#this big field of rye and all

[this-big-field-of-rye-and-all]

Depression is over or am I repressing myself as usually?

[this-big-field-of-rye-and-all]

Other day on planet Earth.

On April 22nd, I have a personal interview for the master's degree, and on April 24th, the admission exam takes place. Please wish me luck.

(Also, wish me luck in finding a job to cover the master's degree fees and move out of my parents' house).

tumblr mutual is becoming a scientific collaborator

[pandafishao3]

TEASER Breeding/Lactation

YOU GUYS I went right ahead and did it, didn't I. I wrote an AU for my Milk Farm AU where Steve has Bucky as a private little cow hybrid in his own farm instead of a big factory and I am NOT SORRY. The full thing will be posted during Kinktober but for now, please enjoy a little teaser! I am seriously so excited to share this with you all, I cannot WAIT till Kinktober!

Steve yawned as he poured coffee into a cup and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. The mornings started early out on the farm. The sun had just started climbing over the treeline across the golden rye fields, and it made the rustic kitchen warm and cosy. The little cottage had been in his family for generations, but Steve really felt like he’d added his own personal touch to it by re-painting the kitchen a soft green and building a proper dining room table out of sturdy oak wood. The clunky ceramic cups and white, embroidered curtains all spoke of the work of his mother, grandmother and great-grandmother, however. Steve liked the reminder of them, especially now that he was left to manage the farm alone.

“Meow?”

The sound of his cat Alpine jumping on top of the counter and chirping as she trotted towards him made Steve smile. He reached out his hand and she immediately buffed her fluffy, white head against it in a friendly gesture.

“Hi Al. Where you’ve been? Out wreaking havoc in the stables?” he winked at her and she promptly sat down and started licking her paw like she’d never done anything wrong in her whole life. In her mind, she probably ran the whole farm.

Steve huffed out a warm laugh to himself and went back to his coffee. But when he reached into the fridge, he noticed that he was completely out of milk. Oh well. He was heading to the barn anyway – the only reason he was up with the rooster was so he could get the milking done. After pouring Alpine some wet food, Steve took his coffee cup and went outside.

The flannel shirt he was wearing over his worn, patched jeans would be too hot in a few hours, but for now it was just perfect. Steve fondly watched his chicken pick at the corn on the ground as he walked past, and made a mental note to himself to go check on the rhubarb after this. He would need to tinker with the tractor too, since it had been acting up lately and it almost time to bring in the very first harvest of the summer. The barley would be done in a week or so.

But before that, he looked forward to spending the morning with his favourite pet.

“Good morning, my little moo. You up yet?” Steve smiled as he walked into the small barn. In the corner, his two goats and their babies looked up at him lazily and then went back to resting. The kids bleated and then ran out of their hatch to play outside, so Steve was in no hurry to take care of them. They pretty much took care of themselves, and he mostly used them for company and as lawnmowers.

But his little moo was a different story.

“Bucky? Where are you, honey?” he sing-songed as he walked further down the aisle. There, in his stall, his beautiful cow hybrid looked up from the mound of straw and blankets where he slept. His pretty little face instantly lit up in a bright smile and he mooed in that adorable way that only he could. “There you are! Are you still sleeping?” Steve teased him softly and leaned his elbows on the wooden door so he could watch Bucky struggle to get up.

Please let me know if you want any more of these teasers! Love you all <3

“Nooo, m’awake!” Bucky insisted with a cute pout and hurried to untangle himself so he could get to his owner. It wasn’t easy with his little hooves slipping on the floor and his tail getting caught up in the blanket, but he managed to get to his feet and tiptoe all the way to Steve. There, he immediately pushed up against the door and buffed his head against Steve’s chest, cooing happily all the time.

🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷

Credit for the header: Evangelitaa on Pinterest

[mivolasvivi]

Pennsylvania gothic

- you enter a small mom and pop deli that looks like it hasn’t been updated since the 80s. There’s a special for liverwurst and scrapple. The sign outside says “Mike’s Deli” on an A Treat sign, but there is neither A-Treat nor a Mike in the shop. You grab a bag of Herr’s as you wait for your chipped steak on rye. You overhear a conversation by regulars about how shitty and crime ridden the local big city (population- 20k) has become and the vast implications of the closure of the town’s only Dunkin Donuts. You hand your card to teenager behind the counter, and earn a scowl from what is likely his great uncle. He hates it when people pay with cards. Or maybe he hates you for wearing your old high school sweatshirt (it’s his son’s rival school and he WILL hurl obscenities at high schoolers on the football field on a weekly basis in fall). You’re not even sure how much your sandwich costs, since all the prices have been covered up with masking tape at least a few times and never updated. Somehow it’s still under $5.00. As you drive out, you have to wait for a horse to cross the road, and manage to stop directly in a pothole. This would normally phase you, but you’re already mentally prepared for the portion of the road a few miles ahead where the top layer of asphalt just ceases to exist. As you get home, fire flies dot the field as they dance around in the twilight. It’s been a good day, all in all.

