#eagle grove

[unteriors]

NW 1st Street, Eagle Grove, Iowa.

[nando161mando]

[natethreepoint0]

Yo! That's My Jawn: The Podcast - Ep. 5.3 - Dee Gerhart & James Daniels (Chestnut Grove)

Back with a new episode, Nate talks about his new radio show on Y-Not Radio (Mondays 5-8pm) and gives a brief walk down memory lane of the Philly radio stations that helped form his music sensibilities. He is then joined by Dee Gerhart and James Daniels of the band Chestnut Grove. The conversation kicks off with Dee and Nate talking about Green Lane, the music she grew up with, Live Day 2010 and…

[echantedtoon]

Caught Once Again

For those who were wondering what would happen IF Y/n got caught again. Sequel to my Yandere Demons And Brides posts and my Escaping Yandere Demons post. Some will be shorter than others.

Warnings for yandere themes, scars and illness mentioned, Douma/Enmu/Karaku ARE their own warnings, possibly some innuendos, kidnapping and entrapment mentions, death mentioned, etc.

Daki n Zohakutan are included with Hantengu's and Gyutaro's part but they're PLATONIC Yanderes.

KOKUSHIBO:

-The demon who had taken you hostage for weeks claiming you to be his wife's reincarnation had never left your mind after you escaped. It wasn't easy either. Kokushibo had heightened senses that were beyond human.

-You took the chance to escape one day after he left just before sunrise, making you hug him and greet him goodbye like a good wife should, before he left locking up the door behind him as he went. You took the chance to poke around trying to find any source of outage. A secret basement, the chimney, ANYTHING! Eventually you managed to find a weakened point on a boarded window. Clawing wildly you managed to tear away the wood, and smashing out the glass to freedom.

-You didn't look back. The small cuts you got were nothing as you ran and ran from that cursed house as far as you could until you collapsed from exhaustion. You made it. You were out but you weren't safe yet. You still moved away far away as you could before the sun sets. Kokushibo didn't come back every night so hopefully you'd have a few days to run. You couldn't go back home, that'd be the first place he looks for you so you decided to run along the river. Eventually coming along to and settling into a small fishing town.

-You decided to just lay low here. Getting a job as one of the net weavers and keeping to yourself in fear of being found out. Weeks passes. Months passed. And you were slowly letting your guard down, believing that perhaps you had hidden well enough to never be seen again. But you still didn't go out at night.

-One night though you allowed yourself to stay out, after all the small town was hosting a festival and you deserved to have fun after so long. You were playing a small game. Tossing a ball into a pit to win a prize when you saw it. Six eyes piercing through the darkness and staring at you. You didn't even have time to turn and flee when you smacked into the purple and black clothed chest and two strong hands pulled you against him in a possessive hold as you gaze up into half lidded eyes.

"You made a valiant effort to get away however I believe that it's time you come back home, Wife."

HANTENGU(+CLONES):

-You thanked the gods for how easily trickable the demon was, making it so easy for you to run far away. Right past town and towards the nearest safe point you knew which happened to be a grove of wild Wysteria trees. There's no way any of them would suspect that you'd be there and even if they did, what were they going to do? Demons couldn't survive Wysteria poisoning and avoided it like the plague.

-It wasn't bad really. It was a beautiful place. There was always beautiful trees surrounding you, a nice floral scent in the air, and you even found an old abandoned shack that you spruced up to make it livable. Overall it's not a bad life, but you wish it was more open like before. Your ease falters when fall comes and the leaves on the trees wither away and the flowers die. However they're still Wysteria trees so you don't think they'd dare come around your little grove and with each passing day that you never see then again, your mind believes that.

-Until winter comes to cover everything in snow. You're out one night with only the moonlight to see trying to shovel out snow from your front door, shivering in the cold and hair whipping in the wind. Perhaps that's why you couldn't hear the approaching wingbeats until it was too late. Two giant eagle like hands wrapped around your shoulders and in an instant you were sailing through the air. Shrieking as the ground disappeared beneath you and shrieking more as you looked up into the yellow eyes of an overjoyed harpy demon pulling him tightly against his chest with a loud happy chirping sound. "OH GOOD FUCK!! I'D THOUGHT WE'D NEVER FIND YOU, FEATHER! This game wasn't fun when you didn't come home you know!"

-No matter how hard you struggle, Urogi was too strong for you to break free from as he flies you all back to the others. All seven have varying reactions when Urogi just lands down with you struggling to get away and clawing at his arms. He was supposed to grab them someone for dinner but instead he brings back their missing wife. The first ones to react are Aizetsu and Sekido. The sorrow clone balling into your shoulder with a crushing hug making your shoulder wet. "I'M SO HAPPY YOU'RE OK!! WE'RE NEVER GONNA LET YOU GET LOST AGAIN!!" Meanwhile Sekido is scowling relieved but still raged. "WHERE THE FUCK HAVE YOU BEEN?! DO YOU KNOW WHAT YOU MADE US FEEL?!"

-Urami and Karaku have similar reactions to Sekido and Aizetsu. Urami joins Sekido in scolding you. "DO YOU KNOW HOW WORRIED WE WERE!? WHY DIDN'T YOU COME HOME ALREADY?! DID SOMEONE PUT YOU UP TO THIS?! YOU'VE NEVER DONE THIS BEFORE!" Meanwhile Karaku is surprisingly calm actually apologizing if it's his actions made you so mad that you left but he was planning on making it all up to you now. "Don't worry, Baby. We got all the time in the world to make up for lost time."

-In the meantime Hantengu is sniveling alongside Aizetsu as both are crying into your terrified form making your dress soaked. "It's not my fault! It's not my fault!" Is all he can say in defense. Zohakutan is the most annoyed at all. It'll take hours for him to be able to have a moment to talk to you because of how much everyone else is crowding you for their turn but once he does be prepared for the longest lecture of your life. "Sit down! We are going to have a V E R Y long talk!"

DOUMA:

-If Douma's irratic emotional state wasn't enough to scare you away then his cannibalistic demon nature was. From his sudden mood swings to the unstable bout of love declarations he'd give you out of no where, dropping to his knees to shout out it all or just kissing you unprompted. It was all too much but with so many people surrounding you and a powerful demon how did you get away?

-Simple. You hid inside one of the supply crates. Once and a while some of the cult members would leave to try and recruit more members, on these trips they'd take a crate or two of supplies like pamphlets and food. Well Douma had been busy attending to whatever Muzan wanted and there wasn't anyone guarding the crates, so you emptied one out and snuck yourself inside. No one suspected you were inside when they moved the crates outside and down the mountainside for the long trip to one of the nearby towns. And no one saw it coming when you busted out of the crate once you were placed down and RAN. Disappearing into the crowd of people and using the cover of people to get far away from the demon and crazy cult!

-Thankfully the town they happened to stop by had a train station. It was easy to trade one of the many stupid, overpriced pieces of Jewelry Douma always made you wear for a ticket and easier for you to hop on the train and get outta dodge. Relief flooding your systems as the mountain side got farther and farther away from you. And compared to your other Y/n counterparts, it was easier for you to start over. Cutting your hair and dying it, going by a sub version of your name, and selling off what was left of the jewelry on you to gain enough money to buy you a nice warm apartment somewhere random in Asakusa city. Hiding in plain sight sounded like the best idea. And eventually getting a job as a seamtress in a random shop.

-A whole year passed on since the day you escaped and it was almost like it never happened. Never once did you hear about the stupid cult or have people worshipping you weirdly or worst of all having the threat of a demon over your shoulders. All you did was keep your head down and minded your own business. It was good. Life was good. It wasn't until your boss mentioned getting a brand new extremely handsome and rich customer coming in that day did things change. You knew what to do so you already prepared yourself to take measurements and the silk fabric he requested for. Not even paying attention to who it was as you prepared your scissors and measuring tape as your boss guided him into the room with just the two of you with a- "Just let me know if you need anything else!"

-You still don't look up at the frozen figure staring down at you as you just instruct him to stand on the stool and hold his arms up so you can measure his waistline instead you're met with a thud as whoever it was drops to his knees and two strong arms ensnare you in a tight hug. You shout whirling around at the inappropriate behavior but freeze as two rainbow eyes filled with anger, sadness, mad love, and tears spear you straight into the soul.

"Lotus Blossom, I thought I lost you forever there! Good thing we're fated to never be separated. A R E N T W E?"

NAKIME:

-(Apologies if her part is short.) Whelp. You made it out. Running and running and running through the woods to get away from the terrible castle and the woman who self proclaimed to be your 'wife'. You almost made it out of there...Almost. Just before your feet hit the dirt road, a door opens up under you and you fall in. Landing face first with a thud in front of the frowning woman.

"Are you quite done with your childish games?"

ENMU:

-You didn't go back anywhere near trains or stations now that you were free. Screw that mess! You were done with stupid trains and their dumb cars and crazy perverted demons who think that's it's flirting when he let's you punch and kick him out of frustration.

-Nope! You stayed FAR AWAY from tracks in general and just kept yourself at home from now on. So how did he find you again? Turns out HE COULD leave the train body. Not very far away just just far enough to get to your house and wake you up during one of the few times you could actually sleep and then squeal in delight again as you curse him out in his grip and kick him to no avail.

"Oh dear.~ You have no idea how lonely it was to not have you in my arms again.~"

AKAZA:

-With your bad leg limping as you ran for your freedom hearing Akaza's concerned voice shriek out before PLEADING with you to come back. "YOU COULD GET KILLED OUT THERE?! PLEASE COME BACK!! YOU'RE NOT WELL ENOUGH TO BE ON YOUR OWN!!" You don't care. You didn't ask him to 'help you'! You never even wanted him to be near you in the first place.

-Instead of turning back you continue to leg it down the hill you were on cursing the demons that put you in this permanent hurt state. You managed to limp half way back to your family's home before your exhaustion and pain makes you collapse against a nearby tree to rest. It was almost nighttime and yet you were still no closer to home. Panting and heaving, you break off a study stick nearby and use it as a crutch to hop along on your good leg trying to get as far as you can before Akaza can come back for you. If you can make it to the town's temple then you'd be safe at least until the next morning then you can get farther away from him and everything else that could lead him to you.

