sprout making

Let’s talk about an Ariel who walks away—limping, mouthing inaudible sailors’ curses, a sea-brine knife in her belt.

Ariel traded her voice for a chance to walk on land. That was the deal: every time she steps, it will feel like being stabbed by knives. She must win the hand of her one true love, or she will die at his wedding day, turn to sea foam, forgotten. The helpful steward tells her to dance for the prince, even though her feet scream each time she steps. Love is pain, the sea witch promised. Devotion calls for blood.

But how about this? When the prince marries another, nothing happens. When Ariel stands over the prince and his fiance the night before their wedding, her sisters’ hard-won knife in hand, she doesn’t decide his happiness is more important than her life. She decides that his happiness is irrelevant. Her curse does not turn on the whims of this boy’s heart. 

She does not throw away the knife and throw herself into the sea. She does not bury it in the prince and break her curse—it would not have broken. She leaves them sleeping in what will be their marriage bed and limps into a quiet night, her knife clean in her belt, her heart caught in her throat. Her feet scream, but they ache, too, for the places she has yet to see. 

Ariel will not be sea foam or a queen. There is life beyond love. There is love in just living. Her true love will not be married on the morn—the prince will be married then, in glorious splendor, but he had never been why she was here.

Ariel traded her voice for legs to stand on, a chance at another life. When she poked her head above the waves, it wasn’t the handsome biped that she fell for. It was the way the hills rolled, golden in the sun. It was the clouds chasing each other across blue sky, like sea foam you could never reach.

(She does reach it, one day, bouncing around in the back of a blacksmith’s cart, signing jokes to him in between helping to tune his guitar. They crest up a high mountain pass and into the belly of a cloud. Her breath whistles out, swirls water droplets, and she reaches out a hand to touch the sky. Her feet will scream all her life, but after that morning they ache just a little bit less). 

I want an Ariel who is in love with a world, not a prince. I don’t want her to be a moral for little girls about what love is supposed to hurt like, about how it is supposed to kill you. Ariel will be one more wandering soul, forgotten. Her voice will live in everything she does. She uses her sisters’ knife to turn a reed into a pipe. She cannot speak, but she still has lungs. 

Love is pain, says the old man, when Ariel smiles too wide at sunrises. It’s pain, says the innkeeper, with pity, as Ariel hobbles to a seat, pipe in hand. At least you are beautiful, soothes the country healer who looks over her undamaged feet. The helpful steward had thought she was shy. Dance for the prince even though your feet feel stuck with a hundred knives.

Her feet feel like knives but she goes out dancing in the grass at midnight anyway. She’s never seen stars before. Moonlight reaches down through the depths, but starlight fractures on the surface. Ariel dances for herself.

She goes down to caves and rocky shores. Sometimes she meets with her sisters there. Mouths filled with water cannot speak above the sea, so she drops into the waves and they sing to her, old songs, and she steals breaths of air between the stanzas. She can drown now. She holds her breath. She opens her eyes to the salt and brine. 

Ariel uses canes and takes rides on wagons filled with hay, chickens, tomatoes—never fish. She earns coins and paper scraps of money with a conch shell her youngest sister swam up from the depths for her, with her reed pipe, with a lyre from her eldest sister which sounds eerie and high out of the water. The shadow plays she makes on the walls of taverns waver and wriggle like on the sea caves of her childhood, but not because of water’s lap and current. It is the firelight that flickers over her hands. 

When she has limped and hitched rides so far that no one knows the name of her prince’s kingdom, she meets a travelling blacksmith on the road with an extra seat in his cart and an ear for music. He never asks her to dance for him and she never does. She drops messages in bottles to her sisters, at every river and coastline they come to, and sometimes she finds bottles washed up the shore just for her. 

They travel on. When she breathes, these days, her lungs fill with air.

Some nights she wakes, gasping, coughing up black water that never comes. There is something lying heavy on her chest and there always will be.

Somewhere in the ocean, a sea witch thinks she has won. When Ariel walks, she hobbles. Her voice was the sunken treasure of the king’s loveliest daughter, and so when they tell Ariel’s story they say she has been robbed. They say she has been stolen. 

She has many instruments because she has many voices—all of them, hers; made by her hands, or gifted from her sisters’ dripping ones. Ariel will sing until the day she dies with every instrument but her vocal cords. 

She cannot win it back, the high sweet voice of a merchild who had never blistered her shoulders red with sun, who had never made a barroom rise to its feet to sing along to her strumming fingers. She cannot ever again sing like a girl who has not held a dagger over two sleeping lovers and then decided to spare them. She decided not to wither. She decided to walk on knives for the rest of her life. She cannot win it back, but even if she could, she knows she would not sound the same. 

They call her story a tragedy and she rests her aching feet beside the warming hearth. With every new ridge climbed, new river forded, new night sky met, her feet ache a little less. They call her a tragedy, but the blacksmith’s donkey is warm and contrary on cold mornings. The blacksmith’s shoulder is warm under her cheek.

Her feet will always hurt. She has cut out so many parts of her self, traded them up, won twisted promises back and then twisted them herself. She lives with so many curses under her skin, but she lives. They call her story a moral, and maybe it is.

