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monaedroid · 6 years

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Part Zero: An Introduction

Janelle Monáe is sitting on her throne. This is true in a figurative sense, of course. “If she the G.O.A.T. now, would anybody doubt it?” she asks on “Django Jane,” the boastful, rap-heavy song that served as one of the introductions to her latest album Dirty Computer. But Monáe is on a literal throne as well: sitting in Complex’s Studio 3 on a regal chair that mirrors the one in her “Django Jane” video (or at least as close as our hard-working video team could find on a few days’ notice).

Monáe is here to discuss Dirty Computer, the album and accompanying 48-minute “emotion picture” that is her response to a troubled world. Rather than couching her ideas in 28th century science-fiction garb, as she has before, Monáe brought her concerns to the present (or, in the emotion picture, to the near-future of the 2090s). She wanted to let her listeners know that what she calls “dirty computers”—people who are made to feel like integral parts of their being are bugs and viruses—can band together, find love, and fight back.

Dirty Computer is, Monáe says, broken up into three sections. The initial handful of songs make up the Reckoning (“This is how I’m viewed. I’m a ‘dirty computer,’ it’s clear. I’m going to be pushed to the margins, outside margins, of the world,” she told the New York Times). The middle section is the Celebration (“It’s like, O.K., these are the cards I’ve been dealt”). At the very end, there’s Reclamation—that is, reclamation of American identity. It’s a realization that, as the album’s final track has it, “I’m not crazy, baby/I’m American.” Appropriately enough, those are the themes we stuck to in our interview. But first, we talked a little bit about the album more broadly, her experiences living in Complex’s home base of New York City, and how a silent film from 90 years ago started everything.

This interview has been edited for clarity and length.

I want to hold up a quote and I was hoping you could read it to me. “There can be no understanding between the hands and the brain unless the heart acts as the mediator.” That’s from Fritz Lang’s 1927 German Expressionist film Metropolis.

What does that line mean to you? The film inspired pretty much all of my work and it inspired me to want to be the heart, to be the mediator between the mind and the hands; the high class [and] the low class; the have-nots and the haves; and use music to bridge that gap and to bring us together.

Since you’re in New York City, I wanted to jump back to when you lived here. You were in school in the city for about a year and a half studying musical theater. How did that training prepare you for what you’re doing now, which is essentially putting out a new musical with every album?

I enjoyed all of my time at the American Musical and Dramatics Academy. I grew up acting and singing and writing and going to after-school Shakespearean programs. It was my dream to come to New York, and I’m so happy I did. I learned so much about reading music, and dance and technique, in terms of acting and my delivery as a performer. It also let me know that I did not want to tell other people’s stories. I had a story to tell.

One of the tricky things conceptually about Dirty Computer the emotion picture and the album is that in some ways, it’s a prequel to your earlier work. What was challenging or surprising about writing a prequel? I had the concept and the title of Dirty Computer before I released [her 2010 debut album] The ArchAndroid, so the albums are connected. It is sort of a prelude and there are little Easter eggs in the visual. If you watch the Dirty Computer piece online, you’ll see Mary Apple [played by Tessa Thompson]. I have a song on The ArchAndroid called “Mushrooms and Roses” that talks about a character named [Blueberry] Mary, and she shares DNA with this Mary Apple. It’s all related. It’s connected.

Part I: Reckoning

As Monáe mentioned, the concept of the “dirty computer” is one she’s been thinking about for a while. The idea became all the more relevant in recent years, as forces of hate, prejudice, and division gained power across the world. The 2016 election, in the singer’s words, “sped up” the release of her album. An artist ever-focused on life centuries from now was dragged by circumstance back to today.

When talking about Dirty Computer, you’ve said, “Those of us who live in the future are sometimes needed in the present.” So much of your work has been focused on the future. What do you think being so focused on that in your creative life helped you express when you came back to the present? What did you see that other people might not have? One of the things that’s important is that I’m aware of what’s going on now. I did have the tendency to always think about what the next project was or what else I can do. It’s like, “No, we have to pay attention to what’s happening here, right now.” I like to go where I’m needed. I wanted to celebrate the marginalized, and those folks that I felt needed the most amplification of their voices because they were not being heard.

I’ve read three or four different supposed inspirations for a lyric in “Screwed”: Everything is sex/ Except sex, which is power.” So I wanted to ask the source. Where did that line come from? That particular quote was inspired by Oscar Wilde. [Ed. note: The quote “Everything in human life is really about sex, except sex. Sex is about power.” is attributed apocryphally to Wilde] I put my spin on it because I wanted to support what it was that I was trying to get across: “You fuck the world up now, we’ll fuck it all back down.’ I just thought it was a clever wordplay.

I read that line, “You fuck the world up now, we’ll fuck it all back down,” was something you said in the heat of the moment maybe seven or eight years ago, and filed away? It did start with something that I just said casually. It was a reaction to my bus being dirty. The whole band and crew, we were all sharing one tour bus. I hate to say this, but I was on the bus with a lot of men. I’m not gonna say all men are dirty, but I will say that the guys I was on a bus with, and I love them dearly, they were just living la vida loca.

I came on the bus, and if you know me, you know I cannot sleep in a dirty space. It just overcrowds my mind. I only wear black and white, for crying out loud. Maybe it’s an OCD thing, I don’t know. I just came on the bus and I saw banana peels and underwear and it was crazy. I said, “You know what? Whoever fucked this bus up, y’all better fuck it right back down.” They laugh at me to this day when they think about me coming on that bus and saying that and seeing how serious I was, and I didn’t even realize what it meant. It’s something that we laugh about all the time, and I felt like it applied to our current state of affairs.

I SAID, ‘YOU KNOW WHAT? WHOEVER FUCKED THIS BUS UP, Y’ALL BETTER FUCK IT RIGHT BACK DOWN.’

One of the things in the emotion picture that grabbed me was the use of drones as the first line of law enforcement. Can you talk a little bit about why they play that role in the movie? Dirty Computer is near-future. Right now, we are dealing with drones. I was in a hotel recently and I saw a drone hovering over my window. It was really, really scary because I had never experienced it. Then I saw drones when I was at a plaza. I saw them going over the plaza, and I was just like, “What is going on?”

It’s a question that we have to ask ourselves around surveillance as a form of oppression, or surveillance also as a form of protection. Is it good? Is it evil? Is it invading privacy? It’s something that I have not fully settled on yet. I’m still forming my opinion on it.

Part II: Celebration

Dirty Computer is not by any means solely, or even mostly, a somber meditation on the ills of today. It is a frequently joyous record, particularly in the middle “Celebration” section. This is borne out in Monáe’s live shows, where she, her band, and a slew of backup dancers turn an arena into what the singer frequently calls “the church of the Dirty Computer.” The show not only runs through much of Monáe’s catalog, it also pays tribute in ways both overt and subtle to the history of black music in the 20th century, from Cab Calloway to James Brown to Michael Jackson to Monáe’s mentor Prince.

You were in a dark space when writing this record. How did you make an album that is so celebratory and hopeful? Well I would say that some of it is dark. I wouldn’t say that everything is. I think darkness is important so that you can appreciate the light. Balancing all things is something that I live by.

As much as this album is about me, I wrote it during the Obama era and then things changed [laughs], and I felt like I needed to create a sense of community for folks in these marginalized groups. At the concerts, when they listen to the music, I want them to feel proud and celebrated and seen and heard.

When you were making this album, you said, “I had to really think about who I wanted to celebrate and who I was okay with pissing off.” I chose to focus my energy and my time on celebrating the folks that I felt needed it most. Just to name a few: my brothers and sisters in the LGBTQIA community, black women, minorities, immigrants, lower class, working-class folks like my parents who worked as janitors and post office workers and trashmen. I wanted to focus on celebrating those voices that are not represented in the media as much as I’d like. I wanted to figure out how I could create a community and a safe space for us because honestly, when I take off my makeup, I take off my clothes as an artist and the performer Janelle Monáe, I fall into those groups. That’s my reality and that’s how I grew up, and I want to protect us.

One of the first voices you hear on the album is Brian Wilson. Why have him sing harmony on the title track? What relationship does that song have to the Beach Boys, and to “In My Room” specifically? I’m a huge Beach Boys fan. I remember listening to “In My Room” and loving the tone of their voices, and then seeing this documentary where they talk about the reason why their harmonies were so soft and low was because they were trying to hide recording from their parents in the house.

When I was writing “Dirty Computer,” I knew that this was an introspective song and I wanted you to really be in the mind of a Dirty Computer, me—what it meant to be, for the first time, reckoning with how the rest of society views you. I felt like his voice was going to be perfect to help tell that story.

“Celebration” is the middle section of the album, and I wanted to talk about some of the people you celebrate artistically. When you perform, you do a mashup of “Make Me Feel” and James Brown’s “I Got The Feelin’.” Can you talk about why you connected those two songs and what James Brown means to you as a performer and as a dancer? As a performer, James Brown is one of my favorites. I studied him and his movement. When I was making “Make Me Feel,” I could feel his presence when I started to perform it. It wasn’t until I started to perform that I started to connect the two and it just had a groove. It was like me and James were talking to each other, going back and forth through dance. I wanted to make sure that when you came to a live show, you saw us having that conversation.

This past weekend, I went to see a documentary about Betty Davis, who meets anyone’s definition of a free-ass motherfucker. Do you feel any connection to Betty? I love Betty Davis. She’s free, and she’s one of the godmothers of redefining how black women in music can be viewed. I respect her a lot and she’s opened up a lot of doors for artists like myself.

The “Pynk” video’s now-famous pants were originally inspired by David Bowie’s Aladdin Sane-era bodysuit. And there are a couple of characters in the emotion picture who have Bowie-inspired looks. I was hoping you could talk a little bit about David Bowie—his look and his music. David Bowie is, as an artist, so interesting to me. The world that he built out inspired me to build out my own world, as well. It let me know that I didn’t just have to be a singer. I didn’t just have to be an actor. I could mesh both mediums and tell stories.

You can tell stories through fashion, and I just wanted to tell the story of—some people call them labia pants, some people call them vagina pants, some people call them flowers—but I wanted to celebrate women. There are some women in the “Pynk” video that don’t have on the pants, because I don’t think that you have to possess a vagina or a labia to be a woman. We tried to think about that and be sensitive to it, and I think that Bowie has inspired not just me, but so many artists with his work and with his vision.

THERE ARE SOME WOMEN IN THE “PYNK” VIDEO THAT DON’T HAVE ON THE PANTS, BECAUSE I DON’T THINK THAT YOU HAVE TO POSSESS A VAGINA OR A LABIA TO BE A WOMAN.

The Stevie Wonder interlude “Stevie’s Dream” is a brief but very important part of the record. Do you think that with this album you’ve succeeded in doing what he asks in that segment, which is to express anger using words of love? Do you think that’s even possible? Stevie Wonder is not only my musical hero, but he’s like a godfather to me. I started out writing [the album] during the Obama era and then things just changed, and I had to be honest to where I was mentally after November 2016. I was just very angry. I was angry for a lot of different reasons, because I love this country like so many.

I went to go talk to him, and this is a man who got Dr. King’s birthday to be a national holiday. He has been on the front lines. He has done so much behind-the-scenes work. He spoke to me and he just wanted to remind me that I needed to be patient, that we needed to be patient and we didn’t need to give up hope. But it was important for me to lead with love. It’s a difficult thing. It’s difficult. I’m working on it. I don’t know if I’ve mastered it, but I’m working on it. I’m a work in progress, and I think it’s great advice.

There are lots of great vocal moments on the album. One that stands out for me is the final chorus of “So Afraid,” where you go up an octave and it sounds impassioned and strained. Can you tell me about recording that moment? “So Afraid” was a song I wrote when I was on the way to the dentist. I had a throbbing toothache and I had just taken some Advil and I had driven myself to an emergency dentist appointment. I had my voice memo by me and at every stoplight, I would just record different melodic ideas and I would record myself talking about things I was afraid of, my fears at that moment.

Then when I got to go sit down in my dentist’s chair, my dentist was taking too long—and I love my dentist, shout-out to him, he’s amazing. I had my mouth [held] open, and I was singing the chorus like, [sings with mouth open] “Ah ah ah ah ah.”

I just remember wanting that voice memo of me sounding like that to be on the actual song. So I ran to the studio afterwards. I called Nate Wonder and I told him, “This is how I want the song to be produced. I want to make sure that the thing you pay attention to most is my voice, and the fear that you hear in my voice and the yearning. I don’t want to sing it too high starting out. I want the first verse, first chorus, second verse, second chorus, I want all of that to be low, like an octave lower than what I would normally sing. And then when I just can’t take all of the fears that I’m experiencing, when I’m about to blow up, literally—because I’ve had moments like that—I want that octave up to represent an explosion.”

Part III: Reclamation

“Don’t try to take my country,” goes the chorus of the Dirty Computer closer “Americans.” “I will defend my land.” It’s a line that has roots in one of the song’s initial incarnations, from the point of view of a white male Southerner who is confused and upset by all of the dirty computers around him.

