#compost pits

[sigery]

What are people's hot key set up for minecraft?

Wondering how normal or unusual mine is

-

Regular pickaxe, sword, torches, axe, better pickaxe (iron or diamond)

6-8 swaps a bit depending on what I'm doing (exploring, caves, or building) but common ones are food, 'drop' blocks (granite or sand), water bucket, 'solid' blocks, and taming items (fish, bones, crops, etc)

last spot is usually bow/crossbow

also I rarely make/use a fishing pole. I just swim around and kill fish with my sword because I'm impatient

[literaryvein-reblogs]

some words for worldbuilding (pt. 1)

Air

billow, breath, bubble, draft, effervescence, fumes, puff, vapor

Arena

aquarium, bazaar, coliseum, field, hall, mecca, stage

Building

abbey, architecture, armory, asylum, bakery, bar, booth, cathedral, club, construction, court, department store, dock, edifice, emergency room, factory, food court, fort/fortress, framework, garrison, greasy spoon, hacienda, hangout, headquarters, hotel, inn, institute/institution, jetty, laboratory, mansion, mental hospital, monastery, mosque, museum, nursing home, office, pavilion, penitentiary, plant, prison, rampart, repository, ruins, sanctuary, shrine, skyscraper, stockade, storeroom, structure, temple, theater/theatre, treasury, warehouse, wharf

City

capital, metropolis, town, village

Furniture

altar, banister, bench, booth, bunk, cabinet, chair, couch, crib, davenport, dresser, furnishings, futon, jetty, lectern, partition, perch, platform, pulpit, rail/railing, screen, secretary, stand, wardrobe

Geographic division

area, county, desert, dynasty, kingdom, outskirts, quarter, sector, suburb, territory, tract, zone

Habitat

abode, ecosystem, environmentalist, habitat/habitation, harbor, home, land, nest, paradise, premises, refuge, settlement, tent

Habitat, human: accommodations, apartment, barracks, cabin, castle, condominium, convent, domesticity, dungeon, element, encampment, estate, grange, hacienda, home, house, housing, hut, jail, lodging, madhouse, monastery, neighborhood, old country, palace, prison, reservation, resort, sanctuary, shanty, suite, vacancy, villa

Habitat, rural: barn, burrow, conservatory, desert, farm, forest, grange, jungle, sanctuary, wilderness/wilds, wood/woods

Land

abyss, avalanche, bank, bay, bed, bluff, campus, cape, cavern, cliff, compost, cove, crevice/crevasse, dirt, downgrade, dune, elevation, estuary, expanse, field, fossil, garden, glacier, gorge, green, ground, gulf, harbor, hillock, inlet, knoll, landscape, lawn, lot, marshy, menagerie, mine, moat, mound, mountainous, nature, outlook, park, patio, pit, plateau, plaza, porch, prairie, projection, property, quagmire, ravine, ridge, savanna, shelf, soil, stack, table, trench, tundra, valley, well, wood/woods, yard

Nation

country, home, land, nationality, soil, state

Personal item

adornment, amulet, beads, best-seller, briefcase, cache, cargo, charm, contraceptive, disguise, effects, equipment, favorite, gem, glasses, handbag, jewelry, knickknack, luggage, marionette, memorabilia, necklace, novelty, object d’art, odds-on-favorite, paraphernalia, pledge, possession, pride, puppet, purse, resources, ring, souvenir, stuff, supplies, sustenance, thing/things, trappings, trifle, valuable

Planet

cosmos, Earth, galaxy, moon, planet, sphere, world

Region

capital, commonwealth, quarter, region, settlement, suburb

Room

alcove, attic, bath, bedroom, boutique, cellar, den, enclosure, foyer, gin mill, hall, lavatory, loft, outhouse, parlor, restaurant, saloon, shop, stage, store, tenement, theater/theatre, vestibule

Shape

angular, beaten, billowy, checkered, concave, conical/conic, crescent, curly, deformed, elliptical, flat, gnarled, kinky, misshapen, obtuse, round, shapeless, spiral, straight

Vehicle

camper, conveyance, motorcade, transport

Vehicle, air: aircraft, armada, blimp, dirigible, helicopter, shuttle, UFO

Vehicle, land: ambulance, bicycle, car, cherry-picker, dolly, excavator, model, traffic, truck

Vehicle, water: armada, boat, craft, fleet, sailboat, yacht

Water

abyss, aqueduct, basin, beach, blackball, brook, cape, channel, condensation, creek, deep, estuary, fountain, gulf, heading, inlet, lake, oasis, pond, promontory, reservoir, sea, spray, strait, tide, wash, wave, whirlpool

NOTE

The above are concepts classified according to subject and usage. It not only helps writers and thinkers to organize their ideas but leads them from those very ideas to the words that can best express them.

It was, in part, created to turn an idea into a specific word. By linking together the main entries that share similar concepts, the index makes possible creative semantic connections between words in our language, stimulating thought and broadening vocabulary. Writing Resources PDFs

Source ⚜ Writing Basics & Refreshers ⚜ On Vocabulary

[jerryandersonsdaughterinlaw]

daydreaming about starting a life out in the woods with domestic abby ᡣ𐭩

land. somewhere to put roots down. no watch shifts. no patrols. nothing we need to survive but each other. somewhere we can be soft and free, with room to breathe. trading one purpose for another. living off the land, still giving abby some sense of purpose and routine.

mountains, with trees so tall you can hear the wind move through them before it reaches you. private, surrounded by nature and wildlife, a view that stretches for miles. the worst part of our day is deciding what trail to hike.

a cabin nestled in pine trees, smoke curling from the chimney, under a starry sky. we’d build it ourselves. she’d do the heavy lifting, shouldering logs with practiced ease, tying beams into place while i hold the ladder steady. laser focused, sweating through her shirt, dirt on her arms, and look in her eye that says ‘i’m doing this for us.’

i’d chalk little heart shaped markings on the beams when abby isn’t looking. we’ll mark the wall with both our initials once it’s up. just scratched into the wood, tiny and permanent. i’d paint the front door. something warm. like amber. or rust. we’d have wide front steps, for when someone gets distracted looking at birds and trips like a golden retriever in combat boots.

she would insist on building us a porch, one that wraps around the house and has a swing. she’d build a greenhouse too, like her dad used to have so we could garden. herbs and vegetables, maybe strawberries. abby’d get really into composting.

there’d be big windows to let the light in, potted plants in the windowsill and small, smooth river stones abby had started collecting. books stacked on both sides of the bed. dog eared copies and little flowers pressed between the pages.

a clawfoot tub big enough for two, that we found at some salvage yard— partially collapsed, half swallowed by ivy. terrified it’d fall through the floor, but after we fix it up i’d take baths in it anyway. abby would sit on the floor and read to me while i soak.

we’d have cats, and a dog so big it looks like it could be part bear, probably named moose or something. drools on everything. we say we hate it but still sneak him food under the table.

a cozy reading corner with mismatched pillows. wind chimes in the doorway. a fire pit for stargazing nights, cool air and distant owl calls. hammocks tied between the trees, our favorite for afternoon naps. sun in our hair, the breeze rocking us to sleep. honey bees and butterflies fluttering through the wildflowers out back.

the kitchen would be the warmest place in the house, second only to our arms around each other. beautiful in the way worn pages of a favorite book are. open shelves lining the walls, uneven and mismatched, but sanded smooth by abby’s hands. a worn notebook full of meal notes, garden plans, and things we wanna try cooking next spring. a big wooden table we carved our initials into.

tons of small, weather worn ceramic mugs with hand painted designs for our coffee in the quiet mornings. lazy kisses as we listen to the forest come alive. the fireplace always flickering. our boots sit beside it in the evenings. sometimes we curl up with a book. sometimes abby sharpens her tools or sits behind me and brushes my hair.

maybe we’d find an old radio one day, that only gets static most of the time, but every now and then it catches a melody. old jazz, a scratchy folk song, and we’d dance barefoot on the wooden floor, laughing at how clumsy we are.

she’s the foundation; solid, protective, built to withstand anything. i’d be the warmth inside those walls, the glow that seeps into every crack, making even the coldest night feel safe.

abby’s always been willing to suffer, what she doesn’t always let herself imagine is joy. she deserves someone who shows her it’s okay to live a slower, intentional life and meets her in the middle. waking up and only needing to keep one person safe. choosing peace, instead of waiting for it to be stolen.

[catnippackets]

astounding how nobody seems to care about climate change. I'm not trying to pit any social issue against each other but when I see the trends in what issue of the day the world has decided to give a fuck about, it is never the environment. never. nobody wants to protest against climate change. nobody wants to boycott when it's companies who contribute to carbon emissions. nobody even wants to try making small changes in their lives like recycling and composting and reducing the amount of meat they eat and taking the bus sometimes instead of driving. I'm not saying people are doing nothing at all but sometimes it really really feels like it. and then we reach mid December and it's 10 degrees celcius and instead of being afraid everyone just says "oh isn't it so nice that there isn't any horrible gross snow and it's so mild and warm". in December.

[ccmoatyim]

Thank you for your detailed explanation! I can give you a rundown of the others listed:

Urine-diverting dry toilet (UDDT): The urine is sent down a separate path from the feces, usually just by having 2 holes (one for peeing, one for pooping), though I used one that had a sort of sloped conveyor belt. This is done so that the feces can dry out faster. Once the feces has been allowed to dry, it is safer to handle, and much lighter. Dry materials (like the mulch you mentioned) are often used in a similar manner to how you described.

