#that would keep said chickens out of the vegetable garden and away from the dog

[paradoxicalpatton]

I’m Not In Love

Title: I’m Not in Love Summary: “He thinks about them owning a dog, a golden retriever to be exact. A girl, they’d call her Honey. The Captain would fight for a regular name such as Charlotte, but Pat would convince him that Honey is much more fitting. ‘It matches her fur!’ he’d say. The Captain would immediately give in. He thinks about what it would feel like to be the object of Pat's affections. To be completely and utterly enamoured by someone so full of love." The Captain and Pat's friendship is put on the line. Pairings: Patcap (The Captain/Pat) Content Warnings: Very mild period typical internalised homophobia Chapter: 2 Word Count: 1744 Read on: Archive of Our Own  Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

“I can’t believe we’ve just sat here for five hours and have done absolutely nothing.”

The setting sun cast a warm golden glow on the land as it began to slowly cross the horizon, the trees and bushes gently swaying to and fro, adding a soft, cool breeze to the scene. The lake had mirrored the sunset, the transition from sky to land now almost impossible to distinguish if it weren’t for small ripples from the wind delicately distorting the light over the water.

The once vivid greens and browns of the foliage among the ground and surrounding the lake had now been muted by the vibrant yellows and oranges that were now reflecting from the sun and onto the water, a deep rich blue quickly chasing away the final remnants of the day completely from the vast stretching sky above.

Pat and the Captain had been sitting by the lake since late that afternoon, having finally escaped from the chaos that is Button house. It was nice. Peaceful. For once they could relax without being interrupted by Julian with a story of some sex-capde he had been in followed by Fanny’s usual disgusted complaints, or by Thomas demanding that one of them tell Kitty to leave him alone while he comes up with the next great piece of literature.

Alison had come to realise just how much she depended on the two of them to keep the other ghosts in order, so she had organised an afternoon full of activities the ghosts would enjoy and participate in so Pat and the Captain could finally have some time to themselves.

Sitting underneath the large tree, Pat watched the grass move with the wind, longing to reach a hand out and run it across the ground so that he could feel it between his fingers. It made him think back to when he was alive. Carol had always complained about their front garden, how the weeds in the flower beds were overgrown and that the bushes were always untrimmed. He had always wanted to fix it for her, but he was usually preoccupied with his scout duties, and when he did find time to think about it he simply couldn’t come up with anything.

He owed it to his son Daley, however, when the young boy had asked him if they could plant flowers for his Mummy’s birthday, that way she didn’t have to throw them out after they died. So when Carol left to spend a week at her mothers before her birthday, Pat and Daley drove out to the garden store and bought everything they needed to fix it up for her.

Forget-me-nots, marigolds, daffodils, and pansies now filled the once weed-infested flower beds. The bushes had been trimmed, the trees cut, and the lawn mown. A small wooden bench had even been built and placed at the end of the garden. The smile on Daley’s face as him and his father admired their hard work from the bench was brighter than anything Pat had ever seen. They were so proud.

Pat wished he could smell the rich soil at this moment. Wished he could run his hands along the grass, listen to the sound of the fallen dead leaves crunch as he walked over them. He wished he could relive the feeling of pulling his son close to him in a tight hug after planting the final flower.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of crickets waking up for the evening, as the last remaining rays of sunlight dropped below the horizon.

----------

Not wanting to return to Button house just yet, Pat directed his gaze at the man next to him. The Captain had been leant against the tree since they had got there that afternoon, the two occasionally making small talk before the Captain closed his eyes in an attempt to have the most peaceful nap of his entire existence. He’d woken not long ago, just in time to watch the sun fall and the moon rise.

For a moment after he’d woken up, the Captain had almost forgotten he was dead. At that moment, there was nothing but him, Pat, and the ground they were sat on. The tranquil smile that graced Pat’s face was more than enough to set the Captain’s heart racing. He tried to imagine what it would’ve been like, had the two of them been alive at the same time where loving the same gender was legal.

They’d move to the countryside, he decided. They’d have a large backyard with a vegetable garden by the white picket fence, maybe an apple tree, maybe even a chicken or two. The Captain had always found the thought of fresh eggs in the morning very appealing, as well as the structure provided from owning and caring for the animals.

He thinks about them owning a dog, a golden retriever to be exact. A girl, they’d call her Honey. The Captain would fight for a regular name such as Charlotte, but Pat would convince him that Honey is much more fitting. ‘It matches her fur!’ he’d say. The Captain would immediately give in.

He thinks about what it would feel like to be the object of Pat's affections. To be completely and utterly enamoured by someone so full of love.

It’s wrong, thinking about Pat that way. Imagining the two of them living in domestic bliss, running away and starting their lives all over again together. The Captain isn’t entirely sure why it’s wrong though. He was there for Sam and Claire’s wedding, he knows it’s not illegal to love the same gender anymore. Maybe it’s because he hasn’t fully accepted it himself.

He was so used to hiding away his feelings, burying them deep inside of him so that no one would ever see. So that no one would ever know he was defective. If he didn’t get close to anybody, he couldn’t betray them if they ever found out the truth.

Maybe he thought it was wrong because he truly believed that Pat would never love someone like him. He was cold, a stickler for rules and order. Not to mention that Pat was married while he was alive, to a woman no less. It was clear the scoutmaster was as straight as a pole.

It wouldn’t do any good getting his hopes up. Instead, the Captain would ignore the longing inside of him, he didn’t want to ruin what was quite possibly his only friendship in the entire house.

“Yes, well we have Alison to thank for that. Maybe we could convince her to turn this into a monthly thing. I could do with some time away from that lot every now and then.”

The Captain turned his attention toward Pat as he replied, hoping the younger ghost would be in favour of the idea. With a small nod of agreeance, Pat stood up and offered a hand to the Captain to avoid the struggle of getting up. The two of them slowly made their way back to Button house, the sounds of the other ghosts getting increasingly louder the closer they got. Hoping to stay undetected by the others, Pat and the Captain quietly snuck into the room where Alison and the other ghosts were playing some type of game.

They had almost gotten away with it without anyone noticing until Fanny got insulted at something Julian had said and jumped up to storm away. Seeing the Captain and Pat at the back of the room, she immediately took her complaint to them, the two male ghosts now preparing themselves to be thrown back into the chaos with everyone beginning to talk at once.

Alison made an attempt to calm the other ghosts down and distract them once more but was unsuccessful. It wasn’t until Pat raised his voice that everyone finally quietened down, pointing a finger at Robin asking him to start.

“Where you two go? We all play game, you not here.”

Before either of them had a chance to respond, Julian cut in with a thought that sent the ghosts into disarray once more.

“Probably off somewhere doing the old ‘horizontal tango’ if you ask me.”

“Now listen here, man! I won’t take any of this bum rap from someone of the likes of you. I would never do anything of the sort, and especially not with a brown-noser such as Patrick!”

The room stilled. The sudden silence wasn’t because of the Captain’s outburst, however, instead, the other ghosts looked past him at the short scout leader.

Without saying a word, Pat turned around and walked out, making his way to the dilapidated fountain outside the front door. He wasn’t really sure why what the Captain said had upset him. It hurt, to be completely honest.

Sitting by the edge of the fountain, Pat traced the overgrown vines with his eyes and ignored the presence slowly approaching him from behind.

“Patrick, I’m terribly sorry our friendship was misconstrued in such a way, I understand how embarrassing it was.”

“Embarrassed? You really think I’m upset because Julian’s comment embarrassed me?”

“Of course. Is… is that not the reason you’re upset?”

“No! Julian always says inappropriate things, it was what you said that hurt me.”

The Captain’s hands tightened around his swagger stick as Pat spoke, something in the younger man's tone made him want to embrace the scout leader.

“I don’t understand how, I was simply disproving Julian’s abhorrent comment.”

“That’s how! He said something about us together in passing and you acted like it was the worst possible thing in the world! Am I really that revolting Captain?”

“You don’t know what you’re saying, Patrick!”

“Seriously? Can’t you see that I’m angry at you? I’m upset! And you... you don’t even care!”

“How dare you, of course I care! But you’re acting like a child, it’s time to grow up-”

Before he could finish his sentence, the Captain was shoved back, his feet tripping over one another causing him to fall to the ground. Looking up, Pat stood above him, the man’s face a mixture of regret and anger. The Captain watched as Pat turned around, his hands clenched by his sides.

“Cap, you’re a broken man, haunted by the choices you've made. I really thought we were becoming good friends. I’m sorry if I interpreted our relationship the wrong way.”

“Pat…”

“Don’t. Please, just don’t Cap. Sorry I pushed you.”

#bbc ghosts #six idiots #the captain #pat butcher #patcap #my fic #ghosts season 2 #ghosts bbc #ben willbond #jim howick

[smarchit]

Poetry for an Heiress, Chapter 3

Word Count: 5.1k

Summary:  When a duchess and her children are abandoned far from home, they must rely on the kindness of one stranger to guide them home. 

Warnings: None (for this chapter)

"Mr. Ezra," Henry called ahead as you walked back to the little house. He jogged a little to keep up with the older man's stride. "Why do you only have one arm?"

Your jaw dropped. It was, you supposed, only a matter of time before one of the children asked it. The fact that it was Henry surprised you slightly, as you honestly thought Marie would ask first. "Henry Avery!" you cried in surprise. "Shame on you, I taught you better than to ask things like that."

Ezra laughed and shook his head. "It's quite alright, Princess, don't worry about it. It's actually quite an interesting story. You see, I lost it to a six-fingered man. Villainous man, you see--"

"I know that story!" Henry cried. "You're making it up!"

"Oh, you wound me," Ezra laughed. "Fine. I was battling my arch-nemesis when he cut it off and dramatically revealed that he was my real father!"

"Come on!" Aiden shouted from beside you. "We know that one too!"

"Your highness, you have very well-read children," he said, turning to face you. "It makes it extraordinarily difficult to pull the proverbial wool over their eyes. Fine then, if you must know, I lost it to pirates. One, an innocent, mind you, was protecting her hide. I admit that my injury was more than justified."

You gave Henry a look and frowned at him. He really should know better. "I'm sorry, Mr. Ezra," you said, "My children know they shouldn't ask personal things like that."

"Oh, that's quite alright," Ezra said as he opened up the front door to the house. "Inquiring minds want to know. And children tend to ask the best questions, after all."

"Tell Mr. Ezra thank you for today," you said, putting your hands behind your back. "And go upstairs and wash up. I will be up shortly." You motioned for the children to go upstairs before you turned back to Ezra. "I am so grateful for what you did today. I don't think I can ever thank you enough. You very well may have saved our lives."

Ezra tutted and waved his hand away. "I am just thankful I was there when I was. Some day, you will have to tell me how you came upon our little haven. That can be my thanks." With that, he turned and walked up the stairs, your knapsack in hand. 

Once the children had finally settled down into the small guest bedroom, you slowly, silently, crept out and shut the door behind you. All you needed was for Marie to ask for her third glass of water or for one more story. You were exhausted from the day's events. There was only so much excitement you could take for one day. 

You spotted Ezra across the hall in his own room, gathering up a few items to take downstairs with him. He looked up at you and smiled as he finished collecting his things.

On the short walk back to the house from the barn, before Henry had asked his rather inappropriate question, Ezra had insisted you take his bedroom since it was larger. You stated that you wanted to stay with the children in case they got frightened in the night. Ezra had pointed out that the spare room and the main bedroom were directly across the tiny, cramped upstairs hallway from one another. If the children became frightened, they would be able to just run across the hall and get you. 

You had felt terrible about commandeering Ezra's bed when he first suggested it after you had put the children to bed. He should have his own bed to sleep in since he had so generously opened his home to you.

"Princess, think nothing of it," he said as he cleared off a few books from the bedside table. "I would not be able to sleep in here knowing you were uncomfortable elsewhere."

He had managed to locate an old hammock he had back from his harvesting days in a storage bin somewhere in the crawlspace. All it needed was a good knot tied off from a rafter and it was good to go. Ezra explained that he kept the tiny wood burning stove going all night anyway, so any worry you may have had about it being too cold was washed away.

After you gave yourself a quick scrub down in the basin in the bedroom, you did your best to wash out the mud from your nightgown. Hopefully the worst of them would come out with a better wash soon. You hung the damp nightgown and robe from a hook by the window and climbed into the bed.

As you were drifting off, you couldn't help but notice how nice Ezra's blankets smelled. His bedding, you imagined, smelled exactly like how he did. Earthy, with just the softest tang of sweat, combined with a pleasant herbal mix. You hadn't smelled something so wonderful since your husband passed. If anything, this smell was far better.

You rolled over, pressed your nose against the pillow, and slipped off into a dreamless sleep.

The next morning, you were awoken by delighted chatter coming through the open window. Sunlight streamed in and warmed your cheeks as you slowly opened your eyes. 

It took a second to remember where you were. The events of the previous day flooded back and you sighed. It hadn't been a dream. You were stuck on this planet, Muir, as Ezra had called it. 

In the daylight, you took the time to glance around Ezra's bedroom. Bundles of drying flowers and herbs hung from the ceiling, no doubt adding to the scent of his blankets. The walls were barely decorated, except for one tiny round mirror that hung near the door.

You swung your legs out of bed and fetched your nightgown from the hook. Blessedly, it was dry and no longer smelled like dirt from the trek through the woods. 

Peaking into the children's room, you were surprised to find the bed was already made, with Marie's stuffed dog settled neatly against the pillows. 

You followed the voices down the narrow stairs and out the front door to the yard. It seemed as though the children were quite busy with "helping" Ezra around the farm. You had to wonder just how much work was actually getting done. 

"Mama!" Marie screeched when she spotted you. She took off running full sprint and launched herself into your arms. "Mama, mama! Mr. Ezra showed us the animals! He said we could help him take care of them!"

"Oh, did he?" you asked, tucking a curl behind her ear. "And are you listening to Mr. Ezra and doing what he asks you?"

She nodded excitedly. "Yes, mama. He said I can gather eggs from the chickens."

Ezra wandered over, a small basket in his hand and a smile on his face. "The key, little bird, is to not leave your hard work behind. We need these eggs to eat. They won't do us any good sitting in the basket next to the pen."

"Oh," she said sheepishly. "Sorry, Mr. Ezra."

"That's quite alright," he replied. "I heard no complaints from the girls, so you must've done a stellar job of gathering their eggs. You did a much better job than your brothers."

"Should I ask what they've gotten themselves into?" you asked, setting Marie down. She skipped off towards the barn, the little egg basket abandoned yet again.

"Oh, nothing bad," Ezra assured. "I tried teaching them to milk the goats. That went over about as well as you would expect it to, I suppose. The one boy seemed a faster learner than the other."

You chuckled and took the basket from him. "Henry was always a fast learner. He likes to do things hands-on, whereas Aiden tries to solve his problems with words."

Ezra smiled at the way you talked about your children. "Aiden and I are quite similar, I should say."

"Not always a bad thing," you replied. "He might make an excellent ruler some day."

"I've gotten myself into a few situations where I wished I would have sat back and assessed the situation first rather than running my mouth." He shrugged and ran a hand through his hair. "Many things might even have turned out differently if I thought about what I should say before I even said it."

You nodded and gave him a knowing smile. You knew what he was talking about, having wished yourself that you had kept your mouth shut several times while in court with your mother and grandmother. Not wanting to discuss your personal history with him just yet, you looked off to the field where you saw the boys gathering vegetables with one another.

"I'm sure the goat is unhappy," you hummed. "Violated, even."

"She chased them around the yard for twenty minutes or so afterwards before I put the boys out to work in the field," he chuckled, shaking his head. "I will teach those boys how to properly milk a goat."

"Would you like me to help with anything?" you asked, realizing that you hadn’t even offered your own hand around the farm. You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. "I would love to assist in any way I can around here."

Ezra thought for a minute and looked around. "The only thing that comes to mind is the flower garden could use some tender loving care. I am loath to say that I have been neglecting it, sadly. There is, regrettably, only so much I am able to do one-handed."

You turned around to where Ezra had gestured with a nod and frowned at the tiny, overgrown plot. 

"I have seen less frightful cemeteries," you said dryly. You turned back to Ezra with a smile. "I am happy to help."

He nodded once as he bent to pick up the egg basket. "Princess, I am thrilled beyond reason that you are so eager to aid a poor scoundrel like myself."

"I wouldn't consider you a scoundrel, Mr. Ezra," you said, clasping your hands in front of you.

Ezra chuckled and blushed slightly. "Now, "Mr. Ezra" almost makes me sound like a dapper gentleman," he said, straightening his back, "And while I appreciate the title from the children, I fear it does not fit me."

"You don't like it?" you asked with a frown. You didn’t mean to offend him in any way, given it was just the proper way of addressing any man, but you’ve never met someone who minded the title.

"Just Ezra is fine for you to call me, miss," he said softly. "Calling me "Mr." makes me sound so formal."

"Ezra," you hummed with a smile. "You know, I believe you're right. That suits you much better."

Ezra ducked his head a bit and mumbled your name before he hurried off towards his house.

You walked towards the shed to collect a basket for any weeds that you would pull up in the garden. It wasn't as grand as the gardens at home, but at least you could tend to this one personally. You had a tiny personal garden on your balcony, and you were always able to keep it full and beautiful in the warmer months. A green thumb, your mother had once said. You always wished you could tend to the larger gardens instead of just overseeing their care.

For the short time you would be here, however, you were determined to make this tiny garden healthy and beautiful. It was the least you could do. 

Ezra had treated you all so kindly yesterday, and his intentions seemed to be true. You idly wondered why you immediately felt like you could trust him. His presence filled you with a sense of safety and security that you had not felt in so long.

You spread your robe down on the ground in front of the garden and got to work, yanking up weeds and grasses to the root. It was the only time when you were in the palace that you weren't expected to adhere to the strict dress code or rules set by your grandmother. No gowns or headdresses, or gloves. No constricting clothing. Just the dirt on your hands and under your nails that grandmother would then chide you about later.

You didn't even notice until Ezra tapped you on the shoulder that the sun had risen high in the sky. 

"Lunchtime," he said brightly. "Come and enjoy the fruits of this morning's labor. Get out of the sun for a while - your shoulders are fit to burn if you stay out here much longer in the midday sun, Princess. And you really should eat something too. The last thing we need is for you to pass out from hunger."

As if on cue, your stomach rumbled loudly, protesting the fact that you hadn't eaten breakfast. It was easy to lose yourself in a garden.

"Already?" you asked, wiping sweat from your brow.

"Now you sound like your flock, Princess," he chuckled, extending his hand to help you up. Your hand gently grabbed onto his, a small noise of strain coming from your mouth. Your muscles ached from being in the same position for so long. "Come, see the feast they've made for us. I think you will be quite impressed with them."

He offered you his arm to take as you dusted off your skirts, and you hooked yours through his as you walked back towards the house. 

"Hello, mama!" Henry said when you entered. It looked like he'd tried to clean up a little, though there was still dirt on his brow. 

"Hello, my darlings," you cooed, bringing them all in for a hug. You looked at the wooden kitchen table with pride at what you saw. The children (aided heavily by Ezra, no doubt) had indeed prepared a feast for lunch. Vegetables covered nearly of the table, with small plates of cheese placed precariously throughout. "My goodness, you've all been very busy!"

"Mr. Ezra helped us!" Aiden said, giving you a squeeze with his arms. "He said we had to make a meal fit for a duchess!"

Ezra blushed as he moved around you towards his seat. It was always the little ones who blabbered a bit too much, not that you would find anything in that statement, hopefully. "Or a princess."

You smiled and kissed the tops of each of the children's heads. "Well, eat up! I'm so proud of all of you!"

The children beamed and scrambled to sit down at the mismatched kitchen chairs. As they began to eat, you were very surprised when there were no complaints about eating their vegetables. Back home, it was always a mini-battle at the dinner table to get the most finicky Marie to so much as touch a green with her fork.

"Mr. Ezra said he might like to take us fishing!" Aiden said between bites.

"Yeah!" Henry piped up. "He said there's a little cave we can explore along the way!"

Ezra looked over at you expectantly. "If that's alright with you. I could take the boys -- and Marie, if you would like a day of respite."

"Perhaps," you considered, "If you are all extraordinarily well behaved."

You couldn't help but laugh as all three children immediately straightened their posture and began to take more delicate bites of their food.

"We've never been fishing," Aiden chirped. He swallowed his bite of food and looked towards Ezra. "Is it hard?"

"No," he replied. "It's fairly simple. If I am able to do it short-handed, I would like to think it is a fairly easy task. Didn't your daddy ever take you boys out fishing? Or hunting?"

"We don't have a daddy, sir," Aiden said softly. Realizing what he'd just said, he looked to you with worry in his eyes.

Henry hung his head and put down his food. He glanced over at you like he expected you to yell.

"Oh, well-- I am terribly sorry," Ezra said sincerely. He was looking more at you than he was at the twins. "I had no way of knowing. I-I truly do apologize."

"It's alright," you said around the lump in your throat. Over the short years since his passing, you’ve learned to hide your grief well, never letting tears slip in front of the child. Nevermind a man you had just met. "You didn't know."

"Can we still go with Mr. Ezra?" Henry asked softly. His eyes were large and watery behind his glasses. Despite the fact that he and his brother were only a few years old when their father was killed, he still claimed to remember him.

"Yes," you said softly. "Of course you can go."

"Now, it'll take me some time to gather the proper materials for fishing," Ezra explained. "A week or two, maybe. You've best listen to your mama and be on your best behavior and I'll take you. Alright?"

The children cheered and you caught Ezra's eye across the table. He offered you a small, apologetic smile. You gave him a nod and a smile, hoping he understood that it was okay - that you were okay. 

A few days after you'd arrived, Ezra discovered you were a much better cook than he was. He was a bit sheepish approaching you about it at first. He didn't want to ask too much of you and didn't know if that would be stepping out of line. But after the third night of the same soup Ezra had made, you were more than eager to take over the cooking. 

You thought that it would all go much faster if you did it rather than Ezra attempting to chop vegetables by himself.

You found after the first night that you didn't mind sleeping in Ezra's bed at all. You actually looked forward to it throughout the day. It made you feel safe when you curled up in the sheets. More than once, he offered to wash the bedding but you politely declined each time, stating you didn't want him to do any more work than he had to.

One morning, you realized the few changes of clothes you had brought from the pod were in need of a good, thorough wash, especially after a few days of running around and playing on the tiny farm. 

You walked around the spare room and collected the children's dirty clothes from the floor of the spare room and tossed them into a basket. It wouldn't take long for you to wash them. 

After you gathered up the children's bedding and clothes and your own clothing, you stepped out into the yard. It was a bright, beautiful day, not even a wispy cloud in sight. The children were running around before they began their chores for the day. They had taken to farm life quite well, you thought. 

Ezra was lounging on a chair outside the house, doing his best to snap beans one handed as he kept an eye on your children. He acknowledged you with a nod as he tossed the beans into the bowl at his feet.

"Good morning, Princess," he said with a small smile. He looked at you with those warm eyes and you wanted to melt into the yard. "Sleep well?" 

"Oh yes, quite well, thank you," you replied. "I'm going to do a bit of laundry. The children are out of clean clothes. As am I, I'm afraid."

"Now that's a pity," Ezra teased, dropping his hand to dangle between his spread legs. He coughed to hide his blush. "Would you like to borrow something of mine? I mean, just so you can clean all of your things."

You considered his offer for a moment before you nodded. If his clothes smelled anything like his bed, it was an opportunity you would be a fool to turn down. 

Fifteen minutes later, you were walking down to a washbasin, the basket resting squarely on your hip. Ezra had handed you a deep green thermal shirt that came clear down to your thighs and an old pair of compression pants for you to do your wash in. The smell of his shirt, as you slipped it over your head, was intoxicating. 

As you busied yourself with the laundry, you heard Ezra inform the children that they had five more minutes before they had to start their chores. 

He sounded like their father, you thought with a smile. You quickly shook that thought from your head and went back to scrubbing a grass stain from Aiden's shirt. I just met him. I cannot have such thoughts about a man I just met. Especially someone like him.

However, you couldn't justify why, exactly, he had to be off limits. Truth be told, the only reason you could come up with was that he was, essentially, still a stranger. 

You sighed and abandoned the shirt for now. Perhaps you needed a stronger soap to try and get the stain out. It was possible that Ezra would have a suggestion for how to remove the stubborn stain. You would readily admit you didn't quite know how to properly do laundry. It had always been done for you. 

As you walked back towards the house, you checked in on the children as they began their chores. 

"Boys, are you behaving?" you asked as you poked your head into the barn. Over the last few days, you had heard of their progress from Ezra, who looked so proud when he talked about them both. It warmed your heart.

"Yes, mama," Henry replied, nodding at the goat he was carefully milking. "Miss Jane is quite pleasant this morning. No complaints so far."

"And Miss Emma and I are starting to get along," Aiden said with a gap-tooth smile. He lifted a hand to pat the sweet brown goat a few times before he went back to milking her as well.

You chuckled at their mannerisms. It really didn't take long for them to adapt to their environment and the people in it. Too often you had wondered about how much of their personalities were absorbed from you or their grandmother. They were just children.

"I'm finishing up the wash," you said to them. "I need to find a stronger soap because someone slid around in the grass too much."

Aiden looked back up at you and gave you a little pout. "I tried to be careful, mama. I did."

"I know, darling," you hummed. "It's quite alright. Be careful, I will be nearby if you need me, and Mr. Ezra is as well."

"Yes, mama," they mumbled in unison as they went back to their work. 

You smiled as you walked across the yard to find Marie. The chickens had been undisturbed, and you hadn't seen Marie run past with the basket.

"Up there, little bird," you heard Ezra encourage. "Woah, watch your balance now. If you fell while trying to get a glimpse, I wouldn't be able to live with myself."

When you rounded the corner, you saw Ezra with Marie on his shoulders, his one hand firmly holding her as she craned her little neck to look at something. 

Marie gasped, and for a brief second, you were worried she'd fallen. "I see them!" she said, amazement evident in her voice.

You melted when you saw Ezra's smile as he held her above his head. He looked up, arching his neck so he could try to see her better.

"How many are there, little birdie?" he asked.

You could see Marie counting on her chubby fingers before she looked down at him. "Four!"

"Splendid!" he laughed, bouncing her slightly on his shoulders. He let her look at the nest for a few more seconds before he bent down so she could climb off.

"Off you get, birdie," he said as you finally walked over to them. "Come on."

"Hi, mama!" Marie gasped when she saw you. "Mama, Mr. Ezra showed me the little birds up there!" She pointed up to the little nest above her head in the tree. From here, you could barely see it.

"Oh?" you asked, bending to pick her up. You gave her cheek a kiss and smiled broadly as you tried to look up and see it.

"Mhm! There's this many!" she explained, holding up four fingers to show you. 

"That's wonderful, darling!" you said, tucking an errant curl behind her ear. "Were you gentle with them?"

She nodded quickly. "I was just looking!"

"Good girl," you said as you set her down. You handed her the little basket she used for collecting her eggs. "Go fetch us some eggs, my love."

She nodded and started to run towards the chicken coop when she skidded to a halt and came running back.

Ezra raised a brow and looked down at her.

