#White Coal Market Size

[poonamcmi]

The White Coal Market Poised To Grow At Highest Pace Owing To Rising Demand For Clean Energy

The white coal market involves production of solid biofuels from various organic wastes through torrefaction process. Torrefaction is a mild form of thermal treatment which improves the fuel properties of lignocellulosic biomass making it more energy dense and easier to transport and handle. It has applications as a substitute for coal in power plants. The main advantage of white coal is that it has properties closer to coal and can therefore seamlessly replace coal in existing thermal power plants without any modifications. It also has low moisture content and higher energy density which makes it a sustainable and cleaner alternative to coal.

The Global White Coal Market is estimated to be valued at US$ 3.48 Bn in 2024 and is expected to exhibit a CAGR of 7.7% over the forecast period 2024 to 2031.

Key Takeaways

Key players operating in the white coal market are Hind Bio Coal, ETIA SAS, Airtex Energy, Torr Coal, SSGE Bio Energy Company Ltd, Global Bio-Coal Energy Inc., Vega Biofuels Inc., NextCoal International, Inc., CSC Bio-Coal Sdn. Bhd., Balaji Agro Coal Industries, Nexgen Energia, KKR Bio Fuels, BMK Woods, and VIGIDAS PACK.

The market is witnessing high growth owing to rising demand for clean energy from power generation sector. Strict environmental norms regarding use of White Coal Market Size have led utility companies to incorporate more bio-based & sustainable alternatives like white coal. Technological advancements like torrefaction process have made white coal a highly efficient substitute for coal in terms of energy output.

Market Trends

One of the key trends in the white coal market is the shift towards production of agro-industrial wastes based white coal. Companies are actively exploring use of agricultural and food processing wastes as raw material for white coal production through torrefaction. This helps in achieving a circular bioeconomy. Another major trend is thecontracts being signed between white coal producers and utility companies for long term supply. For instance, ETIA signed a 10 year contract with RWE to supply 200,000 tons of white coal annually produced from forest residues through torrefaction.

Market Opportunities

One of the major opportunities for white coal market players is growth in emerging economies of Asia and Latin America. These regions currently dominate thermal power generation globally and offer huge untapped markets for adoption of cleaner & renewable alternatives like white coal. Secondly, co-firing of white coal with coal in existing plants provides a tool to reduce coal usage gradually. This presents an opportunity for white coal producers to partner with power producers to facilitate co-firing.

Impact of COVID-19 on White Coal Market Growth The COVID-19 pandemic severely impacted the global White Coal Market Size And Trends During the initial lockdown phase, the supply chain disruptions led to shortage of raw materials and workforce issues hampered production capacity. This resulted in reduced demand from end use industries like power generation, cement manufacturing, pulp and paper etc. Countries like India faced difficulties in transporting white coal from mines to storage facilities and processing plants. The overseas exports were also stalled during the early stages of lockdown.

However, post lockdown some of the major players increased their production capacity to cater to the growing power demand in summer seasons. Countries also focused on boosting their renewable energy portfolio by promoting white coal as a cleaner alternative to fossil fuels. The ease in lockdown restrictions enabled more streamlined supply chain operations. Also, the power utilities gave preference to domestic white coal over imports to reduce dependency on international markets. This aided the market to gradually recover lost ground. Nonetheless, volatility in raw material prices and workforce management continue to impact market expansion to some extent.

Geographical Regions with Highest White Coal Market Value Concentration Asia Pacific currently represents the largest and fastest growing regional market for white coal globally. Countries like India, China, Indonesia are major producers and consumers. India alone accounts for over 30% of total white coal reserves in the world. States like Orissa, Jharkhand, Chhattisgarh are the major hubs. China also has significant deposits and focusses on harnessing this renewable resource for meeting its energy needs sustainably. Additionally, countries in Southeast Asia such as Vietnam and Philippines are emerging markets gaining prominence.

Geographical Region Witnessing Fastest Growth in White Coal Market Currently, the Asia Pacific region is witnessing the fastest growth in the global white coal market. This is majorly attributed to the supportive government policies and initiatives towards boosting the renewable energy portfolio in countries like India, China, Indonesia and Vietnam. For instance, India has set an ambitious target of producing 100 million tonnes of coal from biomass by 2024 under the SATAT initiative. This is expected to provide significant impetus for market expansion. Additionally, increasing FDI investments in white coal projects, presence of abundant untapped reserves and growing demand from end use industries are also fueling market growth in Asia Pacific. Get More Insights On, White Coal Market About Author: Money Singh is a seasoned content writer with over four years of experience in the market research sector. Her expertise spans various industries, including food and beverages, biotechnology, chemical and materials, defense and aerospace, consumer goods, etc. (https://www.linkedin.com/in/money-singh-590844163

[charlesandmartine]

Monday 13th March 2023

We are on the 17th floor of our Darling Harbour downtown hotel. We look out across a bank of other hotel and apartment windows, many buildings much taller than ours, and each window appearing a mere dot representing a cell containing a little life. All humanity seems to be spread out before us with all its hopes, fears, expectations, ambitions and hurts. And that's probably what these little dots are thinking looking back at us, grey nomads.

Living in this part of Sydney for the first time and an area we are not so familiar with, it was time to push out to investigate. Well 11am that is. We crossed Darling Harbour by the 1902 Pyrmont Swing Bridge, now pedestrianised and a very pleasant walk with great views of West Sydney Harbour over to the National Maritime Museum. We didn't actually go inside since the collection of shipping berthed were interesting enough. HMAS Vampire - Destroyer decommissioned in 1986, HMAS Onslow - Oberon class Submarine decommissioned in 1999, HMB Endeavour - Replica of Cook's Bark are berthed here. Endeavour is a full sized facsimile and it is incredible that this tiny ship with a crew of 94, the original converted by the admiralty from a coal transporter, set sail in 1768 and travelled around the globe in the process of discovering Terra Australis Incognita for His Majesty King George. Further to the naval theme, the proposed AUKUS deal for the supply of new subs to Australia is a daily news item of great debate and interest on the TV news here.

Crossing the Pyrmont Bridge back again we traced the shoreline along the Darling Harbour, around the entrance, passing the observatory, under Sydney Harbour Bridge, past Campbell's Warehouse and into Circular Quay for a Vietnamese lunch competing with many Ibis birds who were anxiously awaiting a titbit or failing that an opportunity for outright theft.

P&O cruise ship Pacific Adventurer was Quayside today bound for Tangalooma with its queue of passengers snaking across the concourse; anticipation of a great holiday written across their faces. I hope the winds and waves will be kind to them.

Nicely full again we caught the 173x bus to Manly to do a spot of shopping and also to collect our third suitcase which we had parked at Jill's. Whilst in Manly we took the occasion to have a couple of flat whites by the wharf and our last visit to Coles in the Corso to buy our last supply of Tim Tams, last mango and then to Liquorland to buy our last bottle of SB, 'The Ned', unusually on offer at 12 dollars, almost cheaper than at home. Then we caught our last ferry back to Circular Quay, walked up George Street, turned right into Market Street and thus back to the hotel apartment. You can spot the theme here. We have to go home on Wednesday and we are aware of all the things that have made up everyday life for us over the last 10 weeks or so are coming to an end. Well we have tentatively booked Jill for next year.........

[kevin--of-desert-bluffs]

WTNV quick rundown - The Novel -

This is the post talking about randon Night Vale/King City and Man in the Tan Jacket facts!

Basic Plot of the Novel is here. Diane, Josh and Jackie random facts here. NV citizens random facts here.

The history of the town of Night Vale is long and complicated, reaching back thousands of years to the earliest indigenous people in the desert. We will cover none of this here. […] It is a friendly desert community, where the sun is hot, the moon is beautiful and mysterious lights past overhead while we all pretend to sleep. Welcome to Night Vale.

In NV, pharmacists wear gas masks and hip waders.

Hearts in NV are made of straw and clay and grow at age 9 or at least that's what they're taught.

Manual transmission works like this: 1 - whisper a secret into the cup holder, 2 - grab the clutch (a splintered wooden stake driven into the dashboard), 3 - shake it till something happens whilst taping a series of code numbers into a keyboard on the steering wheel.

Not yielding to a hooded figure will cause a mandatory city-wide ennui.

Encrypted radio pulses announce the opening of 'Lenny's Bargain House of Garden Wares'. As well as the titular function the government will also be unloading failed machines, tests and dangerous substances. The shop is being built on the site where the government was previously doing said tests. If you go to the grand opening sale and find 8 government secrets you get an 'free' government kidnapping and personality reassignment.

To protect against identity theft, Cecil recommends changing your passwords often, wearing a mask in public, blacking out your door number with black spraypaint and 'never ending up on a database'.

The 'Absurd Bowl' and 'Knife Ball' are events that happen in NV.

The NV job market is apparently very scarce as the hooded figures do most of the jobs in NV.

Here is what else we know about the MITTJ. He has a belt which is a darker brown than his shoes. His hair is recently cut. His face is clean and smooth. His teeth are almost white and his left upper bicuspid is a little further forward than the others.

The Moonlite diner has mugs from different sources, some of which leave strange sounds or hum. It has cracked red stools which smell of rubber and sawdust. It's pies are described as 'ok' and some are invisible. Food is served by a grey hand which extends from under the table and should not be acknowledged.

Most people in NV have no idea what doctors do only that it's rumoured to be beneficial. The hospital in NV is built next to the abandoned mine. Hospital rooms are full of cameras and speakers asking you to ask your doctor invasive questions. It was closed years ago and is no longer run by any recognised medical professionals or beings that are or were ever alive.

There are several spy satellites scanning citizens brains and revealing their thoughts. For some reason, Cecil has access to some of these.

'No country for old men' is a kids film in NV. They also have a 'popular animated franchise' about trees with human organs inside who are being cut down until vengeful arboreal spirits eviscerate the loggers. Lee Marvin is in it.

NV is confirmed to be somewhere in SW california.

Childrens friends are assigned by City Council decree based on the numerology of each child's name.

Hot milk drawers are a thing, also all avocados in NV are fake.

Metallic trees that change size each day are considered the plants most suited for a desert climate.

The NV cinema has nightly screenings of John Frankenheimes 1973 'the Iceman Cometh'. Popcorn prices are linked to the coal market.

There is a 'Top Secret Censorship Board' run by a guy called Luis who judges each film based on the risk of being shown a forbidden idea or gesture.

Having a regular police was see as too dangerous as knowledge of them could somehow be used against NV. The previous police were renamed the 'Secret Police', driving dark red sedans with gold racing stripes, black 7-pointed stars with the words 'Secret Police' on the cars side. They also wear capes and have a blowgun belt.

When writing tickets, these officers are required to describe the nature of the sunlight at the time of the infraction in verse.

You can only petition a speeding ticket if you go to city hall, so most people just pay the ticket, even if they're given one when they're not in a car.

Some magazine articles in NV; "10 ways to redecorate your bloodstone circle", "How to lose weight without losing sight of your own mortality" and "A cake recipe that only people who hate our government will want to try so mail us your best pictures of making it and we will take you away."

Some doors in NV require you to bleed on them to open.

There is an annual Imaginary Corn Festival and Fun Fair. There is a costume contest sponsored by the NV daily journal (dress as the decline of the printed word) where winners will not be forced to sign up for a several subscriptions to the journal.

The NV version of a Greek Salad is fruit and pumice stones.

The NV tourism board has a brochure with the tagline 'A town full of hidden evils and the secretly malevolent' featuring a picture of a diverse group of townfolk smiling and looking at the camera in the windowless prison they will be kept in until enough tourists visit NV to buy their release.

Aside from known eateries, there's also apparently places called 'Shame' and 'Pieces O' Grass' and 'Missing Frog Salad Bar' (which serves orangemilk and salad' in NV.

NV knowledges says the only known book on European history was a pamphlet on Svitz which was burnt by the 'Book Cleansers' because they mistook the giraffe on the front for a handgun.

It is illegal in NV to not have some kind of tracking device on you at all times. Most people choose a mobile phone but some still wear bulky tracking collars.

Most planes in NV are private, propeller, secret military drones and government planes used to make chemtrails.

The world government all wear blue headphones and horn-rimmed glasses.

Flamingos in NV are creatures that have six legs and double beaks.

Most bath gel or greeting card stores in NV have a full staff of bleeding saleclerks.

NV city hall is topped with ancient volcanic stone towers.

There is a service called 'Lifelock' in NV where they just lock you up and destroy all records of you existing to 'protect you from identity theft, impersonation, assassination, assignations and memory removal'.

Larry Leroy finds these things out in the desert: a metallic sphere that fell from the sky and whistles softly as if bored, his double, the body of the main in the pinstripe suit and a new way of breathing. The main in the pinstripe suit btw, goes through an existential crisis during the novel, cumulating in him trying to touch the planet of awesome size and then, death.

KC is a small town of little over 10,000 people in Monterey County. It's newspaper is called the KC rustler. Citizens include Wanda Nieves and Ynez.

The post office in KC is a one-storey stucco building with no front door, a splintered parapet walls with missing letters on it's marquee and a tree that has grown through the broken sidewalk and into one of the many shattered windows.

There's a 'video store' which only contains tall shelves full of loose tapes, some labelled and some not. Some shelves are densely packed, others nearly empty. The labels are handwritten and some simply have rows of x's, j's, p's etc. The walls at the back are made of mud and are easily pulled away to reveal a different room behind it. There's a music store containing a woman on a chair who pulls a face at Jackie/Diane. A bait shop where the empty jars keep exploding and cutting the man working there. A phone shop where the salesclerk doesn't remember ever having a customer before.

The flies that the MITTJ sells form a protective cloud in front of him whenever he is threatened.

The copier in the KC city hall is endlessly printing, so that there's stacks of paper everywhere. The receptionist is typing on a computer which is actually just a carved block of wood painted to look like a computer.

KC has a Taco Bell which people would stop off at on their way to either a town called Greenfield of a state wildlife area.

Stay tuned next for the sound of a creaking spine and the soft collapse of paper onto itself.

[harshnews]

Cenospheres Market Size, Share, Trends, Growth and Competitive Analysis

"Global Cenospheres Market – Industry Trends and Forecast to 2031

Global Cenospheres Market, By Type (Grey Cenospheres and White Cenospheres), Material (Silica, Alumina, Hematite, Calcium Oxide, Rutile, Periclase, Phosphoric Acid, Iron Oxide, Titania, and Others), Form (Ball, Powder, and Others), Distribution Channel (E-Commerce, Third Party Distributors, B2B, and Others), End Users (Oil and Gas, Construction, Automotive, Refractory, Paints and Coatings, Aerospace, Syntactic Foams, Specialty Cements, Building Material, and Others) - Industry Trends and Forecast to 2031.

Access Full 350 Pages PDF Report @

**Segments**

- **Type**: The cenospheres market can be segmented based on type into grey cenospheres and white cenospheres. Grey cenospheres are generally derived from ash produced in coal-fired power plants, while white cenospheres are usually obtained from silica-rich volcanic ash.

- **Application**: In terms of application, the market can be segmented into construction, oil & gas, automotive, aerospace, and others. Cenospheres are extensively used in the construction sector for lightweight concrete applications due to their high strength-to-weight ratio and thermal insulation properties.

- **End-Use Industry**: The end-use industry segment includes sectors such as paints & coatings, plastics, refractory, and others. Cenospheres find applications in the production of lightweight paints, insulating materials, and as fillers in plastic composites due to their low density and high thermal stability.

**Market Players**

- **Qingdao Eastchem Inc.**: Qingdao Eastchem Inc. is a key player in the global cenospheres market, offering a wide range of cenosphere products for various industrial applications. The company focuses on product quality and innovation to cater to the growing demand for cenospheres.

- **Reslab Microfiller**: Reslab Microfiller is another prominent player in the market, known for its high-quality white cenospheres used in the construction and automotive industries. The company emphasizes sustainable practices in cenosphere production to meet eco-friendly standards.

- **Envirospheres**: Envirospheres is a leading supplier of grey cenospheres for oil & gas applications, providing lightweight and chemically inert materials for drilling fluids and cementing operations. The company's focus on technological advancements sets it apart in the competitive cenospheres market.

The global cenospheres market is witnessing significant growth driven by the increasing demand for lightweight materials in various industries. With the rise in construction activities and the adoption of cenospheres in oil & gas exploration, the market is expectedThe global cenospheres market is experiencing a surge in demand attributed to the escalating need for lightweight materials across multiple industries. Cenospheres, with their advantageous properties such as high strength-to-weight ratio, excellent thermal insulation, and chemical inertness, have found diverse applications, including construction, oil & gas, automotive, aerospace, paints & coatings, plastics, and refractory sectors. In the construction industry, cenospheres are extensively used in lightweight concrete applications to enhance strength and reduce overall weight, thereby improving the efficiency of structures. Additionally, cenospheres are employed in the oil & gas industry for drilling fluids and cementing operations due to their lightweight nature and chemical stability, contributing to enhanced operational performance.

The market players in the cenospheres industry play a crucial role in driving innovation, ensuring product quality, and meeting the evolving demands of various end-use industries. Companies like Qingdao Eastchem Inc., Reslab Microfiller, and Envirospheres are at the forefront of supplying high-quality cenosphere products tailored to specific industrial requirements. Qingdao Eastchem Inc. stands out for its comprehensive range of cenosphere products designed for diverse applications, reflecting a commitment to quality and innovation. On the other hand, Reslab Microfiller is renowned for its premium white cenospheres utilized in construction and automotive sectors, prioritizing sustainable production practices to align with environmental standards. Envirospheres specializes in providing grey cenospheres for oil & gas applications, offering lightweight and chemically inert materials that are crucial for drilling operations and cementing processes, setting a benchmark for technological advancements in the competitive market landscape.

The global cenospheres market is poised for continued growth as industries increasingly recognize the benefits of incorporating these microspheres into their products and processes. The market is driven by a combination of factors, including the growing emphasis on sustainable practices, the demand for lightweight materials, and the ongoing technological advancements in cenosphere production. As companies focus on expanding their product portfolios, enhancing operational efficiencies, and**Global Cenospheres Market**

- **Type (Grey Cenospheres and White Cenospheres)** - **Material (Silica, Alumina, Hematite, Calcium Oxide, Rutile, Periclase, Phosphoric Acid, Iron Oxide, Titania, and Others)** - **Form (Ball, Powder, and Others)** - **Distribution Channel (E-Commerce, Third Party Distributors, B2B, and Others)** - **End Users (Oil and Gas, Construction, Automotive, Refractory, Paints and Coatings, Aerospace, Syntactic Foams, Specialty Cements, Building Material, and Others)**

The global cenospheres market is witnessing robust growth attributed to the expanding utilization of lightweight materials across diverse industries such as construction, oil & gas, automotive, and aerospace. Grey cenospheres, derived from coal-fired power plant ash, and white cenospheres obtained from volcanic ash, are key segments driving market dynamics. These segments offer unique properties that cater to different industrial applications. Cenospheres are widely adopted in the construction sector for their high strength-to-weight ratio and thermal insulation characteristics, enhancing the efficiency of lightweight concrete structures. In the oil & gas industry, cenospheres play a vital role in drilling fluids and cementing operations due to their lightweight and chemically inert nature, contributing to improved operational performance and sustainability.

Qingdao Eastchem Inc., Reslab Microfill

Major Points Covered in TOC:

Cenospheres Market Overview: It incorporates six sections, research scope, significant makers covered, market fragments by type, Cenospheres Market portions by application, study goals, and years considered.

Cenospheres Market Landscape: Here, the opposition in the Worldwide Cenospheres Market is dissected, by value, income, deals, and piece of the pie by organization, market rate, cutthroat circumstances Landscape, and most recent patterns, consolidation, development, obtaining, and portions of the overall industry of top organizations.

