#turning myself into mulch

[edsbacktattoo]

do you ever just think about the fact that Ed and Stede's romance was deliberate? like the creators intended on them being together from the beginning, and they didn't tack it on as a last minute decision to get better ratings? do you ever think about the fact that they're in love and it's on purpose? cause i sure as fuck do

#thinkin about it rn and having a mild breakdown #it's on purpose!!!!!!!!!!!!!! holy shit!!!!!!!!!! #that montage when mary is telling stede what love is supposed to feel like???????? #that's REAL #it's not a fan edit. it's in the show #and it's going to continue to be on purpose in season 2 #isn't that just fucking incredible #turning myself into mulch #ofmd #our flag means death #gentlebeard #blackbonnet #oh we thinkin?

[blimbo-buddy]

I take my whiskey neat My coffee black and my bed at three You're too sweet for me You're too sweet for me

#blimmy art #bug world no mercy #queen mulch #queen mother macerate II #me when I hold up another person to the status comparable to a perfect god with no flaws and begin to lower my confidence in myself #mobile users might have to turn the brightness up a bit

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Silver Lining 10

Warnings: non/dubcon, speech impediment, bullying and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Characters: silverfox!Bucky Barnes

Summary: You have an unpleasant encounter with an older man.

Part of the Silverfox AU

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You turn onto the sidewalk, the world turning white with the snowstorm. Your boots slip, untied and loose on your feet, as you put your head down against the swirling flakes. All sound is dampened by the thick heaps on the ground and the continuous flurry all around.

It takes you a moment to get your bearings. You’re pretty sure you’re going the right way. You should’ve paid more attention on the drive over. There’s a lot of things you should’ve noticed before now.

You slip on a thick patch of snow and catch yourself on one knee. You blink as snow clings to your eyelashes as you peer around. Your ears are whistling but hot with the plummeting temperature and you can barely see the glove on your own hand. If the bus even comes, it won’t be for some while, and it will be at least one transfer to get back to familiar ground.

You squeak in fright as you feel a tug on the back of your coat, then a hand on your arm. You’re hauled back to both feet and turn to face your accoster. Bucky doesn’t wear a coat as his silver hair collects white powder and he squints against the wind.

“H-hey,” you try to pull away.

“It’s bad out. You won’t make it–”

“St-stop!” You holler in a pitchy tone, “I-I-I’m fine.”

“I can’t let you go out into this,” he insists, “look around,” he points to the house nearest but you can’t see much through the wall of white pelting down, “power’s out. Plows won’t be for a while. Come back, just until the roads are cleared.”

“N-no, I’m f-f-fine. I c-c-can take care o-of myself,” you wriggle free of his grasp.

“I know you can,” he puts his hands up as snowflakes melt into the fabric of his shirt, “please, they got travel warnings out. You can’t be out here right now.”

“Why w-w-won’t you l-leave m-me alone? Y-y-you don’t e-e-even l-like me,” you accuse.

He’s quiet, face contorted against the whipping snow, his cheeks tinged slightly with the cold. He shakes his head, “I never said that.”

“Y-you don’t g-gotta.”

“Well,” he grabs your elbow and yanks you around, “I don’t hate you.” He marches you down the walk, your soles slipping, making resistance perilous, “so get inside.”

“W-w-woah,” you stumble as he keeps a brisk pace, his soles mulching into the layers of snow, “s-slow–”

He takes you back down the walk towards his house. The pool of sick you spat up is already hidden. He shoves you ahead of him as you get to the steps and follows you closely, reaching around you, nearly flush to your back, to open the door. He points you inside.

You kick your boots off and clamour in onto the mat. You turn to face him as he snaps the door shut behind him. He combs his fingers into his hair, messing it up to shake off the snow. You ball your fists as you stare at him, dizzy from the suddenness of your return.

“You have no idea, do you?” He sneers. “You go out there without a thought. A storm like this is dangerous, you know?”

“J-j-jeez,” you chatter, “you s-sound like my dad.”

He growls as he rips his boots off, shaking his head, “sounds like a smart man.”

