#dew-strung spiderwebs

[blackswallowtailbutterfly]

Spider Webs

When I was a little kid I used to try and find "cobs" in funnel webs because I thought that must be what cobwebs were and surely the cobs must be nearby. I've always always loved spider and I've always been fascinated with their webs in some form or another, whether a child's inquisitive nature or simply admiring their beauty: how the sunlight glints off the strands, or how water drops settle on them like a string of pearls, or the patterns themselves.

All my photos, all unedited (I think; going off memory because I don't have all my working files on account of a external hard drive failure).

[star-wars-writing]

Whispers Among the Vines: Echoes of Legacy

I must extend my sincerest apologies for the unexpected silence from my end these past two weeks. Life, with its unpredictable ebb and flow, required me to step back into the whirlwind of work after a brief hiatus. The transition back has been both rewarding and demanding, leaving little room for writing and doing anything creative. That being said, this is the @codywanbingoingo with prompt: Drinks. I hope you like it.

As the first light of dawn crept over the horizon, it cast a golden glow over Kenobi Vineyards, revealing a landscape at once haunting and beautiful. The vineyard, sprawling across rolling hills, was a patchwork of verdant growth and neglect. Ancient vines, their roots deeply entwined with the soil's history, stretched towards the sky with a weary resilience, their leaves tinged with the struggle of seasons past. These guardians of the land, once meticulously tended, now bore the marks of time's indifference, their supports weathered and leaning, like weary soldiers after a long battle.

The trellises, designed to cradle burgeoning life, stood fractured and forgotten, their wooden bones bleached by the sun, a stark reminder of the care that had once flourished here. Stone walls, constructed with the painstaking effort of generations, crumbled in places, surrendering to the relentless advance of nature as wildflowers and ivy claimed them as their own. The beauty of the vineyard was undeniable, yet each breathtaking view was marred by evidence of decay, the land crying out for a steward's touch.

Amidst this beauty and disrepair, the winery buildings themselves told a story of faded glory. The main house, with its once-proud facade, now showed cracks and peeling paint, the windows reflecting the morning light in a mosaic of hope and desolation. Nearby, the barn and fermentation rooms, the heart of the vineyard's operations, stood silent, their doors hanging open, revealing shadows that spoke of abandoned crafts and empty barrels.

The air, heavy with the scent of earth and vine, carried whispers of the vineyard's past splendor, mingling with a tangible sense of loss. Dew clung to spiderwebs strung like delicate lace between the vines, sparkling in the sunlight as if to highlight the beauty that persisted in the face of neglect. The ground, parched and cracked, thirsted for attention, a stark canvas awaiting the touch of rain or the gentle care of a gardener's hand.

In this place where time seemed to stand still, the wild and the cultivated converged, creating a landscape that was as compelling as it was heartrending. The vineyard, in its state of serene desolation, stood as a testament to the cycles of growth and decline, a mirror to the natural world's enduring struggle and resilience. It was a portrait of potential left untapped, a dream suspended in the golden morning light, waiting for the moment of renewal to breathe life back into its veins.

As the sun climbed higher, its rays piercing through the morning mist, Obi-Wan Kenobi made his solitary way along the narrow paths that wound through the heart of Kenobi Vineyards. Each step carried the weight of centuries, the legacy of his family pressing down upon him with a force that was almost palpable. The vines, ancient and gnarled, seemed to lean towards him as he passed, like old friends reaching out for comfort or perhaps offering their silent support.

Obi-Wan paused, his gaze lingering on a particularly old vine that twisted around its trellis in an intricate dance of life and survival. His hand hovered over a cluster of grapes, not yet ripe, but full of promise. The touch of the morning dew against his skin was a bittersweet reminder of the vineyard's needs—needs that had grown increasingly difficult to meet. 

"It's not just the land that's parched," he murmured to himself, his voice barely louder than a whisper, lost amidst the symphony of nature that surrounded him. His words were an acknowledgment of his own inner drought, a reflection of the loneliness that had settled in his heart since he had taken on the responsibility of the vineyard.

The burden of the vineyard's future was a constant companion, an ever-present shadow that followed him through the rows of vines. Obi-Wan couldn't help but feel the vineyard's decline was a reflection of his own inadequacies. "I promised you I'd keep this place alive," he whispered, not to the vine but to the memory of his ancestors, those who had cultivated these lands into prosperity. The wind, picking up slightly, seemed to carry his words away, an offering to those who had walked these paths before him.

As he continued his walk, Obi-Wan's thoughts drifted to the upcoming visit from the wine critic, Cody. The man's reputation preceded him, known for his discerning palate and the power his words held over the fate of wineries. The prospect of Cody's visit was a double-edged sword; it held the potential for salvation or the final nail in the coffin for Kenobi Vineyards.

Reaching the edge of the property, Obi-Wan stood overlooking the valley below, the view a tapestry of wild beauty and cultivated order. The vineyard's struggles seemed insignificant against the backdrop of the sprawling landscape, yet to Obi-Wan, they were the world.

"I need to show him the soul of this place, not just the wine," Obi-Wan resolved, his voice stronger now, carrying a new edge of determination. The vineyard was more than just land and vines; it was a legacy of love, resilience, and the unbreakable bond between the earth and those who tend it.

Turning back towards the heart of the vineyard, Obi-Wan's stride carried a renewed purpose. The visit from Cody was an opportunity, perhaps the last he would have, to turn the tide. As he made his way back, the vineyard seemed to respond to his resolve, the air charged with a sense of anticipation.

The rest of the morning passed in a blur of activity. Obi-Wan lost himself in the work, his hands moving with practiced ease as he tended to the vines, each gesture a silent prayer for the future. The physical labor was grounding, a reminder that, despite the uncertainty that lay ahead, there was always work to be done, always hope to be found in the rhythm of the vineyard.

As the day waned and the time of Cody's arrival drew near, Obi-Wan took a moment to stand once again at the overlook, watching as the setting sun painted the sky in shades of fire and gold. The beauty of the moment was a poignant reminder of the vineyard's potential, its capacity for renewal and growth.

"This is your moment, Kenobi," he whispered to himself, the words a vow to the land, to his family, and to his own weary heart. "It's time to show them what we're made of."

With the shadows lengthening and the first stars beginning to twinkle in the evening sky, Obi-Wan turned and made his way back to the house to greet his guest. The fate of Kenobi Vineyards hung in the balance, but for the first time in a long while, Obi-Wan felt a flicker of hope, a spark that suggested that perhaps, just perhaps, the best chapters of their story were yet to be written.

**** 

The tranquility of Kenobi Vineyards was abruptly punctuated by the sound of an approaching vehicle, its engine's growl a stark contrast to the peaceful chirps and whispers of the countryside. A sleek, modern car wound its way along the vineyard's access road, dust billowing in its wake like a herald announcing the arrival of something—or someone—significant. The car's metallic surface glittered under the fading sunlight, a beacon of the outside world intruding upon the timeless beauty of the vineyard.

Obi-Wan, standing near the main house, watched the car's approach with a mixture of anticipation and apprehension. The arrival of Cody was like the first drop of rain before a storm, charged with the potential to either nourish the land or ravage it completely. Obi-Wan's heart beat a tense rhythm, echoing the uneven pace of his thoughts. He was acutely aware that the fate of Kenobi Vineyards rested on the impression it would make on this one man.

As the car came to a halt, the door opened, and Cody stepped out. He was every bit the figure Obi-Wan had imagined: tall, with an authoritative presence that seemed to command the space around him. His eyes, sharp and discerning, took in the surroundings with a critical gaze that missed nothing. The setting sun cast long shadows that played across his features, giving him an aura of mystery and power.

For a moment, Obi-Wan felt as if the vineyard itself held its breath, the very air charged with tension. He stepped forward, extending a hand in greeting. "Cody, welcome to Kenobi Vineyards," he said, his voice steady despite the turmoil inside him.

Cody's handshake was firm, his grip conveying a confidence that Obi-Wan both envied and admired. "Mr. Kenobi," Cody acknowledged, his voice carrying a hint of curiosity. "I've heard much about your vineyard. I'm eager to see if it lives up to its reputation."

As they walked toward the main house, Obi-Wan felt Cody's gaze sweeping over the vineyard, missing none of the beauty nor the disrepair. Obi-Wan found himself wondering what Cody saw when he looked at the vineyard. Did he see a lost cause, or could he perceive the potential that Obi-Wan believed in so fiercely?

The silence between them was filled with unspoken questions and judgments. Obi-Wan led Cody to a small patio overlooking the vineyard, where the last light of day gave the vines a soft, ethereal glow. He gestured for Cody to take a seat, while he fetched a bottle of their best vintage.

Pouring the wine with hands that betrayed none of his inner nervousness, Obi-Wan offered Cody a glass. "This is one of our finest vintages," he said, his voice infused with a pride that came from years of dedication. "I hope it speaks for itself."

Cody accepted the glass, his expression inscrutable as he swirled the wine, observing its color against the backdrop of the setting sun. He took a sip, closing his eyes briefly as if to fully concentrate on the flavors. Obi-Wan watched him, searching for any sign of approval or disapproval.

Finally, Cody opened his eyes, and Obi-Wan felt as if the entire vineyard waited on his verdict. "There's a complexity here... a depth that I didn't expect," Cody admitted, his voice thoughtful. "It's evident that care went into its making."

The words felt like a reprieve to Obi-Wan, a small crack in the storm clouds that had gathered over Kenobi Vineyards. He allowed himself a cautious optimism, aware that this was only the beginning of what he hoped would be a turning point for the vineyard.

As the evening wore on, the conversation between Obi-Wan and Cody delved deeper into the intricacies of wine making, the challenges of maintaining a vineyard, and the vision Obi-Wan held for the future. With each shared bottle and story, the initial tension began to dissipate, replaced by a budding respect and understanding.

