#and mostly the calves are just a single fruit

[hyydraworks]

Moar fruit based bovines

[sincerelylea]

eddie munson as dr. frank n furter... yes please

mdni i block. prompt given by @darklcy "frank n furter + eddie munson, you + janet, steve + brad: how frank n furter seduces janet, except this time it’s you, because how can you resist?"

happy october 1st, get used to this.

i see you shiver with antici

“how do you do i-” that chill. that feverish chill ran through your spine in remembrance. it was forbidden fruit, he was forbidden fruit. and you could’ve eaten him alive. a note rang through your head - the nimble fingers of a cello player elongating a single reverberated low note is struck. 

tension. it’s taught. you feel it’s clawed hand trace down your chest - your back lifts from the bed and you only hope your dear steve doesn’t notice amongst the foggy clarity of your lust-stricken brain. 

his fingernails were black, he’d only finished painting them moments before you’d knocked at the manor door; clung to your darling and soaking wet in hopes of finding a telephone. 

a record played from the corner of his illustrious bedroom - soft red and yellow lights gave aglow and warmth. thin veiled sheets hung and draped; silk fabrics, glitter floors, it was all very fabulous. he’s pulled his stockings on his smooth legs, running a hand flat over his calves at the satin finish - a devilish smile spreads to his face, he simply could not help it. 

the top of the polish bottle was screwed on half-hazardly, more interested and focused and bemused at the display of the television before him. 

look at you both; he grins again. you in your modest pink dress and white cardigan and kitten heels. and him - in that corduroy jacket and square framed glasses, soft brown hair clinging to his face from the rain. he offered his hand immediately, asked for a phone, but dr. eddie munson could spot from a mile away that you were meant to be here. 

so he kicked his feet from his vanity girlishly, tongue ran over his teeth, and he rushed to complete his look. though his wardrobe consisted mostly of lingerie; a few robes and satin nightgown-like t-shirts in the mix, he had the hardest time choosing what to appear in. ah, what a travesty. 

the corset was mesh. see through, and had a sweetheart cut on the breast-line. beneath he stretched a fishnet top over tattooed skin and hooked garter clips to his hips, over his smooth thighs, and onto the stockings that sank into his flesh just a bit. heeled boots with a metallic toe and spikes patterned on the back seemed like the way to go. 

oh and if he had his way he’d ensure you’d forget about that telephone. or that blown out tire. 

“nancy.” he barked. a woman, with chopped black hair and chopped black bangs stepped forward. she was adorned in a maid-like dress with frilly cap sleeves and fishnet stockings and boots. “robin.” he barked again. this time, the blond one stepped forward. she had her gaze fixed on the floor while nancy remained quite dead-stared at the man they took orders from. she was all glitter and rhinestones, blue tap shoes and all. and you were ashamed to admit - but you had to keep yourself from looking at her chest for too long; instead grasping onto your beloved’s arm to stay focused. 

“show our dolls to their rooms, give them new clothes.”

he was eccentric with every subtle move, expression, and action he did. it took you for a spin - left your mind hazy and adrenaline pump through you curiously. you reach down and find steve’s hand for comfort and he looks down at you through his frames and smiles. you rest your head against his shoulder and screw your eyes shut. 

how curious it was that you felt alive for the first time when you stepped into his home. like something was awakened in you. that needing for more, the yearning of experience. it took the breath from your lungs to even try to describe it. 

you were led to a gothic suite by the pair of ladies, and then a few stringy pairs of garments were thrown at you both. 

you for a moment, stood in silence since the first time you’d entered the manor. looking at steve for some sympathy and hoping he had a plan to leave. yet when you looked at him, he seemed just as in shock and awe as you were. 

“steve, darling we must get out.” you press your bundle of clothes to your chest when he steps nearer, his large hand coming to rest on the side of your face. he lulls his head into a nod, he knew this was coming - and yet a strange unidentified part of him wanted to stay. if only for a bit longer. maybe to see things unfold; to get another glance at dr. munson. it was strange. he decided not to think about it and only think of you, his love, there before him. 

“they’ve offered us a room, sweetheart. don’t you think we should just stay and wait til morning? it’s late and raining out anyway.” he presses his lips to your forehead and looks at the bundle of interesting looking clothes in his arms. “and they’ve given us,, uh,, clothes?” 

you laugh when he tosses everything but a long sleeved mesh shirt on the bed at the center of a room. he’s got a smile spread across his face too, holding it up for both of you to see. “should i put it on?” he’s all giggly smiles and boyish charm - the same charm you’d fallen in love with in college. 

“let’s see what i’ve got.” in both hands you display the lace and silk lingerie piece. it’s got cuts of lace on the sides of the waist and a frilly v cut at the bottom of torso; spaghetti straps and a pair of silk gloves that reach up to your biceps to match. 

“oh he’s trying to get me in trouble.” steve admires, looking the set up and down. your face flushes red and you smack his chest playfully. “steve! now i’m not going to put it on.”

“i’m kidding, i’m kidding. i think if we don’t we might be in real trouble though.” he gestures to his soaked clothes, now feeling shivery in the cold of the bedroom. 

he helps you remove your clothes, as you do with him, and you snap your pieces together and lie comfortably in dry fresh clothes on the bed. though you still remained a bit cold from your limited clothing since everyone in this damned mansion only seemed to wear lingerie. 

and there you were. dreaming again of the glossy maroon lips that seduced you still even when their presence had left you. the frizz and curl of his hair. the smokiness on his lids. the tattoos. the hands. the legs. all of it left you rather intoxicated. 

steve refused to wear his garters, instead remained transfixed on your own as he ran his hand up and down your thigh. 

but his mind was a bit farther away than the sight of your leg before him. instead remembering how they looked on a certain host stayed hidden away somewhere in the manor as of now. 

he swallows, removing his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose, and sighs. 

your eyes snap open and your back flattens among the mattress. his hand has left you. but you grasp it in that moment and squeeze with both of your own. your eyes nearly seem glossy amidst the passing daydream you were deeply ashamed of indulging in. 

“steve my love. what are we doing?” you sit up then, as does he - his lean frame stretches under the mesh fabric - and though you’re transfixed and wowed at his body - you sit perturbed at your thoughts and wish for your life back. 

“i was just thinking the same thing.” he kisses your knuckles, looking at the door before it slams open gallantly.

there stands nancy and robin, still in their same outfits, still carrying that air of unease with them everywhere they went. “dr. munson would like to see you in all of your clothes.” nancy reminds, voice steady and unwavering - as well as her gaze. 

“well you tell him i’m not putting this on-” “oh i think you will.”

in the white light of the door frame a third body appears. eddie, in all of his glory, now complemented with a leather jacket and a cigarette. just the mere sight of him has the lust burning in both of your veins. 

steve is taken aback slightly. you look at him, and back at eddie, and swallow. 

he takes a drag from his cigarette and tosses it to the ground, stepping on it with his heels before nancy moves to begin cleaning it up. “and if you don’t put it on. than she’ll do it for you.” he gestures to you with a lazy hand from his crossed arms. content at the chaos he was creating. 

steve looks to you and back at eddie and then at the mess of garters and stockings on the bed. 

“actually, i think i like that better. you’ll do it for him.” he commands, hands on his hips, leaning over to be level with your eyes. 

you look like a deer caught in the headlights amidst your desire. 

“but slow. i want you both to enjoy it as much as i will.” his nose scrunches when he chuckles and steve’s eyes widen, he keeps his glasses off when eddie barks at him to, and you reach over to grab a stocking. 

robin and nancy are long gone now, eddie finding home on a grand chair moved to sit in front of you both. you roll the stocking up and guide it over his leg, jaw clenched and hands timid and shaky. 

the toe of a heel meets your arm, stopping you completely. “ah, slower.” eddie’s leg is elongated, your eyes rake over it before continuing, slower. 

his eyes are low, dark, and brown. god, he was pretty. the way the set he wore hugged him, complimented him, it was sickening. and you dare say you loved it too much. 

steve is fighting with every ounce in him to not tremble under your hands, and under his gaze. but you finish - hooking the garters to the stockings and soon after eddie then sits behind you. directly behind you. purring compliments at your good work and pushing hair over your ear with his mouth leaning down and close. 

“tell me,” he says your name for the first time since you’ve been there and you close your eyes. 

“how do you think your darling steve looks right now?” 

and he looked,, 

well.

the mesh shirt was tight. form fitting. like it was made to be worn by him. the silk corset hugged his waist tight - you didn’t know steve had an hourglass figure. it was usually hidden under polo shirts and suit jackets. he had nice legs, nicer than you cared to notice before, accented with sheer stockings and garters. 

the way his collar bone stretched when he moved, or the way his muscles shifted and rippled over his skin under the top. the messiness of his hair and that unseen softness in his eyes telling you he’d let control out of his hands. 

“amazing.” it was said without hunger; because he was indeed beautiful.

well maybe a little hunger.

when eddie chuckles you feel his breath on your neck and you feel your face flush and body tense. he was so so close. god, what were you going to do. 

“always so sweet, are we?” his hands snake - palms warm and flat along your waist, grasping you like you were nothing. “surely not in this, though. right, steve?” he hooks his fingers under your garters and snaps them back on your thighs and you jump.

steve’s lip is bit harshly between his teeth when his eyes travel down to your legs. though he’s still reeling at you thinking he looks amazing. 

“tell me what’s your favorite part?” he asks and leans his chin over your shoulder, leaning his head on your own. you get a bit more comfortable in his grasp and lean your head back. 

steve’s eyes falter downwards for a second, then back up to your face. you feel red, and hot, and embarrassed but in a terribly delicious way. you couldn’t get enough of this. 

“go on, you can say it.” he urges, hands moving to rest on your stomach now.

he opens his lips, eyes still focused downwards, but of course he doesn’t say what he’s really thinking. 

“her legs.” he says, swallowing.

eddie chuckles, head tipping backwards. “ah we both know what he really wanted to say.” steve goes bright red and you fight not to laugh at his expression, oh he’d been caught.

“now. onto more pressing matters.” eddie stands, the jingle of his jacket alarms you both that he’s discarded it. and he makes slow strides to sit in steve’s lap, legs crossed and face devilish. steve’s eyes are looking anywhere but at the man situated between his legs now. he’s still red, his jaw is still tensed, and he’s afraid but mostly exhilarated. you can’t help but match his expression.

he calls your name, eddie does. it snaps you from your thoughts and you look at him with wide eyes as if asking him ‘yes?’

“where do you want me to touch him?” he asks. as if it was nothing. 

your mouth runs dry and you’re shocked. you’re shocked for the millionth time though you know you probably shouldn’t be. eddie munson had tricks up his sleeves this entire night. 

so you ponder if you should play it safe or go all in. and your timid embarrassed nature speaks for you, stuttery and nervous. 

“h-his… his face.” 

“face?” and so he does, he grasps it in one hand and squeezes gently. “he does have a good one doesn’t he?” steve nearly rolls his eyes. 

“and what do you want me to do to him?” he asks with a raised brow and a unexpecting look on his features.

but you bite back the nerves, swallow, and straighten your back. 

“ruin him.” 

pation.

[drferox]

Coronavirus and Animals

There’s a lot of talk about Coronavirus at the moment, and a lot of misinformation in these early days while data is still being gathered, so lets clear some things up.

There is more than one coronavirus. Coronavirus is a family, there’s a bunch of them, and many have been well known for a jolly long time. 

COVID-19 (Coronavirus Disease 2019) is the illness caused by SARS-CoV-2, it’s relatively new and it’s what we’re all worried about. 

The COVID-19 virus was detected in one, single dog in Hong Kong, owned by a human who was infected with the virus. This dog continued to have low levels of the virus detectable in its mouth for several days, never showed any signs of clinical disease, and so far (March 12th local time) has not demonstrated a serological response. 

So it appears that while COVID-19 can exist in dogs, if it does so it is the dog getting infected from its human, and there is no evidence that they then transmit the illness on to other humans. Think of the dog’s mouth like unwashed human hands - the virus can be there, but hasn’t actually infected the hands.

Current advice is to keep suspect pets with their owners if they are in self-quarantine, and wash your hands after handling. Also, don’t let your pets lick your face if you have any cold or flu symptoms.

More info below cut, including other species.

Hong Kong Dog info

There are other, old news coronaviruses in animals, including dogs, and be careful not to get them confused as some clickbaity media outlets or paranoid internet conspiracy fruit loops would like to do.

Canine Coronavirus causes diarrhoea and gastrointestinal signs. There’s an option vaccine available for it, but it’s not commonly used as most dogs recover in a few days. There is an outbreak of Canine Coronavirus in Australian Greyhounds at the moment, and it is completely unrelated to COVID-19 and shouldn’t even be newsworthy. 

There is a respiratory canine coronavirus, but it’s fairly rare. 

Feline Coronavirus also causes diarrhoea…. Except for random mutations which cause Feline Infectious Peritonitis. Most cats get the normal coronavirus once, and then are immune for life.

Equine coronavirus mostly causes diarrhoea and sometimes colic, but nearly everything causes colic in horses. 

Bovine Coronavirus can cause both diarrhoea and pneumonia in calves. It’s been around so old it’s even got the old timey name ‘winter dysentery’ in adult cattle. 

A Coronavirus in bats has 89% similar nucleotide activity to COVID-19, while the closest human coronavirus is only 82% similar, so COVID-19 probably jumped from bats to humans.Bats are biohazards, be sure to avoid them in any apocalypse scenarios.

These coronaviruses in domestic animals are old news, we barely care about them in our day to day at all. They recover quickly, mortality is low.

But media panic has pushed some people to ask about euthanising their pets amid corona fears, and it’s completely unnecessary. Just wash your hands and don’t let pets lick your face.

Additional COVID-19 info.

[honeymoonjin]

part of the 2020 sapphest fic fest, cross-posted to ao3

pairing: jungkook x hoseok x namjoon

word count: 8.1k  ||  rating: sfw  ||  genre: magical realism

summary: jungkook doesn’t know what she wants in life. but maybe the cottage-dwelling botanist and warlock she moves in with could help. or, perhaps, they might even be the answer.

notes: i apologise if this isn’t up to scratch, i haven’t written an actual oneshot i think since jan/feb (?) so i know i’m rusty. also, this fic contains a trans female jungkook, cis female namjoon and non binary hoseok so i really do hope i’ve done them justice, it’s my first time writing characters with differing gender expressions. please do let me know what you think with a reblog or an ask, it really makes my day and would help a lot as i’m trying to get back into writing. thank you and i love you xxx

------

Jungkook feels the gripping pressure around her heart ease with every step she takes down the street, fading into phantom pangs once the tall apartment building falls out of view.

She had never quite gotten used to it; the relief in a lack of something, the bliss of less. Her family’s worries seeped into her bones, soured her tongue when she was home. At high school, and especially at university, the stress of other students buffeted her like gales of wind. The brief moments of respite when she’d walk to the bus stop always felt so fleeting, like a gasp of air that didn’t quite fill her lungs enough.

Now, though, she didn’t stop there. She walked further, sucking in deeper breaths.

The train station lay close to the centre of town, but it was never that busy in the late morning, something she’d known fully well before going.

Her phone buzzes in her front pocket, no doubt her mother wishing her safe travels again. She doesn’t answer it, though. Happiness is a sweet tang behind her teeth, and her respite from obligation is a welcome one.

Her train is already pulling into the station when she steps up to the platform, and she wastes no time in scanning her card and finding a seat, tucked in the least occupied corner.

It doesn’t take long for the cramped blocks of Seoul to open up into countryside, and with it comes an openness in Jungkook’s chest that she only remembers feeling once before, a family vacation to an island that felt so blurry in her childhood memory.

Her gift wasn’t so strong then, but still Jungkook finds herself, over a decade later, seeking out nature as a balm for the mood pollution of city life.

When she’s as far south as the train allows, she disembarks. Not a single other soul steps foot off into the station, and it seems nobody is around.

It’s more a bus stop with rails than a train station, really. A roughly squareish pad of thick concrete sits beside the old tracks, a steel park bench and signpost the only things adorning it.

Around the lonely station is an open plain with few trees. On the opposite side, vast untended fields sprout daisies and dandelions, rising gracefully to low hills in the distance. On Jungkook’s side, a single narrow path of sun bleached dirt cuts through the wild grass, leading her to civilisation.

It’s a quiet walk. Not that she minds, of course; on the contrary, the remoteness of this place settles her and allows her to appreciate the finer sounds that normally get drowned out. The grass and scattered trees rustle gently in the wind. A few birds that roost in the shade of the branches chirp to each other, and the melodic noise brings a smile to Jungkook’s face.

When the small path she wanders along finally leads her to a series of small, traditionally-built houses, she’s unsurprised to find them seemingly abandoned. There’s no signs of life outside, and no evidence of human mood anywhere in her body. Even more than the rundown appearance of the outpost, Jungkook trusts her natural gift.

So when a tug in her chest leads her past the small crop of houses, she doesn’t hesitate. There is something for her here, something she may not yet have the words to explain, but for the first time she’s letting herself follow the currents that run through her veins, instead of trying to live around them.

The path lifts.

Like the train station was the base of a funnel, the land rises into hills on this side too, the extra exertion heating her calves with each step. Eventually, the narrow spine of dirt becomes overgrown with grass, and she’s forced to trample over it, ducking around low-hanging branches and stumbling over roots as the trees cluster around her, welcoming her into the cool shade of the hillside.

The crest of the hill has a jagged notch missing like a chipped tooth, providing a shortcut to the other side. The sun peeks through worn walls of ancient stone. It glares in Jungkook’s eyes, but even that brightness is overwhelmed by something stronger that radiates from the very ground itself. Euphoria.

Though her gift was still sometimes a mystery to her, Jungkook had learnt to distinguish most moods. In her cramped suburbia, she’d generally just been exposed to human feelings and the occasional animal, but she could still recognise the specific energy that plants give off.

Stronger with every step she takes, her soles practically vibrate with the flow of plant life singing out in joy - the joy of thriving, of being taken care of. Her own excitement wells up inside her, and her feet pick up their pace until the thud of grass changes into the slap of heavy soles on rock. She slips through the narrow crevasse of stone at the peak of the hill, breath catching at what greets her on the other side.

Like some kind of paradise, lush colours and fragrances mingle in the fresh air. The slope is much gentler here, and instead of uneven undergrowth and stubborn shrubbery, graceful rows of trees fill the open plains in front of her.

An orchard of plum trees with their pink blossoms rests to her left, rich purple fruits beginning to grow from them. Beside, a thicket of orange trees brighten the landscape with the bold citrus, only a few white flowers remaining on the branches. The green apple trees in front of her are laden with fruit, the branches hanging low. To her right, she even spots the brilliant pink spheres of pomegranate, though surely her eyes deceive her.

There’s no clear path through the foliage, though each row kindly provides enough space for a person or two to wander through, so Jungkook takes one such gap at random. There looks to be a fairly old though well-tended cottage beyond the trees, and even as the ecstasy of the healthy orchards envelops her in warmth, she feels the tug in her chest still guiding her forward.

Her body adjusts to the strong flow of positivity. It clears her mind, opens her lungs; like breathing pure mountain air. She has no idea what she’s really doing - trespassing and approaching a stranger’s house like this - but already the thought of having to leave here and find a place to stay makes her stomach curl.

Between the line of trees she can make out the front-facing wall of the cottage. Made up of wide planks of wood, slightly uneven with all the knots and flecks left on the surface, green creeping ivy runs lines across the edges of the plants like earthy seams. That’s all she can see, though, and the first sign of human life doesn’t come from what she sees but rather what she hears.

Reaching her ears even around the happy murmur of greenery, a bright voice hums a meandering but cheery tune, interspersed with chirped phrases that Jungkook can’t quite make out yet.

She approaches slowly, but impatiently peeks around the trunks of trees for a glimpse at the individual. The movement, the colour, the tint of energy that she feels off of them is unlike anything she’s felt before. Pure light, just as brilliant as it is tender.

She steps forward again, foot snapping a fallen twig. Suddenly, that stranger’s energy wobbles, the freezes in the air altogether. Jungkook pauses, knows she’s caught.

“A visitor?” the new voice exclaims incredulously, almost as if talking to themselves. “Are you human, visitor?”

Jungkook swallows. Whoever it was must not have been able to see her. “Mostly,” she replies hesitantly.

As if that’s the right answer, a joyous hoot rings out through the orchard, and light thumps skip closer. A smile stretches across Jungkook’s face entirely unconsciously, her eyes widening when the person finally darts into sight, hand hooked on an orange tree at the very end of the row.

“A friend, then!” the apparent owner of the house declares. They’re dressed for gardening, though dressed is perhaps overly generous. With bare feet and cropped, slightly curly hair, the only thing the person is even wearing is a pair of overalls, dirt on the knees, the leg cuffs rolled up to their calves and the front only just covering their otherwise naked chest. Every inch of skin revealed down to the elfish slope of their nose is a warm, rich bronze, like the sun itself has sunk below the surface and is instead shining outwards. It matches the high energy that Jungkook feels off of them, making her heart race.

Used to modest - even prudish - city fashion, Jungkook swallows at the delicate shoulders and collarbones that contrast enticingly with the swell of their biceps. Averting her eyes, she clears her throat and introduces herself. “And sorry for, uh, intruding,” she offers up with a grimace.

But the stranger waves it off, the movement exposing a flash of something gold on their palm. “Don’t be,” they respond easily, “we haven’t had a guest in years. Name’s Hoseok, by the way.”

“Jungkook,” Jungkook replies without thinking, making the other’s eyes light up even more. “I don’t even… I don’t really know why I’m here.”

Hoseok seems to be expecting this answer. “You should come inside, Jungkook. I built up wards against humans about three years ago when we moved in - it’s not even on any maps now! - so if you’re here, you’re here for a reason. Just because you don’t know it yet doesn’t mean it isn’t important.” They state this all like it’s a matter of fact, and Jungkook herself feels instinctively swayed by the logic. Or, perhaps, swayed by the way Hoseok’s back flexes behind the straps of the overalls as they turn towards the house, leading her there.

Jungkook swallows, trying to distract herself from the beautiful being in front of her. “Are you a, um-” but even her first question isn’t so clear. Unsure what to choose, she goes with the statistically more common option. “-are you a witch like me?”

Hoseok cranes their head back with an easy grin, boyish waves framing their face like a dark halo. “That’s up for debate. Technically, sure, but I don’t really like using the term witch or wizard. Lots of non-binary folk just use warlock, mostly. But yes, I have magic. Come see.”

They hold out their palm, then, and Jungkook jogs forward a few steps to catch up, just breaking out of the shade of the orchard as Hoseok tilts their hand towards her.

Like the rest of Hoseok’s skin, their palm is a warm golden shade, though it positively glows, an ethereal brightness resting below the skin, centred in their palm but reaching as far as their fingertips like five tiny lamps. “Sunhands,” Hoseok explains simply, their hands radiating a delicate warmth. “Had them since I was born. Helps me grow things year-round,” they finish, gesturing loosely in front of them.

Finally breaking her gaze from Hoseok’s beautiful gift, Jungkook looks ahead, unable to stop herself from gasping in a breath. “It’s gorgeous,” she offers up, but the compliment feels lame in comparison to the haven she’s met with.

Hoseok hums proudly nonetheless, and gives Jungkook time to take it in.

The house is every bit the rustic, homely cottage Jungkook had envisaged from the glimpse she got, but her heart is taken by the details. The wooden face she’s met with is clearly the side of it, hosting a small woodshed complete with an axe half-embedded in a tree stump and a tiny freestanding barbecue grill. The house itself is two-storied, although the second floor looks much smaller than the first. A round glass window peeks out from the top. Jungkook thinks she sees something move behind it, but her attention is quickly pulled by the glint of glass in the sun off to her right.

Behind the house, taking up almost the same ground space as the other building itself, a glasshouse blooms with vibrant green. Lush ivy trails up the frame on either side of the rounded top like a set of ribs bracketing the plant life inside. Unlike the neat rows of fruit trees, it looked like a dense forest within those crystal clear walls; the only signs of human intervention were the rows of metal shelves housing smaller plants, and irrigation pipes fitted inside.

“Our little sanctuary,” Hoseok sighs happily, seeing where Jungkook’s gaze has wandered. “My wife’s a botanist by trade, her specialty is in endangered species. Most of these only bloom very rarely, or don’t survive well in regular soils. We’ve spent a long time cultivating them. I use my gift to grow them; she uses her gift to study them.”

Jungkook tries to tamp down the ebb of disappointment that arises. “Your wife?”

“In all ways but legal,” Hoseok confirms with a dreamy grin. “She’ll just love you, I know it already. Come on; let’s get out of the heat.”

There’s a swing bench on the porch outside the front door with a lone novel resting atop it, open page-down as if the reader had to leave it there without a bookmark to keep their spot. Hoseok skirts past it, wiggling their feet briefly on a worn mat before stepping inside.

Feeling so out of her depth, Jungkook doesn’t protest, but instead pauses just inside the door, unsure if she should take off her boots.

Hoseok notices and winces. “We don’t, uh, we don’t have any spare house slippers. If you wanna keep them on, you can.”

Jungkook bends down to toggle the zips down anyway, letting her socked feet enjoy the respite of the cool hardwood floor. “You have a really nice place,” she offers up, though it’s quite the understatement.

To the right is a narrow set of stairs leading up to a mezzanine. There’s only one closed door up there that Jungkook can see, no doubt leading to the second-floor window she’d seen earlier.

The other side is a short hallway lined with what looks like homemade artworks and photographs. Down at the far end, the sun shines into a kitchen, but Jungkook doesn’t get a good look before she’s ferried up the stairs, the third step creaking under her socked foot.

“Knock knock,” Hoseok sings out instead of actually rapping on the closed door, squishing their cheek against the frame. A murmur comes from inside, and they open the door immediately, flocking inside. “A new friend, Joon-ah!”

When Jungkook slips inside shyly, her breath is immediately taken away by the beauty of the person inside. Not just their looks, though she’s never seen hair as glossy and graceful as theirs, and eyes as bright. But being near them feels like standing on the bank of a still, clear lake. Deep with wisdom but still teeming with life and curiosity. With a set of tortoiseshell reading glasses almost tipping off their nose, the person seated at the chair feels like the heart of the house, the heart of the whole region.

“Does this new friend of ours have a name? Preferred pronouns?”

Jungkook can’t do much more than blink. She’s dreamt about this, obsessed over this for years, but it may just be the first time anyone’s ever actually asked her in real life. “Sh- uh- Jungkook, she/her. Th-thank you for asking.”

The beauty in front of her smiles, and Jungkook’s knees threaten to give out at the serene warmth and endearing dimple. “It’s a pleasure. I’m Joon, by the way. I use she/her too. I’m sure Hoseok forgot entirely, but they use they/them. Always best to check, don’t you agree?”

Jungkook’s nodding immediately in response before she even processes it. “Yeah, I- that’s helpful, thank you.” Her mind feels hazy. People in the city never felt this vibrant, mixed with the blissful hum on the soles of her feet from the plantlife outside. She fights to wrangle her mind back into something coherent “Um… Hoseok said you had a gift too?”

Joon’s brows furrow delicately, swiveling her chair back to face them fully. She’d been seated at a busy-looking desk when they entered, writing notes into the margin of a yellowed textbook. Now, Jungkook can appreciate her simple choice of outfit: just a loose t-shirt and some thin fabric sweats, she nevertheless exudes pure grace, even as she quirks a brow towards Hoseok.

The latter coughs lightly, scratching their bare shoulder under one of the overall straps. “I mean… I would call you gifted, love,” they state in an imploring tone.

Joon just lets out a breathy chuckle and turns back to their newcomer. “I’m fully human, actually. My history is academic rather than magical.”

“I am curious, though,” Hoseok chirps, hooking one of their legs on the arm of Joon’s chair and draping themself half onto her, “what’s your gift, Jungkook? You’ve seen mine. Elemental,” Hoseok states, patting their bronzed palms on Joon’s thighs.

If Jungkook pauses to process the public display of queer affection in front of her - as well as the unfurling of mutual fondness emanating off the couple - she might just pass out, so she clears her throat and directs her gaze a few inches above their heads. “Sensory,” she explains. “I feel moods from other beings. I think the trees and stuff outside brought me here, actually.”

Hoseok blinks, eyes wide. One of their overall straps has slipped down, exposing one side of their chest, making Joon tut and tuck it back up again, but the gifted one takes no note. “The trees? You can feel the trees?”

Jungkook shrugs, but her insides glow at the impressed tone to their voice. “Yeah, I, uh, I can’t really do much with it, so I studied house magic at university. I rented out house witch services for some extra money, so that helps.”

