#fencepost of the week

[wild-e-eep]

Crusts and Pin-cushions #FencepostOf TheWeek

[halliewriteshockey]

One of our boys is going to be drafted first round today and we’re all going to the pub to watch it on the big screen, this is gonna be a lot of fun

[celestialprincesse]

𝐒𝐚𝐲 𝐆𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐧 𝐆𝐨 - 𝟔

You're not sure whether asking Nikto how he worked out what your favourite foods are is a good idea. Realistically, you know that men in his field are required to be perceptive, to pick out the smallest of details which may be useful later. He's been in your house so many times, in your fridge for a left over slice of pie, or the less that you can barely consider a garage to grab whatever tool he'd needed to fix your wobbly fencepost. On the one hand, his awareness of you, what you like and dislike, is comforting. It feels safe to have someone so constantly tuned in on your frequency. Safe. On the other? Having someone so impossibly attentive to your needs is unsettling. It's been far too long since you've had someone shadowing your day-to-day life - and Nikto is, undeniably, like a shadow.

The picnic is - it's really sweet. Well intentioned. The execution, admittedly is rudimentary, but you're just splitting hairs. A guy set you up a picnic after you practically sucked off his face in your kitchen. You're pretty sure most would've run had they felt the sheer reverence, the need in your kiss. He fixed your fence.

Now you're sat rather awkwardly beside one another, picking at a strange assortment of cheeses and fruits, making stilted conversation as you watch a herd of cows graze a couple of fields down.

"How did you know my fence was broken?" You hum in an absent, obvious attempt to keep the conversation going. Tough considering you barely know anything about Nikto, and yet he seems to know everything about you. Your weak endeavour towards filling the stillness between the two of you obviously doesn't go unnoticed - nor does the way your make an effort to dig deeper and see just how much of you Nikto actually catches.

"You hit it with your car a few weeks ago." He states bluntly, leaving you flushing a beet red. Foolishly, you'd always believed that your sub-par driving skills were just imagined, that no one saw you the way you saw yourself. Clearly, you've been wrong all along.

"You do have your drivers license, yes?" Nikto continues to chide, unable to help the way his blood rushes south when you blush, fluttering your lashes as you avert your gaze to the strawberry you'd been just about to eat. "Mhm." You mumble, trying to feign an indignant look - futile, seeing as he's already caught you in the act of your embarrassment.

"I can help you if you would like." Nikto utters, before he too turns his burning face towards the gingham blanket he'd found whilst trawling the grocery store in the small hours of this morning, trying to be as prepared as possible for your date. He's far too quickly become accustomed to your little quirks and reactions, the way you flinch like a frightened bunny from loud noises, or worry at your lip when you're nervous but still trying to seem nonchalant. You're hardly ever nonchalant about anything. He sees that too. "Is it the car that you struggle with?" He tries, so desperately, to claw himself from the hole he's seemingly fallen into, painfully aware that he's probably coming off as some condescending, patronising prick. He knows you can drive. Kind of. However, the thought of helping you, spending time with you, taking all of the menial tasks of daily life out of your hands, he can't help but to yearn for it. Or maybe it's just you. You're the one thing he finds himself wanting for after a life of solitude. You, your silly little shoes, and strawberry flavoured lips, your bows and pearls. You with a smile so bright it's blinding, and a laugh that could bring the cruelest of men to his knees. You are what he yearns for. The silver lining to the rainclouds which have so long darkened his days. You, you, you.

He doesn't even realise you'd been talking until you stop. Only, of course, to take the next best course of action towards capturing his attention, shuffling towards him until you're sat flush against his side, blinking up at him with a look that clearly suggests that you're asking for permission. The fact that he doesn't get hard right then and there is a miracle - though he's not sure if it's one that'll last. At least, not when you finally work up the guts to crawl up into his lap like a needy cat, searching for attention by any means possible. Last week he was barely refraining from tearing your clothes off and taking you on the counter in your kitchen. This is far more intimate. This is what he wants.

He wants to see the way your cheeks flush pink when his hands slide up your skirt, just enough to brush the calloused pad of his thumb over the delicate lace of your underwear. With bated breath, he wants to watch the way the late afternoon sun turns your hair into a halo of molten metal, cascading from the crown of your head in some glorious inferno.

The little sound of your breath hitching as he noses at your jaw is only the first nail in the cruelest of coffins, burying him alive under the crushing weight of his adoration for you. This, he thinks, this is what he's waited for. This is both his reward, and his punishment for the toil of his career, of his life. His reward, you, so sweet and soft in his lap, pliable as gold, glittering as the brightest of precious stones. Breaking you, breaking your pretty, trusting heart, is entirely out of the question. He'd rather shoot himself in the kneecaps. Walk headfirst into enemy territory and beg to be tortured. Step on a landmine. Any and all of it would be better than seeing you hurt.

Whilst he can't find the words for the way he adored you, he can most definitely find the actions.

Nothing, no man, has ever made you feel the way you do as Nikto eases you to lie back on the picnic blanket, hooking your knees over his shoulders. A kiss to your inner thigh. "I hope you don't mind people hearing, Princess. I intend to make you scream."

[solarmorrigan]

For the fanfic mash-up prompt list, what about 2. Historical and 73. Stranded due to inclement weather?

Me, a history minor, upon reading this prompt: I've never learned anything about any period in history ever in my life

But! After drawing a blank for a while, we've got some vaguely Great Depression-era Steddie

Fanfiction Trope Mashup: 1. Historical AU + 73. Stranded Due to Inclement Weather

cw: brief assumed infidelity (not actually, though)

-

The drifter is handsome, beneath the smudges of road dust he’s picked up from traveling; his long hair is tied back from his face, revealing a soft mouth, high cheekbones, and eyes you could get lost in. He’s carrying a guitar on his back and not much else. He isn’t dressed nearly warm enough for the weather as it is, and certainly not for the snow that the heavy clouds above are threatening.

Steve already knows he’s going to invite him in.

“I don’t give handouts,” Steve says, mostly for himself, so he can pretend he isn’t a soft touch.

“I’m not asking for a handout,” the drifter says. “I’m more than happy to work for a meal.”

Steve pauses, like he’s thinking. There isn’t much left to the Harrington farm these days; they really only have the house, the barn, and enough land to keep some livestock – mostly chickens. (Robin loves the chickens; when they eat one, she makes sure they thank it by name, which Steve personally thinks is weird, but whatever helps her part more easily with them, he guesses.) The chores don’t take long, usually, but with Robin gone for the week, visiting her mother a few towns over, there are still a few things that need doing.

