#honey folklore

[foodandfolklore]

The Queen Bee ~ Honey and it's associations

Honey is a staple is Kitchen Magic and Witchcraft. Honey jars and sweetener spells have become very popular in recent times. You fill a jar with the tag locks of a person you are aiming the spell towards, and their attitude towards you sweetens. Helpful in times when you may be feuding with a neighbor or have a problem colleague who just refuses to cooperate. Makes them more likely to be agreeable to reasonable requests.

That's also what honey can do in the kitchen. Add it to foods so when consumed by people it'll improve relations, strengthen friendships, and invoke peace. Honey is also heavily associated with Love, Passion, Healing/Health, Happiness, Prosperity, Spirituality and Wisdom.

Ancient cultures all over the world believe honey or bees were connected to the Gods. In Greek mythology, Zeus drank honey as a baby while his mother hid him from Cronus. The muses put the ability to sing in honey. Egyptians believed Bees carried messages from the Sun God Ra, and we've found honey in Egyptian tombs. The Celtics from Europe also had a similar belief that the bees carried messages from Gods; going back and forth between our world and their world.

Greeks, Romans, Norse, and more all considered Honey and Mead (An ale made from honey) to be nectar of the gods. Some cultures believed if you could consume enough of both, it would equate to ambrosia. A food that would grant you God like immortality and eternal youth. Even the book of Exodus could not deny how amazing honey is. As God promised the Israelites to free them from slavery and deliver them to a land flowing with Milk and Honey. Then while in their wandering limbo, God rained down a white snow for food that tasted like honey. This idea of Honey being tied to divine existence and better being is so tightly woven into our cultures. When Canada was trying to get more people to move from Europe to settle, they advertised with the tagline: Canada; a land of Milk and Honey. Honey is also a common term of affection for people in relationships or close family members.

But the Story I'm about to read has little to do with honey directly. It's just probably one of the more well known fairytales that has bees and honey in them. A Brothers Grimm tale, of course. But it showcases a lot of classic aspects of the effects honey can have, such as sweetening the demeaner of those around you, attracting love, and living life happy. Interestingly, this is a case where a character described as a 'Dwarf' does not seem to have a thick beard and lives in mines. Instead, we have a story staring a legitimate Little Person, which I thought was pretty cool.

The Queen Bee

Two kings’ sons once upon a time went into the world to seek their fortunes; but they soon fell into a wasteful foolish way of living, so that they could not return home again. Then their brother, who was a little insignificant dwarf, went out to seek for his brothers: but when he had found them they only laughed at him, to think that he, who was so young and simple, should try to travel through the world, when they, who were so much wiser, had been unable to get on. However, they all set out on their journey together, and came at last to an ant-hill. The two elder brothers would have pulled it down, in order to see how the poor ants in their fright would run about and carry off their eggs. But the little dwarf said, ‘Let the poor things enjoy themselves, I will not suffer you to trouble them.’

So on they went, and came to a lake where many many ducks were swimming about. The two brothers wanted to catch two, and roast them. But the dwarf said, ‘Let the poor things enjoy themselves, you shall not kill them.’ Next they came to a bees’-nest in a hollow tree, and there was so much honey that it ran down the trunk; and the two brothers wanted to light a fire under the tree and kill the bees, so as to get their honey. But the dwarf held them back, and said, ‘Let the pretty insects enjoy themselves, I cannot let you burn them.’

At length the three brothers came to a castle: and as they passed by the stables they saw fine horses standing there, but all were of marble, and no man was to be seen. Then they went through all the rooms, till they came to a door on which were three locks: but in the middle of the door was a wicket, so that they could look into the next room. There they saw a little grey old man sitting at a table; and they called to him once or twice, but he did not hear: however, they called a third time, and then he rose and came out to them.

He said nothing, but took hold of them and led them to a beautiful table covered with all sorts of good things: and when they had eaten and drunk, he showed each of them to a bed-chamber.

The next morning he came to the eldest and took him to a marble table, where there were three tablets, containing an account of the means by which the castle might be disenchanted. The first tablet said: ‘In the wood, under the moss, lie the thousand pearls belonging to the king’s daughter; they must all be found: and if one be missing by set of sun, he who seeks them will be turned into marble.’

The eldest brother set out, and sought for the pearls the whole day: but the evening came, and he had not found the first hundred: so he was turned into stone as the tablet had foretold.

The next day the second brother undertook the task; but he succeeded no better than the first; for he could only find the second hundred of the pearls; and therefore he too was turned into stone.

At last came the little dwarf’s turn; and he looked in the moss; but it was so hard to find the pearls, and the job was so tiresome!—so he sat down upon a stone and cried. And as he sat there, the king of the ants (whose life he had saved) came to help him, with five thousand ants; and it was not long before they had found all the pearls and laid them in a heap.

The second tablet said: ‘The key of the princess’s bed-chamber must be fished up out of the lake.’ And as the dwarf came to the brink of it, he saw the two ducks whose lives he had saved swimming about; and they dived down and soon brought in the key from the bottom.

The third task was the hardest. It was to choose out the youngest and the best of the king’s three daughters. Now they were all beautiful, and all exactly alike: but he was told that the eldest had eaten a piece of sugar, the next some sweet syrup, and the youngest a spoonful of honey; so he was to guess which it was that had eaten the honey.

Then came the queen of the bees, who had been saved by the little dwarf from the fire, and she tried the lips of all three; but at last she sat upon the lips of the one that had eaten the honey: and so the dwarf knew which was the youngest. Thus the spell was broken, and all who had been turned into stones awoke, and took their proper forms. And the dwarf married the youngest and the best of the princesses, and was king after her father’s death; but his two brothers married the other two sisters.

[henryshakesmear]

Modern fae must be so pissed at the poor quality of the average store-bought honey

[rrcraft-and-lore]

Soma, the divine plant and drink of the Vedic gods. Confers power, vitality, wisdom, healer of ailments, and bestower of riches.

A divine drink. But, what was it? The stories tell us it was a drink made from honey likely and a plant that had to be distilled.

Soma in fact means in Sanskrit: distill, extract, sprinkle. Sounds like words to brew up a...brew.

Interestingly enough, though, scholars theorize that part of the drink was most definitely honey, and....magic mushrooms. Magic Mushroom wine, in fact.

Now, another interesting tidbit is that the Zoroastrians had a similar drink called Haoma - which scholars also theorize was made along the same lines and had the same benefits.

Does divine honey wine sound familiar? <Mead has entered the chat>

Then there is the Greek Ambrosia, nectar of the gods (NECTAR) that can grant immortality, just like some of the drinks I mentioned from other myths.

