#but. they need help actually making and sowing new garden beds

[unschoolhome]

Responding, Resistance, and Resentment

My horoscope says to respond, not initiate, this season.

Fair enough. I feel tapped out and ready for the cold months’ retreat.

I’ve culled our schedule to the essentials, re-embraced Montessori/unschoolishness, and I’m done making major decisions for now - including day-to-day time management for the kids. Time to reflect, bundle up, dream.

One thing I would love to do is a deep-dive unit study. Just read and write and draw and make and do all the things that come with a big learning module. The kids have picked a topic, I bought materials, and we’re ready to go...if only they could sit still and pay attention for six seconds.

I feel resentment that the kids do whatever the hell they want all day (even though they actually don’t). I worry about them being spoiled and stupid (even though I know they are not). I think about all those kids in school right now, heads bent to their papers, and fret. My kids are missing out. (That’s not what school is like right now. My kids are not missing out.) Most of all, I feel concern that the kids will not have the skills they need to move forward as adults (they have shown me time and again that this is not the case, including test scores, behavior, verbalizing their ideas, and participation in group activities).

Am I annoyed that they don’t want to study all day, or that I don’t get to study all day?

I just wanna study together, guys. C’mon.

Right now, stay-at-home days have five requirements: chore, math, grammar (4-5 questions), morphology (5 min or less), one shelf work. So far today, it’s 2:30pm and the kids have each done 1 work.

It’s driving me slightly crazy. There is this resistance for anything structured, anything that cuts into their precious free time. I could push against it (tried that before). And my resentment plus their resistance (plus my worries that they just wouldn’t act like this at school and therefore they would be better off there) would make our day miserable, disrupt our relationships, and ultimately sow further dissension and bickering among the children.

Instead of that, I stepped back. I felt like working quietly this morning; so I worked. I did laundry and dishes and cleaned bathrooms. I tidied up Halloween decorations and sent emails and wrote a blog post. I gathered library books.

What have they been doing today though?

One child wrote a blog post, wrote a letter, apologized instead of melting down, had a short geography lesson, and completed all after-meal responsibilities without a fight.

Another child finished an engineering project and tested it, varnished a painting project, repaired an electrical problem on a toy, taught a sibling how to use a compass, and took some photos of an art project.

Another child wrote a letter, accepted help, practiced inclusion for a long period of play, noticed implicit bias in a lesson presentation, poured over instructions for a design, and listened in on everyone else’s lessons, both learning and encouraging.

All the children helped each other with multiple tasks. They played outside in the rain for more than an hour. They observed their small garden and how it was changing over time and in the rain. We read a nonfiction book together. They built a complex train track and played with it until they were done (instead of until a fight broke out; this is a historic first). They cuddled up in their sleeping bags in my bed (another historic first; usually proximity = injuries). They read our new thermometer multiple times and noted how the temperature changed throughout the morning. They observed the rain and figured out the direction of the wind.

I notice an overall trend this week of all three children playing together, rather than the twins and the little one being separate. I have to credit myself partially; the older kids told me (again) that they miss time with me and they want more of it. I set some new boundaries and rearranged the schedule (free play right after breakfast with my undivided attention). The kids are calmer and happier and more self-sufficient. I feel our connections are warmer and more open. I am more centered and peaceful. And the relationships among the children are growing in beautiful and surprising ways.

Connection, connection, connection.

From it, all else flows. 

It’s not about bleeding myself dry. It’s about prioritizing connection above even academics. And putting in the hard work in the way that feels the best to me personally and makes the most sense for the kids - preparing the environment and the works to match the children’s interests and abilities, then letting them select what appeals, whenever in the day they want to do it. It's Montessori method, without walls or school-day time constraints.

It’s us, it’s how we do it.

So now I keep doing the work of telling myself this is enough, this is worthy, this is effective. And letting go of that resentment.

[supercantaloupe]

hi Sasha I hope you’re having a good day! My sleepover question is: what’s something you genuinely think everyone should watch/read/see/experience/do? And on the flip side, is there anything that you love/means a lot to you but genuinely wouldn’t recommend to others?

genuinely i think every person (especially Very City(tm) People) really ought to do some form of farmwork, even if just for a day. i am very grateful for my cushy city student/musician life that allows me to buy food from the store every week but i am also extremely grateful for all the summers i spent growing up going to day camps on farms, doing community service, and helping out in my mom's garden. getting a hands-on (if admittedly those hands are quite dirty) experience of what actually goes into producing the necessary products you consume on a day-to-day basis is both an enriching and humbling one. i genuinely think that people have more appreciation and respect for the things they consume when they have firsthand knowledge of what goes into production, and so much of that circles back to what is produced on farms. furthermore, it also fosters greater respect and appreciation for the people whose daily jobs are to do that production, which is extremely laborious and often quite thankless. volunteer at your local community garden today!!

as for something i love but wouldn't recommend to others, i think i'd have to say playing pit band. i did 4-6 shows in high school where i was in some capacity a pit musician (depending on how you're counting) and while i certainly enjoyed myself enough to actively look forward to/hope for more opportunities to play pit again in future productions, it's a draining and thankless job. especially when i was rehearsal pianist/student music director in high school, i did not actively enjoy a lot of the time i put into the shows i played for. nevertheless, here i am still hoping the drama dept picks an opera with an oboe part next year, lmao, so. anyway, it's not a job that i think would suit just anyone, and i don't think i'd really recommend it to just anyone, either.

#sasha answers #thats-the-moon-grey #a few weeks ago for earth day i volunteered w school to work for a community garden #spent a whole morning using shovels and hoes to dig trenches/rows for planting crops. fucking exhausting #but so rewarding. we were helping them expand bc theyre one of the largest producers of food for the food insecure #in our area of the city which is a food desert and saw its demand for food charity increase so so much during covid #so the garden got permission from the govt not only to operate as essential business but to expand to produce more #but. they need help actually making and sowing new garden beds #so thats what we were doing. it was haaaard but it was really fun and rewarding #anyway. crossing my fingers that the drama dept picks shows w oboe parts next year #do sondheim again im begginggggg. what was up with the reduced arrangement they used for alnm anyway #ian's not here anymoorreeee and susan graduaaaatedddd that means iiimmmm the principal #and iiiiiii should get first shot at the parts #if only they'd PICK SHOWS WITH OBOE PARTS #listen. i love copland as much as if not more than the next guy. but if they do tender land w/ the appalachian spring orchestration #im gonna riot #it's my third year and i have yet to play a single show. let me into the pit already

[what-even-is-thiss]

Persephone

Every year she arrives at the start of Autumn with new seeds for the garden and Hades helpfully holds the basket for her as she gets her hands dirty.

He appreciates the kind of filth she brings with her. It's active, proactive, helpful. Not stagnant and rotting. Not the kind of filth that sits and develops with death that needs to be removed for the sake of the still living. A kind of filth with its own merit, but not why she’s here. The kind that comes with her is getting dirt on your pants and dust in your hair. The kind of filth that comes from burning yourself on a pan or mowing the lawn or climbing a tree. Active, alive, dirt that gathers under your nails and nourishes as well as hurts.

Every year as she gets him to put on clothes a bit more practical for gardening and gets to sowing her seeds, and she tells him stories as they work. He is quiet and not one for this particular kind of hard work, but he’s a good listener with a warm laugh, and that’s good enough for her.

Every year they have done this since before humans could write and every year as they do this she tells him what the humans think of them this time, and every year he gets a good laugh.

“Who’s the primary suspect now?” he asks as he puts on his boots.

“You, I think.” she says with a smile. “Mother/daughter relations theory.”

“Again?“ he asked. “Don’t they have anything new?”

“I’m sure they will by the time I get back.” she said, adjusting her sunhat. There is no sunlight in the underworld but she wears a sunhat anyways.

After what needs to be replaced in the garden has been replaced she puts on something a little more formal. Something a little less farm girl, which she is fine with and he likes much more. Hermes, who knows everything and everyone, may or may not come by with a letter from her mother and his sister, addressed to both of them, which they may or may not read right now.

They sleep in separate rooms except for when they don’t, and they talk together late into the night except for when they don’t. Despite being gods they cook together, except for when they don’t, a lot of their time spent with her talking and him talking sometimes and a lot of their time spent in complete silence. Sometimes in the evenings she sits on his lap and they read. Sometimes he sits on her lap and they watch a movie and play with each others’ hair. Sometimes they sit in different rooms thinking about everything they are worried about. Sometimes they speak to other people. Together or apart.

She is content with this. Rarely elated, rarely upset. But the goddess of spring is fine with contentment. Letters from Demeter speak of snow. Persephone rarely sees snow. She never liked it anyways.

In the spring she sees it melting and that is that. She stands on her toes and leaves Hades a kiss on his jaw, getting a facefull of scratchy black hair before putting on her farm girl clothes and running into her mother’s arms.

Every year her mother visits all corners of the northern hemisphere, taking her daughter in tow. They bless fields or lay them bare. In her spare time she leaves her mother and visits corners of the wild to speak with gods that still hate agriculture but love the goddess of spring. They speak with her and tell her to tell her mother that she should do better. She rarely does.

Demeter is organized and opinionated. She’s loud and stubborn. She carries a long scythe that she uses on plants, humans, and animals alike. Around her Persephone is the quiet one. Something that is also fine. Demeter just likes it when her daughter is there. Warm and ready to be a steady hand. She’s gentle with a little wrath. She’s smart and carries the hopes of the dead with her. The sort of hope that turns corpses into good soil and manure into carrot stew. That turns death into life for other things. A sort of complicated darkness that follows her around as tightly as air and gives a deep, refreshing rest.

Some nights they sleep on Olympus, some nights they don’t. Some nights they fight, some nights they don’t. Both kinds of nights have their merits. Both are ones that they go to sleep knowing that they will see each other in the morning.

There isn’t much to say between them. They know everything that the other wants to say. They talk business, mostly. When Hermes comes they gossip about family. Sometimes he brings a letter from Hades. Sometimes he brings business or a gift from Hera that clearly illustrates that she doesn’t know them. Sometimes Hermes just comes to ask how she is doing. She always answers him honestly.

She is content with this. Rarely elated, rarely upset. But the goddess of spring is fine with contentment. Letters from Hades speak of danger and organization and how much he hates his brothers. Persephone understands. She hates them too, whether that is earned or not.

It has been like this for a long time. All sides feeling just fine. Love from all directions, but not love that is full of a passion. It is barely there, but comfortably so.

Demeter used to be disorganized, Hades used to be louder, and Persephone... she wasn’t quite sure yet. She had gotten to the age where she should know what kind of flaw she had but she didn’t. She didn’t love anyone or anything, except for maybe the feeling of living dirt beneath her feet.

She knew very well what was inside the cave. What brought her downwards wasn’t love or curiosity, but a need for change. And change things did. He wouldn’t let her go once he had her. She was a ticket out of questions. Something to keep the rest of the family away. She realized too late the consequences of her impulsivity.

After the initial shock and hunger strike she actually started looking around and got to talking. If not with him, then with the dead and the spirits of the rivers. They said that he was weird and needed someone to teach him patience. She said that was something he had in common with her mother.

He was very clear with her about what would happen if she ate that specific fruit. She ate it, very clear with him what her intentions were.

After a thousand years the plants could no longer survive without the cold and Demeter saw this. Slowly, slowly, she began speaking to her siblings again, and stopped holding her daughter’s hand. Winter still came. She never told them that this time it was for the good of the plants and not out of spite. Only Dionysus seemed to understand why. Thankfully, he could keep a secret.

After centuries passed Persephone transformed the underworld, little by little it became just a little less dark. He let her come to him on her own time. The first time she touched him, she asked, and almost every time after that she asked, until enough time had passed that she just knew from a glance. Once that time had come he began to ask as well and they both had slightly bigger beds placed in their rooms. Who did it first, they don’t remember.

The mortals always wanted to make this simpler than it was. Say that it was his fault or her fault or her mother’s fault. Really though, it had just happened. Then over and over again it just happened, falling into place over a thousand years.

She didn’t know when she started loving her mother again, or her husband, or even how much she loved them, but that part didn’t matter. Neither the earth, nor mount Olympus, nor the underworld was perfect, and neither was she, and neither were they. Sometimes a set of unusual circumstances leads to another set of unusual circumstances and sometimes a young goddess gets caught in the middle of it. And maybe in the beginning the young goddess was confused by it all.

And maybe now she’s just... content.

#roman wrote a thing #mythology nerd time #roman said a thing

[elriel-oblivion]

So it's been four days so here's part two 😁 Just wanted to say a huge thanks to everyone who read/liked/commented/reblogged the last part! It was such an amazing response, especially given it was my first time posting my writing here, so thanks for all the love you shared 🥰🥰

Heads up, this part is actually part one from Elain's pov. Initially I wanted to continue from where the last part left off in Elain's pov, but as I was writing the background, I realised I'd written too much to just skip when Az gets to the estate and cut straight into a continuation of part one, so I ended up rewriting the whole thing in her view. So there's no new elriel moments, but you'll get a lot of new stuff anyway 😅 I would've said you don't have to read this part to understand part three, but when I was rereading the later parts a few hours ago, I realised there's some stuff that alludes to things in this part, so I strongly recommend you don't skip this 😅😅

Also, wow, some of my fave paragraphs I've ever written are in this part 😁 Bonus points if you can find them; there are four I'm thinking of in particular 😉

Word count: ~ 3.1K. Lemme know if you'd like to be tagged/removed 😊 Next part up in two or three days 😊

AO3

Ashes from the Deep

Part II

__

It had been a pretty uneventful day as Elain worked through her new plant textbook. Feyre and Rhysand had decided to spend the weekend away at the mountain cabin, Cassian and Nesta were away doing things she wished not to think of, and Mor was at the Winter Court.

Amren had only been round in the mornings, probably to check Elain was still alive. She'd glance round the living room, examine some of those fine crystal glasses in the display cabinet and then leave. There was no difference today, though Elain always felt Amren's scrutiny upon her even when that muted silver gaze was directed elsewhere; perusing Rhys' wine collection had become a tired ruse.

So besides preparing and taking her meals with Nuala and Cerridwen, Elain had spent her afternoon with her book, making notes and copying drawings. The twins had gone off on some errands, so she'd wandered into the garden at some point to tend to her many plants, telling them how lovely they each were. The crocuses looked particularly stunning this autumn day, their pale violet colour breathing life into the shades beneath some of the trees.

With her book, she'd identified new weeds, digging into the soil to rip some pesky ones out. Sometimes she didn't want the help of a tool; sometimes she needed to feel those roots on her bare skin.

Harvesting the carrots and beetroot was also on the agenda today, along with seeding for some spectacular displays next year. She'd been collecting the seeds from some of her summer blooms, like those soft clouds of baby's breath, saving them to replant. These she sowed directly into ground she'd prepared days before, her fingers digging into the crumbly clumps of earth.

Autumn onions she'd plant tomorrow, perhaps. Feyre always remarked on how their strong taste complimented meats well, so Elain wanted to harvest some fresh for her sister for once. It'd take a few months of waiting, but there was little else better than picking out and eating food one had grown with their bare hands and the essential ingredients of love and care.

Setting her book on the patio table, Elain surveyed the garden. It was a good day's work. Plants watered and sown, weeds uprooted, and hands sweaty and soiled, Elain was proud of what she'd achieved today. There were no distractions, nothing to take her from the one thing she always found satisfaction in.

After a long shower, she found herself back in the garden with a cup of tea and a blanket. The sunset washed the sky in a blaze of red and orange glory before it yielded to the cool tones of twilight then night. Elain sat in silence, hands wrapped around her mug. How long would it be until someone's arms were wrapped around her, until she felt the warmth her sisters finally had?

Silly, these thoughts. Immortality stretched far ahead, there would be time to develop that companionship. Months and years were but a heartbeat in the life of a High Fae. She wouldn't even notice the years pass.

Or so everybody else kept saying.

With her tea finished, she perused the book of recipes she'd borrowed from Nuala. Some recipes jumped out, ingredients for which she'd been growing for a few months now. Pumpkin pie sounded especially delightful, the gourd having almost darkened and hardened to ripe quality just a couple days ago. They should be ready for harvest tomorrow.

A chill wind sent Elain inside to prepare and have her dinner in pleasant silence. Even her mind was quiet tonight. After washing her dishes, she stood by a bay window, fingers idly tapping the windowsill.

Faelights bobbed like tiny lamps, dotted through the garden. The full moon was now high in the sky, its ghostly glow illuminating the datura flowers she'd seeded half a year ago. She pulled on her blanket and went out again for a better look at those gorgeous blooms, the petals opening only at night.

Elain couldn't be happier she'd found seeds of a triple-flowered variety. They'd grown to produce large trumpets, three layers of petals ruffled against each other. Somehow she thought of her sisters as she crouched and stared at the flowers, each layer so similar, yet fighting for space and breath as it unfurled before another. It was only when they were all fully open that they could sigh along the night breeze as one, an ethereal song of togetherness, tinged with notes of poignancy, only heard by those with the will to look deeper.

The white petals were stained with velvet violet, a true vision in her garden. While the others had given her passing compliments on the flowers, Azriel had seemed stunned the first time he saw them, citing them his favourite of all the plants Elain had grown so far. Something about their shape and contrasting colours, he'd mentioned.

She smiled fondly at the memory, where his eyes sparkled as he reached for one of the soft petals.

Her hand lashed out to grab his wrist. 'Don't touch them; the leaves and stems are highly poisonous.'

His brows rose. 'You wouldn't think that at first sight. But they're beautiful, Elain. Truly magnificent,' he said, his smooth voice so low, a voice that was night given sound. And how befitting, as even those datura flowers seemed enraptured by his presence, one shy petal finally unfurling towards him.

She beamed at him. 'They like you. Flowers like it when you talk to and compliment them - but these ones haven't given me the same reaction as they have to you. I think they really like you, Azriel.'

His answering smile was heartbreakingly tender.

A few more seconds passed before she realised she still held his wrist. She silently let go.

It was a shame she'd have to dig out the datura shrub and move it inside for the winter; it did look magnificent in the moonlight.

The sky shifted past its midnight velvet, and still Elain crouched, admiring the flowers. She shivered in the night's chill. The stars above twinkled and glistened, cold and distant as ever, yet stunning - infinitely more striking than they'd ever been when she was human. A thousand different colours sparkled in that vast expanse, the moon a phosphorescent queen in the centre of her court.

The Night Court truly lived up to its name in the wee hours of the day. Its opulence never failed to mesmerise her; the enhanced Fae eyesight was at least one thing she was grateful for from this body.

Her eyelids became heavy and she yawned. Why was she still out here? It was late into the night; she should be in bed by now. But the night was so beautiful and it was so quiet and she wanted to appreciate it all just once. Just once without the expectations of others, without having to wear that miserable smile all the time.

Of course, it didn't look miserable, which is probably why almost nobody ever bothered to look deeper into Elain. She should be used to it by now, but it still felt - wrong. That most overlooked her so long as she wore a smile. That most didn't think her capable of feeling the utter bitterness and loneliness she had once seen so plain on her sisters' faces.

And in acknowledgement of her sisters' hardships, Elain didn't fault them for not looking, for not seeing her. To see past the thick blanket of darkness in one's own mind was a trial in itself. But it had been years since the war now. And still they didn't notice.

They didn't notice that Elain was being shredded from the inside out.

It was almost laughable. But not funny enough.

No, it was not funny that people still treated Elain like a child, that people wanted to keep Elain in some weird impasse of a stage between child and adult. She'd thought finally carrying out her duty and giving her hand in marriage would show everyone that she was growing up: Elain Archeron, middle born but first married. Of course it was still on her own terms, to a man whom she'd loved. A man who'd seen her through the rubble of her family's lives. But she'd overall hoped doing what was expected of her would be enough.

Clearly not. She didn't even know who she was any more. Did she ever? Everything she'd once yearned for, gone. That fragile human life would soon be just a speck on the horizon of her past.

She sighed. Rebuilding herself was going to take a long time.

But what would she have to do for people to see her, to listen to her? Throw a rage? Fall into a drunken stupor and break a few dozen bottles?

She definitely could, but those were not her. She was Elain Archeron. And so she would wait. Patience wasn't a bad thing at all; she saw it on the shadowsinger's face all the time, that tranquility and calmness she so wished to feel inside.

Azriel. Her heart softened as he entered her mind again, and she dug her fingers into the soil, if only to occupy her fidgety hands. As sure as the chaos of her visions these days, there was a mess of butterflies related to him she wasn't willing to show. Or understand.

Elain and the spymaster? Now that was laughable. Truly laughable. He was wise and patient, while she - well, everyone already thought her a child, and though he listened like no other around her, surely even he couldn't glimpse the adult she so desperately wanted everyone to see.