Cenospheres Profiles of Manufacturers: Here, driving players of the worldwide Cenospheres Market are considered dependent on deals region, key items, net edge, income, cost, and creation.

Cenospheres Market Status and Outlook by Region: In this segment, the report examines about net edge, deals, income, creation, portion of the overall industry, CAGR, and market size by locale. Here, the worldwide Cenospheres Market is profoundly examined based on areas and nations like North America, Europe, China, India, Japan, and the MEA.

Cenospheres Application or End User: This segment of the exploration study shows how extraordinary end-client/application sections add to the worldwide Cenospheres Market.

Cenospheres Market Forecast: Production Side: In this piece of the report, the creators have zeroed in on creation and creation esteem conjecture, key makers gauge, and creation and creation esteem estimate by type.

Keyword: Research Findings and Conclusion: This is one of the last segments of the report where the discoveries of the investigators and the finish of the exploration study are given.

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[spookysaladchaos]

Global Top 13 Companies Accounted for 82% of total Poly Tetramethylene Ether Glycol (PTMG) market

Poly Tetramethylene Ether Glycol (PTMG) is white waxy solid, it is dissoluble in alcohol, ester, ketone, aromatic hydrocarbons and chlorinated hydrocarbon and is insoluble aliphatic hydrocarbon and water. When the temperature exceeds Poly Tetramethylene Ether Glycol (PTMG) would become transparent liquid beyond room temperature.

It is used to make high specification polyurethanes with enhanced properties such as hydrolysis and microbe resistance, good low temperature performance and excellent resistance to abrasion and physical wear.

The Poly Tetramethylene Ether Glycol (PTMG) market covers PTMG 650, PTMG 1000, PTMG 1800/2000, Others, etc. The typical players include BASF, The Lycra Company, Mitsubishi Chemical, Korea PTG, DCC, Formosa Asahi Spandex, Sanwei, Hyosung, etc.

According to the new market research report “Global Poly Tetramethylene Ether Glycol (PTMG) Market Report 2023-2029”, published by QYResearch, the global Poly Tetramethylene Ether Glycol (PTMG) market size is projected to reach USD 4.5 billion by 2029, at a CAGR of 3.1% during the forecast period.

Figure.   Global Poly Tetramethylene Ether Glycol (PTMG) Market Size (US$ Million), 2018-2029

Figure.   Global Poly Tetramethylene Ether Glycol (PTMG) Top 13 Players Ranking and Market Share (Ranking is based on the revenue of 2022, continually updated)

The global key manufacturers of Poly Tetramethylene Ether Glycol (PTMG) include BASF, DCC, Hyosung, Sinopec Great Wall Energy, The Lycra Company, Mitsubishi Chemical, Sanwei, Shaanxi Coal & Chemical, Jianfeng, Tianhua Fubang, etc. In 2022, the global top 10 players had a share approximately 82.0% in terms of revenue.

About QYResearch

QYResearch founded in California, USA in 2007.It is a leading global market research and consulting company. With over 16 years’ experience and professional research team in various cities over the world QY Research focuses on management consulting, database and seminar services, IPO consulting, industry chain research and customized research to help our clients in providing non-linear revenue model and make them successful. We are globally recognized for our expansive portfolio of services, good corporate citizenship, and our strong commitment to sustainability. Up to now, we have cooperated with more than 60,000 clients across five continents. Let’s work closely with you and build a bold and better future.

QYResearch is a world-renowned large-scale consulting company. The industry covers various high-tech industry chain market segments, spanning the semiconductor industry chain (semiconductor equipment and parts, semiconductor materials, ICs, Foundry, packaging and testing, discrete devices, sensors, optoelectronic devices), photovoltaic industry chain (equipment, cells, modules, auxiliary material brackets, inverters, power station terminals), new energy automobile industry chain (batteries and materials, auto parts, batteries, motors, electronic control, automotive semiconductors, etc.), communication industry chain (communication system equipment, terminal equipment, electronic components, RF front-end, optical modules, 4G/5G/6G, broadband, IoT, digital economy, AI), advanced materials industry Chain (metal materials, polymer materials, ceramic materials, nano materials, etc.), machinery manufacturing industry chain (CNC machine tools, construction machinery, electrical machinery, 3C automation, industrial robots, lasers, industrial control, drones), food, beverages and pharmaceuticals, medical equipment, agriculture, etc.

[digitaltariq]

Spanish-Model Restaurant Overlooks Auckland Harbor

Columbia Hillen Ever had a magician for dinner? I don’t imply grilled and sprinkled with spices. I imply as a visitor. Let me inform you, it’s an otherworldly expertise. My pleasure was having Tara Okan, illusionist extraordinaire, carry out table-side at MoVida restaurant in Auckland and never solely mesmerise me together with his excellent abilities but additionally numerous members of workers who gathered round our desk.

Tara the Magician (l) and Sean Hillen (r). Photograph by Columbia Hillen I’d met Tara just a few weeks earlier via David Rees who kindly launched himself on the road as I explored the North Island metropolis. Such was the quick bond, we ended up on a sundown picnic journey collectively to a secluded seashore. Tara’s modern ‘results’ as they’re known as in magic literature offered the cream on the cake to an satisfying night at this fine-dining restaurant providing what it describes as ‘Spanish delicacies via a New Zealand lens.’

Columbia Hillen Opened in August 2022 and with a 150-person capability, MoVida is situated two flooring up within the modernist Seafarers Constructing on Tyler Road within the coronary heart of the elegant, heritage Britomart district. The constructing’s entrance door stands reverse a spacious open sq. the place a well-liked Saturday market takes place whereas its eating room overlooks Waitemata Harbour. Previously occupied by one other restaurant known as Ostro, its unique house owners, the Savor Group partnered with Movida’s house owners, together with head chef and founder, Frank Camorra for the opening.

Michael Nesti, Restaurant Supervisor. Photograph by Columbia Hillen Designed by Paul Izzard of Auckland-based agency Izzard Design, it’s finest described as ‘tapas bar meets eating room,’ snug with out being overly fussy. A lot of the seating is rounded booth-style however my companion and I have been lucky to be allotted one of many stand-alone tables beside floor-to-ceiling folding glass doorways which stretch the size of the restaurant and past which is a slender balcony after which a transparent view of sailboats gliding gracefully alongside the Pacific Ocean. First, the workers, younger, pleasant, environment friendly and multi-national, from international locations akin to Colombia, Argentina, Spain, New Zealand and the US, all led by dynamic common supervisor, Michael Nesti, a local of Tuscany.

Columbia Hillen Kicking off with cocktails, we selected vermouth and we have been delighted with the varied supply, a collection of six together with a darkish, tangy model from Tarragona. MoVida’s menu, divided into 4 classes, aperitivos, tapas, raciones - barely bigger sharing plates - and parillas - grilled dishes - matches menus at its profitable father or mother operation in Melbourne. We opened with a well-liked Kiwi seafood delicacy, green-lipped mussels, famend for his or her anti-inflammatory properties thus extraordinarily helpful for arthritis victims. These little dainties, recent as if simply plucked from the ocean, have been served chilly with a inexperienced gazpacho-like sauce comprising cilantro, garlic, chili, lemon and olive brine. Subsequent up was burrata, plump in the midst of a colourful ratatouille-like bowl of roasted onion, peppers, tomatoes and recent basil.

Columbia Hillen Preferring seafood, I opted for marinated octopus as my subsequent course, caught close to Kaikoura, a coastal city in South Island. To my thoughts, this denizen of the deep is scrumptious bare, nevertheless it was even tastier cooked because it was on a skewer over coals with fino, dry white sherry and paprika, accompanied by potatoes and aioli. My companion went with a beef dish, razor-thin slices of air-dried wagyu with truffled potato foam, pickled kohlrabi and horseradish cream, with flakes of poached egg on high and a platter of almond and horseradish crackers on the facet.

Columbia Hillen Delighted with the standard of the seafood, my finale was gambas ahumadas, house-smoked prawns, Otago clams with butter beans whereas my companion opted for the carrilera de buey, gentle beef cheek braised in spiced crimson wine and candy Pedro Ximenez sherry, served with cauliflower puree. I’m unsure which one among us was happier. An enormous thanks to our waitresses, Medelin Watape and Erika Martinez, who served us all through the night with honest zest and, in fact, to Tara, New Zealand’s reply to David Copperfield. Read the full article

[vintageviewmaster]

Brand: View-Master Packet Title: Kentucky Booklet Title: Kentucky Booklet Subtitle: The Bluegrass State Date: 1955

Note: When reading the booklet descriptions, please remember that these booklets are old (most are 65+ years old) and the information and history presented in them as factual may be inaccurate, outdated, and in some cases, offensive.

Booklet Introduction Description: Kentuckians are justifiably proud of their state. The modest ones will quote the words of a small-town Kentucky preacher who said, "Kentucky is a Heaven of a place." Others go so far as to say that Heaven is a "Kentucky of a place." It is the land of the Kentucky Colonel with his frosty mint julep, of Daniel Boone looking out at a wilderness paradise from the Cumberland Gap, of the Kentucky Derby and the fleet Thoroughbreds, of golden burley tobacco and Harlan County coal, of the birthplace of two presidents who went to war against each other -- Abraham Lincoln and Jefferson Davis, of Uranium 235 at Paducah, gold at Fort Knox, and bourbon whiskey at Lexington and Louisville.

KENTUCKY FACTS AND FIGURES Kentucky is called The Bluegrass State because the grass that covers the rolling plains of central Kentucky has tiny dusty blue blossoms. The State Flower is the Goldenrod; the Bird the Cardinal; the Tree is the Tulip Tree; the Motto is "United We Stand, Divided We Fall"; and the Song is Stephen Foster's "My Old Kentucky Home." The state whose farmers cleared the land to plant tobacco is the second largest tobacco growing state, and leads in burley tobacco. Tobacco is the leading crop bringing $175 million annually to farmers with corn second at $160 million. Most of the corn is turned into whiskey to the tune of $200 million per year. The leading mineral is coal, the state ranking third in the nation. Natural gas and gasoline are important products and about one-fourth of the nation's fluorspar is mined in Kentucky. Lexington is the world's largest loose-leaf tobacco market. The state is also famous for its hickory-smoked and sugar-cured hams. Half of all the big horseraces in the United States are won by Kentucky-bred horses. The Bluegrass State has raised such famous horses as Man O' War, Lexington, War Admiral, Equipoise, Sea Biscuit, Whirlaway, and Count Fleet.

THE STATE AND ITS PEOPLE Kentucky has an area of 40,395 square miles--36th in size among the states. It lies between the Alleghany Mountains and the Ohio River and is bounded by Indiana and Ohio on the north; West Virginia and Virginia on the east; Tennessee on the south; and Missouri and Illinois on the west. The Ohio River forms its entire north and northwest border and the Mississippi is part of its western border. The highest elevation in the state is Big Black Mountain (alt. 4,150) in Harlan County, the lowest (alt. 257) along the Mississippi. The state has a population of 2,944,806 (1950), ranking 19th among the states. Over 60% of the population is rural. Kentucky was a hunting ground and war ground for many tribes of Indians but home for none when the first settlers came. These white men were Scotch, English, Irish and German. Many of their descendants in the eastern hills still speak an Elizabethan English that sounds like passages from the King James Bible. Many famous people were born in Kentucky or called it home: Abraham Lincoln; Jefferson Davis; Daniel Boone; Irvin S. Cobb, the humorist of Paducah; Kit Carson, Indian scout and frontiersman born in Madison County; Henry Clay, the statesman whose home was in Lexington; D. W. Griffith, producer of the first great motion picture, Birth of a Nation, was born at La Grange; Carrie Nation, the hatchet-wielding temperance agitator was born in Kentucky, land of good bourbon whiskey; Zachary Taylor, our 12th president, grew up and is buried not far from Louisville; and even the storied Hatfields and McCoys really lived and feuded in the hills of Kentucky.

HIGHLIGHTS OF HISTORY The Kentucky country, for a long time, was the unexplored part of the Virginia colony. A lively curiosity sent land companies from Virginia and North Carolina into the new area. However, the first house was not built until Dr. Thomas Walker, in 1750, explored the Big Sandy River area establishing a base near Barbourville. Daniel Boone, with a group of hunters, entered the Kentucky Valley in 1767 where he met the famous Long Hunters. These were adventurous white men whose extended hunting trips took them over the mountains from North Carolina. The first permanent settlement was established by James Harrod and a company of adventurers from Pennsylvania at Harrodsburg in 1774. In 1776, Kentucky was organized as a Virginia county. In 1780, George Rogers Clark, whose younger brother was the co-leader of the Lewis & Clark Expedition, led 3,000 settlers down the Ohio from Maysville to Louisville. In "broadhorn" boats that looked like an adaptation of Noah's Ark, the settlers ran a gauntlet as Indians lay in ambush on the Kentucky shore and showered the boats with a rain of deadly arrows. Kentucky became the 15th star in the American Flag in 1792. Isaac Shelby was chosen first Governor by common consent, and Frankfort was designated the first state Capital.

[sanghvisons]

Natural or Lab-Grown? Which One Is Right for You?

Diamonds are one of the most beloved and cherished gemstones in the world. However, there are two different ways to obtain diamonds: natural and lab-grown. Natural diamonds are created by nature over millions of years, while lab-grown diamonds are created in a laboratory setting. Both types of diamonds have their unique characteristics, benefits, and drawbacks, making them a popular choice for consumers worldwide.

In this discussion, we will explore the differences between natural and lab-grown diamonds, and how they compare in terms of cost, quality, environment and sustainability. So whether you're in the market for a diamond engagement ring or just curious about these sparkling gems, read on to learn more about the world of diamonds!

How are diamonds made?

Both natural and lab-grown diamonds are made of carbon atoms arranged in a crystal lattice structure, but the processes for creating them are different.

Natural diamonds are made deep within the Earth's mantle, under high pressure and temperature. It's like baking a cake, but instead of using an oven, the Earth uses pressure and heat to bake diamonds over millions of years. These diamonds are then brought to the Earth's surface by volcanic eruptions.

Lab-grown diamonds, on the other hand, are created by scientists in a lab. It's like making a cake in a microwave. Scientists use machines to mimic the Earth's high pressure and temperature conditions to make diamonds grow from tiny seeds. It's much faster than waiting for millions of years like natural diamonds, and it's also more eco-friendly.

Both natural and lab-grown diamonds are made of carbon atoms, so they look and feel the same. However, lab-made diamonds are often more affordable than natural ones because they don't take as long to make, and they are a more sustainable option.

What are diamonds made of?

Diamonds are made of just one element: carbon! Yes, the same carbon that's in pencils, coal, and even our bodies. But the carbon atoms in diamonds are arranged in a unique way that gives them their incredible hardness and sparkle.

In nature, diamonds are formed deep beneath the Earth's surface, where the pressure and temperature are extremely high. Under these conditions, carbon atoms bond together in a crystal lattice structure to form a diamond. This process takes millions of years and requires just the right conditions, which is why diamonds are so rare and valuable. In a lab, scientists can replicate these conditions to create lab-grown diamonds. By exposing carbon to high pressure and high temperature or a carbon-rich gas, they can grow diamond crystals in just a few weeks or months.

So the next time you admire a diamond's beauty, remember that it's made of something as simple as carbon, but arranged in a way that makes it one of the most precious and coveted materials in the world.

Natural diamonds can also come in a range of colors, including colorless or white, yellow, brown, and even pink or blue. These colors are caused by the presence of trace elements or structural defects within the crystal lattice. Natural colored diamonds are rarer and more valuable than colorless diamonds.

Natural v/s Lab Grown Diamonds Price

Natural diamond prices and lab-made diamonds can vary significantly, depending on a variety of factors, including size, quality, and market demand. In general, lab-grown diamonds are typically less expensive than natural diamonds of similar quality and size. One of the main reasons for this price difference is that natural diamonds are rare and difficult to mine, which drives up their cost. The natural diamond price is also affected by market demand, with certain sizes and qualities being more in demand than others. This can lead to significant price fluctuations over time.

In contrast, lab-grown diamonds can be produced in a controlled environment, which reduces the costs associated with mining and processing Lab-grown diamond prices are largely determined by the cost of production, which is influenced by factors such as the type of technology used, the quality of the equipment, and the availability of resources such as energy and water.

Overall, lab-grown diamonds are typically less expensive than natural loose diamonds, but the price difference can vary depending on the specific characteristics of the diamonds and market conditions. Consumers should carefully consider their budget and priorities when deciding between natural and lab-grown diamonds.

See more: Online Diamond Shopping: How to Do it? What Is the Buying Process?

Natural diamonds vs lab-grown diamonds: which is better?

The answer to the question of which is better, natural diamonds or lab-grown diamonds, depends on a variety of factors, including personal preferences, budget, and intended use.

Natural diamonds are rare and have been highly valued for centuries, making them a symbol of luxury and prestige. However, natural loose diamonds are also associated with ethical and environmental concerns, including labour exploitation, environmental damage, and conflict financing. Additionally, natural diamonds can be more expensive due to their rarity and the costs associated with mining and processing

Lab-grown diamonds offer a more sustainable and ethical alternative to natural diamonds. They are created in a controlled environment, using less energy and water than mining and processing natural diamonds. Lab-grown diamonds are also typically less expensive than natural diamonds, making them more accessible to consumers.

However, man-made diamonds are not without their drawbacks. They may lack the sentimental value and historical significance associated with natural colored diamonds. Additionally, some consumers may prefer the natural beauty and unique characteristics of natural diamonds over the uniformity of lab-grown diamonds.

If you are looking for natural loose diamonds, visit Sanghvi & Son's website, we have been securely providing top-notch quality for the past 30 years all over the world. We are the best diamond exporter in India to deliver the perfect gems to celebrate your every occasion.

Read : How to Become a Diamond Merchant in India

       Top 7 Reasons to Buy Natural Diamonds

            Loose Diamonds: Everything You Need To Know [2023]

[xtruss]

An LNG storage facility at the Calcasieu shipping channel, Hackberry, Louisiana, one of 13 terminals being built, expanded or planned along the US Gulf coast. Photograph: Matthew D White/VWPics/Alamy

Seascape: The State of Our Oceans! ‘Ukraine is a false justification’: America’s Destructive New Rush For Natural Gas

About 30 miles south of New Orleans, a construction site visible from space is rising. Sandwiched between the Mississippi River and disappearing wetlands, the 256-hectare (632-acre) site is visited by a stream of tipper trucks and concrete mixers that stir up dust on Louisiana 23, the state highway that goes down to Venice, the last spot of land before the river’s water flows into the Gulf of Mexico.

The wetlands protect the area from hurricane surge and provide critical habitat for fisheries. But when completed in 2025, the construction site here will host a series of tanks and pipes designed for one purpose: to supercool natural gas into liquid form, so it can be transported on giant tankers to sell around the world to the highest bidder.

The Plaquemines liquefied natural gas (LNG) export terminal is just one of five such terminals being built or expanded along the US Gulf coast in Louisiana and Texas. Eight more projects have been approved, and another eight have been proposed – all in a stretch of roughly 700 miles, and where five plants are already operating. If all the new terminals were built, they would double or even triple current US capacity to deliver natural gas – an amount of fuel that, if burned, would contribute to the world tipping over the emissions target required to keep global heating in check.

Existing and Planned Liquified Natural Gas Terminals Along the Gulf Coast

The economic justification for building all of these terminals was turbocharged by the war in Ukraine, which doubled the price of LNG. According to one analyst’s calculations, last year a single shipload of LNG on the spot market could have earned a profit of up to $200m. The high prices led to a rush of development. It has been forecasted that $42bn in LNG infrastructure will be built worldwide next year – up from $2bn in 2020.