Here we get into some actual comparative mythology stuff as the concept of immortality linked to drinks exists in written in the Greek and Vedic with the word ambrosia being semantically linked to amṛta - concept of immortality -- food/drink to reach that path. This makes sense because the words come from the proto indo european: ṇ-mṛ-tós, "un-dying".

Many of the early epics seem to feature some kind of overall divine healing plant or divine drink that empowers its heroes. Why is that?

Simple as people just loved booze and the idea of super magic special booze? "Honey, I'm not drinking...I'm communing with god to make the strongest of our bloodline!!!! I SWEAR."

Or...was it something else? Is there a shared older story beat that all these epics draw from?

Right now? People still figuring that out. But there are _some_ connections. And they're fascinating.

(As I don't drink, you'll have to tell me if getting sloshed on honey wine has given you power, magic, healed you, or let you see god.)

In the Vedic stories, the Artisan and craftsman god, Tvashtr, creates this magical drink, along with Indra's lightning bolt (that myth sound familiar?), the creator of forms, living wombs, and oh, he creates vritra, the three-headed asura dragon that captures and holds hostage the waters of the world and is slain by Indra. Vritra becomes so dangerous and empowered by, you guessed it, drinking all the Soma at Tvashtrs house.

Man found the unlimited rare candy glitch. -_-

[starry-skies-tell-no-lies]

Birdie and their relationship with religion (version 1)

One of the things I really want to dig into is Birdie's relationship with religion. They were raised Roman Catholic, and that always came with some questions.

Then they started to realize that maybe secretly something over the course of time had started to chip away at their faith. They start to think about how if there's a plan for everyone then plans include other people doing bad things and it affecting you, and that can't be right.

It only gets worse when they start to realize that they are a they and don't fit nicely into the binary the church enforces.

For awhile they reject all religion. Yes, it is important to other people, but its only for other people. They don't really find meaning in any of the religions that they've heard of. The closest thing is maybe maybe witchcraft

(but they don't want to work with gods or spirits, and they don't want to cast spells, and slowly they come to realize that what they really like about it is taking time to slow down and think, and sense, and pay attention to the world and what makes you happy.)

They like the little rituals, not because they believe that it will work yet, but because they don't and sometimes 'just in case' is enough of a reason. And because it keeps them present and in the moment. It's just making a reason to actually enjoy life.

So, they decide that religion is allowed to be what they make it. They decide that it matters how they do things sometimes. They decide that sunrises are spiritual, and the stars are holy. They decide that sometimes talking to the moon in their head to thank her for light is a worth while thing to do.

They decide that all the things that catch in their chest and remove just a little bit of weight, the things that make them smile, well they can be religion too.

(and if its all the placebo affect, well the placebo affect works doesn't it? and they are so much happier having decided that things matter)

So they don't really believe in a god or gods, and they don't really believe in spirits, but they decide that they can treat everything like its alive like a stuffed animal. They may know that a tree won't really hear if they apologize when they bump into it, and that the moon will shine whether or not you thank it, but it feels like they have company if they acknowledge it, so they do. (and its just nice to be nice to things so there's that too)

[louthegreatfurrry]

Thirty

30. what would you like to write next year?

I would like to write whatever brings me joy <3

In all seriousness, I really want to figure out how on Earth to balance my PDP infatuation with my original works. I have a fantastic story I want to tell, and it's really hard when my autism has so heavily latched onto PDP. I don't want it to latch onto my original story instead, because PDP means the world to me and I don't want to stop writing it, but I've been struggling with having the two coexist for a year already, so who knows what'll happen!

Considering next year is so very very soon, I guess I can also say I want to write stuff that explores one of the PDP characters, Dust's, powers a little more. I have many great ideas and they all involve rituals and old Norse. teehee <3

Thanks for the ask!!

Ask game here.

[rodrickheffley]

gonna try to not say anything else abt the album before i actually hear it when it drops lol but i'm sure i will have many things to complain abt

[thefireflowermoonchild]

Book Recs Based on Taylor Swift Songs

I spend a silly amount of time listening to music and pairing songs with characters. Of course out of all the artists I listen to, Taylor writes the most lyrics that cut my heart into a million tiny pieces perfectly capture the characters of the books I’m reading. The song The Lakes actually is a track I associate with one of my OCs and I love it so much. I had a lot of fun putting this together,…

[lalunearts]

well i was supposed to be getting homework done, but i zoned out and i have a clean desk but no reading of folklore has been done

[c0wboylik3m3]

don't worry guys, it's from a male's perspective

Taylor Swift gayest comments in MySpace Part 3

our baby dyke in High school cute af

[thezenflower]

Peace ✌️ Love ❤️ Shamrocks 🍀 ☘️

#irishpun #irishdance #irishphotography #irish #irishpassion #irishgifts #irishdecor #saintpatrickdays #saintpatricksdaydecor #irishgift #saintpatricksday #saintpatrick #saintpaddysday #saintpatrickscathedral #saintpatricksdaydecor #saintpatricksday🍀 #saintpatricksday2023☘️ #saintpatricksweek #thezenflower

[seneon]

ALL THAT MATTERS ──── suna rintarou × figure skater¡reader. for @heartkaji my pretty pink baobei 🖤

suna rintarou serves as the middle blocker of inarizaki high’s volleyball team. blessed with visuals that seemed to be favoured by the fox spirits of japanese folklore.

it was as if they moulded him from their fingers to create a man so perfect that all the women in inarizaki high fawned over him.

but none of that matters to him, for rintarou couldn’t care less about the cheap attention from anyone else all around him. why would he care when he already has a gorgeous woman who currently skates her routine on ice?

“look at my girl, she’s so beautiful, isn’t she?” he tells the twins for what seems like the umpteenth time as the three of them watch your figure gliding across the ice.

rintarou has stupid and silly hearts in his eyes as you carried your soul with grace. it's quite pathetic, actually— the way he has seen you figure skate on ice a million times ever since he was a child yet he never fails to fall in love with you all over again.

never did he ever dared to put his mind into the thoughts of him being connected to you in some way. yet here he is, present as your boyfriend who is absolutely sickeningly smitten with you that it makes the miya twins grimace in nothing but pure disgust.

tchaikovsky played in the speakers of the arena. the music is ever so elegant and soft that it creates an atmosphere beautiful. but in rintarou’s foxy eyes, you were the one that stands out as a swan so tantalising and simply so alluring.

it tugs at his heartstrings that no matter how many times he watches you skate after his volleyball practices, he forgets all about his game strategies. all on his mind is you, you, and absolutely only you.

you are all that matters to him.

when the music ended, you skated off the ice and immediately put on the skate guards to cover the blade. upon finishing the covering of your blades, you looked up to see rintarou already waiting for you at the bench next to you, holding up a bottle of your favourite drink.

“hey pretty.”

a smile carved itself at the corner of your lips at the sight of your boyfriend. without taking off your skates, you walked over to him in a funny way and buried yourself in his arms, relishing in the feeling of his broad body against your delicate one.