-You make it to the top of another hill overlooking the town just as it darkens and you can see the first few lights of the houses. Relief floods your being as you hobble towards the town until your stick ends up slipping and you fall over. The wind being knocked out of your body by the first hit before your body starts turning, rolling down the hill painfully as you fall. Hitting rocks and sticks and everything in between until two strong hands grabbed you by the sides. Stopping you just in time before your head could crack against a rock with jagged points. Dizzy you glance up with your spinning vision and feel your stomach drop as worried yellow orbs stare back to you.

"It's too dangerous for you to be without me! Don't you see that?!

GYUTARO(+PLATONIC UME/DAKI):

-You made it out of that gods forsaken hole in the ground. Coughing and in bad shape but alive and well however escaping was another much harder thing to do with your bad sight. Everything looked the same. Blurs, and colors smashed together. Everyone walking bad blobs of color. No one seeming to care about what happened to you as you stumbled around all dirted from climbing out of the hole and begging anyone around you for help only being met with dirty looks and shouted insults at you.

-if no one was going to help you, then you had to make your way out of the E District. You wondered aimlessly. Bumping into everything and anyone. Flinching as people just plain pushed you out of the way knocking you over or leaving you stumbling for balance. Night fell sooner than your terrified mind thought it would. The crowd's became worse, more crowded and so blurry it made your head spin. It made you cry in fear and frustration the longer you stood there in the middle of the street. Eventually turning to leave until you're pulled into an alleyway by a harsh hand. Screaming out before a hand silences you already fearing the worst until a loud familiar yell pierces your ears.

"Helpless without me aren't you?! I hoped you learnt your lesson because this isn't going to happen again. Do you hear me?"

"DO YOU HEAR HIM?! THAT WAS THE STUPIDEST THING ANYONE'S EVER DONE! YOU'RE LUCKY YOU'RE MY FRIEND AND BROTHER LIKES YOU SO MUCH!!"

HAIROU:

-You had one shot and you blew it. It was a long shot anyways. You knew you couldn't get away from him unless you fled in the middle of one of the episodes he had caused by his PTSD hoping that the hours head start you had would be enough to escape him and his hellish hounds. No such luck. You flinch hearing the sounds of gunshots behind you(Hairou shooting himself to clear his panicked mind) but you still don't stop. Just continuing to run and run and not look back.

-As you run through the darkness, you hear them. Howls and the sounds of dogs running behind you catching up to your terrified form to run on either side of you until you're forced to stop as at least five shadow hounds emerge from nowhere in front of your panting form. Growling and barking at your forms getting closer and closer. Backing you up more and more making you scream with every jolt they gave you until your back ran into a chest and an arm suddenly wrapped around yourself.

"That was a cheap trick. Too bad you won't be able to do it again."

GYOKKO:

-You made it out. It was almost impossible for you to escape but you managed to do it. Delayed only by the fact that his vase was turned upside down and it was daylight outside when you ran away. You knew you couldn't return home, that'd be the first place he looked for you. So without any idea of where to go or what to do,you decided to start traveling. Walking down along the road and picking up scraps here and there, stealing a random few dresses off someone's laundry line, and a burlap sack filled with some veggies from a farmer's barn. Now equiped with the items you needed in one bag, you began moving from place to place. Never staying in one place for too long, only traveling during the day and hiding away during the night. This worked out quite well for avoiding him... temporarily.

-You were miserable. Missing the comforts of your home. Missing being able to use your skills and making things. You want to go home, but you can't in fear of the demon still lurking about. Eventually your travels eventually leads you to the dreaded E District. With nothing else to do, you beg the first house master you see for a job any job at wits end. Eventually he does. As a servant. It's not the worst job. You don't have to entertain any guests, only clean floors, bring the ladies food, and help the girls with their clothes and make up if they need it. In exchange you're paid with a small room to sleep in and and one free meal a day. Definitely not the worst outcome. Beats being a demon's 'muse'.

-One day an oirans favorite kimono is ruined. Right before she was to see a special customer too. Well you use your former skills as a kimono maker and offer to fix said oirans dress for free. She's skeptical about it but agrees to let you fix it and is surprised that not only did you fix it but it looked like it wasn't even torn. She's so impressed with it that it starts up a conversation between you two about your skill. You mention used to having a store and making kimonos before misfortune made you lose your job(leaving out the demon art of course). Well she decides that she wants one and so orders you and the house master to get her one that matches her demands specifically.

-You happily agree missing your old job and happily make her one in a few weeks time. She's in love with the beautiful blue kimono with waves stitched on so beautifully that it looks almost real. You're so happy that you don't even realize that the oirans is actually a demon in dequise and she wears her new kimono to a demon meeting. Or that another demon instantly recognizes the work she's wearing. Gyokko compliments and flatters Daki into telling him where exactly she got the kimono and she has no problems bragging about how her new girl made it just for her and no one else. You really shouldn't have been horrified when you retire to your room later that night and is met with a beautiful vade in the middle of the room.

"Really I thought you would've known how tasteless it was to think that you could outsmart me."

KAIGAKU:

-Your first instinct after getting out was to make for the first demon slayer you could find but the problem with that was that you had no idea where you were or where the Haishiras were training. You just dove through the first door you saw leading to the outside and ran. Ran until light peeked into the skies and still you kept going until you came to the first town. Taking shelter in the nearest public room which happened to be a library.

-Naively you thought you were safe there. You were just a healer after all, you didn't know that demons could track by scent. So when you fall asleep amongst the books as night falls, and you wake up two angry hands yanking you up to him bridal style. You can't help but scream.

"Do I look like a dam idiot to you?! You're going to regret being so dumb!"

KYOGAI:

-You had one shot at it. When Kyogai's distracted by an intruder in his house, you make for the nearest room with a window you can find. Opening doors in a panic, eyes looking around wildly for any way you can leave until you see it. A window that's right in front of you and it's open! Without hesitation you run towards it and jumped out. However what you didn't know was that you were on the second floor so when you jumped out, you had a painful landing.

-You didn't break your leg but it was either severely sprained or fractured from the pain you felt. Your pained scream alerting Kyogai to the nearest window to where he looked on in horror as you struggled to get up. It burnt him badly, but he immediately ran out in the sunlight to get you and drag you back inside. He can regenerate in a few minutes, your leg would take much longer.

"That was incredibly stupid of you,Water Beetle."

[junkienet]

✱ AFTER DAWN CARESSES ？ eagle master noa.

fluff ⌇ cute time with a partner undertone ⸻ ﹙ 𝒜lt ﹒ universe ﹚ established relationships. 𝒻.ᐟreader

LATE AT MIDNIGHT ◞ 09 : 27 o ' clock. ⸻ between entwined legs and arms.

underneath the canopy of bleak branches , the bubbling murkiness of the gelid grime ringlet your perspiring brow. you steep your corporeal weight on your hip—joint , stirring in the fathomless concave of the nest made of caramel—deerskin , shrubbery and withered leaf stalks. noa , master of birds , paladin of the eagle's clan , skates his elephantine thumb across the sun—peel of your cheek. the womb of his gloved palm in carved leather kneads the peach flesh , like seared bread. he whir's , gurgling beneath the thwack of accumulated drool under your tongue, the shore of your eye elongates and squash bellow the pumpkin—cushion of his fingers. you gulp the swell of saliva, cooling the structure of your larynx.

you rasp. " your hand is the same size as my cranium . " the ape crane his mandible , abstracted. his digits clatter on the beak of your head.

" cra—nee—um , hmm. " he scratches his throat, ambivalent.

you nod once , your fingernail galloping along the meadow of ochre fur that drenched the perimeter of his denuded , salmon—skinned ear. " cranium , yes. " you extol the arid tumult at the bottom of your dehydrated mouth. " you could crush it if you wanted to. " you babble in the cadence of a lonely nightingale.

the chimpanzee denies twice , muddling his snout , barbed of your human—kind ideality. he spits a smack of lips in the opposite route , undulating a drapery of your ravelled hair.

" i won't . " his shale timber of voice excavates into a nasal splutter.

you coil your head , distinguishing the crackle of the nest's teeny twigs. " but you could. "

" i won't . "

you broom the juncture of his scruff , blanding the pulsating pitter—patter of the crown of your skull as you perceive a scintilla of his viridian—green orbs , of wheat fields and groves , sumptuous. " i believe you . "

he sprain his upper—spine , the peak of his paw toes stroking the crook contour of his left kneecap . he panted a grunt , an abysmal clamor that hike's aerially , exultant .

" you have long nails . . . you could take my eyes out , " he glabber's with a sequence of drooped blinks. " if echo wanted to. "

you negate three times , slouching your forehead on his leafy , pompous bosom. " i won't. "

his herculean arm cascade parallel to an iron belt through the shoal arch of your waist , impelling you against his thorax.

" i believe you. "

SEXY JUTSU LIKE NARUTO ©JUNKIENET ╱ 2024.

[hellenhighwater]

Ooh, The Last Sequoia you're working on is really evocative for me. Part of my work two summers ago was helping with fuels reduction in a seqouia grove. 5 years after a hot fire killed more than half that grove. And months after the grove 10 miles away was saved from a big fire due to fuels reduction efforts the year before. I'm applying for a Masters program where I might be working on forest fire ecology... This is just to say that your painting isn't even done and it's making me Feel Things.

Thank you! I was thinking about this particular poem when I was working on it, it's stuck with me for years.