Joon’s smile warms even further at the mention of study, her eyes crinkled with some bemusing inside joke. “We might just have to keep you, then,” she quirks, “as amazing as Hoseok is, their skills don’t really extend to the indoors. Mind you, I’m even worse myself.”

Hoseok hums, unflapped by the comment. “I never had a knack for fiddly stuff. I much prefer getting my clothes dirty than cleaning them.” Seeing how worn and discoloured the knees of Hoseok’s overalls are, Jungkook doesn’t doubt that for a second.

But her mind can’t really focus on that. Her own nerves rattle through her body, metallic on the insides of her cheeks. “I, um… I could help? If you wanted?”

The tentative flicker of interest reaches Jungkook from both parties, allowing her to get her hopes up. Nevertheless, she bites her tongue and braces herself for rejection. Did she even have enough money on her card for the train ride home? Stupid, she was-

Joon beams warmly, though with a touch of hesitation. “We’d love that, really we would. We just… We don’t have much human currency, Jungkook.”

Jungkook blinks, chest flipping as she rushes to shake her head. “I don’t need it, honest! Do you- If you had a place for me to crash, or…”

Hoseok sucks in a breath through their teeth and jostles Joon playfully on the shoulder. “Come on, love, we could move some of those old boxes up here and she could have the spare room. Don’t you want to keep her?”

Even faced with Hoseok’s all-but-bare back, Jungkook can sense their pleading eyes with the way that Joon melts in her chair. She pats Hoseok on the shoulder. “Up you get, then, sunshine. It’ll need some dusting too.” The curled brunette heaves themself up, peppering a kiss on Joon’s cheek before slinking out the room.

Jungkook isn’t quite sure if the rising ecstasy in her chest is all her or a shared blend of the people around her, but she knows she’s never felt so bright. “Thank you so much, Joon! What jobs do you need help with?” She turns when she feels the tingling, menthol-esque blossom of hope directed at her back. Near the top of the stairs, Hoseok still remains, their cheek squashed against the banister and eyes glistening. “I could always clear out the room for you?”

Hoseok begins to perk up but Joon just tuts. “Don’t be silly, sweetheart, you just put your feet up. We aren’t going to put you to work straight away.”

“We aren’t?” Hoseok murmurs in unbidden disappointment.

Joon tries to hide her smile, but her lips quirk up fondly at her partner nonetheless. “The cleaning spray and broom are in the hallway cupboard downstairs,” she divulges, receiving a dramatic whine in return. “Suffering builds character, dear.”

A sulky, “yeah, yeah… love you,” is heard from the foot of the stairs.

Joon lets out a breathy chuckle and returns the affection, before standing up from her desk and nodding warmly at Jungkook. “Perfect weather for a lunch picnic, don’t you think? I might go down and see what I can prepare. Why don’t you explore a bit, or go rest? The couch in the living room is divine for taking naps.” With that, she departs, leaving Jungkook alone in the attic to process the absurdity of the past hour.

Feeling less like an intruder than before, Jungkook welcomes the opportunity to fully roam the outside of the property, admiring the lush wildlife and vegetation. The open plains go far beyond the opposite side of the house, leading to a sharper cliff face going up. Jungkook even thinks she can spot the thin vein of a waterfall if she squints, but there’s plenty of beauty at her feet for her to discover first.

While the grove of trees flanks the house on one side, the far side boasts rows and rows of garden beds, the dirt a richer brown than the rest. Fat strawberries weigh down their stalks in some plots, leafy greens spill over the sides in others. The vast range of produce is almost unbelievable, with the side of the house itself displaying a maze of herb pots. Most of them were cooking-based, but Jungkook doesn’t miss the orange spots of brewer’s mint, the sharp, wicked-looking leaves of murkroot and even a small terracotta pot of Jupiter sage. She was well-versed in magical ingredients, but had never seen them fresh outside of her university’s greenhouse. She could only imagine there were many more in the tall glass structure behind Joon and Hoseok’s house. Her fingers itch to test them, to wow her new landlords with a pain-reliever salve or the perfect dream-infused tea. It can wait, she tells herself. If they were growing them, perhaps they used them for something else.

A wet huff interrupts her musing, and she jumps when she feels something moving against her leg. Glancing down, she’s relieved to find the new presence is a tubby, short-haired dog with sleepy eyes, back arched as it stretches first its front legs, then its back, before collapsing onto its back, wriggling against Jungkook’s boot.

She lets out a disbelieving laugh, reaching down to gingerly rub the creature’s belly. The dog all but purrs, legs kicking in the air and tail thumping rhythmically against the sun-bleached wooden veranda.

“Where did you come from, huh?” Jungkook crouches, feeling her calf muscles ache but grinning at the way the dog seeks out her attention shamelessly, not hesitant at all about the presence of a stranger.

“Ah, I see you met Cho,” a warm voice comes from above her. Jungkook cranes her neck up, admiring Joon’s tall form. “She’s a rescue.”

A rescue? Paired with the close view of the gorgeous botanist, Jungkook has to bite down hard on the inside of her cheek to push her feelings down. She’d fall in love if she wasn’t careful. “Is that so?” she asks, willing her voice to be steady.

Joon nods, kneeling down to gently run her knuckles behind the dog’s ears, tan fur paling to white on the very tips. “I had to go to a nearby town for supplies, and found this wee girl in an alleyway digging in some bins. My heart broke for her, I just couldn’t leave her there.” She lets out a light laugh. “She was so skinny that Hob-ah called her chopstick. Now, though, she’s built like a barrel, so we just call her Cho.”

Cho wiggles her butt against the veranda, paw hooking on Jungkook’s wrist the moment the petting pauses. Continuing to pat the canine, Jungkook sighs. “That’s really sweet of you. She looks really healthy.”

A spontaneous laugh erupts from Joon’s nose. “She just about eats more than us, she better be. Anyways; I better get back to work. I just came out here to grab some mint for the lemonade.”

Jungkook stays hunched on the floor with Cho - whose nose is burrowed wetly into her furled palm - while Joon approaches the trellis of herb pots, gently plucking some soft green leaves off a plant that’s low enough to make her bend at the waist. Biting her lip harshly, Jungkook averts her gaze from the way her pale sweatpants pull taut around her hips with the movement.

Before long, the botanist returns inside, causing Cho to let out an indignant sneeze and scramble up to join her.

Jungkook exhales until her lungs feel concave. Back in a moment of quiet, she runs her fingertips over the texture of the wooden veranda. The energy from Joon’s unhurried focus feels like the echo of strong hands on Jungkook’s shoulders, but past it is the playful jab of Hoseok’s mock frustration. She grins, picturing the warlock fiddling with an old broom or trying to line up the corners of a fitted sheet. The tang of surprise has long since faded from Jungkook’s mouth, and it’s nice to sit in the warmth of both the sun and their welcome.

She breathes deeply, inhaling the fresh smell of clean air and fresh earth, and smiles.

For such a small house, there really is no shortage of work for Jungkook. Some things are easy fixes, like a permanent polish salve for the heavy mahogany bookcase in the main room or the several anti-dust spells she casts around the house. Others take days at a time to chip away at - she’d forgotten just how long it takes to fully steep a digestion aid tea to cure Hoseok’s raging lactose intolerance - but her two new housemates never nag or criticise. In fact, she’s found a warm foundation of purpose inside her that she hadn’t had since she graduated.

Each evening, when her hands begin to ache or the recipes on her phone look fuzzy, she packs up and joins the two lovebirds for dinner. It’s become a domestic ritual to help them cook, chat for a few hours on the porch as the sun slips below the hills, and then turn in for a restful night of sleep. It’s meant to be a full moon tonight - the fourth one since Jungkook arrived - and their routine is no different, gathered on the edge of the porch facing the open fields behind the house. It’s peaceful, Jungkook thinks. She’s more content now than she’s been in a long time.

There’s something...worrying bubbling within her with every shared moment, though. It’s in the way her pulse leaps when Hoseok beams at her, or the stuttered heartbeat in her chest with Joon’s casual touch. She knows they’re together, can feel the resonance of their affections inside her, yet she can’t help pretending those vibrations are directed at her. Lets herself accept the fond shoulder squeezes, blush at Hoseok’s playful winks.

It’s a dangerous fantasy to indulge in, but…

“Jung-ah, did you change your hair? It’s gorgeous.”

She flushes at the compliment, the genuine tone of Joon’s voice. Joon’s own hair is still a sunkissed brown, so long now that she often ties it off with a ribbon into a lazy ponytail. For a while, Jungkook burned with gender envy, knowing it would take years and years for her hair to grow that long. But a quick text to a friend from uni and an obscure millennial cosmetics spell site helped speed that process up. It wasn’t nearly as long as Joon’s, but the feeling of it tickling her bare shoulders each night made something deep inside of her positively glow. “Thank you,” she murmurs shyly. Hearing Joon notice it and respond well to it ignites that euphoric spark again. “Wanted something different.”

Hoseok reaches a hand up to ruffle their own hair; loose coils springing back around their brow. “Don’t you get hot, ladies? I’m tempted to take a razor to mine and it’s not even past my ears!”

Jungkook can’t manage to suppress a snicker in time. “I’d pay to see that.”

Hoseok grins, but sends a wink Joon’s way. “Hmm... wifey doesn’t seem so convinced, huh? Don’t you think I’d suit the skinhead look?”

Joon tilts her head back to catch the last few rays of orange sun, shadows cast below her jaw. “It wouldn’t be my first choice. But confidence looks better on you than any hairstyle, sunshine.”

Hoseok beams at that, letting the conversation drop as if they never were that interested in shaving anyway. “I think I’m making progress with the vanilla, love.”

That gets a strong reaction from Joon, her dark brows arching gracefully. Jungkook’s interest is peaked, leaning forward so that she’s sitting right on the edge of the porch. “The vanilla?”

Like a proud mother, Joon puffs her chest. “It’s mostly grown in Madagascar these days, and it’s a notoriously fickle plant. The flower only blooms one day a year, and is fertile for only 12 hours. And often, they require human intervention to actually pollinate. Seok-ah here thinks they can get it blooming more often. Have you gotten it, sunshine?”

Hoseok shrugs away the attention humbly, though their eyes glitter with barely-restrained excitement, turning to them both. “For a while I thought my sunhands were my only gift, but I think I must have some type of connection with plants too. I’m really not sure, but I’ve gotten my vanilla crop to bloom three times this month alone! Only two of them produced decent pods, but it’s definitely progress.” Their eyes drop, mouth twisting in thought. “I wonder if I could speed up the fermentation process as well. It usually takes months, but I’ve grown whole trees faster than that. Who knows?”

Joon’s reply is interrupted by a low vibration rattling against the porch. Her smile slips in confusion, and drops entirely when she flips the phone and reads the screen. “It’s Tae.”

Hoseok sobers up too, worry and anxiety emanating off them like a cold tide. “Is something wrong?”

Joon doesn’t reply, brows furrowed as she types something back. Barely a moment later - though it feels much longer as Jungkook awkwardly sits, completely out of the loop - a text buzzes through again, and a surprised laugh comes from the back of Joon’s throat, her lips stretched in a smile. “He’s… he got the job in Osaka.”

Hoseok gasps and claps their hands together once, wiggling in their spot. “That’s incredible!” they begin, but before Joon has even replied to the text, a third is coming through. Hoseok basically jumps in the air, demanding for their wife to read the message aloud.

“Oh my goodness, Tae has a boyfriend, Seok-ah! Says he’s a chef at a Korean restaurant in the city centre.” Joon smiles fondly. “He’s doing well, sunshine.”

Hoseok mulls this over with a slightly put-out look. “Dammit, I didn’t even think of dating a chef.”

“Hey! I’ll have you know that I made that dipping sauce from scratch yesterday.”

Jungkook feels the banter whip back and forth on either side of her, impenetrable without the important context. “Who’s, um, who’s Tae?” she asks hesitantly, bracing for them to scold her prying.

Joon just smiles placidly, reaching back to lazily re-tye the peach ribbon that’s threatening to slip off. “He’s our ex.”

“Ah, ah, ah,” Hoseok chides, “you know he doesn’t like to be called that.”

A sigh. “Tae’s our husband once-removed. Happy?”

“You… had a husband? Both of you, or?”

“What’s mine is hers, Jung-ah,” Hoseok coos happily, “we like to share. Tae was my… boyfriend, back in the day. We actually got hitched before I even met Joon. Young marriage, we were pretty dumb kids.” They shrug, the soothing cotton-soft acceptance filling the air around them, not a spike of negativity to be held. “He actually introduced us shortly after our honeymoon, and I fell for Joon straight away. I admitted my feelings to him, but he just started laughing. The two of them had briefly dated in high school. Small world, huh? We sort of fell into a trio after that.”

“It was unspoken, really,” Joon mumbles, her eyes in the far distance as blue twilight dims the sky. “It felt as natural as flowing water to us.”

“And then-” Hoseok breaks off roughly, and the air tightens. “Tae went through some personal changes. Identity changes. We all tried making it work, we loved being three, being together, but it wasn’t right for him anymore. He ended up winning a scholarship to a very prestigious photography school in Tokyo, and we all knew that was what was best for him.” They fall silent for such a long time that Jungkook would almost think they were finished talking. But then, only just audible, they whisper. “I’m glad he’s doing well.”

Joon leans over to Jungkook, her sweet scent filling the narrow space between them. “Some of the art in the hallway is his if you want to look.”

Before Jungkook can reply - though her head is swimming with joonjoonjoon that she probably has no coherent comments anyway - Hoseok makes a strange strangled noise and gets up. “I’m so sorry,” they announce stiffly, “I think I left a light on in the glasshouse.”

Jungkook watches in confused silence as the warlock, still barefoot even in the cooling night air, marches swiftly across the field to the pitch-black glasshouse. Joon lets out a gentle sigh.

“Did I do something wrong?” Jungkook asks, voice almost cracking on the final word. “I shouldn’t have asked-”

“It’s okay,” Joon interrupts kindly, a warm hand placed on Jungkook’s knee. “It’s just… This is the first time we’ve had a third person in the house since Tae. I think Hoseok missed it.”

Jungkook bites on the inside of her cheek, feeling a chill run through her. “I can’t replace him, though. He sounds like a good guy.”

A considering hum resonates from Joon’s throat. “He is a good guy. But neither of us,” she gestures first at herself and then the shadowed silhouette of a head poking above some plants in the greenhouse, “are looking to replace him. In fact,” she admits with a rueful laugh, voice dropping to a low murmur, “I think the two of us are quite enamoured with you, Jung-ah.”

Joon’s hand on her knee burns through the thin cotton of her sundress, the tips just grazing bare skin. Jungkook swallows, feeling every beat of her heart thud at her ribs. “I like-” her voice rasps like sandpaper, throat dry. She clears it, swallowing thickly again. “I like when you say my name like that.”

She isn’t looking directly at Joon, but she still feels the broad smile. “It sounds pretty, don’t you think? It suits you.” Jungkook’s lips twitch; she ducks her head even as Joon leans closer. “You know, my parents wanted a son,” Joon explains softly. “They called me Namjoon. I always hated it. Felt like such a tomboy, the Nam was too mascule to me. So I dropped it. Still me, just… better. I know plenty of people change their names entirely, but you don’t have to. I think Hoseok would love to chat with you about stuff like that. I know I wouldn’t understand those feelings as much as they would.” Joon furrows her brows, looking embarrassed at her monologue. “I just want you to feel comfortable here.”

“I appreciate it,” Jungko- Jung-ah says immediately, glancing up to see Joon’s face light up. “I- I’m, um, enamoured with- with you too. With you two, too.” Coughing lightly to clear the awkward phrase hanging in the air, she drops her gaze again, but a single finger pauses her, hooked gently under her chin.

Slowly, Joon lifts Jung-ah’s jaw until their eyes meet. They’re somehow closer now, their breaths mingling hotly together between them. Jung-ah’s lips part, but no words come out.

This close, she can see the way a sheen of chapstick glints in the moonlight when Joon smiles. “Sweetheart, can I kiss you?”

Her stomach flips. She nods, not trusting her voice, and barely has a chance to flutter her eyes shut before a pressure lays across her lips. Joon kisses her slowly, so softly, like she might shatter in her hold.

The air has a chill to it now, but every point of contact feels hot like a furnace, and the keening, pleased energy that blooms from Joon keeps her warm. She lets it sink into her, wrap around her just as Joon’s soft palm encases her cheek, fingers playing with her hairline.

Joon’s lips taste like strawberry, but the real sweetness is her delicate movements, chaste but sensual, passionate but patient. Her thumb rubs slowly over Jung-ah’s cheekbone, giving her the strange feeling of swaying in the sea, entirely unmoored. She leans into it, diving deeper, feeling their noses bump.

Joon pulls away too soon, leaving Jung-ah with tingling lips and a dizzy mind. Her chapstick has all but rubbed off, but her lips are plumper and pinker than ever, pupils blown wide.

It takes a moment for the cloud to dissipate, but when it does, Jung-ah gasps weakly. “Oh my god, you’re married, what am I-”

“Ah, yes,” Joon remarks with a wry smile, “you’ll have to go and even the score now or I’m afraid Hoseok will be terribly disappointed.”

Jung-ah pauses, caught off-guard. “They won’t be...angry?”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Joon coos, “Seok-ah quizzed me for hours last night on the meanings of flowers so that they could grow you some. We’re poly, Jung-ah, you don’t have to stress. Besides,” she quips, inclining her head out towards the field, “it looks like they want to speak with you.”

Glancing in that direction, Jung-ah blinks when she sees the glasshouse, still in darkness, but with a warm yellow glow cast inside, the main door cracked open intentionally.

A fond energy smooths the air between them as Joon stands up off the porch and ruffles Jung-ah’s hair, mumbling a soft goodnight.

After listening to the door squeak open and closed again (she’d have to fix that tomorrow) Jung-ah has nothing left to do but make her way across the grassy plain toward the glasshouse.

The warm glow from inside had dimmed as the moonlight cast her surroundings in silver. Still, Jung-ah could see Hoseok’s silhouette clear as day as they paced back and forth amongst the various shadows of the plant life inside.

It doesn’t take long before her hands are brushing on the metal doorway, glancing inside. “Hoseok? Did you- are you-?”

“Come on in,” the warlock replies easily. There’s a pleased glint in their eyes even as their curls hang heavy over their brow. Overdue for a haircut, though Jung-ah couldn’t deny it made them look even more endearing. “Come here often?” they quip.

With a strange pang, Jung-ah realises this is the first time she’s stepping into the enclosed jungle. Hoseok spent time outside, Joon spent her days glued to her computer or a book upstairs, and Jung-ah wandered around the house with an ever-changing list of ‘Ideas’: to-do jobs that the homeowners were too polite to frame as compulsory. She never really ventured beyond the garden beds for the occasional herb to use. “First time,” she admits with an uneven tone.

Hoseok’s eyes wander, widening. “It is too,” they agree easily, unruffled. “Well, I’m very glad you came. I don’t blame you for sticking indoors. Joon’s far more interesting than me and my leaves.” They reach out and flick at a plant lazily, though Jung-ah doesn’t miss the gentle care in the touch.

“I think you’re fascinating,” she rebuts instead, “I just never wanted to bother you. But it’s… These plants, Hoseok, they’re beautiful.”

A proud beam highlights a smear of dirt on Hoseok’s chin, and Jung-ah resists the urge to reach up and dust it off. Instead, she follows riveted as Hoseok leads her around the deceptively large greenhouse.

“This is where I keep the rarer things. Or, I suppose, the more fickle ones,” they begin, trailing a path along a metal-framed shelf to their left with a single fingertip. “The tahina spectabilis here normally only lives until 50 in Madagascar,” Hoseok explains, and Jung-ah cranes her neck to glance up a trunk, looking much like a simple palm tree. Hoseok’s voice is soft, like they’re in a library, or a place to pay respects. “The tree will flower at fifty years old, and the process is so taxing that it actually dies. This one was passed down through my family’s ancestors, all elementals. It’s over two hundred.”

“Oh, wow,” Jung-ah murmurs without thinking, though she can’t help but view the sturdy trunk and flax-like leaves with a new admiration. “Your ancestors were all interested in nature like you?”

“Absolutely,” Hoseok remarks with a mysterious humour clouding their tone. “I bet yours were, too. Magical folk descend from gatherers and healers right back in the prehistoric age. I bet you would’ve been the healer to my gatherer, Jungkook.”

She swallows, watching the lines of Hoseok’s back move gracefully with every careful step through the lush, almost overgrown glasshouse. “Jung-ah,” she corrects lightly. “It’s, um, it’s Jung-ah now.”

When Hoseok turns, it’s like their fantastical surroundings are cast to grey. All Jung-ah can see is their bright eyes, bold heart-shaped smile and puffed cheeks. She wills her heart to stop thudding in her chest so hard, letting the pleased hum of the plants around them settle her internal rhythms.

“Jung-ah,” Hoseok repeats, and the name sounds even lighter on their tongue. “I like that.”

“I like you,” Jung-ah states and immediately curses her loose lips, wincing harshly at the rich dirt beneath her feet.

A surprised chuckle tinkles the air. “How scandalous, when my wife is just next door!” Before Jung-ah can dissolve into a blabbering, apologetic panic, Hoseok’s hand is reaching into her line of vision, a playful tug on the collar of her shirt. “Good thing she feels the same way as I do,” they continue softly, not lowering their hand.

Jung-ah sucks in a breath, feeling their knuckles bump against her collarbone as her chest lifts. “What way?” she asks carefully, daring herself to look up only for Hoseok to be far closer than she remembered, hand warm and glowing slightly between the two of them.

Behind the earnest smile is a slight hesitation that Jung-ah feels more than sees. Hoseok’s voice is barely a whisper, but no other sound penetrates their green paradise. “I want you to be the first thing I see when I wake up,” they confess, “and the last thing I see before I go to sleep. I want you to stay with us. I want to be yours, and you mine. That way.”

“Do you want to…” Jung-ah pauses, tongue wetting her lips unconsciously. “Do you want to kiss me?”

Hoseok’s smile grows, and the prodding hesitation disappears. “I’ve been waiting a long time to hear you ask that, hon.”

Their lips connect with no time for a reply. Jung-ah doesn’t mind though, letting herself melt into the kiss like there’s nothing else in the world. She feels Hoseok’s hands like twin suns, warmth running over her upper arms, her shoulders, catching gently on her jaw. And further, on a level so deep only she can feel it, those bright rays envelop her, Hoseok’s energy like pure joy. Jung-ah feels them smile into the kiss, lips slanting against hers and teeth bumping as they fail to suppress a grin.

When she finally has to pull away to suck in a breath, chest heaving, Hoseok is still beaming, their eyes dazed and hair rumpled. A strange light illuminates their chin and tip of their nose from below, and Jung-ah blinks in surprise as she sees Hoseok’s hands, completely alight up to their wrists with sunlight.

Catching Jung-ah’s gaze, Hoseok flushes, burying them in their overall pockets even as the light penetrates the heavy jean. “I know it’s bright, it’ll… it’ll settle down soon,” they promise, a sheepish smile puffing their cheeks. “I’m just really happy, Jung-ah.”

Jung-ah can’t help but return the smile. “Me too.”

~

Hoseok exhales dreamily as the sweet smell of strawberries fill the air. Not one for alcohol, they’d gotten Jung-ah to help make them some pink lemonade just the night before. Their wife hovers over the coffee table with the glass carafe, gripping it tight like it might wriggle out of her fingers at any moment.

One arm cradling several packets of snacks and the other holding a plate of slightly misshapen gimbap, Jung-ah makes her way between the two, settling the goods on the coffee table before slipping under Hoseok’s outstretched arm. The two curl up on the couch, Joon’s attempt at pouring the bubbly drink keeping them both amused.

“So nobody is going to help me?” she questions incredulously, grimacing as some of the lemonade doesn’t make it into the mugs she’s attempting to pour it into.

Hoseok’s fingers slip unconsciously under the hem of Jung-ah’s shirt sleeve, rubbing lightly at the skin there. “You’re doing splendid, love,” they assure earnestly. “The table was looking a little dehydrated.”

Joon lifts her jaw with a hard stare, but her lip quirks before she can help it. “I can’t believe this is my celebration party and I’m still the one doing this. I’ll remember this for your birthdays; just you wait.”

“Don’t worry,” Hoseok murmurs into Jung-ah’s ear with a lilting tone, “she always says that but I get breakfast in bed on my birthday every year. I love you, Joonie,” they call out in a singsong voice, reaching out to grab an outstretched mug with the hand not wrapped around Jung-ah’s shoulders.

Taking the other mug and watching the bubbles pop on the surface of the rosy liquid, Jung-ah sends Joon a warm smile. “I’m really proud of you, Joon,” she praises softly. “You worked hard, and the book is amazing.”

Joon raises a brow, taking a swig from the final mug and squeezing up on Jung-ah’s free side, neglecting the second empty couch in exchange for some closeness. “Have you read it?”

Jung-ah pauses, avoiding her gaze. “Seokie and I looked at all the pictures.”

Joon nods somberly, even as her eyes glint in bemusement. “The one thing I didn’t do.”

Hoseok’s hand reaches far enough past Jung-ah to just slightly brush at Joon’s cheek, the human pressing into the contact. “You’re far smarter than us, love. There were lots of very big words that we couldn’t quite understand but we’re proud of you nonetheless.”

Joon lets herself smile then, a warm one that crinkles her eyes and deepens her dimple. “I love you both too.”

Jung-ah flushes, feeling her toes curl at the sentiment, professing her own love for the two on either side of her before dipping her chin to sip at the lemonade. The sparkling water tickles the roof of her mouth, the lemon giving a bright tang, even as the strawberry infusion leaves a sweetness on her tongue long after she’s swallowed. It’s familiar to her, somehow.

As Joon leans onto Jung-ah’s side, beginning to explain to them the elaborate process of getting her third book published, Jung-ah takes another sip, swilling it in her mouth a little longer this time. It’s not until Hoseok’s getting up to pour them all a second glass, making the other two cackle as their hand is even shakier than Joon’s, that Jung-ah finally realises where she remembers that taste from.

It’s not a taste at all, but a feeling, an energy. Most of the senses her gift gave her were from other people, from plants, from wildlife. Very rarely were her own emotions strong enough to come back to her like mic feedback. But she recognised this one. Jung-ah was content.

[xomsellie]

i think i just saw ELENORE CUNNINGHAM ride by on a golf cart . at least i think it was them . after all , STRAWBERRY WINE by DEANA CARTER was blasting on the transistor radio . maybe they were on their way to work , i hear they’re a COCKTAIL WAITRESS . but they totally could have been on their way to ADMIRE THE GARDEN . guess we’ll never know . you’ll definitely know its them when you see HALF EATEN PEACHES , HOMEMADE FLOWER CROWS & ROMANCE NOVELS around the country club . let’s just hope they stay off the green after hours or else the sprinklers will get them !

ellie is a country girl through and through.

her father died in an accident when she was two, so she’s been raised by a single mother for almost all of the years she can remember.

she grew up on a farm in georgia. they never planned on leaving until her mother fell ill. they found a specialist in new york and had to sell the property to afford it.

i wouldn’t say she’s immature but she’s childish. she’s so easy to make laugh and she is fairly naïve -- she spent more of her time playing with calves in the field than interacting with other kids and teenagers her age, so a lot of average humor is lost on her. i can almost promise you if you make a sex joke, flirt with her or use slang for getting high she ain’t gonna get it.

she loves flowers!

she loves loves loves dogs!

she’s in love with the idea of love too!

it’s safe to assume she just loves everything! she has the purest soul. she’s sunshine embodied in a human and if you see her mad you better run because in two decades she’s never truly been mad.

v sensitive. she likes to think she’s strong, but she’s more physically strong from all the hard work than she is emotionally strong. she just wants to be loved. she doesn’t like conflict. it makes her so sad to see other people hurting.

she enjoys reading, mostly romance novels.

if she decides that she likes you you’re kind of stuck with her, even if you don’t want to be. you have to be blunt, straight up say ‘ellie, i do not want to be your friend’ or she will not get the memo. tbh? even then she might not.

if you wanna make her happy just give her fruit.

if you wanna make her really happy, give her a peach.

she is not very easily scared. she likes storms, spiders, bugs, heights don’t bother her. to be so sensitive, most of the common things that people are worried about she won’t bat an eye at.

sometimes she feels very overwhelmed and out of place with this town. everything is so different than what she’s known.

she actually enjoys her job. being a waitress is a new challenge and even though some customers may be rude or too drunk the good make up for it.

she’s a very social person. loves people. loves talking to them.

she’s a bit of a goody two shoes. it isn’t intentional. she doesn’t want to disappoint anyone or make their life harder, so she feels really bad when someone gets mad at her or she can’t do what they want.

she’s a fairly confident person, comfortable in her own skin, doesn’t want to change anything about herself, embraces her flaws while working to be better.

elenore’s dream is to work hard, save up and buy back the farm she was meant to inherent from her parents. she just really wants her mama to get better, to eventually have her own little family, and everyone she loves to be happy, and it would be perfect if she could raise her future children the same place she grew up.

