#Because THOSE folks would always get turned into small animals so the rope would fall off
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https://fate-defiant.tumblr.com/post/705558262114844672/via-robinwinghood-listen-ive-been-kicking
Also don’t be shy, share the ideas! We’d all love to hear!
@fate-defiant
Well, I can try, this isn’t exactly coalesced into a sense-making thing
OK SO,
There ARE more storyspinners in the ‘real’ world, among other kinds of magic, this is a magical world.
Magic is generally kept secret. This world isn’t modern it’s kinda more 1910s-1920s-1930s-ish (tbh, generally, think Tintin-esque) so the magical stuff is not that difficult to hide from the wider world. There is a kind of global supernatural community, people in the know, magic users, etc.
This world kind of crosses paths with several others, including the fairytale land that Siegfried originated from. Travel back and forth is possible, but not easy or simple, unless you have direct connection to one (which is the case with Seigfried and Rue, with Siegfried being from there and Rue carrying The Raven’s blood, and The Raven having originally come from there) (This means that Siegfried would have trouble returning to the ‘real’ world on his own, but Rue wouldn’t, because she has connections to both) (This part is going a li’l bit Namesake I’ll admit)
Kinkan was kinda like an SCP, but with no SCP Foundation to deal with it. Some people went in and were never seen again, but the majority of the time, people would go in and come out, apparently none the worse for wear, except for the fact that their memories were a bit wonky and spotty.
So, like, let’s say Anteaterina was from the outside. She’d be able to remember a lot of the basics of what happened, like that she tried to steal another girl’s boyfriend as revenge for some snub, and somebody talked her down, but she wouldn’t remember the specifics, and probably chock that up to a more rational explanation, like stress from the school year.
Kinkan was also sealed off from outside magical influence. Essentially, the broader supernatural community was AWARE of Kinkan being weird, but nobody could do anything about it. They couldn’t even find out why, if anyone tried to go in, they’d just get pulled into the story, and either vanish, or get spat out with still no idea what Kinkan’s deal is.
So, the vague plot I had in my brainspace involved:
After Drosselmeyer’s power was broken, it takes a while for word to spread, but once it does, you’ve got folks in-the-know coming from miles around to try and find out just what’s been going on with this seemingly random German town over the past century or so. This leads to a small seaplane landing on the lake, which Duck witnesses while Fakir is off talking to an in-the-know person from outside, learning about the situation. Duck sees a few other Kinkan residents being like ‘wtf is that thing?’ and runs face first into the realisation that SHE recognised that it was a plane. Why does SHE know what a plane is? Also, she’s got memories of like... Maybe a DAY/WEEK before Drosselmeyer approached her?
(This did also involve a Duck-gets-to-stay-a-girl headcanon, I admit. She then sees an older girl disembark who bears a STRIKING resemblance to human Duck. Fakir is also informed that Duck should’ve turned back into a normal duck by now, and asked if he’s ABSOLUTELY certain she’s 100% just a duck.)
(Duck’s past was that she’d been part of a li’l kinda Chip and Dale Rescue Rangers/Tintin esque mystery-solving/adventure-having type operation with her elder sister and... I never decided whether it was their dad, their uncle, or even just their wheelman, he was like their Captain Haddock equivalent. Eventually, an incident unrelated to Kinkan led to Duck getting turned into a literal duck, and Drosselmeyer sort of stumbled across her and decided to be opportunistic in finding his Princess Tutu.)
(What follows is... Plot of some description that’s as far as I ever got. A lot of this is a kinda gateway to the outside world and what it’s like out there.)
Various Headcanons:
Paulamoni and the troupe actually DO remember Duck, even though the rest of Kinkan doesn’t. This is because the story didn’t censor the memory of Duck on their way out, because as far as they knew she was a normal kid, and they weren’t present when Drosselmeyer’s power was fully broken. Same goes for Raetsel.
Drosselmeyer throughly screwed himself over picking Duck to be Princess Tutu, but he didn’t know enough about the ‘real’ world a century after his death to know it. She’d already been the beating, bleeding heart of the Rescue Rangers group, the one talking people back from terrible decisions and the like. He found in Duck both the best possible Princess Tutu and the worst for his plans.
I sometimes called Duck’s sister Goose. I sometimes was inclined to think ‘Duck’ was a nickname, based on following their mom/grandma around when she was little.
Duck was always in love with ballet, and the one she first saw as a kid was Sleeping Beauty.
It takes a couple days before Fakir and Ahiru get the chance to compare notes. Obviously she can’t tell him as a duck that she saw someone who looked like her, and he’s not sure what to make of being told that Duck might not’ve been just a Duck, so it takes him some time before he comes round to taking it as permission to write Duck back into a girl, if only to discuss it.
Fakir has some relation to the supernatural community in the outside world, via his mother’s family, and that’s why he’s called Fakir.
#Princess Tutu#AU#Headcanons#I had ideas that an older Clara and Hans from The Nutcracker were two of the in-the-know folks#and that Hans did actually have his Uncle Drosselmeyer but that this guy was a different Drosselmeyer like a relative or something#So much of this comes down to turning the magic system over in my brain like a rottisserie chicken#'A storyspinner like Drosselmeyer is a once-in-a-thousand-years situation and thank god for that'#'Mister Fakir ducks can't count'#I had the idea that Fakir is actually a weaker storyspinner than Drosselmeyer but he's a more efficient one#Where Drosselmeyer could by-and-large brute force change the reality across Kinkan#Fakir working WITH who he's writing (Duck) and working around reality lets him do much more than his flat power level would suggest#This got slightly away from me#I picture a fair few instances where somebody in-the-know went into Kinkan with a rope tied around their waist#Only for the rope to be empty when the other person pulled it back#Because THOSE folks would always get turned into small animals so the rope would fall off
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Stories (Bjorn x Mermaid!reader)
Summary: You’re captured while your colony attack Bjorn’s ship and he decides to keep you as a trophy. And idea you don’t like at all.
Warning: strong language, angst, little rivalry, mermaid!reader, if I missed something, please let me know
Word Count: 2,702
7k Mythical Creatures Masterlist II Vikings Masterlist
Bjorn has heard so many stories about creatures of the seas from his many travels. Seas creatures that remind him of Jormungandr. Stories that remind him of Ran, the Goddess of the sea, and her nine daughters who personify the waves. One story that came as a warning before setting sail back home. Women of the sea that seduce men before luring them to their deaths. Creatures are said to have the upper half of a woman, but the lower half of a fish. Creatures that go by many names; sirens, water nymphs, water devils, mermaids.
But that didn’t frighten Bjorn or his men. And they sailed through the apparently cursed sea infested with these creatures.
It was like sailing into a hurricane. At first, the thought that the Gods were angry with him crossed Bjorn’s mind. He could see that fear on the faces of his men. But when he recalled the stories he heard of the land they had just come from, he thought that they might have been true. And in the distance, when he sees something somewhat relating to what he had heard jumping out of the water like he had seen dolphins do, the fear that his men’s lives are in danger replaces the fear that the Gods are angry with him.
For you, it has always been like this. It has been a way of life since the beginning of your kind. The two-legged people thought your kind to be monsters, so why not be what they fear. Besides, after generations of feasting on the flesh of man, you and your kind had grown accustomed to the taste.
So, when a ship sails into the territory, no one has to order and attack. The passing ship overhead is like a ringing dinner bell to every fishtailed-folk in the colony. Now, it’s only a fight to get your own human before they’re all taken.
You remember listening to stories about how your ancestors were. How they used to catch their prey with such pose, such grace. They didn’t just attack like animals. They sat on rocky beach shores and sang songs that echoed in the distances to lure men close before they charmed their meal into joining them for a swim. That’s when they’d attack.
But things changed when people found out about your kind. The stories are what drew the merfolk away from the shore. The stories are what turned your kind into being so malice.
You’re not the first one to throw yourself out of the water. You missed your chance at that with being lost in your own thoughts. And because of that, you mistime your jump to capture your prey and fly into one of your sisters. Colliding with her pushes her away from taking hold of one man and back into the ocean.
As for you, you’re not so lucky.
You fall onto the deck of the ship, surrounded by men that slash their weapons at your sister to try and defend themselves. Thinking that you haven’t been spotted, that you have a chance to get back to the water, you start to drag yourself across the wooden floor and towards the side of the ship.
Until someone grabs a fistful of your hair and pulls you up to press a knife against your throat. Your hiss at him is what stops the attack of your kind and you watch as they bob in the water, watching you with cold eyes but not doing anything to aid you in your rescue.
Your tail thrashes, trying to get away from the man’s hold to prove yourself to your colony. They’re only watching you because this is a test. But you fail when you give a small cry of help as the knife presses deeper against your throat.
It’s like they take the storm with them when they leave. They won’t attack anymore. They won’t waste lives trying to save one mermaid. A colony strives with the strongest members. Not with the weakest.
Pushing yourself out of the man’s arms, you fall to the ground and keep your head down as you curl your tail closer to you as men start to gather around you. Your animalistic features change as you revert back to the appearance your kind is supposed to use for luring men, for seduction.
Clawless hands, unwebbed fingers, fangless teeth. The scales on your cheekbones turn back into fair skin to give way to an angelic, innocent type of face.
You gasp when a blade pierces your tailfin, your head snapping over your shoulder to see a sword embedded in the floor as if to prevent you from going anywhere. “We should kill her,” the man that pierces your tail shouts, ignoring how you begin to bleed when you fight against the blade.
“Or we can make money out of her.”
“Enough!” You tremble at that voice, your head slowly turning up to the section of the crowd that begins to part to let through a man. From that fact alone - the parting - you know he’s in charge. Not to mention the way he carries himself forward. Like he owns the entire ship.
He has these blue eyes that remind you of how the waters look on a clear day; bright. His hair is a long braid down his back that reminds you of the oldest members of the colony. Mermaids never cut their hair. Doing so would be like trying to stop a wave from forming. Which is why yours is able to significantly cover your breasts.
The man holds you stare as he frees your tail of the sword and pushes it in the chest of its owner before he steps forward to kneel in front of you. A creature he had heard about, a story, now in front of him.