But an unexpectedly mild winter in Europe and lower demand from Asia have tempered enthusiasm for the fuel, with a shipload now expected to earn about $37m profit, according to Seb Kennedy, head of data insights at TransitionZero. That’s still high enough to keep players such as Pakistan, which was outbid by European countries last year, out of the market: the country recently announced that because of the high price of LNG it would stop building natural gas power plants and instead quadruple its number of coal-fired plants.

Meanwhile, even before it has been built, Plaquemines LNG has asked the Federal Energy Regulatory Commission (Ferc) – the agency responsible for energy permits – for permission to increase production, and last week said it had financing to start a second phase of building. This has led a major energy thinktank to warn Ferc that the company’s calculations overestimated future demand for the fuel, and underestimated its carbon emissions.

“We see a scenario on the horizon where natural gas prices and the need for LNG export terminals could decrease,” writes Trey Cowan at the Institute for Energy Economics and Financial Analysis.

Despite the current enthusiasm for LNG, next year may be the last that the number of LNG terminal projects of any size will move forward, as global appetite for natural gas is expected to fall.

A flare burns at the Venture Global liquid natural gas facility in Cameron, Louisiana on 21 April 2022. Natural gas from the Permian Basin in Texas and other US areas is sent by pipeline to this facility and others like it, where it is cooled, liquefied and shipped by boat to buyers.

A flare burns at the Venture Global liquid natural gas facility in Cameron, Louisiana on 21 April 2022. Natural gas from the Permian Basin in Texas and other US areas is sent by pipeline to this facility and others like it, where it is cooled, liquefied and shipped by boat to buyers. Photograph: Martha Irvine/AP

“Project approvals after 2024 are forecast to fall off a cliff as governments transition away from fossil fuels and accelerate investments in low-carbon energy infrastructure,” analysts at Rystad Energy write.

Until then, however, Rystad expects investment to soar. If all of the new LNG capacity is built, it would eventually increase annual worldwide capacity from 380m metric tonnes to 705m metric tonnes tonnes , consume 10% of the world’s remaining carbon budget under the Paris Climate Agreement, and seriously kneecap efforts to keep the climate crisis in check.

In a recent report, researchers for the Climate Action Tracker, an independent scientific project that monitors governments worldwide, warn: “This reaction to the energy crisis is an overreach that must be scaled back. As the world’s largest oil and gas producer, the US should show the way beyond fossil fuel extraction – but unfortunately it is now doing exactly the opposite.”

Planned Expansion of LNG Capacity will Produce Surplus Gas and Keep Carbon Emissions Far Above Levels Needed For Net Zero

‘Optics’ and the War in Ukraine

After Russia invaded Ukraine, the Biden administration committed to supply Europe with natural gas to replace Russian supplies. By expediting permits, it allowed US companies to secure at least 19 agreements to supply LNG, according to the Environmental Integrity Project, a US-based watchdog. The moves were so effective that more gas was delivered than had been initially promised.

The banks of the Calcasieu ship channel in Cameron, Louisiana, are eroding at an accelerated rate because of waves from large vessels. Photograph: Francois Picard/AFP/Getty Images

But the gas that helped Europe through this past winter didn’t come from new terminals. None of the new projects is even operational yet – the first will come online next year at the earliest. Instead, Europe’s new gas supplies came from existing LNG terminals, in the US and elsewhere, which rerouted tankers to Europe. Research from Columbia University suggests the main buyer of new American LNG will be, as it was before, Asia.

Indeed, of the 19 new agreements since the Ukraine war began, fewer than one third are for Europe. And Europe’s need could be short-lived. With Russian supplies cut off, the European Commission has increased its targets for renewable energy to wean Europe Union countries off gas: it now aims to get 45% of EU energy from renewable sources by 2030, more than double the amount today.

“It’s all optics,” says Naomi Yoder of Healthy Gulf, an environmental group focused on the impact of extractive industries across the Gulf of Mexico. “There’s a lot of bluster [about] what is needed in the world in terms of LNG. A lot of that bluster is being focused on the war in Ukraine. It’s really like a false justification.”

‘Absolutely a Sacrifice Zone’

The LNG industry has chosen the Gulf Coast for several reasons. “The area offers robust natural gas infrastructure located close to prolific natural gas supply, along with deepwater ports, and is well positioned to meet global demand for more US LNG,” says Charlie Riedl, the executive director for the Center for Liquefied Natural Gas.

Analysts, however, note another less frequently cited reason. “The Gulf Coast offers the friendliest regulatory environment,” says Lindsay Schneider at RBN Energy. The result, she writes in a briefing, is the flurry of new plants concentrated “in a very small geographic footprint. It’s an almost unthinkable amount of LNG.”

John Allaire, 66, on his property in Cameron, Louisiana. He has called the coasts of Louisiana and Texas “sacrifice zones” for the LNG industry. Photograph: Francois Picard/AFP/Getty Images

Despite the east coast’s proximity to Europe making it an ideal candidate for LNG exports, there are only two relatively small terminals so far, in Maryland and Georgia – though there have been proposals for sites in New Jersey and Pennsylvania. On the west coast, one LNG export terminal planned for Oregon was defeated after a years-long battle by environmental groups, landowners and Native Americans. A larger export facility in Alaska had been approved by the federal government, with the backing of the governor, but lost the support of major oil corporations in 2016 and has been making progress slowly ever since.

By contrast, the Democrat governor of Louisiana, John Bel Edwards, has welcomed development there. “The long-term prospects for the US natural gas industry are bright, and Louisiana is well positioned to capitalise on that success, with ready access to natural gas supplies and deepwater access for shipping LNG to destinations worldwide,” Edwards said when the Plaquemines facility was announced in 2017.

He was lauded in turn by energy executives last September at a meeting with Shell, Cheniere Energy and other fossil fuel behemoths. “When it comes to American liquefied natural gas, governor Edwards and Louisiana economic development leaders clearly appreciate LNG’s vital global energy security and environmental benefits and the importance to Louisiana’s economy,” said Corey Grindal, Cheniere’s executive vice-president of worldwide trading. “We appreciate the governor’s interest in the critical role that Cheniere and Louisiana play in the global energy landscape.”

John Allaire, a retired engineer with BP who lives near one of the plants and now works with environmental groups, puts it another way. The Gulf Coast, he says, “is absolutely a sacrifice zone”.

Smoke billows from the Freeport LNG plant in Quintana, Texas, after an explosion there last June. Photograph: Maribel Hill/Reuters

Environmental Justice

LNG terminals don’t just change the climate equation. They can have huge impacts on local communities. The ones being built in and around Lake Charles, Louisiana, are already affecting fisheries, while a proposed facility in Brownsville, Texas could get the go-ahead to build as soon as this month on a stretch of unspoilt wetland. Last year, at a terminal in Freeport, Texas, a natural gas vapour cloud exploded, causing widespread alarm.

Plaquemines LNG is no different. Its Deer Range Lake location floods regularly, most recently in 2021 during Hurricane Ida. A recent report from the Sierra Club, an influential US environmental group, showed that the eight-metre (26ft) levees being built around the new terminal would not have prevented the hurricane from flooding it. The area is also prone to subsidence, and a huge plant would probably cause land to sink even faster than surrounding areas, the report found.

The Cameron LNG export terminal in Louisiana. Photograph: Cameron LNG

Three environmental groups sued the state last year, citing the risk of flooding and the project’s potential impact on the community to argue that it should not move forward – but last week a state judge dismissed the suit.

The environmental effects are already being felt through construction traffic and air pollution. Mark Juengling, a property owner near the Plaquemines plant, said recently in a formal complaint to Ferc: “We now have an LNG plant that could produce hazardous fumes or worse yet if an explosion occurs. That danger is always at the back of our minds now.”

The owner of the Plaquemines plant, Venture Global, did not respond to a request for comment.

Tyson Slocum, the director of energy for Public Citizen, a non-profit consumer advocacy organisation, says that under federal law, gas can only be exported if it has a net benefit to the public. Slocum argues there is no benefit.

“We all want to help our allies in need,” he said. “But it cannot come at the expense of environmental justice.”

— FloodlightNews.Org | Floodlight is a Nonprofit News Organization that Partners with Local Outlets and The Guardian to Investigate the corporate and ideological interests holding back climate action

[mercurianfatale]

I felt my bones quiver and my head begin to feel light and airy as I waved my hands over the coughing boy. I could sense the disease sloshing around his body, spreading to his organs in uniform fashion. It had one mission - shut down everything. I froze the cells in place and began to twist my hand upwards, forcing the sickness to travel up the esophagus and out of the body. Just when my knees began to weaken, I became aware of the sputtering and gurgling sounds of the little boy vomiting out the last two days of meals. I knew this was one of the worst moments of his short life, but it was better than being killed slowly.

His mother collapsed on his hunched-over form and cried out, “my boy! Oh, thank you, thank you!”

Her tears wet his formerly white shirt and left a small dark patch behind. My eyesight was blurry and my balance was off, but it is a small price to pay for an innocent life.

Each act of magic only cost me half a day of my own life. I could save many lives in that time span.

“My work here is done.”

I turned to give the pair some privacy and opened the rickety oak door. I was met with mid-morning sun baring down at me, doing nothing to ease the growing tension behind my eyes. On the bright side, my tent was only a couple miles down the street. My long, navy blue robes shuffled in the slight breeze I stirred up from making a sharp turn to the left. This village, Greystone, was a small blacksmithing hub that was facing a string of misfortunes. A local mine was currently dealing with a spider infestation. Not tiny house spiders that wrap up crickets and torment you with their multiple legs scurrying across your floors. Giant, horse-sized spiders creeping in from the depths of who-knows-where. I shuttered at the thought. Luckily, as a magic source, this was not my problem to solve. Stars save the one who is called to accomplish this task.

I pulled my hood over my head as I neared the village's market center filled with citizens. The people on this side of the college aren't too fond of magic. Some give it little thought; most consider it evil and the reason why ill fortunes fall over the world. Better to not be seen and figure out which type these people are.

I passed the source of the second string of bad luck that Greystone has been facing. The coal used in the forges were forcing plumes of thick, black smoke into the air above the small village. The sound of coughing filled the air and I held my breath myself. This was the source of the sickness in the little boy I just tended to. Ideally, these blacksmiths should halt weapon production until this problem is solved, but Greystone makes its living this way. They see no reason to stop, even if they die in the process.

It hurts my soul to see villages like this. Overlooked and impoverished. The council will not send aid. Their best bet is to wait for a hero to come wandering in to save the day.

At least that is likely to happen. I pass young mercenaries in my travels often. One is bound to stumble across this little speck on the map, or see the black smoke from miles away and get curious about its source. I should write up an emergency letter and post it on the boards outside of the college for the ones who come to us convinced that magic can be taught to anyone with a slight interest.

I walked past the last string of worn down houses and saw my tent finally come into view. The silver serpent and owl sewn into the front flap was a dead give away of who I was and whose business I was carrying out. Inside was a measly bedroll and a small pack with food. Tomorrow would be my departure day. Tired of thinking and walking, I laid down on the average-comfort bedroll and let the blackness in the corners of my vision overtake me.

----

The morning after performing magic was always a tad worse than the day of. My body needed to recover, which meant operating with the smallest amount of energy throughout the day. It also meant no lights, little movement, and bone broth.

I rolled over onto my side and yanked the pack by its straps. I pulled out a candle, a matchbox, and a small container with yellow-tinted liquid in it. Beside the pack was a device given to me by the college. It was similar to a lantern in shape and size, with a big bowl shape on top of it for heating up broths, soups, and stews. It was enough to give us just the right amount of energy to travel or perform our art.

I lit the candle and poured all of the liquid into the bowl shape. This process would take awhile, and the broth would never get quite warm enough, so I laid back down on the bedroll, watching the flame dance and cast shadows across the tent.

I slurped on my lukewarm broth when it was done, feeling a sense of urgency wash over me. The tiny hairs on the back of my neck stood at attention. I could not shake the feeling that someone was looking for me.

I threw my belongings back into the pack and stepped outside in the afternoon air. It was a clear day with a gentle breeze. Prime travel conditions.

The college was not completely inhumane when it came to its pupils. We were all given a horse upon graduation to carry us between towns. My horse is a well-trained, chestnut colored mare. I named her Apple and she doesn't seem to mind it.

She stood patient and still as I set to work on packing up my tent. In the middle of the process, my stomach began to cave into itself as alarm signals went off in my brain. There was someone standing behind me.

“Hey mister!”

The prepubescent voice threw me for a mental loop. I dropped the peg I was holding and turned slowly. A little boy with disheveled, sandy blonde hair was looking up at me with beady brown eyes. Dirt tracks spread across his face and his shirt had a few tears in the collar. He wore loose trousers and could not have been taller than my thigh.

“Are you lost?” I asked him curiously.

“No, sir. I came looking for you. I thought you had already left.”

“What do you need from me, lad?”

The little boy grabbed the bottom of his shirt and twisted it as he spoke. “That boy with the cough. You saved him with your magic. I know it.”

I froze in place. The leaders at the college had one rule; do your magic quickly and quietly. The last thing needed for the college when magic already has a mixed reputation is rumors spreading.

“How did you see it?”

“Oh, no mister. I didn't see you. I felt you!” the boy exclaimed as if this was the greatest revelation the world has seen.

I stared at him while my thoughts churned in my head. He was just a little boy, but I couldn't have him running back into the village with shouts of witchcraft and alchemy.

“Yes, it's true,” I paused to monitor his unwavering facial expression. “You must not spread this to your community.”

The boy shook his head slightly. “Mister I'm not going back. I came to ask you to take me with you.”

I couldn't stop the laugh of disbelief that forced itself out of my lungs. I did well enough to keep myself alive. The High Arch would pop a blood vessel if I came strolling into the courtyard with a little mining boy.

“I'm sorry kid, but there's no way I can take you along.”

He seemed prepared for this answer and only hardened his eyes at me. This kid was not going to go away anytime soon.

“Fine. I'll just follow you.”

“You'll get eaten by a bear,” I threatened.

“Better than spending another night here.”

My heart twisted at his words. I looked over his head at the village in the short distance, the black fumes, and the falling-apart houses. This kid wasn't living a happy life. I sighed and cursed myself for being so easily moved.

“Okay. But you cannot follow me all the way. We'll pass a few towns and inns, and we'll find you a place to stay.”

The boy smiled and ran over to me, crashing directly into my legs. I patted him on the back and bent down to finish collecting all the pegs. When I had all of my belongings either on my back or on Apple, I looked at the boy.

“You sure about this, kid? It's not too late to run back home.”

“I haven't found my home yet.”

I didn't have anything to say back to that. I lifted him up onto Apple and decided to walk beside them. It was then that we set off down the cobblestone path, unaware of the fate that was unwinding before us and the terrors spreading in the distance.

Fantasy Prompt

You have magic, but for every spell you cast or bit you use, you lose a day of life.

[ev-pierce-writes]

Quantum Entanglement

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader

Words: 6.4k (oops)

Rating: 18+ (get outta here ya children)

Summary: Steve Rogers decides to disappear, take some time for himself in the solitude of a small town where he meets you.

Warnings: p in v. oral fem receiving. size kink (reader is much smaller than Steve in more ways than one). soft (very very soft) fem dom.

AN: This is stupid soft. Just simping all over the gd place. I'm so sorry but my baby Steve deserves nothing but the purest, sweetest form of love and that's what he's getting, though I imagine he likes to be ordered around. Took me way too long to feel good about this.

---

There had been the snap. And then the resurrection. Steve had lost everyone he loved and then had most of them returned, and it felt good to go back to normal, in some ways. In other ways, it was stifling.

As the world reeled and tried to figure out how to "be normal" in a time that was anything but, normalcy felt forced, rushed, exaggerated. He wanted to be in this world, of course. The 1940s were no longer his home, and Steve had everything he wanted here. But he didn't feel complete. A piece was always missing, something from a past life, that he couldn't quite name but knew he had to find.

So he disappeared. Went undercover as some might call it. Bucky knew, of course, and Sam on some level. But to the rest of the world, he had slipped quietly back into the past to live the rest of his life. In reality, he'd slipped into Herrington, Massachusetts, a small coastal town where he was invisible to the world.

He'd found a little house, a cottage on the beach, and settled in completely. He didn't need a job, the government was more than willing to pay him a severance check of some sort, but he took one anyway, stocking the local grocery store and delivering groceries to the elderly when they ordered. It was just antiquated enough to remind him of a faraway time, of the past, but didn't force him to give up his wifi and color television. That was something he'd come to love.

And that was where he met you. You, the petite spitfire with a bone to pick with the entire world. Fierce, loyal, and slightly terrifying when double-crossed. The first time he met you, you had come out of your great-aunt's house shaking a fist over the groceries.

"I told Mr. Pierce," you were yelling, "not to skimp me on the meat." Mr. Pierce was the grocery store owner. And the meat in question was a roast, for what purpose, Steve wasn't sure, but one that apparently did not satisfy your desires.

You hadn't been the one to answer the door, that was your great-aunt Agnes, a kind, leather-faced woman who liked to tip Steve a healthy amount for "carrying all those heavy groceries for a silly old lady like me."

"It's no problem ma'am," he'd replied and stepped back toward his motorcycle, recently decked out with a basket on the back to transport deliveries. Then you'd chased him down the road until he noticed you and stopped, shouting all the way.

"When you see him," you said, your finger wagging in his face, puffing and out of breath from your yelling and running, "tell the bastard that's the last time he gets away with making me pay for his shitty cuts of meat."

Steve didn't really know what to say, but then your face softened, your voice calmed, and you took a deep breath. Maybe the panicked look on his face had made you have a change of heart. "I apologize for yelling at you, I know you're just the messenger. But that slimy son-of-a-bitch is going to get what's coming for him someday."

"I'll let him know," Steve replied with half a smile on his face.

"You aren't from around here are you?" you had asked, a sudden look of curiosity in your bright eyes.

Steve nodded. "Just moved here."

"Look, I'm really sorry." You stuck out your hand and introduced yourself, and Steve had found that hand to be surprisingly supple and calloused for its tiny size. "Let me make it up to you. Aunt Agnes seems to like you. We're having a potluck tonight, her place. Why don't you come by and meet the neighbors? I'm sure they'd love a new face, especially one as handsome and friendly as yours. Maybe make some friends, even."

You were being surprisingly friendly and sincere, and Steve had no choice but to accept the invitation.

So that's how he ended up in an old lady's backyard, handing off a bowl of his mother's jello salad (it was a potluck after all), and accepting a beer from a man who looked similar enough to be your brother (a cousin, it turned out). You didn't even notice his arrival, flying about, getting everything set up, taking part in the appropriate amount of small talk. Earlier, when you'd chased Steve down the road, your hair had been flung all about your head, wisps of it sticking out from all directions and looking positively a mess. You'd been wearing jeans with mud on the knees and a t-shirt that had more holes than necessary for your arms and head. Now, your hair was pinned back and tamed and you floated about in a soft blue sundress, revealing a delicate plane of skin across your shoulders and tan arms and legs.

The calloused hands and muddy jeans made sense now as well. The backyard of Aunt Agnes' house was primarily a garden, not only beautiful rose bushes and creeping wisteria but rows and rows of fruits and vegetables, cucumbers, tomatoes, watermelon, strawberries. The work was obviously the product of a talented gardener.

Aunt Agnes was the one to welcome him in, having noticed Steve before you did and taking his arm. She began to talk, of you and the neighborhood and her many, many family members. She introduced them one by one, though most of the names he immediately forgot. But it was a blessing to not be recognized and he relished the feeling. Sure, he'd grown out his beard and his hair was a bit longer than the standard military high and tight, and he wore a flannel with the sleeves rolled up instead of red, white, and blue spangles, but it still amazed him that he could pass through the world like this.

Eventually, the conversations became too much, and Steve excused himself to the kitchen to find a drink while he waited for the food to be ready. Really he just wanted some silence, a relief from society. But you'd beat him there, and, ever the busy bee, were scrambling to fill a cooler with more ice.

