#sitting here observing them and studying their movements like animals in the wild

[sarasapen]

Among the Blues and Greens

Another installation of the Little One series.

Summary: Meditation often allowed for Jedi to discover and learn about their thoughts and feelings, aiding them in solving their problems. This meditation session unfortunately reveals more than you’d like.

Or the one in which Obi-Wan’s Padawan realises she loves him.

Warnings: Language, meditation, slow dancing, yearning, revelations, forehead kisses, Past Obitine relationship mentions

Word Count: 3k

Star Wars Masterlist

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 You were a fraud.

 Whenever you felt particularly emotional, you meditated, as any good Jedi was supposed to do. Before daybreak, the gardens at the Sundari Royal Palace were relatively uninhabited, at least by people. You didn’t mind the plants and animals. Their energies were soothing, incorrupt, they just were. That’s how you find yourself there, for the third day in a row, trying desperately to calm the tempest that’s seen fit to take up permanent residence in your mind.

 Why were you a fraud? A fake? A poser?

 Because here you were, years of training under your belt, pretending to meditate. Fraud.

 It was an old ‘trick’ that young Padawans- very young Padawans, you added- resorted to when they were made to meditate. Sitting there with your eyes closed, trying to keep your breathing even. No actual self-exploration or deep diving into your mind, just putting up a facade that any force insensitive being wouldn’t see through.

 Unfortunately for you, Obi-Wan Kenobi was Force sensitive.

 “You’re pretending,” He muses, lowering himself beside you and crossing his legs, assuming the same position you were in. You keep your eyes closed, forcing your breaths to remain even as if he hadn’t even spoken. He sees right through it, amusement weaving into the deep blues that were his signature.

 Oftentimes you wondered what it was like, to be in the middle of all that was him. Observing one’s signature from the outside was very much different than actually experiencing it. Each individual’s signature was different, and his signature was always so wonderful… You wanted to learn more about it, about him. But you knew you wouldn’t ever dare to be brash enough to even brush your signature against his, let alone delve into him fully.

 His signature morphs, from the vibrant, rich hums to a gentle, soothing wave. He’s meditating.

 You scowl.

 He’s barely been sitting down for a minute, and he’s already accomplished what you’ve been trying to do for the past three days.

 “Focus your thoughts on something,” He suggests quietly, sending out a wash of calm over your prickling irritation. He’s guiding you, as he used to do years ago when you were a young and distractible little thing, and you let him.

 You’d let him do anything.

 You’re swept backwards into the deep abyss that’s your mind, and you fall freely, watching Obi-Wan’s signature withdraw slowly from yours. It’s like watching waves upon the shore, gently sweeping backwards and away, taking with it such tiny, essential parts of you while simultaneously shaping you into a thing to behold. It was always, before anything else, soothing.

 He didn’t like studying others’ energies too closely. It was a common trait amongst blue sabers, whilst reading people's energies were crucial for the Jedi, studying them at great lengths could often prove to be uncomfortable. But yours, he had said. He wouldn’t mind spending days traversing the inside of your mind if you’d let him.

 When you were younger, you’d asked him what your signature looked like to him. He said it was a mass of shades of green that were so beautiful he doubted the mere names of the colours or any other descriptive words would be able to do them any justice.

 Beautiful, was the word he’d always use.

 And he was…gentle, and kind, and smart. You exhale slowly, no longer stiff in your posture. He’s always been so patient with you, even with his occasional sarcastic comment. The perfect Jedi.

 Even as a youngling, you’d hear exaggerated stories from Padawans slightly older than you, or, at least, he insisted they were exaggerated. A few years into your training with him, you began to think that maybe the far-fetched stories weren’t so far-fetched after all.

 You’re so lucky, younglings would say shortly after you had become his Padawan. After all, Master Kenobi’s previous Padawan was the Chosen One. You’d have to be something special to attract his attention.

 And you were lucky. But not for the glory and the awe that sparkled in people’s eyes at the mention of his name. It was for his undivided attention on you, his genuine interest in the things you enjoyed, his efforts to shift your training to aid in what you wanted to specialise in, even if it was wildly different from what he was good at.

 Not that there was much he wasn’t good at.

 You loved the way he carried himself, not with arrogance or pride (both of which you thought would have been deserved), but with a humble sort of almost shyness. You loved that he pushed to do better, to be better, not for himself but for you and Anakin. You loved the way he conducted himself with people, even those considered to be the lowest of the lows, he treated them with so much respect and kindness.

 Perhaps it was just that he was a decent human being, but that didn’t mean you loved him any less.

 You loved the way he’d throw in a sharp remark when facing an adversary, or the way he’d stand tall even in the face of-

 Hold on.

 You loved him.

 You loved him. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck-

 “What are you thinking about?” Obi-Wan calls from beside you, his voice no louder than a low murmur, and it still makes you flinch. “You’ve grown tense.”

 Play dumb. You could do that. Just… blurt out something random and leave it at that, and then you can-

 “She seems nice.”

 FUCK. Not that fucking dumb oh stars above you were so fucking screwed-

 “She… The Duchess?”

 “Yeah, your Duchess.” Oh kriffing hells, if you could just. stop. talking.

 “Duchess Satine is not my Duchess,” His force signature dips suddenly, as if he’s reeled everything back into himself. It pulls you along with it, and you can no longer pretend that you’re meditating. Not with the way your Master turns to face you, studying your features with a concerned curiosity. You tense up again, keeping your eyes trained on a lone tree, a distance away. There’s a caterpillar crawling on one of the branches, and you focus on that. You can tell that he can tell. He’s always been so good at reading you.

 “You…” He starts, but stops himself, straightening and regarding you once again.

 “Sometimes I find myself having to meditate more than usual. Even up to a few times a day, if I’m…” Obi-Wan’s gaze flickers down from your eyes for just a split second, a movement so quick he doesn’t even realise he’s done it. “Distracted.”

 There’s a stutter in your signature, one you try to hide by slamming up your walls, but the brush of Obi-Wan’s hand against your arm has you faltering. The waves of him approach slowly once again, waiting patiently beside the storm that’s your signature.

 “What’s gotten you so tense?” He probes gently, the weight of his hand against your shoulder mirroring the gentle reassuring taps of his signature against yours.

 “Do you love her?”

 You know what. There’s a ledge. Right there. You could just jump off. If you were dead you wouldn’t be facing this amount of embarrassment.

 “...I used to,” Obi-Wan reveals, and his admission surprises himself more than it does you. Not that he wasn’t aware of what the extent of feelings for Satine used to be, but admitting it, out loud? It was something he had never done before.

 “Used to?”

 “It was a lifetime ago, when I was still a Padawan.”

 It’s strange. Neither of you want to continue talking, to keep delving into dark and murky uncharted territory, between the blurred depths of what’s allowed and what’s forbidden. It scares you. It scares him too. 

 “So… what? You decided to give her up?”

 He should say something about the way of the Jedi, that attachments were forbidden, and that had anyone else known, they would’ve expected him to leave Satine. If it were anyone else asking him this, he would’ve said it, accompanied by a deserved lecture on subtlety and manners.

 But you’re the exception.

 You’d always be his only exception.

 So, instead, Obi-Wan says, “The Duchess, while a remarkable woman, has a very different outlook on life than I do, even back then.”

 There's a stretch of silence that he feels like he needs to fill. “Besides, it gave me the chance to meet people even more remarkable.”

 “Not many people can compare to the Duchess of Mandalore,” You mutter, closing your eyes to block out the sight of him when he gets to his feet.

 “No,” Obi-Wan agrees. “Although the Duchess couldn’t come close to comparing to you.”

 And with that heart-stopping revelation, he leans down and presses a lingering kiss to your forehead.

 “Focus,” Obi-Wan whispers in your ear, and then he’s gone.

 Now you really couldn’t concentrate.

——

 “Breathe,” Obi-Wan had instructed you, sitting beside your fidgety body with his own long-since perfected form.

 It was the second week into your Padawan training, and it had taken Obi-Wan twenty three minutes to get you to sit still. Not including the sixteen minutes it took to get you past the normally three minute walk from library to your room, or the seven minutes it took for you to pad over to him and sit beside him. Not for your lack of trying, Obi-Wan mused, watching you fidget once again.

 Your eyes fly open at his words.

 “If I stop breathing during meditation will I die?”

 Yeah, okay, that one was on him. It takes a lot of control for Obi-Wan not to choke on his overwhelming surprise at your words.

 “Meditation can only occur when you stop speaking, little one,” He hints, keeping his posture straight. Thirty two minutes now, he’s been sitting in this position, not meditating, but focused on your wild little signature.

 “Oh, yeah,” You concede, shifting again and screwing your eyes shut.

 Master Kenobi, the whisper-shout in his head very nearly startles him, and Obi-Wan can’t keep pretending his focus is impeccable. He turns to regard you with wide eyes and raised eyebrows. If I stop breathing during meditation, will I die?

 Again, to your credit, you weren’t exactly… speaking.

 Perhaps that’s why, with a self-indulgent smile, he sends back a quick no.

 Okay, you accept happily, shifting again in your seat. Your early days were so much like Anakin’s. Both of you, filled with a curiosity and outlook on the world that only children could view, and it baffled him to no end that both of you viewed him in exactly the same way.

 You just accepted everything he said without much thought, readily eager to believe that your Master was always right, because what else could he ever be? It was perhaps that specific period of time during both his Padawans’ training that Obi-Wan was the most stressed. The first few years were the years he felt as though he could disappoint you the most, to fail to protect you and teach you and nurture you.

 He didn’t fail. He didn’t even come close. You’d tell him if you could. Anakin would tell him too. But it just wasn’t a conversation Jedis had.

 And…there.

 You’re not meditating. Obi-Wan opens his mouth to say something, but the words die in his throat when he feels you oh so carefully reach out your signature. He follows along at a distance, careful not to alert you, and he watches as your signature gingerly approaches the plant situated outside your apartment door.

 The plant. You were connecting with the plant.

 You’re calm, he realises. Nearly ridiculously so, if he didn’t know any better he’d think your signature was that of a fully trained knight. The spurts and bursts and branches that were usually your energy flutter gently down, acting obedient and serene.

 It’s… for lack of a better word, beautiful.

 So with your thoughts centered around that little plant outside, all Obi-Wan has to do is give you just a little nudge that blocks out all other distractions for you- maybe it’s cheating, but he wants to see what will happen.

 And then you’re meditating.

——

 “It’s the first time I’ve worn a dress!” Swishing the fabrics of the skirt around you, you’re easily entranced by the movement. It’s a pretty dress, courtesy of the Mandalorian court, floaty and airy with barely there off-the shoulder sleeves. It reveals more of you than Jedi robes would ever, but you’re so enraptured with such innocent curiosity that Obi-Wan doesn’t even try to suppress the affectionate smile he gives you.

 “You look lovely,” He responds honestly, pushing himself off the couch and taking slow steps towards you.

 “I feel like a… like a…” You pause, glancing up from your skirts to fix your eyes on him, mind racing.

 “Like a?” Obi-Wan prompts.

 “Like a cloud!” You settle for, twirling around as if to emphasise your floaty feeling.

 “A cloud?” He confirms, voice laced with amusement. He takes your hand, twirling you around once more through your giggles.

 “Yeah.”

 “Well, you’re the prettiest cloud I’ve ever seen,” Folding his hand over your own, he steps into your space mid-twirl, his other hand coming to press flat against your back. He doesn’t know what propelled him to do this, to press you against him and pull you into little steps around the room. The giggles he gets from you are enough to diminish any second thoughts he gets, so he hums softly, pressing his cheek to the top of your head.

 Your little impromptu dance session is made to end as quickly as it started, a knock on his door reminding the both of you the reason for such fanciful dressing.

 A dinner.

 It was exciting to you, as most off-world mission events were, so different from the usual routine of your life on Coruscant. Your excitement is blindingly obvious, and yet Obi-Wan, who’s long since tired of having to accept invitations lest the Jedi be perceived as discourteous, Obi-Wan says nothing at all. He gives you a warm smile and gestures for you to move towards the door.

 And oh, what a dinner it was. The food was marvelous, the company a little less so, but the moments you’d glance up at your Master to find him already watching you made up for it. If only he weren’t seated so far away… and so close to the Duchess. You don’t turn your head in their direction again.

 Apparently a royal dinner on Mandalore was not just dinner, so after an hour of sitting at a table several seats away from your Master and surrounded by boring politicians, you’re ushered into a ballroom. Several ask for your hand to dance, but you turn them down with a polite smile and even politer excuse. You want to dance, you do. Just… not with them.

 Then you see her.

 She had changed her dress, and she was gorgeous. Elegant and beautiful and carrying herself with such grace even on the dancefloor, she looked every bit the Duchess she was. You sort of hated her.

 “The prettiest, huh?” You mutter bitterly under your breath, taking a moment to try to calm yourself. You take another breath when you turn to face Obi-Wan, expecting his eyes to be on her. Everyone’s eyes were on her.

 He’s looking at you.

 You immediately curse yourself out for the snide comment, hating that you’ve revealed yourself, your insecurities, that he’s going to admonish you for a silly little comment that just slipped out.

 Instead, he holds his hand out towards you, and bends down a little in a bow.

 “If I may have this dance, my dear?” The words come out as a low murmur, and even with the loud applause of everyone around you signalling the end of the Duchess’ dance, you hear him perfectly. Your cheeks are flushed and you’re trying impossibly hard to keep your breathing even as you slide your hand into his, letting him lead you to the middle of the dance floor.

 It’s strange, you think.

 The two of you have been in arguably far closer quarters than you were in now, with a decent amount of space between your bodies, joined only by your hand in his and his other hand on your waist. You’ve trained together, sparred together, been forced into close confines in the middle of missions and on occasion even slept in the same bed together.

 Obi-Wan’s grip on your hand tightens, the tips of his fingers skimming up your back and brushing tantalisingly against the skin that’s uncovered by the dress.

 No, this… this, in front of a whole room of people from all over the galaxy, this was far more intimate than anything ever before. It’s almost as if you’ve been transported back in time just a couple of hours ago, when it was just him and you in the privacy of your quarters.

 “The prettiest,” he confirms, voice low in your ear. Your breath hitches at his statement and all its implications. “It’s not even a competition.”

 Good things, as all things do, must eventually come to an end. Obi-Wan guides a slightly tipsy and very giggly you back towards your room, laughing despite himself when you trip over your own two feet. The last thing he wants after a successful mission is for you to get concussed by falling.

 He bends and effortlessly sweeps you into your arms, letting you swing your legs in the air. It’s not the first time he’s been in this position with you. Perhaps he’s carried you like this a little too often. His thoughts don’t linger on that topic for long.

 You change out of your dress and sit cross-legged in front of him, letting him brush out your hair and pull it back into a braid for you to sleep in, actions so practised that they’re not even spoken about.

 And on the floor of your room, discarded almost carelessly at the end of the bed, lay two weapons beside each other, one green, and one blue.

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The next one will be Obi-Wan’s revelation ;)

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Obi-Wan taglist:

@allinmymind @ginger-swag-rapunzel @mugoi-usagi @babymango-writes @fluffyhales @whinsical-ash @filthy-thots @altarsw @mando831 @ruleroftides @soft-and-lush @softlikefairydust @bumblegadget @stafskislava @torihester @shedobeclownin @satikryze @buwnni @mando-amando @mrskenobi19 @butch-medusae @fandomtrxshh @a-c-lee @neji85 @reejero @silverpuppi @thereluctantherosrose @shinybananapastanickel @hey-there-angels @grumpymuffinmama @hufflingpuffling-blog1 @kyle9no @qt-ane @arsowon @aesthelliec @lovelyweepingrebel @marvelranger @lovelylostminds 

[rumblelibrary]

The Diary of Doctor Laszlo Kreizler

Chapter 1

Synopsis: Alienist’s notes are private, sometimes gruesome, secrets of others and of himself.Those pages belongs to secrecy and decadence, have a glimpse to this world made of drafts, notes, accidents and reflections. Or maybe it is you the only person that should ever reach for it.

While you read this imagine Laszlo mostly at the end of his day, scraping the ideas and the thoughts, adjusting previous notes with additions, closing the day behind himself with a couple of sentences while sitting in his evening robe, a good glass of whiskey and his glasses bridged almost at the tip of his nose. Or maybe imagine yourself, you sneaky thing, reach for it from a far shelf.

Word count: 3k

Warnings: listen, this is the set of ideas and confessions of a man living in the 1890’s. Most of them will be outdated, rough, even deprecating in some analysis of the roles of men, women and social status, religion, etc.So be prepared, my point is to make Laszlo reflect upon those topics, but to be as faithful as I can to his time. Mention of death, mutilation, self harm and a minor depiction of a fight. Psychologically troubled young children ahead! Author’s note: I am a nerd for a good Victorian novel and a sexy Alienist.I have always been charmed by Laszlo’s mind and inner conflicts. So I took the chance and tried to have a run into that rollercoaster.  The story is placed between season 1 and season 2.

Diary belonging to Dr. Laszlo Kreizler.  This is a professional book of annotations over medical treatments of an alienist toward his patients. Do not disclose and send it back to the address if found: Kreizler’s Institute, xxxxxx, New York City (NY) L.K.

Samuel Griswold Goodrich, Illustrated Natural History of the Animal Kingdom (c1859). Contributed for digitization by University Library, University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign.

Schiller in his “Die Weltweisen” wrote: So long as philosophy keeps together the structure of the Universe so long does it maintain the world’s machinery by hunger and love. From the philosopher point of view sexual life takes a subordinate position in human’s life, from recent studies pushed by European philosophers, everything is about sexuality and its development. I like to think of the experience of being an alienist as the process of Queen Penelope that, while waiting for her husband Ulysses return, undoes her craftwork every night. I undo the fabulous constructs of people’s beliefs to go back to the rough sketch that stands at the beginning of their loss, their complex, their pain. Maybe that’s why working with children is so motivating and fascinating. They can be saved and yet, I am well aware, some of those sketches already traced in their young lives equal to scars that not even the most advanced theories could cure. But I can sooth them. I can prevent them the torment, the anguish, the recollection at night of those monsters. I feel like a poet would be a better alienist than a philosopher, but I have got no poetry nor philosophy in my veins, but the cold experience of the razor blade judgment of Life itself.

Today I observed a fight among the children at the Institute. Age range between 10 and 12. Boys. The fight was over the possession of a side of the playground, the territory of a pack  of youngsters formed under the name of Steven. Peculiar lad, coming from a military background finds comfort in replicating the schemes he lived in his family. He takes the role of the Father/Captain of the team and subjects children that come from a similar background story, but do not posses his same attitude to the command. All quiet on the front, until the space he declared is own spot got affected by the presence of others.  Intruders. I knowingly let the events unfold to see how Steven would react to his challenged authority. His reaction was, at first, worded, a sketch, a stage-play of an action he witnessed over and over, and he knew the part so well that some of the contending kids lowered their stance against him. Among considering to mildly intervene into this pyramid scheme of authority, another boy, Jan, calls himself on the role of the educator and hero of the masses and proceeds to unfold a wild and well assessed punch on the newly declared dictator face. Balance is established again. No need for me to arbitrate, once more the laws of nature seem to apply to children as in a state of nature.

Meet John Moore over lunch. His job at the newspaper is picking up, he is charmed by the spirits and the wits that he finds in his shared office with all the other writers. He mentions many, goes on and on over qualities and troubles, gossips and tendencies, and even little scandals here and there. To be aware of all those details gives me no interest, but to see a dear friend so invested clearly gives me something to pick up. To consider also the amount of details and the way he describes this or that member of the journal, I can do a small exercise of analysis. It is almost too easy because John is painfully genuine, even some of the kids at the institute would beat him hands down in a battle of lies. The more he likes somebody, the more he goes on about all the details and the characteristics, often letting aside the physical appearance. When he doesn’t like somebody he has a couple of adjectives for the wits and around four or five for the physical aspects that usually indulge on some repulsive idiosyncrasies.  John is a man that painfully fits in the storyline of The Picture of Dorian Gray: to him physical beauty is spiritual beauty and, of course, the other way around. This part of him surely intrigues me, makes me want to tease more from him. But, as a friend, it concerns me as John is way too prone to purposelessly decide that somebody with good eyes is also a good human being, which is a very romantic and admirably naive way of judging matters. I noticed some names that keep repeating in his narration. I dread that it is synonymous of a soon encounter from my side with the objects of his admiration. Fetiches, I dare to say, that I will have to annihilate before they sediment into his mind, perpetuating a narration that soon sees John being mislead by others.

Reserved: Tickets for the Eroica, Symphony n. 3 by Ludwig van Beethoven. Thursday evening.

Note on the show: the first movement lacked the pathos needed to begin with, I am not sure that the guest orchestra really managed to portray the wider emotional ground needed to withstand the whole representation. As the evening progressed there were some outstanding performances by the cellists. Still not approving the choice of reprising the early quick finale movement against the lengthy set of variations and fugue that we are used to in presence of the Eroica. Underwhelming the performance of the horn and oboe, vital in the comprehension of the genius of Beethoven. 

Niki is a new addition of the Institute, quite old for the standards. He is already 16, he will leave when summer ends to some expensive college his family meant him to stay. His parents expect me to make him “normal” in the time we are allowed together.  He is Austrian and I let him act it out like I don’t understand German for the first week of hist stay until today. I believe I hit his pride, which is good, in the moment I answered back to one of his sneaky comments. Now he knows. He is not safe from me, he doesn’t like it. The young man has a tendency to danger, risky tasks and edgy situations. In his mother’s own words “Niki is not afraid of anything”. The phrase didn’t raise any excitement in the father, rather some sort of painful acceptance that is role as the alpha male of the house is probably not only being challenged, but  already diminished, if not abolished. I have taken in consideration that Niki will break himself a bone or two in the process of the therapy, probably out of the spite of boredom or rebellion. It took him less than few days to turn himself into an outcast among the outcasts, which only drives me closer to analyse the complexity of his narcissistic wall of self defence. I gave him a physical challenge to lift a certain weight, he is a pretty skinny one, he didn’t like the challenge, but I am sure he will take it. He is a brainy guy, he hates to be questioned on unfamiliar ground. He won’t sleep at night thinking about it.  A challenge, in this first phase, can only bring me closer to the ease of his pains. To continue the observation.