No, it was foolish to entertain the idea of a relationship with him. No matter how much he saw.

No matter that he was the first to see her since Graysen.

Elain exhaled. She stifled another yawn, smoothing out the soil, then brushed her hands clean. She wrapped the blanket closer around herself and stood. Twinkling stars and velvety darkness and -

There, a knot of shadows materialising at the far edge of the garden, collecting and swirling into a larger mass before Azriel himself stepped out and sagged against a tree. His shadows whirled and obscured him, a dark fire with him burning at the core.

Elain's voice left her throat before she even thought to call him and she ran over to his figure slumped in the dimness.

She couldn't help but say his name again as she neared. 'Azriel!'

Those beautiful hands fiddled with a Siphon, but he looked even worse up close. Fatigue dragged at his body, a second weight to all the muscle and armour he already had to carry. Sweat and dirt clung to him, his hair. At least the shadows were parting, swallowing each other and misting away as they often did around her. Perhaps she should ask someday why they did that. But not today, not when his breathing was so laboured.

She raised a hand - to do what, she had no idea. She couldn't just touch him right now. 'You don't look okay.'

Something else limned his features as he huffed a light laugh and said, 'I'm fine, don't worry.' His voice was raw, so starkly different to its usual icy smoothness. It was common for him to guard his emotions, but in his state, this kind of thinking was just unhealthy. What would it take for him to be honest with her?

'You don't have to pretend with me, Azriel,' she said, lowering her hand. She studied the ground, embarrassed that she'd come up to him. What could she even offer in her pathetic childlike state when he was so clearly affected by his mission right now?

His hand rose. Her heart faltered, she had to do something, and she blurted, 'Can I wash your hair, please?'

His eyes widened, his entire composure crumbling. It wasn't often that the shadowsinger looked startled, but Elain was far too shy to show that she quite liked the effect her question had on him.

'You want to wash my hair?'

His face was so exquisite, it hurt to look at it. His eyes would be even worse; it wouldn't be the first time she was rendered speechless by their kind gaze. A myriad of colours swirled in their glistening depths - gorgeous greens and brilliant browns, all so natural and rich, if only she could look at them long enough to find their matches in the garden around her. Though, his eyes were an entire spectrum of colour in their own right. How would she ever pick out each and every shade?

And if she somehow did have the courage to meet his eyes now, what would she see of herself in their reflection?

A lovesick puppy? A doe-eyed, fearful fawn?

No, she didn't want to know.

So she swallowed and focused on his hair. Perhaps this Fae eyesight was a curse, for even his hair was shockingly fascinating. Only flat black from a distance, the faelights bobbing about the trees highlighted layer upon layer of silky raven locks up close. His hair was so dark it seemed to absorb the surrounding light. Mud stained one side of his head, and it was an effort to keep her hands from brushing it away, so she said, 'I'm positive that's mud and you shouldn't sleep with that in your hair. It'll only take a few minutes.'

He ran a hand through his hair, clumps of dirt falling out.

'You've managed to get some on your face, too.' There were light specks of mud and blood across his face, a more noticeable patch along his cheekbone, thrown into sharper relief by the faelights and his own weariness. Was that a cut beneath the patch? And another on his temple?

She leashed her arms.

What had happened? He wore the signs of a fight, but why would he come here when he knew Elain was the only one home?

His eyes bored into her face, but she refused to meet them. He seemed to lean forward then, stumbling.

Ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous that he wouldn't even acknowledge he was in need. Azriel rarely stumbled. Any fatigue Elain had felt just a while ago was now burrowing down a little longer. Her voice was firm when she spoke. 'I'm washing your hair. It'll help relax you into falling asleep.'

His brows rose, but if Elain stood there one more moment she wouldn't have the courage to do anything for him. For herself - she could take care of someone else. She could do for Azriel what she hadn't done for Feyre all those years as a human.

And for Azriel, she could tend to the male who'd provided her with comfort and safety in this world of distress and danger.

So she pulled him along, clenching her jaw and refusing to look back. Her heart hammered in her chest but she continued, hand wrapped round his armoured arm. Her hand slid down to his wrist but just as she was about to replace her grip, he grabbed her other hand and pulled her into him.

The shadows instantly began to ensconce them, dozens of those cool tendrils twining like vines. The estate loomed huge before them, and Elain gripped Azriel's hand tighter. 

'My bathroom,' she said. Beneath the low whisper of those shadows, her blood thrummed, her heart so painfully obvious against her ribs now. It would be a wonder if the spymaster wasn't aware of it. Though she did hear another flutter above, right by her ear. But as expected, the shadows made quick work of their journey and she didn't have the chance to dwell on it further.

Now out of the comfort of Azriel's hold, Elain set down her blanket and made to grab a chair from her bedroom. His dark presence was so overwhelming that she exhaled lightly as she entered the room and took the chair. She dragged it to the sink, avoiding his gaze, and pulled a towel, soap and a large jug from the cupboard by the door.

As she settled the soap and jug on the sink, she dared a glance at him. He was still clad in full armour, those black scales gleaming like obsidian over his skin, his Siphons glistening jewels across his body. 'I think you'll have to collapse your armour for this,' she said.

He inclined his head and tapped a Siphon, those scales lashing back into each other with cruel elegance. They were a mirror of their master: cold, controlled and unyielding, forged from scintillating darkness. He was a night sky riddled with stars; light existed if only one bothered to look for it.

Azriel's great wings righted themselves as he stood straight, now looking smaller in just his black tunic and trousers. Something about him seemed vulnerable without the armour, so Elain breathed, 'It's beautiful, all of it.' The hulking armour, the classic simplicity of the tunic and trousers, and the male who wore them all.

He was just so wonderful, Azriel. An enigma that could see her own. Her heart clenched.

Azriel rustled his wings, colour blossoming on his cheeks.

Elain blinked and pulled the chair out a little. 'Please sit.' As he sunk down, she rested the towel on his shoulders, hovering her fingers above his forehead. Her body tensed and her fingers remained suspended. It was like a spark of tension flickered in the space between their skin, teasing her, tempting her, taunting her.

After all, she'd offered to wash his hair, an act that would certainly require touching. But why was she so hesitant? She'd touched him before - kissed his cheek, even. Although that had been in the heat of adrenaline, a mark of her gratitude where a simple thank you wouldn't suffice, not for risking his own life for hers.

This was - what was this?

She finally lowered her fingers through that tense spark, pushing his head back against the sink. It was exhilarating, this contact, but he lowered his wings, shifting on the seat. Elain moved into the space he gave, turning on the tap as he went still. Just as her body was taut, taut as the skin of a drum.

She checked the water. Warm. It was time to start.

Azriel was looking up at her. Something like yearning swirled in his eyes.

He looked so tired. It made her heart ache.

'You can close your eyes,' Elain whispered. And he did.

___

Feedback's welcomed; thanks for reading 😊

If anyone wants to know what the datura flowers look like, CTTO:

@illyrian-lover-flower @julesherondalex @nooriee @mis-lil-red @verifiefangirl @tswaney17

#elain archeron #azriel #elain x azriel #elriel #acotar

[toadstoolgardens]

Cultivating Vegetables: Fabaceae Family

Peas, broad beans, runner beans, French beans, Lima beans, soy beans, and peanuts are all members of the Fabaceae family. This family is the most useful for those looking to grow their own food because it provides the most protein and because of it's nitrogen-fixing ability.

Peas:

Fresh peas in the summer are one of the greatest rewards from the garden. Later in the season they can be also cooked and dried. They are a great source of nourishment and can even work in a small garden by growing dwarf peas.

Soil & Climate: Peas aren't fussy when it comes to soil, light soil will give you an early crop and a heavy soil a late one, but rich loam is best (which can be achieved by adding lots of compost and organic material). Peas don't like acid soil, so if your pH is lower than 6.5 add lime. Peas grow well in cooler climates with plenty of moisture. If you live in a hot climate they may need to be grown in spring and fall to avoid the hottest times of year.

Propagation & Care: Make a trench with a hoe about 2 inches deep and 4 inches wide. Sprinkle the pea seeds evenly with about an inch or two between each. Rake the soil back into the trench and press down firmly. Give it a good soaking if the soil is dry which will start them growing. You can also speed up germination by soaking the seeds for up to 48 hours before planting.

Peas take about four months to grow to maturity. Sow some every fortnight from March to July to have fresh peas all summer.

Unless you're growing the smallest dwarf peas, they'll benefit from sticks to hold them up. Any branches with twigs left on will do or some course wire netting. Peas don't like drought, so watering in dry weather will result in more peas. However, don't water the foliage in muggy weather to avoid mildew and rot.

Harvesting: Use both hands to pick peas, holding the vine in one hand and the pod in the other. Very young peas are delicious and full of vitamins A, B, and C. They are super sweet and packed with sugar! A few hours after picking this sugar turns to starch (that's why store bought peas taste like nothing but mush) so eat them fresh or freeze them immediately to preserve the sugar.

As peas grow older and tougher on the vine you'll need to boil them. You can also leave them on the vine to keep getting tougher and tougher until they're completely ripe and hard, then pull the vines out and hang them up. Once the vines dry thresh the peas out and store them to be boiled at a later time.

Broad Beans:

For the self-sufficient gardener, broad beans are one of the most important crops. They'll keep you fed right through the year with their high protein content.

Soil & Climate: Broad beans like strong, compost rich soil. They are very similar to peas in terms of their climate preferences, but they're more hardy than peas and can be planted out later in the autumn. Broad beans also don't like acid and prefer of pH of 6.5 or higher. Broad beans benefit from potash and comfrey leaves as a green manure if you have access to them.

Propagation & Care: If you live in a climate that doesn't receive heavy snows, sow your broad beans in autumn. If it's too cold where you are, sow them as early in the spring as you can. Soak the seeds for 24 hours prior to planting. Dig trenches 3 inches deep and about 2 feet apart and sprinkle the seeds 6 inches apart in each one.

Adding mulch between your plants is helpful. If your beans are planted someplace windy or exposed you may want to stake each corner of the row and run a string from stake to stake to keep the beans from falling over. In most gardens though this isn't necessary.

Harvesting: Snip the tips of growing broad beans in the spring to thwart black fly, these tips are some of the tastiest fresh greens of the springtime. Soon after this you can start pulling the small pods and cooking them as they are. Later in the season the pods get tougher and must be split open and the beans removed. When the seeds too get too touch let them dry on the plant and harvest by pulling the entire plant. Hang the plants up and shuck the seeds when they're completely dry and store. Soak dried beans for at least 24 hours before cooking and boil them well.

Runner Beans:

Both beautiful and nutritious, the runner bean is an ideal plant for a small-scale vegetable garden.

Soil & Climate: Runner beans are not frost hardy and prefer a warm sunny climate, although this isn't essential. In warm climates it can survive the winter underground and grow up again in spring as a perennial. In cold climates you can sow indoors and plant outside after the last frost. Runner beans need lots of moisture at the roots and need rain showers or watering to flower. It grows well in most soils but prefers rich ones with plenty of humus and moisture. 6.5 pH is ideal, so lime if lower.

Propagation & Care: In autumn, dig a deep trench and fill it with muck, compost, or any other organic matter you can find. In the spring cover the trench with soil and plant on that. Sow after the last frost 3 inches deep and 10 inches apart.

Before your runner beans are too tall, stake them with at least 7ft tall stakes. They can climb as high as 12 feet and can make a great shade or privacy producer. They can also be planted in a circle by building a wigwam or tipi out of of poles, creating a little bean fort! The bean fort is honestly my favorite reason to grow runner beans.

Harvesting: Pick runner beans like peas, with both hands. Pick and pick again! Keep picking them while they're young and tender and try not to let them get old and tough on the vine. If you keep picking they'll keep growing!

French Beans:

Soil & Climate: Plant when the soil is warm in the summer. They prefer lighter soil and soils improved with compost, and again a pH of around 6.5. The more humus you can incorporate while digging the better!

Propagation & Care: Dig trenches two feet apart and sow the seeds 12 inches apart in each trench. Just keep your bed well weeded and the soil nice and loose!

Harvesting: Like the rest of the beans, you can eat the green pods with young beans inside or the ripened beans can be dried. Let them ripen on the vine, then pick and hang the vines upside down and thresh the beans out when fully dry.

Lima Beans:

Comes in both bush and climbing varieties.

Soil & Climate: Lima beans will need at least three months of fairly farm days and nights and the seeds need warm soil to germinate. Wait a few weeks after the last frost to plant and keep in mind the first frost of autumn will cut them down. Lima beans like light soil but will grow anywhere except heavy clay, they prefer a slightly acid soil around a pH of 6.

Propagation & Care: Sow seeds about 3 feet apart for bush varieties and 8 inches apart for climbing varieties. Bush limas should be in rows 30 inches apart and climbers in one row. Mulching is very valuable and the beans must be kept well watered!

Harvesting: For eating green, pick and pick again once the beans are swelling in the pod. Like runner beans they get tough when left on the vine too long. If you want to dry them for butter beans leave them on the plant until they're dry and thresh by walking on the plants or picking by hand.

Soy Beans:

Very high in protein, soy beans can be eaten fresh, dried, or crushed for their oil.

Soil & Climate: Soy beans only grow where it's warm. They love lots of organic matter and moist conditions and can tolerate slightly acid soils but aim for pH 6.5.

Propagation & Care: Sow outdoors in the early summer, typically when apple trees are in full bloom is the perfect time to sow soy beans. Plant 1 inch deep and 3 inches apart in rows. Make sure to weed rigorously and add mulch with compost if you can.

Harvesting: Pick soy beans and eat them whole or wait for them to ripen and steam or boil the pods before shelling them. You can also pull the plants and hang them to dry.

Peanuts:

Peanuts are packed with vitamins A, B, and E as well as protein!

Soil & Climate: Peanuts need a warm growing season of four to five months. They like sandy soil and actually prefer an acid soil, around pH of 5. Dig the soil deeply and incorporate lots of compost, but don't add lime for peanuts.

Propagation & Care: You can plant peanuts shells and all or shell them and plant the nuts. Plant shells 8 inches apart, nuts 4 inches apart. In warm climates plant 4 inches deep, in cool climates plant much more shallow around 1.5 inches deep in rows 30 inches apart. Plant right after the last frost to give them the longest growing season, especially in cooler climates. They may need to be started under glass or other protection if your climate is very cold. As they grow, raise the soil in a circle around the plant so the fruits growing at the end of the stems can easily bury themselves. Peanuts only ripen underground.

Harvesting: In a warm climate pull the vines when the leaves go yellow and hang them to dry. In cooler climates leave them under the first frosts, the nuts will keep ripening underground even if the leaves frost away. Before eating, roast your peanuts in the shells for 20 minutes in a 300 degree F oven and leave them to cool.

Seymour, John. The New Complete Book of Self-Sufficiency. DK Publishing, 2019.

#self sufficiency #gardening #fabaceae #beans #peas #peanuts #legumes #growing vegetables #growing food #cultivating vegetables

[thecandywrites]

Blood For Gold Part 6

Ok, so for the parts that are in italics, that’s meant to signify that they’re speaking a foreign language. What does marinai sound like in my imagination? Have you ever heard Hebrew or Arabic or even Aramaric poetry? How GORGEOUS it sounds? Like that. 

Again, a thousand thanks to @kriskukko​ for letting me do this and borrow their art, thanks to @punkhorse96​ for all of your amazing feedback. Enjoy. 

Blood For Gold 

Part 6

You were barely able to walk up the steps of your own home. Demsey Draft had rutted you so good, so many times in every way you could ever want and made you feel like a treasured, beloved goddess and certainly worshiped you like you were one, so much so that your legs felt like jelly, but the happy, dreamy smile on your face was priceless. You went straight upstairs and dressed in something else moura but something clearly less sexy but much more comfortable and simply had your hair down in soft curls as you applied a face mask so that your complexion tomorrow would be as glowing as your insides surely were right now. It had been just what you needed. 

You needed to get the taste of that pregnancy warding tea out of your mouth though. Although you knew that much more of these meetings, you were going to associate the taste with Demsey and soon you’d drink it and instantly get turned on. 

“Did you have a pleasant evening My Lady?” Rose asked as she helped you take off your face mask before you would eat dinner, although you didn’t really have much appetite for it since your late lunch, early dinner feast with Demsey Draft had sated your hunger quite perfectly in every sense. 

“I did, the gardens were beautiful, the perfect diversion from the week I’ve had.” You answered. 

“I’ve heard news my Lady.” She informed you. 

“What news?” You asked. 

“There was another moura bride came off the train just today, she’s supposed to be at the ball tomorrow.” She informed you. 

“From the stables?” You asked. 

“Yes, came with a very large party, there had to be dozens of people with her, staff of all kinds, she went straight to the Palace of Windsor. Annabelle and Martha saw it since the party came out into the market a little by the station, all of them were loaded up into a few dozen carriages, all of which belonged the Palace of Windsor, they took up most of the train and most of the cargo, it was a moura train too, they could tell by the way the particular rail cars were decorated on the outside. Annabelle said she could smell the exotic fruits herself, mainly mango, pineapple and papaya.” She told you as you swooned at even the very mention of those exotic fruits. 

“Did Annabelle see the bride?” You pressed. 

“Aye, a jewel orc, would shame a peacock or any other jewel.” She answered as you blinked in surprise.

“Well color me surprised. I did not think the royal family of elvish and human decent would want a jewel orc. But hopefully they treat her well. I look forward to seeing her again, whoever she might be, there are only five jewel orc brides at the stables, Callellea, Delmalina, Benyana, Adrinelle and Savamelle and thankfully I am friends with all of them, I look forward to seeing whichever one of them came. Can you tell the cook to make a sheet of baklava? I wish to take some to whichever of those girls will be there tomorrow.” You insisted. 

“Absolutely, I’ll tell him at once my Lady.” Rose smiled happily and left you again to do as you instructed. 

Meanwhile Demsey had made it to his own home and promptly crashed on his bed, his body spent and sore in places he didn’t think could get sore, but he was sated in every sense and very happy and relaxed the way any epic rut would leave anyone. 

“Why do you smell like a woman?” Seirge asked as he came to call Demsey down for dinner and sniffed the air deeply, getting that particular scent, which this was only the second time he was smelling it. It was good but peculiar and he couldn’t place his finger on it or explain why it was peculiar. 

“Because I was with one hell of a woman.” Demsey murmured, his voice half muffled from his pillows since he was laying face down on his bed, his body was spent, his stomach was full and now all he wanted was the sweet bliss of sleep. 

“Sowing more wild oats are you?” Seirge prodded. 

“Something like that, don’t...don’t tell anyone.” Demsey pleaded. 

“You also smell like you’ve eaten already.” Seirge probed as he picked up scents of food too.  

“Because I have, I’ve had my fill for tonight, all I want is sleep.” Demsey insisted as he barely pulled his blankets down on the other side of the bed and rolled over and tried to tiredly take his own clothes off that you had helped redress him in, such a sweet, thoughtful thing too. It had actually almost started another round, trying to dress each other but it was an act that was surprisingly intimate yet sentimental too. 

“So does this woman have a name?” Seirge asked as Demsey cracked an eye open fixed his brother with a look. 

“Does it matter?” Demsey returned because even if Miss Audra Draft worked in a whorehouse, he was feeling particularly possessive at the moment and not wanting to share such a treasure with anyone, let alone his brother.  

“I guess it doesn’t, I was just curious.” Seirge shrugged nonchalantly. Even though he could smell her better with every piece of clothing his brother took off, he could find her by scent if he had to.  

“Miss Audra Draft, she works at the Red Velvet Rope.” 

“Is that why you don’t have any pocket money anymore? Because you’ve been blowing it at the casino?” Seirge instigated. 

“Sure.” Demsey chuckled as he undid as much of his clothes as he could before he had to sit up to take it off of himself and once he took off his clothes Seirge then started cackling laughing at all the love bites, claw marks and other evidence on his brother’s body of an intense sexual encounter. 

“Whew, nevermind, I can smell all of her on you. Damn, you know I never pegged you for the type to be into moura women, but obviously you had a good time.” Sierge laughed. 

“I had the time of my life. Mouras are...they are always the best at whatever they decide to do and she’s...she has no compare.” Demsey praised with a dreamy smile. 

“Even to your Countess Audravienne Morrigan?” Seirge pressed. 

