#light starlings sting au

[always-smileing]

he’s nervous.

Eclipse, Sun and moon

[thestarlingfiles]

Aconite

Special thanks to @auchen for letting me play in her Werewolf AU. Check out her writing here 

A cold north wind had begun to moan by the time the sun went down. Above, what little light remained was slowly being strangled out by the wispy fingers of the black stratus clouds clawing their way across the darkening sky. Clarice Starling stood alone, and shivering, in her rain sodden coat along the trail that led into Arcas field. She frowned, her eyes glancing between her drenched map and the massive wolf tracks that she’d followed through the forest.

The prints had disappeared into a massive meadow of relatively untouched land, which if her map was correct, spanned across for several acres, before hitting the tree line of the dense Park Forest. In the distance an Owl hooted, the only sound against the steady patter of rain. A sense of unease filled her and a muscle in her jaw began to tense rhythmically.   Drawing her coat tighter around her, Starling breathed in deeply, taking in the sharp scent of dead leaves and damp earth and allowed it to fill her lungs, grounding her. She looked back down at the map.

Lyk’aon’s bridge was only a little more than 600 yards from her position. A river used to run through the field, and though time had dwindled the river to nothing more than that of a wide and shallow creek, flanked at the sides by a short, steep ravine, the bridge, remained. Cross it and she’d be at the rangers cabin. She could feel the weight of the keys in her back pocket against her.

All she’d have to do is cross it. She looked at the massive Wolf tracks, the ones that looked far too similar to human hands and swallowed hard.

Go forward or go back?

The wind began to rise in a shrill scream. Clarice raised her head, and looked back down the trail, the way she had come.

Go forward or go back?

The woods, arrogant and patient, offered no answer, standing tall and silent against the now pitch black hills. Instinct told her immediately that going through the field was not ideal. The grass here had grown well above her head; she’d barely be able to see. She blinked against the rain. And amended… She could barely see now.

To turn back meant to try again in another month, when the full moon returned. To turn back meant that there could be another attack.

Go forward or go back?

She remembered Ollie Valentine.

Rude, Vicious, Ollie Valentine, torn apart and lying frozen in a pool of his own blood, his pale round face permanently twisted into a horrified, silent, scream.

Had he deserved that? Did anyone?

She pocketed her map, and touched the handle of the Woodsman holstered at her side before swinging off the shoulder strap of her father’s old Remington rifle, taking comfort in its solid and steady weight against her hands.  The rain is coming down harder and Starling gazes up warily.

The clouds had now gathered together, drawing darkness within, promising thunder. If she were to follow, she’d have to go now or risk losing the wolf’s tracks.

She pushed forward.

In the distance, somewhere within the woods an owl hooted, the sound drifting along on the now shrieking wind, rustling the stalks of the tall grass.

It made her feel lonely.

Thunder rumbled its reply

Clarice had been following the tracks for a considerable time when she sees it. A great black mass stalking silently in meadow, the tall blades of grass sway in unison with its movement. She is so shocked she has to bite her tongue to keep her from gasping out loud at the sight of it.

Hands clenching her father’s gun tightly, mouth tasting of iron, Starling watches her breath mist out white in the cold. Fear prods at her suddenly racing heart. Beyond the scope of her rifle, through the haze of rain, she can see the shadowed figure in the distance.

There is a wolf crouching there.

She blinks. And in the rain the figure shifts.

No…a man… man she knows.

Taking a deep breath, she forces herself to creep silently towards him, aims the Remington steady, right where his temple ought to be. And just as she feels she may get the drop on him, the light of the moon is completely obscured by rain clouds. Fighting back a rush of panic at being temporarily blind in the dark, Starling goes still completely, and waits for her eyes to adjust to the gloom.  The figure in front of her shifts again. She pushes forward. The Rifle’s barrel parts the long grass, only to hit nothing but empty air. Surprised, Clarice pulls away from the sight of the scope and squints down to where the ground suddenly disappeared from sight.

It’s—

It’s the fucking ravine.

She curses, and in the soft echo of her own voice it slowly dawns on her that the world around her has gone silent. And it has been silent for a while. The only sounds she’d been hearing for the last several minutes now has been the low murmuring of distant thunder and the steady patter of rain.