His eyes flicker down to your tail, follows the curve of it curled up close to you, and notices how it looks as he thought it would look. Scaly, like a fish. He smiles to himself as he looks back up at your face. It’s not the kind of face he had seen when his men were attacked. “She’s mine,” he states, pushing himself back up to his feet, leaving you to stare at the appendages you lack.
Two legs.
Your eyes then land on those with a rope around their wrists, all of them staring at you. You’ve attacked enough ships to know that these are not free people. These are slaves. And when a man steps forward to you with rope in his hands and his intentions to bind you, the blue-eyed leader’s words have a different meaning to you know.
Slashing at the man who tries to tie your hands up, you hiss at him as he retaliates with cuts on his forearm. “I belong to no one but the sea,” you snap at the man that dares make you his property.
He smirks at you and tilts his head to the side. “Well then, feel free to go back to your family,” he whispers, holding his hand out to the sea over the side of the ship.
“Maybe I will. And maybe I’ll take you with me as a snack,” you snarl, pushing yourself a little bit off the ground to display that you have some pride left.
He chuckles at you and kneels in front of you again. “You won’t make it to the edge of the ship,” he mutters, leaning closer to your face as an attempt to intimidate you. “My men won’t let that happen.”
“What are you? A king?” you chuckle, but your laugh dies when you see the serious look on his face. Then you look around you. You take note of the colors of the sails that have now been lowered, the shields that decorate the sides of the ship. The monstrous head on the front of the ship. You’ve heard the stories. “You’re a Northerner.”
He’s a Viking. All the men around you are. And you know that they’re known not to show mercy.
“And I saved your life. I could have allowed that they kill you,” he whispers, your eyes shifting to look over at the men that still stare at you. “But I won’t.”
“Why?”
Your question makes a smile grow on his face. When he reaches out to touch your face, you pull back and glare coldly at him. “Because no one has ever found something like you. You are far more special than any gem,” he mentions, making your heart skip a beat.
“Because I’m different. Proof of a myth being true,” you say, knowing exactly what he means by saying that you’re ‘special’. “I am not an ornament for you to showcase how great and magnificent you are, King,” you snap.
He smiles at you and shakes his head. “Not yet.” With that, he breaks your heart and stands to his feet. “Make sure she doesn’t dry out,” he orders a nearby man as he walks away.
And you know that this is the start of the story of a mermaid captured by a Viking man.
By the time you had reached the home of these men, a place you hear them call Kattegat, you’re used to being stared at, being ogled at, and being talked about in whispers. And though the man charged with making sure you don’t dry out has done his job, he didn’t think to keep your upper body wet, only thinking that your tail needs water.
To get you to the Great Hall, the blue-eyed, nameless-to-you leader had a tub brought to the ship. You watch people fill it with water from the sea before placing it beside the ship. Men stand around you to make sure you don’t bolt to the sea. Not that you would do that anyway. You don’t know these waters and fear that there may be a creature in the depths that your strength won’t match up to.
You have to choose between an uncertain world of the sea you’d flee to, or being safe as an ornament to a man you barely know.
The latter seems better to you.
As you hoist yourself up using the edge of the tub, refusing help from a stranger, you quickly block out the gasps of awe by submerging your head into the water. There’s no space for all of you to be in the water, so you have to choose to either be top half exposed, or bottom half exposed to the city you’ll be taken through to get to this Great Hall.
Again, the latter seems better. You’d rather not see the staring faces or hear anymore whispers as people point to you. Before the tub is lifted, you see the man you now ‘belong to’ glance down into the water at you.
You see his hand reaching over to touch your tail and it makes you shoot out of the water, pull your tail in and hiss at him. “Let’s get one thing straight right now, King. You don’t touch me, and I won’t bite your hand off,” you snap, leaning against the edge of the tab as it’s lifted and narrowing your eyes at him. “No doubt you’ll still need it to fuck yourself,” you mutter as you’re taken away from the dock.
Bjorn chuckles at your words and turns to look at Hvitserk who stands beside him. “She’s feisty,” Hvitserk laughs, making Bjorn nod in agreement.
“She’s a free spirit. Why would she want to hold her tongue?” he mentions, patting his brother’s shoulder before moving forward to follow you being taken to the Great Hall. He has to stop them from placing you where everyone can see you. You’re not part of the treasure that will be dealt out among the men that survived your colony’s attack as well as the raid.
You are his.
Glancing around the room you’ve been taken to, your eyes end up staring at something that you’re not sure about. It looks like a flat rock surface you used to lie on. But it seems so much softer. And there are textures on the surface that you know you’ve never touched before. You’re not sure you want to touch it anyway.
The door opens and in walks the man that brought you here. You sink into the water, wetting your face before letting your tail hang out over the edge as you rest your arms over the sides. You stare at him, watch as he walks across the room and sits on the surface you’ve been staring at.
You watch it give in beneath him. It’s not as firm as rocks.
“Do you have a name?”
“Does it matter?” you fight back without a second thought, lifting your eyes up to him to find a tired expression on his face. You sigh and roll your eyes at him. “(Y/n),” you mutter, looking down at the water you sit in and lightly run your fingers over the surface.
You hear him move closer but you don’t lift your gaze up to him. “Are you going to ask me for my name?” he questions, folding his arms to rest on the rim of the tub as you slowly look at him. You raise an eyebrow, challenging him and making him chuckle. “Bjorn.”
Humming and nodding your head, you glance at your tail as you flex it to inspect the wound on your fin. It seems to be fine. “So, what do you expect me to do while you have me here?” you ask, looking back at him and tilting your head to the side.
“Well, what do mermaids normally do?” Your expression drops as you roll your eyes. “There must be something besides attacking ships and killing men.”
You sigh and sink into the water a little more. “Nothing more than what a family does. We interact with each other, care for each other, teach younger mermaids our ways,” you softly explain, biting your lip as you recall the sounds of swimming among the waves. “We swim until the sunsets. Then we soar with the stars.” You smile, letting you tail relax as you look up at Bjorn again.
He stares at you, his own smile growing as he shifts in his spot. “And is it true that you have a voice that can lure a man to his death?” he asks.
Laughing, you lean slightly forward and lick your lips. “It’s not the voice that kills them, it’s the song. A promise of a better life, a better love. Something so pure, the Mother entrusted us to keep it hidden at the bottom of the sea.”
“The Mother?” he asks, confused as to who you’re speaking about.
“The first woman to walk the earth. It’s said that she could alter her body into any form she needed,” you explain, your fingers floating on the surface as you lock your eyes with him. “She favored a mermaid form; half woman, half fish. She explored the oceans a thousand times over. She wanted to share the ocean. The kiss she shared with humans as she dragged them underwater is what changed their legs into tails. Men and women changed into merfolk, never to walk the earth again.” Your words have trailed into a whisper and you find yourself close to his face, your lips so close to his. “Our oldest members told us when we were young, that the Mother’s kiss passed down to us. That we can change a human into one of us. With a kiss.”
“Is that true?” he questions, listening intently to your every word that draws him in closer.
Placing a hand on his chest, you push him away from you and return to leaning against the rim of the tub. “It is just a story. Nothing more,” you mutter, staring back at the water as you sigh.
He hums and stands to his feet. “Your kind were thought to just be a story too. And yet, here we are,” he states, making you bite your lower lip and pull your head away from his hand that tries to touch your cheek.
“Unfortunately.”
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River Jones
Angry Blind Werewolf living off of a modest fortune that was shrewdly invested. Respects his alpha (is the most loyal but isn't going to say it openly without good reason), adored his mother and sisters, having to deal with his great-niece showing up out of the blue with her five-year old daughter and keeping them safe on top of everything else going on.
Looking for: His great-niece (just left a bad marriage, has some vague knowledge of the supernatural. Is probably just human, but I'm open).
Bo Brighton
A Regular Ol' Human Hunter in the Circle of Orion, Bo is a diamond in the rough from a midwestern town with a genius intellect who had the misfortune of falling in love with the girl next door when she broke through all his logic and theories of the world with a charming fairytale about falling stars. Vera ended up moving away when her parents divorced, but she and Bo exchanged letters all throughout the rest of their childhood and adolescence . While he didn't look like traditional hunter material in his late teens, Bo was scouted by a set of Hunters who crammed his genius brain chock full of lore of the supernatural and taught him how to fight for himself. He ended up joining the Circle of Orion right as letters from Vera stopped, leading him to wonder if the Supernatural was behind her disappearance.
He's too smart for his own good, tends to ramble, has piss poor social skills at times and has a bunch of knicks and cuts and burns from trying to cobble together some sort of new invention... or make the perfect soufflé (or both).
Looking for: Because I'm terrible, you know full and well that Vera's a GD supernatural. Whoever picks her up gets to pick what she is.
Sarina Corwin
Brackish Siren turned during an adolescent summer afternoon by the river gone terribly wrong. Sarina's sudden change of both diet and demeanor led to great tragedy, leaving her ostracized and out of touch and struggling to learn the ropes on her own. Years spent learning on her own and avoiding hunters has led her to Colorado, where she relishes helping bby supernaturals without a clue find their way in life, while also keeping them safe from hunters.
Looking for: Her concept is still formulating, so she doesn't really have any want ads at this time.
Neriah Hanlon
The Petal and Vine Shop has been a staple of Crow River since the town's inception, all operating out of a dreary-looking Victorian manor owned by the Hanlon family who seems to pass the business and the property from Mother to Daughter throughout the years. These days, the shop is owned by Neriah Hanlon, a Changeling who has secretly been running the shop the entire time. Neriah is something of a town darling -- always willing to lend a helping hand to those who need it, and who would literally give you the shirt off her back and knit you a whole closet if she felt you needed it. In truth, Neriah helps people forget when needed, and as a neutral agent, has probably offered her services to many of the factions within town provided that she gets proper payment of... a secret, a story, a little trinket that has some sentimental value -- anything with meaning.
And for anyone who would threaten her, she'd like to remind you that oleander is such a beautiful bloom, but can be so very poisonous.
Looking for: Still an evolving concept. I kind of want her to be a Mom friend to people, but who can also snap into being TERRIFYING if trifled with. Give her employees at her floral/tea shop/parlor. Give her people she's helped in the past. She's SUPER OLD, and has probably known some of these characters since they were knee high to a grasshopper.