“...ok, I take it back, there is only one creature above her, and that is the Countess, but the resemblence between the two is uncanny, they even sound similar, which is probably why I prefer Miss Draft to any other except the Countess and that is only because I guess all mouras look the same after the Gold Plague, did you know that the gold that rained down from heaven was actually the gold dust ash of billions of heavenly moura who died in the plague? I had no idea that that is what it was. But Miss Draft was happy to give me a history lesson and even fed me a proper moura feast there, it was some of the best food I’ve ever had in my life, and is why I’m not hungry for dinner cause I’ve already had every appetite except for sleep satisfied today.” Demsey insisted as he pulled on a sleep tunic before he crawled into bed. 

“Well next time you go, take me with you, even though I doubt you’d share, I wouldn’t mind at least seeing what you see.” Sierge said as he blew out the candles in his brother’s room so his brother could get some sleep before also throwing on some more wood the fire in the fireplace. 

“Uh huh,” Demsey murmured as he fought to hold onto conciousness now that he was in bed before Sierge left him in peace. 

The next day you happily gorged yourself on breakfast before you spent most of the day getting your hair washed along with your body and scrubbed, pampered, moisturized and massaged and then perfumed before Richard and Agnes and Jane would be coming to pick you up in the early evening and take you to the ball in their barouche box carriage as your ladies got you ready in your gown that had been dropped off just that morning along with several others, a few of which you couldn’t remember Agnes ordering, or yourself, the ones you couldn’t remember were very clearly more moura in style then the rest but you paid it no mind since the dress you would be wearing tonight was a superb gold gown, close to the Regency style, but clearly had some moura touches which you didn’t remember asking for or ones that Agnes hadn’t asked for either but you were so happy and so excited to see an old friend, you didn’t care. You wanted to look like the perfect balance between moura and English while your thoughts drifted to who exactly had come. You were both hoping yet fearing it was Callellea, you didn’t want her sweet soul anywhere near here, but the others you would still be very happy to see. 

However no sooner had you gotten ready than the Morrigans were there early to pick you up as you took a deep stabilizing breath and then went down to see them only to be met with many more trunks that were being brought in while crates of fruit and other foods were delivered to your kitchen. 

“What’s all this?” You asked as you gestured to it. 

“A gift, apparently the Young Dauphin Ramsey has brought in a moura bride, apparently a good friend of yours from Dorierra, they had tried to deliver it to us at Broadcove but once they learned that you were no longer with us there, it was promptly picked up and all brought here. We hope you have room for it all.” Jane answered as she eyed your new treasures and gifts with delight. 

“Well then I must invite you to stay the night tonight then dear Jane to help me unpack it all and inspect everything.” You insisted as she giggled excitedly and nodded in agreement. 

“Well we must be off before we run late.” Agnes insisted as she ushered both of you out of the house and into the carriage where Richard was waiting. 

“So the Dauphin brought a moura bride from the stables?” You asked Agnes and Richard once inside the carriage as you sat next to Jane. 

“Apparently he brought two, will be pitting them against each other for his hand, as if the courting market wasn’t fierce enough.” Agnes answered, because her hopes that Jane might catch his eye after your own betrothal to someone else were being dashed to pieces at the very thought. 

“Do we know their names? Because I know every other moura bride at the stables, if she is a close friend that could be helpful and tie us to the royal family.” You mused, knowing that was what would incite them to be a little more honest and forthcoming with you- offering what they clearly wanted. 

“They’re long, overly extravagant, barely pronounceable foreign names.” Richard waived off and you bit your lips to keep yourself from arguing with him. You would know as soon as this carriage would get you there but in the meantime you tried to remain patient as the carriage seemed to travel even slower than usual, getting behind other carriages who were all going the same way and whoever was already on their way was taking their own sweet time and it took every ounce of willpower not to get out of the carriage and just run there and beat them there. But you were a lady, a Countess at that, and you had sweet Jane to think about, you couldn’t make this hard on her because the Morrigans had learned early that you had a soft spot for Jane and made a show of pressing that soft spot whenever you displeased them. It was plainly barbaric. 

Finally upon arriving at the ball, you finally caught sight of them. Czarina Callellea your best friend in the world and Princess Benyana, another friend, perhaps not as close as Callellea though. You nearly squealed at seeing them as your moura marks lit up like fireworks as theirs did the same as they practically ran to you and even though it broke tradition and rules of decorum, they pulled you into a hug and you practically melted into their arms, all three of you nearly crying all your makeup off at the prospect of being reunited as the three of you hugged tightly before they each kissed your cheeks as you did the same. 

“Why are you dressed so English?” They asked as you pulled away to look at each other as they spoke in marinai- the moura mother tongue to you. 

“Because the family I married into commanded it.” You answered which made them both scrunch up their noses in disgust. 

“I heard from them that both of you are here for one man?” You asked them. 

“Yes, a Duke Demsey Voyambi,” they answered and your heart stopped as all air crashed from your lungs as your face fell. 

“Is he a bad man?” They asked you worriedly reading your reaction. 

“No! No, he’s perfectly fine, kind, funny and friendly and actually a friend of mine, we are at first names, his grandfather protected the king in battle, that’s how the family got their Duchy, and they have a soap business, that’s how the family makes their money, but he’s attached to Lady Whitesale. His sister told me directly and when I asked him in private, he did not deny it, I do not know her though. I don’t know what she looks like. But, are you sure that the Duke sent for you?” You asked. 

“No the duke didn’t send for us, the royal family did, they wanted to see more mouras in their gentry, and the Duke is orc but is a purist and therefore only a jewel orc will do in that kind of situation and apparently he isn’t the only orc in gentry here, the offer is the same that you got from your Edward.” They informed you. Your own contract with Edward had been extremely generous but was largely ignored until after his death when the Morrigans were forced to head it or risk losing everything. 

“Oh,” you answered as your heart constricted painfully into your chest. 

“Well, when you are not trying to seduce the Duke, there are moura clubs here, I have only had a chance to go to one, but I hear the others are amazing.” You answered. 

“Oh good,” they blew out a breath of relief before the Duke was announced to have arrived. 

“Time to get work I guess.” You bid them, trying to sound cheerful but you could feel nothing but disappointment. 

“Did you have your eye on the Duke?” Callellea asked as she took a step in that direction before Benyana clearly didn’t wait for her to go ahead and come over to them before Callellea stepped closer to you again.  

“I did, but with him already attached, I withdrew. But if he likes you better than Whitesale, then, more power to you. It’s ok, go, see how handsome he is, because he is very handsome with a nobility of character that will be rarer than the diamonds we are wearing.” You nodded in his general direction before she withdrew and left your side and when they withdrew the Morrigans were on you in an instant, reminding that that would be the only time it would be acceptable for you to break the rules of decorum before you simply marched away from them and towards the punch bowl. 

“No sunrise is as beautiful as the ones in your eyes.” Came a masculine purr, in marinai again, near your ear and his voice sent a shiver down your spine and made every hair stand on end, but in a good way. 

“Leumeni.” You turned to see your old lover who came to stand beside you, also getting himself some punch. 

“Since when do the stables let a male leave?” You asked him, sticking to marinai again, not knowing when you’d get a chance to speak it again.  

“Since they offered for us to come and chaperone our sisters since they can not be without those in this country apparently.” He answered. 

“If I could hug you I would.” You told him. 

“Oh I know, I am fighting not to pick you up off your feet and spin you around, but I was informed of the rules all day.” He rolled his eyes as you smiled sadly in response. 

“How come you have never returned my letters?” He asked curiously. 

“You wrote to me?” You asked with a confused crown. 

“I did, I have been writing to you about once a month ever since you left, checking up on you, but I have never heard back.” He answered. 

“But I have been writing to you and the rest of my friends but I have never heard back either. I do not know if the mail system is reliable or not, I have gotten no letters from anyone, not even my parents or my siblings. Once I left the stables all communication has ceased, sometimes the letters come back to me undelivered, other times, they just vanish. And I do not know what happens. I have even tried to hire specific carriers to travel directly, but all they do is take my money but offer no results or vanish completely and I am still left with nothing.” You answered and the more you talked the deeper he frowned. 

“Then I will look into it on your behalf. We have been invited here by the royal family. There is no way any moura will ever marry here if they can’t even get a letter home and back.” He insisted  before you brought him closer. 

“When you and the rest of all who came here get a chance, come to Mirador, that is my residence. I have things for all of you to read since I can not speak of it now.” You implored. 

“We will come, tomorrow if you’ll have us.” He offered. 

“I have company tonight, make it the day after tomorrow.” You insisted. 

“Absolutely, we will be there.” Leumeni insisted before he bowed and retreated again. 

“Do forgive me for overhearing Countess…” Dauphin Ramsey began as he sidled up to you, continuing to speak in marinai. 

“Oh, your Grace, I apologize, I shouldn’t be talking about my personal affairs at a time such a this and I did not realize that anyone else not from Dorierra would be speaking marinai.” You immediately apologized as you curtsied in place. 

“Oh please, do not apologize. You should be able to speak any language you wish. You must not worry, very few know marinai here in England, but my mother has taught it to me as my mother tongue as well, English is so very difficult to speak, much less read or write and you speak it so beautifully and the marinai accent only makes the most humble language sound ethereal. It seems my cousins have not done their homework and research before inviting more mouras here without hearing from the last moura to grace the court about how she is doing and getting along. To hear of such troubles with something as simple yet important as your own private letters to your parents going astray, especially in our royal mail system, is unacceptable, I will have the matter looked into and investigated as soon as possible. You did the right thing by coming forward and telling the truth of the matter, to a trusted friend at that and my only apologies are that I overheard it but it concerns every moura on English soil. And if there is anything else for you that I may do, please tell me. I must apologize for not coming to you sooner, I was trying to respect your mourning period.” Ramsey reassured you as you blinked in surprise. 

“Sir, I fear what repercussions may happen if you do though.” You murmured with an apprehensive look. 

“My dear Countess, no you must never fear anyone ever. You are a royal moura, you technically outrank me, I believe your former rank of Sultana should still hold true and as such that puts you on even ground with the Queen herself. You have more royal blood running through those veins than all of the royal family put together. We mouras are still in our golden age. The Gold Plague did nothing but made the survivors more precious and valuable than ever. While this matter is sorted out, please, when we won’t be seeing each other at balls, won’t you consider joining me at the Midnight Peacock? They dance every moura dance at the stables and we’ve even invented our own. You would be the bell of the ball even if you showed up in burlap.” He offered. 

“Uh, well, I don’t know if that will be permitted your Grace.” You slowly answered. 

“Why?” He asked. 

“Because of this.” You said as you pulled out the list, the one that Agnes and Richard had dictated to Jane to write down of suitors to avoid where his name was at the very top and handed it to him. 

“Who gave you such a list?” Ramsey demanded as he scowled deeply. 

“It was dictated to me by Count and Countess Morrigan, they forced their sweet and innocent daughter Jane to write it down faithfully.” You answered honestly. 

“Every moura in the country is on this list.” Ramsey realized before his face changed to smug understanding. 

“Well Sultana, is it alright if I address you as such?” He asked. 

“Please, just Miss Audravienne if you must be formal, Audra if you wish to be friends.” You suggested as that seemed to delight him. 

“I will also look into this. I understand that you also had a contract between the Morrigans and yourself and the stables, would you mind if I also looked into that, because I believe all three are related.”

“Really?” You asked. 

“Well, I do not wish you to worry about it, but I would simply like for your permission to look into these personal matters, us mouras must stick together, birds of feathers flocking together am I right?” He pressed and you smiled in relief. 

“Then you have my permission.” You decided. 

“Then just call me Ramsey, my dear friend Audra.” He insisted as he took your hand and kissed it charmingly. 

“If you are to take that, you might as well have the other one.” You insisted as you pulled the other one from your large clutch. 

“Give me just a moment please to pass these onto my best man and I will return to you in just a moment my dear Audra and when I return, if I may be so bold as to claim the first two dances.” He cooed before he left, and while you did feel some guilt for using his Grace to deal with your problems with the Morrigans, you had always been suspicious of them for creating some kind of unseen barrier, as you also wondered if your own staff that followed you from Broadcove also had a hand in it. But having the cousin of the royal family look into the matter may be just as good as royal intervention you supposed since you could no longer count on the stables to do so any more than they already had. 

Meanwhile Demsey and his brothers had almost frozen in place to see two jewel orc moura practically strut up to them. They had never seen jewel orcs before and to see them in person, was an experience to say the least.

“Which one of you is Duke Demsey Voyambi?” Benyana asked before Demsey’s brothers pointed to him. 

“We were told by the royal family to meet your family in particular. It’s so wonderful to see orcs take our rightful place in high society. Sadly this court is late, in other courts in Europa, orcs take up over half of all the gentry, yet all we see is what? Three, maybe four orc families here?” Benyana revealed as she looked around, frowning at what she saw before she turned her attention back to Demsey and his family and smiled again at them, her prettiest, most charming smile at that.

“It is quite an imbalance.” Demsey nodded in agreement. 

“So won’t you take a turn on the dance floor with me, your Grace? I have been practicing the dance steps for the last two weeks. Even on the train here I practiced. I want to see if it was worth it.” Callellea began, with a direct and hopefully look to Demsey before Benyana could get her hooks into Demsey herself.

“Of course.” Demsey readily agreed as he took her hand and led her to the dance floor while his brother Sierge asked Benyana to dance. 

“I have heard a rumor about you already.” Callellea murmured to Demsey as she took his arm as they made their way through the crowd and pulled his arm to her side tightly to pull his ear to her. 

“You have?” Demsey asked as he couldn’t help but grimace slightly. 

“Sultana Audravienne informed me that you have an attachment to a Lady Whitesale?” She pressed. 

“Ah. I see. That is actually not true. My sister Kiera insisted that I did in an effort to keep Countess Agnes Morrigan from trying to play matchmaker with me, but when Audra asked me about it, I didn’t want to embarrass my sister by contradicting her, and I should have had more honor and told Audra the truth, I barely tolerate Lady Kate Whitesale because she’s disingenuous.” Demsey confessed. 

“Well then you should correct that misunderstanding before I fear it will be too late.” Callellea warned with a pleading look. 

“What do you mean too late?” Demsey asked as he then turned and started leading Callellea to the side of the space that wasn’t crammed full of people. 

“Then you must declare it to her and make the truth known, because she feels the former is true. Princess Benyana and I were invited here to try to court you, since it is apparently known that you will only take an orc for a wife but that you at least give the Sultana enough attention that you are deemed a distraction at least or a threat at most by her other pursuer. We were sent to try to seduce you away from her so that someone within the royal family may have the freedom to pursue her without you distracting her. When we told Audra of this she looked absolutely gutted and heartbroken because she had her eye on you. But her own honor forbade her from pursuing you and now I fear that her own fear of the royal family will not permit her from expressing it either. If you do not return the attraction then by all means, let her be pursued by others, but if you share and return her feelings, then by all means, say something, do something. Otherwise she will be snatched up before the end of the evening and the vicious cycle begins anew.” Callelea implored him as he stared at her in surprise. 

“Do you have any care for her? Do you have any partiality or attraction whatsoever towards Sultana Audravienne?” Callellea pressed.

“I do.” Demsey insisted. 

“I know we are strangers but she told me that you are of noble character, one that we would have a hard time finding a comparison to in this court. Is that true?” Callellea pressed. 

“If Audra said such things, then I have no choice but to do my utmost to live up to such high praise.” Desmey answered as his own affection for you grew as his smile turned bashful. 

“Then you should have my confidence. Do not repeat this or let on that you know- but she suffered greatly under the Morrigan’s roof. She suffered unspeakable horrors. So much so that she was not allowed back to the stables, despite everyone in the stables contesting it. But she had no choice but to sign a contract that she would not return to them unless her very life was in danger, I only know this because I broke into the stable master offices and found the contracts and read them myself. But she is forbidden from talking about it because she signed it. She can’t go home and she is left to fend for herself when in a society, women have no voice or autonomy, it leaves her at the mercy of the men around her and the men around her since she has left have done nothing but bring her harm. And it is clear that the Morrigans are still treating her badly, despite the contracts that they would not. I saw the way they were practically breathing down her throat the moment I left her side. Is there anything you can do to help her?” Callellea implored. 

“I have asked but she won’t give me a direction.” Demsey confessed as his heart once again reached out to you. 

“Then ask again, ask every time you see her, be sincere and genuine, do not give up. Gain her trust and respect. She has spent her whole life preparing for a life that did nothing but hurt her. Now she is free to at least marry who she wants, she deserves to marry for love and she deserves for someone to treat her like the treasured angel she is, if you are lucky enough to catch her eye and gain her friendship. Then prove you are worthy of it and don’t fall for this trick.” She urged as Demsey looked away from her and saw that the Dauphin was walking away from you, with several pages in his hands as he recognized the list in them. 

“I will do all I can, in the meantime, if you could just dance one dance with my brother Tzane, I would be most appreciative, and do not worry, Tzane wouldn’t hurt a mosquito that was sucking the blood from him.” Demsey requested. 

“Thank you. Now go to her.” Callellea urged as Demsey realized this must be the same Callellea who wrote that note to you.  

“Oh, Voyambi, tell me, do you know anything about this?” Ramsey asked as Demsey crossed paths with him first on his way to you.  

“Yes I do. Two weeks ago, my sisters and I were out to tea at Worthingtons we all overheard Countess Agnes dictate both of these lists to Sultana Audravienne, Jane had no choice but to write them down. Agnes also heavily criticized the Sultana every time she took a bite of food or a drink of tea, and forbade her from putting cream or sugar in her tea, or from eating any sweets whatsoever.  And then that very same day, they went out to dinner at the Savoy where they were joined by Count Richard Morrigan who repeated the same direction. Even though the Sultana lives at Mirador, the Morrigans seem to continue to try to control every breath she takes.” Demsey ventured, enacting his own vengeance on your behalf. 

“Had you not gotten it from her, I was going to be making your Grace aware of it, because I could cleary tell that the Morrigans planned on excluding and alienating half of the court,” Demsey added. 

“Because you’re a good man, in order to protect the Sultana Audravienne, might we agree that you did? So that would take any blame off of her when this is investigated?” Ramsey asked. 

“You may, I would happily shoulder that.” Demsey immediately agreed. 

“Good man, have you met the Princess and the Czarina yet?” Ramsey asked. 

“Yes, they’re both exquisite, as all mouras are but jewel orcs are clearly a class of their own. Their majesties were wise in inviting jewel orcs into the realm. It will only strengthen the court, diversify it before it can be solidified and bolstered, in fact I was just on my way to the Sultana to ask for her opinion and advice, since surely she must know them better than anyone else here.” Demsey praised, knowing that’s what Ramsey wanted to hear because out of everyone in the royal family, Dauphin Ramsey was the only one unmarried, and it didn’t take but a half wit to know who exactly had brought the jewel orcs in, it left no doubt in Demsey’s mind that it was Ramsey’s idea, but if Ramsey’s reputation was true, he would ruin you the moment another moura prettier than you could be brought up in the stables and he would no doubt “trade up” and Demsey felt he needed to protect you from that.  

“I agree, enjoy them tonight, I would hate to see either of them leave without so much as a betrothal, but alas we may only take one wife.” Ramsey shrugged before he left, happy and practically tickled that Demsey corroborated the story as already quite the case was building up against the Morrigans. 

“Sultana Audravienne,” Demsey called to you before a look of complete relief and happiness washed over your face at seeing him again while your moura marks practically glittered in delight, despite your own heart breaking after overhearing the Duke’s conversation with the Dauphin. 

“Duke Demsey.” You greeted as you both curtsied in place since that was as “formally informal” you could be in this setting. 

“I really need to talk to you,” Demsey said as he came to stand as close to you as society would allow, but lowered his voice so that no one would hopefully overhear the conversation. 

“About the Princess or about the Czarina? Both are exquisite, it’s actually Princess Benyana that has the most to offer you, her brothers make most of the soap in the stables, I’m sure if you courted her, you would be able to get the recipe, or especially if you wed her- it could be written in the contract with the stables that you could take it, make it and sell it for your gain as well as hers since upon marring a bride from the stables, proof of income and ability to care for her, even in the event of your death, are a requirement, which I’m sure will be easy for you to establish. Since the royal family invited them here, they would support you in that request, I can’t imagine how many hundreds of thousands of pounds you would make if you did. I know I would buy it by the case.” You informed him as you tried to put on a brave smile but couldn’t look him in the eye because if you did the tears that were rimming your eyes would fall and looking down into your own glass and trying to furiously blink them away just as Ramsey came back to your side. 

“Buy cases of what my dear Audra?” Ramsey asked as it was Demsey’s heart that stopped as it felt like each one of those words in that sickeningly romantic cooing tone from Ramsey’s mouth was a stab into his being as anxiety began to eat at him as fear that he was already too late frayed his nerves. 

