#and returning with a sack of seed potatoes

[uh-mxtx]

The presence of Potatoes in MDZS implies that some ballsy cultivator took a flying sword over the pacific to South America and brought them back and I would like to pose the idea that that particular potato loving dumbass was Wei Wuxian’s ancestor

(Edit: AND CHILIES!)

(EDIT 2: also watermelon except thats from africa. For reference, irl it’s Song dynasty for watermelon and Qing dynasty for potatoes and chilies)

[dontforgetukraine]

Hryhoriy Bakalo, Photo - 1953

"I am Bakalo Hryhoriy Omelkovych. I was born at the end of 1923 in the village of Bohuslav. There were seven children in our family. We lived together with our grandfather and grandmother, Yavdokha.

We were not wealthy, but, for those times,we were not poor either. We were considered well-to-do. They demanded our father join the collective farm: they often came to our house and threatened him.

Little Vasyl was afraid of strangers and cried,so our mother took him out of the house. So he caught a cold and died.

When joining the collective farm, my father gave away the horses and all the livestock, so only a cow remained in our own household. As a successful owner, my father was appointed either foreman or head of the collective farm stable.

The farmers from the collective farm reluctantly accepted the collective farm (it could be called silent sabotage), and treated the collective farm poorly. A rider could leave a horse warmed up by running in the cold, etc.

In the end, poor care, lack of fodder, and unsuitable premises with the onset of autumn cold led to the death of horses. My father was accused of this.

He had an opportunity to "make amends": they offered him to organise the seizure of horses from those people who had not yet joined the collective farm. He did not agree, so he was arrested.

My father's arrest was a signal that a brigade would come to confiscate property.They came to us to seize our property on a horse-drawn sleigh (late November - early December 1932).This entire confiscation brigade included local peasants, but as they said, "not ours" led them.

It was very difficult to hide something from the brigade of collectors. They took everything with them, even clothes and canvas. They burned the icons right in the middle of the yard.

Using sticks, they found two sacks of wheat, one of flour, pine cones and seeds buried by my father in the yard. The utensils from the oven, including the dish in it, were also taken.

In total, they took eight carriages of goods (food, clothing, household goods, utensils, cloth, potatoes). They also took the cow, chickens, ducks - meat; before that, my father had slaughtered a heifer, so they took it too (it was hanging in the attic).

They did not find only the bag of flour, hidden in the barn under the barrel. I think that the older ones could have gone somewhere and there, maybe even survived, but they were "blacklisting" right after the arrest of our father. They were not allowed to leave the village.

Our mother cooked soup from the bag of flour left, and what she managed to exchange for clothes and jewelry (a necklace): water and a little flour...

By the spring, in February, when it got a little warmer, everyone was so exhausted that they could only lie down. Only I walked. I remember my sister calling: "Hrysha, go catch a frog and bring it to me."

I walked around the garden, went down to the river and then came back. "No," I said. And she asked: "Give me the scissors, I'll cut my hair and eat it." I handed over them and stood at a distance. She suddenly threw them at me, almost hitting me.

Later, my sister bit the skin on her fingers. Our mother beat her and wrapped her fingers with rags, but she took off the rags and again bit and sucked her fingers.

Our mother poured soup,and I carried it to my brothers.When I ate my share,I was sitting waiting, maybe,something else left for me.Mother:"Take it to Arkhyp." I brought it,and he said:"Put my bowl down,I don't need it." Then he died. Ivan didn't ask anything, he died quietly.

In March and April, everyone died except for me, Kolia and our mother. Our mother periodically, twice or even three times a week, went away to exchange that junk. And my brother and I wandered around the village.

My brother did not want to walk because he was thin, his legs and arms were like sticks, and his stomach was huge and transparent: the liver and intestines were visible.

My father returned seven months later after he had been taken away, in May, unshaven for seven months, scary, barely able to move his swollen legs wrapped in rags. My mother wasn't at home.

And I said: "Dad, now we will survive - there are only four of us: you, mom, Kolia, and me," and Father only replied: "They took all my strength there." The next morning, he went to the collective farm to sharpen scythes.

In the evening, he brought a quarter of a beet and some soup - he earned for the day. He gave it to us, told us to eat little by little, and lay down and wheezed. Foam came out of the mouth and nose. I ran to our neighbour, saying: "Something is wrong with dad."

She came, looked - "your father died." She covered him with a black blanket. He had been lying like that for two days until our mother came. Everything she earned was spent on the coffin and digging the grave..."

The carriage came to take him to the cemetery, and our neighbour came, asking: "Take my Pylyp to the cemetery too (the neighbour's son was my age). As I won't be able to take him there..." They took Pylyp away. On the way, someone else was taken away.

A storm broke out there. Thunder, lightning, rain, wind. The diggers quickly left. My mother covered the hole with her own hands..."

Source: Holodomor Museum

[cheersyouslxg]

╰┈➤ 💀 Ghost 💀 Word count: 2k ish? ┆ ┆ MDNI - 18+┆ ┆ »»———- "I like you in those clothes, but I think I’d like you better in nothing at all." ———-««

»»———-  ”I just can’t control myself around you… especially when you’re wearing that”———-«« Triggers: Smut, mentions of ghosts past (trauma and SA briefly) ⊹ Comments, feedback, thoughts and reblogs are encouraged! ⊹

He didn’t come home for long, so any time you were able to spend with him was cherished. Even if he wasn’t always the most affectionate, it was impossible not to tell that Ghost had his own ways of showing his adoration for you. All it took was an open mind and some patience to start noticing the little gems of his appreciation. 

Touch had always been a trigger for him for something you didn’t know the origin of. All you knew was that his past was a haunted house of memories he did not wish to ever open the door on… so you left it alone, already knowing the doorknob would not budge if you even tried. It was better to ignore in the long run anyways, less of a chance to hurt your feelings as if you thought of yourself higher than Ghost’s opinion. He didn’t trust people easily… That was all you needed to know- all you were allowed to know. You had also learned very quickly that touching him without warning was a sure fire way of having him shut down and exit the room you were in. 

That didn’t mean he couldn’t touch you… No, he enjoyed it very much. It was just another factor reminding him the already obvious sentiment that he had every right to you. You trusted him wholly, completely, and in some futile attempt to gain his trust- you put out every green flag you had in your arsenal to scream at him that you had no plans to hurt him or break the trust you asked for. It was a snail race but a race you had no intention of not finishing. Eventually, you would prove to him that you were worthy of letting into his life further.

In the meantime, you were content to continue planting your seeds, brick by brick building the foundation of this relationship. When he was gone, you waited for him to return, picking up the habit of sleeping in his clothing to trick your brain into thinking he was next to you in bed as the scent of his shirts mingled in the sheets you had been forced to wash far too long than recommended but you couldn’t bare the thought of your bed not smelling like him. When he was home, you loved every second he spent with you, even if it wasn’t the most ideal relationship to others. You knew he was trying. That was enough. 

He’d been home for a week, but you still found his shirt to replace your day clothes after your shower. Besides it being compulsory, you had every intention of once again convincing your boyfriend to touch you, to have the hardened stare of a ghost melt when ogling over your frame. It wasn’t hard to do, but the effort was worth it even if he’d have you bent over the kitchen table on any given day wearing a potato sack. It was a dress which fell just past your backend, teasing the only other person in the house with a peek of your rump when you lifted your arms too much. Underneath were panties he favored for the little fabric covering what was rightfully his to have. To say you were prepared to face the consequences of your own actions was absolutely right. In fact, you were counting on submitting to these consequences. 

His eyes immediately snapped to the silent entrance from the bathroom to the bedroom. It was impossible to sneak up on him, and you’d given up on trying long ago. It only assisted how safe you felt in your home, especially when he was there to protect you. He was already in bed, prepared to look for a movie you both could watch together (well, mostly you. He never enjoyed movies much. They were always so tedious in his opinion. But being next to you in the same room was enough to stare at a screen for two hours.). You climbed in next to him, noting the way his eyes lingered over the drifting fabric of his shirt over your thighs, flashing him as you got comfortable underneath the covers. He wasn’t the only one who had learned how to read expressions… and with the mask his eyes were all you had to go off of. 

“Whatcha thinking tonight? Comedy? Thriller?” You snatched the remote from the bedside table, loading Netflix onto the screen while he shrugged. You already knew his answer, and you chimed in as well as he said, ‘Whatever you want.’ His gaze locked the side of your face, and you turned to give him a cheeky smile. His brow raised, nodding slowly. 

“Alright, alright…” He mumbled, reaching for your hand to retrieve the device. “I’ll pick then, yeah?” The normally dead tone in his voice was resurrected with a dry sarcasm, only pulling the corners of your lips into a bigger grin. 

“Oh, I dunno… What if I don’t like what you pick, Si? Doubt you know any good genres with how little you spend watching films. It’s all I do, so I have good taste.” 

He looked unimpressed with your answer, leaning in closer. Still with the remote in his hand, he pinched the fabric of your shirt with a soft tug, eyes flicking down and back up. “I like you in those clothes, but I think I’d like you better in nothing at all. What does that say about my taste, lovie?” He whispered. You swallowed, the butterflies he’d grown in your belly since the first night you met him flaring up and beating their wings against its walls.

“Smells like you. I wear them when you’re gone.” Your voice had dropped to the same octave as his, glancing down to the mask covering his lips. He hummed, head dipping in an acknowledging nod. 

“Well, I’m here now. You don’t need it.” the remote was dropped somewhere in the mess of sheets, his hand purchasing the hem of the shirt and sliding up your thigh. Warmth flooded your body, whining softly as it slid over your hip, the other coming to collect the opposite side and lift it up and over your head. You didn’t fight it, wanting the shirt to find home on the floor since you put it on your body. As much as you craved the heat against your palms, you refrained yet from touching him, clutching the sheets beside you. 

“Lift your mask. Please, I want a kiss.” As close as you could inch without touching him, you did, pleading with a begging gaze that met his own once he moved his attention from your bare chest to your eyes.

 Brown eyes narrowed only slightly, his shoulders relaxing. “Go ahead, sweetheart. Gimme a kiss then.” Ghost’s head tilted back, exposing his neck further to allow you to (very carefully) curl the mask over his mouth. You never touched flesh until leaning in to meet his lips, melting into his touch as he pulled your hips closer into him. In all the best ways he reminded you how much he desired you while being the one to always initiate contact. He wanted you with every fiber of his being, and he expressed that every chance he felt comfortable to do so. 

He was a gentle lover at heart, never wanting to ever have to take responsibility for hurting you in ways that so many had hurt him. He’d mentioned briefly something in his past resulting in having issues with hurting you in any way. It was endearing the way he went into detail to explain how if he ever went too far to tell him immediately and he would stop. That had never happened, and you were sure it never would, especially with how eager he was to take hold of the back of your thigh and guide you onto your back and invite himself between your legs. His kiss never ceased, only moving from your lips across your jaw and down your neck. Each kiss sparked another, more hungry one until his mouth was a burning fire roaring across your melting, willing flesh to be devoured by him.

It almost surprised you when he reached for your hand, circling your wrist gently as he gave attention to your chest with chaste kisses, guiding your fingertips to his shoulder. This was his way of silently giving permission to touch him. You’d learned his weak spots, placing he tended to freeze up when you attempted to touch there, and these spots were where you avoided. His shoulders were a neutral zone, though treading lower towards his ribs was diving straight into red where he would immediately withdraw the moment was ruined. You’d only had to make that mistake once to never do it again. Instead, you dug your nails into corded muscle as his mouth circled your nipple, tongue laving over the hardening bud. He knew the whine you emitted would come, knowing you better than you knew yourself and how to make you come undone under his touch. His hips were greedily seeking friction against dampened fabric, grinding his bulge covered in sweatpants with a muffled groan. 

A hand smoothed over the back of his neck, slowly moving to not spook him as you kept his mouth on your breast. “God, please, Simon…” you moaned hotly, rolling your hips with as much enthusiasm as he offered, gritting your teeth as he chuckled. Of course it could never be that easy… He was nothing if not a massive fucking tease. One hand rolled your nipple not assaulted by his lips between his fingers, the other trailing slowly round your thigh to curl around the fabric resting against your hips, tugging at the material to prompt you to lift your hips and discard them. 

“S’not fair, Si…” you whined, completely nude in front of him when he still was fully clothed, praying tonight wasn’t an evening when he decided to not let you see him in all his painfully well-built glory. Control was something he enjoyed thoroughly. Leaving you vulnerable while he removed nothing more than his cock from his pants was a way in which he gained a tighter grip on the situation. 

Tonight he pitied your sweet cries, pulling away from your chest long enough to discard the fabric on his shoulders. Each time it was marvel just how much of his flesh was adorned with raised scar tissue. You’d spend hours kissing each one if he would have allowed you, though you knew better than to explore too far from the safe zones. Nails dragged slowly across his shoulders, reaching as far as you could across his back only to retreat and begin again. Never would you waste a chance to feel him more intimately. 

It didn’t take much more whining and begging from you to have Ghost fully nude with bodies pressed tightly together as you welcomed him between your legs. With his long distant missions ranging from a week to months, his resolve lasted only as long as any man’s would with a prolonged period of abstinence keeping them from their partner. His girth stretched you deliciously every single time he had his way with you, hot needy whimpers spurring him on as he offered you a few breaths to adjust to his size.  

It was a short lived adjustment, his patience wearing thin with the urge to claim and mark what was his. Ghost praised each moan you gifted him with kisses and groping hands holding tightly to your hips as he drilled into you unabashedly. The neighbors down the block would know his name solely from your cries, wrapping your legs around his waist in a futile attempt to slow down his driving pace. Once Simon was set on his ways, it was impossible to deprive him of completion, especially when his eyes were clouded with lust. 

 ”I just can’t control myself around you… especially when you’re wearing that” he murmured into your ear, hot breath fanning your neck he nipped and marked with indents of his teeth. It was a show of possession, something you would use again and again if you promised each consequence to equal the pleasure building in the pit of your stomach. 

“Fuck, Si, please….” Each beg drove his rhythm faster and deeper almost as if he was intent to splinter the bed beneath you. Rough hands sought your thighs, lifting your legs how he wished towards your chest to offer him a better position to fill you further, dragging his cock repeatedly within your walls, hitting every mark no man could ever dream of replicating. Simon was one of a kind, the only one who could make you feel so dirty yet so adored at once. 

“That’s it… good girl… squeeze my cock just like that.” Ghost’s voice rasped, stalling thrusts announcing how close he was to finishing. His hand dipped between your bodies becoming one, thumb feathering against your swollen bundles of nerves to make sure you came before he did. You couldn’t recall a time where you didn’t cum before Simon unless it was a punishment for acting like a brat… But even so, you were never left unsatisfied. “Almost there, little bunny? I want you to cum for me. You can do that for me, eh? I know you can.” His smirk was heard within his cocky drawl, eyes hidden from your view as he marked your chest with blooming flowers of purple.

He overwhelmed every sense and nerve within your body, the tight bundle of pressure inflating and driving you up towards the crest. When he spoke again you were thrusted over the edge with a single command, his husked tone and lips meeting yours to inhale your moans of pleasure sending you in a spiral. You came, and he was soon to follow, just like he always was. He was there through it all, soothing your spasming body with an ear full of praises and gentle caresses down your thighs. As you came down from your high you made a mental note to wear his clothing more often.

[jeanjauthor]

Some things you can do politically:

WRITE A (polite!) LETTER TO YOUR MEMBERS OF CONGRESS. They genuinely sit up and pay attention to handwritten messages.

Phone 'em. Fax 'em. Be polite, but tie up their phones with your concerns.

YES, EVEN THE DEMOCRAT ONES. Too many of those folks are crumpling under the assault.

Consider writing a POLITE letter to the SCOTUS outlining your genuine concerns. Don't rant, but talk about your Constitutional Rights being violated. Maybe they won't do anything, but it'll be on the record that You Do Not LIke What Is Happening.

