#I’LL EXPLAIN IT HERE ONE DAY in case anyone else is into all my juniper nonsense 🫣

[coulrology]

Junebug postin' 🫰

[bluepenguinstories]

Remoras Full Chapter XXXIII: Volcano Girl

I never wanted for much. Not really. Peace, love, safety, security, control, calm.

Things always got lost in translation. Such simple desires turned into contradictions. Within the muddiness that became my life, I found something resembling my original wants.

Lush, open fields (well, in my mind, I could still see a lushness to it all, but much of the fields were made up of dry grass) where my beloved and I lived in a home she built. She was resourceful, talented, kind, and often able to lift my spirits up, even when I thought that they couldn’t be lifted.

Despite such wonderful things, I couldn’t help but feel ill at ease. Like any moment, my sanctuary would be crumbled and taken from me. There shouldn’t have been any reason to feel that way: my pursuers have been defeated, my life no longer threatened, the angel no longer a corrupting force within me, and my wife who had stayed by my side throughout it all. Yet every now and then I felt the slightest hint in the back of my mind that my inner demon never went away. Sure, in a literal sense, it was gone, and I was myself and myself only.

But in another sense, I was full of fear. Fear of myself, and even if I had no evidence to suggest as such, it tugged at me in many directions. All I could do was try to take a deep breath and remain calm.

Soon winter would approach. We needed to think of a way to deal with it.

“What are we going to do about the coming cold?” I asked her, as she sat nestled in my lap.

“Simple!” She raised her index finger and I could tell she just came up with whatever idea she had on the spot. “We build a hearth. Or I do. I’ve never built a hearth before, it could be fun!”

Of course. As if I should expect any different from her.

“Do we even have the right material to build a hearth?”

“If we don’t, I’ll get some! If we don’t have the right house for one, then I’ll just rebuild and start over!”

I balked.

“Do we really have the time to build a new house?”

Not to mention, where would we sleep?

“You dare underestimate my power?” She fired right back.

“No,” I shook my head and smiled, “I know better than to do that by now.”

We gave each other a couple of light pecks, little brushes against our lips, then nuzzled against each other’s faces.

“Oh! Bathroom’s calling!” She jumped off and raced toward the bathroom.

Now that she had that idea of building a hearth in her head, there was no way of stopping her. Not that I could complain; as long as we had something to handle the winter chill, I was all good. Where we chose to live, there seemed to be only two seasons: summer and winter, with summer being the dominant one. Yes, there was spring, but it was a warm spring. The kind of spring which carried an orange glow and lit a spark across the land.

Life was grand. It was a daunting task having to fend off such worrisome feelings, but I knew that wonderful things were all around me.

That was right: I had nothing to worry about. Nothing at al –

Knock, knock.

Two knocks upon the door.

We never had company (save for Velvet and Coriander, but they had a knack of showing up anywhere and at any time).

Juniper did say that her cousin was apparently planning on showing up. Does that mean…?

Another few raps upon the door, along with raps upon my tiresome heart.

I sucked in the nervousness, picked myself up, and headed toward the door. My shaking hand reached for the doorknob and turned it, then I watched the slow creep of it opening and stared out into the open air.

At first, I saw nothing save for the lush scenery I was accustomed to. Its gentle breeze rolling the tall grass, the greenhouse and coop off to the side. But little else. As childish as it was to admit, I had a particular morbid thought:

What if it’s a ghost?

Then I looked down.

Before me was a miniature version of Juniper. I couldn’t believe what I saw, so I removed my glasses and rubbed my eyes, but the vision did not go away. Then it clicked and I felt silly.

“You’re...Demetria, right?” I asked, plain as day. She looked a little angry.

“No shit, Sherlock,” she barked back. Despite the blonde twin tails, she reminded me more of Coriander than Juniper.

“Um, well...how are you doing?” I squeezed out the words. Although my voice came out soft, inside I was screaming. Why did you want to come here? Why now? Why me? Why us?

It was just like how I used to act. Really, if I desired to be kind, it was more than just lying about how I felt.

“Horrible. I can’t figure out what to do with my life. No, it’s not that. It’s that I’m trying to find something to prevent what I’m becoming,” she recited.

“What you’re becoming?” I tilted my head.

She lifted up her hoodie from the bottom and I first thought that she was about to strip in front of me, something which would have been ridiculous, but not all that out there considering the kinds of people I’ve met. Instead, I was greeted with lines, or rather indentations, across her lower torso.

“Oh. You’ve got abs. Congrats?” I was at a loss. Why was that such a bad thing and why did that warrant coming here?

“No. Not congrats. It’s hideous. No one should bear witness to such a thing.”

If that’s the case, then why show me?

“I mean, as long as you’re happy, I don’t see what the problem is,” I remained confused as hell. ‘Happy’. That word stung. It shouldn’t have, but it did. It was the truth, that as long as she was fine with it, there shouldn’t have been an issue. But that wouldn’t solve the problem. There had to be some reason she was dissatisfied, right?

“Have you been eating enough? Drinking enough water?” I grasped for some kind of answer that made sense.

“Probably not. Anyway, you gonna let me in or what?”

“Why?” I blurted. Then to cover, I smiled.

“Oh. I get it,” she stamped her foot. “You don’t want me here. Makes sense. I’m intruding on your space, is that it?”

Hit the nail right on the head. Well, now that it’s out in the open no use being coy about it.

“Yes, that’s how I feel,” I stood up straight, and my voice darkened as well. “However, Juniper did inform me that you would show up, and I don’t mean any ill will.”

“You don’t need to explain yourself to me,” she dismissed, “at least you’re being honest now.”

Right. I should be honest more often.

“Who’s at the door?” Juniper’s voice echoed behind me. Rather than respond, I kept my gaze down toward Demetria.

“Please, come in,” I ushered her. Demetria dragged her feet inside and Juniper looked astonished upon seeing who our guest was.

“It’s really you! Oh wow!” Juniper exclaimed.

Demetria plopped down on one of the chairs across from the one Juniper and I usually sat on.

“Yup. It me,” she grunted.

I closed the door, then sat down where I had been seated. Juniper followed suit and took her seat in my lap.

“So, what’s up?” Juniper opened up the conversation with Demetria, even with her arms wrapped around my neck.

Demetria looked down, legs spread wide, and said nothing. I thought the silent treatment would hold, but after a while, she spoke up.

“My life should have been normal. Boring. So why did I become so obsessed? Why did it have to be her?” She shook her head. It didn’t even sound like her words were in response to Juniper’s question.

“Are you talking about Remora?” I figured the answer must have already been a resounding ‘yes’, but even still.

“You already know. It doesn’t even bear mentioning, yet because of that, all of these events set into motion and now even though I’ve come to my senses, I can’t return to my old self. It frightens me.”

“I can relate,” I nodded in agreement. “Sometimes things happen like, ‘if only I hadn’t have done this…’ but even if you’re not where you wanted to be, you can still find a path for yourself. I believe that.”

She looked up and studied my face. It looks like you’re being honest, was the vibe I got from her. It creeped me out.

“Maybe so,” she replied. “That’s why I came here. Home didn’t work for me. I got into a fight, and the thing was, I enjoyed it. That’s not how I want to be. I don’t want to seek out fights to satisfy some sick urge. I want to do something creative, and I figured staying with you and Juniper would help with that.”

“It’s true. I’ve done a couple of creative things here and there,” Juniper chimed in. “This house being one of them!”

Yep. Of course she was proud of that.

“I know I’m already inside and I came all the way out here in what was a few day trip, but is it okay if I stay with you guys for a little while?”

My heart sank, but I was already prepared to accept her, even if it might have been hard. In my heart, I wanted to do the right thing.

“Yes, of course. We’ve got a spare room,” I gestured to the room that resided beside the room Juniper and I slept in.

“Thank you. I know this isn’t ideal for you, but you don’t have to worry about me. I’ll stay in the room for the most part.”

“Actually,” Juniper spoke up. “I think it’d be nice to have some work with our crops. Of course, while it’s winter, there won’t be much of that, but I’m sure there’s still some things you can do around here.”

Demetria opened her mouth, ready to balk or protest, but then rested her lips flat and gave a short nod.

“Sure. Anything.”

While I was sure it was an uncomfortable subject for her, I couldn’t help myself. Something gnawed at me and I needed to know what it was.

“By the way, Demetria, what happened between you and Remora?” I pried.

To my surprise, she answered, and even though her voice continued to hold a dry, barren tone, she didn’t sound bothered in the slightest.

“We had a long talk. She told me everything. Who she was, what she had been through, her identity. At the end, when she reached her conclusion, I didn’t accept what she said about herself. In fact, I argued against it. But who’s to say she was wrong but me? Maybe she didn’t care about anyone, and even if she did, I couldn’t force her to care. Once I realized that, I felt the best course of action was for me to leave. Me being there was a futile effort, worse, I was more of a hindrance.”

“That tracks,” I replied. “Rhea probably felt the same way about herself. I feel like I failed with both of them. One, I could have prevented their death, the other, I treated as if they were a way for me to redeem myself for failing the other one.”

“You’re being hard on yourself again,” Juniper reminded me. “It’s hard to know what to do sometimes, not to mention whether it’s right or even possible to help someone all of the time. You were going through a difficult time when you met Rhea. It was hard enough just to help yourself.”

“She’s right, you know,” Demetria added. “What’s done is done, anyway. Might as well move on from it.”

I knew Juniper was right, but hearing that from Juniper’s cousin just seemed harsh. Even by my standards. Somehow, I needed to tell her as much. I was my own person, so if anyone could say as such, I could.

Be nice, but be honest...how do I do that?

“Trust me, moving on is something I’d love to do. But it’s just as you heard from Juniper: I was going through a difficult time. My health, both physically and mentally weren’t well and the lives of both Juniper and I were threatened. Those events still run through my head, and I’m trying to be better both toward myself and others, but it’s not so simple as a snap of my fingers.”

As much as I wish it was that way. I no longer had that kind of power.

“Yeah. I guess so,” she turned her head. Not so much a shrug, but there was still the disinterested tone to her voice. “It’s not that I dislike Remora or anything. I wish her well, and maybe she does need a friend, but I just don’t think it can be me.”

