#stately pergola

[dreaming-of-brent]

Mediterranean Landscape

Inspiration for a mid-sized mediterranean drought-tolerant and full sun backyard mulch garden path in summer.

[mrdelamont]

San Francisco Mediterranean Landscape Inspiration for a summer mulch garden path in a medium-sized Mediterranean garden that can withstand drought.

[hellenhighwater]

Okay. I absolutely have to finish the guest room closet today. I gotta. I must. I have to stop procrastinating and actually do it and maybe I will also get myself a little milkshake. as a treat.

[cosmichymns]

Devouring Desire

Not my gif. NSFW. MDNI. I’ll eventually put this on AO3. Smut. Just smutty smut.

She pulls you closer and encourages you to rest your forehead on her bare shoulder with a kiss to your temple. You sigh despite yourself. Her scent, the dim light of the corner she pulled you into, and the soothing rhythm of the music has lulled you into a state of pure contentment.

“Don’t get too comfy over there in that dark corner!” Morgan yelled over, catching Emily’s attention momentarily. She smirked, rolled her eyes, and playfully flipped him up. He shook his head laughing and swatted at the air in her direction before turning back to the group.

It was just supposed to be another casual night at Rossi’s mansion on the hill but after dinner, people quickly paired off. Alex and Reid. Morgan and Garcia. Luke and Lisa. Tara and JJ.

You and Emily. Oh, you and Emily.

Rossi’s outdoor patio and garden had always been spectacular but you had a sneaking suspicion that Garcia had coaxed him into letting her string fairy lights across the yard to the pool and down the pergola near the fence. Which was currently where you and Emily had found yourselves.

Emily’s arms wrapped possessively around your waist, hands sliding down to grip the sides of your hips as she lead you in an impromptu intimate sway. You ran your nose up along the length of her long, pale throat and inhaled deeply. Her signature jasmine and clove scent, which you have now begun to associate with safety, intimacy, and peace, filled your nostrils as you let out a heavy sigh.

“You okay, my sweet girl?”, she cooed into your ear as she ran a hand up your spine to cup the back of your neck gently.

“Mmhmm”, you mumbled before remembering she liked you using your words. “I absolutely am”.

Emily hummed pleasantly at that as you moved to drop chaste kisses along her throat where your nose had just been. She pulled your bodies impossibly closer as she brushed your hair to one side and gently started stroking circles along the nape of your neck.

You felt it was too needy to admit out loud but you wanted to be pressed against her always. You wanted your bodies to melt into one. You didn’t want to know where she stopped and you began. Never have you found a love like this. These thoughts in combination with Emily’s swaying and beyond gentle touches had you tearing up. You felt your face begin to flush at your embarrassment as you tried a few deep breaths to try and regulate yourself.

Emily must have felt you shudder against her throat because she pulled away slowly and inhaled sharply again at the sight of your tears.

“Oh baby…” she spoke softly, bringing up her hand to swipe a warm thumb across your cheekbones. She kissed the corners of your eyes, the rest of the world shut out as she focused solely on you. “Wha… oh, sweet girl, don’t cry, baby. How can I help? Hmm?”

You let out a self deprecating laugh at your less than sexy sniffle and looked up into her intense, dark eyes.

“I’m okay just…” you tilted your head as you thought. “I never imagined I would have this. Have… you.”

You dropped your gaze and brought your hands to her upper chest, playing with her small white gold dainty celestial padlock necklace that you had given her after a year of dating. Without knowing it, she had gotten you the corresponding key necklace in the same celestial fashion. You remember the words “disgustingly sweet” coming from Garcia’s mouth.

Emily’s expression softened even further at your confession. With one hand still securely wrapped around your hips, the other threaded through your thick, natural auburn curls reassuringly. She knew you well enough to know words were wind.

Holding the back of your head in place, she closed the small gasp between your lips tenderly. She explored your mouth for a few minutes, the two of you lost in each other, and bit down on your bottom lip gently as she pulled away smiling. Despite having seen it a hundred times, the sight of her beautiful smile always took your breath away.

Your chest heaved now as you watched Emily’s face flush slightly. Your hands caressed down her body, stopping underneath the swell of her heavy breasts. You raked your fingers against the underside of them, almost impatiently, as you looked up at her through your lashes.

It took her no time to understand the meaning of your gaze as she tugged you by your hips over to the darkened corner under the pergola. A loveseat had been dragged over by a mischievous Garcia earlier in the night under the guise of ‘making more room’. You allowed her to pull you onto her lap so your knees were on either side of her hips.

“Let me see how beautiful you are, hmm?” Emily said softy, racking her eyes over your body as you leaned back a bit away from her.

Your fingers played idly at the hem of her navy off the shoulder top before dipping underneath and skimming the soft skin of Emily’s waist. You loved that as she aged she filled out a bit more in the best of places. It gave you a comfort you didn’t know you needed.

“So lovely”, Emily muttered almost to herself as she used a hand to push your hair back behind your shoulders as you tried to clench your legs together.

She eyed your slightly protruding clavicle hungrily and ran her tongue over her bottom lip before sucking it in as you attempted to slip your hand under her linen pants. Her hand immediately caught your wrist and it made you internally smile.

“You’re awfully bold this evening,” Emily chuckled, never once did her eyes leave yours to look at the others around you but the darkness of this corner was not lost on her.

“I just want you so bad,” you said in a thick voice that was even a shock to you and Emily licked her lips. “I need your hand tightening on my throat, your teeth on my shoulder… I need…”

“What, my pretty girl?” Emily’s voice was barely a whisper now, the lust fully taking over.

“I need you inside of me more than-“, you whine quietly. “-more than I need to fucking breathe. Please?”

You could see the instant blowing of Emily’s pupils at this confession as she gripped your wrist a little tighter. You knew she wouldn’t outright take complete control of you in front of both your friends and colleagues so you sometimes pushed her boundaries a bit in public… and you paid for it at home.

“A desire so violent it seemed devouring…” the dark haired woman breathed out unevenly and so softly that you almost didn’t hear her over the noise of the rest of the team.

“Anaïs Nin.”

Emily hummed in approval while her eyes finally dragged from yours and scanned the outdoor space quickly, though you’re sure she had tracked their movements in her periphery. It had gotten late all of a sudden. Luke and Lisa were sitting on another outdoor loveseat, playfully smacking the other’s thigh deep in uncontrolled laughter. Emily smiled. The boys were hanging around the wet bar laughing and Tara, JJ, and Garcia were sitting around the bonfire in the middle of the yard, drinks in hand. She noticed JJ’s gaze falling to the two of you every so often and as you turned to see what Emily was looking at, your eyes locked with JJ’s. As quickly as it happened, JJ ripped her eyes away, blushed, and pretended to rejoin their conversation.

“I told you she liked to… watch us every now and again,” you whispered, turning around and slipping your wrist from her grip. You couldn’t read the look on Emily’s face. “I’ve caught her half a dozen times already tonight.”

Emily’s possessive, jealous side flared in her eyes now as she secretly wished you had brought a shawl of some sort so she could cover you. You enjoyed this protective, territorial side of Emily. It turned you on far more than it should. She pulled you closer to her body, the apex of your thighs brushing the softness of her belly before leaning in to kiss you hungrily. You started to slip your own hand under your already hiked up dress, gliding your smooth fingertips under the band of your lace underwear

“Let her look. Just touch me please”, you say breathily. You had always known JJ longed for something more but you couldn’t quite put your finger on it. It was true you had caught her watching the two of you with curiosity and maybe envy? Whatever the reason, you felt empathy with whatever war she was waging within herself. “Please?”

“You. Are. Mine”, Emily practically growled, leaving harsh kisses against your throat and wrenching your hand from your underwear. She repositioned her arm so her palm was flat against your belly as it sunk into your underwear.

“I am absolutely yours. Always.” You breathed out, letting the statement hang in the air for a moment. “I don’t think it’s me, per se, but us. Some people are drawn to intimacy, to closeness. Voyeurs, you know?”

A moment passes before Emily speaks.

“You like it when she watches, don’t you?” Emily states matter-of-factly as she cups your wet cunt. “A type of exhibitionist.”

“What? No… I mean…” You take a deep, shaky breath as the short fingernails on Emily’s free hand start tracing up your arms, fingers toying with the thin straps of your sundress. “I like… um, when we are *almost* seen…”

“Mmhmm, exhibitionist”, Emily whispers as she pulls down the front of your sundress, exposing one breast. She leans forward and circles her tongue around your nipple, careful to not actually touch it. “You’re so goddamn wet for me, baby. So warm and slick.”

You can’t help the groan that tumbles out of your mouth and you can feel her smiling against your skin. Her fingers slip in between your wet folds to gather a generous amount of slickness and rub it on your clit.

“Emily…” you breathe out as you arch your back slightly, eyes fluttering shut. Your hands don’t know what to do with themselves so one ends up running your fingers through your hair and the other rests on Emily’s bicep. “Em…”

“Hmmm?”

Emily can feel your hot arousal flush against her palm and finally has pity on you, wrapping her lips around a rosy, sensitive nipple. Her index and middle finger start tortuously slow, wide circles around your clit.

You bite back a loud whine, trying to remain as quiet as you can but Emily has other plans. She bites down gently on your nipple and her thumbnail drags over the wet lace over your clit simultaneously. You cry out, mostly muffled by the music but out of your periphery you see JJ’s eyes focus in on the two of you.

You try to pull your body away in vain as Emily’s teeth continue to bite down, pulling your nipple taut as she refuses to let go. Her free hand holds tightly to your hips. Your body reacts immediately to the painfully pleasurable sensation as a higher pitched whine escapes your throat.

“Oh fuck, Em…” It’s high, needy, and loud. “We can’t… not here…”

Emily grins devilishly against your breast, giving it a pop of her mouth before answering you.

“I know, I know, baby. Just breathe for me. There you go. Good girl. They can’t really see us. Maybe just a shadow of the back of you”, she said as she trailed a line of saliva from one breast to the other, pulling against your dress as she went.

The affirmation sent a shiver down your spine as you let your head loll to one side, resting on your shoulder. Letting her eyes fall from your face to where she had been working so diligently, the sight of your reddened, angry nipple sends a punch right to Emily’s pussy. Humming, she takes the other nipple in her mouth, gently this time, and suckles lightly on it. The same way you do when you’re in a certain headspace.

Your face is hot and you feel slightly dizzy. A thin layer of sweat starts to gather at your temples. The sight and sensation of Emily pulling most of your areola into her mouth makes you breathe faster. Her cheeks are flushed, she’s looking right at you, and it might be the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. You let out a shaky breath as you run your hand through her hair and grip the back of her head, holding her in place. You try to grind against her fingers but they remain slow in carefully controlled circles. You whine as you feel her fingers tighten their grip on your hips. You feel wet, hot cum pool at your entrance now.

“Emily…”

“Hmmm?” she answered, releasing your breast from her mouth as you notice JJ rearranging herself in her lounge chair, trying desperately not to be noticed. “Use your words, princess.”

Your back arched at the nickname you can only tolerate when you’re too turned on to argue with her.

“Please, it’s not enough. Faster, please. I-I-inside, I need you…”

“Hey, that’s my girl…” Emily coos sweetly in your ear as she takes her hand off your waist, light purple marks already blooming, and tucks a wild curl behind your ear.

A shuttered, frustrated sigh erupts from your throat as she abandons your clit and kisses you gently, your eyes being teary and lips pouty. She tuts you softly with a smile. Without warning or a second thought, Emily slams three fingers easily into your drenched cunt. Momentary pain morphs quickly into an intense, bottom of your foot tingling sensation as you buck your hips roughly.

Emily’s free hand reaches up quickly, palming the base of your skull, and crushing her mouth against yours as she swallows your shocked, long groan before it can leave your throat. You instinctively try to arch back but her hand has you trapped in place.

Exactly where she wants you.

Her thrusts piston in and out of you with such force that you know you’re going to be incredibly sore later. You feel the warmth in your belly seep into your torso and into your limbs. Your body feels like pure electricity as your increased moans and whines become music to Emily’s ears.

Neither of you notice but JJ is staring under lashes now and, though more than 30 yards away, Morgan has noticed a few odd noises coming from your corner of the yard. He eyes Garcia and she looks your way now. Panicked, she stands up and starts to loudly sing along to Africa by Toto in a mostly successful attempt at diverting attention away from the pair of you. JJ’s curious blue eyes still flicker between the shadows under the pergola and Garcia.

None of that matters though because you’re so close and Emily is swallowing your moans purposefully now. One hand anchors itself at the base of soft grey hair while the other tightly grips the forearm of the hand she’s fucking you with. As gently as you can, lest Emily completely deny your request, you push her forearm deeper between your legs. You press yourself flush to her skin now and nestle your face in the crook of Emily’s shoulder. She places sweet kisses wherever her mouth can reach.

“You’re taking my fingers so well, baby. They’re so deep inside you. You’re my good girl, aren’t you, baby?”

“Mmhmm, yes.”

“Yes what, baby?”

“Yes… Mommy”, you end up moaning the last part of the sentence as she rewards you with deep hum that vibrates through your body. “I love it so much when you fuck me hard.”

“I know you do. Are you going to make Daddy proud and cum right here on David Rossi’s patio? With JJ trying soo desperately to catch a glimpse of something and the others able to hear these desperate whines? Look at me, baby.” Emily whispers into your ear as you look up at her and nod furiously, your head still pressed against her long, pale throat. “Then show me. Fall apart for me.”

Emily quickly pumps her fingers once, twice, three times while curling her fingers to hit your g-spot perfectly while she eyes messy, tight circles around your clit. Everything catches up to you all at once. Her fingers. Your clit. JJ watching. The others trying to ignore your moans. Emily’s warm skin. And you come.

Hard.

Your hips momentarily stall out and Emily takes full advantage of the slight position change and fucks you as deeply as possible. She whispers sweet nothings into your ear, talking you through your orgasm. You see the most beautiful stars behind your scrunched eyelids. Or were they the fairy lights? Were you floating?

You don’t remember to stifle your loud groan until it’s halfway out. Emily quickly covers your mouth, only adding to your peaked arousal. You flood her hand with warm, sticky cum as she fucks your through a powerful orgasm. Your open, gasping mouth is pressed against Emily’s throat as you arch yourself into her. You can feel Emily kissing your jaw, your cheeks, your temple, then finally your lips.

This is pure bliss, you realize, as she slows her hand and coaxes involuntary jerks out of you by still rubbing slowly at your clit. Emily sweetly shushes and whispers praises into your skin and lips. She rubs your back soothingly and stills her fingers deep inside you, so very content to feel your muscles flutter occasionally around her. She knows how much you enjoy staying physically connected even after your orgasm.

“You did so well, my sweet girl. You were so beautiful moaning my name.” You soaked up her compliments like a sponge as you blushed even more than you thought possible.

For a long few minutes you both stay like that. So content to be intertwined with the other that you almost lost sight of where you were. Your breathing had stabilized and the fine sheen of sweet covering your body had either dried or had been kissed away by Emily’s full, red lips. You pulled away from her reluctantly, still able to feel her unmoving fingers buried inside you. Emily’s face was still only slightly flushed as she smiled at you but her lips were swollen and her dark irises were still no where to be found.