Composting Toilet: the waste is collected into a container wherein it is composted. That is, it is broken down so that it can be used as fertilizer. To my knowledge, most composting toilets do not divert urine, but some do. This is because the waste needs to be at least somewhat damp for active decomposition. There are multiple ways that this decomposition may occur, depending on the details of the toilet and it's usecase, typically including mold, bacteria, and worms.

Pit Latrine: a pit latrine is basically just a hole in the ground that you shit in. There may be a seat, and there is typically a small shed-like building built around it, but it is still, fundamentally, just a hole in the ground that you shit in. It's probably the least interesting & least appealing of the options available, but it's extremely cheap to build & at least it's better than not having a toilet at all.

Flush Toilet: a flush toilet is most likely the first thing that comes to mind when you think of a toilet. You "flush" it when you're done using it, and then water is used to carry the waste away to somewhere else, further details depending upon your local infrastructure.

Note: Toilets may combine elements of several of these, or none of them. You mentioned the "chimney". This is to provide ventilation, that can serve many purposes. It does reduce smell somewhat, as you mentioned, by giving the gases somewhere to go, but it also helps composting toilets to make sure there's enough oxygen for whatever's breaking down the feces, and helps UDDTs dry out the poop by making sure the moisture doesn't get trapped. I suspect the huussi you've described would be called a composting toilet in North America.

[se-sissy-lina04]

Sissy’s Masterlist

CORRIDOR EXPANSION: THE SPECIALISTS ARE COMING

Moving into the building like a storm on Kamino. And not everyone is ready.

1. BLY & THE 327th FLOOR: “Jungle Vibes and Tactical Plants”

Floor aesthetic: All gold, all jungle foliage, half museum, half sniper nest.

Bly is deeply professional, but quietly dramatic. He builds a meditation corner with Aayla Secura quotes engraved in metal.

His troopers are the calm warriors—they look peaceful but have booby-trapped the elevator button.

Zee walks in one day and gets offered herbal tea and a laser-sight analysis of her posture.

Bly to Fox: “Our civvie is not just the building’s responsibility—she’s an ecosystem.”

Mephi pees on one of his exotic ferns. Bly is heartbroken.

2. BACARA & THE GALACTIC MARINES FLOOR: “Frozen Gym Bros”

Floor temp: 12 degrees Celsius. No one knows why.

Bacara: Intense. Stoic. Keeps a flamethrower in the hallway “for emergencies.”

Their idea of bonding? Cold showers and hand-to-hand sparring. At 5 a.m.

Zee steps out for caf in her slippers and is greeted by 20 shirtless Marines doing pushups in snow gear.

Bacara: “Good morning, civilian. Would you like to join our survival training?”

Zee: “I’m just trying to compost.”

They give her thermal socks and call her “Miss Zee” with terrifying formality.

Mephi won’t go near their floor. Too cold. Too growly.

3. NEYO & THE 91st FLOOR: “Bike Club & Brooding”

It’s basically a parking garage with blasters.

Neyo leads the “Clone Biker Club” with military precision. Zero small talk. All dark shades and brooding silences.

Their floor rumbles at all hours from bike tuning and hovercycle revs.

Zee complains once, Neyo installs noise-canceling insulation in her apartment himself and then disappears for three days.

No one’s seen his face. Mephi respects that. They nod at each other like two noir characters in a bar.

Rex: “No one knows what Neyo’s hobbies are.”

Anakin: “He is the hobby.”

4. GREGOR & THE COMMANDO FLOOR: “What Fresh Hell Is This?”

Gregor is insane in the best way.

Their floor? Booby-trapped funhouse. Random explosions. Foam dart wars.

Gregor runs through the halls in mismatched armor screaming “FOR THE REPUBLIC” while dual-wielding spatulas.

They have a bounce house in the rec room.

Mephi bit Gregor. Gregor congratulated him.

Zee’s first time up there, she fell through a false wall into a ball pit. Gregor handed her popcorn.

5. HOWZER & THE TWILEK LIBERATION SQUAD FLOOR: “Handsome, Humble, & Everyone’s New Crush”

A chill, plant-filled sanctuary.

They play soft music. Bake. Recycle. Have emotional check-ins.

Howzer is polite, ridiculously handsome, and the only one who calls her “Zee’ika.”

Every clone in the building is panicking.

Fives: “He’s not even trying and she smiled like he handed her the galaxy.”

Jesse: “No no no he’s a good guy—this is worse.”

Mephi immediately likes Howzer. He sits in Howzer’s lap. No one else is allowed to touch him now.

[kedreeva]

Well, it took 2 full days of reducing, but here's my chicken stock bullion! It is cooling/freezing in my little portable freezer so it doesn't wreck the temp o in my real freezer, and then I will pop them out and stash them in the chest freezer for later use. We don't eat a lot of chicken, but we do use a lot of chicken stock for rice dishes, and this reduces our non-compostable waste.

I also pitted, cut, packed, and froze 4lbz of dark sweet cherries for later. LOOK at how pretty these bad boys are!

Recipe for the bullion under cut!

4 rotisserie chicken carcasses (everything we didn't eat the day of acquisition, bones, skin, juices etc)

6-8 large carrots (washed, ends clipped, but not peeled), cut in half to make thick chunks

1 Vidalia onion (as much of it as possible, chunked into quarters)

2 celery hearts (pulled apart, tips snipped, green stalks only not the yellow inner heart... That's for me to crunch on while waiting)

3 heads of garlic (not cloves, the whole head, cloves peeled)

1/2-3/4 cup dried parsley flakes (prefer to use whole fresh stalks but my garden is still growing and I have dried to use up)

Salt (no idea how much but. Salt.

Normally that's the recipe but it's been kind of bland (I know chicken stock is supposed to be kind of bland but this was worse) so I also added a tablespoon of cumin, a pinch of paprika, a pinch of cinnamon, and a spoonful of brown sugar, and it really kicked the flavor up well.

Toss everything into the pot, fill with water past the level of the stuff in it, and let simmer (not boil) for 8-12 hours. If you want the broth to be clear (not opaque) you can skim the foam/Stuff off the top as you go, and make sure you DO NOT BOIL it. Once it hits boil temp the proteins dissolve and cannot be separated back out and the broth will be opaque. Which doesn't hurt anything imo and skimming is more work so I don't bother, but some people don't like it.

Remove the chicken and stuff to a bowl or other pot (I use a screen colander over a smaller pot and ladle stuff in until I'm sure it will fit and then dump the rest in). Take the clean liquid that is left and reduce to the desired concentration. I could have gone another hour or so on this batch, I think but I was done waiting.

[littlemisslipbalm]

Keeping Up With You

Josh Kiszka x gn!reader

Summary: “Mornings are meant to be spent with you,” Josh blurts out, nerves obvious in his voice. “Soft rock music playing while I bestow a thousand kisses across your body.” 

Or

A coming back together story

A/N: FLLUFFIEST AND ANGSIEST writing to date. The premise of this fic follows along the lyrics of tommy’s party by peach pit. One of my favorite songs so you should go listen as soon as possible.

Word Count: 8.9k | Warnings: breakup angst, alcohol consumption and weed consumption, swearing probably, ANGST and Happy Ending!

Join my Taglist!

You were running late. Not for anyone’s fault but your own. You didn’t want to go to Sam’s party, and yet, out of obligation or something like spite, you were dragging yourself there. You loved him and you loved all your friends that you were bound to see, but there was a nagging sense in your stomach that you were going to regret the entire night. 

Maybe it was for liquid courage that you cracked a hard kombucha while you had gotten ready and then took a few (three) shots before stumbling out of your front door to the uber you had called half an hour after the start time of the party that was across town. Sam, like all the rich people in your life, chose to live in the nicest part of town and you couldn’t fault him even if it meant your uber cost an extra 10 dollars for the longer drive than if he had his party at a bar downtown like any civilized adult. 

Walking into the party felt kind of like walking back into high school. Out of place somewhere you already didn’t want to be, searching for a lifeline. You saw the one person you’d probably know the best immediately upon entering. Sam was by the door, yammering about how the house needed more lights to the three unwilling participants in his drunken house tour. You called his name, getting his attention before getting pulled into a sloppy hug. You grinned and yelled over the bass-heavy rock “Happy Birthday, dude!” 

Sam grinned back and yelled that there were drinks in the kitchen and to PLEASE help yourself. You bit your lip and gave two thumbs up to him and the people in his little entourage, before slipping past them to his kitchen, where you planned to help yourself, heavily. 

There were more hard kombuchas sprawled across the countertop that were calling your name until a bottle of semi-decent-looking whiskey tucked in the back of the array of alcohol caught your eye. Scrawled messily across the label in black sharpie was the claim “JAKE’S” and you chuckled to yourself before pouring a double shot of it into the compostable disposable cup you had picked up from the stack at the far end of the counter. If it came to blows with that particular Kiszka, you knew you could take him. 

You added in some root beer to the whiskey after checking that no one was around to see it and gulped at the drink, a little spilling down your chin with the amount of vigor you had used. You needed the alcohol haze on your mind to get heavier before you could face anything more at this party. The lights were dim and the music was thumping, people were talking loudly and laughing louder and you felt impossibly alone. And anxious. 

The unknown hand that descended on your shoulder didn’t help the anxiety, but managed to placate the lonliness. You jumped, sloshing a little bit of your drink before whipping around to scold the owner of said hand. 

“You swipe from my whiskey business, trouble?” Jake inquired with an arched brow. 

Your eyes were wide on his face, before glancing down at your cup and back up to him, a bite of your lip overtaking your face. Guilt. 

