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rom-e-o · 9 months

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Among the Leaves (NSFW)(Constance/Ebenezer fic)

Fall is here. A themed drabble is in order.

Ebenezer takes his first ever 'holiday' off of work and goes to the English countryside with Constance. Without the prying eyes of coworkers and family, the two use the opportunity to catch up on quality time.

This is an explicit, 18+ story. Minors, I ask that you DO NOT INTERACT.

The story is under the cut. Enjoy!

The sweltering London heat finally boiled over in early September. By the third week of the month, the leaves were golden and the air held a telltale crispness.

Gentle zephyrs that smelled of cinnamon and apples funneled down the country roads, each one gentle enough to send petticoats and top hats for those who weren’t cautious.

Constance adored windy weather. It allowed her unbound hair to whip about and blow freely, a sensation she found liberating and cleansing. Her dress, low-cut and made of spearmint linen, danced around her legs with every step, adding to the delight. Ebenezer, dressed in breeches and a simple white shirt, walked alongside her with a chipper gait. In the rolling hills outside the city limits, they were anonymous. Not a banker and socialite – not a scandal for retired folk to gossip about over tea. They were just another couple, stealing embraces and lingering glances, amidst the red and ember-colored trees.

“It’s gorgeous out here,” Constance said, looking around the golden fields that seemed to stretch in every direction.

“Yes, it’s a different world from the city,” Ebenezer agreed. He looked more handsome than usual, she thought, with his hair slightly windblown and his face lit with golden light. He had an almost boyish glow that she hadn’t seen around him yet, thanks to the city’s low ceilings and reliance on gas lamps.

As if reading her mind, he closed he eyes and basked in the autumnal calm. Tipping his head back, he inhaled slowly. “Serene. Quiet.”

Her cloak danced upon her heels with every spritely step, the tassels heavy enough to crunch the deadened leaves that her heels boots missed.

“It reminds me of home.” Her voice was almost ghostly, as if she was uneager to disturb the quiet that enveloped them.

“New York?”

“Yes,” she said,” Oh, don’t get me wrong, London is beautiful in the winter. But…New York in fall. Tarrytown. Hudson Valley. It’s something transcendental.”

“I believe you,” he said, taking moving his hand from her elbow to twine their fingers. “Washington Irving waxes beautiful stories of the area."

“Oh! You’ve read Irving?”

“I hadn’t before I met you,” he confided somewhat shyly, “But once we started courting, I wanted to know everyone I could about where you came from.”

The woman found herself grinning in pure excitement at the romantic confession. He’d kept that venture a secret from her.

He continued, albeit somewhat bashfully, “I found his works in a local bookshop. They are…quite popular this time of year, and it makes sense – the Dutch settlements. Fields of fragrant grain. The orchards. Throwing cinnamon chips atop crackling tavern fires. Lovers walking together on foggy nights amidst the gravestones. It’s all very autumnal and American …delightfully so.”

She flushed and nodded. “Yes. That last one is particularly dangerous, I must say.”

The two were a mere half-mile away from their temporary abode for the coming weekend. It was a small cabin with a hitching post for the horse and a small well out front. It was a comfortable lodge, and in the British countryside, finding their way back would not be difficult. Nonetheless, being out too late would be unwise, and both knew it.

“I can see why,” he agreed. “The stories and legends of the American wilderness are exciting enough for me, thank you very much. I’ll leave its true secrets to those knowledgeable enough to keep them. The prospect of getting spirited away by some ghostly Hessian soldier is, frankly, not an experience I’d like to entertain with you, dear. No offense.”

“Erudite and logical,” Constance teased. “None taken. I have no intention of getting spirited away on this very lovely afternoon. I quite like your company.”

He chuckled. “A very agreeable statement, my dear.”

Pausing momentarily, he snuck a quick look over his shoulder to peek at the road behind them. He squinted his icy eyes, as if trying to peer into the distance as much as possible. The moment Constance observed this behavior and tried to follow his gaze, he turned back her with a smirk. With the gentlest of shoves, he nudged her against an oak tree off the path until her back was flush with the bark.

There, he kissed her hard, tipping her head back so their mouths could meet fully. She reciprocated eagerly, hands roaming up his band, fingertips pressing into his back and through the flimsy material of his shirt.

She tugged the fabric tucked into his breeches free so she could slip her hands beneath the material and caress the skin of his bare back. Flanks of long, lean muscle met her eager fingertips. His towering, 6-foot-4 frame was impressive and weighty against her, but not in an unpleasantly smothering way.

As she did that, Ebenezer rolled his hips against hers, earning a thankful moan in return. He reached down to lift one of her shapely legs and wrap it around his waist. After it was secured, his hand skimmed up her skirts and past the edge of her stocking, exploring the tops of her thighs. Her skin quickly warmed under his skilled touch.

“Ebenezer…” she husked, eyes glassy as their kiss became more physical. Their bodies swayed and rutted together until even the flimsy barrier of their thin clothes was too much to bear.

He pulled back long enough to ask a breathless question, resting his forehead against hers. “D-Do you want to…”

Connie nodded eagerly, the heat in her lower belly too persistent to ignore. “We can use my cloak.”

Their hands tangled and they darted into the woods like excited teenagers. It took a few moments to find a clearing that was concealed by trees but was even enough for them to sprawl upon.

Ebenezer carefully unlaced the cloak from her freckled shoulders before laying it on the ground, smoothing it like one might do with a blanket before a picnic. Once he was satisfied, he turned around to see the pleasant sight of Constance already unfastening her dress.

When the fabric pooled around her ankles, she took great pleasure in drinking in the amorous expression on his face. The glow from before was this present, softening his features even further. With deliberate slowness, she slipped her hands over her ample breasts and down her corset, nails pulling and tugging the laces until she could remove it, her smalls and her stockings in one motion. The entire time, he never broke her gaze away from his.

When she rose again, Ebenezer’s gaze smoldered like twin diamonds.

“My gods,” he breathed, standing slowly and moving to her. He took her bare hips in his rough hands and pulled her close. “Look at you.”

She shuffled under his gaze, hands drifting behind her back.

“What about me?” she asked sweetly, tilting her head so her copper pooled over one shoulder.

“Bathed in this golden light…you’re like a sun goddess,” he breathed, his breath unsteady as his grip upon her tightened. “My goddess.”

The possessive lilt to his voice made her swoon, and she was suddenly very thankful for his arms being there to hold her.