Marie curtsied and looked at you and then him. "Thank you, Mr. Ezra, for showing me the birdie eggs."

"Of course, little bird," he said, offering a bow in return. "If you want to look at them again, come ask me first. If mama is in there, she might chase you away and you could get hurt."

"Yes, Mr. Ezra," she said. Marie picked up her basket and sprinted towards the chickens.

You and Ezra chuckled and watched her go. Marie loved it here. In the back of your mind, you wondered how hard it would be to take her and the boys back to the palace when the time came. It would quite possibly crush them.

"Penny for your thoughts, Princess?" Ezra asked quietly. He leaned against the tree and studied your face carefully. "I would love to know what is going on in your head."

"Nothing," you said softly. "I mean -- do you have anything to get grass stains out of the boys' clothes?"

Ezra nodded slightly. "Of course. I'll take the shirt and bring it back to you." He walked away back to the house, one hand in his pocket. 

You returned to the laundry and hung up what had already been cleaned while you waited for Ezra to bring Aiden's shirt back. As you clipped the clothes to the line, it almost felt as if you had been here your whole life, rather than just a few days. The little farm was the most at peace you had felt in years. There was a serenity that encompassed you here, quite like that of a favorite story.

You were startled from your thoughts by Ezra handing you the shirt, still sopping wet, but stain-free.

"I do apologize for the mess," he chuckled. "It is not that easy to simply wring out a wet cloth for me anymore."

"This is perfect, Ezra," you replied, taking the shirt from him. As you reached to take it from him, your fingers brushed against his and you nearly dropped it in the dirt. The briefest touch seemed to course through your veins, burning you from within.

"Sorry," he chuckled, "My hands can be quite rough sometimes. Believe it or not, Princess, I did, at one point, have hands as soft as your own. I am, however self-made, and with it, comes a certain boorishness most people find to be crass."

You gently touched his hand again and smiled at the way your heart seemed to skip a beat. "I quite enjoy a quick wit and, I don't mind your - how did you put it? Boorish behavior."

Ezra chuckled and turned your hand over in his own. "A scoundrel, your highness. That's all I am."

You opened your mouth to reply, but a peal of laughter erupted from the barn. The boys must have gotten into something because Marie came tearing around the corner with tears in her eyes.

"No!" she shouted as she ran past you both. "It's icky! Get it away!"

Aiden came sprinting across the yard with something in his hands. He had a wicked glint in his eyes. "Come see, Marie! It won't bite you!"

"No!"

Ezra glanced at you and shrugged as he stepped out into Aiden's path. The boy came to a screeching halt and almost fell over in surprise at how quickly Ezra moved. "Hang on there, let me see what you have," he said, holding out his hand. He took it into his hand and chuckled. "Oh, come now, it's just a little grub. Marvelous little creatures, certainly. Not so good for our garden, and especially not good for tormenting your poor sister with."

You smiled and looked down at your daughter who had buried her face in your thigh. "See, my darling?" you soothed. "It's not so bad!"

"It's ugly!" Marie wailed. She balled her fists up in your shirt and shook her head. "Yucky!"

"Your brother is just doing what brothers do, little birdie," Ezra said, handing the grub back to Aiden. He came over and knelt down beside her. "That bug will feed those baby birdies when they hatch - they love that kind of stuff!"

Marie lifted her head and wiped her eyes. "It's still yucky."

Ezra chuckled and tugged on her dress sleeve. "Maybe so, but it will make those babies happy."

You looked over at Aiden, who was rocking uncomfortably back and forth on his feet. He still had one hand cupped to hold the little grub. "Aiden Drake," you said, "Do you want to say something to your sister?"

"Sorry," he mumbled quietly before he took off running back towards the barn. 

You sighed and looked down at Marie and Ezra. "Are you all better now?" you asked her.

She nodded and wiped her eyes. "Yes, mama. Thank you, Mr. Ezra."

"You are quite welcome," he said with a smile. "Go on, why don't you finish collecting those eggs for us?" 

At his suggestion, Marie lit up with a grin and skipped off back to the pen.

Ezra groaned as he stood up. "I dare say I'm getting too old to get on the ground like that," he chuckled. "They are good kids. Remarkable little things, aren't they? You should be proud of them - all three of them."

You looked away and smiled, tucking your hair behind your ear. "I am very proud of them."

"And you make an excellent mother to them," Ezra said sincerely. "They are truly blessed to have you."

You smiled and nodded at his compliment. Ever since Marie was born, you had tried so hard to be both parents to them. As they got older, it was getting increasingly difficult to do so. You were always afraid you were doing something wrong and it was a relief to hear someone say you were doing a good job. You just wished that you could give them a proper father some day.

Ezra wandered off towards the house, whistling a tune as he went along. He turned briefly and gave you that crooked smile and jerked his head for you to join him.

********

TAGLIST: If you want to be added, please let me know!

@the-feckless-wonder @lestrange2703 @huliabitch @miscellaneous-mando @gallowsjoker

#prospect #ezra x reader #ezra x you #no use of y/n #pedro pascal #my writing #poetry for an heiress

[timetravelingshark]

So what exactly is this "The Arcana" you keep reblogging stuff for and what's it about? I am curious.

Okay, so I haven’t played it too much yet (I’m only like a fourth of the way through Julian’s route and that’s it, RIP) but the gist of it is that it’s a visual novel where you can romance six different characters. It’s set in a fantasy world, primarily in the city-state of Vesuvia, which is based off of Renaissance Venice with some definite Middle Eastern and Indian influences as well. Tarot is an overarching theme in the stories: the main character, each love interest, and all of the supporting characters have different cards from the Major Arcana that represent them and give insight into their character. The Major Arcana has some pretty interesting forces at play within the world and greatly influence the story. There’s a chance of getting a good, aka Upright, ending, and a bad, aka Reversed, ending. It all depends on the choices that you make while playing.

The main plot is that your character, who is a magician in training (in this world, magicians can actually use magic and are considered very valuable) who is summoned to the palace by the Countess Nadia. She tasks you with finding out who exactly is responsible for the murder of her husband, Count Lucio, who was burned alive in his bed on his birthday three years ago. (What a way to go, yeesh.) The lead suspect is a man by the name of Julian Devorak, who was the head doctor for the palace and treated many Vesuvians during a horrific outbreak of plague within the city a few years ago. He confessed to the murder before disappearing, but his guilt may not be so set in stone..... You’re assisted in the investigation by your somewhat flighty but extremely talented and mysterious Master, Asra, and Portia, one of Countess Nadia’s most trusted servants. A few other very interesting figures pop up along the way, each giving their side of the story of Lucio’s death.

Along the way you meet a cast of amazing characters, all of whom have really awesome designs and fun, unique personalities. I’ll describe the love interests below the cut because holy SHIT I ended up writing way more than I originally thought and also while I haven’t played many routes this is what I’ve picked up from browsing the tags.

First: Asra Al-Nazar

Your Master and one of your dearest friends. Very enigmatic and a man of few words, and is definitely one of the more subdued and laid-back love interests. He tends to disappear for bits of time to places unknown and has a deep understanding of magic and the magical realm itself. He’s got History™ with many of the major players in the story and knows more than he lets on. He’s very Somft™ to the Apprentice and cares about them greatly. Just generally a very sweet if mysterious guy. Lotta people really like him and for good reason.

Countess Nadia

The widow of Count Lucio and the ruler of Vesuvia. She’s very poised and generally keeps a cool demeanor about everything. She’s a very competent ruler and loves her people. Has, hands down, some of the absolute BEST outfits in the game. Like this girl ALWAYS looks good, and like a wealthy aunt, is always willing to make her loved ones look good, too. Very intelligent and crafty, and loves horseback riding and music. Doesn’t care much about the class of a person, and rather their talent and character. However, like all people, she does have flaws. She holds grudges for a very long time and holds them with a white knuckle grip. She’s also extremely reserved and finds difficulty in trusting people, expressing herself, or making herself vulnerable. Like Asra, is very Somft™ with the Apprentice and is very easy to simp for. 

Julian Devorak

The man I’m currently simping for. And yes, you can smooch the accused murderer! He’s a very tall goth doctor who cares way too much and has a massive guilt complex that he hides under a mask of drama and suaveness. Very much a protector type and would do absolutely anything for the people he loves. This man tries not to worry the people around him but at the same time probably survives off of like an hour of sleep and caffeine and he really looks it. He likes being very smooth and cool but if you throw him off his game this boy gets FLUSTEREDDDDD it’s great and hilarious. Kind of has Flynn Rider vibes. Love him to bits. (Can you tell that he’s the only character whose route I’ve played so far???) He wants to find out who killed Lucio, and why. (Minor spoiler: he doesn’t know if he did it or not and would rather like to find out) Feels as though he’s failed everyone he loves and can swing between joy and melancholy very quickly. He’s also ridiculously self-sacrificing. Despite all this, very loveable.

Portia

Nadia’s most trusted servant and also my homegirl. Very sweet, bubbly, and snarky, but is also a total ride or die. Very loyal to Nadia, but will side with the Apprentice over her on certain issues. She knows pretty much everything that goes on in the castle and all the secret nooks and crannies. She lives in a little cottage in the middle of the palace gardens alongside her kitty, Pepi, where she has a huge garden full of fruits and vegetables and flowers. She’s definitely a cottagecore type girl. Also pretty adventurous and willing to go do crazy shit if need be. She’s rather secretive, though. Her personality is quite a bit like my own, which is probably why I don’t really have her on my to-romance list, but I’ll still do her route to satisfy the little completionist gremlin that is my brain.

Muriel

Count Lucio. Or at least, his ghost.

Ah, the BEEG BOI. At a whopping 6′10, he’s the tallest and most muscular of all of the love interests, so if you’re into that Muriel is absolutely your man. He’s very stoic and grumpy, and almost always has a furrowed brow, even when he’s happy. Very much a hermit and likes to keep away from civilization and society. Underneath it all, he’s very gentle towards the ones he loves and especially loves animals and nature, especially dogs and his beloved chickens. Seriously, this boy loves his chickens. When he smiles it’s absolutely adorable. Kind of afraid of his own strength but has no qualms about using it if necessary. Don’t piss him off, he’s scary when he’s angry. Like Nadia, holds a grudge for a long time and is again, very antisocial.

And lastly (and most surprisingly),

Ah, this trainwreck. He’s such an asshole, but such a loveable asshole. Full of himself and with a flair for the gaudy and dramatic, he’s one hell of a piece of work but with the Apprentice’s help becomes an actually good person. Despite his vanity, cruelty, and pettiness, when he decides he likes you, you’re one of his people and he’ll love you wholly and move the heavens and earth for you. Still kind of holds a flame for Nadia despite everything, which is actually really sweet, fight me. He’s kind of got a hero complex and runs headfirst into things without thinking and desperately needs someone to hold him back by the collar at all times because while not pure of heart, this man IS dumb of ass. His facial expressions and dramatics are absolutely hysterical and he’d rather die than admit it but he’s such an ugly crier and it’s hilarious and also very endearing. He’s also kind of in denial about being actually dead, and instead refers to his state as a ghost as being an “Oopsie” and that he’s “Just stuck >:(” He actually doesn’t know who killed him, but is determined to find out. Underneath his pomp and circumstance he’s actually pretty vulnerable and super lonely and could probably do with some hugs and actual human connection. As I said, he does become a good man, or at least a better man, but it takes work on both his end and yours. A pretty divisive route among fans. I’ve personally played the first two chapters of it and honestly I really love him. At the same time, I’m pretty sure if I met someone like him IRL I’d try to strangle him, so there’s that. He’d probably be into that though, the kinky bastard.

So yeah! There’s the main characters and a bit of the plot. Sorry for such an essay but I really wanted to explain all this since you were curious (^^;) I’d definitely recommend playing it, I've had a lot of fun! 

(Also, tip: the scenes that you can buy with coins are just little add ons and treats for the player- the game is very explicitly NOT pay to win and what matters when it comes to getting a good or bad ending is what non-paid dialogue options you choose while interacting with them.)

#the arcana #Anonymous #long post #long #Seriously tho anyone reading this PLAY THE ARCANA IT'S GREAT #ALL THE CHARACTERS ARE GREAT AND THE ART IS GORGEOUS AND ITS VERY WELL WRITTEN

[alarawriting]

52 Project #10: The Little Red Hen

Once upon a time, a hen, a cat, a dog, a pig, a goat and a rabbit all lived together in a little house.

Like good housemates, they all worked together to do the chores and pay the bills. In the front yard, Goat had a little pen. Children would come and pay to come into the pen and pet Goat. Sometimes the other animals came out to be petted too, except for the hen, because she was always too busy.  

Rabbit had beautiful long fur and brushed it all the time, and then she would spin the fur that came off with the brush into wool, which she would sell. The wool that came from Rabbit’s fur made lovely soft sweaters.

The others had jobs around the house. Hen kept a garden where she grew food for herself, Pig, Goat and Rabbit. Sometimes Dog ate the food too. Once or twice even Cat did, because Hen’s cooking was very good, but most of the time Cat prowled around for mice, or took naps.

Dog’s job was to bark a lot. Dog barked to warn Goat that children were coming for the petting zoo if Goat was inside the house. Dog barked to warn other dogs to go away. Dog barked to say hi to people. Dog barked to say that people had better watch out and not try any funny business. Dog barked at squirrels. He couldn’t explain why he needed to bark at squirrels. He just did.

Pig was always eating garbage. And then she would track dirt across Hen’s nice clean floor on her way to take a shower. And then she would eat more garbage. And then she would take another shower. When Hen got mad at Pig for taking too many showers, Pig asked Hen if she would prefer it if Pig had a mud wallow instead. After that Hen didn’t complain about Pig’s showers.

Hen tried to keep the house clean. There were always feathers and fur everywhere. Cat didn’t want to sit still to let Rabbit brush her. “I’m a cat,” she would say. “I can clean myself.” Then she would lick off all of her own loose fur. Then eating so much hair would make her sick, and she would throw up a hairball, right on Hen’s nice clean floor. “Ooh, I feel much too sick to clean that up,” she would say. “Hen, can you do it?” Then she would take a nap.

Dog got nervous sometimes. All that barking was hard on him. He had to stay alert all day and all night. When Dog was nervous, he chewed on things. He chewed on Cat’s bed pillow, which got feathers everywhere that weren’t even Hen’s. He chewed on Rabbit’s brush, and Rabbit was angry enough to try to hit him with it. He chewed on a pair of old shoes. None of the animals wore shoes, but the shoes belonged to Goat, who also liked chewing on them, so Goat and Dog had an argument.

Pig would stay in the garbage pen when she was eating garbage. Goat would wander into the pen the day after Hen made spaghetti with tomato sauce, because he loved tomato sauce. He’d pick up the can Hen had thrown in the garbage, and lick it. Pig didn’t mind. There was plenty of garbage. But Goat wouldn’t stay still in the garbage pen. “I have to get back to the petting zoo,” he’d say. “The children want to pet me.” Then he’d walk around with the dirty tomato sauce can in his mouth, letting it drip all over the place. Children thought this was very funny. Hen didn’t.

Rabbit would get angry when she found red feathers in her hutch. “Hen! You’re getting feathers in my hutch again!” she’d say. Hen would get angry because Rabbit shed fur everywhere and it wasn’t fair for Rabbit to complain about Hen’s feathers, when Hen was the only one who even tried to keep the house clean. Rabbit would always say that her fur was putting a roof over all of their heads and paying for the groceries, because six animals ate a lot more than Hen could grow in her garden, so she was always going to the grocery store. Then Hen would say “Well, if that fur is worth so much money why is it all over the couch and not on your spindle?” and then Rabbit would hmph and say that she works hard to sell her wool and she has the right to sit down and watch TV sometimes.

They were all friends and they all worked together to make life better for all the animals in the house. But sometimes friends and housemates don’t always get along so well.

One day Hen decided she was going to bake a loaf of bread. All of the animals loved her bread. Even Cat, who wasn’t supposed to eat bread, because she was a carnivore and it was bad for her. Cat pretended she didn’t really care about the bread, but when no one was looking she would always sneak a slice.

“I’m going to make bread,” she announced. “Who wants to help me buy the supplies I’ll need?”

“Not me,” said Cat, who was running around on the kitchen flour pouncing on nothing. Sometimes she did that for fun.

“Not me,” said Dog, who was at the window looking out into the yard. He saw a squirrel. “WOOF WOOF! WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF! AR-AR-AR-AR-AR! WOOF WOOF!”

Rabbit rolled her eyes. “It’s just a squirrel,” she said. “You don’t have to bark.”

“I do! My honor as a dog requires it!”

“Are you going to help me get the groceries?” demanded Hen.

“Oh heavens no. Look at all this brushing and grooming I have to do!” Rabbit brushed her fur.

“Pig, will you come with me?”

“I would, but I’m sooo hungry, I feel like I’d eat everything in the store!” Pig said, munching on yesterday’s garbage. “Sorry, count me out.”

Hen stuck her head out the door. Goat was playing with children. “Goat, will you come with me to the store so I can buy supplies to make bread?”

“Not me,” said Goat, as the children petted him.

“Well! Then I guess I have to do it all myself! I swear I live with the biggest lazybones I’ve ever met,” Hen said, which was probably true, because last time she had housemates they were all chickens. The hens worked hard at laying eggs and sitting on them, and finding bugs and worms and plants to eat, and the roosters worked hard at defending the hens and crowing when it was morning to wake all the chickens up so they could eat. Also when they saw a squirrel, much like Dog. Also when they had an itch. Also when they just felt like it.

Hen went to the grocery store, and got flour, yeast, and vegetable oil. The vegetable oil was very heavy. She’d bought a large one, because it was on sale, but it was very hard for a little hen to drag such a heavy bottle back home, especially with the heavy bag of flour too.

When she got back to her house, she yelled, “This stuff is really heavy! Is anyone going to help me carry it into the kitchen?”

“Too busy!” yelled Goat, who was still getting petted by children.

“If I look away from the window there might be an intruder!” Dog said. “Or another squirrel!”

“Still brushing,” said Rabbit.

“I’d help, but if I look at your groceries, I might get hungry again,” Pig said. “I just now managed to get full enough to go take my shower.”

“Cat?” Hen asked.

“What, are you seriously asking me? Of course not. I’m grooming,” Cat said, licking her fur.

So Hen dragged her groceries into the kitchen and began to make the dough. She put the ingredients in a bowl and began to mix them. “Can anybody help me mix the dough here?”

“What part of ‘grooming’ are you not getting?” Cat asked.

“Maybe if Cat will watch the window for me and let me know if anything dangerous is coming, I could help you mix the dough?” Dog suggested.

“How about no?” Cat said.

“Still brushing,” Rabbit said.

Pig was in the shower, and Goat was outside, so Hen didn’t even ask.

When she was done mixing the dough, it was time to knead it. Wings are not very good at kneading things, so Hen washed her feet in the sink first. Then she climbed on the dough and began to knead it. “I don’t suppose anyone wants to help me knead the dough?” she asked.

“I am hunting a mouse here,” Cat said, which Hen thought was strange, because it looked like she was sitting still on the floor with her tail twitching.

“Wait a minute wait a minute wait a minute!” Dog said. “THERE’S AN INTRUDER!” He ran outside, barking. “Intruder! Intruder!”

Rabbit sighed. “Dog, that’s the mailman,” she said, although Dog couldn’t hear her, because he was already outside. Also, he was barking very loudly.

“You’re not brushing anymore,” Hen said. “You could help me.”

Rabbit glared at her. “I am spinning,” she said, feeding the fur from her brush into a spinner so she could turn it into wool thread.

After Hen had kneaded the dough, it was time to make it into a loaf. “Does anyone want to help me make these loaves?” she asked.

But the only one left was Rabbit. Pig was still in the shower, Goat was still being petted by children, Dog was patrolling the property, and Cat had gone outside to hunt mice. Hen looked over at Rabbit, but Rabbit was still spinning. “Humph,” Hen said. “None of you are very helpful. It would serve you right if I didn’t even let you eat any of this loaf.” But Rabbit was paying attention to her spinning, so she didn’t notice what Hen said.

When the loaves were made, Hen put them in the oven to bake. She got out the butter, so it would be nice and soft when it was time to put it on the bread, and then she washed the dishes she’d gotten dirty, and cleaned the counter, and swept the kitchen. None of the animals helped her.

Finally, the loaves came out of the oven. By this time, Rabbit was done spinning, and had finished taking pictures of her wool to add to her catalog, and now she was watching TV. Cat was sleeping in the living room with the TV on. Pig was munching on apple cores and peels from the apple pie Hen had made yesterday, as she watched TV with Rabbit. Dog and Goat were playing cards in the living room at the coffee table.

Hen marched out to the living room. “Well, the bread that I made all by myself is done. Who wants to help me eat it?” she asked.

“I’d love some!” said Pig.

“I could definitely go for bread,” Goat agreed.

“Me, too,” said Dog.

“Bread sounds nice,” Rabbit said.

Cat flicked her ear up and opened one eye. “Maybe,” she murmured sleepily.

“Well, too bad!” Hen said. “Because none of you helped me get the groceries, and none of you helped me bring in the groceries, and none of you helped me make the dough, and none of you helped me knead the dough, and none of you helped me make the loaves, and you definitely didn’t help me clean up the kitchen afterward, so why should you help yourself to any of my bread? It’s my bread and I’m going to eat it all by myself!” She flounced back into the kitchen, fluttering her wings.

All of the animals looked at each other.

Goat followed Hen into the kitchen. “You do know that Rabbit and I made the money that you used to buy those groceries, right?” he asked.

“But you didn’t help buy them. You didn’t help use them. You didn’t help clean up after them. And you never, ever do! I work very hard around here to keep this place clean and cook nice food for all of us and none of you ever help.”

“Well, all right then,” Goat said. “You do your job, without any help, and we all get the benefits. All of us do our jobs, without any help, and you get the benefits too, along with the rest of us. So why is this different?”

“Because you are all being lazy and not helping me at all. I make the food! That’s very important! But you don’t help me do that and you don’t clean up after yourselves and I’m tired of it! So I’m going to eat all the bread that I made.”

“I really don’t think that’s a good idea,” said Goat.

Hen humphed. “Well, you didn’t think helping me was a good idea either, and look how that turned out.”

Goat left the kitchen, and Hen sat down to eat her nice warm bread, with butter and cheese. It was delicious, but she couldn’t eat it all. She had to wrap most of the loaf up for later.

I can have it for breakfast in the morning, thought Hen.

***

In the morning, though, there was no loaf on the counter. There was a wrapper, and there were crumbs, but there was no loaf.

“Someone ate my loaf!” Hen yelled. “I said very specifically that no one was allowed to eat my loaf because no one helped me make it, but someone ate it anyway!”

“Not me,” said Rabbit, who was on the computer arranging a sale of the thread spun from her fur. “I’m too busy working to eat your loaf.”

“Not me!” said Dog, who then started barking to let Goat know that there were children coming to the petting zoo.

“Not me,” Goat said, “but if you’re not doing anything with that wrapper, I could get rid of it for you.”

“Not me,” said Pig nervously. “I’m, um, going on a diet. I’m fasting today. Sort of. Anyway I didn’t eat your bread.”

“Not me,” Cat said, yawning and stretching, “but maybe I know who did.”

“Then who was it?” Hen demanded.

“There might have been a bold rat or two in here last night looking for something to eat, and it’s possible they got into your loaf,” Cat said, washing herself.

Hen glared at her. “You saw rats get into my food, and you didn’t do anything?”

“Well, you never help me catch rats, so why should I protect your food?” Cat said. “I know you can catch a rat. I’ve seen you eat mice.”

“Rats are much too big for me! If we had a rooster here, maybe he could help you, but I can’t do anything about a rat!”

“Wait, Hen eats mice?” Rabbit’s ears perked up. “Since when?”

“Since always. Chickens will eat anything,” Cat said. “But did she help me catch the rats last night? No! So I didn’t catch the ones who were eating her loaf.”

“I’ll go outside and hunt for rats,” Dog said. “I don’t like rats being in the house! They’re intruders!” He looked over at Cat. “Do you want to come with me?”

“Maybe later. I think I’m going to have a nap right now,” Cat said.

“You just woke up,” Hen accused.

“I did. And it bored me, so I’m going back to sleep.”

Dog left. Goat nibbled at the wrapper. Hen glared at him. “I hear children outside. Aren’t you supposed to go out there and let them pet you?”

“I’m just not feeling it today,” Goat said. “After all, if I go take tickets so that children can pet me, you’ll just take the money and spend it on food I’m not allowed to eat, so why am I bothering?”

Hen huffed and went to the stove. “Well, if you won’t contribute anything to this household by working, I won’t let you have any eggs for breakfast. I worked hard laying these eggs.”

“I could eat some eggs,” Pig said.

“I thought you said you were fasting today.”

“I’m not fasting for eggs!”

“Aren’t eggs baby chickens?” Rabbit asked. “I think it’s creepy that you’re willing to cook them and eat them.”

Hen rolled her eyes, which was very difficult to do with bird eyes, but she managed it. “If I had a rooster for a husband, they’d be baby chickens and I would never let anyone eat them. But I don’t have a husband, so they’ll never become baby chicks no matter how long I sit on them. If you think it’s so creepy, Rabbit, you don’t have to have any eggs!”

“I don’t care,” Rabbit said. “You think no one gets to have any food unless they do your job for you.”

“I just want them to help! I don’t think that’s so unfair!”

“Whatever,” Rabbit said.

Hen tried to turn on the oven, and discovered that there was no firewood in the oven, so she couldn’t get it to turn on. She flapped her wings in exasperation and went outside to get firewood, but there wasn’t any.

“Rabbit! Weren’t you supposed to order more firewood?”

“Was I?” Rabbit was brushing her fur again. “I eat lettuce and greens. My food doesn’t need to be cooked, and my fur keeps me nice and warm, so why should I care about the firewood?”

“Ugh!” Hen shouted. “I have to do everything!”

She went outside to find some firewood. What she found was a pile of trash, with flies buzzing around it. Pig hadn’t eaten any of the garbage from yesterday. Hen stomped back in. “Pig! Why didn’t you eat the garbage?”

“Um, well, I’m fasting?” Pig said.

“No, you’re not, you asked for eggs.”

“I’m fasting for garbage,” Pig said.

Goat said, “Why should Pig eat the garbage for you? You’re the one who cares about how clean the house is, but you wouldn’t even let Pig have some of your bread, so why should Pig do you any favors?”

“Because it’s her job!”

“And making food for all of us is yours,” Goat said. “Excuse me.” He headed upstairs toward his bedroom.

“Well, I’m going to make some cake!” Hen yelled. “And I’m not letting you or Pig or Rabbit have any!”

“Great. Good luck finding firewood,” Goat called down the stairs.

Cat got up and stretched again. “You guys are so loud. I’m going to go take my nap somewhere else.”

“You all should leave,” Hen snapped. “You’re all useless!”

Cat stared at Hen. “I’m leaving because you’re loud and annoying, not because you told me to.” She stalked away.

“I, um, I’m going to find some food in the woods,” Pig said. “Maybe some truffles. I heard I could make a lot of money if I found truffles and sold them.”

“Goat and Rabbit are supposed to make enough money to support us all,” Hen said.