Despite her tone, I agreed with the sentiment.

“I think we all wish her well,” I replied. “I do worry about her. Not that I really need to, but when we had our fight over text, it seemed like she was going through a rough time.”

“Can we stop talking about her? She’s not important. I get she affected you a great deal and all that, but that’s not why I came here. I’d rather not think about her anymore.”

That struck me. No, not personally. Not that time. But it just occurred to me that she was the one who wanted to move on, and from her limited perspective, probably thought that I should do the same. If it was like that…

“Yes. Certainly. My apologies.”

Juniper got up off of my lap and gestured toward the room Demetria would be staying in.

“Wanna drop off your stuff in the room?” She offered. Demetria’s mouth appeared to drop to the floor.

“Did you have a whole room prepared for me or something?!” She cried out. It was the most expressive I’ve seen her since she arrived. Granted, she hadn’t been there long, and I hadn’t formed much of an impression of her, but still, it counted for something.

Juniper chuckled.

“Not quite. We’ve had guests before. It’s a long story,” she took a quick glance over to me and winked.

Well, we were prepared either way, considering your mom called my wife.

Reluctant, I dragged my feet toward the room as well, watched as she set down her backpack next to the little bed. Without hesitation, she jumped onto the bed, face first, buried into the pillow. Both Juniper and I watched as it soon became apparent that our guest had fallen right to sleep. I couldn’t help but sleep.

She probably needed the rest.

As the days passed, my desire for her to leave grew. Bright and early into the morning, I woke up and brewed myself a warm cup of sagebrush tea. After a few minutes of letting the flavor steep, I took the cup and sat down on the living room floor, then took a sip. Nothing out of the ordinary.

However, that soon changed when out of the corner of my eye, a zombie-like figure shambled past me and into the kitchen. I didn’t pay the figure much mind, I was too wrapped up in the aroma.

“Oh, uh, it’s, uh,” came the low groggy groans in just the same manner a zombie would make. I turned to my left and I jolted upright, which made some of my tea splash out of its cup and seared onto my bare collarbone.

There Demetria stood, mouth agape. Or, well, it must have been, but she turned her head and covered her mouth with the sleeve of her hoodie.

“Sorry, I just got up to get some food,” she mumbled, no more awake than before, yet more coherent. In one of her hands was an orange.

“Hi,” I waved with my free hand. That hot tea water still stung, but it would pass with time.

She continued to look away, but waved back. I was confused until Juniper walked out, arms stretched out and a mighty yawn, no hands covering her mouth.

“Oh. I see. It’s a tits out kind of morning,” Demetria commented once again in a mumbled. That time, I figured it out.

“Mm. Yep. Say hun, what’s the brew today?” Juniper didn’t pay Demetria’s comment much mind. Really, it wasn’t a big deal. We wore as much or as little clothes as we wanted at any given time. We were free people and it was our own home. But neither of us took into account how it may come across to a guest. When it was Velvet and Coriander, neither of them paid it any mind, but everyone was different.

“...Sagebrush…” I murmured.

“Huh? I couldn’t hear you?” Juniper leaned over and cupped her ear, hoping I would repeat my answer. Demetria, for her part, shuffled past Juniper and I.

“Don’t mind me, you guys. I’ll just be in my room,” she reassured without sounding very reassuring.

“You know, if you’re uncomfortable, you can just say so,” I called after her.

“No, no, it’s fine…”

You’re damn right it’s fine. It’s our house. We do what we wa –

Juniper turned her head toward Demetria.

“Oh, that’s what it is, huh?” Juniper stood up, hands on her hips. “I’ve got it: we’ll compromise!”

Compromise? Compromise how?

“I’ve got some plain whites, we can get a bucket and some dyes and make tie-dye shirts!”

I didn’t see what the point of that was. We already had shirts. I could just put one on and the problem would be solved just like that.

“Come on, you too!” Juniper urged me up. “Group project! It’ll be fun! Aren’t you into the whole hippie thing?”

Neither Demetria nor I looked thrilled about the idea. However, I smiled.

“Yeah, this could be nice to get out and have fun with dyes,” I tried to see the positive in it, even if I wasn’t keen on giving up on my way of life.

We had fun, though. Early in the morning, loose shirts, gentle breeze. All three of us dipped shirts into a swirl of dyes, and splashed the mucky water at each other. By the time we were done, the three of us were a mess of paint.

In spite of that, the feeling of wrongness carried over.

Let it be known that Juniper’s impulsivity was not the issue. In fact, that was an aspect of hers which I loved, even if most of the time, I complained about it.

“I was wondering, what kind of creative things do you do?” Demetria asked Juniper while we dunked shirts.

“Just about anything!” She answered.

“So, what, would you make swords?” Demetria joked, though I could already see the spark light up in Juniper’s eyes.

“That’s brilliant! I can and should make a sword!”

“Are you serious?! I was joking!” Demetria was shocked. I placed my hand on her shoulder.

“It’s too late; once she’s got an idea in her head, you can’t talk her out of it.”

My main concern was whether Juniper would still manage to get that hearth installed in our house, and if it would work out.

But really, that wasn’t a concern, either. Even if the things Juniper made were never perfect, they were neither broken nor defective, either. In spite of the imperfections which came with making something for the first time, everything she made she put a great deal of care into and would be meticulous in at least trying to get whatever she made to a functional state. Needless to say, she was wonderful.

All was well enough. I was sure we’d get through winter no problem. Still, I couldn’t quite shake off the feeling of dread, and a nagging at me which repeated the words, “I want you gone.”

At least that’s all they were: thoughts. Insecurities.

What a relief it was that such things couldn’t manifest. Not anymore.

When I lived in Trent’s apartment, I was a recluse. Even after the bond between Juniper and I deepened and she understood what I had been dealing with, I still found myself wary around her. Not because of her, but because I was guarded.

Once, I had shut myself in that empty room, just as I had many times before. It was during another period of depression where I couldn’t bring myself to eat, let alone face anyone. Both Juniper and Trent were understanding, much to my relief. They left bowls of soup next to the door so I wouldn’t starve, but I wasn’t even sure if I took so much as a sip. I might have crept out of the room in the dead of night to wash out the bowl, just so it seems like I ate.

Still, it was nice to know they cared.

What wasn’t nice was who I met, as the door to the room opened. I was sprawled out on the floor, looking listless, and could do without sudden intrusions.

“Well,” a woman’s voice spoke in a huff, “Trent didn’t tell me he had a third person living here.”

I looked over. Some frazzled looking middle-aged woman with frizzy strawberry blonde hair.

“Who are you?” I asked.

“I’m their mother,” she answered, all stern and cross.

I’d say “who does she think she is?” But she already answered my question.

“I see. You’re visiting?”

“I am.”

She gave me a disapproving look. Totally uncalled for.

“Come out. I’d like to have a talk,” her voice didn’t waver, so it sounded much more like an order than a request. I didn’t have to respect it at all, but I did.

I followed her out into the living room and sat down on the couch. She pulled out a chair from the dining room and sat across from me with one leg over the other and arms folded. Just as serious as before. Well, two could play at that game.

“Who are you?” She began the conversation.

“Vesuvius,” I replied.

“How long have you been living here?” Sheesh, she’s really going for the interrogation, huh?

“About a couple years.”

“A couple ye – moving on. What is your relation with my daughter?”

That question took me by surprise. It just seemed so specific.

“None. We just happen to occupy the same space,” I kept my composure. Whatever her goal was, I wasn’t about to give in.

“So you two don’t interact?”

“What’s this about?” The words forced their way out. “Trent’s the one who took me in.”

“Oh?” She raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean by that?”

Great. I brought that one on myself.

“I was homeless,” I stated, “he let me stay here. I stay in my room for the most part. I don’t bother anyone, I don’t demand any of their food.”

“And you don’t see a problem with that? I can tell you don’t take care of yourself. You’re thin, pale, fatigued. Do you think that’s fair on Juniper?”

“Why are you focusing on her? If you have a problem, you should take it up with Trent.”

She closed her eyes, shook her head, and sighed.

“Trent’s a lost cause, he’d take care of anyone if he could, to the detriment of himself. But there’s still hope for Juniper. She’s got some wits about her, she’s got a little more sense, if only she would act on it.”

“I think Juniper’s capable of making her own decisions,” I countered.

“Be that as it may, you’re just wasting away. What if she opens that door one day and finds a dead body. Do you really think that’s fair on her? Neither of my children should have to take care of you, especially if you won’t take care of yourself.”

I made no comment on that.

“Now, you can go back out on the streets for all I care.”

“That isn’t your call to make,” I hissed.

Her brow creased.

“That’s true. But if you cared about Juniper at all, you would leave.”

I remained silent. Without an answer, she got up and walked to the front door.

“Well, it was nice meeting you,” she bade me farewell. Really, I couldn’t have said the same about her.

She was right, though. I was someone who was hunted, pursued. If the organization pursuing me ever found out where I was, both Trent and Juniper would be in harm’s way. It would be careless of me to run that risk.

So after moments of deliberation, I too went for the door. However, before I could depart, the door opened up and Juniper entered.

“Hey, where are you going?” She was shocked to see me in front of her as soon as she walked in. Not to mention, she already pieced together that I was headed out.

“I’ve decided to leave,” I stated. That should have been that. Not another word. Instead, she too scowled, and tears started to form from her eyes.

“No!” She shouted. It took me aback, to the point that I took a few steps back, then tripped back down onto the couch. She climbed up onto the couch, her legs spread out over my own as sat on my lap, leaned down, her forehead pressed against mine, and she looked into my eyes. I tried to look away, but her arms held onto the top of the couch and blocked my vision.

“I want you…” She muttered.

My face grew hot and I really tried to look away.

“You want me?”

She nodded her head.

“I want you...to stay,” she added.

Oh.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea…” I tried to argue.

“Why? Did you talk to my mom? Did she tell you that?”

I gulped.

“Uh…”

She lowered one arm and placed her hand on my chin, then lifted my head up. There really was no avoiding her gaze now.

Again, I gulped. My face must have boiled over.

