#I was a pig farmer for about five years of my life

[cowboyhatesithere]

See Hannibal (the show) is funny for using pork on set in the literal sense to pass off as human meat which then Hannibal (the character) tries to pass off as pork.

[darklingichor]

Little House in the Big Woods; Farmer Boy, by Laura Ingllas Wilder

So I read the series in reverse, but I figured it would be kind of hard to write about them that way if I group them together, so I'm going to write these in chronological order.

Big Woods as a story is very sweet. It really embodies the coziness that everyone talks about, really more so than any other book besides Farmer Boy.

Is all childhood memories. Ma making butter, and roasting pig's tail, Pa playing his fiddle and telling stories, holidays and celebrations with family.

Laura at the age of four and five is pretty carefree, as it should be.

It's odd, reading kids books when you're an adult, you get subtext that you probably wouldn't have gotten as a kid.

This happens more and more as the books go on, but in this one, I got something that I don't know was the intent or if I'm reading too much into it.

Big Woods starts out like a fairy tale, and it continues with that tone, and it makes me wonder if Wilder didn't, in some way, think back on that time as ideal because there really is a sense of safety as you follow Laura through the chores and games, and squabbles. The feel is carefree in a way that is mostly lost when the family goes west. I don't know how much kids will get when they read them, but I was always aware of the danger that the Ingallses faced. From Little House on the Prairie, forward, it is under the surface if not actively present. Big Woods, had the bear, but everything is very secure.

The ending is probably one of the most elegant pieces of writing that wasn't about nature, in the whole series.

"She thought to herself, 'This is now.' She was glad that the cozy house, and Pa and Ma and the firelight and the music, were now. They could not be forgotten, she thought, because now is now. It can never be a long time ago."

Farmer Boy, was written as a companion piece to Big Woods, according to Prarie Fires and the podcast. I cannot express how adorable I think that is.

This book follows a year in the life of nine year old Almanzo Wilder, near Malone, New York. It is even cozier than Big Woods. There are so many descriptions of food, I found myself getting hungry when reading it, and that usually doesn't happen to me. Big Woods, there was more to it, Almanzo is old enough to know something of his own mind, to get into scrapes and to interact with others more than Laura who was only five in the first book.

Plus, because the real Laura was working off of things told to her by her husband, a lot of the book is probably more fiction and has a clearer story arch, at least to me.

It was really interesting to me watching Almanzo learn the farming trade and all the various skills needed to go along with it, and just how much he enjoyed it. I think my favorite parts were when Almanzo was allowed to stay home from school and help out on the farm from threshing wheat, hauling timber, training young oxen, whatever, Almanzo was eager to learn.

Something that caught my attention near the end.

There's this point where a wagon maker in town asks Almanzo's father to apprentice Almanzo.

His father talks to his mother about it, and his mother is very upset, and goes on a rant about how if he did this, Almanzo would never be free, and would always be dependent on others for his living.

Now, there is this odd idea in the LH Fandom (community? It's huge, I don't know) that Laura and Almanzo's daughter Rose actually wrote the books. Honestly, and I will come back this in another ramble, if you read Pioneer Girl and you read Rose's writing, this is obviously not the case (IMO). But we do know, that Rose, was involved in editing her mother's books, and Laura did allow Rose to add things. Both mother and daughter's writing have the thread of being free and independent, but the tone is very different between the two.

This section feels like an addition made by Rose. She was a staunch Libritarian and her writing in its vein usually has a feel of righteous anger or frustration, telling the reader what's what.

Laura's shows the reader how one would do this, and is much quieter

This speech by Almanzo's mother is very out of character for the busy sweet natured woman in the rest of the book, and right after this tirade the tone goes back to normal. Almost as if it can be lifted out completely.

It was interesting to compare it to the rest of the book.

All in all, I enjoyed these two.

[belpop]

climate rant incoming i have a lot of anger in me today

Europe insisting on keeping business as usual with regards to climate change and the social impact it will have is really starting to fall beyond my comprehension. Like we are a good five years away, maybe, of having widespread droughts and crop failures in europe we wont be able to just import our way out of because the situation is fucked everywhere else on the planet too, our drinking water reserves are abominable because we just assumed an evenly spread rain pattern throughout the year would stick around forever despite having a wet/dry season for the last eight or so years by now and we never learned to ration and take care of our water. And when people start migrating in even greater numbers than they already are because summers will become unbearable in africa we’re just going to let them fucking drown in the mediterranean as usual and put up even higher walls and pay more governments to lock up people in horrible conditions for the crime of wanting to live a decent life!!!!! Nobody in charge is being remotely serious about what the consequences of climate change are going to look like on the very short term, which is shorter than anyone wants to think about. The fact the nature restoration law is probably not going to pass at all makes my blood boil and i hope every lobbying Farmer Union fuck gets drowned in pig shit once their workers realize they’ve been cheated into going against their own interests because a soil that doesnt get rained on for two months straight and then flooded is dead, its dead and will grow no food, and no amount of compensation or subsidies they get for crop failures will be enough to live off, let alone feed the people.

[fireinmywoods]

You've mentioned before that Bones pretty much never calls Jim anything but "Jim." Do you think it's significant that at his birthday party, Bones has everyone toast to "Captain James T. Kirk," and not to "Jim"?

Well, he’s not “Jim” to all those folks, is he?

Sure, during informal downtime like this or a Meaningful Moment while on duty, one of the captain’s inner circle might occasionally call him by his given name - but Leonard knows at the party that he’s speaking to a room full of people who look at James Tiberius Kirk and see their captain first.

Oh, granted, he’s their much adored captain: the captain who traded his life for theirs, the captain they’d gladly follow into hell because he’s proven that he has what it takes to get them out the other side. Any one of the people in that room would jump in front of a phaser blast for him. (In fact, Uhura effectively did just that earlier in the movie.) They admire him; they trust him with their lives; they are fiercely devoted to him. They love him, each in their own way - the senior crew especially - and they know that he loves them in return.

But none of them love Jim the way Leonard does.

They couldn’t if they wanted to, because none of them know Jim like Leonard does. The crew has been through a whole hell of a lot with their revered captain, but Leonard is the one who’s seen him at his worst, at his weirdest, at his lowest and loneliest and most unguarded. He alone has scraped Jim off bar floors and put him to bed on the couch under his granny’s quilt to sleep it off and been awoken the next morning by the melodious sound of hangover puking in the head. He alone has stuck steadfastly by Jim’s side since the day he met the already disreputable bar brawler on the shuttle, took in the busted face and the bloodstained shirt and the small empty smile that didn’t reach those absurdly blue eyes, and decided they were two of a kind. He alone devoted himself to Jim long before that was a popular or even justifiable thing to do, before Jim had proven himself to Starfleet or his peers, before it became unmistakably clear that Jim Kirk was going to Be Somebody.

Leonard loves Jim in a different way than his fellow crew members do, shares a different kind of bond with him, and he’s a touch protective of that love and that bond. I wrote recently that Jim mostly refers to Leonard as Dr. McCoy to the rest of the crew because Bones isn’t really for anyone else. Well, the same holds true in the other direction. Leonard sees only Jim when he looks at him, always, no matter the situation, but he’s not necessarily eager to share him with the rest of the class. The crew can have Captain James T. Kirk, so long as Leonard never loses Jim.

+

Consider this: Jim’s birthday isn’t exactly a secret. Everyone on the Enterprise knows that Jim was born the same day as his father’s famously heroic sacrifice, the same day as an historic event they literally study at the Academy. Every idiot in Starfleet knows that date, at least in the abstract. But Leonard is the only one who understands Jim’s complex relationship with his father’s memory, because Leonard is the only one Jim’s ever been willing to open up to about it. So it’s Leonard who makes a point of acknowledging Jim’s birthday even though he knows from all their years of shared history that Jim would have him ignore it, and it’s Leonard to whom Jim ruminates on what it means for him to be turning 30, and it’s Leonard who says to him: “You spent all this time trying to be George Kirk, and now you’re wondering just what it means to be Jim.”

Leonard cares more than anyone else on the crew about Jim finding the answer to that question, because it’s always been Jim he’s concerned with first and foremost. He’d follow him anywhere - hell, death itself, or even (shudder) New Vulcan - not so much because he trusts him as a captain, but because he wants to be where Jim is. If Jim were to decide to leave the great Captain Kirk behind and instead take on the role of a vice-admiral or an Academy instructor or a goddamn pig farmer, Leonard would be right behind him, grumbling the whole way and death-glaring anyone who suggested he didn’t actually have to follow Jim’s lead if he was so aggrieved about it.

Not that that’s likely to happen any time soon. Jim is an outstanding starship captain: it’s a role perfectly suited to his strengths and passions, and (outside of the odd existential crisis) it’s deeply fulfilling and gives him both the community and the sense of purpose he’s been chasing his whole life. Leonard understands that even better than Jim does; thus the party. But at the end of the day, captaincy is only a role, a means to an end, and Leonard is far more devoted to the man than to the chair. He just wants Jim to be happy - and to be happy, he just wants Jim.

+

I want to be clear that in no way am I seeking to devalue the relationships Jim has with all the other folks at the party. The Enterprise crew is a textbook case of found family, and Jim and Leonard both have incredibly rich and meaningful relationships with many other people. And at the end of the day, they are a family which exists because they are a crew, because they’re stuck with each other for (at minimum) five long, crazy, claustrophobic years, because they have been through no end of shit together, because their bonds and sense of shared identity are what keep them alive and sane and kicking ass as the very finest crew in the Fleet.

And, like many families, they will change, grow, and scatter over the years. Alone or in pairs, crew members will take promotions, accept new assignments, or retire from active starship duty. Many of them will prioritize remaining with these people on this ship for as long as they can, but eventually even Captain Kirk himself will leave the command chair, and life and duty for his hundreds of former crew will go on. The core group will almost certainly come back together occasionally, professionally and otherwise, but in the times between, their bonds be stretched across lightyears, a little muted and faded by the immediacy of daily life. Everyone is the hero of their own story, after all, and those stories will take them through new places and new adventures and new relationships and, yes, new families too.

Jim and Leonard are a different kind of family. They became that for each other long before they came onboard the Enterprise, and the essence of their relationship is unaffected by pesky details of rank or mission. Leonard will never accept reassignment or seek advancement if it means going somewhere without Jim. He’s a doctor, not a ladder-climber, and he’s never been especially passionate about Starfleet or its mandate. He’ll stay on the Enterprise as long as Jim does, and when Jim leaves, he’ll follow him wherever he goes next. Simple as that.

(I have a...complicated...relationship with the comics, but I’d be remiss not to note here that of all Jim’s tight-knit and loyal crew, Leonard is the one who ships out with him on the Endeavour in the Boldly Go comics - even taking a demotion to do so - not long after the birthday party in question.)

+

You may have noticed that I haven’t even touched on the capital-L Love aspect of things. The birthday party is pre-paradigm shift, by my reckoning, and I honestly believe that all of the above holds true whether or not you imagine that they are inevitably headed toward romance. Leonard and Jim’s relationship is just different in AOS. Their friendship is older and deeper and more exclusive than in the original timeline. They’ve grown together in every way, become more integral to each other’s sense of self. They are simply different people than their TOS counterparts, Jim especially, and I’d argue that Jim being a different person has made Leonard a different person along the way.

But, as I so often say, that’s a post for another day.

[quirkyhero]

My own Oc's for the thing I'm writing and to @miggiisdumb 's farm/cow AU

Meet Hellen and Lily!

Hellen: is a Buffalo who was outcasted by her herd due to being infertile and honestly just not being interested in men. Hell most of the time she either chase them off, injured them or even on rare occasions killed them.

Hellen: at the age of 16, while still in her herd and when her father was still alive, was a confident young lady, full of ferocious determination, righteousness. She would often explore on her own. But one day the fields caught fire while most of her herd survived, a few were unlucky. The person apart of the few was sadly her father.

Hellen: As she got older and more brave and stubborn, the herd decided she was just too. . .unnatural to be apart of them and was booted out at age 18. Only to be found by a few farmers from Japan who took pity on her and brought her with them back to the farm. Which she considered to be the best day of her life.

Hellen: when she saw the beautiful young heifer eyeing her without shame, she did what most males would do and puff out her chest with her hands on her hips to show off her amount of muscle that she had. Though she couldn't tell if the Heifer was enjoying the display or not due to the bulls that surrounded her with lust and curiosity.

Hellen: soon after the introduction, and trying to avoid the idiotic men who were trying to gain her attention. She left in search for the beautiful heifer with at the time had long braided pig tails draped over her shoulder.

Hellen: she soon found the young heifers that was only two year younger than her. And God was she beautiful, her eyes glistening like pure honey in the son and her skin beautifully radiant. She could go on for days about how beautiful she was, but a Bull came charging at her, and Hellen decided she could continue later, but right now she had a Bull to put in his place, preferably head stuck in the ground.

Lily: Lily was was an adventurous heifer in her own way, and while she didn't mind exploring she liked the more sexual exploration. Lily was a heifer who showed Bulls that being submissive was a bad thing to go off of time to time. And she showed heifers there was more fun that Just cow cock.

Lily: used to sneak out of her pen from her mother and fathers side to watch movies from the farmers window. And would come to learn there was more than just a man and a woman. . .and that. . . Awoke something in her, something curious.

Lily: as she grew up, she come to notice that the females looked more prettier than the bulls that were on the farm. Don't get her wrong, cocks are quite amazing and she could go for one once and a while, but she loved anothers pussy a whole lot more. Something about them just, wow, and when she gets them to squirter. Fuuuck it's amazing!

Lily: now Lily knew that animal instinct would always make her want a Bull even if her preference was more towards heifers. Her instinct screamed at times for a strong individual. And alot of the heifers were just not that. It was a bummer, but what could she do. That was until she saw a pair of horns.

Lily: though uninterested due to it being another bull, soon, to her spluttering wonder shock and amazement, had her eyes come into contact with the sight of bountiful breast, and fuck she was so godamn pretty. She wanted her badly.