Closer to home:

Remember how the Citrus cephalocoprolii ordered the Army Corps of Engineers to dump two reservoirs' worth of water out of California? California, which grows 14% of the US food supply?

Grow a veggie garden. You don't need a yard, you just need a windowsill or a balcony/porch that gets some sunlight.

Get some pots and put some dirt and some seeds in them. You can literally get plastic tubs / storage bins from a thrift shop and put some holes in the sides near the bottom, fill them with dirt, and use that.

You can also use a bag of potting soil (don't use MiracleGro as it wrecks seedlings; use it only for mature plants), and follow the directions from this blog: https://www.facebook.com/share/p/18kjBF6bUR/ and then https://www.facebook.com/share/p/1GosUmGo5L/ (They will have more posts later on as we get closer to spring. Whidbey Island is north northwest of Seattle, so it's a maritime climate, our winters are milder than most other places this far north, but you can adjust your growing times & needs for your local conditions.)

If nothing else, get some dirt in some plastic tubs, buckets, whatever, and get some baby potatoes from the grocery store. Put them in the dirt, cover 'em by a few inches, and water it regularly but not heavily. For every baby potato you plant, you can get 5+ potatoes in return by the end of the growing season.

Harvest when the above-ground plants wilt, then store them in paper sacks for about a week in a cool dark place so they can toughen up for storage, and store in a humid, cool, dark location. Avoid sunlight as that causes the skins to go greenish, and the skins are where a lot of vitamins & micronutrients are stored.

Radishes are a quick crop to grow, and their green leaves can be eaten. (Some kinds are a little fuzzy, but they can be eaten raw or cooked, and can be quite tasty.) Carrots need deeper soil and a much longer growing time. But while they take a lot longer to grow, their greens, too, can be eaten. Lettuces are also quick if you get the leaf-kind, and once they get big enough, just "graze" every few days enough for a salad to help keep you healthy. You can also plant successive crops, like, a row of radishes and leaf lettuces alternating every week. (The last thing you want is to have too many ready to be eaten all at once, so it's wiser to plant in small amounts at intervals.)

You're going to need to be healthier than you are now, just to survive all this flying fecal matter, so make sure you take care of yourselves, folks.

Do. Something.

[liber-legis]

From “Godfather of the Kremlin” by Paul Klebnikov

The Death of a Nation

The result of Gaidar’s hasty liberalization of prices meant that more than 100 million people who had achieved some kind of basic material prosperity under the Soviets were plunged into poverty. Schoolteachers, doctors, physicists, lab technicians, engineers, army officers, steelworkers, coalminers, carpenters, accountants, telephone receptionists, farmers—all had been wiped out. The crash liberalization of trade, meanwhile, allowed Russia’s natural-resource wealth to be looted by insiders. The Russian state was deprived of its biggest revenue source; consequently it had no money for pensions, worker’s salaries, law enforcement, the military, hospitals, education, and culture. Gaidar’s shock therapy set in motion a relentless decline—economic, social, demographic—that would last until the end of the Yeltsin era.

While the rest of the developed world continued to grow, the Russian economy was shrinking. In the Gorbachev era, the Soviet Union had been the world’s third largest economy (after the United States and Japan). Naturally, the Russian economy alone would be significantly smaller than that of the former Soviet Union. But the real decline occurred after the Soviet Union broke up. From the beginning of Gaidar’s shock therapy, Russia’s gross domestic product shrank by approximately 50 percent in just four years. Eventually, Russia would sink below the level of China, India, Indonesia, Brazil, and Mexico. ON a per capita basis, Russia would become poorer than Peru. Decades of technological achievement were lost. Renowned scientific institutions fell apart. The Russian cultural establishment disintegrated. And the country’s assets were sold off.

Anyone who traveled to Russia in the early Yeltsin years was treated to the spectacle of ordinary Russian citizens trying to get by. Outside the ramshackle, hollow concrete structures that were the Soviet Union’s supermarkets, new private bazaars formed, which included not just brawn babushkas selling vegetables, but also little huts offering bad quality imported goods: CD’s of disco music, fake Nikes, Marlboros, cans of Vietnamese pork. These bazaars sprawled out in the mud and the garbage at subway stations, along the big avenues, in populated areas.

On Stoleshnikov Lane, near the legendary Moscow Art Theater, around the corner from the Bolshoi Theatre, elderly men and women gathered daily and formed two parallel lines along what de fact had become a pedestrian street. Anyone who ran the gauntlet of these pensioners, neatly dressed in their tattered clothing, was besieged by silent pleas to buy a teakettle, a pair of knitted stockings, three wineglasses, a secondhand sweater, a used pair of leather shoes. Meanwhile, beautiful antique volumes began piling up in the bookstores, selling for ridiculously low prices—Moscow’s intellectuals were selling their libraries. In the flea markets outside the city, you could buy the highest Soviet battle decorations, the equivalent of the Victoria Cross or the Congressional Medal of Honor: the old veterans of World War II were selling their medals to buy a few scraps for the dinner table.

With Russia in a slump far worse than the Great Depression, people tapped an old survival instinct. Amid rumors of crop failure and impending food shortages, millions of city dwellers traveled to the countryside to plant cabbages and potatoes in their garden plots. The arable land just outside Moscow was swarming with people digging and planting. It was back to medieval agriculture. Chubais and Gaidar were proud of the fact that mass starvation had been avoided. But it was avoided not because prices had been liberalized, but because the Russian people had returned to the countryside. It was with a shovel and sack of seed potatoes that Russians escaped starvation in 1992 and 1993.

Any doubts about the first years of the Yeltsin Era’s being a disaster were dispelled by the demographic statistics. These numbers, even in their most general form, suggested a catastrophe without precedent in modern history—the only parallel was with countries destroyed by war, genocide, or famine.

Between 1990 and 1994, male mortality rates rose 53 percent, female mortality rates 27 percent. Male life expectancy plunged from an already low level of sixty-four years in 1990 to fifty-eight in 1994; men in Egypt, Indonesia, or Paraguay could now expect longer lives than men in Russia. In the same brief period, female life expectancy fell from seventy-four to seventy-one. The world had seldom seen such a decline in peacetime.

Each month thousands of Russians were dying prematurely. Such a drop in life expectancy, labeled “excess deaths”, has always been the standard algorithm in demographer’s calculations of the death toll of disasters—whether Stalin’s collectivization in the 1930’s, Pol Pot’s rule in Cambodia in the 1970’s, or the famine in Ethiopia in the 1980’s. American demographer Nicholas Eberstadt estimated the number of “excess deaths” in Russia between 1992 and 1998 was as high as three million. By contrast, Eberstadt observed, Russia’s losses in World War I were 1.7 million deaths.

Many premature deaths occurred among the elderly—the babushkas, church ladies, and old men—people who had seen their life savings disappear in the great inflation of 1992, who had seen their pension checks turn worthless, who did not have families to support them, and who simply could not scrape together enough money for a nutritious diet or medicine. The stress of finding themselves in the ferocious unknown world that emerged after Communism was also a major (though unquantifiable) factor in killing off the elderly. It was a frightening experience for them—coming in the twilight of their lives, when they were weak and slow—the feeling of seeing the world turn upside down, the streets become unfamiliar, all the comforting supports of life swept away. Many hung on for a while, wandering around town; the men became drunks sprawled in the icy gutter; the women became bone-thin ladies begging it the entrance of churches; then they died. The younger generation had turned its back on its elders and allowed them to perish.

A more visible factor in the rise in mortality was the disintegration of Russia’s public health system. Hospitals were suddenly unsanitary, underfunded, underequipped, bereft of medicine. Suddenly Russia was suffering outbreaks of diseases associated with the most impoverished regions of the Third World: diphtheria, typhus, cholera, and typhoid.

Tuberculosis, the great killer of the Industrial Revolution, was largely wiped out in the twentieth century with the advent of antibiotics and better public hygiene. But in the 1990’s, Russia found itself with hundreds of thousands of active TB cases and even more dormant cases. The most worrying aspect of this phenomenon was the appearance of drug-resistant TB—a highly infectious strain of the bacterium resistant to any known antibiotic. The breeding ground of this scourge was the prison system—active TB afflicted up to 10 percent of Russia’s huge prison population. Under conditions of overcrowded cells and minimal medical treatment, the disease spread rapidly and was transmitted further into the general population. Each year some 300,000 people (mostly young men) entered the prison system, while a slightly smaller number of convicts were released upon the completion of their term. According to two researchers studying Russia’s problem, Dr. Alexander Goldfarb of New York’s Public Health Research Institute and Mercedes Becerra of the Harvard Medical School, Russia’s prisons released 30,000 cases of active TB into society, and 300,000 carriers of the dormant bacterium every year. If nothing was done to address the problem, Goldfarb declared, the number of TB cases would continue to double every year, reaching 16 million by 2005 (11 percent of the population).

If the living conditions were appalling for the one million young men in Russia’s prisons, they were hardly any better for the 1.5 million in the armed forces. Every year, 2,000 to 3,000 young conscripts perished—either by suicide, murder, accident, or hazing incidents. (The precise number of these kinds of deaths was not released by the army.)

The Yeltsin era witnessed an explosion of sexually transmitted diseases. Between 1990 and 1996, new syphilis cases identified every year skyrocketed from 7,900 to 388,200. AIDS was virtually unknown in Russia in the years before Communism fell. Since then, fed by burgeoning intravenous drug use and rampant, unprotected sex, AIDS spread with geometric rapidity through the Russian population. The government had no idea of the precise number of people afflicted, but based on the growth of visible AIDS cases, Dr. Vadim Pokrovsky, the nation’s leading epidemiologist, estimated that Russia would have 10 million people infected by 2005 (almost all between 15 and 29).

A significant portion of the increase in mortality rates in Russia was due to lifestyle choices: an unhealthy diet, heavy smoking, and perhaps the highest rate of alcohol consumption in the world. Drug addiction took an increasing toll. Initially, post-Communist Russia had served only as a transshipment point for opium and heroin form Southeast Asia or Central Asia to the West. Soon the drugs began to appear in Russia itself. By 1997, Russia’s domestic market had ballooned into one of the largest narcotics markets in the world. According to official estimates, Russia had 2 million to 5 million drug addicts (3 percent of the population). These were mostly young men and women.

For the older generation, the poison of choice was alcohol. It was impossible to tell just how much alcohol was consumed in Russia, since so much of the vodka was produced in bootleg distilleries. One 1993 survey found that more than 80 percent of Russian men were drinkers and that their average consumption was more than half a liter of alcohol per day. In 1996, more than 35,000 Russians died of alcohol poisoning, compared to several hundred such deaths the same year in the United States.

Heavy drinking and crime contributed to a spectacular rise in violent and accidental deaths—the single fastest-growing “cause of death” category. Between 1992 and 1997, 229,000 Russians committed suicide. 159,000 died of poisoning while consuming cheap vodka, 67,000 drowned (usually the result of drunkenness), and 169,000 were murdered.

While Russians were dying in increasing numbers, fewer children were being born. In the late 1990’s, there were 3 million state-funded abortions each year—nearly three times the number of live births. Abortions had long been used by Soviet women as the primary method of birth control. The average Russian woman had three or four abortions: many women had ten or more. As a result of these multiple abortions, as well as drug addiction, one third of Russian adults were estimated to be infertile by the late 1990’s.

The rapid decline in births, combined with an even faster growth in mortality rates, produced a relentless decline in Russia’s population. In 1992, the Russian population was 148.3 million. By 1999, the population had fallen by 2.7 million people. If it had not been for the immigrants coming into Russia from the even more desperate situation in the Ukraine, the Caucasus, and Central Asia, the Russian population would have shrunk by nearly 6 million between 1992 and 1999. These figures did not include the millions of Russians (mostly the healthier, more enterprising members of the younger generation) who had emigrated to Europe or North America unofficially.

The most pitiful victims of Russia’s social and economic decline were the children. In 1992, 1.6 million children were born in Russia; that same year, 67,286 children (4 percent of all births) were abandoned by there parents. By 1997, the breakdown in parenting had grown to catastrophic levels. That year, 1.3 million children were born, but 113,000 children (equivalent to 9 percent of all newborns) were abandoned. Russia had no real program of adoption or foster care, so most of these children ended up on the street. According to some Western aid agencies, there were more than 1 million abandoned children wandering around Russia’s cities by the end of the 1990’s. The rest ended up in the vast orphanage network. Here they were left in dark, overcrowded wards, haunted by malnutrition, insufficient medical care, and routine abuse by the staff and older orphans. At least 30,000 Russian orphans were confined to psychoneurological internaty for “incurable children”; an easily reversible speech defect such as a cleft palate was enough to get a child classified as “imbecile’ and locked up in an institution where he or she would be essentially left to die. It didn’t need to be this way—95 percent of Russia’s orphans still had a living parent.

When I first went to Togliatti to interview the directors of Avotaz, I decided to take the train to Moscow. The journey would last twenty-four hours, but I usually liked traveling by train in Russia—rumbling through the countryside in those 1930’s -era railcars was one of the best ways to meet people.

In the carriage of my Togliatti train was a mother with an ailing seven-year old child. It was hot. The boy was stripped to his underwear. He was covered with sores—he had a very wiry, blistered little body. His mother was evidently taking him home after an unsuccessful attempt to get him treated for some skin disease. The boy was in agony. He kept wanting to scratch himself. He was crying. His mother applied plasters to the worst of the sores. “Mama...Mama...it hurts,” he called out.

The boy’s suffering continued throughout the night, his cries echoing through the darkened railroad carriage. The next morning the passengers seemed more silent and subdued than usual; there was a palpable sense of people trying to harden themselves against the child’s suffering. The boy finally fell asleep in midmorning. I saw the mother sitting in the corridor alone, gazing blankly at the passing Russian landscape.

[adminbryantsaki]

quirkless college au, deku keeps Bakugou locked in a chastity device all the time, and it basically follows their dynamic, how they each deal with their rolls, and day to day life.

Of course. This is going to be interesting as I have never written for these two together before.

I hope you enjoy.

BakuDeku Quirkless College AU.

(I don’t own Izuku Midorya/ Deku or Katsuki Bakugo/Dynamight. They belong to Horikoshi Kohei. As this is a College Au, all characters are aged up. If this isn’t your cup of tea, blend of spices, or brew of coffee, move on.)

Tw: usage of chastity device, cursing (bakugo), gay sex.

Wc: 721

Deku walked through the door and hung up his keys before going to check on his partner.

“Hey, Kacchan. How was your day?” He asked.

“Why should you care, Nerd?” The blonde angrily responded from the bathroom. Deku smiled softly to himself and went to his room to change out of the clothes he had on before going to his desk and doing his homework. About an hour later someone leaned over Deku’s shoulder.

“I’m surprised you didn’t come into the bathroom with me, but then again you are a little nerd, aren’t you? Always having to keep up with your studies. You hardly have any time for me.” He spoke. Deku set his pencil down and looked back at him.

“Take this thing off, I’ve been fighting off a boner all day.” Bakugo spoke. He was alluding to the steel device that had been keeping him from touching himself and jerking off.

“Remember what I said? That thing isn’t coming off until after finals.” Deku responded.

“THAT’S OVER A MONTH AWAY YOU DAMN IDIOT!” Bakugo yelled loud enough to wake their neighbors.

“Kacchan! Not so loud! Other people are trying to sleep!” Deku said trying to keep his boyfriend calm for the time being.

“I don’t give a damn. I’m horny and I want to fuck you.” Bakugo said. He turned on his heel and grabbed Deku by the shoulders and shook him.

“Do you not hear me, you damn Deku! I want to screw now.” He growled at his boyfriend. Deku felt intimidated and blushed hard. He nodded.

“You’re still going to wait until finals are over.” The green- haired boy spoke. Bakugo growled and stormed off to his room to go to bed. Deku finished his homework and went to bed.

“When the device comes off, I’m fucking you until you can’t walk for a week straight.” Bakugo called from his room.