“Oh I was telling the excellent Duke Voyambi that if he were to court Princess Benyana, he had the most to gain from her besides her exquisite beauty that has no equal, or talents that set a standard of perfection that even I can’t live up to, also since it is her brothers that make most of the soaps of every variety under the sun, moon and stars, and that if there would be a courting between the two, he might ask for the recipes to make them to sell so that England would have a proper moura soap, that anyone who wanted to buy a piece of luxury could own. I know of so many mouras who would buy anything even remotely similar since our moura skin can be so delicate and sensitive. Surely he could make a fortune if he did so and thus support our great empire through his own fair and just taxes your Grace. But then again it is the Czarina Callellea’s brothers who make some of the best food in all of the moura stables and are proficient in all the moura court styles of cuisine and can blend them all together seamlessly. Surely a cookbook penned by her brothers would be worth it’s weight in platinum. Even as large as I’m sure it would be. Moura food is almost impossible to find outside of the stables and I mourn the absence of a good moura restaurant here. I have tried to give my own cooks some recipes from dishes from my own court that have been passed down through my own family but they are limited in what ingredients are available here and they don’t have the same culinary training that moura chefs do. And I long for a taste of home.” You explained as Demsey wanted to scream in protest because you were giving Ramsey all the ammunition he needed to force this issue on him but at the same time he could see you were clearly just trying to support him and do what was best for him and his family but at this point, he could care less about business, you were suddenly more important to him than selling another stupid bar of soap, he needed to think quickly and try to say something if only to tip you off to the truth. 

“Then it would be better for his Grace to court the Czarina since your Grace’s appetites for all things moura are practically insatiable, perhaps her brothers can cook up something that will finally sate your appetites since it’s clear that they came with their sisters.” Demsey suggested to the Dauphin but you couldn’t help but secretly agree. Yalin had warned you about her son, how he was insatiable and how he was on a search for the perfect moura mate who would be both perfectly moura yet able to also be perfectly English and told you which days her sons frequented both the Red Velvet Rope and the Midnight Peacock so that you would not go on the same nights as him. 

“Perhaps, in that case I must insist that both the Sultana and your family must come for such a feast.” Ramsey invited. Not realizing what Demsey was really getting at. 

“It would bring us great honor your Grace, in the meantime, might I have the first two dances with Sultana Audravienne?” Demsey asked. 

“I believe I have already claimed them.” Ramsey argued smugly.  

“The Dauphin has claimed the first two dances but you Duke Demsey, may claim the two after that if you are not already engaged.” You offered before you offered your dance card for him to sign on as he readily did. 

Then the music started not long after as the Dauphin then led you to the dancefloor as you did your best to remember the steps as the Dauphin did nothing but flatter you and all moura gifts which you apparently possessed upon him just looking at you, all in marinai the whole time as you couldn’t help but notice Agnes’ scowl at you that you were dancing with the Dauphin and every time you saw her gaze you looked away, feeling her gaze strike at you and feared for Jane and what Jane would suffer because of your dancing with the Dauphin. You were ever so grateful when it was Demsey’s turn to dance with you. 

“Audra, please, I really need to speak with you.” Demsey insisted. 

“I’m so sorry your Grace, I’m so parched from dancing with the Dauphin, might we get some punch?” You suggested a little louder for Ramsey’s benefit before Demsey smiled in relief and happily led you away from the dancefloor as the two of you got punch and then slipped through the crowds, both of you weaving through like a thread through a tapestry until finally you found a mostly abandoned gallery of art as you both made a show of staring at all the art. 

“So what would you like to say?” You murmured quietly. 

“My sister lied to you a couple of weeks ago and instead of exposing the truth and potentially damaging her reputation, I didn’t say anything, and even when you asked me privately, I did not confess and I’m sorry. But there is no attachment between Lady Whitesale and I, I can barely stand her in truth. Kiera was simply saying that to protect me from the Countess Agnes Morrigan, but also at the time I didn’t want you to get the impression that your own dowry changed my mind on the matter. I was hoping to find a moment between then and now to talk to you but my own affairs with business have had me completely swamped and I have not had a moment of peace. While the Czarina and the Princess are lovely, I still prefer you to them, I...I have a partiality to you and I have been drawn to you since the moment we shared a cabin on the train those couple of weeks ago. And while I want nothing more than our own friendship to grow stronger, I also want to declare…” Demsey began before you were interrupted. 

“Duke Voyambi, this is where you’ve taken my dearest Audra, I have wonderful news, the Czarina and the Princess would both like to invite you to stay at the royal palace of Windsor while they are here, they’ve been looking all over for you trying to tell you. I mentioned your desire to eat moura foods and the Czarina’s brothers jumped at the chance and have already left to prepare it for you themselves while the Princess’ brothers also have insisted on making you new soaps and beauty treatments, in fact they’ve insisted on going to your residence to sample what water is available there so that the soaps may be custom tailored just for you and what you need, they were most insistent.” Dauphin interrupted as he hurriedly walked into the room and over to you to steal you away as he took your arm and wrapped it around his own pullying you away from the Duke which you begrudgingly allowed.  

“Oh, that’s very kind, but they just dropped off gifts at my residence and I have yet to even look at them and I was supposed to be inviting Countess Jane Morrigan over tonight to help me.” You tried to excuse yourself. 

“Oh but even I must insist, even my sister the Dauphine Charlotte is also going to be staying, it seems every moura within the royal family will be coming, and you, the Czarina and the Princess will be the special guests, really even if your own guest is to be Countess Jane Morrigan, I was told by the Queen herself that I was not to take a ‘no’ for an answer and do whatever it was within my power to convince you to say yes.” The Dauphin insisted. 

“Then I will agree upon two conditions.” You decided. 

“Anything.” The Dauphin readily answered. 

“That I may go home and pack myself, for there are certain things I wish to show the Czarina and the Princess,” you began. 

“Of course, even if you were to compile a list, I’ll have my best people on it and your things will be at the house of Windsor by the end of the party.” Ramsey insisted. 

“That’s very generous but the items I have in mind are actually hidden away, in a place I do not want it’s location disclosed, because they are very precious and sentimental items, I insist on doing it myself, and I promise I shall only be a moment, I shall leave early from the party tonight and then once I have what I need, I shall arrive at Windsor Palace as soon as I can.” You reassured him. 

“So what is your second condition then?” Ramsey asked. 

“For the Voyambi family to join as well.” You suggested in English before switching to marinai.

“How else is the excellent Duke ever supposed to side on a moura wife after just one dance when he has to share her with a whole ballroom of people? Really it would open his eyes to see what he would be getting into and who knows, his tastes might surprise us but in order to remain subtle, I should think the whole family should be invited, especially since he holds his sister’s opinions in such high regard, that way the mouras will have a chance to charm his parents and the rest of his family as well, and might as well invite Jane Morrigan too, no need for her to be involved directly with your investigation, she is still a sweet innocent young thing, let her parents pay for their own sins without inflicting any more upon her.” You suggested sweetly. 

“Clever girl.” Ramsey praised in English. 

“It’s how I’ve managed to stay alive,” you smiled but the look in your eyes thrilled Ramsey but Demsey knew better, with the revelation that Callellea disclosed to him. He knew it was probably only because of your wits that you survived even this long.  

“Well upon the insistence of the Sultana that your family also be included and gave a very convincing argument, so let us not disappoint her, I will go with you to inform your parents so that they may send for your family’s things directly, and you’ll be staying at the Windsor Palace as well.” He insisted before the three of you went, as you took the Dauphin’s arm but reached behind you to grasp Demsey’s hand and give him meaningful look over your shoulder before you reluctantly withdrew from him as more people came into the gallery. 

Once the Voyambi’s were informed you had the Dauphin go with you to the Morrigans to invite Jane to come with you as your personal friend to the Palace of Windsor with you of which Richard and Agnes were thrilled and happy to indulge you.

#Blood For Gold #Blood For Gold Part 6 #Oh now we are getting to the really good stuff #this is going to be so fun #regency era orc period drama #orcs #orc love story #moura

[theresa-nam-nam-me]

| hybrid jungkook | hybrid mates

Bunny hybrid jungkook x deer hybrid reader

| bts hybrid | master list

❌warning❌mention of abuse, past trauma

° How you met

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"Oh jungkook, you have a new roommate" jungkooks ears pop up hearing on of the workers enter and glazed up from his balled up form in the corner "this is y/n, she's a deer hybrid. I hope you'll help her feel welcome here." Jungkook looked at you, you kept your head down and eyes glued to the floor, you had a small bag in your hands along with a bunny stuffed animal that you clutched so tightly. You have dressed in the same top as him that the shelter gave you (like the one he's wearing in the gif) with the same white sweat pants to match. "Y/n this is jungkook, oh how cute! You have a bunny stuffy just like him!" He watched as you jumped at her raised voice not bothering to look up. The worker turned around starting to walk up to jungkook making him pull himself into a tighter ball, the worker bent down in front of him and began to whisper "jungkook, she's just like you ok, she's been abused in many ways so be patient with her"

You see this shelter wasn't any normal shelter, it was for abused hybrids such as jungkook who had been abused by multiple owners and treated like a slave. The shelter offered therapy and other treatments but jungkook didn't like talking to people much and didn't trust so he never went. The worker stood back up and left. jungkook watched as you looked at your bed seeing shampoo, conductor and a hairbrush left for you on the bed with dull eyes. You seemed to go behind your bed where jungkook couldn't see and just sit as the room grow silent like before only with your presses this time.

A few days had passed and you and jungkook haven't said a word to each other, but you were something to him, he mindlessly stare at you from his be while you slept, in the middle of the night he would be awoken by the sound of your cries in your sleep, he never knew what to do and had to continue hearing your cries for the rest of the night until you stopped. You both spent the day in the opposite corners of the room in silence only to ever leaving the room at eating time in the cafeteria sitting at different tables alone he knew you would sit alone as well because of his habit of watching you.

That's where your first interaction took place, jungkook watched you as he ate his rice 🍚 during lunch when another hybrid snuck up behind you taking your bunny plush from under your arm, that damn fox hybrid sly as hell. You grabbed your plush trying to yank it back as the fox smirked. You were on the verge of tears making jungkook get up and walking over and snatching the plush from him while giving the fox a scary glare, something jungkook never done before and a wave of confidence while doing it was like a rush to save you from difficulty. He softly handed you your plush and you ran down out of the cafeteria into the hallway. Jungkook turned around grabbing your plate and heading to your and his bedroom where he found you in your corner crying while holding the plush with it's ripped arm, jungkook gulped before sitting next to you and placing out his hand "i-i help" jungkook said in a broken voice from not talking in months you hesitated before placing it in his hand. He stood up and grabbed a small sowing kit trying to find a string that was close to the same color but ended up just using a black. He sat back down next to you as he began to sow the arm back in place, "why i-is this important t-to you?" There was a moment if silence before you found your words,

"Good owner...gave it to me before bad t-things happened ..." Jungkook nodded in response handing you back your bunny and softly petting your head. That's where it all started, he started trying to get closer to you talking was rare though, he sat by you during lunch, sitting in your corner next to you (even if it was still in silence) just doing those things grew you two closer and one-night jungkook got the courage to walk over to your bed while you were sleep-crying and shake you awake asking if you would like to sleep next to him to get rid of your nightmares, it worked so you two began doing it every night. Jungkook became nurturing of you, taking care of your wounds by wrapping your leg every day, taking you on walks in the garden the shelter had and just being with you overall, it actually the most affection he's given in year same for you too. You always shared your food with him and help him make his bed, cuddle up to his chest at night. This didn't go unnoticed by workers either it's the most they have ever seen form jungkook.

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Finding out your mates

Slight nsfw

You and jungkook started to notice your heat arriving and...the only one you wanted to help was each other, the need for each other became stronger during your heat and you two ended up breeding each other, that's when jungkook asked if he could Mark you as his, even if he left his scent all over you he wanted to make sure every of hybrid could not just smell it but see it too, when you said yes he pulled you back into his bare lap holding your delicate farm and began licking the pot on your neck where he was going to Mark you, he softly pleased his teeth in you so gently not to hurt you. He gave a soft kiss afterward as you hugged around his body.

"You're my world now, please never leave my side y/n"

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Now

° jungkook and you have never been happier since declared being mates, which meant if one of you got adopted the both of you got adopted it was by law.

°jungkook and you liked spending time outside playing with each other or cuddling under one of the trees.

°it made the workers happy seeing you and jungkook so happy and making such progress, even if you didn't like talking to others it was amazing seeing you to together.

°being mates only made you two closer, you would sneak into the bathing rooms together washing each other off.

°you and jungkook had actually made lots of changes to your room, like pushing your beds together and having a small tv to watching movies with each other. You and kook had movie night every Friday night where you would get down to the cafeteria grabbing some food and bring it back to the room and cuddle while watching movies never horror it brought back memories for the both of you.

°he loved twirling you around in his arms and calling you, baby and princess. I loved you with all his heart

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Extra cute context

"Y/n I need a nickname for you... Princess? Baby? Ya that works"

"Hey baby would you like to take a walk"

"Kookie, kiss?" "Of course"

"Baby, let's go eat and cuddle"

"Hey, y/n wake up, it's just a bad dream. I'm always going to be here to protect you ok?"

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#bts imagines #bts hybrid #hybrid bts #hybrid jungkook #bts hyung line #hybrid #jungkook au #jeon jungkook #bts jungkook #jungkook

[thefloralgarden101]

From Seeds to Supper

Growing Your Own Meals in the Garden

Today, in our modern world, it's come to be somewhat of a trend to go green and live an organic lifestyle. In reality, it's indeed kind of a moral responsibility to become a lot more environmentally conscious. 

Now you may begin with buying organic produce and cultivating herbs and spices for your kitchen cupboards. But it's hard to start off when you don't know the first thing about gardening, much less growing your own vegetable patch. 

Don't fret - we're here to help you begin an organic lifestyle from scratch!

In this blog post, we share the fundamentals of edible landscaping. We talk about how to start raising your own herb and vegetable patch. We cover it all, from seed starting to setting up the perfect garden bed, to succession planting. Here, you'll get to understand the must-know methods to optimize your yield by taking advantage of your seeds and plants. 

With outstanding advice from the [city]'s greatest specialists on horticulture and organic landscaping, you can grow your own vegetable plot in no time. From seeds to supper, we're going to help you go green and be an expert on growing your own meals in your backyard!

Interested in taking a formal course on gardening? Want to get licensed as an expert on everything in the field? Check out these institutions offering programs in gardening and floristry: 

the American Institute of Floral Designers of the AIFD (www.aifd.org)

the National Gardening Organization (www.garden.org)

the American Floral Endowment (www.endowment.org)

the American Horticultural Society (www.ahsgardening.org)

Growing Your Own Herb & Vegetable Garden

Are you a total beginner at gardening? Or do you already know just how to get your green thumbs grimy? In any case, it's always useful to know which plants are most ideal for starting your own herb & vegetable plot. There are a number of foolproof seeds that are perfect for those starting off their organic diet and lifestyle! 

Here is a list of fantastic plants for beginners who would like to raise a garden of edibles right in their own backyard. Cultivate your own tasty herbs, leafy greens, and lush vegetables in your own home!

Greens

Lettuce (Romaine).

Celery.

Cabbage.

Kale.

Mint.

Basil.

Rosemary.

Asparagus.

Lavender.

Vegetables.

Tomato (Cherry, Juliet).

Onion.

Squash.

Eggplant.

Potato.

Okra.

Pumpkin.

Soybean.

Peppers.

Edible Garden 101

Organic gardening has come to be somewhat of a trend now. Many people have also taken up edible gardening. This means you don't simply cultivate tasty greens and lush vegetables in your own backyard. You also make your garden seem like a delicious treat! 

And yet how do you even begin? What do you need to begin your own edible garden? What are the most effective ways to raise your herb and vegetable patch from seed starting to harvest?

Direct from [city]'s finest gardeners and professionals on the organic lifestyle, here are several tips on how to optimize your harvest! This will help you enjoy a steady flow of herbs and veggies from your backyard right to your dinner plate.

Invest In Seed Starting

Some people think it's not worth it to cultivate vegetables and greens from seed. They say, "Why not buy and grow transplants like a normal person?".

But take it from the specialists. And even if it wasn't a vegetable patch you were planning to start off, it's always ideal to invest in seed starting.

First, prepare a small portion of a room indoors, or a shaded area in your backyard. This will help you look after your plants, from seeds to harvest. 

Soon after, get a set of gardening basics, including:

plant trays

seed covers

spray misters

seed starter mixes

light warmers

starter pots

shelves to rack your plant trays

labels for your plants (to prevent over- or under-watering your plants.

Then, of course, you'll need to prepare the optimal plant beds. That's where you transfer your seedlings into the ground and cultivate them from healthy soil.

Cultivating Perfect Plant Beds

So how do you raise the perfect plant bed for your herbs and leafy greens? A few simple tips from the pros - keep it simple, start small, and cultivate from there until you get the hang of it.

If you have a bigger backyard area, examine which portions of your lot get the most amount of sun exposure - at least six hours every day. Then see to it that you can actually use it to cultivate your vegetable patch. Steer clear of buried utility lines, pipes, and irrigation lines. Once you've figured out your area, mark it off and get rid of any existing vegetation. This will help you avoid inadvertently poisoning your new seedlings.

After that, carefully inspect the kind of soil you have for your garden and adjust its pH levels if you have to. Then, turn the soil over and dig at least a feet down in the ground. 

Put at least a couple of inches of organic compost into the hole you dug up, or until it's level with the ground. The only exemption to this is if you need to grow a raised bed. 

Last but not least, put a thick layer of mulch on top of the surface to keep the soil moist and set for sowing.

If you do really need a raised garden bed, construct a border from wooden slabs or smooth rocks a few inches from the earth. This is perfect for soil that would take too much effort to sustain. It's also great for soil that's too moist to stop weeds from inserting themselves in your backyard.

Optimizing your Harvest

After implanting your first bunch of seeds in the healthiest plant beds, you'll need to tend to them with extreme care. This way, you can maximize your plants and seeds. How do you manage your garden so you can keep yielding a stable supply of organic herbs and spices on your kitchen rack?

Creating a Tiered Raising Stand.

Investing in seed starting and growing your own vegetable plot is best done with a tiered growing stand. This is where you can implant the seeds from your first batch of produce and carefully tend to them until you can relocate them to your garden bed.

You can start off with the starter kit you purchased. Assemble it for your seed starting and build plant trays in racks on top of one another. It's best to have at least three 6x2 rows of seedlings in one stand, and approximately three to four stands at once.

Succession Planting.

One terrific way to optimize your harvest is through succession planting. Yes, it does call for the use of transplants every now and then as opposed to only growing the seeds. But succession planting is easily the most practical method of raising your herbs and vegetables. This is especially applicable once you've learned the ropes of gardening and want to take full advantage of your plot.

You can do this one of two ways, interplanting or replacing. In interplanting, you essentially plant slow-growing seeds alternately with quick-maturing plants. As for replacing, you instantly replace your harvests with fresh and healthy seedlings. With this, you can retain a well-balanced flow of greens from your backyard to your dining table all year long.

Click here for our guide in Remodeling Your Room into an Indoor Garden

[promithiae]

There are no sympathetic characters in the Hansel and Gretel story.

Let’s start with the parents. You’ve got Father, who was so in ompetant at being a father that he just married that first person that would say yes. Like dude went from Good and Virtuous Wife (isn’t the first wife always Good and Virtuous 🙄) to this haggard bitch without even thinking things through? Did 0 vetting? Didn’t even once think to ask, “hey, how do you feel about kids that aren’t your own?” Bruh. Stop thinking with your dick and actually pay attention to New Woman’s interactions with your kids.

Speaking of the New Woman. What is the deal with Evil Step Mother? Why the stepmother always gotta be Evil? Why can’t New Mom ever be good and kind to her blended family? Also, this is what, the 17th century? These brats (yeah, we’ll get to these little shit heads next, don’t worry) and they’re like 10 and 8? another couple years and you can send Hansel into some mine to work to death and little Gretel is almost marrying age. Like, if these kids really are such a threat to your vast fortune (which I really don’t believe Father had. He’s like a woodcutter or something with a little house and maybe a donkey. My dude doesn’t have any fortunes to worry about, you need to chill, lady) they’d be easy enough to take care of in a not totally evil kind of way. Not morally good,  or even sympathetic, but at least not actively trying to murder them with a forest. 

