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star-anise · 2 years

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You just posted like ten different things about potatoes in the span of maybe five minutes, and I gotta know your take on "The Martian".

Like, the (fictional) man alone on a planet literally only survives because of potatoes shrink-wrapped in plastic for a Thanksgiving meal. If they weren't slated to be on Mars for Thanksgiving, he would have died.

And Andy Weir (author of the original novel) did such a good job with the science of every other element to the story, I honest-to-god believe that potatoes could actually manage to grow in Martian soil (even if that's not been proven for certain afaik).

Which means..... could potatoes terraform Mars into sustaining life??? Are potatoes the key to the universe???

Haha sorry for going so hard on them! Those were mostly all posts from 2020 when gardening and fantasy worldbuilding were lockdown fixations for me. One of them blew up recently so I wanted to give The People more of the content it seemed they were looking for. I don't actually know a lot about potatoes. I just think they're neat.

I do not want to take apart the concept of "colonizing Mars" as some kind of woke gotcha. I want to take your question seriously and charitably. However, I just am the kind of person who's like "Hmm, 'colonize', we should really stop and unpack that word," so let's do that, without forgetting the potato element.

(What "I don't know a lot" means: Potatoes were a crop my family grew several acres of for a few years on our farm before we switched our focus to sheep. I am about 50% as reliable as a horticultural brochure on various potato diseases and growing condition issues. I have listened to two University lectures and read perhaps four historical journal articles beginning-to-end on how the Columbian Exchange affected early-modern Europe, that and half as much again on medieval and early modern European farming practices and population changes, and perhaps three science/history articles specifically on the domestication and proliferation of the potato. I am a white Canadian who actively seeks out information and training in Indigenous history and culture in the Americas, but that's probably still only equal to like, two Native Studies classes in university. I know more than the average person on this topic, but I am also not an expert compared to people who have devoted serious time to learning about this.)

But I have some intuitions in a couple of ways:

The Martian is probably being wildly over-optimistic about its potatoes. They would probably have been irradiated into sterility before being vacuum-packed, and I don't think you can split and propagate them that quickly or successfully. However, potatoes can definitely grow in all kinds of conditions (including under my sink).

They might not be the world's healthiest or happiest potatoes, tho. Soil quality definitely affects the end product. Presumably Watney, being a botanist studying Mars' soil composition, knew how much he had to ameliorate his soil with latrine compost (which would definitely have needed a LOT of processing, since human waste is generally not good for plants, but maybe he used chemicals to speed that up?) to get good soil. However, we would probably need to add a LOT of shit to Mars' soil (and air, and water) for it to host plant life.

Mark Watney makes a joke about having "colonized Mars" because "colony" is Latin for "farm" and he farmed on Mars so haha, funny joke! And we talk about colonies on Mars partly because that's what science fiction did, and a lot of science fiction has been into that colonialism aesthetic. But colonialism and empires actually aren't great, not just because they necessitate huge amounts of racism, oppression, and genocide—I know, you asked me a fun question about potatoes and did not sign up for this, I'm not here to drag you, hear me out—but because they're also really sucky models for agriculture and successful societies generally.

My British ancestors tried to be colonial farmers in a place that is sometimes colder than Mars (Canada's Treaty Six), and let me tell you: IT SUCKED. Most of the crops and herbs and vegetables and flowers that settlers here brought from home and are used to? DON'T FUCKEM GROW. For the Canadian prairies to become conventional farmland, farmers and scientists had to scramble to find, or produce, cold-hardy varieties of everything from wheat to roses. A lot of flowers and plants that are unkillable invasive zombie perennials in other climates don't survive our winters no matter hard we try. The trees and flowers that hold cultural or sentimental attachments for us often don't grow here. The climate is so harsh and population is spread so thin that we cannot do the 100 mile diet and eat foods we're familiar with, and can hardly even manage the 1000 mile diet. (Not that I try, but, my family did once look into it)

A huge number of colonial homesteads, where the pioneers go out on their little covered wagon and build little houses on the prairie? Failed miserably and got bought up by land speculators. My own family came out to Alberta in the 1880s and moved around from land assignment to land assignment, like, six times before settling at their current place in the early 1900s.

Meanwhile: POTATOES

Potatoes are less than ten thousand years old! I am not any kind of expert on archaeology, please nobody throw things, but humans showed up in the Andes (think: high, cold mountains) of South America roughly 9,000 years ago. There are hundreds of wild potato varieties, but they generally produce fairly tiny tubers. It took active work of Indigenous Andean people around 8,000 years ago around Lake Titicaca to cultivate specific strains of potato, doing oldschool genetic modification to make them bigger, more delicious, and hardier. From that cultivation effort around a single species of wild potatoes, they produced thousands of cultivated potato varieties.

Ancient Andean farmers and botanists also played a big part in cultivating quinoa from wild amaranth, as well as producing modern food crops you probably haven't heard of, like oca, olluco, mashua, and yacon, and also coca, which may get a bad rap because it's what cocaine and coca-cola are made from but you cannot deny it's got kick.

Basically, Indigenous people of the Americas (South, Central, and North) went all in on botany and plant cultivation. Plants that we take for granted now have mostly been developed by Indigenous people in the past few thousand years: Tobacco, sunflowers, marigolds, tomatoes, pumpkins, rubber, vanilla, cocoa, sweetcorn, maize, and most kinds of pepper except peppercorn. These things were not found; they were made, by careful cultivation of the world as it was.

This gives us a vision of the future. Colonization, and industrial agriculture, both lean us towards the vision of a totally uniform end product, with the same potato varieties grown on each farm because we have made every farm the same. Instead we could embrace biodiversity and focus on privileging local knowledge and considering the interactions of environment, plants, microbiota, and people. We could create potatoes that were happy on Mars. We could create Mars that is happy to have us. We could create a society that can accept what Mars has to offer.

A lot of why we dream about colonizing Mars is the idea that the Earth itself is dying, that we are killing it, and we need to abandon this farmstead and seek out a new frontier. I acknowledge that shit is bad, but I don't agree with that framing. I am increasingly persuaded that there is a third path between ecological destruction and mass exodus, and I think we need to reject European colonial mentality that creates the forced choice. I find far more use in privileging the knowledge of people who live on and with land than their landlords and rulers, and I especially find value in Indigenous knowledge of land management practices and food production.

I am absolutely not saying that Indigenous people were or are wonderful magical ~spiritual beings~ who frolicked in an Edenic paradise that only knew death and disease once white people showed up. This isn't noble savage bullshit, nor am I invoking people who existed once but whom I have never met. I am saying that I have Indigenous neighbours, colleagues, relatives, and elected representatives. I have learned about mental health, leatherworking, botany, and ecology from Metis and First Nations elders and knowledge-keepers. And like. They have good and useful shit to say.

This is about culture, not race. It is not that their biological DNA means that they know more than me about how to get food from this landscape. It's about cultural history and what we learn from our heritages. What have our cultures privileged? Like, Europe has historically been super into things like metallurgy, domesticating livestock, and creating dairy products. If I want to smelt iron or choose animals to make cheese from, European society would have a lot of useful information for me! And what Indigenous cultures in the Americas have historically focused on instead of cows and copper* include 1) getting REAL familiar with your local flora and figuring out how to make sure you have lots of the herbs and grains and roots and berries you need, and 2) how to make a human society where people can live and have good lives, but do not damage the environment enough to impair the ability of future generations to have the same sort of life.

*Several indigenous American cultures did practice various forms of metallurgy. It's just one of those proportional things, about what societies really go for

Conclusion

I think we could use the processes that formed the potato to find and foster forms of life that could survive on Mars. It would involve learning to think that botany is a sexy science, and understanding just how rich and complicated the environment is. To oxygenate the atmosphere, we'd have to get super enthusiastic about algae and lichen and wetlands. We would have to learn to care deeply about the microorganisms living in the soil, and whether the potatoes are happy.

We'd have to create an economy that counts oxygen and carbon dioxide production on its balance sheets. To learn how to wait for forests to grow back after a fire, instead of giving up in despair because the seedlings aren't trees yet. To do the work now and be hopeful even though we might not see the payoffs for decades, or our victories might only be witnessed by future generations.

So yes, I think we could totally plant potatoes on Mars

But I also think that if we ever got there, we'd have turned into the kind of people who could also save Earth in the first place.

Which makes it a good enough goal in my opinion.

#staranise original #agriculture #potatoes my beloved

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carusolikey · 5 days

Text

The Blue Hour

a Max Phillips & Bloodsucking Bastards FanFic Chapter 1: There Goes the Building

Pairing: Max Phillips of Bloodsucking Bastards x afab!fem!reader

Rating: Explicit / NSFW 18+ (No Minors)

Author’s Note: I wrote this piece during the month of April 2024 - Adenomyosis Awareness Month, and the idea came to me during March 2024 (Endometriosis Awareness Month). This will not have any type of pregnancy kink, but will touch on infertility of OC due to the aforementioned; canon for this story is also that Vampires are infertile - there will be no Renesmé. OC is intended to be around the same age as Max, reader’s choice up or down, but no age gap. Because older afab/fem lovers are sexy - we drink and we know things.

Warnings: Most of these warnings will apply to later Chapters. Chapter 1 is fairly light and fluffy "getting to know you" with some steamy close calls, lingering touches and what have you (the what have you is the best part). But don't worry - we'll be getting down and dirty in Chapter 2.

A bit of rough sex/smut (fingering, fem penetration - P in V, oral [m + f receiving]), food play, 18+ only content, able bodied fem afab reader, alcohol consumption, non-gendered pet names, fem can be carried and has hair - though length is not mentioned, consensual "bondage", some use of y+n - but not explicitly, though consensuality is implied and intended through actions and reactions, no protection used for Vampire reasons TBD (be wise and always use protection, this is fiction). Did attempt to stay away from gendered pronouns and nicknames, although did use the word woman, 3 times throughout the entire piece (not fully published yet) referring to OC. Future chapters will discuss history endo / adeno, and of previous relationship / SA; there will also be Vampire hunting, murdering, and blood….sucking bastards.

Return to the Masterlist!

Sitting at my little mahogany desk, stretching back in the leather desk chair, I shut off my phone alarm as it blasted the opening chords of Raspberry Beret. 3:15 a.m. - time to grab my laundry from the basement of the old apartment building where I was settled.

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Weird time to be doing laundry, huh? Not for me, though - I’d had insomnia for, let’s see, I’ll have to count on fingers and toes, 5 + 12 + 3 months, so that makes...20 months.

20 months without sunlight, for the most part. I’d had random doctor appointments that interrupted my daytime drowsiness, but about 20 months ago, I broke a little inside and haven’t been able to get back on a normal schedule.