It is a sad privilege of medicine, in particular the one I practice, to be able to witness the weaknesses of the human nature and the reverse side of life. Nevertheless, I oblige this same privilege of the study as life moves into shades of darkness. To be aware of it gives more solace to my soul than to be victim of patiently waiting for the inevitable unfolding of the events. To be able to understand more about psychology would bring more comfort and elevation to any human being, the times might not be there yet, but eventually something will move into the direction of a more wholesome approach.

Dinner meeting with Sara Howard, at the restaurant Jardin Des Cygnes, 7 pm sharp.  Do not expect to reach the dessert. Do not know if John will be participating due to undeniable tension among the two and the fatal despise of John over French cuisine.

The case that Sara unfolded tonight to my ears feels more and more like pulled out from some gothic book or from the mind of a Roman historian that needed to justify the godly origins of an Emperor. One killing, apparently random, a very constructed iconography over the body. Signs and insults, shapes and drawings. Is this a work of art? Does the killer wants his victim to be his Mona Lisa? His David? I am charmed and destabilised. If this was a murder like any other, then why to spend so much time into it? Based on the description the act of killing itself was quick: a sharp cut over the throat, almost like not wanting to ruin too much the surface to use as base for, what? I keep rerunning those symbols over and over as Sara described them to me, my mind is flooded with the designs of greek philosophers that needed to explain themselves why the sky is above our head and never collapses on us. Hilarious how, no matter the science advancement, in the mind of many the sky stands inevitably overt their shoulders, suffocates them, brings them to a death of the soul and not of the body. Is all this graphic charade indeed only a form to scream for attention?  To stress the eyes of an unaware viewer? It seems ridiculously elaborate, a scream for attention would be quick, it would be like guided by instinct, not reasoning, craftwork. Any man with a knife can paint in blood red the walls of a room and that’s asking for attention. That is the primal howl: look at me! I am here! But this one.  I don’t know yet.

Spent the early morning reading anew my copy of The Metamorphosis by Ovid. Didn’t touch it in a long time and I got bedazzled by the world of terrible sensuality, anger and selfishness of those gods and mortals. I think back at all the deviances and weaknesses of human kind and I try to relate it to all of those humanoid figures. Niki would be a minotaur, the lonesome son left in the labyrinth and his strive for success is his bull’s head. Or maybe a centaur, because of his wits and strategic thinking. I might keep up the process, maybe this is the way to understand my patients better, to understand the killer better. Must remember not to romanticise it. Greek gods were probably the first form of self indulging of a society that needed gods to be forgiving and allowing favours and punishments, but only in exchange of sacrifices. But the sacrifice never comes from the God’s will, but from the will of the man that perpetuates the act of killing. To sacrifice someone or something is the sadistic response to a lack of love deeply inherited in human mind that becomes neurotic. Is the killer giving the God of his own neurosis a body to feast upon? 

I talked with Jan this morning. The young boy is about 10, but he acts like a full grown adult. I could easily asses that’s the reason why he could challenge Steven in that fight. Two children mimicking adults situations they know too well. Jan is son of an industrial man, but he is also son of the dialectics of the industrial revolution. He sounds like he swallowed some of those books about working class rights and communism, probably pushed by a resentful surrounding (mother?uncle? the midwife?) over the social role of his father. As much as incredibly smart and lectured, Jan lost most of his early occasions in life by spending a considerable amount of time using his fists. The anger ever present in the young boy always surprises me, he seems to be holding a power, a strength of a full grown man in those tiny arms. Nevertheless, he is already the tallest of the group. He is surely an idealist, which makes him also tragically fragile. His strength mixed with his heart of gold can make him the best of the heroes or the worst of the villains. He apologised for the fight, he specified how he didn’t like the sound of Steven’s voice, more than the sound, the level of pitch.  I can’t stand somebody shouting orders, I just don’t listen anymore. He is so mature even about his own feelings, almost a gentleman in his chivalry toward the weaker children, honest with his open heart and resentful against any form of injustice.  I am not spared by his ways, he would come at me whenever he feels like I was being partial over some of the kids, his sense of justice blinds him and transform a perfectly balanced boy into a ranging animal.

Ordered book, to be delivered around tomorrow evening: Introduction à la méthode de Léonard de Vinci by Paul Valéry. Suddenly feeling myself as a gross ignorant in art themes. I always regarded myself aware of the artistic personalities and tendencies of present and past, but this new amount of perceptions over the human figure and the human body leads me to document myself more. I could ask John for advice, but he wouldn’t take things at matter that seriously. I can almost hear him say how I can make gruesome a pleasant topic such as art. I should probably wait to see the body to push any further aesthetic study, but I find myself not being able to stop. I reckon, I can allow myself a vice or two.

Today I saw the body of the killed man, courtesy of the Isaacson's. To be fair, I had underestimated it. In Sara’s descriptions, probably due to her more analytic mind, all the charm of the representation got lost in favour of a less cryptic and reasonable understanding of the act. Sara got what some alienists will call a masculine mind, which I don’t perfectly agree on. If I apply that same approach John would be a very feminine mind, all wrapped up in romanticising even the ugliest. I guess that dividing the world in “fragile and gentle” and “strong and powerful” is just easier to explain the fluctuation of something that doesn’t need a real name or a category like human inclinations on thoughts.  I got a feverish sense of patience by looking at the body. Each symbol traced with sapient slowness, dense of the time that the killer spent with the body. That is a work of hours, he had time and meaning. He had resources and was able to spend not less than the time he needed to reach, a vision? An ideal? A message? Is it the message meant to be understood? Am I supposed to unravel it or it is maybe just the way the killer communicates within himself? And if I do decifrate the code, will that bring me closer to him? Or to his next victim?

Reminder: ask John to replicate all the symbols on the bodies in the correct measure and order. It might be needed some hard convincing. Addition: scheduled meeting, his house, 3 pm.

It wasn’t a day like any other when I met you. Or maybe it was, and that’s why I got so struck by it and now I am here playing it over and over through what my memory clung on so desperately. In my own experience, life was often similar to swimming in a lake. Those rich, dense lakes in the north of (illegible cancelled word) were my father used to bring us during summer. I still feel the pull, the draw down toward the abyss. It ashamed me, in a way, the fear that such a simple feeling aroused in my young mind, unaware nevertheless, that such a feeling would follow me through all my existence. It was a prophecy and, like most of the prophecies, was a riddle. I cradle in my heart the charm of those days, the mindless happiness. The foolish feeling of freedom. Little I knew that freedom would be taken away from me that soon, that the body that used to navigate me over the dense waters, helping me to fight the haul toward the unknown, would become my own cage. That day. Today. The day where I met you, the day I was afloat.  The child gasping for air felt the wrench become a gentle push and now he is floating on his back over the scary waters of reality and malice. It gave me relief and it gave me terror, because since that very moment I knew that I would never be able to move on from the sight of you. From the feeling of your eyes lingering on me. From the smile you so easily shone upon me. From the whiff of imported perfume that hit me when you turned on side exploding that swan like neck. And nothing, not even my stern look, could dim that wave of hope that your sole presence washed over me. The abyss roars, calls me to a home of damnation and terror and curses my name and yet you repeated that hell-bound name of mine after me and I felt safe.

John told me so much about you, it feels like I have always known you.

The rope is gone from my neck, the guillotine won’t fall on me, I am spared, I am free.

I have read your latest article, I am thrilled to help with the case.

I am in disbelief.

Your voice.

Dr. Kreizler

How dare you? How dare you to come into my life, to appear, like a vision, mystical, in a way I despised at University when all those theology students talked about the divine. In this very moment I can’t recollect much of what you said, something about the case, about going with John at the obituary. It feels confusing, I feel overstimulated, my memory fails me, I am not sure anymore. I write these few lines and it is passed the hour of the witches and I wish, I demand, to never see you again, because life should never grant hope to a condemned man. 

[cocoarchives]

Sleeping Deities

Phil gets a visit from twin gods of Love and War, propelling him onto a path he cannot turn back from.

The first time he met them, it was on a beach.

It was not after his first death, and it was not before his last, either. It was after iterations of failure, of learning, of finally understanding the limits of each reality he was sent to, the rules that plagued each one and the punishment that came with them.

It was after at least a few centuries had passed in his life, forced to survive in different circumstances with nothing but the landscape provided before him. It was after he’d begun to lose count of the number of times he’d died. It was after he’d forgotten to keep track of time.

It was the black fin breaking the surface of the sea that signaled their arrival to him. A song he’d begun to forget piercing the air, a cry from an animal that would soon become a thing of myth to these people who’ve not seen one before.

It was the sudden ferocity of the hogs in the village by the sea that told him they were close. For even though he had never met them, he had met those like them. And he knew that they could be as cruel as they were kind, and that if anything, he should keep distance between them —  he and the village —  for the village people are not yet ready to meet their makers.

Not yet.

And so, as he felt the water run over his sandals and the grains of sand rush in the gaps between his toes, he waited.

Waited to be smited.

Waited to be pushed down further into his despair, into his inescapable pit of the infinite.

Waited to be punished further than he already had before.

So the introduction of a language so familiar… That —  he found —  was not the most unexpected thing.

“D’you think that’s him, Techno?”

It was these voices...

“I think so. Or else we have two mortals of the same description, forced to live in an eternity of our making.”

They were ones that the man had never heard of before.

They were not the rumble of an earthquake, of a foreboding danger fast approaching. They were not the clashes of waves in a storm as one sits in a dingy boat, being tossed and turned with no end in sight. It did not leave behind the deafening silence that came with agony, and it brought to him anything but a horrible sense of dread.

Cautiously, he tore his eyes away from the flaming horizon and slowly turned his head.

What greeted him were two strangers, who watched him with the same mixture of amusement and curiosity one has when one encounters something so foreign, whose caution and sense of danger kept them from coming closer, as if he were a wild animal yet to be tamed.

But the man knew that despite their looks, despite their fear and awe of him, that they held the power in this interaction, that they were more than they appeared to be.

“And who might you be?” He asked, and his words made them flinch in surprise, as if they did not expect to be talked back to, as if they didn’t expect to be seen .

“I—  We—  Uh— ”

The first to give a stammered semblance of a reply was the one who’s eyes widened more, who instinctively stepped further back behind the other, whose dark hair and darker eyes reminded the man of the earth, of the ground that he stood upon, the one constant in a life that existed with none.

The sound of his voice could be described as enchanting without magic, intoxicating without the poison that came afterwards. It was a voice that —  if the man were still unknowledgeable of such tricks —  would have easily persuaded him of anything the other desired.

“You can see us?” The second that asked with a tone of curiosity and a drop of worry, who crossed his arms in a manner that hid the fear that coated over him like a blanket, whose long bright hair swayed slightly despite the strong ocean wind, coloured with a vibrancy that couldn’t be obtained on any earth by any mundane means.

His voice was not one of power but one of violence, a role of leadership in the hands of one who’s seen enough, who knows more than he should. And if not for the man’s will and penchant for peace, he knew his hands would twitch towards his sword and relish the blood that would spill over the blade.

“Yes, of course.”

The man gave them a friendly smile as he studied them both.

Visually, their youthful appearance marked them as younger than him —  that was apparent. The strength one loses with age could clearly be seen in their posture rather than their muscles, and the energy that fueled their personalities bubbled up through the cracks of the tension between the two parties. And yet he knew intrinsically that they were more than that.

It was their eyes that gave it away —  twin gazes that seemingly dissected his entire being as if he were a creature newly born into the world and not someone who’s lived for much, much longer.

It was obvious what they were.

“My punishment has its upsides, it seems.” He chuckled. “However, you never answered my question.”

The two glanced at each other, a message passing through them. A millenia’s worth of conversations, spoken in silence in an instant through eye movements and the slightest tug of the corner of their mouth. A fraction of a pout. Relaxed eyelids.

The one who spoke first was the one with pink hair, who turned to the man with a sense of unease. As if conversations with mortals was a talent he was yet to master, spoken with a sense of care, as if the words themselves were landmines that sat in the spaces between them.

“I am the lord of battles well fought, and the master of the beaten roads.” He began. “I am the overseer of the strong and a guide to the weak. I observe only the most dangerous of man’s conflicts, and create paths of safety for those who desperately need it.”

Their eyes met, and the man could see his eyes were like amber. A honey that seemed to preserve all the things he’s ever seen.

“You may call me Techno, for that is the name my followers had provided for me.”

The god gestured a hand towards the other.

“And my brother…”

“I am the lord of sweet sounds, and master of sweeter charms.” The words came out as the rush of a river untamed, bundled nerves and unexpected surprise. “I am the director of universal melodies and the instigator of all worldly passions. I control all that is auditory and all that is adored.”

Though he faced the man with the power that came with his status, his refusal to look at him directly was almost all too obvious.

“Refer to me as Wilbur, as those are the prayers I answer to.”

The man regarded the two gods before him with more interest than awe, as they observed him back, waiting for a response.

Of course, he knew who they were. The twin gods of Love and War, the children of Pain and Victory. The tales were common enough, the story of their birth and the chaos their influence left behind rippling through universes to become simply a mere myth to retell and interpret in storybooks with wild differentiations between them.

But more importantly —  by the standards of the giants that wandered the earth unseen —  they were young. Inexperienced in the ways of their realms, and of the realms of others.

And perhaps, they had heard mere myths of him as well.

“It is an honour to meet you, my lords.” He replied, lifting his chin higher to refuse them the satisfaction provided by their status. “I am— ”

“Phil, the wanderer of eternal worlds.” Techno finished for him. “The betrayer who’s actions caused even Death to refuse him, whence he arrived at her door.”

“Phil, the one who even the gods themselves could not bear to see.” Wilbur added. “Out of both the anger he had caused and the fear he had invoked. The only mortal to ever do so.”

The man —  Phil —  smiled, amused.

“I wasn’t aware I was worthy enough for a title.” He mused. “Perhaps if I gain the opportunity again I may give it another try.”

He chuckled, a joke that only entertained himself, for the twins only looked at each other with worry.

“Do you regret it?” Wilbur asked, his slow words cautious. “If you returned back to that moment, and had the choice in your hands once more. Would you do it again?”

And the mortal looked up at the beings so beautiful in their human skins, so intelligent and wise beyond all that he could ever imagine. And the mortal gave a small laugh, with the slightest shake of his head, as if the gods did not know better than him, as if he were the one who held all the cards.

“Of course I would.”

Read the rest of the story here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28997916

[shigaraki-p]

The Mindscape

I was able to create this, thanks to knowing my muse @morgana-ren for a while. This is a character study, as well as a Shigaraki x Female Reader ficlet.

The mindscape: Buildings torn apart, partially disintegrated, floating around in the space.

Wearing no shirt, wild hair flying every which way.

The air pressure changes on a whim, unpredictably. It feels like it crushes your lungs with oppression, makes you feel lighter like you will float off the platform into nothingness.

The floating buildings remind you that everything can be lost in a second.

It's strangely peaceful to look around you from this platform, despite the chaos around you and what feels like a thunderstorm being permeated in the atmosphere.

Electricity running through your veins, impulses, you can see and feel them without looking at them.

You are aware of everything except the woman laying down on the platform, on her side. She is asleep. You see her with your eyes, but there is no recognition. You feel as if you are part of the chaotic void around you and what is also inside of you, not this... Guest. Temptation. Delicacy.

Your hands twitch. That crackling static you know so well, traveling from the balls of the ends of your fingertips, down through your hands, wrists, finding their way through your body like hardwired circuitry. Your Quirk. You raise your hand, to look at your palm with blank eyes.

A vessel for destruction. Nothing more than that. You are fine with this, completely.

You step forward, hair still flying every which way haphazardly, until the tip of your foot touches the woman's sleeping form. It was an effort to get to this point, each minuscule movement of your dorsals and those nerves in your feet felt on fire. You did not want to do this. It felt wrong, difficult. It was not difficult putting your hands around their throat and destroying them. That image was loud in your mind, and there was a craving for it. You hunched over, ready to end her like an animal. That was all you were made to do.

You blinked. It was off. This space you were in with her was different. It felt like a barrier was here, protecting you from the outer and inner chaos of the mindscape. You moved your head to look around you. Everything floating seemed far away while it wasn't, and the pulsing inside your circuitry faded, calmed like a dull fog covering your insides. You were less aware of the earthquake noise that was grinding within your skull. You felt placated, and looked down to see her hand now touching your foot.

She seemed to be smiling. Peaceful. You saw that and wanted to have that. Wanted to claim that. You knelt down in front of her, observing her form. There had never been another person in the mindscape, one who truly had their own will. A will that didn't make you feel held down and isolated, squeezing the life out of you with every second that you stayed here.

You came here because you don't find solace, and when you do arrive you are trapped.

Shigaraki is grateful that there can be an escape in his madness.

The care of another human being, unfettered.

A human who truly cared.

-

"I'm not a curse. I have value." Shigaraki managed to say. He almost never talked in his mindspace. It was always too suffocating and made him feel feral, like he wanted to scratch his whole body and decay himself. His head turned to the side, remembering that past him, a visage of a man appearing with short blue hair, cables running out of hands on his head, that incessant scratching. Who he was, who he could still be inside.

But inside, Shigaraki feels nothing. He used to be so angry at nothing, trying to feel something that wasn't there. Shigaraki in reality was an empty void, while in the mindspace he tried to find reasons to live or care. This girl.

He crawled over her, keeping his distance, peering down at her. He didn't feel anything in his body at this point, and was merely aware of his own existence. He brushed some hair off of her face with a few fingers. He wasn't sure if he would decay her in the mindspace, and didn't want to chance it. It was his only solace in this chaos, where nothing else mattered. Was she a gift, given to him by Master?

His fingers traveled down her face, over her cheeks. She was pretty, beautiful really. The perfect companion, he believed idly. But he didn't know what a companion was. What was the meaning?

-

Her eyes opened, slowly. "Shigaraki," she spoke, a soft lilt in her voice. Immediately he felt all his muscles melt away until he was just pure attention, looking at her. Her hand rose, aiming toward his face, but couldn't quite reach. Her other hand came up and held onto his arm, pausing to silently ask if it was okay.

He was too stunned to move, so she continued. She pulled herself off of the floor into a sitting position, gingerly touching his face when she was done. His mouth was open, and tears welled in his eyes, quickly spilling down in streams. Her thumb moved to his cracked and scarred lips, passing over them once before moving her hand down the rest of his face, then lowering it away from him.

He felt something, needy. It took no time and he was already hard. A fire coiling in his stomach. He knows who she is, he can't forget that touch. The heat rose in his body when he remembered those moments of passion, those many moments where they connected and then reconnected, again and again. She was in his mindspace with him somehow, and he couldn't be more grateful.

He mounted her, although she was still clothed. He rubbed himself against her and made a few noises, quickly becoming lost to everything except wanting to become one with her. His senses dulled except for that urge to fulfill his need. He moved his whole body around hers to encase her on the ground protectively.

He went for her mouth, closing his over hers, tongue exploring inside. He mewled in delight and pleasure when he felt her responding, and also moving her hand against his pants; she was real. She was really here in his personal hell with him.

Tears rolled down his face again, he couldn't stop it. She unzipped his pants and pulled them down, stroking his hard cock tenderly. In no time he had removed their clothes until they were both fully naked, the dust and particles from the torn scenery in the mindspace floating around them. The internal sun had set, a brilliant cascade of purple colors shining down the horizon. It was time to restore color.

Shigaraki had more of a will. He could start to feel himself, in inches. Some of the dulling was going away, and now he could properly feel himself again. He pulled her onto his lap and his hand went to her face, mimicking what she did for him. His hands then went to her hips and held there, as he slowly mounted inside her. His tongue trailed down the side of her neck, before kissing and sucking on it, biting gently. His fingers moved to her nipples, flicking them, before tenderly brushing down her stomach.

They would be one, even in his mindspace. Then, he will not know fear again.

[tiramisiyu]

【未定事件簿】 Tears of Themis: “Romantic Rail Getaway” Lu Jinghe Route, Day 5

Translation Masterlist | Event Masterlist

Lu Jinghe Route: Day 1 | Day 2 | Day 3 | Day 4 | Day 5

Videos, where applicable, are hyperlinked on the headings in the post.

See under cut!

Part 1: Rare Plants Reserve – “The Future of the Reserve”

Rainforest Reserve

The train arrived at the final stop of the trip – the rainforest reserve.

After solving the indigenous peoples’ issue, the repressive troubles in my heart disappeared without a trace.

I could finally immerse myself, body and mind, into the tranquil atmosphere of the rainforest and enjoy the comforting satisfaction brought by the nature’s sceneries.

Lu Jinghe: This section of rainforest is a natural scenery area. Ahead is the rare animal exhibition and the rainforest survey base.

Lu Jinghe: They’ve collected a little less in here than in the actual Imana Rainforest Natural Reserve that’s in planning…

Lu Jinghe: But there are over 400 rare plants here, and the degree of resource abundance isn’t inferior to Imana Rainforest at all.

Lu Jinghe strolled as he introduced me to the situation in the reserve to me, seeming to be very familiar with this place.

--

INTERROGATION START

Reserve

MC: Was the construction of this reserve also funded by Pax?

Lu Jinghe: Yeah, construction finished around 6-7 years ago.

Lu Jinghe: Back then, Pax and Tambuyani had just reached a cooperative agreement, so we wanted to try something new.

Lu Jinghe: Because it was built early, when Tambuyani was planning trip routes, they made this place a key scenic location.

MC: So that’s how it was.

I originally thought that Pax had invested in a nature reserve project due to momentary interest. I didn’t think that they’d prepared for this early on.

It seemed like, in upcoming years, Pax would be making major movements in nature conservation and rainforest development projects.

Important Difference

MC: Right! You came this time for the Imana Rainforest natural reserve project, which also means…

MC: Pax is investing into two rainforest reserve projects in Tambuyani at the same time?

