wind that shakes the seas and stars

anonymous asked:

For your Drabble prompt: a quiet night

The waves wash gently upon the shore, a soft and steady sound as they rise and fall, soughing endlessly down the coast.  Viktor closes his eyes to listen better, quiet and content.

“There’s gonna be sand in our hair later,” Yuuri sighs, snuggling against his side and tangling their legs together.  They’ve got a blanket laid out for stargazing–there’s a meteor shower tonight–and it’s still, quiet, and peaceful.  Just the two of them, the sea, and the stars.

“Worry about it later, then,” he suggests, pulling Yuuri closer.  The wind picks up for a moment, blowing sand everywhere despite their blanket, and Yuuri splutters, hiding his face in Viktor’s shoulder to avoid getting any in his mouth.  Viktor can’t help but smile.

A few moments pass.  A meteor streaks by overhead, and Yuuri points at it with delight.

“Did you see it?” he asks excitedly.  “That one was bright!”

“I saw it!” Viktor nods.  “Did you make a wish, solnyshko?”

Yuuri shakes his head.  “Why would I?” he asks.  “You’re already here.”


Viktor turns his head to look from the sky to Yuuri, to the moonlight reflected in his dark eyes.  His face lights up when he spots a second meteor, gasping in delight, but Viktor only has eyes for him.  He’s beautiful.

“Vitya!  Vitya, you didn’t see that one!” Yuuri laughs, glancing at him with a playful shake of his head.  “You’re not going to see any shooting stars if you don’t look up, you know.”

“Who needs stars?” Viktor asks, giving him a squeeze.  “You’re already here.”

Yuuri smiles, far brighter than any of the constellations above.

The sea wasn’t always the sea, and the island wasn’t always the island.

The world had just begun forming, a goliath crash of a myriad of elements- fire, water, earth, air, and the horses. Always the horses. They tumbled through nothing, through everything, grabbing at what they could.

They found spirit, and wind, and they were that, but they were also earth and water and fire, always fire, a storm brimming on the edge of everything, of nothing. They were fierce, they were gentle, they were singers and fighters and lovers and gallopers, drinkers of the wind, and above all else, they were wild.

Slowly, the world grew tame. Women began to raise earth from water, began to build islands from the curves of their palms and shape them with the press of their bare feet on rich dirt. The men kept the sea, let it run wild but held it at bay, protecting the land that their shaking, new legs straddled.

And the horses grew frantic. They were at once the island and the sea, and the tumbled from the waves and onto shore, but then dove back into the water. They longed to run, they longed to swim. They sang their desires into the wind, and it curled around the humans, wailing into their ears.

And then the Time came. It was when the world began to turn bronze, the stars began to change in the sky, the days began to creep a little shorter, the nights a little darker, a little longer. The humans called it November. The horses called it the end.

And they were desperate for it, desperate for their everything and nothing, and they began to gallop, throwing the elements together.

Their race stirred up the winds, their hooves stirred up the ground. Their tails dragged through the ocean, and the fire in their heart, always there, tore the rest of the elements apart. Storms began to rip along the edges of the island and the sea, trying to join them again. To erase the line between them.

From the sea, to the sea.

One storm threw a horse ashore. She was smaller than the rest, scrubby, but she was beautiful, the golden color of the sand that swirled in the sea, legs black like kelp. The horse was the sea, but she was also the land, and she stayed on the beach, looking out to sea for a long, long time, and for once she found peace. The storm lingered off the coast, and though a gentle breeze ruffled her mane, she found stillness for the first time in a long time.

And so she stayed, on the island.

The horses grew tired as the days grew longer. They slowed their storms, stopped them, and raged restlessly along the coasts, along the line that gradually brought the island and the sea close enough to kiss. And when the days grew shorter again, they raged, but there was new desperation to it, for their lost sister on the island.

But the little dun mare was content. She had the wind in her mane and the earth on her hooves and the fire in her heart, and though she missed the sea, she could do without it.

So the years passed on the island, and she had her foals and they, too, grew to love the land, knew to be wary of the sea and it’s storms. They had earth and wind and fire, and if something wasn’t quite right, if they weren’t complete, then they would busy themselves. They helped the humans, they carried the women and pulled the ploughs for the men, and in turn they got hay in the winter and water in the summer. And all was okay.