[thatswhywelovegermany]

Die Roggenmuhme

The Rye Aunt

The Rye Aunt is a female cereal demon and children's fright of German folk tales, who lives in grain fields.

The Rye Aunt wanders up and down in the fields, feeds on the grain and tears out the immature ears. If she is angry with the farmer, she punishes him by drying out his fields. In general, however, the appearance of the Rye Aunt in the fields is a sign of a good harvest. During the harvest, she flees into the last truss. The Rye Aunt receives a share of the harvest, which is either left behind or thrown into the field. This custom is to propitiate the Rye Aunt and bring about a fertile next year.

The Rye Aunt is generally thought to live underground, in the empire of the roots or in a cave.

The Rye Aunt punishes lazy maids, who have not spun off their spinning rocks in the Boxing Week. The breath of the Rye Aunt brings illness and death.

Appearance

The Rye Aunt is often described as completely black or snow-white, and of superhuman size. Her arms are long or made of iron. Her fingers are fiery or iron. It is also said that the Rye Aunt has claws on her hands, which may also be made of iron.

The Rye Aunt has unusually large breasts that are so long that she can fold them over her shoulders. She also has more than two breasts. These can be black, iron, wooden or silver. They are pointed and hard, have glowing iron tips or are fiery. The breasts are filled with tar, poisonous milk or blood.

The Rye Aunt is described as an old womanwith a wrinkled face featuring stinging awns, a crooked nose, and wears glasses. She is sometimes even described as headless or said to have an iron heart.

In addition, she can change her shape, for example into a turtle, a snake, a frog, a wolf, a black cat, a horned animal or a dog with a blanket.

The Rye aunt is often dressed in black, but has also been seen dressed entirely in gray. Her clothes are ragged. Sometimes the Rye Aunt also wears a red skirt, or she wears a red dress and a red cap. Sometimes, she wears blue coat and wide flowing skirts. Often the Rye Aunt wears a white headscarf like a reaper. Sometimes she walks on crutches.

The Rye Aunt is associated with several weather phenomena. When the wind blows through the cornfield, people say that the Rye Aunt moves over the grain. She is also traveling with the whirlwind.

The Rye Aunt appears in particular at midday between 12:00 and 13:00. If she encounters someone in the fields at midday, she kills them or frightens them, casting spells. If she finds women who have recently given birth in bed between 12:00 and 13:00 and between 18:00 and 20:00, she does the field work for them. If she does not find women in childbed at the specified time, a misfortune will happen to the mother and the child.

The Rye Aunt is often seen as a child scare. Her activities as a child-scaring figure are extremely varied.

In their tale no. 90 The Rye Aunt, the Brothers Grimm tell that the Rye Aunt swaps human children with changelings, but brings back the right child if the changeling is not suckled. Elsewhere it is said that she steals illegitimate children at midnight.

The Rye Aunt lies in wait in the field for all those children who want to pick cornflowers in order to scare and punish them. She also lures children into the field by waving her arms. She abducts children by putting them in her big bag or basket, of by taking the children under her wide flowing skirts to bring them to the empire of the roots. She may also pull children to her with an iron fireplace poker and has them guarded by a toad. She leads children astray in the field and lets them starve to death, or she comes with her flock of elves and lays the children on cushions of flowers, whereupon they fall asleep and never wake up again. The Rye Aunt appears as a witch when she casts spells or the Evil Eye on children, She may also appear as a nightmare when she sends evil spirits to disobedient children at night.

Children often have to suck on the breasts of the Rye Aunt. Sometimes, disobedient children get the big breasts beaten around their ears. The Rye Aunt is said to, hug children so tight that they are pressed against her breasts die as a result from suffocation or getting crushed in her embrace. The Rye Aunt also crouches in wolf form, hiding in the grain, and is accompanied by small dogs that lure children into her iron embrace. She is also regarded as the mother of the rye wolves, who eat the children.

The Rye Aunt chases children on horseback or runs as fast as a horse herself. In the latter case, she chases children to death in races. She can also fly and takes children to the sea to drown them there. If she accosts children, they must die.