[jiangchengrights]

i wake to you at dawn

also available on ao3

“Alright, I get it,” Wei Ying mumbles to herself from where she lays, half of her face shoved into the pillow beneath her head, the other half just barely illuminated by the screen on her phone, “This dog is friends with that other dog now. Whoop de-fucking-do.”

Usually, these soft animal videos on Instagram don’t annoy her that much, even when they are about dogs, but she’s seen this specific post about fourteen times tonight. She can recite by memory the posts that come after it (a celebrity laying out in the sun, the tagline only the sunflower emoji, followed by one of Wen Qing, looking stern but fond as her lap is completely covered by both Wei Ying and Wen Ning, the tagline for that being ‘Reluctant jie’, and so on and so on) because she’s been frenetically refreshing all of her social media apps in order; she now knows the current lineup of instagram posts and tweets in her feed and has seen every godforsaken not-actually-that-interesting story of all of her friends (which isn’t fair to them, really, considering all of the important ones are here trapped in this same hotel as Wei Ying).

“Oh my god,” Jiang Cheng grumbles from the other side of the room where he lays on his bed (because of course he’s a part of her bridal party. Kind of. He’s walking her down the aisle tomorrow which, okay, makes him technically not a part of her party but she wasn’t about to let him skate free the night before her wedding)(or any of her bridal functions)(not that she needed to worry: he’d taken all planning rights away from her for her bridal shower and bachelorette party, he’d only tolerated the help of shijie) and throws his extra pillow at her, “If I have to hear that fucking dog video one more time, I swear to god, I’ll break your kneecaps. Do you hear me? I’ll have to drag you down the aisle tomorrow because you won’t be able to walk.”

“I thought you liked dogs, Shidi,” she replies, shifting ever-so-slightly so that she can squint at him past her phone.

“Wei Wuxian-”

“A-Cheng, A-Ying,” Shijie hums soothingly, from the other side of the room, “Please rest, for me. Your Shijie needs sleep too.”

“And if you don’t,” Wen Qing pipes up, “I know other ways to make you shut up.”

“Okay, okay,” Wei Ying whines, locking her phone with an audible click and resting it on the pillow next to her head, “I’ll try to sleep. For Shijie.”

Wei Ying does not sleep. She tries, she really does. Turns off all the lights and all the sounds and everything shiny that could keep her just engaged enough to stay awake. She tries to listen to the steadying breathes of her bridal party around her; Jiang Cheng and Nie Huaisang lay on the bed to her left, Shijie and Wen Qing to her right, Wen Ning passed out on the floor (he’d been invited, truly, to sleep in the empty spot next to her, only he’d fallen asleep long before everyone else and moving him to an actual bed proved to be very difficult when all the adults in the room were half (three fourths) wine drunk and giggling, so they’d just put a pillow under his head and wrapped him in their softest blankets and left it at that). She practices all the meditation tricks Lan Zhan had taught her; tries to calm her mind and her breathing and her heart.

It doesn’t work.

God, she wishes to herself, regardless of however illogical it may be, I wish Lan Zhan was in my bridal party.

With a sigh, she spends some time reflecting. She’s made so many bad decisions in her life, ones that have resulted in no less than three broken arms (sorry A-Cheng), many school detentions, almost getting expelled from university, a car accident that had left Shijie with seatbelt burns and a black eye from the airbag and Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, had left Lan Zhan, who’d been sitting prim and proper in the back seat, with scars that still lingered across the expanse of her back in the shape of all of Wei Ying’s nightmares. She’d chosen to hide away after that for three years in a different city with different hair and a different smile on her face and pretend like she didn’t feel a bone crushing loneliness in her entire being every time she thought of her Shijie, and didi, and her Lan Zhan who wasn’t really hers anymore, and that fact that in her self imposed exile she would never seen any of them again. That was, until Lan Zhan found her and dragged her back home and made her whole again.

Wei Ying was always whole, Lan Zhan would say, has said, I just helped Wei Ying find a way back. Will always bring Wei Ying back.

But with all that behind her and mostly wrapped up, this, tonight, right here, feels like her worst idea yet. She’d been so confident too! Had fought every naysayer, including Lan Zhan herself, with a cocky smile and a wave of her hand.

Brides shouldn't see each other the night before the wedding! She had laughed, and then laughed harder when Lan Zhan’s fingers had tightened where they dug into her hip, Besides, we’re not one of those couples! We can handle one night apart!

And she had been right, for the most part. Of course she missed Lan Zhan, but a night spent apart, having fun with her little family, all of them basking in the shared excitement of her impending nuptials. What she hadn’t anticipated was trying to sleep without Lan Zhan beside her, not when she’s this nervous, hadn’t thought about how deeply she would miss Lan Zhan’s warm weight behind her, her steadying arm firm around her waist, holding Wei Ying together like she did every night. She feels the absence with every shift of her hips that press backwards into nothing, every time she throws an arm out to rest on an empty pillow and the fact that there are no warm, soft, calves to ruthlessly shove her cold toes against.

By the time she picks up her phone again, everyone in the room is peacefully asleep and the  clock on her bedside table blinks 2:36, proud and red and rude, if you ask Wei Ying. She gives up on sleep and starts mentally calculating exactly how much concealer she’ll need to cover the bags under her eyes. After all, she wants to look her absolute best for Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan who is so steady and warm and beautiful, Lan Zhan who could open her mouth wide and eat Wei Ying’s entire heart in one bite but doesn’t, instead offering her own heart up on a silver platter for Wei Ying.

Wei Ying opens their messages on her phone, reads through the last few, laughs at the pictures she’d sent earlier in the night of Nie Mingjue, eyes half lidded with alcohol, laying messy kisses to the side of Xichen-ge’s face, who seemed to be accepting them with grace and only slightly tinged red ears. She taps her fingers on the screen, starting a message, lan zhan i can’t slee-

She doubles back, erasing it, deciding she doesn’t need to be whiny the night before their wedding, when Lan Zhan is surely asleep anyways. Again she starts, good early morning, lan zhan! i can’t wait to see you in your-

Too much, that is utterly too much. i love you, she types, hesitates with her thumb over the send button. What if the sound of her phone wakes Lan Zhan up? What if then Lan Zhan can’t fall back asleep? What if Lan Zhan tosses and turns all night and ends up with a headache, overtired on their wedding day of all times? What if this texts absolutely ruins everythi-

Her phone sounds, the little swooping noise it makes when she receives a new message on the thread she’s already looking at. She looks down and finds a link from Lan Zhan to a video of baby bunnies playing together with a message that says, When we return from our honeymoon, I think it is time we get another bunny. Possibly two.

And well. Her decision is made for her really. If Lan Zhan is awake, laying in her own bed in a room on the other side of the hotel, fighting off insomniatic boredom with bunny videos, there’s no way Wei Ying can stay here and allow them both to suffer.

She finds herself glad that Wen Ning is on the floor, though it looks a tad uncomfortable, because she’s able to slip out of bed with ease, bare feet silent on the carpeted floor. The only thing she grabs is her phone, not even bothering to try to find her shoes in the colossal mess that is her dark bridal room, littered with take out and bottles and stripped off clothing. Her nose crinkles, amused, when she thinks of the look of reprove she’ll surely get from Lan Zhan when she realizes Wei Ying walked around barefoot.

She manages to zigzag her way to the door without stepping on anything or making any noise, a feat she will congratulate herself on later. The door opens slowly, making the barest hint of noise as yellow hotel-hallway light floods the entrance to the room. Wei Ying pumps her fist, gloating at being able to sneak out without a single one of her party-poopers (read: caring family) waking up to ruin it for her and make her climb back into her own bed.

That is, until she catches Nie Huaisang’s eyes, watching her from where he lays next to Jiang Cheng. The most dangerous opponent, really, because with one shove of his arm he’d have Jiang Cheng up and yelling, alarming the whole room before she’d even make it to the elevator. She’s not sure she knows the layout of the hotel well enough to make it safely inside Lan Zhan’s room before one of them caught her.

Silent, slow, she moves one finger up to place over her lips, keeping eye contact with Nie Huaisang the whole time. She pleads with him from across the room, imploring him to be cool. He blinks, once, twice, slow like a cat in the sun, and then closes his eyes a third time for good and raises one, slow, thumbs up to her.

Her sigh of relief is the last noise in the room before she shuts the door and power walks to the elevator at the end of the hallway. She is going to buy him the biggest fruit basket. She dances by herself once inside the elevator, suddenly feeling cold and exposed in her red silk sleep tank and shorts, goosebumps prickling her arms and thighs. If only Lan Zhan’s room wasn’t so stupidly far away.

Of course her room has to be far away! Jiang Cheng had yelled when Wei Ying whined about it, the second you start drinking all you want to do is sit in her lap! You’re lucky I’m letting her party stay in the same hotel as yours!

And well, he hadn’t been wrong, per say, she thinks to herself as she tiptoes off the elevator and down the maze-like hall to get to Lan Zhan’s room. She still didn’t appreciate the distance though. She quietly tap taps on the door with one hand, pressing send on a text with the other that reads, lan zhan let me in lan ZHAN!!!

The door opens before her hand has even fallen back to her side. And there is her Lan Zhan, in soft cloud print pajamas pants and a white t-shirt, hair drawn up into a neat bun, eyes tired but awake.

“Wei Ying,” she says, the smile in her voice all Wei Ying needs to know about her welcome. She slides closer, wrapping her arms around Lan Zhan’s neck, grinning when she feels the others arms sneak around her waist.

“Mmm, Lan Zhan,” she hums against Lan Zhan’s neck, moving up to her tiptoes so she can nuzzle her nose against the corner of Lan Zhan’s jaw, “I’m tired, let’s go to bed.”

“I thought I was not supposed to see the bride the night before the wedding,” Lan Zhan replies, but she’s already inching backwards into the room, dragging Wei Ying along with her.

“Who ever said that?” Wei Ying asks, knowing full well she was the one who said that, a smile on her face when she lets Lan Zhan drop her into bed.

“Besides,” she says, once Lan Zhan is settled beside her, reaching one hand up to pet the side of Lan Zhan’s face, thumb rubbing gentle circles across the expanse of Lan Zhan’s cheekbone, “Does it count if there’s two brides? I don’t think so, we cancel each other out, see? If anything we have to do the opposite, you know, we have to see each other extra hard tonight.”

“Hmm,” Lan Zhan hums, her lips pulling up ever so slightly on one side as she leans in to rest her forehead against Wei Ying’s, legs tangling together, one hand sliding underneath Wei Ying’s shirt to spread warm and wide and firm in the valley between her shoulder blades, “Is that so?”

“Yes, tonight we have to,” Wei Ying nods, finally allowing her eyes to close as she presses further into Lan Zhan’s embrace, sleep finally weighing on her shoulders. She lets her head drop down, lips brushing against Lan Zhan’s collarbone, breathing her words right into Lan Zhan’s chest, “And every night too. I’ll tack that on for free, Lan Zhan, every night.”

“Yes, Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan sighs against her hair and melts under Wei Ying’s nimble fingers, relaxed at once with the promise of forever, “Every night.”

“I love you,” Wei Ying whispers, one final thing, around a yawn and finally, finally settles for the night. She almost misses Lan Zhan’s whispered reply, I love you too.

But she doesn’t. She never wants to miss a single thing Lan Zhan has to say.

Coda:

For all of fifteen seconds, the world is warm and bright and everything good when Wei Ying wakes up. Toned legs tangle with her own and a soft hand pets her hair away from her face, gentle and comforting again and again. She herself is pressed messily against Lan Zhan’s chest, quite possibly, embarrassingly, drooling ever so slightly. She does not have time to register this, however, before the banging starts.

“Wei Wuxian, I know you’re in there!” comes a belt from the other side of the door, that has her shooting up in an awkward half sitting position, splayed on one-fourth on the bed and three-fourths in Lan Zhan’s lap. Lan Zhan’s hands act as a steadying force, one on her hip, the other on her back, as she blinks deliriously around the room.

Nie Mingjue seems to be in a similar position, probably blinking off a hangover and propelling up from his sleeping position, glaring around the room like he might find the source of their disturbance somewhere inside. Jin Zixuan, on the other hand, groans loud and long, pressing his pillow over his ears.

“I see you are up,” Lan Xichen smiles from the little table where he sits, drinking his cup of tea peacefully, unperturbed by the pounding on their door, “I hope you rested well.”

“I did, thank you Xichen-ge,” Wei Ying tries to laugh around the blush high in her cheeks, only now really registering the fact that Lan Zhan was also sharing a room and not, in fact, alone just waiting for Wei Ying to traipse her way in.

But when she looks down at the woman laying beside her, she sees none of her own embarrassment reflected there, only a fond smile and a soft hand reaching out to tuck a stray piece of hair behind her ears. Huh, she thinks, revising her earlier thoughts, maybe not alone but definitely waiting for me.

“Wei Wuxian!” comes again from outside the door, though this time it just has her laughing, pushing into Lan Zhan’s hands like a cat.

“When did you get here?” Nie Mingjue asks, rubbing at his eyes. But he stands and stumbles his way over to Xichen and the tea and doesn’t seem particularly hard pressed for an answer, so Wei Ying ignores it.

“Hi, we’re getting married today,” she says instead, meeting Lan Zhan’s smile with her own.

“Mn,” Lan Zhan hums while the banging on the door stops. Finally, Wei Ying sighs, leaning down to press her lips against Lan Zhan’s, chaste because they are still in front of Lan Zhan’s brother and her brother in law. She’s still there when the door pops open, revealing a quietly furious Wen Qing.

“Wei Wuxian,” she seethes, taking calculated steps closer, “You were supposed to stay in your bed.”

“I did!” Wei Ying says, smiling wide to prove her innocence, “Lan Zhan is my bed!”

“I am going to-” Jiang Cheng barges through, leaving no one to hold the door open; it swings heavily back straight towards Jiang Yanli.

Before Wei Ying can even shout a disgruntled hey! Jin Zixuan, who was already on his way to the door, catches it with his hand and leads Jiang Yanli inside with a gentle hand and a soft smile that makes Wei Ying want to puke.

But Yanli-jie smiles back, big and happy and unashamed, leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek, “Hello, husband.”

“Good morning, A-Li,” he says back, wistful and dopey as he leads her inside with a soft hand on the small of her back. Right in that moment, Wei Ying decides maybe she doesn’t hate him. For now.

“Sorry, Shijie,” Jiang Cheng responds, automatic when he looks back but Jiang Yanli waves him off with a forgiving smile.

“I know it wasn’t on purpose A-Cheng.”

The commotion leaves Wei Ying relaxed in a way she should have known better than to be, because all too soon she is being hoisted away from her warm spot on the bed and dragged out of the room.

“You promised, Wei Wuxian!” Wen Qing snaps, but Wei Ying can already hear the forgiveness in her voice, the amusement. Wei Ying lets herself be dragged along, barefoot again, back to her own room. And then because honestly she’s a little on the edge of too-excited and too-in love she shouts over her shoulder:

“I’ll see you at the end of the aisle, Wife!” and maintains vision of the room just long enough for Lan Zhan, who’d pushed herself into an upright position, turn red and drop back down into the bed with a gasp, like all of the air had been knocked out of her.

Wei Ying’s cackles are only rivaled by the quiet, but pleased chuckles from Lan Xichen.

“Do you have to be such an annoyingly sweet couple every single day?” Wen Qing huffs, letting go of her (fake, Wei Ying is pretty sure) anger entirely, sliding her arm up so they can lock elbows, walking arm and arm back to Wei Ying’s room.

Wei Ying thinks of Lan Zhan, warm around her and ever inviting, even if it was 2AM, even if Wei Ying looked like a ragamuffin, even if, even if, and smiles wide, cheesy, deliriously with all the right decisions she’s made in this life and says, “Yes.”

[johannestevans]

Books To Return

The head librarian at the magical library in Llandeilio has a new admirer. 

Just a cute pair of trans dudes flirting! Little bit of humour, little bit of slice-of-life, side of magical realism. Rated T, 4k. For Tinybroccoli11. 

Please reblog if you enjoy it! 

Jay Henderson walked into the library for the first time at five minutes past five o’clock on a Tuesday afternoon. He walked very stiffly, holding his shoulders squarely, dragging his feet slightly as he moved. He was a large man with a rounded, barrel chest and belly, a wide waist, short, and although a green flannel shirt was tied around his waist, he wore a black vest, and his bare arms, which were trunk thick, fat layered over muscle, and the left was covered over with an intricate sleeve, black ink showing a complicated design of trees in blossom.

That was the first thought Andras had, when he first looked at him, that his arms looked good, strong – sexy.

The second thought he had was that they were both smeared with a dark, rusty red substance he was fairly certain was blood.

Jay walked up to the desk – at that moment, Andras didn’t even know his name was Jay, wasn’t sure of his pronouns either, actually, because he didn’t wear a badge, didn’t have anything visible to give much of a hint. He wore his hair cut very short, shaved to a four, had a stretcher through one ear and a ring through the opposite eyebrow, had round, plump cheeks that were a healthy pink and scattered with freckles, had a round jaw.

But he walked up to the desk.

“Good afternoon,” Andras said quietly, and Jay – the person, as yet unidentified – put his hands on the front of the desk, looked at Andras seriously, leaned on the surface as though it were the only thing holding him up. “How may I help?”

“Good afternoon,” Jay said. His voice was pitched low, but came from the throat, and lacked resonance: there was a natural huskiness to it that Andras hoped didn’t come from cigarettes, even though it was none of his business, because he couldn’t help but wonder, in the moment, what this person’s mouth tasted like.

Professionalism at its finest.

Andras waited patiently as the person turned over one of his hands, which were plump and somewhat smaller than Andras would have expected, and squinted at his palm. Andras saw the ink smudged on the skin, and after a moment of staring at it, his lips moving, Jay said, “Do you have any books on… goy-ber?”

Jay had an English accent, and it was plain he struggled with the pronunciation, but it was close enough for someone trying their best.

“Gwybr?” Andras offered.

Jay nodded.

It was quiet in the library – the stream of children after school had already come in, and most of them had left again now. There’d be another little boost of foot traffic in the next twenty or thirty minutes, but for the time being, it would remain as quiet as this.

“Let me show you,” Andras said, and stepped out from behind the central information desk. For a moment, Jay didn’t move, just stayed there, eye-level as he was with Andras’ chest, and stared, sight-unseeing, forward at him. “This way,” Andras prompted, feeling the back of his neck prickle with uncomfortable heat even though there was nothing to look at anymore, and Jay looked up at his face.

“Yeah,” he said, and followed dumbly behind as Andras led him through magical fauna, to dragonology, to dragons of Cymru-Loegr.

“Most of the reference material will show the gwybr under G – the gwybr is not the same as the common white dragon, but a subspecies of the Celtic water dragon, if that helps any.”

Jay stared at him for a moment. He had nice eyes, a sort of dirty, mottled green colour, like pears rotting in long grass. For a moment, Andras wondered if perhaps he hadn’t heard, but then he said, in the tone of one exhausted, “Right. Thanks,” and Andras gave a curt nod, and stepped away.

There was reshelving still to be done, but by the time he’d gotten back to the desk, one of the other librarians – Becca – had already taken off the rolling shelf to reshelve from, and so Andras sat back down at the desk, answering a few administrative emails in between answering queries as people dripped into the building from the rain outside.

At six-twenty-six, Jay shuffled to the desk, and placed six books on the counter.

“I’m afraid I can’t loan these to you,” Andras said, sliding his fingers over the two books at the base of the pile, heavy books with hard backs. “They’re reference books, and need to remain in the library. Both of them, however, are on our website, and can be perused at your leisure if you log in with your library ID.”

“Right,” was the response. “Um, I don’t have a… I moved out here last week, I don’t have a library card. Could I, uh, could I sign up?”

“Of course,” Andras said, and took the form out.

His name was Jay Henderson, and he lived on Coral Avenue, in Blodwyn’s Arcade. His proof of address was a letter notifying him of his appointment to the Llandeilo Magical Wildlife Centre. He was unmarried and unattached: he lived alone, and had two cats.  

“Thank you, Andras,” he said, when he had been given his library card, and had his books safely nestled under his coat, to protect them from the rain as he walked out to his car. “Um. Dylch.”

The single syllable, incorrect as it was, pronounced with inordinate effort, charmed without meaning to, and Andras felt himself smile. “Diolch yn fawr,” he said mildly. “A croeso.”

Jay stared at him, but then gave a stout nod of his head, and buttoned his coat closed.

Andras stared after him, and permitted himself precisely three seconds to glance down at the wide curve of Jay Henderson’s arse, wrapped tightly as it was in plum-coloured trousers.

Then, Mrs Evans – their final patron of the evening – came to take home her latest three torrid romance novels, and Andras smiled at her, and put the books on her card.

--

Jay Henderson returned on the following Tuesday, directly from work: the cut under his eye was fresh, and still bleeding. Andras abandoned the books he was due to reshelve, took the other man gently by the wrist, which was strong and warm and livid under his fingers, and led him aside, into the small kitchenette where a kettle and sink were settled for patrons to make tea.

Jay said nothing as he watched Andras reach for the first aid kit, and when Andras gave a gesture of one hand, he obediently tilted his head back, letting Andras rub an antiseptic wipe over the cut, although it must have stung, because he hissed quietly in pain.

“This will feel warm,” Andras said, “but it won’t hurt.”

Jay furrowed his brow, but didn’t say anything still as Andras murmured a few words under his breath, and gently drew his thumb over the borders of the cut, watching its soft glow as the parted skin was knitted close together again,

“Andras,” Jay said. “Am I saying that right?”

“You think there is another way to say it?” Andras asked as he packed the antiseptic away, and Jay watched him as he zipped up the first aid kit, setting it back into its cupboard.

“I like your pronoun badge,” Jay said lowly, and Andras turned to glance at him. Jay was looking at him, at Andras’ ankles, his calves and thighs, his arse, his waist, his shoulders. When Jay met Andras’ gaze, having looked all the way up again, Andras raised an eyebrow, and watched the colour glow, plainly visible, in Jay’s cheeks. “Not many cis guys would wear them.”

“All of our staff wear pronoun badges,” Andras said, in a tone of easy deflection. “You have books to return?”

“Yeah.”

Andras paused a moment as Jay got to his feet. Once more, Jay looked at his chest, and once more, Andras felt a prickling discomfort, the ghost of past outward perception, but he was aware, logically, that his chest was naturally where Jay’s gaze fell. The height difference between them was really that extreme – and not at all, in Andras’ mind, a deterrent.

“You don’t talk much, do you?” Andras asked, allowing his lip to curve up in a half-smile, and Jay looked up at him, his lips parting slightly.

“I don’t speak Welsh,” he said.

“We’re speaking English,” Andras reminded him.

“Nobody else is,” Jay said. “In the mundane side, there’s more English, but um. But everyone speaks Welsh. In the magical side, mostly. And this is a magical library. Fluffergeff.”

Andras said, “Llyfrgell.”

“I can do a lot of stuff with my mouth, Andras,” said Jay. “I can’t do that.”

“A lot of stuff, huh?” asked Andras.

Jay’s red cheeks glowed, but he smiled, too.

Andras led him to the desk, so that he could return his books.

--

Over the coming weeks, Jay Henderson came into the library every two or three days. Typically, he was bruised and battered, but the injuries were never extreme, and only one or two warranted a small sidebar in the kitchenette, where Andras could administer some minor care.

“What made you choose this line of work?” Andras asked on one such occasion, when Jay had a nasty graze down one calf, the result of falling down a steep embankment after a deer – a mundane deer – had given him a shock when he’d been scattering fruit pieces for the sprites in the wood. “You don’t seem to be very good at it.”

“I thought it would be easier,” Jay admitted.

“You don’t say?” Like this, Andras was down on one knee, and although Jay shivered as Andras gently dragged a gloved hand over the skin, taking up the dust and mud with an antiseptic wipe. Some of the blood had dried, but at the deepest parts, the wounds still bled slightly, and Andras was gentle about knitting them closed.

“I am good at it though,” Jay murmured. “I used to work on the reserve at the Palace.”

Andras had never been to the Palace. It was somewhere in the Midlands of Loegr, slap-bang in the centre of the biggest magical forestry reserve across the two kingdoms – he knew that they were behind a lot of other countries in the existence of magical reserves, but of course, the king had to be safely in the midst of one.

“Ah,” Andras murmured. “You’re used to somewhat tamer animals than this.”

“No, they’re not, uh, tamer,” Jay said, his eyes fluttering closed as Andras gently drew a little piece of stone out from a cut before he healed it again. “It’s their proximity to the king. Even in a coma, he releases a kind of, um, a kind of aura, I guess? The king regent has it too. All the creatures of Cymru-Loegr pledged loyalty to the king, once, before the Battle of Camlan – not the fae, but all the magical animals from, you know, this dimension.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“A lot of people don’t,” Jay said softly.

“You met the king regent?”

“Yeah,” Jay said.

“Goodness,” Andras said softly, leaning back on his heels. “And you gave up that for this?”

“It’s been alright so far,” Jay said, and Andras felt himself grin as he stood to his feet, removing his gloves and washing his hands. “There’s first aiders in the centre, you know.”

“And?”

Jay opened his mouth, then closed it. He was looking somewhere in the vicinity of Andras’ belly instead of at his face. “Nothing.”

--

Jay Henderson liked coffee, but not tea. When Andras mentioned how he took his own tea – milk, two sugars, Jay took to bringing some in with him from the café up the road before he came into the library.

The junior librarians commented on it, of course – it wasn’t often Andras made all that nice with anybody, let alone so nice with them that they came in three times a week with tea and ginger biscuits for him.

They found it quaint – sweet.

Andras almost didn’t care.

“You been a librarian a long time?”

“Fourteen years,” Andras said. “My degree was in Sorcery and Spellwork, and my final project was a fusion of classical archival enchantment and technomancy – specifically, search and reference spells. I built a spell system on an old computer – if you hooked it up to the wardstone in an abbey’s library, or whatever, you could sort of… search for keywords in nearby scrolls and books without scanning them first.”

“I didn’t really understand any of that,” Jay said, and Andras laughed.

“I built a computer with magic that would search a physical library, like this one, the same way a normal computer could search the internet,” he said, and Jay raised his eyebrows, the pieced one jumping as he did so.

“Is that useful?” he asked.

“No,” Andras admitted, and this time, it was Jay that laughed, a wonderful, hoarse and husky sound that came from low in his throat – he didn’t smoke, Andras had been delighted to discover. “It would have some practical applications, and I gave a lot of my research to people who’d find it useful – it’s the sort of thing that’s very useful for forensic accountancy, apparently, and I helped add some finetuning to some existing programs. But I thought it was cool, and I ended up pivoting away from technomancy and toward information sciences instead, and thus…”  Andras gestured with his hands at the library around them. “Finished my Masters at twenty-three and started working here.”

“How long’ve you been head librarian?”

“A decade.”

“Isn’t twenty-seven young for a head librarian?”

“I murdered the last one,” Andras said seriously, and Jay’s eyes widened slightly, showing their wonderful green colour.

“Really?”

“No. She retired.”

“You’re so weird,” Jay Henderson said, and Andras chuckled, leaning back in his seat, feeling the plastic creak slightly underneath him. He wished in that moment that he could reach out somehow, to touch the other man, but Jay was leaning on the desk as he always was: too far away.

The moment passed.

Time rolled on.

“Why did you move west, if you don’t have any Welsh?” Andras asked one evening, sipping at his mug of coffee as Jay leaned on the side of the desk, holding an icepack to the side of one jaw – sustained after an attempt at wrangling a faerie-boar had gone awry.

“I can read it alright,” Jay said. “I can do my forms. Just can’t speak it much.”

“That’s hardly an answer.”

“Lived in Camelot. Didn’t like it. Too busy. Thought it’d be quieter out this way.”

“Is it?”

“Yeah.”

“You like it?”

Jay looked at Andras, smiled. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I do.”