Lily: soon found she couldn't of wanted anyone more badly than the chocolate skined goddess than when she rushed head first into the Bull knocking him into the tree and out for the count. After that amazing showing of strength her heifer preened at the sight, a fitting woman for her to satisfy all her needs.

And so that's how they Met.

Headcanons for how they are together:

Lily loves to treat her Buffalo queen with as much praise and love as she can. And when she wins a fight we'll Lily makes sure her pussy is all nice and tight for her to fuck however she sees fit. To which Hellen finds all the right buttons to push in oder to make her cum as hard and as fast as she so desires.

There is never a dull moment of fucking with these two, hell the Bulls and heifers can't help but feel envious of them both, and how could they not with how loud and dirty sounding they are.

The nicknames, the GODAMN NICKNAMES! Hellen will take any chance to call Lily her Aisha which means life. (I looked it up okay, shush! it's cute!) Or her cherry popper for how she loves to come off her pussy with a nice pop! And for her red color. While Lily loves to call Hellen her queen or chocolate skinned goddess.

Now the difficult part of they're relationship is not being able to house calf's of they're own, but they make it through well enough. That was until they com across this one human whose apparently the grandkid of the head farmer. They take a shining to him and decide that he would be they're calf. And them both being stubborn were set on just that. God have mercy on your soul if you mess with they're calf, even if they're said calf is only five to three years younger than them.

But anyways that was my introduction to Lily and Hellen hope you like em, I know I sure as hell am proud of them!

[ladybugmeat]

Allister - Summative Piece

In a text, Allister confided that he’d avoided returning to London for a fear that he’d traded in his homicidal tendencies for suicidal tendencies. And so, he never did return to London and died in Carlisle a month later. Died in mum’s bungalow with the lapdog at his feet. The Shih Tzu recovered on a bi-daily dose of Chicken Lucozade; a brown custard syringed down the animal’s gullet with the cooperation of six veterinary hands. Bella became Betsy, suffered bath, brush, and blow-dry, and went to live on a caravan park with a six-piece family in Milton Keynes. Allister was dead upon arrival. Mum described All’s body to have slunk into the shape of the armchair and his eyes to protrude like oven-roasted cherry tomatoes.  

The next morning, Cait emailed over a to-do list to have Allister cremated, the roof re-guttered, and the front-garden creeper cut back. An email arrived from the Crematorium itemising Allister Bruce Thompson as a White British Male of 26 years, standing at 6ft 3in, and weighing heavy at 230 lb. The numbers were hard, finite. I did not see the wide beetle-brow or the restless positioning of his ape-ish arms. Another enclosed receipt delineated him by the garb he came in. The Long Black Checkered GUESS Shirt, slung over his Box Cut Guns’n’Roses T-Shirt, Burgundy Socks tipping from his Adidas Originals. On his wrist, my old Silver Casio watch with the lagging minute hand. For a moment, the clothes loosely assembled to form something with limbs but on touching an arm, it gave way as softly as straw.

  Cait hung outside the Bikram studio assuming her usual pose, a cigarette lit beneath the umbrella. She piled in squealing and dumping a bag of smashed croissant on my lap. We returned the Jaycees suit and sat-naved up to Thunder Lane Crematorium Park. The grounds were spat with mange-like patches of pansies. The rain had evened and fell between short sheets of wind. The Crematorium complex administered the yellow mosquito buzz of tube lighting. Cait bit the shellac off her nails and traipsed behind, her track-top knotted around her waist. Aileene was a sour creature with features and a voice slight enough to impress as stiffly as milk at room temperature.  The urn was pulled like shoes at Hollywood Bowl, Aileene walking three-quarters of the alphabet deep and returning with my brother, shrink-wrapped, weighing in as gently as a novelty from a Christmas cracker. The metal pull-out wheels ran and pressed silently shut. Cait and Aileene commenced in a solemn administrative mime of to me, to you. The papers returned with Cait’s rag of biro, legible as a squashed fly.

  In the corridor, Cait poured more wine and looked through to the squalid space and the stripped mattress. The room had been a storage dump for our childhood hobbies. Behind where there had been cardboard high-rises cluttered with paints and flat footballs, was a small window spinning languid white shapes across the mattress when cars passed. Cait pulled a shirt from a bin-bag and hung it off her shoulders to where it stopped just above her knees.

‘He never escaped the nips and tatties. I had to get away from mum fast or you’d have been rolling me to Bikram.’

For what Cait didn’t eat, she drank. She had never held down a nine to five but flitted between multi-hyphens, or what she cooed the life of a Slashie. According to Instagram, Cait Thompson was an actor/artist/dog-walker. Tomorrow, Cait Thompson could be a face painting guinea pig farmer, I wouldn’t know.

Cait let the shirt drop and returned to her glass on the chiffonier. I grabbed a handful of newspapers and twisted them around a Wolverine figure. I wrapped the papers around All’s first fishing-rod, the whelping Garfield alarm clock, the ceramic fishing weights Cait had made for a birthday. Cait was still talking, flicking out the knife on All’s Swiss Army. I watched her fiddle around trying to get the rusted corkscrew out, her auburn knot knocking the headboard. I was always quietly taken by how hair could be so red and to only watch it redden as she aged. I took another wodge of newspapers and set them down on the mattress beside her.

‘I think Allister was happy being mum’s basement baby. No late rent fines, no poverty meals sat up at one o’clock’ worrying about a boyfriend clattering in with a loud mouth, trying to take your clothes off again.’

I snatched the knife and she sat up straight.

‘I don’t think Allister wanted to be here. I think he needed to be here. Mum was ill, I was in London, you were Bikraming.’ I closed the knife and slid it halfway on the linoleum between us.

We continued silently. Cait returned with another bottle.

‘You should stop drinking. We’re nearly done and I don’t want you spewing in the car.’ I sat beside her on the mattress and tried a smile. Cait held her drink close and stared onto the ribbons of  light traversing the floor. Her hair had come loose on one side, and her expression had turned unusually coarse. She was drinking from All’s Thunderbirds mug, her hand running over the embossed Lady Penelope.

 ‘Here, let’s just get this done. I’ll drive you -’ I tried to prise the mug from her clamped fingers but Cait stood up and this pulled the mug from mine, to hers and into three pieces.

‘You should have spoken to him. Allister wasn’t right and you fucked off!’

The small window gave little to no light but in the near-dark, I watched the wine bloom in poppies over Cait’s white shirt.

‘You were here in Carlisle, you could have spoken to him whenever.’  My hand dripped over the mattress, my fingers still gripping the handle.

A car passed and the fractures of light flashed up the stained mattress. The wine had crept and deepened, and in the stifled light, it was almost black. Cait’s eyes were of an animal’s, caught in a forest fire.

I pulled the edge of the mattress up and onto its side. We carried it two roads down and slid it behind some bins. From the kitchen, I heard Cait spray Detoll and scrub at All’s floor. When she returned her hair was wild and her cheeks ablaze.

‘Wash your hands’ I told her.

[curlytemple]

niche interests list 

okay sure yes this is fun! i havent posted a thing like this in such a long time. thank you new gal pal @scottspack for tagging me! 

pigs????

alright first lets throw it back to preschool! my fav childhood toys were my baby doll (snookums) and a plush pig that my grandma got me that i just called ‘pig’ ...i watched the babe movies countless times, and piglet? that anxious little guy GETS ME bro. when my preschool did a nativity play and my class got to choose an animal to be in baby jesus’ manger, my mother recalls me saying that i would be a pig because jewish people (jesus christ) wouldnt eat me. she has no idea how or when i learned about kosher foods. ironically despite my namesake i was too afraid of the movie charlotte’s web to watch it more than once because the scary farmer tries to kill wilbur for being small and the pretty spider dies. 

sugar creek gang 

OKAY this is a book series from the 40s-70s about a group of christian little boys in indiana who went on adventures in the woods and helped people. my dad read a LOT of chapter books to me as bedtime stories when i was little (see also the mandie series, nancy drew and the hardy boys, little house on the prairie) but sugar creek gang is one that really hit. i read all 36 books with dad and at least once again on my own. there was a series of 4 or 5 movies in the early 2000s when i was the Perfect age to have a crush on most if not all of them. this might be too much detail but i have to tell you about these boys. we WILL not be revisiting the heavy religious themes. 

 the narrator is bill who is Good and Kind and wants to be a doctor when he grows up. his best friend is a chubby boy nicknamed poetry because he memorizes and quotes poems, he is the Detective of the group. BIG JIM is the leader of the group who is supposed to be like, 14, which was very cool and hot, to me. and yes there is a little jim, who is the baby of the group. then there is CIRCUS who is known for his climbing and acrobatics, and his FIVE SISTERS AND BEAUTIFUL SINGING VOICE. dreamboy. i’m almost done listing boys, i promise. a boy called dragonfly who is allergic to everything and hella superstitious. later in the series a new boy named tom moves to town and tom has an older brother bob who is NOT A CHRISTIAN (bully) 

tangentially, the buttercream gang, a movie from 1992 that was almost definitely made by some christians who grew up reading the sugar creek gang series which i’m guessing on vibes alone. will spare you Good Boy details but scott is in love with his best friend pete who moves to chicago and falls in with a bad crowd and scott just refuses to stop LOVING HIM. very gay christian film in retrospect. 

peter pan

so i know liking disney’s peter pan isnt niche, but it was the way i liked it. tinker bell stan from day one, i watched all of those disney fairies movies, even the ones that came out after i was definitely not intended audience. there was an online pixie hollow game where you could design your own fairies and play mini games where you gathered dew drops or something. had a HUGE CRUSH on jeremy sumpter in peter pan (2003) then i got really darkly obsessed with the idea of growing up when i was 12 or 13, and everything peter pan was deeply My Shit for my entire adolescence. i read the original book and every other twisted version of the story i could find and seriously freaked myself out about wasting my youth. 

shug

you’ve probably heard of jenny han now, or at least the netflix adaptations for to all the boys i’ve loved before and the sequel ps i still love you (always and forever, lara jean, coming soon?) but before she wrote THOSE, she wrote my first ever Favorite Book, about annemarie “shug” wilcox, a girl in the summer before starting middle school. it is SO engraved on my heart i cannot explain. i felt so incredibly understood and cant even tell you how many times i read it. thinking about all of the ways it made me feel SEEN is actually making me very tender so i’m gonna go on.  

the summer series

on the subject of jenny han, since she was now my Favorite author, when she came out with the summer i turned pretty in 2009, i was ALL IN. it’s not summer without you, and we’ll always have summer were published the next two years. a coming of age series about a girl isabel “belly” conklin who stays at her mother’s best friend's house at the beach in the summers. i really could talk about it forever yall. i actually dont know how to be succinct about it. i will try. her mom’s friend has TWO BOYS. one brother, jeremiah, is the golden boy and her best friend who is in love with her! the older one CONRAD is her childhood crush who's just sort of around while belly is firmly getting over her childish feelings and going out and experiencing teen beach life with jeremiah for the first time and figuring out who she is and wants to be! by the end of the summer he admits he feels differently about her (hence belly internalizing this as The Summer I Turned Pretty) and they get together. this is already too much so i will just say that the next two books deal with a PROFOUND LOSS and the selfishness of grief and the SELFLESSNESS OF CONRAD and i will absolutely lose my shit if netflix picks it up for a second jenny han series adaptation. 

pappyland

this was a kids show in the 90′s that features a character named Pappy Drew-It, an artist dressed like a 49er who lives in a magic cabin in pappyland. there’s tons of characters and music and life lessons but the meat of every episode is a detailed drawing how-to (pappy is actually a cartoonist, michael cariglio) and i have a hard back cover sketch book from my grandpa that i FILLED with drawings that pappy and DOODLEBUG taught me to do. there is a running gag that pappy always breaks his crayons.  

boy meets world

i KNOW this is beloved by many but i’m counting it because i’m simply too young to have such an obsession with it! the show ran from 1992-2000. i was born in 1996, but reruns on the disney channel and abc family cemented it as one of my favorite shows. cory and shawn, closer than brothers, shameless homoromantics, shawn is cory’s first wife!!!!! truly showed me what a best friend can and should be!!!!!! the great love of your life!!!!! TOPANGA, the og weird feminist girl who said stop shaving your legs and start speaking your mind, ladies! the characters are so richly developed that they are real people to my heart. YES every character on this show is in their late 30s-early 40s and YES i feel like we grew up together. in season one they’re in the 6th grade and we follow them all the way to COLLEGE. countless poignant life lessons, often literally dictated by the wise and hilarious MR. FEENY, cory’s next door neighbor and somehow one of his teachers for YEARS. my love was only solidified by the 2014 girl meets world reboot, centered on cory and topanga’s daughter and her best friend. (which was literally cancelled because disney didn’t want to transition from a kids show to a teen show, something essential to the original. also because that teen show would have had CANON LESBIANS. extremely shameful move in 2017!) boy meets world lives rent free in my heart and i will never evict it!!!!!!!

i consulted my mother when i got stumped for more and she reminded me that i had obsessions with the impressionist art period and babies and ANYTHING fairies or pixies, and i was way too young when my love of the canadian teen after school special degrassi began. she also said bob ross, which i was hesitant to include because he’s been super ~trendy in recent years, but to be fair (To Be Faaairrr) she’s right! i don’t think people really watched the joy of painting as much as i have throughout my life. best sick day show of all time.

lastly i could honestly list anna herself as a niche interest, my mom actually metioned that ive always hyperfixated on my girl friends (gay) but i’ll just note that YES friday night lights, YES barry lyga novels. love to share so many things with you, niche or not, they’re niche in Our Mind.

[gl0wupdiaries]

Novena for the Month of May

My grandmother was born on the 25th of August 1937. She grew up with five other siblings (she is second to the eldest), all of which are female, to a Spanish mother and an Ilocano father. She lived a simple childhood in their town, and like any other typical Filipino child during her time, one of her earliest memories was when she managed to place her right hand over her left ear, which meant that she finally qualified for elementary school. There she would learn how to sew, knit, garden, manage poultry, and many more. 

