#What is the best climate for apples?

[farmerstrend]

Apple Farming In Kenya; A Comprehensive Production Guide

Apple farming in Kenya has gained significant attention and interest in recent years due to its potential as a non-traditional crop in the region. While apples are not native to Kenya’s climate, innovative farming techniques and a growing demand for fresh and locally produced fruits have prompted some farmers to explore the cultivation of apple trees. Despite the challenges posed by the tropical…

[headspace-hotel]

data about where carbon emissions are coming from is so frustrating cause there's all kinds of huge, sprawling, just fucking vast breakdowns of What Causes The Most Carbon Emissions Out Of All Everything In The Entire World, but those are aggregations of numerous smaller but still vast aggregations of data, which are processed and polished from various aggregations of crunched numbers, which are patched and pieced together from various studies, estimates and calculations, which are sieved out of numbers crunched from various measurements, estimates and records, which have been collected, estimated or otherwise conceived through an unspeakably huge variety of methodologies with unspeakably huge variety in limitations, reliability and margins of error.

Even if some of the data was very fine-grained at the beginning, it was filtered through some very coarse number-crunching techniques for the sake of the coarse data, so the results are only as good as the wrongest thing you did in any part of this process, but the plans of action are getting thought up from the top down, which makes the whole thing a hot fucking mess.

For example. And I just made this example up. Say you want to know whether apples or potatoes have a worse impact on climate change. So you look at one of these huge ass infographic things. And it says that potatoes are bad, whereas apples are REALLY good, the BEST crop actually. So it's better to eat apples than potatoes, you think to yourself. Actually we should find a way to replace potatoes with apples! We should fund genetic engineering of apples so they have more starch and can replace potatoes. Great idea. Time to get some investors to put $5 billion towards it.

But actually. Where'd they get that conclusion about apples? Well there's this review right here of the carbon footprint of all different fruits, seems legit. Where'd that data come from? Well it's citing this study right here saying that tree-grown crops are better because they sequester carbon, and this study right here about the distance that different fruits get transported, and this study right here where different fertilization systems are compared in terms of their carbon footprint, and this study over here that sampled 300 apple, peach, and orange farmers comparing their irrigation practices and rates of tree mortality, and this study...wow, okay, seems really reliable...

...what's the first study citing? oh, okay, here's a study about mycorrhizal networks in orchards in Oregon, saying that there's a super high density of fungal mycelium in the 16 orchards that they sampled. And here's a study about leaf litter decay rates in Switzerland under different pesticide regimes, and...okay...relationship of tree spacing to below ground vs. aboveground biomass...a review of above and below-ground biomass in semi-intensively managed orchard plots...

...That one cites "Relationship between biomass and CO2 requirements...carbon immobilization in soil of various tree species...mycorrhizal fungi impact on carbon storage...

...wait a second, none of these are talking about apples, they're about boreal forests...and orange trees...and peanut farms! They're just speculating on roughly applying the non-apple data to apples. You have to go backwards...

Yes! "A review of belowground carbon storage in orchard cropping systems!" Seems like overall the studies find potentially high carbon storage in orchard environments! Walnuts...pears...oranges... intercropping walnuts and wheat... intercropping apples and wheat... wait a second, what about orchards with only apples?

Time for you to go back again...

"New method of mulching in apple orchards can lower irrigation and pesticide needs..." okay but if it's new, most farmers aren't doing it. "Orchards with high density interplanted with annual crops show way more mycorrhizal fungus activity..." "Mycorrhizal associations with trees in the genus Malus..."

...And pretty soon you've spent Five Fucking Hours investigating apples and you've got yourself in this tangled web of citations that demonstrate that some orchard crops (not necessarily apples) store a lot of long-lasting biomass in their trunks and roots really well—and some apple orchards (not necessarily typical ones) have high amounts of mycorrhizal fungi—and some techniques of mulching in orchards (not necessarily the ones apple farmers use) experience less erosion—and some apple trees (not necessarily productive agricultural apples) have really deep root systems—

—and some environments with trees, compared with some conventional agricultural fields, store more carbon and experience less erosion, but not apple orchards because that data wasn't collected in apple orchards.

And you figure out eventually that there is no direct evidence anywhere in the inputs that singles out apples as The Best Crop For Fighting Climate Change, or suggests that conventional apple farming has a much smaller carbon footprint than anything else.

The data just spit out "apples" after an unholy writhing mass of Processes that involved 1) observing some tree-grown crops and deciding it applies closely enough to all tree grown crops 2) observing some apple orchards and deciding its applicable enough to all apple orchards 3) observing some tree-including environments and deciding its close enough to all tree-including environments 4) observing some farming methods and deciding it applies closely enough to all farming methods

And any one of these steps individually would be fine and totally unavoidable, but when strung together repeatedly they distort the original data into A Puddle of Goo.

And it wouldn't be that bad even to string them together, if trees didn't vary that much, and farming didn't vary that much, and soil didn't vary that much, and mycorrhizal networks didn't vary that much, and regions that grow apples didn't vary that much, and pre-conversion-to-apple-orchard states of apple orchards didn't vary that much, and economic incentives controlling apple farming didn't vary that much, but all of these things DO vary, a Fuck Ton, and if the full range of variation were taken into account—nay, intentionally optimized—the distinction between apples and potatoes might turn out to be be MEANINGLESS GOO.

anyway big size piles of data about Farming, In General, make me so bitchy

[iizzeee]

Guys, I am begging you. Please please please please please PLEASE do NOT vote 3rd party, or not vote at all.

I get it. I really do. Biden’s handling of Israel has been, not gonna mince words, dogshit. Abominable. Unspeakably bad.

But we cannot afford to protest like this.

We don’t need Biden as president. We do need to keep Trump out of office. And to those who respond “well, I don’t want just the lesser of two evils,” please, for the love of god, grow the fuck up.

For one, why wouldn’t you want the lesser of two evils. It is, by definition, LESS EVIL.

“Why can’t we just have no evil, why isn’t that an option.” I really wish it was. Just as much as you. But it’s not. These are our cards, and we have to play our hand to the best of our ability.

Which brings us to two.

Trump is more evil. Like, so much more evil. We’re comparing apples and oranges here guys.

I understand that a lot of you might doubt that. The largest demographic of people advocating for third party or non-votes are in the 18-26 range. New voters, with one or no elections under their belt.

So they don’t remember.

Most of us (I myself fall under this age range) don’t remember 2016. The election, that is. They don’t remember how so many people protested Hillary vs Trump by going 3rd party or writing in joke votes, because they saw the two as equally bad. And Trump won.

Half of us don’t remember the Trump presidency. We’ve heard he was a weird, bad, bigoted president, but don’t fully grasp the scope of how bad.

So off the top of my head, here are some highlights of real things Donald Trump did while he held office.

- threw toilet paper at hurricane victims like he was trying to shoot a 3-pointer

- fired the man investigating him for election fraud

- called African countries “shitholes”

- appointed members of the Supreme Court who would go on to overturn roe v wade

- stole classified documents from the white house to hide at his resort

- tried to instate a Muslim Ban

- incited a insurrection to try and keep himself in office, and maybe hang his VP if there was time

- looked directly at an eclipse. Like no glasses, full on.

- fueled covid conspiracies. Also told people to “drink bleach” to fight the virus

- withdrew us from the Paris Climate Accord

- cofefe. Remember that? What a fun, normal thing for the president to tweet at 2am.

- employed literal white supremacists

- called Nazi’s “very fine people”

- got endorsed by the KKK, and refused to condemn David Duke

And that’s just what I can remember right now.

So if you’re angry at Biden about Palestine, please please please do not think for a fucking second Trump would be better. He would almost certainly actively be worse. He would give Netanyahu the green light. If you think Biden has used a loose leash, at least it’s some kind of leash. Trump would be all in. Full chips, flying to the Middle East to send in the bombs himself.

If you’re still hesitant, consider this last plea.

Things are bad. These shouldn’t be the only two choice we have, but they are. You can’t look at the menu, which is offering either bland soup someone spit in or actual rat poison and go “could I have some steak”.

You can order the soup and live to write a one-star review on Yelp, maybe call health inspections on the restaurant or contact the owners and say “you guys know your menu has only two options and they’re both dogshit. If you don’t add more, you’ll be unemployed soon.”

Or you can order rat poison and die.

If we elect Donald Trump in the fall, we will be eating rat poison. He has repeatedly said himself to be in favor of a dictatorship. He quotes Hitler. If he is put in office, the change we all want and so critically need will not be fucking POSSIBLE. Because with Biden, it’ll be hard, and tedious, and long, and exhausting, but at least it will be goddamn possible.

So, come November, please don’t order the rat poison.

Please just eat your shitty ass soup so we can live to get really angry about it.

Please.

[erikftglitter]

Christmas in Winona Springs 🤍🎄

Terry Richmond AU

Created By: Erikftglitter

Terry’s car had been giving him trouble for miles. He was headed north to visit his great aunt. He was also fond of the thought of a change of scenery, but the flat tire had put an abrupt halt to his plans. The only thing that he could see through the hovering clouds were a few cabins nestled among the trees.

Terry figured that this would be the only way to fix his problem in the current climate. He would check the cabin out, take a look, and find someone to help.

To Terry’s surprise, as he got closer to the cabins, he discovered that it was an actual resort. It was home to many different cabins and lodges, as well as camping grounds, tents, and a connecting lake. In the midst of the inconvenience, Terry still took time to appreciate the beautiful scenery.

He was greeted upon arrival within seconds.

The gentleman was older, his face lined with years, but he was as welcoming as could be. He was dressed comfortably and typical for someone who ran a cabin business. He sported a red and black flannel shirt and khaki work pants. He greeted Terry with a warm smile and ushered him out of harsh winds of the evening.

After accepting the man’s hospitality and enjoying coffee, Terry eventually explained his circumstance. He figured that the man would know someone with car services. Terry would happily fix the tire himself but he couldn’t get the tire off without the proper equipment.

“It’s late. Thankfully your car knew where to cause trouble.” The man chuckled. “Why don’t you settle in for the night and we can revisit this in the morning?” He offered.

“Are you sure?” Terry felt hesitant. It was never his intention to expect a hand out. He had took care of himself since a child and wasn’t fond of being a freeloader.

“I don’t want to cause any trouble. I can just call a tow truck or—”

“Nonsense. You’re in a pickle. It happens to the best of us.” The man smiled. His morals refused to allow anyone to struggle in his presence. “Stay the night. Get you some food, and tomorrow, we’ll fix that tire. No worries.”

Terry wasn’t sure what to make of it, but something in the older man’s voice—the calm certainty—made him set aside any skepticism. He didn’t have many other options and at least he’d be warm and safe.

“Thank you,” Terry finally said. He let his eyes roam the longue. It was supplied with wooden tables, warm, brown furniture with blankets topped over them, and the faint smell of apples and cinnamon felt surprisingly homey.

“My name’s Lee, by the way,” the man said as he led Terry to a clean room. “If you’re up for it, I’ll make you a drink.”

After the many hours of driving, and the ultimate disappointment of not arriving at his destination, Terry allowed Lee to make him a drink.

They sat at the small resort bar for hours. Terry found Lee to be an entertaining man. They sat and talked about everything and nothing. Lee told stories about the craziest experiences that he’s had over the years. A runaway bride being the most memorable. He got a great laugh out of eating on the wedding cake for weeks.

Terry shared a little about himself as well, but he didn’t think of himself as really interesting. He talked about his great aunt, who he was going to visit, his brief time in the service, and that is all that Terry Richmond summed himself up to be. Lee listened to everything though, patiently, never pushing, never judging.