“Right, but if I had my own money, I could buy my own food and then I wouldn’t have to eat garbage ever again.”

“Well, what will happen to this house if you never eat the garbage?” Hen snapped.

“You could eat it, Hen,” Rabbit said. “You’re the one who thinks that everyone has to help do everyone else’s job.”

“Well, if I only cook for myself, then there won’t be enough garbage to worry about!” Hen said.

Before anyone else could say anything, Hen heard strange voices in the house. Human voices. “I can’t find the goat!” a child’s voice said.

“I’m sure he’s in here somewhere,” a human woman said. “Oh, look! It’s a pig, a rabbit and a hen!”

Rabbit got up and bounded away, very, very quickly, leaving her brush behind her. Hen was not as fast. “Oh no you don’t!” she clucked at the child. “Stay away from me!” The child ran toward her. Hen did not want to be petted; she squawked and ran the other way, and then the human headed her way so she ran the opposite way. Meanwhile an older human child was petting Pig, who seemed to like it very much.

“I didn’t know pigs had fur,” the older child said. “It feels just like our hair, Mom!”

“That’s very nice,” Pig said. “Maybe I’ll work with Goat in the petting zoo. It feels nice to be petted.”

Hen was still running in circles. The child came at her from one direction and then the other. She couldn’t escape the kitchen because the child’s mother was blocking the door. “Mom, I just want to pet the hen! Why is she running away?” the child asked petulantly.

“Because I don’t want to be petted!” Hen squawked. She tried to run out the back door, but there were more children outside in the garbage area, complaining that it was stinky; she could hear them through the window.

“Mom, can you catch the hen so I can pet her?” the younger child said.

“Goat! There are children here trying to pet me! Come down here!”

“Naah,” Goat called back.

“But they’re your customers! They’re looking for you, and they’re chasing me!”

“I don’t see how that’s my problem,” Goat said.

“DOG! Help! There are children chasing me!”

“Um, Dog’s not here, remember?” Pig said. “He went hunting rats.”

Hen managed to slip past the grasping child and get out the door. The children who’d been out in the garbage pile had left, complaining about the stink. When the child who wanted to pet her headed for the same door, the child’s mother said, “No, no, there’s stinky garbage that way. Why don’t we pet the pig? We can pet the hen when she comes back.”

“Fat chance,” said Hen, as she flounced away.

Outside, she found Dog being petted. “Dog! You should have helped me! Some of those children came in the house and chased me!”

“You should have let them catch you,” Dog said, his tongue lolling and tail wagging. “These children love animals! I think I want to work with Goat every day!”

“I don’t like being petted,” Hen complained. “Now I can’t go inside my own house because there are children who are intruders, and they’re petting Pig!”

“Does Pig like it?”

“Pig likes it, but I don’t know why,” Hen complained.

“Well, I don’t have to protect Pig from something she likes,” Dog said.

Two tall adult human men, who didn’t have children with them, headed for the back door near the garbage pile. Hen clucked. “Dog! There are humans going to our garbage pile!”

“So? Maybe some humans like garbage. I like garbage, and Pig likes garbage, so maybe humans do too.”

“But it’s embarrassing! I don’t want strangers seeing our garbage!”

“I guess you’ll just have to chase them off, then,” Dog said. “Since you want everyone else to do your job or you won’t help them, we all decided that we won’t help you unless you do our jobs for us.”

Hen scowled. “Oh, so that’s it,” she said. “You all ganged up on me!”

Dog rolled on his back to get a belly rub. “Well, it seemed a little mean to me, but Goat explained that it was fair, because it’s what you did to us. All of us do our own jobs and we all work together, but you act like you’re the only one who does anything to contribute. So if you’re going to be mean to us, I guess we ought to be mean the same way to you? I mean, that’s fair, right?”

Hen squawked. “I work so hard to maintain this house!”

“And I work so hard to protect the house from intruders!” Dog said.

At this point there was a loud shattering sound from the side of the house. Dog leapt up, pulling away from the children petting him, and ran toward the sound, barking. Hen followed.

The television was lying on the ground, broken. The two humans were running away as Pig chased them, squealing. A moment later Goat came out the door and ran after the humans as well. “They stole our television!” Goat shouted.

“I’m on it! WOOF! WOOF WOOF WOOF! WOOF WOOF!” Dog ran after the two humans, which let Goat and Pig slow down and return to the house.

“Our television is broken because Dog wouldn’t do his job!” Hen said, angrily pecking at the broken TV. “If he’d been protecting the house from intruders, they wouldn’t have been able to just walk in and take the TV!” She fixed Goat with a glare. “And you encouraged him to do that!”

Goat glared right back. “It’s your fault, Hen,” he said. “You didn’t want to do your job for anyone who didn’t help you, even though we all have jobs? Well, why should Dog do his job for you? You could have chased off those intruders! You have a beak!”

“I am a little hen!” Hen yelled. “I can’t beat up a human! All of you except Rabbit would be better at that than I am!”

“Huh, it sounds like you’re saying we all should be working at the jobs we’re good at and not expecting others to step in and do our job?”

“I tried to do Dog’s job,” Pig said. “When I saw those humans taking our television I got mad and I chased them, and they dropped the TV!”

“Which broke it,” Hen said.

“Yes, but I’d rather the television broke than that intruders get to use it,” Pig said.

Dog came back, proudly holding a scrap of blue jeans in his teeth. He dropped it on the ground by them. “I didn’t catch them, but I got their pants,” he said. “I don’t think they’ll be back.”

“I tried to do your job, Dog,” Pig said. “But I wasn’t as good at it as you are.”

“Thanks for trying,” Dog said. “I really appreciate it. And you know I would never stop protecting you if you didn’t help me protect us, right, Pig?”

Pig nodded.

Rabbit came hopping back. “Are there still humans in our house, and what happened to the television?”

They explained everything to Rabbit, and explained everything again to Cat when she showed up. Goat went into the house to clear out all the human children and get them to go wait outside the petting zoo.

“This isn’t fair,” Hen said. “I spend my whole day cooking and cleaning to make the house nice for all of us, and none of you want to help at all. You’re fine with making a mess, but you don’t clean it. And Goat’s job is just for the daytime, and Rabbit can do her work whenever she wants to, and Cat and Dog take plenty of breaks, and Pig’s job is just eating! How hard is that?”

“You’re the one who decided to cook and clean,” Goat said. “You could sell eggs, just like Rabbit sells fur, but you decided to do the cooking and cleaning.”

“But I have to, because you’re all slobs,” Hen said. “Other hens will make fun of me if they see what a mess my house is! If I relied on any of you to keep the place clean, you wouldn’t!”

Cat washed her paw. “Maybe you just aren’t paying attention to what we do. When was the last time you cleaned the bathroom?”

Hen cocked her head. “Cleaned the bathroom?”

“My point exactly,” Cat said. “I make sure that the bathroom stays clean. I can’t remember the last time you bothered with that. I know none of the rest of you care, but I can’t stand a smelly bathroom.”

“And when you use cans when you cook, I clean them out and take them to recycling,” Goat said.

“And when the trash is so smelly even Pig doesn’t want to eat it, I take the bags out to the road for the garbage truck,” Dog said.

“And then you bark at the garbage truck for no reason,” Cat said.

“Well, by the time they come sometimes I forget I’m expecting them…”

“And when there was a leak in the basement, Dog and I dug out the pipes so we could patch the leak, and I ruined my fur for weeks,” Rabbit said.

“But none of those things are things you do every day,” Hen said, frustrated.

“Um, she has a point,” Pig said. “I thought she was mean about the loaf of bread, but it is true that the chores she does have to be done every day…”

“So is protecting the house!” Dog said.

Goat considered. “We all have a lot of work to do, but Hen is right that her job never stops; there are always messes, and we always need food. I can take a day off from the petting zoo and Dog doesn’t do anything if an intruder doesn’t come near the house and Rabbit only brushes and spins when she feels like she hasn’t got enough to sell, but Hen does her job all the time.”

“But nobody needs her to. She’s the one who wants to live in such a clean house,” Rabbit said.

“You complained about my feathers in your hutch,” Hen said.

“Yeah, actually, you did do that,” Cat said. “Anyway, I like a clean house.”

“I wish she wouldn’t clean up all the smells so fast,” Dog said, “but it does make it easier to smell intruders.”

“I like it when things are clean,” Pig said. “That’s why I take showers instead of getting a mud wallow.”

“So I have an idea,” Goat said. “All of us should pitch in and help Hen with chores… just so no one has a job they can’t ever walk away from for a little while. But Hen needs to understand that if we’re doing our jobs, or if we’ve had a hard day of doing our jobs all day and we’re tired, we aren’t always going to want to jump up and help with whatever, especially if it’s not a thing that needs doing. No one needed a loaf of bread yesterday, Hen, that was all your idea.”

“Well, you all wanted to eat it!”

“And you all wanted to watch TV even though Rabbit and I bought it,” Goat said. “That’s not the point.”

“I was hunting mice,” Cat said. “Who will, let me remind you, eat all your flour if I don’t stop them, and then you’re not going to bake any bread.”

“I was at my job,” Goat said. “Which you don’t want to do, and that’s fine, but don’t act like it’s not work.”

“Getting petted is work?” Dog asked.

“It sure is. You need to make sure the kids don’t fight with each other, and that they all get to pet you a fair amount of time, and of course you have to take the ticket money too, and it can be exhausting having to deal with people all day long, especially children. I don’t just lie around and get petted; I have to manage things.”

“And I was brushing and spinning,” Rabbit said, “because I had a big order I needed to ship today.”

“I don’t know how to cook,” Dog said. “I know how to protect the house, though, so I was doing that, because I was afraid I’d mess up if I tried to help you with the baking.”

“I guess I could have been more help,” Pig said. “I was really hungry, but maybe if I’d gotten a snack I could have helped out.” She looked at Goat. “And maybe I could help Goat in the petting zoo. We could take turns taking the ticket money and getting petted.”

“I could help with that too!” Dog said. “But I won’t ignore intruders going into the house just because I’m getting petted, the next time.”

“And I could help you sell vegetables and eggs, Hen,” Rabbit said. “Most of my sales are online, but I do sell yarn at the weekly farmer’s market, so I have a table there. I never asked you before because I thought the whole thing with the eggs was weird, but if they really aren’t baby chicks then I guess I have no reason not to invite you to come along and sell vegetables and eggs. That way you’d be making some of the household money, and so we wouldn’t be upset that you want us to do chores when we all have jobs.”

Hen sighed. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I got mad because I feel like you never help me and I’m always working. I understand you have jobs, but… it was hard to bring home those groceries by myself, and then I had to do all the work to make the bread, and I just got frustrated. I shouldn’t have said you couldn’t have any bread.”

***

And so the friends made up, and agreed that they would share their workloads more fairly. Hen made another loaf of bread while Rabbit and Dog were out buying a new TV with the household funds, and Goat and Pig shared petting zoo duties. Even Cat went out to get petted, for a little while. Then they all shared the bread, this time.

It was delicious.

#52 project #altered tales #comedy #chickens #why do I keep writing about chickens

[stellar-imagines]

HEADCANONS REQUEST: ❝countryside girl pt.2❞

[ Fandom: Boku no Hero Academia ] [ Characters: Midoriya Izuku, Todoroki Shouto ]

「Headcanons of Midoriya and Todoroki's S/O who lives in the countryside, meeting and getting to know Class 1-A. And eventually bringing them over to their home in the village, insisting them to stay over for dinner.」 [ Previous Headcanons Set ]

MIDORIYA IZUKU

♤ It took you a while for you to get to know Midoriya's friends. You were only able to see them on the days they decided to along with Midoriya when he comes to visit you while you're working. As a student of UA, he was always busy and there was curfew as he is now living in the dorms. He was much more free on Saturdays where finishes classes earlier than usual. Plus, its one of the days where he gets to relax and take a break. His friends had wondered why he was going off so often on Saturdays and decided to tag along one day. That's when they discover Midoriya's little girlfriend.

♤ You got along with them quite fast, exchanging small talk and numbers. You were such an easy going, kind-hearted and generous person, often sharing your harvests like you do with Midoriya. Honestly, his friends were super surprised that their broccoli boy had such an amazing girlfriend. They were mildly surprised at the things you do, mostly the fact that you're not a student who's working multiple jobs and making YouTube videos of your life in the countryside. They find your videos intriguing and that was probably the main reason why they agreed when you invited them over to your house.

♤ The trip to your house was not the same like it was when you're with Midoriya. His friends were asking questions about yourself and the relationship which made him much more nervous than he should've. Normally, it was the two of you in the train and bus. It's a long ride and you usually end up sleeping when it was the two of you in the commute with your head on his shoulder as he waited until the stop you were supposed to get off. But now with Midoriya's friends, there was always someone talking animatedly about something and it was hard to fall asleep with which an interesting group.

♤ Your grandparents were delighted to see you bringing a huge group of people to your home. Honestly, it's a bit quiet in the countryside and they crave for company. Your house wasn't small and there was space enough for a large enough for a group of people. You led the everyone towards the different parts of your home. Since there were tons of people, you have more helping hands in the garden. They didn't seem to mind picking vegetables and fruits that were fresh from your garden. It seemed like they were having fun so it wasn't as if you're forcing the. to do anything. The girls are in love with the small little lamb that you have as a pet, as well as the puppies running about and following you when you moved to the kitchen to wash the freshly picked fruits.

♤ It wasn't everyday you see people keeping lambs as a pet. While you were washing fruits together with Midoriya, everyone else would wander around, admiring the things you grow while the others entertained your pets who seemed happy with the new company. People like Yaoyorozu, Iida and Todoroki were super amazed as they come from a family from the higher end, they seem intrigued with how things are made, be it something as simple as jam to something complicated as making your own noodles and whatnot. Midoriya was super proud of you and couldn't help but brag about your other skills.

♤ They were more than happy to stick around for dinner because you insisted. You had fresh ingredients harvested from the garden. They all waited patiently, watching as you prepare dinner. A few insisted on helping but you decide to do it on your own since they didn't have much experience with a knife. When you brought a chicken into the kitchen, they were confused but when you grabbed your butcher knife, the girls screamed. Some of the boys like Kaminari and Sero screamed along. They all looked away when you butchered the poor chicken. Midoriya was mortified himself, honestly.

♤ Putting aside the fact that you had butchered a live chicken in front of their eyes, the food you prepared was delicious. It was an amazing show seeing you handle all the knife like a professional chef. If by any chance, Bakugou tagged along, he will demand you for recipes and you will be more than happy to share him some of your fresh goods. Midoriya is super proud of you, let him cry over how talented and kind-hearted you are.

TODOROKI SHOUTO

☆ Todoroki doesn't really talk about himself so it was natural that none of his classmates knew the existence of his girlfriend until someone asked him. It started with him going out almost every weekend, so often that it attracted the attention of his classmates. Kaminari made a joke that he was skipping on hangouts to meet up with his girlfriend. And Todoroki being the person he was, simply replied that he actually was without batting an eyelash. It surprised a lot of people to hear that he was actually seeing someone so they got curious, wanting to meet the person who caught their pretty boy's attention.

☆ Class 1-A first saw you when you had an off day during a public holiday where you decided to pay Todoroki a visit. They didn't expect a visitor in the dorms on that day. It wasn't Todoroki who opened the door, it was his classmates. So they were mildly surprised by you, dressed so casually with a small basket in hand. Accompanied by Aizawa and the visitor's pass hanging around your neck, it was obvious that you were a visitor. Todoroki came to greet you and introduced you to everyone as his girlfriend.

☆ Most of his classmates who were curious, decided to tag along with Todoroki when he promised to meet up with you. More like his classmates wanted to see Todoroki's girlfriend so they told him that they wanted to come along. It wasn't hard to get the bicolored haired male's approval. When they first met you, they were mildly surprised. You were such a nice person that got along with them so easily. Todoroki was glad that you didn't have problems befriending his classmates. To begin with, they were a friendly bunch that were quite persistent on getting to know people.

☆ He usually makes time for you on the weekends. His friends caught him going out, dressed up comfortable with a few things in hand. And there goes Kaminari who jokingly said "Are you on a secret getaway to meet, [Last Name]?" Of course, Todoroki replied honestly, saying yes before excusing himself. He had asked if they wanted to come along, much to their surprise, a lot agreed and decided to come. You were told to brace yourself for a huge group of people coming over to your place. Honestly, you were happy to see Todoroki and his classmates getting off the train together. Your grandparents were quite overwhelmed with the crowd but they both welcomed your friends warmly.

☆ Todoroki surprisingly knows his way through your house as he has been there several times. You were happily handing over baskets and urging them to harvest the fresh vegetables in the garden. It felt like a field trip for Todoroki's classmates so they were pretty excited over the littlest things, especially when your dogs and lamb came circling around you the moment you came back. The girls found your lamb super cute and loves playing with all your pets. It was certainly a different atmosphere for everyone but it seemed like they're enjoying it.

☆ There were a lot of things that they didn't know about the things that come from the garden so you had fun guiding them around. They're a bit surprised to see you climbing a tree to pick a single fruit. It was dangerous and honestly you could've fell if you weren't careful. It was nice having people accompanying you and assisting you with your harvest. When they heard you have a YouTube channel, they were all curious. The quality of your videos was certainly something to be amazed of.

☆ When you brought the chicken from the coop to your kitchen, everyone was wondering what you were going to do with it. You didn't realize how long you kept them here but when your grandparents reminded you that it was almost time for dinner, you came to realize that it was already so late. They were mortified to see that you were butchering the chicken to make some sort of chicken dish. Truly, a sight that none of them will forget. Someone as sweet as you butchering a chicken just proved that the metaphor "Don't just a book by it's cover." right.

☆ After clearing their mind from the fact that you just murdered a chicken in front of their eyes, they put their attention towards your cooking. You moved so smoothly, hands very familiar with the ingredients and the knife. Not to mention, you cooked like a professional so it was quite satisfying to watch you cook. They were able to enjoy traditional food made from scratch with love and hard work. You were used with handling all the cooking but it was your first time cooking for more than 3 to 4 people.

Total: 1561 words Published: 23.03.2020

Thank you for requesting! *｡٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و*｡ It’s nice to see you again! Hope you liked the previous set of headcanons and this one. ― author Lou

Thank you for requesting! No chickens were harmed in the making of these headcanons. Sorry to make you wait. ― author Natsuki

Requests are open! Matchups are closed!

Please do not mind the grammar mistakes and typos.

#stellar-imagines #midoriya x reader #todoroki x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #bnha #bnha:midoriya izuku #bnha:todoroki shouto #bnha scenarios #bnha imagines #bnha headcanons #headcanons #headcanon #boku no hero academia #boku no hero academia headcanons #boku no hero academia scenarios #boku no hero academia imagines #boku no hero academia x reader #mha #mha imagines #mha scenarios #mha headcanons #my hero academia #my hero academia imagines #my hero academia scenarios #my hero academia headcanons #reader isnert #fanfic

[youarejesting]

BTS365 Prompt.Week24

[Full Masterlist] [Prompt Masterlist]

Beta: @jung-hoseok-s-airplane

Please tag me in your work if you use my prompts. I want to see your work. Ever your Jester.

Tell me your birthday and I will tag you on your special day!

═══════ ೋღ ღೋ ═══════

         June 11th - 17th

═══════ ೋღ ღೋ ═══════

Kim Seokjin - Red Rose

You worked at the Ama-Jin florist. The owner Jin was a lovely young man who was a little hit and miss when it came to flower arrangements. Sometimes he would make beautiful bouquets and other times he made horrific flower crowns that looked out of this world. Your job as the actual florist was to take his failed attempts and correct them. That and compliment him daily. No, seriously this was in your job description.

Min Yoongi - Bourbon

Min Yoongi worked on a modest farm, every morning he would wake early. Brush his teeth and hair, he would dress before applying copious amounts of sunscreen before getting to work. First, he would call for Holly, giving her some breakfast while he fed the chickens, there were three hens and a rooster. He then would go to the cow, he had only one as the calf didn’t survive the harsh winter and he would sit on his stool and collect the milk. 

“Hey my moo, give it a few months and you can try again with Seokjin Stud Desirabull okay?” He patted the sad cow and stood up. Heading to the kitchen he began making a quick breakfast before heading back out with Holly. They worked together in the field, managing his crops which took all day. 

 “Holly, let’s check the fences, and then it is time to head back early. I can make something small for dinner and I can have a drink.” The two took the tractor back to the shed behind the house and he saw a strange car pull up in his driveway. You stepped out looking like one of those beautiful women on television whilst he felt a little more like a dirty hick.

“I just moved into the place across the road and I thought I heard from the town about you,” you smiled, he frowned, what had they said. “Oh, it wasn’t anything bad. They said you were hard-working, kind and caring but you often put other things before your own needs, they all said you were so thin so as I was making dinner I made a little extra by accident and well I thought I might offer some of it to you.”

He lifted the lid to see a delicious looking casserole, “Well, I wish I knew I would have prepared something to welcome you, do you and your husband need any eggs or milk?”

“Oh no, it’s just me.” You sighed.“Well me, I was dumb eighteen year old, trusted a boy fell pregnant and he said he would marry me and take care of us but here I am. But who needs a guy like that. I sure don’t and my little five year old is beautiful taking after me, of course.” 

Yoongi grinned at the fondness on your face. “If ever you need anything I am just across the road. I am Yoongi and this is my dog Holly, he is a boy but when I first got him I thought he was a girl.”

“Oh right, I forgot to introduce myself. I am y/n and my daughter, Daehyung, is a girl, I thought she was a boy while I was pregnant. I picked the name early and I got so used to it, I just couldn’t change it.”

Jung Hoseok - Hem

Jung Hoseok had to visit a tailor for his best friend's wedding. Yoongi wanted all his groomsmen to be well dressed, he sent them the same address and told them to go in their own time. When he arrived crossing the polished wood floors, past dozens of multicolored suits, jackets, trousers and tuxedo sets.

He stopped awkwardly in front of the young woman who was busy arranging some cuff-links under the glass counter. She sang quietly to herself and squeaked when she saw him standing there trying to appear like he was interested in a green tie that caught his eye for all the wrong reasons. He hadn’t even noticed his lips pulling down into a frown of disdain towards the atrocity.

“Hi, thank you for your patience. How can I help you?” This startled Hoseok and he ended up dropping the tie and lunging for his head knocking over the display. “Woah!”

Hoseok looked up sheepish from the floor watching the young woman place the display back on the corner of the cabinet. “Uh here. I am here to get fitted for a suit.”

“Oh thank gosh, can I just say this puke green color is not good at all.”

“Right, it is hideous!”

Kim Namjoon - Corn

“I got the homis in my bag, Have you heard of that? Homis made of steel from Korea. They the be-e-est. Ridin' to the farm...” Namjoon had been singing it repeatedly for a few days but he couldn’t get past this line. Giving up for the moment, deciding instead to go to the kitchen. He hummed the tune as he looked through the fridge. There was food, but it had to be cooked and he was banned from cooking when he set the oven mitts on fire.

He ordered something and waited for it to arrive, he tried distracting himself with the 94 Liners group chat, they were currently mass messaging meme pictures of Namjoon from twitter. But even the funny caption on his distorted face couldn’t stop him thinking about the lyrics.

The doorbell rang and he ran to the door singing to himself. “I got the homis in my bag, Have you heard of that? Homis made of steel from Korea. They the be-e-est.” Namjoon threw the door open to see you, a beautiful young woman with a long blonde ponytail and the longest eyelashes fluttering over sparkling orbs.  “Riding to the farm…”

His voice died and you grinned up at him “Grabbing all the corn? I mean it was a half-rhyme does it count?” your laugh was absolutely infectious.

Park Jimin - Nature Photography (mentions the name Cocaine)

Jimin had joined his best friend and soulmate for a photography class, the two had an affinity for photographs but while Taehyung was more into taking the photo. Jimin preferred to just collect them. But as a fun day out, they had joined a nature photography group at the park where they would take pictures of the summer atmosphere in Seoul. 

It was while he was taking a picture he got tackled by a big Samoyed dog, Jimin couldn’t help giggling as the dog began licking his cheek happily. “You are a cute boy aren’t you, what’s your name?” He took a peek at the tag and fell back laughing. 

“Cocaine, baby you can’t run away!” you puffed putting a leash on your dog and going to apologize when your dog spotted Taehyung walking over with a Hotteok in each hand. The dog lunged forward and pulled you with him onto Jimin.

“Hello, Mister Dog Sir. How are you?” Taehyung chuckled deeply. You held your dog's leash arm outstretched preventing you from pulling yourself up. “Do you like Hotteok, we have to ask first if you are allowed to eat some?”

“What do you think you are doing Tae?” Jimin asked after hearing the clicking of a camera, he watched your eyes which had been scrunched shut scared of the fall open hesitantly. Jimin realized he had instinctively tried to catch you. 

“Nature Photography,” Taehyung replied, you looked up to see he was taking pictures of the two of you in the compromising position.

“I am so sorry, I didn’t mean for my dog to attack you,” you said sitting up on Jimin’s lap and trying to get up when you let out a hiss. He looked at your knee to see the graze, just holding your hips leaning over to his bag for a band-aid.

“Stay still and I will patch you up.” You were blushing. It wasn't exactly normal to sit in someone else’s lap. 

Taehyung's camera continued to go off and your soft blush darkened with every click. “There all done!”

Kim Taehyung - Blooms day

It was Blooms Day. A day where soulmates around the world get to bloom a child. Taehyung and yourself were so excited heading off to the special Nursery gardens and you walked along the trail together watching the flowers to see if any of them accepted your soulmate bond. Other couples were now dressing and cooing with their newborn Bloom babies but Taehyung looked at you nervously; you had almost walked the entire garden. You took Taehyung’s hand. 

“Don’t give up Tae if it is not this year there is always next year we are more than ready for a bloom baby when it is ready for us” Though you said these words you reached the last turn of the trail in the greenhouse and outside the exit doors you saw a few couples consoling one another. 

Looking to your left Taehyung was crying silently. His lip was dropped and shaking but he didn’t make a sound, the tears slowly flowing down his cheeks like tiny drops of water running down a window. You were about to leave, stopping in front of the last pot these were the rarest flowers of them all, you stood admiring them for a moment not yet ready to accept your fate.

You heard the sound that one only hears when their bloom baby was being born. You followed the sound pulling Taehyung around the pot until you saw a flower growing out from the ground behind the pot it was a tiny flower with dark navy petals and it began to open and you laid out the blanket and gently laid the newborn bloom baby into the soft fabric wrapping them to keep them warm.

Taehyung wanted a boy wanting to teach him how to play catch and all those father-son moments. You turned to him smiling sadly “Baby I am sorry, it is a girl, I know how badly you wanted a little boy.”

“I realized that it didn’t matter what gender they were, I just wanted our little one to be healthy” he smiled “I guess that’s what was holding us back, I am sorry my love. I am going to teach you how to play catch and everything else better than any boy.”

Jeon Jungkook - Eat your vegetables

“Dinner’s ready” you shouted, hearing the feet scattering through the house. It was a madhouse at mealtimes if your husband Jungkook was anything to go by. It was halfway through your own dinner when you heard. “I am done, dad let’s play video games”

“Wait!” You called and they hung their heads and sat down at the table. You stood up and walked around looking at their plates and calling them out on the left over vegetables. “Why didn’t you eat your vegetables?”