“Well, Mr. Scrooge, don’t keep a goddess waiting,” she tried to tease, but her voice vacillated too much to sound as coquettish as she desired. They’d done this routine of teasing and flirting many times, yet her blood pounded with excitement as if it was their first time.

Judging by her lover’s matching smirk, he felt similar. “Mm. Eager, are we?”

“Well, it’s not very gentlemanly to leave me standing alone and nude without company,” she reasoned, crossing her hands over her breasts for playful emphasis.

This made his chest rumble, laughter as warm as summer thunder thumbling forth.

“You have a very unique idea of what a gentleman should do,” he said.

Despite his vague reply, he didn’t hesitate un unlacing the remainder of his shirt and tossing it aside. The action tousled his hair further, and as he pushed the silver-straked coif off his face, she was struck yet again by how damnably handsome he was. With his lean muscle from years of survival to his broad chest, covered in a spelt of salt-and-pepper hair, he was nothing short of a human Adonis. Then there was his face ... maker, his face. A strong Roman nose and sculpted cheekbones that could cut diamonds, nothing was as incredible to her was his icy-blue eyes. They glittered like mica in instances like this, when he stared at her as if she was the most precious being to him in the world.

It was her turn to ogle him as he unlaced his breeches and kicked them off him his socks and shoes.

He was all long-legged, toned glory. A trail of dark hair ran from his chest and down his belly, all the way to the reddened erection between his legs. His cock was already half-mast, heavy with arousal against his thigh, a clear pearl of liquid appearing at the top. She wetted her lips at the sight, suddenly desperate to take him into her mouth.

However, this occasion wasn’t the time for the lengthy foreplay that both could stretch on for hours. They had to be fast, less they be discovered by some unsuspecting travelers or merchants off the road. That scandal would follow them back to London easily.

With urgency that bordered on primal, Ebenezer closed the distance between them and wrapped two strong arms around her. She followed his lead, feeling him dip her into a kiss that forced her to cling onto him to prevent her from toppling over. The effect made their bellies and chests rub together. Her breasts, already heavy with desire, practically burned as his chair hair scrubbed her nipples.

Ebenezer lowered them both onto the cloak, with Constance laying supine beneath him.

They continued to kiss, moaning ang gasping as their hands roamed each other’s bodies. Relief flooded her when his hands finally lifted to her breasts and gave them a squeeze, helping to ebb some of the tension she’d felt buzzing in her nerves.

Arching her back into his hands, she was rewarded for her keening with the swipe of his deft tongue across the sensitive tips. She cried out from the pleasant combination of warmth and wetness. Her legs opened without a thought, already seeking his familiar girth to fill her and bring her to the edge of ecstasy.

After savoring the womanly musk of her breasts, he kissed a path down her stomach, hands moving down to cup her ass. With a hand on each cheek, he began to massage the flesh in circles, easing her body open further and further.

“E-Ebenezer, please, just…”

“Not yet,” he replied, kissing her belly button. Gods, she could feel his breath against her quim, already hot and eager and dripping for him.

She bit back a moan of frustration, for she knew that the delay of pleasure was all for a good reason.

Ebenezer was many things, but among the long list, he wasn’t a selfish lover. When it came to making sure his woman was satisfied, he wanted to know when he finally slid into her that she was wet and ready for him. Friction would be smooth, and his approach would be slow until he found that perfect spot inside her that milked the prettiest trembles and screams. Then, and only then, would he ferociously pick up the pace and drive into her, making sure to tilt his hips at the angle that kept her screaming for more.

Even when they’d first laid together, knowing she wasn’t a virgin, he’d treated her as such. He carried her to bed, taken her clothes off, kissed her slowly, savored the taste of her clit against his tongue … all of it to make sure that she was trembling and aching for him by the time they could finally come together in a moment of glory.

“I’m ready,” Constance said, hips lifting off the cloak and swaying. “Oh, please…love, please…”

Ebenezer was weak to her pleading, especially when she called him pet names.

“F—uck, do you have any idea how you look when we're together like this?” he whispered, moving his lips back up her sternum so he could whisper in her ear. “Once we get back to the cabin, I’m throwing you on that bed and making love to you until you can’t walk.”

She moaned loudly, her entire head tipping back at the sound of his promise. “Oh, please…yes!”

“Another beautiful sound,” he said, lips caressing her forehead as he placed a kiss right between her brows. ‘You, begging for me. It’s so hard to not give you what you want…”

“Please, Ebenezer!” she practically wept. Lifting a leg, she shakily wrapped it around his waist to bring his hips down. Feeling his tip right of her entrance, pressing inside slightly, made both release a collective sigh of yearning.

“A-Are you certain?” he stuttered.

She nodded. “Yes.”

With a roll of the hips, he slid inside, and … it was perfection. His cock filled her so perfectly. He wasn’t too big or too small. He knew when to speed up his pace, and when to slow down and keep her teetering on the edge. Best of all, he knew her body and knew what made her scream.

When he bucked his hips and arced right into the spongy G-spot on the roof of her sheath, her entire body went as taut as if she’d been seared by electrocution.

“Y-Yes, right there!” she begged. Her other leg shot up to cradle his body, his narrow hips fitting perfectly between her trembling thighs.

Platitudes fell from her lips as he continued his steady rhythm. With one hand supporting her lower back so he didn’t drive her too hard into the ground, he rutted into her with the same desire he felt the first time they’d slept together.

The entire time, he whispered comments into her ear: about her beauty, about how good she felt, about how lucky he was to share these moments with her. For a man who fancied numbers more than words, he was an incredible poet.

When she finally came crashed down from her high a minute later, her spine kinked and she dug her nails into his skin. He growled in pleasure, a smirk never leaving his visage as he watched her beautiful features spasm in bliss.

“There we go,” he commended, hands combing through her coppery strands. “That’s a good girl. Just like that.”

Tears in her eyes from the power of her orgasm, she let out one last cry as she felt her body close around his cock like a hot fist.

As he went to pull out and finish outside of her, she kept her legs locked around his waist, keeping him in place.

“S-Stay inside…” she begged, hands flying to squeeze his shoulders. “Finish in me.”

His eyes softened instantly, then glazed with the telltale signs of happiness. “M-My Constance, a-are you…are you sure?”

Again, she nodded. “I’ve never been more certain.”

This certainly of her love for him and confidence in him as a potential father to her children…it was too much. His brow furrowed as a surge of pleasure shot through him, and he shifted his angle to thrust back inside her.