The Rye Aunt demands that children eat a slice of bread spread with tar. If they do not comply, she cuts off their heads. She also smears children with tar from a bottle or covers their eyes with tar. She also scratches out children's eyes or blows out their eyesight. The Rye Aunt strangles children, twists their necks or cuts off their heads, and also cuts off their necks, noses, ears, or fingers. She also beheads children with a sickle, a knife or a saw. She cuts off the children's legs with a scythe. The Rye Aunt also tears off children's legs.

The Rye Aunt binds children into a bundle with a thread or ties the children to a thread and then beats them up. She pinches children with iron pincers or uses a pinch. She stabs children with pikes, of which she has three, one by the head and one in each hand. The Rye Aunt also stabs children with stalks or drives nails into their heels.

In her hand, the rye maid carries a rod or whip, which is to be regarded as a lightning rod. She also has a sceptre or an iron scourge, which she uses to beat children. She puts children in a nail barrel and rolls them around in it or drags them into a cave and crushes them there with a giant meat grinder. Otherwise, she also crushes children in an iron butter churn.

The Rye Aunt also bites and eats children. To get hold of children, she sets out traps. She slaughters and eats the children or kills and roasts them using her burning breasts and fingers. The Rye Aunt also throws children into a cauldron of hot water or sucks their blood.

All these stories were told children to deter them from wandering through the fields, which posed several dangers, including getting lost and freezing to death at night, encounters with dangerous animals, suffering injuries from farm equipment used on the fields, or merely the destruction of crops and yield loss by walking over the fields.

[chaotic-multi-fandom]

Holden Caulfield

So, I just finished “The Catcher in the Rye”, and it was very different from what I expected. This book has a reputation of being somewhat extreme, and making teenagers more angry, depressed or even violent because of its main character Holden. However, now that I’ve read it, I fail to see why. I can understand why at the time of its publication Holden’s internal monologue could’ve been seen as alarming, specially to adults, but not as much in the present time, and definitely not as extreme as it said to be. He’s also constantly called annoying, pretentious and an asshole, which he sometimes is, but once again, In my opinion, not to the extreme people present him as. I didn’t mind being inside of his head the entire novel, nor did I ever find him as insufferable as most people seem to, and definitely not a monster, if anything I had a lot of empathy and understanding towards him. 

To me, Holden simply came off as a lost 17 year old boy, grappling with grief, identity, and having lost his innocence at a very young age. He’s clearly suffering from depression, and is generally angry and disillusioned with the world, however given his implied experiences it’s only natural, even just the death of his brother prior to the events of the book cold easily explain his behaviour, however there’s definitely other elements, which choses not to reveal, that have contributed to his current state. 

To me, Holden never came off as extreme or violent, at least not enough to be sent to a psych ward or o incite the alarmed response people seem to have to his character. In fact, despite seemingly being done with the world, and not caring about anything anymore, Holden seems to have this constant thrive and need of protecting the world. Despite all of his utterly depressed, frustrated, and negative inner monologue, he’s constantly through out the novel, carrying out these little acts of kindness towards children. He helps two boys find a section of the museum, and explains to them what everything means, he helps a girl tie up her skates at the roller rink, and rubs off nasty messages left at schools so that the children don’t read them, and most notably he does anything and everything for his younger sister Phoebe.

Most of the time, he’s left in awe of the world when he interacts with these children, specially with Phoebe, it’s the only moments were he even says he feels happy. He seems to be impressed by children’s minds, and has this urge to protect and help them every time he encounters one, going to great lengths (such as buying a limited expensive album for his sister) in order to make their days better. Then, he hears a child sing the song that brings the name of the novel “the catcher in the rye”, he sings about a body catching another body in the rye,. When later in the novel he wonders about he’d want to do in the future, the song is the only thing that comes to mind. He imagines that he’s in that field, where children are playing near a cliff, and he’s the one that catches them and leads them away from the cliff, he’s the catcher in the rye. To him, this means saving children from losing their innocence as young as he did. It’s the only thing he can imagine himself doing. 

This truly shows that Holden, is in no way some disturbed violent mind, he’s just a 17 year old child, who lost his innocence at a very young age due to traumatic experiences which he’s only now processing, he’s also going through the grief of his brother’s death, which his parents don’t help with, his mother also suffering from depression, and his father always being away as a big shot lawyer. He’s disillusioned with the world and humanity, because most of his life experiences, and contacts with older role models have been very negative, including the one with his older brother whom he once had a good relationship with, but is now a shame to the family due to his work as a prostitute. He’s desperate for the children around him not to suffer the same fate. 