But in its present incarnation, in the album’s “Reclamation” section, it represents something else as well. It’s the determination of Monáe not to give up on her homeland, despite its often-vicious treatment of the people she holds dear. “Love me, baby,” she pleads. “Love me for who I am.”

In “Django Jane,” you talk admiringly about black artists like James Baldwin and Josephine Baker and Saul Williams who “fled to Paris.” At the end of the album, you make a different choice. You say, “I will defend my land.” What made you decide to end the record on that proclamation? Why is it important to be American? “Americans” is in the Reclamation section of the album. The Reclamation is about reclaiming what is ours. My ancestors helped build the White House. We helped build so much [with] our blood, sweat, and tears. These are my ancestors, people like my grandmother and great-grandmother. I wanted it to be clear that we have no intentions of running as Dirty Computers, but staying right here and reclaiming what’s ours.

That song originally had a different spin on it. Can you tell me about “Southern Man?” I wrote like three different iterations of “Americans.” One of them was called “Southern Man.” I live in Atlanta, Georgia, and it was inspired by some of the Southern white men that I encountered. They really felt like they were superior and this was their country, and we were just here. I was trying to speak from their perspective in hopes that when they listen to how they sound, they would realize that in fact, it was very divisive and, quite frankly, stupid.

Is there any of that left in the version we hear? Yes, there are lyrics that I left from “Southern Man” in “Americans.” I wanted to make it more inclusive with the different perspectives—you have the folks who are just clinging to their guns, clinging to their bibles, using their bibles as a whip, believing in superstition. You have so many different kinds of Americans and I was trying to make it as inclusive as possible.

The final words of the album are, “Please sign your name on the dotted line.” Can you give us any insight on that? The lyric can mean a couple things. It’s like, “I’ve expressed to you as an American from my perspective the things that are going on. Are you ready to commit yourself to this country? Are you ready to come over here and really be a citizen at this moment in time?” It also could mean a continuation of what is to come for Americans in the future.

Do you have a message for all the Dirty Computers of the world, for the people who are made to feel defective? My message to Dirty Computers who are made to feel defective, to feel like they’re bugs and they’re viruses, are negatives and need to be deleted and need to be reprogrammed, is to know that there’s nothing wrong with you. Your features are your bugs and your viruses. They’re attributes. They add value to this society, to this country, to your communities. Continue to lead with love. I hope that with this album and with this emotion picture, you feel more seen, you feel more heard, you feel more celebrated—and continue to be free-ass motherfuckers.

#janelle monae #janellemonae #dirty computer #dirtycomputer

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rixxy8173571m3w1p3 · 5 years

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Out Of The Woods (1/?)

This multi chap fic has been one that I've wanted to write for a while. I'm hoping to connect a few loose ends, since my series is getting closer to the end. Don't worry, I still got a couple of fics left in me. I'd love to thank @xerxezra whose conversations with me are always inspirational. I'd also like to thank @dorkydisappointment whose writing got my creative juice flowing.

References to the woman in the journal is from What You Found Amongst The Pages.

In this fic the reader tries to uncover the mystery of the artist behind Zeta-7s portrait.

__________________

Chapter 1: A Glimpse Of The Past

For some time, Rick had been looking forward to taking you here; to the middle of nowhere, in the northwest, where enormous pine trees lined the roads, and evergreens could be found as far as the eye could see. Initially, you weren't sure what you were expecting. A Bob Ross worthy getaway perhaps? Maybe, though unlike the paintings done on PBS, there were gas stations and convenience stores which broke the harmony of trees, roads, and sky; as few and far between they were.

The drive itself was fantastic, and the surrounding area was nice, though you had little to no cell phone reception. And since you couldn't pass the time exploring the weird parts of Reddit, you stared out the window while Zeta-7 sang along to silly travel tunes; the kind that kids would enjoy, but we're actually music recommendations from Tall Morty; another good Rick. You giggled when he sang ‘He had high apple pie, in the sky hopes’, but he didn't seem to mind, he was excited.

However, you were curious as to why Google maps couldn't find the address to the place you two were going to, but Rick seemed to know the directions. Honestly, as long as it wasn't like anything you'd saw in Gravity Falls, then it was going to be fine.

____________

“W-we're here.”

Nope. This couldn't be right. Jumping out of the passenger's seat, you were taken aback and a bit creeped out by the amount of moose statues and decorations which surrounded the place as though to protect it. Could they be part of the security system perhaps? And if they were, was it generally safe to even be here?

“We are? Really?”

“Y-you bet.”

Before your thoughts ran away with the idea, you turned towards him. “Rick, do you need any help with the luggage?”

Opening a portal, he stepped through carrying all the luggage, then reappeared in front of you a few seconds later. “No, it's - I already took care if it.”

It was just like him to be one step ahead of you. How unfair. “Rick, I could've helped you know. I'd hate for you to hurt yourself.”

“True,” he admitted matter of factly. “but if I didn't do it, then I couldn't d-do this.”

To which he then took your hand and pressed a soft kiss on it. “I-I needed to make sure you had a warm hand t-to hold. It's cooler out here th-then it is back home. ”

You gave him a playful shove in return, which made him laugh wholeheartedly before he went on explaining the brief history of this place all the while giving your hand a light squeeze.

The moose lodge, as it was named, looked more like a tacky cabin at the edge of the woods instead of the forgotten shack amidst a family of trees. It was located almost two hours away from the nearest town, and the easiest way to get there was by taking a single dirt road right off the state road twenty miles back; both of you agreed that using his portal gun would've been more convenient. The house itself used to belong to an old colleague of his, but Rick bought it a few decades ago and used it when he wanted to get away from the city, and think about life and so forth; as well as paint. Walking up the steps, he commented, “I-I know it's not much,” unlocking the front door with a moose-shaped key. “but I hope y-you'll like it.”

You really didn't want to tell him that the place looked like a tourist trap, but he stood there, waiting for your approval, nibbling on his bottom lip.

Oh, you didn't like the overwhelming amount of moose decorations, but you smiled nonetheless. “I'm sure I will. I mean, I guess I didn't know what I was expecting, but at least it will be peaceful. Right?”

“Th-that's right.”

Whatever opinions you held about the exterior design, the interior was a different story. When he opened the door, your senses were invaded by the scent of old paint and aged wood, with hints of pine and decades-old smoke. Following right after him, you gasped at the sight of the walls; each inch of wall space covered with paintings. There were scenes and landscapes, hidden figures in the brush, creatures you couldn't begin to describe, flowers, trees, and anything which had and might still be alive; his own private art gallery. With a few clicks on his phone, the curtains opened up, allowing the light to chase away the shadows.

And when the light settled on a particular painting, you walked past him, towards the furthest wall, nearest to the master bedroom, where a large painting hung above the fireplace; it was a portrait of him, done in the romanticism style. “Oh my God. Rick, that's…. did you paint that? I can't believe it, it's amazing.”

“N-n-no, I didn't paint th-that one, but I-I wish I did.”

You found it hard to believe because it captured his essence so perfectly. It was of his form illuminated by the mid-afternoon light, kneeling next to a flowerbed, holding an unopened rose, kissing it gently as though to bless it. His hands were covered in dirt, and his loose fitted, round-collared shirt allowed for a few chest hairs to peek out. As always, when he was around his plants, he was in this trance-like, reverent state; the quintessence of his being; peaceful and alluring in the fact that he didn't seem so broken. The closer you stood to this work of art, the more you felt as though you were staring at a historical figure rather than a throwback photo of your boyfriend.

The posture featured you'd seen him do on multiple occasions, when he took a moment to meditate, appreciating the beauty of life, and all once, you were envious of the one who got to see him this way, taking their sweet time, appreciating the inner beauty of this soft, tender, but complex man. It also reminded you that Zeta-7 had been young once, and handsome even though he thought otherwise. Touching your shoulder lightly, he sighed. “I-I know. Time hasn't been kind t-t-to me.”

“What are you talking about? You look great, but I can't believe this is the first time I'm seeing this. It's gorgeous.”

“Gee, that's - th-thank you.”

“When was this done? You look so young there.”

“Hohoho, not - not that young. It um - it was painted a-about thirty years ago, by a very good friend of-of mine.”

A good friend? Rick didn't have many good friends. “Were they an artist?” you wondered.

Scratching the back of his neck, he avoided your gaze. “While she'd never claim t-t-to be, I thought she was. I um - why don't y-you make yourself comfortable while I make us s-something t-to eat.”

She? You had many other questions you wanted to ask, but knowing him and how he changed the subject, it seemed that that was the end of that; for now. “Okay,” you acquiesced, determined to bring it up at the first opportunity. “but can I pick any room I want?”

“Out of the two bedrooms? Sure g-go ahead.”

__________________

After a simple dinner, you two went for a walk. There was a slight chill in the air, but thankfully you had a sweater and a warm hand to hold as you two followed the trail. You were glad to find that you were in better shape than you had anticipated, but that's what adventuring with a mad scientist will do. Here and there he found mushrooms which he took note of to return for later, and at some point, you climbed a tree, much to his disbelief, and teased him to come after you; he did, but you received a scolding which he then after profusely apologized for.

Later, after returning, you delighted in a warm bath and thought it would be a good time to unpack. Rick had disappeared somewhere around this time, which made you wonder if he had an underground lab here. Casually, you walked past the living room, with no intention of stopping but that larger than life painting caught your eye again. Unlike the other paintings along the walls, there was no artist signature. Hmm, what a tease the artist must've been.

In comparison, Rick hadn't changed very much over the years, except for the wrinkles of course and well his hair used to be darker. Still, you couldn't help but stare at that painting, envious of this old friend of his he had mentioned. Who was she? Was she beautiful? Did she love him too?

You thought more about it as you unpacked your stuff in the small bedroom next to the art room. It wasn't so far fetched to believe that he could've had his fair share of lovers, but then you had yet to see any feminine influences about his house except for a few treasured belongings of his mother. There was the woman from his journal, but he never brought it up and you had never confessed to having invaded his privacy, so you still weren't at liberty to do so. How was it that after all this time, there was still this bloom of mystery about him? Well, because he was humble and reserved, and only shared information which wouldn't hurt him.

Oh well. You'd have to get over it someday, but was it so wrong to be jealous of someone you never met?

TBC

#doofus rick #doofus rick x reader #rick sanchez x reader #rick sanchez #rnm fanfic #rick and morty #rick and morty fanfiction #my writing #my works

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sinangoral2017-blog · 7 years

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[06.15.17] today, i had the privilege of visiting the family-owned mushroom cultivation farm, oyama no taishō, which has been perfecting the art of shiitake mushroom farming for over 24 years. i’m still a little flushed and surprised that they allowed for someone like me to come to their farm, but i’m not questioning it. let me walk you through the organization of events prior to my visit, as well as the farming day, itself.

i had really been struggling with their website, since it is completely in japanese. thus, finding any contact information provided quite difficult. over the several days i have been in japan, i asked as many japanese natives as i could on how to navigate the website. surprisingly, it wasn’t any hostel worker who got me through, but some random girl on the street urging people to come into the made-famous ‘maid cafes.’ i don’t even want to get into what i think about those places, but if you want to look it up, check this out.

in either case, this sweetheart named yuna helped me decipher the site, and i was able to email the farm. within hours, an equally friendly lady named takako emailed me back with broken, albeit discernible english. after basic introductions and several back and forth emails, my research intent became clear to her (as clear as ‘building materials using mushrooms’ would be lololol) and we gained an understanding of expectations from one another. i was invited to the farm, and she even suggested that they pick me up from the train station. google maps only showed a 1.3 km walk, but she insisted. i obliged, and set towards haneda.

well, boy was i grateful for their pickup. the 1.3 km drive, in the minitruck, took over 20 minutes. the farm happens to be on a severe incline, and the winding roads to go up to it present daunting cliff overhangs. the same stuff from the movies. no joke.

a young man named takashi picked me up. we couldn’t really speak to one another in light of the language barrier, but he seemed to exude a lot of excitement. as i later found out, it was pretty rare for people to ‘randomly come through to the farm.’ in retrospect, i must have been the most bizarre visitor to see them.

once we got to the farm, takashi introduced me to takako, her mother, and her father. i met some cute cats (whose names i cannot remember), and then takashi took me of a tour of the facility.

the farm has several ‘houses’ that house prepared logs, dropped off by a partner logging company. these logs stack either vertically or horizontally. temperature and humidity are meticulously controlled in these houses. as takashi explained to me, ideal humidity levels never go over 80%, and temperature never exceeds 90 degrees.

the logs continually cycle through misting (humidification), heating, cooling, and flushing (in cold water baths)to expand and contract. any log can spawn several generations of shiitake mushrooms, but can only continue for this cycle for up to three years.

takashi also explained that there are several benefits to horizontal and/or vertical growth. none of these benefits affect taste per se. rather, they affect the aesthetic quality of the mushrooms and their directional growth. you can see, for example, that all the shiitake which have blossomed out of the vertical logs arch upwards. depending on the consumption method (i.e. grilling, frying, etc), this affect might be more desirable.

you might be asking yourself: ‘okay, these logs are prepared, cycled through, and nurtured. but how do they give birth to mushrooms?’ good question. throughout the three to four hours i spent on the farm, i had the same underlying question pestering me. though i should’ve asked earlier, takashi explained towards the end of the day the two ways in which they can implant mushroom spores into the wood - both of which accomplish the same thing, but do so with different speeds.

