#the days in winter seem to be warmer as a result....

[meownotgood]

ok now u got me thinking. aki coming back as the Cold devil. or the Winter devil. or the Snow Storm devil. and he looks the same as he did when he was human but his irises are like a powder blue and there’s always snow in his hair and his lashes. and contrast that with falling in love with you again who he thinks of as so warm and kind and loving….. thawing him….. much to think about - 🍊

the same year the gun devil was eliminated, japan experienced a particularly hard winter season — perhaps that's why he was reborn as the snow devil. when he first opened his eyes, he was met with a dark and cloudy sky, he could hear the lull of the ocean, his ears were still ringing from the hum of a chainsaw and the only thing he can remember is his first name, and particularly not his last.

public safety is quick to follow through on the reports of a humanoid-looking devil wandering the outskirts of hokkaido, leaving a trail of frozen water and dead trees in his path. upon capturing him, since he seemed to not pose much of a threat, he's escorted to the headquarters in tokyo rather than slain.

once the devil gets there, he's apathetic, quiet. doesn't speak unless spoken to. his skin is pale, his lips are chapped, his eyes are a pretty shade of blue and his eyelashes are pure white. he'd pass as a human if it wasn't for the twist of icicles sticking out from his head like horns, covering his hair and his shoulders in tiny droplets of snow, or for the intricate marks on his skin, faint tattoos in the shape of snowflakes.

he looks familiar. like someone who's face was in the obituaries a while ago.

in the mail, you get an unexpected letter from public safety. it includes train tickets, and it's telling you to come to tokyo on urgent business. the minute you've arrived, some devil hunters explain the situation: you need to have a look at this devil — the snow storm devil — and tell them everything you might know about it.

of course, you've never heard of such a thing before. you don't know anything about devils, how are you supposed to give them any valuable information? but when the hunters unlock the cell for you, when you take a step inside and they tell you, don't worry, just keep your distance and you won't get hurt right as they flick the lights on, you realize exactly why you were called here.

it's him.

it's aki, this devil looks exactly like aki, his hair is long and dark and messy, he's got the same face as aki and the same voice as aki when he opens his mouth to ask who you are. he doesn't get to finish his sentence and tell you how damn familiar you look to him because you're already running over, reaching out to touch him even though the devil hunters are yelling at you from the other side of the door, telling you it's too dangerous.

and his skin is cold, he's freezing. you grip his hands, you wrap your arms around him and hug him and it's aki.

aki isn't sure why, but right then, he feels like crying. he's felt nothing but coldness since he came to this place, but you feel so, so warm. his heart twists in his chest, he hugs you back even though he doesn't really know why. he could kill you, he could press his palm to your back and watch you freeze until you're nothing but dust and ice. but he doesn't.

he holds you close, he breathes frost-filled air into the nape of your neck. his body shakes, you mutter into his ear that you've missed him. you pull away, and there's a look in his eyes that's familiar, it's one you've always known.

and yet, when you nervously ask him if he knows who you are, if he remembers you, aki answers honestly, and it's the most the devil has ever spoken: "I don't. But I feel like I should. I'm sorry."

[scrcndipix]

red dawn. 06 | jeon jungkook.

The fall of the Baegyum Dynasty was imminent. Sangyu and his Insurgents from the Clans of the Mountains, known enemies of the royal family, have attacked the Sacred City of Ilsan, once the capital of an empire, now was reduced to ashes. And you have only one mission: to protect with your life the princess and heir to a broken realm. In your way to the neighboring kingdom in search of protection, you find yourselves in Yerin Woodland, territory of werewolves —ancient enemies of the Baegyum Dynasty who would gladly kill an Ilsan priestess like you.

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jeon jungkook x f reader.

wordcount: 13.4k

warnings/contents: nothing serious. just Luna being Luna and Jin and Jimin the bestest boys ever. angst???? (kind of). mentions of isolation and illness.

a/n: ... hi! i know it's been a while (like 3 years lol). i don't really have an excuse, just got into uni after the last chapter and didn't really feel like continuing the fanfic after that. during this time, i've matured the story and gained more perspective. i won't pressure myself to write anymore; i'll update when i'm truly satisfied and confident in what i'm doing. i understand that many people might not want to read it anymore. but for those who do, here's a new chapter. i hope you like it. i will maintain the old taglist, let me know if you want to be removed! take care. 💓

taglist: @shatzkrinslinzki @elliegrace1999tvd @channiespup @wooya1224 @veronawrites @itsoktheresbts @fangirl125reader @holyhumorliteraturelight @danyxthirstae01 @jamlessstars @chimchoom @jksusawife

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The last snows of the season were melting in pools of crystal clear water across the Clearing. In the mornings, the air was so chilly that it froze them, but it hadn't snowed in weeks. The last blizzard occurred on the night of your arrival to the pack, and since then, the signs of the arrival of spring had been clearer and clearer. The days were longer and the afternoons warmer.

As you came down for breakfast that morning, two days after your release on parole, you found out that the members of the pack were in especially good spirits and tremendously relieved.

"Jungkook took the farmers to the fields this morning to check their condition before sowing time after the next full moon," Jimin recounted, sitting on a high wooden stool, while Jin, at the stove, carefully stirred the contents of a huge, steaming pot, "and apparently they're all ready for this year's season despite the hellish winter we've had."

One of them was carrying the Cornerstone, as usual. You sensed the strap stirring and tensing almost lazily when you reached the threshold of the kitchen. The strands of light ghosting around you where you couldn't reach them, though you almost could. It was Jin who was bearing the medallion.

"Ah, thanks the Moon." The older Omega seemed to be very relieved. "Hoseok told me the other day that we were running out of our grain reserves."

Jimin nodded, humming. "Yeah, and since elk have migrated to the Yugseon Steppes earlier this season, we'll be able to organize hunting trips as soon as the snow melts enough for the paths to be clear."

You cleared your throat, not finding any other way to make yourself heard. They both turned their eyes to look at you when they heard you enter the kitchen, and a smile automatically formed on their faces, welcoming you.

"Welcome to the world of the living," Jin greeted you, refocusing his attention on the pot.

Jimin chuckled, pulling a stool away from the counter for you to sit next to you. You suppressed an apologetic smile as you settled in; Jin had strictly forbidden everyone to interrupt you while you slept, stating that it was best to let you wake up on your own, so that you could rest and sleep as long as your body asked. As a result, you didn't usually emerge from your room until late in the morning, even noon.

"Did you sleep well?" Jimin asked, with a mocking tone that made you finally smile.

"You shouldn't get me used to sleep all I want," you replied, leaning your elbows on the counter, "by the time you want me to get up early, it'll be too late."

Your playful answer made them laugh. They were getting used to you behaving like a normal person, laughing and smiling more usually, playing along their jokes and talking comfortably. It was a slow progress, but it was still progress.

"Nonsense." Jin's words were categorical. "You will be more helpful during the sowing if you are fully recovered. So do as I say, I am the healer here."

He shook his wooden spoon up and down, in a threatening manner, before putting it in the pot again. You nodded, forcing a smile although they didn't realize it wasn't genuine. Even if you had all the time you wanted and more to sleep, you couldn't rest properly. You spent most of the night awake, staring at the wooden panels of the ceiling of your rooms. The reason? Nightmares. Horrible, dreadful nightmares. Despite the fact that all of them were different, they all ended the same way.

Your hands stained with dark blood and a mountain of wolves' corpses before your shaking frame.

But of course, you couldn't tell them about that. It's not that you couldn't, because you knew that if you could trust someone in the pack, it was them. No, it wasn't like that: you didn't want, it felt too close to home for them to talk about that episode of your lives just yet.

"Have you ever participated in a seeding, Luna?" asked Jimin, leaning his chin on his hands.

"Kind of," you answered, shaking your head from side to side contemplatively, "it was customary that the High Priestess blessed the fields before the seedtime. Everyone thought that brought prosperity and good harvests."

The two Omegas were listening attentively, just like every time you told them about your life in Ilsan. They wanted to leave a record of everything they didn't know or anything their books didn't have. You found yourself softening whenever it happened, because you couldn't tell why, but seeing them truly interested in your thoughts and experiences made you happier than you would like to admit.

For the first time in forever, someone listened to you and kept in mind your opinions. For the first time in forever, you felt like you could speak your mind because your point of view was as valid as everyone else's. Jimin interrupted your thoughts dragging you back to reality.

"Did it work?"

"Well, I guess so. We never had problems with droughts or plagues. My blessing or pure luck? Only the Moon knows."

They chuckled at your words and Jin placed two bowls of chicken noodle soup with two glasses of warm herbal tea. One was for you and the other for Jimin.

"I can't wait for this year's Vernal Equinox Fest" Jimin commented, munching on his noodles, "you'll love it, Luna. It is one of our biggest celebrations."

You nodded, taking a sip of tea. You had read about it before, all their festivals were perfectly described in the books of the Great Library of the High Temple —Vernal Equinox Fest, Summer Solstice Fest, Autumnal Equinox Fest, Harvest Festivals, Great Moon Festivals, etc. Werewolves' culture depended a lot on the hunting seasons and the farming and lunar calendars, since that was the only way they had to measure the time. Their festivals were large and very important for them, being the most relevant social events in their life in community

Before you could add anything else, someone opened the front door with heavy steps before closing it again. The three of you turned your heads to the kitchen door.

"Anyone here?" Taehyung's voice ecchoed through the corridors from the vestibule.

Your stomach sank in anguish at the sound of the young Beta and you just wanted him to go away. Avoiding Taehyung at all costs had become your main purpose since the incident of the effigy. Even if he didn't seem to hate you at all. That's what disturbed you. He should hate you. He had to, right? How come he didn't? He had treated you normally, even almost jokingly. He told you that he trusted you. How the fuck could he trust you?

You stirred in your place almost uncomfortably. He had to be lying, he had to be pretending. Maybe he was just trying to make you feel save and relaxed enough to be vulnerable around him; maybe he was trying to get close to you, so that he could attack you where it hurt you the most.

Hana's face came to your mind, and your heart skipped a beat. The princess seemed to be already close to him, and that only made you feel even more anxious.

"In the kitchen!" Jin answered, bending down to lift a cube of fresh water to pour it into a new pot.

You turned back to your bowl of noodles and shoved a spoonful into your mouth, pretending Taehyung wasn't approaching the kitchen in that exact moment. Maybe if you ignored his presence, he would just disappear. His steps became louder as he got closer to the room and he poked his head out of the door. 

"I don't know what are you cooking, but I want a bowl of that. It's smells like heaven", he said as he entered the kitchen. 

Jimin smiled. "Good morning, Taehyung-ah," he greeted, spinning on the stool to face him, leaning his back on the counter, "did you hear the news? Seedtime is coming!"

Taehyung flopped down mindlessly on the other stool besides you, gesturing Jin to hand him his own bowl of chicken noodle soup. 

"Yeah, Yoongi hyung told me this morning during our patrol. I guess that by pure stadistic, something good had to happen to us already," from the corner of your eye, you saw he was looking down at you with raised eyebrows, "and it is actually the reason why I am here."

Jin and Jimin waited patiently for him to swallow his first two spoonfuls of soup. Even you mustered the courage to turn your head to glance at him, expectantly. The way he looked at you when he said that the forthcoming sowing was the first good thing to happen to the pack after a series of unfortunate, fateful, disastrous, nightmarish events, told you what you already knew —you were part of those unfortunate, fateful, disastrous, nightmarish events.

"Alpha Kim asked me to introduce Luna to some people today", he explained at last, "since we are starting to prepare for the next winter, people think that she should help too."

You remained silent, munching slowly on your own food. Even if the deal you made with Namjoon and Jungkook only forced you to help them in the war with your power and the Cornerstone's you thought that them wanting you to collaborate in the pack's daily labors was just fair enough. After all, you needed to eat and a roof over your head, and also make amends for your past mistakes. Not that stirring some soil for the sowing or weaving willow baskets for storage could repay them for what you did, but well, it's the thought that counts, right?

You wish.

Jin frowned slightly, abandoning momentarily his cooking task to look at Taehyung directly in the eye.

"It's too early for that, she is still recovering. I talked with Jungkook about it and-

"Jungkook approves it, hyung. " He interrupted softly. "He was with Namjoon when they sent me here. Time flies and with Sangyu in wait, we need all the help we can get."

You sighed ever so slightly, yet earning their attention. Why were they talking about you like you weren't in the room? You were not a person of just sitting and wait for things to be done magically. Since you can remember, people have decided on your life and your fate, you had no voice to speak yourself. Back in Ilsan, no one expected you to have an opinion or a point of view, rather the opposite. And now that you were not the High Priestess anymore, you had all the right to speak your thoughts, helping was the least you could do for them, and you prefered better not to give the pack more reasons to despise you. The sooner they got used to you, the sooner you would stop hating yourself for what you did.

"I'll do it," Jin puffed in disbelief and Jimin frowned, "I'm much better and I'll try to help as much as I can."

Jimin huffed as well, trying to reason with you. "Luna, you cannot just-

"I am not asking for your permission," you cut him off, not trying to sound agressive, but firmly anyway, "I am informing you."

You were not having it, not anymore. As much as you appreciated Jimin, he wouldn't get to tell you what to do. No one would ever decide on your behalf if you could help it. He looked away, biting on his lower lip seemingly frustrated.

Jin glared at you, lifting his spoon to threaten you again with it. "If I find out that you are overworking yourself in any way, I'll put barriers on your bed again and tie you up to them. Got it?"

You smiled at him sheepishly, he sighed loudly, but he made do with that. He took the Cornerstone off handing it to Taehyung, and felt relieved just from the very idea of doing so. Jimin also seemed happy to be away from the medallion for a while. Even if he knew he was going to be the one carrying the jewel during more time because he was the closest to you, he wasn't able to get used to it. Jimin's perfect skin turned pale and sweaty if he had the Cornerstone for a long period of time. The same happened with Jin, though he avoided carrying it as usually as Jimin had to.

Probably because it terrifies them. Yeah. The Cornerstone killed six of them that day, remember?

Your eyes travelled to Taehyung's face; he was clenching his jaw hard, but apart from that, nothing revealed how much he actually hated that medallion. He took it from Jin's hand and put it around his neck. The jewel shone on his chest when a ray of sunlight hit its silvery surface. His eyes shadened almost instantly, and he cowered a little, as if someone had just put an enormous weight on his shoulders. The strap tensed abruptly, like claiming your attention. You felt so bad for the three of them and so thirsty of your former power that you stepped in almost without realizing.

"I could be more helpful if you just let me carry it again," maybe your tone of voice shown a little too much how eager you were for the Cornerstone, because the three men looked at you eye widened, almost scared, "I- I mean, I know you don't like having it and I could do a lot of things, and-

"Don't even think about it," Taehyung said, abruptly, almost harshly.

You didn't push any further, because you knew that would probably had set all their alarms. And you didn't want the Alphas to know that you were trying to recover the medallion even if that's what you needed to do, because how the hell did they expect you to protect them if they wouldn't give you your weapon?

Jimin cleared his throat in order to break the awkward and tense atmosphere that settled between the four of you like dripping and dense fog. He stood up from his stool.

"Well, I'll see you later then, Luna. I have to check on the pups at the Nursery." He bowed his head goodbye to you and to his hyungs before heading to the back door of the kitchen.

You watched him go before turning your head to the Beta to your right, he was already watching you when you locked your eyes with him. Taehyung tilted his head to the corridor. "Come on, it's almost midday."

You got up from the stool, handing your bowl to Jin. He seemed to be annoyed by the situation, but resigned to it anyway. You sighed silently and tried to ease his obvious disagreement.

"It was delicious, Jin, thank you," he hummed, accepting your praise and the bowl, still refusing to look at you, so you pressed a bit more, "can I have seconds at dinner?"

He glared at you, putting his spoon in the steamy pot again. "You'll get bellyache, missy. A balanced diet is essential for a prompt recovery," he turned your back to you, placing the bowl in a washbowl besides the counter. Without even turning to look at you, Jin let out a loud sigh before partially turning his face over his right shoulder. "But I can make it for lunch tomorrow if you want."

You nodded, satisfied, and turned around to follow Taehyung out of the kitchen. You tried to keep a sufficient distance behind him so as not to engage in any superficial and awkward conversation, but close enough not to appear strange or be noticed. Your footsteps on the creaking wooden floor filled the heavy silence between you and accompanied you until you reached the door. When the Beta opened the door and let you go first, you had no choice but to surrender and prepare for the uncomfortable conversation that awaited you from the Pack House to wherever he wanted to take you.

Stepping out onto the porch, the cold air of early spring filled your lungs and immediately cleared your nose. The sun timidly shone through translucent clouds that opened up in large gaps here and there. Numerous puddles of muddy water surrounded the homestead on all sides, the result of roof drippings, from which the last remnants of winter snow had already disappeared. The path that crossed the pack village like a central axis was also muddy and filled with puddles where children jumped and frolicked.

Taehyung cleared his throat to get your attention, and you snapped back to reality, realizing that he was already waiting for you at the bottom of the porch stairs. You apologized under your breath as you hurried to catch up with him, jumping over one of the puddles to avoid getting your boots dirty. He waited for you to reach his side before walking again. The Cornerstone shone once more on his chest as the young man turned towards the clearing, dazzling you in the process. There was something mocking and sarcastic about the way the medallion seemed to seek your attention all the time, as if it wanted to remind you that it was there, and that you had to reach it even if you couldn't. Taehyung didn't miss the glance you cast at the jewel, but as soon as you realized that the Beta was watching you, you looked away as if you had been caught doing something wrong.

"I'm sorry we have to do this," he said, turning his gaze forward. "Carrying the Cornerstone in front of you without allowing you to touch it, and being close to it all the time, but it's Jungkook and Namjoon's orders."

You clenched your fists inside the sleeves of your shirt. You hated not finding any trace of mockery in his voice. He should revel in it, be happy to see you suffer because you couldn't wear the pendant around your neck. He should laugh at you, feel satisfied by carrying the Cornerstone and forcing you to be near it without even touching it. But no, his apologies seemed genuine. And you hated it. You hated not finding the hatred that you were supposed to receive from him.

What are you playing at, Taehyung?

That question had been swirling in your mind relentlessly for the past two days, and no matter how much you wanted to find an answer, you couldn't. And you didn't have the courage to confront him directly and demand answers because he had already given them to you. He trusted you because Jimin did.

You shook your head, shrugging to downplay the matter. "It's okay, I understand, or at least I'm trying to. I'll get used to it."

Taehyung nodded without saying a word, and you both fell into silence again. The truth was, you didn't understand it, nor did you understand what the Alphas were waiting for to return the Cornerstone to you, since it was the only way you could fight and defend them in case Sangyu decided to make his entrance. You sighed, avoiding another puddle languishing in the middle of the road.

It was becoming hard to ignore the leash that tied you to the medallion, which tightened more frequently and stronger. The strands of energy weaving around you grew brighter every day, even in broad daylight, even when far from the medallion. And now that you had it closer, now that you could almost touch the Cornerstone, it even seemed like you could reach them.

You reached out to them experimentally, hoping to see them disappear as they always did as soon as you tried. But no, they didn't disappear. You brushed against them. The leash tightened so abruptly that you almost stumbled over a stone in the path. Taehyung stiffened at your side and stopped, clearing his throat, almost coughing, as if he had choked on a nut. Your blood ran cold, and you were almost afraid to look at him, fearing that somehow he knew what you had done. When you turned around, you saw that he had brought a hand to his chest and was frowning, and he also turned to look at you.

You tried to play it off. "Is something wrong?"