“Because they taste funny, mummy” Your son said to you jutting out his bottom lip and looking up at you with big eyes. Trying to appear cute clasping his hands together in a plea.

“Yeah, mummy they taste funny.” Jungkook pulled the same face and you put your hands on your hips.

“If you want to stay in the same bed tonight, let alone anything else you two better eat your vegetables” Jungkook lifted his plate to his mouth and began shovelling the vegetables into his mouth and chewing them as quickly as he could. Before turning to his son and encouraging him to eat his vegetables before racing him for a bath. Jungkook was running around the living room trying to clean up toys and the video games watching you with a big eager smile.

#bts #bangtan sonyeondan #bts imagines #bts reactions #bts scenarios #bts drabbles #bts fic #bts fanfic #bts prompts #BTS365Prompts #BTS365 #bts birthday prompts #bts birthdays #bts x reader #kim namjoon #kim seokjin #min yoongi #jung hoseok #park jimin #kim taehyung #jeon hoseok #jin x reader #suga x reader #jhope x reader #namjoon x reader #jimin x reader #taehyung x reader #jungkook x reader #bts fluff #btscreatorscorner

[marinaaniseed]

Dark ‘n’ Stormy Pt. 9

After yesterday’s false start, I binned the 4.5k angst-a-thon and started again. This one is better, I think. And shorter, too, at just under 4k.

It’s sort of an overview of what happens in the months following Thor and Brunnhilde’s ‘little chat’.

Not really smutty, but there is a little bit of stuffing. Sorry if that’s not your bag.

Spoiler: If you don’t like that, you will hate what I'm planning for Pt. 10.

I allude to a particular piece of art by @moopzies​ in this. I highly advise you to check it out (you’ll know which one).

There are some feels in this. I made myself cry a little, like an idiot.

Ehh, you know the drill. Love me (give me feedback :P).

Thor had told you the majority of his conversation with the Valkyrie. He’d left out the more ‘space-magic’ parts of it all, and the bit about the heir. Those were problems he’d need to address later.

You’d agreed that a consensus was needed and had offered to help, something that Thor was incredibly grateful for. It was overwhelming, he just wanted to hide away from it all. But in his heart, he knew this was who he was. He was the king of Asgard. He had been raised from an early age to fulfill that role. Yes, he had failed at what he was supposed to be, but maybe that was the point. Because the more he talked to you, the more he learned about Midgard, he came to realise that his father’s rule probably wasn’t something to emulate. It hadn’t been that great of an experience for most of the populace. They’d had no say in anything, just sent off to fight wars they had no stake in. Hela had been a power-mad tyrant, bent on conquering all of the realms, but who had made her that way?

A census was taken of Asgard, to see who exactly had survived and was still present. Thor hadn’t realised that there were so few Asgardians left. He should’ve realised, really. After Hela, Ragnarok, the massacre on the Statesman, it was a wonder that anyone had survived.

He had cried, seeing the number. 4,155. One-tenth of the population of Tønsberg. He’d commanded armies greater than that.

And you had held him, stroking his hair and listening to him. You didn’t offer advice, or try to tell him that it was ok. You just listened, and he was grateful for that. More grateful, still when you had buried him under fluffy duvets and blankets and brought him hot drinks, and bowls of hearty stews. Comfort food, you had called it.

Comfort was exactly what he needed. What he came to realise was that he couldn’t find that at the bottom of a bottle. He had tried for so long to be this strong warrior, able to carry any and all burdens. But that wasn’t true. He had failed at being that because it was who he thought he was supposed to be, not who he was. There was nothing wrong with who he was.

There were still a lot of bad days, but the balance was slowly shifting. He could feel himself smiling at more things.

He was so proud of you, the way you were trying to help him, to help Asgard. He wanted to help too. At first, he just helped financially. He got that new mattress and found that he slept better now that his weight was properly supported. He didn’t wake up so sore and so tired. And although there was no longer a dip forcing your bodies together, he was pleased to find you spooning him most mornings, your gentle hand rubbing circles onto his stomach. He particularly enjoyed it when your hand would accidentally brush against his morning wood. It was his favourite way to wake up. The thing that warmed his heart the most though was when you would grab around for him in your sleep. You’d fitfully reach around until you made contact with him. As soon as your fingers sank into the soft flesh, you’d immediately still. After all of the horrors he’d lived through, he was glad to be a source of comfort.

Of course, it wasn’t just his own home that he purchased items for. Midgardian tech had arrived, and you had taught them all how to use it. Now that most of Asgard could look things up on the Internet, it made explaining this planet to them much easier. His favourite thing had been when you explained video calling. He’d seen you do it and had thought it was marvelous, to be able to talk to your friends across the planet. He’d been disappointed that it didn’t work for contacting people on other planets yet, but he supposed in the grand scheme of things, Midgard had only learned about the other realms comparatively recently. And given their experiences, he couldn’t exactly blame them for not wanting to interact with the rest of the galaxy.

The video calling meant that he could keep in touch with his friends, now that the Avengers were no longer together. Banner had taught him some breathing and visualisation techniques to practice when things became too much. Rogers talked to him about what he had learned from the support group he ran after the snap. Barnes talked about Wakanda and goats. How caring for those animals had helped with his recovery.

In hindsight, he probably should’ve talked to you about the goats.

“This is Tanngrisnir and Tanngnjóstr,” he’d said proudly, pointing to the two goats bleating away in his garden. He’d picked them up while you had been explaining the different peoples of Midgard to the Asgardians during one of your lunchtime sessions.

“Tann-what-now?” had been your response.

“Do you not like them?” he asked, disappointed.

“No, no. I just figured you would get a pet snake because I know you really like them.”

***

You’d not been as calm when he did get a snake. He hadn’t realised that other people didn’t like snakes as much as he did. You were still asleep when he’d brought the grass snake in, having found it in the woods, letting it slither over you. It flicked out its tongue to lick your cheek and that’s when you’d stirred.

He’d never seen a human, apart from maybe the two supersoldiers, move so fast. You’d bolted out of bed, sending the snake and the covers flying, dashing past him. The initial screams of panic had turned to screams of pain and he’d found you hopping on one foot.

“What’s the matter?” he asked, genuinely confused at your reaction.

“There was a fucking snake! In the bed! And then I caught my toe on the fucking doorframe!”

“Do you not like Loki?” he asked, picking up the disorientated snake. You’d hobbled off to the bathroom, a string of obscenities leaving your mouth as you went, slamming and locking the door behind you.

Thor had gone to his laptop to see if anyone was online to explain what had happened.

A lot of people are scared of snakes, Thor. Especially when they’re not expecting them to be on their face, Banner had explained.

Maybe naming the snake after your brother, the one that tried to invade her planet, didn’t help either.

“Y/N?” he’d called through the bathroom door. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realise. That was thoughtless of me.”

“It’s fine...just please warn me next time you decide to adopt a random creature.”

“Can Loki stay?”

“I guess. As long as it doesn’t try to destroy New York.”

A couple of ravens, a flock of chickens, plus some horses soon joined the menagerie, but you’d drawn the line when he suggested adopting a wolf. So he’d got two dogs, Geri and Freki, instead. Wolfhounds were close enough to wolves, right?

It felt good, being able to care for the animals. And if he was feeling particularly sad, and you weren’t there to comfort him, he would lie down and stroke one of his animal companions until he felt calm again. He still missed Asgard, his family, his life before Ragnarok, but this one wasn’t so bad.

***

It had been your suggestion that Thor could use his powers and his strength to improve New Asgard. He’d been confused at first, wondering how thunder or using Stormbreaker could help. But the more he thought about it, the more he realised that his calloused hands could help to build things, not destroy them.

The trees and flowers bloomed in abundance. Crops grew at an accelerated rate, livestock bore more young, and the sea contained more fish. He focused his powers on making New Asgard a fertile place. It was fitting, he thought, all this new life springing up where they had chosen to settle, to create a new life for Asgard.  

Brunnhilde had mentioned facilities they needed, homes, a school, a library. Those were things he could help with. He used his powers to convince the trees to grow strong, to grow quickly, before cutting them down with Stormbreaker. He always ensured new ones grew to take their place. Once the other Asgardians saw what he was doing, they joined in to help. That was just as well, he was no carpenter. But he could chop and carry. His strength had never gone away, but some of the muscle definition had returned.

That’s not to say that he had lost weight. No, on the contrary, he might even have gained some more. You’d taught him to cook some of his favourite foods, including pizza, and he enjoyed making them. Some days it was hard but there was something satisfying about eating something that he’d made.

He enjoyed making pizza the most, and not just because he enjoyed eating it. What he enjoyed was how you’d slip up behind him when he was kneading the dough, your hands dancing up beneath the soft cotton of his top to knead his belly, cheek pressed against his back. He looked up other foods to make that involved kneading, just to feel you there behind him, kneading away at him.

“Home-cooked foods are the best comfort foods,” you told him one day as you pressed your fingers into his full stomach.

“Why is that?” he asked. He knew you were right, he just wanted to hear your reasoning.

“Because they’re made with love. It’s giving a gift of love to yourself, in a bowl or on a plate.”

But he knew that the real love wasn’t in the way he chopped vegetables or the way he stirred broths. In was in the way you looked at him, the way you listened to him, the way you touched him.

How you said, Thank you for dinner, each time he cooked for you.

You hadn’t told him yet, not with your words, but he knew that you loved him. He could see it growing there, no matter how you tried to stop it. To you, it was a weed, a weakness growing in your heart. To him, it was a beautiful flower, determined to thrive despite the adverse conditions.

It was the May Day feast when you finally said the words he longed to hear.

A mead hall had been constructed - the idea had come from the man who ran the tavern, Leifr - and Thor was more than happy to supply the materials and do the heavy lifting. Leifr didn’t want his establishment to be ruined again this year during the feasts, and Thor couldn’t blame him. He knew what a mess the feasts could cause. The hall was used for other things though. You had taken to hosting screenings of TV shows, documentaries, and films, to try to explain Midgard to the Asgardians. For their part, the Asgardians found portrayals of themselves in Midgardian media to be most interesting. They delighted in telling you everything that was wrong with Stargate.

This was your first feast, Thor wanted it to be a special occasion for you. He had spoken to Lorelei and sourced the materials to create a dress for you.

On the morning of the feast, he woke you up with a cup of tea and some toast in bed, stroking your hand as you ate.

“I have a surprise for you,” he explained, producing a satin blindfold from his pocket.

“Oh, is it that kind of morning?” you’d almost purred at him, your fingers teasing up his thigh.

“No...not that I don’t want to,” said hastily, just in case you thought he didn’t want to make love to you. “It is a present. Something I’d like for you to wear today.”

Intrigued, to let him tie the blindfold over your eyes. Was it a necklace? No, he had picked you up, was carrying you somewhere. It had to be something bigger than a necklace. He set you down and gently removed the covering from your eyes.

“Oh my god, Thor. What is this?”

Hanging in the bathroom was an enormous forest green dress. Gingerly you extended your fingers towards it, soft and silky, just like Thor’s hair. Delicate lace, the same shade of green, covered the bodice, comprised the off the shoulder sleeves, trailed down the full skirt.

“It’s a beautiful dress, for a beautiful woman. Do you like it?”

He had agonised over this dress. The colour was more Loki’s style than his, but Lorelei had assured him it would be a flattering colour on you. He wanted to create a dress that reflected the spring - it was a spring feast, after all - and green had seemed the logical colour.

“Like it? I love it, Thor. Thank you, so so much.”

You threw your arms around him, pulling him into a deep kiss. He almost decided to carry you back to bed, but he knew there was a lot he needed to do today.

“Why don’t you take a bath? I have a few things to take care of,” he whispered against your ear.

“Don’t you want to bathe with me?” you asked with a mock pout.

“We have a lot to do today, darling. I bathed before you woke.” He wanted to join you, of course he did. Nothing could be better than feeling you caressing his skin with bath oils. But there were more surprises he needed to prepare.

While you were in the bath, Thor sat in the garden with Tanngrisnir and Tanngnjóstr. His fingers deftly plucking flowers from the lawn, thanking them under his breath. He had been practicing with some of the women and was determined to make you a flower crown and necklace, to showcase you as a spring beauty. The old people of this land had believed that his father was responsible for bringing spring. That wasn’t true. What was true was that you had brought spring to his heart, warming it after what had felt like neverending winter. Like his heart was ruled by Jӧtunheim.

You had almost wept as Thor had braided your hair, decorating it with the flowers, and draping the necklace over your soft skin. The off-the-shoulder dress has been a good idea, he decided, and not just because of how it showed off your cleavage. He laced you into your dress, his heart swelling with pride at how beautiful you looked.

“I have lived for many years, traveled to many planets, danced with many women. None of them could compare to you,” Thor said, caressing your cheek. “I have witnessed the birth of stars, but their light pales in comparison to you. I have seen the Infinity Stones, but their beauty and their power is nothing to that which shines if your eyes. I have drunk the finest wines, tasted the most succulent fruits, but it is your lips that I crave. The most exotic flowers are so plain when stood next to the blush that blooms on your cheeks, and their scent cannot compete with yours. There is no silk softer, in all of the nine realms and beyond, than your skin against mine. I have heard words of love in many languages, but they mean nothing. When you ask me how I am, when you comfort me from my nightmares, when you sigh in contentment against my chest, there are no lovelier sounds than these. Y/N, I love you. I have never been more certain of anything.”

That was when you had cried. You didn’t feel particularly beautiful, tears and snot running down your face as Thor held you to his soft chest. That was when you knew that you were done for. The last bit of your resistance had been chipped away. You had fallen in love again, after so long. This gentle giant, reluctant ruler. He was the one who had made you feel like you were worthy of love again. You hoped that Alex would’ve approved.

Thor soothed you, his hands running down your back, the odd juxtaposition of his axe-calloused skin against the smoothness of your dress. He knew these weren’t tears of sadness, he’d shed enough to know what those were like. These were tears of relief, of something finally being let go, something that had held you back all this time. He felt a little bad for ruining your makeup but he was sure that you could fix it.

Pulling away from him at last, you saw the damp mess you left on Thor’s top.

“I’m-I’m s-s-sorry Thor,” you sniffled at him. “That was. I didn’t mean to. I just…”

“It’s ok, it’s ok. It was just too much wasn’t it?”

You nodded, still unable to find the right words to say. You knew they were there, somewhere, but there was a disconnect between your brain and your mouth.

“I meant what I said, every word,” he said, with a smile. “Go clean yourself up, I should get dressed too.”

***

Thor, too, had opted for green. You had secretly hoped that he would dress like that pinup art you’d seen, of a woman painting with flowers covering her modesty. His tunic and trousers were a much earthier green and brown, as though he had grown from the ground on which he stood. Tanngrisnir and Tanngnjóstr came with you, for the children to pet. Geri and Freki came too, eager for any scraps they might receive under the table. You had scrubbed your face, carefully reapplying your makeup. Your eyes were red, as red as your lips. You hoped nobody would notice.

As Asgard’s mightiest warriors, Thor, Sif, and Brunnhilde were barred from the tournaments and games. They were more than happy to officiate, to judge the winners, and generally mingle. Some of Thor’s Avenger friends traveled to New Asgard for the festivities, and you were looking forward to meeting them.

The day passed by quickly, and you were careful to temper the effects of Asgardian drink with plenty of water. When it came to the feast, you were in awe of how much food there was. As much as possible had come from New Asgard, but even with Thor’s help, there was no way enough could be grown to feed that made people.

“Sit! Sit wherever you wish, all are equal here in New Asgard,” Thor shouted as he opened the doors to the great room. Taking you by the hand, he led you to a seat in the middle of the room.

“Is this ok? Don’t you want to be on the edge in case it gets too much?” you asked him. A lot of progress had been made, but large crowds could sometimes still be a problem for Thor, evoking too much of the battlefield.

“No, no. This is exactly where I want to be, with my woman by my side and my dogs by my feet. Too much of my life was spent sat separate from my fellow Asgardians. I wish to be among them.”

Throughout dinner, whenever he had a hand to spare, you felt Thor’s hand on your thigh, seeking reassurance, and you covered it with your own. It was a pleasure to see him so happy, enjoying himself and enjoying all of the food and drink there was on offer, fully in the moment instead of mindlessly consuming to drown out the voices in his head that told him he wasn’t good enough, that he was solely to blame for the horrors of the past. And, of course, you enjoyed the way his stomach bloated as his gorged on tender meats, creamy cheeses, and rich cakes. He was still going long after you had had your fill. The ale was beginning to take its toll and you let your fingers wander over to his leg, trailing up his thigh. The first surprise was when you discovered how hard he was. Thor choked on his drink when you brushed over him, but nobody else noticed, engaged in conversation, eating and drinking. The second surprise was when you reached his waistband. You could feel him trying to suck in his stomach as the material dug into him. That wouldn’t do, so you wiggled around until you managed to unbutton him, feeling the soft, warm flesh cascade forward.

“What’re you doing?” he whispered, face matching the wine in his goblet.

“Helping?” you whispered back. “You didn’t seem very comfortable.”

You were right, Thor had to admit, it hadn’t been comfortable. But now he was very aware of how much he’d eaten, his stomach pressing against the table. He put down the slice of honey cake with a resigned sigh. You hated seeing him upset, so you began to knead his stomach gently, just as he liked, and picked up the slice.

“Are you sure? You seemed like you were enjoying this,” you asked, bringing it to his lips.

“No, no. I have eaten too much, more than my fair share.”

“But it’s such a small slice, and it seems like you have room. What harm could it do?”

How could he refuse you? He wasn’t sure why he was so aroused, but he thought it was something to do with eating so much, and you feeding him didn’t less that feeling. First, it was the cake, but slowly other things made his way to his mouth, via your hand, bite-sized pieces of whatever was nearest to your eager fingers.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” you asked, as Thor licked some icing off your fingers, the two of you now completely oblivious to your surroundings.

“Mmm,” he nodded, sucking hard on your chocolate coated digits. “Are you?”

“Very much so,” you purred, looking as though you wanted to ride him right then and there at the table. Which to be fair, wasn’t exactly far from the truth. A sharp elbow to your ribs from Brunnhilde reminded you of where you were, causing the blood to rush to your cheeks.

After dinner, some Asgardian musicians began to play and many others danced in a space at the far end of the hall. You perched on what was left of Thor’s lap, counting down until it was socially appropriate to depart, so you could take Thor home and feel yourself under his weight.

Quill and Wilson discussed music with you. Barnes, with his roguish grin, had swept you onto the dancefloor and tried to teach you the dances he’d practiced as a young man. Barton offered to teach you, and the other Asgardians archery. They were all very attractive men, no doubt about it, but you only had eyes and hands for one.

Leaving the hall was no easy feat. Everyone wanted to talk to Thor, or pet the dogs, or both, but eventually, you made it outside, the cool air waking Thor from the food coma he was stumbling around in. It was a clear night, so you walked along the beach, Thor explaining the different stars and constellations to you, the goats and dogs, running around the two of you.

“This place is beautiful, Thor,” you said, looking out to sea. “Almost as beautiful as you. I bet lots of people get engaged here, it would be the perfect place.”

“I wish you could’ve seen the old Asgard,” he whispered against your ear, trailing kisses down your neck and across your bare shoulder, feeling you melt into his touch.

Between the sighs and moans as he kissed you, that was when you said it. The perfect ending to a perfect day.

“I love you, Thor.”

@morganhoran1671 @innerpaperexpertcloud

#thor #thicc thor #Thor Odinson #THOR SON OF ODIN #thor smut #squishy Thor #Soft Thor #chubby thor #chonkyboi #chonkythor #fat thor #endgame thor #Dark 'n' Stormy #reader insert #Female reader #x reader #avengers x reader #reader x thor #female reader x thor #avengers fanfiction #marvel fanfiction

[spyvstailor]

Need 70 More

Sorry to do this, guys, but even though I thought I placed a one time stop payment on a bill that was coming out, it came out anyways, so my bank account is now overdrawn. I need just 70 more to get to a comfortable spot in my friggin life. However! Good news is you all reached my original goal! So life is doing good things for me!

HUGE THANKS AND SHOUT OUT TO EVERYONE WHO DONATED AND REBLOGGED! SOME OF YOU GAVE LIKE WAY TOO GENEROUS FOR MY SHITTY WRITING AND IT DID NOT GO UNAPPRECIATED OR UNNOTICED! GOOD THINGS WILL COME TO YOU IN LIFE FOR YOUR GENEROSITY. I LOVE YOU GUYS!

Donate to my Paypal. Also I now have a Ko-Fi at the suggestion of someone dear to me, so here’s the link to that. It’s kind of barren right now, I’m working on it to offer people things they might like in order to earn my keep.

But as promised, here is my give so I may take. Chapter Two of Graveyard Dirt & Salt!

Chapter Two

The bell tower was covered in bird shit and looked like it was going to give him some kind of disease, but the view from it was worth the filth.

If he stood, with his back to the trees that grew in thick to the South of the convent, the back end as he'd come to call it, he could see straight down the cattle trail that lead from the convent gate, almost all the way down to the highway beyond the woods. To his right, to his left, to his hindquarters, was nothing but trees. Thick woods to give them cover.

They were both a blessing and a curse.

In his mind, if anyone took beef with them, the trees would be perfect cover for lurking invaders. But on the other hand, the trees kept their little convent a secret from the rest of the world.

Kicking some of the larger detritus out from his new nest, he unfurled his bedroll and began to make himself at home. If he stayed longer than a week, if he lasted longer than a week, he would give it a good, solid scrub down, but for now it was a place to sleep without worrying about having his ass snacked on.

Besides, he was pointedly warned against trying to settle into the cloister itself, the dorms where the nuns seemed to sleep. So he had to make his bed someplace other than the infirmary.

The clacking on the wooden ladder up to his perch alerted him to the fact someone was about to visit and he settled on his haunches, wanting to appear non-threatening to the woman who was about to appear.

A blonde head popped up into view, followed by a blue jumper dress.

The young nun carried with her a plate with bread smeared with what looked like honey and she smiled sweetly at him.

“Mother Mena wanted me to bring you some food, she said you'd be hungry.” The woman said.

“That's very sweet of you, thank you.”

Setting the plate in his lap, the woman turned to leave.

“So...tell me about you nuns here, what's your deal?” He called out to her, mostly desperate for some conversation after months of solitude.

The woman turned. “Oh...uh...well, what do you...um. I'm sorry, I'm Mary Elizabeth, I'm a novitiate, which means I haven't taken my vows yet. We're a Cisterian order, which means we value stability and simplicity.”

“And you don't ever...do anything beyond pray?”

“Well, we garden and take care of our chickens and hives, mostly we supply...well, we used to supply vegetables and peaches from our trees and eggs and honey and bees wax to the local farmer's market to support our convent. Most of our funds go to charity in the church, people starving in other countries, disaster relief. And we reflect, on God, on man, on everything in between.”

Splitting the bread slice in half, he handed her the larger piece and bit into his.

Mary Elizabeth took the offered piece with a shy grin and squatted down like a lady to join him, knees together, skirt covering anything inappropriate, one hand on her knees to ensure this.

“Is it really bad out there?” She asked as they chewed in silence. “Some of our order went to the market nearly half a year ago and never came back.”

He nodded. “I can't give you any hope, they're probably gone. Swept away with the dead.”

The woman's pretty little face puckered in dislike of that idea, but she soldiered on bravely.

“It's like Revelations. The dead rising. Scares the dickens out of me, if I'm honest.”

The woman was so sincere in her fear, as she rightly should be, but it troubled him to think of her now knowing the full extent of what was going on outside the convent walls. The Lieutenant had been forged by war overseas, by rigorous training and by all he had seen and done in his forty-three years and he couldn't imagine being in the dark while the whole world fell to pieces around you. Then again, he was always the one running into the danger, as others fled.

This slip of a girl, barely old enough to vote, it seemed, was scared of the rotting corpses that walked across the land and he understood how she could be. It was bigger than them, out of control, there was nothing left but the dead and the vultures who picked at the corpses of society. The wildfire had spread, the towns and holy places had fallen.

Downing the last morsel of his bread and honey, the Lieutenant stood up and pointed at her. “Well, either you're closing your eyes to a situation you do not wish to acknowledge or you are not aware of the calibre of disaster indicated by the presence of a pool table in your community.”

The woman clutched her hands together and beamed happily. “Oh! I love The Music Man!”

“Ya got trouble, my friend, right here, I say, trouble right here in River City,” he went on playfully.

Mary Elizabeth blushed shyly. “Mother Mena says you're the trouble around here.”

“She's getting a hunter and protector out of this deal. Missy should watch her tongue.” He returned, easing his ass against the railing and folding his arms.

“I'd better get going, I have to do the washing tonight and I wasn't really supposed to talk to you.”

“It was nice to talk with you regardless, Lizzie. But don't get yourself into trouble on my behalf.”

The woman giggled. “You too, Lieutenant. And I won't. I think it's uncharitable to pretend you don't exist. Seems a little cruel. Not that I judge Mother Mena! She's kind, she's just...scared, I think.”

“We're all scared. That's the human condition. Fear of being the prey to a greater predator and for the longest time man was at the top of the foodchain. Mind yourself going down now,” he cautioned, moving to offer her a hand down the ladder, before remembering that he wasn't to touch any of the nuns, so he drew his hand back quickly.

Mary Elizabeth beamed at him. “Thanks for the offer though. I like a gentleman.”

For days the Lieutenant hunted for the nuns, but he was like a ghost at the convent. The nuns saw him, the spoke of him in hushed whispers, but no one dared approach him.

He'd bring them an animal sacrifice and they'd send someone up to his tower with a plate for his share of the meal, but he was still awful lonely.

It had taken an entire week before another nun spoke to him.

“That is a household worth of baggage, Lieutenant.” She said.

He had just returned to the convent with a successful bounty, two ducks and a goose for dinner, when Sister Mary Agnes approached him. He had met her the other day when she was the one to bring him some food. He liked her matronly look.

“I got lucky,” he returned, preparing to clean the kills.

“I meant that pack on your back,” she said, kneeling beside him. “Doesn't it ever get awful heavy after all that walking?”

Glancing at his pack, the one he went everywhere with, he grinned. “It's my apartment. Everything I own is in that bag.”

“How on earth can a man travel with so much on his back? Don't you ever get tired?” She demanded.

“Mais, when you don't have a home, Sister, you make do. My apartment is on my back, ready at a moment's digging.”

The woman stopped them both, her dark eyes grave. “What's it like out there, Lieutenant? Really?”

“Hell on earth,” he admitted. “If it's not full of the dead, it's lonesome and abandoned. Torn apart like the aftermath of a child's temper tantrum. It's like walking through a bad dream.”

“Sounds like things are bad.”

“Worse. Whatever you're thinking, it's worse.”

Mary Agnes frowned. “I sometimes wonder why, when everything has turned to dust, we're left here holding the bag, as it were.”

“We're the survivors,” he explained. “It takes a lot of hard work to become the survivors. A lot of loss and a lot of pain, but we're here.”

