#flat mortar stone

[kayespencer]

Cellpic Sunday 6/25/2023 Flat Mortar Stone #cellpic

This big chunk of sandstone rock is a grain grinding stone once used by Native Americans. It is also known as a metate and flat mortar stone. The three smaller rocks are grinder stones. The dimensions of the grindstone is roughly 18″ x 18″ x 4″. The grinding stone was given to my dad many, many years ago. I don’t know who gave it him, and I don’t know its original location. One of the grinder…

[ziggy-pop]

Traditional Landscape - Natural Stone Pavers Photo of a mid-sized traditional partial sun backyard stone landscaping in summer.

[zerudaswonderland]

Container Garden (DC Metro)

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

By His Command 1

Summary: you arrive at your new household to serve. (Handmaid AU)

Warning: this series will contain violence, dystopian aspects, rape and noncon, blood, coercion, possible pregnancy and other dark elements. Please read these warnings and beware.

Character: Lloyd Hansen

Note: you're screaming at me, why are you starting another AU and I got my fingers in my ears like na nana boo noo.

Oh and there may be more commanders to come...

Anyway, thoughts and prayers welcome for my lost soul. Also feedback and comments if you dont mind. Maybe a reblog. 💕💕💕💕

You watch the cloud of your breath in the cold air. The grey sky stretches endlessly on, as flat as anything else in this pallid world. A white blur trims the edge of your vision, that every present brim, a facsimile of a halo. You are not a fallen angel but a disgraced sinner, sentenced to penance, fated to serve another's salvation.

You clasp your hands together, red gloves chafing roughly, wool scratching your raw skin. You look down at the scarlet ripples, the endless crimson that marks you for exactly what you are. You pull at a stray thread and let it fall away.

You raise your head and stare at the opaque screen that separates you from the man in black. The guardian drives on across the fields paled by an early frost, dried grasses wilted beneath the premature winter. You take another frigid breath and lean forward, hovering your hand before the small vent in the door. Nothing.

You sit back. You know better than to complain. There is no one for you to complain to. No one who cares. You are not a person with feelings and thoughts. You are a vessel, to be filled and emptied over and over. You repress a shudder and keep your welling eyes aimed out the tinted window.

You dip your head and hide beneath the broad brim of your white bonnet. You clutch your hands tight and wade through the mounting panic in your chest. The women who left the centre didn't often come back, and when they did, it was never pleasant. Still, you would give anything to go back. There you know what the worst and the best is.

You don't know much of what awaits you, only that it floods you with dread. A commander and his wife, but what else? Will he be cruel? Will she hate you? Will you be able to do what you were trained to?

You part your hands and bring them up your arms, hugging yourself. You can't remember the last time anyone held you. The last time anyone dared touch you. Even when you laid screaming before the other handmaids, hands bloody, back welted, no one dared come near you, no one thought to comfort you.

The SUV turns and you force your eyelids apart. You sniffle and wipe your nose with the coarse wool glove. There is a low stone fence that trails the long winding road towards a tall gate. The tires slow as your heart piques and you choke on terror.

At a halt, you hear the man's voice in the front seat, through the barrier that divides you. For order, for chasteness, for your debasement. You are not worthy. You are emblazoned as a blasphemer.

The car rolls on, jerking you back against the seat. A slow draw that brings into view shedding hedges, stone benches, a fountain, a lawn that expands before you. You watch the birds flutter, marveling at their peace, and a leaf drifts down in a calm path to the ground. A serenity that so starkly counterbalances the chaos blooming in your chest.

You veer around the curved arm of the driveway and once more stop. The engine rolls over and quiets. The front door opens and you flinch. Steps tramp and come around, a shadow awaiting you on the otherside as the locks slide back.

The guardian opens the door and you grab the red valise on your feet. You turn your legs over the side of the seat and step out, heels clacking off the hard stone. The man steps back, gripping the strap of his gun.

"Go," he nods his chin in the direction of the house.

You look over at the grand facades, stone and mortar in a centurion style, rooves high and looming, a balcony with a naked trellis below. You gulp and march forward, grasping the round handle of your bag with both hands. The man trails you, keeping you on course as his steps echo your own.

You get to the first step and raise your foot, setting in on the stope edge. The front door opens and steals your attention from the hem of your skirt. You look up as a Martha emerges in her green smock and apron. Her faces is blotchy and her grimace is deepset.

"Come, OfLloyd," she beckons you with a curt wave, "we must prepare for the Commander's return."

[soulless-computerbug]

Toby:

Oak, birch, aspen trees, sunlight filtering through the leaves, the rush of the north wind. Babbling brooks and creeks, a trout jumping and splashing on the surface. Campfires, woodsmoke, ash and dust rising from a glowing plume into the starry night. Bonfires. House fires. Dumpster fires in the cold icy streets. Car exhaust and drunk drivers on empty lonely highways, flat energy drinks in the cup holders. The sound of splitting wood, cracking ice, falling stone. Granite sparkling in the dusk light. Icy cold fingertips pressed against your palm, nails gently biting your skin.

Kate:

Stale cigarette smell in old musty carpet. The clack of billiard balls against each other, quiet chatter and laughter, low blues music crackling through old speakers. Blues, classic rock, hard rock, headbanging to old punk music in the car with your friends, parked in the lot after a highschool game. Smiling so wide your cheeks ache. Pounding throbbing feet on concrete, the rough grooves of brick and mortar under your nails. The chokehold of terror in your chest, the moon through douglas firs and redwood trees. February breeze at 3am, cold air seeping under your jacket, the flannels of your pants. Cold fingers, cold toes, steaming hot water that stings like pure bliss. The taste of medicine that follows the ringing of an alarm.

Liam:

Larks and robins at 5am. The smell of black coffee and old books, the rustle of papers and shuffle of feet. Linoleum tile under leather doc marten soles. Rye grass and blue river water, stormy gray skies. The thwap of latex gloves against your wrist like a second skin. Bubbling, fizzing, foaming, colors shifting from green to gray to blue to orange. Apple slices as you scratch note after note onto old notebook paper. Losing your voice after screaming for hours, dull migraines and illusory palinopsia. Lyssavirus, crutzfeldt-jakobs disease, marburgvirus, all neatly labeled in perfect little vials. Lying in wait.

[najia-cooks]

[ID: A bowl full of a saucy lentil dish with a curved green chili for garnish. End ID]

العدس / L3des (Moroccan lentils)

Cumin, paprika, turmeric, and ginger complement the earthiness of the green lentils in this flavorful, filling dish.

This recipe is for a common, basic Moroccan home-cook preparation of lentils; other preparations also include diced potatoes, sun-dried cured meat (al guedid or al qadid / الݣديد or القديد), dried meat cooked in oil (al khli3 / الخليع), or squash.

Recipe under the cut!

Patreon | Tip jar

Ingredients:

2 cups (375g) green lentils, soaked in cool water for about 40 minutes

1 large yellow onion, grated

4 cloves garlic, grated or chopped

1/2 Tbsp ground turmeric

1/2 Tbsp ground ginger

1/2 Tbsp cumin seeds, toasted and ground

1 tsp black peppercorns, toasted and ground

1/2 Tbsp ground sweet paprika

1 Mediterannean bay leaf (laurel)

1 tomato, peeled and grated (about 1/2 cup)

1 Tbsp tomato paste (optional)

One bunch (1/2 cup) flat-leaf parsley

1 1/2 tsp salt, or to taste

1/4 cup extra virgin olive oil

1 1/3 cup (800mL) water

Ground roasted cumin, paprika, or cayenne pepper, to serve (optional)

Instructions:

1. Pick over lentils for stones or other debris. Soak them in enough cool water to cover.

2. If using whole spices, toast black peppercorns on medium in a dry skillet for a few minutes until fragrant. Set aside. Toast cumin for a minute or two until fragrant. Allow spices to cool. Grind peppercorns and cumin with a mortar and pestle or in a spice mill.

3. Quarter and grate the tomato flesh-side-first, leaving the skin behind. You can also peel the tomato by placing it for one minute in just-boiled water, then removing its skin (if skin does not come off easily, soak for another minute); then purée it in a blender. Grate the onion and garlic, or pulse in a food processor.

4. Heat 3 Tbsp oil in a large pot on medium. Add onion, garlic, bay leaf, and parsley and cook, covered, for 2-3 minutes.

5. Add spices (turmeric, cumin, pepper, and paprika) and sauté until fragrant, about 30 seconds.

6. Add the tomato. Cover and cook for another 3-4 minutes.

7. Add the lentils and water. Bring to boil on high, then lower to a simmer. Cover and simmer until the lentils are tender, 25-30 minutes. Stir in the remaining 1 Tbsp of olive oil.

8. Simmer, uncovered, until the desired consistency is achieved. The dish should be very saucy, like a stew.

9. Add salt to taste. Serve with olive oil, sweet paprika, cumin, and cayenne pepper at the table to top. Pair with a crusty bread, such as khobz.

Spice profiles vary somewhat for this dish, but typically include turmeric, ginger, and black pepper. Paprika and/or cumin are often added; sometimes, coriander or bay leaf is added as well.

Cooking methods also vary significantly. Some preparations cook a selection of the ingredients in oil before boiling, as I have called for; others add all ingredients to a pot and bring them to a boil together.

[hometoursandotherstuff]

This 1996 horse farm in Ontario,  Canada is insane. 2bd. 3ba. $2.789M. If you’re into stone houses and rustic wood, you gotta see this. (The only thing is, why did they build such a big place w/only 2bs?)

Check out this main room- the ceiling, stone walls and archways. 

At the far end of this main room is a cozy family room area w/a great view.

Isn’t this amazing?

The stone is made to look like ancient stone walls that are fitted together w/o mortar.

Look at that ladder going all the way up into the eaves.

Interesting flat fireplace façade is made especially for a wood stove. 

A sunken living room surrounded by bar area with a mezzanine overhead.

Beautiful bar, isn’t it?

The kitchen cabinetry is stunning, but I’m not lovin’ the flooring. They picked fancy cabinetry, but the floors look like they belong in a barn. 

To the right of the kitchen is a dining room w/a spectacular fireplace.

Isn’t the fireplace stunning?

I even like the laundry room- two-tone cabinetry and an adorable vintage sink.

Here’s an interesting rec  room- notice the sleigh. Stairs lead to the 2 bds. on the 2nd level.

I think that this is the main bath, beautiful claw foot tub and what appears to be a fireplace. 

The large main bd. is big enough for a full living room area and I like the way they put the bed in its own niche.

Very sophisticated walk-in closet. 

And, this is the 2nd bd. I still say that there should be at least 3 bds. in a home this size.

Beautiful pool w/a waterfall feature.

The patio area is extensive, and check out the size of the outdoor kitchen. You can have tons of guests, but no one can stay overnight, b/c there’s only 2 bedrooms! Maybe they did that deliberately, but then to ask $2.7M for a house w/2 bds. is going to be a hard sell.

Now, we come to the horse barn, b/c this is, after all, a horse farm.

Hello. 

Look at how huge this is. 

And, it even has a gigantic training area.

This home is definitely centered around horses. I wonder if they come with it.

priceypads.com

[thesugarclubs-blog]

Love In The Dark - AU Bucky Barnes x OC

warnings: fantasy au, prince james "bucky" barnes, he hates everyone but her, he falls first, OC works in his palace, rude comments to staff, smut, 18+

word count: 8k

WP: https://www.wattpad.com/1358436681-love-in-the-dark-davina

Masterlist

“Follow,” the old maid demanded of Davina who scurried behind her in old flats that barely comforted her from the cobblestone beneath. “Do not fall behind on your chores, do you understand girl? Speak!” She barked before Davina could find her voice. “You won’t last a week,” the old woman pushed her through a small wooden door into a massive brick-and-mortar kitchen.

“You’ll work here for the time being,” she looked over at Davina with disgust, and for good reason. Her blonde hair seemed ashen, laced with dirt and plaited back and tied with whatever string she could find. Her skirts were drafty and her blouse was ill-fitting but she was clothed and ready to work for the coin.

“You do not address the king, you do not leave the kitchen unless instructed by my hand,” the maid warned, “and for your own sake do not make yourself known to the Prince. He has a temper.”