Emily started to very slowly and carefully withdraw her fingers from inside you after gazing down at you first. You nodded, took a deep breath, and relaxed your muscles that had molded around her. She pulled them fully out, immediately brought them to her mouth, and sucked each finger. Your eyes never left her fingers as she diligently cleaned them.

“I need to taste you, Mommy”, you murmured quietly, still watching Emily’s tongue as she now licked her lips. The need suddenly became overwhelming. “Please?”

Emily let out a breathy sigh and shut her eyes briefly as the pleasure of your words washed over her. “We can’t. Not here. They’ve already been privy to too much. We should get out there and at least make an appearance.”

Emily chuckled softly at your horrified look.

“I can’t go out there! And look at them. In the face!”

“Well as nice as this little cozy corner is, we can’t stay here all night. I’ll be right there with you.”

You sighed and took one last grounding inhale of Emily’s skin before lifting your head up and kissing her sweetly. Always taking care of you, she started trying to make you more presentable by pulling the front of your sundress back up, smoothing out the skirt, and running her fingers lovingly through your hair. You closed your eyes at her gentle touches, enjoying being take care of by this beautiful woman.

“Emily?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you know how much I *utterly* adore you?”

Emily smiled wide before leaning in and kissing you lovingly. “You’ll have to remind me when we get home.”

On the other side of Rossi’s backyard, the group waited anxiously for the two of you to step out of the partial shadows of the pergola before letting out a cacophony of overly sexualized moans. All but JJ and Rossi. The later had to be told something was going on over there because he simply couldn’t hear a thing over this “new fangled music”.

You could have died right then and there but Emily wore a goofy, almost proud smile as she playfully swatted your ass as you both made your way to the group.

Emily took a seat on a loveseat closest to Tara, holding out an arm for you as you snuggled into her side, blushing bashfully. She possessively wrapped her arm around your waist, resting her hand on your outer thigh.

“Get it, dude.” Tara said with a straight face, raising a single fist that Emily immediately pounded with her own.

Alex studied your reaction curiously while Garcia was just flat out relieved it was all over.

“Y’all nasty,” Derek said, playfully rolling his eyes and smiling before getting up to get another drink. “Anyone? Y/n? You must be thirsty after… all that.”

You inwardly groaned but the vibration of it reached Emily and she couldn’t help but laugh. You hadn’t been able to make eye contact with anyone but managed to nod your head.

“Yeah, something strong.”

You chanced a look at your longtime friend, Garcia, and smiled briefly before mouthing a silent thank you.

“Wait, what’s nasty? What happened?” Spencer suddenly interjected, looking around between you and Morgan. The group, including you, laughed at his utter lack of social awareness.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

A List of "Beautiful" Words related to Summer

to include in your next poem/story

Aestival - of or relating to the summer

Arboreal - of, relating to, or resembling a tree

Calefaction - the state of being warmed

Canicular - of or relating to the dog days (i.e., the period between early July and early September when the hot sultry weather of summer usually occurs in the northern hemisphere; a period of stagnation or inactivity)

Chanterelle - a fragrant edible mushroom (Cantharellus cibarius) usually having a yellow to orange color

Convivial - relating to, occupied with, or fond of feasting, drinking, and good company

Crepuscular - of, relating to, or resembling twilight; dim

Devilry - playful, reckless behavior that is not intended to cause serious harm; mischief

Forenoon - the early part of the day ending with noon; morning

Igneous - of, relating to, or resembling fire; fiery

Noctilucent - visible or glowing at night; bioluminescent

Ocherous - of the hue of impure iron ore with an earthy usually red or yellow pigment

Pergola - arbor, trellis; a structure usually consisting of parallel colonnades supporting an open roof of girders and cross rafters

Redolence - an often pungent or agreeable odor

Respite - an interval of rest or relief

Salubrious - favorable to or promoting health or well-being

Solstice - the time of the sun's passing a solstice which occurs about June 21 to begin summer in the northern hemisphere and about December 21 to begin winter in the northern hemisphere

Souse - to make drunk

Vespertine - active, flowering, or flourishing in the evening

Viridescent - slightly green; greenish

If any of these words make it into your poem/story, please tag me. Or leave a link in the replies. I'd love to read them!

Word List: Spring ⚜ More: Word Lists

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Beautiful 1868 Second Empire Victorian in Southport, Connecticut has 5bds, 5ba, $3.450M (cut by $400K). I'm thinking that the price was cut b/c the outside is so elegant and it has the wonderful mansard roof, but a buyer walks in, expecting to see a spectacular Victorian, they see a completely modernized home.

Look at how stately it is, with the original iron fence.

The entrance foyer and the stairs all painted in shades of white, gray, and black. There are still original architectural elements, but the wood is completely painted.

The sitting room is devoid of all character. The floor is a modern dark wood with gray tones.

Here's what they did to the dining room. If you embrace the painted wood and paint or wallpaper the walls, it can look more Victorian.

And, the kitchen. I wonder if a designer did this.

Well, at least the fireplace is still here.

Here is a guest powder room.

The primary bedroom.

Older homes didn't have en-suite baths, but this home has one for each bedroom.

Most of the en-suites have large walk-in showers and gray sink cabinets.

This bedroom is set up as a home office.

In the finished attic there is a game room that features a batting cage.

In the yard there's a basketball hoop.

Plus a pool with a pergola.

The lot measures .54 acre.

[fayes-fics]

Congratulations 🎉🎉

Mini-drabble: Benedict, part II, #10

Benedict + If we weren’t in public right now

March 2023 Mini Drabbles Masterpost

Hi lovely!

Thank you so much! 🫶

OK, here is Benedict + If we weren't in public right now. 😁🧡🧡

Behind the cut for filthy language.

It’s become one of your favourite games. At a ball, a soirée, a dinner, whatever the circumstance, you try not to miss an opportunity. It’s certainly one way to liven up boring events.

Often you’ll wait until the other is listening politely to someone droning on - as many members of the ton are wont to do - and then lean over and whisper in the other’s ear. To any observer, it will look so benign, just a married couple exchanging a quiet word. It’s an unspoken rule that you take turns. Even you’d admit it has gotten a bit out of hand lately. Last week you made him drop his champagne glass - that caused a bit of a scene.

Just as you are doing your best to feign interest in Lady Cowper’s latest boasting at the Smythson ball, he appears by your side.

“If we weren’t in public right now, I'd have my tongue inside your cunt,” his whisper is warm against your ear. Every fibre of your body is suddenly on fire.

“Oh no, my dear”, you bluff loudly as if given some awful news. “Sounds like we had better remedy the situation immediately.” You hastily address the group in front of you. “My apologies, ladies, something has come up that I must attend to; please excuse us.” 

Benedict smirks as you turn your backs. “What was that?”

“Change in the rules”, you respond, starting to weave through the throng of attendees, dragging him by the gloved hand.

“I'm listening”, his tone intrigued as you stop short, looking around the room for the nearest exit.

“From now on, you must deliver on what is promised”, you state clearly, spying your target and moving anew.

He chuckles as you continue walking with purpose. “Oh, I intend to. Just wait until we are home”, his voice laced with promise.

You lead him through french doors into the grounds, soon spying the ideal spot—a private section under a pergola drooping heavy with fragrant jasmine. 

“Right, husband, it's time to deliver”, you challenge, raising an eyebrow and squeezing the hand you hold.

“Here?!?” he responds incredulously. “This is not what I meant by if we weren’t in public.”

“Then be discreet”, you shrug with a challenging smirk.

His face morphs from surprise into something far more dangerous, a crooked smile tugging at his lips. He moves closer and speaks against your temple. “Oh, I can do that. The challenge, my darling, is, can you keep quiet?”

“Let's find out”, you squeak, running your hands up his arms to his neck, pulling him down for a heated kiss, chasing his tongue with yours.

Well, 250 words is tough haha. Ah well...

[nohoney]

“hey.” you announce when you open the sliding door to the backyard.

“yeah baby?” bakugou answers without looking up from the book he’s reading. he’s laying in the hammock underneath the pergola looking very comfy and relaxed, especially on this nice sunny day with the comfortable temperature.

approaching him, you stand by where his head is and cross your arms under your chest. “why are you mad at me?”

his face scrunches in confusion as he looks at you and it honestly always entertains you when he looks surprised. because you’ve done this to him dozens of times and his reaction is always the same despite the two having been together for a little over two years. “what the fuck? i’m not mad at you! i’m just reading my book!” bakugou answers while also holding out the novel as if you needed proof of some kind. “what the hell?”

“yeah well… when you took the book off the shelf, i felt like you did it in an angry way.”

“baby! come the fuck on!” bakugou groans when he realizes that you’re teasing him again. he hates that he falls for it every single time. “you know, next time you can just say you want attention. it’s better than making me think i actually did something to upset you.”

taking this conversation as his cue, bakugou folds the corner of the page he left on and gets out from the hammock. “alright, what do you want to do? hold your basket through the make-up store again? have me sniff twenty candles in that stupid lotion store and then ignore the ones i say i like? go to the drive thru for french fries? what?”

“well i was just gonna ask to have sex, but honestly all of that you mentioned sounds like way better things to do.” you laugh as bakugou rolls his eyes at you. but he eagerly follows you to the bedroom and tosses his novel on the couch on the way there.

after you and him have the happy glow from a rough fucking, bakugou is wiping you down with a warm towel and tenderly massaging your body as he takes care of you.

“so you are mad at me.” you state with a deadpan face.

“what?” bakugou pauses, once again caught off guard by you, “what the fuck?”

“just the way you put me in doggy was too fast, like you didn’t want to see my face—ow! you bit me!”

“fucking brat.”

[plasticfreckles]

🌙 the F is for fadesmash solavellan enjoy🌙

Being with her shapes his world, waking and dreaming.

At least, it shapes the few nights he dreams of his own accord, instead of wandering and lingering in the dreams of other's and spirit interpretations of past events alike.

Love and Curiosity visit him there, tugging along their wraith and wisp friends to play out the fiction of his subconscious. A version of the world that can only exist there, because they would not have found each other as they are in a world this perfect. Their flaws and failures shape the real world, but if it were another world, their flaws and failures would never have taken shape.

He never lingers on these thoughts, not in this fantasy of peace and love and companionship.

Recently, he lingers in the same scenario: Skyhold but a fraction of its size, the libraries and his frescos right underneath their rooms, kitchen beneath that, and the west door of the rotunda leads directly into the gardens where Lavellan so loves to spend the sunny days under the stone pergola to sew.

They're wholly and utterly alone in it, save for the distant chickencall.

He starts to notice he can only dream up robes he's seen her wear or watched her sew in the waking world; his sense for arts never did transfer to fabrics. He'd held her hand aloft to close that first rift so long ago and known immediately how to flick his brush to perfectly transfer the hairs of her brows onto that first fresco, but when she'd told him how she would dye samite in blood lotus and make it a short cloak to protect from sudden rainshowers, he could picture little more than stained shreds of cloth over shoulders.

It is summer there, in his imagination, and she wears the small, revealing tunic variations she prefers; high, snug waist held by layered belts, a deep cleavage that runs down between her breasts until Solas realizes she folds the fabric closed underneath the belts, the sides of her hips and legs bared entirely. Between her and the ground, the hurriedly-woven straw sandals that she never lifts her feet in.

He even leaves his frescos in this dream; maybe he's finished them, or maybe he feels content - compelled - to pull out an easel and sketch out the scene of his love wielding her crafts like magic, in the romantic surroundings of their gardens in the late summer.

This time, when she spots him here, in his own dream, she grasps him by his bare arms and pulls him away from the easel, into the sun.

"We could just throw everyone out and move the libraries over here if you want," she jokes, as she lays them down on the grass and makes him rest on her scantily-clothed chest. "Your frescos would still be over there, but you could paint the rest of Skyhold."

"I would hide the entrance to here behind wards and spells and barriers, and we would make the rest of the castle a gallery for our crafts."

"Oh, but then we wouldn't be alone, Solas. Ever."

Solas kisses the side of her breast.

"If it meant you were contented, I don't think I would mind." Much. Not enough for it to matter, in any case.

The world shifts around him, and she sits on top of him. She kisses him so deep she may as well swallow him whole. He holds her to him as tight as his arms let him. He can feel her core, wet and hot over his navel.

"Oh, good. You're already topless." He wasn't, not until she stated so.

He stalls her hands once she rises and he realizes her intentions, notices her eagerly loosening the knot on his leggings, behind her, blindly, with skill that should no longer surprise him so.

Though he supposes it is partially his fault. She is no mage, no dreamer, but she picks up easily on the slightest changes in their shared dreams. Whether it is her inane affinity for the magical or the influence of the mark on her, he neither knows nor really cares.

-

He did slide both hands under the rare lace-up shirt (one of his that he does not enjoy wearing) she wore that night, massaged her breasts and licked her breath out of her mouth while rutting against her until his seed made the hem of the shirt stick to her skin.

Will you stain all my sleepwear until I have none left? She'd asked, breathlessly, grinding up to meet him, amusement in her words rather than accusation. When he opened his eyes and regarded her for a moment, her tangled hair, her flushed face, the shining eyes and swollen lips, the saliva on her chin, she'd turned her face toward the crate by the door to their dressing room, overflowing with clothes she insists to launder herself, and atop it all, her favorite red nightgown, painted with their desire so much a so-inclined maid would be able to deduce every position from the stains. He slid an arm through the neckline of his shirt on her, to grasp her chin and hold her there. It was uncomfortable in his forearm, and his elbow must have poked her somewhere, but they were both too caught up in each other to care. She grabbed his wrist and pulled the hand down, around her throat.

Yours, mine, the sheets, the furs, your skin, he'd huffed into her mouth. If I had my way, you'd never leave this bed. And she'd laughed, at his words, at his commitment to her, at his helpless whine when she clenched herself and her thighs around him.

Oh, I don't know. You seemed to enjoy yourself when we did it over the balcony handrail. He had, and her dedication to flippant conversation, even as she reached around them and lightly squeezed at his balls, made him fall that much harder for her.

-

He shakes off the memory. He could already feel the humidity in the air, see the skies tinge red behind her head, above trees and castle walls. If Desire could smell his excitement, so could Lavellan - she'd evidently felt it behind her -, and if she played his pipe here, there would be no turning back. He would forsake all he came awake to do, let the Veil be torn down around them and spend the rest of eternity fucking her in the Fade. And worst of all, she would let him.

"Vhenan. Not here. Let us not invite Hunger, Greed and Desire into our idyll." She huffs, blows hair out of her face, and nods.

"You're probably right. Though I'm starting to see Iron Bull's stance on the matter. We should be allowed to take each other whenever we like, without risking possession." It makes Solas laugh out loud, despite himself. He gently turns them again, and her thighs settle around his waist as he leans over her, kisses her nose, her cheek, the underside of her chin.

"Return to your body, my love, and know I shall wake you before long, to finish what we started here, away from prying eyes and misguided virtues." If she notices his charm that makes her muscles heavy and eyes droopy, she never tells him.

"Hunger and Greed and Desire have their purposes, you know. You taught me that, not so long ago." Even as she retorts, her eyes remain closed, her thighs slide down past his until her calves are loosely draped over his.