the first involves a gun resembling a drill punches a hemispherical cavity into the log. after this space has been excavated, a tool resembling a pneumatic nail gun fills this cavity with a paste, which is also provided by a partnering company. though we got confused with one another when i asked about what kind of ‘paste’ this was, i have a pretty good idea from my own research that this paste was mostly fungus/spore based - a mycelium paste, of sorts. i would’ve uploaded an image of the canister, but i’ll spare you, since i’m not sure if any of my readers know japanese.

the second method does exactly what i just explained, and in the same order, but through automation. the huge (and beautiful... drool) machine resembling a diesel tank engine does just this. takashi powered this up for me and showed how a log enters into the machine’s claws, gets ‘stamped,’ turned, stamped again, and then filled. one log can be covered in +/- 20 dimples in around 15 seconds. pretty efficient, pretty japanese.

we then picked my favorite mushrooms and grilled them for lunch. no sauces other than soy sauce to top them off, yet they were the most delicious vegetables i’ve eaten in a while. they still reeked of that fresh dirt smell - sort of akin to a recent rain. combined with the smokey coals of the grill, to me, the mushrooms needed no other taste. sure beats organic trader joes mushrooms.

though none of my research (at least at this point... ~ massages beard inquisitively ~) is interested in the taste qualities of mushrooms as they relate to architecture, the experiences i gained at this farm are invaluable to me and my research process. one thing that utterly failed in my previous mycelium experiments was the actual cultivation of the mushrooms in an efficient way. though the farm specializes in shiitake, specifically, i’m sure that i can adapt the insight i gained towards my own work.

now that my visit to oyama no taishō has come to a close, i plan to continue down south along the east jr line. tomorrow morning, i’ll leave for hamamatsu if i cannot stop in shizuouka beforehand to take photographs of mount fuji (the town offers some pretty spectacular views, i hear), but i also worry that the weather will not allow me. it has been especially foggy and rainy here, so i might have to skip out. nonetheless, i’ll be in nagoya by tomorrow night, and plan to stay there for a couple of days.

from nagoya, i’ll head down to kyoto and osaka and soak those cities up for a few days. i’m planning to travel to tottori on june 21st, because i was finally able to secure a meeting and tour with the tottori mycological institute. i probably shouldn’t even start writing about that yet because this post has gotten too lengthy, but let it be known that i am inexplicably pumped to somehow get a foot in a door, there.

after all of this, i’ll be slowly returning back to tokyo because i secured some visits and tours of some non-architectural ‘museums’ of sorts. more on this later... but those of you who know me and my side obsessions with tuner culture might be able to guess what comes out of japan. hint: ~ jdm ~

i don’t think that i’ve expressed this at any point in this blog, but something peculiar happened to me when i was on the subway, still in tokyo. i mention it only because it might help explain why i am so in awe of japanese culture, and why i respect the diligence and discipline of the country’s work ethic.

i happened to get off at the same station as a well-dressed man in a suit at around 9:30 or 10:00 at night. he was carrying a briefcase and sporting some kind of expensive watch. his shoes were shiny, and his walk upbeat. he sped up, and i lost sight of him. but i remembered the back of his head distinctly, because he had this iconic mole on the left side of his neck. i have a thing for moles.

nonetheless, some minutes later, i took a wrong turn in the subway system and ended up in a small alley tunnel. i ran into my businessman friend, again. he had just finished changing out of his suit, shielded away in this alleyway, with thousands of people rushing by, oblivious to his existence. realizing i was invading in on his privacy, i turned around - he never noticed me, because he had his back to me. but i happened to catch a glimpse of his mole to clarify his identity, as well as his new attire. it was a navy blue worker’s uni-suit with indiscernible writing on it. written in english, however, was ‘crane operator.’

it then dawned on me how hard working people are here. businessman by day, and crane operator by night, this guy was working his life away. suddenly, studio life became irrelevant. so did my coffee job. thoughi wasn’t necessarily looking up to him in awe, i just couldn’t believe how someone could juggle so much, from such seemingly different sectors.

it’s in this way that i am intrigued by japanese culture - specifically by its workforce. people use the train to catch shut eye. most aren’t on their phones to socialize, but get work done. it’s unlike anything i’ve ever seen.

also, a lot of people have blackberry phones here. honestly, that’s the easiest way to my heart.

and, to conclude, a brief aside - thank you so much to all of you who have reached out and connected with me to provide feedback on or encourage my writing of this blog. that people are actually reading this makes me really happy. keep the questions and inquiries coming - and thank you!

oh, and for any of you nerds who want to learn more about traditional mushroom cultivation, check out this pdf from the university of vermont.

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everlarkbirthdaydrabbles · 7 years

Note

Esteemed everlark writer, cheerleader and fangirl extraordinaire @appleblossomgirl0305 completes another revolution around the sun on March 5th. Could I request a drabble to celebrate? She loves friends to lovers, and stories where Everlark adventures together discovering each other and building a relationship. And smut ;) Thank you thank you thank you!

Happiest of birthdays to you @appleblossomgirl0305! To celebrate, the incomparable @lvfics has crafted this wonderful morsel of Everlark, just for you. Enjoy!

Weekenders

Rating: M

It’s still light out when the doorbell rings. The sun sits low in the sky, warm orange light flows in from the large windows. Brought to her feet by the incessant ringing, Katniss opens the door to find Peeta standing in the hallway. His bright smile is overshadowed only by the greasy bag of cheese buns in his hands.

“You’re spoiling me,” Katniss says, stepping aside to invite him in.

“Get your own cheese buns,” he scoffs. “These are mine.”

She stares pointedly at him until he finally gives up the bag. With a laugh, Peeta kicks his shoes off and makes himself comfortable on the sofa. Katniss plops down next to him, biting into a steaming pastry.

“What’s on the agenda tonight?” she asks as he scrolls through the channels.

It’s become their ritual. Every weekend Peeta’s brothers invite everyone they know and trash the place with their round-the-clock party. Just the thought of it makes Katniss exhausted. So before the party hits full swing, Peeta makes his escape and spend the weekend with Katniss in her more modest studio. The whole thing started when she found him sleeping on a patio chair in the courtyard one Sunday morning and invited him in for breakfast. The following week he was at her door with a bag of cheese buns. Friends ever since.

“You need DVR,” Peeta says, landing on a cooking channel. “You’re living in the dark ages.”

“Nope,” Katniss says flatly. “Then you’ll never leave.”

He chuckles, nestling in deeper to the couch and pulls her legs into his lap. Aside from the cheese buns, foot massages are one of the better perks of Peeta’s visits. After he pulled every loose thread in her sofa, she traded her feet to satiate his restless hands.

“You’re good at that,” Katniss murmurs, stretching her arms above her head.

“You say that every time,” he retorts.

“And I always mean it,” she says with a smirk.

“Working this weekend?” he asks.

Katniss nods. Except for the standing appointment with Peeta on Saturday nights, it seems she’s always working. Unlike Peeta, whose family fortune allows him to pursue painting, her singing career is funded by late bartending shifts, dog walking and the occasional odd job. But she likes staying busy. It makes those evenings with Peeta even more special.

“I can sleep in tomorrow though,” she tells him. “My shift isn’t until five.”

“We could do breakfast,” he offers. “I’ll cook. You clean.”

“How about you cook,” she counters, “and clean? I’ll keep letting you crash here on the weekends.”

“It’s like you’re going to hold this over my head forever,” he says with defeat.

And she does. Every Saturday Peeta shows up like clockwork. They devour pizza or call for Chinese and stay up late into the night watching movies. And every time Katniss struggles to keep her eyes open, Peeta convinces her to crawl into bed, where the scent of hot coffee coaxes her awake in the morning. It’s the only constant in her life, at least until the weekend Peeta invites her over instead.

They’re lying on her bed, drifting in and out of sleep on a Sunday afternoon when he finally broaches the subject. Peeta’s fingers trace the floral embroidery of her bedsheets and a breeze flows in from the open window.

“So, next weekend,” he begins.

There’s a pause while he waits for her to acknowledge his words, wondering if she’s even fully awake. Keeping her eyes closed, Katniss inhales sharply worried he’s about to put an end to the only thing she looks forward to every week. She should have known it wouldn’t last forever. Eventually he had to make new friends, or more likely, meet a girl. Fearing the worst, she inhales deeply and opens her eyes to look at him.

“Yeah?” she murmurs.

“Well,” Peeta drags it out, “I was thinking we can hang out at my place instead.”

Katniss furrows her brow. He knows she’s useless at parties, especially the endless raves his brothers tend to throw. She shakes her head slowly until he cracks a smile.

“My brothers are going out of town. They got tickets to one of those rave things in the desert. I figure it’s about time I have you over to mine,” he quickly adds, “unless you want your space. I’ve already–”

“No,” she says with a smile. “That will be fun. A nice change of pace.”

“Good,” he says, sitting up, clearly pleased with him. “Twelve C. I’ll order pizza.”

Katniss nods eagerly. It dawns on her that after spending countless weekends together, she has never been to his apartment. Of course, having heard all of Peeta’s stories, the picture of beer-stained floors and trashed pack furniture never appealed to her.

So when Saturday night rolls around again, Katniss bounces nervously as the elevator whirs to life. Even though they do this every week, she can’t help but feel a little nervous going up to his place for the first time. She steps inside the lift car when the doors finally open and hits the top button. Her thin fingers brush through her hair before braiding and unbraiding her dark tresses once again. By the time the doors open, her hair is a limp mess and she takes a deep breath before setting foot in the elevator lobby. There are only four doors on the top floor and for the first time it occurs to her that Peeta lives in one of the penthouses. And then a chill runs down her spine when she rings the doorbell to 12C.

“Hey!” Peeta’s bright smile is infectious and any trepidation Katniss was feeling immediately melts away.

He welcomes her with open arms, bathing her in the familiar scent of his cologne, something with notes of cinnamon and dill. She murmurs a greeting that gets muffled by his broad chest, and lets herself sink into his warm embrace. But when they finally pull away, she takes in the grandeur of the top floor.

Peeta’s apartment features an open floor plan with floor to ceiling windows offering a panoramic view of the city below. It’s the perfect bachelor pad furnished in dark suede and wrought iron, nothing like the frat house she had anticipated. Her jaw drops in awe.

“You okay?” Peeta asks, picking up on her silence.

“You told me your brothers trash the place every weekend,” she reminds him. “This place is pristine.”

“We hire someone to clean once a month,” he explains. “She came yesterday.”

“Just in time,” Katniss says with a smirk.

Peeta chuckles, sliding onto a bar stool as she strolls through his abode. Her bag drops on the narrow table behind the sofa and she eyes the double doors leading to a master bedroom. Just the tiny peek at the room reveals it’s larger than her entire apartment. Peeta’s been holding out this whole time.

“You’re loaded,” she says finally.

“My brothers are,” he says, stifling a laugh. “I’m the artist, remember?”

“Whatever you say,” she replies, rolling her eyes. “I can’t believe we’ve been hiding out in my tiny studio this whole time when you live in a palace.”

“You hungry?” he offers, trying to drive the conversation away from any wealth his family might have.

“A little,” she says with a shrug.

Making herself at home, Katniss wanders into the open kitchen and takes a gander in the refrigerator. Aside from the beer and energy drinks, there isn’t much. She digs around, pulling out anything that hasn’t expired until a mix of fresh ingredients are sitting on the counter. Most of it consists of barbecue fare but she also manages to scrounge up some fresh herbs and a can of beef broth. Peeta watches in awe as she gets to work slicing, stirring and sauteing. Katniss quickly adjusts to his kitchen and finds her way around without hesitation. Soon the kitchen smells of savory onions and mushrooms.

“Hand me a beer?” she asks.

“Right,” he laughs. “I should have offered earlier.

He leaps to pop open a stout for her and hands it over. Katniss takes a swig, enjoying the cool brew, before she pours the rest out over the browned vegetables. She rarely drinks beer, and cooks with it even less but pickings are slim and with a little salt, it’s going to come out just fine.

“It always blows my mind the way you do that,” Peeta says, sipping a beer of his own.

“Do what?” Katniss asks.

“You can make a meal with practically anything,” he tells her. “I swear I looked in the fridge about a dozen times today and nothing looked appetizing. You have a gift.”

“You do too,” she counters encouragingly. “Those cheese buns and the homemade bagels. No one bakes like you do.”

“Yeah but I always buy everything in advance,” he replies. “I can’t just check the cupboard and throw something together.”

A smile creeps across her face at the compliment. Maybe Peeta views it as a talent but for her it’s a necessity. Growing up they always pinched pennies, she had to make do with scraps. Now her scraps are just a little less scrappy.

When she’s done, Katniss pours two bowls of stew, topping them with toasted bread and melty cheese. The aroma is intoxicating and Peeta is practically salivating over her latest recipe.

“Smells delicious,” he tells her.

“Thanks,” she replies. “You know, some cheese buns would go over really well with this.”

“I’m not making cheese buns,” he says. “You can’t make me. Those are for special occasions…and bribes.”