So middle of the night laundry. And mail. And gym time, groceries, cleaning, working…

Honestly, it’s not that bad - I make my living narrating books, and I can do that whenever. Groceries get delivered to my apartment, I’m living Sandra Bullock’s The Net dream life. Peace, quiet, solitude, and ultimate zen.

Is it lonely sometimes? Sure. But that’s what my vibrator is for, and Mr. Rochester is doing fine work. The best part for us is that it’s pretty noncommittal, given that his back story is that he keeps his mentally unwell wife in the attic. Thank you, Charlotte Brontë.

As I headed down the apartment stairwell with my laundry basket against my hip, wearing my laundry day “Li’l Sebastian” (you’re 5,000 candles in the wind) t-shirt, and my hair in a side party-pony, I scrolled through my phone looking for the perfect song. Walking down the stairs, the scent of clean laundry wafting nearer, I enjoyed the open breezes from the stairwell windows. Spring was certainly taking the tepid steps of a lamb, easing along and bringing slightly warmer licks on gentle winds, carrying hints of flowers and plants experiencing horticultural resurrection.

The laundry room, in the dank cement-block basement, was far enough from the apartments that you could throw a party and no one would know, but it also had amazing acoustics. The actual accommodations, on the other hand, left much to be desired - but down here? Chef’s kiss - perfection. Which is why I always seized the opportunity of being the only one awake doing laundry, to partake in one of my favorite activities: singing while folding laundry. The ultimate mood booster.

As I scrolled through my Spotify, I landed on a classic and hit play, crooning in my best sultry voice, “I was staring at the sky, just looking for a star, to pray on or wish on or something like that…”

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I continued folding, singing at the top of my lungs, letting my voice trickle through the runs, shimmying my shoulders as I danced in place. Breathing right along with Fiona Apple during Paper Bag, “Oh, hunger hurts - but I want him so bad, oh-oh it kills, because I know that I'm a mess that he don't wanna clean up. I got to fold because these hands are just too - shaky to hold. Hunger hurts, but starving, it works, when it costs too much to love.”

Daintily placing the last folded item on top, I turned around and was startled to see a man in a three piece suit standing in the doorway of the laundry room.

This is why I don’t wear airpods down here. Safety first.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize someone else was down here. And - you just had to endure me giving a private demonstration on how to sing like no one’s listening and dance like no one’s watching.”

I uncomfortably raised my eyebrow and pursed my lips.

“If I gave you money, you could be my private dancer, my dancer for money.” He smirked.

“Tina Turner? Really? I don’t know if that’s the best way to - “ I paused before changing my mind, “No, wait a minute, I think if you’re even going to start with that proposition you have to at least sing it to me. Otherwise, that’s a lazy proposal.”

He didn’t laugh, but he didn’t not laugh. While I gave him the once over, waiting for his response, I noticed that he was unnervingly handsome. Sandy brown hair, with eyes like a hot, fresh espresso, I could practically smell the roasty cinnamon and nutmeg, getting lost in them as he poured them over me, so warm and comforting. His smile crept up to one side - I had a hard time determining its sincerity, but he certainly seemed amused by me. Why? I had no idea. Like the mere idea of me tickled him as he watched me uncomfortably shift in my laundry day outfit and party pony under his gaze.

“Another time, absolutely.” I took a step back, confused by his response, “I’m more interested in who you want so bad that it kills?”

“Huh?” I asked him, ineloquently, and then, “I’m sorry - what are you asking me?”

He gave a low chuckle, and stepped closer, “The song you were singing. You sang about how you ‘want him so bad, OH, it kills,’ -- “ he put his face next to mine, “who do you want?”

“You’re intense, aren’t you?”

Stepping back, he raised his eyebrows.

“How about a, ‘Hi, my name is, I don’t know - Blake? I live in the building, I like ponies and narwhals, and my favorite book is something super pretentious about fountain pens’?”

His smile widened from a half smile to a full smile, “My name is Max Phillips, I live in the building, I do like ponies - and narwhals, in theory, I’ve never seen one. My favorite book is The Grapes of Wrath and basically anything by Bill Waterson.”

“Wait - Bill Waterson? Calvin & Hobbes, Bill Waterson?” I responded, a bit shocked, but highly intrigued.

“Yes, but I think you’re supposed to respond in kind,” the words were nice, although they sounded a bit like an order, which I’m not a huge fan of, but for some reason I didn’t seem to mind coming from him.

I told him my name, that I was a huge Capote fan, loved Breakfast at Tiffany’s and In Cold Blood, but that I also really, really loved Dickens, too. Specifically David Copperfield. I hated to admit it, but somehow he’d cracked me open and gotten me talking about my favorite subject. As I stood there waxing on about the upside down ship house and Aunt Betsey Trotwood, and how the movie Breakfast at TIffany’s differed from the book, the laundry basket kept drooping lower and lower on my hip. Without realizing it until I had finished a particularly impassioned speech, I noticed that Max was holding my laundry basket for me. I had been wildly gesticulating with both hands while he contentedly watched me.

“Oh my goodness.” I started, realizing that I’d gone off on a tangent, “I’m so sorry - you probably have other things that you’re meant to be doing.”

My eyes drifted to his suit, perfectly tailored, the button-up underneath holding on just barely, and the snug collar that would probably be a lot more comfortable for him if I were to loosen his tie for him. I bit my lower lip, thinking about it - and then told myself to snap out of it. Alone is good and healthy. So what if my therapist friends say “fine” is a four letter word? I’m fine. I’m FINE. He’s fine. Haha. No. Back to narrating books. Oh shit, he’s looking at me.

“I’m not in any rush,” he started - but I took the laundry basket away from him anyway.

Immediately, he reached out and grabbed my hand in between my thumb and forefinger, pressing firmly, “Did you know that this spot right here is an acupressure point, that helps with migraines?”

“Oh!” caught by surprise, I let out a gasp. “Well, that’s incredibly useful information, thank you,” nervously, I chuckled, “I’m gonna go, but it was really nice to meet you, Max.”

“It was an extremely pleasurable experience for me, as well.” He said, his words dripping with single, double, and I didn’t know it was possible, but triple entendre as well.

As I walked back up the stairs, I thought about what he had just done for me - the acupressure point. How did he know that I was getting a migraine? Was it just obvious from my facial expressions? Well, I suppose I’d rather he recognize that I was having a migraine than think I wasn’t interested. Wait - is he a doctor? Shoot. I didn’t ask. We also didn’t exchange numbers. I can’t go back, I’m already halfway up the stairs. Ugh! You know what? No. I’m therapist “F” word. FINE. If it’s meant to happen, it’ll happen. Meanwhile, I know Mr. Rochester is charged and waiting. It’s all good.

By the time I got back to my apartment my migraine was actually gone, and I was feeling quite flushed after the passing experience with Max, so I decided to treat myself. I lit my fancy Sage & Peppermint candle, turned on my “To Be Savored” playlist, then went straight to my treasure box and pulled out Mr. Rochester. I know exactly how to set the mood for me.

I thought about Max’s handsomely roguish grin, with its slight dimple and the way his eyes crinkled playfully, like he wanted to keep toying with me all night. Placing Mr. Rochester onto my clitoris, then rubbing up and down to get him wet - easily done. After where my thoughts had been, I turned him on to the first vibration and started moaning lightly. In the back of my mind, it registered that I heard footsteps coming down the corridor of apartments in the hallway, just outside of mine. I turned the vibrator up another click and moaned a bit more, thinking about a fantasy situation where Max came bursting into my apartment, and fucked me right here and now. Suddenly, the footsteps stopped right outside the door of my apartment.

Panting, there was a sudden twitch as my clitoris began to orgasm, unable to determine what was fantasy and reality.

“Is he outside my apartment?!” I hissed in confusion and paranoia. I ramped up the vibrator, and let myself have it, breathing out, “Oh god, Max!”

Then, the footsteps started again, and I heard a deep baritone chuckling.

No. No, no, no, no, no.

Shit.

Well, there goes the neighborhood.

It had been a few days, and I started to wonder if Max was actually real, or just the product of my desperate, overactive imagination. If that was the case, kudos to me. I really could not have imagined a more perfect specimen.

I would be glad, if he were simply imagined.

Because I was so horrified post-self-coital that he might’ve heard me, that I did actively hide even more so than I’ve already been hidden.

But I still had to get mail, and I do still exercise pretty regularly, so there was bound to be an incident. Not that there had been, or that we’d bumped into each other in the gym before, but the odds of someone you’ve never met from your building, bumping into you in the laundry and then walking down your hallway at the exact moment that you just happen to decide to masturbate to their extremely, tall, hovering frame - the odds, what were they, really? I laughed to myself, to keep myself from overheating and crying a little bit.

However, I’d been keeping my nighttime moonlighting as the resident lounge singer on the very, very nonexistent down low. Which, yes, “crushes my fragile spirit,” sure, but worth it not to bump into someone I fantasy-orgasmed to very loudly.

Especially if they were real and happened to hear me through my poorly sound-proofed door. The cringe is real, the cringe has its own cringe, the cringe lives in a house made of cringe on Cringe Lane in the town of Cringe at the edge of Cringe Lake. But when you say it that way, it just sounds British, and suddenly, my cringe sounds quaint, doesn’t it? But oh, god - what if Cringe Lake has a Cringe Lake House, with a magic mailbox? No. I can’t entertain that idea. It’s too much, I’m spinning out!

The only thing that really centers me, is heading down to the basement gym. Is it poorly lit with the same cement block walls as the laundry room? Is it carpeted with a full wall of mirrors and a bar for an imaginary barre class that I sometimes pretend that I’m taking? Are there only two ellipticals, one exercise bike, and only one set of mismatched weights, but 5 treadmills? Yes, yes, yes, always, yes, yes, yes, who knows why - maybe because of the prancercise craze of the mid 90’s? (It’s just prancing. Prancing, I said!)

My machine of choice? Always the elliptical. I’ve never been skiing, but I like to pretend like I’m Audrey Hepburn, in the Swiss Alps at the very beginning of the movie Charade, when she’s at a ski resort in the Swiss Alps, not skiing at all, and then she never goes back there at any time for the rest of the movie. What I’m really saying is, I watch something on my iPad for almost an hour until I reach an esoteric high.

Tonight though, I needed to focus. No comfort binging Law & Order: SVU. Nay, it was vital I concentrate on the latest book I was narrating. I would love to say that it was something that will take the literary world by storm but, it was definitely a bit more niche.

The plot was focused on sexy British assassins - a first day on the job for one, while the other had been training their whole life. Naturally, the conflict being that they’d slept together once before and someone accidentally lost their memory when they were kidnapped. Of course, that led to misunderstandings, and one assassin thought the other was blowing them off, when it was just simply a case of, “I was drugged by a rival assassin team and forgot everything that happened between us”.