The common sounds of the forest, the damn owl; the crickets and the off tune chirping of unseen critters had stopped. The Forest was dead.

The clouds part and in the light, Clarice half rises only to stop, realizing her mistake. From her peripheral the grass to her left rustles and begins to part with horrific slowness.  A low growl cuts through the grass as a dark massive shape began taking form. Starling turned to face him and she felt her entire body stiffen against her will, her breath caught in her lungs as he rose up and over her, blocking what little moonlight was left.

Not a man, no, inhuman, a huge, shaggy wolf, standing unnaturally on its rear legs.  The top of his great head and broad, fur covered shoulders were lit by the moon, tracing the edges with the smooth blade of pale white light. His dark eyes gleamed with hunger. The Snout wrinkled back in a snarl.

Instinctively, she half sprung, half lurched to her right, swinging in the same movement, the Remington low and up in a quick arc. Aiming, at the paw- the paw with human fingers, and claws where the nails should be—that was moving fast and hard towards her. Blinding Light exploded from the barrel of the gun as it went off, just as a massive set of claws swiped through the air where her head had been. Thick black blood erupted from the top of the beast’s paw where the silver bullet had grazed it, and it roared in pain and rage.

Lightning Flashed.

Her back hit the ground hard, hot white agony lacing up her shoulder from the rifles violent recoil. The Wolf crouched low, the muscles of its haunches coiled tight, beneath thick fur, ready to spring forward. Clarice scrambled backwards in an effort to put distance between her and the enraged monster, misjudged the space completely, and tumbled over the edge of the ravine. She had enough time to witness the floor plate of the Remington burst open, and the cartridges of her bullets glint blue briefly as they flew out, before she hit the shallow, freezing waters of the creek below.

The cold water that engulfed her entire body felt like hundreds of needles were suddenly being pushed into her skin. Starling opened her mouth, hitched a great gasping breath and immediately gagged as cold water rushed into her mouth and lungs. She sat up, coughing, the creek water reaching up and clinging coldly to her chest, dragging down her jacket, making her movements slow and heavy. The wind was blowing rain into her eyes, making it difficult to see against the pale and bitter stinging veil. But she can make out the wolf. The wolf that had crawled its way down the ravine and had now slipped, with ease, into the water several feet in front of her.  

Panic settled into her chest and spread like a wildfire. Starling hastily began to wipe at her eyes to clear her vision with one hand and with the other, fumbled for her side arm. It’s slow work, or at least it feels slow to her  because her hands are shaking so badly as she watches, panting and frightened, the black beast stalk towards her, her fingers have gone completely numb with both cold and fear. She un-holstered the Colt .38 woodsman, and shrugs off her jacket in quick succession and lurches— slips— to her feet. Teeth chattering, breathing hard, Clarice aims the heavy revolver at the beast’s head. It pauses in its approach, ears flattening and a low hiss of warning emanates so deep and long from its throat and Starling imagines for a moment that she can feel it vibrate through her entire body.

Lightning snapped across the sky, far too close for comfort, illuminating the both of them. With the brief light, she sees in its face a pair of familiar maroon eyes, recognition slowly dawning in them. She almost drops the gun in shock.

Neither of them moved.

Hannibal?

His name plumbed white in the cold air between them and immediately the wolf padded a step backwards, a soft almost human sigh slipping past its gaping fangs.

[at-the-exd-of-everythixg]

][All questions for otp meme for Sal + Rhys][

@blind-mutant

Coffee shop AU: Who is the barista, and who frequents the coffee shop?

Sal's at the coffee shop...what? Every night? It always feels a little different and a little bit the same each time. Sometimes Sal appears in suits and a slick charm while other times he's there in luxury dresses and patiently putting on makeup while Rhys rushes to get his over sweetened drink ready. Rhys never really says anything about the fact that Sal's lazy flirts make his stomach flip, or the fact that Sal usually calls him Moonie so sweetly.