“Why do you torture me so?” she says, with added drama.

“Maybe tomorrow,” he offers. “For breakfast…if you stay that long.”

“If?” she asks.

“I don’t know,” he says with a shrug. “I’ve imposed on you enough, I figured you might want to sleep in your own place…without me invading your space.”

“Hey,” Katniss tells him, “it’s nice having you around. If I wanted to be alone, I would have stayed at my place tonight.” She pushes the dregs of her soup away and twists her hair back into a knot. “So, you gonna show me the rest of the place? Is there a screening room or a conservatory I missed?

“I’m never living this down, am I?” he asks sheepishly.

“Not one bit,” Katniss teases.

He finally obliges, pushing their empty dishes into the sink to deal with later. They kick the tour off with a couple of beers and he points out each of his brothers’ rooms before cautioning her that his own is a mess.

“It’s tiny and it puts your place to shame,” he warms, which only prompts Katniss to roll her eyes. “Just, no laughing please.”

“No laughing, I promise,” she assures him.

He takes her word for it and shows her up a narrow set of stairs that leads to the second floor. It’s not a bedroom but a loft with a partial wall that overlooks the great room below. His bed is set up in the corner and the other side of the room features an easel and shelves stocked full of paints. It’s minimalistic, not unlike the rest of the apartment, but she is very aware that he’s lacking in privacy. No wonder he’s been escaping to her place every weekend.

“It’s cozy,” she says looking around.

“Told ya,” he replies with a laugh, tipping back his beer. “Come on, I’ll show you my favorite place.”

He grabs a blanket from the linen closet and then opens the curtains, filling the room with light. It reveals a screen door that opens out to a terrace. The sunny patio has a grill, which explains everything in the fridge, a dining table and a plush daybed covered in pillows.

“It’s beautiful,” Katniss breathes.

They settle onto the sofa, curling up under the blanket as amber hues paint the sky. Katniss polishes off her beer and drops the empty bottle on the ground before sliding closer to lay her head on Peeta’s shoulder. He reciprocates by wrapping an arm around Katniss to pull her close as they look out at the city under the warm glow of sunset.

“This is nice,” she says softly.

“Glad you like it,” Peeta replies. “I always wanted to bring you up here but it gets a little crowded.”

“So what do your brothers do anyway?” she asks.

“They’re in real estate,” Peeta explains. “They specialize in throwing parties and call it ‘networking.’”

Katniss laughs at his use of air quotes and playfully smacks his arm. Peeta feigns offense and ruffles her hair. She squeals in defense and yanks the blanket before scooting away quickly.

“Oh! Hey now,” he protests.

She kicks her feet furiously to keep him at bay which works only briefly until he wraps his arms around her legs and pulls her beneath him. Katniss is out of breath from laughing so hard when he finally crawls back under the blanket with her, their faces so close she can feel his warm breath on her cheek. She rubs her eyes, wiping tears of joy away and when she looks up again, Peeta’s thumb is reaching for her nose.

“You have an eyelash,” he tells her. “Make a wish.”

Katniss closes her eyes and thinks hard about something she wants. Keeping it to herself, she finally blows the eyelash into the wind but is surprised to find Peeta’s hand still pressed to her face, lingering close to her in a way that’s foreign but not unwelcome. She feels her heart race, her skin tingle and a shiver runs down her back.”

“You’re freezing,” he says, pulling the blanket up to her shoulders.

“I’m okay,” she replies.

As darkness coats the city, Katniss dares to press her body closer to his for warmth and Peeta reciprocates, wrapping an arm around her waist until she’s flush against him. The wind picks up and Katniss subconsciously moves closer and closer, until their faces are hardly an inch apart. His hand still firmly on the small of her back and her arms tucked in the narrow space against his chest, her heart beats rapidly as she lets herself succumb to the magnetic force that draws them together.

Katniss wakes from the daze as Peeta’s lips meet hers, warming her from the inside. It’s so new and magical despite how comfortable she’s becomes with him. Slowly the kiss becomes something more as their limbs begin to wander, discovering themselves and each other in a new light. By the time they come up for air the blanket drags on the floor, barely covering their ankles.

“That was…” Katniss whispers.

“I’m sorry,” he pleads. “I shouldn’t have–”

Katniss shakes her head, looking up at Peeta with a smirk. Never good with words, she lets her kisses do the talking as she brings her lips to his once more. She takes her time now, committing everything to memory for fear he might come to his senses and send her home but Peeta is just as tentative. His fingers dance across her back, slowly inching to the hem of her blouse where he gently strokes the sliver of skin that peeks out. He follows her lead, trying to ignore the bulging eagerness in his shorts but it’s not long before Katniss notices it for herself.

“We should take this inside,” she whispers.

Her nimble hands graze his thigh, dangerously close to where he’s most sensitive. He fails to stifle an involuntary groan trying to disguise his impatience but he’s certain Katniss will be the end of him. He’s a goner.

“We don’t have to,” he assures her, despite how much he wants her to disagree.

“I want to,” Katniss breathes, “if you do.”

“You don’t think it’s moving too fast?” he asks.

“You’ve been staying at my place every weekend for a year,” she reminds him. “We have a lot of catching up to do.”

Peeta laughs, planting one on her again before he scoops her up back inside. In between kisses they stumble in the darkness, knocking against the furniture until they make it to the bed where Katniss lands on top of him in a fit of giggles.

“You’re cute when you laugh,” Peeta says, pulling her close.

“Yeah,” she retorts, “well, you’re cute.”

The absurdity of it is lost on them both as they dive under the covers in a tangle of limbs. His small bed forces them close together as clothes land on the floor. Katniss loves the feel of his skin beneath her palm as she runs her hands along his broad frame. She indulges his soft kisses against her bare breasts and the way he teases below her waist until she can’t stand it anymore.

“Do you have a condom?” she asks, surprising even herself with her candor.

“Uh….yeah, one sec,” he says, hopping out of bed. He dashes across the room, ducking into the bathroom, and emerges with a thin, silver packet. “So, I’ll just…uh….”

“Yeah,” Katniss nods, suddenly feeling the first hint of her inhibitions creep up. She wonders why he has a stash of condoms handy and if he’s using them with other girls. But thankfully Peeta distracts her rambling mind as he settles onto the bed with her again.

“You’re sure about this?” he asks.

“You talk too much,” Katniss says, quieting him with a kiss.

Peeta murmurs something against her lips as they tumble back onto the bed. Her skin tingles as his hands search her body, desperate to feel every inch of her. Her body writhes in response to his touch and she winces as he finally slides into her.

And just like that, the innocent boy who crashed on her couch fades away, replaced by a man who wants nothing more than to bring Katniss pleasure. Which he does, much to her satisfaction, and then she wonders why they waited so long to do this, how much time they wasted. She doesn’t consider the awkward conversation they might have in the morning or the possibility that anyone might walk in on them until. That is, until the door opens, sending a loud creaking sound through the entire apartment.

“Fuck!” Peeta utters, scrambling to cover them both.

“We’re home!” an amused voice says.

“They’re back early,” Peeta tells Katniss. “Shit, I’m so sorry.”

“My place next week?” Katniss offers with a smile.

“I’ll bring cheese buns,” he promises.

With that, he lays a sweet kiss on her lips and she curls her body around his, wishing they had just a little more time before the interruption. But as her hands glide down Peeta’s bare chest, she decides a little wrench in their plan doesn’t have to ruin the fun.

#Everlark birthday drabbles #appleblossomgirl0305 #lvfics

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darknessandtentacles · 7 years

Text

Sun and Moon

Paul and Elias are soulmates. This is how they met.

Elias did not think that his soulmate would just stroll into his garden. He also did not think that their first meeting would scare the living daylights out of him. But here he was anyway, fallen onto his behind as a voice startled him out of the blue. No one was supposed to reach his home without him being alerted through the various magical barriers he had set up around it.

When he turned around he saw the most beautiful creature he had ever seen in his entire life. Small, delicate and graceful, the young man watched him with mismatched eyes, one green, one blue. He was holding on to his wooden staff, a twig of cherry blossoms behind one ear, blooming beautifully in his white hair.

“Who are you and how did you get here? No one’s supposed to get through my wards,” he blurted out in way of greeting.

“Well that depends what you’re warding against,” the man said, shrugging. “I’m Aasimar.”

“A- celestial?” Now that, he certainly hadn’t warded against. “An angel?”

He must look like a love struck fool. But that’s what he was, simple as that. It had happened to him before, that he had fallen quickly for someone, but usually that love could vanish as easily as it had come. Something now was different though. Something about this celestial was different.

“Only half.”

The man giggled then, a sound like silver bells on the wind, and Elias knew that from this moment on, this sound would be the one to lift his heart and make him the happiest he had ever been.

“My name, by the way, is Paul.”

“E-Elias,” he stammered, watching with wide eyes as Paul approached him, leaning down a little and holding out his hand. He took it, feeling how warm it was, how small and delicate, and let himself be pulled up. “I-I’m sorry I was just really startled. This has never happened before.”

“Sorry, I should have made my presence clear sooner,” Paul said, looking up at him now. He was much, much smaller than Elias, who suddenly felt clumsy compared to this lovely creature. “I was a little distracted by… your friends.”

Elias froze. This was the reason he warded against intruders. George, his skeleton that watched over the entrance to his garden and Finn, his skeletal wolf were clear signs that he was a necromancer. He had to hide that part of himself with most people, but Paul didn’t seem scared or worried, nor disgusted. He seemed… curious, even holding out his hand when Finn approached to inspect him.

“Is it okay to pet him?,” Paul asked.

“Er… yes, sure.”

He watched with wide eyes as Paul leaned down to pet his skeletal wolf, who, instead of growling and attacking just… let him. Finn was very protective of Elias, almost overly so, he had never seen him act this way. Something about Paul was very special, and Elias felt his knees going weak when Paul giggled and smiled at his companion.

“Who’s a good boy? You are,” Paul told Finn, gently rubbing over his head.

“Why aren’t you scared?,” Elias asked quietly, frowning. He had needed to hide who he was almost all of his life, there were very few people who knew fully what he was capable of. More than once he had been chased out of a town for being who he was. And now here was this random stranger who had somehow found his home, who accepted a walking, sniffing, growling skeleton.

“Do you mean me harm?,” Paul asked, straightened himself again, but he didn’t seem to be ready to defend himself. His body language was relaxed, open, curious.

“No, of course not.”

“Then why would I be scared?”

“Because of what I am!,” Elias blurted out. This man couldn’t seriously be this oblivious, he was clearly powerful, he was a celestial - even if partially. “It’s obvious, isn’t it?”

“I don’t judge people by what they were born with,” Paul said quietly, a seriousness suddenly about him. “You cannot chose this. You can only chose what you do with it. And from what I see you’re not harming anyone. To be honest… I was curious.”

“Curious? About me?”

“I felt the wards, and usually wards like that hide things that are important. I didn’t quite expect it to be a home,” that smile was back now, the knee melting smile. “I apologise for intruding like this but now… now I am so curious. I would like to chat for a bit, if you’re in the mood.”

“Okay!,” Elias blurted out far too soon for his own liking. But he almost didn’t care that he seemed desperate, he had so rarely been able to talk to someone as an equal, someone who just wanted to get to know him despite what he was. “I er… I have tea.”

“I love tea,” Paul replied, his smile somehow turning even more beautiful.

Elias led the way, motioning for Paul to follow him who seemed to frown a little at the desolate state of his garden. His cottage had a picket fence around it because Elias liked the look of it, but he hadn’t really taken care of the garden that he had started inside the perimeter of the fence many years ago. It was just easier to go out and buy whatever he needed, or go into the forest to hunt or gather mushrooms. He had never quite figured out how to make things grow, and figured that it just wasn’t in his being to be able to nurture.

“Oooh your home is so lovely,” Paul blurted out when he led him inside, looking around curiously.

His home consisted of one large room, to the right was his kitchen with various herbs drying from the ceiling, to the far left was his big bed covered in a quilt he had made himself. Left of the entrance, around a small corner was a small tiled area with a brass bathtub, a room separator offering some privacy. Right in the middle was a large work table, or dinner table, depending on Elias’ mood, and at the very back of it was his study, high bookshelves going all the way up to the ceiling, a large, dark desk giving him space to do his research.

Paul seemed to take it all in curiously, wandering around the table in the middle of the cottage, his hand brushing over it. Suddenly he felt very nervous, he had never had a guest in here before, aside from Iraneth, his friend and sometimes lover. This person was new, and he was already so smitten with him he just couldn’t help it. He knew he should take his travel cloak, should tell him that he could put his staff aside and invite him to sit but he felt so nervous that he instead just busied himself making the tea. He spilled half of it, and decided to watch the water until it boiled. Paul didn’t bother him, he was patiently sitting at the large table, still smiling that beautiful smile when Elias served him his tea.

He had taken off his travel cloak and put it on the chair that he was sitting on, now he was holding the mug with both hands, inhaling deeply.

“Oh this smells lovely.” Paul hummed after taking a first sip. “Hmm, so good after a long hike.”

“How long have you been walking for?,” Elias asked, cursing himself inwardly for the lame question.