“Guess I could use a hand,” Steve says, and the drifter smiles at him, bright and dimpled, and Steve can practically hear Robin tutting at him – such a sucker for a pretty face.

At least the imaginary Robin in his head is easier to dismiss.

The drifter—“Eddie,” he introduces himself with a firm, calloused handshake—stores his guitar in the kitchen and gets to work helping Steve around the farm (such as it is). He doesn’t seem to have much familiarity with farmwork specifically, but he’s a hard worker and a good listener, and he slots in right alongside Steve with surprising ease.

He’s a bit of a talker – a storyteller, more like, spinning all kinds of yarns about his travels, half of which Steve is sure can’t be true, but which have him hooked anyway. Eddie seems to like him that way: his attention so focused on Eddie that he almost forgets what he’s doing several times throughout the day.

The hours fly by; the wind gets stronger, and you can almost taste the snow on it. Steve gives the animals one last check, makes sure everything is ready to weather a storm should it come, and then he and Eddie hurry inside the house. Steve cooks while Eddie washes up, and they eat sitting at the kitchen table like Steve and Robin usually do; there’s no one to impress by sitting in the overwrought dining room that had always intimidated Steve as a kid.

Snow is falling thick and fast by the time they finish eating.

“I’m not enough of a bastard to send you back out in that,” Steve says, twitching the curtains aside to look at the way little drifts have already started to collect against the fenceposts. “You’re welcome to stay, if you want.”

“Well, I’m not enough of an idiot to turn you down,” Eddie replies, sending Steve a sly grin. “Anything you want me to do around the house to earn a bed for the night?”

Steve rolls his eyes, but he nods towards the living room. “Keep me company by the fire for a while?”

It’s a bit of a gamble – if Steve’s read Eddie wrong, this could end very badly, but Steve doesn’t think he has. He’s always been good at gauging a person’s interest, and he��s certain he’d caught Eddie’s eyes wandering more than once when he thought Steve wasn’t paying attention.

Eddie spends a long moment regarding Steve. “I’ll do you one better,” he finally says, and reaches for his guitar.

Eddie’s voice is rough and low, not always in key, but sincere and achingly soulful. He plays like he was born with a guitar in his hands, pulling music from it a hundred times better than anything Steve’s ever heard on the radio. If he’d been distracted by Eddie before, he’s absolutely enraptured now. He doesn’t even realize he’s been steadily drifting closer to him on the sofa until their knees are brushing.

“It’s getting late,” Eddie says, glancing towards the clock on the mantle. “Am I going to bunk in the barn?”

Steve shakes his head. “I’m sure you’ll be more comfortable in the house.”

“Sure.” Eddie’s grin is slow-spreading as he watches Steve. “It’s pretty cozy down here by the fireplace. Sofa’s nice.”

“I could make you up a bed on the sofa.” Steve nods. “Or – there’s plenty of room in my bed, upstairs. Much cozier up there.”

Eddie’s grin is positively wolfish now. “You’d have me in your marriage bed?” he teases, and Steve shakes his head.

“My wife and I don’t share a bed,” he says (this is largely true, except when they have unavoidable overnight visitors, or when it’s very cold).

“No?” Eddie asks.

“We have an understanding,” Steve replies.

“Do you, now?” Eddie still looks like he isn’t quite sure whether to laugh or to eat Steve alive, but Steve only nods.

“She doesn’t mind if I have the occasional man around, and in return, I don’t mind if she has the occasional lady,” he explains softly. “And we keep each other safe.”

At that, Eddie’s grin softens, becomes warm, almost fond. “And who’s keeping you safe now? Inviting a complete stranger up into your bed." He shakes his head, still trying to tease. “I could be anybody. I could be a murderer, for all you know.”

“You aren’t,” Steve answers with full conviction.

The sincerity seems to give Eddie pause. “What makes you so sure?” he asks, and now he seems almost serious.

“Your eyes,” Steve says readily. “They’re too kind for you to be any kind of bad person.”

Those eyes go wide with surprise. “Well,” Eddie says slowly, “you’re one of the few people who thinks that.”

“Well, maybe other people need to pay more attention,” Steve says. “But if I’m wrong, and you do kill me, at least the last thing I see will be something beautiful.”

And that seems to do it. Eddie leans forward and kisses Steve, his lips chapped and warm against Steve’s.

“You might be the killer here, actually,” Eddie murmurs when they pull apart. “You’re gonna knock me dead with those lines, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart. Steve likes that.

“Better come upstairs with me and give me something else to think about, then,” Steve says, and Eddie doesn’t need to be told again.

The snow continues through the night and into the next day. Steve and Eddie go out first thing to check the animals, to make sure everything is holding against the wind and the snow, and then head back to bed, where they spend the remainder of the day. It seems unkind to send Eddie away in this weather, after all.

In fact, it’s still so cold by the time Robin comes back from her visit that Steve hasn’t yet had the heart to send Eddie away. And if he and Robin talk it over, and if Eddie is still around by the time the warm spring weather comes, and if Eddie just stays and stays, the only thing people in town ever really wonder about is how the Harringtons found the money to hire a hand for their tiny piece of land.

[lastflowerofyourhouse]

I am going to write a scene between two characters that is so improbably emotionally honest.

(or: another exerpt from a fic i'll never finish, entitiled "griddlehark finally talk about stuff" in my drafts.)

-

Gideon wasn't sleeping. Harrow knew this because she also wasn't sleeping. But her own sleeplessness was born of long habit. It was an easy, comfortable insomnia. The dark and quiet were all she had left of home.

Gideon, though, had never been prone to insomnia before. She had always been easily exhausted and prone to oversleeping, rocklike and deaf. And yet, there she was, for the third night in a row, up at odd hours in the safehouse’s kitchen. Harrow could hear her softly shuffling around. She hesitated, considered leaving her to her own devices—what claim, after all, did Harrow have on her anymore? What right had she to butt into any of Gideon's affairs?

But she knew, in the way that she knew almost everything about Gideon, that she was at her worst when feeling abandoned. Harrow would go if she was told to go, but she had to try, at least. She would not abandon Gideon again.

So she went out to the kitchen and found Gideon hunched over the counter, wolfing down plain crackers. This, at least, was somewhat relatable to her.

“Can't sleep?” she asked, as it seemed as good an opener as any.

“Nope.” Gideon did not stop eating as she spoke. “Guess my body's still not in the habit. Being dead and all. Do you know how weird it is to be dead? Your organs just kind of…sit there. But they don't actually do anything. Puts a real damper on all your vital impulses. Like, all of them.”