Constance let Ebenezer move her body as needed to find the perfect angle that would apply to best pressure to his cock. Once he found it, she saw his eyes practically roll back.

“I-I love you…” he stuttered, already breathless after just two thrusts. On the third, he laughed and practically collapsed. “Connie, I love you so, so much.”

She nodded, her heart swelling with each beautiful declaration. “I love you, Ebenezer…my Ebenezer…”

The last of his restraint snapped, and with a growl, he shuddered and filled her with a hefty load of his seed. He frantically pumped his cock as deep as he could, filling her until droplets seeped onto the cloak below, before he let out an exhausted sigh.

He slumped beside her, a sheen of sweat covering his chest and forehead. Wiping the moisture away, he rallied himself for only a moment before he rolled atop her and kissed her again.

“You’re my radiance, my map to grace…” he said, rambling breathlessly. “I-I…could not be without you. I’m sure of that.”

It was a somber declaration, and it made her ribs go soft.

“I can’t be without you, either,” she said. “I’ll make sure we’re never apart. I never want to be taken from you.”

“I would perish before allowing that,” he whispered. Again, he reached down and twined their fingers.

Constance smiled and rolled into his embrace. She wrapped the cloak around them as a partial blanket for the moment.

“Well, perhaps we should hurry back then,” she teased. “We don’t want the ghosts to come out, right?”

He flattened his chest so she could use it as a pillow, which she greatly appreciated. As she nestled herself into place with a smile, he rolled his eyes.

“If there were any specters lurking in the trees, I’m quite certain we scared them off,” he said. Then, a beat later, he added, “Or … I hope.”

Constance giggled. “I hear no rattling chains.”

“Don't tease.”

She giggled and glanced up at him.

“I won’t let the ghosts take you away,” she promised. “After all …”

A hand drifted to her belly.

“Who knows what the future has in store?”

The two decided to stay in each other’s arms as they drank in the sunset in each other’s arms. With each passing minute, Scrooge dropped another tender kiss upon her, never wanting to let her go.

Thankfully, as long as the world around them stayed as calm and tranquil as this…he would never have to.

Tag list: @quill-pen @crimson-phantom-designs

#scrooge 2022 #scrooge a christmas carol #scrooge netflix #scrooge x oc #oc constance dogoode

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possessivesuffix · 9 months

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My latest in trawling thru semi-random comparative etymological dictionaries: Hudson (1989) on Highland East Cushitic. He gets together 767 reconstructions, a decent amount on a group of relatively little-studied languages. A nice chunk of vocabulary can be reconstructed especially for the major crop of the area, the enset tree (*weesa), its parts (e.g. *hoga 'leaf', *kʼaantʼe 'fibre', *kʼalima 'seed pod', *mareero 'pith', *waasa 'enset food') and tools for processing it (*meeta 'scraping board', *sissa 'bamboo scraper).

There surely has to be material among the reconstructions though that represent newer spread, most clearly the names of a few post-Columbian-exchange foodstuffs: *bakʼollo 'maize', *kʼaaria 'green chili' — same terms also e.g. in Amharic: bäqollo, qariya (Hudson kindly provides Amharic and Oromo equivalents copiously). (Note btw a vowel nativization rule appearing in these: Amharic a → HEC aa, but ä /ɐ/ → HEC a [a~ɐ~ə], as if undoing the common Ethiosemitic shift *aa *a > a ä.) Slightly suspicious are also a few names of trade items and cultural vocabulary / Wanderwörter like *gaanjibelo 'ginger', *loome 'lemon' (at least the latter could be again plausibly fairly recent loans from Amharic lome) but these could well have reached southern Ethiopia even already in antiquity.

In terms of root structure, interesting are two monoconsonantal roots: *r- 'thing, thingy, thingamajig' (segmentable from a diminutive *r-iččo and from Sidamo ra) and *y- 'to say'. Otherwise verb roots are the usual Cushitic *CV(C)C-, clusters limited to geminates and sonorant + obstruent; with several derivative extensions such as *-is- reflexive, *-aɗ- causative. *ɗ actually occurs almost solely in the last, I would suspect it's from one of the well-attested dental stops *t / *d / *tʼ with post-tonic lenition. Long vowels also seem to occur fairly freely in the root syllable with even several "superheavy" roots like *aanš- 'to wash', *feenkʼ- 'to shell legumes', *iibb- 'to be hot', *maass-aɗ- 'to bless', *uuntʼ- 'to beg'; *boowwa 'valley', *čʼeemma 'laziness', *doobbe 'nettle', *leemma 'bamboo', *mooyyee 'mortar'… A ban on CCC consonant clusters does seem to hold however, apparently demonstrated by *moočča ~ *mooyča 'prey animal', which probably comes from an earlier *moo- + the deminutive suffix *-iččV; resulting **mooyčča would have to be shortened in some way, either by degemination or by dropping *-y-.

In V2 and later positions there seems to be morphological conditioning of vowel length, cf. e.g. *arraab- 'to lick' : *arrab-o 'tongue'; *indidd- 'to shed tears' : *indiidd-o 'tear' (and not **arraabo, **indiddo). And as in these examples, also many basic nouns appear to be simple "thematizations" of verbs, similarly e.g. *buur- 'to anoint, smear', *buur-o 'butter'; *fool- 'to breathe', *fool-e 'breath'; *kʼiid- 'to cool', *kʼiid-a 'cold (of weather)'; *reh- 'to die', *reh-o 'death'. I don't actually see a ton of logic to what the "nominalizing vowel" ends up being though and maybe it's sometimes an original part of the stem, not a suffix. Quite a lot of unanalyzable nouns on the other hand are actually fairly long, e.g. *finitʼara 'splinter', *hurbaata 'dinner', *kʼorranda 'crow', *kʼurtʼumʔe 'fish', *tʼulunka '(finger)nail'.

Further phonologically interesting features include apparently a triple contrast between *Rˀ (glottalized resonants) and both *Rʔ and *ʔR clusters [edit: no, it's just very inconsistent transcription]; also ejective *pʼ is established even though plain *p is not (that has presumably become *f).

Lastly here's a some etyma I've found casually amusing:

*bob- 'to smell bad': take note, any Roberts planning on travelling to southern Ethiopia

*buna 'coffee': yes yes, this is the part of the world where you cannot assume 'coffee' will look anything like kafe

*mana 'man': second-best probably-coincidence in the data

*raar- 'to shout, scream' 🦖 [and looks like maybe a variant of *aar- 'to be angry?]