Taehyung seemed to consider his words for a moment before shaking his head and continuing to walk.

"No. It's nothing, let's continue."

Of course, you didn't insist. The sooner he forgot about it, the better for you. Still, the pounding of your heart and the trembling of your hands did not diminish in the slightest. One thing was clear: you had managed to reach the strands of light without even wearing the Cornerstone, which until then, was thought to be impossible. No High Priestess of Ilsan had ever achieved anything like that before, of course, none had spent so much time without the stone. Without daring to move your head from side to side to avoid drawing the Beta's attention, you saw from the corner of your eye that the strands of light still shone brightly around you, even more than before. The leash was so tight that it almost seemed about to physically drag you towards Taehyung.

There was also another thing that was clear, he had felt it. You didn't know how much, or how, or why, but he had noticed something. You squeezed and loosened your fingers trying to calm the beats of your heart, which pounded frantically against your ribs, at this rate, you were sure that all the werewolves in the pack could perceive your distress and nervousness from miles away. There were many things you hid from the members of the pack, perhaps out of pure instinct, because you still didn't trust them enough to tell them. And although you highly doubted that it was a good start for a war alliance, it seemed even more dangerous for them to know what you had just discovered. They kept the medallion out of your reach precisely so that you couldn't use your power for the time being, and if it came to their ears that you could use the Cornerstone to channel that power without having to wear it, the Moon knows what they would do to try to keep you under control.

The memory of the darkness, the cold, and your sanity unraveling like sand between your fingers sent a deep chill sweeping over you. No, you couldn't go back to the isolation cell again. So you stayed silent and kept the secret. Another one.

In an even more uncomfortable silence, you arrived at the Agora, where you could see for the first time and in all its splendor the morning market of the pack. You didn't know that there were so many people living in the Clearing until that moment, and it was the first time you had seen so many souls gathered in one place since the night of your escape from Ilsan. Anyway, it could never overshadow the market days of the chaotic capital of the Rowan Empire. The circular plaza was filled with wooden stalls covered with colorful fabrics, forming a smaller circle following the shape of the Agora around the effigy of the Moon Goddess, which rose in the center of the place.

There were people of all ages scattered in the square, many of them leaving offerings to the goddess, while others walked among the market stalls, inspecting the materials and chatting animatedly with the owners of the stalls. In Ilsan, the markets were the epicenter of theft and fraud, but there, like everything else that happened in the Clearing, everything seemed to move at a different pace.

Something you did notice and couldn't help but ask about was that no one carried any kind of currency on them.

"We don't believe in the monetary system that humans use," Taehyung explained, shrugging as you immersed yourselves in the crowd, "it's much simpler for us to trade with goods or ration cards. Each family in the pack specializes in manufacturing something that we all need, so we simply use exchange to have everything. When that system doesn't work, we pay with ration cards, which are exchanged for something from the pack's common warehouse: grain, wool, wood... Whatever is needed."

That left you as amazed as it did perplexed. Until then, you were unaware that a community could function in such a simple and effective way; it was nothing more than a utopia for a population as large as Ilsan or the great city-states of the South. Once again, the werewolves surprised you with their civilization, often much more advanced than those who called them beasts.

"Don't you ever have problems with that?" you asked, puzzled, while dodging two women who were calmly discussing the value of a ball of wool. "I thought that it is impossible to maintain a completely egalitarian society; there will always be someone who has more than the others."

Taehyung shrugged, without turning to look at you. "We're not a society like yours, Luna, we're a family. But to answer your question, of course we have problems, and not just with the distribution of our resources. But don't worry, Jungkook and Namjoon handle them wonderfully."

Somehow, it didn't seem strange to you to think that the pack operated like the perfectly oiled machine it was thanks to the leadership of both Alphas. You didn't know much about the pack leaders at the moment, nor how their predecessors managed the position, but you had met many powerful men throughout your life as High Priestess, and somehow you knew that none of them could hold a candle to Jungkook or Namjoon.

Call it intuition or experience, but deep down you knew. If the packs had survived Sangyu's attacks, with no wars or internal disputes and with systems as simple but delicate as those, it was because the leaders were exceptionally good at their jobs. Without another word, you followed Taehyung through the rest of the market, enduring with all possible composure the hard stares from all the pack members you crossed paths with.

Since the day you were allowed out of isolation, word had spread throughout the pack that the witch from Ilsan who ruined the last night of the blue moon was still there. By that morning, everyone in the Clearing knew who you were and what you were supposedly going to do for them. If any of them appreciated your efforts or your goal of protecting them from Sangyu, none of them let you know. Quite the opposite.

When you left the Agora and the hustle and bustle of the market behind, you could afford to release the breath you didn't know you had been holding, though not for long. Beyond the circular plaza, the village still extended a bit further. In that part of the clearing were the largest and oldest-looking houses, probably for larger families; there were scattered wooden buildings that looked like barns at first glance, and the rest of the space was made up of meadows surrounded by wooden fences where several domestic herds of cows, goats, pigs, and some chickens and hens grazed peacefully.

There was one building that stood out above the rest. It was also made of wood, circular, and covered by a dome of branches and huge leaves that almost seemed to be your size; it had circular windows forming a clerestory at the highest part and double doors that seemed as heavy as a mountain. You wouldn't have known what that building was for if the answer wasn't precisely at its doors.

There were two elderly people wrapped in white and immaculate clothes. They reminded you of the ones you had to wear as a Novice and later as High Priestess; white was the color of the moon and purity, so said the Patriarch. A nasty shiver ran down your back as you remembered it. Those same clothes were worn by Elder Sang and the other elder who had waited for you to come out of the cell that morning.

So those must be members of the Gerusia. And probably the building was their headquarters, or something like that. They seemed to be discussing something in a low voice, sitting on a long stone bench at the entrance of the place. One of them saw you and pointed you out to his colleague, whispering something in his ear. The looks of hatred and arrogance they directed at you before getting up and entering the building did not go unnoticed by Taehyung, nor did the spit that one of them spat at your feet as you passed by.

If you were in Ilsan, half a dozen Praetorii would have jumped on them just for looking you in the eye; for not bowing to you, they would have been whipped and would have spent three nights in Ryu's dungeons; for spitting at your feet, they would be on their way to the gallows to be hanged.

However, you forced yourself to ignore them and look the other way. Taehyung didn't do anything to correct their behavior either, though you understood. Only the Alphas could confront an elder, especially from the Gerusia. Who knows the trouble that would arise if the murderer witch and foreigner committed such a disrespect with a council elder.

The more unnoticed you passed, the better; the fewer reasons you gave them to hate you, the better. If that meant having to endure treatments as humiliating and degrading as those, you would. You just wished that all the bad things they did to you would come back to them someday. Multiplied by several figures, if possible. The Goddess was wise, and wove your destinies accordingly.

The Goddess shapes the back for the burden. You would have to settle for that for the moment.

"Don't take it personally, Luna," the Beta half apologized when the men had closed the doors behind them, "they take the Sacred Law too seriously. Someday they'll give in even if it hurts their pride."

You sighed, vaguely nodding your head and suppressing the urge to demand to know why he didn't spit at you like they did. He had reasons enough to do it.

"Is there a section in your Sacred Law that obligates you to spit at me?" you asked, knowing that the tone you used hinted at more bitterness than you would like to show.

Taehyung bit his cheeks for a few seconds as he thought about his response. "Not exactly, but there are some about how our enemies are treated, especially those with whom we have had direct confrontations."

You raised an eyebrow. As far as you understood since you were born, werewolves were hostile to anyone who got too close to the Yerin forest, let alone to those who dared to set foot in their territory. You had heard many legends of people who went and never returned, especially travelers and explorers who tried to open a faster and safer route to Ghaleen and the Eastern territories through Yerin. The Steppe Road that descended to Imhan Pass around the forest to the south was plagued by bandits and mercenaries in recent years.

"Do you mean basically all outsiders who step into the forest? I imagine that for the elders, anyone who isn't like you is against you."

Taehyung stopped and turned to look at you, hands on hips and a serious face that made you want to be able to shut your mouth as you did in Ilsan. You also stopped walking and took a step back to keep a more prudent distance from him; the Beta frowned at that last gesture and let his arms fall to his sides as he sighed, as if trying to explain to a child for the tenth time why he couldn't eat a whole box of candy at once.

"Look, Luna, I understand that the elders are not saints in your devotion and that their behavior is not appropriate, but it's not right for you to assume things about how we work here when you have no idea," well, you deserved that for being a loudmouth, "and even less as if we were inferior to you. We are not savages, we were not the ones who attacked and ended the other party's diplomatic mission, or were we?”

Okay. That was a low blow, but probably deserved, if we're being honest. Much to your chagrin and to the detriment of your pride, you averted your gaze with pursed lips, not daring to respond. Taehyung understood the message of surrender and sighed again, softening his expression, though he still seemed annoyed. Did you want to anger him so you could feel guilty about his grandmother's situation more comfortably? Well, probably, you couldn't deny it.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brought up that topic again," you almost wanted to punch him for apologizing and making himself look like the bad guy in that situation. He had every right to be angry.

"I'm sorry, that was foolish of me," you conceded, looking back at him with some reluctance. "I don't think you're inferior, or savages, in fact... you're the most civilized community I've ever known."

Taehyung nodded, accepting the apology. "You must learn to understand our way of life and, above all, the Sacred Law. Although it may not seem like it, the Gerusia is wise and helps the Alphas a lot in decision-making and law enforcement... for all of us, not just outsiders."

He said the last part in a lower voice, with a more restrained tone, as if it were something he shouldn't mention. You frowned as your mind connected dots at a speed that impressed even you, and the answer came clear as a candle lit in the darkness of a cave.

"Were they the ones who decided to expel the... rogues?" you asked, also instinctively lowering your voice.

Taehyung glanced at you for a couple of seconds with narrowed eyes, perhaps wondering how you knew that. When you thought he was going to speak to answer you, he turned to walk away, physically avoiding your question as well. You didn't waste time and hurried to catch up with him to walk by his side; one of his strides was like two of yours, but the height difference wasn't going to stop you this time. You remembered that although you had ended eight members of his pack, they had done the same to your sisters from the Ilsan Temple. Well, technically it wasn't them. However, the expulsion of the wanderers from the pack was what gave them free rein to attack Ilsan without remorse in the first place, and if that hadn't happened, you would never have had to take anyone's life. It's not that you wanted to apologize or justify your actions in that way, but it was nothing more than the relationship of cause and effect. The Patriarch always said that chaos is a ladder; and that everything you do, every decision you make, is a step that determines the next one. The flutter of a butterfly in Vinland Desert could unleash a storm in Terlheslin. In this way, everything you do in the present will affect the future, just as the present is what it is because of the decisions made in the past. The whole ancestral hatred relationship you maintained with the werewolves was actually the top of the ladder; the product of a chain of terrible events.

Probably that part of the story where the werewolves massacred half of the Ecclesia was deliberately ignored by all members of the pack, so they could call you a monster and hate you without feeling any guilt. The Beta didn't answer you, but you didn't give up. Although Namjoon and Jungkook had told you the truth during your last conversation in the cell, you knew they hadn't told you everything.

Who were the rogues and why did they hate humans so much?

"I know it was like that. That they were the ones who attacked Ilsan, not the werewolves of the Clearing," you saw that the young man listened to you despite everything because he looked at you from the corner of his eye. "The Alphas told me in the isolation cell before they took me out. But they didn't tell me who-"

"That's a subject I can't talk about, Luna," Taehyung interrupted you, not slowing down his pace. "It's not up to me to tell you. If Namjoon and Jungkook didn't, there's a reason... We've arrived, come on."

You sighed. There were many unresolved mysteries about the pack's past swirling around in your head. Both you and they were hiding things from each other, although you hoped it wasn't as obvious to them that you weren't telling the whole truth as it was to you. That only evidenced what was more than clear: neither the pack trusted you, nor did you trust the pack, no matter how kind Jimin and Jin were to you.

You didn't add anything else, although you wouldn't have been able to if you wanted to. You had reached one of the last houses in the Clearing: one that was especially large, dark, and regal-looking. There was a pergola with a roof of moss and branches near the entrance, under which a large group of people were chatting animatedly around a large table. A squad of children ran around playing, jumping in puddles and climbing nearby trees. A huge tin pot was placed next to the table, over a fire, bubbling emitting a warm smell of homemade food that immediately opened your appetite even though you had just eaten a little while ago. A young and slender woman stirred the contents of the cauldron with a ladle the size of her forearm. Only when you approached close enough, you saw that she was carrying a baby wrapped in a cloth tied to her back.

"Dasom noona!" Taehyung called out as you left the path to approach the front garden of the house where the pergola was.

Everyone turned to look when they heard the Beta, greeting him warmly and patting him on the back. Not knowing quite how to proceed, you stayed a little behind in silence. When the werewolf men's eyes moved from Taehyung to you, they lost any friendly glow they might have had at first. However, the only look that really made you feel intimidated was that of the woman next to the cauldron; there was a latent and icy hatred hidden in her Beta blue irises.

"Is it her?" she asked, shifting her gaze to Taehyung. He nodded and the young woman looked you over again in a way that made you feel as uncomfortable as self-conscious. "She seems frail, I can see her bones under all that clothing from here."

Her words were poisoned, and although they were prepared to hurt you, what really hurt was the wave of poorly disguised laughter that the comment raised among the rest of the people who witnessed it from the table. You clenched your fists behind your back until your knuckles turned white, resisting the call of the Cornerstone, which whispered from Taehyung's chest, challenging you to pull the strands that tied you to the woman to shut her up in the worst possible way.

Taehyung wasn't laughing. "Dasom, please."

The woman rolled her eyes and turned to you, leaving the ladle inside the cauldron. Taehyung seemed to take it as a sign of peace, because he sighed before looking at you.

"Luna, this is Dasom, my older sister," the Beta said, pointing at the woman with one hand, "and Namjoon's mate."

You couldn't hide the surprise that this new information caused you. You didn't know that Namjoon had a mate, and apparently, at least one child, although it didn't seem strange to you in some way. He was a young and healthy Alpha, after all. For a fleeting moment, you wondered if Jungkook had also formed his own family.

Because you took his away. Or at least, part of it.

In addition to clenching your fists, you pressed your lips together. You were sure that when you opened your hands, your nails would have dug into your skin so much that they would have left four crescent-shaped marks. Then, Dasom's aversion in her eyes when she saw you made more sense.

You had also killed her grandmother that day.

This will haunt you for life.

"Well, let's see what you're made of, Priestess," she commented, in such a mocking way that you would have given her a murderous look if it weren't because suddenly you believed you deserved it more. "Have you ever made willow baskets or herded a flock?"

Dasom knew the answer, she probably knew the obligations of the priestesses and the luxurious lifestyle they led. She knew that you had never seen those domestic animals in your life unless it was for some sacrifice or served at a banquet for the nobles of Ilsan. She just wanted to humiliate you a little more.

You let her do it. You shook your head, still with your eyes fixed on the ground. You heard the cruel laughter of her companions again, who seemed to be having a great time with the situation. Taehyung didn't intervene again.

In the misty morning: wet meadows, dried leaves, and absent birds. It was late autumn. Even the streets of the normally chaotic citadel of Ilsan were immersed in a sluggish lethargy that day. But that was only the calm before the storm.

Inside the Imperial Palace, the world was completely different. It seemed like a bubble of madness and frenzy in a calm sea. The recent times had been tense for life at the court after Empress Yuran's multiple and tragic miscarriages, but nothing had prepared humans for what was about to happen that day.

And least of all, you.

Six Praetorii escorted you along one of the palace's immense corridors. That military order, expressly at your service, had been founded the day after the massacre of the Ilsan Temple to prevent something like that from happening again.

As you turned a corner in the hallway, the muffled sound of a crowd shouting and booing reached your ears. You swallowed hard, halting your steps suddenly. The Praetorii immediately stopped without breaking their ring formation around you. The Guard Commander addressed you without looking into your eyes, always with his head tilted down.

"Luna, we must proceed. They are waiting for you."

You nodded, but still did nothing to move from the spot. You knew what you were going to do, you knew what they were going to force you to do. When at dawn the City Guard brought word to the palace that they had sighted and captured a pack of werewolves in the vicinity of Ilsan, you already knew that neither the Patriarch nor the Empress would let them go unpunished for that.

Not after they had murdered all the novices and priestesses of Ilsan in a single day.

The Commander shifted his weight from one leg to the other, uncomfortable, unsure of how to make you walk. They couldn't touch you unless it was to physically protect you, after all, or speak to you disrespectfully.

"Luna, please."

To your left, the youngest soldier of them all spoke. It was Kai, the closest person to a friend you had. He was barely fifteen, seven years older than you, but he had already graduated from the military academy with all honors, which had earned him a place in the palace garrisons if he wished. Despite the strict rules surrounding the ritual procedure by which people were supposed to communicate with you, Kai looked you in the eyes and spoke to you as what you were: a little scared girl.

That's what gave you the strength to start walking. All the soldiers followed you as if orbiting around you. The corridor turned again a little further ahead and ended at a stone archway that led to a huge inner courtyard. The Empress's Courtyard, the main one in the entire palace. All the permanent resident nobles of the court were there, as well as most of the inhabitants of Ilsan.

The Patriarch had allowed the entry of commoners into the palace, a historic milestone in the memory of the Sacred City. The crowd formed a wide circle around the center of the courtyard, where some City Guards held motionless a series of furry shapes that you couldn't clearly distinguish from your position at the courtyard entrance, but that you knew perfectly well what they were.

Although the boos and insults toward the werewolves didn't cease, the nobles and commoners parted left and right to open a path for you. The Patriarch was there, facing the werewolves, waiting for you. You moved through the people like a condemned woman to the gallows.

Although you were going to be the executioner.

It wasn't strange to you that the Patriarch had summoned you to take care of that task. After all, it was always the High Priestess who executed important prisoners of war. There was a whole ritual ceremony for sacred executions in the name of the Goddess. But they usually took place in private.

That wasn't a ritual, it was a public execution, probably for the entertainment of Ilsan's inhabitants, to humiliate the werewolves as much as possible in their last moments of life. The closer you got to the center of the courtyard, the sicker you felt. As much as you hated the werewolves, you didn't want to do it, just the thought made bile rise in your throat, threatening to make you vomit what little you had for breakfast.

Your distressed situation awakened the bond with the Cornerstone, and the leash twisted, eagerly pulling, taking your breath away. Three years had passed since the Junction, and your connection with the medallion was more than consolidated, but you were still very susceptible to sudden changes in the energy flows exchanged with the Stone.

So, by the time you reached the center of the courtyard and the Patriarch forcefully turned your arm to face the crowd, you were bathed in a cold sweat that only increased your paleness. The Patriarch raised a hand to silence the crowd, while discreetly digging his nails into your shoulder with the other.

“Citizens of Ilsan and nobles of Her Imperial Majesty Yuran of Baegyum's Court; may health, life, and prosperity be granted unto you” the Patriarch began to speak, his voice echoing naturally off the courtyard walls, “behold the cause of our infinite rage and sorrow, behold the murderers of our Sisters and our former High Priestess; may her travel be brief.”

The crowd rose in a wave of indignation that materialized in the form of insults and more boos. Someone threw a stone, and although you had your back to the beasts, you heard a howl of pain from one of them. You had counted eight. The Patriarch let the people vent their anger for a few seconds before silencing them again.

“As dictated by the laws of the Sacred Scripture, it is our Luna who must end the lives of these impious creatures.”