This was more words than Gideon had said to her in weeks, which was good, even if they were the last words in the world Harrow wanted to hear. She floundered for something to say. Her face must've been doing something, because Gideon looked at it and said, “Oh, right, sorry. Wouldn't want to upset you with the details. Paul told me not to talk about it to you. Be a real shame to show you the consequences of your actions.”

Harrow tried not to react to that, but it hit her like a slap all the same. “I only wanted to save you.”

“Did it ever occur to you that I might not want to be saved? Did you ever stop to think, hey, maybe Gideon threw herself on a fencepost because she cared about me and did not want an eternal front-row seat to my continued suffering? No. You didn't. You never thought about what I wanted, you only thought about how you'd lost your favorite chew toy. At least have the decency not to revive the little innocent martyr act from when we were eight. It never fooled me then and it doesn't fool me now. Don't look at me like that.”

“I’m—sorry.”

“You're sorry.”

“I never deserved you. I know that. Not once in my whole miserable life did I deserve to breathe the same air as you. I should've signed your release the day you asked. I should've let you go without conditions and with half our coffers in your pockets. I should’ve begged your forgiveness the first time I said an unkind word to you.”

“You can say that all you like, Harrow, but you never would've.”

“I would now. In a heartbeat. Fat lot of good it does us.”

Gideon shrugged. “I'm not sure I would've left anyway, back then.”

Harrow was startled by that. She could remember Gideon speaking of nothing else, as children. “No?”

“I mean, what would I have even done? Joined the cohort? Been there, done that, and I was bored in a month. I don't know—I don't know. Seems like everything I used to believe in was a sham. My parents. The cohort. You.”

“I don't know how you want me to respond to that.”

“Try telling me the truth.”

Harrow was quiet for a long moment. She had been telling the truth. She needed to find a truth Gideon could believe. Start from there. “You're right. I wouldn't have let you go, when we were children. I could never stand to have you out of arm’s reach, for the same reason you would never have left. I would be at a loss. The fabric of the universe would come unraveled without you. I believed that then, and I've seen evidence of it now.”

“Bullshit, Harrow. You liked having something to play with.”

“You know better than anyone that both can be true, you insufferable, pedantic meathead. You know better than anyone how I felt then, what I feel now. Do you think I was ever stupid enough to believe myself your superior? Do you think I never understood what I was doing? You were the single point around which my entire world revolved. Everything made so much sense, when it was all about you. I have seen my life without you, Griddle, and it was colder and emptier than I had thought possible. In retrospect, the idea that I had endured such a childhood at all should have alerted me to the fact that something was wrong.

“I have never flinched away from my own faults. My inadequacies, perhaps, but not my faults. And I have always known that you were better than I am. I was once in denial, but never truly in ignorance, of the horror of our treatment of you. And yet the only sin you hold against me is that I tried to release you. That I removed you from my reach, relieved you of my beck and call. That is the only thing you have ever refused to forgive me for. Why?”

“You know why.”

“I want you to tell me. For once in your life, just tell me how you feel.”

“I feel stupid. I feel betrayed. I feel like I have not slept properly in a month, because I haven't. I feel like I was a corpse recently, because I was. Is this what you want to hear?”

“I want you to answer the question.”

Gideon stopped, took a deep breath. “We both already know, Harrow. Why do you need me to tell you?”

“Plausible deniability.”

She hesitated for a very long time. “I never wanted to be separated from you, either. I kidded myself about being your rightful equal when we were kids, but I don't think I even believe that now. My life was always going to be—you. I knew that. I just. Became alright with it. At some point. It was like—like, imagine if someone took your bones away, or something. The ones you carry around in your pockets, I mean, not the ones in your body. But kinda those too? Like, if everything that made you you was suddenly stripped away and you were useless. And I had to watch, Harrow, all of it, knowing I could help you. Knowing I could save you, if only you'd let me fulfill my only purpose that ever really mattered.”

[sixteenth-days]

If you want a prompt maybe eldritch!XB? :0

At the bottom of the ocean, something which had been sleeping woke up.

Every now and then, when XB's shoulders started clicking and he developed a cough and a persistent pain where the base of his spine would be, he knew he'd been too small for too long. It was inconvenient, but not catastrophic.

Whenever that started happening, he'd put all his gear away, let the hermits know he'd be away for a few days or weeks, and find a secluded cove to crawl out of his skin and into the blessed embrace of the saltwater. It always felt like a balm against his real self, dried and desiccated from so long spent in the air and sun. He'd slip into the ocean and spread out like an oil slick, all black and blue and eyes, invisible beneath the play of sunlight on the water, slide down to miles and miles of seafloor, and rest.

But now he was awake, and it felt too soon. Something must have woken him. Scales blinked open up and down his spine, searching for any disturbance in the water immediately surrounding the greatest concentration of his mass, but found nothing that might have roused him.

Ugh. He didn't want to get up. But something was wrong, a sense of unease creeping in through all the estuaries and rivers where he lay, rubbing wrong against the rubber and scale and sand of him.

He heaved a sigh that shoved waves against distant beaches, gathered up a pair of forelimbs from where they dangled in an underwater magma cavern, and pushed himself upwards.

Something about the water around him felt strange, as he ascended through the oceanic zones. A slight shift in the salinity, maybe. Up, and up, from the midnight to the twilight, as the water began to slowly lighten around him. Black water turned blue, and bluer, and bluer, until he was drifting the final few meters to the surface, feeling unaccountably hesitant.

Something was wrong.

He broke the surface, blinked a constellation of eyes against the sudden air, reared up and dug claws into a birch-plank bridge that creaked warningly under his weight. It was immediately obvious that he had not come up where he'd gone down, and that was going to be really inconvenient, if he couldn't get back into his skin, but- one problem at a time.

Starting with: if he's not where he entered the water, where was he?

The air against his scales was stagnant, dusty, untouched by breath or word. This world was clearly abandoned. He caught a glimpse of a sign, affixed to a nearby fencepost: By JoeHills and IamSp00n.

Ah. He'd come up in the wrong ocean.

(Send me Hermit fanon switcheroo asks!)

[words-for-cat-bracket]

round 5 - week 2 - 1 of 2

brought to you by: apple cider

macska (hungarian) vs 猫 (chinese)

info and propawganda under the cut!

macska /ˈmɒt͡ʃkɒ/

-ka is a diminutive so its sound like it means ""little macs"" - except there's no ""macs"", that word doesn't exist, only macska: little macs, which is very true because all cats are babies.