--

Two months after the first occasion Jay had come into the library, he arrived in a hurry at forty-five minutes past six on a Thursday evening. The lights in the library were already dimmed, and Callidora and Gwenan had already gone home.

Jay Henderson – for the first time, without new bruises – staggered to a stop just outside the library doors as Andras turned the key in the lock.

“Good day at work?” Andras asked.

He could feel Jay’s gaze on his back as he keyed in the code on the alarm.

“Yeah,” Jay said. “Didn’t fall down once.”

“Very impressive,” Andras said. “Overtime?”

“Paperwork. I, um, I’ll come back tomorrow, I have books to—”

“The slot for out-of-hours returns,” Andras said, turning on his heel, hooking one finger into the handle, and pulling down the hatch, “is here.”

“But I—”

“Give,” Andras said, holding out his hand, and Jay bit his lip, but he reached into his bag, a red leather satchel that clattered with one pin badge after another, and pulled out the two books he’d taken out a few days back. Andras took them from him, slipped them into the hatch, and closed it shut. “There,” he said softly. “Business concluded.”

“Yeah,” Jay said, and Andras watched the bob of his plump throat as he swallowed, eyes averted toward the street. He held himself as though he were worried of taking up too much space, as though he were worried about breaking everything around him, and there was something curiously beguiling in that, something that made Andras want to swaddle him in hs own jacket – no matter that it would be too small – and hold him in his lap. “I’ll, uh, I’ll see you Monday—”

“Ah ah,” Andras said, and hooked two fingers through one of the loops of Jay’s scarf, stopping him halfway through the motion of turning away, and Jay turned to stare at him again. Owlish, his lips parted, his cheeks very red. “You didn’t bring me tea.”

“I was running late,” Jay said, in a tone of apology, as though he had something to apologise for.

“Just a joke, Jay,” Andras said in a tone of gentle assurance, stroking his fingers over the soft wool of the scarf – it felt hand-knitted, and he watched Jay shiver. “Just play.”

“Right,” Jay said lowly. “Um, I didn’t— I forget something?”

“I’m quite accustomed to our little chats,” Andras said. “You think I’d let you walk off without one?”

“The library’s closed,” Jay said. He looked nervous, like he’d been caught out at something he shouldn’t be doing, and Andras tugged on the scarf, pulling him closer by it, as though he were reeling in a fish. Jay took two stumbling steps forward – he had small feet, clad in rainbow coloured trainers. Andras liked them: they were cute, and contrasted the rest of Jay’s typical ensemble, the flannel, the loose jeans, the denim jacket.

“God forbid,” Andras said, pouting out his lips and giving a very serious nod of his head. “We’ll have to conduct our chat somewhere else.”

The surprise was heart breaking, and Andras pretended not to notice it as Jay stared up at him. “You want to?”

Andras unhooked his fingers from the scarf and slid them down the length of Jay’s upper arm instead, feeling the muscle underneath his fingers and swallowing on the dryness, the almost-nervousness he was determined to ignore. “I believe I am giving all indications,” Andras said, “that that is the case.”

“Why do you talk like that?” Jay asked. “You got struck by lightning? You get fused to one of your computers so that the dictionary is stuck in your mouth?”

“Yes,” Andras said earnestly. “It’s very tragic, actually. I can scarcely say three words under three syllables.”

Jay huffed out a laugh, and once glanced away again, like he was nervous to make eye contact, and then said, “Am I… bothering you?”

“Yes,” Andras said. “Very much so.”

“Oh,” Jay said, deflating again, “then I should—”

“Take me somewhere,” Andras said, and he leaned forward at the waist, so that his face was at a level with Jay’s, their noses nearly touching. Jay’s eyes, up close, were impossibly lovely: their mottled colour was deep as anything, those depths only emphasised as his pupil’s dilated slightly, stock-still like he was frightened to move away or to come closer.

“You sure?” Jay asked.

“Listen to me very carefully, because I am only going to say this once,” Andras said, remaining bent at the waist – he knew that his posture was perfect, no matter that he hadn’t stood for ballet since he was still a child in an ill-fitting binder, chest aching with every plié. It was different now, of course – there was no need for a binder anymore, and he could dance unimpeded if he wanted to, but he’d really have to rent proper space to dance in, and buy new shoes, break them in again… Jay was looking at him like he was on the stage right now, and Andras slid two fingers into the strap of Jay’s satchel, dragging it away from his chest for a moment before letting it pop back. “You are going to bring me to an eatery or drinking establishment of your choice. You are going to purchase for me a drink, or perhaps we shall share a meal. You are going to be so very gallant: you will open doors for me, you will put out my chair for me, you will help me off with my coat. Do you know what will happen then, Mr Henderson?”

Jay gave a minute shake of his head.

“We are going to have a very enjoyable time together,” Andras said, “because you and I are very handsome young gentlemen, and if I did not like you very much, I would not spend such time as I do delicately mending together your every cut and boo-boo.”

“You wouldn’t?”

“I would,” Andras amended. “But I would not do it with such a charming smile on my charming face.”

“It is a charming smile,” Jay mumbled, smiling tightly, his cheeks burning so brightly he seemed fit to light up the town with.

“Isn’t it?”

Jay inhaled, and then drew himself up as though there were strings attached to his rounded shoulders, puffing out his barrel chest. “Andras Griffiths. I am going to take you to… an Italian restaurant.” He shoved out one arm, the bend in the elbow slightly awkward, his knuckles whitening at how tightly he’d made the first, and Andras felt his lips curl into a smile, and he slid his arm through the offered curve.

“That’s all I wanted you to say,” Andras said,

“I wasn’t sure if you dated… Dated,” Jay said. “Trans guys.”

“Of course,” Andras said. “It’s cis guys I don’t date.”

Jay turned to stare up at him for a moment, and Andras felt his gaze dip from Andras’ face down to his chest, his waist, and back up again. “You mean,” Jay said, breathless, “Are you—”

“Stealthy as a spy,” Andras said, and he tugged Jay close to him when Jay laughed, tugged Jay to lean his cheek against Andras’ shoulder.

“I can’t do T. I have some clotting issues, and the health risk is too high.”

“I would never have believed you were at a risk for blood clots,” Andras said. “You always seem to bleed very freely.”

“Well, that’s just for you,” Jay said. “I like to show off.”

Andras gasped, curling his fingers in Jay’s cropped-short hair, feeling its spiky texture drag against his palm. “A joke from Jay Henderson!” he exclaimed, drumming his fingers on the top of the other man’s head. “Will wonders never cease?”

They walked in silence for a while, Jay still leaning against Andras’ side.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Evidently.”

“Are you, like— You always wear the suit shirt and cardigan. Are you like, really built under all that?”

“Oh, yes,” Andras said. “I look precisely like the outside of a Hollister bag, but with two underlines in red.”

“Really?”

“No, I have a dancer’s physique. But the lines of emphasis remain all the same.”

Jay laughed again, shaking his head. “God,” he muttered. “I never met a man who talked like you.”

“Lucky you have me then, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” Jay said. “Yeah, seems like. Lwcus. Uh— Ffodus.”

“Rhagluniaethol,” Andras said.

“The fuck does that mean?” Jay asked, and Andras laughed, and turned to kiss him.

For a moment, Jay was frozen under Andras’ mouth, and Andras almost pulled away again, but Jay let out a sharp noise, grabbed him by the front of his cardigan and kept him dragged close, kissed him very hard, with far more skill than Andras would have expected. Andras let out a breathless noise, almost a whimper, let Jay drag him down closer, forcing him to bend over – he’d have to get used to that, he supposed.

“We could skip dinner,” Andras suggested in a soft, almost wheeze of a voice. “If you’d like to keep kissing me.”

“I’ll kiss you after,” Jay promised. “Food first.”

“So commanding,” Andras purred. “Lead me wherever you please, Mr Henderson.”

“I’m never gonna stop blushing if you keep talking like that.”

“Is that meant to be a deterrent?”

Jay chuckled, and tugged Andras toward the restaurant door. “I guess not,” he mumbled, and they walked in together.

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[capricornus-rex]

The Haunt of Redemption (8)

Sequel to: A Path I Can’t Follow

Chapter 8: Same Link, Different Mettle | Cal Kestis x Reader

Summary: It has been months since your last encounter with Cal, at that time he was a fledgling Inquisitor. In an ironic twist of fate, you cross paths and blades with him once again, and he’s keen on turning you into an Inquisitor as well—unless you bring him back to the light first.

Tags: Dark Side! Cal Kestis, Inquisitor! Cal Kestis, Redemption Arc! Cal Kestis

Also posted in AO3

Chapters: 1 – 2 – 3 – 4 – 5 – 6 | Previous: Chapter 7 | Next: Chapter 9 | Masterlist

8 of ?

Alyon greeted you with black cliffs topped with green patches of grass that rose to the skies, seafoam that’s whiter than bone striped the deep blue seas, and golden patches of sand mingled with the lush green jungles resting at the foot of the mountains.

The Mantis found a nice spot to land on—by the mesa that overlooks the seaside town not bigger than the one in Hoga.

“This place is mesmerizing, [y/n],” Merrin commented.

“It’s not every day we get to beautiful places in the galaxy without the Empire chasing us,” Cere added.

“Yeah, well, hopefully this time—they won’t,” you abruptly stood up from the seat. “I’m gonna take a look around,”

You darted towards the room and got dressed, donning Cal’s Bracca scrapper poncho for the first time. With the Holocron gone, it felt like a load has been lifted from your shoulders—literally and figuratively—as you wore the straps of your bag. BD-1 hopped onto your shoulder as you leave the room.

“I don’t have to tell you again, [y/n],”

“Yes, Cere, I know. Don’t die. Or was it be careful?”

“Both, actually.”

“Gotcha,” she smiled.

It’s a perpetual question in Cere’s mind how you’re able to smile in the midst of all this predicament. Perhaps, it was an indication of your strength. After all that torment you’ve endured in Cal’s absence, you weren’t just back to normal—you’ve changed but for the better.

Compared to your pit stop earlier, trekking through the terrain was a breeze. The sight of the ocean lifted your spirits, the blades of grass tickled your calves, and the sun mildly shone above your head. Along the way, you frolicked in the wild plains—spinning and sprinting around with a child-like innocence—the flaps of your poncho felt like wings as the untamed winds blew to your direction.

There was no sign of the Empire in that seaside town, diverse peoples inhabit the settlement. Yet, the population seemed sparse for a sizable settlement. Your arrival was met with curious stares and vendors’ hollers. There’s no team of armed men marching to your general direction for the welcome wagon—nevertheless, you remained vigilant.

“Stay close, BD,” you muttered.

You approached a fruit stall and browsed; an animal penned inside a stable right next to the stall bleated to get your attention. Ever the curious friend, BD-1 perched onto the fence post and scanned the animal that was chewing on a stalk of hay.

“I knew you’d take a scan of it!” you teased.

BD-1 chirped, you translated it to him saying the animal’s name.

“That, my dear, is a Dimal,”

The fruit stall owner pointed at the tall, woolly animal, its jowls flopped and its rounded upright ears twitched with every chew of the hay stalk. You treated it to a Meiloorun fruit. You brought it close to the Dimal’s mouth, sniffing it first before gobbling it up in its mouth.

“You’re welcome,” you chuckled.

Even with its mouth full, it replied with a muffled grunt and continued gnawing on the large fruit in its seemingly narrow mouth.

“Haven’t seen you in these parts,” the same shop owner blurted, his native dialect was thick.

“I’m a traveler, I just got here,”

After shopping, you headed back to the ship, the old man was kind enough to slip in a few extra berries for the road. You expressed your thanks and went around the town some more—and there was a lively sound coming from up ahead.

Music.

“Do you hear that, BD?”

“Booo!”

“Come on, let’s go take a look,”

You followed the music, colorful notes emitted from the various instruments. A group of dancers performed in perfect synchronization in the middle of the square, their footwork followed the speed of the fifes, the bystanders that circled them clapped to the beat of the drum, and for the finale they cheered once the abrupt strum of all strings of the lute signals the climax of the song.

The dance concluded by a round of applause from the crowd, which you’ve included yourself, you try not to stand out so you immediately vanished from the scene—though it was such a nice sight. You can’t remember the last time you’ve seen a street performance or festival.

—–

Three days of refuge in Alyon.

For once, things are seeming fine. But you know perfectly well this wouldn’t last, you’re still gripped with the anticipation of the Inquisitor’s arrival now that you’ve engaged with them—Cal, in particular.

You decided to tell your encounter with Cal through the Force with Cere, and you made sure you speak to her about it in great confidence.

“Cere, something strange happened on the day we left Tatooine and headed to Alyon,”

“And what’s that?”

You don’t even know where to begin explaining it.

“Well, it’s… how do I put it? I sort of saw Cal, here in the ship,”

“You mean, in meditation?”

You shake your head, “I wasn’t even meditating! I was doing something on the workbench and then I heard a voice call me, there was like a feeling that I can’t explain. At first, when I turned around there was nothing, so I thought I was just hearing things; but the second time around, I… I find Cal standing inside my bedroom!”

Cere’s head angled to the side, something about her expression alarmed you the same way you alarmed her with your story.

“Could it be…?” she muttered under your breath, though it was still within your earshot.

“Cere, what is it?”

Cere gradually stood up from the couch, “Hold on, I think I have something!”

She retreated to her own quarters where she rummaged through her rucksack. Shortly after, she reappears with a tome with a maroon leather cover, the metal accents along the corners and spines have tarnished, and the edges of the yellowed papers have chipped away due to age. She flipped through the pages looking for one specific section.

“Cordova learned about this phenomenon with the Force many years ago, while I was still his Padawan. Whatever he could find that pertains to it—he wrote it down, drew figures and diagrams, and added his own insights of his research!”

“What’s it called?”

“It’s a Force-Link. Look here,” she scooted closer beside you, pointing at the written paragraph on the page, her finger following the words as she read it out loud. “It’s said a phenomenon when the Force connects two Force-sensitive individuals, regardless of the distance in between, who have forged a dyad.”

In her excitement, Cere beat you to it—though, it felt like she sensed you’d ask about the last word in the paragraph—and flipped over the pages in search of the entry about Force dyads.

“Here,” she pointed at the first paragraph written underneath the header word, and read out loud word-for-word. “A connection that is forged with the Force between two Force-sensitive individuals.”

Cere skipped the longer metaphors and the personal diary entries that Cordova has written. More pages unraveled its mysteries and the woman impulsively read out loud—mostly for her own indulgence.

“Those who are out of the dyad could not see, feel, or hear the other side of the occurrence,”

This explains why the crew couldn’t hear Cal’s voice as you spoke to him during the first Force-Link encounter. Unfortunately, the explanation about manipulating it to either wielder’s whim—such as when will the connection start and when it’ll be severed—appear to be vague.

“Do Force dyads and Force-Links really seldom happen?”

“Yes, it’s quite rare. When I was a Padawan, I never met another Jedi who shared a dyad with another. But now, coming from you, I truly think Cordova was onto something back then. The bond you’ve shared with Cal factored the Force in allowing you to communicate.”

“I wonder if it’s another sign that he can be turned back to the light,” you thought out loud.

Apart from skimming Cordova’s manifests, strolling along the shoreline in barefoot, skimming rocks, seashells, and coral fragments that beached along the sand became a new pastime for you.

You enjoyed this new breed of solitude, but you’re still haunted by that mirage encounter of Cal back inside the Mantis. You find yourself secretly hoping that it would happen again.

On the other side of the galaxy, Cal has been poring page after page for any result about your Force-induced encounter. There were few resources found in his chambers in the command ship, there weren’t any valuable information found in the holotable’s databank either. The whole ordeal irritated him.

“How is it possible not a single manuscript was written about this!?” Cal roared, his mask did little in muffling out the sound, he punched the rim of the holotable in fury.

The last thing he thought of was retracing his steps, but the problem is: where does he even begin?

After all, it only happened abruptly and he had no control over it, because it felt like it came to him naturally. Cal theorized that it might be your own doing, but in reality, it wasn’t. He immediately dismissed that theory and went back to pinning down the Force as the primary culprit—frankly, it was the only logical culprit.

“Deep breaths,” he chanted to himself, doing exactly what he tells himself as he paced back and forth inside his room.

In the most uncanny of timings, that very same sensation returned to him—as if someone tapped him on the shoulder to get his attention—he abruptly turned around, he was surprised to see you standing inside the chambers with him.

“You’re quite elusive,” he initiated.

Your reaction to his appearance was understandable, your shoulders flinched while gaping at him. This is also the first time you saw him wearing a mask which muffled his voice, yet still coherent. Although the first time was docile, you can’t always count on him to be the same in the next.

You didn’t reply. You secretly fiddled the small seashell you’ve hid inside your fist while you conversed.

“I still don’t understand how and why this is happening to us. Can they see me?” he added.

“I don’t know…”

There was a stale air looming between you and the Eleventh Brother; the crashing waves of the sea and the machine hum spoke on each other’s behalf. You pursed your lips and your fist clenched tighter, the thin edge of the seashell dug into the flesh of your palm.

“You seem confident. Confident that I’ll never find you after you fled Cameegon like a coward.”

“I’m no coward! I’m not the one who gave in so easily!” you snarled.

“I take it that you’re not coming in quietly,” when he got the silent treatment from you, he continued. “Alright, then you’ll have to watch another innocent town be reduced into rubble like Cameegon. You wouldn’t want, would you? That’ll be a lot of blood in your hands.”

The Inquisitor noticed you flinch and he took pride in provoking you. He takes one step forward and you ignite your saber, having him at swordpoint.

“Ooh, feisty aren’t we?”

“You’ll never find me,” you hissed softly, although it was still within Cal’s earshot. “You’ll never turn me into what you’ve become!”

“I wouldn’t be too sure about that. We always find our way to each other, don’t we?”

He spoke the exact same words from his secret projection, a line that you knew too well and caught you off guard; a great thunderclap coming from the horizon startled you—the saber fumbled in your hand and the seashell fell from the other—and he disappeared from where he stood when you looked again.

The same went for the Eleventh Brother. The vibrant apricot seashell clattered on the polished black floor of his chambers. He took the delicate object into his hand and examined it. You unintentionally have given him a clue.

The boy Inquisitor rushed to the command ship’s bridge as fast as he can. His entrance alerted the attending officers; he approached the admiral and held up the shell to his face.

“I want this scanned. Trace its origin planet.”

The officer didn’t have the luxury to ask why and simply obeyed. The admiral took the shell from the young man’s hands and handed it over to one of the computer operators. In less than two minutes, the operator returned the shell along with a small datapad containing the findings.

“Sir, analysis traces it back to Alyon, a tropical planet in the Enca Sector, Ganiv System—it’s in the Outer Rim,” the admiral reported.

“Transmit the coordinates to my ship. Two TIE Fighters and an escort shuttle will come with me.”

“Right away, sir!”

The Eleventh Brother leaves the bridge on the way to the hangar.

“I have you now, [y/n].”

A storm was brewing that evening in Alyon. The thunderclouds have loomed closer to the shore in a dramatic speed. The winds have already picked up, the rain flew in like tiny knives pricking your skin, and the downpour caused the tide to rise earlier than usual. You hurried to getting on higher ground before the water has fully covered the shore.

You pushed through the raging winds, sheltering BD under the flap of your poncho. You blamed yourself for strolling farther from the ship, nightfall has reached you as a consequence, additionally, the town wasn’t any nearer either so it’s not an option.

“No…!” you gasped when the sky had gotten much darker, it doesn’t help with the storm joining in the problem.

The surroundings were all gray and visibility has dropped to zero. You barely see anything in this smokescreen of hail and fog. BD-1’s lights paled in the darkness. You stamped through the damp fields, the harsh winds swayed you farther with every step, but you fought it.

“Almost there, BD-1, hold on!”

Neither you nor BD-1 are safe, not until you’ve set foot into the Mantis. The growing sound of the TIE Fighters’ engine growls signaled their approach and a TIE Interceptor landed at a close distance from you. The hatch opened and out comes Cal, the Eleventh Brother. He stood upright in the midst of the storm, the bright red beam of his lightsaber lit up in the deep grayness.

You’re not going down without a fight.

Cal darted the air towards you, lightsaber at the ready, he found your block weak—it seems the storm has taken its toll on your body. However, he gave credit where it’s due—he admired your fighting spirit. You remained more on the defensive for the greater portion of the fight. The lightning afforded you short bursts of light to see your opponent better—rather, his next attack position.

“There! I see them!” Cere cried, peering through her binoculars and spotting two streaks of light dancing in the fog.

A TIE Fighter sends twin projectiles flying towards the Mantis, barely missing the dorsal fin of the ship but close enough to give it a rumble. Greez started the engine in a panic, Cere ordered him to stay low so they can still pick you up; although, that plan didn’t go so well.

The bitter cold of the wind disoriented you, the angry waves muted the hisses of lightsabers colliding with each other, your head was swirling, the veins on your temple throbbed, and your body had a battle of its own from within. Your lungs struggled as it sucked in cold air, fog wafted through your teeth as you dueled Cal.

The Eleventh Brother watched you charge towards him, ready for a dashed strike, and he prepared himself to time it just right.

Close enough!

You feel your entire body freezing up again, as if an icy gust blew throughout your entire being. The last thing you remember is a hearing a thunderclap mingle with the crash of the ocean, a flash of lightning glowed brightly in your puffy, heavy eyes and then suddenly darkness.

The Eleventh Brother caught you in his arms, carrying you bridal-style, and marched to the escort shuttle that he ordered to be included in his convoy.

“NO!!” Cere cried, a crack of lightning flashed as she witnessed him carry your unconscious body.

Your eyelids blinked the dancing lights away until your eyesight has adjusted to the brightness of the room. You gasped upon waking up, you weren’t sure how long you’ve been, but it felt like a long time. Your arms and legs had limited movement, later discovering that you’re strapped into an interrogation machine. Your heartbeat sped up tenfold, you surveyed across the room starting from the ceiling and then the middle part until you found a Stormtrooper standing beside silhouette across the room.

“Good, you’re awake,” the silhouette spoke, arms crossed in front of his chest.

“Do you have any other orders, Eleventh Brother?”

“No, I’ll handle this myself. Leave us and wait for my orders,”

“Yes, Eleventh Brother.”

The Stormtrooper departs, leaving you and the Inquisitor in full privacy.

The red glowing accents of his mask lit up in the shadows, he blended perfect well in the darkness. You don’t know what to say back first, frankly, you don’t know what’s happening and how it came to this.

“Is that what they call you now: Eleventh Brother?”

Your snarky question got no reply from him. He removed his mask and placed it on the nearby podium. With that accessory gone, he massaged his jaw and craned his neck until you heard some bones popping.

“Yeah well, you can still call me Cal,” His roguish grin played along his face.

“Where are Cere and the others?”

“No idea,”

“You lie!”

“I never lie—especially to you,” he calmly said.

The young Inquisitor stepped into the light, revealing himself to you once more. There were a few inches dividing you from him. The white light shone over his hair, revealing the faint redness of his hair past the darker tints. You find that there was no terminal like the one in Nur; it was only him and you strapped into the contraption. Surely, this confused you, at the same time it relieved you that you’re spared of the electrifying torment—for now. No wonder the Stormtrooper was suggesting a better chamber.

“Where am I?”

“In an escort shuttle, en route to Koboth,”

“What is it that you really want, Cal?”

He clicked his tongue, rolled his eyes to the side, and then grinned as he spoke.

“Oh, I think you and I both know that already.”

For every word he said, he took one step closer, “I want the Holocron.”

You smirked, even chuckled, in retaliation. You teased him, inching your face closer just so he’ll hear better.

“I don’t have it.”

The small yet sadistic smile that painted his face melted away. Part of him doesn’t want to believe you, and the other does. With your natural talent for theatrics, it’s hard to decipher you—even for him.

Your smug face and arrogant sniggering was beginning to bother him. So much so that he was starting to think you’re not playing around.

“You’re wasting your time and energy, you know,”

“Maybe I’m not making myself clear,” he sighed. He starts to remove his glove.

Preemptively, you know what he’s about to do to you. Your heart pounded in the wildest pace; suddenly, his Force-ability that once fascinated you, now terrifies you. Cal ignored your desperate scrambling in the contraption, but it somewhat satisfied him.

“That’s my poncho,” he cooed and an evil smirked curled at the corner of his lip.

He reached for you, avoiding his touch is futile. His bare hand is now at a fingertip’s reach from the fabric, sinking away into the contraption wasn’t much help for you either. His grip clutched a portion in the middle—your shirt underneath it was caught in his hold as well—and sharp pangs of light jabbed his vision, a hollow rippling warm drummed in his ears.

“Good night, Cal…”

Your memories have ingrained into every thread, a vision plays out in his mind: he sees you snuggling up to the poncho in bed, keeping it close to your face as you slept, the nightly sobbing rung in his ears, and the warmth that the poncho gave you during cold, sleepless nights wrapped over his shoulders.

“This isn’t who you are!”

“All this time… and we never even got a look.”

That sudden shift of emotions startled him, but he kept his grip—physically and mentally. The Inquisitor wanted to extract as much as he can to exploit you. To him, it was a game; for you, it was a mental war. He witnessed your recent memories—he now knows that you opened the Holocron and took a glance of the contents, he heard the festival music from the town in Alyon, and then he saw the waves tugging away from the shoreline.

“You saw what’s inside the Holocron!” he exclaimed. He pushed further into you using his Psychometry. “What did you do with it?”

“GET OUT OF MY HEAD!!!”

The boy Inquisitor was surprised to find that you’re able to fight him off—at least, his grip on your mind. When his influence is now absent in your body, your head hung low as you gasp for breath and fight off the throbbing pain in your head. His mischievous grin stretched from ear-to-ear.

“Interesting…”

He nestled your chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting you upwards so you face him, your head bobbed slightly as you’re weakened by the infliction of his Psychometry. He inched closer to your face, the tips of your noses touched.

“My darling, you never cease to amaze me.” He teased you, the bottom of his lip softly brushed across yours while keeping an open grin, his stubble scratched your chin. Your indifferent expression met his roguish smirk as he pulled back inches away from you. A sadistic snicker hummed from his throat and he gently releases his hold on your face before leaving you in your cell.

[until-we-fall-in-love]

Into the Hush: Chapter One

Into the Hush Masterlist

Pairings: Bucky Barnes/Reader, Wanda Maximoff/Reader undertones

Summary: It's only ever been you and the rugged wilderness; both unkempt and undomesticated. Until it isn't anymore.

(1870s Cowboy AU. A/B/O AU. Gothic/horror.)

Warnings: Violence, gore, dark themes, A/B/O dynamics, smut in later chapters.

If you are under 18, you should not be reading this!

A/N: howdy ya’ll lol don’t know how i came up with this one but it’s an A/B/O cowboy historical gothic au. it’s gonna get dark! also gonna be a real nasty slow burn lmaooo so mind the warnings, if you don’t do well with gore or violence, perhaps this isn’t the fic for you. also if you don’t like the Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, this isn’t for you, either, though i will be taking some liberties with this and trying to give my own take on it because there are aspects of it that i don’t like lol. im not quite sure how long this series will be, but i have plans for it. that being said, saddle up pardner lol and pls let me know what you thought of this first chapter!!!!

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 Wyoming, 1872

The early morning air is crisp with new spring, cold and a little damp, dew glistening on the grass and glinting gold in the morning sun. Your breath still comes out in soft puffs that curl into the air as you step out onto your creaking, front porch. It overlooks the barren dirt road that leads up to your humble and charming farmhouse; weathered by time and storm and pleasantly cluttered with life and home at every turn. Off to the left is the freshly tilled ground that has been planted in; herbs and fruits and vegetables that will take over in the warm summer months. Trees have shaken the snow from them and have turned green and budding and new again. 

You wrap your shawl tighter around your shoulders, trying to gather more warmth from the worn cream, crochet wrap. You know once the sun rises higher into the afternoon, you’ll grow too warm for it, but now it’s needed. The wind curls around you, rustles your hair, lifts your skirts. It carries the promise of warmth, the reminder of winter. 

All is peaceful in the morning, before the day has broken over the hills. All that sings is the birds, lovely and bright and flitting from tree to tree. 

You lift your skirts, head over to the back porch, which wraps the entire way along your house. In the back is the barn, the pasture for the animals to graze when it’s warm. The creek towards the back, bubbling softly over the stones, crystal clear and cool. It’s perfect on a summer afternoon, but now would be too cold for you.

And you begin your day, head over to the shed where you ready the feed for the chickens, grab a basket for eggs. You enter the coop, greet the clucking hens with a coo, spreading food for them which they hurry to eagerly. As they eat, you gently reach for warm eggs in their nest, gather it into your basket and rush on to your other chores. 