Days turned into weeks and each night when they both were home from classes, Bakugo requested to have the device taken off so he could have some relief but Deku denied him each time. Finals week came and both Deku and Bakugo had the same schedule for classes. They attended their classes and by the end of the week, everyone but the two of them were at the stress relief celebration. Bakugo had picked Deku up like a sack of potatoes when their last class was dismissed and carried him back to their shared dorm room. “Kacchan! Put me down!” Deku said as he was clinging to his backpack for dear life. He knew that since finals were over, he was going to get wrecked. He thought that once the device was off, Bakugo would go to that red haired guy he always hung out with. But he was dead wrong as Bakugo threw him onto his bed.

“Where is the key?” The pissed off blonde growled.

“O-on my keyring. It’s the grenade shaped one.” Deku spat out. Bakugo stormed off and returned with the key. He chucked it at the green-haired boy and he pulled his shorts and underwear off

“Take the device off now.” Bakugo growled and walked closer to the shaking boy sitting on the bed. Deku shakily unlocked the device and set on his nightstand table. Bakugo put his hand around his cock to pump it until it was hard. This didn’t take long as it took a matter of seconds before Deku was pinned to his bed and staring up at a feral Bakugo. The blonde pulled Deku’s shorts and underwear off harshly and threw them into a far corner of his room. He then slid his thick cock into Deku and didn’t waste any time thrusting into him and releasing his hot seed into his partner. He did this over and over until he was spent and he passed out next to Deku. Izuku didn’t regret a single moment of the past month.

Maybe he will do this again but over the holidays?

The end?

Tagging: @i-panic-at-the-disco@suzuki-violin-school

[home--farm]

Do you like underrated but beautiful flowers? What about french fries? Get them both by growing potatoes.

You can grow them in containers, in bags, boxes or sacks, grow them in stacked tires or raised garden beds, or in the garden where they will return year after year.

Buy seed potatoes or use the old rubbery ones from the bottom of the crisper. Plant them where and when they won't get frozen.

Stick them in the soil as they are, or chit them in a cool and bright room til they're little octopuses then plant. When the green leafy bits poke up through the soil, tuck them back into bed with a bit more dirt.

When the flowers are spent and the greens turn yellow, it's time to dine.

May this beautiful potato flower bring you happiness, sweetness and a colorful day ;)

[imagineredwood]

Part 1   Part 2   Part 3   Part 4   Part 5    Part 6    Part 7    Part 8   Part 9       Part 10    Part 11  Part 12   Part 13   Part 14  Part 15  Part 16 

Pairing: EZ Reyes x Camila (OC)

Warnings: None really

Word count: 2.1k 

***This one is a little shorter because there will be the first spat soon and I wanted to make sure it was just right. Rather than rushing it for this part, I decided to make this one a little shorter and give y’all a full scene in the next chapter 👀***

“So, which one do you like best?”

Camila stepped back and motioned to the outfits laid out on her bed, EZ stepping up and looking them over. The first was a blush-toned baby pink dress, long and flowing with a deep neckline and EZ nodded, already feeling drawn to that one.

“You know I love you in pink.”

Camila gave a nod and a smile, holding onto his bicep.

“I know you do.”

EZ returned her smile and leaned down to kiss her temple before standing back up and looked at the other two outfits. The second was a light beige dress that came mid-thigh, hanging off the shoulders with an empire waist and EZ loved that one too. The last was a simple black dress, nothing extravagant or flashy about it and EZ liked that. It had sleeves to the elbows and a high neckline. With a wince, he rubbed the back of his neck.

“This is hard, Cam. I can tell they’re all gonna look good on you. I can’t even pick.”

She laughed and shrugged, leaning her head against his shoulder as she looked over the outfits herself.

“I know, that’s why I figured I’d ask you.”

EZ reached forward and ran a finger over the materials, his eyes still drawn to the pink one.

“I wish you had the beige dress, but in pink.”

“Now’s not the time to be picky, Ezekiel.”

EZ laughed and so did Camila, him turning towards her and grabbing her arms, pulling them to wrap around his neck and then wrapping his own around her waist.

“You could show up in a potato sack and you’re still going to be the most beautiful girl there.”

A roll of her eyes, a blush and a smile were what he got from her as she held onto him.

“Such as sweet talker.”

EZ’s smirk appeared as his hands made their way to her hips.  

“I gotta get my game back. I was around nothing but dudes for eight years.”

Camila shook her head before cocking it to the side.

“So, I’m the guinea pig?”

EZ shrugged and gave his panty dropping smile.

“I mean… how am I doing?”

Camila eyed him as she pulled her arms away from him, wearing a smirk of her own as she started walking away from him, looking at him over her shoulder.

“A+. Now come help me rinse off these tomatoes before your dad gets here.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`

The two stood side by side working in tandem as they had done so many times before. Their process was down to a science now. Camila washed and rinsed the vegetables, placing them down onto the towel to dry some and wait for EZ who would pat them dry completely and then place them into the basket that sat atop her kitchen counter. They spent many nights or mornings this way when EZ was available, just enjoying her company.

Things had been running smoothly ever since he had told her the truth about Kevin and taking the deal two weeks ago, a certain harmony between them now that she felt he was letting her in, and he didn’t have the guilt of keeping her out. They spent as much time together as possible, her hanging out with Angel often as well, two peas in a pod. EZ had been in her home more than he had been in his trailer and had taken Angel’s advice, leaving some clothes at her place for those nights where their dates of movies and popcorn ran too late and she had him stay with her overnight.

Now here she was, drying off her harvest of tomatoes from this morning that she had picked especially for Felipe. She’s offered for him to come by her house and he’d accepted, telling her he would be by later in the afternoon. Now here she was, working feverishly to make sure Felipe had the brightest, cleanest, plumpest tomatoes of the bunch ready to go. EZ finished drying off the last one and rolled his shoulders.

“I’m gonna use the bathroom really quick.”

Camila nodded and pointed to the bathroom in her bedroom.

“Use mine. The guest one is a mess, I started painting it a different color finally.”

EZ nodded and reached for her, placing his hand softly on the back of her neck and pulling her forward so he could press a kiss to her forehead. She smiled as she always did and looked up at him with the same twinkle she always got. EZ prayed silently that she would never lose that sparkle when she looked at him. His goal was to make sure he did whatever he had to do to ensure that that look of love remained. He pulled away and headed toward her bathroom as Camila stayed, making sure that all of Felipe’s tomatoes looked perfect. He walked in and smiled as he saw the three dresses that she was still torn between, hanging on her mirror, no doubt after she had tried them all on and compared. One laying off to the side of her dresser caught his attention though and he walked over, gripping the hanger and lifting the dress so he could see it. It was a soft beige chiffon dress, flowing with draped sleeves and waist, a slit in the front where the fabric overlapped. It was simple yet elegant, sexy yet not too revealing for a vow renewal and EZ could immediately picture her in it, the golden hue of her skin a nice contrast to the lighter material, the slopes of her hips accentuated by the fabric and yet hidden by it as well, the material shifting as she walked.

EZ had never been a number one fan of heels in particular, not thrilled with the strain it put on the woman wearing them or the soreness that they often had after a night of being in them. Camila in heels was a weakness of his though, he had quickly realized the night that they had gone out for their first real date. He hadn’t seen her in any since and his eyes drifted over into the closet, locking on a pair that matched the color of the dress in his hands. Already he could see her in the outfit, and he furrowed his brows wondering why she hadn’t shown him this one.

“Cam, come here.”

She called out to him, telling him that she was coming, a smile on her face as she walked in holding a particularly large tomato.

“This is the best one that I have. Your dad will like it.”

Her smile fell some as she looked at him holding the dress though.

“Oh, I didn’t take that one out for you to pick, I was just out.”

EZ nodded and turned toward her, holding it up higher as he looked it over.

“Why not? This is my favorite, more than the ones that you showed me. I mean, you would look beautiful in all of them but this,”

He trailed off and she blushed, putting her hands down to her sides as she walked up to him.

“I don’t know. I feel like it’s too much.”

The prospect shook his head and looked back at her, his smile bright as he placed it down onto her bed gently.

“It’s not. That’s the one.”

Camila arched her eyebrows and ran her finger over the fabric, taking hold of the still attached tag.

“I bought it like, two years ago and I’ve still never worn it. I thought it was gorgeous, but I never really felt like I had a place to wear it.”

EZ walked up closer to her and rested his hand on her back, looking down at her.

“Well, now you do. It’s not too much, it’s perfect. Wear it.”

She beamed and nodded softly, grabbing the dress to hang it up by the mirror and put the others back in the closet, happy that she had finally gotten to a decision with the event only two days away. Camila turned back around to face EZ and they shared a smile, her doorbell ringing in the background. EZ laughed as her eyes lit up, Camila hurrying out of the room with her tomato in hand to answer the door for Felipe.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`

Felipe looked around, his head tilted back some as he took in a deep breath of the fresh air. The sun shone brightly, casting down in warm beams on his skin. There was a slight breeze, Camila’s bigger fruit trees blowing gently in the wind. His eyes roamed around, and he kept walking around slowly his shoes padding on the steppingstones. He walked through the garden by himself, Camila and EZ back in the house. Felipe’s eyes fell on a separate pot over to the corner by the bench and he walked over to it, sitting down. It was a baby, the soil fresh and still messy around the edge, Camila having just planted it this morning. It was small, only the beginning of the budding white flower but Felipe smiled with both sadness and nostalgia as he looked at it, recalling the time that Marisol had bought the seeds for the very same flower and had planted it as her first one.

He recalled the smile that was on her face the day she went out and saw the beginning of the green leaves starting to sprout from the soil. He’d thought her happiness was unmatched, until the day that the petals bloomed. She had taken care of that flower and had then gotten into gardening even more, flowers everywhere as a result of her green thumb. She kept various flowers outside in the garden and always had something on the counter, changing them out every week, but that orchid stayed in their bedroom and never moved. She kept it alive and well, but when she died, it died along with her and it was then that Felipe had thrown it away with a heavy heart, the brown withered petals a sick metaphor for how his life was also falling apart.

He reached over and ran the tip of his finger over the petal of the orchid, giving a smile as he stared at it unaware of the eyes that were watching him from inside. EZ was in the kitchen getting something to drink but Camila was there at the sliding door that led to the garden, watching her boyfriend's father stare at her new plant. She turned away as she saw him wipe at his eye, feeling like she was intruding and thought to herself knowing that she already had an idea of what she might suggest to EZ about getting him for Christmas.

Walking away from the window, she went into the kitchen and saw EZ at the fridge, bent over and looking inside. She smiled to herself and quietly sidled up, slapping his ass playfully and letting out a laugh as he jerked, looking back at her and shaking his head. He grabbed the beer her was eyeing and stood back up straight, turning to eye her.

“That’s inappropriate.”

She scoffed and leaned her head back incredulously.

“Oh, so you can cop a feel, but I can’t?”

“Your butt is nicer than mine.”

At that Camila shook her head, a playful grin on her face as she looked up at him.

“I beg to differ.”

Within seconds, it turned into an ass slapping contest, both turning around in circles trying to get the other, laughter filling the house so much so that neither heard the sliding glass door opening as Felipe made his way back into the house. He looked over at the sound and couldn’t help but smile, seeing his son happy and in love, much like he had once been. He stayed quiet in the corner, simply observing as Camila caught up to EZ, landing a particularly harsh spank that had EZ hissing slightly and rubbing the seat of his jeans all while her joy-filled laugh bounced off the walls. They both noticed Felipe’s presence then, a blush coming over Camila as she realized he had been there the whole time. She apologized with a hand on her chest, out of breath slightly from the horseplay.

“Sorry about that.”

The oldest Reyes shook his head and stepped forward with a genuine smile, wrapping both of his arms around their shoulders and pulling them in, leaving a kiss to both of their foreheads one after the other.

“No need to be sorry, mija. This keeps an old man like me young.”

Both she and EZ smiled at that as Felipe released them, looking at the pile of vegetables Camila had on the counter, a very familial vibe in the house.

Tag list: @caramara3   @lostgirl219 @mrsjaxtellerfan   @actuallyazriel   @vannabanana1995   @unnecessarypineapplesstuff @thegreat-annamaria @negansdirtygirl22 @svintsandghosts @piccasoe @tobesurroundedbysplendidthings

[exhaustedfander]

When is Enough Enough? [Chapter Five]

Summary: In an attempt to distract him from his worries, Roman convinces Logan to tell him the story of how he first told Remus he loved him.

1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / Epilog 

a03 link to story

“Gross!” Logan blinked.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You guys almost had sex in my backyard?! During a party full of a bunch of people?! Logan I’m surprised at you!” Logan attempted to smother a smile, but to no avail. Roman gave him a shove.

“Well, we didn’t. Almost, just as you said, even in my state of…”

“Insane horiness?” Logan rolled his eyes.

“…Arousal.”

“Ugh, that makes it sound worse. And also, you did not need to provide that much information!”

“Well…you did ask,” Logan says simply, earning an exasperated huff from Roman.

“Yeah, yeah, I asked. I still think you could’ve skipped some bits,” Roman grumbled irritably before resting his elbows on the plastic waiting room chair, a dreamy look in his eyes.

“Oh, I don’t like the look in your eyes at all, Roman. It just spells trouble.”

“My brother calls you Dragonfly,” Roman said, lullingly and pleased to see how it made Logan’s cheeks flush slightly. Logan rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes trained on the tile floor.

“Yes…he does.”

“Of all the things I’d imagine Remus calling his lover,” – Roman was keen to note how Logan’s cheeks flushed just a shade redder at that – “I never would’ve imagined something so, well, tender.” Logan shrugged, as though the pet name that set his heart alight every time his boyfriend uses it was trivial to him.

“Remus told me he calls me that because he likes insects.” Roman guffawed at that.

“Surely the reason must be more poetic than that! Dragonflies have beautiful, shimmering wings. Perhaps that’s what my dear brother thinks of you, that you’re shimmering and beautiful.” Logan gave his friend a quizzical glance.

“Just a moment ago you seemed surprised that Remus calls me anything more tender than a dork.” Roman snickered.

“Dork. Which you know also means –.”

“Whale penis,” Logan interjected with a sigh, “Yes, I’m aware. He’s quick to call me that any time he’s irritated with me.”

“He must call you a dork a lot, then.” Logan swatted him in the arm, sending him a pointed glare with no real fire behind it. A silence fell over the pair for a long moment, blanketing them in quiet. Roman could see the gears in Logan’s mind turning, could practically hear Logan’s mind screaming with worry and anger and regret.

“You really love him, don’t you?” Logan sighed, the sound labored and sad. He ran a hand through his hair, an action that in any other instance might’ve shocked Roman. Logan was usually so button-down, so put together. But now here he sat, his tie hanging loosely around his neck, his hair ruffled.

“Yes,” he answered hoarsely, his voice just above a whisper, “I love Remus, dearly. More than anything.” From the sudden surprised, wounded expression that settled onto Logan’s face, it looked as though he’d just come to terms with that. Loving Remus more than anything. A man so driven by logic and facts tossed headfirst into the throws of romance, unable to claw his way back out, no longer wanting to.

In all the time that Roman has known Logan, he’s never seemed truly happy. Of course there were moments where the two would have wonderful times together, carrying out interesting conversations. Roman loved his friend so much, and he knew his friend loved him just the same but there had always been a melancholy settled deep in Logan’s bones. There were moments in the past where Roman wondered if Logan had simply been born to be a fairly sad, unsatisfied person.

He’d fulfilled himself with teaching (Thank god it was a Saturday. The idea of Logan hearing the news of Remus’s injury in his workplace was not a pleasant one) and he spent ample time with his friends. But Logan Sanders had never seeked out love. As far as Roman had believed, he never would. He was a man who kept the company of himself, who maybe could only tolerate himself.

Except…Logan had fallen in love. Logan had let his walls down, he’s let somebody in. He’d let Remus in. Roman still can’t believe it, the thought of Logan and his brother being so in love with each other is not an easy one to comprehend. But regardless of his disbelief, it’s true.