Macska is just a little switcheroo away from makacs (cs is a single letter in hungarian) which means stubborn which is what cats are C:

猫 (māo) /mɑu̯˥/

It sounds like Meow! Also, Cantonese is a really cool language (that I can definitely not pronounce sadly)

Little ears and a tail 🥺

sounds like meow

BRO ITSLITERALLY THE CAT SOUND IRS LITERLALY WHEN A CAT GOES ""MOW"" ANNSJSYSSHSHSHH

Because it sounds like a cat <3

It sounds like the sound cats make.

māo sounds like the sound a cat makes

this word reads as ""māo"".

real pokemon moment. we chinese really saw a cat, asked it what it wanted to be named as, and then called it that. we even kept the same intonation (the dash over the a) to ensure that everyone else who knew chinese would talk to the cat in the exact same way the cat called to us.

it's got 3 radicals; the left (犭) for quadruped animal, the cap (艹) for grass, and the base (田) for field, like rice fields. that's basically the whole backstory of how we saw and met the cat. the kitty really was just coming in from the grass on his 4 lil paws to our field and introduced themselves as mao. ily cat

if you read the cap and base section only it looks like a cat's face and ears.

every time you want to write the word cat you have to draw them!!! wont you think of a lil babey kitty while drawing them? isn't it beautiful how every time we wanted to write cat in chinese we took the time to depict a cat? decided everyone should know how or what a cat looks like and devoted our time of remembrance to just a leetol creeture?

because it's literally onomatopoeic. the cat is named after the sound it makes (which is so cute)

simple, cute, direct, just like cat

It sounds like a cat sound, and also just really nice. If you interpret the radicals in the unintended way I'm deciding to, the leftmost bit of the character could look like a cat scratching their back on a fencepost behind them, or something. Overall, it is a very cat word

it sounds like cat sounds (cute) and its easy for me to remember as a chinese novice bc it has the same radical as dog and is easy to draw

sounds like the noise cats make. cute

猫 as a character is peak cat! It's been a while since I've been in Chinese school, so bear with me, but the left side uses the claw symbol, which shows it's an animal, and the right side (苗, pronounced miáo) helps explain its pronunciation. 苗 specifically means something along the lines of seedling/young/descendant and isn't really depictive of what it means, but when I was younger, I thought it looked a little like a cat with little ears and whiskers as well. (Chinese cats say ""喵"" (miāo) which ties back to the 苗 symbol as well!) Also, 猫 ""māo"" is kind of pronounced like a meow, which I think should give it bonus points. Overall, 猫 is the peak word for cat! :3

you cannot tell me they are not the perfect word for a kitty cat. they came up to us and introduced themselves, so we decided to call them by the name they call themselves, and in mandarin, we call them ""little māo"" because they are our little meow meows!! they are our babies!! also chinese is Ancient. our writing system goes back like 4000 years!! and we are still using it! i admit we probably weren't calling them 貓 for all these 4000 years but respect your elders! /lh

[reticenceofladyeva]

hoax iv (my eclipsed sun)

Iroh hurries back to camp as quickly as he can, but he's never been a fast man, and now he is an old man. Still, urgency grips him as he weaves through the trees. His contact had, most emphatically, insisted that they not press on to Pouhai. The rumors are all too similar, he'd said, like they were planted. Like they were Fire Nation propaganda, like they were invented to lure a banished prince or a waterbending master or a disgraced general.

His stomach bottoms out when he reaches camp. The trees are still smoldering around the two tents they'd pitched, and there is ozone in the air. The cooking pot has been left, still bubbling over the fire with the last dregs of liquid thick and viscous at the bottom. Iroh scrambles for the larger tent and throws it open. The sleeping mat is still unrolled on the floor, and a Pai Sho game sits unfinished at its center.

Bending down, Iroh grasps a small, polished, wooden ring, and he clutches it to his chest.

Weeks of walking take him, finally, to a small tavern on the Earth Kingdom coast. The enormous shirshu tied to a fencepost tells him he's in the right place.

"Jun," he says.

"Creepy Grandpa," she says.

"My grandson is missing," he explains, holding out the teething ring. With a long-suffering sigh, Jun hops up from her chair and strides across the bar and out the door. Iroh follows in her wake.

He doesn't know where he'll get the gold, this time. He doesn't know where his grandson's trail will lead, whether to a prison in the Fire Nation or to some wilderness somewhere. He doesn't know whether Kova will be alive when he finds him. He doesn't know what has become of Lee and Hua Mei, or of Zuko and Katara.

These are things that Iroh must not think about now. He must follow this trail before it is lost, and he must pick up the last pieces of his family before he too is lost.

[martha-anne]

I have a small garden. This is a relatively recent development, and it has been occupying a lot of my thoughts.

Writing about those thoughts here seems like as good an outlet as any.

The garden is looking particularly bad at the moment. Rather than speculating about what I want it to be like, I’m going to write about some things that have already happened and which I am happy about.

These pruned plants - a blackcurrant bush and a rose! I had never pruned anything before (I had never had anything that needed pruning before) and I felt paralysed by my own incompetence at first. I’m very glad to have given it a go. Either I've done it right, or I will have learned something about how not to prune.

Speaking of being paralysed by incompetence, these fenceposts! I knew I wanted to put up some kind of plant support/trellis along the back of this bed, but the task felt utterly insurmountable a few months ago. I had no idea how to go about it, so I did what I always do in such situations and asked my mum for advice. Cue posts, post-spikes, a mallet, and an improvised drive-in tool… I still need to string wires between them, but soon I’ll have a structure to train plants up.

This heap of twigs! These are the prunings from the blackcurrant and rose plants mentioned in the first point. There was not enough space in the compost bin for them at the time, so I’ve left them in a pile over winter. I hope it is a nice home for some appreciative bugs.

The compost! How do I love my compost bin? Let me count the ways.This pile of decomposing matter brings me indescribable joy. Since we started composting cardboard and food scraps we have so little waste to go into the dustbin. The compost is full of worms and all sorts of other life. I like to check on it in the mornings before I go to work.

The pond! I dug this a few months ago, and at the time I remember feeling like it was the first honest day’s work of my life. I got some water plants for free from a local facebook plant swap group. The eventual aim of this pond is to attract frogs to help deal with the slug population - I’m playing the long game. Of course, it will take some time for the ecosystem to stabilise - but already there is life! I was delighted to discover water hog-lice a few weeks ago. It’s a Christmas miracle!