*sano 'nose': "clearly must be" cognate with PIE *nas- with metathesis :^>

*ufuuf- 'to blow on fire', oh yeah I've needed that verb sometimes

*waʔa 'water': Cushitic With British Characteristics

#cushitic #comparative linguistics #lexicography #historical linguistics #linguistic archeology

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jeannereames · 10 months

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Hi Dr Reames!

Would you say that Macedon shared the same "political culture" with its Thracian and Illyrian neighbours, like how most Greeks shared the polis structure and the concept of citizenship?

I don't really know anything about Macedonian history before Philip II's time, but you've often brought up how the Macedonians shared some elements of elite culture (e.g. mound burials) with their Thracian neighbours, as well religious beliefs and practices.

I've only ever heard these people generically described as "a collection of tribes (that confederated into a kingdom)", which also seems to be the common description for nearby "Greek" polities like Thessaly and Epiros. So did these societies have a lot in common, structurally speaking, with Macedon? Or were they just completely different types of polities altogether?

First, in the interest of some good bibliography on the Thracians:

Z. H. Archibald, The Odrysian Kingdom of Thrace. Orpheus Unmasked. Oxford UP, 1998. (Too expensive outside libraries, but highly recommended if you can get it by interlibrary loan. Part of the exorbitant cost [almost $400, but used for less] owes to images, as it’s archaeology heavy. Archibald is also an expert on trade and economy in north Greece and the Black Sea region, and has edited several collections on the topic.

Alexander Fol, Valeria Fol. Thracians. Coronet Books, 2005. Also expensive, if not as bad, and meant for the general public. Fol’s 1977 Thrace and the Thracians, with Ivan Marazov, was a classic. Fol and Marazov are fathers of modern Thracian studies.

R. F. Hodinott, The Thracians. Thames and Hudson, 1981. Somewhat dated now but has pictures and can be found used for a decent price if you search around. But, yeah…dated.

For Illyria, John Wilkes’ The Illyrians, Wiley-Blackwell, 1996, is a good place to start, but there’s even less about them in book form (or articles).

—————

Now, to the question.

BOTH the Thracians and Illyrians were made up of politically independent tribes bound by language and religion who, sometimes, also united behind a strong ruler (the Odrysians in Thrace for several generations, and Bardylis briefly in Illyria). One can probably make parallels to Germanic tribes, but it’s easier for me to point to American indigenous nations. The Odrysians might be compared to the Iroquois federation. The Illyrians to the Great Lakes people, united for a while behind Tecumseh, but not entirely, and disunified again after. These aren’t perfect, but you get the idea. For that matter, the Greeks themselves weren’t a nation, but a group of poleis bonded by language, culture, and religion. They fought as often as they cooperated. The Persian invasion forced cooperation, which then dissolved into the Peloponnesian War.

Beyond linguistic and religious parallels, sometimes we also have GEOGRAPHIC ones. So, let me divide the north into lowlands and highlands. It’s much more visible on the ground than from a map, but Epiros, Upper Macedonia, and Illyria are all more alike, landscape-wise, than Lower Macedonia and the Thracian valleys. South of all that, and different yet again, lay Thessaly, like a bridge between Southern Greece and these northern regions.

If language (and religion) are markers of shared culture, culture can also be shaped by ethnically distinct neighbors. Thracians and Macedonians weren’t ethnically related, yet certainly shared cultural features. Without falling into colonialist geographical/environmental determinism, geography does affect how early cultures develop because of what resources are available, difficulties of travel, weather, lay of the land itself, etc.

For instance, the Pindus Range, while not especially high, is rocky and made a formidable barrier to easy east-west travel. Until recently, sailing was always more efficient in Greece than travel by land (especially over mountain ranges).* Ergo, city-states/towns on the western coast tended to be western-facing for trade, and city-states/towns on the eastern side were, predictably, eastern-facing. This is why both Epiros and Ainai (Elimeia) did more trade with Corinth than Athens, and one reason Alexandros of Epiros went west to Italy while Alexander of Macedon looked east to Persia. It’s also why Corinth, Sparta, etc., in the Peloponnese colonized Sicily and S. Italy, while Athens, Euboia, etc., colonized the Asia Minor and Black Sea coasts. (It’s not an absolute, but one certainly sees trends.)

So, looking at their land, we can see why Macedonians and Thracians were both horse people with their wide valleys. They also practiced agriculture, had rich forests for logging, and significant metal (and mineral) deposits—including silver and gold—that made mining a source of wealth. They shared some burial customs but maintained acute differences. Both had lower status for women compared to Illyria/Epiros/Paionia. Yet that’s true only of some Thracian tribes, such as the Odrysians. Others had stronger roles for women. Thracians and Macedonians shared a few deities (The Rider/Zis, Dionysos/Zagreus, Bendis/Artemis/Earth Mother), although Macedonian religion maintained a Greek cast. We also shouldn’t underestimate the impact of Greek colonies along the Black Sea coast on inland Thrace, especially the Odrysians. Many an Athenian or Milesian (et al.) explorer/merchant/colonist married into the local Thracian elite.

Let’s look at burial customs, how they’re alike and different, for a concrete example of this shared regional culture.

First, while both Thracians and Macedonians had shrines, neither had temples on the Greek model until late, and then largely in Macedonia. Their money went into the ground with burials.

Temples represent a shit-ton of city/community money plowed into a building for public use/display. In southern Greece, they rise (pun intended) at the end of the Archaic Age as city-state sumptuary laws sought to eliminate personal display at funerals, weddings, etc. That never happened in Macedonia/much of the northern areas. So, temples were slow to creep up there until the Hellenistic period. Even then, gargantuan funerals and the Macedonian Tomb remained de rigueur for Macedonian elite. (The date of the arrival of the true Macedonian Tomb is debated, but I side with those who count it as a post-Alexander development.)

A “Macedonian Tomb” (above: Tomb of Judgement, photo mine) is a faux-shrine embedded in the ground. Elite families committed wealth to it in a huge potlatch to honor the dead. Earlier cyst tombs show the same proclivities, but without the accompanying shrine-like architecture. As early as 650 BCE at Archontiko (= ancient Pella), we find absurd amounts of wealth in burials (below: Archontiko burial goods, Pella Museum, photos mine). Same thing at Sindos, and Aigai, in roughly the same period. Also in a few places in Upper Macedonia, in the Archaic Age: Aiani, Achlada, Trebenište, etc.. This is just the tip of the iceberg. If Greece had more money for digs, I think we’d find additional sites.