A picture of a brusque lady, Norma is usually seen playing a competitive game of softball in the muddy fields of her hometown—wearing her bloomers, and is often picking fights with the boys in her class, like that one time when she punched an aviation officer’s son during recess for making fun of her elder sister. Leaving a reddish and swollen mark on his nose, my grandmother got called to the principal’s office, forced to explain herself in front of the aviation officer after her incident with his son. In a coy and mischievous manner, my grandmother, who was then 10 years old, explained that his son was simply wrong for assuming that he can make fun of anyone he likes just because his father is in position—and that the school doesn’t need students like him. Putting the aviation officer to shame, my grandmother was punished for her disrespectful act by receiving more homework and schoolwork than the rest of the kids for a week.  

She always looked forward to her math classes, enjoying the challenge that it gave her, and would often compete with her sisters at night to see who would finish their maths homework the fastest. Under the warm light of their lampara, they fought, laughed, and pestered each other as their mother watched them while waiting for their father to come home for dinner. Living most of her childhood years under the Japanese occupation, most nights for her and her family consisted of dimmed lights, quiet conversations, and tightly shut doors and windows, fearing that they might be seen and located by the Japanese soldiers. Her father, often wary and vigilant, slept near their house entrance, in case intruders try to come in.

She lived in a simple bungalow. The outside façade of their house was full of herbs, plants, and flowers that her mother grew, they had a basement containing pigs and poultry for their livelihood, and their main house consisted of two bedrooms for her parents and her sisters, a living room, and a kitchen. She would often recall the homeliest part of her childhood home: the kitchen. There, she spent most afternoons with her mother, who was frequently sick, learning about Kapampangan dishes, house chores, and life lessons. She distinctly remembers the short bamboo poles placed at a corner of their kitchen, where their glasses were placed for drying.  

Growing up, she looked up to her grandfather, Tatang Kiko, and would always visit him in his home after school. He is frequently seen riding his kalabaw with a wooden cart attached to its back, which they called gareta, containing fruits and vegetables that he harvested as a farmer and sells on the market located at the heart of their town, or bayan. He was kind to her, giving her apples, mangosteens, and even tomatoes to bring home for her sisters, taught her majority of what she knows about gardening today, and even showed her the proper way to ride a kalabaw. Almost every day, during her elementary and early high school days, she would visit her Tatang Kiko, and would enjoy his company and humor. She found a sense of comfort with his presence, a feeling that she had a difficult time finding in her own home, because of the tension within her family caused by her mother’s sickness and their poverty-stricken life. 

One hot summer in the month of March, when the camachile (Manila tamarind) trees were in full season and being picked by the local children of Floridablanca, my grandmother was on her way to visit her Tatang Kiko after a long day in school. Taking her usual route in the sandy roads of their baranggay, one of the local vendors of their market ran towards my grandmother, bringing with her devastating news. Her Tatang Kiko was on his way home from a kaningin session with his friend; he was seated at the trunk of his friend’s truck filled with sugarcane. As it passed by the rocky portion of the mountain, he fell out of the truck. His friend, still clueless, continued to drive his truck, not knowing that he ran over Tatang Kiko. 

My grandmother, crying, dropped all her stuff on the ground and ran as fast as she could to her Tatang Kiko. Not once did she stop to catch her breath; she kept running until her heels and ankles developed calluses. She reached the mountain, and there, she was faced with his dead body, his white shirt covered in blood and his lifeless eyes staring at nowhere. Holding her Tatang Kiko with her bloodied hands, my grandmother lost one of the most important people in her life within an instant. Screaming for help, not once did she let go of her grandfather, crying in his arms. She went home without any fruits and vegetables that day.

In the early 1950s’, my grandmother met my grandfather, who was then a Liberal Arts major, and my grandmother a fourth-year high school student. She met my grandfather while he was on vacation in her hometown at his brother’s house. My grandfather courted my grandmother for about a year. Within those days, they enjoyed their afternoons together, picking camachiles, mangoes, and whatever is in season, and had those for their merienda. Sometimes my grandfather would let my grandmother sit at the back of his bicycle as they explored the town, going to places such as the palakol river, this place called “Riverside”, and many more. At the end of the day, my grandfather would escort my grandmother home, oftentimes receiving stern looks from my great grandfather, something that my grandmother laughs a lot about now. 

My grandfather lived in a large house together with his three other siblings: the eldest brother a priest, his second brother a pre-med student, and his youngest sister an elementary student, who will later on become a nun. My grandmother always talks about the big foyer in my grandfather’s childhood home, and how beautiful it was; it had huge black and white marble tiles, large windows, tall white walls, and beautiful antique furniture. There, my grandfather would often play the violin, accompanied by his second to the eldest brother who plays the piano. My grandfather’s family was influential during that time, because his brother was a priest, which was deemed as a high status and position back then. 

My grandmother wasn’t able to go to college because her parents couldn’t afford then, and so she went to beauty school, which proved more affordable. After she and my grandfather finished their studies, they got married and had four children. They lived a simple life, moving from town to town, until they finally settled down in a small city by the bay. There, they bought a big empty lot in a small barangay for 10,000 pesos and built their home there. Throughout the years, they both worked hard--my grandmother as a government employee, and my grandfather as a Base employee--in order to sustain their four children. Soon enough, all of their four children graduated college and started their own lives.

When I was born, I lived in my grandparents’ house until I was five. Back when I was two, my grandfather died because of gastric cancer, and left my grandmother devastated and depressed. During those years, I spent most of my days with my grandmother, because my mother had to work. She wasn’t loving, nor was she sweet and soft spoken, she was short-tempered, and would often shout at me and my cousins whenever we’re playing at her garden, saying that if we ruin any of her flowers, she’ll spank us and send us home. I used to not like her because of how different she was from my mother who was gentle and nurturing. As a kid, I often dreaded it when I had to visit her, because all she did was scold me and my mother. But as I got older, I started to understand her more, over and beyond her harsh external. 

She is very religious, as most of our grandparents are, and goes to church every morning, much less nowadays due to her weakening health. Sometimes she gets a bit vocal, especially to our housekeeper and other people serving us. She has the habit of insulting them—her intentions are good, but she has a harsh way of showing it. She cooks a lot of kapampangan dishes too, that’s why I never leave the house with an empty stomach. One time, I asked her why she makes such a big fuss about what meals are going to be prepared for the day, and her answer was simple and short: “I don’t want my family eating bad food, because it’s bad for the soul.” Despite us two not getting along most of the time, there are times where she makes me realize things too.  

One evening in May, as I was reading a novel in our living room; my grandmother approached me and asked “Marunong ka ba mag basa ng Tagalog?” (Do you know how to read Tagalog?) And I told her that I can. I asked her why, she walked towards me and said “basahin mo yan,” (read that,) as she placed a small booklet on our coffee table. When she left the room, I took a look at what she placed on the table; it says: Novena ng Santa Rita (Novena of Saint Rita). She is a devotee, and even offered her house once as a place for the almost five foot tall Santa Rita relic. It made me laugh at first, but then I realized that I’ve read lots of books, but I have never really taken the time to read anything about my religion, regardless if I believe it or not.

A few weeks after that evening, my grandmother was sent to the hospital because of a major blood infection. She was straddling life and death, and the doctors weren’t sure if she’d survive. I wanted to tell her that I was sorry and that I’m ready to listen to and bond with her. And as I recall that short-lived connection that we had in the living room, I felt regret; I should have asked her what that novena was about, why she’s so attached to our religion, what she feels whenever she prays—all these questions that I never bothered to ask because of my closed mind.

She survived that hurdle and is enjoying her life at 83 now. Though she isn’t as sharp as she used to be, she is still the strong woman that she was when she punched that boy in her class. This is the story of how I got to know my grandmother, not only as the person that I see in the kitchen, but as the strong figure that keeps our family together, and a role model that I will forever look up to. 

Nowadays, I talk to her about stories from when she was young—the stories that I have written here—and spend as much time with her as I can. Sometimes, I would join her in the kitchen and help her with her work. And I stayed, no matter how harsh her criticisms may be. And on rare occasions, I join her in her praying rituals too, without sulking. 

[imaginesmai]

Ubbe-25th of December (2)

Plot: while you wait for him, Ubbe is having troubles to fulfill his promise

First part can be found here

Thanks again to @worldisadirtyplace for the moodboard! 

The wall behind Ubbe’s back trembled again, and he was nearly pushed forwards. He had to stop the fall with the hand that wasn’t holding the gun, his head throbbing again from the impact. It had been the third grenade that the rebels, or whoever was trying to kill them from the other side of the city, threw their way. From the ceiling, small pieces of stone and dust fell and covered the people who was hiding in that place.

A small cry sounded somewhere near him, the little girl who had been playing with a ball not so long ago then hidden between her mother’s arms. She had been holding her two parents arms in the beginning, but her father was lying in a pool of his blood a few meters away.  

Ubbe felt a huge pang of guilt and pain on his chest, different from the one on his leg were he had been shot two days before. Those people were innocent, farmers and merchants who earned their money by the legal way, that had decided to help four helpless and hurt soldiers that had been wandering around their city.

“We’re fucked, man” Dave complained, almost on the verge of tears. “Fuck, Ubbe, there’s no way out.”

The young man was hiding under a desk. When the real danger appeared, he had been the first one to disappear; among the children and the elders, he had tried to leave the city. Sadly that plan hadn’t been successful and they were all trapped together.

“Do you smell that?” Heahmund, an older soldier, growled. “That’s fucking disgusting, boy. Did you piss on your pants already? That’s what you’re taught in the military nowadays?”

Ubbe didn’t like Heahmund, but he knew he was right. For a nearly forty-five years old man, he still worked like a bull; strong, aggressive and smart. His missing leg wasn’t an impediment, he showed it when Ubbe and Dave found him a weak ago in the middle of nowhere. He had a strong bond with his God, and killed everyone in his name. The woman who he had come with, a short brunette called Astrid, told them that he had seen what no one else had.

It wasn’t enough reason to scare or mock Dave.

“Leave him alone, H” Astrid beat Ubbe, rolling her blue eyes. She counted two seconds and peeked through the window, shooting three times. “Not everyone is as grumpy as you.”

“What have you seen?” Ubbe asked and stopped Heahmund complains. “They’re still there?”

“Will be for a while” she scoffed. “There are two armoured vans, and maybe ten shooters.”

No one said anything after that, not even Dave who probably had already peed all over himself. The villagers looked between the soldiers and tried to get a solution; it was hard to do so, because from the moment those trucks appeared breaking the dawn their destiny was already decided.

“We could try to run” Dave talked again. “If we’re quiet enough-“

“If you say one more word, boy, you’re gonna suck my balls” Heahmund spoke through gritted teeth.

Another bullet hit the wall where Ubbe was hiding, making it more and more instable. It was a matter of time before one of them broke that thing, and if he didn’t find a solution soon, those bullets would be hitting his chest instead of the wall. Whether it was running away or facing them, he didn’t care. Ubbe just wanted to see your face again.

The small village where they were trapped gave him some ironic peace; an open field that had been at some point a cute small hamlet, but that because of the war had been neglected. It could had been the perfect getaway for a weekend, if it was not infested with guns and dead bodies. He tried to copy Astrid’s move and see what was the situation.

“There must be a way out” Ubbe mumbled, moving back to his original position in a second and avoiding a bullet penetrating his brain.

“What have you seen?” Heahmund asked that time, recharging his assault rifle.

“Ten men, or more, as she has said. Not sure” he explained as he put another cartridge in his rifle. “They’re hiding behind the armoured, and I don’t think they’re running low any time soon. Beside the thousands of caps on the floor, there are lots of them full of bullets.”

“It’s not an unplanned attack” Heahmund said. “Those fuckers knew where were we.”

Ubbe looked down to their bullet’s backup, which was only two more cartridge and a small hunting knife. He sighed and cracked his neck. There had to be a way to come out alive, he had been through worse. Your face and smile appeared in his eyes when he closed them, and he was almost tempted to give himself away to the dream. That way, he would feel again your arms, your warmth and your love. More than a year without it was driving him insane, a pain worse than any other wound.

“Maybe if we go out-“

“If they wanted to give us a chance, they would have done it at the beginning” Astrid stopped to fire again, only three shots before she had to take cover again. “They’re not going to stop until this shit comes down. And then, they’re going to shoot us until we’re nothing more than holes and blood.”

“Positive speech is not one of you qualities, right?” Dave scoffed.

She turned quickly and tried to shoot again; yet was received with a dry sound. Her rifle was out, just like the two guns that laid on the floor without any bullet.

There were a few seconds of relative silence. Relative because it was impossible to hear your own breathing between the guns, but for them the world stopped around the two left cartridges. Ubbe would never know what Dave thought in that moment, if Heahmund gave up or the rush of emotions in the villagers’ hearts. Because he was far away.

The green and black jacket that he had been wearing in the car felt then like the most uncomfortable thing in the world. Its shoulders were too tight, he couldn’t open his arms correctly and Ubbe felt as if his armpits were going to explode. Probably the fight he had had with his brothers in the car didn’t help his current situation, or the quick adventure he had decided to have with you in the bathroom exactly fifteen minutes ago.

Truth was the suit was making him claustrophobic, and that he couldn’t wait to get into the airplane and get the damned jacket out.

“I can’t believe we did that” Ubbe turned to look at you. “You’re such a bad influence, Lothbrok!”

If there was a reason why he was still in the boarding gate and not inside the comfy plane, it was you. You appeared behind him, trying to tame your wild hair into a ponytail while straightening your clothes. Not that anyone would have noticed, since it was an airport and Ubbe was sure worse thing had happened in that bathroom.

“Should have thought about it before, doll” he laughed loudly and helped you to finish your ponytail. “I don’t remember your doubts when I suggested it.”

“That’s your fault too” you smiled. “I can’t say no to you when you’re wearing that uniform. I mean, if I could I would tie you and keep you forever”

“I’m not against the tying part, just saying” Ubbe pecked your lips. “But I’m already running late, and I don’t want to hear the boys mocking me for the rest of the flight.”