Lu Jinghe: Mhmm, although the positioning of the Tambuyani project isn’t really the same as this one.

Lu Jinghe: The Imana Rainforest nature reserve will focus on tourism in the future, and it will be open to the whole world.

Lu Jinghe: The reserve here… will focus on academic studies and research surveying.

Lu Jinghe: With this distinction, it’ll be more beneficial for future plans and developments.

Future Plans

MC: Little CEO Lu, could you tell me about the future developmental plans for the nature reserve?

Lu Jinghe: Originally, I couldn’t, since they’re trade secrets. Although…

Lu Jinghe: Because the one who’s asking is you, I can tell you about a little.

Lu Jinghe: The plan is… I’m going to build this place into the best nature reserve in the world.

MC: This sounds… more like a goal, rather than a plan.

Lu Jinghe: A goal can be determined in advance. A detailed plan needs to be negotiated more with the relevant people in Tambuyani, and at this stage, it’s still very hard to determine it.

Lu Jinghe: So, all I can tell you right now is this. I’m sure that it’ll become as I imagined in the future.

MC: Then I’ll hope for the early realization of your goals in advance.

Lu Jinghe: It will.

The corners of Lu Jinghe’s mouth curved beautifully.

INTERROGATION END

--

Lu Jinghe: How is it, anything else you want to ask?

Lu Jinghe: If I know it, I’ll definitely answer.

MC: How about… could I trouble little CEO Lu to introduce me to the rare plants in your rainforest reserve?

Lu Jinghe: Jiejie, this question is way beyond my scope!

Lu Jinghe: How about we hand this specialized question to a specialized person to answer.

 Part 2: Plant Conservation Site

[Gameplay]

Part 3: Rainforest Flower Park

[Gameplay]

Part 4: Forest-watching Area

[Gameplay]

Part 5: Rainforest Program Area – “Exploring the Rainforest Program Area”

Following Lu Jinghe’s steps, we walked from the nature scenery area to the rainforest program area.

Staff: Hello, welcome to the rainforest program area.

Lu Jinghe: See, someone specialized came.

As soon as Lu Jinghe saw the staff member, he winked at me.

Lu Jinghe: MC, you can now ask the question you just had.

Did he take me here to specifically find a staff member answer my question?

I actually just wanted to tease him a little earlier… I didn’t think he would take it seriously.

MC: Hello, I’m a little curious about the plants and animals in the rainforest. Could you give a slight introduction for those?

Staff: Of course, what would you like to know?

INTERROGATION START

Butterflies

MC: On the tree trunks, are those… blue morpho butterflies?

When I walked into the rainforest survey area, I’d already become aware of those few beautiful, blue butterflies on the tree trunks.

I finally had the chance to ask about them.

Staff: Yes, these are called great blue morpho butterflies. They’re one of the butterflies often found in the rainforest.

MC: They’re so beautiful. Lu Jinghe, look, those butterflies’ wings look like they’re glittering in the sun.

Lu Jinghe: This is probably why they’re called flashing butterflies.[1]

Staff: The beautiful shape of the great blue morpho butterfly is also one of the reasons their survival is threatened.

Staff: In the past, when the reserve hadn’t been built yet, there were lots of people trying to catch them without restraint to sell them.

Staff: For a very long time, you basically could not see this beautiful species of butterfly in the rainforest.

MC: Good thing the nature reserve was built…

 [1] The Chinese name for these butterflies translates literally to blue-flashing butterflies (蓝闪蝶, lan shan die).

Animals

MC: Right, when I came, I saw some monkeys with very small bodies.

MC: Look…

I opened the photos I’d saved on my phone and showed it to the staff worker.

There were a few little black monkeys, sitting in a row on the tree branches, their round eyes looking curiously at the humans who were exploring the rainforest.

Staff: Oh, these are the spider monkeys that are characteristic to our rainforest reserve.

MC: Why are they called spider monkeys? They don’t look like spiders at all.

Staff: This species of monkey has a small build, their limbs are long, and their movements when climbing up tree are very similar to the large spiders in the tropics, so they’re called spider monkeys.

MC: Compared to spiders, little monkeys are cuter…

Staff: Though they look cute and endearing, these spider monkeys are very timid, and they tend to attack.

Staff: If you want to observe spider monkeys, you absolutely must not get too close.

MC: Mhmm, it’s better to maintain some distance from wild animals.

Beautiful Plants

MC: I’ve heard that there are particularly beautiful flowers blooming in the rainforest. Could you tell us about them?

Staff: Hmm, most of the flowers in the rainforest are brightly-coloured. As for relatively beautiful ones…

Staff: I feel that the pygmy water lily is the most beautiful.

MC: Could I see one now?

Staff: The pygmy water lily is a precious lotus flower. Its petals are blueish-purple, and it looks incredibly gorgeous.

Staff: Although… it blooms annually in the summer, and it only blooms for seven days. I won’t be able to show it to you this time.

MC: (What a pity. The next time I get the chance, I really have to come see it personally.)

INTERROGATION COMPLETE

--

MC: I still have a few questions…

Staff: Go ahead. If I know it, I can tell you.

Time slowly passed, but it seemed like the things I wanted to know kept slowly increasing.

The staff worker enthusiastically and patiently explained for me, and the more I listened, the more fascinated I grew.

I didn’t know how many questions I asked, and I didn’t know how long I spent listening to the staff worker talk about the fantastic stories of the rainforest.

I felt like this rainforest, this land, and too many things were waiting for us to explore them, and to search for them.

 Part 6: Bright-eyed Enthusiasm

Rainforest Reserve

After bidding farewell with the rainforest program area’s staff member, Lu Jinghe mysteriously took me toward the depths of the forest.

The lush foliage gradually cut off the surrounding sounds…

In the tranquility, I suddenly felt like only the sounds of my and Lu Jinghe’s footsteps were left in the world.

MC: Where are we going?

Lu Jinghe: The reserve in the depths of the rainforest.

MC: Huh, isn’t this area the reserve?

Lu Jinghe: This is the reserve that the researchers use for survey research.

Lu Jinghe: While the place where we’re headed right now is the breeding experiment location in the depths of the rainforest. That’s the confidential location in all of the reserve.

Lu Jinghe’s voice sounded like he was presenting a treasure, with a willfully excited and proud feeling.

Based on my understanding of him, there must be some surprise awaiting me in the reserve he was talking about.

Thinking about this, my excitement and expectation were kindled as well.

MC: I’m kinda looking forward to it!

--

As we walked into the depths of the forest, like a shielding curtain, the shrubbery and the foliage of the trees were slowly pulled apart…

The true appearance of the breeding experiment reserve reflected in my eyes.

A gorgeously-coloured flower tree bloomed before my eyes, and little lavender and pale pink petals sat between the leaves, like the unfurled wings of a parrot.

Right then, the miracle of nature became reality before my eyes.

Lu Jinghe: Look, this is a real parrot-tail fairy flower. Isn’t it pretty?

MC: Just like how it’s named, it really is fairylike.

I carefully maintained a distance as I looked all over the parrot-tail fairy flower, unwilling to miss even a single detail.

Lu Jinghe: Too bad there’s only this one treasure, and you can only get this one glimpse.

Lu Jinghe: After the growing techniques mature… I want to try having it “come” out the rainforest, so more people can see it.

Lu Jinghe: At that time, there will definitely also be more people who come in to see the sceneries inside the rainforest.

With the abundant resource treasures contained in the rainforest, for the people of the past, most of its use remained at the stage of resource plundering.

While what Lu Jinghe wanted to do was exactly the opposite…

He hoped that people from the outside would come in the learn about this place, to invest more riches to spur on the treasures lying undiscovered on this land.

His thoughts were full of creativity, and often brought surprises. Perhaps this was one of Lu Jinghe’s personal charms.

MC: Could I take a few pictures to commemorate this?

Lu Jinghe: You can – you can take as many as you want.

I held up my camera, starting to adjust the angle of the viewfinder.

To begin with, it was very hard to focus in the dim lighting in the rainforest, and Lu Jinghe just had to sidle up and cause trouble.

MC: Don’t move… you’re blocking the light.

Lu Jinghe: Alright, I won’t disturb you. I’m going to take photos on the other side.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Lu Jinghe walk to the other side of the flower tree as he spoke. He was holding something in his hand, pointing it at me…

Want to sneak a picture of me? Hah, as if I’ll let you get away with it.

I stood up quickly, pointing the lens in my hand at Lu Jinghe before he could react.

MC: Lu Jinghe, smile!

The slight confusion and shock of the handsome young man, who was holding a camera and trying to take a picture, was captured in the photo.

MC: Haha, this is a pretty good photo. I’ve got to hide it away.

Lu Jinghe: What photo did you take?

Lu Jinghe wound around the bunches of flowers and looked at the photo I’d taken, tilting his head.

MC: Look, I just happened to take a picture of your “crime evidence” when you wanted to sneak a picture of me.

Lu Jinghe: … Jiejie, you’re shameless!

Lu Jinghe: What crime evidence – it’s obviously you sneaking pictures of me, alright?

MC: Not at all, I was seizing the opportunity.

Lu Jinghe: I don’t care, I’m taking another one!

Lu Jinghe snatched the camera in my hands, and with the parrot-tail fairy flower tree separating us, he stood at a place farther away from me.

Lu Jinghe: Look at the lens.

Separated by the flower tree, he waved the camera at me, repeating the words I’d just said to him.

Lu Jinghe: MC, smile.

Lu Jinghe: … 1, 2, 3, cheese!

MC: Cheese!

His enthusiastic gaze focused on me, the dazzling light in his clear eyes drawing me to him.

Struck in the heart by the halo of this moment, he and I laughed together.

[mehiwilldoitlater]

Little secret

“Honestly, only you could like  a place like this!” It’s not a big phrase, after all it’s just a fact, you showed mny many times to like kind of creepy like thing. The real thing that started to irritated you was more the constant degradation coming from the brunette behind you. You and Victoria weren’t friends, you were two people in the same group of friends, and that it’s completely different. It wasn’t even like you didn’t like her, she was an average girl like you.....just really bitchy, aggressive, far more capable around people than you and other thing, and you were you, and maybe that was enough  to hirritate her. You never understand why she hate you so much, and you didn’t want to know, but for the sake of the other memebers of your group you had just decided to  let go, but on this particularly trip in Louisiana she became particularly creative on how piss you off. The only thing you wanted was to have a good time with your friend doing camping, and now you and the only girl that enjoy just unsettle you around, mocking you and show off were forced to find the nearest city, Ambrose in this case, to find a phone because the driver of your van had forgotten to bring an extra bottle of motor oil.  You two were determinated to just not to be near each other, so you just ignored a pair of important signals that should have warned you, like a completely empty city and the most strange kind of museum that you had ever saw in your life.  It was incredible, the entire structure was made completely of wax! That place should have supposed to be in the Guinnes book!!! Victoria was...less impressed, bragging about the discomfort of the place. Inside was not different, even the forniture were made of wax! You two were able to notice this fact was when you posed ypur hand on the near library in a twenties syle room, and you check the books, the lamp, the flower...all made of wax! Being an artistic creature of your own, how could you not find this place amazing? Whoever was the creator of this museum, he sure was capable to deceive the eyes of the viewer! The only artist that had tried to do something like this was Dalì with his bread room, but compared to this masterpiece even the Barcelonan artist was overshadowed! But Victora was just...her. She didn’t get it all, just started to bragging how that place was creepy, you had just decide to not listen to her, untill the last sentence. “Well, it’s a you problem...” “Oh please, you creep out everybody with that notebook of yours! Drawing all that stuff...” “It’s none business what i do with my stuff Victoria. I don’t complain about the amount of alcohol that you swallow, or the the deadly breath that you bring around when you smocking pot or all the thing that i find annoying about you...” Your were more occupied on admiring the strutcure, but your ears pointing out the irritation of the girl behind your back by the movement of her shoes on the floor. “At least my friends did not bring me around just beuse they know i’ll be a looner all summer like somebody else!” Aaaaah, the old loser trap card, how did you not missed this. You weren’t that much of social, okay? But it wasn’t a big problem, if people didn’t want you around them they would have just left you in the big city...right? Well fuck Victoria and her fucking ability to just stab you  in the right place, you were that nervous that you just started to move around the museum, ignoring not only the surroinding, but even the muffled sound from the twenties room. “Oh yeah! I’m sooooo sorry, you know?! I’m so sorry that i prefer to stay on my own! I’m so in despair to know that i don’t follow all of those fucking tendencies like you and the others, that people prefer girls like you that and just think that girls like me should just go die in a pit because all society just don’t care about....” ....did you just hear a yelp of a dog? In your rage, you find yourself in another room...the prettyest one too, it was like one of those old victorian greenhouse, that too made of wax of course, like the plants too. The only difference?....there was a dog there.  On first sight, yur first idea was that, maybe, that was a fake dog, like all things inside that museum, but the sounds that it was making and the unmistakable movement of his torso surprise you! There it was, on four, looking at your direction, almost curious maybe? It was a medium size,white and black, and it wasn’t exactely something that you would have connected with a guard dog, since it wasn’’t even charging or barking at you. He was just there, watching you, trying to understand if you were a threat or not... “..OH! Hello buddy! What are you doing here???” Ok, no threat! You kneeling in front of him, stretching a hand  carefully to evitate to scare him all of sudden, and he reacted pretty well too! Still unsure about your intention, the dog dares to take a few step in your direction, sniffing your skin, and when finally it realized that maybe you weren’t so bad, it’s started to rub his on your palm, wagging his tail in the moment it sensed your nail scratching his throat side. “You’re such a good boy...uh?” The collar on throat showed a little rudimental, lamost handmade, metal label with a nome on it. “Sparky?...it’s your name? It’s adorable Sparky!” Completely absorved by the animal at your feet, you didn’t have the chance to sense the presence at your back, watching you carefully and moving without make a sound...but a dog is a naive creature, and Sparky had recognize only his owner, joyfully barking and reaching him. Only then you finally turn around, finally facing the first human being besides you and Victoria in that city. “Oh...um....it’s yours? I didn’t know, he was just sitting here alone and...” Silence, he wasn’t talking, and he was...strange. You weren’t capable to fully observe his face, covered in those that were his hair, a long raven mass that almost reached the hand of his back, messy and almost uncured. His clothes weren’t that different, boots covered in mud and something else that you didn’t dare to understand, a sweater that maybe a long time ago was white but lost his color for a new brownish shade, the trousers were hided behind an black leather apron. Again, your distraction on his look didn’t let you notice the position of his arm, like he was holding something behibnd his back, something that had already stained the unseen part of his sweater and that was ready to take care of you. He was ready to strik, until... “....Wait...a-are you the owner of the museum?.....you made all of this???” He stopped, your eyes were glued on his face, jesturing your finger on his apron, covered in now cold wax. Wait, why weren’t you scared? Didn’t you get a good look on his face? Maybe you didn’t get the max... You move closer, completely uneffected by his appearence, with a gleem in your eyes. “Did you???” Still unsure, and still with a  vice grip on whatever now he was hiding from you on his back, he made a simple movements with his head. “Oh my gosh you’re incredible! I never met someone that could have done something so amazing like this place! And it’s all hand made! You must be a genious!” His posture changed, it was more like a deer in front of a car, unsure of what was happening but still mesmerized by the situation. You liked his museum?! Usually he never get compliments like those, but the light in your eyes...you were sincere! Nobody ever was able to get so near him...at least alive....and you were a few inches from him, more interested on know the creator of this majestic palace. “If i knew there was a place like this i would have stopped by ages ago! Me and my...friend...have come here to find some motor oil, but it looks like the city is empty ...did you maybe know where we could find some?” This time he moves his head , gesturing a negative response. Well it wasn’t completely but still... Strange, he didn’t say a word from the moments he saw you..maybe he was mute... “....Oh ...well, just my luck....well i’ll fetch my friend and go back, maybe you saw her here too?” He do had node his head, but then he gestured the outside of the structured, and moved his finger, imitating a legs movements. “...Did she just leave me here?! That fucking...urg....” Trying to contains every derogatory adjective for the girl that seemed to have leaved you alone in a freacking ghost city, the mysterious man take his time to study your face. Maybe you two weren’t in a good term... Taking back your composure, you passed a hand in your (H/L) hair. Well, better for you! Victoria was usefull in the wild like toaster in a desert! Complaining about everything every five minutes! Finally some piece, and if you were lucky enough, she could have become a bear snack for the day! “..Sorry, it has been a really long day...i have to go back to my friend, sorry for the intrusion in your home...” He moved aside, give you space  between him and the dog to let you pass, but before getting out from the green house you stopped again, like you had forgotten something. “Oh yes! Anyway my name is Y/N!” Exctending your hand, you only find him far more confused from before, and after had finally understand your intentions, he started to to search something in his pocket. That something was an old piece of paper, something that maybe must have been part of a sketch book, and what that had remained of a black crayon. He really was mute, but maybe he was used to people to not get it the first time, sicne he hand to you what is was his writed name. Taking it, you finally met completely the artist. “Vincent Sinclair......It’s your name?...It’s cute! I like it!” Before he could take away his hand, you fully take it and shake it gently, sensing his skin through your palm. It wasn’t bad, it was strange feeling, maybe for the remaining presence of wax on it, but still normal somehow. When you released his hand, he stayed there, completely absorved bu your gesture. “Well...see you around Vin!”

//////////

From the inside, Vincent was able to take some last shots of you, just enough to memorize your body before the others structures could completely cancel your presence from the little city.  What had just happen in his house? Did he let a victim get away? But you were so strange, so...different. You didn’t scream at his presence, you didn’t find his museum creepy, you find it amazing...you find Vincent amazing. Abandoned the knife, covered in blood from his previous victim, now well hided in his workshop, Vincent started to finally reassemble his actions, he did let you go, but he lied to you about the girl....Well you weren’t that happy when he told that little lie, but still why did he do that? He didn’t want to scared you? He was confused, but still in that momemnt something happen in his mind. When he was thinking about someone his thoughts were about the utility of that subject in his museum, but now he wanted to...know you? He wanted to meet you again? More, he wanted to sculpture you something, he wanted to draw your face and make many anatomy study. He wanted... No wait...he did let you go...If Bo ever found out about that it would be the beginning of many troubles! No, Vincent would never allow that, he loves his brother but you were different, a complete stranger that weren’t scared of him, you were nice! Yes, he needed to keep the secret, even from Lester, he wasn’t cruel like Bo but he wasn’t good on keeping secrets...secrets...A part of Vincent liked that idea....

You were Vincent little secret...

[fromtraveldiaries]

Kanha - 5

Safari 3: Kisli Zone (Morning)

At 6 am we board the Gypsy for the morning safari. We are heavily dressed for the biting cold. We are particularly grateful for the balaclava (that was purchased in 2012 in downtown Leh while shopping for the EBC trek but hadn’t been used ever) that protects us from the swirling mist and freezing air that are out to get us in the general grogginess of pre-dawn darkness.

The silence of our drive on the bumpy road is shattered by shrill cries that suddenly fill the air. We halt the Gypsy. The cries seem to be coming from the thicket on the left. We manoeuvre the Gypsy and turn on the powerful lights to spot a pair of deer frantically bellowing out the alarm call. They look visibly scared, their big wide eyes reflecting fear in the light. We study the surroundings that lie just outside the beams of light for movement. We go back a few yards and direct light towards the thicket again to see if we can spot the source of the distress. We go forward a few yards and repeat the exercise. The deer are still very alert but the tension has lessened. Alarm calls continue at less frequency and seem to be moving in a westerly direction. ‘Probably a big cat just passed by’, Mr. Ashu observes, explaining the scene for the first time. We realize that in the 3 minutes since we stopped, we are hardly breathing.

We are too caught up in the tense experience to even consider taking out the cameras. One would imagine that as onlookers we wouldn’t be deeply affected by the plight of the deer. However, the fear seems more visceral than vicarious. ‘It can be quite an experience to deal with the emotions that arise in the wild. Different people react differently. But one has to realize that there’s no preplanned malice by the hunter nor complex afterthought by the hunted. It’s just the way of the world,’ Mr. Ashu shouts over the steady rush of the wind as we speed along on the metaled road towards the park gate.

The sky is already brightening as we wait for our guide. We watch wistfully as other Gypsies enter the park while we wait. At last our man appears. He takes the back seat and we amble along. All the mist-laden pictures of Kanha that we had seen earlier do little justice to the actual view. The mist is especially dense on the water bodies. The scene is right out of a Hindi horror movie. We glide along the mist laden trails through numerous water bodies. Finally, we see the dark orange sun peeping out from behind distant trees. Despite the sun announcing its arrival, light is dim and the forest is swathed in a veil of thin wickedness. Visibility isn’t good and the forest is eerily silent. It is at times like these that the tiger makes an entrance.

We spot a little clearing by tall grasses where a family of deer are grazing. They are alert and from time to time lift their heads as if to scan the surroundings. Somewhere in the jungle, monkeys shriek. We sit tight in anticipation. A barasingha sounds an alarm. The deer look up again. The barasingha is joined by another. At regular intervals the calls keep coming. For maybe 3 minutes. ‘You can track a tiger’s movement by listening to the calls of other animals. Birds, monkeys, deer, barasinghas will all alert you to a tiger’s presence. The alarm calls precede a tiger’s presence and die down as the tiger moves on. Animals see a tiger and sound an alarm. The tiger then hides. The animals think the tiger is gone. So they stop their calls. Then the tiger reappears. And the alarm calls restart. In the jungle, animals only react to what they see. If they see the tiger, they call. If they don’t see the tiger, even if the tiger is right there hidden behind the bushes, they don’t call. They live in the present - very real-time and immediate’, our guide speaks in undertones.

The monkeys have stopped their ruckus by now. The deer have also relaxed and are moving further into the forest. We still sit in the clearing waiting till the alarm calls die down. The tiger seems to have moved on from this area. We follow the sounds. The sun continues to shine through tall trees, casting more shadows than light. Mr. Ashu and the guide scan the trail for pug marks. There are none. We climb uphill and meet a Gypsy going downhill that tells us that a tiger crossed their path moments ago. This is probably the same tiger that had set off the alarm calls. We proceed slowly till level ground all the while scanning the vegetation on the left. We come upon the bend on the trail and bump into 2 other Gypsies that are still. Everyone is craning their necks. Something’s happening ahead, excitement increases.