"Steve!" you exclaimed when you saw him, pleasant surprise plastered across your face. "I'm so glad you came."

You reached out and gave him a hug that took Steve so much by surprise he almost forgot to return it. It was shockingly warm, your arms around his neck, and though he had to stoop down to your level, he wrapped his arms around your waist anyways.

"I hope they didn't overwhelm you out there. My family can be a lot."

"No, not at all. Just needed some quiet. I'll let you get back to work."

"I could actually use your help if you don't mind."

You directed him into the front room toward a stack of boxes, cases of drinks he assumed. When Steve returned to the kitchen, all four boxes piled in his arms, you nearly dropped the glasses in your hands in shock. You recovered quickly, trying to remain polite despite your poorly hidden astonishment, but Steve could already tell you were trying to compute how he had managed to carry over a hundred pounds of drinks in one go.

"You can, um, put them on the counter I guess," you managed to stutter out. Your sudden flustered state was amusing, and Steve noticed he liked the way you seemed almost embarrassed, cheeks flushed pink, though he had no idea why you should feel that way.

But then you picked back up with your normal bubbly chatter, and Steve found himself lingering longer and longer in the kitchen with you until he realized neither of you were doing anything but talking, the work abandoned in lieu of discussions about the town, your stall at the farmers market, and eventually, very naturally, the passing of your parents. The slip into deep conversation was easy, surprisingly easy, easier than it had ever been with anyone else, even though Steve felt himself having to lie a bit about his past. Sure, he could admit to being from Brooklyn and having no family and his stint in the military, but that was about the extent of it. He found himself wanting to tell you more but refraining.

When your cousin called that food was ready from the backyard, the jolt back to reality was abrupt and almost unwelcome, until you smiled and allowed him to put a hand on your back, pulling Steve out to enjoy some food.

As night fell, lights twinkled on in the backyard, and the summer heat reduced to a light thrum as the breeze from the ocean swept through the town. Fireflies glowed in the darkness of the low trees behind the house and you seemed to glow as well, good food and friendly conversation lighting your face up with joy. You caught Steve's eye several times during the night, noticing him watching you from across the garden, but he didn't care. He liked that his attention made you smile.

Finally, the party began to dwindle, as parents with young kids trickled out, followed by the older folks, heading off to bed. Soon, even Aunt Agnes turned in and only the cousins close to you in age remained. They pulled out the stronger bottles of alcohol, sitting in plastic chairs and passing shots around the barbeque that still glowed hot with coals. Steve accepted every pass of vodka that came his way, despite knowing it wouldn't get him even remotely drunk. But the camaraderie of the moment helped ease a bit of that gaping hole in his soul so he clung to it as best he could. And you were sitting next to him, insisting he take a sip, and again he couldn't turn you down.

"And then Jack nearly sunk the boat in the bay," you were saying, telling the story of one of your cousin's finer moments. "Your dad almost killed us."

"Oh you want to bring that up?" he teased. "How about the time you snuck out and Aunt Agnes caught you making out with Michael on the beach."

You blushed bright red at the reminder but protested that was years ago. Then another cousin brought up his own late-night escapades and you devolved into a fit of giggles, leaning so far out of your chair that Steve had to catch you before you slipped right to the ground. Your hand gripped his to recover but, to his surprise, you never removed it, even as you righted yourself in your seat. Your hand just remained in his, your small fingers wrapped in his large ones, as you turned to pester him into telling a story.

"What about you Steve? Tell us an embarrassing story."

He looked around at the group and they leaned in expectantly, curious to know more about the stranger who was quickly becoming a friend. Steve didn't know what to say, most of his stories involving things he wasn't yet ready to reveal about himself. So he picked one from long ago.

"I once picked a fight with a guy at a bar. He was a bit of a Nazi. Got my ass kicked. Fortunately, I had a friend to back me up or he definitely would have killed me."

Everyone looked shocked. "But you're so strong," someone spoke up. "Look at you. How could anyone beat you in a fight?"

Steve shrugged, not wanting to admit to it being a pre-serum story. "Guess I'm a bit of a pacifist."

He turned to you to gauge your reaction. Your eyes were wide, sparkling with mischief and curiosity and a hint of disbelief. For a moment Steve thought you had figured it out, figured out who he was, but then you started giggling again and the only thing keeping you in your seat was his hand in yours.

"That's not embarrassing Steve, that's just the most fucking noble thing I've ever heard. Making us all look bad."

Your teasing words made his heart flutter in his chest and he felt like he could get used to this crowd.

Eventually, the coals of the barbeque started to wink out, and the cousins excused themselves for the night, heading home on foot to the various houses they had come from. It seemed no one lived too far apart in this town. Suddenly, the backyard was quiet.

"Can I give you a hand cleaning up?" Steve asked, not wanting to leave you with the job that looked a bit overwhelming to him.

You looked around and shrugged, a little tipsy but fully aware that it was a big mess. "I'll probably just take care of it in the morning. Can you just help me get the dishes inside?"

Steve obediently gathered up plates and cups, filling the dishwasher in several trips. Finally, the last were inside and you stood in the kitchen filling the sink to wash the pots and pans while Steve tried awkwardly to find a way to say goodbye.

"Um, thank you," he said at last, "for welcoming me into your community. It means a lot. I'll, uh, see you later I guess. Have a good night."

You stopped your scrubbing to look up at him, bubbles up to your elbows, your face flushed from the warm night air and the alcohol.

"Steve?"

"Yeah?"

You paused, hesitant, eyes searching his face for confirmation of a mutual feeling. "Do you ever feel like you were meant to meet someone? For a reason?"

The question hit him like a ton of bricks, and he realized that this night had made him feel exactly that way, that somehow he was meant to end up here and meet you, of all people. Why else had there been an instant connection unless this was just the way you were with everyone?

But your question made him think otherwise. You had to be special. Steve, in that moment, could do nothing but nod in affirmation. And then, like you had both had the same thought at the same moment, you were meeting him halfway, rising on your tiptoes, wrapping your arms around his neck, and kissing him. Really, truly, kissing him.

It was like that missing piece had found itself. You slotted your soul into his and Steve was pressing you to his chest, wrapping his arms around you, and lifting you so he didn't have to bend down to reach you. Your wet hands tangled into his slightly too long hair, pulling him impossibly closer, tasting one another's tongues.

And that was the start of it, of late-night motorcycle rides down the causeway, of Saturdays spent on the beach that tapered into drinks with friends, of dinners filled with your chatter and smiles and laughter, and Steve couldn't believe how lucky he was. He was not used to this feeling, of building friendship and companionship and perhaps even love. And he certainly wasn't used to the intense desire to reach out and pinch your ass every time you showed up at his house wearing those gardening jeans, high-waisted and tight and so goddamn cute.

But he never did, was never sure how you'd react. You kissed him, a lot in fact, every morning that he came over and every night that he dropped you off at home. And you never shied away from telling him how handsome he was, how much you liked his hands and his arms and his short beard, how sweet he was and kind and soft and gentle. So many words, words that made his head spin and his world wobble and sway. But it never came to be more than that, never late at night when he was thinking of you most. And oh lord, did he think about you, how your small frame might fit against his in bed while you spooned and slept, or how tight you'd be if he fucked you until the sun rose. He didn't particularly like sleeping in bed, it was too soft for his taste and he tended to take the couch or even the floor most nights, but he would sleep in bed for you if you would just tell him that was what you wanted.

It was like you were waiting for the right moment. And apparently, that moment was July 4th, during the annual celebration. Steve had whispered to you that it was consequently also his birthday, and had begged you to keep that a secret, but it seemed you had simply forgotten the fact entirely. The day passed without mention that Steve was turning 39 (105 if he'd been really counting) and you kissed him as the fireworks exploded over the ocean, sitting in the sand, hands tangled together. He thought the two of you would sit through the show, but then you were standing and pulling him to his feet as well and slipping away as everyone else's faces were turned to the sky.

At your house, you pulled a small cake from the fridge, just big enough to split between two people, and lit a couple of candles as you sat next to him at the kitchen table. Of course, you hadn't forgotten.

"Make a wish," you said with a happy smile. So he did, hoping this summer would never end. "What did you wish for?"

"Can't tell you, otherwise it won't come true," he replied. But then you pouted and he lost all resolve. "How about I show you instead?"

The look on your face said it all, shock mixed with intrigue and the mischief he had noticed that first night almost a week ago. So he reached down and tugged your chair closer, forcing you to face him with your knees between his. And then he leaned over and kissed you, taking your small cheeks in his large palms, putting all the power of his suppressed feelings behind it. He hoped you understood that he wanted more than to just kiss you, he wanted to occupy space inside you, fill you, complete you. Steve could feel your smile against his lips.

You pulled away. "Did you wish that I was dessert instead of the cake?

"I might have. Should we make my wish come true?"

Again you smiled, bright and guiding like a lighthouse torch, and something in your demeanor changed. Instantly, you were relenting to his touch, letting him pull you further into his lap, straddling his waist and settling into him like that was where you were meant to be. The quiet house, probably as old as him in this New England town, creaked in the silence of the night, only occasionally disturbed by the bang of a firework. But it all faded away with you in his arms.

You fit perfectly, just as Steve had hoped.

"You gonna be gentle with me, big man?" you whispered, that same brilliant smile on your face, wiggling as close to him as possible, the fingers of one hand tangled into the hair at the nape of his neck, the others tracing down the point of his sharp nose and pressing against his soft lips. "You gonna fuck me good? Be a good boy?"

Oh, Christ. Steve nearly lost his mind with your hips so tight against his, lost it at your words that made his heart race and color rise to his cheeks. He could be good. Really damn good. You seemed to know something about him that Steve didn't even know about himself, of how much he liked your praise, your commanding tone. If there was anything he was good at, it was taking orders.

"You just keep telling me what to do and I'm all yours," he mumbled against your fingers, the thump of his heart beating in time with yours somewhere deep in your chest, echoes of one another in the silence of the house. Your hand came to grip his chin, pushing another kiss against his mouth, a kiss with lips parted in a sigh, the mingled palate of you and him, like a glass of wine on the beach and chocolate melted on the tongue, sweeping over taste buds and breathed into starved lungs.

"Mm, you taste so good. Like you were created just for me, don't you think?" you asked.

"Built from the best material, just for you." Built to love you, he wanted to say. Steve shut up instead.

You hummed with pleasure and the hand on his chin gripped a little harder, a little more suggestively. He opened his mouth obediently as you slipped your thumb between his lips, and he let you press it against the soft muscle of his tongue. You wanted him to taste you, so he did, his teeth biting gently down on the pad of your finger, another pleasant hum running down your body and straight to his groin.

He waited for your instruction.

"Undress me."

He complied, obediently. Steve's large hands hiked your sundress up around your waist, revealing the softness of your hips. His fingers smoothed up the length of your thighs, kneading at the flesh of your ass that he had so longed to touch. Your reaction was music to his ears, a soft moan leaving your lips and breathed against his, and Steve closed his eyes, arousal spreading through his body at the thought that he was making you react this way. His length hardened, tight in his pants, pressed against the thin layer of fabric that covered the heat of your core. The thought that he might not fit flickered through his mind but it dissipated at the feeling of your fingers pressing into the rough stubble of his jawline.

Steve's hands continued to travel further up your body, taking time to release the zipper of your dress down the length of your spine, and you answered his quiet, "can I?" by pulling slightly away and lifting your arms over your head. The dress landed somewhere in the kitchen and Steve dragged you close again, arms wrapped around your back to encompass you completely, his lips finding purchase against the skin of your neck.

"Look at you, so perfect," Steve mumbled, face pressed into your hair. If he had looked up he would have seen you blush, but he was too preoccupied letting his senses discover every piece of you he could touch, smell, or taste. He wanted to envelop you, inch by inch, roaming and discovering and satiating his curiosity, but you dragged his attention back to your face.

"Hey, eyes up here," you said, pulling his face toward yours and locking gazes. The intensity of your eye contact was stunning, but there was something else behind those eyes, something other than intense attraction and unsatisfied arousal. Was it doubt? Insecurity? The reason why you kissed him for so many nights and never asked for more? You were searching for something, and it came in the form of a question. "You won't leave me after this, right?"

There it was, the bit of insecurity, a fear of loss, of transience, of lacking control. Someone had hurt you before. Maybe that's why you approached everything in life with such ferocity and sincerity. But Steve would never hurt you like that, never let you feel that way again. He hoped you could see it in his eyes the way he felt about you, but words would be more reassurance. "I'm yours tonight. And tomorrow. And the day and week and month and year after that, if you'll have me that long. Whatever it is you need, I'll give it to you."

You blinked and then smiled and pressed another quick kiss to his lips before murmuring, "touch me" against them. So he did, trailing his hands over every sliver of skin before him. He felt the goosebumps rising in their wake, the downy hair on your legs and arms, the heat of your core against him, grinding almost imperceptibly to find some kind of friction, any friction. He wanted to touch you so desperately, but he got the sense that you needed to take the lead, that it would give the control you felt you lacked. So he slid a hand down the plane of your stomach and stopped just shy of dipping into your panties, waiting for your word. But you were no longer interested in playing games. Your hand found his and pulled him lower, using his fingers to press into the seem of your cunt, and he found you slick and warm with desire.

You urged him forward. "Rub my clit, baby. Slowly. Gently."

Slowly and gently. That he could do. His fingers crept absentmindedly closer to the swollen bundle of nerves and when he landed there, touch soft and circling, you jerked against him, your whole body moving with the force of anticipation and a cry leaving your lips. And though it seemed to burn, seemed to be torture for yourself, you demanded he do it again. Your forehead leaned against his, eyes shut tight, and Steve watched as your face contorted in pleasure as he flicked and circled again and again and again.

"Yes, baby. Perfect. So good. So. Fucking. Good."

Every bit of you was soft, from your neck where he placed his kisses to the curled hair hiding the swollen bud of your clit where his fingers played gently and rhythmically. Even the orgasm that gushed from your smooth cunt and stuttered from your lips was soft. You came with a choked cry as your hand pulled him closer by the back of his head, your tits pressed to his chest. Steve looked up to watch you devolve into pleasure, eyes squeezed tightly shut, your hair messy and swirling about your face, the straps of your bra slipping from your shoulder.

"Bed. Now. Right now," you demanded before you even had a chance to come down from your high. He would have been just as happy to have you in the kitchen, just like that, but Steve picked you up, with you latched to his chest like a koala, and carried you upstairs. You felt feather-light in his arms, easily tossed onto the mattress, your hands reaching out to pull his white t-shirt overhead and grab at the plane of his chest. Even as Steve kissed you again you couldn't stop tracing your fingertips over the lines of his torso, the ridges of his abs, the v-line that led tantalizingly toward the waistband of his pants. He felt his cock twitch and strain against the fabric of his boxers, the rough cotton not enough to stimulate him but enough to make him ache for your pussy. Your fluttering hands were not helping and Steve pictured your thin fingers wrapping around his length.

"Look at you," you said. "You're fucking perfect." It was Steve's turn to blush.

Steve wasn't...inexperienced. But it had been a while, to say the least, since he'd had the time or energy or capacity to even feel attracted to anyone. And even longer, perhaps never, since he felt the way he felt about you, like a bee to a flower, drunk on sweet nectar and high on honey. That was you, the delicate flower, so small and tender beneath him, yet as stunning and resonating and thunderous as the fireworks bursting somewhere overhead.

Fighting to survive was all Steve had known for so long, standing up to the bully and helping the fallen to their feet, that it was a relief to not have to be that man for you. You didn't require protection or help or anything from him at all, and yet you welcomed his presence endlessly. Steve realized he was not a need for you, but a want, and for the first time he felt valued for something real, something that wasn't just his brute strength, but something almost bordering on love. This he understood as he stared at your sweet face, caging you beneath him in bed.

"Earth to Steve," you said softly as your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling his pelvis down toward yours and dragging a deep groan from his lungs. He hadn't noticed he'd stopped kissing you and was getting lost in drinking you in amidst his reverie until your small hand pressed to the back of his neck and gently guided him back to your lips. But you stopped just shy, your eyebrows knitted in concern, taking his leisurely manner for uncertainty. "We can stop if you want."

"No, definitely not."

"Good. Then stop staring and kiss me."

"Where?" he teased.

"Everywhere, big man."

Everywhere was doable. So he started at your lips with one so big and breathless it rivaled Mount Everest. For a moment he let himself forget about everything except how long he could go without oxygen against your lips. But there remained more of you to taste.

Steve's lips connected with your chin and slid down your jawline, taking time to kiss the pulse of your neck and the dip of your clavicle. The fan of his breath tickled across your skin and you giggled, the purest sound of joy bubbling from your lips at his touch. More of that he wanted. So he continued down to the valley between your breasts, full and round despite your stature, removing your bra as he did so, nibbling lightly at the peaks of your chest before replacing his teeth with his pinching fingers and moving lower again. Lower toward the edge of your ribs, arched upward to meet the movement of his mouth, toward the slope of your hips, his sharp nose following each kiss as your underwear joined your bra into the abyss.

Your thighs he kissed, top to bottom, left and right, but it was your ass he couldn't get enough of, filling his grip with handfuls of your flesh, using it to pull you toward the edge of the bed where he kneeled, lifting your hips toward his face, your legs slung one over each shoulder. Steve sunk his tongue into your folds without warning and you gasped, your thighs suddenly squeezing tight around his head.

"Yes, right there," you hissed between ragged breaths.

He responded by burying deeper, gripping you harder, and moaning with delight at your overwhelming taste and scent bombarding his senses. You squirmed but didn't pull away as Steve's hands worked their way back up your stomach to cup the tissue of your breasts, the width of his palms capturing the flesh in one big handful. Your hands covered his, holding them there, forcing him to press you into the bed while his mouth left you twitching and bucking beneath his touch.

And in spite of the urgency with which Steve wished to devour you, he continued on leisurely, doing his best to build you up slowly and gently pick you apart bit by bit the way you had asked him to do it before. Your body betrayed its delight, evidenced enough by the way your legs hooked around him and held him down, but you praised him anyways, rapture falling from your lips between sporadic moans of pleasure.

"Fuck, Steve, you're so good, oh God yes, baby, you're doing so good, taste me like that," you cried, and the words spurred him onward, hurried his movements just slightly, his tongue circling your clit, fingers circling your areolas. He would do whatever you asked, jump off a cliff, take a bullet to the chest, drown himself in a river, if only to please you. But you would never ask anything of him that he couldn't give, and Steve knew the moment you asked for his heart it would be his heart you'd receive. And with that intent in his mind, he made you come undone with a silent cry.

Eventually, the trembling ceased, even as he continued to drink your release with the ministrations of his tongue.

"Oh fuck, you like the way I taste baby?" you asked. His affirmation came out muffled and sloppy between your legs. Even you were breathless, barely getting out the words, but you pushed him nonetheless. "I wanna hear you say it, Steve. You like eating me out? Like drinking my juices?"

"Fuck, yes, you taste like goddamn heaven, darling."

"Kiss me, Steve."

"Yes, ma'am."

He complied without a second thought, crawling back up your body to lean over you, giving you a taste of the heaven he had just dipped into. When your fingers found his belt, he helped you remove the rest of his clothes. And then your hands were roving down his chest again, searching blindly until they found what they were looking for. Steve groaned at your touch on his swollen cock.

You gasped. "Oh, God."

Before Steve could respond you pushed him over onto his back and straddled his thighs, eyeing the length on display before you, fingers around it as if testing the girth and finding them unable to wrap all the way around.

"Oh God," you repeated. A short laugh bubbled up from your throat, the controlling front you'd managed to maintain this whole time slipping from your tone.

