#Third World Farmer

[g4zdtechtv]

THE PILE PRESENTS: X-Play - Blades of Time Well Wasted | 4/17/12

Don't be a Vaas-hole.

(4GTV - 24/7. LIVE. WATCH NOW.)

[teaboot]

One time, I had an English professor tell me I should stop using my inhaler because it was bad for the environment.

Yeah an if you dropped dead it would significantly reduce your carbon footprint too, huh. What if we ALL just stopped breathing. Can’t be throwing fistfuls of plastic fuckin straws directly into the South Pacific when you got a BPM of zilch, can you? What a fuckin innovator. Was he head of your nation’s EPA *directly* before he retired to become world’s youngest baseline edgelord 4chan ass 14 year old boy with tenure, or did he wait for his 3rd consecutive Nobel peace prize before giving someone else a chance? Ask him if his back hurts from carrying the weight of all the world’s most pressing concerns to and from Chuck E Cheese each night or if his tiny spiny propellor hat lightens the load a bit. Did his big red clown nose come standard with his tweed set or he spring for the premium model with the biodegradeable sustainable foam and the super-boosted honk-honk action? Are his size 23 clown bitch oxfords custom? Does he take one off to use as a canoe on his annual vacations to his summer home in the balmy and tropical shit fuck dumbass islands or does he just levitate everywhere he goes by the power of his unparalleled Xmen level intellect. Can you ask him if Magneto is gonna spare the human race to run laps in his hamster wheel electrical generator complex or if he’s just gonna wipe us all the fuck out for the carbon tax credit. Ask him if the weight of his gigantic balls dragging in the ground behind him everywhere he goes adds to the mileage on his Tesla. When he wipes his ass does he use single ply to save the trees or just a fistful of baby ducklings that he can then gently bathe by hand with water collected by the rain barrel in the endangered orchid garden by the solarium on the west side of his sprawling villa, the one he bought when he sold the patent for the perpetual motion motion machine he built out of toothpicks and marshmallows in third grade before the obvious intellectual gap between himself and the rest of us bumbling simpletons weighed him down and killed his passion to create. What other wisdom has he yet to share with the world? What other knowledge that only he and my reiki-healing essential-oil-drinking violet-aura neighbour know that may benefit us all? Holy shit, have I been drinking WATER my whole life? That shit that whales live in? Guess I’ll just go lay in a hole out back and wait for the compost heap to take me. Should I confess my sins to Captain Planet first, so he may redeem my wicked soul in the true Eco Catholic way, or was that recyclable soda can I threw in the trash downtown at last year’s garlic bread festival because there were no recycling bins provided the final straw that made me unworthy of glorious green salvation? BRB, gotta go strip naked and flagellate myself before the begonias so that they may know the depth of my remorse. Don’t worry, I only buy locally-sourced hemp lashes produced by small home businesses at the farmer’s market, they have a three-for-two sale on Sundays if you bring your own reusable bag. Christ on a fucking cupcake

[reasonsforhope]

"Around the world, farmers are retooling their land to harvest the hottest new commodity: sunlight. As the price of renewable energy technology has plummeted and water has gotten more scarce, growers are fallowing acreage and installing solar panels. Some are even growing crops beneath them, which is great for plants stressed by too many rays. Still others are letting that shaded land go wild, providing habitat for pollinators and fodder for grazing livestock.

According to a new study, this practice of agrisolar has been quite lucrative for farmers in California’s Central Valley over the last 25 years — and for the environment. Researchers looked at producers who had idled land and installed solar, using the electricity to run equipment like water pumps and selling the excess power to utilities. 

On average, that energy savings and revenue added up to $124,000 per hectare (about 2.5 acres) each year, 25 times the value of using the land to grow crops. Collectively, the juice generated in the Central Valley could power around 500,000 households while saving enough water to hydrate 27 million people annually. “If a farmer owns 10 acres of land, and they choose to convert one or two acres to a solar array, that could produce enough income for them to feel security for their whole operation,” said Jake Stid, a renewable energy landscape scientist at Michigan State University and lead author of the paper, published in the journal Nature Sustainability. 

The Central Valley is among the most productive agricultural regions in the world: It makes up just 1 percent of all farmland acreage in the United States, yet generates a third of the nation’s fruits and vegetables. But it’s also extremely water-stressed as California whiplashes between years of significant rainfall and drought. To irrigate all those crops, farmers have drawn so much groundwater that aquifers collapse like empty water bottles, making the earth itself sink by many feet.

Farmers can’t make their crops less thirsty, so many have been converting some of their acreage to solar. The Central Valley is ideal for this, being mostly flat and very sunny, hence the agricultural productivity. At the same time, farmers have been getting good rates for the electricity that they offset and that they send back to the grid. 

Now, though, California has adopted standards that reduce those rates by 75 percent on average. For a farmer investing in panels, the investment looks less enticing. “The algebra or calculus — or whatever math discipline you want to reference — it just doesn’t work out the same way,” said Karen Norene Mills, vice president of legal advocacy at the California Farm Bureau, which promotes the state’s agricultural community. 

Also, the study found that by fallowing land for solar panels, food production in the Central Valley dropped by enough calories to feed 86,000 people a year. But, Stid said, markets can adjust, as crops are grown elsewhere to make up the deficit. By tapping the sun instead, Stid added, growers can simultaneously help California reach its goals of deploying renewable and reducing groundwater usage. 

The tension, though, is meeting those objectives while still producing incredible quantities of food. “That is always our concern about some of these pressures,” Mills said.

But this isn’t an either-or proposition: Many farmers are finding ways to grow some crops, like leafy greens and berries, under the panels. The shade reduces evaporation from the soil, allowing growers to water less often. In turn, a wetted landscape cools the panels, which improves their efficiency. “This is the compromise that’s going to allow for both energy independence and food security,” said horticulturalist Jennifer Bousselot, who studies agrisolar at Colorado State University but wasn’t involved in the new study. 

Farmers are also turning livestock loose to graze under their panels. Their droppings fertilize the soil, leading to more plant growth and more flowers that support native pollinators. “The grass, it’s so much more lush under the panels, it’s amazing,” said Ryan Romack, founder of Virginia-based AgriSolar Ranch, which provides grazing services. “Especially when the sheep have been on site long-term, you can really see the added benefits of the manure load.”

Then, if a farmer decides not to replace the solar panels at the end of their lifespan — usually around 25 or 30 years — the soil will be refreshed with nutrients and ready to grow more crops. Even if a grower simply lets them sit for decades without any management, the fallowing can restore the soil’s health. “We really see solar as a collective landscape,” Stid said, “that can be sited, managed, and designed in a way to benefit both people and the planet and ecosystems as well.”"

-via Popular Science, May 4, 2025

[ceesimz]

Lavender

A date that unfortunately doesn't go as planned. (autistic!reader - angst -> fluff)

Reverie series here as always! A verrrry real experience depicted in this one, with some amazing help from @pickledwoso that i am very grateful for, thank youuu <3

“Engel, are you ready to leave?” Alexia sang as she headed out of the bedroom towards where you were at the door rocking back and forth on the balls of your feet, waiting for her.

“Yes, you fool, I've been ready for the past half hour.” You rolled your eyes at her teasingly, laughing when she lightly pawed at your side where she knew you were ticklish. “Come on! You're taking all day.”

“Ay, it is our day-off, I can take my time for once. No rushing, just calm, and me and you.” She gave an alluring smile, sliding her hand down your arm until she intertwined your fingers, then leaned forwards to kiss your forehead. “Are you excited?”

“Very. I love when we do this.” You told her with a squeeze of her hand. The girl grinned, her eyes brimming with excitement and complete happiness seeping from her pores, like the prospect of visiting a farmer's market with her girlfriend was as exciting as a third Ballon d’Or.

“Me too.” She gently knocked your chin up and pecked your lips before brushing back a strand of hair behind your ear. “Now, are we ready, mi vida?”

“For the love of god, yes!”

Any time the club issued some days-off, one of the things highest on the list for yourself and Alexia was visiting the local farmer’s market. You’d buy the best of the best fresh organic products and cook together a dish of food that, combined with the quality time you'd spend with each other, would make for a night-in together that was so much better than going out somewhere. 

These days had become somewhat of a tradition, and with it being the penultimate day of the short summer break after the tournament Alexia had gone to, it was absolute perfection. The last day had no plans apart from relaxing and spending time together before the season started again. You couldn't think of a better way to spend the last bit of time off than a date to a familiar, easy place with Alexia that was sure to give way for a fun afternoon and evening.

With it being the height of summer, Barcelona was especially warm, which was perhaps the first warning sign of the day.

“Ale, you really need to get your car in the garage, your AC sucks.” You groaned, the vents on full blast yet hardly doing a thing to cool you down against the 35 degree air outside. Your window was open and your head rested against the door dramatically, Alexia couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight even if she did feel a little bad about it.

“It’s got a service next week, they will fix it then. Sorry.” She winced, hardly breaking a sweat in the weather she was more than acclimated to whilst you seemed to be struggling before the pair of you had even left the car.

You shrugged her off because it's not exactly her fault her car's AC has been faulty since the spring, and focused all your attention on the life-saving breeze hitting your face as Alexia maneuvered through some tame midday traffic. Hot weather wasn't one of your favourite things in the world, as a matter of fact much more comfortable in minus degree weather with tiny icicles on your eyelashes, but a year into living under the blaze of the Barna sun you had no choice but to put up with it.

Though, your patience with the heat wore off quick. And in its wake, a simmering feeling of restlessness, which should have been yet another warning sign. But you were too deep in your determination for this to be a good day for anything to write you off.

The market was only a short drive away, the two of you having opted out of walking because, well, duh, the weather, and just as the sweat that found its place on your nose no more than five minutes after stepping out of your ice cold shower finally began to evaporate, it came crawling right back the second you got out of the car. Alexia was starting to feel uneasy about the day's plans, and, really, so were you, but you were set on pushing through the constrictive feeling that had settled in your bones when the first bit of heat came your way after leaving your flat. There wouldn't be much time in the coming weeks for a day like this with your girlfriend, you weren't about to wreck it for the both of you.

From where the car was parked to the entrance of the market, you walked in silence, hand in hand across slightly worn stone tiles until the rusted old gates of the park stood before you. Over the threshold of the entrance, paved tiles turning to cobble, you knew the chaos the market had in store for you. You didn’t know if you could handle it. The writing on the wall was in the prickly sensation in your skin that was all too familiar, as was the way every nerve in your body screamed in discomfort, almost like your soul was desperately trying to find a way out of your body.

You ignored it, and headed towards the stalls before Alexia could ask how you were.

This place was familiar; you knew the ins and outs of each stall, you knew where to go, you knew how long it took to get around. It shouldn’t be too hard, right? 

You loved this place, of course it’d be fine. It beamed with energy, with good vibes, with good people. With its colourful displays of the finest fruit and vegetables, it was more than just a market; it was the heartbeat of the surrounding neigbourhoods.

All kinds of scents and aromas swirled around each corner, weaving themselves into the fabrics of people’s clothes and lingering long after they’d left. They were intoxicatingly good, and it was evident in the looks of wonder on everybody’s face, old or young, experienced shopper or recent newcomer. Vendors positioned at every stall or tattered wagon called out their offerings in a chaotic yet melodic mix of Spanish and Catalan, grabbing the nearest fruit or veg to wave around like an auctioneer with a hammer, the only use for it being to wave off the flies dancing tauntingly around their goods. 

Locals haggled over prices with the farmers they’d come to know just as well as their own family; their loud and boisterous back-and-forth banter may have sounded like arguing to unknowing tourists, but to everyone else it was understood as just some good-humoured ribbing that they all delighted in. It was more of a shuffle than a walk throughout the place thanks to the tourists that seemed to stop in the middle of the aisles every second, clearly oblivious to the well-practiced dance of the locals. Elderly ladies pulled their clueless esposos around with one arm whilst they carried their wicker basket in the other, the woven willow groaning under the weight of the countless ingredients to be used in that night’s meal.

For a moment, as you paused off to the side whilst Alexia caught up with one of the stall owners, a fisherman with his catches of the week proudly on display, which you knew your girlfriend would end the conversation by buying enough fish meat to feed the five thousand, you took a moment to breathe. Everybody seemed relieved of their life’s burdens here, gathered closely in one space that was steeped in the essence of the world’s simplest pleasures; flavour, tradition, and community. Only, the smile that was usually imprinted on your face whenever you came was no more than a distant memory. 

Despite the fairly shadowed area, considering the park was fenced in by sporadic trees that skimmed the roofs of buildings that showed off the city’s beautiful architecture, it was still insufferably hot. It radiated off of the ground, rebounded off the buildings around, and the flurry of structures meant there was no wind breaking through to give a cool Mediterranean breeze like you had before. 

Alexia seemed none the wiser, enraptured by the surroundings like it was her first time there, her head on a swivel and marveling at the mouth-wateringly exceptional variety of things to choose from. You hadn’t really been taking it in, your eyes stuck to the back of her head as you followed her through, waiting on shaking legs whenever she laughed and joked with each worker she bought from. 

This labyrinth of every cook’s dream was well and truly alive, but you weren’t. You couldn’t absorb the intense feeling of belonging and sonder you got whenever you came here. It was too much. The thought ate away at you, as with every fly that landed on your skin or every person that brushed against you, you became more and more on edge. 

All the different smells, the different sounds, the crowd of people, they didn’t spark those usual feelings of contentment and peace that transpired for you normally. Instead, they felt oppressive, like they were attacking your senses. 

The concoction of aromas forced themselves inside your nose and overloaded you completely, the squeamish smell of fish and the fiery linger of hundreds of kinds of herbs and spices bringing on a pounding headache. Every squeak of a wicker basket as the willow was put under more pressure could have been a gunshot for all you knew, the way it echoed around the tunnels of your ears. Anytime someone briefly put a hand on you as they moved past had you flinching, hating the unexpected contact as it was the last thing you needed in such a situation.

You didn’t find any comfort whatsoever in how Alexia’s hand never left yours for more than a minute, when normally it was something that grounded you. Her usually funny comments and little facts and point-outs of detail about her ‘second home’ (the name she had given it as she’d been coming here since she was young) didn’t make you feel any brighter, in fact you were pretty sure you missed most of them.

And as every minute passed, it appeared to get busier and busier, until it started to feel like you were in some kind of mosh pit, people bouncing off of you with every turn only for the next one to come along no more than a second later. You couldn’t hear a word Alexia was speaking, the once calming mix of languages turned into a booming echo of voices that were so close they seemed to be knocking on the bone of your skull, yet too distant for you to make out what anyone was saying, making it all so. much. worse.

Every voice, every footstep, every hearty laughter and every scrape of wood along the floor grated against your ears, all noises around amplified to immeasurable heights. The space was far too loud and far too crowded – each sensation you felt blurred into the next until it became impossible to separate from one another. But you did feel how each individual muscle tensed, from your legs to your shoulders, as Alexia continued to pull you through the market. 

You were hyperaware of everything around you and it soon became unbearable. But Alexia was happy, she chatted away like nothing was happening, comfortable and content as her canvas bag brimmed with stuff you didn’t even realise she had bought. You soldiered on, or at least tried to.

Until, your breathing began to quicken, your lungs unable to take in any of the stuffy air you walked through, your chest tightening in a way that only caused you to panic impossibly more. Each piece of fabric from your clothes grazed against your skin like a hundred scratches in a single second, your shirt and shorts beginning to feel like they were getting tighter with each step you took. And when the claustrophobia, the feeling like there was no escape at all, began to really set in, the day was over.