“Look, I love my mom, don’t get me wrong, but she can be a little...overprotective. She was always trying to get me to be tough and mean so that I could protect myself from bad people. She would go on about how cruel the world can be and try to drill it in my head, but look, I already knew all that, but I didn’t want to be that kind of person. I don’t want to go my life distrusting everyone. It’s tough being kind, but this is how I chose to be, and I don’t regret it.”

I already knew Juniper had her ‘tough’ side. When we first met, she was the one who stood up to me and managed to convince me to eat with her and her brother.

“She doesn’t know what you’ve been through. So please, try not to pay her any mind.”

I see. Her mom’s just like that. And that thing about trying to ‘toughen up’ Juniper? She must have been a cruel parent.

“Okay...I’ll try…” I struggled to get the words out. Juniper took heavy sighs and I felt her warm breath in my ear.

“Can I kiss you?” She asked.

My heart made little thumps.

“I mean...if you’re bold enough to sit on my lap...you may as well...I mean, I don’t mind…” I stammered.

She leaned in and our lips brushed against each other, then our mouths opened and our tongues tangled into each other. Heavy breaths continued to follow. When she released, she asked:

“Can we take this further?”

I looked down.

“I mean...on the couch? Shouldn’t we do this on a bed or the floor?”

She smiled and nodded.

“Yeah. Maybe my room can be your room, too?”

“S...wh...re...uh…” I stuttered out loose syllables, as I had no words available. I was in total shock.

“Since when did you want to do these things with me?” I spat out. She chuckled in response.

“Hehe, I wonder.”

We can skip the rest of the details. As much as it was a fond memory, it was also quite embarrassing for me. Everything seemed so fast, like a strange chain reaction. Sometime after, I called up Juniper’s mom.

“Sorry, I’m staying here,” I told her flat out.

“Then you better treat her well,” was her response.

Despite such improvements to my life and health, I continued to resent Juniper’s mother. Yes, it was terrible, but I had the idea stuck in my head that she must have been an abusive woman and an antagonistic figure. That nothing good could come from her. So thoughts started to crop up, I would be much happier if she weren’t in my life.

Then it happened.

Not even a few days after such a thought, Conifer Bark died of a heart attack.

It was never meant to be like that. Yes, it was a dark thought that I had, but it was never meant to be made reality. Trent told me that she had been in poor health for a few years now, and in all honesty, I was relieved to not have to deal with her anymore.

When it came time for the funeral and the casket was lowered into the ground, Juniper grabbed the fabric of my shirt and sobbed into my chest. I was confused why she could be so sorrowful for someone who had been such a negative force in her life.

I held onto Juniper tight as she wailed, yet I had nothing to feel on my part.

I wholly believe I was the cause of her mother’s death. Not through any deliberate action, but simply because I had perceived her as a threat to my happiness.

One other side-effect I never mentioned after getting rid of the angel (or demon) that was within me was that some of the gaps in my memories had been refilled, as they must have been intentionally forgotten in order to protect myself. Those memories would surface without cause nor stimuli.

Back when I was a teenager, I had a girlfriend named Sparrow. Once she had a dream where she turned into a sparrow, and ever since then, she decided to go by that name. She was the same age as me, but rather than go to school, lived out on her own in an open field with her van. It might have been because of her that I desired to be such a free spirit, as she was one, herself.

For several years, I believed that I had left her behind after I had traveled through time once, then was pursued by the shadowy organization. In truth, I did reunite with her for a short while. It was when I was still young, and I had returned to my own time after retrieving my father’s time machine. She and I traveled cross-country and had a couple of boys smuggled in the back who we tried to get them over to Canada due to the draft they had been forced into. On principle, we both held great disdain for the military and its atrocities, and would rather have at least saved two people from its sadistic lust for violence.

...Unfortunately, neither of us were successful. We were stopped by a group of people who claimed to be government officials. They captured us, put her and I in two different cells. What happened to those boys, I never found out, but I couldn’t imagine it was anything good.

Through brutal cunning and vicious wit, I escaped and broke her free as well. However, as the ones who oversaw the facility noticed that we had made our escape, they gave chase. There wasn’t much time. I hijacked a truck, and I begged her to come in. She just shook her head and smiled. I got out of the truck, pleaded. My heart raced and I was desperate. I couldn’t see myself leaving without her.

“Please,” I sobbed. “I need you. I know how I’m always saying I don’t need you, but I do!”

Her expression didn’t change.

“No, you were right. You never needed anyone. You should hurry up and leave.”

She walked away. I must have said more, but they fell on deaf ears.

I was enraged. I was devastated. But I couldn’t stay any longer. I didn’t know where I run to, or how I would evade their grasp, but I did.

All the while, the thought pervaded:

There’s no way this is real. I must be making it up. I have to. If it’s real, then I can’t be happy unless I forget about it all.

So I did.

When the memory returned, I was situated in Juniper’s lap. Tears began to roll down my eyes.

“Is everything okay, dear?” Juniper asked.

“I just remembered something,” I told her.

Demetria walked in. She had been out gathering wood for the hearth. Against all odds (well, I say that, but I had no doubts that she could have built one), it had been set up, just in time for winter.

“Did I interrupt something?” She stood with a bundle of logs in her arms.

“No,” I looked up. “I just cry easily sometimes.”

“Huh,” was her reply, then she set the wood into the hearth. “I’ve never been much of a crier, myself.”

I smiled

“It’s okay to cry, you know,” I assured her. In truth, I was only reassuring myself.

“I know. I just don’t do it much.”

As the days passed, I adjusted more to the idea of Demetria living with us. She wasn’t bad at all, and she was a good help around the house. She’d feed the chicken and help with farming. It irked me that I couldn’t get much of a read on her. I thrived on having some kind of an impression of others. Without that, it felt like some kind of omen and I didn’t know how to react.

So in spite of the peacefulness, I continued to stress each day. Perhaps an unfounded stress, but a stress all the same. It might not have helped that Juniper sometimes let the chickens in the house. One morning the whole lot of them charged into Demetria’s room and jumped on her bed. I heard a squeaky, “eep” sound emit from her room.

“Juniper, did you have to let those chickens in the house?” I complained.

“If you’re cold, they’re cold. Let them in!” She replied. I knew I couldn’t talk sense into her at that point, and I loved those chickens too, but goddamn, they were chaos incarnate.

However one would have interpreted the situation, it sure was a literal rude awakening. Even if I wasn’t the one who was given a direct assault, the whole thing left me just a tad on edge. So to counter it, I retreated outside, shivered the whole way through as I went into my greenhouse and retrieved one of the plants. Once I made my way back inside and holed up in Juniper and I’s room, I sat on the floor next to our bed. Beside me was the bong that Juniper had made for me on one of my birthdays. I lit up, and soon all my worries faded, as did the rest of me.

Everything zoned. I zoned out, the room zoned in and out, and my hands were a pulse. My legs became turbo jets and vibrated against the hardwood floor.

“Ah, relief,” I let out the droned words and blew out a puff of smoke. Then came the coughs. That was always my least favorite part, even if I accepted it as a certainty.

“I may as well be the only person in the universe. Maybe there’s other people, too. There could be cows up there. Ah, who cares?” I mused. Even if I didn’t make total sense, I was at ease. That was the most important thing.

Soon I was joined by two silhouettes at the doorway. Silly me, I forgot to close the door.

“Uh, is Ves okay?” One of the silhouettes echoed a sentiment.

“She’s fine, she’s just high,” a familiar echo from other silhouette explained. “It helps her calm down. I’m fine with it, but I don’t smoke myself, as the smoke gives me headaches.”

I knew that voice from anywhere. It was my tree star.

“Juniper! Babe! Pig in the city! My Homeward Bound!” I reached my arms out for her and signaled that she was invited in.

“Is she just naming children’s movies now?” That other voice or echo, asked.

“It’s fine. Hey hun,” she waved.

“Come join me! My legs are a torpedo!”

“In a little bit,” she let out a little laugh. “I think you deserve this time for yourself.”

She was right. I mean, I wanted to cuddle. I wanted to fuck. But that could wait. I had my own time to relax and let all the stress runoff like magma. At least I still had that.

We all survived the winter. Our efforts were a group effort, and that extended to making food and keeping each other warm. Despite never getting a good grasp on what kind of person Demetria was, I grew more at ease around her as time went on. Maybe that was a mistake. I didn’t want to think so, but one evening in late February changed everything.

Huddled on the floor, the three of us played a nice game of poker with tarot cards. Let it be known that one thing Demetria and I had in common was our poker faces. Juniper, on the other hand, always puffed up her cheeks and held back laughter whenever she drew a card. It was clear she didn’t take the game quite so seriously.

It should have been light and relaxing.

Instead, bright lights shone from outside. Demetria leapt to her feet and ducked under the window. She poked her head up, then turned to us.

“Stay inside,” she commanded.

“What’s going on?” I panicked. I could already tell from such brashness in her voice that something was amiss.

“I don’t know.”

Next came the sound of tires screeching. I only heard the grating noise, as I dared not look outside. My hands shook, my nerves short circuited, and everything in me told me that nothing good was to come next.

“They have guns…” Demetria muttered.

They...what?

Without the image, my mind went wild.

“Who’s out there?” Juniper asked.

“I don’t know,” her voice sharpened. “But I can tell it’s nothing good. Stay inside, I’ll keep you guys safe.”

I was confused, but more than that, panic was already setting in.

“What can you even do?!” I cried out.

“I don’t know that either,” she replied, then ran to the back of the house and jumped out from the window in her room.

Once I heard her land on the ground, I sat stunned.

My mind raced. So did my heart. There was nothing I could do. I didn’t have power anymore. I didn’t want to have it again, but I never expected something like that. Something that I had no control over. It ate at me, the unknowing. The confusion. Despite the pulse, the violent pulse that carried through my whole being. It couldn’t be helped. I too went for the front window, and when I saw what was out there, I was sick to my stomach.

Outside the fields were set ablaze. There was a group of burly men in heavy armor and helmets which scattered about the fields.

They’re here. They’re dangerous. But who are they? No. It doesn’t matter who. What matters is that I’m not safe and I should be.

Gunfire erupted. Rat-tat-tat. Thunderous piercing shots. Then, as I cowered and covered my head, covered my ears, buried myself in my legs, I heard the sound: a guttural scream. Bellows and ghastly shrieks. But no tone which indicated Demetria.