Jake’s usual casual smirk that he sported in situations where he was comfortable morphed into a grin. There was a tinge of sadness in his face, but he hoped the smile masked it enough. “Oh, c’mon, you know you can always take from my private collection. You’re the only one who can stomach it besides me, anyway.” He pulls you into a side-hug that is stilted but attempting to be comforting. “Wouldn’t have left it out if I didn’t want you to have some.” 

You tried for a smile and took a sip. He’d left it out, hoping you would show. “Thanks, Jake. Your handwriting is atrocious, by the way.” 

Jake’s smirk returns as he chuckles, his hair falling forward from behind his shoulders. It’s gotten long again since you’d last seen him. You didn’t want to think about the last time you’d seen him. Your eyes cast anxiously to the two entrances to the kitchen, searching and double-checking that no one else had come through the doors to surprise you. 

Jake notices and leans into the countertop with his hip. “I was just about to go light up? Care to join?” He lifts up the joint she hadn’t noticed in his hand before. 

“I don’t know…” You start, unsure why you would decline a chance to be away from the crowd already. Maybe how Jake was staring at you, the way he terribly hid his concern for you. Would he try to ask you how you were really? Weed always made him more earnest. But weed could help you, so long as you kept Jake away from certain talking points. All this going through your mind and what you swore was a certain head of curls pushing through the crowd at the far door of the kitchen made you say, “Uh, sure. Let’s do it.” 

Jake went to say something in the way of how pleased he was, but just a quiet squeak came out when you quickly began to move out of the kitchen and away from the approaching curls. You grabbed Jake’s hand with the joint in it by the wrist and flipped on your heel, leading him out of the kitchen door you had entered through. You weaved through the people in the hallway, towards the closed door to the side yard where the light was off. It was unlocked thankfully and you quickly felt around the exterior wall for a switch you knew was there, before the empty outdoor space was illuminated. The music was muffled once the door was shut and you sat on the measly single concrete step below the door. 

“Sam should really do something with this space,” you mumble, feeling capable of breathing and thinking and living once more. 

Jake shrugged and leaned against the wall, looking down at you and then around the empty side yard. It was an afterthought, but why did you care? He was still trying to catch his breath from the sprint you had just performed to get you out of the house in what seemed like 5 seconds flat. 

“I don’t think I’ve moved that quickly outside of a motorized vehicle in years.” Jake sighed. 

“You should get a Peloton. It’s great.” 

“I work out,” Jake says indignantly. “You just fucking flew, though.” Then he adds. “I didn’t know you had a Peloton.”  

You shuffle your feet, staring at them as they move in no particular pattern. “Yeah…it was a gift.” You cough. “It’s a great stress reliever as well as a workout machine.” 

Jake hums, a wave of realization washes over him as his eyes watch you, clumsily messing with your feet and your free hand. He doesn’t say anything else on the subject, though, and brings the joint to his lips, slipping his shiny silver zippo from his back pocket. It lights and he puffs on the filter. 

There was no breeze tonight. No stars and no moon. It was like the sky had taken the night off–which you weren’t sure was allowed. And yet, there it was, endless black. Your hand expertly took the joint from Jake’s outstretched fingers. 

“I’ve been on a T-break for the last few months,” you say when you hand back the joint. 

Jake raises a brow again as he begins to puff on it again. 

“Well, I said I quit, but here I am getting high, so it must’ve been a T-break.” 

Jake chuckles and coughs a little on the smoke that catches in his throat from his laughter. You grimace in silent apology, accepting the joint back. Jake asks one single question for the remainder of the joint and for that you are grateful, even if it’s one of the worst questions he could’ve asked. After he asks it, he’ll leave you alone, but it’s killing him not to know. Or at least, try to know. You had been such a good friend to him and he missed having you around lately. He knew he couldn’t say that though. It wasn’t his place, but still one measly question couldn’t hurt. 

He was lucky you were feeling so light and airy from the weed when he asked. If he had tried the question when you had first arrived or when he found you in the kitchen, you’re pretty sure you would’ve turned tail and run home crying. 

“How are you really doing?” He inquires. 

“I’m really high.” You laugh. 

Jake sits beside you and turns his head, holding the joint out to the ground for ash to fall and the weed to burn with no lips around it to inhale the smoke. He says your name once and you know he’s serious. 

You sigh and stick your legs out straight in front of you, your skirt flattens across your thighs nicely but you smooth your hands across it anyway and then grab at your drink beside you to take a sip. It’s almost empty. You look in his eyes for a moment and there’s that sadness and concern again. 

“Did not want to come.” You say and Jake nods. “Came. For Sam.” You clarify and Jake nods again. “I know I’ll see him eventually. It’s fine. I’m fine.” 

Jake nods and pats a hand gingerly on your shoulder and you grimace at your lap. He was trying so hard to navigate a difficult situation and you admired his courage. 

“Thank you, Jake. For the smoke.” You say and pause, mustering your courage to just blurt it out. You stare at the wooden fence across from you. “And for being my friend, still. You’re a good guy.” 

Jake shakes his head and pokes out the joint, not interested in smoking it anymore. “And you are too. A good friend…who deserves happiness.” 

Your lips spread into a smile and you look at Jake in the eye for a moment before knocking your forehead against his own shoulder. Something you always appreciated about Jake was his ability to understand non-verbal communication. He allowed you to do that and understand it was you thanking him. Even if you couldn’t say more on the topic. He knew. 

Jake blew out a breath after a moment, “Jesus, fuck, I’m high as shit.” 

You giggle and it feels louder and sillier than anything you’d done all night. Oh fuck. “Yeah. I think I am too. Good stuff.” 

“Josh’s,” Jake mumbles, moving to crawl back to standing, he needed water. “Sorry.” He mumbled with widened eyes when he realized the word, the name, that had left his mouth. 

You roll your eyes and hold your arms out for Jake to help you stand. “He’s not some super-villain. Just my ex and your twin. You can say his name.” 

Your eyes matched Jake’s red and droopy eyes as you stared at each other once he brought you to standing, both of you taking in each other’s state. It’s tense and quiet, the thumping music heavy at the door. 

You keep your hands in Jake’s, enjoying his warm caloused hands. So much like someone else’s, yet so different. “Do we have to go back in?” 

“I mean…” Jake looked down his nose at you. His voice dropped lower to a raspy almost-whisper. “We should probably go back. Right?”

You smile lazily at Jake and then drop his eye contact, looking at your feet, how close the two of you were standing, and then taking a step back. He was giving you the option, but you both knew there was only one right answer. 

“Back inside it is.” You add a laugh to try to not sound too bleak. “To face the gallows.” 

“I still think you’d make it as a comedian, trouble,” Jake adds. 

The tension dissipates. Whatever crack in the wall that was there, a tiny possibility that could’ve grown if you wanted, was patched over and covered. Forgotten. You and Jake were friends. A lot of shared history and a lot of understanding, but it was better this way. 

“My one man show,” you say, shaking off the memories of when it was a duo act. You and Josh loved a good bit and would drag them out as long as you could, staying in character for entire nights out or, once, an entire week during a family vacation. “I’m good, man.” You reassure Jake when he looks at you concerned again, with his hand on the door handle. 

The music grows louder but is more muffled than before as the weed and alcohol successfully contain you in their all consuming bubble. You were thankful for the moment to gather yourself and to remind you that facing Josh might not be all that horrible. You could do anything when stoned, this was something you truly believed especially when the high was in its starting area, when you were first plunged into the strange warm fuzzy place in your brain. 

Jake’s hand on your back pushed you through the crowd and you heard the words “refill” and “water” leave his lips so you began to wander towards the kitchen again. Once back, you’re mildly disappointed to see it’s not empty. It’s not crowded, there’s just three other small groups of twos and threes getting refills or lingering after having gotten their refills. The night was progressing, meaning more inebriation caused more plans to be forgotten half way through. Expert missions of moving from one area of the house to the next were abandoned when the roadmaps slipped from the de facto leader of the small groups’ brain when they had another sip of their drink of choice. You knew because you used to come to parties like these with groups.

Now you were a lone shark, or maybe just the remora to Jake’s lone shark, attaching yourself to him, just along for the ride as he made the decisions. He expertly slipped past the huddled groups without interactions, just nods of chin and his smirk. You noticed some of the whispers and shared looks from some of the people in those groups as you passed by, but chose to believe they were about how handsome and mysterious Jake was and not how you were with him. 

Jake looked between the faucet and the cups he had forgotten were at the end of the counter, debating whether he would go back for one or not. Shaking his head after a moment of weighted silence, he opened the cupboard to the right of the sink and grabbed one of Sam’s precious souvenir pint glasses and filled it with water. You watched in mild awe that Jake did not fear his little brother’s annoying nagging if caught and desire for water to touch your cotton-mouth-y, well, mouth. 

Jake stuck the glass under the faucet again and refilled it before holding it out towards you and you smiled. Accepting the glass, you turned it in your hand, observing the etching of Snoopy and Woodstock dressed as chefs holding a gigantic sandwich with the word ‘Philadelphia’ in red bold letters above them. Sam was weird, but you respected his collection. You’d even gifted him a ‘San Francisco’ one for Christmas a couple years ago with Snoopy and the Peanuts dressed up for a Giants game. 

You sipped at the water and let it wash into the various pockets of your mouth before swallowing, humming in satisfaction. “Good stuff.” You repeated.

“Only the best.” Jake responds. “Whiskey time?” 

He doesn’t wait for your answer since you're drinking more of the water. He picks up your abandoned cup and his own and snatches his whiskey from behind the more popular liquors: grey goose vodka in multiple flavors besides the classic, a few okay gins and tequila–tons of it. 

You take the cup filled with whiskey straight and you grimace. You weren’t in the mood to drink much more, feeling plenty fucked up, and you definitely weren’t in the mood to stomach whiskey on its own. You do an obligatory cheers motion with Jake and pretend to take a sip. 