"I did. Everything, this side of the Veil or the other, has a time and place. Just as our desire for one another has a time and a place." He knows he can still hear her, even though her face darkens into the lines of her vallasin and her fingers on his chest start to turn cold. "Would that we could, I would spend every waking moment chasing your high, and every resting moment here with you." Her lips are soft and sweet, even if they don't move to follow his.

He will whisper one more thing to her before moving away from her and waking himself. She is already sleeping by herself again, will not even remember the words, but still, they will make her shower him in praises all the more.

"I will wake you with my fingers inside you so deep you can feel them in your lungs, and then you shall mount me and claim your prize, and never will there have been a more perfect joining than ours, with red streaks of my nails on your hips and kiss bruises on your breasts, and you will never have been more beautiful."

And if he were to look at himself in the mirror after and spots the marks of her oddly pointed corner teeth, he will cast no magic on them.

🌙

not to toot my own horn [beep beep choo choo], but I like my own filth

im so single can u tell lmao

also not really calling parts by their names is a plot device, bc i feel Solas would either talk his way around the words or just go straight up like the most unhinged filthiest slang word you've ever experienced

also i *have* to stop writing all my ficlets in tumblr drafts, the fact that the amount of times I accidentally published half-finished, not grammar corrected brain rot is more than 3 is just straightup embarrassing

[joshym]

Lilac Moon: Chapter 3

Pairing: Josh Kiszka x f!Reader

Word Count: 7.4k+

Warnings: (specific to this chapter) alcohol use, a good amount of angst, some pretty fluffy fluff, lot’s of cursing (sorry, lol), an almost physical fight, mentions of past trauma, mentions of anxiety (future chapters WILL contain smut, so MINORS DNI)

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

a/n: this story means a lot to me, & i hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as i love writing it. 🤍

with that being said, i just want to reiterate that this is a complete work of pure fiction, & this is not in any way meant to be reflective of real life.

as always, don’t be afraid to let me know what you think, & let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist. :)

love you all so much!

-lis🤍

You stayed the whole night with Josh, wrapped up with him in the chill of the night. It was an accident; you hadn’t planned on staying at this house, sleeping in his arms in the serenity of his backyard. But he’s so comforting, so calming…you’d be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t want to be with him just like this for the rest of your days. 

You’re falling for him, and you’re falling fast.

♪°•°∞♬°•°♪°•°∞♬°•°♪

The peace of the morning has settled in. You're awoken by the melodic sounds of the birds chirping their forenoon songs. The sun is just beginning its dawn, the dew ever present on the grass.

Your body slowly rises and falls with his, his breathing still indicating the patterns of a deep sleep. He’s so warm. His comforting scent penetrates your senses. His arms are wrapped snug around your body, keeping you safe and close to him. You wish this could last forever. You wish the rest of the world would go on, leaving the two of you alone in this bliss you have created together.

You finally start to come to a bit more, your mind wandering out of its dreamlike state. You stretch your stiff limbs, causing him to stir as he’s starting to wake up, too. Half asleep, he leans down to give a gentle kiss on top of your head.

“Mm, good morning. At least I think it’s morning, anyway.” His voice is deep and raspy, still sleep laden.

You suddenly come fully to your senses, realizing that you accidentally spent the entire night with him, sleeping under his pergola in the backyard. You quickly grab your phone to investigate the time.

6:18am

“Holy shit, oh my god. I’m so sorry, Josh. I can’t believe I fell asleep like that.”

You lift your body off of him, finding he’s almost reluctant to break the embrace, but does it anyway.

“Why would you be sorry? I don’t mind at all. It’s actually the most restful sleep I’ve gotten in a long while.”

“I just hate to be so intrusive. This is your home, I shouldn’t have stayed all night like that. That’s so rude of me. I’m so sor-” he cuts you off before you can apologize for a second time.

“Y/n, please.” He sits up on the couch to be eye level with you, smiling a toothy grin at your embarrassment that he finds adorable. His hair is in a fluffy mess from sleeping outside all night, but it’s wonderfully charming to you. “Don’t say sorry. I’m happy you stayed. It gets a little lonely here sometimes and you’re fantastic company.” He lifts your hand to give it a quick peck.

“Well, I guess this means I have to make you breakfast now, huh.” He gives you a sly wink, making you blush as you both break out in a set of sleepy giggles. 

He leads you in the house. You’d only seen his home in artificial lighting since you came over so late, but now, you’re seeing it in the glow of the day. The rising sun has encapsulated the space in a warm golden tone showcasing the architectural detailing and his elegant decor. There’s one wall in the living room that is entirely made up of floor to ceiling windows with a view of the forest behind it. You’re in absolute awe as you take it all in.

You’re in desperate need of freshening up, so you ask him where the restroom is. He points down the long hallway, telling you it’s the second door on your right.

You take your time to splash some water on your face, use the small brush you keep in your purse to fix your hair a little, and you’re thanking your lucky stars that you always carry around a travel sized toothbrush and toothpaste set.

Once you feel a little more presentable, you head back to the kitchen to find Josh rummaging through his fridge and cabinets for ingredients to make breakfast. 

“What can I help you with?”

“Uh, absolutely nothing. You’re my guest and you will be treated as such. I am but your humble servant.” He bows to you, then walks over to the first seat at the island and pulls it out for you. “Your throne awaits, my dear.” 

“If you insist, good sir.” You can’t even begin to hide the smile taking over your face. 

“Sir, huh? Kinda like the sound of that.” he says with a sly wink as you both laugh.

Any other time you’ve stayed at a man’s house, it usually involves sex that is less than pleasurable for you, and the mornings consist of them practically shoving you out of the front door. (if they even let you stay that long)

But with Josh, it’s completely different. He didn’t need sex from you last night. He was perfectly content with just being with you, being in your presence. Completely okay with just a kiss, the most beautiful kiss you’ve ever shared with anyone. A kiss that happened when you were in the depths of explaining the most vulnerable parts of yourself that he wanted to know about. And not only that, he wants to cook for you this morning.

What is happening?

You’re watching intently as Josh gathers his ingredients for what appears to be quite the meal he has planned.

“So what are you making me?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” he says with a smirk.

“Oh no. You’re not going to poison me, are you?”

He huffs out a laugh. “ Of course not. Unless you’re allergic to blackberries.” He puts some blackberries in a pot on the stove, stirring in a mixture of lemon juice, vanilla and water. “I’m making a blackberry compote to go on top of our french toast.”

“Oh! That sounds amazing, Josh!”

“Well, don’t give me too much credit. It’s a Jacob specialty. He’s a far better cook than I. But don’t ever tell him I said that. Wouldn’t want it going to his head.”

He lets the compote come to a boil before meticulously mixing in a little cornstarch.

“Jakes a cook?”

“Oh absolutely. He’s been cooking for the better part of our lives now. And I don’t mean he makes some measly pasta dish with premade sauce in a jar from the store, he is up to par with the professionals. I love all things culinary, but I don’t hold a candle to him.”

He continues stirring his concoction until it’s thick enough to his liking. He puts a little on a spoon, blowing on it until you can no longer see steam. He walks over to you and gently holds the spoon up to your mouth. 

“Here, tell me what you think.”

You look in his eyes while you taste it, this moment feeling awfully romantic.

“It’s perfect.”

“Really? You think so?”

“Yes, I do! Josh, are you sure you don’t need my help? You’re doing too much, I feel bad just watching you slave away.”

He walks back over to the stove to begin preparing the toast.

“Like I said, you’re my guest. I don’t get to do this often, so let me spoil you, okay?”

You nod and smile in agreement while you watch him finish the toast. He decorates your plates to near perfection, taking his time to drizzle the blackberry compote on top of the toast in a certain design. He tops it off with a little powdered sugar before setting your plate in front of you.

“Ladies first.” he says, signaling you to take the first bite. He watches you closely as you do so, anxiously awaiting your reaction.

“Well? How is it?”

“My compliments to the chef. Or should I say, the far less cuisine-talented Kiszka twin.” He covers his face in an attempt to conceal his laughter. “No seriously. This is incredible. Thank you for doing this. You really didn’t have to.”

“I know, but I wanted to. I don’t get to have people over here often, in fact I don’t even get to be here as much as I’d like, so this is nice.”

You both finish your breakfast, talking about anything and everything that graces the forefront of your minds. You talk a little about the tour and he offers some life-on-the-road advice to you, you talk some more about music and the future for both of your bands, things of that nature. 

“Just so you know, I’ve been down the rabbit hole that is Lilac Moon.”

“Oh? How so?”

“Been listening to your music, watching your videos…I know I’ve already said this, but you’re pretty fantastic. Your stage presence is outstanding, y/n. I can’t wait to see what you’ll do in an arena. Lilac Moon truly deserves to be on a bigger stage.”

“Well, thank you. It’s going to be a change of scenery, that’s for sure.”

As much as you feel your music is going nowhere, that’s not entirely true. Your band has roughly 60,000 monthly listeners on Spotify, which is pretty damn good for a group that rarely leaves its home state. You’ve also been featured on NPR Music's YouTube channel for a Tiny Desk concert. That’s no small feat. The bands’ Instagram page has nearly 80,000 followers, with your own personal page reaching close to 30,000. You’ve been able to do multiple professional live recordings for various radio stations, even have two music videos out for your original songs. The recording of your first EP, self funded, of course, was a pivotal moment. It garnered a lot of attention from people, and its success allowed for a second one to be recorded and released within just a few months. Things aren’t quite as stagnant as you feel they are, it's Jay that has made you believe that it’s not enough. He’s convinced you that fame is all that matters, and you’ve allowed yourself to believe it. You know that’s not true. Those things don’t matter. The music matters the most, and that’s your true love. You’re finding that you’re starting to fall in love with that aspect of it all again. 

“I uh, also happened to stumble upon a cover you all did at a few shows. A little number called Safari Song, I believe? Can't seem to remember who does that one…hmm..” he giggles at the blush creeping on your face. 

Lilac Moon has performed that song countless times in front of audiences. Obviously a crowd favorite.

“Gee, I can’t remember who does that one either.”  you say to him with a wink.

“I have to admit, I’m incredibly nervous, Josh. I mean, what if they don’t like us? I doubt many of them know us…I just…I don’t handle criticism well…I know that’s something I have to fix if I want to continue any kind of career in this field. I’m just nervous. This is the biggest thing to ever happen to us…I’m terrified they’ll hate us.”

“Ah, I remember those feelings quite well. It can be frightening, I know. But I can promise you this: they’re going to love you. I know our fans. They’re some of the most accepting, loving people. They feel it from us, and they reciprocate it. Just go out there with love, and they’ll love you right back. Love is the key.”

He pats the top of your head in a silly, loving way to reassure you a little extra.

“But you should know this already, I mean you are one of them, after all.” he says with a wink. “Just how big of a fan are you, anyways? Just out of curiosity. I hope you’re not a crazed, stalker type. If you are, well, you’ve done a good job of it because you’re in my house.” he says with a boisterous laugh.

“Well, I went to as many shows as I could back in the day. Got a few guitar picks, a drum stick. You even handed me a rose one time.”

“What? You know…” he stops to ponder in thought a bit. “Yeah…yes! I remember you! Oh my God, how could I have forgotten this. You and Ivy! I remember seeing you at tons of shows, and I remember handing you the rose.” He taps his fingers on his chin while he thinks. “St. Louis. Ballpark Village in 2017. You were wearing the most lovely purple dress with these huge sleeves that were just beautiful…and you had the most wonderful flowers in your hair. That’s why I wanted to give you the rose, because of your flowers. Such a lovely sight.”

You’re left in complete shock. His memory is serving him right, because that’s exactly what you were wearing. 

“I can’t believe you remembered all of that. That’s just…how on earth do you still remember that? It’s been so many years, and you’ve done thousands of shows since then..”

“You just spoke to me, I guess. You were so sweet, so gentle in the mix of people who were screaming at the top of their lungs. You just radiated this energy that I didn’t feel from anyone else in the crowd. You were there for the music, for the peace it brought you, I could tell.”

You’re struck aghast at hearing this from him, because he’s absolutely right. You always felt a sort of peace at their shows. They felt eerily intimate to you, and you can’t believe he picked up on that from the crowds of people that surrounded you.

“Wow, Josh. I’m just astounded. I never knew you noticed me, let alone remembered me.”

“Look at you, y/n! I’d be crazy to not remember the likes of you, sweet girl. Like I said last night, the universe is mysterious. It wanted our paths to cross again, and now look what’s come of it? It’s a wonderful thing.”

♪°•°∞♬°•°♪°•°∞♬°•°♪

You’ve been so lost in conversation that you don’t even realize three hours have gone by.

You start to help Josh clean up in the kitchen when you hear his phone going off.

“Shit. Hold on, I have to get that.”

He answers it, opting to put it on speaker. You’re taken aback by this. This man really has nothing to hide, and nothing to hide from you. It’s a sweet, seemingly insignificant gesture that makes you smile to yourself.

“Where the fuck are you?” You recognize Jake's voice instantly, and he’s not thrilled.

“Oh fuck, man. I totally forgot. What time was I supposed to be there?”

“You were supposed to be here over an hour ago to get hair and makeup done, Josh. The shoot starts in 30 minutes. You better get your ass over here now.” You hear Sammy’s unmistakable laughter in the background, clearly mocking his older brother's irresponsibility.

“Tell Sam to shut the fuck up. I’m on my way.”

You hear the call disconnect from the other end.

“I’m so sorry, Josh. This is all my fault.” 

“No, don’t be. It’s just a silly magazine. They want us pretty damn bad for this next cover, so they aren’t going anywhere.”

You help him get the last few things tidied up in the kitchen before grabbing your stuff to head out the door with him. He walks you to your car, opening your door for you but stops you before you get in.

“Can we- can we do this again sometime? I know we’ve both got busy schedules with everything coming up. But I really, really enjoyed talking to you. I’m sorry if I got a little carried away last night. I just couldn’t help myself and-” you’re not sure where or how you got this sudden courage, but you grabbed him lightly by his shirt and brought him to your lips in a sweet, longing kiss to cut off his apology. He wrapped his arms around you tightly, bringing you even closer to him.

“Don’t be sorry.” you whisper as you move away slightly from his lips. “I would love to do this again. Soon, I hope?”

“Yes, very soon. Every night if we can.” 

You meet each other in another kiss but it’s cut short as Josh’s phone is going off yet again, presumably Jake.

“I really hate to, but I have to go. Text me, okay?” 

“I will.” you say as you sit in the driver's seat of your car.

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“Bye, y/n.”

He smiles as he shuts your car door. You watch him walk to his jeep. He looks wonderful in the sun, effortlessly stunning. The butterflies in your stomach are in a fluttering mass. You’re not sure what any of this means or where it could possibly be going, but you’re welcoming all of it with open arms.

♪°•°∞♬°•°♪°•°∞♬°•°♪

Your mind is racing on your drive home. In fact, you decide to take the long way to your apartment to give yourself some space for deep thought. You love to take long drives to just let yourself think, to let yourself be.

You decide to skip going home right away, opting to drive yourself to Ivy’s to see if she’s home. You have to talk to someone, and who better than your very best friend. 

You breathe a heavy sigh of relief when you pull up to her complex to see her car in her usual parking spot.