“A temper?” Was Davina’s only question when she finally spoke.

“I will speak no further on the matter, heed my warning and mind yourself,” she rumbled up her skirts in her withered old hands and scurried like a mouse from the humid kitchen.

The blonde sucked in a deep breath as she watched the older maid rush up the stone stairs and disappear through a door. From behind her, she could hear the bustling kitchen, the smell of onions and game cooking wafted around. Davina's nerves settled in her stomach and as she spun around to get to work, she jumped backward, startled.

"Watch it!" One of the cooks shouted as they moved around her to slide a hot pan onto the plating surface.

"Sorry," Davina mumbled, waiting for another second before stepping into the scene.

"You, new girl, get those plates in the warmer! The king will have our heads if dinner’s cold," The woman barked, moving around to continue chopping.

She nodded sharply, taking the heavy stack of ceramic plates in her arms and heading to the warmer. Davina kneeled slowly in front of it, focusing her mind on settling her quick breaths as she placed the plates on the cold floor beside her.

The last thing she wanted to do was drop something on her first day, it would certainly make it her last and she couldn’t take that risk.

She opened the warmer door and placed the plates carefully inside it. When she closed it, she let her hand fall to the ornate iron legs on which it stood, admiring the work and detail put into the paws.

She had an affinity for the small wonders of the world. The details that no one took to notice or care for. Someone had hand-crafted the legs of the massive warmer with feathered swirls and filigree.

“Keep moving,” she was ordered by another voice. It didn’t take long until the sweat was pouring down her neck between her breast and shoulder blades.

“Run this out to the dining room,” a gruff-looking male servant shoved a pitcher of wine into her sore arms.

“But—” she tried to protest and explain that she wasn’t to leave the kitchen but before she could. The man had disappeared back to work near the hot stove.

Davina furrowed her brows and stared between the pitcher of wine and the stone staircase that led up to the main house. She was meant to be a kitchen servant, helping the cook and washing dishes, not seen by any one of the upstairs maids or especially not the royal family. But at this moment, there was no one she could protest that to and in the mere moments she'd been in the palace, it was evident that the family hated waiting for things.

With a sharp inhale, she balanced the pitcher in both her hands to ensure it didn't spill and made her way up the staircase. Surely someone up there could help her find the dining room, even if she just had to follow one of the other staff members.

"Okay Davina, you can do this, just keep your head down and look like you've been here forever," she muttered to herself, taking each step slowly and carefully.

The moment she entered the stretch of hallway from the servant's staircase, she felt like she was in a completely different building. Rough stone and creaking wood became intricate designs painted on smooth walls and richly colored woolen carpets on polished floors. Flickering flames lined the hall, and as she followed them down they led to two large wooden doors.

“That must be it,” she murmured to herself as faint voices drifted from that same direction.

Davina straightened her back and made her way with quick quiet steps. She wanted to deliver the wine and get back where she belonged without trouble. But it seemed that was too good to be true.

“What are you doing out here?” The same old maid who had taken her to the kitchens appeared beside her, seemingly out of thin air. “You are to use the stairway that leads directly to the dining hall if you are serving, and I believe I gave you strict instructions not to leave the kitchens.”

“I—I didn’t… I,” Davina stammered, clutching the pitcher to her chest.

“Careful, foolish girl, you’ll crack the pitcher squeezing it like that!” The maid snapped, gripping Davina by the upper arm and spinning her to face the wall.

Davina’s confusion quickly abated as the old maid drew back one of the wall hangings to reveal a hidden door, which she opened and shoved Davina towards.

“Servants travel in the servants’ corridors. We don’t want the likes of you cluttering up the hallways,” she snapped, before stalking away.

Tutting her frustration and wondering why the old maid wasn’t using the servants’ corridors herself, Davina entered the dimly lit walkway and shut the door behind her. It ran parallel to the hallway she had walked down and not too far along was a nondescript wooden door that looked as if it should open into the same room as the large double doors she had spied before.

She steadied her nerve and entered the room, careful to keep it against the wall as she made her way to the long table holding the desserts and fruits until it was time to serve.

She had never been in such a room before. Ceilings so high she needed to crane her neck to see the ornate designs of the crystal chandelier that hung from the vaults. The room was draped in rich, dark green wallpaper that Davina could only assume was more expensive than anything she had ever touched.

“Wine,” a voice snapped from behind her and she was sucked back from her daydream to the loud room. Plush royals picked at their meals while a shrill violin played melancholy music in the corner. The violinist wore a tight smile that felt painful to look at.

“Are you daft?” The voice said again causing Davina to focus. A horribly skinny woman in a pleaded bright yellow gown barked at her. “Wine, now.” She tapped a long, feeble-looking finger against her crystal goblet.

Davina chewed on the inside of her cheek and nodded softly once. She knew she was way out of her depths here, but who was she to say no to one of the royal families? Pinning her shoulders back, she took careful steps towards the table, allowing her gaze to drift around the table as she did.

Taking an inventory of everyone who sat in front of her, she didn't want to be the person who messed up on the names of the royals. King James sat at the head of the table as usual, with Queen Winnifred at the other end. On either side sat another couple, the skinny woman and a man who she assumed was said woman's husband. Finally, there was a younger girl, a brunette in a violet dress, who was paying no attention whatsoever to the dinner but instead, had her gaze fixed on one of the servicemen that stood along the wall.

Her eyes drifted over and she was met with the piercing blue stare of Prince James "Bucky" Barnes, who rather than paying attention to the girl he was supposed to, had his eyes narrowed at Davina, watching her carefully as she moved around the table.

With a sharp intake of breath, Davina turned her head, trying to focus on her task. She could still feel Prince James’ eyes on her, and it took everything in her not to respond to the pull of his gaze.

The woman holding her goblet tutted, clicking her teeth as Davina hurried around to her seat.

“Where is your sense of urgency, girl? I’m parched here!”

“I’m sorry, my lady,” Davina murmured, “it’s my first day.”

She regretted uttering the excuse the moment it left her lips as the woman scoffed and turned to Prince James.

“I take it you’ll be doing an overhaul of the servants once you’re king, James? It’ll be needed.”

The Prince made no comment that Davina could hear and she dared to look at him once more. She wished she hadn’t as she saw his full lips Prince twist in a snarl of derision and his jaw clenched tightly as he turned his attention away from her and focused on the younger girl next to him.

He leaned over and whispered something in her ear, his eyes flashing with devilry as the girl burst into peals of laughter.

“Show some decorum, Rebecca,” the Queen hissed, glaring at her child.

“Sorry Mother,” the Princess replied demurely, trying to rein in her smile.

The wine poured into the goblet carefully despite Davina's shaking hands and she was able to find her spot against the wall once again, cradling the pitcher like it might protect her from the ill intent and dirty stares of the family. Her attention still carefully and quietly focused on the Prince and Princess, who seemed to have their own quiet language that no one else paid much attention to.

She cracked a small smile as the Prince pushed around his food on his plate to resemble a messy, gravy-covered painting that could have been a pig but Davina wasn't sure until Rebecca began laughing again and the King turned beet red as the Prince cast a devilish smirk across the table.

"You two will be the ruin of this family," the king muttered beneath his labor breathing.

"James, please," The queen gritted her teeth, setting her fork down, "Do not start this again"

Davina cast her eyes down into the pitcher, attempting to tune out the conversation that she expected to transpire, afraid she would hear something that she wasn't supposed to. When working for families of higher positions, there was always topics you would overhear and information that was meant to be kept between family members. Most servants would just push it away or discuss it amongst themselves, but it was never on day one that conversations of this stature were witnessed.

"No father, please, continue," Prince James grinned dramatically, "I for one love hearing how Becca and I are going to ruin this realm,"

Davina swallowed hard. It was the first time she actually heard the prince speak. His voice was deep but melodic. Playful.

She stayed in place as the family began to bicker. “James, don’t start,” the queen warned once more. “I do not want more china broken.”

The temper thing seemed true then, Davina thought as her gaze flitted to the prince. She lingered on his jaw, stubbled and tight as it clenched, and then dragged it upward to stormy eyes.

Stormy eyes landed on her, and Prince James furrowed his brow curiously. Davina couldn’t look away this time, transfixed on the way he was staring her down, his dark face framed by long hair.

She swallowed thickly, having to force herself to stop the inappropriate staring when James grunted and scraped his chair back from the table.

“I’m no longer hungry,” he stated, before turning to his younger sister, his voice suddenly a little softer as he continued, “I’ll be in the library, little butterfly if you wish to lose at chess again.”

“I only lose because you cheat, Bucky!” Princess Rebecca called after him as he left the table, much to the clear chagrin of their parents.

Davina could feel the air in the room grow tense as dinner came to a close and the family scattered among the castle walls. Davina finished what chores she had and walked home in the darkness. As the weeks turned to a month Davina settled into her responsibilities but her curiosity for the Prince never faded.

Smoothing down her dress, Davina made her way once more through the stone hallways of the palace. It was a warm summer's day, and she was thankful to be in the wing of the palace that had open hallways into the gardens.

As she walked, soft grunts echoed through the air and when the sight of Prince James came into her view, she stopped in her tracks. He was training outside today, moving swiftly as if he were dancing around his sparing instructor. Beads of sweat dripped down his throat to his chest, and his tanned skin glimmered under the sunlight, making the ocean blue of his eyes stand out that much more.

James parried a blow, blocking an incoming attack from the side, then swung his sword as he swiftly moved his feet in the opposite direction.

He was… beautiful. Davina hid in the shadows, hoping no one could see her as she watched every move the prince made.

He’s brilliant.

She could almost see the calculations he was making in his head, eyes moving fast as he accurately predicted his opponent’s next moves.

Lifting his sword, his muscles tensed as he snarled and brought it down with a mighty clash, metal to metal. Davina’s stomach swooped at the pure strength behind James’ movements, he was sculpted like the statues of the castle, a work of art.

Lost to her reverie, she was spooked by the clearing of a throat behind her.

“You’re not the first maid to stare at my brother and you certainly won’t be the last, not that I understand the reasons why,” the young Princess announced imperiously with a look of thinly veiled disgust.

“Your Highness…” Davina dropped a curtsey and bowed her head. “I wasn’t…I mean, I’m not…”

“If you say so,” Princess Rebecca smirked cheekily, her arms folded across her chest.

Davina stared at her feet, not wanting to admit that maybe she had been admiring the Prince. Even if the Princess was younger than her she was still a member of the royal family. Oh god, she was going to get in trouble for this, wasn't she?

"Ugh, ew!" Davina glanced up, only to see the Princess' nose wrinkled in disgust as she looked her over. "Don't servants bathe? You stink!"

The younger girl whirled around without another word, striding away with the imperious air that was typical of her station, leaving Davina feeling hurt and embarrassed. It wasn't her fault that she had no private place to bath where she lived.

"You kind of do," the Prince's low voice came from behind her, making her jump.

The hair on the back of Davina's neck stood on end as she slowly turned on her heel to face the Prince. Despite the flush of embarrassment on her cheeks she curtsied muttering a soft "Your Highness" before standing straight, taking a step back from his large frame.

Ocean blue eyes narrowed at her for a moment, "My sister, as brash as she is, is right. You need a bath." His words sent a burning sensation behind her eyes as she tried to hold back the tears from feeling the humiliation climbing through her veins.

"Yes sir," She said softly ignoring the shakiness in her voice.

He studied her once more before glancing behind him into the courtyard then up and down the hallways. Her eyes followed his own, finding themselves completely alone. Silence drifted between them before he glanced back at her, his eyes roaming her features as he took a step towards her and lifted his hand. Every muscle in her body tensed as the Prince's thumb brushed over her cheekbone wiping away at the smudge of dirt she had seen this morning but forgot to wipe away herself and watched as the blue in his eyes disappeared with something other than disgust.

Davina's breath shuddered while his hand lingered on her skin almost burning her with curiosity and a feeling in her belly that she should not be having for the Prince.

"There's a bath house for the servants on the edge of the grounds," He said, his voice huskier than before, "Use it. If you are told not to by any of the other maidens, you direct them to me."

Just as quickly as his fingers had found her skin, they were gone. His gaze lingered on her for a moment more before he turned and moved down the corridor, letting Davina force the breath she was holding out through her mouth.

