keep a green tree

2

“Try it again,“ I said.
 "Kiss me.”
“No,” he said.
“Kiss me.”
“No,” And then he smiled. “You kiss me.”
 I placed my hand on the back of his neck. I pulled him toward me. And kissed him. I kissed him. And I kissed him. And I kissed him. And I kissed him. And he kept kissing me back.”

 ― Benjamin Alire Sáenz, Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe

Hey, happy belated valentine’s day. have some asadais 
i was quite busy to post this on time and to aswer to requests but i managed some time (being me not having internet for a day) to finish this. 
I´m not good at drawing comics but better try and fail than do nothing.

flickr

Keeping it Warm by Jason Ogden
Via Flickr:
Living in the Pacific Northwest requires us to bring in our lemon tree every winter to protect it from the cold…but this might be going a little too far.

“what’s your favorite color?” she asks me.
I look at her full lips, rosy cheeks and finally her glittering eyes. “green” I say.

she smiles back at me, “like trees and grass?”

no, green like your eyes. every speck of green in your pretty eyes are my favorite. and I didn’t have a favorite color till I saw your eyes, I realize now. but instead I keep that to myself and say “yeah, green like trees and grass.”
and smile back and my green eyed girl.

—  Emma Kleinknecht
Part 8 - HEIMDALL AND LITTLE HNOSSA: HOW ALL THINGS CAME TO BE

Hnossa, the child of Freya and the lost Odur, was the youngest of all the Dwellers in Asgard. And because it had been prophesied that the child would bring her father and her mother together, little Hnossa was often taken without the City of the Gods to stand by Bifröst, the Rainbow Bridge, so that she might greet Odur if his steps turned toward Asgard. 

In all the palaces of the City of the Gods little Hnossa was made welcome: in Fensalir, the Halls of Mists, where Frigga, the wife of Odin All-Father, sat spinning with golden threads; in Breidablik, where Baldur, the Well Beloved, lived with his fair wife, the young Nanna; in Bilskirnir, the Winding House, where Thor and Sif lived; and in Odin’s own palace Valaskjalf, that was all roofed over with silver shields.

The greatest of all the palaces was Gladsheim, that was built by the golden-leaved wood, Glasir. Here the banquets of the Gods were held. Often little Hnossa looked within and saw Odin All-Father seated at the banquet table, with a mantle of blue over him and a shining helmet shaped like an eagle upon his head. Odin would sit there, not eating at all, but drinking the wine of the Gods, and taking the food off the table and giving it to Geri and Freki, the two wolves that crouched beside his seat.

She loved to go outside the great gate and stay beside Heimdall, the Warder of the Rainbow Bridge. There, when there was no one crossing that she might watch, she would sit beside Heimdall and listen to the wonders that he spoke of.

Heimdall held in his hands the horn that was called the Gialarhorn. He would sound it to let the Dwellers in Asgard know that one was crossing the Rainbow Bridge. And Heimdall told little Hnossa how he had trained himself to hear the grasses grow, and how he could see all around him for a hundred miles. He could see in the night as well as the day. He never slept. He had nine mothers, he told Hnossa, and he fed on the strength of the earth and the cold sea.

As she sat beside him day after day, Heimdall would tell little Hnossa how all things began. He had lived from the beginning of time and he knew all things. “Before Asgard was built,” he said, “and before Odin lived, earth and sea and sky were all mixed together: what was then was the Chasm of Chasms. In the North there was Niflheim, the Place of Deadly Cold. In the South there Was Muspelheim, the Land of Fire. In Niflheim there was a cauldron called Hveigilmer that poured out twelve rivers that flowed into the Chasm of Chasms.  

"Ginnungagap, the Chasm of Chasms, filled up with ice, for the waters of the rivers froze as they poured into it. From Muspelheim came clouds of fire that turned the ice into thick mists. The mists fell down again in drops of dew, and from these drops were formed Ymir, the Ancient Giant. 