Your resolve had completely eroded. You tried to focus on grounding yourself — reminding yourself this was a safe space, but that was an empty claim to make to your shredded composure. You tried convincing your mind that Alexia’s hand in yours was comforting, when it only felt constrictive, her hand wholly enveloping yours like a snake, leaving no room to breathe. You clenched and unclenched your fist in time with your breaths, but you couldn't even inhale for a second before your mind went into overdrive. All the tools you relied on before were inadequate in that moment. The rational part of your brain slipped away, instead replaced by an instinctive need to escape. 

Surges of anger, panic, anxiety, fear, they all rose uncontrollably at once. Your jaw clenched, your free hand curled into a tight fist, and your vision turned hazy as your world dissolved into one indistinct blur.

The snapping point came abruptly. Perhaps it was a shrill laugh nearby, the clatter of a crate being dropped, or an impatient shove from someone trying to pass by. It was the smallest thing, but it tipped the scale far out of anybody’s control. You were alone in that moment. Trapped completely in your mind.

You missed how Alexia called your name over and over, how her hand nudged yours to desperately try to grasp your attention. It was only when her hands grabbed both your forearms that you were brought back down, but only for half a millisecond, before it all went south.

“What?!” You snapped at her, jumping back out of her touch. 

As a result, there were about thirty pairs of eyes on you. Everybody around paused, your sharp shout cutting through the buzz of the market, and it went so quiet that every flutter of a fly’s wing and every creek of wood could be heard. 

You took another step back when Alexia came towards you, a worrisome look on her face with her hands out in front of her like she was trying to not spook an untrusting animal in front of her. She rushed out some words of reassurance that fell into the background with all the other noises around that had picked up again, the market-goers losing interest in a seemingly harmless situation. They didn’t register within you, nor did her intentions. Your mind was far too good at playing tricks on you, convincing you of things that were far from the truth but in the moment felt like gospel.

There was no way out of where you were, both in the physical and the mental sense, and that was the main factor in the eruption that had just happened. With so many emotions coursing through you, there was an intense itch to find a release from them all. So before you realised, your arms crossed over your chest, hands on your upper arms just above your elbow, and you began to roughly palm, rub, grab at the skin there, needing a distraction from the volume of your mind and the world, whilst also desperately trying to get the movement to act as a release of the crushing press of the feelings inside of you. 

If you were alone at that time, god only knows what would have happened. Fortunately you weren’t.

The next time Alexia touched you was the featherlight weight of her hand on your lower back, the minor contact enough to lead you through the winding paths of the market. Your legs ran on autopilot, but you stumbled with every few steps, eyes too blurry to see the bumps and dips in the cobbles underneath your feet. There were probably tears down your face, though you’d reached such a broken point that your body was just… numb. You weren’t in control of anything anymore, hadn’t been for a while, but this was a new extremity. You weren’t even present in your own mind. Just an innocent, unknowing passenger in the car crash that had come out of nowhere.

Somehow, with her own hands trembling from concern, Alexia managed to lead you out of the chaos of the market to those same rusted, paint-chipped gates from earlier— the entrance of the park area. She was lost on what to do or say, but rationally she knew the only thing that would work for you right now was getting you home. 

“I will drive us back to your flat, back home, okay?” 

You gave her no indication that you heard her, which she was expecting, though you had heard the one word you were in dire need of and it was the first thing so far that managed to break through into your overwhelmed mind. Your hands were still moving roughly against the skin of your arms, sure to leave marks afterwards, but Alexia knew if she attempted to stop you, it’d only make matters worse. She had to get you home. Seeing you like this was breaking her.

It took a concerningly small amount of effort to guide you to the car; you were pliant and mindless, the exhaustion having fully taken over the minute you left the crowded space. She opened the door for you, helped you into the seat, and put the belt on. You leaned your head back against the seat rest and stared straight ahead. Whether it’d help or not, Alexia wasn’t sure. But she had to do one thing, more for the sake of her sanity than yours. With a quiet call of your name, she gently put a hand under your chin and turned you so you faced her.

“I’ll take you home and look after you. You will be okay.” She whispered, tentatively brushing away some of the tears still on your cheeks with her thumb. Her words were a sentiment for her as much as they were for you. “You’ll be okay soon.”

—

Next thing you knew, you were in your bed, lay on your side with your weighted blanket over you and Alexia nowhere to be seen.

It was definitely the calm after the storm. The room was mostly dark apart from the light that bled through the curtains which were closed, you could hear the quiet whir of the AC as well as the dull hum of traffic on the street below, but that was about it. It was a stark contrast to how things were before.

You don’t exactly remember getting home after what happened after the market, but what you did know was that though Alexia wasn’t in the room, she had been at some point, because you felt her love in the way she made sure everything was properly set up for you. The AC hadn’t been on before you left earlier and it only could have come back on by someone turning it on. The curtains were open that morning, whereas now they were drawn. And last time you checked, your blanket was still in the dryer, waiting to be taken out when you got back. 

Everything you felt earlier still echoed faintly inside your head and chest, but the weighted blanket over you helped to anchor you back to your life again, rather than the chaos you were drowning in not so long ago. Your mind was convoluted, thoughts jumbled, and you flitted from one shattered fragment of insecurity to the other. You were simply too exhausted to hold onto any of them, emotionally and mentally drained. Though, you still tried to identify what you were feeling— was it anger? Shame? Embarrassment? You couldn’t put a finger on it. 

Your hands still shook, your chest still shuddered with every breath. Your clothes still felt scratchy and overbearing, just less so now that you lay in the aftermath of it all. Instead of focusing on that, you drifted your attention to the feeling of the blanket on you; you focused on its texture, its softness, the heaviness of it and how it draped over you and helped to extinguish the flame that was overstimulation and overwhelm. These small but familiar details offered a tiny foothold in the mirror maze of your mind that you were still trying to escape from, only for the ruined reflection of you at the market to be shown back to you.

The longer you spent in that position, a deep, bone-level weariness quietly consumed you, like every aspect of you right down to your soul had been drained. But even still, your mind continued its hyperactive ways, replaying the day’s events over and over like a faulty film reel. The memory of it isn’t the slightest bit cohesive, it was just flashes of moments— the suffocating press of people from every direction, clamour of voices, the overloading mixture of scents. You alternated between frustration and exasperation, wanting to desperately forget what happened whilst not being able to move on from the embarrassment of it. 

However, the strain of it slowly began to dissipate with each minute you spent back at home in bed, a safe space where there were no expectations, where time was temporarily unimportant, and where there were no watchful eyes or scathing glares at the disruption you’d caused. And eventually, you felt like you had gained back control of your mind again. It was quieter then; the world felt muted, less aggressive, though you could feel that you were still wary of your surroundings because of how everything ambushed you earlier.

You weren’t fully recovered, you still felt heavy and your body ached due to the tension in your muscles and joints when it all came falling down, and you weren’t sure how much time had passed but the sun sat a little lower on the horizon when you finally felt able to get out of bed. The desire for time alone had gone, you needed something else then, and at this point of the relationship you felt comfortable enough to seek exactly what you needed without giving it a second thought. 

The door to your room creaked like it always did when you opened it, your apartment mostly silent save for the occasional huff from the kitchen as the person you were looking for busied herself with any chore she could think of as she waited patiently for you. 

You didn’t quite know what to say, but one of the best things about your relationship was that often in times like this, words weren’t a necessity. So you bypassed her and headed straight for the sofa, sitting in the corner and curling your feet underneath you, almost like you were making yourself as small as possible. And, just as you expected, not a minute went by before the blonde headed over, trying to disguise the worry she felt by giving a tight-lipped smile that was more on the amusing side than the reassuring one.

When she sat down, however, she left a gap between you both and perched only on the edge, which wasn’t what you wanted. One shared glance later and Alexia was smiling properly this time, shuffling to sit back against the cushions and beckoning you over with a small wave of her hand. With a sheepish but slightly triumphant look on your face, you moved along the couch and chose to sit sideways on her lap, one of her arms immediately wrapping around your waist as the hand of the other landed just above your knee. She pulled you close to her, and you settled into her with a relieved sigh, indescribably glad to have the final piece of the puzzle to self-regulation in your possession.

For some time, the pair of you didn’t speak, only relishing in the comfort you both needed after the day that had been had. At some point, Alexia noticed the redness to your skin from earlier and subconsciously brought a hand up to one of your arms, her thumb gently tracing over them with a frown on her face. She felt compelled to speak then.

“Please, engel, don’t put yourself through uncomfortable situations just to make me happy. If you asked me to, I would have taken you home earlier in a heartbeat.” The midfielder said carefully, panicking a little when she heard you sigh before calming when you buried your face in her neck.

“I didn’t really know it was going to be uncomfortable until it was already happening.” You told her in a mumbled, downbeat tone that made her hug you tighter against her. She contemplated her next words, wondering whether it was wise to voice them or not, before deciding that you’d hate it if you found out she’d kept her feelings from you.

“I’ve never seen you like that before.” Her fear and sadness was evident when she spoke, matching the frown still on her face and the furrow to her brow. You pressed your lips to the skin of her jaw in a somewhat apologetic gesture, which made her feel a little bad. “We’re both okay though, mi amor. I love you and we’re okay. I’m not mad or anything, this isn’t your fault. I don’t want you to feel guilty. It’s over now, it’s in the past, and we’re here together now.”

It might have been a minor reminder, but it relieved a lot of the remaining anxieties and insecurities you had. Even though she made sure you knew she never judged you for anything, you were only human, and sometimes the devil on your shoulder got the best of you. So, to hear her say she knew it wasn’t your fault and that she wasn’t angry, it was… very needed.

The mix of physical touch and words of affirmation never failed to work wonders for you. The period of time after an event like earlier was a delicate time to say the least, where your mind and your self-esteem was easily swayed by whatever reaction waited for you afterwards. Having Alexia be so welcoming, non-judgemental, caring and adoring even after what she’d witnessed made a world of a difference.

“Better day tomorrow?” You said shyly after moving back to look at her. She shook her head at first, which greatly confused you, before she smiled brightly, softly, reassuringly, and leaned forwards to kiss your temple.

“Better evening tonight after a bad day. And then a very good day tomorrow.” Her words were a little skewed, probably lost in translation, but you understand what she was getting at and it warmed your heart all the same.

It was important to you then, that you voiced your thoughts from just a moment ago. She had to know how important she was to you.

“Thank you, Ale. For everything.” You started, laughing quietly at the puzzled expression on her face. “You always know what to do, what to say. You always make me feel better after a day like this and I don’t know how you do it but… you changed my life.”

Her reaction was the sweetest. Her cheeks blushed red and she turned away for a moment with a tiny disbelieving shake of her head.

“I don’t know about that, cariño.” She murmured, but you weren’t having it. You put a hand on her cheek and turned her face back to you, ensuring she met your gaze before you spoke again.

“You did. I really mean it. I think about it a lot, how you’ve changed me, how I see myself because of you and how you treat me.” You paused for a moment, smiling up at her as her eyes silently urged you to continue. “I… value myself more because of how you value me. I don’t tell you enough how grateful I am for you and what you really mean to me. You’re the greatest person I have ever met.”

The normally sure and confident captain was rendered speechless in that moment, completely caught off guard and lost for words. How she could ever match the gravity and beauty of your words, she didn’t know. But they meant so much more to her than she knew she could ever express.

Ale ducked her head down for a moment as she really took in your words, before she lifted it back up again a moment later, with tears in her eyes. 

If only you knew how much you meant to her too.

“You’re my favourite person in the world, you know that?” She said with a pointed look and a raised eyebrow, almost accusing you of foolishly being uncertain about the fact that she stated so definitively. You knew she only did that to deflect the softness of her words a little. So, you just smiled, and tucked your head back into her neck and closed your eyes, completely at peace. “My favourite person in the whole world. You changed my life too.”

—

i really really tried my best to encapsulate the autistic experience of being overstimulated and overwhelmed in such a place here but i have no idea how well it comes across to a large audience. but for me and probably others, this is the reality, no matter how much you can plan and prepare and be excited for something, it can spiral out of your control so quickly and it's definitely a downer when it happens. hope this is somewhat understandable, im gonna go hibernate out of fear now, thank you v much for reading :)

[vorachii]

ㅤㅤ⸺ DIVINE (1)

pairing: sukuna x angel!reader.

cw: slightly graphic violence though nothing bad, reader is gender neutral, sukuna is a kid for the most part (this is meant to be platonic), reader described to have white wings and a golden halo, slow paced (kind of), angsty though some fluff.

ㅤ1ㅤ｜ㅤ2ㅤ｜ㅤ3ㅤ｜ㅤ4ㅤ｜ㅤ5

Angels are timeless, beings of hollow light and divine purpose, bound by an ancient code: to watch, to guide, but never to touch. Never to interfere. Yet even in the vastness of eternity, some laws fracture… and some angels fall.

It was raining the night the infant was born.

Not a soft, cleansing rain, but a brutal, slashing downpour that drowned out the screams echoing through the tiny, crumbling village. Inside a flickering hut, his mother lay twisted in agony, blood soaking the straw beneath her. The midwife’s hands trembled as she pulled the child free, but the moment the infant slipped into the world, the air shifted, heavy, suffocating.

The screaming stopped.

For a beat, there was nothing but the thunder outside. Then the midwife staggered backward, a raw, strangled noise tearing from her throat, knocking over a lantern that flared, hissed, then died in the rain leaking through the roof.

“Demon—”

The child in her hands was monstrous.

The infant’s skin was pale, stretched too tightly over sharp bones, foour arms, tiny fists clenched tight and slick with blood. Two faces, one sleeping, one wide awake, both twisted in something between fury and hunger. A jagged line ran down his abdomen, splitting open into a toothy, drooling maw that snapped at the cold air as if starving from the moment it drew breath.

His mother’s final cry didn’t come from pain, but horror. She tried to turn away. She couldn’t. His father stood frozen in the doorway, rain washing down his face, though his eyes remained dry.

“Kill it,” he muttered, voice hollow. “That… that thing isn’t ours.”

But no blade was raised that night. Fear bound their hands, not mercy and so Sukuna survived, yet the village did not forgive him for it.

As he grew, so did the legend of the creature that lived among them, a demon, a curse. Children whispered curses behind his back, their mothers yanking them aside like his very presence could stain them.. Farmers spat into the dirt when he passed. His extra arms became a reason to shove him harder, his sharp teeth a reason to call him a beast. The villagers spoke of him only in whispers, if they spoke of him at all.

He stopped crying the third time a stone split his brow. By the time he was six, no one spoke to him unless it was to curse him. His own father refused to look him in the eye.

The hunger was constant, he stole. Fought. Survived.

Stones followed in his wake, small at first, then bigger as they realized he wouldn’t fight back, not yet. His two faces made it worse. One could glare while the other grinned. It unsettled them. It made them crueler.

By the time he was six, he’d stopped flinching when they hit him.

The other boys in the village didn’t just throw stones — they threw fists, sticks, anything that could bruise and break. Once, they cornered him near the well, four of them bigger than him, all wide-eyed and trembling but too deep in their own cruelty to stop.

“Monster!” one spat.

The second he lunged at Sukuna, he made his first mistake.

Snap!

Sukuna’s stomach mouth shot open, rows of jagged teeth clamping down on the boy’s wrist. The scream was loud enough to stop the crows in the trees.

When the blood sprayed, something inside Sukuna twisted — not in guilt, but satisfaction.

The boy limped home, arm torn and raw.