“hi rin,” you responded with a smile as he chuckled at your silly walk and placed a chaste kiss at the top of your head. after holding you for a while, he twisted open the bottle and gently held it to your lips.

“you are absolutely fucking gorgeous on ice again. and will always be,” rintarou praises, and his voice filled with so much honey and sweet affection that it made your insides twist at his simple praise.

your fingers curled around the bottle to drink for yourself before you let out a content hum. “thank you rin. you flatter me too much.”

he grins down at you, smile almost fox-like you swore he came from the forests a few centuries old. it was so enchanting that you almost forgot his friends followed him here today.

not like they matter to you, for whenever rintarou is around to pamper you like a deserving princess after your figure skating training, he is all that mattered to you.

“now, shall we eat out, order takeout, or i eat you out?”

“rin!” you flushed red and slapped his arm, emitting a roar of laughter before he decided on his own question, tucking a strand of hair behind your ears to admire the red that paints your cheeks a field of roses.

gosh, he is so in love with you.

© SENEON 2024 ♰ do not repost, alter, or translate.

[celaenaeiln]

Dick Grayson's talent for manipulation literally brings the world to its knees.

Part 1 post

My absolute favorite trait about Dick aside from his craziness is his ability to control every single person in existence. The best part is, he's so clever in the way that he does it that people almost never notice.

Bart Allen

"Oh! Ahh..you're trying to get my DNA sample. You need my spit! Ha! That's such a Dick Grayson thing to do."

Bart knows!! Dick's brilliantly sly okay. Honey catches more flies that vinegar? He takes it so far that breaks he the ceiling with it because by the time he's done, people don't even know they've been manipulated. And if they do, then what can they do about it? He always wins.

With friends and family he does it to make them feel better without being so overt and discomforting them.

Justice League: Road to Dark Crisis

Jon came to him when he was feeling lost and upset and Dick set up the perfect conditions to encourage him and pick him up. He's just so good at doing what he's doing but he does it for all the right reasons.

But the extent Dick can go trick and manipulate someone is off the charts. A virtuoso.

In a Titans comic, Dick literally spent MONTHS acting depressed and weak after Donna, Wally, and Garth were kidnapped to another dimension by a villain just so he could trick the villain into thinking that his career was over and bring him into the same dimension so Dick could take him down.

He fooled everyone.

Teen Titans: The Silver Age TBP 2 Part #1

"Batman taught me how to be a totally convincing actor! So if the only way you could send me here with your ring was if I filled my brain with evil thoughts, I just faked it! My facial expression was pure evil-but my mind remained pure good." MONTHS.

He planned, pretended, and calculated every single fiber of his own mind and body until the whole world was fooled by his acting. He tricked an interdimensional being who had psychic access. That means he was so extraordinarily manipulative, he can control his own thoughts inside his head to trick someone else. Voldemort's legilimens has nothing on Dick's talent.

Like Bart, sometimes his allies are aware of this like with Selina-

Gotham City Sirens Issue #23

Selina's literally having a mental breakdown trying not to fall for Dick's manipulation and tricks.

But even if they know he's manipulating them, they still are forced to fall for it anyway.

Gotham City Sirens Issue #23

"Damn it."

Like a goldilocks mad scientist - he does it just right.

His acting is just so on point that he outschemes the schemer.

When the Crime Syndicate (Superwoman, Ultraman, Owlman, Power ring, etc) arrive on Earth to take it over when Dick is Batman, Dick needs to do something fast. But to make things worse, there's a being that's so powerful, that both the Crime Syndicate and Justice League combined have a snowball's chance in hell of defeating him.

So what does Dick do? He runs the game.

Justice League of America (2006) Issue #52

Justice League of America (2006) Issue #52

"Of course he had a plan the whole time. He's Batman. He always has a plan."

Justice League of America (2006) Issue #52

He tricks everyone.

Justice League of America (2006) Issue #52

And in the end, the Justice League wins and Dick saves the world.

Justice League of America (2006) Issue #52

I love how they characterized Owlman as a snake because that would make Dick a mongoose since mongoose eats snakes. And do you know what Mongoose represent in folklore? Action, adventure, boldness, fearlessness, impulsiveness, independence, optimism, rebellion, resistance, resourcefulness, speed, adaptation, agility, quickness, intelligence and wit. All characteristics that define him.

He plays the world like a chessboard, always five steps ahead.

He always has an ace hidden up his sleeve.

His thoughts are always masked behind a disarming smile.

He has mastered the art of manipulation.

And that's while he's outright fighting. His subtlety is just so seductive.

Take a look at the way he smoothly evades answering in this panel -

Grayson Issue #9

He's so smooth. She's constantly on the watch but she instantly fell head over heels for his charms in a half a heartbeat, that's just how good he is.

Grayson Issue #10

He's a master manipulator who knows exactly what to say and how to act to always end up winning.

It's seriously such a shame that one of his greatest skills and talents isn't talked about more because this man?! Flawless.

He's the spy everyone on TV wishes they could be. He's the type of spy people read about in history books and marvel at the ease, grace, and legendary story he leaves behind. He's the spy that everyone knows and dreams of in their fantasies.

Nightwing (2016)

And oh how they so are.

He can just get people to do whatever he wants.

There's a reason why Batman's only contingency plan against Nightwing is "Let's hope he fucks up." Because with his intelligence, skill, power, charisma, and raw talent - he's goddamn unstoppable.

[citruswriter]

A Sign From God?

Listen with me! ↠ⁿᵉˣᵗ ˢᵒⁿᵍ ↺ ʳᵉᵖᵉᵃᵗ ⊜ ᵖᵃᵘˢᵉ

Warnings: Religious themes, noncon, fem reader, fem terms, Reader is Christian/Catholic, oral (f! receiving), dirty talk (???), church sex, desecration of religious site (???), overstimulation, size kink (???), kidnapping (???).

Monstertober/Yantober Prompts: Local Folklore/Fate

Pairings: Male Rougarou Monster x Fem Reader

You were a devoted thing. Always going to church, always studying your Bible, always paying tithes. As a child you always when to church camp and as an adult you became baptized. The older you were however, the more the church seemed to call you in more and more, demanding to give more of yourself to God Almighty.

You found yourself wondering if you should become a nun. And that's how you ended up in your local church in the dead of night, on your knees and praying to God.

"Please God. I feel torn. I want love. I want a husband. But I also feel called to the nunnery. Please Father, I don't know what to do. Please. Give me a sign." You prayed, bowed over the stairs that led up to the podium. It wasn't long before you heard a growl.

Your breath caught in your throat at the noise as the animalistic growl ripped through the cathedral. Your body stiffened and you felt your blood run cold as the predatory noise made you very much aware that you were not alone in the church.