Obi-Wan realized that Cody, despite his formidable reputation, was driven by a genuine passion for wine and its creation. And Cody, in turn, seemed to recognize the dedication and love Obi-Wan had for Kenobi Vineyards. The evening, which had begun with the weight of judgment, slowly transformed into an exchange between two men who, despite their different paths, shared a common reverence for the art of wine.

As Cody left, promising to return the next day for a full tour, Obi-Wan felt a cautious hope blooming in his chest. The visit had not been the immediate salvation he had dreamt of, but it had opened a door, a possibility for change and renewal. Standing alone under the starlit sky, Obi-Wan allowed himself to believe that Kenobi Vineyards might yet find its way back to life, guided by hands both old and new.

***** 

The morning sun bathed Kenobi Vineyards in a warm, golden light, promising a day of revelations and perhaps, redemption. Obi-Wan Kenobi and Cody embarked on the tour of the vineyard, the air between them filled with an electric mix of anticipation and underlying skepticism.

Obi-Wan led the way, his stride purposeful yet weighed down by the gravity of what was at stake. Cody followed, his eyes sharp and assessing, missing none of the vineyard's flaws nor its hidden gems. The beauty of the morning could not fully mask the signs of neglect that had crept over the land, like ivy over an abandoned ruin.

"As you can see, the vineyard has seen better days," Obi-Wan began, his voice carrying a hint of resignation. "But beneath the overgrowth and decay, there's a legacy of quality and dedication to the craft of winemaking."

Cody's gaze lingered on a section of vineyard where the vines were particularly overgrown. "I can see the potential," he admitted, though his tone remained noncommittal. "But potential alone doesn't produce quality wine. It takes skill, dedication, and considerable investment."

Obi-Wan nodded, the weight of Cody's words settling heavily upon him. "Of course, you're right. Let me show you something that might give you a better understanding of what we're capable of here." He led Cody to an older section of the vineyard, where the vines seemed to stand a bit taller, their leaves a deeper shade of green.

"These vines were planted by my great-grandfather," Obi-Wan explained, his hand brushing against the rough bark of the nearest vine. "They're some of the oldest on the property, and they produce our most distinctive grapes. The wine they yield..." He paused, searching for the right words. "It's not just a drink. It's a piece of history, a testament to the love and care that my family has poured into this land for generations."

Cody listened, his expression softening slightly. It was clear that Obi-Wan's words had struck a chord, reminding him that wine was more than a commodity—it was a story, a legacy that connected the past to the present.

As they continued the tour, Obi-Wan shared more about the unique aspects of their wine-making process, from the careful selection of grapes to the traditional methods they still employed in fermentation and aging. With each detail, he wove a narrative of dedication and passion, a narrative that seemed to slowly chip away at Cody's initial skepticism.

At one point, Obi-Wan paused beside a small, seemingly insignificant tool shed. "This," he said, unlocking the door, "is where some of our most important work happens." Inside, the shed was filled with an array of barrels, each marked with dates and notes in a meticulous hand.

"These barrels contain experimental blends, my attempts to capture the essence of Kenobi Vineyards in a bottle. Some of them are failures, but others..." He trailed off, selecting a bottle from a nearby shelf. "This one, for example, is something I'm particularly proud of. It's not perfect, but it represents a step toward the future I envision for this vineyard."

Cody watched as Obi-Wan carefully opened the bottle and poured a small amount into two glasses. The act was a gesture of vulnerability, an offering of hope and a request for understanding.

Tasting the wine, Cody's expression was inscrutable for a moment before he nodded slowly. "This is good," he conceded, and Obi-Wan could hear the genuine surprise in his voice. "It's bold, innovative even. It speaks to a level of creativity and risk-taking that's commendable."

The acknowledgment was a balm to Obi-Wan's anxious heart. For the first time since Cody's arrival, he allowed himself to believe that the vineyard's story might not end in decline and obscurity.

As they made their way back to the main house, the atmosphere between them had shifted. The skepticism and desperation that had marked the start of the tour had given way to a cautious optimism. There was a sense of shared understanding, a recognition that beneath the vineyard's disrepair lay a foundation of strength and potential.

"This place," Cody said, pausing to look over the expanse of vines basking in the sunlight, "it has character. And your wine..." He glanced at Obi-Wan, a newfound respect in his gaze. "It has soul. That's something you can't manufacture. It's born from the land and the hands that tend it."

Obi-Wan met Cody's gaze, feeling a surge of pride and determination. "Thank you," he replied, the words a simple but profound acknowledgment of the journey ahead. "With the right care and effort, I believe we can restore Kenobi Vineyards to its former glory, and perhaps, even surpass it."

In the cool, dimly lit interior of the fermentation room, the air was thick with the scent of aging wine and oak. It was here, surrounded by the tangible results of his family’s legacy, that Obi-Wan chose to share the depth of his connection to winemaking and the vineyard itself. The walls, lined with barrels, seemed to listen, silent witnesses to this moment of raw honesty.

Obi-Wan ran his hand along the grain of a nearby barrel, his touch gentle, almost reverent. "Each of these barrels," he began, his voice echoing slightly in the quiet space, "contains more than just wine. They hold stories, years of struggle, moments of triumph, and, yes, even times of failure."

Cody, leaning against a sturdy, aged workbench, watched Obi-Wan closely, sensing the shift in the air, the way the room seemed to close in, focusing all attention on the man before him.

"My passion for winemaking," Obi-Wan continued, pausing to select a bottle from a nearby rack, "isn't just about the craft itself. It's about what it represents—continuity, the passing of knowledge from one generation to the next, the bond between the land and our family." He uncorked the bottle with practiced ease, pouring the rich, dark liquid into two glasses. "But I fear," he admitted, handing a glass to Cody, "that I might be the end of that line."

The admission hung in the air between them, a confession of vulnerability that Obi-Wan rarely allowed himself to show. Cody accepted the glass, his gaze now softened, understanding the weight of Obi-Wan's words.

"Why do you fear that?" Cody asked, the question voiced with genuine curiosity and a hint of concern.

Obi-Wan took a sip of his wine, the action giving him a moment to gather his thoughts. "Because despite my efforts, I can't seem to overcome the challenges we face. The market is changing, and our vineyard... we're struggling to keep up. I worry that I won't be able to preserve this legacy, that I'll be the one under whose watch it all falls apart."

Cody listened, his expression thoughtful, the earlier skepticism replaced by a dawning comprehension of the personal stakes involved for Obi-Wan. "But you're fighting," Cody observed, "not just for the survival of the vineyard, but for something much more personal."

"Yes," Obi-Wan acknowledged, the word laced with a mixture of determination and resignation. "This vineyard is a part of me. To see it fail would be like losing a part of myself. But it's more than that. It's about honoring those who came before me, not letting their hard work and sacrifices be in vain."

The room seemed to close in around them, the air charged with the weight of Obi-Wan's fears and the intensity of his passion. Cody, moved by the depth of Obi-Wan's commitment, found himself reevaluating his initial impressions of both the man and the vineyard.

"Obi-Wan," Cody said, his voice firm, yet imbued with an unexpected warmth, "your dedication is clear, and the quality of your wine speaks for itself. The challenges you face are significant, yes, but not insurmountable."

Obi-Wan met Cody's gaze, searching for a hint of the skepticism that had marked their initial meeting. Instead, he found understanding and, perhaps, a glimmer of respect.

"Thank you, Cody," Obi-Wan replied, the tension that had coiled within him beginning to unwind. "Hearing that from someone with your expertise... it means more than you might realize."

As the day waned, casting long shadows across the vineyard, Obi-Wan and Cody found themselves seated on the worn stone bench beside the old water feature, now silent, its once cheerful babble reduced to a mere memory. The air was filled with the gentle rustle of leaves, a natural symphony that seemed to underscore the significance of their conversation.

Obi-Wan, with a slight hesitation born from years of guarding his private thoughts, began to share more of his past, the journey that had led him to this moment. "I wasn't always sure that this path was mine to walk," he admitted, his gaze fixed on the vineyard sprawling before them, bathed in the golden light of the setting sun. "There was a time when the world seemed wide open with possibilities. I dreamed of exploring, of finding my own way. But when my father passed, the reality of what this land represents... it called me back. It's a legacy of not just land and wine, but of love and resilience. How could I turn my back on that?"

Cody listened intently, his own glass of wine forgotten in his hand. There was a depth to Obi-Wan's words, a sincerity that resonated with something deep within him. "I understand the weight of legacy," Cody responded, his voice softer than before. "I come from a military family. The expectation was always clear: serve with honor, uphold the family tradition. But I found my battleground in the world of wine, a different kind of challenge, yet one that's no less demanding."

Their eyes met, an unspoken acknowledgment passing between them. Here, in the quiet of the vineyard, their disparate paths had converged, revealing common ground in the pursuit of passion and the weight of expectations.

"The world of wine... it's more than a career for you, isn't it?" Obi-Wan asked, genuinely curious about the man who had, in a short time, become both a critic and an unexpected confidante.

Cody chuckled, a sound that seemed to carry with it layers of unspoken stories. "Yes, it's more. It's a quest, almost. A quest for perfection, for understanding. Each bottle tells a story, and I suppose I've become a collector of stories. But," he paused, a shadow crossing his expression, "it can be a solitary journey. The pursuit of perfection often comes at the cost of personal connections."

The confession hung between them, a shared vulnerability that bridged the gap of their previous professional distance. Obi-Wan felt a surge of empathy for Cody, recognizing the parallel loneliness in their pursuits.

"It seems we're both prisoners of our passions," Obi-Wan observed, his voice tinged with a newfound warmth. "But perhaps, in acknowledging that, we find a kind of freedom."

Cody nodded, the last rays of sunlight illuminating his features, casting them in a soft, almost ethereal light. "Perhaps you're right. And maybe, in sharing our stories, we lighten that load, even if just for a moment."