And Sal's just as drawn to the pretty little drink maker, who always gives him extra whipped cream. How could he not want to flirt with the beautiful man? The one who smiled so sweetly whenever Sal got there and felt like the only person who seemed to really listen to him. Sweet drinks and sweet men are all Sal wants in life.

Highschool/College AU: Who is the straight-A student, and who’s the backrow slacker?

Sal doesn't exactly want to be a good grade student. It fucking sucks and the stress piles on more and more, but he knows that even failing for a moment would result in Giles yanking him away from other people and back to the same little house where he and his siblings would just be hurt more and more. It means everything to Sal to work hard, and it isn't like Rhys Brennan helps any.

What makes it worse? Rhys is...aware of it, in a way. He can hear the stress and pressure in Sal's voice and maybe he likes to flirt and tease the smaller man, just to have he pleasure of Sal snapping back and even occasionally when Sal joins him. He wants to know more about Sal, wants to know why he's so odd and so...not human. And Rhys has always, unashamedly, been drawn to secret and rude little men.

Rivals to loves AU: Who takes their rivalry seriously, and who is half in it just to push the other’s buttons?

Rhys came into Eden's Fruit, eager to impress and find his place at a workplace where he could be appreciated. And maybe Rhys does want to be the best, because the best always have the most trusted positions and the best always get assured of their worth. Instead, Rhys has Sal, who wishes to snark and play rivals, who thinks it's funny how much Rhys seems to care about being the best.

Its funny to tease and watch the taller man grow frustrated, funny as shit to flirt shamelessly while Rhys flushes and scowls. The other man doesn't seem to have that same sense of fun that Sal had beaten into him. Rhys just needs a good kiss and a shove off the highest balcony so Sal can rip that sense of terror away and not remember the fact that he shared it so strongly once.

Enemies to lovers AU: Which one switches sides? 

Aspherane and Earth come to a clash and it's something everyone should have seen coming. Sal knows it's his part to leave Earth and go to the one place that won't one day kill him, just as Rhys knows that he should stay in Krakoa, the mystical island where everything should be safe and fine. Really, it's for the best that they stay apart and in their own separate world of shifting darkness and varied powers. The heavens and Earths were never really meant to mix.

So why do they still meet up? Like some sort of fucked up version of Romeo and Juliet in Sal's opinion, but it isn't like he can even think of not meeting up with Rhys in secret. Aspherane and Krakoa are meant to be their paradise and yet Sal won't ever stop thinking about simply meeting up with Rhys again and being able to kiss the other man. He considers trying to find a way to escape all of it, whether its beyond the stars or unde the Earth, where hell and demons reign strong.

Soulmate AU: Who is eager to meet their soulmate? Who absolutely does not want to meet their soulmate? 

Rhys used to want to meet his soulmate. Key word used to. Years of being locked away shut down those thoughts. Better to not care about any soulmate than to hurt himself with facing someone who won't think he's good enough for them. It's a big difference from Sal, who looked over himself every day, hoping to find any mark or symptom of a Soulmate, to prove that he was human enough and to prove that maybe he was still good enough to at least have one.

And then he meets Rhys and the taller man us everything Sal wants, he bares the mark of the soul that can only mean he belongs to Sal, only...he's spoken before about how much he didn't want a soulmate. Rhys wanted Sal, not whoever was supposedly written up for him by fucking fate of all things and now they're both stuck in an awkard position really; Rhys wants Sal and doesn't want a supposed soulmate while Sal wants Rhys but now thinks the man he loves doesn't want him. They don't even deserve to be called himbos.

Single parent AU: Which one is the single parent? (Alt. if they’re both single parents: Which one is open to starting a new relationship from the start? Which one is never planning on finding love again… Until they meet the other and are instantly smitten?)

Sal is...more than aware of the fact that maybe he should have told Rhys about his child before inviting him to come live with him. But then again, why should he have to tell Rhys? If Moonie likes him so much, then Moonie can deal with his Starling. The rules are simple and it definitely helps keep a barrier up in case things go to shit.