“Oh, they wouldn’t dare” you teased. “Aren’t you the first sergeant?”

You could have sworn that, each time you said it, Ubbe’s chest puffed out and his eyes got brighter. The last time he came home to you he appeared with the new clothes and the biggest smile you had ever seen. Since that moment and for the following three months he had been with you, Ubbe hadn’t stopped telling you about his new position.

“Yeah, I can’t wait to boss them around” Ubbe smirked. “They-“

“You’re not going to be too hard on them, right? You can’t even tell Ivar’s cat to stay out of our sofa.”

“Puppies and kittens are on a different league. I can’t say no to anything he wants. If he wanted my bed, I would give it to him.”

“I might take that offer and marry him instead. I think the cat will be less hairy that you” you laughed, remembering the bathroom every time Ubbe had a shower. “And here I thought that the army didn’t allow long hair.”

“As a sergeant, I’m-“

“Flight 239, destiny Iran. Take-off in five minutes.”

The mechanic voice that you hated so much interrupted you. Some of the soldiers that were around you walked towards the gate; still, others hugged their loved ones and stayed a little longer.

Ubbe had joined the army in his 20th, and you had learned to enjoy every second life gave you with him. He could be gone for a month and stay home for two, or be gone for three and stay home one week. Beside all of that, you had built a strong relationship that not even the biggest distance could tear apart. It didn’t mean it was any easier to let him go.

You stepped closer and put your arms around his middle, fisting his jacket. The fabric felt weird and you were sticking every stupid pin and button on his front. As usual, the tears filled your eyes before he had even left.

He hugged you back and placed his head on your shoulder. Around you the world seemed to vanish, and you enjoyed the last seconds you would have together until only God knew when.

“I should get going” he whispered, yet he didn’t move. “And you too. Hvitserk is along with Ivar and Sigurd in the car, that’s dangerous.”

“Yeah” you mumbled. Looking up, you met his eyes and blinked to keep the tears away for a while. “Promise me you’ll be careful. You’re now a sergeant, you don’t need to be in the middle of every fight.”

“You know I can’t promise that” he sighed. “We’ve talked about this. If I want to be respected, I have to be there. I-“

“What you have to do is to come home safe, right?” you said. “You’ve never been in Iran, it’s a dangerous place.”

“I promise I’ll take care” he smiled softly. “And I’ll be back the 25th of December. As long as you promise to skip the vegetables in the come-back-home dinner.”

“I have to keep you healthy! One day you’re going to come home with a beer belly and a huge jowl. You all eat like pigs.”

“Thank god I have you then” Ubbe laughed.

He pressed his lips against yours one last time, moving them slowly and trying to print your kisses in the back of his mind. For those cold nights where the only hope he would have was the memory of you, and the promise of coming back.

The kiss lasted a few seconds more, and you were reluctant of tearing apart.

“Flight 239, destiny Iran. Last call to all the passengers. Take-off in two minutes.”

“I promise you will have the best dinner waiting for you” you smiled sadly. “And this time Hvitserk won’t eat it before you arrive.”

Ubbe laughed, remembering the time where Hvitserk ate all the food behind your back and you almost had a heart attack when you found out. You two ended up ordering pizza and watching a film, cuddling in the couch and enjoying each other company.

“Whatever it is, I only want to see you again” he said. “I already miss you.”

“Don’t say that” you voice shook, the sobs you were hiding fighting for going out. “I love you to the moon and back, Ubbe”

“And I love you to the stars and back, doll” he pecked your lips one last time and gave you a strong hug before tearing apart completely. He was the last soldier in the boarding gate, so he ran behind Alfred who had been with his grandfather. “Do not let my brother’s kill each other, Y/N! I’ll be back before you know it!”

Ubbe felt the tears pricking at his. It seemed that ages had passed since he saw you for the last time. And as always, you had been right.

Iran had been not only dangerous, but lethal. The rebels had almost all the county controlled, it was full of deadly traps where a lot of his mates had died. In the first four months, almost half of his troop was dead, and by the half of the year he had a feeling deep in his chest that things were not going any better.

He had lied in the letters, because worrying you with facts was pointless. When the people who were above him in range cut the communication and left them to die, he lied. When the food disappeared and the water was short, he just told you that he hated soup he was receiving. When his camp was destroyed and he was saved just because he was out looking for food, he lied. And when the opportunity of talking to you was almost invisible, he decided to let you know something.

That things were hard, that he was coming back home and that he was looking for a way back. Because he didn’t bear the thought of giving you more pain than necessary. The only certain truth was that he was coming back home. He was sure of it when he had to travel two days without supplies through the dessert. He was sure of it when he was shot in the leg and had to be dragged to the nearest village, which turned out to be a trap. And he was sure of it despite the pain of his wound, that was probably infected and oozing blood.

Ubbe was going to do it because he loved you, and because he made you a promise of coming back the 25th of December. Between the shouts of Dave, the constant shakes of Heahmund and the numbing pain, he blacked out.

Want to know more about me? Here is my Masterlist! Feedback is always appreciated!!

[loversandantiheroes]

Okay, I just want to say I LOOOOOVE your version of Harvey. Like my god he is adorable and just everything about him is amazing. I know some people label his as a sub - but I personally think he may have some sort of Dom kink within him. Like he hides his kink so well unless something inside of him snaps when he sees the farmer in certain clothing or just the farmer in general after a long day at work... Is it just wishful thinking or could there be a possibility? 🤔

First of all: thank you!  I’m beyond delighted that people are enjoying this series and this version of Harvey.

So, to your question.

Short, tumblr-friendly version: Harvey is a big goddamn switch/verse.

Long and considerably more nsfw elaboration beneath the cut.

The thing of it is, it takes Harvey a long time to really unpack any of this.  His emotional baggage comes in a matching set, complete with working locks.  It takes a fair amount of time and trust to get him to freely admit some of the things he likes.  As much as he loves bottoming (and my god is it a lot) it takes him much longer to bring that up as a possibility with a female partner (if his partner happens to bring up that possibility first, it’s like Christmas and his birthday all at once).  He’s been burned before, and he’s a little guarded about it.

He’s almost as equally hesitant to admit to his dom preferences.  By the time the Farmer meets him, his confidence has been absolutely buried for years, and admitting that he wants anything, let alone hoping that someone might want that sort of thing from him seems ludicrous.  

It sneaks out by accident on occasion, in spite of his reservations.  He is, after all, a biter.  Sometimes when things get particularly heated the Farmer might find his hand at their throat.  Not quite choking.  Not yet.  But very much there and very willing to squeeze just a little if encouraged.

Get a few drinks in him and they’ll see it.  Teasing him when he’s drunk will result in the absolute fastest heel turn the Farmer’s ever seen.  But mostly he just needs to know his partner actually wants that from him, and he needs to trust them enough to know they’re not going to laugh at him if he’s a little rusty.

There’s a few ground rules.  Safe words are established immediately.  Preferences outlined.  Humiliation kink is a hard line for him.  He will not agree to be on the giving or receiving end of it, now or ever.

If the farmer’s got any sort of voice kink, they’re in for a treat.  He’s a lot more verbal in this mode, and when he hits his stride he doesn’t stammer at all.  All that dirty talk they normally hear in a growling whisper against their ear comes out loud and clear now.  He praises when deserved.  Reprimands when necessary. There’s no degradation, no bitch/slut/whore/pig/what have you.  “Pet” is his favorite term.  When his own restraint starts to fray he might slip up and call them “sweetheart” again.  He usually considers “Master” to be a bit much.  “Sir” is enough for him, though once in awhile he does like to be addressed as “Doctor.”  If his partner’s into it, they can call him “Daddy.”  It’s not necessarily one of his kinks, but he’s not opposed.

He likes giving instructions.  Likes being obeyed.  Sometimes an evening is just him sat in a comfortable chair instructing his partner to make themselves come again and again until they’re completely spent and then guiding them around so they’re on their back with their head dangling off the edge of the bed and telling them in a low voice that brooks no argument to suck.

He’s very good with knots.  Possibly his favorite thing in the world is tying up his partner and teasing them with his hands or with toys until they’re begging for him to let them come - or better yet begging for his cock. He likes to pace when his partner’s tied up.  Very much enjoys looking.  He’ll spend a good five or ten minutes standing nearby with a glass of wine, shirt sleeves rolled up and a hard on that could split wood tenting the front of his trousers, just eyefucking his bound partner and making them wait for it. 

Orgasm denial/control is his bread and butter.  If he’s not making his partner wait to come - permission is most definitely required - he’s making them come over and over (hands, mouth, toys, cock, some or all of the above) until they can’t take it anymore.  That, at least, is saved for special occasions and long weekends when he can curl up with them after - that is a one-way ticket to jello legs and an orgasm coma.  

And if the farmer’s into spankings, this is the man they have been looking for.  There isn’t much in life more delightful for him than taking his partner over his knee and feeling the crack and sting of his hand against their ass, unless it’s the feeling of his partner getting unbearably hard over it, or getting so wet it soaks through the leg of his trousers.

And I would think it goes without saying that his aftercare is without a doubt some of the sweetest and most attentive the farmer’s ever had.

It’s two halves for Harvey.  Subbing is about being wanted and being taken.  Domming is about being wanted and being allowed to take.

[fireinthewriter]

In Another Life|Chapter 1/?

*I had to repost the chapter due to some errors

Dirty rats!” A gruff voice grumbles, kicking a pesky rodent away from his garden, replanting the messed up heads of lettuce.

“You know, Wayne’s boys have created some sorta rodent repellent. If you weren’t so stubborn and just exc-” A much smoother, and younger, voice pipes up from the porch of the house attached to the garden, his sentence cut off as the gruff voice scoffs.

“Boy, if you weren’t my own blood I would’ve whooped you upside the head. That family is nothing but trouble, with their father being a crazy, widowed grump. That stuff kills, probably damages the produce as well.”

The son, Patrick, sighed, resting his head against the railing of the porch he sat on, watching as Bruce Wayne himself, speak of the devil, stepped out of his house and off the porch, beginning his walk to the blacksmiths, where him and his eldest two sons worked.

The Wayne children were well known for their intelligence, but also for their frequent pranks and rowdiness that seemed to entertain the other children to no end, not so much the adults. Bruce Wayne was known as a quiet man who lost his parents in a raid years ago, and then lost his wife and mother of his children by a fire a year after his youngest was born. His whole life was divided up by sorrow, but some gossip about how the man acts around the only actually light and joy in his life; his children.

It was no secret that Bruce Wayne adored all of his children, Richard, Jason, Tim and Damian( from oldest to youngest), and is equally protective of all of them.

One time, before Damian was born and Tim was only three, Jason and Richard, or Dick, were playing by themselves when two older boys suddenly started making fun of them, before one pushed Jason, causing Dick to push the older boy back. Soon enough, both Dick and Jason were limping back home to a furious Bruce who marched over to the older boys family, while Alfred, their grandfather, tended to their wounds. Tim had stomped over to them, and in the limited amount of words he did know, had ‘threatened’ who ever hurt his ‘big and bigger brother’. Those two boys had come knocking on their door holding play swords they had carved, offering them to the boys as an apology. Nobody bothered the boys again. Until years later, when Damian was five.

It had been a week after Damian’s fifth birthday, and the boy was talking a walk along the outskirts of the village picking up random plants, when a man started following him. Creeped out, Damian had looped around and started his way back towards his house. But, as he started to make his way back, the man had began jogging, allowing him to walk alongside the boy. Damian was running, as fast as his little legs could carry him, before he tripped and scratched his leg on a stray piece of chicken wire, screaming in pain and fear as the creepy man loomed over him.

Fortunately, his scream had attracted a farmer’s attention, who proceeded to pull Damian up and off the ground, guiding him away from the man and to the farmer’s wife, before going back and yelling and threatening the other man until he ran, tail between his legs. When Damian had been brought back to his family, Bruce had been outraged, and his brother’s were the same way, not allowing him to go on any walks alone again.

To this day, a thin white scar was etched into Damian’s skin, ranging from just above his ankle to just below his knee cap.

So, everyone was quite aware of how family oriented and close the Wayne’s were to each other, but not everyone particularly liked the family. With that family closeness, came separation. While the Wayne’s did provide many different items and labor for the village, Bruce, Dick, and Jason working as blacksmiths while Tim and Damian helped farm and used their shining intelligence to create products, no one ever really communicated with the secluded family. If you were to see a Wayne passing by, a ‘hello’ or a ‘good morning/evening’ was never uttered, only a slight nod if one was lucky.

The lack of relationships outside of the family different bother them, as they were content to keep their noses in their own business, and keep other people’s away from theirs’.

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

Deep in the forest that acted as a wall on the villages south side, a house was rumoured to be located in clearing surrounded by sunflowers. Inside this house is a woman and her black cat, a woman who has never been seen and heard once in the hundreds of years that the ghost story has been around.

Her appearance has been described over bonfire’s to children with their bellies stuffed full of fire roasted pig and fresh baked bread. Each man spinning the tale pictured a different woman, sometimes ugly, sometimes gorgeous behind compare, and sometimes she had not face at all.

The black cat associated with the woman was always sleek, and had eyes bluer than a perfect summer’s day sky. He would follow the woman, walking between her legs as neither the woman nor the cat tripped our stumbled as they walked together.

As well as her appearance, the woman’s name was changed between stories, some theorizing a god given name, one of royal descendants, or a name as mundane as the storyteller's own. Although she had never been seen, and there was no actual proof of the house in the forest, the village still acted wary of the forest, offering gifts every full moon in an act to quell the emotions of the magical being inside of the unexplored tree-packed area. And for those that dared enter the forest for any other reason than to offer gifts, well, they never actually lived to spread the horrors of the woods to anyone else. Only their torn clothes and missing body acted as a warning for the village, a warning no wise man would dare ignore.