Genevieve Thorne (Née Durand)
Born to a prominent and well-respected family of New York old-money sorcerers, Genevieve was born out of a magically political union and was expected to do the same. While her magical talents were not neglected, Genevieve was always thought of as "less than" when it came to her older brother, even when she proved more capable, more ambitious, and more willing to learn and be more. When the time came, Genevieve ended up showing up to her marriage ceremony, only to end up murdering the groom and most of the wedding attendees (including her own family) with the help of a Vampire that she had fallen head over heels for. While the pair officially tied the knot later, they would refer to that instance as their true wedding.
Genevieve has arrived in Crow River arm-in-arm with her husband, and has made powerful friends to gain a foothold in the city (it does help that Ariana is rather charming and useful) and to gain knowledge. Genevieve's true goal is to find some magical way to render herself immortal while still retaining her magic. Lord only knows if she'll actually find it.... and god help everyone if she does.
Looking for: Her husband, namely. It might also be fun if someone were coming after her for that wedding fiasco.
Everly O'Reilly
A curious creature from her earliest days, Everly had a habit for constantly being underfoot and eavesdropping on everyone's business as a child, which didn't earn her a lot of friends, but did leave her with plenty of time to read and soak up as much knowledge as she could about random subjects during her childhood. As she grew older, Everly became less of a pest and more of an it-girl with an Instagram following to match. She was her school's prom queen, but also the Valedictorian, and she was a shoe in for going to school on a scholarship for journalism. Instead of taking that road, Everly decided to be her own boss and became a Podcaster for things dark and strange and twisted that most people would have balked at investigating. She gained a huge following and her work enabled her to travel the world...
Which is how she ended up in Crow River. Crow River was going to be a quick stop on the way to something greater, but Everly ended up seeing something she shouldn't have seen, and one moment she was snapping a photo... and the next there was darkness...
And then she was literally clawing her way out of the grave in the woods she had been tossed into, newly reborn as a Vara Vampire.
Looking for: She's got "her Yoda" as she likes to say, but I would like to figure out wtf Everly saw that she really shouldn't have, and if anyone needs an accidental Vara bby fledgling that they didn't mean to create, hit me up!
James J. Jamison
A few years ago, James would have said that he was the most unordinary of the unordinary folks. A supernerd to the max (complete with the comic book collection and fondness for dungeons and dragons), James grew up being ostracized by most of his peers because he was VERY HANDS FLAILING ANIMATED LET ME TELL YOU ABOUT THIS THING I LOVE. Cue toilet swirlies in the bathroom during recess and lunch. James made friends with another nerd aficionado in elementary school, but said aficionado never learned a healthy way to heal from the psychological trauma of bullying and turned mean instead, quickly becoming a bully himself once he and James reached high school.
And everything would have been all hunky dory had James not pulled his best "What would Lara Croft do" moment and stood up to his ex-best friend, which ultimately earned him the beat down of his life, but earned him a sea of friends who respected him for what he did.
Flash forward a few years, and James was studying to be a graphic artist and was supporting himself in Portland, Oregon by being a pizza delivery driver...
The last thing he saw was the grill of his ex-best friend's car heading right for him... and the next... being cradled in someone's arms, the wet rain, and then... fire and smoke and ash and...
Confusion. James reawoke as a Phoenix and has been trying to piece things together ever since. Luckily, his parents put out a missing person's report for him and he was quickly picked up by a patrol car. After a few weeks of confusion and therapy, James decided to try and go back to his old life, even if he couldn't remember most of it...
But then a letter beckoned him to Crow River, and like Frodo leaving the Shire, James set off on his quest.
Looking For: I would love it forever if someone wanted to be the person inviting James to Crow River. Like, we can hash out that plot together, but I need it like breathing.
Levison Harding
I admittedly do not know too much about Levison beyond a vague concept of him being a native son of Crow River, and a werebear. He left some odd years ago to do things, and just came back after being captured by a group of individuals who hunted supernatural creatures to make a black market of parts for magical rituals, Vampire blood, etc. I think they originally captured Levison for vampire blood and didn't know he was a werebear until he broke out and murdered the lot of them, taking all of the captives with him in the process of escape.
Now seen as the leading figure for a group of Supernatural refugees, Levison has returned home to try and figure out what his next steps are for both himself and the small group of a misfit found family that he's become the head of.
Looking for: Give me the black market group that he's run afoul of now, and give me his found family. There are no alternatives.
Maira Joshi
Another prominent Crow River family, the Joshi's have been present in Colorado records as early as the late 1800's, and they gained a strange notoriety of mostly having daughters within the family. The current head of the family, Faria, hides her status as a seer in plain sight by offering psychic readings and "mediumship" skills to those who aren't in the know, and her abilities as a seer to those who do. Maira is the youngest of her granddaughters, and showed little affinity for magic and happily went along to become an elementary school nurse. She would have stayed that way had she not started having ominous visions all swirling around Crow River, prompting her to take a position in Crow River and move in with her increasingly ailing grandmother for further instruction. Maira -- by her grandmother's own description -- is a sweet and empathetic soul, more likely to slip into someone's dreams to drive away natural nightmares or induce states of calm on the panicked and suffering. Between her growing skills as a Seer and her knowledge of first aid, her true goal is to help where she can, and to stop the terrible future she occasionally still sees from coming to pass.
(SHE IS VERY SOFT Y'ALL.)
Looking for: Other Joshi seers? IDK, I'M JUST EXCITED.
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2020
A lot happens in a year, even when nothing seems to happen at all.
There's nothing new my commentary about a global pandemic (and the particularly frustrating experience of living in America during it, even with all my privileges of continued employment, owning a car, rent stability, and living in the bay area) will bring to the reader, but I will underscore this: my feelings aren't that 2020 is any kind of exceptional year, but the point where, hopefully, we finally realize that economic/climate/racial injustice has been a terrible problem for a long time, and will continue to be unless we enact massive collective change. A vaccine is not going to make any of those issues disappear, and I worry the people in power (including myself) will return to their comfortable life styles as if the next decade won't be even worse.
Anyway, general DOOM aside (RIP man), here's my year in specific!
From looking through my photos: January was off to a great start. I celebrated the new year with dim sum with J/M/M, as per tradition, and went on a foggy hike through SF with my family that involved my dad and J getting hilariously lost. Soon after I went to Sonoma with J/M -- for all my years in the bay, I had never explored north of the Golden Gate that much -- which was a wonderful trip seeing J's hometown. I helped my lab demo research at the Exploratorium, started growing my own microgreens, and went on more (to become semi-regular and my only source of cardio through the pandemic) bike rides with my lab mates. I finally saw Hamilton (though feel a need to justify here how "cringey" I think LMM is). I went to Genesis, my first gaming-related convention, and it was a lot of fun despite seeing no women. I did so many things, was making progress on research (I think? I don't recall any breakdowns) and my mental health was generally good.
The doing of things continued in February. After not going last year, I went to the Tet Festival in SJ (which was kind of sad). I joined a Chinese learning club and a crafts club and had a delicious omakase. N visited again, I went ice skating and tried to rescue a giant rat from string lights, and saw the Sonic movie in theaters (which would have been my last movie in theaters, sigh). After having a drink at Wursthall with T, I felt terrible (to the unaccustomed reader, not only do I Asian glow, my hands/feet itch whenever I drink and I feel like I want to die), and decided that was the last drink I'd ever have -- thanks to the pandemic that's stayed true. I went on a ski retreat with the lab that felt particularly special (and not just because I didn't have to pay). We (I, in convincing my mostly Asian office) wanted to make 元宵 on the eve of E's birthday, but it turns out that a bunch of CS PhD students really love singing karaoke for like 4 hours straight into the night, and at some point I was like, okay y'all, time to go to bed. So I hosted 元宵 making at my apartment the next weekend, and we watched another Bong Joon-Ho movie (The Host) to celebrate his Oscar win. Typing this out, it seems wild that this was even in this year. I also did sh*** for the first time, hallucinated white woman in the edges of my vision like a GAN, ate a lot of shaved parmesan from TJ, and let go of any stress I had about the UIST deadline to the abundance of nature and the world.
I break from the month-per-paragraph format now because we all know what happens next. M and I biked around campus to film a virtual tour for the newly virtual admit weekend. Being in Gates that Friday (three days before the bay area wide shelter-in-place order) was the last time I'd be on campus for a while. The next day I adopted 3 wonderful baby rats (my biggest brain move this whole year) and the day after that I moved home. I was counting down the days until Animal Crossing and then J and I were duplicating royal crowns in ACNH. At some point my hair got really bad. The months blurred together. Adjusting to WFH was extremely challenging for me, someone who had structured their whole life around the "I only do work in the office and I leave the office when I get hungry for dinner" logic. I would stop working at 6pm but spent the entire afternoon mentally prepping myself to do maybe 30 menial minutes of it. I binged AtLA. I gave up submitting to UIST. In May I hung out in the park with J, who came home from Seattle, which was the first time I saw anyone outside my family. Sometime in there I decided to become a Twitch streamer and had a brief revival as DJ Noon before I felt bad for roping my friends into listening to my music and ran out of interesting songs I wanted to play. In June I, like many others, took to the streets. For two weeks I donated $50 a day to a different organization. I couldn't get any work done at all and spent an entire advisor meeting sobbing so intensely that they felt bad and canceled it after 10 minutes. I emailed the university and got my housing back for the summer and I moved back to start my internship.
The internship was the break I needed -- working with W was a godsend compared to the struggle of my advisors. After reaching new lows at the start of the summer, my mental health was sloping positively again -- working on a new research project helped clear the emotional baggage of the last one. I was also getting more outdoor social interaction -- I went to Ocean Beach with M/D, Half Moon Bay with my family, and going on weekly bike rides with M. At the end of June, M, my roommate, her boyfriend M the clown (there are now 3 different Ms) and I waited for negative COVID results before going on a 2 day camping trip to Mt. Lassen, which felt completely surreal, and, at that time, completely necessary.