Unfortunately, Sal didn't account for the fact that Rhys adores him enough to adore his Starling, the only other part Sal has that's enough like his own and how could Rhys resist wanting to protect someone just like Sal? Ugh, he became a dilf though emotions and Sal isn't happy about his newfound attraction for the fact that Rhys is the only one who can seemingly handle a half alien and a quarter alien child, but damn if he doesn't get buzzy when watching Rhys interact with the brat.

Doctor AU: Which one is the longsuffering doctor? Which one is the patient? 

Rhys isn't...entirely sure what to make of the new patient in his institute, but Sal's angry scremaing and the way he quietly clings to Rhys at times means more to him than he would ever let on when trapped in such a dangerous place. Still, he tries to enjoy the brief moments he has between Blue and Sal while he can still get them.

And eventually they all get out. Blue dies and Rhys is grief torn and everyone leaves. Everyone except Sal, who was on his way to dying himself from the constant fluorescent lights. Rhys's constant darkness pulls him through though and now? Now Rhys is all he has and he saved him in more ways than one. Sal won't ever be Blue and that stings constantly, but the very least he could do is keep his feelings behind his teeth while doing what he can to keep him and Rhys alive.

Bodyguard AU: Who is the bodyguard? Who are they protecting? Which one is secretly pining for the other? 

Rhys is...not entirely sure how to deal with the little brat he's been assigned to guarding. Sal is apparently some fancy alien...explorer? Ambassador? All Rhys knows it that Sal tends to use more than just his words to charm high assed men of Earth and never seems to fully realise the danger he puts himself in. It doesn't help the fact that Sal is...exceptionally cute and often expects Rhys to do certain customs that fluster him terribly and Sal has no idea why.

And really, what's so odd about asking your bodyguard to get in the bath with you? To help with your safety and self care? Sal knows that maybe it's a little odd, but how can he trust someone with his life if they haven't seen him when vulnerable? It's so dumb and that's exactly why he's fine of sleeping in the same bed as Rhys ans eating together. Not to mention that his bodyguard is....very fucking cute in his suits and the way his voice sounds rougher in the early mornings.

Pirate AU: Who is the pirate? Who is the member of the royal family who did not sign up for this? 

I uh. Since were already doing this......Persephone and Hades au instead???

Rhys is....aware that his parents hated him, thought him to be evil and even he sees the irony of being a reborn Greek god of death when he's Irish. Getting out of the asylum was easier though and Rhys is grateful thay he cannot be held down as Kronos once did to him. Now Rhys travels looking for his reborn queen, whether she stays as she is or decides to be his husband or monarch of life.

And just as, Sal knows he was reborn oddly. Knows that flowers and Greek summers run through and that was enough for his Demeter to cast him out into the wild winters. Sal knows he should find his Hades, knows that a part of him aches for blooming spring and being able to kiss the person he loves primally. But Sal knows he bares the name from Maiden to Chaos Weaver and then it is his task to take, to perhaps hide from Hades and to save this reborn form of his husband from having to he stuck with him.

Then Rhys moves in and uh. Sal's kinda fucked, you know?

Childhood best friends AU: Which one was super obviously in love with the other the whole time? Who was oblivious until they were older?

How can Sal NOT be smitten with Rhys? The older boy is pretty and speaks funny and he always looks happy to see Sal, which is great because Sal likes his brother and sister, but he likes Rhys differently, like how Pap an' Mamné do. Rhys likes Sal too, but he doesn't ever seen to be aware of the way Sap clings to him and the manner of the kisses that get pressed to his cheeks, doesn't see the way Giles and his own parents narrow their eyes at it.

Then the institute happens and Sal's heart gets torn from him as Giles kicks him out. He's torn for years as he searches for Rhys and gets torn more when Cecil crushes and loves him sickly. By the time he finally meets Rhys...well, it's a big What If as to whether Rhys can truly stand someone whose been as ruined as he has, whose pale and scowls and flirts so horribly with anyone else but the reminder of his heart.

[robininthelabyrinth]

AU where Len is the pyromaniac

another one for the short fills. hope you enjoy!

ao3 link

—-

“Hey,” a gentle voice is saying. “Hey. Can you look at me?”

Len doesn’t want to. He just wants to stay here and luxuriate in the glorious feeling of relief he felt. All that tension, all that anger, all locked away deep inside, it needed to be let out - and now it was.