—————————————

Tags: @marvelglimmer

A/N- I hope you enjoyed this chapter! This will turn into Batmom, but that will take many words and a lot of time! Please request any prompts, as I’m still uploading on Wednesday and Saturday. All In Another Life chapters will be uploaded on Saturday!

[kapampangan-traveller]

Visiting a place always leads us to another dimension of experience – the realm of AGRICULTURE! Commonly thought as could be a bland activity, this sector in the tourismsphere exposes visitors of the life we have before the flourishing of the urban zones – the simplicity of farm living. The Provincial Tourism Office of Pangasinan ramps up its activities to promote Agritourism, a tourism product that lets consumers experience first hand on the various procedures and processes done within a developed and accredited farm facility. From sowing seedlings to harvesting ripe produces, up to feeding the livestock and poultry, this activity would surely provide a learning experience to the visitors, and insights on giving importance on the undeniably crucial agriculture sector.

Also, Included in the itinerary set are three farms with diversified practices and improved processes:

FARMCRADLE, Balungao, Pangasinan

OUR FARM REPUBLIC, Mangatarem, Pangasinan

LOTUS VALLEY FARM, San Juan, La Union

Thank you to the Lakbay Norte 9, a five-day tour organized by the Northern Philippines Visitors Bureau, our batch was able to experience and understand, first hand, different farms in Pangasinan and La Union provinces.

If touring these facilities, I would recommend slathering on your sun-exposed skin with Belo Sun Expert Spray Mist to minimize the effects of sunburn.

  These are the farms we are able to check and visit:

FARM CRADLE, Balungao, Pangasinan

Visiting this farm facility is an enriching experience, who would have thought from a bare parcel of land would emerge to a huge multifaceted agricultural facility, and now, a certified agritourism destination and TESDA certified educational facility too.

We are welcomed at their study hall where we are fed with our lunch and served our afternoon caffeine boost. Prior to the actual tour, Sir Tony Santos, Founder, welcomed the team and discussed the history and various activities of the farm. After, we are whisked around the farm through their golf cart rides, stopping on each section of their vast farm.

Things that I loved:

The Cute Bunnies

Feeding the rabbits

Rabbits are one of the live animals capable to be farmed due to its fast multiplication. They cultivated both of their meat and fur. I was excited to see their rabbitry and experience to feed the adult ones. We are also able to experience the young ones, Kaye was able to cuddle one young rabbit.

The OSTRICHES 

Cute ostrich

  Set in separate farmland, the ostriches are caged and fed in a spacious and airy spot. With enough space, you can actually interact with them but with extreme caution, as they have a powerful kick and strong pecks.

The CAMELS

Kiko interacting with a camel

One of the unique features of this farm, you can interact or go near with these creatures but be careful as they might munch on your hair. They a characteristic odor, and if you have some sort of an allergy, better not to go near.

The ATV RIDE

Maria enjoying the ATV

This farm is really vast and touring around while walking will consume much time. Thanks to their ATV ride, you can hop on different sections of the farm in style. Apart fr this, you can enjoy the farm tour riding a golf cart.

The KUBOTELS

One of the Kubotels

These are accommodations set for students of TESDA who are deployed on the farm. Sleeping on this traditional house type surrounded by farmland is a dream of every nature-lover traveler. Imagine waking up with the chickens and produces in just a few strides.

The HANDMADE PRODUCT LINES

Natural beauty products

Having different sections of the farms means varied products for consumers. Upon our entry, some of the products are already on display. There are lotions, candles, bath soaps, balms and many more.

For inquiries, contact Farmcradle at +63 917 1544 748 or email at hello@Farmcradle.com

OUR FARM REPUBLIC, Mangatarem, Pangasinan

Instragrammable!!!

Astounding on how this farm started, Farm Republic is one of the agritourism destinations I have enjoyed. The founder, Ms. Lea Soriano, previously from a corporate role, has decided to follow her heart for agriculture – and it seemed to be a noble calling for her. Looking at her achievement wall, the certificates she learned equate her devotion to the practice of agriculture. I was astounded on how she really poured her heart out on this. It is also inspiring to listen to her, that success on changing of career does not always end in futility, but with enough courage and sheer effort, surely success is on way.

Stuff I love

Buffet Lunch

Enjoyed these healthy servings of their lunch buffet

  Prior we tour, a sumptuous lunch buffet is served using ingredients sourced no other than, within the farm. This is evidence of farm-to-table model. The majority of the ingredients making up their delectable dishes are sourced from the farm – talk about freshness and quality. Must try is their Flower Salad, and my favorite ingredient are the blue ternate flowers – known for its medicinal benefits.

Flower Salad – a must-try in Our Farm Republic

Discussion on concocting organic fertilizers 

Their storage of different organic fertilizers

With the multiple varieties growing on the farm, adding certain fertilizers would increase the yield and having it in an organic way is an added plus. Munching on their product is indeed guilt-free.

Learned about Tandem Farming

different herbs

it is my first time to know about this practice. Planting together or beside each other with a herb or vegetable, the farm is able to enhance its pest protective effect.

The Fishpen 

This beautiful cottage above the fishpen

  Their fish pens are designed with a central island connected by steel footbridges over the actual freshwater pools, which not the same with the fish pens I saw with other farms.

Clean Pig Pens

No stench pig pens

Our common notion that having a piggery equates stench, but not for this farm. They have many pens with dry and clean soil, of course having less or no stench at all, hence, their pigs are thriving on a healthier and cleaner environment. You will pass by these pens during the guided tour and you will notice how clean and well kept they are.

Pick and Pay

Favorite part – the pick and pay

this is, of course, one of the favorite activities on a farm. There are baskets provided at the start of the tour, and you can pick on produce that your tour guide has allowed to. During our visit, there are heaps of java apples, florals, eggplants, and cherry tomatoes ready for harvest. At the end of the tour, you would pay depending on the actual weight of each product.

Continued Research and Development 

  Ms. Soriano’s heart is in continuing evidence-based procedures to increase quality yields thereby improving the lives of our farmers. Even of her innumerable certificates dangling on her walls, she never stops learning and never stops imparting the technique to students and her team members.

For inquiries, send them an email to  info@ourfarmrepublic.com or SMS/call to +63 927 882 6005  | +63 947 853 2342 | +6394 550 08401

Visit their website to ourfarmrepublic.com

  LOTUS VALLEY FARM 

From once a basic terrain to a promising tourist destination featuring diversified neighboring forestry, bed-and-breakfast, and a wellness retreat, this is a huge project made possible by the team of Sir Toby Tamayo. A multilevel property complex composed of different sections, the plantations, the diversified forest, the open hall, the Kubo accommodations, and their private living space, all enclosed in a systematized and efficient system in harmony with nature’s liking, and supporting its thrusts to boost the contiguous biocapacity.

The almost 9-hectare land was bought last 2008 and currently features an astounding 77 varieties of native trees that invite almost 50 species of bird, which is identified by the UPLB. Because of his expertise in ecology, he planted almost a thousand trees during the initial year, and until such time letting birds and bats do the pollination and seed propagation.

Kat trying this technique (Photo: Benzi Florendo)

  He did not start with a clean slate, but on a land decimated by poor farming practices. Imagine the efforts he has to undertake to reverse the damage and bring back the life it has before.

What I love with the farm:

The Elegant kubo accommodation

One of the two native bamboo huts

  Not your usual kubo huts, Mr. Tamayo had designed these huts with bamboo sourced within the farm and utilizing efficient architecture that flatters the eye, usage of space and function. He has stressed that harvesting bamboo poles at the right age would maximize its quality and strength. Set on a slope beside a diverse forest that gives off cooler air and retains more groundwater, experience a refreshing internal climate during your stay. The huts have installed lighting with proper luminance avoiding attracting many insects.

The Wellness Session

Music meditation (Photo: Benzi Florendo)

Ms. Marisa Tamayo, wife of Sir Toby, heads sessions on acupuncture and music meditation. We are able to experience music meditation while having our ears acupunctured.

The Detox Diets

Healthy Dinner Buffet (Photo: Benzi Florendo)

All of the dishes they served are plant-based and sourced locally – think of the freshness and nutrition it would bring to your plate. Not only that quality is topnotch, but taste and presentation too. Their Kare Kare is heaven on my tongue. I think I got more than 5 helpings of it – especially am not a pork eater, hence, totally guilty free meals here. I totally loved my dining experience – A for effort.

The “Forestry 101 Crash Course”

Sir Toby discussing the farm’s goals

As a commoner, we do not usually dive deep into understanding forestry matters. The majority might understand it as simply planting any sapling or seedling, wait for it to grow, and that’s it. With Sir Toby’s discussion about

The Open Air Hall

The stairway leading to the open hall (Photo: Benzi Florendo)

They built and designed an open-air high ceiling hall for their purpose and activities. This is where we had our acudetox and meditation sessions. Perched on a higher elevation, spectacular view of the property plus cooler fresh air are of the many things you will enjoy.

The Multilevel Garden

Sir Toby touring the team through his plantations.

Sir Toby toured us around the property and shared lots of insights with agriculture and forestry. I paid particular attention to how he mention always the coexisting of native species to amplify its long term positive ecological effects. In his multilevel garden, they are able to yield different produces, from soybeans to our samGy staple lettuces, they have it – note that they are grown and cultivated organically, and these go as well on the dishes they serve.

For inquiries, you can contact them at +63942 366 4519 or email at lotusvalleyfarm@gmail.com

Elegant bamboo hut accommodation

For bed and breakfast reservation, you can check at AirBnB.

  Truly, the tourism sector in the Philippines never stops evolving and developing over the years. There are always new and fresh experiences that would satiate the longing for adventure and break in the hustle-bustle stress in the urban zones. These farm owners are one of the forerunners in creating and developing these experiences ready for consuming at our convenience.

Our heartfelt thanks to these farm owners for giving us an opportunity to experience the other dimension of tourism – the more tranquil AGRITOURISM.

More photographs:

FARM CRADLE

Baby Rabbits

Cattles

Bike Zipline Tower

Goats

Fowls

One of their peacocks

Chickens upclose

Free range chickens

Farm Cradle products

Ostrich

Camel

Goat Feeding

more fowls

OUR FARM REPUBLIC 

Instragrammable path way

Gumamela

Macopa

Picking cherry tomatoes

More fruits

Aubergines

Plant Nursery

Resting area

Dessert

signature Flower Salad

delicious

more crops

pet pig

LOTUS VALLEY FARM 

Various bamboo species

Elegant huts

View near the farm

plantbased canapes

singers from SIFcare

another herb

chopped black bamboo

herbs

instagrammable stairway

Acupuncture set

Acupuncture session

Plant Based Kare Kare

Thank you Sir Toby!

Bedroom inside the native

Lakbay Norte 9

    AGRITOURISM: What’s new in the North? Visiting a place always leads us to another dimension of experience - the realm of AGRICULTURE! Commonly thought as could be a bland activity, this sector in the…

[random-imagines-blog]

10 AM {Bucky Barnes x Reader Oneshot}

Wordcount: 3207 Synopsis: Five days in which 10 AM was a very important hour in your life.

10 AM, September 12

Your name was being called by your best friend, and you could hear it over the chiming of the bells indicating that it was now ten AM. For the last year, you spent every Sunday morning at the Farmer’s market for you found it to be a quiet enjoyable place - that was, until you decided to bring your rather boisterous friend along. “Oh look, I’ve never seen carrots so orange before! Y/N, aren’t they gorgeous? Did you grab me a bag for that asparagus? Did you see the size of that cauliflower? Oh wow, I can’t believe I’ve never been to one of these before.”

While she was asking you all of these questions, you were perusing the fruit, picking up a couple of grapefruit for your breakfasts. Next to you, quite close actually, was a man looking at the blood oranges. Your attention was grabbed by him when he accidentally dropped one on the ground. When your instincts rushed in and you both went to grab for it, your hand touched something metal rather organic. He quickly pulled his hand away, and that’s when you realized that it was what you had touched - a prosthesis perhaps, he had moved rather quickly so you weren’t able to take a look at it.

It only took you a second to recover from the small shock and to pick up the blood orange from the ground, and wipe it against your jacket to get any of the dirt off of the surface. You held it out to offer it to the blue-eyed man with a friendly smile on your face. “There, it should be fine, do you still want it?” It did seem perfectly fine, so the man opened up his reuseable bag and you let it drop gently in there. You gave him another smile, then paid for the grapefruits and moved over to your friend who was still by the vegetables.

“The market is a way to meet cute guys? New favorite place,” She laughed, nudging you and winked in the direction of the man that you just had an interaction with. You laughed along with her, and started to pick out some vegetables for your dinners this week.

“You know, there’s more to life than attractive men.” It was impossible to say that the man was anything but good-looking, even with his hat pulled down to cover part of his face, and his longer than average hair falling to his shoulders. You’d remember the haunted blue eyes as you continued your shopping, knowing that despite your own words, you’d be looking for him when you came back next weekend.

10 AM March 4

You got to the diner first, and took a seat in one of the dark colored booths that lined the side wall. Bucky Barnes, the man from the market, had agreed to have breakfast with you, after running into each other every weekend at the Farmer’s Market. Had it really been so long ago that he had dropped the blood orange, causing the first contact with the two of you? He was shy, and somewhat hard to talk to at first, always hiding his face behind his hair or his ball cap, but you supposed your friendly smile got through to him somehow. He had even let you pick out the place to meet, and you suggested this diner for their delicious variety of breakfasts - french toast, crepes and smoothies, oh my!

Bucky walked into the diner, looking nothing like he usually did at the market, which was a nice surprise. He was wearing his red Henley shirt, which you assumed was his favorite for he wore it often, but without the addition of the ballcap pulled low over his forehead. It surprised you as well to see that he had his hair pulled back into his bun so you could see a bit more of his features today, though there was still a look in his eyes as he looked around the restaurant. He focused his eyes on you, then started to walk over and slid in across from you, eyes still shifting around nervously. He wouldn’t tell you what he was looking for, that much was obvious. He had a lot of secrets.