SPEAKING of murdering children with forests, let me talk about Hansel and Gretel. Ok. Ok, these little shits get lost in the wood and come upon a house made of gingerbread and candy. Now instead of, I don’t know, KNOCKING ON THE DOOR and offering to do some chores for food and a bed these little turds decide to just eat this house. Like. Of COURSE the witch was mad???? I’d be pissed too if some little assholes strolled on up to my house and, instead of raiding the garden or the pantry and promising to help plant and sow or whatever just. Started eating my front door? That took TIME and EFFORT to bake, you little fucker! Do you realize how hard it is to make gingerbread in sheets large enough to make a door? Or the side of a house??? And these little fuckers just stroll up and completely RUIN the facing? Bitch, I’d be pissed and thinking about cooking them in a damn oven, too. Make them into some fucking garden statuary. Fuck.

But don’t think for a second that I’m letting the witch off that easy. Because seriously? What the fuck kind of building material is gingerbread? How is that structurally sound??? You’re living in the black forest you crazy old bat, there’s rain and snow, and hail, and fog, and other damp things. Ok, yeah, gingerbread is great on its own when it’s dry. But have you ever dipped that shit in coffee or tea? It crumbles away to nothing. How the hell do you think it’s going to last the winter??? Also there are like. Squirrels and bears and chipmunks and badgers and sparrows and idk, rabbits and shit in that forest that would be overjoyed to have a huge sheet of gingerbread to munch on. Like. You can’t literally make your house out of food and then be mad when something comes along and eats it. Not even if the things coming along are children who, after approximately 2.5 hours in the forest with no food have apparently become completely feral. So what do you do as punishment? A rational person would make them help repair it so that they understand how hard it was for you to make your structurally unsound house. But no. This bitch sees two human children - even if they are completely unsympathetic little fucks - and decides that a suitable punishment is to make them into dinner. wtf lady. what the actual fuck. Now, if she had turned her house into a monster and had the house mimic eat the kids as retribution then I would be all for it. Fair turn around. Kids eat house, house eats kids. Done and done. But no, this bitch decides actual cannibalism is fair play. Like I was already a little wishy washy on the whole gingerbread as building material thing, but you’ve completely lost me with the cannibalism. I can’t fault those little fuckers for shoving her into her own oven.

The only person I can’t criticise in this mess of a story is Mother, and that’s only because she went and died before she could fuck up her kids lives worse that they did on their own.

#long post #a rant I formulated in my head this morning for no reason #I have no idea why I was thinking about this #can't really call it literary critisism

[boyzdontkry]

Three Easy Ways of Growing Marijuana in Your Own Indoor Greenhouse

Growing marijuana is becoming more popular, even though it isn't fully approved by the government. Many people view growing marijuana as a safe way to relax or help them cope with stress. Others believe that it is a harmless way to get high. However, the fact remains that growing marijuana can be a dangerous activity and can end in serious legal trouble if not done properly. Learning the different methods of cultivation will allow you to decide if growing marijuana is right for you.

Growing small weed plants (such as marijuana) is a very popular hobby these days. Some people grow this way for financial reasons, such as being able to support their families without having to work full-time outside the home. Others grow it because they are curious about it, wanting to learn how to grow a small weed plant. Others still do it just because they want to use marijuana in some manner, either as a recreational activity or medical treatment.

Although there are numerous different ways on how to grow a small weed plant, starting with indoor gardening is probably the best option. When you are growing cannabis in your home, you will have complete control over the environment and the growth of the plants. This means you can take advantage of any weather conditions as well as give your plants whatever growing conditions you see fit. A popular indoor gardening method known as hydroponics has become extremely popular in the last few years. There are many different advantages to home-grown cannabis, but perhaps one of the biggest is the fact that home-grown cannabis is considered much safer than the cannabis produced in the local coffee shops, bars, clubs, or marijuana grow rooms that are scattered around every city and town.

Many people choose to use a growing system such as a lightbox, or image lightbox, when they are learning how to grow marijuana indoors. A lightbox is simply a greenhouse in which water and nutrients are both circulated. Many lightbox enthusiasts enjoy taking full advantage of the different growing media that is available for their cannabis plants. In fact, some enthusiasts actually choose to use two separate lightboxes, one in the evening and one during the daytime. By doing this, you will be able to control the environment of each box, allowing growers to adjust the lighting of the plants for optimal performance, without having to make any sacrifices to their outdoor counterparts.

Another popular method that many growers prefer is to utilize hydroponics or a system of growing medium in which plants are grown in a nutrient-enriched solution containing everything needed for plant growth. Hydroponics works by supplying plant nutrition through a medium such as water or nutrient rich solution, which is circulated through a growing medium such as gravel or perlite. The nutrient solution is then recovered by removing excess from the plant roots. This allows the plant to absorb the needed nutrients from the solution, thus allowing the growers to ensure that the plants receive an even amount of nutrition throughout each growing period.

Many home gardeners also prefer a method that involves the transfer of some of the soil's characteristics from outdoors into their indoor cannabis plants. This method is called wicking and involves the cultivation of a wick on top of a bed of gravel, leaves or other medium in order to provide a means of transferring moisture from outdoors into the indoor environment of the plants. This allows the moisture to penetrate the leaves and therefore become part of the growing medium, where it is combined with vital nutrients for healthy plant growth.

However, not every home grower has a backyard filled with rocks, sand, and gravel. In fact, many home gardeners prefer to cultivate their cannabis crop in indoor facilities that feature a hydroponic, indoor environment, complete with a mineral-filled drinking water system, adjustable lighting and other features. Some home growers strive to maintain a consistent pH level, and to maintain an even canopy in order to achieve the most efficient levels of sun, shade and water for their three plants. Other home grower may opt for different growing methods, and in order to fully reap the benefits of these methods, they must set up one, two, and three plants in separate rooms, with separate light, water and nutrients sources.

Another method that some growers may choose to cultivate is by means of inter-plant cycling, also known as super cropping. This is a method that involves the division and budding of a single cannabis plant, in order to encourage the development of new shoots, which in turn produce new leaves, stems, roots, and stems - all of which add a new dimension to the overall plant, as well as providing more area for growth. When the super cropping cycle is completed, the plant may flower for the first time, and then reproduce all over again. There are different cycles that can be used, including self-flowering and self-sowing, but each cycle tends to complete the plant a bit at a time. And though every individual plant blooms for a short period of time, it is the collective blooming of the entire cannabis plant that results in the highest quality of buds.

[harley-sunday]

A Good Man Goes to War [03]

Summary: Starts right after Civil War. Steve Rogers is done being Captain America and quite happy living a quiet life in a safe house somewhere in Canada. Until Thanos goes after the Infinity Stones. What happens when a good man goes to war?

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC (f) but could be read as reader insert.

Warnings: Loss.

Word count: 4.5k

Entry for @browngirlmagic​‘s writing challenge. My prompt was “Demons run when a good man goes to war.”

AN: We’re getting closer to the end. This one hurt, not going to lie, but you know, full-circle and all that. Well, almost anyway. Please let me know what you think ♥

I don’t do taglists, but if you follow Harley Sunday x Steve Rogers you should see any update I post.

Masterlist

“Steve?”

There’s something about her voice that’s different, but it isn’t the worried tone he’s heard before. He wonders what is going on and if it has something to do with the strange way she’s been acting ever since they got back from their trip into town yesterday. There was some secrecy involved when it came to the contents of her drugstore bag and really the only thing he can come up with is that maybe she’s dyeing her hair and wants it to be a surprise. She has been in the bathroom for a quite some time already, after all. 

He finds her upstairs, but in their bedroom, hair looking her normal color, pacing up and down the room with a smile on her face and something that he thinks looks like a thermometer in her hands. To say he’s confused would be an understatement. He sits down on the bed at her request and can’t help himself, “Are you ok?”

She stands in front of him, smiling even more widely and then she shows him the stick that says ‘over three weeks’ followed by a whispered, “I think I’m pregnant.”

It’s a good thing he’s already sitting down, because his head is spinning, and he can’t believe this is actually happening. He knows she’s waiting for him to say something, anything, but all he can think about is how he finally seems to get to have the normal life he’s been dreaming of for so long. He looks up at her and when he sees the worried look on her face he quickly takes one of her hands in his and pulls her closer. 

“You ok?” Her voice is soft, her free hand running through his hair before she presses a kiss to the top of his head.

He nods, gently tugging on her hips to make her sit down in his lap and then he kisses her to show her that, really, he is. 

She smiles into the kiss before she pulls back a little, resting her forehead against his, “I know we never talked about this,” she clears her throat,  “but-”

“Hey,” he interrupts her, pulling back a little so he can look at her, “there is nothing to talk about.” He kisses her again before he continues, “I have two missions left, but once they’re done I can’t wait to settle down here with you and,” he puts his hand on her stomach, “this little one.”

“I love you,” she says, sounding a little relieved, throwing her arms around him and pulling him close.

“I love you too, doll,” he replies with a smile, vowing right then and there he’ll make her his once he’s back for good. 

Natasha visits them somewhere in May and somehow she knows?

He’s pretty sure he hasn’t told her anything, but still she shows up with a present for them, a wooden toy that turns out to be Russian made and exactly like the one she had when she was just a baby. Something passes over her features as she tells him about it, which in turn stop him from asking about it, after all he knows her well enough to know she doesn’t like to talk about her childhood. 

He is surprised to see Natasha greet her like they're old friends when she steps into the cabin, their quick banter making him realize there’s more to their story than he first thought. He looks at them expectantly.

“Yeah, so uh,” she clears her throat, and nods towards the woman standing next to her, “Nat and I know each other from way back.” 

“Right,” he says, because of course they do. Honestly, he should have seen this coming. 

“I taught her some basic hand-to-hand combat skills when she first started running this safe house,” Natasha offers with a grin. “Fury set it up.”

“So that day you and Sam came over?”

“She knew who I was,” Natasha nods.

“Huh.” He crosses his arms in front of his chest, not sure if he should be mad or relieved. He decides he needs more information, “And you’ve been keeping in touch or?”

Natasha nods, “We use the secure line and sort of developed a code for everything.” She snickers then, “We call you ‘The puppy’.”

He looks from Natasha to her and sees she’s trying to keep a straight face from the way she’s biting her lip, but ultimately she fails and laughs, “It was the only thing we could come up with that would make sense to talk about once you moved in.” She looks at Natasha, “He’s a good boy, though.”

Natasha nods in agreement, a sparkle in her eyes, “He really is.” 

“I hate you,” he says, shaking his head, trying his hardest not to laugh. 

“No you don’t,” both she and Natasha counter at the same time.

There’s a mission somewhere in June, but both Natasha and Sam assure him they can handle it, and so he gets to stay with her, preparing the cabin for the summer months. He tends to the vegetable garden mostly, making sure to remove the dead crops after the winter and sowing new ones in time for the harvest in September, while she busies herself with the annual spring cleaning. 

She’s just over three months when his birthday comes around, and he loves the way she’s already showing a little. The first trimester passed without too much trouble, except for some morning sickness she keeps telling him to stop worrying about. Like last year she’s made him all sorts of cupcakes for his birthday, the candle put into the blueberry one this time. He slightly alters his wish from last year, but ultimately he wishes for the same thing even though there’s still one mission coming up. 

They’re on the front porch, where she’s sitting in his lap, her fingers running through his hair over and over again in a way that make him completely relaxed. Once again he wishes he could stop time and just enjoy this moment forever. 

“Have you thought of any names yet?” 

Her soft voice interrupts his thoughts and he shakes his head, “Not really.” 

“No?” She sounds surprised, “I have.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she replies, pressing a kiss to his temple. 

He looks up at her expectantly.

“Oh, you want me to tell you?” she acts surprised. “Nope,” she says then, popping the p, “not until you come up with some of your own.” 

“Oh, it’s like that, huh?” He gently pinches her sides, making her laugh.

“Yeah, it’s like that,” she counters with a grin, hollering then when he lifts her up in one swift motion and throws her over his shoulder, “Steve!” 

He leaves for his last mission somewhere at the end of August, even though every fiber in his body tells him not to go. She assures him she’ll be fine and that she won’t do anything crazy, but still he’s a little distracted when Natasha and Sam pick him up, and Natasha gently tells him to snap out of it when they take off. 

When he returns home four weeks later she’s waiting for him on the porch, her stomach much rounder than when he left. She is glowing and he falls in love with her a little more, this strong woman that he knows will be an amazing mother soon. He holds her as tight as he can, pressing a kiss to her temple before he bends over and kisses her stomach, whispering a quiet, “Hey little one, Daddy’s home.”

“And here to stay,” she adds with a smile, relief washing through her voice as she runs her fingers through his hair. 

He stands up straight and pulls her in for a kiss, smiling against her lips when he murmurs, “‘M never leaving you again.” 

“At least not until we’ve finished painting the nursery,” she jokes before she throws her arms around his neck and kisses his passionately, a quiet moan escaping her when she opens her mouth and his tongue slips in. 

His hands are halfway to her thighs, ready to lift her up, when he realizes there’s now a bump in the way and so instead he pulls back from the kiss and picks her up bridal style, carrying her up to their bedroom with ease. She snuggles up to him once he’s joined her on the bed, her fingers drawing intricate patterns on the arm that’s carefully draped over her stomach, and a quiet sort of happiness settles over him because she’s home to him.

She asks him if he has thought any more about names, but he tells her he still has some time and to not rush him otherwise he’ll name the kid Natasha whether it’s a girl or not.

They finish the nursery with a month to spare, the pale yellow walls of his old bedroom now a soft green with tangerine accents, or so she tells him anyway. To him it’s just green and orange. They decided early on that they’d rather not know the sex of the baby in advance, hence the lack of blue and pink in the room, which suits him just fine. 

He makes good on his promise to make her his early November, exactly one year after their first kiss. He wishes he could say there was an epic proposal that knocked her off her feet, but in reality it was more of a joint decision. Like everything they have been doing so far. She was quick to tell him that she wasn’t one for big parties and so they traveled just across the border, to Littlefork, where they got married at city hall. They make a weekend out of it, and drive back home the long way round, spending their wedding night in a lodge somewhere in Caribou Falls. 

They call Natasha on their way back home and tell her the news, but ask her to keep it to herself, at least for a little while. After all, he’s still not really talking to anyone else but Natasha and Sam and he’s not sure he ever will. Natasha invites herself and Sam to a visit on Christmas Day in the way that only she can, and of course they tell her they’re more than welcome. 

Once they get home, time seems to go even faster and before he knows it’s early December and she yells at him to grab the hospital bag and gun it to town, because she thinks her water has just broke. He panics, just a little, but she stays remarkably calm and jokes that maybe she should drive. They make it there in about thirty minutes, a record he’s not necessarily proud of, but according to the doctors they got there just in time because the baby’s head is already crowning. 

He gets to go with her to the delivery room and there he gets to witness a primal power that far exceeds his own when she pushes and pushes and pushes until there is a baby and he is a father. 

He thinks it is the best feeling in the world, but then they put the baby on her stomach and he can actually pinpoint the moment she becomes a mother, and it’s like his heart grows ten sizes with nothing but love for her. He presses a kiss to her temple and whispers, “I love you,”

She smiles, a little exhausted, and sweaty, but still more beautiful than ever, and then the doctor informs them that it’s a little boy and she nods, looking down at the baby, whispering a quiet, “Hello, little man,” before she looks up at him, “I really like Wyatt.” 

“Wyatt it is,” he replies, because somehow it fits, but also because right now he would do anything she’d ask him to. 

“It means ‘brave in war’,”  she offers, gently stroking their son’s blond hair. 

One of the nurses steps in then, taking the baby from her, wrapping it in a blanket and handing it to him, because they’d like to clean her up a little, and so here he is, holding this tiny little baby boy that is his son. He takes it all in, the little fingers, the tiny toes, and the scrunched up nose that he hopes will end up looking like hers. 

He knows he’ll be forever indebted to her now, because there is nothing he could ever give her that matches this, even though he vows right then and there, with Wyatt as his witness, that he’ll never stop trying. 

Natasha and Sam visit them on Christmas day like they planned and suddenly the house is filled with people and laughter and stories of the good old days, and he doesn’t remember a time when he was happier. He tells them stories about Christmas when he was a kid, how Bucky would always find a way to get enough money to buy them a slice of fruitcake from the bakery around the corner. Talking about Bucky makes him realize he misses his best friend and he wonders how things are over in Wakanda. Maybe he should try to contact T’Challa in the new year, see if they can come over for a visit. After all, he did promise her he’d take her there someday.

Wyatt ends up spending most of the day in Natasha’s arms, who keeps whispering, what sound like little secrets, to him in Russian. Wyatt just stares at her intently, like he knows exactly what she’s talking about. He’s a little hesitant to let Sam hold his son, but it turns out Sam’s a natural, quietly singing Marvin Gaye songs as he walks around the living room with Wyatt in his arms until dinner is ready. He is sad to see them leave at the end of the night, but they promise they’ll see each other again soon and he knows they will.

They spend New Year’s Eve like any other night, except now they struggle to stay awake until midnight, while Wyatt’s sleeping soundly in his crib upstairs. And for Wyatt, New Year’s Day is like every other day and so he doesn’t care his parents were up way past their bedtime the night before, he would still like his bottle at six AM, thank you very much. 

The morning shift is his, like any other shift really, because it’s his way of paying his dues. He lets her dote on their little boy while he takes care of bottles, nappies, and laundry as much as he can. Wyatt seems to thrive, and as happy as a one-month old can be, and she’s very relaxed about everything as well which makes him feel like maybe they’ve got this.

They venture out into the cold a few days into the new year, Wyatt bundled up and tucked away in the baby carrier he’s put on under his jacket. The sun is watery in the sky, and the snow covered ground shows endless animal tracks, most of them from deer and squirrels  but he also thinks he sees some larger prints that would indicate moose. When he asks her about it she tells him it’s just a single family, who have been here as long a she can remember. 

Day by day they get back into the swing of things, with her back in the kitchen more and more, and him doing whatever he can around the house. Wyatt is six weeks old and as happy as can be, which in turn makes them a little more relaxed too. And so one night, when they’re snuggled up on the couch, the three of them, Wyatt sleeping soundly in her arms, she rests her head on his shoulder, a content sigh escaping her, a quiet, “I love you,” following.

He kisses the top of her head, “I love you too.” 

She’s about to say something but then she’s interrupted by a buzzing sound coming from one of the kitchen drawers. He gets up immediately, cursing quietly, and she looks up at him, worried because she knows what this means.

He finds the old flip phone somewhere in the back of the cutlery drawer and answers it with a solemn, “Rogers.”

The voice he hears on the other end isn’t Tony’s but Bruce’s and immediately he’s on high alert. He listens to the other man trying to form a coherent story, but in the end Bruce just says, “We need Captain America, Steve. Things are bad.” 

He answers with a simple, “Ok.” and then ends the call. He turns towards her and shakes his head, “I need to go.” His other phone, the one Natasha gave him, beeps them, and he takes it out of his back pocket, opening the message app and quickly scanning what she wrote. Bruce was right, it is bad.

She joins him in the kitchen, Wyatt still undisturbed by the change in atmosphere although he is awake now, and looks up at him, “How long until you have to go?”

“Natasha and Sam are at the airport in an hour,” he replies, running a  hand through his hair. 

“With the Quinjet?”

He nods, “Yeah.”

“Oh God,” she whispers, hand in front of her mouth because she knows as well as he does that they would never use a civilian airport unless there was no time to lose. A sob escapes her then, but she clears her throat and he knows she’s trying her best to stay strong. “Ok,” she starts, “you have about ten minutes before you have to leave. What do you need?”

“More time,” he thinks, but instead he says, “Nothing. All my gear is still on the Quinjet.”

“When will you be back?”

She’s never asked this before, but he sees her looking at Wyatt and he understands. He wishes he could give her an answer, but instead he shrugs, “I don’t know.” He holds out his arms and pulls her in for a hug, “I’m really sorry, doll.” 

“It’s ok. The world needs you more right now, so you should go and save it, Captain,” she tries to smile even though he knows she’s just trying to put on a brave face. “We’ll be fine,” she nods, “I’ll be on the porch when you get back. Promise” 

The goodbye is hard, maybe the hardest thing he’s ever had to do, but he keeps telling himself that she’s strong enough for both of them. He tells his son that he’ll be back soon and to be kind to his mom, and he could have sworn Wyatt seems to understand. 

He’s at the airport with minutes to spare, the Quinjet already waiting for him, a solemn nod from both Natasha and Sam as a greeting. He suits up once they’re airborne, Natasha then explaining everything to him way better than Bruce ever could and it’s then he understand the gravity of the situation and wishes he would have taken her and Wyatt with him. 

“Don’t,” Natasha says, because of course she knows exactly what he’s thinking. “They are safe where they are.” Her hand is on his shoulder then, “I don’t know if she told you, but there’s a bunker, not far from the cabin. It has everything she needs to survive at least five months, if not more now that it’s just her and Wyatt.” 

He looks at Natasha, surprised, because no, she never told him this. 