“B-B-Bucky, I would b-be f-f-fine–”

“I made you tea before the power cut,” he interjects, “drink it, wait for the storm to calm. Then you can tell me to fuck off. How about that?”

“I d-d-didn’t–”

“Are you so unused to people giving a shit about you that you can’t accept a single nice thing?” His voice rises, startling you. “I mean, I heard your mother on the phone, I hate to put my nose where it doesn’t belong but Jesus Christ–”

“H-hey,” you murmur meekly, but not loud enough to stop him.

“You’re a smart girl, you just don’t give yourself a chance because you got all these other idiots dumping on you,” he rants at you with his hand in the air, “you shouldn't listen to them. You’re thirty years old, goddamnit, and you wrote a damn good script.”

You blink at him dumbly. He cringes as he seems to remember himself, to recall that he’s a grumpy old man, and that you’re just some irritating bug flying around his head. He lifts his hand to the back of his neck and scratches as you sway and look at the carpet.

“Take your coat off and come get your tea before it gets cold,” he sidles past you, brushing closer than you expect. He stalks off behind you but you’re too nervous to look after him. You hear another raspy hiss, “fuck…”

You put your armful down on the low bench, your movements slow and slightly shaky. You wet your chapped lips with your tongue as you stare at the door. You shrug off your coat and hang it on the rack then leave your boots on the rack.

You turn to face the house and wring your hands. Somehow, he can make hospitality seem like an attack. You hear the gales battering outside the walls as the snow continues to trim the window frames. He’s right, you were just as stupid as ever to go out into that. You’ll never tell him that though.

You slowly traipse down to the kitchen and find him there. He has his elbow on the counter as he leans over a mug and a book. There’s a booklight clipped to the top of the page in the dim of the power outage. Another glow comes from behind him, a candle lit and flickering with the scent of burning wood.

As you approach, he slides a mug towards you without looking up. You thank him in a mousy voice and let the warmth of the porcelain soothe you. You inhale the scent, it’s an interesting flavour but still steaming too hot too taste.

“Gingerbread…” he intones without looking up, “it looked interesting…” he pauses and lets his eyes flick up, “seemed like a you thing.” He reaches to the front of his shirt, unhooking the wire framed glasses there. He wipes them with his sleeve before putting them on and refocusing on his book, “you can tell me if it’s shit.”

You’re silent. You don’t know what to say. You were more than prepared to disappear into the blizzard, but not this. The realisation slowly sinks in. You’re trapped here and not just by his indomitable will.

#bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #silver linings #drabble #series #au #silverfox au #mcu #marvel #captain america #winter soldier

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for throwing out my neighbor's pumpkins?

I live in an apartment complex. Obviously some areas are shared spaces, including the front porch. The past two years in Oct. one of my neighbors has set out pumpkins on the front porch.

Last year, no one touched the pumpkins until they were rotting goo just sitting on our steps. Instead of throwing out the rotting food that had been there for 5 months, they just nudged the mess into the mulch beside the steps and let it completely disintegrate there. The smell was awful and I nearly threw up every time I entered my apartment.

So this year, when I saw the pumpkins again, I told myself they would be gone the first snow after Thanksgiving, which turned out to be the very next week. So I tossed the pumpkins which had clear animal teeth marks on them and had been out for two months.

I know the apartment managers didn't put them out because our stoop was the only one with pumpkins. I don’t like the neighbors in my building, but I did throw out things they bought and left outside in a common area. Clearly, they weren't going to clean up the mess themselves because of last year. But am I the asshole for throwing them out without asking who put them up and if it was okay to get rid of them before they were definitely rotten this year?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

[mlprootrot]

April 3–

It's past three in the morning. I am alone, and I've been awake for an hour or so. There's rain falling against my window--a spring shower.

Bad dreams follow me.

I think it was Everfree forest? My flashlight barely cut through the green darkness. All I could think to myself was that I had to leave, and the more the trees looked the same the more I panicked. The smell of mold suffocated me. I could feel it in my lungs, in my throat. I kept thinking: if I opened my mouth, would the spores take root in my gums?

Skittering. Lots of that. The flashlight swung wildly, revealing pieces of an amorphous forest.