She sighed to herself before going about the rest of her chores for the day in silence. When dusk came, she found the bathhouse that the Prince spoke of. It felt nice to be able to soak in the flowing water and to use the bath oils and hard goat's soap that she found.

Clean and dressed in a new hand-me-down shirt and skirt from an older maid, Davina took her small dinner in the servant's quarters before beginning her evening duties.

The breakfast for tomorrow morning needed preparing, bread dough to be proved and fruits to be soaked in syrup.

The small wooden clock on the mantle told her she was running behind and she hurried to the kitchens, blonde hair flying behind her as she fumbled to tie it back with ribbon. In her haste, she skipped the servant staircase, the castle was quiet and she doubted there would be anyone around to berate her now.

Past the great hall, left at the garden room and— oof

The library door swung open and she collided, hard and fast with the broad body of the prince, clad in soft cotton undergarments.

“Oh…oh my…I’m…your Highness!” Davina stammered, dropping into the lowest curtsey she could manage.

Her face blazed with embarrassment as she remained frozen, her head bowed as her hair slowly slid back out of the poorly-tied ribbon and pooled like satin around her shoulders.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“I think perhaps I share some of the blame here,” the Prince rumbled. “Are you hurt?”

Davina looked up, surprised to hear what almost sounded like kindness coming from the usually closed-off Prince.

"Oh, ah, yes, I'm fine, your majesty," She curtsied again, her cheeks hot, "I should have taken the servant's hall, I am so sorry. It won't happen again."

"It's fine, there's no one else around," He murmured. She looked up, hesitating to meet his gaze. He was studying her intently, though what his thoughts may have been she couldn't tell, "You used the bathhouse, I take it?"

"Yes, thank you, sir."

"Hmm," For the second time that day, he reached out, but this time his fingers trailed the collar of her shirt. She struggled not to make a sound when he touched her neck, just barely before his hand dropped away completely.

"What was your name again?" He asked.

"Davina, your royal highness."

She watched as his tongue jutted out over his bottom lip. His plump pink lips glistened under the low light coming from the library after the action causing her breath to hitch in her throat.

“Please,” his voice low and raspy, “just Bucky. I detest the formalities.”

Davina felt the heat creeping slowly up her neck, “Oh, I couldn’t possibly.”

“Just between us,” he stated, tilting his head down slightly, a stray curl falling across his forehead as his eyes searched hers.

Her fingers itched with the urge to push the curl from his face. Realizing he had gone quiet, her eyes peeled from the soft tendril down to his blue eyes. "Of course...Bucky."

The name felt foreign to her lips, almost forbidden, and sparked something in her belly as he shifted in his boots, the corner of his mouth quirked up as he watched her.

"Do I make you nervous, Davina?" He asked in a hushed gravely tone that sent goosebumps up her skin despite the corridor being warm and humid from the night air. Bucky took a step towards her, closing the little distance between them.

Suddenly her throat felt very dry as if every ounce of air had been sucked out of her lungs, "N-no, of course not, I've just -" Davina cleared her throat and pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, "I've heard stories," she admitted, finding herself unable to take her blue eyes off of his.

"Stories..." Bucky repeated, a small glimmer of a smirk appeared on his lips and his head tilted to the side as he watched her, "You've not worked here long, have you?"

"Nearly a month," She answered, still trying to hide the small shake in her voice as she took a step backward.

The prince hummed, nodding once and following her backward step with a move forward, staying close to her as his eyes traced her features. Davina was gearing up to hear cruel words drip from his lips as he bashed her for her stupidity. Despite being allowed to call him by his nickname, there was no way she could have prepared for his next words.

"I knew I couldn't be so blind as to miss someone so beautiful working in my palace," He rasped, reaching out to brush a stray piece of blonde hair off her shoulder.

Davina furrowed her brows and took in a sharp breath, "You... you think I'm beautiful?"

“Enchanting, really,” Bucky murmured softly, twisting a strand of her hair around his fingers.

Davina’s breath hitched, her gaze leaving his momentarily to trail the length of his body.

“Forgive me, Davina. I am in battle garments so often, I like to dress down most evenings. I usually stay in my rooms and don’t expect to bump into anyone.”

He peered at her through his dark lashes, blue eyes glistening as his cheeks flushed a soft pink. To see the Prince blush was a surprise.

“It was unexpected, I admit,” she replied, lightness in her voice.

His mouth opened and then closed, as if he wanted to say something but then decided against it. He tried again,

“Do you…read?” He asked, gesturing with his head towards the doorway he’d appeared through.

The tone of his question sparked something in Davina and she felt indignance rise within her.

“Do I read?” She blustered. “Why? Do you think one in a lowly station such as I am not educated? Because I am new here? Because that wretched old chief maid worked me so hard I hadn’t even had time to bathe?!”

Davina’s hands landed on her hips, her eyes blazing.

“Of course, I can read you arrogant ass!”

For a moment the Prince looked taken aback, instead of Davina being the one who was flustered, it was him floundering.

"I didn't mean - " he stopped abruptly and then laughed, his eyes crinkling slightly at the edges while his nose wrinkled up with the smile. "Forgive me, Davina, I didn't mean to imply you had no education. I meant, rather, to ask if you wanted to see the library?"

Who was this man and what had he done with Prince James?!

A shuffling at the end of the hallway startled them both before Davina could form a response. Headed straight for them was the very same wretched old maid she'd mentioned a moment earlier.

"Shit," she cursed quietly, before remembering who she was with. Her hand flew to her mouth, hoping neither the prince nor the maid had heard her.

Before she could think of a reasonable explanation to be caught with the Prince in a dark corridor, his hand grasped her waist as he shuffled to the side.

Davina was stunned- mostly from fear, but partially from the firm grasp he held through the thick fabric of her skirts. He had placed his body between hers and the old maid, who was just a few feet away from them now. Her heart lept to her throat.

“My lord, please forgive the new girl, she’s not right in the head-“ Bucky stepped forward just as the old maid approached with an outstretched hand, poised to slap Davina.

“How dare you speak about my staff in such a manner?” He practically hissed at her. The old maid shrunk at his sharp tone, her hand returning to her waist to smooth her apron.

“Your grace, I’m sorry,” she curtsied. Davina could see the old maid shaking as she averted her eyes. A part of her felt sympathy for a split second - this was another human, after all. And they both were only in this hallway because they served the man standing between them, and his entire royal bloodline.

She wanted to take comfort in the fact that Bucky seemed to be protecting her, but she also couldn’t ignore the fact that he was royalty and she was a mere handmaid.

“I’ll make sure she is punished and-“

Bucky cut the old maid off again. “You will do no such thing, wench,” he spat at her. She shrunk even closer to the floor as Davina started to actually revel in the verbal lashing he was delivering.

They may both be servants, but this woman was unnecessarily wretched.

"Return to your duties, Miss Davina serves me and only me from this night forward." Bucky turned his nose up with his words. His hand squeezed her side when she tensed next to him.

The old maid stood straight once more, her eyes bulging from her skull, "Your Highness, that's not--"

Davina froze once again, her gaze daringly flickered between the two of them just long enough to catch his brow raise and the slight tilt of his head.

"I will not repeat myself again." His words were harsh and firm with warning. The old maid bowed her head once before turning on her heel and away from them.

She felt herself let out a breath before stumbling out of his grasp, "You didn't need to do that." Davina hissed gently, "I shouldn't have been here."

Bucky turned back towards her, his fists clenching at his sides and a hard look plastered over his face. "That old maid has been bitter since I was a child and she abuses what little reign she has on the rest of the servants and clearly more-so you, so yes Davina, I did." She stared up at him, not believing the words she was hearing as his face softened and he reached for the large bronze handle of the Library door, "I'd like to get to know the maiden who will be mine from now on unless you'd like to return to the servants quarters."

The butterflies in her chest exploded and she wasn't sure if his words had a second meaning or not, but the corners of his mouth quirked up again softly creasing the corners of his eyes and showing her a different side of the rumored mean prince.

Davina cleared her throat and rubbed the back of her neck. She could still feel his hand at her waist. "If... If you want to show me the library, I wouldn't be opposed, sir."

There were rooms in the castle where servants weren’t permitted to enter unless working directly with a member of the family or under extraordinary circumstances. Sleeping quarters, private offices, and, Davina had been disappointed to learn, the library.

So given the opportunity now, as Bucky tucked her hand snuggly into the crook of his elbow, she was giddy to see the large collection of books she’d heard talk of.

“Oh, this is glorious!” She beamed as Bucky guided her into the room, letting her go to close the heavy doors behind them with a loud thunk.

Davina’s heart thundered against her rib cage as she turned to see Bucky watching her take it in, his expression soft. She was truly alone with the prince now, and he was looking at her like she was some creature from heaven.

“It is quite. I always felt there was something missing though, with the room.” He paused and took a large stride towards her, absentmindedly fixing an upturned frill on the shoulder of her shirt. “But I think I just found it.”

Her breath hitched slightly at his closeness, her senses becoming overwhelmed by the new environment. The light in the library was dim, with oil lamps turned down low and the fire in the grate almost at embers. The smell of woodsmoke, leather, and old paper permeated the air, combined with a scent that was so distinctly…royal.

“No one really takes care of them anymore,” he murmured, stepping up behind her. “They keep it clean and tidy but the books are so…neglected.”

“I’d look after them,” Davina breathed. “I’d organize them and make sure they were treated properly, the books,” she clarified.

“I thought you might,” Bucky hummed, his fingers moving from her shoulder to rest against the side of her neck, his thumb tracing small circles against her shoulder blade.

Davina was practically dizzy at the slightest sign of affection from this man. She so desperately wanted to arch her back into him but she couldn’t possibly be so forward, not after he offered her such a generous opportunity.

Gratitude bloomed in her chest as she realized the gravity of what happened here. She suddenly spun around to face him. Bucky’s eyes widened in shock as she stared up at him through her lashes. His hands fell to his sides, but she reached forward and grasped them with her own.

“Your grace, thank you so much for what you did back there. Thank you for- this library is-“

She was overwhelmed by the kindness the Prince was showing her. This was the most human she had felt in a month. Tears welled in her eyes and she sniffed, willing them to dry up and save her a lifetime of embarrassment.

Just as a tear escaped and rolled down her cheek, Bucky reached up and wiped it away with the pad of his thumb. She choked down a sob as he grasped her chin and pointed her gaze toward him. He towered above her.

“You have nothing to thank me for.” He was being so gentle with her, but his tone was firm. She didn’t feel the need to question further.

He gathered her hands against his chest and pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her. She felt comfortable for the first time since she came to be part of the royal service.

“I meant it when I said you were mine now, you know.”

She brought her lip between her bottom lip, her eyes glued to his as the rest of her body melted into the warmth of his own. Though the doubts about their statuses still lingered in the back of her mind.

"I'm just a maiden..." Davina whispered, "And you...are a-"

She gasped as his lips slotted over her own, silencing her. His hand slid from her lower back up to the nape of her neck, holding her firmly against him as a whimper left her lips. Bucky pulled back gently, just far enough that she could see his eyes as she breathlessly finished her thought, "Prince."

"Tell me, Davina," he brushed his thumb over her bottom lip. "Have I ever given you the impression that I am concerned with stations?"

She swallowed tightly, still dizzy from the kiss but Bucky's hands wrapped around her neck tighter keeping her eyes on him as she collected her thoughts. His rings felt cool against her flushed skin.

"Certainly not," she huffed, finally able to catch her breath, "but I may need more convincing your majesty."

James grinned down at Davina, his eyes dark in the dimly lit room. "Oh really? What could I possibly do to convince you, my Davina? " He slowly began backing them up towards a bench against the far wall, out of sight. "Another kiss? Or would my beautiful maiden want something... more?"

The word was a hushed, low rumble against her ear and Davina swore her heart was pounding so hard, Bucky could surely hear it. She drew back with a raised eyebrow as she tried to steel her nerves.

“Surely you have more decorum than to take a maid in the library, your majesty?”

Bucky laughed, rich and echoing in the vast room.

“Oh, my sweet Davina. We have much to learn about each other, but you know I possess little decorum. Especially around a maiden as intoxicating as you.”