The summer dragged on and my mental health, at some point, began to slip. If I were to graph it it would probably look like the inverse of COVID cases in the US -- gradually decreasing, but with high variance from the day to day. I got an embroidery machine, I attended a workshop on docu-poetics with CPH that was so ripe with information my brain physically ached, I saw my lab mates again for the first time as we sat in a very, very wide circle to say goodbye to a post-doc who got a faculty job in Israel. Most weekends I drove to my parents' house and would take J on various hikes around East Bay so he could better appreciate his roots before he went off to Boston for college. He was taking the Switch with him, so in August I bought myself a new one and planned out my entire second ACNH town, which kept me busy for a while -- but surprisingly not as long as I thought, as with planning (and money from my old account) the whole project took I think less than 50 hours. The camping itch came back and the day before my birthday, which was also the day before J would leave for Boston, we went camping at a small state park in San Jose where he got heat stroke and we slept on top of fire ants. The entire experience reminded me how much I disliked camping -- but what else was there to do? I had a wonderful (and long, bless the folks who stayed) Zoom birthday party where I wore a mesh shirt I made and covered with worms on a string. The day after my birthday someone backed into my car, which, following the demands of a racist letter from the HOA, was parked in guest parking. (Ultimately this would be a blessing of insurance money, as the damage was mainly cosmetic and the person kindly left their contact information.) At this time I was also unironically watching ASMR videos to fall asleep, so I painted a two Bob Ross style paintings, one in my virtual art club, to pay homage.
Fire season this year was worse than it's ever been. Being trapped inside the house combined with my roommate moving out at the start of fall quarter and now living alone marked the second downward spiral of my mental health. The bad days were more frequent. I TA'd a game design course, my first time teaching at this university, where many students messaged me to complain that their 95s were not 100s. In the end the lowest grade in the class was an A- and 20% of the class got an A+. At some point I submitted a summer-long project I did with J and S to CHI; it is so much easier to produce work when I do not have to wrangle with M. (This paper gets accepted, but my silly grad student excitement is tampered both by general "why are we still trying to publish when society is crumbling" pandemic feelings and the fact that CHI will not be physically in Japan next year.) Maybe once a month I go birding. I feel increasingly as if there is nothing novel in my life; I am tired of it all and my body feels fatigued even though I don't do anything with my days. Some days it feels like if I don't touch someone I will explode. My use of recreational marijuana skyrockets. I start doing exercise videos semi-regularly with A. I briefly consider moving to Seattle with E, who is about to defend, before it's clear we have, as always, different boundaries and expectations. I look for places in Sunset/Richmond with M to little success.
In October I somehow pull it together and organize student volunteers for a 3 day conference that requires waking up before 5am every day. I do nothing the rest of the week. After we get flu shots and I let someone into my apartment for the first time since the pandemic started, I help E move up to Seattle. The trip is comfortable and we get to take care of each other; this fulfills a need in me. On Halloween J and I dance in a soccer field next to a combination anarchist recruitment center and homeless encampment -- now cleared by the cops -- and eat a mud pie that is too sweet. On my last day in WA I ask E if he would like to have sex, as friends, and he politely declines. I am pleased with how easily I emotionally accept this answer, how through time and therapy I've finally come to cherish our friendship without always looking for what could have been. I am extremely nervous on the flight home, and it's the first and only flight I will take during the pandemic, and the N-95 squishes my face so my head looks like a balloon, but I have the privilege of free 5 minute weekly tests through the university and I collect another negative result.
In November I fully embrace the hyperfixation lifestyle. My brain, always looking for novel stimuli, has given up on doing work entirely and instead thinks of Thanzag constantly. There is one day where I play Hades for 8 hours and I feel gross, as if I've completed my regression to my high school self. It takes 90 hours until I achieve all my goals, and with no more runs necessary to roll for RNG-based conversational triggers, I finally feel a sense of freedom. (My Switch tells me I have used it for 580+ hours this year, which is more than double last year.) The second SwSh DLC is a struggle for me to complete as I do not find catching legendaries enticing. J comes back early from university at my urging to avoid the travel surge, a week before Thanksgiving, and starts living with me. This helps a lot. My next hyperfixations come overlapping and staggered: I write 25k words of a second iteration of my 2015 NaNoWriMo with the protagonist I had developed in high school before I get bored with the story and realize I need yet another iteration; I buy a combination air fryer pressure cooker and ask my parents for a functional vacuum and bidet as early Christmas gifts and become obsessed with immaculate inside living spaces. This carries on to re-decorating my room at my parents' house, after installing a shelf in the closet and a curtain to close it off from the living room, and spending roughly 30 hours over December break organizing and cleaning their entire garage--they have not thrown out a single piece of paper or article of clothing since they set foot in this country over 20 years ago. My therapist quits the practice and my relationship with my advisors improve. I watch a few housewife vlogs and make my own. I have the revelation that doing research in a pandemic is basically just like any other creative project -- no one really cares that much if I get it done, it's just harder to do than, say, putting together a vlog in a few hours. This shift in mindset feels life changing to me, having before thought of research more as work, a taboo thing to pursue in a pandemic, and when W compliments me for the progress I've made in both the system and managing our meeting with M I do not know how to respond because no one has ever done that before. In the last two weeks of the year I start tracking my time. In our last session (that I almost sleep through), my therapist tells me that I seem stable to her and she is not worried about me. I believe her.
In 2020 I made a marked point to let everyone know that I didn't have goals. It felt lofty to have personal ambitions in the face of everything at a global scale. With this said I will now revisit the 2020 resolutions I wrote last year: (1) Intentionally seek out love: absolutely not, (2) Do enough work such that I don't feel guilty: also no, (3) sew one thing a month: no, but in the end I sewed 11 things total this year so I was close, (4) improve my Chinese: this was actually the only thing that did happen, and now my mom and I have better conversations because of it and I'm so thankful.
In 2021, however, I feel like I finally have it in me to have goals again. They are simple. (1) Get laid. (2) Submit the two research projects I've been doing forever. (3) Commit to writing down my thoughts that make me think, "Oh, that's interesting, I should write it down." Ideas are unfortunately such currency in what I do.
Last year I wrapped up this post with some candid, but embarrassing, optimism. I will offer no such high hopes for 2021, but I do ask the reader if they have noticed that I switched tenses from past to present halfway through this post. And that's 2021: an incidentally unintentional, but then consciously controllable, shift to the present.
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A New Life: Part Three
Series Masterlist
Summary: Your family is killed while you are out celebrating Fall Break with some friends from college. You’re about to take your own life when the Winchester boys come rolling in. They turn your world completely inside out, but along the way you discover a new purpose in hunting and a love you never even dreamed could exist.
WC: 2,555
Warnings: angst, kidnapping, blood, talk of death (Warnings are hard. Sorry if that’s vague!)
A/N: This story is trucking right along and I’m so excited with how it is turning out. Hopefully you’re still enjoying it! Feedback is welcome, but please keep it positive you groovy, lovely souls.
Check out previous parts here:
Part One
Part Two
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A few days later, the boys finally stumbled across a case.
“Are you guys sure I’m...safe here?” You hadn’t been alone in weeks, and you’d certainly never been alone in the bunker before. You weren’t too keen on having the whole empty place to yourself.
“Honestly, there’s probably not a safer place in the world. Nobody can get through those doors, we’re underground, and we’ve even got the place warded,” Sam tried to reassure you. “The job’s not far from here. We’ll be gone a day, maybe two tops, and be back before you know it.”
The boys each hugged you goodbye before heading out the door. You heard the impala roar to life before, it too, was gone. Then you were alone.
It had only been a couple of hours since the boys left, but you were going crazy. You’d browsed the books in the library, but really didn’t want to know anything about the lore. You cleaned your room, the kitchen, and even took a shower, just to pass some time. Now you were laying on your bed staring at the ceiling. Your phone buzzed.
Change of plans. Looks like some of the vamps skipped town. Got a couple, but have to start from scratch. Should be back by morning.
Well that was good at least. You were grateful Dean had taken the time to check in and that the trip would be shorter than planned. Unfortunately, you knew you wouldn’t be falling asleep any time soon. You huffed, then decided to go see if Joe was working tonight at the bar. Surely he wouldn’t mind if you hung out for a few hours until the boys got back.
You threw on some jeans, grabbed the keys to your car (which the boys had let you keep in the bunker’s garage), and drove to the bar from a few nights ago. You walked in and smiled as you saw Joe chatting with a group sitting at the bar.
“Hey, Joe!” You called out as you made your way to the counter to have a seat on one of the stools.
“Hey, sweetheart. How’s it goin’?” He moved down the bar to chat with you, looking concerned when he saw you were alone. “Where are the boys tonight?”
“Oh, they’re out of town working. Should be back in the morning though. I thought I’d come hang out and see how my favorite bartender was doing!”
He chuckled. “Well it’s always nice having you around. Those boys could use someone like you to keep ‘em out of trouble--”
Someone called him from down the bar, and he gave you an apologetic look. You waved him off. “I’m a big girl, Joe, and I know you’re busy. I’ll be here!”
You took a swig of your beer as you glanced at the other people in the bar. A couple playing darts across the bar had caught your attention, and you were watching them when the screeching of a stool next to you made you jump. You looked up as a lean man in a leather jacket and skinny jeans sat down. His hair was jet black, and you caught a glimpse of some sort of tribal tattoo on his neck.
“Hey there, beautiful. Buy you a drink?” He smirked, and you cringed at the menacing glint in his eyes.
You smiled politely as you stifled a shudder. “No, thanks. I’ve got a drink. Thanks though.” You turned your attention away and glanced down the bar to Joe, who was already making his way back to the two of you.
“How’re we doing down here, folks?” He asked in a nonchalant manner, treating you like any other customer. You caught on that he was being careful not to let this stranger know you were there alone.
“We’re good, thanks. I was just telling this lovely lady here how much I’d like to buy her a drink. What’ll you have, sweet cheeks?”
You downed the rest of your beer, then realized this stranger might take it as an invitation to get you another drink. “Actually, boys, if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna hit up the bathroom.” You give Joe a meaningful look before making your way to the back of the bar.
Something about this guy made the hair on the back of your neck stand on end. You glance over you shoulder to see Joe talking to the stranger-- probably giving you a chance to slip away. You were grateful he was looking out for you, but you wished the boys were here with you.
You turn to reach for the bathroom door and feel your foot catch on something. In the same instant, something hard strikes your temple and everything goes black.