He hadn’t expected to find comfort in the middle of nowhere, but here he was—sitting across from a stranger who felt more like an old friend. Lee was a wise man.

That night, Terry sat awake in the small guest room Lee had given him, staring at the ceiling, listening to the quiet hum of the place. Tomorrow, he’d help out around the resort to show his appreciation. For the first time in a long while, Terry felt needed.

[Two Months Later]

Terry never had the chance to see his great aunt before she succumbed to her illness. Stage 4 pancreatic cancer wasn’t an easy battle, and he’s just relieved that she was no longer suffering.

When Lee heard of the news he insisted that Terry stay the week. Being the honest man that he was, Terry wouldn’t allow Lee to house him without helping out. Business was going to become busy again as skiing became more common during the cooler months and Terry was determined to make it easier for Lee. He couldn’t stand the thought of Lee being left to repair cabins in the unforgiving weather condition and snow.

He helped him locate leaks and level the floor inside of the noisier cabins. Lee’s resort in Winona Springs was well-loved. Terry would stop to admire the photos that Lee had around the longue of families who came and went. Some even went as far as sending Lee annual holiday cards. Deep down, Terry wondered how it felt to be so loved.

But just as quickly as the thought came it left Terry’s mind. This is how he operated. He was unpredictable and flexible. He hadn’t seen home in months. How could he be loved if he disappeared from time and time again? This was his thing. He knew that he was a lone wolf and spent his adult years not trying to fight it.

Terry often filled in the work orders for Lee. He took quite a fall a few weeks before and Terry found himself being more upset than the older man.

“Terry. I’m old. This is the unrelenting truth of age, bud.” Lee laughed, reaching his hand out for Terry who eagerly helped him off the freshly waxed surface.

“Yeah I get that Lee, but don’t you have a nephew or something to help you out.” Terry’s heartbeat quickened at the realization that Lee was in fact an old man. Their unlikely alliance seemingly provided youth to Lee in Terry’s eyes. He hadn’t thought about the fact that he was definitely old enough to be his father. Definitely too old to run a rigorous business like a cabin resort alone, where snow and ice were detrimental for someone of Lee’s age.

“A nephew? I wish.” Lee sighed. “My brothers died much too soon. They didn’t have time to have any children.” Terry listened. Lee rarely spoke of his own family.

“It’s just me and my little girl.” Lee smiled and reached into his pocket. Terry watched as Lee rummaged through the thick leather wallet before retrieving his point of interest. He offered Terry a photo of a little girl who was missing two front teeth.

“I’m assuming she’s no longer a little girl.” Terry asked, his tone laced with playful sarcasm.

“I’m afraid not. Baby girl’s big time in New York.” Lee sighed. “She visits every Christmas. I just miss the times when we did this together. Just me and her.” Lee looked down. He was starting to remember just how much he missed his family.

“Her mother died during a snowstorm.” Terry took a seat next to Lee. He hadn’t realized that he lost his wife so early on. He gave Lee is undivided attention.

“Car slid right off the road just before Christmas Eve.” Lee still didn’t look up from the floor where his eyes rested. Terry glanced back at the photo and back to Lee. The girl had his exact mocha colored skin tone. Terry wondered how much she resembled the older lad now.

“Is that why you allowed me to stay with you Lee?” Asked Terry. He knew that Lee came from a generation that was built on community, but Lee was more than polite to him. He took Terry in like he was his own.

“Yeah. I feel like she would want me to do that. I wish someone could have done it for her.” Lee admitted. Taking Terry in during a troubled time helped his conscious. He was more than happy to do it. “I had the space and the resources. So why not?” Lee smiled.

“You’re a stand up guy Terry Richmond.” Lee stated. Terry nodded at the praise. He was grateful for the opportunity to listen and learn from Lee.

“Hoping to be like you one day Mr. Parker.” They both laughed at the formality. They sat in silence for a while, silently watching the snow fall onto the ground. Terry wasn’t sure how long he’d be around but he knew that he wouldn’t be leaving his new friend alone anytime soon.

[jarofstyles]

Splendore- Verboten 8

They're back. Best friend's Dadrry returns and this time in another country. 👀💋

Check out our Patreon

Series masterlist

Warnings- emotions, slight angst, fluff, I promise there's smut next time

---

Harry’s idea to let them bond together without the worry of someone they know catching them hadn’t been what Y/N expected.

She had imagined a trip into the city, maybe to a few over so they could get used to being out together, to being a couple they wanted to be. Maybe a BnB if he was feeling fancy.

It turns out, he was feeling luxurious.

Italy had been the last of her guesses, not even truly on the brain. The older man had her pack her bags and told her they were going to one of his houses. She had been given the hints of a ‘warm climate’ and to pack those ‘pretty bathing suits and sundresses’ that he loved oh, so much. Y/N did exactly as asked, packing up her suitcase with the cool packing cubes she had bought from being influenced online - she was weak for easier travel- and prepared for at least a bit of fun in the sun. Her suspicions rose when he had mentioned a passport, but when they sat in the first class seats on a flight to Italy, she was in shock.

Harry had laughed at her shock, how she bounced on her heels when she had figured it out when they arrived at the lounge. She had thanked him with kisses to the cheek, her hood falling off her face as she held his far too pretty for a grown man’s face. Y/N hadn’t been to Italy, let alone know that he had a house there. Imagine her reaction when he broke out into Italian, speaking to the gate agent as soon as they landed about something that she couldn't understand. Her attraction to him had already been sky high, but the last few hours had elevated it specifically.

2 weeks. They were spending 2 weeks in Italy, Y/N finally quitting the job she hated with plans to look for another one when she got back, and a weight lifted off her shoulders. Her excuse to Lia had been she was going to go see where her extended family lived, whilst Harry said he had business. It wasn’t a lie- Y/N did have family here, but she wasn’t exactly going to see them.

Y/N’s arms wrapped around his one as they walked through one of the street markets. Harry had been the one to choose her dress, deciding on a white base colored one with tiny baby blue florals covering it. It hugged her waist and flared out, reaching right above her knee and was off the shoulder with tiny puff sleeves- a beautiful one he hadn’t seen before. They’d lazed about in bed sleeping off a bit of the travel from the day prior,  but Y/N had been a bit antsy to see things. Harry knew the area well, had spent some summers here with family, and he was a massive fan of the country in general.

Sunglasses hung on the bridge of his nose as he stopped at one of the stalls, looking at the fresh fruit lined up. He hadn’t gone to the market yet, and it was probably a good idea to get some fruit while they were here. “Why don’t you pick out some that looks good to you, hm?” He turned to murmur against her temple.

Y/N wasn’t used to being allowed to be so openly affectionate with Harry.  The times they’d gone out back home, they’d still been cautious with how close and sweet they were in fear of their relations being reported back to someone who didn’t need to know. Being in Italy offered a type of freedom that she didn’t expect to feel so good. Hanging on his arm felt so perfect, like it fit right into her own. Letting her arm drop from his, she chose a few things. A few packets of berries that looked particularly ripe and juicy, some peaches that were far softer than any she had felt, and a few red and green mottled apples were placed into the wicker basket she had bought from a few vendors up. She knew Harry was a fan of cherries, so she chose a small bag and picked up a pomegranate for herself before stopping. Looking at him for approval, he simply nodded and took the basket from her to show the vendor.

“Mi scusi, quanto costa tutto questo?” His Italian made her blink. His voice had always been a weakness of hers, but hearing him talk in a different language and sound so… dreamy? She felt a bit wobbly in the knees, eyes locked on his face as he spoke. The exchange was completely missed on the other end, her long lashes blinking as she watched Harry pull his worn leather wallet out from his front pocket and hand over a few bills. She watched his eyes slide over to her, catching her staring point blank as his lips quipped up in a tiny smirk.

“Grazie Signore.”

His hand found Y/N’s, threading their fingers together as they continued to walk with her basket in his hand now. He wouldn’t let her carry her own stuff a lot of the time and as much as it drove her crazy, it also showed that he was a real gentleman. They just didn’t make them like this anymore. That’s why she’s gone with an original model, she supposed.

“Got something on my face?” His smug little smile hadn’t dwindled, their hands swinging slightly in between them as she could feel his happiness. It squeezed her heart in her chest. As many times as she’s seen the man content, she had never seen him like this. This level of happiness, or seemingly free. She could relate, but seeing it in the man who was usually quite reserved and had been known to her as an authority in a way, an intimidation, it was a breath of fresh air. His giddiness was contagious.

“Mhm. A little smug look on that face.” She laughed, rolling her eyes in jest as they continued to walk down the cobblestones. “You’re just very pretty. That’s all.” She feigned a bit more indifference than she actually felt.

“Oh? And it’s got nothing to do with the fact that you look at me like I offered you a lifetime supply of peach tea when I speak Italian?” He rose a brow, calling her out directly on her bullshit. “I do appreciate the compliment though. I prefer ruggedly handsome, a sexpot, maybe. But pretty will do.”

“A sexpot?” Y/N snorted, nose crinkling in distaste as she looked at him over her own sunglasses. “I forgot you’re an old man sometimes. But fine. Maybe I do like hearing you speak in a foreign language. You surprise me, is all.” She shrugged one shoulder, continuing the swinging of their arms. It was odd, how well they connected despite all their seemingly different life points. They melded together like precious metals over a flame, combining in a way that made her positive that traces of him would remain in her forever.

“Good. You’ve got a lot to learn about me.” He hummed, squeezing their joined hands. The man seemed a bit shy with her sometimes, like now that they were out of their normal element, he was a tad more vulnerable. It was something Y/N found to be refreshing. She wasn’t the only one a little nervous. Or perhaps he had always felt like this, but hadn’t felt ok showing it.

“Hm. Let’s look in here.” Harry interrupted her train of thought, pulling her into a stall with dresses.

Harry had a thing for them, as they’d previously discussed. He liked seeing her in flowy, soft dresses that showed off her shoulders and her legs. It had taken her slightly off guard considering she had thought he would prefer to see her in her bathing suits- which, he did obviously enjoy, but he had shown more excitement to see the dresses she had shown and requested them specifically.

“Are you going to get something?” Y/N asked, looking at the colorful pieces hung up on a pole and the rolling racks. They were beautiful, but definitely pricey. She couldn’t fault them for it, as they looked hand made and artists deserved to be paid for their work appropriately. She had to be a bit careful with her spending, though, considering she had just quit her old job.

“Mhm. We both are.” Harry’s words made her turn to him, lifting the glasses off her face.

“Oh? I am?” She crossed her arms, looking up at him with her brows raised, only to be met with a laughing man who scooped her into his arms, pulling her into his chest. She had no time to question before he was kissing the top of her head, pulling back to look at her face.

“Yes. M’gonna be buying you what I’d like to see you in.” He said easily.  “And probably some things for myself.” There were a nice variety of shirts and shorts, so he could choose for himself. It was written all over her face, her reflex to argue, but instead of allowing it, he tipped her chin up and covered her lips with his own, cutting off any sort of rebellion. Kissing her for the first time, properly, in a public place. It had caught her off guard, her body relaxing slightly before he pulled back from her. “Just let me. Yeah? It’ll make me happy.” He smoothed his thumb over her bottom lip. “Per favore, bellezza mia. Lascia che ti vizi.” The croon of a whispered Italian sentence, despite her not really knowing what he said besides please, had her core heating up.

God damn, he was good.

“Fine. Fine… If it’ll make you happy.” She whispered back, leaning up to peck his lips again. It took him by surprise, but one he happily leaned into. Harry’s wide grin was reward enough.