“You look well,” You said, smiling at him as you opened up one of the menus the waitress put in front of you. But Bucky didn’t give you a compliment back. That didn’t hurt your feelings though. After putting in your orders, you had more of a chance to look him over, and he was doing the same to you. He finally smiled, which put you more at ease. Maybe this wasn’t going to end up being so bad.

You could tell that Bucky didn’t do this often. “I heard that what you ordered is really good,” You said, attempting to bring conversation to the table.

“It is, I’ve had it before.” He still seemed on edge, like he wasn’t likely to relax.

“I’m not sure what you’re worried about, but I can assure you that nothing bad is going to happen. They don’t burn food here.”

That made him chuckle and ease up just a little. He still seemed to be on guard but became less tense after the food came around and he had his first bite. You took small bites yourself, not wanting to be a pig in front of your date. There was a comfortable silence over the table, and once in a while you’d both make eye contact and smile with closed lips.

“Where are you going after this?” Bucky asked, setting down his knife and fork once his plate was just syrup leftovers pooled in the middle.

“Alright, so it’s Thursday which means...” You had to think about your schedule for a moment. “Home for a little while and get ready for work.” Bucky nodded at your answer. By the time the eleventh hour was about to roll around, you set your knife and fork down as well, finished with your breakfast and your stomach was feeling satisfied.

“Not to be too forward, but can I walk you home?” Bucky asked. There was a pause before you slowly nodded.

“If it’s that important to you that I get home safe.” Musty with a hint of orange, the cologne softly radiated off of Bucky as he stood up to pay the bill, just as the church bells near by rang eleven.

10 AM, May 14

Like the Spring before, the air was thick with the scents of freshly mown grass, flower bunches and the approaching Summer. Two months before, on the one year anniversary of your first date with Bucky Barnes, you had offered to let him move into your apartment since he was so nervous about being found. It was a way for him to stay off the grid, and he reluctantly agreed. You picked up a small box of things, that ended up being a white toaster and a thick red thermos, and carried it up the stairs into the place that was no longer just yours.

Because now - it had memories of Bucky all over it.

Bucky, who was standing shirtless in the kitchen, sweat sticking to his skin, glistening against his metal arm where it had slid. You couldn’t help but give him an up and down look - you could not get used to how beautiful he truly was. When he caught you looking, a light flush went across his tanned cheeks.

“You really don’t have much stuff,” You said, putting down the box on the counter. You pushed it a little closer towards him to unpack. A minute later, the toaster replaced your old one in the corner, and the kettle was on top of the fridge. Not even a box of plates or anything, he had just eaten off of paper ones. The way that his muscles moved as he reached up to place the kettle kept you hypnotized for a moment.

Bucky just shrugged, and tossed the cardboard box into a pile with the other ones. “Oh,” He said, realizing just how little there were. That had been the remnants of his life, next to nothing. Boy - he didn’t show it outwardly but he was a little excited to start putting down some roots with you here. Crushing down a couple of the boxes, he put them aside for later, planning to donate them later to anyone who could use them.

Bucky stayed in the kitchen, looking at where his stuff was, and how well it had fit in with the rest of your kitchen. The man stayed still as you came up behind him, put your arms around his torso, and rested your head between his shoulder blades. “The kitchen looks amazing,” You hummed into his warm skin. “The bedroom is going to look great too, once we get your clothes hung up. That’s what we should do next, then the bed will be free,” You grinned.

Your hand was no longer alone. It was covered by Becky’s metallic one as he held you close.

10 AM, August 4

Your fingers tapped against the table absentmindedly as you read through the menu for the hundredth time in your life. Which was only because this restaurant had become the regular one that you and Bucky went to - even though you’ve lived together for over a year now, this was where you two went when you had time for breakfast together. But he was running late, which was a bit rare for him, and made you glance up at the clock that was by the kitchen. You heard the bells of the church ringing ten AM, which meant that he was half an hour late.

You kept looking towards the door every time that it opened, and a good fifteen minutes had gone past from when the bells chimes. You started to get worried, wondering if perhaps, maybe - had he been found? Bucky had told you some of his past, but you knew that he was keeping more secrets from you - to protect you, you assumed. Bucky seemed to appreciate that you never pushed the issue, though it did keep you wondering if it was ever truly going to be okay.

At twenty after, the door opened and Bucky stepped in, hair stuck to his face due to the sweat that had gathered on his skin. Irma, your usual waitress, stopped to give him a clean dishtowel to wipe his face with, which he did before approaching the booth and sliding in.

“Good thing you arrived, another ten minutes and I would have been searching the streets,” You said, leaning forward to get an explanation.

“The thing I needed to pick up wasn’t ready,” Bucky said, pushing the hair out of his eyes.

“Kid, you look like you just ran a marathon,” Irma said, putting two glasses of ice water down before the two of you.

Bucky thanked her, then quickly ordered the usual for the both of you, then watched her walk away carefully.

“Things are alright, right?” You questioned softly. And by that, you had meant that he didn’t run into any of his enemies out on the streets. “Good pick up though, right?” The last thing you wanted to hear is that he had to pick up guns or something.

“You worry too much,” Bucky chuckled, soothing your nerves. Your breath released itself from your lungs and you giggled along with him.

Bucky then reached into his pocket, and pulled out a small box. The material around it was velvet - it was the sort of container that every woman recognized, and most have dreamed of. They probably weren’t as shocked as you were to get it, considering the man who put it on the table was over a hundred years old, had a metal arm, a history of being brainwashed and was on the run from all sorts of governments.

“You didn’t-” You said, turning your gaze from the box to the man. Bucky slowly opened it and pushed it closer to you, revealing a thin white gold band, topped with a black diamond, and smaller glittering ones along the side. He nodded, and smiled nervously.

“As soon as I could afford it... it’s not much...I’d like to get you a better one someday.”

“Bucky... it’s perfect.” You smiled. Bucky, with his natural flesh and blood hand, removed the ring from the cushion and slid it onto your ring finger. Good fitting rings were hard to find, but this one was absolutely the right size. That made you feel even more like this was fate.

“You didn’t say yes,” A voice said. Irma had come back to the table with two plates on her serving tray, a grin on her face. “You better before I do.”

“Were you even worried for a second that I wouldn’t?” You laughed, with a twinkle in your eye at Irma, then admired the ring that was already on your finger. You loved how simple it was, how thin, how perfect.

10 AM, September 29

Maybe it was too soon. Maybe you should reconsider giving your life to someone who was a known killer.

Now, none of those minds went through your head, as much as your best friend tried to put them in there once they had learned about your boyfriend’s past. Bucky gave you no doubts - he was loving with you, gentle with you, even cautious when he cuddled you that his metal arm wasn’t squeezing too hard. You smiled softly at your reflection in the mirror, knowing that he would think that you were beautiful. Bucky always told you that you were, even in your t-shirt and sweatpants days. You did a little twirl, showing off the outfit that you were wearing for this special day - a little more formal than usual, but by no means wedding attire.

And Bucky - he was looking in his mirror as well, wearing the same red Henley he had worn on your first date together, under a black blazer. Every morning when he woke up beside you, he knew that this was exactly what he had wanted. It wasn’t going to be a legal wedding, sure, the price that he had to pay for his past - but it was going to be a more spiritual one, giving your hearts to one another in front of the friends he had made in this place. You had asked him if there was anyone that he wanted to invite, and Steve had immediately jumped into his mind but he knew he couldn’t do that. But still, he wished.

Now was the moment that you both had been waiting for. He stepped out of the men’s room and went to the old fashioned counter that ran along the length of the diner, smiling nervously at the few people who were sitting in the booths and at the tables. But there was one person that he was not expecting - the same friend he had been thinking about earlier. Steve Rogers.

Bucky had to stop himself from visibly gawking at the sight of his friend, keeping it low key in a brown leather jacket, smiling at him from the booth where he had proposed. Because of the gasp from Irma, he was forced to turn his attention away from his blonde friend and towards you as you made your way out of the girl’s bathroom and into the main restaurant. Your best friend was walking with you, arm in arm, wearing a dress right out of a boutique while you looked more simple in white. You have never looked so beautiful to him as you did in this moment, as the larger hand on the clock hit the six, indicating 10:30. And everything was right on schedule.

You walked past the tables, towards the counter and stood face to face with your fiance. He was smiling in a way that you had never seen before, his face just lit up with absolute joy. When you two locked eyes, a blush went across your cheeks.

“Later tonight, I’m going to show you what you mean to me in a different way, but for now, words are going to have to do,” You started boldly, making it Bucky’s time to blush. “It has been an absolute honor getting to know you, the real you that only you, me, and one other person in this room knows.” Together, the two of you shot glances towards Steve, then back at one another. “After everything that you have been through, I know that you are more deserving of love, affection, care and tenderness than any other person I have ever met, and I will work diligently to make sure that I give enough of all of those things. For the rest of my life, I promise that I will be by your side, no matter what happens. The bad things will only strengthen us, and the good things will become the most amazing memories that we will keep together. Your happiness, and mine together, will be my greatest achievement in this life. You are my everything, and always will be, James Buchanan Barnes. But... that doesn’t mean that I’ll let you get away with leaving me with a sink full of dishes,” You added a joke to the end to make some of the others in the room chuckle.

“The dishes are my fault, I admit that.” Bucky said, smoothing his hair back with his natural hand. “You are worth doing the dishes for, and doing them right. You have become my home, something I thought for a long time I would never have again. The time that I’ve spent with you has been the best in my life, and I’m looking forward to the years ahead. It will be my honor to wake up beside you every day, to provide for us, and to argue over which grapefruits look the freshest at the farmers market. After all the help you’ve given me, I’ve become a better man, looking forward and never back. With you, I’ll only get better. You are my life, y/n, and nothing is going to tear us apart, I won’t let it.”

There were cheers from the dozen people scattered around the restaurant. Your best friend held out her hand with the thin, simple wedding bands that were held in her palm. You took Bucky’s, and he took yours. You slowly slipped the ring around his fleshy finger, and he did the same for you. Again, there were cheers from the crowd. Hands clasped together, you looked out towards your friends, and raised your arms together in triumph. You would never legitimately be husband and wife but in both of your souls and minds, this was more than official enough.

[bluebird167]

The Sinners and Their Saints Chapter 15: A Night To Remember Part 2

So around five o'clock they got into the auto mobile and went to the local carnival. Along the way they saw Pacifica in one of the window shops.

"Hey why don't we invite her?" Dipper suggested.

"No she's mean." Frida said.

"Doesn't hurt to ask. Hey Pacifica!" He called gaining her attention. "Hey we're going to the carnival wanna come?"

"No I have to go to my parent's banquet tonight."

"You go to those every Friday and it's just a bunch of old snobs bragging about their money. Come on do something fun for once!"

"But...I don't like carnivals."

"I doubt you've ever even been to one!" Frida said.

"Well they're dirty and loud!"

"Come on you know you want to." Dipper said.

He could tell that she wanted to go. The only thing standing in her way was her rich girl ego and status.

"Fine I'll stay for ten minutes."

She got in the vehicle and they continued on until they arrived at the carnival. The entire place was lit up with colorful lights and fun rides, food stands, games, and other exciting things were set up.

"So what should we do first?" Connie asked.

"I don't know there's so much." Steven said. "What's that over there?"

"That's the hall of mirrors. They're really fun come on let's check it out."

Connie took his hand and led him inside where they began looking into mirrors that made them look funny.

"Well looks like they're busy." Frida giggled. "So where should we go?"

"What's that?" Manny asked.

"What's what?"

"I think I hear people screaming in agony."

"Screaming in agony? Oh that's probably the people riding the roller coasters."

"Roller coaster? What's that?"

Frida led Manny, Dipper, and Pacifica to the large roller coaster ride that had people going up and down tracks at super speed.

"That doesn't look safe." Dipper said.

"Looks like fun to me." Manny said. "Let's give it a try."

They got into the empty cart and it took off at great speed.

"This is awesome!" Manny laughed. "We totally should've had these a hundred years ago!"

"I know right! If you ask me there the best part of the whole carnival!" Frida laughed.

"This is terrible!" Dipper said looking scared out of his wits. "You people call this fun?! It's a nightmare! Get me off this contraption!"

"Oh lighten up wolf boy!" Manny teased. "Whoo-hoo!"

"Oh God I'm gonna be sick." Dipper groaned.

When the ride stopped Dipper rushed to the nearest trash can and threw up.

"Looks like he's going to be there for awhile." Manny said.

"Yeah, I know Pacifica you stay with him while Manny and I go get a snack." Frida suggested.

"No way! I'm not staying here with vomit guy." Pacifica protested but the two had already left. Pacifica sighed and went to stand next to the puking boy and waited for him to finish.

Meanwhile Connie and Steven had gone to the local petting zoo. There were horses, sheep, goats, and pigs.

"Isn't he cute?" Connie said stroking a baby goat.

"Yeah he is. You know this petting zoo kinda reminds me of home."

"It does?"

"Yeah you know I grew up on a farm."

"You never struck me as the farmer type."

"Well I was and I loved farm life. My dad used to own this huge amount of land where we raised pigs, cows, sheep, and goats. I remember when I was a kid my favorite thing in the world was to run out in the barn and feed the animals."

"Were they nice?"

"Some of them. Our cow was pretty nice and so was the sheep but the pigs and goats weren't like these cuties, they were mean."

"Really?"

"Yeah the pigs would always try to bite me and the goats would always headbutt me. If we didn't need them for money I would've chased them away."

"Sometimes I wish I could've grown up on a farm. Farm life always seemed so quiet and peaceful."

"It was when I was young but as I got older so did the animals. Soon our cow couldn't give any milk, our sheep's wool was no longer soft and fine, and our pigs and goats had passed away. Before we knew it there were people threatening to take away our land and sell it. I was desperate to keep our land from being sold, so much that I joined the war."

"You were in a war?"

"Yeah. Unknown to most people, Muslim Turks had secretly invaded America and were planning to dictate it just as they did to Constantinople. It was called the Secret War because only a certain amount of men were in it."