“Hmm, three days I think. It’s really good to finally sit.”

“Wait… three days straight? That’s impossible.”

Paul seemed sad suddenly, gently setting down the mug but still holding on to it. A few moments ticked by, and with each Paul seemed to age a little, to look more tired, worn out. Some of the glow that had been about him vanished, and Elias started to feel something inside him. A darkness, a deep corruption unlike anything he had felt before. How was that possible? How could a celestial have that kind of darkness in him, that kind of malice that was powerful enough to corrupt the very earth beneath them?

“You can sense it, don’t you?,” Paul asked, unable to look at him.

“What is it? A curse?” Elias had felt similar things, it was his job to exorcise, cleanse, take the darkness and make it something bearable. But nothing he had ever seen had been this strong.

Paul nodded, and when he looked at him now there was a deep sadness in his eyes.

“I’ve never told anyone this, but I’ve invaded your home and taken your secret, it’s only fair I give you mine,” he said, taking a deep breath. “I was born with a curse. From what I was able to piece together, my father took a human wife instead of being with who he was promised to. So in turn, she cursed me. My… my mother couldn’t handle it and set me out in the woods, I was endangering everyone around me. If I stay in one place too long, everything… everything corrupts, starts to rot…”

“Who could have done something so powerful?,” Elias leaned closer, unable to stay away. He wanted to reach out and cover Paul’s hand with his own, but he was too shy to take that step just yet. They were still strangers… somehow.

“A goddess. Shah.”

Elias froze. He had lifted many curses in his life, but one created by a goddess? He didn’t know if it was possible at all without a wish.

“Shah,” he echoed, watched as Paul seemed to become even smaller. “I’m so sorry.”

A small shrug, and Paul took another sip of his tea.

“I have lived with it all my life. Whenever I start to feel it acting up, I just keep moving.” He looked at Elias once more, smiling gently, some of that glow returning to him. “I’ve gotten used to it, and all I can do is make the best of it.”

“That… That’s incredible,” Elias blurted out.

“What else can I do?,” Paul asked with another smile and a shrug.

“I know plenty of people that would give up, become bitter, stay in one place and let everyone else deal with the consequences. I think you’re very brave,” Elias said.

“That’s really sweet of you.”

They looked into each other’s eyes for a while, and something settled between them. An understanding. As different as they were, in appearance, in terms of their magic, there was yet something between them that was the same. And suddenly Elias felt closer to Paul than he had to anyone else, a bond that felt so much deeper than anything he had ever experienced. He had just met him - how could that be?

And in that moment, Elias believed in soulmates.

“Tell me more about you,” Paul said softly, inching a little closer and sliding his hand over the table until he covered Elias’. “Tell me about the friends you made, tell me why you’re hiding here.”

“I’m not hiding I- I’m only hiding a little bit,” Elias admitted.

As nervous as he had been in the beginning, now he found that it was incredibly easy to talk to Paul. He didn’t have to lie, to hold back or worry that anything he told him would be taken the wrong way, or chase him off. They were equals, they understood each other.

So he told Paul an abridged version of his story. He told him how his city fell, and how he was taken in by a friend who took care of him when he was young. He told him how Iraneth continued his mother’s education, taught him how to survive, how to fight and how to use his magic. That was when he learned that he couldn’t be himself everywhere in the world, but he did not tell Paul that he suspected it was his innate magic that led to his city’s fall. Some things he would have to save for later meetings, if there would be any. Elias continued to explain that he found his calling in being a wandering adventurer, earning coin in helping people with their dark problems. Due to the nature of his work, he wasn’t exactly liked, but he was necessary. To hide from these looks, these stares he sometimes got when people were close to figuring out what he was, he built this home, this sanctuary. Here he was free to pursue his magic, to create spells, to learn more about his own abilities. Here was where he had first created George, the skeleton he had found deep within the woods. He used to be an adventurer, but was ambushed and killed. His soul didn’t mind coming back, there was peace in this existence for him, guarding this place and living in the stillness of the woods.

“You can talk to them?,” Paul asked, eyes wide with curiosity.

“Yes, sometimes. In different ways. It depends.”

“That’s incredible! I can’t do anything like that.”

“What can you do?,” Elias asked, now curious too.

“Come, let’s go outside.” Paul took his hand, leading him outside eagerly and leaving his knees weak once more.

There, out in the garden, when Paul showed him his magic, Elias’ feelings only deepened. He could create beautiful flowers from nothing, could make the one flower he had outside his window bloom in an instant although he had neglected it for far too long. Paul was one with nature, there was a balance in him as he worked his magic, his very being was life, light, and beauty. The longer Elias watched this display of wonderfulness, the more it settled in how deeply Paul was affected by his curse. It worked against his very core, against his soul, and he had to fight it every day of his life. Elias believed that there was no stronger person in this world, Paul’s inner fight was constant, and it was harder than anything most people would experience in their lives.

Time passed quickly as they got to know each other, showing each other what they could do. Before Elias knew it, the sun was setting and he found himself inviting Paul to stay.

“Take the bed, please. I’ll sleep on the floor,” Elias insisted, taking a few pillows and blankets to make himself a nest on the floor. He had learned from the best after all. But Paul took his hands and stopped him.

“This isn’t necessary, I will take the floor. I have slept in many curious places, this will actually be a nice change,” he said.

“No, no, you’re my guest, I insist.”

“As do I.” They stared at each other for a moment, both grinning. “You do have a large bed. I promise I would keep my hands to myself if we share it.”

Elias didn’t yet have the courage to tell him that he really wouldn’t mind if Paul didn’t keep his hands to himself. Sharing a bed seemed oddly intimate after just one day of getting to know each other, and yet the connection between them couldn’t be denied. He found himself agreeing, and the next thing he knew they were lying side by side.

“What about your curse?,” Elias asked in the darkness, only the moon and the stars shedding a little bit of light through the window. “You’ll be able to stay? For a little while?”

“It’s not an exact science,” Paul replied quietly. “I get… I get this feeling, this itch, when it starts up again. Then I know I have to move or bad things will happen. It’s stopped, for the moment.”

“It’s not fair,” he said, seeing the sadness in Paul’s eyes again. The thought had probably gone through his head many times before. “You weren’t responsible for what your father did. You shouldn’t be punished for it.”

“I suppose it was more cruel this way.”

The smile on Paul’s face was brittle, but only for a moment. Then it seemed real again. Elias couldn’t shake how impressed he was, that Paul kept going like this. With a smile. Seemingly always with a smile.

“May I hug you?,” Elias blurted out, the urge within him so strong.

“I don’t need pity,” Paul said, his lips pressed into a thin line.

“I don’t pity you. I want to comfort you.”

A pause.

“Okay.”

Elias slowly reached out for him, watched Paul inch closer as he pulled him into a hug at the same time. His small body now pressed against his, he felt the warmth seep through his body, his scent enveloping him. A scent of nature, of the woods clung to him, making him feel peaceful, at home. Elias squeezed him softly, relieved when Paul sighed contentedly in his arms. All he wanted to do was comfort him. Now. Forever.

How could he fall in love this quickly, this deeply? Did Paul cast a spell on him?

Paul’s breathing evened out, telling him that he had fallen asleep in his arms. If it was true what he said, and Elias didn’t doubt it, and he hadn’t stopped for three days it was no surprise he was out this quickly. He just kept holding him through the night, eventually falling asleep himself. In the morning there was surprisingly little awkwardness between them. They were almost strangers, who had cuddled during their first night together, and yet it was just… normal.

But Elias noticed that his guest winced when he stood, and he gently pushed him back onto the bed, inspecting his feet. Which were almost raw, definite proof that Paul hadn’t been lying about the amount of time he had been walking.

“I’m not very good at this,” Elias said, gently holding the delicate ankle. “But let me at least clean this.”

“It’s okay, I can heal in a little while, I just have to rest for a bit.”

Nevertheless Paul let Elias clean his feet, who was very careful not to hurt him further, and still Paul just smiled, thanking him in the end for the effort. Elias bandaged his feet so they would stay as clean as possible, before promising him breakfast. Sitting together with him quickly felt like being together with an old friend. It was so easy to talk to Paul, knowing he didn’t have to hide anything from him, and offering the same in return.

Two days of Paul staying turned into a week, then two, neither once questioning this arrangement. But when it came time for Paul to leave, something tugged at his heart. There was so much he still wanted to learn about Paul, he wanted to hold him again at night, take care of him and be his friend. But he also wanted to kiss him, those lips beckoning him every day he was still here in his cottage. They seemed to have a slight pink shine to them, or maybe Elias was so lovesick that he imagined it, either way he had to hold back when Paul was standing in front of him in full armour, ready to depart again.

“I’m glad I wandered into your home,” Paul said, stepping closer to him. He had to look up at Elias, who wanted to reach out, touch, kiss, hold, so badly. “Thank you for being such a wonderful host.”

“I’m glad too,” Elias whispered, his heart beating rapidly. “Will you- Can you- Come back?”

“It would be a while.” His grip on his wooden staff tightened, and it almost seemed as if he were about to lean closer. “It can take months, or even years before I can go back anywhere. I’m… I’m really sorry.”

“It’s nothing to apologise for. I’ll be here. Whenever you can come back, I’ll be here.”

Paul’s staff clattered to the ground as he suddenly moved forward to hug Elias as tightly as he could. Startled at first, Elias returned the hug, leaning in, holding his friend and pressing his cheek to the top of his head. He would miss how he felt, how his scent felt so much more like home than this cottage ever had. He would miss his company, his laughter, those mismatched eyes. But he would wait, he would see him again.

They were both reluctant to pull away, but Paul had to, in the end. He stood on tiptoe to press a soft kiss to Elias’ cheek, smiling that brilliant smile before he picked up his staff.

“Until next time,” Paul said.

“Until next time.”

Watching Paul walk away was hard, his soul screaming at him to follow, to do something so he would stay. His thoughts were mostly occupied by Paul after that, for weeks, months, he spent his time thinking of him, missing him. Then telling himself that he wasn’t in love, couldn’t be in love after such a short time, after that finding himself telling Iraneth everything about Paul. His friend called him an idiot, told him he was a lovesick fool and that it was wonderful to see him like this.

When he had been younger he couldn’t have imagine being with anyone but Iraneth. He trusted him with his life, loved him deeply, but their relationship had always been unique. When he had lost everything Iraneth had taken him in and raised him, taught him the ways of the world. They had been together intimately often, when Elias had grown into a young man but Iraneth had always made it clear that he ultimately wanted him with someone else. He loved him, but they were elf and dragon after all, and being with someone like him would bring him more happiness than trying to please a dragon. Who would outlive him, even though Elias’ life was much longer than that of a human.

With Paul he seemed to have found the perfect match.

But he was getting ahead of himself, he didn’t even know if Paul felt the same way about him, maybe he wouldn’t ever come back. Maybe being with him for a few weeks had been enough, a nice encounter he could fondly remember. He had almost convinced himself that he was waiting around for something that would never happen, when he heard a knock on his front door.

A few months had passed, and now once more someone had gotten past his wards. Elias hadn’t strengthened them, now rushed to the door with his heart in his throat.

“I hope I’m not intruding,” Paul said, clinging to his staff as he always did, smiling shyly up at Elias.

“You’re not!,” Elias blurted out, pulling that small body close to him and hugging him tightly.

“Oh I missed this,” Paul’s voice was just a small whisper, a soft sigh escaping his lips. “You give the best hugs.”

“There are many more where that came from,” he said with a big smile, unable to hold back.

Elias was so happy to see him again that he didn’t even realise Paul was leaning in until he felt his lips on his own, small hands clinging to the front of his shirt to keep himself steady on tiptoe. It took a moment to sink in, then alarm bells went off in his head. Paul was kissing him! And he wasn’t kissing him back! He brought himself back to reality, promptly grasped Paul’s waist and lifted him to kiss him back properly, making it easier on him since he was so much smaller. Delicate, graceful arms came to wrap around his neck, once more Paul’s staff clattered to the ground as they deepened their kiss.

“Oh wow,” Paul breathed against his lips, looking down to where he was holding him up effortlessly. “You’re really strong aren’t you…”

“I work out,” Elias said awkwardly, mesmerised by those lovely lips that he had dreamed about so many nights.

Paul giggled at that, the sweet, lovely giggle that made his knees oh so weak. Still holding him, he carried Paul inside, setting him down gently on the big table inside, then went back to get the staff and put it in the corner. He returned to Paul, sliding the travel cloak off his shoulders, placing it by the staff’s side. Some parts of Paul’s armour followed, a sigh of relief escaping his lips when that weight left his body. Paul’s small hands cupped his cheeks, pulled him down into another kiss.

Their kisses turned deeper, and deeper, and deeper, but they never went further than that. Not yet anyway. For now Elias was more than happy to just kiss Paul, to explore him, find their rhythm together. He tasted sweeter than he could have ever imagined, tasted actually somewhat sweet. Maybe it was the celestial blood in him, maybe Elias was just too deeply in love already.

“I wanted to do that months ago,” Elias admitted, breathing heavily when they had to pull away for air. “I thought- Two weeks, that was nothing but gods, I feel so connected to you, I’ve never felt anything like it.”