While he may seem utterly disgusted and done with the world, I think that he actually holds a lot of hope in his heart for his sister Phoebe and all the children he meets. Holden’s problem isn’t that he has no hope left, it’s that he has too much of it no matter how hard he tries to repress it. He holds a hope so great for the world, that he can’t help but stay despite his suicidal thoughts. Holden, fantasises about ending his life several times throughout the novel, but then, as soon as he’s even close to getting sick with a cold for example, he becomes extremely anxious, scared and even obsessive, thinking that he’s going to die, which he desperately doesn’t want to do. Even when he is attacked with those suicidal thoughts, which never last long, he’s always immediately reminded of Phoebe, and realises he couldn’t bare her going through grief. 

Holden desperately wants to stay in this world, and he’s constantly looking for reasons to do so, he’s in awe of the purity and innocence of children, and wishes the world would be kinder and better for them. Holden is lonely angry and depressed, which can result in him acting violently in instances, but essentially, he’s desperately trying to improve the world around him, and repeatedly not giving up on it. As he puts it, he never hates anything for long.

Well, this had been my small Holden rant, however do be aware that, I'm writing this approximately 30 minutes after finishing the book, so my ideas aren't completely settled, and given that I haven't looked AT ALL into actual analysis of the novel, I may be way off, and made a fool of myself but oh well. At the end of the day they're almost no wrong answers when it comes to interpretation, and this is how I personally perceived Holden Caulfield.

[esraabelal]

"I was thinking about something else—something crazy. “You know what I’d like to be?” I said. “You know what I’d like to be? I mean if I had my goddam choice? . . . You know that song ‘If a body catch a body comin’ through the rye’?

“It’s ‘If a body meet a body coming through the rye’!” old Phoebe said. “It’s a poem. By Robert Burns.” . . . She was right, though. It is “If a body meet a body coming through the rye.” I didn’t know it then, though. . . . “I thought it was ‘If a body catch a body,’” I said.

Anyway, I keep picturing all these little kids playing some game in this big field of rye and all. Thousands of little kids, and nobody’s around—nobody big, I mean—except me. And I’m standing on the edge of some crazy cliff. What I have to do, I have to catch everybody if they start to go over the cliff—I mean if they’re running and they don’t look where they’re going I have to come out from somewhere and  catch them. That’s all I’d do all day. I’d just be the catcher in the rye and all."

[ww2yaoi]

tagged by @oatflatwhite for the favourite line tag game. thanks for the tag <3

share a favourite line that you've read/written that impacted you. I will also do both because I can

Anyway, I keep picturing all these little kids playing some game in this big field of rye and all. Thousands of little kids, and nobody's around - nobody big, I mean - except me. And I'm standing on the edge of some crazy cliff. What I have to do, I have to catch everybody if they start to go over the cliff - I mean if they're running and they don't look where they're going I have to come out from somewhere and catch them. That's all I do all day. I'd just be the catcher in the rye and all. I know it's crazy, but that's the only thing I'd really like to be.

the catcher in the rye, j.d. salinger

David merely hums and buries himself further into Joe’s body, like he can make a home in his abdomen, settle deep and sleep soundly surrounded by Joe and only Joe. Sometimes when David touches him, it feels so fleeting, like he’s mountain air rushing through David’s splayed fingers, rarified and illusory. It’s a cogent reminder that Joe can’t be held onto, not by David, not for very long. Yet, here he is now, slight but warm like a certain slant of sun through the window blinds. Are you here for me? David wants to ask. Have I been waiting all this time for you?

untitled webgott fic

I tag @babe-heffron, @youcalledmebabe and anyone else who wants to do this <3

[adelaidedrubman]

wip wednesday..... reader’s choice round-up edition

tagged by my dears @g0dspeeed @simplegenius042 @socially-awkward-skeleton @direwombat @galaxycunt for the wip title game!

Rules: Post the names of all the files in your wip folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them and then post a little snippet of it or tell them something about it! Tag as many people as you have WIPS.