"Something wrong?" he asked, feeling slightly inadequate under your scrutiny. Steve sat up to meet your eyes, hands finding their place on your hips.

You gazed at him, eyes wide and glassy. "You're gonna split me in half with that thing."

"We don't have to. Not if you aren't comfortable."

"Oh baby, I'm gonna get real comfortable sitting on your cock." Your sultry grin was back and you rose up on your knees to look down at him. Your other hand swiped between your legs, two fingers gathering the warm, wet juices of your orgasm, before joining the first around his cock. You pumped, rolling a drop of precum off the tip with your thumb and rubbing it down his length, mixing the release of your pleasure with his. Steve barely held back from bucking his hips into your hand. He would save that for your pussy.

"I want you to fill me," you whispered. "I wanna be so fucking full. Just go slowly, okay?"

"Slowly. I got you, baby girl. You can take me. Let me fill you."

Steve lifted your hips and guided you forward, aligning your entrance with his length. You moved at a crawling pace, letting gravity sink your pussy around him, pausing every inch to adjust to his intrusion. His biceps stung with the grip of your fingernails in his skin, but it was a welcome distraction from the rush of pleasure threatening to tip him over the edge prematurely. Agonizingly you dipped further, a cry falling from your lips, until you were fully seated, the tip of him pressed into the cavity behind your cervix. You were warm, so, so warm, and soft and tight and you fit perfectly, just like he knew you would.

"Fuck, Steve, you're so big."

"Am I hurting you?" he asked, wiping away a tear from your cheek with his thumb.

"No, fuck, no, you feel so good. I just--I can't move."

"I got you, darling," Steve whispered, his face falling to your chest and burying it in the soft flesh of your tits. And then he wrapped his arms around your waist and did all the moving for you, lifting you up and sinking you down again, just fast enough to make you gasp for air and whine his name. With every thrust, you cried out in pleasure.

"Don't stop, Steve, please, baby, don't stop."

The fingers of one hand tugged at his hair dampened by sweat, nails scratching lightly across his scalp, as the other fell between your legs. You pressed your fingers around your clit and along your entrance, feeling where Steve's thick cock was pushing in and out of your tight pussy, feeling how big he was, how much he filled you. The meandering touch of your fingers almost sent him straight over the edge.

But it was the slick warmth of your cunt that was too much, and Steve found himself resting his forehead more and more heavily against your chest, willing himself to give you everything you wanted before he even thought about himself. The satin scent of your skin, like talcum and rose and his cologne, intoxicated him with every breath, and he sucked and nibbled on one breast and then the other, mindlessly attending to the most sensitive parts of you. A drop of sweat rolled down your sternum and Steve chased it with his tongue, licking a warm stripe up the center of your chest.

"Tell me what you need, darling."

"Fuck, that's perfect," you whined. "You fuck me so good, baby. Don't stop. Gonna make me come--make me come so hard."

Your fingers pressed against your clit once more and then you were clenching around him, your already tight pussy settling into a pulsing vice grip, your body shaking against his while he kissed the sweat from your collar bones. Steve felt you pumping the life out of him, riding out your orgasm and dragging him closer to his. The hand that had been on your clit moved to cup the weight of his balls, pinching and massaging as they pulled in heavy with the need for release.

"Where do you want me, darling, you gotta tell me."

You practically ordered him to come inside you, told him you wanted to feel him sticky between your thighs all night and it was suddenly Steve's turn to come undone, his hot seed pumping deep inside you, his twitching member finally finding release. He moaned your name against your lips, pulling you into a final searing kiss.

When, after a good twenty minutes of not moving from that position, of breathing heavy and kissing softly, you finally pulled away to lean down and lick his cock clean, the sticky mingling of you and him on your tongue, and he had to fight the urge to get hard again. And when you kissed him again, he tasted that mingling, two souls becoming one, as they were meant to be.

He slept next to you for the first time that night, your small frame encased in his, even though there was no need to share body heat in the dead of summer. But he actually slept, no dreams, no nightmares, no waking up in the middle of the night. Just deep, heavy sleep, your head tucked beneath his chin, back to his bare chest, his hands holding your breasts, and your hands holding his. Tangled together. Souls as one.

[roboticchibitan]

A cottage witch and her dragon 5

(Read from the beginning on AO3 here)

Serenity felt terrible. Absolutely terrible. Two days ago, she had been unusually tired. Yesterday, she had the sniffles and a headache, but drank some of her tea meant for colds and carried on with her day. Today, however, she woke up feeling absolutely awful. Her entire body hurt. She was congested and kept coughing, the deep, mucousy kind of cough that left you short of breath and light headed.

Dragon was very worried. He radiated concern as soon as she woke up, later than usual and sweating in her sheets.

“I’m fine,” she told him, lying. “I just need some tea and I’ll be right as rain.”

Dragon snorted and shared his feelings of disbelief. There was a tinge of “Of course you’re not okay!” coloring his emotions. He was the size of an adolescent kitten now. And in some ways he had matured and in some he was still just a baby.

“Really, I’m okay!” The fit of coughing following this statement betrayed her.

“Fine, I have a cold. I’ll feel better once I get up and moving.”

Dragon climbed up to her shoulder as she sat up. He had wings, but he hadn’t used them yet. Instead, he used his claws to climb up her, or used his surprisingly powerful back legs to jump remarkable heights.

“I have to go to the market this afternoon,” she reminded him. “If I don’t sell anything today I might not make rent. I can’t be sick.”

Serenity made her way to the kitchen area of her main room and turned on her magic kettle, a splurge she had bought several years ago because you could set the temperature it heats to between a range of temperatures. It really did make a difference if you were making certain teas. Most herbal teas could take boiling water, but proper tea, black, green, and white tea, all had optimal temperatures to be brewed at or they were incredibly bitter.

Serenity’s opinion was that you might as well drink coffee if you were going to boil your black tea. For the most part, she was of the sensible opinion that it doesn’t have to be expensive and fancy if it works, but the two places where she did her best to invest in quality goods was tea and yarn. Rough wool had its place, but nothing could compare to a good merino. Alpaca and the like was out of her budget except for special items, but she figured nothing beat a proper wool anyway.

Dragon squeaked at her, worry clear in his little voice.

“It’s” she coughed again. “It’s fine.”

Did the fire go out overnight? No, there was still a bed of glowing coals in the fireplace. Why was it so cold?

A knock came at the door.

Serenity made her way slowly to the door, trying not to pant or cough more. She opened it to reveal Granny Thomas on her doorstep.

“Serenity, dear, I just made some bread and I know you have market today so I just thought I’d drop off a sandwich for you to take - Goodness! You look terrible!”

Serenity smiled at Granny’s scandalized face. She must really look ill if this was Granny’s response.

“I’m fine, just have a cold.”

“Heavens! You look like you’re about to faint right in front of me. Shoo, get inside and eat this sandwich, and I’ll make the tea.”

Serenity was long used to Granny inviting herself in. Not that she had ever minded. It had been rather surprising when she first moved in and Granny brought herself inside right along with her “welcome to the neighborhood” blackberry pie, though.

Granny bustled about in the kitchen half of the room while Serenity sat, exhausted, in her rocking chair.

“Which one of these teas is for colds, dear?” Granny asked as she moved jars about on Serenity’s extensive herb shelves. She did sell home mixed magical teas, after all.

“The one in the pickle jar,” Serenity told her.

“Ah yes, it has a label, I see it now. Oh it has mullein in it, oh good. One moment dear and we’ll get you sorted out.”

Serenity laid back in her chair and closed her eyes. She really did feel absolutely terrible. A moment ago she had been too cold, now the faint glow from the coals in her fireplace felt like a dragonfire blowing directly on her skin.

Granny quickly brought her the tea and then stopped her scurrying to look Serenity over.

“Serenity, dear, how long have you been sick? Here, let me feel your forehead. You look like you have a fever.”

Granny’s hand was cold against her hot skin. It stirred a memory in Serenity’s mind. Her mother had done this when she was ill as a small child, before her mother died when she was ten. The tenderness of a cold hand pressed against her forehead almost brought her to tears. Since when was she so touch starved?

“You definitely have a fever. Do you have one of those temperature doohickeys? A.. what’s it called. A thermometer!”

“No,” Serenity said, “Never needed one.”

“Well this sandwich won’t do. You need soup!”

“You don’t have to make me soup, Granny. I still have to go to the market today. I’ll take the sandwich.”

Granny gasped. “No. Absolutely not. You are not going anywhere. For one, you’ll pass out trying to walk there, and two, you’ll get the entire market sick.”

“I have to go or I won’t make rent this month. Besides, what about you? Won’t I get you sick?”

“Never you mind about that. Now, chicken soup is best but I don’t have chicken right now. I’ll have to ask Mrs Roberts if she has any to share. She’s a kind lady, she’ll share if she has any. Besides, my son fixed the leak in her bathroom. Neighbors help each other and all that.”

“Granny,” Serenity objected.

“Nope! Not listening! Now, go get back in bed. I’ll be back with soup ingredients. Take your tea with you.” She turned stern. “Mark my words, if you aren’t back in that bed when I come back, I’ll hex your favorite handmade socks to always feel wet no matter what you do.”

“Dastardly,” Serenity laughed, getting up to follow her orders.

Serenity crawled back in bed, coughing as she laid down. “Ugh. I feel so terrible.”

Dragon stood in her doorway, holding his favorite rabbit.

“Dragon, what’s that for?”

He held it out, as if offering it to her.

“For me?”

Dragon nodded.

“You are giving me your rabbit? Because I don’t feel good?”

Dragon toddled over on his back legs, holding the rabbit carefully in his front paws. When he got to the bed, he leapt up, landing next to her with a soft thump. He held his rabbit out and rubbed it on her face.

“Thank you, buddy.” She took the little rabbit in her hands and tucked it into the blankets with her, as if tucking in a baby.

Satisfied, Dragon crawled up next to her head, gave her a soft headbutt, and settled down, eyeing her warily, as if she was a child who might misbehave.

Serenity didn’t even remember falling asleep, but she woke to the sound of her door opening and voices in her kitchen.

“Serenity? Are you awake? No, don’t get out of bed,” Granny called. “Mrs Roberts is here with me. She had some chicken and potatoes for soup!” Granny appeared in the doorway. “She’s going to go to market for you today. Where do you keep your items for sale?”

Serenity had, at this point, given up on doing anything today. She felt faint and fuzzy headed, and Granny was definitely right about the fever. Besides, just once, just for today, for the first time in a very long time, she was being taken care of. And that was something precious to her that she just couldn’t give up.

Mrs Roberts poked her head into Serenity’s bedroom. “Goodness, you really are sick,” she exclaimed. “Well, you tell me where your goods for market are and I’ll take care of everything. I’ll make sure they sell out!”

Serenity coughed and then smiled. “They’re in the bins on the shelves next to the fireplace. Second bin on the right, middle shelf. It’s mostly fireproof potholders and the rags I sell.”

“The ones that absorb more no matter how wet they are?”

“Those are the ones.”

Mrs Roberts disappeared from the doorway and there was another, very enthusiastic knock on the door.

“What are you doing here?” Serenity heard Granny exclaim from the other room.

“I’ve come to play with Dragon!” A child’s voice. It must be Lucy, the little girl who lived two houses down. She always ran around the neighborhood, bouncing between neighbor’s houses looking for entertainment. And the neighbors, mostly retired folks, enjoyed the boisterous life she brought to otherwise quiet days.

“You can’t play with Dragon right now. Serenity is sick.”

“Awwww. Serenity is sick? Is she gonna be okay?”

“She’ll be fine. She has the flu. We’re making her soup right now. You better go home so you don’t get sick.”

Lucy cheerfully agreed and ran off, probably to find another neighbor’s home to invade. Mrs Roberts departed, promising once again that she would sell all Serenity had to sell.

“I never sell out,” Serenity had said.

But Mrs Roberts got a twinkle in her eye and said “Just wait.” And off she went.

There was another knock at the door. This time it was Liz, Lucy’s mother. The two of them had lost her husband in a work accident when Lucy was five. They lived off of his widow’s benefits and the odd charity from neighbors and family.

Serenity felt herself slipping into a doze. Liz hadn’t come to see her, apparently, because she stayed in the kitchen, talking to Granny Thomas in hushed tones. Serenity fell asleep before she left.

Serenity spent the day sleeping, waking up only to eat and drink more tea, at Granny’s insistence. She really had no appetite but being fussed over was a rare luxury she only allowed herself because she was sick.

When Serenity finally woke, the light outside her window was beginning to fade. It wasn’t dusk yet, but it would be soon. She got up, taking her blanket with her, and stepped into the other room.

Granny was there, darning her socks again. Sock darning was a never ending process, after all.

As Serenity opened her mouth to say good evening, there was yet another knock at the door.

“You sold out!” Mrs Roberts said excitedly, and just a little smug.

“How did you manage that!” Serenity asked, incredulous.

“My kids may be grown with kids of their own, but once a mom, always a mom. You just have to find the right customer, one who you can tell respects their mom, and then you give them The Mom Voice and they have to buy it.”

“Incredible,” Serenity said, wondering in the back of her mind if her mom had done The Mom Voice. Her aunt, who adopted her before also passing away during the late years of Serenity’s apprenticeship, certainly did.

“Yes, well, I won’t keep you. Here’s the cash.” She pulled out a pretty embroidered purse, Serenity’s own work, and handed her a bundle of bills and some change.

“Thank you, Mrs Roberts,” Serenity said wholeheartedly. “I don’t think I could have made rent without your help.”

“Of course,” said Mrs Roberts. “Your joint tea has helped my husband go for nature walks and hold his tools again. And you don’t charge enough for it,” she added sternly. Her face softened. “Well, neighbors take care of each other. Friends. Friends take care of each other.”

The tears threatening to spring to Serenity’s eyes were definitely a result of being sick and overly sensitive. Definitely.

“Thank you,” she said quietly. “Thank you.”

Mrs Roberts smiled kindly at her, understanding the emotions in her quiet voice. She was a mom, after all.

“I’m going to go lay back down,” Serenity announced, still emotional.

“Good, I’ll bring you some more tea in a few minutes, I just need to talk with Mrs Roberts for a moment,” Granny said.

Serenity nodded and went back to lay down. Once again there were hushed voices. Then the sound of the door opening and closing, and Granny brought in some more of her tea.

“Here you go dear,” Granny said.

“Granny,” Serenity said. “Thank you.”

“Well of course! The entire neighborhood took care of me when I sprained my wrist last winter, don’t you remember?”

“No, it’s not that….” Serenity hesitated. “It’s… I haven’t been taken care of in a very long time. My parents… Well, you know they died when I was young. And I started my apprenticeship at twelve, and my teacher wasn’t the nurturing sort. So it’s just…. Something I didn’t know I missed, that’s all.”

Granny smiled softly and put a hand on Serenity’s shoulder. “We might not be related, and of course I’ll never replace your family, but you’re one of my people. I’m always happy to take care of you.”

Serenity took a shaky breath and smiled, nodding.

“Now, I’ll stay here for another hour and finish darning those socks. The state of your socks my dear, not pretty.”

Serenity smiled. “Thanks, Granny.”

Serenity drifted off to sleep that night, still feeling terrible but reassured on a deep, subconscious level that she was not alone. She lived in a kind neighborhood, where people with too little worked together to make everything just enough. And if all of her neighbors ended the day several fireproof oven mitts richer…. Well… Serenity would never know.

[thesameasbe4]

Hunting the White Wolf

What Bucky might have been up to in Wakanda.

I hadn’t noticed the sun going down. And that didn’t happen often. Always, I was thinking about logistics, how to get places, could I do it before dark, how much would it cost to travel that far out of the town? It was good to see Sarah and her kids. They were growing up so fast and I was glad to see her husband was still around. It may have been my jaded expectations of so many men from this village, but I had not expected him to remain long. But Sarah is one of the smartest people I know, of course she chose well.

Besides catching up, we had also laid out a plan for a visit to a neighboring village. She kept calling it a favor to her, but I would have done it no matter what. That was my job, I trained local nurses in psycho-social recovery from war traumas. And there were folks in every village that needed this recovery. Wakanda’s strategic decision to open up to the world may have been a political win but the sacrifice was the wellness of their own people, a proud people unused to talking about their emotions. I hadn’t been in Wakanda long, having been transferred from my long-term position in Northern Zambia at the request of the UN. Wakanda seemed to have all of the resources it needed to provide in-country care, but I didn’t have much choice about the move, so I went.

This village I was to go to next was in the shadow of the capitol city and many of its locals had lost family or become paraplegic after the battle for the infinity stones. Much of Sarah’s family was from there and she knew how badly they were hurting.

…

The journey had not been as harrowing as many I had undertaken. I had taken a motorbike all the way there, but the roads got better, widened and paved smooth the closer we came to the capitol. A great big woman clad in a bright pink kitenge rushed over to my motorbike as we pulled into the stand. She helped me with my bags as I paid my driver. There was much hand shaking and hugging as I followed Mama Hassan down a footpath. In the next several hours I learned Mama was much like Sarah, or rather that Sarah was much like her aunt. She was smart as a whip and also very gentle. I ate well, doing my best to at least taste all the dishes she put in front of me while we spoke of those hurting. We discussed who to visit and I explained that my aid model was to offer guidance to local medical professionals or traditional healers on how to care for emotional trauma. This ensures that the knowledge empowers those who are already trusted and have a good sense of community already.

“And there is of course the White Wolf.” Mama said feigning indifference. I cocked my head to one side, pausing over the basin in which I was washing the dishes outside of her small mud brick home. That name sounded familiar, but I was not sure why.

“What is the White Wolf, Mama?” I asked.

“It is a who. He fought in the battle with our king and army. It is said that he has lived many lives, and many of those lives were spent killing.”

“He is Wakandan?”

“Oh no, he is like you, a Mzungu.” I nodded, smiling inside, people in this part of the world were not shy about noticing skin color, and I couldn’t blame them. For many, I was the only white skinned person they had e er seen.

“This Mzungu lives in the village?”

“Sometimes, he often goes off for many months, but he always returns, and he carries back with him this look of weariness. The children started calling him White Wolf,” she chuckled to herself. “They say it is because he is white and has hair on his face like a wolf, but when I look at him I see a hunger in his eyes that is really terrifying.”

…

We visited ten families the next day, and the day after, and the day after that. We listened to many many stories of loss and hardship. I did not hear a resounding pride for Wakanda, like their leadership was projecting to the outside, no I heard frustration that after remaining a protected and sacred place for so many years, Wakanda had the same stories of wartime that many of their poorer and poorly led neighbors experienced. And in all of this, I witnessed Mama Hassan soothe, cry with them, and love them all. These people didn’t need me, and I got the sense they tolerated me only because of Mama Hassan. And she was who they needed.

After a few weeks, this is what I told her, and she hesitantly agreed to become the trauma healer for her village. We worked side by side. We continued visiting together in the mornings, I would listen mostly, and we would return to her home in the afternoons and work in her crop fields and discuss the techniques she used and some other things she might try.

One evening, in the light of a coal fire, she spoke his name again. “It is time you visited him. I heard he returned last week.”

“Ok, sure, we can go tomorrow, unless his home is far, we may have to wait a few days.” Mama shook her head.

“No, I will not go with you. I have enough work here with my own people. As you say, healing must come from within a community. He lives in peace with us here, but his is not one of our own.”

“Are you saying that Mzungus must take care of one another?” I asked, lifting an eyebrow.

“No Maggie, I am saying you are the professional, so I give you the difficult case and I will stick to what I know.” I chuckled, trying to shrug off the discomfort of her sudden seriousness.

“Okay Mama, I will go while you do the regular visits. How will I find him.”

“He is far, he has a hut on the bank of the lake. If you get lost, just ask the children, they all know where he stays.”