"You wish a sign from God?" A voice came, the sound of it low and gravelly, his Cajun accent thick. "I'll be your sign." You felt a figure loom over your body as you trembled in fear. You felt a large clawed hand grasp your skull with ease and force it down to the ground as he licked his jaws.

"Such a pretty little thing." His voice came, wolf jaws sniffing over your body, tongue sneaking under your tongue to lap at the skin of your thighs. You shudder and tremble in fear, but despite what you wanted, your body responded differently. You felt heat pool in your core, tears welling in your eyes as you body called to the sin despite your heart trying so hard to cast your cares on God.

"I can smell your fear, little girl. You afraid of the big bad wolf, cher?" He taunts and he presses his snout up your skirt and To your inner thigh, hot breath fanning over you and adding to the heat of your core before he lets out a raspy laugh. "Maybe it's less fear than it is... arousal. Maybe you're afraid I'll devour you whole... but maybe that's also what you want."

You let out a whine of protest, tears starting to spill from your eyes as he lapped closer to your cunt before his spare hand tore your panties away, claws shredding the fabric and flipping your modest skirt up to expose your cunt to the cold air of the cathedral.

You yelped and tried to close your legs but his hand kept you firmly spread out for him, a low predatory growl leaving his maw and making you freeze in fear once more again before his long canine long lapped at your slick cunt, making you whine out. Whether it was in protest or pleasure, you weren't completely sure.

He continues to lap at your cunt, licking at your clit and lipping it inside you, trying to drink more of your sweet nectar as you whine and keen on the stairs. He seems almost feral, not being able to get enough of your sweet cunt as he eats you out like a man starved. You gasp as you start to feel a knot form in your gut, your orgasm cresting within you. The beast seems to notice you too, giving an almost puppy like whine as he presses his tongue onto you harder, working harder to get you to orgasm on his tongue.

You try hard not to, to stave off your orgasm, to not give this sinful beast what he wants but its all in vain as your orgasm hits you like a tidal wave. You cry out as you cum, you nerves kind of feeling as if you bit into a star as the beast laps greedily at the sweet honey you released.

"So fucking good." He rumbled and you give a small strangled noise as he continues to lap again. "Again." He growls out, lapping at your cunt once more, trying to get you to cum once more on his tongue once more, loving the way your pussy juices tasted.

You moan out with overstimulation, tears streaming down your face as he works your sensitive cunt with with lycan tongue. You sob and moan as he laps at you greedily, working you to another orgasm.

It doesn't take long for that familiar knot to return. You let out a strangled noise as he presses harder to drive you over the edge once more, desperate to taste your sweet cum once more.

You cry out, sobbing as you're forced to cum once more. Your vision blurs and your ears are ringing from the intensity of your orgasm. Your whole body trembles as you're kept in the position, the man lapping happily at your cunt like he was a puppy who just got his favorite treat.

Eventually you feel his tongue retreat and you give sigh of relief as your poor cunt is given a moment of rest. But large clawed hands splay themselves over your hips and sides and you feel him shift. Your blood runs cold.

You feel his cock nudge at your entrance but before you can protest he thrusts forward, spearing you on his cock and stuffing you full as he shoves his large throbbing cock into your sopping wet cunt. You cry out, giving a strangled moan as he stuffs you full and stretches you out. It feels so good and you feel so guilty. Like you've sinned.

He growls and snarls as he starts to piston in and out of you, wasting no time with setting a brutal pace in you. It took you a bit to shove through the pleasure and hear his muttering. "You asked for a sign from God. I am your sign from God. You are mine now, little gir. My mate. My everything. We are bound together. Bound by fate. My beautiful fated mate. God has chosen you to be my wife."

You can't believe what your hearing. You would have retorted, told him he was wrong, crazy even. But the way his cock was fucking you on the floor of the cathedral kept you from speaking anything legible. Only slutty moans and keening whines left your throat as he drills into that wonderful spongy spot deep within your velvet walls.

You start to panic when you feel his hips stuttering but shows no sign of pulling out. You weakly squirm but he keeps you firmly in place, one of his hands dropping to rub you already abused pearl once more. You cry out once more, loud noises being ripped from your throat as he tries to drive you over the edge once more, this time with him.

You scream as you cum once more, shuddering as the man lets out a vicious snarl and shoves his cock as deep as he can, pumping a large load of cum into you. You both pant heavily as the two of you attempt to climb down of your orgasms. Eventually he pulls out, cum spilling from your pussy and onto the cathedral's floor.

You collapse onto the floor, whining softly as everything hurts. Moments later, the large beast scoops you up but your vision is too blurry to really make out much. But you do hear him. He's returned to his rambling. His deranged muttering about how you're his fated mate. Fate brought you together. God led him to you to take you.

Finally he's no longer alone.

Ik, ik. It's late. Shoot me.

This one was actually kind of special to me bc I'm Cajun and I don't see a lot of representation when it comes to my culture so it was nice to share a piece of my culture with all of you guys!

Taglist: @ozzgin

[gallusrostromegalus]

Hi Gallus, I'm doing some worldbuilding and you seem like you could be connected enough for me to find an answer to the problem of dwarven agriculture. Many problems are created by the requirement of no sunlight, as even the common response of mushrooms still need light to break down decomposing matter as a primary energy source. Currently, we're thinking that they use a special type of mushroom that breaks down rocks in an energy-producing reaction, giving them enough energy to absorb nutrients and grow - this would serve a second purpose in explaining why building a massive hollowed-out mountain fortress doesn't produce an equally large amount of gravel.

Any thoughts? We're grasping at straws kinda lol

Well, some thoughts:

There's plenty of cave systems (especially Karst Systems) that are at least partially open to Sunlight- especially the kind that have rivers running through them, which is something else that's really helpful for agriculture.

For Example: This Cool AF Sinkhole cave in china that has an entire Forest in it

Now There's a view to put outside the city Gates!

Karst specifically is a landscape where underground rivers hollow out the limestone underground and then the cave roofs fall in. This kind of landscape answers your gravel question nicely: the hollowed out mountain does produce an equal amount of gravel, but the gravel turns up as the sandy banks of the river system hundreds of miles away.

So, there's your sunlight that can be used directly, or reflected or magically transferred deeper into the cave system.

Or they just put more holes in the roof! Unless your dwarves are also vampires, there's no reason for them to not hollow out a few Skylights into the mountain too.

But let's talk some other cave ecology and agriculture!

For starters, your dwarves could be sitting on top of a literal gold mine that would allow them to trade for a lot of needed materials and crops.

And by gold mine, I mean Salt Mine.

Historically, salt comes out of hollowed-out mountains and is worth more than gold.

Also something the humans have historically fought a bunch of wars over, so there's some free political tensions if you needed that!

