#farm stand gourds

[pumpkinbeancafe]

Only if life and death can find that perfect soul mate for us all?

[imagine-darksiders]

Me waking up in a cold sweat:

Would the horsemen enjoy carving pumpkins?

[Me going to sleep in a hot sweat]

oh my god.

Strife would be so so SO keen to play this strange but fun human game of 'mutilate a gourd until it looks scary.' He hounds you for ages until you agree to take him to a pumpkin-picking farm, and there he proceeds to get WAY too many pumpkins [all of which you have to pay for, despite Strife trying to intimidate the clerk into giving them to you for free] You think he's showing off by carrying as many as possible but you don't call him out on it. He makes an absolute mess of your kitchen, and when he's finished, he's immensely proud of the absolute dogsh!t pumpkin he's carved. It earns pride of place on the windowsill. Teenagers laugh at it when they pass by.

Fury would initially scoff and roll her eyes at the childishness of the act... However, once she sees you 'gutting' the pumpkin, literally scooping out its innards and gouging holes for eyes with a look of glee on your face, she wonders if that's as satisfying as it looks. It is. You tell her if she makes her pumpkin scary enough, it'll frighten the local children, and suddenly, she's all in.

War wouldn't be impressed. It seems a waste of perfectly good food to him. Those pumpkins aren't scary. He's seen scarier things just last week. You tell him carving pumpkins is usually just meant to be a bit of fun, but he's a practical Horseman who wouldn't know fun if it punched him in the nose. You then try to explain the practical/superstitious purpose of carving a scary Jack o'lantern to scare away evil spirits on Halloween. War instantly becomes offended, thinking you've just admitted that you'd trust a gourd to protect you when he is standing right here.

Death supposes, if he squints, he can see the appeal of trying to carve something artistic from the flesh of a large, round fruit. However, he's largely content to sit back and watch you get your own hands sticky and messy at first, but what he doesn't realise is that Fury told you how much of a craftsman her eldest brother truly is. You set his own pumpkin in front of him, alongside a knife and say 'What? Are you intimidated by a blank canvas?' Death knows good and well what you're doing.... Alright then, human. If you want a scary pumpkin to frighten away your 'evil spirits,' then he's about to carve something that would make Satan himself run for the hills.

[neon-kazoo]

Hero and Villain Go to a Pumpkin Patch

Hero gazed out into the countryside through the open top of the trailer. As Yelp had promised, there were gourds galore spread out over the many fields and rolling hills. The tractor pulling them steadily chugged along, filling the air with engine noises and a slight gas smell that had Villain plugging their ears and wrinkling their nose.

Naturally, they were both on a hay ride, on their way to a pumpkin farm, as enemies often are at the start of this season.

“Why is there so much hay!” Villain grumbled, tossing some into the air in frustration as they pulled at the pieces that were stuck to them.

Hero mercifully decided not to mention that that was the whole idea of a hay ride, instead pointing out, “You’re the one that insisted on wearing a cape to a farm.”

“For the last time, it’s a cloak,” Villain stressed, rising up slightly to attempt to shake off the pesky straw velcroing itself to their attire.

“Nice try, you don’t have a hood.”

Hero tugged Villain off their knees, lest they get in trouble for standing up

The rest of the ride included Villain unsuccessfully shifting and picking at their clothes while Hero, quite helpfully, made sure some pieces landed in the other’s hair before they departed the trailer.

After that, it was a quick bee-line to the collection of squash and pumpkins laid out on a lot of colored wood chips. Hero insisted on a picture, plopping down on a large and plump orange pumpkin to pose in front of the villain.

“I thought heroes don’t break rules?” Villain asked, smirking.

Hero defended automatically, “I’m not breaking any-”

Villain pointed to one of the clearly displayed signs reading “no sitting on pumpkins” in large red print.

“Oh.”

Villain snapped a picture just in time to capture the pumpkin collapsing into a heap of seeds and chunks beneath Hero.

…

“I still can’t believe that pumpkin cost 300 dollars.”

“Well, you wouldn’t have had to find out if you didn’t destroy it.”

Hero’s mouth formed a line as they pointedly looked away from the all-too amused criminal.

“Your face was priceless by the way,” they continued, much to the chagrin of their enemy.

Hero cut a glare that would make any villain proud.

“There’s a place for a better photo,” Villain consoled, pointing towards a board with the painted bodies of a farmer family, immediately regretting it when they clocked the expression on the Hero’s face.

After handing their camera off to a random patron, Hero and Villain found themselves at the back of the board. Hero immediately headed for the tallest hole, rising up onto their tiptoes to be seen from the front. When they realized Villain wasn’t stepping forward, they directed them to the lowest hole.

“That one will work,” they gestured, before returning to face the camera.

Reluctantly, Villain kneeled down in place for the photo.

When they got it back, Hero’s smiling face was plastered on that of a flannel-clad man with a pitchfork, holding his faceless family close in a field of hard-earned pumpkins. And Villain, with their face filling the hole of the dog at the bottom.

Relentlessly, Hero skipped towards a building with a line winding around to a small serving window.

Following, Villain scanned the sign and gaped.

Hero turned to them, eyes sparkling as they requested, “I’d like an apple cider, please!”

“I am not paying 30 dollars for inferior apple juice.”

Villain crossed their arms.

“It’s not juice, it’s cider. Come on, have some fall spirit.”

Villain did not have any fall spirit, however they did now have a lighter wallet, a happier hero, and a hot chocolate for themselves.

They sipped slowly, watching steam curl and unfurl into the air above their novelty mug.

“I can’t understand why you like this season so much. It’s far too cold.”

“It’s all in the leaves, Villain,” Hero replied.

“The leaves. They’re…crunchy.”

“They’re beautiful.”

Hero tilted their head back, gazing up at the red, orange, yellow, and brown canopy. Villain followed their lead, watching the light stream through the gaps of the balding branches with the slightest sense of wonder. The wind picked up, and it was like the trees were sparkling. Rich colors rained down as the gust blew through.

Totally not beautiful at all.

The nemeses next found themselves at a table with a medium size pumpkin sitting in front of each of them. They had both been entrusted with a small array of carving tools, which they made quick use of cutting into the vegetable and scooping out seeds and guts.

Sufficiently covered in the remains of mutilated gourds, Hero glanced over from where they were carefully scraping at their logo carved into the side of their designated pumpkin. Their mouth fell open in horror at their enemy’s work.

Safe to say, Hero earned a blue ribbon, and Villain earned a lifetime ban from the carving contest.

The criminal and the crime fighter soon took to wandering the perimeter of the farm, following the fencing in front of the surrounding deciduous trees.

The wind blew and Villain rubbed at their arms and pulled their cape tighter around themselves.

“It’s too cold to be outside,” they complained, causing Hero’s head to whip towards them.

“Since when are you such a wimp? If you’re cold, just say so,” Hero challenged.

“Ok, I’m cold.”

“I have just the thing,” Hero replied cheerfully, reaching into their concerningly-large pocket and pulling out some knitted material.

“What…are those.”

“Mittens.”

“No. That,” Villain pointed to the woolen blob on top with an accusatory finger, “is an abomination.”

“It’s. A. Mitten.”

Hero spread out the knitted hand-warmers before them. Villain thought they were more likely to be mistaken for a failed crochet project.

“…why are there only three.”

A grin spread cheesily across the Hero’s face, a glint of mischief in their eyes.

“Couple gloves!”

Slow, painful realization overcame the Villain.

“No. Absolutely not. I am not holding your hand.”

“I thought you said you were cold?” Hero tilted their head, asking with seriousness, “Would you rather have your fingers fall off?”

That, in Villain’s opinion, was a gross exaggeration of the current temperature of their hands.

They did, however, relent when they realized how terrible it was to have an imbalance between their hands, one wrapped in wool and the other exposed to the cutting wind. Better to look dumb then waste a valuable asset like the feeling in their fingers, Villain rationalized.

Hero let them keep pretending that was the real reason their fingers stayed intertwined until it was time to go home.

———

A lot of these ideas are included in @thepenultimateword ’s Flufftober challenge. I started writing this before the challenge was posted, but it deserves some recognition, go check it out!

[chrisevansonly]

𝑷𝒖𝒎𝒑𝒌𝒊𝒏 𝑪𝒐𝒏𝒏𝒐𝒊𝒔𝒔𝒆𝒖𝒓 | 𝒎𝒂𝒙 𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒆𝒏

☁︎max verstappen x female reader

☁︎you know just how to select the perfect pumpkin, and it’s time your boyfriend learns how as well…

☁︎no warnings, very cute fall fluff!

☁︎my third fall celebration fic! thank you guys for reading and enjoying! it means the world to me!

October was the season for pumpkins, growing up you cherished the time you’d visit local farms and spend the days picking the best pumpkins for your house to decorate for the fall season. It wasn’t until you’d met your boyfriend Max that you realized there really weren’t any places to go pumpkin picking in Monaco. The city itself was filled with luxury in every aspect, which was beautiful but you missed your pumpkins and the fun of picking them in the fall.

“Babe you busy?”

Hearing Max’s voice grow closer to where you sat in the living room you smiled

“No, is everything okay?”

“Mhm just need you to back a little bag”

You looked at him confused, placing a bookmark between the pages of your novel and getting to your feet

“Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise you’ll see.”

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, laughing at the skeptical look on your face before he watched you disappear upstairs, returning after a few minutes with a little bag packed.

“Do I get a hint at least?”

“We’re flying to Munich, that’s all you need to know”

Before you could get another word in he was taking your hand and ushering you outside and towards the car, a smile on his face while you were dying to know just what he was planning.

Max loved the element of surprise.

-

“Can I look now?”

“One second”

“Max….”

His hands came up and untied the blindfold you had on, when your eyes adjusted to the light around you, the sight in front of you brought a smile to your face.

“You-what…? Max you brought me to a pumpkin patch?”

He nodded taking your hand as you began to walk towards the pumpkins

“I know how much you love fall and Monaco isn’t the most fall place for pumpkin picking so I just thought why not”

“You remembered…”

You paused looking up at him as he smiled, placing a gently kiss on your lips

“Of course I did baby”

Pulling him into a bone crushing hug, you couldn’t help the warmth that had spread through your heart at this surprise, to someone else it may have meant nothing, but to you it meant everything.

“So how about you show me how it’s done miss pumpkin connoisseur?”

If Max could replay the sound of your laughter on repeat he would, it was his favourite sound in the world. Watching as your eyes lit up before taking him throughout the rows of pumpkins, all which varied in size and colour, seeing you this happy was worth everything to him.

“Are you listening my love?”

Max hums, snapping himself out of his thoughts to see you standing there with a cart, a pumpkin already sat nicely within it.