“Don’t worry, hun,” Juniper whispered. “We’ve got that sword in my workshop. We can defend ourselves.”

“No!” I snapped, sharp and shrill. “There’s NOTHING! They have guns!”

There was no comfort. There were no magic words, no desires which could erase what was outside our door. I was powerless.

I rocked back and forth, clenched my fists. No. My fists clenched my head. Everything, no matter how much I tightened up, would not go away. I felt a hand upon my shoulder. It must have been Juniper’s. No. It was wrong. I wanted to bat it away, scream. There was no comfort to be had.

What is it? Is it The Flashbulb? But how? I thought Velvet and Coriander took care of them. There shouldn’t be anything, so WHY?! There has to be a reason. There has to be a purpose. Think...THINK. Why?

My mind was frantic, running faster than I could ever hope to catch up, but when the commotion at last subsided and smoke seeped through the windows, I had my answer. It was the only possibility.

I stormed out of the house, ready to erupt.

When I looked around, I saw no flames. It must have been the glow from the lights, my mind. That didn’t matter. All I saw was red. That was, until I drew close to the armored truck that had been parked in the open dirt path. In front of the truck was Demetria, who held one of the armed men by the back of his collar. She saw me and turned, a face I didn’t recognize.

“It’s done,” she announced with a grim expression. She sounded out of breath, but more than that, excited. Like she had been wanting something like that. Like she had anticipated it.

“YOU!” I shouted and pointed a finger at her. “YOU BROUGHT THIS WITH YOU! I WAS FINE HERE UNTIL YOU SHOWED UP! I HAD THE LIFE I WANTED! I HAD PEACE! YOU RUINED IT! YOU TOOK MY HOME! I SHOULD HAVE NEVER LET YOU IN!”

My voice was shrill. It was all I could muster. I had nothing else to protect me. I tried to shout, no, scream more words her way. My throat couldn’t take any more. No, my mind. My emotions. I was too weak, far too fragile. I thought I saw her lower lip quivered but when I focused, no. There was nothing indicating that my words had any sort of effect on her.

Even in my desperate screams, I was powerless.

With nothing else, I fell to the ground and broke down into tears.

“Leave,” I forced out the word. Then, I shouted, “do you hear me? Leave. GO.”

I looked up, desperate for her to take the cue. What I saw was her, staring back down at me, unaffected. Her face had a terrifying seriousness, brows creased and a burning gaze. Then, she spoke up:

“Understood. I never meant for this to happen, but I swear I’ll make sure it never happens to you guys again,” she stated with a dearth of emotion.

As she departed in that same armored vehicle which shattered my peace, everything around me faded into a crisp white.

Sirens in my head. I turned equal measure numb and a sobbing mess. I felt a hand upon my back, then Juniper’s voice.

“Come on. Let’s get back inside,” her words broke through, rushed, yet calm. Reluctant, I let her take me in, but the whole night, I thought about how I would be happiest if everyone and everything, including myself, would just cease to exist.

[brianc521]

Love Me Right | Nap Date 6

He’s not gonna sign it. Could never fucking do that to Ember. It’d break him in half if he did. He can’t even physically think of anyone else, it makes him nauseous. How would anyone expect him to fake a relationship willingly?

He’s on the phone with Ember before he can even make it to his car. He knows it’s gonna be a rough call, doesn’t expect to leave the driveway for an hour, but he has to tell her. He has to hell her now. 

“Hey how was your meeting?” She answers as she picks up. 

“It was,” He looks at the awful contract sitting in his passenger seat. “It wasn’t good.” 

“What happened?” 

He sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. “They presented a contract.” 

“Who’s they?” 

“Andrew and Cez, but also her team.” 

“Her team?” She stutters. “What the fuck is it?”

“They want us to fake a relationship.” 

“They want what?” She whispers.

“For PR. The song isn’t doing as well as they were hoping, so they want us to go out, pretend to date. To spark publicity, get our names out there.” 

“Your name is out there.” She responds. “Be real Shawn, they want her name out there. The reason the song isn’t doing as well as they thought was because you’re the background. She attempted to overpower and in the end it resulted in your vocals being turned down.” 

He grins a little, loves how defensive she is over him. It’s a way she proves her love, when she’s willing to throw hands over anything. 

“So don’t tell me it’s to get ‘our names out there’ because it’s not. It’s to get her name out there. Because isn’t she about to release an album? If her song with you didn’t chart well then how the fuck is her album supposed to chart at all?” 

He’s biting his lip to stop from laughing. She’s got this down to a T, it’s incredible. The bad part of his hesitation is, she takes it as him thinking it through. 

“Wait.” She stops. “Are you thinking about it?” 

“What?” 

“Shawn?” She stops suddenly, all noises around her going silent. The only thing he can hear is her heavy breathing. 

“What Honey?” 

“Did you already sign? It’s already started hasn’t it?”

“What? No!” He grips the parked steering wheel. “Why would you think that? I would never do something like this without talking to you.” 

“But there are new pictures out. What are you wearing right now?” 

“Um,” He looks down. “I’m wearing my live aid shirt and blue jeans. My black ones are dirty.” 

“Oh my god.” She gasps. “You were with her today. You, you were at lunch with her. You said her team?”

“It was, her and her team.” 

“Then why is her team not in this picture. Shawn her team and your team aren’t in these pictures.” 

“What are you talking about?” 

“The pictures, it’s just you and her.” 

“We were never alone.” He groans, looking through his feed. 

He’s so tired of feeling powerless in his life. He’s finally at a time where he’s thinking of settling down, of being happy with someone he truly loves. Yet this shit keeps happening and it keeps pushing those settling down plans further and further away. He’s frustrated, and the worst part is, he really can’t do anything about it.

“Shawn.” She sighs. “Listen to me, I love you, but this can’t be our relationship.” 

“What does that mean?”

“It means that I can’t do this. I understand that your career is important. I’m so proud of all the things you’ve accomplished, whether I’ve been with you or not, but this is not healthy for me. Not mentally, and not physically.” 

His eyes widen at her words, and he’s clicking back to the call trying to make it a face time but she declines it.

“It’s not healthy for me to be stressing over pictures and wondering if they’re real or fake. It’s not healthy to feel the pressure of being compared to who the world thinks you’re with. So,” she sighs. “If you think that this is a good step for your career, that this will help you succeed then maybe we’re not as meant to be as we thought we were.” 

“No Baby.” He chokes. “We are meant to be. We are.” 

“Do you really think that?” 

“Of course I do. I love you.” 

“Then can you do me a favor?” She asks.

“Anything.”

“Can you fucking act like it?”

Before he can even think of responding the line goes dead and her heavy breathing has disappeared. He’s essentially freaking the fuck out. This can not be happening to him right now. Not again. He’s already gone through this freak out, when this shit started. She’s already gone silent on him, her walls he’d finally been able to take down when they got together have been slowly building back up again, and he can’t keep fighting if she’s gonna keep building. 

He’s tried to call her back four times, she declines him every single time. So he finally leaves a message on the fifth call. 

“Okay, I understand that this is hard. Trust me, I fucking know that. But I need you to talk to me. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. This conversation was a full 360 of what I fucking meant for it to be. So for me to be able to ‘act like it’ or fix it you have to let me talk. I’m just trying to be honest with you. I love you, and I’ll give you some space. Just don’t give up on me yet.” 

He ends the call and throws his phone on top of the contract, putting his Jeep in reverse before Andrew can even think twice about walking up to his window when he realized Shawn was still sitting there. 

** 

It’s been a day, and he still hasn’t heard back from her. This is the one thing that drives him absolutely mad. She pushes him away in times where he knows she needs him the most. He can’t get into any contact with her, so he has no sort of control of the situation. He doesn’t even really need any control, he just wants information.

It’s why he always ends up flying back to her. It might seem dramatic, or totally immature but damn he’s in love with Ember Mills. He can’t just let her go because she thinks he wants something that’s fake and gross. He wants her. That’s all he wants right now.

He never thought he would admit it, but she’s everything. If she asked him to stop touring, he would. If she asked to him never pick up a guitar again, he would. She could ask him to do anything and he would do it. His faith in her is that she would never ask, because he wants to believe that she’s in love with him too. 

He feels kind of dumb standing at her apartment door. He feels even dumber when he knocks on the door like a kid in 5th grade wondering if she could come out to play. What seals the deal on the dumb feeling is when Juniper answers the door with a glare and scowl painted on her face. 

“What the hell?” 

“I need to see her.” 

“No, you need to let her go Shawn. I love you Mendes boys with all my heart, but this isn’t good for her.” 

“You don’t understand. She doesn’t even understand, and I’d like to explain it to her before I do anyone else. So please, can I just talk to her.” 

“Are you gonna hurt her?” Juniper asks softly, biting her lip. 

“No, the last thing I ever want to do is hurt her. She jumped to conclusions. She never let me explain why I was telling her about the contract.” 

At this Juniper stands straight, and it’s then that she realizes that Ember never did tell her why he brought it up. That was the missing piece to the puzzle. She was just so caught up in Ember’s emotions that she forgot that part.

She quickly waves Shawn in, knowing it’s cold outside and he had to be freezing. 

“She’s in the living room. I’m gonna head out, was supposed to be at Raul’s 15 minutes ago. She’s in good hands?”

“The best hands, other than yours.” He nods quickly, hugging Juniper and slowly making his way to the living room.

“He still hasn’t called me again June. I’m starting to lose faith that he meant he was fighting for me.” Ember calls from her spot on the couch, thinking Juniper was still in the kitchen.

“Don’t lose faith.” He speaks, watching her jump and turn to look behind the couch at him.

“What are you doing here? Where’s June?” 

“She let me in, then headed to Raul’s. We need to talk Ember.” 

His eyes are rimmed red from lack of sleep. His curls a mess from stressing them with his fingers. His hands are shaking from nerves, and he can’t seem to catch his breath from his anxious mood. 

“Shawn,” She sighs.

“No listen. It’s my turn to speak. You cut me off every time.” He shakes his head. Starting to pace her living room. “I literally called you about the contract so that you would know what they were trying to do. Not once did you let me finish my sentence, that would have gone like this; They presented me with a contracted about having a fake relationship with her, isn’t that fucking ludicrous? They want me to help her get publicity to sell her album, I have enough trouble on my own why the fuck would I want to take on her career as well?” 