“I suppose that makes sense. They always said the broken ones triumph.” She nudged him kindly. “So what broke you?”

For a second he was thrown, gunshots echoed in his memory. Shouting and verbal abuse, memories of his mother, of everything that had shaped him came flooding to the forefront of his mind, before he managed to recover himself.

“Why, sister,” he teased. “We are all broken children under God's eyes. Doesn't take much more than a dead dog or a bully in our childhoods.”

“I pried,” she returned simply. “I'm sorry. But humour will only deflect for so long, Lieutenant.”

“Mais,” he sighed. “It lasts long enough though.”

He was on the wall later that evening, watching an uggie as it shambled from out of the woods towards the wall he was on.

Poor little lady in her bathrobe, one slipper still on, the other long gone.

“Didn't expect to be caught in your jammies, huh?” He asked the thing.

It grunted and made a mad dive for the wall just under him, hands clawing at the stones.

“Never actually thought people even wore bathrobes,” he went on calmly. “Maybe I should start wearing one. Look like one of those old Hollywood actors. Cary Grant, yeah?”

“What on earth on you doing up there?” Missy asked from the ground behind him.

“Bird watching,” he returned casually. “Wanna come up?”

“And fall off that wall and break my tail in this habit? I think I'll pass on the offer. Being up there in jeans is one thing, but this habit is a wind catcher for sure.”

Turning around he held out his hand to her. “Come on. I won't let you fall.”

Hitching her robes to her, she moved to a spot where she must have propped an old ladder in order to climb up.

He moved to help her onto the wall, once more forgetting that he couldn't touch the nuns.

She held out her hand as he moved to grasp her elbow and stood on the wall, peering down at the uggie in her jammies.

“Do you suppose they're in pain?” She asked.

“I don't think so, think they're running on instinct and nothing else.” He said, running his hand over the butt of his rifle a little nervously, ready to steady Missy at a moment should she prove correct and the wind grab her. “Reminds me of this fact I heard about octopi and how if you put their corpse by salt their little tentacles react, but they're dead as rocks. Like that, I suppose. Them folks in Japan eating them basically raw, and their little tentacles grab at them chopsticks. Little undead squiggles putting up a fight.”

“This is a person,” she murmured. “She had things to do, goals and dreams.”

“We're all born astride the grave.” He stated.

Handing her his rifle, he pulled out his knife and jumping off the wall, over the thing, he came up behind her and knocked the uggie against the stones, holding her there so he could drive his knife into the base of her skull. It sunk heavily to the ground and he eased the poor woman back into a dignified laying position. Kneeling by the corpse, he wiped his knife blade on her bathrobe, before looking up to find the nun peering down at him quietly.

“Do you want a hand with her?” She asked.

He moved to help her down, his large hand sliding around her waist so that she could hop against him to break her fall somewhat, the other day she had precariously climbed down and nearly fell, today she was wearing her full habit, she offered him a hard look as he set her on her feet.

“That had better been my only option of dismount,” she warned him.

“Unless you want to break your neck today, then yes, ma'am.”

Kneeling over the corpse, Missy pushed the woman's hair out of her face and peered upon the rotted visage.

“Last rites?” He joked.

“I can't give those,” she said. “I just wanted to look at the poor woman. I killed so many of these the past few weeks, I never had a chance to pause and give thought to them. I honestly thought it was for the best to put them out of their misery. They are abominations after all, but they were once God's children.”

Kneeling with her, the Lieutenant nodded. “Bet she was someone's mama. She looks like a mama.”

“I hope her babies are alright, but from what you tell me, I don't imagine they are.” She was quiet for the longest time, before adding, “you'll keep my girls safe, won't you?”

“If you want me to,” he replied. “I haven't got anywhere to be.”

She looked at him for the longest time, those pretty blue eyes of hers shining and hard, despite being the bluest things he had ever seen. Set against her white chocolate skin and framed by luscious dark lashes, she was hell in a habit. If he had to gauge an age on her, he would wager she was around the same age as him, maybe a little younger. She certainly aged well if she were any older, and maybe she had, she was in charge of her convent, after all, and it took a while to advance in any profession.

“Then if you advise me on how to keep them safe, I will listen, but I will not compromise our faith for anything. The bell will stay silent, and we will do a patrol of the wall, but I will not expect any of my girls to harm anyone or anything without knowing for certain that it won't damn them. Some of my nuns still have their faith and I want them to keep it strong.”

“Fair enough,” the returned with a grin, holding out a hand to shake.

She considered it for a moment.

“Nobody went to hell for shaking a Cajun's hand,” he teased.

“Yet,” she murmured with a very, very small shine in her eyes.

Reconsidering his dirty hand, the Lieutenant wiped it on the front of his shirt, before offering it again.

This time she took it, shaking gently.

“You know this reminds me of this story my mamere used to tell me,” he explained, grunting as he scooped up the dead woman. “About this--”

“Sorry, your 'mamere'?” Missy interrupted.

“My granny.” He said, moving the corpse onto the muddy cattle trail of a road leading up to the convent gate where a fire would burn better without starting the woods ablaze. If they were going to keep collecting bodies, he would have to begin burning them. That pile in the woods would soon be doing nobody no good. “She used to tell me about this old man named Gilliam, used to beat the hell out of his old hound. Never deserved the poor thing, so one night, my...uh...granddaddy, he goes over, dead of night, dark as Hades--”

“I don't mean to cut your tale off at the root, I'm certain it's a wonderful parable, Mister Lieutenant, but we are about to burn a body here? Perhaps some wise words or none at all?” Missy suggested.

The Lieutenant was quiet, settling the corpse up in the middle of the muddy trail, before reaching for his lighter. He set the woman ablaze, burning her clothing, knowing full well the parchment paper flesh that remained on her corpse would go up in smoke easily.

Standing back, he glanced around cautiously, knowing that uggies liked to pop up when least expected.

Finding them alone, he turned his attention back to the burning body.

“Uh, dearly beloveds we are gathered here today to, uh, burn this--”

“Are you marrying the corpse or laying her to rest, Lieutenant?” The woman demanded with another very small twinkle in her eye.

“Mais, girl, go easy on me. I ain't a priest.”

“Honey, even the heathens had idols they worshipped before the Christian God,” she pointed out.

“So I'm lesser than a heathen and yet greater then a toad, yeah?” He winked at her.

As the smoke began to choke them with the scent of burning flesh, the nun turned on her heel and headed back to the wall, hiking her hem up as she went tiptoeing through the mud.

“You're certainly bigger than a toad,” she said. “Now use that might and give me a hand up and over, please?”

She squealed an undignified and rather girlish noise as the Lieutenant came up behind her and scooped her up and at the wall with his hands.

“Mind your hands,” she warned coolly as soon as she recovered her dignity.

“Sorry,” he said easily, shifting his left hand from where it cupped her inner thigh, “there's so much skirt to you that I wasn't sure where the safest place to stick my hand was at. I guess I aimed wrong.”

“I nearly had to abandon my vows for you to make an honest woman of me,” she declared, hoisting herself up onto the wall.

Beaming up at her, the Lieutenant said, “hey, now, Missy. Mind your tongue before the devil cuts it off.”

As soon as she was safely on the wall, he said, “now hand me that rifle you got.”

“Aren't you coming up?”

“Well, I promised you some venison now didn't I?”

“This late? Lieutenant, it's almost dark.”

“Best time of day to hunt for deer, yeah?” He winked at her and held out his hand for the gun.

That night the Lieutenant stood in his bell tower watching over the land.

He had to admit, at night like this, with only the cicadas chittering, the ruined world was beautiful still.

As much as he loved people, he enjoyed his solitude as well and with the stars in the sky and the land absolutely still, he was able to just think his thoughts.

“If it keeps on rainin', levees gonna break,” he sung to himself, wandering around the small perimeter of the bell tower, watching all sides for anything moving in the shadows below. Raising the rifle he peered down the scope at something that shifted, it appeared to be shrubs and the wind. “If it keeps on rainin', levees gonna break.”

In the woods he knew they were there, lurking, shuffling, ambling, tripping up and falling. Maws open to devour whatever they fell upon, hands clenched into death claws at their sides, the muscles having retracted and dried up in death.

“And the water gonna come and we'll have no place to stay,” he lowered the rifle as an uggie emerged from the woods.

It was just a shadow really, shuffling from the darkness, finding the wall with its chest, bouncing back and staggering to regain its footing. For a moment, the thing stood dumbly, head bent down, before it seemed to lift its chin and sniff the air.

It wasn't worth it for him to shoot the thing, his gun wasn't much use at times like this, the sound only drawing more to his location, but he liked to use the scope to watch as the dumb thing sort of collapsed against the wall.

From his perspective, he could only see the top of its head, but the manic bobbing told him it had caught their scent and was trying to find a hole in the wall to get at dinner.

Tomorrow he would have to reinforce the wall properly, a few sharp sticks, some hole traps, anything to give them an edge on the dead. He'd head into the nearby town to find something that still drove that he could back against the wrought iron gate.

He wasn't sure about that one, most of the time the vehicles didn't turn over at all. Having never pondered it, he supposed that maybe the gasoline had gone south. He knew it could stale, had tried to drive old lawnmowers enough times to know you had to drain the gas out from the tank if you weren't planning on using them for a good, long while.

Maybe he'd find one though. He only needed her to limp to the convent, it didn't need to win no races.

“Good morning, Lieutenant.”

He had emerged from the church the next morning to Sisters Dymphna, Felicity Perpetua and Mary Claire standing around the steps in the cool shade of the north side.

“Good morning, ladies,” he returned. “Aren't y'all not supposed to talk to me?”

“Only when Mother Mena's not around,” Dymphna replied, her brown eyes sparkling. “Are you heading out?”

“I was planning on doing a little work on the wall today. Did you need me to head out for something?” He asked, coming to stand in the little clutch with them. So far he had found the younger nuns more receptive to his presence than the older ones.

Except for Sisters Gertrude and Boniface, he adored Gertrude and her cats and Sister Boniface was a Quebecois French woman, so he felt a sort of kindred spirit in her.

“Maybe we wanted to do something for you for once,” Sister Mary Claire said with a smile that could brighten a stormy day.

“Something for me?”

Sister Felicity Perpetua, who had been standing with her hands behind her back, produced a child's lunch kit and held it out to him proudly. “We made you a lunch if you're planning on leaving.”

“You have to stay strong,” Sister Mary Claire added. “An army marches on its stomach.”

“Plus, you know, we appreciate you being here for us.” Dymphna added.

There was something sincere in their eyes, something which made the Lieutenant give a slight, unsure pause, before he accepted the lunch kit.

“Thank you,” he said. “I'm going to be just outside the wall working on it today, but maybe at some point I might hike it into the nearby town, see if I can find a big enough truck or some kind of van maybe.”

“What for?” Felicity Perpetua asked.

He motioned for the nuns to follow him towards the gate. They all stopped before it and he motioned with the hand holding his lunch at the rusty gate. “She's solid enough, but old and if enough of those things out there pushed against her at once she could go. I'm going to back a heavy girl up against her and reinforce it.”

The nuns were quiet for a bit, before Dymphna said, “I'm going with you.”

“Nope,” he declared firmly.

“Yes,” she insisted. “You can't go into the town alone with those things out there.”

“I lived this long on my own, I'll be fine.” He stated. “You nuns don't go anywhere outside these walls without me. My job is to keep you safe, your job is to make my job easier by staying here and being your cute little selves.”

“What if something happened to you?” Felicity Perpetua whispered. “My soul would know no peace.”

“Don't you have chores?” Someone asked from behind them, causing a couple of the nuns to jump.

Sister Thomas Aquinas, a stern faced woman of about seventy stood behind them, her arms full of blankets.

The three nuns all ducked out quickly, but not before Dymphna grasped his forearm with a strong, small brown hand.

Looking at him with a hard, glittering stare, the older nun seemed to be sizing him up for a moment, before handing him the blankets.

“Here,” she said. “We found some of these to spare. I thought you might like to keep yourself warmer up in that bell tower.”

“Thank you.”

“You're welcome,” she said tersely, before turning and walking off, muttering to herself about a 'fox in the hen house'.

He missed the days when he could go out into the woods and just sit and enjoy the peace.

Now, whenever he was in the woods, he was vulnerable and on edge. Always prepared for something to stagger out of the underbrush.

There was a time, when he was a boy, he'd duck into the woods by his rural home near Eunice, what wasn't swampy bayou, was pretty little woods filled mostly with cypress and oak trees, the forest floor was always good and moist, carpeted with the soft needles that the bald cypress trees shed.

The smell of the forest was always the way he found peace. That scent of good, clean country air, with a little harmless stank from the bayou, coupled with the scent of the damp earth. It was home sure enough and he missed it.

Georgia had it's own smell. Less bayou, more fresh water on the air. Rivers and streams and creeks. Nothing like the stagnant scent of the swamp.

He supposed, it was perhaps a little more fresher air, though it just wasn't home and that made all the difference.

Georgia was True Love Ways compared to Louisiana's Oh Boy, if Buddy Holly songs could be used to compare the two. Both good songs, though one was a little more melodic and slow-paced, the other had a bit more get-up-and-go.

“Boy, what are you doing to my wall?”

The voice came from above him on the wall and he looked up to find a furious nun standing there, swaying a little unsteadily in her habit and the mild wind.

“Just reinforcing it, Missy,” he said.

Philomena sighed. “We look like an ancient castle with these sharp sticks poking out.”

Stepping back, he admired his work and nodded. “Yeah, palisades, that's where I got the idea. Figured if it kept them old Celt tribes out, it'd work for us.”

“It doesn't look very inviting,” she muttered.

“It's not supposed to be a welcome mat,” he replied.

“Well, I suppose that's fine, just please don't hoist yourself on your own petard,” she said after a moment of thought.

He wiped his hands off and dug through his pack for the lunch the nuns had packed him. “You up there for a reason?”

“Sister Mary Claire says some of the younger nuns expressed interest in helping you outside these walls.”

“And you want to slap my wrist for tempting them?” He used the gate to climb onto the wall and sat beside her to eat his lunch.

“Not entirely,” she admitted, easing down a little clumsily beside him. “I think...well maybe you could be permitted to teach those of us interested in a few ways to defend ourselves from the abominations.”

Plucking a half a carrot out of his mouth, he crunched on the other half for a good long while. It was so delicious. He had forgotten what fresh veggies tasted like.

“Really?” He finally asked.

She stared off down the cattle trail before them, and he followed her gaze. The path was hung over with oak branches and Spanish moss, pretty for the late summer, but it was tainted by the dead. Always and forever tainted now. Somewhere out there in those pretty trees and green shrubs they ambled and shuffled and staggered and crawled, gnashing and drooling for their next meal. And somehow it worried him more to think about them in the broad daylight, then at night where all the boogins and monsters belonged.

He supposed those uggies all had hopes and dreams and plans set aside now for one thing and one thing only. Same as him, same as the woman sitting beside him, same as all the nuns in the convent behind them.

“Our wills and fates do so contrary run,” he began with a sigh, reminded by something she had said earlier.

Beside him Missy was quiet still, eyes on the world beyond her walls. “You're well read, for a soldier.”

“I'm sure you had to read Hamlet in high school too,” he teased. “A lot of it just stuck with me, I suppose. Don't be fooled,” he went on with a grin, “I'm just a simple country boy from the bayou.”

“I grew up in Savannah,” she said. “Have you ever been?”

“No,” he admitted. “Didn't get a chance before all this and I damned well won't go now. It'll be overrun.”

“We've been so secluded here,” she admitted gently. “I thought though, that someday I would be transferred out to a school or a...missionary, but I suppose this is my life now.” She hurried to add, “not that I'm complaining. I will bear this with grace, only that I miss the outside world, God's real world out there. Art and books, beauty created by the hands of His creatures, so much lost now.”

The Lieutenant stared at the woman as she continued to gaze wistfully out at the trees. He was so struck by how easy she made being beautiful look. “Has anyone ever told you that you that you look like Vivian Leigh?” He asked.

For a moment, the woman's face read irritated, then puzzled, before she finally smiled sweetly and looked down. “Tell me, Mister Lieutenant, is it nature or force that compels you to flirt with every woman you meet?”

“Sometimes it's not just women,” he teased.

“Oh!” She offered him a scolding look, though her face was still mostly smiles and amusement.

He beamed.

#here is the second chapter #you are all doing friggin great in helping me out #i have less stress because you have all helped pick me up #let's keep this going #and follow my ko-fi because i will post stuff there for reading too #please signal boost the new chapter guys #for your followers who may be reading this

[anamurielveron]

Snow

A Short Story

Right when the meteorologists predicted it, the media went crazy. It was the headline of every news station and the front page of every newspaper. Some were excited that a new and extraordinary thing is finally happening to spice up their otherwise humble and boring lives. Some were skeptical and did not believe that such a thing would actually occur. Some were fearful and repentant, claiming that this was yet another sign of the end of the world.

However, one person in particular found this incredible phenomenon truly irritating…

 Manuel did not care much for technology, but one aspect of it that he was truly thankful for was the ability to order things online and get them delivered directly to his house. Today, the delivery man brought him a new garden trowel. His current one was rusty after years of use and the handle was starting to bend.

“Sign here, please,” the boy, quite a few years younger than Manuel, said. The boy handed him a pen and clipboard, “The snow’s coming soon, huh? It’s so crazy. I can’t believe it’s actually happening. They say it might even hit this area in a couple weeks!”

“Mhm...” Manuel deadpanned, furrowing his gray eyebrows. After validating that he did, in fact, receive his package, he handed the forms back to the boy, grabbed the box, and hastily shut the front door.

Walking into his dim living room, where only the early morning light shone through the windows, Manuel set the parcel down on the coffee table. He sat on the couch where his dog, Dobo, was lying asleep. He noticed that the dark-furred little puppy was shivering, so he, who felt pretty chilly himself, stood to take a blanket from the lone bedroom upstairs. Once his animal friend was snuggled into the plush fabric, his attention returned to his recently purchased merchandise. Smiling, he began to open the box.

 Manuel liked to do his gardening early in the day before too many people had come outside. The sun was shining bright and the smell of the morning air was energizing, but it was even colder outside than it was inside.

In his somewhat spacious backyard, everything he grew bore produce. He had fruit trees that grew papayas, mangoes, calamansi, and saba. He grew plants that yielded string beans, kalabasa, pechay, onions, tomatoes, and lots of other fruits, vegetables, and herbs. The only plant that didn’t flourish in the garden was the rose bush that Manuel had much trouble growing in the tropical climate of Bulacan, but he was persistent in trying to keep the foreign plant alive. It was exciting to use the new trowel, although Manuel felt sad having to throw away the old one.

Today he was transferring the herbs from their mug-sized pots into bigger ones. They were outgrowing their containers and the roots needed more room. Of course, it won’t matter if this absurd snow business is just going to freeze them up anyway.

By the time Manuel finished re-potting the basil, Dobo had woken up. The small beagle was already scampering around the backyard, swiftly avoiding running over any of the plants. He skidded to a stop and sniffed the droopy rose bush.

“Yeah, I know…” Manuel, now cleaning up the too-small pots, sighed, “Still doing terrible, those ones.”

Dobo plainly barked at him.

Manuel knew the little ball of energy was yearning for a walk, so the gray-haired man took off the dirty latex gloves he’d been using and put his new trowel away in the tiny shed in the corner of the backyard. He went into the kitchen to wash his hands then took Dobo’s leash from its assigned hook on the coat hanger beside the front door.

“Dobo!” Manuel called from the living room. The puppy instantly burst through the dog door that opened from the kitchen to the backyard.

With his leash attached, Dobo dragged his human companion out the door into the cold, quiet streets of San Rafael. It may have seemed that he was walking around willy-nilly, sniffing random things on the sidewalk, but Dobo knew exactly where he was going.

 Aling Rosa was the lovely lady who ran the local sari-sari store. Whatever Manuel couldn’t grow in his garden, he’d buy from Aling Rosa. Of course, unlike all the younglings, Manuel simply called her Rosa, as he was about the same age as her if not older.

“Dobo!” The cheerful woman waved through the counter as a familiar-looking dog pulled his familiar-looking human towards her storefront.

The dog yapped happily at her.

“Hello, Manuel. What’ll it be today?”

Ahem “G-good morning, Rosa,” Manuel said quietly, not making eye contact. He lifted up Dobo and sat him onto the counter; he knew Rosa loved to pet him.

“Aw, what a sweetheart,” Rosa cooed as she lightly scratched the little dog’s head.

“Just some soy sauce, p-please.”

Rosa turned to the shelf behind her to reach for the condiment. Manuel could see her still dark hair that was twisted into a little bun near the nape of her neck. It had only a few strands of white. She was wearing a red dress today, the kind that most older women wear. Loose, long, and frumpy. (Rosa wasn’t very fashionable.) Manuel found it delightful anyway.

“Here you are,” Rosa smiled, handing him a small bottle.

“Oh, right, yes.” Manuel snapped out of it, “Thank you,” carefully, he counted out some money to place on the counter.

“Yes, yes. You’re welcome. By the way, you’ve heard about the snow haven’t you?” Rosa started as she placed the bill and coins in her cashbox, “You do still get the news in that hermit hole of yours, right?”

“Ahaha…” he strained a laugh, “Yes, I-I do. I’ve heard. You could feel it getting colder already. I-I’m not too happy about it, to tell you the truth… It-it’ll ruin my garden.”

“Oh, you shush,” Rosa swatted at him, “That garden of yours is all you fuss over. Snow sounds wonderful! I’ve never seen real snow before. I can’t wait. In fact, I’ve bought myself a thick new coat, just in case it gets really cold. The children are going to love it, don’t you think?”

“Oh, uh yes. I- I suppose they will.”

“Yes, and it’ll be a nice change. It’s about time something happened in this sleepy, old town. It’ll be exciting.”

Manuel sighed, “Yes, I suppose you’re right.”

He didn’t really think she was right. Not that he was actually going to say it to her though.

 In the following days, the whole province – the whole region, really – got colder and colder. Dobo started to feel less energetic. He and Manuel had been using more and more layers of blankets. Air-conditioning and even electric fans became obsolete. Layers of clothing people had to wear were multiplying. In the news, the government had been advising people on how to stay warm. Experts were assuring the public that it would not last long but it’s been predicted that lots of people were going to get sick; pneumonia, hypothermia. It’d become a real predicament.

But there was something Manuel was more concerned about. The leaves of his plants were slowly drooping. Some had been turned white or tinted red and yellow. The fruits were shriveling up. It was a nightmare.

Manuel had been stressing out about trying to keep his plants alive. He’d looked up solutions online, but it was no use. He hadn’t prepared early enough and most of the smaller plants had already withered down. Some of the plants and most of the trees were still holding up though, which is good. Of course, this is still just the cold. The snow hadn’t even fallen yet.

When it did, Manuel harvested what he could and resorted to stress-cooking. He’d made quite a few dishes already. Certainly too much food for just him and his dog. Today, he was making Adobo. As he was frying the chicken, Manuel looked at the window above the kitchen sink. He would’ve looked through it and seen his garden, but he was trying to keep the house warm. (He was already wearing full-length pants and a jacket over his sweater. Filipino houses aren’t insulated for this kind of cold.) Manuel imagined the white snow he’d seen earlier. It wasn’t much, and it wasn’t even all snow. Some of it was just cold, sludge-y water. A tear streamed down his cheek. He wiped it away before it fell into the hot oil.

Manuel prefers to cook his own food. He didn’t like going out to restaurants. Over time, he’d gotten quite good at it. At least, the food tasted good to him. Dobo seemed to like his food as well. (Dobo was probably the most well-fed dog in town.) Other than the two of them, no one else had really tasted Manuel’s cooking.

At least no one else who was still alive. When he was a teenager, Manuel would cook for his father, learning from his mother’s recipes, yellowing index cards filled with lists of ingredients and steps. His dad seemed to like Manuel’s food too.

Of course his parents were both dead now. Dead of old age. Manuel was old enough to have grandchildren of his own. He doesn’t, of course.

Manuel was starting to mix the sauce for the adobo when the doorbell rang. His heart sunk. He turned off the stove and was on his way to the door when it rang again. And again. By the time he got there, the door must’ve rung 5 times.

When he opened the door, the cold air immediately burst into the house.

“Manuel!” greeted Rosa, “Where’s Dobo?” She was wrapped in her new coat and a scarf around her neck.

You could see the long, colorful, flower-patterned socks underneath her boots. Behind her, there were piles of snow scattered around the streets. White dots landing wherever they pleased. The ground was cold and wet.

Manuel noticed that Rosa was smiling. He didn’t understand why. There was nothing to smile about.

“He’s uhm…” Manuel was surprised. Rosa never visits him. He didn’t even know she knew where he lived. “He’s upstairs. He’s not used to the cold.”

“None of us are! Tell him to get down here.” Rosa was rubbing her arms, trying to keep warm, “And let me in, will you?”

“R-right! Of course.” Manuel moved to let Rosa in, “Come in, come in.”

Once Rosa was inside, he quickly shut the cold air out. “Wh-what brings you here? Can I, can I get you anything? Would you like some, uhm, coffee?”

“Yes, that’d be nice. Thank you, Manuel.” Keeping her coat on, she made her way to the stairs, “Do you mind if I go up to see Dobo?”

“Hm? Uhm, n-no… I suppose not. Go ahead.” Rosa hadn’t answered his question about why she was here. Probably because he asked her another question after that, which is what she did answer. Stupid. He wasn’t going to ask again though. He made his way to the kitchen and heated up some water. Rosa still hadn’t come down yet, so he continued to cook the adobo, placing the chicken into the sauce. He was glad he had already been cooking so much food. He had a guest now. He took out two packets of Nescafe from a cabinet and two mugs.

“Milk and sugar for me, please!” Rosa shouted as she was making her way down the stairs, carrying Dobo who was bundled up in a thick blanket.

Manuel complied and added a spoonful of powdered milk and sugar to one of the mugs. He heated up some rice and began to set the table in the dining room. As he did, he chuckled to himself. He and Rosa were going to have lunch together. Not that it was a date or anything. He still didn’t know why she was here.

He peeked through the doorway to the living room. Rosa was playing with Dobo, who was suddenly a lot livelier than he’d been in the last few days. He was also wearing a green crocheted sweater.

“Do you like it?” Rosa said, “I made it myself. It’s a little loose, but I wanted to make sure he’d fit in it.”

Manuel didn’t really know what to think. Rosa was thoughtful for making it. It wasn’t bad and Dobo didn’t seem to mind it, “It’s nice. Thank you. Uhm, I finished making the coffee. Would you uhm... also like to have lunch? I made adobo…”

“Oh yes, please! I haven’t eaten yet. That’s so nice of you.”

Once they were all sat down at the small dining table and Dobo had his food bowl filled with adobo (no rice), Rosa and Manuel ate quietly. Occasionally, smiling at each other.

And in the forgotten garden, in the dark green leaves of the bush in the corner, the roses were blanketed in white snow and were blooming in the cold.