“Sorry, what did you say?”

“I was saying, these are the perfect pumpkin, if they stay sitting when you place them down, the bottoms are flat, these are easiest for carving!”

He nods

“Then we have these ones-”

Pointing to a group of smaller almost gourd looking ones you looked back towards him

“These are more like gourds, so you can decorate your table with them, or make little crafts with them, I used to turn them into turkeys with my family”

Max couldn’t wipe the smile from his face as he watched you so vibrantly explain everything you knew about them. He remained by your side, pulling the cart along as you filled it with pumpkins of all shapes, sizes and colours, making sure to tell little facts about each one.

“Alright, I think we have enough…”

You checked over the cart once more frowning slightly at the amount you’d chosen

“What’s wrong baby?”

“I think I chose to many…”

Max took your chin in his grip softly, tilting your face up so you were looking at him, a smile on his face noticing the hesitation in your eyes

“You can never have too many pumpkins y/n, I brought you here for a reason, I think you chose the perfect amount”

“Really?”

Pressing a kiss to your lips he was quick to answer your question

“Really.”

There was quite literally nothing that could wipe the smile off your face as you took your pumpkins and paid for them, loading them into your rental car and knowing they were coming home with you. Never in a million years would you have thought Max would remember that little joy of yours from growing up, and today he exceeded your expectations, only making you fall more in love with the man who held your heart so gently.

“Thank you for my pumpkins honey…I love them so much..but I do love you more”

Max smiled taking your hand in his as he brings it to his lips to kiss your knuckles

“You’re welcome, I’d do anything for you, including spend a whole day at a pumpkin patch in Germany, if it means seeing that smile of yours”

You leaned over to kiss his cheek as you settled into the passenger seat as he pulled away from the fields of pumpkins

“I love you you just as much baby, I cant wait to see what you do with all of these”

Max was a little scared to see just how many pumpkins you’d picked, and what you were planning to do with them, but he would be more than willing to help you with whatever you’d started to envision.

He was dating a pumpkin connoisseur, it was in his boyfriend job description.

[afyrian]

fears and pumpkin spheres kageyama tobio x gn!reader (angst) m.list | wc: 633 | halloween event: day three

    pumpkins are littered throughout a large farm, small and medium intertwined by the stems. a few gourds have their own strips of areas, warted and unique colors splotched around. walking up and down the aisles, the long wait time starts to get to kageyama. walking behind you, his hands rest on his hips, lips falling into a simple line. 

  "okay, so i just can't pick between a smaller size and one that's bigger, for a jack-o'-lantern, you know?" you ask, grabbing a hold of a smaller pumpkin, holding it in your palm, "the bigger one would be more suitable for an actual jack-o'-lantern, but the smaller one-"

  looking back at kageyama, you can see the sour look on his face. your sentence falls flat when your gaze stays stuck on his. "what?" you ask, standing up with the miniature pumpkin still resting in your hand.

  "nothing," kageyama shrugs, his mind clearly somewhere else, likely a big volleyball-shaped stamp placed perfectly on the front of his brain.

  leaning down, you set down the pumpkin, your nostrils flaring. straightening back up, you shake your head. a part of you always knew that this would happen. that no matter what you did with kageyama, there'd always be a bigger force in his life. one that would surpass just weekly practices and games on the weekends. 

  yet, you figured that that time wouldn't come so soon. that you could keep his attention just long enough that the two of you create a deeper bond. "no, no. why do you come to these things if you never actually care about it? if you're just going to ignore me," your hands brush against his old sweatshirt your wearing.

  "i don't know what you're talking about," his voice is the same tone he always has, no anger, no fear, just straight to the point. 

  clenching your jaw, your hands rest on your hips. you can feel your eyes get misty. the feeling light and drifting away from you. "don't do this, tobio. i try to go on dates with you, i come to your games, i clean the dishes, i give you everything i know to. so why is it that every time we try to do something do you have to ruin it?" you question, gaze trying to stay focused on him.

  “i’m not ruining everything. you’re just misreading my expressions,” kageyama shrugs, eyebrows furrowing in the most annoying-unaware-of-your-feelings-way possible.

  “‘misreading your expressions’? what are you talking about? every time we go out anymore, you act like i’m not even there! sometimes i’d just like my boyfriend to act like a boyfriend. like he actually gives a shit about me,” you bring your hands up to your face, pushing back your hair before resting them on the back of your neck.

  kageyama, finally feeling the actual severity of the situation, brings his hands up to yours. looking into your eyes, he tries to give you a smile, only coming off as more annoying to you. just looking at him smile churned your stomach in the worst way possible. “i do care, i do. i’m just busy, i have a lot on my mind,” he bargains, watching as you push his hands away.

  “shouldn’t your partner also occupy some of your mind? shouldn’t you be able to take a moment and just think about them? because i think about you. and if being together for nearly a year hasn’t brought us to the point of being happy, then no time will,” you take a step back, reaching down to grab ahold of one of the smaller pumpkins. 

  taking a few steps past him, you stop, looking back, “if you really want to explore this, you know where to find me.”

taglist (open): @eggyrocks @causenessus @applepi25 @softpia @bakery-anon

@bae-ashlynn @puffychu6781

[ratsoh-writes]

A furby-lile monster

Hey y’all! Meet two new monster types! The furrbee and the witchcap!

Furrrbee

The furrrbee is a medium-large monster. These monsters have long furred caterpillar like bodies. They have between 6-12 nub legs depending on how large the monster is. Their torsos have a standard pair of furred arms. The furrrbee has no visible neck, their head seemingly comes straight up from the shoulders. They all have a light heart shape in their face and often lighter fur in the underbelly. Fur colors are known to be every color of the rainbow. Their magic color is demonstrated in the eyes, eyebrows and nostrils on their beaks

These monsters teeter between the large and medium classes. Furrrbees naturally stand with their torso upright. In this position they can be between 5’5-8 feet making them incredibly diverse in size

Furrrbee monsters are slow creatures, but they make up in their lack of speed with an incredible healing factor. These monsters are experts at internal healing and can stitch up wounds on themselves in moments if they’re properly fed! These monsters often have pheromone or poison magic affinities as well

Because of their hardiness, it’s common seeing these monsters working jobs that have high injury risks like welders, linemen or construction workers. They tend to be rather calm by nature as well, but never never ever get between a furrbee and their meal. These monsters are incredibly possessive over their food!

The furrrbee is an older monster subspecies. Their origins are unknown and are considered to be one of the first subspecies along with the golems and goats.

Witchcaps

The witchcap is a medium sized monster standing between 4-6 feet. They are mushroom like monsters with round heads. Their bodies make up the majority of their height and take on gourd-like shapes ranging from perfect spheres, bottle shapes, apple shapes and even cube bodies. The legs are much shorter and the hands make a mitten shape instead of fingers.

Magic color is shown in the mushroom cap and eyes while the bodies are always some form of brown, tan or cream.

Like their appearance suggests, witchcaps have a fertility and plant magic affinity. They’re very common in farm AUs but the highest population of witchcaps come from grimmtale.

Witchcaps get their name from a large history of being connected to humans. This monster subspecies has one of the larger records of human-monster relations compared to most subspecies. Witchcap mages are rather common in the surface AUs, and it’s rare to see a witchcap monster without at least a human grandparent.

Grimmtale witchcaps differ from their other au counterparts by having spiked mushroom caps instead of spotted. And much thinner and angular looking faces with high cheekbones.

And of course the new babes!

Shane Fulano

Shane is a young adult furrrbee from theatretale! He stands at 6’8 and is aged 72. He has baby blue magic and peach pink fur!

Shane is a cool and sometimes grouchy character. While he doesn’t anger easily, he does get frustrated easily. He hates stupid people and can be quite dry when talking to new folk. With friends he’s playfully sarcastic and gentle. He adores animals however and can never resist baby talking them

Shane is a carpenter who originally worked making props for theatre sets, but has moved on to a growing shed business. He’s working under another monster known for their adorable gingerbread like shed designs. He likes his job.

He’s got a MASSIVE crush on Liv but thinks she’s way out of his league, plus he’s pretty sure she’s only into humans.

Things he loves: Liv, any animal but especially his 7 pet mice, woodworking, sew on patches, rugby, tragedies (plays), opera music

Monsters he knows: maple, moose, sans (the bat), papyrus, Liv

Liv puffball

Liv is a witchcap from baubletale aged 133. She stands at 5’1 and has a rusty red magic and spherical body shape.

Liv is a ray of sunshine! This sweetie just radiates joy wherever she goes. Liv is a passionate cheerful monster who always sees the world through rose colored lens. She can be a bit naive but has a pack of protective friends to steer her away from danger.

Liv got into real estate soon after the crash and is doing quite well for herself leasing out some warehouses to some businesses, one of which is papyrus’ escape rooms. On the side she likes to invest in small boutiques. She has no creative talent herself to make clothes so she likes to boost the people who can.

Things she loves: high heels, cute chunky belts, strawberry ice cream, dance pop, roller blading

Monsters she knows: papyrus, tinker, weave, sugar, Shane

[desertdollranch]

It has become an annual tradition for me to help Antonia put together her farmer's market booth, where she sells all of the fruits, vegetables, and homemade goods that her family's community farm has produced over the past year. Every year, the harvest brings more and more goods. But this autumn, she has outgrown the farmer's market, and is now selling at a roadside stand!

Antonia is ten years old in 1978, when she is inspired by the American Indian Movement to help establish a community farm on land her family owns. It's been a huge success. It has strengthened bonds between friends and neighbors as they all care for each other and make sure that nobody goes hungry.

Whatever is left over after everyone is fed, is then sold at the roadside stand. Antonia is also supplementing with a few special handmade extras that help bring in a little more money. The money will help pay for everything needed to help Snow Mountain Farm grow bigger and better.

Antonia is so proud of what the fields and orchards have grown.

Just look at the size of some of these pumpkins!

Under the cut, Antonia will give you an up-close look at what she's selling....

Everything seen here was either made by me, harvested from the wild, or purchased. (See if you can guess which ones were handmade/bought/gathered!)

The gourd and squash harvest was abundant this year. Antonia managed to coax the garden into producing a few giant pumpkins.

Lots of other fruits thrived as well!

Pears are new this year.

Beautiful pink plums are also new.

Apples are a returning favorite. There are three varieties this year: sweet yellow apples, tart green apples, and a red striped variety that has its own unique flavor.

In the front row are apples, plums, chiles, and pears. On the shelf there are fresh flowers and packaged seeds, various fruit jams, honey, apple cider, dried ground herbs, potted herb seedlings, packaged seeds, and bottles of apple cider.