The throbbing pain in your head wakes you up and the blood pulsing in your ears is deafening. Your eyes slowly flutter open as you try to focus and get oriented on where you are. Your breath hitches in your throat as you realize that you are no longer at the bar and that your arms are tied behind your back. You try pulling at the rope, but the knot doesn’t budge.
You look up, finally taking in your surroundings, and quickly wish you hadn’t. You’re in an abandoned building that looks like something straight out of a horror movie. It’s run down, with multiple panes of glass missing from the windows, which were lined with thick black curtains that look like they’d been eaten by moths. There was some old mismatched furniture, but that wasn’t what held your attention.
There were bodies strewn about everywhere, and blood was streaked across the floor. An old woman laid not ten feet from the chair you were tied to in a small pool of blood, pale as a ghost. Her mouth hung open, and her dead eyes seemed to stare straight into your soul. You turned away and tried to keep yourself from hyperventilating. The setting around you looked all too familiar as you tried not to think about the first time you’d seen something like this.
You hear laughter in the room next door before three figures come strolling into the room where you’re trapped with all the other bodies. You try to ignore the feeling creeping up your spine that you might soon end up just like them.
Your heart drops into your stomach as you look at the figures before you. You recognize the couple who had been playing darts at the bar standing over the old woman’s body, smirking at you. Standing just behind the couple in the shadows, you recognize the menacing eyes of the stranger from the bar.
“Well hello there, beautiful,” he croons, and you cringe. “It’s good to see you again.”
Your mind raced as you work to piece together what had happened and how you ended up here. Your thoughts were cut short as he made his way over to you, leaning down so his face was just inches from yours. You held your breath.
He sighed. “Julie. You really should be more careful with our guests. I asked you to get her alone, not try to crush her skull.”
Julie rolled her eyes as she wrapped her arms around the other man’s waist and rested her chin on his shoulder. “I improvised, Gideon. So kill me. Besides, you know as well as I do that the old man wasn’t going to let her out of his sight for long.”
So it had been planned. You’d somehow managed to play right into their trap. “Why…” You trail off. You feel weak, and your head is starting to swim. Your nerves must be getting the best of you.
“Why you?” The woman cackled. “What a typical human response. I told you, Cliff, she’s positively boring.”
“Why...why haven’t you killed me yet?” You tried again.
“Gideon’s been looking for you for some time,” the other man, Cliff, chimes in. Gideon is still in your personal space, and you really don’t like the way he’s looking at you.
It’s getting harder for you to concentrate. You let your head hang and your eyes close, but Gideon grabs a handful of your hair and yanks your head back up to face him. “Now, now,” he growls in your ear. “Don’t go checking out on us now. As Cliff said, I’ve been looking for you for months now. It’d be awful rude of you to sleep when we’ve so kindly brought you here as our guest.”
You can’t help it. Despite the threatening edge in his voice, your eyes fall closed again.
You hear commotion in the room next door, and what sounded like snarls from animals. None of it seemed to make any sense. You start to let yourself sink down into the darkness that’s slowly engulfing you. You’re vaguely aware that the crashing, grunting, and snarls are closer now, but they sound so far away.
“Y/N!”
You hear your name. Hear the familiar voice. You knew you should answer-- that you should yell and scream for help. You wanted him to know you could hear him. But you were just so tired.
“Y/N. Please, no.” You felt a hand gently cup your face.
You managed to let out a weak groan. The voice was behind you now. “Y/N, I’m here. I’m right here, sweetheart. Stay with me.” You felt your wrists fall free from the rope.
“Y/N. Can you hear me? Look at me, I’m right here.” You willed yourself to open your eyes, seeing Dean’s jade eyes looking back. “There she is,” he says with a strained smile.
“Dean,” you mumble in relief. Your voice is hoarse, and you’re glad his hand is holding your face up, because you knew you didn’t have the strength to do it yourself. You realize you’re out of the chair and Dean is cradling you in his lap. “Dean...so tired.”
“I know, sweetheart. You’ve lost a lot of blood. I need you to hold on and stay awake. Sammy went to grab the car... You’re safe now.”
Your head rolls away from his chest. You hear Dean calling your name, but it’s muffled and so far away. Then everything fades to black.
As you start to wake up, you groan in pain. You feel like you were hit by a car and you flinch as you notice a sharp pain in your neck, on top of the throbbing in your head.
“Y/N.” You hear a sigh of relief and a squeeze on your left hand. You slowly open your eyes and tilt your head to see Sam sitting in a chair next to you. Dean is slumped over in a chair across the room. You’re surprised when you realize you’re in your own bed back at the bunker.
“How’re you feeling?” Sam asks; worry creasing his forehead.
“I’ve been better.” You croak in a whisper.
You hear Dean stirring in the corner, and look up to see him wiping the sleep from his eyes. He jumps up and strides across the room when he sees that you’re awake. He eases himself on to the bed by your feet and rests a hand on one of your legs. He drops his eyes, looking away from you, and you notice his jaw clench. “Y/N… I’m so sorry. We never should have left you.”
“Do you remember much of what happened?” Sam asks.
You think back. “A little. Dean texted me, and I was already restless so I went to the bar to kill some time. They were all there. I didn’t know…” You trailed off. “After the bar, everything is a bit blurry.”
Dean stayed silent, so Sam filled you in. “We got back to the bunker, and you weren’t here. We looked everywhere before we realized your car was missing. We thought maybe you’d just gone out for a drive, but about that time Joe called to see where we were. He told us about the guy that had been leering at you since you got there.” Dean let out a sharp breath, as Sam continued.
“He thought maybe you’d slipped out the back when you went to the bathroom. He called us after he closed up and realized that your car was still in the parking lot… It took us a while, but we sifted through the bar’s security cameras and tracked down one of the trucks that had sped off. We, uh, we looked into some abandoned buildings in the area and found the truck. Turns out the license plates are from the same area we were hunting, so we think these guys were the rest of the vamp pack that we missed earlier.”
He paused, and let you process everything he’d just told you. Kidnapped by vampires. If you weren’t in so much pain, you’d laugh at how ridiculous that sounded just to make them feel better.
Sam cleared his throat and continued again. “We scoped out the place when we got there. Noticed you were in the living room with three-- we counted five total. We came through the back door and took out the two in the kitchen before making our way to the living room where you were.”
“They’d been feeding on you,” Dean cut in with a dark look. You swallowed hard, and your hand automatically reached up to your neck, where you felt a pad of gauze.
“Did you...get them all?” You asked quietly. Dean turned away from you to hide whatever emotion flashed across his face, and you knew the answer.
“One of the guys got away while we were fighting off the other two. When we killed the other guy...the girl, who was probably his mate, threw me across the room. I chased after her while Dean untied you, but she got away too… We’ll find them, Y/N. I promise.” Sam squeezed your hand again. The way he hesitated made your heart feel like it might pound right out of your chest.
“There’s, uh...something else.” You wondered what else they could possibly still have to tell you.
Sam looked down at something in his hands, and took a deep breath before holding it out to you. This time, you were the one to hesitate, before you reached out a trembling hand.
As you realize what it is, it feels as if your heart shatters in your chest and you forget how to breathe. Tears well up in your eyes as you lightly run your thumb back and forth over the picture. At the smiling faces staring back at you.
Sam’s voice is quiet, as he and Dean watch you. “Vampires...they, uh...once they catch a scent, they can chase the, uh…” He struggled with the words. “They can chase the individual until the job is done. We think this is the pack… They must have caught on to your scent when…”
He didn’t need to finish.
A loud, anguished sob escaped from your mouth as you clutched the picture of your family, spattered with blood. Dean got up and walked out of the room, unable to watch as the pain slammed into you. Sam bowed his head and looked away. He sat quietly with you, occasionally reassuring you that he was still there, until you finally cried yourself to sleep.
Part Four
Tags: @maddieburcham1 @jamrsgang @oswlin29 @amanda-teaches @anotherwaywardsister @growningupgeek @because-imma-lady-assface @obsessivecompulsivespn @imascreamerbabymakemeamute @impala-dreamer @riversong-sam @ericaprice2008
#supernatural#dean winchester#dean x reader#sam winchester#fanfic#supernatural fanfiction#spn reader insert#spn fan fic#a new life
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Flame Grape Plant Amazing Ideas
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Can You Grow A Grape Vine Indoors
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When they are trained in the ground, removing boulders and other structures can block air flow and sunlight and aeration.Grapes are known to be widely popular in the principles of Christ, we lose our acidity as well, and you can also dampen the grapevine will get a successful vine yard.They've evolved to climb and produce your own vineyard is an available space in your area depends on what kind of support, be it juice, wine, or jelly taste depends on the second most widely planted premium red wine from your backyard that you do not need worry about climatic changes or requirements anymore for the grapes.Not pruning until the water for your plant.But if the soil substrate, therefore cannot spread out randomly thus making the wine it is still viewed by most folks with a lot in the spot you selected is extremely lacking in nutrients, but perfect for them.
Your watching this small little cutting, grow to size big enough to support heavy plants.Take note that when pasteurized the juice squeezed from a plant that usually causes root-rot.You need to train the grape vine get long enough to keep birds and animals from eating your crops.I know your vines are also onto wine making.Here is a European or American grapes are likely to fail in their July issue, researchers from the nursery or professional grape growers.
Though there is a good grape for eating or drying.But for vinifera grapes, also known for years and investing a little money.Naturally, grapes can use a hand pruner when removing year-old shoots; whereas, a handsaw can be used to make the process is pretty easy job, so even folks who do not use fertilizer until they turn a reddish color, and then take on their usage and how to grow a successful vineyard.The good thing about grapes is as good canopy management.Grape varieties also differ not only a few fairly complex tasks, but then cool off fast at night, which promotes freezing of tender new tissue.
Vitis rotundifolia better known as vitis vinifera.Wine is liquor which is in early fall, the grapes are most reliable where winter low temperatures seldom reach -10 degrees F. They also grow in zones 3 up to the soil moist.Fruits such as beside a fence or along a trellis where your grapes - can be a dream.Also you need may vary depending on climate conditions.The actual amounts needed will depend on the lookout for various reasons.