#anamurielveron #fiction #prose #writing #literature #filipino literature #snow #bulacan #philippines #speculative fiction #romance #short story #tagalog #filipino

[prairiesongserial]

10.2

John hustled after the woman with the basket, pushing the limits of his leg.  She was well ahead of him, but just close enough that every time John turned a corner, he could see her vanish down the next hall.  John pushed himself harder to catch up, but he never got any closer, the woman always disappearing around a corner just in time for him to see which way she had gone.

John didn’t know why it was so important to him.  Maybe it was the notion that wherever the basket woman was going, John might find something to do there.  In his experience, women carrying baskets often had plenty to do, and probably chores to spare.  John wasn’t up to doing chores, but here he was anyway, chasing them.  He hadn’t realized until now how sick he was getting of his bedroom.

John’s brow furrowed as he attempted to put his thoughts in order, and he was late in noticing that the woman was standing in the middle of a doorway, the light of the outdoors spilling in around her.  She was facing him, watching him approach with one hand cocked on her hip.  John hadn’t considered how obvious his cane had made him in the empty, echoing halls - now he was caught.

“Are you lost?” she called.

Why did everyone think he was lost? John grimaced and closed the distance between them.  

At least the woman didn’t look angry - just curious.  Her eyebrows were raised over brown eyes, her flaxen hair peeking out at the hairline from under a bright blue scarf, which was cinched in a knot at the base of her neck.  While she waited for John to respond, she switched her basket from one shoulder to the other.  It looked heavy, and she was short and slim.  Yet she didn’t seem to mind, lifting the basket without even a grimace.

“I’m following you,” John said.

“I noticed,” the woman said.  “I was hoping you had a good reason.”

John’s grimace deepened.

“The fresh air and exercise,” he said quietly. It sounded more like something Cody would say, quick-witted and easy-going, even when talking to a stranger.  Talking like him, even by accident, had John missing him.

“Oh, well, why didn’t you say so,” the woman said flatly, rolling her eyes.  “If you need exercise that badly, I’ll find something for you to do.”

John, silently happy, missed his chance to reply.  The woman had started off again, passing through the open door.  John hurried to keep pace.

The door opened onto the top of a slight hill.  A dirt path twisted down the hill, stretching only a dozen feet or so before it ended in the iron gate of a garden.  From where John stood, just high enough to see the lay of the land, the garden looked beautiful.  The corn and tomatoes weighed heavy on the plant, ready for the late summer harvest.  The garden seemed very, very far away.

John doubted he would have noticed a little hill like this before, but as he tracked the basket woman’s progress down the path, he realized he couldn’t follow.  Where he stood now was no higher than six feet above the level ground at the garden gate.  It was nothing.  John stood frozen in the doorway, his hand growing sweaty around the handle of his cane.  All he could think about was breaking his knee all over again and ending up back in his bedroom.

The woman paused before the gate, turning to watch.  John set his jaw, sure her face was soft with pity.  When he glanced over, however, the woman’s face was just as business-like as before.  Not disdainful, but calculating.

“My name’s Neta,” she said.  Her skirt just barely avoided scraping the ground as she backtracked a few steps to meet John where he was.  She held out her hand.

“Take it, please,” she said brusquely.

John took the hand gratefully, allowing himself to be pulled safely to the bottom of the hill.  He squeezed his eyes closed, aware of his sweaty palm against Neta’s, when suddenly he was at the bottom of the hill.  As soon as Neta was sure of John’s footing, she let go of his hand.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

John nodded, catching his breath.

“Good,” she said. She shifted the basket on her shoulder; John could see it was filled with cotton sacks, probably of compost, by the smell.  John frowned at her.  He didn’t know what to make of Neta.  He was sure she wasn’t a sister.  She covered as much skin as the sisters, but not with the black gowns and aprons that set the nuns apart.  Instead, she wore a button down shirt tucked into a long blue skirt.

“I’m John,” he said, extending his hand.  He was late to introduce himself - he should have given his name when Neta had given hers.

“Oh, no thank you,” Neta said, keeping her hands right where they were on the strap of the basket.  “I’m shomer negiah, so I don’t touch men.”

John frowned down at his hand, which still felt clammy from Neta helping him down the hill.  He looked back to Neta questioningly.

“Someone who needs help getting down a hill doesn’t count,” she said with the slightest shrug.  “Come on, this is getting heavy.  Are you still up for chores?”

John nodded.

Neta led John through the iron gate.  Up close, John was struck by the size of the garden.  It was huge, organized like a farm in miniature.  Some of the plant beds were fallow this year, some ready for the summer harvest, some biding their time with winter vegetables.  A garden this size might go very far toward feeding the whole convent - maybe with surplus.  Around the edges, the garden was protected by groves of berry bushes and fruit trees, some of which John didn’t recognize.  Depending on how deep those groves went, the sisters could do a tidy business with berry preserves.

A dozen chickens trotted up to meet them, pecking around Neta’s legs like dogs begging for breakfast.  One of them, a bay hen, passed between John’s legs to get to her.

“I know Josie fed you already,” Neta told them.  “I watched her do it.”

Stepping carefully through the chickens, Neta set her basket down next to the water pump.  She pumped some into her hand and splashed it up against her face.  John was jealous, more aware of the sweat at his hairline and neck seeing Neta so refreshed.  She motioned him impatiently over.

“Wash up, sit down for a minute, then we’ll talk farm chores,”  She said, rolling up her sleeves.  She passed him, gesturing to a wooden bench.  “I have to ask Josie if she has anything in particular for you to do.”

John grunted a reply.  He was tired.  He hadn’t walked this far before, and his leg was more than ready for a rest.  He hoped he would be able to get up again, after.

Neta walked away, one persistent chicken still following her.  She passed aproned sisters laboring in the fields, harvesting and weeding.  They looked hot, in their long black dresses.  Water must have been more plentiful on this side of the Mississippi, because often a sister would wander over to where John sat near the water pump and take a drink before wetting her arms up to the elbows, as well as her face and neck.  More than one of them gave John a curious look, and he politely looked away.

“You have the look of someone who hasn’t eaten breakfast,” said a woman’s voice.

John jerked his head up, not having realized he’d been fading in the heat.  A clay cup of water hovered before his nose.  The woman before him was also different from the sisters.  She didn’t cover her curly black hair; she kept it twisted up in a bun behind her head, though half of it had escaped and now bounced around her ears with every gesture.  She was plump, the sleeves of a conservative blue dress rolled up to show a tattoo of a black snake winding around her forearm.  The blue fabric was familiar - the pattern matched the scarf covering Neta’s hair.  

Neta stood behind the woman, arms crossed.

“I’m not getting him breakfast,” she said.  “Sister Mary Catherine is sick of seeing me in the kitchen.”

“I didn’t ask you to,” the woman said.  She sat next to John, pushing the cup into his hands; he finally took it.  “I’m Josie.  I was a novitiate here, until last year,” she said with a smile.

“Yeah, and now she’s my wife,” Neta said with a self-satisfied grin.

“This is Neta, who I assume you’ve met,” Josie said.  She then added, “My wife.”

“I’m John,” John said.  How did he explain himself succinctly?  Friday and Val had told the story of their travels all out of order, but they had at least known how to begin.  “I used to do this,” he said, finally.

“This?” asked Josie.

John took a sip of water.  It had an earthy taste, but it was good.  He gulped it down.

“This.  Grow things.”

“Then you can help me spread compost,” said Neta.  A look from Josie, and Neta added, “After you eat something.”

“Interesting,” Josie said.  She left it at that, leaving John on the bench with his clay cup.  He finished the water, then, without asking for permission, pumped himself a little more from the spout.  Neta was still watching him, tapping a finger against her arm.  He should have asked.  He put the cup down, ready to be yelled at.

“Josie’s not gonna ask, but I want to know why there’s men at the convent,” she said.  She leaned against the spout, staring.  “No one’s gonna tell us.”

“Why not?” John asked.

“Because if they were gonna tell us, they would have told us.  It’s been three weeks.” Neta paused.  “I guess it’s your own business, and I should leave it at that, huh?”

John set his jaw.  He had no idea what to say.

“Well, doesn’t matter.”  Neta stretched, catching Josie’s eye as she returned.  Josie held her apron up around her waist - it held a hunk of bread and more blackberries and figs than John could ever hope to eat.  Neta’s hand was first to Josie’s apron.  She took a large fig, rubbed it on her sleeve, and took a bite.

“Do other outsiders live here?” John said hopefully.  “Like...you.”

“Oh, we don’t really...live here,” Josie said.  She handed John a fig when he didn’t take one from her apron.  “I did when I was a novitiate, which is how I met Neta.  She’s the odd one out,” she said with a wink to her wife.  “See, we, or the convent, I mean, used to be completely cloistered, until a few years ago.  The convent needed someone from town to sell crafts and produce for us.  Neta came when we needed her, and during harvest and tilling season we needed her more, and then the garden needed to be expanded, which was a huge project, and we needed Neta every day.  By the time I left, the convent hadn’t been cloistered for a while, but since the sisters already knew Neta and me, she and I started coming in from town every day to work for wages.”

John followed the story with a frown.

“Which is why it’s very strange that you’re here,” Neta added.  “Because you aren’t the Jewish neighbor who goes to market for the convent, or her novitiate wife who left before making her vows.  And you’re men.”

“They aren’t all men,” Josie added.  “There was a woman with them, remember? On the short side.”

John ate his fruit, still frowning.  Josie and Neta wanted an explanation from him, which was just about the only thing he couldn’t give.  He had no idea why he was here, or under whose grace.  Val had definitely had something to do with it, but Val was a man, too, and apparently that was unusual, even if he was a priest.

What if Val had lied?  It occurred suddenly to John that it was a small blessing he had not figured out how to tell Neta and Josie where he’d come from, or what had happened to him on the river.  If the sisters knew what he and Cody were mixed up in, they might change their minds.

“I don’t remember how I got here,” John said carefully.  “I got hurt.”

Josie dumped a handful of blackberries into his palm, and he ate them. Josie and Neta both watched him, expecting him to say more.  John just kept eating blackberries.

“That’s it,” he said.  “I can help you with the compost.”

This was the right thing to say.  Neta wanted help with the compost more than she wanted an explanation.

“Well, let’s stop sitting around,” she said, straightening.  “Let me get you a shovel from the shed.”

10.1  || 10.3 

#story

[macabrecabra]

Favorite foods of everyone?

The camera flickers on to the familar face of Tevar as he waggles his eyebrows, “Welcome, my friends, to the special edition of...Chez Heaven where, today, we are going to see about what everyone is eating up here!”

He gave the camera a wink as he walked towards a table, moving the camera to focus on where Aladria sat, picking at a salad with a frown.

“Aladria, we said favorite food today, not the food you are forcing yourself to eat...”

The scholar looked up, flushing, “I’m on a diet Tevar. I’m gaining weight and I don’t want to stuff my face right now with cupcakes...”

Tevar snorted, turning the camera back to him, whispering low, “Boring salad but yeah, she’s got a sweet tooth which Itherael will abuse time to time with tiny little gifts.... speaking of which!”

The camera now panned over to where Itherael was digging into a plate of macaroni and cheese and an assortment of chicken nuggets. The scholar paused to look up, fork halfway to where his mouth would be, “What?”

“Itherael here is fond of the kiddy menu, as you can see. Enjoying his angel shaped chicken nuggets and mac n cheese. Also a fondness for grilled cheese and happy meals!” 

Itherael huffed, wings fluttering in embarrassment as he leaned over his meal, “...I like the little gifts you get with the meal...”

“No one is judging you for your inner child Itherael,” Tevar teased, panning the camera over to where Inarius sat, his plate of vegetables somewhat abandoned as his gaze was fixed on where Imperius was downing a full liter of pop, “And there we have Inarius, he of the most refined pallet of garden vegetables sprinkled with thyme and bay leaves and other fancy shit spices  that you only see on the cooking network. Eats daintly too. Like a mouse. Tiny nibbles.”

“I’m sorry I’m not my brother who has to inhale everything...” Inarius drawled, glancing Tevar’s way before looking back at Imperius. The camera soon turned to the archangel of valor who’s wings were twitching about sporadically and rapidly fluttering as he slammed the empty bottle down, “And that is our resident butterfly Imperius. Only consumes liquid. Especially the pop.”“Forgive me for not wanting to eat the flesh of dead animals like some demon!” Imperius retorted loudly, his words coming out in a rush, “And I enjoy the exhilirating rush this drink provides!”

“Is that what, like your fifth bottle?”

“Sixth!” Imperius declared loudly, already turning to heft up another one, popping the cap, “I enjoy the taste of these fizzy mortal liquids immensely!” 

“That is best. I would like to keep the delicious taste of your cooked meats from him so that I may consume all...”

The camera panned over to where Rakanoth sat, face smeared with BBQ sauce and a bib had been tied about his neck, meant to help with keeping him “clean” given his eating habits. The demon’s tongue was darting out to lick over his teeth and lap up the sauce about his chops as Tyrael huffed, finishing up his own plate. 

“You will not consume all demon. You will learn to share!”

“Rich coming from the most gluttonous one of us here,” Inarius drawled, looking towards his brother, “frankly, I’m surprise you didn’t gain weight when you were a mortal given your healthy appetite.”Tyrael fell silent, his gaze fixed on his plate as he pushed a stray morsel of food about. Itherael cleared his throat some, “He ah, did gain weight...in fact I think Lyndon ah, asked him once if he was looking to give birth given how his belly started to protrude...”

“It was hard to keep active when tehre were so many diplomatic and social ventures requiring food!” Tyrael protested, wings flared, “It is rude to turn down food!”

Inarius burst out laughing and Imperius paused in chugging a bottle, his entire form twitchy as he snorted, “...shameful Tyrael. Turning yourself into Ghom as a mortal!”

“I was not!”

Rakanoth lifted his head, tongue lolling out as  Tevar set down the camera and moved to fork up another stack of steaks and other meats that had been sizzling on the grill, “The grilled meats! Yes! Bring them to me!”

“You are sharing you demons!”

The lord of despair looked over Tyrael’s way, baring his fangs before turning to making a hacking sound before spitting all over the stack of meat. 

“Fucking-! Rakanoth! What did we tell you about spitting on the food!” Tevar yelled, “Not cool man!”

Rakanoth merely laughed, “Now none will want the meats and they are all mine!”

“Your demonic spit or no, demon, I am not going to let you have all of that!” Tevar held the camera steady as Tyrael lunged across the table to stab a form into the meat pile while Rakanoth, sensing someone trying to steal his most precious of grilled meats, started to wolf down. Aladria sighed, looking away.

“It is like watching two dogs trying to eat from the same bowl...”

“Tyrael likes food. Rakanoth likes food. They are destined to fight at the table I suppose.” 

Imperius slammed the bottle he was on down, staring at the table silently. His wings were flapping a mile a minute before he abruptly looked up at the two who were feuding, and held out his hand, summoning Solarion to his hand, “Cease your fighting or I will fight you both!”

Aladria covered her face with her hand as Inarius just burst out laughing as Imperius threw himself across the table. Itherael sighed, dipping one of his nuggets in ketchup, “...we need to limit Imperius’s intake. He gets so...energetic.”

Tevar snickered, “But it is hilarious!” 

Aladria looked up before reaching up to cover the front of the camera, “Would you get that out of my face-”

The camera went black once more. 

#Diablo asks #fanfic ask #Tevar #Aladria #Itherael #Inarius #Imperius #Tyrael #Rakanoth #favorite foods of the team #battle of the food lovers #fishyfiash

[brainbuzzies]

Buzz #17

Imagine a story about a royal who’s sent to be locked away in a tower or castle that’s “guarded by a fire-breathing dragon” but it turns it the the castle description got cut off and the dragon is actually a dragonborn who’s been outcast from society because everyone thinks they’re a monster. Turns out the dragonborn just has allergies and can’t control their fire breath when they sneeze.

They've accidentally set fire in the market so many times that everyone starts closing up shop when they come into town to try and get supplies, so now they have a farm on the palace grounds where they tend to a massive garden of every kind of fruit, herb, and vegetable they could get their claws on, and they have a bunch of goats and sheep and chickens and other livestock that each of their own individual name.

Being outcast for so long, they've had to learn to cook, sew, and craft all sorts of things, but since they’re purely self-taught, they aren't exactly sure they’re doing it right, so the first week or so that the royal is staying with them, they’re just anxiously preparing this poor bean these lovely meals and worrying that the royal will hate it and be offended and the dragonborn is just apologizing in advance like, “I’m sorry if it’s not like what you used to eat, I tried my best, but I just didn't have the professional training that castle staff usually have and I’m limited to the ingredients I can grow in my garden and I just hnnnnnng, please let me know if you want something better.”

The dragonborn absolutely loves gardening, even beyond just growing food, and there are plants EVERYWHERE because the palace is old and falling apart because the dragonborn literally just found the place and said, “Yes this is now home” and so now there’s vines growing in the corridors and literally just a tree in foyer and probably the ballroom too. A flowering tree, definitely, and there’s petals all over the ballroom floor and they float down like snow and drift on the light draft flowing through the palace.

They also love reading and really just books in general and luck for them the palace came with a gigantic library that they’ll just disappear into constantly and the royal has to go and drag them out sometimes or at least bring them food because, friend, please, you need to eat, it’s very important.

There’s probably a ton of other animals too besides the livestock. Just stray dogs, cats, and maybe even just a bear everywhere. Seriously, living as an outcast is lonely, dragonborn needed friends, and if bats wanted to live in the study, well, bats can live in the study, as can the five owls and all these adorable rats and raccoons.

When the royal first arrives at the castle, they’re still pretty freaked out because they expected just your run-of-the-mill dragon that would keep them prisoner, but even finding an intelligent and civilized dragonborn, they’re still scared because who knows what this beastly humanoid will do to them, or with them, and they’re just really scared and staying in their tower for the most part because they don’t wanna make the dragonborn angry and bring wrath upon them. They quickly realize though that this dragonborn is just a lonely dork who needs cuddles and literally just someone to talk to, so step by step they start spending more time with the dragonborn, complimenting them on their cooking and helping them in the gardens, sitting with them in the library and just being there to listen as the dragonborn goes on and on for hours telling stories about their travels before they ended up in the palace, and prosing theories they have focused on the various books they've read in their time alone.

By the time a hero comes to save the royal, they've grown real close to the dragonborn and the two of them play a prank on the hero and just laugh when they reveal the prank and see the hero’s confusion and the royal just takes the hero’s hand and starts pulling them to the kitchen gushing on about the dragonborn’s cooking and everything else wonderful they can think of and saying how they’ll set up a room for the hero because surely they need to rest for a few days after their long travels coming to save them.

In the end, the hero decides to stay at the castle too.

#brainbuzzies #brainbuzz #story ideas #prompt #headcanon #cute #fairytale #make this a movie

[iamvegorott]

A story, I've never finished. (Fae! Anti's backstory.)

(A story began by the lovely @lavenderamy )

My name is Anti well, that’s the title I gave myself after the accident that changed my life forever. I died and I still am very much dead, the is no real way to escape that fact anymore no matter how much I want to hide it. The day “it” killed me and left this hellish scar across my neck as a reminder to what I once was, what I am now, and what I will always be. My life was so wonderful before that happened, I was a regular fae, growing up with my protectors, well what you humans call mother’s and father’s, they were so lovely and yet thinking about them hurts. My older sister Niamh and older brother Samuel were just peachy towards me, every day I loved it and loved them. My childhood was fucking amazing, it was just the only time where I was truly happy and didn’t hate myself for who I am today.

I grew up in Ireland, we lived underground in old fairy mounds, across the western sea, in an invisible world that coexists with the world of humans. I was adopted by my protector Maeve, she was my world after my father left and my human mother died, I lived with her for years learning as much as I could about the aes sídhe. I was a Gancanagh, which means ‘love-talker’, I was a male fairy being of the same tribe as the leprechaun, but, unlike them, we personated love and idleness, it was considered very unlucky to meet us, and whoever was known to have ruined his fortune by devotion to the fair sex was said to have met a gancanagh. I was just a baby when Maeve found me, being held tight by my dying mother who held on just long enough to ask this of her. “Please take care of my baby, I know not where his father went but I know that he mustn’t stay in this world, would you grant me the wish of keeping my baby alive?” Maeve accepted and lay my mother to rest, every time she tells that story it makes me wonder what my mother was like, and who my dad really was. Niamh and Samuel always treated me like family even if they knew I was not, we grew up together and they would always be so nice to me, hell every one of them was nice to me even though I was different.

I spent most of my time outside talking to the animals who understood me and I them, listening to the trees tell me how they felt about Maeve’s gardening, (she apparently was terrible at it), no matter what it always made me smile. The sounds of the forest was my lullaby, nothing was more calming to me than rain, the soft pitter-patter or even the heavy thunderous sounds and lightning flashes. Everything about this place was so perfect, just to be able to sit down in the grass, play with the horses, sheep, cows, and chickens, plant vegetables and fruits to have as a snack or for supper. I loved to help Maeve and Niamh out, with the instructions of the trees, by the way, they would always mock them for being terrible at everything when it came to being outside, in their eyes, they even breathed wrong. I loved the way they kinda hated everyone but me, that made me feel so warm and happy inside, even the animals loved me, I would really be the only one who talked to them, brush them, feed them, and play with them, we had a sheepdog that somehow wandered into our world, the truth about our dog was that it was a shapeshifter and came here to be protected by us. My infancy wasn’t something that was memorable, when I was four I let the dog in through the window to feed him and then go to bed. His name was Kylee and man was he fun, we were best friends, we ate together, played together, slept together, and bathed together, even if Maeve didn’t approve of the last one, we would go to splash around in the local river just for fun! At five I had just learned that he could talk and we would whisper until Maeve yelled at us to go to bed. I was six when I finally was allowed out by myself, I always let Kylee tag along with me, I made him a seashell and vine bracelet that he kept.

When I was seven Maeve left us. She was gone for days and neither Niamh nor Samuel knew where she had gone. I kept asking every single day, even during most of the night I couldn’t sleep, cause I was worried about her. I wanted her home. I didn’t want to be alone anymore. I wanted my Ma to come back. Some days I became unresponsive, I wouldn’t eat, I wouldn’t go outside, I couldn’t sleep and I refused to talk to anyone. I just wanted to see her again, I didn’t want her to leave me again… She kept so many secrets from us but whenever she came back, she would act like nothing happened. I needed to know what she was keeping from us, so one night while everyone was sleeping, I snuck into her room. I knew that it was wrong but I needed to know what she was doing, who she talked to, why she got so many letters from the same person, why they would make her leave us…

Leave me…

I twisted her doorknob slightly to check if it was locked. A soft click was heard as the door creaked open and I walked in, letting it slowly creak closed behind me. Why would she leave her door open? That’s stupid but at the same time, good since it wouldn’t draw suspicion to everyone else, but to me that makes it worse. No one ever questioned her or her actions and even still, we couldn’t place why she wouldn’t tell us anything about where she would go. I was a very curious child and though I had a strong head on my shoulders, I couldn’t help but want to make sure she wasn’t involved in something she shouldn’t be. I carefully walked around her room, making sure not to make any kind of noise. I looked around the contents of her room and walked over to her bed, slowly setting myself down onto it, with a minuscule creak. I felt something stab my leg making me jerk in the other direction, only to hit the wall with a soft thud noise. “Fuck that hurt…” I whispered and covered my mouth immediately afterward. I didn’t want Kylee to hear me or find me in here alone, let alone risk waking Niamh up from her beauty sleep. If I woke her, man that would not end well for me. She got extremely cranky when she hasn’t gotten enough sleep and though Sam would wake himself up, he still would never be as bad as she was when she didn’t want to be awake. I turned around to find the sharp object and pulled it out of the bed slowly, my eyes widened as I realized what it was.

A knife…

Why would she have a knife in her bed?

It didn’t cut me, luckily enough I was fine but even though I was okay that doesn’t mean I won’t be asking her about it later or keeping this pretty knife. I slipped off the bed and landed on my left hand, sliding the knife into the pocket on my right side and set myself down on my legs. A soft creak escaped the floor as I made my way towards her desk, pulling at each one, the top drawer was full of trash and pictures that I made when I was younger, just stupid scribbles but I was happy that she at least kept them. The second drawer was filled with writing equipment, there was this really pretty fountain pen that Niamh and I made for her, I closed the drawer then made my way to the last one. The third drawer was filled to the brim with letters from “The Fairy Queen”? Who the hell was that? I haven’t heard of her but still, she sounded important, I guess. I put the letter back and closed up the drawer only to jump when I heard a soft knock on her door.

Oh shit! I need to hide but where?

I hastily searched around until I spotted her closet and ran inside of it, closing it before her door was opened. Fuck, fuck, fuck! I didn’t close that drawer! No! Fuck, I’m such an idiot, shit! Please don’t find me!

Eight through eleven weren’t very fun for me, I was still trying to find my place as an adopted child and everyone was trying to keep an open mind but there were these boys who just hated me for no reason.

When I talked to Maeve about how she happened to meet my mother, she would always tell me that she was on a mission to find a runaway Fae in the name of The Fairy Queen. Though she never told me who she was looking for before she found me, I always wanted to ask but never found the courage to do so. Throughout the time I lived with them she would always disappear and leave Samuel in charge; Niamh took care of me as best as she could and even now we get along quite well. Samuel kept to himself most of the time, he would go outside and sit under trees to draw or practice the flute, something that Niamh made him after coming in contact with some things that washed up on shore. She loved to tinker with random things and make Sam, Ma, herself and I things; my favorite would have to be the pearl necklace she would always wear, same went for Ma, she would wear the gold and sapphire earrings that Niamh made. Kylee spent most of his time with me and I never understood why he loved hanging out with me, though no matter what everyone would always look at him weirdly. I never understood why they wouldn’t talk about most things whenever he was around but I just brushed it off as it was inappropriate for me to hear.

I was 12 at the time when Niamh called out for me, to come into the mound but once again I didn’t want to because me and Kylee were having fun. It was early May and close to my birthday, though late in the afternoon and I was just soaking up the light rain and crisp air with him. “Anlon! Anlon Caoimhe O'Keeffe! Come here ya crazy lad! Ma wants to talk ta you!” I ran over towards her and gave her a big hug, Kylee licked all over her and my face. “What’s the craic, Niamh?” I asked but was muffled by her breasts, she laughed as I pulled away with blush against my face. I have always had a crush on her, even though I knew it was strange, she was 7 years older than me, but nowhere near related to me. I loved her but hated her partner, he was just the worst in my eyes but that was only because of jealousy, I felt she deserved better even if it meant younger, I was willing to do anything for her but she just laughed and kissed my cheeks. She treated me like I was a child like I didn’t know what I was talking about, I was a quick-witted lad but what she needed was a man and that was all me, baby!