Logan hadn’t told him, he hadn’t let Remus tell him and that…well that did sting. But it was clear now how deeply Logan regretted that, how much he hardly understood his reasoning and Roman couldn’t stay mad. If anything, he was angry with himself. Even not having been told, he should have seen the signs a mile away. Looking back, Logan had seemed happier, and Roman couldn’t wrap his head around it. But he had never even considered that someone might be making Logan happy, least of all his brother.

Remus had seemed happier too, at least that's what he'd thought when he'd seen him. Roman and his brother didn’t see each other often, their relationship wasn’t strong enough to weather the storms of prolonged interactions. Roman regretted that too, now, how damaged they were. When Remus woke up and was alright – because damnit, he would be alright. If he had to, Roman was determined to channel all his energy to pull his brother from the grave. He wouldn’t lose him, and neither would Logan. Or at least that’s what he was telling himself.

“Which one of you said it first?” Logan glanced up at Roman, the tormented expression that had invaded his face replaced with one of confusion. Roman prayed that his asking would distract Logan from his deep-seeded worry rather than escalate it. He didn’t exactly have a better idea.

“What?”

“I love you,” Roman clarified, searching for hope in Logan’s eyes and doing his best to mask his despair when he found very little of it, “Which one of you said it first?”

“Oh,” Logan said, “I did.” Roman couldn’t help but be surprised.

“Really? Oh, was it terribly romantic, Logan? Did you hold my brother close and whisper it in his ear, kissing him like he’d never been kissed before? Did it happen during a candlelit dinner, or perhaps on a picnic as you watched the sun set?” The dramatic questioning earned a tired chuckle from Logan, something Roman considered a job well-done.

“Hardly,” Logan responded through his laugh, “I hadn’t even meant to say it at the time, if memory serves correctly.” Logan said that as if the moment wasn’t carefully archived in his mind, easily accessible and played back often.

“Is that so?”

=+=

Logan walked through the door, sighing as he removed his shoes and set down his briefcase. Logan never disliked his job, teaching had always been his dream. Regardless, teaching fifteen- year-old Chemistry had its exhausting moments and he was thankful to be home.

For a moment Logan wondered if Remus was already over, before hearing a clang from the kitchen and sighed fondly.

“I’m home, dear.” He heard the shuffling of feet before Remus poked his head through the kitchen doorway, his eyes lighting up.

“Dragonfly!” Remus exclaimed excitedly, bounding in Logan’s direction much like an excitable puppy before pulling him into a bone-crushing hug. Logan chuckled, returning the embrace.

“Hello, Remus. How are you today?” Logan had never thought of himself as someone to use pet-names. It was undignifying, he’d thought, and he certainly wouldn’t want to be called some sappy, silly name. But yet here he was, in the arms of the strange, extraordinarily weird man who had captured his heart. He was beginning to think he’d be willing to call Remus anything, no matter how silly, so long as it brought a smile to his face.

“Better now that you’re here,” Remus responded sappily before pressing a slow, burning kiss to Logan’s lips. The teacher pulled back breathlessly, his hands resting on Remus’s shoulders.

It was only four months into their relationship and Logan had recently given Remus a key to his apartment. If a friend of his had provided a partner with such easy access to their home so quickly into a romantic endeavor, Logan might’ve scolded them. Surely such a thing was unwise, surely it was far too quick. But, strangely enough, Logan had made this decision and none of his friends were aware to scold him.

He hadn’t intended to rush into things at full force. There had even been a concern early-on that Remus and his relationship was more dominated by the desire for intercourse than anything else. Looking back, the thought was foolish. There had been strong feelings between them long before they decided to begin a relationship, feelings that had only increased in volume as time went on.

At first Logan had told himself that how would be cautious, take things one step at a time. but before he was even aware of it, he was breaking his own rules, allowing Remus to go as fast as he liked, allowing himself to do so. He disregarded all hesitations because in all honesty, there were very few. Remus was a very impulsive person. He’d claimed in many instances that there was no rhyme or reason for his behavior much of the time, which Logan believed to be true, but he’d never expected the impulsiveness to carry over to him. Remus did and said what he wanted almost always, he took what he desired to be his. Logan supposed he was taking what he wanted now, too.

“Mm, someone’s happy to see me,” Remus grinned, his mustache curling up as he smiled and kissed Logan again.

“Of course, dear. I’m always pleased to be in your company. And it’s been a rather tiring day.” Remus pouted his lip, releasing Logan from his hold of him and giving his boyfriend a once-over. If his eyes focused on Logan’s lower regions a second or two too long, Logan made no comment against it.

“My poor, sweet teacher,” he crooned, cupping Logan’s cheeks in his own, “Your students are running you positively raged!” Logan quirked an eyebrow.

“Well, I wouldn’t go so far as to say –.” Logan fell silent as Remus’s hands found themselves around his waist and hefting him over his shoulder like he was a sack of potatoes. Despite his intention to do otherwise, Logan let out a string of giggles, good lord, Logan was giggling as Remus held him. Remus was clearly much stronger than Logan had previously assumed, not that he was complaining.

“You have the cutest laugh, dragonfly,” Remus announced fondly, setting Logan down on the couch and flopping himself beside him. “Why don’t you let me hear it more?” Logan sighed, recovering from the sudden laughing fit and attempting to adjust his tie. Remus, it seemed, was having none of it as he grabbed the tie and yanked it off, dangling it away from Logan's reach.

“Because I like to be taken seriously,” Logan said curtly, attempting to take back the tie before Remus moved away from his boyfriend and arched his arm back, releasing the tie. The article of clothing sailed through the air, miraculously landing on top of the TV, hanging limp across the screen. Logan exhaled, rolling his eyes as Remus grinned joyfully.

“You’re incorrigible.”

“You better believe it, baby!” Remus said proudly, wrapping his arms around Logan’s waist and holding him in place so that he wouldn’t be able to retrieve the tie. Logan struggled for a moment, in vain, before giving up and slackening against the couch.

“Is it so surprising that I want to be taken seriously?” Logan asked, only to find a hand being ran through his hair, quickly ruffling it. With anyone else, Logan would’ve pulled away immediately, spending maybe a bit too much time in the morning making sure his hair is just-so, so much time it might even rival that of Roman’s routine, not that he needed to know. Logan’s appearance was important to him; he wanted people to understand on looks alone that he meant business. But it seemed Remus enjoyed the luxury of all kinds of exceptions, because Logan simply leaned into the touch like he was a cat receiving a scratch behind the ear, enjoying as Remus carded his fingers through his hair.

“My dork,” Logan decided against commenting on the nickname, knowing it would only send Remus into a whale-penis-related-rant, “Always so serious. I adore seeing you like this, so vulnerable with me. You put up so many walls with other people, do you know that?” Logan shut his eyes, sighing contently as Remus massaged his scalp.

“Do I?” Logan asked in a relaxed tone as though he didn’t know that for a fact.

“You do. You’re so certain that people won’t listen to you if you don’t hide away all your emotions and act as austere as possible. But look at you now? So content, so at peace. So beautiful and relaxed.” Logan found he didn’t have the energy to have a rebuttal of any kind, instead melting into Remus with his head in his lap. His boyfriend chuckled at that.

“Is this about the time you attempt and jump-scare me again?” Logan muttered against Remus’s thigh after a moment of silence. A vexed sound bubbled in Remus’s throat.

“Well, maybe I was considering it. But I can’t now, you’ll be expecting it!” Logan laughed lightly at that. It was strange, how much he laughed so openly in front of Remus. With other people, even his friends, Logan often found himself holding back laughter. But it seemed his boyfriend just brought it out of him, whether he wanted it to or not.

“What did you do today, sweetheart?”

“I started writing a new chapter,” Remus said proudly, his hands still massaging his scalp. Logan knew all about the current book that Remus was working on, another one of his growing collection of horror stories that were gaining in popularity recently. At this rate, he might soon be dating a renowned author.

“You’ll have to let me read it when it’s finished,” Logan hummed, “How’s it going so far?” In all honesty, Logan did not usually care for the kind of work that Remus did. He was a horror writer, a style of literature that had never been one to captivate Logan. It was always so far-fetched, so unnecessarily violent. But he liked the way that Remus wrote. Could it be because he was dating him? Perhaps, but he enjoyed Remus’s style. It was brazening and energetic and intense, much like Remus himself.

“It’s going okay, but I think it needs more gore.”

“Don’t you always say that, dear?”

“Well, yeah, but I really mean it this time! I’m writing about a pack of wild dogs tearing a man limb from limb!”

“How dreadful.”

“I know!” Remus responded, his voice almost concerningly happy to be talking about such carnage. But this was Remus, and thus, business as usual.  “It’s all so much fun! And after that I came here before you arrived, and I stole your pudding.”

“Remus, the food in the fridge is just as much yours as it is mine when you stay here. Help yourself.”

“I ate it with a fork!” Remus announced loudly, practically beaming.

“That seems…needlessly time consuming,” Logan grimaced.

“Oh, it was! The pudding kept sliding off the fork. After a while I just decided to stick my tongue in the container and scoop it out.” The tone of voice that Remus used while describing the consumption of food was unnecessarily sexual, but again, not surprising. Logan had once seen him nearly fully deep-throat a banana. Was the thought disgusting or arousing? Both, maybe.

“And why couldn’t you get a spoon?”

“Didn’t want to!” Remus said as though it were obvious, his voice almost shrill enough to pull him from his relaxed state. Almost.

“I considered smearing it all over your walls, but then I thought you might not like that.”

“Ah, how kind of you to consider such a thing,” Logan said, voice heavy with sarcasm, “As much as I wanted you to make an awful mess for me to clean up –.”

“Oh! Well, if that’s what you want it’s not too late for me to make a mess!” Remus suggested, diabolical as ever. Logan couldn’t help but laugh half-heartedly at his boyfriend’s strange impulsive nature.

“It’s a wonder I love you as much as I do.” The fingers tangled in Logan’s hair ceased their motion as Remus stiffened. It took Logan a moment to even realize what he’d just admitted. He hadn’t meant to say it aloud, he didn’t even notice he’d done it. he’d just been so relaxed, and happy, and enjoying Remus’s company such a great deal –

“You love me?” The question came out slow and quiet, more reserved than Logan had ever heard his boyfriend so much so that it was startling. Logan sat up, his eyes meeting Remus’s hesitantly before he cleared his throat.

“I…yes. Yes, I do.” Panic ensnared Logan’s mind. How could he just blurt something like that out? Should he not have said that? Was it too early to be saying things of that magnitude? Should –

Suddenly Remus was in Logan’s lap, one hand tangled in his hair with the other cupping his face as he kissed him desperately. Huh. Evidently, Logan had not suddenly doomed his relationship.

“I love you too, dragonfly,” Remus breathed out against his lips before reining him in for another heated embrace, biting at Logan’s bottom lip and earning a gasp. “I love you. Desperately.”

Regardless of how much Logan had ignored the desire throughout most of his life, this was what Logan had been craving. This was what Logan had been needing. Love. Pure, unabashed, genuine love. Someone who Logan could let his guard down in front of, someone who he could trust and confided in. Logan loved Remus in a way that he’d never done so for another person. Despite his best intentions and initial hesitation, Remus had slipped through all of the cracks and now occupied so much of his mind, of his heart.

Remus loved him, truly, honestly loved him. All remaining stress of the day melted away as Logan kissed the man who had ensnared his heart.

=+=

“You’re a fiend and a liar!” “Excuse me?” “You said that it wasn’t a romantic story, but you totally lied! That was just about as romantic as they come.” Logan tilted his head, confused.

“What’s conventionally romantic about it? Remus had said something gross and I had responded by telling him that I loved him for the first time. Granted it’s something that...well, I like the way things played out. But it’s not one for the storybooks.” “Who says it isn’t?” Roman queried, “No matter how unconventional, you confessed your love for my brother and it was reciprocated. And the interaction was so uniquely you two.”

“Roman, you haven’t even seen us interact as a couple. How would you know what is or isn’t us?” Roman shook his head, caught up in the excitement of thinking about the happiness his friend and his twin shared. How could he have missed their blatant happiness? It must have been so obvious!

“Well, I do believe I’m starting to understand your dynamic. From what you’ve told me, you two sounds positively perfect for one another.” Roman never thought in a million years he would be telling Logan he and Remus were perfect for one another, but here he was, and it had to be admitted. They just sounded so incessantly sweet in their own strange way.

Just as Roman said so a door opened and both friends straightened their posture. Logan rose to his feet, walking briskly in the direction of the doctor.

“Doctor? Is – is there any news on Remus’s condition? Is he alright?” The smile on Dr. Clark’s face was an immediately relieving sight.

“The surgery was a complete success. Remus is awake now.” Logan’s face broke out in a smile.

“He’s – he’s awake. Is he lucid?” The Dr. nodded.

“Yes, he is. The first thing he said when he woke up was your name, Mr. Sanders.”

Remus was awake, Remus was alive. Remus had awoken with Logan’s name on his lips. Logan glanced from the doctor to Roman and back to the doctor again, his overwhelming relief coming off of him in waves.

“Would it be alright if we saw him? If only for a small fraction of time.” Dr. Clark nodded and quickly Roman was stumbling to his feet too.

“Yes, considering how much Remus has been asking about you, that would be just fine,” Dr. Clark said, opening the door to Remus’s room. The two friends slowly wandered into Remus’s hospital room.

Logan's heart pounded as his eyes met Remus's instantly.

=+=

[dopescotlandwarrior]

A Hero Among Us-Chapter 2

On AO3

Chapter Two

A month had come and gone with no workers showing up from San Francisco. Claire chewed her nail as she rocked on the front porch. She should count her blessings she wasn’t feeding men that came early. Please come, she thought. Misses Crook came out with a basin of cold water for Claire to put her feet into. It was getting quite warm and she was not accustomed to this kind of heat.

“Misses Crook why are you limping that way, what has happened?”

“My ankle is swelled up and painful. No mistress, I’ll be alright.”

Misses Crook was stepping away from Claire trying to lift her skirt to see her ankle. She had suffered from this affliction for a month and could no longer hide her limping.

“You need to go to your room and rest. I will not entertain argument about this misses Crook. I will bring your supper soon. Now go.”

When misses Crook didn’t move Claire walked to the front of the porch and dropped to her knees.

“If you won’t listen to me then I shall stand on my head where all can see my skirts fall over my face and my private places will be on full display.”

To misses Crooks horror, Claire dropped her head to the floor of the porch and started throwing her legs in the air with skirts and several under layers going in every direction.

“Misses Randell, please get up! It is not proper what yer doin. I will lay down if ye promise not to do such a thing again.”

She was pulling on Claire’s arm and looking at her red face with concern. When Claire started to go back to the floor misses Crook limped away as fast as could bear. Claire sat down and put her feet back into the cool water with a smile on her face. Misses Crook was easy to manipulate once she threatened her own well being. She rocked and picked up her book.

Before making dinner, Claire went out to check her garden and dribble water on the thirsty vegetables. With no rain in months, the new plants were struggling and she needed them to grow so she could feed the workers. Jamie insisted the garden be bigger to provide the needed food but Claire had stood her ground. Now she wasn’t sure.

Behind Jamie’s cabin, he toiled in his secret garden that ran the length of the cabins and was almost fully planted with carrots, peas, lettuce, cabbage, potatoes, onions, celery, radishes, cucumber, and rhubarb. Running alongside the garden were three long rows of sweet corn, two feet high. All contributed by other farmers in the area who had sacks of seeds, easily accessible to someone who cared to look. The farms were giving way to the coalition who wanted to convert the land to vineyards. Thankfully, enough remained to provide for Jamie’s vegetable garden.