“Smart girl,” Natasha comments before she explains, “The less people know about it, the better.”

“But we’re-”

“I know,” Natasha squeezes his shoulder, “but Nick pretty much made her swear on her life. Me too, by the way.” She nods towards Sam, “Sit down, get some rest. We’ve got this.”

They arrive in Edinburgh a couple of hours later and nothing is ever really the same after that. 

They’re on their way to Wakanda, Rhodey and Sam flying the aircraft, while Bruce and Vision talk about how to safely remove the soul stone. Wanda keeps trying to come up with other ways to make this work, but so far her attempts are futile. He finds himself seated next to Natasha, mentally preparing himself for what seems to be a war against Thanos when suddenly he remembers something.

“When a good man goes to war,” he whispers, the taste of the words sour in his mouth.

“Sorry?” Natasha says from somewhere on his right.

“When a good man goes to war,” he repeats, a little louder. “I read it somewhere, right before I left for Canada.” He looks at her, “Seems fitting, doesn’t it?”

“Oh, Steve,” she reaches out, her hand on his arm then, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Stephen Strange wrote that,”

“What?” 

“Yeah,” she nods, “there’s more to it though.” 

“Tell me,” he says, probably against better judgment, because she looks very hesitant.

“Not now,” she says and points towards the window. “We’re here.”

He watches as Sam expertly lands the Quinjet on the square in front of the palace, and then he and Natasha are the first to exit. He walks up to T’Challa, “Seems like I’m always thanking you for something.”

T’Challa simply shakes his hand and tells them to follow him, where he tells them, “You have my kings guard, the Border Tribe, the Dora Milaje and,” 

“A semi-stable one-hundred year old man,” someone says from somewhere in front of him. 

He smiles, because he would recognize that voice anywhere, some of his worries a little less now that his best friend will fight alongside him. He can’t wait to tell Bucky about his wife and son but he never even gets the chance.

He’s lost all sense of time, not quite believing Natasha when she tells him the battle only lasted a couple of hours. Too much has happened. He’s lost Bucky. Again. Half the population’s gone. Thanos is God knows where doing God knows what with the Infinity Stones. It’s just too much and so he pushes all that to the back of his mind, determined to get back to that little cabin in Canada as soon as he can. He’ll deal with the aftermath once he’s home. 

Natasha wants him to get looked at first, maybe get some rest, but he just tells her she can either come with him or stay here in Wakanda, but that he is going. Now. She stays, tells him someone needs to keep what’s left of the team together and before all this he would have taken this as personal jab, but now he just tells her to be safe and to stay in touch.

He finds the Quinjet where Sam parked it just this morning and pushes the button necessary for it to start up the systems. Natasha catches up with him just as he’s about to prepare for take off, and she’s a little out of breath and he thinks he sees the hint of tears in her eyes, but this is Natasha, so it must be a trick of the light. 

“I think you need to hear the rest of what Strange wrote.”

“The poem?” He shakes his head, “I don’t think now’s the time,”

“It’s not so much a poem,” she admits. “It’s more a prophecy.”

“Natasha-”

She clears her throat, and he’s not sure if every other noise suddenly disappears or if that’s just his imagination, but he can hear her loud and clear when she recites,

“Demons run when a good man goes to war Night will fall and drown the sun When a good man goes to war

Friendship dies and true love lies Night will fall and the dark will rise When a good man goes to war

Demons run, but count the cost The battle is won, but the child is lost”

He flies the Quinjet back to the Red Lake Airport, pushing the aircraft to its absolute limits, trying to get there faster. The airport is empty, no one except the janitor who does what he always seems to do, quietly mopping the floors, but looking slightly more bewildered this time. He hurries past the man, who looks up expectantly like he’ll explain what has happened, but he doesn’t want to. Not now. Not ever.

His bike is waiting for him exactly where he left it, but then again he’s only been gone a little over two days. He shakes his head, trying to get rid of the images that keep flooding his mind, not wanting to think about everything that has happened since he left her and Wyatt, although the image of Bucky turning to dust is still fresh on his mind. He’ll have to deal with later. Or not at all. 

There’s something tugging on his heart all the way from the airport to the cabin and he’s sure he exceeds the speed limit enough to lose his licence, but he really doesn’t care. Not that there’s anyone else on the road, which, to be honest, isn’t that unusual here, but still, it feels different this time. He really wants to get home as quickly as possible, hold them, make sure they are alright, even though he knows something has happened. He feels it somewhere deep in the pit of his stomach. 

She’s not there on the porch like she promised she would be, and so he’s off of the bike and inside the cabin in a matter of seconds but she’s not there either. He checks upstairs, half expecting to find Wyatt alone in his crib, and not sure if he’s relieved when he doesn’t. He starts praying then, to a God he long stopped believing in, for them to be alright. He fishes out the piece of paper Natasha handed him, a quick drawing to show him where the bunker is located, and then he’s running. 

When he gets there he notices the door is slightly ajar and he hears something that he can only describe as grief coming from inside. He takes a moment to just breathe, in and out, trying to get himself under control, knowing he will have to be the strong one for a while. He pushes the door open slowly and his heart shatters into a tiny million pieces when he sees her sitting there on the bottom of the stairs, her head buried in her hands as she cries. And cries. And cries. 

He takes a tentative step towards her, reaching out to her, and her head snaps up and she looks absolutely lost. He rushes to her side and sits down beside her, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close. Her cries become wails then, her whole body shaking, and she doesn’t have to say anything, because he knows. His prayers turn to promises then, because someone will pay for this. 

He promises right there and then that he will do whatever it takes to avenge his son. 

#Steve Rogers x reader #Steve Rogers fanfic #ayesha1kwritingchallenge #Harley Sunday x Steve Rogers #Captain America

[scharoux]

Stripped Confessionals Pt. 1

Starting off the ‘Spring Into Love’ prompts event with a bang. For prompts number 7 through 10.

Huge thanks again to my usual Trio ( @bearly-tolerable​ @buttsonthebeach​ & @lyrium-lovesong​ ) and also to @velannas​ for letting me borrow Mihren again!

Fandom: Dragon Age

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Cullen Rutherford x Meara Lavellan

********************

The warm sun of the new spring shone brightly in the Skyhold gardens as Meara Lavellan sat enjoying a game of chess with her sister Mihren. Since Mihren had been officially given the title of Inquisitor, it seemed like she rarely had a minute to herself, let alone to spend some time with her only sister.

"Meara! Are you cheating again?" Mihren scolded her as she leaned forward, giving her a knowing scowl.

Meara bit her lip and tried not to laugh. This wasn't the first or the last time her sister had given her this familiar scowl. She'd been used to seeing it since she was a small girl, up to no good, with Mihren on her heels trying to keep her out of trouble.

"I would never!" She placed her hand over her heart dramatically, acting wounded at the accusation.

Mihren's scowl remained fixed on her as she made her move, then leaned back into her chair. "Why, do I not believe you?"

Meara couldn't hold back her laugh then. She genuinely wasn't cheating, or at least not this time anyway. In fact, she was actually taking it easy on her worn-out sister. She'd noticed that Mihren was missing obvious strategic moves that she would have never missed if she wasn't stretched so thin with everything going on.

 The winter at Skyhold had not been kind to them. The harsh weather, plus the constant influx of new recruits and refugees, meant there were always more mouths to feed and bodies to train for the battle against Corypheus. Mihren had needed to step up to her new role, and she had without question. Only Meara couldn't help but wonder what it had cost Mihren. What it was still costing her. Her sister was tired and needed a break more than anyone she knew. Unfortunately, Mihren carried the same stubbornness she did and refused to let anyone help her shoulder her responsibilities, even Meara.

Meara deliberately made a move that would lose her a valuable piece, watching to see if her sister would notice how she'd set it up for her to take easily. She didn't.

Meara muffled a concerned sigh as she watched Mihren struggle to make her next move.

"Mihren?" Meara reached forward and tipped over her King. Mihren looked up at her, eyes wide with surprise. "When was the last time you slept?"

She made to reply, but Meara cut her off knowing the argument that was coming. "No! I mean more than a few hours here and there."

Mihren's mouth shut, arms crossing across her chest like she always did when she was guilty of something.

She gave her sister a stern look. "I mean an actual full night's sleep, where you go to bed shortly after dusk and stay asleep until dawn?"

Mihren sighed, annoyed. "I can't remember." She replied, waving her hand dismissively.

Meara nodded, and stood, shoving her chair out from behind her. "Get up, Mihren."

"What? Why?"

She stood up regardless and gave Meara a quizzical look as she came and took her by the elbow, leading her out of the gazebo.

"Go find Solas. Tell him you need a sleeping draught, and most importantly…" Meara paused, pulling her sister to look her in the eye, "tell him I will be checking on you later to make sure you took it." 

Mihren rolled her eyes but nodded in agreement. "Fine! You're right, I need to rest. I'm not myself, and I haven't been for a few months." She let out another deep sigh as she pulled Meara into a big hug. "Thank you for making sure to take care of me when I can't take care of myself."

Meara gave her sister a tight squeeze in return. "Always." She pulled away and reached up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind Mihren's ear. "Now, go find Solas and get some sleep. I'll be checking on you later."

Her sister smiled in farewell as she made her way across the soppy earth, still wet from the melting snow.

Meara hoped that she would see her sister return to normal after a much-needed rest. She couldn't help but wonder if Solas had tried to convince her to take time to rest as well, and if he had, why he hadn't been successful.

She turned and was about to walk to the stairs leading to the ramparts, but a familiar gentle voice beckoned her.

"My Lady Mearanna?" Mother Giselle spoke melodically as she approached her. "May I have a moment of your time?"

Meara didn't really know Mother Giselle and hadn't had much opportunity to interact with her more than a handful of times, but she liked her well enough for a devout Andrastian.

"Of course, but just Meara is fine." She replied politely.

The old woman nodded, gesturing for Meara to walk with her. "I wonder, if during your next journey outside of Skyhold you might be able to procure more medicinal herbs for Skyhold's stores? Specifically, more elfroot and witherstalk."

"Why ask me? Surely Leliana's scouts will be able to procure these for you?" she asked curiously as they made their way about the gardens, the waterlogged ground heaving up under the weight of her boots.

Mother Giselle gave Meara a knowing grin, "The fertile Earth gives birth to new life."

Meara was even more confused now. Did she always have to speak in riddles?

"I'm not sure I understand, Mother Giselle?” 

The old woman's grin spread into a broad smile. "It is spring, my child. Soon there will be an abundance of new life amongst us in all shapes and forms. With it will also come the need and desire to keep more seeds from sowing."

When she didn't respond, Mother Giselle cocked her head and gave her a curious look.

"Surely you must have noticed that our stores of witherstalk had almost run out? You and the Commander are still - intimate - are you not? I was merely thinking that you would perhaps make it more of a priority than Sister Nightingale's scouts, given your need of it."

Suddenly the last few weeks were a blur. She began counting back in her head. Desperately trying to recall the exact day it was, and realization hit Meara like a rampaging druffalo, knocking the wind from her lungs in an involuntary whoosh.

"Oh, fuck."

Meara ran for the stairs that lead to the ramparts, ignoring Mother Giselle's shocked gasp at her outburst and sudden departure.

She needed to find Bull right away, and there was one place she knew for certain to look. She took the steps two at a time, then sprinted across the ramparts towards Herald's Rest once she reached the top. If anyone could help her it was Bull, or maybe Dalish, but she needed answers and she needed them now.

She flew across the ramparts, hoping like hell she wouldn't cross his path on the way to the tavern. Prayed silently to the Creators for the first time since she was a young girl that her path would be clear. Meara wasn't afraid of anything, but right now, in that moment, she was absolutely terrified of seeing Cullen, and the fear turned her stomach to rot.

*****************

Meara had found Bull exactly where she'd predicted he would be, tucked in the back corner of the tavern having a drink with Krem. She'd let out a relieved sigh as she'd come down the stairs and spotted him in his regular spot.

"I need you!" Meara huffed, pointing a finger at the massive Qunari sitting before her. "Now!"

Bull gave her a curious look, then shrugged at Krem's questioning glance as he placed his tankard on the table. "What's up little Boss?"

"Somewhere - more private." Meara cast a look over her shoulder, afraid someone might hear them. "Please?"

Bull must have sensed her urgency, or maybe it was her unease. Whatever it was, he stood and directed her out the back entrance of the tavern. Meara breathed a sigh of relief when the noise from the patrons inside died as Bull pulled the door shut behind him. They stood alone in the small gap that separated the infirmary and Herald's Rest, hidden away by the overgrown bushes that grew there.

"Alright," Bull said when she turned to face him again. "We're alone now, so what's on your mind?"

Meara swallowed down the sour taste of unease that coated her mouth. Oh Creators, I've really fucked up this time.

She took a deep breath and tried to tamp down on the waver in her voice. "What do you know about witherstalk, and do you know if it can stop working?"

Bull frowned, "Obviously I know what it is, and what it's used for. I don't know if it's always effective though. Maybe you should ask Solas, or maybe the surgeon at the infirmary?" He gestured to the building next to them with a cock of his head.

"No, and I would rather not." Meara groaned as she started pacing nervously.

Bull watched her silently for a minute, his good eye followed her every movement.

"What's going on with you Meara?"

"Nothing! Why?" Meara asked, a bit more defensively than she intended.

He scoffed at her, rolling his eye as he crossed his arms over his chest. "Look, I know you, and I can also read your body language. It's definitely not nothing."

She groaned again. "Fucking Ben-Hassrath!" She cursed under her breath, and she's sure she saw his mouth twitch.

"I can either guess, or you can tell me what's going on and save us both a lot of time. Your choice." Bull leaned back against the tavern wall, waiting for her like he had all the time in the world.

"Ugh!" Meara growled. She took another deep breath, trying in vain to steady her nerves.

"I stopped taking witherstalk a few days before my monthly bleeding was supposed to start, but that was two weeks ago, and I still haven't started my cycle!"

She blurted it out in a rush of breath. She genuinely hoped that Bull had managed to catch it all, because she wasn't sure she could bring herself to repeat it.

Bull looked a little perplexed at first, like he was trying to process what she'd said.

"Please don't make me say it again." Meara pleaded as she clenched her hands anxiously at her sides.

She'd never once missed her monthly cycles. Not since she got them for the first time as a girl. She'd always been careful to never miss a dose of witherstalk when she became sexually active. Meara knew to stop taking it a few days before her cycle was set to begin, and to start taking it again as soon as her bleeding had stopped. It was like second nature for her.

Only, she'd never been on the front lines preparing for an inevitable battle against a blighted magister hell bent on destroying the world before. No, that was definitely new.

She'd also never been in what she would consider a relationship before either.

What she had with Cullen, and everything they were facing was foreign territory to her in every possible way. Being in a relationship was scary enough for her, she couldn't possibly imagine being a parent or having a child. Especially not right now when they were at war. Mihren could do it, but Meara was afraid she didn't have the same nurturing side that her sister did.

Meara felt her palms getting sweaty as a wave of nausea rolled over her stomach. What the fuck is wrong with me? Get it together, Meara!

Bull was still leaning against the wall, watching her, and she couldn't handle the scrutiny. "Say something! Say anything!"

Bull gave her his typical know-it-all grin then stepped forward and put his huge hand on her shoulder. Creator's, his size never ceased to amaze her. He was a giant in comparison to her. His hand completely encompassed the top of her arm, his fingers draping over to touch the lower part of her shoulder blade.

Meara remembered the way his hands had felt huge when they were everywhere on her body. She remembered the way his touch was gentle, but also rough when she needed it to be, and how he just knew when to shift between the two. She'd have given anything to go back to the easiness that they'd had. To just fall back into the routine of having sex to scratch that itch when it flared up, and not having all the feelings and emotions tied to it.

Meara would be an absolute liar to say she didn't enjoy what she and Cullen had. Unfortunately, it was this exact reason that she didn't like to let people get close to her on this level. Sex for sex was easy - comfortable - and definitely safe. Feelings complicated things. They made her feel vulnerable.

Meara longed for the familiarity and security of her former habits. Bull looked down at her, the same way he had when she'd first mentioned that they should have sex. The same look that made her feel in control, while also asking for her permission. All the while he knew exactly what it was she wanted. What she needed from him.

It was then that she realized it was the control she missed. Control over her life, because right now she felt like nothing was in her control, and it was sending her spiraling.

"What do you want me to say?" Bull asked her quietly, almost a whisper.

Meara looked up at him, feeling that familiar surge of fierce intensity rise in her as she took his hand off her shoulder. He gave her that fucking “I already know” look, and her need for control erupted within her.

"Nothing."

She leapt at him, Bull catching her easily, as she wrapped her legs around his waist. She crushed her lips against his as she wrapped her arms around his neck. Their kiss was carnal, mouths clashing against one another, tongues melding together between hot breaths. Meara moaned as Bull's strong hands gripped her ass, lifting her higher. There was nothing to complicate things. Just hands on bodies, feeling and searching out the means to an end.

Bull bit her lip, sharp teeth nipping at the plump flesh as she sucked in a shaky breath. Meara couldn't help but compare his touch to Cullen's. How Cullen was gentle, eager to please her, but also how he wanted to take his pleasure with her. Always with her. How he was never selfish in his need, even when she wanted him to be. How he'd wake her in the mornings with gentle kisses on her bare shoulders. How he'd make love to her passionately, letting her pleasure build slowly until she would keen longingly into his touch.

Meara's heart fell as it dawned on her that what she needed, and wanted, wasn't something she could find with Bull. It was with Cullen. And in her hopelessness and fear at the thought of becoming a mother, she'd allowed herself to stray from him. Even worse she'd strayed into the arms of the one person Cullen felt menial next to.

Meara pulled away, ending the kiss. She looked into Bull's eye, placing her hand on his cheek. "I'm sorry, Bull."

She was prepared for his face to fall with rejection, or maybe to act like this was familiar ground for him, which it was. She was ready to apologize again to her friend for hurting and using him, to atone for her mistakes. She'd earned the hurt that was about to come.

Meara, however, was not expecting a huge grin to spread across Bull's face as he dropped her back onto the solid ground. "About fucking time." He said clapping her on the shoulder.

Meara was aghast. "What?!"

"I was afraid I was going to have to go all the way before you'd come to your senses." He laughed.

"Are you fucking serious?" Meara gaped at him, "How could you possibly know I wasn't going to go through with it?"

"C'mon, Meara" he gloated happily. "Everyone - except you - can see how much you're in love with Cullen. I knew you wouldn't go through with it once you got your head out of your ass."

She didn't know how to reply. She could only stand there shell-shocked, staring up at him as he gave her a shit-eating grin. "Or, at least, I figured you would stop," he added with a off-handed shrug.

"Really?" She challenged him, hand on her hips. "And just how far were you going to let me go before you let me come to my senses?"

Bull coughed then, "Well I can't say it wasn't a tempting idea to take you to bed again, but I'd have stopped you... eventually." He added a wink, goading her on.

"Fuck off, Bull." She punched him in the center of his exposed pec, and he let out a big bellowing laugh. She smirked despite her lingering annoyance.

"Seriously though. Why didn't you stop me?"

Bull's smile faded. He reached out and took her hand, encompassing it with his own. "I didn't stop you because you're stubborn. If I'd tried to stop you, you would have wanted to keep going to establish the control you thought you wanted. What you needed was the push to figure out for yourself that what you really wanted was Cullen."

Meara knew he was right. Hated that he was. She knew in her heart that if he'd tried to talk her out of it, she'd have wanted to show him he was wrong even if he wasn't. He hadn't forced her, hell, she'd initiated it. She had been sure it was what she'd wanted, but damn if it wasn't the furthest thing from the truth. She continued to lie to herself over and over again. Tried in vain to convince herself that what she and Cullen had wasn't as serious as it really was, and now she might be carrying his child.

"Fuck." She hung her head, hiding her embarrassment. "What the fuck have I done?"

"You asked me for my advice before." Bull stated. "Do you still want it now?"

Meara nodded. He squeezed her hand reassuringly.

"You don't need to be so strong that you can't let anyone in. You know that in the Qun we don't make relationships a thing, but that doesn't mean they don't exist." Bull released her hand and turned towards the tavern door again.

Meara watched him go, trying to decipher what he was telling her. Why was everyone speaking in riddles today? He paused, giving her a quick look over his shoulder, "The real strength is being brave enough to let that one person in, and letting them stay no matter how shitty things get."

Meara looked at her friend with glassy eyes. She finally understood. Knew what he was trying to tell her. What Mihren and everyone else had been trying to tell her for months, but she'd been too damned stubborn to hear.

Bull nodded to her, pulling open the door and letting the noise of the tavern patrons spill out before he stepped inside, closing the door behind him.