We see the white whiskers first. Then we see the stripes. A magnificent tiger gingerly appears from the left, stares at the waiting Gypsies, crosses the trail to the right. He is very relaxed, neither dazed nor in a hurry. He approaches a tree, looks up as if contemplating climbing it. He stands on his hind legs and clutches the tree with the front paws. He crosses the trail again and goes to the left. It stops to look at us from time to time. Our presence doesn’t scare or anger him. He continues to study the grass, lie down, yawn, and proceeds to leave his scent on the trail by rubbing his underside on the foliage. We think he’s also farting into the grass to leave behind his scent. ‘Like most predators, tigers mark their territories by leaving their smell behind. This is M1. This is not his usual territory. But of late, we have been seeing him here. He’s difficult to spot but has over time got used to all the attention. Earlier he was very fidgety and would disappear into the bushes on seeing the Gypsies. Now he’s more assured and relaxed. He’s new to this area but has been moving in these parts since some time, probably reconnoiterring the area before settling down. M1 is named so as he’s the eldest of the 4 cubs, M1 through M4. They are all the offsprings of T8,’ Mr. Ashu explains.

M1 is a nice name to have - simultaneously anonymous and a stand-out. It's a fully grown adult male - a big animal, probably more than 2 meters in length and more than a meter in height. We are surprised that he's not roaring, not growling, not baring his menacing fangs. We are surprised that he's letting itself be watched, clicked, commented on for such a long time. We follow it for maybe 200-250 meters. If the Gypsies give it more room who knows how far it's willing to walk straight on the track! The sun is stronger now, casting a bright yellow light that bounces off the shiny orange coat of M1. Alternating sun and shade paint M1 as an unreal ephemeral beast.

Our guide explains standing atop his seat for a better view of M1. ‘The tigress pushes the cubs away nearly after 2-2.5 years of birth. The cubs become a burden for the tigress around that time. She has to hunt almost daily if she has to feed her litter at 2 years. A single kill (depending on its size) can last a tiger from a couple of days up to a week. With cubs it becomes difficult to ration food. Once they are separated from their mother, the cubs figure out ways to hunt, establish territories, find partners to mate, etc. They also forget their mothers or siblings after a while. Except a young mother with cubs, it’s all about survival of the self.’ ‘Deer are the most frequent kill. Boars are a good kill but they require a lot of work. Munna used to steal cattle from neighboring villages’, he continues.

While M1 is calm personified, the Gypsies are restless. They are inching forward in low gear with restrained engines and excited tourists. All of them want to get close to the tiger. M1 senses this and stares up and down the trail. He acts cool but the noise is starting to get to him. He walks in the middle of the track for a long time, Gypsies at his tail. There are Gypsies on the other side too, delaying their departure to allow M1 to come as close to them as possible. M1 doesn’t mind the attention but he’s had too much of it now. He enters the thicket on the left and for a while walks alongside the trail before disappearing into the trees.

We speed away after M1 leaves. The rest of the safari is a blur after the high of M1. However, we remember a few things vividly. We spot a playful jackal couple in the sun close to the place we have breakfast at. Winter sun is pleasant for everyone - humans and animals alike. We marvel at the numerous streams and the bamboo bushes. We spot and click a lot of birds - parakeets, jungle babblers (also known as the Seven Sisters), oriental magpie robins, Indian rollers, kingfishers, woodpeckers, greater racket-tailed drongos, and black drongos. We sit for a long time under the trees listening to birds and trying to name them. It’s great fun. We learn a lot about birds from the guide and Mr. Ashu. Our appreciation of birds stems primarily from David Attenborough’s documentaries on Netflix. We spot a couple of tortoises with glistening backs that have surfaced in a pond to soak in the sun. An Indian cormorant is drying its wet wings next to them.

We are again climbing uphill when we hear alarm calls.  Another tiger! The calls increase in frequency and seem to move in a tangential direction which we anticipate to be behind us and wait at the estimated point of crossing. However, the calls change direction and move away from us. The big cat seems to have changed its mind. We wait for a little while before proceeding towards the exit. It’s been a great day, and we are already thinking of documenting the day’s experiences before they fade away.

[taeguboi]

Locked Down in Tension - Part 2 Reader x Yoongi [Suga] (Smut)

Conclusion: Yoongi has never watched a full film in his life (his fictional life as far as my writings go)

Read Part 1 here :)

Love how this started as a “Would You Rather...?” ask box answer but we all got really thirsty for more and I already started brainstorming part 3 ideas before I even finished this

Thought I would tag the lovely people that commented on part 1 - thank you so much for the support!: @law-ragh17​, @thefifthmaraudergirl​, @anoesjkaax​, @mukeovernetflix​ and of course @kimlisamarie​ even though she didn’t ask 

Right, on with the show!

Okay that was weird sorry

You reach for his wrist to move him off but just as you take hold of that wrist, you find yourself unable to let go. Your touch has caused him to look at you and he catches your gaze. Neither of you seem to be able to give up in what has turned into an intense staring competition.

No matter how much will power you try to muster, you can’t turn away.

Your heart begins to flutter as you take in the appearance that is Yoongi Min; his cherry lips slightly parted, his dark brown eyes set deep into yours and his wrist still in your grasp. Sort of regretting your hasty action and now unsure of what to do, you loosen your grip and begin to make your move to the kitchen as intended.

He wriggles his wrist free from your hand and immediately grabs your wrist and hinders you from standing up by pulling you into him, your free hand landing on his chest. The closeness allows for you to read his expression a little better. That sharp look in his eyes relaxes and his eyebrows lower. His head tilts to one side.

For the first time in weeks, you quit second guessing your judgement and you stop with the over thinking. You just let him bring you closer, you let him look longingly into your eyes for those couple of seconds... and you let him hover a hand over your face and you let his lips press against yours.

All of sudden, all of those so called inappropriate thoughts you had about Yoongi from passing him down the corridor or accidentally checking him out don’t feel so wrong anymore. You in return kiss his lips, savouring the warm feeling of his hand cupping your face as you keep your hand firmly pressed onto his chest and easing him to lean back a little. He hums contentedly into the kiss as his touch leaves your face so he can use that same hand to support himself to stay sitting up.

There’s a short moment in which you both cease to kiss, taking in what is actually going on. The audio from the film is all there is be to heard for a while until Yoongi speaks

“Well this is nice” he coos, admiring your appearance as your chest heaves up and down slightly from him taking you by surprise.

“It seems pushing my luck today is paying off” he continues with a content yet menacing tone.

So it was on purpose! He did intend to sit closer to you earlier on when you were trying to watch the film. He left that hand on your knee to get you worked up… he put that hand there in the first place to mess with you.

That’s it. 

You bring yourself to your feet, dragging Yoongi up with you and taking him with you on your journey to your room.

“Y-Y/n...  are you sure about this?” he questions with some concern.

“Just don’t fucking say anything before I regret this” you snap to turn around and face him, snatching your hand away as you let go of his wrist.

A moment of silence wavers in the same way that both you and Yoongi are hovering either side of the frame of the door.

“Oh y/n… darling…” he hums seductively, guiding you into your room softly by backing you up so that you’re in the actual bedroom itself. He shuts the door behind him before contrastingly swinging you around by your waist and pushing your back up against the door.

“You won’t regret a time with me; I promise” he assures you, trailing his hand up your thigh and even in your thick tracksuit bottoms, you feel sensitive to his touch, melting like putty in his hands.

Your response? You don’t know how to speak anymore so you do what any speechless lustful person would do. You desperately pull Yoongi in by his shirt, lips colliding, arms swinging round his neck to keep him close as the two of you make out with such intensity.

You feel his hands grip around your waist as he hums lustfully into your mouth in a string of passionate kisses, the wet sounds resounding across the room. You run your fingers through his hair. His touch makes its way further up your body until he cups one of your breasts causing you to let out a small grunt from the back of your throat.

“You know…” he says, stopping the kisses to stare seductively at you, “we could have done this a lot earlier” he tells you, his hand not leaving your breast.

“You’re a bastard Yoongi” you argue breathlessly knowing your little secret is up.

“You honestly thought I didn’t notice you all these weeks? Pretending to be thinking about studying and just ‘happening’ to have your line of sight on my ass? The way you freeze up a little if you catch me coming out of that shower room?”

The string of rhetoric questions has you even more unable to speak even though you so badly want to sass him back and show him who’s boss but you give in so easily to his touch. The way he fondles your breast and plants gentle kisses on your neck. It’s driving you wild.

“I didn’t even realise I wanted you so fucking badly y/n” he mumbles, hot breath hitting your neck. You take a handful of his hair and grip into it as he bites into your skin, leaving a love bite.

“How bad do you want me?” you ask, unable to make any sort of comeback about his observations that you’ve been checking him out recently.

His mouth leaves your neck so he can be face to face with you again.

“I could have banged you over that fucking desk so many times this week as you typed away on that fucking laptop, ignoring me” he admits pushing his forehead against yours, both hands now placed on your shoulders. “You would have liked that though, wouldn’t you?”

“Maybe” you shrug arrogantly giving him your best look of indifference.

“Don’t lie to me princess” he commands.

You try to make him falter by bringing your hand to his crotch, teasing at his hardness with one lingering smooth stroke.

“A bu-bu-bu-bu” he intervenes, pinning your wrist to your side and against the door. “You first” he insists, guiding you away from the door.

“After all, I have been rather unfair, making you wait so long in that way… That dresser” he points out behind you causing you to turn your head.

“W-What about it?” you stammer.

“Take everything off it. Now” he commands. The dominant nature of his request makes your clit throb in anticipation.

You pick up the paperweight on your table and carefully place it on the floor next to it followed by a glass that once had water. Clearly though, Yoongi gets impatient at your unhurried approach and you thank yourself for having already taken away the fragile items as you just standby and watch him swipe every single thing off the surface. Some bits of paper fly up in the air and float frantically to the ground, messing up any organisation you once had for your notes. But you don’t care.

Yoongi lifts you up to sit you on the dresser table, the cold mirror reaching your lower back where your shirt has lifted. He reaches for the crown of your head and effortlessly unties your hair, allowing it to fall to your shoulders and the two of you proceed to devour one another, making out like two starving animals.

“So what would you like me to do to you on this dresser first?” he growls seductively into your ear.

“Depends…” you coo back. “What do you want to do to me?”

Yoongi continues to devour you, planting more love bites on your neck, causing you to whimper in delight.

“Take your pick princess; I could do to you what I said I could have done to you over the desk…” 

“Woah, steady there tiger” you pant. “I want to take my time with this”

“Very well then” he smiles mysteriously, trailing his hands down your chest until they reach your waistband. He tugs at your joggers, prompting you to lift yourself up to hover so that he can take them off for you.

The sight of your underwear makes Yoongi lick his lips. You had chosen the only pair of panties that weren’t yet in the laundry basket; black and lacy.

“Wait a minute…” he hums hungrily. “Stand up again”

As instructed, you do indeed take yourself off the dresser.

“Turn around”

So you do.

You could see through the dresser mirror that Yoongi is licking his lips at the sight of your almost bare ass. Yes, these panties are indeed black, lacy, and leave very little to the imagination

“My, my y/n… should pretty underwear” he growls, rubbing a hand over your bare cheek. “If I didn’t know any better… I’d believe you were anticipating this” he hums with satisfaction, his hand only leaving your skin for a split second before impacting you with a firm slap of approval.

“So fucking pretty” he tells you, walking back round to face you. “Were you thinking about me when you woke up this morning?” he questions, biting his lower lip.

“Whatever you need to tell yourself to make you feel like the big man” you bravely sass, subconsciously mirroring his lip biting movement,

“Actually, I don’t care what you were thinking this morning” he shrugs, personality switching from sensual to serious in seconds, circling you once more to check you out.

You don’t speak back. You don’t know what to say.

“Aren’t you going to ask why I don’t care princess?”

You shake your head ‘no’, still able to see him through the mirror.

“I guess that’s because you don’t need to ask; we both know you’ll be thinking about this every morning onward” he arrogantly states, rolling up his sleeves and fuck it’s sexy.

Another slap to your ass has you shaking in anticipation.

“Bend over sweetheart”

“But-”

“Don’t you wanna find out what that other option was?” he asks, face deadly serious about his instruction.

“I thought this was the first one” you counter.

“I’m being creative. I’m combining the two” he smirks, guiding your back so that you lean over the dresser.

You think he has once again sunken to his knees as you feel more strokes on your sensitive thighs, you wetness soaking the fabric that covers the place you need Yoongi the most. He presses kiss on your thighs, pushing your panties to one side, and then you feel his tongue glide slowly up the centre of your folds, causing you to shudder in mellow delight.

“Ah Yoongi…” you whine. “I want to see you”

“You want to see me?” he teases, sliding a single finger back down where his tongue just travelled. “So fucking wet”

“Let me guess” he begins, standing up again, hand on your shoulder to guide you back up so that your back is against his chest, his hardness digging into your behind. He grabs your hair gently to keep you up against him before he carries on talking. “You want to watch me while you fuck my face, don’t you? You want to pull at my hair like the needy bitch you are…”

“Less of the bitch” you instruct, never a fan of being called demeaning names. 

“Do you want to sit back on the dresser, kitten?” he asks, the cuter nickname seeming to be a form of apology for what he had just called you before that.

You nod, allowing Yoongi to once again guide you back onto the dresser as you reply to him: 

“So many names for me, Yoongi; what should I call you?”

“Just my actual name” he tells you, setting you down on the wooden surface once again. 

“If you want to get to me in a certain way while I do this, just use my name” he purrs.

You grab a handful of his hair as Yoongi devours you, making various shapes on your heated clit.

“Yes Yoongi…” you coo, running your hand through his hair before taking another handful into your grip and gently pushing his face a little further onto you.

“Fuck my face baby” he hums into you as he treats you to the movements of his tongue, eliciting a string of moans from you and various renditions in which you call his name. ‘Yoongi’ with satisfied hums either side of his name. ‘Yoongi’ with the vowels drawled out. ‘Yoongi’ with a whine.

“Mmm… That makes my fucking dick twitch” he sensually hums, ready to introduce a finger into the equation.

Gradual spouts of ecstasy fulfil you as he skilfully pumps a finger in and out of your dripping hole, the feeling only intensified when his tongue returns to your clit. This gets you just right. It’s bliss. He pleasures you so well. You have to let him know what a good job he’s doing at building you up to your high.

“Yoongi-ah…” you murmur, trying your best to utter your words as he adds another finger. “So good” you pant, clenching around his slicked up fingers.

He makes a hum of approval about your praise, his voice vibrating against your needy clit making an unthinking ‘ah!’ escape your throat. He must have registered what this did for you because he follows that hum with several more.

“Mmm” he drones again. 

“Mmm” he purrs as he adds that third finger to completely fill you up.

“Mmm!” he mumbles with an exclamation as he continues to devour you and eat you out like he hasn’t eaten a thing for days.

“Yoongi!”

“Mmm!” he deliciously groans, bringing you close to climax.

“Come for me baby” he tells you, this being the only moment he has backed off for a couple of minutes and you already feel desperate for more in just that short moment before his mouth returns to work wonders on you.

You’re weak at the knees, body turned to jelly, no longer grabbing Yoongi’s hair. Instead, your head is thrown back onto the mirror behind you, hands at either side of yourself to attempt to prop yourself up as you lose control of yourself. 

Eyes rolling into the back of your head as Yoongi picks up the pace with his fingers, you see stars, reaching the hardest orgasm you’ve ever experienced. It’s surreal. The best you’ve ever had.

“Pretty” he smiles, emerging from between your weak thighs.

“I’m not” you laugh nervously, a little embarrassed by the comment.

“You are” he insists, pressing a kiss on your forehead.

“I bet I’d look prettier with my hands around your cock” you wink just before exchanging a kiss.

“How do you want me baby?” he asks as though he’s some sort of lustful genie awaiting to obey your wishes.

“On the bed, and take those trousers off before you sit” you instruct as you observe his erection painfully making his trousers tighten.

You watch him follow your instruction as you dismount the dresser, ready to give Yoongi something in return, licking your lips as he sits on the bed in just his shirt and boxers, back against the wall.

“Get it out without taking off the boxers” you tell him as your mind casts back to that one thought you had about him the other day; the one where you could imagine him jacking himself off mostly clothed when you thought you could hear a questionable groan through the wall the other morning.

He releases himself through the middle layers of fabric, exposing just how rock solid you had already made him as it bounces against the fabric of his shirt, causing him to gently hiss at the contact.

You climb onto the bed slowly, on all fours trailing a hand up his thigh and then straight to the point. His dick looks so beautiful in your hand as you begin to pump him up and down and his face even more so as his mouth forms a small ‘o’ shape.

“Take it off” he says as you pick up the pace. “Your shirt. Take it off” he pants, already coming undone from your touch.

You cease to pump him as you take yourself off the bed again and he grunts a little.

“Touch yourself for me baby” you instruct, standing in front of him. “Watch me while you jack off to me undressing”

“Oh my god, yes” he sighs enthusiastically, already holding himself. “Let me see those tits” he demands.

“Patience baby…” you coo, turning you back on him. “It’ll be a pretty quick show if I just take off my shirt” you giggle.

“You’re driving me crazy; please y/n” he growls yet asking ever so sweetly.

You bring over the chair from your dresser and you lean on the backrest so that Yoongi gets a full view off your ass. You seductively spank yourself gently, grabbing a handful of your ass cheek, nails digging in and leaving some red marks for him to see. You proceed to spread yourself apart for him so he can see more of you. That makes him moan needily. You like that.

You lean back onto the chair with one hand and using the other to touch yourself for him, teasing at your own hole by using two fingers to spread that open so he can see how dripping wet you still are.

“Still so fucking wet for me princess - mmm…” he groans, the sound of him touching himself becoming more audible now as you pick up the sound of his hand hitting against the fabric of his boxers.

You turn back round to face him, finally pulling your shirt off over your head to reveal every part of your naked body. You take a handful of breast and fondle yourself, circling at a nipple. You surprise yourself at how that feels and Yoongi can tell this from the expression on your face.

“Who would’ve thought my cute housemate would be such a naughty girl for me” he coos, slowing down the pace on his dick.

“Who would’ve thought my cute housemate would be touching himself so beautifully for me?” you purr, sitting yourself down on the chair to just watch and admire him.

“Keep going for me Yoongi” 

He pumps himself again, albeit with hesitation.

“Any more and I’m not gonna last, hun”

“Just a little longer… for me?” you sweetly request. 

“You look so pretty with your own hand wrapped around that dick of yours”

“Ah, y/n…” he croaks, trying his damned hardest not to explode there and then.

“Do you want me to kiss you?” you tunefully intonate.

“Please” he pants, still touching himself.

“And where do you want me to kiss you?” you smirk, diverting his expectations as you return to his side.

“Lips”

You cup his face prompting him to turn his head for you and you press a gentle kiss on his lips - twice.

“Neck” 

And so you do that too, basking in the sound of his pants which indicate he could be close. 

You want to push him over the edge just one more time before you reward him with being inside of you so you shuffle down to his lap where you place your hand over his and assist him in his movements and when you find the chance, you use your mouth on him. Licking him. Sucking him. Bobbing your head up and down on him.

“Close” is all he can say as you drive him wild.

You cease to touch him with either your hands or mouth and your housemate never looked so good. You pinch at the bottom of the fabric of his shirt and you indicate for him to take it off. You kiss at his chest as he reveals his torso and he shuffles about to properly remove the clothing, slinging it on the floor and guiding you down to lay next to him.

“I think these need to come off too, don’t you think?” you smirk, stroking the top of his thigh along the boxers he still wears.

“Mm-hmm” he agrees, sliding them off, forgotten about within seconds.

“Now then…” he smiles, pulling you in by your waist for more kissing and you reciprocate by exploring his body, hand on his torso, another in his hair  - you literally can’t stop touching his hair; it’s so nice to feel.

He explores you too, a hand cupping a buttock then lifting your leg over his to draw you in closer. You love how intimate this feels and so does he, lips not leaving each other’s as he rolls over you , hovering above you, admiring your nakedness.

“Do you… have anything?” he asks awkwardly, confusing you a little.

“Have anything?” you question back.

“You know…” he mumbles, looking down at his hardness and sliding a finger across your folds to show his intentions.

“Oh” you say, realising he’s referring to some protection.

“Bedside drawer” you tell him.

He reaches over for a condom from the drawer. “So prepared darling… I bet you wanted for this to happen, didn’t you?” he smirks, running a hand down your body.

“They were always just there, you know, in case…” you counter, hissing at the contact of his fingers rubbing your clit to tease.

“Answer my question… or you don’t get this” he challenges, his hand moving away from you and to his dick to pump himself a couple of times.

He’s so arrogant sometimes with this, but you can’t help but feel turned on by it. You surrender, you give in, and you tell him how much you want him inside of you - 

“I want you. Deep inside of me. Please.”

“My, my, such blunt words princess… I like it” he purrs before opening the condom packet and sliding it on.

“You like that, huh?” you ask seductively, gently making circles using your wetness to pleasure yourself some more.

“You betcha” he mutters before slowly pushing himself inside of you.

“Fuck!” you croak feeling deliciously filled.

“Tell me about how we should do this more often” he smirks as he begins to thrust in and out of you, knowing you’re turning into a hot mess beneath him and therefore aren’t able to think as fast.

“We… Oh!...”

“Use your words baby” he pants into your ear. 

“Do you want me to fuck you on the kitchen counter? Do you wanna watch me in the shower? Maybe I should eat you out under the table whilst you make coffee for everyone like the dirty girl you are…”

All of these thoughts are such a turn on for you. You want him to do all of those things to you. 

“Fuck yes” you groan, your body being rocked into the bed by your housemate.

“Fuck, Yoongi…”

“Ah, we’re going to have so much fun together whilst we’re on lockdown together then…” he tells you, breathing heavily as he increases the intensity of his thrusting into you. 