Vivi Saripanidi has some great articles (conveniently in English) about these finds: “Constructing Necropoleis in the Archaic Period,” “Vases, Funerary Practices, and Political Power in the Macedonian Kingdom During the Classical Period Before the Rise of Philip II,” and “Constructing Continuities with a Heroic Past.” They’re long, but thorough. I recommend them.

What we observe here are “Princely Burials” across lingo-ethnic boundaries that reflect a larger, shared regional culture. But one big difference between elite tombs in Macedonia and Thrace is the presence of a BODY, and whether the tomb was new or repurposed.

In Thrace, at least royal tombs are repurposed shrines (above: diagram and model of repurposed shrine-tombs). Macedonian Tombs were new construction meant to look like a shrine (faux-fronts, etc.). Also, Thracian kings’ bodies weren’t buried in their "tombs." Following the Dionysic/ Orphaic cult, the bodies were cut up into seven pieces and buried in unmarked spots. Ergo, their tombs are cenotaphs (below: Kosmatka Tomb/Tomb of Seuthes III, photos mine).

What they shared was putting absurd amounts of wealth into the ground in the way of grave goods, including some common/shared items such as armor, golden crowns, jewelry for women, etc. All this in place of community-reflective temples, as seen in the South. (Below: grave goods from Seuthes’ Tomb; grave goods from Royal Tomb II at Vergina, for comparison).

So, if some things are shared, others (connected to beliefs about the afterlife) are distinct, such as the repurposed shrine vs. new construction built like a shine, and the presence or absence of a body (below: tomb ceiling décor depicting Thracian deity Zalmoxis).

Aside from graves, we also find differences between highlands and lowlands in the roles of at least elite women. The highlands were tough areas to live, where herding (and raiding) dominated, and what agriculture there was required “all hands on deck” for survival. While that isn’t necessary for women to enjoy higher status (just look at Minoan Crete, Etruria, and even Egypt), it may have contributed to it in these circumstances.

Illyrian women fought. And not just with bows on horseback as Scythian women did. If we can believe Polyaenus, Philip’s daughter Kyanne (daughter of his Illyrian wife Audata) opposed an Illyrian queen on foot with spears—and won. Philip’s mother Eurydike involved herself in politics to keep her sons alive, but perhaps also as a result of cultural assumption: her mother was royal Lynkestian but her father was (perhaps) Illyrian. Epirote Olympias came to Pella expecting a certain amount of political influence that she, apparently, wasn’t given until Philip died. Alexander later observed that his mother had wisely traded places with Kleopatra, his sister, to rule in Epiros, because the Macedonians would never accept rule by a woman (implying the Epirotes would).

I’ve noted before that the political structure in northern Greece was more of a continuum: Thessaly had an oligarchic tetrarchy of four main clans, expunged by Jason in favor of tyranny, then restored by Philip. Epiros was ruled by a council who chose the “king” from the Aiakid clan until Alexandros I, Olympias’s brother, established a real monarchy. Last, we have Macedon, a true monarchy (apparently) from the beginning, but also centered on a clan (Argeads), with agreement/support from the elite Hetairoi class of kingmakers. Upper Macedonian cantons (formerly kingdoms) had similar clan rule, especially Lynkestis, Elimeia, and Orestis. Alas, we don’t know enough to say how absolute their monarchies were before Philip II absorbed them as new Macedonian districts, demoting their basileis (kings/princes) to mere governors.

I think continued highland resistance to that absorption is too often overlooked/minimized in modern histories of Philip’s reign, excepting a few like Ed Anson’s. In Dancing with the Lion: Rise, I touch on the possibility of highland rebellion bubbling up late in Philip’s reign but can’t say more without spoilers for the novel.

In antiquity, Thessaly was always considered Greek, as was (mostly) Epiros. But Macedonia’s Greek bona-fides were not universally accepted, resulting in the tale of Alexandros I’s entry into the Olympics—almost surely a fiction with no historical basis, fed to Herodotos after the Persian Wars. The tale’s goal, however, was to establish the Greekness of the ruling family, not of the Macedonian people, who were still considered barbaroi into the late Classical period. Recent linguistic studies suggest they did, indeed, speak a form of northern Greek, but the fact they were regarded as barbaroi in the ancient world is, I think instructive, even if not necessarily accurate.

It tells us they were different enough to be counted “not Greek” by some southern Greek poleis and politicians such as Demosthenes. Much of that was certainly opportunistic. But not all. The bias suggests Macedonian culture had enough overflow from their northern neighbors to appear sufficiently alien. Few Greek writers suggested the Thessalians or Epirotes weren’t Greek, but nobody argued the Thracians, Paiones, or Illyrians were. Macedonia occupied a liminal status.

We need to stop seeing these areas with hard borders and, instead, recognize permeable boundaries with the expected cultural overflow: out and in. Contra a lot of messaging in the late 1800s and early/mid-1900s, lifted from ancient narratives (and still visible today in ultra-national Greek narratives), the ancient Greeks did not go out to “civilize” their Eastern “Oriental” (and northern barbaroi) neighbors, exporting True Culture and Philosophy. (For more on these views, see my earlier post on “Alexander suffering from Conqueror’s Disease.”)

In fact, Greeks of the Late Iron Age (LIA)/Archaic Age absorbed a great deal of culture and ideas from those very “Oriental barbarians,” such as Lydia and Assyria. In art history, the LIA/Early Archaic Era is referred to as the “Orientalizing Period,” but it’s not just art. Take Greek medicine. It’s essentially Mesopotamian medicine with their religion buffed off. Greek philosophy developed on the islands along the Asia Minor coast, where Greeks regularly interacted with Lydians, Phoenicians, and eventually Persians; and also in Sicily and Southern Italy, where they were talking to Carthaginians and native Italic peoples, including Etruscans. Egypt also had an influence.

Philosophy and other cultural advances didn’t develop in the Greek heartland. The Greek COLONIES were the happenin’ places in the LIA/Archaic Era. Here we find the all-important ebb and flow of ideas with non-Greek peoples.