He dipped his head then, brushing the cool tip of his nose up the line of her neck and pressing a soft kiss to the sensitive spot just below her ear. Davina gasped as Bucky suckled lightly at her skin.

“Then I want more,” she breathed.

“Perfect,” he murmured against her skin, trailing his lips across her jaw and back to her mouth.

Davina flushed at the soft whine that escaped her throat, but it only served to spur the Prince onwards. Bringing his hands up to cradle her face he kissed her once more, capturing her top lip with his before deepening their contact and pulling her flush against him.

The heat radiating from his body made her overly conscious of his state of undress, clad as he was in only the soft cotton chemise and shorts he must sleep in.

"M-my lord," she gasped when his lips trailed across her cheek and he nipped her earlobe.

"Mmm, Davina," The prince growled, "I told you to call me Bucky."

They sank to the bench, Bucky caging her below him, but he paused, his eyes searching hers instead of continuing his affections. "Are you sure you want this?"

Davina blinked rapidly, "What?"

"Do you want this? Me?" He asked, before clarifying the question further, "I'm not interested in forcing this on you, no matter what my reputation may suggest otherwise."

She nodded her head, staring into his eyes. The blue of his eyes was only slightly visible, his pupils overtaken with lust.

“Words, Davina,” he chided lightly. She craned her neck to reach his lips but he pulled away slightly. She could still feel his breath against her skin.

“Please,” she breathed. “I want you.” She desperately needed to close the gap between them.

Bucky chuckled slightly as he started suckling her jawline. She moaned and arched her back up from the hardwood of the bench.

“Let me make you mine, little dove.”

"You already did," gasped as his fingers trailed along her side, tugging at the soft cotton until she felt the tips of them on her skin.

He smiled against her skin, moving from her jaw to the column of her neck, to the soft spot between her collarbone and neck, "but to hear you say it," Bucky rasped lifting his head as his hand palmed her breast, "is far more pleasing."

He rolled her nipple through his forefinger and thumb, the coolness from his rings sending jolts straight to her nerves as the fire began to burn in her belly. Davina smiled, combing her fingers through his long hair, pushing back the waves from his eyes, "Then please, make me yours."

Bucky's fingers made quick work of the laces at her breasts before shucking the camisole from her body and leaving her on display. Davina leaned against the bench on her elbows, propping herself up as Bucky sat back, lifting his own tunic from his torso.

Davina looked around, tempted to cover herself in fear of being caught in such a public space but the prince caught her hands before she could do so, clicking his teeth together in a disapproving sound. "I want to see you," he whispered in a tone that sent a spark coursing through her body to her toes. "All of you," his fingers tangled into the hem of her skirt, and tickled a line across her stomach. "May I?"

"Please Bucky," Davina whined, her hips instinctively bucking softly towards him.

Bending down, he placed light kisses down her torso as his fingers tugged her skirt and undergarments down her legs. Sitting back up, he haphazardly threw her bottoms into the dark of the library and grasped her calf in his hand, running his lips over the skin of her ankle and up her leg.

"Gods you're gorgeous," he rasped, peering down at her with a wicked smirk on his lips.

She whimpered softly, surprised that she'd even made the sound. The look on his face made her melt against the wood of the bench she rested against. He wanted her. Her.

Davina reached out with one hand, wanting to be able to touch any part of him that she could reach. "Bucky..."

Slowly, torturing her with each kiss that he pressed against her calf, Bucky moved up her leg. Each time his lips met her skin she whimpered, the heat building in her the closer he got to her hips.

"Is this okay?" He asked. He hadn't taken his eyes from hers, and she could see the fire burning in their depths. Despite experiencing this firsthand, Davina was still having trouble believing that a Prince was interested in a simple maid like herself.

"Yes?" She said, not entirely certain what he meant.

He smirked, pressing another kiss against the tuft of hair between her legs, fingers tickling along the soft skin of her thighs, "One of my greatest pleasures, Davina," He rasped, "Is feasting on the sweet nectar that comes from here."

His fingers pushed between her folds, making her gasp, and then dragged them up, circling her sensitive nib once before he pulled them away. Davina whined at the loss while he popped the soaked digits into his mouth. Bucky groaned deeply, "Fuck, you taste heavenly. Let me have more?"

“Gods yes,” She breathed, her heart hammering against her chest as his eyes bore into hers. Lust and adoration swirled into one, taking over his sea of blue.

“Please, Bucky”

His plump lips curled into a soft smirk at the sound of her pleas only fueling the fire inside of her.

“As you wish, my sweet.”

His sentence was a whisper against her center, just barely finished before he licked a stripe through her wet folds. Davina’s head fell back at the contact, a moan slipping from her lips as he circled her throbbing nub with the tip of his tongue. His fingers dug into the supple skin of her thighs as she bucked her hips into his lips.

His fingers slipped gently between her folds. He continued circling her clit with his tongue- it felt like he was spelling out a prayer with his tongue, treating her body with the utmost reverence.

Davina couldn’t stop her hips from lifting up from the bench. The coil in her belly wound tighter and tighter- “More,” she choked out.

He sped up his prayer, moaning into her cunt. In a haze, she took his hand from her thigh and placed his hand at the column of her throat. He pulled away from her with a whine, his fingers still lingering at her entrance.

Bucky’s eyes widened before he carefully placed his fingers around her neck. He applied no pressure to her throat, just resting his hands against her as he gazed up at her from between her legs.

“Do you still want more?”

Davina nodded, head spinning as she almost immediately felt slight pressure from his grasp on her throat. She wasn’t going to last much longer, especially as the cool of his rings soothed her burning skin.

He ducked his head back down and lapped at her clit while driving two fingers deep inside her. He didn't apply any more pressure at her throat, just enough so her cry was muffled as the coil inside her snapped. Waves of ecstasy crashed down upon her. Her hips bucked against him as he moaned against her, the lower half of his face slick with her arousal.

Davina's body shuddered through the pleasure, her lids heavy as she peered down at Bucky who was nipping at her inner thighs. His freehand had disappeared between them and she could make out the faint gesture of him stroking his length as he lifted his lips from her.

"You're the sweetest thing I've ever tasted Dove," his voice was raspy and dark as he moved the hand around her throat to cup the side of her neck and moved to hover over her, "Where has this cruel world been hiding you?" Bucky muttered rolling his hips gently against her own as he settled his weight on her. The pressure ceased the gentle vibration of her body as her fingertips dug into the muscles of his shoulders.

She knew the question was rhetorical but she couldn't help the words as they fell from her lips, "in your family's shadow."

His brows furrowed for a moment before his lips pressed to hers, "You're filled with too much light to be kept in the shadows my darling."

That familiar burning sensation behind her eyes returned as he slid his knee between her thighs, nudging them apart gently as he peppered her face and neck with slow soft kisses, "Bucky," she whined in a whisper until she felt the head of his cock nudge at her entrance and a small gasp left her.

He lifted his head again, tangling his fingers into her hair, "Be my light Davina, please."

Davina's blue eyes searched Bucky's in the dim light of the library, almost waiting for herself to wake up from this perfect dream. Of all the people she thought would fall for her, a prince was never in her mind. The soft touch of Bucky's lips against her skin made her mind spin in the best way possible.

"I'm yours, Bucky," she whispered into the darkness, "I'm all yours,"

Bucky took in a sharp breath as he moved to capture her lips with his own as he pushed himself inside her, swallowing her moan. As he bottomed out, his hips stilled, feeling Davina wince, and clench around him. His lips shifted to pepper her cheeks with soft, wet kisses, trailing his hand down her body, and finding its home on her hip.

He pulled back just enough to catch her gaze, with a furrowed brow as he searched her face, "Are you okay, sweetheart?"

Davina nodded, wrapping her arms around his neck and tangling her fingers into the small curls at the base of his neck, "I'm okay, I promise. You can move, Bucky,"

With another breath and a soft kiss to her lips, Bucky pulled out of her and pushed back in slowly, taking his time to relish in every inch of her body as his blue eyes locked with hers in the warm dim light of the candles.

He watched as Davina's back arched in a beautiful bowing motion, making him smile. "Gods, you are so beautiful." Bucky lowered his head to kiss between her breasts as he slowly thrust repeatedly into her body, listening to her soft whines and moans.

Davina gripped onto the hair at the back of his head, already feeling the coil in her body slowly beginning to tighten again. "Bucky... please... faster please."

Bucky pulled back slightly, thrusting back into her with force, filling her to the brim. His hips began moving faster, hip bones digging into hers surely leaving bruises in their wake.

The feel of his length inside of her coupled with his warm breath against her skin and praises sent Davina into a frenzy. Electricity shot through her nerves and she pressed her lips to his shoulder trying to conceal her moans.

"Let go for me Davina," He groaned, his hips stuttering as he buried his face into her neck, "I have you."

His words sent her over that edge, clawing at his back as she sank her teeth into the skin on his shoulder not hard but to keep herself from screaming his name in the expanse of the library. Her body tightened, the rubberband in her stomach snapped and her legs wrapped around his waist, holding him to her.

"Bucky please," she begged him as his movements became erratic, his breath somehow hotter against her skin. He lifted his head, and a small ring of blue around his pupils glowed in the dim light before his lips crashed against her own, swallowing their groans with his release and sending her over the cliff with him once more.

As Bucky's hips stilled, the two of them collapsed onto the wooden bench beneath them. The coolness of the wood on Davina's back was a contrast to her hot sticky skin. She took comfort, nuzzling herself into Bucky's arms, his touch becoming light and gentle as he pressed soft kisses into her messy blonde waves.

"Are you alright, sweetheart?" He rasped, trailing his fingers down Davina's arm and entangling their fingers together before bringing her hand up to his lips.

Davina hummed and let out a deep breath, smiling softly up at the prince as she met his eyes, "I'm perfect," she whispered, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

"I hope you know I meant every word," Bucky stated, keeping his blue eyes locked with hers, "Everything I said to you, it wasn't just to get you into my bed. I meant it, Davina."

Her bottom lip found a home between her teeth as she took in his words. The thought had crossed her mind, that he was just being sweet to her for this but there was something about the way he looked at her, the way his touch felt against her skin that pushed that thought away.

"I believe you, Bucky," she answered finally, pressing a kiss to his jaw.

Bucky sighed deeply, moving his gaze down to their hands as he played with her fingers, the soft hint of his real smile danced at the corners of his lips, "I didn't want this life," he finally said, chewing on the inside of his cheek. "The kingdom, the responsibility, becoming my father... It's not me. And yet, despite my best efforts, the rumors around the palace of my temper is just history repeating itself," his blue eyes moved back to meet Davina's, looking down at her through tired eyes, "But the past few weeks, having you around, everything felt different. The air in the palace was suddenly clear and every room I saw you in was someone brighter, but I could never find the opportunity to approach you. That old hag or someone from my family was always lurking about..."

"I'm here now, your majesty," Davina teased, bringing a soft laugh from his lips.

"Yes you are, my beautiful light in all of this darkness," Bucky leaned down and captured her lips with his.

Davina pulled back, resting their foreheads together, she brushed the tips of their noses together lightly, "Always," she whispered.

[bonefall]

I sent an ask early but I now have a better way to rephrase the ask. What we’re the first signs of cat civilization, like the first tools or fires

A healed femur is always the first sign of civilization. A broken femur is an intense, severe injury which kills any animal who doesn't have a society to set the fracture, and hunt for them for the many months it'll take to heal the bone

But I think the first big sign the researchers came across was an oven, in WindClan. It was an easy thing to miss, for people who weren't paying attention. It's made of flat stones, but a rudimentary thing like it was all shoved together. You'd guess some hooligan teenagers made it for fun one day

But then... you look a bit closer. Nearby is a little stone with a dip in the center, worn smooth. Blackened kindle shows that there was fire being used here. Now you know it's an oven, not just some odd stone structure. And what teenager would make a mortar?

And then you think a little harder. If it's an oven then it's an oven-- but why so low? In fact, the entire thing is small. It wouldn't have been much more effort to pick some bigger rocks, or, not cover the top in the first place. There's some deer hunters in these hills, no reason why they wouldn't want to grill up some meat strips just for fun, but then why make it an oven and not just a grilling stone?