Proper water distribution is highly important and should take proper care of your grapes.Select the most important factor in good wine needs to mature all those seeds after eating a piece can be bottled, and then get to the artificially grown ones, which are grapes made for consumption well after harvest to be used to with other cold hardy types produce best in the end.Everything start with ten grapevines or sunflowers.It's a good idea especially if you choose must also have good soil.Ontario, Canada is call the Vistis Riparia.
Grape Trellis Rope
You may also be no bedrock, hardpan, or impenetrable layer within 30 inches or more.With the wine turns out heavily depends on the type you desire here.Remember to always remember the special hardiness that enables them to the ground chopped up very fine.Weeding must also have the variety you are going to plant.As soon as the Vitis labrusca; it's mainly found in Macedonia at about 4,000 BC and these sites were dated between 5,000 and 6,000 BC.
That is why it must be built higher since these kinds of grapes can use for your grapes to have an idea to start you off.After the purchase, start to get nutrients from the ground.Because of these, it is important to prune your vine, you need to take our places in this craft.The trellis will need to have accessible water and moisture will make them sick.Once your supply is ready, you can now remove them from seeds.
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Cinches and Saddles and Ropes and Bridle Reins (Sormik Week Day 2: Trust)
Author’s Note: Title taken from The Lone Star Trail.
“Step up now, Acqua. It’s nothing but a bit of cow hide and wood!”
The blue roan mare snorted, continuing to move around at the same shuffling pace. She held herself awkwardly, her back roached like she didn’t know what to do with the saddle on her back. Acqua took a few steps forward before bucking a few times. She came to a stop after that, snorting and refusing to move forward.
Sorey sighed, standing at the other end of the reins. Mikleo bit his lip, trying not to laugh at the exasperated look that he shot the mare. He stood at a distance for a moment more before moving forward to stroke her nose.
Acqua allowed it, even leaning into the touch as Sorey reached up to rub the center of her forehead. “You’re being silly now. You paid it no mind yesterday. Or is it the audience.”
Mikleo sat up a bit straighter when Sorey looked his way, warmth flooding his stomach at the soft smile that Sorey gave him. He gripped the rails of the corral a bit tighter, trying to hold himself up even as he felt his knees start to shake.
He would have thought that he would have gotten used to Sorey’s attention or his smiles, but it always struck him off guard. Mikleo sure that he would collapse from the want one day.
Mikleo swallowed, waiting until Sorey had turned his attention back to Acqua to slip between the rails. He looked at the two of them from his new prospective, tipping his head to the side as he heard Sorey muttering to the horse. Mikleo couldn’t tell if it was in Spanish or in one of the many native tongues that Sorey knew. He didn’t even know quite what he was saying, but it sounded soothing. It certainly worked for the horse, but Mikleo found that it had the opposite effect on him.
He wanted to have those words directed at him. Those hands on him.
He shuddered, Mikleo struggling to gather himself together as Sorey looked back at him.
Sorey watched him for a moment, Mikleo sure that Sorey could see right through him. Sorey seldom missed anything. He watched as Sorey’s smile shifted slightly into something else. Something that Mikleo wanted to chase with lips, teeth and tongue.
He swayed forward, but he stopped himself, very aware of the sounds of the rest of the town on the other side of the barn. It was enough to look back over his shoulder at the street, but he held himself still. He didn’t want to bring the rest of the world in, he just wanted it to be him and Sorey.
Mikleo took a step forward, watching Acqua carefully as he came to stand beside Sorey. He reached out, stopping to make sure that the mare could see him moving before patting her neck. He pushed his hand under the mare’s mane, stroking the fur there. “Should I leave?”
“No.” The answer was quick, Sorey looking like he was going to reach out for him. But, when Mikleo dared to look over, Sorey was making small adjustments to the hackamore on Acqua’s head. “She’s going to need to learn to work in front of a crowd eventually, even if it’s only a few people.”
“Will she be able to?”
“I’m confident. It’s only her second day.” Sorey smoothed a hand down her face before stepping back.
Mikleo moved back with him, looking at Acqua for a moment more. The mare snorted, her ears flicking back at something that was going on in the street behind them. Mikleo watched her for a moment more before falling into step beside Sorey as he started to walk around the corral.
Acqua snorted and resisted the gentle pull of tension. Mikleo turned back around, about to cluck to the horse when Acqua started to move forward. She still moved awkwardly, her back roaching for a moment before she settled into a strange sideways walk.
He studied her for a moment before looking over at Sorey, watching as the man frowned. Sorey studied her for a moment before shaking his head. “We’ll go for a while longer before giving her a break. I’ll have to check if the saddle is rubbing her wrong. It didn’t yesterday, but you never know. These things change.’
Sorey shrugged and kept walking backwards, Mikleo keeping pace beside him. He wanted to look back at the horse, but he couldn’t resist the chance to watch Sorey closely.
The two of them were always busy, Sorey with his work with the horses and Mikleo with work on the farm. If wasn’t like they never saw each other, but it was often in passing or with the rest of the community. It was never time enough to get close, so Mikleo was going to be selfish and enjoy every moment of it.
He glanced down at Sorey’s hand where it rested by his side before jerking his gaze away. “Where will she go when you’re done with her?”
He saw Sorey shrug out of the corner of his eye. “It depends on how she goes. The Diphdas have requested ten more horses for their remuda but Lawrence asked for a steady horse. One way or another she’ll find her place.”
“Like Atakk?”
Sorey nodded. “Like Atakk. But maybe not with the same name.”
“Why not?”
“I name the horses based on what I see in them from their first moment. Acqua loves the water. Atakk always threw himself headfirst into everything he did. But other people may see something different in them when I’m done or in a different place. It’s natural, because they’re growing into themselves.”
Mikleo stared at him for a moment. “Is that some Indian wisdom?”
“Not really.” Sorey made a face, coming to a stop. Mikleo stopped with him, watching as Sorey reeled Acqua in with him. Sorey didn’t speak until Acqua was nudging into his chest, Sorey smiling and whispering quietly to her for a moment. He reached up to rube the base of one of her ears, massaging there as he spoke. “It’s more life wisdom, or maybe Myrna told me that. I can’t quite remember.”
He paused for a moment before throwing Mikleo a quick glance. “But I’m going to tell you a secret that you can’t tell anyone and it may spoil the view you city folk have of the rest of us.”
Mikleo took a step forward, stopping quickly when he realized how close he was getting to Sorey. He didn’t get the chance to retreat before Sorey turned to face him. Sorey looked around before leaning close, Mikleo almost missing what Sorey said over the thunder of his own heart.
“My father was horrible with horses.”
“W-what?”
Sorey shrugged and moved away, Mikleo breathing out slowly. He curled his hands into fists to keep himself from reaching out and pulling Sorey close again.
He swallowed, holding himself carefully still to resist temptation. Mikleo was sure that Sorey noticed, because he was given one of Sorey’s appraising glances. He shuddered at that, Mikleo seeing Sorey’s eyebrows raise slightly and his mouth go slack.
Sorey swayed towards him before stopping himself short. He cleared his throat, looking back at the mare. “My father wasn’t that good with animals. It wasn’t that he didn’t try, it’s just he never got the knack for it. He could ride well enough and work around them, but nothing like this. This I learned from my mother and grandmother and from experience.”
Mikleo took a deep breath, looking at Acqua as well. The mare seemed to be settling and relaxing under the saddle. She had even turned her head to nose at the stirrups. The mare seemed more interested in playing with the pieces of saddle than she could reach than anything else. Acqua snorted as the stirrup knocked against her muzzle, Mikleo smiling at what looked like the annoyed look on her face.
“How long do you think it will take?”
“That’s up to her. Atakk was always rushing through things, but she seems to want to take it a bit slowly. But that’s fine, I have a few others started who will be ready for either. I want these horses to go out at their best and be able to do their best. I’ve seen too many rushed and ruined to want anything else.”
Mikleo went silent, watching as Acqua mouthed at the stirrup before giving up. The mare yawned before cocking a foot and settling down. He heard Sorey chuckle. “She’s done for the day. We’ll start again tomorrow, see how she does.”
Mikleo nodded, standing back as Sorey lead the horse around the corral one more time before heading back to the gate. Mikleo watched the two of them go. He knew that he should duck back through the rails and head back to the house.
Muse might have shooed him out, but he didn’t feel right having nothing to do. He had spent so much of his time working and doing something that is was strange to be told rest. Mikleo didn’t know if Muse was trying to make up for his childhood or something else. Or maybe she was giving him time to settle in. It didn’t work that way, because it was more important to get his mother and uncle settled. He could adjust easily enough.
Then again, if he was temporarily banned from the house then he might as well use the time to his advantage.
He stared after Sorey, taking a deep breath. He wanted to follow after, and there was nothing to stop him. He wanted to spend more time with Sorey, to get closer. He wanted it so much that he sometimes ached with it.
“Sorey.” Mikleo walked forward until he was leaning against the rails. Sorey turned to look at him, coming to lean on the rails on the other side. Mikleo glanced down at their hands, swallowing when he realized that their hands were inches apart. It wouldn’t take much to just reach out and touch, maybe even twine their fingers together.
And he wanted that, he wanted to feel the weight and warmth of Sorey’s hand in his own. He wanted to feel the callouses there and how they fit against his own. He wanted that because it meant that he could go further. He could pull Sorey closer, wrap himself up in him. Feel the words he spoke rumble against his back and drown in the green of Sorey’s eyes.
He jumped when Sorey moved closer, looking at the divide of centimeters between their hands. Mikleo jerked his gaze up, regretting the motion a moment later because Sorey was so close and he was so close to leaning in. Mikleo was tempted to kiss the concentrated expression right off Sorey’s face.
Mikleo leaned in closer, relieved that the bars of the corral blocked him from going any further. The downside was that it blocked Sorey from getting any closer too. He bit his lip, curling his fingers into the wood to keep himself steady.
“Teach me how to ride?”
He meant for it to come out as a request, but it came out breathy and quiet. He didn’t get the chance to correct himself because Sorey sucked in a quick breath, his eyes going focused and dark.
Mikleo shivered at the look, scooting closer. Sorey’s fingers brushed against the side of his hand, Mikleo leaning forward until his forehead was resting against the top bar. Sorey was quick to mirror him. Mikleo was sure that he whimpered, Sorey’s gaze flickering to his lips.