After that, it was a bit of a blur. Y/N said yes and no to a few dresses, trying her best to be conservative with the money he was spending because it still made her a little uneasy- but seeing the amount of clothing that he had folded up for himself, it reminded her that he really did have the funds. His home here alone should show her that- but in the back of her mind, she knew she was worried about what people would say.

Gold digger. With him for the money.

It wasn’t that she necessarily cared about anyone else's opinion of her, but she didn’t like the idea of people saying she didn’t feel for him as strongly as he did for her. She would be with Harry if he didn’t have money at all at this point. Of course, she couldn’t lie and say it wasn’t a good thing to have. That it didn’t arouse her to know her man could take care of her, that he was successful and driven and able to provide and create things. It did, more than she cared to admit. It just wasn’t why she was with him.

Harry had swept her off her feet, what started out as a fuck in the poolhouse turning into a full blown relationship with feelings and anxious glances and sweet giggles. It was different than past relationships but also, not. The circumstances certainly were unique, the risk especially so, but the full bellied butterflies she got whenever she thought about him, the late night calls, the rest of it all resembled a pure romance.

She acted the part of a spoiled girl well in most other contexts, but actually allowing people to provide things for her had always made her feel a bit uncomfortable. It was never an even exchange. Harry’s expression had been so earnest when he had told her he wanted to do it for her, she couldn’t tell him no.

The shop owner had looked overjoyed, throwing suggestions to them and acting as a personal shopper once she had deciphered what size Y/N would be, a flush on her face as she realized it meant real money for her. That was another reason she let the guilt melt away. Providing income for a local artisan was worth it. Falling into it, she smiled and showed her preferences towards cuts, choosing one of the lilac ones from the rack, a soft linen mustard colored dress with floral embroidery across the bust, a deep red maxi dress with a mix of lace creating pleats, a white wrap skirt, and a few other things that Harry had decided she was getting. Y/N wasn’t about to deny him. It was his money.

By the end of it, they had two bags of clothing, separated to his and hers by the helpful and gracious artisan who kissed both of their cheeks repeatedly and apparently invited them both to dinner while they were here. Y/N didn't know what he had said in response, but she assumed by the large smile that it was an acceptance.

He had a charm about him. She had noticed it, obviously, but as they continued through the market and shopped it became apparent that he just had a magnetic quality to him that had her looking on the interactions fondly. This was an unfiltered view of the man that made her feel a fluttering in her chest, the luck she had stumbled upon by getting to spend her time with him realized fully as she continued their walk. He was a gentleman, stopping and letting her browse one of the pottery stalls so she could choose a mug- finally letting her pay for something herself when she had pouted at him- and decided to get him one as well. Hers had oranges on it, Harry’s matching with lemons.

Italy was far warmer than she had realized though, and her inner thighs were starting to sweat. She needed a break, which she told him in a soft request to go back to the house to relax by the pool. Her body was in desperate need of a shower and far less clothing. This had been the most walking she had done in months.

He had insisted on gelato before they made the trek back up to the villa, Y/N choosing a Tiramisu flavor and Harry getting pistacchio. Leisurely, they walked hand in hand while the bags hung off Harry's elbow and her basket back on her own while they licked at the treat. It was melting fast, her tongue working over the sides to try and constrain it from dripping all over her fingers. Being sticky on top of sweaty and tired was not on the top of her to-do list.

“Messy girl.” His eyes had been watching intently as they paused at the top of the hill to give her a second to breathe. Her tongue flicked over her fingertips as the melty cream dribbled down over the cone, making his stomach burn a little bit. The woman managed to make the most mundane things either utterly adorable or completely erotic depending on the mood. In this instance, he was reminded of her sitting on her knees, lapping up every drip of his cum when he had finished in her mouth. Greedy for it, he had soaked up every moment of her desperation. It was a cherished memory of his he would be happy to relive.

“Perv.” She smirked, shaking her head as she looked him in the eye, taking a long lick. If he was going to be flirty, she was going to return it right back. “Don’t start when we’re out here. If you’re going to be dirty, wait till we’re back in private.” Her hip bumped his before she started off on her own, leaving him to follow right on behind while watching her skirt sway.

—---

“Darling?” A soft voice woke her from her light sleep, cool fingertips brushing over her cheek. The warm ocean breeze and sound of the water and birds had lulled her into a state of relaxation while the sun had begun to set. Eyes peeled open to see Harry smiling down at her, shirt hanging off of his shoulders while he was bare underneath. He was bent down, arm resting on the back of the lounger while the other stroked her face. “There she is. Fell asleep?” He looked down at the book splayed out on her stomach and the half finished spritz on the side table, evidence of the accidental dozing.

“Yeah, m’sorry.” Knuckles reached up to rub at her eyes, peering up at him with a soft grin. “Didn’t mean to. The breeze felt really good.” Finishing with her no longer sleepy eyes, her fingers went to his wrist, urging his hand to cup her cheek the way she liked. “Did you have a good shower?”

Harry had left her out to relax while he had answered a few emails and took a shower, needing to wash the day off of him. Y/N had done so earlier when he had made them food, so it had been his turn. She had told him she was going to relax by the pool with her drink and book and she wasn’t too tired, but it was obvious the day had caught up with her a little bit.

“I did, yeah.” He stroked the apple of her cheek with his thumb, seeing her face relax into the hold he kept. “Missed you a little, though. Much more fun with you complaining about how it isn't hot enough.”

“Well, you take lukewarm showers at best. I like to feel a bit of burn.” She huffed, turning her face to bite the heel of his palm lightly to show her displeasure. “Rude. But, I missed you too. Come sit with me.”

Y/N’s body shuffled over, allowing him to lay on his side next to her. The size left little room between them, but Y/N remedied that as she moved her leg to hook over his waist, sighing as she snuggled up to him. Harry couldn’t control the flip flop his stomach did at her apparent comfort with him, feeling easy enough to do something like that with him. No hesitation now, lips pressed against the base of his throat before she settled in.

“Comfortable?” His voice murmured, hand falling to her bare back to stroke the warm expanse.

“Mhm.” Her replied was hummed, hand resting on his chest as she sagged into his hold. “I’m really happy.”

The words had sounded like it took her a moment to admit. His breath caught, looking at the top of her head as she kept her face tucked against his throat. Hiding a little bit, but he could understand why. Admitting things, feelings, it was intimidating. “Yeah?” He chuckled, letting his blunt nails run over her spine, memorizing the feeling of its ridges under the skin. “Good. That’s all I want for you. I wanted to take you away… let you feel relaxed for once.”

His words vibrated against her cheek, tickling her slightly. She hummed back, twirling the chain of his necklace around her finger. A force of habit now. “I am. It was a really good idea. I…” There was a pause, hesitation coating her tongue as she decided to go for it anyways. “I was really scared I messed this up completely. I didn’t want to hurt your feelings or make you feel like… Like you weren’t enough, or I wasn’t happy. I know we talked about it before, and I don’t want to ruin a good day with those thoughts, but I really like you and I loved how it felt when we were out earlier. Holding your hand, when you kissed me…” She swallowed the lump that had formed, his soothing fingers continuing their path. He knew what she needed. “It felt right. I know back at home, some people are probably going to have a lot to say, a lot of mean things probably, saying I’m in this for money or something and that you’ll get over me or whatever but I just want you to know that I think we could work.”

Mustering up the courage to pull back and look at his face, she looked into his own eyes. They looked light, but focused. Intent as he met her gaze, encouraging her to continue to speak. She had no idea how he felt, how he felt a little choked up himself at her words and her resolve over the both of them. “I think we could. I’m sorry I seemed so wishy-washy before with us. With putting labels and dancing round things.  I was scared to ask for anything more because I enjoyed us together and I didn’t want to be a silly little girl and assume you’d want something with me.” There was a pregnant pause, Y/N’s eyes falling from his for a moment. “I know theres a lot against us. I’m half your age, you’re Lia’s dad, it’s going to cause problems but I-I really think it’s worth exploring. I don’t want you to get hurt by the repercussions and like I said, I know it’ll cause some issues but-”

Y/N’s words were cut off with his mouth. A deep kiss, fingers angling her up towards him and keeping her chin between his fingers as he locked their lips together, letting her feel him. Heat flushed in her body, leaning into it immediately. He had stolen her breath, a tiny whimper leaving her throat as he attempted to pull back. Her fingers tangled in his hair, tugging him back to her with a quiet mewl of ‘No’ before sealing their soft mouths back again, feeling his harsh exhale through his nose when she dragged her nails over his exposed chest and pulled back to peck his lips a few times. He eagerly responded, chasing her lips a few more times before giving a breathless chuckle, forehead resting against her own.

His heart thumped in his chest as he took a moment, opening his mouth to speak to her but failing. How could he possibly be able to tell her how much he actually appreciated her? He had to at least try.

“I don’t think words will be enough to accurately describe to you how much I feel for you already. I know. I know of the risks, the things people would say, the things that could possibly happen as a result. Trust me when I say that a relationship with you is all that has been clouding my mind for the last few weeks. I’ve thought through every scenario, as good and as bad as they could get, but none of them are as bad as the thought of losing out on being with you.”

His voice was slightly hoarse, the kiss and the mere passion he felt stealing some of the strength he usually had, but he powered on. “Y/N… I know I was cruel to you the other night. I was pathetically jealous, angry that it wasn’t me. That I couldn’t make it easier on you to be with me. I can’t control what people outside of myself do, and I should have conducted myself better but you…. You make me feel again. It’s unnerving and I felt raw and naked and hurt because I was letting you in and it felt like perhaps that wouldn’t be enough. That I’d be a phase. But it was cruel of me to underestimate you and think poorly of your intentions because of my own insecurities. As good as I try to be… I am still a man.” He laughed humorlessly, shaking his head. “A silly, jealous, needy man who wanted to rip the hands off of the guy in that photo for touching your shoulder. I wanted to storm down to the bar and toss you over my shoulder, take you home where you belong. When I realized I didn’t have a claim over you, it hurt. It made me feel bitter and irritated and then you showed up to my house, wearing a dress that you put on for another man… I went mad. But it wasn’t fair of me. I was feeling those same insecurities, and I didn’t let you speak. And for that, I’m sorry.” He returned to her chin, tilting it back up and pressing another lingering kiss to her lips before continuing.

“I want to be with you. I’ll take it all. I won’t let anyone be cruel to you, I will cherish you and this relationship, I’ll make you happy. I know we’ll have some growing pains and that it won’t necessarily be easy because of everyone else, but being with you? Being around you, feeling happy? It’s the easiest thing I’ve ever done.”

Y/N hated herself for it, but she felt the burn behind her eyes. To hear someone talk so passionately, to put themselves in a position at home that could cause him personal issues because he liked her so much, he felt so intensely for her? It had shook her to the core. It felt like no one else had ever cared about her this much. She could feel it, feel his affection in the way he kissed her. “Me too.” She peeped. “It’s- It’s so easy for me to be myself around you. I know it was weird at first because of how we met but it fell into such a rhythm so quickly a-and I like myself around you, H. I do. I think that’s what we’re supposed to feel in relationships. Right?” She sniffled, cursing under her breath as a tear escaped. “Sorry. I just feel a lot right now and I’m really happy.” A watery laugh made him smile, thumbing the salty tear away from her cheek.

“Don’t apologize to me for feeling.” It was a gentle scold. As much as tears from her would break his heart, he wanted her reactions unfiltered. There was a greed he couldn’t control when it came to information about Y/N. “I want to hear and see everything you feel. You underestimate just how curious I’ve been about how this pretty little brain works.” His damp finger tapped the tip of her nose, making her giggle again. “It is how you’re supposed to feel, I think. At least, it’s how I feel with you, too. It’s the best, isn’t it?” His arms pulled her back to his chest, smiling to himself as he felt her rub her face into his neck and play with his hair, warm breaths brushing his collarbone as she nodded in response.