She gasps and leans back against the couch when he keeps ranting.

“On top of that, they were talking about me holding her hand and kissing her? That makes me fucking nauseous because how in the fuck do they expect me to do that with her when all I want is to do that with you.” At this he finally makes eye contact with her. “I literally only want you. I can’t see my life without you in it anymore. And the more you talk about us breaking up or you leaving me makes me feel like I have no control. Over anything.” 

She stands at this, starting to notice his anxious behavior. 

“Because like, I’m in love with you. But at every slightest bump in the road you’re ready to run away from me. I can’t, I can’t live like that. I understand that it’s not healthy for you to live a life where you see pictures of me with her or any other girl for that matter. But at the same time it’s not healthy for me to live a life where I don’t feel secure in our relationship.” 

“Shawn, breathe please.”

“I thought we talked about this? I thought I made myself clear, but I’ll try one last time. I know my career scares you. It scares me too. I constantly have people in my business, nothing feels private anymore. That was the case until I met you. I will do anything in my power to make you happy. At the same time, I need to do anything in my power to make sure I’m happy too. You and music make me the happiest I’ve ever been. So I promise that I will keep you informed on everything. Every contract, every interview, every fucking thing I can. Okay?” 

“Okay.” She nods, finally starting to understand that he’s trying. 

He’s really trying to make her feel secure in his career, so he can feel secure in their relationship. That was like a knife to her chest when he told her she doesn’t. 

At this he stops, stares at her and finally takes a deep breath.

“I never signed the contract. I was never going to sign the contract. I’m never going to sign that contract. I called you and told you so you would know about it. I don’t want to keep anything from you. I made that mistake, I almost lost you because of it so I’m not gonna make it again.” 

“Okay,” She nods, taking his hands and kissing at the knuckles. “I’m sorry I doubted you. I’m sorry I jumped to conclusions.” 

“I need you to give me the benefit of the doubt okay? I may be a dumb boy, but I’m learning.” 

“I know.” 

“I’m also really tired.” He slumps his shoulders. “I’m tired from everything, but most of all I’m tired of feeling like every time I take one of your walls down, three more go up. I feel like I never get a win, that I’m always chasing my tail around you.” 

“You’re not.” She shakes her head. “You’re not chasing anything. You have me Shawn.” 

“Do I?” He asks her. “Because it doesn’t feel like it.” 

“You do, I promise you that. You know me better than anyone else does. I’m sorry that I get scared and run away. It’s just how I cope. But I’ll work on it, I know that doesn’t do any good for you or for me. So can we agree that that’s what we need to work on with each other? Not running away, not letting our emotions get the better of us? That we’ll talk, like adults. That way someone doesn’t have to fly home once a week when we have a disagreement?”

“I’d like that. I’d like to do this right. I’d like to love you right.” 

“You do, you do love me right. Now let me learn how to love you right.” 

“You do love me right.” He sighs, spreading his arms out, preparing to go on another rant about how she does, that’s right before she presses her lips to his. 

“Now shut up for a minute.” She murmurs between kisses. “You’re home, and you’re here. Just kiss me a for awhile.”

[florafey]

Thoughts While Reading Crescent City - Part 2

Part one here

Spoilers under the cut

- Something definitely went down that night Bryce and Danika got in a twist with those shifters and crashed their motorcycle

- That something that went down probably has a lottttt to do with the resolution of this book but I can’t for the life of me figure out how

- Aw Hunt’s ordering her food and she isn’t HAVING IT

- Ah shit a ‘slposion 

- Bryce really tired to protect Juniper from the explosion even though Juniper is immortal and Bryce isn’t. This woman is amazing

- I bet a million trillion dollars that Briggs has nothing to do with any of this. I know all signs are pointing to him but that just seems too easy

- AAAAAAAAAND Hunt’s moving in with her. CHA-CHING BABEYYYYYYY

- Nobody hates the Autumn King more than Ruhn does and it’s hysterical. I’m living for the almost blatant disrespect with which Ruhn speaks to him 

- It’s been four seconds and they’re already acting domestic Sarah SARAH what have you done to me

- Fury better make an appearance before the book is over

- Syrinx and Hunt? Pals. I’m calling it

- Okayokayokay I know Bryce has a whole thing with “don’t go all alpha-hole on me” and all that but it was extremely amusing to see her explain that to Hunt and have be like ??? the fuck are you talking about?? and then just shut her down with “I think you may be the alpha-hole here” like Bryce I love you but you needed that

- And then Hunt just picks up from that and starts telling her what to do AHAHAHAHHAH hypocrite 

- I’d rather eat my own vomit than meet Sandriel but I just know we’re going to

- “What’s the deal with you two?”

“We beat the shit out of each other at a party. Danaan’s still sore about it.”

uh yeah I’d be sore about it too, bitch lmaoooo

- Bryce, Hunt, Ruhn, and Lehabah should start their own CSI show. Or Criminal Minds. Or one of those crime shows cause I can’t tell a difference right now

- Group buddy cops except between the four of them, only Bryce and Lehabah get along

- Hunt has an email I’m cryingggg

- Bryce probably fucked that Oracle up, that’s why she won’t go back

- Hunt collectively referring to Bryce and Ruhn as ‘assholes’ is a bold move but he’s right and he should say it

- ah these photos are gonna be a thing, huh? Good. Give it to me

- FUCK ITS SANDRIEL

- atta boy Hunt don’t fucking kneel to her

- Sandriel can catch these hands on any holy day and that’s a fact 

- ewwww Micah come ON

- Wow Bryce really is a Bad Bitch. Doing all that in front of Sandriel?? Telling Micah fucking Domitus ‘not interested”????? Queen

- Okay now I don’t like Micah. He’s fucking Hunt up and he knows it.

- That oracle made me nervous but it went better than I had expected

- Fuck, see, I knew Briggs didn’t have anything to do with it

- I really don’t want Danika to have anything to do with this. It would ruin Bryce and I’m not interested in reading about that

- As we get to know Hunt better, he’s refreshingly human. And he needs a friend just as much as Bryce does. And while both of them are often assholes to each other, they’re also really really good friends when the need to be

- ^^^that’s called growth

- AHHHHHHHHHH the gun range scene????? AMAZING POWERFUL ICONIC on both their parts wowowowowowowowwwwwwwwwwww heheheh they’re such a power couple

- So......hmmm.....okay so Shahar seems to.....not have been that great of a person? Is anyone getting those vibes? idk

- Hunt and Bryce are so normal and I love it. Like sharing worst hookup stories and casually/not so casually asking about current relationships

- Didn’t I say fuck Sabine? Yeah, I knew I was on to something with that

- Ruhn and this medwitch? Could be interesting. I get strange vibes from her, though

- Oh these two will be the death of me. Now we’re changing contact names in each other’s phones?? Okay high-schoolers 

- I LIKE VIKTORIA

- Can I just say that both Bryce and Hunt are doing a phenomenal job at trying to overcome/work through their respective trauma? And they’re learning the best ways to help each other, too 

- Hunt seriously made Bryce crawl into a sewer how rude

- I had heard tell of the Jelly Jubilee scene before reading this book. I have now read it and can say that yes, it is as iconic and hysterical as everyone is making it seem. Wow. I’m going to read it eight more times

- Tharion Ketos is amazing and that’s a fact from God

- ‘Legs’???? ‘Legs’?????? Bryce, if Hunt had called you that you would have smacked him in the mouth

- Oh jeez Bryce lmao chill out you’re at work

- ew I hated the whole scene at the werewolf teritory

- I’m also....unnerved at how the wolves hate Bryce because she hooked up with someone before she ever went on a date with Connor but she was “already his” like ???? guys that doesn’t add up let’s do the math again

- If Sabine does not shut the FUCK UP about her GOTDAMN SWORD I’m gonna seduce Tharion into drowning her and eating her

- So we can drown Amelie too, did you hear that, Tharion? Good

- Micah is now acting shady. Destroying the kristallos before they could search it for an antidote or evidence? That’s called shady 

- A HUG WOW

- FUCK YOU SABINE YOU FUCKING INTERRUPTED THE HUG SESSION

- oop

- Danika ????? Stole ???? Stole the ????? oh alright

- Hunt is again antagonizing Ruhn. This will never get old

- So you know that prophecy about Danika’s sword that talks about one the sword and the knife are joined something about the people coming together? I can’t really remember what it says but I read a theory that proposes that knife as Azriel’s knife from ACTOAR and I’m.....really about that....that would be something else 

- we’re summoning another demon ??? 

- ohhhhhhh the Prince of the Chasm you say ???? I LIKE THIS ONE

- oh shit and Bryce knows him ???? From the past ??? Wild

- lmao look how stressed Hunt is over Aidas

- Aidas had three pages but I’m in love. And he’s a demon so that’s fuuuuuun

- awww look at Bryce trying to make an apology meal there’s def a similarity between this and the soup scene between Feyre and Rhys

- Is....is Hunt going to be her Anchor?? 

- “You said home earlier. At the bar. I know you’re supposed to live in the barracks or whatever Micah insists on, but if we somehow solve this case...that room is yours if you want it.” tears. actual tears. write this on my tombstone, please for the love of god 

- Oh my god Bryce really got scared when he didn’t come home...I’m really gonna start crying again what the hell

- Alright, a tsunami of tears have just been ripped from me. The whole scene when she found him in the shower and washed him and dressed him and put him to bed ???? When he PUT HIS HEAD ON HER LAP ??????? jeeeeesus I’m soft, so so soft

- This is the greatest work of writing I’ve ever held in my hands

- “A child laying his head on his mother’s lap. A friend looking for any sort of reassuring contact to remind him that he was a living being. A good person, no matter what they made him do.” sarah, oh sarah how you’ve ruined me

- So I know we all ship Bryce and Hunt but can we really talk about their friendship? Like the....the pure trust they’ve formed ?? Take that scene above for instance. There’s nothing at all sexual about Bryce washing Hunt in the shower when he was in shock and couldn’t do it himself. Sarah mentions how nervous Bryce is because Hunt is naked but there isn’t anything to that that isn’t normal. And Hunt is comfortable enough with her that he puts his head in her lap and again, nothing sexual. Sarah compares him to a child needing his mother and a friend needing reassurance, but nothing more. There’s something to that, something that wouldn’t be there if the connection was also romantic or sexual. Okay I’ll stop now 

If you’ve made it this far, I appreciate you. Thank you for joining me on this extremely wild and slightly out of control ride. Part 3 will be up shortly.