The grip the man maintained on your shoulder tightened, and you were sure it would leave a bruise for days. The Patriarch turned to look over his shoulder at the werewolves as if they were insects stuck to the sole of his shoe.

“Blood must have blood, and that spilled in the Great Temple must still be avenged.”

Once again, the courtyard filled with voices that seemed unintelligible to you; the sounds reached you muffled, distant, as if they were very far away, yet they filled your ears in a way that almost felt like they would burst. Blood must have blood. That was perhaps the most important sacred quote of the entire dominant religion in the Rowan Empire, even for werewolves. Everyone knew it and respected it, followed it and practiced it.

The Goddess's singular commandment. And also your order to follow, that was your starting gun. The nobles and commoners, still relentless in their efforts to humiliate the creatures with their derogatory and degrading comments and the occasional stone, looked at you with fury emitting dangerous sparks in their eyes. That was the flash of collective hysteria.

The Patriarch, in the face of your apparent passivity, gave you a shove toward the werewolves that nearly sent you straight to the ground. The creatures bared their teeth and huddled in place, bristling defensively.

Indeed, there were eight. Three gray ones in different shades; two redheads and two browns, one of them significantly older-looking than the other. Finally, in the center, there was a huge wolf, much larger than the rest. It was a pitch-black color, its eyes red, staring at you in such a threatening way that you almost recoiled.

It was an Alpha. The Cornerstone had no effect on it, which meant that...

“Avenge your sisters, High Priestess” urged the Patriarch, in the same tone of voice he used to preach his previous speech. “Avenge the Sacred City, the work of our ancestors, the foundations of our world.”

You trembled so violently that the medallion swayed on your chest, emitting pale flashes when the sun hidden in the fog reached its surface with some of its rays. The leash tightened abruptly, making you cough.

A part of you wanted it, you couldn't lie. A part of you wanted to return all the harm they had done to you, added up and multiplied by a thousand. The other part of you, much larger, was horrified by your own thoughts.

“Do it, Priestess!” the Patriarch shouted, starting to lose patience.

The crowd's shouts increased, some beginning to move towards you. And yet, you heard nothing but your own heart pumping blood at an astonishing speed in your ears. You stood petrified, staring into the red eyes of the black wolf in front of you.

Next to him, the older-looking brown wolf growled fiercely at you, showing canines as long as your skinny hand. The rest of their packmates did the same, trying to wriggle under the ropes that held them down to the ground. The Alpha was silent, impassive, with his nose held high and a haughty gaze that made you feel even smaller.

The Patriarch took two steps forward and grabbed you by the back of your neck with claw-like fingers, forcing you to stoop abruptly to be at the beasts' level. Some nobles suddenly fell silent, and the boos wavered at the holy man's gesture.

No one, not even him, was allowed to touch you. But everyone seemed to forget that small detail when they heard the words the Patriarch articulated, leaning over you towards your ear. He didn't whisper them, he shouted them in your ear so that everyone could hear.

“Don't you remember, Luna?” he accused, digging his nails into both sides of your neck. “Don't you remember your sisters' corpses? How these monsters ripped their lives away in front of you? Kill them! I command you in the name of the Goddess!”

The shouts of indignation filled the courtyard once again, and this time you heard them as if they were shouting in your ear, echoing, as if inside a cave. Tears bathed your cheeks and flooded your eyes when you opened them to face your fate. The leash writhed with such fury that you thought it would break, and before you could even realize it, you had stretched towards the strands of light that connected you to the werewolves. You grabbed them tightly and with a sharp pull, broke them.

The werewolves' bodies fell to the ground immediately, lifeless.

Silence fell in the Empress's Courtyard like in a tomb, only the echoes of the boos accompanied you for a few seconds before dying in the vastness of the air. No one dared to utter a word. A dull ringing settled in your ears, and your vision blurred, you staggered and fell painfully to your knees in front of the Alpha, who was still alive. You had never exerted so much energy in the three years you had been bound to the Stone, and suddenly you felt as if a herd of wild stallions from the steles had trampled over you.

The creature had remained as petrified as you at first, and moments passed before it reacted. The werewolf let out a chilling howl that made the crowd take a few steps back, screaming in fear as they cowered behind the line of security formed by the Praetorian Guard.

The Alpha tried to rise and lunge at you, but the ropes and the soldiers holding him back prevented it. The Patriarch pulled your arm back to move you away from it, dragging you across the courtyard floor, while turning to his personal escort.

“Bring me the Reaper's Tear!” he ordered. “Let's put an end to this once and for all.”

That seemed to snap you out of your stupor, because you turned your head towards him like a spring and began shaking it compulsively to refuse, while trying to free yourself from his grip. You knew what that Reaper's Tear was and what it would signify.

"No! I don't want to! Abeoji, no! Please, Abeoji. Don't make me do it, I-"

The slap silenced you, and the nobles and commoners exchanged astonished looks and whispers. Such aggression was punishable by death. You brought your free hand to your left cheek, which was beginning to redden. The characteristic metallic taste of blood filled your mouth.

"You will, Luna," the Patriarch seemed to hesitate, perhaps afraid of his own actions. There would be no way for the Ecclesia to overlook this, “it is your sacred duty.”

A soldier approached with a long white wooden case and bowed to open it for you. He didn't meet your eyes when he said, "The Reaper's Tear, Luna."

You shook your head frantically, trying to pull away, but the Patriarch pulled your arm towards the case. Inside was a double-edged saber, almost as long as your forearm. Embedded in the hilt was a white gem in the shape of a tear. The scriptures said it was a tear of the Goddess solidified into a precious stone, found at the source of the Idris River, in the Northern Mountains.

You had always feared it, but never as much as in that moment. It was an execution weapon, used for special cases where the Anchor Stone was ineffective. It was mainly intended for High Priestesses who had broken their vows in some way.

The Patriarch gripped the saber and closed your fingers around the hilt, using his own hand to cover yours and prevent you from letting go of the weapon. The previously noisy crowd had become as silent as a group of millennia-old statues. The Patriarch looked at the soldiers holding the wolf down with a grim expression.

"Hold the ropes tight. If anything happens to our Luna, you will face the consequences."

In response, the men pulled on the ropes holding the creature to the ground. The Alpha was forced to shrink further into the ground, so much so that he couldn't even lift his head from the cobblestones, and the rope dug into the skin of the pack leader, eliciting a deep growl as he showed all his teeth. You sobbed again, though the Patriarch didn't care, he kept pulling you towards him. There was no way you could escape his grip, as he held you firmly against him with one arm, while grabbing your hand with the other.

"Abeoji, Abeoji, please. I beg you-

“Silence, child,” the man cut you off, half-whispering by your ear, “High Priestesses do not plead.”

You had been explained many times since you passed the Junction. You must not ask; you must demand. And you wanted to do it, you wanted by all means to regain control of the situation and not have to beg anyone. By the time you wanted to realize it, you were eagerly seeking the strands that connected you to the Alpha and thus give him a clean, dignified, and painless death.

But almost all the power you had accumulated in the Cornerstone had dissipated like mist after killing seven wolves at once, so the strands of light were very weak, flickering, like stars in the distance. In addition to that, and as you already knew, an Alpha's strands were not reachable for you; they avoided your touch like oil avoids water.

The Patriarch stood in front of the wolf, still holding you with a force that numbed your whole body. He raised his arm, dragging your armed hand with him, ready to give him a cold-blooded death. Your tear-filled eyes barely managed to discern what was happening in front of you, and you weren't even aware that you were screaming. Still, for a moment as ephemeral as eternal, the gaze of the pack leader came clear and unobstructed into your field of vision.

It had stopped growling, and its body languished on the ground, defeated. In its sad, red eyes, there was no hatred.

There was forgiveness.

You cried louder, screamed louder, writhed more violently. You frantically searched for the strands again, but this time not the ones that connected you to the wolf.

You wanted the Patriarch's. Your arm was already descending on the Alpha's head; you stretched as far as you could towards the strands, trying to grasp them, but it was already too late.

Your eyes snapped open, and the darkness of your room welcomed you back to the land of the living. You opened your mouth, seeking air with your irregular, shallow breaths, your hands clenched into tight fists gripping the sheets between your fingers. You instantly realized you weren't the only thing you were holding onto tightly.

The strands were there, and you clung to them as if your life depended on it. But there was a problem; you weren't wearing the Cornerstone, obviously, and it wasn't even near you. You had no idea what happened to the pendant at night, but you had somehow managed to tap into its power to channel it anyway.

You let go immediately, scared, terrified. How was it even possible? You had grasped the strands in real life after dreaming about it. And even more panic set in, settling in the pit of your stomach like a tombstone at the entrance of a crypt.

Your body reacted before your mind did, and you were already sitting up on the mattress, hugging your knees tightly. What if you had unintentionally hurt someone? In your dream, you had killed seven wolves, just as it happened on that fateful day. Those nightmares had been more than recurrent in recent days, and in fact, there hadn't been a single night where you hadn't dreamed of something similar. But none had ever been so concrete, so detailed.

So realistic. Just as it had happened that day.

In the darkness of the room, you huddled in place, trembling. It wasn't because of the cold, as the Pack House had a heating system that left you as amazed as the rest of the innovations the Clear presented in contrast to the wild and grotesque image you had been instilled with about werewolves. It wasn't the cold, no, it was fear. Of yourself and what you could unwittingly do.

You found it impossible to fall back asleep for the rest of the night, even though you tried. You needed all the energy you could gather for the tasks that would be assigned to you from then on, and it wasn't as if your body had fully recovered from everything that had happened since you arrived at the pack. But you couldn't complain. Keeping silent and obeying was all you could do.

You thought it would be easier to earn respect among the werewolves, or so you had imagined when Namjoon and Jungkook proposed to support them in the upcoming war in exchange for your "freedom" and the promise that Hana would be safe. Not that you had any other option but to accept; playing with Hana's well-being was inconceivable for you, and you wouldn't have endured being isolated and sane for much longer. At that moment, it had seemed like a beneficial deal for both parties, but you were increasingly realizing that it actually only made things easier for them. You, on the other hand, remained in the same position as before. Maybe out of a cell, but controlled, deprived of your vital energy source, watched, and hated.

What had really changed?

That same question was on your mind when later that morning, you saw a cow up close for the first time.

Dasom had taken you to the corrals on the south side of the Clear, where the sun warmed the grass most of the day. That was where the cows gave birth to their calves and where they were raised for the first few days before being moved to the greener, fresher pastures in the northern area. Anyone would think that a small newborn calf next to its mother was an endearing sight to immortalize forever as a memory; Mother Nature in her kindest form; the circle of life, blah, blah, blah.

It terrified you from the moment you heard their lowing up close.

Digging your heels into the muddy ground, you came to a sudden stop. Dasom, the Cornerstone hanging on her chest, looked at you, raising an eyebrow, with a smirk of superiority that would have made you angry if you weren't too busy trying not to run in the opposite direction.

"What are you waiting for, priestess?" she asked, leaning her arms on the corral fence. “Come on, get in. Cows don't herd themselves.”

Clenching and unclenching your fists under the sleeves of your shirt, you tiptoed to the gate of the corral. The cows watched from inside every step you took as they chewed the grass leisurely. They didn't seem to get upset when you infiltrated their domains, nor when you approached them and their offspring. One of them emitted a deep moo, to which two others responded.

The sound startled you, and you flinched. You heard a small wave of barely contained laughter rise behind you, and when you looked over your shoulder, you saw several Hippei and other pack members watching you with a mix of mockery and curiosity that made you blush with embarrassment. Dasom smiled, satisfied and pleased with herself.

Determined not to let them have fun at your expense, you turned to face the cows. Come on, you had survived a city takeover, an arrow shot, and had lived until then in a pack of werewolves. How could a seemingly harmless grass-eater like that scare you?

Pulling on the mothers' bells to guide them into the corral stable wasn't so difficult, especially because they followed each other. They seemed accustomed to it because the cow you chose to lead first didn't even moo when you started pulling on her collar. The rest followed at a painfully slow pace, but eventually, they all ended up inside. The calves didn't stray from their mothers, so they naturally moved with them.

Except for one. It was smaller than the rest, and more agile. Although you tried several times and in different ways, under the mocking gaze of the other werewolves, the calf didn't even let you get close to it. Luckily, it still didn't have horns and was too young to really hurt you when it pushed you out of its way with a headbutt. It sent you backwards onto the ground in a puddle of mud, and it entered the stable alone.

With a heavy heart, you rose from the ground, trying to maintain your dignity as best as you could, and slammed the barn door shut. As you turned to look at Dasom, she didn't bother hiding the smirk of satisfaction on her face.

"We may question your methods, priestess, but not your results," the laughter was widespread. Some of those present began to move away to tend to their respective tasks, seeing that the show was over. "Alright, go tidy up. I'll talk to Namjoon about your next assignment."

You didn't even spare her a last glance before bowing your head slightly and slipping away from the corral towards the Pack House. The mud made your already soaked clothes cling to your body like a second skin. You hugged your torso and quickened your pace. You prayed not to run into anyone familiar until you reached your room, but you didn't even reach the main door before it swung open.

You managed to halt your steps before colliding head-on with someone.

Please let it be Jin. Please let it be Jin.

"Luna?" you cursed under your breath in every language you knew as you recognized Jungkook's voice. You didn't have the courage to look up. The embarrassment tingled in your cheeks. "For Moon's sake, what happened to you?"

Seeing that you didn't react, the Alpha gently lifted your chin with the back of his index finger. His touch sent shivers down your body, and you swallowed hard. Now you were more than obliged to answer.

"Dasom thought I could use some experience herding a flock," you admitted quietly, avoiding eye contact.

Jungkook tried his best not to offend you with a laugh and cleared his throat, clasping his hands behind his back.

"I see, those little ones can be quite unruly. Go change or you'll catch a cold with your clothes this wet," you hugged yourself tighter, feeling mortified, trying to make yourself small in place. Seeing your discomfort, he seemed to want to change the subject. "A calf knocked me to the ground the first time I tried to herd them into the barn...," that almost drew a smile from you. "Besides, I fell flat on my face, so you've done better than me."

You dared to look at him, perhaps to see if he was teasing or being serious. He simply gave you one last half-smile before stepping aside and gesturing for you to enter the house.

You obeyed without saying another word.

That night, you dreamed again of the day you killed the wolves. And you woke up screaming, clutching the strands as tightly as if you had never left the Cornerstone.

The next day, by Jungkook's order, Hana was allowed to have breakfast with you at the Pack House. Sitting at the table in the backyard garden, she barely stopped talking long enough to swallow the oatmeal cookies that Jin, pale from carrying the Cornerstone, had specially baked for her. But it didn't matter to you; just seeing her golden skin regain its vibrant color and the sparkle of happiness in her eyes was enough comfort for you. That's how you knew your pain was worth it. Hana was happy in the Clearing. And you would be willing to return to solitary confinement as long as it stayed that way.

The pack accepted her. They adored her. Even Hoseok. Hana made flower crowns for him and Yoongi every day, and they wore them on their patrols. That sight wasn't funny enough to alleviate the terror you felt towards both Hippei. The memory of Hoseok's fangs on your neck on the night you entered Yerin was enough to make you feel so scared you could vomit.

Shortly before noon, Taehyung arrived at the house with Yeji to pick up Hana and take her with the rest of the children to help prepare the meal for the Hippei going on a long patrol. You could barely hold back the tears when Hana kissed your cheek before running off to Yeji. She waved goodbye and disappeared into the house. You knew the Alphas didn't allow you to spend much time with her to remind you who was in control, and you were grateful that Hana didn't realize those things. Everyone told her that you were very busy helping the pack (which was partly true) and that you would soon be able to spend more time together.

That was just a message to you.

Cooperate, and we'll allow you to see her.

So that's what you did. You helped Jin, now without the Cornerstone, clean the breakfast dishes and headed to the Nursery, where Jimin was with the mentioned gem, performing his own tasks of caring for the youngest pups. You were not allowed to enter the Nursery under any circumstances, so you simply knocked on the door and stepped back a few paces.

"I'm coming, Luna!" Jimin's voice was perfectly audible from the other side of the door.

Your bond with the Cornerstone churned inside you with such force that it almost made you nauseous. You took a deep breath, and upon opening your eyes, you saw the strands as vividly as if they were something physical that everyone could touch. You instinctively reached out, thirsty, hungry, but the strands avoided your touch. You brushed against them. Your whole body vibrated. Sweat began to bead on your forehead. It was agony.

You looked up at the sky. The zenith was approaching again. That thought hadn't left your mind since the moment you left the cell. If you weren't given the Cornerstone before, the stone itself would kill you when you tried to put it on, if they ever allowed you to do so. That had to happen before the Cornerstone regained its maximum energy with the Zenith.

And yet, you were sure you would need a good excuse for the Alphas to even consider the idea.

Jimin came out of the Nursery with a furrowed brow, and you immediately moved away from the strands. The Omega's face seemed to relax somewhat, and he rubbed his eyes. It was clear. The stone bearer could feel it if you tried to reach the strands. That was dangerous. But Jimin wasn't, right?

"Hello, are you okay?" you asked, trying to control the tremor in your voice.

"Yes, it's just that..." he seemed to hesitate for a second. He didn't seem very sure about admitting that wearing the stone made him feel unwell. "I'm tired. I haven't had a good night."

You forced a smile and waited for him to stand by your side to start walking. Your morning task was to weed the fields to the south of the Clearing for the upcoming planting.

"It seems we're both in the same boat, then," your words made Jimin look at you carefully for the first time. Despite starting to gain some weight and generally looking healthier, dark circles still framed your eyes.

“It must be something seasonal,” Jimin agreed, with his characteristic warm smile. Although it didn't last long. “Lately, no one sleeps well. Jungkook has been waking up the entire Clearing two nights in a row in the middle of the night...”

He suddenly fell silent, perhaps realizing that you were not a reliable member of the pack and that he shouldn't talk about those things with you. Lest you use it against him in some way. However, although that would have hurt you in a normal situation, you were too busy processing what he had just said.

Two nights in a row. The nights you woke up clutching the strands. You almost trembled. What if Jungkook found out in some way?

“I really can't imagine someone like Jungkook having a nightmare,” you said, pretending not to have attached much importance to it. “He and Namjoom don't seem like the kind of people who are... afraid of something.”

Jimin turned his gaze forward and seemed to ponder your words. You evaluated his face. He seemed on the verge of wanting to say something. His lips were pressed. There were too many things you didn't know about the members of the Pack. Everything was working against you. You needed answers. Any, at least.

You seized the opportunity.

“Jimin, what's going on?” you asked, halting your walk. If he couldn't be distracted while walking, there was a better chance that Jimin would succumb to the pressure of your questions.

He looked at you. His eyes were filled with the desire to respond. To trust. Hope surged in your chest. You didn't have time to feel bad about what you were about to do; you were too anxious for it. You reached out to the strands and deliberately brushed against them in desperation. Jimin grimaced, and his shoulders slumped. It worked; that was all it took to break down his defenses.

“The Cornerstone... I told him that getting close to it is dangerous, that it makes you sick...” His voice seemed to be dominated by a weariness that you hadn't seen in him until now. “But he doesn't listen to me.”

Did that mean that Jungkook also wore the Cornerstone? When? During the day, someone always accompanied her or was near her, except...

At night.

Was that why he woke up screaming? Did you... manage to hurt him?

“Not long after you arrived, before they sent you to the isolation cell, Jin hyung found something in one of our oldest tomes. One that was destroyed and of which we only preserved a few pages,” he spoke so softly that you had no choice but to lean in close enough to feel his breath on your face. “It said that the power of the Cornerstone only manifests if there is a living vessel, that it...”