"Ymir, the Ancient Giant, travelled along by the twelve rivers until he came to where another living form was standing in the mists. This was a Giant Cow. Audhumla was the name of that cow. Ymir lay down beside her and drank her milk, and on the milk she gave him he lived. Other beings were formed out of the dew that fell to the ground. They were the Daughters of the Frost, and Ymir, the Ancient Giant, married one, and their children were the Giants.

"One day Ymir saw Audhumla breathe upon a cliff of ice and lick with her tongue the place she breathed on. As her tongue went over and over the place he saw that a figure was being formed. It was not like a Giant’s form; it was more shapely and more beautiful. A head appeared in the cliff and golden hair fell over the ice. As Ymir looked upon the being that was being formed he hated him for his beauty.

"Audhumla, the Giant Cow, went on licking the place where she had breathed. At last a man completely formed stepped from the cliff. Ymir, the Ancient Giant, hated him so much that he would have slain him then and there. But he knew that if he did this, Audhumla would feed him no more with her milk.

"Bur was the name of the man who was formed in the ice cliff, Bur, the first of the heroes. He, too, lived on the milk of Audhumla. He married a daughter of the Ancient Giant and he had a son. But Ymir and Ymir’s sons hated Bur, and the time came at last when they were able to kill him.

"And now there was war between Ymir and Ymir’s sons and the son and son’s sons of Bur. Odin was the son of Bur’s son. Odin brought all his brothers together, and they were able to destroy Ymir and all his brood–all except one. So huge was Ymir that when he was slain his blood poured out in such a mighty flood that his sons were all drowned in it, all except Bergelmir, who was in a boat with his wife when the flood came, and who floated away on the flood to the place that we now call Jötunheim, the Realm of the Giants.

"Now Odin and his sons took the body of Ymir–the vastest body that ever was–and they flung it into the Chasm of Chasms, filling up all the hollow places with it. They dug the bones out of the body and they piled them up as the mountains. They took the teeth out and they made them into the rocks. They took the hair of Ymir and they made it into the forests of trees. They took his  eyebrows and formed them Into the place where Men now dwell, Midgard. And out of Ymir’s hollow skull they made the sky.

‘’And Odin and his sons and brothers did more than this. They took the sparks and the clouds of flame that blew from Muspelheim, and they made them into the sun and the moon and all the stars that are in the sky. Odin found a dusky Giantess named Night whose son was called Day, and he gave both of them horses to drive across the sky. Night drove a horse that is named Hrimfaxe, Frosty Mane, and Day drove a horse that is named Skinfaxe, Shining Mane. From Hrimfaxe’s bit fall the drops that make the dew upon the earth.

‘’Then Odin and his sons made a race of men and women and gave them Midgard to live in. Ugly Dwarfs had grown up and had spread themselves over the earth. Odin made them to go live in the hollow places beneath the earth. The Elves he let stay on the earth, but he gave them the tasks of tending the streams and the grasses and the flowers. And with the Vanir he made peace after a war had been waged, taking Niörd from them for a hostage.

‘’Bergelmir, the Giant who escaped drowning in Ymir’s blood, had sons and daughters in Jötunheim. They hated Odin and his sons and strove against them. When Odin lit up the world with the sun and the moon they were very wroth, and they found two of the fiercest of the mighty wolves of Jötunheim and set them to follow them. And still the sun and the moon, Sol and Mani, are followed by the wolves of Jötunheim.

Such wonders did Heimdall with the Golden Teeth tell Hnossa, the youngest of the Dwellers in Asgard. Often the child stayed with him by the Rainbow Bridge, and saw the Gods pass to and from Midgard: Thor, with his crown of stars, with the great hammer Miölnir in his hands, with the gloves of iron that he used when he grasped Miölnir; Thor in his chariot drawn by two goats and wearing the belt that doubled his strength; Frigga, with her dress of falcon feathers, flying swiftly as a bird; Odin, the All-Father himself, riding upon Sleipner, his eight-legged steed, clad all in golden armour, with his golden helmet, shaped like an eagle, upon his head, and with his spear Gungnir in his hand.

Heimdall kept his horn in the branch of a great tree. This tree was called Ygdrassil, he told little Hnossa, and it was a wonder to Gods and Men. "No one knows of a tune when Ygdrassil was not growing, and all are afraid to speak of the time when it will be destroyed.