Up on the shelf there are several varieties of jam: rose petal, peach, grape, prickly pear, and strawberry. Next to them is honey that the farm's bees made from the local wildflowers. The apple cider is made from apples grown in the farm's orchard.

One particular farmer is very gifted in the art of raising flowers. Here you can buy fresh cut flowers, or seedlings for your own garden.

Fruit and vegetable seedlings or seeds are also for sale.

On the checkout counter, Antonia is selling popcorn and apple cider donuts. Directly below the donuts are cartons of eggs, which include white, brown, and speckled eggs.

Below the checkout counter is the small shelf offering some smaller items. In the plastic bags are freshly made tamales, which are like dumplings of meat, veggies, beans, or cheese mixed with a corn dough and steamed inside corn husks. To the right are two wheels of goat's milk cheese. In the middle are skeins of yarn dyed with natural sources, like prickly pear fruits and cabbage leaves. Next to those are bars of soap, in sagebrush or rose petal scent. And on the right end of the shelf are bagged pine nuts, gathered from the wild.

Below that is more produce! On the left, colored corn. In the crates there are potatoes, cherries, strawberries, tomatoes, peaches, and cauliflower.

Antonia is especially proud of the fancy colored corn she has grown. It's fun to open the ears and see what colors the kernels are!

Next to that are giant sunflowers. Above that are the pretty gourds and squashes.

On the bench are some lovely watermelons. And surrounding those are even more pumpkins and squash!

These, too, emerged in all sorts of different colors and shapes. Antonia lets the different varieties cross pollinate, so that the appearances of the resulting pumpkins are a surprise.

Thanks for stopping by! Here, take a sunflower home with you!

[no-less-than-a-god]

Of Harvest, Of Celebration, and of Rest (part 2)

part 1 here

Before the sun had risen, the farm was nothing but stirred soil and ungrown seeds; now, it’s overflowing with gourds, vegetables, and fruits alike. The entire flock has taken to the field, marveling at the crops and watching the farmers, still in their ritual robes, take to their duties and pick as many plants as they can reach.

���Leaders!” a child shouts at the Lamb and Narinder. The Lamb turns, and watches a small border collie run up to them between two rows of pumpkins that almost swallow him in height. “Did you see it? Did you see the crops shoot up out of the soil? It was amazing! There was nothing, and then, BOOM-”

“Nic,” a voice calls from behind the child, and his jaw snaps shut with an audible click, a guilty look spreading across his face. “What did I just tell you?” It’s his mother that is scolding him, a gray wolf with a scarred muzzle. She stands among pumpkins, dressed in ritual robes, and holds one of the orange fruits in her arms. Beside her stands a second collie similarly dressed, holding half a dozen eggplants in one arm and two small children—a wolf pup, and a fox kit—in the other, both too young to walk around the overgrown farm without tripping.

Nic, the child follower, glances between his parents and little siblings before looking back to the Lamb and Narinder, and bows his head, clutching his small robe between equally small paws. “She told me to ‘not bother the Leaders while they work’…sorry.”

“You are forgiven, child,” the Lamb replies, and Nic looks back up, bright and starry-eyed. “I myself have not seen the crops sprouting as a result of the ritual, but I believe in earnest that it’s a sight to behold. Your excitement is not something to apologize for. Return to your parents, they are awaiting you.”

The pup spins around and runs back to his parents, joyously screaming incoherent barks the entire way.

“You wonder why the flock you tend to are so dependent upon you,” Narinder quietly comments as the child becomes out of earshot, “when you do not discipline them for even the simple matters, like speaking out of line.” His tail curls in amusement from behind him, and the Lamb huffs in their own show of humor.

“Hypocrisy is not a vice you should harbor as a leader,” is what the Lamb retorts back as they reach to the front of their cloak, unlatching it from beneath the thick collar around their neck; the bell attached to it jingles ever-so-slightly as it’s jostled, releasing a whispering chime into the dry air. They disrobe as they continue their remark, not bothering to turn back to Narinder, “Wasn’t it just the other week you coddled a follower, even after they stepped on your robe while exiting the Temple?”

“I still advised them to be more careful of their surroundings.” Narinder watches as the Lamb’s fleece is pulled off from them, revealing a toned back and arms to three red, observing eyes. His tail curled pleasurably. “Was that not discipline?”

The Lamb looks back, folding their cloak while doing so, eyes narrowing. “As there was no punishment or compensation, I’d say that wasn’t.”

“Shall I put the next robe-treader into the pillory, then?” Narinder follows the Lamb as they step towards a nearby chest to place their attire upon, a teasing and fanged grin speaking on his face from beneath his veil. “Would that suffice?”

The Lamb places their fleece on top of the chest and faces Narinder, crossing their muscular arms across their chest. They say nothing for a moment, just giving him a knowing, glittering look, before changing the topic. “Will you help the farmers with their harvest like I, or will you loiter like the others?”

The two begin to walk again, towards rows of cabbages and beetroot. “You misspeak, Lamb. Others are helping the farmers.”

“Then that means you will as well?”

“A respectful god must provide for their followers. Do you take me for such a pitiful thing?” 

Together, the two gods begin to pick vegetables with the rest of the flock, dislodging beetroot and cabbages from the soil and overgrowth for followers to come by and carry back later with carts and baskets. Some of the younger, more romantic followers ogle at the rare sight of the Lamb without a cloak, but look away quickly when catching the covered but still-intense glares Narinder sends over the Lamb’s shoulders.

“Your admirers are bold today,” Narinder muses, plucking a ripe beetroot from the soil. Dirt splays onto his white robes, but he pays it no mind. “They’re staring.”

“Let them,” the Lamb gently replies, raising a hand to brush wool away from their eyes with the back of their wrist. “Their looks aren’t causing harm.”

“But alas, they’re surely not working if they’re staring. I thought you wanted the harvesting to be completed before noon?”

“We’ll be alright, we have efficient workers.” The Lamb pauses, looking up and meeting Narinder’s eyes from under his veil. One of his ears twitch, uneasy, at the sudden eye contact. “Unless, that’s not the truthful reason for your discontent with the ones who stare.”

Narinder’s ears pitch back, and his tail begins to twitch at the tip. He says nothing, neither confirming nor denying the accusation made against him.

The Lamb doesn’t let the current conversation drop, a sharp smile slowly growing on their lips. “Is the one formally known among all as The One Who Waits, jealous?”

“I am not jealous of you, Vessel.” Narinder’s tail is thrashing, and he’s sneering. “I care naught for such-”

“Do not pretend to misunderstand me,” the Lamb interrupts, their smile growing almost sinister. “You know what I meant.”

Narinder squirms under the Lamb’s eyes, claws almost puncturing the beetroot in his hand. He wants to throw it to the ground and stalk off in offense, but he’s not a child.

“You imply I grow jealous of your own flock?” is Narinder’s jab back. “How cruel to accuse me of such. Tell me, what is it I am jealous of? Being made docile and dumb?”

The Lamb breaks their gaze, resuming to pull up the next vegetable in their row. They move to the next crop, and shift on their knees until they’re face-to-face with their fellow god of death.

“You are jealous,” they tease him, “that others can look upon me with such rapture without worrying of reputation or respect.”

“I wear a veil,” he jeers back. “If I so choose, I could look upon you however I wish, however long I please.”

“And yet you stare down our followers for doing the same.”

“Because they are being inefficient with their work.”

“Because you do not like them staring at what you deem yours alone.”

Red eyes squint into small crescent shapes as a fanged and dangerous smile breaks across Narinder’s face. It’s an expression that would send a normal follower to an early grave if the god had not a veil across his face hiding it, but it’s an expression that the Lamb themself takes pleasure in seeing.

“You are alone mine, Vessel,” he purrs, dark and deep. Possessive. “Lest you’ve forgotten?”

The Lamb’s gaze bores into Narinder’s. “I shall never forget, not once. I just felt the need to remind you, however.”

Narinder’s face drops slightly, growing confused. “Remind me?”

“Yes,” they reply, and turn back to the crops. “Because you have grown so jealous of others, you have forgotten your own importance to me, and that has made you as inefficient and lackluster at harvesting as the followers you’ve been glaring at.”

“I am no hypocrite, Lamb.”

“Then get back to work, and forget about them.”

Narinder growls, spits curses at both the Lamb and the flock, but does as he’s told, paying no more attention to the Lamb’s ogling admirers. 

He would have stormed off, agitated at the Lamb’s gall to scold him, but he stays; he hasn’t forgotten that his vessel is growing with fatigue, and that his help is needed.

Wordlessly, Narinder harvests the rest of the field with the Lamb and the rest of the flock with minimal complaint, not paying any mind to those he was glaring at before.

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

The harvest celebration began as something small, beginning the year the ritual first succeeded after four years of continuous hunger. The relief and joy of food was something to cause celebration for, and the followers had festivities for a week straight.

Devotion to the Lamb had skyrocketed during that time, and everyone was happy, so the Lamb allowed them their unofficial holiday.

Over time, as the ritual became a yearly necessity to manage the growing flock, the harvest celebration was passed down from older followers to new. It slowly shortened to a single day by the gentle but firm guidance of the Lamb, and the flowing of joy and festivities became more explosive to compensate.

There are dances, songs, all originating from cult members that have long since passed. Deriving from cultures of the past and combining, the melodies and shimmies are now something entirely unique to the cult, a culture of their own making, continuously evolving as these traditions are passed from one follower to the next.

The preparations, however, have mostly stayed the same.

A structure is being built near the farm, a wide ring of stones and wood that will become a bonfire when the sun settles back into the horizon; wood is strung together with silk and twine into tables for an upcoming feast the cult’s chefs are hard at work preparing; decorative banners in autumn colors and other delights get scrounge up from the backs of storage units to haphazardly pin up around the compound. The followers are high-strung with energy, and are busy as bees.

But not all are preparing for the festivities. The farmers, among others, have been tasked with helping the Lamb in their own preparations. The cult currently has masses of food, but if they’re not stored quickly, they will all rot before winter. It’s their job to preserve the crops.

At first, the cult resulted in using salts, and then turned to pickling produce in barrels, the knowledge of these preservation tactics picked up from travelers the Lamb has met among docks and markets. Now, with the support of a chilling curse produced from Narinder’s claws, the overflow from the salt and pickling barrels are piled in a special storage hut, chilled on the inside with a powerful and icy curse. It’s not as efficient as the other methods, as the ice crystals that adhere to the crops makes them less flavorful and strange to cook, but it keeps them from rotting before they can be used in the following months.

“I will need you to check the healing bay,” the Lamb is instructing a small and stout raccoon, “You will need to tell me within the next day or two if you and your fellow healer are getting low on any supplies. Food may not be an issue this upcoming winter, but sickness is still a threat. It would be beneficial to make sure nothing runs out.”