“Me neither,” Paul quickly admitted, licking over his lips, reddened from kissing. “I avoided this. I was afraid of connecting with someone when I have to leave anyway, because I always do. But I couldn’t stop thinking about you, you were always on my mind. And then as soon as I could, I found myself back here.”

“I’m so glad you did.” Elias hugged him close suddenly, yearning to feel his body pressed close to his own.

Paul clung to the back of his shirt, returning his hug just as eagerly. They stayed like that for a while, just basking in each other’s presence. He would enjoy every second of it to the fullest, he owed themselves that much. Who knew when Paul had to leave again, maybe in a week, maybe a day from then. Maybe he would go with him this time.

“When’s the last time you rested?,” Elias asked, gently cupping Paul’s cheek.

“It’s been a while,” he admitted with a sheepish smile.

“Come, I’ll draw you a nice hot bath.”

“Only if you’ll join me.” Paul’s grin turned into something else, something a lot more confident and cheeky.

“Oh, I- I-,” Elias stammered, suddenly nervous.

His libido had always been… odd. He didn’t quite understand why it worked the way it did, but he had never been able to sleep with a stranger. Not that Paul was one, but they did only know each other for a few weeks. Mostly he was afraid that he couldn’t please Paul the way he deserved, that maybe this time it wasn’t going to work. Paul’s unspoken proposal had taken him by surprise, he wasn’t sure if he could… perform.

“You don’t have to, sweetness,” Paul ripped him from his thoughts. “We can just bathe, or take turns, I won’t be mad.”

“I- I do want to be close,” he admitted. “But I don’t know… I think I might need more time for… that.”

“Of course!” He hugged him again, gentle hands rubbing over his back. “Please don’t ever think you can’t tell me these things. It’s quick, I understand. I would like to be close to you, touch you. Is that okay?”

“Y-yes, yes of course!”

They were unwilling to let go of each other just yet, instead holding each other like this for a while longer before Elias set up the bath. The tub itself was large enough to fit them both easily, and they ended up cuddling in the hot water, Paul’s back pressed to his broad chest. He was so soft and warm, so beautiful, Elias had a hard time not staring at him. But he was told that he could, that he could take him all in for as long as he wanted. Still, he felt shy about it, especially when Paul stripped in front of him, so sweet and delicate, so pretty everywhere.

He thought he had seen a slight change in the way Paul looked at him when he himself stripped, a sort of lust, a hunger in his eyes. But it was gone as quickly as it had appeared, and Paul was as sweet as he had been before.

“Thank you for not pushing,” Elias said quietly as they were cuddling in the tub, their fingers intertwined. “I’m a little… weird when it comes to sex, I think. I want to just… later.”

“That’s nothing to thank me for,” Paul turned to look at him and kiss his cheek. “That’s just me being a decent person.”

“Everyone seems to just do it… a lot. I never got that,” he admitted, regretting it immediately. He hadn’t wanted to confess all that immediately.

“Well, it’s fun. But it’s different for everyone. I’m just glad I can stay with you for a while,” Paul sighed happily. “Sex or not, that doesn’t matter. This matters. Feeling close to you.”

Elias wanted to say “I love you” right then and there. But how could he refuse sex and say these words? People always seemed to equate the one with the other, except Paul almost made it seem like that wasn’t the case. Perhaps he was overthinking it all, but the fact stood that they didn’t really know each other, not yet.

But then Paul turned around to face him, and he knew that wasn’t true. There was a bond between them, a deep bond.

“You’re stunning, Elias,” Paul told him, reaching out to brush through his hair with wet fingers. “Ohhh, so soft.”

He had to giggle at that, doing the same with Paul’s hair and feeling the silky strands between his fingers. He had taken off the copper circlet he usually wore, and the twig of cherry blossoms behind his ear. They were both bare before each other, and gently started exploring. Their touches were gentle and innocent, despite touching intimate places. Elias wanted to memorise every line and every curve, wanted to be able to remember Paul when he was gone again.

As he touched him he could feel again the darkness, the corruption inside him, fighting constantly with the light of his soul.

“I might be able to remove it,” Elias blurted out, Paul’s eyes going wide.

“You can do that?”

“I… I can try. I’ve felt curses like this before, nothing that strong though. I don’t know if I’m strong enough, but if you want to, I can try.”

“Yes!,” Paul said, inching closer, then straddling him. “Anything. I will try it.”

They quickly finished up in the bath, Elias dressing in loose cotton pants, Paul borrowing a white button up shirt from Elias that went over his butt. He told Paul to lie on his bed as he prepared some things that would help with the ritual, that would amplify his magic. He lit dark red and black candles, infused with herbs to help Paul relax, to help him focus. He sat by Paul’s side, unbuttoning the shirt so his chest was bare once more, took a salve he had prepared for occasions such as these to spread it on his chest. It was a deep red due to the blood that was used in it, but Paul didn’t flinch back when Elias started to paint runes and patterns on his chest. As he did the salve lit up brighter, taking in his magic, his essence.

“Oh, oh it… it’s doing something,” Paul gasped.

“It’s all right, I’m here,” he reassured him. “This is normal.”

“I’ve never felt magic like this.”

“I… I look a little strange when I use mine,” Elias admitted. “Don’t be scared, please.”

“I won’t. I could never be scared when I’m with you.” Paul’s smile was so sweet… He was covered in animal blood and yet he was smiling, trusting him completely.

Elias leaned down to kiss him again, as he pulled back he let his magic seep through his hands into Paul’s chest. He saw his own veins turn black, the tips of his fingers turning the same colour. He knew that now his eyes fogged over with a deep dark liquid, making him look scary to everyone but Paul. He gasped softly, but didn’t flinch for one second.

Muttering incantations Elias now truly worked his magic, reaching deep into Paul to grasp the corruption and darkness that was inside him. It had latched onto his soul, dug its claws into it and was unwilling to let go. Elias understood, in a way. Paul’s light was beautiful, and to certain kinds of creatures it would be addictive. But he wasn’t going to give up, he curled around the darkness with his magic, let his own deep blue light wrap around it, and started to pull.

Paul gasped at first, his gasps turning into whimpers of pain and Elias wanted to stop immediately, but Paul shook his head.

“No, no keep going, I can take it,” he said, fingers curling in the sheets. “Don’t stop!”

He nodded in answer, unable to stop his incantation. So instead he reached deeper, curled tighter around the darkness, pulled harder, harder, harder. He had to take this from Paul, he had to make him whole again, to be able to let his light shine, to let it grow, seep into everything and everyone around him. As he pulled, so did the darkness, pulling on Paul’s soul, hurting it, ripping it.

Elias didn’t realise that it was too late then already. He was too focused on healing Paul that he didn’t see that he was hurting him too much, deep inside his core, his very being. Paul’s whimpers and screams of pain had stopped now, and when Elias looked into his eyes once more he saw the final breath leave his lips.

The world around him froze, as did he. The incantation stopped, his magic pulling out of him. The corruption had won. Paul was dead.

“No.”

It had turned quiet suddenly, quiet and dark. The candles had flickered out, the salve on Paul’s chest was dull and black, his skin even paler than before. The light had vanished from his mismatched eyes, now staring vacantly at the ceiling.

“No!” Elias couldn’t think. He had killed Paul, he had killed his soulmate in a desperate attempt at healing him. He should have known, he should have pulled back when it didn’t work, he should have been more aware of his own powers. He didn’t realise he was crying until his tears fell on Paul’s unmoving chest. “No, no, no, no, I can’t do this I can’t get you back! This isn’t how my powers work, you have to come back to me, please, please, please!”

His hands moved with his panic, something deep inside remembering that there were other things than magic that could help. Because the only thing he was able to do was bring him back as a puppet, all the love, all the life gone from his undead body. He could never do that to him. So he found where Paul’s heart would be, and started to push, trying to get his heart to start again. He went through the motions, counting, leaning down to breathe into his lungs, then repeat. Again. Again. And again.

Paul’s body was only moving because Elias was on top of him, trying to get him back. He was still staring blankly ahead, his lips slightly blue instead of their usual pink tinge.

“Please, Paul, I love you please come back to me,” Elias begged, his voice almost breaking at the end of it.

A terrible, sinking feeling settled in him. That he wouldn’t be able to do this, that all his efforts were for nothing. That he had met his one true love and killed him a short while after. But between blue lips Paul suddenly took in a shaky breath, and Elias immediately pulled away. There were bruises now on Paul’s chest, and he would regret leaving them there later, now he was too busy clutching the love of his life, crying on his shoulder with the sheer relief of having him back.

“Wha… what happened?,” Paul’s voice was barely more than a whisper, his skin still so pale, although some of the light had returned to his eyes. “Why are you crying?”

“I killed you,” Elias blurted out. “You weren’t breathing, you heart stopped, I pushed you too hard I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry I never meant to do this I’m so sorry.”

He repeated himself over and over again, crying bitterly until he felt a careful touch on his cheek, a shaky hand coming to rest on it.

“But you brought me back,” Paul whispered. “You tried. I’m still here. It’s okay, love, it’s okay…”

Elias couldn’t believe that he would simply be forgiven like this, after what he had done. Iraneth had taught him to control his powers, to use them for good and yet the darkness in him had taken over and taken a life, even if it had been temporarily. Never again, never again.

It seemed he was in deeper shock than Paul himself was, who had to tell Elias to lie down and cover them up.

Elias didn’t sleep for one second that night. And neither did he let go of Paul, whose breathing was shallow and weak, he was still afraid it might stop at any moment. Whenever he looked down at him he saw how weak and frail he looked, as if he were still on the brink of death. Bruises now formed where he had pushed down on his chest to start his heart again, bruises he had caused. After he had killed him.

How could he have ever let this happen? He had trained to control his powers from the moment he was born, how could he have hurt someone he loved like this?

Was he just meant to succumb to his own darkness after all?

Elias ended up staring at the wall, unable to fall asleep, caught in his own thoughts. Until a small, gentle hand came to rest on his cheek, ripping him from the void he had maneuvered himself into.

“You look so scared,” Paul said quietly.

Some colour had returned to his skin, along with the bruises, the pink shine was back in his lips. But still he seemed even smaller than before, weaker.

“I am. I killed you I- I thought I had this under control.”

“You did what I asked you to do,” he reassured him again. “I should have told you to stop. I knew it was going to happen but I- I was so desperate to get rid of it I thought if I just held out a little longer… I’m sorry I had to put you through that.”

“Why are you apologising to me?,” Elias asked. “You didn’t hurt me.”

“Because I- I…” Tears started to well up in his eyes, his small form shaking so that Elias pulled another blanket over them both. “Sometimes I wonder if it wouldn’t be better to just… seize to exist.”

Elias froze. Paul wouldn’t ask him to- would he?

“It’s so hard sometimes,” Paul continued, staring up at Elias. “And I think that I just want to give up. But then I see the beauty in this world, I meet someone like you and I know… I know that it’s worth trying. I know it’s worth going through the pain to experience this, everything… I just thought that maybe there was a chance to have it all somehow.”

“There has to be!,” Elias said, taking his hands and kissing the knuckles. “I’ll try, I’ll find out how to get rid of it, I promise. You don’t have to go through this alone anymore.”

“I love you too, Elias,” Paul said, suddenly kissing him, Elias so startled by this confession he was unable to kiss him back. “I heard you say it. And I do too…”

“You- You did- You do? I thought- after such a short time… That it was silly.”

“There is something here…” Paul pressed a hand to his chest, then moved it to Elias’ and let it rest there. “Something rare and wonderful. I don’t care if I know you for two weeks or two centuries. I love you.”

It seemed Elias had found someone who shared his tendency to have cheesy thoughts, to be a complete and hopeless romantic. But that was exactly what it felt like. This was something special and he wanted to preserve it no matter what.

Both of them were exhausted from the events the night before. Elias because he hadn’t slept, Paul because the life had left his body for a short while. He still felt guilty, and he would always remain that way, despite Paul’s constant reassurances that he hadn’t been at fault, that he forgave him. Either way they stayed in bed that day, Elias taking care of his boyfriend, making sure he ate and drank properly, and supplied him with healing potions he had bought long ago.

Still it took Paul a few days to be able to get on his feet again, but when he did he was eager to stretch his legs. More often his gaze now wandered to the desolate garden in front of Elias’ cottage, and he could tell how unhappy he was with it. He didn’t have to wait long for Paul to insist they do something about it, walking outside into the midday sun, barefoot, to stand next to George.

“What do you think, my friend?,” he asked him, as if he were able to reply. “We should make this prettier, shouldn’t we?”

With a wave of his hand a beautiful pale blue flower started to sprout in George’s ribcage, travelling up and through it to bloom on his collarbone. Oddly enough Elias could swear that he was happy about it, though all the skeleton did was tilt its head.

“Sweetness, I told you that’s not how my magic works,” Elias said, staying far away from that beautiful flower lest he sap it’s life too.

“Sweetness,” Paul emphasised the word as if he were scolding him. “You don’t need magic to make things grow, to nurture. All you need are some seeds, some water and some love. And I know you have plenty of that.”