…

So I departed in the opposite direction of mama the next morning, hunting the White Wolf. This was beautiful land, and I hadn’t ventured in this direction often since arriving, so I relished the far reaching view of the green mountains. Few clouds were in the sky today and as the sun rose higher, I drew my kitenge up over my head hoping I wouldn’t burn badly. I also did this in areas where I hoped not to be so quickly identified as white. The closer I drew to the lake, the tighter I pulled my wrap, unsettled by what Mama had told me of this man, unsure of what I would find.

I could see a hut about half way around the lake, it stood alone, and from my distance, I saw no movement. I called to two small children playing on a rock close by and asked if they knew where White Wolf lived. They nodded wide eyed at me.

“Are you the wife of White Wolf Mama?” One of the children asked me.

I rolled my eyes a little while I dug in my bag for sweets. Handing each of them one, I shook my head, “No, I am a friend.” Well, I hoped he would receive me as a friend.

I slowed my pace as I drew closer, not wanting to surprise him or be caught off guard myself. But as I finally reached the hut, there was no one around. He was likely out making a living, or hunting, or at the market. I poked around as much as I dared, noticing a small stack of wood on one side of his hut as well as a clothes line strung from his roof to a pole a few meters away with a fluttering row of garments hanging there. I was surprised the homestead was so traditional, many of the Mzungus I knew sought walled in compounds with running water and electricity.

I wandered close to the lake and saw a three legged stool placed there. I wondered if he fished with a rod? Finally beginning to feel the long journey in my feet, I took a seat on the low stool, letting my bag fall next to me.

The sun drew higher and then began to lower again and my stomach rumbled. I pulled out a bottle of water and the chapati Mama had packed for me.

As I began to eat, three figures appeared around a corner out of the trees at the far end of the lake. One was tall and muscular and the other two were children who ran ahead and played with each other. All three were still in the shadow of the tree line and I could not make out their faces, but the man wore a blanket in the traditional way, tied around one shoulder so I thought it might be a hunter or farmer heading home for a meal.

Finally, the light fell on the man’s face and I swallowed. It was the White Wolf. I stood quickly, giving them long notice of my presence. Finally they reached me, the two children first. They ran over to me, unafraid and greeted me respectfully. I returned their greeting and then offered them the rest of my lunch, which they ate excitedly. Then I looked up, preparing myself to meet the White Wolf.

He stopped several feet from me, favoring his right side slightly. But he was not frightening, in fact his presence was calm, yes it was a concentrated, intense calm, but fierceness was not the same thing as dangerous. Wanting to show my good will, I removed the kitenge that had been covering my head and torso. I nodded at him, “You are the one they call the White Wolf?” His brow furrowed and I wondered if I had misspoken.

“Who is seeking the White Wolf?” He made a half circle around me, placing his body between me and his home.

“The people here call me Maggie, at home they call me Margaret.” There is silence between us still so I continue, “I seek the White Wolf in good faith. I am living with Mama Hassan in the village.”

His face did not change, but he stepped closer, “The people here call me the White Wolf.” He sighed as he glanced toward something behind me. “You have lost my helpers.”

I turned around to see that the two boys had discovered the sweets I had packed for the children and were already busy shoving them all in their mouths. “Oh dear,” I laughed.

“Their mother is not going to be happy with me,” he muttered. “I hope you came ready to work.” He held up a cord that was tied to his waist on which two wild birds, each about the size of a chicken, dangled. The man definitely didn’t speak very much.

I shrugged at him. “Shall I pluck them or start the fire?” I asked gamely.

It was strange to work side by side with this mysterious person, each of us foreigners in this place, yet even more foreign to each other without it. We prepared food from Wakanda, I brought rice and sugar as is traditional in Wakanda when visiting. Some of what we spoke was even in the language of these people.

I had finished washing the rice and handed the pot to him to place on the fire. I noticed he reached across with his right arm, odd since he had to put down a knife to take it from me. I watched him closer for a few minutes, my eyes finally clearing when I realized he only had one arm. I had assumed his left arm was obscured by the tribal blanked that he wore, not that it was concealing a lost limb.

The two boys ran by me and the Wolf spoke loudly to them in their own language to play somewhere else, that the fire would burn them and their mother would be very upset.

“Are they your boys?” I asked.

“They wouldn’t be so dark if they were mine,” he said.

“I know, but their mother, is she-”

“She is my neighbor,” he gestured to the direction they had come from earlier, where a small collection of huts stood. “When I was first placed here they would dare each other to see who would come the closest. Finally, one of them came close enough for me to offer him breakfast and now it seems like they never leave. And their mother is kind, she helped me learn how to live here.”

He set the rice on the coal stove and sat back on another short three footed stool. “So you like it here?” I asked.

“I like that it is simple.”

When the food was ready I called the boys to come eat, though they were already fairly full from the sweets. I took a bite from on e of the boys plates, putting the rice and meat into my mouth with my fingers in the traditional way, trying to entice the child to eat.

After the meal that was mostly eaten by me and my mysterious host, the Wolf sent the boys away to play. “So what is it you came for, Maggie, certainly not my cooking.” I noticed he had drawn a veil over his eyes again, he stood emotionless. So I rose to meet him as best I could.

“I am seeking to help my neighbor.”

“How?” He growled, for the first time showing a glint of feralness.

“Perhaps I should say that you are helping me, you see I am working with Mama Hassan on healing the spirit of this village after the battle. You know well how different it is now.” I paused, waiting for a glint of recognition in his eyes but they hardened further.

“I do not want your healing.”

“You misunderstand.” My mind raced for words that would set him at ease. “It’s only that these people don’t need me, they don’t want to talk to me, and why should they. They need people like Mama Hassan to listen and comfort them, not Wazungu.”

“So what do you want from me?”

I thought for a second, “Company, companionship.”

He laughed bitterly. “No.”

“You are an outsider. You see these people differently than they see each other. You can help them heal.” He had turned his back to me and gazed out at the water and I watched as a dry breeze that swept at his shoulder length hair, pulling it into is face. Feeling a bit like we were in uncharted waters, I continued, “You know deeply what it means to be wounded by violence, I know that you see it in these people.”

He spoke no words, though in his silence I heard him ask, “What would you need from me?”

“Let me work along side you, tell me things about the people around us, the things you know are below the surface.”

He dug his heel into the ground. “I’m a soldier, I don’t think deeply, I follow orders.”

“That’s not-“ he held up a hand to silence me.

“No,” he said again and retreated to his hut. I gathered my things and made the long journey back.

…

I recounted my odd exchange to Mama. “You cannot give up on that man, he is too much alone with himself.”

“So what do you think I should do now? He has already said no,” I asked, short of threatening him, I didn’t think he wanted to see me around anymore.

“I know the family he works for, the Mama is raising eight children on her own. She says the White Wolf scared her very much at first, though I don’t think she had ever seen a Mzungu before, but anyway, she said that he shows up every morning and works in her field and then goes home for his lunch then returns in the afternoon and tends her sheep. He doesn’t speak but to ask questions about work. She says he can speak well in our language, and two of her boys love him and follow him every where he goes.”

I smiled, “I met them,” and I can’t imagine someone who is a threat would put up with those two.”

“There, you see, his is trying to heal with what he knows, you cannot abandon him even if he doesn’t know its for his own good.”

So I went.

The next day I began my walk in the pre dawn. When I reached the lake, the sun was just coming up and I walked just in the tree line, keeping my distance from the Wolf’s homestead. I arrived as the family was eating breakfast. The two boys from the day before were sat on mats on the ground eating out of communal bowls with their younger siblings. But they called out to me when I stepped into their line of sight. A gaunt, slender woman stood over a hot fire, stirring at a large pot. I made my introductions and my greetings from Mama Hassan and that I was here to work with the White Wolf. Nodding, she motioned up the hill to where her rows of maize began. Half way into this plot was the one armed figure I was here for, the wind tangling in his hair. I shouldered the hoe Mama had lent me and I stepped toward him, hoping I would make it back down the mountain alive at the end of the day.

We worked silently. I stopped every once in a while to take a draw from my bottle of water, but the Wolf didn’t stop. He had maintained a calm exterior though a muscle in his jaw worked all morning. As the sun warmed us, I approached, offering him my bottle of water, though it felt more like a white flag. He glanced up but did not stop. So I lowered my gift and retreated to my side of the field and carried on.

For many days we continued in this way. We would work around one another, never speaking, never interfering. At mid day I would speak with Mama and then begin my journey home to work with Mama Hassan. The days languished and it seemed nothing would change, but Mama said to keep steady, that nothing moved quickly in Wakanda but war. So every day I would go, tiptoeing around the restrained force I sensed bubbling within the White Wolf.

…

I awoke to a persistent shaking of my shoulder one morning. Well, it would be many hours before the sun would rise, I sat up in my pallet on the floor, searching for Mama, feeling the tension in me grow as I realized the presence of several bodies in the room. “Mama,” I called, steeling myself for her distress.

“I am here Maggie, do not worry,” she replied touching my shoulder again. “These people are from the capital.” I rose to my feet and someone flicked on a portable light.

“How can I help?” I asked, the light had exposed the concern on the faces of two visitors.

A young woman spoke up. “You have been working with the The White Wolf?”

I nodded slowly, “Something like that, it is very slow going.”

“Well we need your consult.”

“What has happened to him?” I asked.

“Ma’am, we do not have time to talk, I shall explain on the way.” With that, I was ushered out of Mama’s cottage and into some kind of transporter that hovered over the rocky ground.

Apparently they had been developing an arm for the white wolf to replace an old one he used to have that was part of his time as a brainwashed agent. He had been going up to the capitol most evenings to complete testes to further the process of this new arm. They had just attached it when he seemed to go into some kind of trance. The techs believed that their systems may have been hacked and when they introduce the arm, they reintroduced his programming.

I frowned, “Why do you need me?”

“We have found no breaches in cyber security. So the next logical thing is that it is post traumatic reaction.”

I responded with an interested “hm.”

I was forever fascinated by the duality of Wankadan technological sophistication and how it was valued along side the natural resources of the countryside. I was whisked into a great building on an electromagnetic train to a quiet lab. I peered through the two way glass at the figure of a restrained man. He was still, but tense. I knew it was the Wolf when I felt the rage rolling off of him.

“How long has he been restrained like this?” I asked.

“For several hours ma’am, we started by trying to remove the arm when he became agitated but he would not let us get close enough. This was the best we could do.”

“I would like to go in alone.” After quiet consultation amongst themselves, the guard around me consented, reminding me they would be just on the other side of the door if anything went awry.

So I stepped in. “Hello,” I said cheerfully, “I hear you have had a difficult couple of hours.” I made as much noise with my feet as I could till I was in his line of vision. “I am here just to talk with you,” I continued, searching for recognition in his eyes, though I saw nothing but cold anger. Maintaining a distance, I said, “would you tell me your name?” Silence.

I had become fascinated by this work through witnessing the work of traditional storytellers. I used to watch them weave together stories of great struggle and relieve the stress of violence through recounting not just the harm done to their own people but how they recovered in body and soul. I figured if this storytelling could work for centuries, why would it not work here. So I told him his own story, I told him of a young man that sought to serve his country and did, saving many lives. Yet in saving these lives he was captured and forced to turn against those he had been devoted to saving. I talked about how deeply they had reached inside of this man, and how he had forgotten the person he had been before, how he had forgotten about the good he had done. I could feel the tension and anger as his steely rage pressed against his restraints.

So I took a deep breath and stepped closer, my eyes searching for his and when he glared at me I refused to look away. And I told him of how even though he had forgotten, others did not. That they had gotten him away finally from the clutches of the evil men and that the young, bright hero was still there, even after all of that time.

“What is your name?” I asked him taking yet another step closer.

After a long silence, he spoke, “I am the Winter Soldier.”

I was so close now I could touch him, “no, what is your name?” I reached my hand out and rested it on his forehead. I gently swept the hair out of his face, maintaining my composure as I made contact with his hot skin.

“My name is Maggie, and we have been working together on a farm. You have made friends with two little boys who love to hang around you. What is your name?”

“I- I am the White Wolf,” he stammered, the humanity beginning to return to his tone. I pressed on.

“Many people call you that here, but that is not your name. What is you name Sergeant?” I asked gently, my hands moving from his face to his shoulders, one hot flesh the other cold metal.

“My name is Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes,” he said finally, “but you can call me Bucky.” I smiled and stepped away.

“Welcome back Bucky, we missed you.” As Bucky began to notice his surroundings the recognition of what must have happened registered in his eyes and he sighed, looking toward the window where he knew people were observing him from.

“I am so sorry.” Then he looked at me. “How did you get here?”

“I heard you might need a friend, but the boys were still asleep, so I had to come instead.” I winked at him. And a corner of his mouth turned upward in a very charming way.

…

The next few weeks were slow but I sensed that the first night in the capitol had been a breakthrough for him. I stayed on and helped to observe his progress. Most of his episodes now took the form of dreams. They had been apprehensive about letting him sleep in private, converting the lab to a bedroom instead where he could be observed. After much discussion and advocacy on my part I persuaded them to move him to a suite with two rooms. He would stay in one and a doctor or carer could stay in the other, with guards waiting outside if desired. Bucky seemed okay with this transition so we moved ahead with the plan.

I returned to my quarters a while later only to find guards hauling my things out, worried I had done something wrong I rushed over to find out what was being done. “We were instructed to move your things to the experimental suite with Sergeant Barnes, Ma’am,” the guard replied.

With more questions now, I followed the guards hauling my few belongings down a series of halls. I met the doctors I had been working with outside of the suite they had been outfitting for Sergeant Barnes. After the appropriate greetings were made, I jumped right in, “So whats this about my things being moved?”

“Well, ma’am,” one of the doctors began, “as you have suggested we are trying to make this arrangement as comfortable for sergeant Barnes as we can. Since we will not be surveilling him in these quarters we decided we needed someone to be with him at all hours. We thought you fit the bill.”

“Hmm, I see.” I stammered, “Im sorry but I still don’t understand.”

The doctor looked at me with sympathy. “Well, for several reasons, putting someone else in there is a good will gesture, hopefully the Sergeant will believe us when we tell him we aren’t surveilling him if there is another way of monitoring him that he can see. Furthermore, you have had the most breakthroughs with him, he seems comfortable with your presence and therefore you are the best option for him to establish healthy rest patterns. And none of our people were especially keen to do it.”

Well that was quite an explanation. All I could do was repeat myself, “I see.”

…

I had grown used to living in close quarters with people I didn’t know that well since my stay in Central Africa. People liked to live simply, spending most of their time outdoors and retiring in the evenings to small shelters. But this felt different. The space I shared with Bucky was spacious and much grander than either of us was comfortable with. We each had our own suite with a living space separating them. We were both happy to be out of there during the day. I would return to the village several days a week and continue to work with Mama Hassan and even make a few rounds with her. Those were the times that felt most normal. I would return and receive reports from the doctors and scientists working with Bucky.

He also looked worn out by the end of each day, I was not comfortable with the poking and prodding they did to him, but when I asked him, he was insistent that he trusted them and that he had to develop patience and endurance of mind if he was going to be able to function in the world again.

I supposed he was used to these ultra clean, militarized spaces, but I had first met him as the White Wolf, clad in herder blankets and tanned from the African sun. When I looked at him now, it was as if he had lost his wolf.

I awoke before my alarm one morning, the sun not yet up. I tossed around a bit but soon gave up on the thought of returning to sleep. Pulling on a pair of sweat pants and an undershirt, I shuffled into the living room. I prepared some coffee and was humming to myself. I turned to grab a mug from the cabinet and froze, noticing for the first time the outline of a figure looking out of the great window on the other side of the room. From my distance he looked like a statue, solid, firm, immortal. Cautiously I moved closer.

He was clad in sweat pants similar to the ones I was wearing, but he had no shirt. His metal arm glowed in the soft light beginning to peak above the mountains. I stopped a few feet from him and we watched the sun come up together.

“They say Wakanda has the best sunrises,” Bucky said, breaking our silence, “I have seen a lot of sunrises.” He raised his flesh hand and laid it on the window, like he was trying to touch the sky as it burned gold, and red, and purple. “The sunrises are also beautiful in Siberia. The difference is, you wait and you wait and finally, the sun rises and you are so relieved that it has risen that however it looks, it is the most beautiful thing you have ever seen. Here, the sun will rise every day, and yet every day, it is the most beautiful thing.”

“I think you were a poet in another life Sergeant,” I said. He glanced over at me then looked down with an embarrassed smile.

…

That afternoon the reports showed some regression in his responsiveness. I suggested that it may just be fatigue, that before they reattached his arm he did well living in the village, perhaps a return to that environment would encourage him. They were not yet ready to release him, even for a few hours, among civilians, but they consented to a few days of rest.

I delivered this news to him that evening. He nodded and retired to his quarters like he always did. I knew he didn’t often show emotion, but I thought he would be happier, or relieved, or something. I made myself dinner, and continued to think it over, had I overstepped?

Having worked myself into an anxious tizzy, I rose and walked to his quarters, knocking gingerly on the door. I waited a few moments and he did not answer. I knocked again and the door opened quickly, startling me, as did the figure on the other side.

“Ma’am,” said Bucky, a towel wrapped around his waist and his hair still dripping from the shower.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I am disturbing you, I-“

“No it’s fine, hold on.” He closed the door and a few seconds later opened it again, he was now clad in his sweatpants and was pulling a black t shirt over his head. “What’s the problem?”

“Oh, um, no problem, I just wanted to check with you about the next couple of days. It is difficult for me to tell what you are thinking and I hope I didn’t make a call that you are uncomfortable with.”

He shifted his weight so that his metal arm leaned against the door frame above us. “I don’t do well with being idle. That’s all.”

I nodded, “So then I guess we will have to keep ourselves occupied for the next few days.”

His eyes clouded for a moment, “I have to stay here then?” He asked, sounding let down.

I wiped the smile off my face, realizing his frustration, despite how gamely he was taking all of these regulations and precautions. “Im afraid so, but I promise, it will be a break, we will find ways for this to be easy going and un-stressful.”

He nodded, “After all the time I spent avoiding you, I now have to find a way to be with you non stop for two days.” The words caught me by surprise. I had by no means forgotten our early interactions in the village, but our situations had changed. I opened my mouth to speak but I caught his eye and there, in his icy blue stare, was the Wolf again. And I was the one locked in his gaze. I backed away, realizing how big this man really was and how much damage he could do before help came, end even after it came.

“S-sergeant,” I stammered as he moved to close the space between us, but I kept backing up till the back of my legs ran into some piece of furniture. “Sergeant Barnes, tell me, what is it that unsettles you? What am I doing?” He stopped mere inches from me.

“I can deal with the Wakandans, I’m in their home, they keep me here for the sake of their own people. They seek my rehabilitation because of their King. You? I know nothing about you. You insert yourself here, you know more, you have more success, you become indispensable. I’ve dealt with your kind before, you think I don’t know what an invader looks like, the tactics of kindness?” He was leaning over me now, his hands gripping my arms. These last words he whispered into my ear. I had seen many things in my career, but I had not anticipated this.

“I- I’m not indispensable, and if this is success it doesn’t feel like it,” I sob, all pretense of composure gone. He had shaken something loose in me that I hadn’t known was there. “You think we are so different?” I paused, more sobs racking my frame. “Everywhere I go, every country, every situation, there is distress, and it’s my job to discover it, to dig it out of the rubble and ashes of long since faded tragedy. I bring the possibility of healing but only after a journey of pain and sadness.” I gasp a few times, taking in deep gulps of air. “Bucky,” his grip has loosened and I feel dizzy so I raise my hands to his chest to steady myself as he meets my eyes.