Make no mistake, once everything was cleared up - there was a lot of sex in this book. A LOT of sex in this book. So much. And you have to wonder when people are writing this, is this what they like? Do they have a partner that they’re trying all of this out with first to make sure it works? Should I be trying this out first in order to be an accurate narrator?

Oh, no. Stop thinking about Max.

As I placed my iPad on the elliptical along with my water bottle and stepped up onto the machine, my thoughts began to drift. Setting the machine to Interval Training, I opened up my iPad to the book and continued where I’d left off, trying to decide what voice I would give to the main character, to her counterpart. Although, there was a possibility the author would be finding another narrator to read for the male character. I wouldn’t know until later.

These thoughts trailed beneath as I read about how the male character could identify the female character by her scent. Ridiculous, I thought, letting out an amused giggle, even with a personalized perfume, really? Tracking her by her scent across London? Who would buy that?

Things continued to heat up for the protagonists, but right before they were about to rip their clothes off, my elliptical made a disappointed, whoosh sound as it transitioned from cool down to off.

Same, elliptical. Same.

Climbing off the elliptical, I turned up the music on my phone, and started stretching out my muscles. As I finished my stretches, Adele’s Send My Love (To Your New Lover) came on, and there was no way I was going to resist singing along.

Fuck it, it’s 2:45 a.m.

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I grabbed the mirror rail, feeling myself entirely, swaying my hips back and forth. Sliding down and dipping back up, dragging my hand down my neck, my chest, and letting it rest on my stomach, I closed my eyes and belted, “Send my love to your new lo-o-ver! Treat her be-e-etter. We’ve gotta let go of all of our ghosts, we both know we ain’t kids no more….”

“I don’t know about you, but I’m very glad we’re not kids anymore.”

“Oh SHIT!”

I jumped and hit my elbow against the mirror, then immediately slid down the mirror hard and hit the same spot on my elbow on the mirror rail, landing on my backside, cradling my elbow.

“Oh! Sad face!” I yelped.

“Did you just say ‘sad face’?” Max had rushed over from where he’d been standing in the doorframe watching me, and with tempered concern put his hand on my forehead, then my arm to see if I was alright.

“Yes, I believe it’s the current preferred standard of emoting. It’s clear, concise…it’s um,” I started to drift a little.

“Hey, stay with me, tell me more about your emojis.”

Taking his phone, he turned on the flashlight and shone it in my eyes, holding my chin to keep me steady, “Pretty eyes, song bird,” and gave me a half smile.

“I’m not a BIRD. I’m a full grown adult woman.”

Eyeing me up and down, Max scoffed gently while shaking his head, “There’s no denying that. Luckily it looks like you don’t have a concussion, but unfortunately,” licking his lips softly as he looked at my elbow, which had a large splinter of wood sticking out of it and a little bit of blood starting to drip from the site, “I’m gonna have to cut my workout short. I think this is definitely a ‘walk my sexy neighbor home emergency’.”

It was my turn to scoff, “Okay, okay - how many sexy neighbors do you walk home every night? Don’t act like this is impressive or like I should be impressed because I’m not.”

He didn’t laugh out loud, but his deep laugh rumbled and shook his chest, like he was deliberately trying not to laugh at me. As though he thought it was important to me, to be taken seriously. Which it IS, of course, but - why does he know that?

Sweeping his right arm under my left arm, leaving my wounded right arm out so that I could hold it close to my chest, and using his left arm to lift me up by the legs, he picked me up.

“Just the one,” he smirked as he made direct eye contact - and carried me up five flights of stairs.

It was definitely impressive, but I had to ask him when we got to the top, “Why didn’t you take the elevator?”

Max clicked his tongue and looked at me reproachfully, “Never, ever miss leg day. Ever.” and then he used me to do curls, after unlocking the apartment and walking inside.

“I object! To being used as gym equipment!” I declared like a regular Lady Violet, the Dowager Countess of Grantham, and Max immediately set me down on my leather couch.

“Much better.” Quietly approving in a mutter from my seated position.

“I’m assuming bandages, antiseptic, antibiotic ointment, that’s all in your - bathroom?” I nodded, still feeling a little woozy, as I watched him walk away.

And then panic struck as I remembered something terrible, a pall was cast over my face as sudden abject horror and humiliation pulled me into a dark and spiraling pit.

“Oh no.” I whispered.

“What?” called Max, from the other room.

How could he possibly have heard that? Did I not whisper? Am I a loud whisperer like my mom and I just don’t know it yet? Max returned, with the engaging smile of someone ready to sell me a bridge, and holding Mr. Rochester, “Is this what you’re looking for?”

My eyes grew wide and large and extra. I ran through a list of possible scenarios where this worked out well for me, and I hated every single one where I admitted it was mine. Normally, yes, I don’t care. I’m very sex positive, but (sobbing internally) this man. I am just not there yet, and I get to make that decision, right? Right.

“What’d you find there?” I asked innocently.

Genuine shock washed over Max’s face and he looked slightly taken aback for a split second, before smoothing himself over, and resuming play, “It was sitting on a towel on the sink in your bathroom.”

I shrugged my shoulders, I touched my face, I looked up and to the left, hid my thumbs, pursed my lips, I basically inadvertently did everything the FBI guy from the podcast about lie detecting said liars do.

“Oh, um, I don’t know. Maybe - uh, maybe maintenance left it here?”

“Maintenance?” Max gave me a dubious look.

“Yeah, the –“ had to pause while I remembered everything that might go in a bathroom that I was willing to have clogged in front of him, “SINK was clogged. I had to get maintenance here to use something for it. I think that’s a snake, is what they call it, right there. What that is.”

“A snake? For clearing clogged drains?” He bit the inside of his cheek, and ground his jaw - I could tell he was not convinced, and might be slightly amused, “You know I’ve used a snake before, this isn’t it.”

“Oh my god. I wonder if someone - accidentally - left it here during one of those, neighbor meetings.”

“What neighbor meetings?” Max gave me a very skeptical look.

“You know, the ones we have. With chips and dip and we talk about neighbor happenings. I don’t think you were at the last one. Probably it’s a microphone. Cordless. With bluetooth for TIkToks,” I gave an extra super chill shrug to add to my very convincing improv acting that has not remotely degraded in skill over the years, “Obviously.”

“You know what. You’re probably right.” He said, seeming very convinced, and I don’t think he noticed, but I did breath a sigh of relief.

“I’ll check in with all of the neighbors, and make sure that I’m on the email list for the next neighbor meeting, while simultaneously checking to see who might’ve misplaced this ‘device,’ here. In your apartment.” The look he gave me was smug.

I grabbed my Nic Cage sequined throw pillow, and hugged it tight, groaning when I realized we still hadn’t attended to my arm.

Max’s face softened, but only by a hair as he set down Mr. Rochester and walked towards me. Sitting down on the couch next to me, placing all of the medical supplies on the coffee table, he began to examine my arm. Licking his lips with a far off look in his eyes, he gulped softly, then took a tweezers and started removing the pieces of wood.

As he worked, he spoke softly, firm, but his voice remained smooth, velvety rich, plush - I wanted to run my hands against it and feel the warmth - nope, that’s the horny pain talking; but what he actually said was, “So, as I was saying, I’m going to take the ‘mysterious device’ from your bathroom for safe keeping. I’ll, uh, ‘check-in’ with your neighbors to see if it belongs to anyone,” then he looked directly into my eyes, holding mine and not letting go - deep caramel brown pulling me into him, “and if I can’t find who it belongs to in a few days time,” I groaned at that, “I’m sorry, am I hurting your arm?” I bit my lip, knowing that wasn’t why I groaned, “then I’ll bring it back, and we can explore the device together. Try and figure out what it does, how it works, the best way to use it. Sound good?”

He looked up at me from under his eyebrows, and I melted. Oof, he was smarmy and smooth, and I had a bad feeling he was going to be my achilles dick.

I tilted my head to the side like a puppy and raised one eyebrow, “I suppose that could be – ” pausing as I bit my lip, debating the right word, “amenable.”

“Well, we certainly wouldn’t want to inconvenience you, would we?” Max looked back down at my arm, taking a wet, soapy, warm cloth, and gently washing off my elbow.

The action was so small and insignificant, but I found myself easing out of my discomfort as I watched him dry off my arm, and apply a large bandage.

Snapping out of it, I started to sit up, “Oh wait, no - I just finished exercising, I need to take a shower first, I’ll put a bandage on afterwards.”

Max looked at me, one eyebrow raised, as he continued what he was doing, and I scrunched my nose up at him in response.

Giving me his smug half-smile with the dimple, his voice somewhat patronizing, “Now that this is taken care of, I’ll run a bath for you – “

“Extra bubbles, if you must,” I interrupted, frowning at him and feeling slightly suspicious. Who was he to run baths for me in my own apartment? I picked up my phone and started passive aggressively scrolling for bath tunes, because of course, despite the nerve of this man, I was going to enjoy my bath.

“Alright,” Max came out of the bathroom, “I hope it’s hot enough for you.”

Looking up from my phone, I couldn’t help myself from drawing my gaze slowly up his body, slowly lingering on his stomach, where his shirt lifted as he stretched his arm above his head. The V of his stomach, disappearing into his sweats, the light trail of hair from his navel to - destination unknown as of yet, but those pants gave some ideas. Oh my god, I’m such a Samantha! I giggled to myself, and Max gave me a confused, yet intrigued look.

I shook my head, “Nothing. Don’t worry about it. I’m sure the water is fine, thank you.”

“You’re very welcome,” he crossed over to the couch, reaching under my left arm, and giving me a lift so that I could walk leaning against him. I groaned getting up, “Yeah - you’re sore, aren’t you? You fell pretty hard. The hot water should help, I added some bath salt with the bubbles.”

“Why are you being so nice to me? We barely know each other.”

“I’m being a decent person. You need to adjust your bar for ‘so nice’, because that threshold is too low, Sweetness.”

As he walked me into the bathroom, I saw that he’d lit a candle, and put all of my shower toiletries, as well as a fresh towel on the bench next to the bathtub, within easy reach. It really wasn’t a hard thing to do, it was a simple, nice thing to do for someone who’d just hurt themself, but it got to me and I had to swallow a lump I felt rising in my throat.

Turning to him, my eyes starting to sparkle a bit with the beginnings of tears that I was determined to hold back, but my sincerity would not be mistaken, “Thank you. I mean it.”

His mouth was smiling, but his eyes lost their crinkle and his eyebrows frowned slightly, “You’re welcome. Now, I’m gonna be just outside the door, over there on the couch, catching up on some emails on my phone, but if you need me –” he mimed the words ‘call me’ while holding his hand up to his ear like a phone.