Milk the cows, get them fresh water, fresh hay and in the afternoon, you’ll let them out in the pasture to warm in the sun. 

A few of them are round with calves, ready to give birth any day now. 

You tend to the single horse, only one now after your father’s male passed away last spring. The one left is yours; a dappled, brown mare you’ve affectionately called Clover. 

You’ll take her to town later, to sell extra eggs and milk, all the goods you can in exchange for bread or spices or money for the tax collector. By the time you’re finished with your chores, which is taking longer and longer as the farm extends and your father grows older and older, it’s around noon, the sun beginning to warm into pleasant rays of topaz and canary. 

Your father sits on the porch, in his old rocking chair, smoking a pipe. His knee has been bad since this past fall, has a harder and harder time helping you. Not that you mind; this farm has practically become yours, but he hates leaving you to it all alone. 

He’s been dying to set you up with an Alpha, find a good man to marry and help you with the farm. But none of the men from town pique your interest, few good Alphas in the small town of Longbrook, Wyoming. The train, not far from town, brings newcomers once and awhile, but it’s mostly quiet, tucked away in a valley, a river snaking its way through and out into the plains of wildflowers and fields. 

You know Longbrook’s secrets, the quiet, beautiful places that you run to when you have the time. Spend your evenings lazing in columbine and aster flowers, beneath old, crooked trees near quiet, turquoise lakes. Or on a bluff, looking high above the world, cool wind in your face and the fluttering of birds nearer to you than planted on the grounds below. 

You know where not to stray to, when the wilderness grows too rough and dangerous. Unrestrained in both it’s beauty and viciousness. 

So independent that you can’t quite imagine your life beside another, especially not beside an Alpha, with their combative, controlling natures. You can’t imagine a husband that wouldn’t mind you taking off, disappearing into the wilderness and returning when you fancy; like some feral cat, your father always remarks gruffly. 

He isn’t a fan of your disappearing acts, either. Alpha that he is, he’s kept careful and close watch on you since you discovered you were Omega, as irritating as it is. Controlling, but only because he means well. You manage to sate him by coming home before nightfall, when dusk is lavender and rose and the moon is only beginning to take the sun’s place. Besides, there’s not much he can do with his bad knee, can’t keep you cooped up the way he used to. 

Ever since your mother had passed, you had to step up around the farm, grow up a little too quick. Responsible and resourceful, you work hard for you and your father. But your father has grown rather overprotective, wary with the Alphas he let come around; well respected in the town, no one has dared disobey him. A few had tried; Brock Rumlow, the tax collector, was the most notable of them. Pushy and irksome, he’d tried to convince you to disobey, sway you to sneak out with him or let him come by but you always turned your nose up at him.

You have no interest in someone so aggressive, so controlling.

You aren’t one to roll over or lower your eyes submissively; many Omegas aren’t, in your opinion, but it’s expected. There’s no time for that, though, not for you. No use or desire for it. You have a farm to take care of, to keep running smoothly. You have a life to live, adventures to have, open sky to chase. 

And there’s  certainly nothing and no one that’s going to stop you. 

“Be careful goin’ into town,” Your father speaks up finally, smoke curling from his lips, voice rough and fogged, “Heard there was a few newcomers.” 

Your father is always wary of newcomers, prefers to assess them himself, rather than hear from others. 

“Yes, pa.” You respond, not particularly interested in them, nor sticking around for one of your father’s infamous lectures. You hurry on, grabbing all that you need, loading up Clover for the journey. You saddle her up, throw yourself over her with practiced ease, hitching your skirts up slightly and out of the way. 

“Be home by nightfall!” Your father hollers after you, but you’re already easing Clover onto the dirt path. 

“Of course!” You call back, just as you urge her into a faster pace, your voice carries on the wind, distant and as light as the new blossoms. 

You push her into a gallop; not because there’s a rush, but because it’s fun. Because the wind is in your hair and the sun is warm on your shoulders and Clover thunders across the ground, kicking up dirt and making a mess. 

You let a grin hitch onto the corner of your lips, lean forward, ease into the speed. The town is only a twenty minute ride, fifteen if you pushed, but you want to enjoy the ride. The landscape blurs past you in shades of olive and juniper, butter cream, robin’s egg blue. The pop of lily white, a sudden burst of dainty pink or blushing red. But it’s just you and the trees and the pounding of your heart along the beat of hooves against the solid ground. 

Free and open and bursting, you race away from home eagerly and into the wilderness.

You end up slowing Clover halfway through your journey, appreciating the spring air, new and linen clean, shadowed patterns falling over you beneath the trees. The wind tickles your cheeks, the distant sound of the river can be heard when you listen carefully, a soft rush of water. It’s soothing, like the creek by your house, the sloshing lake you visit often. You let it carry you into town, peaceful, lazily letting Clover step onto more worn dirt roads. 

Town people shout to you in greeting, wave as you pass by; you’re a familiar face to them. You give them smiles, holler back to some as you make your way to the grocers to sell your eggs and milk. You swing down from Clover, hopping easily onto your feet. 

You end up walking out of the grocer’s with some extra money and a few cans of preserved vegetables and fruits. You buy some bread at the bakery, a pastry to split with Wanda, who you’re hoping can join you for the afternoon. 

You catch sight of her outside the dress shop, peering at the finely made clothes through the window. She wears her own dress of dove grey, similar in fashion to yours rather than the ones she gazes at; your dresses are looser, easier to move and work and play in, aprons tied around your waists instead of the ruffles and frill of the dresses in the window. Her long curls cascade over her shoulders, near copper under the afternoon sun.

You call to her, watch as her features light up upon seeing you, before she picks her skirts up and bounds over to you. Her scent hits you; sweetly Omega, soft clary sage, warm rose, and damp patchouli. Mysterious and floral, she’s always been a little offbeat with her wide, wondering eyes that linger in darkness. 

Some of the elders call her a witch, little demon child, with her Eastern European ties and mischievous curl of her lips. But to you she is only Wanda, your dearest. 

Her fingers, nimble and quick, find yours, lock and lace together. “Hello, darling.” She says, pressing her lips to your cheek in greeting, her voice melodic and smooth; velvet dark and sweet twilight. 

You let your cheek brush hers, lean into the touch eagerly, soft, rosy and warm skin against yours. “Hello, Wanda.” 

She pulls back with a flutter of her lashes, wide eyes finding yours. There’s a familiar glimmer in them, which makes your heart leap amorously, excited and playful. “Are we going to sneak off to the meadow today, still?” She asks, dropping her voice to a hush and stepping nearer. Your hands tighten over hers as you draw closer, duck your head so you catch another breeze of her scent in her hair, the nape of her neck.

“Yes,” You reply, an eager smile pulling at your lips, “I bought us a pastry to split and a book to read.” 

“Then what are we waiting for?” She nearly purrs, bouncing lightly on her toes in excitement. You’re about to pull her along, drag her towards Clover when someone clears their throat behind you.

You both turn, fingers still interwoven, pressed to one another’s sides. Her warmth is welcome and comforting, especially as you both find Rumlow gazing back at the pair of you with depthless, cold eyes. His face, so marred and twisted, gleams pink and shiny with scarred and new skin under the afternoon light. The rays of white gold sunlight do nothing to lighten his features, nor the darkness of his gaze.

It pierces deep into you, as if he wants to pry and prod and pick you cleanly apart. It’s the gaze of a conqueror, you think, the gaze of someone who wants something that can never be theirs. It’s a disturbing hunger, the kind that sends a deep chill down your spine. 

Wanda squeezes your hand in comfort. So attuned to you, she perhaps can tell by body language or the dip in your scent that you’re frightened in some way, that Rumlow has caused you distress and he has yet to even open his jagged, scarred mouth. 

“Lovely afternoon for you ladies.” He says very coldly, as if he is not in fact concerned with the weather nor you both.

“Yes, it is.” Wanda replies for you, a dark, protective little gleam in her eyes. You can smell the shift of scent with her light aggression, the flare of sage that burns and tickles your nose. It sharpens and spices, makes you blink with it. 

“You’re both looking mighty fine, rich with spring. Omegas always were sweetest in spring. Isn’t that right?” He muses and it chills you to the bone, makes you press closer to Wanda’s side, as if you could fold into the safety of her body. 

There is old folklore; spring being associated with Omegas. It’s all about fertility and the new life that blossoms in spring, old wives’ tales of Omegas getting their strongest heats in the spring after long, dormant winters. Perhaps there is some truth to it, biologically, because winter can get so harsh and so sparse with food if one isn’t careful. Bearing children in winter would never be easy, but it’s something you don’t wish to linger on, particularly not with the way Rumlow is eyeing you.

Like ripening fruit to be picked. A flower blooming, awaiting the moment to pluck it from the earth.

Wanda grows uncomfortable now, too, you can feel it in the bunching of her slim shoulders. But she steps in front of you purposefully, a show of challenge to Rumlow, one of protection for you. 

“Isn’t that right, ladies?” Rumlow urges, taking a step forward and Wanda sharply takes a step back, forcing you back as well. You cling to the back of her skirts with tense, seeking fingers. 

“I sure hope you’re not botherin’ these girls.” Another voice speaks up, authoritative and strong and sure. The kind of voice that gives commands, ones you think many eagerly would follow. Not unkind, but unwavering. When you both turn to the source, it’s a blond man, broad shouldered and wide and tall. He’s dressed simply, the top few buttons of his shirt popped open to reveal a muscled chest. Pretty, light blue eyes. He has an honest face, a strong jaw, trustworthy and noble. 

His scent is distinctly Alpha, strong and commanding; cedar wood and leather. The soft notes of something gentler like cotton and the way your linen smells on a summer day fluttering in the breeze to be dry. It’s soothing, a deep comfort compared to the off-beat, metal tang and sour blood smell of Rumlow’s scent. 

Which, has become bitter and salty with his anger and aggression for this newcomer.  

“I wasn’t bothering them. Was I bothering you Omegas?” He asks sharply, prickling with agitation and it makes you grip Wanda’s skirts a little tighter. “And who are you, anyways?” He then almost growls, “Newcomer isn’t gonna tell me what to do.” 

You can tell Rumlow’s itching to pick a fight by the tightening of his shoulders and baring of his teeth. The air becomes charged with scent, territorial and angry and pungent. Wanda’s is still spiced and agitated, too, with the threat of Rumlow. Your own is dipped into distress, irritation, and the newcomer’s becomes stronger, cedar wood sharp. Rooted in place, he cocks his head slightly, challenging. 

“Why don’t you move along.” The newcomer says, and he’s not asking, he’s telling. It’s bold of him, with the way Rumlow’s face; twisted and angry, settles on him. No one challenges Rumlow in this town. He holds too much power, is too strong; both physically and socially. Even protected by the law by being a tax collector for Alexander Pierce. 

Another man steps up behind the blond, eyeing Rumlow with particularly cold and dark eyes; midnight blue, the evening sky bleary with stars, depthless and all consuming. His hair is longer, brushing the tops of his shoulders, half pulled back from his strong face--

When your eyes settle upon his features for the first time, it feels as if you’ve been struck; a blow of lightning, the sudden shock of cold water, the gasp you take when you resurface. It’s damning, you think, as if you’ve seen him in your dreams or in hazy, unknown past lives. As if you’ve known him your whole life, somehow, as if you recognize him now and wonder how you ever could’ve forgotten him.

He looks like the tragic heroes you read about; the ones that rise only to fall, crumble down after being so noble and wide-eyed. He is breathtaking and standing tall and strong against Rumlow’s piercing gaze. There’s a warning in his eyes, a half-dare, begging Rumlow to try something and see what happens now. Where the blond is golden-hearted and bright-eyed, he seems darker, more eclipsed. 

And surprisingly, it works, Rumlow eyes the pair of them, weighs his options, and then promptly steps down. He mutters something about leaving, about how this isn’t the end. But you can’t help the quirk of a smile, the hint of cruel amusement you get from watching him ease away. Slink off back into the hustle of town.

Wanda smiles wider than you, sharper, a little more mischievous, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen Rumlow cower like that.” She says and turns towards the newcomers with a radiance that is hard to match. 

And the blond smiles, easy and gentle, “Glad we could help.” And then with deep courtesy, “Steve Rogers, by the way.” 

“Wanda Maximoff.” She pulls you back up to her side once more, offers your name to them, too.

Steve claps the other man on the shoulder, an ease is shared between them that is not unsimilar to you and Wanda. Steve adds, “James Buchanan. But we just call him Bucky.”

And Bucky nods, his eyes finally sliding over to you; his scent hits you at nearly the same time. Offbeat and pine, the sharp, cold smell of metal. There’s evergreen and winter, maybe the soft spice of juniper, the low cut of musk. It makes your eyes flutter, makes your head go soft and bleary with it. 

“Pleasure to meet you both.” Wanda says and her voice refocuses you, her fingers skimming yours to ground you. You flit your eyes away, but can feel Bucky’s suddenly sink over you the way the red sun will drop below the hills. 

You become keenly aware of your bare neck, hair pulled from your face and shoulders to reveal it to him. The cut of your dress suddenly seems both revealing and not revealing enough. Like it could constrict you, or maybe you’re showing too much skin.  

“What brings you here?” You ask, perhaps a little cooly, eyes seeking out the horizon rather than them. Anything but him. 

“Passing through. Looking for work for a few weeks.” Steve answers politely and his eyes glitter like the creek in the high summer. He’s pretty, you think, long lashes framing those eyes. 

“Oh!” Wanda exclaims and she loops her arm through yours solidly, her body warm and soft beside you, “You’re in luck! She needs help running her farm!” 

You almost choke. Throw Wanda a glare but she only meets you with that impish, precious smile you can’t stay mad at for very long. 

“I don’t--” You try to protest. 

“She does!” Wanda interjects, “Her father injured his knee awhile ago, been looking for someone to help out.” 

“Well, if that’s the case, then perhaps Buck and I will have to stop by.” Steve says easily, a half amused grin tugging at his lips as he gazes between you and Wanda. Almost as if he’s endeared by your antics. You bristle. 

“My father doesn’t take to newcomers very well.” You warn, as if that’ll scare these two Alphas away so easily after their little stunt with Rumlow. You worry that few things will scare these two off. 

Regardless you don’t need them on your farm, don’t need them trying to help or care for you or order you around. It’s always been you, and no one will change that. You’re not about to let them treat you like some soft, little creature who should be inside baking them pies and fetching them water. 

But you can feel Bucky’s eyes on your face still, as if he’s trying to burrow in there, make a home upon which he gazes. 

You grow even tenser, teeth grinding. No home to find inside you; just the unruliness of nature, the ever-changing seasons, or unforgivable storms. The river that churns too fast, dives between the mountains and the forests, the sly, sharp-toothed fox. 

You turn your nose up, “Besides,” You say, insolent and dry, “I don’t really need any help.” 

“‘Course.” Steve agrees and you aren’t sure if it’s to placate you or if he’s genuine, “But if you’re looking for an extra pair of hands to order around, we’re your guys.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.” You say, though decidedly won’t. 

Daring yourself, you finally force your eyes to Bucky once more. His face is stern and closed off, reserved. He hasn’t spoken once, and stupidly, horribly, you long to hear his voice. You wonder what it sounds like, if it’s rough or smooth or everything at once. Does he speak loudly or softly? Will you have to lean in to hear him or will you step back at the crack of it? 

And yet, he hasn’t needed it once yet. His presence, formidable and strong and raw, is enough.

You blink, look away just as he glances back at you. This strange game of cat and mouse with eyes is making your fingers twitch and tighten in your skirts. 

“We should be off,” You tell Wanda, wishing to flee, to feel the wind on your face and Wanda’s body beside yours and the afternoon sun bursting on your skin. 

Steve wishes the pair of you well, gentlemanly and sweet. Tips his hat with a boyish sort of grin that perhaps would leave other’s swooning. 

And Bucky, gruffly, and with a sort of gentleness you aren’t expecting to find, says to you, “It was nice meeting you both.” 

Something warm settles into your chest, sliding down like molasses, dripping into your stomach and core, spreading throughout you like it owns you; settles deep into you like it won’t leave, real deep into the marrow of your bones. And you inhale, breathe as if this is your first real breath in the whole of your life.

You find yourself replying, almost as softly, “It was nice to meet you, too.” 

His lips twitch upwards in the barest hint of a smile, as if it’s the first time he’s smiled in a long, long time and he needs you to show him how again.

So you do, you give him your own smile that isn’t much bigger, but it’s much easier and sweet as honey, clever as a fox. Almost like you want him to chase you, follow that curve of your lips. 

Wanda giggles, before pulling you away and back towards Clover to begin your adventure for the day, but you think you can feel the dark of his eyes on the back of your neck still, the line of your shoulders. It lingers, until you ride off into the heather hills with her and disappear on the gauzy horizon. 

---

Wanda and you roll in the wild grass on the sloping hills. Laughing and chasing and playing like you’re girls again, half-savage and free and untempered. You tumble and shriek and hitch up your skirts, loosen your dresses and unbutton collars. The sun is a gold glow, warming the earth and your skin, shimmering dreamlike on the new green buds, the wheat yellow of the tall grass. You tip your face up to the sky eagerly, just as you let yourself flop back into the field, back hitting the ground that catches your fall, cradles you. Clouds pass overhead in cotton shapes, free and darling, and you’re still breathing a little hard from romping around with Wanda, feeling your heartbeat inside the cage of your chest. You feel flushed with life; ferocious and curious and excited. 

Wanda drops down by your feet, before slowly, languidly crawling atop you. She straddles your waist, her skirts spilling out over the two of you. You sit up on your elbows, jostle and try to dislodge her a little with another round with warm laughter, but she holds fast, nails digging into your shoulders. 

“I saw the way you were looking at Bucky.” She says and there’s too much mischief in her eyes, a clever glint that the sun turns amber and honey hazel. 

You roll your eyes at her, but even the mention of his name on her lips makes something inside of you stir. But you indulge her, leveling her with an unamused gaze, “And how was that, Wanda?” 

She leans over you, her fiery hair brushing your cheek, your shoulders. She fits herself closer, twines her arms around you all close and snug. 

 “Like you wanted to bare your throat to him right then and there.” She teases playfully, voice dipping into a warm, rumbling purr. Her nose drops, nuzzles lightly at the sensitive scent gland at your neck. It makes you squirm, your fingers tightening in the skirts of her dress. 

You allow her so close, allow lips and teeth and nose into the dips of your body because she’s so familiar to you. A piece of your heart is firmly in her small, warm hands. It blurs the thin, unsteady line between you two, though. Scenting at the neck is usually romantic in some way; often times sexual. Comforting, when it needs to be, but you’ve laid so many times with Wanda, gotten so close and tangled together that you often find your nose at her throat, the nape of her neck, tucking your face into the crooks of her body and she to you. You know her like a lover, you think, sink into her body beneath the sun and the moon and the open skies that spread out before you both. As if the whole world opens for you two. 

“Your scent got sweeter; milky lavender and dark jasmine.” Her lashes tickle your collar bones, her mouth warm and open against the skin there. It makes you flush deeply, sink into the earth beneath you, “Want him to bite you?” She jibes, flashes pearly teeth, her canine gleaming in that white sun. 

“Wanda!” You yelp, shoving at her and she throws her head back and laughs, “No!” And you begin to wrestle with her once more, pushing her off and sending you both tumbling down another hill. You shriek and peel with laughter, pulling and grabbing at each other until you roll apart.

She gets on her hands and knees, feigns a growl from an Alpha in her throat, the kind that rumbles out from deep within them, but the sound is a little muted, and too light in her mouth. She suddenly pounces for you again, playful and light, sending you belly up and onto your back, though. “You want him to tackle you like this,” She torments, grabbing at your wrists as you try and squirm and fight with her. 

With a grunt and all your strength, you roll her right onto her back now, hook your legs over her hips like she did. 

“You want to simper and cry under him,” She says and this time her voice gets soft and breathy and pouty and she is good at that. Her back arches beneath you and you push at her more, tighten your hands around her wrists, shove them down to the ground, feel her heaving chest and trace the curve of her smiling lips and rose touched cheeks with eager eyes. 

“I don’t!” You laugh, playfully bare your teeth at her and try and growl back the way she had. It’s better than hers, a little more bite to it, but it’s still too light and soft. She laughs with you at your attempt now, laughs and growls and yells with you until you’re both breathless because there is nothing and no one around to hear you but each other.

You howl and chase and fall into each other with giggles and wildflowers in your hair, get lost in her and the way the sun begins to fall from the sky and cast everything in a rosewood haze, slow and burning and beautiful. 

She lays her cheek on your back when you ride Clover back to her home, and she kisses you goodnight, lips at the corner of yours. Promises to see you tomorrow. 

And then you ride home, race fast and hard before the sun is swallowed by the moon, before the stars blink into existence and your father scolds you to all hell and back. 

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

Home seems eerie with the darkness that creeps around its edges, night drawing out all the creeks and aches and splinters in the old house. All the memories pushed towards the back of your mind rush forward like skittering spiders. The last sliver of light sits on the horizon, fighting, railing against that inky sky as you get home. 

And when you rush through the front door, shouting, “Pa, I’m home before the sun’s set!” You aren’t expecting to nearly run right into the broad chest of Steve Rogers.

You blink hard and he steadies you with a hushed, “Easy,” And his big hands on your shoulders. 

You look up at him in disbelief, brows furrowing, quickly lurching away from him, only to realize Bucky stands to his right. 

“What--” You start to snap, and this time your teeth are baring with aggression and irritation, gone is the lightness and playfulness you had with Wanda. Your eyes flash with the last cut of light that slashes through the old windows of your house. 

“There’s my feral cat of a daughter, fellas.” Your father says and your head whirls to him. 

He begins to introduce the three of you again, but you cut him off, “I met ‘em today, Pa.” 

“Oh, good.” He says dryly, unappreciative of your tone. You force back a wince, know you’ll get scolded for that one. “They’ll be helping you out on the farm for a few weeks.” 

You whip back to face Steve and Bucky, narrow your eyes at them, “Thought I told you both I don’t need any help?” You snap, unruly, wildflowers still caught in your hair that now slips free of what it’d been pulled back in earlier. You’re sure you look half-wild. 

Steve holds up his hands as if he means no harm, palms up to you and you see they’re rough and calloused and scarred. Used, working hands. Hands that have seen a lot. You glance at Bucky, notice that one of his hands is gloved, the other free. You try not to stare, flit your eyes back to Steve.

“In our defense, we didn’t know this was your farm. We were sent this way after inquiring in town for work.” Steve says calmly, and then puts his hand over his heart, “Honest.” 

You scoff lightly, turn back to your father, “I don’t need them, Pa.”

“No,” He agrees and pride swells in you, a small bubble of it for a heartbeat, “But they’d be a great help to you.” 

There’s no amount of arguing or protesting that’s gonna change your father’s mind once it’s been set. He seems settled on this, content and confident. You try not to pout, try not to stamp your feet or snap or glare them right out of your house. 

Final discussions are had; pay and what times they’ll arrive and leave. Your father, thankfully, warns them to listen to you, and if he finds differently, they’ll be kicked to the dirt as quickly as they’d gotten the job.

And then he warns them, quite frankly, to mind themselves around you and you can feel your cheeks deepen into crimson. Bucky and Steve dip their heads, though, say obedient and firm, yes sir’s, as if they expected it. 

Your father finishes with, “Alright, then. You two start tomorrow.” And then he looks to you, “Walk them out, will you?” 

You huff, but do so, walk them to the porch where the crickets and frogs have begun to chirp and croak and sing. The night crawls onward, the wind rattles this old house. A chill overcomes you, a little shudder. You think you can hear the far-off sound of baying coyotes, erie and high pitched in their frenzied yelping. 

“Suppose I’ll see you both bright and early in the morning, then.” You say, crossing your arms over your chest. 

“Suppose so.” Steve says, lowers his eyes a little, “I did mean it, we didn’t know this was your farm.” 

You eye him, “Nothin’ I can do about it now, is there?” You counter, unwilling to give an inch, no matter how sweetly he looks at you with those darling, blue eyes. You’re sure that boyish charm works everywhere else, but you refuse to let it here.

He has the good sense to dip his head submissively, nodding slightly, “We’ll get out of your hair for the night then, let you rest. Goodnight, ma’am.” He says respectfully, before easing down off the old wood that protests beneath his heavy steps. 

And for a heartbeat, it is only you and Bucky and the rattling tree branches and the croaking night. A moment frozen, as if you’d captured it in a bottle like a letter that you’ll throw into the sea. Just this sliver of time that makes the whole world stand still, as if it’s been waiting or fearing for your coming together. 

You have nothing to say, but he inclines his head, holds your eyes like he’s holding the world in his arms, and murmurs all low and rumbling, “Goodnight, miss.” 

Then turns his back on you, and hustles over to Steve, to their tethered horses. 

And this time it’s you that watches him, eyes glued to his muscled back, the nape of his neck, as he eventually is swarmed by the darkened, reaching horizon.

---

You fall into bed, feeling strange and wary, a little weary, perhaps a little hopeful, too. For what, you don’t know. You can feel the wind changing, coming with new spring. But there’s something else, something heavier; the pressure is building, as if there’s a storm brewing. The kind of spring storm that bring destruction and clamor and the kind of rain that threatens to sweep you away in their flood and ferocity. 

Your bed creeks, the shadows are tall and reaching in your room. The moon spills in, but instead of painting you with wonder or lovely, pearl light, it only makes the shadows that much darker. The night brings the cold, makes you pull tight and inwards. You curl up beneath your quilt, try and ward off all that presses in. 

Eventually, you sleep. 

And you dream. 

You dream in visions of phantom grey and oil slick black, syrupy red, and flesh pink. You step lightly in a graveyard, the earth freshly turned and dark. Stones jut out from the ground like jagged, crooked teeth. It swallows you whole. The fog is thick and evasive, surrounding you and gathering around you, a train to your skirts that murmur and brush against stones and dirt and the hollowed out ground. 

A grave with your father’s name grows from the earth, forces you to stop, stutter backwards. Your teeth begin chattering, the clanking of bone against bone. You can feel the whispers of wind, something so near. Your heart plummets as you read his name, as you see his grave, which you now see is besides your mother’s. 

The ground trembles. 

Their graves crack, splinter like a dropped glass, bursting outwards in a wave of skittering, flaming stone. 

Frantically, you drop to your knees, try to put them all back together, as if that will somehow help. As if that will fix anything. You curse and cry and there are tears-- there are tears that drop onto burning stone. It sizzles and smokes but you can’t put them back together. You are alone, and you can’t. 

Your hands begin to burn, flesh pink and blister white. Mud sucks at your legs and your knees and then you are sinking, sinking, sinking--

Oil drowns you, forces its way down your mouth and your throat and clogs your lungs. Seeps into every part of you. It’s invasive, forceful in it’s push and pull of you, it sucks at you and you are forced downward, kicking and screaming. Forced to swallow and take and be filled.

You twist, frantic. Try to fight back, but you are caught in the thick of it. It devours your screams and cries and pain.

And from above, there is a cut of silver, a star in the inky sky. A hand; metal and unnatural plunges in for you. And he pulls you clear out of the muck, the earth’s blood and into his arms.

When you emerge, it is as if you’re cleansed by the light. Gone is the slick oil, gone is the choking and drowning and thrashing. Bucky holds you to him now, crushes you to his chest where you can hear the live, thundering beat of his heart. 

“I’ve got you,” He murmurs, cradling your skull as if it’s precious, something to be protected. Your nose is pushed to his neck and you--

You cling to him, swallow down clean gulps of spring air and the juniper bright and metal sharp smell of him. Pine, there is pine and evergreen, too. Clean and fresh and dipping into musk. Your heart slows, lulls, with his voice in your ear; that voice you’d so desperately wanted to hear.

You feel as if you’ve heard it your whole life now, as if you can’t imagine going another day without hearing it. And he says your name, not Omega, just your name. And he breathes and is warm and alive beneath you. 

When you look around now, the earth is fertile and bright and warm. Spring damp roses and sweet, honeycomb sunshine. The fauna is in full bloom, an overabundance of life that leaves you inhaling the fragrant air. It’s so thick, almost cloying. 

And there is no breeze, you think. 

And Bucky’s lips are at your neck. 

And there is a stirring in your stomach but its--

It’s all wrong. 