Shirtless, on his hands and knees, he pulled weeds, pinched back certain plants, and thought about Claire. He wanted to go home, he needed to go home to Lallybroch where he knew his place and women were stout and strong from farming and the surviving the cold of the Highlands. There was no one like Claire there. Soft and refined like a china doll he had seen once at a fair. He worried about Claire’s ability to run the vineyard when he left but he hoped one or more of the workers would stay on and help her. He would handpick from the men who came, when they came, if they came. He looked up at the blue sky and cursed it for no rain in two months. It better come soon or they would have huge losses.

“Mister Fraser?”

Jamie’s head snapped up and he threw his shirt on and brushed the dirt off his pants before going to meet her.

“There you are. I am looking for you but afraid to go much further with all the snakes.”

Jamie hung his head and felt shame for telling her there were snakes behind the cabins. It was the only way to keep her from finding his garden. The very garden she insisted they didn’t need.

“What do ye need mistress?”

“Will you please see if you can find any of these items? If you know how to ride you can take Brimstone.”

“Thank ye, but I will walk and be back quick as I can.”

Claire handed him two dollars and a list of items and he left. Jamie covered a lot of ground when he walked alone and he was jolted out of his daydreams by a loud horse in distress. He made his way to the horse auction that was crowded with buyers who were voicing their disappointment with the quality of the horse. Jamie had never seen such a beautiful animal, pure black and still a stallion. The poor horse was dripping blood where he was hobbled brutally, snorting and stamping his feet as a warning to anyone who approached him. Jamie watched the buyers turn their back on the wild horse.

“How much?”

All heads turned to Jamie and there was much snickering coming from the experts. The man in the ring shouted back two dollars, includes saddle and bridle. Jamie jumped the fence and walked toward the animal keeping himself looking ignorant.

“What do they eat?” More snickering.

“I dinna care for walkin so I want to buy this horse.”

Jamie bent down to look under the horse because that is what a novice would do and the horse tried to bite him. The crowd was laughing about the idiot in the ring and Jamie did everything he could to fuel that assumption.

He turned to the crowd, “any bets I can break him in an hour?”

“Can you cover my bet?”

“Well, I would have to lose, which I won’t, but if I did you get these for seven days.” He pulled his shirt sleeves up to his shoulders and flexed, pushing up the volume of the murmurs. One by one the men laid down their bets which were handed over to the auctioneer for safekeeping. Jamie had no idea how much money was bet against him or how many months of work he had committed himself to. He wouldn’t lose and that he was sure of.

He asked to use a long rope on the auctioneer’s booth and then he set the animal free as the men were slapping each other on the back and laughing. As soon as the horse stopped Jamie whistled through his teeth and threw one end of the rope at the horse's rump. The stallion ran as Jamie continued to throw the rope end, wind it back, and throw it again. After ten minutes he held the rope and let the horse stop. He turned his butt toward Jamie and got smacked with the rope for another five minutes. This continued until the horse finally stopped with his head pointed at Jamie. He spoke quietly in Gaelic and scratched his face. The horse was covered in sweat and breathing hard. Jamie walked back to the auctioneer to return his rope and the horse followed.

Another two minute speaking to the animal and Jamie swung up into the saddle as the crowd was hushed by this brave, soon to be dead, man. When Jamie’s seat made contact with the horse’s back it’s head came up in alarm, not sure what just happened. In that moment of confusion, Jamie hunkered down into the saddle to wait for the ride of his life. The auctioneer watched with huge eyes as the horse made it his mission to kill this rider and no holds barred. The horse was big, the biggest Jamie had seen and he anticipated some hard bucks but he held on for five continuous minutes of wicked bucking from a homicidal horse. It takes energy to kick your back legs into the air, especially with two-hundred pounds on your back. The horse finally gave up so he could breathe.

When the horse was completely spent he was kicked by the rider but could do nothing but walk forward. For that he received a kind hand on his neck, a soft voice of encouragement and the painful metal in his mouth was released. The horse dropped his head and when the heels touched his sides he kept walking.

Jamie approached the auctioneer who handed him a bundle of dollar bills and Jamie walked his new horse out of the ring thanking God silently, over and over again.

“Yer name will be Donus. Do ye like it? It’s a good name for a stallion. If ye mind yer manners and dinna kill anyone I will let ye stay a stallion. If not it will be yer own fault.”

Donus was put into a stall and fed while he rubbed noses with Brimstone who squealed and stomped her feet at the handsome stallion.

“The lady flirts and shows interest in ye. Don’t be an idiot and make her sorry. Goodnight my friend, we will do battle again tomorrow I’m afraid, but one day ye will know I wilna harm ye and I will protect ye and keep ye fed.”

Jamie walked to the small outbuilding for a rope to use tomorrow. He saw something in his peripheral vision that moved when he opened the door. He said nothing but walked through the building grabbing supplies.

“If ye come out, no harm will come to ye, ye have my word. If I have to come find ye, it’s gonna hurt.”

“Well?”

To Jamie’s surprise, an oriental man came around the corner and bowed but would not look at him. He was emaciated with sunken eyes and gray skin. Jamie approached him and spoke the same as he did to Donus.

Claire had supper ready and rang the bell for Jamie who came around the corner holding an oriental man by the neck. Jamie’s face looked highly irritated.

Claire stepped forward and asked what was going on and heard misses Crook gasp behind her. She ran to the older woman who was sitting on the floor after falling from paid. She held her ankle and howled.

Jamie released the oriental man’s neck and pushed him toward the road. “Go, yer free, don’t come back.”

The slight man looked at misses Crook’s ankle and offered to help. Jamie launched at him to physically remove him from the property as Claire was saying “thank you, please do.” Jamie stood down and watched the carnival show as the little man gained misses Crook’s trust. He felt all around her ankle and then said he could fix it if she could remain very still.

Jamie decided the man was a step up from snake oil seller and again prepared to remove him when he heard misses Crook say “thank ye, please do.” Again he stood down.

The man turned his back to the ladies so he could work on the ankle without being seen. He removed a small leather packet from his pocket and rolled it open revealing twenty or so long needles that looked like serious weapons. Jamie grabbed the small man’s throat and promised to snap it if misses Crook felt any pain.

“Please, I must move my head down to see.”

Jamie moved menacingly close to the man and released his neck watching in horror as the needles were inserted into the ankle at different angles. Misses Crook did not seem to notice or mention any pain and the oriental was quick and practiced with the needles. They were removed and put back in his pocket before he stood and asked misses Crook to stand up.

Jamie watched Claire struggle to help the older woman up and lent his assistance by lifting her to her feet. She put her foot tenderly on the floor adding a bit of weight as her eyes grew big as saucers.

“I have no pain, I have no pain!” She walked several steps and turned around. “I dinna ken this magic but my ankle feels normal. Thank you sir!”

An hour later there were two very happy ladies serving plates of food to one starving oriental healer and one surly Jamie. He thanked the mistress for the meal and beat it away from the house where he could breathe. He found several halters in mister Randell’s equipment and chose the biggest one for his new horse. He pulled a carrot from his garden and offered it to stallion quickly slipping the halter over his head and clipping a rope to it. Jamie turned his back to the horse and spoke quietly.

“I need to show ye around the place so when ye get lucky and unseat me ye’ll know where home is. Ye are the most impressive horse I’ve ere seen and I respect that ye are a newcomer to our world so I wilna force ye and cause ye to be scared. Trust me and I will look after ye. Regarding yer enormous bullocks remember what I said, don’t kill anyone and ye keep em.”

Jamie pushed the stall open and walked forward holding his breath and feeling delight when the rope remained slack because the huge horse was following him.

“Thank ye for the trust.”

They walked all over the vineyard while there was still light. Donus was curious about everything and Jamie gave him time to investigate what he wanted. He talked about Claire the entire time, unloading his crush and emotional neediness to the animal behind him. Donus startled at something when they were up in the terraces. Jamie could imagine a gigantic black horse rolling down the hill, breaking every leg, and scaring the piss out of Claire. Sheer will kept him from looking back as he continued with the same voice and gate he had been using. He put his trust in Donus and prayed the horse would not bolt forward and run him over. He went back to talking about Claire and finally put the horse up for the night.

Jamie laid down on his bed and wanted sleep to take him far away from this place, where the air is cold and the fields are snow-laden for six months of the year. As soon as his eyes closed…

“This is mister Fraser’s cabin and you may have any of the others, just pick one.”

“I prefer outside.”

“What? You cannot live outside sir. Why do you reject my cabin, is it the snakes you worry about?”

Jamie groaned inwardly and continued to eavesdrop until he was pulled into a much-needed sleep.

Claire was struggling with the intense heat of California and when the house became unbearable she and misses Crook would sit on the porch and read or sew. Claire watched Jamie whenever she could see him and today she saw he was followed by an enormous black horse. She stood and watched the animal put his nose on whatever Jamie touched and then followed him again until he touched something else. She was enthralled watching this educational stroll take place and wondered where the beast came from. Her curiosity won and she marched toward the terraces until halting abruptly at the cabins. She would have to walk through the snakes to get up there and felt herself backing up and watching her feet. When she returned to the house she picked up her mending and decided to ask Jamie another time.

Claire was drifting in and out of a dream state and felt the vibration of something heavy hitting the ground. She peaked out and sat up when she saw Jamie. Behind him was the biggest, blackest, horse she had ever seen.

“Mister Fraser, did that beast follow you home one day?”

He explained how he purchased the animal and then bet his life to cover the wagers. He handed her a wad of dollar bills, and with a hanging head agreed to vacate the property if she could not forgive him.

“How bloody sure were you that you could break that horse?”

Her irritated tome cut right through him. “One-hundred percent mistress.”

“So I gave you two dollars and you return with thirteen dollars and a horse. I really don’t know what to say about that mister Fraser.”

Claire retired to the inside of the house and the conversation was over.

“This is all yer fault ye big idiot. I wouldna done it for any other horse so it has to be yer fault, c’mon.”

Claire looked at the money in her hand with a pounding heart and felt liberated from the fear that was breaking her back. She now had the means to feed the men, if they came. Please come, she thought.

Deep in the night, Jamie’s eyes flew open and he held his breath trying to hear the noise that woke him. It almost sounded like voices, maybe two men. He continued to listen and realized the voices were moving toward him so he waited. After five minutes he heard them clearly. Two men arguing about some lass with a flat nose. I’m dreaming, he thought and closed his eyes to sleep again.

When Jamie woke the next time he jumped out of bed and pressed his ear to the door. The arguing men were right outside! And still arguing! He threw on his clothes and boots and pulled the door open to see two men sitting around an unlit fire, and of course, arguing.

“On yer feet gentleman,” he barked

Both men jumped to their feet. “Who are ye”.

“Angus MacKenzie, Rupert MacKenzie.”

“Brothers?”

“Cousins.”

Jamie asked a dozen questions to which the men gave brief or one-word answers. The two of ye double up in the cabin at the end and learn to whisper yer arguments or stop havin them. I need to sleep a couple more hours or die breakin a horse tomorrow. If ye wake me again, it’ll be you that climbs up that monster tomorrow. Goodnight gentlemen.

The two men were eyeing each other like children who could not wait to brawl but they made it to the end cabin without a sound. Jamie laid down and dreamed of Claire. She was on Brimstone galloping out of the vineyard toward him. The wind billowed her thin white skirt up her legs and he could see one bare hip as well. He was very turned on by seeing the forbidden parts of her body but as she came near her face looked startled and scared. She halted Brimstone just a foot in front of him. She had a large bunch of red grapes that she handed him and said, “they fall.” Then she handed him a bunch of white grapes and said, “they burn.”

Jamie jerked his eyes open and sat up, covered in sweat. Ah dhia! The dream felt like a warning of some kind and it seemed so real. Jamie started his day and tried to shake it off but it returned to his mind over and over again.

Jamie walked back to the garden and found Yi Tien Cho squatting low next to the plants. He pulled the plant matter through his fingers, he smelled the leaves and he tasted the dirt before walking toward the barn.

Jamie shook his head and wondered if he would make it to the harvest with his mind intact. He looked at the sky and caught a faint scent that quickened his heartbeat. He sniffed again and ran to the front of the property to see the deciduous trees and watch the leaves. They were starting to curl at the edges, trying to turn over but not quite the right conditions yet. He ran to the house to find Claire.

Misses Crook opened the door with a sour face. “Do ye love to argue mister Fraser? I tell ya every day to just come in and ye insist on knockin the very next mornin.”

Jamie looked down and shook his head quickly, “I canna misses Crook.”

Claire came breezing out and took his arm to pull him inside to the table.

“Please eat and let me tell you about my dream last night.”

“Was it about grapes on fire?”

“What? No, it was two chickens who argued with a Scottish accent.”

“Oh, those are the first two idiots who showed up to work. There are more comin accordin to them.”

“That is wonderful news mister Fraser!”

Jamie inhaled his porridge and excused himself to his chores.

Jamie explained to Donus just what they needed to do today. So far the horse seemed stand offish but wasn’t breathing fire yet. Jamie brushed him to gleaming and slowly pulled the bridal halfway up his head before giving him a handful of sugar cubes. As Donus chewed them with delight Jamie pulled the bit into his mouth and secured the bridal. He spent the next five minutes talking about Claire in Gaelic but all Donus heard was the soft sound of his voice.

Next came the saddle and suddenly Donus was fully aware of the torture that was coming. He pinned his ears and tried to bite Jamie getting a smack in the mouth for his efforts. When the saddle was secure Jamie tried to calm him down and by talking some more.

“Ye see Donus, she is the most beautiful lass ever made but I canna have her. I’m not high born as she is and it’s breakin my heart. Misses Crook wants me to stop knockin on the door but I won’t give up the chance to have her take my arm. She does that a lot…” “This went on for so long the horse got bored and started chewing on his feeder.

“Okay, let’s go.”

Jamie crossed himself and swung up into the saddle. He was ready for another fight to the death and Donus just stood there. Jamie pressed his lower leg lightly into the horse's sides and Donus morphed into Diablo, screaming and leaping into the air, putting his head down and bucking with fury.

“Ah, is that all ye have my friend!”

The horse was making such a ruckus the two new Scotts were running toward them. Donus snorted and took off at a gallop covering an impressive amount of ground Jamie noticed. He would stop just long enough to try again to throw his rider only to feel a sharp heel in his sides. Jamie didn’t try to steer, he just wanted to hold on. So Donus galloped from one end of the open space to the other. Claire heard the commotion and walked out to the porch in time to see Donus screaming and bucking across the expanse of the front year while Jamie held on for dear life. Two strange men chased them laughing and telling Jamie to raise one arm in the air like the bronc riders.

Claire’s mouth hung open as she watched Jamie’s last moments on earth and she nearly came apart at the seams. When Donus bucked across the yard in the other direction Jamie caught a glimpse of Claire’s face which looked stricken and white as snow. He let Donus assist with a flying dismount and landed on his feet, reins in hand. Peering around Donus he saw her stomping toward him looking like she might kill whoever was in her way. Jamie felt a million sparklers go off inside him because she really did care for him and she was comin to tell him so. He thought he might faint from happiness and his smile was radiant.

“Have you lost your mind mister Fraser? You promised to help me with the harvest and then try to kill yourself on this beastly animal. She turned on her heel and huffed away to the house. Jamie’s smile fell off when he heard the word harvest. That is all he meant to her and his heart broke as he walked Donus to cool him down.

“I’m a fool and yer just a wee devil idiot, this is all yer fault.”

Jamie was in a funk for the rest of the day. More men came so he showed them around and got an idea of everyone’s experience. These men were from the Scottish Highlands, his home, they shared the same experiences. At night they would sit around the fire and tell stories. It was a salve to his aching heart and made him yearn for home.

Soon, he thought, in eight weeks I will be headed for home.

[hortascountrysidenotes]

Reasons to be cheerful part 4

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

HORTA

[obibail]

my main squeezes: Vince, Sam, and Vespa! + your Skyrim OC 👀👀👀👀👀👀🔍

fghjdfskj the boys!!!!!!

Vince

The only person to ever call Vince Vincent is his mother. And Rush that one time.

Speaks English, Spanish, French, Haitian Creole, Portuguese, and Arabic.