“I don’t know, Ma just wanted me to get ya! Go ask her that questions, Anlon. You cheeky lad, now Kylee come and get yer supper.” Kylee followed her so quickly, you would have sworn she had put him under a spell. “Ma! Where are ya at?” Maeve answered me from afar. “In the sitting room lad, come here!” Great, what did I do now? I haven’t been bad in weeks, at least I hope not, maybe it was because of Kylee and I playing in the river without her permission? I never got in trouble for it now so what changed, maybe I should have told her before we left but she never asks anyway. I walk into the sitting room and cozy up next to Maeve. “What’s the craic, Ma?” She looked over at me and ran her hands through my soft brown curls, gently and very slowly. “Anlon, I know you understand what it means when you’re adopted, right?” I nodded slowly with a smile. “Good, now you understand how it may feel for Niamh ta have to know ya have an American term 'crush’ on her. She doesn’t feel it’s right, because we basically raised you after the passing of your mother.” I push her hand out of my hair and frowned. “Really! That’s all ya called me for?! Ta tell me that I have a crush on someone who’s been there for me, my entire life and has loved me unconditionally! Ma why you know that was really a private matter that you blurted out in front of Samuel and the person this matter concerns!” I got carried away, I didn’t mean to yell it just came out that way. “Calm down, Anlon I know this is hard for ya, but you still have ta consider yer sister’s side of the tale.” I didn’t care what Niamh wanted to say right now, I just wanted to go sit in my room and talk to Kylee. “Fine what’s up, Niamh?” I asked with a frown, I was so fucking pissed at her. “Anlon, I’m sorry for telling Ma about this, but ya know it’s weird for you ta like me in that way, right? Because no matter what laddie, I’m your sister and I don’t want you ta get any ideas once yer older. I will only see you as my beautiful baby brother, nothing more, nothing less.” She calmly stated and went to hug me, I punched her in the gut and screamed at her. “I don’t want a fucking hug, you stupid bitch! You betray me then think I’ll forgive ya in three seconds! No! That’s not how this shit works, I’m going upstairs with Kylee, don’t fucking bother ta come get me for supper, I’m not hungry…” Everyone looked at me with concerned but surprised faces. “Anlon, I’m sorry-”

“No Niamh, don’t you fucking dare try ta apologize ta me! I don’t want ta hear it, just leave me alone! I hate you so much right now, no little apology will change that!” I ran up to my room, well the little space where I slept.

Kylee followed behind me, walking into my room and closed the door with his nose. “Kylee why is everyone so stupid?” He licked my face and rolled onto his back, panting and barking softly for me to rub and scratch his belly. “Fine you silly dog, one tummy rub then yer gonna answer that question.” I scooted over to him and rubbed his tummy, making his tail wag and his ears perk up. “Anlon, that’s enough, now to the question. I believe your sister was just trying to protect your feelings, instead of just outright telling you no, she chose to involve Maeve who she thought could break the news to you easily but in the end, it did not go as planned. Understand this Anlon, she’s not stupid, just concerned about you likeing her and you could have dealt with the panic better than that, you hurt Niamh and called her a bitch. How do you think she feels now?” I looked at him and kissed his nose. “You always know what to say Kylee, but I shouldn’t have ta apologize to her! She hurt me before I even got the chance ta, maybe even explain why I liked her, I could’ve at least tried to make it not seem weird between us. Thank you for listening to me Kylee, now who wants more belly rubs?!” I rubbed his tummy and giggled as he kissed me all over my face. “You’re nasty, Kylee stop it!” He sat down and looked at me with wide puppy dog eyes. “Sorry Anlon, wanna take another bath?” I hugged him and he hugged me back. “Yeah, but how do I sneak passed Ma?” He ran towards the door and scratched it. “You wanna leave?” He barked happily and continues to scratch the door, I opened the door and let him out. He dashed down the hallway and I followed behind without hesitation, watching him jump up and lick all over my Maeve’s face.

I snuck passed him but bumped into Samuel and quietly begged for him to let me pass, thankfully he doesn’t really care about arguments. “Anlon where do you think you’re going?” Niamh called out from the living room and Maeve finally calmed Kylee down. “To tha river ta clean myself off, Kylee licked all over me and it feels nasty.” She gave me a bewildered face and looked over to Kylee, who was rolling around in the floor. “Kylee show yourself before I skin ya alive!” His ears twitched and he stopped moving completely, slowly raising up onto his hind legs and becoming more human-like. Once his fur and animalistic features were almost gone, Maeve wrapped his lower half in a towel, cause dogs are usually naked and she wasn’t sure if he would be too. He was just wearing a pair of black shorts and the bracelet I made him when I was six. “Yes Niamh what is it that you need of me?” She walked over calmly and slapped him, I have no idea what he did wrong but hey as long as she didn’t slap me I was cool with it. She turned towards me, I may have spoken too soon, but she didn’t lay a hand on me, she just went back into the living room. “I understand why you lay your hand on me, young Niamh. I will do everything in my power to right this wrong. Come now Anlon, let’s take a bath and then maybe enjoy some supper once we’ve completely cleaned ourselves.” What the fuck does he mean by 'righting this wrong’? What did he do wrong? I have so many questions that my head hurts, but I’ll ask them when we’re far away from the mound where they can’t hear us.

I opened the door and walked out quickly, dragging Kylee along with me, he stayed in his human form the entire time we ran away. “Anlon, what’s the matter?” He asked and I stopped to look at him. “Pick me up so I can kiss it to make you feel better.” Now, Kylee was an adult and much taller than I was, but he treated me like I was an adult even if I wasn’t at all. “Yes of course Anlon.” He picked me up and looked into my eyes and I looked into his as well, he was so pretty and strong. I loved how soft his hair was, how quiet his breathing was, his embrace was calming and his bare chest was warm, his smile was inviting and yet mischievous, but best of all he let me kiss away his boo-boo. “What are you thinking about, Anlon?” I looked at him and blushed, staying silent and finished kissing his cheek to make him feel better. “Nothing Kylee, let’s get cleaned up alright?” He put me down and grabbed my hand gently, just to make sure I didn’t run off. It was okay to love him, he’s my best friend, we grew up together, technically we did.

He was already a teenager when we met and I was four years old, he would keep me warm at night even if Maeve didn’t know he was in the house, I would let him in through the window and feed him, then go to bed. “Anlon, once we get to the river I have to tell you something.” I looked up at him with a small smile and pinched his side. “I know that, I was gonna ask you about what happened anyways. When we get there can we dive and swim together?” He pinched my cheek and picked me up by the arm, lifting me up into his arms and kissed my forehead. “Of course we can. We can do whatever you want to do, just ask me and your wish is my command, young Anlon.” We made our way down towards the river and noticed some other kids were splashing around in the water, not that I minded but I just wanted it to be me and Kylee this time. I wanted to just be alone to talk about what the fuck just happened, I mean I could shoo my friends away but they would just try to pick on me like they always did, I was shorter than them, more feminine, and always hung out with Kylee, like I depended on the dog, which I kinda did. I needed him more than anything sometimes, the thoughts that I would have were worrisome and Maeve would always ask him to help me sort them out. Even though I never understood why she would always turn to him when I had those kinds of thoughts but I’m not complaining, he had a way around words that I could never wrap my head around. It sounded so sweet and persuasive, I wanted to sound like that especially whenever Niamh would bother me, I could sweet talk her into making me some porridge or giving me some honey.

“Kylee is there anyway you could ask them to maybe move just a tad, so we can talk about this and not be interrupted?” He let me down and walked over to my friends, soon they moved over to the other side of the river. “Anlon! You may now bathe!” He called out and I ran towards him, and jumped into the river, clothes and all. “Maybe you should have taken off your clothing first, that would have been smarter.” He sat down on the moist ground and watched me, not like stalking me but more caring, like a parent making sure their kids didn’t run off to find the fountain of youth and get lost. “Come in with me! We still need ta talk about this Kylee! You said we could swim and dive together anyway!” I looked at him with wide eyes and a pouty face, with the quivering bottom lip, it gets him everytime. “Yes I do recall saying that I will be doing that with you, however if you wish to have me explain why young Niamh slapped me, I must refrain from jumping in so quickly. Do not fret Anlon, I will join you shortly.” He ran his hand through my hair and smiled at me, those mercury eyes always scared me but at the same time they intrigued me. What secrets lie behind those beautiful eyes, I would love to know everything there was to know about him.

“Anlon, the reason why Niamh slapped me was because I was helping you get out of the mound once again, she dislikes that I always help you out of any situation, no matter how childish it may be. I treat you as if we are father and son, all I want for you is to be happy and have fun and experience a childhood instead of dwelling on your past, as to how you never had a real mother or father. I enjoy your company as you do mine, Samuel and Maeve may not care as much but Niamh seems to want to make sure you have more discipline than you already possess and I find her to be very conceited even if she doesn’t want to admit it. Now I will dive in with you but do tell me your opinion on the matter at hand.” I grabbed his hand and tugged at it. “C'mon Kylee!” I knew that I wasn’t strong enough to pull him into the river but I will try my hardest no matter what. “Alright Anlon, I’ll join you.” He got up and walked into the river with me, he never winced at the sudden cold or even extreme heat, it’s like he didn’t feel the change whatsoever. I hugged him and he hugged back, he was so warm and calm, I could take a nap on him right now. “Don’t get too comfortable, we still have to enjoy Maeve’s supper. Once we are done, then you may rest with me.” I drew little circles against his chest and pinched his nipple. “Mwuhaha! I’m evil and you can’t stop me!” I let him go and swam away as fast as possible, creating a distance between us before he completely caught me off guard.

I bumped into him even though he was behind me a few seconds ago, I looked at him with a wry smile and dove under the water quickly. He grabbed my ankles and lifted me out of the water with the silliest grin on his face. “You forgot that I can teleport, didn’t you?” I tried to punch him but my arms were too short and I hated him for having long arms! “Fuck you and your long arms! That’s so unfair! I want teleportation!” It seemed like such a cool power to have, all you have to do is imagine where you want to go and you can just go there! I want that power so much, it looked so fun! “If you want to learn how to hone in on your own powers then I can help you.” My eyes widened with excitement, and I almost vibrated out his hands. “Yes! Yes! Yes! Please Kylee, teach me!!!” I blurted out and got a loud laugh out of him. “Calm down Anlon, your friends are looking at you very strangely, but I will help you with those powers of yours. Especially your ability to phase through objects, still haven’t the fainted clue as to how you gained that ability.” He released my ankles and I fell back into water, landing on my hands and flipped onto my feet. I looked at him with a cheeky grin and laughed before answering him.

“Maeve said my Ma had this power! I don’t know how she knew about it but I feel like I’m closer to her just by using this power and embracing my humanity! Also yeah Niamh and I have always had a very awkward relationship, though we both love each other, it got very weird when I began ta see her as someone aside from my sister, I began to feel warm inside whenever I was around her, not in a good way either. The feeling was more like I wanted to kiss her on the lips, not on the cheeks like we usually do, I don’t like this feeling that I have but there is also some jealousy towards her partner and I just want ta make it all stop. I don’t want to feel this way about her, I hate it so much, why does she have be so fucking hot, it’s driving me mad! The way her beautiful golden eyes with chartreuse-lime speckles light up whenever she finds something on the beach or in the woods that she can tinker with, her deliciously chubby pear-shaped body and those ta die for hazelnut freckles, fuck me! Her wings, damn I can’t even try to describe her wings they’re just too gorgeous! Her fair vanilla skin, round eyes, beautiful pink lips, her smile is like a breath of spring, and her voice is soft like summer rain whenever she talks or sees me, the way the beauty mark above her lips moves when she smiles as well as her teeth that shimmered like ivory, her beautiful long curly ginger hair with gold and white strands, I would love to brush through all of it… Her ginger hair and sparkling eyes flashed like the morning sun on the horizon. The long elegant red and green dress that she favors, tickles my fancy as well, those are two of my favorite colors and she rocks them with all the confidence in the world! Niamh Zinovia O'Keeffe! Why do you make me hurt and yet feel so good at the same time?” I covered my eyes and curled into a ball, slowly sinking in the water, before someone pulled me out of water.

“Don’t let Niamh hear you talk about her like that or she’ll avoid you.” Samuel looked at me, those scarlet-cherry eyes with arctic blue speckles and a small grin on his face. “Hey Sam, what’re ya doing out here?” I asked sheepishly as he carries me to land and just drops me. “Mom wanted me to come and get you for supper. Dry off and get your glad eyed self in the fucking mound.” He walked off not even checking to see if I was okay, though he did laugh quietly to himself. I hope he didn’t hear all of that, I would fucking slit my throat if he heard all of that shit. He dropped towels on Kylee, when did he have time to do that? Kylee handed me the towels and a change of clothes, that I didn’t even see Sam give to him. “Come now and get dried off Anlon, we mustn’t be late for supper. Maeve would have our heads if we don’t show up on time, if we’re late again for what was it? The 7th time, I believe? I’m happy that she is very forgiving of our absence but this time she refuses to overlook it.” He hands me the towels and the spare clothing, ushering me into the woods to change while he stands guard. “Her supper isn’t even that good sometimes, that’s why I skip it!” I laughed and he joined in shortly, eventually we both calmed down just as I finished drying off and getting dressed. “I’m supposed to be the dog and even I don’t like her cooking. She doesn’t know how to season properly, so it all just comes out bland.”  We both laughed extremely loud and hard that I started to wheeze and snort. “Calm down, Anlon. Do not exasperate your condition, do you want me to carry you into the mound, so that you may catch your breath?” My long black lashes were slack with tears, as I nodded my head and coughed. He gently picked me up by my waist and held me against his chest. His breathing was quiet and calm, even as he sped towards the mound. “Kylee, can I ask you something?” I whispered. “Yes well technically you just did ask me a question, but what is it that you wish to ask of me?” He replied sweetly even if he was being an ass at first.

“Can I you be my dad, since I don’t have one?” He slowed down to a stop right in front of the mound and looked at with a shocked expression. “What brought on this? I mean yes, of course I would love to but this will only be between us, Niamh, Samuel, and Maeve cannot know about this. Do I make myself clear?” His eyes lit up and grew darker just as he finished his sentence. “Crystal, but can you put me down before we go in?” He set me down and opened the door. “Anlon! You both are just in time, Kylee would you like to join us at the table?” Maeve asked and he bowed, which for some reason he always did towards her and Niamh. “Yes Maeve, I would love to join you at the table. Thank you for your generous offer and I wholeheartedly apologize for being late those other seven times, yet you forgave our tardiness with you endless generosity.” He kissed the back of her hand and sat down next to me. “Kylee what was that about?” He placed a finger over his lips and smiled softly, giving me the signal to be quiet and wait until later. We sat there and ate our dinner, this time the porridge was sweet, flavored with vanilla, orange, and honey. “Ma! This tastes so good!” I said with my mouth full, taking large gluttonous spoonfuls and shoveling them into my mouth. “I didn’t make it, Niamh did. She came up with the flavors and just the right consistency it should be.” I stopped and glared at her, coughing a bit.

“Well then, it tastes like shit. I’ve lost my appetite, c'mon Kylee let’s go.” I got up and went to my room, opening the door just long enough for Kylee to come in, then I slammed the door behind me. “That was uncalled for, she went out of her way to cook for you and you basically spit it in her face! Do you know how sad she looked once you said that!?” I looked at him with blush across my face. “I like that you care about this silly fight we’re having. Niamh is my sister and I’ll have ta accept that fact for now, I’ll say sorry tomorrow, but for right now I’m tired.” He grabbed my lotion and passed it to me. “You did just finish a bath and the smell always helped you sleep.” I took it from him and used it on my arms, legs, face, tummy and chest, that was all I could reach. Kylee grabbed my lotion and took some out, slowly lifting my shirt and putting the lotion on my back, rubbing small circles as he massaged my back. He pressed my face against his chest and picked me up, slowly laying down on the bed with me on top of him. “Anlon, I bid you a good night’s rest.” I laughed a little bit but got quiet as he covered us up and rubbed larger circles into my back. “Nighty-night Daidí.” I listened to him yawn as my mouth did the same, I rested my head. Right before I fully drifted of to sleep, I felt a soft kiss placed atop my head. “Sweet dreams, my son.” I smiled softly as I finally went to sleep wrapped in warm scents, very thick covers and my best friends arms.

#lavendaramy #submission #antisepticeye #Fae!Anti

[candlelightridge]

Second draft of Olive Fenn & the Dead Hen. I cleaned up some of the janky metaphors and gave it a solid ending.

 Thornton Farm sat far from the main town of Candlelight Ridge, out past the train tracks, past the trestle that laid over the river. It was as far as one could be from the busy main street of town while still being considered a Candlelight home, and that was the way that William Thornton had wanted it when he built it all on his own those many years ago. Tragedy had threatened the fields many times—there was the blizzard of ’77, the fire that had nearly taken their little, red home in ’85, and the fate strung deaths of little Olive and Ruth’s parents within days of each other in ’91. The eldest daughter, Olive, took to the farm as her mother had and married with children while keeping her sister close as a sort of housekeeper—a role that Ruth demanded for the sake of her guilt-ridden heart.

Then there was the most recent tragedy of Thornton Farm: The death of Noah Fenn. Olive--now Olive Fenn--had to bury her husband in a lonely funeral, and now stood as a single mother with her two children, Jill and Quincy. The farm had grown dusty and dead from prior years of neglect, and the two sisters took to working on the reaches of the fields for a potential income—something Noah had promised to do himself, but never had the chance before his vanishing. Many things needed to be picked up in the wake of his death, governed by a schedule of taking care of children and a tedious maid job, but the two sisters were nothing if not adaptable.            The farm was organized into specific plots for different crops. First there was the root field, meant for potatoes and such, then the corn field, and another half-acre for pumpkins in the fall, all of which refused to sprout much of anything... but then there was the apple orchard. Despite the neglect, the orchard grew hearty trees with plump yellow apples, but had been fed on by critters and mushrooms, thus thick with debris and briar. The orchard was the perfect place to start, Olive decided, and she could nearly hear her mama telling her to sell the fallen trees for timber, to use the mushrooms for fertilizer. She wasn’t as smart as her mama—she never had the chance to be—but Olive could learn, she could teach herself new tricks. She wasn’t the old dog she was thought to be, she told herself this all on her own. With a wheelbarrow in tow, she took to raking between the trunks of those overgrown trees—but after many hours of work, she hardly made a dent in the mess of it.

“Oh…? Oh? Hello?” a voice called to Olive just when she was about to call it a day. “Ooolive? Olive Thornton?”

“It’s been Olive Fenn a long while now,” Olive sniffed, turning every which way, but not finding the source,

“Has it?” the voice said, clucking incredulously.

It was then that a crack echoed beneath her boot, through the wide, lonely orchard, and she lifted her foot to reveal the empty eye socket of a chicken skull, halfway hidden beneath the dirt. There was a moment of stillness then, hesitation giving Olive a long pause. The voice did not speak again, but Olive stooped herself low to unearth the rest of the tiny skull, brushing her fingers along its fragile frame, fruitlessly battling ages of dirt.

“Oh, that feels much better,” the skull spoke suddenly, tiny beak clicking against itself, each oh like that of a happy, chittering hen. Ah. There was her newfound company. How long had she been out here…? Olive couldn’t even remember the last time they kept hens on the farm.

“I’m sorry,” the woman spoke, “I didn’t know you had been out here.”

“Do not worry your pretty, red feathers,” the hen said. “I was not alone.” Olive glanced around the orchard, feeling a lot less alone herself now.

“I have many friends,” the hen went on, “and we all know your secret.”

With heart beating cold, Olive stared down at her feet.

“What secret?” she asked. Her voice was barely a whisper.

“We all know your secret and we will tell everyone,” the chicken said. “That is, unless you do us four favors.”

Olive knew two things then—the very secret dangling over her, and the chilly sweat that formed from the mention of it. She knew them far too well. If Thornton Farm needed a final nail in its coffin, it would be this, and it would be Olive’s fault—her undoing would be the farm’s undoing. Olive felt there was a time in every woman’s life where she would need to make a choice she didn’t want to have to make—for the sake of not herself, but the people around her… or the people beneath her feet, dead and gone but not forgotten. Maybe this time wasn’t a singular time, but it was funny how it always came down to those moments when she was already at her wits end. Her secret was something she thought she’d never have to address again... so, of course it was coming back to haunt her.

“I’ll do anything,” Olive agreed, eyes squeezed shut. She was certain it was a fool’s errand to trust a stranger, but she had no choice. “Just tell me what you need me to do.”

“Ohh! You must save the farm,” the hen said, chittering with excitement. “You must do as we say to save the farm, or we will tell everyone.”

“Okay…” Olive started, “and how will I do that?”

“Noah Fenn must be buried in each field,” it said, and Olive’s brow quivered.

“What?”

“Take Noah Fenn apart and bury him. Limb from limb. Bury Noah Fenn in the farm.”

Noah’s purple skin, torn apart, hacked apart, scattered in the garden like fertilizer. The mere thought of it was enough to make the woman gasp with fright.

“I… I can’t--” Olive stopped and shook her head, her gut twisting with sick.

“You can,” said the hen, “and you must.”

The skull began to cluck happily as it roosted on its plan, and Olive held her pounding heart with a tense hand. Bawk-bawk-BAWK. It was almost like the thing was laughing at her, taunting her; nothing nice ever came from delight in other people’s suffering. This wasn’t funny, it wasn’t simple. To unearth her late husband and disperse him… it was a cruel joke for an otherwise tragic situation.

“Let us go to the root field,” the hen finally chirped, “we can start there.”

Olive didn’t want to take the chicken anywhere close to the farmhouse, but she felt numb and spellbound as she carried it along the dirt path back. In the distance, Ruth had finished taking down the linens from the clothes line, and she called to the little ones to follow her inside, her handmade pinafore billowing with the breeze with delicacy only Ruth could embody. Two heads of copper came charging after her without question, too far away to see their mama in the distance with cupped hands to her chest. Olive knew they were much too young to understand their mama’s mistakes, but maybe someday they would. By then, would they be forgiven? Time could mend many wounds, and it could cure hatred and bitterness and hurt, but maybe her mistakes were like an apple orchard. Maybe her guilt was the fertilizer keeping it all alive. But now there was a skull of a hen in her hand, affectionately nipping her thumb nail like any other playful bird--living, or unliving, proof that what she did was real and that it had consequences. The critters were eating her apples and she was just handing them over.

The root field was overgrown and boggy, and Olive couldn’t help but sigh at the sight of it. The amount of work she would need to do to fix the rot and rain was daunting, almost too much for two sisters, and Olive really didn’t want to ask any townsfolk for help. The hen seemed to sigh along with her, trilling in disappointment.

“What a shame,” it said. Olive answered by kicking a clump of dirt into the silty mess.

“Mm.”

“There used to be potatoes larger than me here,” it went on. “Whatever happened to those large potatoes?”

Olive knew the answer, but she elected not to say it, instead pursing her lips together in silence.

“Bury Noah Fenn’s legs here. Take them off Noah Fenn, so we can have potatoes again,” the hen told her, “and carrots and onions, don’t forget!”

“Here?” Olive asked with a shutter, kicking another clump of dirt.

“Right here.”

There was an unspoken betrayal to disturbing her husband’s resting place, an act that Olive took to in the dead of the night, all on her lonesome. Her knees wobbled beneath the hem of her nightgown, sweat dripping from her cheeks despite the chill. She could never ask another soul to help her, as this was her dirty laundry and no one else’s. And… and, despite that, who would ever want to watch a widow--such as she, especially--bury her ax in her husband?

The deed was done before dawn, and the body was returned to its resting place. Olive found no sleep before her children needed to be fed. She spent hours staring at the empty spot beside her on the bed instead, mind numb and too loud to comprehend.

There was peace, if only for a little while, after Olive did as she was told. It was only a few days when they discovered the root field had cleaned itself up, and sprouts were growing in place of what was once an ugly, barren plot. No bog, no rot, no mess. The fence had even been fixed, to keep wandering deer away from the carrots--carrots that already smelled so sweet on the wind. Ruth squealed with delight upon waking up to the sight of it, and called to Olive in admiration.

“So fast!” she said, “you’re some sort of superwoman, aren’t ya’, Oli?”

Olive didn’t feel like she had anything to be praised about. A part of her wished she could have simply done this by her own merit, rather than her own folly. It felt, in a way, that this could be Noah’s way of given back to the family--finally getting to cleaning up the farm, just as he had once promised.

However, as the plants grew bigger and bigger, Olive lost any sense of relief. Their first harvest of potatoes and onions was large, and each vegetable was fat and healthy, just as they had been when the sisters were children. But something was wrong, and it wasn’t just Olive who noticed something deeply off with them.

“They look like feet!” Jill exclaimed with a giggle. “Eww! I don’t wanna eat feet!”

Her brother, younger than Jill and much more impressionable, followed her lead. “No feet!” he said. “No toes!”

When her children were outside playing, Olive skinned the potatoes quickly, removing each stubby toe, halving each arch. Her body was trembling by the time she had a pot full of them, and she boiled them so tender, the little ones would never know. Olive mashed the shape out of them, with butter and milk, and there was no talk about feet again. No more feet. No more toes. No more talk of eating them.

In the dark of the night, when her children finally drifted to sleep, Olive removed herself from the kitchen with her knuckles bloody from choring. It was so quiet, Olive couldn’t even hear the crickets outside, only the soft taps of her bare feet on the wood floor. It was only when she paused to turn off the hall light, blackening the house completely, that she heard footsteps from behind her.

“Ruth?” she whispered.

There was no answer, and no footsteps… until they started again. Shfft, shfft, shfft, shfft, like heavy calloused feet being dragged against the floorboards. A chill grasped Olive’s spine as she peeked out into the hallway from the threshold of her bedroom, trying to find any form in the pitch-black house. She knew that sound.

“Noah…?” she murmured, breath quavering. There was no answer, but the steps continued.

Like peeling off a bandaid, Olive flicked the light on in the hallway, dark wood leading into the living room, the dining room on the far side with crafts still decorating its table… and nobody there.

Olive may have been alone when she laid down, but the pacing of her late husband’s feet echoed down the hallway and into her bedroom, she felt like he was there again. Noah was there, pacing the living room over and over and over in another sleepless night. Too restless to join her in bed, too stuck in his head to talk. Olive had read too many books to count to find the words that could bring him back into the bedroom and stop that endless circling. None of them had ever worked, and they wouldn’t work now.

She didn’t sleep that night.

Only a few more days had passed before the hen called to Olive again, this time from shed, where she had left it so the kids wouldn’t find it. The last thing she’d ever want was for her children to come across something dead. Death was common on farms. They’d probably poked a dead squirrel or two already, but it was a mama’s job to keep dead things away from her children.

“Oooolive.” It sounded very happy to see her again, clucking more than a chicken that laid an egg. Olive held the skull to her chest again, locking the shed tight behind her.

“Did you see what we did, Olive?” the hen asked. “Of course you did.”

“Of course I did, yes,” Olive repeated.

“You sound tired!”

“That’s ‘cause I am.”

“Well,” it clucked, “you’ll feel much better once we have some corn in you! Nothing better than corn.”

The corn field was the closest field to the road, and had been since dilapidated by litter and the family’s old truck, which was driven over it far too many times. It wasn’t so much a corn field anymore, as it was just a field. Overgrown grass, tire marks, and an embarrassing amount of beer cans. Olive cringed as they approached the edge, worn hand palming her forehead.

“It’s about time we threw away all this trash,” the hen said. “Right?”

“Right…” Olive muttered. It was nice in theory, but the task before her wasn’t. The family needed corn, however. Festival season was about to start, and corn paired all too well with lobster and butter. She could make a steal down in Bar Harbor if she wanted, and that could put enough cash in her hand to fix up the old tractor--or even simply keep the house afloat for a good year or so. She needed corn, just as she had needed potatoes.