Then November broke across the island again, and there was a mare on the shore when it happened, sand and kelp like her mother. Unlike her siblings, who were bays and grays and pintos and roan, she could not shake the longing for the sea from her mane. It was there, and so was she, when one of the wild ones from the sea tumbled ashore.

It was a stallion, red like blood, but it was not like her.

He was not a horse made for the earth. He did not have gentle, round ears and soft whiskers and wide, trusting eyes. He had long, wicked ears and teeth sharpened by screams and eyes that were narrow and filled with spite for the people that took what he was away from him. He had his fire and his water and his wind, but there was no earth beneath his hooves.

Except now there was, and he and the island pony were nothing alike, yet they were everything the same.

The fire. The wind.

The island was not home for the stallion. There was no shifting of the waves sucking at his hooves, no undulating calls from his kind echoing in the back of his mind. It eased a part of him that he knew he’d been missing, but opened up a great new chamber instead. So, frantic for the sea, the stallion leaped back in. He wanted the island, he needed the sea.

The mare stared out after him. She wanted the sea, she needed the island.

The stallion came back next November. He shook the surf from his mane and raced the mare along the shore, and though she was fast, she was little, and his long strides easily outpaced hers. There were other differences, too- he ate meat, and she could not tolerate death. Her whinny was for honey and oats and the response of her humans. His was a cry for battle.

But they were both made of wind and water and earth and fire, always fire.

He came back next November. And the one after that. Slowly, the other horses began to come back too, the other capall uisce. Their storms were still there, but they began to grow less frequent. Novembers were for the earth beneath their hooves, and it wasn’t much, but it wasn’t enough.

They always slipped back beneath their waves come December, as the world grew colder. They never stayed for long. They couldn’t. Their need for the sea was greater than their love for the island.

And come springtime, when the capall had long gone, the island pony stepped into the sea.

Women who are called into divine feminine service – that of raising the collective feminine spiritual vibration quotient on this planet – are not shrinking violets.

These women – who no doubt possess an ocean of the purest unconditional love and compassion at their conjoined Hearts – must be strong, bold and wise enough to make waves wherever they are sent.

These women are the Ones who walk into old paradigms and shake them up at their core.

These women are the Ones who have heard the Call of the Mountains, of the Sea, and of the Stars and Wind, and are doing something about it.

They are compassionate enough to have heard the desperate cries of those who need their Light. They are brave enough to move out of their own self-deprecation and self-doubt, and move into communities that require a sensitive, wise, age-old and intuitive voice to lead them back to sanity.

These women are not ‘nice’. They are not compliant. They are not people-pleasers. They do not seek approval from every ego that crosses their path. They do not adhere to the embedded morality and restrictions related to ‘what good girls do’.

They are not ‘good girls’. They are not ‘bad girls’ either. They refuse to be put into boxes because they have chosen to release and liberate their Spirits.

If they only lived to seek approval from others then they would be agreeing to the status quo as it is right now in this world.

These courageous, pioneering females have appetites for life, for love, for sex, for food, for men, for women, for the earth, for the Light.

They have appetites for power, and they are greedy for personal and spiritual expansion.

When you control a woman’s appetite for anything, you make it easier to control her.

These women were never, ever destined to be controlled. They have been given very specific roles by the Goddess to go into achingly-old and crumbling patriarchal paradigms, and break them up.

They have been selected to charge into places that are stuck, dead, overgrown with weeds, blocked and numb. They bring with them their overarching Higher Wisdom and carefully-honed skills of healing.

They know, deep inside, that the people and places that they are sent to are designed to be broken open, broken down, broken through.

This is not an easy task because it demands total courage and conviction of the Self.

It demands total Wholeness, Self-Realisation, Commitment to Truth, Unwavering Faith and Devotion to the Greater Good.
It demands Vision and Foresight.
It demands staying centred in the eye of the storm.
It demands all their inner resources to create frequency changes, stir up the emotional and spiritual waters, expose secrets and lies, confront denials and plant the seeds of extreme and radical transformation.

When these Women are called in, changes start.
All that has been repressed and denied begins to surface. The healing starts, but first comes the chaos.

Women of Spirit are not afraid of chaos, because they know that all New Light is born from it.

They are not afraid of intense emotions. They are not afraid of the ego’s reactions to being threatened by Divine Love.