It was -

Wait.

How long has he been here?

Len blinks. His eyes hurt; they feel crusty and sore like he’s had them open too long. He’s dissociating again, most likely.

“Hey. You with me?”

Mick.

Len feels the hot flush of shame. “I did it again,” he says dully. “Didn’t I?”

And he’d tried so hard not to, too…

“Yeah,” Mick says. “It’s okay. You couldn’t help it.”

Mick’s the best, but Len doesn’t deserve him. They’d met in juvie - Mick had saved Len’s ass in juvie, more correctly, and in more ways than just the shiv that’d been heading Len’s way - and Len had made him promise they’d team up again when they were adults. And Mick had kept that promise, tracking Len down years later when he’d finished out his juvie-to-prison term and some of his mandatory probation period, the part before his conviction had been overturned, and between the two of them, they’d scraped up enough for an apartment.

An apartment that Len keeps burning.

Mick says he doesn’t mind. He says it’s all shitty furniture anyway; so no one will notice a few more burn marks. He says that at least Len’s too much of a hypochondriac to be a smoker, so the smoke and the ash don’t have nicotine in them. He says -

He says a lot of things.

But Len knows better.

Mick is terrified of fire - and rightfully so. His whole family burned, suffocated by carbon monoxide, crisped up in flames, burned black and buried under the wooden beams of Mick’s old childhood home.

Mick got blamed for it, sent to juvie for a crime he didn’t commit, and it was only years later, when a lazy and corrupt investigator had been revealed in an unrelated sting and all of his old conclusions reviewed, that they’d found that Mick couldn’t have set the fire and all those years in prison had been for nothing.

See, Mick’s parents were pieces of work, and Len knows what he’s talking about with shitty parents. Len’s own dad beat him half to hell and back when he was a kid, calling it lessons for real life - still did, sometimes, when he was around and not off on some mob job or behind bars, even though Len is mostly smart enough now not to believe him when he said it was for Len’s own good - but at least he didn’t dress it up in religion and make Len an outcast in the community.

Mick’s parents were religious nutjobs, though, and when Mick started acting weird - his dyslexia, high-functioning autism, and childhood epilepsy never properly diagnosed because those assholes didn’t believe in doctors that didn’t use praying - they’d decided he was possessed by evil spirits.

Evil spirits that needed to be frozen out in the giant-ass meat locker with the time lock they kept in their basement.

That was the real reason why Mick had survived the fire that had ravaged his house. Not because he’d been in on it, or because he’d been a coward and run away, but because he’d been locked away down below, shivering, in a temperature-controlled box that the fire couldn’t touch. And then, in the morning, the time lock sprung open - five thirty a.m., time for chores - and Mick had gone upstairs and been found there, standing in the ash.

Years later, when even the most basic examination of the house and interviews with the neighbors revealed this, and also the fact that the fire was clearly the result of some faulty wiring, some asshole social worker’d asked Mick why he hadn’t just told everyone what happened.

Mick had said that he didn’t tell anyone because he didn’t want anyone to know about the evil spirits. He’d rather a fresh start in prison than to go back to how his family had treated him.

Len hates everyone and everything that reminded Mick of those times. He fought anyone who made a joke about exorcisms, and punched door-to-door religious recruiters who probably didn’t deserve it, but he didn’t hate anyone more than he hates himself.

Himself, who lights fires in Mick’s home, where he should be safe from all this.

Len doesn’t even have a good sob story reason for it. Sure, his dad hit him, but it was only to toughen him up (and to get his own anger out on someone who couldn’t fight back - Len gets that now that Mick’s explained it a few dozen times) and there’s no reason, no reason he should be starting fires all the time just to relieve that endless anxiety that always hovers over him – endless, always present, but for when he lights his fires.

Mick gets all tight-lipped when Len says that, though. Mick says that breaking a kid’s arm and locking him in his room with no lights except a box of matches the kid stole earlier is enough. He says kicking a kid out of the house on winter nights so cold that Len only survived by burying himself under snow and sleeping next to lit-up garbage cans is enough. He says that making Len learn how to cook all by himself on their stupid finicky old gas stove that never caught right when he was only five because no one else was going to feed him now that his mom was dead, and again when he was eight because no one else was heating up milk and formula to feed the baby, is enough of a reason to make anyone go to the flames for comfort, because they sure weren’t getting it anywhere else.

