strangers, making strangers out of friends. Learning that mint chocolate ice-cream will fix just about everything. And for the pains it can’t there is always my mother’s arms. We must learn to focus on warm energy, always, soak our limbs in it and become better lovers to the world, for if we can’t learn to be kinder to each other, how will we ever learn to be kinder to the most desperate parts of ourselves?
I had never seen my father wield a weapon before. On that cold Christmas evening of 1988 he opened one of the cabinets in the living room and pulled out his shotgun. He gave me a long, hard look: “I’m sorry Amy.” He then stepped out into the backyard to put Snuffles down.
My parents had trouble bearing children. They tried every method out there, but failed in every single one of them. I was their jackpot.
A one in a million chance and yet, nine months later, I was delivered into my mother’s arms, Amy Melinda Ramsey. My parents took so many pictures of me. In most of them they looked as if they were about to burst with joy, enthralled by their healthy little girl.
I think it was as soon as I began to speak that I questioned the singularity of my existence. “Can I have a little brother?” I pestered my mother as I played on the hardwood floor.
“We’ll see.” my mother would always reply.
I never addressed any questions to father though. To my younger self he was a rather daunting and intimidating figure in our home. He was one of those quiet working men, the steady ant, the always on time employee.
It was a Monday if I recall correctly, that the kid next door brought home a pug puppy for our play date. It only took me about two seconds before I instantly fell in love with its bulging brown eyes, cartoonish smile, and adorable face wrinkles. I wanted him to stay forever, but he eventually had to leave.
It’s funny how a child’s mind works. At that point I completely forgot about my longing for a brother or sister. Such thoughts had been replaced with an army of tiny pug puppies, marching and waving around their pig tails and stocky bodies.
A few days before Christmas, we all sat at the table for dinner. My mother took a sip of her soup and smiled at me. “Have you made your letter to Santa?” she asked.
“Well, how do you expect him to know what you want then?”
“I want a puppy! A pug puppy! I already have a name for him: Snuffles!”
“If you do, write it down on a piece of paper and hang it on our tree.” she replied. My father nodded a few times here and there but didn’t utter a single word. I would later find out that he had been laid off that day. I guess they were trying to protect me from such things, so they just swallowed those nasty thorns away from my sight.
I diligently followed my mother’s order. This was my best chance of getting a puppy and I was not going to waste it. I sat down on a small toy table in my room and scribbled the letter with the best handwriting a six year old could manage.
I remember that my letter, although crude and concise, was flooded with crayon drawings of me and Snuffles. My mom helped me hang it on one of the highest branches of our Christmas Tree. I stood there for a while, admiring my card, filling my mind with all of the adventures me and Snuffles would have.
As a result of my father’s job loss, we struggled to make ends meet. I could see it in their faces, in the corners of their mouths and eyes, that there was something going on, but they would just cloak it up with a half-assed grin. My parents concluded that a pug puppy was simply out of their possibilities and bought me a toy pug instead. They hoped that this might keep me happy and would buy them some time to save up for a real one.
I bet they were quite surprised when they saw a strange box under the tree that neither of them recognized on that December 25th of 1988. It vibrated around violently, and there was definitely something whimpering inside. “Snuffles!” I yelled victoriously.
My parents stood back in a corner of the living room as I rushed to grab the shuffling box. It was beautifully wrapped with a deep violet paper and intricate black jewels. An elegant golden bow crowned the gift, resting ominously on top of it.
A letter was attached to one of the sides of the gift. The handwriting was cursive, and as a child I was unable to read it. I gave the letter to my mother, eager to know what Santa had written me.
She read it in silence, and after glancing back to my father in what I can only describe as sheer shock, she handed him the card. My father scanned it briefly before rushing out of the house. He circled our property for about 10 minutes before coming back inside, pale as the snow sticking out of his boots.
I was 12 when the Winter Soldier came for me and my parents. We lived in a small house on the rough side of Queens, New York. I loved it there, the busy life was always something I gravitated towards. The city that never sleeps was my home, until everything was taken from me.
I threw my own power out—black to black, soothing his darkness, the rough edges, willing it to calm, to soften. My darkness sang his own a lullaby, a song my wet nurse had hummed when my mother had shoved me into her arms to go back to attending parties.
“It was a dream,” I said. His hand was so cold. “It was a dream.”
Again, the dark paused. I sent my own veils of night brushing up against it, running star-flecked hands down it.
