#its like cows coming to summer pastures for me
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visenyaism · 1 day ago
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midwesterner rather than appalachian but: when i was like 6-11 i spent every single spring/summer just Exploring the miles and miles of timber behind a family member's house with my cousins and like. finding creeks and pools to just exist in (in between like, tying saplings together and exploring quarries and shit). and i did that again last summer on a whim as an adult and you know what. didnt regain the childlike sense of wonder but Existing in Nature is in fact extremely good. didnt get chased by a cow that time which was a bonus.
Being outside is the only thing that can fix me. The cave I used to work in had its only entrance in the middle of a cow pasture and sometimes you’d come out and just be face to face with five to ten cows and have to be like hello ladies sorry to bother you. And then go back in the cave to be like well we are stuck here for a minute let’s play another counting game
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artemisbarnowl · 8 months ago
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hi, i'm here to ask you about your citrus ranking.
what's your top five atm?
and separately, thoughts on grapefruit?
I am laying a vitamin C supplement in front of you like it's a tip. Keep the change, queen.
Tangelo is ALWAYS in the top 5 but because the season is LATE and they haven't appeared in stores yet they aren't sharing in top spot glory with Yuzu and a good Lime right now. Then comes Lemon, eureka or lisbon varieties please them meyers are EMPTY of acid, and seed extraction is a small price to pay for such stimulating additions to the kitchen.
Taking out the last top 5 spot is the baby kumquat. I did think about finger lime but it's been so long since I've had one fresh I can't remember how much I loved it compared to the others. Kumquats are when you want more zing from your mandarin, but like pistachios require you to be quite happy with multiple unshellings to be satisfied. I have yet to find a regular supply since I moved from Melbourne where my aunt has a tree.
Tangelo are what you wish a mandarin was in that the most mid tangelo is far better than a mid mandarin. They are ALWAYS juicy. And also just that bit bigger on average so feel like a good snack. Perfect size, easily segmented to share with friends (especially after they say 'that's a big mandarin' and you have to correct them immediately and then share the joys of tangelo supremacy), always juicy, and about as seedy and a mando.
Grapefruit. Look, I WANT to like them, Ive tried and tried. But the bitterness is too powerful, and too likely. The rate of negative reinforcement while snacking on a grapefruit is too high for me to continue wanting to eat a grapefruit. Processed juice is perfectly acceptable as an ingredient in cocktails or desserts or whatever. I think I might be on the sensitive side when it comes to taste and my bitterness threshold is incredibly low for someone who loves food that tastes so much all the time. So they don't go in the sin bin, I respect their grind, but we just aren't friends.
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copperbadge · 8 months ago
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I was watching hockey earlier today and it got me wondering what sports are played in Askazer-Shivadlakia. Football & surfing’s been mentioned, what else is played in the country? Does it snow enough in the highlands for there to be any winter sports enthusiasts? What’s the state of women’s professional sports? Does the country compete in anything internationally? The Olympics are awful, but does the Ask send a delegation of athletes anyway?
It's not something I've thought a lot about outside of football, I admit, though thinking about the football program has clarified some aspects of it. Mainly I just am not entirely sure how a lot of sports...work, so I kind of stay hands-off.
Askazer-Shivadlakia has never been a super wealthy country. Jason was a bit of a traditionalist and Michaelis was concerned with modernizing but he wasn't an innovator per se, unless pushed; by the end of his reign the country was reaching a point where it had the kind of money to sustain a university or expand its public services fairly radically, but only just. Gregory is a big part of that because he trained as an economist, and while he's only been king for about two years, he's been working in the administration for much longer. He's been able to institute changes that have led to a comfortable surplus in the budget.
So for example, Michaelis wouldn't let the government fund a professional sports team of any kind because the money it would take was already being spent on the youth sports program. He felt that giving kids the chance to play sport was more important than sustaining a team, and said that their athletes were a gift they gave the world. And now that elite players are returning from playing abroad with money and the intention to spend it on supporting a team, his investment is actually, unexpectedly, paying off. Michaelis just wanted the kids of his country to learn self-discipline and good sportsmanship but in doing so he also ensured that if you leave the Ask to seek your fortune as an athlete, once you've got a fortune, you come back home to spend it. And Gregory's work means the government can help.
Football and F1 racing are the two big passion sports the Shivadh follow, though F1 is a fandom, not a pastime. There's decent surfing but that's more a tourist thing. Definitely there are regions that get cold enough for winter sports, but like surfing most of the ski/board sites are tourist-focused, places that ranch dairy cattle in the summer and then host tourists in the winter when the cows are in the warmer lowland pastures. Undoubtedly there are Shivadh snow sport enthusiasts and the country supports them if they compete internationally (both in terms of cheering them on and financially) but there's no program or deep tradition of it. If I ever actually write about those areas extensively that might change, though.
Women's sport has equal support to men's generally, whatever level that might be -- Askazer-Shivadlakia has always been relatively progressive but when Michaelis was elected, Miranda made it her business to push legislation that explicitly protected things like equal funding for women's sport and education and access to birth control and abortion. (She's also the reason weed is legal and Gerald can get Adderall in Europe, where it's banned in a lot of places; there's something to be said for the scion of old conservative nobility who is simply ready to wreck shit.)
There is no golf. Michaelis detests it personally and there's no room for it anyway. If they ever build Askazarama Amusement Park, they might get a mini-golf course.
I don't really know how the Olympics and other international competitions work. If there are talented athletes who want to compete and seem capable of qualifying, there's state funding for them, but there's no formal program where like, the MPs sit down every two years and pick out the top athletes they want to send. Likely most people interested in elite sport competition have to leave the country to train, and represent other countries as a result -- like Paolo in the football novel, who left when he was a young teen to attend a junior academy in France and entered professional play from there.
Shivadh still feel ownership of them, mind you. For example, Felix (the love interest in the football novel) played on the Italian national team and kicked a winning goal in a World Cup for Italy, but Askazer-Shivadlakia consider that cup theirs. A Shivadh did it, ergo it is a Shivadh victory. If an athlete were to say, represent France in an Olympic decathlon and take the gold, they would consider that to be a gold medal for Askazer-Shivadlakia.
The country is very excited about finally having a football team of their own. Shivadh Royal Football Club could lose every game it ever plays and still nobody would let a word be said against them. Fons-Askaz on match day is just a sea of hideous orange Shivadh RFC jerseys that say NARAN JUICE on the front. (Their major sponsor is local juice box and sports drink maker Naran Juice Box Co.)
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lucid-romances · 1 year ago
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The Family Ranch
Spencer Reid x Fem Reader
The reader takes Spencer home to meet her family.
Word Count: 1k
Genre: Fluff
A/N: Remember when he told JJ he wanted to be a cowboy? I remember.
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Spencer drives slowly, his hands gliding over the steering wheel of his Volvo Amazon, which had seen better days.  He rolls down the windows, and his unmanaged curls get caught in the summer breeze. They become a crown framing his face, kept from his eyes solely by the pair of sunglasses that shielded them.  The road had long since turned from smooth pavement to trails of gravel inlined with dirt.  (Y/N)'s childhood home hides behind valleys and hills, a small ranch tucked away from the rest of the world. 
They can see the pasture of cows before they see the house, and (Y/N) sits at attention, crooning at the many calves shepherded by their mothers and kept in line by a Great Pyrenees.  The dog turns to watch the car tumble down the road but doesn't dare to leave his post. 
The sun is high in the sky, it's a hot day for Virginia,  and (Y/N)'s already rolling up the cuffs of her jeans to prepare for time in the mud. Spencer watches her from the corner of his eye, pleasantly surprised to see her shuck off the professionalism she had to wear at the BAU. 
They pass by a mailbox, its white metal covered in years' worth of colorful handprints.  "Excited to be home?" He asks, not for the first time, in a tone sweeter than honey. 
The Volvo lurches to a stop, and the screen door of her parent's house opens before she can respond. The words are unnecessary because she's out of the car before he can count to three and scooping up an eight-year-old boy in her arms.  Spencer recognized him from pictures, with his freckled skin and outcrop of curly hair.  His flannel was two sizes too big for him, a lizard sat in the pocket of his overalls, and as (Y/N) would say, he was undeniably Daniel. 
"You've gotten so big!" (Y/N) says as Spencer retrieves their bags from the trunk.  He had his reservations about staying the night with her family.  Mostly, he worried they wouldn't like him, but if they were anything like the girl he'd started to consider a permanent life with, he knew he would come to love them just as much. 
"Maybe you've just gotten shorter, Auntie." Daniel teases, and Spencer notices he has (Y/N)'s smile. 
"You think? No, it's all you, kiddo, you're growing up on me!"  (Y/N) hugs the boy again, finally letting herself miss her family after living in Quantico for the past year.  "Do you remember Spencer? You spoke on the phone." 
Daniel's gaze sweeps over the older man as he approaches, squinting at the dress shirt and slacks he wore, unaware of how casually Spence happened to be dressed compared to usual.  "Everyone is excited to meet you." 
"Are they?" Spencer's heart soars. "I'm excited to meet you all too! Who is your friend?"  
Daniel pulls the lizard from his pocket and holds it aloft to Spencer, giving him a view of the spotted Bearded Dragon, rough to the touch. "His name is Dash." 
"Well, it's nice to meet you, Dash.  Did you know that Bearded Dragons are one of the few lizards who will mimic other creatures?" Spencer tilts his head to stick out his tongue, and when Dash reciprocates, Daniel takes a surprised step back. 
"Woah! You have to come show my mom!"  
When Daniel takes off towards the house, (Y/N) loops her arm around Spencer's. "You're good at that." 
"What's that?" 
"Kids." 
Spencer shrugs, unwilling to admit that he finds children easier to talk to than most adults. "That's just because Dash vouched for me." 
"A pretty cool guy, that Dash."  (Y/N) plays along, leading Spencer inside as Daniel approaches a woman at the stove.  Her light hair contrasts (Y/N)'s, but they share the same eyes.  She watches with patience that only a mother could know as Daniel tries several times to get Dash to stick out his tongue.  When it finally works, the woman offers him a beaming smile before acknowledging the couple in the doorway. 
"The FBI has finally released my baby sister back to us humble cattle ranchers? Bestill my beating heart!"  The woman, who Spencer knew to be Amelia, crosses the room to pull her sister into a bone-crushing hug.  Spencer has to let (Y/N) go to allow this, but he isn't out of the woods yet.  Amelia appraises him, trailing her gaze from his head to his toes.  "He's cuter in person." 
"Amy!" 
"What? You don’t mind, do you, Spencer? I'm just repeating the things (Y/N)’s said about you." 
Spencer beams, his gaze flickering between the two siblings.  Their dynamic reminded him of how Derek continues to tease him daily. "Not at all. I hope everything she says about me is half as nice." 
"Like you wouldn't believe! 'His eyes are so dreamy. I love it when-'"  (Y/N) cuts off the embarrassing stories, most from when she first started working at the BAU and barely knew Spencer as an acquaintance.  She shoves Amelia back towards the stove, threatening to knock a pan of homemade chicken noodle soup from the burner.  "Hey, hey! Chasing serial killers has made you violent! MA!" 
Amelia raises her voice so she’s heard in the recesses of the house, and not a few moments later, an older woman comes skidding into the room.  She has the same friendly deposition as her daughters. Her skin’s notably wrinkled from years of hard labor, but there's a kindness in her eyes that Spencer can't ignore.  "What's all the fuss about? (Y/N)! When did you get here?" 
The mother and daughter close the distance between themselves.  Spencer can't help noticing how tightly (Y/N) clings to her parent as if proving all her sleepless nights- fearing that she would never see them again- wrong.  
"Hey, Ma," she finally says, after moments trickling into minutes.  "I brought a boy home." 
Everyone calls her Ma, even the people down the valley in the closest town, but Spencer knows her name is Beth.  Against his better judgment, he holds his hand out to her, expecting a polite handshake to break the ice, yet he's not surprised when he's pulled into a hug. "Doctor Reid!"  She greets him with an open welcomeness he isn’t used to. "We're so excited to have you finally join us. I hope you don't mind roughing it out here." 
"Spencer, please, and not at all!  Your home is lovely, and so is your family." 
"Well, that’s very kind of you! You've both made it in time for lunch. Why don't you get comfortable while I find your father?” Beth excuses herself before the couple can respond. 
Spencer finds himself at the dining room table, served a bowl of soup while having a riveting conversation with Daniel about the local reptile population.  He was more comfortable in (Y/N)'s childhood home than expected, and even as the rest of her family settled to join them for their meal, he couldn't help holding her hand beneath the table. 
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wiypt-writes · 2 years ago
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Rawhide
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Epilogue: Until The Cows Come Home
Summary: Five years post the final battle, Life at Avengers Ranch is pretty sweet
Warnings: Language, smut (NSFW) 18+
Pairing: Cowboy Alpha Steve Rogers x Omega Reader. Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any of the characters contained within this series bar the Reader and any other OCs that may or may not be mentioned. I do not give permission for this to be translated and/or reposted on any other platforms. Reblogs are fine: Sharing is caring.
By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.
A/N: So here it is! The epilogue. I hope you enjoy. As of now, I have no plans really to continue but…perhaps if the muse strikes we might see a few one shots to follow up.
Rawhide Masterlist // Main Master-list
 Part 14
W/C: 5.4k
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“My grandad told me about a cowboy he knew, once. We’re going way back to the forties here. He rode into town and stopped at a saloon for a drink. Unfortunately, the locals always had a habit of picking on strangers, which he was. When he finished his drink, he found his horse had been stolen. He went back into the bar, pulled his gun, and fired a shot right into the air.”  Clint made a gun motion with his fingers and mimed the action.
“Way to make friends an influence people.” Pete rolled his eyes.
“Well, it was his horse, ya know, valuable commodities in those days. They still are.” Clint shrugged, “So, he goes back into the bar, kicking off, demanding to know which snake had taken his horse. No one answered, so he says that he’s gonna have one more beer, and if his horse ain’t back outside by the time he finished his drink, that he’s gonna ‘do what I dun in Texas, and I don’t like to have to do what I dun in Texas…’” Clint mimicked a southern accent and cleared his throat. “Some of the locals start shifting a little, ya know, nervous like. Anyway, true to his word, he has another beer, heads outside and his horse has been returned.”
“So, that’s it?” Bucky frowned, “that’s the point of this story?”
“Pretty much.” Clint shrugs, “he saddled up, and started to ride out of town. He hasn’t got more than a few yards though, when the bartender comes out and asks ‘say, partner, before you go…what happened in Texas?’ Dude tips his Stetson as he looks back and says, ‘I had to walk home’.”
There was a moment of silence, before the group groaned collectively, as Clint laughed. Bucky threw the crust of his sandwich at Clint’s head.
“That is the stupidest joke I’ve ever heard.”
Steve snorted, listening to the guys banter as he leaned back against the tree trunk, his hat pulled down over his face. It had been a busy few days, moving the herd back down to the summer pastures and getting ready to bale the hay and silage that would see them through the winter. But he wasn’t complaining. In fact, he hadn’t complained about much over the past 5 years or so.
 Well, bar Bucky being a persistent pain in his ass, but what else was new?
In the months that followed the battle, Fury had been appointed interim president of the WSC and had been permanently installed following a term of elections, for two terms running now. As such, the World Security Council had made good on its promise. Each state had their own elected representatives, and the divide which had separated red and blue states had been torn down.
 Of course, some states still held conservative views, but even in those areas things had gotten much better for Omegas. Because their basic human rights had been secured through the Omega Rights Act at a federal level, something they failed to do the first time round due to the WSC preferring the appeasement method. Now, violation of those rights was punishable by law, no matter where you were, although how much it was enforced was anyone’s guess and varied, again state to state.
It wasn’t perfect, but then again nothing was. And it had been met in some instances with violent opposition, but that had been quashed pretty quickly. Some had been in favour of a more gradual overhaul, suggesting that each state should be allowed to install their own laws around Alphas, Betas and Omegas, as a sort of half-way house with a view to eventually changing the overall attitudes of people.