[elains]

BOOK REVIEW: HOUSE OF EARTH AND BLOOD, Crescent City Book I, by Sarah J. Maas.

First off, my sincerest thanks to @scraphim, who listened to my comments and rants with the patience of a saint and encourage me to put them down. Second, english is not my first language, so my apologies if there's anything confusing or awkward.

General Rating: ★★ 1/2

THERE WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A CUT HERE OUT OF COURTESY BUT TUMBLR MOBILE IS BEING ITS IMPOSSIBLE SELF SO DO MIND THE RATING BEFORE CONTINUING.

Congratulations, Sarah J. Maas. You got me to sit down and write a review for a book, something I hadn't done (officially, anyway, might as well count the endless conversations with my friends) in a long while. Unfortunately, House of Earth and Blood was one more disappointment in an ever-growing list, and this review was born not out of pure, simple enjoyment, but of how much reading this bothered me.

Let me start by saying that I wanted to like this book. I did. I don't buy books which I don't think there's a chance I will not enjoy, I have way too much to do with my life and little money to spare on that. I hoped Sarah would go back to the early days of ToG, when the writing wasn't so choppy I kept questioning what is her problem with commas and when the characters weren't more and more of the same. Or perhaps that she would go back to ACoMaF, which at the time I loved reading.

Silly, silly me. The thing about having an eye-opener to something is that you can't go back. It's not so simple to close your eyes and pretend the bad doesn't exist, doing so feels irresponssible. I'm not sure her books have changed much, perhaps it was just me, the reader, whose perspective changed.

Let's go into the detail, then. Warning for spoilers of her previous books:

• THE LENGTH. It. Is. Ridiculosly. Long. I would say that length itself it's not necessarily a bad thing, something can be long but engaging. HoEaB's problem is that it drags on, to the point I had to put it down I don't know how many times out of frustration that nothing relevant happened. The infodumps do not help AT ALL, making the whole experience even more tiresome. I'll talk about worldbuilding separately, but jesus, so much unecessary information whose only purpose was to add to the wordcount and could have been woven into the story more organically. Readers are not dumb, they can make simple inferences, you don't need to explain every little detail.

The story only picks up and runs like the devil itself is chasing it in the last like, 20 chapters or so. Considering there are 97 of them... Yeah. It could have been a shorter, more direct and overall just more engaging.

• THE WORLDBUILD. I'll give Sarah J. Maas a point: it is more elaborate and refined compared to ToG and ACoTaR, whose worldbuilding are in general quite shallow and in the later's case, nearly nonexistent. However, the use of names blatantly lifted from real-world mythology and places bothered me to NO END. In a book which is built around those mythologies as their main source of inspiration, I can understand. Not here. Look, Maas can come up with original fantasy names, there are even some in HoEaB itself. But unless it's meant to be purposeful and Crescent City is to be Earth All Along, it's just jarring and feels lazy. It's not something new— refer back to the Illyrians and the Myrmidons.

Archean? Valbara? Pangera? Hel? REALLY? And those are just place names. Might as well name something Proterozoic. Or Laurasia.

The Roman inspiration, which was supposed to be a big thing from all her talk felt extremely loose and barely there. Oh sure, there are legions, a governor, the SPQR/M, and some names which to me, a portuguese speaker, where so cringy I had to laugh (Like Gelos and Cervo. You know, literally Ices and Stag or in that case Hind), but they did not feel Roman to me, naming aside. You could literally have named them anything else and it'd still have worked.

We studied Rome (mostly the government and the legal system) in our first semester of College and it might be the student in me, but I kept wanting to see more of the government structure, the politcal system itself. In a book that dealt with law enforcement and figures in places of power, this was a part of the worldbuilding that felt lacking, and a wasted opportunity to expand on the Roman inspiration.

What gets me is that some interesting concepts could have been explored better. I kinda like the idea of the Asteri, the rifts, the summoning salts.

• HUMANITY'S PORTRAYAL. Ahahaha. Where do I even begin with this one? In KoA, I hated that Aelin loosing her human side was seen as such a big sacrifice when the Fae were repeatedly shown to be "superior": stronger, more beautiful, immortal, the list goes on. Aelin herself preferred the Fae-side, so it felt a completely pointless sacrifice. In Crescent City, it gets even worse. Humanity is oppressed, trying to fight for their freedom and their inherent rights as sentient beings, and the books keeps going on and on about the Vanir.

Forgive me, but I'm supposed to be sympathize with the Vanir? To see the Vanir main-characters go on and change the world and make it better for everyone? I'm sorry but I'm not here for that. Bryce's mother and stepfather and Briggs aside, the HoEaB could have definetely used a human PoV or just. You know. ONE THAT DOESN'T FAVOR THE VANIR IN EVERYTHING. So yeah, I'm here cheering for the humans.

• THE CHARACTERS. I like Ruhn. He read like a concerned older brother, I could relate to that, not a possessive alphahole and I was baffled when Bryce kept insisting that. Oh, he has his flaws, but overall, I like him and his friends. They're nice. Danika, too. I would have liked to see more of Juniper and Fury, and them together, instead of using their relationship as kind of a surprise. Hypaxia is another Yrene/Sorscha. I also liked Lehabah, she was a sweetheart (Also I'm sorry am I supposed to think Bryce witholding the news on her freedom to throw a party WASN'T a WTF move? That Lele just knew because she looked at the documents???)

Now, to our main duo. I found Hunt boring. Simple as that. There was nothing in him that I found captivating, nothing new in terms of SJM's Love Interests. How he kept sexualizing Bryce in the most inappropriate of moments pissed me off. His and Bryce's relationship felt to me as Rowaelin 2.0, just as they themselves read as another versions of them, and not very different ones. He is not supposed to be an "alphahole" but... I didn't feel it. Hunt felt as just more of the same.

Now, Bryce Adelaide Quinlan.. Is it so much to ask for a main character who isn't gorgeous, super special, and super-powerful? I get the appeal of the trope, I'm no so hypocritical as to say that I've not indulged in it myself, but with Sarah, it feels overdone. When all characters are beautiful, special, so powerful it... kinda loses its meaning. However, that's not what bothered me about Bryce, no, it's the fact that she could be read as PoC (Golden, Tanned skin, two very ambiguous terms. My white cousin gets golden skin when she stays too long outdoors ffs), and as a PoC myself, reading her into those situations bothered me so, so much I cannot even begin to tell you.

Her curvy, sensual, bug boobs and butts are easily one of the more sought after where I live. People would go to great lengths for such a body and no, it will not hinder your dancing career. We have a word for it roughly translates to Hot, but having men call you that as something laid out on a table for their pleasure, objectifying you is horrible. And that's what most characters do in HoEaB: sexualize Bryce again and again, playing into harmful stereotypes.

My skin crawled reading those passages. I felt uncomfortable. And it wasn't even just the nameless, countless side-characters: it was Hunt himself. Every single move Bryce made was sexualized and I hated, hated it. "She's a Queen who owns her body and doesn't care for anyone else's thoughts" is all well and good, but women like me already have the stereotype of whores, sluts, homewreckers, and it was handled in such a tone-deaf way that it touched ALL of my wrong buttons. It was just uncomfortable, and cringy.

Two and a half stars, like those bad movies we still watch god knows why.

[nightmare-circus]

Serica | Reaction 4/4 | Ode to…

When: Second motive, when their surroundings were not these ephemeral islands but a quiet village. In the midst of suffocating fear, after she had committed to holing up in her room, before he had come to stay with her.

Where: On their mirrors. Due to aforementioned self-isolation.

Who: One conspiracy theorist, one nurse. Just friends, for now.

What:

( > seriously though i dont want to find you dead )

> then don’t go looking

( > how could i not? )

Why:

IX. Yamamoto, Deacon

Was it her fault, for trying to make concrete plans for the future?

( “Deacon Yamamoto, I will do everything in my power to make sure you and I can leave here, that I will find you and bring you home and we’ll spend days just sitting on the couch watching terrible sitcoms, riding on the subway gossiping about tourists, walking through the park hand in hand…“ )

No, that was stupid. 

Serica may have been a woman who believed in more than the average person, trusted in platitudes and jinxes where others would scoff, but even in the midst of the unthinkable she was dimly aware this wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t his fault. It was…. someone else. Someone else’s fault.

A someone else who she needed to find. But, she found herself once again incapable of meaningfully investigating. Not this time for exaggerated pain and weakness, but of a pure inability to move forward both physically and psychologically.

She’s done this before. She had just forced herself to shallowly rationalize and pack away the deaths of Miles, Juniper, Tatsuya, Elise. One more couldn’t be bad. She was great at compartmentalization wasn’t she? She was able to laugh and have drinks hours after poisoning a man, she was able to pretend to be a victim when only half an hour before she had killed one Danny Ostergard with her two hands. If she approached this from a distance, with the veneer of a woman who had nothing to do with the dead man before her, with the objectivity of a woman who simply was trying to figure out what was going on… she could do this, right?

Let’s begin.

How does she even begin to explain Deacon Yamamoto?

(Ah… he’d probably like that reference, wouldn’t he?)

u/BoysBBUGS ||  u/aviary23

Head mod of Fanatical Ravings of the Disappeared, he(?) had a lot of theories that she didn’t necessarily subscribe to, but saw his contributions interesting to pick at. Ships passing through the night on the world wide web ocean.

IX. The Hermit || XI. Justice

A neighbor of a neighbor, though she hadn’t seen him around much. Does he keep to himself? Why the mask?

Cockroach & Serica

A riot of a man, able to make her laugh to hysterics at their first meeting. Supposedly 32 years old, supposedly unable to bath for fear of chemicals, supposedly with child with a man he had just met. Willing to have himself come off as incredibly unreasonable in public. Despite all this, clearly intelligent, clearly possessed a mind that had a voracious appetite for information and was wonderful to bounce theories on. An asset, despite it all.