Artistic styles, foodstuffs, technology, even ideas and myths…all were shared (intentionally or not) via TRADE—especially at important emporia. Among the most significant of these LIA emporia was Methone, a Greek foundation on the Macedonian coast off the Thermaic Gulf (see map below). It provided contact between Phoenician/Euboian-Greek traders and the inland peoples, including what would have been the early Macedonian kingdom. Perhaps it was those very trade contacts that helped the Argeads expand their rule in the lowlands at the expense of Bottiaians, Almopes, Paionians, et al., who they ran out in order to subsume their lands.

My main point is that the northern Greek mainland/southern Balkans were neither isolated nor culturally stunted. Not when you look at all that gold and other fine craftwork coming out of the ground in Archaic burials in the region. We’ve simply got to rethink prior notions of “primitive” peoples and cultures up there—notions based on southern Greek narratives that were both political and culturally hidebound, but that have, for too long, been taken as gospel truth.

Ancient Macedon did not “rise” with Philip II and Alexander the Great. If anything, the 40 years between the murder of Archelaos (399) and the start of Philip’s reign (359/8) represents a 2-3 generation eclipse. Alexandros I, Perdikkas II, and Archelaos were extremely capable kings. Philip represented a return to that savvy rule.

(If you can read German, let me highly recommend Sabine Müller’s, Perdikkas II and Die Argeaden; she also has one on Alexander, but those two talk about earlier periods, and especially her take on Perdikkas shows how clever he was. For those who can’t read German, the Lexicon of Argead Macedonia’s entry on Perdikkas is a boiled-down summary, by Sabine, of the main points in her book.)

Anyway…I got away a bit from Thracian-Macedonian cultural parallels, but I needed to mount my soapbox about the cultural vitality of pre-Philip Macedonia, some of which came from Greek cultural imports, but also from Thrace, Illyria, etc.

Ancient Macedonia was a crossroads. It would continue to be so into Roman imperial, Byzantine, and later periods with the arrival of subsequent populations (Gauls, Romans, Slavs, etc.) into the region.

That fruit salad with Cool Whip, or Jello and marshmallows, or chopped up veggies and mayo, that populate many a family reunion or church potluck spread? One name for it is a “Macedonian Salad”—but not because it’s from Macedonia. It’s called that because it’s made up of many [very different] things. Also, because French macedoine means cut-up vegetables, but the reference to Macedonia as a cultural mishmash is embedded in that.

---------------

* I’ve seen this personally between my first trip to Greece in 1997, and the new modern highway. Instead of winding around mountains, the A2 just blasts through them with tunnels. The A1 (from Thessaloniki to Athens) was there in ’97, and parts of the A2 east, but the new highway west through the Pindus makes a huge difference. It takes less than half the time now to drive from the area around Thessaloniki/Pella out to Ioannina (near ancient Dodona) in Epiros. Having seen the landscape, I can imagine the difficulties of such a trip in antiquity with unpaved roads (albeit perhaps at least graded). Taking carts over those hills would be daunting. See images below.

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forthelovelovelove · 2 months

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youtube

the coneheads - hack hack hack variation 2

an amazing album, just banger after banger

youtube

another amazing album, good vibe throughout!

youtube

beast facking song, would be my corporate take if i ever worked in that sphere lmao

youtube

the master, and he can't help looking a little derp

youtube

Little laid back blip in amazing blut aus nord album. Album has tinge of americana vibe which is a great surprise. Recommend a listen.

youtube

This song immediately hits, james brown makes feel like a funky npc totally ok with a life of walking in spring weather with airpods in.

youtube

Impetigo's vocalist is amazing, also love that the clip they used from explo film is the first 2 min and 40 seconds. Holy shit the vocalist turns me up.

youtube

I was relistening to this song with maya as we were driving in hudson valley, every element was hitting so hard. Pitch and rhythm is all music is, which is like saying we are atom's or something, but I find it a pretty good jumping of point for making recorded music.

youtube

Epic synth song. Why'd it all start in germany? love this track

youtube

PONPONPON being so legendary thought i'd finally listen to the full project its on. Amazing tiny opener. Here's a nice fan vid.

#charlie #posting #music #song recommendation #Youtube

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autumngracy · 11 months

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My house already flooded because the water table got so high and my yard already got eaten by the creek, but they're saying there's multiple thunderstorms headed our way again at the end of the week and it will renew the flash flood warnings in the places that were hardest hit (meaning us specifically)

#hudson valley #new york #flash flood #flooding #weather #rain

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9w1ft · 4 months

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Regarding the Hudson Valley photos, I really think that isn’t any evidence of anything Kaylor. The Hudson Valley is huge. Long Pond is very north. The Kushners have property in the HV, but it’s much closer to the city. New Yorkers go up there all the time, especially if they have property and it’s nice weather, it’s beautiful all year round in many spots. (I say this as a New Yorker with property in the HV.) The possible conclusion on this one is a wild reach. Unless someone can pinpoint where Karlie was, this isn’t Kaylor proof. (And for the love of all things daises, no one should try to pinpoint where she was!)

Also we can’t continue to claim Karlie always latergrams except when it’s not convenient to dots we want to connect.

goodness!

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currentclimate · 7 months

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Last year, the U.S. saw 18 weather events that inflicted at least $1 billion in damages.

#climate crisis

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trinity-mia · 4 months

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a story as endless as the ocean

the lightning thief

0.2 fruit ladies of death

warnings : mention of an abusive home life ( fuck gabe fr )

word count : 3.2k

0.2 Some Old Ladies Who Knit Socks Predict My Death

Throughout the last few weeks of school, I hardly even thought of Mrs. Dodds. I was way too busy stressing over a new photoshoot for the September cover of Vogue, completing the final few scenes needed for the upcoming season of The Walking Dead that would be released early the next year, and finishing off my final few assignments to make sure I maintained my 4.0 to keep my mind occupied with the thought of something that I very well could've convinced myself I dreamt up.

She visited me in my sleep every night, though. I didn't have much time during my last days to think about her a lot, so I shoved it to the back of my mind, throwing myself into projects to keep myself distracted. But there she came, every night like clockwork— whether I was in bed in my dorm room or in another random hotel room— making my heart thunder in my chest and sending a chill up my spine.

I might've been able to forget about it. I might've even been able to convince myself it had never happened, if I really tried— I'd done something similar before, at any rate. The only problem was Grover. He kept giving me worried looks and seemed to be on edge every time he was around me. Every time I'd ask him what was wrong, he'd tell me nothing and that he was fine. I would've believed him, too. The only problem with that is: Grover's an awful liar and couldn't fool me even if his life depended on it.