Heavier. Harder. Deeper. His fingers digging into your hips. Your arms clinging onto him as he makes you feel like you’re in heaven. Scratches down his back. Tiny bruises on your neck.

“Yeah we are” you agree with a low, sexy tone whilst your mind begins to list all the other possibilities of what the two of you might get up to in the future: 

“I-I could touch you u-under a blanket when everyone is w-w-watching the tv together” you stammer, trying to have some control on your sentences. 

“I bet y-you’d love it if I sent you… sent a naughty picture of me w-when you’re trying to make dinner…”

“Mmm I like the sound of that…” he hums. 

“Getting caught at any minute. Someone walking in on us whilst I fuck this little pussy, making them wish they were in on some of the action...”

“Knowing they can’t have any of this” you finish for him as the loudest moan Yoongi has made yet escapes him.

You bring him in for more passionate kisses, both getting closer and closer to reaching your peaks. 

“I’m gonna come so hard for you baby” he tells you in between kisses.

“Then come for me” you reply in an almost bossy manner.

“With pleasure” he grins, rocking faster back and forth into you, chasing that high as he reaches it, pace going a bit less consistent as you feel him shake in delight.

Worried you’re not quite there yet, you bring a hand down to your clit and start to rub, triggering you to go into overdrive as Yoongi goes in and out of you for those last few slower times.

“So… so fucking handsome” you deeply exhale, your own touch combined with everything Yoongi has done for you pushing you over the edge.

You wince a little as he pulls out whilst you’re still trying to finish, but you nonetheless also begin to reach that high, leaving Yoongi to watch you in awe as you touch yourself. At the very last moment though, he brings his face back down to your core just as he can tell you’re about to come.

“Let me” he instructs before his tongue once again explores you and you ultimately reach orgasm and allow yourself to let loose with moans so loud and carefree that anyone could hear you right now.

“Yoongi!” you exclaim as he does this one movement with his tongue that you can’t quite explain that almost pushes you too far as you feel yourself coming down a little. You tug gently at his hair as though to say it’s too sensitive now and he looks up at you handsomely, all sexed up.

He comes up to kiss you and even though you know what he’s just been doing with that mouth, the kiss is sweet. 

“You okay?” he asks, unknowing of what else to say at this moment.

“Very good” you smile, satisfied.

“Yeah you are” he praises, chuckling at his words as he lays down beside you.

“Right back at you” you tell him.

“So…” he hums. 

“Someone’s making coffee tomorrow morning” he jests, referring to the erotic conversation from earlier.

“Yeah just for me though” you giggle back, playfully pretending to hit his chest.

“Okay, okay then” he smiles in defeat, half-disappointed at the idea of not being able to fulfil that little fantasy about pleasuring you in the kitchen in that way.

“But…” you continue. 

“I am due a shower tomorrow, so…” you hum, walking your fingers up his chest and lingering when you reach his shoulder. 

“Maybe I wouldn’t say no to some company” you suggest, bouncing that finger off his shoulder and into the air.

“Hmm funny coincidence, that” he grins, nuzzling into your neck. 

“I was planning to use the shower room too...” he hums, kissing your neck, admiring the few love bites he had planted on you earlier. 

“...and I’ll get to really see how I marked you then”

“Let’s watch the rest of that film” you suggest, interrupting Yoongi from going back into another cycle of thinking about you in that way again so soon.

“Oh yeah, I’d forgotten about that” he unashamedly admits.

“I thought you might have” you chuckle. 

“We best get dressed before anyone is around to see us both coming out of my room”

Yoongi can’t help but feel a little offended by this - were you ashamed of him? No actually, perhaps it would be best if the others didn’t know. Being stuck in a house of people who want to do nothing but tease you both about it kind of sounds like a nightmare. Actually, also, really thinking about it, the idea of sneaking around does sound exciting.

“Good call” he replies as his mind comes to that conclusion.

You exchange one more kiss before sitting yourselves up to collect your discarded clothes from different points of your room. The room fills with a silence that partly feels awkward but it’s okay because you don’t have anything to say right now or rather, you’re unsure of what to say right now and he probably feels the same way.

You wonder for a moment, as you slide your underwear back on, if this will have made anything too awkward or if it will mess up the friendship though that’s not really something that worries you since Yoongi was always such an outgoing guy… You’re actually a little more concerned at the idea that any one of your housemates could have heard the noises coming from the bedroom.

Fully clothed, you open the bedroom door and peep out, looking around the open space in front of you. No one in the living area. Kitchen’s empty. The coast is clear, so you signal for a now dressed Yoongi to follow you back into the living area.

Just as the two of you sit down on the couch, skip the film back to only the third scene in from the menu and compose yourselves, the sound of another one of your housemates coming in through the front door has your eyes glued to the tv screen in a millisecond.

“Hey guys!” greets Jungkook, one of the youngest living here.

“Hi Jungkook” you greet back with a smile.

“Watching a film?” he asks even though the answer is fairly obvious.

“Yeah” you reply.

“Had a good walk mate?” Yoongi chimes in.

“Yeah, yeah, it was good, it was good, thanks” replies Jungkook. 

“Get up to anything interesting whilst I was gone?”

You and Yoongi exchange glances, doing your best to hide your smiles from knowing what just happened in your room.

“No, not really. You know how it is.”

*******

Fiction Masterlist here

[fics-not-tragedies]

In a Week: Chapter 10 🌲

Yes, I have a thing for walks in the woods and no, I cannot be stopped with them. So you can bet it’s another chapter they spend in the forest.

Words:  2472; Warnings: none, unless you want another warning for smoking then you have it; Summary: Andrew and Flo go for another walk in the woods.

Hozier tag list:

@letoursilencebreaktonight​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​; @angelpeachamber​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​; @sgt-morgan​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​; @julessbrown​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​;

Monday, 3pm

Her hand was wrapped in his, like they were walking that way all the time, the gesture was quite natural for them when he was guiding her through the forest he seemed to know like the back of his hand.

The woods welcomed them both with juicy grass and tall trees with moss covered trunks. They were walking alongside the creek, stopping here and there to have a closer look at the colorful flowers or just to breathe in the fresh summer air.

Suddenly he stopped and Flo bumped into his back, “Hey, take a look” Andrew whispered to her, slowly taking few small steps to the side, so she could finally see why he stopped.

There was a little deer that stopped few meters from them on the other side of the creek that stopped by to have a refreshing drink.

He crouched down, pulling her to his level, so their appearance wouldn’t scare the animal. Flo sat on the nearest rock close to him and they both watched as the deer was taking slow sips from the cold creek. There was some movement in the bushes behind it and another three deers gracefully walked over to the creek and joined the first one.

“I wish I had my camera with me” Flo breathed looking at Andrew now.

“You’re a photographer?” He asked her with little sparks in his muddy eyes.

“I wouldn’t call myself that… I kinda made my wish come true and got myself an analog camera last year and I’m just taking photos whenever I can.”

“I must admit, em, it’s a moment worth capturing” he moved closer to her, so he didn’t had to speak louder.

“Yes, the deers and us here on a rock by the creek.”

“The deers and us?” Andrew asked, like he was stunned by her words.

“Yes, those two. I feel like the only way I can take you home with me is by pictures.”

“Em… or you can just ask” he giggled almost soundlessly, brushing his locks away from his face.

“Mister Byrne, are you flirting with me?” Flo wiggled her eyebrows at him and he had to hide his face into his large hands to avoid laughing out loud.

“Just… maybe a tiny little bit.”

“I’ll remember that Andrew” she had to look away from him, move her gaze back to the deers, because she knew that if her eyes would long for a little bit more on his face she’d give in and kiss him.

Monday, 4pm

“Do you really got the marshmallows?” Flo asked him, slowly sitting at the wide stump next to him.

The small fire was already lit, thanks to the lighter he carries around and Andrew just silently kept stabbing the marshmallows with a stick.

“I did” he placed them over the fire watching them carefully as they started to melt really slowly.

“What made you think I like roasted marshmallows?” Her eyes were glued to his face, carefully studying every little detail, every little wrinkle formed on his skin, she’d desperately try to remember it all after this week ends and they part their ways forever.

“Everyone loves roasted marshmallows” Andrew took one off the stick with his long fingers and pressed it to her lips.

“Well… you’re right” she smiled and gently took the warm candy in her mouth, desperately trying to avoid any contact with his fingers, but they both knew it wasn’t possible, when he brushed her lower lips with his fingertips, “Does every girl gets feed by you?” Flo asked chewing vigorously at the melted marshmallow.

Andrew chuckled a little, before placing another one in his own mouth, “Not really, em, you’re the first one, Flo.”

“Oh, delightful” she snatched another one from the stick he was gripping and now she was the one who was pressing the marshmallow against his lips.

“I feel like Dionysus would be proud of us” her fingers gently brushed his mouth when he took the candy from her and she let herself long them there for a little bit longer than she should.

“It’s not a real feast Andrew, also we don’t have wine and naked girls, also we’re in the middle-” his other hand gently grasped her hand, his long fingers wrapping around her wrist and he planted a little kiss to her fingertips, “... the middle of a forest.”

A little untamed gasp left her mouth and she shook her head, seeing the little grin forming on his narrow lips.

“You don’t have to be naked to have some fun” Andrew winked and she tamed another gasp with a marshmallow stuffed into her mouth.

“Do men like you hide under the moss?” Flo joked, taking another candy into her sticky fingers.

“No ma’am” he laughed a little, eating another marshmallow, “we just don’t get that much recognition.”

“Such a shame.”

Monday, 7pm

“I need a smoke” he announced, patting his pockets down and wandering a little down the hill. She followed without question.

“You say that a lot, Andy” Flo pulled the sleeves of her jumper down to cover her hands and crossed her arms, staying close behind him.

“I’m saying what?” He replied, looking back at her for a second, the gold sun bright on her bare face.

“That you need something.”

They found a spot that was grassy and only slightly moss covered. Even though the incline of the hill was uncomfortable on their backs, neither of them wanted to move once they had settled. Flo quickly pulled her knees up to her chin, staring out at the sky and the city below. Andrew was directly to her right and he lit his cigarette, legs stretched out, taking a long drag before asking what she meant.

“What’s wrong with, em, saying that I need something?”

She turned back to him, almost having forgotten her point, tilting her head to observe him properly, her hair wild from the bun it had been in. He squinted a little as the brightness of the sun rolled gradually away from them.

“I just think people who say the word need all time have an addictive personality” she suggested teasingly.

He raised his eyebrow, nodding slowly, amused. He considered the truth in her statement wholly, knew how excited and obsessed he could be over small things that he got lost in. She was just another example - he knew her for less than twenty-four hours and already he was enamored, completely mesmerized by her. He blew smoke away from her and flicked the ash, his bare arms pricking a little at the sudden blow of wind.

“I get what you have on your mind…” then he coughed, nudging her softly, “addicted to you, aren’t I?”

Flo’s lips pulled into a smirk identical to his and she shook her head in disbelief at how quick he was, how he turned nearly everything into some variant of flirtatious joke.

“Wow, Andrew, that was almost good.”

“I’ll keep trying” he chuckled deeply, scratching his nose with his free hand.

“I’m sure you will.”

“It’s not my usual self, em, I haven’t been like that around anyone” Andrew beamed so intensely at her that she thought he had malfunctioned for a moment. It was only when she shivered against the cold that he moved, shuffling slightly closer to her in a quiet panic.

“Cold?”

“Actually, a little bit” she sighed, blinking at him through her lashes, knowing she couldn’t resist what he was inevitably bound to offer.

“C’mere then.”

His long arm draped around her instantly and she had no desire to fight it, so she didn’t. She held her breath as her head fell against his toned chest, tucking her body snugly against his. There was an immediate comfort in being this close to him again and she exhaled sharply at last, her breath a little shaky as it drifted from her lips. Unsatisfied, the palm of her hand stretched out on his abdomen, his eternal warmth seeping through his shirt despite the cold.

“Is this weird?” He hummed gently, resting his chin on the top of her head and inhaling the scent of her floral shampoo, before taking another quick drag of his cigarette, making sure to blow the smoke away from her.

“Only if we let it be weird” she mumbled back, too obsessed with the quiet, focused so intently on only the rhythmic patterns of his heart, to raise her voice over it. The fingers of his free hand tucked a few strands of loose hair behind her ear, then he stroked over it softly, letting it fall between his fingers, unable to resist the chance. Flo didn’t dare to flinch, scared for a moment he’d stop and felt her eyelids automatically closing at how gentle this tall man was with her, the golden light fading.

Monday, 7:45pm

“Flo… Honey…” 

Flo woke slowly to the hushed sound of Andrew repeating her name, his thumb brushing casually over her arm to stir her. She hadn’t planned to sleep, hadn’t realized she was tired at all, but he was so overwhelmingly soft and warm and his hand in her hair had been a complete comfort, so much so that it was unavoidable. She lifted her head from his shirt gradually, shocked by the audacity her past self had had to touch his lower chest in the way she had, peeling her palm from his abdomen with a hint of embarrassment.

She prayed to every god there was that she hadn’t snored, or dribbled or done anything remotely humiliating whilst she was out. Flo squeezed her eyes as she readjusted to the light, everything much darker than it had been before. Andrew’s arm was still around her, eager to keep her close and she brushed over her hair nervously, remembering the way he combed it with his fingers, suddenly worried about her appearance.

“What?” She mumbled sleepily, finally able to bring herself to look at him, his eyes deep and muddy, his beard a little harsh yet still fluffy.

“You’re missing the sunset now, love…” he announced, his voice a mere whisper, pointing towards the sky she failed to even notice, too desperate to find his face the moment she was conscious. Flo hung on his face for a moment more, breathless at the way his lips parted when he called her ‘love’ and found herself filled with an irrefutable need to press hers against his, just to ease the fire he had rekindled inside her. Instead, she turned her head immediately to the view, a little too sharply to be subtle, the stiffness in her neck now very apparent. 

The sunset was anything but anticlimactic. If it hadn’t been beautiful before, it certainly was now, the sky erupting with more colour than should’ve been possible. It was more intense than she’s ever seen from where she lived in the city, more shades of orange and red, pink and even purple than she could count on one hand, shrouding the skyline elegantly.

“Did you plan this?” Flo giggled breathlessly, obsessed with the way the colors bounced off his skin, his nose illuminated with a bright orange hue.

“Well, I asked the universe for a favor” he hummed, licking his lips as she turned back to him, “and it seems like, em, someone was listening to me this time.”

She rolled her eyes, baffled by just how immature he could be while simultaneously having one of the most complex minds she’d ever witnessed. She settled back against him for a moment to watch the sun sink out of view. It was a little awkward, neither of them sure how to soothe the absurd tension, but the crook of his shoulder was so inviting and he was more than happy to oblige in holding her. They were quiet for a while, each blinking at the horizon in awe.

Andrew felt for a while like a teenager all over again. It was the combination of Flo making him idiotically nervous and the vague deja-vu he felt from sitting in the grass holding her, watching the sun go down, like he had so many times in his youth. He had a beer in hand and a sudden breakout of spots too, the similarity would’ve been uncanny. Of course, the girls he sat with back then were merely girls, not women and were nowhere near as gorgeous as he thought Flo was.

Flo was lost on the idea of staying in this moment forever, wanted nothing more than to come back to it whenever she felt bad or alone or angry with the universe, because it had given her this beautiful memory now that she already held so close to her heart. It was confusing being away from the hotel, outside of the walls she spent every memory with Andrew. She told herself over and over again that it was cruel to think of anything other than Monday being the end of the line, but watching the sunset, on the hill, his closeness so comforting, it felt like a blind promise that their whirlwind of an adventure was genuine. She knew that it wasn’t just the hotel or that week that worked - it was them.

Monday, 7:50pm

The sun disappeared moments later with a last desperate dash of colour streaking through the clouds and then everything was suddenly navy and dark. To both of their annoyance, it wasn’t clear enough to make out many stars just yet. Flo’s bum felt numb, Andrew’s hands were blue, his shoulder cramped from where she’d been curled against him and they were simply too cold to be comforted by each other anymore.

“We should’ve brought our coats… or a blanket” she decided as he stood, brushed himself down and pulled her to her feet with both hands, disappointed when he let go straight away, “That’s why I don’t do spontaneity.”

“If being a little bit cold is, em, all that’s holding you back from living your life, then maybe, em, you should reconsider.”

“I just like being warm, that’s all” Flo fixed her hair, tucking the straw strands behind her ears.

“All I can offer you now is a really warm hug, from a really tall man.”

“I take that offer” she breathed out and his long arms wrapped around her back pulling her into a tight hug.

“So what we do now?” A mumble left her lips as she inhaled the scent of his perfume.

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll figure something out in a minute” Andrew let himself press his nose into her hair, smell her herbal shampoo, before the realization that this wasn’t his girlfriend, nor she’ll ever be one, hit him like a train and he had to choke in few tears that were threatening to fall from his muddy green eyes.

[sciencespies]

Herds of Moss Balls Mysteriously Roam the Arctic Together

https://sciencespies.com/news/herds-of-moss-balls-mysteriously-roam-the-arctic-together/

Herds of Moss Balls Mysteriously Roam the Arctic Together

In parts of Alaska and Iceland, glacier mice roam wild.

While glacier mice look small and fluffy, they aren’t rodents or even animals—they’re lumps of moss about the size of a flattened softball. Their name comes from a 1951 report in the Journal of Glaciology, when an Icelandic researcher referred to them as jökla-mýs, glacier mice. Now, new research takes a close look at moss ball locomotion.

The study, published last month in the journal Polar Biology, shows that glacier mice can live for years and that herds of them move together in sync. But the researchers aren’t sure yet why that is, as NPR’s Nell Greenfieldboyce reports.

“Most people who would look at them would immediately wonder, ‘Well, I wonder if they roll around out here in some way,'” says University of Idaho wildlife biologist Sophie Gilbert to NPR. “Tumbleweeds come to mind, which are obviously totally different, but also round and roll around.”

Gilbert and her husband Tim Bartholomaus, a glaciologist at the University of Idaho, first stumbled on a gathering of glacier mice in 2006 when hiking on Root Glacier in Alaska, Candice Wang reports for Popular Science. Then in the summers between 2009 and 2012, the two experts tracked the movement of 30 glacier mice, which were identifiable by unique beaded bands. Then, Gilbert and Bartholomaus met Washington State University glaciologist Scott Hotaling in 2018.

“We just needed to push this project across the finish line but we didn’t have the time and energy to do that ourselves,” Bartholomaus tells Popular Science.

Together the team analyzed the data of the moss balls’ movement and found that they roll about an inch each day. The moss balls seem to insulate the ice below them, so as the glacier surface melts, each ball is sitting on a small pedestal. Eventually, it tumbles off.

“The whole colony of moss balls, this whole grouping, moves at about the same speeds and in the same directions,” Bartholomaus tells NPR. “Those speeds and directions can change over the course of weeks.”

He explains that herd of 30 moss mice that they observed first moved slowly southward before accelerating west, and then losing speed. Previous research using accelerometers had shown that the balls roll, and that the balls are green all over suggests that all sides get sunlight at some point. The new data show that the moss balls don’t move randomly—but the researchers couldn’t yet deduce what’s driving them.

The glacier mice didn’t follow any pattern that the researchers checked. The moss wasn’t rolling down a slope, getting pushed by the wind, or following the sun. Since the NPR story was published on May 22, readers have started sending their own theories to the research team, who are collecting them in a Google Doc, per Popular Science.

“It’s been pretty charming. So many people are keying in on this mystery.” says Bartholomaus to Popular Science. “Some plants like sunflowers turn their faces toward the sun over the course of the day. Folks are curious if moss balls might do that, and lean towards the sun until they tumble.”

Bartholomaus thinks that the glacier mice are too heavy and slow-growing for that theory to pan out. But he and Gilbert expect that time lapse footage of glacier mice herds taken alongside weather data is the next step in their research. They’re also interested in the possibility that volcanic ash might have something to do with moss ball formation.

For now, the glacier mice are still full of mystery, and a charming sight in a stark landscape.

“They’re not attached to anything and they’re just resting there on ice,” Bartholomaus tells NPR. “They’re bright green in a world of white.”

#News

[vergils-daughter]

„Don’t touch me” Vergil x Female Reader

Note: I need power. Pain included.

You must know that my skin is very fragile. Every time someone touches me, a spark of an unpleasant impulse runs across my skin. This hypersensitivity has nothing to do with any known human illness though. But it sucks and makes my miserable life even more obnoxious.

And I have grown tired of explaining this to every stranger. This time it is a nice-looking middle aged guy, whom I met near the church. The reason we started to explore together is simple – we just went in the same direction, he did not look like a demon, me even less so, so neither of us suspected the other of anything off. We were so focused that we did not even exchange the names. Everything was obvious. I am a person who does not ask many questions, neither is he.

Several times I caught his glance, but there was really nothing more than a neutral observation. His eyes were cold blue, big, white – or grey? – hair thoroughly brushed away from his face. He looked like one of the those men you can see at a military parade. They are not from there and really want to be elsewhere, but that "elsewhere" isn't a nice place. It is not a place for small girls like me – it is what he would say if I ask him where he came from.

I really tried to have a closer look at his long katana, but I had a feeling he would get angry if I touched it.

There were only a few demons in the main nave of the abandoned church, but I was expecting worse underground. I had straight orders to investigate the source of the strange demonic energy. And every step that lead me to the stairs made my skin more and more irritated. I needed to take off my coat to let my poor, bare arms rest.

He would have to be a complete weirdo not to wonder at least about their state. But I could not blame him, as the skin I uncovered really looked bad. The scars were almost red, not white as usual. They were forming patterns as though dozens of small rivers were flowing just under my skin. I cautiously touched them and then hissed.

"Is this some kind of illness?" he asked, no emotion in his voice, just curiosity. "Are you allergic to demonic energy maybe?"

I sighed and shake my head. "No, it is a side effect of a ritual my order put me through. Nothing contagious. It... hurts sometimes, when I am close to source. But not always. Just, you know. Scars."