He giggled as he stood on tiptoe to kiss him, grinning widely as he took Elias’ hand to lead him to a patch of dirt to the left of his entrance. There they first started on ripping out all the weeds that had spread there, placing them in a neat pile for eventual further use. Paul then sent him to gather seeds he had in his backpack, a trowel and a watering can Elias still had at the back of his small shed, covered in dust. He guided his hands, showing him how to make small holes, explaining that different seeds needed to be deeper or more shallow in the ground. They had to make sure they were sufficiently far apart, that the dirt wasn’t pressed too closely together.

They were covered in dirt after planting their first row of seeds, but Elias didn’t mind one bit. He was too focused on letting Paul guide his hands, being so gentle to him, to the seeds, as if he were handling a newborn baby.

Suddenly Elias had to think about just that, Paul with a small baby in his arms, nurturing, guiding, loving. He was fully aware that he was getting too far ahead of himself, already imagining a family with him. But somehow the image was… perfect.

“What are you thinking about?,” Paul asked, wiping some dirt off his cheek, but probably just adding more judging by the giggle he let out after. “Whoops, sorry.”

“Just… thinking how beautiful you are,” Elias lied, a little white lie as to not pressure Paul, who surely wasn’t thinking about a family with the curse still in his body.

“Oh you…”

Paul’s smile widened just before he jumped him, pressing Elias into the dirt and kissing him, both of them giggling as they started to roll around, battling for fake dominance in this little fight. Elias let Paul win of course, feeling a happiness, a warmth in him when Paul lifted his hands in the air in triumph.

“Haha, I have bested you oh mighty wizard!,” he exclaimed, still laughing. “Now you are mine!”

“Oh.”

Just days ago he had tried to explain to Paul how sex usually wasn’t in his priorities. Now he felt his slim waist under his big hands, tightening his grip slightly, his perfectly shaped ass on his crotch. Now his thoughts turned from innocent into dirty. Suddenly he desired Paul like he hadn’t desired anyone since Iraneth.

“Elias…?,” Paul trailed off, his hands sinking down again as he tilted his head in confusion. “What is-”

Elias silenced him with a deep kiss, his arms wrapping around that slim waist to pull him closer. Paul was merely surprised for a moment, then he returned the kiss eagerly, neither of them minding that they were still outside in the dirt. His fingers curled in Elias’ hair, pulling slightly but not enough to hurt him.

“IwantyounowPaulisthatokay,” he blurted out, unable to hold back his excitement, although Paul was surely able to already feel it.

“Oh yes, gods yes that’s more than okay,” Paul replied, pushing him down and kissing him again, just as Elias took his hands, both their hands, cleaning them up with a little bit of magic.

He was not above using it to speed this up, not at all.

Paul had a good grip on him though, not letting him sit up as he ground his ass against his crotch, and slowly Elias could feel wetness soaking his cotton pants. He had been with humans before, they had needed artificial lube but it seemed that Aasimar, half celestials had more in common with dragons than they had with humans. It only meant Elias didn’t have to stop kissing him, stop touching him everywhere, quickly realising Paul wasn’t wearing anything underneath the button up shirt he had borrowed from Elias.

His hands frantically explored his lovely back, taking in how amazing his skin felt, how the little bit of softness on his hips and ass gave him something to squeeze. Paul then sat up slightly, still kissing him, fumbling to get his pants off, and similar to Elias’ first time, something he would never forget, he simply sank down on him, taking him all in.

“Gods you feel incredible,” Elias moaned, unable to close his eyes lest he miss one second of looking at that beauty on top of him.

As needy as he was, as amazing as the pleasure was, running through his body, this felt like so much more than making love. This act deepened the bond they had already formed, this act made their souls connect and Elias could feel how warm it was. The light of Paul shone so brightly, despite the corruption in him. He was death, and Paul was life. Together, they were one.

Paul collapsed on top of him when they had found their release together, both still lying in the dirt outside, the warm summer sun warming their skin. A little out of breath, he let his hands wander up and down Paul’s back, fingertips dancing over his skin. Somewhere along the line he had lost his tunic, discarded by their side. All Elias could think about was how happy he felt at that moment, and how much he wanted Paul… again. Thankfully he was more than happy to indulge him either way, being with him when he wanted it, and content to cuddle when he didn’t. Somehow it was so easy.

Even leaving was easy when Paul’s curse forced him to go. His home was protected, Finn and George could take care of themselves if it came down to it, there was nothing holding him back. So they travelled together, walking side by side talking about anything and everything. Paul knew so many placed, and somehow had to keep track of where he had been in the past, and how long ago. Sometimes he would feel if the curse took effect, and he could avoid going into that direction, but that wasn’t always the case and once more Elias was impressed by how easily he seemed to take it all in every day life. After confessing the thoughts he had a few weeks ago, Paul never mentioned again that he wanted to die, and Elias believed when he said that the beauty of this world kept him here.

Paul would kneel down by the side of the road to admire a particularly beautiful flower, would go out of his way to take care of a wounded animal, his magic easily helping him treat the wound. He took time out of his day to chat with the elderly lady of the next town, who seemed lonely and without a family. It was the little things Paul did that made the lives of the people around him a little bit better, and he never asked for something in return. Most times he didn’t even tell them his name.

They travelled together for months, until Elias’ funds ran out and a village gave him the opportunity for a lucrative job. But Paul couldn’t stay, he had to keep going, and the thought of seeing him walk away tugged at his heart. He knew that there was no fighting it though, and he knew that as soon as Paul could, he would come visit him again. And until then he would have earned enough money to find a way to let them communicate while they were separated, and while he was on the road he would try to find a way to cure his love. There had to be a way.

“My sun,” he whispered, holding Paul’s hands, his forehead pressed to his own.

“My moon,” Paul mirrored, neither caring how sickeningly in love they sounded.

It was true, after all.

“Until we meet again.” Elias reluctantly let go of Paul’s hands, turning away when he did too.

He didn’t want to watch him walk away. All he wanted to watch was Paul running into his arms. Soon enough, he would.

#paul evans #elias vanos #otp:sun and moon #fic #fic:paul evans #fic:elias vanos

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ratmonologue · 7 years

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You know the drill, all tHE ASKS

Why

Spotify, SoundCloud, or Pandora? I don’t actually use any of them

is your room messy or clean? Room is okay, but desk looks like a war zone

what color are your eyes? brown

do you like your name? why? Yeah? It’s fairly unique but it’s spelled how it sounds, which is nice. And I’m used to it so

what is your relationship status? in a polyamorous relationship with about a dozen fictional characters

describe your personality in 3 words or less um…. obsessive, spontaneous, triestobeagoodfriendbutidkhowconsistentlyisucceed (that counts as one word right?)

what color hair do you have? brown

what kind of car do you drive? color? 20 years old and don’t have a driver’s licence eyyyy

where do you shop? At stores? Mostly of the grocery variety

how would you describe your style? Pretty casual I guess. Jeans and tanktops/t-shirts, dark colors, boots, army jacket

favorite social media account Does the OT count as social media? If so that

what size bed do you have? Sad little twin-sized mattress with very broken innersprings (yay college apartments)

any siblings? one younger sister

if you can live anywhere in the world where would it be? why? I’m honestly loving Edinburgh so staying here for the time being would be great

favorite snapchat filter? don’t have snapchat, so don’t know

favorite makeup brand(s) whatever’s cheap and doesn’t smudge

how many times a week do you shower? Usually every other day, so, like, 3-4. If it’s hot out then closer to 5-6

favorite tv show? FIREFLY. With additional special mentions to Blackadder, M*A*S*H, and Merlin

shoe size? US size? UK size? European size? CAN YOU TELL I’VE HAD A CONFUSING TIME SHOE SHOPPING OVER HERE??? (US 8, Euro 39, UK a Mystery)

how tall are you? 5′5″

sandals or sneakers? COMBAT BOOTS (but converse are second place so sneakers)

do you go to the gym? pfffft no

describe your dream date A ride in the Millennium Falcon with Han Solo would be pretty cool

how much money do you have in your wallet at the moment? *checks* around £55

what color socks are you wearing? not wearing socks

how many pillows do you sleep with? two

do you have a job? what do you do? college student who really does need to start thinking about an actual job, seeing as how they’re graduating in a few months

how many friends do you have? I think that number really depends on where you draw the what-defines-a-friend line but, um, a decent enough number I guess? I do need more irl friends over here though

whats the worst thing you have ever done? Some high school friends and I were kinda shitty to this one girl in our group, so maybe that. Idk, I’ve done a lot of small-ish terrible things but nothing super dramatic so it’s hard to pick one as the /worst/

whats your favorite candle scent? IKEA had this one green-apple-scented candle that to this day I wish I would have bought.

3 favorite boy names That’s so hard to narrow down and now all I can think of are fictional characters that I like. Um… *throws darts at mental dartboard* Sam, Nathan, Adrian. Although those might be pretty heavily influenced by the fact that I’ve met awesome people with all of those names so. For fictional characters, Kaz Brekker is a fantastic name, as is Han Solo, as is Ronan Lynch, and…. I should stop. There are so many names that I like though

3 favorite girl names Same problem as above. *throws more mental darts* Sierra, Lyra, Clare

favorite actor? I’m currently in watch-everything-that-Diego-Luna-has-ever-been-in mode. More long-term favorites are Harrison Ford and Richard Armitage

favorite actress? Catherine Tate is pretty fantabulous.

who is your celebrity crush? I like how the question asks for “crush,” singular

favorite movie? Raiders of the Lost Ark and Jurassic Park

do you read a lot? whats your favorite book? Not as much as I used to. Favorites (yes, plural) include The Book Thief, Six of Crows, Illuminae, Inkspell, The Dream Thieves, Half Moon Investigations, and so many more…..

money or brains? For me or in others? Either way, both is always nice xD

do you have a nickname? what is it? Well the OT crew knows me as Clary so. My camp counselor name was Coconut

how many times have you been to the hospital? I’ve been to the ER once or twice, but I don’t think I’ve ever stayed overnight in a hospital

top 10 favorite songs How dare you. Okay, um…. *tries to pick from a variety of bands and not just my 1-2 faves* Save Yourself, I’ll Hold Them Back (MCR), Daze (Poets of the Fall), When Everything Comes to an End (Plan Three), Brush it Off (Plan Three), Boulevard of Broken Dreams (Green Day), Morning Tide (PotF), Subrosa (Plan Three), What About Now (Daughtry), Ambulance (MCR), Rogue (PotF)…. that’s ten…. that didn’t even come CLOSE to covering them all (and so much for a variety of bands, heh)

do you take any medications daily? nope

what is your skin type? (oily, dry, etc) Pretty normal? Maybe slightly on the oily side

what is your biggest fear? jellyfish and plane crashes

how many kids do you want? ZERO, ZIP, ZILCH, NADA, NONE, KEINE, NUL. NO THANK YOU.

whats your go to hair style? Well seeing as how my hair’s kinda too short to do much with it, either down or in a partial ponytail

what type of house do you live in? (big, small, etc) grimy old student apartment woohoo

who is your role model? Nina Zenik

what was the last compliment you received? I have no idea

what was the last text you sent? “Honestly though I can’t say I’d mind if he actually did invade my hotel room. He’s one of the few people that could get away with it ;D” …..I’m not sure whether the context would make this better or worse

how old were you when you found out santa wasn’t real? 8, maybe? There was never a dramatic earth-shattering reveal; understanding was kinda gradual

what is your dream car? a spaceship

opinion on smoking? it’s disgusting why would you ever

do you go to college? yes

what is your dream job? underwater archaeologist by day, bestselling novelist by night. space pirate is also an option.

would you rather live in rural areas or the suburbs? Can I just say smack-dab in the city center? Is that not an option? Because that’s where I am now and I’m loving it.

do you take shampoo and conditioner bottles from hotels? No but the last hotels I was in provided instant tea/coffee/hot chocolate packets and I stole all the hot chocolate packets

do you have freckles? no

do you smile for pictures? usually

how many pictures do you have on your phone? 1248. I need to delete a bunch.

have you ever peed in the woods? Yes, many times. I’ve also peed in the desert many times.

do you still watch cartoons? Yes, although different ones than from when I was a kid

do you prefer chicken nuggets from Wendy’s or McDonalds? Neither, honestly

Favorite dipping sauce? There’s this one place in San Francisco whose french fries are, like, award-winning and they have a zillion dipping sauces, one of which is a lemon saffron aioli and it is heavenly.

what do you wear to bed? a t-shirt and sometimes pants, if it’s cold enough

have you ever won a spelling bee? no but I think I was in the top ten?

what are your hobbies? wasting time, reading, watching movies/tv shows, writing and drawing when I have the motivation

can you draw? Kind of?

do you play an instrument? Clarinet for 11 years, plus saxophone, mediocre piano, and mediocre guitar

what was the last concert you saw? Poets of the Fall. I died. Many times over.

tea or coffee? neither honestly, though tea if I absolutely had to pick

Starbucks or Dunkin Donuts? Don’t really care

do you want to get married? If I somehow find a way to make fictional characters come to life, sure

what is your crush’s first and last initial? S.B.

are you going to change your last name when you get married? Unless I marry someone with an impossibly cool last name, no

what color looks best on you? probably black. purple and olive green look good too

do you miss anyone right now? The SOAR Squad

do you sleep with your door open or closed? Considering I share an apartment with five other students, closed, always

do you believe in ghosts? not really, no

what is your biggest pet peeve? When people are unwilling to look facts in the eye

last person you called? Maybe my mom?

favorite ice cream flavor? COOKIE DOUGH

regular oreos or golden oreos? Does golden mean no chocolate? If so then regular, why would you take away chocolate

chocolate or rainbow sprinkles? always chocolate

what shirt are you wearing? a purple one that for once isn’t fandom related

what is your phone background? Sir Gwaine in sunglasses

are you outgoing or shy? It honestly depends. I think I’ve gotten a lot better at pretending to be outgoing

do you like it when people play with your hair? Depends who that person is

do you like your neighbors? I’m gonna interpret this as apartment-mates and while I don’t really know them too well yeah they seem pretty alright

do you wash your face? at night? in the morning? Whenever I shower

have you ever been high? Only on sugar and sleep deprivation

have you ever been drunk? Yes, but not enough to black out or give me a hangover

last thing you ate? Cheesy bacon-ey mushroom-ey salsa-ey scrambled eggs

favorite lyrics right now “And now assassination is just the only waaaaayyyyyy…..” by the cowboys in Dr. Horrible

summer or winter? Winter if there’s snow, but summer’s great too. idk

day or night? Night

dark, milk, or white chocolate? All of the above?

favorite month? October has the best weather

what is your zodiac sign? go away

who was the last person you cried in front of? My friend Josh (some of you might know him as medieval dude 1.0) because I went to see Rogue One with him

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josephkitchen0 · 5 years

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How to Revive Soil with Organic Gardening

By Kay Wolfe

Knowing how to revive soil and encourage beneficial microbial growth are keys to healthy produce. And it can be done with organic gardening.