They will soon be down

To one, but he still will be For a little while    still will be stopping

The flakes in the air with a look, Surrounding himself with the silence Of whitening snarls. Let him eat The last red meal of the condemned

To extinction, tearing the guts

From an elk. Yet that is not enough For me. I would have him eat

The heart, and from it, have an idea Stream into his gnarling head That he no longer has a thing To lose, and so can walk

Out into the open, in the full

Pale of the sub-Arctic sun Where a single spruce tree is dying

Higher and higher. Let him climb it With all his meanness and strength. Lord, we have come to the end Of this kind of vision of heaven,

As the sky breaks open

Its fans around him and shimmers And into its northern gates he rises

Snarling    complete    in the joy of a weasel With an elk’s horned heart in his stomach Looking straight into the eternal Blue, where he hauls his kind. I would have it all

My way: at the top of that tree I place

The New World’s last eagle Hunched in mangy feathers    giving

Up on the theory of flight. Dear God of the wildness of poetry, let them mate To the death in the rotten branches, Let the tree sway and burst into flame

And mingle them, crackling with feathers,

In crownfire. Let something come Of it    something gigantic    legendary

Rise beyond reason over hills Of ice    screaming    that it cannot die, That it has come back, this time On wings, and will spare no earthly thing:

That it will hover, made purely of northern

Lights, at dusk    and fall On men building roads: will perch

On the moose’s horn like a falcon Riding into battle    into holy war against Screaming railroad crews: will pull Whole traplines like fibres from the snow

In the long-jawed night of fur trappers.

But, small, filthy, unwinged, You will soon be crouching

Alone, with maybe some dim racial notion Of being the last, but none of how much Your unnoticed going will mean: How much the timid poem needs

The mindless explosion of your rage,

The glutton’s internal fire    the elk’s Heart in the belly, sprouting wings,

The pact of the “blind swallowing Thing,” with himself, to eat The world, and not to be driven off it Until it is gone, even if it takes

Forever. I take you as you are

And make of you what I will, Skunk-bear, carcajou, bloodthirsty

Non-survivor.

Lord, let me die    but not die

Out.

James Dickey, “For the Last Wolverine” from The Whole Motion: Collected Poems 1945-1992.

[marrkopolo]

A Wise Man Once Said

Precious lost its ring in the scrap yard with no metal detector the lavender pussywillows hide the trolls

Hong Kong wheel of fate UW spinned it first Knights of Templar slaughtered at a mass concert of bloody crimson tide

Tithe on a full moon for 2x the glee The crash of waves against the rocks, like bodies slapping against each other during sex blood shooting through veins Hot heat, sticky, in Iceland together I too, know of these lands

Tax season says the King! blue knots on a tent red food buckets hung like death #four crosses in a foreign land alone is no place to exist

An underwater welder lying on the blue tarp, is like a union of troops led by a zebra.

Flying flags at Disney welcome to the world of water failed regret, emptiness and betrayal tattered flags get left to rot sew it in with the others together and the quilt becomes strong and scintillating

Crush you with your own history headless horseman and halo hair dark horse donuts This is as good as it gets!

Red-lipped lipstick cracked porcelain face You can't hold a candle to this

King of the Hill My pool stick is clean now true Kings swim in the swimming pool together King of the Hill Jack of Spades went with the stolen crown and robots learn to volunteer.

Pledge to a sanitizer salute to a gong beat your chest it's loud and strong Love at first sight or sounds like a good idea Wisdom of the crowd or individual motivation?

A rabbi with the yachts Fortified lamps sees all UFOs, telekinesis and even explosive lingerie. One denarius for a days work Why they get more? Stand while another sits. Then switch roles and you'll see why.

What sees with three eyes? The melatonin-like parental bond, third eye awoken, Moksha.

Insane Luke has a scar red dots that kill. Baldie takes biosphere crown the bald animal is cutting loose again Is doraphilia still fun to you?

I attempt to transform but the tea is too strong my hands have small heart Lying down a tiny raindrop falls into my ear swirling into the cochlea My whole world has changed!

Eczema stealing make-up twice North Face go north Racks of weapons are not enough this time

My mask is old but gold bars had paved my fortunate path …a fortunate path(whispering)

Tik Tok vault one exit is enough The eagle has docked into spray-painted madness. Not to fret I hear a falcon cry Jump when the law is bent it will help you fly

Six shooter Six pack 3 sewers 3 fires Twin-spirit 1 spacesuit

Mountain top king of the hill climb Nepal Hajj pilgrimage princess climbs like a pirate piggyback down the wedding aisle

Opposites attract

One fell to its doom down the abyssal void towards the bottom and a ghost ship lost in the Bermuda Triangle with Pandoras Box Lazarus

Gunpowder in shoes Footprints in the sand Jesus did not tap

Short and tall fat and thin Lookalikes Soundalikes Smellalikes the hunt of touch and taste What double currencies create the ultimate Yin Yang effect? AI said to cure pride and competition, exchange abacus rubik-cubed calculators instead of cash.

Echoes and reverberation voices become lightning WATTS= AMPS X VOLTS

Float your payloads into the troposphere with skinny vertical structures of contained saltwater Heat a planet with a satellite asteroid belt

A call for help QR codes morse code gun flare smoke signal what are your coordinates? R-E-B-O-R-N

Some ancients say gunpowder only made flee then gun made to kill Oil spills from bronze age to silicon chips flood the market cut the mall castle cake in half Zangief on a segway You win.Perfect.

Lawrence Groves copyright©2024

[underdark-dreams]

Not sure if anyone is still following this oneshot, but I ended up writing a second chapter. Turns out I couldn't stop thinking about giving them a happier ending. (Rated M now 👀)

Rolan x Fem!Tav (Unnamed)

Good Night For Company - ch. 2

Tags: Mild Angst, Sexual Content

Word Count: 4,794 [Read on AO3]

Rolan had spent many hours cursing his timidity that night. 

He’d lain sleepless at his camp as the sky lightened outside the Emerald Grove, replaying each moment in his mind. The look in her eye when she asked to kiss him—her hand tugging him toward her tent—the lovely way she collapsed against him when his lips found her soft neck.

He'd escaped the very fires of Avernus itself with his whole family miraculously alive and in tow. Yet confronted with the puzzle of her hands drawing him down to her bedroll, his mind had seized up in uncertainty. How much easier could she have made it for him?

Although, he allowed himself, he had made some sense that night. For one who daydreamed of her face as often as Rolan, the strain in her features was instantly noticeable by campfire light. Her eyes were heavy-lidded and shadowed with dark, tired circles. Even her skin seemed drained of its usual color. She needed a good night’s sleep more than anything.

But as they said their goodbyes that night outside his campsite, Rolan's hands still holding her shoulders, he could have sworn she wanted him just as badly as he did her.

Rolan shut his eyes with a groan—her face only swam behind his eyelids, that same invitation drawing him into her gaze. He pressed palms to his eye sockets until she burst apart into popping stars.

When he opened them, he was back in the torchlight of Last Light Inn and sitting in his grim new reality. There was empty silence on either side of him where Cal and Lia should have stood chattering.

Rolan dragged his tankard back towards him across the bar, until he peered down and saw the bottom.

"You two," he snapped at the little Tieflings behind the bar. The boys' conspiratorial giggles hushed immediately as they both looked at him. "Are you tending bar or not?" He waved his empty mug toward them.

"I don't know," Ide said, brows lowering in a skeptical line. Rolan tutted at him.

"It's not difficult. Bottle," he pointed at the open dry red behind the bar. "Cup," he continued, waving a hand in front of him. 

"Mistress Jaheira said not to over-pour," Umi piped up, clearly not knowing the term but understanding the sentiment behind it.

"Mistress Jaheira didn't save both your hides from the Shadow Curse, did she?" Rolan snapped. He badly needed another drink; unwelcome lucidity threatened to close in. "If it weren't for me, who knows whether you two would still be out there right now."

“Stop it, mister Rolan,” Ide insisted. Rolan was opening his mouth to chastise him before he caught sight of Umi’s lip trembling. 

The child was already a timid thing. Through the recent memories of too many kin lying on the road, Rolan recalled Asharak, the childrens’ fighting instructor from the Grove. He’d been cut down before their young eyes just days ago. Umi seemed especially affected by the loss. No doubt the man’s body still lay spread-eagle on the path up the hill; the urgency of survival had left no time to bury their dead.

Rolan gave a heavy sigh as he watched the child’s forlorn face. Yet again, he felt like a monster. “Go. I swear I’ll practice moderation. And if Jaheira asks, tell her I ordered you off.”

The two of them scampered away without a response, clearly eager to get away from Rolan at the first chance. If only he could escape his own unpleasant company just as easily. 

But that, Rolan reminded himself, was what all this wine was for. He lurched across the bar for the bottle and tipped the rest of its contents into his tankard. Its heat down his throat welcomed him back toward oblivion.

If he still lived, their errant paladin had everything to answer for. Whether he’d lost his senses to the curse or just lost his mind entirely, Rolan cursed Zevlor for the umpteenth time for fucking off with the cultists and landing him in this unwelcome position of authority. 

Rolan was no leader…at best a very, very uninspiring one. The yoke should have fallen to someone brave and selfless. Someone like broad-shouldered Ikaron. But Ikaron was now another empty body lying along the Risen Road, to be slowly consumed by the shadows.

Rolan knew he was no beacon of encouragement. He’d done his best to herd the other panicked survivors onward, however, using every last bit of evocation knowledge he had to keep them surrounded with light and flame.

He also knew it was sheer good fortune that saved them in the end. If they hadn’t found the sanctuary of Last Light Inn when they did, they’d all be shambling undead by now.

Yet somehow in the days since the ambush, he found all the children hovering around him with frightened eyes, asking him questions he barely knew the answers to himself. How were they going to save the ones who’d been taken by the cult?

Perhaps his unpleasant habit of ordering others about was finally coming around to bite him in the ass.

Nevertheless, Rolan felt vexed and inconvenienced by the unasked responsibility. Weren't his siblings enough of a weight on his shoulders already? Saving everyone would be a miracle; all he could privately hope for was Cal and Lia returned to him. 

If they’re still alive. Those were the thoughts that drove him to drink, and drink he did, tipping back the pewter vessel with abandon. In between bouts of liquor, however, Rolan’s mind was working as hard as it ever had. 