It’s not out of the ordinary for the two of you to show up to each other’s places unannounced. You even have a key to her apartment, and she owns one to yours as well.

You lived together briefly upon moving to Nashville, that is until Jay came into the picture. He moved in with you and essentially forced Ivy out. She didn’t take it well, and you can’t blame her one bit. He always said it was for ‘privacy.’ You hated that you let him do that. You hated that he tried to put a wedge between you and Ivy. It left a dent in your friendship for a while, and as much as she says she forgives you and doesn't place the blame on you, you can’t help but feel shameful for letting him run your life the way he did. Despite all of it, it somehow made you and Ivy stronger in the end. Your friendship has stood the tests of time and tribulation.

You make it up the steps to the second floor of the complex and let yourself in the front door of her apartment. It’s still early, so you have no doubt she’s still asleep. 

As you walk inside, your theory is confirmed when you see her sprawled out on the couch in a deep sleep. You giggle a bit as she has always been notorious for falling asleep on the couch almost every night.

You sit down next to her and try to wake her up without scaring the shit out of her. She’s also notorious for getting a bit aggressive when she’s startled awake. 

“Ivy…wake up. It’s me. We have to talk, like now.” you say in a hushed tone.

She starts to wake up a bit, tossing around to grab her phone that's buried in the cushions.

“What the hell are you doing here so early? Why are you even up?”

“I wasn’t at home last night..”

“Wha-what?” She's more awake now, sitting up in a better position to talk.

“What do you mean? Where were you? I literally dropped you off after practice.”

“Well, I was home for a bit. Then I got a text from Josh…”

Her eyes are now fully open and displaying shock as she’s scanning your face, desperate to hear the rest of your tale.

“Wait, what? What did he say? Did you hangout with him?”

“Yeah, I mean I don’t think that was his initial intention. He just wanted to apologize for being so sappy at the restaurant yesterday. He said some beautiful things, Ive. That’s why I was about to cry.”

She nods her head as if to signal you to keep going.

“Well, then he asked about Jay and why he’s such a prick. I told him it was a long story. One thing led to another, and he asked me to come over to have some wine and talk. So, I did.”

She has the biggest smile on her face, her eyes squinted almost entirely from her grin.

“And you stayed? All night? Holy shit, y/n. You slept with Josh. You slept with Joshua fucking Kisz-” you interupt her with an obnoxious laugh at her ridiculous assumption.

“Ivy! We did NOT sleep together. I mean, we slept together, but we didn’t fuck. Jesus, get your mind out of the gutter.” You playfully slap her arm. “We did kiss, though…and I told him about my dad. I don’t know what happened, it just..did. It happened so quickly. I felt so safe with him.”

“You kissed him? Y/n, oh my God. Tell me everything. Who initiated?”

“I told him a little about my experience with my mom…and you know me, you know I don’t talk about these things. I told him about how my dad instilled in me this passion for music that I have. I started to cry, and he said he wanted to kiss me…and I told him to do it..”

“That’s…that’s amazing, y/n.”

“And he listened to me, Ivy. He actually listened to me. He was so..intentional. I felt so heard. I think that’s why I fell asleep with him. It just…it felt nice, you know? Maybe I’m overthinking everything…and odds are this doesn’t mean anything. But it just felt really…nice.”

Ivy leans in and wraps you in a hug. She knows all too well of the struggles you’ve faced, and she knows how hard it is for you to talk about it all. The two of you share a bond together that no one else will ever be able to fully comprehend. She’s also been through her fair share of traumas, so the two of you understand one another in a way that is different from other relationships in your lives.

“Okay so..is there anything else I need to know?”

“He cooked me breakfast this morning.”

“What the fuck. This man isn’t real. There’s no way. It’s too good to be true.”

You both laugh at this, and you halfway agree with her.

“If I wasn’t there, I don’t think I’d believe it myself. You know my track record with men is absolute shit. I mean I even apologized for staying all night, and he practically thanked me for staying. Said he gets lonely. And he wouldn’t even let me help him with breakfast. It was so sweet.”

“What did he make you, anyway?”

“The most incredible french toast I’ve ever had. He told me it’s Jake's recipe. Apparently Jake is some high-end chef. Isn’t that amazing?”

Ivy perked right up at that.

“So, since you’re all chummy with Josh, can you set me up with his outrageously sexy, guitar-god of a twin?”

You both burst out in a fit of giggles.

“You are absolutely ridiculous.”

♪°•°∞♬°•°♪°•°∞♬°•°♪

You’ve spent the entire day with Ivy. Relaxing, watching your favorite tv shows, eating snacks. You’ve been so busy with Lilac Moon lately that it’s been hard to find time to just rest, so you’re grateful for the opportunity that arose today.

You held off from texting Josh at the risk of seeming too eager, but you were starting to feel guilty that your promise fell through. You decide that it’s probably okay to text him, given it’s been several hours since you saw him so you shouldn’t look that desperate.

You: How did the photoshoot go? Jake didn’t kill you for being late, did he?

Josh: Unfortunately, he did just that. I am speaking to you from the grave. ;) 

You’re surprised by the almost instant reply. 

You: Oh! What a shame. I was really starting to like you. :( 

You: I really am sorry I made you so late!

Josh: Not your fault, sweet girl! Jacob gets agitated quite easily but it’s nothing to bat an eye at. All was well, as I knew it would be! What are you doing on this fine evening?

Ivy catches you smiling at your phone.

“You look an awful lot like you’re talking to a gorgeous rockstar over there.” 

“And what if I am? You’re jealous, huh.” you say with a smirk.

“Shut the hell up, y/n.”

You return to responding to Josh when suddenly your phone starts ringing with an incoming call. To your disgust, it’s Jay. Him calling this late can only mean one thing, a last minute gig at a shitty bar.

You turn your screen to show Ivy, to which she responds with a heavy eye roll.

“Hello, Jay.”

“Are you with Ivy?”

“Yes, why?”

“Be at The Basement in 45 minutes. Juliens on his way with the equipment. We’re on at 9.”

“Are you fucking kidding me-” he hangs up before you can argue.

You look at Ivy who’s got annoyance written all over her face.

“Well that’s just fucking great.”

“Please, y/n, don’t tell me we’re playing where I think we’re playing..”

Ivy puts her face in her hands, knowing exactly what your response will be.

“Yep. The Basement. The fucking Basement. I don’t know how many times we have to tell Jay that we hate this fucking place.”

The Basement in south Nashville is quite literally your least favorite place to play. It’s such a small bar that gets crowded quickly, it’s gross and always smells like regurgitated alcohol, and the sound system is absolute shit. Also, this place never fails to attract the nastiest, most disrespectful men that yell the most horrendous things at you and Ivy. 

“How much time do we have to get ready?”

“He wants us there in 45 minutes.”

“That gives us..” she looks at her phone to confirm the time “..20 fucking minutes to get ready. Why does he wait until the last minute to plan these things!”

The Basement also conveniently doesn’t house any dressing rooms for you to get ready in, and you’re sure as hell not getting ready in the bathrooms that don’t appear to have ever been cleaned properly, so you have to hurry and get ready here.

Ivy runs to her closet to grab some outfits for the two of you while you rush to her bathroom to get out all of her makeup. You start quickly putting on your face when you realize you hadn’t responded to Josh yet. You really didn’t want to leave him hanging.

You: Well, looks like we’re booked for a last minute gig at my least favorite bar, thanks to none other than Jay.

Josh: Where would said gig happen to be?

You: The Basement. And he’s only giving us 20 minutes to be ready and get there for a soundcheck. I can tell you know, it’ll sound like shit.

Josh: I’m coming. What time is your set?

You: We’re on at 9. You really don’t need to come. This place is a dump and it’s way too overcrowded. People will probably maul you once they figure out you’re there. It’s not safe.

Josh: That’s what our security is for. :) I’ll be there. Daniel and Jake will also be in attendance. I think they love your music almost as much as I do. :)

The thought of him coming to a risky place just to see your band perform has you feeling so warm inside. You can’t explain it, but you feel safer already at the thought of him being there.

You finish your makeup in record time. Ivy barges in with an outfit for you. A pair of black velvet bell bottoms and a strapless sage green corset top donned with flowers. It’ll do. Ivy’s wearing a mini skirt the same shade of green and a black crop top with sequins.

You get dressed as Ivy rushes to finish her makeup.

“How much time, y/n?”

“We need to be in the car in 3 minutes.”

“Shit. You’re driving, then. I’ll just finish this in the car.”

You both sprint down the stairs of the complex to your car, tripping over your bell bottoms with each step.

“You just had to give me the fucking bell bottoms? I should get to wear that skirt! My legs are shorter than yours!”

“Well my ass looks bad in them, so yes! Get over it!”

♪°•°∞♬°•°♪°•°∞♬°•°♪

You finally made it. The drive here was brutal, but you made it right on time.

You head in for the soundcheck. You’re groaning at the thought of playing here again. The stage is so small that the four of you on there together are practically on top of one another. There’s hardly enough room for your equipment, but Julien is the best at making it all fit. 

Joe is here and talking to the owners of the bar, probably negotiating a form of payment. These places never pay much. Stingy asses.

You quickly run through a few songs before the doors open for people to start coming in. You sound mediocre at best. This place has the absolute worst sound.

8:31 pm

There’s only about 10 minutes until doors, so you and Ivy decide to grab a drink from the bar to calm your collective nerves. 

“So, Josh is coming tonight, with Danny and Jake. He insisted on it.”

She takes a sip of her angry orchard.

“Isn’t this place a little dangerous for them? Like won’t people freak out over them?”

“I literally thought the same thing, but Josh said they’re bringing security with them so it would be fine. I told him they didn’t need to come, but he sounded like they really wanted to. Said they loved our music.”

You’re suddenly startled by Jay yelling at you from backstage.

“Y/n! Ivy! What the fuck are you doing? Get back here! It’s almost time!”

You both roll your eyes simultaneously at his rude behavior and head back to join him and Julien. You decide to tell Julien about your guests attending tonight's show.

“Guess what, Julie? Josh, Danny and Jake will be here tonight!”

“Uh oh, guess that means we better be on our best behavior!” he says with a playful nudge at your shoulder.

“Why the fuck do they need to be here? Do they think they need to come see us to make sure we’re actually good enough for them?”

You’re not surprised by his nasty attitude towards it, in fact you were expecting it. He’s already a few drinks in, not much of a shock.

“They just wanted to see the show, Jay. They like our music. I don’t know what the big deal is.”

Jay scoffs obnoxiously. “That’s a load of bullshit. They don’t give fuck. They just want to make sure we actually fit their standards. I know how the business works. We’re just the openers, y/n. They couldn’t care less about us and you’re better off to realize that, too.”

“Why do you have to have such a shit attitude about it? Not once have you shown an ounce of gratitude for this opportunity. You’re being an asshole about it. You were so fucking rude at the meeting. It was embarrassing.”

“I was the embarrassing one, y/n? Hm. See, how I remember it is you were flirting up a fucking storm with the miniature lead singer. Everyone noticed. Seems like you’re trying to make it good with him, get yourself a step ahead of all of us. He’s your ticket to fame, isn’t he?”

Now you’re pissed. 

“You’re just mad that I don’t want to be with your sorry ass anymore. You can’t handle when another man gives me attention, can you? Sounds like you’re pretty fucking jealous to me.”

“You’re just using him, y/n. You don’t want him. And there’s no way he’d want a nobody like you. It’s pathetic. You’re just fulfilling some stupid fantasy of yours, huh?”

“Fuck you, Jay.”

You storm off towards the stage. Ivy follows close behind, about to bite a hole in her tongue to keep from making things worse.

“It must suck to be so fucking miserable all the time. It’d be great if you’d get over yourself for once.” Julien says before he follows your lead to head on stage.

For the first time in a long while, you and Ivy aren’t the last ones making it to the stage.

8:59 pm

People are piling in fast. You hit the stage to a loud collection of cheers. You scan the audience quickly, seeing your distinguished guests towards the back of the bar surrounded by a slew of security guards. The anger you were feeling has instantly melted away at the site of Josh and his toothy smile. His energy instantaneously makes you feel lighter.

9:01 pm

You tap the mic a few times to ensure it’s working. You take a deep breath. 

“Good evening! How are we all doing tonight?”

The crowd is exceptionally loud tonight, and you’re starting to feel better about the whole situation.

You look around to your bandmates to signal you’re ready, when you notice the absence of your high strung guitarist.

You look back to Julien with silent question, to which he responds with wide eyes and a shrug of his shoulders. 

You decide to buy a little time by doing your usual warming-up-the-crowd antics. 

“We’re Lilac Moon, in case you’re new here.” You start nervously adjusting the mic stand, an anxious fidget of yours. “If you like what you hear, don’t be afraid to tip us. If you don’t like what you hear, still tip us and we’ll be sure to use it for lessons.” Julien punctuates your cheesy joke with a *ba dum tss* of his kit.

That one gets them everytime, so you’re not surprised to hear a lot of laughter from the crowd.

9:07 pm

You look to your left, still no Jay. 

Shit. 

“Lots of lovely faces out here tonight. It’s a shame you’re stuck looking at ours.” Another *ba dum tss* from Julien and plenty of laughs from the crowd.

9:10 pm

Still no Jay. You’re starting to panic. Julien senses it and decides to head backstage in search of him. 

You and Ivy do your best to buy more time, but people are getting antsy. You periodically look to Josh to see his face filled with worry.

9:14 pm

Finally, just as you were about to head backstage yourself, here comes Julien with a clearly disordered Jay. 

Great. He’s fucking wasted.

You’re nervous for what could happen, but the show must go on.

“You all ready?” you say as Ivy taps a few notes on her bass and Jay strums a chord on his guitar.

The crowd cheers, and you begin.

The first several songs go as well as you could’ve hoped. The crowd is really into it tonight. You’re trying not to keep your eyes set on Josh the whole time, but it’s proving to be quite difficult. He looks so enthralled, and you notice that he’s even singing along to some of your songs. It’s surreal, to say the least. He even blows you a few kisses, causing you to become flustered. 

9:53 pm

The next song is your newest piece, Alone Again, the one that requires you to play some rhythm guitar with Jay. You go to grab your instrument, feeling slightly less anxious than the other night for its debut and your first time playing on stage. 

You make your speech about playing guitar, finding the opportunity to say once again “if it sounds like shit, just blame Jay” only this time, he doesn’t appear to be too pleased with your quip. He stares at you with an empty, angry glare as he steps closer to his mic.

What is he about to do..

“No, no. If it sounds like shit, blame her. She’s the one who wrote this song. Oh, should I mention she wrote it about me? You know, we were in the ‘throes of love.’” he uses air quotes, making his sarcasm apparent, “but all love stories must end, isn’t that right, y/n? I bet your new fling didn’t know this little number was about me, did he?” He looks towards Josh. “Did you know that? That she wrote this about me?” He’s slurring and stumbling all over his words, clearly very drunk as the alcohol has had more time to settle. Luckily, no one in the audience seems to register that he’s trying to point out someone in the crowd. But their security is wrapped tightly around them, just in case.

You’re speechless. You’re embarrassed. You're not even sure how to go about beginning the song now, but thankfully, Julien taps his snare a few times, and the song finally begins.