This no-dig lasagna gardening bed! Every online resource said that this kind of bed is better if left for several months before being planted up. I planted mine immediately and the results were not amazing - so I’ve learned something, and this coming year it should be better.

Tulips! I mentally calculated and purchased what I felt was an appropriate amount of tulips for the space. A week later, a visiting friend brought the same quantity of tulip bulbs again as a housewarming gift. Finding somewhere for them all to go was a challenge, but my friend and I managed it together. I’ve now mostly forgotten where we planted them, which will be a fun springtime surprise.

There is so much I want to do with this space and so much I’ve tried which has already failed. I don’t really know much about gardening yet, but in 10 years time maybe I will have figured it out ;) Three cheers for my shabby January garden!

[skyward-floored]

Bittersweet for the Hero of Sages? :)

- hero-of-the-wolf

“Here Berry, put this on.”

Something dropped onto his head, and Link scrunched his face up at the flower crown that was hanging over his eyes.

“Too big,” he said as he peered through it, and Marigold frowned, taking off the one on her own head and comparing the two. Then she shrugged and took Link's off and looked at it thoughtfully.

“Hm. Hey Poppy, you think this’ll fit you instead?”

“Well I don't know why it would, since it didn't fit... Are you saying I have a big head?” Poppy said, and a laugh come from where Iris was resting her head on her lap. “Oh shush Iris!”

“It’s true though! You do have a big head!” Iris giggled, and Poppy plucked some grass and dropped it on Iris’s face.

Link and Marigold both laughed as Iris spluttered, rolling off of Poppy’s lap and spitting into the grass.

“Blegh! Seriously, Poppy?”

“You’ve been being pesky all morning, it’s exactly what you deserve,” Poppy grinned, and then ducked under the clump of grass that Iris threw back at her.

Which went flying right into Coriander’s face.

Poppy froze, and Link giggled as Coriander raised a hand and wiped the grass off her face, eyes flashing.

“You know this means war, yes?” she said calmly.

Poppy slowly reached down and plucked another clump of grass, hiding it behind her back. “You don’t have the guts—”

Grass hit her in the face, and somebody squealed, Link diving out of the way as his sisters all armed themselves with grass and flowers, plants flying all over the hillside.

He managed to escape to where Del was sitting further away, and his oldest sister sighed, Lily sitting in the grass beside her with a book in her lap.

“We’re going to be washing grass stains out of their clothes for weeks, aren’t we?”

“Yep,” Lily agreed, and Link laughed, tossing some grass at the both of them.

...

Link blinked as the memory faded, and he looked down at the grass he’d absently plucked, a few wildflowers resting in his palm.

He swallowed, and set the plants gently against a fencepost, picturing all his sisters’s faces in his memory.

Then he tightened the strap of his sword, and walked away from the field, petals drifting in the wind.

[kawaiipsycho101]

Inspired by the wonderful cat!Shinji AU created by @jo-gakky

I'm taking a walk when I notice a cat hanging upside down in a tree. It doesn't seem to be particularly bothered by its current position, as if this was something they were regularly used to. Still, I want to be sure.

"You okay there, buddy?" I ask. The cat looks at me at me before calmy & gracefully untangling itself from the branch. I let out a sigh of relief. "Okay, then."

I get a closer look at the cat as it hops onto a fencepost. Gangly limbs, white paws, & a nub of a tail meaning the poor thing must've been in an accident at some point...at least, I hope it was an accident.

"Funny lookin' thing, ain'tchya?" The cat, who had been ignoring me whilst grooming itself, suddenly gets up & disappears into someone's backyard. "I meant unique! Unique!" I droop when it doesn't come back.

I see it again a few days later & take a few steps towards it while still keeping my distance.

“Hey," I wave, "I'm sorry about what I said earlier. That was rude of me. If it makes ya feel any better, I still think you're cute. I like unique lookin' cats. Anyway, we cool?"

The cat meows at me.

"I'm taking that as a yes."

Later that evening, I spot the cat around my backyard. Wasting no time, I grab some cat food.

"Hello again." Like before, I approach with caution. "I had some food lyin' around & thought you might like some." I set the small dish on the ground. "It's probably not as good as what you'd find in the wild, but I know it's gettin' cold out & I figure it's better than nothin', ya know?"

The cat just looks at me. With a tired sigh, I take a few steps back & sit down.

"Well, if you don't eat it, maybe the raccoons will, I don't care... Just don't want it to go to waste, ya know?"

We stare at each other for a while before I eventually go back inside. When I check the food dish the next morning, most of the kibble's been eaten. I refill it.

A few days later, I spot the cat eating out of the dish.

"Mind if I join you?" I sit down not too far from them when I'm ignored. "Thanks."

I watch them eat for a bit... Then I start talking.

"I miss seein' cats around here. My neighbor had a bunch & would feed the strays, but when she moved away, they just stopped comin' around. Of course, I had my own cat to worry about." I hug my knees to my chest. "Not anymore though, she passed away not too long ago. Had her for over twenty years... Since I was a little kid. She was a bitch & a psycho, & it took ten years for her to warm up to me...but she was a damn good cat. I miss her." I tilt my head back, so any potential tears can go right back into their ducts. "It's weird...not seein' her outside my room or on my bed when I wake up. It's..." I shake my head & stand back up, turning to head back inside. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't be botherin' ya while you eat. I'll leave ya to it-"

Something jumps onto my back before clawing its way onto my shoulder. I'm not proud of the noises I make.

Next thing I know, a golden furry flank is pressed against my cheek as the little bastard purrs right in my ear.

"Look-ow!-sweetie, while I really appreciate the-shit!-lovin', I really need you to-fuck me, that smarts!- get down now."

By the time the cat's off of me, I've gained many scratches & while they hurt like a bitch, I can't help but laugh as it scampers away looking far too pleased with itself.

After that, it's always underfoot whenever I go on walks, leading me to christen them with the title, Lil' Shit, a badge they seem to wear with pride. I don't mind...much. I'm just happy to have a furry friend again.

A few weeks later, I wake up in the middle of the night with hunger pangs. I toss & turn, try to wait them out, but they won't go away. Resigned, I go to the kitchen for a granola bar.

What I find is a nearly six-foot-tall shirtless young man in sweatpants with cat ears & a tail that are most certainly attached to his body raiding my refrigerator. We stare at each other for a solid minute before I slump onto the lid of my garbage can.

"...Huh."