I nodded, chuckling at his corny sense of humor, “Okay, buddy. Will do,” giving him a thumbs up. He gave a look indicating that he did not like being referred to as ‘buddy,’ and I laughed a little harder while closing the door on him.

Shedding my clothes and tossing them into the hamper, I noticed that I had a large purple and green bruise forming on my backside. Perfect, that’s gonna be sore for a little while. Before stepping into the tub, I popped on my playlist - the water was nice and hot, and felt amazing on my sore body as I sank lower into the water. Yes, yes, and yes - perfection. I let my bandaged arm rest on the edge of the tub as I soaked a cloth, washing my face and the rest of my body. Using the handheld shower head attachment with my left hand, I rinsed through my hair, getting it thoroughly soaked.

I grabbed my shampoo bar soap and started to lather, realizing very quickly that with an elbow that I couldn’t bend, I was going to have to do it one handed.

“Shoot!” I muttered under my breath, as I tried to figure out the best way to do it without getting my bandage wet.

Immediately there was a knock on the bathroom door. “Is everything alright? I’m coming in, but my eyes are closed.”

Max walked in with one hand on the doorknob, and the other over his eyes. I quickly put my left arm over my chest, despite the fact that there were still a LOT of bubbles covering me up. Max knows how to make a good bubble bath, I’ll give him that.

I looked down at myself, and realizing that it was fine, said, “You can look, Max. It’s all good.”

He took his hand down from his eyes, and closed the door behind him. “I’m just struggling a bit to wash my hair while not bending my arm. I mean, I’m sure I can get used to it - I’m just in an adjustment period.”

He sat down next to the bathtub, “Why don’t I help you out tonight - you’re still obviously in shock, right?”

It definitely was a question that indicated concern, but I had a strong sense that he was cajoling me. Mr. Spider, may I introduce you to Miss Fly?

Bickering with my shoulder angel and demon, I opted to accept his offer - because I was sore, and even if his bid to assist me concealed darker intentions, I struggled to care. Somehow, within the presence of his pheromones, his spicy musk, leather and oaky whisky, there existed nothing outside of the puzzle box where we existed, where I was kept like his little secret treasure.

Handing him the shampoo bar, he dipped his hands in the bath water quickly, and started lathering up the bar. “Can you sit up?”

I put my left arm back over my chest and leaned forward until I rested my breasts against my knees, my right arm still clinging to the tub. Max started to massage the shampoo into my hair and I involuntarily leaned my head back into his hands, moaning gently.

“Well, if that’s all it takes to get you to make sounds like that, maybe I should come by and wash your hair again tomorrow.” he teased, his voice irresistibly oozing charm.

“I mean –” I started without finishing, my eyes blissfully closed, thoroughly enjoying what Herbal Essences commercials of the 90’s long ago promised and never delivered.

Cackling, actually gleefully cackling - pleased with himself, Max took the handheld shower head and rinsed the shampoo from my hair. “Alright, I’m assuming there’s a conditioner next?” I pointed to the Olaplex No. 5, “Okay, Fancy.”

“You don’t have to use very much, a lot goes a long way.” I looked over at him, resting my chin on my knees.

“Fair enough.” He squeezed a bit of conditioner into his open palm, and then started rubbing it with both hands into my ends, working his way towards the roots.

“Uh, this is not your first time washing a woman’s hair, is it?” I asked, my voice brimming with curiosity.

“Well, that would be part of my backstory.” I frowned at his response.

“Which I will tell you. One day. But I think it’s a little soon for that.” Max could tell that he was losing me to my thoughts, “But no, it’s not something that I’ve done for a sexy neighbor before.”

Immediately, I was brought back to the here and now, as the word ‘neighbor’ must have given me the same tone of face that I had given Max when I called him ‘buddy’. He looked particularly self-satisfied, as I shot him an admonishing glare.

“How long do we need to leave your conditioner in?” he asked, as my playlist moved onto one of my favorite songs, albeit an unfortunate choice for the moment - Sharon Van Etten’s, Jupiter 4.

youtube

Twisting my hair up, I gestured towards a hair clip on the bathroom sink. Max picked it up, and while I used my left hand to hold my hair up on top of my head, he clipped my hair in place for me.

“Thanks, I usually leave it in for the length of a song - this one should be good.” Blushing as I thought about how sexy this song made me feel. I started to lean back, crossing my left arm back over my chest, and sank back in the water - letting my chest and abdomen be submerged, while my knees and legs stuck out in peaks from the water and the bubbles.

“This is Sharon Van Etten - “ Max paused, “I really like her, and this song,” he took a breath, raised an eyebrow, while looking me up and down, and started singing in his low voice, “Touching your face,” he leaned forward and lifted my chin towards his face with his index finger and thumb, “How’d it take a long, long time - to be here. Turning the wheel on my street. My heart still skips a beat. It’s echoing, echoing, echoing - “ he stared into my eyes, and it felt like another world was opening up to me, “Baby, baby, baby, I’ve been waiting, waiting, waiting my whole life for someone like you.”

As he leaned forward on the tub, his arm knocked the bottle of conditioner into the water, and I took a deep breath in, realizing that I had stopped breathing during his serenade. I broke my gaze from him to the water where the bottle had fallen in, near my legs, and then back to him. Without breaking eye contact with me, he reached through the warm, foamy water, leaning closer to my face as he carefully waded deeper beneath the bubbles.

His hand didn’t touch me, exactly, but felt along the edge of the tub, near the side of my body, going down. I knew where he needed to go, I could feel where the bottle was and squeezed my legs together, tilting them both towards the wall. Suddenly, he put his hand on my right thigh, slowly going up towards my knees. I closed my eyes, and I could feel his breath on me as he turned his face, leaning closer into my neck.

When he got to my knees, I breathed out like I was breathing through a straw, opening my eyes and looking down the tub at his large hand. He slipped his fingers between my knees and gently wedged them apart, stretching his hand so that his thumb was on one leg, and his pinky was on the other. Slowly, he dragged them down both legs, gradually pushing my legs open wider the further down he got. I could feel my heart rate increasing, my nipples growing harder, my vagina pulsing. Looking back at him, my mouth slightly open as my breath started to grow a bit more ragged, my eyebrows furrowing as I held myself back. Gazing back at me, his lips parted, his tongue poised between them, he watched me hungrily - and as I looked down at his sweatpants, I could tell his appetite was fully whetted.

His hand was almost to my vagina, to my clitoris - my whole body trembling, I involuntarily arched my back, letting my breasts peek out from the water for the briefest of moments, and Max’s eyes flickered down my body as he licked his lips. That hand, that cruel hand, slipped just mere seconds before touching me where I craved it. With a quick detour, he pulled the bottle of conditioner out of the water.

I cried out in agony, throwing my left arm over my chest, suddenly and abruptly sitting upright in the tub - trying to catch my breath, shaking as my body pulsed with uncontrollable longing. What is wrong with me? I hardly know this man. This is my neighbor. Oh god. THIS IS MY NEIGHBOR. And I let him give me a bath? Inside I was cry-laughing and dying. I’ve talked to him twice. How did I think this was a good idea?

Max said absolutely nothing. He turned on the handheld shower head and rinsed the conditioner out of my hair, then used one hand to rub my back while I focused on steadying my breath.

As my breath steadied, he asked, “Are you ready to get out?”

Standing up, he held the towel with both hands, and closing his eyes, “I promise I won’t open my eyes –” he opened one eye, looking amused, and then closed it, “again - until I leave the bathroom and, or, you say it’s okay.”

A simple enough promise - will he break it? I suppose there’s only one way to find out.

I sighed and said, “Yeah, I’m ready.”

Standing up, I started to take the towel, but Max wrapped the towel around me instead, giving me strong arms to lean on as I stepped out of the tub, and closer to him and the overwhelming scent of him. Tucking in the towel I looked up at his face, with his eyes closed. The strong, angled, and clean shaven cut of his jaw, the beautiful line of his incredibly sexy aquiline nose - like a marble statue from antiquity. The line of his brow, begging me to trace my fingers across them, and his lips - always pulling back to reveal that suave smile and dreamy little dimple. What I wouldn’t do with those lips!

“You can open your eyes.” I spoke softly, embarrassed that I was here in this moment of intense vulnerability, somehow.

He opened his eyes and looked down at me, grinning at first, but then he saw my look of deflation and his gaze became stern.

“What’s wrong?”

Glancing down, I tried to find the words, “I’m not exactly sure what just happened –”

With an encouraging smile, Max asked, “Well, I helped my sexy neighbor wash her hair –” he squeezed my shoulders, “did she want something more to happen?”

“I’m not sure.” My brows knitted together as I looked up at him.

“And that’s why I didn’t do anything more. But rest assured, the moment I get a resounding ‘full speed ahead!’ I will be hard pressed to stop.”

His eyes flashed down to my lips, sticking his tongue out just a little bit, and then continued, “You’re beautiful. You’re attractive, intelligent, funny - did I say smart? I’m not going to take advantage of you, or risk pushing you before you’re ready. We have time to get to know each other.”

I beamed as he fawned over me, heat rushing to my cheeks.

Feeling certain and satisfied that he had rejuvenated my spirits, he wrapped his arm underneath my left arm, opening the door and walking me out of the bathroom, naked but for a towel.

“What exactly are your plans for the rest of these midnight hours?” he casually asked.

I thought back to my iPad and the sexy assassin story, “Ah, well, I need to work actually.”

“Narrating? I’d love to sit in and listen.”

Again, I thought about the content of the sexy assassin story, and after that bath - no, no, no. My cheeks and my neck flushed red, “I’m not sure that’s a good idea. Besides, I don’t think the material would be up your alley.”

“Really?” He mocked surprise, “But how do you know? Unless you try?” giving me a wink.

The thought of reading him sexy lady-porn books and then ripping his sweatpants off and taking his cock in my mouth stopped me in my tracks and made my mouth twitch. You have a job, and you have to make money. You cannot make money sucking his cock. Or can you? No. You can’t. That’s not legal here. GODDAMMIT.

“As a professional,” I cleared my throat, “narrator, to be clear - it is - my professional opinion that you not be here while I work. Unfortunately. I’m sorry.”

I gave him an ‘ohmygod, I’m sooooo sorry,’ smile.

“That’s too bad,” he said, biting his lip.

“Yeah, maybe another time - like Bring Your Daughter to Work Day.” Why did I say that? Was that funny?

His eyebrows flashed up and down quickly, and he gave a surprised chuckle as he walked me to my apartment door. But not before stopping by the coffee table and grabbing Mr. Rochester.

“Can’t forget this,” he arbitrarily declared, “gotta make sure this little guy makes it back to his forever home. Bet his family misses him.”

And then he made it jump around in the air with his hand, making little yapping and barking sounds, like Mr. Rochester was someone’s lost purse dog. The blatant audacity of this man. I refuse to laugh.