(stealing wombat’s “all” omission, and organizational system.) below cut because fair warning some of these are nsfw (with descriptive enough titles). (throwing in an extra no pressure due to that) (fics containing nsfw content are italicized) (asterisks = not all of it, feel free to specify sfw or nsfw snippet requested if you’re interested in those titles)

active wip docs (i have worked on some time within the past couple months, there is a reasonable chance these will get finished):

what if the strap could prematurely ejaculate

jestiny’s perfect day

19. a very uncomfortable dinner.......... 2

have faith in christmas

hallmark 2: electric boogaloo

america's sweetheart epilogue

hank meets the man from the big pictures

4. hooked on a feeling

pseudo-abandoned/dead wip docs:

mae'zel post-creche unpleasantness

play stupid games, win stupid prizes*

jenna’s day off*

footnotes to an inferno

field notes

nick rye talks to the union*

JENNA we need to COOK

i was working in the lab late one night*

beach episode

it's joseph's turn to have a bad day

other manner of documence:

my master document (wildfire stray scenes/notes)

hl&s outline + stray scenes (what it says)

darlings graveyard (not wips but deleted or reworked wildfire scenes)

ah dang now there’s counting. no pressure tags out to @henbased @florbelles @lordundying @belorage @theresaruggedroad @derelictheretic @cassieuncaged @schoute @dickytwister @vasiktomis @chickenparm @delicateweapon @corvosattano @jackiesarch @starsandskies @shallow-gravy @nightbloodbix @strangefable @quickhacked @captastra @8bitpizzacoupons

[sincerelywhistler]

CEBALRAI

In the most recent channel anniversary trivia livestream, Erik mentioned he once upon a time ago had plans for a soft Sadism boyfriend character. This is my OC of said boy, Cebalrai!

More under the cut:

Here’s a Pinterest board that captures his vibes :)

And a Spotify playlist as well

• Cebalrai (pronounced as “SEB-all-rye”) often goes by 'Ceb' (still pronounced like "Seb”). Beta Ophiuchi, also named Cebalrai, is a star in the equatorial constellation of Ophiuchus. Ophiuchus is the canonical name of Gavin’s steward and I will SOMEHOW absolutely be incorporating that into his story k thanks

• He works for the Department in the mental health field as a psychotherapist, most often with Seers in specific. As a Sadism demon, he’s able to feed from his empowered clients' troubled emotions while counseling them during their personal healing journeys.

• Coincide with that Department role, he is a thread-cutter (a demon who is responsible for cutting the magical threads of empowered humans to Aria). Our beloved Seer, Morgan, stated that, "there very serious mental and emotional repercussions to a decision like [getting threads cut]; it is not one to be made lightly," (Learning About Your Magical Abilities From a Seer). It is Ceb's job to reassuringly assist empowered persons of whether or not cutting their threads is the best decision, subsequently severing their ties to magic in a comfortable setting should they choose to proceed. He’s a soft and gentle presence, a great fit for the job.

• He and Morgan are work buddies :)

• Ceb has a soft spot for humanity, being obsessed with human traditions, culture, history, psychology, so on. The prospect of being mortal fascinates him more than anything. If there’s a non-magic way of doing a task, he’ll take that route.

• Green witchy boi hehe

• TALL MAN!! HUGE BOY BUILT FOR GIVING HUGS THAT SWALLOW YOU WHOLE!!

• Baker of any and all things sweet

• The star's name literally translates to "dog of the shepard”. Reflecting this, Ceb, like a sheepdog/cattle-dog, has a natural inclination to guide people towards their sense of safety and belonging. Task-oriented and loyal until the end of time.

• He loves gardening! Talking to the plants puts his mind at ease. And because he doesn't need to feed his physical body with physical foods, he often gifts his home-grown produce and herbs away to his struggling patients and the few kind coworkers he knows.

• Probably smells like rain tbh

• Cannot do math to save his life

• If he’s not wearing cozy sweaters, he’s in the most ethereal attire because he’s extra like that

• Avid reader! Romance is his absolute favorite genre. But as sweet as he is, bro won't hesitate to go on tirades about how toxic or poorly the relationships in some books are portrayed. Colleen Hoover may be his worst enemy.

• Favorite book is Little Women by Louisa May Alcott

• Hydrangea tattoos to symbolize grace and gratitude. Bein’ a Sadism Demon comes with a lot of baggage, man

• Main love languages are acts of service and quality time

• Lives a quiet life in a secluded, little cottage-like house out on the rural edge of town with his three corgis— LaVern, Maxine, and Patricia (aptly named after The Andrews Sisters, a female big-band & swing vocalist group popular in the 1930s-50s, aka my Ceb's favorite era of music).

• Will try to pet any animal. The opossums by his house know little peace. 