Twigs breaking. I turn the flashlight down to the ground, but I saw nothing but unkempt grass underhoof. It's close, the sound. My flashlight won't point where I needed it to. It stays fixed to the ground, showing me the clotted roots of trees.

Then, all at once, a dreadful noise…. a symphony of sticks snapping. It’s too close. Desperately I search for its source until I finally see it, two glowing orbs in a vast sea of black.

I shine my light at it and see a body so broken and so tiny: it was Scootaloo. She's so curled and pitiful and terrifying to look at. She's in so much pain, her bones twisting unnaturally and breaking with every step. I want to wipe away the blackened bile. I try to scream, but my voice is muffled by mulch. I cannot cry, I cannot comfort. In vain she called my name, and I could not help her.

I woke up only when she began to scuttle towards me. According to Spike, I was grinding my teeth. I haven't done that in years.

Note to self: invest in a mouth guard. Or a therapist.

#mlp infection au #my little pony #april 3rd #scootaloo #my little pony infection au #mlp horror #mlp infected au #body horror #root rot

[wolfgirlguts]

Got inspired and pounded this out really quick, hope it's coherent

Uhhh, willing fatal vore, multiple prey, sex, objectification, descriptions of graphic and painful digestion, have fun

Sure, maybe I should've spaced it out, made them last longer. It's so rare to find a group this big and appetizing so willing to throw their lives away on a night of fun with a stranger. But after the first two gals had settled in I couldn't just leave the chubbiest one of all out in the cold, feeling left out with her pleading eyes and stiff hen. Guess savoring will have to wait for another day.

Normally I would hold myself back with this much beef. Covet and caress every ample bovine curve as it strained its shape out of my abdomen, let my guts and the appreciative thrust of my hips mulch her most of the way to hamburger before I even thought about seconds. One cow girl is usually good to clear up the fog of hunger, at least enough to realize the kinds of uses a second can have. But the messy makeout session that ensued quickly turned into me grabbing her horns and cramming her face into my gullet. You'd think I would have the sense to halt it there at least. Bessie Number 3 has enough leather on her for the new boots I want and a jacket besides, but I guess I'm just too soft. She wants to go out by going in, and I can't bring myself to say no, even if it means burning up that beautiful hide. My drooling lips are just about level with her trembling rod, since I'm lying on the prone and twined shapes of her hornily-mooing herd, their jostling bulges turning my stomach into a sticky, sweaty slaughterhouse beneath me. I growl with feral satisfaction as one of their heads rubs between my thighs. Fuck, I can't wait to feel them break. . .

My hands sink lovingly into the uneaten gal's plush backside and I give her pretty gock a lick. In return she gives me a nod and a stammer, and I let her feel my throat. Dear gods she's cute. I want to take her to pieces slowly, but I'll have to settle for mashing her up sloppy with the others until my belly's a proper boneyard. It doesn't take her long to cum, giving me way more than a glass of milk to wash down the rest of the meat with. The thick heat of it fills me up while the girl in front of me fights to stay standing, a losing battle that ends with her quivering in a heap pressed up against my gut, deliriously rubbing it and whining as the lusty stampede happening inside picks up speed.

I pity her as she gives me a look so deep with longing. I don't blame her. I know she belongs inside me too. So as soon as she has some degree of mastery over her body back, I let her give me her legs, and I don't spend nearly the time exploring her hooves with my tongue that they deserve before I start to swallow. I can feel my guts growing more active, the bodies inside me sizzling like patties on a chemical grill. Right now the excitement is enough that they don't feel the pain, but soon the real agony will start and I don't want my third course to miss out on any of the fun.

I stretch my jaws up and around her thighs, salivating more than enough. Another minute of gulping has me straining over her gorgeous grass-fed belly. And by the time I'm wrestling her sensitive chest into my cheeks she's getting hard again in my throat, biting her lip as she gets a load of just how deep inside me she is, just how far past the point of no return.