Stepping through the door, Aelin saw Lyria hug Sam. Oh gods. There were tears in her eyes. Her baby boy was getting married today and he was so handsome.
She hugged him. Despite him being a head taller than her, Sam got crushed by his mother and she really didn’t care.
“Mother!” Sam squeaked. She laughed, letting go of him, straightening his jacket.
She patted his cheek, “Look at my baby. He’s getting married today!”
Lyria crossed her arms, “Mother, you need to stop crying. I did not spend an hour on your make up for you to ruin it by crying.”
She wrinkled her nose at her daughter, “You just wait, Ria. When you have children you will be as much of a mess as I.”
Lyria snorted, “not likely.”
She rolled her eyes, looking at Sam, “Are you nervous?”
Lyria muttered, “Liar.”
Sam offered her his elbow, “Ready?”
She took it, “I think I should be asking you that question.”
The cellist began playing a stream of notes, the music filled the chapel. Aelin knew that it was time to give her child away
Her hand in the crook of Sam’s arm, her own knees were weak. They moved in time to the music. Rowan’s face was set in a small smile, pure joy and something else raidated in his pine eyes.
The night that Sam told her that he was marrying Ceil, her husband wept. She wept. Honestly, they were both a mess of happy tears. She had been a wreck the past three days planning the wedding, crying nearly every time she saw Sam and Ciel together. Oh gods, She was so dramatic.
At the dias, Aelin kissed Sam’s cheek, “I’m so proud of you, Brightheart.” She thought back through the years. Through the meetings with Sam’s tutors, them telling her that he was difficult to teach, leading to her destroying their classrooms. She thought about the countless meetings with Yrene, learning ways to help Sam cope with his disability. She thought about how he latched onto Asterin Blackbeak, him giving her his feathers, him giving Ciel his feathers. Sam grew up into one of the most skilled and knowledgeable warriors in the land. But more than that, his heart was so big. He felt everything. His compassion was that of her Sam Courtland. She knew that her lost love would be proud of him. She had never been more proud of her son. He was indeed her Brightheart.
Manon looked at her son. His mismatched eyes were so bright, “Are you ready?”
He looked at her and grinned, “I was born ready.”
She snorted as he offered her his arm. Taking it, she could feel his skin slightly tremble. He was so nervous and she knew he loved Sam. He loved him as much as she loved Dorian.
The cellist was worth every gold piece she and aelin gave. It was near a small fortune.
She thought back to her son growing up. His first defeat. His first kill. He had killed the fae who had struck Sam with the arrow, who had whipped his mate. His kill was ruthless but also it was out of love. A pure love of someone who had seen the one person who was both equal and challenging.
He loved. Ciel loves with his whole heart. He was not made to be a monster. He was whomever he chose to be. A punishment or a blessing to the world, that was what she had wanted for him since she learned that she was pregnant. He chose to be the blessing.
Ciel nearly tripped when he saw Sam. Sam was literally glowing. She knew that it took all of Ciel’s training to not run to him, to walk the aisle with her. He was breathing in uneven breaths. His skin was even slightly chilled. Manon knew that his ice called out to Sam’s flame.
She would have thought it would be Sam who was a nervous wreck but perhaps with Lyria’s help, he was calm and centered. She tightened her grip on his arm, “You got this, Ciel.”
They began to walk. The music carried their steps.
Ciel stood next to Sam. She took his hands and squeezed them. She took a deep breath. She would not cry.
Taking her spot next to her husband, Dorian sqeezed her hand in comfort. Their child’s future began today. She hoped it was one worthy of song.
Rowan looked at his son. His eyes were trained on Ciel’s. Sam took Ciels hands, rubbing a thumb over his knuckles, “We are gathered here today to honor Crown Prince Sam Ashryver Galathynius and Ciel Blackbeak Haviliard in holy matrimony. The males have chosen their own wedding vows, Ceil?”
The witchling breathed deeply, “While I am my own person, you are my own heart. When you bleed I bleed. I will cherish you for the rest of my days. Together, our soul is knit. When you cry, I cry. When you hurt I hurt. While I am my own person, I shall serve you in the ways you need and be the ice to your flame. I pray the next thousand years are enough for us.”
Rowan took a deep breath. His Fireheart was in tears. He looked at his son, his eyes were bright.
His own eyes were wet, he said, “Sam, your vows?”