“I forgot to tell you,” Jake suddenly says with a burst of energy and you widen your eyes, startled. “We’re doing a set later.” 

“What?” 

“Sam wants to, for his birthday. Have a jam sesh.” Jake shrugs and slips his phone out of his coat pocket, checking the time. “Honestly should probably check the setup, make sure no one trampled the gear. C’mon.” 

You would think professional musicians would want a break from their job for their birthdays, but these guys loved it so much it was hard to keep them away. Plus, knowing Sam, he’d probably insisted on choosing the set list, making Jake and Josh take a reluctant backseat to what they would play. Were you intrigued? Yes. Completely and utterly apprehensive to watch Josh perform? Double yes.

You followed Jake out of the kitchen and through the bodies in the living room towards the open French doors leading to the patio and backyard. Sam had a temporary stage set up at the back of the yard that no one was standing on or messing with besides Danny who was checking his drum kit was okay already. Everything on the stage was secondary personal stuff, none of it their expensive favorites, but it still wouldn’t be great if any of it got wrecked. 

A boisterous and booming laugh took your eyes off of Danny and made you fall out of step with Jake. Right beside the stage was Josh, grin plastered across his face and beer can sloshing haphazardly as he swung his arms wide as he regaled his small group with a big important story he dramatized to be even grander than it had been. 

Your eyes scanned the group surrounding him, focusing hard to make out the faces in the dim light as you tried to keep walking, following blindly behind Jake who was pausing at the edge of the stage on the opposite end from Josh. You swallow hard and debate taking another sip of the whiskey, but decide it won’t help. Your legs finally bring you to standing awkwardly beside, but slightly behind, Jake as he talks with Danny. You positioned yourself to be slightly in Jake’s shadow unintentionally. 

Danny greets you and your eyes flicker to him for a moment before returning to Josh, just a few feet from you now, but he still hasn’t seen you. You mumble a ‘hi’ and Jake explains for you that you were likely on a different planet from the joint you had shared. You nodded perfunctorily and then stuck your cup into Jake’s chest. 

“I can’t drink this,” you say, barely above a whisper, still watching Josh. 

He was winding down from the story, you could tell. His audience was enraptured, with one particular girl close by his side that you didn’t recognize. She was grinning, shiny and bright as she watched Josh in all his inebriated glory. In his element. Entertaining. It was magic to be so close to him in those moments, how it felt spiritual when he caught your eye inches away. How his teeth seemed to smile just for you when he placed his hand on your shoulder. 

And there it was. Josh rested his arm around the beautiful girl’s shoulders, palm pressing her closer to him as he laughed and grinned. She smiled at him and you swore you saw him wink. It was drunken and dopey, but you saw it. 

You hadn’t felt Jake take the cup from your grasp, but your hand fell to your side, now empty. Danny and Jake followed your eyeline and then met each other’s eyes and frowned a little. 

“How about you sit right here?” Jake huddled you towards a lawn chair that was close to the stage, but against the house wall so no one would bump into it. 

“So I get a front row seat to it all?” You mumble miserably. 

“Here,” Danny says, passing his hyrdroflask from behind the drum kit to Jake, who hands it to you, flipping the mouthpiece open and instructing you to drink. 

You should’ve left once you could feel your legs again, but you couldn’t stop staring. Thankfully, Josh hadn’t noticed. You probably would’ve died on the spot if he had caught your intense eye. Instead he gives the girl a squeeze and mumbles something into her ear. She laughs loudly and stumbles on her feet a little as she steps back from him. Josh turns towards the stage and clambers onto the top of it. If it wasn’t clear to you before, his lack of agility cemented it. He was close to belligerent, but holding himself together well. 

It would be laughable when he almost tilts over right after he’s stood upright finally, but you’re not the person who can find that funny anymore without seeming cruel. Instead, you decide to take a sip of Danny’s water and shut your eyes, tilting your head back against the wall, hoping to ride out the rest of this night in a strange detached state. If no one spoke to you for the rest of the night you would be happy. 

You willed away the disparate images passing behind your shut eyelids. A different reality your mind had conjured up specifically to torture you it seemed. Where you were beside Josh just then and the two of you had tumbled up onto the stage. First you guide his hips up and then he pulls you up after him, the pair of you happily and drunkenly falling over one another, tangling yourselves up into a few cables in the process. You two were laughing through it all and then Josh would stop and smile the smile that was just for you, a special gleam of love in his eyes you’d grown used to. He’d cup your cheeks between his palms and pull your face to his, a big blistering kiss bestowed upon your lips quieting your own laughter. It would lead you to falling deeper into love with the man who really saw you and forgetting where you were. And then the boys would holler at the pair of you and you’d hide your face in Josh’s jacket before he’d help you up, with a pat to your bum before you inevitably made it back to the seat you were in now. 

No. Now there was only this chair. And a borrowed water bottle to touch your lips. Fuck. You moved your mind to your escape plan. 

The music would start soon anyway and then you could probably slip out to call an uber after a few songs. You heard Sam join the rest of the band on the wooden stage a few minutes later, his long legs thumping as he jumped up onto the stage and his drunken voice louder and whinier as he asked Danny to check his bass for him, since he was the birthday boy. 

You peek out of one eye, too amused to miss the visuals of this exchange and see Danny shaking his head and muttering under his breath as he picks up Sam’s bass. Sam is smiling triumphantly with his hands on his hips, tapping his foot impatiently like the prince he was. Then your eyes slide to the right and see Jake and Josh huddled around Jake’s amp. 

Just close your eyes. But you can’t. 

Josh is all antsy. He’s waving his hands about and rocking Jake’s shoulders. Jake’s murmuring words below his breath trying to placate whatever situation his twin seems to be troubled by. You know it’s wrong to strain your ears to hear the conversation but you can’t help it. 

“…just aren’t really my thing.” You catch the end of Josh’s slurred sentence. He’s still grinning as he complains.

Jake shakes his head. “They’re Sam’s thing since it’s Sam’s birthday.”

“I know we agreed to it but can’t we just, I don’t know, not?” 

Jake laughed a little and tried to hide it with a cough, his eyes sliding to you for a quick moment. “Josh, it’s like 5 songs.”

“I’m slammed, man,” Josh stumbles on his footing, adding to his case accidentally.

“Just sing the choruses and then hit some high notes. He wants to jam anyway, you’re not on frontman duty tonight.” 

“Oh please, Jake. I’m always on frontman—“ Josh’s train of thought runs off the tracks when his eyes finally catch yours. 

You freeze. You weren’t moving anyway but you freeze all the same. Blood runs cold. Spine rigid. You don’t know how to breathe and you were right. You are going to die. 

Josh is frozen too and Jake watches it unfold. Both of your faces were completely open with the pain. You could see it around the eyebrows and the lips and how it swelled through the irises of your eyes as you looked at one another. 

Someone smashing a beer can followed by the electric thrum of a bassline makes you bring your free hand up in the air. It’s supposed to be a wave as it travels to the height of your head and then loses momentum, pausing for a moment as Josh’s eyes flicker to the movement before it falls again. 

You drop your gaze to your lap while Josh stays on you. His similarly intense gaze burns you. He wants to come talk to you even though he has absolutely no idea what he’d say to you anyway. His feet even begin to lurch towards the end of the stage nearest you, but Jake pulls him back. 

That succession of chords on Sam’s bass was his signal that he wanted to get the jam session started. It was followed by a verbal announcement from the birthday boy as well.

“Everyone come outside now. It’s time to hear me play sweet sweet music for you.” Sam says into the mic before handing it off to Josh.

Josh looks over at you one more time but you make sure your eyes are anywhere else on the stage but his face. He licks his lips and swaggers to center stage. 

“Friends and family, loved and loathed ones, day trippers and moonbeam chasers,” Josh pauses for the roar of the crowd. Smaller than their concerts, obviously, but still spirited for the size of this party. “What a glorious fucking night to celebrate the birth of the youngest Kiszka.” 

Maybe Danny expected Josh to say more because there’s a pause before the drum kicks in. Josh turns on his heel to face Danny and signals him to start. Danny counts them in and Jake walks them into a perfect cover of “The Lemon Song.” 

Josh hated doing Led Zeppelin covers but Sam loved the bassline on this song. He’d been obsessed with it when he first started playing and Jake enjoyed the guitar on it too. So here Josh was, proving every critic correct that he could sound just like Robert Plant. Jake shredded away on Jimmy’s solo chords and then lowered his amp for an extended moment to give Sam a proper bass solo. And Josh admittedly got into the song, feeling the vibrations through his chest, getting lost on stage. 

They transitioned straight into “Cold Cold Cold” and “Feel Good Inc.” Both with heavy basslines. Josh liked these two because he got to use his tambourine in the first and had few words in the second. He also skipped a lot of the words in the songs, not knowing them, but holding the microphone towards the crowd, telling them to sing along when it was the chorus or popular parts of them. 

Then they took a break. Normally Josh might joke around. Tell a story about Sam when he was a weird little kid. Instead, he just took a swig from his beer beside the unutilized mic stand and talked in Jake’s ear until Sam signaled he was ready to continue. He had moved to the keyboard he had also brought out for the evening. 

“This one’s a little on the nose but, hey, what little bro wants, little bro gets.” 

Josh started singing the first verse of “I’m going to be a teenage idol” and you grimaced. You loved Elton John and if you thought more highly of yourself you would’ve thought Josh’s reluctance to sing this song was because it reminded him of you. 