It's easy after that. I'm half convinced the other two are pulling her down, but I honestly doubt they've got enough presence of mind to do it. And then she's inside, and I'm basically alone. The three girls fucking each other silly inside me as their bodies simmer and stew are a foregone conclusion, a trio of bloody-rare steaks that won't see the light of day again. It's a throbbing mass of meat inside me begging to be tenderized, and when it starts screaming three part harmony I add my howl to the chorus. My hips pound out a steady beat without any conscious input, up to and after my belly fur is slick and shiny with a fresh coat of wolfcum. I wish I could say I feel each one snuff out one by one, but it's all too blurry and euphoric to tell. I think I'm spent but then I belch so loud my ears ring and Number 1's collar flies out of my mouth so fast the cowbell on it gets a dent from the wall. The orgasm that follows gives me tunnel vision. For a second I think I'm going to pass out.

Churn. Slosh. I feel myself drop about a foot as something inside me crumbles under pressure.

When my head finally clears enough, I take out my phone. My hands shake a little but I manage an obligatory selfie that looks steady enough. Sending a text is easier. I find Aspen's name and attach the picture. I go back and forth on what to caption it, but finally settle on

Get your fluffy ass over here. I need dessert.

#prin howls #prin writes #vore story #fatal vore #digestion #gore #only implied but just to be safe

[bookshelf-in-progress]

Because the feedback on part one was so helpful, I'm going to continue the experiment and ask for feedback on the next portion (roughly 2,100 words) of my retelling of "The Twelve Dancing Princesses."

That first section is probably the strongest part of this draft. The next section is where I stop straight-up recounting the original fairy tale and I start having to make up interactions and motivations between people, and I’m not sure how well I’ve managed it.

So, if you don't mind, I could use a bit of feedback. Do the interactions make sense? Anything that’s confusing, or could be done better, etc?

Part Two

Golden sunlight streams down upon a freshly-turned flower bed. I am soaked with sweat and crusted with dirt as I shovel mulch around newly-planted seedlings. I can imagine no scene less like the moonlit enchantment of your jeweled forests and wondrous dances. Even you, when you come into the garden, are nothing like you were last night. Your golden brown hair is unruly, your dress is hastily done-up, and instead of floating with ethereal grace, you storm toward me like an angry warrior goddess.

Only the branch, silver-spangled, is the same as it was last night, when you brandish it beneath my nose.

"Garden boy, where did this branch come from?" you demand.

Your eyes blaze and your golden curls flash in the sun. I could cast myself at your feet in devotion.

I keep my countenance blank and my eyes downcast--the dutiful, lowly servant. "Your highness knows better than I," I reply.

"You have followed us!" you hiss.

I meet your gaze then. It is a wonder I am not struck dead by your fury. "Yes, your highness."

"How? I saw no one ."

"I hid myself."

"It is impossible. I don't believe it."

"Believe as you like," I say. "You will still hold the branch."

You scramble to grasp something at your belt, and you throw a sack full of gold at my feet. "Keep your silence, and you will have this and more besides."

I stare at the bag of gold--more than I could earn with a year's labor--and my heart sinks like a stone. This is what I am to you. Not a man of honor, whose heart and reason can be trusted, but a common blackmailer whose silence can be purchased for a price.

"I will not be bought," I say, and when your face goes whiter still, I add gently, "You have nothing to fear from me."

It is only after dark that it strikes me I may have something to fear from you. I have vowed my silence, but you have said nothing about yours. The secret encompasses your sisters and nearly two dozen princes. What would they be willing to do to ensure my silence?

Though the thought shames me, the fear will not be silenced. I must know more about you royals and your hidden world--and I long to spend just one more night in that world of enchantment. I take the pale rose from its cup on my washstand, place it in my buttonhole, and make my way invisibly to your room.

You and your sisters are already dressed for the evening when I make my way among you. You are pale, and quieter than you were last evening, but none of your sisters remark upon it. I follow you down the staircase, through the forest, and to another wondrous dance. I can tell you are watching for me, but none of your sisters join in the search. They and all the princes laugh and dance as usual. At midnight, you dine upon a feast of impossible delicacies, and though the conversation is steady and quick-witted, none of you makes the least mention of me or the secret I know.

As dawn nears, I take my place in the rear of the boat that you ride in with your prince. Tonight, it is he who comments on the unexpected weight of the boat he steers.