( “I’m Serica by the way!” )

[…]

“They gave me the name Cockroach. Fucking COCKROACH Ser. What kinda joke is this shit?”

“I have a dumb fucking gift and Cockroach might as well be my real name since I doubt I’ll ever hear my original one ever again.”

Roach & Riccy

Slippery in every way, but not so unreasonable as he seemed. Logic was a great way to combat him, and any answer often had to be weaseled with either heavy theorizing (her specialty) or with a tango with some off the cuff roleplaying (decidedly not her specialty). She wouldn’t be so cocky to say that he changed his habits for her but… she thinks she had a hand in convincing him. He really wasn’t so bad, if you gave him a chance, and he’d surprised her more than once with acts of care and thoughtfulness.

Dee & ██

A friend for sure, and one who seemed to have a genuine loyalty. No qualms at seeing her drop a stun gun in front of him, no reservations when she admitted tentatively that she slept with a knife, no judgements when she casually brought up murder once more. Morals in the traditional sense didn’t seem to shackle him, which was very convenient to incorporating him into her tentative plans. 26, not 32. A New Yorker, as well though rather than any borough, his car was his home. Given his life he had become a stranger to hugs, to positive affection, but once he had a taste he was hungry for more. For all his mock lovers and public swooning, he was dense to actual subtle flirting.

( “My middle name. Aka, no risk of harming me if a faelien hears it. ██.” )

“I don’t have a middle name. I’d tell you if I did, swear. You can call me Dee though. It’s a part of my first name and you already know the first letter of it when I fucked up that one time. So Dee is a pretty good substitute then, yeah?”

Deacon & ███

Incredibly cute. A true newcomer to being hit on, to being told he’s handsome, to being kissed, to being in a relationship. A strong backbone even as she herself wavered in the days leading up to the decisive moment. Determined, stating possibilities as if they were facts and refusing to acknowledge her agonizing over the worst case scenario. Through everything, an unwavering support, a hand on her back, a shoulder to lean on. A good singer of lullabies, in her opinion.

( “███. My name is ███.” )

“Deacon.”

Deacon Yamamoto & ███ ██ █

Did not hold himself in the same concern he showed her. Makes a fuss in the public chat about the wrongs done to him but brushes off the severity when questioned by his own girlfriend. Still a liar, still a master of faking a smile. 

( “I won’t remember much but i’ll know your name, your, that you helped me so much in escaping that, that you mean the World to me–” she’s just babbling “I probably will believe myself if, if I actually try to find your information or maybe your drivers license– maybe if I put you in as a missing person or– But oh no will you believe me? What if I just show up at your car and you just think I’m a scam artist or–” )

“My license plate is HGO789. Deacon Yamamoto. I’ll believe you. I’ll always believe you.”

( “…█. My last name is… █.” )

███ ██ █

There once was a man upon whom was foisted a change. Upon his rise to a breathing dream, he was stripped of his taste and stripped of subsequent limits. Immune not only to the aches of poison but the salve of saccharin, the burn of capsaicin. To match with his steel stomach was his mercurial tongue, not gifted but cultivated carefully. Silvery and poisonous with every other word, it was at the command of a mind that paralleled in fluidity. It was as if he was a maestro, and his instrument of choice was a dictionary, phrases and scenarios slung with such rapidity that all who listened were on guard for constant whiplash.

So, it meant something when words became actions.

Anyone can say anything. He especially was able to say anything, a master class perjurer of the highest degree. The sun was about to peek through the sky at any moment, he was a Staten Island woman in an unhappy marriage trying to hook up her hair dresser with her son, he was fine, he was going to be okay, he was going to get out of here–

…

There is a difference, between telling someone that you will take consideration for the situation, and spending precious currency to fit yourself with a weapon.

There is a difference, between telling someone that you will help them, protect them, and taking the extra mile to pull down the mattress of a woman who’s waking hell of a gift would not let her climb up the steps otherwise.

There is a difference, between telling someone that you want them to live and helping them plan and execute the death of another person.

There is a difference, between telling someone that you want to live and…

…

(She was failing miserably in this task).

…

No one who looked at his body, at the stagnant ichor dripping out of his head, could understand the potential for warmth like she would. His fingers combing through her hair, pulling out loose tangles and tucking locks behind her ear so she could look at him unfettered. A grin, not sharp and pulled taught, but gently reassuring, murmuring soothing phrases to ease her anxious hands. Irises, bright not with the promise of information to unravel but with unbridled emotion that made his eyes crinkle, a devoted gaze meant for one.

One person, who stood here alone.

“And it’s not like I need it, yanno? I kinda wasted my life away before all of this. Not sure if I want it back.”

"I won’t die. Not yet at least. I have some things that need getting done." 

“I mean I’m not gonna let myself die after I break a leg like some racehorse. I wanna be useful, not a damn trigger happy martyr. ” He had snorted. “I’ll still make a valiant effort to get out of here Rics. But if it comes down to me and you? Well.” He had shrugged. “As a consolation prize I will say, you do make me wanna become someone worth living again.”

"I was impliiiied my dear, of course I’m making it out of here with you. What would the point be otherwise. I was trying to make it seem all badass and broody, adding a technicality to it all would’ve been underwhelming.”

“You’re going to be stuck with me until the end of times.”

“You’re getting out of- we’re getting out of here. You were wonderful.”

“Yes I know. I will. I’m going to get out. With you.”

“Of course, █. We can live a life worth living together out there.”

“It’s going to be alright █.”

“I love you █, please. Trust me, things are gonna be fine.”

“One day at a time.”

One day at a time, she had repeated.

One day at a time, she repeats, staring at his face, flesh frozen in the way that only a cadaver could. She’d never forget the first time she had touched a dead body, and was forced to confront the jarring dissonance, the coldness, the stiffness, the pallor of the skin that had been warm, soft, pliable, just hours before. Only a child, forced to confront the concept of lives ending for the first time. Since then she had seen more than her fair share, from work, from this place, before her very eyes.

Joints creak and echo through her body as she moves, finally. To fold her knees under herself, sit at his side, hand hovering indefinitely, torn between not having to face that final moment of confirmation and wanting to just hold him once more. Before she would have to be torn from him for hours, before they returned from a useless trial and his body would be gone, before she’d have to trudge to their caravan, who’s emptiness would threaten to collapse on her.

“There is nothing worse than not knowing.”

( “No, there’s nothing worse than not living.” )

[wendyimmiller]

Experts Expose the Deadliest Garden Writing Tools! And Five Fabulous Coneflowers that Defy News Feed Blues!!!

July 15, 2020

Cincinnati, Ohio

Dear Marianne,

Thank you so much for your letter dated June 26th. During this chaotic, busy time, it reminded me that I’m still in this relationship, and just as importantly, it reminded me why. I’ll explain this a little later on.

Before I do, I want to address my Facebook overshares. I’ve been accused of this before, and I have brought it up with health professionals. Mental health professionals. Through this I’ve learned new things about myself. Some of it is rather technical, but the short answer is that my oversharing is caused by vodka and tonics. Thing is, my life is hard. Very hard. I live in the Midwest. Where everything sucks. Everything here can either kill you or leave you begging that it does. The Midwest especially hates gardeners. So the drinks are well-deserved, and the things I then say on Facebook are what they are. I do get “likes,” but, to be honest, I’m never really sure if they are true “likes” or just feeble reactions of worried “friends” who don’t know what else to do. Besides, it’s only Facebook. Not like anyone sees it or as if anything could ever come back to haunt me. Right?

This Rant is a bit thin on horticulture, so I’m providing a parallel theme of beautiful Echinacea in photos and captions. This is Echinacea Fiery Meadow Momma.

Another thing before I continue. Apparently, I need to justify vodka and tonics over gin and tonics. That’s fine. I can do that, and it will all be based on things I know to be true. Yes, while gin is basically an English vodka, the addition of juniper berries and other various spices give it a unique flavor. By carefully crafting their recipes, gin makers offer their customers interesting and lovely tasting experiences. Literally, millions of people the world over, English and those they’ve colonized, truly enjoy gin and tonics. Few are faking it. And yet, despite all this, there are some very good reasons why some people cannot drink gin. Mine is that at age 15 I drank way too much of it. Spent an hour, maybe five, enduring the trauma of my body trying its damnedest to expel the entirety of my digestive system onto the asphalt of a drive-in right off the Mosteller Road exit in Sharonville, Ohio. Forty five years later, I’m still unable to disassociate the one thing from the other.

Echinacea Sombrero Orange, it is said, cures hangovers and even prevents teenagers from making poor choices!

So, for me, it’ll remain vodka and tonics, and, my, aren’t they refreshing on a hot day! It doesn’t bother me in the least that the sole purpose of vodka was (and sort of still is) for peasants to make alcohol from whatever spare rotting vegetation was lying around the village, and that the less it tastes like that from which it was sourced, the better. And while I realize that you were probably being snarky when you suggested I resort to Everclear, there’s actually solid reasoning behind your comment. But in my defense, however, I feel compelled to mention that I’ve never made a habit of buying the expensive stuff.

One more stray item before I try to address the real essence of your letter. You referenced the band Cake. Recently, my son has been trying to get me into them, which led me to the horrifying realization that I might be old enough to be your father! Imagine, then, my relief when I remembered that we’ve managed to keep things platonic between us! A trophy girlfriend just wouldn’t work for me. I’m not confident anymore, and just too damned gross. But it did get me thinking about our relationship, as it sometimes seems an odd one. To me, although you are younger, it feels like you are more worldly, learned, and a million times more mature. This makes you the sage. Me? I’m just an (average, at best) student. This gets reinforced every time you correct me when I get parts of things wrong, as I frequently do, or when I get all of it wrong, which also happens. Additionally, you have introduced me to many new things.

Echinacea Purple Emperor.

Case in point, I understood nothing in your letter after the parts about gin and Facebook. I have to admit that almost everything else was like it came from another world. I literally spent days afterward googling the various topics. I questioned friends and family too, and once a random stranger in the park before I began to feel even vaguely acquainted with stuff like Search Engine Optimization, Yoast, and something about worms.

Echinacea Kismet Raspberry.