“It is.” Her words were soft against him, pressing a series of gentle kisses to the side of his throat and working her way up to his jaw. “You make me feel things I’ve never felt before. Every day, it’s something new.” Her teeth grazed the hinge of his jaw, biting down delicately before pulling back to give him a grin. “I never want to stop learning with you.”

“I’ll make sure you never have to, sweetheart.” Lips brushed hers, stealing her breath. “We don’t have to tell everyone we’re together when we’re home, but… we can use this trip, see how good it feels. Work on it when we get back.” meaning they’d have to tell Lia. Something neither of them would look forward to, but it was going to be pushed back on this trip. “Just want to take this time to get to know you, to see bits of you that you’ve hidden away. Cruel little thing.” He clicked his tongue, letting his fingers brush her sides to make her squeal. She was a tiny bit ticklish there.

“I’ll let you know anything you want- but first lesson? Do not tickle me unless you want me to accidentally knee you in the balls.” She huffed. “I happen to quite like them, so don’t do that.”

“Noted, darling. Noted.”

[covenofthearticulate]

writing prompt: armand & louis in the car on the way to night island 🥹

Drabble Prompts | Always Accepting!

Even in the reflection of the car window, the vision of Armand seems something of a relic, like a long-forgotten saint looming in stained glass. It’s easier, to stare at his reflection blurred against the palm trees and high-rise buildings of the cityscape that grows smaller and smaller in the distance. He can’t bring himself to look directly at him just now, and perhaps that is for the best either way. 

In the front seat, the mortal driver fusses with the climate control. A gush of cool air hits his face, and Louis immediately finds himself reaching for the little vent, pushing it sideways and away from him to escape the onslaught of air conditioning (he has always enjoyed the warm, sticky air; it reminds him of home). 

“I’ve made arrangements for you all,” Armand breaks the silence without drawing his gaze from the window. “You’ll have a chamber for yourself, of course. As for any other provisions you may require, you need only ask.”

“That is indeed very generous of you.”

Louis bows his head, a long ingrained signal of diplomacy.

Another moment of silence passes between them as the sky opens up to the glistening Miami water. 

“Will the boy spend his death sleep in a coffin of his own, or does he reside with you during the day?”

“His name is Daniel.”

“Yes,” says Louis. “I remember.”

A beat, and Louis watches something shift in Armand’s expression reflecting from the window. Something in the pinch of his brows, a stiffening of his lip. 

“I don’t wish to speak of all that now.”

“What do you wish to speak about?”

Armand shrugs, turns to look straight at Louis and even in the silence, there is a strange unspoken passion behind his eyes. For one striking moment, Louis feels himself transported back to that lifetime long ago, where every evening was spent just like this, in solemn silence, trapped together in some foreign train car, or carriage, or ship, always so close and yet a million lightyears away. How different would their paths have been, if Louis had allowed space in his heart for the ugly truth of his adoration? Is it too late to speak to it now, after all that has happened?

But then Armand leans his head against the window and allows his gaze to drift toward the driver up front, and the spell is broken, and they are once again in the luxurious black car speeding through the glimmering lights of Miami.

“Are you satisfied, at last, with the answers you’ve received?” Armand asks eventually in that soft, secretive tone.

A bitter smile tugs at Louis’ lips as he settles back in his seat. 

“I don’t wish to speak of all that now,” he parrots Armand’s response with a sigh. 

Armand seems to smile at that, and for one blinding moment Louis feels something quicken in him, something brilliant and radiant and cataclysmic. Touche, say Armand’s warm brown eyes, and just like that, the flame is reignited. 

As the silence hangs in the air between them once more, Louis tries to conjure the words that had so desperately waited at the tip of his tongue in California. All the feeling in his chest as he’d smashed Armand’s coffin against the stone of his brother’s grave. All the things he never had the courage to speak into that little recorder that night on Divisadero. All the broken promises and empty pleas he’d meant to air before the end of the world as they knew it. 

But he doesn’t know how. 

He leans over instead, and presses a gentle kiss to the apple of his cheek, humming gently when he feels Armand nuzzle back against him. 

And the silence for the rest of the car ride suddenly feels like an old friend.

[localdryadfaggot]

ROLL CALL!! 🐌

I would like to introduce my snails to the world of tumblr so their legacy will not be lost in the dust of time.

Sock

Sock was the first snail that came into my life! They are the friendliest and most active, constantly climbing over all the other snails and zooming around the tank. I identify them by the darker colour of their shell and the thick section that has no stripes/growth lines! Top artist on Spotify is Poppy.

Henrietta

This is Henrietta! Saved first from the side of a bucket and then our trash can shortly after, Henrietta has had a hard tumultuous life indicated by the large amount of growth lines and tendency to retreat quickly into her shell. They are the largest of my snails and also the hungriest! They love carrots and celery the most Their top artist on Spotify is Grandson.

Duo

Duo, my fastest snail, got their name from the distinct double stripes on their shell. They love exploring their surroundings and are almost actively climbing around their terrarium. (The stripes make them go faster) When they are asleep, it’s typically on the lid of the terrarium or on the walls. Their top artist on Spotify is Yung Gravy!

Marigold

With their distinctive yellow marking, Marigold is the most chill of my snails, often hanging out outside of her shell without moving around much. They’re often found hanging out around the food bowl despite not typically eating much compared to the other snails. Their top artist is Girl in Red!

Catherine the Great

The shyest and least active of my snails. Likely the oldest as well. Typically hangs out inside their shell, only coming out every couple days for a snack before heading back into their shell. Holds rage in their heart and hides to avoid facing the realities of our quickly dying planet and exploitation of the working class. Their favourite artist is Sofia Isella.

Pandora

The chosen one. Hatched before I had the chance to perform snail-bortion, escaping death by a hair. Though the great embrace of death will eventually take us all without mercy, Pandora seeks to make the most of their time here and spends each day training to be the best snail they can possibly be. The child of Marigold, Duo, or Cathrine the Great. Pandora’s favourite artist is Naethan Apollo!

The Home 💖

This is the home of my snails! Typically it also has a humidifier but I’m currently house sitting so we’re doing it manually through my trusty spray bottle!

Snail info 💖🐌

These snails have all come into my possession from work! They hide away on the shipments of our florals and I take them home from there. They cannot be released into the wild as they are not native to my area and would not survive in my climate. Additionally, if they were to survive, they would be considered invasive and have an extremely detrimental impact to the local ecosystem. The best option for them at the moment is captivity.

I make sure they have the best life possible by feeding them fresh produce such as lettuce, carrots, celery, avocado, apples, peppers, etc. They also get calcium supplements through crushed eggshells and cuttlefish bone!

The information on ground snails as pets is fairly minimal so much of what I do is on instinct and based on information known about water snails.

I love my snails so much 💖 send me an ask if you have questions/comments about them and I’d be happy to answer!

[vultures-and-scavengers]

Honnleath Headcanons

So, I couldn't find a decent picture of the Origins world map with the DLCs, but that red dot is about where Honnleath is, according to the Stone Prisoner's map marker. Southern Thedas is, appropriately, within the southern hemisphere, and things get colder the further south you go. Beyond the Korcari Wilds is what seems to be a polar region referred to as the Sunless Lands, and the Kocari Wilds are described as forest and swamp.

The Korcari Wilds themselves are probably best described as boreal wetlands, and they lie just to the east of Honnleath. To Honnleath's west, there's then the Frostback mountains. It's also between the territories of Avvar and Chasind peoples, which depending on the specific group, may or may not be an issue for Andrastian settlers in the region.

In addition, the largest settlement within any distance of Honnleath is Redcliffe, and Honnleath is about as far from Denerim as you can get, while remaining in Ferelden.

TL;DR: It's geographically isolated, probably freezing, probably has shorter summers and less sunlight, and likely does not have a great deal of wealth, unless there's mining and other non-agricultural industry.

Farming

Farming in cold climates is hard. You have less time in the year, less sun, less warmth, etc. Not all crops are hardy enough to last through the temperature changes and freezes these regions might go through. Depending on how miserable the cold might be that far south, I think Honnleath might fall within the USDA hardiness regions 2 or 3. Note that these zones are based on the temperature extremes a region might face, not the average temperatures.

ATTRA has this post about farming in cold climates, and while it is undoubtedly aimed for a modern audience, the crops themselves listed are still a handy resource.

Peas, radishes, mustard greens, broccoli, cauliflower, lettuce, fennel, radicchio, and scallions are among those listed as suitable for colder climates. They also further down mention juneberries.

CropCare has this post about crops by zone as well.

For zone 2, they list dill, chives, carrots, broccoli, radishes, cabbage, and brussels sprouts. For zone 3, they list beets, garlic, parsley, turnips, squash, radishes, peppermint, and some onions.

Lastly, the Sustineri Project has a page where they list cherry, apple, pear, plum, and raspberry trees as possibilities within zones 2 and 3.

But with less time in the year to grow crops, and less sun, I don't see Honnleath able to earn as much income as more northern regions. They're likely dependent on what they grow to sustain themselves, and sell what extra they can.

Politics/Standing

The headcanons I have for Honnleath's politics are dependent on its location and climate. Ferelden seems to operate on a system similar to feudalism, with banns reigning over regions, with arls above them, and then teyrns, and then the monarchs, who are beholden to the Landsmeet, which is the annual gathering of these lords.

Bordering the Korcari Wilds, Honnleath was likely one of the first regions invaded by the Blight, and there were survivors only due to the Hero of Ferelden's timely arrival. In addition, that far from Denerim, Redcliffe likely is the greatest political influence on Honnleath. However, there's a strong chance the Chasind and Avvar have their own influences, if Honnleath engages in trade with either group.

Trading with Chasind is more likely, I feel, as Honnleath is closer to the Wilds than the mountains, and while the Avvar do trade with 'lowlanders', it seems to be less common.

I did come up with my own Bann for Honnleath: Bann Moorstead. Bann Moorstead resents ruling a land so far from Denerim, a land poorer in crops and capital than the more fertile Bannorn at Ferelden's heart. Determined to try and keep up with his richer peers, Moorstead continually raises taxes on the already minimal population within his holdings. During the Blight, Bann Moorstead, fueled by resentment towards his fellow lords, sides with Loghain, sending his forces to reinforce Loghain instead of protecting his lands.

And full disclosure, Bann Moorstead was created largely so I could play in the sandbox and add more depth to Cullen's distaste for nobles. It's played as a joke for most of Inquisition, but given his own origins, I think it's more than just the trope of 'military man hates politicians and fancy people'.

[alpineshift]

I know I owe YOU an answer but I’m running to your inbox…

You know why I’m here…

Fixer 2.0

<33333333

welcome BACK ruthless!jack!! as I was going thru this one I feel like I've Icarus'd too close to the sun with the OG because I can't think of proper title. It's just the fixer. Jack is the fixer. what else can it be!!

I'm using a prev prompt fill as my base for this continuation! there will probably be deviations tho 😇 this directly follows the first installation (nothing to do w the spinoff) and this snippet is from the Malta vacation scene.

Nico props himself up along the ledge, elbows up over the smooth white tiles, and shakes his wet hair out of his eyes. Water laps up against his back and shoulders and gently drains away at the sides. Ripples pass over the glassy surface from the wind, and goosebumps form over his exposed arm in spite of the hot afternoon sun.

He looks up as Jack walks over, wearing only his swim trunks, skin already glowing and tanning under the golden light.

