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mostlysignssomeportents · 25 days

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AI is a WMD

I'm in TARTU, ESTONIA! AI, copyright and creative workers' labor rights (TOMORROW, May 10, 8AM: Science Fiction Research Association talk, Institute of Foreign Languages and Cultures building, Lossi 3, lobby). A talk for hackers on seizing the means of computation (TOMORROW, May 10, 3PM, University of Tartu Delta Centre, Narva 18, room 1037).

Fun fact: "The Tragedy Of the Commons" is a hoax created by the white nationalist Garrett Hardin to justify stealing land from colonized people and moving it from collective ownership, "rescuing" it from the inevitable tragedy by putting it in the hands of a private owner, who will care for it properly, thanks to "rational self-interest":

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/04/analytical-democratic-theory/#epistocratic-delusions

Get that? If control over a key resource is diffused among the people who rely on it, then (Garrett claims) those people will all behave like selfish assholes, overusing and undermaintaining the commons. It's only when we let someone own that commons and charge rent for its use that (Hardin says) we will get sound management.

By that logic, Google should be the internet's most competent and reliable manager. After all, the company used its access to the capital markets to buy control over the internet, spending billions every year to make sure that you never try a search-engine other than its own, thus guaranteeing it a 90% market share:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/21/im-feeling-unlucky/#not-up-to-the-task

Google seems to think it's got the problem of deciding what we see on the internet licked. Otherwise, why would the company flush $80b down the toilet with a giant stock-buyback, and then do multiple waves of mass layoffs, from last year's 12,000 person bloodbath to this year's deep cuts to the company's "core teams"?

https://qz.com/google-is-laying-off-hundreds-as-it-moves-core-jobs-abr-1851449528

And yet, Google is overrun with scams and spam, which find their way to the very top of the first page of its search results:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/24/passive-income/#swiss-cheese-security

The entire internet is shaped by Google's decisions about what shows up on that first page of listings. When Google decided to prioritize shopping site results over informative discussions and other possible matches, the entire internet shifted its focus to producing affiliate-link-strewn "reviews" that would show up on Google's front door:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/24/naming-names/#prabhakar-raghavan

This was catnip to the kind of sociopath who a) owns a hedge-fund and b) hates journalists for being pain-in-the-ass, stick-in-the-mud sticklers for "truth" and "facts" and other impediments to the care and maintenance of a functional reality-distortion field. These dickheads started buying up beloved news sites and converting them to spam-farms, filled with garbage "reviews" and other Google-pleasing, affiliate-fee-generating nonsense.

(These news-sites were vulnerable to acquisition in large part thanks to Google, whose dominance of ad-tech lets it cream 51 cents off every ad dollar and whose mobile OS monopoly lets it steal 30 cents off every in-app subscriber dollar):

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2023/04/saving-news-big-tech

Now, the spam on these sites didn't write itself. Much to the chagrin of the tech/finance bros who bought up Sports Illustrated and other venerable news sites, they still needed to pay actual human writers to produce plausible word-salads. This was a waste of money that could be better spent on reverse-engineering Google's ranking algorithm and getting pride-of-place on search results pages:

https://housefresh.com/david-vs-digital-goliaths/

That's where AI comes in. Spicy autocomplete absolutely can't replace journalists. The planet-destroying, next-word-guessing programs from Openai and its competitors are incorrigible liars that require so much "supervision" that they cost more than they save in a newsroom:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/29/what-part-of-no/#dont-you-understand

But while a chatbot can't produce truthful and informative articles, it can produce bullshit – at unimaginable scale. Chatbots are the workers that hedge-fund wreckers dream of: tireless, uncomplaining, compliant and obedient producers of nonsense on demand.

That's why the capital class is so insatiably horny for chatbots. Chatbots aren't going to write Hollywood movies, but studio bosses hyperventilated at the prospect of a "writer" that would accept your brilliant idea and diligently turned it into a movie. You prompt an LLM in exactly the same way a studio exec gives writers notes. The difference is that the LLM won't roll its eyes and make sarcastic remarks about your brainwaves like "ET, but starring a dog, with a love plot in the second act and a big car-chase at the end":

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/01/how-the-writers-guild-sunk-ais-ship/

Similarly, chatbots are a dream come true for a hedge fundie who ends up running a beloved news site, only to have to fight with their own writers to get the profitable nonsense produced at a scale and velocity that will guarantee a high Google ranking and millions in "passive income" from affiliate links.

One of the premier profitable nonsense companies is Advon, which helped usher in an era in which sites from Forbes to Money to USA Today create semi-secret "review" sites that are stuffed full of badly researched top-ten lists for products from air purifiers to cat beds:

https://housefresh.com/how-google-decimated-housefresh/

Advon swears that it only uses living humans to produce nonsense, and not AI. This isn't just wildly implausible, it's also belied by easily uncovered evidence, like its own employees' Linkedin profiles, which boast of using AI to create "content":

https://housefresh.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/05/Advon-AI-LinkedIn.jpg

It's not true. Advon uses AI to produce its nonsense, at scale. In an excellent, deeply reported piece for Futurism, Maggie Harrison Dupré brings proof that Advon replaced its miserable human nonsense-writers with tireless chatbots:

https://futurism.com/advon-ai-content

Dupré describes how Advon's ability to create botshit at scale contributed to the enshittification of clients from Yoga Journal to the LA Times, "Us Weekly" to the Miami Herald.

All of this is very timely, because this is the week that Google finally bestirred itself to commence downranking publishers who engage in "site reputation abuse" – creating these SEO-stuffed fake reviews with the help of third parties like Advon:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/05/03/keyword-swarming/#site-reputation-abuse

(Google's policy only forbids site reputation abuse with the help of third parties; if these publishers take their nonsense production in-house, Google may allow them to continue to dominate its search listings):

https://developers.google.com/search/blog/2024/03/core-update-spam-policies#site-reputation

There's a reason so many people believed Hardin's racist "Tragedy of the Commons" hoax. We have an intuitive understanding that commons are fragile. All it takes is one monster to start shitting in the well where the rest of us get our drinking water and we're all poisoned.

The financial markets love these monsters. Mark Zuckerberg's key insight was that he could make billions by assembling vast dossiers of compromising, sensitive personal information on half the world's population without their consent, but only if he kept his costs down by failing to safeguard that data and the systems for exploiting it. He's like a guy who figures out that if he accumulates enough oily rags, he can extract so much low-grade oil from them that he can grow rich, but only if he doesn't waste money on fire-suppression:

https://locusmag.com/2018/07/cory-doctorow-zucks-empire-of-oily-rags/

Now Zuckerberg and the wealthy, powerful monsters who seized control over our commons are getting a comeuppance. The weak countermeasures they created to maintain the minimum levels of quality to keep their platforms as viable, going concerns are being overwhelmed by AI. This was a totally foreseeable outcome: the history of the internet is a story of bad actors who upended the assumptions built into our security systems by automating their attacks, transforming an assault that wouldn't be economically viable into a global, high-speed crime wave:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/04/24/automation-is-magic/

But it is possible for a community to maintain a commons. This is something Hardin could have discovered by studying actual commons, instead of inventing imaginary histories in which commons turned tragic. As it happens, someone else did exactly that: Nobel Laureate Elinor Ostrom:

https://www.onthecommons.org/magazine/elinor-ostroms-8-principles-managing-commmons/

Ostrom described how commons can be wisely managed, over very long timescales, by communities that self-governed. Part of her work concerns how users of a commons must have the ability to exclude bad actors from their shared resources.

When that breaks down, commons can fail – because there's always someone who thinks it's fine to shit in the well rather than walk 100 yards to the outhouse.

Enshittification is the process by which control over the internet moved from self-governance by members of the commons to acts of wanton destruction committed by despicable, greedy assholes who shit in the well over and over again.

It's not just the spammers who take advantage of Google's lazy incompetence, either. Take "copyleft trolls," who post images using outdated Creative Commons licenses that allow them to terminate the CC license if a user makes minor errors in attributing the images they use:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/01/24/a-bug-in-early-creative-commons-licenses-has-enabled-a-new-breed-of-superpredator/

The first copyleft trolls were individuals, but these days, the racket is dominated by a company called Pixsy, which pretends to be a "rights protection" agency that helps photographers track down copyright infringers. In reality, the company is committed to helping copyleft trolls entrap innocent Creative Commons users into paying hundreds or even thousands of dollars to use images that are licensed for free use. Just as Advon upends the economics of spam and deception through automation, Pixsy has figured out how to send legal threats at scale, robolawyering demand letters that aren't signed by lawyers; the company refuses to say whether any lawyer ever reviews these threats:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/02/13/an-open-letter-to-pixsy-ceo-kain-jones-who-keeps-sending-me-legal-threats/

This is shitting in the well, at scale. It's an online WMD, designed to wipe out the commons. Creative Commons has allowed millions of creators to produce a commons with billions of works in it, and Pixsy exploits a minor error in the early versions of CC licenses to indiscriminately manufacture legal land-mines, wantonly blowing off innocent commons-users' legs and laughing all the way to the bank:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/02/commafuckers-versus-the-commons/

We can have an online commons, but only if it's run by and for its users. Google has shown us that any "benevolent dictator" who amasses power in the name of defending the open internet will eventually grow too big to care, and will allow our commons to be demolished by well-shitters:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/04/teach-me-how-to-shruggie/#kagi

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/05/09/shitting-in-the-well/#advon

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

Catherine Poh Huay Tan (modified) https://www.flickr.com/photos/68166820@N08/49729911222/

Laia Balagueró (modified) https://www.flickr.com/photos/lbalaguero/6551235503/

CC BY 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/

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becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys · 11 months

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Hi! Big fan :) You're an environmental lecturer, right? I recently got into a debate with someone about rewilding in the UK, and the clash with farmers and agriculture. To me, this is a no-brainer - I absolutely do feel for farmers losing their livelihoods, and I think there needs to be a system to help them transition to something else, but also, the planet is dying. But you explain things well, so I wondered if you have thoughts? Particularly on the Welsh side of things. Thank you in advance!

Hah. I literally have a lecture on this. Or, well, a chunk of a lecture, anyway; so yes! I have thoughts. I'll use those notes, and stick a big reference at the end in case you want to read more

I'll talk about this specifically from the Welsh perspective, okay so:

The rewilding project in Wales is the Cambrian Wildwood, launched in 2004ish by a guy who bought an abandoned farm in the northern end of Mid Wales with the express intention of rewilding it. The aim is to convert some 7000 acres, and the initial mission statement said they'd reintroduce wolves and lynx. That's the project I'm going to talk about, because it's a great case study for how to spectacularly fuck something up (and eventually realise you've spectacularly fucked up, and do something about it.)

These are the Cambrian Mountains:

When looking at that, there are two competing viewpoints that are relevant here:

The Cambrians are ecologically depleted. Their biodiversity has crashed since the Second World War, when modern farming methods were introduced. Environmentally, there is a perception of emptiness and degradation.

The landscape is a glorious one that has been shaped by the human actions taken on it for generations, as we are a shepherding culture – culture and land are inextricably intertwined.

That's a big fundamental difference! Two people can look at that same photo, and see something diametrically opposed. But there's more lying on it, so you also need to understand the socio-political background.

Socio-Political Background

(I know! Headings! So professional)

A lot of rewilding – Cambrian Wildwood included – is taking place in areas where farming is declining for various political/socio-economic reasons, so this can be ENTIRELY FAIRLY seen as yet another threat. This goes hand in hand with rural migration and community decline, too.

In Wales, we’re mostly rural, and characterised by extensive upland livestock farming (sheep in particular). Most farms are small to medium family-run setups. ON TOP OF THAT, the vast majority of Welsh farmers are Welsh-speaking, and the right to operate a farm the ‘traditional’ way without UK government oversight is seen by Welsh Nationalists as an important post-colonial act.

Many of them didn’t even like the National Parks being set up, as they were seen as an English outsider imposition that ignored the working nature and cultural history of the land. Remember: the farmed uplands are often seen as a heartland of Welsh identity, and those have historically been intentionally destroyed by UK central government land management decisions (e.g. Tryweryn, Elan, Claerwen, etc)

“Over the past half century we have witnessed the arrival of countless environmental fundamentalists… seemingly oblivious to the fact that their new-found paradise is already occupied by people whose connection with the land is deep rooted, dates back thousands of years, and is embedded in their language and culture.” (Nick Fenwick [Farmers’ Union of Wales] 2013)

SO IT’S CULTURALLY DICEY

(And in my opinion an incredibly stupid idea to go and give it a primarily English name with a Welsh translation as an afterthought but that is Elanor’s Opinion and not Scientific Fact)

(But fr fr if you ever have to get involved in these sorts of projects you will go a long way if you have the basic respect of learning the Welsh names and pronouncing them right rather than lazily expecting everything to be in English sorry sorry I digress)

From the Cambrian Wildwood’s Mission Statement on their website, their objective is:

“To rewild or restore land to a wilder state to create a functioning ecosystem where natural processes dominate by carrying out habitat restoration, removing domestic livestock, and introducing missing native species as far as feasible.”

Can you see the controversial bit of the statement

Can you see the bit where they directly say they want to remove domestic livestock

Jesus Christ

Cultural Differences

AND THEN HERE'S THE BIGGER PROBLEM

‘Culture’ in Welsh is diwylliant – literally, a ‘lack of wildness’. There is no direct translation into Welsh for the term ‘rewilding’ – the closest you can get is anialwch or diffeithwch, which mean ‘wilderness’ in the sense of ‘desert’ or ‘wasteland’. So right off the bat, if you tell a Welsh-speaking farmer that you want to rewild the place, what they hear is "We want to make it dangerous and empty and degraded."