The last time you performed this song, you were full of emotions that forced you to become somewhat vulnerable on stage. This time, the only emotion you feel is anger. Pure, unfiltered anger. You’re nearly screaming the lyrics. Your strumming is intense. You’re just ready to get it over with.

Despite it all, the audience loves it. Their cheers make it apparent that they’ve mostly forgotten about the awkward intro to the track.

Thankfully, Jay keeps his mouth shut for the rest of the set, and everything ends rather smoothly. 

10:26 pm

“Thank you all so much! We hope to see you again soon!” you say as you blow a kiss and wave to the audience, getting tons of kisses and waves right back as they cheer.

Once you’re all backstage, Joe takes Jay aside and corners him.

“What the hell was that about, huh? You trying to make yourself look like a damn fool? ‘Cause you’re doing a great job at it, bud!”

Your adrenaline from being on stage has quickly left and anger is seeping in your blood once again. 

You walk over to Joe and push him aside.

“What the fuck, Jay? You’re going to make us look like a fucking joke. You’re a piece of shit, you know that?”

He starts screaming at you. You’re not even able to make out what he’s saying. A lot of ‘bitch’ and ‘fuck you’s’ being thrown around is all you can manage to understand.

“What the FUCK is your problem?” Danny yells loud enough that it startles him and cuts him off. “I’ll be God damned if I let you speak to her like that any longer.” Just as he says that, Jay lifts his fist, ready to land on Danny.

“Oh I don’t fucking think so.” Before he can swing, Danny grabs him and locks his arms behind his back.

Jay is trying to release himself from his grasp, but the drummer is far too strong for him and his drunken, belligerent state. 

Josh and Jake are close behind, running up to you to be sure you’re okay. 

“Y/n, you and Ivy come with us. You don’t need to be in his company any longer.” Josh says as he grabs your hand to pull you away, glaring at Jay.

“You know you’re nothing to her! She only wants you ‘cause you’re famous! She doesn’t give a fuck about you or anyone else!” he screams as Danny, Joe and Julien take him outside to the back of the venue to cool him off.

“Get fucked, you piece of shit!” Josh yells back in a deep, angry tone, one you didn’t think was possible from him.

That…was fucking hot.

You’re mortified. He demeaned you in front of the audience, but worst of all, he tried to start a physical fight with a member of the band that’s helping you further your career. Embarrassment doesn’t even cover it.

“I am…I’m so sorry about all of this. We were fighting before the show and I guess he took it upon himself to get absolutely trashed.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for, y/n. You guys shouldn’t have to put up with this bullshit.” Jake says.

“Josh, please don’t believe anything he says. He’s completely out of it, I don’t even think he realizes he lost his shit on stage. He’s an asshole, but he takes his music very seriously. That’s not like him to do that, I swear.”

“I have no reason to believe a word out of his mouth, y/n. And you need to stop justifying his behavior. There’s no reason for him to act that way. But I do want to know something…” you look to him to let him know he can continue his thought, “Did you really write that song? About him? It’s a wonderful, beautiful song. But, the lyrics. How could you still feel that way about him?”

“Yes, I did. I wrote it the day I broke things off.” You’ve thought the same things. How could you possibly waste your energy on a song about him? “I guess I didn’t write it about him so much as I wrote it about who I thought he was. I, I don’t know. I thought he was different, Josh. I was naive. I don’t feel those things..and to be honest, I’m not sure I ever did. I think I liked the idea of being with him more than anything. There wasn’t any real love there. It felt so empty.”

Jake and Ivy take it upon themselves to leave, to give you two some space.

“You are worlds better than him. Universes, even. He doesn’t deserve to share space with you.”

“I wish he wasn’t in this band. I wish things were different. I wish we could just kick him out and find someone else, it’s just not that easy. None of us can stand being around him anymore. He’s gone completely off the deep end since the break up. He makes it really hard for me, for all of us, to love this band like we used to.” 

You’re in a tough spot. You feel the need to make excuses for Jay because he’s still a vital part of this band. And you feel it’s your responsibility to keep the peace amongst everyone, because you feel a sort of guilt for everything that happened. You’re convinced that you’re the reason he acts this way. 

Josh doesn’t speak for a few minutes, looking like something on his mind is plaguing him.

“Josh? What’s wrong?”

“I didn’t want to say anything until I had more information. But…we found out today that the label is kind of being difficult about you coming on tour with us since you’re not signed with them. We all thought it’d be okay, given you’re not signed with anyone, but apparently that’s somewhere in the fine lines of the contracts. Our manager didn’t even think it’d be a big deal.”

You stare blankly at him, watching as his expression turns more and more distraught.

“They were here tonight, y/n. They were prepared to sign you, but after Jay’s outburst on stage….I don’t know, they weren’t happy. They left before you finished.”

Fuck.

“I…I mean what do we do? Can we have a meeting with them? We can’t let this happen, I won’t let it happen. I won’t let that mother fucker ruin this for us. He’s such a fucki-” he stops you before you can really work yourself up and brushes his hand gently on your cheek to calm you down.

“Listen, I will make this happen, okay? We can pull some strings. You deserve this and I’ll prove that to them. But, that could mean finding a new guitarist. I don’t know for sure, so don’t stress too much about that yet. I just want you to know that might be a possibility, okay?”

This news should send you into a spiral, but his voice is so calming…his demeanor is peaceful…you can’t help but trust everything he says. Looking into his eyes, you have no doubt everything will be alright.

“Okay, Josh..” you say with a heavy sigh.

He smiles at you and leans down to place a kiss on your nose.

To be continued…

Chapter 4

join the taglist!

taglist: @jakeyt @fwzco @jessicafg03 @blissfulbellss @jakekiszkapunchmeintheface @arsonkween @sicksadandrad @gretavansara @witchofendora @andtherestishistory13 @aintthatapity @itsdannysworld @thetroublegetssoloud71 @slaythelightfantastic

i *think* i got everyone, but, again, tumblr is being weird with tags.

a/n: here’s a little playlist of songs that, to me, represent the kind of music Lilac Moon would do, if they were real. ☺️ 

i’d like to think of their music as a mix of all of these sounds put together, if that makes sense. lol

[hankwritten]

A Tavern Named Keep [1/6]

Demoman-centric Modern AU

[1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6]

In a small uni-town in New Mexico, DeGroot Keep serves liquor and succor to an eclectic yet loyal group of patrons, and has for many years. The Keep owes its success to its equally colorful owner, who always seems to know what you need—whether that be a stiff beer or a word of advice. But, between setting up his patrons or sifting through his friends’ problems, will Tavish remember to take care of himself?

Nestled between the Law Offices of one B. L. Tarch and the perpetually-closed Geranium Germinated Wheat Bakery, there sits a modest little Tavern by the name of DeGroot Keep. One wouldn’t be blamed in mistaking the Keep for…anything else really; the structure is made from a homey, tan stone that gives it the air of a snug residential building (and indeed, its proprietor does live in the room above the tavern, but we’ll get to him later.) Fresh green paint trims the windows and roof, never a flake nor chip as a point of pride. Although the tavern’s name hangs above a pair of heavy wooden doors just off the street, this sign is only a formality, as the true entrance to DeGroot Keep (as transcribed by its sole employee on a borrowed flashcard and taped to the door) is procured from the eastern side, down the hall to the right. This esca of a front door can’t be breached even if one tries; within, the Keep’s largest and most impressive wooden table blocks the entirety of it, crouching like a curmudgeonly boulder. Nicknamed the Elephant, (both for its girth and the fact that sixteen dancing elephants are carved into legs), the monstrosity can only be moved by four fairly-fit adults working in coordination, which is a big ask for the patrons of the Keep, so there the Elephant sits. This is actually one of the least egregious examples of the business’s fire and safety hazards.

To truly access this strange example of an alcoholic establishment, one must pass through the repurposed gap-between-buildings, underneath the pergola, and betwixt two stone sea-serpents if they judge you worthy. The spot of shaded greenery one finds there is something to marvel at, though few do. During the day it is shaded, and as the sun goes down, hanging lights guide potential customers to the actual front door.

This is the journey of one truly haggard prospective patron, newly jet-lagged and irate from the front door’s runaround, grumbling to himself with a distinct Australian accent as he pushes inside. Tavish, as well as the handful of early customers hunkered in their normal pods, look up at the bell’s ring.

“Aye there!” greets the bartender, as genial as they come, slipping into the smile he reserves for courting the uninitiated to his place of business.  “Welcome to DeGroot Keep! What can I get for you, stranger?”

The newcomer startles. Hearing a thick Scottish accent in the deep reaches of the southern United States usually does that—in Tavish’s experience—so he’s just glad that the man’s forgotten to be sour-faced for a second. It’s not so odd that it distracts him for more than a moment, though, and he drifts closer to the bar. “Beer.”

“Coming right up!”

Tavish moves automatically, bottles sliding behind the bar with a practiced ease, acting on hunch as sizes up the man before him. He’s not paying attention to the bartender's hands, instead finally getting hit with the sheer unorthodoxy of the tavern’s décor, the Elephant not the least of it. This is perfectly fine for Tavish, who begins the process of rimming a glass tumbler.

“Flight just get in?” he fields, as his customer gazes around in bafflement.

“…Yeah.” The man’s frown—before with an air of perpetual irritation that was more aimed at the general world rather than Tavish in particular—grows slightly suspicious. It tugs him enough out of his beguilement. “How’d you know that?”

“Just a guess.” Tavish shrugs. “You can wear the sunglasses indoors all you like lad, but it wouldn’t hide those bags unless you had a bag o’re your head.”

There is a moment, a moment where Tavish tenses, knowing that not everyone would take brusque ribbing from a stranger with anything more than offense, but then the stranger fully processes what’s been said. He laughs. It’s an abrupt little thing, more of a bark really, but the tension between them breaks, and the Australian sits down.

“Your drink, sir,” Tavish says as he slides it towards him.

“…This isn’t a beer.”

“ ‘S the same price.” A half grin curls up mischievously. “Humor me.”

The man, now sitting at one of the vinyl-clad bar stools patterned to resemble a vintage bottle cap, takes a hold of the mixed drink and knocks it back. After a second, he sets it down, licking the corner of his mouth.

“Bloody hell,” he says. “That’s a damn good drink, mate.”

The hunch, now confirmed, eases back into the twinkle of Tavish’s eye. “Well they don’t call me the greatest bartender between the 106th and 107th longitudes for nothing! I do my best.”

Snorting, the man says, “Mick Mundy.”

“Tavish DeGroot,” Tavish replies, taking the offered hand.

“DeGroot,” Mick hums. “As in DeGroot Keep, then?”

“No actually, complete coincidence. Bought the place from a woman named Dee Gertrude Roots, her pride and joy it was, founded it in the 70s as a swinger’s club. Anyway, terrible thing happened to the ‘ole girl: ‘twas the day of her retirement, and right as she hands me the keys, that there moose-shoe hanging above the door comes free ‘o its nail. Dropped on her noggin, and killed dead right there.”

Mick turns to stare at the comically large horseshoe christening the Keep’s doorway, before glancing skeptically at Tavish. “You’re fucking with me.”

“ ‘Course I’m fucking with you. ‘As in DeGroot Keep?’ Bah, what sort of half-brained question is that?” But Tavish says it with such teasing humor that Mick can’t help but laugh too. Tavish’s starting to like this man, now that he’s getting a good feel for his ins-and-outs.

Gesturing with his half-finished drink, Mick admits, “DeGroot or Roots, you’ve got a real weird bar on your hands.”

“Tavern,” Tavish corrects seriously. When Mick raises an eyebrow, he blisters, “ach, you’re as bad as the Americans, can’t tell a bar from a pub, let alone a proper tavern when you see one.”

“Don’t let him start draw ‘n quartering you for that,” a voice speaks up from beyond Mick and Tavish’s conversation. “Trust me, ain’t no one in the world makes the distinction but him.”

The three men near the door, whose exchange Tavish has been listening to with half an ear, have noticed that Mick has settled into an amicable conversation, the fact that it’s gone on reasonably long marking him as ‘the alright sort’. The regulars around here know better than to crowd any new faces, lest their enthusiasm chase them off. Tavish has a business to run, after all.

“And that’s what’s wrong with your bloody country,” Tavish points at the interrupter. “No one cares but me! When the day comes you’ll all slide into the ocean, except for I and the Keep, the only ones who bothered to remember that words mean things.”

Ignoring him, Dell speaks right on past to Mick. “Bet he told you he was the best bartender in the county too,” the customer-swiping bastard says, elbowing Mick in the side. “He mention he only won that competition because the other contestant had even fewer eyes than him?”

“You just have to ruin everything for me, don’t you Conagher?” Tavish asks, and Dell laughs.

They quickly round-table the introductions, Dell the only one to reach out and shake Mick’s hand. Mikail stoutly offers his name before retreating back into silence, but when it comes to Dr. Ludwig’s turn, he states abruptly, “and I am a free man!”

Mick falters, but to his credit, it’s only momentarily. “Congratulations? Got ‘ta say though, you got balls mate. Most people don’t offer up when they’ve just been out of prison.”

“Prison?” Ludwig says, eyes immediately narrowing behind his spectacles, snapping into suspicion in an instant. “Who told you about that? I want names!”

“I uh,” Mick says, obviously taken aback. Thankfully, Dell always has his thumb on the pulse of whenever something farcical is about to go on.

“What Doc means to say,” he assuages, “is that he’s been freed from the institution of marriage, not the institution of…institutionalization.”

Ludwig’s mood is gone as quickly as it’d come. “Ah ha ha, yes. Silly misunderstanding. Excuse my slip of the tongue.”

Still looking like he’s been swiped at by a wild animal, Mick cautiously says, “…roight.”

“But yes, the papers came in this morning! As of today, I am a free man.”

He proves this by spreading out said papers across the booth’s table, and reciting in glee the legal severances which he had been granted over a multitude of affidavits and certifications. Tavish, having the misfortune of not being able to move from his post, knows Ludwig’s been doing this for the past hour and a half. Mikhail and Dell have shown him saintly support however, the later patting him on the shoulder as he launches into another gleeful discussion of alimony. They’ve retracted back into their corner, for which Mick is grateful.

“Eclectic lot you got,” he tells Tavish. “Setup to a joke, isn’t it? A German, a Russian, and American walk into a Scotsman’s bar.”

“Tavern,” Tavish says. “And you haven’t seen the half of it. Wait until you meet-”

The bell tinkles, heralding the arrival of Tavish’s only employee and their begrudging chauffeur.

“You’re late,” he tells Pyro.

The bout of muffled, frustrated yelling he gets in response is directed at Jeremy, who puts his hands up in defense. Pyro points at their roommate furiously, laying the truth bare.

Tavish raises a brow at the sputtering man. “You slowed down just so you could stare at the track team’s arses?”

“It’s a student crossing zone!” Jeremy caterwauls with the trod upon hallmarks of an argument carried all the way from campus to the bar. “I had to slow down. And, y’know, maybe while we were stopped I looked, but I was-”

Pyro throws their hands up in exasperation and walks behind the bar.