When I didn’t laugh, Max made sad puppy whining sounds while nuzzling it up to my neck. “Noooooo.” I cried, closing my eyes in mock distress.

When we got to the door, he quickly nabbed my phone and held it up to my face, swiping up so that he could unlock it. Then, he called his phone from mine, and took a selfie of us together - him holding Mr. Rochester in one hand and his other arm around me in a towel. Which of course, he programmed so that it popped up every time he called me on my phone, and every time I called him, that way, “we could be phone twins.”

Stepping outside my apartment door, he turned around to speak to me, “So, I’ll see you in a couple days, after I confirm who this bad boy belongs to, and get myself situated with those,” he squinted his eyes at me, “building meetings. But if you need anything, you have my number.”

His eyes drifted down to where I was feeling tension, a craving that I wasn’t willing to give into just yet.

“Do you think you’ll be okay for a few days?”

He shook Mr. Rochester playfully, and my eyes widened, my left arm tightening around my towel, and I shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. Can he read minds? What is happening?

“I’ll be fine, and I promise I’ll text if I need anything.”

His grin widened, “Great! See ya soon!”

I closed the door and wobbled over to the couch, where I picked up my Nic Cage pillow and screamed into his sequined face, throwing it at the door afterwards.

Somewhere, far off, I could swear that I heard Max laughing.

Knowing full well that I am right handed and only technically a little ambidextrous because of piano lessons as a child, but definitely not enough to satisfy myself as necessary without Mr. Rochester - I looked down at my left hand, “You’re a disappointment, and I hate you.”

But it wasn’t lefty’s fault alone, it was partially mine and I would remedy that later. But first, to slog through painfully sexy narration for the next few hours. I let myself give out a loud sob, and then told myself to buck up and be a professional.

To be continued...

Check out the Easter Eggs for this chapter here.

Return to the Masterlist!

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#Pedro Pascal #Max Phillips x afab!fem!reader #Bloodsucking Bastards Fic #Adenomyosis Awareness #Endometriosis Awareness #Not Twilight #NO Renesmé #Youtube

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lydias--stiles · 1 year

Text

holmesbury | one-shot | post-canon | jealousy trope

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

The Viscount Tewkesbury, Marquess of Basilwether was a decidedly soft man. He drank his tea with a lot of milk, enjoyed walks in the park, nursed flowers as a passion, and loved his fiancée to the moon and beyond.

Enola Holmes was a decidedly not soft woman. At least, not in public. He counted himself lucky to see her disarming and sweet behind closed doors. She spoke her mind regardless of decorum, a radical just like him, and worked independently as the first female detective of the United Kingdom.

Other men considered him foolish for courting ‘such an uninhibited girl’. Society women whispered rumours about their relationship at balls and soirées, not understanding Tewkesbury’s willingness to let her roam free. They thought he perhaps had a mistress — an actress or singer or farmer, one of lower standing — and that his engagement to Enola was simply a mirage.

No one understood that he was totally, fully, irrevocably in love with her. He couldn't breathe whenever she was near. He loved her. He loved her. He loved her.

They ignored the biting remarks as best as they could and he ensured his devotion to her through dozens of bouquets, affection, and long conversations that rolled deep into the night. He never let her second-guess his love.

(“You look beguiling in red, my dear,” he whispered in her ear as they went on a promenade through the park to the House of Lords. “It really suits that beautiful brain of yours.”

“Your compliments are becoming more and more ridiculous, Tewky,” she fondly replied and squeezed his arm. “But thank you.”)

But since he was so focused on loving and defending her, he hadn't expected anyone actually listening. And reacting.

It happened at a ball. He managed to convince her to attend the Wollsworth ball in exchange for a waltz and tasty hors d'oeuvres. She looked stunning in an inky blue gown and he felt like the luckiest guy. His heart thrummed in his throat, hoping the waltz would commence soon.

Enola, however, seemed bored. “I’m going to do a lap and look for some stimulating conversation.” She opened her fan and wafted it by her nose, making him smile. He loved her, too. “See you for that waltz, my Lord.”

“See you then, my Lady,” he sighed, watching her slip between the crowds towards an elegant colonnade.

The Wollsworth family were renowned in society for their patronage for artists. Paintings flanked the walls and grande sculptures decorated the corners of the rooms. An avant-garde chandelier hung from the ceiling, though the furniture was an odd mix of current styles and baroque. Tewkesbury appreciated it. They had enough money that allowed them to appear ‘alternative’ and therefore made balls as these more interesting.

A group of men talked about a landscaping artist they hired for their estate and it enraptured him in a horticultural debate. So much so, that he briefly forgot about Enola and that he perhaps should find her.

Which was when he looked over his shoulder and felt dread drop to his stomach.

There: another man, making Enola laugh.

“May you excuse me,” he muttered, leaving the conversation.

Now, the Viscount Tewkesbury, Marquess of Basilwether was and forever would be a soft man… but he was also just a man. A human.

And now, he felt an unjustified, snarling, green-eyed emotion clawing around his chest. Jealousy. Complete and utter jealousy. A man that wasn't him making Enola smile? It took him weeks to get her to laugh at his jokes and she hardly gave him that pleasure now.

Tewkesbury assessed the man. Tall, fit and blonde, an agreeable countenance, assured and confident, a dandy style with a certain timelessness. A ‘catch’, as overbearing mothers would say.

Was it wrong of him to feel possessive over Enola? He knew she loved him and he knew she wouldn't run off with the strange man. He knew that the man likely knew she was betrothed. And yet. He wanted to charge, kiss her in front of his nose and then tell the man to bugger off and make another woman laugh.

Instead, however, he slowly walked up to her, allowing them to regard him without surprise.

Enola smiled. “Hello. Missed me so soon?”

“Of course,” he said, but his eyes were stuck on the third person. “My apologies, I don't believe we've met. I'm Viscount Tewkesbury, Marquess of Basilwether.”

“We have not,” the man said, shaking his hand. His tenor voice was melodious and charming. “I am Sir Tristan Sheffield, one of the artists under Wollsworth’s patronage.”

“Ah. Well, he has good taste. I am sure your creations are no different.” While his words were compliments, his tone was clipped, something that did not go unnoticed by Enola. From his periphery, he saw her frown. “What were you two talking about?”

“Oh…” A smirk crawled on his thin lips. “Just about art.”

Tewkesbury felt uneasy. “Art?”

“Dear,” Enola whispered, “do you want a drink? Like, now?”

“No, I'm quite all right. What art, Sir Sheffield?”

“Well—”

Enola huffed. “I wasn't asking.” She turned to Sheffield. “Will you excuse us?”

Not waiting for a reply, she dragged him towards the refreshments table and shoved a flute of champagne in his hand. Tewkesbury, flushed and winded from jealousy, downed it in one go.

“What is up with you?” she hissed. “Where does this animosity come from?”

“He– he made you laugh.”

“So?”

Tewkesbury pouted. “Only I make you laugh.”

Enola rolled her eyes and muttered a profanity under her breath. He wished to explain, but he didn't know where to start. Confessing to intense feelings of possessiveness would not bode well for him.

“Tewky,” she whispered, “someone else making me laugh does not mean I love you any less.”

“I know.” And then he spilled a truth: “I want everyone to know how amazing you are, but I hadn't expected someone to actually… see that.”

Enola shook her head, amused, and he knew that had they been alone, she’d go on an impassioned speech about how big of a nincompoop he was. Perhaps even scold him for debasing himself to Neaderthalic behaviour.

“I never thought you'd be the jealous type, my Lord,” she said. “You surprised me.”

He sighed, embarrassed. “I’ll gift you a bouquet of lilies of the valley as an apology.”

Her pink-painted lips shifted into a pretty smile as she, that mischievous spirit, pulled her fan in front of their faces to kiss his cheek and whisper, “If you must now, Sir Sheffield compared me to the art.”

“Oh,” he grumbled, “he’s good.”

She pulled away with a giggle. It might be the most beautiful sound in the world. “Do I sense a duel at dawn?”

“I think you'd much quicker find yourself in a duel than I, my love.” He grinned. “Unless my lessons in jiu jitsu are of use.”

“I highly doubt it.”

Music chimed and changed tempo, alerting the society a new dance was about to commence. The couple smiled. A waltz. Bowing his head and stretching out his hand, her silk-gloved fingers wrapped around his palm.

“Let’s make them jealous, my dear Lord,” she teased. “As it appears to be your thing.”

#holmesbury #enola holmes #my fic #my work

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rosexknight · 10 months

Text

I'd make a fey deal for horticulture knowledge.

My DM made a passing comment that an NPC had no friends, and suddenly there was a Drow Circle of Spores Druit/Fey Walker Ranger in my head. This is Sabeyl T'Soryn (pronounced "say-bell t-sore-in".) She's a lunatic. But at least she's a cute lunatic? Hope you enjoy~! Want art like this monthly? Why not join? My General Patreon, safe for all audiences: www.patreon.com/rosexknight My 18+ ADULT-ONLY Patreon: www.patreon.com/rosexxxknight

#dnd #drow #dark elf #spores ranger #breaktimedoodles #sabeyl

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thebotanicalarcade · 11 months

Video

flickr

n91_w1150 by Biodiversity Heritage Library Via Flickr: Belgique horticole. Liége. biodiversitylibrary.org/page/4963302

#Botany #Horticulture #Periodicals #Plants #New York Botanical Garden #LuEsther T. Mertz Library #bhl:page=4963302 #dc:identifier=https://biodiversitylibrary.org/page/4963302 #lilac #lilas #flower #botanical #flickr #lilacs #Syringa #botanical illustration #scientific illustration

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vintage-tech · 1 year

Photo

Didja know Mr. T put out a record in 1984? The picture disk has three tracks out of the seven on the full “Mr. T’s Commandments” album (plus the instrumental of the lead single) -- sorry, didn’t photograph the flipside.

Let me try to translate the pictographs around him:

Stay in school

Don’t do PCP

Horticulture is important

Avoid strangers with candy

Music is important

Don’t do intravenous drugs (NOT don’t get vaccinated!)

Be a star!

Don’t snort cocaine

Love. Just love.

Don’t drink

Love your family

Don’t smoke pot

Be a winner!

Don’t smoke tobacco either

Read a book, read a book, read a motherf*ckin’ book

#vintage #1984 #mr. t #record #music #technology

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wanderinginksplot · 2 years

Text

Clone Trooper Rambles

Clone troopers only I can see or hear are either keeping me sane or marking my descent into insanity. Either way, they help pass the time!

Warnings: mentions of ghosts and haunting

---

Haunting, Hunting, and Horticulture

“Have you found anything yet?” Elena asked.