A related concept is cynefin - knowing one’s ‘patch’ and the feeling of belonging associated. The term has its roots as a description of the way grazing animals know their area of mountain land, but it is also used to describe how people come to form an intimate experiential knowledge of place - and specifically, a Welsh farmer's cultural attitude.

Basically, Welsh literature and oral traditions speak of a relationship with the land, not a separation and longing for an untouched wilderness. Farmers feel this especially keenly. Culturally, this is a big part of why they do it – they’re rooted to the land, and therefore to their identities.

“Interviewees conveyed this by referring to areas proposed for rewilding as being comprised of “a quilt of cynefinoedd: interwoven stories, the layered and collective place-making of families and individuals over-generations, co-constituted with the physical landscape” (Wynne-Jones, Holmes and Strouts, 2018)

So, to them, rewilding is erasing and disregarding these stories. To them, this is not just a land-use change, but the latest colonial attack. They've known the family who lived on that farm for generations - every birth, marriage, death, joy, triumph, loss, everything. You are saying that you are going to strip that family, all those stories, all those people out of that land, to be forgotten.

…

However. There is a counterpoint to this.

Many farmers taking this view have therefore identified themselves as the only “truly Welsh” people in the debate, accusing environmentalists as being outsiders. The problem with this being, most of the environmentalists involved with the project are also Welsh; so who the fuck are they to say who is or is not Truly Welsh? It's what we on the internet would recognise as gatekeeping, with a big side order of No True Scotsman fallacy.

Also this quote sums it up well:

“Sheep farming in this country goes back a few hundred years. I think if you go deep enough into our culture and ancestry, we have a really deep native relationship with wild forest areas and with the wild animals that are native to this country…I just don’t agree that sheep farming is really part of our traditional culture.” (WWLF Interview [15] 2016) (Wynne-Jones, Holmes and Strouts, 2018)

This is also a fair point. It is true that upland sheep farming, the way we now practice it, is only a few hundred years old, and at the current intensity only a few decades (since WW2).

On top of which, there has been plenty of exploration over the years of farmers as being a government-subsidised landed gentry, which I won't go into here, but it also contains some fair points.

In truth, all of it and none of it is true. It’s far more complex and nuanced than either side might want to believe.

Solutions So Far

This is an ongoing project and they're still learning and changing new things and stuff, but a big thing they did was get someone in to basically be a mediator and listen to both sides, because Jesus, those sides were not listening to each other.

But to date:

They actually worked with a first-language Welsh speaker (WHY DID THEY NOT DO THIS FIRST I'm sorry I'm fine). Originally the Welsh translation of the project was Tir Gwyllt – wild land. But given that Welsh connotations with gwyllt are something out of control or dangerous, Coetir Anian has been chosen – anian refers to a sense of natural order and creation, a sense of health and vitality. Similarly, ‘rewilding’ is being translated as ‘di-ddofi’ – ‘de-taming’. This acknowledges the labour and culture taken to tame it, and just suggests an avenue for discussing some relaxation of farming practice in appropriate locations rather than, you know, releasing packs of wolves directly into sheep pens

In online materials and in community engagement events where traditional storytellers and musicians have performed to celebrate the Wildwood, the trustees have drawn heavily from Welsh myth in the form of the Mabinogion. Enormous amounts of the Mab lovingly and respectfully feature wild woods and wild animals. The emphasis is therefore on how wilderness is also part of Welsh identity – and arguably a much older part, going back to the Celts. (This is clever, in my view, but something to approach with care - it's rarely a good idea to play the game of "What's the most Welsh". But so far it's been done sensitively)

Land purchased for the project has so far been wholly limited to that available in the public domain. The main site, Bwlch Corog, was empty and unfarmed for six years before purchase, which has been stressed in all media interviews and releases; this is important, because farmers do have a sense of "Productive land is being stolen by environmentalists".

Large predator reintroductions have largely been abandoned. Lynx and wolves are no longer on the agenda. It’s possible they’ll be included in the future, but it is acknowledged as currently impractical (both from clashes with farmers and lack of habitat).

Instead, they’ve supported smaller species reintroductions, such as the Vincent Wildlife Trust’s pine marten translocations, and some proposed red squirrel ones.

Bwlch Corog is to be managed as an experimental plot that farmers are encouraged to engage with.

Assessing the potential for new income streams (from improved tourism and educational activities) rather than just the ecological benefits – this has become central to the project, and the emphasis is on how this might benefit farming communities and keep them together. This has been huge, and has also been successful in rewilding schemes in Europe.

Tensions are a lot lower now than they were ten years ago, but ultimately the problem was a bunch of outsiders came in and decided they knew best without listening to anyone else's point of view, and that meant both sides really dug their heels in. Much better now.

Ultimately... yes, I am in favour of rewilding, in a general sense. But I think it needs to go hand in hand with supplying farmers with the necessary subsidies to transition back to more traditional and sustainable farming methods, and the two elements run side by side. You can't do one without the other, not if you want them to succeed. The Pontbren Project is a great case study for how a farmer-led scheme can successfully aid them economically while also improving environmental outcomes, and we need to learn and incorporate more lessons from it when discussing this kind of landscape-level management.

Also, with land management in general, I think you're a fucking idiot and dangerously arrogant if you think you can get anything done without all stakeholders being on board. And potentially wandering down the ecofascism path, circumstances dependent.

Anyway, those are my thoughts. Source:

Wynne-Jones, S, Holmes, G & Strouts, G (2018), 'Abandoning or Reimagining a Cultural Heartland? Understanding and Responding to Rewilding Conflicts in Wales - the case of the Cambrian Wildwood.' Environmental Values, vol. 27, no. 4.

#asks #environment!#long post

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ohbo-ohno · 7 months

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Please please bo sort a girl out with Ghoap x Reader in an abandoned farm 🤪🤪

1k game here - no more please!

@luminousbeings-crudematter my beloved!!! idk if tumblr gives you a notif when i post an ask you sent so im tagging you just in case lol. also you said "unhinged texas chainsaw massacre" and i tried my best but i've never seen that movie :')

3.8k of ghoap x reader ft. ghost and soap hunting down their newest pet in a corn maze (cw: rough noncon sex, kinda puppy play? super light) this is mostly soap x reader, sorry!!

The collar is heavy around your neck, making every breath difficult as you pant. Your lungs seize in your chest when you stumble through the corn maze, desperate for any light at the end of the tunnel.

It doesn't come, but you push on anyways.

The corn is rough against your arms and legs, your body vulnerable to the rough stalks with so many tears in your clothes. Everything hurts - your feet from the rough ground, your throat from all the screaming, your stomach from pure fear and adrenaline. You're too blinded from terror to focus on any of that, the only thought in your head to go go go go get away.

The roar of a chainsaw is loud somewhere to your right. You nearly fall to your knees at the sound, windmilling your eyes to keep yourself steady. A loud, manic laugh echoes from the same direction, and your legs nearly give out.

Fuck, he's right there.

You can't think about how close the sound is, can't focus on how you swear you can see the corn moving, you can only run.

The stalks split in front of you, and you stumble into a clearing. You freeze, feet stopped right on the border of the new area. You bounce onto your toes, like you'd been tugged to a stop before exposing yourself.

The clearing is empty accept for an old tractor, sitting in the center of the grass. It's just a large enough circle that you'd be exposed for several seconds if you tried to reach it, totally clear if anyone was in the stalks.

But... you could hide there, couldn't you? The machine looks massive from your vantage point, there's surely a place to hide there.

It feels cruel to leave your fellow victims to the killers hunting them down, but you know that you have to try and save yourself before trying to help someone else.

You take a deep breath as you sink back to your heels, crouching a little lower in the corn to see if you can spot any movement around the perimeter.

The chainsaw revs again, and someone screams.

Your decision is made for you. The sound of death sends you forward, instinct making you move.

The dirt is rough beneath your feet, small rocks sticking into the soft parts of your sole and offsetting your run. You try your best to keep your balance, eyes trained on the tractor and the small space you know you can squeeze in.

It's silent but for the sound of your own panting, blood rushing through your ears, nothing but that perceived safety in your mind.

Just as you start to ready your legs to launch yourself up to the seat, legs tensing, you're shoved away. Your breath is forced from your lungs as you hit the ground, dirt and rocks shoved into your arms as you roll.

"Ah!" You cry out, forced to your stomach as you roll. It takes a minute to recognize what's happened, for it to click in your mind that someone's there.

It's too late by the time you realize.

You still try to get away, some animal part of you knowing that it's dangerous to stay down.

You manage to get to your knees, eyes darting wildly to spot whoever's tackled you, to know what direction to run. But the field is empty, and you're already moving before you think to look behind you.

It costs you, because you hardly get a step away before you're shoved to the ground again, your attacker staying over your body.

"Where you goin'?" The man rumbles in your ear, his chest pressed to your back and lips against your ear. He nips the shell of your ear and your eyes fly open, face shoved into the dirt.

Hardly a foot away, a chainsaw rests in the dirt. Blood drenches the blade, slowly dripping into a puddle beneath the weapon. It makes you whimper, trying to squirm away from the killer above you.

"No, no, no," he purrs, nosing his way to your cheek and just leaning there, pressing his smile into your skin, his voice rumbling through your back. "Down, pup, c'mon, you're caught. No point in runnin'."

"Please-" you gasp, neck arching to try and get away. "Please, please, please-"

He makes a sound that's somewhere between a laugh and a grunt. "Please, please, please?" His voice pitches up in a mocking tone, a horrible imitation of yours. "You a broken record, lass? Only wanna say the same thing? Come on, tha's no fun, gimme something new."

You shout, the sound caught somewhere between a cough and a sob, hands stretching forward and clawing at the earth. "Please!"

He truly laughs now, a sharp noise in your ear. He stretches himself up above you, chest lifting and hips pushing into yours so that your legs are pinned. All you can do it try to drag yourself forward, hot tears beginning to fall as you're held down in the same place.

"Guess it does sound good from your lips," he muses. He shifts behind you, knees squeezing to either side of your hips and hands reaching so he can grab your elbows.

"Look'it you," he tsks, bending forward to lace your hands together. You cry out at the feeling of being covered, his chest above your head. "Ruinin' your pretty nails, and for what?"

Your head drops to the ground, sobs tearing your throat to shreds as spit falls from your lips. You feel bile working in your stomach, that horrible tension beneath your tongue like you're about to throw up.

"I can't-" you gasp, panic clawing at your mind. You know this man is going to kill you, that he's going to make it hurt, and every part of you rebels at just the thoughts. You can't stop fighting, can't stop trying to get away from him even with the weight holding you down.

"Can't what?" He hums, shifting to kneel above you so that he's not nearly suffocating you. "Can't go anywhere? Naw, bonnie, you're not goin' anywhere now. Caught you fair and square, didn't I?"

There's a part of you that screams to try and argue, to take a deep breath and settle to see if you can make some sort of deal, but the bigger part of you can't calm down, can't do anything but try and shove yourself out from the maniac above you.

"Plus, if I let you go runnin' off you might get caught by Simon." His arms settle on your shoulders and you can't help but yelp, ducking your head low to try and protect your neck. "Then I'd lose. You want that? Thought we were closer than that, lass."

You sob, teeth clenched tight. You don't fucking know the man, you don't know whoever Simon is, you just want to go home.

"That's what I thought," he hums. "Now," he pushes up, and your arms and torso are free as he settles back to rest his weight on your thighs. "I think you and I have some time to play, hm? Before Simon catches us both."

You don't- you don't know what he means, and it's hard to breathe past the fear. It clicks when his hands move to your hips, gripping them tightly.

"Wait," you gasp, eyes flying wide when his fingers creep beneath the hem of your jeans. "Wait, stop-"

"Oh, look at that," he laughs, hands shoving further down until his palms wrap around your thighs. "Learned some new words, baby?"

Your eyes squeeze as your feet kick against the dirt, unable to find any traction without shoes. Scrabbling so frantically only to stay right where you're pinned only serves to work you up more, to make your heart race faster.

"You're warm," he hums, kneading at your thighs and using his wrists to force the pants down, slowly revealing more and more of your skin to the cold night air. "Gonna warm me up, lass?"

"No," you hiss, the realization of what he's going to do sinking in. Your pants are pulled down to mid thigh, keeping your thighs from spreading and leaving your backside on display. "Stop- I'll- don't you dare-"

He laughs again, landing a harsh smack to your vulnerable ass. You cut your begging off with a yelp, hips rocketing into the ground to try and escape the sting when he lands another slap.

"You tryin' to boss me around? Real cute, pup, but you don't have a leg to stand on. Stuck pinned in the dirt and still tryin' to be in charge?" He laughs again, blows shifting from slaps to taps, jiggling the fat of your ass. "Cute, bonnie. Real cute."

You fold an arm beneath your face, try to use the other to force yourself up. "Stop fucking- stop hitting me, you bastard!"

"Oh!" He cackles, his lap slap almost bruising in it's force. "She's got some spine, huh? Maybe you'll be more fun than I thought."

You snarl into the dirt, legs kicking up behind you to try and hit his back. He's too high up on your thighs o reach, and you end up kicking the air like a toddler throwing a tantrum. It only fuels your anger, makes you feel more stuck.