Mick, meanwhile, has been gazing at Pyro nonstop since they stepped in the door. Tavish doesn’t blame him. It’s not every day you see someone in a fully flame-retardant suit tie on an apron and then put a little chef’s hat on their head.

“Jaw off the floor, lad,” he says to Mick, not unkindly.

Realizing he’s staring, the Australian self-consciously follows the command. “…Sorry.”

“ ‘S alright. They get that a lot.”

The person in question doesn’t even notice the conversation has fallen on them, shuffling to the back kitchen in preparation of the upcoming dinner rush.

“…They wear that all the time then?”

“Yeah,” Jeremy says, swinging into the stool on Mick’s right. “It’s cool though. Believe it or not, Pyro’s not even the 4th weirdest person at TFU.” Jeremy pauses, as though just registering who he’s talking to. “Who are you, anyway?”

“Scout, be nice,” Tavish warns.

“What? I am being nice! I’m asking who this chucklenut is, ain’t I?”

“Mundy,” Mick growls, already deciding he’s not going to like this kid.

“And I’m Jeremy, but everyone calls me Scout, so there, now we’re all acquainted and shit.”

“They call you Scout?” Mick asks dubiously. “Why?”

“Uh, ‘cause it’s my name, duh.”

“What kind of name is Scout?”

“What kind of name is Mundy?”

Tavish, feeling that occupying the new guest is handled for a little while, (assuming Jeremy doesn’t annoy him to death), gracefully withdraws from the conversation in the horizontal direction—sliding down the bar to where his second most care-intensive client is.

“Lassie,” he says, gently jostling her shoulder, “it’s 5:19.”

“Urg,” Pauling says, lifting from the gentle cushion of her folded arms and into the buzzing light of the Keep, illuminated as it is by the faux-stained glass filtering down from the ceiling. Her cats-eye glasses are ever so slightly out of place, much like the stray hairs popping up from her bun as though they too have just been woken from a nap.

Another bartender might be concerned to find a woman passed out on his bar after only one gin and tonic, but Tavish knows that this particular woman is only held together by stress and paperclips. Before she’d come through Keep’s doors, she’d been going on thirty hours without sleep. It was no wonder that she’d walked in, taken her usual, and then immediately slumped over in her favorite chair.

“Wuzz…” she grumbles, then shoots up like a jack-in-the-box. “5:19? I told you to wake me up at 5:14!”

“I know, but you were just so exhausted looking, I thought you deserved a wee bit longer.”

“It’s not about deserving.” The papers that had provided a barrier between wood and face are gathered quickly, slotted into clipboards and shuffled into her accordion bag. “It takes sixteen minutes to get from here to The Facility at a brisk walk, but to get there in eleven I’ll have to punch that up to a light jog and then I’ll be sweaty, and the Administrator will notice because she always notices and-”

A stray paper flutters away as Pauling fails to put it in its appropriate folder.

“Crap.”

That’s not the end of Pauling's troubles either. As she makes her break towards the door, Jeremy scrambles out of his chair and into her way. “Yo, Miss P!”

“Scout. What is it. Kind of in a hurry.”

Jeremy, with his cap a little crooked as he rubs the back of his head, inevitably does not take the hint and says, “yeah you’re always in a hurry, that’s why it took so long to tell you, I wanted to bring it up when it was new ‘n all-”

“Scout. Talk faster.”

“I just uh,” he flounders. “I got a new bike. A scooter, like yours, just because you make it look so cool, and when my car broke down I figured I could make it, uh look cool...too,” he finishes lamely. “So like, in the future if you ever want to talk about bikes and stuff?”

There is a heavy, prolonged movement of air. A sigh if a sigh were on the inhale, sucking all the aggravation out of the tavern like a straw sucking up Gin and Tonic. “That’s great Scout. We can definitely. Do that.”

“Really? That’s great! I mean uh, that’s cool.” He notices that he’s still blocking her exit. “Sorry, let me just uh…” With that, he scoots out of the way, and Pauling is off at a light jog.

Tavish waits until the bell has longs stopped ringing before frowning at Jeremy. “I thought you were over your crush on her.”

“What?” Jeremy seems genuinely startled. “I am! Like wayyy over it, over the moon about it.”

“Not what that means, lad.”

“Point is I’m not into her.” He puts his hands in his pockets. “I just still want to be her friend, okay? That so freaking hard to believe?”

“With you, a bit.”

Mick, watching the exchange with amusement, snorts. Jeremy glares.

“Glad Scout didn’t chase you away,” Tavish says, done with his sworn Pauling-attending duties and free to return to his other customers. “Now that Pyro’s in, we should have the kitchen up and running soon. If you’re staying around that is?”

Mick pauses, and takes a good hard look at the interior of DeGroot Keep. His eyes go up to the inlaid stone ceiling, festooned with glass lamps and beaded tassels that are now doing the heavy lifting as the daylight fades. He takes in the decoration: the murals of lonely bagpipe players inlaid to the wall as if they were tiled there, the stringless harp hung above the bar, the mounted deer head with a cigar in its mouth. His attention hovers on the group of new acquaintances, still carrying on their warm conversation in the corner.

“Sure,” he says. “Why not?”

Tavish smiles. “Here’s the menu,” he says, sliding the laminated square toward Mick.

DeGroot Keep ( all tax included )

Flaming Burritos $11

Shrimp Flambé  $16

Cheese Saganaki $10

Steak Diane $20

Bananas Foster $7

Crème Brule $7

Baked Alaska $11

“He lets Pyro write the menu,” Jeremy says fondly, swinging back into his place beside Mick.

“Aye. And if you ever order a Swedish Glogg, it’s my solemn oath to let Pyro know so they can light it on fire themself,” Tavish says with a wink.

“I don’t even know what a Swedish Glogg is,” Mick says, pouring over the menu in bewilderment.

“Would you like to find out?”

He blanches somewhat. “Maybe some other time.”

At that, the words burrow themselves somewhere warm in the vicinity of Tavish’s heart. Some other time meant the future, meant that even if this stranger was only here for a little while, he’d be back again. The thing is, Tavish likes people. As much as he likes drinks, as much as he likes being a business owner, there’s something special about the way you connect with someone over a bar, one that he’d never gotten anywhere else. He likes this collection of people he’s accumulated, the way ‘regulars’ don’t quite describe them. Because the Keep isn’t a normal tavern, not really.

As Pyro swoops in to take Mick’s—and eventually Jeremy’s—order, Tavish moves a step back, sliding into the background as he uses the moment to drink it all in.

“Hm. New recruit.”

The voice comes from Pauling’s old spot, now a bit shadier than before. In it, a much larger man sits as he contemplates the stranger at the far end of the bar, a bottle of beer before him. He must have snuck in with his spare key, even though Tavish has told him a thousand times that ‘avoiding populated thoroughfares’ isn’t what it’s for.

“Jane,” Tavish laments, though there’s no true reprimand in it. “You don’t need to get your own drinks,” he says of the beer.

Jane draws it closer to himself, as though Tavish might try to take it away. “…Didn’t want to bother you.”

“I’m your bartender, lad. It’s my job.”

Tavish begins the task of retrieving a mug from the lowest shelf, and pouring Jane his usual. As he does, he watches Jane watch the gaggle up front, a look of concentration crossing his already stern features.

“What’s he about, then?” Jane asks as Tavish pours until the beer’s head is just about to crest over the edge.

“Dunno. Haven’t gotten that far yet.”

“But you think he’ll stick around.”

Not a question. “Well, I have a good intuition about these things.”

Jane tilts his head in Tavish’s direction. “Undoubtedly! Your talent for acquiring fruitcakes and weirdos is unparalleled within the state of New Mexico.”

“Aye, that’s how I found you dinnae I?”

To that, Jane only grins, and takes a sip of his beer.

And well, he’s not wrong, is he? Tavish takes a look around at the cozy little community, chuckling as Jeremy inserts himself into Dell’s side of the booth and makes a nuisance of himself, thinking about how he could get Pauling to possibly slow down for a few minutes next time. It’s nice to have a group of people he can count on to always be around, not the least because they’re paying him to make them drinks. It’s nice to have folks to look after.

As a few more people come in through the Keep’s portcullis, he once again remembers to be grateful for everything he’s got.

[princesssarisa]

Opera on YouTube 6

Pagliacci

Franco Enriques studio film, 1954 (Franco Corelli, Mafalda Micheluzzi, Tito Gobbi; conducted by Alfredo Simonetto; no subtitles)

Tokyo Bunka Kaikan, 1961 (Mario del Monaco, Gabriella Tucci, Aldo Protti; conducted by Giuseppe Morelli; Japanese subtitles)

Herbert von Karajan studio film, 1968 (Jon Vickers, Raina Kabaivanska, Peter Glossop; conducted by Herbert von Karajan; no subtitles)

Franco Zeffirelli film, 1983 (Plácido Domingo, Teresa Stratas, Juan Pons; conducted by Georges Prêtre; English subtitles) – Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI

Metropolitan Opera, 1994 (Luciano Pavarotti, Teresa Stratas, Juan Pons; conducted by James Levine; Spanish subtitles)

Ravena Festival, 1998 (Plácido Domingo, Svetla Vassileva, Juan Pons; conducted by Riccardo Muti; Italian subtitles)

Zürich Opera House, 2009 (José Cura, Fiorenza Cedolins, Carlo Guelfi; conducted by Stefano Ranzani; no subtitles)

Chorégies d'Orange, 2009 (Roberto Alagna, Inva Mula, Seng-Hyoun Ko; conducted by Georges Prêtre; French subtitles)

Gran Teatre del Liceu, 2011 (Marcello Giordani, Angeles Blancas, Vittorio Vitelli; conducted by Daniele Callegari; English subtitles – ignore the silly references to Norse mythology and aliens that the translator threw in, they're not in the actual libretto)

Latvian National Opera, 2019 (Sergei Polyakov, Tatiana Trenogina, Vladislav Sulimsky; conducted by Jānis Liepiņš; no subtitles)

Die Entführung aus dem Serail

Dresden State Opera, 1977 (Armin Ude, Carolyn Smith-Meyer, Barbara Sternberer, Rolf Tomaszewski; conducted by Peter Gülke; no subtitles)

Bavarian State Opera, 1980 (Francisco Araiza, Edita Gruberova, Reri Grist, Martti Talvela; conducted by Karl Böhm; English subtitles)

Royal Opera House, Covent Garden, 1988 (Deon van der Walt, Inga Nielson, Lillian Watson, Kurt Moll; conducted by Georg Solti; English subtitles)

Salzburg Festival, 1989 (Deon van der Walt, Inga Nielson, Lillian Watson, Kurt Rydl; conducted by Horst Stein; no subtitles)

Théâtre du Châtelet, 1991 (Stanford Olsen, Luba Orgonasova, Cyndia Sieden, Cornelius Hauptmann; conducted by John Eliot Gardiner; French subtitles)

Vienna State Opera, 1989 (Kurt Streit, Aga Winska, Elzbieta Szmytka, Artur Korn; conducted by Nicolaus Harnoncourt; Hungarian subtitles) – Act I, Act II

Teatro della Pergola, 2002 (Rainer Trost, Eva Mei, Patrizia Ciofi, Kurt Rydl; conducted by Zubin Mehta; Spanish subtitles)

Gran Teatre del Liceu, 2012 (Christoph Strehl, Diana Damrau, Olga Peretyatko, Franz-Josef Selig; conducted by Ivor Bolton; Catalan subtitles)

Bankhead Theatre, 2018 (David Walton, Alexandra Batsios, Elena Galvan, Kevin Langan; conducted by Alex Katsman; English subtitles)

Theatro São Pedro, 2023 (Daniel Umbelino, Ludmilla Bauerfeldt, Ana Carolina Coutinho, Luiz-Ottavio Faria; conducted by Cláudio Cruz; Brazilian Portuguese subtitles)

Un Ballo in Maschera

Tokyo Bunka Kaikan, 1967 (Carlo Bergonzi, Antonietta Stella, Mario Zanassi; conducted by Oliviero di Fabritiis; Spanish subtitles)

Royal Opera House, Covent Garden, 1975 (Plácido Domingo, Katia Ricciarelli, Piero Cappuccilli; conducted by Claudio Abbado, English subtitles)

Teatro alla Scala, 1978 (Luciano Pavarotti, Mara Zampieri, Piero Cappuccilli; conducted by Claudio Abbado; Italian subtitles)

Metropolitan Opera, 1980 (Luciano Pavarotti, Katia Ricciarelli, Louis Quilico; conducted by Giuseppe Patané; no subtitles)

Royal Swedish Opera, 1986 (Nicolai Gedda, Siv Wennberg, Carl Johan Falkman; conducted by Eri Klas; sung in Swedish; Swedish subtitles)

Salzburg Festival, 1990 (Plácido Domingo, Josephine Barstow, Leo Nucci; conducted by Georg Solti; Spanish subtitles)

Leipzig Opera House, 2006 (Massimiliano Pisapia, Chiara Taigi, Franco Vassallo; conducted by Riccardo Chailly; English subtitles) – Part I, Part II

Teatro Regio di Torino, 2012 (Gregory Kunde, Oksana Dyka, Gabriele Viviani; conducted by Renato Palumbo; no subtitles) – Part I, Part II

Chorégies d'Orange, 2013 (Ramón Vargas, Kristin Lewis, Lucio Gallo; conducted by Alain Altinoglu; French subtitles)

Arena di Verona, 2014 (Francesco Meli, Hui He, Luca Salsi; conducted by Andrea Battistoni; no subtitles)

Cavalleria Rusticana

Giorgio Strehler studio film, 1968 (Gianfranco Cecchele, Fiorenza Cossotto; conducted by Herbert von Karajan; no subtitles)

Metropolitan Opera, 1974 (Franco Tagliavini, Grace Bumbry; conducted by John Nelson; no subtitles)

Franco Zeffirelli film, 1983 (Plácido Domingo, Elena Obraztsova; conducted by Georges Prêtre; no subtitles)

Ravenna Festival, 1996 (José Cura, Waltraud Meier; conducted by Riccardo Muti; Italian subtitles)

Ópera de Bellas Artes, 2008 (Alfredo Portilla, Violeta Dávalos; conducted by Marco Zambelli; Spanish subtitles)

Zürich Opera, 2009 (José Cura, Paoletta Marrocu; conducted by Stefano Ranzani; no subtitles)

Chorégies d'Orange, 2009 (Roberto Alagna, Beatrice Uria-Monzon; conducted by Georges Prêtre; French subtitles)

Gran Teatre del Liceu, 2011 (Marcello Giordani, Ildiko Komlosi; conducted by Daniele Gallegari; Spanish subtitles)

Mikhailovsky Theatre, St. Petersburg, 2012 (Fyodor Ataskevich, Iréne Theorin; conducted by Daniele Rustioni; English subtitles)

Vienna State Opera, 2019 (Younghoon Lee, Elina Garanča; conducted by Graeme Jenkins; English subtitles)

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Here's an interesting 2020 "high design" Scandinavian inspired home in Healdsburg, California. 2bds, 3ba, - $3.250M.

I often wonder where they get something like that wall. Guess you have to be an architect or designer.

There's a bar in the corner of this room. The wall looks like it was designed as a work of are from cut pieces of stone.

That is the most interesting kitchen. The chairs look like frosted glass. Also love the lacy lighting fixtures.