But, as Tony said in his speech when he was elected as the Senator for Montana, “sometimes you gotta run before you can walk.”
Essentially, it was all that they could have hoped for, and whilst it wasn’t perfect, it was a damned site better than it had been. Steve's shield and suit, and indeed the rest of the Avengers’ weapons and kit remained untouched, gathering dust in the armoury. 
Things had even taken a turn for the better at the ranch. It was bringing in good money, both from the cattle and the sudden tourism boost, people flocking to see the battle grounds where the latest Civil War had taken place. This, in turn, had seen an expansion to the ‘Dude Ranch’. Although Steve hadn’t been particularly on board with that idea at first, he’d quickly been talked around.
As such, life for all the Avengers Ranch and everyone else in Stark Wood was good. In fact, life all round was good, but from a selfish point of view, the former was all Steve really gave a damned about now.
His mind strayed to you, and a soft smile spread across his face. Married now, you bore his name and his rings. More symbolic than anything, given the fact you were bonded beyond the normal ties of a bond anyway. But he’d wanted to show you exactly what you meant to him. Following his casual proposal, the night you’d returned home to the ranch, he’d done it properly a few weeks later. The pair of you had taken a ride up to the top of the hills and he’d gotten down on one knee at sunset, offering you his Mom’s ring. Which you’d tearfully accepted.
You’d married in the same place, the following summer, Thor overseeing the ceremony in his ordained state as Sheriff, and then you and your friends had partied long into the night in the huge tent on the grounds of the ranch.
Steve had kept good on his word too. Once he felt it was safe, the pair of you had gone to Texas where you’d visited your mama’s grave and told her you were okay, laying a bunch of her favourite wildflowers by her headstone. And then, you’d located Colin’s. Tactfully, Steve kept his distance there and allowed you to say a proper goodbye to your previous alpha. You’d told Colin (or at least you’d spoken to his modest headstone) all about your job at the ranch, how you worked shifts at the Vet clinic with Banner. You’d chuckled when you’d explained how you were still the one doing the books because your Alpha was just as bad at it as he had been…and you’d finished by thanking him for his sacrifice which meant you were alive today, and living the best possible life you could. Whether Steve believed in the afterlife or not, it had clearly made you feel better having said a proper goodbye, and who was he to deny you that?
He’d deny you nothing. He’d give you the moon and the stars in the sky to make you happy.
A boot kicking at the sole of his foot jerked Steve from his daydream, and he tipped his hat to look upwards.
“Ready to kick on?” Sam asked. 
“Yeah, yeah I am.” He smiled. With a groan, he pushed himself up and dusted down the seat of his well-worn wranglers before he mounted Star.
Together, the five men herded the longhorns down towards the pastures which surrounded the ranch, where the work would start over the next few weeks to tag the calves and conduct the health checks needed on the females. When the last one was in the correct pasture, Clint closed the gate with a click.
As they turned the final corner towards home, Steve couldn’t help the smile as he saw you in the riding arena. You leading Quin around, your Stetson sat on your head, a grin on your face as you walked. And upon Quin’s back sat a smaller figure, whose head was covered by a safety helmet.
Your daughter, Serenity Clara Rogers, known as Seren. It was a name chosen for its various meanings. In its full form her first name meant peaceful, which was what your lives had been since the battle and what you both hoped it would be for the rest of your lives. In its shortened, it translated as star, a small tribute to Steve’s emblem.
Her middle name was a payback to your Southern roots, and it meant bright and clear. And when it was all put together, it was exactly what she was to you both, a shining, bright star of peace and love and hope.
Getting Star up into a trot, and then a loping canter, he was pulling into the main grounds of the ranch a few minutes later.
“Daddy! Looks! I wides Quin!”
Steve grinned as he hopped off his horse and strode towards the paddock fence, looping the reins around the top rail. “I can see that!”
“Cans I has my own?”
Steve laughed, “you think you’re old enough?”
“I’m free!” A tiny handheld up three fingers as Steve faulted over the post and rails and strode towards you both.
“Hi, Cowboy.” You beamed as he kissed you softly.
“Hi, Doll.” His lips brushed yours before he turned to look at his daughter. She was much like you, same eyes, same hair, same attitude, and excitement to life. But, very much with the Rogers attitude and, funnily enough, his cheekbones and nose. 
“Good day?” 
“Yup, all cows present and correct. Did that new family check in?”
“Yeah, all good.” You nodded. “Oh, Banner called. He asked if I could cover the on call shift tonight at the surgery. Apparently Natasha has come down with that bug that’s going round, and he doesn’t want to leave her to take care of the baby Danny alone. Think they’re all still adjusting, ya know, after the adoption…”
“I think that’s okay, don’t you, Wren?” he playfully poked Seren’s tummy, speaking his nickname for her and she giggled.
“Cans we watch Toy Story? Wivs popcorns?”
“Toy Story? Again?” Steve groaned and Seren narrowed her eyes.
“I wikes it. Is my fave-rite.”
“Really, I’d never have guessed.”
Her Daddy’s sarcasm went right over Seren’s head, and you chuckled. “We got everyone coming for dinner tonight, baby, so you might not get chance.”
“After dinner?”
“We’ll see.” You smiled, “you ready to get down? I think Quin could do with a drink before we pop him out.”
“Otay…”Seren sighed, dramatically. She held her arms out and Steve reached up to pluck her out of the saddle. Her little arms wrapped around his neck as he kissed her cheek. “Daddy, your whiskers are scratchy!”
“Are they?” Steve frowned, before he rubbed his cheek against hers, causing her to squeal. Her hands pushed at his face as she giggled. With a laugh, Steve pulled back and she cupped his face, her fingers threading into his beard as she smushed his cheeks together.
“I wobes you, daddy bear.”
“I love you too, sweetheart. More than all the stars.”
Your heart swelled, the way it always did when you watched Steve with your daughter. She was the apple of his eye and he doted on her in all the right ways. He indulged her, let her be her own person, but wasn’t afraid to dish out the discipline when needed.
In contrast to Bucky, who pretty much let her get away with anything and everything.
Steve carried her out of the paddock, and you followed, leading Quin.
 “Unca Buck!” Seren squealed as she spotted her favourite uncle and she wriggled. Steve let her down and she took off towards him.
“Hey, Squirt!” Bucky grinned as he picked her up. “You had a good day?”
“Yips. Me and Mama took ‘Mando for a walk, dens we made lunch, and I rides!”
“yeah, I saw you on Quin. Bout time daddy got you a pony of your own, huh?”
“Dass what I saids!” Seren held her hands out to her side and Bucky laughed, ignoring the death stare Steve was shooting him.
“She might have a point, Alpha.” You smirked as you passed him by and tried not to chuckle as his head whipped towards you.
“huh?” he followed you into the barn. “Really? You think she’s old enough?”
“It’s not like she’ll be going on cattle drives.” You smiled as you undid the girth to Quin’s saddle. “But what harm can it do? A little pony or something she can love and cuddle. You’ve seen what she’s like with every animal she comes across.”
“Yeah, which is how we’ve ended up with a damned cat that lives in the house now and not the barn, much to Commando’s disgust.”
“Hey, Barney would have died otherwise…”
“And the guinea pigs? Were they on deaths door too when Bucky and Sam bought them for her?”
“Sparkle and Cookie live outside, well in Summer anyway…”
“The tank of goldfish?”
“She won one at a fair. Thor was right, it was mean to keep him in a bowl on his own. He needed friends.”
Steve scoffed and you snorted.
“Stop being a grouch.” You teased, “make the most of her being like this. Because give it ten, twelve years she’ll be out dating and chasing boys instead.”
“Over my dead body.” Steve glowered.
“You can’t fight her growing up.”
“No, but I can fight any punk that comes within a three mile radius of her.”
That made you laugh, as you placed Quin’s saddle on the rack. “Oh, Steve.” You turned towards him, stepping into his arms. He groaned, his face pressing into his neck.
“Stop it…”he whined. “I don’t want her to grow up, ever. Where’s our baby gone?”
“Okay, I’m sorry.” You kissed his cheek. 
“What time are you on call from?”
“Seven-ish.” you stroked the hair at the nape of his neck, which was a little damp with sweat. Not that you cared. “I might not be needed but, you never know.”
“Okay, so if we grill for dinner at sixish, you should be okay?”
“Counting on it.” you smiled, “sides and fixings are all ready.”
“You’re too good to me, to us.” He smiled, his lips pressing back to yours.
You hummed into the kiss, allowing him to pull you closer. The smell and feel of your Alpha, your soul mate, your husband washed over you as his strong arms wrapped around your back. You allowed yourself to get lost, giving into that Omega part of you that you now loved as much as Steve did. 
“Mama and Daddy is smoochin’!” A loud giggle came from behind you and Steve gave a small groan as he pulled away.
“Ewww!” Bucky wrinkled his nose, “do they smooch a lot?”
“Aaaallls da times!” Seren said, dramatically. “Unca Tony says mama wobes daddy’s animal maganatism…”
“I’m gonna kill Stark.” Steve muttered as you, and the rest of the gang laughed.
**********
As was customary post the cattle drives, you hosted the guys, plus their partners for dinner. Thor and Tony also joined you, along with his daughter, Morgan and Pepper who was sporting a pretty large bump as Baby Stark number 2 was very much about to make an appearance.
Morgan and Seren, separated in age by less than a year spent the spring evening playing in the garden, and by the time everyone was leaving they were both exhausted. Steve took this as a win as he didn’t have to sit there and watch Buzz and Woody for what felt like the hundredth time that week.
After bidding everyone goodbye, after clearing down the dishes and table, you headed off to take a call which had come through from the surgery.
Steve scooped his daughter up, “bedtime, baby.”
“I nots tired…” Seren protested, as she yawned and blinked hard.
“Sure…” Steve chuckled, “well let’s get you bathed and then we can discuss this, huh?”
Once bathed, dried and in her little set of cowgirl themed pajamas, Seren had given up the fight and was, indeed, half asleep. Steve tucked her into her little bed, chuckling as Commando took up his usual place on top of the comforter, by her side. Her little hand curled into his fur as she yawned.
“Story?”
“You bet.” Steve smiled, “which one tonight?”
“Spinderella.” She grinned. “I wikes dat one.”
“Spinderella it is…” Steve crossed the room to her bookshelf and then looked as you wandered into the room.
“I gotta go in.” You sighed, “one of Mr. Craft’s horses has injured itself, pretty badly in its stall. He said it can’t wait until tomorrow.”
“That’s okay, we got things here, huh Wren?”
“Yups.” Seren yawned again.
“I give her two pages, tops.” Steve chuckled, waving the book at you.
“I bet its four.” You smiled, leaning over to kiss her head. “Night baby, momma loves you so much.”
“Wobes you too, momma.” she hugged you before you stood up, ruffling commando’s fur. You then turned to Steve and kissed him quickly.
“I dunno how long I’ll be.”
“It’s okay’ Mega.” he smiled. “Drive safe, okay?”
You winked before you pulled away, his hand squeezing yours and you turned and left.
****
Seren actually fell asleep after three pages. When Steve heard her breathing even out, he glanced down and saw her eyes closed as she snuggled into him.
With a soft chuckle, he gently moved, his hand curling the back of her head. He lay her down, made sure she had her little bunny teddy with her and tucked her in.
“Night, my little star. Sweet dreams.” He whispered as he kissed her head.
Commando followed him as Steve headed down the hall after quietly shutting Seren's door. He padded his way down the staircase and found refuge at the wet bar for a drink before he settled up on the couch. His faithful dog hopped up next to him, resting his rather large head on Steve's lap. Flicking through channels, he found the mundane drone of the news filled his ears.
He watched the report and the panel as they chatted over a high profile court case that was filling the news at the moment, an actor versus his ex-wife who was accusing him of having jars of cocaine and ‘mega pints’ of red wine or some bull shit like that.
It was frivolous. And really, Steve had no idea why it was news. But the fact it was, meant there was nothing more worthy of the airtime, meaning things with the WSC and senate were calm.
Which was fine by him.
He sighed contently and brought his whiskey to his lips. He'd nearly finished the glass by the time he'd heard your truck pulling up toward the porch.
He checked his watch, all in all you’d been gone just over an hour. Which meant whatever it was can’t have been that serious. Hopefully, you wouldn’t get another call that night. It was rare that you did when you were covering the emergency shift.
Commando grunted and slipped off the couch to greet you at the door.
“Hi…” you bent down to give him loves, “hi, fella…”
His tail wagged and wagged happily. And when Steve snapped his fingers, the dog walked off. The simple command allowed you to get back inside and shut the door.
"That was quick," Steve spoke gently as he stood from the couch. He made it a point to never, ever have his back to you in conversation if he could help it. You were his equal and you deserved  equal respect.
“Oh, daft animal had been rearing in his stable and got his leg stuck. Nasty cut but I managed to clean it and pad it. Gave him a tetanus booster and that was it, said I’d check back in tomorrow.” You smiled, “I just need ten minutes to type up the notes before I forget.”
"Alright," Steve nodded. "Can I get you a drink. 'Mega?"
“I’ll take a tea, please.” You smiled, “best not drink anymore in case I gotta go back out.”
You took your tablet from your bag and headed to the couch. By the time Steve was placing your drink down, your notes were done.
You shut the device down and placed it on the coffee table, picking up your drink and getting yourself comfortable as you swung your legs up beside you.
Steve picked up your leg from the ankle and set it in his lap, his strong hands rubbing over your calf through your jeans.
"Seren go down okay?"
“Three pages.” Steve chuckled.
You smirked as you blew a little over the rim of your mug, "new record."
“Think today tuckered her out. And I did a little thinking…”
He watched you wince a little as he dug into a knot, "what's that?" You looked at him.
“Maybe a pony of her own ain’t such a bad idea.”
“Okay, that…that didn’t take much convincing at all, Alpha.”
Steve chuckled then he sighed, "I think she's ready. I could make a few calls, see who's got one available."
“No need…” you bit your lip. “The Crafts have one…their youngest has outgrown him. I said I’d talk to you…”
"Oh," Steve nodded, "that works then."
“Yeah, convenient…” you agreed. And then Steve noticed the smirk on your face.
He gave a groan and a snort. “Was I actually going to get a say in whether or not she got a pony or was this just something you were gonna do regardless?”
"I mean I was just making it known that we'd discussed it. Formalities of checking with my mate and all that."
Oh, checking with your mate? Don’t you mean asking permission from your Alpha?” Steve teased.
"Details, details," you sniggered.
Steve rolled his eyes and took a sip from his drink. “So, what is it?”
“A male Shetland pony. Called Coco.”
Steve merely nodded as you continued.
“And. Let’s face it, it’s an investment.” You continued, “because when Seren has outgrown him, well…hopefully there’ll be another little one who’s ready to take the reins so to speak.”
Steve's face softened. "yeah?"
“Yeah.” You looked at him, a smile on your lips. “I thought that maybe when my next heat is due to hit, I don’t get my shot…see what happens.”
"Don't, don't do it." He sat forward, "I'm ready, darlin'."
You bit your lip, “me too.”
Steve held your ankles on his lap with one hand and leaned forward toward you more, "I want as many pups as we can, while we can."
“Woah, slow down there cowboy…” you chuckled, “I’m absolutely happy for two, I could be persuaded for three…”
Steve pecked your lips, "I'm teasing. We talked about two, but I'd be alright with three."
You smiled, your hand running through his hair, and then you moved to press your fingers to your mark.
I love you… your voice echoed in his head.
“I love you too," he whispered lowly. "So much, 'Mega."
“Kiss me Alpha.”
It took a tiny growl from his chest before his lips slowly, tenderly melted against your own. His soft kiss fluttered your insides and without though to it, you were in his lap.
Your hands cupped his bearded cheeks, the pads of your fingers softly brushing against his bristles as your lips allows his to lead them in a slow, sensual dance.
"Lemme love on you, 'Mega."
“Always…” your nose brushed his, “take me to bed.”
Steve needn't say another word, nor make any extra moves. He simply stood as he settled you into his arms and began his way towards the stairs. Blindly, yet expertly, he carried you up and up, to your bedroom where your bed awaited.