That night, the village elders gathered. The next morning, they dragged Sukuna from his hut before dawn, ropes biting into his wrists. His father didn’t speak a word as they led him to the edge of the forest.

A demon didn’t deserve to live among man

They dragged him to the edge of the forest at dawn. No explanations. No warnings. The ropes around his wrists bit deep, but Sukuna didn’t scream. Didn’t beg. His father shoved him hard into the dirt.

“If you come back, we’ll kill you this time.”

They left him there, in the cold, in the mud, a child with two faces, four arms, and no one left to hate but himself. He watched as they turned their backs on him, as if leaving him to rot was mercy. The cold bit into his bare feet, the forest swallowed their footsteps.

Rain started again, softer this time, soaking into his hair as he stood there, six years old and already forgotten.

And for the first time in his short, brutal life, Sukuna was alone.

[galamalion]

𐕣. 𝐅𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐋, 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇

summary. time inevitably approaches all, but an otherworldly suitor has other plans for you.

⤷ contents. yandere!vampire!chrollo lucilfer x fem!reader, yandere themes, imprisonment, unhealthy relationships, blood // wc. 2.0k

⤷ notes. a very happy birthday to @ddarker-dreams! i wanted to write something cute and evil as a thanks for all the chrollo treats she's given out! hope you enjoy! <3

Dusk began to creep in across the horizon, dimly counting down the few hours before night would fall, allowing the silver moon to take its place among the stars. Golden rays began to dim, passing through the extravagant window in the room you’d been staying in, casting a faint glow across furniture and floor alike. 

Perhaps ‘staying’ wasn’t the correct word to use, though. It made you sound like a visitor, which you certainly were not. The metal lock on the door, the same shade as the setting sun, sealed you into a plush and comfortable tomb, only allowed to wander beneath illuminating moonlight. 

It was the only time he was allowed out too, after all.

You remembered the first time you met that man—Chrollo, as he called himself, though perhaps he had gone by a different name in years past. He called you glorious, a singular rose in a field of boring dandelions, waiting to be plucked and worshiped by a kindred soul. As the daughter of a farmer, his honeyed words made you feel warm inside. Night after night you would meet with him in the woods beside your village, listening to him speak about poetry, books, and the world outside your own quiet one. He made you feel alive—like setting a helpless dove free from a poorly made cage of twigs.

If only he told you the dove was just flying into a golden prison. Maybe you would have run then, told your mother and father about the wicked and beautiful stranger in the woods. But his stories and words wove you into a web too tight to escape, and too alluring to even want to.

You sighed, both out of boredom and out of anguish. Your sleeping habits had changed since you’d been brought to this ancient castle. Now you would wake up just before sunset, giving you time to prepare yourself for Chrollo’s bothersome speeches. Back when you were younger you would have found them poetic—dashing, even. But now, all you wanted was for him to leave you alone. Return you back to your family, your friends, and your village.

The first time you’d ever begged him for that he just smiled, wiping tears off your lashes and running his hand gently through your hair.

“They’re gone,” he had cooed, coaxing your back. “There is nothing for you to return to, my dear.”

His words only brought more tears, and broken sobs along with it. A cacophony of anguished screams and hopeless crying continued night after night, and Chrollo had left you alone for them. He returned on the third night, comforting you through your discordant howling and tears, not saying a single word. Only gently stroking your hair and humming a lullaby ever so softly, bringing your wailing to a whimper as you dozed off to sleep, tears still running down your face.

You should have hated him after those words, hated him until the sun and the moon and every last star in the sky burnt out. Until your bones turned to dust and that dust turned to nothing, as all good things should. But instead, you let him comfort you, as he had done before. You let him hold you and sing to you and your hatred dissipated almost as quickly as it came. Now, the only person you can hate is yourself.

The resounding chime of a bell echoed throughout the castle, finding its way under the door and into your ears, and one look outside confirmed what the bell had just screamed to you. The moon, illustrious and horrid—a grim reminder of your fate, stood proudly amongst its brothers and sisters in the inky sky.

Oh, how you preferred the sun.

A loud knock on the door—one you’d grown to expect—caused you to stretch out of bed and to the middle of the room, throwing the closet open.

Dresses in onyx and sangria were all you had, each only slightly different in design. Some had lace trims, intricately made and without flaws. Others had slits so high you were certain your mother would have chased you out of the village herself. All chosen by Chrollo, of course. You didn’t even know what sangria was before you’d met him, a drink too rich for you to ever experience on your own.

“I’m not decent,” you called out, scanning your limited options. A faint chuckle was barely discernible through the thick wooden door, a sign that Chrollo would wait, though not for long.

You shuffled out of the loose nightgown and tossed it into a basket. With Chrollo breathing down the door you had almost no time to carefully choose your dress of the day—not that it particularly mattered to you. But it was better than letting Chrollo have control over another aspect of your life.

A simple black gown, without lace or an indecent alteration, was your choice. The neckline was plunging—far more than anything you wore—but you had learned to push your own feelings down.

“Modesty only matters when around others,” Chrollo had told you. “But here, it is just you and I. There is nothing to fear, my treasure. I am no beast.”

The fangs that creeped out from his smile warned you otherwise.

With a resigned sigh, you walked over to the door, gently rapping your fist against the thick wood. The door slid open with a loud creak—just like every other antique in the ancient palace. Your gaoler smiled upon seeing you, taking the time to look at your body.

“You resemble an ancient tome of poetry, appreciated only by its author,” Chrollo said, stepping into the room.

“Are you calling me old?”

“I apologize if you took it that way,” he chuckled, brushing a stray hair out of your face. “I merely mean to say that you are a sumptuous artifact, deserving of being remembered by history for all time.”

You scoffed, crossing your arms and ignoring the shiver that never failed to arise when Chrollo was with you.  “I prefer a simpler life, thank you.”

“I believe this one suits you far better. If you gave it a chance, I’m sure you’d come to realize the same.”

“I liked my old one.”

“Come now, my dear,” he sighed, moving a cold hand across your shoulder blades. “You always insist on speaking of the past. Why not look towards the future? It has so much to offer you.”

“Have you grown bored of comforting me?” you spat, pulling away from his touch. “Where are your soothing words, your golden gifts? Have you found a new game to play?”

Chrollo frowned, not bothering to reach for you again. Instead his arms rested at his sides, peacefully. Lifelessly.

“I have grown tired,” he emphasized, “of your refusal to move on. I have given you so much, only for it all to be rejected. I thought time would sway your choice, but it appears that I have failed to consider your…stubbornness.”

His expression had changed in the blink of an eye, now sporting his usual disconcerting smile.

“Walk with me,” he commanded, already stepping out of the room.

Your feet moved against your will, gliding across the floor and after Chrollo. It was something you hated, even more than his smug attitude and unneeded grandiose vocabulary. You could always reject him with your words, but in the end he had the power to cut your actions short. An obnoxious monster, as always.

“I have been thinking,” Chrollo began, trailing the dark halls, “about us. And my offer. I believe that I have been…entertaining your behaviors for too long. Time is a fickle thing for beings like you, and I fear you may not have much left.”

“I’m not dying,” you snorted. “Or are you just worried that I might start wrinkling early?”

Chrollo laughed at your words, “I am not afraid of fine wine, my dear. Just that your behavior will soon spiral out of control. If something were to happen, I would hate to have to chase you down. That is all.”

Your walk ended in the garden, bushes towers high above you and Chrollo. It was a place that, despite its beauty, you weren’t too fond of. It was a maze of Chrollo’s making—intentional, knowing him. If something were to enter through the garden, they would never make it to the castle before Chrollo got to them. And more importantly, you would never make it out.

A clearing stood before you, a wooden pavilion with a dozen chairs surrounding a table. Where fancy ladies would meet for fancy tea and gossip about the fancy going-ons in the palace. Like in storybooks you would read as a child.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Chrollo said, approaching the table. Upon it laid a goblet, and, despite the distance separating you, you could make out the sharp gleam of a knife.

“Choices must be made my dear, and I’m afraid that this is one I must make myself. I cannot bear the thought of being without you, and I seek to make our union permanent.”

Chrollo raised a hand in your direction, willing you to stand right before him.

“I could sink my teeth into your throat,” he chuckled. “We would become closer, that way. But you are wearing a 12th century royal Gorteauan gown, and I’d simply hate to ruin it.”

Your blood ran cold as he grabbed the knife, bringing it between you. It was almost as sharp as his fangs, but just as dangerous.

You knew what it was for, undoubtedly. Chrollo had talked about it plenty—about turning you into what he was. About stripping your mortality and bringing you a step closer to eternity. To paradise, to Eden, he claimed. You always pushed against his wishes, though. Insisting you had more life to live, that you were too scared, anything to halt the inevitable. But Chrollo was inevitable, and at the end of the day, his wishes all came true. Never yours.

The knife made purchase with the palm of Chrollo’s hand, causing droplets of crimson blood to spill out from the wound. He brought his hand up to your face, close enough for you to smell the iron from the cut.

“You only need to ingest a little bit. More than a lick, of course. But I’m quite potent,” he smirked.

If you weren’t so terrified, you maybe would have chuckled. Maybe you would have ran.

Chrollo’s smile slowly fell as you continued to do nothing, “Go on. I would hate to force you to do this as well.”

You took a shuddering breath and looked at the pool of blood, “Will…will it hurt?”

“Not a bit,” Chrollo assured you, his smile returning. “It will be painless. You’ll fall asleep afterwards, and your old life will feel like a dream. A rebirth, if you will.”

He continued, “Just think of what you will be now. No longer and Eve, now a Lilith. You will have power, permanence among the living, and me."

“...And it won’t hurt?”

“Not a bit,” he smiled.

You slowly lifted his hand, still freezing cold, closer to your mouth. You let the blood touch your quivering lips, staining them crimson. Perhaps you looked alluring, shaking like a deer with your reddened lips. Especially to a beast like Chrollo. A beast you would soon become. 

With one final anguished cry, you drank of his blood. It was as cold as his body, perhaps even colder. It did nothing to freeze your nerves, nor stop the tears that rolled down your cheeks. Those, too, began to feel colder and colder.

Chrollo held you close, running his free hand along your shoulder, whispering sweet comforts in your ear. Already the world seemed to be getting darker as each touch felt more dull.

“Now, now, my dearest angel. Imagine what new heights we can reach,” he chuckled, wiping stray blood from your face.

“We have all of eternity to see them. Together.”

[dandelionsresilience]

Dandelion News - March 22-28

Like these weekly compilations? Tip me at $kaybarr1735 or check out my Dandelion Doodles! This month’s doodles, like every third month, will be free to the public, so take a look!

1. Crucial and heartwarming: see world’s first-ever wild jaguar translocation in Argentina

“Miní[, an offspring of rewilded jaguars,] is the first-ever release of a wild-born jaguar that’s been translocated for conservation purposes. […] Miní has joined two previously captive female jaguars [in a park] where a small, all-male wild population had been dwindling.”

2. Illinois Gov. Pritzker stands up for LGBTQ+ community in fiery HRC speech

“The governor particularly spoke out for transgender youth, saying we must not sacrifice the most persecuted for the most popular. [… “]Bullies respond to one thing, and one thing only, a punch in the face.”

3. The UK’s First ‘Stork Village’ Takes Flight

“For the first time in more than six centuries, white storks are calling Britain home again thanks to a dedicated conservation initiative to save the species. […] At the end of 2024, breeding numbers saw egg-straordinary results with 27 nests and 53 baby storks, doubling the previous year’s numbers.”

4. A quiet shift: The grid is being redefined by household consumers who no longer need it full time

“With rising adoption of rooftop solar, batteries, and electric vehicles, households are gradually altering their relationship with the grid. […] This redefined relationship doesn’t signal rejection — it reflects the growing capacity of households to meet part of their own needs.”

5. Europe’s Wolf Population On The Rise

““The recovery of wolves across human-dominated landscapes of Europe has been continuing during the past decade, with their population growing to over 21,500 individuals by 2022—a 58% increase in a decade,” the authors wrote. [… O]n average wolves killed 0.02% of livestock each year.”

6. Hospitals awarded funding for solar power work

“The investment of £8.5m by state-owned Great British Energy will enable rooftop panels and solar car ports to be installed at [several hospitals]. […] "Together, these panels will generate estimated savings of more than £635,000 a year."”

7. Nebraska Boards Sponsor Grain Bin Rescue Equipment, Training for Fire Departments

“[Nebraska Corn and Soybean boards are] donating two grain rescue tubes and two training sessions to fire and rescue departments in Nebraska. [… T]he initiative aims to equip rural fire and rescue teams with the knowledge and tools to respond to grain bin entrapments effectively.“

8. Sugar beet pulp fibers show potential for nutritional supplements and sustainable plastic alternatives

“New technology can separate the fibers in the sugar beet pulp left over after sugar production. Part of the fiber can be used as a nutritional supplement due to its anti-inflammatory properties[… and a]nother part of the fiber, the cellulose, can be made into components to replace, for example, plastic.”

9. Osmotic Power: The Next Wave of Renewable Energy

“Sweetch Energy’s technology could [produce] around 20 or 25 W/m2, a significant leap compared to the 1 W/m2 achieved by previous membrane devices. Moreover, by utilizing a biosourced material readily available within the industry for their membranes, the company anticipates the cost of materials would be reduced to one-tenth of the current price[….]”

10. Renegade Colorado Farmer Pushes Deeper into Unconventional Agriculture

“The grasshoppers stayed in the [pollinator] strips, and that triggered praying mantis to come in and eat. […] An agrivoltaic system […] has reduced moisture consumption by significant levels[….] “Local food nationwide is how to counter the industrial scale food industry.””

March 15-21 news here | (all credit for images and written material can be found at the source linked; I don’t claim credit for anything but curating.)

[deepestnightcolor]

☾ ᴡʜᴀᴛᴄʜᴀ ɢᴏɴɴᴀ ᴅᴏ – ᴡʜᴀᴛᴄʜᴀ ɢᴏɴɴᴀ ᴅᴏ ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ꜰᴏʀ ʏᴏᴜ? ☽

ᴀ/ɴ: Today's smut is sponsored by this dialogue I had with Sebastian at the luau and Mayor Lewis's purple underwear. Curious? You shall read on, then! I hope you enjoy, and thank you for your time! ✧

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: Sam (SDV) x Fem!Reader

ᴡᴄ: 3669 words

ᴍᴅɴɪ ✧ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: exhibitionism, unprotected sex, creampie, name calling, dirty talk, spanking, mentioning of body painting, Sam's being a rebellious twat and vandalizes stuff.

Living in Pelican Town for over a year now has taught you a lot, but three things had proven to be quite interesting. For one, the whole community had seemingly been held together by nothing more but metaphorical spit and duct tape before you had arrived and had desperately needed your help without letting you know what you had actually signed up for. Secondly, the people in this town were incredibly easy to bribe with gifts, especially when you added a sweet smile on top. And third, this town was basically dead during the night.  After 8 PM, most doors were locked tight, and the streets were empty. This information wasn’t necessary for your work as a farmer, and it certainly didn’t help you with it, but to you, it was an important piece of knowledge. You adored strolling through the streets late at night like a stray cat because it was the only time of the day when you didn’t have to expect someone calling your name or even stepping in your way to have a chat. The night belonged to you, and only you. Or so you thought.

You were wandering through the darkness of the night, enjoying the occasional hoot coming from above you when an owl flew past and the flapping of bat wings cutting through the air. The sounds of the night soothed you; the darkness gave you a sense of security – it was like a cloth wrapping around you, shielding you from the world unless you scared it off with a source of light. It made you feel invisible and seen all the same, valuable, and yet so breakable. Raw emotions you could really allow to settle during the dark hour, emotions that drowned in the buzz of the day.