Len’s still not sure it’s as bad as Mick makes it sounds - his dad always called ‘em lessons, lessons that Len’s spent most of his life trying to keep Lisa from learning - but he’s stopped arguing about it.

It’s the least he can do, since he can’t seem to actually stop lighting the fires.

“- something to eat?” Mick is saying. He’s put out the small fire Len started, and he’s cleaning up the table.

Looks like Len’s lost some time, which happens sometimes but especially after he lights up, but since Mick’s still talking, it couldn’t have been too long.

“Sure,” Len says. “Anything you like.”

Mick opens his mouth.

“That isn’t salad,” Len adds hastily.

“Salad is good for you,” Mick says with a sniff.

Len feels a stab of guilt. Mick’s always thinking of what’s good for Len.

“We can have salad,” he says. “If you want.”

Mick looks at him with a frown. “I was kidding, Len. I know you hate salad. The only way I get you to eat vegetables is by roasting or sautéing them.”

“You mean when you cast a magic spell on them to make them taste good and not like vegetable.”

“That magic spell is called olive oil and salt,” Mick says dryly. “Maybe a bit of paprika, you have a weird thing for that.”

Paprika, Len assumes, is what makes everything in the oven a cheerful red color. He likes that color.

“Len, what’s the matter?” Mick asks.

“Nothing’s the matter!” Len says immediately, on the defensive even though he doesn’t need to be.

Mick just looks at him.

“Why do you think something’s the matter?” Len tries.

“You just agreed to eat salad if I wanted.”

…a fair point.

“Also, you usually start fires in the tires in the backyard, not the living room -”

Len starts guiltily. He hadn’t known that Mick knew about the tires.

“- which means you were freaking out pretty bad when you got home. What happened?” Mick’s eyes narrow. “Did your dad come by?”

He starts looking Len over for hidden bruises.

“No, he’s still off in Starling,” Len says quickly. “No need to worry.”

“Then what is it?”

Len swallows. He’d been hoping to have some more time to build up to it. “I’ve got us a new job.”

“Good,” Mick says, though he looks a bit confused. They do heists pretty often - they’re reliable enough freelancers that they get hired by crews around the city, though they don’t really have the type of specializations that would get them a job on a permanent thief crew, and the way the split works for junior crew members means they only get so much out of each heist - and it’s not usually a big deal. Nothing to freak out over. “We need to pay next month’s rent and buy enough food, which would be tricky on top of Lisa’s skating lessons -” That’s always top priority, even if it meant going hungry or homeless for a bit. Sure, Mick’s eventually going to get a payout from the city for that whole wrongful conviction thinge, but that was still in progress and in the meantime they still had to pay Mick’s lawyers. “- so a job would be good. Who’s running it?”

“Uh,” Len says, swallowing. “That’s the thing.”

“Not a Family job!”

“No, no! Nothing like that!”

Lewis works with the Families, and as such, Mick won’t have anything to do with them. That always sounded like a reasonable rule to Len, who didn’t like the Families either.

“Then what?”

“Uh,” Len says again, very eloquently. “It’s, uh. It’s me.”

“Huh?” Mick asks, clearly lost.

“It’s - it’s my job,” Len confesses. “No, that doesn’t mean you’re not in on it too -” Mick looked ready to argue for a second there, but the reassurance moves him back to confused. “- it’s, uh. I’m the one running it. The job.”

He braces himself for disapproval. He and Mick have done small things on their own before - ATM robberies, corner store stick-ups - but never a major job. Never anything requiring a crew.

A crew that Len will have to manage and command.

Len - crazy, unstable pyromaniac Len.

Who can’t even keep from starting a fire in his own living room.

God, why the hell did he think this was a good idea again?!

Mick’s going to gently point out that it’s a terrible idea and then they’ll have to figure out how to extract themselves from it after all the promises Len made to the backers and the crew and the fences and -

“Good,” Mick announces. “You’ll be better at it than any of those assholes.”