Was attending NYU for cinema studies. Loved loved loved cinematography studies and film theory. Wanted to be a director! Had actually written & directed two short films already and had been shooting two more that he hoped to premiere at a few local film festivals. Had to drop out of the program after the accident that cost him his left arm because of the medical expenses and the long hospital stays. To say he was crushed is,,,, an understatement.

Was in California having an experimental prosthetic arm fitted & attached when the bombs dropped. He’s told that he followed everyone else to the bunkers but he has no memory of it. The doctors assume it’s either shock or the anesthesia that was in his system when it all happened, but regardless he comes to in immense nerve pain and in a crowded hospital bunker underneath Los Angeles with no clue with the fuck is going on. 

Actually knows Ghost, ran with the same group Ghost did in Baja California for two years. Ghost had a big hand in how constantly battered Vince was during those years, liked to goad Vince into worse and worse shit because Ghost wanted to see how far someone like Vince - who was one of the few people in their group with morals - could be pushed before he broke. Ghost got their answer, too, when Vince turns around and - in a nearly blind rage - kills two of their group just before a planned attack on a community of mostly non-combatants.

Lost his right leg in 2030, an infected bullet wound that they (in the middle of a medicine shortage after a brutal winter) didn’t have the means to treat. His eventual leg prosthetic was built based on close study of his arm. Connecting it alone puts him out of commission for almost two months.

Does actually,,,, steal rings off corpses sometimes. A habit he picked up while with Ghost’s crew, a kind of trophy-hunting activity that turned into an unconscious action because he did it so much. He’s got,,, a pretty substantial ring collection. He pretends he feels worse about it than he actually does because what use did a dead person have for jewelry anyway?

Rush is the one who teaches him to shoot, a year or two after Vince joins his group. It comes to the group’s attention that Vince had never even held a gun prior to Rush - acting on a hunch - putting one in his hands one stupid hot California day and told him to go hog on some static targets. Vince missed pretty much every single one. Thankfully, his aim has gotten much better since then.

Vince feels conflicted about a number of things that he has done over the years but killing Ghost’s sociopath ass when they cross paths again in Hope County ain’t one of them.

Sam

Sam, good old midwestern boy that he is, legally cannot cuss.

He’s tall as hell but also thin as hell. He’s 6′6 at least but he’s also probably 145lbs soaking wet. A toothpick.

Nick calls him Sammy. (One time Nick slipped up and referred to the Judge as Sammy and everyone had a bad day about it.)

Sheriff Whitehorse is actually Sam’s godfather! Whitehorse and Sam’s dad (a retired sheriff from South Dakota) were really good friends & still kept in touch pretty regularly before the cult business started up bad in Hope Country. It’s Whitehorse that pulls the strings to get his anxious pothead veteran godson a position as a deputy. (Sam calls him uncle). 

Sam is bisexual but how do you say very very repressed about it. Lots of religious-guilt-tinged self-hate because of growing up Catholic in the midwest and then in the south. Definitely had an “in love with my same gender best friend and very ashamed of it” phase.

Sam and John Seed actually ran in the same circles growing up, just at different times. John’s a few years older but they went to the same high school & John’s adopted parents and Sam’s mom were actually well-acquainted. As a teenager, Sam used to be invited to John’s parties & would go with friends and get a little too drunk (which John would them use as fun leverage against Sam’s fairly powerful mother).

On that subject, John was 100% Sam’s bougie weed man all through high school and later when he got out of the Air Force & was self medicating his PTSD.

Sam, realizing he played right into Joseph’s hands: You played me like a fiddle!Joseph: Oh no, Deputy. Fiddles are actually difficult to play. I played you like to cheap kazoo you are.

& some Judge stuff bc 💔💔: Sometimes he’ll disappear for hours on end and most of New Eden is just *solemnly* “he must be doing something very important” except instead of doing that he’s sleeping in the most secret, softest place he could find.

Has an adopted daughter, a little girl named Abigail who attached herself to him at the hip - because she was born mute and he is also mute and she thinks that’s neat, she’d never met anyone like herself before. She and the Judge make up their own version of sign language - that actually ends up being shared between a lot of the residents of New Eden, especially the scouts that the Judge trains.

Vespa

Card-carrying member of the billionaire boys club. 

Corporate CEO mom who raised him in a very hands-off way because she was always too busy. Homeschooled, raised by nannies. A lot of his education came through the net, which he learned to navigate at a terribly young age while ignoring his tutors because they bored him.

Has a “rival” in Dare Aranya, his mother’s former protege and the person who (“allegedly”, but definitely) orchestrated her assassination and the woman who is currently CEO of Sasaki Industries and is the executor of Vespa’s mom’s will.

Even though his mother is assassinated when he is 16, he stays in Night City for a year after and blows through whatever bits of his inheritance he can get his hands on, on parties and drugs and vehicles and whatever else a traumatized teenager who saw his mom’s murder can spend money on. A spoiled disaster of a teenage party prince of the highest caliber. Ends up leaving Night City when his money suddenly dries up, syphoned off by Dare.  

Bounces between countries and netspaces for years, never spending more than a few months in once place (aside from significant stays in Mumbai, Moscow, and Tokyo). Only returns to Night City after a botch job in Tokyo. 

Is actually an Arasaka on his dad’s side, is the great grandnephew of Saburo Arasaka. He ends up staying with a branch of the Arasaka family in Tokyo until he fucks up a job for them while high and gets thrown out on his ass. 

Has constant splitting headaches because of his bionic eyes - which are half the reason he self-medicates so heavily. Had to have them replaced and maintained constantly as a child because of natural human growth, which was always a terrifying experience for him, not helped at all by the sterile white rooms he would be taken to or the cool detachment of his doctors who did not work with children and were not paid for their bedside manner. It culminated in a scalding dislike for doctors and a refusal to go to them unless he is literally dying. Ripperdocs are equally, if not more, off limits.

Is notorious for turning off his hearing aids when he wants to focus better or when he is getting too sensory overloaded to function, frustrating everyone he has ever worked with. 

He’s adamant his nickname is from the Italian word for “wasp” (as a riff off Dare’s last name, a phonetic spelling of araña, Spanish for spider. one time - while he was in Milan like the rich idiot he is - he heard about these wasps that kill spiders and he has a Justified Grudge against Dare so. wasp) and not from the scooter but he’s scooter boy forever now. 

Jackie Welles, hefting Vespa “idiot bastard who spent all his money on drugs and passed out in the back room of a bar again” Sasaki over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes: god damn I wish you’d take care of yourself

I didn’t know if you meant Katja or Sylon but I’m gonna go with Sylon because I love him & bc he’s the more developed of the two rn 😬😬

Is some mix of Breton and Bosmer but no one really knows for sure because no one knows who his actual parents are. The ‘parents’ he was taken from were skooma addicts who had been hounding Khajiit merchants for weeks and were irresponsible to the point that a whole caravan of Khajiit, stressing out while watching this couple neglect their tiny child, collectively lost their minds and just went “listen here’s the stuff you want, don’t even pay us just give us the baby. give us the baby, please.” The caravan finds that couple again not two days later, dead in the desert, and no one is even surprised.

Amazing singing voice but doesn’t actually think he can sing at all. Will hum or sing absent-mindedly sometimes and get real surprised when he looks up to find people have come over to hear him better.

Doesn’t have time for destiny, just wants to steal.

Becomes a thieves’ guild merchant in Riften & moves his business into the Ragged Flagon when their reputation starts getting better. Is also a thief in the guild itself but legitimizes himself as a merchant in Riften by actually running legitimate goods (which helps Khajiit caravans a lot because they can’t trade in the cities but he can and he’s always happy to help the caravans he crosses paths with).

Being raised by Khajiit, Sylon had been taught from a young age not to rely on people and to only rely on his own talents and abilities & to be out for himself and only himself & he believes in this doctrine fully. That is, he believed in it up until the second he meets Karliah and Brynjolf and then he just *lays face down on the ground* “hmm maybe caring about others and wanting to have people that care about me is okay actually.”

Is definitely in love with Brynjolf but no one will ever get him to admit it, least of all Brynjolf.

Meets Katja after she catches him stealing a box of jewelry from her home in Dawnstar. Gets roped into a quest to kill giants with her as a form of recompense because she knows he’s the dragonborn and she’s pissed he isn’t living up to expectations. They end up becoming incredibly close friends whose favorite pastime is jointly roasting Kali, the stupidly naive exiled Redguard noble that Sylon saved from being assassinated one time and who Katja is now housing and feeding (and terrorizing).

Would adopt every orphan in Skyrim if given the option. Despite being fairly aloof and coming across as self-serving, he is shockingly doting and attentive to kids. Makes a name for himself in the cities as a friend of children and someone who will provide without asking for anything in return. Is the unofficial patron god of orphans and strays. And although he doesn’t ask it of them, they make a great information network for him & are happy to tell him everything they overhear in the cities that might be of interest to their thief dad.

[blondepomwrites]

What We Leave Behind (1/4: Da’len)

Summary: Post Kirkwall, Hawke and Fenris have fled their lives and the Free Marches, trading certain Kirkwaller persecution for hunting down slavers along the Nevarran roads to Tevinter. When one of their efforts leaves them be-saddled with a orphaned elven boy, they find themselves forced to confront everything they had thought they'd left behind.

Part 1/4: Da’len

Rating: Teen, probably.

Ao3: [link]

Notes: This started out as a simple prompt request. You know, as it goes. The line chosen was: "I'm not jealous." by @aban-asaara​. It began as a cutesy, fluffy (if not overly-indulgent), little idea that then became an excuse to explore a host of things painful and sweet in both their pasts, and then, spurred by a conversation with @cantfakethecake​, it kinda turned into... well, this.

You know. As it goes.

[all titles subject to change]

“Hawke… No. Do not even think about it,” he said, knowing full well it was already too late.

They’d crossed into Nevarran territory following a lead on a suspected slaver’s route, and before long they stumbled over a well-trodden path from Kirkwall into Wildervale and then, inevitably, into Tevinter. After days of tracking through the plains and woodlands, the caravan they uncovered numbered near the hundreds. They’d had to splinter this caravan, hunting down the larger of the two groups before doubling back to free the rest.

They’d returned to find that in the chaos, many of the would-be slaves in the second group had tried their unshackled hands at escaping into the unforgiving hinterlands. Some found some unexpected aid. Others found bandits.

One such couple struck misfortune with the latter. The bandits left nothing behind but corpses in small clothes for the vultures. But what the corpses left behind…

“It’s alright,” Hawke spoke softly, as if her the weight of her words could break the air. “We’re not here to hurt you. We want to help you feel safe, I promise.”

Surveying the area to assure they were alone, Fenris set his greatsword against a tree with a defeated sigh, and, against his better judgement, knelt next to Hawke.

Mumbling something under her breath, Hawke paused, then in a voice that mimicked Merrill’s, she cooed, “Andaran atish’an, uh, da’len.”

A dirty, pinched little face peeked out from behind the tree, big eyes in a tiny frame glowering at them from under a messy nest of black hair. “Ma tel’sumeil!”

Hawke glanced to Fenris. “Did you catch that?”

“Why are you asking me?” He deadpanned, “because I have the ears for it?”

“That’s not what I—”

“Na, lethallin?” came the small voice again. The boy had stepped out partway from his hiding spot, revealing tattered, dirty rags that hung on his frame like a war-torn banner. His once hard stare had softened, widened, at the sight of Fenris.

For the life of him he wished he didn’t, but somehow Fenris knew that look.

The look that filled to the brim then burst like over-ripe fruit, tears pouring down the boy’s face like nectar over wrinkled skin. A cry that tore what had been held together too long by only eyes pinched shut and hands clapped over the mouth. The abandon in his steps as the boy broke for the first sign of familiarity and safety.

Even so, it nearly knocked the wind out of him when the boy finally crashed into him, a wave of untamed, unbridled, undeserved emotions too large for his small frame to contain.

The boy clung to him, tight as his own armor. There was no place for words in the boy’s wailing sobs; no room for anything but release of that which had been clamped down and wound too tight for far too long.

And Fenris could do nothing but put one arm around the boy, and then, uncertainly, the other, and hold him so that he did not fall completely apart into the dirt.

“Oh, sweet thing…” he heard Hawke exhale, and she ran a comforting hand over the back of the boy’s head.

The boy peeked out, and at the sight of Hawke, let out a howl of a scream and pressed himself deeper into Fenris’ armor. His cries reverberated off the metal in a way that haunted and hurt, and it showed in her eyes as she retracted her hand.

Hawke stood up, clearing her throat to smooth over the cracks that crept into her voice. “Well… I think it would be best if I… gave him some space. I’ll go… take care of them, then.”

Fenris must have given her the look of a dog with its own foot caught in a trap, as she reassured him, “You’re doing fine. Just keep holding him until he calms down. Unfortunately, that’s all you can do in these situations.”

The ending of slavers and the unshackling of their would-be slaves was always the easy part for Fenris. But this? This was Hawke’s area of expertise, not his. This was where he was relieved to have her to bridge the insurmountable gap from freedom to free.

Yet, here he was, with this responsibility quite literally thrown into his hands. Hands that were made to rend a beating, bleeding heart—never to mend it.

So, despite the instincts that told him better to gnaw off his own leg, Fenris did just as Hawke said. He held him against the sobs that rocked him like waves, against the screams that tore from his throat like clawing gales, and in spite of how the boy clenched and pounded his fists against the feelings he could not and should not have known.

It was the most frightening storm he’d had to weather. He knew that he was safe, but it was the little boy at the heart of the storm for which he found himself concerned, and even scared.

But like a summer’s squall, its throes were just as wild as they were sudden and suddenly ending, tapering off with the steady beat of soft sobs of exhaustion, punctuated with sniffles like retreating thunder.

Hawke returned then, dirt caked to the end of her staff. He could see the last of the ice she’d formed to make a spade melting from the tip. Fresh soil stained her hands. She leaned against her staff, eyes drifting over the ground between them. “I did for them what I could. Some space in a clearing, picked a few flowers, found a seed for each of them… I don’t know if they were trees, and I don’t know if they will grow, but… the thought was there, at least. I hope it’s enough…” She looked back to where Fenris was with the boy. “How is he?”

“Better,” Fenris said, “or, at least, he is settled somewhat.”

“Enough to where you can carry him?”

“Perhaps,” he answered, aware now of how his legs ached from remaining still for so long.

“I would be more than happy to hold him for you, but…” Hawke let out a frustrated sigh. “I don’t think the feeling would be mutual.”

“I will manage.” He placed one hand on the boy’s back and supported him underneath with his arm, shifting his legs underneath him until he stood with the boy still pressed against him. He felt a murmuring in the back of his mind, like a something stirring from a deep slumber. He brushed it away. “There was an alienage not too far back from here. We could make it there within the day.”

She pounded the end of her staff into the ground, ice in her eyes and in her voice. “We are not taking him to an alienage.”

He gave an acknowledging nod and waited. She would know better than he what to do with an orphaned child. But when she did not say a word, he saw what went unspoken between them, and how she held it like parchment over a hungry, grasping pyre.

She made a habit of playing with fire—entertaining her follies and letting her heart speak louder than her mind for longer than was safe. He shook his head, voice low and dowsing. “We can’t keep him.”

Hawke looked away with a huff, indignance rising like a shield.

He could not tell if the weight on his chest came from the what he knew took cover behind her shield or from the elven boy curled, sobbing against his armor. Through both, he added quietly, “You know this, Hawke.”

When she met his eyes again, the look was only half as sharp as she perhaps intended. “Obviously. But… doesn’t mean you have to say it.”

Walking off, Hawke grabbed Fenris’ sword from where he left it. She hefted it to fit in the sling where she normally carried her staff. “Then we’ll find a clan to take him in.”

His sword looked out of place slung over her back, but it didn’t seem to bother her in the slightest as she marched ahead. He began to follow in behind. “We haven’t passed any since the outskirts of Kirkwall.” He paused, finding his footing almost off balance. Smoothing his gait so that he didn’t jostle the boy like a sack of potatoes proved tricky on the forest terrain, but not entirely unnatural. “How do you suppose we’ll find one now?”