When your steps passed Lewis’s house a hissing sound met your ear. Stopping in your tracks, your eyes snapped over in the direction you had thought the sound to come from, brows knitted together in a frown. A snake? You had never seen a snake in Pelican Town, or any place in the valley, really. Yet there it was again, a cold hissing sound, slicing through the silence of the night. Before you could really make a decision on what to do, your curiosity had already gotten the best of you. You quietly stepped towards Lewis’s property when you heard another hiss. It was longer now, drawn out as if to make a point. Had the animal already taken note of you and was now threatening you? Yet as you took another step closer and peeked over the picket fence, you saw a figure hunched over right in front of the old pick-up. The size certainly didn’t seem fitting for a snake, unless it had decided to mutate and then break into Alex’s room to eat up his stash of protein bars. Still, the shadow was hissing quietly, and it didn’t look like it had noticed you just yet. You pulled out your phone carefully and tapped the flashlight button, shining the cone of light onto what you had thought to be a snake. The ”snake” was wearing all black, and whipped around faster than you could have opened your mouth to ask what the hell they were doing there. You had always been taught to expect the unexpected, but you would have never guessed that you would find Sam hunched over in front of the mayor’s car with a spray can in his right hand and an expression of unsureness on his face. Sam, who babysat his brother on the beach so he could build his sandcastles, Sam who crouched down to talk to kids, Sam who listened to “I’m Just Ken” while working at Joja. Your boyfriend Sam.

“What the fuck are you doing there exactly, Sam?” The blond had been squinting against the light up until now, but when heard your voice, his face visibly relaxed. “Babe, oh fuck, it’s you,” he breathed, letting out a small, airy laugh. You swallowed, quickly making your way over to the blond, flicking your fingers against his forehead. “Yes, it’s me. But it could have been Lewis. Whose property you are on, doing something to his car, may I add,” you whispered back, watching your boyfriend squint against the light again, and nod. “I know, I know, but I ordered these spray cans on sale, and they just came today, and I just saw an opportunity-“ “Opportunity to do what?” Instead of answering, Sam’s blue eyes slowly flickered to the hood of the car. You furrowed your brows at him, even though you were pretty sure that he couldn’t make out your face. “Sam, you shouldn’t be here. Especially not with spray cans,” you scolded, shining your light on where Sam was looking.

You opened your mouth again, about to scold the blond again, but it was hard to form words when you had to resist the urge to break out into laughter. A pair of undies was revealed under the shine of your flashlight, purple in colour and ready to be seen by the whole community. You had seriously thought you had been discreet when you had returned them to the mayor, but it hadn’t been your fault that he dropped them when Sam came into the townhall after you.

“You are an idiot,” you whispered to him, a giggle slipping past your lips. Sam grinned up at you, his head tilting to the side. “Maybe I am, but so far, I am an idiot that hasn’t been caught yet. So could you please…?” You nodded and knelt next to the rebel, turning off the flash that had bothered him. He let out a sigh of relief, and despite the darkness, you could make out the mischievous glimmer in his eyes.

“How does one even come up with shit like this?” you asked, your hands wrapping around his shoulders. Sam grinned at you, shrugging his broad shoulders. “I thought he deserved it. Treatin’ his woman like shit because he’s a coward.  Thought he should have the need to explain himself…” “Standing up for Marnie? Hot,” you chuckled, flicking his forehead again. “But I doubt this stems from nothing but nobility.” Again, his pearly whites flashed through the darkness. “Okay, maybe I thought him pissing his pants when he sees this would be incredibly funny.” “There we go,” you laughed quietly, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. You had to admit, seeing Sam like this was…interesting, to say the least. You hadn’t expected him to act up in such ways, much less plot an act of rebellion like this – he hadn’t even forgotten to cover his blond hair with a beanie. For some reason, it made you lean in and press a small kiss against his lips. You had planned on pulling away, but before you knew it, you felt yourself being pulled onto your boyfriend’s lap, his tongue licking over yours. Were you into bad boys? Or was it just the unexpected rebellious side of Sam that broke through the seemingly peaceful façade Pelican Town tried to keep up, shaking its rhythm to the core? You couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but what you were very aware of was the fact that his lips tasted just so good.

You pulled away after a while, taking his paint-smeared hand in your own as you got on your feet. “Let’s go, then, before my idiot and I get caught,” you panted, plans on what you would do with Sam once you had reached the safety of your bedroom already forming. However, Sam sat still. You tugged at his hand once more, hoping he would cave and follow you, a smile tugging on your lips when you saw him rise. However, you definitely didn’t expect to be pulled into Sam’s chest with his lips smashing into yours again. It was one of the sloppiest kisses you had ever experienced with Sam; it was wet and all tongue and teeth, making you moan into it quietly. He took the chance and sucked on your tongue, his hands travelling down to your ass, giving it a squeeze with his roughened hands. He only pulled away when the both of you were in dire need of air, a string of saliva still connecting your lips. Warm breath tickling your air making you shudder; you heard his voice. It was deeper now, huskier and rougher around the edges. “How about we stick it to him some more?” “Wh..What do you mean?” You asked, gasping when his fingers popped open the button of your pants. “Oh, I think you know what I mean,” he hummed, his pierced tongue following the shell of your ears, knowing it would have your skin break out in goosebumps. “You… you want to do it here?” “What, you scared?” He cooed, his lips now kissing down your neck, chuckling in amusement when you tilted your head to the side in a split second to allow more access. “No, but- is that legal? What if we get caught?” “Nothing I did here is legal, but I promise you, we won’t get caught. Lewis sleeps like a rock, and the others are far enough away...Besides…Wouldn’t it be fun to get caught? Let them know who’s fuckin’ you well? Showin’ them how it’s done?” You almost whimpered at his words, his hand had now found its way into your underwear. You needed to stop this. Both of you could get into serious trouble, and you didn’t want that. The two of you needed to get home and sleep this off and hope that Mayor Lewis never found out who the sprayer was.

You pushed your pants down yourself, shoving Sam’s beanie off his head to run your fingers through the blond strands, your lips finding your boyfriend’s despite the darkness. This time it was you greedily sucking on his tongue, allowing his finger to circle your clit with tiny, quick movements. Sam’s other hand found its way to your ass, gripping the flesh and giving it a gentle smack. You tugged on his hair in return, pushing your body flush against his to let him feel your tits against his chest. Given his laboured breathing, you knew it had the desired effect on him as you allowed yourself to kiss down his neck after pulling away from his lips. “Knew you would come around,” he hummed, his hand pulling from your panties. You whined in return, just to be kissed again. “Shhh…We don’t want to get caught just yet, do we?” He murmured, smacking your ass with both hands now, probably leaving some paint there as well. Being too into it to care, you gave him what he wanted, jumping up just to be steadied by his strong arms and hoisted up against his body. You wrapped your legs around his hips, your crotches now pressed together. In this position you could feel the heat radiate from Sam’s already hardened dick, replacing the fears of being caught with thoughts of being filled to the brim by his pierced cock. “Sam, want you to fuck me,” you whispered, rutting your hips against the bulge restrained by his black pants. Sam groaned quietly, squeezing your ass again while he guided the movements of your hips over his crotch. “And I wanna fuck you, princess. Gonna fill ya up right ‘ere, ‘kay? Let everyone know how to treat a woman.” His words were accompanied by his lips smacking kisses on your neck, sucking a hickey onto the heated-up skin when he deemed it fit. “Pretty please.” Sam chuckled, his eyes flickering to Lewis’s house momentarily to make sure everything remained dark, his hand already moving to push down your panties. “How could I say no when you ask me like that?” It wasn’t like he could have said no even if you hadn’t asked him like that; his penis was painfully hard by now, red and hot to the touch. His tip glistening with pre-cum; the prospect of getting to fuck his absolutely beautiful girlfriend out in the open after just basically committing a petty crime had his cock drooling for you.

He carefully placed you on the hood of the car, smiling to himself when he felt your body shiver as soon as your bare ass met with the cold surface of it. Still, as he allowed his finger to run through your folds, he could feel what a hot mess you were already; wetness coated his finger, and your legs twitched against his hips when he brushed over your clit. As much as he wanted to tease you, he knew he had to be quicker than usual. Lewis did sleep like a rock, but he would be damned if he was stopped before he could have sunken his dick into you. “You ready for me, baby?” His voice was heavy with lust, the pad of his thumb still messing with your clit that was pulsing for his touch. “Mhhhmmm!” you whispered, eyes darting from the mayor’s house back to your lover, your legs quivering already. The cold night air hitting your wet cunt made you want Sam’s cock all the more, and you knew you were basically drooling down there. The excitement you felt wrapped you into a heavy cloud, just like the darkness of the night usually did. You were able to hear the fabric of his pants as he pulled them down, soon followed by a small smacking sound. Your mouth watered as you laid eyes on the outline of Sam’s erection, your pussy clenching around nothing in eager anticipation. You reached your hand out to let the pads of your fingers ghost along his shaft, smiling to yourself when you heard his breath hitch. Sam was an incredibly sensitive man; you had managed to make him cum by teasing his cock alone more than once. You felt yourself clench yet again when you felt the cold metal of his piercing near the tip of his dick, your lower lip catching between your teeth. You wanted him, and you wanted him now. Him massaging your clit had made your heart thump into your chest and your head feel more light, but it had also made you care about nothing but him fucking you. You used your legs that were still hooked around his hips to pull him closer, your fingers wrapping around his pulsing shaft. Leading him to your core, you guided his dick through your folds, mixing precum with your own arousal. Sam was groaning under his breath, and you could feel a shift in your surroundings as he placed his hands right next to you on the hood of the car. “You are so wet for me already, baby,” he whispered. “Just for you,” you moaned, feeling his lips run down your neck again before he sat up, lining himself up with your entrance.

You could feel his fingers intertwining with yours and you gave him a squeeze. He pressed a kiss to your forehead, and pushed his hips forward in one swift movement, filling you to the hilt with ease. It knocked the air out of your lungs, and for a moment, you could have sworn the world was spinning fast enough for you to actually see it, but the stretch felt just so good. Your walls clung to Sam as if your life depended on it, and the urge to scream out his name just to show everyone who filled you up so well was dancing on your tongue. Sam himself struggled to keep up his composure, his head spinning with the way you clung to him. You were so wet and warm; a great contrast to the cold night. And – it was you. You always managed to take his breath away.

Breathing heavily, Sam held the position he was in, massaging your breasts through your shirt. You could feel every inch of him inside of you, and Yoba, you loved it. You grasped at strands of his hair, tugging on it as your hips snapped against him, making him suck in air through his teeth. “Fuck, ya’re so sexy, ya know that? And all mine,” he slurred, leaning down to press another sloppy kiss to your lips. This one was more hasty, though, as he quickly pulled away to push one of your legs against you, almost completely pulling out just to snap his hips forward again, filling you to the brim again. The blond started with a slow pace, trying to show you that he had full control over the situation, but you made it so hard. Your walls were contracting around his cock as if to massage the pierced shaft, drooling all over the already wet skin. With each thrust he gave you he forced a whimper out of your mouth which you desperately tried to keep shut but failed miserably. And the way you looked in the moonlight that had now been revealed by the clouds… it really wasn’t his fault that his thrusts almost automatically picked up the pace, abusing your little cunt like as it deserved. Your back arched off the car, but your ass rubbed against the now warmed-up steel beneath your skin as it began to redden. One of Sam’s hands kept your leg pushed towards your shoulder, while the other worked your clit mercilessly.  He was fucking you hard; his cock pounding into you just to prove that he could, balls smacking against your wet lips to underline the obviousness of what you were doing out here. “Sam!” you hissed, your fingers curling in his hair. He was giving you every centimetre of him, and he was giving to you at a mind -breaking pace. If someone had asked you your name, you would have probably given Sam’s, as that was all that left your mouth at this point.

“That’s m’good fuckin’ girl. Takin’ my cock so well, like ya were made for it, hm? Like being stuffed with my cock out here? Yes?” he grunted, giving your clit a light smack as you didn’t respond. You gasped loudly at that, your toes curling in the sneakers that neither of you had bothered to take off. “Mhmmm!” You moaned, but were cut off by a tongue shoved down your throat. You had to close your eyes for a moment; the sensation of Sam mercilessly fucking you in the cold air of the night and him kissing you so roughly made everything feel like you were far away, chasing the high announcing itself with the tightening knot in your stomach. It wasn’t like Sam wasn’t a mess, though. His usually carefully styled hair was completely dishevelled, his cheeks were flush with arousal, and his breathing was just barely covering the grunts and groans of your name. His legs shook as he pounded his drooling dick into your wet cunt, and admittedly, he himself was drooling for you. “’m gonna cum, baby. Ya gonna cum for me? Cum all over me? Show ‘em who ya belong to?” The words all were whispered in your mouth, and you ate them right up with a dazed nod. You could feel the metal of Sam’s piercing rut against your walls as his tip was bullying your cervix, causing your vision to blur with tears. His thumb found your clit again, and this time he rubbed much slower circles onto it with added pressure. Your body felt like it was set under electrical shocks; each time a wave of pleasure subsided, the next one followed. “Lookin’ so pretty in the moonlight, baby,” he whispered, his heart pounding in your chest. He could have sworn whenever he praised you even the slightest, your cunt just sucked him in further, and it drove him insane. Absolutely insane.

“Sam! Sam, gonna cum, oh fuck, cummin’!” you cried out, and this time, your boyfriend didn’t care to quieten you. He was busy staring down at you as you threw your head back, your back arching in again while you held onto his shoulders tightly. Your cunt spasmed around him as you moaned his name, your hips both rutting against him and trying to get away from him as he still bullied into you.

The begging whisper of his name as you rode your orgasm was enough for Sam; his balls tightened as ropes of cum filled you up, his hips shaking as he forced himself to keep moving, feeling the burning need to fill you up to the brim and fuck his own cum into you deep enough you would feel it the next day. His penis twitched inside of you as he fucked himself empty, not slowing down until he had fucked all his cum inside of you, having you shiver beneath him.

The two of you were panting, Sam’s hand finding yours again and allowing them to lock together, his forehead resting against yours as he slowly pulled out from you, ignoring the wetness of his crotch. The two of you smiled at each other silently, when suddenly you saw a light switch on inside the house. You looked at each other again as Sam quickly sprung to action just barely pulling up his pants before he helped you pull up your own. You picked up the cans and the beanies before you were thrown over Sam’s shoulder, the blond running towards his house in a panicked frenzy.

You couldn’t help but giggle like two teenagers as you hid in some bushes, holding one another’s mouth shut. What you didn’t expect was that instead of a full painting of some purple undies on Mayor Lewis’s car, there was half a painting of his underwear, accompanied by the print of an ass from where you had been sitting. The other half of the painting Sam would find later when the two of you had a shower on your farm.