Organic food has become widely popular in recent years and in part has fueled the success of local farmers markets. Maybe you’ve even thought about switching over to organic methods in your garden but weren’t sure how to begin. Most people go organic to avoid pesticides and other chemicals in their food, but the result of using natural organic methods is your soil once again comes alive the way nature intended. There are amazing benefits to live healthy soil, both to the plants as well as to the environment. Let’s try to simplify this in layman’s terms.

Organic simply means something derived from living matter and nothing is teaming with life more so than healthy soil. Not all soil is healthy though. In fact, for a long time, we’ve been destroying our soils faster than they can recover. Before man challenged the Great Plains, the soil there was several feet deep and held a diverse collection of plants and animals. How and why the soil was so deep and productive should be of great interest to us if we ever hope to make it so again. The tide is starting to turn though with more and more gardeners going organic and learning how to revive soil.

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The next time you’re in a forest, push aside the leaves and dig down to get a handful of dirt. Feel how light it is and then smell the sweet earthy aroma of healthy soil. This is nature’s way and this is what we should aim for. The most active soil life lives in the top four inches so when you leave it uncovered and expose it to the sun or rain; you are destroying the microbes, which make up the life of the soil. When you take your tiller to your garden, you are doing even more damage as you destroy the fungi webs, the worm tunnels, and the very structure of the soil. That is man’s way, not nature’s.

With the advent of much-improved electron microscopes we can now see what lives in our soils. Healthy soil samples like that on the forest floor can contain more than a billion bacteria, thousands of protozoa, several yards of fungal hyphae, and dozens of nematodes including hundreds if not thousands of different varieties of each. In addition to the microscopic beings, there are also countless varieties of arthropods (bugs), earthworms, gastropods, reptiles, mammals and occasionally birds that become part of the food web.

Soil Microbes

We call it a food web because it is not a direct food chain where nutrients are moved up to larger species. The nutrients go back and forth from species to species. The organisms all tend to eat each other at different times and under certain conditions. But, the result of all this eating and growing changes the nature of the soil as microbes protect, feed, and improve the plants. Let’s look at the workers responsible for what makes good soil.

Bacteria and archaea are the smallest microbes in the soil and comprise the largest number of all living soil organisms by far. We tend to fear these one-cell life forms as the source of disease and infection, but in reality, life would be impossible without bacteria in the soil as well as in our own bodies. There are more species than we can count, but only a portion of them are harmful. Bacteria decompose organic matter using enzymes to break down the cells into individual minerals and nutrients, which they store in their own bodies until needed by the plants. If not for their ability to store them, the minerals and nutrients would be washed away after a rain or released into the air. Bacteria also create a slime that holds the soil particles together and buffers the acidity of the soil. This is how they improve soil texture and water-holding capacity. Their size limits their mobility though and most spend their life within a few inches if they don’t catch a ride somehow.

Fungi are the second most abundant life form and decomposer of organic matter, but they are much bigger than the one-celled bacteria. Yes, mushrooms are fungi, but I’m talking about the nearly one million varieties that live underground forming large webs of filaments or thread-like hyphae. These hyphae can prey on other life forms like damaging nematodes and bacteria and can move great distances, relatively speaking. They can go above ground to reach dead leaves or they can go deeper into the ground. They are able to eat woody particles that bacteria can’t because they have stronger enzymes. But, like the bacteria, they store nutrients in their cells, protecting them from leaching and bring them to the root zone like extensions of the roots. Fungi tend to acidify the soil through this process while bacteria buffer it.

Moving up in size we have the protozoa, including the amoebae, ciliates, and flagellates. Protozoa both feed on bacteria and other life forms as well as provide food for them. They benefit the plants by producing nitrogen in a form preferred by individual plants. They also provide a way for bacteria to move and they are food for worms and other higher life forms.

Nematodes are tiny round worms that eat their way through the soil. Some are beneficial while others prey on plant roots. Their biggest benefit is they release nitrogen gained from eating and digesting the nitrogen-fixing bacteria so it is available for the plant at their root zones. Healthy soil is balanced with the detrimental bacteria and nematodes held in check by the beneficial fungi, bacteria, and other life forms. The result is healthy productive plants without any aid from man.

Arthropods as a group are what you and I call bugs. While we may not like them, we certainly need them. Arthropods that live in the soil take larger pieces of organic matter and chew it up so the bacteria and fungi can begin to break it down. They also improve the structure of the soil by tunneling and act as a taxi for other smaller life forms allowing them to move throughout the soil. Although they are huge compared to bacteria, most soil-borne arthropods are too small for us to even notice.

One of my favorite life forms in the soil is the earthworm. Even before I began to study soil, I knew that earthworms were good for soil and the more the better. They are small but oh so powerful. Just an acre of good garden soil contains enough earthworms to move 18 tons of soil a year in search of food. Just think what they could do for compacted dirt! They will eat just about anything they can get in their mouth but their primary source of food is bacteria, so when you see earthworms, you can feel confident that you have a good supply of beneficial bacteria. The castings they leave behind are rich in phosphates, potash, nitrogen, magnesium, calcium and many other nutrients that feed your plants. Their burrows open up the soil so it can breathe and helps direct water where needed. Roots often take advantage of the canals and grow in this nutrient rich environment.

Balanced, Organic Compost

The Soil Food Web

As a gardener, you already know it takes more to grow a plant than the sun. It takes water, minerals and a lot of nutrients. Until now, how that plant got nourishment was somewhat of a mystery. It gets it through the roots mostly except for a small amount of foliar feeding (feeding through the leaves). Many people just assume the roots absorb the nutrients from the soil, but the actual process is much more complex than that. Since roots are stationary, they can only absorb what touches their surface so it is up to the microbes to make sure they have access to the nutrients they need, in the form they need it, and when they need it.

Plants and the soil microbes communicate in order to help each other in a symbiotic relationship. Plant roots leak a sweet substance called “exudates” that attract fungi and bacteria. In return, they supply the root with nutrients they have broken down through their enzymes. Beneficial fungi can actually reach out through their hyphae and transport nutrients back from one plant to another as in nitrogen transfer between legumes and non-legumes. The microbes are like little armies of servants protecting the roots from invaders, providing water and nutrients when needed, keeping the soil open so oxygen is present, and keeping the soil structure and pH in the proper balance.

Chemical fertilizers, pesticides, herbicides and all the other “cides” are poison to the soil microbes. Oh, it works for the short term because a bit of the fertilizer touches the root hairs and is absorbed, but the majority of it is washed away while killing the microbes. Your plants stop secreting exudates because the soil life is no longer there to take care of the plant’s needs. Soon they are overcome with disease and pests, which only causes us to want to use more chemicals. It’s a horrible cycle and it is what has ruined much of our soil. The next time you drive by a non-organic corn field, stop and take a handful of the dirt and study it. This is what dead soil looks like and it will end up compacted no matter how much you disc it. It will dry out in a short period of time and it will heat up fast and crust over. None of which is beneficial. Now compare that to the sweet earth from the forest.

Soil compaction is a huge problem with dead soil. Think of a ream of copy paper. It is hard, heavy and tightly spaced. Now, if you begin to take each page and crumple it and throw it in a box, soon you have a soft fluffy pile of paper. That’s what life does to soil. It opens it up so the roots can penetrate easily and deeply. It holds water not as mud, but more like a sponge to be used later. It stays cool and moist even in the heat of summer. That is what organic gardening and soil microbes can do.

How to Revive Soil That’s Dead

So, how can we bring life back to our soil and improve it in a sustainable way? Well, the first thing we need to do is stop the killing and that means no more synthetic chemicals. None. Things may get worse before they get better, but the life will never come back until you stop the poison. There are a few basic organic gardening tips and once you get them down, gardening will be easier than it has ever been.

• No till—When you lay the ground open you lose a big part of your carbon and nitrogen to the air. Poof! Your nutrients are gone. Since most microbial life is in the top four inches, you just wiped them out as a tsunami or a tornado would do to a village. Get rid of your plow; get rid of your tiller so you will never be tempted to use them again. Make no bigger hole than needed to plant your seed or set out your plant. A technique I like to use is to cover the seeds with a layer of rich compost rather than disturbing the soil.

• Mulch—Nature hates exposed soil because it knows it means certain death to the microbes that live just below. No matter how many times you cultivate or hoe, nature will fight even harder to cover it with the fastest growing thing she has and that is a weed. Covered soil holds moisture longer and it doesn’t erode in heavy rains. It also keeps the temperature more constant whether in winter or summer which protects your plant roots as well as the microbes. Organic deep mulch gardening provides a constant supply of nutrients for the organisms to consume and break down, further improving your soil. I like to cover my beds with cardboard or newspaper around plants to keep the weeds from germinating and then top with a mulch of alfalfa hay, but you can use whatever organic matter you like.

• Keep it growing—Don’t waste space. Use permanent wide rows, square foot gardening, or any method you like as long as you keep living plants on the soil. That means use cover crops and there are many to choose from. They will keep the soil covered and add organic matter to feed the microbes once you turn them into mulch. You might want to mow them or weed-eat but leave the plant material where it grew. Studies have shown that hairy vetch grown before tomatoes and then left as mulch increases tomato yields substantially. I’m sure there are many other combinations that could work just as well.

• Feed your soil—There are simply too many organic choices to ever need chemical fertilizers. The best way to feed your soil, thus your plants, is with compost and/or compost tea. There are many books and articles on how to revive soil so I won’t go into it here, but remember that fungi favor the brown (bark, straw, saw dust) while bacteria favor green (grass clippings, garden waste, kitchen scraps, etc.). Since fungi create elaborate webs of hyphae, long-term plants such as trees, shrubs, and perennials benefit more from them while annuals and vegetables prefer more bacteria. You can create compost specifically for the kind of plant you are fertilizing by adjusting the percent of green and brown in your compost.

• Stay off the soil—Once you begin to bring life back to your soil and the microbes begin to fluff your dirt, don’t go and crush their tunnels and destroy the structure by walking and driving over it. Make permanent beds with paths to use for foot traffic and wheel barrows. Compaction smothers the oxygen out of your soil, kills the life, and causes irrigation and rain to run off without doing your plants any good. I prefer raised beds for many reasons, but one thing it does is discourage pets and people from stepping in the beds.

• Pest control—As your soil life gets better, your plants will become healthier and can ward off pests and disease, but if you find you still need help, check out the organic products for the particular problem you have. I have found that many times an infestation left alone is soon conquered by beneficial insects or birds. Some plants need more help than others though—such as fruit trees—so become familiar with organic products ahead of time so you are ready when they attack. I personally don’t aim for a perfect plant or produce. I plant enough to share with nature as long as they don’t get too greedy.

Balanced, organic composts can lead to bountiful harvests in the garden.

Conclusion

The earth has a remarkable ability to heal in spite of the harm done by man. All we have to do is study nature and follow her lead on how to revive soil. If we abandon the practice of tilling and chemical applications to our gardens, we can bring back the life that was always meant to be in the soil. Organic gardening has many advantages and while it may be harder to establish in the beginning, it more than pays off with saved time and energy in the long term. After all, the microbes in the soil will take care of your plants. All you need to do is stop killing them!

Do you have any tips regarding how to revive soil that we missed? Let us know!

Originally published in Countryside May/June 2016 and regularly vetted for accuracy.

How to Revive Soil with Organic Gardening was originally posted by All About Chickens

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