“How’s the water?”

“It’s great,” Nico says honestly, because it is.

+ (also) +

“Jack?”

It’s hard to see him with the sun backlit like that, but Nico can still make out the shape of his best friend leaning over him in the pool. Jack shifts so that his shadow blocks out the sun, and Nico blinks away the afterimages flashing over his vision.

Jack’s fingers brush a wayward strand of hair out of his eyes, and then he reaches down and cups Nico’s chin with the palm of his hand.

He’s so warm. His hand is so big. Nico feels the thud of his pulse against the cradle of Jack’s fingers and a jolt of heat that’s completely unrelated to the Mediterranean climate hit him square in the chest, going straight down to his stomach. Nico gulps, and feels his Adam’s apple bob against Jack’s hand, feels the pad of Jack’s thumb resting just under his lower lip.

“J-Jack?”

Jack hums. He shifts his hand forward very slightly, just enough to tilt Nico’s head back by a scant degree, but the internal reaction Nico gets feels intensely disproportional. The goosebumps that erupt on his arms have nothing to do with the wind now. He wants to melt right into this pool and he can’t pinpoint why. His heart rate is going crazy—and Jack must feel it. He must, because Nico thinks it sounds like a snare beat pounding away beneath the skin of his throat. 

“You’re smiling more,” Jack finally says. The corner of his mouth tugs up, but there’s something unreadable in his blue eyes. “I like it. I’m glad you’re happy right now.”

And then he gets up and strides away, heading to the showers tucked away under the awning around the villa, leaving Nico to gape after him.

[miss-midnightt]

Sephesis Week Day 1: "We Seek it Thus"--Calm Before the Storm

The sky was overcast, clouds deep grey and swollen, threatening rain. Humidity hung heavy in the air, uncomfortable and sticky in the summer heat. A calmness filled the air. Storm season had arrived late to Banora, and now it was here.

The sound of boots on gravel broke the silence. A boy, no older than fourteen or fifteen, crested the hill. Choppy, shoulder length auburn hair, blue eyes lined with dark eyeliner, slightly smudged above the right eye, light smattering of freckles across the nose—Genesis. His attire both showcased his deliberate fashion and complete disregard for the climate; skinny jeans and leather do not mix well with Augusts in Banora.

He looked up at the sky, shrugging dismissively before pulling out a stick of his favorite apple flavored lipgloss from his pocket. Genesis lazily swiped it across his lower lip, then rubbed his lips together. The lipgloss was recapped and stowed away.

He walked slowly, not in a particular hurry to get anywhere. He cracked his knuckles (a nervous habit that he couldn’t be bothered to break) and examined his nails. The shiny maroon polish he’d painted on them one, two nights ago was slightly chipped, nails bitten to the quick (yet another nervous habit).

A light breeze started up; it prompted a rustling in the apple trees and a poorly tacked poster on the telephone pole to fly off, carried by the wind. It fluttered aloft for about fifty feet before it flew into Genesis’ face unceremoniously.

The boy grumbled, peeling it away from his face. As he was about to crumple it and toss it away, he caught a glimpse of the face on the poster.

‘The hero of Wutai has returned victorious! Join Shinra and fight alongside him!’ It read; underneath the text was a large picture of Sephiroth, in all his glory.

Genesis smiled involuntarily at the poster—or rather the boy on the poster—as he traced two fingers lightly across the image.

“We seek it thus—“ he began, before a fat raindrop landed on the poster. Genesis neatly folded the paper and tucked it away with his lipgloss.

A few more droplets fell before it began to rain in earnest. The sudden downpour surprised Genesis, who hurried his pace, arms raised to protect his hair from the rain. —-- Genesis carefully pinned the slightly crumpled poster on the wall. It fit in neatly with the many other similar posters of the famed war hero.

He smoothed it out and stepped away, nodding in approval to no one but himself. Walking over to his vintage desk, Genesis tugged at the slightly sticky drawer until it opened. He grabbed an apple lollipop and opened it, tossing the wrapper into the little wastebasket below his desk.

Genesis set to painting his nails, this time a deep purplish red. He absentmindedly crunched on the lollipop, fantasies of meeting the boy on his wall and becoming a hero taking him far, far away, to Midgar.

——

Many, many miles away, Sephiroth looked up at the grey sky. It would rain soon, he knew. Best to set up camp while it was still dry. That is what he told everyone else, and so it was done. No one questioned the hero of Wutai, Shinra’s finest, the first SOLDIER. 

He hated it.

Sephiroth went through the motions—pitch tent. Survey camp. Recheck tent. It was the same every time, more or less. After a while, he had gotten used to it.

——

The boy sat in his newly pitched tent, sharpening his sword. His face was set, solemn, focused. Very adult—it did not suit Sephiroth’s round, soft cheeks or wide baby blue eyes. Not that he cared.

The sound of the other people in camp was faint in the background. Somewhere in the distance, the roll of thunder could be heard.

The movement of the whetstone paused, then stopped. Sephiroth set the sword aside as the first raindrops began to fall. 

He pulled out the picture of his mother from his breast pocket, cradling it to his chest.

If only he had a wall to pin it to.

@sephesisweek

(edited because i wanted to add some stuff lmao)

Posted to AO3 here

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

A Way You Can Store Your Vegetables For Months

Have you ever wondered how our ancestors preserved a whole winter season worth of frost-intolerant produce? Canning is a useful method, though a large harvest can easily turn it into a seemingly impossible task. The solution many generations before us turned to was building a root cellar.

Although many cannot build their own old-world root cellars due to rentals, adequate space, or urban environments; a little common sense and wisdom of temperature and humidity guidelines will allow anybody to whip together an ideal means of prolonging produce-life through the winter.

A conventional root cellar, which essentially is a room buried in a hillside or underground, meets only a handful of criteria.

INSULATION: The earth is a wonderful insulator. A typical old-world root cellar was literally buried on all sides except the entrance, utilizing the natural insulating properties of the soil.

VENTILATION: It is important that your make-shift root cellar can breathe. Warm stale air needs to float out of the top of your chamber as fresh cooler air makes its way through the bottom. This is important to keep humidity levels under control in order to prevent the rot of moisture-sensitive vegetables such as squashes.

DARKNESS: Light accelerates the decomposition of fruits and veggies. An ideal means of storage incorporates complete darkness.

Consider what you may have on hand if you would like to construct a practical yet permanent root cellar: Burying an insulated plastic or metal trash can with a tight lid is a popular option. Others have gone to the trouble of recycling an entire broken refrigerator by submerging it in a hillside. Another option is to frame off a corner of your basement with a window or vent. A more conservative approach is to sink a large cooler into the ground. If one of these avenues are chosen, make sure you are ventilating with a hose or pipe.

A blast valve or similar device may be incorporated to prevent below freezing temperatures from entering your storage compartment.

My personal favorite involves little more than a pile of straw, hay, leaves, or moss and a minimal amount of elbow grease. It is most effective with potatoes (Read on).

As a rule of thumb make sure not to wash any produce prior to storing. This will greatly reduce its ability to keep. Instead provide enough drying time for exterior dirt to dehydrate, then brush off any large clumps.

Apples can be a dangerous food to store with other produce. The idiom one rotten apple spoils the barrel is spot on. As apples age they release ethylene gas which causes other produce to rot too. It’s a wise practice to isolate them in shallow containers with lids. They keep best in 80-90% relative humidity and prefer temperatures of 32-40 degrees Fahrenheit. Check on them often and remove any signs of rot.

Beets prefer the same 32–40-degree temperature range but can withstand a bit more humidity. Outdoor storage is an easy and effective method to practice. Before hard frosts begin simply hoe dirt over the protruding shoulders keeping the foliage exposed. As winter begins, mulch over the rows with up to a foot (more for colder climates, less for warmer) of leaves, straw, or hay.

This method may be applied to carrots, parsnips, turnips, celery, rutabagas, cabbages, leeks, kale, and spinach with some success as well. Regarding flavor, the longer you can keep cold tolerant produce in the ground, the better. Cool fall temperatures sweeten many vegetables such as beets by literally increasing the presence of sugar.

Brussels sprouts are somewhat frost hardy and can be left in the garden until late fall. They may be kept in a root cellar for some time however a lack of moisture will shorten their lifespan. Like beets they prefer a temperature range of 32-40 degrees and high relative humidity of 90-95%.

Cabbage can withstand light frost when it is young and moderately severe frost when mature. Some varieties are briefly tolerant to temperatures as low as 20 degrees. The method of mulching beets above can be employed here. Cabbage prefers cold temperatures of 32 to 40 degrees and high moisture of about 80-95% relative humidity making it a good root cellar candidate. Either cut off the head or pull out the entire plant (roots included). If the roots are left on it may last a bit longer in a cellar, however if the stump is left in the ground a smaller leafy cabbage will emerge the following season.

Carrots can be kept in the garden under mulch just like beets. Remember to cover the shoulders with dirt. They prefer temperatures of 32-40 degrees and relative humidity of 90-95% in a root cellar. If storing in a cellar, harvest before the soil freezes, cut the stems close to the carrot, and store in a bucket of leaves or sawdust with a loose lid.

Cauliflower and Celery prefer cold temperatures of 32-40 degrees Fahrenheit and very moist relative humidity of 90-95%.

Celeriac is one of the best keeping vegetables during the winter months. Trim off the longer roots making sure not to cut too close to the meat. Store it in damp sawdust, sand, or moss at an ideal temperature range of 32-40 degrees and a very moist relative humidity of 90-95%.

Dry Beans can be harvested after pods are nearly dried out while still attached to the vine. Spread the pods on newspaper for a week or two until completely dry. A productive trick to separate the beans from the pods is to fill a bag and beat it with a stick. When a hole is cut in the bottom corner the beans will fall out pod-free. Dry beans store well in temperatures between 32-50 degrees though they can withstand freezing temperatures. They are less moisture tolerant at an ideal range of 60-70% relative humidity. Store in dry containers with tight lids.

Garlic needs to be air dried in a warm arid area for 2-3 weeks. Remove the roots and store at an ideal 32-50 degrees with 60-70% relative humidity and good airflow.

Leeks come in frost hardy varieties which should be utilized if growing for storage. They can withstand a bit of snow and the mulching process may be used up until the ground freezes. Harvest with some roots still attached and stored at an ideal 32-40 degrees upright, preferably in wet sand. Though leeks prefer a high relative humidity of 90-95% take care not to wet the leaves during storage.

Onions require curing until the necks are quite tight before storing. To cure, spread them in a dry area with sufficient airflow or hang them upside down. Ideal storage temperatures range from 32-50 degrees with a relative humidity of 60-70%. Make sure they are stored in an breathable container such as crates or mesh bags.

Parsnips store well in uncovered ground until a solid freeze at which point they should be mulched. The frost improves their flavor for a succulent spring harvest. Store harvested parsnips in damp sawdust at an ideal 32-40 degrees and a high relative humidity of 90-95%.

Potatoes should be cured in a dark place for 1-2 weeks at 45-60 degrees. After this they prefer cold temperatures of 32-40 degrees and moist relative humidity of 80-90%. A great means of outdoor storage is piling an insulating material such as straw or hay on top of unused winter garden space with a few inches of dirt on top. Make sure to keep a ventilation hole, clear of dirt, on one side of the pile and a drainage ditch around the perimeter equipped with a small runoff canal.

Throughout the winter hungry gardeners can reach through the ventilation hole and fish out the produce. If you have a tarp on hand covering the top of the pile, but not the ventilation hole, will prevent your storage mound from eroding away. If many potatoes need storing and more than one pile is not an option layer the pile with 4-6 inches of insulating medium, followed by a single layer of potatoes, followed by 4 inches of soil. Repeat the layering process.