“That it only works if the High Priestess wears it, yes,” you completed, but that wasn't all. You were aware that they knew more, and not just from what you had told them. “And also...”

“The Cornerstone must always have a bearer. Even when it's not the High Priestess. This is how the balance is maintained. If the Cornerstone is left alone for too long, without someone to carry it...”

“No one knows. It has never happened, but... It's better not to find out.”

Jimin looked up at you. You nodded. Yes, that was a basic principle. You doubted they would believe you if you tried to explain it, so you had limited yourself to saying that you needed to be close to her to avoid getting sick. That was true, but not the whole truth.

Even so, they knew it all. They knew you hadn't been entirely truthful. Your stomach tightened. A cloud covered the sun and a cold wind rose in the Clearing, tousling your hair.

“Jungkook takes care of it at night, doesn't he?”

Jimin simply nodded.

There was finally complete truth between you and the pack. If they knew that, perhaps they could understand you, perhaps they would understand that all this would be of no use if the zenith killed you. You reached out and clasped Jimin's hand. He started, but didn't pull away. You were trembling. He noticed and took your other hand, concerned.

“Luna, are you okay?”

You didn't respond immediately. Your head was spinning in every direction, evaluating every possible thing that could happen if you did what you were about to do. You looked into the Omega's eyes, and he returned an intense gaze.

You would never be completely sure if you could trust him until you tried. But you needed to trust someone for once in your life.

You couldn't do it alone.

“Jimin. I haven't been completely honest, with you or anyone, and... I'm going to be honest now.”

The Omega squeezed your hands. At no point did you see a hint of anger or mistrust. Only hope. He knew you kept secrets, just as you knew they did the same. You had to start somewhere if you wanted the alliance to make sense... and if you wanted to survive the war that was to come.

“I'm listening, Luna.”

[cyberneticlagomorph]

damn ok!

Santa Claus' "elves" are actually a breed of Goblin! Real elves don't mind this as "goblin" and "elf" have been used as umbrella terms for various distinctions of fae for centuries

Santa's team of flying reindeer is not the original, but he does breed replacements from the original's bloodlines and gives them the names of their ancestors as a badge of honor once the previous generation has retired.

Flying reindeer are what happens when you get a regular reindeer to incubate a harpy egg, similarly to how pegasus' are born. The resulting deer has to be trained heavily before it is allowed to pull anything!

Some reindeer can talk, some can't, there isn't any clear metric as to why this is but they all seem to have vaguely human level intelligence at the end of the day.

Santa himself is some sort of nascent divinity presiding over winter, kindness, childhood, feasting, and revelry like some sort of kids bop Dionysus

Krampus is his sibling, as such they both have horns and hooves, tails, sharp teeth, goat's ears, and long tongues. Santa is very aware about how this might scare a kid so when he's out working he's HEAVILY glamoured to look human. He also files his horns down and hides the the nubs under his hat as an extra precaution. because i can't have a character in this universe and not make them a total furry

the naughty/nice list doesn't extend to adults, MOST OF THE TIME, unless you're a genuinely shitty person who goes out of their way to make kids miserable you're no longer under his jurisdiction the second you hit adulthood

he loves kids, even if those kids don't believe in him and will protect them with his life, so that means he does have to tangle with Krampus more often than not when a kid is misbehaving

Yes he still lives at the north pole in a nice little pocket realm he wove for himself

The elves have a union and wear osha approved silly little outfits

Santa does have a Mrs. Claus, she's human or at least human passing and makes the best hot cocoa you'll ever taste. She keeps things running when Santa isn't around and helps him get ready for Christmas during the warmer off season

Santa is strong-fat! He can and will yeet a whole reindeer!!

He technically doesn't need to physically eat, belief in him is sustenance enough, but food good... and people leave him all kinds of treats when he drops by on his rounds so it would be rude not to partake a LITTLE...

He smokes quiet a bit, pipes, cigars, etc and people in Europe leave him alcohol as an Offering so he's got his fair share of vices.

He smells like wood smoke, mint, pine, and animal musk

His bag is a bag of holding

He's fire proof, doesn't take fall damage, can see in the dark and probably has arson magic he doesn't like talking about

[elliemarchetti]

Rotten Petals, Rotten Feelings

Sad Elriel drabble for my alphabet of flowers prompt list.

Modern AU, modern proof reading (which is none).

Part 2 if you're interested in Gwyn's POV

Prompt: Magnolia – Dignity

Words:685

Elain couldn't stop looking at the photo Feyre had sent her. It had been taken the previous evening, at Rita's. Elain hadn't wanted to join the outing organized by Cassian for his birthday, and not because she didn't love her sister's boyfriend, but because she didn't want to see Azriel. What had happened between them wasn’t a situationship, but it couldn’t even be called a simple friendship. They had kissed at the Christmas party, hidden in a corridor whose lights had remained off the whole evening. They had exchanged meaningful gifts in secret, away from prying eyes, and months of sexual tension had finally resulted in a kiss under the mistletoe. They had parted only when they heard approaching footsteps, and though they had been quick to go their separate ways, Elain was certain that Rhysand had caught them. For days she had been waiting for him to call, or at least text – he had her number, after all – but he never did, nor did he seem in the mood to broach the issue the next time they met. It had taken weeks before she’d found him alone, and he’d been quick to tell her he couldn’t give her what she wanted, even thought Elain never told him what she actually expected. So, with a cold and calculated sentence, whatever had blossomed between them had died in the bud, like flowers bloomed too early on a particularly warm winter day and caught off guard by the following frost.

It's all over now, she told herself when the weather started to get warmer, and her friends returned from their respective expensive holidays. By the time spring arrived, she was sure she no longer had any feelings for the elusive and mysterious guy who had stolen her heart during a snowy day.

It was just a stupid crush, it's normal to have those at twenty-three, she reminded herself when her beautiful garden began to paint the view from her room with the colours of the rainbow. She had believed it, she had felt healed, until Feyre had sent her that photo. She knew her sister hadn’t done it in bad faith. It was among many others, one of the usual reports she did when someone couldn’t attend this or that event. Only this time Azriel, who usually shied away from the camera, was featured in one of the shots, along with a red-haired beauty. The lucky stranger looked like a model, her cerulean off-the-shoulder dress something Elain would never have thought of wearing. It wasn’t overly revealing per se, but it seemed too sexy to be worn in public, more like a sleeved slip than an actual item of clothing. Her long, lean legs, so athletic they removed any doubt about her gym-goer routine, were accentuated by tight vintage boots, and every inch of exposed skin was covered in adorable freckles. Her manicured hands were resting on Azriel’s broad shoulders, halfway between the biceps and the deltoids, and their lips were united in a passionate kiss, decidedly more sensual than the one he and Elain had exchanged.

He's over me, was the first thought that crossed her mind when she saw the proof, but now she was spiralling into more self-deprecating ideas.

“I wasn’t enough,” she murmured, as she sat in the shade of her blooming magnolia. The petals of the flowers on the branches were beautiful, silky, fading from a deep pink at the base to the purest white at the tips, but the ones on the ground, the ones surrounding her, had already started to rot, an eyesore in contrast with the green and healthy grass.

In a fit of anger, or perhaps of newfound dignity, she deleted the photo along with all the others of Azriel she still had on her phone. There was no point in pining over someone who had dismissed her so quickly. For good measure, she also unfollowed him on social media, and deleted his number, to avoid asking for an explanation there really wasn’t any need for. He didn’t want her, and that should’ve been enough to move on.

[closingwaters]

TIMING: A few weeks ago

PARTIES: @recoveringdreamer @closingwaters

SUMMARY: Felix and Teagan hang out by the lake and have a heart to heart about their burdens. They find solace in each other.

WARNINGS: References to sibling death

“What a beaut of a day, aye?” Teagan chirped with a sigh, laying back on a boulder just over the lake. The sun was beaming and the clouds overhead were as thick as cotton candy. Speaking of which, Teagan had bought several bags from the grocery store. She shook one above Felix, trying to entice them into having a bite. If that didn’t work, she had an array of other snacks that they could both dig into as they enjoyed the rays. 

“You want some, or would you prefer something else? Alternatively, I could jump in the water and splash you.” Scrunching her nose, Teagan playfully nudged Felix with a slight push, careful not to scratch him with her claws. It was always easy to be in her true form, but it felt much more special when she could be herself around someone she trusted. Someone who could look her in the eyes without fear, without seeing the death that lay behind them. 

Teagan smiled, laying her head on Felix’s stomach to get settled in with her friend. There was much she wanted to talk about, and even more she wanted to express. “I’ve missed this. Have missed you. Been so distant after finding out…” She trailed off for a moment, inhaling sharply. “Who he is. But I think I’m a bit better now, actually. Even if I almost destroyed everything I’ve worked for.”

Things at the Grit Pit had been picking up lately. Spring was preparing to give way to summer, which would mean an influx of tourists and college kids coming home for a few months. The higher ups in the Pit wanted to be ready for it, wanted to entice larger crowds and higher payouts. It meant Felix was busy in preparation, ‘testing the waters’ so to speak with different fights and opponents. They wanted to know which beasts put up the best fight against Wildcat, wanted to see which matchups would inspire the most bets. The end result left Felix worn down and exhausted more often than not, and certainly in need of relaxation. 

This was a good way to go about it. Felix wasn’t much of a swimmer — their sister used to make jokes about cats and water, as if she wasn’t every bit a jaguar as Felix was even when she splashed around in the lake — but they liked sitting by the water. They liked it especially with Teagan, who always seemed more comfortable here than she did anywhere else. Some of that constant weight on her shoulders always seemed to lift a little on the shores of her lake, and Felix liked that. They thought she deserved that reprieve, even if she didn’t agree.

“Mmmm, I’m not really hungry now, but maybe in a little while. Did you bring those chips?” They flashed a grin, one that was brighter and more genuine than what most people were able to draw from the timid balam. With Teagan, it was far easier to relax. “Splashing might not be a bad idea, too, if it gets any warmer.” It wasn’t hot, really, but it was warmer than anything winter had given them, and the change was noticeable. 

They softened as Teagan continued, turning their head to look out at the lake. They knew she’d been having a rough time lately, an endless barrage of struggles. They wished she could have more of a break, have some happier times in between all the bad. “Better is good,” they said. “Hopefully you can… keep getting more better. I — I want that for you, you know?”

“Of course I brought those chips! I know your favorites.” The lilt in Teagan’s voice was friendly and bright, turning slightly into a wilt at the mention of hope. It was in passing, so easy to miss, but having seen her sister, anything such as an utterance made Teagan’s heart depress into itself. 

She sighed, “Want that for you too.” Slowly, and a bit reluctantly, the nix pulled herself away from Felix. She slid quietly into the lake, hoping the space would allow for comfort to fill it. “I…” The nymph’s practically fully-grown tail swished back and forth in the water. The ripples were small, at first. As Teagan continued to prattle on, they grew in speed and size. “Doing better now, yeah, but you know me. The past just…I hold onto it. Let it fester and fester, and then I’m questioning myself left and right.” 

Her brows cinched together and her eyes shut tightly, voice straining to release more of that truth. Likewise, her tail caused the ripples in the water to crash into shore. The sound was enough to force Teagan to focus and put a halt to her nervous movements. Well, at least one of them. She continued to bite the inside of her lip and run her hands through her hair, but those weren’t nearly as noisy as the lapping of her tail. After a moment, she finally took a steadying breath, honesty mixing with her grief.

“Almost drowned a hunter a couple of weeks ago. Parker—he…knowing who he is.” She clicked her tongue, sighing shakily. “Lost myself again. He fell into a trap and I thought I did the right thing, you know? I questioned him. I checked. I-I-I…” Teagan’s voice cracked and she gasped out her words for a moment before forcing herself to pause. There was no point in letting herself grow excited. She didn’t deserve sympathy for what she’d done. “I made sure he was a hunter first, but it still wasn’t right to do any of that—to hurt him. I know that now. Truly know it. Like how you wanted me to know it before, but I didn’t hold firm. I should have. I…”

Something warm swam in their chest at the simplicity with which she uttered the words. Of course I brought those chips! I know your favorites. As if Felix’s favorites were worth remembering, as if it mattered whether or not they got something they loved. It did to Teagan, they knew. Teagan would go to the store, would buy chips just because she knew Felix liked them. It wasn’t really the kind of thing Felix had experienced before or, at least, not in a long time. Not since their mother died, probably. They offered her a small smile. “You’re the best,” they said.

But they knew she wouldn’t believe it. It was written all over her face, the same way it always was. Teagan was kind and nice and caring, but she never saw that when she looked at herself. It was a common theme among so many of Felix’s friends. They were good people, but none of them thought so. Wasn’t that how it always seemed to go? Good people never thought they were good, and bad people never thought they were bad. The world was complicated and unsteady and no one knew how to keep their balance. 

They watched her as she spoke, kept an eye on her even if she didn’t seem quite ready to look back at them yet. It wasn’t entirely unexpected, her confession. Felix had seen how she was with the ranger she caught before, knew that she needed a lot more than someone like Felix sharing their experiences with her to give up on something she’d been holding onto all her life. They ached for her, ached with her. They thought of Parker, of how afraid they had been after their encounter with him. They understood what Teagan had been feeling; maybe part of them even understood the violence it brought with it.

“Nobody changes overnight,” they said quietly. “And — And if you almost drowned him, that means… you didn’t, right? That’s something, Teagan.” It was a huge step. So was the guilt she was feeling for it. Felix thought of their father, who had only ever stopped before delivering that killing blow if he wanted one of his children to do the ‘honors’ instead. He’d never seemed to feel guilty for the things he did. He’d never regretted it, never shown any interest in stopping even when Felix begged him to. “You… It’s a process. Right? It’s… You didn’t kill him. That has to mean something.”

There was bloodshed behind Felix’s eyes, even if they never spoke of it. They’d made a few confessions and their childhood became clear. The only reason Felix made it out as kind as they were was with their fingers curled into a fist. By no choice of their own. Having her own battles to fight, and more often begin, Teagan could see the raging sea behind Felix’s eyes. Their ship’s course set off to a war they did not start. But maybe, just maybe, they could see its end. Perhaps while holding the hand of someone who’d seen more than one war waged in their dangerous mind. 

“You say I’m the best like you’re not the one reassuring the murderer.” Teagan chuckled half-heartedly with a sniffle. “I think you’re the best.” She waded herself closer to Felix and the rock they were laying on. Her claws gently and carefully grazed over the scar on their face, eyes glancing over the several other nicks they had. For a few beats, Teagan wondered what Felix did to accrue so many marks. Each one had a story, and knowing their kind-hearted nature, she had a feeling there had to be a good reason for them. Though Teagan knew getting an answer about them would be just as easy as getting herself to let go of her grief. 

Still, for her friend, she wanted to try. 

“You really oughta tell me more about these.” She hovered a little longer, moving her hand to cup Felix’s cheek. “You don’t kill and you don’t like harming, but yet there’s so much harm on you.” Unlike Teagan, Felix looked for peace. If given the chance, they’d thrive in that kind of setting. She hoped being at the lake gave them that, even for a moment. Even if her presence didn’t allow for peace to fully exist. “Lucky to have you, you know that, right?” She sighed with a chuckle, energy slowly growing more present. “Wanna be more like you. There’s so much strength in your kindness. How do you do it when…” Teagan gestured to Felix’s scar. “You’ve got marks like these?”

It was a question she’d asked before, and the answer she got was vague while still providing comfort. That’s just how Felix operated. She hoped for more detail, to know her friend’s heart better. 

“Hey, come on. That’s my friend you’re talking about, you know?” They offered her a small smile, trying to reassure. Teagan only ever saw the worst in herself. Felix knew that. She looked in the mirror and hated the reflection that stared back at her, and maybe that was why it was so easy to defend her. Their father had never once thought of the things he’d done as shameful, had never looked as haunted as Teagan did now. He’d always believed it was his right to shed blood, and no amount of begging or pleading had ever convinced him otherwise. Had Felix begged for the lives of the humans their father cut down the same way he’d begged for that hunter in Teagan’s trap those months ago, they’d have received little more than a harsh word or a brutal slap. In no world could they imagine their father listening to them the way Teagan had, letting someone go because they asked. 

And so it meant something that Teagan had. It meant something that she was filled with so much regret for the things she’d done and the people she’d hurt. It meant something that she wanted to change, even if she was still struggling to achieve it. Nothing happened overnight, did it? If Teagan couldn’t be patient with herself, Felix would have that patience for her. They were good at that. It was so much easier to carry other people’s weight than it was to carry your own.

But, of course, they were significantly less good at letting other people shoulder their burden. Teagan’s hand ghosted over the raised skin of the scar on their face, and their throat felt tight. They remembered getting it, of course, remembered the desperate claw of a lamia scraping down the side of their head. They’d won the fight, the pain pushing them to shift more fully than they normally would have, and they didn’t know what happened to the lamia after. He never came back to the Pit, never fought in another match. Felix got a bonus after, Leo stating that he’d made sure Felix would ‘get a nice bit of extra cash’ for their brutality. 

They reached a hand up, taking hers gently and lowering it. How could they admit just how unkind they really were? Teagan killed hunters, and she hated herself for that. But wasn’t there something so much more sinister in hurting people who were like you? The blood on Felix’s hands so often belonged to other shifters. Wasn’t that the worse thing? Felix wouldn’t even be able to explain the bulk of it, was bound by their contract a thousand times over. (That scared them, too. Didn’t Teagan utilize binds? What if, in hearing about theirs, she only confirmed that it was their own fault they’d landed in such a situation?) 

“I don’t think you should want to be like me,” they admitted, shaking their head a little. “You’re a lot smarter than I am. That’s a pretty important thing to be in this town.” They tried to pretend she hadn’t asked about the rest of it, tried to pretend the conversation ended there. They’d never been particularly good at pretending.

A chuckle tumbled past Teagan’s lips, and she shook her head with amusement. Felix, always defending and fighting for everyone, but never themself. Well, save for when they didn’t take what Parker said laying down. But even that felt like a service. Parker had hurt so many people, preyed on supernatural beings that Felix befriended. When they stood up for themself, they stood up for several others. Teagan wondered if they’d ever take their power and use it for themself. They deserved that much. More, even.

“You know, mun, I don’t think it’s fair that you only listen to my arse.” She sighed into a wan chuckle, looking at their interwoven hands. Her stare grew teary and wanting, wishing for Felix to share anything that bore some sort of weight. They looked like they could topple over at any given moment. Whenever or if ever that happened, Teagan would want to be there, but they had to let her first. They had to let themself have worth. 

Because how could you truly give someone love when they wouldn’t accept everything that came with it? By the waves, if Teagan could do it, as she was doing right then, she knew that Felix could get there too. They just needed that urging, that safe space that could convince them of that, without a single doubt. And that would prove difficult, considering how full of them Felix was. 

 “Isn’t friendship about sharing? Like that one saying: sharing is caring.” She chuckled dryly, grazing her thumb over the back of Felix’s hand. “After everything, that’s what I’ve learned. We can’t do this alone.” Teagan sniffled, blinking what tears she could, but failed to get every single one. A few dropped onto their clasped hands, and with her thumb, she wiped them quickly away. “It’s a gift to share pain with someone you love, as crazy as that sounds. Because I understand wanting to hold it so close to your chest and never let it go. It hurts and it festers and it weighs you down. Why would you offer that freely to someone you love, right?” She swallowed, finally looking up to Felix with glassy eyes and a hopeful smile.