"Keep fightin', bonnie." He presses himself closer to your face, and you catch a glimpse of sharp teeth from your peripheral, his smile sharp. "Makes it more fun for me. Think you'll tighten up if you kick kickin' and screamin'?"

You scream, a primal sound straight from the gut as you throw your head back and to the side, trying to hit him. You somehow manage it, but you hurt yourself just as much. You cry out at the sudden pain in the back of your skull, crumbling back to the ground.

There's a loud moan over your shoulder, and his hips press into yours. He's hard to your horror, his length pressing against the softness of your ass. "Fuck, that felt good."

God, the man is disturbed.

Your attempted attack doesn't stop him from hooking his fingers in your underwear, tugging them down to rest in the crease where your thighs meet your ass.

"Pretty," he purrs, hands stroking from your rips to your jeans, hands pushing hard enough to make you whine. His treatment is all too rough, like he's trying to mold you into the shape he wants. "Can't wait to get my dick in you," he groans, groping you.

"Nooo," you whine, trying to push yourself into the dirt, like it might open you up and swallow you whole, help you escape the horror you can't do anything to stop. "You can't- you can't fuck me, please, don't-"

He moans again, and you hear the clinking of a belt being undone. "Fuck, say it again for me."

Your eyes squeeze shut. You want to be anywhere else, anywhere but here.

You feel the heat of his cock against your ass, and tears sting in your eyes. You taste dirt against your lips, feel your palms sluggishly bleed from the scrapes against the rough ground. You try to focus on everything but what the killer's doing to you, but's impossible

His palm cups your center, fingers wrapping around your vulva and holding firmly. You flinch when his middle finger works between your folds, coming to rest on your clit.

"Need to get you wet," he mumbles, starting to work at the nub to coax some pleasure out of your body. "Simon wouldn't like it if I made you bleed." He snorts, then corrects, "Well, bleeding down there. Won't be shocked if he wants to carve you up a bit."

You shiver, focused too much on staying stiff and keeping your mind as far away as possible to put off the inevitable. What he says doesn't even properly click in your mind, floating in one ear and out the other.

"There we go," he purrs, palm growing slick as your body warms to him unwillingly. He grunts as he shifts to use both hands, one focusing on your clit and the other coming back to tease at your hole.

Two fingers slip in without warning and you yelp at the sudden stretch, hips bucking back instinctively and forcing the fingers further. Your moan is pulled from your chest, part pleasure and part pain.

"You want more lass? Here, don't mind stretching you out."

The third finger comes too soon, too suddenly, and the sting edges too close to pain for you to feel good, even unwillingly.

He's got no patience at all, fingers spreading inside of you while his thumb works furiously at your clit. The mix of good and bad leaves your head clouded, tears slowing as your mind starts to float away a bit.

He moans against your back, face pressed into your shoulder. "Feel so tight, bonnie. Can't wait til you're wrapped around me, wet and tight... fuck, can't wait much longer..."

His teeth press into you throw the fabric of your shirt, the bite only slightly blunted. You breath stutters out of your chest, lips shaking. You want to fight, tell yourself that you should bite and claw and scream, but he's already proven to you that he'd only enjoy that. All you can do is lie in the dirt, lamp and shaking.

Despite all your fear and your hatred for the man over you, you wish he'd stretched you out more.

"Gotta get inside of ya," he grunts, tugging his fingers out with a terribly wet sound. You can hear him sucking your wetness off of them as he shifts further up, letting his hard length rest between your thighs. "Don't... God, you taste good, don't wanna stretch you out too much. You get it, yeah bonnie?"

You whine forlornly, turning your head to the side. You can see him over your shoulder - tall and broad, brown hair in a... mohawk?, bright teeth shown off in a smile. He ducks down while he fists his cock, dipping himself into your wetness.

Wet lips press a kiss to your cheek, a trail of that wetness left against your face. When he pulls back you see the blood dripping from his nose, sniffle at the realization that he's left his own blood over your face.

"Look pretty in red," he whispers, tone oddly soft. It tugs another tear out of you, dripping down the bridge of your nose. His free hand comes up to your face, running a finger through the tear track and sucking the drop off his fingertip. "Taste good everywhere, love."

Your eyes close when he notches himself at your hole, pressing in just enough for you to feel the stretch. He's massive, and the prospect of him shoving himself fully inside of you... you shudder, trying to loosen yourself as much as you can.

He's not kind when he pushes in. You're not sure why you hoped he would be, not with the blood-soaked chainsaw still in your line of sight. But the sudden fullness, the sting, the stretch, draws a high cry from your lips.

His groan nearly drowns out your sounds, your walls spasming around him to try and adjust. You hate that it feels so good for him when you feel like you can hardly breathe around him.

"Feels so good," he moans, words hardly enunciated, thick accent only thickened by his pleasure. You can hardly understand him, far too upset to bother translating him in your head.

"Can't-" he pants, hips jerking out just a few inches only to buck back into yours, pushing as far inside as he can. "Can't come, but can get you off, yeah?"

There's a part of you that's confused by that, that wonders what the fuck he's talking about, but a much larger part of you is focused on the slow drag inside of you.

It would feel better if you were a little wetter, a little more stretched out, but you can't change those things. You relax, try to force your body to cooperate just to make things easier. You try to lean into the parts that do feel good - the way his cock drags against all the most sensitive parts of you, the slap of his balls against your clit - and sink into that pleasant feeling instead of the adrenaline still lingering in your veins.

He doesn't speak when he fucks into you, forehead pressed into your shoulder blade as he starts to drive you truly insane. It starts feeling good quickly enough for you to forget the pain, the horror, and you gladly fall into the oblivion creeping over your mind.

It's good, as horrible as it is to think. The bastard knows what he's doing.

It's some indeterminate amount of time later when you hear the stalks shifting again, eyes flying open just in time to see a man step into the clearing.

The man over you moans when the stranger gets closer, turning his head to the side. His hips buck into you even more roughly, your thighs beginning to ache from the force.

"Simon," he calls out, and it clicks in your head.

The new man is masked and wearing all black, and you recognize him as the other killer hunting you through the maze. His mask is just as terrifying from close up as it was when you first glanced over your shoulder while running, the sight of him in the distance almost floating while surrounded by shadows.

"Bein' good, Johnny?" He rumbles, boots stopping next to the chainsaw and toeing it away.

"Yes, sir," the man over you - Johnny - grunts, thrusts erratic. "Left-left the ring on, haven't come, promise."

There's a hum from above you, the man crouching down. "Good boy. Woulda had to ruin your fun if you got yourself off."

He whines at that, and you can't help but furrow your eyebrows. The man above you going from cocky and terrifying asshole to whining and moaning above you doesn't fit with the image you'd had in your head.

"I ken. 'S why I didn't take it off, ye bawbag." Johnny's voice shakes a bit as he switches to grinding against you, hips pressed flush with yours. The sudden pressure against your clit and so deep inside of you leaves you moaning, eyes rolling back. The peak of an orgasm is right there, just out of reach, and you reach for it desperately.

"Watch it," Simon scolds, shifting forward to his knees and reaching far enough to slap Johnny, the sound echoing through the silent clearing. Your eyes fly open, instinctually flinching away.

Simon's head tilts down to you, ignoring Johnny's whine. His gloved hand comes down to rest on your face, gripping your chin and lifting enough to get a good look at your face.

"Pretty thing," he says, giving your face a little shake before letting you drop to the ground. You can't even begin to care so close to the edge, focus solely on getting off

"'S what I said."

"Hmm. Why don't you go ahead and get the poor pup off? Looks like she's cockdrunk enough as is, might as well get her the whole way there before we take her home."

"With pleasure, sir."

It's hard to focus after that point. Johnny's hand tunnels beneath your stomach and to your clit, working his hips in full thrusts and rubbing you so perfectly. It takes hardly any time at all to get you off, the perfect mix of sensations sending you flying over that edge.

You're not sure what happens between the time when you come and when Johnny pulls out. Your vision nearly whites out, moving away from the scrapes and bruises and into the pleasure gripping every muscle. It's so much easier to lean into the good than the bad, to pretend the warmth is just the pleasure instead of the man at your back.

You're brought back into the real world by the feeling of something being wrapped around your neck, left just tight enough for you to jerk, panicked you couldn't breathe.

"Hush, pup," Simon shushes when you jerk up, eyes flying wide. "Just givin' you your collar. Makin' sure anyone who spots you can take you right home, hm?"

Johnny tugs you up as Simon speaks, grip just a tad too rough on your shoulders when he pulls you up to your knees. You're still a bit out of it as he tucks your jeans and underwear up, dick hard and slick against the small of your back.

The fear comes back as you're brought to your feet by Simon, hands on your elbows tugging you up. You're unsteady on your feet, knees almost knocking together while you blearily blink up at the masked man.

The sound of metal clinking together, a small yank against your neck, is what brings you fully back into your skin. Simon clips a leash to your collar and then Johnny's, matching pink and blue leads that make your eyebrows furrow.

Johnny - shirtless, drenched in blood - smiles at you, teeth stained with his own blood.

"Come on," Simon rumbles, a sudden tug against your throat nearly sending you to your feet. "Need to get you home, pup."

Johnny catches you before you can fall, laughing as he helps you up. The sight of a black studded collar at his throat jars you, fingers lifting to feel at the fabric around your throat. It's not studded, just a soft leather with a thick ring at the front where the leash connects.

"Looks good on you," Johnny compliments, guiding you to stumble along behind Simon as the man leads you both away, into one of the entrances to the maze.

"What..." your throat is rough and you cough, heartbeat picking up. "What're you doing?"

Johnny's smile is a little condescending, almost herding you forward by staying half behind you. "Takin' you home, lass. You're the last one alive. You make a pretty final girl, bonnie."

There's a sharp yank at your collar, tugging your attention to Simon where he's glancing over his shoulder at you. "Think you'll make a good pup. Johnny's been needing a new little friend, might as well be you, hm?"

There's.... nothing really to say to that. You're too weak, too shaky to try and make a run for it. The blue leash is held loose in Simon's hand, but the pink is wrapped tight around his fist. There's no way you're strong enough to jerk it out of his hand, and even if you could you've got no way out of the maze - they already found you first.

Johnny's hand nudges you forward, almost making you fall. He moves to walk beside you, shoulders almost rubbing together. You think the expression he shoots you is supposed to be comforting, but it's anything but.

You breathe deeply, head beginning to throb again, and hope you have the strength to survive what they'll do to you.

#so sorry lumi i feel like this is repetitive and not that well written :( hope you enjoy regardless <3 #by the way... my attempt at johnny's accent.... it happened #luminousbeings-crudematter #< aka the loml #bo writes #1k celebration #ghoap x reader

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ohnoitstbskyen · 3 months

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Since Riot Forge has been offed by management, what other characters and storylines would you want a game about?

Honestly, not even necessarily champions. You know what would be cool? An honest to god Stardew Valley style farm simulator where you're, like, trying to run a farm in the Demacian hinterlands. All the usual mechanics: growing crops, mining, crafting, maybe some light combat, lots of dateable NPCs, your grandad's ghost appears and judges you if you haven't gotten laid by the end of year 4, all the usual normal stuff.

But then also there's a mage or two who lives in town, one of the villagers who helps you out, that hot NPC you're trying to date. Maybe the kid you'll eventually have with your spouse could be a mage. And the Mageseekers come around every few years looking, and asking questions, and taking people away from your community, and you need to make some decisions about what you're going to do about that. Do you sell your fellow villagers out to the authorities, in return for rewards, or do you find a way to resist?

Like, that kind of a thing. Or a 4x or Total War style game where you play as a Noxian commander trying to expand and colonize the Valoran continent, pushing against the borders of Demacia and the Freljord. Crusader Kings-like set in Shurima where Azir is trying to unite his new empire.

Heartless Frostpunk-style management game where your goal is to help your Freljord tribe survive an especially harsh winter. Tavern management game set in Bilgewater where you're trying not to run afoul of pirate gang politics. Visual novel where you play as a tormented soul on the Shadow Isles trying to escape from Ruination by finding the Hallowed Mist manor from Legends of Runeterra.

This is one of the things that frustrated me about Forge, that it was still stuck in this "THE LEAGUE OF LEGENDS CHAMPIONS ARE THE MOST IMPORTANT PART OF OUR UNIVERSE!" framework that League of Legends itself is stuck to, rather than trying to profile and expand the universe itself as an interesting setting that people might love all on its own, the way people love Middle Earth whether or not Aragorn happens to be there, or the Star Trek universe regardless of who's captaining the Enterprise that day.

Oh, also, dating sim set in Piltover and Zaun where none of the dateable options is a champion, but every playthrough, one of them is randomly selected to actually be Evelynn in disguise, and if you can't see through her act in time, she kills you in agonizing (horny) ways.

#tb answers #league of legends #riot forge #runeterra

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solecize · 3 months

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ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄 | 𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐤𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: every summer on your grandpa's farm was real-life magic to your younger self, who left a piece of her heart in amber valley when the years went on and the town became nothing but a faint childhood memory. soon enough, you become rocked by his death and realize the dead end in your bustling city world. this leads to you making an abrupt decision.

despite knowing nothing but designer purses and the corporate ladder, you uproot your entire life to take over your grandfather's old farm in the town you were desperately trying to remember - alongside a familiar face from your youth that permanently finds his way into your heart.