Cal and Lia would be at Moonrise Towers. No question. Moonrise was the headquarters of this insane Absolute cult, the one whose small patrol had butchered their numbers on the road. And a fortress of that size had to have a dungeon of some sort on the lower level. Why would they go through the trouble of taking them alive just to kill them? They must have plans for them all—ones Rolan tried not to imagine in detail.

He had to think of a way to slip through unnoticed—possibly by river, if the rumors he’d overheard from the Harpers were right. How far could he get on his own? Asking any of his fellows for help was out of the question. 

Rolan glanced across the common room at what pitiful few remained. Alfira sat near the open hearth, fingers going through the motions of tuning her lute strings. Her usually cheerful eyes were blank and distant. Rolan hadn’t heard her play a single note since Lakrissa had been taken with his siblings. He should have thought to comfort her, but that kind of gentleness never seemed to occur to him.

Rolan crossed his arms on the bar and dropped his horns to them. If only he’d thought faster, acted sooner, left the others to fend for themselves in order to grab hold of his brother and sister before their screams grew distant. His sharp nails dug into his palms as the sound replayed in his mind. 

He wished he had anyone besides himself to be angry at. He wished he could be angry at her.

If only she'd never taught Cal and Lia how to hope to fight back or be heroes. If only she'd never taught him how to hope…for anything, he decided. For any single single thing he might wish were possible.

Through his haze of drunken self-pity, his ears pricked at some kind of shouting and commotion out front. No doubt another attack by some new shadow-cursed horror. Rolan heard one of the little ones begin calling his name. 

"I’m coming, I’m coming,” Rolan spat, sliding petulantly to his feet as one hand reached for the quarterstaff leaning against the bar. “The damned hells is it this time?" He didn’t care what language the child might hear, but young Mattis was unphased.

“Stow your frown—” Mattis was grinning toothily. “Goblin killer finally made it!”

“What?” But the boy was already gone, bounding away from him through the front doors. Rolan swallowed dry against his fuzzy tongue. He felt fully awake for the first time in days, and he gripped the bar to steady himself before his feet stumbled forward.

Jaheira's enchanted vines were disentangling from her legs just as Rolan entered the courtyard. It was fortunate; he'd grown to respect Jaheira, and it would've been a shame to have to hex her. Rolan jostled through the gathered Harpers without a care in order to push closer. 

She and her companions had been waylaid just past the bridge. Harper Lassandra was relaying a report in her defense, it seemed, but all Rolan could concentrate on was her face.

Her cheeks were splattered with dark, shadow-magic blood. One of her sleeves was ripped open at the shoulder, displaying another patch of blood-stained skin at the seam of her leather jerkin. By the dark circles under her eyes, she still hadn't slept properly since the Grove.

She was the most beautiful thing Rolan had seen in weeks.

Her eyes came to rest on his own face then; he watched her blink hard, as if she might be dreaming.

"Rolan?" She croaked out softly. 

He had already half-closed the gap by the time she started toward him. They caught each other so hard Rolan felt the air leave his lungs in a huff, but he gathered whatever of her familiar scent he could, tinged with coppery blood though it was.

“I’m so glad you’re—I’m so glad,” she laughed shakily into his shoulder. Rolan wished he could kiss her, but it didn’t feel right in front of so many other eyes. He settled for standing back with his arms circled tight around her middle.

"Where's Lia and Cal?" She glanced around behind him, her smile fading. Rolan should have expected her constant concern for others by now, but could only look at her. Her eyes landed back on his face. "Zevlor?" She added quietly.

“Come inside.” Jaheira’s voice interrupted the silence between them. “We can talk over a drink.” 

As the druid directed forces back to their posts, Rolan felt her slip out from under his arms. She approached Gale to ask something—Rolan saw the wizard glance his direction before he replied.

“Come on,” she said, jogging back into his embrace. 

“What about Jaheira?”

“Gale can handle it, he’s good at talking.” She notched herself back firm against his side as they walked in. “I’d rather hear from you.”

Rolan tried his best not to stumble up the stairs beside her. He cursed his impulse to reach for the bottle at any sorrow—he must reek of it. If he did, she was kind enough not to say anything.

He led her to the empty room beside the cleric’s and shut the heavy door behind them.

“We were ambushed,” he said in a rush, before she could open her mouth. “Cal and Lia were grabbed up by those monsters on wings. Along with others. They’re being held at Moonrise.”

“We’ll find them.” Her voice was automatic and steely-certain. 

Rolan nodded, borrowing what strength he could from her eyes. “We will.”

“I thought…Zevlor was leading you,” she prompted him slowly, as if she might not want to know the answer. He only shook his head at her. How could he explain what he didn’t understand himself?

“We took the same path here that you did,” she admitted to him. Rolan knew what she was saying. He remembered each and every blank, upturned face that shrank to a pinpoint in the darkness as he led the survivors away. 

“I’m so sorry, Rolan.” His numbness was broken by her two hands rising to hold his face. “I just—I’m so fucking sorry—”

For some reason, his grief felt more real than it had yet. Rolan looked down at her bloodstained face and folded his fingers around one of her wrists. It would be idiotic to cry in front of her, so he kissed her instead.

His lips shook against hers, from sorrow and from want in equal measure. Rolan didn’t want to think about his dead friends, or his family waiting for rescue in a dark dungeon—just for a moment, he wished he could lose himself in her. She was the one person he could let himself unravel with.

“Rolan, wait—” But she didn’t want him to wait. Rolan heard it in her breathless voice against his lips, felt it in the way her hands clutched at his clothing to pull him closer.

He knew she must taste the alcohol on his breath. Hadn’t he said something to her that night in her tent? Something about wine and sex being a bad mix.

Foolish words of a foolish man who still thought he'd have time to do things properly. Rolan couldn’t remember them, and right now, this seemed like the best thing that could ever happen in such a desolate place. 

Was it so wrong to want her? Even now, with the rest of his life crumbling around him? 

Only his very real feelings for her could have broken through the haze. With a lurch of effort, Rolan stumbled back from her. The four walls of their room pressed in unbearably quiet without the sounds of hands and lips filling the air. Her eyes shone dark to him in the candlelight, pupils blown wide in a way that his deepest instincts recognized with primal satisfaction. He was certain his eyes blazed with just as much desire. 

Rolan licked his lips, gathering his last shreds of control. “Tell me to go,” he rasped. “Say it, and I will.”

He was rooted to the spot to await her judgment. She was silent before him, only a soft pant from between her lips. Rolan stood there for what felt like an agonizing eternity as her eyes traveled over his face. 

So slowly it felt like a dream, she raised one arm across to her opposite shoulder. The gesture made no sense to him at first. Until Rolan heard buckles clicking and watched the plates of her leather armor shed from her chest like scales to the floorboards.

Her tunic was next, and before Rolan could ready himself it was up over her head and thrown on top of her armor, her bare breasts covered only by a few stray wisps of her hair. 

He swayed where he stood, lightheaded; her darkly shining eyes didn’t break from his for a moment, even as her hands were already moving to the fastenings of her belt.

Rolan felt an ache like loss. Those should be his hands—gently undressing her, taking his time as he slowly unveiled each new and beautiful expanse of her flesh—not the two of them rushing through this first moment of newness that they’d never get back. Because even as the thought occurred, he himself was ripping his own robes off his shoulders without a care for the state of them. They would have time enough some other night.

She was faster, already kicking her pants off her bare feet. She wore nothing underneath—the realization brought a groan from his throat. Once his last garments dropped forgotten to the floor, she practically pounced.

Rolan had just enough reflex to catch her as she threw her body against his. Her bare skin on his was electric, filling his mind with wild want even as he tried to take in every sensation at once. Her taut breasts pressed against his chest—fingers lovingly exploring the ridges on his shoulders and back—the heat between her legs barely grazing against his thigh, yet enough to send his mind reeling. She made him feel real again.

And her lips—how could he have already forgotten how sweet she tasted? He kissed her back with hunger, wishing he might dissolve into her soft warmth for good.

Rolan wasn’t as strong as he wished, and he was tipsy as all hells, but he did his best as he guided their bodies down on top of their clothing. Her hips and shoulders thumped under his weight against the wood boards. Surely it must have hurt her—but then he felt her legs cross behind his bare flanks, rutting their hips together, and every other concern was lost.

Slick wetness pressed against his pelvis as she rolled herself against him. The proof of how much she wanted him, if Rolan had any lingering doubts. He fell braced on his forearms around her.

“I missed you so much,” she gasped against his lips. Rolan paused everything as his eyes opened to meet hers, almost too close to focus. “Rolan, I wish we—I should have—” Her face shone with more yearning than he could bear.

"I know, dearest, I know—" The endearment fell with shocking ease from his lips. Though he might share them, tonight was not for regrets. There were enough of those going around to last a lifetime. 

Rolan stopped them with his mouth, licking and tasting her as deeply as she would let him, one hand splaying under her thigh to angle her hips deeper against his own. 

With anyone else, Rolan might have felt self-conscious about how hard he’d been since the moment she undressed for him. With her, what would be the point? She'd confessed more with her body and her words than he'd ever expected.

His ridged length pressed between them, his underside slickening with each rocking motion she made against him. He broke from her slightly.

"Tell me." The words came out husky. Rolan didn't mean them to tease her, only wanted her to direct him, but the way she squirmed under him was addictive.

"I want you," she breathed, and he felt fingers clasp behind his neck. "Please, Rolan—"

How could he deny her anything? Rolan grabbed himself to guide and nudge his tip to her folds, spreading her wetness along his length best he could. She deserved so much better than a hard floor in the middle of nowhere. But everything felt too urgent, like they were at the edge of the world’s end. And her face held nothing but eagerness as she watched him.

Gently, slowly, he guided himself just inside her. She was perfect; Rolan's head dropped to her chest as he exhaled with a shudder.

"Oh—" She only let out the little gasp, but her hands hooked under his ears, tilting his head back up so she could press lips to his forehead and eyelids. 

"More," she purred against him.