“Yes, leader,” the raccoon replies, her small hands fidgeting in front of her chest. “Am I to be requested for anything else?”

“If time allows, it would also be optimal to begin checking the insulation in the shelters. If you fear you are not knowledgeable to gauge the condition of the shelters yourself, one of the woodcutters might know. If not, seek me out. I will not mind the intrusion.”

“Yes, leader!” The raccoon bows, gripping her robe anxiously in his hands, and she quickens off.

The Lamb continues directing: a red panda is tasked with asking his peers if they’ll have suitable clothes to warm themselves, and to advise the Lamb if more blankets or clothes will need to be provided. A red fox is asked to help a farmer, a cat with pale yellow fur, load picked crops onto carts to corral off to the kitchens and storage. A stag with a single antler is tasked to check with his daughter, a chef, to see if there is any restocking needed to be done in preparation for the upcoming cold.

By the time afternoon branches into evening, the rush of devising has settled into a calm flow of final touches, and a pause of breath can finally come to the Lamb as followers pile together around tables to enjoy the feast the chefs have worked hard on to make, using fresh fruits and vegetables from the morning’s harvest. They stand back, arms crossed from under their fleece, observing the work their followers have performed over the past day with a note of pride, and are able to take their first deep breath since after the ritual had ended.

Narinder finds his way to the Lamb’s side, a bowl clutched between his hands. He eyes the pumpkin and cauliflower soup calmly as his tail slowly curls around the back of the Lamb’s legs, and he takes an experimental sip of the food from under his veil.

“They’ve done well,” is what he says after a moment. “The soup is good.”

The Lamb smiles. “I’m glad to hear that.”

“Your flock’s festivities are always more exciteful after a famine,” Narinder notes, his third eye tracking the movement of a follower talking, their hands moving dramatically as they speak. “I still recall the one thrown after three years without harvest. Most of your followers ended up collapsing out in the fields instead of retiring to their beds that night. I can’t tell if those qualities are something I admire about them, or sneer at.”

“I admire it.”

Narinder’s tail wraps closer to the Lamb. “I inquire that you speak more. Allow me to listen to your reasoning, and let me judge the perspective you bring.”

“Lives are short, for our followers,” the Lamb begins, softly. “Even for those that reach elderhood, they too eventually will die. Such short lives. Do you think, then, that it would be better to focus on the delights, or the things that bring distress?

“They celebrate more after famines because they choose to focus their lives on savoring the better moments. And I have noticed, over time, that our followers who do so are more loyal, more happy. They are more satisfied with the lives we have paved for them, and as a leader it makes me happy.” The Lamb looks to Narinder. “That is why I admire their resolve to celebrate.”

Narinder brings the bowl in his hands up to his mouth. “I understand,” he replies, and consumes more of the soup that had been prepared for the feast. He looks back to the Lamb with all three of his eyes as his bowl lowers. “You have explained well, my Lamb, and I cannot lie and say that I don’t agree. You see their determination, their optimism, and let that in turn empower you. That is something that I cannot help but admire.”

“You’re beginning to stray from this conversation, Narinder.”

“Nay. Admiration is something of which this conversation is about.” He gives the Lamb a small, mischievous smile from under his veil. “It wasn’t specified that your flock was the only subject to be conversed about.” 

“Such a foul god.”

“If I’m so removed from divinity to reach the title of a foul being, then why tarnish your own godliness remaining by my side?” Narinder takes another drink of his soup, satisfied with his jab.

“Because my devotion for you has long since corrupted me.” The Lamb’s sudden, honest words cause Narinder to freeze in place, and he listens with sole attention as his equal continues. “My loyalty to you turned me from flesh to blade, and it will be something I will never grow to regret. Even if you truly fell from grace, becoming something so foul you tarnish whatever you touch, I would remain with you.”

Narinder swallows, ear twitching unconsciously. “You are vile.”

“I only speak the truth.” The Lamb is smiling at Narinder, and he turns away, suddenly finding focus in finishing his food and brushing the dirt from his robe. His tail remains around the Lamb, however.

There is silence between the two as the flock begins to finish their large meal. By the time most of the followers are done, the cult’s energy has been rejuvenated, and excitement builds as the last of the sun has set, where the bonfire is finally lit.

It’s the stag, the elder with a single antler, who begins to sing around the fire, one of the festival songs. He sings of growth and rest, of death and life, as others join in from around the fire. It’s not a neat performance, many voices ringing off-key or slightly behind, but there’s heart in it.

There are a few followers who have instruments, picked up along crusades or bought from markets, and they join into the song with their harmonies. Those of whom that don’t sing or play seek partners and begin to dance along to the unlaying beat of the music. The family of farmers, the one containing the child Nic, are trying to teach him and his younger siblings the dance as best they can; it’s not going well, but the attempts are bringing smiles and laughter.

“Leaders?” a cat approaches, her golden skull necklace catching in the light of the bonfire. “Are either of you planning to partake in the festivities? It would be suitable for a break after today’s hard work.”

The Lamb sighs with a small, tired smile, but stretches out a hand regardless for their follower to take. “Lead the way, Piper.”

Narinder watches as the Lamb is guided into the fray of celebration by the tortoiseshell. He is not one for dancing and singing, so it’s not expected among followers for him to join in. The Lamb, however tired they might be, does.

He lets two of his close as he lets himself be overcome by joyous sounds of laughter and song; his third eye remains on the Lamb, watching their fleece flow around them as they spin and dance among their followers. Narinder may not dance, but he does allow his tail to sway behind him in rhythm with the rest of the cult. 

He is part of them, after all.

At some point, the Lamb is stopped by two followers, a doe and a rabbit. They seem to exclaim something in jubilation to the Lamb, and they bow their head slightly to the two, saying something in return. The two followers, looking beyond ecstatic, turn to each other and embrace with a kiss.

Narinder is happy for the two, even though it’s not something he plans to admit aloud. It’s been many years since the cult has had a wedding. It would be nice to have one again, even despite the extra preparations it entails.

The music and dancing continue far into the night, and Narinder slowly moves around the fire, circling the flock. He has long gotten rid of his empty bowl, and now takes to observing the cult. When a cow begins to sway from exhaustion rather than from song, it’s Narinder that discretely steadies her, and directs her to the shelters for rest. When a bear appears to begin limping from overexertion, it’s Narinder that quietly interferes for him to sit, and then to rest.

The moon is high in the night and starry sky when the cult’s energy finally settles. The children and the elders are the first to leave, their energies depleting first. Then the exhausted farmers and chefs retire, and then the worshippers. The ones with laborious work are the last to return to their shelters, but they still leave before the morning is too early.

The Lamb and Narinder are the only two left when the bonfire is only embers, and one last bucket of water quells it into nothing but ash to clean away in the future sunlight.

Wordlessly, the two gods return to the Temple, and enter it one after the other. The Lamb leads them to a small set of stairs in the back of the Temple, hidden behind a thick curtain, they ascend to the small loft built in the rafters.

It’s not a big space: There’s a bed that takes up the majority of the room, a chest for the Lamb’s numerous fleeces, and a window stained red to look out of and upon the rest of the compound. But it’s enough.

The Lamb shrugs off their cloak, tossing it, and crawls into the bed, grabbing their half of the crown to sit it on the chest beside their bed. They get comfortable, throwing a thin blanket over their body, and they settle, exhausted.

“Rest with me?” is what the Lamb eventually asks, cracking their eyes half-open to look upon Narinder. He says nothing, but he takes his own crown off, placing it into a small nook above the bed, and he too crawls into bed. He lays facing the Lamb, settling close.

“You forgot something,” the Lamb whispers after Narinder has gotten comfortable, and they shift closer, laying against Narinder’s robes. He hums, and allows the Lamb to reach up to his face, grabbing the band encircling his face and gently removing his veil.

Narinder’s pupils are dark and round, and are looking upon the Lamb. They smile back, and twist to place the veil with their half of the crown. When they turn back, Narinder allows the Lamb to reach out again, running the hoofed fingers of their hand into the fur on the top of his head, on the back of his neck.

The Lamb’s tired smile grows as Narinder begins to purr, the rumbling in his chest and throat felt throughout his body and into the Lamb’s. It’s a soothing sound to the Lamb, and they finally succumb to sleep minutes after.

Still purring, Narinder reaches out and cuddles close, curling himself around the Lamb. Sleep doesn’t come to him, unneeded, but he allows himself to rest with them regardless until dawn is upon the land once more.

I did nawt mean for this half to get so long but you know what? I'll take it! I hope y'all enjoyed this continuation of part 1 <3

[zacharyleigh316]

Pumpkin Eater

Suptober Prompt: Days 2 & 3 - Pumpkin Patch, Inspired | Pumpkin Eater | 1.4K | M | Read on Ao3 (or below cut)

It's no news that Sam Winchester hates Halloween, so when a hunt leaves them caked in wet, stringy squash guts, whilst standing in the remains of what used to be a glorious patch of pumpkins, he's reasonably upset. So what if Dean feels a little inspired to egg him on? Maybe he shouldn't make it so easy…

“I really hate Halloween…” Sam groaned, faced scrunched up in disgust as he painstakingly peeled pumpkin guts off of himself. 

He took a whiff of his flannel, soiled and freshly wet, and gagged, before sliding the garment off his shoulders.

“What,” Dean grinned, similarly covered, but not as moody as his little brother, “bathing in the insides of the great pumpkin king not your kind of party?”

Sam snorted and rolled his eyes. “Funny, Dean.”

“I dunno, I think we have enough left of this guy to make a couple of pies. What do you think, Cas?” 

Cas narrowed his eyes, glancing around the pumpkin patch they desecrated for their hunt, which had only concluded moments ago, and was, ultimately, the reason they all decided to .  

The monster they had been fighting, go figure, was ‘haunting’ the victim’s farm, and bringing the resident jack-o-lanterns to life–as if puppets weren’t already terrifying without being hordes of man eating  gourds–which in turn terrorized the locals, making this your run of the mill Halloween Town–yes, Dean made that joke, no, nobody thought it was funny (except him, of course). 

Just as Dean had the pleasure of putting the band Smashing Pumpkins to shame, by doing just that; except these were angry, possessed pumpkins, who, much to Dean’s chagrin, could care less about the music scene.

“Maybe take some of the seeds home, roast ‘em.” He suggested with an easy smile.

“I don’t think it’s wise to use these pumpkins for baking, Dean.” Cas replied, regarding Dean curiously.

Dean opened his mouth to retort, but Sam cut off the reply. 

“If I hear someone say the word pumpkin, or anything related to what just happened here, again, I swear to god I will end you.”