• Rabid for cherry vanilla coca-cola he is an addict

I've got whole documents pertaining to this big dummy, and you’ll be seeing much more of him in the future <3

[this-big-field-of-rye-and-all]

I'm reporting from planet Earth, an obvious statement perhaps, but it never hurts to specify.

Things have been a roller coaster in the past few months. Today wasn't particularly tough, but I'll blame any melancholy on the fact that it's Sunday, even if it's about to end.

I embrace people, but I don't feel satisfied. Why? Am I perhaps being too ambitious?

[m3ffsstuff]

Tobias was always afraid of a field of rye. He saw red ears intertwining with wind in an unknown dance, and as a child Tobias always wanted to rush into the dance with them. But broad hand on his shoulder did not give off the warmth that would allow, and her strokes were not gentle, so Schneien always lowered his eyes down. Down at the little insects, for whom he seemed to be God himself; down, as if penetrating the loose earth with his gaze, and hitting the boiling cauldrons where the lost are overthrown.

Tobias blinks, feeling the strength of the lying hand go away and he is released. Painstakingly, as if not daring to allow even a drop of freedom to the end, considering whether Tobias is worthy to see the real light from the sun on the golden ears. Brunette looks up, immediately starting to glow like a shooting star. He swallows, shifting from one foot to other in hesitation and feeling such familiar dirt under his feet, mixed with wet grass and small bugs.

For first time, Schneien sees beautiful flowers, to which he timidly stretches out his hand, but immediately withdraws, as if afraid of getting burned. Afraid that their toothy leaves will suddenly close their small jaws, biting into the soft skin. These flowers fascinated with their awesomeness and contrast with the red sea of ears around; they looked like strangers here, completely unexpected guests among other plants, and for some reason Tobias feels a connection.

– These are cornflowers, – a familiar voice interrupts a bad stream of thoughts, makes blue eyes pay attention to themselves. A pleasant smile on the young man's face prompts heart to beat a little faster.

Tobias swallows, returning his attention to the surprisingly contrasting colors. Cornflowers. And their name, it would seem, is so affectionate and color is beautiful that Schneien decides to try his luck again. A pale hand meekly reaches out to the flowers, touches them first with a finger, as if checking if they are real, and then, no longer feeling that danger, gently plucks the stem. Tobias hopes that it didn't hurt them, that he didn't behave selfishly by taking their lives for himself, but his heart starts beating faster from this bad thought. He turns his gaze to Carmelo, involuntarily comparing him with cornflowers: rude, only in appearance, the name is affectionate and the color of his eyes is the same as those of these flowers, which almost immediately fell in love with Schneien.

– Such a strange feeling, – Tobias whispers, continuing to carefully collect cornflowers, counting to thirteen. He raises his bright gaze directly to the boiling sun, not at all afraid that this big dot in the sky will burn out his eye sockets. Tobias pushes the blackness of his hair behind his ear and the innocent daisy behind his ear is immediately lost, winking at the last ray of the sun.

– Tell me about him, – offers Carmelo, feeling the tickling ears near his face. The morning dew is still fresh on them, although the day is already moving towards its end. Tobias sighs, adjusts the wreath, which was quickly thrown on him, without asking much. Everything tries to fall on the eyes, makes you feel blind. How then to look at him — De Monte — since the wreath is so restless?

– I'm, – the brunette blunts his gaze, maintaining a slight pause. A cold wind blows over their faces, forcing them to squint a little. — scared?

Swallows, which always seemed bloodthirsty to the brunette, are swinging on the branches, and Tobias thinks that they are hiding in the sleeves of Carmelo. Now he is about to wave his hand, and the stars will fall from the blue, equally innocent sky. The field will turn into a sea, something like an ocean, and they will drown together. They will drown before they fully realize reality. And Tobias swallows the viscous saliva, thinking about it: he barely restrains himself from putting sweaty palms to his whitish cheeks.

– Is it scary, like when you look at your reflection in the river? — Carmelo stretches his neck slightly, cracking his joints, purely out of habit. But Tobias blinks a couple of times, hearing the ringing crunch of bones, and hoping that Carmelo will not break his neck this way. — Or like when you look into an abandoned squirrel hollow?

– No, – Schneien says more and more quietly, feeling the collar of his once light shirt dig into his neck. He strangles her, not letting her breathe, as if he knows that Tobias is afraid of dying from asphyxia. The brunette slightly moves his shoulders, trying to discard the feeling of rough male hands on his thin neck, because they are so wide and unpleasantly familiar. — I'm afraid for you rather...