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: jungkook/reader 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒. inspired heavily by stardew valley, friends to lovers, childhood friends, cowboy jungkook, small town alternate universe, slice of life, grief, growing up, mutual pining 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓. 4.6k 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒. writing fluff has drained me prepare to only feel pain from this point on

part four: the routine, the posters and the dancefloor ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ previous. next. masterlist

ix. the routine

like many residents in the town, the saloon eventually became apart of your regular weekly routine. you found yourself in a booth every weekend, not necessarily to wind down with a drink on each visit, but to enjoy the company of those around you. after hitting the commencement of your mid-twenties, you lacked a ‘third place’ and a community you could lean on.

“can you guys pay attention? this is the call to adventure in the hero’s journey,” yoongi snapped, interrupting a poorly hidden conversation between jungkook and namjoon. the two ceased talking in a way a child caught by their mother would.

similarly, the saloon served its purpose as a third place to your newfound friends. you learned about a book club hosted bimonthly by yoongi, which you were encouraged to observe, in hopes that they would gain a new member. there was a regular karaoke night, which jimin was apparently the reigning champion of, with the highest score seen amongst patrons. then, there were people like taehyung and seokjin, who came regularly to just participate and engage in whatever was going on that night.

hoseok, as the manager of the pub, made every other friday fun with themed nights. tonight was salsa night and apparently, he did not warn yoongi of this, who also did not inform hoseok that book club night was moved.

“i can barely hear you!” jungkook defended himself, hands in the air.

you’d been smiling and nodding the entire time in oblivion yourself, as the rapid dance steps and salsa music drowned out most of your surroundings. at least someone spoke up, you just wanted to be polite in consideration of yoongi’s invite to the club.

to your left, seokjin was dancing with mrs. oh, who was the middle-aged lady that owned the general store where jungkook worked. he originally arrived as a member of the book club, but was swept away by the addicting beat of salsa. he’d spent the last 10 minutes trying to convince the group to join in.

“are you guys done now?” seokjin called out, having watched yoongi shut his book in frustration.

namjoon nudged yoongi. “let’s postpone today’s meeting!”

you laughed as yoongi made a dismissive gesture, which was cue for everyone to disperse from the corner that the club occupied. the others stood up, presumably to either grab a drink or join in on the festivities. meanwhile, namjoon tapped your arm when you rose, indicating for you to wait.

“just wanted to check in to see how the farm’s going,” he began. “you know, our families have been close for years, so you’re basically family, too - even if i wasn’t around much during your time here before.”

you got a sense that namjoon had his head on straight and while grounded, seemed so much bigger than the town. those around you seemed to respect him a lot. his kind attitude showed you why.

“it’s a work in progress,” were the only words you could use. “i’m very lucky that my mom was looking over the property after my grandpa passed and even more lucky that jungkook was also looking after it.”

namjoon’s raised eyebrows as if this was the first time he was hearing about this. “oh, he was? dang.”

it was kind of sweet to think about - jungkook sneaking around to take care of the place out of the goodness of his heart. amidst that, though, it seemed like there was a lot on his plate, so you brought it up to namjoon.

“yeah, he has jiwon and jiwon’s a good kid, but she’s still a kid to look after. of course, no one wanted to see her split up from jungkook and she would have likely been sent out of town to be matched with a foster family,” he sighed.

a few weeks prior, when jungkook first showed up to your front door to fulfill his promise of helping you fix your windows, is when you first began wondering about jungkook’s home life and where jiwon was. you also learned that day about how selfless he really was.

summer vacation was in full swing by that june morning, with the sun beating you to a pulp and the only thing on your mind being corn season. that, and the anticipation of a handsome man expected on your doorstep at any given moment.

your day begun at five a.m, but you made your best efforts to not let that show by ensuring your appearance was kempt prior to your visitor’s arrival. after tending to your morning tasks, you soon received the text that jungkook was at the front, as you were elsewhere on the property. specifically, you were fighting for your life attempting to close the garage shut. yet another repair needed to be addressed.

hey, i’m out back. give me a few.

it took twenty minutes out of your morning to shower and change into clothes that didn’t smell like cow shit because you didn’t want to look like a mess in front of jungkook. all for it to get ruined getting sweaty from putting all of your bodily strength into a broken garage door. there was no way you were going to admit you did all of that - though, you did mentally prepare yourself when you sent your reply to his text.

a few minutes passed and you could make out jungkook approaching you from a distance. you waved, even though you wanted him to stay put and not walk all the way around. the sight of him briefly reminded you of when the two of you used your grandpa’s farmland to play hide and seek, running across the same fields you stood on.

“oh, i should’ve warned you about that,” jungkook started, putting a slight jog into his step as he came closer. “that garage door broke just before your grandpa passed.”

you made an exaggerated, wide-eyed expression. “broken? oh, i was just fighting the door for fun, what do you mean?” you made sure your glare intensfied when he laughed at you. “would have been great to mention before i lost years of my life trying to close this thing.”

“sorry, bunny,” jungkook replied, as he stepped past you carefully and put a hand on your arm as he did so.

he looked up at the door from the inside and smiled thinly. you mimicked his moves, trying to make out at what exactly he was inspecting. you knew farm and you knew finance, but you certainly did not know anything about repairing things.

“how did my grandpa get the tractor out if this door has been broken?”

“crop production lowered in recent years because his body couldn’t handle as much. it was a low priority repair because we used the smaller one parked out by the front shed,” jungkook explained. “honestly, it’s quick fix, just looks like the cable and rollers need to be replaced.”

you shrugged it off and checked the time. “well, this is a problem for another day.”

as you began walking off, jungkook followed you with the same pace. you genuinely did not want to have another to-do item in your sight before you were finished with the rest of the day ahead of you. a list dedicated to repairs was an idea that you’d been toying around with, but you were afraid of how overwhelming it was going to be.

“not to rain on your parade, buuut on my way, i noticed that your coop’s fencing might need to be replaced.”

it was as if he read your mind. you would’ve been frustrated, but the irony was too funny to ignore. you did notice the fencing and it was definitely already on your hypothetical repair list. as a response, you only grunted and moved along.

as you led him back into the house, the two of you made small talk. it was still odd to you, picking up a friendship where you left it off from thirteen years ago. the dynamic seemed to ease up, the more time you spent together, but you had to remind yourself that it was indeed thirteen years since you last saw jungkook and that meant thirteen years of catching up.

“so, are you off work today?” you asked, as jungkook brought in a toolbox from the porch.

jungkook set his tools down by the front shoe rack, rolling up his sleeves slightly. “kinda. i don’t really have a set work schedule, i’ve just been helping out mrs. oh whenever she needs me. i did tell her i would be busy this morning, though.”

you met remembered the oh family from when you were younger and they always gave you and jungkook free ice cream and twenty bucks each when you cleaned their store’s front windows. mr. oh was a high-ranking military general and mrs. oh owned the town general store since taking it over from her mother. their youngest son was born the last year you had visited amber valley as a child.

“their kid is old enough to man the front counter, huh?” you joked.

he chuckled. “yeah. he’s in that weird pre-teen phase, though, acting like he’s cooler than everyone and anything. he used to hang out with jiwon all the time and now his new best friend is his ps5.”

“aw, poor girl.”

“right? too bad, hope he grows out of it. you know,” jungkook paused, glancing at the picture on the wall, “they reminded me of me and you.”

the picture was of you, no older than eight, in faded overalls and the toothiest grin. it was untouched when you moved in and must have been framed sometime after you stopped visiting the town, having not recognized it when you came in. you didn’t have the heart to move it, knowing your grandpa put it up while you were gone.

you weren’t sure what to say. “i hope she’s a better behaved kid than you were,” you remarked teasingly.

“i was an angel compared to you,” jungkook shot back, rolling his eyes. “but, yeah, she’s a great kid. hardly gives me trouble. besides, anything i’ve ever needed help with? my friends, the oh family, mayor kim - i got the best support in the world.”

pride and gratitute were intertwined in jungkook’s voice, as if he watched back the last six years before his very eyes. you couldn’t even imagine what that could have looked like. he was so young, just two months younger than you, and the idea of having the responsibility over a child at your age, much less younger, was unfathomable.

you didn’t want to push the subject of jiwon too much, knowing the circumstances, but you were appreciative of how jungkook allowed himself to open up to you. you leaned on the wall, listening to him talk about his little sister and it was clear he loved her very much.

“you’re lucky to have that kind of community around you,” you said.

“it’s your community, too, now.”

you didn’t realize it, but you soon had spent a good chunk of time talking to jungkook, as he began the process of replacing your windows. there were other things you had to tend to outside, but the conversation flowed so naturally. at some point, you brewed a fresh pot of coffee and handed a mug to jungkook, interrupting his installation of what he explained was exterior stop moulding.

you were nodding your head, listening to him explain his employment situation with the oh family. “that’s real nice of you.” although jungkook had a very flexible schedule, he essentially helped with the operational portion of the store that mr. oh used to cover before he was first deployed overseas.

“thank you for the coffee - anyway, they did so much for me when i first started taking care of jiwon, of course i would lend a hand.” he took the hot cup gratefully, cautiously taking a sip. “mr. oh hasn’t always been overseas, but even when he comes back, it’s just my full-time job at this point. they pay well and mrs. oh watches jiwon when i need it.”

you replied, “if you don’t mind me asking, what were you doing before you worked at the store?”

when you were little, jungkook had always been academically gifted. he loved books and always used to brag about how he got better grades than you did. you always thought he was the type to leave amber valley and find success elsewhere.

“honestly, there wasn’t really a ‘before,’ bunny. it kinda just went from me being in high school to me having to look after my sister. i worked part-time with jimin’s family when i was a teenager, sorting fish bait, if that’s what you mean,” jungkook was trying to be light-hearted, but you felt bad.

he noted your silence and said, “remember when we were kids and we promised to go to the same university when we grew up? and you’d show me the city instead of me showing you the valley?”

“that was the plan,” you sighed. you nearly forgot about that and you could vaguely recall a pinky-swear being attached to that promise. “maybe there’s a universe where that happened.”

in a phone call sometime earlier with your mom, she casually joked that she always thought that you and jungkook were going to get married. she and his mom made that bet when you were kids, mirroring the competitive spirit passed down to the two of you. you tried imagining falling in love with jungkook on campus - study dates in the library and sneaking into each other’s dorm rooms, all while being academic rivals in the lecture hall.

the man in front of you was neither the jungkook in your youthful fantasies or the little boy that collected seashells with you. nostalgia and daydreaming were dangerous things that couldn’t be trusted. just like you, he grew up.

eventually, you declared yourself a distraction and excused yourself from the living room to take care of the rest of your chores. catching up was nice, but you thought it would be better to take it slow. checking in on jungkook every half hour, it was early in the afternoon when he was finished replacing both sets of windows.

the sun was still unforgiving and the humidity was no different. the air conditioning system in your house was mediocre at best and there was a stand fan right where jungkook was working, along with two in the living room. you came in to offer jungkook another water bottle when he excitedly showed you his finished product.

“not bad, huh?” he folded his arms across his chest.

you observed his work and shook your head, impressed. “more than ‘not bad,’ jungkook. the new panels look amazing - thank you so much. i really, really appreciate it.”

it was hard to believe that he installed brand-new windows in such a short time span and the contrast was especially stark, given how old the broken set was. you’d been prepared to pay him for his work, but he warned you earlier that he would “beat you up” if you did so. something about revenge for spending years throwing rocks at him.

he grinned, as he began gathering his tools. you were a bit sad, which confused you until you realized why. however, you decided that this unresolved attraction would best be dealt with on a day where you didn't waste almost two hours talking to the man in question. you still ended up deciding this while staring at the way his tattoos looked against his flexed muscles.

“so, i’ll come by again for the fence?”

“wait, what?” this question snapped you back into reality. the fence? you remembered what jungkook pointed out upon his arrival.

he looked at you, seemingly feigning confusion. “yeah, you said you’d let me fix the fence.”

“no, i didn’t. are you messing with me?” you narrowed your eyes at the way he slowly blinked at you.

“yeah, you said i can come by sometime in the middle of the week.”

there was no way you promised such a thing. “you brat, when did i say that?”

the conversation diverted your attention away from the way jungkook quickly bounced up and was opening the front of your door. he waved you goodbye and that he would text you before you could even process it. you made a beeline from the door, but that man was a damn fast walker.

“have a nice day, y/n!” he yelled from afar and you could hear the laughter jump out in his tone. he knew what he was doing.

from that day on, you continued finding yourself in the whirlwind that was jeon jungkook. it’d been a few weeks and about two days in each week where jungkook has paid you a visit with a different excuse of a repair to “help” you out with. though you knew it was bullshit, the crinkle at the corner of his eyes everytime he greeted you at your front door showed that he knew the same.

there was a silent agreement between the two of you that no one paid attention to when it was just the two of you in the farmhouse. even though you would have refused back and forth had jungkook actually asked if you wanted help, you took anywhere from one hour to a couple just talking to him. one of the times, he insisted he check the condition of your chimney for you. this occasion was more than obvious for the both of you, as you sat on your grandpa’s stiff, old porch bench the entire time and didn’t seem to mind.

the routine of jungkook helping you out on the farm was getting dangerous. when you packed up all of your worldly possessions and abandoned your old life, you promised yourself that this was a new chapter for yourself. there was never a man in the picture or the end goal and the last person you thought it would be was the little boy that you once called your best friend.

on the third day of jungkook’s mission to use your grandpa’s property as a level of house-flipper, you made lunch for the both of you.