He tries to lay you down. And you don’t protest because there’s something so tempting about it all, so safe, or so instinctual. There’s an ache and a burn and you want to shed your skin, you want to let him in and never let him out, bury his body in the ground with you. Become the earth and fertilize the flowers and feed the foxes you love so much. You wanna lie with him until the crow calls, until you’re nothing but him and you and the gem stones deep in the ground. 

But when his face lifts from your vulnerable neck, it is not him. 

Rumlow stares down at you, his scarred face so close and imploring. He croons Omega and you shriek, you try to get away, but it’s like the oil all over again; you trapped and thrashing and stuck. Rabbit in a snare. Fox in a trap. You scream, scream for Bucky or Wanda or even Steve or your father. You scream until it tapers off and burns into something ragged, shredding your voice. 

He is just heavy atop you, and his face is morphing and shifting, like he’s a new creature altogether. Blackened eyes that are too wide, too large and there is a gaping whole where his mouth should be--

You claw at him, scratch with nails, pull at pink flesh and cartilage and bone until he starts dripping blood and saliva, growling like a rabid dog. You twist his face away so sharply, so horribly, that there is a sickening crack and then the full of him collapses atop you.

You squirm and you are crying, choked sobs because it feels like you are burning, or aching. Lonesome and longing or horrified and fearful of everyone. You want to be held in equal measures that you want to run away and never see another face again. You are torn, split in two and unraveling. 

When you scramble away, deeper into the fragrant wild grass. You realize there is wetness, slick and warm and--

There is blood. So much blood coating your legs and it seeps through your skirts, stemming from between your legs. It pools beneath you, waters the flowers and seeps into the earth as if it belongs there. 

You howl like an animal, fingers squabbling in the dirt and the blood and your body as if you can put yourself back together again--  

You wake with a hard, sucking gasp. Blinking hard in the darkness. Your hands pull at your nightgown, shift to feel your skin, still warm and dry and clean beneath your heavy quilt. Reassuring, gulping breaths bring back cool air into your lungs. I’m safe, you tell yourself, it was just a dream. 

But the night is still dark and the bed still creaks and the wind still howls, almost the way you had when you’d found all that blood-- No. 

But now you’re just awake, in a lonely room. And there is no comfort, no warmth or forgiveness in the hollowness of it all. 

You rise in the morning, heavy bags beneath your eyes, and begin your day in hopes of a better one.

[darkboysroadtrip]

“Leaf blower! Where would we get a leaf blower?” Remus ponders to himself out loud in the grocery store.

“Not in a grocery store that’s for sure” Virgil says.

“Probably at a home hardware store, definitely not in here” Dee agrees.

“Well we’ll just get groceries first, no biggie! Food!” Remus shouts.

“Yes, our list Virgil?”

Virgil rummages through his bag and hands Dee his notebook that has the grocery list.

“Okay, first we should get packaged items and the alcohol. Seems like that’s on the other end.”

“On it” Remus says, taking a jogging start then lifts himself onto the cart to let them freely soar to the end of the store.

They miraculously don’t hit anything, but they do get a few rude looks.

They are quite the scene though. Three grown men riding a shopping cart with a fully dressed skeleton and a tentacle staff.

They get the wine, beer case and some pre mixed drinks.

Next they get some cold cuts and cheeses, for easy lunching and their charcuterie board, they get some paté and spreads, crackers and croissants.

They get a bunch of snacks again, they were starting to lack n that department.

The last place they go is produce, they get mostly fruit, they keep sampling the fruit as they go.

With every turn they take Remus makes it sharp, Virgil and Dee laugh as they get jostled around.

It seems like they’re done here.

As Remus takes the sharpest turn yet he crashes into another persons cart. Virgil’s calves has seen better days, he cries out.

“Hey! Watch where you’re going, fuckin weirdos.”

“You! Shhhush!” Remus demands “my boyfriend is hurt! I can’t deal with you right now!”

“Ugh they’ll let anyone wander around unchecked these days” the person scathes.

Dee narrows his eyes “and what, would that mean?”

The person points at Remus “that the government should keep watch on psychos like him and keep them locked up.”

“You don’t know him, you can’t make that deduction.”

“I have eyes and common sense! And the whole store no doubt has been unwillingly listening to you nut cases the whole time you’ve been here!”

Remus growls, Virgil is in his arms acting as a barrier and also keeping himself upright.

“Muzzle your friend buddy, maybe then he’ll be quiet.”

Dee would stand up if he wasn’t covered in food right now, but even then the tone of his voice would make anyone shrivel up.

“Lissten here, cause I’m not going to say it again. If you value your brains, what little left there is I’d turn tail and leave like the good lap dog you are cause if you utter another single word against my boyfriend I will take your skull and use it as a bed pan. Are. We. Clear. Mother. Fucker?”

The person, horrified look on their face backs up without another word and darts away.

Remus and Virgil stare at Dee with stars in their eye(s).

“Holy shit I think I just fell in love with you again” Remus whispers in awe.

“Fuuuuuck Dee that... that was...”

“Hot?” Remus supplies.

“Uh huh” Virgil nods slowly but constantly.

“I hate people who think they know everything and think they’re the ‘norm’ I just get so mad!” He clutches the staff next him, just to have something to hold onto.

“We should probably leave, we have everything we need” Virgil says.

As they’re walking to the self checkout a manager type employee approaches them.

“I heard you were causing problems and threatened another patron?”

Dee clenches his jaw, he might just punch this man.

Virgil limps forward. “Listen we were just about to leave, can we just pay and go? No issues.”

“Fine, but you’re no longer welcome here.”

“Fine we weren’t planning on ever coming back fuckwad” Remus says in a chipper tone.

“Rem please, we need to get the food don’t start a fight with this one” Virgil pleads.

“I’m going to have to ask you to step out while these two finish the transaction” he says in that condescending tone. You know the one.

Remus keeps eye contact with the manager as he hands Virgil his Ultra Mega So Good Yes Please Premium Black Card, then flips him off as he walks away, tunrning to walk backwards out of the store to continue his flip off.

Dee and Virgil are watched over as they scan their items.

As they’re walking away Dee puts both of his hands up with double birds.

[ozarkhealingtraditions]

Love this time of year, pawpaw season! A wonderful native fruit, the pawpaw, Asimina triloba, is packed with nutrients, but be careful! It’s also a laxative, especially if you’re not used to eating them!

Pawpaws are one of several “witch trees,” said to be homes to spirits of the wandering dead. Pawpaw seeds are often used to “lay” or calm spirits.

For the longest time pawpaws were one of the only fruits Ozark hillfolk could gather. This was long before there were any apple orchards or peach trees, and the plums were of the wild variety which make a tasty jelly but are mostly pit and worm in my experience. Pawpaws became integrally linked with the Ozark people. 

I can remember stories from both my grandpa’s about gathering up pawpaws to eat, and my mom always talks about how annoying it was to clean up smooshed pawpaw residue from off the driveway at her dad’s body shop. I can remember even singing the pawpaw rhyme, although I can only ever recall the one line “Pickin’ up pawpaws, puttin’ ’em in your pockets, way down yonder in the pawpaw patch.” The full song goes something like this: Where, oh where, oh where is Susie? Where, oh where, oh where is Susie? Where, oh where, oh where is Susie? Way down yonder in the paw-paw patch. Come on, kids, let’s go find her, Come on, kids, let’s go find her, Come on, kids, let’s go find her, Way down yonder in the paw-paw patch. Pickin’ up paw-paws, puttin’ ’em in your pockets, Pickin’ up paw-paws, puttin’ ’em in your pockets, Pickin’ up paw-paws, puttin’ ’em in your pockets, Way down yonder in the paw-paw patch. I’m usually able to find a few pawpaws to eat every season. There has been a swift decrease in pawpaw trees in the Ozarks over the years due to deforestation, but recently there’s been an effort among naturalists to help get the tree reestablished. Much like with the chinquapin trees, I think there’s even a registry where you can list the pawpaw trees that you’re growing. Usually you want to wait for them to fall out of the tree, a sure way of knowing they’re ripe. But you don’t want to wait too long or the squirrels and insects will have claimed them as their own.

I like to eat them raw, but have also baked them into a cake. Here’s the recipe I used from the North Caroline Folklife Institute:

Pawpaw Pudding: 2 c. sugar 1½ c. bread flour 1 tsp. baking powder ½ tsp. cinnamon 3 eggs 2 c. pawpaw pulp 1½ c. milk ½ c. melted butter Preheat the oven to 350 F, and grease a 13x9x2-inch glass baking dish. In the center of a large mixing bowl, whisk together the dry ingredients: sugar, flour, baking powder, and cinnamon. Into a well in the center of the dry ingredients, add and whisk the eggs. Whisk until fully mixed. Whisk and mix in the other wet ingredients: pulp, milk, and butter. Pour and scrape the batter into the baking dish and bake 50 minutes. To test for doneness, slide a toothpick into the center of the pudding, and it should come out clean. Like custard, if you jiggle the pan, the center should be set. Serving: Cut the pudding into squares, and serve it with vanilla ice cream, whipped cream, hard sauce, or crème anglaise. The entire pawpaw tree has also made its way into Ozark folklore and magic. Here are some tidbits from Vance Randolph’s Ozark Magic and Folklore: “The pawpaw tree is well known to be connected with witchcraft and devil worship, and even a gray-and-black butterfly (Papilio ajax) is looked upon as ‘strange’ because it is so often seen fluttering about pawpaw trees. People near Goodman, Missouri, tell me that there is some direct connection between pawpaw trees and malaria, but just what this relation is I don’t know. Pawpaws are becoming rare in many sections where they were formerly abundant; this is regarded by the old-timers as a bad omen, perhaps a sign that the end of the world is at hand.” “There are many ways of detecting a witch, such as hiding a Bible in her mattress, placing a broomstick in her path, scratching a little cross under the seat of her chair, or adding a bit of pawpaw bark to her tobacco. Any of these measures will make a witch deathly sick, while an innocent woman is not affected. Another method is to take a new awl and fix it in the seat of a chair, so that only a very little of the point sticks through. Then get the suspected woman to sit down in the chair. If she jumps and cries out, it means that she is not a witch, since a witch doesn’t feel the sharp point at all.” “Some of the old-timers drive three nails into the outside of a door, in the form of a triangle, to keep witches away from the cabin; one man told me that the three nails represent the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost and were particularly efficacious in protecting an expectant mother from the powers of evil. Painting the outside of a door blue is said to be a sensible precaution also, and some people make doubly sure by driving several tiny pegs of pawpaw wood into the doorsill.” “If it is possible to obtain any part of the witch’s body such as fingernail parings, a lock of hair, a tooth, or even a cloth with some of her blood upon it the witch doctor has recourse to another method. Out in the woods at midnight he bores a hole in the fork of a pawpaw tree, and drives a wooden peg into the hole. Once, despite the protests of a superstitious hillman who was with me, I pulled out one of these pegs and examined it. The end was covered with beeswax, in which several long hairs were imbedded. There was a circle of what appeared to be dried blood higher up on the peg, and the auger hole contained a quantity of fine sand. A similar ‘pawpaw conjure’ is sometimes employed by cuckold husbands, but it is primarily intended to deal with women who ‘talk the Devil’s language.'” “The relatives of a murdered man sometimes throw pawpaw seeds into the grave, on top of the coffin. It is said that this insures that the murderer will be punished. Other old-timers, in similar case, prefer to pull down the top of a little cedar tree and fasten it with a big stone. This somehow helps to catch the murderer. As soon as the man is punished, somebody must hurry out and move the stone; if the cedar is not released there’ll be another killing in the neighborhood.” “Many farmers say that it is a good idea to bury a bit of a cow’s afterbirth under a pawpaw tree, as this will cause her to bring forth female calves thereafter.” ​ “In rural Arkansas the backwoods girls tie little pieces of cloth to the branches of certain trees usually pawpaw or hawthorn, sometimes redbud or ironwood. I have seen five of these little bundles in a single pawpaw tree. I have untied several and examined them carefully; there was nothing in them that I could see, just little pieces of cloth, doubtless torn from old dresses or petticoats. The natives say they are love charms, but just how they work I do not know. No woodsman that I have ever known would think of touching one of these objects, and I have often been warned that it is very bad luck to ‘monkey with such as that.'”

[feynites]

More Dirthalene Howl’s Moving Castle AU! Tagging @selenelavellan!

Selene has a choice.

 She can either spend all day trying to find Des and stop him from doing something stupid and illegal, or, she can spend all day trying to find them a new place to live and making sure they don’t lose everything when Elandaris kicks them out onto the street.

 Life experience has taught her which approach is probably going to bear more fruit. Des can, in theory, look after himself, and in a pinch… he usually doesn’t make the worst possible decisions. Always. Mainly.

 So Choice Number Two it is.

 Although Selene doesn’t completely discard the first problem, either. She wakes up in the morning to find Des gone, along with his nicest clothes, and the sun still coming up. Dressing, she hurries to one of the places she knows the parade preparations are going on. But Des isn’t there. She even asks a few of the city’s guards - mostly because they know how the streets are being organized - but no one has seen him. And the parade is starting in different places all over the city, with the various branches of the procession converging on different streets, before they all make their way to the same final destination.

 Selene decides her best bet is to just wait until the parade is done, and then go and try to find Des in the main square afterwards. And in the meantime…

 In the meantime, she has to find them a place to live.

 Because there is no chance whatsoever that Des’ absolutely insane plan is going to magically solve all of their problems. That isn’t how life works.

 So, she goes back to their room, and gathers up everything that she can reasonably fit into a large bag, and that they couldn’t stand to lose. She takes it to the hat shop, and stows it in the back room. She already feels tired. Most places are closed for the parade, either by choice or simply because too much of the street is blocked off for them to do otherwise. The hat shop is no exception, and she doesn’t know where Mirena has gotten to. But at least the festivities mean that there are a lot of people on the streets, and making inquiries eventually leads her to some who might have rooms for rent.

 It takes a lot of walking, though.

 Selene feels like she must have crossed the whole of the city twice over before midday, and while she does track down a few people, nobody wants to ‘talk business’ on a holiday. To make matters worse, all the festivities mean that a lot of shorcuts and easy routes are walled off with bright banners and cheery stalls selling over-priced trinkets.

 It means that even though Selene had thought herself quite used to the city, she gets turned around and lost on some odd street more than once.

 And all the cheer and the celebrating and the bright, blinding displays popping up between buildings just seem to mock her misfortune. Wizards. They are all hypocrites. All just concerned with themselves and their own power, like the people in charge of the city. Her feet hurt and her calves ache, and she stumbles down a dark alleyway that she doesn’t even know the direction of, trying to find her way back onto the main road so she can go and track some some other well-to-do landlord who will probably just chortle and tell her to ‘leave that sort of thing for tomorrow’, again…

 Her hip bangs against a garbage pail. The sound seems to echo down the long alleyway. It brings her up short, as she hears a certain oddness to it. It doesn’t carry right. Instead the soft clatter of metal against brick seems to chime upwards. Getting lost in the eaves of the nearby buildings. Selene’s eyes trail upward, too. Drawn in by the deep shadows lining the edges of the alleyway.

 Should it be so dark?

 It’s midday, after all. The sun is high. The slight stiffness of the skin at the top of her cheekbones attests to it. But the shadows around the buildings seem thick and deep and dark. Almost mesmerizing. She stares up, and up, until she notices a blackness rising from her own shadow in the corner of her eye. Something that makes all the hairs on the back of her neck stand at attention.

 She starts moving again.

 Swiftly. Forgetting her sore feet as she heads for the end of the alleyway. The clattering sound comes again, and she tries to tell herself that it must only be a cat, as the shadows thicken behind her and she feels eyes on the back of her neck. Don’t look back, don’t look back, don’t look, don’t look…

 Everyone knows, in a city like Arlathan, ‘don’t look’ is the best favour you can do yourself.

 But her heart is speeding up, and her steps feel like they are slowing down. No matter how hard she tries to speed them up. Her footwraps slip open, and her breaths come shorter. The end of the alley seems further and further away…

 Until a raven caws. And then, like a snap of her fingers, she’s there. Stumbling out onto yet another side street, nearly losing her footing until she feels an arm link with her own. She nearly yanks herself away, until she looks, and sees a figure who is not made of shadow. A tall man in smart suit, with a colourful pink cloak around his shoulders, and a face that looks like it might have been carved from porcelain…

 Or, no.

 Not a face, but a mask. The skin around it is a different shade, and the pink and yellow patterns that frame the features are paint, not make-up.

 “Steady,” the stranger says, in a soft voice. “Keep moving. It has not lost sight of you yet.”

 Selene swallows, and lets him tug her down the street. The feel of eyes still pressing against her back.

 “What is it?” she asks. The stranger keeps his gaze straight ahead, and so she does the same. Is he a wizard, she wonders? But no, surely no member of the guild would be wandering around random street corners, rescuing peasants from… things.

 Or even if they were, they would probably decline to touch said peasants.

 “It is a bad dream,” the stranger says, speeding up. Her tired legs struggle to keep pace. “Sometimes they follow me. My apologies for the inconvenience; but we should upwards to avoid it. They do not like the open air.”

 “The open-?”

 Selene has barely gotten the question out before the stranger shifts his grip on her, and closes an arm around her waist, and then leaps…

 Her breath stutters for an entirely different reason. Eyes widening as they are both launched into the air. Higher than any normal jump could account for, or even, in her mind, any abnormal jump. A few shadows lash at their ankles, but they do not reach further the floating banners and balloons. Once-distant decorations that Selene now finds close enough to touch.

 She grips the stranger more tightly. The ground shrinks beneath them.

 “It is alright,” he says. Something dark seems to flutter beneath his bright pink cloak, to her alarm. But when she looks, instead of shadows, she just sees feathers.

 “What are we…? How do we get down safely?” she wonders.

 The man moves, walking as if the air is just some other roadway that he might take a stroll across. Close as they are, his cheek is nearly press to her cheek, as he squeezes one of her hands reassuringly.

 “As simply as we got up,” he tells her. “Relax. It is the magic holding you up, not my arms.”

 He coaxes her into moving a little. And Selene blinks, as her mind catches up with her. And she finds that, in fact, she can feel the levitation spell around them. Like the faint hum of a distant beehive. Though it feels almost the same way that a cloud looks. The stranger shifts his grip, as her own eases some. He takes her by the hands, resuming a more courteous and polite set of gestures, while Selene mimics his movements.

 And walks on air.

 A relieved breath escapes her. And then a laugh, that manages to almost be delighted.

 “I… I suppose you are a wizard,” she says.

 The stranger’s head tilts. It’s hard to tell, through the mask, but she thinks she might have said the wrong thing.

 He only sighs, though.

 “Not officially,” he tells her. “Truth be told, I should not be here.”

 Selene blinks.

 “You are not a member of the guild?” she guesses, and cannot keep the sympathy from her voice.

 “No,” he confirms.

 A long breath escapes her. The wind curls around their ankles, and a few bright balloons meander cheerfully past them.

 “It’s alright. I’m not in any guilds either,” she says. “It’s all corrupt anyway.”

 “It is,” the stranger agrees.

 Their steps carry them over to one of the nearby balconies, then. Migrating back downwards. Selene looks for signs of odd shadows. But the building the stranger stops them at is a cheerfully bright and seemingly-undisturbed restaurant. Empty for the day, tables pushed aside, but stairs still open to the main street below. Her feet stutter a little. And then she finds her rhythm, and simply steps onto the balcony as if walking down from a cart. They stranger manages to balance himself on the very narrow railing. Still light as a feather.

 He lets go of her hands.

 Selene regards him for a moment. Not certain what to say. She finds herself charmed and curious at once, despite everything. Drawn in by the glimpse of his eyes behind the porcelain mask.

 Then the man bows.

 “The shadows should not trouble you any more,” he says.

 “Thank you,” Selene replies.

 “It was no trouble. I wish you luck, Miss…?”

 She opens her mouth to reply - and to ask his name in return. But then there is a sudden bang from the main square. The sounds of fireworks going off. The both of them turn to look, jumping a little in fright. The wizard’s feet slip from the railing. He topples backwards. Before Selene can feel more than reflexive alarm, though, the man’s form shifts. His pink cape flutters down. The rest of him seems to become wrapped up in the form of a single black raven. It lets out a startled caw, and then flies away.

 “Wait!” Selene calls after it.

 But the bird is already soaring through the air. She leans forward, gripping the railing herself with hands that still tingle from the barest trace of magic. And watches as the bright pink cloak flutters down to the street level, and lands on the sidewalk. Trailed by a single black feather.

 After a moment more of searching the sky, Selene makes her way down from the balcony.

 She hesitates.

 But it would probably be discourteous to leave the stranger’s things to get trod on or stolen. It seems to be a fine cloak, if gaudy. Expensive material and good stitching. If nothing else, Mirena might know who made it; and that person might recall who they sold it to, and be able to return it to him. So Selene scoops up the cloak, and folds it over her arm.

 She has less clear reason to pluck up the feather, too. But she does anyway. It is pristine, and if nothing else, would make for a fine quill. Or a decoration for a hat. She tucks it into her bag, and with one last look at the sky, makes her way towards the crowds again.

 Her feet still hurt. But for some inexplicable reason, her spirits feel lighter.

 What a strange person. With magic like that, so effortless and interesting, what self-respecting guild could even fathom turning him down? Surely only one with standards that have nothing to do with skills. Selene already knew it, but… there is something oddly heartening in knowing that it’s not just her. Clearly the system is very, very broken.

 She lets the thought embolden her as she tries to track down yet another landlord. But this one has no rooms available, and again, not much interest in talking business. By the time she is making her way to the main square, her spirits are flagging again. And the crowds are thick, and chaotic. The revelries loud, the directions hard to find. Most of the main square is blocked off anyway. Selene can see no sign of Des. There even seem to be some fights breaking out. Something to do with invitations to private wizard parties, and it swiftly occurs to her that if there is that much trouble going around, then the odds of her getting in to rescue Des are painfully low.

 Still. She tries, making her way through the crowds, calling for him and looking for any signs of his friends, or people who might know him and point her in the right direction. There are towers over the square, buildings that seem to have sprung up overnight. And most people are preoccupied with their own purposes.

 As time passes, Selene knows she’s going to have to give up. Des is probably going to spend the night partying and scheming, and if he gets into trouble, he’s just going to have to find his own way out of it. She told him not to go through with it. She reminds herself of this, vigorously, as she finally gives up.

 It’s pure luck that has her bumping into Thenvunin. Mirena’s son. The man is dressed up to the nines, and looks affronted at having been knocked into. At least until he sees who she is.

 “Oh,” he says. “Selene. Are you alright? You look out-of-sorts.”

 “I’m having a rough day,” she admits.

 “Well, that won’t do. It’s a festival,” he replies. “People are supposed to be celebrating. I’m even going to one of the exclusive parties, you know. I mean, I don’t have an invitation, but I’m certain that’s just an oversight. It probably got lost in all this kerfuffle and chaos. Things are most disorganized this year, I shall have to lodge quite a few complaints about how it has all been handled.”

 Selene blinks.

 “You’re going to one of the parties?” she asks. “Could you take me with you?”

 “Certainly not!” Thenvunin refuses, straightening his shoulders. “It is invitation only, and only the wizards may invite guests.”

 She deflates.

 It must be very apparent, because the man’s countenance eases towards some awkward pity. He reaches out and taps her shoulder, briefly, in what she suspects was meant to be a consoling pat.

 “Don’t look so down. There are still plenty of festivities around, I am certain you will find some chance at a pleasant evening,” he assures her.

 “It’s not that,” she says. “I think Des got into one of these parties, and I need to speak with him. We’ve been evicted, and I’ve spent all day trying to find us a new place, but I haven’t and we’re running out of time, and I’m not as charming as he is, I’m not as good at talking people into things…”

 She might be cracking, just a little bit, she thinks, as her voice runs away with her and the corners of her eyes sting, and Thenvunin’s awkward pity turns to mild social alarm. He glances around, and ventures another pat at her shoulders.

 “Oh, well…” he says. Then he clears his throat. “Well, why don’t you go to Mother’s shop? You can spend the night there at least, and if I see Des I will tell him to go and find you. Mother will hardly mind, I’m sure she would want to help you. She thinks very highly of you, you know. And I know some people around the city. If you would like, I can help you tomorrow.”

 That’s very kind of him, she knows. Even as some part of her twists bitterly at tomorrow. Tomorrow, tomorrow. Everyone wants to help later, but today is still a problem. And Selene doesn’t want to prevail upon Mirena.

 But…

 It may indeed by the only thing left to do.

 With a long sigh, she pulls herself back together, and thanks Thenvunin. He nods, and pats her once more. But he also takes his leave of her with some obvious haste. Eager to be away from someone else who’s life is going a bit to pieces, she thinks. She can’t really blame him, as she re-settles the bag on her shoulder, and then nearly drops the cloak she is carrying. The fine fabric likes to slip and slide. And after another moment of fumbling with it, she just lets out a frustrated sound, and throws it over her shoulders.

 At least it can stay put there. And as she moves through the crowds again, people seem to smile and laugh and wave at her more. Apparently encouraged by the look of the fine, festive cloak. Although it almost seems as if they are not seeing Selene at all, as even a few people she knows look right past her, and only call out strange, jovial greetings.

 The power of fashion, she supposes.

 She pushes her way back out of the crowds, and heads for the road that will lead her back to the hat shop.

 It takes many detours and a long while to get there, though. The streets grow quieter, but the shadows do not turn peculiar again, at least. The sky goes dark. Street lamps come on, casting amber light across Arlathan’s cobblestones. Some of the balloons in the sky begin to fall. Some of the banners, too. They leave stray ribbons of brightly-coloured trash across the streets, and atop some of the lamps. Selene even finds herself reaching up to knock a few loose, lest they become fire hazards.

 The last thing she needs is a district fire burning down the only refuge she can still turn to.

 The hat shop.

 When she gets in sight of it again, she lets out a long and weary sigh. A breath that tastes like defeat.

 Maybe she should just accept Mirena’s offer. That would be the sensible thing to do. Take on her apprenticeship and work her way up, get somewhere reasonable and comfortable. Free of dreams, but full of stability. The best she can probably hope for at this point. It’s not as if it’s a bad shop, not as if Mirena is a bad employer. She could do worse.

 Her steps are slow and heavy as she makes her way up to the front door.

 She doesn’t even notice that the light is on until she gets the door open, though. Her thoughts tired and scattered, and then only confused as she sees the figure standing in the middle of the shop floor.

 It isn’t Mirena. And it isn’t Thenvunin, either, although for a moment the long blond hair and broad build has her reflexively thinking it might be. Everything else about the man is all wrong, though. He is taller than Thenvunin. And his hair is long and straight, and falls all the way towards the ground; though it seems to curl and coil before actually touching the floor itself. He is darkly dressed, and darkly countenanced, too.

 He makes the hair on the back of her neck stand up, just like the shadows in the alleyway had done. His stare is icy blue, and very, very cold.

 “Ah,” he says, gesturing with a hand. Selene finds herself yanked through the open doorway. The door itself bangs shut behind her, as her heart lurches with fright. “And here I was thinking it might take time to find you. Selene, I believe?”

 She hesitates to answer, freezing up as every instinct in her shouts threat.

 The man’s expression goes a little harder.

 “Are you Selene?” he asks her, again. She’s not sure if his magic is holding her in place, or if she’s simply gone rigid of her own accord. As she used to do with Haleir.

 “If you want to live, you had better answer me. If not, I will simply kill you, and anyone else who comes to this place,” he declares.

 Mirena.

 Selene swallows, and finds her voice.

 “I’m Selene,” she admits.

 The stranger smiles. It doesn’t reach his eyes.

 “There now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” he says, in a tone of utter disdain. He snaps his fingers, and then Selene is sure it’s magic. It feels like icy knives stabbing into her as she goes rigid. Held in place, as the strange man circles around her. A few tiny blue sparks flare in his wake. She knows what that means. He has drawn a lot of magic close to hand. More than would just be accounted for by the binding spell he’s using. He planning to cast… and Selene has no idea what, or why. Or who he even is, for all that she is certain down to her bones that he is bad.

 His gaze falls to the cloak on her shoulders, and he halts. Tilting his head. His eyes narrow. He reaches out, and traces a finger over the embroidery on the edges.

 “Where did you get this?” he demands.

 Where…?

 Selene just stares back, tongue stuck in her throat.

 The man glares. And then he sneers. And then he rips the cloak from her shoulders with enough force that she would have staggered, if she could have. As it stands she just feels the ties sting against her skin, as they snap at the gesture.