With a tenderness he reserved especially for you, he laid you down in the middle, on top of your pale blue comforter and positioned himself over you. One knee nestled between your thighs, his left hand planted by your head whilst his right hand cupped your face.
"My beautiful 'Mega," his voice whispered as his breath gently fanned your face.
Your own hand reached up, fingers gently tracing the curve of his jaw as he closed his eyes.
“My handsome, strong, protective Alpha.” You purred.
Time stood still when the two of you were like this. The intimacy so pure, that it squeezed at the heart in your chest that now beat for only he and Seren.
Steve dipped his head and captured your lips in a soft kiss. The feel of his lips on yours made you hummed against him. You parted your lips as the tip of Steve's tongue tickled at the pucker lines of your bottom lip.
Your hands dipped, finding the hem of his shirt and you gave a tug.
Steve's kiss barely stopped as you pulled the shirt up and over his head. The material pooled at his wrist by your ear. His fist curled together in his right hand, and he knuckled the mattress to flick away his tee. His lips were quickly back on yours trailing across your jaw and down your neck.
You sighed, happily, an Omega trill rolling in your throat which made Steve grumble a chuckle in response.
He sat back on his knees and pulled at the hem of your own tee as he did so, taking your body with him. With a light giggle you fell back with a little bounce to the mattress.
"That's better," Steve rasped as he bent back over you. He continued his trail of bearded kisses down your décolletage, to between your breasts and descending towards your navel.
He smiled against your skin as your belly twitched, always the same. So sensitive and ticklish in areas. He found it cute, and sexy.
He gave a nip to the skin below your belly button at the tip of your scar that gave him his daughter. Then he kissed the sting away tenderly. Those glittering, cerulean eyes looked up at you and he smiled against your skin.
You felt as if you blinked and then suddenly you laid naked before your Alpha, bar the bra that covered your breasts.
You chuckled and Steve looked at you, his chin resting on your sternum.
“What?”
“Nothin, just the speed at which you undress me always amuses me.”
"You make me very impatient, doll."
“I bet you say that to all the girls…”
"Just you," he smirks as his beard began to tickle the inside of your calve.
“Good to know…” you sighed.
"Mmhmm," he kept his lips to your leg.
You trilled again as whiskers tickled the inside of your thigh.
“Oh, Mega…I love those noises…” he worked his way up.
He nudged that joint where hip and thigh came together, scenting you. Your hand automatically tangled in his hair, your breath hitching in your chest.
Tentatively, Steve nosed your mound, the tip of his tongue tickling your swelling, sensitive bud. You whined, your back arching off the bed.
A low rumble sounded in your ears as Steve tasted you. He locked at you like a kitten to milk.
You whimpered and moaned softly, your knees caging his head in at his ears as your alpha gave you what you craved, what you wanted.
He'd eat away at you with fervor, then he'd slow to a near stop and  make love to you there like it would be the last time.
And you loved every single moment.
Your orgasm was growing close, and you felt your body teetering on the edge of bliss. Tingling through your body felt like soda bubbles in your nerves.
"S'close, Alpha..."
He growled a little, before just as you knew he would, he slowed down. Leaving you mewling and begging for more.
"Please, Alpha..."
With a final grunt, Steve pulled away and wiped his face on the comforter. With a quick movement, he was up, out of his jeans and then back over you.
You were breathless, your body aflame. A sheen of sweat was beginning to cover your skin as you burnt hot from within.
“I got you, mega…” he whispered.
Steve held himself as he slipped right into you, a moan from you and a groan from him filling the airy space of the room.
Your hands flew to his broad back, curling round his shoulders as you dug your fingers into his muscles.
"You feel so good, doll." Steve's voice tickled your ear.
“You too…” you whimpered, your voice barely a whisper over your panting.
Steve pulled back and slowly thrust back in, a rolling tide to his hips as he set the pace of loving on you.
His hands reached for yours, fingers lacing through your own as he pressed them either side of your head.
You sighed as his body melted into yours. The weight of him felt like a warm blanket, comforting you and securing you. It gave you a never ending sense of security. And to lock your bodies together tightly; you raised your hips and brought your ankles up to settle the heels of your feet against his lower back.
“Shit…” he grunted, his eyes closing for a moment before they opened, locked back on yours.
"There you are, Alpha," you sighed as he kept rolling those hips into you. "Don't ever hide." His eyes flashed a little as you arched into him even more. “Let go, Steve…”
"No....not 'til you...."
Always putting you first, that never changed. No matter what, you were his priority in your moments together. 
You preened your neck, stretching out for him. You felt his nose dip along your mark, and he shuddered. Your lips parted in a sigh as you started to tilt your hips again to meet him.
His teeth nipped softly at your mating gland, enough for you to feel it, but not enough to break the skin.
"Oh shit," you rasped. "Alpha...."
“Mega…my mega…”
"I'm...." you needed just a little more, you were so damn close.
Steve knew, he always knew. His hips picked up the pace, but somehow he kept the same depth and rhythm. 
His lips claimed yours, the kiss deep yet soft. A juxtaposition. Just like your alpha himself. So strong, get gentle. So firm, but soft.
"Alpha...." you whined as you tightened around him, your nose buried right against his mark.
“Cum for me, mega…” his voice was deep, his instruction clear. It was an alpha command, the only time he ever used them in you was in moments like this. 
And you craved it.
"Oh my....fuck, yes," you came with a cry.
“Good girl…” Steve panted, his lips back at your mark.
You whined, whimpered then whined again at the praise.
“My beautiful Omega…” Steve’s words were almost whispered, a strain in his voice. 
He was close.
"Steve....let go, baby," you cooed.
“Fuck…” 
You nudged at him with your nose, bringing his eyes back to yours.
Like times before there was the fleck of gold that flashed in his eyes, and you knew he saw it in yours. For the room went black and beyond the gaze of your connection a galaxy swarm around you.
When you finally found yourself again, Steve’s face was buried in your neck. He was panting, deeply. The rise and fall of his chest pressing against you and then releasing you from its hold.
Your fingertips danced up his spine and into the hair at the nape of his neck.
He gave a soft hum.
"I love you, my Alpha," you whispered.
“I love you too, my Omega. And I always will. Until the cows come home.”
“Until the cows come home,” you kissed his neck, before he moved and captured your lips with a soft, sweet kiss. “Until the cows come home.”
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askamydaily · 6 months ago
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Surviving The Twisties
Amy Dickinson
July 31, 2024
[This is my current "One Good Thing" newsletter, which you can find and subscribe to on Amydickinson.substack.com]
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[“Team Amy” — photo by Amy (2016)]
I’ve spent the last few weeks in the company of my two granddaughters, who come to stay every year during the most fun portion of the summer. 
I’ll admit to trying to overload them with future MEMORIES of doing FUN THINGS while simultaneously learning LIFE LESSONS™️.
If you asked them what the most wonderful part of their stay has been, they’d probably skip over the MAGICAL MOMENTS created by yours truly and mention the most recent thing they did, which many days has involved a visit to the Frosty Cow — an ice cream shack located on the fringes of a cow pasture.
(I don’t know about you, but I like to know where my ice cream comes from.)
[In this case, a bunch of Holsteins]
This summer’s biggest LIFE LESSON™️ was delivered not by me, but by Simone Biles … 
… several days before her leadership of the American women’s gymnastic team led to an historic Olympic Gold for all of them.
After I somewhat relentlessly bugged my granddaughters about the Olympics in advance of the opening of the Games, they said that they did not know much about the Olympics, so I gave them a quicky crash course into my biannual Olympic obsession (more on that later).
I focused on Simone Biles for all of the obvious reasons — but mainly because she is overall amazing, and young girls should be inspired not only by her accomplishments but especially — by her spirit. I’m talking about the kind of strength it takes to be fully in charge of your life. I could be wrong, of course, but that’s how Simone strikes me.
Fortunately, there is a new documentary series (produced by Biles and streaming on Netflix), which not only outlines Simone Biles’ inspiring personal story, but — even more important — it tells the story of this athlete’s battle with “The Twisties.”
You don’t know what “The Twisties” are?
I didn’t, either. But it is a term used in gymnastics where athletes completely lose the connection between their mind and body. This is an extremely dangerous phenomenon, certainly when you are in the midst of a soaring double-pike triple salchow mid-air split with a multiple tuck and twist dismount. 
(A move so daring and impossible, I have been forced to name it after myself.)
The Twisties are what happened to Simone Biles during the 2020 Tokyo Olympics. 
In the middle of her Olympic vault, instead of doing one of the several spectacular moves so death-defying that they are named for her, Simone … choked. She was only able to complete a much lesser vault — stunning the crowd. And then, she further shocked the world by walking away from her team and her sport during the Olympics.
Simone Biles has always possessed an almost supernatural body awareness, in that her mind and her body have been in near-perfect sync. 
But then — mid-vault — Simone Biles’ mind suddenly lost track of what her body was doing. She had an attack of The Twisties. (Despite its somewhat cute name, this is a dreaded and extremely dangerous experience.)
In the film, experiencing The Twisties is described as being “broken.” 
Have you ever felt your own version of The Twisties?
Yeah — me too. Big time.
Simone Biles was honest about her reasons for pulling out of the Tokyo Olympics four years ago (protecting her mental health), and she was criticized by many for letting her team down, and for “putting herself first.” 
Particularly nasty were the comments from a series of lardo loud-mouth radio sports “jocks,” who, as Simone remarks, “can’t do a cartwheel.”
Still — the question hung in the air:
Would Simone Biles attempt some sort of comeback?
Before coming back, this Greatest Of All Time athlete had to be brave enough to face a a workout comprised of a few minutes jumping on a trampoline, in the hopes of perhaps being airborne again at some point down the road.
In the film, we watch as she starts going back to the gym. She lays bare the raw terror she feels when doing the moves and routines she made famous. 
This answered a long-held mystery for me:
Why aren’t these athletes terrified when they know that one wrong move could lead to serious injury, paralysis or death? 
It turns out: They ARE!
That’s where their training comes in. Also, they seem to possess Gold Medal grit.
Unfortunately, in addition to terror-avoidance, these athletes are also trained to stuff down their own problems, worries, and physical or psychic injuries. The film explores this reality in detail. 
Particularly sad (and still so shocking) is the disclosure that Simone Biles is a survivor of sexual abuse perpetrated by the former long-time Team USA gymnasts doctor and now convicted rapist Larry Nassar, who assaulted her during physical exams (he was convicted of sexually assaulting over 500 female gymnasts). 
[From Wikipedia: Lawrence Gerard Nassar (born August 16, 1963) is an American serial child rapist and former family medicine physician. For 18 years, he was the team doctor of the United States women's national gymnastics team, where he used his position to exploit and sexually assault hundreds of young athletes.]
Simone suggests that her attack of The Twisties is a trauma response to this long-repressed abuse, amplified by years of stoically stuffing it down. She never received therapeutic help because, as she says, “At the time, I thought I was OK.” 
And that is why I wanted my granddaughters to learn about Simone Biles. 
Yes — Simone is a woman of color with an amazing and inspiring personal story performing at the highest-ever level in a traditionally "white” sport, but my granddaughters already know that women of color can excel at everything — because these girls are surrounded by great examples. (We’re looking at you, Kamala!) 
Good news, here, because to these younger girls, this particular LIFE LESSON feels as old as their granny.
In the film, however, we see how recent this breakthrough in gymnastics is, as well as the unique challenges these athletes continue to face.
[For a great overview of the very recent ascendance of Black women in Olympic gymnastics — including lots of video highlights, check out this compendium, published by blackamericaweb.com  CLICK HERE]
I wanted Team Amy to see how it feels and what it might take to survive their own version of The Twisties.
They might learn from Simone’s example: Through authenticity, honesty, hard work, professional help, compassion, acceptance, familial love, personal support, and by accessing and unlocking that oftentimes deeply hidden quality I believe we all have within us. 
Let’s call it “the spirit of a champion.”
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[Team Amy … Outstanding in our field]]
LIFE LESSON delivered, I took Team Amy out for ice cream, where I enjoyed my preferred version of The Twisties:
What’s the degree of difficulty for taking an ice-cream selfie in the heat?
Eleven.
I hope you are able to award yourselves perfect scores for whatever extreme challenges you encounter.
Love, 
Amy
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7r0773r · 11 months ago
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The Pause Between Inhale and Exhale by Roselyn Elliott
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Myth
It's my first week in the heart unit and my patient resembles my mother, plump, a curly haired pleaser. Only the irregular beat when I press the stethoscope hard under her left breast, tells me she is sick.
On white sheets taut across her bed, she sleeps serenely on her side.
Next morning in the morgue, I stand at the back in a huddle of classmates. The pathologist makes a few smart cuts, lifts her heart high in both hands toward the overhead light. We gape. Like a dumb flock we stare upward, at the kind heart, glistening and pliant in his hands.
The smell of viscera invades my future, vision blurs, fingers tingle. What keeps me from falling is friends, their warm bodies, pressing toward the center of our crowd, warm breath, brushing my ears. Not one of us faints during the lecture beneath her severed heart, but in the brilliant light I see the lie about our work: how each day is its own interlude of denial, how the story will tell itself over and over until the end of time.
***
Summer Lights
Fireflies seeding the backyard your first evening away for work. The trees and underbrush are alive with this party. Choreographed to attract a mate, or prey, each one emits its green flare the second another switches off. And this sultry June evening, the private universe of my right eye showers my vision with commas, half-moons, parallel gnats dancing to retinal lightning. At the window I turn my head quickly, catch the next shape, the next. Eye flashing with each small shift, floaters collide with fireflies. Sitting on this smooth bed I remember you'll be gone a week, reading papers, your eyes straining with students' cursive. I picture you bent over the table of notebooks, think of your patience in all things all these years, even when I don't see what you mean, or when I don't look at you long enough. Fireflies between trees, pierce the humid dusk with yellow beads, green stars lingering into the night.
***
On the Way to the Clinic, We Pass a Small Country
Two or three feet across, beside a public school where chain-link fences meet: plastic cups, burger wrappers old watch with a broken band, chicory in blue bloom. Ants burrow up, claim dead insects. A sparrow balances on a single stalk of timothy. In this city of fumes and noise, between brick walls, moss grows on one side of stones. On the way to treatment for these wild-growing tumors in my right breast,
I claim for myself this tiny triangular wasteland, this small autonomous nation.
***
Night Rumors
Tonight, my son molds himself into the couch and bites the remainder of his fingernails, kept worn and sore.
He rises abruptly to go out with his friends. When he stands, he is a tall man, grown to that altitude where life is deadly, bright and irregular.
I've seen them on the street in little crowds. He has told me they sit around at someone's house, seeking substance of the mind, or for the mind, hunting a certain mellow knowledge.
This is what a parent learns: In the dark our children find themselves. All night, shining and laughing above some shapeless maw,
they coax the thing until they hear it moan, then tempt it with their life light, tempt it further, then come home.
***
The Separation of Kin
Bovine distress bristles the countryside.
The calling is unbearable: their constant blatting across our yard. What could our neighbor be thinking, selling the babies to the other neighbor where they cry for their mothers in the field beside our house? Young throats open, offspring question parents, and the cows' reply with a low keening, answered ten seconds later. All night their pleadings echo over pastures, reverberate through our rooms, spread through the dark woods, tree trunk to tree leaf, rise above the canopy into morning. Tomorrow hoarse from exhaustion and despair, a deep acquiescence unknown to humans will have overtaken these sentient beasts, but this day our only choice is to endure this loss surrounding us, rivet our gaze in the amber light, and imagine silence.
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Chapter 18 - Of Ralph in the Castle of Abundance
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Synopsis:
Ralph explores the Castle and its surroundings, talking to its subjects and avoiding (as much as possible) the bothersome old woman who won’t stop doting on him.
Summary:
"For that," said the carline, "thou needest neither sword nor helm. I was afeard that thou wert about departing, and thy departure would be a grief to my heart: in the deep wood thou mightest be so bestead as to need a sword in thy fist; but what shouldst thou do with it in this Plain of Abundance, where are nought but peaceful husbandmen and frank and kind maidens? and all these are as if they had drunk a draught of the WELL AT THE WORLD'S END."