"Scars" - he said and nodded. I may have seen the spark of recognition in his eyes. But it could be just the light.

The light went darker when we finished cleansing the place. It was hard, because no demons were protecting the ritual circle, worse, a spell had been cast upon the entire room and it cost us a lot of effort to take it down. But we managed, and my magical experience helped a lot. I did not even have to unsheathe my blades, as his mighty katana was doing the main job of cutting the hard magical threads. I watched him with a growing interest, especially when he took off his own coat and I had the opportunity to rate his arms. I like men's arms.

When all was cleansed we were both damn exhausted. We left the church and headed to the nearest house, where we found an undamaged apartment. I don't know why he just agreed to go there with me. We barely shared few words, but somehow I started to trust him.

At this moment I need to explain myself before you. I am not a slag neither am I a bigot. The reason I came closer to this man lies somewhere in my past and filled my future with way too many unexpected events. I do not own my body wholly. It is a part of a ritual, it is a tool. Easy to restore, easy to bend. And this man seemed curious.

This is why I decided to offer him some time with me.

And here we are now.

He looks tense, stiff and uptight, when he sits on the couch with a silent moan.

I leave my blades and coat on the nearest chair and without any word stand in front of him. He looks at me with a question in his eyes.

“I may have some idea how to release the tension” I say, laying hands on his arms and leaning to reach his ear.

“I am old enough to be your father, girl” - he snorts, but drags me closer. I follow him and sit astray on his tights. His hands, very cold and soft, poke under the rim of my shirt. He observes my face, knowing that I don’t like the touch. That it hurts. I close my eyes, inhale and slowly nod.

He touches me only with the tips of his fingers. They move like snakes, meander along the scars on the back, then go on to the front, stopping at ribs. I feel them and the impulses remain, but this time it is not unpleasant. There is still a little pain, but there is also... a warmth? I concentrate on their traces and every change of position I welcome with a silent sigh.

“Keep on doing that” - I ask with a hoarse, not opening my eyes. “Don’t stop, do...” - I stop when his mouth covers mine. His kiss becomes deeper, more intrusive, when his tongue tries to pry my lips open. I let him in, tilting my head to give him access inside.

His hands move under my bralette, roll it up and embrace my breasts. There are no scars on them, but the nipples almost hurt when he squeezes them between his thumbs and index fingers. I moan into his mouth, he moans back, not breaking the kiss. One his hand clasps my waist and presses me closer to him. But he needs not to be afraid, I will not escape.

When I realize that I feel his arousal so close to my crotch, it almost blows my mind. I hardly ever feel the “crimson curtain” falling on me during the battle, but this time it just hits me. I break the kiss and unbutton his shirt, kissing every inch of just uncovered skin.

“Please, fuck me now” - I say, taking of my shirt and bra. I want him to see me naked, with all my history written on my skin. I straighten my upper body and press his hands to my breasts.

“I need you inside me” - I buck my hips with impatience. He hisses and quickly lifts me and dumps me on the couch.  The buckle of the belt hits the ground when he removes my trousers along with the panties. I try to reach his belt too, but he pins me down, holding my hands tightly above my head. His blue piercing eyes look at me the way a snake looks at his prey.

“Be careful what you wish for, little one” - he whispers and pushes his hand between my tights. But there is no gentle stroking or studying the grounds. His finger just slides inside me and quickly pulls out, pressing the clit. I tilt my head and cry from rapid intrusion. I try to escape from under him and close my legs, but he pries them apart with his knee and press his hips to his hand, still laying on my folds.

“You are so welcoming wet” - he says and strokes me again and again, harder every time, covering his hand and my tights with my fluid. His strong, long fingers tighten on my wrists, which causes the pain that entwines with pleasure. I cannot and I wish not to stop. I want him to ravish me like an animal.

“Oh... gods...” - I try to withhold my moans and close my mouth, but when he slides his finger deep and curls it, my hips start to move on their own. “Take me, take me, take me...”  - I repeat with every push. I inhale with an open mouth, fast and loud.

“I will gladly...” - he speaks and finally frees my hands, supporting himself on the elbow and leaning his head to suck my nipple, which makes me writhe. His lips are still so hot and wet from our kiss. I hear him unbuckle his belt with the other hand and the lack of his touch almost hurts, so I wrap my legs around him and gyrate my hips to meet his. He laughs and holds my hips in a place, then licks my other nipple. I growl and try to drag him higher on me, with no success. I lower my head and meet his smirk while he puts out his tongue to tease my sensitive body. I shake from the tension.

“Why rush?” - he murmurs and lowers himself a little, just enough to touch my entrance with the tip of his cock. I moan and move quickly to impale myself, but he escapes again. He leans to my ear and whispers : “Oh, don’t worry, I will ride you alright, till you forget how to speak”.

He rises and sits, holding my tights on both sides of his body. Have I not been so excited, I could cherish his abdomen, covered with scars almost the same way mine is. But he gives me no time to take a closer look. He lifts me and unbelievably slowly pushes inside.

“Fuuuuck...” - I grab the backrest of the couch and lean my head back, when he pulls back and pushes again, this time stronger. My tights shake as he moves them higher, to allow himself to go further inside. From this angle he can easily see how he enters me, my body lays before him, uncovered and outstretched, exposed breasts jiggling from thrusts that quickly become fast and hard, hair stuck to the wet neck and arms, muscles on the abdomen clamped. I see his intense look, partly opened lips and cock sliding easily inside. He is so focused on the ride, that it almost amuses me.

"You are... so soft and... tight" - he says, still in this silent voice, breaking the sentence with a gasp. I thank him for this position, that he does not lay on me. Our skin, rubbing on each other, would cause me more pain that pleasure. Now I see the scars illuminating, like a rivers full of light flowing under my skin, around the breasts and on my belly...

Wait. Why do they illuminate? My half-conscious brain tries to understand the revelation, but it fails, as he touches my clit and begins to press it with every thrust. I whine, I crave for the touch, for this is the only way I ever bring myself to the orgasm.

"Yes... like that" - as I say it, the bright light appears in his eyes, but this does not frighten me. In fact, I find it interesting, besides... somehow all his body and movement changed.

"Hold still, girl" - he growls with different voice – lower, vibrating, non-human. With growing fascination I see his skin starting to cover with blue scales, his face transforming into a feral mask of wild lust and the...

"Ohh my! Oh!" - the fucking demon's cock moves like snake, making a wave every time he enters me, hitting the spot. All my body cringes from the unexpected shot of pleasure, so he grabs me stronger, as I feel his claws dipping in my skin and the cold scales rubbing against my tights. He is bigger and stronger and more brutal. So demonic yet so strangely angelic.

I am the quarry he is feeding on and the calyx he needs to fill. With every second he enters me I am more sure I will need him in the future. And every time we fuck would bond us stronger.

"More, more!" - I am on the very edge. I rise head and nibble on my lips, feeling the incoming orgasm that makes me clench around him. But he does not fasten the moves, quite the opposite, he stops and only his cock bestirs inside me.

"Beg me" - he says.

"Damn you, demon" - I gasp, as he pulls only a little, teasing with me. He chuckles and immobilizes me when I try to press forward hips. I gather all my strength. "You like it as much... as I do" - my voice shivers, and so does all my body. "So do not... fucking... tease with me, you poor little demon" - I feel the scars scorching when he swipes out his fingers on my belly. He observes my reaction with interest.

"You will never beg for nothing" - he does not ask. He takes a note. "This I like".

And he abruptly begins to ride me like crazy, quickly leading me to the strong peak that almost makes me deaf from my own screams. And not stopping on that, not letting me to take a breath, he continues taking me, until finally he explodes with a silent howl.

So...

It could have been an interesting start of a deep relationship. But then comes the moment when we switch the names and it ruins everything. Simple, right?

He says his name is Vergil. I laugh and shake my head, which clearly displeasures him.

"Forgive me, but the others from my order would react more... abruptly. This name means a lot. Every single scar on my body was carved in the name of the mighty Vergil, the Son of Sparda."

His face is full of dismay, but I do not notice it then, I am too exhausted. I watch him slowly button his vest.

"I honestly do not believe he even existed. It is annoying enough to carry his name in mine..."

He reaches for his coat, but then stops.

“What are they calling you?! Tell me!”

So I tell him.

The man makes a frightened look. He holds his breath and backs away from me, as though I told him I suffer from a high infectious disease. He shakes his head and just walks away. I follow his silhouette with a lazy sight and start to slowly dress myself.

Suddenly I lack the strength to call him. Suddenly I feel my life going back to an old trace, where I keep forgetting all that does not matter. Do I have to summon the familiar cloud that cleans my mind from every details, from the smallest, like the wrinkles near his eyes, to the way he sighs? Does HE matter at all?

I just was honest with him. I, like all my sisters, have no name. But you can call me Vergil’s Daughter.

One of many and one of a kind.

[lukeswerrthing]

Misplaced Blossom, prologue

Sakura registers pain first, above all else. Then comes the rush of sounds; the rustle of leaves, the chirping of birds and insects, the whistle of the wind in a forest. Her senses fight for balance as she breathes a lungful of dirt and air, trying to ground herself. She’s lying on a forest clearing, the crushed plants, rocks and gnarled roots pressing painfully into her side. Judging from the general peace of her surroundings, there are no humans around. Secure she’s safe from enemies, Sakura’s inspection turns inwards. She quickly assesses her physical state, finding her ribs bruised, her leg and pelvis broken and her left shoulder a pulverized lump. There are stinging cuts and welts on her skin, but nothing deep.

Groaning, she tries to lever herself up and nearly faints when her world spins. Putting most of her weight on her right arm, she manages to scoot closer to the tree half a foot behind her. Leaning against its sturdy bulk, Sakura frees her one useful limb to do some damage control. As the world around her is frighteningly foreign, she tries to keep her healing to the minimum. A denizen of Konoha, trees are her most welcome and recognized habitat. A forest is her element. This forest, though, is as alien to her as an underwater reef. The trees look nothing like the ones she is used to, the leaves of the bushes around her are odd and large. Even the birds above her head, flying as they hunt for food, give calls she’s never heard. Their coloring, black with white tipped wings, is strange. The brief flash of something that looks like a squirrel stuns her as she registers its too long ears, red tail and elongated face.

Quick, not wanting to be caught motionless and helpless, she heals her most pressing wounds. Her ribs are unbroken, only uncomfortable. The mild concussion, she heals; a head-injury, even a tiny one, can prove fatal if left unchecked. Her pelvis and leg are her next concern, as they ground her like a bird without wings. The breaks are clean and easy to heal, allowing Sakura to use her body’s natural system to strengthen her bone. Her shoulder proves to be the most difficult wound, forcing Sakura to go into somewhat of a concentrated trance as she struggles to find the shards of her shattered bone and bring the together. To keep her chakra stores from getting too low, she merely pieces it back together, something a patchwork job. Her Shishou would have her head at the sloppy handiwork, but out in the field without her team and in an unknown land… perhaps Tsunade will forgive the rushed procedure. She leaves the surface cuts as they are, merely healing the lowest layer of skin to keep from bleeding and infection. Already her wounds are attracting bugs and she’ll need to clean up soon. 

Sakura doesn’t know exactly how she got here, and her memories of the events before now are fuzzy. Standing with only a slight wince at her movements, she studies her surroundings with a clearer mind.

This forest is definitely unknown to her. The trees are tall and ancient, their girth and considerable size is astounding. Something about them gives Sakura the creeps. It’s as though they have a life of their own, brimful with more energy than she’s ever seen. Unlike at home, this forest seems to be more alive, almost indecently so. She shakes off the feeling of paranoia, fighting the urge to level the field around her. Fortunately, her pack is on her back and she’s mission-armed. She even has her summoning scrolls and medic-jutsu scrolls on her belt. Though severely depleted by her crude healing, her chakra is a strong, steady, comforting hum beneath her skin. She focuses her attention to the forest itself, waiting. After her rise from the forest floor, the animals nearest had fallen silent; as per usual in the presence of a moving predator her size. On a wider inspection, the rest of the wildlife around her is undisturbed and active. There doesn’t seem to be many people around these parts. There is a faint sense of something lying beneath the foliage, a power not unlike the wild, pervasive, yet natural chakra of a bijuu. It’s as though the Kyuubi itself lies sleeping in the Earth beneath her feet. It’s a disturbing feeling that has Sakura prowling forward restlessly. She needs to find a river, a place to wash her wounds in peace. A quick look upwards serves nothing but foliage, so she takes to the treetops. The break in the leaves allows for a better view if the sky. Checking, she registers the late hour by the position of the sun and orients herself.

Several miles south saw a break in the forest and the possibility of a village. It’s at least half a day’s travel from where she stands. She can’t see a river, so she assumes that a place with people would be her best bet. Sighing, she drops down a few feet to land among the heavier, sturdier bottom branches of the tree. It groans, like a living thing, and spooks Sakura almost out of her skin. Deciding this forest is too horribly alive for her peace of mind, she takes to running toward the safety of the tree-less venture down south. If possible, humans mean a place to clean up, rest and orientation. Perhaps even a map and an explanation.

She runs past sunset, using the shadows to remain concealed among the boughs. There’s almost nothing around her except wildlife, but her stealth training is a precaution Kakashi had beaten into her during her genin years. In a foreign land, among oddly moving trees, Sakura’s guard is in overdrive. Her energy is waning, and Sakura considers hunting for food. She doesn’t trust the fruits or leaves around her, but hunting would require a fire to cook her meal. In this forest, a fire doesn’t seem to bright an idea. The niggling feeling that one of the trees wouldn’t take kindly to her using its branches as kindling is a fantasy she’s rather not confirm.

Suddenly, among the darkness of the forest, she spots a break in the trees. A break outlined by the bright, red light of a campfire. Sakura slows down, keeping her steps light and silent as she slows to inspect this strange occurrence. She can detect the presence of something that could be human, so she drops down to a lower level of the thicker, winder branches closer to ground-level. She circles the clearing, inspecting it from different angles before drawing closer. Her wariness is rewarded by the presence of one human male, sitting close to his smokeless fire, gently cooking something that could be either a cat or a hare. She takes the time to observe him, inspecting his weapons, his large pack, long black cloak, and dark features. He looks tall, rakish-like, similar to Kakashi’s build. His shoulders are broad, well-muscled, and there’s a look of a warrior about him. If she had to guess his age, she would place him between mid to late thirties. His dark hair is long, hanging around his gaunt face in thin strands. Though he appears to be relaxing, she can see the wariness and alertness of his features. From the way he constantly inspects his surroundings, he’s either picked up on her presence or naturally on guard.

In an unhappy forest like this one, one would have to be a fool to relax.

Sakura decides to observe him. He should be falling asleep soon and if he leaves any of that hare, she quietly muses stealing it. Perhaps searching his pack would at least present field rations or a map of some kind. The large sword at his side gives her pause and she muses that perhaps she ought to move on. A lone warrior isn’t something she ought to be messing with, especially in her current state. A gust of wind could knock her down; a stranger like this could pose a real threat. Still, as civilization is probably a ways away and she’s losing energy fast… vandalizing a warrior’s pack sounds much better than a continuing trek through this ungodly forest in the dark of night. Darkness is a shinobi’s greatest friend, but she’s not sure she can brave it alone in her state.

Perhaps, should worst come to pass, she could approach him as a friendly party and kindly request directions. He doesn’t seem the friendly type, but there’s something about this man that makes her want to trust him. Sakura blames Naruto for making her so gullible to strangers. If she dies here, she’ll haunt him. Chains and all.

Settling down among the higher branches hidden in shadows, Sakura keeps her attention dispersed. Something tells her that, should she focus solely on the man below, he’ll notice her regard. As the nights deepens, the warrior finishes his dinner and hunkers down to rest. He’s irritatingly alert and Sakura wishes he were more incompetent. Remembering herself, she takes off her pack and fishes around. Almost exclaiming in joy, she finds several week’s worth of field rations. She nearly hits herself for not checking the contents of her own things; she would have checked the strangers pack before her own if he had fallen asleep earlier. As it is, she quietly open a protein bar and crunches into it in silence. Noticing the warrior has finally drifted off to sleep, she hovers uncertainly. Should she go down? Now that her appetite is settled, she’s starting to feel sleepy herself. The concussion’s lingering effects have made her drowsy after settling down and she finds herself hard-pressed to remain awake. Sleeping in a tree has never been her favorite practice when camping out in the field, but going down to the ground is out of the question. Having inspected her surroundings, the man clearly traveled on the ground and no living being Sakura’s size wandered around the treetops. If anything, the moss on all of the branches is insultingly undisturbed. A Konoha forest is not a forest if its branches aren’t well traveled by the ninja’s going about their business. The people of these parts clearly prefer to travel exclusively on foot on the ground; much like Sand or Mist ninja, who couldn’t be bothered to hop along the branches like the Leaf or Rock ninja did.

Being somewhat cautious, Sakura decides against tying herself to the tree. Though she would normally do this to avoid a nasty spill, she’s too wary of her surroundings to risk an extra second of stillness in exchange for safety from a fall. If she’s caught unawares, she needs to move fast. So she simply settles down with her pack against her lower back, keeping somewhat out of sight from the warrior beneath.

Sakura next awakens with a jolt to the aggressive sound of an arrowhead sinking into tree bark too close for comfort. She sits upright, hastening to find an escape route. With a sick feeling, she realizes that last night… the tree limb she’d been sitting on had been facing north-west. She’d still had the strange warrior in view. Now, she’s facing completely north as the sky breaks with dawn, completely hidden and unable to see the warrior. The shaking arrow is entirely on the other side of the tree instead of in her skull.

That’s one heck of a warning shot.

Wondering how the tree had twisted, probably saving her life, Sakura hesitantly stands. The wide shape of the tree keeps her mostly hidden, but an icy voice below barks a command. Sakura can’t quite catch what the warrior said, but it didn’t sound friendly. Kicking herself internally for her folly in failing to notice he’d woken up, she makes up her mind. Perhaps if she shows herself as harmlessly as possible, he’ll let her off the hook. In the hands of a fellow shinobi, there would have been no warning shot. A kunai to the jugular would have been her only alarm, so Sakura decides to trust that oddly lenient warning shot as her chance that perhaps she can walk away alive from his.

Hands cautiously raised, Sakura peers around the tree trunk.

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Whatever had been watching him since last night clearly hadn’t been interested in theft or threat. The sense of being watched had put Aragorn on edge, and he’d half-slept to keep from being attacked entirely unawares. As dawn began to break and light filtered through the clearing, Aragorn decided it best to draw the creature out. He wanted to spies of Sauron on his tail with his plans to meet the ring bearer, so it was best to cut to the chase. Trusting his instincts, despite the fact he couldn’t see the creature, he shot at a tree in the north side of the clearing. As the arrow buried deep into the bark, there was a soft rustle among the leaves.

“Show yourself!” he orders in a growl, another arrow already firmly pointed at the direction of the noise. He’d missed by aiming too low, but it’s as good a warning shot as any.

It’s astonishing when a human hand appears, pale in the morning gloom. It’s followed by a pink head, the wildly colorful hair framing a pale face with wide green eyes. For a moment, Aragorn wonders if he’s awoken a forest fairy, spirit or God. It’s feminine features are uncommonly pretty, an almost elven face made up of colors that would put a spring field of flowers to shame. It peers out at him from behind a tree, holding up both hands as if to plead for mercy. Still, he’s never heard of a God with hair as pink as a cosmos, or with eyes as green as leaves. It shocks him even more when, as he gestures for it to come down from its perch, the creature vaults down from the forest gloom to land before him. Instead of breaking a leg from such a high jump, it lands poised like a cat, standing gracefully before him.

Though it wears a heavy black cloak, the creature still holds its hands up. Due to this, the cloak parts enough to he can study it with greater detail. It’s dressed entirely in black, with armor covering its chest and protective gauntlets over its forearms and wrists. It wears a pair of sturdy boots and, to his surprise, appears to have a feminine figure. It’s slim, almost frail, with heavy lashes around almond-shaped eyes. Despite all his travels, he’s never quite seen anything like it. It’s watching him warily, and he wonders if it’s a warrior or mercenary of some sort. Clearly, it’s human, but there was nothing human about it’s colorful hair or it’s ability to jump from high places. How had it gotten into the trees anyway? However, it’s disheveled state is what draws his curiosity even more. There are a series of cuts littering the little visible skin, and worse, he can see how she clearly favors her left leg and curls in slightly as if her ribcage is in pain. There’s a bruise on it’s exposed forehead as well, marring the pale skin like an ugly brand.

“Who are you? Who sent you?” he asks in a demanding tone. The creature’s brows come down in what appears to be puzzlement. “Where did you come from? Why are you spying on me?”

Looking more and more confused, the creature shakes its head, then rubs its ears. Aragorn wonders if perhaps it does not speak in Common. He tries the same questions in different languages, even making a poor attempt at Dwarven. It shakes its head again, its expression growing horrified.

It then speaks to him, in a high, female voice. He’d expected a singing voice, perhaps a seduction technique. Instead, its voice is human, simply speaking in an arrangement of sounds he’d never heard before. Even the accent is foreign to him, and he realizes its repeating the same sounds over and over. Perhaps it’s a chant or spell? He tightens his hold on his bow, aiming squarely at her chest. At this threatening gesture, the creature instantly grows silent. It’s staring intently at his chest and Aragorn recognizes a fighter’s attempt to gauge and preempt his attacks. His grip on the bow is taut, and just before he lets the arrow loose, the creature’s head snaps to his left over his shoulder. Hissing something in a low voice, it suddenly jumps away, back up onto a tree limb above. In his surprise, Aragorn shoots and stares in disbelief when the creature catches the shaft between two fingers mere inches from its face. It glances down at him with an eyebrow raised almost challengingly. Then, to his surprise, his previous arrow embedded in the tree falls suddenly. The arrow in the creature’s hand flips and it sends it back, the tip burying itself in the ground between his feet. In a whirl of leaves, the creature is gone.

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Sakura stares at the strange man as he snaps at her. He’s made a variety of sounds, which she supposes must be different dialects or languages, but she doesn’t understand him. Distressed, she tries to talk herself.