Embarrassed by my loss of composure, I step away from him, scrubbing my eyes with the heels of my hands. “Um,” I clear my throat and bravely look up just above his hairline, avoiding his eyes, “I apologize Sergeant, that was very unprofessional of me. I must insist that we continue this conversation tomorrow, I need some time to collect myself.” I turn away from him, striding quickly to my door but I feel a hand close around my arm and I stop again, feeling exactly like the fake he had just called me. All I wanted was to be back in the village with Sarah, with people who know me, where I felt safe.

I could feel him trying to get my attention but I couldn’t do it, I couldn’t look at him, nor could I leave, so I sank to the ground, wrapping my arms around my knees and hiding my face, more tears blurred my eyes. And then I hear shuffling behind me and something sturdy leans against my back. Slowly I calm myself, allowing my muscles to loosen slightly, my back to straighten, and my vision to clear. As I look around me I see that I am seated in front of the great window. I peer at my reflection, blinking a few times as I realize what the pressure is at my back, Bucky has sat down behind me, leaning his broad back against my own.

Neither of us speaks as we stay there, staring out into the darkness of night.

…

I blink in the morning light, disoriented at first as I remember the events of the night before. I couldn’t remember going to bed, I wondered how I got here. Even more curious was the smell coming from the kitchen. Tentatively, I crept out of bed and cracked the door to my suite, breathing deeply the smell of bacon. It had been a long time since I had eaten food from America. Where did it come from? I hadn’t ordered anything and the Sergeant usually ate special nutrient rich food prepared for him.

But drawing closer, I saw he was there over the stove, also still in his clothes from the night before. I kept my distance, my hand not straying far from my door knob. The tension of the night before seemed to have dissipated, but I had been working with PTS too long to trust that feeling.

“Good Morning,” Bucky called to me as he turned off the burners and dished up two plates of eggs, bacon and toast. He placed them across from each other at the table, then walked towards me. He looked tensely at the floor for a moment before he spoke, “Food from home always helps with my bad days, I thought you might like a little reminder of your home this morning.” He gave me one of those rare lopsided smiles. Then not waiting for me, he returned to the table, letting me make my own way there if I wanted.

I followed at a distance, finally taking a seat after he had settled in. He was a very good cook.

The food was good, the conversation not so much. I still felt tense and was worried about our argument the night before.

I had cleared my schedule for the next two days so that I could be present for the Sergeants two days off. I thought it might be nice to stay in for a weekend, but now I was petrified of rattling around this space with him.

After breakfast I pulled out my laptop, deciding that if this wasn’t going to be relaxing I could at least get some work done. This particular soldier came with a lot of paper work so I retrieved my laptop and settled in on the couch. It wasn’t long before some slow jazz began to float out of the speakers. I looked up and Bucky was walking toward me. “Maggie, would you dance with me?” Confused, I closed my computer and stood, taking the hand he offered me.

He drew me into his chest, his metal hand holding mine and his other hand on my lower back. “It turns out that I haven’t done much apologizing in the last fifty years,” he said quietly, his words vibrating his chest. “So now is as good a time as any,” he persisted, stepping away from me for a moment. “I was out of line last night, I’m sorry.”

I sighed, “Unfortunately, you must not have been, I think you hit a nerve, I usually have thicker skin than that, and I knew you were agitated, thats why I pushed.” He shook his head.

“That is not an excuse for my actions, and don’t think I haven’t noticed that despite how scared you were, you didn’t call for the guards.”

I could think of nothing to say, so we just moved together, swaying with the whims of the horn in the background.

…

The first day was quiet, we each kept to ourselves, Bucky doing some exercises in one corner while I continued my work. In the early evening my stomach rumbled and I swear the super soldier must have heard it because not a minute later he came over and asked if he should cook dinner. I suggested I might since he had cooked earlier, and he countered that we should do it together.

Rattling around in a kitchen with a huge man was not something I was used to and this particular man took up a lot of space. Many times he reached over me to grab things out of the high cabinets, his torso brushing my back ever so slightly, the clean scent of him cutting through the smells of the food cooking.

Finally I couldn’t stand it anymore and I suggested we watch a movie while we ate and Bucky agreed. So I readied the screen as Bucky finished up in the kitchen. He joined me on the couch a few minutes later. I had no idea what kind of films he would like but was surprised when he continued to point out the horror movies.

“Um, are you sure? They are pretty intense, I don’t want you to be set off by something in one of them,” I said hoping that wouldn’t offend him.

“Oh, are they?” He asked, “they are so bad, they get everything wrong.”

“I see,” I reply. Sighing, I decide they must not make much of an impression on him so I made my plate and sat on the side of the couch as far away as I could. I wasn’t afraid of him, but I kept getting this feeling when he was close to me. I couldn’t place it, and while I was too scientific to always go by my instinct, I had done this job too long to ignore it.

I lost my appetite a few minutes into the movie, distracted by the suspense on screen. At the first jump scare, I did just that, flinching and letting out an “oh.” Bucky tilted his head towards me and cocked an eyebrow. Was he laughing? I rose and gathered our dishes, trying to collect myself before returning to the film.

“Hey, we don’t have to watch this if it’s scaring you,” Bucky called over to me pausing the screen.

“No its okay, thats the point right?” I said as I returned to my seat on the couch. The light was fading outside and the room grew darker. At the next scene I reached out searching for something to hold on to in my frightened panic. The closest thing was Bucky’s metal arm. Realizing I may have really invaded his space I released it quickly, apologizing. To my surprise he rose and moved to the other side of me, offering up his other arm. Touched by the gesture I wound my hand around his arm, very conscious of the rippled muscles that moved under his skin.

The sound system was top notch and effectively immersed us in the scenes. Bucky loved it, but I was at my wits end, and by the time the credits rolled I was practically sitting in Bucky’s lap, my head pushed into his chest, avoiding the images on the screen. “Hey,” he said, gently placing his metal arm on my back, laughing again, “Its over you can look up.”

“Turn the lights on first,” I mumbled into his shirt. So he shifted my weight back onto the couch and rose to find the light switch. Once the room brightened I uncurled, looking around me nervously. “Great, now I’m going to be sneaking around every mirror and window till I can forget I ever saw this movie.

“You could have told me you were such a light weight,” he said shaking his head in mock shame.

“Well, its your vacation. I figured you deserved to pick your own damned movie. But don’t worry, I won’t make that mistake again,” I said. I glanced at my phone, it was barely eight, too early to make my excuses and go to bed. So now what?

“Well then,” Bucky said as he stretched up to a high cabinet in the kitchen, “Since I stressed you out with my movie choice, I guess it’s my job to relax you again,” he said, holding up a bottle of red wine. Too emotionally drained to object, I moved closer.

“Fine, but officially this didn’t happen.” He winked at me as he uncorked the bottle.

…

We had just emptied the first bottle and I was feeling good, having throughly forgotten the terrors of Hollywood proportions that had so disturbed me an hour ago. “You want to dance again?” I asked, feeling looser and a little flushed. “I doubt two glasses of this has helped my moves, but I know it feels like it has,” I gave Bucky a winky smile. He had put the slow jazz back on and the bawdy rhythms made me antsy.

He came closer to me and held out his hand. “Dancing to jazz is still the most transgressive act a person and do,” he said as he pulled me into a turn. I smiled at this.

“I think you are showing your age a bit grandpa,” I replied.

“Nonsense, I’m as timeless as this music.” I looked up at him intending to say something smart but stopped, transfixed by his intense grey blue eyes. They were kind, and deep, and loving. I couldn’t fathom how a man with such kindness in him could have been such a killing machine. And that was it, he couldn’t be both. That was his burden and what got him out in the end, the kindness in those eyes.

I placed my hands on the sides of his face, running my fingers in the scruff on his cheeks. His arms brought me closer till we were pressed against each other. Letting my fingers run through his dark hair, I pulled him down to my eye level. I wanted to let him know I understood, that I saw the great effort and care and loss he has endured. But I couldn’t do that. So instead I brought my lips up, gently pressing them to his forehead.

Instead of releasing me, he stayed close to me, our breath mingling until I felt soft hesitant lips tenderly brush against mine. I felt lit up on the inside, I reached up for more but he pulled away. “You have had a couple drinks, this can wait till morning.”

He ushered me to my bedroom door, making sure I made it there all right, but he stopped there, the ex assassin held back by the flimsy boundary that was my door frame.

“Will you stay with me tonight? I- I just don’t want to be alone in this big space.”

“You know for a woman who travels the world seeking out war zones, theres a lot of things that scare you.”

I smiled tiredly, “I know, thats why I’m good at it.” Turning from him I flopped on my bed, getting comfortable, and waiting for him to make the next move. I heard rustling at the foot of my bed and then the mattress dipped behind me and the warm bare skin of the White Wolf settled at my back. I curled my legs up and guided his hand to rest just below my bottom. He nestled into the back of me, his scratchy cheeks resting on the bare skin of my neck.

…

I awoke to movement under me. Disoriented for the second night in a row I opened my eyes, remaining still as I waited to see what the rustling was. My eyes widened as the thing beneath me grunted in a low voice and circled my back with his metal arm. I recalled the strange events of the night before and balked at all the possible consequences of my actions. But then Bucky shifted again and I became aware of how big he really was. His barrel chest was broad and slightly damp with sweat, and he gripped me to him with real intensity, even in his sleep, and I couldn’t help but think all the possible HR issues would be worth this sweet moment.

“Are you also pretending to still be asleep?” A scratchy voice vibrated in my ear. Bucky peered up at me with one eye open, the other still closed.

I laughed a little, “not exactly, I think I’m paying a heavier toll than you for our night cap.”

“Yea I can’t get drunk.”

“Well fuck,” I replied, “thanks for the warning. I’m not going to worry about keeping up with you anymore then.” He laughed and squeezed my middle as I propped myself up to look at him, an elbow on either side of his chest.

His eyes were the same as they were last night, the wine hadn’t lied to me. In the cloudy morning light they almost seemed to glow.

“You are so beautiful,” he said, bringing his hand up to my face and running his thumb over my eyebrow and down to my ear. I looked down, uncomfortable with the compliment. I had been living a life of simplicity and necessity here. My hair was shorn, my face and arms tanned darker than the rest of me, I hadn’t worn makeup in several years. I was not particularly self effacing, I didn’t think I was ugly nor did I struggle with self loathing, I just hadn’t realized how apart from my physical body I had become. I chewed on my lip as I looked at Bucky.

“Thanks,” I said. Then I rolled off of him, sliding to the edge of the bed and sitting up. The sky was heavy with dark clouds and I could already hear the thunder rumbling from the far side of the mountain. Bucky sat up and scooted next to me.

“Well I won’t miss getting caught in heavy rains this season,” he said and I chuckled and nodded in agreement.

…

I hadn’t realized how difficult it would be to avoid Bucky on this second day of rest. Besides being stuck in the same space with him, the torrential rain and deafening thunder made me want to do nothing more than cuddle up with one particular heat producing ex-assassin. I compromised and settled into the couch with a cup of coffee and a book instead.

Behind me I could almost hear the pattern of Bucky’s feet wearing into the floor so intense was his pacing. A few times I managed to catch onto the plot of my book and let it absorb me, but I was drawn out of it again and again by the little sounds he would make, a cough, a loud sniff, a squeak of his shoe. Finally I shut my book and pinched the skin between my eyes, trying to keep my composure.

“Bucky,” I said in a measured tone, “is there something on your mind?”

The pacing stopped. “Why do you ask?”

“Well,” I began, “you are acting a little bit like a lion in a cage.”

“Oh, sorry, I just- I guess I’m not used to having all of these hours to myself. I feel like I’m rattling around in here.” I stood, casting off the layers I had been nesting in.

“Well, is there something we can do together? You have missed a lot while you were… you know,” I paused uncomfortably, but he said noting so I soldiered on. “There are movies, books, games, that are incredibly important to the social world that you should become aware of.”

“Just not horror movies?” He asked with a hint of a crooked smile on his face. “Yea, maybe save those for some of your super friends, I don’t have the strength for them.” I felt my face grow hot as I recalled the intimacy of the previous evening and how I would gladly do it again. “Well, what are you reading?” He asked, calling my attention back to the present.

“Ah, a decidedly not hip novel,” I said waving the book in his direction, “it’s Thomas Hardy.”

“Well I was never much of a reader in my younger years,” he said taking the book from me and flipping through the first few pages. “Read it to me?”

So there we were again, piled onto a couch that was way too small to offer us adequate distance apart. I leaned my back against one arm with my legs pulled up, perhaps I thought they would serve as an extra barrier between the two of us. Bucky sat on the other end and nodded at me to begin, so I did.

I loved reading, and Bucky was an attentive listener, he would interrupt every so often to ask a question and we would discuss together what we thought the imagery might mean or what a particular character trait indicated about the plot. I hadn’t noticed that we moved closer together or that I had stuck my feet under his leg when they got cold, or when he pulled them on his lap.

I had been reading for so long that I was beginning to lose my voice. Looking up I was going to suggest we break for dinner when I was startled by the same intense gaze he had given me the night before. “Maggie,” he said, “I want you to know that I hold you in the greatest professional regard. I think you do incredible work and are an excellent leader.”

“Uh, thanks?” I replied.

“I need you to hear this from me now because I don’t want you to question it later.” He said cryptically.

“What is happening later?” And like I weighed nothing he pulled me into his lap.

“Well,” he murmured into my ear, his muscular arms pulling me into his chest, “if you are okay with it, maybe more of this?”

He sounded so nervous, like a teenage boy even, not the capable and controlled man I was coming to respect greatly. Moved by his vulnerability I sat up straighter, pulling his face into my neck, feeling like I wanted to cover him completely with my body. His lips pressed against the hollow below my neck and I sighed, enjoying the contrast of soft lips and his scratchy beard. I pulled my hands through his hair listening to him growl deeply. The wolf contented for the moment.

I shifted my weight so that I was straddling his lap, a knee on either side of him. His hands began to explore under my shirt as I lowered my head to kiss him. He was intoxicating and maddening, insisting on doing everything slow. Sensing my frustration he spoke, “You have no idea how long it’s been since I have held a woman, and I’v never held a woman like you. So I have to take it all in.” But he flipped us in the same breath so that he was laying above me, his solid weight a comforting pressure and I needed him closer. We pulled layers off of one another till we were in our underwear. It was at this crucial moment that I felt him stop, his movements becoming stiff and tentative again.

“Bucky?” I asked, he sat up, scooting out from under me he sat with his arms against his knees. I felt a wall thicken between us again and I knew I had to get through to him or we would lose this connection. So gently, slowly I reached out to the closest part of him, his metal arm. I ran a finger from his shoulder to his wrist. He didn’t react, so I scooted till my leg was up against his.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, “I just don’t think I’m ready for- for that yet.”

I couldn’t help but smile. I never would have guessed this solid, quiet man would be so honest and sweet. I reached my hand up to the back of his neck and let my fingers tangle in his hair. “Hey, thats okay,” I turned his head so that he had to look at me, “Really. What I want from you is whatever you have to offer.” I looked around the room at the grand space around us, “Bucky all of this is about helping you offer more to the world. Don’t wast your time with what you think you should be doing, do what you can, because you are different than any other man, any other person I have ever met.”

…

I was up before the dawn again, yawning I gathered what I would need in my small bag and headed up the mountain towards the lake. The walk seemed shorter each time I took it, and I arrived at the edge of the water just as the sun was peaking up, casting gold light into the reflective water.

“Came for the view?” I turned and smiled at the figure that was lumbering toward me. He looked at ease here, his shuka wrapped tightly around him.

“Well if it isn’t the White Wolf,” I said welcoming his embrace. He stood behind me, his strong figure leaning comfortably on me, his arms wrapped around me.

“Just call me Bucky,” he said into my ear before planting a kiss on my cheek.

[endlessdoom]

DBP19: A Doomer Boards Christmas Carol

25 Maps by the Doomer Boards Community

2019

https://www.doomworld.com/idgames/themes/xmas/dbp19xmas2

MAP01: Christmas Eve Part I by Big Ol' Billy

The first teaser to this new adventure is a small hub that shows us a cozy house that follows a simple Christmas narrative to set the mood. 4/5

MAP02: Hornaments by Big Ol' Billy

The first actual map with combat, and it is quickly let go. A circular arena with a considerable amount of enemies surrounding us. The dark design and simplistic architecture give it a rather ominous feel. We will also quickly discover one of the new hidden mechanics: shooting the bells. 3/5

MAP03: Christmas Eve Part II by Big Ol' Billy

All maps will have an intermission that leads to the main hub, which also acts as a progress and rest center for reading Christmas letters. A fantastic idea that generates a unique identity. 4/5

MAP04: Festive Neighbours by Phobus

Following the tradition of MAP02 but this time in a frame. Enemies are far away and in ambush positions, waiting for the perfect moment to attack. With a claustrophobic design and a bit lost at times (the bells are well hidden) is a map that takes relatively a little more than it should. 3/5

MAP05: Christmas Eve Part III by Big Ol' Billy

Next intermission, this time we realize that our lovely home is starting to be invaded by bad guys. Oh, Sa(n)tan will be mad. 3/5

MAP06: The Pilgrim and the Hermit by Gaspe

A large map with a rather intricate and claustrophobic design that leads to a variety of paths with various small puzzles and bloody combat. The cold is felt in the hooves. 4/5

MAP07: Christmas Eve Part IV by Big Ol' Billy

Haha. Good times. 3/5

MAP08: Surprise! by glenzinho

A medium-sized Doom-city style map with a surprising design, a multitude of secrets, a small ''bell hunt'' and a progressive combat that changes and varies constantly. Fun and full of Christmas spirit. And demonic spirit too. 4/5

MAP09: Christmas Eve Part V by Big Ol' Billy

An intermission with a... surprise... ending. 3/5

MAP10: Winter Wonderland by Phobus

A surprising wonder, dark, cold and with a unique touch that delivers a variety of visual designs on a large map with fun gameplay that flows seamlessly. 4/5

MAP11: Christmas Eve Part VI by Big Ol' Billy

A hot little adventure. 3/5

MAP12: The Nut After November by SuperCupcakeTactics and glenzinho

That name is unique. For that alone it deserves an extra point. Anyway, this is a medium-large map with a multitude of interconnected roads and tight combat. Fun and with a good Christmas charisma. Hope you aren’t afraid of spiders. 4/5

MAP13: Christmas Eve Part VII by Big Ol' Billy

Ah yes, hello. 3/5

MAP14: Two Sizes Too Small by Doom_RO

A huge adventure that involves hunting different bells and quite aggressive combats through a detailed map with a pleasant and well designed design. Unfortunately, the bell hunting can be a bit irritating due to the simple nature of switch-hunting in its primordial state, but it's still a great map. 4/5

MAP15: Christmas Eve Part VIII by Big Ol' Billy

Did you know that Xmas in Romania is beautiful? 3/5

MAP16: Christmas Tree Mountain by Scrangus McBrickdad/Jaxxoon R and glenzinho

A large map with a relatively small population for its size. With an intricate design and variety of scenarios, it has a fun formula but its layout is somewhat slippery and the progression is somewhat affected. 3/5

MAP17: Christmas Eve Part IX by Big Ol' Billy

Now we explore more and more of the city in these short intermissions. 3/5

MAP18: Xmasphobia by Thundercunt

A claustrophobic and cramped map with a labyrinthine design vaguely reminiscent of Tricks 'N' Traps meets Fear of Plutonia. Interesting premise with great design. 4/5

MAP19: Christmas Eve Part X by Big Ol' Billy

Probably the hottest intermission, to the point that it could be considered a tiny map. 3/5

MAP20: Krampus Anomaly by dmdr

An excellent map with a great flow and exquisite combat, varied and with constant dynamics between the player and the fun, coupled with a good design and understandable layout. 4/5

MAP21: Christmas Eve Part XI by Big Ol' Billy

An intermission that reveals us beyond the labyrinth. Optional but rewarding exploration. 3/5

MAP22: Where Cybneezer Hid Christmas by joe-ilya

A small adventure through a kind of infnerla mansion. Secret paths and dense combat make this map a fun mission. 3/5

MAP23: Christmas Eve Part XII by Big Ol' Billy

The last intermission makes us take a walk through the wintry and dark city to get ready for the last adventure... or maybe not. 3/5

MAP24: Realm of Christmas Time by Big Ol' Billy

The "fine" map, in quotes, is a great entertaining arena with a kind of dynamic IoS that makes us face a huge variety of enemies in a small circular arena. Fun and frenetic in an expansive Christmas violence. 4/5

MAP25: Christmas Morning by Big Ol' Billy

The so famous city of the intermissions is finally given its own use in a magnificent slaughter map that will stop us in our tracks. Enormous, large and with an incredible challenge for all players. The ultimate Christmas present goes out with a boom. You're not supposed to win it (it's technically impossible) but it's a fun and crazy way to end this wad. 4/5

Overall:

» DBP19: A Doomer Boards Christmas Carol (2019) By the Doomer Boards Community

We all want to get into the enchanting spirit of the sweet Christmas season as December approaches. Nothing like celebrating the times of peace, love and understanding among all beings as by doing it in the most holy and fantastic way possible: Killing demons. Those infernal sinners are not going to clean themselves and we are here to do it. Thanks to the fantastic criminal minds of the members of the Doomer Boards Community, we have been given a fantastic Christmas installment that has all the necessary requirements to recreate a good Christmas spirit; blood, violence, guns and many, many demons. Ready to celebrate Christmas? Hit it.