I can also mean the possible fucking enormous piles of bat guano that accumulates in Karst caves, which is the world's most insanely good fertilizer, and ALSO something that has been worth more than it's weight in gold.

Speaking of Gold, another thing that often lives in sinkhole caves in abundance is BEES. turns out, limestone stalactites are a terrific place to build a hive that is difficult for predators to reach, stays dry and the stone substrate means the hives can reach many tons in weight before they start having structural issues. That sweet, sweet insect-derived liquid gold is already important to Dwarves in a lot of folklore- it's really hard to have a Traditional Dwarven Mead Hall without the honey to make the mead, you know?

So you got your mushrooms, you got your sunlight-grown sinkhole crops, you got your traded goods and you got your source of alcohol- the only thing really missing from an ancient food pyramid here is a staple carbohydrate. To that end, may I propose our good Peruvian Friend: The Potato.

Grain crops aren't actually all that nutritious and were kept around in ancient societies more as legal tender that kept the peasants busy, because wheat or rice takes months to grow, an enormous amount of labor to harvest, and wheat also needs to be milled before it can be turned into food- all enormously time-consuming processes that keep peasants busy and easy to rule tyranically over.

Potatoes though? Pop one in the ground in spring and you can dig up fingerlings all summer, and if you make potato towers, you can harvest up to 40lbs of delicious, easy-to-prepare-and-store carb out of a single plant- a real space-saver for the limited sinkhole skyspace.

If your dwarves have cheese, the potato makes even more sense, because Potato+dairy is the easiest, most nutritionally complete survival food there is.

Finally, consider: Dwarven Vodka.

This post is open for anyone to comment suggestions on, but that's my take: put your dwarves in a Karst-sinkhole cave system, give them a highly in demand resource like salt or guano, bees, and taters. Boom. Whole agriculture, economy and political scheme starters.

[dragon-chica]

Cryptid Hunting - Eddie & Venom x Reader

Fandom: Marvel / Venom

Dear gods it's been a long time since I wrote but this duo? marry me.

You have a love for monsters and stories, folklore and cryptozoology especially the more interesting creatures, in particular.

Eddie once had asked you if you really believe in all those stories, legends and cryptids and folklore. He found them interesting and entertaining, especially some of your favorites you shared with him, but didn't consider a lot on the subject.

"Babe, your body contains an alien slime that cured your cancer and eats your ass. This is just a cursed child that flew out a chimney and haunts New Jersey. No offense, Venom, honey."

"NONE TAKEN."

"That's fair."

You had always wanted to try cryptid hunting just for fun, but could never convince anyone to join you for a night of tomfuckery in a creepy area with legends and rumors.

Eddie though, had no excuse.

Your reasoning was, he's a journalist, he should investigate this story, spinning your laptop around with an article on a chosen cryptid for him to look at while you also read about it from one of your cryptozoology and folklore books.

Your second reason was, he's your boyfriend and "Please, please, please, please baby?"

Which of course he could never say no to, not that it helps that Venom is also now pleading along with you.

"YES EDDIE, PRETTY PLEASE? WE CAN FIND IT AND EAT IT. AN EXOTIC SNACK, AND WE WILL IMPRESS THEM."

Both his lovers pleading for him to do something? He's a lovestruck sucker as is, even if it is walking around like a couple of dumbasses in the dark. He's done weirder.

You honestly didn't actually expect him to agree though, and are ecstatic that he does.

Your excitement and the big kiss on his cheek is already worth it he thinks.

"SEE EDDIE? WE ARE AMAZING PARTNERS. MORE CRYPTIDS AND MORE KISSES."

You make a day out of it, a roadtrip.

With snacks. Lots of snacks, and one guy at a gas station that was just awful. "HE DIDN'T TASTE VERY GOOD EITHER."

All in all, Eddie was having a good day. Time off spent with his favorite beings, a scenic drive, wearing shoes. Not really expecting much of the "cryptid hunt" besides walking around in the dark and talking to the woods like ghosthunters.

But you and Venom were hyped, as soon as you parked in a secluded area and geared up with flashlights and a video camera, he didn't know who was more excited.

Venom was hovering over his shoulder, head whipping around so much he was spinning Eddie as he went, following you "to a good spot."

You sat in the woods for awhile together waiting for it to get dark, wrapped in a cozy hoodie and leaning against Eddie while reading to him different stories from one of your cryptid books.

When darkness settled around you and something could be heard walking through the brush, you flashlight spun toward it.

"DO NOT WORRY MORSEL, WE ARE THE LETHAL PROTECTOR. YOU ARE SAFE."

Eddie did not expect, at the sound of something moving closer in the woods, for Venom to jump out of him, and into you. Backing up with black good around your hand now shaking with the beam towards it.

"What the hell V?" he whisper shouted while your other hand covered your mouth trying to hide a snicker.

"THAT'S ENOUGH HUNTING FOR TONIGHT."

A weird trilling sound came for the forest and Venom encased you, going full form and grabbing Eddie over your shoulder before sprinting back to the card and tossing him inside.

Your flashlights, heavy duty and bought just for this, were long forgotten while multiple tentacles rummaged around Eddie before finding the keys and slamming them in the ignition.

"What's wrong V? i thought you wanted to eat a cryptid for me?"

You try to soothe and pet him while Eddie gets his bearings again.

"NOT HUNGRY. THE UGLY MAN GAVE US INDIGESTION. BESIDES, EDDIE WAS SCARED."

"HEY!"

Eventually, against Venom's protests on Eddie being a chicken and too scared to continue, Eddie trekked back to retrieve your gear, Venom back with him and switching from full cowl to hiding inside him again while you waited in the car.

[fairyysoup]

it will come back

part one

a.k.a. sever the blight (eddie's version)

pairing(s): werewolf!eddie munson x fem!milkmaid!reader

summary: You don’t go into the woods. You don’t talk to strangers. And you don’t, under any circumstances, approach a wolf. Unless one shows up bleeding at your door.

cw: dark themes, mature content, animal cruelty, animal death mention, gunshots, physical abuse, reader is a servant to an abusive master, misogyny, suggestive themes, fairytale au, some kind of historical fantasy period, inspired by The Company of Wolves by Angela Carter, eventual smut (in later parts)

a/n: hiiiiiiii :) so remember when i said i'd stop posting fic on tumblr? well one mental breakdown later i decided that was literally making me miserable and ruining my hobby! so i'm back. it's me, hi, i'm the problem it's me <3 this is a reupload

ALL MY WORKS ARE 18+ MINORS DNI

Don't let me in with no intention to keep me, Jesus Christ, don't be kind to me, Honey, don't feed me, I will come back.