The conversation drifted then, from dreams to disappointments, from the wines they had loved to the ones that had eluded them. Each story, each shared piece of their past, wove a tapestry of understanding and respect between them. The vineyard, with its ancient vines and whispered secrets, served as the perfect backdrop for this exchange, a reminder that growth and renewal were possible, even from the deepest roots.

As the evening drew to a close, the stars began to twinkle in the velvet sky, a silent audience to the unfolding bond between two unlikely companions. The vineyard lay around them, a testament to the enduring power of land and legacy, but in that moment, it was the human connection, fragile and newly formed, that held the promise of the future.

As twilight deepened, casting a lavender hue over the sprawling expanse of Kenobi Vineyards, Obi-Wan and Cody found themselves ascending a gentle hill that offered a panoramic view of the land. The world around them was bathed in the soft afterglow of sunset, the vineyard below a quilt of shadows and fading light. Obi-Wan carried with him a bottle of the vineyard's oldest wine, its label worn but the contents within preserved, a liquid testament to the vineyard's storied past.

Reaching the summit, they paused, both men taking a moment to absorb the breathtaking vista that lay before them. The air was cool, carrying the scent of earth and growing things, the very essence of the vineyard itself. Obi-Wan uncorked the bottle with a practiced ease, the sound a soft pop in the quiet of the evening.

"This," Obi-Wan said, handing Cody a glass filled with the deep, ruby-red wine, "represents the best of what we've been. It's a bridge between the past and the future we're striving towards." His voice carried a reverence, a deep appreciation for the legacy he was part of.

Cody accepted the glass, his eyes reflecting the last rays of the setting sun. "To bridges," he toasted, the words an acknowledgment of the day's revelations and the unexpected connection that had formed between them.

As they sipped the wine, the silence that fell between them was comfortable, filled with the unspoken understanding that had grown throughout the day. The wine was exceptional, its flavors complex and layered, a testament to the skill and care that had gone into its making.

It was Cody who broke the silence, his voice thoughtful. "I've spent so much time chasing the perfect story, the perfect bottle of wine, that I've often overlooked the stories unfolding right in front of me." He paused, a wistful note in his voice. "There are friendships I've neglected, moments I've missed. It's easy to forget that the pursuit of perfection shouldn't come at the expense of living."

Obi-Wan listened, the honesty of Cody's confession striking a chord within him. "I understand," he replied, his own voice tinged with regret. "I've been so consumed with saving this vineyard, proving myself worthy of my heritage, that I've isolated myself. I've forgotten what it's like to share this passion with someone who understands."

The admission hung in the air, a shared recognition of the personal costs of their dedication. But in that recognition, there was also a sense of relief, a lightening of burdens long carried alone.

Laughter soon followed, sparked by a humorous anecdote from Cody about a particularly disastrous wine tasting event. Obi-Wan joined in, the sound mingling with the night air, a release of tension and the joy of newfound camaraderie. They shared stories of their failures and triumphs, the absurdities and the moments of grace that marked their journeys in the world of wine.

As the evening wore on, the wine flowed freely, loosening tongues and opening hearts. The stars above seemed to draw nearer, witnesses to the deepening bond between two souls brought together by fate and a shared love for the vineyard's bounty.

Sitting on that hill, overlooking the land that was so much a part of Obi-Wan, he felt a shift within himself. The vineyard was no longer just a burden to be shouldered alone; it was a legacy to be shared, a source of connection and hope.

Cody, too, seemed transformed by the experience, his earlier skepticism replaced by a genuine respect and affection for the vineyard and the man who fought so valiantly to preserve it. In the shared laughter and confessions of regret, they found not just understanding but a sense of belonging, a recognition that their paths, however different, were intertwined in the story of Kenobi Vineyards.

As the bottle emptied and the night deepened, they remained on the hill, reluctant to end the moment. The vineyard lay quiet below, a testament to the enduring power of the land and the human spirit. And for Obi-Wan and Cody, the future seemed a little brighter, the weight of their respective burdens a little lighter, shared over a bottle of wine under the vast, starlit sky.

**** 

A few days after their momentous evening on the hill, the atmosphere at Kenobi Vineyards was charged with a new energy. The sun had just begun its ascent, casting a soft, golden light over the vineyard, promising another day of renewal and hard work. Obi-Wan was in the midst of inspecting the vines, lost in thought, when Cody approached him. The crisp morning air seemed to accentuate the seriousness of Cody's demeanor, a stark contrast to the relaxed camaraderie they had shared just nights before.

"Obi-Wan," Cody began, his voice cutting through the tranquility of the morning, "I've been thinking about your vineyard, about the conversation we had the other night, about legacy and passion."

Obi-Wan straightened, turning to face him, an intuitive sense of the conversation's direction taking root within him. "Yes?" he prompted, curiosity laced with a hint of apprehension coloring his tone.

Cody took a moment, surveying the vineyard with a contemplative gaze. "I believe there's something unique here, something worth preserving. But to convince others, to truly make them see the value of Kenobi Vineyards, you'll need to do more than just maintain the status quo."

The morning's serenity seemed to hang in balance as Cody's words sank in. Obi-Wan felt a mixture of excitement and trepidation stir within him. "What do you suggest?" he asked, his interest piqued.

Cody's expression was earnest, his conviction clear. "Create a new blend," he said, the challenge implicit in his words. "Something that encapsulates the essence of this place, a wine that tells the story of Kenobi Vineyards, its past, its present, and its future."

The proposal hung between them, bold and daunting. Obi-Wan felt the weight of the challenge settle upon him, a mingling of fear and exhilaration. "That's a tall order," he admitted, the magnitude of the task not lost on him. "But if it could help save the vineyard..."

Cody nodded, a supportive firmness in his gaze. "I believe it could do more than just help. It could redefine how the world sees Kenobi Vineyards. And I'll do everything in my power to support you, to ensure this blend gets the recognition it deserves."

The promise was generous, a lifeline thrown in the midst of uncertainty. Obi-Wan felt a surge of gratitude, tempered by the enormity of the task ahead. "It won't be easy," he said, a determined glint in his eye. "But I accept your challenge. For the vineyard, for my family's legacy, I'll create something truly special."

As Cody smiled, an unspoken agreement solidified between them. This was more than just a challenge; it was an opportunity for Obi-Wan to distill the essence of his heritage into a bottle, to craft a narrative as rich and complex as the wines he so lovingly produced.

In the days that followed, Obi-Wan threw himself into the creation of the new blend with a fervor that bordered on obsession. He experimented with different grape varietals, each selection a careful consideration of flavor profiles and historical significance. The process was exhaustive, a testament to Obi-Wan's dedication and Cody's unwavering support.

Cody, for his part, was a constant presence, offering insights, encouragement, and the occasional much-needed distraction. Together, they tasted and tested, debated and deliberated, their shared goal driving them forward.

The creation of the blend became a journey of discovery, not just of the perfect combination of flavors but of themselves. Obi-Wan, in seeking to capture the essence of the vineyard, found a deeper connection to his roots, a renewed sense of purpose. Cody, witnessing Obi-Wan's passion and dedication, gained a profound respect for the art of winemaking and the stories it could tell.

The process was not without its moments of doubt and frustration. There were blends that fell short, promising starts that ended in disappointment. But with each setback, their resolve only strengthened, their bond deepened by the shared pursuit of excellence.

When the final blend was poured, a harmonious union of the vineyard's finest grapes, it was more than just a wine; it was a tribute to Kenobi Vineyards' legacy, a symbol of hope for its future. The wine was complex, embodying the rich history of the land, the resilience of its people, and the promise of renewal.

As they stood together, tasting the fruits of their labor, Obi-Wan and Cody knew that they had created something extraordinary. The blend was not just a testament to their hard work but a declaration of the vineyard's enduring spirit.

Cody's promise to use his influence loomed large, a beacon of hope in the quest to secure the vineyard's legacy. Together, they had taken the first steps toward salvation, guided by passion, perseverance, and the unbreakable bonds forged in the heart of Kenobi Vineyards.

*** 

The journey to create Kenobi Vineyards' new signature blend unfolded like a tapestry woven from threads of tension, triumph, and the deepening bond between Obi-Wan and Cody. Each day brought with it a new set of challenges, moments of discord and harmony that mirrored the complexity of the wine they sought to create.

In the early days, the vineyard buzzed with a palpable energy, as Obi-Wan and Cody embarked on their shared mission. Mornings were spent in the fields, where Obi-Wan shared his intimate knowledge of each vine, each parcel of land. Cody, with his keen analytical mind, asked probing questions, pushing Obi-Wan to consider variables he had previously overlooked. These discussions often stretched into spirited debates, their contrasting perspectives clashing and melding in equal measure.

The afternoons were reserved for the alchemy of winemaking. The winery's lab became their sanctuary, a place where science and artistry intertwined. Obi-Wan, with his deep-rooted connection to the vineyard's traditions, introduced Cody to the nuances of fermentation and aging processes that had been passed down through generations. Cody, in turn, brought a fresh perspective, suggesting innovative techniques and blending strategies that challenged Obi-Wan's conventional wisdom.

This exchange of ideas was not without its moments of frustration. There were times when Obi-Wan's attachment to tradition seemed to stifle innovation, leading to heated exchanges that echoed off the stone walls of the winery. Cody's insistence on experimentation, while well-intentioned, sometimes felt like a disregard for the vineyard's heritage. These tensions, though, were the crucible in which their partnership was forged. With each disagreement, they learned to navigate their differences, finding common ground in their shared commitment to excellence.

The breakthrough came unexpectedly, on a late afternoon tinged with the golden hues of the setting sun. A particular blend, born from a combination of intuition and meticulous calculation, revealed itself to be more than just a sum of its parts. As they tasted, the layers of flavor unfolding on their palates, Obi-Wan and Cody shared a look of quiet amazement. Here, in this glass, was the essence of Kenobi Vineyards—its past, present, and future—captured in liquid form.