Tobias swallows the words like embers left on a square near their city, and Carmelo suddenly becomes touching. Tobias's eyes are also the sky. Innocent and, it would seem, has not yet known the fury of the local thunderclaps. When De Monte bends down to press his foreheads with Tobias — the wreath falls on their palms — it seems to him that they reflect sparks. The real stars, slowly fading, but for some reason ignited again.

– Don't be afraid, — the wreath in Carmelo's hands turns into a thorn, without giving Tobias an eye to blink. The brunette, not believing that the wreath is not starry, closes his eyes for a moment, not allowing Carmelo to merge into their depths. — if I'm destined to burn, for example, then well.

Tobias feels Carmelo's warm breath on his cheeks, and involuntarily wonders, they say, «has the sun come down from heaven?». He feels an unpleasant tremor in his chest when the tips of someone else's fingers gently touch his pale cheeks. It runs from the cheekbone to the ear, descending to the chin, leaving behind an obsessive burning strip that only Schneien could feel.

Tobias slowly opens his eyes and sees two boundless star depths: beautiful, giving light, majestic and sublime. Tobias feels like a dark spot on the sparkling tree of the stellar genealogy, as if a star without radiance and only his eyes give him belonging to something unattainable. Definitely for Carmelo.

– Fire suits me, don't you think? — rays of sun play in Carmelo's hair, they shimmer with a bright blue tint and Tobias almost jumps out of his skin.

– Yeah, — as if fascinated, Schneien whispers long, plunging into depths of salty sea with his head. Bitterness in the throat, like hops, like that familiar cahors or the very blood of Christ. — you will burn beautifully..

Tobias lowers his eyes to stop seeing his beloved face gnawed by fire, which still retains its smile. The wind blows in the gasoline-scented hair, forcing the brunette to sigh languidly and again feel the sweet-nauseating smell, which for some reason seemed so familiar. Blood appears along the lines on his hands, on which it was too early to guess and the young man still did not understand why.

He feels warm, tickling touch of someone else's hand. Warm, affectionate and completely devoid of its usual rudeness. Still the same meek, but rather in order not to scare away than to keep her groundless power. Tobias watches as someone else's hand briskly passes over the fingertips, rubbing the middle of the palm, and then squeezing pleasantly. Soft strokes seem unusual and Schneien swallows nervously. Hand has not been gnawed by fire, has not been touched by anything but clumsy touches in response and Tobias sighs heavily.

– Just remember me beautiful, – Carmelo suddenly whispers hurriedly, making Tobias laugh softly and pick up the neatly woven wreath with his thin spiders–like fingers. And when the wreath falls back on Carmelo's head, Tobias suddenly feels that everything will be fine with him.

[khelinski]

Anyway, I keep picturing all these little kids playing some game in this big field of rye and all. Thousands of little kids, and nobody;s around - nobody big, I mean - except me. And I'm standing on the edge of some crazy cliff. What I have to do, I have to catch everybody if they start to go over the cliff - I mean if they're running and they don't look where they're going I have to come out from somewhere and catch them. That's all I'd do all day. I'd just be the catcher in the rye and all. I know it's crazy, but that's the only thing I'd like to be.

J.D. Salinger

[sapphobolide]

FFXIVWrite Day 6 — "Halcyon"

Mor Dhona turned cold with the season, but inside the Rising Stones it was warm. Laughter and eager talk bubbled in the soft lantern light, free chairs were in short supply. Food was not, however. The air swam with the scent of apple tarts and squash soup, their ingredients fresh from Gridania, mashed popotoes and butter from Thanalan, and hot La Noscean spiced wine. Bowls came empty to a cauldron of Coerthan mutton stewed with lemon thyme and left full, and a crate of Lominsan blood oranges sat open for any and all to take. The headquarters of the Scions of the Seventh Dawn had never seen such a celebration.

And there was plenty to celebrate, to be sure. The Doman refugees, who had arrived in Revenant’s Toll well after planting season when every other state in Eorzea had turned them away, had successfully pulled a risky buckwheat harvest out of the rocky soil of Mor Dhona. According to the skywatchers, they would have just enough time to sow their crystal-studded fields with rye, barley, and winter wheat before the frost came. The seed, along with many of the foodstuffs that went into the Scions’ feast, had come from Gridania and Limsa Lominsa—shipped to the Scions in thanks for the slaying of primals that had threatened each land. Not to be undone, Ishgard had sent shipment after shipment of wood and stone to see Revenant’s Toll through the winter, so grateful were they to be relieved of the primal threat. Gifts even came from the Sultana from time to time, priceless bundles of pepper, ginger, anise, and cloves.