I laughed, but had to admit that it was a good question. “Nothing yet, but you know how it goes.”

When she broke the silence from her side of the phone conversation, Elena’s voice was dry. “Yeah, obviously. I know all about it. I’m an expert in this kind of stuff.”

‘This kind of stuff’ referred to any one of the weird things that were always happening at my mom’s house. The side that held mine and Lia’s bedrooms was especially spooky. After living away from home for a few years, I had started to believe that the stuff she and I used to be so creeped out by were just the imaginings of bored teenagers. But coming back as an adult, I was starting to think there might be something to it. And Elena, with her fondness for ghost-hunting shows, was following our adventures with interest, despite her sarcasm.

"Are you sure you don't want to try recording some audio while you're there?" Elena asked.

She couldn't see my grimace, but I gave one anyway. "Not a chance. If I did catch audio of something, what would I even do about it? If it was something bad, I would have to warn my mom about it and she wouldn't believe me, and then I'd just be stressed out all the time. Plus, I might not want to come back, depending on how bad it was."

"Aren't you the one who's always talking about how it's better to know than not know?" Elena asked, laughing at me.

"Sure, with stuff I can change! But there's nothing I could do about a ghost. It's like a horror movie when they're getting weird phone calls. They should stop answering or pretend they can't hear the person on the other side."

"We've talked about this." Elena's voice was amused behind her long-suffering tone. "That wouldn't help anything."

"Agree to disagree," I offered. "I better let you go. I'll tell you if anything odd happens!"

"Don't die!" she called cheerfully before I ended the call.

I was still chuckling as I turned back to my book. That was one of the nice things about coming home: access to all of the books I hadn’t had the space to bring with me when I had moved out.

“You don’t really think there’s a ghost here… do you?” Hardcase asked, glancing around nervously.

“Hard to say,” I offered. “There are a few things that happen here. Lia and I have always wondered if there was something hanging around.”

“Things?” Boost echoed. “What kind of things?”

I shrugged. “The usual stuff. At night, the floors creak, starting from the end of the hallway and working their way down toward our rooms, then across the floors. It always seems to end up creaking right next to our beds.”

“That would be the foundation settling,” Tech argued. “It is common in older houses such as this one.”

“Possible,” I agreed. “There’s also the way my room seems to be colder than any of the others.”

“This room is located on a corner of the structure,” Tech reminded me. “You have windows that face two different directions. The temperature difference could be attributed to the wind cooling the glass of the windows, which transfers to the air of the room through the process of conduction-”

“What else?” Hardcase interrupted, looking fascinated.

I started using my fingers to tick off the main complaints Lia and I had made over the years. “The doors will shudder sometimes, you shouldn’t look in the hallway mirror when it’s dark, and there’s a profound feeling of doom from 3 am to 3:45 or so.”

“Interior HVAC, superstition, and the feelings of doom could be caused by an appliance or wiring vibrating at a low frequency,” Tech countered, pausing for a moment before adding, “Or you could be having a heart attack.”

“Tech,” Rex warned.

Tech blinked at him. “Sorry, Captain, but a feeling of impending doom is common among females having heart attacks. Though that wouldn’t explain the regularity of it.”

Rex sighed.

I bit back my smile at their antics. “And then, of course, there are the leaves.”

“Did you just say leaves?” Boost asked, glancing curiously at me.

I gave an awkward chuckle, trying to fight back the surge of self-consciousness that threatened to break through. “Yeah. It’s been a thing since we first moved in here. I find- well, leaves in my bed. Sticks, sometimes. An acorn or two.”

“Sleep-walking,” Tech hypothesized.

“No, she doesn’t sleep-walk,” Rex refused.

“Yeah, I never have,” I agreed. “If you see me walking around, I’m awake. I was never a sleep-walker, even as a little kid. Maybe some of the smaller leaves could have been caught on the hem of my pajama pants or something, but I think I would have felt the sticks or acorns.”

Hardcase frowned. “How big of a stick are we talking about?”

“Tiny.” I held up my finger and thumb almost touching to show just how small I was talking about. “They’re all fragments of sticks. The leaves tend to be small or just a piece of a leaf, and the acorns were incredibly small. Probably the size of the nail on my pinky.”

“That’s…” Boost trailed off, searching for a word. “Weird. That’s really weird.”

“It is, definitely,” I conceded with a shrug. “It doesn’t match up with anything I’ve ever heard about happening from a ghost, so I try not to worry about it. It didn’t happen very often, either - maybe a few times a year. And it hasn’t happened at all since I moved out. Just one of those things.”

I tried to go back to my book, but Tech was watching me intently. I gave it a minute or so before I met his gaze. “Something I can help you with?”

“You insist on the idea that there’s a ghost in this house despite all evidence to the contrary, but you’re going to ignore tangible evidence that an unknown entity is bothering you?” His voice was incredulous. “You cannot be serious.”

“Listen, the leaves have never made me feel like I was about to die,” I told him. “In the grand scheme of things, it doesn’t hurt me and I can’t do anything about it. Better just to let it be.”

Tech made a frustrated noise and Rex sent him a sympathetic look.

“I’ll comm you if it happens while we’re here,” he promised, patting Tech on the shoulder. “You can run any test you like on whatever we find.”

“Please do, Captain,” Tech requested with a stately nod to him and a glare in my direction.

I turned the page in my book and kept reading.

---

Previous | Next | Masterlist

Author's Note - Dedicated to the strange thing that's been happening since my mid-teens! The leaves in my bed are a real thing and I've never been able to nail down exactly what was causing it. It only happens at my mom's house. Those windows in my room face the woods and there's always a feeling of being watched, but it's hard to say whether it was just bored teenage superstition or something really weird.

In the grand scheme of things, I've decided that a few leaves or a stick or an acorn aren't worth worrying too much about.

Taglist: @rexs-wife @sugarpuffsstuff @just-some-girl-92 @kimageddon @ladysongmaster @carodealmeida @nomercyforthewarrior @bitchylittleredhead @lackofhonor @buddee @salaminus @hikime @808tsuika @ladykatakuri @shawtyitsyou @bikerlorian @torchbearerkyle @frietiemeloen @justanothersadperson93 @leotatombs @rain-on-kamino @itsagrimm @dancingwiththeplanets @theclonesdeservebetter @murder-of-crows-1 @rosmariner @staycalmandhugaclone @marennial @eyecandyeoz @fordo-kixed-rex @lucyysthings

#Clone Trooper Rambles #clone trooper rambles #clone trooper hardcase #clone trooper boost #tech #tbb tech #captain rex #star wars #star wars the clone wars #star wars fanfiction #sw tcw #ink's fics #clone troopers deserve better #not crazy just creative #more to come

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phoenixfire-thewizardgoddess · 2 years

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silly headcanon that I thought of while driving and assumed @katia-dreamer might enjoy

Keyleth is very connected to nature, she can feel the thrum of things and the lifeforce around her at all times. When they camp out in the woods, on a mission or the like, she likes to sense through the earth and the grass her companions rest on... their heartbeats.

It is like a gentle symphony of vibrations that pulse through her hands, her mind, and it soothes Keyleth to know they are safe. Sometimes she wakes if a heartbeat is too rapid or the plants nearby are aware of something amiss... ambushes, nightmares, you name it.

But after Whitestone, after the dragon... well, things just, well... they weren't the same. Camping was something Vox Machina did often, of course... but not often enough for her.

She feels like she should have been able to tell that Pike was struggling with Sarenrae, that Percy was not fully himself...

And when they're home, in the keep or the mansion well... it's worrying. The wood is not alive enough for her tastes, even when she sleeps in the garden she cannot hear the others for all the vibrations of the city.

Perhaps it was an unconsious wish, the first time, when sprawling vines crept across the stonework and slipped into crevices in each room. Little tendrils reaching towards figures sprawled on floor, bed, desk and various other surfaces, wrapping a gentle caress around the wrist or forearm where it could.

Connecting them all as they slept.

It was a tad disorienting the first morning after, with several under the impression they were under attach by a plant monster that wanted to caress them, and Scanlan assuming Kiki wanted to get KiKi-Kinky with him... but she gets flustered and awkward and has to go sit in the garden for a long minute to work out what the heck happened.

Vex is sent out to ask what this was all about, full of that curious push-pull affection one might find in an older sister and trying to assague feelings of worry, blame and shame about the situation. Vex wasn't worried in the least, but was wondering how this came about? If there was something worrying her?

Vex was closely tailed by Percy, who is the closest thing Keyleth's ever had to a brother and was just like her, in some ways. Just someone with a lot of mess in the past who had a big ol' dollop of responsibility on their young shoulders and the future looked pretty damn scary unless you could talk about it to someone who would understand. And he did. But not so much about the plants.

Keyleth tells them it wasn't something she DID, but maybe something she was worried about and that made her powers Do The Thing.

"Oh, so you wanted to... touch us? In our sleep?" Vex tried to parse out the meaning.

Percy's frowning, not angry but more thinking. "Is this... could it be like the time we got split by the slayer's take and you begged us all to sleep in the same room? Because you were worried about someone not being there... the next day?"

"I, uh, I guess. It's more like... Icanhearyourheartbeatsthroughnatureandigetrealworriedbut notlikecreepystalkertypeworried but worriedanywaywhenIcan'tfeel youthere...?" Kwyleth explains in a harrowing gust of words that just about knocked the others flat.

"Oh, it's a comfort thing then? I mean, Vax and I tend to sleep near Trinket when we're having a bad night... soft fur, the rumbling, helps you feel settled. Is that what your vines were about? Feeling that rumble? From us, I mean?" Vex asked, eyes soft but ever perceptive.

"...maybe. It just kind of happened, I don't know how or why, but it was the first time in ages I got to sleep the whole night. So... yay for me? I think?"

"Keyleth, if the occasional incident of horticulture sharing a bed with us will make you feel connected and safe, then I don't think anyone should have an issue. They turn a blind eye when I tinker at odd hours, after all..." Percy grins.

"No they don't, we just give you an hour before we send Scanlan in to ferret you out, and if that fails... there's always plan Gog, darling." Vex teases, smugly.

"...ah, that explains a lot." Percy clears his throat, "Um, Keyleth what do you need from us... from Vox Machina? To make you feel safe, that is. Do we need to have plants in our room... or a small tree in a pot, or something of that nature?"

"Oh, better not have a little tree dear, think of Scanlan... the 'morning wood' jokes would be utterly endless!" Vex bemoaned, overdramatically. Winking at Keyleth as the druid laughed at the unexpected turn the conversation took.

"Um, I don't know. Maybe just growing some vines in your room or something? I can try some things out, but it would be nice to be able to know you're all okay and that I can sense if you need me."