The moment was transformative, a turning point that solidified their partnership. Laughter and shared stories began to fill the spaces between their work, the vineyard echoing with the signs of their camaraderie. They celebrated their victories, no matter how small, with toasts of their evolving blend, each sip a reminder of the journey they had undertaken together.

As the blend matured, so too did their relationship. The mutual respect that had been forged in the fires of creativity and conflict deepened into a genuine friendship. Obi-Wan, once wary of change, found himself inspired by Cody's passion and insight. Cody, initially skeptical of the vineyard's potential, grew to admire Obi-Wan's dedication and the rich history of the land.

The montage of their efforts, a series of snapshots capturing late nights, early mornings, and endless tastings, was a testament to their journey. The tension that had once marked their interactions gave way to a rhythm, a seamless dance of give and take that propelled them toward their goal.

When the final blend was ready, it was more than just a new product for Kenobi Vineyards. It was a symbol of transformation—a testament to the power of collaboration, the blending of tradition with innovation, and the unexpected friendship that had flourished in the pursuit of a shared dream.

In the end, the creation of the blend was not just a triumph for Kenobi Vineyards but a milestone in the lives of Obi-Wan and Cody. Together, they had crafted something extraordinary, a wine that was a reflection of their journey, imbued with the essence of the land and the unbreakable bond they had formed.

**** 

The day of Cody's departure arrived with a quiet that seemed to envelop Kenobi Vineyards, a stillness that belied the turmoil of emotions churning within Obi-Wan. As they stood facing each other, the vineyard stretching out behind them, a landscape of memories and shared efforts, the air was thick with unspoken words and the poignant realization of a chapter closing.

"I'll start on the review as soon as I get back," Cody said, his voice steady but not without a hint of the reluctance that comes with parting. His gaze lingered on Obi-Wan, as if trying to imprint the moment, the man, and the land that had unexpectedly become a significant part of his life.

Obi-Wan nodded, his throat tight with a mix of gratitude and apprehension. "Thank you, Cody. For everything," he managed to say, the words heavy with the weight of all they had shared. "Your belief in this vineyard, in me, has changed more than I can express."

A brief smile flickered across Cody's face, a silent acknowledgment of the journey they had undertaken together. "It's been an honor, Obi-Wan. This place, your wine... it's something special. I'm just glad I got to be a part of it."

As Cody turned to leave, Obi-Wan felt a keen sense of loss, a void that went beyond the professional relationship they had developed. The realization that Cody's presence had become a cornerstone of not just the vineyard's revival but of his own personal growth was stark and unbidden.

In the days that followed, the vineyard seemed quieter, the absence of Cody's steady presence a constant reminder of the void. Obi-Wan threw himself into his work, each task a distraction from the uncertainty that loomed ahead. Yet, in the quiet moments, his mind wandered to Cody, to their conversations, the laughter, and the moments of shared vulnerability.

The waiting period stretched out, each day a test of patience and hope. Obi-Wan found himself reflecting on the depth of his feelings for Cody, feelings that had evolved from professional respect to a profound connection. The realization was startling, the acknowledgment of a bond that went beyond the vineyard, touching something deep within him.

Obi-Wan's introspection was not solely focused on Cody; it also turned inward, examining the changes within himself. The experience of creating the blend, of fighting for the vineyard's future alongside Cody, had reignited a passion he hadn't realized had dimmed. Cody had not only helped to save the vineyard but had also, in a way, saved him from the isolation and burden of his legacy.

The vineyard, too, seemed to be waiting, the vines standing tall and the leaves whispering in the wind, as if in anticipation of what was to come. It was a time of transition, of endings and new beginnings, and Obi-Wan felt the weight of it all, a blend of hope and fear for the future.

When the review finally arrived, it was with a mixture of excitement and dread that Obi-Wan opened it. Cody's words leapt off the page, a testament to their efforts, praising not only the quality of the wine but the spirit and passion behind its creation. It was more than Obi-Wan had dared to hope for, a recognition of the vineyard's potential and of their journey together.

As he stood in the vineyard, the review in hand, Obi-Wan felt a sense of peace settle over him. The future was still uncertain, the challenges ahead daunting, but in that moment, there was a sense of completion, of a circle closed. Cody's departure had left a void, but it had also left Obi-Wan with a deeper understanding of himself, of his capacity for connection and change.

The vineyard thrived, bolstered by the success of the new blend and the acclaim it received. And as Obi-Wan walked among the vines, he knew that Cody's influence would linger, a part of the land and of him, a reminder of the power of collaboration, friendship, and the courage to embrace the unknown.

**** 

Several weeks had passed since Cody's review had been published, casting a newfound spotlight on Kenobi Vineyards and its exceptional new blend. The vineyard, once teetering on the edge of obscurity, now buzzed with the energy of potential and promise. In this time of burgeoning hope, Obi-Wan found himself often wandering the vineyard at dusk, his thoughts invariably drifting to Cody. The impact of Cody's words had been profound, not just on the vineyard but on Obi-Wan himself, stirring a blend of emotions and unanswered questions that lingered like the fragrance of grapes on the evening air.

It was on one such evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in strokes of pink and gold, that Cody returned. Obi-Wan, lost in thought among the vines, didn't notice his approach until he was nearly upon him. The sight of Cody, back in the vineyard, sent a jolt through him, a mix of surprise and an inexplicable sense of rightness.

"Cody," Obi-Wan began, his voice betraying his surprise. "What brings you back to Kenobi Vineyards?"

Cody's gaze held a depth of emotion that Obi-Wan hadn't seen before. "I came to see you," he said, his voice steady but imbued with an undercurrent of something more, something deeper. "Your vineyard, the wine we created, your passion... it left an impression on me, one I couldn't shake."

The confession hung between them, a tangible presence in the twilight. Obi-Wan felt a stirring within him, a hopeful blossoming at Cody's words, yet he remained silent, prompting Cody to continue.

"In writing the review, in trying to capture the essence of what you've built here, I realized something," Cody said, taking a step closer. "It wasn't just the vineyard that inspired me. It was you, Obi-Wan. Your dedication, your belief in the legacy of this place... it changed me."

The admission was like the turning of a key, unlocking something within Obi-Wan that he had dared not acknowledge even to himself. The realization of Cody's feelings, mirrored against his own, was overwhelming and yet, undeniably right.

"Cody, I—" Obi-Wan started, his own emotions surfacing, raw and unguarded.

Cody reached out, a gesture of connection that bridged the distance between them. "I don't know what the future holds," he said, his voice laced with earnestness. "But I do know that I don't want to face it without you. These past weeks, being away, it made me realize how much I've come to care for you, beyond the vineyard, beyond the wine."

The confession, so openly and honestly delivered, resonated with Obi-Wan, echoing his own unspoken feelings. The vineyard around them, with its vines and soil, had been a witness to their growing connection, a foundation upon which something deeper had been built.

"Cody, your presence here, your belief in me, in the vineyard... it's given me more than just hope for this place," Obi-Wan said, his voice imbued with a mixture of vulnerability and strength. "It's given me hope for something more, something I hadn't allowed myself to consider."

As they stood there, in the fading light, the vineyard seemed to hold its breath, a silent observer to the unfolding moment. The confession of their feelings, the acknowledgment of the bond that had formed between them, was a new beginning, a promise of possibilities yet to be explored.

Cody smiled, a genuine expression that lit up his features, dispelling the shadows of the evening. "Then let's face the future together," he said, his hand still extended, an invitation for Obi-Wan to take.

Obi-Wan reached out, his hand clasping Cody's, a physical manifestation of their emotional connection. In that touch, there was an understanding, a commitment to whatever lay ahead, forged in the heart of Kenobi Vineyards but transcending it, a blend of two souls united by passion, dedication, and now, love.

The vineyard, with its endless rows of vines and the promise of growth and renewal, stood as a testament to their journey. It was a reminder that even the most unlikely of soils could nurture something extraordinary, something lasting. Together, Obi-Wan and Cody stepped into the future, their path illuminated by the stars above, hearts full of hope and the vineyard whispering its blessings on the wind.

**** 

In the weeks following Cody's return and his heartfelt confession, Kenobi Vineyards began to flourish in a way that it hadn't for years. The impact of Cody's review, coupled with the unveiling of their collaborative wine blend, had drawn attention from far and wide. Wine enthusiasts, critics, and curious locals alike flocked to the vineyard, eager to taste the wine that had captured the heart of one of the industry's most respected figures.

Obi-Wan and Cody, now united in both their personal and professional lives, watched this transformation with a sense of awe and gratitude. The vineyard, which had once been a symbol of struggle and isolation for Obi-Wan, had become a bustling hub of activity and growth. The once quiet tasting room was now filled with the sounds of laughter and conversation, the air rich with the scent of wine being poured and enjoyed.

As they walked through the vineyard one crisp morning, the dew still fresh on the vines, Obi-Wan couldn't help but reflect on the journey that had brought them to this point. "I never imagined," he began, his voice filled with wonder, "that the vineyard could come back to life like this. It feels like we've created something new, something vibrant out of the ashes of the past."

Cody, walking beside him, squeezed Obi-Wan's hand gently. "We did," he agreed, his gaze sweeping over the rows of thriving vines. "But it's more than just the vineyard that's been reborn. We've started a new chapter, too, one that's just beginning."

The significance of Cody's words resonated deeply with Obi-Wan. The vineyard's revival was indeed a powerful metaphor for their own blossoming relationship. Each new bud on the vines, each bottle of wine that found its way into the hands of an appreciative drinker, mirrored the growth and deepening of their bond.

Their days were filled with a blend of hard work and moments of shared joy. They consulted on every decision, from the nuances of vine care to the development of new wine varieties, each step forward a testament to their combined strengths and visions. The success of the vineyard had become inseparable from the story of their partnership, a tangible representation of what they could achieve together.