Meara smiled, took a deep breath to compose herself, then took off around the corner of the building. She needed to find Cullen, and she hoped like hell that she would have the strength to say what she needed to. Hopefully together they would be able to weather this storm if it came to a head.

******

Meara thought she was going to be sick. Cullen's quarters were empty when she'd arrived, and she paced nervously back and forth across the room, waiting anxiously for his return. Her stomach churned angrily, and she felt the bile rise in her throat.

She forced herself to swallow. She took several deep breaths, trying desperately to steady her nerves. She'd never been this nervous in her life. Not even when she was competing to become the leader of clan Lavellan's hunting party. No. Meara could track a deer faster and more efficiently than any man in her clan. Could clean and carry out the carcass of her prey faster than any of the people who told her she couldn't because she was too small, even for a woman. She had stared them all down fearlessly when she'd emerged from the forest - a large buck over her shoulders - bright red blood still running freely from it and staining her clothes.

Meara tried to remember what Bull had said. Replayed the words over and over in her head.

"I am not weak." She said aloud, continuing to pace the length of the room.

"I am strong." She tried to remind herself.

"He gives me strength."

"Who gives you strength?"

Meara spun around as Cullen's voice broke her from her nervous spell. She'd been so distracted she hadn't heard the door open behind her.

"Cullen!" She swallowed anxiously, trying to regain some semblance of composure. "I - I didn't hear you come in."

He smiled at her, dropping a stack of papers on his already crowded desk. "Nor would you have. You were speaking quite loudly."

Meara felt the blood rush to her cheeks, "Oh - right. Yes. I guess I was," she rambled off, embarrassed that he might have overheard her personal pep talk.

Cullen bridged the gap between them, pulling her against him. His arms wrapped tightly around her as he leaned in, kissing her forehead affectionately.

Meara took a shallow, shaky breath, winding her arms around his waist, letting her cheek rest against his chest. She clutched the fabric of his tunic tightly in her hands, holding him close while she tried to build up her courage again.

“Is everything alright?” Cullen murmured into the top of her head, his hot breath sending shivers down her spine before coming to rest in the tips of her toes.

Meara closed her eyes. She wished like hell she could tell him everything was fine. That she could take him up to the loft and take a few moments of pleasure together like they would any other day. She knew better, though. Knew there was a very real possibility that she carried an unexpected secret within her. Knew she had two confessions to make, and that one was sure to cause him a hurt she wished she could spare him from.

“Meara?” Cullen’s strong hands pulled her away from the safety of his arms, and she had no choice but to look up into his soft honey-brown eyes.

Meara’s heart lurched. “Cullen –“ her voice wavered heavily as she forced herself to say the words. “I am so sorry. So very, sorry.”

She felt him stiffen under her touch. Saw his face fall and her heart fell.

“What’s happened?” His gentle voice had faded, in its place was the stern voice of the Commander of the Inquisition's army.

Meara decided then she needed to just tell him. He deserved to know the truth of what happened, and that the best way to do it was to be blunt.

She held tighter to his clothes. Her grip turning her knuckles white.

“I kissed Bull.”

Cullen's face went from a pale white to a deep shade of red. His expression turned from hurt to anger. He tried to pull away from her, but Meara held tightly to him. Her hands still wound tightly in the folds of his clothes at his back.

Meara struggled to keep her own cowardice at bay, even though it screamed at her to let go. Urged her to release him and run. To save herself from the pain she felt knowing she had hurt him so deeply.

Cullen was rigid against her, trying to detach her hands from his clothes, refusing to look at her.

“Release me,” he said flatly, looking anywhere but at her.

“No.” Meara shook her head. “Not until you let me explain.”

His eyes snapped back to her face. He looked like a man undone. His expression was something between rage and absolute agony, and Meara’s heart bled with the regret that overwhelmed her.

“Why?” He exhaled; his voice full of pain. “I just need to know why?”

Meara blinked back the tears she was trying desperately to keep at bay. She didn’t deserve to cry. She deserved the pain she felt. She’d hurt Cullen in her moment of weakness, and she needed to atone for her mistakes.

“I fucked up.” She spoke shakily. “There was something I thought I needed. Something I thought Bull could give me.” Cullen pulled against her again, and Meara held tight to him. “I was wrong, Cullen. I was so very wrong.”

Cullen scoffed, casting his gaze away from her again. “Is he the one who gives you strength? Did he give you the strength to come end things with me?”

Meara shook her head, “Cullen, I- “

“Did you fuck him?” Cullen snapped at her, and her strength crumbled.

Meara let the cloth fall from her hands. Felt the blood return to her tingling fingers as he pulled away from her at last.

She felt like she couldn’t breathe. Felt like her lungs were frozen and she would never be able to thaw the icy hurt that filled her core.

Meara brushed away a single tear that had trickled down her cheek. She didn’t know if he would listen to her. Didn’t know if he even wanted to, or if he would forgive her even if he did. She only knew that she needed to explain, even if it meant he didn’t want her anymore in the end.

“You give me strength,” she muttered in a shaky breath.

He turned, staring at her coldly. “What did you say?”

Meara took a deep, wavering breath. “I said, you give me strength, Cullen.” She spoke as clearly as she could manage, fighting the overwhelming urge she still had to flee.

Cullen’s face softened, he took a step towards her but hesitated, catching himself. “Then why did you kiss him? I don’t understand, Meara.”

He ran his hand through his golden curls, his frustration coming off him in waves.

“I kissed him because I was afraid!” Meara blurted, ashamed that there was no other reason for her indiscretions.

She hid her face in her hands, trying to steady her breathing and hoping the knot that had formed in her stomach would release soon, or she could very well be sick on his floor.

“Afraid of what?” Cullen pressed.

Meara dropped her hands and looked up into Cullen’s eyes. “I – “

She faltered.

“Ah, fuck!” She ran her hands through her hair in frustration at her own stupid cowardice.

“Afraid of what, Meara?” Cullen asked again sternly.

“I love you, alright?!” Meara barked emphatically.

Cullen stood there with a stunned look on his face. His eyes were wide and locked onto her.

Meara groaned, “I love you, and that honestly scares the shit out of me!”

She started pacing again, wringing her hands together anxiously, because finally confessing her feelings out loud was fucking terrifying. Acknowledging that she had allowed herself to openly love someone was terrifying, and now she was terrified of losing the person she’d only just admitted to loving.

“I’ve never been in love, Cullen. Not with anyone! I don’t know how to process these feelings, or what it means, and it’s terrifying!”

Cullen ran his hand over the back of his neck, lost in thought or maybe just for lack of words. Meara watched him with bated breath, waiting for him to say something. Hoping he wouldn’t ask her to leave.

“Say something!” she pleaded anxiously, the moments of silence between them becoming too much for her to handle.

Cullen opened his mouth, then snapped it shut again and began rummaging through the papers on his desk. Meara watched, dumbfounded, as he circled his desk, looking under it and scanning the room.

“What the hell are you looking for?!” she demanded. She’d just told him she loved him and he chose now of all times to go looking for some lost treasure?

“Empty bottles,” he remarked casually over his shoulder as he continued to search the room.

Empty bottles? Meara groaned in frustration, “Are you suggesting that I’m inebriated?”

Cullen looked up at her then, his face turning a subtle shade of pink. He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, “No – never mind, it’s nothing.”

Meara crossed her arms, giving him a quizzical look. If she’d known he’d think she was drunk when making her confessions of love, she would have gone to the tavern for a few ales first to steady her nerves.

Her breath caught as Cullen stepped towards her. The frustration she’d felt vanished, replaced with the familiar knot of unease.

“I still don’t understand. Why - if you feel that way - would you kiss him?”

She wished she could shield herself from the look he was giving her. “Is loving me so terrible that it would send you running into the arms of another man?”

Meara’s heart thudded heavily at his words. Creators, she had immensely fucked this up.

She took a slow, careful step towards him. “It isn’t that. It’s just that - “

Cullen looked at her, eyes pleading her for something she hoped she could give him.

“I was – am – afraid that I won’t be able to give you what you want.”

Cullen gave her an inquiring look, “Meaning?”

Meara sighed, “Meaning, I love you, but I don’t know if I will ever want to get married.” Meara paused hesitantly, “Or have children.”

Creators, that’s a loaded statement, Meara. She cringed as the words fell from her mouth.

She watched his expression change, and she quickly continued before he said something, and she lost her nerve. “I don’t want you to give up any of those things because I don’t want them. I don’t want you to change because of me, and I kissed Bull because it was the only way I could I feel like I had control over my life anymore!”

Meara paused again, catching her breath, trying to gauge his response to her confession.

“Loving you is - exhilarating,” she continued exhausted, “but it makes me feel like I’m not in control, like I’m only watching my life play out. Most of my day is spent wondering what you’re doing when I’m not with you, or wishing I was with you.”

She paused, running her hands through her long, thick locks anxiously, “I don’t know how to handle feeling this way Cullen!”

Meara swore she saw the corner of Cullen’s mouth twitch slightly. He took another step towards her, making her heart jolt nervously.

“For years I’ve been content to be alone, because being alone meant being in control and only ever having to worry about myself. So, in a moment of selfish weakness, I wanted to go back to not feeling like I needed anything or anyone. Like I was strong enough that I didn’t need anyone else. Only, I was wrong.”

Meara felt the tears start to trickle freely down her cheeks, unable to hold them back anymore.

“I need you, Cullen. I love you. Except that loving you makes me feel selfish. Horribly selfish, because deep down I think you deserve that life with a little house on a hill, and a wife and children. I want those things for you, but I’m terrified that I won’t be able to give them to you, because it’s not in me to give.”

Her breath caught as he reached out gingerly and took her hand in his. She shivered, as his hand reached up and gently wiped away the tears that had spilled down her face. She felt her heart skip as he gave her the familiar smile that she’d come to love in their time together.

“Perhaps, you could let me decide for myself if I want those things as well?” he asked softly, almost a plead.

Meara cried in earnest then as Cullen pulled her against him. Arms wrapped tightly around her shoulders, holding her close as she poured silent sobs into the soft folds of fabric that covered his chest. She cried until the material was laden with spilled tears.

She knew she had to tell him. Knew he had a right to know that she might be carrying his child, but she was terrified that she would disappoint him. That she would hurt him again, and even deeper, when she admitted she didn’t know if she wanted a family. Not only now, but maybe ever.

She’d seen Cullen with children before. Seen how they flocked to him, and he just seemed natural with them. How easy it came for him. She knew in her heart he would make a great father. Knew that he would be patient, but firm, but also would be willing to have fun with his children. Much like her own father had been with Mihren and herself.

Meara didn’t want to deprive him of that choice simply because he loved her, or because she loved him in return.

She continued to cry into his chest. Letting him hold and comfort her, as he whispered soothing words of endearment into her hair, all the while hating how weak and vulnerable, she felt. Yet she leaned into his touch, longed for the security she felt wrapped in his arms, breathing in his warm scent.

She cried until she could cry no more. Until she felt exhausted from it. She tried to remember the last time or recall if she had ever cried like that. Try as she might, she couldn’t recall a single time she’d allowed herself to cry until she had no more tears to shed.

***********

#SPR2LUV #scharoux writes #dragon age fanfiction #meara x cullen #cullen rutherford #meara lavellan #not the inquisitor #spring into love prompts event #the iron bull

[laurenconraddaily]

My Tips for Starting an Edible Garden

This summer I’ve been growing a lot of new plants in my garden. It began with me trying to come up with activities for Liam in the beginning of quarantining.  We cleared out a spot on the side of our house that had been taken over by weeds and made a raised bed from some bricks we found.  It was scrappy and I had no idea if anything would actually grow.  And then it did. Before we knew it, we had the peas and broccoli that we had planted on our dinner plates. So we started searching for other spots in our yard to plant more vegetables and our garden has continued to expand ever since. And just like that, something I had done to occupy my 2-year-old became something I really enjoyed.

From roses to peas and green beans, I’ve really loved being able to grow my own produce and flowers, and build out a little garden for our family. Gardening has not only kept me busy and focused, but it’s been a good way to wind down after a long day. I’ve had so much fun with this project that I thought I’d share a few tips to help start your own edible garden. You can use these tips whether you have a yard, a balcony, or even a windowsill that gets a lot of light. With a little practice, research, and effort, you can have a kitchen garden of your own too, so keep reading to see how you can start one…

Decide What to Plant

The first things you should consider when starting your own garden are what will grow in your region and what you actually eat. This will determine every aspect of your home gardening, like how much sun your plants will need, your soil type, how often you water your plants, and how much space you will need. Squash grew beautifully in my garden… and I hate it.  Luckily, Charlie liked it so he ate a lot of pureed squash. 

Create a Calendar

You can make your own calendar or buy one.  It’s the best way to remember when to plant, water, fertilize, and care for each plant.  You can also keep track of a plant’s progress or anything important you may notice.  That way, if something goes wrong, you can go back and check your notes.

Find the Right Area

Most gardens require a lot of sun so find a space that gets a lot of sunshine most of the day. For me, this meant removing some existing landscaping and clearing up some space. However, if you don’t have a lot of space, try your best to find an area in your home that has the most light.

Check the Soil

You can test the soil you have (they sell simple tests on Amazon like this one), or you can build raised beds and bring in fresh soil.

Plan Your Plot

You will need to map out where everything goes.  You may need to stake tomatoes or build trellises for peas.  Each plant will need something different, so do your research.

Sow Your Seeds or Plant Your Plants

You can either buy plants from the gardening center or you can plant your own seeds at home. You can even do a little of both. Planting seeds obviously takes more time, but it can be more cost effective. I’m getting ready to plant 12 tomato plants that I grew from the seeds of a Roma tomato awhile back, and I am also growing potatoes that I planted myself {however, If we are being honest, I forgot about them and they sprouted leaves, so I popped them in the ground.}

Make It a Family Activity

Yesterday, Liam refused to eat the green beans on his dinner plate, but this morning, he ate over a dozen off the vine in our garden.  Watching things grow is exciting no matter what age you are, and if it encourages healthy eating then I am all for it.

It’s OK if Things Go Wrong

Don’t get frustrated if things go wrong. There are countless factors when it comes to gardening and I have had a lot of things go wrong.  I overwatered my tomatoes and grew them much too close together, so the plants were overgrown, and the fruit was mushy. I made the green bean trellises much too short and now, it’s a bit of a mess. I am still not sure what I did wrong with my zucchini that made them all rot before ripening, but I am planting them again in a different spot.  The point is, not everything will grow properly so keeping notes and trying different things is key. Don’t give up!

There you have it. I hope these tips can help you create your very own kitchen garden.

XO Lauren

#lauren conrad #gardening #tips #blog #2020

[kimberlyccoward]

Grow A Healthy Garden This Spring

It doesn't matter if your yard is merely ornamental or you utilize it to grow your very own vegetables and fruits - for a healthy garden this spring, you need to be making the essential preparations currently. Yet where to start? Well, reviewing this step-by-step overview towards expanding a healthier as well as a lot more attractive spring yard is as great an area as any! Put your green-fingers to good use now and enjoy the rewards next year of what you sow today. Provide The Yard A Tidy Garden debris can collect as well as mount up over November, December and also January, so scoop up old leaves and also roaming branches with a fan rake to avoid harmful perennials in the soil or any young shoots in the air. Lawn, plants, vegetables and fruits will certainly now grow devoid of obstruction as well as your yard will look a great deal a lot more welcoming! Compost: The Secret To A Healthy And Balanced Garden The function of garden compost can not be undervalued when planning your spring garden. It motivates earth worms as well as other helpful garden creatures to find as well as aerate the soil, which consequently will combat the sort of fungis as well as weeds that can transform a yard right into a plant graveyard! There are several ready-prepared brands of compost offered at your regional and on the internet horticulture centres. If you elegant matching this with some homemade garden compost, follow this recipe: 1 part raw material 1 part leading soil 1 component peat moss A handful of sand Mix it up in a pail or wheelbarrow using a pitchfork or your hands, whichever is more effective and then position it in your compost container (if you do not have one, it's highly advised you construct or buy one to speed up the fertilisation of a great compost). You can get compost bins from nearly any yard centre in the country or an on-line garden centre if you favor to do your shopping from home. For truly abundant garden compost, why not try including a few of the old fallen leaves you scooped up earlier, along with some old banana skins and also made use of coffee premises? Together these will include moistness, mould as well as organic matter to the blend as they decay - all good things for a plant-supercharging compost. Be Generous With Your Compost As soon as you have actually got a big amount of abundant garden compost prepared, it's time to spread it across your yard as well as over all the bulbs as well as seeds you have actually planted. It's truly crucial that you aren't thrifty, as plants can never get sufficient of good compost and also will certainly grow to be a lot stronger and much healthier therefore. A sprayed layer in between two and 4 inches mixed intensely right into the dirt will certainly make certain the nutrients obtain embedded in the yard. Weeds: The Garden enthusiast's Nemesis The saying goes 'When the feline's away, the computer mice will certainly play'. The same puts on gardeners and also weeds. While you're hanging around inside your home and far from your yard and also allocation, perennial weeds like sofa grass, dandelions, chickweed and also various other insects will be clearing up in, so ensure you remove them by their roots as quickly as you're back in the garden to ensure they do not return in spring (a minimum of for a little while). It's a continuous battle against weeds and also other garden pests, yet if you put in the research now, your spring yard will thanks for it later on. These four steps are the foundations of growing a wonderful spring garden. All of the devices can be purchased from local and also on-line yard centres conveniently, and the techniques are simple to use, just great horticulture technique. One of the most crucial point to keep in mind is: all the hard work you're placing in now will certainly be compensated by the time your spring yard pertains to grow. It's not prematurely to begin considering your Spring Yard Duties as well as preparing a checklist. If you weren't able to obtain your Autumn and also Winter months gardening duties done, put them on the listing and do them asap as this will make your spring duties much shorter. I know, I can see your eyes rolling as well as hear you moaning more job. Wait a minute, hang tough; it isn't truly function if you like gardening. These are merely steps we need to take in preparation for our Spring Garden, our Best Springtime Garden. An inquiry I frequently listen to is, "Where should I start, what do I do first?" The answer is quite simple; order your garden log or yard record publication. If you have actually kept it up then you'll understand what was done or otherwise finished. If you really did not complete making notes in your yard log, after that take a little time to make notes and finish it. If you are brand-new to horticulture as well as this will certainly be your initial year, the very best pointer I can provide you is, "Start a Yard Log". Create whatever in it and I do indicate every little thing. Here's a list to obtain you began: The contact number for your local county expansion office Names of the Yard Catalogues you are looking at or ordering from Plants and Seeds you are thinking about growing Frost days for your area Document the last frost day Uncommon patterns in the climate Days of seeds began Days plants were hair transplanted Strategies you are making use of Problems you encounter as well as your remedies Experiments as well as their results Harvest Dates Harvest Techniques Putting the garden to bed Seasonal Chores Have you prepared your springtime garden? Otherwise this is the moment to do it. If you are getting any kind of plants or seeds, do it currently. Once your garden log is up to date, an excellent location to begin Spring Yard Tasks is to look over your devices both hand devices and also tiny engine devices: Is anything broken, do they need any kind of repair work Are they tidy, this is a great time to clean them Scrub the wood manages with oil Do oil modifications as well as tune ups if they need it, don't neglect to create the day down in your equipment log While you go to it organize your tool lost so its prepared to go Just how around the greenhouse or tool shed, more springtime garden duties: Does it need any repairs Clean out any dead plants Clean expired fertilizers, insecticides, etc . Tidy all the apartments and also containers. Bear in mind the General Rule: Avoid of the yard till the dirt is dry sufficient to work. This provides you time to obtain the other springtime yard tasks done including your lawn. Currently is a great time to begin weeding, it will certainly minimize your weeding time if you weed prior to they have an opportunity to visit seed and also spread. It will certainly also be one less place for slugs to conceal. If you remain in an area tormented with slugs and yard snails start expecting them as well as produce traps. Remove debris where they could conceal. This is the moment to capture up on deadheading the invested or dead blossoms. Pruning can be done now but first study the requirements for each and every plant and also prune at the right time as it does make a distinction. Yes, various plants are trimmed in different ways as well as at different times. Study the when, what, or how to prune a particular plant, bush, bush, or tree. Your local county extension office can assist you with this or a local nursery. I can still bear in mind the first time I trimmed a Hydrangea shrub, I really did not trouble to research study when, what, or how to trim it or ask any individual; besides it was springtime and everyone was out trimming. We were brand-new to the area as well as I wished to stay on par with everybody else. I mosted likely to work on this 5 foot high Hydrangea bush, just seeking out every now and then; I recognized the neighbors were viewing and also I wanted to do an excellent work. I had it down to simply a 4 or 5 inches high in a snap. Later on one of the neighbors asked my spouse why I despised the Hydrangea shrub as I had butchered it. It took a couple of years before it bloomed again as well as never ever did fully recoup. For several years afterward I had not been enabled to touch the pruners. So please do your research prior to you get hold of the pruners and go at it.