“it’s really not a big deal, i ate before i came here.”

jungkook was busy smashing a rail into place with a mallet when you approached. you clutched your cardigans a little closer to yourself, as the wind outside took aback. you looked up and silver clouds muddled in the sky. it was hard to tell because of the lack of sun, but it was nearing two p.m.

“you came here in the morning!” you huffed, tapping your feet.

it was a great deal of confidence in your chest for you to think that no one was more stubborn than you were. as much as you deflected help from jungkook, you were certainly beating his level of persistence. at this point, you would just have to shove food into jungkook’s mouth for you to take it over the top.

he made an exasperated sigh. “bro, i forgot how annoying you can get.” even though jungkook stood firm with “helping” you with repairs, he was no match for your insistence.

“let’s go - chop, chop.” your voice was dry, as you took the hammer from his hand yourself.

you turned to place the hammer back into jungkook’s tool box when you felt the first kiss of a storm on your bare legs. the sky never lied. you tilted your head up to meet the clouds again, but this time, the rain was sharp and doubled, then tripled. you heard jungkook call out your name from behind you.

“this doesn’t look good, let’s go,” he said, taking the denim jacket tied around his waist. the cold sensation lightened on your back and you realized it was because he was holding the jacket between the two of you, with his right arm pulling you to his side and his left arm enveloping your body.

a clap of thunder interrupted your daze. you wondered if amber valley always stormed like this in your childhood or if you only embraced the happy, sunny parts. the town lived in your memories surrounded by dazzling waters and a rainbow, just like everything else did when you were nine.

you tried keeping up with jungkook’s pace, but your legs were failing. “can you slow down?” you panted.

jungkook couldn’t help but snort aloud. “if this was a zombie apocalypse, you’d be dead right now.” when you stomped on his foot with intention, he finally relented and slowed down for you, laughing when he did so.

the chicken coop was on the other end of the property from the farmhouse, so you were struggling for several minutes trying to make it back. the whole time, you and jungkook continued laughing at one another and cracking jokes. it made you momentarily forget your surroundings of a growing storm.

the two of you stumbled onto the back porch, up the steps and nearly fell on top of each other. jungkook tightened his arms around you when he saw that you were about to miss a step and you let out a breathy “thank you” through your giggling. he shook his head and dropped his grip when the two of you made it under the gable roof. you shivered when he did so.

“you didn’t check the weather forecast?” you wheezed, checking to see if your phone was in your pocket.

jungkook defended, “neither did you, genius.”

you two paused for a moment, before bursting out into laughter again and you looked out to see the unrelenting rain. when you looked back, you wondered if jungkook was standing this close to you the entire time. you also wondered if he could tell that you were trying not to look at the way his wet t-shirt clung to his body. daring to meet his eyes, you nearly choked on your own breath when you saw that he was looking at you, too.

his gaze lowered and then he cleared his throat. “well, that’s too bad. i was making good progress,” jungkook also turned to stare at the grey skies and flashes of lightning.

“i guess you can just come tomorrow.”

the statement surprised even yourself when it left your lips. jungkook raised an eyebrow at you, before nodding slowly and the corners of his lips quirked to form that charming, gentleman smile. you couldn’t help but turn around to hide your own smile, instead telling jungkook to stop standing outside like an idiot. the agreement was no longer silent.

x. the posters

around your newfound friends, the dynamic between you and jungkook never changed. it did leave less room for tension, though, and you saw more of the upbeat, heart-of-gold jungkook that he displayed for the rest of the world. despite that, some caught on faster than the others.

“if i knew you guys were going to bicker the entire time, i would’ve just asked someone else. seokjin literally offered. or, actually, i’m pretty sure that even jiwon would have been better than the two of you. doesn’t matter if she can’t reach up that high.”

the day prior, namjoon asked you if you and jungkook wanted to help him put up posters around town for the midsummer fair. it didn’t occur to you to question why he asked you for jungkook’s presence, but you ended up roping him into it anyway. unfortunately for namjoon, the two of you ended up arguing the entire time.

“but, i’m right. aren’t i, namjoon?” you prodded. “jungkook’s idea is horrible!”

jungkook shrugged. “why? it’s eye-catching.”

“there is no way anyone will agree to dressing up as a clown to hand out fliers. we’re going to scare the kids away.”

“tell her otherwise, future mayor kim,” jungkook said to namjoon, who groaned.

the reason why namjoon was tasked with the promotion of the midsummer fair was simply because his father told him to. it was a town event and he was always expected to lend a hand to whatever his dad needed him for. it seemed like every time he had to do something, it was all performed with reluctance.

“oh, god. don’t start, you have no idea what speech my dad gave to me earlier today about ‘being a leader,’” namjoon shook his head.

you furrowed your brows. “oh, are you planning to run for mayor soon?”

“definitely not,” namjoon instantly responded, not an ounce of hesitation in sight. “i have a master’s degree in fine arts, the last thing i want to do is be a politician.” the laugh namjoon gave was hollow.

“what we would all do to not be trapped here,” murmured jungkook and you almost missed it.

your gaze met his and quiet smiles were exchanged. there was an air of comfort grounding the two of you, now that you knew the weight behind those words and jungkook’s sacrifices. you did, however, miss the way namjoon caught this shared smile and turned around, keeping it to himself and letting the moment remain between you two only.

xi. the dancefloor

during salsa night at the saloon, jungkook seemed to be in every corner of the room except yours. it had been a few days since you last saw him, with his latest excuse for the farmhouse being chalking on your silo’s roof. you didn’t even know what that meant, but you stopped arguing the same way he stopped insisting that you didn’t have to make him food. instead, you began texting him about what time he was coming, while he began taking leftovers home, since you always “accidentally” made too much food.

you and namjoon continued to chat when jimin breezed by, plopping down beside you. he was sitting off to the side of the dancefloor the entire time, lazily sipping a beer and talking to hoseok.

“because i would embarrass everyone with my moves,” was jimin’s answer when you asked him why he wasn’t participating.

namjoon chuckled. “he sounds like he’s joking, but he’s an insane dancer.”

“it sounds like you’re good at everything, park jimin,” you teased.

“you know who’s not good at anything?” it seemed like this wasn’t his first beer of the night. “jungkook. he’s horrible at pretending to not look at you. you should go up to him, i think he wants something.”

there was a sense of confusion, but even with jimin under the influence, you also saw the way namjoon leaned back in his seat. it was as if he was relieved that someone other than himself spoke up about it. turning your head, you immediately caught jungkook’s stare, which he retracted like touching fire.

you widened your eyes. “is there something on my face?”

“no, you’re just a woman that he likes that’s wearing a nice dress,” jimin deadpanned.

“you’re a funny drunk, jimin,” you shook your head, chuckling. what he said didn’t even register in your brain.

to your side, namjoon only sighed. he stood up all of a sudden, tugging jimin in the opposite direction. you were confused even more. in a second, jungkook appeared in front of you and your words immediately left your body.

“book club over?” he asked, scanning the room to where the others dispersed off to.

bewildered at the dissolution of the club meeting, you could only shrug. you weren’t sure what even happened. then, you looked up at him and smiled.

you said, “jeon jungkook, you’re not going to embarrass me by asking me to dance, are you?”

“i would never embarrass you. i’m definitely a much better dancer than you, anyway.” jungkook winked and extended his hand, gesturing for you to join him.

without missing a beat, you grabbed his hand and got up from your seat. thankfully, the senior community of the town was loving salsa night and made up most of the crowd. you and jungkook were able to hide your horrible dancing in between the retirees going wild.

𝐓𝐀𝐆 𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓. @sstrongstyletyle @wobblewobble822@taiwan0618 @seokout @firelcrds @xwniazx

#jungkook fanfic #kpop fanfic #bts fanfic #bts scenarios #bts x reader #bts imagine #bts au #bts series #jungkook imagine #bts imagines #jungkook x you #jungkook x reader #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #jungkook au #jungkook scenarios #jungkook x oc #*** / the farmhouse.

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0xstarzx0 · 1 month

Text

Nelly

Rafe S2 x Reader

{OPEN COMMANDS}

[English is not my native language ❗️❗️]

SYNOPSIS: After making the decision to adopt a goat without Rafe’s advice, he does not agree.

TW: insults, parent discussion, mention of children, plush.

______________________________________________

The week of Rafe had been so tiring, he had to get up every day at 4am to return at 9pm, if we do not count the overtime.

He was waiting for one thing every day, to find you. You and your pig. Because even if Rafe didn’t deny it, he was attached to your little beast.

_____________________________________________

Today Rafe returned early, he managed to complete the project he has been working on for weeks.

"Y/N?" he called you from down the stairs.

No answer, usually you answer or go down. The blond climbs the stairs. He goes to your room.

The door is closed, he opens it. There is no one in the room but the bathroom light is on.

He gently opens the bathroom door, His eyes widen to view.

"We’re not trying to eat each other! Or fuck each other!" you say.

Rafe can’t believe it, there’s a goat in his bathroom. "What the hell is going on here?" he yells. You jump and turn around.

"Rafey!" You shout in his arms. He rejects you and you frown. "Why is there a goat in my house!" our house" you take it back.

Rafe looks at you with incomprehension. "I found her on the side of the road." You take the little goat in your arms." Her name is Nelly, says hello Nelly." You take her paw and move it. "Hello Daddy!" you say by pretending to be Nelly

Rafe sighs deeply, he rubs his eyes. "Y/N I don’t want that goat here." "Why?" you ask sadly."Because it’s a goat Y/N!" he screams.

You hold back your tears and look at the goat. "I know you feel alone here, you can always invite your friends, but don't bring any fucking farm animals here!"

You say nothing and let a tear sink. "I have no friends Rafey… Other girls say I sleep with you for your money, they say I’m a whore…"

You lift your head and smile at him, feeling something strange in your heart. "I don't have any friends and I'd love to have kids, but it's too soon for you, so for now animals are the only thing I have left."

You show him the goat. "I named her Nelly because she reminds me of a plant, do you like her?" Rafe looks at you amazed. "You seriously want kids?"

You hold Nelly close to you. "Why not, I'd be less alone and I'd have friends..." Rafe seems lost is his thoughts, after a long pause he finally speaks. "Ok." You raise your eyebrows. "What?" "We're gonna have children." You set down Nelly. "What?"

"We're gonna have kids." Rafe nods his head. "Ok." You furrow your brow. "Are you serious??" The blond puts his hands on your face and kisses your lips.

"We're gonna have babies! Rafey we're gonna have children!" You jumped with joy, your tears turned into tears of joy.

"Yeah baby!" You put your arms around his neck and kiss him, he takes your legs in his hands and lifts them up. You wrap your legs around his hips. "And what if we started making some?" You giggle and put your head on his neck. "With pleasure."

_____________________________________________

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gloomwitchwrites · 6 months

Text

Frozen Ground: Part 1 (Din Djarin x Female Reader)

Content & Warnings: romantic fluff, love at first sight, Mandalorian culture

Word Count: 5.4k

Din travels to a farming planet to recruit a reclusive group of Mandalorians to help retake Mandalore. The snowy season is starting, and the locals are preparing for their winter observance. While waiting for the Mandalorian covert to come to a decision, Din spends time with the local population, finding a bit of comfort with a particular someone.

A/N: Part of the Winter 2023 Collection

Part 2

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // winter 2023 masterlist

Mando’a Translations: buir – father, mother Mando’ade – Mandalorians (plural) vod – brother, sister, comrade

The N1 Starfighter exits hyperspace and cruises through Itera airspace.

Grogu snoozes softly in Din’s lap. His small body is curled up in a ball, and his face is turned into Din’s chest plate as he slumbers. The foundling has been asleep the entire way to Itera, and he shows no sign of waking any time soon.

Din glances away from his foundling and out the N1’s viewport. A small twang of nervousness coils in the pit of his stomach as he observes the quickly approaching planet. It’s not the planet itself that worries Din, but why he was sent here in the first place. It is the task that Bo-Katan Kryze placed upon him with confidence that sits heavy on his shoulders.

Bo-Katan is uniting the clans. She is calling back the tribes in an effort to reclaim Mandalore. She heard a rumor that a reclusive tribe of Mandalorians dwell on Itera. Din is supposed to find them, and convince them to come back with him to Nevarro.

That is all the information he has. Bo-Katan had little intel to give. Din has no idea if these Mandalorians are more like his tribe, or if they lean more towards the ideals that Bo-Katan and her kin follow.

As Mandalorians, this tribe on Itera should welcome him. But Din knows that isn’t always the case. It wasn’t that long ago that Din had his own misgivings against fellow Mandalorians who walked the path differently than he.

When he first met Bo-Katan Kryze and her Nite Owls, Din shunned them. Even when they stepped in to save his foundling, and then later when a group of Quarren attacked him, Din was still reluctant to engage with them.

It’s not his proudest moment, and since then, much about his life has changed. The way he sees the galaxy, and his understanding of what it means to be a Mandalorian has shifted significantly in the last few years. While he holds tightly to his ideals, he knows that his way is not the only way.

Mandalorians should not hide in the dark any longer.

The cloudy expanse of Itera becomes clearer as Din cruises closer. Itera is a fertile farming planet located on the edge of the Middle Rim. Din rummaged around in some public achieves to scrounge up any information he could about it. According to the information he did manage to locate, Itera is relatively peaceful and mostly inhabited by small farming communities.

Even though Bo-Katan lacked information on who these Mandalorians are, she was able to provide Din with an estimated range of coordinates. She told him that they might be located within this range, but wasn’t entirely sure if her intel was reliable.