"And what kind of men?"

"Mostly ones loyal to the church and men living in poverty were also targeted. They offered me my weight in gold if I fought in the war."

"Were you scared?"

"Terrified but I couldn't risk losing our farm, it was our only means of living."

"What was it like?"

"Sometimes it was scary, sometimes it was boring, and in very rare cases it was fun. Joining the war was where I met Manny and Dipper."

"How did you meet those two anyway?"

"Well I met Manny on the battlefield. We were in battle with a group Turks when one of them shot me in my foot with an arrow. He was just about to decapitate me when Manny shot him the back of his head. He then carried me off the field and to the nearest infirmary, he had been shot in the arm and was bleeding immensely but he still saved me. I met Dipper just a few weeks after that, he got caught in one of the Turk's traps. It was a deep pit with slick mud and oil so it was impossible to climb out but I had a rope on me so he was covered. I got him out of there just as they were coming to kill him. We ran like the devil was at our heals and I ended up getting shot in my shoulder but we made it."

"Were you scared?"

"Out of my mind."

"Your father must've been so happy when you came home."

"He was and I finally had the money. It looked like life was finally going our way. But then...Then came that night...That horrible night."

"What happened?"

"We had gone out to celebrate my return and our success with saving our farm when we were jumped by a man who had been meaning to buy our land and his goons. They demanded that my father give him the land, when he refused they held me down and forced me to watch as they beat him to death. I stood there and begged them to stop, I cried and pleaded but they just laughed and laughed and continued beating him. Then...Then...Then.."

"Steven are you okay?"

Steven's mind began to flashback to the terrible night that took place a hundred years ago.

"Father! Father!" His younger self shouted as he watched his father getting beaten without mercy. "Stop! Please! Leave him alone! Stop! Father! No!"

Tears began stream down his cheeks, Connie gently put his hand to the side of his face and brushed away his tears.

"If it's okay Connie I don't...I don't want to talk about it anymore."

"I understand. Come on let's go get some ice cream. Whenever I was sad my father would always buy me an ice cream to cheer me up. Would you like one?"

"Sure."

They joined Manny and Frida at the ice cream stand where they ordered four chocoloate and vanilla ice cream cones. They were so sweet and creamy, there was nothing more tasty than an ice cream cone on a warm Summer night. As they enjoyed their treat they noticed a group of people gathering around and dancing.

"Wow they're pretty good." Connie commented.

"I've seen better." Pacifica said.

"Hey what happened to Dipper?" Steven said.

"After he finished puking he went to play some games but he stinks at them and I got bored so I wandered off here."

"Excuse me Miss." A young man said to Pacifica. "Would you like to dance?"

He was a very handsome fellow and he seemed well mannered so Pacifica was happy to oblige.

"I'd love to."

He took her hand and led her to the stand where all the dancers were. As the music played, she danced elegantly and with style.

"Wow she's really good." Connie said.

"I guess she's okay." Frida said.

"Hey why don't you dance Frida?" Connie suggested.

"Me? Oh I don't know if I-"

"Don't waist your time, you probably can't dance an inch." Pacifica teased.

Frida's cheeks turned red with anger.

"Hmmph! I'll show you! Come on Manny!" She grabbed his hand and pulled up on the stand with her.

"Hey wait a minute! Why do I have to get dragged into this?" He asked.

"Just do it!"

She made him face her then took his hands in hers making him a little nervous.

"Okay now move your feet." She said.

"Move them where?"

"No just take a few steps like this. One, two, three." She began to move her feet in motion with the music.

"This is impossible!" Manny complained.

"Lay off will ya? I haven't danced since I was eleven and- ow!" He had stepped on her foot.

"Sorry! Were we waltzing? Because I- ow!" She had stepped on his foot.

"There now were even." She said.

"Even? It was an accident!"

"Well you're my protector so if I get hurt so do you."

"Why you-"

Before they knew it they were both trying to step on each others toes much to the confusion of the other dancers. But then as if by a twist a fate the two of them found each other dancing together in a fast waltz. Their ridiculous argument was quickly forgotten and they found themselves laughing and smiling as they danced. Manny twirled Frida, lifted her up, and spun her around then pulled her into a dip, causing their eyes to meet.

"You're....Not so bad." She said flustered.

"Thanks."

"You guys done?" Steven asked. "Because we're going to play some games."

"Uh you guys go on ahead." Manny said pulling Frida back up to her feet.

"Yeah we'll catch up." Frida said.

"Okay." Steven said as he and Connie went over to where the game tables and stands were set up. They found Dipper at one where you had to knock over bottles with a ball and he was failing miserably.

"Come on fall over already you stupid bottles!" He growled throwing another ball only for it to miss.

"Oh Dipper you always did have a bad aim. Even back in war." Steven joked.

"Shut up! I'll win this!"

"Uh-huh. Hey buddy how long has he been playing?" He asked the guy running the stand.

"An hour and he hasn't knocked over one."

"Okay dude you're not gonna win this so try something else?"

"Like that one over there."

Connie went over to a game where you would hit the weight with a hammer and if you could ring the bell you would win a stuffed animal.

"I don't know if you wanna try this honey." The guy running the game said.

"Hey I'm a lot stronger than I look."

She grabbed the hammer but it was very heavy and she had a hard time lifting it up off the ground.

"Here let me help you before you hurt someone." Steven said.

He slid his arms around hers as both of their hands gripped around the hammer. Connie blushed and felt herself get nervous, same with Steven.

"Okay now give it all you've got." He said.

The lifted the hammer up together and slammed it so hard onto the weight that it sent the bell flying.

"Kid are you part giant?" The man asked Steven in shock.

"Oops. Sorry." Steven said.

"Well here. I guess you win. Take your pick."

Steven chose the stuffed pink lion as his prize and gave it to Connie. She hugged it and then planted a kiss on Steven's cheek to say thank you which gave him a tomato face. When it got late, the carnival started shooting off fireworks. The night sky was soon bursting with bright and beautiful colors and lights. Dipper watched them from the game stand, Pacifica watched them from a bench, Steven and Connie sat together on a blanket and watched them from the ground, and Manny and Frida watched them from on top of a peek.

"Wow." Frida said looking down. "You can see all of Maine from up here."

"Yeah you can, that's why this was my favorite spot to just sit at and watch things."

"So did you have a good time today?"

"Well..."

"Come on I saw you laughing! Admit it! You had fun!"

"Okay, okay. Yeah I have to admit today was the most fun I've had in a long time."

"I'm glad."

She smiled and turned her gaze back to the fireworks. Manny couldn't help but feel both happy and sad at the moment. He remembered how he would sit up here with his parents and Analia and how they would watch the stars together.

"You know what's funny?" Frida said interrupting his thoughts.

"What?"

"I feel like that I've been here before."

"Here?"

"Yes at this peek but it's not just here. I've felt like this for awhile, at the manor, in town, in my bedroom. It all seems so familiar to me and you....I don't know why but ever since I met you I've had the strangest feeling that I already knew you, that we had met once before."

"Really?"

"Yeah and I know it's crazy because until that day in New York we had never met but I still can't shake the feeling."

"You feel it too huh?"

"You feel the same way?"

"Kind of."

"What do you mean?"

"Well I...I..Never mind. It's not important."

"Okay."

"Frida."

"Yes?"

"I...Listen I wanted to apologize for being a jerk when we first met even though I was being held hostage but we can discuss that later anyway I wanted to make up for it so I got you...Something."

"You got me a gift?"

"Yeah. I found it the other day in the attic, it's no use to me but I thought maybe you'd like it."

He stuck his hand in his pocket and pulled out a bundle of rags which he handed to her.

"Oh a rag." She said upset. "How nice."

"It's in the rags stupid! Unwrap it!"

"Hey don't start being mean now."

She unwrapped the rags to find Analia's sliver, heart shaped music box inside.

"Oh my God." She said in awe. "It's beautiful."

The opened the music box and music began to play, she hummed along with the tune.

"Funny I know the song." She said in realization.

"Do you like it?"

"I love it! This is the most wonderful gift I've ever been given. Thank you."

She hugged him and he hugged back. When they pulled apart their eyes met again and their faces were inches apart. Without thinking he leaned in closer to her as did she, their lips were just about to touch when...

"Hey Manny! Frida!" Dipper called. "Come on! We're leaving!"

"Oh...Okay! We'll...We'll be right there!" Manny said nervously. "Uh...We should go right?"

"Yes." She said. "Yes of course. Um...Come on."

They left the peek feeling very confused and unsure, also unaware that from shadows Zoe had seen the whole thing and was now seething with jealousy and envy.

[reluctantwrites]

Unwanted Reunion

In which an old enemy reappears and hasn’t changed a bit... (approx 2200 words). Post-Inquisition, Darren x Cyrus. 

Sometimes it was just nice to get out for a bit. Enjoy a nice meal. Drink some mead. Relax. For many people who had history with one another, such an outing would often lead to fond reminiscing, or anecdotes that are begun by one person and finished excitedly by the other. But for Darren and Cyrus, things were a bit different. They always had been.

And that was okay.

Smiling, Darren reached an arm up, waving for a server. It was one of the fanciest Inns in Glendess; a place Darren liked to bring Cyrus as often as he could. The prickly man would never admit it, but it was the only place that had his favourite wine; blueberry from the vineyards in south-east Orlais. He’d probably scowl and call it a guilty pleasure. Darren didn’t see anything to feel guilty about.

“It’s busy in here tonight, huh?” Craning his neck, Darren glanced around, trying to catch sight of one of the waitstaff. “I wonder if something’s on…”

Cyrus, chin planted in one hand, the other nursing an empty wine glass, snorted and rolled his eyes. “The harvest festival. Remember? We only passed, what, fifty notices for it on the way here?”

“Oh yeah, that’s right!” Darren grinned brightly. “I’m taking you to that. Don’t make that face! You’ll love it, I promise.” Still smiling, he cast his gaze around once more. “Maker, it reminds me of the Herald’s Nest. Remember how many soldiers used to squeeze into there?”

Cyrus wrinkled his nose. “Don’t remind me.” When Darren turned in his seat again, Cyrus groaned and stood sharply, chair skidding out behind him. “Forget the waitstaff. You want the same thing again?”

Surprised but not complaining, Darren nodded. His expression grew fond as he leaned an elbow on the table and watched Cyrus roll his eyes and head towards the barkeeper, sliding between tables and chairs, ignoring everyone he bumped into along the way. Chuckling to himself, Darren just shook his head slightly. It was probably better that Cyrus was the one to go. With Darren’s size and inability to not apologise for nudging people, he’d probably take all night to get there.

--

The bar was crowded too, already drunk men and women clamouring for the attention of one of the three staff manning the drink-stained counter. There were kegs lined up behind them, different ages and ingredients stamped on their front. Bottles lined three tiers of shelves, a ladder propped to the far left to provide access to the most expensive range. Often it was decorated by cobwebs and dust, but as Cyrus watched, one of the bartenders grabbed it and set it up against the wall, climbing the rungs tentatively, clearly unused to the journey upward. Odd, Cyrus thought, genuinely surprised. Who would have the coin to…?

“Cyrus? Maker’s arse, is that you?”

The voice was as familiar as it was infuriating; the mere sound of it forming the shape of his name set Cyrus’ teeth on edge. He made a conscious attempt to pretend he hadn’t heard the man over the din of the tavern, turning his head away as though observing something on the other side of the room.

Sadly, it was never that easy.

Not with Brenner.

“It is you!”

Cyrus turned slowly, as though every inch of movement was an immense feat of strength. “Brenner,” he said, jaw tight, “the fuck are you doing here?”

Part of Cyrus wondered if he should relax a bit. Give the man a chance. After all, it had been five years. People change. They—

“What a damn awful sight you are, eh?” Brenner tsked, his hazel eyes sweeping up and down Cyrus’ form. “I’m going to have to get in contact with Reynolt again.”

Cyrus’ eyes narrowed sharply. “Why?”

A smirk twisted the corner of Brenner’s lips. “Had a bit of a bet going, you see. I wagered you’d be dead in a ditch in a year. Yet… here you are. Breathing.” He sighed despondently, then glanced to the side, throwing a half-smile to the barmaid as she slid him his drink. The way she fluttered her lashes at the bastard made Cyrus’ blood boil. Brenner was the kind of person you could only wish was as grotesque as his personality.

“Well, I’m alive. Hope you lost a fortune on it, asshole. Not that Reynolt deserves any coin either.”

“Oh come now. So bitter!” Grinning, clearly already a few glasses deep in whatever top-shelf liquor he was drinking, Brenner draped an arm around Cyrus’ shoulders, tugging him in close. “We could be friends, you and I. Let bygones be bygones. I’ll forget the money you lost me, and you can stop being such a little Orlesian bitch.”

It was simple business to shove the noble prick away, but Brenner just laughed and ooh-ed for his little crowd of followers who were watching from a table by the hearth. “He’s a feisty one, that Cyrus,” he declared to anyone in his immediate proximity. Cyrus was already stalking away. “In more ways than one, if you ask around the barracks!”

--

Darren, who had been chatting with a merchant in town for the festival, startled when Cyrus sat stiffly in his chair, knuckles standing white against his skin. “Hey, are you okay?” Reaching out, Darren rested a hand over the Orlesian’s, worry evident in the gesture. “You look ready to hit someone – what happened?”

Cyrus took a tight breath, eyes flicking back towards the bar. “Just some dickhead,” he said simply, returning his gaze to Darren, “but we should probably get go—“

“Andraste’s flaming tits – what is this!”

Again, Darren started, turning, confused. Cyrus just closed his eyes, his fist seeming to curl even tighter beneath Darren’s hand. Emerging from the crowd, Brenner sauntered up to their table, his eyes bright with a kind of cruel, unbridled delight at the sight before him. “I don’t believe it,” he declared, gesturing with his cup to Cyrus, “the bastard,” he shifted the cup across to Darren, liquid splashing onto the table, “and the farmboy! How quaint.”