[bigskydreaming]

Okay, I knew Alistair the Dream-Keeper wasn’t the first time I’d written the idea of magically weaponized dreams, so I went hunting through old email accounts and found a whole fucking manuscript I wrote like, twelve years ago and totally forgot about. WHOOPS. (This happens with me more often than you’d think actually possible). I’m only a third of the way through my re-read of it, but it holds up surprisingly well IMO, I’m pretty pleased. I can actually do something with this, I think. 

Course, it was apparently written back during my whole “every thing must be hetero otherwise there will be no publishing” period, before the beginning of my personal Age of LOL Nah, Fuck That, Everything Must Be Gay. So, first things first, Jez definitely needs a girlfriend, and also a different name. I can’t believe I named her Jez, like, wow, I was really trying to get YA Bingo, wasn’t I? In my defense, this was when I was twenty-three. Also, this first chapter here has a character named Scott and this was before Teen Wolf even premiered, so apparently I just like the name Scott? Huh. Did not know.

BURNING DAYLIGHT

Jez O’Neill knows she has three years, two months, and sixteen days to live.

She’s had visions for as long as she can remember. She knows they’re never wrong. And when the boy her visions say will someday kill her comes into her life, she knows to stay far away.

But somehow he gets close anyways. Because Nathan is perfect. He’s handsome, he’s charming, he’s utterly, unbearably sweet. And when he learns of Jez’s visions, he promises to cheat Death for her. An interest in New Age turns into an obsession with the occult, and that leads to tiny cracks in the walls of the world, where strange and untrustworthy spirits wait to barter with anyone desperate enough to try.

Magic, however, always comes with a price. The higher the reward you seek, the more you can expect to pay, and the spell Nathan thinks will change their destiny instead puts them on a collision course with Fate. It changes him, twists him in mind and soul, transforming the boy Jez loves into the madman who will someday take her life.

With only three years left until the day she now knows she can’t avoid, Jez discovers she and Nathan share the same zipcode again as he sows death and destruction in the streets of LA. But rather than flee for another city, Jez pits herself against the monster she once loved, the monster she helped create, determined to make sure no one else gets caught in the crossfire of their attempt to cheat their fates.

Call it redemption if you want. Jez calls it Tuesday.

Chapter 1

Dreams are doorways if you have the right key.

That’s why I’ve wasted a perfectly good Sunday night perched on the edge of Scott Kinley’s desk. It’s awkward, uncomfortable, and I’m sure I look like a gargoyle in the pitch dark of the two o’clock hour, but every chair in his bedroom is covered in dirty teenage boy laundry. I’ll stick with my perch, thanks.

I kick my legs out and arch my spine, stretching my arms over my head with fingers laced together. Cramped and aching muscles voice their protest. Something cracks in my neck when I roll my head back. Meanwhile, Scott Kinley snores contentedly in his sleep in the bed across the room. I shoot him a glare that’s best described as withering.

Spears of pale moonlight slip through the slatted blinds covering the window above his bed. They stab the length of his body, highlighting a strong jawline and tousled blond hair, not to mention a chest and set of abs that frankly, I just find obnoxious on a fellow teenager. It’s L.A. in early September – code for unbearably hot – and he’s sleeping with the bare minimum of sheets, a loose span of cotton that’s only covering him up to his waist. I’d enjoy the cheap thrill more if it didn’t make me feel like such a perv.

After all, I’m a total stranger who broke into his house and has spent the last four hours going through his things and watching him sleep. It’s kinda hard to feel good about that. In my defense, I’m only here to save his life from a creepy magical serial killer. Course, I have strong doubts that would hold up in a court of law should he wake up and have me arrested for breaking and entering. But I still feel it’s worth mentioning.

A yawn and a glance at his alarm clock confirm that it’s 2:07 am and I have no life. I lean back on the desk and rifle through his homework some more as I go back to invading his privacy. My only defense here is I’m really bored.

His handwriting’s slightly more legible than your average garden-variety chicken scratch, but I’m still not one hundred percent his name’s Scott Kinley. The Scott part is clear, but the ‘I’ in what I think is Kinley could be a really jacked up ‘o’ I guess. Whatever. It’s a pre-calculus assignment, and the last yearbook on his bookshelf is from his sophomore year, so I’m guessing he’s a junior like me. Or like I would be, if I still bothered going to school. Hmm. Eleventh grade and already in precalc? Someone’s a smarty-pants. Interesting.

A row of trophies and a couple of team photos declare him a water polo jock, and not too shabby of one according to this MVP title. Explains the abs. I roll my eyes around the rest of the room. Small TV so old it has a VCR player built into it. An even older Sega Genesis console is hooked up to it, so either Scott’s big on nostalgia or his family’s not big on luxuries. There’s a couple of movie posters tacked to the wall, but the puddle of light leaking across the floor doesn’t reach far enough for me to make out any details. Then a freestanding bookcase, a good five shelves high, filled with actual books. Above it is a college pennant with a bear on it – I think that’s Cal Berkeley, right? Possible destination, I’m guessing….

God. And he was in bed by ten. Smart, good-looking, athletic and ambitious. Did his parents just win the baby lottery, or if I go down the hall will I find the altar they used to bargain with the Devil?

Not that it matters. I stretch my legs out again and dip my toes into the pool of moonbeams, watching them spill across my feet when I wiggle. It’s only been six months since my last boyfriend went all dark side on me and turned into a spell-wielding slaughterhouse. I’m kind of not dating right now.

So it’s only natural my visions would lead me to the most eligible teen bachelor in Los Angeles – I cast another quick look around the desk for the requisite ‘me and my girlfriend’ photo – nope, most eligible teen bachelor in Los Angeles. Ugh. It’s like announcing your diet and inheriting a pastry shop the next day. I feel a sudden urge to grab one of his dirty shirts off the floor just to make sure his one human flaw is real and not an illusion.

Wow. I can’t believe I just thought that. Apparently sleep deprivation makes me weird. Besides, there’s no way that smell could be imaginary.

I throw another withering glare in Scott’s direction. It’s his fault I’m a weird, sleep-deprived pervert in his stinky bedroom. My baleful stare bakes the air above his bed. It bends and twists like a summer heat wave on asphalt. Wait. That’s not right.

I shake my head, peering through the fog that shrouds my tired mind. Somewhere in my snooping I failed to notice Scott’s happy snores had turned into frantic whimpers. He’s writhing on his bed; sweat beads all over his restless body, glistening like fragile pearls in the faint light. The room is abruptly a sauna. Heat climbs the walls and steam mists the glass of the picture frames.

“Shit,” I whisper, and I’m in motion, leaping off the desk into a crouch. I dip my hand into my hoodie and whip out my knife, steel slicing moonbeams to ribbons as the blade springs free. A low keening shreds the silence, hoarse spectral shouts as faces flicker through the knife, reflected in the steel. I cross the room in three steps. Scott cries out. His fingers scratch at the air like crooked claws.

Somewhere a door opens, and something steps through. Between the space of one second and the next, a heavy silhouette takes shape on this side of the dream.

I slam into the figure with all my weight, blade aimed for the midsection where I’m hoping vital organs will be. The knife sinks in too easily. The sandman-born beastie is still in that transitive state where its dream wrought form has yet to shift all the way down the spectrum to vulnerable flesh. Then my knife catches and scrapes against bone. The nightmare screams as it sinks its roots into our reality and feels pain for the first time.

It’s tougher to pull the blade free, but I’m stronger than any normal seventeen year old girl has a right to be. More specifically, as long as I’m wielding that knife I’m as strong as all the monsters it’s killed combined. And I’ve racked up a decent body count. Blood and bile sprays in slow motion, a cresting wave of black tar. A few drops land on my arm. There’s a hissing sound and I feel like I’m on fire. I grit my teeth and swing again. It dodges and I miss. We both regroup, and I get my first good look at it.

Damn. Mr. Perfect Teen USA has one hell of a fucked up subconscious. I’m just saying.

The nightmare swallows what dim light comes near it, refusing to be illuminated. It’s thick, ridged with protrusions of bone and slick scales that shimmer with their own dark radiance. A trunk-like torso gives way to stocky legs. At certain angles they seem to merge into a single column similar to a snake. It has four arms, except for when it has six – and then two and then twelve and then they’re not arms at all, but tentacles. The head is a gaping chasm of teeth and forked tongue surrounded by a lion’s mane of mottled skin. It’s dizzying and hard to look at. Confusing and chaotic. The only constant is its ugliness.

I charge at it, because I’m just that dumb. Hey, only the good die young.

It dips to the side, cobra-quick, and its tail snaps out like the crack of a whip. I take the hit square in my ribs and I’m lifted off my feet, flying back across the room. My breath flees from my lungs, my head slams back into a wall. I bite my tongue and taste copper.

“Rude,” I gasp.

Scrambling up to snatch my knife from where I dropped it mid-flight, I steal strength from its macabre magic. Even still, regaining my feet takes effort and time I don’t have to spare. The nightmare’s turned its attention back to Scott. He’s finally awake and sitting up his bed. Pale, frightened, and totally out of his league. Considering we were dealing with his worst nightmare in every literal sense of the word, I cut him some slack. I’m a good person.

I roll forward and rake my cursed blade along the creature’s side on my way. It rears and screams again. Dimly I hear footsteps and distant shouting.

“What the hell is that thing?” Scott asks, eyes locked on the beastie like a man entranced. Oh good, he can talk. I was starting to wonder. I duck around the nightmare and stick myself in between it and him.

“Don’t ask me. It’s your childhood trauma,” I say, hefting my knife and gauging distance. “Now shut up, don’t die, and for god’s sake put on some pants.”

I lunge and bury my knife in the thing’s throat. I’m liking my odds less and less when it still finds the strength to knock my grip loose and drop me on my ass. More blood drips down on me, igniting nerve endings everywhere it touches my skin. Let’s recap. I have spunk, pizzazz, seven spells and a cursed knife on my side. It has burning blood, a build like a freight train, and claws and fangs that seem to multiply every time I look at it. It leans forward and roars its hostility right in my face.

Also, it has halitosis.

A swipe of its many tentacle-arms knocks me back and to the side again. I land on the floor, staring up at the bookshelf. It’s tricky reading the titles from my upside-down vantage point, but I hazily make out the collected works of one H.P. Lovecraft. That explains a lot.

“You know, there are worse things in the world than being a cliché,” I complain, glowering over my shoulder at Scott. He has the decency to look ashamed, over where he’s huddled on the other side of the desk. Course, I’m sure he has no idea what he’s ashamed of, but my tone conveys the point rather well, I think. “Seriously. The dumb jock thing. Just give it a try.”

Mano a mano isn’t working out too well for me so I switch tactics. I toss a quick ‘Hail Mary’ skyward, kick off my shoes and chant the most powerful – and dangerous – of my seven spells. It’s a nasty little sucker I bartered for in the second sphere, the Circle of Fire. I rattle off short, harsh syllables that climb reluctantly from the base of my throat, guttural utterances that were never meant to be made by a human voice. I dip my fingers in moonlight and etch glowing hieroglyphics in the air – they hang there for a moment, sharply luminescent in the seconds before they fade to black.

Staccato snaps and pops ring out. The alarm clock short circuits. Streetlights flicker and die. Every electronic in a fifty meter radius develops a sudden terminal illness and the air feels flooded. Thick and heavy with static as thousands of wayward electrical impulses conduct themselves through the atmosphere to me. I dig my toes into the heavy carpet and feel the hair on my head stand on end. Then I’m running, my nervous system supercharged with too much speed and power to contain long. I duck past the nightmare’s swinging arms – it might as well be lumbering at tortoise speed – and plant a single palm flat on its back.

My touch hits it like a thunderbolt, lightning barreling down the synapses in my arm and ripping into it with hurricane fury. It squeals and goes airborne, crashing into the desk and reducing it to kindling. Scott falls back, mouth open, and smoke wisps up from the creature’s motionless body.

For a second, I dare to hope it’s dead. It would be really awesome for me if it were. That was my most powerful offensive spell and using it comes with a one in ten chance of killing the spellcaster. So, you know. I’d really like to not have to use it again, please.

The nightmare heaves itself to its feet-tail, sending spears of desk turned firewood flying about the room. Some of the shrapnel heads my way and I cover my eyes. Splinters gouge at my palms. I peek past my fingers, and in a blur of motion the creature crosses the room and throws itself through the window. It rips through the blinds and shards of glass fountain into the hot summer night. The darkness outside swallows it whole.

“I hate you,” I casually inform the universe.

I pick past debris and make for the window. Or what’s left of it anyways. The house is on a hill, high enough elevation that glass from the window is still showering to the ground below. Chiming, delicate drops of crystal rain. City lights gleam from one horizon to the next. A pitch-black shadow makes its way across distant rooftops, dark even against the darkness, like a spreading oil stain spilling towards the downtown metropolis. Lovely.

“What the hell is going on?” Scott finally finds his voice again, but I have no time to soothe his shattered nerves or offer an introductory course on Things That Go Bump in the Night 101. I run my hands through my frizzy, static-damaged hair.

“That was disgusting, you need therapy, and the pants thing was not a suggestion,” I inform him, bending to retrieve my knife. Scott flushes and grabs the sheet off the bed. He doesn’t even try and peek at my ass. A piece of the Scott Kinley puzzle clicks into place, and I feel a tiny bit better.

“Hey, quick question. Are you gay?”

His jaw drops, but he recovers fairly quickly. “What – how did you – I mean, why?”

I shrug. “No reason. Just won a bet with myself is all.”

Hey, it’s the little things in life. I turn back to the window and track the nightmare’s course. Picking a rooftop a few buildings ahead of it, I prick my thumb and whisper a spell from the seventh sphere, the Celestial Circle. I sketch bloody sigils in the moonbeams cascading through the open window. They turn pale and faint and I grab their remnants like door handles. The silver light parts, a gauzy curtain opening on a window to a distant rooftop far below.

I cast a sigh at the bewildered boy behind me and step through. It’s probably for the best. Like I said, I’m kinda not dating right now anyways.

The curtain falls shut behind me and I resume my hunt.

#Burning Daylight #kalen writes things sometimes

[hortascountrysidenotes]

Reasons to be cheerful part 4

Lots of reasons - first of all Maigold is coming out and she is a tonic.  She has been here for 30 years, never fails to disappoint, and when the sad day comes that she no longer feels inclined to live, she will be missed like a dear old lab for the joy she brings.

Second, I finished my painting of the lovely Primula Guinevere and got what I think would be the equivalent of an A from my teacher with best composition yet, red ink gold star - so it is being sent to my sister for her birthday next month.

Thirdly, I have come late to the story of Captain Tom, but was fully alerted to him during a moment of intense scrutiny of the BBC website, when I saw his tie - Hello I thought, that looks like a Duke of Wellington’s Regimental tie - Blood and Steel - and sure enough on further investigation it turned out to be so.  Not only that but he fought in Burma and India and my brother who commanded the Dukes, is now investigating to see if he could have fought alongside our father during the same campaign.  Further investigations into the story have brought information as to the difficulty the Yorkshire Regiment (as they are now called) are having, with the logistics in Covid time of providing the guard of honour and dealing with all the unexpected media!  I gather Captain Tom quite rightly has politely told some of the media to buzz off as he wants to talk to the soldiers! Great chap.

Fourthly - well lots of small reasons really, the continuing quietness in the countryside and the time to watch the birds and natural world.  Each morning whilst doing my PT down the bottom of the common I have been watching a delightful pair of Bullfinches in the blackthorn bush beside me - picking off the buds and chatting to each other.  His red shirt looks so smart against white blossom and azure sky.  This morning a chiff chaff, swaying on a high stem dishing out Chiff Chaff Chiff Chaff with the energy of an opera singer. 

Asparagus is coming on and we have had two very small helpings.  The roses are recovering from their deer attack and new shoots are forming up.  Peonies that have been blank for years have got fat buds so I am continuing to water them. Even the disease ridden Pyracantha outside the back door which normally looks like its got measles looks better - could it be because I watered it prolifically three weeks ago with a tonic of iron and seaweed - maybe it has a stay of execution.

I have also given a bucketful of the same to the Star Jasmine - Trachelospermum jasminoides under and around the sitting room windows. I find this plant, despite being Mediterranean, needs a decent amount of water which being against a house wall it does not get.  It also gets attacked by scale insect which leaves a horrible black sticky secretion on the upside of the leaves.  I have therefore sprayed it with soft soap - actually Savon du Fer which comes from Marseilles - is black and treacly, but when mixed with hot water and dissolved, forms a brilliantly organic (semi) spray against all kinds of insects such as aphids.  It has also been used this time on the sage against capsid bugs who leave those horrible little holes in the leaves of all the salvia family and indeed dahlias.  Another fellow being pursued currently is our smartly turned out visitor THE LILY BEETLE - they are a real pain but jolly sporting - they sense you coming and leap off, falling upside down so as not to be seen with their undercarriage being black.  But years of practice have taught me how to creep up on them.  As an experiment I have squirted the last drops of the soft soap on the plants - today I shall go a hunting, and see if I can see any.  I am particularly protecting my martagon lilies which are doing so well at the top of the garden.

Swallows are settled and one of the nests duly repaired and got ready. A pair of jays are hunting too hard for my liking but I am trying to be tolerant - at the top of the garden I did see a blackbird chasing them off - no doubt its nest has been discovered.  The Shellduck are back nesting on the farm.  In the meadows and on the common Ladysmock is now out and the bluebells in the woods a delight.

The only reason not to be cheerful is the continued lack of rain - a very very little came our way on Friday night and early Saturday, not enough to even make the tiles run.  So I must continue watering the new young plants and the veg.  Next big job will be preparing the greenhouse for the tomato plants which I am going to do slightly differently this year.  I am going to dig out the little planting strip in the greenhouse removing the old soil and refill it with some of the pond silt and fresh compost - I have 40 bags of Dalesfoot Compost coming on a pallet on Monday, as I am beginning to think grobags are not very nutritious - our tomato cropping rate compared to my genius brother in law is very low.  He grows his in the special little gadgets as do I, which you fill the outer part of, with water, but allows them to root directly into the soil underneath in his greenhouse . 

Once my compost arrives I can also sow the leeks in the root trainers and next spring’s brassicas.  Last year’s leeks were a complete disaster as I was lazy and tried growing them direct into the soil - clearly they were gobbled up by ants or someone as we got the princely number of 2 out of 100 which is not a good rate of return!

Lastly the girls - they are so happy - Inca lies in her favoured position in front of the Holm Oaks whenever the sun is hot enough.  Mavis bustles about from compost heap to bonfire and basically wherever she might find the butt end of a piece of brassica.  She absolutely ADORES them, so much so, that as we walk the lanes she grazes gently on oil seed rape as she goes along - quite bizarre - she loves the fresh flower heads and comes out covered in yellow pollen!  Scouty is in her dotage now - she still loves a good walk, but only once a day and makes it clear that her place is now outside the front door in the morning sun - please put my bed there - outside the back door in the afternoon and then as it gets chilly around 6 she moves to her favoured position on the sofa waiting for the evening’s entertainment to start.  She looks wonderful,  the fur is nearly fully back and I think she is a very happy dog with her beloved Miss Horta at home all the time. We are doing a little training most days - Mavis is loving it - yesterday we should have been doing a Novice Test at Sandringham - a shame these things have had to be cancelled, but it may get rescheduled for the autumn - Mavis might be in pup by then, not counting my chickens at all on that one, in which case we will be a non runner, but we wait and see - it is impossible to make any plans.

Jobs to do - time to sow courgettes and french beans etc if not already done. Prick out and pot on seedlings, tomato plants etc.  Keep an eye for bugs and beasties now and if a plague then use the above method if absolutely necessary.  Tie in shoots of climbers and make sure clematis are secure in case of high winds.  Stake and put in supports for herbaceous plants.  Water - if you have containers full of tulips etc - photo attached - remember they have had no significant rain and could be very dry.  Lift hyacinth bulbs from pots as soon as foliage has pretty much died off, store in a sack in a dry place for replanting in autumn.  Sweet peas can be planted out if not already done. Masses of veg to sow.  Potatoes should appear soon so be ready to earth them up. Dont cut lawns too short while they are under stress from lack of rain. Maybe learn to live with them a bit longer - saves fuel and allows a few low growing wildflowers such as ground ivy and clover to flower for the pollinators.

HORTA