"Of course, darling, we understand. The keep is your home too, go ahead and spruce it up however you wish with your fauna, and let us know if you need us to... I don't know, wrap it around a wrist at night? Give it a goodnight kiss or a hug?"

"Seriously Keyleth, I don't recall any etiquette classes around how one might greet a frond and if it is imploite to kiss the leaves before being formally introduced... but we will learn, if that's what you need of us."

"Oh you guys... you're always so nice and I feel so silly and maybe you could give me some time to think about it, but I can get some green in your rooms today if that's okay..."

"I'll talk to Trinket about not playing with the vines or knocking over the pots." Vex confirmed, huffing a little as the druid careened into her arms for a hug. "There, there... settle yourself, darling, we have this in hand."

"Indeed." confirmed Percy, pushing his glasses up his nose absent-mindedly. "And if you could please inform if we need to bow, or curtsey or salute the fro- oof, and now we're hugging. Excellent."

"You love it..." Keyleth responded.

Rolling his eyes in mock annoyance as he grinned at Vex, Percy responded, "Well, yes... but this stays between you, me, Vex and that rather impudently eavesdropping sunflower over there, you hear me?"

"Hey can you guys speak up? We can't hear what you're sayin in private down there!" comes the booming voice of Grog from above, and several frantic whispers hushing him. "What? I just wanna know if Keyleth can make me a big hammock thing for a bed with her vines..."

Vex shrugs. "Well, living in close quarters means privacy is negotiable... but I do hope you won't stress over this darling. If you need to pop a vine into the room to feel connected at night, I have no quarrel with this... neither will Vax or Percy or Pike and Grog seems to have bigger plans in mind..."

There's a pause. "Mmm, perhaps have a vine check if Scanlan has guests first before sending one in, you might get a little too much 'connection' otherwise..."

Keyleth can't stifle the laugh that escapes, and it infects the others as it rings around the courtyard.

From above comes a confused, "What? What are they laughing about?"

And the soothing tones of Pike responding, "Shhh, I'll... I'll tell you when you're older, okay?"

"Oh, okay Pikey."

----------

was not sure where this was going, i think it was funnier in my head lmao

#vox #machina #keyleth

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charmsandtealeaves · 2 years

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Ministry of Magic Monthlies | October 2022: Fall and Spooky

Prompt: [scenario/phrase] The flower was beautiful and its smell was heavenly. Unfortunately, it was also deadly.

Read it on AO3

Summary: The Marauders and company take a trip to a poison garden. Where the flowers are beautiful and also deadly.

Words: 1245 Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

Pretty But Potent

When James had conversationally mentioned his father planned to take him and Sirius to the Alnwick Garden in Northumberland during the holidays he hadn’t thought it worthy of much note. His father was always carting the family off to some garden or other as a devoted potioneer for the better part of his life, and his mother enjoyed the colourful blooms. However the look of utter jealousy that crossed Lily Evans face as he said it shook him.

“Merlin, I'd love to go to Alnwick.” She groaned as she turned to look forlornly out the window of the Hogwarts express. “But there’s no way my parents would let me go on an unsupervised trip and there’s no chance in hell Petunia would ever take me.”

“Really?” James asked inquisitively.

“I’d love to visit the poison garden. Sev and I always talked about going but…” Lily trailed off.

The implication was clear enough. The friendship between her and Snape had been non-existent since the previous year after the incident after exams. She’d even taken on an unlikely new potions partner in Peter just to escape hours brewing alone in the dungeon with Severus Snape. Something which irked Snape to no end, but was graciously accepted by Peter who’d vastly improved his potion grades since.

“Well we could always ask Dad if you can come? Right Prongs?” Sirius nudged James with a crooked elbow.

“Oh yeah. We can ask him on the platform so your parents can meet mine? Dad’ll just be happy to have another pair of ears to natter off.” James agreed.

“Could you really?” She asked excitedly, turning her attention away from the window.

Remus exchanged a knowing look with Sirius. The pair of them had gotten so sick of James' constant unrequited pinning they’d made a point of trying to get Lily and James hanging out more together. Especially after Peter had made it known he was going to romantically pursue Lily’s friend Mary. Which is how they all become crammed in one carriage on the way to Platform 9 ¾ in the first place.

“Perhaps we could make a day of it?” Remus mused.

While Fleamont Potter had been surprised by his sons’ request to add a gaggle of other teenagers to their trip to Alnwick, he could hardly say no. He and his wife had been paraded around platform 9 ¾ from one end to the next meeting the parents of Peter Pettigrew, Remus Lupin, Dorcas Meadowes, Mary MacDonald and Marlene McKinnon. Some of which he had already met and others he had not. Each in turn had also been surprised to discover their children's sudden interest in horticulture but pleased to hear of a supervised afternoon out. The last of the parents to speak to was that of Lily Evans, a girl who Fleamont was very much aware of being James' school crush. She was just as bright as James had described her and he could see why his son had such a fondness for her. The Potter men had always had a thing for redheads.

“Alright Lily, you next. Can you spot your parents?” Euphimea Potter asked kindly.

“Oh. They’ll be on the muggle side of the station. My sister refuses to come through the barrier.” Lily explained.

“Not to worry dear. We will follow you though.”

Lily led the train of the Potter’s and Sirius into the muggle side of King's Cross station. She had introduced her parents to plenty of Wizarding parents before, but never those of a boy. She felt rather foolish in doing so in hindsight, especially as she had often reported home how much she and James Potter didn’t get on with one another. But it was too late to back out now all her other friends were going on the trip. The Evans stood towards the southern end of platform 9 where they usually stood out the way to greet their daughter. Petunia sat glumly on the end of a park bench looking as though she’d rather be anywhere but here.

“Mum, Dad, This is Euphemia and Fleamont Potter.” Lily introduced the adults.

“How’d you do?” replied Charles Evans shaking the hand of each parent in turn followed by his wife.

“I’m Laurel and this is my husband Charles” Mrs Evans greeted.

“Lily is interested in joining us on a trip to the Alnwick Garden in Northumberland next weekend. We appear to have collected quite the flock as we have five other kids from the school coming too. If it’s alright with you we would be happy to take her.” Fleamont explained joyfully.

“Oh I don’t see why not.” replied Laurel. “We can pop Lily on the train so long as you’re happy to collect her at the opposite end and return her to the train at the end of the day.”

James was so happy he thought his heart might just explode out of his chest seeing the grin on Lily’s face. He could barely contain his glee right up until they stood on the train platform to collect each of his friends a week later.

“Aye, Aye. Just warning ya. Prongs is well and truly on one. He’s not shut up about this all week” Sirius whispered to Remus and Peter as they joined the growing crowd on the platform.

“Figures.” Said Peter

“I chatted to Marlene and Dorcas on the train and let them know what’s what. Mary and Lily are riding in together. When they get here we’ll try to stick them together with James and Pete and we’ll stick together” Remus added.

James, true to his nature acted just as giddy all the way to the acres of colourful plants inviting visitors to wander through rows of fragrant roses, manicured topiaries and cascading fountains. He was barely listening to a word his father was spouting despite Lily’s apparent interest in what the older Potter had to say about potion brewing. He was just happy to come along for the ride. To enter the poison garden that Lily had been so enraptured about they had to enter through a set of ornamental black iron gates with the words ‘These plants can kill’ embossed on the front. They followed a tour guide under an iron archway woven with dark green ivy.

The tour stopped as the guide came to a fork in the path and started to explain the garden's history and use for horticultural study. James and Lily had come to stand beside a set of small trees, with many-branched trunks. There were several large, pendulous, trumpet-shaped flowers, sprouting from these trees in shades of white, yellow, pink, orange, green, and red. James was watching closely as Lily admired one of the orange blooms. The flower was beautiful and its smell was heavenly. Unfortunately, it was also deadly.

“Angel’s Trumpets” Lily said softly. “They belong to the nightshade family. They have quite a dark history in the muggle and wizarding world.”

“Oh?”

“In the wizarding world they’re generally used for divination or dark magic. In Victorian England, muggle women used to put pollen from the flowers in their tea to induce hallucinations. But in South America where they originate they’re often used in medical poultices and religious rituals. They’ve also been used to drug wives and slaves before they were buried alive with their dead masters.” Lily shuddered.

“Pretty but potent” Mr Evans murmured.

As James stared at Lily rather than the flowers he silently agreed. Pretty but potent.

#Charms Library #Fic: Pretty But Potent #jily fic #jily #james potter #lily evans

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howieabel · 1 year

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“Seen this way, the ´origins of farming´ start to look less like an economic transition and more like a media revolution, which was also a social revolution, encompassing everything from horticulture to architecture, mathematics to thermodynamics, and from religion to the remodelling of gender roles. And while we can´t know exactly who was doing what in this brave new world, it´s abundantly clear that womenś work and knowledge were central to its creation; that the whole process was a fairly leisurely, even playful one, not forced by any environmental catastrophe or demographic tipping point and unmarked by major violent conflict. What´s more, it was all carried out in way that made radical inequality and extremely unlikely outcome.” ― David Graeber and David Wengrow, The Dawn of Everything: A New History of Humanity

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acrowamongsparrows · 1 year

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Duncan Waycrest

The Basics ––– – Name: Duncan Waycrest Nickname(s): Dunk; Lord Waycrest; The Tannin Knight Age: 876 (perhaps more, time has little meaning) Birthday: None Race: Higher Vampire Gender: Male Marital Status: Single

Physical Appearance ––– – Hair: Brown Eyes: Hazel Height: 5'10 Build: Soldier Distinguishing Marks: Tattoos: None Piercings: None Common Accessories: Books, quill, bird feed, an old slip of iron Likeness: Sean Bean

Personal Information––– – Profession: Former soldier; steward Hobbies: Reading, wine making, aviculture, organizing, research, philosophy, cartography, horticulture, architecture Languages: A multitude of languages from a multitude of universes Residence: Kaer Seren Birthplace: An Island of Stone and Magic Religion: None Patron Deity: None Fears: His past, her eyes, abandonment

Relationships ––– - Spouse: None Children: None Parents: None Siblings: None Other Relatives: None Pets: Cateran, a black crow and his murder in one of the broken towers of Kaer Seren

Sex & Romance ––– - Sexual Orientation: Pansexual Preferred Emotional Role: submissive | dominant | switch Preferred Sexual Role: submissive | dominant | switch Libido: Low Turn ons: Intelligence, kindness, troubled pasts Turn offs: Violence, vulgarity, dishonor Love Language: Gentle affirmations Relationship Tendencies: Short and few

Traits ––– - * Bold your character’s answer.