Len blinks.

“You - really think so?” he says cautiously. “You think I can handle running my own crew?”

“Sure do,” Mick says, so firmly that even Len can’t believe that he’s just humoring Len. “You’re gonna make it big, Lenny. Just you wait.”

Len’s chest hurts, that warm bright sort of hurting that he gets around Mick, the sort that’s even better than the curl of attraction he gets to women and men in the clubs that he goes to when he wants to get laid, because it’s a bit like that and a bit like how he feels when he looks at Lisa, all bursting with pride, and that’s how he knows he’s head-over-goddamn-heels in love with his best friend and criminal partner, because Mick can always make him feel this way with an offhand statement or an expression of faith.

“I’m gonna make you proud,” Len promises, dead serious. No distractions mid-job for him, no sir; he’s going to pull this off. He’s going to be good.

No. He’s going to be great.

They’re going to be great.

“And I’ll be there to watch your back,” Mick replies, equally serious.

Len wouldn’t have it any other way.

[hortascountrysidenotes]

Very Wet but pushing on

After a mostly dry winter the rains have finally come which although a blessing for all new hedges and trees is a curse for farmers trying to drill spring crops and gardeners who had made a good start on getting the garden ready for the year.  We have stalled on compost spreading and bed prepping, no chance of scarifying now until next week and stop start weather made even cutting the willows an unpleasant task last weekend, one minute in bright but cold sunshine and then being peppered by stinging showers.  However they are cut but the planned weaving weekend never materialised so the plant supports are still to be done.

Thanks to some outside help the greenhouse is clean and ready for the season - thank you my friend, and we had such a happy time training the dogs and seeing Mavis’ progress.  Mavis has come on in leaps and bounds now - certainly a lot of the latter!  She is beginning to understand what is expected and is even beginning to look back at me for help when she can't find what she is looking for.  I am looking forward to my next proper lesson, still trying to cement the basics at all times, a bit of room for improvement on the recall but she is good at heel, and just starting to stop on the whistle as long as she is not too far.  She is by nature brave so quite happy to be too far out and into cover which is something we must watch for, but it is a good fault and certainly better than a timid dog unwilling to go into the thick of the action.

A lovely day today after another night of rain so with the sparkling glass allowing the light to flood into the greenhouse I sowed the Cosmos - Rubenza, Purity, Psyche White and Xanthos - plenty of each for my plant stalls and two clients who have weddings this July.  Sowed five types of tomato - Ferline, Sungold, Moneymaker, Costoluto di Firenze and Black Russian - again any spare can go into the plant sales.  My dahlia Cafe au Lait, not Last thanks to predictive last entry, have arrived and are potted up.  Lots of slabs have been dropped off by the landscaping team to finish the stepping stones around the raised beds and two tonne of shingle for topping up the drive - a makeover indeed!

Nature moves on driven by light - we have watched some interesting new behaviour in the rook/jackdaw flights - a peregrine has moved into the area and is causing them to react in a very strange way, like giant bait balls or starling murmurations - they wheel and group on their way to roost rather than flying in like Lancaster bombers in serried ranks.  Robins Wrens and Blackbirds are all building in the garden - robins busy fighting as usual!  Goldfinches in big numbers coming to the niger and mixed seed.  Frog spawn is about, the crested newts are mating in the big pond and we are almost at the equinox.  Need to feed and mulch the asparagus this week, the bonfire area is critical so praying for dry and a good wind direction!  More plants to get ready for the plant sales and any time now will get the dahlias out of winter store, pot up some and get them going early.  Broad beans can go in the garden next week, the potatoes are in - 2 rows of Arran Pilot, a bit wet and claggy yesterday but felt it was something that could be done - tho the old adage of not working the land if it sticks to boot or spade had to be ignored!!!

Photos of damage that Brassica Bear does - she is crazy about the sprouting broccoli and helps herself - crocus, hellebores and the finished veg patch - finally!

HORTA

[always-smileing]

Tell him he’s scary or he’ll bawl his eyes out on your floor