Pumpkins should be cured like squash (see below) with the stem left attached and stored around 50-55 degrees. Relative humidity should fall between 60-75%.

Sweet Potatoes can be preserved all the way until spring if properly cured and stored. To cure, let air-dry in a warm humid environment of 80-85 degrees and 90% relative humidity for 10-14 days. This will toughen the skin and improve the flavor. Sweet Potatoes store best in an unheated room of about 50-60 degrees with a moderate relative humidity of 60-70% taking great care not to let them drop below 50 degrees.

Turnips should be harvested before heavy frosts, tops removed, and stored as you would carrots in a moist insulator such as sawdust, moss, or sand.

Winter Squash should be harvested before a hard frost when the skin is tough enough to prevent penetration from a moderately pressed thumb nail. Flavor is best when the seeds are given a chance to fully develop. Make sure to leave the stem on the fruit and cure for about 10 days at 75-85 degrees, ideally. Store them in a moderately dry and warm spot where the temperature doesn’t drop below 50 and preferably stays below 60 degrees. The best relative humidity for storage falls between 60-70%. Great information by Farmacy.

Source: I Support Farmers Markets

[soufcakmistress]

Charleston Blues

Part IV

Pairing: Erik Stevens x Thick Black OC

“I took it upon myself to personally bring you this small token of our appreciation and a warm welcome to Charleston from the CNWL and me as well. I hope you’ll be able to make a home here.” Mrs. Warner had her best curls pieced and placed perfectly on her heart shaped face. She showed every tooth in her mouth shoving the massive home baked apple crisp into Erik’s chest. 

“My freezer box is full to overflowing with desserts but thank you anyway! And you said your name was…”

“Warner. Stella Warner. My husband is also a business owner; he owns his own barbershop on the peninsula. Mr. Stevens, how you liking the south? The climate seems to be agreeing with you.” 

He walks to the back where a small break room lies with a table and two chairs and a refrigerator, with Mrs. Warner following like a yearning puppy. “Hotter than what I’m used to, but it’s beautiful. Everybody has shown such hospitality. Including you, little lady.” Erik winked at Mrs. Warner and she fought not to swoon and sway. 

“Well, I have to get a move on now. The club will be convening soon and I have to get my kids situated. Surely you understand right?” Stella blinked her brown eyes right in his face, curious and mischievous. “You don’t have to leave so soon Stella..”

Erik swaggered to the front and told Jerry to flip the sign on the door and go take a break. He came back in there with her coy eyes flittering every which way and Erik fought to pull at his dick in his pants. “She’s ripe for the taking, as long as you’re up for what could come next.” Erik’s God encouraged Erik’s fervor for the female form—this would be his first dip into the abyss since he was chosen by Badoru.

Erik brushed off his God’s warning and pounced on the willing prey. Erik hadn’t made it back two steps in the break room before Stella jumped into his arms and wrapped her legs around his waist. “Damn. You even finer up close.” Her tongue moseyed into his mouth and one thing led to another that afternoon... 

~

Chantilly straightened her hat on her head and licked her teeth for any lingering lipstick as she walked into the clubhouse. Black women of all shades flittered about as the meeting was about to begin. It was impeccably decorated with a homey touch too. The cream walls had several framed portraits of past events and fundraisers held by the club, on-site and off. 

“Cousin! I so glad you came!!!” Frieda popped out from a back room, and embraced Tilly with so much tenderness. Tilly knew that she meant well, and after all that Frieda did for her, this was the least that she could do. 

“For you, I will do anything. Some familiar faces in here. Jacqueline Shackleford, Mary Boozer, even Edith Jenkins. Y’all don’t leave no stone unturned huh?”

Frieda rolled her eyes, shuffling the stack of papers in her hands. “Give it a chance. Who knows? You might end up enjoying yourself. Just try. For me.” Tilly squeezed Frieda’s shoulder and acquiesced. Frieda moseyed to the front where the rest of the officers began to congregate, while Tilly browsed the food table. “Mmm, this cake looks just as dry. They definitely need my help, gracious.” 

Tilly picked up a few finger sandwiches and found a seat, while some other women turned up the radio by the opened window. “The pastor’s vehicle was found on Johns Island. He was sighted walking along Sullivan Avenue but has not been sighted ever since. Theodore Dunne has been the lead pastor of his church for over 15 years working in ministry with a special interest in children. If you have any idea about his possible whereabouts, please call the tipline. And in other news of the Lowcountry, more and more colored people are becoming business owners and trailblazing into areas of Charleston with a different demographic…”

Several women gasped and clutched their pearls at the pastor’s disappearance. Tilly feigned like she was aghast but inside, she rumbled with laughter. Little did they know, Theodore Dunne would never be seen again. “Ladies, ladies—simmer down now. We’re about to begin.” The sickly sweet drawl of her former arch enemy Melissa nearly turned her stomach. Of course, she would be the president—her bossiness and penchant for getting in people’s business was legendary on Johns island. 

“Welcome ladies to our midweek meeting for the Club for Negro Women of the Lowcountry for the greater Charleston area. I see a whole lot of new faces, and I’m so happy to have y’all with us.” Melissa scanned her eyes among the faces and let them linger a second too long on Tilly. Tilly couldn’t read her expression but she would make sure to personally greet her before the meeting concluded. 

Tilly sipped her tea in silence as she listened intently at the agenda at hand. Roll was called and all of the newcomers were met with a warm welcome after a quick introduction and any possible legacy ties. Idella Morrow, the chapter Vice President, thanked several committees for their efforts for the Spring Fling for the high schoolers on the peninsula. All efforts now needed to be put toward the Cotillion at the end of the year. All of the women seemed so engrossed and engaged, Tilly could sense the sisterhood in the room. Several women began to interject with their suggestions and contributions to the cause. 

“My sister does hair out of her home, she could do some of the young ladies’ hair.”

“I’m a seamstress, please send the girls and boys to me for their gowns and suits.”

“We should fry some fish after the men’s softball games to raise money for the households unable to cover those costs right now, y’all know we right there on the water.”

“You’re just as valuable to this community as these women are. Show what you can do. Be comfortable with being uncomfortable.”

Timidly Chantilly raised her hand in a fit of courage from her mother. “Ladies, I am a professional pastry chef. I actually have a bakery opening in the very near future off of Meeting Street. I would be honored to to assist in any bake sales and take care of the cake for the Cotillion as well.” 

“Aren’t we so lucky to have such an addition as Chantilly Davenport? The Club of Negro Women of the Lowcountry would is made better with your presence after such tragic circumstances that fell over your family. You’re looking much better these days, isn’t she ladies?” They all begin to clap for her, enraging Tilly. Bitch still knew how to capitalize on an opportunity to embarrass her. Maybe Tilly would become a permanent fixture; let’s see how Missy would like that. “Stay your hand, Chantilly. Her time will come.”

Fixing her lipstick, Mrs. Warner perked up to throw her hat in. “Well for all you moms with sons, y’all know y’all can come to my husband’s barbershop for their haircuts. I also have gotten some intel on that colored Yankee shaking up King Street.” She was so sure of herself by the way she twisted her lips up. 

“Now now ladies, we are not ones to gossip! Although he is quite handsome. What’s the fella’s name?” Missy inquired, nibbling on the cap of her pen. 

“His name is Erik Stevens and he’s from Massachusetts. He was in the Navy and was in the service during Korea. Said the things us colored folk down here experiencing made him want to do something! He’s quite the looker….” 

Sipping her tea to get the nasty taste out of her mouth, Tilly’s heightened intuition confirmed everything she already deduced. Mrs. Warner wasn’t just keeping her marital bed to her husband; it was written all over her face. Erik Stevens. The Yankee vet that shook up the lowcountry. With a smile like that, he has to be up to no good. 

~

Davenport Desserts & More would be opening in the next month. Tilly was still waiting on an industrial mixer to be delivered, and she could have sworn the electrician would be by to check the circuit breaker by 2. Here it is, coming up on 3:15, and a no show so far. 

These were the times she hated. With a snap of a finger, Ursilene could speed things along. But she didn’t want to overstep. Ursilene was an asset and the catalyst for change in her life, which is why she had to be discerning. She still had to live and be normal in Charleston and behave as normal. So human problems still plagued her. It kept her humble.

She painted the inside of the bakery sea foam green just like Ursilene’s colors. The wall facing the street was getting an extra coat when the slow wheeze of an old muffler came trudging down Meeting Street. On instinct, her stomach dropped into her butt.

Officer Josiah Morton was the resident hard ass, dying to prove a point. Charleston was very segregated and he would do anything in his power to keep it that way. Yet Josiah had a wandering eye that left him full of self hatred. Black women were beneath him and yet they occupied his mind. A sick combination of contradictions with too much power at his disposal. The police cruiser came to a halt in the front of the bakery. 

The electric sign was on its way and there was still paper on the windows shielding the inside. Tilly hadn’t known that the officer was approaching until she felt the pull from Ursilene. “He’s here to intimidate. Stay on guard, and he’ll leave.”

Tilly’s hand shook a bit painting upward with the paint roller. This particular pig was an incessant nuisance for this community and by the way his chest was poked out with that slimy smile of his—he’d been waiting to corner Tilly. 

“Officer.”

“You working for some folks here, gal?” His sly eyes roamed Tilly’s body and lingered on her round bottom in her overalls. She wanted to kill him where he stood.

“Not quite, Officer. Seems that luck has turned in my favor, I own this place.” She had the audacity to look in this white cop’s eye because she was a Davenport and they were proud people. Tilly saw how he ogled her with no regard for how she felt, and that ungodly anger swirled in her chest again. The slimy officer twirled a kinky ringlet of Tilly’s mane tied under a bandana, leading it down her arm. 

“You’ll have to make me something special once you’re all opened up, gal. I’ll be sure to pop up and every now and again….make sure you don’t get outta hand.” Tilly gulped down her ire until a smooth candy red Camaro parked behind the police cruiser. There’s no way..

“Everything okay here baby? I apologize for being a little late, I had to square away with Jerry before I closed up. I see we have a visitor..” Erik swaggered right up to Tilly, and gently brushed the officer aside and placed those unbelievable lips on her neck. The sensation that flowed through the both of them was unnatural, much like what had occurred already. Yet it felt ancient and familiar. 

Erik’s hand guided her face to his and they stared at each other momentarily before the officer cleared his throat. The haze wasn’t totally broken between the pair but Tilly was able to separate herself from him. However, not far enough to spoil the act. “This is Officer Josiah Morton, baby. One of Charleston PD’s best and brightest.” 

Erik shook the officer’s hand and looked him square in the eye. Erik easily was in a different weight class than the officer and stood almost a head above him. “Erik Stevens. United States Navy. Just made my way down south to help some vets and fell in love all the same. Isn’t she a stunner?” 

The hairs on the back of Erik’s neck stood up—he loved to gaze at her mouth specifically her cupids bow. But the wrath fought to overwhelm and it made his spine straight as steel as another cop abused his power. “Control yourself, Erik. Protect her, and that’s all.” 

Officer Morton turned red as a beet at the nerve of this uppity Yankee negro. He did shake his hand while he measured the man up. Josiah knew he would be overpowered man to man….but he had a different kind of power to aid him that Erik couldn’t access. “Stevens, is that it? You serve in Korea?”

“That’s right Officer. With the seals. We did what needed to be done.” Erik squeezed his arm around Tilly, and clenched his jaw. The tension was very high in this small space, and Tilly made sure to diffuse the pressure. “Well Officer, as you can see we have everything under control. Thank you for your….initiative to keep an eye on this community.”