He tritely pointed to himself when he sang “it kind of makes me feel like a rock and roll star.” He paced around the stage, continuously sweeping his hands towards Sam as he expertly played the hard keys for the song. He sipped at his beer and belted one of the later verses with a passion that masked what you knew was sadness. Josh was a professional, so he knew how to keep his shit together even when he was drunk, but he wanted off this stage and you knew it. 

Then the song ended. Your eyes watching Josh’s demeanor shift. “Thankfully this one isn’t…or is it?” 

“Psycho Killer” started up and you couldn’t help the laugh that came past your lips. You pressed your hand to your mouth, feeling like you were betraying yourself. Josh hadn’t looked your way since they had started but somehow either his trained ear heard that or he had some psychic sense, because he stared at you again, faltering on the classic song’s lyrics. 

Given the conversation you eavesdropped on, you weren’t sure if they had planned to play “Happiness is a Warm Gun” but they transitioned into it seamlessly from the last so they didn’t stop and Josh knew all the words. You two had listened to the Beatles’ white album countless times together. It was your favorite of theirs. You’d put it on all the time with Josh and he’d happily listen along, always acquiescing to your arguments about it even though he preferred Let It Be. On lazy Sunday mornings when you never got out of bed until dinner time. On the road, for tour or for road-trips you’d take together up to the cabin or little Airbnbs you’d found in cool spots. 

This wasn’t your song though and for that you were thankful. You might’ve thrown up if for some reason Sam had added that to the setlist. You might’ve found a way to time travel and kill Paul McCartney before he could add a bassline to that song if that would’ve stopped that. You’d give up the existence of that song before Josh sang it in front of a small crowd where you weren’t the one he was singing it for anymore.  

Again, your imagination was running wild tonight. Seeing Josh’s beautiful face brought back every memory you had with him. The last few years had been the best years of your life. Meaning that these past few months have been the hardest of your life. Half the time you weren’t even sure if it was life anymore.

So many memories were from nights just like tonight, but he wouldn’t be some distant figure causing building anxiety as you steal glances at one another from across the yard. You used to be the one keeping up with him, telling stories together and getting drunk to aid in your fun rather than to run away from your hangups. Stealing kisses and sneaking off to empty hallways or plain taking off early to be alone together again. 

You couldn’t help getting lost in the sound of Jake making the guitar riffs his own, the velvet of Josh’s voice and how all four of them meshed their instruments so expertly, making any song something special. Your eyes had shut and you were swaying in your seat to the music. Loving it. This piece of connection could never be severed. All your silly feelings forgotten for one blissful moment before the music came to an abrupt and cruel end. 

Sam took the mic from Josh who almost let it carelessly fall to the floor. “Thank you all for coming! Love you guys!” Sam quickly called before being pulled off the stage by his girlfriend who was eager to make out with her man. 

You grimaced. You knew how she felt. Goddamnit. 

Josh doesn’t immediately come up to you. Not that you were hoping for that. You actually were dreading the moment when you two finally spoke again. You two hadn’t had much contact since the breakup, so your last verbal conversation had been about you picking up the rest of your stuff from his place in December. Over the phone. You still had a key so you came when he was out. 

You pinched the bridge of your nose and sat forward, willing those memories to stay put in the locked cabinet you were never going to revisit. Leaving seemed like a good idea now. You’d paid your birthday dues, shown up and even stayed for the show. Slipping off seemed ideal. You just needed to return Danny’s water bottle to him. 

He was still at the bandstand, in front of his drum kit with Jake and another guy from their work, Brian (you think). You stood, feeling a little better but still pretty high given your major break from the drug prior to tonight. You blinked a few times, double checking that none of the guys in the small huddle transformed into Josh suddenly before you got to them. 

Jake gave you a hand up onto the stage and you thanked him, before handing Danny his water and thanking him for it as well. He reassures you that it was his pleasure and then he thanked you for leaving him water in it. He was a wonder to you and you smiled genuinely at his kindness. You missed him. You missed all of them. 

You rocked on your heels and fidgeted your hands to rest on your hips. “Well, I’m gonna head out I think. This was plenty for me and my old self.” You proclaim when the conversation lulls. 

Jake nods, not even trying to get you to stay, whereas Maybe Brian protests, saying the night was still young. Danny shoots him a look with a subtle head shake and you smile at your feet. These guys still had your back and for that you were grateful. You hugged Danny and told him to tell Sam goodbye for you in case you didn’t bump into him on your way out. As you were leaning into Jake’s warm side for the second time tonight, a voice interrupts the farewells. 

“Dan, have you seen my elf–” Josh stops talking again, eyes widening on your face. 

You don’t freeze this time, immediately dropping away from Jake. It wasn’t wrong, but you also couldn’t face Josh while touching his twin. Josh must have missed you within the group, hidden among the taller men. 

“Hey, I was just leaving,” You say, your voice quivering a little with nerves, barely aware of what you were saying. 

“Hello,” Josh slurs after a weighted moment. His eyes slid along your face and down your entire body, as if they had been starved of you since he’d last looked at you. He looks away, back to Danny. “I think, perhaps, I left it in the kitchen. Thanks Daniel.” He flips on his heel and wanders off. 

You can’t help but watch him go. It’s not your fault your eyeline is directly aligned with where the girl from earlier is positioned right next to the door to inside. Or that you catch how he pulls her back into his side and she laughs at whatever he has said just for her. It was right in front of you. What were you supposed to do? Tear your eyeballs out? Now that’s a thought. 

His bright mustard jacket eventually disappears between the various bodies and his hair is obscured by the dim lights in the house. He’s gone, laughing with her just like you two used to.

“Well, if that’s not my cue,” You let the silence that follows finish your thought for you. 

Jake apologizes for Josh and you tell him it’s not necessary. Really. It’s been five months. It was mutual. If anything it was you who initiated it. If Josh can’t speak to you or if he’s seeing someone new. That’s just fine. Fine. So fine. 

Your uber takes you home and you don’t cry. You don’t let yourself. Something possesses you in the morning to type out an email though. You’re not sure why you don’t just send a text. The email feels less personal, less intimate than a text. Less risky. And somehow more private. It was almost like sending a letter, which you used to send Josh on occasion��of course, those were love letters. 

Hey there bud… You look at the words and almost throw your computer out of the window. Bud? Bud!? You couldn’t write anything else though, anything less was too little, too strange, anything more, like his name, was too intimate, too much. 

How’d it go last night?

Your love letters used to read like poetry and you guessed this was kind of like that, but it wasn’t a love letter. You still could just save it as a draft and never send it after all. 

I saw you at the bandstand looking pretty slammed. You used the exact word Josh had described himself last night. It had been repeating in your mind all night. Did you see me feeding my drink to Jake? Probably not I guess, you were quite the mess. And that girl who tagged along there with you, I never caught her name, but she seemed fucked up too. 

You read it over and thought that it was maybe too harsh. But it was the truth. You needed to get it off your chest. He hadn’t let you talk last night so you wanted to share your night with him now even if you hadn’t gotten to last night. 

From where I sat, she looked to be havin’ fun, keeping up with you just like I used to. 

How’d it go last night? I’m sorry to have ditched out but I was pretty high. Heard from Danny that on his stumble home, Jake was puking up all the shit he’d drunk. 

Though we didn’t talk much, how’d your evening go? You barely spoke a word to me, besides that slurred “Hello”... I happened to see without even trying, how she laughed with you just like I used to. 

You were rambling, you couldn’t get it all out. But you cut yourself off. That was all you could say. So you read it over about five more times and changed a few commas and added spacing and you wondered if Josh would think you had gone off the deep end with this one. Your first form of communication with him in months. By e-mail for some reason. 

The thought of not sending it crossed your mind a few more times before you took a breath and hovered the mouse over the ‘Send’ button. Finally clicking it when you finished the exhale. You wanted him to know. 

-

When Josh woke up, close to noon with an awful hangover and an unfamiliar bed, he groaned and covered his face when the headache pounded against his skull harder. 

“Fuck my life,” he murmured. He rolled from his back to his side, his legs swinging to tether him to the carpeted floor. Where the fuck was he?

“You’re awake!” The girl popped her head in, her hair wet from the shower she had just taken. “Do you want breakfast? Or coffee?”

“Uh…” Josh stared at his feet, wiggling his toes to remind him of reality. “No, I should go home.”

She smiles, sporting her best look, as if last night hadn’t emotionally wrecked her like it had Josh. That actually made sense. “Yeah. See you again soon?” 

“Yeah. I’ll call you…” Josh reassures, beginning to put his pants on. His words were an afterthought as he pieced together last night's events. “Have fun at your ceramics class today!”

He shuffled out of the door just as she responded, towel still messing with her tips. “It’s painting!”

Josh mumbled his apologies as he walked down the street hoping that his car would pop up among the different vehicles parked on the street. He definitely hadn’t driven there after the party but maybe he had brought his car to her place beforehand. He was still working through the night. And his mind was focused on all the moments where you had popped up. 

He’d seen you disappear out of the kitchen with his brother. He’d seen you next to the bandstand a couple times and then he’d seen you when he’d drunkenly asked Danny if he’d seen his elfbar. Could he be more of an idiot? He rubbed at his pained forehead again as he looked up and down the street once more before deciding that he hadn’t driven his car to this woman’s house. 

They’d gone out on a couple of dates, set up by mutual friends that were closer with her than Josh but he was trying and he wanted to try. Even if all he really wanted to do was call you and beg you to forget about the last few months. 

Too focused on making it home and one to always dismiss his email notifications, Josh didn’t notice the message from you until he had made it home and successfully made himself a pot of coffee and had a necessary shower, leaving him in his sweatpants and curled up in his bed that used to be shared, ‘ours’. 