@jo-gakky

[wild-e-eep]

Floating Islands #FencepostOfTheWeek

[k20spock]

people i lived with at one point had some family in the country or smth? and there was this wild cat that kept getting their pregnanr killing the babies and drinking the milk from the mother. killing the babies so she would keep producing milk.. and they eventuallt caught that cat and as it was described to me. "he put his foot on the cats neck put the gun to its head and shot through its head" and then a week or so later she smelled something AWFUL while outside looks over and sees that cat sirting on a fencepost staring at them. she could see through the bullet hole in its head and it was decomposed partially he ran to get his gun and it was gone by the time he got back

[ID: The tails gets trolled image. End ID.]

[thegeminisage]

bro i was SO excited to get into coral island. have been waiting on it to come out of beta for literal years - i didn't want to play the early access version because i wanted to be able to enjoy the entire game at once. when it released i read something about like the merpeople romances not being ready until 2024 and i was like ehhhh should i wait but my brother was like no that'll give you something to bring you back to it later you have been talking and talking about this game it's finally out so you would be nuts not to buy it. so i bought it. $29.99 american dollars. that's about 3 hours of cleaning houses. i had some steam money though so i actually got it for $23

there is an "i'm stuck" button in the menu which acts as if you had passed out - you lose cash and stamina. once my game glitched and i ACTUALLY got stuck because the controls would not allow me to open the door. there've been a few other minor glitches here and there - some weird dialogue, or fenceposts vanishing if you put them in the wrong spot. and steam shows me the xbox controller button prompts instead of the ps4 ones. that was all fine. it's an indie game and it's just been out a couple of weeks. i didn't think a thing about it. for the past 3.5 days the only thing i've wanted to do is play more coral island. you might not be able to marry a merperson yet but i have been cleaning the ocean so i can go talk to them, you know?

but this morning moseyed my ass on over to the subreddit, sure i would find cool tips and trivia etc. instead it's every console player on earth talking about how the crashes make the game unplayable. even on the pc version, there's apparently only 3 merpeople you can even talk to and the cleaning the ocean quest ends with a literal "wip" on the screen. the pet adoption function is still in its infancy, you can't dig for fossils, kids don't grow up, and chests keep vanishing with items in them. i felt like i had only barely scratched the surface of this game but in actuality. maybe not.

andl ike. not to be a whiny pissbaby. but i am SO FUCKINGGG TIRED of games releasing when they aren't FINISHED. i thought an indie game that was in early access for SUCH a long fucking time would be safe from this phenomenon but apparently fucking not. i was fine to wait as long as they needed but when i am flat broke - when as a household we are food bank 2-3 times a month one house payment behind BROKE - to spend $30 on an INCOMPLETE GAME during the HOLIDAY SEASON when i have to fucking buy presents for people is INSANE. if i was going to play the INCOMPLETE version i could have paid the much lower early access price. and i deliberately on purpose did not do that and got tricked into doing it anyway!!!

like how can you raise your price and claim it's because the game is complete now and RELEASE IT ON CONSOLE when the game isn't actually complete now? did they need the extra money to continue development? did some suit stick his nose where it didn't belong? and my ass is WAY past 4 hours so there's no way i can return it. i'm stuck with this game now, just as it is, with the money i paid for it.

idek if i will keep playing. it's fucking fun as shit and ik when it's finished i'm gonna love the hell out of it, plus i've got a ways to go yet before i start hitting walls. but man what a way to take the wind out of a girl's sails. "wip." i spent the last 4 in-game days doing nothing but cleaning the ocean. good lord.

tbh going on reddit was a mistake. that was my bad. i would have preferred to find all this out the hard way and enjoy myself until then. or: better: i would have preferred not to buy the fucking game yet! wild how that works! i hate i hate i HATE this economy!!!!!!!!!! that's so fucking evil!!! i literally want my money back!

[claudiablogger]

youre absolutely right btw. Im tired of Daniel and Im tired of these fans obsession with whiteness. Would stan a fencepost if it was white indeed and considering theyve invented a brand new personality for him to fit into their headcanons and dumbass dm fics so they dont even like him as presented either 😭

screamm literally the worst part is i (show enjoyer who happens to have read iwtv only) love the premise of dm their hunger their jealousy their t4t slay. the version presented by most lovers however that involves armand haplessly pathetically in love w him and sticking by louis for no greater causes than convenience and cost benefit analytical rationality while daniel's the secret love of his life is soooo ldpdl voice BORING you are so Boring dull nights dull weeks dull months dull as fuck !!!! armand doesn't need daniel in fact it's kind of sexy how he inadvertently engineered daniel wrecking his life and he had to first hurt him then kill him to get back at louis bc he presented himself to louis as the anti lestat and his form of punishment hence must involve guilt tripping and blame and the threat of violence knocking on their door like an intruder like it isn't armand's hand raised on full purpose. anyway i started talking abt armands evilness and got sidetracked sorry i also hate how everyone makes daniel submissive to armand against his will or w/e like in thrall to his maker. like ok we already got that guess yr just antiblack and stupid ! plus as if it isn't his vileness in part at least for which louis loves daniel <3 not only is he a masochist louis is also FUNNY <3 and they banterrrr. danlou fucked once in daniels bed after he was turned give each other weekly mental health updates he told me himself. who said guys and girls can't be friends

[maggicktouched]

Drabbles; Arya

@burnnouts

They’d had two horses. At least for a while. After she’d first been taken by the Hound, she’d been forced to share a horse with him until the night at the Crossroads where she’d reclaimed Needle. She’d taken a small sorrel horse the soldiers had tethered outside the inn. The gelding was quiet, if a bit underweight, but well suited to her needs. She’d even been considering giving him a name until he somehow managed to escape the pen of the broken down stable they’d been squatting in, and had bolted off into the night. Now they just had one horse, a large black brute built for heavy loads, but he was wavering under the strain of two riders and their provisions. The Riverlands had been victim to ceaseless rain for nearly a week, and they’d been forced to use the horse sparingly as the floodwaters spread over the land.

Arya squinted, shielding the sun from her eyes with one hand as she stared out over a field. The morning was still young, but the early light managed to cut through the billowing gray clouds to warm a small stretch of land. The lingering water on the field shone like jewels when the light danced along its surface. She hoped that it signaled at least a brief reprieve from the rain. 

At first she didn’t see the silhouette moving in the distance. It was far away and the glare of the sun on the shifting, shallow water made light and shadow dance in a way that fooled the eye, but one shadow in particular moved with all the speed of a cracking whip. Behind it, a curtain of water flew up into the air as the shape charged frantically to the side. Arya rubbed her eyes and focused on the shape as it turned a wide, arching circle, and then stopped once more. A snort rang out through the thin, crisp air, and her eyes finally made sense out of the silhouette: it was a horse!