She pinched Erik on his side and his head whipped towards her, with confusion and anger all in his features. The officer slowly dragged back to his cruiser and left them in a cloud of exhaust smoke. 

“I’ve beat men up for much less with the shit you just pulled. You don’t know me!” 

“Oh Miss Davenport, surely you don’t mean that. You played it tough, but your knight in shining armor came to save the day. You ain’t know?”

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[jomiddlemarch]

Alina and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day 

Alina was fairly certain that kindergarten pickup was actually a level of Hell. One of the deeper ones, though she had to admit that waiting for the divorce to be finalized and the week in February that Mal had been away at a conference in Hawaii when Eli got the stomach bug and she’d run out of orange Pedialyte, Clorox, and episodes of Elmo’s World just as she’d succumbed were both worse. She’d gotten a tee-shirt out of the conference and not herpes, so it was slightly ahead, which was the kind of thing she’d say that would make Gen tell her she really had to stay in the here and now and focus on herself and Eli; the fact that focusing in herself to Gen always meant some form of hot/stone/the feminine Divine yoga plus or minus a green smoothie was something Alina figured she just had to suck up as part of the best friend code. Especially if she wanted (needed) Gen to remain on Eli’s emergency contact list and deal with kindergarten pickup if Alina had a deadline or her car decided to call her bluff on her perpetually overdue oil changes.

She’d actually finished the article on affordable housing while sitting at the oil change place, wondering from time to time how oil change places still existed and why they still had a TV mounted on the wall when everyone was on their phone, earbuds in, podcasts and memes washing over them as digital sedatives. When she’d said anything like that at home, Mal would accuse her of being a Luddite, while continuing to shoot some monster on his gaming PC, and she’d launch into an explanation of why the Luddites got a bad rap and remembering it, she once again rejoiced in the finalization of the divorce, despite everything else it had cost her, starting with her rosy ideals about happily-ever-afters. In the timeless, nameless oil change place, happily-ever-after seemed like something that wouldn’t even appear on the TV as an infomercial. On the flip side, she wasn’t worried her car would die in kindergarten pickup.

Instead, she wished for death. Or something that would free her from her misery, besides the over-priced pistachio latte that she promptly spilled as soon as she got out of her car, half of it landing on her already dingy sneakers. She was surrounded by totally put-together, mani-pedi-ed moms in Lululemon or power suits or hand-knit sweaters and $300 jeans, with younger siblings in the latest paisley slings, Labradoodles with monogrammed collars off-leash and milling about, the same women who’d post their freshly washed and fashionably dressed kid holding a “First Day of X Grade” chalked on adorable chalkboard pics on social media. She’d waffled for a good ten minutes over the latte, since it really wasn’t in her budget and almost certainly was contributing to climate change and her chances of developing Type II diabetes, and all for what? Turning her greyish sneakers a bilious shade she associated with Dickensian misers with gout and getting her hands sticky.

“One of those days,” she heard, a man’s voice drifting down from behind her left shoulder. Before Alina could twist around or even cant her neck upward to see who was talking to her, he’d offered her an unopened pack of travel wet-wipes.

“Uh, thanks,” she said, peeling back the sticker closing the wipes and dabbing at her cuff of her cardigan. 

“Sorry about your coffee,” the man said. He’d moved into view, tall and dark-haired with a neatly trimmed beard, a sporty fleece vest layered over what he had to have worn to work, suit pants and a dress shirt still wrinkle-free. “I could easily spare a juice-box—apple-carrot ended up being a bust.”

“I can’t say I’m surprised,” Alina remarked. “Plus, juice isn’t supposed to be good for kids.”

“No?”

Alina shrugged. “I mean, it’s not like you’re giving them absinthe. Or liquid plutonium. But yeah, whole fruit is better. And they can just drink water.”

“You’re the first mom to talk to me at pickup,” he said. “I’m Alex, by the way. Cosima’s dad.”

“Probably because you’re like the only dad to show up,” Alina replied. She didn’t say “and you look like you’re on the cover of Vogue except for the navy fleece” but she thought it. Loudly.

“Their loss. Cosima always has so much to say as soon as she leaves the building, I get a play-by-play,” he said. “I’m out of town enough I don’t like to ask her nanny to get her if I can do it.”

Alina knew she should not say it. It was clear as day, as a bell, as crystal. Hell, she only had to make a leading remark and he’d probably volunteer the info, if his unprompted remarks about being Cosima’s dad and having a nanny were anything to go by. She had, however, been known to make bad decisions. See: Mal, though Eli was the most silvery of silver linings.

“Her mom can’t pick her up?”

Alex, who had every right to freeze up or withdraw or otherwise let her know she had far overstepped in her latte-stained sneakers, shrugged.

“She left me to go find herself. That doesn’t make her terribly available for kindergarten pickup. Or bath-time, beginning ballet, or urgent care visits for ear infections,” he said, not as bitterly as he could have but not as Zen as he’d likely intended. There was a look in his eyes that only another divorced, custodial parent could recognize, a pain made of equal parts anger and humiliation, the need to conceal it from the child who shouldn’t see their other parent as a villain. The fatigue from being the one who was there, who couldn’t think about a weekend away or a night out without worrying about whether there’d be a call from the sitter, a fever, a crying jag over the fear of abandonment and the finite quantity of chicken nuggets allotted to a meal.

“I really thought you were going to end on bake sales,” Alina said. 

“I always get a pass from the class moms on those,” Alex said. “They don’t expect a dad to bake, so if I do, I’m basically a superhero and if I can’t manage to send in homemade banana chocolate chip muffins and send her in with a box of cupcakes from Kaminsky’s, I’m still in their good graces. It’s completely unfair.”

“It is,” Alina said. She couldn’t be that annoyed because he knew it. “I wish I could get away with banana bread muffins. I sent Eli with red velvet cupcakes once and I didn’t use organic red food coloring or organic, locally sourced cream cheese for the frosting and I got the smoky cat-wing stink-eye for the next month. I should have risen above it, but honestly, it sucked.”

Alex laughed. He had a nice laugh, a nice voice, and seemed like a nice man who was a good dad. With her luck, that meant that he was either secretly an immensely powerful, evil mastermind intent on world domination or that she’d never see him again.

“You’re Eli’s mom? Cosima says he’s very smart and good at sharing and he makes the best dinosaur sounds. Somewhere between a growl and a yodel, I gathered after she gave up trying to describe it and demonstrated her impression,” Alex said. “I hope this isn’t too presumptuous, but would you consider a playdate for them? It’s been rough, these past few months, and I’m trying to make sure she still has a normal childhood, whatever that means these days. My mother thinks I spoil her, but she’s very old-fashioned. My mother, not Cosima.”

“My schedule is a little tricky,” Alina said carefully. She would have been more wary if it had been one of the exquisitely put-together mothers asking, more relaxed if one of the nannies had made the proposal. She wasn’t sure what to make of Alex’s offer, except that she’d wanted to say yes right away and that meant she needed to watch herself. The opportunity to even subtly trash-talk her ex was irresistible, however. “Eli’s father is around, but never when I need to organize anything.” 

“We could meet at the park. I can bring enough snacks to last the afternoon, you could come when you’re free,” Alex suggested. He said when and not if, enough hope in his voice and those dark eyes that it sounded like an appeal and not an attempt to control her.

“I wouldn’t want you to go to too much trouble,” she said. She had thought arranging playdates would be easier than actual adult dating, but thus far, she’d been wrong.

“Oh, I won’t. I’ll go to Kaminsky’s and stock up. I’m friends with the owners,” he said. “I should say, I’m friends with Theo and Ivan doesn’t outright loathe me and allows me to eat his pastry. If you are not Theo, that is about as close to friends as you can get with him.”

“Sounds like my friend Gen’s boyfriend David, except substitute updating all my devices so I don’t get hacked or locked out of my bank account for petit fours and apple turnovers,” Alina said.

“That’s what you’d like, apple turnovers?” Alex asked, looking at her with a degree of focus that started out as unnerving and then suddenly felt warmer than appraisal, too thoughtful to be mere flirtation.

“You don’t have to—” Alina began, cut off when the kids were released, much like a swarm of infuriated bees or the Charge of the Light Brigade, Eli running a credible Olympic qualifying sprint with her latte-splattered knees as the finish line, a dark-haired little girl with neatly braided hair arriving slightly more decorously in Alex’s embrace; he’d instantly dropped into an unfairly elegant crouch to receive his daughter, while Alina planted her feet to take on the onslaught of Hurricane Eli. 

“Papa, you have to tell Baba not to eat snails anymore because Ms. Costas got one and it’s got a name and snails are people too,” Cosima announced, small hands planted on her father’s shoulders.

“Its name is Greg,” Eli said, as if the four of them were having a conversation, which Alina now supposed was the actual truth. 

“So, a boy snail,” Alex said.

“No,” Cosima said. “Just Greg.”

“Can we go to the park, Mommy? You said we could. Can we bring meatballs?” Eli asked.

“Not today, buddy,” Alina said, bracing herself for a tantrum or a closing argument worthy of Clarence Darrow or Judge Judy. 

“You said—”

“Your mom said we could have a playdate on Saturday and that is in two days,” Alex interjected. “Cosima and I are going to bring a blanket and some treats. We could include meatballs too.”

“Don’t,” Alina said. Alex’s expression went blank but Cosima and Eli’s both looked mutinous and on the verge of tears. It was amazing Ms. Costas could stand firm regarding quiet time in the face of such unified disapproval. “I just meant, don’t worry about meatballs. Meatballs is Mr. Lanstov’s cat. He’s our neighbor, we help out a little—”

“Yeah, because Mr. Lantsov is a million years old,” Eli said. “He said to call him Niko, but Mommy says that’s not polite because he’s so old.”

“We could bring apple turnovers then,” Alex said. “And maybe some catnip for Meatballs. It would be nice to make everyone happy.”

For @vesperass-anuna and @aloveforjaneausten who were wanting a modern AU for Darklina where our two unhappy characters meet at school picking up their kiddos.

[grandhotelabyss]

Any thoughts on Byatt, on the occasion of her passing?

I read Possession one summer when I was in college and thought it was extraordinary. (Intimidatingly so, which may be why I never read another of her novels, though Possession is generally said to be her best.) I need to read it again. I can't believe it never came back into fashion with the dark academia trend. Maybe it's too brainy, or maybe it's that the (mostly) heterosexual romance lacks yaoi potential à la Dorian Gray, Maurice, and Brideshead Revisited. For anyone unfamiliar, Possession is about two late-20th-century British academics investigating the lives of two fictional Victorian poets (one loosely based on Robert Browning, the other on Christina Rossetti), and both pairs' possible love affairs with one another. Byatt narrates in a sprightly comic style with no little lyric potential, derived, I now see, from her great models George Eliot and Iris Murdoch, but she also parodies every other kind of relevant style with Joycean or Nabokovian aplomb, giving us jargony feminist essays, image-jeweled Victorian fairy tales, fulsome 19th-century correspondence, jagged Browningesque dramatic monologues, dreamy Pre-Raphaelite ballads, and more. The climatic vindication of writing and reading as almost prophetic activities, this against the reductively ideological approach of the Theory era Byatt was writing within and against, should be carved above the lintel of whatever English departments remain:

There are readings—of the same text—that are dutiful, readings that map and dissect, readings that hear a rustling of unheard sounds, that count grey little pronouns for pleasure or instruction and for a time do not hear golden or apples. There are personal readings, which snatch for personal meanings, I am full of love, or disgust, or fear, I scan for love, or disgust, or fear. There are—believe it—impersonal readings—where the mind's eye sees the lines move onwards and the mind's ear hears them sing and sing.