Women who are in their Wholeness are a threat to the Old Order.

Women who love themselves, their bodies, their hearts, their intuitive senses, their psychic gifts, their ability to love without manipulation or fear – these women are dangerous to the status quo.

These women have energy to change the earth, bring Her back to balance, bring Her back to Love.

Because they are not wasting time or energy hating themselves. They are not wasting time worrying about what others think of their brazen confidence, their unapologetic, raw creative and sexual power, their mesmerising intelligence, and ability to rule the world.

These women do not have to apologise for existing.
They do not have to make themselves quieter, smaller, more ‘appropriate’, less visible or diminished.
They are sent to Earth to love with a fierce quality of compassion and wild, sacred intensity that has no roots in the ego.

This kind of Healing Love can only ever emanate from the Spirit.
These are brave, wise, visionary, patient, persevering, devoted and relentless females.
They will keep going until their last human breath on the earth plane.
They will not stop.

These are Women who Live to carry out tasks of great global and universal importance. Don’t underestimate the nature of these Holy Tasks. There are many who live here who want to bring them down; who can’t handle their ability to reveal Truth; who wither in the face of such unbridled self-love.
Who the hell do these women think they are?

Who do they think they are, to go around believing in themselves, loving themselves, admiring themselves, using their talents, expounding their ideas, opinions and wisdom, spreading their goddamn-blinding-Light?

Women who don’t need approval from men to feel they are valid. Women who don’t need to be kept by a man to feel they are safe. Women who don’t need to be in a relationship just to feel worthy.

These are women who really, truly love men.

These are the women that hold the Real Keys to the spiritual progression of the Masculine.

They are the Ones who will love men from a place of re-discovered Wholeness and Empowered Essence.

This is what Men really want, and need, in order to be free, divinely-motivated, built-up, charged and ready for the New Era.

These Women of Spirit NEED men, and adore men. But they are programmed to CHALLENGE men at their very existential core.

In order for these Women to be ravished, taken, blown-open to God and taken into worshipful ecstasy by Men, they need first to have challenged them, pushed them, confronted them and ignited their Spirits.

These Women have a Contract to show the men who are ready for them Who They Really Are.

And this only happens if women make waves, make noise, challenge untruth, unashamedly reveal and display their power, and look unwaveringly into the eyes of any who would seek to diminish them.

If you know a woman like this, you will already have felt the vibrations of her.
If you are this woman, don’t give up.
If you want to be this woman, you have full Divine permission.
Go, and rock the world on it’s axis.

You were never, ever born to be forgotten. You will always, eternally, be remembered.

~Sophie Bashford

Please take this dust
To rattle in the winds
To settle in the sun
To sink into the sea.

Cassiopeia, in her
Golden glory, shakes
Out her skirt in shooting
Stars. Your majesty, please,

Just take me home.


The Sacrifices Arc, which is a seven-book fanfic series which begins with Saving Connor is literally my favorite fanfic of all time. I consider it to be better than the original Harry Potter books, and better than a lot of fanfic available today. If you could buy these books in stores, I would. If I knew the author’s other work and original work I would gulp it down because the writing is excellent.

And when I say seven-book series, I mean seven books. Each fic is longer than the book it is based on - in some cases, by several hundred thousand words. (The longest is the fifth book, Wind That Shakes the Seas and Stars, at over 780,000 words. For reference, Order of the Phoenix, that gigantic doorstopper, is a mere 257,000 words.)

Harry is sorted into Slytherin and becomes friends with Draco Malfoy, but that’s not the only difference. James and Lily are alive, Harry has a twin brother named Connor who is the Boy Who Lived, and a bunch of other twists and very different takes on the characters we know and love. It explores Wizarding culture more thoroughly than JK Rowling ever did, and concerns itself with the foundations of what magic really is and how it functions, what makes it Dark magic Dark and Light magic Light, and what is the true nature of Good and Evil.

It also examines a lot of the characters whose actions are really problematic but are brushed aside in the original books, like Dumbledore, Snape, and others.

Also a word of warning: no one is safe.

Basically, it’s an absolutely incredible series, and you should all be reading it.

Casting Shadows


Rating: T (warning for some intrusive thoughts, suicidal ideation)

Summary: Based on this comic. @sightkeeper
Lighthouse Keeper AU
Stan wakes up in very precarious predicament.