“Because it means you care about them enough to let them help you. It means you won’t let them suffer by watching you suffer. Does that make sense?”

“I like listening to you,” Felix insisted. It was true. They liked listening to Teagan, and didn’t Teagan deserve to be listened to? Hadn’t she lived her entire life in this haze of grief and tragedy, hadn’t she earned a reprieve from it even if that reprieve was as small and as insignificant as Felix’s listening ear? They weren’t good at much, weren’t good for much. God knew they knew that, had been reminded time and time and time again. They weren’t smart, weren’t good with people, didn’t understand even the barest basics of what it meant to act like a human being. But they could listen. They could do that, at least. And wasn’t that worth something? If that could make a difference, even a small one, wasn’t it their duty to do it?

In the beginning of their relationship with Leo, Felix had tried, sometimes, to be the one to talk. They’d tried opening up about how they felt, about how it ached, but Leo had always shut it down. Gently back then, in a way that made Felix feel taken care of even if they were no longer sure that had been the intention. You know other people have it way worse than you, right? Leo had asked once, his fingers in Felix’s hair on the heavy date that coincided with the anniversary of their mother’s death. Nobody likes someone who complains all the time, Fe. Everybody has problems, and yours aren’t that bad. And maybe Leo hadn’t had their best interests in mind, but hadn’t he been right about that? Plenty of people had lives far worse than Felix’s. Their mother died, their father wasn’t kind, but wasn’t that a story written a thousand times over? Hadn’t it existed since the beginning of time?

Other people had it worse, so it was Felix’s job to be there for them. To swallow their own grief, to stuff it down deep and make room to carry others’ instead. No one had ever carried Teagan before. Did it matter that no one had carried Felix, either? Teagan’s load was heavier. It should take priority. She should take priority. She deserved that much.

Still, the more she spoke, the more Felix wondered if they’d been doing something wrong all this time. They thought they’d understood how best to navigate friendship, thought they worked well as an anchor or an Atlas. Maybe they’d been wrong. Guilt festered in their chest, and they swallowed. “I just… It’s not really important. You know?” They were better as support. Their own problems were messy and brutal and entirely their own doing. Wouldn’t that have forfeited them any right to lean on someone else for them, even if they weren’t so small in comparison? What happened to Teagan hadn’t been her fault. What happened to Felix was. That was the difference, the stark contrast. They had no one to blame but themself.

The way Felix struggled internally was evident in how they began to carry something the nix couldn’t physically see. They hesitated and held their pain in their chest, windowing it so tightly that Teagan knew something would snap. Maybe not violently and maybe not visibly, but even the smallest wave had a build that came to a crash. She wondered who taught them to do such a thing to themself? Who shaped the voice in their head that put their worth at the bottom of their list of priorities? Certainly Felix’s father had given birth to it, but what or who had made it what it was now?

“Felix, look at me.” She smiled wanly, leaning her head forward to bonk her forehead to theirs. Not everyone was fond of touch, just like her sister wasn’t, but Teagan knew what Felix liked. By the waves, they had cuddled more than once, and she had run her hand through their hair countless times before. It felt good to do something other than stain her hands with blood, and even better, that affection was what they deserved. 

“I don’t know what happened or who told you that your thoughts weren’t as important as anyone else’s, but I’m here to tell you that they’re wrong.” She pulled herself back, planting a kiss on Felix's hands. “And you know, my sweet, I can’t lie without a very good and gagging tell.” Teagan scrunched her nose at that, attempting to add some sort of humor to an otherwise drab conversation. “I just…” She sniffled to herself, “I can’t be the only one talkin’. Can’t-can’t be the only one sharing. You’re gonna get so tired carrying all my mess. Lemme carry yours, too. You-you…” Her brows furrowed together, and she clicked her tongue. What were the right words? Did they need to be perfect for Felix to listen? Or did Teagan just need to lay out the truth in earnest with an air of love and understanding? Or maybe, and she was just taking a leap, maybe she just needed to try. As she always had. As she promised she would. 

“You matter to me. And I matter to you. Isn’t that what’s important here? I’m swimmin’ about, crying, because I was a murderer. Now, mind you, maybe I’m bringing about a change to that, but if a murderer can cry and get sympathy, I think anyone deserves to do the same.” Teagan pointed at Felix, pointing again and poking their chest. “Especially someone that’s good. Like you.”

She wanted them to look at her. It was such an easy request, such a simple thing. All they had to do was lift their head, raise their eyes. She wasn’t asking them to run a marathon, wasn’t asking them to climb a mountain. Teagan never asked anything difficult of Felix, never made requests so large that they were buried beneath them, and they knew that. So why, then, did this one feel impossible? Their neck was a toothpick, their head an anvil balanced precariously atop it. Part of them worried that if they tried to comply with her request, something was going to snap.

They lifted their eyes as much as they could, anyway, let their gaze settle on a spot in the water just behind her and pretended it was the same. This was Teagan, and she was asking. There was little Felix wouldn’t do to honor that. Because didn’t Teagan deserve it? Even if she thought she didn’t, even if she hated herself. Teagan deserved a better friend than Felix knew how to be, someone who was smarter and braver and better with people. Someone who could carry on a conversation without stammering or filling the silences between words with uhs and ums and ers, someone who wasn’t constantly crushed beneath mistakes too big to dig out from under. Teagan deserved all that, but what she had here was Felix. And Felix wasn’t enough.

“I don’t mind it,” they said quickly. “Carrying it for you, it’s — I want to be useful. I want to be good for something. You know? I don’t want to be — to be a burden, or something that… weighs you down. I’m lucky just to know you. I’m lucky you put up with all my…” They trailed off, gesturing vaguely at themself. Unconsciously, they were echoing words Leo had always told them. Felix hadn’t had a job during their relationship; Leo had scoffed at their early attempts to find one, had questioned who would hire someone without a high school diploma or any work history to speak of and no social skills to balance things out. He’d paid for everything, and he’d made Felix understand how exhausting that was. He’d made sure Felix knew how hard it was to put up with them continuously, to answer their questions and go along with their ignorance. They were lucky, he’d told them. They were lucky that he was kind.

And Teagan was kinder. Teagan never pointed out what a burden Felix was, never made sure they wouldn’t forget it. Teagan accepted them and cared about them and got nothing in return, so didn’t Felix owe her a listening ear? Wasn’t it their duty to carry the weight on her shoulders, to lessen it? They’d never really had friends before — Leo hadn’t liked when they tried to do that, either — but weren’t you supposed to take care of them? They could take care of Teagan. She did enough for them already. As selfish as it was, they didn’t want her to realize how uneven the playing field really was.

But… She was asking. Wasn’t she? She was asking, and she sounded genuine, and wouldn’t it be cruel to deny her that, too? It felt like a war was being waged in Felix’s head, the desire to keep themself light enough to be carried in someone else’s pocket fighting against the desire to grant Teagan what she wanted from them. She called herself a murderer, and Felix thought about that lamia who never came back to the Pit. They thought about the creatures whose bodies were tossed in the dumpster at the end of the night, or the fights they didn’t remember the endings of and the extra cash slipped into their enveloped payment after. Weren’t they something worse than a murderer? At least Teagan had a righteous cause in mind, as misguided as she might have been. Felix fought for the entertainment of rich men, killed to line the pockets of people already wealthy enough to retire. 

(Murderers went to prison, but rabid animals were put down. Felix had always known which description fit them better.)

“I’m not,” they said quietly, barely audible over the soft waves. “I’m not good, Teagan. I’m — I’m not.”

And there it was. A small, but obvious fissure in the wall that Felix had encased themself with. A cast to seal the wounds from their broken heart, signed away and lost to never be seen again. Somehow though, some way, it was delivered to Teagan, with the opportunity to unravel it completely. She wanted to reveal the truth of it all, get to the source of where Felix’s goodness came from. It didn’t matter if they didn’t believe, Teagan could see them for who they were. No matter the truth, the root of who Felix was, she’d understand and be ready for them. 

Because what was a friendship if it were one sided? Could she really call herself a friend if she let Felix continue on their selfless endeavor? No, not really. At least, in Teagan’s heart of hearts, she didn’t think so, and she wanted to be better. She promised she would be to two people who mattered most to her, subsequently making the same to everyone she called friend. There wasn’t much else to do but continue, even if Felix continued to evade.

“Never once have you weighed me down.” She reassured with a wry smile. “And never once have I…” Pulling her clawed hands up from the water, the nix made quotes with her fingers, “Put up with you. There’s no putting up with you. There’s just,” With a shrug, Teagan chuckled dryly, “Being with you and loving you, calon.” The term felt fitting, falling easily off of her tongue when she let herself speak freely. If anyone was of pure heart and strength, it was Felix, and she’d spend her days setting that into their beliefs if she needed to. 

“It’s about give and take, eh? So to speak.” She clicked her tongue and looked to the sky to think. “I know there’s something in that mind of yours.” A sigh escaped her, and she swallowed, “Something dark and painful, and if you could let it out, even just for me, I’d be grateful. I’d listen and I’d carry it with you. Just…” Teagan looked back to Felix, smiling a little more fully as tears of hope blurred them slightly. “Just let me be the judge of what I can and cannot carry. Let me decide, please. The waves know I’ve hardly let you with my jabbering. So please.” Playfully, she booped Felix’s nose, leaving a few droplets of the lake on their skin. “Jabber on.”

It was difficult, aligning what Teagan thought of them with what they were so sure was true about themself. There was some quiet guilt in that, some ache deep in their chest telling them that they were bad for not believing her, for not being able to see past the shadows they pretended didn’t lurk in the dark corners of their mind. But for years of their life, Felix had been in love with a man who told them things about themself. And they hadn’t known themself well enough to dispute what he’d said, hadn’t understood who they were enough to wonder if he was telling the truth. He said he loved them, and they believed him. He said that they were stupid, and a burden, and hard to be around, and they believed that, too. If one thing was true, the other had to be, too. And Felix had wanted, so desperately, to be loved.

So it was… confusing, in a way, talking to Teagan now. Because Teagan said she loved them, and they believed her. But everything else she said — that they were good, that they were easy to love, that they were nice to be around — felt contradictory to everything Felix thought was the truth. They wanted to believe her. They really did. But there was still blood staining their hands, and it didn’t always belong to people they were forced to hurt.

(They thought of Beau, of coming back to themself to find him on the ground with claw marks carved into his stomach and blood staining Felix’s skin. What if the same thing happened to Teagan?)

They worried their bottom lip between their teeth, and they wanted to give her what she was asking for. They really did. They wanted to tell her what was on their mind, wanted to reveal what was going on the same way they’d wanted to tell their father about it in the beginning. They wanted someone to tell them that it was okay, to tell them it wasn’t their fault. But… “There are a lot of things that I… can’t say.” Their contract locked them into a pointless kind of silence. It couldn’t be broken without consequence. “About… the scars. How I got them. It’s — I can’t talk about it.” Would she understand the implication? Did they want her to? Teagan was fae, too. She’d bound them once, even if she’d released them before anything came of it. What if she knew the truth and thought it was their fault after all? Could they handle that? Felix wasn’t sure.

Teagan’s shoulders dropped, and she let out a deflated, “Oh.” How horrible it must be to not only believe your worth to be so small that you had to carry all your burdens alone, but to also be forced into silence. By the waves, they must’ve felt at fault too. Binds were tricky and meant to undo the victim completely. This was something Teagan knew all too well. 

Having made countless binds herself, she’d seen the same grief in others as she saw in Felix’s eyes. It made her feel rotten inside, an acrid taste filming her tongue as she recalled a time that she had bound Felix to their words. It was petty and natural all at once, and yet it made Teagan feel sick that she had hurt them in the same way as this nameless enemy. She trembled with anger at the thought, but as she slid out of the lake and next to Felix, there was nothing but kindness in each movement. 

“I understand.” She muttered, “I’m sorry that’s happened to you.” Inching closer, Teagan leaned her head in, brushing her gills against Felix affectionately. “Let’s just be then for a while. Whatever bind you’ve got, you don’t have to deal with it alone. I’ll carry the burden with you and I’ll love you through the pain.” Taking a breath, Teagan steadied herself, breathing out a bit of hope. “And if there’s a way out, I’ll-I’ll help you get there. Okay?” Mismatched eyes met with Felix’s and she couldn’t help but wrap her arms around them. Hopefully they didn’t mind how soaked she was.

“So from now on, whatever wounds you get, come to me, okay? I’ll clean ya up and you can lay down knowing that you will be loved and cared for through it.” Again, Teagan sighed, “‘Cause a bind is a bind, and whatever you have to do because of it doesn’t change who you are. You’re still a good person. You’re still my good friend.” Squeezing Felix one last time, Teagan loosened her embrace and leaned back. Tears brimmed her eyes, but she offered a loving smile regardless. “‘Preciate you telling me what you can, calon. Really.” She sniffled, “Why don’t we enjoy the rest of the day though, eh? Seems like we both need it quite a bit.”

She understood, even without Felix saying anything specific. The judgment they had expected didn’t come, and there was relief in that, but… There was something else underneath it, too. Guilt, maybe, that they were escaping judgment they knew they deserved. After all, weren’t the people they hurt still hurt? Weren’t all of them bound just as surely as Felix? There was blood on their hands, and no one seemed to care. No one was ready to hold them accountable for it. At the Grit Pit, they were congratulated for their brutality. Outside of it, they were comforted. When would they be punished for their wrongdoing? How long would they continue to escape what they deserved? 

It was selfish, the way they leaned into Teagan as she exited the water and slid up next to them. They didn’t deserve any of the kindness she offered and they knew it, but they wanted that comfort so badly. They wanted what they had wanted since they were fourteen years old — for someone to tell them that everything would be okay and mean it, for comfort that wasn’t coated in a thin layer of violence. At fourteen, they’d deserved that. But now? They knew they’d forfeited the right. 

“It was my fault,” they said quietly, because it needed saying. Felix had known they were signing their life away. They’d understood they were doing something that couldn’t be undone. And they’d done it anyway, because they’d loved someone and they’d been naive enough to believe it meant something. “I — I don’t think there’s a way out. Not one I’d want to take.” The only way out was to bring someone else in, and Felix wasn’t sure they could forgive themself for that. Not when they knew precisely how the Pit operated, not when they understood intimately just how bad things could get. If they weren’t damned by what they’d done, the act of forcing someone else to do the same would take any shot of redemption they had left. They knew that.

They leaned into Teagan a little more, aching with how little they deserved what she was offering to them. To be loved as their wounds were cleaned, and to know they’d gotten those wounds by giving worse ones to someone else… It was a disgusting thing, wasn’t it? More disgusting still was the way they nodded, the way they agreed. “Okay,” they whispered. They would come to her, and she would help them, and they wouldn’t deserve any of it. It hurt to know. “Yeah. Let’s relax. Um, how are the… lake animals doing?” They sniffled a little, offering Teagan a watery smile.

[harmonyhealinghub]

The Chilling Effect of the Polar Vortex: A Winter Phenomenon Strikes Regina, Saskatchewan, and Beyond

Shaina Tranquilino

January 20, 2024

As winter settles in across the Northern Hemisphere, intense cold snaps and frosty weather systems are not uncommon. However, every few years, a particularly extreme weather event occurs that captures headlines worldwide – the polar vortex. Recently, this frigid phenomenon has unleashed its icy grip on numerous regions, including Regina, Saskatchewan in Canada. In this blog post, we will explore what exactly the polar vortex is, how it affects our lives, and why it's important to understand this chilling meteorological occurrence.

Understanding the Polar Vortex:

The polar vortex is an area of low pressure situated near the Earth's poles. It is characterized by strong winds circulating counterclockwise around a center of extremely cold air. These winds form a tight spiral pattern high up in the atmosphere known as the jet stream.

Normally confined to the Arctic region during winter months, occasionally these powerful winds weaken or shift southward due to complex atmospheric dynamics. This results in a sudden intrusion of bitterly cold arctic air into lower latitudes — a phenomenon experts refer to as a "polar outbreak" or "polar vortex event."

The Impact on Regina and Beyond:

Regina, located in central Canada's prairies and often referred to as one of the coldest cities in the country, experienced firsthand the brutal effects of the polar vortex. As temperatures plummeted well below freezing point (reaching as low as -50°C), everyday life ground to a halt. Transportation was disrupted or delayed, and residents were advised to stay indoors unless absolutely necessary.

But Regina wasn't alone; other parts of North America also fell under the influence of this winter nightmare. States such as Texas faced unprecedented snowfall and record-breaking low temperatures that crippled infrastructure unprepared for extreme winter conditions. Similarly, Europe witnessed heavy snowfalls and sub-zero temperatures, causing travel chaos and affecting millions of people.

Coping with the Vortex:

During a polar vortex event, it is crucial to prioritize safety and take appropriate measures to protect oneself from the extreme cold. Staying indoors, dressing in layers, ensuring adequate heating, and avoiding unnecessary exposure are all vital precautions. Furthermore, maintaining communication with neighbours, especially vulnerable individuals such as the elderly or those without proper shelter, becomes essential.

Understanding Climate Change's Role:

While it may seem counterintuitive that global warming could cause severe cold spells like the polar vortex event, climate change plays a role in its occurrence. The melting Arctic ice due to rising global temperatures weakens the jet stream, causing it to become wavier and allowing frigid air masses to escape the poles more frequently. As a result, these events can intensify due to climate change but remain sporadic and unpredictable.

The recent polar vortex event has left Regina and various parts of the world shivering in an icy grip. Understanding this meteorological phenomenon helps us recognize its impact on our daily lives while appreciating the importance of preparedness during such extreme weather events. By taking necessary precautions and fostering community support, we can navigate through these frosty times together until warmer days return.

Note: It is important to keep up with local news sources and official guidelines regarding any current or future polar vortex events for accurate information and safety instructions in your specific region.

[hunkyhair-my-beloved]

Do you think that each wanderling sings a different song?

Like I know that Flori isn’t allowed in the wanderling woods because she’s not an elf but if she was allowed in there imagine how many melodies she would hear.

The trees of ancients sing about foundations, fallen kingdoms, rulers who were doomed from the beginning and warriors whose blades were always going to break no matter how strong or brittle they were. The ruins of what was once life. The first spring after winter and the last breath before death. Eternal summer and mournful bloodshed. Being closer to 10,000 than to being a child yet never actually having been one mentally. Being born to fix a cruel world so that future children could be innocent.

Jolie’s tree sings of betrayal, and bitterness being at the root of sweetness. It’s weeps of being torn between worlds, shifting realities, new perspectives and unearthing ones that have been so meticulously stored away so that the real world will never be truly known. Hating the way you love someone and loving the way they would never hate you, dancing with your hands intertwined despite the floor being on fire. Clinging onto your love for dear life, knee deep in their lies, but it doesn’t matter because you’ll never finish falling in love with them.

There’s the tree of a child who never got to experience growing up, fading away in a light leaping accident after taking his Nexus off. His tree sings of wanting to go home, the gentle breeze that moves your curtains as it enters through your window, being sent home when you feel sick at school and shoving your friends aside to swallow their bubble of flavoured air. Grass stains on your knees and muddy tunics—both being the result of a particularly rule breaking game of bramble—being carried up to bed by your dad and being hugged to sleep by your mother, eternally in her arms in that moment and forever.

Kenric’s tree sings of lies being nestled in power, doomed romances, falling apart to hold the world together and never letting people know the real world. The fear that comes with authority and burden that comes with change. Lies, lies, lies, secrets that no one was supposed to know, lack of trust, ulterior motives, dancing in the rain and love still thriving despite all the forces being against it. Warm smiles and even warmer days, the sensation of cool water on you skin, timeless naps on opens fields which seem to go on forever. The life you never got to live and all the things you never said. Shared secrets and an eternal longing.