My heart stops. Now you will tell him of my spying,  and since there are few places to hide in a small boat, like as not I will be pitched headlong into that bottomless lake.

Your words, when you speak, lift my heart like the arrival of the long-awaited dawn. You take up a second oar and say smiling, "It feels light to me."

The wonder of your defense of me makes me love you more than ever, and I all but float behind you as you make your way through the jeweled forests.

In the golden orchards, I stumble and snap off a branch. I hide it against my invisible clothes, just a moment before your sister Melody looks toward where I stand.

"What was that sound?" she asks in fright.

"Only an owl," you answer quickly.

Though you do not know it, you meet my eyes. I bow my head in thanks.

The next morning, the golden-spattered branch I place in your bouquet is a gift of thanks--and an expression of trust.

#

When you storm toward me in the gardens the next morning, there is just as much anger in your expression as ever. The golden branch quivers in your iron grip.

"What is it you want?" you ask. "You won't take gold. Do you plan to win yourself a princess, garden boy?"

"I do not plan to take a wife," I say. "When I wed, it must be to a woman whose love is freely given."

"Then why did you follow us?"

"I had to know if I could trust you. I now know that I can." I pluck an ordinary blossom from a nearby rose bush. I focus on its petals so I do not have to take the daring step of meeting your gaze while I ask my more-daring question. "Why did you shield me? You could have betrayed me to your princes or your sisters a thousand times."

"This is between you and me alone. I saw no need to frighten them."

I nod, understanding, even as I fight a strange sense of disappointment. It is love for your sisters, not care for me, that leads you to keep my secret.

"Do you see need now?" I ask.

You examine me, and you look at the silvery branch, and I swear I can see you thinking of the events of the last two nights. "You do not merely hide yourself," you say. "You make yourself invisible. How?"

I could no more lie to you than tear out my own heart. "I made a wish, and it was granted me."

"By whom?"

"Rather, by what. Your garden holds a wishing tree."

"Show it to me," you demand, seizing my wrist.

I stand firm. "Tell me, Princess Sonatina, if you found such a tree, would you suffer to let it live?"

"I should tear it out by the roots," you say, and I know it is true that you would do anything you thought necessary to guard your secret.

I bow my head. "Then although it pains me to disappoint you, I must refuse your request. The trees serve me because I serve them. I cannot repay their gifts by bringing about their destruction."

Your eyes flash. "You refuse your princess?"

I bow my head in apology. "Because it is my duty as a gardener to the king."

You release my wrist and pull away. You pace in frustration--back and forth, back and forth, your golden-brown curls wilder than ever. "There is nothing to prevent my finding it?"

"It is not concealed," I say.

"If it is fair for you to follow me to find our secret, it is only right that I can follow you to find yours."

"It is not my place to say otherwise."

You come to the garden every day after that--sometimes openly, sometimes skulking behind bushes or trees. Some days, I am sure, you watch from places I cannot see. But I do nothing save my ordinary gardening tasks, and I do not try to follow you at night. If I were the sort of man to make wishes for my own benefit, this would be the perfect way to make me use that gift against you. I love you more than ever because this does not occur to you--either you are too pure-hearted to suspect such villainy, or too trusting to imagine it in me.

Eventually, your constant watch breaks down the barriers between us, and you begin to speak to me. You ask me the names of the flowers I tend, and I tell you of the lilies that bloom by day and by night. The next day, you ask me about the blue flowers in your bouquet, and I tell you of the morning glories that make an arch of glory over the path you stand upon. In the days that follow, you pepper me with questions, wanting to know the names of every flower and bush and weed that grows in your father's gardens. And then, at last, one day, the name you ask to know is my own.

I hand you a bloom like a white five-pointed star. "I am called Michael Stargazer," I say.

"Is it not your true name?"

"The first was written on a slip of paper in the basket where I was found upon a church's doorstep. The second was given to me for daydreaming too much."

You sit upon the edge of a fountain and pick at the petals of the flower. "It suits you," she says. "Michael the guardian."

"And the Stargazer who spends too much time dreaming of what is unreachable?" I ask, feeling the rebuke I deserve.