AN: You shall pry this AU from me when Ran stops making cool art in it… So that may take a long while. (Also woo~ Something to post ♥)

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anonymous asked:

hii, can you recommend me some films?

Yes, of course! 

Absolute faves: Les amours imaginaires, Only lovers left alive, Breakfast at Tiffany’s, Pride and prejudice, An education, Dead poets society, Amelie, The hours, Gosford Park 

Films for quiet nights, or if you want to feel sad: Beginners, Brideshead revisited, Bright star, The wind that shakes the barley, Youth, Inside Llewyn Davies, Far from the madding crowd, Atonement, Mommy, The virgin suicides, American Beauty, Jane Eyre, La belle personne, Submarine, The reader 

Films that messed me up: Shame, Ex machina, Black swan, Requiem for a dream, Gone girl, Lobster, Dogtooth, Possession (1981), Immoral tales, The hunt, Stoker

Aesthetic™: Macbeth (2015), Coco avant Chanel, A royal affair, Night train to Lisbon, Don’t deliver us from evil, Cracks, Anna Karenina, A dangerous method, The great Gatsby, Suite Française, Carol, Coco Chanel et Igor Stravinsky, By the sea, The riot club, Yves Saint Laurent, Testament of youth

Films that always make me happy: About time, Imagine me and you, The mask of Zorro, Leap year, Legally blonde, Breakfast on Pluto, The man from U.N.C.L.E., Sherlock Holmes, Dark shadows, Moulin Rouge, Les chansons d’amour, Sabrina, Funny face, Moonrise kingdom, The Grand Budapest Hotel

I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by;
And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea’s face, and a grey dawn breaking.

I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull’s way and the whale’s way where the wind’s like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick’s over.


Sea Fever

John Masefield


Graphic - 藤島 武

[pterodactyl screeches] it’s done. 

A giveaway song for picchar‘s gorgeous Rythlen Theirin née Cousland (album work by the artist herself!) . I had so much fun getting to know your queen of Fereldan, and the weird wacky things I did for this song worked!!! so!! that’s very exciting for me aha. :) 


Now the time for sleep is here

Now the stars will glow

My little pup, my darling one

Sleep through the falling snow

To shake the earth, to rock the seas

Men, we’ll need a thousand

But you, my girl, my daughter dear

Your hands will move a mountain  

To reach the skies, to cross the seas

To run a thousand miles

You must sleep now, little one

And rest a little while

I’ll hold you close, my daughter dear

Sweet dreams the moonlight will bring          


How swift the winter winds chase us

How soon the summer flees

My love, the moonlight will bathe us

So won’t you dance with me?

Your rose is sweet upon my lips

Your touch is warm and steady

The longest roads won’t stop us

So won’t you dance with me?

I know the dawn might bring sorrows

I’ve seen it all before

Our questions will keep ‘til tomorrow

So won’t you dance with me?

some notes below the cut: 

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Made with SoundCloud
ZMD18 - End of the World

OR: Who Will You See at The End?

Rating: G

Word Count: 1477

In the first year of his exile, Zuko searched all of the air temples and their associated parts of the world. He spent the next year marching through the Earth Kingdom before… well, it wasn’t giving up, exactly, but… he’d never imagined that you could travel for days across the land without seeing the ocean once. After growing up in the Fire Nation, he’d found it unsettling.

So he returned to searching for the Avatar by ship. He grew to know the sea charts and maps by heart, could picture them in the darkness behind his eyelids. They grew useless to him as he plunged past their borders, knowing he could succeed if only he looked hard enough.

He would often catch his uncle shaking his head when he thought Zuko wasn’t watching. “A map without an edge is not a map at all, nephew. And we only have maps.”

Zuko just rolled his eyes, tired of his Uncle’s crazy sayings.

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Rockbottom craves like this,
a fortuitous night beneath a
roof of sagging willows.

Turmoil bronzing in the wind,
like the quiet calls of the
winterbound nymphs.

I kiss the butterflies to sleep,
chase the mariners down
alleyway seas.

Every edge of me is chafed an
unforgiving red. (like a siren
bound by the knees).

Now, shake the solstice off.
Regurgitate the stars from
your mouth.

Watch as they dismantle the
sky with their glittering hooves.
I’m painstaking their folly for pride.

—  The Solstice || j.r