When she breathes, her lungs fill. When she walks, the earth holds her up. There is sun and there is light and she can catch it in her hands. This is love. 

I don’t think I’ve drawn Promised Day Riza. Whoops

Love, a Footnote
  1. The KGB Bar off 2nd Avenue in New York’s East Village was a gathering place for the Ukrainian Communist Party, which explains the curious décor but not the frequent readings.
  2. Red is evoked by the longest wavelengths of light discernible to the human eye. Red is long; long and slow. The curtains in the KGB Bar are not so much red as a history of red.
  3. “Podium,” from the Latin, often confused with “lectern.” One stands on a podium. One leans one’s elbows or sets one’s beer, beaded with condensation, on the lectern.
  4. In ventriloquism, the speaker’s voice seems to come from elsewhere. This doesn’t explain why he called his poem “The Ventriloquist.” Maybe something about the poet and the reader, but I don’t like trickery, anyway.
  5. We associate red with heat, energy, and blood, and with emotions associated with heat, energy, and blood—such as anger or love. Ezra Pound makes his ideogram of “red” with four signifiers: rose, cherry, iron rust, flamingo. I would use: bark, blood, cardinal, sex. Sex because, like red, it occurs in long, slow waves.
  6. You sat next to me, though I didn’t know you at the time. It was red, dark and red, and there was so much smoke you could see the air moving around people as they moved.
  7. I love words that can inhabit more than one part of speech, as in a match or to match. The phosphorous smell of a just-lit match. Enough light for two faces to share.
  8. Wallace Stegner’s comment about art as the communication of insight appears in various incarnations in his work, but my favorite is in Angle of Repose. You acted surprised that I had such a thought. I took it as a compliment at the time.
  9. In Plato’s Symposium, Diotima tells Socrates how to experience the ideal form of beauty through love. From our desire to possess one body, we sense eternity.
  10. An “angle of repose” is the slope at which granular materials come to rest at, say, the base of a sheer rock face. In Utah, owing to iron rust, the rocks are often red. The process is long, and slow.
  11. As with “match,” one can be patient, or one can be a patient. I have been both, but never at the same time.
  12. Veselka is a Ukrainian diner in the East Village, near St. Mark’s Church. Very good pierogi. Many of the customers have chic glasses, cases for musical instruments, and dirty hair. I like to sit at the counter.
  13. Sake is produced by multiple fermentations of rice. Sometimes it tastes like heavy moonlight, sometimes it tastes like a neon sign that’s just been turned off. In Japan, sake is drunk from small cups called choku. In certain friends’ Lower East Side apartments in December, it is heated in a microwave and drunk from chipped coffee mugs that say things like “Happy Secretary’s Day” and “#1 Dad,” even though the person who lives there is neither a secretary nor a dad.
  14. Feeling is a way of knowing what you’re going to think about something. Example: I felt the thought, I could want you. Emotion as premonition. It is a mystery. It is the ideal form of beauty.

Rebecca Lindenberg

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@pocpotterweek march 20th: ootp or death eaters or professors

knowledge comes, but wisdom lingers.

rant

the one thing in the world that gets the most extra reaction out of me in the world is when people tell me they don’t like beer. “I don’t like hops” is the equivalent of someone from Wisconsin telling me they don’t eat Chinese food because they don’t like spice (hops are the spice of beer, and have well over 50 distinct flavor profiles!!!) “but beer is too bitter” bITCH we are calling in sick to work and i am using ur credit card to buy us plane tickets to Belgium where u will be forced to drink quads and wits and tripels until u admit you are wrong. I will buy u German beers that taste like Creme brûlée and bananas, I will buy you kettle sours that taste like fruity pebbles and ripe peaches, I will buy u a pumpkin latte beer that will make u sprout uggs and leggings and a perfectly maintained sock bun!!! everything u know about beer is wrong and that is why I am here 2 help u (aka sit u down with 520357 beers and watch u drink them one by one until ur palate is scraped raw and born anew like a Phoenix from the ashes of its former shitty beer-hating life)

FFXV: Veggie Medley Stew

@poeticboy16 asked me to make this and I have to say I am so glad he did because this was soooo good! Yes the ingredients may appear a bit involved as far as finding them goes but as long as you have an Asian grocery store of some kind near you, you should be able to get some of the less common ingredients (fresh oyster mushrooms, enokitake, and pea sprouts, at the very least). I also decided to make this recipe completely vegan by including coconut milk, but you can also use the same amount of goat’s milk to use as the “sheep’s” milk.

Let’s go!

~Ingredients~

  • 4 cups Vegetable Broth
  • 1 can (12 - 14 oz.) Coconut Milk
  • 1 White Onion
  • 3 cloves Garlic, minced
  • 2 tbsp. Olive Oil
  • 2 medium - large Sweet Potatoes
  • 3 bunches Baby Bok Choy or 1 large bunch Bok Choy
  • 12 oz. Oyster Mushrooms
  • 1 large bunch Enoki/Enokitake Mushrooms (depending on your market, may also be labeled as soup mushrooms or seafood mushrooms)
  • 1 - 2 handfuls Pea Sprouts
  • Salt and Pepper, to taste
  • Paprika and (optional) Cayenne, to taste (I used at least ½ tsp. each)

Prep Time: ~15 min.  |  Total Cook Time: 30 - 40 min.