Now and then there are readings that make the hairs on the neck, the non-existent pelt, stand on end and tremble, when every word burns and shines hard and clear and infinite and exact, like stones of fire, like points of stars in the dark—readings when the knowledge that we shall know the writing differently or better or satisfactorily, runs ahead of any capacity to say what we know, or how. In these readings, a sense that the text has appeared to be wholly new, never before seen, is followed, almost immediately, by the sense that it was always there, that we the readers, knew it was always there, and have always known it was as it was, though we have now for the first time recognised, become fully cognisant of, our knowledge.

I was pleased to see a long story by Byatt, "The Thing in the Forest," in the Norton Introduction to Literature, which I used the one time I taught the class of that name, in the ill-fated spring semester of 2020. If you've never read Byatt, this story or novelette is a good place to start. It does a lot of what Possession does in miniature, synthesizing witty metafiction, aestheticized fantasy, and moving historical reality into a work of the latter-day Romantic imagination.

I also want to recommend Imagining Characters, an under-discussed book of conversations between Byatt and the Brazilian psychoanalyst Ignês Sodré about six novels: Mansfield Park, Villette, Daniel Deronda, The Professor's House, An Unofficial Rose, and Beloved. (I've still never read that Murdoch, I confess.) This book is probably why I think of Mansfield Park, Villette, and Daniel Deronda as forming a loose trilogy of 19th-century "problem novels" (like Shakespeare's "problem plays") that challenge any cheap 20th-century talk about the complacency, sentimentalism, meliorism, or all-around naiveté of "bourgeois realism." Plus Sodré and Byatt are superb readers, and it's a pleasure to "listen" to them in conversation.

The Paris Review unpaywalled their interview with Byatt today. I'd never read it before. She says much of interest; she even criticizes Kazuo Ishiguro in the same terms as I have, for writing international literature by subtracting specificity, though she later praises The Unconsoled for its insight into the psychology of the artist. She seems ambivalent about realism, constantly invoking fairy tales, even saying this about Murdoch—

I think Iris learned a great deal from the French surrealists, and then somehow went and sat in Oxford and became a slightly less interesting novelist than she would have been if she had stayed in contact with the world of Beckett and Queneau—she would never have gone into Sarraute-like writings. I think she developed a theory about the virtues of Jane Austen that wasn’t all that good for her.

—and this about herself:

If you asked me what I wish I’d written, I would say Borges’s “Pierre Menard, Author of the Quixote.” That is a completely pointless postmodernist structure of total beauty that nevertheless has a profound point.

The interviewer notes her nonconformist heritage, what links her to George Eliot as well as to Lawrence and to Leavis. She acknowledges it, but notes as well another way, even within the deep English Protestant imagination:

There’s a Spenserian aspect of Milton that I love. It’s the exotic. It’s the extraordinary metaphors. It’s the luscious sensuousness of him. It isn’t the stern puritan. I think I made something of Spenser that was the presence of stories about unreal things in a serious, real world.

"The Last Spenserian." There are worse epitaphs. Now I just need to read more of her novels.

[musicandrockfan128]

More Ed Norton movie reviews cont.

Wrote some more movie reviews!

Everyone Says I Love You (1996)

Thoughts on his acting: It was funny watching Norton turn from a devious character to a funny, sweet character who is in love. He also sings and dance, which pays homage to his Broadway experience. While the movie’s story line was not captivating to me personally, Norton’s individual story line, romancing and singing to Barrymore’s character was charming.

Keeping the Faith (2000)

My two faves Ben Stiller and Edward Norton in the same movie? Im totally hooked! Norton directed this movie, and his talent as a director shined. Norton is a character actor and how he can act as an unlikable person, to a love-sick man boggles my mind. But he pulls it off. His acting as a confused priest in love with his childhood best friend was entertaining. Norton does have a playful quirkiness to him when he acts in comedic roles, which I appreciate.

The Score (2001)

Thoughts: One of my favorite movies. In addition to owning Richard Gere in his first movie, here Norton tries to outsmart Robert DeNiro, and manages to pull it off… almost. I don’t see any other actor doing such a thing. But the acting, to the tense heist scenes, to Norton’s switch from likable Brian, to cunning Brian made his character two-fold, with more depth. How Norton plays unlikable, flawed characters in various movie genres proves he does well in not being typecasted.

The Incredible Hulk (2008)

This was a better depictions of Hulk. It was scary, tough, yet had character and empathy for Betty Ross (Liv Tyler). The movie, though felt too short and scenes felt too abrupt. They should have let Bruce have more scenes, and more romance honestly. I didn’t see the power of his performance shine in this movie. It felt unmotivated to me. I would have loved to have seen Abomination and Hulk in more scenes, more scenes with Bruce making the serum from the flower in Brazil, him running away, to having dinner with Betty (as the deleted scenes showed).

Stone (2010)

Thoughts: In the movie, Norton is this lost, questioning prisoner who wants to reach enlightenment by following a new world religion-- believing God is within sounds and chanting “Hue.” He is unbearable again with his attitude, as he pushes his P.O (DeNiro) over the top with his ramblings on wanting to be better, and chit chats about his wife. Norton’s dive into his character is again realistic. I love when he plays a different character in every movie, and while he did a great job playing an annoying character, it made me appreciate Norton’s acting more.

Glass Onion (2022)

Thoughts: Rian Johnson did fantastic writing and directing the first movie, Knives Out. For this sequel movie, Norton’s presence and Kate Hudson’s funny acting were the only highlights, as the movie as a whole was alright. I liked Norton’s facial expressions, and casual acting as a know it all, but really doesn’t know what he’s doing. This role seemed like a comedic relief to the serious ones he’s done in the past and you can tell everyone had a fun time being in this movie.

Extrapolations ( Apple TV show), Episode 4 (2023)

Thoughts: From singular character, to now, a divorced father with a son shows the progression of character through the years. I would have liked to have seen him have more emotions when asking his son to come back home, to stop the climate change actions the son is planning. Also would have liked for Norton to be in more than one episode, but that’s just my bias.

[talkinfanfic]

Episode 306 - Talkin’ U2, Bono, and Bedge with Tory from the Retro Fanfic Retrospective Podcast!

Sara welcomes the great and wonderful Tory, best known for their reliably insightful analysis of fanfiction on the Retro Fanfic Retrospective podcast (found wherever you get your podcasts!) Tory shares their lifelong love affair with the legendary band U2, and their knowledge of the band’s history and music. Tory also digs into the amazing feat of how the band’s joyful, sublime chemistry seeps into the very music they produce, sustaining fruitful artistry for nearly fifty years. 

Other topics include: Irish history, and the Christianity of U2, along with comparisons with Oasis. We also talk Bedge and RPF! And we dig into a mini-RFR discussion of likeamadonna’s Bono/Edge fanfiction within a fanfiction, “Fictitious Characters”.

🎧 Find Talkin' Fanfic on your favorite podcast app such as Spotify or Apple Podcasts. Or stream Episode 306 here!

Show notes below the cut 🧡

Contact and Credits:

Intro Theme: Kyle Laurin "Oasis Supersonic Theme" (Twitter: @cobrakylemusic)

Clip used - Noel Gallagher on The Late Late Show | RTÉ One 

Outro clip - “Beautiful Day” by U2, from the album ‘All That You Can't Leave Behind’ - pulled from Youtube licensed via UMG (on behalf of Universal-Island Records Ltd. ℗ An Island Records recording; ℗ 2000 Island Records Limited

Tumblr: talkinfanfic.tumblr.com 

Instagram: @talkinfanfic

Email: talkinfanfic@gmail.com 

Time caps:

00:00 - Introduction

06:03 - Start of episode

16:02 - Tory’s music background

24:25 - U2 in bloom right now!

35:06 - A little Irish history 

45:19 - The Troubles, a climate for the formation of U2

56:03 - U2’s Bigness, America, and ‘What is Bono??’ 

01:02:45 - Bono’s useful celebrity, vs individualism of Oasis. Or, “do-gooders” vs “do-badders”

01:08:22 - Bono the Energizer Bunny, and U2 in Vegas

01:13:07 - The other members of U2 (Larry, The Edge, and Adam)

01:20:35 - Christianity and U2

01:31:45 - Religion, U2 vs. Oasis

01:34:50 - Religious imagery in the Achtung Baby-era, and Bono’s ‘characters’

01:41:42 - U2 fanfiction and RPF fandom

01:51:20 - “Fictitious Characters”, by likeamadonna

02:02:26 - Fitting Ali into the Bono/Edge

02:07:20 - Start of Rapid Fire! (which lasts nearly an hour, lol)

02:12:27 - Tory’s Top 5 U2 Tracks

Episode References

U2 Fanfiction.com (Tory mentions they used to read fanfiction from this now defunct archive; link via Wayback Machine) 

The Retro Fanfic Retrospective podcast (Podbean, you can also search for it on Spotify or Apple Podcasts)

Link - Band bio, from threechordsandthetruth.net great U2 overview and biography

U2: The Origins Of The Biggest Band Of The Early 2000s a decent youtube documentary on U2

A live performance of ‘Until The End Of The World’ from ‘Achtung Baby’, filmed during the US leg of the Zoo TV tour in 1992. Kiss for the camera at 2m34s <3 

"One" - U2 Music Video (Anton Corbijn Version) feat. Bob Hewson, and U2 in drag! 

Bono interview with NPR Podcasts -  at 14m46 Bono starts speaking about the concept of ‘Surrender’. “Shut up and listen…is kinda where I’m at.”

Noel Gallagher on The Late Late Show | RTÉ One  - “Who puts the batteries in that guy??” 

Youtube Clip - Noel Gallagher, on U2 (for NME) 

 “Electrical Storm” - U2 Music Video directed by Anton Corbijn (starring Larry!)

Photo via Pinterest - Liam and Bono kissing. According to Bono, Liam had a guitar pick in his mouth and dared Bono to try and retrieve it in front of paparazzi. The photo was printed in a 2002 issue of Rolling Stone.  

Reprint of article - “When Oasis Hit the Road with U2” The Daily Telegraph, June 26, 1997

Bono’s ‘characters’ - Here is MacPhisto making a phone call to a taxi to take him home. This was in Syndey, Australia during the 1993 Zoo TV Tour.

Retro Fanfic Retrospective - Special Episode - Fanfiction Hypothesis The RFR crew discuss…what is and what is not fanfiction? (Spotify link) 

Fic discussion - "Fictitious Characters" by likeamadonna (Ao3 link)  

Bono and The Edge - NPR Tiny Desk Concert (2023) Bono asks Edge to “do an Edge thing!”  

Bono and The Edge - BBC Radio 2 Piano Room (2023) Bono and the Edge vibing together through a string-laden performance of classic U2 songs. Bono serenading the Edge during “Vertigo” around 7m30s, lots of fond looks. 

Fic mentioned - The Scientist or: How Edge Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bono by spacemonkey 

Tory’s Top 5 U2 Tracks (slightly deeper cuts, in no particular order): Red Hill Mining Town , Bad, Lemon, Every Breaking Wave, and Stay (Faraway, So Close!)  

“Ordinary Love” acoustic version, U2 on Jimmy Fallon (2014) with Roots. One of Sara’s favorite U2 live vids ever!! 

Tory is listening to - Leith Ross, an indie-rock Canadian singer-songwriter. Here’s a song from their Youtube channel.

Bandcamp - Her Dilemma the bass player that played for Leith Ross during the set Tory watched. “Mathy”, a bit like Slint!