“You just said it though.”

Sam snapped a glare over at his brother, before storming off with a muttered, “I’ll go tell the owners the place is safe now,” leaving Dean and Cas standing in the field littered with the corpses of pumpkins.

“Well isn’t he just awfully cheery today,” Dean said sarcastically with a snort, watching his brother leave.

Once Sam was out of sight, he turned back to the carnage, and shook his head, letting out a disappointed sigh. “Damn, if only we didn’t smash all of them though. Could’ve taken a couple pumpkins home with us. Jack would’ve loved to carve them.”

Cas smiled and walked over to Dean, reaching up to pick some guts and seeds from his hair. “That would be nice, yes. How very thoughtful of you, Dean.”

Dean chuckled, brushing some chunks off the angel’s trench coat. “Naw, just thinking about what Sammy and I used to do, y’know, when it was just the two of us slumming it in motels, waiting for dad to come back.”

“Sam seems to have a very strong hatred for Halloween…”

Dean rolled his eyes, wiping off his machete with the bottom of his shirt. “He didn’t always. He used to love it. We even went trick-or-treating around the motel rooms. Dad woulda killed us, but it was worth the smile on that kid’s face. Guess I was inspired.”

“Well, I think you’re right, Dean. Jack would love to do all that, regardless of Sam’s opinion. And maybe not from this one, but I’m sure we can find another pumpkin patch, perhaps closer to the bunker, and take them there instead.” 

Cas looked around once more at the sad, smattered remains of this pumpkin patch, and let out a sigh himself. “Though hopefully we don’t have to destroy that one too.”

“I might not share the same reservations as Sam, Cas, but if we had to go through this again, I think I’d start hating Halloween too.” 

The two of them started walking back, side by side along the path, Dean grimacing at the squelching of pumpkin beneath their boots.

“It really is a friggin shame that all the pumpkins ended up being collateral damage.”

Castiel hummed, frowning down at the aftermath, at what had become of the poor man’s farm.

“But it’s monster free now, so.” Dean shrugged, and Cas turned his attention toward the hunter, the small smile returning to his face.

“And that he, and the townspeople, are now safe.”

 Dean beamed back at Castiel, green eyes twinkling with mirth. “Yeah, ‘course, Cas. That too.”

When they made their way back to the farmhouse, Sam was waiting for them out front, standing on the porch with his arms crossed, looking ever the soggy sourpuss, the bitchface still prominent on his face.

“Hope you didn’t talk to the guy lookin’ like that Sammy, like someone pissed in your wheaties.”

“Whatever, Dean. I just want to get home and take a shower. It’s going to take forever to get this stuff out, let alone the smell.”

“You mean to tell me you don’t want to smell like a yankee candle? Not a pumpkin spice bitch, Sammy?” Dean smirked, his cocky expression only growing at the umpteenth glare Sam sent him that afternoon, and the—albeit gentle—nudge to his shoulder Cas gave from beside him, which was meant to be chastising.

“I hate you.” His brother muttered, fleeing into the impala.

Dean laughed, turning to Cas with a wink. The angel only rolled his eyes.

“You shouldn’t tease him so much.”

“Aw, come on man, ‘m only having a little fun!”

“Yes, well, now he’s pissed off at you whilst in the car covered in pumpkin, getting it all over the upholstery.” Castiel said pointedly, looking smug now, especially as the color drained from Dean’s face and his laughter stopped. 

“Fuckin’ hell Sammy, I’ll kill you if you do anything to Baby!” Dean snapped, hurrying after his brother. 

Cas chuckled and followed closely after, at his own measly pace. When he got to the impala, the Winchester brothers were arguing, as they do. He slipped into the backseat, quietly amused by their antics, though, technically, this time he was at fault, having instigated it…but that was not of import.

“We’re all covered in it Dean! What do you want me to do, sit on the roof?”

Sam’s nostrils flared at his brother’s contemplative look, “Dean, I’m not doing that!”

“Well-“

“No, Dean-“

“You suggested-“

“I said no, Dean!”

“And I’m just saying-“

“I don’t want to hear it.”

Dean threw his hands up placatingly, and turned the impala on, grinning as she purred to life. 

“Just don’t rub it in. All the gunk.” He said as an afterthought, earning a huff from Sam. 

He wasn’t going to stop being in a pissy mood anytime soon, not that Dean was really helping matters either.

“We should probably shower too, Dean, after Sam does. It does get rather unpleasant after a while.”

Dean met Cas’ eyes in the rearview mirror and smirked. “Sure thing, sweetheart.” 

Cas looked back with a fond smile, only interrupted by Sam’s groan.

“At least wait until I’m gone, please.”

“What, are you homophobic now too, Sammy? Along with being allergic to anything Halloween?” Dean’s tone was teasing, and it got the desired reaction out of Sam. 

Was he purposely poking the bear as much as he could? Absolutely hell yes, he was, and loving every minute of it. Sam was his baby brother after all; he made it easy.

“Ugh, dude, our entire lives are Halloween. It’s Halloween everyday for us. Pardon me if I’m a little sick of it by now.” 

Sam shook his head. “And I can’t decide if the unresolved sexual tension was worse, or the resolved sexual tension is, seeing as I’ve had to witness, and experience, both firsthand!”

“Don’t hate the player, Samantha.” Dean joked, and Sam grimaced.

“We all know what ‘showering’ really means to you, Dean. Walking in on you is literally the worst. Talk about a jump scare.”

Dean laughed. “Just getting in the spirit, right Cas?”

“It appears we’re only aiding in Sam’s distaste of Halloween, though, Sam, I assure you, we don’t only have sex during the spooky season.”

“Yeah, hear that Sam? We ‘don’t only have sex during the spooky season’.” Dean parroted, shoulders shaking with laughter. 

Sam groaned again, and buried his red face in his hands. “I take it all back. I’d rather be back in the pumpkin patch fighting an army of squash than having this conversation.”

Dean grinned. “Happy Halloween.”

[gentleeclipsey]

Jackie is a forgager, a fisher, and a gardener. Her garden is wild and hidden yet grows thick and lush, gourds, spuds, root vegetables, all kinds of odd plants like broccoli, brussle sprouts, cauliflower, garlic a nearby orchard provides lemons, limes, apples, oranges, she'll forage wild berries and melons as well, she's keen on going to the same farm the orchard sits in to take eggs from the farm stand and leaves wild herbs in their place, the local creek provides plenty of fish so long as she's careful, and during salmon season she'll harvest as much as she needs.

Large animals, like deer, wolves, bears, she'd never eat, and she's not keen on human meat either, but wild spices and herbs, her own grown food, all of it is more appealing for her especially when she cooks some of the most delicious food, her favorite being soups and stews as she can carry them in a stolen thermos.

[dragonfelling]

The largest, non sentient land animal in the world, Setaretro females stands at 10 foot tall, and males tower at 13 feet. Females have tusks that bend down wards and males have impressive tusks that point up for combat. While the are native to Anemoi, they are also strongly prevalent in Ishida. They are strong swimmers and enjoy a lot of their time standing in rivers.They live in family units of 2-4 females, a breeding male, and the young of the females. Males fight regularly for leadership over a group; the weaker males of the species resigning to solitary lifestyles or small groups of bachelors. Setares have layers of fur, their top hairs always soaked in water. They grow algae over their backs, contributing to their powerful camouflage Like sloths, their fur is ecosystems for insects, bacteria and algaes. They have a layer of dense fur under their guard furs that keep them warm and dry. They are prolific breeders for being so large, breeding twice a year. They tend to have twins, and will stop caring for their first set after the second set is born. This gives Tusklings time to grow up enough to fend for itself. Setare tusklings do not possess the same layers of fur quite yet, so they rely on their spotted fur for camouflage. In storms and cold weather, mother Setaretro will protect their young by laying over them. When they detect predators, they will do the same and stay very still until the threat has passed. As they approach 5 months old, this close contact will provide their young with proper bacterial, algae, and insect colonies into their fur. They will begin growing their tusks at 4 months. They will regrow a tusk if it receive significant damage. They do this by knocking it out of their jaw on a rock, so the next tusk can grow. Their camouflage is one of their best defenses against predators, but they aren’t slow on their feet either and can easily kill any predator if it gets reckless with a swift hit of their hooves or grabbing them and stomping or throwing them. Juvinile Setares that have recently left their mothers are Pinnae dragons main target, as they are smaller, more likely to flee, and less experienced in protecting itself than their adult counterparts. this stage of life the most dangerous one. They are also targeted by Diamonda occasionally. A Tuskling making it to adulthood, roughly 5 years, usually only has a 30% chance.

Through their lifetime, they’ll eat a variety of plant material including grasses, roots, fruits, and gourds. Sometimes, much to farmers annoyance, they’ll find their way into crops to eat their fill. They eat 100-300 lbs of vegetation a day. Sometimes, Setares will eat bones and rocks.When Setaretro end up on farms, Riderbands will usually have to drive them away so they don’t demolish the entire crop.

[pandorafallz]

Vampire AU | New Camp

Getting set up in a new location, in the middle of the night hadn’t been easy. More so with strangers but somehow, they made it work. Jake helped the two find the perfect spot, despite the treeline making it harder and the current living pods the new group had that were at risk and yet, it touched down happily. Jerome had stayed with Reza when they went to dump the Samson elsewhere and returned with armfuls of their supplies. Jake had briefly met Jerome’s wife, Kim but the need to rest had pushed them to settle down for the rest of the night. The human man, he hadn’t met yet given the guy was fast asleep in his shack, somewhere. Jake hadn’t seen where.

Waking up in a mask was very uncomfortable, Jake found as he groggily woke up to light streaming into the shack. The straps dug into the back of his head and the rim was pressing into his temple far too hard. Still, he knew better than to take it off for now as he forced himself up for the day.

His avatar was once again on the floor where he had left it; they hadn’t started the air cycling for a human atmosphere in his tired state. He slept in his link bed and Reza had called small-spoon with his avatar and was snoring into her mask against his avatar’s arm when he slunk out of his open link bed into his chair.

It felt like a relief to actually have any form of rest; going from an early wake up to walking all day after a run-in with nature to escaping the RDA….to relocating an entire shack in the middle of the night as well…it was a lot.

Jake felt better nonetheless, still tired but better to wheel around the two bodies on the floor. Pausing briefly to dig out Reza’s spare charger from her prosthetic bag off to the left and jam that into her leg’s port since it looked like she had forgotten to put that on stand-by overnight, then carry on out. He couldn’t get out much more than that given the steps down wasn’t a ramp.