So, SEO is why all the crap that shows up in my Google feed is written so strangely! And badly. Worse, it felt to me that you also effectively argued that tools like SEO, which exist merely to land any lame writer prime real-estate on a million billion feeds, are to good writing what roomfuls of Macedonian teenagers, their online accounts stuff with thousands of rubles worth of bitcoin, are to honest and intelligent American political debate. It is inevitable, I think you continued, that between them, such bad garden writing and those horrible Macedonian kids capturing the spare-minute attention spans of a million billion lemmings on their feeds, that mankind is doomed to witness the loss of basic human decency, the end of civilization, and fewer and fewer articles by Monty Don. If this is indeed what you were saying, I think you’re on to something!

Echinacea Evening Glow.

But I’m not exactly sure what I can do about it, other than to not care. By this I mean that I write to write, and always have. Even as a kid, I just wrote. All of it crap. As a young adult, I wrote more crap. No voice. No wisdom. Nothing to say and so profoundly aware of it. Eventually I found a passion in horticulture and scraped together some knowledge, and even a little confidence in that knowledge. An utter lack of pride and absolutely no ability to hide anything gave me something that might resemble a voice. Years and years of so many poor decisions infused me with maybe a bit of wisdom. Or at least some good stories. End result is that only now at age 60 am I able to even like some of what I write. Just enough to keep me at it, And just enough that I’m not going to change how I do it. Although, it turns out I might be using too many exclamation points! At least according to a paragraph deep into your letter.

While still in my previous life as an airline employee, I took some part-time jobs in nurseries to learn plants. These were not jobs I needed, and the experience was somewhat enlightening. All the crap that bothered employees who needed their jobs, didn’t mean anything to me. Disputes, rumors, conspiracies, and whatever else that were whispered during down times meant nothing to me. I just didn’t care. If my last day on the job was this one, so what? This informs my approach to garden writing. I do it because I love it, and that’s why I’ll keep doing it. Sure, it would be great if my stuff gets read, and making some money would be really nice, but I’m not going to stop if none of those things ever happen. I’m just going to continue, and I’m going to write as I want it to read. Key phrases or whatever else be damned.

Echinacea Sombrero Lemon Yellow.

Once in a while the best way to play the game is to not play it. This feels like that to me. Today’s glazed glossing of a paper thin spray of half truths will grow old, and a new way will come that might, in fact, look kind of old. I hear the millennials are all listening to Cake on vinyl. Maybe today’s grade-school kids will grow up knowing that quality garden writing is really cool. Maybe they’ll even prefer books. And they occasionally go to a neighborhood shop to buy one. Maybe one from Christopher Lloyd. A few weeks later, one of yours. Possibly even one of mine. Of course, I’ll be dead, but at this point I’m perfectly okay with my genius being discovered after I’m gone.

  Experts Expose the Deadliest Garden Writing Tools! And Five Fabulous Coneflowers that Defy News Feed Blues!!! originally appeared on GardenRant on July 15, 2020.

The post Experts Expose the Deadliest Garden Writing Tools! And Five Fabulous Coneflowers that Defy News Feed Blues!!! appeared first on GardenRant.

from Gardening https://www.gardenrant.com/2020/07/experts-expose-the-deadliest-garden-writing-tools-and-five-fabulous-coneflowers-that-defy-news-feed-blues.html via http://www.rssmix.com/

[turfandlawncare]

Experts Expose the Deadliest Garden Writing Tools! And Five Fabulous Coneflowers that Defy News Feed Blues!!!

July 15, 2020

Cincinnati, Ohio

Dear Marianne,

Thank you so much for your letter dated June 26th. During this chaotic, busy time, it reminded me that I’m still in this relationship, and just as importantly, it reminded me why. I’ll explain this a little later on.

Before I do, I want to address my Facebook overshares. I’ve been accused of this before, and I have brought it up with health professionals. Mental health professionals. Through this I’ve learned new things about myself. Some of it is rather technical, but the short answer is that my oversharing is caused by vodka and tonics. Thing is, my life is hard. Very hard. I live in the Midwest. Where everything sucks. Everything here can either kill you or leave you begging that it does. The Midwest especially hates gardeners. So the drinks are well-deserved, and the things I then say on Facebook are what they are. I do get “likes,” but, to be honest, I’m never really sure if they are true “likes” or just feeble reactions of worried “friends” who don’t know what else to do. Besides, it’s only Facebook. Not like anyone sees it or as if anything could ever come back to haunt me. Right?

This Rant is a bit thin on horticulture, so I’m providing a parallel theme of beautiful Echinacea in photos and captions. This is Echinacea Fiery Meadow Momma.

Another thing before I continue. Apparently, I need to justify vodka and tonics over gin and tonics. That’s fine. I can do that, and it will all be based on things I know to be true. Yes, while gin is basically an English vodka, the addition of juniper berries and other various spices give it a unique flavor. By carefully crafting their recipes, gin makers offer their customers interesting and lovely tasting experiences. Literally, millions of people the world over, English and those they’ve colonized, truly enjoy gin and tonics. Few are faking it. And yet, despite all this, there are some very good reasons why some people cannot drink gin. Mine is that at age 15 I drank way too much of it. Spent an hour, maybe five, enduring the trauma of my body trying its damnedest to expel the entirety of my digestive system onto the asphalt of a drive-in right off the Mosteller Road exit in Sharonville, Ohio. Forty five years later, I’m still unable to disassociate the one thing from the other.

Echinacea Sombrero Orange, it is said, cures hangovers and even prevents teenagers from making poor choices!

So, for me, it’ll remain vodka and tonics, and, my, aren’t they refreshing on a hot day! It doesn’t bother me in the least that the sole purpose of vodka was (and sort of still is) for peasants to make alcohol from whatever spare rotting vegetation was lying around the village, and that the less it tastes like that from which it was sourced, the better. And while I realize that you were probably being snarky when you suggested I resort to Everclear, there’s actually solid reasoning behind your comment. But in my defense, however, I feel compelled to mention that I’ve never made a habit of buying the expensive stuff.

One more stray item before I try to address the real essence of your letter. You referenced the band Cake. Recently, my son has been trying to get me into them, which led me to the horrifying realization that I might be old enough to be your father! Imagine, then, my relief when I remembered that we’ve managed to keep things platonic between us! A trophy girlfriend just wouldn’t work for me. I’m not confident anymore, and just too damned gross. But it did get me thinking about our relationship, as it sometimes seems an odd one. To me, although you are younger, it feels like you are more worldly, learned, and a million times more mature. This makes you the sage. Me? I’m just an (average, at best) student. This gets reinforced every time you correct me when I get parts of things wrong, as I frequently do, or when I get all of it wrong, which also happens. Additionally, you have introduced me to many new things.

Echinacea Purple Emperor.

Case in point, I understood nothing in your letter after the parts about gin and Facebook. I have to admit that almost everything else was like it came from another world. I literally spent days afterward googling the various topics. I questioned friends and family too, and once a random stranger in the park before I began to feel even vaguely acquainted with stuff like Search Engine Optimization, Yoast, and something about worms.

Echinacea Kismet Raspberry.

So, SEO is why all the crap that shows up in my Google feed is written so strangely! And badly. Worse, it felt to me that you also effectively argued that tools like SEO, which exist merely to land any lame writer prime real-estate on a million billion feeds, are to good writing what roomfuls of Macedonian teenagers, their online accounts stuff with thousands of rubles worth of bitcoin, are to honest and intelligent American political debate. It is inevitable, I think you continued, that between them, such bad garden writing and those horrible Macedonian kids capturing the spare-minute attention spans of a million billion lemmings on their feeds, that mankind is doomed to witness the loss of basic human decency, the end of civilization, and fewer and fewer articles by Monty Don. If this is indeed what you were saying, I think you’re on to something!

Echinacea Evening Glow.

But I’m not exactly sure what I can do about it, other than to not care. By this I mean that I write to write, and always have. Even as a kid, I just wrote. All of it crap. As a young adult, I wrote more crap. No voice. No wisdom. Nothing to say and so profoundly aware of it. Eventually I found a passion in horticulture and scraped together some knowledge, and even a little confidence in that knowledge. An utter lack of pride and absolutely no ability to hide anything gave me something that might resemble a voice. Years and years of so many poor decisions infused me with maybe a bit of wisdom. Or at least some good stories. End result is that only now at age 60 am I able to even like some of what I write. Just enough to keep me at it, And just enough that I’m not going to change how I do it. Although, it turns out I might be using too many exclamation points! At least according to a paragraph deep into your letter.

While still in my previous life as an airline employee, I took some part-time jobs in nurseries to learn plants. These were not jobs I needed, and the experience was somewhat enlightening. All the crap that bothered employees who needed their jobs, didn’t mean anything to me. Disputes, rumors, conspiracies, and whatever else that were whispered during down times meant nothing to me. I just didn’t care. If my last day on the job was this one, so what? This informs my approach to garden writing. I do it because I love it, and that’s why I’ll keep doing it. Sure, it would be great if my stuff gets read, and making some money would be really nice, but I’m not going to stop if none of those things ever happen. I’m just going to continue, and I’m going to write as I want it to read. Key phrases or whatever else be damned.

Echinacea Sombrero Lemon Yellow.

Once in a while the best way to play the game is to not play it. This feels like that to me. Today’s glazed glossing of a paper thin spray of half truths will grow old, and a new way will come that might, in fact, look kind of old. I hear the millennials are all listening to Cake on vinyl. Maybe today’s grade-school kids will grow up knowing that quality garden writing is really cool. Maybe they’ll even prefer books. And they occasionally go to a neighborhood shop to buy one. Maybe one from Christopher Lloyd. A few weeks later, one of yours. Possibly even one of mine. Of course, I’ll be dead, but at this point I’m perfectly okay with my genius being discovered after I’m gone.

  Experts Expose the Deadliest Garden Writing Tools! And Five Fabulous Coneflowers that Defy News Feed Blues!!! originally appeared on GardenRant on July 15, 2020.

The post Experts Expose the Deadliest Garden Writing Tools! And Five Fabulous Coneflowers that Defy News Feed Blues!!! appeared first on GardenRant.

from GardenRant https://ift.tt/2Woft0J