“Who are you? What is this place?” she repeats various times, hoping perhaps that his vast knowledge of languages would include hers. The five Nations had all one common tongue, so Sakura had never been versed in any languages apart from her own. When he suddenly grows more hostile, she instantly stops talking, staring warily at his chest. At this distance, her reaction time may not be enough to dodge or catch the arrow before it hits her. Worse, as he’s aiming toward her torso, it’s likely that, even if she dodges, she’ll get struck by the bolt.

The wind carries a hint of unwashed human somewhere south and the hushed sound of voices. Her gaze snaps to look for this advancing threat as her senses register the presence of more people. Something tells her that she wouldn’t like being caught between the warrior and more people, especially since she can’t even communicate properly with him!

Deciding it best to turn tail (and get some distance from those damn arrows), Sakura jumps back onto her tree. The sound of the bow snapping gives her enough time to snatch the missile, giving the warrior a cold look. He might have had the upper hand with that weapon at a closer distance, but being so far made it more or less pointless against her. Points for trying, though. In thanks for the trees protection of her, Sakura gently heals the wound made by the previous arrow. As the bark grows, it pushes the weapon out, leaving only an unblemished surface. To prove her point in the uselessness of his weapon now, she tosses his arrow right back at his feet. The warrior stares at the discarded arrow at his feet in surprise before looking back up.

She’s already gone. Three feet to the south and moving, she grins and she munches down on the remains of his dinner. It’s cold, but Sakura takes all the protein she can get. Spitting out the hare bones, she continues her trek toward her previous goal. As her meeting with the warrior had proved useful, she hadn’t taken his pack as well as his breakfast. Her ignorance of the local language would prove a problem, and worse, it showed exactly how far from home she was.

Growling under her breath, she wonders what the hell happened to bring her here.

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Aragorn stares blandly at the spot once occupied by the creature. Clearly, it had to have been a spirit or a fairy, nothing he’d ever seen moved that fast. Sensing he is alone once more, unable to hear it moving about, he simply sets to picking up his belongings and set off. With mild surprise, he realizes the hare he’d left to eat for breakfast is gone. Deciding perhaps a fox or wolf got to it during the night, he simply packs up and disguises all trappings of a human encampment. Should anyone stumble onto this place, they’d never find the remains of his stay. As he recovers his pack, he thinks over his encounter with the creature with greater care. Something didn’t quite sit right with him when it had spoken, and he belatedly realizes what it is. When he’d spoken, everything he had said had been a question. And when it had responded, despite the foreign words, he could have sworn that before it paused and started anew, the last word held a slight intonation. A lower, then higher note, if you will, one he commonly recognized across all the languages he had ever learnt.

The creature had been asking him a question.

As he walks south towards Bree, his brows knit in confusion. Whatever it had been saying, it had not been a chant as he had first assumed. Like himself, it had been asking him a question; repeating it over and over… perhaps in hope he’d know what it was trying to say. In his experience, spirits and fairies didn’t bother with most mortals. Engrossed in his thoughts, it takes Aragorn a while to notice something strange in the forest. This deep, apart from the clearing behind him, the trees should be crowding around him like hostile sardines. Instead, as if pushed by an invisible hand, the trees toward the south seemed to be gone. His path to Bree is near clear-cut, as though one of the Gods had gently pushed the foliage aside. Senses going into high alert, he reaches subtly for his sword, glancing about. There are no tracks besides those of the forest, but this sudden space is making him uneasy. He’d crossed this path before between the Shire and Bree, and the forest had always been densely populated by old, somewhat belligerent trees and shrubs. He’d heard many a tale of the Old Forest simply swallowing travelers, and in this small outcropping of trees, the sentient magic of those ancient woods had grown in influence. He keeps his blade sheathed, to keep the looming behemoths appeased, but something is amiss. As he walks with deliberate slowness, he begins to hear the murmur of voices. His head snaps in that direction and he’s alarmed to note that… the creature had done the same earlier. It had looked over his shoulder, southward. The creature had noticed, and so fled, that they were not alone in the forest. Wanting to kick himself for not noticing sooner, Aragorn flees to the nearest copse of trees. To his bewilderment, the trees don’t get any closer the further he walks. Alarmed, Aragorn stops dead in his tracks.

Just as three scavengers walk around the bend ahead, all of them spotting him as he spots them. Their mouths open into ungainly smiles, delighted at the prospect of a lonesome traveler. Suspecting that the woods may have lead the men here, he curses softly under his breath. He shouldn’t have shot the tree back in the clearing… Deciding to stall for time, he calls to the scavengers. As long as they don’t draw any weapons, Aragorn prefers to use words. He knows that his skills would far outmatch them, but he’s never liked fighting against Men. 

“Ho, there, travelers. Could you kindly direct me to Bree?”  The men laugh raucously, as Aragorn stands with his left hand outstretched. Behind him, his left hand gently loosens his sword in its sheath. “I’ve not much money and I could use a place to rest.”

“No’ much money, ‘e says.” One of the scavengers mocks, grinning widely. The others chuckle maliciously, and Aragorn resists the urge to unsheathe his sword threateningly. They converge on him, knives drawn, and he falls back. As the first of them lunges, Aragorn swiftly dodges and brings out his sword in one clean move. The men hesitate at the sight of an elven blade, but the price of such a treasure incites them to attack even more ferociously. Aragorn parries the second man’s knife and kicks the third in the knee, spinning to keep all three of them in his line of sight. The men are used to fighting as a team and they constantly move about as they attack, making Aragorn rely heavily on his footwork to avoid a surprise. When an opening presents itself, he manages to duck into the first scavenger’s defenses, burying his blade hilt-deep even as he grimaces apologetically. The feeling of movement behind him makes him turn, already drawing his blade out of the body in one clean swipe.

But for naught.

Behind him stands the forest spirit, cloaked and holding the two remaining scavengers as though they are dolls. One of the men lays on the floor, his neck savaged, his head kept aloft by the creature’s hand it his hair. The other hangs almost a foot in the air, wriggling wildly in its hold. The spirit looks back at him, green eyes vivid and fierce. There seems to be a question in them as it presents him with the third and only living scavenger. Like a cat presenting its owner with a near-dead bird or mouse, asking for permission to kill it. Aragorn nods, then wonders if a nod means the same thing to the creature as it does to him. He starts and stares when the spirit simply uses one finger to the side of the man’s head to tilt and casually break his neck.

It then seems to sigh and drops both men. It turns fully to him, with Aragorn wondering if it will now kill him too. The trees around him seem to gather, as though gleefully expecting his demise. Instead, the creature claps its hands together, as though saying “that’s that!” and simply vanishes in a swirl of leaves. The Rangers stares about, startled and confused, but decides it would perhaps be best to get out of these woods. The trees seem particularly bloodthirsty this time, and if that creature lives here, he’d rather not remain about like a sitting duck. He’s a week early to when Gandalf told him he’d arrive at the Prancing Pony with the hobbits, but making due haste wouldn’t hurt anyone. So, Aragorn beats a hasty retreat from the haunted woods and their frightening battle God.

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

Sakura watches from her hiding spot in the canopy above. Since that morning, the woods around her seemed to have taken an odd liking to her. After all, her sleeping tree had taken an arrow for her. Perhaps because when she moved about their branches, she was polite, avoiding thin branches, bee hives, bird’s nests and butterfly cocoons. The trees sentience still bothers her, considering she had actually witnessed them actively corner the warrior below. Worse, she can feel the branches and boughs bend, as though hiding her from the stranger’s prying eyes. Her forests were her home, but this is a little beyond her limitations of understanding. She is glad they’d grown fond of her. She hated to think what they would do to her if she angered them like the dark warrior now running at a loping pace. Choosing to keep him in her sights, Sakura touches each near branch in thanks, and scuttles off before she thinks too hard about it.

It seems there’s civilization ahead, and perhaps she can find answers there.

[paleorecipecookbook]

Ancestral Health: What It Is and How It Can Help You

We’re living in a time of incredible innovation and advancement, yet we’re sicker and more overweight than ever before. And unfortunately, there’s every indication that, based on projected statistics, many people will never get healthy and stay that way.

Some days it seems as if there’s no solution for our health woes, not to mention the pain and suffering caused by the financial burdens of chronic illness. But I can assure you that that’s far from the case and that we can break this cycle.

It’s possible to halt and even reverse the current disease epidemic—using a strategy we have access to right now. It isn’t a brand-new drug, device, or surgical procedure. The solution is ancestral health. By following the blueprint for healthy living that our hunter–gatherer ancestors laid out for us so long ago, we can stave off the long list of uniquely modern chronic conditions, stay naturally lean and fit, and age gracefully.

Chronic disease has reached epidemic levels, and modern medicine can’t seem to halt its progression. Find out how ancestral health—moving, eating, and living more like our ancestors did—can stem the rising tide of chronic illness. #paleo #healthylifestyle #chriskresser

Chronic Disease Is Common, But It Isn’t Normal

Chances are that either someone close to you has a chronic disease or you’re dealing with one yourself, if not both of these scenarios. Chronic illness is so prevalent now that it’s almost impossible to imagine life without it: six in 10 U.S. adults have a chronic disease, while four in 10 suffer with two or more chronic conditions. (1)

Nearly six million Americans are currently living with Alzheimer’s. (2)

More than 100 million Americans have either prediabetes or diabetes. (3)

Some 50 million people in this country have an autoimmune disease such as Hashimoto’s, rheumatoid arthritis, or multiple sclerosis. (4)

Worldwide, an estimated 2.2 billion people are either overweight or obese; among the most populous countries, the highest prevalence of obesity can be found, you guessed it, here in the States. (5, 6)

One-third of Americans suffer from high blood pressure, with some statistics suggesting that hypertension may actually affect half of all U.S. adults. (7, 8, 9)

Yet throughout most of our species’ enduring existence, humans did live largely free of these illnesses that today shorten our lifespan and make us miserable. Chronic disease may be our “new normal,” but it definitely isn’t our “normal normal.”

Paleontological and archaeological findings have confirmed this, but perhaps the best evidence is the fact that remaining hunter–gatherer societies—who live as closely as possible to the way our Paleolithic ancestors did hundreds of thousands of years ago—don’t generally suffer from the most common chronic conditions.

One study of the Tsimané people in Bolivia found that they have a prevalence of atherosclerosis 80 percent lower than ours in the United States and that nine in 10 Tsimané adults aged 40 to 94 have completely clean arteries and no risk of heart disease. Researchers also found that the average 80-year-old Tsimané male has the same vascular age as an American in his mid-50s. (10) Studies of the Hadza of Tanzania reveal that less than 2 percent of Hadzan adults qualify as overweight. And type 2 diabetes is so rare among these and other contemporary hunter–gatherer populations that few reports looking into its prevalence even exist. (11)

Mismatch: Why Your Health Is So Different From Your Ancestors’ Health

So what happened? How did the majority of us go from being naturally inclined toward health to being seemingly guaranteed at least one debilitating diagnosis?

In a word: mismatch—between our genes (hardwired genetic programming), our physiology, and our biology on the one hand and the modern environment we’re living in on the other.

All organisms are adapted to survive and thrive in a particular environment. When that environment changes faster than the organism can adapt, mismatch occurs. This is a fundamental principle of evolutionary biology, and it applies to humans as much as it applies to any other organism in nature.

Our environment is almost unrecognizable from that of our ancestors, and we aren’t  eating, moving, or resting like the hunter–gatherers that we still are, biologically. We know from hard evidence that this mismatch—pitting environment against biology—is the primary driver of chronic disease.

Some of the starkest examples of this include studies and observations of existing 21st century hunter–gatherers reporting that when they leave their villages and trade their traditional ways for a Western lifestyle, they develop diabetes, obesity, and cardiovascular complications. (12, 13)

Back in Balance: The Basics of an Ancestral Lifestyle

It’s clear: the fastest way to recover your natural health is to return to a way of eating and living that more closely matches what your genes and biology are designed for. I’ve written and talked extensively about this approach online, in my books, and on my podcast, but here’s a broad overview to set you on the path, right now, to reclaiming your vitality through ancestral health.

Eat Real, Nourishing, High-Quality Foods

We know, without a doubt, that our Paleolithic ancestors ate animal products. Indeed, most researchers believe that consuming meat and fish is what led to our larger brains and smaller guts compared to other primates. (14, 15, 16) Though no ancestral population following a completely vegetarian or vegan diet has ever been discovered, it’s evident that hunter–gatherers did also enjoy plant foods, such as starchy root vegetables. (17)

Some traditional cultures also consumed grains and legumes. But those who did went to great lengths to break down the natural nutrient inhibitors these foods contain; these methods included soaking, sprouting, fermenting, and leavening.

We also know, without a doubt, that hunter–gatherers did not consume refined sugar, flour, and seed oils, or what I call “the three horsemen of the apocalypse” because they promote overeating and inflammation, which is at the root of all modern disease. To my mind, the introduction of industrial food processing has had the most detrimental effect on our health of any other factor in the last few hundred years—and possibly in the entire history of humankind.

In addition to the harmful presence of refined sugars, flour, and seed oils, processed foods also deliver high levels of chemical additives and preservatives. Some of these ingredients have known negative effects, from leaky gut and autoimmune disease to stroke and kidney damage, while the effects of others are still unknown. (18, 19, 20)

Here’s your ancestral diet action plan:

Bypass bags and boxes. Of course, not all foods that come in bags and boxes are harmful, so this isn’t meant to be taken literally. It’s just a helpful guideline to steer you toward real food (see below). Butter is often packaged in a box, and frozen vegetables (and some fresh) come in plastic bags. That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t eat butter and vegetables. But in general, if you follow this precept, you’ll minimize your intake of health-damaging flour, sugar and other sweeteners, industrial seed oils, and other processed and refined ingredients.

Base your diet on real, whole, nutrient-dense foods like meat, organ meat, fish and shellfish, eggs, fruits and vegetables, nuts and seeds, herbs and spices, and starchy plants like potatoes and sweet potatoes, along with healthy fats to aid in nutrient absorption.

Exercise caution with grains and legumes. If you choose to eat these foods, it’s best to soak them prior to cooking to maximize nutrient bioavailability.

Focus on quality over quantity. Choose local and organic produce and pasture-raised animal products or wild-caught fish whenever possible, which most closely mimic the foods available to our ancestors via hunting and foraging.

Sit Less and Move (Much) More—Sometimes Intensely

Movement played a major role in daily life for hunter–gatherers. After all, they spent the majority of their time, well, hunting and gathering. They had to exert themselves, and often quite strenuously, to survive: our ancestors sprinted, jogged, climbed, carried, and jumped intermittently throughout the day, on top of walking an average of six miles and running one-half to one mile per day. (21)

In other words, they didn’t sit all day like so many of us do. We spend endless hours working at computers, watching TV, and commuting by car. In fact, the typical U.S. adult is now sedentary for about 60 percent of his or her waking life and sits for an average of six or seven hours every day. (22, 23) Sitting has been called the new smoking, and for good reason: it’s linked to heart disease, insulin resistance, cancer, and the list goes on. What’s more, research has found these same negative health outcomes in those who exercise but still spend the majority of their day seated.

Your ancestral movement action plan:

Stand up. It’s the simplest way to sit less. I recommend standing for half of your day.

Talk a walk. Actually, take lots of walks and regularly engage in other low-intensity activities. Consider walking or bicycling to work, doing your own household chores, and finding a hobby like gardening that, quite literally, moves you. If you can build a daily walk into your workday—parking further away from your office, walking during your lunch break, or walking with your child or a pet after work or dinner—it becomes a habit that’s easy to keep.

Push yourself occasionally throughout the week with bouts of more intense exercise; just don’t overdo it. I recommend a protocol established by my friend and colleague Dan Pardi.

Sleep More and Stress Less

I’m sure if I asked you to conjure up an image of a hunter–gatherer, he or she wouldn’t be lounging lazily on a sofa. Although they were almost always on the move, these people relaxed, too. Our ancestors alternated strenuous and demanding days of physical activity with days of rest, an instinctual response that protected them from injury and fatigue.

Our modern lifestyle is a stark mismatch in this regard. We live in a culture that values productivity and activity above all else and is almost scornful of rest and relaxation. “Resting” for many people means browsing the internet or engaging with some other kind of sleep-sapping, artificial light-emitting electronic device that is anything but restful for the brain and the body. We’ve not only forgotten the value of rest—we’ve forgotten how to do it.

Thus, we’re stressed out. Constantly. Our ancestors experienced stress when fleeing a predator or out on a hunt. But, as I shared above, they punctuated these stressful times with moments of calm. We simply aren’t built for chronic stress, as evidenced by the immense amount of research illustrating that it wreaks total havoc on our bodies.

Your ancestral action plan for R&R:

Sleep soundly, and for seven to eight hours a night. You can’t be healthy without adequate sleep. Period. Check out my steps for beating insomnia and adopting good sleep hygiene.

Manage your stress. There’s no way to completely remove stress from your life, but you can avoid unnecessary stress by learning to say no to projects or commitments you can’t handle, staying away from people who get your blood boiling, and turning off the news (or at least limiting your exposure to it), as examples. To mitigate the harmful effects of the stressors you can’t avoid, try relaxation practices and techniques such as meditation, yoga, and calm breathing.

Prioritize pleasure. Listening to music, playing with your pets, laughing with friends, and spending time outdoors all can help you cultivate more pleasure in your life, and pleasure is the antidote to chronic stress.

Now I’m interested to hear your thoughts. Is your lifestyle in line with that of our ancestors? What changes can you make to your habits to get more in tune with your hunter–gatherer heritage? Comment below and let me know!

The post Ancestral Health: What It Is and How It Can Help You appeared first on Chris Kresser.

Source: http://chriskresser.com February 21, 2019 at 05:57PM

[unfortunatelysirius]

Chocolate Frogs and Love Notes [Remus Lupin - Marauders Era] [Part 1 of ?]

💟☼💟 PROMPT 💟☼💟 ☾ ¡Original! ☾ Remus Lupin and Y/N L/N have anonymously exchanged notes through a library table for over six months. When Sirius and James start meddling, will they put Remus’s love life in jeopardy or accelerate it positively? 💟☼💟 A/N 💟☼💟 In the comments below, tell me if you like this idea or not. Please, tell me if you want a Part 12 to Not Your Girlfriend and a Part 3 to Whispers in the Dark! As a tertiary question… do you all want an updated masterlist? I haven’t made one in a while, and I’ve uploaded a lot of imagines I’m sure you all have difficulty finding at times. Hopefully this isn’t complete garbage because I literally wrote it in under twenty five minutes. 💟☼💟 WORD COUNT 💟☼💟 1411 💟☼💟 TAG LIST 💟☼💟 @kapolisradomthoughts @rageofcaliban @saucyleftovers @bunnymother93 @siriuslyr5 @apareciumimagines @random-quartz @ruefulposts

          IF SOMEONE told you a year ago that you would be genuinely excited to study in the Hogwarts library, you would have physically balked and laughed aloud. “Sure,” you would have said, throwing in a scoff for good measure. “Totally.” Unlike Lily Evans, you would have rather spent your time reveling in solitude, reading a Muggle book or watching the scenery and movement of the clouds outside in the courtyard. Studying was a hobby you never wished to voluntarily participate in. It was a dull and horrid thought, sitting there and reading theoretical nonsense; the worse, unwanted alternative was having to write an essay on the ingredients to make an obscure potion you couldn’t pronounce. Most times, the latter was what you were given. Slughorn certainly knew how to get on your bad side.

         Of course, instead of a hypothetical moron barking up the wrong tree, it was you. Here you were, standing outside of the double-doors of the library, a nervous smile on your face. None of your friends were you in sight—not Marlene, not Lily, not Alice, not Mary. It was merely you, something that would have shocked a few persons out of their knickers if they were to know the true extent of your hatred of studying. But they wouldn’t have known what had gotten you to smile in such a way, or what had caused you to suddenly have a reason to study. It wasn’t studying. Quite frankly, it was an anonymous boy who loved books and Muggle music just as much as you did. And you were eager to read his note and write your next.

         You were very easy to read; your face could easily reveal everything with a single flicker of emotions. Because of this, Lily and Mary were constantly pestering you to spill what had gotten you into such a state of nerves. “Is it a boy?” Mary had teased just three days ago. She’d let out a burst of laughter when your face turned pink with embarrassment. You had to spend five whole minutes ranting about how they couldn’t tell a single person, especially those bastards called the Marauders. They would antagonize you for sure, and you certainly didn’t want Remus to overhear about it. You used to have the biggest crush on the bloke, and you didn’t want a harmless pen-pal to suddenly ruin your chances. Well, if you even had any chances. Remus was very hard to read.

         With a sigh at the thought, you pushed open the library doors. You were swept into a fortress of air that smelled like new books, old books, and bowls upon bowls of ink. Madame Pince immediately looked over with a sharp glare, her look dropping into a frown of disdain that read, “Oh, it’s you.” You merely returned the look before you power-walked towards the back-table, the one beside the shelf that held books on lycanthropy and goblin-hunting. You dropped your rucksack filled with textbooks and crumbled pieces of used parchment onto the chair nearest the shelf, then plopped down into said chair. With a deep breath of excitement, you reached beneath the chair and hunted for the familiar shape of parchment. After seconds of searching, you found what you were looking for—and you quickly jerked it from the metal bar of the underneath of the table, then unraveled it slowly onto your lap.

         In the first few weeks of writing notes to your mysterious pen-pal, he was worried about you figuring out his identity. You reassured him time and time again that you were patient and would wait for him to be okay with seeing you in person—and he retuned the gesture. You had anxiety when it came to meeting new people, so you promised that you wouldn’t try to seek him out, both for your sake and his. You had been fulfilling that promise for nearly six months.

         You excitedly removed the tape from the note, and you were beyond shocked when you found yourself looking at the petal of a rose inside of the note. A look of utter shock fell on your face, and you gaped, looking identical to a speechless and breathless flounder. You took the rose petal and lifted it to your nose, taking a minute to just inhale its scent, hoping to catch a waft of the boy who was slowly stealing your heart. No one had ever done something so kind and thoughtful for you.