The sun shone brightly on the plains amidst the wildwood when Ralph awoke and got up to look out of the window (for the room was at the top of the house and no part of the castle lay between it and the fields). It was a little after noon on a fair June day, and Ralph had slept well as was good for a young man. The light wind brought sweet scents of early summer into the room, chief among them being the smell of new-cut grass, for all around the wide meadows the men and women were beginning to harvest the hay, and as late as it was in the day, more than one blackbird was singing from the castle’s garden. Ralph sighed in happiness this all brought him before he fully remembered where he was or what had happened to him recently; but as he stood at the window and gazed over the meadows, the memories came back to him He sighed once more for the desire that came into his heart—and he smiled in embarrassment, though there was no one to see him—and he wonder if there were any among the hay-harvesting women who were as fair as the yellow-clad thrall-women of the Burg; and as he turned from the window, a new hope set his heart to beating, for he thought that he had been brought to this house so that he could meet someone who would change his life completely.
So he got dressed and went down to the hall and looked for Roger, but did not find him, nor anyone else except for the old woman, who was coming out of the cellar, whom he asked about Roger. She said: “He has been gone for about six hours, but left a message for you, lord. He asks that you wait here for him for at least two days, after which you’re welcome to leave if you want. But as for me,” (and here she smiled on him as sweetly as her old, wrinkled face possibly could) “I say you should stay more than two days if Roger doesn’t come, and as long as you are here I will take the very best care of you. And who knows, you may find good adventure here; it’s happened to other good knights who have stayed here, or nearby.”
“Thank you, mother,” said Ralph, “and it is likely that I’ll stay here longer than two days if adventure does not find me before then. But at least I will stay to eat lunch here today.”
“That is good, fair lord,” said the woman. “If you want to walk in the fields for half an hour I’ll have it ready for you. In fact, I would have readied it before now, but I did not want to wake you up. And the saints be praised for the long sleep which has put good color into your cheeks.” Saying this, she hurried off to the cellar, leaving Ralph laughing at her outspoken and flattering words.
Then he went out of the hall and the castle (for the doors were open), and there was no one to be seen in or around the house. So he walked here and there and saw the herds of cows in the pasture, and the hay-harvesting folk beyond them, and the sounds of their voices came to him and the little gusts of wind that were blowing. He thought he would talk to some of these people before long, and he also noted that between the river and the wood many well-built cottages belonging to the farmers, and a little church among them, white and delicately designed. But for now he headed towards the river because it was a hot day. He came to a pool a little below where a wooden bridge crossed the water, around which willows were growing, which had not been cut back for perhaps eight years, and the water was clear as glass with a bed of fine sand. He swam there, and as he played in the water he thought about the long, gentle areas of Upmeads Water, and swimming down amongst the water weeds, while the reed sparrows sang around him on an early July morning. When he stood on the grass again—with the bright weather and beautiful land, the freshness of the water, the good rest he had had, and the hope of adventure to come—he felt as if he had never been happier in his whole life. Altogether it was a great relief to him that he had escaped the chaos of the war between the Burg of the Four Friths and the men of the Dry Tree, and the Wheat-wearers, the slavery, the whipping, and the burning, the hard life of that walled town and fortress.
When he came back to the castle gate, the woman was there at the little gate looking about for him, hoping to bring him in to eat. And when she saw him so happy, smiling and his eyes bright, she also became happy and said: “Truly, it is a pity that there is no young woman to look at you and love you today. Any maiden would travel far to kiss your mouth, fair lad. But now come eat your meal, so that you can grow fairer and live longer for it.”
He laughed happily and went into the hall with her, and now it was all set with decorations of well-embroidered cloth, and on the walls hung a tapestry of the Story of Alexander. He sat at the table and the meal was delicious and the old woman served him, always praising him with excessive flattery as he ate, until he asked her to leave him be.
After the meal he rested for a while, then called to the old woman and asked her to bring his sword and helmet. “Why?” she asked. “Where are you going?”
“I want to walk around and enjoy the air,” he said.
“Are you going to the wildwood?”
“No, mother,” he said. “I just want to walk around the meadow and see the people harvesting hay.”
“For that,” said the old woman, “You need neither sword nor helm. I was afraid that you were getting ready to leave, and your departure would sadden me greatly. In the deep woods, you might encounter need for a sword, but what should you do with it in the Plain of Abundance, where there are only peaceful farmers and honest and kind maidens? And all of these are as if they had drunk from the Well at the World’s End.”
Ralph started as she said the phrase, but held is tongue for a moment. Then he said: “And who is the lord of this fair land?”
“There is no lord, but a lady,” said the woman.
“And what is she called?”
“We call her the Lady of Abundance.”
“Is she a good lady?” he asked.
“She is my lady,” said the woman, “and she treats me well, and there is not a man in this country who does not speak well of her—perhaps too well.”
“Is she fair to look at?”
“Of women, there is none fairer,” said the woman; “As for men, that is a different matter.”
Ralph was silent again for a moment, then he said: “What is the Well at the World’s End?”
“They talk about it here,” she said, “stuff that’s too long to talk about right now, but there is a book in this house that talks about it; I know it by its cover, though I cannot read it. I will look for it for you tomorrow, if you’d like.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” he said; “And I hope you remember to look for it, but now, I’m off.”
“Yes,” said the woman, “but wait a moment.” Then she went to the cellar and came back with a garland of roses from the garden, intermingled with green leaves, and she said: “The sun is hot today; wear this to shade yourself from it. I know you would be going out today, so I made it for you this morning, and when I was young they called me the garland-maker. This is better summer-wear than your helmet.
He thanked her and put it on, smiling, but somewhat ruefully, for he thought to himself “This woman is too old that I should be wearing a love-token from her.”
But when it was on his head, the old woman clapped her hands and cried: “Oh, there we go! Now you are like the image of St Michael at Our Lady of the Thorn: there is nothing as lovely as you are. I wish my Lady could see you like this; surely it would gladden her heart. And you are well-dressed, besides.”
Indeed, he was wearing good clothes, for his overcoat was new and made of fine green cloth, and the coat-of-arms of Upmead was done on it, which is an apple tree on golden ground, standing by a river.
He laughed a little uneasily at her words, and then left the castle again, going straight for the hay-harvesting folk on the other side of the river: for the near side was all livestock and sheep. But at the point where he crossed, the winding stream brought it near to the castle gate, so he came up to the country folk and greeted them, and they responded in kind. They were good-looking and well-built, both men and women, bright and happy of disposition and well-dressed as workers in the fields. So Ralph want from one to another and chatted with them, and was pleased to watch them work for a little while, though he preferred to speak with some more than others of them. At last, under the shade of a tall elm tree, he saw an old man sitting and looking at the clothes of the harvesters, and their food and drink, and Ralph came up to him and greeted him.
The old man blessed him and said: “Are you dwelling in my lady's castle, fair lord?”
“For a little while, at least,” said Ralph.
The old man said: “We thank you for coming to see us, and it seems to me that you look worthy to stay in my Lady’s House.”
“And what do you say?” said Ralph. “Is she a good lady, and kind?”
“Oh yes, yes,” said the man.
“You mean, I suppose, that she is pretty to look at, and soft-spoken when she is happy?”
“I mean far more than that,” said the man; “yes, she is angelic in her beauty, and her voice is like the music of heaven: but also her actions, and the kindness she has for us poor farmers, are well-matched to that loveliness.”
“Are you her servants?” asked Ralph; “Or what?”
“We are free men and vassals; there is no slavery in our land.”
“Do you live peaceful lives?”
“There have been times where cruel battles were fought in these meadows, and many poor souls perished in them, but that was before the coming of the Lady of Abundance.”
“And when was that?” asked Ralph.
“I don’t know,” said the old man. “I was born and raised in peaceful times; I fell in love and wedded in peaceful times; I had children in peaceful times, and they live around me in peaceful times. When I go, it will be in peaceful times.”
“But then,” said Ralph (and a grievous fear had grown in his heart), “is the Lady of Abundance old?”
“I have seen her when I was young and also since I have grown old, and she has always been fair and lovely, slender-handed, as straight as a spear, as sweet as white clover, gentle-voiced and kind, and dear to our hearts.”
“All right,” said Ralph, “and she doesn’t always live in this castle; where else does she live?”
“I don’t know,” said the man, “but it should be in heaven, for when she comes to us, all our happiness increases by half.”
“But, father, “said Ralph, “Could it not be that there has been more than one Lady of Abundance that you have seen in your lifetime, and that this one that you have seen recently is the granddaughter of the one you first saw? What do you think about that?”
The old man laughed, “No, no, it’s not like that; there has never been another like her, in body and voice, heart and soul. It is as I have said; she’s the same as she always has been.”
“And when,” said Ralph, his heart thumping, “does she come here? Is it at certain times of the year?”
“No, it is from time to time, and in all seasons,” said the man, “and she is as fair when she walks over the snow as when she is set amidst the June daisies.”
Now Ralph was so full of wonder that he hardly knew what to say, but he thought about that open, rocky land on the other side of the forest where that broad river flowed, and he said: “And that land to the north beyond the wildwood, can you tell me about its wars, and if they were the same wars that tormented this land?”
The old man shook his head, “As to the land beyond the woods, I know nothing about it, for we have never go beyond the woods; No, mostly we only go a little way into them, no further than where we can see the glimmer of open daylight through its trees—the daylight of the land of Abundance—and that is enough for us.”
“Well,” said Ralph, “I thank you for the story you have told me, and I wish you more years of peace.”
“And to you, young man, I wish a good wish indeed: that you may see the Lady of Abundance here before you depart.”
The old man’s words made Ralph’s heart thump and his cheeks flush again, and he went back to the castle somewhat quickly, for he thought to himself—with the foolishness of those in love—that she might already be there, and he absent from her. Yet when he came to the castle gate, he doubted himself and he did not enter at once, but turned to go around the wall to the northwest.  In the castle, he saw no one except for the old woman, who was sitting at a window looking out, and who nodded at him, but in the pasture all around there were cowheards and shepherds, both men and women; and at the north-west corner, where the river drew quite close to the wall, he came upon tow women of the field-folk fishing with a rod in a quiet pool of the stream.
He greeted them, and they, who were young and pretty, returned his greeting, but were shy because of his gallant presence, and he was shy because of the thoughts he had been thinking and the sight of their beauty. So he passed by at first without more than greeting, but eventually he came back again, for he longed to know more about the Lady whose arrival he awaited. They stood smiling and blushing as he came up to them, and they paid little attention to their rods.
Ralph said, “Fair maidens, do you know at all when the Lady of the castle is expected to return?”
They were slow to answer, but at last one said: “No, fair sir, people like us know very little about the coming and going of great folk.”
“Ralph smiled at her kindness and beauty, and said: “Won’t you be happy when she arrives?”
But she did not answer, only looked at him steadily with her big, grey eyes fixed in wonder, while the other one looked down as if intent on their fishing tools.
Ralph did not know how to ask another question, so he turned around with a word of farewell and went on steadily around the wall.
And now the desire in his heart for that lady grew. He had only seen her once, and that in a strange way, but he wondered to himself if the devil had put that desire in him, for it might be that this woman he had set his heart on was no woman at all, but a devil, and one of the goddesses of the ancient world, and his heart was sore and troubled by many doubts and hopes and fears; but he said to himself that when he saw her then he could judge between good and evil, and could pursue her or leave, and that the sight of her would cure all.
Thinking that, he walked away quickly and was soon around at the castle gate again, and he entered into the hall where the old woman was working on some household matter. Ralph nodded at her and hurried off to avoid the possibility of getting stuck talking to her, and started going from room to room to learn the castle. He came into the guard room and found the walls hung with armor and weapons, clean and cared for, though he never saw any fighters there, nor anyone but the old woman. He went up the stairs to the tops of the walls and went into the towers, finding more weapons of all kinds in them, all set up as though ready for a battle. Then he went down into the walkway around the hall and entered a door there—which was latched but not locked—and went up a small staircase into a room, which was the best and richest room of all. Its ceiling was decorated with gold and blue from overseas, and its floor was a delicately-made mosaic. On the dais was a throne carved from ivory, and above it a canopy of embroidered silk of the best kind. Around the walls of that room, there were marvelous tapestries, which showed the greenwood and inside it, a garden of potted plants, yard with goats, and a little thatched house. Among all of this, two women were depicted over and over again, one old and the other young. The old one was dressed in grand clothing, with gold chains and brooches and rings, and she sat by the door, or stood looking as the young one worked, spinning thread or digging in the yard, or milking the goats, and other things, and she was dressed is poor and scanty clothes.
Ralph did not know what this meant, but when he had looked at the images for a long time, he said to himself that if whoever had made the tapestry had not modeled the young woman after the likeness of the Lady he had helped in the wildwood, then it must have been based on her twin sister.
He stayed in that room for a long time looking at the tapestry and wondering whether the one who sat on the ivory throne would be the same slave girl from the images. He stayed there until dusk began to gather in the house and he could no longer see the tapestries, for he still desired to look at them even then.
Then he went slowly back to the hall and found the old woman, who had lit candles and readied a meal for him; and when she saw him she cried out joyously: “Ah, I knew you would come back! Are you happy with our little land?”
“I like it well, ma’am,” he said; “but tell me, if you can, what is the meaning of the tapestry in the room with the ivory throne?”
The old woman said: “There’s someone else that will tell you about that, one who can tell it better than I can; but it is no secret that that room is the office of our Lady, and she sits there to hear cases of the people and give judgements.”
The old woman crossed herself as she spoke and Ralph wondered what that was about, but he asked no more questions, for he was barely sorry that she would not tell him the story, in case she messed it up.
So the evening passed and he went to bed and slept, and the next day he was up early and went out to mingle with the people in the fields, but this time he did not speak of the Lady and did not hear about her from any of those folk. So he went back to the castle and got a bow and some arrows and he went into the thick wood near where he and Roger had come through it. He had asked a young man of that land to go with him, but he was hesitant, but would not say why. So Ralph went by himself and wandered some distance into the wood, and saw no danger there. As he came back, going around to pass through the open meadows, he stumbled upon a herd of deer in a remote place, not quite wooded but not quite clear, and there he felled a deer with a single arrow, for he was a skilled archer, and he went and got some men from the fields who followed him anxiously, and they cut up the deer and carried it back to the castle, where the old women met them. She smiled at Ralph and praised the venison, and said that the hunting was well done. “For, as fond and fair as you are, it is not good for young men to have their minds set on just one thing.” Then she led him to his supper and served him, and the whole time he wanted to ask if she thought the Lady would return that day, since it was the last day of those which Roger had asked him to wait, but the words would not come out of his mouth.
She looked at him and smiled as though she had guessed what was on his mind, and at last said to him: “You’re tonguetied today. Have you seen anything strange in the woods?”
He shook his head.
She continued: “Why, then, are you not asking more about the Well at the World’s End?”
He laughed and said: “Maybe because I think you can’t tell me about it.”
“Well,” she said, “if I can’t, the book still might, and this evening, when the sun is down, you can look at it.”
“Thank you, mother,” he said; “but this is the last day that Roger asked me to wait. Do you think he will come back tonight?” and he reddened as he spoke.
“No,” she said, “I don’t know, and you don’t care whether he will come or not. But I know that you will wait here for someone else to come, whether they come early or late.”
Again, Ralph reddened, and he said in a coaxing way: “And will you let me stay here, mother, for a few more summer days?”
“Yes,” she said, “and until summer is over, if needed, and the corn is cut and carried off, and until winter comes and the far end of winter is gone.”
He smiled faintly, but his heart sank and he said: “Could it really take so long?”
“Oh, fair boy,” she said, “You will make it long, however short it is. And now I will give you some advice, lest you worry yourself sick over it: tomorrow, go see if you can meet fate instead of waiting for it. Put on your armor and take your sword and adventure in the wildwood, but do not go too deep into it.”
“But what if the Lady returns while I am away?”
“In truth,” said the old woman, “I do not think she will, for the way is long between us and her.”