Sophie’s tree sings of change, being given a role that is a burden to fill, forever unanswered questions, having the weight of the world crushing your shoulders and finding people to help distribute it. Never knowing who you truly are, resilience, perseverance, the pain of what has happened and the ache of what never will. It sings of found family, growing up too quickly, the melancholy feeling that late night car drives home from the airport have and feeling like you never actually belong. The way the sun shines through the hospital window while having your wounds treated, casting light upon pain to show that your suffering will not be forgotten by the sun. The trauma that comes with power. Guilt.

I like to think that Sophie can hear the songs as well, her strong telepathy allowing her to reach out and listen. She cannot hear other plants but wanderlings are different, their DNA is laced with a strand that holds what used to have a mind and conscious, it makes their songs listenable to Sophie. Forkle can listen too, and maybe, sometimes, he goes and listens to his brother.

Whenever Dex feels sad Sophie brings him to the Wanderling Woods and describes to him what his tree sings of. Hands laced together, thumbs tracing patterns on each others palms, she tells him how it sings of loyalty and creativity, treating others as equals despite being looked down upon and showering the people you love with outmost kindness because you never had friends who did that to you. Humble beginnings paired with perseverance, the determination to become better, to prove that you are worth even the bare minimum, to show what you are capable of.

On the rare occasion that Flori has time to herself she sometimes burrows under the woods, sitting amidst the tangled roots and listening to their songs.

[fwl22]

Autumn Letter, 2004

Outside the rain falls in sheets, waving in the wind like sails over a blustery ocean, like mist moving over a mountain pass.  It is cold just to look at the steel gray sky and the dark shadows in the forest.  The season seeps into the house through the cracks and spaces around the windows and doors.  We go on fire watch to keep the embers glowing in the salone upstairs.  It’s for the guests we say, but since there are no guests these dark autumn days it is clear that we just want to keep the house warm.

The weather moved through the year like a giant descending stairs.  Summer lingered into October before we dropped off into a mild fall and now we plunge unceremoniously into winter.  Three weeks ago we were in shirt sleeves in the garden and today the winter coats are out and buttoned up against the unrelenting rain. 

The olive oil production is in full swing.  The frantoio has been in motion day and night as the freshly picked olives have to go into the mill as soon as possible.  The 24 hour work will continue for almost another 3 weeks.  There is a good chance that after a break for Christmas the work will continue into the new year.  The olives this year are small but the oil production is normal by weight, and the olives are plentiful, so output is high.  My brother in law Giovanni has had to purchase a number of extra containers to hold the oil.

The grapes this year were beautiful, and the wine also has a lovely color.  We harvested the first Sunday in October and people are drinking the vino novello this week.  The young wine is a traditional thing here, a process probably related somehow to the Beaujolais noveau.  But here at Canneto there is no forced fermentation, just a regular fermentation in a warmer climate, thus the process goes a bit faster than in more northern climes.  And the wine is not a true novello but rather just “new”.  While most wine has an alcohol level of 12.5% to 14% by volume, at Canneto the level is usually around 11% or 12% maximum.  This results, as one guest so aptly put it, in the “reedy” taste – a distinctive thinness and light aroma.  

Last year, when the weather was so hot and dry, the grape harvest was very small, but those grapes were full of natural sugars, and the concentration of the juice produced the best wine ever made at Canneto, with an alcohol level of 13% and slightly higher.  In the end there was probably less than 700 liters of 2003 vintage wine produced, while in 2004 the amount is more than 2000 liters.

There is a wonderful verb in Italian intendere, which in its intransitive form means to be knowledgeable or to be an expert.  So most everyone begins their comments on wine or olive oil here with Non mi intendo…. or I’m not an expert….  Speaking to the straniero (foreigner) though, brings out a lot of the experience and local knowledge of the men and women who grew up on and have worked the land.

So it was on a Sunday a week or so ago that our babysitter Bruna had me pick some mushrooms that were growing under the olive trees.  There were only 3 or 4, but she prepared them for my dinner.  “It would be shame to leave them,” she said, and Paolo and I shared the freshness and the taste of the musty earth (sautéed in delicious olive oil, of course).

The truth is that Canneto has always been a place known for making olive oil while the wine has historically been pretty awful.  Part of this has to do with the geography – Canneto sits on the northeastern slope of the Val Bisenzio and thus get very little morning sun.  The afternoon sun, then, seems more filtered and less direct than the morning light.  Nothing is irrigated here.  If it is a wet year then the vines are over watered, if it is dry they suffer.  (Last year (2003) was so dry that many of the large vineyards and farms had to water their crops to save the plants and the harvest.)

By asking, one discovers that Canneto became the property of Paolo Rucellai, the second son of the first Rucellai owner, Giovanni.  Giovanni’s mother brought the property to the family as part of her wedding dowry in 1759.  Paolo was a gentleman farmer and a bachelor uncle.  Canneto was then a working farm with at least three tenant families.  When Paolo was not hanging out at the seaside, at the palazzo in Florence, he would be with his fattore or foreman dealing with the business of running the large estate.  The villa here, as was the villa in Campi Bisenzio at the time, was not a place to live for long periods of time, and certainly not hospitable in the winter.  It was a summer residence or even a spring and autumn residence, and a kind of hunting lodge.  

When he reached the age when he no longer wanted to take care of the place Paolo announced to the family that he would sell the place.  The property was his retirement fund.  Paolo’s younger brother Cosimo and his wife, Editta, had come to love Canneto, and they arranged to buy the estate with annual installments beginning in 1906.  Paolo, seen in photographs from the time appears as either the slightly unrefined farmer uncle, or a kind of druid old man, in bathrobe with a long beard while at the beach at Forte dei Marmi.

Cosimo and Editta, or Edith as she was christened in Newport, Rhode Island in 1861, began to spend time here in the first decade of the 20th century.  After assuming ownership Edith began to transform the Villa into a more hospitable residence and its gardens into a more modern style, probably something between Edwardian and Tuscan.  

One has to remember that this was a very progressive period, although we don’t commonly think of it as such.  Edith Bronson was the daughter of very wealthy American parents who had spent all of her youth traveling between the US and Europe, settling with her mother in Venice where she really grew up.  Her father died in a sanitarium in France from tuberculosis and other malaties and is recalled as a loving, but somewhat sickly figure that remained at the edges of his wife and daughter’s life.  His family was an important one from New York and his father was a congressman, a US senator, and finally the postmaster general of the state for 25 years.  A Civil War officer, he kept his life and his title of Colonel.  Edith’s mother was Katherine DeKay Bronson, also from an old New York family with close ties back to the old country in Holland.  The Bronson’s had a house at Castle Hill in Newport, Rhode Island and had sold it long before the Vanderbilts and Rockefellers had built their mansions.  A painting of that house in Newport is on the wall in the dining room at Canneto as part of the wall paintings commissioned by Edith.  Katherine De Kay was a Victorian woman, definitely a powerful and well educated woman, and she is perhaps best remembered for having been one of Robert Browning’s closest acquaintances in the years after the death of his wife, Elizabeth Barrett Browning.  She rented a palazzo in Venice where she was part of the expatriate artist social scene of the city, hosting parties and guests with famous names – writers, composers, painters, poets, singers, and the generally famous people who would make the Grand Tour.  As the daughter of an outgoing, social woman, Edith was considered quiet and reserved.

Cosimo Rucellai for his part was the son of Giovanni, the eldest son of the original Rucellai owner of Canneto.  Cosimo was the primary assistant to the admiral in command of the Venetian naval base and met Edith through the intermingling of the high society of Venice with the high society of the American and English society in Venice.  Edith was fluent not only in Italian, French, German and a little Dutch, but she also spoke and wrote in the Venetian dialect which she had learned along with her mother.  The elders on either side of the couple were skeptical of the match, and letters of Henry James to Katherine De Kay reveal the period as the couple convinced everyone that they were in love.  

After the marriage, Cosimo was awarded command of a ship in the Adriatic.  He was first stationed in Taranto in Puglia, and then at Ancona.  Edith stayed, first in Venice and then in Ancona with their daughter, Nannina, born in 1896, and first son Bencivenni, born in 1897. Edith suffered through the mumps in Ancona, and when later she became pregnant with second son Bernardo, they decided to go back to Florence and be together.  Cosimo resigned his commission and turned his attentions to the work of a gentleman farmer. 

Ultimately the family moved into the villa in Campi Bisenzio, at that point a mostly abandoned house on a large farm that Cosimo’s father referred to as “frog infested”.  Cosimo and Edith threw themselves into making the place modern, livable and helping the neighboring contadini, or tenant farmers to improve their lives.  They built a school and a medical clinic and they established a number of workshops for training people in the local arts and crafts, such as basket weaving, tool making and embroidery work.  It is no wonder that the family was instrumental 3 generations later in creating a museum to honor the straw weaving which became so famous – making the original “panama” hat and countless other items in a tight weave – in the neighboring town of Signa.  The Villa was modernized and the family, now with four kids as of 1903, spent most of the year in Campi, just a 40 minute to an hour carriage ride to the Palazzo Rucellai in Florence.

Cosimo studied modern farming methods and worked hard to introduce new ideas to the very traditional contadini at Campi.  With the acquisition of Canneto, he immediately brought his fattore from Campi Bisenzio to help organize the work of the land at Canneto.  This man was an expert in trees and especially fruit trees, and he is responsible for much of the planting of fruit trees on the property.  This man and his son continued to work as fattore for Cosimo’s youngest son (born in 1903) Giangiulio at Canneto and retired here, where his granddaughter still lives, next to the Villa in the village of Canneto.  It is easy to see the signature of their work by comparing the trees at the Villa in Campi Bisenzio to those at Canneto.  The same trees surround both houses.  This is also the reason there are so many pear, cherry, fig, apricot, plum and persimmon trees.

Antonio Mori, the original foreman’s son was not interested in wine or grapes, he was paid to take care of olive trees, and so the small vineyard at Canneto received the minimum care, and the local farmers made the wine in the traditional methods.  My father in law Paolo tells how when he began to come to Canneto in the late 1940s it was well known that one should carry his own wine because the vino locale was undrinkable.

In the late 1970’s Paolo Piqué’s sons Giovanni and Lorenzo began to replant the vineyard, which represents less than an acre of land.  The ancient and sick vines were replaced with two local varietals that tend to do well in the regional climate – Sangiovese, the red or nero grape, and Trebbiano, the white grape.  There is also a small percentage of a vine called Uva fragola, or strawberry grape, a vine that produces both red and white grapes together that have a distinct aroma of strawberry.  The new plantings gained steam after 1985 when a terrible and long freeze destroyed a huge number of vines and olive trees.  Now these 15 to 20 year old vines are beginning to show a great improvement in the quality of the wine produced.

As part of the agricultural association of Prato the farm has access to expert advice and the enologist and vinicultural counselor (my term) upon tasting the 2003 wine (a man who knows the vineyard, this is) recommended to my brothers in law to put the wine away and not drink it.  “This way,” he continued, “if in the future anyone ever wants to know if you can produce good wine here, you can open a bottle of this.”  And, in fact, we put away all of this small production for the family.

Luckily the production for 2004 is normal and the grapes were lovely and healthy.  While we do not thin the fruit in the summer to give room for larger, more robust grapes, Giovanni has been improving the vines and taking better control of the pests (wild boar, deer, hare and pheasants more than bugs) and the quality of the harvest is definitely improving along with the maturity of the plants.  The 2004 wine has aspects that would seem to bode well for improvement over time, a statement in and of itself that seems amazing to make about wine from Canneto.

The fact is that the really awful but large harvest of 2002 (a wet, wet year with lots of ugly grapes) has produced a wine that after 14 months or so is a very mellow and delightful table wine, just perfect for our purposes of drinking everyday with lunch.  I don’t pretend to know anymore than the fact that this was an intolerable wine throughout all of 2003 and most of 2004, but now I actually like it.  Or maybe it has killed my taste buds…  The other fact to note is that Cannetani wine is typically low in alcohol, around 11% by volume.  The 2003 comes in around 12% while the 2002 is about 10.5%.  When you drink a bottle of wine made elsewhere, one must be aware of the consequences.

Tuscany has an area the size of Death Valley National Park, and every little area in Tuscany is full of still very fresh local knowledge of the land, the geography and how nature interacts with weather and season.  Many people have told me this year how traditionally, in the past generation, the time for picking the olives did not begin until the first days of December.  Now the picking can begin as early as the first week of October and the oil making can begin shortly after.  Still the idea is to pick the olives when there is a good mix between the dark, mature olives and the green immature olives in order to produce a well balanced oil.

The terrible freeze of 1985 lasted for three weeks with a low temperature of -22°C during one long overnight that killed hundreds of trees.  The olives all over Tuscany suffered dreadfully, and one can still see where the dead trees have come back to life in the form of three or four new trunks growing out of the “dead” stump.  But many trees were completely lost, and at Canneto hundreds of new trees were planted.  Now there are over 1000 trees on the property, but this is still very small for production standards, and certainly far fewer trees than are encompassed by the confines of what used to make up the estate.

Of the huge estate that Cosimo and Edith purchased almost 100 years ago, only 40 hectares remain, or about 100 acres.  By 1909 they had moved the family to the palazzo in Florence as their principal home, maintaining the villas in Campi and Canneto, and in 1915 bought a house in Forte dei Marmi that they had long rented for the summers.  Cosimo occupied himself with the farms and the farm families and Edith continued in a tireless series of progressive works to create organizations to help pregnant women, educate poor and underprivileged children and provide health care and education to contadini in Canneto and Campi Bisenzio.  Their oldest son died of Spanish fever in 1917 while serving as an ambulance driver in the Italian Army in the Great War.  The property passed to their youngest son, Giovanni Giulio (Giangiulo) (the middle son, Bernardo or Nado, inherited the title of Count and the Villa in Campi).  Nado also served in the Great War and was wounded on the northern front, and most likely forever scarred by the tremendous suffering and cruelty he had witnessed. Giangiulio married Teresa Higginson of Lennox, Massachusetts in 1925.  They eventually moved to Canneto and completed the work begun by Cosimo and Edith of making the house into a home.

Over 1000 olive trees grow on the various terraces of the 4 or so acres that is the orchard or olivetto.  The orchard is divided into sections that are tended by men with whom the family divides the oil produced from the trees in that section.  The oil is measured by weight.  My chemist wife reminds me that oil is lighter than water, therefore 5 liters of oil is less than 5 kilograms.  If a man harvests 40 quintali (20 metric tons, or 20,000 kilos) of olives, and the olives produce oil at a rate of 13% of their weight, the result is 2600 kilos of oil.  In the wet year of 2002, the family’s 50% take of oil was about 4500 kilos, while in 2003, the result was way less than a fourth of that.

The term extra virgin olive oil refers to oil that has less than 0.5% acidity.  Virgin olive oil refers to oil with less than 1% acidity.  Anything else, by the laws in Italy, is referred to as “olive oil”.  In Italy, after olive oil, there is not a large selection of other oils to be found for cooking or dressing foods.  What in the US is labeled as vegetable oil is referred to as “seed oil”.  Sunflower seeds are the main ingredient in seed oil.  In addition, the designation of “first pressing” or “second pressing” seem to be inventions of marketing people as in the frantoio the olives are ground up and then crushed by the big stone wheels (“pressed”) and then a large centrifuge and many filters extract the oil from the “other stuff”.  The other stuff (sansa) is then taken away where if treated with chemicals can produce more oil for industrial purposes.  The two things that damage and spoil the oil are air and heat.  Thus comes the term “cold press” indicating that very little heat is used to improve the amount of oil extracted.  While the press itself is cold, the temperature in the centrifuge is carefully controlled and regulated by law to give certain distinctions and classifications.  In general, in Italy, there is extra virgin olive oil and then there is everything else.  New oil is used for conditioning food, old oil is used for cooking.  Seed oil is used for deep frying.

After the dry year of 2003 the real recovery was in the fruit trees.  The work of the old fattore still goes on in the form of any number of pear, apricot, plum, cherry, fig and lemon trees.  The pears were plentiful this year, and we had to work hard to clean up after the birds.  After we could pick our fill, the birds came and cleared out the rest.  The plums were small buy many this year, and the apricots were delicious after having not produced any last year.  We canned apricot preserves as well as plum and fig.

There was a lot of attention focused on the elections in the US.  The accepted truth here is that the President of the United States is, in effect, president of everyone, or, at least, is the commander-in-chief of the largest and best outfitted military force in the world.  And, as is the case throughout the world, there is a lot of anger and disillusionment about a man and a government that could have so forcefully and precipitously, with bullying, lying, and bravado, led us into a very ugly war in the name of making the world safer, etc.  Many, many times conversations were begun with, “well, after there is a new president….” and I had to correct that Mr. Bush’s re-election would not be based much on foreign policy.  But the vagaries of politics, or the continuing demolition of politics in the United States aside, the strong public opinion remains that this was a referendum on the war.

To the contrary, the vote was a referendum on the United States and its people.  Typically citizens in other lands recognize that our political leaders seldom reflect who we are entirely.  And in a place like Italy, the locals often are able to get a clear impression of what various foreign people are like by being able to meet them and talk with them.  Tourists in Tuscany, while fewer than ever in the past 20 years, are still many, and it is common for the locals to have impressions based on these kinds of interactions.  In general, Americans are known for kindness, generosity and ingenuity.  On a negative side they are often considered to be ignorant of culture and arrogant of customs and insensitive to local ways.  But the point would be that traditionally the Americans have managed to get rid of leaders who are seen to be bad.

This year, however, the worm has turned, and to be American is no longer viewed as a good thing.  The re-election of the President has only confirmed that Europe cannot trust the American people to do what they (Europe) view as the right thing.  While European journalists have long been pointing out to their readers in very popular journals the corrupt nature of the Bush administration, the American press spends far more time on the dangers of the low-carb diet.  While Europeans seem to be able to vote their popular opinions into action, the Americans do not (Mr. Berlusconi notwithstanding).

Therefore it is not too surprising to see institutions and organizations in Europe that have had the name “American” in their title changing their names or removing the offending word.  The American International School of Florence is now called the International School.  The American Language Institute becomes the Foreign Language Institute.

Of course, more worrisome is the decline of the US dollar.  While this remains something that doesn’t affect many in the US itself, it is a source of great concern for the rest of the world.  You have seen gas prices rise.  But does anyone notice how no one is investing in the US?  It is certainly obvious that the President is not worried about this trend, but the negative effects for many sectors of the US economy, not to mention the economies of South America, Europe and parts of Asia are scary.  

But as somebody said the other day, it always seems that the US government can make the markets move like a puppeteer with his puppets, and when they want the dollar to be stronger, when it no longer serves them that it is weak, they will make it rise.  What can one believe?

In the end we will survive this.  Even if the world markets collapse and depression ensues, we will survive.  It won’t be as much fun, and we’ll finally have to give up those sport utility vehicles (perhaps cars altogether), but we’ll make it.  After all we survived eight years of Ronald Reagan and company followed by 4 years of Bush the father.  The “scandals” of Mr. Clinton didn’t ruin us.  Somewhere in history there was a President Taft and a President Harding.  There was a President Grant, too.