He’s worked with less.

Din punches in the numbers and the navigation system focuses in on a small bit of land in the northern hemisphere.

The N1’s engine purrs, and Grogu turns over in Din’s lap. The foundling does not wake.

Din’s ship breaks through the atmosphere and effortlessly transitions into the gray cloud cover. The clouds spit Din out over dreary farmland. Below him, droids and people work the land.

Din does not see any buildings that indicate a settlement. He checks the navigation system again and it reveals his suspicions. The coordinates Bo-Katan gave him cover too much land. He’ll need to tighten the search.

“Kriff me,” mutters Din, as he clears the coordinates from the nav system. “R5, scan the surface. Let’s find civilization.”

R5 chirps, and then a little antenna pops out of its head, spinning slowly in a circle. Din reduces his speed over the farmland, waiting for R5 to give him an answer. After a few minutes, the antenna retreats, and then the navigation system lights up with new coordinates.

Din follows the set path. While most of what Din sees is farmland, buildings start to appear in small intervals. At first, it’s just one or two, and then a cluster at a time. Before long, the wall of a settlement appears. There is open land to the left that Din deicides to land on.

He brings the N1 down softly.

Grogu still doesn’t stir. The little womprat has his right hand in his mouth, and a little line of drool runs down the back Grogu’s palm. Sighing, Din wipes it away.

“R5, what’s the temperature outside?” asks Din quietly as he watches a few swirls of snow drift down from the gray clouds. They land on the glass of the N1 and immediately melt.

R5 responds in a series of binary and Din sighs.

It’s far too cold for Grogu to be walking around for long periods of time. The snowy season has arrived on this planet, and Grogu will need something warmer to wear.

Slowly, Din releases the hatch and cold air drifts in. Using the blanket from Grogu’s pram, Din wraps the foundling in it, gently laying him down in the cockpit seat. Din steps out onto the wing and then the hard ground as the hatch closes.

He turns to R5. “Keep an eye on him while I’m gone.” R5 beeps in reply and Din heads toward the open gates.

The wood wall of the settlement seems more decorative than functional, roughly stopping at Din’s chest. Once Din approaches the entrance, he notices that there are no gates at all. It’s entirely open.

Strolling down the main street, Din realizes rather quickly that no one avoids him. It’s the exact opposite. Every person he passes greets Din with a friendly “hello” or nodding of the head before going about their day.

It’s bizarre. Strange. And it momentarily disorients him.

Din thought that he might ask around, see if he could find someone willing to talk to him. But every friendly face only causes him to question who he needs to speak to on locating the Mandalorian covert. No one shies away or avoids looking directly at his helmet. Each person is bold and unafraid of him.

Is the Mandalorian covert known to these people? Do they interact with them frequently?

Perhaps. It would explain why no one seems frightened of him.

Din enters deeper into the settlement, seeking out a cantina or public establishment where he might find information. Not finding any such place on the main road, Din tracks back to the very front of the settlement, deciding to head east and take a look around.

Rounding a corner, he hears the distinct sound of laughter. It’s not one person, or even a few, but a low roar like a small crowd. Din keeps walking, tracking the sound, coming across a small building that hardly looks big enough to hold a drinking establishment. In addition, the door is just red fabric handing from the top of the door frame.

The laughter comes again, and it’s much louder than before. He’s in the right spot.

With all the confidence Din can muster, he strides up to the curtain, pushing it aside and he steps into the building.

Din comes to a grinding halt, nearly tripping on his own feet.

This is not a cantina or anything similar.

A group of women, nearly fifteen in total, occupy the space. They all have large canvas sacks next to them, each one full of something different. Some look like they’re full of flower petals while others appear to hold bright red berries. The women vary in age. Most of them are older than Din, but there are a few who look to be about his age, give or take a few years.

They glance up but keep working, several of them smiling softly at him.

Din feels like an unwanted intruder even though the women appear calm and indifferent to his presence. He mumbles a “sorry” intended to back out the way he came, but the moment his boot slides backward, one of the women stands, her full attention on him.

“How can I help you, Mandalorian?”

You dust a few petals off your apron, missing the one in your hair, and approach Din, hands clasped in front of you. Din’s heart temporarily stutters to a stop before revving into a thudding beat he can feel in his ears. You’re pretty, but that isn’t the only thing he notices. You’re delicate lines and curves appeal to him in a way that trigger’s his protective instinct.

The flash of feeling, this need Din suddenly exhibits flashes bright and hot before his brain catches up and tries to smother it down to cooling embers.

“Excuse me. I didn’t mean to interrupt.” Din tries to back out again but you only push in, and Din’s hand relexify forms a fist in an attempt to thwart the growing need to touch you.

“There is no interruption. How can I be of service to you?” Your head tilts to the right slightly, and the eagerness on your face sends blood to his groin.

Din’s eyes roam all over your body, but his eyes keep going back to the lone petal that’s tangled in the strands of your hair.

The other women still work, none of them glancing in Din’s direction. He decides to seek help, knowing it might not do much.

“There is a Mandalorian covert on this planet that I’m searching for. Do you know where I might find them?”

“Oh,” you murmur. Your eyes round slightly, and your lips part in surprise. “I didn’t realize—I thought you—” You shake your head and the petal in your hair stays put.

“Is there anyone here that might know?”

The gentle surprise morphs into amusement. “Everyone knows where they are.” The corners of your mouth curve up into a soft smile and Din nearly melts under that gaze. He is so absorbed in your beauty that your words are the last thing to catch up to him.

Everyone knows where they are?

Din does not have the chance to follow-up, you’re already talking, telling him exactly what he needs to know. “Just to the north of here. There’s a forested area where the covert lives.”

This is unusual, and Din is slightly unsure whether or not he can trust what he might find once he ventures in that direction.

“Do you know where exactly?”

You shake your head. “We do not go in. They like their privacy, and we are respectful of that.”

This is better news. The two groups must interact frequently. It would explain why everyone in town isn’t afraid of him.

“You’re not from around here?” you ask, curiosity tinging your tone.

“No,” replies Din. “I’m not.”

Your gaze softens. “If no one has, allow me to formally welcome you.”

Without thinking—without pausing to reconsider—Din reaches toward you, his gloved fingers plucking the petal from your hair. He presents it to you, open palmed.

Delicately, you lift it, rubbing it between your fingers. With your gaze on the petal, Din takes a step back, the curtain brushing against his back. You glance up, and Din inclines his head, disappearing quickly before he does something he’ll regret.

Din still burns beneath his armor even after he arrives back at the N1. Grogu is still sleeping, and his ship is entirely untouched. Din is careful with the foundling when he settles back into the cockpit.

He relays the information to R5 who promptly scans the area, sending new coordinates to the navigation system. Once clear, Din follows the trail north, finding the forest you mentioned. Din circles around a few times, eventually settling on a flat spot of land just outside the tree line. Din lowers the N1 to the planet’s surface. Grogu stirs in his lap but doesn’t wake.

He leaves Grogu behind again with R5, knowing that he can come back for Grogu later. The droid will look after him until Din can assess the situation.

As Din approaches the tree line, he pauses, surveying the ground around him. At first glance there are no footprints of even animal prints. He engages the scanner in his helmet. The moment it switches on, his screen lights up with glowing boot prints. They are everywhere, moving in so many directions that Din cannot find a pattern.

Frowning, Din switches over to another scanner. This one seeks out what only Mandalorians leave behind for others of their kind to find. He sweeps the scanner over the ground, and then the trees. He comes up empty.

Sighing, Din starts walking, stepping past the tree line and tries again, this time doing a slow sweep of the ground and trees. The hard ground crunches under his boots, and it is incredibly quiet, the only sound is the whistling wind.

On a tree in the distance, a soft glow catches Din’s attention in the scanner. He pauses, takes one step back for a better view. It’s a glowing Mythosaur with an arrow beneath it pointing to the right.

This is his lead. This is his break. You were telling the truth.

Din heads toward the glowing symbol and then follows the direction the arrow indicates, scanning the area for any other markers. He locates another that directs him deeper into the trees. It leads to a large rock formation. The stone slabs are layered over each other like a twisted crown.

There, glowing bright against the gray rock, is another Mythosaur.

“Hail, vod.”

Din whirls around, his hand on his blaster. The only thing that stays his hand from drawing the weapon is the use of the word vod.

A male Mandalorian drops from a tree branch and strides forward, stopping a few feet away from Din. His armor is dented in a few places and painted in various green tones that emulate the trees.

No wonder Din didn’t see him.

The man has not drawn his weapon, which means he does not see Din as a threat. But why would he? Mandalorians are stronger together, and any reunion, even between tribes, is a joyous one.

Din immediately removes his hand from his blaster, standing tall and proud. He has a job to do. “My name is Din Djarin. I’ve come on behalf of Lady Bo-Katan Kryze.”

The green-clad Mandalorian crosses his arms. “I see,” he replies, tone grim. “And what does Lady Kryze want with us?”

Better to get it out now in case he’s turned away. “She is rallying the clans to retake Mandalore.”

The man is quiet for a beat before he answers. “And she wishes for us to join her?”

“She does.”

The Mandalorian nods, and drops his arms, striding forward. “Well, Din Djarin. You are welcome in our enclave, and we will hear what you have to say.” He presents his hand and Din clasps it. “I am Crix Lera. Welcome to our home.”

Crix releases Din’s hand. He brushes past Din and heads to the rock.

Din follows, and notices a small opening that Crix disappears inside. The space isn’t tight but the formation of the natural rock hides the entrance. You’d need to know exactly where it is to see it.

Din slides through the opening, only to find himself in a small tunnel. Crix walks ahead, and Din follows on his heels along the path. They don’t walk for long. The small tunnel begins to widen, and then opens up into a large communal area.

The first thing Din immediately notices are the lack of faces. Everyone wears a helmet except for a few small children. The communal area is circular, and the center of the room is lower than the rest of the floor. There is a fire burning there, the smoke curling upward to exit through a naturally formed ventilation shaft. In the rocky ceiling are small cut outs that let in some natural light.

When Din enters the area on Crix’s heels, several people pause and glance up, watching the duo as Crix walks along the edge of the room. Din takes this time to take a closer look at the Mandalorians he’s been sent to speak with.

They all appear healthy. Their armor is relatively clean and in good repair. The ratio of men to women is fairly equal, and the number of foundlings is much larger than his tribe’s. Din’s gaze passes over a woman standing by the far wall with a man and a small child. She’s clutching her belly, and that is when Din notices the slight bulge underneath her chest plate.

“You’ll meet with our armorer and tribe leaders,” says Crix over his shoulder, drawing Din’s attention away from the slowly growing crowd of Mandalorians.

“Do they make all the decisions?”

Crix shakes his head. “No. We make them as a group. But when it comes to matters pertaining to the whole clan, they are the ones who mediate the discussions. We will often look to them for final guidance.”

Din does not reply. It’s similar to how his own tribe operates, but he still has too many questions.

Crix guides Din to a small cut in the rock wall. It’s an archway, and it deposits them into a much smaller chamber. A simple forge sits in the center of the room. A Mandalorian Armorer and a child stand together near a workbench. The child is young but old enough to start their training. The two of them talk softly.

On the opposite side of the room, another Mandalorian hammers away at some armor. It’s clear that this is still a child, perhaps a teenager, and must be an apprentice of some kind because his armor is like that of the armorer’s.

The armorer and child both look up when Din and Crix enter the room. Din hangs back near the archway as Crix addresses the armorer.

“We have a visitor, Vikal. This is Din Djarin. Sent to us by Lady Bo-Katan of Clan Kryze. He says she is rallying the clans to retake Mandalore.”

At the mention of retaking Mandalore, the apprentice pauses mid-swing to glance over at Din. The small child at Vikal’s hip shifts slightly, clearly nervous.

Vikal sets the vambrace he’s holding on top of the workbench. He turns toward the apprentice. “Darro. Take your brother and leave us.”

Darro immediately responds, heading in their direction.

“But buir!” protests the child, his little fist tugging on his father’s hand.

“Hush. Go with your brother.” Vikal places a hand on the child’s shoulder just as Darro presents his hand. The child takes it, and Din steps to the side as they pass through the archway.

Once they leave, Vikal steps out from around the workbench and strides forward, pausing just a few feet away from Din. Vikal’s armor and clothes are all black. It’s almost like looking into the void of space. He’s tall, too. Perhaps as tall or even surpassing Paz Vizsla in size.

“Yours?” asks Din, using the question to learn a little bit about the tribe’s practices.

“Mine,” confirms Vikal. But he doesn’t elaborate, and Din decides not to say anything more. “Have you just arrived?” inquires Vikal. “From Mandalore?”

“No,” answers Din. “I came from Nevarro.”

“That is far.”

Vikal closes the distance, his helmet moving with him as he clearly observers Din’s armor. It is not an objectifying look, but an appreciation. “You wear fine work.”

“The armorer of my tribe forged it for me. I am honored by it.”

“This is the Way,” states Vikal.

“This is the Way,” replies Din.

Vikal inclines his head and takes a step back. “You are our guest here. You shall have our hospitality before we speak on more serious matters. As warriors, we are always so quick to take action. Rest. Eat. We will proceed from there.” He turns to Crix. “See to it that Din Djarin has a private room and a hot meal.”

Crix nods, and he and Din depart.

In his private room, Din removes his helmet, and eats.