[most-datable-datable-bracket]

MOST DATABLE DATABLE CHARACTER 2 THIRD PLACE

Claude propaganda:

"To say Claude has trust issues is an understatement—you have to spend half the game earning his. (Claude isn't even his real name!) Once you have it, though, he's absolutely ride or die for you until the stars go out. He is so full of heart and ambition: He wants both sides of his heritage to get along, he wants to open borders and eliminate xenophobia and promote equality between commonfolk, and deep down, I think he craves a partner to stand with him at that new dawn, or an equal who sees his vision for the future and will fight for it just as hard. Nobody believed in him when he was a kid, but if you put your faith in him, he'll return it tenfold. Some people don't like that he's calculating, or has to leave the player character at the end of the game to go back to his homeland, but both are necessary elements for his goals to change things. He will always come back, and everyone who bets against him and his love for his companions is wrong with a big fat W. #KhalidForMostDatablePrez"

"Claude is a fun little onion of facades. He calls himself the embodiment of distrust, he acts like he's carefree and without worries, an unscrupulous schemer--and so many in universe buy into that hook line and sinker. He's used to others viewing him with suspicion and uses it as armor to obscure his not-so-dark truth: that he cares immensely, that he values minimizing the loss of life, and that above all he has so much hope that people will fundamentally choose to do better given the choice.

His front guards a center that his conflict filled world would be happy to tear apart. As the child of people from two nations in constant conflict--one of which is explicitly isolationist and dehumanizes those outside its church's reach--he hasn't really had a place where he can be without his facade. As a child he thought he could run, but when confronted with the fact that this hatred existed no matter where he ran, he chose to instead try to create a more just and kind world.

His inability to let others in beyond his facade at first may lead to a sense of distance, but isn't it then all the more satisfying when you're allowed in? All he wants is a little trust, a little faith, and--like what he wants to give everyone--a chance to be better.

And like that you got a charming young lad with a fun personality that your grandma would be thrilled to have stay forever."

Elliott propaganda:

“Just look at him. Pure hunk energy.”

“I will punch anyone who dislikes him. He’s like a fire emblem character in the modern day. He’s so flamboyant and handsome, he can play the piano and he’s best friends with the old fishing man!”

“dramatic writer man with sexy hair”

"Since I like elliott. I will state some reasons why I like him

Imagine if Mr. Darcy didn’t insult your family first time you met him, that’s Elliott. The man who’s basically the hallmark romance love interest. He’s a writer who moves to the small town in the country side to find inspiration for his writing. Then he finds the farmer.

He has a crab living in his pocket

He can play the piano (hopefully it isn’t the river flows in you however)

His fans sometimes hc him as a merman and that’s just a major plus IMO

He genre of the book he writes is dependent on what genre you say you like.

He also sends letters to you if you marry him

Okay and also some things I dislike

His liked gifts, the easiest one is pomegranates, which cost like 6000g to grow a tree if you don’t pick the fruit cave. I AM NOT GETTING SQUID INK IN YEAR ONE FOR YOU.

he might be British /j

The fact he has no kitchen but still likes food like lobster, like he is just a mystery. Lives in a cabin, with no kitchen, no washroom (okay no character has a washroom), but still likes the most fancy food out there and has luscious hair worthy of a L’Oréal ad.

Gifting him on rainy days when you don’t have two hearts"

[kjiscrawlingbackformore]

No Reservations - Chapter seven

Restaurant Owner Lottie Matthews x Chef!reader

Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Summary: After graduating culinary school you have been building up your portfolio, to become a street level legend in the culinary world. And after years of hard work you get hired by a renowned michelin star restaurant Matthews’ kitchen to help design a new menu that’ll star in their new brick and mortar in New York. And there you behold the new heiress of the Matthews’ Kitchen, your boss, is your old situationship from culinary school…Charlotte Matthews.

Warnings: None

A/N : I feel like we don’t see taivan in enough fanfics what’s up with that??

The steam from Van’s tea kettle curled through the kitchen, settling into the quiet hum of the evening. You sat at the dining table, legs tucked under you, staring blankly at your untouched mug. Van paced behind you like a storm cloud gaining speed.

Tai, forever unbothered, sipped from her chipped porcelain mug like she was watching a live show she’d already predicted the ending of.

“NO. NO, NO—NO!” Van exploded, throwing her hands up. “One thing is texting her. Or running into her. Or, I don’t know, tolerating her at a farmers market. But friends? Friends??? Are you an idiot?”

You opened your mouth to speak, but Tai, calm and worn out, muttered into her tea, “And there she goes.”

Van spun toward Tai. “Don’t defend this. Don’t act like this is normal.”

Tai shrugged. “Didn’t say it was normal. Just not new.”

You groaned. “Van—”

“No, shut up, let me remind you,” Van snapped, pointing at you. “Natalie has been your weakness since we were, like, sixteen. Sixteen. Off and on again. Off again, and then back on when she got a new tattoo or suddenly knew how to make risotto. She knows all your soft spots. She knows exactly what to say. And let’s not forget—SHE CHEATED ON YOU THREE TIMES AND ONE OF THE TIMES WAS AT MY BIRTHDAY.”

Tai winced. “Honestly, that was her worst offense. It was fucked up to mess with Van’s birthday.”

You rubbed your face. “That was years ago.”

“Which means you had time to heal! You don’t go backwards when you’re finally moving forward.”

A beat of silence.

Tai stirred her tea and said casually, “Personally, I’m rooting for Lottie.”

Van groaned so loud it echoed. “Oh yes, let’s just graduate from the toxic relationship to the toxic situationship. Excellent growth.”

You sat up straighter, flustered. “Lottie never liked me like that. It was just—stress. Like, mutual stress relief.”

Tai scoffed, “Maybe the first time. But after the third time? There were feelings. I don’t care what you or she says. That girl liked you. She likes you now. Also, I’d like at least one of us to start dating rich so we can go to restaurants that don’t put sriracha on everything.”

You narrowed your eyes. “So you want me to date Lottie for the perks?”

Tai smiled over her mug. “And because… I don’t know. She feels different. There’s something there.”

Van flopped into the chair across from you and covered her face with both hands. “This is all madness.”

“You called it cinematic like a month ago,” you reminded her, arms folded.

Van peeked at her through her fingers. “It was cinematic when it was all fun and games. ‘Ha-ha, look at you working for your college rival slash fuck buddy, what a plot twist!’ Now it’s—‘let’s befriend your toxic ex and maybe fall for your hot but emotionally repressed boss who was also your toxic situationship.’”

She dropped her hands, deadpan. “We’re gonna need wine for these few weeks.”

Tai raised her mug. “And a prayer circle.”

You just stared at the ceiling, wondering if you could crawl into the crawl space and live there for the rest of the year. Because yeah…things have gotten complicated. Natalie was texting you, and it wasn’t as weird as you thought it’d be. Like maybe you could be friends with her?

And then Lottie, well…you can’t help but feel things when you’re near her. And the more you’re around her, the more…you kinda like her? She’s actually nice and funny-and really well pretty but in a soft way. A way you weren’t expecting to see from her.

Van leaned in and whispered, “Don’t you dare text either of them tonight.”

You didn’t respond, knowing damn well you responded to Natalie’s photo dump she texted you before you got to Van and Tai’s place. And in the absence of your response, Tai and Van both groaned at once.

The clatter of pans, the hiss of butter in the pan — it all faded into the background when it was just the two of them in the kitchen. Lottie moved with sharp precision, elegant even in her control. You stole glances, surprised at how easy it was, how they fell into rhythm like they’d been doing this for years instead of weeks.

You plated the last component of the dish with a flourish, eyebrows raised in mock arrogance. “And voilà, chef Matthews. Your edible masterpiece, courtesy of my unmatchable talent and good looks.”

Lottie leaned against the prep table, watching with a smirk.

“Wow. Arrogant and humble. That’s a rare combo.”

You stepped aside, presenting the dish dramatically, hand sweeping like a magician revealing the final trick. “Humble is boring. This is art. And you should thank your lucky stars you found me before Eleven Madison Park did.”

Lottie laughed, a real one — startled, quiet at first, then full-bodied. She looked up at you, her mouth twitching like she was trying not to smile too hard.

“I don’t remember you being this cocky in school.”

You tilted your head, grinning. “You just didn’t know me that well.”

There was a pause. The silence was heavy, but it buzzed — charged. Because that was a lie. Lottie knew you very well…too well. Too many drunken confessions, memorizing of bodies, moments of vulnerability shared in the weird space they created.

The look Lottie gave you was a knowing one. We both knew that was bullshit. You shrug in response, and Lottie smiles.

Lottie opened her mouth, her tone different almost…flirty. “Well, I’m—uh, I’m definitely getting to know you now.” Her voice cracked slightly at the end. She winced.

You blinked, then laughed — loud and sudden. “Wow, that was awful. Ten out of ten delivery.”

Lottie’s face went pink. “I’m a professional chef, not a poet, okay?”

You just smirked, shaking your head as you leaned over the counter, pointing a spoon at her.

“Stick to the kitchen. You’re cute, but that line was like, sophomore year of high school bad.”

Lottie rolled her eyes, covering her embarrassment with another bite of the dish. She chewed, nodded, then as if a revelation came to her she moved in closer, slowly, deliberately — reaching behind you to grab a jar of finishing salt. Her arm brushed your hip.

You froze.

Lottie glanced at you sidelong, voice lower now, more confident. “Cute, huh?”

Your face flushed instantly. The spoon clattered onto the counter. “I didn’t say—” You cleared your throat, stepping back. “I meant the line. The line was cute. That’s what I meant.”

Lottie just smiled, her voice calm, amused. “Sure.”

There was a beat where neither of them moved. You cleared your throat and clapped your hands

“This dish needs one more thing.”

You reached for the top shelf of the pantry, one foot balancing on the lower rung of the metal step stool, the other trying not to slip. “Who the hell put the truffle oil up here?” you muttered.

Just as your fingers brushed the bottle, the stool gave a tiny lurch. You yelped. Before you could fall, hands caught you. Firm, steady — one at your waist, the other bracing your shoulder.

You blinked, suddenly face-to-face with Charlotte Matthews, who had moved fast and was now way too close. Their breathing synced in the silence, uneven and shallow. Your hands landed lightly on Lottie’s arms for balance, but she didn’t move away.

“Jesus. You move like a ninja,” you murmured, heart hammering.

Lottie’s mouth twitched, almost-smiling, but her grip didn’t loosen. “I’ve had practice catching people who underestimate gravity.”

Your eyes locked. You were suddenly very aware of where Lottie’s hands were, and that neither of you had backed off yet. You hated how kissable she looked. After a beat too long, you both took a step back at the same time. Lottie cleared her throat, dusted imaginary lint off her jacket.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.” You tried to laugh, but it came out breathier than you meant it to. “Maybe tell the team to keep the fancy oils at a reachable height? Some of us aren’t six feet tall and rich enough to pay for a hospital bill.”

Lottie chuckled. “I’ll leave a note.” Then, as if she hadn’t just had her hands on your waist a moment ago, she added casually, “There’s a black tie event this weekend. Industry crowd, food press, and some board members. I’m expected to go.”

You raised an eyebrow, still trying to recover your balance, physically and emotionally. “Okay…”

Lottie looked at you, all nonchalance, but her voice was just a little too careful. “Come with me. As my guest.”

You paused, mouth agape slightly, and you blinked. “To a board event?”

Lottie shrugged. “You’re part of the team now. It’s good networking. And… it might be fun.”

You didn’t say anything right away. Lottie shifted, pretending to scan the pantry shelves like she hadn’t just asked you out—professionally, of course.

“Yeah,” You said finally, biting back a smile. “Sure. Could be fun.”

Lottie’s face brightened with something barely held back — a flash of relief, maybe even excitement. “Cool,” she said, too quickly. “I’ll send you the details.”

You climbed off the stool fully, cradling the bottle of truffle oil like it was your last shred of composure. As Lottie turned to leave, “Don’t stay up too late, Y/L/N.”

You smiled, “Wouldn’t dream of it, Matthews.”

You watched her walk out the door, as your eyes flickered at the space where her hands had been. A smile stretching onto your face. You placed your hands on your cheeks, feeling the warmth still on them.

What was that?

Then you flinched at the small ding that rang out from your phone. You look over to see a new text from…Natalie. That made your eyes widened.

“You still a night owl?”

Another ding.

“Just landed in Texas, and can’t sleep.”

And then to your surprise another ding.

“How was your day Gordon Ramsey?”

And you let your hand cover your mouth in dread. Natalie…triple texted you. As your eyes read over the three texts again in disbelief. That was kinda unhinged? Not to mention it was so late?

“Yeah…I’m definitely in trouble,” you said quietly to yourself.

[astonmartinii]

loving on a sunday | lando norris social media au

pairing: lando norris x reader

y/n and lando, the grid and an honest attempt at a sunday roast

masterlist if you want to leave a tip x

yourusername

liked by landonorris, maxverstappen1 and 601,239 others

yourusername: warning !! do not own a nice country house and farm because you will get lumped with the annual post season grid dinner, SEB PLEASE COME BACK I CAN"T TAKE THIS RESPONSIBILITY @landonorris what are you going to do when they find out you can't cook?

view all comments

user1: learning that lando can't cook is the least surprising thing in the entire world

user2: i'm sorry post season grid dinner? brb just going to cry my eyes out why haven't we heard of this before

user3: for my mental health i need photographic evidence asap

landonorris: way to bait me out in front of the whole world, thanks babe

yourusername: i'm sorry but if this crashes and burns i need people to know that it was your fault (because it defo would be)

landonorris: where is the faith? you back me to win every race but won't back me to make some roast potatoes :(

yourusername: babe when i was sick you burnt the soup so bad we had to throw the pan out

landonorris: I TRIED I WAS STRESSED YOU WERE SICK

yourusername: awwww babe, but it was le crueset and literally cost more than my life

sebastianvettel: it's been an honour to host it but i know you and lando will do great, send me all the photos !

yourusername: thank you seb, please come visit the farm at some point xx

landonorris: see i knew seb would have faith in me thanks mate

user4: lando's gf being a farm girl makes so much sense but also no sense what so ever

yourusername: tis the south west babe it's either banksy or farmers and nothing in between

landonorris

liked by maxfewtrell, yourusername and 1,023,677 others

tagged: yourusername

landonorris: should be peeling potatoes right now she's too pretty

view all comments

user10: oh to be a kitty cat being cuddled by y/n

yourusername: you're such a smooth talker babe but those potatoes won't peel themselves

landonorris: my years of being teammates with carlos has come in clutch

yourusername: you still suck at flirting i just love you so i still swoon, any other person would probably laugh in your face

landonorris: gonna ignore the insult and focus on the fact that you love me

user11: i swear every time i see y/n she's with another animal i've never seen before

yourusername: my farm is a safe haven for any animal, if they find themselves there they'll leave with a full tummy and a good load of cuddles

maxverstappen1: if lando is on potato duty does this mean we won't get them? they're my favourite part of a roast y/n PLEASE STEP IN

landonorris: oh wow i see how it is

maxverstappen1: i'm dutch i'm so serious about my potatoes

landonorris: i also don't fuck around about roast potatoes HAVE FAITH

user12: can we start a petition for lando to stream this? like at least the cooking portion

yourusername: watching my nervous breakdown live would not be ethical

landonorris: it's true she threw a carrot at my head the first time she cooked for my family

oscarpiastri

liked by landonorris, estebanocon and 590,455 others

tagged: yourusername, landonorris

oscarpiastri: officially a farm boy for the week (also known as third wheeling for seven days)

view all comments

user15: omg oscar went early? my mclaren heart is so full

yourusername: so so happy to have you here osc!! though you're not any more trustworthy in the kitchen

oscarpiastri: i'd defend myself but we've all seen me fail to boil an egg

yourusername: you tried your best !! but you've mastered the english tea which is a massive asset

oscarpiastri: i think i'd lose my seat if i couldn't make a cup of tea

user16: obsessed with y/n dragging everyone for being menaces in the kitchen

user17: love how oscar was like: post lando? no. post ducks? yes.