Ygdrassil has three roots. One goes deep under Midgard, another goes deep under Jötunheim, and the third grows above Asgard. Over Odin’s hall a branch of Ygdrassil grows, and it is called the Peace Bough.

You see Ygdrassil, little Hnossa, but you do not know all the wonders of it. Far up in its branches four stags graze; they shake from their horns the water that falls as rain upon the earth. On the topmost branch of Ygdrassil, the branch that is so high that the Gods themselves can hardly see it, there is an eagle that knows all things. Upon the beak of this eagle a hawk is perched, a hawk that sees what the eyes of the eagle may not see.

"The root of Ygdrassil that is in Midgard goes deep down to the place of the dead. Here there is an evil dragon named Nidhögg that gnaws constantly at the root, striving to destroy Ygdrassil, the Tree of trees. And Ratatösk, the Squirrel of Mischief–behold him now!–runs up and down Ygdrassil, making trouble between the eagle above and the dragon below. He goes to tell the dragon how the eagle is bent upon tearing him to pieces and he goes back to tell the eagle how the dragon plans to devour him. The stories that he brings to Nidhögg make that evil dragon more fierce to destroy Ygdrassil, the Tree of trees, so that he may come upon the eagle and devour him.

There are two wells by the roots of Ygdrassil, and one is above and one is below. One is beside the root that grows in Jötunheim. This is a Well of Knowledge, and it is guarded by old Mimir the Wise. Whoever drinks out of this well knows of all the things that will come to be. The other well is by the root that grows above Asgard. No one may drink out of this well. The three sisters that are the holy Norns guard it, and they take the white water from it to water Ygdrassil, that the Tree of Life may keep green and strong. This well, little Hnossa, is called Urda’s Well.”

And little Hnossa heard that by Urda’s Well there were two beautiful white swans. They made music that the Dwellers in Asgard often heard. But Hnossa was too young to hear the music that was made by the swans of Urda’s Well.


*** To read the previous posts on sacred texts then go to http://ancestorsofthenorse.tumblr.com/GoodReads 

7

“Then why do the leaves never fall here? Or the snow? Why is it always spring here? I tell you there is one unicorn left in the world, and as long as it lives in this forest we’ll find no game to hunt here. […] Stay where you are, poor beast! This is no world for you. Stay in your forest and keep your trees green and your friends protected. And good luck to you, for you are the last. ”