The food is hot. Fresh. So different from the plain rations he’s used to eating with his tribe. Din wants to know more about this one. He is curious to their ways. When Crix comes for him, the two return to the main communal area. The entire tribe is there, including all the younglings. It is then that he notices several Mandalorians clutching infants.

Din scans the crowd and his heart drops into his stomach.

R5 is here. The droid is on Vikal’s left side. On the armorer’s right, sitting on the floor near his boots, is Grogu. The foundling has a wooden bowl before him. He reaches in, and lifts a handful of something that Din doesn’t recognize and shoves it all into his mouth.

Din immediately aims for Grogu. Seeming to sense him, Grogu glances up and coos, his food covered hands reaching for Din.

“I assume this one is yours?” asks Vikal as Din lifts Grogu and holds the little womprat up to his face. Din checks him over but the foundling is fine. No signs of injury expect the food that’s smeared all over the child’s hands and face.

“Yes,” sighs Din. Crix holds out a hand, indicating he should take a seat. Din does so but he puts Grogu back on the floor. The foundling immediately crawls toward the bowl.

“Your foundling and the droid arrived not too long ago. Found us quite easily. Impressive for one so young.”

Din smiles softly behind the helmet.

Vikal rubs his knees and then stands, striding forward, stopping before the fire. The entire room quiets.

“Mando’ade! We welcome Din Djarin.” Vikal turns toward Din and extends his arm in Din’s direction. The Mandalorians in attendance beat their fists against their chests three times before dropping their arms. “He brings us an important message.”

Vikal retreats, stopping before Din. “Approach, vod. We will hear you.”

Din stands slowly. Grogu’s head tilts to the side, watching Din, his mouth full of food. Din walks to the center of the room just shy of the fire.

“I am Din Djarin. My tribe lives on Nevarro. I have come before you at the behest of Lady Bo-Katan Kryze. She is rallying the clans in an effort to return to and reclaim our ancestral home world of Mandalore. She sent me to ask you if you are willing to join our efforts.”

Din pauses and every single person in the room is watching him, saying nothing. He swallows, knowing that he’ll need to say more to convince them to join.

“I know that I am in no position to ask this of any of you. But we have lived in the dark for too long. Our people are scattered. Like stars in the galaxy. Perhaps it is time for us to live in the light once again. So that our culture may flourish and our children can feel what is it to play in the sunlight.”

The Mandalorians around him chatter softly, but Din cannot differentiate between their conversations. He turns toward Vikal, and the man stands. “Is Lady Kryze certain of success?” he asks, addressing Din. “Mandalorians are few, and our preservation is important. Can she guarantee that there will not be needless death?”

No.

Din sighs, his shoulders heaving slightly. “I cannot give you any such certainties.”

Another Mandalorian stands. It is a man, and his armor is a deep red. “That planet is cursed. The air is unbreathable and nothing grows. We have all heard the stories. Why should we go back to a dead planet?”

“This is not true,” says Din vehemently. “I have been to the surface. I have seen Mandalore with my own eyes. The air is breathable. Life is possible.”

The quiet chatter heightens. Becomes a dull roar.

“What is Lady Kryze’s plan for when the planet is retaken?” This time, a woman asks the question.

“Her goal is the Great Forge. That will be our place of operations and base for reconstruction.”

Din will tell them the truth. There is no reason to hide anything.

“But will we have a place there? Can we call Mandalore home? Or must we return to this planet?”

“All Mandalorians are welcome.”

Vikal nods and stands. “Does anyone else have questions for Din Djarin?” No one replies. “Thank you for relaying Lady Kryze’s message. You have given us much to consider.” Vikal addresses the room. “We will reflect on this, and then convene tomorrow evening for deeper discussion.”

The crowd of Mandalorians incline their heads and place their fists over their hearts. When their arms drop back to their sides, many start to get up and leave.

This isn’t the outcome Din was hoping for. He thought he might receive a quick answer, or even an indication that they are willing to join.

Crix comes up beside Din. “Decisions are never made quickly. You’ll likely be here a few days.”

“As long as I can return with an answer.”

“I’ll come for you tomorrow morning. The local population is holding a festival to celebrate the coming cold.”

Din thinks back to you and the women in that small dwelling. He didn’t exactly get a good look at what you were doing, but Din can only assume the two are connected.

Din tips is head to the side. “You mingle with them?”

“To an extent,” shrugs Crix. “They have no standing army or protection. We look after them, and they take care of us. It has kept our tribe safe for many years.”

Din nods and then bends at the knees to pick up Grogu, cradling the foundling close to his heart.

Crix fetches Din in the early hours of the morning. Grogu is left behind with the other younglings. Din is reluctant to do so, but Crix is persuasive, and Grogu is visibly happy to be amongst other children.

The two men head back through the tunnel, stepping out into the forest. The sun is starting to rise but it’s hard to see through the gray clouds. It snowed overnight, and there is a dusting across the forest floor.

Three Mandalorians mingle just outside the exit. Two men and one woman. They greet Crix with firm handshakes.

“This is Din Djarin,” says Crix. “He’s joining us on our visit into town.”

“Passionate speech you made last night. I’m Jido. Welcome.” Jido and Din clasp forearms and shake.

Jido steps back and points his thumb over his shoulder at the other two Mandalorians. “That’s Ran and Cerra.” Ran gives Din a half-hearted salute while Cerra lifts her hand in greeting. Jido leans in and whispers. “They’re a bit boring.”

“Heard that,” snaps Cerra as she turns her back on the group. “We going?”

The five of them head into the trees, walking in the direction that Din entered from. When they exit, Din heads for the N1, looking it over for any signs of tampering. It’s clean, and Din sighs with relief.

“The people here don’t touch things that aren’t theirs. Your ship will be fine,” states Crix as he walks up beside Din. He runs his gloved hand over the wing in appreciation.

“On Tatooine, I had a run in with some Jawas,” replies Din.

Crix snorts. “What was left of your ship?”

“Nothing.”

Jido, Ran, and Cerra’s jetpacks ignite. Crix and Din follow suit, the five of them launching into the air. Din trails behind, following the four Mandalorians as they jet across dreary farmland.

In minutes they approach the small settlement Din visited yesterday, landing right outside the wall. The people moving about don’t even seem to care that a group of Mandalorians landed amongst them. They keep going about their lives as if is this the norm. It’s the same reaction they had with Din.

Din is almost always the stranger. The unknown variable. In crowded places, he is avoided unless someone needs something from him.

He stays at the back of the pack. Jido, Ran, Crix, and Cerra all appear relaxed. They chat amongst themselves, and even stop for an old woman who presents a basket to them full of the red berries Din saw yesterday. Each Mandalorian takes a handful and deposits the goods into various pockets of their flightsuits.

The old woman approaches Din and holds the basket out to him. He doesn’t want to offend her. He scoops out a decent handful and finds a home for them. He’ll share it with Grogu when he returns.

The old woman inclines her head and moves on. Din’s helmet follows her but Crix taps against Din’s upper arm, drawing his attention away from the woman.

Din inhales, and he isn’t sure if the voice receiver in his helmet picks up the soft sound.

You’re standing right there, eyes bright and eager.

“You found them,” you say enthusiastically.

“I did.” Din is nervous. Why is he nervous? Do you do this to him?

Crix crosses his arms and pops a hip. “The two of you know each other?”

You laugh, and it’s the loveliest sound Din has ever heard. “He stumbled in to Tarra’s workshop while we were preparing the Daily Strands.”

“Make enough for us?” asks Jido, his voice a bit sultry. A bit teasing. Din instantly hates that he’s speaking to you that way.

“There are plenty. So, yes,” you tease back, smiling widely.

Crix shifts, turning his body toward Din. “Since you’re our guest, you don’t need to follow us around while we work.” Crix inclines his head in your direction. “She’ll show you around a bit.”

You look so hopeful that Din cannot say no.

He walks beside you the entire time as you go on about the important buildings, the history of the people, and the finer details of your culture. Din is enraptured by how animated you are toward him. He hardly risks asking any questions, mostly wanting to hear you talk.

“Here we are.” You extend your hand toward the building Din stumbled into yesterday.

“Are we going inside?” asks Din skeptically.

You grin and push back the curtain, gesturing for him to come inside. He follows, and this time there are only two other women in this space. They greet Din politely, but return to their work. You walk over to a large table. On it, are…necklaces? Din isn’t entirely sure what they are.

With caution, he approaches, you present one to him.

“These are Daily Strands. We wear them every day during the winter observance.” You point to the threads holding it together. “The threaded cord is the base, symbolizing the importance of community.” Next, you point to the flower petals. “These symbolize the eventual thaw and growth of new life.” Then the red berries. “These are native to the planet. We dry them out to represent the frozen ground.”

“And what do these symbolize?” asks Din, pointing to long, thin, green, stick-like leaves.

“Abundance. These are needles from local trees, and they grow everywhere.” You smile softly. “But it’s more of a wish for prosperity in the future.”

These are what Jido and Crix were referring to.

You gently lift the Daily Strand, presenting it to Din like an offering. “It’s customary to wear one of these.”

Din does not refuse. Instead, he lowers at the waist so that you can slide it over his helmet and around his neck.

You gently draw away and your hands fall to your skirts, your fingers fumbling with the fabric in nervousness. “It is also customary for the giver to kiss the cheeks of the receiver.” You shrug. “But I can make an exception given the circumstances.”

Din remembers how eager Jido was to receiving one of these. Briefly, Din imagines you kiss the sides of Jido and Crix’s helmets, and Din instantly simmers.

Not knowing how to ask, Din bends again, this time just enough that all you’ll need to do is to go up on your toes to place those gentle lips against his beskar.

“No exceptions,” he murmurs.

Your mouth forms a soft o, and then it cools, turning into tender satisfaction. Slowly, you kiss the curve of his helmet on the right side and then the left.

Even with the helmet on, Din still manages to catch a whiff of your scent. You smell like the trees and warm sugar. Without instruction, his hand brushes against your hip.

You do not draw away, and that pleases something deep within Din. When you pull back, Din instantly misses your heat.

“I will wear this every day,” says Din, his hand resting against it briefly.

You laugh, and Din doesn’t understand what you find so funny. “It’s a Daily Strand. You receive a new one each day.”

Every day? Does that mean you’ll kiss him every time you place a new one around his neck?

“Then I will be back tomorrow for a new one.”

“Promise?” you murmur.

“Promise.”

Part 2

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ieatsmallorphansnamedtom · 2 years

Note

So i have this idea:

If the roles ended up switching up and the ones to give the bouquet/mermaid pendant were the bachelor(ette)s instead of the farmer, how exactly would they do it, and how would it go? 🤔🤔

Bachelor/ettes Giving the Mermaid Pendant

I'll do the general bouquet giving in a different headcanon.

Bachelors:

Sam

He's really giddied over the whole situation. He takes you to a private spot by the lake near Marnie's. You guys have a little picnic under the stars before he pops the question. If you say yes, he gives you the biggest smile and an even bigger hug. If you say no, he quietly packs up the picnic and goes home.

Elliott

Basically, his ten-heart event. He takes you out over a coral reef and you guys spend some time making pretty dried coral jewelry or taking about his latest book before he pulls the pendant out of his pocket and asks you. He tries to get down on one knee, but the boat is so rocky he nearly tips you guys over. If you say yes, he gives you a cheesy romantic kiss on both cheeks. If you say no, he acts not that bothered, takes you to shore, and cries about it.

Sebastian

He's way too nervous to do some big thing like Elliott does. Much more likely is you guys will be chilling in his room, playing games and eating snacks, when all of a sudden, he goes really quiet. You ask him what's up, and he pulls out the pendant. If you say yes, he kind of smiles to himself and goes even quieter (if you're sitting next to each other he might lean into you a bit). If you say no, he goes (somehow) even quieter and sinks into the couch a bit.

Harvey

He'll take you out of town to a nice restaurant. It's a real classic time. You guys dance a bit and have a really expensive dinner. Despite his limbs disintegrating from age (/j), he still manages to get down on one knee. If you say yes, he takes you for another dance (he totally requested a song to play when he gives the person a nod). If you say no, he becomes a lot more like his serious doctor side and says it's time for you guys to go home.

Shane

Like Sebastian, he sort of just gives it to you out of nowhere. However, unlike Sebastian, he's secretly been carrying it around for months waiting for the perfect opportunity. It probably happens while you guys are making jokes in Marnie's chicken coop. You turn around to move Charlie and turn back to see him holding it out in front of you. If you say yes, he gives you a big smooch. If you say no, he gets all defensive and goes to his room.

Alex

Pretty much the same as Sebastian. You guys are chilling somewhere when out of the blue there's this thing sitting in your lap. If he really wanted to, he'd take you to the saloon (aka his ten-heart event), but I have a feeling he'd be too scared of getting his heart broken. If you say yes, he'll spin you around in a hug. If you say no, he gets all teary-eyed and calls it a night.

Bachelorettes:

Penny

You guys have taken a trip out of town to a flower farm. You're, of course, in the middle of a bunch of roses when she shyly asks if she can share something with you. You agree, and she takes out the mermaid pendant. If you say yes, she sort of just stands there all smiley and doing the classic shy girl pose. If you say no, she uses the excuse of needing to go to the bathroom and breaks down in tears.

Leah

I don't know why, but I have this feeling she'd leave it on your bedside table when you're asleep. She wants you to have time to think about your answer rather than put you on the spot like that. If you do tell her yes, she gives you a kiss and a hug (and probably reveals a sculpture of your wedding cake topping TBH). If you say no, she just nods and says she respects your decision. She's chill like that.