There are things they tell you about the woods from the time you are born, weaning you on them just the same as you are weaned on milk. Don’t go into the woods on a full moon. Don’t talk to strange men. Likewise, if you see a strange man alone in the pines on the full moon, run and don’t look back. And don’t, for any reason, approach a wolf at any time. They’ll kill you before you turn the other cheek.

In your twenty-some-odd years, you have never seen a wolf. You’ve heard them howling, distantly, so deep in the forest that you don’t even feel the need to be frightened by it. They exist in there, somewhere, going about their business as wolves do.

Sometimes you hear about the wolves wandering into town. Old Mr. Thatch, from just over the creek, said his pigs were slaughtered in the night. He’ll have to spend a fortune to get a few more. Torben Plack from the end of Warder’s Row saw one drinking from the horse trough outside the inn last month. 

There are whispers of wolves when a baby is missing from its crib. There are whispers of murder in the night. There are accusations that some of the townsfolk themselves are wolves in disguise.

Nonsense, the lot of it. Or, that’s what you believe. That’s what you choose to think about it– even though you’ve been told time and again that a pretty girl doesn’t think, a pretty girl believes and does what she’s told. She doesn’t go into the woods. She does her chores and she says her prayers and she marries a boy with a healthy income and lives quietly, rearing children until she can’t anymore.

(You don’t believe that, either.)

You don’t have the luxury of making any other choices, though. You are a servant, a milkmaid in the employ of a rather cold Master– you have no time for philosophy or discerning what you do and don’t believe about the local folklore.

You milk the cow. You chop the firewood. You feed the chickens. You harvest the cabbage and you don’t complain. You sleep on your bed in your shack– or, servant’s quarters– behind the grand house and you don’t, under any circumstances, question the Master or his wife. You wash the bedsheets after he sloppily takes his wife to bed, and you try to hide your disgust. 

You usually do what you’re told. Usually. 

On a night when the moon hangs round and full in the sky, lighting the stretch of land beyond your small shack in a milky blue haze, you’re building a small fire in the fireplace when you hear it. The howling. It’s so much closer than you’ve ever heard it, almost as though the wolves are just beyond the treeline that backs up to your master’s land.

You pay it no mind. Normally, the wolves are on the hunt for something– small animals that titter through the woods, unassuming until it’s too late. The howling will be distant soon, and you’ll be able to sleep soundly while the rest of the town frets about the dangers of the wolf-men, locking their windows and bolstering their doors. 

Just as you thought, the howls drift away slowly. You snuggle down into the covers of your bed, and you barely flinch when Mr. Thatch fires off a pistol over the creek, ringing through the dead night louder than hell. These things mean little to you. You’re more interested in what the land of dreams holds for you tonight– it’s one of the only reprieves you get from your long days of work.

It isn’t until ten minutes later, when you are mere inches from sleep, that you hear a soft whining outside your cabin door. At first, you think it’s the wind. Then, when it gets louder, you wonder if you’re imagining it.

And when it turns into a soft howling, well. That’s not your imagination.

You wrap a woven blanket around your shoulders and leave the door open when you step out into the chilly night. You don’t have a candle– you could always knick one from the Mistress, but that might risk getting caught, and you don’t love that idea. So, you contend with the little amount of light that spills out of the open door from your small fireplace, and you squint into the dark toward the source of the sound.

It takes shape in the form of a wolf. A big one, covered in black fur and curled up beneath the gabled roof, as though attempting to make itself smaller. It shivers and whimpers miserably, tucking its paws close to its body. 

You shrink back in the doorway, drawing your blanket closer around your shoulders. The hum of crickets in the bushes and in the grass across the pasture covers the shakiness of your rapid breathing. You don’t know what to do. You couldn’t possibly be expected to bother the Master this late at night– even if it is a wolf, the barn is shut up and the animals are safe. You’d probably be expected to just stay put in your little cabin and wait for it to go away on its own. Maybe in the morning the Master will find it and skin it for the Mistress’s bedquilt. 

The image makes you shudder. This poor thing– even if it is nearly as big as you, even if it’s a nasty predator in the eyes of everyone else– is clearly looking for some sort of reprieve. Just the same as you do at the end of the day. You can’t let it be skinned alive just for searching for safety.

“Hey,” you whisper softly, and you know the creature hears you, because it flinches badly. Almost as though it may bolt away in a panic. “No, no… don’t be frightened.” 

You lower yourself down towards the ground, tentatively inching forward as the creature turns its head to blink up at you. Water brims its dark eyes, sparkling in the low light from your open door. Streaks of tears flatten the fur on its snout; the wretched thing lets out a noise like a sob, hanging its head like it doesn’t have the energy to stand you off.

“I’ve never seen a wolf cry before,” you tell it quietly. You’ve never seen a wolf, period, but you don’t need to tell it that. You’re not sure that it can understand you, anyways, but you keep talking like it can. “Are you hurt?”

The wolf snorts, sneezes loudly, and then trembles. There’s a high pitched whining, a heart-shattering noise that cuts deep into your chest as the beast cowers away from you. The whine turns into a low growl when you move a bit closer, but it doesn’t sound like it really means business. More like it doesn’t know what to do with your closeness. 

“Hey,” you say again, more insistently. You inch your way forward, crouched low to the ground, holding your blanket around you with one hand as you reach the other out toward it. You’ve never tried to approach a wolf. You don’t know if it’s similar to trying to gain a domesticated dog’s trust– hold out your hand, let it catch your scent. Show it that you mean no harm, allow it to come to you. “I’m trying to help you, okay? Let me help.”

The wolf growls for a moment longer before finally relenting, and reaching its head forward to sniff curiously at your hand. You don’t know what you expect– perhaps that it would drop its head again, or back away cautiously. Instead, the wolf surprises you by pushing its head into your outstretched palm like a sad puppy.

“Oh,” you coo, stroking the wolf’s soft head as it trembles. Its ears twitch against your fingers, and it snuffles a few times, its body shaking with each, like an all-too-human fit of sobbing. “Okay, baby. Let’s get you inside.” 

Again, it’s a shot in the dark. You back slowly away from the creature, whose watery eyes blink up at you, and then you stand, and open the cabin door wider. The wolf doesn’t move, still continuing to shake with its uneven breathing.

You take a step into the door, and watch as the wolf slowly struggles up out of its cowering position. On all four legs, it seems to be favoring its right front leg, lifting its left paw limply upward. When you take another step back into the cabin, and it follows, it shudders a breath and limps badly on its left leg. 

“Good job, honey,” you tell the wolf gently as it tentatively follows you into the cabin. 

You don’t know whether to leave the door open or to shut it; you’re not sure if there’s any wisdom in shutting yourself in close quarters with a wild animal, but you also don’t want the Master to find it come morning. You suck your teeth and swing the door shut, quietly latching it and hoping the damned thing doesn’t suddenly decide it’s too hungry. 