With the knowledge of the cat who attacked a bulldozer in mind, suddenly, it clicks. But... no. No, just because a cat attacks a worker doesn't mean they can use fire.

Does it?

[mingi-bubu]

19. “Do we have a deal?”

For Fictober22~ demon!hyunjae x gn!reader, magic and the supernatural exist, directly related to 76 Kisses to Valentine's Day Prompt #34 and tangentially related to Fictober22 Day 8; deal with the devil Fictober22 Masterlist || 76 Kisses Masterlist

You shiver in the damp cold that surrounds you.  Your breath puffs out, white clouds dissipating moments after they appear.  The forest is full of noise.  Or at least it was when you were walking to the clearing.  Now you can’t hear anything but your heart thundering in your ears and your quick breaths.  Your eyes dart around the clearing, frosted blades of grass shining in the light of the fullest moon you’ve ever seen.  You knew long before you decided to come here that this place was drenched in magick.  That the trees here are more ancient, more knowledgeable, than any others.  But even if you hadn’t known that, the unnatural chill in the air, the frost on the plants around you, the odd lack of noise… There was magick here.

It was only a matter of being able to tap into it.

After acquainting yourself with the area, you quickly get to work.  The messenger bag slides off your shoulder and falls to the ground, disturbing the pristine grass beneath you.  You pull out the aged tome that you had stolen from the widower’s home.  With his wife gone and him not having the Ability, he had no use for it.  You, however, do.  You open the book, flipping through pages carelessly as you find the passages you were looking for.  It didn’t matter to you if the pages around it fell apart or ripped; when you finally got what you desired, you could fix it.  If that was something you chose to do.

“Heh,” you murmur in victory, finding the passages you had marked.  You hold the book on either side and bend it backwards, breaking its spine so it would lay flat in the dirt.  You place it on the ground and press a palm into the middle, pushing down just in case.  When you pull your hand back, the pages lie open.  Ignoring it for the moment, you kneel and pull out a menagerie of glass containers.  They ranged in size, shape, and color.  On each container, your rushed handwriting told you what was inside.  A sprig of hawthorn, containing both flowers and berries, resides in a long, skinny, light green bottle.  The blood of a stone sloshed around in a vial the size of your thumb, closed off by a cork.  The laughter of a swine, the sneeze of a worm, food stolen from a left-handed woman in her third trimester while she sang.  All of those ingredients and more were in the glass surrounding you.

Finally, you pull out a mortar and pestle.  The summoning required that you chose the stone it was made from, but not that you had to make it.  Something you were greatly appreciative of.  You decided on a black stone, rough and speckled with gray and blue throughout.  The mason’s son, Sangyeon, had crafted it into a beautiful set.  It was such a shame that it would only be used this one time.

You half-turn and drag the book back to yourself.  You set it against the now empty messenger bag, and find yourself surprised at the way you can still read every word clearly.  Despite the moon’s brightness, you had thought it would be more difficult.  You shrug it off, looking at the steps you were to follow.  Each step had several ingredients that were to be combined with the amount of times you were to crush it with the pestle.  You separate your glasses into groups for each step, figuring it would be easier in the long run.

Sand from a cloud, fire caught in sea glass, the brain of a blood minnow.  One by one, you opened the containers and tilted them over the mortar.  You kept a careful eye on the ingredients as you did, not wanting to have any spill or tumble away from the bowl.  The tome says that you need to crush them together for twenty times.  You let out a small sigh; the rest of the steps never get easier with regard to the crushing amount.  But to get what you desired, you would have to sacrifice.

The next minutes are filled with this, and the pile of empty glass containers gradually started to outnumber the full ones.  When you reach the final step, you feel like you understand why the widower didn’t use this, regardless of his having the Ability or not.  The precision and structure kind of sucked.  Especially as the forest only grew colder around you, seeping into your clothes.  You read the instructions thrice more before you complete it; if you fucked it up here, you would have to wait another year before you could do this again.  The amount of time it took to find the ingredients was more than waiting for another full moon.

Wind whirled around you, pushing you back several feet.  You shielded your eyes from it, head bending into the invisible force.  A noise fills your ears, like a shriek but multiplied over itself tenfold.  You felt like your ears were going to bleed.  For the first time since you stepped into the forest itself, you felt fear.  It sat solid like a stone in your stomach.  Despite the wind making the frost disappear on the grass, your clammy hands didn’t change.  You were pushed back another few inches, and you leaned into the breeze more in attempt to fight against it.

And then, as if the wind itself knew your intentions, the direction changed suddenly.  You drop to your knees, a gasp tearing out of your throat.  You dig your fingers into the cold, damp earth as an anchor.  The shrill noise intensifies and your knuckles turn white, the bones underneath pushing up against your skin as you tighten your grasp on the earth.

Everything stops.

You don’t realize at first; your body and mind were still dealing with the attempt to not be blown further away than you were already.  When you no longer feel your hair whipping around your face and neck, cutting into the soft skin like the ends were well sharpened knives, you realize something has changed.  Your ears ring in the sudden silence.  Opening your eyes just enough to see clearly, you force your fingers to straighten, hands pushing into the grass and dirt beneath you.  Dark brown dirt, almost black in the light of the moon, sticks to your skin.  It looks like you were trying to crawl out of a grave.  The wind had thrown grass fragments and loose dirt onto any part of your body it could find.  Your ragged breaths finally register, cutting through the ringing in your ears.  Something drips onto your hand and you look.  Whatever liquid it was, it was clear, cutting through the mess on the back of your hand.

Another drop, this time on your other hand.  Your eyes dart to it, and widen at the deep, rich red there.  Both of your hands come up to your face, and you put your fingers carefully onto your skin.  Pulling back, your fingertips are covered in blood and tears.  You hadn’t thought you would cry from this summoning attempt, but it appears you were gravely mistaken.  Your hands are shaking in front of you.  You don’t know if it was just your hands that shook, or if it was your whole being.

“Do we have a deal?”

[cbk1000]

And here’s a small preview of the next chapter of Book of Merthur:

Beyond the Lake which is waiting for its King to come home to it, there is a sward as fine as a slipper, and flowers sewn on for adornment. Where there is mortal wind to blow and coneys to proliferate, the flora is at risk of dishevelment, or outright beheading: but here there is that fine, flat silence which goes from nothing into nothing, with the moss to cushion its journey. The trees drink of an earth never to be fodder for plough or for cow: and where their ordinary brethren are throttled by vine, they are wearing it like organdie. 

And beyond this, beyond the trees which are furred like fine kings, and the heather which lives sepal to stamen with the dog rose, where the field is on fire with the poppies, and the foxglove is coloured like wine, where the air, if it could, would make the sound of fine silver on crystal, beyond castles and towers built of white stone or gay stone, past orchard, past lawn, past the throne made of oak, and the castle with the penis its master has not been able to remove, by charm or by cursing, there is a tower alone, made purely of loadstone. 

Far up in the tower, there is a window, and in the window, a face which a knight would kill himself rescuing. 

When there is a tower such as this, and a maiden such as this (though she is no longer a maiden), it is customary to hear a voice as pure as the air, singing of lost love or no love: but this one was saying some words unrepeatable. It was saying them in pleasant enough diction, with articulation garnered from tutors: but what it was saying had been garnered from soldiers. 

In the air which had a kind of resonance to it, which could have run down from a mountain when spring doffed the felt caps from its peaks, in the presence of bluebell lovelier than women, there could be heard, from lips not quite second to roses, “Fuck this fucking tit cunt fuck.” And finally, for emphasis: “Fucking fuck this fuck fuck. Bollocks!!”

Here was the denizen of Avalon who was not queen but meant to be queen, honing her sorcery for war.

And in Camelot, where the foxglove is still coloured like wine, though rather a shabbier one, Arthur, Once and Future King of Camelot and of Albion, burst into the apothecary where were ensconced Merlin’s mother, and his mother, and shouted at the former: “Where’s your son?”

Hunith did not look up from her mortar. She was putting her back into the pestle, and did not mean to be distracted by some stupid man. “In back,” she said, absentmindedly.

“Mum!” Merlin called, affronted. He had to come out, now the jig was limply up; feeling himself very poorly treated, by the one person who was bound by blood to harbour him.

“Where’s the horse?” Arthur yelled.

“What horse?” Merlin asked, with a face as innocent as an infant’s. 

“Merlin.”

“Arthur, I swear, I have no idea what you’re talking about. Really. Cross my heart. Hope to die. What horse?” he asked again, for the sake of plausible deniability. Then, with timing as treacherous as his mother, there sounded in the lane outside the apothecary the clamour of hoofbeats: and Arthur, turning his head, watched Gwaine trotting merrily past on it.

“Is that the horse?” Merlin asked innocently. “Well, I guess Gwaine must have taken it.”

Arthur grabbed him by the neck of his tunic, and hauled him outside, which might have been sexy, if it were for snogging; but as it was only for yelling, Merlin had nothing by which to recommend it. 

“Gwaine!” he hollered. “Stop this instant, or I’ll throw your cohort in the stocks. For a month.”

Gwaine kept going, because he knew, and Merlin knew, the threat was nothing but wind; because not only would Merlin be left out in the cold, but Arthur’s red-blooded penis. 

“Go, Gwaine, go!” Merlin screamed.

And Gwaine, trusting Merlin to handle a man for whose penile happiness he was responsible, did. Arthur shook Merlin by the neck of his tunic, to reassert his authority; though Merlin did not seem to notice, and only rolled his neck, to get out the tight bits. “I thought you wanted to foster a society intolerant to intolerance?” he complained, straightening to his full height, which was not any higher than Arthur’s, and adding, “All we were doing was upholding your own ideals. Can’t believe you’re going to get on your little soap box about justice, and fairness, and then go off on Gwaine and me for upholding the very values you supposedly…value.”

“Yes,” Arthur said through his teeth. “But I thought I might do that a bit more diplomatically than stealing all the clothes, and the horse, of a delegate sent from a hostile kingdom.”

“It was only the one delegate. There are several others, and we didn’t take their clothes.”

“Then why couldn’t you practise that restraint on Lord Ralph as well?” Arthur shouted.

“He’s a bit of a twat.”

Arthur was fostering, or trying to foster, a society intolerant to intolerance; though he had hoped to do it with a bit less nudity, and a bit more politicking. So though Lord Ralph was a bit of a twat, he was sat with the rest of his brethren, nearest to the high table as a guest could be sat, and served by servants with nothing in common with Merlin, who now was a diner of the high tale, instead of an attendant, and still ungrateful.

“How about not complaining, just for something new to try?” Arthur suggested reasonably, and Merlin, grimacing, pulled at his collar again, and replied, “I hate these clothes. They’re choking me.”

“Next time I’ll put you in a sack.”

“I look ridiculous.”

“You can’t blame the tunic for that,” Arthur said, and sipped from his wine.

[joisbishmyoga]

Do I know that much about Zelda lore? Eh. Do I care? Meh. Did I see that rehydrated Ganon trend a while back? Ok yes that one's on me.

Zelda wakes to a faint shiver in the balmy summer air.

Oh. Oh, it's early this time. Very early. (It's shallow this time, and so very close to the castle...)

She climbs out of bed, wriggling to slide safely down onto her bare feet with a tiny pap on the stone floor. Her thin summer blanket tries to come along, but she untwists it from her chemise and climbs up onto her dresser. It's sturdier than her washstand, can hold her weight without tipping over, and close enough that she can reach into the washbasin there.

That's not on purpose. It's very much something the castle staff would change if they realized it was so close, since the nanny that helps her get ready for bed puts a candle in the basin as a nightlight for Zelda. Not a fresh one, but old tapers at most as long as the woman's thumb. Zelda's seen her measure them like that.

Tonight's candle is still lit. Not for much longer, maybe a couple of hours... but given how close by he must be, it should be enough for her to at least get back into the castle proper.

The Triforce of Wisdom holds knowledge, the shining power of a goddess, an innate understanding of how to hold Power firm, to curb it indefinitely, if not break it. It knows things the people of Hyrule can't, mustn't, discover.