A Doomer Boards Christmas Carol is a project created by the famous krew that this time is launched towards the winter celebrations of Christmas, creating a theme focused entirely on the Christmas touch of the game and redesigning textures and skins for almost the entire project, perfectly invoking that Christmas spirit that few can achieve with a game that was practically identified as a form of 3D Satanism (although it was not exactly released at Christmas, it is a Christmas game in my heart) that would launch to the market a re-copied and unique style. That of being gory and disturbing. Well, let's take the core of Doom and now give it a new twist, one that has lots of snow, cookies, warm milk, presents, red socks and some coal for the bad kids. The result? A grandiose 25-map project (half of them small intermissions) that perfectly re-invents the celebratory style into a Christmas mood that successfully recreates the game on, you guessed it, Christmas. Or something like that.

DBP19 is a fascinating project like no other that really manages to reach those standards and deliver white maps full of passion, identity and a lot of fun. Thanks to the new use of textures and the hilarious re-skins, we now have a new paint scheme for the entire game that takes us out of the hellish air and into a cooler and, uh, wholesome kind of hell.

Starting with MAP01 by @Big Ol Billy, the first map actually works as a kind of intermission/hub-styled map that makes us progress the game accompanied by a small Christmas narrative where the different members of the team give us little stories and messages about what awaits us or the story. A little touch that gives it a nice charisma. @Big Ol Billy does practically all the intermissions, as well as a few other independent maps. MAP02 continues the adventure and this time throws us directly into a combat arena that presents us with two important aspects: 1) the visual style and 2) the new mechanic of hunting ''bells'', something like switch-hunting but more simplified. MAP03 is one more intermission made by the same author, and from now on all the maps with odd number are intermissions. MAP04 by @Phobus is a re-interpretation of the first map but with a more painting style and less mercy. Gaspe comes into action with his MAP06 which gives us a great rock fortress in a world of ice full of action and beautiful visuals. MAP08 by @Glenzinho is, as the title says, a violent surprise that shows an excellent Doom-City style. @Phobus returns with MAP10 in an intricate and tight map with dark corners and welcoming demons. MAP12 by @SuperCupcakeTactics and @glenzinho wins the award for most innovative and fun title I've read all year, luckily not all is title but also essence as this is a fascinating map that combines the two styles of mappers under a perfect synergy of emotion and visual sweetness. MAP14 by @Doom_RO is a huge odyssey that makes us look for different bells while we go through different scenarios making our way through rivers of demons, all in an exciting Christmas adventure. Oh yeah. MAP16 by @Scrangus McBrickdad/Jaxxoon R and @glenzinho pits us against a huge map with amazing visuals but a somewhat confusing layout that compensates with a nice touch of detail and variety of scenarios. Thundercunt (hehe) delivers a labyrinthine and different adventure that contains as many goodies as the demons in MAP18. MAP20 by @dmdr is a fascinating ice adventure that takes us on a journey with good flow, fun combat and excellent presentation. @joe-ilya delivers a mysterious and cold mansion in MAP22, full of demons, Masterminds and a few surprises in the basement. Finally, MAP24: Realm of Christmas Time by Big Ol' Billy is an excellent final scene as we face off in a small arena-style map against a variety of enemies and a sort of modified IoS that delivers thrills and excitement. Like the good little kids, we've been. Of course, the final intermission in MAP25 is what we call a total beast that actually works like a credits map but with a twist.

Wow that was a lot of maps! Probably among the biggest (or actually biggest) DBP, quite the gift!

This winter adventure deliberates with solid greece a delivery of 25 maps full of charisma, fun, gifts and everything we need to feel comfortable and accompanied on a lonely Christmas night while the snow crashes against our windows. Not that I can relate to that because where I live it doesn't snow, but at least with this project I have managed to relate the sweet effect of nostalgia with the innocence of yesteryear where we simply wanted to enjoy Doom in its purest form. Well, this is the purest way to enjoy it at Christmas! Or practically any month, after all I'm playing this in the middle of summer. Hehe. Anyway, want some cookies? Come and get them.

[the-13th-rose]

Nago & the Demon ~ Pilot (Prologue)

Seeking revenge for the destruction of her village as a child, Nago seeks to resurrect a powerful demon who once served as the right hand of Aku...

Characters: Nago (oc)

Universe: Samurai Jack

I’ve opted to only include disclaimers for obvious triggers (unless otherwise requested), so just be aware that this fic is for an adult or *mature* teen audience, because of occasional scenes of heavy violence and, I dunno, language? Really nothing major to worry about in this chapter. This chapter is fine for a PG-13 audience.

(this is a reupload because tumblr appears to have eaten the original posts. or maybe I deleted them, it’s been so long I can’t remember)

Word count: 1,560

Plat. Plat. Plat.

Black rubber boots squelched in the mud brought on by the onslaught of heavy rain that had begun over two hours ago. No doubt the road back would be flooded...but she could wait it out. What she had been promised could be found here would be more than worth such a wait.

Digging into her poncho, she retrieved a scrap of paper with a haphazardly drawn portrait of a house on one side. She held it up to the house atop the hill before her. The details matched. There was no doubt in her mind – this was the place. Returning the scrap of paper to the protection of her poncho's interior, she plodded ahead through the thick mud until she reached the home's front door. There, she knocked three times. For a moment, there was no sound but the pouring of rain around her. Then, a security camera built into the door whirred to life, and the voice of the home's occupant spoke up.

"What'dy'a want?"

She kept her head down, avoiding looking directly into the camera. "I heard I might be able to find some...oddities here." She said calmly. "You see, I'm in the market for something very rare, and my quest has led me here."

"...Well, that depends on who you are, what you're looking for, and most importantly—who you serve." The occupant replied. "So, how 'bout you give me some answers before I tell you what I've got here."

"Very well." She glanced into the camera, revealing her face to be covered by a white mask bearing the expression of a winking cat. "For reasons I'm sure someone like yourself could understand, I do not often reveal my face to those I've only just met. I am called Nago. And I have come searching for the genuine remains of a demon. I serve no one but the innocent harmed by that black-hearted devil, Aku."

"...Heheh..." The occupant of the house chuckled slightly. "Well, then, little lady, c'mon in." She heard the door unlatch. "Any enemy of Aku is a friend of mine."

She twisted the knob and pushed the door open, and wasted no time in stepping inside, shutting the door to keep out the rain. The house's interior was filled with oddities of most imaginable shapes and sizes. Artifacts from cultures now long dead, taxidermied creatures she had never seen alive, and a wide assortment of bones. She had come for remains, but at a glance, none of the bones appeared to have ever belonged to a demon.

Standing at the counter at the far wall was a large, well-muscled man with a full dark beard. She noted that he was wearing an eyepatch, and wondered briefly if Aku's forces had taken half of his sight as well. His bad eye was opposite to her own, a coincidence that might have been mildly funny, had it not been so unfortunate. "Well don't just stand there. You said you were looking for demon parts, right? Luckily for you, I think I've got just what you're looking for!" He turned around as Nago approached the counter, and moments later, placed a dusty glass box onto the counter—inside of it, was a severed hand.

Nago froze, her gaze fixated solely on the strange artifact. It was as black as coal, and it's fingers were long, slender, and claw-like. It called to her mind the image of Aku himself...she wondered what sort of body the hand had been connected to in life. At the end of its wrist, its internal flesh was an almost pretty shade of light blue. Nago smiled slightly, an involuntary reaction to the thought of a powerful and likely well-respected demon within Aku's ranks being quite literally blue-blooded. At times, life could be...fitting like that.

She finally broke her gaze from its focus on the hand, and looked to the seller. "...There is no doubt in my mind that this is the severed hand of a demon. Where did you get this?" She inquired.

It didn't take long for the man to begin spinning Nago quite a yarn. "The bastard this hand belonged to put me and several thousand others through a special kind of hell. It was decades ago that he got the better of me when my friends and I tried to launch an attack on those blasted beetle drones." The man closed his eyes for a moment, seeming contemplative. "He appeared out of nowhere, and before we knew it, we were swarmed not with beetle drones, but with ghostly warriors! We fought them for as long as we could..." He bowed his head slightly. "...But we couldn't win. Every time we destroyed one of the warriors, they would just come right back! It was endless...my friends were eventually killed in the struggle...until only I was left. Only then did the monster's army stop. I thought he'd finish me off...but instead, he had his soldiers hold me in place while he appeared behind me and sank his teeth into my neck! After that...everything went black." He paused, then shook his head before resuming his tale. "No, it wasn't black...it was blue, just like the still bloody flesh inside that arm. There I was, in the belly of the beast—literally! He'd consumed my very soul and trapped it within some sort of internal prison. There were thousands more like me as far as my eyes could see, all of us kept prisoner by rings of unbreakable flame. I don't know how long I spent in there, or how many fellow warriors I was forced to destroy whenever I was summoned...all I know is that one day, the target was the Samurai himself. I tell ya, miss...every legend you've heard about that man is the utmost truth. He did what no other warrior had ever accomplished...he freed us." The man began to smile in a manner that seemed almost wistful. "Course, after we were freed, the demon was rendered powerless...and us, well...we had a score to settle, all 3,999 of us. I think you can guess what we did." He gestured to the severed hand.

It was then that Nago noticed its claw-like fingers were frozen in a sort of permanent flinch, the fingers curled towards the floor of the case, as though it had been removed while its owner clawed desperately at the ground. She grimaced a bit, unable to keep from imagining the full extent of the demon's fate. Though, from the sound of the man's tale, the bastard had certainly deserved whatever he'd gotten. "...I'm sorry, but for my purposes I need more remains than a mere hand. Is this hand all that remains of the demon?" She thought to ask.

"Ah, then you're in luck. Far as I know, I was the only one who chose to keep a trophy of him." The man replied. "I got crushed bone and a bottle of blood in the back, but I haven't figured out what to do with them. I figured there had to be some sort of ritual that required those things, but so far no one's offered to take 'em off my hands." He smiled wryly. "I take it you might, though. One moment, I'll bring them in from the back." He turned and vanished through a doorway directly behind him.

Nago, in the meantime, continued to look at the hand. To think of such an artifact belonging to a demon who had served Aku for so many years...she could have rejoiced. 15 long years, and her grand scheme was finally coming to fruition. With the hand, ground bones, and blood, she would have everything the ritual called for.

The man at last returned from the back room, carrying a tied bag in one hand and a wine bottle in the other. He placed both upon the counter, neatly framing the hand on both sides. Upon closer inspection, the liquid inside the bottle was the same hue as the flesh inside the hand's severed wrist. "There. Genuine demon bone powder and equally genuine demon blood." The man announced. "Tell ya what...if they don't work in whatever ritual you're planning, bring 'em back to me for a fu—" He paused, and scowled slightly. "I mean, half a refund."

Nago arched a brow behind her mask, but relented. "So be it. For what I seek, no price could be too great." She retrieved a jingling bag from her poncho, placing it into the outstretched hands of the seller. "But I trust 15,000 is enough?"

The man beamed. "You're damn right it is!" She'd managed to make him quite cheerful with this generous donation. He paused though, and narrowed his eye at her. "Not to look a gift horse in the mouth, lady, but...what exactly do you plan to do with those parts?"

Nago paused for a moment...and then, she removed her mask. Staring back at the man was a sightless gray eye beside a darker one blazing with fury. "...I'm going to make the monster who slaughtered my people regret ever coming to this planet." It was a simple response...but it would tell the man everything he might have wanted to know.

The man stared for a moment, before he, too, lifted his eyepatch, revealing a milky eye much like her own. "Give him hell for me, then."

[creative-de-stuck-tion]

Introduction

TW: dystopia, mutilation, child death.

The burning sun, the moons of pink and green, and below them the nations of Prospit and Derse; great masses of land, gold and purple, twisted teardrops hooked one to the other and separated by the narrowest of ocean channels and millennia of war. The tempests rage along the coasts, and the clouds and the lands turn in their endless dancing spirals.

Noontide City, in sandstone and clay of yellow and white, simple and smooth in shape, decorated more than enough by the blossoming vines crawling up every wall. The roads are beaten earth, sprouting more grass every day, turning yellow in the baking sun. The people, dressed in airy cotton, smile and laugh as they go about their work, as merry as the day is long - and oh, the days in Prospit are long and long indeed.

Midnight City, in basalt and agate of purple and black, not a leaf to be seen, ornately carved and trimmed in amethyst and jet. The roads are paved and polished, tidy slabs scrubbed clean. The people, wrapped in warming furs, diligently focus on their work, their stares intense, their eyes and thoughts only on what they do, that they might do it well and finish it before the long nights come.

Watch them. You can see it...

Prospit bustles most in the night. The sun beats down so hard a being will crumble under its weight, and the clouds provide not half enough cover; under direct light at noon, bare skin will blister, then boil away. All that can take the sun is the plant life and the already dead, and in the heat and damp they grow and grow. Everyone sleeps with windows tightly covered by layers of cloth nailed to the frames, no matter the heat. In the worst times, with a summer rain, green growth cut back to ground can creep in through cracks and fill a cottage overday, or fungal spores can form wet festering growth on every piece of bare wood, and that would be a mercy for then the kingdom's many predators would be slowed down on their way in. 

Derse stirs most in the day. The ever-thickening layer of smoggy cloud blocks the sun, leaves the inhabitants sickly-skinned. The winds blow cold, and even the rain is salt and soot and acid. The soil is volcanic, but near-useless. It once was fertile, as the great coal and oil deposits show, but not for many centuries has the land birthed much more than stone. The people scratch out a living from scrubby plants in stony soil, and gather closely together in their homes for warmth, burning dried dung in place of wood. Predators roam here too. The people, desperate, eat them, and wear their skins, and block the cracks in their walls with their fur, to keep the whispering of what else lurks in the night away.

Reach out. You can feel it...

The last child of the last jadeblood line in Midnight City lies awake and listens to her mother weep. No one else born to the task is left to nurse the city's Mother Grub with them. Carapace pawns do what they can, but they are created fully-formed; they have no natural urge for childcare, no in-built knowledge of the task. The Grub lays fewer and fewer eggs, smaller ones, and the drones grow more aggressive. Out in the countryside, the Mother Grubs are dying one by one. Trolls are the warriors of Skaia. With so few born, what will they do? She dreams of Prospit outbreeding them, the city overrun.

At dusk the jadeblood grubherds of Noontide City urge their charges out in a flood that packs the streets from side to side. The grass has grown through the trodden earth since yesternight, watered by the humid air, and the grubs mow it down to nothing. They suck dew from stones and moss from walls, and gobble down the foot-long worms and slugs and centipedes and the fist-sized spiders and the nests of rats and mice from every crack and crevice. They swarm the bigger beasts, stray cats and dogs with festering wounds, and in turn the beasts devour or kill many of them. The grubs turn on their own wounded brethren, or those addled by the toxic weeds and mushrooms they have found, and consume them too. The grubherds let it happen. The weakest ones die first. The runts and mutants have already been culled long before.

Breathe deep. You can smell it...

Outside the city walls of Noontide lie the fire trenches, ever burning, making the daytime all the hotter. Rotting and dampening wood is culled without mercy from the buildings every day, and dragged out here. So too come funeral processions, the bodies burned in colossal metal dishes over the flames to save the ashes. The workers wear masks; in Prospit, spore and virus alike can spread so fast and hard even the fires can't cleanse them all, and disease dances on the air with the soot. The filthy, smoking clouds pour upward, and the prevailing winds carry them over the Skaia Channel to Derse, as if the kingdom spits on its ancient enemy. Still, Derse's clouds could hardly be filthier already.

Outside the city walls of Midnight, every spot of land which can be made to grow something will be made to grow. Fields are dug and dug, stone battered into soil by force of the workers' will. In Derse, there are no funeral processions, except for those of the very highest ranks. Even they will be buried in earth beneath the stunted fruit trees and the grass grown as green as it gets over them. Once there were tombs, but no longer can bodies be wasted outside the hungry soil. Near everything that grows in Derse grows on a grave. The poorest's dead don't even make it that far. Hunger gnaws, and the cold keeps them from rotting long enough.

Swallow. You can taste it...

The river of Noontide rots within its banks, and stinks from miles away. Recently, sewers have been installed, magic and engineering combined to keep them sound, channeling out on the seaward side; it's not enough. Fertile loam clouds the water from its very source, and the plants within it feed and grow. The creatures which feed on the plants grow too, until the river chokes with bodies or with algae. Workers clear the scum, but not as fast as it can grow. So much life births and shits and fucks and dies in the river that they'll never get it clean.

The river of Midnight is cold enough to burn, and black as death. Nothing lives in it; all that moves in it are reflections in its oil-slick top. Soot and sludge and who-knows-what taint it all throughout its course as it passes mines and factories, and by the time it reaches the coastal city nothing that lived or died in it is left. The dead things might rot further up, or wash downstream perfectly preserved by the chemical taint, as if in resin. It smells faintly sweet and smokey, pleasant even, of coal and gasoline.

Listen. You can hear it...

The market's bustle is pierced by wails. A brownblood youth has fallen to his knees, sobbing his heart out, from fear or exhaustion or some deep sorrow; none around him will ever know why. There is no shortage of reasons, in Noontide City. The crowd ignores him. If he had a moirail, it would be their duty to stop the disturbance. He does not, or they are not here. The carapace peace officers are, and he is restrained, though now he wails even louder. Too late to run. Causing a disturbance through rejection of Mirth. The law is the law. The carapaces' tealblood master takes a short knife and slits the brownblood's cheeks from ear to ear.

Coins clatter on stone, drowned out by shrieks. A corner of the Midnight City town square is roped off; highbloods in their carriages and litters watch the show. In the arena, troll and human children in rags claw and bite for pennies thrown at them hard enough to bruise their bony bodies, and bets of more money than the children will ever see changes hands in wagers. Today, for the first time in many months, a human is triumphant. She's a rangy little thing, maybe ten years old, hollow-eyed and wielding bottle shards, and she's the last one standing while others groan and bleed. She picks up all the coins and limps away. She will die tonight, slowly and agonisingly and alone; her last troll opponent was old enough for her venom to come through in her bite, and it already burns within the human's blood. The surviving children will take her coins and her clothes and the trolls will devour her, bones and all. The humans cannot eat the venom. They hunger still.

Listen. Closer. You can hear them...

And the screams sound exactly the same.