And she said, as if it was so simple, “By looking.”

   Carrying on was not as easy as before. Though, Hawke reminded him many times, the boy was extremely complacent for a toddler—quiet and still as a sack of potatoes, sure, but also just as heavy. He kept having to shift the boy from arm to arm, and each time he did so he felt almost certain that he was going to end up dropping the boy on his head. But each time he found the motion to be as natural as a thought.

One that he brushed aside for now.

They’d tried to coax some words out of the boy as they went. Hawke soon surrendered the task to Fenris, as her words were only met with hiding and whimpers. It didn’t take long to find that the boy knew just about as much Trade as either of them knew Elven, but they were at least able to find a few words or phrases that would elicit a look of comprehension from him.

He even gave the shiest of smiles when he heard Fenris say Da’len. So that was how they called him.

Even so, the words of the Elven language felt clunky and out of place in Fenris’ mouth. The syllables sounded thick as dried mud and were just as pliant under his tongue. Though he did not say it aloud, he suspected Da’len found the language this lethallin less of a warm familiarity, and more of a fascination with his accent, if it could even be called that without offense. He may as well be the cat who barked to the elven boy.

For some of the time, Da’len slept—dirty face nestled on Fenris’ collar bone, unruly black hair brushing against Fenris’ neck with each step. When he did, Hawke allowed herself closer, stealing long, longing looks at the little boy who spurned her.

After a little while, she offered up, “I’m not jealous, or anything.”

Fenris scoffed. His arm hurt, the constant contact made his skin crawl, and the toddler wasn’t exactly fragrant right under his nose. “There is little to envy here, believe me.”

Hawke shook her head. “From this angle he reminds me of little Bethany—only father and I could rock her to sleep after a bad dream.” She reached a hand to stroke his hair, but caught herself and retracted to crossing her arms. “You seem to be handling him fine enough, though.”

“There are… things for which I have plenty of patience.”

“I know… I see it every day. You put up with me.”

That elicited a chuckle from him. “For some things more than others, yes.”

A moment of silence stretched between them. Despite—or perhaps due to—the deadweight in his arms, he still tried to keep a sharp eye out for any threats lurking in the woods around them. He assumed Hawke did the same, until he checked in and saw her eyes no longer resting on Da’len but on the boy and himself. Placid and drifting like a boat on open water, he could not catch her gaze. He felt himself begin to flush. “What?”

She blinked and refocused. “What? Oh. I’m not… Nothing. It’s nothing.”

Da’len shifted and began to stir, rubbing one hand at a puffy eye.

Pulling out her staff, Hawke sighed. “And that’s my cue to go off scouting ahead again… Please tell him I’m not a slaver or anything and that I just want to hug him and squish his little cheeks.”

He smirked, partially in relief that he could now shift the boy to his other side. “I thought you said you weren’t jealous?”

She called back from stomping her way forward, “I’m not! At all! Not even the littlest bit!”

Da’len looked up at him under half-lidded eyes and cheeks that wore an impression of the leather in Fenris’ armor. He asked in a small voice that barely broke above a whisper, “Iras mamae la papae, lethallin?”

Although he could not understand the question, the sounds parsed themselves enough for him to know that he could not give him the answer he wanted. Fenris looked to the trees, remembering the tradition of the vallasdahlen. Even if he had the words to tell a tale he did not know, how much would the boy understand anyway? Would it even be fair to lead him to understand so soon?

Fenris shook his head and gave him the only answer he could: “I’m sorry, da’len.”

And although the little elven boy could not understand the words he used, Fenris’ answer seemed to give Da’len enough peace. He felt Da’len loosen his hold, leaning back to peer up at the trees overhead and the mottled mosaic of green and blue they made with the sky.

All the while, Fenris kept his eyes on the ground, unwilling to see how numerous and tall were the trees in these ancient woods. But he could not stop himself from wondering how many of them grew on buried remains, and what those buried remains had had to leave behind.

[bornintheyeardot]

Episode 5

There used to be a Dad. 

Hazel and Rupert had met under a tree-planting contract up in Hesquiat Harbour in 1981. Back then Hazel was operating her own business, a juice bar lunch counter in a large health food store in the Happy Valley. In February the coffers of 'Squeeze' had dwindled; things were slow in the winter months. She'd heard of "big money up north," but was flabbergasted to actually land a cooking job after a five minute interview. They must have been desperate to hand a total stranger a chequebook and say "Go buy a camp kitchen and everything you need to feed thirty-five planters for six weeks." The company were overwhelmed with new contracts after fervent bidding wars. It was the 'heyday' of the tree-planting rush. So Hazel went down to Capital Iron and bought the works: coffee pots, bowls, saucepans, cups, wooden spoons, giant slotted spoons, frying pans, dish pans, cutlery and a lot of big plastic garbage bins. Then she went down to Sawaan Bulk Foods in the Square and loaded sacks of dried beans and rice, flour and oats, seeds, nuts, nut butter and finally, eight buckets of tofu. Caroline, her house mate, offered to 'woman' the juice stand and leant her a double down sleeping bag. She also tucked an ounce of red Lebanese hash into her jacket pocket on the way out the door.

 Arriving by barge to Boat Basin B.C. in Hesquiat Harbour, Hazel abandoned the thought of any mind altering strategies as the enormity of her job became clear. You could be fired if the coffee wasn't on at 4:30 AM. The outside reckoning came from the twenty-seven planters whose tastes ran to Sarsaparilla Tea, Ginger Tea, Lemon Balm and Fenugreek for a morning pick me up. She had arrived completely green and disguised this inexperience in a no-nonsense attitude with the planters and bosses alike. It proved to be the most creative and demanding job she had ever done. The day began at 4:00 AM getting dressed in the pitch black in an old school bus where she slept; clambering outside and over to the cook shack and lighting the fire in the airtight. She would then meander in the pre-dawn twilight down to the river where all the perishables were stored; chiming through the forest wearing a headlamp and zils: finger cymbals leftover from a dalliance with belly dancing. This proved to be a good idea. Arriving at the 'impenetrable' lid locked bins she found them open several times; contents strewn about and riddled with largish fang marks. Once there was a large cat slinking away in the dark, no tail. Retrieving the spoils she returned to camp and spent the next hour layering an array of foodstuffs that would allow a wide group of people with completely different tastes and backgrounds to eat breakfast and prepare a lunch for that day. At first Hazel felt sorry for them. They had to go out into the most rugged terrain on the west coast and actually determine their profit, whatever they ran into. Before long she realized that a certain percentage of the planters and foremen alike had no interest in hard work whatsoever and would rather hang around the cook shack, complain about the rations and crawl off to sleep in their tent (or a hollow log) later. 

A newcomer was flown in one night, eight days into the contract. He approached Hazel the next morning after breakfast. He was wearing navy coveralls, had an unruly head of indigo black curls and and his dark features gave him a slightly menacing look. But as he spoke to her he smiled " Excuse me - but I am the head of the committee against cayenne on the breakfast eggs." She had baked eggs in muffin tins and to make them look festive she would decorate them in red and green, dill weed being the less offensive garnish. " Well I suppose I could use paprika, but are you aware of all the health benefits of cayenne? You know it's wonderful for your circulation......" and she was off. Soon Rupert found reasons to hang around after the evening meal. He studied her cookbooks and helped her to do the dishes. Hazel never went for the 'everyone wash their own plate' routine in her kitchen as she generally found it involved a lot of other personal hygiene rituals using her precious heated water. 

Two weeks in, she was confounded by the incommunicado between camp and the rest of the world. It was a good thing she'd brought eight buckets of tofu, that she was lovingly rinsing in the river daily, which kept it fresh. Her assistant Jo-Anne was annoyingly political diet wise, and would produce slabs of unadorned tofu to the hungry carnivores night after night, instilling the notion that it was latex disguised as nutrition. However, as the other food stores dwindled, Hazel found the tofu invaluable. She bolstered the meatballs with tofu to stretch the 1 lb. of ground beef. She crumbled it with feta into the lasagna and even made a cheesecake that was all tofu. She had also been baking bread every night, the Tassajara short-rise recipe, with wholegrain flour and a lot of seeds, so they all filled up on bread and nobody complained of constipation. 

Cougar Annie, from whom they got eggs, was practically the sole permanent resident of Boat Basin. She had managed to get a Post Office there, sporting several skins over the doorway. Rupert sent himself a postcard, just to get the postmark. The setting was spectacular. Craggy dark mountains flaunting thick Douglas fir, Sitka spruce and lodgepole pine dropped down to hemlock, fir and shaggy yellow cedars skirting the beach. 

One afternoon Hazel, Rupert, Dal and Jo-Anne were walking the seashore, still shrouded in snow in some places, strewn with oozing kelp and bright winking shell. Glowing moss garnished the smooth black sandstone flanking the white sand. There were two skiffs down in the next bay and four men on the beach, Native, clam digging. They came up and introduced themselves. They were from Ahousat. After securing their buckets in the speedboats they invited everyone into one of the fisher shacks on the beach where they had a fire going. The older man started pouring cups of tea from the enamel pot on the airtight and someone had a pipe so Hazel thought it an opportune moment and pulled out the hash. Things got very charged and vivid after the fact and their questions wound into a lively discussion about the peculiarities of resource ownership, fishing rights and history. It was an exchange of understanding and recognition. Afterwards they silently walked back down the beach as the boats buzzed away. Eight days later, they were literally OUT OF FOOD.

Disorganization abounded with their thinly spread bosses and Hazel was in the disagreeable position of telling the planters as they left for work that morning " Kidney bean pie for dinner". They liked to know. All she had was kidney beans and some cornmeal and she was choked because the food orders to Tofino had been submitted ten days before. Rupert stayed home for some pretend reason that day. Together they wandered the beach which was so prolifically everywhere, ostensibly looking for seafood. They found one Gooey Duck. However, it was a tremendously sunny day and the mountains, anenomes and isolation were in full romantic flow when suddenly two skiffs pulled around the corner and dived onto the beach. It was the Indians they'd met the week before and they had come with food. Nobody had asked them. They had around 50 lbs. of Red Snapper and Rock Cod and forty-seven live crab. 

Things got really busy after that. Hazel was surprised that Rupert knew how to clean fish so efficiently. Right in the middle of their industry a chopper came into view and then landed on the beach. It turned out to be the delivery of a liquor order. At first Hazel was furious. Why were they being delivered booze when they couldn't even get food? Then, as they helped unload the cargo onto the beach it dawned on her that they had a serious spontaneous occasion on their hands. These guys had gone to work expecting kidney bean pie and a predictable session later on the long drop and instead they were coming home to crab legs in garlic butter, cod fillets, potatoes, snapper bisque with cornmeal muffins, bean salad, sea asparagus and Metaxa brandy, red wine, white wine, Tequila and Molson's Canadian...... It was March 1981 in Boat Basin B.C. and life was sweet! 

Hazel went to the available bosses that afternoon and suggested they make out a cheque in appreciation of the bounty. The two gentlemen were embroiled in heated discussion when Hazel popped her head into their "office", a truck camper balanced on two massive logs. They shrugged and began griping that the company were already over extended. "But they saved our asses!" Hazel exhorted. "Invite them to dinner." they offered, closing the camper door. It was a memorable night nonetheless. After feasting and drinking the guitars and drums came out and the merrymaking by lantern light around the airtight carried on well into the bountiful hours, progressing into a libretto of absurdly long songs with made up verses. Rupert was beaming throughout, even as he remained quite mute. "Don't you sing?" Hazel inquired, used to perpetual musicians. He turned shyly to her and staring at the floor he began to quaver in a wobbly tenor " Don't cry for me Argenteeeeena......" She looked puzzled and his face brightened into that radiant smile once again as he excitedly began to describe the musical, the history and his own sojourn in Argentina several years prior. The cacophony of voices receded as they wandered arm in arm down to Rupert's snow banked canvas tent on the beach. They were greeted by Jordon Bob, Rupert's tent mate, who was stony faced. He offered them coffee from his thermos and said there was a serious matter at hand. As they were sharing a bottle of red wine they offered some to Jordon Bob but he didn't ‘do alcohol’ and Rupert didn't ‘do coffee’ so they just shook hands and sat down together. He nodded at them both and explained that word had gotten out about their stingy bosses. He then packed up his few things and made his way to another tent. Solidarity was brewing. 

The next morning every aboriginal working on the contract left the camp.

[hippopotatomus]

The farmers check out the hidden field beyond their useless barren fields. Dobby goes with them to check out Caplin’s cottage and embarrasses himself in a botched attempt to get over the vegetable garden fence.