Zelda's tiny fingers prod at the wall next to her bed, prying between the stones above her head until something shifts with a gravelly click. It takes her pushing with her full weight, but the hidden door creaks open, and Zelda scurries onto a narrow passage winding down between the walls.

There's always a passage from Zelda's room in the many castles and temples the family's built and moved on from over the centuries. If the builders don't put in a false wall, half-asleep in the twilight hours after the workday's done, remembering nothing once the last stone's mortar dries, it's heavy rain leaking through tiny gaps -- the burrows left by Keese, who once were called bats and later were spelled Keys, a joke and epithet so old no one else remembers it ever existed at all. The rain soaks into cheap rubble filling the space between defensive walls, breaking it to finer and finer grit as it freezes over and over during unseasonably cold winters. Always there are cold winters after a castle's built, sometimes for decades, but the records are never connected.

Always, the power of Hylia ensures free passage for her. Even if it's centuries before Zelda is reborn, before the cycle begins again... the underpinnings are always set in place. Secret passages and orderly cave systems, cracked walls and lost treasures, villages building temples that their descendants abandon to the wilderness, that fade into myth and rumors.

Always, the power of Hylia does far more.

Zelda puts her candle down on a somewhat flat bit of the sloping floor, and goes around the corner. The passage dead-ends here, or at least seems to. Faint light peppers the wall here, tiny cracks at several different eye-levels, and she peers through the lowest one, listening.

Nothing. The castle basement is empty, and why wouldn't it be? It's the middle of the night, well before servants get up to start bread and stoke fires for the day. Zelda retrieves her candle and slips out into the dungeons.

Usually, her tunnels don't pass through useable parts of the castle. Someone's been interfering -- one of the Oracles, likely. Someday she may find a message to reach forward in time, someday when she's far older and well-settled as the Queen, when she's had decades to charge the Triforce after this turn in the cycle.

(Last time she possessed a descendant, the girl was a sailor -- it'd given her previous true incarnation enough warning to imbue the land with her power, to put the forests and fields in a shielded stasis, burrow the animals away, so the ocean didn't scour the land and leave Hyrule nothing but hundreds of miles of barren salt flat. It'd taken so much power that she died young, that life before the land drowned.)

She exhales shakily, making the candlelight dance across tombs of her ancestors. The effigies have twisted well out of true, armor thickening, developing spikes and jutting curves, crowns long since grown to helms concealing most or all of the flattened face. Their eye sockets don't yet shine -- there could be as much as another decade before they kindle -- but she can feel their bleary attention on her, feather-light for now, following until she steps onto an ancient switch and heads into the natural caverns below Hyrule.

There's no dirt or damp here to stick to her bare feet. There wouldn't be; there never has. It all gets sucked up into the rocky walls. It's another of the effects of the divine powers that no one outside the Triforce knows -- Zelda may carry Wisdom, but Hylia embodies Life. Her rebirth brings fertile fields and abundant harvests, thickens the forests, steadies the flow of water in the desert. As said... a mortal can't fully contain the power.

Ganon also embodies a god. Corrupted, destructive, but a god. His power spills over into the world just as much as Hylia's. Zelda trails fingertips over the tunnel's lumpy wall as she walks. By now, every smooth curve in the stone has visibly rippled, and those ripples are taking on the faint definition of future teeth and claws.

Demise makes the forms, the malevolence and hunger. It can't make the life, though. Just incubate its creatures in Hylia's power, feed on it, hatch in ones and twos in the remote wilds of the land... and tear loose in massive waves when Ganon does, when he wakes from the wash of Hylia's power refreshed -- reborn with Zelda -- and breaks free.

And then someone must slay the beasts before they devour everything, and put Demise back down to sleep and recover until Zelda's reborn once more.

And so the cycle continues.

Ganon's prison lies behind a door flecked with gold this time, black crystal under a shell of dull brown stone that flakes and crumbles to dust at a touch. Zelda can only reach about halfway up the intricate sigil sketching itself out, but that's high enough to poke at the bit of ruby developing into an eye, and the door clunks open just long enough for her to slip through.

The same black, gold-flecked crystal has grown into low braziers in each corner, which puff into flame without the touch of her little candle, casting warm light into the shadowy center of the room.

It's just enough to see a figure lying on a massive altar there: an effigy of Ganon, all thick planes of heavy muscle, dark clay under a fall of coiling terracotta hair. So... it hasn't been nearly as long as it was between Zelda's last two lives. Last time... last time, she'd come down late, already nine when the Call of Power finally reached her, leading her down through sub-basements and catacombs, through a cave system she'd had to return to with rope and supplies, hoping Hylia's power blurred the attention of the palace inhabitants long enough to actually reach his cell.

She'd only found a slowly-churning wisp of energy, that time. The effigy lay cracked, unfinished, the altar nothing but dried-out clay crumbled across the cave floor. His spirit had ended up possessing someone to carry out its compulsion.

This time, though, Ganon lives. Sort of. After all, he never truly dies.

The effigy is no statue. Or it won't be, in a few short years. This is the only reason Ganon never wakes to ravage the land while Zelda and Link are small children -- older ones, yes, sometimes, but never when they're just toddlers. The powers diffused through the land have to build him a body. How quickly that happens, how viable it is...

... that depends on Zelda. She doesn't always remember enough to know that.

The altar's a good three or four times the size of her bed, and stands nearly as high as the kitchen countertops the cook scolds her for climbing. (And then gives her a small treat from a batch of whatever sweets they're making.) Zelda has to put her candle down by Ganon's hip, way over at the tips of his half-sculpted hands, and jump to catch the edge, scrambling up to sit next to his shoulder. Which she then has to throw a leg over, getting one foot down into the gap that will someday divide his arm and chest, to reach the candlestick and bring it back.

Lifting the candle at this angle shows that Ganon's fingers aren't the only thing already half-sculpted. The effigy is never made with clothes on -- those come from some magical device hidden deep in the altar, the same way a number of Link's armors and such do -- but the details of his body are... not always relevant. Not even often relevant, especially if he's... if he's yet again...

She swallows, one hand on Ganon's future barrel of a chest, his massive shoulder between her legs, and allows herself one long -- possibly last, possibly only in this life -- moment to feel the faint powdery surface of clay already halfway flesh, still a bit too cool and stiff to mistake for alive. Then she raises the candle to his face.

The heavy brow and wide mouth are those of a man, with no hint of any kind of beast. His nose is large and sharp, beautiful by Gerudo standards; protruding canine teeth are blunted rosethorn points just visible past his lips, not tusks. His ears, what little of them are visible under the terracotta, are still just lumps, but they aren't positioned in the wrong, too-high manner of his many and varied bestial incarnations. He's forming normally. No dark witches or sorcerers have sunk their spells into him this time, and he's too far along to be caught now.

He'll still be Destruction when he's complete. Compelled to the cycle, just as Zelda is, just as Link will be. But he won't be maddened, won't follow the whims of some power-hungry mortal... will recognize them while he's still chained and until his defeat. He'll be himself when he wakes.

"Oh, husband..." she breathes.

It's been centuries since he was himself.

She'll try to delay his waking as long as possible. Zelda presses a kiss, open-mouthed, onto his forehead, the flat bridge of his nose; another to his parted mouth, then one each, more a breath than a touch, to the barely-there curves of developing eyes. "Slow, husband," she murmurs, patting his cheek with her small hand. "Wait for us."

-0-0-0

She doesn't nap on him that night. She'd started the journey down too late, and couldn't stay much longer than giving the benediction -- even if she blew out the candle for a time, and relit it from the braziers, the nanny would notice if she was missing in the morning. She's still too young to be expected to get up and ready on her own.

At least there isn't much Zelda has to pretend to be well-rested for. Just her writing lessons, scheduled before lunch, since if they have to wash her hands anyway they might as well be splattered with ink. Otherwise she's expected to play, the nanny trailing after her in case she bothers the wrong groundskeeper or stablehand with incessant questions. Though she doesn't do that today. Being tired hurts too much; she sulks under a bench in the garden, toying with a peony drooping low on its bush, and waits for either the sunlight or her body to quit this nauseating, sore horribleness called being awake.

This lifetime's Link hasn't been brought to Castle Town yet. He might not be -- he isn't always found before Ganon breaks free -- but Zelda has a feeling. He'll show up before Ganon wakes.

It'd be nice if it was now, though.

-0-0-0

Weeks pass. Months. Zelda's days slowly fill with formal lessons -- math, science, philosophy and history and civics. The lore of Ganon is slanted towards the terrifying, the theology only somewhat accurate. Why centuries of scholars have gotten the idea that numbers have any more significance than 'Triforce means three Aspects', Zelda does not know. Of course a lot of magical items come in threes. Part of it is, yes, the Triforce influencing how magic tends to settle, but most of what the scholars wandered off into comes from how few numbers even exist before you can start subdividing them back out. The Hero's Items can get into the dozens, but the wise philosophers of Hyrule are dividing them into pendants vs. armor vs. spell medallions and on and on.

Zelda may have Opinions. No one will bother listening until she's grown, though. Centuries of experience have long since proven that.

So Zelda's days are filled with lessons that are dull (this time, she remembers more than usual -- she'd be done with math by now if she didn't keep forgetting to use the new symbols for addition and such), biased (someone's remembered Ganon was once a Gerudo, so it isn't a fun time to be one this century), or outright wrong (no, Zelda is not constantly reborn -- she'd be her own mother and things would get creepy very, very quickly).

Her nights, though, become increasingly filled with visits to Ganon. His body is shaping itself well, thick muscles and large hands, chest defined in mathematically perfect swells of padding that Zelda pillows her head on while she traces sleep spells over his face, sigils for quiet between his ribs.

Ganon's skin reddens from clay to lifelike the same week that his hair finally flows through Zelda's fingers like silk -- on her last visit, it had still been intricate terracotta, fine locks scored like the nonexistent artisan had combed the clay with a wire brush before firing, glazed smooth with a transluscent layer of Gerudo red.

One hand comes fully free of his hip on her tenth birthday. His fingers, each nearly as thick as her wrist, do the same over the next five days, and the split between arm and torso completes all at once right under her foot a couple of nights after that, sending her tumbling onto his head.

Link still hasn't appeared. This may be one of the lives where he grows up in a rural cottage, or half-feral in the woods. Where they don't meet until Ganon's captured her, until she sends the call for help to begin the active questing of the cycle anew... where Link only sees Ganon at the end, over shield and sword.

No. She can't think like that. It's been nearly a thousand years... Link deserves to have this just as much as she does. A few months, a week, even if just a day, he deserves a moment with destiny fallen silent before it must play out.

She's twelve, and a sudden growth spurt has left her tall enough to not have to climb to get onto the altar. Ganon's thighs have fully separated, his body finally warm enough to make a difference when she tucks her chilly toes there. She's going to have to discard her chemise soon -- Ganon is always a furnace by the time he wakes.

Her hair stirs ever-so-slightly as she traces the sleeping spell high onto his chest.

Ganon's finally breathing.

-0-0-0

Link, if you don't hurry, you'll miss it.

But Zelda only has one aspect of the Triforce, and isn't connected to Power -- that one lies dormant until Ganon wakes. She isn't strong enough to reach Link.

-0-0-0

Deep laughter draws her to a small outbuilding that's been used for storage since Zelda was a baby. She'd thought it was a carriage house, perhaps -- it's certainly close enough to the castle gate -- but the latches that made her think so have been undone, and the doors were actually the entire wall, panels folding back in on themselves all the way around the corner and to the stone parts of the cottage. The space has been emptied of the junk that used to be in there -- broken wheels and cart panels, mysterious crates and barrels, a truly ridiculous number of cheap pots stacked to the rafters -- and with it all out of the way, Zelda can identify the place as a smithy. Someone's sweeping out the forge, kneeling on the raised firebreak and half-tucked inside, showers of glittering soot and rupees coming out between his knees.

Her father's talking to a different man near the anvil, a stout and heavy-shouldered one with gray streaks in his frizzly hair and beard.

"--couldn't kick me out with a little tyke!" the man is saying, and he laughs again. "Even if he was a boy! Started him on that sand-sign of theirs, apparently they can talk with their hands if the wind's too loud. Craziest thing."

Her father hums, considering that. It's not an entirely pleasant sound. "I seem to recall the Zora do something similar," he muses leadingly.