Recognition slowly dawned across Darren’s confused face. “Brenner?” He blinked, clearly as surprised as Cyrus was at the man’s appearance. “What are you doing in Glendess? I thought you lived in the north?”

Something in Brenner’s expression tightened at the question, even though Darren hadn’t meant it to be insulting. “None of your business, boy.” He swept an arm towards the wall, a notice pinned to it by a single gleaming nail. “If your curiosity so demands it, I was travelling south and heard about some festival nearby. I thought I might grace it with a bit of class. Perhaps pick up a peasant or two for a bit of a romp.” He raised up cup, taking a handful of long, deep gulps, clearly unconcerned that he was mid-conversation. Cyrus had no intention of waiting for him to finish.

“Great. How about you fuck off to your little fanclub over there and leave us alone? I’m sure they panic whenever your dick’s not in sucking range.”

“Cyrus,” Darren said, surprised mostly by the hostility from the other man. Brenner must have really brought back some bad memories.

The man scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Yes, yes. Always the tough one, aren’t you? Tell me, what’s it like, shacking up with a farmer? Do you fuck on the hay like the cattle, or in the mud like the pigs?”

Cyrus looked about ready to murder. “Still obsessed with my sex life? I figured you would have gotten over that shit after five years.”

Another chuckle shook its way from Brenner’s chest, melodic and strangely infuriating. “Well, it always was eventful. We were just waiting for you to make your way around our barracks. I must say, your avoidance was rather hurtful.” He considered, then wrinkled his nose. “Then again, knowing where you had been, perhaps it was for the best.”

“You fucking—“

Cyrus made to get up, anger only spiking further at the man’s smug look of self-satisfaction at his reaction. But Darren reached out quickly, catching Cyrus by the arm, holding him still. “Don’t,” he implored. “He’s drunk and he’s not worth it, Cyrus.”

Brenner hummed, raising a hand to his lips as he regarded Darren. “Mmm, yes. Listen to your farmboy.” He cocked his head, an amused smile spreading across his face. “Tell me… Davin, right? Is he a screamer? I’ve been dying to know for far too long and simply must be put out of my misery.”

Darren felt Cyrus tense in his grasp. He was like a snake, coiling for a strike.

Only this time, so was Darren.

“You should leave,” Darren warned, the words hanging in the air between them. “Now.”

Brenner arched a brow. “Oh? Or what? There’s no Captain Lavellan to run to here, boy.” He laughed, already grinning in anticipation of his own joke. “Daddy’s not here to pull you out of trouble.” A sudden thought seemed to strike him and he glanced back at Cyrus. “I… Maker, did you ever call him that? With your, ah, issues, I imagine it likely.”

There was a loud, sharp thump as someone struck the tabletop. It echoed throughout the tavern like a canon shot, slapping the room into sudden silence. Only, it wasn’t Cyrus who had lost his temper.

It was Darren.

“I’m going to give you one more chance, Brenner,” Darren said quietly. Conversations began to stir uneasily back to life in the far corners, but nearby, there was nothing but tense silence. “Walk away.”

Never one to back down in front of a crowd, Brenner grinned lopsidedly and spread his arms. “Or what, kid? You’ll cry? Guilt me to death? Try to… to…”

Brenner’s cocksure front faltered as slowly, carefully, Darren stood, his chair grating across the floorboards as he rose and faced Brenner. Funny - he used to seem so much bigger, five years ago.

But five years was a long time.

People change.

“No. I won’t cry.” Darren’s voice was dangerously calm as he stared down at the man who had made their life a misery all those years ago. “I’ve grown up enough to know you’re not worth it.” He shifted, moving closer, the act causing Brenner to take an awkward half-step back. “You had your warning, Brenner. There’s a new deal now. You’re going to take your friends and your foul mouth and you’re going to leave Glendess.”

“B-But,” Brenner stammered, but Darren just shook his head sharply, the gesture apparently enough to cut the man off mid-protest.

“Listen. I haven’t got in a fight since I left the Inquisition. Never had to.” Reaching out, Darren placed a hand on Brenner’s shoulder, bearing down slightly – pointedly. “Don’t give me a reason. Please.”

--

All Cyrus could really do was watch in mute fascination as Brenner all but shed his outer layer of tanned skin, replacing it with something chalky-white. “R-Right. Yes. No, of course. Wouldn’t want that.” He swallowed thickly and glanced at his shoulder, where Darren’s hand remained. “I’ll just, ah… be off, then.” He gave an almost giddy laugh as he attempted to save face. “Not much to be done in a small town like this, after all. My time would be far better spent elsewhere.”

Darren smiled; a thin, false smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Yes. It would.” He released Brenner and the noble brat all but scurried like a rat back to his cronies at the other side of the tavern. Slowly, Darren breathed out, the tension in his posture melting away with it as he turned back to Cyrus. “I… um…”

All Cyrus managed was a shake of his head. “Shit… things really do change in five years, huh?”

It was meant to be a compliment, but Darren’s expression seemed almost mortified as he sat back down. “Not really. I mean, that’s not… that’s not me, I just…” His fingers tapped out a nervous rhythm on the table. “I didn’t like what he was saying about you. About us. And in public like that? He had no right.”

For the first time that evening, Cyrus felt a genuine smile drift across his lips. “Yeah. He didn’t.”

“Besides,” Darren added quickly, seeming strangely nervous, “you wanted things to be different here, remember? When you first came back. You said you didn’t want people thinking of you the way they did at Skyhold, always getting into fights and causing trouble.” He glanced over at Brenner, nose crinkling in distaste. “I know it wouldn’t’ve been your fault, but still… I’d rather be the one to do it, if it came down to a fight. Folks know me here. They’d know he deserved it.”

Cyrus hadn’t even thought about that. Perhaps that had been part of the reason he’s let it go in the first place, and he just hadn’t even realised it. “I…” Words escaped him for a time, and they sat in drinkless silence, the tavern bubbling back to life around them. It was only once the truth of it really sank in that Cyrus found the right words. “Thanks, Darren.”

The blond blinked, cocking his head, then a smile spread across his face. “Hey, any time. You know I’ve got your back. Now…” He cast one last bitter look towards Brenner then nodded towards the door. “You wanna get out of here? It’s a nice night. We could go for a walk?”

Cyrus snorted, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smirk. “Yeah. Sounds good.”

[hasty-touch]

33. Does your character respect nature, or would they stomp on it if it meant their benefit?

For “FFXIV deity asks” meme!

This one you’ve picked is, I think, particularly interesting, especially for Rosaire.

Pretty much all my characters love and/or respect nature to some degree. Some (Viviko) do so in a more sentimentalized, naive way, where “loving nature” means loving birds and flowers and vistas without really understanding the breadth, complexity, and danger that nature contains. Some (Hyacinthe, Mrhael, etc.) understand well that danger and darkness, that civilization and nature struggle against each other, but still respect it and believe in the importance of living harmoniously with it (because that is in civilization’s best interests). Some (Valroit) similarly understand that nature is harsh and cruel, but also see in it the sublime and beautiful, and that nurture, kindness, and creativity exist in nature too – and so love and honor it, and believe earnestly in growing civilization together with nature in the least harmful, most mutually beneficial way. Across this diversity of beliefs, none of them would really feel right about heedlessly exploiting and harming nature. Even those who are pretty OK with the exploitation of nature, out of self-interest and/or belief that it is Spoken’s Twelve-given right to enjoy nature’s bounties (i.e. Denisot), still care about preserving it for future generations, which means respecting an ecosystem’s balance (even if the character might not have the vocabulary to say that with sophistication).

Besides Rosaire, Kharadai probably has the most developed and interesting view of nature – along the lines of, “nature vs. civilization is a false dichotomy, every being is a part of the world and simultaneously in harmony and discord with other beings.” He’s deeply suspicious of narratives along the lines of “we live in harmony with nature, the same as our ancestors have since the dawn of time, unlike [those other tribes]”, instead suspecting that all organisms are selfish and will exploit each other for their own ends. Spoken just have the advantage of being able to see the bigger picture, and it’s in their best interests not to upset the balance of the star – which is bigger than all of us and not necessarily benevolent.

– Anyway, if you thought that was long-winded, I’ll describe now Rosaire’s conception of nature and man’s relationship to it.

Rosaire is Ishgardian Orthodox and deeply religious, even if his beliefs aren’t quite as orthodox (har har) as some might imagine. His beliefs about nature follow from his faith, chiefly his belief in the covenant made between Halone and Thordan’s people.

Coerthas is the Promised Land, and (as the knight Loanne says in the quest “The Pecking Order”) “the Fury has given us dominion over all creatures of this land.” To Rosaire, however, this is not a privilege that can be complacently assumed: it requires that Ishgard’s people worship the Fury and preserve Her Church. Further, Rosaire believes that if Coerthas is Halone’s gift to the Ishgardians, it is sacrilege to defile and abuse that gift.

In truth, Rosaire is a city man who spent most of life indoors, even before the Calamitous winter; in his twenties and thirties he was involved in a few covert missions in the countryside and the Dravanian forelands, but even he sometimes has a hard time believing that on a few of those, he actually camped out in the wilderness with a bedroll. Him! Yet while it is true that he feels close to Halone in the chapels in the city, and he goes to look upon Her statue in Saint Reymanaud when he aches for Her guidance – in truth, it is in the Coerthan countryside – sometimes gazing across the summer meadows in blazing green or the autumn fields in dark gold, but most oft when looking up at the white-topped mountains, majestic and sublime, graceful, brutal, sharp blades sweeping up to the sky that at the same time gently cradle the vales between – that he has felt Her presence most strongly, the divine hand that sculpted the most perfect land in all of Hydaelyn.

That land was not intended by Halone to be preserved in the state She created it. When dominion over it was given to Thordan’s people, it was Her intention that they cultivate it to support the civilization that would practice Her religion. But the correct way of life for the Coerthan people is one that fit harmoniously into the environment that She sculpted, not one that tries to impose the lifestyle of their southron, plains-dwelling ancestors. The Coerthans farm the lowlands and graze livestock on the alm, drive pigs through the forests, hunt and fish its wild beasts, and pick the fruits of their mountain orchards. Such practices are their divine right – and it is their Goddess-given responsibility to preserve and cultivate the riches of the land for future generations.

Such feelings are one of Rosaire’s motivations for devoting this part of his life to the Alpine Greening Institute. To most people, he tends to emphasize the Institute’s humanitarian motives – the need to restore dignified livelihoods to displaced Coerthan farmers, to lower the damn price of bread, and ultimately to relieve the overcrowding of the Brume. (To self-interested nobles, he tends to emphasize how these moves work to their benefit as well, and how something must be done to head off starvation if they want to preserve Ishgard’s social stability.) But there is this religious motive, too. Coerthas was given to the Ishgardians by Halone, and they cannot give up on it. They must adapt, just as their ancient ancestors must have struggled and adapted when first moving to Coerthans from the southron plains – ideally, they will be able to preserve the most important parts of the traditional Coerthan way of life, but above all they cannot cast aside their agreement with Halone that they will steward this land.

And “stewarding the land,” to Rosaire, means shaping it for the benefit of its Spoken inhabitants. He has an implicit belief in a Great Chain of Being, with Spoken superior to all other creatures; therefore their needs supercede all others’, and they have a right to rule over and exploit the rest. (As a tangent, Rosaire congratulates himself for his enlightenment in thinking of this category as “Spoken”, not “the Five Races” or “[Alpine] Elezen”, believing himself exceptionally anti-racist, while you and I would probably consider this more of a bare minimum. But this is a topic to ramble upon another day.) Spoken, of course, are inferior to the gods, and ideally the Spoken will rule over lesser beings -- the gods’ creation -- with sensitivity, compassion, and care. But if it is necessary, those beings can be manipulated, tamed, and culled for Spoken benefit. It is his hope, therefore, that the Alpine Greening Institute will be able to restore the old livelihoods of Coerthas with minimal change needed -- but if their research indicates that radical changes are necessary, possibly with dramatic side-effects for the environment, he would stand in support of them.

So ultimately Rosaire has an attitude to nature with echoes of -- hm, not sure if this is exactly accurate, but I think I’d say -- a mixture of 17th-18th century European (especially English, probably ‘cause thats the language I speak) ideas and aesthetics. There is an idealization of nature, but it is a sort of nature that is tamed and ordered by the hands of man and God(dess). “The land of Coerthas” is a priceless, treasured gift, and yet Rosaire is troubled little by dam-building, wood-clearing and artificial plantations, introduction of foreign species, etc., as long as these are in harmony with the religious ideal of the land. The idea of the picturesque resonates with Rosaire and I often try to pull on the surrounding tropes -- the idea of the medium between untamed, awe-inspiring nature and the order of a mannered garden, applied to an entire land, and how that resonates with Ishgardian national identity. They are the city-state of poncy nobles who fought a thousand-year war, who survive in the harshness of the rugged highlands and there built an ornate and even decadent religion and culture, much like the very temple of Halone built on the mountain that rises from the Sea of Clouds.

When working on Greening Coerthas stuff, I think a lot about how Rosaire’s attitudes would differ from ours -- “green” is a buzzword for us, too, as is “climate change”, but these mean something different to us, living in the time and place we do. I think about the brazenness that I see in the European inventors and agriculturalists of the Industrial Revolution (and other places/periods like the atomic gardening movement) -- there’s a fascinating mix there of foolhardy confidence in human ingenuity, grotesque entitlement to the land, and yet also optimism, hope, and vision. I think about how those sorts of beliefs and feelings might emerge in an Eorzean context and try to blend that in to my roleplay, so we’re not just roleplaying “farming in Eorzea,” but “farming in Eorzea”, embedded emotionally and ideologically in the landscape of this setting.

And also, as you have come to realize by reading all the way to the bottom here, it is a terrible mistake to send me asks for ask memes because I can and will talk endlessly and meanderingly about these things. WHOOPS.

Photo above is "Hintersteiner See with the Alps in Tyrol, Austria" by Uwe Schwarzbach('s mom), CC BY-NC-SA 2.0.