         “Bloody hell,” you muttered to yourself, knowing you were in deep. Before you could pity yourself for being so moronic, you gently placed the rose petal onto the table and looked down to begin reading.

         Dear Rosy,          About your book recommendations a few weeks ago… I mailed my mum to buy them from the muggle bookstore and they’re sitting in my dorm as we speak. While all of them look very exciting, I especially look forward to reading The Importance of Being Earnest. You seemed very passionate when you spoke about your love for Oscar Wilde, so I know I will love it just as much as you do.          Truthfully, the best books I can recommend are Animal Farm, 1984, and The Old Man and the Sea. I’m a big Orwell and Hemingway fan, if you couldn’t tell. If you’re into dystopia and politics, then Orwell definitely suits you. Hemingway’s a big cynic, and I honestly don’t know how to describe his writing.          How much do you love The Beatles? You always talk about them in our letters, and I just want an estimate. Maybe it’ll give me ideas for your Christmas gift?

         As a side note, how is studying for exams going? I remember you mentioning your utter loathing for “reading textbooks.” So as a token of motivation, here’s a petal of your namesake. I hope it still smells nice when you open this note. If not, then I apologize in advance.          Love,               Moony

         A smile immediately fell into place, and you quickly quirked them downwards to avoid looking like an utter loon. You opened your rucksack and dug out a quill, a container of ink, and a piece of parchment. Then you began to write.

         Dear Moony,          I’m so excited for you to read those books! You will adore Oscar Wilde; he’s a divine artist of words. His book, The Picture of Dorian Gray, is also a classic. I highly recommend it, after you finish the rest.          Orwell—how have we not picked up on a discussion about him yet? I loved Animal Farm, but I have yet to read 1984. You said it’s a dystopian novel, right? I love dystopias, so I’m sure I’ll love the book.          If I had to rate my love for The Beatles, it would be a million out of ten. If they ever have a concert in Scotland, tell me, and I’ll make sure to sneak out of Hogwarts and buy a ticket. What are your favorite artists? I know you like Don McLean and The Doors. But who else? I hope you enjoy The Who because I adore them. Don’t we already have a very similar music taste?          This rose petal smells amazing, and I hope you know that I’ve never had someone do something so nice for me. You’re extremely smart so I know for certain you’ll pass with flying colors—a card full of Outstandings and Exceeding Expectations. We all need to hope and pray I manage all Acceptables!

         Love,                 Rosy

         You taped the parchment with the piece of tape Moony had used, and quickly crushed it into the nook beneath the table. You gathered up your things—making sure to be careful and meticulous with the rose petal—then left.

         What you didn’t notice was a familiar pair watching you from a nearby table. They saw the rose petal, and they remembered a certain werewolf plucking one from the courtyard when they were out walking earlier. They certainly remembered how utterly smitten he had been acting lately, and they’d finally gotten to the bottom of it.

         Sirius Black looked to James Potter and grinned. “It appears that Remus has acquired himself a lady friend,” he said in a mock, theatrical whisper.

         James returned the grin and glanced back at your retreating figure. “And it seems she has no idea who he is,” he observed. He glanced over at his best mate. “Should we meddle?”

         Sirius’s grin widened, if that was even possible. “Hell yes.”

[silver-the-cat]

Abandoned and Forgotten - Prologue

((Alrighty, so I know this isn’t fanfiction or a continuation of Jack in Wonderland, but I’ve decided to take a small break from that. I just got a sudden burst of inspiration for an original story. I’ll probably get around to creating a seperate blog for any original writing. In fact, I might even take this post down once I get the separate blog up and going, given people still want to read this.

Anyways, I’ll eventually get back to writing more for Jack in Wonderland either this weekend or after I finish finals, which should be around next week. So I hope you enjoy this bit of my original writing! See ya!))

Summary: In a facility hidden somewhere in the forests of America, 5 teens, each with a strange and supernatural power, are locked away for experimentation. That is, until they are able to escape from their cells. Only to discover that the facility is completely empty. What exactly happened to cause the facility to be abandoned? And why were they left behind? As they venture out into the wild, they quickly discover there was a very good reason as to why they were abandoned.

“I can’t welcome you enough to our facility, sir. It is a great honor.”

“Understandable, but Dr. Rogers, you’ve yet to explain the purpose of your experiments here. All I’ve heard from you is praise and assurance that what you are doing here is worthy of more funding.”

“Well, allow me to introduce our program here. In this very building, we have been studying 5 very interesting subjects.”

The two men suddenly stopped in front of what looked like an entire floor and wall length window, allowing them a peek into 5 rooms and basic living quarters. The younger of the two men, Dr. Rogers, simply waved a hand as they stopped in front of the first room.

A young boy laid on the bed, seemingly asleep. His black hair was terribly messy, as if he hadn’t seen a brush in possibly years. He just wore the standard scrubs most subjects in the facility normally wore. But the most intriguing thing about him was the faint glow pulsing in and out of view, faintly outlining his entire body.

“Subject #SUL-0318, named Michael Sullivan upon discovery. We found him after the school he attended reported that he would be glowing during lights-out.” Dr, Rogers explained as the young boy shifted slightly, his glow disappearing from view as he whimpered. “From what we can tell, this is because a special field surrounds him, causing the air to heat up and glow depending on his emotional state. There’s also a probability that should he become, say, too angry, our researchers say there’s a chance anything in the area could catch fire.” Before the other man could say anything else, Rogers began walking to the next window.

In this room, there seemed a wolf, pacing the entire room and sometimes stopping to paw at one of the walls. As soon as the two walked closer to the glass, it jumped back and hissed, glancing around wildly at the walls. The wolf itself looked weak, no muscles sliding smoothly underneath its fur. Like #SUL-0318 in the room next to it, it looked as if it hadn’t groomed itself in years, instead choosing to stalk around in its cell.

“And this one. Dr. Rogers?”

“This is Subject #BKH-1009, although we quickly discovered he answers more to the name Dennis.” Dr. Rogers replied. “While it looks like he is just a normal wolf, we’ve discovered rather quickly he is actually a young boy able to transform into a wolf.” The wolf began growling even more, ears folded against its head. “Unlike #SUL-0318, we found #BKH-1009 out in the wild, living as both a human and wolf among a pack of normal wolves who had accepted him as one of their own. He became extremely hostile as soon as he found out he had been taken here.”

“And have you figured out as to why he’s able to transform into an animal?” The man asked, raising an eyebrow as the two began walking off to the next window.

“I’m afraid not. As far as we know, it might be something with his genetics.” Rogers said. “We’re not exactly sure. In fact, we believe we only know the origins of the characteristics of #SUL-0318 and Subject #GMK-0526, but I’ll talk about that later.”

The next room only had a single young girl in it, with platinum blonde hair that seemed to reach halfway down her back. She was sitting on her bed, legs crossed and her hands settled comfortably in her lap. The strangest part about her was that she was simply staring straight ahead, eyes completely glazed over as if in a trance.

“And her?”

“Subject #WYR-0107, given the strange name of Feather by her parents. A young girl with an uncanny ability to predict future events.” Rogers explained. “We’ve also noticed that there’s a period before the prediction where she is completely unresponsive. We’ve even tried using different medication and stimulants, but nothing has worked. They only take effect once the period is completely over.”

“And let me guess, you haven’t a clue as to why she’s able to predict the future, do you?” The man inquired. Rogers only shook his head. “Like I said, we only discovered the reasoning behind #SUL-0318 and #GMK-0526’s powers.” He answered. “But I feel we are getting close to the other reasonings.”

They moved onto the next room. Another young man, this one terribly pale with nearly white hair, was curled into a ball on his table, black flames sometimes appearing on various spots on his body. He looked even sicker than the other three, visibly trembling in spot as well.

“This is Subject #DGA-0630, given the name Rowan by the orphanage we found him in.” Rogers explained. “He is our most unstable subject, prone to episodes where his powers grow out of control and he becomes extremely agitated. From what we have observed, he uses the surrounding shadows for many purposes. But the most common we’ve so far seen are black flames, a formation of what looks like bat wings on his back, and even a black blade. One you would expect to see on a scythe, that is.”

“If his powers are so unstable, wouldn’t he be a hazard?” The man asked. Rogers simply shook his head.

“We’ve taken measures to make sure his powers stay inside this room.” He said. “On the off chance his powers grow too out of control and become a danger, we have procedures to handle that.”

“I see….” The man replied. The two moved to the final room, looking down upon another girl who was sitting on her bed, kicking her feet while she looked around, head tilted. She had short ginger hair, almost short enough to be considered a pixie cut. The most unusual thing about her were the giant bird wings extending out from her back, shifting with her every movement.

“Subject #GMK-0526 is our final subject. She was found after we received reports of Operation Air failing. She was, interestingly enough, the only living thing we could find in the building.” Rogers explained. “As you can plainly see, she has unique wings we’ve discovered belong to a Barn Owl of all things. Much like birds as well, we’ve discovered that her bones are completely hollow and her nails must be filed constantly, as they have a habit of growing as sharp as talons.” The two stood there for a few minutes, watching the young girl in the room below for a moment, before the older of the two turned to Rogers.

“While the subjects here are certainly interesting, I’m afraid I still don’t quite understand why this project is remotely valuable.” The man said, putting his hands behind his back. “I don’t see how exactly these….otherworldly children could be of any use to anyone.” Rogers thought for a moment, before grinning widely. He waved the man closer, motioning for him to follow as he turned away from the windows.

“Well, there is something we’ve been researching ever since the failure of Operation Air.” He explained, as they pushed through a pair of white, double doors. “A team of our best scientists have been trying to develop a kind of enhancement serum. Something that could improve reflexes, eyesight, hearing, and endurance. And it very much--”

“Dr. Rogers! Director, sir!” An assistant yelled, cutting Rogers off. The two spun around, only to see the young man burst out from the door behind them. “There’s been a new report from the labs, s-something you really need to see right now!”

“Perhaps a new breakthrough!” Rogers said, giving off an air that he was trying his hardest to remain calm. “Jordan, could you please continue giving our lovely director a tour? I’ll go handle it myself.” Without giving the assistant an opportunity to object, Rogers rushed off. The assistant, Jordan, merely glanced in the same direction Rogers ran off in, before looking back to the Director, as if unsure of what else to do. The Director only gestured his head to the hallway ahead of them.

“R-Right….t-terribly sorry about all of this!” Jordan said, trying to just laugh it off. “Er….just follow me over this way, and I’m sure we’ll be able to catch up with Dr. Rogers later!” He quickly speed walked ahead of the director, who only watched on with slight amusement. He understood things often came up in a environment like this, little unexpected changes that nobody exactly anticipated.

Little did he know what that little change really was.

((I hope this is at least good. Idk, this honestly was just a random idea I had one day that eventually evolved into this. But whatever.

I hope anyone reading this still enjoyed it nonetheless, I’ve slowly been working on writing more original stuff as I really do like writing and I sincerely just wish to become an actual author one day. It’s one of my dreams, I suppose.

But, hope you all enjoyed and I will probably see you all once I get the next part of Jack in Wonderland up!))

[lovemychinchilla]

Signs of a Stressed Chinchilla

Chinchillas, like all social animals, display body language. You can assess this body language to figure out whether your chinchilla is stressed/nervous or not.

Is my chinchilla stressed? Repetitive behaviors are a giveaway: excessive fur chewing, bar chewing, backflipping and cage scratching. Your chinchilla may also vocalize repeatedly or hide, not moving. If you’re not sure whether your chinchilla is stressed or ill, take it to a vet. 

These signs of chinchilla stress will disappear when you correct whatever’s causing them. The guide below will first detail each sign in turn, so that you can recognize each of them should they occur. Then, you can learn how to help a stressed chinchilla.

How Do You Tell If a Chinchilla Is Stressed?

The most obvious markers of stress in a chinchilla, or any caged animal, are repetitive movements. These are known as stereotypies. The term refers to ‘stereotypical’ movements which the animal repeats again and again, even if they cause it pain or more stress. They have no explanation but severe stress and unhappiness.

You can observe these stereotypical movements in different pets. Rodents and chinchillas are included, but so are many more kinds of household pets kept in unhappy conditions. You can even see these behaviors in zoos which don’t properly provide for their animals.

Each of the signs below is something repetitive that the chinchilla might do. In some cases, the activity causes significant harm, but the chinchilla won’t stop despite that. It will only stop once you fix whatever is making your chinchilla unhappy.

1) Chewing Fur (Excessive Barbering)

The most common stereotypy is the chewing of fur. When a chinchilla chews its own fur or that of its cage mate, this is known as barbering. It’s a way of keeping the fur clean, non-greasy, and free of parasites. This is normal behavior that reinforces social bonds.

However, excessive barbering is also possible. This is where the chinchilla chews its own fur, or that of its cage-mate, until it causes bald patches. If it carries on, it can even cause open wounds. These patches will usually occur on the subordinate chinchilla of your pair or group, because the dominant chinchillas will barber its fur repeatedly.

This has been studied by scientists because people keep chinchillas as farmed animals. The farmers want the chinchillas’ fur, so excessive barbering directly affects their profits.

As such, ways of stopping excessive barbering have been examined. According to the Journal of Veterinary Behavior, Clinical Applications & Research, this is the most common form of repetitive behavior reported. The best fix is to keep the chinchilla in a roomy cage with lots to do, such as:

Other things to chew on

Exercise saucers

Small toys

Time outside the cage, e.g. in a pen

If your chinchillas chew on their own or each others’ fur too much, these fixes may entirely solve the problem. But if the biting has caused an open wound, then you should treat that correctly too (cleaning it with antiseptic and monitoring it to check it doesn’t become infected).

2) Bar Chewing

Perhaps the next most common sign of a stressed chinchilla is bar chewing. This is exactly what it sounds like: it refers to how a chinchilla will chew the bars of its cage if it’s stressed or depressed. This sign in particular is caused by your chinchilla not having anything to chew on. 

Because it’s a rodent, your chinchilla’s four front teeth grow continually. This is an evolutionary adaptation which developed because rodents need strong, sharp teeth to grind food and dig tunnels.

If your chinchilla doesn’t have anything to grind its teeth on, like appropriate food, twigs or toys, they will therefore grow too long.

This can cause injury and make your pet feel stressed. As a rule, your pet will be distressed any time that it can’t express a natural behavior like chewing. So, when you don’t give your chinchilla anything to chew on, it will chew on the bars of its cage.

Bar chewing is bad for your pet. It will make its teeth grow the wrong way until it has difficulty eating. You can spot this issue easily because the teeth are supposed to point straight down. If the top and bottom teeth don’t align, your pet can’t use its teeth properly.

Bar chewing can also cause tooth and gum damage.

3) Backflipping

When an animal is kept in a small, confined cage, it will struggle to move around enough. It feels stressed because it’s confined, like you would if you had to stay in a small room all the time. In some cases, the cage may be too small for it to even stretch its legs, which is when the stress is the worst.

Either way, if your chinchilla doesn’t get enough exercise, you may notice it backflipping. Some owners think that this is cute or funny, and if your chinchilla backflips because it’s excited (e.g. when it’s scampering around the room) then it’s not an issue.

But if your chinchilla backflips in its cage, this isn’t funny or cute. It’s a sign that your chinchilla is stressed from a lack of exercise. If you have owned chinchillas for a long time, you may disagree (as many owners do). But backflipping is a recognized form of stereotypy seen in many species, not just chinchillas.

There’s no downside to trying an experiment if you disagree. Try taking your chinchilla from its enclosure more often, and if possible, offering your chinchilla a bigger cage with more enrichment. If your chinchilla stops doing backflips, then it was a stereotypy which signified a lack of enrichment and exercise.

But if you provide for your pet in every way possible, then this behavior isn’t an issue.

4) Cage Scratching

Cage scratching is another common stereotypy observed in captive animals. It’s especially seen in animals which dig their own burrows, and are kept in conditions where they don’t have any substrate.

Abnormal cage scratching is typified by:

Repetitive scratching of the cage floor without purpose

Scratching at the floor even if there is no substrate

You can normally fix cage scratching by providing substrate, providing more substrate, or providing more appropriate substrate. Kiln dried pine shavings or Aspen are good choices.

5) Vocalizing (Barking and Whistling)

Chinchillas are communicative and social animals. They live in herds in the wild of up to a hundred individuals. When animals are social in such a way, evolution will help them develop ways of communication.

As such, chinchillas can make lots of different kinds of noises. You will be familiar with some, like barking and whistling. Others you will only rarely or never hear, like screaming, which indicates severe distress.

When a chinchilla is excessively stressed, it may repeatedly vocalize by barking and whistling. The chinchilla does so because there is something in its environment is making it stressed or unhappy, like:

Loud and shocking noises

Something that it thinks is a predator (e.g. another household pet)

Your chinchilla will only stop vocalizing excessively when the stressor is removed.

6) Hiding

Chinchillas hide when they’re scared, like any animal. Wild chinchillas will hide in rock crevices and pre-made mammal burrows, and your chin needs to be able to display this behavior in captivity. That’s why your cage should have somewhere that your chinchilla can hide. Otherwise, it will get stressed.

But if your chinchilla is constantly hiding, that’s a bad sign too. This suggests that there’s something nearby that’s consistently scaring your chinchilla. As in the example above, the issue could be something like loud noises, or other household pets.

If your chinchilla hides all the time, you should consider moving your pet’s enclosure somewhere else. This is a difficult balance to get right, because chinchillas enjoy having things happen nearby that they can see, which relieves boredom. But they also don’t like too much action, which they find stressful.

7) Drinking Too Much/Not Drinking Enough

A change in your chinchilla’s water consumption can be a sign that something is wrong. As stress causes chinchillas to hide, your pet may not get enough water. It may be too frightened to sit in the open, drinking from its water bottle.

Alternatively, your chinchilla may start drinking more than it used to. This may be a repetitive behavior, like those described above. It could also be related to your pet’s health (e.g. it may have diabetes).

Whatever the case, if your chinchilla changes its drinking habits, it may be a bad sign. Consult with a vet to figure out what might have gone wrong.

What Makes a Chinchilla Stressed?

The precise cause of your chinchilla’s stress is difficult to determine. They are naturally skittish animals, so chinchillas can be stressed or frightened by many things. Here’s a brief list of some of the more common causes of stress in chinchillas:

Cage is too small. No animal likes being cooped up in a tiny space. 

No other chinchillas to socialize with. Chinchillas naturally form herds. Keeping chinchillas alone makes them stressed and depressed.

Too many chinchillas in a small space. A small space means more fighting, and more stress.

Too many loud noises or bright lights nearby. Chinchillas keep watch on their surroundings. Too many shocking things can stress them.

Other household pets. Other pets, particularly large ones, can be mistaken for predators.

Sickness. Stress is a symptom of any health condition that your chinchilla might experience.

Previous neglect or abuse. If a chinchilla grew up in a stressful environment, it will be more skittish than normal in adulthood.

Natural disposition to stress. Some animals are simply more prone to being stressed than others.

Identifying the cause of stress is key.

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What How to Help a Stressed Chinchilla

The way in which you help your pet depends on what the issue is. There are many causes of stress in chinchillas, and any one (or a combination of them) may be affecting your pet. As such, you must identify the issue first.

Doing this is simple. First, you must observe your pet for a period of time. Do this from across the room so that you don’t disturb your pet too much. See if it reacts to loud noises, for example; or whether it can’t get enough exercise in its cramped cage.

Buy Another Chinchilla

If your chinchilla lives alone, you should buy another to keep it company. Chinchillas are natural herd animals, living in herds of up to a hundred animals. Many of the chinchilla’s natural behaviors relate to its being a social animal (e.g. collective foraging for food, alarm calls, and so on).

As such, it’s vital to your pet’s health that it doesn’t live alone. Buy another from a breeder or a pet store. Keep it quarantined for a while to prevent it passing on parasites or infections. Then, introduce it to your existing pet using the split cage method.

But that may not be what’s ultimately causing your pet’s stress. Here are a few ideas that could fix the problem.

Buy a Bigger Cage

Animals are born to be free. Living in a cage will never be as good as living wild for a chinchilla. But there is nevertheless a large difference between the quality of life your pet will have in a small cage, versus a large cage.

The recommended size of the cage varies depending on opinion. Some owners recommend a 3x2x2ft (6 square feet) cage for a solitary chinchilla. However, chinchillas shouldn’t be kept alone. A 10 square foot cage (e.g. 5x2x2ft) is ideal for a pair of chinchillas. Other owners say that 2 square foot per chinchilla, when chinchillas are housed together, is enough.

Whatever the case, buying a bigger cage may be the answer.

Move Your Chinchilla’s Cage

Chinchillas are naturally skittish. In the wild, they are constantly on the lookout for predators. This helps them avoid attacks.

In captivity, chinchillas still have the same urge to scan for predators and threats. Your pet doesn’t understand that no predators can attack it when it’s securely in its enclosure. As such, things can still scare it, such as large, looming shadows from overhead, bright lights and loud noises, and other household pets you might have.

If your chinchilla constantly reacts with stress to things around it, you should consider moving its cage somewhere else. This shouldn’t pose too many difficulties, because:

Chinchillas are happy at average home temperatures (between 70 and 80 degrees Fahrenheit)

Chinchillas don’t need direct sunlight, although you can’t keep them in complete darkness

There will be certain rooms in your home that are quieter than others

If you have other pets, move your chinchilla’s cage to a place that the other pet’s aren’t allowed or physically can’t go to.

Talk to a Vet

If you can’t figure out what the problem is, you must take your pet to the vet. They will ask you a series of questions, the purpose of which is to figure out what the likely issue is. Answer honestly, and they may help you determine the issue. They will likely suggest some of the fixes above, but may identify a cause you’ve previously missed.

Also, if the problem is that your chinchilla is sick, then the vet can help your pet get better. While online guides like this one are a good starting point, and help you build your knowledge of your pet, they cannot replace the advice of an experienced veterinarian.

Below, you can find our chinchilla quiz, new posts for further reading, and a signup for our Chinchilla Newsletter!

Caring for chinchillas is tough. Learn more here...

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