Mrs. Kerr, who had supposedly been our calc teacher since Christmas, was a perky blonde woman and I had never seen her in my entire life, but she was a good teacher, so I went with it.

The shitty weather continued; there were very few days it didn't rain. A thunderstorm ended up blowing out the windows of a few of my friends' dorms. Vivian, my senior roommate and one of the few non-fake people in this school, and I had gotten lucky. She was bubbly and on the cheer team with me, and I'd known her a few years before we would separate on graduation day. She had a boyfriend, Michah Newsome if I remembered correctly, who was already in college at LSU and she'd be joining him there, after the school year ended.

A few days after the thunderstorm, the biggest tornado ever spotted in the Hudson Valley touched down only fifty miles from Yancy. Once we'd finished all of the units needed, our social studies teacher made us study the irregular amount of small planes that'd taken a dive into the Atlantic in the past few months.

My own issues weren't getting any better— I felt more irritable than I'd ever been and even the tiniest of inconveniences had me snapping at the nearest person. Danny had gotten particularly aggravated with me and after one of our worse arguments, had me storming off of the set of The Avengers and almost too pissed off to go to Columbia Cheer tryouts the next day.

Despite that, I couldn't wait for the year to be over so I'd get to see my mother again. I hadn't seen her since Christmas and that in and of itself was starting to take a toll on me. She calmed me down most of the time and whenever I had a problem I knew I could go to her about it, but without her near I couldn't very well do that. At the very least, I knew when I went to college I'd get to stay with her and wouldn't have classes all day, every day.

Then again, that did mean I was going to have to be the bartender and the never-ending money supplier for my dickhead of a stepfather and his poker games, but I was willing to sacrifice that.

I would miss Vivian and Grover, who'd been the best friends I'd met away from work. And I'd miss Mr. Brunner and his crazy-but-awesome way of teaching. I'd miss the view my dorm had and the smell of pine that always seemed to be in the air.

Still not gonna stay. I'd rather hold up the sky.

My Vogue shoot went well and the night before my Greek and Roman final, Vivian and I were blasting the Mean Girls soundtrack as loud as we could without getting in trouble with the teachers.

"Ya know, we should probably be studying right now, don't you think?" Vivian asked me after 'Someone Gets Hurt' finished.

"I thought the reason we were listening to Mean Girls was because we didn't want to study," I replied, turning off my speaker. "But you're right. We should probably study, at least a little."

I flopped down on my bed and stretched out across the whole thing in order to grab my backpack.

"Ugh, I think I left my book in Brunner's class. Fuck, I'll be right back," I groaned and forced myself up while Vivian nodded as a reply. I stifled a yawn and made sure I had my key fob before heading in the direction of Mr. Brunner's classroom.

Now this next part, please don't attack me for. I dare you to walk away when you hear one of your best friends talking with an adult about you. I don't normally eavesdrop, but I couldn't help myself.

"I'm worried about Allie, sir," I heard Grover's voice once I was three steps away from the door handle. I froze and debated staying or running. I stayed. "She acts like she saw nothing. It's like she never even killed that Kindly One! And a Kindly One! In the school, right under our noses! She seems too calm for something like this."

"We might make things worse if we rush her. She's sixteen, much older than those her age would make it, an incredible feat, but it makes it more difficult—especially with her. She's got a career of her own, one that is already going to be difficult to hide with everything. She's established in the world. She's going to college next year instead of continuing high school. She'll be graduating on Friday after her final tomorrow and that only means she'll be much less understanding of it all," Mr. Brunner replied.

"But the summer solstice deadline! What if we don't have time?"

"She may not even be involved. Let her enjoy her ignorance while she can."

"But sir, you've seen—!"

"Grover, you haven't failed. She'll be fine, especially since she's made it this far. I worry about her, too, but she will be fine for a few more days. All we must worry about is keeping her alive until next fall—"

My key fob fell from my hand before I could stop it. It shouldn't have made that loud of a noise, but with it being dead silent, it sounded like a gun being fired. My blood pulsed in my ears and I picked the key up and sprinted around the corner of the hall and into a random dark classroom before I could get caught. At that moment, the only thing I could think was about how lucky it was that I forgot to slip some tennis shoes on. My socks had muffled my sprinting.

The sound of horse hooves hitting the ground entered the dead silent hallway and I held my breath. The sound stopped near the door of the classroom was in and I was almost certain I'd gotten caught, but then the sound echoed again, this time moving back in the way it came.

"Nothing," Mr. Brunner muttered somewhere along the hallway. "My nerves haven't been right since the winter solstice."

"Neither have mine, but I could've sworn..." Grover said.

"Get back to your dorm. You still have to take your final tomorrow, so you should get a good night's sleep."

"Ugh, don't remind me."

I was alone again. I waited a few extra minutes just to make sure I wasn't going to get caught before slowly leaving the classroom. I made sure not to make a noise as I closed the door and then booked it down the hallway back to my dorm.

Once I got there I took a moment for myself before I walked in. Vivian looked up at me as I entered.

"Hey, where's your book?" she asked.

"Not sure. It wasn't in Brunner's room, so I probably just left it somewhere," I lied. "Oh well. I think I'm gonna go ahead and go to bed, though. I'll be fine without studying. Plus, I graduate in two days, I want that to get here as quickly as possible," I finished, making sure to keep my voice even in order to make the lie believable. Vivi had always had a difficult time determining whether or not I was lying most of the time, anyway.

"Okay," she replied, taking my words at face value. "'Night."

"'Night, Viv."

***

The next morning my Greek and Roman final went well enough and the next day, graduation went by even faster, though when our names were being called up for our diplomas it felt like I'd be there for another year.

Yancy Academy's graduations didn't allow parents or family to come and watch the ceremony; maybe they knew most of the kids here had rich, busy parents and didn't want a large number of kids to have no one there. It was stupid, in my opinion, but whatever. Our audience was the rest of the school and they filmed the ceremony, just so the parents who cared could have something.

Once the ceremony was over, I went to a few of the people I actually talked to, just to say goodbye to them. Most asked me what I was going to do over the summer and I gave a generic response.

"Uh, probably fly a couple of places. I think I might be going to Bora Bora for a shoot. And I might have to go to California, too. Who knows, really?" Thankfully they'd taken that answer and left me alone.

Grover and Vivian caught me as I was walking away from my Italian teacher, Mrs. R.

"Allie! I'm shocked you made it through this whole year. You weren't technically even a senior, but you still had senioritis," Vivian joked.