You turn, and take two steps before dropping to your knees in front of the fireplace, where the most light hits the ground. You drop your blanket to the floor, and pat your lap as you look at the creature shivering a few feet away. “C’mere. Lay down.”

As far as you know, wolves don’t normally lay down and play lapdog for strange humans, but this one does. You wonder at it, remarkable in its size and beauty, as it flops down tiredly onto your floor and rests its head in your lap. Through your cotton chemise, the wolf’s chin is warmer than the heat of the fire.

You pet the wolf’s head again gently as you examine its left leg. It doesn’t seem to have any major wounds except for a spot of wetness on the side of it. When you lift it, the wolf in your lap whines loudly.

“I know, baby,” you coo at it, trying to pet its head as soothingly as you can while you look over the mangled leg and paw. Through the fur and dirt, you see a patch of pink skin matted with bright red, and your own hand comes away smeared with blood. There is a bad gash, enough to still be bleeding. 

You don’t want to jostle the animal now that it’s relatively comfortable, so you bend backwards and sideways to reach the cup of water on the shelf at your bedside. It’s what you have on hand to clean the wound– you suppose you could sneak into the grand house to steal some soap, but just the same as the candle, you’d rather not risk it. You take your time in pouring cool, clean water on the wolf’s wound, rubbing dirt and blood away from the gash. In your lap, the beast huffs softly in response.

“I don’t know what you’re doing out of the woods,” you tell it as you tenderly clean its wound, expecting that you’re only speaking to settle your own nerves, “but you ought not to come around here too often. The men here are bloodthirsty. Don’t want you getting any more beat up.” 

The wolf heaves a sigh. For what it’s worth, you take that as some sort of acknowledgement. 

“I can’t do much else for you besides this,” you continue softly. The wound is clean now, the fur gone wet enough that you can pull it aside and peer at the gash itself. It’s quite deep, straight, and slices from the middle of its leg upward at a diagonal. It continues to ooze even as you examine it, painting your fingers red. You tip a little more water onto it. 

You grab one corner of the blanket you’d used to wrap yourself, and rip a strip off along the grain. The light pink fabric looks almost comical when you wrap it around the wolf’s leg, tying it and tucking the tails in gently so that it won’t fall off too easily. You figure, eventually, the damn thing will come off while the wolf goes off on its merry way. You don’t delude yourself into thinking you’ve got a pet, now.

“I wish I could give you more,” you tell the beast, petting your hand down its mane, feeling the silken fur slide through your fingers like the plushest finery that you’ll never be able to enjoy for yourself. “But, I suppose, you can rest here tonight. If you promise to stay polite.”

The wolf doesn’t fuss when you slide a stiff pillow under its chin, and slip back under the covers of your bed. You gaze at it, curled up in a big black mass on your floor in front of the hearth, and you wonder why on earth a wild animal would be so well behaved. 

You wonder how a wolf is capable of crying.

You wake in the early morning light expecting to find a big black wolf sleeping in front of your hearth. Instead, when you rouse and rub the sleep from your eyes, you find that the wolf is gone.

In fact, there appears to have been no wolf at all. No blood on the floor, no black fur on the pillow that has inexplicably reappeared on the foot of your bed. Your water cup is full. And the door to your cabin is latched, just the same as it had been last night, after you let the wolf in.

By all appearances, nothing happened last night. There was no wolf. You half expect that you dreamed the entire thing. And you would continue to believe so– but, the end of your pink woven blanket is still torn, missing a strip from the end, frayed along the grain.

You slip from your bed and fling open the door to your shack, emerging into the cool morning air. You look down at the nook beside the door where the wolf had huddled in the dark, seeking shelter away from harm. There is nothing there to suggest that it had been there last night. 

But you know it to be true. You know it.

How could a wolf, a four legged creature with full use of only three of them, manage to unlatch your door, step out, and then relatch it from the other side? How could your water magically refill itself? It’s a mile to the well in the town square, and it’s not like the wolf could have done it. 

Broken from your thoughts, you hear a shriek of your name. You lift your head to see your Mistress, fully dressed, feeding the chickens. The daily chores have already begun.

“What are you doing outside in your underclothes?!” your Mistress yells, flinging grain down at the birds. “Go inside and dress yourself this instant, you wretch! And begin your morning duties!” 

You jump, darting back behind the door. You hadn’t thought anyone would be out yet. “Sorry, Mistress!” 

You rush to grab your stays from the end of your bed. You’ll pay for that one, you think. 

There are a million reasons why you prefer doing your chores out of the house. 

One, the Mistress isn’t around to rag on you over every little thing. Two, you don’t have to be watching over your shoulder to make sure you aren’t in the Master’s way. And three, you can take all the time you want to do other things as well, as long as you get done before dinner has to be served. 

Your skirt is filthy, but it’s a beautiful day, and the creek that separates your Master’s land from Mr. Thatch’s land is babbling quite a bit, and it makes doing the washing up much easier than it otherwise would be. Which you’re happy about, since your arm is so badly welted you can barely curl your fingers. 

You sniffle and lift your apron to wipe your nose. Then you wring out the Mistress’s petticoat– of which there are far too many for one woman to reasonably have– you whine at the strain on your injured hand, and you move to the basket of other soiled clothes. You think about blowing your nose in the Master’s linen shirt, and you’re about two seconds from doing it, too, when you hear a splash nearby. 

“Shit,” says a man’s voice. There are a couple more splashes around the bend, and then yelps, and then there’s one enormous splash, and a laugh. 

“Hello?” you call, trying to peer around the bank of overgrowth beside you. Then, there’s a cacophonous amount of splashing, which makes you screw up your face, and a man emerges from around the bank of greenery.

You pause, holding your Master’s laundry in your hands over the water like you’re wondering whether to dip it in or not. Really, you’re just shocked to see a strange man on your Master’s property at all. He’s out of breath, rosy cheeked and soaking wet from the chest down.

“Um,” is all you can say.

“Hello there,” the man says with a rakish grin that flashes sharp teeth at you. You blink a few times, just to make sure he’s really there. And when you do satisfy yourself with the fact that, yes, he’s very real, you then have to acclimate yourself to the idea that he’s also absolutely beautiful.

His very pretty face is framed by long, dark hair, and his eyes are strikingly dark. There’s something on his skin peeking out of the open collar of his burgundy blouse, but to look at that from this distance means to look at the way his shirt clings to his body, and then his trousers, and if you weren’t already struck dumb, now you are.

“How– how are you– um.” You wave your hands around, gesturing to the general area around you. “Whatareyoudoinghere?” 

“I think I was going for a swim, of sorts,” the man laughs, holding one arm out a bit to indicate his damp appearance. 

“Who are you?”