The community around them took notice, drawn not only by the quality of the wine but by the story of renewal and love that had come to define Kenobi Vineyards. Obi-Wan and Cody found themselves at the center of a network of friends and supporters, their lives enriched by the connections that grew from the soil of the vineyard.

In the evenings, after the day's work was done and the last visitor had departed, they would often find themselves back on the hill overlooking the vineyard. With a bottle of their blend between them, they watched the sunset, the sky ablaze with colors that mirrored the hues of their wines.

"These moments," Cody would say, his voice soft with contentment, "they're a reminder of what's truly important. Not just the wine or the vineyard, but us, this life we're building together."

Obi-Wan, leaning into Cody's side, felt a profound sense of peace in these moments. The challenges and uncertainties of the future seemed manageable, as long as they faced them together. The vineyard, thriving under their care, was more than just a place of business; it was a home, a symbol of their love and partnership.

As the stars began to twinkle in the twilight sky, Obi-Wan and Cody knew that they had found something rare and beautiful. Kenobi Vineyards, with its rows of vines and bottles filled with the essence of the land, was a testament to their journey. It stood as a beacon of hope, resilience, and the power of love to transform the hardest of soils into a place of abundance and life.

Together, they faced the future with open hearts, ready to embrace whatever challenges and joys it might bring. Kenobi Vineyards, once on the brink of fading away, was now a symbol of their shared future, flourishing and alive with possibility.

Likes and comments are always welcome.

[marydublinauthor]

Random gt drabbles: Tackle

Short #1 Request from my SITD prompt!

Requested by: @kendsleyauthor

Request: Cliff and Oliver, dark future AU, fluffy + steamy, lush forest

A/N: the amount of Cliff and Oliver that was requested omg THANK you 🥹 they are the moment rn

——————-

As the sun set behind the distant mountains, the forest became drenched in amber hues. Cliff had ventured out to forage with six of the safehouse fairies, hoping to maximize a harvest of wild parsnips that grew nearby. The rest of the crew had flown inside ahead, but Cliff was taking his time on the rugged terrain, still nursing an ugly bruise on his left leg from a recent mission. Zia had healed the worst of it, but bruises were particularly tricky to resolve, even for advanced healers.

One fairy remained, keeping pace in flight beside him.

In a month’s time, Oliver had already adjusted well to life with the Safehouse community. Still, Cliff couldn’t help but notice how he seemed to stay bonded to him after their trial in the wilderness. Generally speaking, Oliver’s discretion wasn’t exactly his strongest quality. Cliff had caught him staring at him a number of times over the past weeks, always averting his gaze like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“I’ve literally never heard anyone who hates parsnips,” Oliver was berating.

“I think it’s because everyone you know grew up eating moss, and it shows,” Cliff said, smirking at his own joke.

A small, playful jolt of electricity zinged through his leather jacket.

“We did not have moss in my home village,” Oliver grumbled. “For your information, it was a dried algae, and it was delicious.”

“Serve that with some fries, and I’m set.”

“Listen,” Oliver said. “I know you’re joking, but that would actually taste really…”

He sucked in a sharp breath as a shadow crossed over their path. They paused to observe a hawk gliding through the trees overhead, on the hunt as dusk strengthened.

Oliver cursed, blood draining from his face.

“Come on, we should get a move on,” he said, flying faster. His flight pattern became erratic — obviously spooked.

Cliff quickened his pace to match. “You want a pocket?”

“It’s fine. Let’s just hurry.”

But as he spoke, the adorable dumbass flew straight through a spiderweb strung in a bush, tangling his wings in the thick, dew-covered threads. His flight immediately began to falter, dropping him closer to the ground with every dialed wing beat.

“Should’ve taken me up on the pocket,” Cliff called.

He was still catching up when a shrill scream came from above. For a moment, it felt like time slowed down, and horror gripped Cliff’s insides. Oliver’s frantic flapping had caught the hawk’s eye.

It dove down.

Cliff sprinted, closing the distance and putting his body between the bird and Oliver. Momentum barreled him forward. Instinct took over. He clapped his hands around Oliver’s fragile body and crushed him to his chest, rolling to land hard on his side.

Panting, Cliff watched the hawk veer off to another part of the forest in search of an easier meal. He released Oliver onto the forest floor and rolled over top of him.

“You okay?” Cliff demanded.

Oliver’s small body shuffled against the fallen leaves as he gasped for air, making sense of his surroundings. His blue eyes widened when he looked up at the new source of the shadow over him.

“Y-yeah.”

“Damn birds. Never realized what a menace they were until I started rooming with fairies.” Cliff brushed out some of the spiderweb out of Oliver’s hair with his thumb. Little broken pieces of leaves and dirt were scattered across his clothes.

The way Oliver’s little head whipped around to follow the path of Cliff’s hand, up to his wide shoulders and chest and the rest of him walling him in… Cliff clenched his jaw. He felt the familiar urge to apologize for being so impsosing and too big for their world.

But the way Oliver’s chest was heaving wasn’t from fear. His expression was so precious, and he was safe, and there was something magnetic in the air now.

He didn’t know why— why here? why now?—but it was as tangible as the forest around them. Like a gentle, guiding hand, it pulled Cliff down slowly until he shut his eyes and Oliver’s stunned expression vanished.

He let his lips fall against Oliver’s face with the gentlest pressure he could manage. Cliff lingered there for a moment, enthralled with the sensation of those delicate features against his skin.

He pulled back, scrutinizing any emotion in those tiny blue eyes carefully.

“Thank you,” Oliver finally said, flushed like a spring tomato. They gaped at each other for a while longer before he added, “You could do that again, if you wanted.”

Cliff shifted on his knees, his shadow dancing over Oliver’s prone body. “Do you want me to?”

“Yes. Please.”

Cliff arched an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips. “You look like you’ve barely caught your breath.”

“Breathing is overrated,” Oliver said with a flippant gesture.

Cliff grinned and dove down.

[spacecatdraws]

I greet thee, I have a poem for null!

Null amongst the fae stars

Null is in the sea

Null upon the watch tower, sings to night birds three

Null is on a cloud now, wading in the fog

Null is talking with moss on top a saddened log

Null howls like a blood wolf with a honey bee for lungs

Null weaves the sweetest spiderwebs between a harp is strung

Of spring berries, nebulae nipping at the fingers and bird feathers null was spun

And null has a blue tongue and many spined eyes

Null is responsible for painting the wings of flies

Null sleeps amongst the tree roots

In a bramble bed

And speaks rhymes only a shapeshifter can

I welcome you with open arms

to climb up here among the stars

Your poetry is beautiful

Your wit is indisputable

Fierce and brave, a lion’s cry

Keen and sharp, a hawk’s eye

Nimble and fast, a dragonfly

Strong and stoic, a bonsai

Your shifting form is something to behold,

a beacon of memory, of new and old,

The swirling stars sing tales of you,

a heart of gold and morning dew

Your words spin a captivating story

Of loss and suffering, of light and glory

I thank you, friend, for this poem true

I just hope you will enjoy mine too.

-Null

[darkxmartcom]

Dark matter distinguished hanging from the Cosmic web for first time:

Interestingly, cosmologists have distinguished dull matter dangling from gigantic fibers that stretch across the universe and structure a "inestimable web" that trap systems like morning dew on a spiderweb.

Scientists from Yonsei College in Seoul, South Korea, utilized the Subaru Telescope — a 8.2-meter optical-infrared telescope close to the culmination of Maunakea in Hawaii — and an impact that gravity has on light to in a roundabout way notice dim matter sitting on grandiose web fibers in the Extreme lethargies Cluster.This marks the very first identification of dull matter on the vast web, and could assist with affirming how this design — with strands that run for a huge number of light-years — has affected the development of the universe.

Otherwise called Abell 1656, the Trance like state Bunch is an assortment of more than 1,000 worlds and is found exactly 321 million light-years from us toward the heavenly body Unconsciousness Berenices. As a result of this enormous size and relative nearness, the Trance state Bunch is an optimal spot for researchers to chase dull matter on vast web strands.The inestimable web is an organization of fibers, comprised of issue, that feed gas into worlds, assisting them with developing. This web additionally helps channel cosmic systems together, driving them to bunch.

The primary fibers of the vast web are themselves the walls of system superclusters, with the wall comparing with the Trance like state Group known as the"great wall." The extraordinary wall was really the first superlarge structure known to man to be found.

Bunches of universes are accepted to accumulate where fibers cross, however these fibers are accepted to end among worlds and structure what're classified "intracluster fibers." Dim matter is supposed to run along these infinite web fibers hanging from those intracluster fibers.

Dim matter as an enormous framework:

Last year, the Keck Inestimable Web Imager, likewise on Maunakea, got the main direct light radiating from wispy web fibers that cross each other and stretch across the haziest corners of room. These are fibers that sit segregated between worlds, in the biggest and most secret bits of the astronomical web.

"Seeing" the area of dim matter around these vast web strands is something else entirely, be that as it may.

That is on the grounds that, notwithstanding making up an expected 85% of all the matter in the universe, dull matter is imperceptible on the grounds that it doesn't cooperate with light like ordinary matter that contains stars and residue does.

Dim matter's predominance over regular matter additionally implies it rules the fibers of the inestimable web, framing an imperceptible framework along which the universe's construction comes to fruition.

Notwithstanding, despite the fact that dim matter doesn't cooperate with light, it associates with gravity — and this communication influences the development of regular matter and light that we can see.

The group behind this examination exploited this idea, utilizing it to identify dim matter on inestimable web fibers strung all through the Unconsciousness Bunch.

Albert Einstein's 1915 hypothesis of gravity, called general relativity, proposes that items with mass reason the texture of spacetime to bend. Thus, the hypothesis makes sense of, what we see as gravity emerges from this shape. Moreover, when light from a foundation source goes through this curve, its way gets redirected.