His phone had been charging so he unplugged it and rolled to the other side of the bed, which he still felt guilty for. Like you’d walk through the door any moment and playfully grumble at him for being a bed hog. 

Complete privacy and total boredom eventually made him check his e-mail. He might have a package coming after all, he couldn’t remember, and his headache had mostly cleared away but looming anxieties nagged at him. He couldn’t keep getting drunk and hooking up with his casual flings. It was going to catch up with him and he knew it. He just hated to admit it.

Your name on his screen was especially sobering. He had longed for it to pop up. Preferably in a phone call or text format, asking to meet up and talk over everything one more time that actually leads to you getting back together. But hey, he’d settle for an e-mail at this point. Because that is what he had received. 

He took a deep breath and allowed his hovering thumb to click down on it. It was your poem/accusation and he read it over and over double checking that it was indeed your words and not lyrics from a song or someone else. No, he recognized your voice in the words and how you phrased it. The ‘hey there bud’ made him laugh. You were so weird. He missed it. 

All the love letters were in his side table drawer still. Maybe it would’ve been healthier to move them to a box not so close to where he slept, but he couldn’t bear it. You used to post them from around town so that they could get sent to the house you both lived in. It sent him over the moon whenever he recognized your handwriting of his name on the front of a piece of mail and you’d giggle behind your cup of coffee, slyly slinking off to let him read it in private. 

After he’d finish reading, he’d wander the house until he found you and press kisses all over your face while he repeated confessions of love, over and over while you shrieked and laughed at his attack of love.  

This e-mail made him sad, but also hopeful. He was going to reply. 

Hey there…How’d last night go for you? I know when I saw you at the bandstand, I said I was slammed to Jake. Did you overhear or is that just some strange coincidence? I probably should’ve given some of my drinks away. I was quite the mess, you’re right. 

And the girl…she’s a part of the mistakes I’ve been making since the break up. I’m sorry you had to see that. And I’m sorry all I said was Hello. I didn’t know what to say���as you could probably tell. Josh smiled down at his phone, your eyes had been so wide with surprise upon seeing him up so close. The look on your face had been a dagger to his heart, twisting deeper when you said you were heading out. 

I was thinking back just the other day, remember when we used to sneak out late to go and blaze after everyone else at the party had gone home or passed out? 

Seems like loneliness is all we’ll ever do now. At least for me. Maybe you weren’t lonely, I don’t want to assume. I was surrounded by people all night, these past four months too, and I’ve never felt more alone. 

I’m glad you messaged me. I’m sorry I didn’t do it first. He wondered if he should add the next piece. Was it wrong? Should he leave it at that. The stabbing pain in his chest returned and he wanted to be brave for you. Just for the chance, you could shoot him down but he’d know that he’d tried. I’ve been going to a new coffee place downtown. Northside CoffeeHouse. I think you’d like it. They make the cinnamon rolls just the way you like. 

Josh swallowed hard and sent the email before he could think too hard about it. He hoped he wasn’t being presumptuous that you would remember his routine. Coffee out on weekends usually between 9 and 10. 

You read over the email that came through from Josh a few times. His mention of loneliness made your heart sink, you hated to think of Josh carrying a pain like yours. The thought kind of hurt more than your own heartbreak. 

You knew what he was saying with his mention of the coffeeshop. Tomorrow he’d probably be there if you went when he used to. Josh was secretly a creature of habit despite advocating for chaos most of the time. 

Josh arrived at Northside at 9 am sharp, just in case you came on the early side. He patiently waited in the line for coffee and took a seat by the window. He checked his phone every few minutes, confused why time suddenly moved so slow. 

He remembered the first coffee date you had gone on with him. You both had been late so he should’ve known then that you were the one for him. He showed up twenty minutes late (ten by accident and then an extra ten getting apology flowers) and you ran in five minutes later, out of breath, apologizing that you were so late. Josh was overjoyed to tell you he’d also been late and was so extremely worried about you not being there when he’d arrive. He picked up the flowers on the table and handed them to you, shyly explaining he’d gotten extra late grabbing these and you’d laughed, glancing between the plants and the strangely bashful guy in front of you. You’d been hooked ever since. 

You had been introduced to Josh when you had gotten invited to tagalong with a work friend to a VIP section of a concert series in Nashville. Josh and his brothers had been there and somehow your friend had run into them a few times at stuff like this. You hadn’t initially realized Josh was hitting on you as you talked the evening away with him about all things music and your very different jobs so you were surprised when he asked you out on the coffee date, but you hadn’t declined. Afterall, he was Josh. 

The rest, as they say, is history. Much to your chagrin. You replayed that first date over and over as you paced up and down the cross street for the coffee shop you assumed Josh was now waiting for you at. 

With a single white Peruvian lily clutched in your hand, you finally turned the corner and marched yourself into the coffee shop. You didn’t look in the windows, you were too focused on getting yourself through the door so you had to look around the room for Josh after entering. Your hand was holding so tightly to the flower’s stem you worried you’d break it if you didn’t set it down soon.  

His back was facing you, he’d been looking down the other side of the street and had no idea you’d entered as he was beginning to resign himself to the fact that maybe you didn’t want to see him. It was almost 10 am when you arrived. 

“Josh,” you sigh, hand touching his shoulder as you turn to face them. 

He looks up and the smile on his face almost brings tears to your eyes. It’s the one you’ve missed so much. You can’t help the frown that it brings to your face as you will away the tears. 

“Hey, hey, don’t cry,” Josh says, standing to hug you because he knew your facial expressions by heart too. 

You laugh and the stem in your hand finally snaps at his touch. It’s too much. Josh pulls back and looks down at your hand and laughs for a different reason. He motions to the table and your eyes sweep the two empty coffee cups he must have drank waiting for you, his phone and a bouquet of the very same flower, just like the ones he’d given you three and a half years ago. 

“Can I go order you something?” Josh asks softly. “I didn’t want to order the cinnamon roll until you got here. I wanted it to still be warm.” 

You bite your lip. He was still so sweet and thoughtful. You laugh again and nod your head. He knew you needed a moment to ground yourself so he let you have some time to yourself. He walked to the counter and ordered what you always got and a cinnamon roll to share. 

You placed your broken flower with his bouquet, your hands ran gently over the pearly petals, careful not to cause any dents or creases. After studying them, you feel a little less overwhelmed and you lift your head to watch Josh. He’s paying with cash and you’re endeared how he still clumsily handles the coins despite how often he likes to pay with physical money. 

He thanks the barista who was now very accustomed to Josh, considering it was his third time up at the counter in the last hour. You smile sheepishly at Josh as he smooths his palms down his khakis, coming back to you. 

Your conversation is stilted while he waits for his name to be called. He doesn’t want to get into the nitty gritty when he knows there’s an impending interupter. You thank him for the flowers and apologize for your broken attempt. 

He smiles down at the baker's dozen of flowers. “I like it. Here.” His fingers delicately move the broken pieces back into place and then moves your single flower into the center of the bouquet. “It’s all patched up now.” 

You smile and meet his eyes, knowing the Josh metaphor he was trying to obviously make. His name is called saving you from saying more on the subject for the moment. He hands you your drink and places one fork facing you and one facing him on the edge of the cinnamon roll’s box. You thank him again and he hushes you, saying you didn’t need to keep thanking him. 

You quiet as you try the treat. Josh watches your reaction with barely contained glee, knowing you’d loved it. You had missed this feeling. This feeling of someone knowing you so well. How Josh took care of you and how, in return, you took care of him. You grinned, reassuring him that yes it was great. 

You quiet down again about the food. Josh and you smile at one another and it feels like nothing has changed. You want to believe it. 

“Mornings are meant to be spent with you,” Josh blurts out, nerves obvious in his voice. “Soft rock music playing while I bestow a thousand kisses across your body.” 

“There’s the Josh I know,” you tease but you’re beaming at him. 

Flashes of the mornings he was referencing came to mind. 

Josh curled around you or you curled around Josh, Velvet Underground and Grateful Dead records on. Sunlight filtering across the floral sheets you’d bought for him as a welcome back from tour present after Dreams in Gold. Smooth skin against skin as Josh presses kisses to your forehead and yours against his sternum. He’s laughing when you tickle him and you laugh too, happy to be keeping up with him. Just like you used to. 

-

lmk what you think!

taglist: @ofthecaravel @malany-gvf @whiterosekiszka @jaketlove @sinarainbows @gretavanfreaky

[garaksapprentice]

Remembrance

I started this weave last year, the day after TDOR, and the day of the Pulse nightclub attack. My heart was heavy, and I needed a way to redirect a whole bunch of feelings about a thing I couldn't do anything about.

The warp and weft both came from several balls of a 5 ply acrylic knitting yarn, one that had been given to me in one of those many small "I don't know what else to do with this" moments that happen when people know that 1) you're a knitter and 2) you'll happily collect donations and pass them on to various local organisations if you can't use them yourself.

I'd looked at them and immediately went "that's a trans pride bundle of colours if ever I saw them," then put them in the stash and let them percolate. (I don't knit with 5 ply much, I already had more than enough projects that needed finishing, and I had no idea what pattern would do justice to the vague idea I had. Sometimes things need to compost a while before you can grow anything from them.)

I originally wanted to do a heart twill. After a bit of thought, mostly centred around my lack of experience, I went with a diamond twill instead. This was the first project on my new-to-me floor loom, and the diamond twill was more straightforward. Plus, counterbalance looms don't deal well with unbalanced shafts - the heart twill pattern I had put more of the threads on the back shaft than any of the others, and I didn't have the headspace or the experience to flip the draft so they'd be on the front one instead.