Reflexive, Rolan pushed into her to the hilt and let out a groan at how perfectly she gripped him. She hummed in satisfaction, her legs pressing tighter around his hips to hold him there.

It was somehow tender and frantic all at once. Rolan's hips rolled into her with increasing urgency, even as he cradled her face up toward his with both his forearms, wanting to watch each sensation play out over her face.

When he hit a new angle inside her, her fingers actually gripped one of his horns as her lips gasped open. It sent a shudder reverberating through his core.

"So good," she gasped. "You feel so perfect—"

He would do anything to keep it feeling that way for her. He ducked his mouth to her breast, sliding his tongue over one tight bud and sucking her into his mouth.

"Fuck, Rolan—" Her voice canted up a register, and he felt her walls tremble and grip around him with each thrust. Her fingers clutched sweetly at the ridges over his shoulder blades.

In the back of his mind Rolan wondered whether the whole inn could hear his name on her lips, but he wasn't sure he cared, wasn't sure he didn't fucking love the idea in fact.

Both of them were starved for it, and neither of them could last much longer. Rolan groaned something into the flesh of her breast, words lost to the way her body shook under him just as he unraveled all around her. He collapsed against her soft chest and held her tight with trembling arms.

—---

"What did you say before?" 

As he drifted back to reality, Rolan lifted his head from her to rest his chin on her stomach. "Hmm?" 

She was looking down at him with shy curiosity. "When you came," she said. He loved hearing words like that casually tumble from her. "You said something, I didn't recognize the language."

Rolan realized with some embarrassment that she was right. "I did, didn't I." He moved to press his lips along her abdomen, as if it might distract her from the topic. But she was far too stubborn for that.

"Going to tell me or not?" He felt his insides melt as she traced her thumb along the lines of one of his pointed ears.

Rolan regretted letting her in on that fact about Tiefling anatomy, and he told her so with a grumble. She only laughed and gave his ear point a teasing tug.

Rolan closed his eyes against the feeling instead. "It's Infernal," he admitted to her. He hadn't spoken the tongue in many years; the fact he remembered any was a surprise even to himself.

"Oh." She didn't sound put off, only curious. "What did it mean?"

He carefully considered how to answer. "There's…not a word in Common that directly translates." Rolan met her eyes as his lips brushed absently near her navel. "A feeling that cleanses like holy fire. 'Love of salvation.'"

She gazed down at him. "That's the most romantic thing I've ever heard," she whispered.

Rolan reached to smooth her hair across her forehead. "Is it? To be cleansed, you have to be corrupted first."

"Is that an offer?" she asked, a grin teasing at the corners of her mouth. “I mean, we’re all pretty corrupted around here. Don’t forget I’ve already got a worm in the head.”

Abruptly, she pushed herself seated upright; Rolan caught himself back against his knees.

"I’m an idiot," she gasped. “Rolan—that’s how I get to the Moonrise dungeons. This tadpole makes me a True Soul. I can walk right through the fucking front door!”

Anxiety gripped him as he watched the excitement unfold on her face. Rolan wasn't sure he could watch her willingly rush into a den of vipers. 

"I'm coming with you," he insisted, already knowing she would tell him no. She shook her head at him.

“I wish you could,” she told him, and he believed her. “You're not tadpoled, the guards would know. But I'll take as many of my companions as I can, I swear. We can do this," she added, gripping his forearm.

It was all too fast; Rolan caught her hand before she could rise. "Wait," he implored firmly. “Let me travel with you to the bridge, at least.”

That she agreed to. They dressed quickly—though Rolan couldn't resist grabbing her a few times to kiss what bare flesh was still exposed, absolutely adoring the way she melted under his hands and mouth each time.

When he and her party stood at the bridge to the Tower, Rolan regretted agreeing to this all over again. She only gave him a quick peck on the lips with the soft promise of more later, and headed down the walkway with her companions.

Rolan stayed back in the shadows to watch her speak with the guards. His heart pounded in his throat. There was a short exchange; even his sensitive ears couldn’t catch the words. But then the guards stood down, and she and her friends walked freely through the front doors of Moonrise Towers. He allowed himself to feel a sliver of hope.

Back at the Inn, Rolan paced around the hall for what felt like an eternity. Mol complained he was making her dizzy. In reality, it couldn't have been more than a few hours. 

When he heard the soft shout of the patrol below, Rolan rushed through the wide doors and down to the underground port.

Cal and Lia stood alive and well on the wooden docks. Her too, further down the line—she even caught his eye with a smile. Rolan could have laughed in relief, but the guards curtly ordered him back while the Harper on duty checked them over with Jaheira's bottled tadpole. 

Rolan deeply wished to aim a cantrip at the man's skull, but he clenched his fists to gather his last remaining shreds of patience.

When they were cleared, all of them dashed together. Rolan gripped Cal and Lia's heads with a hand each, holding them tight against him.

"You absolute fucking idiots—" Rolan was half scolding, half trying not to cry. "Don't you dare stick your necks out like that again, do you hear me?"

"I'll remember that the next time we get kidnapped by murderous lunatics," Lia's voice said into his shoulder, but she was squeezing his ribs tight.

"Sorry," was Cal's only meek response, and Rolan stifled the juvenile urge to rumple his little brother's hair. 

"Just get inside," Rolan said as he released them. "When was the last time you both ate?"

They both complained over his continued fussing, but each of them obeyed him in the end. The return of bickering and normality somehow eased a weight from Rolan's heart. 

As the Tieflings he knew and the deep gnomes he didn't all made their way up the stairs to the Inn, Rolan linked his arm around her waist beside him.

"I love you," he told her first, low so that only she could hear. Then—"thank you."

"Thank those lot up there," she told him, though he heard through the smile in her voice that she hadn't missed his confession. "They were ready to fight tooth and nail out of there. I just unlocked the bars."

In the dark Rolan placed a swift kiss on the crown of her head, and was rewarded by the feel of her cheek leaning sideways against his shoulder.

Last Light Inn still had an undeniable gloom to it, but it was lightened considerably by the reunions of friends and lovers. To Rolan's eye the hall seemed practically packed compared to a few hours earlier.

His siblings settled back at the bar, removed from the chatter at the hearth. Rolan watched them toast each other with two very well-earned pints. As they both launched into conflicting narratives of their adventure, Rolan felt a deep sense of ease soak into his bones.

"This one's fucking amazing, by the way—" Lia was gesturing her mug to the woman at Rolan's side. "Watched her cut down a Moonrise guard with one swing of a sword. You better have thanked her properly, Rolan," she added.

His sister was clever; Rolan strongly suspected she knew what she was doing. He decided to play dumb for the sake of the dear person beside him, whose cheeks he could practically feel burning from here.

"Believe me, I will," Rolan said. As he spoke, he drew her toward him again with an arm around her middle.

Cal was significantly slower on the uptake. "Eughh." He let out an amused noise of disgust. "Why don't you two just kiss each other alre—"

But Rolan's lips were already on hers, tilting her chin up and back with a hand so he could capture her mouth. His other arm wrapped her shoulders back against his chest, and he felt her fingers grip tight over his forearm. As they gently broke apart, the quiet lasted only for a second.

"Twelve pints at the Elfsong." Lia smacked the bar next to Cal. "That's it, you owe me."

"Taking bets on my fucking love life now?" Rolan began, his indignance slightly undercut by the fact that his love in question was shaking with laughter under his arm, both hands clasped over her face.

In the end, Rolan left his siblings to argue over the details. He was too overwhelmed with embarrassment and the desire to save her from any of the same.

As he drew her back up the stairs, Rolan felt her shoulders shaking with laughter again under his arm. He glanced sideways, wondering what had ruined the mood now.

“What?” he prompted her.

“Nothing, it’s just—” She was positively sparkling as she looked at him out of the corner of her eye. “Can we use the bed this time?”

With a mortifying jolt, Rolan realized there was indeed a perfectly serviceable bed in the room where he’d unceremoniously taken her on the floor.

“Fuck,” he breathed.

“Plenty of time for that,” she agreed, biting her lip as she drew him with her hand. “Now come on.”

[deutschland-im-krieg]

Junkers Ju 88 night fighters awaiting scrapping at Grove airfield in Denmark, 2 August 1945. For more, see my Facebook group - Eagles Of The Reich

[thelustybraavosimaid]

The wargs were the most numerous in that company, the wolf-brothers, but the boy had found the others stranger and more fascinating. Borroq looked so much like his boar that all he lacked was tusks... (Prologue, ADwD)

--

"The lad's a warg, or close enough," put in Ragwyle, the big spearwife. "His wolf took a piece o' Halfhand's leg."

The Weeper's red rheumy eyes gave Jon another look. "Aye? Well, he has a wolfish cast to him, now as I look close.[...]" (Jon I, ASoS)

--

He had known what Snow was the moment he saw that great white direwolf stalking silent at his side. One skinchanger can always sense another. (Prologue, ADwD)

--

Amongst the riders came one man afoot, with some big beast trotting at his heels. A boar, Jon saw. A monstrous boar. Twice the size of Ghost, the creature was covered with coarse black hair, with tusks as long as a man's arm. Jon had never seen a boar so huge or ugly. The man beside him was no beauty either; hulking, black-browed, he had a flat nose, heavy jowls dark with stubble, small black close-set eyes.

"Borroq." Tormund turned his head and spat.

"A skinchanger." It was not a question. Somehow he knew.

...

The skinchanger stopped ten yards away. His monster pawed at the mud, snuffling. A light powdering of snow covered the boar's humped black back. He gave a snort and lowered his head, and for half a heartbeat Jon thought he was about to charge. To either side of him, his men lowered their spears.