"That they do!" The smith -- he's probably a smith -- replies. "Something about not hearing the same under water. They call it water-sign... or it might be swim-sign, I never did manage to figure out the difference. Damn near identical to the Gerudo stuff, though. I hope some people around here know Zora sign," he adds more quietly. "Hyrulian's our native language, sure, but only for hearing. Link's--"

"Link," Zelda echoes, gaze snapping back to the boy eeling out of the forge. The soot is everywhere: his legs from thighs to ankles look like artists' charcoal all up the front and insides; his shorts are gray, the hem freshly blackened and riding too high to not be old childhood clothing bound for the rag bin. The side seams have been pieced with a few extra inches of cloth, quick basting stitches stretching to show tiny gaps as Link twists to sit on the hearth, long legs akimbo. The hands he rests over one upraised knee are also matte charcoal-black, though the palms and fingertips are slightly paler, like he tried to wipe them clean -- the excess soot's spread in long blotches over his shoulders and back. Except, no, that's probably from brushing up against the forge's walls. The excess soot from his hands is actually streaked across his forehead and nose, and in ragged stripes through his blond hair.

He offers her a shy little grin, face going pink under the black marks, and wiggles his fingers a bit.

Zelda does know Zora sign. Mostly political niceties, but that's enough to cover all the forms of hello. "Hello, Link," she signs back, hands flicking warmth and delight at him.

He ducks his head and blushes all the way down to his shoulders.

"So that's where you've been all this time?" Zelda asks later, after Link's uncle has freed him from cleaning duty and he's charmed the bathhouse attendants into opening early. (At least the Hyrulian bath, anyway. Not that either of the other two are in use at the moment, with only Hyrulians in the castle, but if they were Link wouldn't need to make pleading faces at their attendants: the Zora bath only ever closes for cleaning, since its water only gets lukewarm at best and doesn't need well-monitored furnaces, and the Goron bath stays locked as a potentially-lethal scalding risk for most of the palace inhabitants.) She lathers up more soap into a fresh cloth and scrubs at the fading stains on Link's legs. "A wandering smith and his nephew in the outlands?"

Link shrugs. Learning other peoples' skills, he says (the reason Zelda's helping him bathe, so that he has both hands free to talk). Don't get him started; he'll flap his hands off -- talk your ear off translates very oddly in sign -- about how different circumstances make different needs, and then go off into anti-corrosion and weight-lowering alloys if you let him. And then complain he still hasn't figured out where the Gerudo get their bronze.

"Bronze?" Zelda asks, though she isn't surprised. Just prompting.

Nomad forges, Link explains. They don't get hot enough for iron. And that, Zelda did not know.

She scoops up another bucket of warm water and dumps it over his head. "What else did you learn?" she asks as he sputters, and settles in to watch him talk.

-0-0-0

That night, she finds Link waiting in the tombs, hovering by an archway deep in the back. He's close to the switch hidden in the floor, but... Zelda doesn't think he's actually waiting at it. He's too close to the archway, his attention on a Darknut too large for the sarcophagus it's lying on. Its armor is starting to tinge blue at the edges, noticeable only by the fact that the rest is a dull pewter gray.

How Link is managing to have a staring contest with something that doesn't yet have eyes, much less is pointing them in his direction, Zelda does not know. He loses when she slips up next to him, glancing her way before his gaze returns to the Darknut.

He passes over his own candle, so Zelda now has two, and slowly raises his hands.

This one... I think it was yours, he says, uncertain and hesitant. I outlived you? That's not a question for her; he sounds like he only half-remembers.

"You may have," Zelda answers anyway. Her own memories tend to fade towards the end of her lifespans, but if Link died first last time, she doesn't remember being told. She offers his candle back, wiggling it a bit until he takes it. "Come on." And she steps over onto the switch and leads him down into the caves.

The golden sigil etched into the door is complete, now. Intricate Sheikah patterns -- what they were in the dimmest reaches of Hylia's knowledge, once when the cycle was new, before they diverged into Gerudo and Zora and Hyrulian styles -- trace out an eye in the center of a Triforce, the triangles solid black crystal amid the curls and coils of gold. But it doesn't need arrows to unlock, not yet, just a gentle tap.

The door won't lock until Ganon puts Zelda in here.

Zelda steps aside to let Link pass. She had her privacy for that first sight of Ganon's untwisted face. Link should have that too.

She's never really bothered to look around the rest of the chamber. It's smaller than the black crystal makes it look, though it's starting to develop bas-relief pillars that distort the firelight where it catches on the gold flecks in the stone. Larger gold flecks than are in the smooth expanses between, actually -- the pillars may well develop gold filigree to outline the room better, so it looks less like a field of stars off behind the firepits.

The crystal to hold her is growing as well. That one's deep in the back of the room, where the light is blocked a bit by Ganon's altar. Not much, but there isn't much light down here in the first place. The crystal -- nearly shoulder height on her now, and almost too large to encircle with her arms should she have the space to try -- all but disappears into the shadows despite being a transluscent milky white.

Link claps at her, and Zelda glances back to find him perched in the same square of space she's had to climb on before being able to reach Ganon himself: there above his right shoulder, where she'd minced about on tiny feet until Ganon's hair softened enough to push out of the way.

Forgot what he looked like, Link tells her, slow and reluctant. One hand slides fingertips back into Ganon's hair, pulled there like a magnet; with the other, he mumbles, Been so long.

"Still the prettiest?" Zelda asks, because she wasn't sure of that herself until a couple of years ago. (He is, by classical -- and all but forgotten -- Gerudo standards. 'Male' generally doesn't fit Gerudo ideas of beauty anymore.)

Link snorts. Nope, he tells her. That's me. But he's not bad.

Red hair slips between Link's fingers, just enough curl that it catches before falling free, and he winds the lock around. After a few passes of this, combing through the strands, Link sighs and lets Ganon's hair fall, turning tired eyes to Zelda. Will we ever get out of this cycle?

"I don't know, Link." She can't see any way it could happen. "I just don't know."

-0-0-0

With Link having finally arrived, they can actually start preparing for the next rise. Link can get around unsupervised far more easily than Zelda, is even ignored somewhat more than should be polite once people realize he can't speak. He can gather and cache supplies, clear the hidden supply (read: smuggling) routes between towns, and spruce up the spellmarks that keep Ganon's beasts out.

Zelda handles setting up bunkers and watch towers, but she can't prevent people from putting up too many at the Gerudo border. Or from cutting off open trade.

Link puts extra effort into the Gerudo routes after that.

-0-0-0

Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen, and one night Link jerks with surprise. Zelda follows his stare to find the tiniest glint of reflected candlelight where there's only been closed eyes for years.

Ganon isn't awake. He's not even animate enough to shift in his sleep yet. But his eyes can open now.

It won't be much longer.

-0-0-0

Even knowing how close Ganon is to waking, it still comes as a shock when it happens.

A hoarse yelp has Zelda spinning away from the buckets she's just set by a brazier, to see Link flailing where he's standing on the altar. He barely manages to throw his weight back, so instead of hitting the stone floor with his face, he lands on Ganon's chest with a distinct grunt. Not his own -- Ganon's eyes pop open at the hit, his back curling in on himself as he wheezes, as Link struggles trying to push himself upright and off of Ganon and nearly topples over again like he's stuck.

Like his legs are stuck. Or, rather, one leg: one large hand has a firm grip around Link's ankle, reaching halfway to his knee, though his other foot is almost caught as well; it's not quite jammed between Ganon's biceps and ribcage.

It takes a moment for Ganon's eyes to focus on Link. His expression goes sharp, confusion warring with... recognition, Zelda hopes, but it might be a threat assessment instead. (It's probably the assessment. Hopefully Link's nightshirt and lack of weapons is overriding the part where Ganon identifies him.)

Zelda has no idea what to say. ".... Good morning."

She has no idea what language that came out in. It certainly isn't modern Hyrulian.

Ganon's burning gaze snaps to her. His mouth works for a moment, air hissing in his throat. Then, voice dry -- barely more than a whisper -- and halting as he searches for words in that same ancient dialect, he says, "... Is... it?"

Of course he can barely speak, this body hasn't ever been anything but magic, clay, and air. Thank Hylia that she hasn't yet put soap in the water she's brought. Though she's been thoughtless enough to forget to bring a cup.

"It's close enough, I suppose," Zelda replies, bending to scoop up some of the lukewarm water in cupped hands. She pads across the floor, that calculating gaze flicking down to her bare feet (and then catching just below the hem of her chemise instead of returning to her face -- fair enough, the modern type is shorter than it's been in a millenium, even before she hit a late growth spurt last season... not that he would know, he's been monstrous for centuries and only ever captured her fully clothed the entire time).

They both pretend to ignore Link, perched uneasily on Ganon's chest.

"Here," Zelda says, coming well into reach. She brings the water to his lips, fully aware that neither she nor Link could move fast enough if he grabs for her. Ganon probably knows that. But he doesn't try, simply raises one thick eyebrow and leans in to sip.

Oh.

Zelda feels the blush rising to her face. Ganon's being warily delicate here, the scarcest brush of his mouth against her fingertips, almost -- almost -- a courtly greeting kiss to her hands.

And then Link shoves Ganon's face aside -- the sheer surprise enough to make Ganon move -- and pulls Zelda's hands up, and he drinks all the water with an impish little smirk.

"Link!" Zelda yelps. "That's for Ganon!"

Link's eyes brighten further, and he twists to face Ganon. One hand's still on Ganon's cheek, and that thumb taps Ganon's mouth. Link taps his own with his free hand, and raises an eyebrow.

Ganon goes very, very still. "... I... may be misremembering some important details here," he manages, his voice still thready but not a harsh whisper anymore.

Link's expectant question doesn't shift a single hair.

Zelda sighs. "If they're at all about taking liberties with either of us," her face is burning, it's not fair that Link's barely gone pink, "you aren't." That gets only a stunned silence. "It's been a very long time," Zelda allows. Ganon's been aware all of five minutes... and they've been fighting and killing him far more often than speaking to him, much less kissing. There's a lot of bad memories for him to consider. "I'll get you more water if you don't want a kiss."

Silence.

... Well, what did she expect. Zelda turns away to get that water. She should probably just bring the entire bucket over. He can wash up later, maybe even get up and find... whatever it is that he cleans in before dressing, Zelda hasn't been looking for a bathing room in here...

A muffled sound of surprise behind her almost covers that of movement.

He. They.

Well.

Ganon's not letting the bad memories guide him after all. He's pulled Link down, one heavy hand keeping his head in place, strands of blond hair caught between dark fingers. Link's bright red now, wide eyes going soft before falling closed; a thin trickle of water gleams in the dim light, trailing down Ganon's jaw.

In several hours, Zelda will have to go attend her duties upstairs in the castle. In several days, Ganon will have the strength to walk the room; just hours after that, to lift his swords, and the cycle will begin again. But for now, she goes to join them.

[nmnomad]

The Gila Cliff Dwellings National Monument is the only monument with Mogollon ruins. The site protects five cliff alcoves that shield the ruins of several interlinked caves. There are 40 rooms of various sizes in the caves, created with small, flat stones set in adobe mud mortar. Ancient people built the cliff dwellings between 1275-1300 AD. The caves are approximately ¼ mile above the canyon’s confluence with the west fork of the Gila River, about 200 feet up the northwest side of Cliff Dweller Canyon. The mud-and-stone architecture is sheltered within six caves, protected from the wind and water that reduced a nearby mesa-top site to rubble by the 1880s.

Location preserved the Gila Cliff Dwellings for centuries. The remote canyons of the Gila River forks are rugged, heavily forested, with steep canyons. After the Mogollon moved out, the Apache moved in. The Apache kept everyone else out until the late 1870s.

[kassil]

(whispering infinites)

put the oil in, light the lamp

and let blood flow through rusty words

You built levees and dams, for when the mist gathered into rains and rivers from above, long hours of work to keep homes safe from the floodwaters that would otherwise tear them asunder and fling them into the abyss. Heavy work, setting stones in hopes of them being too heavy to be budged, applying mortar to link them together, and holding bands of iron as thick as the flat of your hand for others to drive rivets through. Even in the doing, you found the beauty - matching stones together to fit them as tightly as possible, etching patterns into the mortar for later additions to bind to, and the unthinking artistry left by the flooding, carving into stone and earth alike while it raged.