Makes: 6 - 8 servings

~Instructions~

Step 1.) Prep your veggies: dice and mince the onion and garlic, respectively. Separate the bok choy between the whites and the greens (set the greens aside with the pea sprouts), making sure to cut into bite size pieces if necessary. Peel and cube the sweet potato (set aside with bok choy whites.) Rinse and cut away the root portion of the enokitake, and rinse and cut any tough stems on the oyster mushrooms.

Step 2.) Heat the olive oil in a soup pot and cook the garlic and onions until they begin to turn translucent. Add in the paprika and (optional) cayenne to coat the onions and garlic, and slowly whisk in the vegetable broth. Add in the sweet potato and bok choy whites and bring to a boil. Turn down to a simmer for 5 - 10 minutes (you don’t want your sweet potato to be too soft just yet!)

Step 3.) Add in the coconut milk and mushrooms and bring to a boil one more time before allowing to simmer for 5 minutes. Adjust the broth with salt and pepper (or paprika and cayenne), to taste. Add the pea sprouts and boy choy greens to wilt. 

Step 4.) Serve immediately. Enjoy!

~Results~

This was so yummy and satisfying! I’m honestly so used to soups with a thicker broth, I wasn’t sure I would like the texture of this, but I was delighted to be proved wrong!

More fluffy headcanons for the magic! au, for @littledeconstruction

-eventually the squad discovers about Aaron’s powers and they’re as thrilled as Alex

-this means flower crowns for everyone!!!

-artstudent!John jumps on the occasion to be able to draw rare flowers and begs Aaron to make some sprout for him, and Aaron happily obliges, sitting with him and making the plants move to show the best angle

-flowers appear in John’s hair while he draws because he’s so cute and Aaron can’t help it

-sometimes LaF gets homesick so Aaron does a little research and make typical french plants and flowers grow around him and in his hair to make him smile (it works)

-Herc is super excited and they spend an entire afternoon trying to knit a scarf with thin vines and petals and the others are mind-blown over it because it turns out beautiful 

-now each one of them keep vases or mugs on their desk for when Aaron comes to hang out, and they each have a plant based on their favorite color/mood/preference

-the day they ask Aaron to be part of their poly relationship they swear all they can see all the colors of the world because the room fills with all varieties of flowers, mostly red on him, the same color as his cheeks

-just. flowers everywhere and nerds being in love with flowers and vines and leaves in their hair

anonymous asked:

Can you tell us more about your night elf character?

Oh boy, oh boy! :D I sure can!

1. Her druidic abilities came a lot later in life than most people. No one in her family had druidic tendencies. Her plan was to become an assistant to an herbalist and eventually run her own shop but that changed the day her magic kicked in.

2. The druid elders hadn’t seen a case like Faeb’s before and were unsure at first what to do with her. They asked Meldris Sageheart, aka Mel, to become her mentor and monitor her progress as well as catch her up on the centuries of teachings she had missed. 

3. Having uncontrolled druidic power is a dangerous thing, so she was immediately enrolled by Mel in a local druidic school…with kids. There she learned the basics like making seeds sprout and how to cast rejuvenation on a sick animal. Shapeshifting classes will have to come a bit later, those are advanced haha. 

4. When she was given G’hanir by Lyessa Bloomwatcher in Legion there was an uproar in the druidic community. No one could possibly be less qualified to wield the powerful artifact, and many elders gave their heated opinions on the situation. Mel’s job has become exponentially harder for now she not only has to train a druid with no particular knowledge or skill, but she has to help shape her into a leader that can stand against the Legion. 

winds0fchange19  asked:

Hi! I was trying to find witches who practice green witchcraft or work with plants. I am considering starting to grow flowers and cacti, probably in pots, but I was wondering if you know anything i should know before I start working with plants?

YES. I’m sorry if it’s a bit unorganized, I’m a wee tipsy.
🌿 Research how frequently you should water things. From seeds you always water daily but once they hit a certain age some plants definitely need less water. 
🌿 Adding citrus peels, egg shells, banana peels and coffee beans are a great natural munchie for plants - I wouldn’t suggest doing just coffee beans but a combination of any of them are fine. I wouldn’t suggest feeding them plant food until their adults though just because it’s really simple to over feed them. But it’s okay to throw some eggshells in the beginning.
🌿 Cacti are sweet babies! They’re low maintenance and great for beginners, if you haven’t looked into aloe I would. :)
🌿 Plants need different types of soil!!!! Make sure you give your babies the right type!! Most herbs/flowers will grow fine with generic plant soil but cacti need a combination of sand and soil. I wouldn’t suggest beach sand because it’s easily weighed down and your soil won’t be a solid mixture.
🌿 If your plant indoors you don’t have worms!! Oh no! Poke little holes in your soil (after their healthy sprouts) to make sure the soil isn’t compacted. 
🌿 Talk to them babies!! Feed them carbon dioxide!!!