"Brother," Borroq said. (Jon XII, ADwD)

-----------

In the dark, the direwolf's red eyes looked black. He nuzzled at Jon's neck, silent as ever, his breath a hot mist. The wildlings called Jon Snow a warg, but if so he was a poor one. He did not know how to put on a wolf skin, the way Orell had with his eagle before he'd died. (Jon III, ADwD)

--

The gift was strong in Snow, but the youth was untaught, still fighting his nature when he should have gloried in it. (Prologue, ADwD)

--

Marsh hesitated. "Lord Snow, I am not one to bear tales, but there has been talk that you are becoming too…too friendly with Lord Stannis. Some even suggest that you are…a…"

A rebel and a turncloak, aye, and a bastard and a warg as well. Janos Slynt might be gone, but his lies lingered. (Jon III, ADwD)

--

"Wolves and women wed for life," Haggon often said. "You take one, that's a marriage. The wolf is part of you from that day on, and you're part of him. Both of you will change."

--

Perched above the window, the Old Bear's raven peered down at him with shrewd black eyes. My last friend, Jon thought ruefully. And I had best outlive you, or you'll eat my face as well. Ghost did not count. Ghost was closer than a friend. Ghost was part of him. (Jon III, ADwD)

--

Jon smelled Tom Barleycorn before he saw him. Or was it Ghost who smelled him? Of late, Jon Snow sometimes felt as if he and the direwolf were one, even awake. The great white wolf appeared first, shaking off the snow. A few moments later Tom was there.

...

Ghost nuzzled up against his shoulder, and Jon draped an arm around him. He could smell Horse's unwashed breeches, the sweet scent Satin combed into his beard, the rank sharp smell of fear, the giant's overpowering musk. He could hear the beating of his own heart. When he looked across the grove at the woman with her child, the two greybeards, the Hornfoot man with his maimed feet, all he saw was men. (Jon VII, ADwD)

[precious-little-scoundrel]

Marcella Ryan LeBeau is a member of the Two Kettle Band of the Cheyenne River Sioux Tribe and lives in Eagle Butte, South Dakota. Her Lakota name is Wigmuke Waste Win (Pretty Rainbow Woman) Her great-grandfather, Chief Joseph Four Bear (Mato Topa), signed the Fort Laramie Treaty in 1868. Her grandmother, Louise Bear Face, was related to Rain In The Face who took part in the Battle of the Little Horn.

Marcella served as a nurse in WWII becoming a 1 st Lieutenant in the Army Nurse Corps. The army service took her from the USA to Wales, England, France, and Belgium. Since receiving the French Legion of Honor Award on June 6, 2004, in Paris France, on the occasion of the 60th Anniversary of D-Day, Marcella has been requested to participate at many Veterans’ events, speaking of her military experience in World War II. Marcella served one term as District 5 council representative for the Cheyenne River Sioux Tribe. She is also honored to speak to the youth at elementary, high school, and college venues when she is invited.

In 1992 and 1995 Marcella and her son, Richard went to Glasgow, Scotland with interest in the return of the Ghost Dance Shirt that was taken from Wounded Knee in 1890. After negotiations, the ghost shirt was returned by the Kelvin Grove Museum. George Craeger, with the Buffalo Bill Wild West Show, sold some artifacts to the museum and donated a Ghost Shirt. It’s now held at the Heritage Cultural Center at the South Dakota Historical Society in Pierre, South Dakota.

After retiring as the Director of Nursing from the Indian Health Service in Eagle Butte, Marcella, and her granddaughter, Bonnie opened a machine quilting shop located in Eagle Butte. They make a variety of quilts. The main feature of their shop is the star quilt frequently used by the Lakota people for honoring and naming ceremonies, memorial give-aways, etc. which are traditional of this area’s native people.

Marcella having raised a family of eight children is an advocate for the Lakota language and culture, youth, veterans, elderly, upholding treaties, and wellness.

Credit: text & photos from wisdomoftheelders.org

[tylermileslockett]

ARGONAUTICA 7: The Island of Ares Book 2 continues with the argonauts rowing to exhaustion and camping upon an island where the god Apollo, with golden curls and silver bow, suddenly stomps past , journeying out to sea. quote they build an altar, sacrifice meat, and danced in celebration of the god. The next day the row out, passing the cave of Hades near the river Acheron, where they moor and are met and entertained in the palace of king Lykos, who tells them that their abandoned comrade, Herakles, passed by previous on his labor to retrieve the girdle of Hippolyte. Here the argonaut prophet Idmon, is gorged and killed by a boar. And 2 others die to illness. They embark out and pass by an island with the recent tomb of Sthenelous, who died while returning from the expedition with Herakles against the Amazons. Persephone, queen of the underworld, sends up Sthenelous’s shade (spirit) so that the argonauts see their compatriot one last time in ghost form. The men moor the ship and pour libations and sacrifice sheep in the dead hero’s honor. Next the crew pass by the cape of the Amazons, descendants of Ares, at the Thermodon River. Eventually they come across the island of Ares, where the Stymphalian birds shoot down sharp feathers like arrows. But the men, with shields held high in defense, come ashore screaming in loud fury, scaring the birds off into the sky. After leaving the island of Ares, they pass the Caucasian mountains where they hear the screams of the titan Prometheus who is doomed to have his regenerating liver eaten out by Zeus’s giant Caucasian eagle, which they spy flying amongst the peaks. Book 2 ends with the crew finally reaching Colchis, the land where the Colchian Dragon guards the golden fleece in Ares’ sacred grove. But before they can attempt such a feat, they must find king Aites for assistance. But will the king help the argonauts, or plot to poison their intentions?

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[capnmachete]

Johnny Davis x plus-size fem!OC (Period piece -- mid-1960s, Bikeriders universe but canon-divergent)

PART 6: One Fine Day Good things come to those who wait. By-request tags: @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler; @zablife; @lou1333; @potter-solomons If anybody else wants to be tagged, just LMK. FYI: for better or worse this will likely pick up steam shortly, several upcoming chapters already in the can and being edited and oo I like where it's going, hopefully you will also. Minor drama and romance and some sweet/fluffy spice ahoy, batten down the hatches and hoist the whatever-it-is and all that good stuff LOL

(Part 1, Part 2. Part 3, Part 4, and Part 5)

A month goes by.  Two months.  You keep your eyes open for the big red Peterbilt, hopin’ it’ll be there one night when you show up to clock in. Stay late, lingerin' around awhile after you clock out, in case he shows up closer to sunrise.

For awhile, you hustle over to the windows every time you hear big tires crunch gravel and air brakes squeak.  Damn near drop whole plates of food, you’re so eager to go see if maybe it’s Johnny Davis. 

It ain’t.  Not in June, not in July either.  You’re about to bust one Tuesday evenin', about midshift -- practically bouncin' on your toes when you see a big red rig roll into the parkin’ lot.  Except when it gets a little closer, it’s a Kenworth.  And the driver that gets out don’t look anything like him – tall and skinny and bald as an egg, head all shiny in the sodium lights.

Nice enough fella, polite and all that. Still, it’s hard not to be snippy and sour with him; when his pancakes are ready you slap his plate down hard enough to make him jump a little.  It ain’t his fault he’s not Johnny Davis, but that don’t help your mood much.

Purvis don’t understand why you give him the stinkeye, either, and why you don’t have much to say to him lately.  “What’d I do?” he asks you more than once, confused, when you slop his coffee over the edge of the cup on purpose.

He purely has no idea what all was goin’ on in that booth between you and Johnny that other night.  What he interrupted.  Johnny -- quiet Johnny who don’t say much -- confidin’ in you, talkin’ about things you figure he don’t talk much about ever, to anybody.  And holdin’ your hand.  And who knows where it might have gone if it wasn’t for Purvis and his damn hashbrowns?

And you ain’t about to tell Purvis Williams your personal business and have it get spread all over town.  So he’ll just have to keep right on bein' confused, unless he wants to drive on down the highway to Eagle Grove for his breakfast instead. Which wouldn't hurt your feelin's a bit.

By the time the beginning of August rolls around, and Sharlette shows up with the ice cream and three different colors of fingernail polish, you’re startin' to think you might not ever see Johnny Davis again. 

“Who knows?” she says through a mouthful of butter pecan ice cream.  “You can’t never tell about men; they seem like they’re simple to figure out, but they ain’t, not really.” 

The two of you are sittin’ on the floor of your bedroom, faces full of night cream, cotton balls between your fresh-painted toes, hair up in curlers. Radio turned up so Momma can’t eavesdrop, like she likes to do.

Sharlette finally got tired of watchin’ you mope around at work.  Pried the whole story out of you, and then invited herself over for a girls’ night.  Got her momma to watch the baby. Bought butter pecan ice cream and everything, tryin’ to cheer you up.

“You think I mighta said somethin'?” you ask her – pickin’ apart every little minute of that night, not for the first time. "Or been too forward, maybe?"

“By doin’ what?  Jeez Louise, ‘Reena.  Ain’t like you climbed up on the man’s lap and asked him for a horsey ride,” she points out with a snort of laughter. 

“Sharlette!” you say, mouth droppin’ open in a mix of shock and laughter, pink-faced under the goopy white Noxema. 

“Don’t tell me you ain’t thought about it, Miss Prim,” she says, grinnin’ and jabbin’ her spoon at you.  “You ain’t as proper as you look.”

Hard not to grin back.  She’s right.  Maybe you ain’t thought about that exact thing, but you’ve thought about plenty else.   “I’m takin’ the Fifth,” you tell her.  “Ain’t that what they say on Perry Mason when they go to court?  Anyhow, it don’t matter. He’s married,” you remind her, a little blue.

“Thought he was divorced?”  One Noxema-slathered eyebrow lifts up.

“Was s’posed to be gettin’ divorced,” you correct her.  “Who knows, maybe him and the Mrs. patched things up or somethin’.”  The ice cream in your bowl’s gettin’ melty; you spoon the rest of it up real quick, partly to keep yourself from thinkin’ too much about that.

It ain’t like that kind of thing never happens.  People get all the way to the courthouse steps and decide they’re makin’ a mistake, decide to give it another go.  Happened to Gus once; happened to Momma too.  Still with Daddy, for whatever that’s worth, even though he’s just as dull as he ever was, never talks about anything but politics and pinkos and what wheat’s sellin’ for down at the mill. Would for sure explain why he ain't been around again.