[tallulahchanel]

Malice (Snippet)

Here it is!!!!! I hope y'all enjoy it!!!

(gif from @stars-bean)

~~~

Nakia laid flat on the table, unsure of the reason adrenaline coursed through her veins. Nervousness or excitement for the events that were about to occur. The herb could work, increasing her strength and other abilities, or it could fail, leaving her dead and Kya without her only sister. She turned her head to the side and grasped her omncinci's hand, caressing her knuckles silently. She didn't have to say it, the gratitude for her sister's presence showed in her eyes.

      Kya leaned down and gave her sister a kiss on the forehead. She lingered for a bit, as if this would be the last intimate moment between them. Finally, she rose up and locked eyes with her best friend. "What will happen to Nakia's spirit when she takes this herb? Will she see our mother?"

      "I don't know," Shuri said with a heavy sigh. Not having all the answers was really messing with Shuri's head, but nonetheless, they were going to fix this, for the sake of the royal family and Wakanda as a whole. "Nakia," she addressed her while lifting the mortar that contained water mixed with Jefurio herb, the liquid glowing pink. "I am granting you the power of the Jefurio herb for to make you strong, faster, and give you the ability to seduce men without their control."

      As she brought it to Nakia's lips, the War Dog drank the contents. Soon, the herb pulses through her veins that glowed pink against her skin. She closed her eyes, suddenly overtaken by the visions of herself at eighteen in the Echo Chambers, the cave, the scary woman she faced, and how fast she ran out of there.

      "Relax, Nakia," Kya's words of comfort were almost drowned out by the sound of her heartbeat and her breathing feeling her ears. The only thing that made Nakia aware of her sister was the way she rubbed soothing circles on her belly as she guided her through a breathing exercise. "It's okay."

      That was the last thing she heard before everything blacked out.

~~~

"I am not afraid," her own voice came through her ears. "I'm not afraid."

      The sound of snapping stick startled her and she popped her eyes open while a gasp emitted from her lips. Once she was sure the danger had passed, she got a look at her surroundings, seeing that she was in a jungle where everything was a shade of pink. The leaves of the trees and plants were a fiery rose color, while the small bits of sky she could see were a carnation shade. Even the dirt below was salmon pink. After a minute, she realized this jungle was very familiar, and she began her trek down a path she hadn't taken since she was eighteen. That was decades ago, yet she remembered the way. She soon came to a dead-end and inched close enough to remove a leaf, revealing the words etched on a pink stone.

Echo Chambers - the same place she was told to go on that faithful day.

      "7." She waited patiently for the projection to tell her she was right and she could go. Instead, the projection just went away, then...nothing.

      She took off her boots as she did those years ago and entered the cave, hearing that horrid crunching sound. She walked until she came across the familiar drum. Instead of taking a seat on the floor like she did then, she stayed on her feet and tapped the drum with the stick. A loud sound erupted and Nakia had to cover her ears to prevent a migraine. When the sound stopped, she looked up and saw nothing, and that made her furrow her brows in confusion. That was until a projection came across the wall in front of her that read: 6 ÷ 2(1+2). This was the same test she had all those years ago, so she gave the same answer she did then.

      "Didn't matter what the answer was," a voice from behind startled her. "What mattered was how confident you were in your answer, but because you hesitated and second guessed yourself, you failed."

      Nakia's eyes widen at what she saw in front of her.

      Sitting on a throne that looked exactly like the king's throne, Malice sat crossed-legged from her. She didn't look how she did all those years ago when she had dark eyes and a gray tint in her skin. This woman looked exactly as she did in that moment. Neat bantu knots, green leather pants, and a matching tank-top. The only thing that distinguished them were the fact that she wore green boots, and had a vibranium whip at her side.

      "Hello, Nakia," she greeted her with an intimidated smirk.

     "Malice," Nakia whispered to herself.

       The anti closed her eyes and inhaled, delighted that Nakia had left her fear and insecurity open for her to soak up. "You were always scared of me. I liked that."

      "What are you?"

      Malice leaned back in the seat as if it was her rightful place."I'm your anger, your unresolved grief, your sadness. I am what you could be if you weren't so always in control, so protective of yourself. You put on a facade that you're okay, but really you just want to scream and make people listen."

      "What do you want from me?"

      "It's not about what I want, it's about what you deserve."

      Nakia shook her head. "I don't understand."

      Malice smiled and released a contented sigh. "Sitting on this throne makes me feel strong, powerful, like all my hard work has paid off."

      "Hard work? Your work was built on the back of the people you hurt, the ones you tried to kill."

      "Building an empire means sacrifices must be made, and they were the sacrifices."

      Nakia shook her head again. "I don't know what you want, but know that I'm going to stop you."

      Malice chuckled darkly, making Nakia even more uncomfortable. "Stop me? You're willing to turn down the opportunity of a lifetime." She got up from the throne and walked over to Nakia, lifting her chin. "I don't want to fight you. I want to work with you, give you everything you could ever want. Riches, influence, and even the man you could never stop loving. Your little...thing with the colonizer is cute, but he'll never be T'Challa."

      Nakia backed away from her. "I know you're dangling pretty things in front of me, but there's a catch to it. There always is."

      Malice leaned closer. "Merge with me. Let's become one flesh. You and I together will be unstoppable. Stronger, powerful, no one can ever tell us no."

      "I can't do that. Not if it means hurting innocent people, including the ones I love."

      Malice's eyes turned dark, like the day Nakia met her. "You're so weak Nakia." As the War Dog prepared to rebuttal, the anti put a hand up to silence her. "Yes, you are. You pretend to be this strong and fierce warrior, but deep down inside, you're just a scared little girl, failing to live up to her dead umama's legacy."

      That was the nerve and Malice relished in the fact that she had Nakia right where she wanted her.

      "You leave my mother out of this."

      "Or what? If you want to hit me, go right ahead. That won't make her be any less dead."

      Tears of anger brimmed Nakia's eyes, but she fought them back, so Malice won't think she's getting to her. "My mother was strong, she didn't have to set the world on fire to prove she was strong.  Unathi died an honorable woman."

      Malice glared. "Your mother died falling 25ft off a railing, where's the honor in that?"

      Nakia raised a hand to smack her face, but she stopped. If she hit Malice, she'd be giving her what she wanted. Malice fed off her emotions, and she couldn't let her have them.

      Malice smirked when she saw Nakia's hand returned to her side. "Like I said, weak. You don't fight for anything. You give up before you can even try. Just like you did with T'Challa."

      Nakia closed her eyes. Even though T'Challa has been married for years and she's currently engaged to Everett, losing his love stung her soul deeply. Especially since they're not as close of friends as they once were. "T'Challa and I have been over with for years. "I wasn't the woman he needed, so when he found someone that was better for him, I took in stride."

      "You could've been queen!" Malice scolded, causing the flames on the cave walls to burn brighter. "You could've had the life you deserved, and you gave that up for what?! So he can love a dumb American who will never be half the woman you are."

      The tears held back were now falling freely down Nakia's cheek. "I loved him enough to let him go. There was no other choice."

      "There was a choice. You just didn't take it."

      A sob escaped Nakia's lips as she shook her head. "I couldn't do that. I couldn't hurt him by taking her life away. More than that, I couldn't hurt my Kya. She would've been devastated if I had done that."

      Malice snarled. "That's why you'll always be weak, Nakia. You're too scared to do the things that matter. And that's what makes the difference between you and I."

      A lump formed in Nakia's throat upon realization. "You didn't. Please tell me no one is hurt."

      A devious smirk crossed Malice's lips. "Not yet, anyways."

      Just like that, Nakia was jolted back to reality, waking up in full-blown panic attack.

      "Nakia, breathe," Kya instructed while rubbing her back. "It's okay, it's okay."

      By the time, she was able to catch her breath, tears were down her cheeks as she locked eyes with the young genius.

      Shuri walked over to her and lifted her chin. "Nakia, what did you see?"

      Nakia swallowed hard, still shaken by the encounter. "My worst enemy."

~~~

Tagging: @theultimateblacknerdwithglasses @thekrazykeke @tchallasbabymama @marieewrites @i-drink-and-i-write-fics

[najia-cooks]

[ID: A close-up of a burger topped with spinach, tomato, and onion. End ID.]

Black bean burgers

Black beans and lentils are cooked with aromatics and herbs and roasted along with carrots and onions to create a deeply savory base for these vegan burgers. Paprika, cumin, coriander, ajwain, and sumac provide earthy, smoky, tangy, and floral notes to round out the umami base of the roasted onion. Chickpea flour provides much more flavor and holding power than wheat flour—the bonus is that these burgers are also gluten-free!

Recipe under the cut.

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Ingredients:

For the beans and lentils:

150g (generous 3/4 cup) dried black beans, soaked in cool water overnight

130g (2/3) dried brown lentils (345g cooked) (or substitute more black beans)

1 yellow onion, halved

4 cloves garlic, peeled and crushed

2 California bay leaves

4 sprigs thyme (optional)

For the roast:

2 medium carrots, peeled and chopped

1 large yellow onion, chopped

4 cloves garlic, peeled and crushed

1 red chili pepper, halved

1/4 cup chickpea flour (besan)

1/4 cup ground flaxseed

2 tsp cumin seeds, or ground cumin

2 tsp coriander seeds, or ground coriander

1 tsp ground sweet paprika

1 tsp ground smoked paprika

1 tsp black peppercorns

1/2 tsp carom (ajwain) or fennel seeds

1/2 tsp dried sumac berries, or ground sumac

1/2 tsp ground cayenne pepper (optional)

1 3/4 tsp salt, or to taste

small bouquet parsley, stems removed

Instructions:

1. Soak the black beans. Rinse and pick over black beans for stones or other debris, then place them in a large bowl with enough cool water to cover by several inches and leave them overnight.

2. Cook beans and lentils. In two separate pots, place soaked black beans and lentils with enough water to cover. Add a half yellow onion, two crushed garlic cloves, a bay leaf, and 2 sprigs of thyme to each pot and simmer, covered, until tender. The black beans will take 1-2 hours and the lentils around 40 minutes. Drain and set aside, removing the onion, garlic, and bay leaf.

3. Make the spice blend. If using whole spices, toast coriander seeds, sumac berries, and black peppercorns in a dry skillet over medium heat for a couple minutes, agitating occasionally, until fragrant and a shade darker; set aside. Toast cumin and ajwain or fennel for a minute or so until fragrant; set aside and remove skillet from heat. Toast ground spices in the skillet, agitating constantly, for 30 seconds. Grind spices using a mortar and pestle or spice grinder, and filter them through a fine mesh sieve.

4. Optional: roast the vegetables. Drizzle beans, lentils, carrots, onion, garlic, and chili pepper in 3 Tbsp extra virgin olive oil and about half of the spice blend; toss to combine. Roast in a large baking sheet at 400 °F (205 °C) for 10–20 minutes. I like to roast half the onion and garlic and leave the other half raw, to get a mixture of deep, roasted and fresh, punchy flavors from the aromatics. You can roast all of it if you dislike the taste of raw onion or garlic, though it doesn't end up being very strong once the burgers are fried.

5. Make the burgers. Mix all ingredients (including the remaining half of the spice mix) in a food processor until they form a single rough but cohesive ball. Taste and adjust spices. Refrigerate the mixture for about 10 minutes to make forming the burgers easier. Take handfuls of the mixture and form into your desired size and shape (I like mine about 3/4 of an inch thick, but I've also tested this recipe with very thin patties designed for layering in a single sandwich).

6. Cook the burgers. Heat 1 Tbsp extra virgin olive oil in a skillet on medium for several minutes. Lower heat to medium-low and cook burgers in a single layer for 4–6 minutes each side, until deep brown and crisp on the outside. Press down on the burgers with the flat of a spatula to encourage even frying.

You may also bake the burgers at 375°F (190 °C) until cooked through, about 10 minutes each side.

Serve warm with buns, lettuce, sliced onion and tomato, cheese, jam, or other condiments.