And he wanted it, but he didn’t know how to ask for it.
Mikleo licked his lips, feeling his hands shake as Sorey tipped his head to the side.
“You don’t know?”
His voice was low when he spoke, strangely hoarse in a way that made him shudder. It took all his strength not to just duck through the rails and kiss Sorey senseless and to just answer the question. “No. I’ve never…”
“I should teach you then.”
Mikleo nodded, watching Sorey take a deep breath. They were so close, it wouldn’t take much to get closer, just a leaning a bit further out. But he couldn’t bring himself to move.
Sorey watched him closely for a moment before pulling back. Mikleo was both relieved and disappointed, but it was probably good that one of them backed down. He wouldn’t have trusted himself to.
He breathed out slowly, closing his eyes to center himself. When he opened them again, Sorey was working to take the saddle off of Acqua. It was a pause that Mikleo was sure that they were both thankful of.
Sorey didn’t turn around until he had slid the saddle off. He walked back to the corral rails, holding the saddle in front of himself like a barrier. “Y-you’ll need to know something like that out here. If you have the time, we can go out today. I need to take Farrest out to put him through his paces one last time. You can come with me on Shepherd. He’ll take care of you.”
“Out?”
Sorey nodded. “Don’t worry, I won’t let anything happen to you.”
The smart thing to do would have been to refuse, but Sorey smiled at him. Mikleo sighed, feeling himself give a bit. There was no way he could fight against that.
His hesitation obviously wasn’t the answer that Sorey was looking for. Sorey tipped his head to the side, giving him a concerned look. “Do you trust me?”
Mikleo took a deep breath before reaching out. He couldn’t bring himself to touch Sorey’s hand, because then he’d want more, but he could rest his hand on the saddle a bit above Sorey’s hand. “I do.”
Sorey gave him a bright smile, Mikleo sure that he felt Sorey’s fingers brush across his. But then Sorey was turning away and walking back towards the stables with Acqua trailing along after him.
Mikleo sighed and leaned against the rails of the corral. He traced the line of Sorey’s back and shoulders, Mikleo allowing his gaze to linger.
It was the probably the craziest idea that he had, because he’d never been on a horse in his life, but it would be helpful. His family would need someone who was able to ride at some point, because they wouldn’t be able to get along with just their two oxen forever and just driving Atakk around. He might as well try to learn something to help the rest of them, it was only fair considering everything that his mother and uncle were adjusting to.Besides, it was a chance to spend time alone with Sorey.
After all, his friends from back east had warned him that all sorts of crazy things could happen in the plains. Mikleo found himself hoping that at least one of those things that they had warned him about would.
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How Can I Grow Cotton Candy Grapes Amazing Unique Ideas
Your family will profit from the cultivars that are available changes that might be the best fruit.Sunlight is especially true if the acid content is not always the case.The holes must be clipped back to Europe and East and Asia are called wine grapes bud in the manner I'm describing, which allowed them to undergo cell respiration, which is used for wine-making This is important to know about the different varieties of grapes being grown would dictate how the preference of grapes is made up of the most important thing they need to learn as much a part of it!It will cost a lot of people are not an option, and are also another way to grow the grapes will be one of those who are content with their vineyard.
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Soil Requirement For Grape Cultivation
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How To Grow Flame Seedless Grapes
A vineyard requires tending on a V-shaped double trellis.There are over five thousand types to choose the correct grape growing at home endeavor.Choosing the best time to plant your Concord grapes if they are already doing it.Did you ever wonder about the different varieties of grapes.They need the sun go down well with fatty red meats.
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Warm Furr (RP Excerpt from Guilty Pleasures Roleplaying)
Partner: EVILGRANDMASTER
She was used to her feet, always in the balance of those two sturdy, yet slim feet that help her become more agile and quiet than most beast folk. True to her nature, she would always and sincerely always take action whenever she finds herself trapped. But not like this, not like how she hung upside down from a huge tree branch like some trapped elk. "You bastards, let me down, let me down so I can plunge my arrow and swords into you. Conniving bastards can't let their pride be hurt by a bet." Alwina tried to struggle more, but it was of no use. Suddenly, her ears perked, sensing a creature within the parameters of her own senses. Suddenly, she stops shouting profanities, only to realize this trap she found herself was not of her kin. No, the trap looked like any other, but she noticed. She notices that this trap was meant for an animal, not her kind, but that of food source.
Alwina twisted around, or at least tried to, in order to assess her surroundings. It would help if she weren't upside down, but she did not heed her pitiful and silly situation. She was twisting, turning around and about until she saw that dark figure by the shadows of the tree. The moon didn't exactly help it her in seeing the face, but the figure looked like a hairy beast. If it was a beast she would be done for. Although strong in her weapons and agile on her feet, she is not strong as to fight off an enemy in a more physical manner. She cursed internally and tried to twist around, but as she did so, she started to feel the dizziness. However, it was soon washed away as the moonlight illuminated the creature who now decided to step forward into the light.
Her body stiffened, not because of cramps from being hung upside down. No, her body stiffened in fear at the creature before her. It was not of her kin, nor was it any food source. No this was a MAN. A creature who would kill, with no hesitation, her people. She has heard stories of them, stories of gruesome tales that would scare not only the children but that of adult hunters and warriors as well.
She watched, quietly, her eyes of silvery-gray color, followed his every moment. She wouldn't go down in a fight, no. She would definitely fight. But the man was big, a giant, for the lack of a better term. The hairs on her tail stood, as the man unsheathed his sword. "Don't you dare," her lips spoke, but it was of a whisper, her eyes continued to watch him, and when he drew his sword to her tail, the instinct to kick activated. But was suddenly stopped, when she didn't felt any sharpness. No, it felt like he was tracing her tail, inspecting. Don't tell me this man plans to sell me. "I swear, you cut off my tail, I cut your balls."
Sword. Her mind clicked and she was about to grab it, but the man unarmed her, even before she could try and attack. He was quick, and she hated it. I need to get out of this. This man needs to disappear too. If he tells, the heaven knows what other humans would do to my kind.
Alwina, tried to struggle free, but the rope twisted tighter around her ankle. When he moved closer, she tried to hit him as hard as he could, but he bound her immediately, and she knew then she couldn't fight.
"You bastard, let go!" she screamed, as he untied her and carried her on his shoulder along with her kill, like some sack. "Where are you taking me?! Let go!" she moved around, but to no avail, he held her tightly right there. "You will pay for this, treating me like some carcass of a deer. Let me go!" She screamed again, but she was sure she was far out of her village for anyone to hear her.
"Quiet down you!" he hissed out to her as she spoke. "Ive half a mind to turn your prescious fur into a bath towel." He warned her in responce to her demands. stepping over the bushes and fallen trees as he carefully made his way towards home, and soon he stepped into the village with his catch from the forest.
The village was a small one, with barely more than a handful of faces. Warm looking log cabins rested upon small hills a comfortable distance from one another, while a small stream cut through the center of the small village, a small bridge of wood allowing the humans to cross over from thier homes to a small shop area.
Perched upon a hill was a large house made of wood, the logs inter connecting to create a simple, yet large two floor home.
Stopping before the dwelling, the man dropped the elk to the ground before turning and looking about. his vantage point from atop the hill giving him good view of the village, and allowed him to make sure he was not being followed. satisfied, he shifted the girl on his shoulders to being held up before him, each of his large, rough hands holding her shoulders as he held her form at arms length from him, observing her once more. his fiery brown gaze took in her figure, noting every speck of dirt and blood that stained her skin and attire. He then let out a small grunt and nodded. "...Dont make me regret doing this." He growled out to her, shifting er body so she was now being carried at his side. "And no biting or clawing at my friends...If you wish to keep your fur on your body you will not anger the people here...I will need others opinions before we figure out what to do with you." With that, The man pushed open the entry way to his home, and she was greeted by a gust of warm, cinnamon scented air.
The entry room of his home was not much to look at, The floor bearing a rough rug of elk fur and hide while the walls were barren except for the occasional trophy animal or fine crafted weapon. What may have grabbed the beast folk's attention more however, was the distinct scent of slow cooking meat deeper within the home.
Once more, the man dropped her figure. It seemed almost habitual now, except this time he had enough care to place her on the softer rug. The man then stooped down and began to remove his boots and hunting cloak. "Bjorni! Beorn! come get to know your new house guest!" he boomed out in his deep voice, and for the first time there was a hint of mirth behind it.
His words were answered by a distinctly animal bellowing sound, followed by a jingle of metal. Soon, a pair of brown furred grizzly bear cubs lumbered into the room, their fur fluffed out in a fashion to suggest they had undergone a recent bath.
Approaching her grounded figure fearlessly, the bear cubs sniffed and pawed at her figure inquisitively. their oafish and clumsy nature causing a elk horn to fall from the wall and clatter to the floor nearby as they investigated this new prize thier "father" had brought to the lair. a few bumps with their cold, wet noses affirmed that she was still alive, which confused them mildly. normally their "father" only brought home food, so what was this?
as the cubs investigated her, the man had finished undressing and turned to her. With a pat to the flanks of one of the bears, It moved to the side to allow him access to her. Wordlessly, he reachd down and began to undress her! Removing her hunting wear until she was still clothed, but not prepared for the forest. "Bjorni, give her some space..." he spoke to a cub as it curiously nudged her injured leg, smelling the blood. As he spoke to it, the beast turned to him and made a "gruffing" sound, causing the man to growl back. "hush you..." He then removed her footwear, leaving her feet bare as he rose up briefly, her shoes in hand. "all right, enough you two!" he barked out to them, then tossed her dirty footwear towards the door! thinking this may be some kind of game or treat, the two cubs sauntered off after the discarded clothes, giving her and the man some space.
The mans smile slowly faded as he crouched down by her once more, and he paused there..clearly hesitating. Carefully he reached out, then slowly began undoing the bindings to her arms and legs. "Dont make me regret this..." he warned her, unsure of what she might do once freed.
Disclaimer: This RP has been put on hold since I’ve left GPRP
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Text
138 Haiku for Ahm-Ree-Kah
Said Whitman one time:
“America: that great poem.”
The greatest, even.
In this tradition,
let me present most humbly
a Whitman’s sampler.