“Do you mean,” said Ralph, standing up from the table, “that she will never come? I ask that you do not charm me with soft words, but tell me the truth.”
“There there!” she said, “sit down, king’s son; eat your food and drink your wine, for tomorrow is a new day. She will come sooner or later, if she is still in the world. And now I will say no more concerning the matter.”
Then she went out of the hall, and when she came back with a bowl of water and a towel, she said nothing to him, only smiled kindly. He went out into the meadow (for it was only early afternoon) and came among the harvesting folk and spoke with them, hoping one might talk about the Lady of Abundance, but none of them did, though the old man he had spoken with was there, as were the two maidens whom he had seen fishing. As for him, he was too anxious to ask them any more questions about her.
But he stayed with them for a long time, and ate and drank with them until the moon was up and shining. Then he went back to the castle and found the old woman in the hall, and she had the book with her and gave it to him. He sat down at small window in the candlelight and started reading.
Notes:
Ralph’s room is specified to be in the “gable hall” which is the area directly under the roof (so that the ceiling slants downward to either side). Unsure how common “gable” was, I just said it was at the top of the house/castle.
The “old woman” is described as being old, but is most commonly referred to as “the carline” (which is a general term, not her title, if you’ll remember).
I used the word “cellar” in this chapter and sometime once before, I feel like (at Clement and Katherine’s house, I think, maybe Bourton Abbas?), but the original word is “buttery” which is a room where food was stored for passing guests.
He actually says that he’ll have dinner there, but in older contexts (and perhaps still outside the US), dinner was the midday meal and the evening meal was called “supper,” which is how it’s been so far in this story.
The decorations in the hall as he eats are described as “bankers and dorsars,” which I was unable to fully understand. A dorsar is a fabric decoration for a chair, like a tapestry that hangs off the back. I have no idea what a “banker” is in this context, and I couldn’t find anything that seemed to fit.
The “excessive flattery” the old woman heaps on Ralph is described as “fulsome words,” which could indicate (by connotations of the word “fulsome”) that they’re unwanted/rude in their excess; i.e. that it’s the kind of flattery one does not enjoy or finds annoying. It says that Ralph “wished her away,” which I couldn’t come up with a clear equivalent for, so I went with the feeling I got from the rest of the text; that Ralph is grateful for the food but just want to eat without some old woman constantly telling him how hot he is.
“Wildwood” is used throughout this to refer to the woods around the Plains of Abundance, but I should mention that it’s not a proper noun (hence no capitalization). The term simply refers to naturally occurring woods which are not managed/landscaped. The same term was used at times for the Wood Perilous.
I like that when Ralph is talking to the old woman about the Lady of Abundance, she’s like “Yeah all the men like her—probably too much,” when she spends half the time fawning over Ralph. She also implies that Ralph is more attractive of a man than the Lady of Abundance is attractive as a woman, but I suppose that comes down to personal taste. Based on evidence presented elsewhere in the story, I find that hard to believe that is an opinion people generally hold.”
We’re given a description of Ralph’s clothes for the first time, though I believe he has multiple sets (or at the very least does not always wear the surcoat with the coat-of-arms on it). Also note that whether or not it being called “Upmead” in this one location is a mistake, it is not my mistake. That’s how it’s given in the original text.
The old man says “my lady’s castle” with a lowercase L, but “my Lady’s House” with both L and H uppercase.
Ah-ha! When speaking to the old man, Ralph refers to the rocky wastes where they cross the river as being to the north of the Plains of Abundance! I’ll adjust the map.
So, whenever we are given Ralph’s thoughts, the narration usually says that Ralph says something to himself (I think sometimes specified as being in his heart/mind). I think I sometimes have transcribed this as him thinking something, but a lot of the time I just have the narration say what he’s thinking because it keeps things simpler.
This is the second time I’ve mentioned fishing rods (the first was in Ralph’s dream the night he spent at Higham?), but in both cases the tool used is described as an “angle,” not a rod. My brain immediately translated that as rod (being the tool an “angler” uses to catch fish) but reading about it now, it seems to simply refer to a hook, so it’s possible that the fishing is being done with just a line and hook. I’m leaving in the reference to rods though because I don’t want to go back and make corrections and also it’s way easier than getting super specific. Also, more weirdness about the Lady! What’s with these spooky girls fishing?
The “walkway around the hall” is described as “a very goodly ambulatory over against the hall.” An ambulatory is an architectural feature which is a walkway around something (you’ve seen them, I’m sure). What I’m unsure of is whether the the ambulatory in this case is inside or outside, since they can be either. This is either basically a long hall (modern sense) that loops around the main hall (medieval sense) of the castle (allowing one to access all other rooms around it without actually going into the main hall), or it could be a paved walkway up against the outer wall main building, with the building on one side and pillars on the other (supporting a sheltering roof). I have no way of guessing which is the case here, so go with whichever you prefer.
This is the second time a door has been described as “on a latch” (the first time being when Roger and Ralph were fleeing the inn at the Burg). This time specifically the phrase is “which was but on a latch,” indicating that the only thing keeping someone out was a latch (that is, a little bar that anyone could move aside; this would be to keep the door from opening accidentally to the wind or something, ot to keep anyone out). Locks were a thing in the middle ages, though modern pin-tumbler designs would not come along for several centuries.
The ceiling of the room is described as “all done with gold and blue from over sea,” which describes its appearance but not its detail or materials. If I had to take a wild guess, I’d say the gold was gold and the blue was lapis lazuli, which would have been imported from the middle east. The floor is “wrought delicately in Alexandrine work.” Some digging turned up that Alexandria was famous for its floor mosaics, but I’m not sure if the line is intended to just say it’s a mosaic, or if it’s a mosaic of actual Alexandrine craftsmanship. Not that it matters.
A note on the perception of clothing: there have been a few times, I believe, where a character’s clothing (I think in all cases, the Lady’s) has been described as “scanty”, which in our modern English is like “ooo, look how much skin is showing” but in every case so far the context has given a different impression. I’ve seen this before and could probably do some research and find more information, but the story gives the sense that the Lady is beautiful despite her ragged/sparse clothing (compare to the Wheat-wearer whose thin dress was remarked upon positively for showing details of the body). Although Morris idealized simple/pastoral life, truly destitute clothing seems to be beyond his taste (and I believe the cultural tastes of the time), even if it means you can see a lot of skin. Basically, good  clothing enhances beauty, even if it covers more (though Morris was fond of simple good clothing, not just high-class stuff).
So, I pull quotes where characters say “the WELL AT THE WORLD’S END” in all caps because it’s funny, but it’s also interesting because they don’t always do it. It might just be the first time each character says it? Or maybe the first time it’s said in each chapter. In any case, the old woman does not use capslock when mentioning it at the end of this chapter.
I normally only do one quote, and for tradition I will use the one that mentions the WELL AT THE WORLD’S END, but I have a personal, second quote which I love:
"O, fair boy," she said, "thou wilt make it long, howsoever short it be. And now I will give thee a rede, lest thou vex thyself sick and fret thy very heart. To-morrow go see if thou canst meet thy fate instead of abiding it.”
The first part, especially, speaks to me as someone who is often impatient when waiting for something to arrive. We tend to make our troubles long in our own minds, even when they are short.
The window he sits at is specified as a “shot-window,” which I initially thought meant a loophole (a narrow, glassless window for shooting arrows out of), but seems to be a regional (Scottish, as with many of Morris’ regionalisms) term for a small, glassless window (possibly for shooting arrows out of; I wasn’t able to actually find much information).
The map has been corrected to move the Plains of Abundance much more straight-south of the Burg. Ralph sleeping overnight somewhere is marked with ZX, where X equals the nth time he’s slept. Technically he arrived at the Castle of Abundance in the morning so Z4 should be up in the woods to the north, but he did sleep that morning at the Castle and as far as the narration is concerned, he started a new day afterwards.
Map:
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sublimedevastation · 2 years ago
Text
The Lost Son
1. The Flight
At Woodlawn I Heard the dead cry: I was lulled by the slamming of iron, A slow drip over stones, Toads brooding wells. All the leaves stuck out their tongues; I shook the softening chalk of my bones, Saying, Snail, snail, glister me forward, Bird, soft-sigh me home, Worm, be with me. This is my hard time.
Fished in an old wound, The soft pond of repose; Nothing nibbled my line, Not even the minnows came.
Sat in an empty house Watching shadows crawl, Scratching. There was one fly.
Voice, come out of the silence. Say something. Appear in the form of a spider Or a moth beating the curtain.
Tell me: Which is the way I take; Out of what door do I go, Where and to whom?
Dark hollows said, lee to the wind, The moon said, back of an eel, The salt said, look by the sea, Your tears are not enough praise, You will find no comfort here, In the kingdom of bang and blab.
Running lightly over spongy ground, Past the pasture of flat stones, The three elms, The sheep strewn on a field, Over a rickety bridge Toward the quick-water, wrinkling and rippling.
Hunting along the river, Down among the rubbish, the bug-riddled foliage, By the muddy pond-edge, by the bog-holes, By the shrunken lake, hunting, in the heat of summer.
The shape of a rat? It's bigger than that. It's less than a leg And more than a nose, Just under the water It usually goes.
Is it soft like a mouse? Can it wrinkle his nose? Could it come in the house On the tips of its toes?
Take the skin of a cat And the back of an eel, Then roll them in grease,- That's the way it would feel.
It's sleek as an otter With wide webby toes Just under the water It usually goes.
2. The Pit
Where do the roots go? Look down under the leaves. Who put the moss there? These stones have been here too long. Who stunned the dirt into noise? Ask the mole, he knows. I feel the slime of a wet nest. Beware Mother Mildew. Nibble again, fish nerves.
3. The Gibber
At the wood's mouth, By the cave's door, I listened to something I had heard before.
Dogs of the groin Barked and howled, The sun was against me, The moon would not have me.
The weeds whined, The snakes cried The cows and briars Said to me: Die.
What a small song. What slow clouds. What dark water. Hath the rain a father? All the caves are ice. Only the snow's here. I'm cold. I'm cold all over. Rub me in father and mother. Fear was my father, Father Fear. His look drained the stones.
What gliding shape Beckoning through halls, Stood poised on the stair, Fell dreamily down?
From the mouths of jugs Perched on many shelves, I saw substance flowing That cold morning.
Like a slither of eels That watery cheek As my own tongue kissed My lips awake.
Is that the storm's heart? The ground is unstilling itself. My veins are running nowhere. Do the bones cast out their fire? Is the seed leaving the old bed? These buds are live as birds. Where, where are the tears of the world? Let the kisses resound, flat like a butcher's palm; Let the gestures freeze; our doom is already decided. All the windows are burning! What's left of my life? I want the old rage, the lash of primordial milk! Goodbye, goodbye, old stones, the time-order is going, I have married my hands to perpetual agitation, I run, I run to the whistle of money.
Money money money Water water water
How cool the grass is. Has the bird left? The stalk still sways. Has the worm a shadow? What do the clouds say?
These sweeps of light undo me. Look, look, the ditch is running white! I've more veins than a tree! Kiss me, ashes, I'm falling through a dark swirl.
4. The Return
The way to the boiler was dark, Dark all the way, Over slippery cinders Through the long greenhouse.
The roses kept breathing in the dark. They had many mouths to breathe with. My knees made little winds underneath Where the weeds slept.
There was always a single light Swinging by the fire-pit, Where the fireman pulled out roses, Those big roses, the big bloody clinkers.
Once I stayed all night. The light in the morning came slowly over the white snow. There were many kinds of cool Air. Then came the steam.
Pipe-knock.
Scurry of warm over small plants. Ordnung! ordnung! Papa is coming!
A fine haze moved off the leaves; Frost melted on far panes; The rose, the chrysanthemum turned toward the light. Even the hushed forms, the bent yellowy weeds Moved in a slow up-sway.
5. "It was beginning winter"
It was beginning winter, An in-between time, The landscape still partly brown: The bones of weeds kept swinging in the wind, Above the blue snow.
It was beginning winter, The light moved slowly over the frozen field, Over the dry seed-crowns, The beautiful surviving bones Swinging in the wind.
Light traveled over the wide field; Stayed. The weeds stopped swinging. The mind moved, not alone, Through the clear air, in the silence.
Was it light? Was it light within? Was it light within light? Stillness becoming alive, Yet still?
A lively understandable spirit Once entertained you. It will come again. Be still. Wait.
by Theodore Roethke
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wordsbymae · 2 years ago
Text
MINORS DNI
Title: The Viking
Pairing: Male OC x reader
TW: Violence, murder, generally bad things, implied non/con, no explicit smut but heavy Non/con groping!!, discussion of sexual slavery, mention of cannibalism, Christian elements but it is because I am and I am less afraid of stuffing up Christian stuff than other religions. If you are uncomfortable with any of that move on This man is not nice. Pet names: little mutt, little one and little lamb. Let me know if I missed anything let me know
ALPHABET HERE
Also, I tried to do Gn but as I am a woman, I automatically write with a female reader in mind. But!!!!! I have tried my very best to not mention gender. If something doesn't work please tell me. Reader discretion is advised! Also, I hope I don't need to say this but I will just in case, I do not condone these sorts of actions!!! Or any actions in any of my work. This is pure fiction. Also, all my OCs and the reader are over the age of 18+. and I'm not gonna add google translate because that takes forever and you guys won't even be able to read it so he conveniently speaks the same language as the reader.
Notes: Aaaaa! I have 21 followers! You guys are absolutely amazing! I never thought anyone would want to read my stuff let alone like and reblog. This doesn't take place in any place in particular, if anything I heavily rely on the climate of my home. I was though heavily influenced by Vikings and their nordic culture of that time, however, I had originally planned to make the oc a barbarian of sorts and not a Viking. But my inspiration dive into Pinterest left me with Vikings so here we are. I might write a nomadic barbarian fic later on cause I do see them as quite different in my mind but it depends where this goes, I usually write the notes and triggers before I start writing as a way of planning my thoughts so it might change halfway through.
Also the climatic event in the beginning, in my mind, is the cause of a volcanic eruption somewhere on earth, there was a year of just constant winter due to a massive eruption a few centuries ago and I wanted to include that and showcase how superstitious the people of this time were, seeing the winter as a foreshadowing of terror. And hell they were right.
Lots of love Mae xx
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It was far too early in the season for the cold winds to be here. Your father pretended to not be frightened but you could see it in his eyes. There was a fear lingering. You could hear your parents whispering in worry when they thought you were asleep. You could hear your mother sob as they discussed what it could mean. Your homeland was one of sun and thunder, but never frost, never snow. Yet, a chill had descended onto your lands. A frost had spread across the summer grass. Your bare feet crunched upon what should have been dried pasture, instead, they were chilled by a wicked frost. The sun that you would curse for its harsh warmth was now hidden behind constant grey clouds and you begged for it to return. The floods and storms you ragged against never came. No seasonal thunderstorms after the humidity of the day. There was just darkness. Travellers and merchants from far-off lands, journeying to the capital came through your village, speaking of the darkness that had spread. It seemed like no kingdom or empire was safe. The frost and darkness had come for all.
The first omen of their arrival was the frost itself. It seeped into everything and made the ground as solid as rock, the summer pastures shrivelled up and left nothing but dirt behind.
The second omen was the famine. The harvest failed and the livestock starved. Your father was forced to sell the heifers and cows and slaughter all calves and steers to provide for your family. Still, it wasn't enough. You heard gruesome tales of far-off villages butchering each other for scraps of meat from their bones. Your village was lucky, the sea still provided as much as it could.
The third omen was the dragons. Firey images in the night sky, leaving streaks of light hanging in the air. As soon as they appeared men cried out and women fell to their knees. It was a sign of a terror to come.
The final omen was a raven.
The skies had begun to clear and the winter rains had soothed the harsh scars left behind. Crops had been sown and the frost retreated in the face of the reappeared sun. You had all thought that the struggles of the last few months were over. Your father had been able to buy a cow with calf last week with money you made weaving baskets. She was a skinny thing even with the calf in her belly, but with the winter rain healing the land, you could see her regaining strength.