“Now, there’s a question for the ages.” The man tromps forward through the water, splashing along gracelessly and with exaggerated steps, like he’s trying to make you laugh. “Generally speaking, no one really cares who I am, just what I want.” 

“Okay,” you snap, irritated by the man’s jovial attitude and his need to speak in riddles. “What do you want? Why are you on this land? What business do you have here, and with whom?” 

“Whoa, hey–” the man holds up his hands, and grimaces like it’s painful to do so. Then he recovers with a flashy smile. “I don’t mean you any harm, princess. I have no business anywhere, I was just following the creek and seeing where it leads. Guess the time got away from me.”

“I’m not a princess,” you grumble back at him.

He tilts his head, his smile lingering as he looks at you. “Just an expression, no need to be nasty.”

You scowl down at your master’s clothes, and then plunge them into the water like they personally offended you. “Following the creek from where?” He points his thumb over his shoulder, towards the trees. “You came from the woods?”

“Thereabouts.” 

You squint up at him. “What’s your name?”

“Eddie Munson, at your service.” He bows dramatically and takes another step towards you. “And may I ask who you are? Or shall I just call you ‘My Lovely Lady of the Creek,’ for time immemorial?”

You tell him your name flatly, and turn your face away as he gets closer, suddenly very invested in getting sweat stains out of your Master’s linen blouse using a cake of lye soap. “You should know not to go into those woods alone. There’s wolves.” 

 “Oh, I think I can handle myself in the woods, sweetheart.” Eddie smirks down at you. “Anyways, who wants to be in the trees on a day like this?” 

You grunt. You don’t think the man will be going away anytime soon, which is bad news for you, because the closer he gets, the more inclined you are to look at him. Then, you’re more inclined to talk, and you’ve already been punished once today. You don’t think you could handle another.

The man, Eddie, sits himself down on a large rock jutting out of the water next to you. He watches you for a moment, scrubbing with one hand at the cloth on the board in the water, and then he points down at your arm. His billowing sleeve flashes red in your peripheral vision, along with the silver of the rings on his hand.

“What happened here?” he asks softly, his voice losing its humorous tone.

You look down at the welted skin. It stings, but the cold water numbs the pain just a bit. Now that he’s brought your attention back to it, your eyes prick with tears again, and you sniff. “My Mistress caught me outdoors in my chemise.”

“She should count herself lucky. It’s a sight to behold.” 

“What?” You blink up at him. From this angle, him looming over you on a boulder, the sun rings his head in gold like a halo. “How would you know?” 

“I’m… supposing.” Eddie bites his lip, staring off to the side for a moment, as if suddenly at a loss for the right words to say. “You’re a very… beautiful girl. I can only imagine.” 

“That’s forward of you.” 

“Besides, it doesn’t answer my question,” he rushes out. He scowls back down at your arm. “What did that to you?” 

You heave a sigh. “Well, the Mistress told my Master. And the Master is very heavy handed with a cane.” A small sob constricts your throat for a moment, tears pricking your eyes again so badly that you have to stop working and close them. Your sinuses burn from the effort of holding it in.

“You were beaten because you went outside without a petticoat?” Eddie remarks incredulously, “That’s ridiculous.”

“Well, I… I was also late to start my chores,” you admit in a wobbly voice. “So I suppose I got off easier than most would…” 

“It’s cruel. I’d love to see how he would take it, if the tables were turned.” Eddie’s dark eyes flash dangerously when you look up at him; there’s something in the set of his jaw and the steely expression on his face that makes you think of the growling wolf last night. After a moment, he softens towards you again. “Why were you late to your chores?”

“I…” you trail off. You think about telling him about the wolf, but you wonder if he’s the kind of person who will go into town and yell about the wolves trying to steal women in the night, and you could do without the embarrassment. “I had a nightmare. Slept too late.”

Eddie clicks his tongue and rocks backward a bit. “A nightmare,” he repeats, considering the word like it’s a part of life’s philosophy. “What about?”

You don’t respond for a few moments. You’ve moved on to washing a pillowcase now, which is significantly less soiled than your Master’s blouse. “Why do you care?”

“I care because I hate to see My Lovely Lady of the Creek in distress. Even if she is completely vexed by the sight of me,” He says lightly, as you tilt your head down to hide the way your cheeks burn. He reaches up his right hand and produces a silver coin from behind your ear. You stare at it in puzzlement as he hands it to you. “What was your nightmare about?”

You hesitate just a moment before taking the silver coin. “Is this bribery?”

“Absolutely,” Eddie announces with a wry smile. “For your thoughts.”

You sigh. You could use the coin, you’ll admit. Maybe you could buy yourself a new robe, or a loaf of bread from the baker, or any other of the myriad things you’re in want of. 

You tuck the coin down the front of your bodice, where it slides down and gets stuck between your ribcage and your chemise. Eddie’s eyes follow the path that it takes between your breasts with a hungry glint in them. 

“There was a wolf,” you tell him quietly, going back to your work. “It came to my door bleeding. I brought it inside and nursed it. But when I woke, there wasn’t a wolf. It was just a nightmare.”

“Oh,” Eddie hums amusedly. “I wouldn’t call that a nightmare. I’d rather call it a dream.”

“A dream?” you echo with a scoff. 

“Yes. A lovely dream, with a heroine and a lonely beast in need of kindness.” He leans towards you, his hands on his knees. “But, you know what they say about wild things.”

You huff with indignance, but humor him, because you’re curious in spite of yourself. “I don’t know. What do they say?”

“You shouldn’t show them kindness,” he whispers, so close to your ear that you can feel his breath on your neck. “They’ll keep coming back for more.”

You startle, standing up with a noisy splash of water as you yank the last of the laundry from the creek. There’s a flush under your bodice that you don’t like, sticking to the coin that’s going hot against your skin as you think about it even being there. That it was produced by his hand. The more you think about it, the more you imagine it as an extension of his body, touching you just beneath your breast. 

Eddie snickers to himself as you hurriedly, shakily, smack the last piece of laundry into the basket with the rest, and pick up the washboard from the water. With a frustrated huff, you stand and rest the basket of laundry on your hip. You gaze out across the creek, and then away towards the trees, and finally, when you’re sure you can form words, you turn back to him. 

“Goodbye, Mr. Munson,” you say stiffly, so that you don’t trip over your own tongue. It comes out icily as a result, and you turn away to hide the way that you blush.

“Until we meet again.” Eddie presses his lips together, as though he’s stifling a laugh. Then he says, in a slightly bossy tone, “Take care of that arm for me, princess. Don’t want you getting any more beat up.”

You whirl around to ask him to repeat that– what the hell did you just say?– but when you do, the man is already gone. Along with any trace of his presence by the creekside. 

Except, the coin he bought your dream with still grows warm against the heat of your skin, under your bodice.