landonorris: mate you asked to come early don't complain about third wheeling now

oscarpiastri: i know i asked to come early but if y'all could lay off the soft porn for two seconds would be appreciated

landonorris: don't pretend you don't enjoy it mate ;)

yourusername: lando don't be mean :(

landonorris: i'm sorry oscar, i'm sure you don't enjoy watching us be happy

oscarpiastri: thanks i guess?

charles_leclerc

liked by yourusername, landonorris and 1,034,560 others

charles_leclerc: sad to announce i've been banned from the kitchen:( even banned from making drinks as well

view all comments

user18: this is defo the banning i agree with, we all saw the vlog with the pesto pasta

user19: tbf i've come to the conclusion the one person y/n would let into the kitchen is seb

yourusername: you're not wrong

user20: i need a chick in my dungarees right now

yourusername: why are you complaining about a free pass to sit on the couch and have someone else cook for you?

charles_leclerc: well when you put it like that ....

landonorris: let me revoke all of my previous complaints

yourusername: you know i like to treat you baby

charles_leclerc: why thank you y/n but that's an inappropriate thing to say while in a relationship

yourusername: it was in reply to lando's comment charles 😭

landonorris: guy forgot he could read for a second

charles_leclerc: MY BAD

user21: i know charles didn't come to a farm in all white

yourusername: i regret to inform you he did (it's all designer as well)

yourusername

liked by oscarpiastri, landonorris and 702,340 others

tagged: landonorris

yourusername: sunday roasts are my love language, so happy to host the grid dinner with the love of my life

view all comments

user23: at first i thought she was being a bit too serious about this but that roast looks like it BANGS

user24: legit i need one asap

georgerussell63: carmen wants the recipe please and thank you

yourusername: bring her to the farm next time we're free and i'll teach her in person

carmenmundt: thank you darling

yourusername: anything for you

landonorris: ummm what about the guy you called the love of your life in the caption?

yourusername: i love you but i've tried to teach you to cook way too many times

user25: i'm sorry lando is so sexy

user26: forget lando, every pic i've seen of this house is the sexiest thing in the world

carlossainz55: thank you for hosting y/n and lando!! i had a great time see you on new years

yourusername: no worries chilli

maxverstappen1: the roast was the best thing i've ever eaten, i'll only dock points because i had to top and tail with daniel

yourusername: i didn't see you complain when i walked in on you guys cuddling

danielricciardo: you told me you loved it :(

maxverstappen1: i did !!! i enjoyed all of it, especially the roast though

landonorris: second to a roast @danielricciardo that's tough

landonorris

liked by alexalbon, yourusername and 1,208,943 others

tagged: yourusername

landonorris: so honoured to host the grid dinner and take over from such an inspiration in seb!! but mostly thanks to y/n for hosting at her farm and putting together an amazing dinner and weekend - also thanks for not killing the grid, i defo would have

view all comments

user27: i would've given a kidney to be there for real

lewishamilton: thank you for having us and for the sick nut roast

yourusername: we love you and roscoe !! and vegans are always welcome on my farm

user28: ROSCOE WENT?

yukitsunoda0511: thank you y/n i no longer think that english food is an abomination

yourusername: wow thank you yuki, i knew it would be hard when your only exposure was ... milton keynes

landonorris: wow my girlfriend is a miracle worker, and you're welcome yuki san we loved having you

user29: watching lando go from rookie to hosting the grid dinner, i'm soft

oscarpiastri: i love it here i'm sorry you're not getting rid of me

yourusername: no worries osc, you can stay as long as you want

landonorris: no complaining about third wheeling though, you're basically our child now

user30: experienced racer and rookie teammate friendships are so special to ME

danielricciardo: glad i managed to get my seat back just for this roast tbf

landonorris: not cause you missed me?

danielricciardo: eh i guess so

yourusername: just let me know when you're in england and you can come over for another

[reasonsforhope]

"In the salt flats of Gujarat, India, an unlikely green revolution is underway. With support from trade union SEWA, thousands of informal salt farmers are swapping diesel pumps for solar power – cutting emissions, raising incomes and proving that the path to net zero can bring both environmental and economic transformation.

As you reach for the salt shaker at dinner tonight, pause for a moment to consider those fine white crystals. They may represent the final stage of a journey that starts in a harsh, unforgiving world few ever see.

These crystals could well derive from the blistered salt flats of Surendranagar, in the western reaches of the Indian state of Gujarat. For generations, families like Manguben Dhirubhai Jaga’s have toiled from dawn to well past dusk in the 45ºC heat and blinding sun to produce one of the world’s most essential and undervalued minerals. And thanks to climate change, their lives are only getting tougher.

“Salt is everything here,” Manguben tells the JUST Stories team as she crouches beside a large rectangular earthen pan filled with evaporating brine. She scoops up a handful of large pearly white cuboids, one of nature’s wondrous geometric forms; her face wrapped in a thin scarf to protect against the unrelenting glare. “We don’t go to the office. This” – she gestures to the gleaming desert – “is our office.” The ground is parched and fissured like cracked porcelain; but in the distance, flamingos dot a flooded plain, an ominous sign for the salt farmers – despite its refreshing relief, early rain can ruin a salt harvest.

A grime-encrusted diesel-powered pump sits quietly by one of the nearby pans – a once essential cog in the process; both a blessing and a curse for the women, and a pernicious source of carbon emissions weighing heavily on India’s net zero transition. “We used to spend everything we earned on diesel and repairs,” Manguben says. “There was nothing left at the end of the season.” She recalls the engine breaking down mid-season, the belts snapping, and how they would have to wait days for a mechanic to come from the nearest town. “One year, it didn’t start for ten days. We lost so much time and income.”

India is the world’s third largest salt producer, 80% of which comes from these inland salt flats in Gujarat. The vast majority of the workforce here are women like Manguben, but for decades they have received a pittance for their back-breaking labour; reliant on extortionate loans to buy diesel at inflated prices at the start of the season and forced to sell their salt at rock-bottom prices by exploitative middlemen.

At just 26 years old, Manguben has already spent over a decade working under the harsh conditions of the salt farms. Every year, she and her family of ten migrate 40 kilometres from their village to the desert, where they will live in a chhapara – a makeshift hut made of sticks and tarpaulin – for the next eight months. The women sleep inside and the men under the stars. Her day starts at 7am with a quick breakfast of bajri no rotlo (millet roti) and black tea. And then she’s straight into the brine: repairing lining, fixing leaks in pipes, monitoring water levels, stamping down and raking the salt in her bare feet to create the perfect size crystals. She breaks at midday to have a simple lunch of rice and dhal, before returning to the pans – only stopping when the stars start to glimmer in the sky.

There is no running water. No electricity. No shade. “We work with our feet in saltwater all day,” she says. “It burns when you have cuts. But there’s no choice – you have to keep going.” Manguben’s hands are painted white with salt, with water too precious to wash them – their supplies are only for drinking, and sparingly. After a few hours in the desert your skin starts to feel sticky and clogged, like you’ve been bathing in the sea. Manguben now travels home for a weekly shower, a luxury that she has only recently been able to afford. 

But, as for most of the two billion unregistered, untaxed and unprotected workers that comprise the world’s informal economy, that’s just the way it goes – particularly for women. For Manguben however, that changed recently, when the Self-Employed Women Association (SEWA), a trade union that advocates for the rights of low-income, independently employed women across India’s informal sector, posed some simple but powerful questions: What if these Agariyas (salt-pan workers) also owned the energy that powered their salt production, and were able to maintain the technology themselves? And what if that energy was clean and healthy for both the women and the environment?

Over the past decade, with help from SEWA and its partners, the Agariyas have been steadily replacing their diesel-powered pumps with solar-powered equivalents, facilitated by comprehensive green skills training and funded through a pioneering financing scheme; thereby slashing emissions, cutting costs and giving the women control over their own economic futures. “Now, we don’t spend on diesel. We save. We decide together. ” Manguben says. “We used to feel helpless; now we feel proud.”w

On the horizon, a plume of dark smoke rises endlessly from a neighbour's diesel pump. But here, two small solar panels tilt toward the sky. They make no sound. No smoke. Just consistent, reliable power from the sun.

Indeed, in this barren moonscape a quiet revolution is taking place in one of the world’s most gruelling industries – one that could transform how we think about just transitions to net zero emissions, and more specifically how to realise basic human, gender and labour rights in the world’s shadow economy. With hundreds of thousands of salt pan workers worldwide – and millions of women working in informal, carbon-intensive sectors more broadly – SEWA’s business model provides a blueprint for climate action boosted by an underutilised power source: women.

“This is one of the most stunning examples of a truly just transition,” says Mary Robinson, former Irish President and UN Human Rights Commissioner, and co-founder of women-led climate justice campaign Project Dandelion, a close partner of SEWA’s, after visiting the salt pans with the JUST Stories team in February. “From bullocks to diesel to solar – owned and run by the women themselves. It’s a rare, holistic story – one the rest of the world should be learning from.”

-via Just Stories, July 9, 2025

[mariacallous]

This story originally appeared on Vox and is part of the Climate Desk collaboration.

Globally, humanity is producing more food than ever, but that harvest is concentrated in just a handful of breadbaskets.

More than one-third of the world’s wheat and barley exports come from Ukraine and Russia, for example. Some of these highly productive farmlands, including major crop-growing regions in the United States, are on track to see the sharpest drops in harvests due to climate change.

That’s bad news not just for farmers, but also for everyone who eats—especially as it becomes harder and more expensive to feed a more crowded, hungrier world, according to a new study published in the journal Nature.

Under a moderate greenhouse gas emissions scenario, six key staple crops will see an 11.2 percent decline by the end of the century compared to a world without warming, even as farmers try to adapt. And the largest drops aren’t occurring in the poorer, more marginal farmlands, but in places that are already major food producers. These are regions like the US Midwest that have been blessed with good soil and ideal weather for raising staples like maize and soy.

But when that weather is less than ideal, it can drastically reduce agricultural productivity. Extreme weather has already begun to eat into harvests this year: Flooding has destroyed rice in Tajikistan, cucumbers in Spain, and bananas in Australia. Severe storms in the US this spring caused millions of dollars in damages to crops. In past years, severe heat has led to big declines in blueberries, olives, and grapes. And as the climate changes, rising average temperatures and changing rainfall patterns are poised to diminish yields, while weather events like droughts and floods reaching greater extremes could wipe out harvests more often.

“It’s not a mystery that climate change will affect our food production,” said Andrew Hultgren, an agriculture researcher at the University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign. “That’s the most weather-exposed sector in the economy.”

Farmers are doing what they can—testing different crop varieties that can better withstand changes in the climate, shifting the timing of when they sow, tweaking their use of fertilizers and water, and investing in infrastructure like water reservoirs.

The question is whether these adaptations can continue to keep pace with warming. To figure this out, Hultgren and his team looked at crop and weather data from 54 countries around the world dating back to the 1940s. They specifically looked at how farmers have adapted to changes in the climate that have already occurred, focusing on maize, wheat, rice, cassava, sorghum, and soybean. Combined, these crops provide two-thirds of humanity’s calories.

In the Nature paper, Hultgren and his team reported that in general, adaptation can slow some crop losses due to climate change, but not all of them.

And the decrease in our food production could be devastating: For every degree Celsius of warming, global food production is likely to decline by 120 calories per person per day. That’s even taking into account how climate change can make growing seasons longer and how more carbon dioxide in the atmosphere can encourage plant growth. In the moderate greenhouse gas emissions scenario—leading to between 2 and 3 degrees Celsius of warming by 2100—rising incomes and adaptations would only offset one-third of crop losses around the world.

“Looking at that 3 degrees centigrade warmer [than the year 2000] future corresponds to about a 13 percent loss in daily recommended per capita caloric consumption,” Hultgren said. “That’s like everyone giving up breakfast … about 360 calories for each person, for each day.”

The researchers also mapped out where the biggest crop declines—and increases—are likely to occur as the climate warms. As the world’s most productive farmlands get hit hard, cooler countries like Russia and Canada are on track for larger harvests. The map below shows in red where crop yields are poised to shrink and in blue where they may expand:

Some of the biggest crop-growing regions in the world are likely to experience the largest declines in yield as the climate changes. Illustration: Springer Nature

The results complicate the assumption that poor countries will directly bear the largest losses in food production due to climate change. The wealthy, large-scale food growers may see the biggest drop-offs, according to the study. However, poor countries will still be affected, since many crops are internationally traded commodities, and the biggest producers are exporters. A smaller harvest means higher food prices around the world. Less wealthy regions are also facing their own crop declines from disasters and climate change, though at smaller scales. All the while, the global population is rising, albeit much more slowly than in the past. It’s a recipe for more food insecurity for more people.

Rice is an exception to this trend. Its overall yields are actually likely to increase in a warmer world: Rice is a versatile crop, and unlike the other staples, it benefits from higher nighttime temperatures. “Rice turns out to be the most flexibly adapted crop and largely through adaptations protected from large losses under even a high warming future,” Hultgren said. That’s a boon for regions like South and Southeast Asia.

Decreasing the available calories isn’t the only way climate change is altering food, however. The nutrition content can change with shifts in rainfall and temperature too, though Hultgren and his colleagues didn’t account for this in their study. Scientists have previously documented how higher levels of carbon dioxide can cause crops like rice to have lower levels of iron, zinc, and B vitamins. So the food we will be eating in the future may be more scarce and less nutritious as well.

And while climate change can impair our food supply, the way we make food in turn harms the climate. About one-third of humanity’s greenhouse gas emissions stem from food production, just under half of that from meat and dairy. That’s why food production has to be a major front in how we adapt to climate change, and reduce rising temperatures overall.

[nell0-0]

I forgot if I added the anon thing, but yeah, I will take all the fic recs I can get from you about L.U, or just Mask being Fierce's favorite kid (Which IS SO VALID!!! He's son shaped! I just know Fierce would burst into tears seeing how grown his son is :( - Fierce Anon

You didn't add it so I'll only answer this ask since it's about the same thing.

So! Fic recs! I'm only gonna share 10 fics for now but I hope you like them ^^

• Dissatisfaction by Sinnatious

Time wears the mask, and is consumed by the Fierce Deity. The rest of them try to cope with the overpowered stranger in their midst. Linked Universe fic.

• Dwell Not in the Past by nowheretogobutdown

Time knows well of the split in time he had caused, the branching paths of his legacy. The world flooded with water or twilight, his successors in the sailor hero and the humble farmer.

He used to have no idea of the third.

• They Grow Up So Fast by LettersByTheLake

"The man with the scar through his eye is instantly familiar to Warriors.

There is no doubt in his mind that he is the same as the child he once called ‘Little Brother.’"

A look at Warriors' and Time's relationship across two separate time frames.

• About Trust And Honesty by meefling

They could hardly hear each other’s voices over the roaring rain and thunder, but it seemed they shared a single-minded goal of getting the hell out of the weather they’d found themselves trapped in. The bright lightning illuminated their bodies every few moments, followed by closer and closer claps of thunder.

Until…

Well, maybe it wasn't such a good idea to travel in the middle of a thunderstorm.

AKA The One Where Two Dissimilar Links Swap Bodies And Try To Hide It From The Others

• The Woods Lost to Time by Iffondrel

The younger heroes of the chain have been split from the others during a portal shift and now find themselves in an unfamiliar forest. No doubt, it's the Lost Woods, but nobody knows who's era it is or why they ended up here. Not only that, but there's a hero they've never seen before: a Link with a fairy companion and the Master Sword on his back. Something about him is familiar, but he acts strange. With none of the adults around, he's their only guidance. But there's a darkness in the forest, and this new Link is oddly tight-lipped about it. What secrets is this hero hiding, and what needs to be done before they can reunite with the others?