You had thought it was a crow when you first saw it. It did seem to be a bit bigger than the crows that waited patiently for your fish scraps by the pier. But you had never seen a raven before, so why think anything of it. It had flown in from the sea, flew over the village before fixing its gaze on your mother's garden. Your mother prized her garden, especially her roses, and had cried bitter tears when the frost killed the flowers, leaving thorny masses behind, but they had begun to regrow, leaving your families house surrounded by a beautiful arrangement of daisies and violas, butterfly pea flowers and lilacs. You had your favourites of course. In fact, you were picking them right now, happy to make a bouquet for your ancestors' burial place. As you were sitting and deciding which flowers to choose, the raven landed beside you, you watch in amazement as it plucked a flower from your hand and rose into the air and back towards the sea. Standing up with a giggle you chased after it in play until you reached your property's fence. You watched until it was nothing but a black dot in a sky of blue. If you had known what it had foreshadowed you would have wrung its neck.
They themselves came in the night.
They landed on the beaches and in silence drifted into town. Axes drawn and blood-hungry. The first death was the blacksmith. He was stumbling from the inn, stomach filled with ale. He saw them first, and let out a cry of warning, but it did not save him from a dagger sliding across his throat. The killer let out a howl. His comrades followed. The screams began.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
You had lost sight of your mother in the smoke of the burning village. Fire ragged towards the heavens. The smell of charcoal and blood ravaged your senses. The yelling and screaming were just a constant now. Like how a bird song drifts into the background. You stood immobile calling for your mother, begging her to reveal herself. Out of habit, you called for your father, but you were harshly reminded that dead men can't answer. You watched as the savages ripped men to the ground and let blood flow. They hadn't noticed you yet it seemed. A lone wraith shaking in the centre of town. In the centre of all the murder and mayhem. For a moment you thought you were dead. That the arrow your father had taken for you had indeed struck you and now you were wandering the mortal realm alone and afraid until St Peter called for you.
Your eyes reached towards the heavens and you began to beg for the angels to pluck you from this horror. Your arms wrapped around yourself as tears flowed down your soot-covered cheeks. You were broken from your prayers when you heard your name being called, your mother perhaps? Your eyes rushed to find her. No, you can't see her. But it was enough to have you moving towards the darkness and away from the light of the fire. With your arms still holding you tight, you began to stumble towards the outskirts of town. Once in the fields outside town, you could hide. Wait till they grew bored of your village and left in their ships to torment another village. You were reminded of a time when you were fearful of the dark. But now it was your salvation. Tripping over your feet you struggled to remain standing, leaning on the walls of yet-to-be-destroyed houses and holding onto the rungs of fences. You kept rushing forward, eyes onto the safety of darkness. You were close, only a few more steps.
A beast emerged from the darkness. His face burned with the light of the fire, and his axe shined with delight. His furs were matted with blood and encompassed his shoulder. His arms were bare save for strips of leather circling them. There was blood on his arms and hands as well, dripping onto the handle of his axe and onto the dirt below. You stood still, hoping perhaps you were dead. That he would just pass by and you could remain nothing more but a spirit. If death was without pain you would prefer it to the horrors the beast in front of you was capable of. His face was marked with blood, lines travelling over his forehead and down through his eyes. His eyes flickered with hunger and his mouth was turned up into a grin. He stood feet wide as if he was ready to battle, but his hand was loose on the axe, allowing it to dangle from his palm. He saw no threat in you.
A strange mix of sounds came from his mouth, while his voice was rough and stern, his words were lyrical and filled with rounded sounds and quick sharp notes. It left you confused and almost enchanted, like a deer in the gaze of a hunter.
His voice stopped and his eyes drifted down and then up. He gave a deep laugh at the site of your cowering.
"Come little mutt, stand tall" he chuckled with amusement. You whimpered at the sight of him, a beast of a man denying your freedom. He began to march towards you his axe swinging in his hold. You try to take steps back but he is quicker. You yelp as he pushes you towards a wall, his thick forearm resting against your neck as he peers down at you. You could see the scars littering his face and could smell the stench of blood dominating his body. You could feel the warmth of the blood from his arm smearing all over your neck and chest. You hated to think whose blood it once was.
"Little mutt has no teeth huh? What about claws? hm?" he questioned, joy in your torment in his eyes.
"If I was to fuck you now would you fight me? Would you claw at me or bite at my fingers?" he laughed at your obvious fear. He brought his head down to your neck and sniffed loudly. You cringed as his nose met your skin.
"You smell sweet little mutt. I wonder if you taste just as good"
you struggled as his tongue run up your neck, tears tumbling down your cheeks.
"As sweet as honey!" he cheered. His forearm dug into your neck further as you struggled to escape. He began to shush you, giving out soothing sounds like you would a crying baby as his body stepped forward to meet yours.
" Please don't kill me" you choked, eyes red with fear.
"Never little one!" he bellowed, his face of mock hurt. "Why would I kill you? hm?" he comforted, releasing his arm if only by a fraction. "You will fetch me a high price at the slave markets, little lamb. Men will go mad trying to buy you for their beds" he grinned, showing off his sharp canine teeth. You struggled once more, this time clawing at his arm and chest.
"So the little mutt has claws! Maybe I will keep you for myself. Use you to warm my cock. Would you like that little one?" he teased, he moved his face closer, his tongue darting out to catch the tears on your cheek.
" Get off me" you grunted, desperately trying to remove his arm. he teased you by feigning pity.
"Poor little lamb, you must be so scared. Trapped by a beast like me" he cooed, pushing his arm further into your skin. You watched as his eyes drifted to your chest below his arm. He dropped the axe in his other hand to the ground, it falling flat with a light thud. He looked you in the eyes once more. You could see mischief in them.
"I am torn between keeping you for my bed slave and making a small fortune on another man's desires. Let me see your wares and then I shall decide" he sang, his grin reaching higher and higher with each word. You could only watch in horror as his hands reached for the front of your night smock and ripped it. You tried to grab his wrists but he was too strong. In a mere moment, your smock lay tattered on the ground and you stood bare in the night air. His eyes drank you in, and his hands drifted over your body. He gripped tightly in some places and softly in others. Blood from his hands was left smeared all over you, like rivers on a map. His eyes found yours once more and glee was evident on his face.
"I have decided little mutt. You shall warm my bed and most importantly me" he proclaimed, laughing at the end. "I am to be your master and you the little mutt at my heels. But first, let me dull those claws, hm?"
You stood arms covering yourself confused at his words. You had no claws to dull.
You gave a shriek as he began to drag you into the darkness. His hand was tight against your wrists. You tried to use your body weight to stop him, but it only ended with you falling to the ground and him dragging you through the dirt. You screamed and kicked, shouted and cried. He just laughed.
The dirt turned to soft grass as released you from his grip. You shot up to your bare feet, only to be thrown to the ground and a foot thrown on your stomach.
"I admire your fight little mutt, but as your master, I cannot in good conscious allow you to disrespect me. it would not be natural." he cooed at you, his hair falling into his eyes. You choked out a sob at the thought of what he planned to do. You were both far enough from the town your screams would not be heard and you were both hidden by lush pasture. You began to pray, your words drowning in sobs.
"Our father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kin-"
"Enough!" shouted, falling onto his knees above you, a dagger glinting in his hand.
"Keep your God, fine, but do not expect kindness from me when you beg for his mercy" he sneered. You watched in terror as the dagger raced towards your head, only for it to land safely in the soil next to you.
"Now little lamb moan sweetly for me, will you?" he smiled, his grin one of filth. You lay there looking up at him in fear. "I said moan" he barked, his hand reaching for your throat. You gave him what he wanted, although it was tarnished by your terror.
"Like the music of the gods" he praised. He removed his hand from your throat and brought both to your knees, lifting them up and slotting himself in between them.
"Look at you little mutt, shaking and cowering in fear and yet I haven't even fucked you yet. You Christians are strange folk. If you knew of pleasure you would be moaning on my cock by now. You yourself would have begged for it. Begged for me to fuck your tight little hole on the ashes of your ho-" you slapped him with a furry. A rage releases from you, with you reaching for the dagger beside your head. His hand reached for yours first and punished it with his strength. He gave off a terrifying laugh as you were forced to drop the knife and he quickly threw it behind him.
"Maybe you aren't a little mutt but a little wolf instead. That fire in you will warm my cock and balls for years to come. But first, let me break you in"
You really did wish that arrow had found its mark in you.
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cowboyjen68 · 2 years ago
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Its really comforting to see a fellow lesbian being able to live their life in the midwest. I love the midwest (I actually live not to far from where youre at) but it is so disheartening to live here when so many people are against you. I live in a state where our governor is dead set on eradicating us, and it gets to be so much to feel all the hate here. I am just so glad to see that youre happy and able to live your life here. It gives me hope that I haven't felt for a while
I feel particulary lucky living in Iowa. When I was coming out I happened to live in Iowa City which has a long and strong history of lesbian activism with one of the first lesbian printing houses and a strong community focused on everything from small gatherings to organized activism to help our gay friends during the AIDS crisis. Those women actively invited in younger lesbians to be their friends and learn from them.
We were the third state to get same sex marriage and it was two friends of mine, a quiet, unassuming couple, who brought the law suit. They sought not to go down in history but to assure they could marry and adopt and have legal protections for their family.
When I moved to this country I immediately became involved in local community out reach. I volunteered with Meals on Wheels and helped tap the Keg in my small towns "big" summer celebration. I helped the neighbors put up hay, mowed their lawn when they had broken equipment and several times helped the familly up the street put the cows back in the pasture and repair the fencing in the dead of winter. I didn't do any of this for any other reason than it is just Me. I like to help and would want someone to do the same for me.
What I have realized through the years is that is helped me in the long run. It is really hard to hate someone who just rescued your wife from a snow drift or drove your kid home when he wiped out on his bike on the gravel road. I can't say I have had any issues living in a red county. I have hung a rainbow flag up since 1999 when I moved in. A new bright flag every June first and removing it when the summer and it is fading.
I do recognize that I am extremely lucky and have a lot of privilege because I just don’t face the anger, outright rudeness, threats or push back that so many lesbians face. I can’t say if my little corner of the conservative midwest is different or I have just been lucky or what. I do definitely feel I have more to fear from political extremism (from both parties if I am being honest) than I do from most of my neighbors whom i have one on one interactions with almost daily. 
I have an older lesbian friend who often says “the best way to win is by living well” and she is right. I don’t need to focus my energy on othering people or by deciding to hate people I don’t know or understand. I can turn that energy into my happiness and making my life and those around me better. I love lesbians and I get up every morning thankful to be one and to know so many. 
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scandi-rose · 3 years ago
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edelweiss with 🧸👀??
Aboard the Princess Maria Thresa
Summary: it's 1843, and due to various issues Basch has found himself above deck on an Austrian Merchant ship. Thankfully the seas are gentle but unluckily for him they've set course for Spain
The gentle rocking of the boat as the bobs along the calm waters underneath the light of the moon. Soft salty winds gently push into the sails punting the ship along its way. Smooth varnishes are wooden under his fingers as he leans over the side a sigh leaving his lifts, although he's not one for sea sickness, homesickness comes quick, makes his stomach froth and foam-like the seas bashing against the rugged coastline.
Gone are the snow-capped peaks of the mountains that give way to rolling pasture. ripening growth in summer, meadows thick with flowers echoing with the tinny ring of cow bells.
He hums to himself, his fingers tapping a gentle rhythm with the dips and swells of an old folk tune. The sea made him miss home, it always meant travel and long periods away.
He lifts his head a moment upon hearing footsteps approaching; the steps clicking against the boards of the deck. Once they come to a stop he clacking of a heel on the boards followed by a low chuckle. “Signore  Zwingli, come to enjoy the still night?” 
Clicking his tongue Basch turns to the man who’d just spoken. The tall Venetian is stood leaning popped up on his elbow glancing over the side of the boat that expense of moonlit water.
“Honoured guest, I apologise but the best cabin, the only cabin is the captain’s quarters.” he twirls the end of his ponytail around his finger, the Venetian had no care following the common trend for short hair now. Waves framing his face he looks s like a throwback to the century just past.
“Frau Dover last I saw had gone into that room,”  Basch grumbles turning to look out over the still ocean again. 
There’s a cough the sound of a shirt being brushed down. “I’m no dog, Signore. She’s  a valued member of the crew.” There is a tightness to his voice, he raises an eyebrow still not turning to face the Italian city. “No idea you had so low opinion of me.”
“Your son chases anything with two legs and a skirt.” That’s he’s started tapping on the varnished wood. He meets the dark eyes of Venice. The man frowned furrowing his brows.
With the rustling of fabric, Basch turns to notice Venice’s hand on the tip of his pistol, he stares at the Italian/ “No need for weapons.” he takes a step back hand rising in front of him.
“Do not make unscrupulous accessions at my son’s expense” His already dark brown has narrowed and appeared to be black.
“Apples and trees,”
“Signore Austria wishes to speak with you.”
“I have no desire to humour his request”
“Whilst your Italian, is impeccable, Switzerland. I said request to be polite.”
With a groan, Basch rakes a hand through his hair before readjusting his beret, He allows the ship captain to lead him below desks through the food store. He staggers a little bit the rocking of the boat a little more noticeable now.
He scratches at goosebumps that now have risen on his neck, it was the sea, that made boat travel displeasing for him. “Not fond of tight spaces?” the Venetian stops in his tracks turning to look over his shoulder at him with a smirk
“Vincenzo....taunting isn’t something I expect from you.” Groans the Swiss man puffs out a breath and leans against the barrel. It was that he’s certainly closer to the water and surrounded by it.
He knocks on the cabin’s door and waits for a muffed voice on the offed side to reply to him. standing to the side as he opens the door.
“Signore Switzerland, Young master Austria.” Vincenzo bows as Basch walks past the door closing behind. him.
----
Basch had found himself the window and thrown it open the moment he’d heard Vincenzo's footsteps trailing off. Had he been called here so Roderich could watch him flounder? He had no issues with sea travel until he couldn’t be on deck, this prissy brat knew this.
The gentle scratching of Roerich's pen over the course paper that lay on his desk, neatly stacked, leather-bound book standing on a shelf above the desk where a candle sat lighting the workspace. Basch claps his hand to the back of his neck the goosebumps were rising again.
“What is it you want,  Austria?” He drums his fingers on the windowsill, the tightness of the space lessens now he could gentle splashing of the sea. His nails scratch into the wood peeling the varnish,
A moment, 1. 2, 3. an uncomfortable grunt from the other occupant of the room whom he s resolving not to look at. 1, 2 3. the scraping of chair legs on the ground. 1, 2 ,3 He turns.
The brunette adjusts his glasses, and every muscle in his body is tense. “I called you-”
“Why?” before he could even finish the sentence, why was he being dragged along on this voyage. it had nothing to do with any Swiss business. “Is it a joke? a laugh at my expense?”
“What on earth are you talking about?” Roderich blinks his hands flying to his hips. 
“It’s not what, it’s who..” 
“Who? I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“The Latin whore...”
Uneasy silence returns, maybe he’d played his hand to open but this whole journey was a claustrophobic nightmare for him. “...captive sailing for Spain.”
“Basch....I think you misunderstand” Comes a frustrated sigh and he can’t help crow a  laugh dripping with venom.
“What misunderstanding?” How could there be anything to misunderstand. He has been stuck bound for Spain of all places for the past week. His hands curl into fists squeezing so hard his nails dig into his palms.
“Stop being unreasonable, Basch...”
“I have no business with you, good day.” He turns to lave the door, the boat is rocking more now and the close quarters has his stomach sloshing around worse than the waves,
He makes a hurried scramble to get back above desks again, fresh hair and open spaces. fuck it he hates boats so much. He can’t hear anything there’s rushing in his ears. His stomach flips and throws himself at the side of the boat.
“Neutrally out the window...I can’t be around him..” he mumbles dragging himself back, head swimming “Trapped, he’s trapped me...”
Had it always been this one-sided?