“Naw.”  Sharlette shakes her head.  “I bet it ain’t that.  Prolly just one of those man things.  You know how they are.  They say a little too much, show you somethin’ they didn’t mean to show, and they get scairt.  Get to feelin’ embarrassed and shy and clam up again.  Start actin’ like they don’t know you.”

“ ‘s that what happened with Robbie?” you ask.  It ain’t none of your business, not really.  But y’all are already talkin’ real personal, and you’ve always wondered where Sharlette’s baby’s daddy got off to. 

“Pssh.”  Sharlette makes a sound like a deflatin’ balloon, and laughs.  “No. Robbie ain’t scairt of anything except havin’ to change diapers and act like a grownup.”  She sighs, a little blue herself.  “You want some more ice cream?” she asks, gettin’ up to go down to the kitchen.

“Hell yes, I do,” you say, and hand her your bowl.  Then you change your mind and heave yourself up off the floor to go with her.  “I think we got some chocolate sauce down there too.”

“Well now you’re talkin’!”  She grins and links her arm through yours, and for a short little while you forget all about your troubles.

****

By the end of another few weeks, you’ve pretty much resigned yourself to the idea that you probably ain’t ever gonna see Johnny again. Maybe Sharlette’s right; maybe he scared himself a little, openin’ up more than he meant to.  Or maybe you're right and he’s back with the Mrs., and steerin' clear of you and LaGrange.

It makes you sad.  Because even if nothin’ big really happened, and even if anythin’ past friendship was just a daydream anyway, you miss seein’ him, miss talkin.’  You wouldn’t mind havin’ that back, even if that’s all you get.  But it don’t seem like that’s in the cards, and pretty soon you don’t go runnin’ to the window at the diner quite so often anymore.

You’re resigned enough that you actually give Smooth Melvin Hoskins– that’s the only way you can think of him now, and it makes you laugh and feel a little sad all at once – another chance.  This date’s not as bad as the first time.  A burger joint instead of a seedy bar, and he’s not quite as handsy this time, but it’s still nothin’ to write home about.  Same ol’ haw-haw laugh, same Skoal breath, same ol' everything.

You get dinner and a strawberry milkshake out of it, at least. And a ride to work afterwards, which doubles as a handy excuse not to go to the drive-in with Melvin after dinner.  And that’s good, because all that’s gonna do is wind up with him tryin’, not for the first time, to get into your panties, and that’s just not happenin’.  Not with Smooth Melvin.  Not lookin’ to be Mrs. Hoskins or even anything close to it, and for sure not lookin’ to end up like Sharlette.

And lo and behold, what do you see when Melvin pulls into the parkin’ lot at the diner to drop you off?  There’s the big red Peterbilt in the parkin’ lot, for the first time in months, big as sin and twice as shiny.  And your heart does a weird little flip.  And you near about bolt out of Melvin’s Chevy.  You almost trip over a big rock mixed in with the gravel, that’s how eager you are to get inside. 

Which is when you know for sure you’ve still got an almighty crush on Johnny Davis. One you thought had petered out, one you were pretty sure you'd talked yourself out of.

Guess not. Not the way your heart's thumpin' when you hustle across the parkin' lot.

“Dang! Don’t I get a goodnight kiss, even?” Melvin calls after you out the driver’s side window.

“Maybe next time, I gotta go!  I’m late!” you holler back without even turnin’ around. And bust in the glass door, the little bell over it ringin’ like crazy.  Everybody in the place looks up – Gus, big-boobied Tiffany, Purvis from the feedstore. Mr. and Mrs. Hoover from the farm up the road, plus a couple of other truck jockeys, from other big rigs out in the lot.

And Johnny.  Who smiles, pretty blue-grey eyes lightin' up and crinklin' around the corners.  “Hey, lookit who it is,” he calls out and raises his white china mug in your direction.  “Miss Corinna!”   And you can feel yourself smilin’ back, so wide you're surprised your face doesn't split in two.

It takes you a few minutes to clock in – fizzin’ and bubblin’ over inside like a glass of Coca Cola – and get back out there into the dining room, and fill a few coffee cups and pass out a few plates. Tiffany cuts her eyes at you when she clocks out, like she can't hardly believe Johnny's talkin' to you instead of her, and you grin back, pleased as punch. And maybe a little smug.

“I shouldn’t oughta have dumped all that on ya, last time i was here,” he says, when you finally get a minute and sit down on the other side of the booth between customers – stealing away a minute for your customary shared cup of coffee.  “ ‘m sorry,” he says, ducking his head a little. "That was a lot; I don't know what got into me."

“Stop it,” you say, waving him away with a plump pink-nailed hand.  “That’s what friends are for, and we’re friends, right?”

He lifts his head and a smile blooms across his face – the one that makes him look like a boy in a grown man’s body, brings a sparkle to tired dark-blue eyes.  “Yeah,” he admits, with a chuckle, chewin’ on a toothpick.  “Yeah, I guess we are, ain’t we?”   And looks at you in a way that feels like somethin’ maybe a little bigger than just friends.  Makes you all warm and tingly inside. And he lays his hand over yours this time, and don’t let it go until Gus starts hollerin’ and bangin’ on the little silver bell like his hair’s on fire.

------

Song inspo: One Fine Day, the Chiffons (1963)

[allthecanadianpolitics]

Faith Eagle is one of many inmates in Saskatchewan who are protesting for better conditions in the province’s correctional institutions. Eagle, who is serving 18 months at Pine Grove Correctional Centre outside of Prince Albert, is hoping to hold the government accountable. “For equality of rights are drinking water quality, food quality, the way we’re treated, sexual harassment, (and) racism,” said Eagle, in a phone interview with Global News. “We keep on putting complaints because the water smells dirty. It smells like a sewer. It smells musty.” Eagle started the hunger strike end of October with four other female inmates and says they are also joined in solidarity with several male inmates at Saskatoon Correctional Centre who are protesting for the same reasons. “(We) want (the government) to know that we won’t tolerate (it anymore). We will not tolerate discrimination. We will not tolerate our rights being infringed upon,” said Eagle. “We’re still citizens of Canada, and we will not be treated less than. We want better quality in our water.”

Continue Reading.

Tagging: @politicsofcanada

[gifts-of-heimdall-runes]

An infographic of the Nine Realms for those that love Norse mythology. It is an abstract representation that is designed to show the realms in a way that closely resembles the descriptions of the Eddas. Each shows some features and inhabitants that make the realm distinct, and it shows how the realms connect to each other and Yggdrasill. In reality, all realms would be nested within each each other and fit somewhere on our planet (either in a physical location or in an invisible spiritual location).

Heavenly Realms (upper level):

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* Ásgarð - Home of the Æsir. Each God rules over a kingdom and has his own palace within Ásgarð. Óðinn rules the realm from his high throne. The Einherjar make the palace of Valhall their home. 1/2 of the greatest slain warriors are chosen by the Valkyries to join Óðinn's army and await their final battle against the invading armies of Giants at Ragnarok.

(In this image you can see Óðinn standing at the entrance of Valhall, monitoring the training of his warriors)

* Vanaheim - Home of the Vanir. Once enemies of the Æsir, but now their tribes have been unified. Freyja rules over this realm and other half of the Einherjar join Freyja in Fólkvangr where they train until Ragnarok.

(In this image you can see Freyha and one of her cats leading her warriors in drills)

* Álfheim - Home of the Álfar (Elves). Noble nature spirits that are allies of the Æsir Gods. Elves have dominion over nature and inhabit sacred hills, streams, or groves where they keep the land healthy and prosperous with their magic.

* Gimlé - In Ásgarð nearbye Álfheim exist other minor heavenly kingdoms, like Viðbláinn. Here a palace sits high in the mountains called Gimlé, where the souls of the righteous go after death. It is also where the last surviving Gods will seek shelter from the fires of Surtr in the final days of Ragnarok.

* Bifröst - The Rainbow Bridge. This brightly colored bridge provides a path for the Gods to quickly travel from Ásgarð to Miðgarð. It burns with magical flames that will incinerate any Frost-Giant or Hill-Giant that attempts to invade the home of the Gods. But the Sons of Múspell are immue to the flames, since they are Fire-Giants, and will collapse the bridge as they charge over it to destroy Ásgarð during Ragnarok.

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Yggdrasill:

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* Yggdrasill - The World Tree. This mighty Ash has roots that run far and wide, connecting all the realms. Yggdrasill also houses a pair of humans that will emerge and repopulate the world after Ragnarok. Long ago, Óðinn hanged himself from this tree to learn the secrets of the magical runes

* Urðarbrunnr, Mimisbrunnr, & Hvergelmir-

Yggdrasill stands next to the Urðarbrunnr (well of Urð. Urð is the eldest sister of the 3 Norns, Giantesses that weave the strands fate into an intricate tapestry, which reveals the destiny of all living things. The waters of this well have healing properties and the 3 sisters anoint the roots of Yggdrasill daily to stave off decay.

(In this image the 3 Norns can be found standing beside the Urðarbrunnr)

One of Yggdrasill's primary roots travels into Jotunheim, where it drinks from the Minisbrunnr (Mimir's Well). This is the well where Óðinn sacrificed his eye in order to gain his great wisdom by drinking from the well.

The final primary root of Yggdrasill runs into Niflheim, to the Hvergelmir. This well of boiling water is home to numerous serpents and the terrible wyrm, Niðhoggr. These beasts gnaw upon the root, slowly killing it with their venom.

* Hraesvelgr, Ratatoskr, Niðhöggr, Veðrfölnir, & Eikthyrnir - These creatures live in or near Yggdrasill and interact with each other and the world's -

Hraesvelgr sits high in the top-most branches, flapping his broad wings to create the winds. Veðrfölnir is a hawk that sits between the eagle's eyes and he may act as an informant for the eagle, like Huginn & Muninn.

Niðhöggr periodically travels to the opposite shore of the Hvergelmir, near Helheim. This shore is known as Náströnd (the Corpse Shore) and while there the wyrm drinks the blood of the newly arrived damned souls (oath-breaketlrs, adulterers, and murderers).