• Lettuce Heart by rebornofstars

“We're looking for the Hero of Time,” the kid says. The words have a funny intonation, like it's a title he's used to talking about in a different, more formal context.

Link stops walking.

“The Hero of Time is dead,” he says evenly.

Time has never liked haircuts.

• Roots by Gintrinsic

Twilight blinked, clinging tenaciously to consciousness, and was disturbed by the way color seemed to leech from his surroundings—swathes of greens, blues, and twilit golds spilling away like sand through an hourglass. He blinked, imagining he could still feel the metallic slide of the Iron Knuckle’s battle axe, the buttery-smooth way with which it parted his skin. He blinked… and was overtaken by a gray shroud.

Fog thickened the air, a wispy, humid cascade that swelled from the ground like sweat from a waking beast. Twilight startled upright and drew his sword, gritting his teeth in anticipation of pain, but none came. After waiting several tense seconds to make sure he wasn’t about to be attacked, he glanced down and saw that his tunic was intact. Slipping his waist guard aside and lifting his undershirt revealed healthy skin.

Yet the words drifted by once more—an echo dissipating as it stretched. His wound isn’t healing.

• Tear Streaked by RosemaryRiddle

"How many times is this?" Wild asks, giving him a small smile as a greeting.

Time sighs. "The last one."

"And how many times have you said that to me?"

It’s said matter-of-factly, not overconfidently, and Time hates that Wild knows that it’s not his first, second or even third reset.

And to think all Time's current problems would be solved if Wild just got out of his way.

A.K.A. Unstoppable force meets immovable object.

Or the Sans boss fight but the only stake is Time's sanity. And maybe his life. But mostly his sanity.

• A Glitch in Time by pelicanpig

Time is no stranger to moving through the course of his namesake. He has meddled with the flow of time often enough that he should have expected something like this to happen at some point. Still, when he finds himself face-to-face with a much younger, much less scarred version of the champion, he is taken a little by surprise.

• let me lose on losing dogs by Anonymous

Monsters’ bodies are slow to fade into smoke, sometimes. Especially when there are so many in such a small area. But the littering of monster corpses across the battlefield does not disguise the sheer amount of Hylian bodies. Nor does it distract from the oppressive presence of the figure standing in the middle of it.

It stands over seven feet tall. Its armour shines under an invisible sun, gleaming brighter than should be possible – like it's not quite on this plane of existence. The large helix sword is idly resting in one hand; it weighs nothing in the warrior’s grip. Even with its back turned to him, Link feels as though its eyes are on him, weighing down upon his shoulders, a condemnation. A judgement.

And then it turns to meet his gaze, and that sick mockery of his kid’s face is staring back at him.

----

Obligatory Fierce Deity angst fic

[emmasmoke8]

Been thinking about a Sonic movieverse swap, so you guys will have to listen to it:

First movie - Shadow’s asteroid crashes on Earth in the present. Instead of farmers and G.U.N., Maria Robotnik finds Shadow. Her grandfather is currently at a convention in San Francisco, leaving her home alone. She and Shadow bond until G.U.N. comes to investigate the asteroid drop. Maria and Shadow escape, deciding to get to Maria’s grandfather since he’ll either be able to protect Shadow or send him back to space. They road trip.

They’re pursued by Agent Stone, a high-ranking agent in G.U.N., and Stone’s assistant, Dr. Ivo Robotnik (which confuses Maria b/c Gerald never told her she had other family). Ivo makes robots, and Stone commands them like a general. Although Ivo’s the assistant, he’s still very egotistical about his position and how robots are superior. Stone, for his part, is so military-minded that he doesn’t even realize he puts up with Ivo’s BS because he loves—I mean, whatever Paramount says Stone feels about Ivo (they’re not fooling anyone)

The plot from there is mostly the same (tho Maria’s the reason they end up at the bar lmao). Shadow is allowed to stay with Gerald and Maria at the end, and they banish Stone to the mushroom dimension using a machine that Gerald made that repurposes Shadow’s chaos abilities (since they don’t have rings)

Second movie - Stone is rescued by the time traveler, Silver, who wants to defeat Shadow since he believes the Black Arms stole the (Master Emerald? But for the Time Stones). Silver and Stone go after Shadow while the hedgehog is home alone because Maria and Gerald went to somewhere for some reason (maybe a wedding still?). Shadow is rescued by Amy, someone who also came in search of the Time Stones in order to fix Little Planet. The plot also goes the same way, tho Shadow doesn’t so super, he goes… whatever the Time Stones make someone (which I actually have ideas for)

Amy and Silver fix their planet/future. They stay with the Robotniks, becoming the protectors of the Time Stones together

Third movie - Fifty years ago, Sonic escaped from Longclaw getting killed. He was immediately found by G.U.N. Still a young hoglet, he naturally gravitated toward Agent Tom and Dr. Maddie, a guard and scientist, respectively, at the blacksite. Sonic grew up with them as his parents. Eventually, he caused a universe blackout that made G.U.N. deem the project too dangerous. He tried escaping with Tom and Maddie, but Tom was killed. Maddie was imprisoned. Sonic was, too, and put in stasis per Director Rockwell’s orders (she’s switching with Walters)

Once Maddie’s freed, she frees Sonic and they plan to take out G.U.N., the rest of the world be damned by the crossfire. His freedom makes G.U.N. contact Shadow, Amy, and Silver for assistance

Maddie and Stone are not family, but Maddie does get into his head, first by appealing to his militaristic senses and then by learning part of him does want a family. She’s motherly to Stone up until they fight in the Eclipse Cannon

Sonic and Shadow have their Time Stone-powered fight and reconcile. Sonic and Stone sacrifice their lives to stop the Eclipse Cannon

Mid credit scene, I guess Shadow Androids show up, and Tails arrives to help Shadow stop them

Post credit, Sonic picks up his glove

[lillaydee]

Let Me Go

Widower Joel Miller / F Reader

Letting go of your pain might be the hardest thing to do, even if you end up hurting another.

DESCRIPTIONS:

Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Heavy Angst, Angst and Feels, Minor Character Death, Grief/Mourning

DID I MENTION ANGST?

Word Count - 5893

HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY, I GUESS?

Top Tip - Do not listen to your heart if it tells you to start typing when you're about to get your period. It may result in the following.

---

It hurt. No one told her how much it would hurt. To see the man she loved move on. Met someone else. Brought you back to the house she used to share with him. She hated that you got to live in the house she helped her husband scrimped and saved for. She hated that you got to sleep in the bedroom that she decorated. She hated that you managed to get that stain off his shirt that she couldn’t manage, no matter how hard she tried. She hated that you kept the house in better shape than she ever did. She hated that the far end corner of the garden had never looked better. She hated that the tree in the backyard was gone. She hated that you got to cook in her dream kitchen. She hated that he ate your cooking. She hated that you knew what his favourite dish was. She hated that you cook it well. She hated that he took a second, even a third helping of it every time. She hated that you got to make his favourite cup of coffee every morning, his plate of bacon, eggs over easy and toast next to it.

She hated that you took care of him so well.

She hated that everyone in his life supported his union with you. Hated that they introduced him to you. Hated that he agreed to meet you in the first place. She hated that they just accepted you. His family, her family, her friends, everyone loved you. She hated that he went to all the gatherings they used to go to together with you. That it’s you who’s laughing with everyone now instead of her. That it’s you who’s getting him a plate to eat. That it’s you sitting next to him, and not her.

She especially hated that her parents and her in laws let you take care of Sarah. Her heart broke to see her baby bond with you. She hated that his parents let him take Sarah home to live with you. She hated that her own parents supported this decision. She hated it. She hated that Sarah had a special smile reserved just for you. She hated that you had a special kiss reserved only for Sarah, one that made her giggle for hours on end. She hated that Sarah looked so happy to be with you. She hated that you and Sarah had a special language you used, one that only the two of you could understand. She hated that you could soothe Sarah when she’s upset. Hated that Sarah fell asleep so easily in your arms.

She hated that he took you to the farmer’s market, Sarah in the baby carrier on his chest, carrying the basket with you walking next to him instead of her. She hated that the whole town now knew the two of you as Joel and Annie. She hated how easy it was for everyone to just accept you. She hated how everyone never mentioned her anymore. As if the two of them never happened. As if the two of them never mattered.

She hated that she knew all this. That she could see all this. Hear all this. The people who wouldn’t leave her alone kept telling her to move on. How could she? When you just swooped in and took her place as if she didn’t matter? As if she never existed?

She didn’t mean to leave him. She didn’t want to leave him. She wanted to stay with him and Sarah. But she was broken. It was the only way. She didn’t have a choice. She had to. So she did. It broke her heart to do it.

He was devastated. His life turned upside down. His world crumbled. He couldn’t even take care of Sarah, not without thinking of her. His parents took Sarah in, just so he had some time to adjust. But he couldn’t, and Sarah was without a father and a mother. So they introduced him to you. And to her surprise, he married you within a month of meeting. She was devastated at how easy it was for him to move on. She had to watch as he moved you into her dream house. Watch as you play family with her family.

She couldn’t watch anymore. It hurt too much. So a few weeks after you moved in, she stayed away. Refused to see or hear anything about you anymore.

He brought Sarah to see her without your knowledge. They would spend hours with her before going home. He told her he missed her. That he wished it was her with him and Sarah, and not you. That he married you out of necessity, not out of want. That he hoped she can forgive him. That she was the only one in his heart. That she was always on his mind. That he loved her, that he will always love her. That he will come see her again the next day, giving her a kiss.

It made her happy. She was never leaving him, and him, her.

**********

You greeted Joel and Sarah as they came home from the park, the happy girl babbling endlessly as she ‘told’ you about her adventures with her Daddy. Joel let you entertain Sarah for a while, cleaning her up as you did, going to the bathroom to clean up himself, and the three of you sat down for dinner. You fed Sarah first, Joel taking her once he’s done and waited for you to finish eating, the table, as usual, silent, save for Sarah’s babbles and the two of you entertaining her.

After dinner, you put Sarah down and spent the rest of the night prepping Sarah’s meals for the next day, cleaning the kitchen up and going to bed to read. Joel came in to kiss Sarah one more time as she slept and went next door to the master bedroom to sleep.

The next morning, you prepared his breakfast as usual, got Sarah ready and packed his lunch as he ate. He asked you if there was anything you needed from the store. You gave him a list of bread, milk, eggs and formula, and stood in front of the door as he kissed Sarah goodbye and left for work.

After he left, you went about your day, doing your chores as the lady of the house.

You spent the morning in your small garden in the backyard. You brought Sarah with you, her happy babbles from the carrier on your chest keeping you entertained as you took care of your flowers and herbs and vegetables. You brought out little bowls you filled with seeds and water for the birds and small critters and placed them on the new tree stump on the other side of the backyard, the bit that you did not plant in. This little patch on the left, this was yours. This was your own little space.

Once the sun started to come out more, you went inside to do the rest of your chores.

You did the laundry, using exactly the same laundry detergent she had used. You dusted and wiped the house, moving the decors and furniture she had chosen before putting them back exactly where it was, the way she had liked. You wiped all the picture frames of her and your husband on their wedding day, hung them back up or rearranged them on the shelf, making sure they were just so. You cleaned his bathroom, wiping and cleaning everything in the cabinet, placing all her lotions and perfume back in place before going on to clean the guest bathroom that you and Sarah used. You made his bed, changing the sheets before folding and placing the blanket she had used carefully on her side of the bed.

You folded the laundry and carefully stored them. The sheets and towels in the linen cabinet in the laundry room, his clothes placed alongside hers in their wardrobe, Sarah’s in hers, and yours in the small suitcase you had come to the house with, which was then pushed under the small single bed he had bought for you to sleep on in the nursery.

You stopped for lunch, something simple for you, something you prepped the night before for Sarah. You spent Sarah’s nap time reading one of the books you borrowed from the library, getting the things you needed for dinner out while you waited for Joel to come home. He usually took her to the park immediately when he got home, and you used that time to get a new book from the library a few streets over.

You enjoyed this time. This, and the gardening in the mornings. You loved that this was your time. For you, and only you. You enjoyed perusing the shelves for a new book to read. Enjoyed talking to Ike, the elderly librarian and his wife Tracy. Enjoyed the walk to the library, enjoyed the walk back, all excited to go on a new adventure when you read the book later.

You prepared dinner when you got home, climbing a small stool you brought in from the garden to get the plates and bowls, just as you did when putting them back after they dried. She was taller than you, and she placed them there. You served dinner when he and Sarah got back, and the routine repeated every day on the week days.

On Saturdays, Joel brought you and Sarah over to his and her parents’. They lived next door to each other. They were always happy to see you, and of course, elated to see Sarah. The three of you would spend the entire day there, him going fishing with his Dad and father in law, you with his Mom and mother in law and Sarah. You had breakfast, lunch and dinner together before going home, where his mothers taught you recipes that he liked. He brought you and Sarah to the farmer’s market on Sundays, getting whatever provisions you might need for the week, sometimes stopping at the ice cream place for a treat. He also brought you to gatherings, if there were any, his friends always more than happy to welcome you among them.

You loved the weekends. You loved that you had people to talk to. You loved that he talked to you on those days. You loved that you felt like a real wife, a real couple on those days. You savoured every minute of those days. Before you got back home and entered the house you lived in, the one you took care of, the one that had no sign of you anywhere, save for the small patch of garden in the far corner of the backyard.

The house where the only person who talked to you on a regular basis couldn’t form words yet. The house that you shared with a man who only talked to you when asking what you needed from the store. The man who only looked at you when there were others around, others who loved you, talked to you as if you mattered. The man who, in the beginning, only talked to you to correct you when you misplaced his wife’s décor and lotions, when you moved the plates and bowls to a lower shelf so you could get to them better, when he saw you take her blanket to wash, snatching it off your hands. The man who you heard cry himself to sleep for weeks after you moved in. The man who you could still sometimes hear cry himself to sleep every now and again.

The man you didn’t dare cross because your survival depended on him. The man who chopped down the tree in the garden when he came home one day to find that you had hung a makeshift swing on the branch, wanting to make it a place you could read at.

You pretended not to see him when you pass the cemetery on your way to and from the library, pretended to believe him when he told you early on he was taking Sarah to the park. You didn’t say anything. You didn’t do anything.

You knew your place.

You were thankful. You had escaped from your abusive father and made your way to the small town he lived in. You cleaned houses to make ends meet, renting a small room down the street from his parents and in law’s house. You helped them take care of Sarah when she came to live with them. They knew your history, they knew you could use a good life to leave your past behind. They liked you. Loved you. You knew they talked about this union amongst themselves before even talking to you. They wanted Sarah to be taken care of. You knew they had to coax him to even consider meeting you. She had been in his life since infancy. It wasn’t easy for him.

You knew he only married you because his parents and in laws asked him to. You also knew that he only agreed in the end because he couldn’t bear to be separated from Sarah, but going back and forth to his work place was not an option. You knew he only did it because he wanted Sarah to grow up with a mother and a father. You knew he only did it to make sure someone was home to take care of her house. So that someone was there to take care of her child. So that someone was there to take care of him.

You knew.

But you didn’t think it would be this lonely.

Almost a year passed. You lived your life as the lady of the house as you always had, going through the motions, thankful that you had a roof over your head, thankful for this happy little girl you had the privilege of taking care of every day, thankful for the groups of people who accepted you into their circle. The fact that the man you lived with did not was just a side story you did not want to think about.