Tommaso only complains that he wants to go outside and ride his bike.  No matter that it might be dark and raining and freezing cold.  No matter that the frantoio is busy and the trucks and cars drive the narrow road churning up the gravel and mud.  The steam collects on the window in front of the big pot of water boiling for the pasta.  Perhaps some soup tonight instead for me.  Then a bath for the kids and we can fall asleep to the sound of men’s voices and olives falling by the bushel into the stainless steel scale, a sound like a hard rain on a tin roof, and wake up to the rumble of the stone wheels grinding the pulp and pits into an oily paste.

Canneto, November, 2004

[melanielocke]

The Stars Collide - Chapter 34

I'm so sorry for the long wait, but here is the next chapter. I wrote it this morning, I haven't worked on this in a while but I intend to finish it. This story has no spoilers for Chain of Thorns and I've kept the name Rostam for the baby here because it would be weird to change it mid story.

In the end, Alastair pulled Rostam into bed with him, holding his little brother in his arms. It was an odd experience, Alastair was not so used to touching people and he hadn’t met Rostam before today. But he had to acknowledge it was simply too cold in here, and it had only gotten colder. This way, they could pile on all the blankets over the both of them, and they could keep each other warm. Rostam might die otherwise.

He was surprised to find that Rostam didn’t mind it so much. Alastair felt like a stranger to his little brother, but showing him a couple of memories with penguins in them had quickly won him over. Rostam was a lot like him, he guessed. When he was interested in something, he went all the way. Right now, for Rostam that was penguins.

The next day, Alastair was called away for more experiments. He wrapped Rostam in all the blankets they had.

‘Stay on the bed,’ Alastair said. ‘It’s warmer from us sleeping in it.’

Alastair knew it was unlikely he’d made any progress convincing the guard to help, but Grace at least seemed to oppose kidnapping a child. Grace was still wearing a wool coat when he saw her and in it she was shivering.

‘It’s far too cold where we’re kept,’ Alastair said. ‘We need warmer blankets, winter hats, scarves and the like.’

Grace said nothing.

‘Unless you want me to freeze to death,’ Alastair added. ‘I’m doing everything I can to make sure Rostam stays warm, if either of us is going to die from the cold it’s me. You still need me.’

Grace turned to the guard. ‘Bring whatever you can scavenge to keep them warm to the prison cell.’

The guard left the two of them alone and Alastair sat down in the machine’s chair.

‘I’m going to need you to access your own memory while we read,’ Grace said.

‘Of course,’ Alastair said.

He hoped Grace had no clue what he was doing when he slipped back into her mind. It was difficult to navigate, but she had said something that implied the existence of given powers in the Edom empire rather than born like his and he searched something related to that.

What he found was a lab that looked very different from the ones he was used to. The windows looked out into outer space, a planet visible in the distance. This was a spaceship or a satellite. There were scientists in white lab coats walking around. And children, many children. Grace was one of them, guided there by Tatiana who was now her mother.

‘For my daughter, I want the power over men,’ Tatiana told one of the scientists.

‘We’ve been developing a set of stimuli that should produce such a result,’ the scientist said. ‘But I must say that results can be unpredictable. The problem is the lack of natural born power. We think copying might be easier than producing from nothing, but we have nothing.’

It made no sense. Edom conquered planets on the regular, so how come they didn’t find any magic subjects there? Alastair had heard that they had no natural born magic there, but he’d assumed that was only the people born under Edom rule.

‘Are there no planets in the empire that have magic?’ Tatiana said. ‘I was not born here, you see. I never had magic of my own, but where I was from there were many people with powers.’

‘When a planet is conquered by Edom, its natural born magic users all lose their powers,’ the scientist said. ‘No one understands why. Outside our empire, it has proven impossible to take powers away, and yet here it happens without anyone trying. The best we can do is artificial power.’

Hadn’t Grace said something about how they would never take his power away? He guessed that was the second thing the scientist referred to, non Edom researchers had never been able to take magic away. But if that was the case, then how come everyone in Edom lost their powers once they were part of the empire?

‘It is no different than natural born, is it?’ Tatiana said. ‘At least this way you can influence what magic someone gets.’

‘That is true,’ the scientist said. ‘It is not quite like natural magic. You say you’re not from Edom, milady. Did you know natural magic users where you’re from?’

‘I knew a witch,’ Tatiana said. ‘Horrible woman. She and her husband turned my family against me until I had no choice but to run. But the emperor has promised me we would have revenge. One day, Fair will fall to Edom.’

That was worrying. Based on Grace’ age, this had been years ago and Alastair had no clue if Tatiana had any swaying power within the Edom empire. But if the emperor himself had made her any promises, they had to be close. He could hardly imagine what would happen if Fair and their allies were to fall. It seemed like Alastair would lose his powers if that happened. And what about his friends, his family? He doubted the Fairchild family would survive if Edom took over. And what of Thomas?

The memory showed Grace undergoing weeks of experiments until her new powers stuck. It looked horrifying, and considering everyone undergoing the experiments was very young he presumed it only worked on children. He worried for Rostam. Would they try to give him powers too? He did not think Rostam had any, but this was not worth it. This was horrible child abuse.

The memory sped up to Grace first using her power on men Tatiana deemed low enough to experiment on. Poor men, conquered men. Why only men, Alastair wasn’t sure. The most powerful person in Fair was a woman, but he’d heard Edom was far more misogynistic than the Seven Planets. It made him wonder why Tatiana had fled there. If anyone decided he was guilty of murdering Charles, he certainly wouldn’t flee to a place that oppressed gay people.

Perhaps Tatiana feared Grace might turn her power on her mother if she could. After all, Grace was a child whose parents had been killed by the people Tatiana supported. He didn’t know how Grace felt about her exactly, but Alastair could see her turning against her mother. Perhaps all she needed was a push. Alastair knew all about hating a parent so badly it poisoned you. And he knew sometimes it was best to cut off that person completely. He’d only been able to start processing his father with Thomas, when he was safe and not trying to survive every day.

The men did everything Grace asked of them. They gave her gifts, expressed their love to her. It was horrifying. Grace was twelve at oldest, and it wasn’t her fault she had these gifts. Her mother was making grown men desire her. And then the men died. Every single one of them, usually within several hours of Grace first controlling them.

He returned to the present, with Grace staring angrily at him. ‘What were you doing in my head?’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Alastair said evenly.

‘Don’t play dumb,’ Grace said. ‘I had the reading tuned in to better tell me what your power was doing, and it showed me you were revisiting another’s memory. I’m the only person in the room.’

‘For your information, I can reach farther than that ever since you first enhanced my power,’ Alastair said. ‘And I used to be unable to visit another’s memory without them being there with me.’

‘We enhanced you a lot,’ Grace said. ‘The scientists of Edom once claimed that artificial power is as good as natural. But I can enhance your natural power to things that have never been seen. And once we progress some more, we can harvest and sell it and you will never lose what you can do.’

‘Except if you were to take me to Edom,’ Alastair said. ‘I’d lose my power there. Why?’

‘No one knows,’ Grace said. She paused.

Alastair suspected she did have her ideas. He wasn’t sure if he could coax it out of her, and it was not the most relevant right now.

‘So because of that, you instead set up your research here,’ Alastair said. ‘It seems awfully complicated, having to build a lab underwater, but if you wanted to experiment on people with natural magic, you need to do it here. And you need access to someone.’  

‘Charles made it all possible,’ Grace said. ‘He was a fool, thinking the emperor would give him anything. If he had left it all alone, then Charles would have been King of Fair one day.’

It never would have been enough for Charles. He’d always want more power, more magic at his disposal. If Charles hadn’t done this, he’d be alive today. And Alastair would still be with him, he guessed.

‘You don’t care about him being dead.’

‘I know as well as you do that he was not a good person,’ Grace said.

‘But neither are you,’ Alastair said. ‘Working with these people, kidnapping children. Why do you do it, Grace? I won’t pretend I haven’t seen your memories. I know what you told me about your planet being conquered was true. You know Tatiana is not your mother, right? She doesn’t love you, she only wants to use you.’

‘You think I don’t know that?’ Grace hissed. ‘I’ve been trying to leave Edom for years. But I can’t. There are very few planets that would take Edom refugees, and none would take me if they knew what I could do. I can’t keep it hidden forever, I can’t risk touching anyone.’

‘So you keep doing research on magic,’ Alastair said. ‘You think if you can make what you’re doing to me work, you could also take your own magic away.’

‘You have no idea what it’s like,’ Grace said. ‘It only works on men, my mother said, but even that is not reliable. I’ve killed people I didn’t think were men because I believed I could touch them. Sex and gender is a lot more complicated than the simple man or woman dichotomy and it makes my power unpredictable.’

‘Charles may be dead, but I am still close to the royal family,’ Alastair said. ‘If you help me-‘

A guard came back, and Alastair promptly shut up. He could not let anyone else know he was trying to work with Grace. He did feel for her, and he did understand how she believed she had no choice. It was true that foreign planets were hesitant letting in people with powers. And Grace’ power was a curse more than anything else. He was not a scientist himself, but he knew Grace and Christopher were both brilliant. Perhaps together they could find a way to remove Grace’ powers. And Alastair could help her get that opportunity. If he could convince Henry and Charlotte to take her in as a refugee.

‘We’re done here,’ Grace said to the guard. ‘Bring him back to me tomorrow.’

When Alastair returned to the prison cell, he saw that more blankets had been supplied, as well as winter clothes. He immediately put a hat on Rostam’s head, and a scarf around his neck before wrapping him into the thickest blanket he could find. Then Alastair found some warm clothes and blankets for himself. It was still cold, but it was bearable.

‘Look,’ Rostam said, pointing at the ocean outside. ‘That’s a penguin!’

Alastair looked where Rostam was pointing, and he saw the bird coming closer, as if it were curious. It was a large penguin, larger than the fairy penguins and it had a bright pink heart on its chest, which was odd.

‘What kind of penguin is that?’

‘They’re called love penguins because of that pink spot,’ Rostam said. ‘Look, here!’

Rostam opened his penguin book at the page that depicted the love penguin, and Alastair took a good look. The spot was not always heart shaped, but often enough that it had been named such.

‘They’re very rare,’ Rostam said. ‘They only nest on one island near the southpole of Fair.’

‘You really know your penguins,’ Alastair said, and Rostam gleamed with pride.

He skimmed through the page of the book, and found a reference. The penguins only nested on King Granville’s Isle, which was a small island that was only inhabited by scientists studying the penguins and other wildlife. It was very cold there, which explained why Alastair was freezing in here.

‘You’re a genius, Rostam,’ Alastair said. ‘We just narrowed down where we are by a large margin. Which means we need to find a way to get a message out.’

‘Does that mean Cordelia is coming to save us?’

‘She is,’ Alastair said. ‘As soon as she knows where we are, she’ll come for us.’  

@alastaircarstairsdefenselawyer @life-through-the-eyes-of @astriefer @justanormaldemon @ipromiseiwillwrite @a-dream-dirty-and-bruised @amchara @all-for-the-fanfiction @imsoftforthomastair @ddepressedbookworm @queenlilith43 @wagner-fell @cant-think-of-anything @laylax13s @tessherongraystairs @boredfangirl16 @artist-in-soul @beyondlifebeyonddeath @ikissedsmithparker

[puppyexpressions]

Can Dogs Get Seasonal Affective Disorder?

For dogs and humans, winter brings the fun of snowball fights and sports like skiing, but it also means fewer hours of daylight. And in people, that can lead to the winter blues or seasonal affective disorder (SAD), which is a type of depression with a seasonal pattern. Have you noticed your dog’s behavior change during the winter months?

As dogs share similar moods and brain chemistry with humans, it’s reasonable to think they might suffer from seasonal affective disorder, too. Read on to learn if the winter is getting your dog down and what you can do to prevent it.

Do Dogs Experience Seasonal Affective Disorder?

In humans, it’s thought that SAD results from the decreased amount of sunlight in the fall and winter. This can disrupt a person’s internal clock, lower our levels of serotonin (a brain chemical that regulates mood), and increase melatonin (a brain chemical released by the pineal gland that affects sleep). A study of sled dogs showed that the dogs’ melatonin levels were higher in the winter than in the summer, so perhaps dogs are susceptible to SAD, too.

However, there has yet to be a single study looking specifically at seasonal affective disorder in dogs. At this time, there is no scientific evidence that dogs get seasonal affective disorder (SAD) as described in humans, though dogs also have pineal glands in their brain. The pineal gland produces melatonin, a serotonin-derived hormone that modulates sleep patterns. In humans, some people produce higher amounts of melatonin than usual in winter months, so it may be conceivable that dogs have some changes in mood. But there is no way to objectively measure or diagnose this condition in dogs.

It is expected that if dogs do suffer from SAD, it would be more common in northern climates with shorter days. In humans, SAD is described more for people living in northern parts of the world rather than sunnier, warmer climates. One would therefore think that dogs living in the far northern climates, such as the sled working dogs would be the most affected, but no known reports or study confirms this. Perhaps because they are physically active and mentally involved.

What Could Cause a Dog to Get the Winter Blues?

Although there has been a lack of extensive research in this area, a recent survey found that many owners felt their pets become more depressed during the darker winter months. The dogs seemed to sleep more and were less active. Like all surveys, it was subjective and relied on the owner’s perceptions of their pets. So, it was anecdotal rather than scientific.

Of course, there are many explanations for the survey results. People could be projecting their own winter blues onto their pets. A recent study showed that dogs can recognize their owner’s moods and distinguish between positive and negative emotions. So, if their owner is feeling down or experiencing SAD, it’s not a stretch to imagine that could impact the dog’s own emotional state. Or perhaps owners provide their pets with less mental stimulation and physical exercise in the winter.

It’s hard to know if your dog is responding to your mood, reacting to your actions, or suffering from their own emotional problems. There could even be an underlying issue with their physical health. Therefore, you should not diagnose your dog with SAD on your own. There is no scientific evidence that dogs suffer from seasonal affective disorder. If a dog seems lethargic or off their feed, it is best to have them checked by a veterinarian to make sure there is not an underlying medical issue.

Ways to Keep Your Dog Happy and Healthy in the Winter

It’s important to provide for all your dog’s physical and emotional needs all year long. For example, take daily walks, play games together, or provide puzzle toys that will challenge your dog’s brain. Consider activities you can do inside on freezing cold days, such as scent work or a homemade agility course. Get outside with your dog and get some sunlight when possible. Find ways to stimulate your dog mentally as well as physically. And open the shades and get sunlight inside.

Although there are treatments for humans such as light therapy and vitamin D or omega-3 supplements, don’t try these on your dog without your vet’s say-so. In fact, vitamin D can be harmful. A dog being fed a well-balanced diet already receives the proper minerals and vitamins needed and should not need any supplements or additives. In fact, giving excessive vitamin D can be toxic to dogs, potentially causing fatal kidney damage as well as other medical problems. Omega-3 fatty acids have been reported to increase cognitive function but should be given on the advice of a veterinarian.

The easiest way to keep your dog happy through the winter is to be the best owner you can be. And that goes for the summer too. There is no scientific evidence that dogs suffer from seasonal affective disorder at this time. It is better to enrich our dogs’ lives through good care, proper, well-balanced nutrition, adequate exercise, and mental stimulation: not just during the winter months but all year long.

[nostalgiauk]

NOSTALGIA UK

Summer ... the biggest eye opener (1994)

Scotland introduced me to three of the four seasons for the first time.

We arrived in Glasgow during the bone-chilling cold of early January. As I looked out from the coach window on the ride from Glasgow Airport to Langside College, everything seemed cloaked in grey, as if the sun had never dared to shine. Some days were so cold that speaking became a challenge; words containing "s" were almost impossible to pronounce as my lips would turn numb and uncooperative. I’ve previously shared how dry my skin became, particularly around the crotch and inner thigh areas, resulting in painful and itchy rashes that only made the experience harsher.

Spring didn’t stand out much to me at first; it felt barely warmer than winter, making it difficult to distinguish the two seasons. However, the sight of plants and flowers returning to life added a touch of color and vibrancy, as if nature itself was making an effort to brighten up the grey landscape.

I had high hopes for summer, eagerly anticipating relief from the constant rashes and dry skin. I soon discovered, however, that bright, sunny days in the UK were more the exception than the rule. Still, we were lucky enough to experience a handful of gloriously warm days. I remember one such day clearly: Fudin and I decided to go for a jog. The temperature was perfect, the sun lingered high in the sky for hours, and it felt as if the entire city of Glasgow had poured into the parks, basking in the rare sunshine. People looked joyous and carefree, soaking up every moment. I was especially taken aback by the sudden shift in wardrobes, particularly among the women; the clothes were doing more showing of everything than covering anything, a stark contrast to the usual attire of the earlier months.

Between the three seasons, summer was the biggest eye opener.

[lettersfromleslie]

Winter of the Mole / The World-Famous Poetry Store / & Another Turn of the Wheel

Down come the leaves, into the drear. The goopy rains are here, the trees half undressed & half still leafed, deep damp reds and ochres with black slick skeleton winterbranches beginning to poke. My New York friends tell me there's been a drought on back East… No such thing out here in Seattle. It's been about as wet as I've seen it. My North Sea DNA is responding well to the slime, but my busker's heart knows the lean months are here. The better-organized performers have started heading for warmer climes. Hawaii, San Diego, Arizona, New Orleans. I'm staying put. I'm getting ready for the Winter of the Mole.

Not sure what animal we'd name the summer after, but it was a nice one. There was much of the usual - playing markets and gigs and parks and airports, a few trips to NY and back for gigs - as well as a lot of the outdoor time - which really was the chief reason for moving out here - paddling about on kayaks, walks in the woods.

New schemes too, however. I think my future memories of the summer will center on the many eves I spent moonlighting as a street poet on Ballard Ave with my new pal Dusty. Dusty is an Alaskan wild man, jazzed-up by a decade of winters in New Orleans and summers in Seattle, fueled by coffee and weed, hustling for his living much as I do but maybe moreso. By way of his strange hypnosis I suddenly found myself typing alongside him one day in late spring, and before I knew it I'd bought my own typewriter and was attempting to play stride piano and learning Hoagie Carmichael tunes. It seems he does this to people. As far as cults go it's a pretty benign setup. And he's surely one America's great remaining street hawkers: "Welcome to the world famous poetry store! Come on over sir, yes you, come get a poem about all the wonderful dirty things that mustache does! That's right, my mustache brother! Come on over, name your price, name your topic, I'll type you a poem! … Awright, have a drink and go think it over … You'll be more truthful with a couple drinks in ya … Tell you friends! … Poems for your loved ones, your sweetheart, your friends in jail! … Jazz lessons! … Oh sir! Sir, your mustache fell off! Right there on the ground! … World famous poetry store, any subject, any price! Ice cream poems, ice cream poems! How's that ice cream? What flavor did you get? … Have a good night! I miss you already! … Ma'am, would you like your tarot read? Would you like your tarot blue? Is that your man? Get that handsome hunk a poem … OH! SIR! SIR! Bet you a dollar I can tell you where you got those shoes at ..! …They're on your feet!!! You owe me a dollar!"

The process of writing the poems is a great bit of free-association. You get your subject, do your best to shut out everything that's going on around you, and rattle away. Sometimes the flow catches, sometimes it's just blather. It being a tip-based thing makes it feel reasonably fair. A new way to remain on the bum … Shoutout to Dusty. Love ya, ya fucking weirdo.