Ratatoskr is a squirrel that runs up and down the roots of Yggdrasill, so he can relay hateful messages between Hraesvelgr and Niðhöggr.

Eikthyrnir is a stag that feeds upon the leaves of Yggdrasill above Valhall. Dew gathers on his antlers and drips down to the Hvergelmir where it becomes the source of many rivers. In some accounts there are 4 stags, but this may be a later alteration to the story.

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Mortal Realms (middle level):

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* Miðgarð - The realm of men. The Gods frequently travel to Miðgarð to entertain themselves, influence humanity, or slay invading Giants. Thór, the Bane of Giants, is the protector of Miðgarð.

(In this image you can find Thór, the protector of Miðgarð, has just made his way across the Bifröst)

* Niðavellir - Home of the Dvergar (Dwarfs). These magical beings are nature spirits, related to the Elves, but not divine like their cousins. They shelter under the earth where they are safe from the deadly sunlight and craft marvelous magical weapons and tools for Kings and Gods. Sindri, the most famous of Dwarfs lives in this land.

* Svartálfheim - Home of the Svartálfar (Dark Elves). These Elves are craftsmen like the Dwarfs and are frequently identified as Dwarfs due to their similar appearance and lifestyle. The most well-attested Dark Elves in the Eddas are the smith brothers, onown as the Sons of Ivaldi.

* Miðgarð Sea - This vast body of water surrounds Miðgarð to protect the world from the vicious Giants on the other side. Jörmungandr, the World Serpent, makes this his home after being tossed into the water by Óðinn. Over the centuries he has grown so large that he now encircles the entire world. Beneath the waves lay Rán's Hall, the Goddess of the sea makes ready her home for the poor souls that drown at sea.

* Jötunheim - Home of the Hill-Giants. The Kingdoms of Útgarð (King Útgarða-Loki) and Thrymheim (Skaði) are found here. In the Eddas we hear how Thór and Loki have travelled to Jotunheim many times seeking adventure or revenge.

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Primordial Realms (lower level):

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* Ginnungagap - In the beginning there was a vast yawning void, a featureless plain standing in the darkness, and absent of life. From this land emerged 2 realms: Múspellheim to the south and Niflheim to the north.

* Múspellheim - This volcanic realm is home to the primordial Fire-Giant, Surtr. His army, the Sons of Múspell, is the most powerful and destructive army in the world. Surtr patiently waits for the day he is destined to lead the invasion of Ásgarð. After the world was created, the Gods and Dwarfs gathered sparks and embers from Múspellheim and used them to craft the Sun, Moon, and stars, so that the sky would be illuminated and men could track the seasons.

* Niflheim - This frozen realm is the home of the dead. All humans that are not granted access to one of the other realms to live out their afterlife are destined to reside here. Hel was banished to Niflheim, where she rules over these damned souls. But she was not the first ruler of this realm. In the beginning, the enormous Frost-Giant called Ymir became the first living being to inhabit the world. He would father the tribes known as the Frost-Giants and Hill-Giants, but he was slain by Óðinn, Vili, and Vé. These 3 brothers re-purposed his massive corpse, fashioning it into Miðgarð.

Source: Aaron Chapman (2023)

From: Everthing Norse & Vikings Culture [Facebook]

[ofoceansandtombsanew]

14:25 ー TAMARACK BAUMANN. honey ain't got nothin' on you, 'cause you're sweeter.

Summers are different in Golden Grove.

Truthfully, Golden Grove feels different no matter the season. For a town called Golden Grove, autumn is the season that suits it best. When the leaves are shades of red, oranges and golds and there's a pleasant chill in the air. Summer, to you, is just when it is the most apparent.

When you were still a child, experiencing your first Golden Grove summer, it was exciting. There was no school so you had all the free time in the world to explore the forest surrounding the cul-de-sac you call home. It had changed, with its green leaves and the sorts of seasonal critters inhabiting it.

When you were much younger, that meant more goodies for you and Tamarack to find and bring home.

Now that you're a teen with more of a mind to hate the summer heat, summer has lost its appeal. You can tell it has also lost its appeal to Tamarack who sits squarely in front of the fan in front of your desk, cheeks flush from the heat. Summer is only enjoyable in small increments, you believe. If there's too much, all the energy gets sapped out of you and you lose the drive to do much of anything.

Case and point, the wig you are supposed to be practicing your braiding on. Now that wig and the mannequin head you placed it on lie abandoned on the floor while you lie eagle spread across your bed. You haven't even begun braiding it. Not even Tamarack could make herself sit and practice her cello in this sort of heat.

Why do conventions have to be in the summer? There are only three major conventions in Oregon ー WasabiCon, Ani-Medford and KisuuCon ー and only two of the three take place at a time your mother accepts. "Why do conventions have to be in the summer," you groan once more, this time for everyone in your room to hear. "Is this really the curse I have to bear for quality cosplay?"

"Autumn can't come quickly enough," Tamarack murmurs in agreement. Autumn may come at the cost of school's return but it's the perfect season for everything. Her ruby eyes glance at your lack of progress. "Maybe you can practice later tonight instead?"

You shake your head, pushing yourself into sitting. "No, if I wait until then, I'll just put it off until tomorrow and do the exact same thing again." Then you'll put it off and put it off, citing the summer heat as the culprit, until finally the weekend of your chosen convention arrives and you have an incomplete cosplay. That's what happened last year when you were 14, you'd rather not make it habit. "I'll work on it now."

You just need motivation. Proper motivation.

That can wait until you've gotten yourself something cold to drink, however. "There's lemonade in the fridge if you want some."

"Please," Tamarack pleads.

The trip downstairs to the kitchen is quick yet arduous as you shuffle through the less cool parts of your house. You can only hope your mother is having a better time where she works. You hope everyone you know is doing better than you are right now.

Serenity is out of town visiting family in the Bay Area.

Vianca and Qiu are at ballet practice in an air conditioned building.

Ren is with her family kayaking for the week so you're sure she isn't minding the heat in the slightest.

As for Baxter, he's off at his fancy university in Virginia. You never really reconnected with the guy before he left either, so you can only hope he's somewhere that has good air conditioning, if any.

So to your knowledge, you and Tamarack are the only ones suffering in a building too old to have an air conditioner. You and Tam, ever a pair. Even if that means suffering during summer vacation together.

"I'm back with the goods," you announce needlessly when you return to your room. Tamarack's already reaching for a glass before you reach her, gratitude all over her face. You're happy to be directly in front of the rotating fan, relishing how it feels on your sticky skin. The tangy-sweet chill of the lemonade is a wonderful accompaniment.

Tamarack cups her glass in both her hands much like how one would carefully hold an injured pigeon. You feel a warmth more comfortable than the sweltering summer heat permeating through your room.

Thick, fluffy hair that shines gamboge pulled into a messy bun. Dappled in an autumn sparkle that never goes away even in another season.

Berry-red eyes that are much too pretty for this world and as expressive as they come.

All things that make Tamarack Baumann 'Tamarack Baumann'.

Tamarack is here. Truly here and she isn't going anywhere. That was the resolution of everything that happened last year when you were 14. No more moving scares, no more hypothetical surprises haunting your every waking moment. Tamarack Baumann is a true blue resident of Golden Grove and you won't let anyone forget it.

"What is it?" Tamarack catches your staring and you're sure that you see her cheeks flush a deeper color. You take satisfaction in knowing the summer heat isn't the only thing that is making her face red.

Yes, this is the life.

"Nothing," you smile into your glass.

"You're thinking something," Tamarack insists with a playful yet embarrassed lilt.

"I'm just thinking about your hair, that's all," you tell her smoothly. You can talk about how your world has become much more vibrant since the confirmation Tamarack wouldn't be moving anywhere another day. "It's really pretty. You're pretty."

You remember thinking Tamarack was the prettiest person you'd ever seen when you popped out of that pile of leaves. Your opinion has yet to change now that you are 15, you doubt it ever will.

Almost instinctively, Tamarack pushes a lock of her hair behind her ear in her embarrassment. "You're the pretty one."

"We have to agree to disagree on who is the pretty one in this relationship," you close your eyes petulantly. Dorothea Baumann would tell you both that you're equally the pretty one in this relationship, but where's the fun in that when you know you're right? As far as you're concerned, if Tamarack suddenly decided she wanted to pursue a career in modeling you would be right there at every audition.

It's then, you feel as if you've struck gold.

"Can I practice on your hair?" Tamarack raises a thick eyebrow. She's stopped plucking them recently, no longer self-conscious about how they look. "My braiding, I mean." Before your girlfriend can smartly argue about the heat, you already present your counter arguments. "We can stay in front of the fan without it rotating! And I'll only take out the parts I'm working on."

Tamarack's face scrunches thoughtfully before she ultimately relents. "Only as long as you don't take everything out," she smiles lightly.

Yes!

A press of a button to stop your fan from moving about the place and you're too happy to be running your fingers through Tamarack's hair. It's always been soft, carefully maintained by her grandmother. Now that she's old enough to care for it herself, Tamarack's haircare is still delicately maintained.

Maybe I should run my model Tamarack idea by her again, you think humorously. Nothing will come of it. It's merely a long-standing joke between you both. Modeling is a career you both know wouldn't make Tamarack happy in the slightest. It's for the best. All the other models would be out of work if Tamarack was there.

"I don't feel any braiding," Tamarack notes in a sing-songy voice.

Guilty as charged, you grin, "I'm just making sure I've got the right amount of hair for this section, that's all."

Tamarack's playful hum of disbelief is her only response before you begin.

a request from @luv-indigo that sounded really adorable so i wanted to give it a spin as something set between steps 2 and 3. autumn is personally my favorite season, so i love that's the season that olnf is perpetually set in. but i do get curious as to what life could be like in the mountain down during a different season and thought this scenario was the perfect excuse for it! (disclaimer: this is something written pre-release of olnf)