This doesn't even look like a kitchen/dining room/sitting area.

Very sleek powder room.

The primary bedroom and en-suite. There are a lot of shiny finishes in this home, and lots of other textures as well.

A patio with a pergola outside the primary bedroom.

Smaller secondary bedroom has a private deck.

There's quite a state of the art outdoor kitchen.

Next to the kitchen is a pool and lounge chairs surrounded by the natural foliage.

Love the balloon sculpture.

Like the way all the potted plants look clustered around forming a container garden.

The home is also a pinot vineyard- see all the vines? And, the property measures 3.23 acres.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/150-Bailhache-Ave-Healdsburg-CA-95448/334479917_zpid/

[toriaurorawriter15]

I can see you: Chapter 9: The seating chart

The patio of the Villa is enormous.

Pen could see countless yards of green grass and a large garden in the center of the many acres filled with vegetables, rose bushes, and orange trees.

In front of the French double doors of the backyard are two yards of red bricks and a wooden pergola gazebo held together by six white wooden poles. On the left side of the patio area is a large wooden twelve by eighteen Oval Cedar Gazebo painted in a light grey stain wood with flower beds on top of each side of the six structural rails. On the right side is a bar set with the latest appliances for cooking, a sink, a mini steel refrigerator, and a lounge area. The floor area is created from the repurposed stones of the previous well that the owner took out, and the bar had six to eight stools with tall backs. The steel stools are painted black with dark cyan cushions and face the pool area.

In front of the lounge area is a pool bean. Behind the pool is another area for grass with an oval picnic table. The table has a built-in lazy boy and has access to a campfire sight.

Far beyond the seven acres of land are groups of small mountains that make the villa look private and make up for the lack of a backyard fence. Along the walls of the property borders are forest trees and more bushes.

"Wow!" Pen hears a teenage girl say from behind her.

"Indeed." Pen comments before facing the baby of the Bridgetion family, Hyacinth.

Long gone are the brown curls on the slim teenager. In their place is wavy gold-brown hair with blonde highlights. The white girl beams with joy as her brown eyes shine with excitement. Like most teens in this stage of life, she is wearing the latest trends from the 90s and has luckily passed on the thinning of her gorgeous eyebrows.

"Hy, how did your finals go at Burkkey?" Pen asks the eighteen-year-old girl.

"Gah, She begins before adding, "No, do not talk to me about it. I don't want to think about school until the next semester begins."

Pen chuckles at how overly dramatic Hyacinth becomes whenever someone talks about a topic she isn't interested in talking about as they wait for the rest of the family members to join them outside.

It is now seven o'clock pm, but for anyone who doesn't know about California time changes, the sun is about to set, and the stars are about to shine.

The patio area has several wooden oval dining sets in a coffee brown stain color. On each set is a gorgeous dinner placement of Lady Violet's oldest china and purple napkins with silver rings holding the fan napkins in place.

It is strange to see a seating chart for a big family, but Lady Bridgeton says," The best way to have harmony is to have everyone surrounded by those with whom you have a strong bond."

Pen always found the sentiment enduring until this moment in time.

Today, the writer's assigned seat for the weekend was to be thrilled and fearful?

Penelope Featherington's name card is between Edwina and the one person she wants to avoid tonight, Colin Christopher Bridgeton.

"No fucking way!" Hyacinth states as she finds herself sitting on Colin's other side. "El is going to go ballistic to know she is on the other table and not next to you."

Pen sighed in relief at Hy's comment before saying something she would later regret, "Well, It is a good thing about your mother's rule."

"Ah, there you are!" They hear a young male teen state from the backyard's main entrance.

Hy and Pen turn around in their seats to find a boyish teen in a black shirt and a pair of blue jeans. His swan-like neck has a set of the newest headphones connected to the latest iPhone, and his thin white fingers are leaning on the door's handle.

"Gregory, close the dam door." They hear Anthony shout from inside the kitchen area.

Both ladies giggle at Anthony's comment while Gregory rolls his eyes in annoyance.

"Oh, brother." He mumbles while making his way towards the center of the patio area.

An LED projector hovers between the two dining tables, and Gregory turns it on with a slick grey remote before setting it up for tonight's entertainment.

"Oh, are we having a movie night!" Hy exclaims in excitement.

Pen was about to ask another question when a gorgeous supermodel lady with dark skin, long curly hair, and brown eyes decided to open the back door.

"Kate, I am setting it up. Don't worry." Gregory yells from behind a projector screen as he gets set up.

Kate, the woman in front of the French double doors responds, "Good, everyone should be down soon."

Pen was about to open her mouth to ask Kate about tonight's events when she sees four Shure microphones on the foldable table beside the project screen, and everything clicked into place.

"Oh shit, we are doing Karaoke night." Hy and Pen state.

One of the two states in excitement while the other wishes for a black hole to appear under their seat.

Previous Chapter

[paintedscales]

FFXIV Write 2023 :: Day 26

Prompt :: Last Characters :: Chotan / Fleurette Varlineau, Esenaij / Hamignant Varlineau, Izi Raha, Lalleve Coertha Word Count :: 1,583

FFXIV Write 2023 Master List

As it so happened, Sharlayan was on the list of okay places to have taken Hamingnant when it concerned traveling alongside either of his sisters. When the opportunity had come up, Fleur had been the one available to make the trip out there while Cyrielle had been off helping with some defense efforts alongside the Ala Mhigans and the Ananta against the threat of Lakshmi. Though Fleur was loath to imagine that she would not be needed as well, it was when she had received a linkpearl communication from her twin that everything had been proceeding apace.

So now, Fleurette had found herself at the docks of Sharlayan, Hamignant excitedly at her heels after roughly a moon or so at sea since he could not teleport there himself. It was a far sight better than the boredom that he had so freely expressed at being cooped up on the ship, that was for certain. At least the fishers had given him ample opportunity to show him new creatures that he could quickly sketch into his journals while Fleur had watched.

“Fleur, Fleur! Look! That’s Thaliak!” Hamignant excitedly pointed out the statue of the Scholar as he walked alongside her. He had every opportunity to point out the statue on the ship, but he seemed more stunned and taken with the fact that he was finally seeing Sharlayan outside of their mother’s paintings.

“He’s so big up there like that…and he looks just the way mum always described him when she talks about when she met with the Twelve herself!” Hamignant’s elation at being in Sharlayan was boundless. Even as he and Fleur went through customs to confirm their reason for visitation at the Worldly Affairs.

As always, Fleur had given her name as ‘Ishgardian name: Fleurette, Steppe name: Chotan, surname: Varlineau.’ It was nearly mechanical the way she had listed off everything that was required of her. Her occupation had been that of an adventurer, and representative of both the Warrior of Light and Vrtra of Radz-at-Han. Typically, her reason for visitation had been to provide assistance with unruly creatures within Labyrinthos, though this time she stated that she was being hired as a helping hand to the Isle of Hamm.

When it came to Hamignant, though, he had been more than excited to divulge much and more about himself that seemed to make the poor customs officer sit and endure it with a bit of a grimace forming on their face; “Ishgardian name: Hamignant, Steppe name: Esenaij, surname: Varlineau. I don’t have an occupation, but I’d like to learn stuff here, maybe even be a student at some point! I’m thinking I really want to just learn about entomology, arachnology, and stuff!”

Fleurette had only offered a sympathetic smile to the customs officer before they were finally cleared to go into the rest of the city. Telling Hamignant to stay close, Fleur had led the way past the Peristyle before pausing. She then pointed over toward the wooden pergola that stood tall over a deck-like structure next to a smaller building with an open-air front.

“Hungry?” Fleurette asked. “We can take a much needed detour to the Last Stand before we go ahead and tour around the rest of the city.”

“Of course I am!” Hamignant exclaimed, bringing a hand to his stomach. “You didn’t tell me that the boat ride would just be stale bread and tough, dried meat!”

“I thought mother implied as much when she packed you what she thought would last you. I warned you not to eat it all too fast,” Fleurette said, chuckling. She had sacrificed some of her own food just to make sure that Hami had been taken care of during their travels.

Hamignant grumbled something about not knowing about how long the trip would have actually taken before looking back to where the Last Stand was situated. He reached up and tugged at Fluerette’s arm, following along after her as she then led the way. Seeing the local students in their uniforms and coats made everything feel so official and clean.

The two of them had gotten themselves seated close to the railing overlooking the ocean after putting in their order. Hamignant was happily prattling away at his idea of what all the possibilities could be in studying bug biology and habitats in Sharlayan could mean for him. Admittedly, while Fleur had been glad that Hamignant found passion in actually pursuing the study of bugs because he found them fascinating, she had begun to tune him out.

It had not been until the arrival of some familiar faces to Fleur, at the very least, that she had looked up after they had called to her. A miqo’te with snowy white hair had waved to Fleur in particular, her other hand intertwined with that of a viera who had dusty brown hair and dappled markings on her ears.

“You know them, Fleur?” Hamignant asked, glancing over in the two women’s direction. He had not been too sure whether or not to wave back, so deferred to Fleurette.

“That’d be Izi and Lallerev. You ever get to meet mum’s friends from when she was an adventurer?” Fleur asked before waving back to them with a small grin. Hamignant shook his head in response, following her example, his wave had been a little more uncertain. This seemed to have been more than enough permission for the two to have come over.

“How long are you in the city, Fleur?” Izi asked, letting go of Lallerev’s hand and skipping forward to their table. She then looked at Hamignant and gasped, “is this your little brother? Aw, look at him! I can’t believe we’re finally getting to meet you. Hami, right?”

“Hamignant…” he replied, almost shyly. “Only Cy and Fleur get to call me Hami.”

“Oh… I’m sorry. Well, it’s really nice to meet you, Hamignant,” Izi said, keeping a chipper smile on her face. “Well, I’m Izi Raha. Our mums used to travel together for a while. And this lovely bun over here is~”

“Lallerev Coerth,” the viera introduced herself rather plainly, a small, more reserved smile on her face. “Most of my friends just call me ‘Lolly’ or ‘Rev’ though.”

“It’s nice to meet you both…” Hamignant said, glancing in Fleur’s direction to let her take the lead on talking. He had not been used to too many people just walking up to him and making themselves friendly. He had been more okay when he got to walk up to others and speak more freely, though having someone that came off with about as powerful a personality as Cyrielle had been different.

“To answer your question, I don’t think I’ll be in the city long…” Fleur said, going back to the initial question Izi asked. “I have to help with Professor Dalnesi’s foray into the Isle of Hamm -- just to keep him protected from the other creatures that might be more inclined toward aggressive behaviors and attacking any of the professors or other visitors that are coming by.”

“Wait…where will I be, then?” Hamignant asked, realizing what that meant.

“Ameliance said she would be more than happy to have you come by the Leveilleur estate while I’m away. I thought I told you this while we were on our way here.”

“... I forgot.” Hamignant fidgeted, and then looked up when he saw Izi and Lallerev take up seats next to one another at their table.

“Don’t you worry about anything,” Fleur said, trying to be reassuring. “The estate is large and has a whole bunch of study material you could ask if you can look at. Alphi and Ali had to start somewhere, after all!”

Izi gasped, her feet tapping excitedly against the wood panels below her feet in rapid succession. “Are you going to be a student here, Hamignant!?”

“... Maybe?” Hamignant trepidatiously answered the question.

An enthusiastic squeal had been made before Izi uncontrollably reached over for Lallerev’s shoulder and shook her. “You can hang out with me! I can show you all around Sharlayan! The Noumenon -- one of the largest libraries ever! Oh! And I can introduce you to so many professors at the Studium, including my mother! I don’t know if she teaches what you’re interested in, but she’s really well versed and traveled, which leads to her coveted classes for histories of civilizations studies!”

Hamignant had almost replied that he looked forward to it, though was silenced when a server had come by with their order. Suddenly, the excitement for having a tour through Sharlayan turned into excitement for having proper food. After all, the two large and fluffy pancakes that sat in front of him towered with powdered sugar sprinkled on top with a pap of butter melting on it. He felt his mouth water, wanting after the last couple weeks living off of nuts, crackers, dried meat, aaruul, and water.

“I hope your eyes aren’t as big as your stomach, Hami… You are going to eat all of that, right?” Fleur asked, concerned as the bowl of skyr topped with skyon compote was placed in front of her. She offered a small word of thanks to the server before she picked up her spoon and started on her meal.

“I’m gonna eat every last bite!” Hami said, taking his fork and happily cutting into the thick pancake.

“I’ll hold you to that, because I don’t want to be the one eating every last bite when you’ve only eaten a quarter.”

[ausetkmt]

The car made its way along a tree-lined gravel road. The sky was clear, and as the car drove by, the trees swayed from side to side, almost like a sign of welcome. The road opened up into a large pasture. In the middle of the pasture was a wooden pergola with grapes growing on it and a circular garden surrounding it. Tiny houses darted the pasture, as brown children played merrily in the mud. In the center of all of this, planting in the circular garden like she was Mother Earth herself, was a Black woman.

For Chantel Johnson, this scene was “heaven.” It was actually Bear Creek, North Carolina, in May 2016, but more importantly, it was Johnson’s first glimpse into homesteading, and she was hooked at first sight. 

Johnson, an African-American woman in her late 20s at the time, made her way up the gravel road that day with her boyfriend, whom she’d met a few months prior on OK Cupid. Johnson was attracted to his profile picture: a shot of him standing with goats. She recalls thinking to herself, “Are those goats? I want to meet those goats!” 

Chantel Johnson at her first homestead in Chatham County, North Carolina, 2016. Photo courtesy Chantel Johnson

Johnson was grieving and depressed. It had been less than a year since her younger brother, who had been shot and paralyzed on the South Side of Chicago in 2014, succumbed to his injuries and passed away, in August 2015. 

She carried that grief with her up the gravel road that day to visit her boyfriend’s friends, an interracial couple — Black wife and white husband, with kids — who owned a 30-acre homestead in Bear Creek. When the friends offered Johnson and her beau the opportunity to live with them on the homestead and help out, Johnson jumped at the chance. If this was heaven, then perhaps she could find the antidote for her grief here. 

One of the first official uses of the term “homesteading” was in 1862 with the passing of the Homestead Act, signed by President Abraham Lincoln to encourage western expansion and United States agricultural development. But the act of homesteading — a focus on self-sufficiency dependent on the land, with an emphasis on subsistence agriculture — predates the Homestead Act, especially for Black Americans.

Homesteading knowledge and skills allowed slaves to create a modicum of a life for themselves by growing their own supplemental food, raising small livestock and making needed tools and home goods. This same knowledge sustained Black families during the Reconstruction era and beyond. While there have been several resurgences of the self-sufficient homesteading mind-set in the United States, the face of these movements has been overwhelmingly white. 

Meanwhile, Black people, and Black women in particular, have become the poster children for the antithesis of the values homesteading espouses. In contrast to self-sufficiency and hard work, Black women are stereotyped as dependent, disproportionately reliant on public assistance, and unwilling to work, perhaps most famously by former President Ronald Reagan’s racialized “welfare queen” remarks.