The plot thickens, or in this case, the ephemeral plot floats like a mist in the distance. Here’s a link if you decide to start reading at the beginning. There’s a helpful chart below to give you a chance to sort out the rodents. Recommended snack: Baguette and watermelon. Soundtrack: Going Down the Road Feeling Bad

~~~~~~~~~~

Dobby’s crew investigates the hidden birdseed field and Caplin’s cottage.

It was a beautiful sunny morning, like all mornings in the principality. Charlie and Hamish trotted south on the farm road, stopping occasionally to bounce and tussle in a friendly brotherly fashion. Bond flitted behind as they squared down and butted heads and then landed on Hamish’s left horn when they settled back into a reasonable trot. Charlie looked at the tiny perched bird and caught his eye.

“I can’t decide whether or not to be angry. I have been trying to grow birdseed forever on our barren fields and some interloper has trespassed our land, cut down our forest, stolen our magic, and they are growing birdseed, which is hardly even available around here anymore. It seems so impossible that I’m not sure I have the story straight! That’s about it, though, isn’t it?”

“That’s what we know so far,” said Bond. “I can lead you to the field but other than that I haven’t a clue what to look for.”

“What we’ll be looking for is how they get the birdseed out. Unless they are eating it directly off the growing stalks, there has to be signs of a road or trucks or something. I’m thinking you can fly over and look for anything suspicious, something that doesn’t look natural. Hamish will check it out on the ground. He’ll look at the edges of the forest. He’s the fastest, plus he loves to run,” and at that, Hamish tossed his head and Bond went flying. “But I am the farmer. I’ll look at the crop, how mature it is, how healthy, how close to harvest time we are. So that’s the other thing, making sure we don’t run into any unsavory characters. Somebody is tending those fields. Come to think of it, if they haven’t harvested in a while, there won’t be much evidence of comings and goings. But you need to let us know if you see any workers or sentries.”

“Got it. We’re close enough that I could fly over and report back before you get there. It takes a lot longer by road.”

“Great! Do it!”

“When we get there, I’ll make a speedy reconnaissance run all around the edge of the field,” said Hamish. “Dobby said there’s a road in from this end and another at the far end. I’ll try to figure out how recently they’ve been used. I’ll be able to recognize the roadster tire tracks from a couple days ago. Nothing quite like that anywhere else around here.”

“Yeah,” said Charlie. “It’s not exactly farm equipment, is it? I brought a couple sample bags for bird seed. I’m going to gather a bunch from this end. Dobby said it looked ready to harvest. Can you take this other bag with you and grab a sample from the far end of the field when you’re down there? And don’t eat it all!”

Hamish burped up a little cud, and then Charlie copied him and they chewed cud together as they walked down the dusty farm road. When they came to the forest shade and damp section of road, they dropped to the ground and continued chewing while they waited for the return of Bond.

Drowsy Hamish sprang to his feet as tiny Bond landed on his horn and began to babble.

“ . . . And there wasn’t much detail I could see from up above, you know. It’s totally deserted right now, not a soul there, unless they were deep in the forest, and that roadside part doesn’t have any depth, it’s only a skinny bit of woods to hide the fields from the road. So let’s go check out the closer road.”

The two sheep trotted along the shady road until they came to the larger paved road. They turned left onto it and crossed to the west field entry road when Bond circled above, directing them. The sheep, like Dobby, recognized the entry path to the old picnic area but were also surprised when it widened and the expansive field of birdseed came onto view.

“Hoo boy,” said Charlie. “This is not how I remember it. At all. How did they manage to cut and clear the forest without anyone noticing? Hmmm. We have fields just beyond the forest to our left, but they are the barren ones, and I haven’t been out there much. You know, I bet they did it gradually, and what I did notice was our fields going bad. Cutting the trees sucked all the magic out of our soil, but it was gradual until our fields basically died. But the magic is strong here, this birdseed crop is good, and Dobby is right: it’s almost ready to harvest. And there is a ton of it! This is easily as big as our biggest field. Ugh, that’s right! This is our field! Should I be planning to harvest it?”

Bond was on the ground, pecking around at the seeds as Charlie gathered seed heads into his sack. Hamish had sprinted to the far end of the field and was now too far away to see. Charlie turned his back to the field and looked down the road they had come in on. It was narrow where it met the large paved road, widened as it approached the field, and then split and formed an edge at the forest line on both sides, all the way down to where Hamish had gone. Charlie walked toward the big road and stopped. So did the road, that is, it didn’t continue across the road, it simply stopped at this side. Staring down the road, sniffing at the air, and looking at the forest across the way, he stomped and snorted.

#gallery-0-4 { margin: auto; } #gallery-0-4 .gallery-item { float: left; margin-top: 10px; text-align: center; width: 50%; } #gallery-0-4 img { border: 2px solid #cfcfcf; } #gallery-0-4 .gallery-caption { margin-left: 0; } /* see gallery_shortcode() in wp-includes/media.php */

Wheat

Sorgum (Milo)

Millet

Sunflower

“That’s Caplin’s cottage over there,” said Charlie. “The driveway is down the road a ways, and past our farm road, obviously, but that’s his land over there. That’s why it’s forest and not desert like the Schist land next to it. I think I’d want a forest buffer, too, if it was mine.”

Bond flew over to investigate and then flew up and over the road. He circled over the cottage and came back just as Hamish returned.

“it’s been a while since I checked out Caplin’s cottage,” said Bond, “ but it looks about the same. Neat and tidy, driveway in good condition, little vegetable garden out back.”

“Little vegetable garden out back?” Said Charlie and Hamish, in unison. They looked at each other and frowned.

“Caplin wouldn’t know a potato from a peach. Plus, of course, he hasn’t been there in years, to hear him tell it. That’s just weird,” said Charlie. “How did the other end of the field look?”

“Not anywhere near as ready to harvest as this here. You’ll see when you look in my bag,” said Hamish. “The road at the other end is more like a foot path. It stops at the road like this one. It’s across from the Schist property driveway though, that’s kind of ominous. They have that bridge over the river there, but the land is so toxic that nothing grows, so you can see all the way in to their castle. I didn’t cross the street to look back at the path but the way it angles to the road, you probably can’t see it from the Schist entry or the road. The road dead ends just beyond, anyway, at one of Dobby’s little picnic areas. Nobody drives down there anyway.”

“How do King Clyde and Queen Bonnie get there, then? That’s the closest entrance to the Schist castle and they go there a lot, don’t they? That’s why they always come to Dobby’s palace the back way, up the farm road. She complains about that dust every time,” said Charlie. “Wouldn’t they have seen that little road across from the entry as they left?”

Hamish looked thoughtful. “I don’t think so. They aren’t terribly observant. She leaves the driving to the King, because she is too busy talking to drive. And he’s too busy driving, staring straight ahead and ignoring her with all his might. Unless that little road has flashing lights I didn’t notice, they are too oblivious to notice that kind of thing. Path in the woods, you know, nothing to see. They aren’t the type to get their shoes dirty.”

The two sheep took one last look around, pawed the ground a bit, butted horns and trotted back to report to Dobby. Bond flitted about overhead, muttering something about teatime and they kicked their hooves into high gear and raced each other all the way home.

~~~~~~~~~~

It was another sunny day in the principality. The overnight rain had cleaned the foliage and damped down the dust on the farm road. Even the barren fields looked promising with soil darkened to a rich, chocolatey brown by the sprinkling. Charlie and Hamish trotted ahead, eager to re-examine the fields and the paths leading into it. Dobby’s Segway barely kept up, loaded down as it was with supplies, or maybe it was his lunch. Moneypenny sat atop a baguette and looked thoughtful as Bond pecked at the crust between questions.

“I don’t really understand why we need to install surveillance out here if Caplin never uses the cottage anymore,” said Bond. “Can’t we wait until there is a reason to suspect something going on out there? Shouldn’t we wait to ask Caplin?”

“Caplin has been trying to unload the cottage onto the Prince for a long time, but Dobby insists that he keep at least one connection to the kingdom. Dobby feels obligated to look it over from time to time, or else Caplin might really sell it to someone out of the family. He’s perfectly justified in placing surveillance out there. We should have done it a long time ago, but a quick flyover was all that seemed necessary. A vegetable garden suddenly appearing is not particularly menacing, but it’s definitely weird.”

“Don’t disagree with that. I think the Prince wants to check on the fields again, figure out how the paths and roads tie together, but mostly look at Caplin’s cottage. He feels kind of bad about neglecting it, I don’t know why. Caplin doesn’t care. Maybe he just wants to raid the garden!”

The little flying squirrel and the budgie started giggling at the thought, puffing up their bellies and pretending to stuff their faces. Dobby turned his head in time to see Bond trying to eat a particularly large piece of crust and frowned.

“Are you eating my baguette?”

A few minutes later they were all staring at the distant roof of Caplin’s cottage from the illegal field. Bond flew that direction while the rest of them unpacked some of the lunch parcels from the little trailer Rodney had built for the Segway. The baguette had lost a fair amount of crust on the end that stuck out of the top, but the salad and fritters came out of the bottom of the picnic basket in good shape. Charlie and Hamish found a patch of grass to graze on and Moneypenny busied herself gleaning seeds from the field. The lunch in the basket was all intended for the Prince. Bond returned and joined Moneypenny, pecking at the seeds on the ground.

“On the way back this time, I noticed a small path nearer to where we are now. I don’t think we have to go all the way down to the driveway to check out the cottage. And if this path is new, it might be the best place to set out some surveillance cameras. We should put some at the driveway too, but that’s not an entrance anyone is going to try to sneak in on. Hey, Hamish! There seems to be a new path to check out. You should go through first and use your super tracking sense on it before anyone drives a Segway or something through there.” Bond looked around at the team. Charlie and Hamish had crumpled to the ground and were chewing cud. Moneypenny was stuffing a tiny bag with seeds and Prince Dobalob was through the fritters and halfway through a watermelon. Bond sighed and flew over to the picnic basket, landed on the handle, closed his eyes and enjoyed the sun.

~~~~~~~~~~

As the team sauntered down the road, Bond flitted ahead, looking for the path he had seen from above. Charlie engaged the Prince in idle chitchat regarding vegetable gardening as a distraction allowing Hamish to get a head start on reconnaissance. Suddenly, Bond the budgie hovered excitedly at the edge of the road and Hamish made an abrupt turn and disappeared. Dobby maneuvered the Segway toward them and Moneypenny, sitting on Dobby’s shoulder, stood tall to see ahead. Bond flew back to the Prince and sat on his opposite shoulder.

“Let’s wait here for them to check it out and call the all clear.”

“Hamish will be examining the edges of the path,” said Charlie. “From here I can’t see much. The path curves right away so I can’t see very far down it. Let’s wait for him to get back before we follow.” Charlie looked at the Prince, who was also straining to see around the curve. “Do you remember seeing this path before? It’s been ages since I came out here, but I don’t remember it. It’s kinda subtle, though, mostly just a trailhead and then it disappears. The understory is dense in this part of the forest. Probably some nice berry picking, though.”

There was a miniature galloping sound and Hamish sprinted back to them. He snorted and scratched the ground before he started to talk. “The path is narrow but well used. It meanders through the forest and then opens up at a clearing near the cottage and a couple out-buildings, a garage or something. The interesting thing is that there is a bit of birdseed here and there along the edge. Charlie would have to back me up on this, but there also seems to be some grass- sprouted bird seed- along the edges. There’s enough stray birdseed around here that it’s had time to grow. It’s not as mature as the fields, though. And not surprisingly there are a lot of bird footprints, great big ones, so the birdseed bonanza has been discovered.”

At this, the little budgie looked down at his own tiny toes and grinned. “Innocent!”

The prince was listening carefully and look confused. “Out-buildings? I don’t remember this path, at all. Shall we check it out? You ready for us to come through, Hamish?” And without waiting for an answer, he Segwayed forward and turned down the path as the team scattered out of the way. Dust flew, obliterating any footprints or extraneous clues, and he switch backed through the woods as Moneypenny hung on for dear life. Charlie and Hamish turned their back to the dust and muttered to each other while Bond pulled a tiny dust mask out of somewhere and adjusted it around his beak and nose. Soon they heard a voice in the distance, calling to Bond.

“You’re not kidding! This is a nifty vegetable garden!” The Prince had Segwayed across the yard and was halfway across a white picket fence that encircled a fairytale vegetable garden. Furrowed rows with greenery of every size and shape, corn stalks, beans growing up bamboo teepees, peas growing up trellises, it was the prettiest vegetable garden you could possibly imagine. Except for the now flailing capybara, probably not exactly impaled on the pickets, but struggling mightily to go forward, or maybe backwards, it was hard to tell. Charlie and Hamish casually strolled to the gate just a bit beyond the portly Prince, released the latch, and walked in. Bond landed on the princely tuchis and spun a little circle. “What are you doing, Dobs?”

Charlie went straight down each row, admiring the little dream garden, afraid to touch any of the perfect plants. Meanwhile, Hamish walked over to the wriggling and sputtering Prince, positioned his head under Dobby’s chest, and gently lifted him off the fence onto the ground outside the garden. Hamish deftly hopped over the fence, possibly exaggerating the jump for demonstration purposes, and waited for the Prince to gather his composure. Silently, they walked along the fence until they came to the fancy little arbored gate. Hamish opened it with a little kick of his hoof and then with a flourish, swung the gate open. The Prince lumbered in, went right past the kale, and started munching his way down a row of romaine lettuce.

To be continued . . .

~~~~~~~~~~

The usual Cast of Characters:

~~~~~~~~~~

This story needs a lot more illustrations! Select an event from this story (how about a parakeet on a baguette?), draw a picture of it, and send me an email. I’ll reply so that you can attach a digital copy of your masterpiece to it. I’ll add it to the story!

Or, if you’d rather help with the glossary, send me the list of words you had to look up (or should have looked up, but didn’t!). Someday, I will start putting together the glossary. Do know what baguette looks like?

[contact-form] Charlie & Hamish investigete the hidden field of birdseed and Dobby gets hung up on a picket fence at Caplin's Cottage. The farmers check out the hidden field beyond their useless barren fields. Dobby goes with them to check out Caplin's cottage and embarrasses himself in a botched attempt to get over the vegetable garden fence.

[traditional-with-a-twist]

The Sound of Sunlight on Snow

Chapter Masterpost

Day 1 - Listen

“Shigure!” The little boy napping in a bed of wildflowers sat up at the sound of his name, looking around sleepily in the glow of the sunset. His mother waved at him, her hair blending with the red sky.  “It’s time to cook!”

“Coming, Mama!” Shigure scrambled up, running for their little wagon. The donkey raised her head as he got closer, ears pricked. He pulled the sack of barley straw down and offered a handful to her.

“Remember not to feed Koko too much at once,” his mother called without looking up from slicing carrots into the pot on the fire.

“Okay!” Shigure scratched Koko’s ears as she nibbled on the food.

His mother finished the carrot and picked up a potato. She looked intent on peeling it, but just as Shigure was going to come over, she suddenly spoke again. “Welcome back, Obi! I’m still cooking.”

“Huh?” He found himself soaring into the air. “Ahhhh, Daddy!”

He landed safely on his father’s shoulders. “No fair, missus! I was trying to surprise the little mister.”

“Hmmm?” Mama glances at them and smiles. “Sorry, Obi.”

*********

“Thanks again for letting us stay these past few nights.” Shigure copied his mother’s bow to the old matriarch. Leaning on her walking staff, she bowed back.

“You are welcome back again, anytime, Miss Shirayuki.”

“That’s so generous of you. You have such a large family, though; I would feel bad taking up extra room too often.” She straightens with her ever-present bright smile. “But I would love to come back and see you all again.”

“Nonsense, we would always have room for you and your Shigure,” the woman insisted. “You could stay longer now; I hate the thought of you two all alone in these mountains.”

“Oh.” Mama tilted her head back, frowning a little. Then she looked back and smiled. “We won’t be alone. My husband is here for us now.”

The matriarch looked as confused as Shigure felt. “But—”

His mother turned to wave down the mountain path. “Obi!” His father rounded the corner and waved back. Shigure looked at his mother in wonder.

She didn’t notice, taking the old lady’s hands in hers. “Please accept this salve as a sign of our gratitude. It’s for your joints, so they don’t feel so stiff.”

“Bless you,” the woman murmured. “Be safe, you and your little one.”

“Of course!” Mama’s smile was blinding.

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

Mama was planting the seeds she bought in the market. Shigure loved to watch her unfold the garden from their cart, to see all the little herbs wake up when she tended them. But today he was watching for his father’s return. He wouldn’t let anything distract him, not even Koko when she came over to see if he had any treats for her. He just pushed her questing nose away and stared into the forest. This time for sure, he would hear Daddy coming. His mother was humming as she patted the soil into the pouch around the new seeds. She’d never be able to hear Daddy before him, he just knew it.

“Shigure! Bring Koko back to the cart, please. Daddy’s back and we should be moving on soon.”

He twisted around, ready to contradict her, but sure enough, Daddy emerged from the trees just behind his mother and him. “Not just yet, missus,” he called, smiling.

She turned around, giving the soil one last pat before standing up. “Welcome back, Obi!” Shigure stays where he is on the ground, frozen with disbelief. He’d been listening so hard! He definitely should have heard him coming before Mama did. Mama didn’t notice his dismay, just taking Daddy’s hand and turning her face up to his.

“I’m home,” Daddy answered and gave her a quick kiss. “But not for long. I have some things to finish.”

Mama’s smile fades. “Oh? You need to leave again?”

“It’ll be quick. You will hardly notice before I’m back again, missus.” Shigure watched as his father bent over and pressed his face into his mother’s hair. He saw her blink too quickly and felt even more wretched. It was important to notice! Daddy joked about it but he knew he needed to be able to do this!

His father glanced over the top of Mama’s head and winked at him. “See you soon, little mister.” He squeezed Mama’s hand, then let go, vanishing back into the forest’s afternoon shadows. Mama sighed. Tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, she knelt back down to fold up the garden. Shigure couldn’t stand it anymore.

“Mama?”

“What is it, Shigure?” She didn’t stop her work, focused on adjusting each herb in its pouch before she tucked it away.

“How?” His voice wobbled.

“What?” Mama looked at him now, a wrinkle appearing on her brow.

“How…how do you always know when Daddy is back? I’ve been listening and listening, but I can never hear him like you can.” Tears gathered in the corners of his eyes. He rubbed at his face, trying to hide them from her.

“Hmm?” His mother smiled suddenly and reached out to take his hands. “I can’t hear him either, Shigure.”

“Huh?” The tears stopped and he let her lower his hands from his eyes.

“That’s right!” Shigure stared at her bright smile.

“But…you always know.”

Mama opened her eyes and leaned closer. “There’s another reason. Do you want to know it?”

He nodded, his whole body shaking from the motion. His mother put her lips against his ear to whisper her secret. “Your father always tells me just when he’ll come back.” She sat back and smiled again. “And I know he’ll always keep that promise.”

“Promise?” As he asked the question, Shigure moved closer to his mother, curling into her lap. Now he knew. Now they could wait for Daddy together. Mama put her arms around him and rested her cheek on his hair.

“Yes. His promise to come back to us safe and sound just when he said he would.”