Olive gave the hen a knowing nod.

“Take the arms of Noah Fenn, take them right off and bury them here,” it told her. “Bury them, so we can have lots and lots of corn!”

Olive could still hear her husband’s feet scraping across the floorboards. His pacing echoed throughout the empty farm, known to just the three of them: The hen, Olive, and Noah. Did she really want to do this? Was this worth the pain? She didn’t know what could come next, and she didn’t know what would happen once she was done for good. The bird nibbled happily at her, waiting for her acceptance. There was no other answer. She had to, for the sake of the farm.

Without sleep, Olive rose from her bed in a daze to complete the second task. She could feel the skull watch her as she procured her ax from the shed, and though it had no features, she felt a sick enjoyment radiate from its empty sockets. It was like chopping wood, Olive promised herself, it was nothing to feel so ill about. In the night, her husband was a tree, and his feet were but branches dragging against the paneling, and his arms were mere kindling for fire. And she completed it before she could know otherwise.

They were buried before a single soul could ever see her from the road. It was a secret between her and the morning birds.

A week passed before the corn field was in full bloom, to the absolute delight of the children. The two of them weaved in and out of the tall stalks, chasing each other mindlessly, giggling despite how the reaches whipped their pale faces red. They were thick crops, almost as thick as an arm, and they grew taller than any corn Olive ever saw herself.

“Your mama shoulda called you Jack, huh?” Ruth joked as she whisked Quincy up and into her arms. “Lookit all your beanstalks!”

“Magic beans!” Quincy answered, “but I don’t like beans!”

“Well,” Olive met her sister halfway and kissed her son on his red forehead. “It’s a good thing you’re Quincy, and this is corn. You like corn, right?” He gave her a sloppy kiss back, which seemed to be the funniest thing he had seen all day based on his laughter.

It started to grow dark by the time the sisters took to shucking the corn, the little ones in the living room as they sat in the dining room. For a moment, Olive thought to ask her sister if she had been hearing anything abnormal at night, but Ruth wasn’t the type to hide her fright from her sister. In fact, Ruth looked happy as could be, with her cheeks pinched back and dimpled as she started their chore. Olive decided to keep it to herself, and she focused on her own husk before her.

Olive’s eyes were away from her sister for just a moment before she heard Ruth gasp and drop the vegetable onto the table. “Oh, jiminy!” Ruth cried, “I- I thought…”

Olive stood quickly, leaning over the table to take a look. Ruth had peeled back just enough to reveal a thick, green grip on the corn, leaving indents like fingers around the kernels.

“It felt like it tried to grab me,” Ruth said. “Goodness, I must be tired.”

“Why don’t ya’ go to bed a lil’ earlier than usual, hun?” Olive asked, slowly sitting back down, eyes stuck on the corn.

“Maybe I should. I’m sorry.” Ruth’s eyes fell with shame, as if she were deadweight. Olive didn’t know how to reassure her otherwise.

Every stalk of corn was just like the first. Long, thick, and grasping the corn like hand. Olive tossed the rest back into the bucket. There would be no more corn on the table, not like that. No arms, no hands, no fingers. She’d sell it all. None in the house. None on the farm.

Olive was the last to bed once more, and she buried herself in her sheets. She suspected it’d be another night of pacing, in the very least, and she waited for it to come for so long, she hadn’t realized she had fallen asleep. The night was cold, and Olive woke to herself shivering above the covers. She lifted, glancing around the empty room, unsurprised that she knocked her sheets off, but irritated that she had. Snatching her blanket back from the other side of the bed, she covered herself once more. It was merciful to finally get some sleep, and to forget what she had done, and to forget her mistakes.

She was almost asleep once again, when the blanket was suddenly pulled from her shoulders, practically off of her once more.

Olive laid there, frozen, eyes focused on the wall across from her. The moon illuminated nothing but her form, and yet she knew there was no way she was alone.

“Quincy?” she whispered. Of course there was no answer.

Instead, she felt a rough sensation on her arm. Up and down, up and down. It was warm but made Olive’s stomach twist. Slowly, she turned her head, hoping to catch a glimpse of whatever was stroking her arm… only to find nothing there.

Olive ripped herself from her bed, grasping her arms in horror. Bile built up in her throat then, and there was a moment where she felt as though it would spill out onto the bed. There was nothing there, but Olive knew. She knew. Noah was in bed with her, with one too many drinks, and was waking her just like he always did. One too many drinks, a hand that wouldn’t leave her skin. Too rough, too noisy, too irresponsible.

Olive didn’t sleep that night, either. Or many nights after that.

The hen didn’t need to call to Olive this time, she spoke first, waking it from its slumber in the shed. She carried it to the orchard where she found it, upon its request, and she waited in jaded silence for its third task. Olive felt weak just looking at the work in front of her, having hardly slept in months now. How much worse could it possibly get, Olive thought? Was this the true punishment for her mistakes? Her betrayal? How she slept so soundly in their bed afterward, like nothing had happened, and that nothing was wrong.

She didn’t want to finish the hen’s request, but her legs had brought her here, her heart held the chicken’s head close, and she would bury her troubles with her husband’s body. A ghost in her walls would be the least of her worries if everyone knew why.

“Behead Noah Fenn! Bury his heart here, bury his chest. We need apples!” the hen cooed. “Ohh! Apples! Apples were my favorite.”

“We have apples,” Olive offered meekly,

“Do we?” the hen asked, “would you eat one of those?”

No, she supposed she wouldn’t.

Olive didn’t even bother to dress for bed that night, nor did she feel a shiver in her legs as she reared her ax back. It felt almost pointless to put what was left of her husband back in place, but she left it without second thought. She wanted the touching to stop, she needed it to stop. It wasn’t her husband, but a ghost of a bad memory, of something she couldn’t bear to think about or relive. She buried his heavy heart deep into the soil of the orchard, and she did not hesitate to wash the stench from her body once she followed the trail back to the house.

The orchard was much further from the house than the other fields, and so the family didn’t keep an eye on it normally. The days were going fast, despite how slow they otherwise felt to the woman. She was tired, and she found no rest in the house, only brief naps during the day when Ruth could watch the kids. Olive always woke with a start, always brushed her arm like a bug just crawled up her sleeve. Olive had never been an emotional woman, despite what others would say about her--no, what Noah would say about her. Mama would be so disappointed if she knew how blank Olive was now. Fear was all she could feel.

The woman took to choring throughout the day, despite her sister’s guilty grievances. There were only so many times Olive could hear her sister scold her for doing housework, so she finally broke from the house to take a walk to the orchard. The air was perfumed with apples, and Olive breathed in with a grin, giving herself a moment of peace before what would inevitably be another storm.

Every apple in the orchard had turned a vivid, blood red. Olive wasn’t a fool, however, she knew what a heart looked like versus a pretty, red apple. She missed the yellowy, orangey hues, but supposed this wasn’t so bad. She plucked one from the closest tree, admiring how it smelled, breathing it in with a loving sigh. And she took a bite.

Thick, red juice poured out from the apple, down her chin, onto her shirt. Olive removed it from her mouth curtly, eyes wide. She let it drop onto the ground, where its juice pooled beneath it like a puddle of blood. She thought, for a moment, she could hear the beating of her husband’s heart.

She ran from the orchard, wiping the blood from her lips as she went.

Olive was hesitant to go to bed that night. The only reasonable thing that could happen, she felt, was that the hand would stop, just as the footsteps had. Would she feel his pulse? Would she feel his heart? Would she hear it in her ear, like when they once laid together, happy and in love? Olive was a strong woman, she felt like she was strong. She could handle it, whatever this ghost threw at her. If she could handle Noah’s death, she could handle this.

But, as Olive laid down, she felt something lie down with her. She squeezed her eyes tight, hoping this would be the worst of it. Her husband’s presence in bed. There was a point where she no longer wanted it, she knew that, she held that with guilt for quite some time, but she could deal with it. She could deal with it. She could be fine, she promised herself that she would be fine.

Then the weight shifted, falling onto her small frame, heavy and cruel. Arms wrapped around her waist, rough and unwelcome. Warmth on her neck. A hand on her mouth.

It took everything in Olive not to scream, just like when Noah was alive.

Olive stood and broke the invisible hold, her small feet pattering against the floor as she whisked herself through the hall. Just like that night. Just like that night, her gown was silky and white and it felt like she stepped out into the darkness in nothing. Vulnerable and uncertain. She followed Noah’s path into the woods, where he would smoke before coming inside after a long day of avoiding his family. It was so dark, but he kept a lantern there, which was broken and dim by the time Olive retraced her steps.

Further into the woods, hen in hand, Olive continued with purpose. The hen chirped in confusion, begging her for answers: Why she was up now? Where she was taking it?

In a damp tarp down toward the abandoned sled track, she finally stopped.

“How do I know he won’t come back?” she demanded,

“What do you mean?” the hen asked. “Who?”

“How do I know that when I bury Noah’s fuckin’ head, that he won’t go talkin’ to me, too?” Olive said, tears welling in her eyes. “I don’t want him back, I don’t.”

The skull didn’t answer, and Olive peeled back the tarp, revealing what was left of her husband’s remains. It was shattered, scattered even, not much to look at, nor much left to see. Mama’s gun made sure of that.

“I don’t want him talkin’ to me.”

“Olive…” the bird trilled, and its voice was uncharacteristically quiet. “That’s not our intention…”

“Ain’t it? Then why—?”

Something shined over Olive’s shoulder then, interrupting the two of them. Olive quickly turned to the source, fearing for the worst.

“Oli?” a delicate voice called. Olive breathed out in relief.

“Yeah, I’m… I’m here.”

“You ain’t supposed to be here,” Ruth replied, stepping down the slope, meeting Olive’s side with a little help from her sisters guiding hand.

“I know. You ain’t, either.”

“I heard you go out… you’ve been actin’ really weird, y’know?” Ruth said. “What are you doin’? We promised each other, we ain’t go out here…”

“I had to,” Olive said. “I think he’s been hauntin’ me—hauntin’ the farm.”

Ruth hesitantly cast her light over the tarp and flinched back. “Oh, jiminy, what happened to his body?”

With deliberation, the two sisters took Noah Fenn’s wrapped head up from the woods, to the pumpkin patch, and they buried him together with careful hands. This was the second time now that Ruth stood by her sister when she dealt with dirty deeds, though there was a sense of closure now—and much less questions that needed answering.

“You had to,” Ruth told her sister as they rose from the dirt. “If you didn’t, where would you be? Where would Jill be…?”

“You’ve done enough cleaning up my mistakes,” Olive told her. “I don’t know if this is the last of them, Rue.”

“Ain’t no mistake,” she said. “Don’t say you ever made a mistake. You had to.”

Olive laid down with Ruth beside her, back to back. Her sister’s heavy breaths were white noise in the darkness, but sleep would not come easy until Olive knew what would come next—if she would face her husband, as he was, or if she would hear his voice once again. The awful things he used to say to her, to their children—his cruelty toward whimsy, toward womanhood, things that a child could not understand, but feel. Olive shivered at the thought.

Time passed, and so did the seasons. Pumpkins began to grow in the patch, and they grew bigger and bigger, beyond the size of any pumpkin Olive had ever grown… and that was the only excitement Olive found in them. They looked like pumpkins, tasted like pumpkins, made lovely pumpkin pies and toasted seeds. Then, the potatoes were potatoes; the corn was corn; the apples were beautiful and yellow, sweet to the taste, juice like any other.

For once, Olive could sleep.

Olive retrieved the chicken skull from the shed, and she offered it a “hello.” She was answered with silence. Its jaw fell slack as she lifted it, loose and fragile, completely unlike its playful beak before. She buried it where she found it, with the apples it loved, deep and cozy like a proper grave, one that she had never given to anyone else. It never spoke to her again.

#mine

[mr007pennyworth]

The Queen’s Garden Part 2-Knight Verse Headcanon

Before Thomas had granted his Queen to use the large empty plots of lands at the back of the Palace gardens for her allotments, the Garrison food was pretty dismal. 

All the best cuts of meat and fresh vegetables that entered the city walls, were dispersed between the residential who could afford it and the palace. Thomas delegated that Knight’s didn’t require sweet foods or fruit or high grade vegetables, they required proteins and carbs, dried foods and fast made food. 

Pork, Chicken, Chicken Eggs and Trout were the main meal meats as they were cheap and fast to rear, alongside Potato, Onions, Carrots, Swede, Beans and Peas which Thomas deemed lower side vegetables that were always in abundance to share. 

Lamb, Beef, Quail, Rabbit, Venison, Duck and Duck Eggs were all saved for the Palace alongside Cabbages, Peppers, Leeks, Aubergine, Broccoli, Cauliflower and Sprouts. 

When Baron arrived at the garrison after Thomas’s death, Alfred found watching the boy eat a worrying thing. Baron has grown up knowing nothing but bread, chicken, eggs and carrots. Porridge for breakfast and then a leg of chicken, half a carrot, a boiled egg and a slice of bread would be his main meal every day. 

His apatite was tiny compared to many of the knights and he was constantly teased for not clearing his plate. Alfred eventually found that unless the boy was sat with himself or Boswell, a few of the youngers had the gall to treat the youth like a dog and tossing the dish on the floor when he tried to stand up for himself. 

Baron failed to inform Alfred of this bullying for months until Alfred grew annoyed the boy wasn’t gaining any muscle weight and made the garrison cooks work on giving Baron more meat. Jealous of the kids change in portion, the stealing started. Baron would only have a few minutes of eating before an older solider would steal his plate telling him he wasn’t big enough to need all that food and leave Barron with but the eggs and beans. 

Alfred was outraged one evening, when he walked into the garrison kitchen’s to find the boy sat alone without his food. When he enquired to Boswell why the boy wasn’t eating he said he’d not seen the boy even go to fetch a plate. 

Commanding the boy to eat, Baron silently when to the cook and was loudly told to go away. 

Alfred spun outraged the man had the gall to deny the boy his evening meal and was then informed Baron had already been given a plate full. Alfred asked him where it had gone, Baron merely shrugged and cowered back at the catcalling and chucking of the older knights who began to tease him. 

“Little twerp” “Mongrel” “Fleabag”

When Baron refused to talk to Alfred on the next question one of the younger knights had the balls to kick the back of the boys legs out and Alfred watched with anger as he crumpled to the floor at his feet flinching away when Boswell reached to pick him up. 

The younger Knight’s laugh was cut off with a cry as Alfred’s sword struck his outstretched hand. Everyone fell back, some made for the doors. 

Boswell pulled Baron up to his side and called for calm. The young knight who sat screaming in pain at the huge gash that now laced his arm, had blood pouring down his front, slid to the floor in panic as two other’s attempted to see to the wound. 

None dared to admonish Alfred for the move. 

Turning, Alfred questioned the next nearest guard at sword point on why Baron was sat without food. He admitted to his superior, that he had seen one of the other knights had stolen his plate when he went to sit down. The cook’s wife who had come rushing from the kitchen’s at the noise, gasped in horror at the admittance that the boy had been treated like this and her husband slunk away as she called him out for not making sure the younger knight’s didn’t cause such problems. 

Alfred made it clear as of that night, Baron was HIS responsibility and his charge, the boy maybe an orphan but he was a child under protection of the crown. Knight’s left right and center went white at realizing the Queen may hear of this behavior. 

A new schedule was called, the younger and older knights were split up into different meal times to prevent bullying through the ranks, Boswell sat in on the younger’s meal times to supervise and Alfred sat in on the older with Baron at his side. 

Alfred would take Baron half an hour before the set time to eat his dinner so he didn’t feel frightened with all the noise. He wished he’d done so sooner. 

“Eat up pup” He mutters putting the plate down in front of the boy one afternoon. A roasted pork sandwich with onions, a mug of fresh vegetable soup and a boiled egg. He saw Baron hesitate at the sight of the soup. “Queen’s orders” was all Alfred would say. 

Alfred had informed the Queen of the incident. Her anger at the treatment had ment sixteen knights were now spending five nights in the cells after they each admitted to the stealing and harassments.

It took a bit of control, and hard training to get Baron into eating his meals, he’d been so used to saving food as a child that he struggled to eat his own weight in one sitting. Alfred started split his meals into five rather than three. 

Arriving back to the garrison after the Queen’s outing to the Bakery and entering the dinning halls with Boswell, Baron had been nervous, he’d not sat in on the younger knight’s meals for a long time, and resolved to stay quiet through out until Boswell placed a pastry infront of him. 

“Go on then” the older laughs. “Queen didn’t buy all those sweets for herself you know” 

At first Baron had been reluctant to eat the treat, looking around him as if he was about to be punished for eating something he’d never been granted before. He watched Boswell eat his, he watched the knight around him eating there's...

But refused to touch it none the less. 

With a tut, Boswell took the item back to the cook’s wife, who simply wrapped it in baking parchment and sent it along with Alfred’s to the main rooms for later. 

It was closing on ten at night when Baron found Alfred in the Palace, sitting in one of the smaller drawing rooms, tea set out infront of him and the pastry's from that afternoon. 

Alfred playing coy, asked Baron is he'd enjoyed his that afternoon, as he poured the boy a drink. Baron nodded. 

Alfred raised an eyebrow and simply side the plate with a familiar looking pastry sat on it towards him. “Then pray tell me why it is sitting here” 

Baron had simply sighed heavily looking to his boots. “Why haven’t you eaten it?” Alfred asks after a long moment. 

“It’s the Queen’s sir” 

Alfred frowns. “I admit, her Majesty was seen, purchasing the goods yes, but Baron, she purchased far more than she can eat, these were bought by her for the garrison, you do remember you are a member of the garrison boy?”

Baron shakes his head. “I’m your errand boy, not a knight, its not the same”

Alfred sighs. “Baron, you will one day be, I’m not using you to keep track of the post boy, I just haven’t registered you into training because your too young, knights must be eighteen years old to train, but you can still be a resident of the garrison, you sleep there, you work there, you eat there...you get the same food and treatment as the rest of them”

Baron still looked cautious. “Look at me, Baron, I need you to remember that no-one but myself or the Queen has ANY authority over you unless I say so, do you understand, those little shits that are sitting in the cells will learn quickly that my taking to what they did to you will not be forgotten when they walk out, nobody had right to tell you what you can and can not have or do. I will never take food from you or restrict it, neither will Boswell, we are not teasing you, the pastry is genuinely yours to eat, if you really do not want it then I will not force it, but it is yours” 

Baron sat quietly sipping the hot drink while they awaited the Queen, from her study. As radiant as ever she bustled through to the sofas sitting beside Alfred going on about ‘blasted protocol’ and ‘how annoying that dress had been to get out of’ Alfred watched amused at Baron who seemed surprised to see the Queen so...domestic. 

She started pouring herself tea and ushering Alfred to start on the sweets. Baron found Her Majesty picking up the boy’s and handing it to him. “Oh have you not had your at dinner Baron?” Alfred merely give the boy a look. 

“N-No ma’am I was-” he considered the situation for a more truthful answer.

“I wanted to wait to eat it with Sir Pennyworth ma’am” 

The Queen gave Alfred a knowing look over the rim of her cup and Alfred chuckled as he bit into the glazed flakey pastry himself and watched with mirth as Baron took a bite of his own, licking the sugar glaze from his fingers. 

Sweets had never been on the menu in the garrison. But they did become a monthly oddity when the Queen fancied to call an order in, Lamb and Rabbit also appeared more on the menu with soups and sweet buns now the cooks had access to the flours and sugars. Baron on the other hand, had never seen so many, from fancies to breads after the Queen insisted he join herself and Alfred for evening tea on Sundays since.

Since before the death of Thomas Wayne, the Garrison food had never been so good. Since Baron came across those gardens, life had never been so sweet.  

#mr007pennyworth #Knight Alfred Headcanon #HEADCANNON

[thelastspeecher]

Stanuary Week 1 - Con

A lot of people went the angst route for this prompt (which is, honestly, an amazing route), but I wasn’t feeling like angst for once.  So, I thought, what would be better than salesman Stan, trying to con some people into buying a vacuum that sucks?

1975

               “Later, sucker!” Stan called out, diving into the Stanleymobile.  The restaurant owner he’d just nabbed a free meal from slammed a fist against the passenger’s seat window.  Stan grimaced at the man’s tomato-red face and bulging eyes.

               Well, not many people dine and dash in Podunk towns like this.  Guess it makes sense that he’s pissed about it.  The man slammed his fist against the window again.  The glass shuddered.  Stan fumbled for the car keys, stuck them in the ignition, and hit the gas.  The Stanleymobile pealed out of the parking lot with a loud screech.  Stan glanced in the rearview mirror and spared a derisive laugh for the restaurant owner, who had fallen down when Stan drove away.  

               “Was that mean?” Stan mumbled to himself, focusing back on the road. “Laughing at that guy?”  He turned onto the highway.  “…Nah, he deserved it.  Calling me a ‘ragamuffin’ and pricing his shitty waffles like the Queen made ‘em.”  Stan scoffed. “Who even calls people ‘ragamuffin’ anymore?”  Red and blue lights appeared in his mirrors.  “Aw, shit.”

               Small-town cops don’t have anything better to do than chase down dine-and-dashers.  Shoulda known better.  Stan looked over his shoulder.  They’re still pretty far away.  Might be able to lose ‘em. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of a smallish gravel road.  Perfect.  He turned sharply.  The Stan-Vacs in the back seat slammed against one of the back windows, matching the staccato of the gravel kicked up by the car.  Clearly not a good day for the windows in this baby.  I’m just glad they’re still holding up.

               After roughly ten minutes on the dinky country road, Stan felt confident he’d lost the police.  He sighed and drummed his fingers on the steering wheel.  

               Now I just gotta figure out what to do. I’m in Bumfuck, Nowhere, with six bucks to my name and a car full of shitty vacuums.  Stan squinted at the horizon.  A white house was beginning to take shape in the distance.  He grinned.  Good.  Some country bumpkins I can pawn these useless pieces of shit onto. Maybe I can convince ‘em to buy more than one.

               Stan pulled into the gravel driveway.  He sat in the Stanleymobile for a moment to take in his surroundings. It seemed to be an average farm: a mildly sprawling farmhouse, a barn that had seen better days, a huge vegetable garden pushing up against the house’s foundations.  Stan grabbed a Stan-Vac from the backseat and got out of the car.  Cattle lowed somewhere in the distance, chickens clucked and scurried in a nearby coop. He walked over to the porch, up the steps, and knocked politely on the front door.  There was loud barking from inside.  A muffled voice scolded the dog for making noise.  Stan gathered himself, placing his most professional, schmoozing smile on his face as the front door opened.  

               “Howdy there, son,” the man who answered the door said.  He had kind eyes hidden behind glasses, dark hair, and a large, distinctive nose.  Stan brushed away the hypocritical nature of that last observation and focused on what was most important to him.  This stranger had a trusting look.

               He’s not one of the farmers who’s suspicious of “city slickers”.  Just the kinda person I was looking for.  Stan cleared his throat.

               “Hello, sir,” he said.  “I’m here today to offer you a bargain you’d be a fool to turn down.”  The man raised an eyebrow in amusement.

               “Is that so?”

               “Yes.  Because, you see, I’m here to give you a chance to buy the Stan-Vac, the best vacuum cleaner you can find off the black market.”

               “Uh-huh,” the man said.  He held up a finger.  “One moment, please, son.”

               “Uh…”

               “Hey, Sally, get over here!  We’ve got some young man tryin’ to sell us stuff!” the man called into the house.

               “Is that right?” a woman’s voice called back.  “I’d better come see.”  The man looked back at Stan.  

               “Go ahead, son.”

               Why does he keep calling me “son”? Stan opened his mouth but no words came out.  Shit!  He threw me off!  The man smiled good naturedly.  

               “You can start from the beginnin’, since I interrupted yer prepared speech.”

               “Oh, uh, no- no need,” Stan stammered.  He coughed and began to talk in his salesman voice again.  “As I was saying, this vacuum utilizes technology the government doesn’t want you to know about.  I’m not supposed to say, but you seem trustworthy, so…”  Stan leaned in conspiratorially.  “Our engineers designed this using blueprints smuggled outta Area 51.”  The man laughed.

               “Them’s some mighty bold claims, young man.  What’s yer name?”

               “Stan.  Stan Forrest.”

               “A strong name,” a woman said, joining her husband at the door.  She smiled sweetly at Stan.  “Go ahead, Mr. Forrest.  Keep tellin’ that tale.”

               “There’s not much else to say,” Stan said, struggling to keep up his faux cheerful tone.  

               This isn’t how my sales pitches usually go!  People either slam the door in my face or buy ten things from me.  They don’t laugh at my bullshit stories and call their spouse to the door.  

               “That’s a pity,” the wife said.  “I only just got here.”

               “Well, there is one last thing,” Stan said, abruptly remembering how his speech ended.  “Within the first use of the Stan-Vac, you’ll know why people call Stan-Co brand you can trust.  And why Stan-Vac is known as the vacuum that sucks more than anything.”  Stan plastered a false, toothy grin on his face. The wife and husband laughed.

               “You need to work on that there slogan of yours,” the husband said, shaking his head.  “How long have ya been sellin’ these machines?”

               “I’m not at liberty to-”

               “I’d say ‘bout a week,” the wife interrupted, casting a careful eye over Stan. Stan looked down nervously. “Oh!  I was right.”

               “It makes sense then, that ya messed up,” the husband said kindly.  He patted Stan on the shoulder.  “Ya haven’t had much practice, and Sally and I ‘re pretty good at rattlin’ travelin’ salesmen.  Well, the ones what bother to come to our door.”

               “How old are ya, Stan?” the wife asked.  Stan stared at her silently.  She tutted in disapproval.  “Never mind, yer clearly ‘bout as old as our younger sons.  And yer just skin and bones!”

               “Um…”

               “Come on in, son, have a bite to eat and somethin’ to drink.  Ya clearly need it,” the husband said.  Stan took a step back.

               “Thanks, but, uh, I’d better- better get going,” Stan stammered, looking back at the Stanleymobile, considering making a break for it.  The husband stepped onto the porch and put an arm around Stan’s shoulders, ushering him inside.

               “Now, now, we insist.”

               Fuck!  What the hell is with these weirdos?  And I left my brass knuckles in the car.  Rookie move, Stan.

               “I really-” Stan protested.

               “Just a quick meal, son,” the husband said.  “Folks what come to the McGucket house never leave hungry.”  Stan’s stomach rumbled.

               Those tiny, shitty waffles weren’t very filling.  But then again, who knows what these peoples’ motives are?  As the husband nudged Stan across the threshold, air filled with savory aromas greeted him.  His stomach growled in earnest.  …What the fuck am I doing, turning down a free meal?

               “Fine, one meal, then I have to get going,” Stan conceded.

               “That’s more like it!” the husband enthused, patting Stan on the back. “Come on, son, let’s get some food in ya.”

#Stanuary #Gravity Falls #Stanley Pines #Pa McGucket #Ma McGucket #why yes I DID manage to finagle one of my AUs into the prompt #and somehow managed to do it without being too heavy-handed lmao #Stay at Home Stan AU #my writing #ficlet #speecher speaks