This can prompt foundation sources seeming to move overhead, to be enhanced, or in a few outrageous cases, even to show up at different places in a similar picture. This is called gravitational lensing.

In this way, utilizing light from cosmic systems and stars behind the Trance state Group and helped by the high responsiveness, high goal and wide field of perspective on the Subaru telescope's Hyper Suprime-Cam (HSC), the group recognized a feeble lensing impact of the dull matter part of intracluster fibers interestingly.

This very first discovery of dim matter on terminal sections of the grandiose web assists with advancing affirm the presence of the huge scope structure spreading across the universe.

The group's outcomes were distributed in January in the diary Nature Cosmology.

[withbriefthanksgiving]

ID: a Black woman wearing her brown hair cornrows decorated with clear glass or plastic flower decorations faces away from us. She is wearing a dress that looks like it’s made of fabric scraps. The straps of the dress are multiple clear beads of different sizes strung together, giving the effect of dew drops on spiderwebs. End of ID.

Susan Fang Fall/Winter 2023

[autistic-parker]

DRIP

The crown which hangs over the head of the skeleton is an icy thing. The silver-white metal circles and clings to it, rising in spires like stalagmites, each sharp point growing in height until the central one which rises above then all.

Each point is covered semi-randomly in shining opals which gleam in the white light of the bulbs all around the room. Running down the sides of the skeletons head, attached to the crown, are something like wires strung with pearls that make them look like dew-covered spiderwebs.

There is a constant sound of water moving. The echos of the hard, glassy floor and walls and ceiling make it impossible, for now, to tell where exactly the sound is coming from. All around, all at once. The palace smells overwhelmingly of pine, the blown-open and blown-out windows in every room allowing in cold air from the forests below.

The skeleton is clad in a set of black clothes, now dusty and frost-covered, its gleaming golden buttons remarkably new looking. The ends of the pants are tucked into now worn, now dusty boots. Its cape is lined with red-dyed fur, faded dull with age.

The skeleton sits on an undecorated throne of smooth white stone, its arms resting comfortably on the arm-rests, pressed all the way back in the seat, it's feet resting flat on the ground.

My footsteps echo through the place far too loudly for my liking. There is never silence here, but the noises I make are much too...human for whatever might be here to stay not noticing them. I highly doubt humans are welcome here. At least not living ones.

The blanket of frost which hangs like a carpet leading to the throne reforms itself as soon as my feet leave the ground. No trace will ever be left of my coming or going. It has been doing this the whole time.

[sweetest-honeybee]

Your art always has such a crisp quality to it, like dew strung along spiderweb silk. It's beautiful. You may be of the honeybees, but there's something of an expert weaver's steady hand in your work.

That is the single coolest compliment I think I’ve ever gotten :0

[mixedscholarlybag]

welcome to qp jonmartin hours

Jon can’t quite put his finger on what is making him so nervous because he does love Martin he knows he does; it’s a feeling like the first sip of warm tea on a cold morning that blooms deep into his gut and swirls, Brownian-like, around until he feels suffused with the soft warmth of it. But still he’s terrified of it. 

It’s not the sex thing - he’s told Martin, awkward and blushing and taking ages to get the words out that he’s not - he doesn’t - doesn’t really - like the whole idea of... And Martin had squeezed his hand tight and smiled at him and said oh, Jon, I’m not upset. I’m ace-spec too! And later Jon had looked up what that meant - using regular google, not the spooky kind - and felt seen in a mundane way that was like being wrapped in a warm quilt. 

He finds himself thinking of Georgie, who he was convinced hated him for so long until she did and he knows part of that is because of who he has become but there’s still that part of him that wonders if it’s because of who he’s always been. Melanie says, when they text, that she doesn’t hate him, it’s just hard, for her - but Jon isn’t sure he believes that.

It’s early in the morning when Jon comes into the kitchen and finds Martin sitting at the counter, a mug of tea sending steam into the sunlight and Jon can see the individual droplets strung out like dew drops on a spiderweb, dancing like fireflies. 

“Morning, my love,” says Martin, low and sleepy and like it’s the most natural thing in the world and Jon feels his chest clench and he says

“What if I don’t love you enough?”

Martin tilts his head, blinking confused at Jon and Jon feels his face heat and and he says, “I mean - I - I...”

He doesn’t know what he means except the dread that has been sitting below his sternum, that tells him that Martin is going to find out that there’s something wrong with Jon, is pressing him urgently that he needs to destroy this precious and undeserved thing they have before it crumbles in his hands.

“I’m not sure,” Jon says, whispers, “that I love you the same way that you love me.”

The skin around Martin’s eyes crinkles as he smiles small and perfect. “I’m sure you don’t,” he says. “We’re not the same people. No-one loves exactly the same.”

“But,” says Jon. “I’m not sure...”

Martin waits a moment, making sure Jon doesn’t want to finish his thought before saying, “We’ve talked, before, about what we’re both comfortable with. We’ve said we’d tell each other if the other ever did anything we weren’t.”

Jon nods. He’s still not very good at it - talking candidly about his feelings, not just going along with something because he wants Martin to be happy, to like him. Martin’s had similar sentiments - it’s work, he says, learning and believing that caring for yourself is just as important as caring for others.

“Is there anything,” Martin says, “that’s happened recently that’s making you feel unsure?”

“I don’t...” says Jon. He can’t think of anything in specific. He likes the gentle kisses, he likes them sitting, legs tangled on the sofa or leaning into each other, the pressure of being there, together. He likes falling asleep to the rhythm of Martin’s breathing and knowing that if it all gets too much he can sit by himself for a bit ‘till the world calms down and Martin will be there to greet him with a cup of tea.

It’s more... “It’s - I don’t know if I know how to love you romantically,” he says and his face heats again because it sounds ridiculous to him but he presses on, “and I don’t know if we should be in a relationship if I’m not going to love you enough.”

Martin’s brow creases and Jon’s stomach drops and here it is - he’s always been hurting Martin from the moment they met and finally it’s too much and Jon can feel something in his chest and maybe this is what heartbreak feels like -

“We don’t,” says Martin, slowly, brow still furrowed, “have to be in a romantic relationship it you’re not comfortable with that. You know that right?”

“But,” says Jon.

Martin raises a hand, forestalling him. “Jon. Our relationship is whatever we want it to be. Whatever we both want it to be. Relationship doesn’t just mean like, dating, or whatever. It’s literally just how people relate to each other, how they interact and what they do and how they decide to be with each other. I don’t care how you love me. I only care that I love you and that we’re not hurting each other with our love and that if we do we can talk about it so it doesn’t happen again. I only care that we just try to be the best we can be to each other. Everything changes, we change. But we can change together. We can grow and be together. However we want to.”

Jon doesn’t know what to say, but the feeling his his chest slackens, just a bit. 

“I love you, Jon,” says Martin, serious, looking into his eyes.

“I love you too,” Jon whispers.

“I’m glad you brought this up,” says Martin. “I’m sorry - it looks like it’s been weighing on you.”

Jon shrugs, uncomfortable as always with Martin’s apology.

Martin stands, comes around to put a gentle hand on Jon’s arm. “We should talk about this more,” he says, “but can I get you some tea first?”

Jon leans a little into Martin’s hand, a little bit of pressure to ground him, and nods.

[the-blind-assassin-12]

Come on Home

A/N: Surprise! I know you probably thought I vanished or sunk into quicksand or something else 2020esque, but I’ve just been wallowing in writer’s block misery for ...well the length of time doesn’t matter because I’m out of the pit of despair and back in the game with another Play the Hand You’re Dealt prompt. This one is for Ryan and it takes place in the future for PT Ryan and Reader, roughly a year and a half from the current timeline. 

(title and overall theme of this one inspired by the song Long & Lost by Florence and the Machine.) 

Word Count: 2,563

Prompt From: @suchatinyinfinity​ - Ryan, angst, memories or photographs & Reader’s POV 

Ryan! You’d know that gait anywhere, from any distance, posture slouched more to the left than the right under the burden of his guitar case, long legs talking sure steps towards where you were perched on the covered porch of your father’s house. The second that you saw him you felt a weight shake free of your shoulders, his smile, even from a few yards away, brightening the fading light of the day. You ran down the stairs to wrap your arms around his neck, locking your lips to his as he set his case down to hold you. “Hey, Junebug,” he murmured into your mouth. “Miss me?” Always. 

Your hands moved up to take his face between them, beard longer than you’d seen it last, the hair course beneath your palms. “Missed you so much, Ryan Brenner.” You missed him whenever you weren’t together. It wasn’t often, but it always shocked you how quickly it set in. Missing Ryan was unlike anything you’d felt before, because it wasn’t a hopeless yearning or an empty feeling. It was knowing how it would feel to have him back. You ran your thumbs along his cheek, following the line of his beard, and leaned in for another kiss which he eagerly returned. You felt his hands climbing your back, over your shoulders and up to your wrists, wrapping his fingers around your wrists. He kissed you once more before pulling back, a questioning look in his eyes. 

“What’s this?” He peeled your hand away from his face but brought your thumb back up to his lips, pressing another kiss to the rough, torn skin there. He dragged it across his bottom lip and you closed your eyes, what was left of your breath escaping you in a small puff and you shrugged. You know what it is, Ryan. 

You knew he’d notice as soon as you touched him. Ryan was the most observant person you’d ever known by a long shot. There was no detail too small to matter to him. He appreciated the cracks in the cement as much as the scrawny weeds that pushed up through them, It was part of what you loved about him, this ability to see everything. Every dew strung line of a spiderweb, every shade of yellow in the petal of a sunflower, a smudged fingerprint on a piece of glass all caught his eye as much as the sweeping panoramic views he took in while traveling as many miles of the country as he could. 