 “He made it, didn’t he?” the man exclaims. “Des. I knew it, I knew he was different. He isn’t just like my brother, he is my brother. Or part of him. Come back again, come back and drawn to me again. He probably meant to come right to me, but then you waylaid him. Didn’t you? Pretty think with your long legs and your nice rack. I bet you kept him all sorts of distracted.”

 Selene’s heart sinks in dread.

 Des?

 This man knows Des? And he’s… what? Des doesn’t have a brother. Does he? Granted, he was an orphan, so she supposed it’s possible… but as she looks at the stranger’s furious, icy gaze, she detects a slight clouding to it. It could just be emotion.

 Or it could be that a love potion has worked in a distinctly twisted sort of way.

 “Where’s Des?” she tries.

 “Where he belongs, now,” the man insists. He drapes the cloak over his own arm. He thinks Des gave it to her? But he didn’t. Though she doesn’t suppose reasoning on that front is going to do much good. No, she’s seen men like this before. Never as powerful, of course, but disagreeing with him is probably the last thing she should do while she’s in his clutches.

 He brushes a hand over her hair. And then, to her shock and revulsion, reaches down and sharply smacks her backside.

 “Well,” he says, as he circles back around to the front of her. “I was going to kill you. You see, I am Lord Wizard Falon’Din, the Master of Death and the greatest of all spellcasters. And I do not share my loved ones. But now that seems too simple for me. If I kill you know, he’ll probably mope about it. He’ll be preoccupied with it. I want you gone, but… there is a better point to be made.”

 Selene tries her damndest to move, then. Even as she is rigid and frozen by magic and by fear, her every instinct is screaming at her to try. Only increasing as Falon’Din’s hands move, and his gaze narrows, and the blues wisps of magic coalesce at his fingertips.

 “For all but its master, death in inevitable,” he says. “It withers and steals. Whatever charms you have, time will take them. And if my brother ever sees you again, he certainly won’t be distracted by them.”

 The curse glows malevolently.

 Selene’s struggles are for naught, as the eerie blue light fills up the shop, and then slams into her. Knocking the breath from her lungs. Sinking in her skin, and making all the day’s weariness, all the exhaustion, amplify tremendously. The icy magic releases her, only for her to fall to her knees.

 Against the wooden shop floor, she sees her hands. She sees the skin of them wrinkle. Watches odd spots appear, feels the tired ache flood through them, as the eerie light fades. And Falon’Din laughs, in the way a man laughs when he has just played a clever ‘joke’ that no one else finds amusing. His boots thunder across the shop floor, and he walks dismissively past her. Snapping his fingers to open the door, while Selene tries to move further from him. Her fear curling slowly towards anger, as she thinks of doing - doing something.

 He has Des.

 He has Des.

 But she can only wheeze, while the man casts one last disdainful look back at her.

 “Death is a little closer now,” he says. “But technically, I have not killed you. You should thank me, you know. I am not usually this merciful.”

 Selene just wheezes again. And then he laughs once more, and heads out onto the street.

 For several long minutes, then, she lies on the shop floor. Desperately trying to catch her breath, desperately trying to do any number of things. Like moving, or going after this ‘Falon’Din’, or keeping herself from doing that, too. Desperately trying to find a position which doesn’t make all of her joints feel as though they are on fire. None of it proves successful.

 Gradually, though, the pain begins to lessen. Her panic abates enough for her to push herself up. Using her unfamiliar, weathered hands. She searches for injuries, but apart from the full-body ache, can find none. Her clothes are unmarked. He bag is lying in a heap on the floor. She gets slowly to her feet.

 She does not even intend to look in the mirror. There are enough in the hat shop that it just happens as a matter of course, when she stands up and looks almost anywhere. So she hasn’t even braced for it, when she sees her reflection..

 Wrinkled skin, and more spots, her face does not look like her own as she takes in the sight of it. For one horrible moment she expects it all to keep going. For her flesh to rot clean off of her, for her body to turn skeletal, and then fall into dust.

 But it doesn’t.

 Selene isn’t sure how long she stares at the old woman in the mirror for. Long enough that when she finally gasps it feels more like she had forgotten to breathe, like she is struggling for air, than like a shocked exclamation. She presses a hand to her chest then, though. And she gasps a few more times, before finally stumbling closer to the mirror.

 What had that madman said?

 Death is a little closer now.

 She looks like she’s aged hundreds of years in a minute. However long the day might have felt, she knows the obvious cause. The wizard’s curse. The wizard who stole Des, and who has now stolen years off of her life, too, it seems. The reflection in the mirror is still nearly incomprehensible, but Selene is not so distracted that the sound of someone at the door fails to get a reaction from her.

 He’s back! she thinks, terrified. He changed his mind and now he’s going to kill her. Terrified, she grabs up her pack, and hurries to hide behind one of the hat displays.

 Oh yes, good job Selene, he’ll never find us here, part of her thinks, grimly, as the front door opens again.

 “Mirena?” an unfamiliar voice calls.

 Selene hesitates.

 He could be disguising his voice, of course. But… why would he? It’s not as if he needs to trick her. He can just blatantly stroll in and… and blow her up, or something. If he wanted to anyway.

 Steeling herself, Selene slowly stands up from behind the hat display.

 The person in the door is not Falon’Din, but the sight of them screams wizard so loudly that Selene nearly feels again anyway. A beautiful elf, this one with dark hair, dressed in a gleaming emerald gown, with slit pupils in their eyes and glowing gemstones hanging from their jewellery. Cheekbones sharp enough to shame Selene’s own, which is saying something, and a V-neck collar that goes straight to their navel.

 “Oh, help,” Selene mutters, numb in her terror. No more wizards, please, she doesn’t think she can take it.

 The new one’s gaze falls onto her, and widens.

 “Oh no,” they say, making their way over. “Are you Selene?”

 Does she have to answer that?

 It doesn’t seem to go over very well.

 But… if this is another wizard, and they look worried… perhaps this is the only chance she had.

 “I am,” she says. “I am. He, he did this. He cast a curse, I don’t even know what kind, but it… I’m not old. I’m not old, I…”

 “Shh, hush,” the strange wizard soothes, making their way towards her. “I know. I’m so sorry. I was going to try and warn you, but it seems I was too late.”

 “He has Des,” Selene blurts. Part of her knows she’s not being the most coherent, but at this point, it’s all she can manage to hold it together. Her skin still feels cold. Her hands ache as she closes them over the wizard’s sleeves, but they just shift their grip and take her hands in turn. Their features may be sharp but the pity in their eyes seems kind. Even if Selene is sick of pity.

 If pity will fix things, though…

 “I know,” is what this new wizard says, though. “That was Falon’Din. He is a very powerful sorcerer, and a despicable man. He has developed a sudden fascination with your friend. That’s why he came here, he wanted to make certain that Des would have no earthly reason to leave him.”

 No.

 Oh, no.

 How is she going to help him out of this mess? She’s in one herself, now, too. Oh, she should have tried harder to talk him out of his stupid scheme! She let him go, let herself hope even just a little that things would actually work out, and now what’s come of it? They’re somehow in ever worse trouble than before, trouble so bad that she can scarcely comprehend it, and the only person who seems to even know what’s happening is a total stranger she just met a minute ago.

 "Who are you?” she asks. “Can you help?”

 The newest wizard draws in a long breath, and lets it out again.

 “My name is Melarue. And I can help, bot as much as I would like,” they admit, looking her over. “There are only a few ways to reverse a curse like this, and none of them are in my power. I might know of someone who can manage it, though.”

 “What about Des?” Selene asks. “What is he going to do to him?”

 “Nothing good,” Melarue admits, to her dismay. “I will not lie. Your friend’s prospects are probably more bleak than yours. I can help you find the person who might be able to undo this curse, or I can try and get your friend away from Falon’Din. But I cannot do both at once.”

 Selene shakes her head.

 “Well then, you have to help Des,” she decides.

 It’s not a difficult choice to make, really. She feels only a little regret for it, in amid all the roiling terror that’s trying to turn her stomach upside-down.

 Melarue seems a bit surprised, though. The wizard gives her a long, searching look. No longer assessing the curse on her, she thinks, but beyond that, their expression is inscrutable. But then they nod, and let go of her hands.

 Selene hadn’t noticed. But while they had held them, the pain had been gone.

 “As you like. I can do something for you before I go,” they say, looking her up and down again. “I cannot reverse the curse, but I can lessen some of the cruelty. Your body has aged but your spirit still knows better. I can let it help you, a little. It should keep you from feeling too frail, or hurting too much.”

 “Oh,” is the only response Selene can think to make.

 Melarue gives her a warning, though, before they begin to cast. Their magic is green. And it feels like nature. Like flowering vines and spring rain and like deep roots, burrowing below the earth. When it comes into contact with Selene, it soothes rather than burning. She staggers anyway, reflexively startled by the wash of it. At least until it passes, and the light goes dim. And then she does feel better. Steadier on her feet, and less achining in her joints. Her breaths come easily for the first time since the attack, and her heartbeat seems to change, too. She hadn’t noticed it was wrong before. But now it feels right again.

 After a moment, Melarue nods.

 Then they reach into a pocket of their skirts, and produce a small page of parchment. With an elegant gesture, they pass it to Selene.

 The material feels surprisingly sturdy, as she takes it automatically.

 “In the wilds beyond the city, there is a powerful wizard who was once close to Falon’Din. Their magics are similar. If anyone can reverse Falon’Din’s spell, apart from the man himself, it will be this person,” they explain. “But his home is ever-moving. You will need that map to find him.”

 Selene hesitates.

 “Why would he help me?” she wonders. “If he is friends with Falon’Din?”

 Melarue sighs.

 “He may not,” they admit. “I can offer no guarantee. But he is a remorseful person, and often tries to undo Falon’Din’s misdeeds.”

 She looks down at the parchment.

 It seems like so very little to be going off of. But… if Des is with that man…

 “How far is it?” she wonders.

 Melarue shakes their head.

 “It would be impossible to say,” they admit. “If I were you, I would rest tonight, and then leave in the morning. I have to go back, now. The longer I am gone for, the more noticeable it will be. It would be best for all of us if Falon’Din did not realize we had spoken. He does not know that I have taken an interest in his behaviour, so he will not think you stand half a chance of undoing his curse. Nor will he expect me to go out of my way to help your friend.”

 Selene tightens her grip on the map, then, and gives the wizard a baffled look.

 “Why are you helping us?” she wonders.

 Melarue smiles a smile that Selene would not describe as ‘generous’ or ‘kind’.

 “I hate Falon’Din, and his kin, more than words can say,” they assert. “And I will do anything to ensure he is ruined.”

 Well.

 …Alright then.

 “Thank you,” she nevertheless replies.

 Melarue inclines their head, and she tries not to feel too abandoned as they head for the door.

 “Make sure you rest,” they advise again. “You’re not as young as you used to be.”

 The bell above the shop door chimes as the third wizard of the day leaves Selene’s company. She stares after it for a long while, and then stares another while at the unopened map in her hands. Before finally looking at her reflection again. Heart sinking once more, as she is left alone in the dark of Mirena’s hat shop.

 With only the featureless model heads to see, Selene slumps back down to the floor, and begins to cry.

[peacefulheartfarm]

Sheep Breeding

Breeding sheep is one of the most enjoyable enterprises on our homestead. Sheep were the first animals we introduced back in 2010. They have been a central part of our operation since then. I’ll talk about that today.

Welcome new listeners and welcome back veteran homestead-loving regulars who stop by the FarmCast for every episode. Thank you all so much for listening. I’m so excited to share with you what’s going on at the farm this week.

Our Virginia Homestead Life Updates

Before we get to the sheep, what else is going on here on the homestead?

Creamery

The holes in the walls are still being filled in by Scott. Who knew it was going to take this much time to complete that task? Well, the building is rather large and parts of it are very high. That requires special ladders and scaffolding and such to be able to reach the tallest parts of the walls. Additionally, Scott is finishing the concrete block walls in such a way that they resemble stucco. It takes a bit more time and effort but the result is quite beautiful. I’m very pleased with the effect. I can’t wait to see it painted. Maybe a nice off-white stucco color to enhance the look. We shall see. I actually leave color decisions to Scott. I have no head for decorating. Thank God he has a wonderful head for it. Everything he builds reflects his eye for beauty, symmetry, style, color and so much more.

Quail

We now have seven breeding sets of quail. Count them, seven. We made a day of it. Somewhere along the line we lost one that I didn’t know about. The final count in the penthouse was 56 birds. We processed 32 of them and kept 24 additional birds for eggs.

Fowl or Foul?

After finishing the processing, we went back out to their cages and took every single bird out of their cages. Scott spent lots of time cleaning up those cages and getting them sanitized for the winter. Have you even wondered why birds are called fowl? Well there is another spelling of the word foul and it has to do with awful smells. I tend to think that this is why birds are referred to as fowl. All birds have to have their roosts, cages and runs cleaned regularly. Otherwise, they smell foul. Well, there is always some smell from time to time no matter what you do. Take that into consideration when planning the location of your chicken and/or quail homes.

Lighting

Another addition to the quail housing was adding lights. They will now have light for 14 hours a day. That is what is required for them to produce eggs. The new girls have yet to lay a single egg and the older hens, 15 of them, were down to producing no more than six to eight eggs per day. Even that would have dropped to zero or nearly zero in the near future. Inadequate amounts of light make feeding your birds through the winter counter-productive.

There is an automatic timer on the lights. It comes on at 4 am and will stay on until 6 pm. So even on a dreary day like today, they have plenty of light. We use bulbs that produce the “daylight” spectrum of light. It’s not quite the same as most grow lights. Well, I take that back. I think lots of grow lights are going to the daylight spectrum to more closely emulate growing plants outdoors. The same for the birds. We want them to have as natural a light as possible.

Egg Production

Because we have seven sets of breeders, that means there are 35 hens out there. If those lights work like we hope, we could potentially have 35 eggs per day in a couple of weeks. It will take at least a week and perhaps two for the light to affect their egg production. In addition to the light, they get lots of good nutrition and supplements to make sure they have everything they need to be healthy and productive.

Donkeys

I got to say hi to the donkeys a couple of times in the last few days. I haven’t been seeing too much of them as my homestead tasks have led me elsewhere. It’s so good to see them up close and personal. And they are personal. Donkeys love humans. They love human attention. And we love giving it to them. It won’t be long and they will be getting another bit of attention that is not so popular with them, but necessary. Hoof trimming.

Yes, they need to get their toenails done. Scott handles the nail salon and I just offer comfort while the uncomfortable deed is accomplished. All are getting more and more used to it. Daisy nearly falls asleep while it’s going on where Johnny and Cocoa still have some real fear issues with it. They are getting better each time. We shall see how it goes this time. Maybe they will have completely overcome their fear just like Daisy and Sweet Pea.

Cows and Calves

The cow girls are doing fantastic. Rosie has integrated well into the herd. She is low-man on the totem pole, as would be expected. But she is getting along with everyone and thriving in her new environment. Scott is training her and retraining Cloud to come into the milking shed and stick their heads into the milking stanchion. This is in preparation for the vet to do pregnancy checks on all of the girls. The milking stanchions are very convenient for restraining our girls in comfort while medical checks and treatments are performed. I think I’ll ask Scott about cutting off Rosie’s horns too. Once she is used to putting her head in the stanchion, we can easily saw off those horns of hers. It’s quick and painless but she will definitely need to be restrained for her safety and ours.

Calf Weaning

We are nearing the time when the calves will be completely weaned. A week or so ago, I stopped giving them their second bottle of whole milk in the evening. At the present time they get ½ gallon of whole milk only in the morning. In the evening they get ½ gallon of skim milk. As soon as my stores of skim milk run out, they will only get whole milk in the morning. That will last for a week or so and then no milk at all.

Drying up the Milk Cows

We are still milking the big girls twice a day but that is about to change. Their milk becomes less and less as the days go on, the longer they go into their milking cycle. The quality of the milk also changes as they get later into their lactation cycle. Soon it will be time to dry them up. That means we will go to only milking once a day, then once every other day and finally stopping altogether. More details on that in a later podcast. We will start that process in a week or so.

Garden and Fruits

We are still waiting on that first frost. The garden is still going. Scott said he thought that first frost might come in the next couple of days, as soon as the rain from the remnants of hurricane Zeta stops. I didn’t want the lima beans to be soaked at the same time I was forced to pick them before a frost. So I did what any other sane homesteader would do. I rushed out there this morning before the rain started and picked everything. Literally, I pulled up the plant, stripped the bean pods and piled the spent plants to the side. It only took a little while and I’m glad to get that part done. The pods were actually still wet from the last rain we had from the remnants of hurricane Delta. At least I think that one was as hurricane. I have the beans laid out on newspaper to dry.

Lots of Storms

Can you believe the number of named storms this year? I think this is the first time in my 65 years that we have gone completely through the alphabet and now five letters, so far, into the Greek alphabet. We still have another month to go in the official tropical storm/hurricane season. Eleven have hit the US coast as either a tropical storm or hurricane. Most were relatively small. Tropical storms or category one or two hurricanes. Laura was a category 4 hurricane. I believe six storms have hit the gulf coast, mostly Louisiana. Pray for them. Even category one and two hurricanes can bring lots of water damage and some wind damage.

Okay, that was a bit of a tangent. Back to the garden. I also picked a few tomatoes. I know, I know. I’m supposed to be done with the tomatoes. But there were a few that looked really good so I snagged them. I have quite a few avocadoes in the frig and some guacamole always sounds good to me. It will be missing that lovely fresh cilantro taste as all of those plants died, but we will make do somehow.

Peppers and Celery

A couple of days ago I picked peppers yet again. I have plenty of jalapeno for the guac. I have so many peppers in the refrigerator. I really, really need to get cracking on getting the pepper jam completed and drying the rest in the dehydrator.

Speaking of dehydrating. I grew all of that celery to be dried as well. That needs to be harvested but I wasn’t too worried about it being wet. The wetness will help keep it fresh as I work my way through the entire crop. Other things on the dehydrating list include, basil, parsley, oregano and thyme.

Grapes and Strawberries

Scott brought me a few grapes to try out. They are muscadine. We get a few more each year, but still not many to speak of at this point in their maturity. Soon, very soon, that will change. Looking forward to making grape jam and maybe some muscadine wine.  

The strawberries have survived the onslaught of weeds and are blooming once again. Those are tough little plants. I have a plan for them for next year. More on that later.

Sheep Breeding

Let’s talk about sheep breeding. A couple of days ago I was talking with Scott about the sheep breeding schedule and what we need to do to accomplish our goals. Well first was clarifying and getting on the same page with goals. We had already discussed this so it was a matter of recalling the final decision.

Ewe in Heat

A funny anecdote related to sheep breeding talk was the ewe that was eager to get started. Just about the time we were discussing our plan, this ewe was hanging out all by herself near the closet fence to the boys. She was really persistent. Number one, ewes nearly always stay together. Nobody goes off on her own. They are skittish and careful animals. But this young lady was actively looking for romance.

I walked almost right up to her before she moved away. I was walking down the travel lane on my way to bring up the cow girls for milking. And there she was, hanging out near the gate, mooning over the boys that she could see across the field, but could not get to. I walked up to her and she finally moved away a few feet. She walked along the lane for 20 feet or so, then she stopped and looked around at me to see if I was still coming. I was. She turned and went other 20 feet of so before stopping yet again, just to make sure I was still there and that it would be impossible for her to get around me. This ewe was really persistent. She continued this behavior all the way back to the main flock.

Persistent Ewe in Heat

She stayed with the rest of the flock while I rounded up the girls and began the trek back to the milking shed. About the time I got up to the holding area and closed the fence that keeps the cows in while they await their turn at milking, she was back down there at the corner mooning over the boys yet again. Don’t worry honey, you’ll get your chance in just a few more days the great switcheroo of animals will begin. The boys will stay with the girls for most of the winter. Sometime in late spring we will separate the boys again and put all of the girls back together. Then we await the most glorious event of spring. The birthing of lambs.

Which Ewes Will We Breed?

There are currently 12 ewes in the flock. We are going to breed four of them. These will be the four older ewes. That means we can expect up to eight lambs in the spring. We had ten last year, but that came about because we just bred all of them, young and old. A first-year ewe usually has a single lamb. And sometimes older ewes will have only one lamb as well. However, it is more common that the second year and each year thereafter, a ewe will have twins and sometimes triplets.

Last year, three of the older girls had twins, one older girl had a single, another older girl did not have one at all and all three of the young girls had singles. That was five older ewes. Since then we have eliminated the oldest ewe and will be going with the four ewes between three and five-years-old. This is the current makeup of our main breeder flock. The three younger ewes will not be bred again. The reason for that is Lambert, our new breeding ram, is a ½ sibling to two of them and full sibling to one of them. That simply won’t work if we want to maintain strong genetics.

What Will We Do?

In order to accomplish only breeding the four selected ewes, it means we need to bring them all in, separate the ones that will be bred from the rest of the flock and put these two groups into separate spaces. Then we bring up the boys and introduce them to the breeding ewes. We can put all of the boys in with the breeding girls because only one of them is still intact. That would be Lambert. He is our breeding ram. This will be his first season. I will pray that he does well. We could also put the boys other than Lambert in with the ewes that are not being bred this year. That would require a second routine to get Lambert separated from the other boys. Scott will make that call when we get to that point.

There are so many decisions that go into every activity on our homestead. Each one has pros and cons. Making the same decision one year may not be the same as the previous year. Circumstances are always changing. I was listening to Kanye West in his interview with Joe Rogan talking about how hard it is to farm. He is attempting to come up with better methods to provide good nutrition to the poorer population. Farming is so much more than putting some seeds in the ground and waiting for them to grow. The same with animals. It is so much more than just putting them out there in the pasture and watching them graze. Every decision is a well-thought-out plan to fulfill a current need. Those needs are always evolving. Some decisions turn out to be counterproductive. But there is always next year and new opportunities to improve.

Final Thoughts

That’s it for today’s podcast. I hope you enjoyed the trip around the homestead. It is always my pleasure to share our peace and joy with you. Perhaps you’ve gotten some new ideas on what to do for your own dreams and perhaps you just came along for the ride. In any case, we’ll keep you in the loop.

We are heading into late fall and winter. Likely I’ll slow down a little and perhaps only podcast a couple of times a month. The spring and summer are always so full. Slowing down for winter is just another way we work in harmony with nature.

If you enjoyed this podcast, please hop over to Apple Podcasts or whatever podcasting service you use, SUBSCRIBE and give me a 5-star rating and review. If you like this content and want to help out the show, the absolute best way you can do that is to share it with any friends or family who might be interested in this type of content. Let them know about the Peaceful Heart Farmcast.

Thank you so much for stopping by the homestead and until next time, may God fill your life with grace and peace.

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Check out this episode!

[ebony-coffee]

principessa (ii) ;

Episode II: in which your fiance does a bad job as being a gentleman

Commander Fleuret loomed. He stood well above the men surrounding him and walked like he was floating. Ghostly might be an apt word to describe him, you decided, while your breath caught in your throat as he approached you.

“Cato, you’ll see that my fiancee’s handler and belongings are settled in her quarters,” were the very first words you heard from Ravus’s mouth. You shied away even from his voice: it was a sharp sound that came from his nose, quite unlike the softer, gentler tones that made an accent Accensan. Somehow, you didn’t think that he spoke like a man from Tenebrae, either.

Cato nodded, glancing at you before waving forward the men carrying what you brought with you from home. “And, of Princess (Y/N), sir?”

“She is to come with me,” he simply replied.

You swallowed, feeling your expression go harder.

Camille leaned into you and, with her lips on your ear, she whispered, “Good luck. Think first of Accensa.”

With that, she curtseyed to you and joined the lieutenant to leave you behind, walking at his side with Niflheim troops behind them. This left you facing Ravus and a handful of his own men--alone.

The moment when you stared at each other felt long and icy, what with your head held high in refusal to submit to the fear of him simmering in your blood. Still, you didn’t look at his eyes, too afraid of the way you knew he was judging you. But, you couldn’t have that. Instead, you had to spite him.

You curtseyed. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Commander,” you drawled, words flowing easily from your lips while you looked at him through your eyelashes. For the sake of sparking yourself his scrutinizing gaze, you watched his lips. They tightened, his posture stiffened, and you silently celebrated a win in the back of your mind.

Upon your straightening, you found that Ravus had moved his arms behind him, holding his hands behind his back in a posture so stiff that you wondered who were the machines: him, or his soldiers?

“Let me show you where dinner will be had tonight,” he said. His words were curt and tight, his lips and tongue not moving much at all with each syllable--not like yours might have moved. Language was so key in your culture. Precision of words and smithing of sentences were so important that it wasn’t uncommon for young children, even, to take classes in speech and rhetoric in public schools.

And for a princess to have tutors in the arts of debate, speechcraft, and poetry. You grew up with a learned love of words, and you quickly realized that they would be your greatest defense against your fiance.

Now, if there was a way for you to talk your way away from him, you would be back in Accensa already. You resolved to make good use of your stay and bide your time until he could be persuaded in your favor, for he was too stiff--too deep in his own affairs--to care for you. But, perhaps that was a good thing for you, at least for now.

You softly hummed in response, then watched his cheeks go pink at the little noise from your throat. Finding his weaknesses would be easy, but you hoped they weren’t all… Physical.

Gauging how strong his ego was, you stayed a step and a half behind him, rather than at his side. Something told you that he had no desire to have a foreign woman next to him, and you had little desire to be next to him. His soldiers--his personal detail--followed behind you still, in tight rows of three, elbows touching elbows and blocking the rest of the walkway from anyone behind the two of you, regardless of the fact that the base was completely deserted outside.

The base itself towered far into the sky, a shock of gleaming metal among tendrils of greens both dark and bright. Some reached to climb the base’s walls, but didn’t reach very far before they were, clearly, groomed down by some sort of groundskeeping. This thing had been here for a long while, perhaps decades, and you thought of what its history might be: particularly, of who might have died and what might have been destroyed to put such a thing here.

How many families were fractured for the sake of your fiance’s empire, you wondered, as a chill ran through your blood.

In Accensa, your heels clicked loudly along stone walkways and asphalt airstrips; here, they tapped softly behind the metallic clanking and pounding of boots both behind and in front of you. Why one’s feet needed armor was behind you, especially when you considered Ravus, who didn’t seem to have a helmet that might protect his head. Surely that was more important?

You hoped that you wouldn’t have the express need for armor, but you almost wished you had it.

Just as a cold wind rushed past you, the fabrics of both your cloak and dress billowing out to your side and leaving your calves bare to the wind’s mercy, Ravus stopped. Your breaths trembled, and you watched the little white puffs of warm air from your lips quiver in the cold around you before they disappeared. Ravus was tapping on a keypad, you noticed, trying to watch the numbers over his shoulder, but you only caught the last few: 7392.

“Hurry up,” he said, the chill in his voice cutting through the chill in the air. “Before it snows, Highness.”

He looked over his shoulder at you with one hand on the door, staring down the length of his nose with sternness on his face. Was he… Holding the door open for you?

You took a step forward, starting to walk past him, and he raised an eyebrow at you.

“Today, Princess.”

Taking a sharp breath in--because of the cold, you told yourself, not because of his tone--you swiftly passed him with your arms around your middle, noticeably shivering as the cold air was sealed off from the room with the heavy sound of the door closing.

And locking.

Lips trembling and hands numb, you took the liberty of taking a few steps farther away from the cold and glancing around the room. Light was minimal, what with pure white beams reaching from the high ceilings that reminded you nothing of the artfully sloping arches back at home. Though the room was relatively open, it was bare, making your skin tingle. It felt something like a corridor in a horror movie, you thought, as you noticed that the only way to go was up a set of metal stairs.

The building’s interior completely shut out the life that existed outside of it, no matter how hard the greenery tried to fight its way in. Unsurprisingly, you doubted that you would ever be able to make this place feel like home.

“Come,” Ravus said, the single syllable shocking you out of your thoughts, but not enough to convince you to follow him. He stopped and turned to you with a hardened face, exasperation written all over him. “That was a personal invitation, Highness. I don’t know what else you could possibly require to move.”

Instinctively, you wanted to apologize. You bit your tongue and followed him up the stairs, reminding yourself to bide your time.

-------

“You’ve had a long day, haven’t you, Highness?”

Lieutenant Cato and Camille sat at the tea table in your room while you rearranged things to your liking and comfort. The room itself made an honest attempt at appearing Accensan, what with its silken linens and curtains and warm decorations, including plants you didn’t recognize--but hoped were from Tenebrae, so they could win the battle of getting inside the base on your behalf.