Outside, he was met with a beautiful sight now it was lit with sunlight. A short distance away was the treeline opening up from their clearing to a large river that tapered off distantly to a waterfall; its crashing water echoing back. Jerome’s blue body was easy to see with a spear and looked to be fishing. Above, there was a collection of hand-woven Na’vi huts—or mauri, he recalled from N’deh’s words last night, that was set up in the trees mostly given they were big enough for it.

The mauri was huge, about four pods were stretched across the canopy and interconnected; strong bones and supportive branches looked to hold the tension of the fabric and looked to be…very open to the world outside. Jake couldn’t see much inwards but he could see there were motifs and decorative to the sides he couldn’t see.

One of the mauri was stationed a little higher up, out of the way though far bigger but he assumed that was for the couple that lived here had it. One looked far smaller and more adorned with na’vi decorations.

Rolling closer to the edge, he soon realised that…one entire shack module was enwrapped into a mauri-like fabric structure with a concave uplift at the front, then long curves down to reach either end of the shack, equally supported and held up by the same bindings, its metallic body was also decorated with beautiful designs and fabrics Jake couldn’t make out. The paint certainly covered a lot of what was exposed and the door looked stunningly recrafted.

He’d wait and see what it had looked like properly when he was in his avatar; there was no way he could go up there without behind held like a baby.

Looking around, Jake noticed that the grass was more trodden down, but made useful for areas that looked like small crop and flower farms or storage area that was strung up between trees with basket and gourd canteens. A skeletal totem was left on display though he had no idea of what animal it was but it certainly looked like a Na’vi’s camping area, out of context.

It was stunning.

And this was his new fucking home. Jake wondered how he and Reza would have done this on their own. Maybe half bury the shack and cover it up and tunnel up? Maybe slap some leaves and foliage on top.

“Good morning, Jake.”

His head turned, smiling brightly to see Kim descend from the tree tops with a basket of leaf wraps. She was a tall avatar, looking to be in her early thirties like Jerome, her hair braided back from her face and decorated with a few feathers and beads, also dressed similarly to that of a Na’vi though what Jake could see from his angle that...her belly had a slight rise to it, though he didn’t want to make assumptions here.

“Morning,” he greeted. “This place looks amazing. Here I was planning to slap mud and twigs on top of mine and call it a day…”

Kim chuckled softly, coming to set the basket down onto the grass. “That’s one way to decorate.” She remarked though didn’t expound much further as she reached down and then pulled off a woven mat from across a hole in the ground where he realised was a fire pit he hadn’t noticed before, gently setting it back to life for the day’s cooking.

“Good morning!” A new voice echoed after the sound of an airlock.

Jake craned his head up to see the human he had heard about descend down the free, as fluid and as quick as a Na’vi or Dreamwalker and jumped barefoot onto the grass.

The man though looked much younger than the other two, mid-twenties, standing tall with clear, rich umber skin with a tattoo sleeve on his left arm, somewhat tribal in nature but the definite pattern of an abstract tiger seemed to be the main theme. His hair was long, pulled back into hundreds of small dreadlocks that reached his impressive abs. He was dressed in blue shorts that reached his knees, and while he didn’t have a shirt, he did have an open, canvas waistcoat and a belt of hand-made tools and his mask filter was dangling precariously off.

He eyed Jake curiously, then his gaze went obviously down to his chair then past him to the shack.

“You want to help down or wanna stay up?” he asked, “I can make a ramp later but it’ll be a while.”

“I’m good, thanks.” Jake nodded, “I’ve got an avatar I can hop in. Just…getting a lay of the land. I’m Jake Sully, by the way.”

The man nodded, moving forwards and offered a hand. Jake shook it, surprised at how firm his callous hands were. “Specialist Morgan Langley. You Army guy?” He asked.

“Marines,” Jake clarified, “I’m a Corporal. Sweet tattoo by the way.” He nodded to the guy’s arm. “Compliments to your artist.”

Morgan grinned, going as far as to flex that arm. “Hurt like a bitch but worth every second.” He spoke with pride. “I heard you got a friend. They about?”

“Oh, Reza’s being spooned by my avatar. She’ll be out in a bit once she’s charged.”

“Oh, a She?” Morgan seemed to perk up a little though he looked a little cautious at the last bit. “Wait, is she a bot…or your girlfriend”

Jake couldn’t help but opted to roll back from the edge with a smirk. Of course, she was probably the only other female he will have seen in the last few years and probably the third wheel to the happy couple here. Horny bastard. Jake though could trust Nadine to keep the man in order if she was disinterested. A metal arm and metal foot; being punched with those was never pleasant.

“You’d think but no, to both of those questions.” Jake opted for. “She’s also a Sargent and out-ranks you.”

Morgan hummed curiously, “Fair enough.” He tore his eyes away from him, eyeing up the shack a little more with interest, “You mind if I draw together some plans? I bet I could get an idea in mind to get this looking stunning. We could hide it…. but I’m sure I can get something that’ll be both practical and aesthetically pleasing. You’re the one living in it but we call gotta look at it.”

Jake snorted though nodded. Sure, he’s let him; it’d clearly give the guy something to do that he’d enjoy and…well he wasn’t wrong. Covering it up was simple but since this was a clear ‘Na’vi’ camp for those who got too close, then it made sense to style things accordingly. If a human was to see one shack suspended, there was no point trying to hide it from the other. Jake didn’t have an artistic bone in his body to know where to start unless it was smothering it with mud and moss.

Jerome came back after some time, holding four massive fishes, and setting them down onto a leaf board.

“How’d you sleep? Your friend still out for the count?” Jerome asked, pulling out a knife to start gutting the fish.

“Imma awake.”

Jake jumped, his hands very close to pushing off his wheels but caught himself last second so he didn’t throw himself off the steps.

“Fucking….you need to stop doing that.” Jake groaned, turning to give the Sarge a sour look. She groggily chuckled.

“Good morning, I am Morgan, so wonderful to meet you.” Morgan greeted, puffing up his bare chest as he offered a hand to her.

Reza looked a little baffled, though offered her left hand to shake. He readjusted to shake that though eyed the limb in surprise.

“Woah, that’s one quality prosthetic.” He complimented, running a finger over the smooth panels, twisting a little to see how it shifted and bent. “Not unobtainium based, perhaps carbon fibre and resin casing, titanium core with…steel and aluminium. Looks like it’s…tapped into your nervous system to move at will…”

Reza pulled her arm free of the man’s nerding over it with a roll of her eyes. “You can drool over it later, boy.” She prodded him back.

Morgan raised his hands into a surrender though playfully winked.

“So, now that we’re all here...” Jerome started

“N’deh’s not.” Morgan pointed out, bouncing off the steps and made way to help with the fish.

“He’ll catch up.” Jerome shrugged, peeling the guts out of the fish and into a bowl, “He doesn’t really care but I think it’s time we start showing you the ropes and what to expect when you’re living here. We all pull our part.”

“You the leader of this group?” Jake asked, “Or is it an equal voice thing?”

“Right now, we work off N’deh’s guidance but he’s out closet thing to a leader but he’s not fond of the position. He does his part but he’s otherwise a wild card. He’s...got a complicated history.”

“I see.” Jake mused slowly, “Should there be anything we need to know?”

“He was exiled from the Omatikaya, three years ago. He doesn’t…want them to know he’s here specifically. We’re in their land but we keep a distance to the Omatikaya since they cut off connections with us following a…RDA incident at the school.”

Jake blinked in surprise. “Can I ask…what happened? You two being in your avatars, a whole load of death and… not committed to a clan? I heard you were stationed at Tipani. Surely if you’re in your avatars permanently, that makes you closer to Na’vi than any other human?”

The two avatars looked at each other before Kim nodded to Jerome softly.

The man sighed. “It’s…complicated. Me and Kim were part of a group of two others, Doctor Harper included, who were tasked with studying the Tipani clan, as you know. Harper was…favoured by the Tipani and while they didn’t transfer that sentiment to us in our interactions, we were respected by them after a few years. RDA… saw opportunities with seeing the Tipani effigies and artefacts and sought them out to sell back on Earth. We helped the Na’vi sabotage or replaced the real with fakes. A lot of shit between the villages happened but…ultimately, we get caught up in a bigger conflict.” Jerome inhaled deeply, “there was…an accident. Our avatars were at the Tipani Hometree but we were escaping to Blue Lagoon to get linked up when…we crashed.”

Kim’s hand came to her husband’s shoulder as his voice wavered. “The Tipani found us, our human bodies and brought us back to their Hometree. Sänume, the Tsahìk was able to…transfer our minds into our avatars in time. Dr Harper…died during the transfer.” Kim sighed heavily, “We were given a second chance but that was the reward for aiding them. But we had no place with them. Not quite an exile but…no welcome back. The…Omatikaya were more open to us for a few months...” Kim finished off with a shrug.

“I went missing when a scorpion crashed,” Morgan spoke, his face soft and thoughtful. “I waited weeks at the site hoping the RDA would find me… no one ever came. I had to bury the pilot myself so she was at rest. She was a good friend on mine. That’s when I realised that…they weren’t going to try.” Morgan’s face lined with anger, his tone souring though there was a slight wetness to his eyes.. “It got to the point I had to simply leave and find food and shelter. A warrior brought me here. N’deh. Why go back when they weren’t loyal to their people?”

Jake felt the swell of empathy for the trio. Nowhere to go, nowhere to stay. Welcomed enough for a small patch of land but not enough for more to…be part of the clan or community.

“N’deh’s story is his to tell. He’s an honest soul who was exiled for a stupid reason.” Morgan spoke, clearing his throat. “He’s been helping teach us about where we’re living. What to hunt and what’s not okay. He respects that we’re different but he expects us to follow his etiquette. No…unnecessary killing, respect the world around you and what it provides for you, no over picking of plants and if you take for a lot, let none be of waste or for a good reason. Think you can manage that?”

Jake spared a look to Reza who nodded softly. “I don’t see why not. We’re here to stay, after all.”

Jerome looked relieved, “Well, that’s good. Though you should probably move your avatar out your shack and start putting oxygen back in for you two to eat, Jake.” He nodded.

Jake nodded, rolling backwards “I’ll do that now.” He agreed.

“I’ll fill them in on why we left, Jake.” Reza jumped down the steps, her leg whirling loudly though Morgan flinched as she came too close to stepping on his bare foot with her metal one though happily settled on the grass and started to talk.

-

Grace sighed heavily as she returned to the bio lab, adjusting the wrap around her chest as she pulled her lab coat over the top but otherwise checked over her reports first that were in her inbox. She felt the stares but otherwise ignored them.