New Zealand Gothic
  • You live by the beach. You’re in the middle of the city, but still there is a beach. You swear it never used to be there, but you’re not sure when it showed up. It’s getting closer, forever closer. They say it’s because of rising sea levels. You don’t believe them.
  • “Keep New Zealand Green”. The slogan is everywhere. Billboards. Rubbish bins. Chip packets. People smile and say it as they put their rubbish in the bins. “Don’t litter,” they say. “Keep New Zealand Green”. The ferns whisper it as they rustle. The trees tell you in their touches, as the branches reach to stroke your face. “Keep New Zealand Green,” people say, monotonous as they throw their soda bottle away. They are no longer smiling. There is fear in their eyes. The “Or else” is unspoken.
  • Your cousin littered once. You never heard from him again. 
  • Food is always on the news. They’ve changed the recipe again. “Of what?” people ask. “Everything,” the media replies. “Nothing is the same.”
  • You take a trip to the States, and everyone thinks you’re Australian. When you get home, there is a kangaroo sitting on your lawn. You don’t know who you are anymore. 
  • John Key gives a stretched smile as he gazes into the camera of the press conference. His mask cracks. The nation pretends not to notice. Silently, they wonder what lies beneath it. 
  • Winston Peters has said something stupid again. “How is he still in Parliament?” your uncle asks. You don’t know. You can’t remember him not being there. Neither can your dad. You check the Archives. He has always been there, it seems. He will always be there. There is no escaping him. 
  • “When I was a kid, I rode my bike outside,” your mum complains as a child on a bike passes you on the footpath. “Kids never ride their bikes these days. They never play outside.” Another kid zooms past. And another. And another. The footpath is nothing but children and their bikes. Why can’t your mum see them?
  • There is a new cabinet member. He is just sitting down for his meeting. His palms are sweating. At the head of the table, John Key lifts his hands to his face. No one but his cabinet sees beneath his mask. The new member wonders what lies beneath. His imagination paints a vivid picture of monsters and tentacles and creatures of evil. John Key peels away his skin. It is much worse. Much, much worse. The cabinet member gulps. Tony Abbott smiles back at him. 
  • “The Haast’s Eagle, now extinct, was big enough to carry off an adult person,” the museum guide tells the group of school children. “Imagine that! Thank goodness they’re not around anymore.” You turn away, so the children can’t read your expression. You can’t lie like the tour guide. One day, the children will find out the truth. It’s better for them to think they’re safe, for now. 
  • You visit Christchurch. The earth starts shaking and you dive under a doorway. Around you, people carry on. “There’s an earthquake,” you try tell them as the building sways violently. You can hear the beams groaning, unable to take the pressure. A crack opens up in the floor beside you. Two old ladies are shopping for clothes and stop to reassure you. “It’s just a small one,” one of them tells you. A hanging light that was swinging perilously snaps and crushes her. She doesn’t scream. “Just a bit of a shake,” the other one says. “You’ll get used to it, after a time.” You’re scared she’s right. 
  • “Don’t scare the kiwi,” the lady at the kiwi house tells you. But the kiwi aren’t scared of you, you think, as they scuttle around in the dark. They know that there is something much more terrifying out there. Something that only they remember. 
  • Maui angered the sun, when he caught it in his net to slow it down. Now, it glowers down upon you all, waiting to kill the unsuspecting. You are scared that one day you will forget your sunhat, and you will be the next victim.
  • “Slip, slop, slap,” you are taught in school. “And always wear a hat. Or the sun will get you”. Your mother covers you in sunscreen, over an inch thick. You only have a gallon left in the bathroom. Your supply is getting low.
  • “I’ll reapply your sunscreen in an hour,” she tells you. But you forget. You cry in agony as your skin catches alight. You wish Maui had left the sun alone. 
  • The kiwi are wise. They hide from the sun, and scuttle around at night. They are the only things that will survive in this accursed land. 
8

The physical self forms the centerpiece of She of the Mountains

She of the Mountains
by Vivek Shraya
Arsenal Pulp Press
2014, 128 pages, 5.5 x 8.2 x 0.5 inches (softcover)
$15 Buy a copy on Amazon

The body is a tangle of sensations. It’s both a source of pleasure and a confusing amalgamation of parts that don’t quite seem to function in concert. Teeming with desires and repulsions, the physical self forms the centerpiece of She of the Mountains. The protagonist is unnamed in this slender, poetry-drenched novella by award-winning author Vivek Shraya. He’s keenly aware of his brown body in the sometimes hostile, sometimes indifferent world of Edmonton, Alberta, as he tries to discover what it means to be gay, then falls in love with a woman, and finally begins to establish a life for himself that feels honest.

A Canadian youth’s search for social and sexual identity would be fascinating enough in Shraya’s thoughtful hands, but by braiding his tale with a personalized vision of Hindu mythology, he casts it into timeless territory. The goddess Parvati describes herself as “the mother of the universe. … I am life itself, the spark that makes a heart pump, that keeps a tree alive for centuries, green and reaching.” But she isn’t immune to sorrow; a terrible error causes her beloved consort Shiv — Destruction himself — to decapitate her newly born son Ganesh in a fit of rage. Only the substitution of an elephant’s head for Ganesh’s own lets him escape death. In her own lyrical, searching words, Parvati describes her evolving love for Ganesh and Shiv, the wisdom that comes to her through incarnation in a mortal body, and even her newfound empathy for Kali’s destructive powers. Each mythic interlude in the novella mirrors the growing pains of a main character struggling to come to terms with his queerness, his brownness, and his capacity for love.