The decorating was forced, and you didn’t know who did it, but you wanted to thank them for trying their best. You had a feeling that they had never seen Accensa, but based their design off of photobooks or something. At least you knew that the silk was Accensan, and you could pretend you were home while you slept.

“A long week,” Camille answered for you, gentle sympathy in her eyes. “Or month. Or… Well, it’s been almost a month and a half since her father told her of her engagement.”

Cato nodded. “The Commander has been busy with… Well, politics aren’t really for such sophisticated ladies.”

You stiffened, turning your gaze on Cato. “Try me,” you beckoned.

“I don’t think I’m really allowed to share,” Cato laughed, nervously, clearly realizing that he was out of line. “But, your fiance does travel with Chancellor Izunia often. The Chancellor handles the politics, the Commander handles the military… And the peace is generally kept.”

“Aside from the fact that Niflheim is at war,” you countered with mocking in your tone.

Camille said your name in a warning tone, and you sighed. “I’m sorry,” you conceded.

“No need,” the lieutenant offered and waved his hand. “We aren’t blind to the state of Eos here. An alliance with Accensa--the alliance your father and the Chancellor forged with your marriage to Commander Fleuret, Your Highness, means another stronghold for the Empire and protection for your people.”

Protection from whom, you wanted to know, but you decided that you’d rather not upset your stomach before dinner.

-------

Camille sat on your right and Cato sat on your left. You’d been informed that the lieutenant would be in charge of your personal guard of Niflheim soldiers--why you needed a personal guard was almost beyond you, and you hoped that it was just a formality.

Ravus sat in front of you and didn’t look at you once throughout the first course of dinner.

Though you hated to admit it, you dared to say that you enjoyed the food. It was mostly vegetarian, save a thin slice of fine gighee ham served with fruit and cheese before the main course.

“Commander,” Cato began, and you almost jumped at someone breaking the silence, “how was your walk with the princess this afternoon?”

You took a slow bite of your dinner, eyes shifting from the lieutenant to the commander. On one hand, you felt like kicking Cato under the table, but there was a curious, perhaps masochistic, part of you that truly did want to know Ravus’s answer.

“Fine,” the commander curtly responded. Had you really expected anything more?

Was this a “fine” like a child telling their parent about their day at school, or a “fine” used to describe the high quality of Accensan silk?

“I imagine that you have plans set to get to know your bride,” he continued, “but I’d like to suggest--”

“I would rather not have your suggestions,” Ravus cut him off with a new, chilly conviction in his voice, and in the way he stabbed a potato. “I will become acquainted with her on my own time, Lieutenant.”

You and Cato both shuddered. Hopefully, yours wasn’t quite as visible as his--but how could he speak about you so objectively while you were right in front of him?

“Yes,” Cato nodded, “of course. My apologies, sir.”

Ravus set down his fork and swallowed hard, staring you both down with what you recently realized were differently colored eyes. “Do not force me to do more than what I am already required to do. It would spare both the princess and me quite a lot of unnecessary trouble, wouldn’t it?”

Suddenly, the food in your mouth tasted a bit sour and you found it difficult to swallow. Under the table, you dug your nails into your palm, all the while refusing to look into the commander’s cruel eyes.

[tagamark]

Masai Mara Game Report: July 2019

New Post has been published on https://tagasafarisafrica.com/africa-travel-news/safari-sightings/masai-mara-game-report-july-2019/

Masai Mara Game Report: July 2019

Weather and grasslands

There has been generally good weather this month, although some over cast early mornings with temperatures being as low as 12°C while midday will average between 28-30°C. Sunrise is at 6.44am and sunset 6.48pm each day and on many occasions, there have been some spectacular sunrises this month. The Musiara region received 67.5mm in scattered showers throughout the month, while the Mara River has maintained a good level and flowing well.

Grass levels have improved since the good rain we had in June and July: the Musiara plains, south Bila Shaka and the east Rhino ridge grasslands are well covered, while the grass levels on the paradise plains are still long and dense. The prominent red oat grass and sporobolus grass found in low lying areas are a very resilient species.

On the plains:

Serengeti Wildebeest and Zebra.

The Serengeti Wildebeest have been crossing the Sand River area in large numbers since the 10th of July and again, just in the last week of July, more have been filing through into the southern plains. There have been some large crossings seen on the Mara River, west of the Mara Bridge. Wildebeest were crossing daily in large numbers below Look Out Hill – all of which were moving out from the Trans Mara and into the southern Reserve and the Triangle. On the 19th a large herd estimated at over 20,000 wildebeest crossed the Mara River below Look Out Hill and filed into the Reserve from the Triangle side. Since the 21st more large herds of wildebeest appear to have split in two groups and have moved up from the south and converged into the posse and Burangat plains.

Recently, large numbers have also crossed the Talek River moving north East: Large herds continue to build up in the southern plains and on the 22nd at 10.30am, an estimated 8-10,000 wildebeest crossed the Talek River coming from the southern plains and once crossed into the northern Reserve, they quickly moved in a north easterly direction towards the conservancies in the north east of the Reserve. The movement up from the northern corridor has been a little delayed since rainfall patterns in May and June have staggered their movements.

Elephant continue to cross the Mara River and into the Reserve via the BBC campsite area. A good time to see elephant crossing is mid to late mornings when they move into the Musiara Marsh and riverine woodlands. A few of these elephant herds frequent the camps particularly when the Warburgia trees start to fruit. Earlier on in the month more than a few of the dominant Musth bulls were seen moving through the breeding herds and some cows were seen being mated. The most obvious signs of Musth are a sharp rise in aggressive behavior, copious secretions from and enlargement of the temporal glands and the continuous discharge of urine. Large dominant males who are in a stage of Musth are flooded with up to ten times testosterone than usual and bull elephants experience their first bout of being in Musth at about 25-30 years of age. For the young males, it is often a short-lived experience lasting perhaps a few days or maybe weeks, whereas in older males, Musth can last for a few months at the most.

We have had good sightings of giraffe throughout the Mara, with males of varying ages often being seen in bachelor herds within the riverine woodlands. Breeding herds which can be seen in large, form Crèches to look after their young calves. Older and larger dominant bulls will be seen moving between the breeding herds – some of these older bulls are well known amongst the Governors’ line of camps.

Some of the Warbugia trees within the riverine woodlands are still fruiting which is common for this time of year, while the Teclea nobilis with the bright red berries are fruiting heavily. The common Bulbuls, Crowned hornbills and Violet backed starlings have been feeding off these berries. The recent rains have attracted good numbers of hawk moths (Sphingidae), whose large larvae have been seen around the camps latterly.

Olive Baboons in large troop sizes, as well as Impala, often frequent similar habitats – particularly that of wooded areas. It is not uncommon in these circumstances that large male baboons will take an Impala fawn to eat it. Impala ewes give birth away from the main breeding herd and when the fawn is a few days old or more, it will be introduced back into the herd – and this is when these male Baboons recognize this phenomena.

On the morning of 16th July, this very scenario happened and the moment the ewe brought in her fawn back to the herd it was snatched. Bachelor herds of Impalas will often be seen scattered out and again, often within the same breeding herd habitats. One female Bushbuck was seen near the BBC campsite – this is the first sighting this year since many Bushbucks have suspected to have been taken by the resident leopards. On the other hand, more Dik Dik’s are being seen and this is a good sign – pairs are monogamous and will pair for life with the female being larger than the male.

Thomson and Grant’s Gazelles are well spread out within the Musiara environs: Grant’s gazelles live in standard territorial, male-led herds. In more closed habitats, the herds tend to be smaller and more sexually segregated than that of Thomson Gazelles. Male Grant’s gazelles have developed several ritualised postures to determine dominance and this you can see very well if one has the patience to sit it out. Younger males will often spar with one another and generally as they grow older, these ritualised displays often take place instead of fights. They are primarily browsers rather than grazers and during dry periods, they will move some distances within a habitat to obtain more browse value. Grant’s Gazelles are not dependent on water and move in the opposite direction of other migratory species such as the wildebeest. With the ability to obtain the moisture needed from food, they avoid competition and can survive on vegetation found in semi-desert environments. They have relatively large salivary glands – which is perhaps an adaptation for secreting fluid to cope with a relatively dry diet.

The more prominent Thomson Gazelles will be seen in loose associated herds. Male Thompson’s are very territorial and will staunchly hold onto what turf is theirs and at the same time will mark a grass stem with a sebaceous secretion from their pre-orbital gland, known as olfactory communications. Female Thomson’s gazelles usually give birth to single young, known as a fawn, after a gestation period of 5 – 6 months. For the first 3 weeks after giving birth, the mother hides the fawn in tall grass and returns twice daily to nurse it, until it is old enough to join the herd. The black-backed jackal is and omnivore and not a fussy eater, and feeds on small to medium-sized animals, as well as plant matter and many species of insect life. On the short grass plains, they are one of the main predators of Thomson fawns. Their cousins – the side striped Jackal – are not commonly seen perhaps due to predator aggression from the large clan sizes of the spotted hyena and the black-backed jackal’s more aggressive feeding behaviour.

Bila Shaka Cape buffalo herds are spread across the Musiara and Bila Shaka Plains, both Buffalo breeding herds have many young calves, of which many of the cows and calves have been taken by the resident marsh lion prides. This month the marsh lionesses have taken five buffalo cows from the Bila Shaka area. On the evening of the 15th the three marsh lionesses, Little Red, Spot and Kabibi killed a cow and calf at Bila Shaka. A few older bulls still reside close to the marsh area in front of Governors’ and often close to the camps too, but numbers of these older bulls are slowly diminishing due to the resident lion prides.

Spotted hyenas are still being seen in large clans which is an indication of not enough lion to compete with them and regulate numbers. Apart from a good sense of smell, spotted hyenas have an acute sense of hearing too. They can hear predators hunting or feeding on carcasses from several kilometers away! Spotted hyenas have big hearts (although we can’t say they are generous!), yet they are capable of running close to 60 kilometers per hour. Mostly within the Mara ecosystem they will hunt wildebeest and various species of antelope with birds, lizards, snakes and some vegetable matter also being included in their omnivorous-type dietary pattern. Spotted hyenas give birth to 2 to 4 cubs at a time. Cubs are born with open eyes and will suckle on their mothers’ milk for up to 18 months although they start eating meat by the age of 5 – 6 months from nearby kills. Hyenas and lions continue to fight strongly over the same territory as they hunt the same prey, which leads to fierce competition between the two predators. They steal each other’s food and hyenas in particular will kill off the young of their enemies – in particular cheetah whose numbers are very limited in the Mara.

Cape Hares are being seen and can often be spooked as one drives around – they are generally nocturnal and spend the day hidden in long grass or under bushes, with their ears laid flat. It was on the 15th July that some of our guests saw a Martial eagle take a scrub hare while one ran from one cover to the next.

Larger cats:

Lion

Marsh lionesses Yaya and her two adult females Pamoja and Nusu Mkia, will hunt south of the Bila Shaka area and also as far as Rhino Ridge. Lioness Spot has two sub-cubs (a male and female), which are about one year old now and they are mostly seen with lioness Little Red, who helped raise them, in the west marsh byways. These four lions have also been feeding off the resident buffalo and warthog in this area. On the 24th they had killed and eaten a buffalo cow in the west marsh.

Lionesses Rembo, Kabibi, Dada and Kito along with their five cubs, have this month been hunting and feeding off the many buffalo and their calves that are in the Bila Shaka river bed area. Two cubs are to Kabibi and one to Rembo – they are now about nine months old, while lioness Kito has two 7-month-old cubs. They have all been seen actively hunting buffalo in the late evenings and early mornings. On the early morning of the 26th July, two warthogs were taken from close by to Il Moran Camp – these resident warthogs tent to lose a sense of predation when habituated to human settlements and become easy prey for the nearby lion prides.

The Madomo/Ridge Pride is made up of five lionesses and two 7-month-old cubs (a male and a female), plus two sub-adult lionesses of about 18 months old. Madomo’s daughter, Longneck, has three tiny cubs estimated at just two-months-old. Another larger and older lioness sister to Madomo, also has four cubs that are just five-weeks-old! This pride is being seen hunting and residing on Topi Plains and also will hunt in upper areas of the Olare Orok River. Earlier on in the month they were seen hunting south of Topi Plains – as far as the east Musiara grassland plains. This is an extremely active pride and latterly they have been residing on the lower Topi grassland plains.

The Six Marsh Males reside and control much of the east marsh, Bila Shaka and Topi Plains areas – these six males have sired the cubs of the Marsh Pride lionesses and Madomo/Ridge Pride. The most dominant of the six males is Baba Yao – he has also sired the majority of the cubs to the Madomo/Ridge Pride.

These males tend to move between the two prides and on the late morning of the 25th, in the lower Topi Plains grasslands, two members of the six-male coalition fought heavily over an oestrus lioness. It was Baba Yao who was shaken and put down by another younger male on this morning. These males also like to move around between the west Marsh, Bila Shaka, Olare Orok and Malima Tatu are – this is a large home range.

Leopard:

Leopards were seen frequently in July: the female leopard Saba of the Olare Orok, is looking around for a nesting area and we suspect she is pregnant. She is often seen with her last offspring and they both seem to have been hunting Impala and warthog; both are being seen almost on a daily basis within the Olare Orok riverine woodlands. Female leopard Romi and her two cubs (who are nearly a year old now), have also been seen occasionally although she is a little shy. On the early morning of the 19th she and one of her cubs were seen eating what appeared to be the remains of a Bushbuck up a Warbugia tree in the riverine woodlands close to the BBC campsite. During mid-month she had been seen resting on a dead tree trunk close to Il Moran Camp – it seems that late evenings are the best time to see her.

Another female leopard, Bahati, and her two 6-month-old cubs (of the Talek River area) is also being sighted on long day game drives – she is most likely seen on the lower side of the Talek River crossing. A male Leopard is also being seen by the main Mara River crossing areas – leopards can be as active as lion when wildebeest are crossing the river and will take full advantage of this phenomena.

Cheetah:

The five-male cheetah coalition has been seen often on the southern Reserve, on the Burangat and Posse Plains, hunting Thomson gazelles and Impala. On the 9th July, they had killed a male Thomson gazelle in the Ongata Ronkai depression area, typically cheetah cover great distances and this coalition prefers to move around between the two reserves.

Amani the female cheetah and her three cubs estimated at 14 months old, was seen earlier on in the month in the southern Reserve near Lookout Hill. On the 21st July, she was seen south-east of Lookout Hill in the morning eating the remains of a Thomson gazelle – she is a very active mother and is regularly seen hunting Thompson gazelles and Impala ewes. Another lone female is being seen on Rhino Ridge and then latterly below Emartii Hill.

Two individual male cheetahs are being seen between Paradise Plains and also in the Double-Crossing area: latterly one of them was seen early in the morning of the 14th and 22nd hunting Thompson on the southern plains of the Ngiatiak River. The other perhaps older-looking male was seen again in the upper Talek River areas, he then crossed the Talek sand river crossing and was seen residing on the Lower Burangat Plains. Two young female cheetahs were seen on the 24th, south of the Mara Bridge in the southern areas of the Triangle and Trans Mara Reserve.

Masai Mara Game Report by Patrick Reynolds, Manager at Governors’ Il Moran Camp.

Post courtesy of Governors Camps

[sarahburness]

How I Got Stronger and Healthier After Giving Up Animal Products

“Your body is precious. It is your vehicle for awakening. Treat it with care.” ~Buddha

Not that long ago, I ate meat every single day. Every. Single. Day. For breakfast, I used to have fried eggs with feta or cottage cheese and turkey ham. My lunch consisted of minced beef or chicken with veggies. My dinner was then either leftovers from lunch or more meat/fried eggs/sometimes fish with veggies and cheese.

I followed an intense workout routine, went to the gym five to six times per week to lift weights, and on top of that did another two cardio sessions per week in a beautiful park close to my apartment.

The best I could do for my health, according to my personal trainer, was to stick to a high-protein, low-carb diet with lots of animal protein and avoid refined sugar. That also meant to drink one or two whey shakes per day.

For some people, this might sound exhausting or even brutal. At the time, though, I loved my fitness lifestyle and was proud to be as lean as I was.

For two years, this was my life, until I was offered a job abroad, which I accepted totally thrilled. This new opportunity was so exciting and full of possibilities! Sadly, I had to reduce my workouts and started to lapse when it came to my diet, meaning I ate significantly more carbs than before.

I worked non-stop around the clock. Soon, I started to get sick more often. Despite a job change, things got worse.

There was always something wrong with my body, either infections or injuries, which prevented me then from working out. The lack of exercise in turn led to feeling weaker. On top of that, I had to deal with a very toxic work environment, constant stress, internal gossip, difficult clients, and a lack of professional structure to only name a few unpleasant job-related factors.

Whenever I was feeling slightly better, I used to fall ill again. I started to gain weight and lost muscle mass. It was like a vicious circle with no way out.

The biggest support came from my boyfriend, who was there to take care of me. He was and still is my emotional rock. I don’t know what I would have done without him.

Once you move abroad, your social circle shrinks considerably (at least mine did), thus making it hard to not feel lonely at times. Most of my closest friends who are my social support system live either in my home country or in other parts of the world making it difficult to connect.

This state of mental and physical exhaustion lasted for a year and a half until I found the courage to walk away and quit my job. Once I had done that, I’d gotten rid of one of my biggest stress factors. Finally, I had time to focus on taking care of my health, body, and mind again.

As a documentary lover, I started watching food and health related documentaries. They all had one strong message in common: the promotion of a plant-based diet. According to those documentaries, following a whole-food, plant-based diet solves a lot of environmental and, to my surprise, health issues. I was intrigued!

I had a couple of friends following a plant-based diet already, so the idea wasn’t entirely new to me. A few weeks before quitting my job, I had suffered another internal infection and, therefore, reduced my meat intake to only once a month, following the advice of my gastroenterologist.

Questions started popping up in my mind: What if I could get rid of all infections by cutting out animal products completely? What if my body could recover from all the diseases?

I made my boyfriend watch those documentaries as well. He was shocked about the impact of animal products on our health. It took us a split second to decide that we were more than ready to give the plant-based diet a go!

The change was easier than expected; there was not a lot we had to get rid of in our kitchen and not a lot of new ingredients to buy either. Cooking and preparing healthy dishes has always been one of our favorite hobbies, and having things like quinoa or amaranth in our kitchen has been normal.

I quit drinking milk in 2013 and have loved almond milk since then, (Did you know that humans are the only animal species drinking milk from another animal, though this hormonal drink is only intended for baby calves to grow?)

The only dairy products left in our fridge were five cups of Greek yogurt, a piece of butter, and a variety of cheese. Together with our last organic eggs, everything found a new home in a friend’s kitchen.

Since the change, I feel so much better. It turned out that my new lifestyle wasn’t as complicated and hard to follow as I first imagined it would be. (I have to admit, having a special someone by your side doing the exact same thing makes it a whole lot easier.)

The infections in my body have decreased, and I don’t get sick as easy and often as before. Finally, I’m able to go to the gym to work out again. Not as intense as I used to, but on a regular basis.

I’ve consumed a high amount of animal products in the past, which is kind of the norm in our society. However, triggered by the lack of exercise and paired with a high stress level, it’s likely, that among other things, my high-animal-protein diet led to the many infections, a high level of inflammation, and a variety of illnesses I was struggling with.

The change to a plant-based diet isn’t a magic bullet, but it plays a big part when it comes to living a healthy life, in my opinion.

Sure, there are more things to consider like surrounding yourself with loving and compassionate people, regular exercise, being kind to yourself and others, and practicing gratitude, forgiveness, and mindfulness. Having said that, it would go beyond the scope of my post to delve into those topics.

There’s this cliché and certain image that comes to everyone’s mind as soon as you mention the word “vegan.” Unfortunately, it’s often seen as being difficult or just plain weird. 

That’s why one thing has been very important to me right from the start: I don’t want to be defined by the diet I follow. What does that mean? I simply don’t broadcast it and especially don’t use it to strike up a conversation. What I choose to eat and what not is not that big of a deal. Even some of my friends still haven’t noticed yet.

However, when the subject comes up, the questions from friends, family, and sometimes complete strangers are often similar. Some people are really interested in my choice; others judge me for it. That’s the reason I felt compelled to write an honest Q&A, including the challenges I face in my everyday life and the personal benefits of my food choice.

Being vegan and following a healthy whole-food, plant-based diet shouldn’t come with a stigma in our society. Let’s encourage an open, respectful, and honest conversation instead.

Honest Q&A

Why did you change to a vegan diet?

Mostly because of health issues I was facing. I wanted to know if my health would improve with a plant-based diet. The high amount of animal products that our society consumes increases the likelihood of getting type 2 diabetes, cancer, strokes and heart attacks. All those diseases run in my family.

What did you have to change in your everyday life?

Not much, since I ate veggies and fruits lately most of the time anyway. I don’t cook with regular cheese or eggs anymore, which was the most difficult part in the beginning, because I truly was a cheese-aholic. There’s a scientific explanation for that, though. Long story short: Cheese triggers the same receptors in our brains as heroin, which is why I never met someone who doesn’t like cheese. Our society is simply addicted to it.

Ok… what documentary did you watch?

The first documentary I watched was Cowspiracy, followed by Food Matters and What the Health? The most comprehensive and objective one, in my opinion, is Forks over Knives. If you’re interested in the topic, I recommend to watch that one first. All documentaries are available on Netflix.

Will you never eat meat again?

I’m not entirely sure about that. Right now, being on a plant-based diet is definitely the right thing for me. However, a certain diet doesn’t mean that you have to be abstinent or else you’ll relapse and you have to start from zero again. Everybody should decide that individually since diets are such a personal topic.

But you’re so limited now! What do you eat? There’s nothing left!

At first glance, it might seem that way, especially if you’re used to eat only animal products. But there’s so much variety in all kind of different cuisines. So here’s what I eat:

Fruits

Vegetables

Whole-food options

This Vegan Food Pyramid breaks it down nicely.

My usual breakfast consists of:

Oatmeal with berries, banana, and almond milk

Or smashed avocado on dark bread

For lunch I often have:

Stir-fried veggies with brown rice or quinoa

Sometimes I order veggie pad thai without any egg

Veggie sushi with brown rice (there are many different options at our local sushi stores)

A yummy salad with steamed vegetables, nuts, avocado, and pomegranate seeds

For dinner, I love to make for example:

Zoodles (zucchini noodles)

Whole-wheat pasta with tomato sauce or pesto

Pineapple curry with dhal

Guacamole with sweet potato fries

A fresh tomato soup

I currently live in the Middle East, so I also indulge in the local cuisine e.g.:

Hummus, one of my favorite dips made of cooked, mashed chickpeas, tahini, and olive oil

Falafel, deep-fried balls made of ground chickpeas

Baba ghanoush, a dip made of grilled eggplants and diced vegetables

Moutabal, another grilled eggplant based dip mixed with tahini

Loubieh bil zeit, green beans in olive oil with ripe cooked tomatoes and garlic cloves

Mouhammara, a spicy paste-like dip consisting of mashed hot peppers, olive oil, and ground walnuts

Alayet banadoura, super yummy sautéed tomatoes stewed with garlic, pine seeds, and olive oil

There’s a ton of plant-based desserts as well that can be made at home easily. If I ever need a sugar fix, I get a piece of 90 percent dark chocolate, which also is vegan.

But what about proteins? You need meat to cover that!

Yep, I get that a lot. While this is wrong, it’s a strong belief in our society. But here’s a thought experiment: Where do the animals that we eat get their protein from? They eat plants; it’s as simple as that. High protein plant sources for example are lentils or edamame.

You can’t eat pizza anymore. Or burgers. Don’t you crave those sometimes?

I do crave pizza and burgers. And I eat them. The funny thing is that I don’t crave the meat or the cheese, but the comforting experience eating with my hands.

There are vegan pizza ordering options or great recipes for easy plant-based pizza dough and vegan cheese. Same thing with burgers: There often are vegan patties available when ordering in. It’s also easy to make them at home e.g. crispy quinoa patties. And yes, they’re really yummy!

Isn’t a plant-based diet expensive?

Surprisingly, it’s not. The most expensive things we used to get at the supermarket were meat and eggs followed by cheese. Now we save up to 30 percent when we do our grocery shopping.

I’m sure you’re not getting all your vitamins and nutrients without animal products.

I hear this often, but it’s not true. A plant-based diet provides a ton of vitamins and minerals. I only take one supplement, which is Vitamin B12. Not only vegetarians and vegans suffer from Vitamin B12 deficiency, though, but also people consuming meat. Apart from that, I don’t lack anything.

Sometimes, I read that you have to get Vitamin D supplements as well. Vitamin D however is produced by our own body as soon as our skin gets exposed to the sun and not by eating animal products. Other people believe they need to drink milk in order to get their calcium intake for a healthy bone structure.

Surprisingly, studies confirm that a higher calcium intake leads to weaker bones and a higher amount of bone fractures. If you’re interested in those findings, please read here for further information.

Don’t you miss anything?

Surprisingly, not as much as I thought I would.

What do you miss most?

One of my favorite drinks was Baileys on ice, which I don’t drink anymore. Sometimes I miss that. And chocolate ice-cream.

Are you now also a hippie-kumbaya-singing activist who only showers once a week and chains herself to train tracks?

Okay, I made that one up. But unfortunately that’s the image a lot of people have once you mention being “vegan.” Let’s change that together!

So you don’t eat fish?

No, I also don’t eat fish or seafood anymore. But I do eat sushi stuffed with vegetables and avocado.

Challenges I Face in Everyday Life

Restricted choice of dishes in restaurants. Some restaurants only offer food options with animal products, and every dish contains at least butter or cheese. I only noticed that once I started studying the menu more intensively, and was really in disbelief.

The wait staff gets often confused as soon as you mention “plant-based” or “vegan.” So I usually avoid it whenever I can and order instead the vegetarian option “without [insert animal product].”

Depending on the country you live in, there’s a limited availability of some products. I’ve never seen the vegan Ben & Jerry’s ice-cream, for example, or any vegan cheese options in the U.A.E. In my home country Germany, however, there are even vegan supermarket chains.

Few coffee shops offer milk substitutes like almond and coconut milk. Okay, this is kind of a first-world problem, but I need to get my daily coffee fix. Some coffee shops offer soy milk as the only milk alternative, but I don’t like the taste of it. Also the many controversial studies regarding soy simulating estrogen in our bodies confuse me, so I try to avoid larger amounts like a cup full of soy milk.

Endless discussions with so-called friends or acquaintances who feel entitled to judge my food choices. It saddens me.

Encounters with people who offer their unsolicited advice on how veganism is bad for my health (without having a nutritional background or an interest for healthy diets in general).

I never try to educate people without them asking me first, but rather respect the choices everybody makes. Sadly, I rarely come upon the same behavior. However, if someone is genuinely interested in my choice, I’m happy to tell them about it and share my experience. I strongly believe in the saying ‘live and let live’.

Noticeable Benefits of My Whole-Food and Plant-Based Diet:

I sleep like a baby.

My digestion improved significantly.

My life got simpler. I always read the ingredients table on the food packaging in the past. Most of the time, I was worried about the origin of animal products. Did that hen live in a tiny cage in the midst of her feces? What did she eat and where did she lay her eggs? Does “organic” really mean organic? What about antibiotics? Is that really grass-fed beef?

Since I cut out animal products, I only have to worry about the origin of fruits and veggies. Most of what we buy has organically grown in the U.A.E. or has been imported from Asia. I don’t like the thought of fruits or vegetables being flown around the globe, often only ripening on the plane, so we humans can indulge in whatever is not in season at the moment (or never) in the country we live in.

My skin got a lot better.

I feel healthier and more energized.

I cook and bake more and love it.

Some people claim that going vegan helps with weight loss. I’d say it depends from which weight and lifestyle you’re starting. I didn’t lose any weight, but my weight and body composition are also considered normal. Still, my goal is to fit into my jeans and tight dresses from my lean past with more ease, thus to reduce body fat. The journey is the destination.

We spend less money on grocery shopping.

I believe, that my choice reduces animal cruelty and environmental pollution.

My action alone might not make much of a difference, but the actions of a lot of people do.

Have you ever struggled with your health? What was your approach towards getting better?

About Nina Grey

Nina is the creator of A gorgeous Soul, a mindful lifestyle blog. Do you want to feel less anxious and be healthier and happier within 30 days? Download Nina’s free Mindful Lifestyle Mini Guide and learn how to master your day with more ease and joy within 30 days, even if you've got a soul-sucking job and a demanding or stressful (family) life.

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from Tiny Buddha https://tinybuddha.com/blog/got-stronger-healthier-giving-animal-products/