Black women also bear the brunt of many of our nation’s worst health outcomes, including high rates of obesity, high mortality from heart disease and breast cancer, and some of the worst maternal health outcomes and infant mortality rates. Only recently has the medical field started to acknowledge the role of trauma in facilitating these disparities. 

Johnson recalls several layers of trauma from her childhood and young adult years. As a young girl growing up on the Southeast Side of Chicago, she remembers moments of joy and abundance contrasting starkly with moments of anger and scarcity, which flowed lockstep with the dwindling of the family’s financial resources from the first to the end of the month. 

Then as an undergraduate student at a predominantly white university in the Midwest, she recalls being shunned by white and more affluent Black classmates alike, because she didn’t speak or behave the way they felt someone in that space should. She quickly learned to code-switch, alternating between ways of speaking and behaving based on her surroundings. It’s a practice that many Black people are all too familiar with, in their efforts to live, work and study in predominantly white environments. 

She also struggled initially with coursework, attempting to translate her Chicago secondary education, where she graduated as salutatorian, to the rigors of university work. Johnson has conflicting feelings about the costs and benefits of her undergraduate education: “I was so fortunate to be at that school, where an institution had time to nurture me, but at the same time I was being traumatized and I was being changed. And that was a very difficult thing.”

Between 2012 and 2014, her middle brother and younger brother were each shot several times, but survived. The ultimate trauma was her younger brother’s untimely death, 15 months after he was shot in 2014.

Johnson received her bachelor’s degree, graduating cum laude, later earned a master’s degree and obtained a research job in North Carolina. But the impact of the trauma remained. Taken together, these experiences created a rage against “the system” in Johnson. She was angry about systemic racism and poverty and the laws, policies and institutions that uphold it. 

“I’ve done everything right — star child, went to college, went to Africa for a few months, did AmeriCorps, I volunteered, I got this job, and I don’t understand why this isn’t enough and my brothers are being shot,” she says.

This revelation, four months prior to discovering Bear Creek, marked the beginning of Johnson’s homesteading journey. In her mind, self-sufficiency was the only option, because the system wasn’t going to take care of her. It was rigged. 

Consequently, by the time she got her first glimpse of heaven, she was already intent on giving up her spacious two-bedroom townhouse in Durham, North Carolina — in exchange for less than 300 square feet of shared living space, with no electricity or plumbing, and an outside toilet. And to gradually transition from her research job, where she was miserable, in exchange for hard labor cultivating, raising animals and living off the land. 

The transition came with other challenges as well. Johnson recalls initially being scared of the chickens she was tasked with putting back into their coops every night, having to rely on the assistance of a 5-year-old on the homestead for help. Also, after moving to Bear Creek permanently, two of the first homesteading tasks Johnson learned were chopping wood and lighting the wood-burning stove for cooking and heat. Two months later, Johnson found herself in the dead of winter, cold in the tiny house. Everyone else was away; she was alone and crying because she couldn’t light the wood-burning stove. 

“That’s when I started to regret my decision,” Johnson remembers. But thankfully her cell phone still worked, so she found a YouTube video that walked her through lighting such a stove. Figuring out how to do it convinced her that maybe she could make it in this way of life. That she could bet on herself to succeed in spite of the odds.

While Johnson didn’t grow up with examples of homesteading around her as a child, for Aja Yasir growing your own food was always a normal way of life. Her parents were a part of the Second Great Migration: the period from 1940 to 1970 when Black people migrated from the South to Northern states en masse. Both of her parents brought the practice of subsistence agriculture with them to Chicago, purchasing a vacant lot next to their home in Englewood, on the South Side, to establish a home garden. They weren’t alone; other families in the neighborhood also had home gardens. For Yasir’s parents, the act of growing your own food was bolstered by 1960s and 1970s Black health messaging from the Chicago branches of the Black Panthers, the Nation of Islam, and Chicago-based Black public figures like Dr. Alvenia Fulton.  

By the time Yasir was born, in the mid 1970s, growing food at home had become an established family tradition. A tradition that was almost broken when in her early adult years Yasir decided she wanted nothing to do with agriculture. Instead, she moved as far away from Chicago as she could, to pursue her bachelor’s degree in Atlanta. But a polarizing global figure would entice Yasir back to the land: Venezuelan President Hugo Chávez. 

Four-year-old Aja Yasir at her parents’ garden in Chicago.  Photo courtesy of Aja Yasir

It was late 2005, Yasir had returned to the Chicago area, completed a master’s degree, and was working at a local radio station. A colleague at the station shared an article about Chávez ousting an American missionary group, New Tribes, from Venezuela, accusing them of being imperialists and exploiting indigenous people. Yasir’s interest was piqued. Then, in 2006, she heard Chávez’s United Nations speech, in which he referred to President Bush as “the devil,” in protest of U.S. global domination. Yasir wanted to investigate the conflicting media images of Chavez — hero of the poor versus villain of democracy. So she left Chicago for Venezuela, with no Spanish and a flimsy local job prospect. She stayed in a town in Barlovento, a region with a large population of Afro-Venezuelans, known for its cocoa production. 

Yasir still remembers how fresh everything tasted in Barlovento, and the prominence of locally grown and made food: “You cannot escape agriculture in that town because everybody is doing something involved with agriculture, whether it’s raising chickens in their yard, or growing bananas, or harvesting and making chocolate. Agriculture is just connected like that.” Barlovento made her appreciate her Englewood upbringing, rooted in urban agriculture. 

Her reunion with the land would come to serve her almost a decade later.  

Yasir considers herself to be someone with a lifetime of traumatic experiences, although she prefers not to retraumatize herself by going into detail about a lot of it. However, she did share about a recent anguish. In January 2016, her 3-week-old daughter, Yaminah, unexpectedly died, falling victim to a rare genetic condition. The cumulative effects of years of unresolved trauma, combined with losing a child, resulted in a complex array of mental health challenges. 

A couple of months after the death of her youngest daughter, Yasir found herself driving around Gary, Indiana, with her husband, trying to decide if they could live there permanently. In 2015, the family had rented an apartment in Gary as a trial, prompted by the lower cost of living than the Chicago suburb where they’d previously resided. Now they wanted something of their own. But Gary had its challenges — hit hard by deindustrialization, white flight, racism and poverty. The city was blighted and grocery stores were scarce. 

Yasir and her husband eventually found a house that had been abandoned for two decades in a less depressed part of Gary and decided to purchase it, under the expressed condition by Yasir that the only way she could live there is if she put a garden in. Shortly after purchasing the property, she mulched the entire front lawn with wood chips, a regenerative agricultural practice to enrich the soil, in preparation for her front yard garden. 

To her surprise, her desire to do something as basic as grow food turned into a public battle with the city of Gary, which sent citations claiming that the wood chips in Yasir’s front yard were debris that was causing environmental problems in the neighborhood. “I didn’t realize that growing food was so abnormal until moving to Gary,” Yasir recalls. What the city of Gary didn’t know was that Yasir was prepared to fight back. 

She wasn’t just fighting for her garden; she was fighting for her life. 

“You don’t understand the grief that a mother goes through when she loses a child … I would not be able to manage the grief without the garden, and so that was the fight. We don’t have a connection to Gary, we don’t have any family here, the only connection to Gary we have is this garden and the garden is how I process grief … I’m fighting for my medicine.”

In 2019, Yasir sought the support of the Farm-to-Consumer Legal Defense Fund, signing up with them as a homesteader. They sent an attorney from California to represent her case against the city. In October 2019, Yasir won. Also, unrelated to her case, in 2019 Yasir’s home became a Certified Wildlife Habitat site with both the National Wildlife Federation and the Indiana Wildlife Federation. In order to be declared a Certified Wildlife Habitat, a garden or outdoor space must be maintained in a way that provides a sustainable environment for native animals and insects. 

Aja Yasir and her husband Yasir Allah in her garden, which she named “A Rose for Yaminah.”  Photo courtesy Aja Yasir

Yasir’s garden, perched against the backdrop of Gary, is an anomaly. A walkway leading to Yasir’s front door divides her front yard into two sides — food plants on the left and medicinal plants on the right. There’s a small retaining wall at the entrance of her yard, on either side of the walkway, to keep the wood chips off the common sidewalk area. Closest to the retaining walls, she plants edible flowers like roses, poppies and hibiscus, for beauty and pest management. On the left, you might find plants like Black Beauty tomatoes, red okra and Eritrean basil. On the right, she grows medicinal herbs like artemisia (also known as Sweet Annie). Around the back of her house, she has a burgeoning orchard with apple, nectarine, cherry and plum trees. She grows more than 200 species of plants, collects rainwater and makes medicinal teas. Her garden provides an invaluable part of her family’s diet. For example, they get 95 percent of their medicinal and culinary herbs and 100 percent of their leafy greens from the garden during the growing season. She named her garden “A Rose for Yaminah,” for her daughter who passed away. 

Typically, Yasir doesn’t get to spend as much time in her garden and homesteading as she would like, finding moments in between homeschooling her daughter and managing her real estate business. And the results of her labor don’t always materialize quickly, which can be challenging. Yasir explains: “The hardest thing about this lifestyle is patience. I’m a regenerative gardener, which means I put a lot of work into soil health and biodiversity. Restoring balance to an ecosystem can be tough, especially when your family’s food is dependent on that ecosystem.” 

Black women are becoming increasingly interested and visible in homesteading initiatives, as evidenced by the Facebook groups Sistas Who Can and Sistahs of Soil, which have Black female membership in the thousands. There has also been a recent upsurge in followers of homesteading Instagram pages led by Black women, like @thehillbillyafrican and @alysonsimplygrows.

Johnson and Yasir’s stories illustrate homesteading lifestyles catalyzed by mental health needs, but for others the health of the physical body is what leads them to homesteading. This was the entry point for Jacqueline Smith (who goes by Jackie), although in a way she’s been preparing to homestead for most of her life. 

At the age of 9, Smith, also born and raised on the South Side of Chicago, was diagnosed with Type I diabetes. Her pancreas ceased to produce the vital hormone insulin, and Smith’s childhood was marked by strict dietary restrictions, daily insulin shots and frequent visits to the doctor. Having to deal with the illness as a child made Smith bookish, by her own description, and reserved.

Jacqueline Smith teaches a young Black girl gardening at her garden in Chicago. (Photo courtesy Jacqueline Smith)

As a teenager, she attended Chicago High School for Agricultural Sciences, not because she was interested in agriculture (in fact, the opposite was true at the time) but because her mother thought that the school would offer her a better education, due to its small student numbers and selective entry process. By the time she finished high school, Smith had developed a true interest in agriculture and was offered a full scholarship at a Midwestern university where she pursued a Bachelor of Science in agricultural economics.

While on campus, she was often assumed to be an African-American studies major. Her interest in agriculture was frequently questioned by her largely white, male classmates, from America’s breadbasket states, who were perplexed as to why a Black woman wanted to learn about agriculture. She met their curiosity with her own questions: “Well, why not? Why can’t I learn this?” She never received a compelling response. 

The beginning of her undergraduate studies also marked Smith’s diagnoses with a second chronic illness, gastroparesis. After finishing her degree and while working at a corporate job back in Chicago in 2006, the stress of her illnesses sent her into a three-day coma. When she awoke from the coma in the hospital, she knew she had to make a change, but she wasn’t sure what or how, so she pursued a master’s degree in public service while she figured it out. 

After earning her master’s degree, she developed an itch to garden. She also started to have recurrent dreams of being pregnant, although she was not. The gardening itch, combined with the increased challenges of managing her health needs while working a structured and stressful 9-to-5, led her to quit her job and become a full-time homesteader. In 2018, she started an agricultural consulting business, GrowAsis, helping clients design, plan and maintain their own garden oasis. When she “birthed” her business and new life, she ceased to have the pregnancy dreams.

Smith lives in Roseland, on the far South Side of Chicago. A typical day involves waking up early in the morning, slipping on her denim overalls, grabbing the chicken feed from her garage, and heading to her backyard to tend to her chickens. She has a total of 11 hens that she keeps for egg production. She usually gives them a small snack of split peas or flaxseeds to eat while she cleans their coop. Their manure is collected and stored for later use in her garden beds. She then turns her compost bin before checking on the status of her vegetable and herb plants. 

Jacqueline Smith holding some produce from her garden in Chicago, 2016.  Photo courtesy Jacqueline Smith

Smith designs her homesteading activities to support her dietary and health needs. During the growing season, Smith estimates that she can produce approximately 80 percent of the food she consumes from her garden and chickens. During the 2019 polar vortex, Smith didn’t go to the grocery store for two months, because she had enough food stored from her garden that she had either frozen or canned herself. 

Homesteading with two chronic illnesses is challenging for Smith. When her illnesses flare up, it can halt her productivity for days at a time. She’s had to learn to rely on fellow farming friends to step in during these times to help her keep her homestead afloat until she recovers. By doing this she’s built a community, a village, that supports her. 

Chantel Johnson has since moved on from Bear Creek, North Carolina, leaving behind that heaven, in search of one that is her own. The challenge is that Johnson is a landless homesteader, renting land to carry out her homesteading activities. She’s moved a total of four times since Bear Creek due to disadvantageous changes in the rental conditions or increasingly intractable rental relationships with the landowners — when you don’t own the land, you’re at the mercy of those who do. Her relationship with her boyfriend dissolved after move number two.  

Despite the challenges, with each move Johnson has been able to expand her operations. She and her boyfriend in Bear Creek started off with 25 hens for egg production, and then added a few pigs, chickens for meat and turkeys. When their relationship dissolved, Johnson kept the animals and continued to add to her livestock progressively. She eventually decided to abandon agriculture and focus exclusively on livestock, due to the frequent moves, as it’s hard to transport crops from one place to another.

As of this writing in July 2020, Johnson is no longer fully off grid, residing on a farm in Chatham County, North Carolina, with a little more living space and a few more creature comforts. She has come a long way from the newly minted homesteader of Bear Creek. She currently has 500 chickens she raises for meat, a significant increase over last year’s stock, due to the high demand for chicken during the coronavirus pandemic. She also has eight pigs that she recently learned to butcher herself, instead of outsourcing them for processing. She plans to raise 125 turkeys this year for the holidays. She sells her sustainably raised meat at local farmers markets or direct order to customers. Amazingly, this is largely a two-person operation, with Johnson and her current boyfriend, who owns some of the land she farms on, as an employee. 

Chantel at her homestead in North Carolina, holding one of the 120 turkeys she raised for the holiday season.Photo courtesy Chantel Johnson

Homesteading still plays an integral part in managing her mental health needs, having experienced several ups and downs throughout this four-year journey. Johnson characterizes the first part of her homesteading journey as being about survival — proving that she could survive in this lifestyle. Now, she is determined to make the second half of her journey about thriving. It’s a sentiment shared by Yasir and Smith as well — the intention not just to survive, but thrive.

Beyond this shared intention, these women’s stories are connected in their origins — experiences with trauma as Black women in the U.S. and a decision to return to the land for healing — sisters of the soil, victors of their destiny.

Shanna B. Tiayon is a social psychologist, freelance writer and speaker. Her work focuses on topics of well-being and the ways we may infringe upon the well-being of others. She’s a TEDx speaker and 2020 Best American Travel Writing award winner. When she’s not working in the area of well-being, she’s homesteading with her family — gardening, preserving food and composting.