-----
Sitting on the side of the bed, he looked out of the window that had been left open, eyes retracing the route Basch had taken to dive from the room the moment he’d gotten the chance. Roderich glanced at the mirror that sat on a barrel of rum in the corner of the room next to a bucket with the white flag that hung above it.
Getting up he brushes his hair from his forehead and glances into the mirror and an old scar that is just above his eye, much faded after centuries, His still manicured fingers brush over it, it’s thin. there’s another scar that dashes along his neck.
Moron be careful
The words flutter through his head as he looks at his hand seeing that at least three of his fingers are bandaged, and he misadventures whilst cooking. feels along the bridge of his nose, It never had set right again, after it had been broken last.
“Stupid, I’m not blind,” he mumbles to him laughing hollowly as he removes his glasses. “Jealously looks ugly on you, it always has.” He tugs at the stray cow lick he has. “I wish you wouldn’t jump to anger....it makes it hard to talk with you, Basch,”
Roderich’s cheeks tingle, “Latin Whore,” those were such pointed words, he hadn’t scolded the word choice, How would when Basch was just repeated words he’d once said himself. In anger just like Basch had.
Don’t get hurt
His fist limply hits the top of the barrel making the barrel wobble a little bit. He hadn’t meant merely careful of physical injury, had he? The words had been warning as soon as Basch has laid eyes on Spain.
“Damn you....Damn you...” His head drops down, so blinded by love he’d not noted the man’s warning.
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cowboy-anon · 4 years ago
Text
Weston’s Wild West Whump - 2
I DID IT! I FINISHED IT. Holy cow. XD Anyway, it’s a bit of a longer piece. Today, we learn a bit more about Weston, we’re introduced to Graham’s men Dee and Sunders, and we discover Graham is not someone you want to mess with. Enjoy! :D
CW : Animal corpse used as a metaphor, bribery mention, broken bones (and the symptoms that accompany them), concussion, cowboy shenanigans, gun mention and threat (not real), hogtie threat (not yet realized), knife mention, mild cursing, somewhat degrading language, thieving mention, touch of low self esteem, vaguely implied unsafe home life.
(I’m new to content warnings, so if I’ve missed something, please don’t hesitate to let me know! :D )
Tagging: @milk-carton-whump, @unicornscotty, @abitefullofwhump, @alliecat5594, @ihaveacrushonjester (Let me know if you want to be added or removed from this list!
2 - Good Ol’ Righteous Cowboy
Weston has only met Graham twice before this. Once, last week when he came to investigate the ranch’s missing cattle. “Sheriff Graham Miller,” he’d introduced himself. The way he’d carried himself, charming and self-assured, Weston was sure the culprit would get theirs, and if Johnson was lucky, he’d get his cattle back before Weston moved on.
And then Weston found that handkerchief caught on the barbed wire fence, “G.M.” embroidered on it in a stunning shade of blue. As far as leads went, it was pretty thin, but that blue thread and those initials—there was no way it could be a coincidence.  
Which is what led him to his second encounter, dressed in Johnson’s clothes, pretending to be a wealthy man in search of some cattle for his father’s failing ranch. Of course, Weston was nowhere near wealthy, and his father’s ranch, he’d remembered with a shudder, was doing just fine, but wearing Johnson’s Sunday best, he sure as hell looked the part. 
But with Graham being the one to show him around, he could only see so much. Weston was walked past rolling pastures and prize-winning cattle, sure, but no proof. 
Which is what led him to his final attempt at getting it, not exactly a third encounter but one that led to it—this one—kneeling in front of two of Graham’s men, a lasso tight around his middle and with his right ankle throbbing painfully with every heartbeat. 
Despite their lack of history, when one of Graham’s men pistol whips him across the face, it feels strangely personal. Weston can feel the malice, sees the satisfaction on the left’s face when his own snaps sharply to the right. The shock of it almost overwhelms the burn. Almost.
Weston stays there for a second, hunched over with his eyes squeezed shut, reminding himself to breathe, letting out a pained groan instead. Another breath, this time bracing. He shakes off the stinging pain and rights himself with a tight lipped smile. 
His tongue darts out over his bottom lip, tastes blood. Yeah, he’s sporting a split lip now. He winces at the pain, more an ache than a burn now, and blinks back involuntary tears. 
When Weston raises his eyes again, the man has his revolver in hand, arm pulled back to strike him again. God, he hates to admit it, but he flinches, tucking his face into his shoulder, waiting for the blow.
He hears the grunt of effort, expects his view to whip right again in a burst of pain when he hears, “Stop playing with him, Dee. Get his legs.” When Weston doesn’t feel the strike, he allows himself a glance in the direction of the voice. 
It’s the man on the right, face stony with purpose. 
The man on the left, “Dee” Weston assumes, shoots the man a venomous glare, then turns to look at Graham, who’s digging into the saddle bag of one of the horses. 
Graham’s not paying attention when the butt of the gun slams into Weston’s temple. 
Weston hits the ground hard, landing heavily on his shoulder, cheek pressed into hot rocky dirt. His head, oh God. He gasps against the blinding pain, eyes skewed shut as he gapes like a fish out of water. 
“Dee.” Between the ringing in his ears and his ragged breaths, he hears it, a low reprimand but not a surprised one. 
Weston forces his eyes open to look at the two men now looming over him, but he ends up shutting them again. When did the sun get so damn bright? 
“You wanted me to get his feet, Sunders.” Sunders. That’s got to be the other man’s name. And—wait, they’re still talking. Focus, Weston, focus! “ —think he was gonna let us tie him up that easy? Graham likes Randy clueless. The sooner he’s tied up, the less questions we gotta answer. Get me?” 
Randy? Who the hell’s Randy? 
Weston lies there for what feels like ages before the more important thoughts make their way back to him. Graham’s here. Dee and Sunders, they’re going to tie him up. His ankle’s shot, he’s got that lasso around him that’s not going to let him go anywhere. 
And all three of them are armed. Great. 
Weston worms his arm out from under him and eases himself up until he’s propped on an elbow. For a moment, the world spins. Forget cotton. His head’s full of sloshing water, distorting and disorienting and all too heavy for what it is. 
He wants to lie back down, let whatever’s going to happen happen. He’ll feel those ropes dig into the tender skin of his wrists and bite into his swelling ankle. Will they make him walk? No, not with a hogtie. He’ll more likely be draped over the back of a horse and taken back to the ranch, where— 
Where what? Who knows what’ll happen back at that ranch? And what the hell is he thinking, lying back down and giving in? He shakes his head with a sneer. If he’s going to that no good sheriff’s ranch, he’s going angry, not complacent. 
So he pushes himself up until he’s sitting again, lightheadedness be damned, and squinting at Graham’s back, legs stretched out in front of him, he calls, “You needed three guys to get a hold of me, Graham?” It comes out a groan, nowhere near as snarky as he wants it to be, but it’s dripping with sarcasm nonetheless—and based on the smile that sneaks over the sheriff’s face, it catches his attention. “Why, I’m flattered. ‘Course, I probably should’ve expected as much.”
Dee’s at eye level in an instant. He grabs a fistful of Weston’s shirt and jerks him forward, lips curled up in a snarl. “Why, you—” 
But Graham just laughs from his spot by the horses. 
Dee’s eyes, still shining with murder, flicker with confusion, and Weston’s gaze snaps over to Graham, doubled over with warm, genuine laughter. What the hell?
The grip on Weston’s shirt wavers as the seconds tick by. Finally, Weston clears his throat and says, “Sure, I find your stupidity funny, too, but—” 
Graham’s gun is trained on him before he can finish. 
“Dee,” Graham says, motioning with his revolver. It’s a command. Dee barely spares Weston a smug grin before pulling his hands from Weston’s clothes and stepping into place between Graham and Sunders.
Graham squares his shoulders and, accent thicker than Weston’s ever heard it, he says, “What’s funny is you talking about stupidity.” 
Weston knows he should be scared, and he is. He feels it, unadulterated fear, making its way to his shaking fingers, twisting knots deep in his stomach, watching him stare down the blackened barrel of this gun, telling him, Give up, give in. Maybe he’ll let you walk away. 
It’s so damn tempting.
But Weston has already given in to too many people like Graham with the promise of walking away too many times, so despite everything, he balls his trembling hands into fists, meets Graham’s eyes with a pained smirk, and says, “Please, do tell.” 
Graham grins. 
“Good ol’ righteous Weston Casey.” He shrugs past Dee and Sunders and makes his way towards Weston, digits lazily fingering his gun’s trigger, blue eyes scanning him and the barely concealed shock on his face. “Yeah, I’ve heard about you. Hardworking, dependable, new in town. You rolled on in here just last month, didn’t you?”
Weston doesn’t answer. Instead, he changes the subject. “What do you mean, ‘righteous’?” 
Graham stops by Weston’s feet and sits back on his haunches, eyes trailing idly over his body. “I mean your absurd morals,” he says. “I’d heard about it before, but I saw it clear as day when I came to Johnson’s ranch yesterday. You were angry for him.” He laughs to himself, toying with the trigger thoughtlessly. 
But the hammer’s still standing tall by the frame, not pulled back. So the gun’s not cocked yet. It never was. That’s good news. 
“It’s a damn shame,” Graham continues. He’s looking at Weston’s face again, a tiny knowing smile on his lips. Did Weston’s realization show? “The bribe I would’ve paid you—beyond generous. Not that you would’ve taken it.”
“What’s this got to do with stupidity?” Weston cuts in. He’s stalling at this point, he knows it, but he needs something—anything—to distract him from the fear bubbling just beneath his surface. 
“Well, we’re talking about you, aren’t we?” Another flick over the trigger as Graham’s tone shifts, almost amused. “A good, quiet stranger rolls into town, surely minding his own business when something not quite right goes down. A few cows go missing. Nothing special, nothing new. Cattle go missing all the time around these parts. But being him, he decides he wants to investigate.” 
Graham’s voice darkens then. Weston forces himself to be still under Graham’s scrutiny as his eyes travel over his left leg, then to his right. Then to his right ankle, swelling like a cow’s carcass in the summer sun under his jeans. “And he finds out a little too much,” Graham continues. “And he gets in a little too deep. And he decides he wants to do the right thing. Which, in itself, is not a stupid thought.” Graham glances back up at Weston. “But his—your—morals, they get in the way of some really great opportunities. A guy like you would fit into this cattle rustling operation real well.” 
At that, Dee’s expression visibly sours behind Graham, but he stays quiet. Smart or scared?
“I know you won’t take the bribe,” Graham says lowly, “but how about a fair trade? Your work for my money, plain and simple.”  
Weston scoffs to himself. His heart is in his throat pounding so loud he can hear it, but it’s not even a question. He meets Graham’s eyes through his mop of hair and says, “Over my dead body.” 
He means it. 
Graham stares at him, and for a second Weston thinks he might burst out laughing again. But he just smiles, more to himself than Weston, seemingly thinking something over. 
He tucks his gun back into his holster, shoots Weston a big grin. And then his gloved hands shoot out and twist his right foot hard.
Weston’s broken bones in the past. He’s felt that wet snap of the initial break. He’s felt the numb shock before his brain catches up with his body. He’s felt that nauseating pain that accompanies every jostle and movement of the site.
But he’s never felt anything like this.
Weston shrieks, white hot blinding, agonizing pain that he feels all the way to his fingertips in sharp, involuntary spasms. Overwhelming, all encompassing. In this moment, Weston is pain. 
Too much, too much, too much! It’s blaring in his head like a siren, that fear. His face goes hot, then cold. Tears run down his cheeks, but he’s too focused on gritting his teeth against another wail to care.
“See, I gave you a chance just then,” Graham says over his cries. “I offered you a job, nice and respectable like, and you turned it down—and for what?” He leans in close to Weston, a hand still twisted in the fabric of his pant leg. “A few meaningless morals? If you ask me, that’s awful stupid of you.”
Graham wrenches his ankle again, and even though Weston knows what to expect, it’s just as awful as the first time—worse even. Bone grinding on bone, leather on swollen, hypersensitive, hot-to-the-touch flesh. 
He throws his head back with a broken sob. “G-Graham—!” Weston doesn’t know why he says that. He doesn’t even realize it’s him saying it, not in his current state, concussed and half delirious with pain. 
But he definitely hears “Yes, Weston?” through the haze, barely registers Graham’s hand leaving his leg. 
The twisting’s stopped, Weston knows it, but the pain hasn’t. He still feels it, twisting, twisting, the rough seams of Graham’s leather gloves on swollen skin. And he feels dread, prominent, telling him this isn’t the worst to come, not by a long shot, that only makes it hurt worse.
He hasn’t felt a dread like this since his last month at the family ranch.
As the worst of the pain melts from his limbs, just enough for it to be bearable,  his wits start to come back to him, and it occurs to him that he cried out Graham’s name in an agony-induced panic. Then Graham had asked him a question: “Yes, Weston?” His stomach drops at the thought. 
What had he been looking to say? Would he have begged? “G-Graham, please stop! Please!” Or would he have bargained? “G-Graham, I won’t tell a soul, I swear!” Maybe, Weston realizes with a thick swallow, he would’ve accepted Graham’s terrible offer, helping steal cattle for the man he’s grown to hate in the last twenty-four hours to save himself. “G-Graham, I… I’ll do it.”
Graham had called him righteous.
Weston is a coward. 
“Weston, you wanted to say something to me?” Graham is grinning, blue eyes glimmering with mirth. He wants to know what he was going to say just as much as Weston does.
Weston stares at his feet. His ankle is back to that constant throb, but the muscles in his foot and calf are still twitching and seizing from Graham’s rough hands. “Yeah, I did,” he says quietly. “I wanted to tell you, ‘Graham…’”  
He shakes his head, sets his jaw, meets Graham’s eyes with a steely gaze. And then he spits at him, fueled by what little fight he has left, “‘Graham, get your damn hands off of me.’”
Righteous. Coward. 
Liar.
Graham stares at him for a long moment before rising to his feet, that stupid smug grin still on his face when he looks back down at him. 
“I like you, Weston. I really do,” he says, vaguely apologetic, “and you’ve made a lot of stupid decisions today that I could forgive you for. But that decision you made just now, making an enemy out of me? Real stupid.” 
Graham turns on his heel and shoulders his way past Dee and Sunders again, only this time he stops between them and, in a voice just loud enough for Weston to hear, he says to them, “Now, I know I told you two to get him trussed up.” The look Graham gives Weston is chilling. “So tell me, what’s he still doing with his hands free?” Graham casts a final glance at Weston before Dee and Sunders make their way towards him for the second time.
This time, they don’t hesitate. Sunders pockets his knife, walks behind Weston, and tugs his arms behind his back, holding them together by the wrists. “Grab the rope from my horse, Dee,” he calls.
But Dee is standing by Weston’s feet, smiling a malicious smile. “His legs first,” Dee says. 
Weston can’t see Sunders’s face, but he can hear the exasperation in his voice from behind him when he replies, “There’s no way he’s going anywhere on that ankle now.”
“I know that.” Dee crouches down by Weston’s feet, eyes running down the length of his right leg. “But I want to start with his legs.”
Sunders sighs and drops Weston’s arms back to his sides, already aching at the joints from the position. 
“I’ll hold him down.” 
Sunders takes his spot next to Dee and puts pressure on Weston’s thighs, holding him still while Dee goes for Sunders’s rope. If Weston didn’t know better, he’d think they were trying to help him. 
But he does know better, and he knows their intentions are anything but pure. 
He could shove them off, Weston realizes from his spot on the ground. He could, and if he tried, he could get a good solid kick on Dee when he gets back if he uses his left leg. He’d sure as hell deserve it.
But watching Dee take his place by his feet again, Weston doesn’t. Smart or scared, righteous or cowardly—Weston doesn’t know anymore.  He just glares at Dee. 
Dee smiles back at him. “You got him, Sunders?”
“I’ve got him.”
“Good.”
Dee feels the rope in his hands, tests its strength with a few sharp pulls. Then he turns to look at Graham. 
Graham nods at him from by the horses. 
When Dee turns back to Weston, he’s grinning from ear to ear, eyes twinkling with mischief. 
“I’m gonna enjoy this.”