Abigail

You guys are doing something wild like bungee jumping when you look to your right and she's holding the pendant in her hand with the biggest grin on her face (she probably drops it LMAO). Honestly, she looks like one of those videos of a dog's skin getting flapped about in the wind. If you say yes, she gives you a smooch and (if she can) does a little victory dance. If you say no, she nopes outta there as quick as she can.

Maru

Maru panics over it like crazy. She NEEDS everything to be perfect, or else she just might go mad. In the end, you guys are taking a walk in the forest during the night when there 'just so happens' to be a perfect stargazing spot set up on what 'just so happens' to be the night of a meteor shower that 'just so happens' to be starting any minute. If you say yes, she leans into you and says thank you while you guys watch the meteors. If you say no, she's still gonna watch the meteor shower with you because goddamn if that didn't take weeks' worth of stress to set up.

Emily

You're at a festival dancing and out of nowhere she goes 'hey, wanna get married?' You can barely hear her over the loud music and it's kind of just a 'what?' situation. Like, 'yeah, let's get married!' she says as she randomly takes out a mermaid pendant. If you say yes, she does a little cheer and continues dancing with you. If you say no, she just leaves (she's probably drunk at that moment).

Haley

She's taking photos of you in a bridal gown for a magazine company out in the fields of your farm. You have what you think is a fun little mock wedding, when she pulls out a mermaid pendant. You look up and she's got a never-before-seen sensitivity to her. If you say yes, she gives you a good ol' kiss on the lips and throws whatever else if near her (likely grass) like it's a bouquet. If you say no, she gets a little sour as a defense mechanism and thanks you for the photos.

-~-~-

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honkifurhoary · 1 year

Text

Emmanuel the Emu: A Story of HPAI Mismanagement

Emmanuel, the TikTok-famous emu owned by Taylor Blake of Knuckle Bump Farms, made national news last month when Highly Pathogenic Avian Influenza (HPAI) hit the farm. According to Blake’s initial Twitter thread, Knuckle Bump Farms lost 99% of their avian flock- over 50 individuals- in only three days. These deaths were attributed both to the disease itself and to a cull carried out by the Florida Department of Agriculture and Consumer Services, who did so with Blake’s permission. Emmanuel and a black swan named Rico were the only two survivors, with Emmanuel left unable to stand, unwilling to eat or drink, and quickly fading. Hundreds of thousands rallied behind Emmanuel on social media as Blake documented Emmanuel’s progress, reaching out to public figures like Dr. Pol of The Incredible Dr. Pol and Bindi Erwin of Crikey! It’s the Irwins for help when she failed to find any other sources for emu rehabilitation. But soon, controversy emerged.

Early on, avian influenza experts expressed concern that Blake was not wearing any PPE when interacting with a presumably HPAI-positive bird. Avian influenza is transmissible from bird to human which, combined with the virus’ ability to mix genes and rapidly change, means that PPE is universally recommended when dealing with a suspected or confirmed HPAI outbreak.

In response to concerns, Blake explained that “Emmanuel freaks out whenever we approach him wearing a mask” and that the farm is on a state-mandated quarantine for 150 days, which is the amount of time HPAI is estimated to survive in the environment under ideal conditions. This quarantine reportedly only allowed Blake, Blake’s girlfriend Kristian Haggerty, Blake’s family, and veterinary professionals to enter the property. “I have taken every precaution recommended by the FDA” Blake stated, referencing the Florida Department of Agriculture and Consumer Services (FDACS) rather than the Food and Drug Administration (FDA).

Many people, including HPAI experts, found this explanation unsatisfactory and instead decided to contact the FDACS and USDA directly. Both the FDACS and USDA work collaboratively to manage avian influenza outbreaks in Florida. Dr. Danielle Stanek of the Florida Department of Health clarified that the DOH can recommend that private individuals comply with CDC guidelines, which includes wearing full PPE when interacting with HPAI-infected birds, but they cannot mandate that they do so. Therefore, Blake’s decision to forgo PPE was hers to make, even if it wasn’t in accordance with the recommendations of the FDACS, CDC, USDA, and Florida DOH.

Just as discourse between experts and Emmanuel fans reached its peak, Blake announced that Emmanuel tested negative for HPAI. Instead, Emmanuel’s sudden decline was attributed to stress. “Emus are incredibly susceptible to stress. He was incredibly overwhelmed by the state coming in and euthanizing our flock . . . He stopped eating the day they depopulated.” His lingering issues- the inability to stand or walk independently, twisted neck (torticollis), continued inappetence and dehydration, and lethargy- were caused by a nighttime collapse that left Emmanuel “thrashing on the ground for hours, trying to get himself up”. “He never once had a single symptom of AI, other than not eating”, Blake stated.

HPAI symptoms in birds varies depending on the species and the individual. In chickens, HPAI often presents as respiratory and digestive distress, followed quickly by death. In other poultry species, symptoms may also include the nervous system, causing “tremors, twisted necks, paralyzed wings, laying down and pedaling”. Ratites- referring to the diverse group of keel-less birds that include emus, ostriches, rheas, kiwis, and cassowaries- also tend to develop neurological symptoms. Notably, emus can present with twisted necks (torticollis), ataxia (discoordination), leg and wing paralysis, inability to stand, decreased food and water consumption, purple discoloration or swelling of the legs and head, and lethargy. This corresponds with many of the symptoms Blake has documented in Emmanuel. And it should, considering that Emmanuel did test positive for HPAI.

Test results completed on October 27th, 2022 at the USDA’s National Veterinary Services Laboratories showed that Emmanuel’s serum sample, collected six days after the start of the outbreak, contained antibody levels that were consistent with recent infection.

When Blake announced Emmanuel’s stress diagnosis, she was likely relying on information provided by a rapid test, which can provide results within 48 hours. These tests detect viral proteins that indicate active infection and virus shedding. Serology tests, on the other hand, look for the presence of antibodies produced in response to infection, not necessarily active infection. For an indeterminate number of days prior to the sample collection (October 17, 2022) Emmanuel had an active HPAI infection that, rather than stress, likely led to his rapid decline.

Why, then, was Emmanuel not included in the state’s cull on Knuckle Bump Farms? An email between Dr. Michael Short, the FDACS’ Animal Industry Director, and Kassandra Curiel of the FDACS’ Office of the Commissioner, answers this question. Dr. Short states that “USDA guidance is that ratites (emus and ostriches), black swans and exotic pet birds do not have to be euthanized due to lower risk”. Blake echoes this on her Twitter, when she says that “the state only focused on the “super spreaders” which are poultry species and ducks. Ratites aren’t included because they typically aren’t as susceptible.”.

This allowed Knuckle Bump Farms’ four emus (Emily, Eliza, Elliot, and Emmanuel) and three black swans (two unnamed females and Rico), to be exempted from the cull. I cannot find any reference, either in USDA literature or anywhere else, that supports Dr. Short’s statement. In fact, all the literature that I reviewed and all the experts I talked to during my research only confirmed the devastating effects that HPAI can have on both ratites and black swans. This, coupled with the fact that three of Knuckle Bump Farms’ four emus and two of their three black swans died when “the virus hit them extremely hard and very quickly”, calls Dr. Short’s statement into question.

The USDA was also unable to substantiate Dr. Short’s statement. When asked how exemptions to culls were determined they explained that, rather than look at individual species, the USDA classifies HPAI-infected domestic birds as either commercial, backyard poultry, or backyard non-poultry. These definitions ascribe risk of potential HPAI spread by determining the level of contact a poultry premise has with other poultry premises. If a private farm or private household, where the poultry does not have any contact with poultry beyond the property, has an outbreak then they are classified as a non-poultry premises, even if they have chickens, turkeys, or other poultry birds. These non-poultry premises can thus be exempted from culling all their birds by being placed on quarantines by state officials, provided that they adhere to the quarantine and continue to not have contact with any poultry facilities. Knuckle Bump Farms does not sell poultry products; therefore, they were classified as backyard non-poultry and eligible for quarantine. The FDACS seems to have added their own interpretation onto this guidance when they specify ratites, black swans, and exotic pet birds as “lower risk”. I reached out to Dr. Short for comment but received no response.

This isn’t the only time Dr. Short and, by extension, the FDACS demonstrated faulty logic. In that same email between him and Curiel, Dr. Short used this comparison to explain why a citizen’s concern about Emmanuel’s exemption from the cull was unfounded.

“I have heard of only one report of a clinically ill human, over the past 1.5 years of a national response to the current avian flu outbreak. The risk of HPAI to the owner is much less than occurred with household pets that tested positive for SARS-CoV-2 (Covid). I am assuming no one would advocate to euthanize all pets testing positive for Covid (At least I have not heard of anyone asking us to euthanize pets).

The risk of avian influenza is constantly occurring with all the wild birds in South Florida. My understanding (not being a human health expert) is the risk to people, especially children and those immuno-compromised at public or private lakes, ponds and waterways from the AI being shed by water fowl is much greater than the sick emu at knuckle bump farm.”

Dr. Ben Golas, a VMD and postdoc with the USGS who is currently working on avian influenza research, weighed in. “It’s a bit like comparing apples and oranges to talk about risk of transmission of COVID vs. HPAI. With COVID, our primary concern is human-to-human contact. [. . .] With HPAI, farm animals are euthanized not only because the disease spreads within the farm flock like wildfire, but also to prevent spreading infection locally to other farms, because HPAI virus can be stable in the environment.”

The CDC agrees. “There is no evidence that animals play a significant role in spreading SARS-CoV-2, the virus that causes COVID-19, to people. […] It’s important to remember that people are much more likely to get COVID-19 from other people than from animals. There is no need to euthanize or otherwise harm animals infected with SARS-CoV-2.” When it comes to HPAI, however, they emphasize that human-to-human spread is rare and often limited to only a few individuals. Bird-to-human transmission is the primary method of human infection, with each new infection increasing the risk that a new, more virulent strain will emerge. This, along with the potential for massive bird-to-bird outbreaks that could devastate both wildlife and industry, is why complete depopulation (euthanasia) is standard for HPAI and not COVID-19.

The FDACS seems to be operating on contradicting and unsubstantiated information when it comes to managing HPAI outbreaks. Unsurprisingly, the employees seem equally conflicted in their internal emails regarding Knuckle Bump Farms. One Florida USDA representative noted, while forwarding a citizen concern about Blake’s lack of PPE, that “her face is real close to a bird that has HPAI”. Another USDA employee responded “actually, in one of the pictures she appears to be kissing it on the head.”. Dr. Kendra Stauffer of the USDA wrote, “. . . part of the allowing the pet bird to live was that there were rules the owner was to follow from DOH, which clearly she is not”.

Other employees, however, were eager to show their support. Commissioner Nikki Fried of the FDACS posted a photo of her, Blake, and Haggerty, and later posted a photo of herself drinking Knuckle Bump Farms’ branded beer while wearing an Emmanuel t-shirt.

Fried’s support generated a lot of concern, particularly amongst local farmers. One Florida emu farmer stated, “my disappointment and concern is 100% with the actions of Nikki Fried as Agricultural Commissioner to allow some birds to be exempt from depopulation, including emus, for no quantifiable reason. Emus are susceptible to HPAI. Emus in other states have contracted HPAI in this current outbreak and they either died on their own or were put down. Research shows they are susceptible to HPAI, and can spread it to other birds and humans. The decision by Fried and FDACS makes no sense and it sets a dangerous precedent.”

Considering that Blake has over 847.4K followers on Twitter, 938K on Instagram, and 2.4 million on TikTok, the precedent the FDACS and USDA have set here is, indeed, dangerous. Many of Blake’s followers learned about avian influenza for the first time through her documentation of Emmanuel’s illness and the state’s response to the outbreak. “I watch for Emmanuel updates every day! This has also been a great lesson for many people in farming education.”, one follower said. Another echoed this sentiment, saying “Thank you for taking the time to let us know what’s going on, and answering questions. You truly are an educator”.

Herein lies the problem. Knuckle Bump Farms is a small, backyard operation. Through social media, however, they reach millions. This specific outbreak of HPAI and its subsequent (mis-)management by the FDACS and USDA has now set the standard for many, rather than the exception. Blake’s public failure to comply with PPE recommendations, the lack of transparency regarding Emmanuel’s true diagnosis, a similar lack of transparency within the FDACS and USDA regarding this outbreak, exemptions to cull protocols made with seemingly no supporting data, and a publicly-elected official openly (and financially) supporting Blake through this process, all pose a serious threat to public confidence in HPAI management and future public health. The concerns of farmers, virologists, public health workers and organizations, wildlife rehabilitators, and animal sanctuaries have been ignored, particularly when they asked whether Emmanuel’s fame and the risk of public backlash led to the FDACS’ decision to leave him and several other symptomatic birds alive. It seems, through this research, that there is more support for this theory than the narrative we’ve been provided until now. It is my hope that, with the publishing of this information, the very real concerns raised by people directly effected by HPAI will be given the weight they deserve.

Please take this opportunity to learn about avian influenza from reputable sources:

Protecting Birds from Avian Influenza

Avian influenza and PPE

CDC Avian Influenza

USDA HPAI Response Plan

Florida Avian Influenza Update (Oct 2022)

A huge thank you to the following experts who generously answered my questions: Dr. Ben Golas, Dr. Jim Wellehan, and Dr. Jennifer Riley.

#emmanuel the emu #hpai #avian influenza #florida #avian flu

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