But for all those victories, it was the newest excitement that seemed most infectious—Moenbryda’s plan to slay an Ascian. She was the most recent arrival to the Rising Stones, but Moenbryda had fit in the way that a bow fits a quiver of arrows. The big woman filled the room like air, her voice the wind, the avalanche of her laugh so transfixing none could run from it. The other Scions orbited her like a host of blushing Dalamuds, the red in their cheeks not entirely from the wine.

Caswyn watched it all from afar, a mug of mutton broth in her hands. Behind her prowled the cat-sized vessel of Midgardsormr, a spectre only those with the Echo could see. Her thoughts wrapped around her like a cloak, sheltering her from the squall of merriment blowing through.

The scrape of a stool woke her attention. Tamsyn sat beside her, a cup of her own in hand. There was space enough between them to fit the things they did not talk about; the bitter fight they had had over letting Lady Iceheart go, the sobbing breakdown that had overcome Tamsyn in the boat back from the Keeper of the Lake. The secret they had kept from all but Minfilia—that the father of dragons had stripped them of Hydaelyn’s blessing. And yet, for all that had come between them, there was a surprising comfort here, at the edge of the festivities. They were alone, together.

Tamsyn nodded at the giant in the room. “They’re all a little bit in love with her, aren’t they?”

Caswyn pondered her for a while. She smiled, and followed her gaze. “Save Papalymo, perhaps.”

“Thancred’s going to make a fool of himself.”

“He already has, he and Hoary both. It’s only a matter of time for Yda and Y’shtola and Urianger, if Moenbryda stays.”

“Urianger has it the worst of all, though they’d hate to hear me say it. At least Minfilia is smiling again.”

Caswyn looked at the Antecedent, laughing at one of Moen’s boasts and tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. Too much had weighed on Minfilia of late, from the invasion of Elidibus into the Waking Sands to the disappearance of the Isle of Val. The latter had driven a friend of Caswyn’s to imprison himself in magical slumber, for a number of ages only the Twelve could know. “It is good to see,” she agreed.

Tamsyn appeared to make up her mind. “I hope she stays. I think she’s good for them.”

“We will have broken hearts eventually,” Caswyn warned.

“There always will be.” Tamsyn smiled at her, sadly. “But for now, things are good.”

[hidden-clue]

I was looking up poisonous mushrooms, for foraging purposes, and I stumbled into one called 'Ergot fungus', and I thought, wait, I know this word, I've heard it somewhere. It went on to say it causes 'ergot poisoning' and it clicked - ergot poisoning from Midnight in Salem!

It turns out ergot fungi is a fungus that infects rye, wheat, barley and other cross-species of cereal, it grows inside of them like a little black worm. Then if the cereal is consumed, it poisons people. It does cause psychosis, seizures, migraines, nausea, vomiting, but the long term effects are as bad as gangrenes - skin falling off, loss of body tissue, limbs rotting and falling off, and in the end, death. Midnight in Salem did NOT impress just how intensely deadly this is.

There were outbreaks of ergot poisoning in the middle ages, and in the 19th century, and the effects were horrifying. People eventually figured out that ergot can be sterilized by placing the yield in a brine solution, deep plowing the infected fields and rotating crops.

There's an interesting article on wikipedia discussing whether the symptoms of ergotism were blamed on the witches during the witch trials in Salem, all of the symptoms were mentioned in the records. However it was concluded that the symptoms were already known by then, and would be recognizable as ergot poisoning, so it was not the case. It was interesting to find Salem directly on the 'ergot poisoning' wikipedia page!

It's making more sense now why Nancy was asking around who was eating cereal-based products and why ergot was used as a plot device, it was after all, connected to witches and to the history of Salem, and also a big problem in the middle ages.

Now would ergot also infect water from some infected plants being put into the water supply? I have no clue, that part is a bit far-fetched, but I am glad the poisoning wasn't as extreme as it could have been. Insane to want to revive such an awful plague.

Sorry for talking about Midnight in Salem! I still play it for Halloween so I wanted to share the extra knowledge I just gathered, getting real-life knowledge from Nancy Drew games still is one of my favourite things.

[your-local-granny]

"Anyway, I keep picturing all these little kids playing some game in this big field of rye and all. Thousands of little kids, and nobody's around— nobody big, I mean— except me. And I'm standing on the edge of some crazy cliff. What I have to do, I have to catch everybody if they start to go over the cliff.” ― J. D. Salinger, The Catcher in the Rye

running and catching and returning the favor