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robininthelabyrinth · 5 years ago
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... does that mean wwx is now like necromancer paul bunyan with babe the ready-to-eviscerate-you ox (qiongqi)
sequel to this
“If anyone says anything, I’ll have Qiqi trample them with its hooves.”
Jiang Cheng put his head in his hand. “Wei Wuxian. Stop calling the Qiongqi ‘Qiqi’.”
“Give me one good reason,” Wei Wuxian said, leaning back with his hands behind his head and beaming with the internal joy that comes with knowing that one would be considered the brave, beneficent and kindly guardian of the entire cultivation world even when one was using one’s new giant pet bull to stomp on people. “One. Qiqi is a good cow.”
“Bull. Ancient demonic bull. Which is part-tiger, part-hedgehog.”
“According to Nie Huaisang, if they do the happy cow dance when they’re let out to pasture in the summer, they’re cows.”
“Nie Huaisang isn’t exactly what I’d call a reliable source.”
“Do you know enough about bovines to dispute him?”
“…no,” Jiang Cheng conceded. “I still have common sense, though, and I’m still pretty sure it’s a bull if you can’t get cheese out of it.”
Wei Wuxian’s eyes went wide. “Ancient demonic cheese.”
“It’s a bull.”
“But –”
“I refuse to let you continue that thought process for one second longer.”
“Spoilsport. At least Wen Ning doesn’t trash all my ideas.”
“Wen Ning is what happens if you take Nie Huaisang, turn him into a fierce corpse ‘ghost general’, and give him a job as a cowherd,” Jiang Cheng said, long-suffering. “He’s not a reliable source either.”
“Hah, see! Even you call it –”
“It’s called a cowherd no matter the gender of the cows. Idiot.”
Wei Wuxian laughed. “Hey, since you’re here, what did you think about the maze array I’ve been putting up? It’s good stimulation for Qiqi.”
“I’m going to just pretend I’m not hearing any of this,” Jiang Cheng decided. “Anyway, that isn’t what I came here to talk about. I came here to talk about your relationship with Lan Wangji.”
“Yes, and I already told you my answer: if anyone says anything, I’ll have Qiqi trample them with its hooves.”
Jiang Cheng opened his mouth, thought about it, and then appeared to give up. “I still can’t believe he bought that bell off those rogue cultivators and gave it to you as a courting gift,” he muttered. “A size-changing bell that can be used to suppress and capture ghosts and demons is a magical weapon, not…”
“A proper courting gift?”
“A cowbell.”
Wei Wuxian sniggered. “It was a very good gift. Very memorable. Certainly no one ever tried that before, huh? Perfectly good reason to like him.”
“You would’ve liked him if he’d shown up naked.”
“Oh, definitely,” Wei Wuxian said. “In fact, I would like him more if –”
“Wei Wuxian. Stop talking.”
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order-of-river-phoenix · 5 years ago
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omg may i request a soft eugene post-war fic? 🥺💓 thank you
Greener Pastures; Eugene Sledge
Fandom: HBO War; The Pacific
A/N: when I was deciding what to do for this one, I literally wrote “strawberry cow vibes” in my notes 😂 but anyway, in case some of you don’t know the Gulf means the Gulf of Mexico. Alabama is right on it, and there’s beaches. Thank you for requesting sweet pea! 💕 I hope you like it 😊
Warning: nope, it’s too soft
Taglist: @liebegott @stressedinadress @hellitwasyoufirstsergeant @floydtab @hbohmygodx @meteora-fc @punkgeekchic @alienoresimagines
__________
The cow pasture wasn't really either of your's idea of romantic, but you couldn't think of a better place to take Eugene. His parents had told you, in confidence, that he had been spending a lot of time just sitting outside since he came home, so you figured you could convince him to sit with you outside somewhere else.
“How d’you feel about taking a walk with me?” You showed up on his doorstep in your oldest dress, one you didn’t mind getting dirty, and promises of lunch and your sister’s sweet tea.
He could never hold back a smile when you came around, but it still felt a little more special seeing it now when he looked so somber all the time. “Sure.”
You tugged him along back to your property line. You smirked at him after you made a perfect landing after climbing over the fence.
“Your mother know you still jump fences?”
Rolling your eyes, you subconsciously smoothed your skirt at the mention of your mother. “She doesn’t know about a lot of things I do.” With a pointed look, you continued with, “And she never will. Mama would keel over if she knew I stole Daddy’s old boots too.” You stuck out your feet to show the worn, brown lace-ups.
He shook his head, pulling himself over the fence and softly landing next to you. “I wondered why you were dragging your feet.”
A patch of white wildflowers all but begged you to pluck them. You picked several more as you two strolled through the pasture. Finding the only shade tree in the whole stretch, you two settled into the grass, and you began twisting and braiding the flowers you gathered.
"You still do that?" He watched as you worked at the stems, making them lay flat and hold together.
"Mmhm," you nodded, continuing to make your flower chain. "We get so many pretty ones in the summer, and all my little cousins that come stay with us end up in a crown. I can't help myself."
Your fingers moved gently but held everything firmly, and he couldn't have been more mesmerized by anything.
"You used to march around with those little things on your head all the time," he recalled.
You paused to laugh at the memory. "I'd still do it too."
"Oh, I know you would."
"At least these stay together now." You were adding long pieces of weeds and grass to make it thicker—the secret to keeping a flower crown together was to make it tight and thick. "I used to run around with stems and leaves poking out every which way. Pieces stuck in my hair, and everything else falling off behind me."
A breathy laugh escaped his lips, and his head nodded up and down. "I remember. I thought you were beautiful then too."
You wished you could say it was the sun that caused your cheeks to warm, but you'd be lying if you said he couldn't still give you butterflies. "Gene, you flatter me too much. What are we gonna do when it's all gone to my head?"
He leaned in close and pecked your cheek. "That's not gonna happen."
You sighed, amused by his assurance. You finished the crown and secured the ends to keep it from undoing itself. Placing the hoop onto Eugene's head, you smiled at him.
He tried to look up, but all he could see of it was a lone petal and leaf sticking out past his forehead. "Fits perfect. Did you measure my head?"
"Oh yeah, while you were asleep," you joked, giggling.
The sight of him, hair shining auburn in the sun in contrast to the crown of green and white, made your heart swell. Something about him right now seemed ethereal and fragile.
You knew he was a bit fragile in actuality. He'd faced unimaginable things while he was away—things he wouldn't tell you in full detail lest these demons found a way to haunt you too. And yet now, his fragility was different. More child-like.
Just as you were getting closer to reaching your hand out to touch him, to make sure he was still real, a loud "Mooo!" ripped across the pasture.
You both turned to see the herd moseying its way from the other end closer to where you were.
"Looks like the girls are coming this way," you noted for no particular reason. It was quite obvious.
He got to his feet, dusting off the grass and dirt from his pants before hoisting you up too. "One thing I missed the most—other than you—was familiar animals. I'd be okay if I never saw a crab again."
"I've seen little hermit crabs at the beach before," you recalled from some trips past to the Gulf. "They're cute."
"Nothing like those crazy-looking things." He held out his hands in a football sized oval. "They were about this big and kinda fascinating. Sid tried to burn one when I first showed up."
You were taken aback. “He what?”
Eugene only shrugged, and you realized that there were probably quite a few things about these boys you had known for so long that might shock you now.
“I know we haven’t really talked about...” You reached for his hand, letting him decide if he wanted to comply or not. “I know that there’s going to be a lot of things we’re gonna have to work through and figure out, but that’s okay.” His hand was in yours now, and you lightly squeezed. “I’m here for the long haul.”
Neither of you could say who started crying first, but he was quick to wrap his arms around you. Tears soaking into each other’s clothes, the pasture melted away. The cows milking around you ceased to exist. All there was in moment were you and him and all the things you couldn’t say.
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queerpyracy · 4 years ago
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I hope it's ok to ask your farmer expertise for writing purposes? if a farm was abandoned for c. 2 weeks, with no one to care for the animals, how would the ones you are familiar / have experience with fare -- starve, break out of barns/enclosures, etc? I'll drop dollar in your ko-fi if u answer thx
i'm gonna put this under a cut both bc it's long and bc some of the content might be upsetting, general content warning for animal death and injury
so, what kind of farm infrastructure you have/how it was left is going to matter here
animals with outdoor access are going to have a much easier time getting out than those closed up in a barn, though if they are closed up they'll push on anything they can get to move and doors can come off tracks/hinges, a big enough and desperate enough animal will break a chain on a gate or break a latch on a door. (bulls, especially, are great for fucking up gates for less desperate reasons than thirst. we had a mature bull jump over a gate for horny reasons, and there is now a permanent bend in the top bar.) sometimes they even lift gates off their hinges, which isn’t a perfect way to get out bc cows don’t like walking over that kind of stuff but they will if they have to.
chickens aren't great fliers but they can get over fences pretty easy if there's not a roof in the way, so if they're penned but not in a coop, they'll get out to look for food and water. they'll have the easiest time food-wise (unless it's winter) but will also be the easiest for smaller predators (hawks, raccoons, foxes, skunks, coyotes, etc) to pick off. this'll depend on whether or not your hypothetical farm was abandoned during the day with chickens outside or at night when they were shut up in the coop for protection, in which case, unless your birds have access to two weeks worth of water, they're fucked. mine made it about 8 days on the water provided them when we had to evacuate because of wildfires, but they were topped off knowing we might not be able to get back to them and given extra water because of it. we're talking a 2 gallon covered water can + a coffee can for seven hens, it wasn't too hot, and they were almost dry when i was able to come home.
chickens might be able to make it without food for two weeks, but they might also start cannibalizing each other. this would probably start with a bird at the bottom of the pecking order getting injured and then the situation escalating from there. (this, by the way, doesn't happen unless chickens are under a lot of stress. like chickens are fucked up but i feel the need to be clear that this is not Normal chicken behavior. they will give each other minor injuries but cannibalism happens bc of extreme stress.) chickens will also kill small snakes and rodents.
chickens that are outside without being able to get back in their coop will find a tree or other elevated place to roost at night. chickens that are outside with access to their coop might choose to roost in their coop or outside. laying birds will also start to pick fun new secret places to lay their eggs, under bushes and such. even fed chickens will sometimes eat their own eggs, hungry chickens are absolutely likely to become routine egg eaters. extremely hungry chickens will stop laying.
roosters might be able to fend off skunks and raccoons, but hawks drop out of the sky* and anything much larger than a raccoon is going to devestate an unprotected flock. chickens that are outside in winter and can't get out of the cold are going to be vulnerable to frostbite, particularly their toes and combs. also: if a chicken gets wet down to its skin there is a very high likelihood it will get sick and die.
*hawks will kill a chicken but chickens are also generally too large for them to carry off, so they’ll leave most of the chicken where they found it.
a note on predators in general: you'll have to decide how aggressive they were before the humans were no longer around. where i am, the coyotes are pretty good about keeping their distance, but that's not true of every place, and if they were already a problem, they'll definitely increase their hunting in the absence of humans to keep them at bay. larger animals like cows and horses might be able to drive off or kill a coyote/dog or a small bear, but if they're contending with mountain lions that'll be more of a problem for them. not impossible to drive off/kill, but much more likely to successfully kill livestock.
i don't have much experience with sheep but a problematic dog can kill tons of them in a relatively short time so you can extrapolate from there. i can't think of anyway people tend to keep rabbits that wouldn't leave them dying of dehydration after a few days, unless they manage to pop a latch on their cage/hutch, but they too are going to be extremely vulnerable to predation, being small, unaccustomed to wild conditions, and possibly a highly visible color. domestic rabbits also can die of fright very easily. (my sister's rabbit, who survived a cow sitting on her cage and lived many years after, is an outlier and should not be counted.)
what kind of fencing you have is going to matter: cows don't give much of a shit about barbed wire fences even when they aren't thirsty and hungry, so that won't be much of a problem for them either. if the fence is old, they might push over a rotting post and get out that way. downed wires (barbed or otherwise) might result in an animal getting tangled up--they might be stuck or they might have a horrible ankle bracelet which will cut into them and get infected. they might break the wire from the fence, have a horrible ankle bracelet, and get stuck/tie up their back legs somewhere else.
electric fences are going to be a bit more problematic unless the power is down. cows (and i assume most other livestock) will go through an electric fence if the voltage is compromised in some way, which can happen just from having tall grass/weeds that get wet and short out the fence. if an animal gets tangled up in a hot electric fence and there's no one there to free it, then it's fucked. an electric fence isn't going to be hot enough to kill it fast, is the problem, just enough to make it harder to escape. (i had a rather frightening experience this last summer with a heifer getting her back legs tangled in a temporary wire. she's fine but she wouldn't have gotten out without my help and her legs didn't work for a couple of minutes, and she seemed kind of Off for weeks after that. you wouldn't know anything had happened to her, now.)
wire mesh fences are going to be the hardest to get out of. cow/hog panel fences can be busted where they're tied together/stapled to a post (especially, again, if the fence is old and the posts are decaying.) wooden fences they will just knock over or break through. hedges will be eaten and used for shelter. if for some reason this farm has stone walls that could be a problem for everything except maybe goats and chickens.
goats are escape artists anyway, as long as their horns to get stuck in anything/their feet don't get tangled up, they'll be out and roaming. they are smaller and thus more vulnerable to predators than larger livestock.
access to water is going to be the primary motivator in the short term and the thing that will kill shut-in animals the fastest, as for whether or not anything that manages to get outside will starve in two weeks time, that's going to depend on the season and place. the middle of winter in a place with snow and ice is going to be very hard, obviously, but if we're anywhere between spring and autumn and there is food to be had somewhere, then hungry animals will try to get to it. if they can't get out of fences, hunger might drive them to eat toxic plants they ordinarily avoid. how deadly that is to them depends on how toxic it is, how much is available for them to eat, and how big the animal is. a large cow can probably survive a few stems of tansy ragwort but not a field. (sheep, weirdly enough, can apparently eat young tansy ragwort plants without issue? again, not much experience with sheep but this fact has haunted me since i read it. tansy ragwort causes liver damage in almost everything but sheep, which die at the drop of a hat, Fine, I Guess.)
they'll also start chewing on things that aren't toxic but they might avoid for other reasons, like risking scratching up their nose by eating blackberry leaves, or lower branches of conifer trees. any branches of deciduous trees they can reach, if in leaf, will be one of the first things they go after. if they're regularly pastured under these trees, they'll already have pruned up the bottom branches to however high the tallest animal can reach. if it's autumn or after and there are apples or other fruit on the ground they'll absolutely clean those up, no matter how old--tho after two weeks anyone who finds the place will probably have missed the period of time in which there were drunk livestock. goats will also strip bark off trees, girdling and ultimately killing the tree.
if they can get out of fences they'll wander however far they need to go to find more food. how lucky they are again depends on the season and location. steep hills will provide more danger, especially if it's wet and slick. how regularly they return to the farm itself probably depends on where the water is and if there's better shelter there than anywhere else. (depending on how isolated your hypothetical farm is, wandering livestock might be the indicator that something is Wrong.)
if there are stores of grain laying around that ruminant livestock get into and gorge themselves on, they could get bloat and die that way. they'll also eat bedding straw if hungry, which isn't really nutritious, as long as it isn't covered in urine or feces. in a mixed species group of animals they're more likely to graze closer to/around the feces of other species than in their own. don't ask me why this is just something i've observed.
under severe stress like dehydration or hunger a lactating animal will dry up, which could have consequences for their offspring. if they're old enough to eat solid foods this isn't necessarily lethal, but could stunt their growth in the long term, or leave them more vulnerable to hypothermia bc of the decrease in calories.
some bullet points bc this is A Lot:
animals that are closed up in a barn/coop/etc are at a much higher risk of dying in under a two week time span than animals that aren't
thirst and lack of shelter will kill them faster than hunger
winter is going to in general be the most dangerous season for them to go two weeks without care
most livestock find ways to escape their holdings even when they aren't desperate
small and very young animals are going to in general be more vulnerable to weather and predation
that's about all i can think of off the top of my head, if you have any more questions i'm happy to help.
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