Arya glanced back over her shoulder to where the Hound was. His back was to her, and his chest was rising and falling at a languid pace that suggested he was still asleep. She toed her away silently across their ramshackle camp and found the saddle bags slung over a crooked fencepost. Inside she found a dried cob of corn and half a carrot that she shoved into her pocket. If the Hound heard her rummaging through the supplies or slipping away from the camp, he made no move to show it.

She picked her way carefully down the small hill where they’d made camp. A fall probably wouldn’t hurt, but the horse had drifted close enough that a sudden noise or movement might catch its attention and cause it to spook. Every step she took was slow and gentle, but not light enough to be silent; she didn’t want to surprise the beast. It was grazing with its hind quarters facing her, and when she gave a little whistle, its head shot up and it turned on its hindquarters in one fluid movement.

For a moment, Arya was stunned. Standing no more than thirty paces away was a small horse in an old, battered saddle that was twisted off to one side. It was the kind of tack suited to drays or mules—bulky and plain—but the horse beneath the saddle was no beast of burden. In fact, she’d never quite seen a horse like it. The coat was a dark liver chestnut, nearly brown, and its flaxen mane was almost silver in the tender light of the morning. It had four stockings as white as fresh snow in the spots the mud hadn’t touched, and a white blaze that led down to the smallest bit of pink on its muzzle. It was built differently from most of the horses she’d ever seen as well—too small to be a destrier, too lean to be a courser, and too delicate to ever be called a garron. Perhaps it was some kind of palfrey? But its movements were bouncy and fluid. Whatever it was, it was certainly not a horse a farmer could ever afford. 

“Hello there.” She said gently, squatting down and reaching into her pocket to snap off a bit of carrot. The horse was wearing a halter too, though it had slipped off of one ear and the rope attached to it seemed to have snapped entirely. Arya slowly extended her hand and showed the meager offering in her palm. “Have you lost your rider?”

It couldn’t answer her, of course, but its fluted ears locked onto her, and it tossed its head anxiously, as if it wanted to approach but couldn’t find the courage. Once more she whistled softly, and the horse spooked on the spot, but didn’t bolt. Whoever had owned it clearly lacked the horsemanship required for such a wellbred, hot-blooded steed, but she’d been riding horses for nearly all of her life; if she could only catch the beast, she was sure she could settle it.

“Come on.” She coaxed. “Let me fix your halter.” 

She didn’t move—positive that any sudden motion would send the creature running off into the hills. So even though her legs ached and the water was soaking through her breeches, she kept perfectly still. After a long few minutes, the horse snorted again, as loud as a lion’s roar, and took a few tentative steps toward her—only to startle itself and take off at a bouncing trot several paces away. Surprisingly, before she could even curse in frustration, it turned back around and started to inch forward again. More time passed, and Arya soothed the horse with gentle words, until finally it stretched out its neck as far as it could, and carefully took the carrot from her palm. 

Three more times the mare retreated, but each time it returned a bit faster. Arya didn’t dare grab the rope and try to wrangle it before it let her stroke it on the withers, for fear that it would bolt and either drag her through the mud or lose the halter and rope entirely. Then she’d have no chance at catching it. When the carrot was gone, she switched to little offerings of dried corn, holding out a little more each time until the horse let her brush its muzzle with her fingers or stand up on her feet. The ear of corn was half gone when she finally inched back far enough to stroke the horse on the withers. She gathered up the dry rotted remnants of the rope and wrapped it around the horse’s neck before daring to reach up and fix the halter.

“You’re a pretty thing, aren’t you?” She praised, replacing the frayed rope with a length of her own that she’d brought from camp. Now, with the horse properly in hand, she wasn’t quite so nervous. It, reluctantly, yielded as she led it onward and up the hill onto dry land where the Hound was stirring on his bedroll. 

“What the fuck is that?” He grumbled, spitting off to the side and cracking the bones in his neck before he stood up. 

“It’s a horse.” She replied simply. “Haven’t you ever seen one?”

“I know that.” He snapped. “Where the hell did you get it?”

Arya shrugged, “I found it in the field. It looks like it broke its lead and ran off.”

There wasn’t a town for miles, and even if there was, she wasn’t about to go looking for whoever had lost their horse. She couldn’t stand another day trudging through the mud and water, or pressed up against the stench of the Hound again.

“That thing will buck you off the second your ass hits the saddle and prance on your corpse.” The Hound growled through his mouthful of bread. He tore off a bit and tossed it at the mare, hitting the horse’s flank, and it squealed and jumped back. Arya kept a firm hold on her rope, and glared at the Hound, but she didn’t argue with him.

She let the horse graze while they picked at what few provisions they had, and it calmed down enough that she was able to fix the saddle properly on its back. The way it bumped its head against her chest almost seemed grateful. She did, however, let the Hound tie the horse to his without complaint. They didn’t have another bridle, and without a bit to keep the beast under control, she feared it would run off with her.

For two more days they traveled like that, side by side as the Hound endlessly complained about the hotheaded mare. Arya didn’t let it bother her. She was quickly becoming attached to the spunky little steed, and a part of her longed to see just how fast the horse could go if it weren’t constantly tethered to a brute almost twice its size. The mare had a springy gait, but still moved smoothly. Through muddy waters or on steep rocky paths, the horse never once stumbled, even when the Hound’s did. 

“That saddle’s too big.” The Hound complained one night, pointing to the withers of her fine mare. Sure enough, a couple of sores were blooming on the horse’s otherwise flawless coat. Along the line of the girth, she could see it chafing as well. Though she didn’t understand why he’d point that out; there was nothing she could do about the saddle. 

“Maybe I’ll ride her without a saddle.” Arya said stubbornly, and the Hound only barked out a laugh.

“And maybe she’ll sprout wings and you’ll soar up into the clouds.” He shook his head and laid back on his bedroll. “It’s a miracle that beast hasn’t killed you yet.”

“She wouldn’t hurt me.” Arya said hotly, fully prepared to argue with him, but the Hound only closed his eyes. She didn’t press the issue, only because deep down, she knew he was right. The horse was wellbred, but certainly not well trained, and there was a glint in its eye as if it not only distrusted people, but was largely unfamiliar with them. Every time she put her foot in the stirrup it felt like she was doing something she wasn’t meant to.

There was something wild about her little mare, and Arya wasn’t certain that it should be tamed, or even if it could. Still, in spite of her wide-eyes, high head, and obvious fear, never once had she bucked or bitten or even reared. 