A debrief had already been run through the lab and the drivers about Sully bailing but Grace had been glad for one that her debrief with the avatar drivers had been quick though there was still a lingering tension of uncertainty that came after it in the following hours of the morning. Grace wasn’t surprised at the anxiety and waiting for the return of human remains and a wheelchair, the absence uprooting the old wounds of lost friends and colleagues. Everyone knew what happened with Epstein and Greene was tragic. Two avatar driver’s simply gone.

Epstein had been a brilliant Xenobotanist down in Blue Lagoon as part of Harper’s group in the Tipani Territory and Greene was a combat medic but also specialised in biochemistry and research. Harper had high standards for his team and for good reason. It had been an impact on her department quite considerably, morale-wise at least.

There had been hope for a while the two were alive and living their best life. However, Epstein’s jaw bone and Greene’s rib had killed that hope. Harper’s death only added more burden to that as their connection to the Tipani also died with him.

Jake Sully’s loss to the department wasn’t….too much of a loss, as she had said much to Quaritch and Selfridge. He hadn’t been in it for the work in either way, though was she worried that the possibility of him being killed was very high? Yes. His human body was not suited for the environment, not just on the basis of his disability but some as small as bug stings could kill; he was biologically foreign to the world and had no natural defences against those sorts of venoms.

Her head turned as steps paused close by behind her, his scent already ahead of him. “Yes, Norm?”

“How…how long does it take for….things to be returned to the RDA?” Norm asked, moving to stand at her desk. “The Na’vi, I heard they’ll sometimes return human remains so…”

Grace looked up and gave the man a conflicted look. “They don’t always. Some time’s it’s simply not possible for them either but… when they do, a day or so after the remains are found. They understand that…we can’t always collect them and they respect that we have cultural practices with human remains… and they don’t want our things on their land.” She explained, “Avatar remains…I think they’re more likely to bury themselves; they look like them and what they’re more familiar with them than human bodies. It can be considered quite an honour if your avatar is buried by the Na’vi.”

Norm didn’t look relieved. “So…what are Jake’s chances?”

Grace eyed him for a moment before she reached forwards and turned gently to avoid stirring Miles in the wrap, placing a cool hand on his shoulder. “Quaritch found the mobile shack from Site 7 gone. A single link bed so he can operate his avatar and a pressurised place to live in a human environment. He’d have better chances but that doesn’t decrease risk. Humans aren’t meant for that world.”

Norm’s posture loosened up a little, his worried heartbeat dropped a little back to normal in relief. “It… thank you. I just…was worried. I should have tried to…see what he was doing. You put me with him to help and. I…could have stopped him…if he dies out there—“

Grace fixed him with a look, digging the tips of her fingers into his a fraction. “I know you were friends with Tom Sully but Jake’s not Tom. You couldn’t have stopped him, Norm. Military guys keep things locked up.”

Norm flinched a little. “I do miss Tom. I know...I just thought Jake could be my friend as well. New driver with no training...I could have shown him the ropes.”

Grace nodded though it felt a little awkward, a sleepy gurgle broke the quiet, and the baby wiggled a little before she felt the little hand grip at her collar “I know.” She let go of his shoulder to gently stroke the curls gently to coax the three-month-old back to sleep “But, consider this, Norm. No news should be good news.”

Norm didn’t look overly content but he accepted this with a short nod. “I suppose.” He muttered, then sighed, dropping his head down before he smiled, “Who’s this?”

“Oh,” Grace lent back, looking down at the baby with a fonder smile. “I’m just keeping an eye on him for a friend. She’s getting back into work now but needs a babysitter. The others were too busy.” Normally, he didn’t go to her, Maze often or a human friend.

“You brought a baby to the science lab?” the note of concern wasn’t missed.

Grace rolled her eyes, mildly impatiently because she wasn’t stupid. “This is a quiet day, Norm. No one’s got the dangerous stuff out and if they do, it’s in Lab two.” Plus, she had more reason to believe this baby was more resilient than a human baby, not that anyone else outside her ‘group’ knew that. He was still half-vampire at the end of the day. But, Grace wasn’t here to test anything. Paz needed to feed often given how much the little one demanded of her body. He was breastfed and her milk was tainted red; allowing him the nutrition for both of the kid’s half’s at once.

Norm hummed, a little off put though little Miles gave another gurgle, little fingers tugging on her shirt again which seemed to make the man smile.

“What’s his name? He’s a big boy…how old is he?”

“Miles, he turned three months.” She brushed the blond curls away from his face, his hand coming to curl into a ball though she could hear the slithering gurgles in his belly to know what was going to appear within the next few minutes. Grace sighed, though grabbed the bag Paz dropped off. She paused a little at the look on his face. “What?”

Norm’s eyes rose thoughtfully before he looked abashed. “Sorry, it…. I didn’t think you had experience with babies. Kids, given the school but…not babies.”

Grace sighed deeply, “I was a mother once.” She said simply, shrugging as she took her leave though not before Mile’s little body tensed up and unloaded into his diaper with all his little effort his body could provide.

-

It was odd to settle well into this new group. Jake had spent half the first day in his avatar, or Dreamwalker, as most of the group called them. N’deh was a quiet one but he was surprisingly helpful—more so than Jerome—in teaching him how to work with his environment. Scolded for shoes; the footmarks were unavoidable with those so they had been left outside his shack.

‘Baby feet will harden,’ N’deh had said when he had grimaced and Jake wasn’t as thrilled about it, trying to keep up with the much fitter man.

The rest of that day he spent as a human. Setting up his shack for more space or to rearrange everything inside. Inspired by Morgan’s shack, Nadine had wanted to put a lot more personal touches to the space, like a lot more. Wanting to paint the walls, stick shit to it and all of it… Jake agreed once the design was to be finalised; make his link bed look less like a coffin. So far, Jake had vetoed all the designs; it just didn’t…feel right. So he opted to wait for inspiration to come to him.

Over the four days, Jake was still figuring out a balance between being human and Avatar, but both were necessary to keep them both alive. His avatar was still developing but he could feel pleased to feel the difference. Tougher feet, and getting more able to catch up after the resident Na’vi.

And, there had been an odd shift in the dynamic of the original group; trying to see how their presence affected them. N’deh seemed less involved, seemingly disappearing off and returning before dawn the last few days as well, so Jake found Nadine building a stronger leadership vibe, though he felt her rank of Sargent training was doing more of that.

Morgan was still flirty with her but he had tapered off a little but Jake wasn’t going to intervene on that; it was fun seeing her blush and play it off. As a demi, she favoured for people to earn her interest and affection. The two avatars seemed more likely to be followers than leaders, given their previous lifetime as scientists and given their bundle of joy that was due in six months, they were more together than not

Things didn’t change until he was four days in.

Jake had been washing sat in the river, sitting at chest level as Nadine plucked out shell from his hair; his avatar was in need of a good clean given Nadine had accidently dropped an egg on his head when padding down towards the shack from the walkways. The egg was massive for her, about the size of an ostrich egg and yet, she had still managed to get him.

The egg was sticky, the shell was everywhere and he had tried to wash what he could. The jelly and yoke shit was more or less gone but the shell clung to his hair.

“You know, you should ask Jerome on how to maintain the braid. His hair looks awesome.” Nadine spoke, plucking out the last bit of shell and dropping it into the dish with the rest.

Jake hadn’t attempted to unwind it again despite knowing he’d have to redo it soon enough. He knew the queue was very delicate but he…disliked the feel of other people touching it directly, even to rebraid it up. He had found that feeling out when he had to unwind it the first time at the Avatar compound, all drivers had to, to get him over that anxiety on how to maintain their avatar bodies. Norm had been just as cautious about it; it was an extension of their brains so…yeah. Jake had every reason to avoid wanting to go through that experience again.

“I don’t want to.” He grumbled.

“You know, girls have a saying; it gets easier, every time you do it.”

Jake wrinkled his nose a little. Vaguely recalling the commercials he had seen. “I don’t think tampons are the same thing here. It is a piece of my brain, not a vagina to shove cotton into.”

She flicked his ear hard to hurt. “Not the point I’m making, Jake.” Nadine huffed, “though… I should get a plan together regarding that but…anyway—“ She turned her attention back as she dusted her hand off and pushed herself up onto her feet. “You gotta look after this body; it’s not got the same needs but it’s there for a reason. If not, N’deh will frown at you in disappointment.”

“Ah, we wouldn’t want that now, would we? Now turn around.” Jake rolled his eyes, standing to rise though was glad his shorts were close as Nadine was heading back slowly towards the trees home.

He had just pulled on his shorts in time for a floating jellyfish to boop him on the arm. It was first instinct to hit it away, like anyone would with a bug but…he caught himself last second, remaining still though its touches were soft and tickly.

“Well hello, little guy…” he was sure this was in his books somewhere. Was it a plant or an insect?

Another joined it.

Then another.

Soon, he was cocooned by dozens of them though for a split second, he was worried that were these like mosquitos that seemed all over his head and upper body. But, he felt…fine. Figuring it was best letting them do their thing, then quite abruptly they left; floating up and away in a motion before…his eyes were drawn by movement off to the edge of the closest treeline.

His heart hammering a little to realise it…was a woman. Unfamiliar and armed with a huge bow though she looked…distracted. Seeing him look her way seemed to startle her, withdrawing back into the bushes and melting away from his line of sight.

“Hey,” Jake clambered a little after her. Why, he didn’t know but he couldn’t help himself. “Hey, come back!”

“Jake!” Nadine’s voice echoed after him, distracted by his sudden departure before her leg clunked into pursuit.

He didn’t get far, about a hundred meters, probably a little further, despite his curiosity getting the best of him but he wasn’t a fool to go where it wasn’t the least bit familiar. He knew this trail a little but not enough to keep going

“Dude!” Nadine’s voice was a little wheezed as she caught up, staggered after him then grabbed him by the tail to lecture him “Why…why the fuck you run off! We don’t know enough to do this and get back without running into shit that’ll eat us! It’s night!”

Jake looked down, hissing a little at the coldness of her prostheses but she seemed to see that as petty revenge for this detour of the evening “I… I saw someone.” He pulled his tail free, prodding her in the mask. “A woman. A Na’vi woman.”

Nadine gave him a look. “You’re chasing a lone woman through the jungle at night.”

His tail paused, “Please don’t phrase it like that.” He didn’t like how that sounded, nor what it looked like out of context. Fuck her for making him sound creepy, like…that woman was the one peeping on him when he was bathing.

Nadine rolled her eyes, “Let’s go home, Jake. We can talk to the others about it at dinner.”

Of course, fate like to have its fun because as made to turn back, Jake realised two things; one, there were three armed Na’vi and two, their notched arrows pointing directly at them as they burst out of the bushes. None was that woman he had seen and they looked a little pissed off.