He was also more touch focused than you thought possile. His hands were large and strong, built and conditioned for gripping and lifting. Hard, manual work. But they were nimble and light, and delicate enough to coax magic out of an instrument, and when he touched you, you felt every note he’d ever played. When he wanted you to, you felt the cold steel of every ladder rung he’d ever clung to, the smooth leather strap of any bag, pack or case he’d ever carried, every lever or rope or chain he’d ever pulled. Brushing his knuckles innocently over your cheek or bringing you over the edge, every touch had purpose and intention, and the things he couldn’t find words for, he found other ways to communicate to you. 

Ryan knew your hands like the back of his own. Your fingers and palms were as familiar a feeling to him as sunshine on his skin, so the hardened cracks between the loops and whorls in the pattern of your thumbprint against his lip were impossible to ignore. Picking at your thumbnails and cuticles was a habit, or a compulsion really, that only manifested when you were stressed or anxious, which meant that in the year and a half that you’d been with Ryan he’d only seen it a few times. It’s never been this bad though. His lips twitched downwards in a small frown as he pressed another kiss to the meat of your thumb. And he noticed. You folded your lips into a thin line. Of course he noticed. 

He’d only been four days behind you, staying the extra time in Morehead, KY to help his old friend Nate and Nate’s teenaged son Julian pack all of their furniture into a rented truck. You’d been happy to help with some of the smaller things- wrapping dishes and picture frames in newsprint, folding and packing clothing into boxes-  when the man, who you’d learned had been Cowboy’s cousin, had called Ryan the previous week to see if he could lend him a hand with their move. The timing and distance had worked out perfectly, as it almost always seemed to for Ryan, the trip lining up with your plans to return to New Jersey for the remainder of the summer. You would have gone out of your way to help Nate and Julian though, Ryan. You’d seen him change a tire in a grocery store parking lot for a visually stressed single mom, and you’d been there when he volunteered to carry a stack of two by fours out of a hardware store for an older gentleman who had been struggling. He didn’t have a lot to offer, but he always offered up all he had if it could help someone. You knew by now what kind of man he was, and it was another of the countless reasons that made falling in love with Ryan Brenner so simple and unavoidable; his capacity for kindness and his inability to turn a blind eye to anyone that could benefit from his help, especially if they meant something to him. And Cowboy’s family is his family. 

He would have even offered to help with the driving- Nate and Julian were moving clean across the country to a suburb of Phoenix, and Julian didn’t have his license yet. “That’s a lotta driving for one person,” he’d told you on the phone as he made his way out of Morehead. “I’d help him out but I’ve got somewhere to be.” You had smiled then, some of your anxious nerves melting as you heard his smile through the speaker. “Somewhere important.” 

It is important. And overdue. So long overdue. Tomorrow’s date had been blocked off on both of your mental calendars for several weeks, though it had been a recurring blip on the edges of your emotional radar for far longer. You knew that it was as important to Ryan that he be there with you as it was to you to have his support. Shy of a natural disaster, you knew that he wouldn’t let anything get in the way of being by your side when you finally reunited with your brother after several years of estrangement. You hadn’t seen or spoken to him since your mother’s passing and your subsequent departure from his and your father’s lives. When you’d come back home to the Garden State last summer to see your father again, Eli hadn’t been ready to reconcile with you, stating that he needed more time to wrap his head around you suddenly becoming a fixture in his life again. And his daughter’s life.  

“Because you’re not a fixture,” he’d told you. You could hear sadness layered beneath the anger in his voice as you cried silently on the other end of the phone this time last year. “You’re here today and gone tomorrow and I can’t…” he sighed then. “Natalie’s mom-” 

“Carolyn?” You interjected the woman’s name, desperately trying to partake in the conversation. But the second her name was out of your mouth you swore at yourself for interrupting him. You’d known that you had a niece only because your father had told you, but he hadn’t shared who the girl’s mother was and it just dawned on you that Carolyn was the only  one of Eli’s girlfriends’ names that you could remember. And they dated right after highschool. It’s not her, just shut up and let him talk.

“What? No, Carolyn?” He scoffed. “You really have been out of the loop, haven’t you?” Ouch. Yeah, Eli, I have. It was warranted, the venom in his tone, and you’d expected it. But it still hurt and you’d flinched as he spoke, Ryan close by, shooting comforting, sympathetic glances at you as the phone call continued. “No. Nat’s mom- you don’t know her- her name is Kate, but that doesn’t matter because…” he sighed again, and the acidic burn you felt in your heart spread at the exhaustion and loneliness in his next words. “She’s gone.” He sniffed. Oh, Eli...I’m so sorry.  You’d closed your eyes then, tears slipping from beneath your lids. “Packed up, picked up and left. Left me, left Nat… she left. She left the night before Natalie’s fourth birthday. Didn’t say where, just… just that she couldn’t do it anymore.” You didn’t know what to say, or if you should say anything at all, so you waited for him to continue, nodding to Ryan when he mouthed the question you okay? “You know, I get it if she didn’t...y’know, if she didn’t love me anymore. If she didn’t want...if she couldn’t do us anymore. But Natalie? She’s… she’s old enough to remember her. Old enough to ask questions. And I…” 

You understood. It stung, like salty sea water lapping against the small scratches on your legs and arms that you used to get from tumbling in the waves as they crashed onto the shore, shards of shells, stone and gritty sand scraping at your sunburned skin. But you understood. “You can’t have anyone else leave her.” Or you. “I get it, Eli. I do.” You had tried your hardest to keep your voice from cracking, but it fell apart on his name. I’m supposed to be his big sister. I’m supposed to be there for him. I did this. “Take your time, Eli. Take however long you need. Whenever you’re ready I...I want to try to make things right. And I want to…” You fought the thickness in your throat as Ryan came to sit beside you, finding your empty hand and pulling it into his lap. You looked down at your fingers as his laced between them, strong and sure. “I want to meet Natalie.” 

The conversation had ended with both of you agreeing to talk over the phone on a semi regular basis, taking the small steps necessary towards making the progress that you both wanted. He’d told you that he missed his sister, and your heart had caved and folded in on itself at that. Once you’d gotten off the phone, Ryan took you into his arms and let you cry wordlessly against his chest for as long as it took for your tears to run dry. “S’okay, Junebug.” He spoke softly, lips lost in your hair, the fine strands getting caught in his beard. Hands running up and down your back and over your side, he calmed your sobs until your lungs found rhythm again. “S’alright, he just needs some more time.” You slid your hand over his shoulder, curving it around the back of his neck as you tucked your face more tightly into him. “It’ll be okay, I promise.”

That had been almost exactly 365 days ago, and for the most part it had been alright. You’d kept up your relationship with your father, and you had made tremendous progress in rebuilding things with Eli. He’d even sent you pictures and videos of your niece. One in particular had made you glow with a warm, hopeful happiness, a very different set of tears glistening on your cheeks as you showed Ryan the video of Nat singing and pretending to play guitar. The song was one that you and Ryan had recorded together the caption on the message reading She takes after her Aunt Junebug. 

But now that just a mere 24 hours separated you from your reunion, you were starting to feel that uneasy swimming feeling in your stomach, a tight clenching feeling in your chest and throat. You’d absently reverted to your nervous compulsion, picking the skin on your thumbs raw as you sat on the porch of your father’s house, waiting for Ryan to get back to you. Now that he was, you felt a little better, a little more ready to face Eli and take the next step in getting your brother back. It was only four days but damn did I miss him. You’d practically launched yourself at him as he came up the walkway, the pinkish light of the yawning sun overtaking the yard and painting purplish shadows on the siding of the house and the rundown detached garage and Ryan’s cheeks. 

He pressed his lips to your peeling skin again. “This because’a tomorrow?” He dropped your hand and brought both of his to frame your face. You closed your eyes as his fingers combed a few wild curls back, the tips skating over your temples, and inhaled a slow breath through your nose. Sunscreen, smoke, salt. You nodded and he leaned in to kiss your cheek. He always smelled of wherever he’d been, whether he’d been gone a day or a week or longer. His beard raked over your skin as he brought his lips to your ear, and you took another breath. Coffee, fabric softener… you felt a flutter in your chest as you caught the scent of the lavender soap you’d taken from the last motel you’d slept in. He always smells like home, too. A warm current swept around your heart as he pulled away from your face, and even though your mind was still hung with clouds of anxious doubt, you could feel him cutting through like sunshine clearing the skies after a storm. 

“I’m nervous, Ryan.” You shrugged. What else is there to say? “I just…” you sighed. “I’m…” 

“I know.” He ran his hands up and down your arms, his thumbs tracing the thin skin on the underside of your forearms. It soothed you almost instantly, and you knew that he knew it would. “I know you’re nervous. I know this means a lot to you.” He did. He knew the guilt that you carried for leaving Eli to deal with the loss of your mother. He knew the pain you felt for the last year knowing that your brother wasn;t ready to meet with you, that he didn’t trust you not to cut and run again. Giving a light squeeze to your biceps, he locked his soft brown eyes on yours. “It’s gonna be okay, Bug. He wants to see you as much as you wanna see him. You know that, right?” It was true, you knew that Eli was looking forward to seeing you again. You knew it meant a lot to your father to have his children back together. You knew how much you all wanted to be a family again. 

You knew that none of it would be happening without Ryan, and you knew that with him, it would be okay It would all be okay in time. “Yeah, Ry, I know. C’mon, let’s go inside. You can get cleaned up and…” You started to turn back towards the house, but swiveled to face him again. “Welcome home, Ry.”

He grinned and tugged you back into his body. “Good to be home.”

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.