With a story so bound to corporeality, Arsenal Pulp Press has gone the extra mile to make She of the Mountains into a beautiful little book. Lushly enriched by stylized two-tone illustrations from Raymond Biesinger, the novella also features silky-smooth, heavy paper and meticulous design and typesetting. When tactile and literary pleasures combine so seamlessly with a surprisingly intimate tale, the result is a volume you’ll be glad to hold in your own two hands as you read and read. – Lisa Barrow

January 22, 2016

J 2 Medieval Au

j2 — knight!jared & prince!Jensen

summary; sappy & crappy medieval au 

That was poorly written but edited by an awesome bean:)

Let me know if you think i should keep writing this.



It was the dark green pines of the trees, or the grey of the clouds; maybe it was the moisture clinging to the dark castle walls. He couldn’t be sure. It also could have been the night Jensen’s father, the king, had selected one lucky knight to guard Jensen for as long as he shall he live.

Growing up, you would have never been able to find Jensen, that small mess of blonde hair inside the castle walls. There was only one person who would know where and how to find the small blonde boy, but if you asked, he wouldn’t tell. It was his secret: he’d keep that place a hidden grotto and a hideaway undiscovered for as long as he could speak. Early in the mornings he’d sneak out to see the other boy, friends, but hopefully more when they were men. He knew it was forbidden, but maybe it could happen on a miracle.

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met a friend today!!!
if u know stuff abt mantises i tagged this with like 100000 questions lmao thanks

The City of Love

PHOTO PROMPT WRITING CHALLENGE–Round 1

PAIRING: John x Reader
THEME: Wanderlust
PARTNERS: @faegal04, @ruuuuuskimychica, @waywardlullabies
WARNINGS: AU, FLUFF (seriously, might go into a sugar coma after this one), smut, tiny bit of angst there at the end.
WORD COUNT: 6180 (WOW, this one got away from me.)
SUMMARY: You’ve been with John for a while now, but he’s still able to show you that he is full of surprises. 

AUTHOR’S NOTE: First off, let me apologize for posting this late. It’s because of who I am as a person. Second, I have not been to Paris (yet) but it’s on the list. Anything here has been fact-checked by Google, and seriously, thank God for the Google Translate app. Like the reader, I do not speak French, so if you do, I apologize for butchering your language. Like I said, I’ve never been to Paris, so just pretend all these things are in walking distance from each other, okay? :)

TAGS: @waywardlullabies, @theerinpage@mrs-squirrel-chester, @kittenofdoomage, @mrswhozeewhatsis, @flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash, @nerdflash, @deansdirtylittlesecretsblog, @mamapeterson

PHOTO PROMPTS

Originally posted by blogqueenofhearts

“Just give me a hint.”

A low chuckle was the only answer you received. You glanced over your shoulder, eyes narrowing as you took in the tall, dark, and handsome man across the room. He lifted his eyes to you and gave you a wink, and you rolled your eyes. You climbed onto the bed, sitting on your knees, and when he walked over, you laid your hands on his shoulders. His hands went to your waist, and he lifted his head, already anticipating what you were going to say.

“I’m not telling you where we’re going.”
“John!”

He laughed, kissing your forehead, then walking back to his closet. You crossed your arms over your chest.

“How am I supposed to know what to pack if you don’t tell me where we’re going?”
“I’ve told you what to pack.”

You rolled your eyes.

“You said, ‘it’s cool there.’ That could mean a multitude of places, John. And just in case you haven’t noticed, your definition of ‘cool’ is a lot different than mine, you human space heater.”

John threw his head back and laughed, then walked back to the bed and took your face in his hands, kissing your lips. You gave a soft whimper, arms wrapping around him, and when he leaned back, you looked up into his dark eyes. He smiled, moving one hand to brush the hair off your forehead.

“Trust me?”
“You know I do.”
“Then know I wouldn’t do you wrong. I’m not going to let you freeze. Think autumn, and that’s all I’m going to say.”

He kissed your forehead, then walked away, back to his closet. You let out a sigh, then moved to stretch out on the bed.

“Is it New England? Are you finally taking me to see the leaves change?”
“Pack, woman. Flight leaves early in the morning.”

You grumbled nonsense words under your breath, then sat up, shaking your hair over your shoulders.

“At least I know to dress for an airplane ride.”

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