Sam began, “I pledge to you, Ciel Blackbeak Havilliard, that yours will be the name I cry aloud in the night and the eyes into which I smile in the morning. I place my life and death in your hands. What you say in confidece will not pass my lips. Your secrets are mine and mine yours. My flame will burn for you and your ice chills for me. Together our souls are one. I love you Ciel and I look forward to a thousand years with you.”
Tears silently fell from Rowan Whitethorn said, “I pledge you husbands in every way, mind, body and soul. You may kiss and begin the journey together from this day forward.”
Sam took Ciel’s face into his. Lips meeting the world fell away. They stood there for minutes, hours, eternity, He didn’t care. Ciel was his and he would never let him go.
Kon, Kara, and Superman being The Squad™ (after they get through all the angsty shit of Superman ignoring Kon)
I’m sorry, Marvel, but these three are the actual superfamily
The superfam is Super Popular, both in the superhero community and the general public. They’re one of - and I’d argue, the most - famous and well-liked hero families going around
[Teen Titan voice] “You know, Superman/Supergirl are so dreamy, I want them to hold me in their big strong arms - ”
Kon: “THAT’S MY MOTHER.”
Tim: “… Neither of those people is your mother.”
Kon casually mentioned that he’s going to the Fortress for the afternoon and Superman said the Titans are welcome to join, and the entire team drops what they’re doing and goes. Superman brings them healthy snacks. It’s the first time the Titans have collectively eaten vegetables happily and without complaint
Whenever they get together in costume (which doesn’t happen often; they’re busy and spaced out over the country), everyone kind of goes crazy with photos. They make a striking image - tall and powerful and matching in primary colours. Talk about intimidating. Most attractive and powerful family in the entire world.
People often ask where Krypto is and the answer changes every time
People often ask where Kon is and the answer changes every time. Both Krypto and Kon have space in Smallville, Clark’s cramped Metropolis apartment, Kara’s slightly less cramped apartment in National City, the Titans Tower, and the Fortress of Solitude
My Auntie June passed away about an hour ago. My mom flew to Arizona to be with the family, my Uncle in particular, who is especially heartbroken by this sad thing that’s happened. I’ve known my Auntie June for most of my life, though I didn’t spend as much time with her as I should have. Me and my family will always remember her as a sweet, wise, and kind human being who always had a light in her warm heart burning for anyone who needed it in dark times.
Please pray for her, even though I know that she is safe in the arms of the Great Mother, and send my mom and my Uncle good blessings to help them to get through these sad times.
I. Don’t. Get. It.
My mother was touching my arm and I asked her to stop because I was going into sensory overload so she decided to ‘be funny’ and start poking me. I got upset and told her to stop and then she got offended. How. The. Fuck.
Fingers always curled into fists,
ready for a fight, ready to kill.
YOU ARE HOME, ARE SAFE, MY LOVE,
you whisper to me:
YOU ARE NO LONGER AT WAR.
My clothing is armour.
My smile is my war-paint.
(Will I ever be at peace?
Will I ever stop being at war?)
Hold me close.
Calm my soul with a lullaby.
(YOU ARE HOME, YOU ARE SAFE.
YOU DO NOT NEED TO BE AFRAID.)
I will always be at war, I think:
Every step is to the beat of a drum.
Our house is a battle-ground;
I was raised a fighter.
I was raised a warrior.
YOU CAN STOP FIGHTING, you say.
I have been fighting since I was a child:
I do not know who I am without a war.
I do not know who I am when peace is here.
YOU ARE NO LONGER A SOLDIER:
LAY DOWN YOUR ARMS.
But I cannot; my mother left me no choice but to fight.
My father did not come to my aid.
I have become my own battle ground.
I cannot lay down my arms, for they have become part of me.
The war is over, but I have been fighting for too long to know what peace is. (CNS)
“So, what do we do with this information?” I asked, tucking away the emotions and the history and the confusion to move forward–to press on, in spite of everything.
Lord Helion stroked his chin. “For one thing, this will make it far easier to understand what is tying Nesta to the Cauldron. Knowing that she has the fae laugh goes a long way in explaining things.” He shook his head and smiled faintly. “It is funny how the greatest truths often lie in nursery rhymes,” he mused.
“A nursery rhyme?” Nesta asked, crossing her arms over my chest. “My mother was terrified because of a nursery rhyme?”