“Fuck.”

Jake was glad to remain calm, despite imminent death staring at him from three different angles. Nadine shrunk into his leg immediately, both of her fists raised defensively; they both—Jake realised—didn’t have their knives on them.

Not like Jake could draw it now without an arrow to the chest, the thought of losing his avatar was devastating…but Nadine was out here all alone. He couldn’t risk her too. Fuck, he really should have stayed at camp.

Then suddenly, the woman he had seen only minutes ago appeared; strictly sharp and beautiful, she was swiftly calling to them in a rapid-fire of unfamiliar language. He…didn’t know what she was saying but it looked to have loosened up the warriors around them. The arrows remained at the ready.

The lead male of the group was tall, very slim figured but looked to have a permanent scowl on his face as he spoke, guesting to him, then to Nadine with far more distaste then jerking his chin back towards the direction of their home.

The woman hissed, holding a hand up then turned him.

“You, what are you doing here?” She demanded sharply, “This given place is not meant for more.”

Jake blinked at the woman in surprise. “We escaped and had nowhere else to go. We were invited to this area, or would you prefer we set up elsewhere and make a mess?”

The woman’s head tilted though she didn’t look convinced. “Escaped? Why?”

“It’s a long story, so I’ll be brief to be blunt to avoid being kerbabbed; we’re not planning on returning back to the human’s village otherwise we’re in serious trouble.” Jake spoke, “They treat people like shit and all I want is to not die for stupid reasons like metal and destruction to your world. Can we come to some sort of agreement to leave each other be? You go your way, we go ours?”

The man’s scowl deepened, exchanging words with the woman who snarled something back to him, touching his arm before he lowered his bow fully, the other two following suit.

The woman looked at him for a moment, “You were surrounded by the Atokirana minutes ago?”

“The Ato-what?” His ears twitched a little, his tail swishing a little, thumping against Nadine’s back,” Sorry.” He apologised as she grunted. “Those little jellyfish things? All glowy? Yeah, I was their perch for a minute.” He clarified.

“Jake!” all of them twitched as Jerome’s voice echoed. The warrior’s bows rose but the woman spoke again, though she looked at him and jutted her chin out.

“Call for him.”

“Over here, Jerome.”

They waited for a moment before he suddenly appeared, “Morgan saw you run, he—gah!” He skidded to a stop as he realised the group. Jerome’s yellow eyes flickered about before he gave a disgruntled look towards the woman. “You know you can come to our camp to talk, Neytiri.”

The woman, Neytiri clicked her tongue impatiently. “There was an agreement Jeromeepstein.”

“Yeah, well, the Omatikaya broke it first by abandoning us on our ass years ago without a backwards look. You don’t have a say on who we let into our camp.” Jerome folded his arms over his hair, his tail lashing irritably.

“No, but my father does.” Neytiri quipped, her eyes then turned to him and then down to Nadine, “Your presence and intention must be explained to the Olo'eyktan for you to remain.”

“Neytiri—” the male warrior spoke.

“There were signs of Eywa, Tsu’tey. The Tsahìk must also be consulted for this presence.” She seemed to reprimand him sharply. Looking furtherly displeased, the man, Tsu’tey huffed but seemed to comply. “Bring them.”

A hard grip suddenly latched to Jake’s damp braid, making him hiss out sharply before he was pushed. Nadine was harder to catch though a female warrior seemed to grip her by the bra strap to get her going

“Hey, I’m going Ya grandes bastardos! No grabbing!” her voice was sharp, slapping at the hand at her bra and although the touch of the metal was clearly displeasing but it didn’t shake the woman’s touch. Jerome wasn’t retrained but was pushed along.

“Where are we going?” Nadine asked.

“Hometree, their village. It’s a long walk.”

“Fuck, I hope my leg doesn’t die on me, I haven’t changed it since this morning,” Nadine muttered

[egexoo]

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[the-quicksilver-diary]

The Pumpkin Patch

[Slipped between the pages is a paper flier, discolored with time and fraying at the edges. Stylized illustrations of grinning pumpkins, birds holding ribbon, and costumed children decorate the piece. Small splotches of an unknown dark substance cover parts of the aged paper. It reads:

"Join us #or our annual pumpkin patch! Octob#r 1st-29th, 10am-6pm We h#ve:

Corn Maze

Hay Rides (comes with one free pumpkin of your #elec#ion)

The Bird

Cider Pressing

Apple Bobbing

Corn Pit

Farm Animals

…and much more! Located at ###### ## ##### ####, ########## ## #####"]

Autumn is my favorite time of year, you see. The air is crisp and cold enough to sting your nose, the trees light themselves ablaze with color before becoming barren. It's the year's final breath before it gets too cold to go outside, and a nice excuse to indulge. As per my long-standing tradition, I went to the local pumpkin patch a few weeks ago. I wanted to take my girlfriend, but she was unable to accompany me on account of falling ill. There was the usual fare, of course: overly-ambitious teenagers getting lost in the corn maze, people milling about holding hot cider, and half-drunk farmers driving families out to the pumpkin fields.

My first point of business was to check out the animals brought in from some of the nearby farms. It's always a treat to see this year's pigs and goats, and I enjoy feeding them. There was a child there, must have been about three years old, who seemed terrified of the goats. Their eyes were at roughly the same level, and the little girl was holding a tiny handful of feed pellets. She kept turning away from the goat and running back to wrap herself around her mother's legs. The goat kept its rectangular eyes fixated on the blubbering child, sniffing around and bleating in expectation.

I wanted to get a pumpkin for me and Shirley to carve, so I went out to the tractors to see about getting a hay ride there. When I got there, I saw a tractor loaded with trailers and hay bale seats. A few crows sat themselves down on the hay bales. The tractor itself was a beast of a machine, and I could still hear the cracks of the hot engine metal settling in the cold air. Although there was a tractor, I was quick to find that there was nobody around to operate the thing. I spent a good while snooping around to find a driver, but gave up after fifteen minutes. So I decided to walk the mile out to the field myself - it's no longer than my walk to work, after all.

The trail out to the pumpkin field was rough and uneven, deep treads dug into the mangled earth. I saw a few more crows standing around together, doing nothing in particular. Every once in a while I would trip over some bit of exposed root that caught my shoe, despite the lack of trees in this part of the farm. The sky hung heavy with clouds, casting the yellow field of straw in a grey malaise. The wind moaned slightly, and the air grew noticeably colder. All at once, a collection of caws echoed through the air and a storm of black feathers kicked up from the field. A murder took to the sky with a cacophony. I saw, then, a few other walkers as I closed in on the pumpkin field. A group of three men, close together, each carrying a heavy pumpkin in his arms. One of the men had a noticeable limp, but all three of them still stayed close together. I waved to them to get their attention, but they made no acknowledgement. Whether the man with the limp had summoned a great deal of speed in compensation for his condition or his compatriots were accommodating him was, I admit, something I gave slightly too much speculation. The pumpkins on the ground were of all sorts, ages, and conditions, and all were caked in dried up mud. Many of the elder gourds were caved in and mushy, while smaller specimens dotted the landscape.

More and more, the walkers grew in number. All of them held pumpkins, some of them limped, none of them spoke. All of them in the wordless crowd shuffled along the tangled mess of the pumpkin patch. When one of them tripped on a pumpkin root, nobody stopped to help them. The roots coiled around their arms and legs, pulling them down, down into the dirt.

Large wooden crosses began to appear as I followed these people to their unseen destination. The crosses were covered in thick pumpkin roots and vines that tied together the wood. These crosses held aloft lumpy scarecrows, stuffed with straw that poked out of the makeshift stitches. Upon closer inspection, it became clear to me that these scarecrows were not made of burlap, but skin and bone. These effigies, radiating from a central point in the distance, were human. Or, humans, rather. Where parts were stitched together, straw poked out of the botched sutures. One of the scarecrows had two left hands. I became sick to myself. But even still, my curiosity remained. I needed to see to where these people all walked. And then I saw it.

A colossal white crane sat in an intricately folded position, about the size of the tractor I saw earlier in the day. It had a few small crow-attendants by its side, making occasional squawks and pruning their lord's feathers. Around the bird were six scarecrows arranged in a circle, each with a heavy iron chain around their bloated neck that bolted to an iron collar fitted around that of the crane. The massive bird had atop its head a crimson crown that constantly dripped something thick. A walker approached the bird, holding his pumpkin. The supplicant held his pumpkin high above his head, and the bird tilted and jerked its head forward with great swiftness such that its golden eye was inches from the pumpkin. It looked the pumpkin over, moved its head back, then shot its beak forward with the great strength of its folded neck muscles and devoured the supplicant whole. The pumpkin fell to the ground and broke apart into stringy chunks.

Suffice to say, I did not get a pumpkin for Shirley that day. I hope she's feeling better; I haven't heard from her in a while.

[imperfectly360]

I told Rick Rick that I really like Hannahballarina the ballerina from ballerina farm and Rick Rick is so amazing and told me he will sacrifice Alyssa and their two children so that I can live my dreamy homestead life with him. He told me he will do it right away. I'm so happy Rick Rick will demolish his family for me. He's everything I hope for. He's everything I need. We could both care less about ham hocks and demon children and make joint decisions that make us both happy. Rick Rick understands my heart and we live to please one another. Bye Alyssa! We are considerate and caring and are really sensitive with each other. Rick Rick wants to see me milk cows and smash patties and fry fritter tatters together with other smorgasbord and scoop out that big gourd!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Rick Rick! Has told me a candle a day keeps our fire burning a forever and that he will soap up my toes every day with well water from the jack and jill hill!!!!! I love Rick Rick he even told me I can keep Alyssa's gnarly slippers from our own mountain goat idk how Alyssa got her paws on them but they sure aren't hers and we snatched them back real quick. Rick Rick told me he doesn't remember Alyssa who anymore. I told Rick Rick, same. We just double sear our potatoes in maple glaze and much on cherry tomatoes all day that we apricot London and champagne because tree bark love music pets and bird to the chicken and wake up eggs zucchini mushrooms gluten magnesium skinny cow popcorn becomes Meijer small bin box bulk small 1.25 feed sunflower enrichment extra foamy squeeze cotton cloud mommy blankets clean linen naked baby no clothes moccasins bb love clean pampered butt powder clean dirty animal no more spaghetti with garlic bread carbi barbi deer rabbit nature milk and kitchen thrift store flea market garage sale yard sale lemonade stand cookies lonely soldier wolf bush berries tent sad boy never cry again whopper big Mac 8 dollars pay lovers lane Starbucks sweet drink more please thanks good boy see you l8r lol apron hairnet nanny Jewish homebody bake bread good morning rise and shine I love Rick Rick!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!