It took me eight days to wind the warp, beam it, thread the heddles, sley the reed, and tie on. (I wasn't tracking project hours back then so I don't know how long those things actually took, all up.) I'd started on the twenty-first, and was threading the heddles by Sunday 27th. On the 30th, I started weaving.

According to my project notes, I only actually wove for eight days between getting the loom warped and cutting the finished fabric off. Given the thickness of the threads, that seems about right - I'd roughly guess at six or seven hours of weaving time over a ~2.3m warp?

After that it was a matter of wet finishing (wool setting in the washing machine), trimming off the loom waste, and doing double folded hems at each end (I am Not A Fan of fringe).

Is it perfect? Hell no; there's at least two threading errors and the beat changes from start to finish. But it's soft, and warm, and it's full of the hope and productive anger that I managed to find after the beat of the loom helped me climb out of the pit of helpless despair.

[hocuspocusbabyy]

Love Grows: Eloise x Cressida. (18+) 🦢🕊️

Description: A continuation of Must Be A Dream

Pairing: Eloise Bridgerton x Cressida Cowper

Warnings: It’s smut babe, it’s smut.

“Last one darling, I promise.” The brunette whispered her presence unyielding, as though imbibing the essence of her very soul. Her legs trembled, weak and unrequited spasms of sorrow her body spent as her heart could only search for more. “Shh Cress I’ve got you.”

Eloise promised, her perfectly kept nails curls against the height of the blondes hip as her tongue pressed flat against her again. So close yet so far, the brunette resembled that of an echo - tangible, unobtainable.

Cressida’s inner voice grew thick, taunting, peeling at the very edges of her mind as Eloise continued her devotion. Reiterate swarms of warmth against the seems of her flesh, opening her into yet another bloom. An evolution Cressida had never aspired to attain, how could one surpass the heavens and expect another gate? Eloise’s tongue flush against her skin, repeated, nauseating motions that curled and whipped upon the pits of her stomach. She could not moderate her hunger for much longer, a fist striking down, hand against her lover's head as she ascended.

Those who have wings do not require keys nor gates.

Her back lay flat against the compost heap, the seams of her trousers wet askew beside them. Her blonde hair tainted with clumps of abrasion and mire.

Eloise laced her tongue along the crevice of Cressida’s knee, in silent disbelief, praise to whatever gods allowed her this moment. Stark beneath the Cowper thousands count sheets, her flesh hot as she dove forward again.

Give me my sin, and I shall worship the devil as though he were my friend, she thought.

Gazing up at her lover, the flat of her chest, the extensive span of her torso littered and bloodied with the presence of her. As though a map, formations of union, imperfections of diligence, smear of sin - the most welcome, becoming and sort after cardinal.

Till death gives up on them, through every circle of hell and inch of eternity. Realms and continents, cosmos and dirt. Eloise and Cressida would chase each other till the edge of reality warped beneath them. A solace found between them, that others could only aspire to.

Eloise pressed a final kiss against her lover's heated, worn flesh.

Crawling up against the grain to lay against her. The blonde left to simply mewl and gasp beneath her. The brunette mouth latched upon her skin, as though pray, irrevocable truths carved upon her being, that would last long beyond her body.

"Are you enjoying yourself down there?" Cressida whispered, sardonic, finally regaining her bonds as the brunette rose to her neck and snuggled closer with a lilt.

"I've never enjoyed anyone more," Eloise said, shockingly candid, nuzzling her nose against the blonde's jaw. Her eyes drifted closed, a mere second after they were snapped back open vision clouded over as Eloise bit into the soft flesh of her cheek.

“You made a mess.” The brunette shrugged, her damp fingers tracing up across the blondes lips.

Cressida took the fingers willingly, sucking them between her lips, cleaning every inch of herself from the other woman’s skin. Her holy communion, if she were the cup, Eloise were the wine.

Eloise smiled gently, her hair dishevelled littering her eyesight hundreds of hair pins scattered around as Cressida reached to stroke her face. Her eyes softened as she studied the blondes flushed face, the smudge of a nose, rosy pink cheeks, perfect swollen lips.

An unfathomable beauty, the optical illusion that was Cressida Cowper. In all her years following or prior, Eloise doubted she would ever come across such a wonder.

"I—" Cressida started finally opening her eyes fully to look at the brunette, "you're bleeding" she whispered quickly moving to sit up, pushing the brunette back to straddle her. Perfectly pale flesh now covered and darkened by their location. The mulch, cold and welcoming upon their burning flesh. Cressida knees sunk deeper as she grasped the other woman’s face within her her hands, "I'm sorry," she whispered, licking the blood from her cupid's bow.

Eloise laughed lightly, her tongue gently flicking against the witch's own. The pair indulged in a few shared kitten licks mixed with light brushing kisses across their faces.

"It's okay my Swan," the brunette reassured her left hand pressed into her lower back massaging the bottom of her spine, comfortingly, grounding. Her other sunk into the blondes' silky curls stroke lightly at her scalp - not dissimilar to the attention one would done a cat.

"Hell. I love it when you call me that." The blonde giggled gently, her thumbs running firmly across the brunettes shoulder blades pulling them flush to another.

They sat there silently rocking, few notes of Cressida's perfume were still in the air, pomegranate and incense, mixed with the iron bite of fresh blood, completion and the delightful musk of their mingled sweat. Eloise pressed a kiss to her hair, the blonde now resting gently against her shoulder nose pressed into her neck humming gently.

"If someone cut me into pieces," Cressida whispered, her chin firm upon the brunettes shoulder as she meticulously rolled a strand of hair between her fingers, "and all that was left of me was my hands, would you know that they were mine?"

"Yes," the brunette said, without hesitation, her eyes closed and neck flushed as the other woman snuggled against it. "Why'd you ask?"

Cressida shrugged, "I read a penny dreadful, with Ben.” she clarified. “Well more he read it to me, but I am grateful to him, and I honour our time together, as I do with your entire family. I find your existence within them all. Especially your mother.” Cressida claimed tilting to kiss the underside of her lovers jaw.

"Ah" the brunette mumbled, holding the older woman against her as if for warmth; making a mental note to yell at ben again about filling her Swans head with nonsense.

"How?" The blonde continued, her lips loving against Eloise’s flesh as she spoke. Every syllable scribed to her skin, "how would you know?"

Eloise opened one eye then leaning back to look at the blonde, "Well I'd start by looking for a trail of garden soil." She joked, taking the blonde's hand within her own, playing with her fingers gently.

Cressida tsked, her free hand tugging at her hair until she flinched, the blonde. Eloise brushing her knuckles over the soft curve of Cressida’s breast as best she could in their position. "There's a scar on your left index finger. Across your knuckle."

Cressida glanced at it, a weak silver thread buried in the furrows of her skin beneath one of her many rings. "Hardly," she said. "And if my blood had already drained by then, it would be the same colour as the rest of me. You'd never see it."

Eloise huffed. "Then I'd look for a torn thumbnail, chipped nail polish" she tried, pressing the pad of her thumb against the blondes as if to play war. "Your left hand, that you pick when you're agitated –“

"I do not – "

"Yes, you do," Eloise said.

The blonde said nothing. As Eloise wrapped her hand around her wrist; Their eyes met while she brought her hand to her lips and sucked each of her fingers in turn, her tongue curling around her knuckles, her smooth painted nails, the faint whorls of her fingertips.

"Or perhaps I'd use muscle memory," she said, giving her thumb a firm bite before letting her go.

"You'd suck my cold, dead fingers, would you?"

"If that is what it took to find you."

She seemed pleased by that. Cressida moved to kiss her, one hand sliding into her hair while she shifted them across the dirt beneath them. Her head lay against Eloise’s chest as their fingers danced together.

Then Eloise reached and twisted at her wedding ring, the bitter gold pulling on her eyelid. "Or I'd look for this, I suppose."

"One would presume that anyone to dismember me would strip me of my jewellery first."

"I'd look for the tan line then," Eloise shrugged. "Given how you refuse to take the damn thing off, it would be there."

Cressida sighed lightly at the, rolling off the brunette not far enough away that their shoulders were no longer touching - but enough to convey her hate for the conversation's turn. They lay side by side upon the dirt, surrounded by the beauty of her doing, as though relics buried beneath the world together for generations to come.

"I don't think Alfred would be able to identify me" the blonde mumbled, tugging her bottom lip between her teeth. "He's not as attentive, I couldn't even tell you the last time he held my hand."

Eloise made a noise of recognition, too busy thinking about the man who was stupid enough not to hold such hands that belonged to thee Cressida Cowper. Goddess.

The brunette pushed the hair back from her face and scratched lightly at her crown, before rolling over to rest her body upon the blondes again. It seemed they could last few moment without each other, as though marbles upon sand, sinking, seeking and soothing other another.

She perched above her, studying the way her pupils had become frantic and pleading, begging her to pull the wool over both their eyes. For a moment longer, here in their garden, that green house, the only home they’d ever been granted.

"Then he is a fool, more so than I already thought" the brunette commented as she bent down to press kisses along the brunette's jaw until her lips reached the warm shell of her ear. "I promise to you, my Swan, if you see to ever leave my sight for so long. I would seek you out and bring you here," she said, after a beat, "Always.”

"Even if I were just a hand?" The older woman asked, a wave of vulnerability gripped her. Crawling at her cheats as the brunette lips travelled there as though aware of her internal pressure.

"Even then" Eloise confirmed with a smile, kissing the blonde’s nose careful not to lay too much of her weight on to her. Urging her to breathe, her hand slowing bending up across her elbow, deft fingers drawing across her skin till it bumped and twisted towards her. Their hands fell together, grasped above their heads, the brunettes motions working to remove the offending object. Pulling until the ring finally popped off her finger, into her palm.