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@something-tofightfor​ @its-my-little-dumpster-fire​ @suchatinyinfinity​ @lexxierave​ @thesumofmychoices​ @songtoyou​ @traeumerinwitzhelden​ @gollyderek​ @obscurilicious​ @malionnes​ @with1love1anu​ @beautifuldesastre​​ @luminex3​​ @pheedraws​ @alraedesigns​

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[flagellant]

a deer-headed and cloven-hooved man walks through my door he says nothing but carries constellations strung between his antlers like spiderwebs strung with morning dew i collect the starlight and distill it into his preferred form of ichor he comes each dawn just after the stars are chased away he says nothing but i know him as one of the many horned gods

he is older than i am and i am older than many there is a hierarchy here it is strange but i am not unused to it

he sits and watches the mortals who pass through and waits for one to acknowledge him but my rules are clear and my enchantments are firm they are protected they are not quarry for his wild hunts this is a liminal space where everyone but the neutral angels are free to come and go as they please in safety

[twoskies13]

🌱Hidden vine To hold my kind A ring of light Strung on silk tight The dew in Yew makes my view darker through And though my heart Strings and Sings This tangled cage fails to ring Ring, the bell inside me~🌱 . . . . . #poetry #poem #originalpoem #naturelovers #nature #naturephotography #poetryofinstagram #spiderweb #dewonspiderweb #beanstalk #vines #oregon #oregonian (at Eugene, Oregon)

[rocascearcall]

Meditation on a Spider’s Web

This morning, when practicing nature stillness, I noticed a spiderweb that I then used for my focal meditation. The web sat high, strung between the limbs of two separate trees. In the middle was an elaborate, circular pattern where the spider rested. I could only see the web from certain angles in the morning light, thanks to a light touch of morning dew that made it shimmer like crystals.

Insects buzzed around my head as I thought about the way that the web kept the insects in check, as the spider played its part in the natural harmony of nature. 

The web served many purposes. It was a trap, and therefore a source of food. The insects who fly in to that trap become a part of the web itself, stored in small bundles for the spider’s nourishment. But the web was more than a source of food. It was the spider’s home, a resting place in the summer sun. The spider is aware of all vibrations along every strand of the web. It knows its importance, but also its impermanence.

The web is strong enough to hold dew drops the size of the spider, yet fragile enough that I walk through at least a couple of these invisible traps each morning, feeling sorry that I have destroyed the product of the spider’s work. And what a feat of work it must be. To string such a web between the tallest limbs of two trees, the spider must have floated in the evening wind, climbing through limb and leaf--a high-wire act to be appreciated.

But a web is more than a home and a trap, it is a thing of aesthetic beauty, intricately spiraling towards a center. Though it appears circular, I know that the individual strands are straight lines, arranged in such tight, precise segments to produce the illusion of circularity. Like the veins of a leaf, the a spiders web seems to invoke a sense of sacred geometry, as if humanity could learn from its small angles and its focus and precision. 

Perhaps that was the lesson of his meditation, to always be aware of the aesthetic properties of the smallest things, whether it be your home or work, and like the spider, to be aware of the vibrations around you, and the opportunities that they present.

[elleleuthold]

Caffeine Challenge #6

For @caffeinewitchcraft​‘s second challenge today! Wow, I have not written this much in ages, I love these things (though second person is hard, guys, I can’t believe I now have two stories in it). Another WIP. I loved the song, especially.

Song: Boy Epic - Scars http://listenonrepeat.com/watch/?v=RCRXobvs9_I#Boy_Epic_-_Scars_(SUICIDE_SQUAD)

First line: You sign the contract in crayon and pray that you haven’t already made a mess of things.

You sign the contract in crayon and pray that you haven’t already made a mess of things.

Not that prayer is terribly useful at this point. Your mother always told you human gods had no power under the hill.

The pixie across the table grins, her teeth as white as sugar cubes, her lips as green as clover.

“Thank you for your contribution,” she says. Her voice resonates through your torso, probing for deceptions. You smile back. Your mouth is only human.

“A small price,” you say, and the fey lilt to your words sings bright and clear, weaving trust and loyalty in the air around you. “I’ve always wanted to learn more about my heritage. Maybe you could give me a tour?”

The pixie hesitates. It’s clear she wasn’t expecting this, wasn’t expecting you, for all that your contract prints the truth quite clearly: Halfbreed, right at the top, next to that word they think is your name.

“New arrivals go to the dining hall,” she says, prevaricating, and you draw a spiral on your knee, pull the loop of your words closed. The doubt clears from her expression. “But I suppose that’s for full humans,” she relents.

“Thank you,” you say. “I’m sure I couldn’t hope for a more beautiful guide.” The pixie preens, spreading her butterfly wings wide. It’s nice to know your father’s advice was also true: even among the fey, flattery can serve you well.

“We’ll have to attach your contract first, of course,” the pixie says. She taps the paper three times and it folds over itself, over and over, until it’s a long, flat band. She taps it again and it wraps around your wrist, winding up your forearm and cinching down just tight enough to be felt.

Even with the folding, you can still read parts of it: the task, the pledge, the consequence. Your scribble of a signature stands out, curved over your wrist in waxy purple.

It’s a simple thing, you remind yourself. Just a short favor. You were very specific in the wording. If everything else falls through, you can just complete it. You won’t be here forever.

You swallow back your doubts, force another smile and hold out your arm.

“Shall we?” you ask, letting mischief color the words.

The pixie laughs, a chime of silver bells, and grabs you by the hand.

“Oh,” she says,” You’re going to be fun.”

* *

The tour is breathtaking, and only partially because the pixie has a very different idea of normal movement speeds than you do. She jumps down stairs made of mushrooms and pine branches and whips you around corners crowded tight with gnarled tree roots.  It’s a dizzying journey, not half because your eyes are giving you two different accounts of each new location. The human view is all gold and silver, precious jewels and rare woods polished to a glimmering shine, but your fey eye tells you no: the corners are the same, the general shape of the rooms, but there are no riches here. The glimmer is glow worms reflecting of beetles, the shine is spiderwebs strung with dew, the precious jewels are delicate flowers and shimmer-painted faerie faces, staring back at you.

The pixie doesn’t notice your discomfort, of if she does, she doesn’t care. Her voice batters at you, half informative, half stories about the faeries you pass. You can’t follow the words, concepts dropping into your brain like wet lumps of dough: the whistle you need to ride the vines over a jagged hole in the floor; the sneers of a passing group of gatherers, and a memory of seeing them covered in fishguts after a prank; the forbidding, awe-inspiring majesty of the Queen, seeping into ever crack and wafting from every blooming flower. You sincerely hope you can get out without ever having to meet her.

The clock is ticking. Even this deep underground, you can feel the pull of the moon and the tides in your heart, a timepiece even the hill can’t block. Only a few weeks left till All Hallows Eve, and the world spins faster here. You can’t afford to wait.

“What about other people like me,” you ask. “Are there any others?”

The pixie frowns, a wrinkle between her brows and irritation in the flick of her wings. You’ve interrupted her. You’re not following her script.

“We don’t keep track of things like that,” she says. “Why should we? It doesn’t matter to us what changelings do.”

“Humans then,” you amend. “Do they all have contracts, or do some just wander in, like the stories?”

Verity doesn’t have one, you know. You’ve warned her too many times, she knows not to sign anything, especially here. But you’re not sure which is a worse alternative: that she chose the hill over you, that she chose to pay the tithe willingly, or that she’s been trapped here, waiting for flames that lick closer with every passing moment.

The pixie hesitates again, and you want to shake her, want to grab her wings and wrench them back and make her tell you. You keep your hands to yourself and smile, smile, smile, nothing but simple curiosity on your breath.  Haste will only get you both killed.

[jixiani]

here be goblins

It seems like everyone I know is having a hard time lately. I had mentioned the other day that I was ready to fuck off into the woods to become a bog witch and devour my enemies. I waver between that and wanting to glide through the foggy moors in a dark silk dress, luring hapless travelers into the night or warning them off with wailing. I am equal parts exhaustion, grief, frustration, and rage. I don’t want to be human anymore. I want to be some sort of cryptid, a fierce legend people tell their children about to keep them out of the woods (however also the sort that would definitely see them safely home to their fields should they get lost in my woods. Probably with a newly knit scarf and some muffins.) I want to simultaneously unhinge my jaw to literally bite the heads off of people who wrong me, and help protect the little frogs and salamanders I find while wandering through the woods. I want to build a nest out of sticks and branches, decorate it with bits and baubles, marbles and sea glass and beads strung together on scraps of wool yarn and ribbon, hung around the inside of my giant facsimile of a weaver bird’s nest.   A secret place to hide from the world with my collections of buttons and bottles, the floor carpeted with blankets and pillows. I want to wander the woods, climb stone fences, collect mushrooms and berries, lay in the ferns and listen to bird song and streams. I want dew draped spiderwebs and moss so thick you sink into it. I want mud and the smell of leaves after rain, sticks in my hair and random treasures stuffed into my pockets. I want claws and sharp teeth and bright eyes. I want to climb to the top of a tree and screech at anyone who comes near unless they appease me with some trinket or treat. I want to lurk through the mists at twilight in a tattered gown and antlers that may or may not be mine. I want to sleep for years, awakening to stalk the lands, remind the world that I exist, gather the lost and broken to me and burrow back into the warmth and quiet and dark where we will be safe and content.  I used to want to be a hobbit, but I don’t think I can be warm and inviting right now. Winter is a cold and unforgiving season even if it’s been a mild one. The world is barren and brittle and ruled by the night. It’s a season for goblins and the darker fey creatures.

[unmirror]

Metallic Spiderwebs & the City

Metallic Spiderwebs & the City

Metallic Spiderwebs & the City

The landscape of my youth is a spiders’ web of gardens; Strung between thin and creaky train lines, laced like Metal string across this city.

At the end of each string hangs a dew drop of hidden stone Or wood. Encrusted in pillowy moss, yawning from the regular Cavities of brick work. Sunken in swirling courtyards or Fenced in sprawling lawns. Enamoured of swaying…