Arya turned her back to the Hound, only to come face to face with the horse. Her soft muzzle pressed up against Arya’s cheek, and the young girl stroked her gently—not even realizing that somehow, the horse had come untied from the tree where she’d left her.

“Tempest.” She said quietly, finally settling on a name for the beast. Her tired hands stroked the silken fur of the mare until they fell away, and her eyes shut as she was lost to slumber.

She woke the next morning to find the mare’s head lowered, her neck stretched out over her sleeping body as if she were a foal. The Hound was stomping around the camp cursing, and any time he took one step to close, the horse would pin back her ears. He mostly ignored her, until he reached for something by Arya’s foot and Tempest opened her jaws and went for his outstretched hand. The bite only missed him by a hair.

“Why didn’t you tie that fucking thing up?” He snarled, reaching for the halter of the horse, but the mare was way too fast, and not only did he fail to grab hold, she used the chance to toss her head and ram it into his arm, sending him back several steps. By the time he had recovered, Tempest’s hips had swiveled in his direction in a deadly threat to kick him in his face.

Arya laughed, but reached up to get control of her mount. Clegane was already angry, but the mare’s attitude put him in such a foul mood that he refused to tie her to his Stranger. She was forced to make reins from rope and tie them to either side of the halter, but she wasn’t afraid. Her leg swung across the horse’s back and she didn’t startle, so Arya pressed her forward with a squeeze of her legs.

For two hours they kept a leisurely pace, and Tempest behaved far better than Arya had ever expected. When she pulled on the reins, the mare would often toss her head or stomp a foot, but ultimately listen to her guidance. Around midday, they came to a fork in the road, and the mare paused. Arya clicked her tongue and pressed with her legs, and they were off again—only in the wrong direction. The Hound’s horse was headed north, and Tempest was trotting off to the west. She pulled the reins, even called out to the Hound, but it was too late.

As soon as Stranger was wheeled around, Tempest broke into a canter, and just as Arya settled into the canter, it became a gallop. Stranger, despite having longer legs, could have never hoped to catch up. The mare ran faster and faster, until the speed felt impossible. Arya didn’t dare jump for fear of breaking a limb, and no amount of pulling on the reins steadied the horse.

“Whoa!” She demanded, but her orders fell on deaf ears. Their pace was frantic, but the mare beneath her didn’t seem spooked. Her ears were focused on one single direction, her neck was stretched out rather than raised and stiff, and she didn’t even appear to strain after running for several minutes. They broke off from the main roads and into the forests, but still her stride never faltered. They vaulted over fallen logs and charged through creeks, and Tempest never stumbled. It carried on that way until the sun had completely fallen and the world was pitch black around them. Arya would have been stunned if she weren’t so exhausted. She rode as hard and as fast as she could, but eventually the horse’s stamina even outlasted her own. Somewhere in the dead of night, atop the charging steed, she fell asleep.

When she awoke, it was to a gentle rocking motion. Beneath her, Tempest was walking steadily forward, and by some miracle, she had both stayed in the saddle and remained asleep until morning. When she pulled on the reins, the horse stopped by the river to slake its thirst. Arya nearly fell as she dismounted, but the mare stretched out her neck, and she fell onto it. She too drank from the cool river, and then pulled a crust of bread from her saddlebag and numbly chewed away at it.

Nothing felt real. Nothing made any sense. She looked over at the horse, frothing with white sweat where the saddle rubbed against her, only to be broken out of her thoughts. She frowned at the pink tinged foam on the mare’s shoulders, and when she clambored to her feet and reached out to wipe it away, she found a handful of small, ugly sores weeping blood where the saddle had been rubbing against her so forcefully. Dazed and frightened as she was, she couldn’t bear the sight. She flung the saddlebag over her own shoulder, and uncinched the girth around the mare’s chest. With a groan of effort, she shoved the battered, sweat soaked saddle off of her horse for good.

The horse nudged her, walked over to a cracked stump, and stood totally still, watching the little girl. When Arya didn’t move, the mare circled back around, shoving her forward a few steps, and returned. When Arya still didn’t follow, the mare began to walk away.

Panic seized her at the prospect of being left alone in some desolate corner of the forest, and she ran after the horse, jumping up onto her back gracelessly. Tempest grunted, but carried on in the same direction they’d been going the whole time. When Arya tried to steer her away, she refused.

“Stupid horse!” She shouted, giving her a hard kick. She instantly regretted it when the mare grunted and sucked in her stomach painfully. Arya winced, rubbed her hand across the uninjured portion of the horse’s neck, and let the reins fall. She had no need for them, apparently she was going wherever Tempest wanted.

A full day passed until they broke out of the woods and into a large field. In the distance, she could see an enormous bustling war camp, and just as she gathered up her reins to try and steer Tempest away, she caught sight of a huge grey wolf, trotting alongside a man on horseback. The two were coming right at them.

“Robb?!” She could have sobbed in disbelief. Her legs pressed closer to the mare’s side and Tempest cantered forward obediently until she could be absolutely certain. It was Robb! It was her brother! The horses slowed as they came closer to one another, but Arya practically leaped down to the ground, charging forward as quickly as her sore legs would allow. She hit Robb’s chest at full speed, wrapping her arms around him. He returned the embrace with crushing intensity. 

“Arya!” He had never sounded so happy in her life. He took her face in his hands and searched her for injury, eyes glistening with unshed tears. “It’s really you. You’re alright.”

He let her go and stepped around her in the direction of her horse, and Arya reached for his hand. “Careful! She doesn’t like-”

But there was no horse when she turned around to face them. Though she had not heard the thunder of horse hooves or seen the mare run off into the distance, Tempest was nowhere to be found. Instead there was a small woman with golden hair letting Robb draw her into his arms as he whispered out words of thanks. 

“Arya this is Beck. She-”

“Is very pleased to make your acquaintance.” The woman cut in, bowing her head respectfully for a brief moment. She looked at Robb and pointed said, “She’s tired, Robb. Go and take her back to camp. I’m sure your mother will be happy to see her. We’ll have plenty of time later.”

Arya was too exhausted to argue, still searching for her horse in the surrounding field. She forced a smile at the strange woman and watched her turn and walk off in the direction of the woods. As she did, Arya just barely caught the sight of the back of her dress, where her shoulders were spotted with crimson drops, as if there were small wounds beneath the fabric. She stared, opening her mouth to say something, and then Robb was there, leading her off in the direction of the camp.

“Have you—have you seen my horse?” She asked quietly.

Robb chuckled. “She’ll come back. She always does.”