I gave her a sad smile. "I'm gonna miss you, Viv," I said and we both shared a hug before she left, "Want me to walk you to the bus stop, G? I have my Harley and my clothes are already at my mom's apartment, so I can't get on there with you. You're going into Manhattan, right?"

"Yeah," Grover confirmed. "Uh... do you mind driving behind my bus? You can take me around Central Park since I've never been."

"I keep forgetting you told me you aren't from New York," I frowned. "I'll stay behind as long as I can."

He didn't like that answer (I knew from his frown) but nodded anyway. As he waited, I ran and grabbed my bike. I had taken my suitcase to my apartment yesterday, so I didn't have to deal with it on graduation day. I only had my Louis Vitton purse keeping an extra change of clothes with me.

My bike rumbled loudly, but it was almost completely drowned out with all the noise coming from New York's traffic. The bus got there soon after I did, and I was relieved to finally get going. At the very least, I'd never have to step foot in another high school (barring any time I'd have to play a high school role, which I blatantly ignored).

I saw Grover sit in the very back of the bus and he smiled at me through the unusually large windows that the bus had. I smiled back and made sure my helmet was completely on before following the bus back to my home city.

I kept noticing Grover would both look down the isles of the bus and then look back at me nervously. I tried not to think anything of it, but a bad feeling settled in my stomach and I was momentarily reminded of Mrs. Dodds.

Suddenly, right before we got to the highway, a loud grinding noise and back smoke came from the Grayhound they were on and the driver immediately pulled over to the side. I stopped right behind it.

Nothing happened for a few seconds and I had pulled my helmet off and walked over to the door. I saw the driver fiddle with something and then turned to announce something to the passengers. They all had gotten up, so I assumed it was something about them needing to get off.

Grover was the last one off and he walked straight over to me. I led him away from the crowd and closer to where my bike was. After a few seconds of silence and a whole lot of nervous glances thrown towards the woods on our right, I got fed up.

"Looking for kindly ones?" I asked him. He practically jumped out of his skin.

"Wha- what do you mean?" Grover managed to stutter out.

I rolled my eyes but confessed to overhearing him and Mr. Brunner talking about me the night before.

"How much did you hear?" he said, and his eye twitched.

I shrugged noncommittally. "Oh... not much. What's the summer solstice deadline?"

Another eye twitch, this one accompanied by a wince. "It's uh... I was just worried about you... and—"

"Grover."

"I just thought you'd been super stressed lately—"

"Grover! You're a really, really bad liar," I said, finally getting him to listen to me.

His ears turned pink. He searched his pockets for a moment before pulling out a card from the front pocket of his flannel. It was a card, written in a cursive script and it took a moment, but I figured out what it said.

Grover Underwood Keeper Half-Blood Hill Long Island, New York (800) 009-0009

"What's Half—"

"Don't say it out loud!" he yelled, drawing some attention and causing people to whisper as if just now realizing I was there.

I saw a little girl, probably around nine, tug on the sleeve of her mother's shirt and not-so-discreetly whisper, "that's Allie Jackson!"

I grimaced and turned my attention back to Grover. "It's my, uh... summer address," he said.

I furrowed my eyebrows. "Uh... okay? Why would I need this?"

He blushed. "Look Allie... I've kinda been protecting you this whole school year..." Grover said, and though I could tell he wasn't lying, it didn't make sense. No one wanted to cross me, so I'd stuck up for him this whole school year. How had he been protecting me?

"What exactly have you been protecting me from?" I chose the most logical question. At least I'd know why instead of how. I looked around and I felt like I found my answer before he could tell me.

It was a normal fruit stand on the other side of the road, with three old ladies sitting on the other side of it. They were all knitting something, but whoever it was for had to be much larger than your average person. Grover followed my gaze and gasped.

The fruit actually looked really good, and I was tempted to go over and buy some, but something stopped me from doing so. I was fixated and couldn't really bring myself to move. Grover latched his hand on my arm, his nails digging into my skin.

The three ladies were knitting socks, but they were the size of sweaters, so either they messed up, or I was missing a very important puzzle piece in this 10,000 piece puzzle.

They stared right back at me.

I shifted my gaze and went to make a joke to Grover, but he looked terrified. There was no color in his face, which was weird because Grover was naturally tan.

His nose twitched. "Allie. Come on. Get on the bus now," he said and almost didn't leave me any time to argue.

"Uh, I'll take a hard pass on that one, G."

"They aren't looking at you, are they?" Grover whispered.

"Yeah, they are. Funny, huh? Think they know me?"

"Please don't joke about this, Allie. Come on."

"I'm not going in there!" I opposed. "It's like a thousand degrees. I'd rather not deal with my hair poofing into a tangled, poofy mess!"

I noticed the old lady in the middle had picked up a pair of solid gold scissors. The yarn had shifted, and the light now showed me that the yarn was two different colors; a neutral gray— not too light and not too dark— and a scarlet red, one that was so red it was almost brown. They were twisted together, in a weird, complex way, kind of reminding me of a complicated path in a forest or something.

Grover's breath hitched and he whispered out another 'come on,' and ran to the bus. I found myself fixated again. I was supposed to see this. I think.

They were still watching me. I kept my eyes on the middle one, so I didn't miss a second of her cutting the two pieces of string. I could've sworn I heard the snip across all of the loud traffic. The other two balled up the rest of the string and the middle one held the cut pieces in the air. They weren't connected on one end and the gray piece seemed to be much shorter than the red.

What the hell? I only looked away once Grover pried one of the bus's back doors open. The bus roared back to life at the same time. Feeling shiverish, like I'd just gotten the flu, I pulled my helmet on my head and swung my leg back over the bike.

"What are you not telling me," I demanded once Grover opened the back window and stuck his head out of it.

"What did you see?" He asked.

"The middle one took out her scissors and snipped both pieces of string. What are you not telling me?"

But the bus was starting and would be leaving soon, so I asked a better question.

"Does this mean someone's going to die?" I asked, but he couldn't answer as the bus started going again and I had no choice but to follow behind.

"Stay at the bus stop. Don't leave once the bus stops. Please," Grover pleaded. He started whispering to himself and then closed the back window.

The last look he gave me was one that looked like he was picking out the flowers I'd like best on my grave. They'd be roses and sunflowers.

* * *

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#asaeato #a story as endless as the ocean #alliejackson #lukecastellan #lullie #trinitymia #female percy jackson

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