Simmering the background, the state of the nation. Grim & feverish. Always in flashes… Thinking of the moment when I walked into Washington Square Park in June and Peter the poet - a colleague now, I suppose - helloed me with a "Robert! Trump's been shot!" ... Or the Biden-Harris switcheroo ... The ever-nastier tone of things, bleakness & bile. And now the here-we-go-again vertigo of another four years with America's favorite aging bigoted TV huckster. Most around me claim not to have been surprised by the result. I was. It seems like a pretty definite vibe shift at any rate, the end of the old liberalism. Once could be a fluke. Twice, with eyes open…

And what to make of this new style of American government? It seems each faction of Trump's supporters have a different idea of what's going to happen - and all of them are seeing what they want to see. The Wall Streeters and finance bros and crypto entrepreneurs see a boon to business, deregulation, mergers & acquisitions; the poor see lower taxes, higher wages, the same govt services and an end to inflation; the bosses see unions busted and oversight reduced; the heartlanders and the working class see a return of industrial dignity and good-paying jobs; the anarcho-futurists see an era of big ideas unchained, of enlightened space despotism; the alternative health crowd see Big Corn Syrup brought to heel; the farmers see environmental deregulation without climate change; the bigots and white supremacists and religious nuts see their old imaginary 1950s main street scrubbed clean and lawns green and all the weirdos and foreigners safely back wherever they came from; the immigrants see their American dream realized fair & square among people who've worked on it hard, as they have (unlike the riffraff that's coming in); the military men see victory; the isolationists see peace; and I daresay almost everyone who voted for Trump II sees a bit of extra dough coming their way. Good luck with that soup of contradictions... But why be consistent, eh? The whole style is to do it on the wing. You say what you want and the crowd obliges by hearing what they want and everyone enjoys the jagged thrill of contradictions and dissonance. Eventually it all shakes out - if it shakes out well, it was planned, if poorly, there'll undoubtedly be someone to blame. The unknowableness of what's real and what's bluster makes a perfect realm for magical thinking, and the true reality of it all is somewhere way up ahead, off in the fog, like heart disease and credit card bills.

I guess it could be the start of America's strongman era, but there seems to me about an equal chance that they cock it all up again. The actual policy proposals look like a clusterfuck in the making. They wanna bring down prices while cutting taxes, raising prices on imports, and deporting the country's lowest-paid workers?

Still, the election result makes a kind of twisted sense if you look at the choice as a single, momentary thing, as a lever you pull one way or another. Then it becomes Ineffectual Establishment vs Crazy Outlaw. And we know who Americans tend to root for. Look at how it's been going with mr. CEO shooter. Left and right seem to agree on that one more than anything else: the big shots have it coming.

Oh well. In any case, here we go again. All eyes on the egg charts.

As I said, I was surprised by the results. Maybe twas a useful jolt, in the sense that realizing your powerlessness can be empowering. Finding meself politically in the minority, I feel an almost cozy isolation falling. Fuckem then, thinks I, do your worst, good luck, I disengage from the nation, from here out I'll look out for myself & those I love. I've picked up on a similar feeling of resignedness and disengagement around me. I think that's alright. It seems to me the kicking in of healthy defense mechanisms. Back to the neighborhood. The larger order shifts. The post-cold war neoliberal establishment take a bow. One last hurrah - there stand the Bidens, the Cheneys, the Bushes, the Clintons, the woebegone Obamas, the woulda-coulda Kamalas, handing over the keys.

And chances are we'll miss them yet, eh? It's easy to pooh-pooh an idealism that doesn't live up to itself, but at least it's an ethos. What rules will future debates revolve around? Will there even be meaningful debate, or do we fully stop pretending it wasn't always about power? They're nihilists, Donny!

Oh, sod it… What with the stage set for a cold, cold winter, we'll have need of those inner flames, and they need tending in quiet darkness, so here we go, we've hashed it out, now we exit the vortex, tune out the hubbub, reject the hijacking of our imaginations, and dig deep like the mole … that's my plan, anyway … One size does not fit all, of course … if you have the energy you could make like the monkey, flinging the turds of fortune back at them that crapped em … I have thought of it … (Ariel's got me jamming to Amyl and the Sniffers) … embrace the spirit of the gibbon, shrieking by day and soaking by nite in ancient hotsprings, being dusted what soft snows our modern winters still flurry down for us, pondering … considering the poopoo … or you could make like the pelican & flap off faraway, to the places that are still conducive to dreaming, and where one can cram one's gular skin with exotic crabs at favorable exchange rates …

And come crocustime we'll flap & stagger back out with the meltwater, moles & monkeys all, banana slugs & penguins, and we'll haul our sleepy carcasses back up to the wheel, human beasts still after all, and give er a spin. And around and around she goes, that wheel of fortune. "Here it is again, the Great Reversal: the first ending up last, and the last first." Ronald McDonald said that.

[lunarsilkscreen]

Distance From the Sun

So we know from experience that Human behaviors have an impact on the overall temperature of the earth.but what i'd like to take a look at is overall distance from the sun and temperature;

As well as try to explain Why the Mayan Calendar could have been calculated for centuries ahead of time.

Overall; the biggest influence on the weather and climate of the Earth is the Sun itself. And we do have historic calendars which were used to protect the weather.

Until the rapid increases and decreases of human technology and behaviors. Which includes things like war and plague.

In the short term; daily, yearly... We can see that the Earth increases and decreases distance from the sun; resulting in the day/night cycle and the seasons.

Now the rest of this article should be taken with careful scrutiny; because I am not a space physicists, and it's theory.

The Earth is closest to the Sun mid Winter. Despite this; the Earth is the coldest it is during the year.

Besides the fact that this particular point in time should be considered the defacto new year; that's a strange phenomenon isn't? The Earth is coldest when it is closest to the only source of heat.

This is because of the rotation of the earth; nights are longer at this point because any particular face of the earth faces away from the sun for longer periods of time.

In the Summer; conversely; days are longer. Which keeps the earth warmer.

This suggests a few things about the propagation of light and heat.

1) light and heat from the sun doesn't warm the atmosphere; unless there's cloud cover. Which will absorb the light and warmth of the sun.

And 2) the warmth of the earth is directly dictated by how much light hits it.

What this also suggests; is that without the moon to heat the earth during these longer periods facing away from the sun; All life would freeze.

This is corroborated by desert areas; which have sands that basically reflect almost all heat and warmth, and tend to be much colder in the winter. Than forested areas.

<aside>I wonder what that means about the giant parking lots and city infrastructure.</aside>

This is also why the Sun seems strongest in the winter. Because it is. And you're *probably* more likely to get sunburn and sun-associated cancers in the winter because of this. [citation needed]

But I said I was most curious about calculations like the Mayan calendar which predicted environmental effects for centuries.

Some physicists have suggested that the earth is slowing down. As in; slowing it's orbit around the sun.

What do you suppose that means about the weather? Everything said so far...

I believe that there's enough evidence for the Solar-Hill theory. That is; the earth acts as an object going up and down a hill.

It's slowing; because we're at an Apex of sorts, similar to that point closest to the Sun.

In fact; I would go as far as to say that its effect acts on the entire solar system; which is probably orbiting around some other entity.

If the Solar System is slowing, because it's reaching the top of a mountain; what happens as it passes the apex and rolls downhill?

And how is that going to impact and exacerbate the effects humans have on their local climate?

We're in for a speed up of sorts. But what exactly that could mean; no idea. Humans stopped studying things in that scope centuries ago.

[easternpainternz]

Expert Advice: When Is the Best Time to Schedule a Building Wash?

Imagine stepping into your building and being greeted by a sparkling exterior that not only looks amazing but also gives off an impression of cleanliness and professionalism. It’s incredible how a Best Building wash Auckland can transform the appearance of a structure, making it look brand new.

But the big question is, when is the best time to schedule a building wash to achieve these fantastic results? Let's dive into expert advice on this topic!

The Importance of Timing in Building Wash

Timing is everything, especially when it comes to maintaining the exterior of your building. Whether you manage a commercial property or a residential complex, scheduling a building wash Auckland service at the right time can make a significant difference in the results and longevity of the cleaning.

This might seem like a minor detail, but it can affect the efficiency and effectiveness of the cleaning process.

Experts suggest that the optimal timing for a building wash depends on several factors, including weather conditions, the type of building materials, and the surrounding environment. By considering these elements, you can ensure that your building not only looks great but also remains in top-notch condition for a longer period.

Seasonal Considerations for a Building Wash

Each season brings unique challenges and benefits for a building wash. Understanding how different times of the year affect the cleaning process can help you make an informed decision.

Spring: The Ideal Time for a Fresh Start

Spring is often considered the best time to schedule a building wash. After a long winter, buildings can accumulate dirt, grime, and even mould from the cold, wet weather. A thorough wash in the spring can remove these contaminants, preventing potential damage and giving your building a fresh start. Plus, spring temperatures are generally mild, making it easier for cleaning solutions to work effectively without drying too quickly or freezing.

Summer: Capitalising on Longer Days

Summer offers the advantage of longer daylight hours and warmer temperatures, which can expedite the drying process. However, the heat can sometimes cause cleaning agents to evaporate too quickly, which might necessitate more frequent rinsing. It’s crucial to schedule your building wash Auckland service during the cooler parts of the day, such as early morning or late afternoon, to avoid the harsh midday sun.

Fall: Preparing for Winter

Fall is another excellent time for a building wash, especially if you aim to remove any build-up that could worsen over the winter. Cleaning your building before the onset of cold weather ensures that it’s in the best possible condition to withstand the harsh elements. It also helps maintain the exterior materials, preventing the need for more extensive repairs down the line.

Winter: Special Considerations

Winter is typically not recommended for a building wash due to the cold temperatures and the potential for cleaning solutions to freeze. However, in milder climates or during warmer spells, a wash can still be beneficial. It’s essential to use appropriate cleaning techniques and solutions designed for lower temperatures to avoid any damage to the building’s surface.

Frequency of Building Wash

Beyond the seasonal timing, the frequency of your building wash also plays a critical role in maintaining the building's appearance and integrity. High-traffic areas or buildings located in urban environments with more pollution might require more frequent washes compared to those in cleaner, less trafficked areas.

Monthly Maintenance

For buildings that experience high levels of dirt, pollution, or mould, monthly washes can be highly beneficial. This frequent maintenance helps in keeping the building looking pristine and prevents the build-up of substances that can cause long-term damage.

Quarterly Cleans

Quarterly building wash schedules are ideal for most buildings, balancing cost and effectiveness. This approach ensures that any seasonal grime is promptly addressed, maintaining the building’s exterior without the need for constant cleaning.

Annual Deep Clean

At a minimum, every building should undergo an annual deep clean. This thorough cleaning can address any areas that may have been neglected during regular maintenance, ensuring that the building is completely free of harmful dirt and grime.

Tailoring the Wash to Your Building Type

Different buildings have different needs when it comes to washing. The materials used in construction and the building’s purpose can influence the best time and methods for a building wash.

Commercial Buildings

Commercial buildings, especially those in urban settings, are often exposed to more pollutants and grime. Scheduling a building wash in the spring and fall can keep these buildings looking their best and maintain a professional appearance for clients and customers. Regular washing also helps preserve the building materials, which can save on repair costs in the long run.

Residential Complexes

For residential complexes, maintaining a clean and welcoming exterior is crucial for tenant satisfaction. A building wash in the spring can clear away any winter residue, while a fall wash can prepare the building for the colder months. Depending on the location and exposure to elements, additional washes during the year might be necessary to keep the living environment pleasant.

Historic Buildings

Historic buildings require special care to preserve their architectural integrity. Gentle washing techniques and specially formulated cleaning solutions are essential. Spring and fall are typically the best times for these washes, allowing for a careful cleaning that doesn’t damage the historic materials. Regular maintenance helps in preserving these buildings for future generations.

Conclusion

Scheduling a building wash at the right time can significantly enhance the appearance and longevity of your building’s exterior. Whether you opt for a spring clean to wash away winter’s grime, a summer wash to take advantage of longer days, or a fall wash to prep for winter, understanding the best timing for your specific building’s needs is key.

Remember, regular maintenance and choosing the right professional building wash Auckland service can make all the difference. By considering seasonal factors, the type of building, and the benefits of eco-friendly solutions, you can keep your building looking its best year-round.

Ready to see your building shine? Schedule your next building wash and enjoy the immediate and long-term benefits of a clean, well-maintained exterior!

[blogbridgekethy]

Snow Total Variances between Greenwich, CT & Linden, NJ

When it comes to snow, no two places are alike. What seems like a gentle flurry in one city can become a blizzard of near-legendary proportions just a few miles away. These differences have a significant impact on local residents, businesses, and community infrastructure, shaping everything from school closures to winter tourism. Our focus today is on the distinct snow total variances experienced between two fascinating locations: Greenwich, CT, and Linden, NJ.

The Battle of the Season's Blanket

These northeastern neighbors share more than a slice of the Atlantic coastline; they bear witness to the capriciousness of winter in the American Northeast. While New England conjures up images of snug, snow-covered villages, New Jersey is often seen as the corridor to milder climes. However, when it comes to the white stuff, these two locales see vastly different totals annually.

Greenwich, CT: A Chilling Affair

Known for its quintessential New England charm, snow total Greenwich CT, located 15 miles northwest of Boston, and is synonymous with winter coziness. Thanks to its prime positioning for snow-laden nor'easters, Greenwich has historically seen its fair share of wintry magic. With notable accumulations and a long-standing camaraderie among shovels, residents here have winter embedded in their collective memory.

Linden, NJ: A Tang of the Tropics

In contrast, Linden, south of Newark and neighboring the iconic city of New York, experiences a milder touch from the season's icy hand. Although no stranger to a snowfall or two, Linden    's proximity to the coast buffs some of winter's harsher edges, rendering its snow totals less intimidating to the uninitiated and infrastructure more resilient.

Understanding Contributing Factors

Geography, meteorology, and urban environments play pivotal roles in shaping snow totals. Here's how these mechanisms operate in Greenwich and Linden    to produce their distinct winter landscapes.

Greenwich's inland geography subjects it to the full force of frontal systems and nor'easters. Cold air sweeps unimpeded across the flatlands and hills, providing optimal conditions for snow to accumulate. In contrast, Linden's coastal plain geography blocks some of the snow-laden air, causing precipitation to be less robust in its accumulation.

The positioning of the Jet Stream significantly affects snowfall. Greenwich often finds itself in the Jet Stream's path, which propels storms and results in ample snowfall. Meanwhile, Linden    can remain on the periphery, receiving a mere dusting as the main event passes to the north.

As cities continue to expand, it's vital to consider how urbanization may affect snow totals in neighboring locales. Urban environments tend to be warmer than their rural counterparts due to the heat retained by buildings and pavement.

The phenomenon of the urban heat island effect is no friend to Linden's snowfall totals. The built environment absorbs and retains heat, which can raise local temperatures enough to turn snow into sleet or rain. Greenwich's less densely populated areas are cooler at night, encouraging the retention of snow through the entirety of an event.

Snow's Impact on Communities

Understanding snowfall variances is more than a statistical exercise; it's a direct gateway into the ways communities adapt and thrive in the face of Mother Nature's whims.

The contrast in snow totals directly affects local school systems and businesses. Whereas Greenwich    might declare ‘snow days' that Linden schools may not observe, businesses in both locations must tailor operations around snowfall predictions and clearing efforts.

How fast city streets empty and then pack with snow are testaments to these variances. Plows in Greenwich stay busy for hours, even days after a storm, ensuring safe passage. In Linden , the plow's song is a less common tune as streets generally return to business-as-usual quicker.

Local economies also shoulder the weight of snowfall. From municipalities' snow removal budgets to tourism's annual ski slopes, the dollars and cents tied to Greenwich’s heftier totals differ sharply from those in snow total Linden NJ, reflecting local life’s resilience and resourcefulness.

Shifting Climates, Drifting Snows

Climate change's influence on snowfall variances is significant. Changing global weather patterns and warming oceans may amplify or even diminish the differences we see today. Looking ahead, it is crucial for residents and officials in both areas to consider these trends in their long-term planning.

By accessing predictive models and incorporating historical data trends, communities can better predict and ready themselves for changing snowfall patterns. Winter preparedness must evolve alongside these shifting baselines to maintain public safety and essential services.

The engagement of local residents is equally critical in understanding and addressing these changes. Through local weather monitoring and sharing their observations, citizens become active participants in the adaptation and response efforts to snowfall variances.

A Blizzard of Understanding

The snow total variances between Greenwich, CT, and Linden, NJ, offer a microcosm of winter's subtle intricacies. Cycles of thick and thin flurries permeate not only their streets but also the lifeblood of their communities. By examining these differences, we unveil the unique challenges and experiences that define local climates.

For communities along the fine line between snow's comfort and havoc, the need to understand, appreciate, and adapt to these variances is more critical than ever. Snowfall is not merely a measure of winter's majesty; it is a living force that shapes daily life and community resilience.

In our digital age, the exchange of knowledge about local snowfall variances informs not only one's layering strategy but also larger conversations about climate adaptability and shared experiences. The stories told by snowfall totals yield invaluable data points in the collective narrative of community life.

[breakerwhiskey]

153 - ONE HUNDRED FIFTY THREE

Please visit breakerwhiskey.com for more information or to send a message to Whiskey's radio. Breaker Whiskey is an Atypical Artists production created by Lauren Shippen. If you'd like to support the show, please visit patreon.com/breakerwhiskey.

Transcript under the cut. For more episodes, click here.

[click, static]

“June 10th, 1972. The crop is looking better this year than ever. I believe I have this whole gardening process down pat now. I think I may need to expand my icebox this winter, as it’s looking like I’ll have too many vegetables to eat on my own. Between the produce I’ll be able to freeze and the game I expect to hunt this summer, I should be even better prepared for winter than I was last year.

It is incredible how much there is to hunt now. It feels as if the deer are walking right up to my doorstep, offering themselves up to be eaten. There is no one else to scare them away.

Once again, I find myself contemplating leaving North Dakota and seeking out other survivors. The radio has continued to yield no results. Neither have the regular trips I make to Bismarck. Nothing around me has changed except for the seasons and the unencumbered growth of the land beginning to overtake the roads.

But I am no longer a young woman, and I feel that age in my bones more and more every day. What if I were to set out only to have an accident on the road, or run into bad weather or, worse, some danger that lurks out there that I can’t yet imagine? What if I find no trouble, but also no way to survive either? I’m afraid to leave my home for too long. It would only make sense to travel in the warmer months, and I can’t neglect my garden for too long. But then I look over the abundance I have and think that it is terribly selfish of me to have all of this to myself. Too many vegetables to eat and people out there who may have empty stomachs.

I’ve decided, at least, to get the old signal fire going again. It was a right pain in the hiney to keep up those first few months, but now that every other part of my life is turning like a well-oiled wheel, I don’t think it will be too much of a burden to keep up. Perhaps this time someone will see it.”

[click, static]

So that’s how she was surviving—planting and hunting. She writes about some looting as well—that’s what she calls it, but I don’t think it’s looting if there’s no one to commit a crime against—but that’s mostly for supplies and equipment. So…just like us, it seems. It turns out she doesn’t just know how to do all this stuff because off her job, but also because of her father and her husband. It sounds like she and her husband both grew up living off the land. I found an old photo of what I think is Leann’s childhood home, and it looks like a one-room cabin. I doubt it had running water, let alone electricity. This house that she was living in probably felt like more luxury than she needed. I know what that feels like.

And she was trying to contact people. I doubt a regular shortwave radio from North Dakota could have reached Pennsylvania, but then again my morse code friends seemed to have figured something out. If I had just put my foot down, insisted that we get a radio going…

There’s no point in wondering “what if”. But I still hate that she was out here, trying to reach out, while we were holed up in that stupid fucking house, blocking out the world.

[click, static]