Extroverted / In Between / Introverted Disorganized / In Between / Organized Close Minded / In Between / Open Minded Calm / In Between / Anxious Disagreeable / In Between / Agreeable Cautious / In Between / Reckless Patient / In Between / Impatient Outspoken / In Between / Reserved Leader / In Between / Follower Empathetic / In Between / Apathetic Optimistic / In Between / Pessimistic Traditional / In Between / Modern Hard-working / In Between / Lazy Cultured / In Between / Uncultured Loyal / In Between / Disloyal Faithful / In Between / Unfaithful

Additional information ––– – Smoking Habit: A pipe sometimes Drugs: None Alcohol: Wine

RP Hooks ––– – Blood and Soul - Duncan is a vampire though not like the mindless blood drinking monsters of bed time stories. He is an immortal brought into this world not by his choice but by the fate of many lost to the streams of the multiverse. He craves not for blood or the death of the innocent, but still lingers in his mind for a taste from long ago. In another life it was not blood he craved but guilt and the very sin of his charges that helped to usher into the next life. But that was a long time ago in another world, but who knows would come from the apex of time and space.

The Steward of Seren - With the fall of the Griffin School in Kaer Seren, the keep was empty for many years from the betray of the mages. Snow from the mountains flooded the keep and killed most if not all of those who had been remaining within it's former halls. For years it has sat in disrepair, it's rich history and knowledge buried beneath the rubble and snow from the mountains that surround it. What better place for an immortal to be useful? Having become friends with one of the few witchers to remain from the school, Duncan in exchange for a place to live has taken it upon himself to try and rebuild the keep. Will it once again become a place of knowledge and skill? An empty shell of it's former mystery? Or just another ruin with treasures and secrets to be looked in upon?

There are Other Worlds Than These - While Duncan is considered a higher vampire within the world of the Continent, his true origins begin from even farther places. Memories are easily twisted by time and experience but some things never fade from the soul. A family on an island. A war with the dark. A chance meeting with a woman in white. A love affair cut short by violence. Rebirth in the face of despair. Despair claiming what should be dead. Penance for sins in the next life. A crack. A journey. The sea. He has had meetings with some of these memories and they only seem to draw more questions to ache his lonely heart.

HOW TO CONTACT:

OoC tumblr (https://acrowamongsparrows.tumblr.com/) Discord (Mogwai Kraken#7988)

IC A deep breath was drawn in through his nose, the sound echoing through the old tower as the lonesome keep was Duncan's alone at this time. The scent of the cold burned through him with a pleasant familiarity though it caused no real harm to him as he let out the sigh that accompanied such breaths. It was hard to imagine being able to smell the weather but if you were quiet and patient enough you could find a different depth to any place.

The old book in his lap was gently shut with a soft thump before adjusting the motley robe he wore, the browns and thick wool simple spun for him to look more monk that soldier. He let his face crack into a melancholy smile at the thought of his former life beyond the veil. Which was simpler? The sword or the book?

"Well one was certainly more lively," Duncan whispered more to himself as he traced the leather bound tome on his knee. Scars were clear on his skin after all this time, the cold making sure to remind him of the history of violence his body carried. Turning his hand over he would note the lines upon his palm, fingers, and finally the deep one on his wrist. The sleeve was drawn quickly over it as he shook his head with a chuckle to match his smile. "No."

A soft caw would bring him further out off that dark path as he looked up into the blinking eyes of Cateran. The crow was turning his head too and fro as he regarded his keeper, an inteligable word for the ears of the man who brought the corn. Glassy eyes would blink again before the caw was given again with another few hops toward a break in the stone of the tower.

Duncan would tilt his head in response to the crow as he stood from his broken seat, noting a time in his life when he would groan at rising so. Not anymore. Stalking across the flagstones he would approach the whole and peer below, brows rising as he looked to the bird again. "Visitors? This time of year? Peculiar."

Cateran would be given a soft rub to it's sleek feathers before Waycrest would turn to descend the stairs again into Kaer Seren. There would be need to light fires and check his stores for the guests, the last thing he'd want is to be rude.

#Duncan Waycrest #higher vampire #steward of seren #witcher oc #reforged iron #basic information #roleplay #there are other worlds than these

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mariacallous · 1 year

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The U.S. Agency for International Development (USAID) has launched a package of internal reforms to modernize its engagement with the private sector. The Agency has a long history of working with the private sector—on both sides of the development continuum, from partnering with American businesses in delivering development solutions to building up the local private sector. An example is USAID’s work with an Egyptian exporter association that strengthened agricultural exports and increased revenue by including smallholder farmers and exporters in the high-value horticultural value chains. Seeing the benefits of a more inclusive export sector, major Egyptian exporter associations began to increasingly seek smallholder farmer contracts.

The most concerted effort, the Global Development Alliance (GDA), was launched more than 20 years ago as a means to advance USAID’s engagement with the private sector and has resulted in more than 1,900 public-private partnerships over the past two decades. Despite, or maybe because of, being the bilateral donor that has gone the furthest in partnering with the private sector, USAID recognizes that new tools are needed to meet today’s unprecedented development challenges that require a more forward-leaning approach to scaling up public-private partnerships.

The timing is propitious. The G-7, major reports by independent experts, and U.S. Treasury Secretary Yellen have publicly prioritized the mobilization of private finance. Billions and trillions will be needed to address climate change, the loss of progress in advancing the Sustainable Development Goals (SDGs), COVID and conflict-induced poverty, and the astronomical cost of rebuilding Ukraine when Putin’s war is over. It is therefore essential that USAID have the tools to enlist the resources and capabilities of the private sector to meet these monumental demands.

With many corporations aligning their business strategies with the SDGs, the time is ripe for partnership with USAID. In 2021 USAID articulated how the private sector is integral to its work in a “Private Sector Engagement Policy” and highlighted the importance of public-private partnerships to achieve the global goals by 2030.

PSE Modernize

On November 17, 2022, USAID Administrator announced Private Sector Engagement (PSE) Modernize containing the following nine changes to its business model:

Although each component is an important step, several are especially critical to USAID’s engagement with the private sector and require further strengthening to ensure the announcement of this initiative endures and leads to greater development impact.

Staffing and Resources

One of the greatest challenges USAID faces is the lack of staff and resources to deliver on the promise of engaging the private sector. The Mission Capacity Index is a new data system that will provide USAID country missions and Washington bureaus with information on their staffing capability to scale PSE programming. Rather than long technical documents, engaging the private sector requires unique communication skills based on slide decks and a deep understanding of the drivers for corporate partners, as well as the agility to respond quickly. While some USAID officers have these skills or could rapidly adopt them, the agency must invest and reward its staff to ensure these skills endure beyond this administration. Creating agency awards around PSE and incorporating objectives and targets into employee performance plans are just a few ways to incentivize staff.

The PSE Future Workforce Program will provide a needed focus on attracting and retaining private-sector talents in the agency. A step further would be to make PSE expertise a separate cone within the USAID personnel system to ensure those employees that their expertise is valued, and that they have a path for career advancement.

USAID has had staff members assigned to maintain the relationship with certain private sector partners. But this has been on top of other responsibilities and seldom rewarded. Under “Relationship Management” those positions will be prioritized and become more structured and formalized in the workforce plan.

The Consultation Desk, Innovation Incubator, and Learning Lab can be seen as a trio of knowledge units to provide missions and Washington bureaus access to PSE expertise, PSE innovative tools and authorities, and a repository of PSE resources. Due to a lack of resources, these endeavors are slated to be placed on the back burner. But they are critical tools for staff to perform their responsibilities in a smart and coherent manner, so priority should be placed on finding the modest resources needed to launch them.

A community of practice is a proven instrument for sharing experiences and learning. The PSE Community of Practice is designed to be internal to USAID. To be truly impactful, it should also encompass private-sector participation.

Flexible Fund

The Flexible Fund takes further an underused authority in the FY 2022 foreign operations appropriations act that allows $50 million in development assistance and economic support funds used for private-sector partnerships to be available for use for three years (rather than the usual two years). If approved by Congress, the Flexible Fund, at a suggested $80 million for fiscal year 2023, would be the first time USAID had a discrete pot of money just for partnering with the private sector.

A model for this fund could be the Complex Crisis Fund (CCF) which enables USAID missions to access resources quickly per a short application to USAID/Washington. Like the CCF’s ability to act rapidly to prevent or respond to a crisis, the PSE Flexible Fund would enable missions to quickly respond to an opportunity with the private sector. Often, USAID staff and partners in-country are unable to capitalize on unique opportunities to create private-sector partnerships because USAID’s current procurement options, including the Global Development Alliance, just do not move fast enough, often requiring many months of endless meetings to reach closure. An agile fund enabling missions to rapidly draft a concept note to USAID’s PSE hub would not only provide funding but also technical assistance to missions that could significantly leverage USAID’s partnerships with the private sector.

Additional Recommendations

Beyond these practical initiatives, several additional steps the authors have proposed in earlier writings (here, here, and here) would further advance “PSE Modernize.”

A particularly important element in upping USAID’s game with the private sector is enhanced collaboration with the Development Finance Corporation (DFC). USAID has a deep understanding of development, experience providing technical assistance, and a wide array of activities that can benefit from private-sector partnerships. The DFC has the tools of finance (debt, equity, and guarantees) and insurance. Joining their respective capabilities, the two agencies can enhance their engagement with the private sector through deploying blended finance and technical assistance that will derisk private investment to build more sustainable activities.

A second area for action is the need to revise USAID procurement rules and processes to make them timelier and more amenable to how the private sector functions. A constant mantra from the private sector is the need to quickly get to “yes” or “no”. We hear of too many instances in which corporations have just walked away because trying to work with USAID was too complex and time-consuming. The agency should join together to mandate the exigencies of three initiatives that require the simplification of agency procedures. On November 28 Administrator Power announced the Burden Reduction Program to “reduce bureaucratic burdens and so-called time taxes imposed and/or experienced by the Agency.” Similarly, a critical part of the heightened agenda on locally-led development is to make USAID rules and regulations simpler in order to be more accessible to local organizations in partner countries. Incorporating PSE Modernize into these efforts to simplify USAID requirements and procedures would make it easier for the private sector, both local and international, to comply with the agency’s procedures for procurement, reporting, and accountability.

Thirdly, just as it is recognized that USAID lacks sufficient numbers of contracting officers to handle current procurement actions, much less the greater number that will result from partnering with local organizations, the agency also lacks sufficient contracting officers experienced in dealing with private companies. One example of where this will be absolutely critical is the rebuilding of Ukraine. The private sector will play a pivotal role in Ukraine’s reconstruction efforts. USAID would be wise to staff up now with needed contract and PSE experts, as well as bolster its Europe and Eurasia bureau which is chronically understaffed to manage billions of dollars in assistance.

Today’s development challenges require new and enhanced tools to engage the private sector. Administrator Power’s announcement in November is a good start. The proof will be in whether USAID can move more quickly to form meaningful private-sector partnerships that will endure beyond the headline.

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