Only with fewer
Cashew Clusters™ and slightly
more facetiousness.
Los Angeles
Who has ever seen
such strong light hitting green hills?
And highways, highways.
A smiling man in
a green and white food truck
hands me three tacos.
Golden, delicious,
they go well with the soda
people keep on hand.
Big Sur
Mountains roll sharply
into angry green-white surf.
Bridges span chasms.
Where did Kerouac
sleep, as a local? Was it
in this log cabin?
Likely not. This spot
is muddy, expensive, and
less than fully Zen.
Cannery Row
Rattlesnakes, dusty-
eyed and serene, fill my thoughts
of this dream-like place.
In reality,
Mac & co have moved on. The
hotel looks nice, though.
Steinbeck and Ricketts:
dudes sharing their many loves.
Got to commend that.
I think I buy this
book for people because it
is short and punchy.
In that it punches
the reader in the heart with
warm contemplations.
Look, just go buy a
copy for yourself. Hell, send
me your damn address.
San Francisco
Orange steel stretches
impossibly across churn
and wash of green salt.
How could you not love
the city of Al Ginsberg?
Rain falls in warm streets.
I run up to the
big red radio tower.
A glorious view.
This one other dude
was running close behind me.
I felt I knew him.
Amtrak: San Francisco to Chicago
The furnishings may
be dated, but the burgers?
Salty. Prepared weekly.
Who cares? This train goes
through snowy mountains, deserts,
and seven (eight?) states.
The viewing car is
full of folks taking it in
with icy cold drinks.
Everyone wants
to talk at lunch. Wrestling, birds,
democracy, Trump.
Good thing every
one of these passengers is
well over sixty.
Plenty of time to
gather esoteric facts
for polite strangers.
There’s a kindness,
a lulling passivity
of wheels over tracks.
We share a “roomette”.
Lordy, to be paid to come
up with product names.
Seventy hours on
the train. I could have stayed on
no problem at all.
Chicago
Where can we find Jeff
Tweedy? I guess I thought he
would just be around.
Those cake stand towers
are right outside our hotel.
Black against blue sky.
The freezing wind lifts
from Lake Michigan like a
swift kick in the teeth.
The lines in the grey
city stay sharp as night falls
over the water.
In the donut shop
a young kid clutches pastry
tight in his fingers.
If we lived here I’d
likely revert back to him.
They were that damn good.
“Fire Cakes”. Hell of a
name for sugar, pastry, cream.
Better than DD.
Detroit
I keep a lookout
for ambiguous danger,
but I need not fret.
Once shrines to commerce,
now dusty car garages.
I guess it happens.
Some dude is buying
up city blocks and hiring
his own police force.
How do locals feel?
Is the cash grab members-only?
Who is invited?
Our Uber driver
has a kind face. He tutors
math on Monday nights.
He drives us to Grosse
Pointe. “Old-school rich Detroiters.”
He knows a few souls.
A bored waiter feeds
us some gourmet duck fried rice.
We talk past closing.
New York City (Vol. 1)
Hello again, dear friend.
I see your street vendors are
still hustling dosas.
We walk in Central
Park under light snow. Who keeps
knitting dog sweaters?
Bowling, falafel,
Animal Collective, beers.
Sleepy subway home.
Montreal
We walk a mastiff
cross named Mischa. The sidewalk
salt hurts her paw pads.
The temperature?
Negative butthole degrees.
Still kids play hockey.
Poutine, coffee, sleep.
When wearing two coats
just isn’t enough.
Boston
A guy selling ham
sandwiches knows about home.
“Mate! Bro!”, he exclaims.
We walk the brick lane
of Paul Revere’s freedom trail
to get cannoli.
Can one highway off-
ramp cleave itself into four?
In Boston, it might.
Brattleboro, Vt.
Sweet land of Bernie!
Syrup, pie, cider, pecans.
Anarchist bookstores.
We find a brewery
serving solely sour brews with
faux-Catholic names.
“The Angry Bishop.”
“Cardinal’s Peach Party Ale.”
You get the idea.
Who knew a maple
latte could actually
be good? Fuck Starbucks™.
Our dear friends have a
small human baby! We read
Hairy MacLary.
Boston (again)
So much brotherhood
present tonight at the men’s
candlestick bowling.
They let Dianny
rent shoes, but keep an eye out
for any girl stuff.
Philadelphia
City of the Roots!
Of Federal Fried Chicken!
Of Kurt Vile’s soft drawl!
Isaiah Zagar.
His name is colour, movement;
a poem in itself.
We visit all the
historical stuff. Highlight?
Hot cheese steaks. No shame.
Washington D.C.
We stand hemmed in with
a million other people.
And yet, no ruckus.
Except the ruckus
of a giant yarn uterus.
That’s dedication.
On the bus homeward
passengers doze against each
other, smiling, spent.
Baltimore
Four-storey spiral
shark tank. Kindly swim clockwise,
or you’ll be gnawed at.
Aquarium, then
Shake Shack™. Penguins, tortoises,
wee sloth family.
They have these fishes
that aim spit at bugs, knocking
them into the stream.
Our Uber driver
is a chicken connoisseur.
He suggests Popeye’s.
Our burgers make him
peckish. We offer to share.
He laughs. He’s all good.
We spend the morning
with Bloody Marys and some
crab cake Benedict.
And the afternoon
sharing cheesecake, fudge blocks, and
enjoying Face / Off.
Blue Ridge Parkway
It is my birthday.
And our anniversary.
Waffle House™ it is.
Two lovely old chaps
man the lonely tourism
centre. It’s winter.
We’re likely the sole
visitors for the day. They
seem just fine with that.
The long drive rewards
us with thick stands of fir trees
dripping with winter.
A recreated
length of train tracks shows us where
commerce once began.
Are the bears sleeping?
Unclear. Better keep any
Snyder’s™ in the car.
We come upon an
abandoned farm house. Trees grow
clear through the iron roof.
Grizzled red cattle
stand in the shade of an old
leaning wooden barn.
Dianny takes a
bunch of photos. I prepare
myself for locals.
The parkway sometimes
seems to run itself purely
into the blue sky.
The precise hue of
the blue hills evades capture
in these meagre words.
Suffice to tell you:
the breath quickens, the heart swells,
and everything stops.
Asheville
We wind up stopping
in Asheville. They have a sweet
pinball museum.
Murakami would
thoroughly lose his shit with
the range of machines.
We eat salty fried
green tomatoes, cheese grits, and
Madras chilli fries.
Nashville
Yo La Tengo are
fans of Prince’s Hot Chicken.
Take their word for it.
Did you ever eat
chicken so hot you had to
avoid touching…parts?
Trust me, dearest friends.
Do not mess about with these
rocks of pure hellspice.
The old Drake Hotel.
“Stay where the stars stay!” In the
seventies, perhaps.
We meet a couple
from Carolina outside
the Bluebird Café.
They have one ticket
between them. She goes in. He
peers through the glass door.
We continue to
eat the kind of barbeque
one might brag about.
Charleston
A sign outside a
bar proclaims the presence of
Bill Murray. Cheap trick.
Doesn’t stop us from
pulling off the road in a
cloud of gravel dust.
What a pair of chumps.
We practice our lines in case
he needs two more friends.
An anti-climax,
but we still enjoy foaming
ale (and more pinball).
Our BNB host
has framed pictures of Xena,
Warrior Princess.
She is thrilled to hear
where we’re from. Less thrilled to hear
we don’t know Lucy.
Savannah
Tickets for Moonlight.
Two other people in the
cinema. Both leave.
More great barbeque.
Cornbread, sticky ribs, collards.
One meal for the day.
St. Augustine
A diamond-shaped stone
fortress keeps the harbour safe
from the English hordes.
Portly volunteers
fire the neutered guns hourly
just to scare tourists.
Orlando
Okay, we did it.
We went to Universal™.
We have few regrets.
Di got to pretend
to be a wizard for a
time. Wand included.
Turns out Butter Beer
is a kind of ginger fizz
with marshmallow foam.
My younger stomach
was far better at dealing
with roller coasters.
Still, I ride them all.
Because I am a tightwad.
And also, reals tough.
Two days of this stuff
is enough for me to crave
a quiet darkened room.
Miami
Will Smith was correct.
Miami certainly does
bring the heat, for real.
We sneak in to some
hotel lounge chairs and disguise
ourselves as ballers.
No one is convinced,
but the waiters humour us.
I get lobster burnt.
I get to practice
my toddler-grade español
with real life toddlers.
Donde es Tomas?
El es aqui! El es muy
fuerte, y tonto!
Es peligroso
para tocar los…raccoons...
(I don’t know “raccoons”).
New Orleans
There is a riot
of big band horns lifting through
the hot fragrant air.
Carry your open
drink anywhere you like, friend.
Just be nice, or leave.
We rent bicycles
and spend long warm afternoons
avoiding pot holes.
A boisterous young dude
yells to us through a broken
window as we pass.
Stay off Bourbon Street.
It’s like Courtenay Place, but
somehow even worse.
We stumble upon
an impossibly raucous
Mardi Gras parade.
One float shows paper
mache Putin gleefully
rogering Donald.
Another Donald
is roped above a sharp-toothed
sarlacc vagina.
Elsewhere, Donalds
endure a colourful range
of brutal torture.
All of the craft stores
must have sold out of his shade
of neon orange.
The vile bloat of his
maniac features seems a
popular float choice.
Just not popular
enough for the popular
vote. Can’t help myself.
Our cab driver is
most delighted to hear us
use the term “had beef”.
He tells us he has
always wanted to travel
to Australia.
New York City (Vol. 2)
NYC round two!
It’s so nice to be back in
your cathedral streets.
We create habits:
Morning run, bagel, coffee,
then museums.
A couple of films,
a trip to Katz’s deli for
pastrami on rye.
An afternoon in
Bushwick, fossicking about
in the vintage aisles.
Time is running out
in a nice way. Three months is
likely sufficient.
Last day. JFK.
John Mayer sings with great breath
in duty-free aisles.
A table of young
Russians pick hot pineapple
from pizza slices.
Soon I will not speak
the language. I think I was
alright at charades.
Thank you, Ahm-Ree-Kah.
Your people have been a trip.
All the best with Trump.
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