“I fear I have grown to resent the thing.” Cressida whispered, it had been a wedding gift of her father’s. The only thing he had ever granted them, in ode of their shared name.

Eloise sat up then, much to the blondes confusion as she reached back unclapsing the chain from around her neck. Sliding an all too familiar circle from upon it, Cressida had seen the ring a million times, Eloise refused to ever be without it.

“Then we shall trade. This—-was my fathers, my mother gave it to him before their wedding. It was handed to me at a young age and I was promised to keep it, until—-.”

“Until?”

“Until a hand was found worthy of it.” Eloise whispered, sliding the blondes ring upon her chain and sliding her own upon her finger. “We shall keep these as a reminder, and I will always find you.” The brunette promised, placing a gentle kiss upon the other woman’s lips.

The green house a heaven against the winter chill and their harsh reality.

[felixcloud6288]

Dungeon Meshi Chapter 2

First thing I had to do was compare the map in the chapter 1 title page to the chapter 2 to confirm they are different maps. I'm two chapters in and I really want to play a game where hunting and eating monsters while exploring the dungeon to sustain yourself is a key mechanic.

This is really neat.

So is the basic idea that each floor of the dungeon corresponds to an actual floor of the tallest tower from the golden castle and some magic is being used to alter the terrain per floor?

It looks like there's a water level a few layers down.

Did Marcille's staff always have a little sprout growing out of it?

I'm with Marcille on the bats and rats. That sounds like an easy way to getting sick.

WAIT!! I've seen this meme!

Laios looks so upset and shocked that Marcille wants to eat normal food rather than hunt monsters.

The matagi are winter hunters from Northern Japan. They're known to hunt deer and bears. I guess that's the idea Laios imagined when thinking about hunting monsters or beasts.

So are Matagi a thing from where Laios is from or did he hear about them from the samurai guy who left the party and that's what he imagines they are?

Laios's explanation about how baraselia don't eat people but instead wrap their tendrils around victims to kill them and convert them into compost is not reassuring.

So there's a corpse retrieval and resurrection service. But it's not a union benefit of any kind. And since the resurrected have to pay a percentile fee for being resurrected, this would incentivize finders to prioritize retrieving rich adventurers.

Not sure what stops people from just robbing the corpse instead.

I might as well save each instance of Marcille casting magic and try parsing anything about the language she's speaking. Maybe see if there are any recurring runes in that language.

Kinda interesting how Marcille holds her staff in her right hand when they're traveling but switches it to her left when she begins casting magic.

I already said she was right-handed, but it looks like she prefers to use her right hand to the point that she doesn't use her left hand at all unless it's necessary. She prefers gesturing, holding, and acting using her right hand and will only use her left when her right hand is busy.

The moment her spell-casting was interrupted, she started transferring her staff back to her right hand. And when she was grabbed by the plant, she was gripping her staff with her right hand but doing nothing with her left.

To summarize, Marcille has no instinctive use of her left hand and you could probably easily hit her with a sneak attack from her left side.

Last chapter, Marcille got attacked by a slime. This chapter she got captured by a plant. I hope this isn't going to be a recurring thing with her.

I think the chapter is really brushing aside the part where Marcille was grabbed by a parasitic plant that plants its seeds under other creatrues' skin. Her clothing is probably thick enough to have protected her, but they should check her her skin for any cuts or scrapes and should look through her cloak for any seeds that might be embedded in the threads.

The plant would probably have let Marcille go after a minute or two since it likely wants its victim to be far away when its seeds sprout.

That face Marcille made conveys so many thoughts and emotions, the first of which is the dawning realization that she's going to learn things about Laios on this journey that she never wanted to know.

Marcille probably wasn't thinking how snug the shadowtail's grip was when she was more concerned about being eaten or having seeds implanted under her skin.

If Laios was the one who had been grabbed by the shadowtail, he would have been excited and asked everyone to leave the plant alone while it tied him up.

Love how the hollow comes with a fire pit, a broom, and a sign asking adventurers to clean up the place. Are there guild members who just scout out the dungeon for camping areas and prepare them for adventurers? Someone had to build that bridge they were crossing, right?

There's nothing strange about plants making fruit that other creatures find tasty. The strategy is the fruit and seeds will get eaten by whatever animal wants them and the seeds will pass through the creature's digestive tract and get pooped out somewhere else. The plant is using whatever eats its fruits to transport its offspring and provide some initial fertilizer.

The plants that use their fruits to lure in prey probably generate fruit somewhat independently of when they actually need to eat. If they only produced fruit when they are hunting, then most prey animals would either refuse to approach the fruits or adapt to become able to avoid the plant's traps entirely.

Baraselia might even have a gimmick where it has active and inactive tendrils. Most of the tendrils would be inactive and be meant to trick the prey into thinking its safe to approach the baraselia fruit. But then some random tendrils are active and are meant to catch prey that has concluded it's safe to approach.

And considering how shadowtail works, it likely doesn't produce fruits since it has other means to spread its seeds hence why it wasn't in the list of fruits in the tart.

I'm having fun with this. I'd like to know what kind of adaptations the local animals have to combat or avoid these plants so they can get to the fruits.

back

[keepcalmandcarriefischer]

My Offering Prayer to the Compost Pile

The Earth has given much to me, and with this offering, I return what I can.

May you turn the work of my labor into rich nutritious soil that I may bless new plants with life.

Make the soil that will grow the food that will sustain my family, and we will return every leaf, every peel, every pit and every seed we do not eat, to start the cycle again.

Thank you

This is Holy Ground

[agentrouka-blog]

Why does King’d Landing smell so bad and is gross?

It's a city of half a million people that sprang up over 300 years with little systematic planning and doesn't seem to have a comprehensive sanitation system.

Five hundred thousand people plus animals of various kinds produce a lot of waste and odor and there's only so much you can do with cess pits, home composting or carts going around collecting waste to discard into the Blackwater Rush.

Let's all take a minute to think about modern sanitation workers and the blessing they are.

[crownsandbishops]

What Doctrines did each bishop choose?

"Shamura is the core of the Old Faith, our wise and reliable parriarch! As such their doctrines tend to reflect that. They allow their followers to honour their fallen, but when they are buried their physical body returns their energy to the ground and Shamura also has their charitable pursuits, putting resources and energy into things like orphanages in their domain."

"Kallamar's doctrines are about what you'd expect of him, they're materialistic, he bribes respect of them, and he talks about marriage pretty often, but ultimately the idea of being with anyone lesser than him is a non-starter."

"Narinder's doctrines are pretty tied to his role as the Bishop of Death. His followers obviously believe in the afterlife and they grieve when they've passed. Narinder also tends to delegate things like boosting loyalty and collecting taxes to specific followers. He likes to experiment a lot with things..."

"Heket as the Bishop of Famine has doctrine around Feast and Famine and rituals to grow crops for her followers. Her followers have no illusions about living a long life, especially with the way she uses a fighting pit as a form of conflict resolution!"

"Leshy's the youngest of us, so many of his doctrines borrow from ours. The few he has unique to him are bounty of the sea and having his followers eat grass, it's pretty plentiful in Darkwood and leaves other food for him to enjoy. The ones he borrows are my ritual fast for the same reason, and Shamura's body composting to help with his gardening."

"There's also obviously doctrines we all agree on like having our followers devoted and faithful, sacrifice in our names, intimidating and murdering those who act out, and that nobody's without sin, those sorts of things are just useful in general to controlling the masses." (Not an exhaustive list obviously but these are the doctrines I felt made the most cohesive sense to call out for my interpretations of the Bishops! :3 )

[rigil-kentauris]

alexa how to explain that the Snow Pit is good actually because i can turn our beloved dead into compost for use at the greenhouse

[ceescedasticity]

Train of thought:

It's not that elves don't experience senescence, it's that the damage of senescence moves slowly enough that the healing enable by a healthy fëa can just fix it right up.

Ergo the occasional cases of elves who appear aged following some terrible ordeal (definitely Gwindor, maybe others). Given enough time and support they'd probably un-age.

Senescence is possibly universal and definitely very common in real-world multicellular life, but it looks very different in different organisms. I don't think it's necessary to be part of the world.

Decay, now — I don't think decay is optional, once you're dead. (Once biological processes which prevent decay are no longer functioning?) Dead elves may decay slowly or differently, but I refuse to believe dead bodies are just there. Forever.

And there's definitely been no indication that elves are indigestible.

Tolkien said some stuff about decay not happening in Aman but I refuse to believe that because it leads to endless garbage mounds of incorruptible kitchen scraps.

Proposal: Decay does happen, but usually not in plain sight because some Vala thinks it's icky. Maybe Varda, she seems pretty removed from biological processes. Elves have composting pits, and in the wild natural processes occur obscured by Yavanna's trees or long grasses. My plants need to eat too, Varda.

Seriously Varda hunting leftovers being around forever is not any prettier than decay.

Varda has anyone briefed you on digestive byproducts.

Possibly I'm not being fair to Varda. She's not the only one who doesn't have biology vibes.

Aulë if your dwarves are alive they have to be able to decay. No you can't just have them turn into stone. Aulë I will call your wife.

Anyway.

Decay does happen, discreetly.

But elven bodies in Aman pretty much don't decay unless buried. If they're abandoned undamaged they can even stay alive.

Uhhhhhh actually this line of thought is making the Númenórean "Undying Lands => Not dying" theory more plausible. Don't like that.

Although it probably still wouldn't have worked out for them since the problem is senescing not decaying?

Why am I even trying to apply real-world biology to this.

I know better.

I should just say the effects are what I want them to be and not worry about the causes.