He had warmed up to you, though, starting some simple conversations with you here and there. But otherwise, your life was pretty much the same as it was when you first moved in.

You were feeding Sarah one morning as he had his breakfast as usual. You got up to put her empty bowl in the sink, when you heard her say her first word.

“Mama.”

Your heart stopped beating. She called you Mama, her happy face smiling at you, her chubby arms splayed out, asking you to pick her up. You did, giving her so many kisses she squealed with laughter. You looked at Joel, happiness clearly written on your face.

But the face that was staring back at you was not a happy one. He screamed at you, accusing you of teaching Sarah the offensive word, that you were trying to push her out of his and Sarah’s lives. That it was not your place to do that. That there can only ever be one woman for him and it was the world’s greatest show of unfairness and tragedy that you were there to celebrate this happy day with him and not her. That you would get to see this perfect child that he made with her grow up, and not her. That you get to reap the benefits of her ultimate sacrifice to bring this beautiful little girl into the world while she rots in the ground.

He screamed at you until his face was red, until his voice cracked. He only stopped when Sarah started crying, snatching her away from you, taking her into his truck and driving away.

You stood in the kitchen, unable to move for a while. You then cleaned the kitchen up, before going into the backyard. You got on your knees and pulled out the flowers and herbs and veggies you planted, piled them into the firepit and burnt them all, raking the patch of soil you had previously used flat, trying hard to get it to look the way it did when you had first found it. You then went inside, got yourself ready for the day, took your suitcase out from under your bed, placed your simple wedding ring on your pillow and closed the door behind you, walking out of her house with the only, previously unseen traces of you.

**********

She knew immediately something was wrong. He came early today. And he was crying. Crying hard. He didn’t say anything. Just sat there for hours and cried himself hoarse. Sarah was crying too. But she could see that she wasn’t crying for her. That he wasn’t crying for her either, at least, not just for her. She could see how conflicted he was. He was inconsolable, one hand clutching an upset Sarah, the other on her headstone, sobbing his heart out.

He finally calmed down, Sarah asleep in his arms, having cried herself to exhaustion. He still hadn’t said a word, sitting cross-legged on the ground, a tired, blank look on his face.

“Sarah said her first word today.”

Her heart soared. Her baby girl spoke! She said her first word!

But… this was good news. Why was he so upset?

“It was Mama.”

Oh, she could fly right now.

“Annie. She was Mama, not you.”

Oh.

“She was so happy to hear Sarah say her first word. I screamed at her. I told her she would never be her Mama. I told her I wish you were here, and she was not.”

He began crying again, his shoulders shaking from his regret.

Yes, he regretted saying that. She could see.

A part of her wanted to be angry. Why was he so regretful of hurting your feelings? He promised her he would love her until death did them part.

“Death did part you, my dear,” the old lady, one of the people who wouldn’t leave her alone said. “You’re not here anymore, you shouldn’t be here anymore, you need to let him move on.”

No! Why should she? It’s not fair. How was it fair that she had to leave and you got to stay? She died giving Sarah life, why should you get to enjoy her? Why should you enjoy the results of her hard work? Sarah? Joel? The house? How was that fair?

“Go to the house, dear. You’ll see,” they all told her.

She followed him home when he finally picked himself up from the ground, walking like a zombie to his truck to go home. He walked into the house, struck by it’s silence.

She could see him panic. He placed Sarah in her crib, running around the house calling your name, getting more and more flustered the longer he did so, you nowhere to be seen. He went into the backyard, seeing the burnt remnants of some vegetations, going to the far end corner of the backyard, immediately getting on his knees, his hands on the obviously recently flattened soil, breaking down one more time, this time, she knew for sure that his heartbreak was not for her.

He went back into the house when Sarah cried, washing his hands, going to the fridge. He got a container out, emptying its contents into a pot, reheating it before getting Sarah from her crib. He soothed her, the little girl searching around for someone. He cried into her hair, telling her he was sorry, placing her in her chair before getting her food from the stove, feeding her with a forlorn look on his face.

He left Sarah with the neighbour, driving around town looking for you. She watched as he got more and more frustrated, the words ‘please, I’m sorry’ falling in whispers from his lips as his eyes roved around the public spaces. She watched as he called everyone he knew, asking them if you had dropped by, giving some excuse that you had planned to visit, and wondered if you had gone over that day, clearly disappointed when they told him they hadn’t seen you. She watched as he moped around the rest of the day, only coming to life whenever Sarah needed him.

He fell asleep in the nursery that night, crying himself to sleep on the single bed that wasn’t there when she lived here. He found the ring you left on your pillow, breaking down, placing the ring on his pinkie and clutched it to his heart, his face buried in your pillow. She was seething. How could he be that upset over you? The woman who stole the life she wanted with him. The life that was so unfairly snatched away from her. She would give anything to be here with him, with Sarah. To still be here. And here he was, moping around for you.

She left the nursery, looking around the house she had only lived in for two months before she had to leave.

And that’s when she noticed it.

With the exception of the bed Joel was now sleeping on, and the lack of tree in the backyard, the house was exactly the way she left it. She walked around, feeling as if she had never left. Everything was still there. Her clothes, her pictures, her products, her trinkets, everything still where they were.

“It’s as if she was never here,” the old lady said.

No, that’s not true, she thought at first. But… the old lady was right. There was no trace of you in the house, only her. You didn’t even sleep with him, you slept in the nursery. While there was a part of her that felt a sense of relief that he wasn’t sleeping with you, there was an unease in her heart at what things must have been like for you.

She thought of the things he told her he had said to you, what you must have felt to live in the shadows of her memory, doing everything a good mother and wife would do for Sarah and for him, only for him to say those things to you.

She wondered if she would have been okay with such treatment, if the situation was reversed. Would she had been okay living in a shrine for her husband’s late wife?

To her own surprise, she felt sad for you. She looked at the house you had been taking care of for the past year, only a few months after she passed. You had taken excellent care of it, better than she did, in fact. She looked at her baby girl, the little lady flourishing under your care, healthy and happy. So happy, so loved, she called you Mama. Because you were her Mama. You raised her, loved her, took care of her, kept her safe. She may have given birth to Sarah, but to her, you were her Mama, and she called you so, because that’s what she knew. And Joel, the man you married, the one who was supposed to love and care for you, chastised you for it, breaking your heart.

Because he hadn’t moved on from her.

“Because you wouldn’t let him, my dear,” the lady said. “It’s time for you to let him go. You need to let him move on, for his own good, for Sarah’s own good.”

She knew the old lady was right. And for the first time ever, she didn’t fight her words.

She laid next to him on that single bed, softly calling his name. He opened his eyes, smiling at her. He kissed her, tears in his eyes.

“Am I dreaming?”

She nodded.

“I miss you,” she told him.

“I miss you too.”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For not letting you go.”

“I don’t want you to.”

“I need to. You need to move on. Go find Annie. Beg for her forgiveness.”

His tears fell. “I’m sorry. I fell for her. I didn’t mean to. I tried not to, I really did. It scared me. I’m so scared I will forget you. I don’t want to forget you. I don’t want Sarah to forget you. When Sarah called her Mama…”

“Annie is her Mama,” she told him, her own tears pooling in her eyes. “I’m not here anymore, and I’m glad Annie is. She will take good care of Sarah, you know that. You can make sure Sarah remembers me, Annie will help, I know she will. She’s a good person, she won’t let you or Sarah forget me.”

He could only nod. She was right. You wouldn’t. You never did.

She missed this. Talking to him in bed.

“What happened to the tree in the backyard?”

“I cut it down.”

“Why?”

“You asked me to hang a swing there before, do you remember?”

She nodded, still confused.

“I came home about a week after I married her, and she had hung one. Wanted to use it as a reading spot. It was my one regret about you. That I didn’t hang that swing. And to see it when you didn’t have one just…”

“Joel…”

“I know.”

“This bed is creaky. Did you build this?”

“No, I bought it.”

“Why didn’t you build it?”

“I’ve only ever built things for you, I felt like I would be betraying you if I…”

“Honey…”

“I know… I know…”

“Don’t treat your wife like that, you didn’t treat me like that, why would you do that to her?” her tears fell, accepting that you were his wife now, not her. “Promise me you’ll treat her well?”

He nodded, taking her face in his hands, kissing her one more time. He wanted the moment to last forever, but his eyes wouldn’t stop closing, his head felt heavier and heavier.

“I love you Joel, I always will. I need to let you go for you to be happy. Let me go too, honey. Be free. Love again.”

Joel woke up the next day feeling as if the world was lifted off his shoulder. He got Sarah ready for the day and asked the neighbour to take her one more time while he ran some errands.

He came back an hour later with boxes, rolling his sleeves, opening the wardrobe he shared with her, taking her favourite dress out, hugging it for a while, before placing it in the first box.

**********

Two weeks later, you were choosing some apples at the grocery store for Ike and Tracy, they had nicely allowed you to stay at the in-law suite at their house while you figured out your next step. You’ve been helping him out at the library in the meantime, running his errands for him. You were just thinking of what to get him for his lunch when you heard someone call your name.

“Hi Annie! So good to see you back on your feet!”

It was Maddie, one of Joel’s closest friends.

“What do you mean?” you asked, wondering if Joel had told them what happened.

“Well, you missed Sunday brunch, Joel said you were down with the flu?”

Oh.

“Right, yes, I’m feeling much better.”

“Well, glad to see you up and about again. That man was miserable when you were down. Everyone was teasing him on Sunday, missing his wife like that when you were home sick!” she laughed, giving you a quick hug before leaving.

“Right,” you said to yourself. “He missed his wife.”

Too bad you were not the wife in question.

You walked back to the library, looking at the job application you had collected from the grocery store, the fruits and sandwiches you got in a bag on your shoulder, some light groceries in your hand. Maybe you could do this for a while and move on in a few months? Save some money to have a downpayment? The small savings you had while working back then wouldn’t last you that long, and you needed to make sure you would be okay for a while when you figure out what you were going to do.

You couldn’t stay here, not without running into people you knew.

Not without running into Joel.

You had been lying low, angry at yourself that you couldn’t even run far. The circumstances of your situation wouldn’t allow you too. You only went out in public when you knew he would be at work, just so you wouldn’t risk seeing him. Just so he wouldn’t yell at you again.

The thing was you understood why he was so angry. His wife, the love of his life, the mother of his child, died, and he wasn’t prepared to lose her. He would never see her again. You understood that - it was why you didn’t push. You understood that he needed time. He married you within a few months of her untimely death out of necessity. But that day, you realized just how much he wasn’t ready to have you in his life, despite the fact that you had been married for almost a year.

Much as you hate to admit it, much as you hated yourself for it, despite the way he treated you, you loved him. And by God you loved Sarah. But you had no place in their life, he wouldn’t let you have one in his life. So you needed to leave and find your own way.

And getting this job would be a good first step.

Just as you were approaching the library, someone took the groceries out of your hand.

“Joel.”

“Hi.”

You took a step back from him, not daring to look him in the eyes.

“Please don’t… I’m sorry. I’m sorry I yelled at you. At the time, I didn’t know why I did that…”

“I do,” you said.

He nodded, regret filling his features. He stayed where he was, unable to stand the way his heart lurched when you took a step back from him. He knew your history, and he yelled at you. He made you feel unsafe. He couldn’t blame you if you never wanted to see him again.

“Annie, I know why you left, I’m so sorry I treated you like that. I wasn’t ready, but I am now. Please, forgive me. I’m so sorry, Annie. Please.”

“Everything okay here?” Ike asked, coming out of the library.

“Uh, yeah, here, your lunch,” you said, handing him the bag. He took it, eyeing Joel. “It’s okay, I’ll be in in a minute,” you told him. He had been asking what happened between you and Joel, but you never said anything. You didn’t know why. Maybe you were ashamed, maybe you were stupid.

Ike went back inside but stayed visible, still eyeing Joel.

“How are you doing? Do you need anything?” he asked.

“I’m fine. How’s Sarah? Who’s looking after her?”

“Mrs Adler. Sarah’s not doing too well,” your body language shifted, “She’s healthy,” he quickly added, “She misses her Mama. And I miss my wife.”

You hesitantly smiled, “Well, I’m sorry to hear that. But I can’t bring your wife back from the dead, Joel. I’m sorry,” you said, taking the bag from his hand and turning to go into the library.

“It’s you,” he quickly said, his eyes filling with tears. You turned. “You are her Mama, you are my wife. You, not Laura. Please, can we talk?”

You didn’t know why, but you sat down on one of the benches in front of the library and waited for him to sit too.

“I never expected you to forget her, Joel. I know my place. I know you didn’t want to marry me. I showed Sarah her pictures every single day, telling her that’s her Mommy. I never wanted to take her place, and you didn’t hide the fact that you didn’t want me there either. I never expected you to. But I can’t stay knowing that you never will.”

“I do want you there. I’m sorry. I wasn’t ready, it just felt like I was betraying her, like I’m cheating on her. And I worry every day that Sarah would grow up not knowing her. I didn’t want to feel like I’m replacing her. So when Sarah called you Mama…”

You nodded. It’s not like you didn’t know all this before.

“I donated all her stuff. Save for a few things, for Sarah to have one day, her pictures, her jewellery, a dress or two, but I gave everything else away. Please come back, come back home, Annie, I’ll build you a garden, a swing, a reading nook, that bird bath and feeder you always wanted, anything you want, just please come back. I miss you. I love you. I need you. Please.”

You were quiet. Too quiet. Joel could feel his heart break.

“I need some time to think it over,” you quietly said, eyes on your feet.

Joel could only nod defeatedly.

**********

A year later, you were carefully pushing a toothy, laughing Sarah on a swing set in the park, the little girl shockingly still full of energy after a whole day at the petting zoo. The sound of Joel’s truck made the little girl squeal with joy, scrambling to get out of the swing to get to him. You carefully released her from the swing and placed her on the ground, her little legs running wobblily towards her Daddy. He picked her up, and kissed her, smiling at you as you walked over with her bag in your hand.

“Hi,” he said, giving you a quick peck on the cheek. “Did you have fun with Mama?” he asked her, the little girl quickly launching into a babble of tales about a horse she rode that day.

“It’s a pony, and there were seatbelts,” you told him, passing him her bag.

“Ah,” he laughed, taking it from you. “Can I drop you off?” he asked, hopeful that he didn’t have to say goodbye to you yet.

“Nah, I’ll walk,” you said, giving Sarah a kiss. “I’ll see you in two days okay?” you and Joel both laughed as she raised three fingers, nodding. You followed them to his truck and waited as he strapped her into the car seat.

“Listen,” he said as he shut the door. “My parents are taking Sarah next weekend, I was wondering if you’ll go out with me? Friday? Maybe we can go to dinner?”

“Next Friday is Valentine's Day. Is this dinner a date?”

His ears turned pink, “Uh, it doesn’t have to be a date, if you’re not comfortable with that, we don’t have to call it that…”

“Joel.”

“Hmm?”

“We’re still married, you can ask me out for a date.”

“I can?” he asked, looking relieved and elated at the same time.

You nodded.

“Okay, uh, yeah. Annie, will you go out on a date with me?”

You smiled, got on your tippy toes and kissed him on the cheek.

“I thought you would never ask,” you said, turning away, your heart feeling like it was made of cotton candy.

Joel refrained himself from jumping with joy. He got in his truck, telling Sarah it was time to go home, Daddy needs to finish painting that reading nook he’d been building.

“For your Mama, when she comes home.”

@joelalorian @harriedandharassed @kirsteng42 @vickie5446

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