"No," you say--firmly, kindly. "The one who watches. So he can know what is true. And know what to do with his knowledge."

"You trust that I judge rightly?" I ask.

"I trust you," is all you say.

After that, you are with me in the gardens--not merely watching, but being, doing, helping. You wish to know how the flowers grow and want to help them do it, so I teach you of spades and trowels, watering cans and fertilizer, pruning and grafting and weeding. We start out hesitant--you uncertain of your tasks, I uncertain if it is right to let dirt mar your perfect hands--but soon, you work with enthusiastic gusto, and I am glad to let you do what gives you joy.

Every night, you still wear through your dancing shoes, but yours are less ragged than the other eleven pairs, and you are wide awake with me in the gardens every morning. We talk while we work, but we do not even mention wishing trees or diamond groves or the music of enchanted palaces; there are too many other things to discuss in the sunlit world. You tell me of your sisters, of growing up royal, of books you've read and tutors you've teased. I tell you of the village where I was raised, of the dreams I had of one day meeting a princess--though I do not tell you that I've dreamed I will marry one.

One morning, in the height of summer, you are kneeling beside me, in a gown that you borrowed from a serving girl, wearing work gloves you borrowed from the gardener's shed. There are streaks of dirt on your face, and you smile at me in triumph as you dig up a bulb for transplanting. In that moment, the sun shines full upon you, setting the gold and brown streaks of your hair alight. Suddenly, you are not an ethereal being, too high and fine for me to reach. You are here, with me, laboring in the Earth, and you glow with joy. It is not the blazing joy of your dances in the midnight palace--burning bright and fast and destructive. This joy is gentler, life-giving--like a hearth fire or a candle flame. It warms and nourishes, comforts and caresses. For the first time, I can picture you as a gardener's wife, laboring with me in a cottage, caring for our children, giving life to sons and daughters and helping me to make good things grow.

I nearly speak something of the joy in my own heart--but the words freeze on my tongue when I hear a laugh high above us.

Five of your sisters--Lyra and Cadence, Harmony and Melody, and in the center of them all, elegant, dark-haired Aria--stand on the other side of the flower bed, peering down at us.

"Is this where you sneak off to every morning, Tina?" Lyra laughs. "Grubbing in the dirt with the garden boy?"

You drop the bulb as though it burns you, desperately try to brush the dirt off your skirt, and back as far away from me as possible on the narrow path between flower beds. Your face burns bright red. "No," you stammer. "I was only..."

"What a charming couple you make," Aria sneers.

"You wouldn't have to leave us if you married him," Harmony laughs.

Her twin adds, "You could live in a cottage at the bottom of the park, and you could bring us our flowers every morning!"

"He is nothing!" you snarl at your sisters. You storm toward the palace, and you do not look back.

I do not see you for two days.

#adventures in writing #fairy tale retellings #the twelve dancing princesses

[bit-odd-innit]

AO3 Down Post Uhhhhhhhhhh Brand New WIP That Wasn’t An Option On The WIP Poll Yet Inexplicably Is The Most Complete. First time writing Robin/Vickie!:

[Context is Steve cracked open a single egg with two yolks, Eddie told him that’s good luck and he needed to blow off work to spread his good fortune with the world because today is now EGG DAY. Steve is unconvinced but goes along with it anyway.]

They’re still arguing when they swing by the diner to meet Robin. “Back me up,” he says to her as he snags one of her fries. “The universe doesn’t guarantee you a good day just because one morning you decided to make an omelette.”

“You misrepresent me,” Eddie counters. “Egg Day is merely a positive portent. A good omen. A sign that emphatically declares there’s a pretty good chance today won’t suck.” “I don’t know, I think I’m with Eddie on this one.” Steve huffs indignantly. “I think it’s nice to believe there’s magic in the world.” She purses her lips. “Magic that’s not actively trying to kill us, that is.” 

They’d missed the lunch rush; the dining room is sparse. Its quiet enough that any clattering of noise, no matter how small, draws attention. The bell above the entrance sounds with a glittery tingtingting. And there, at the counter, resplendent in a bright yellow sundress, is—

“Oh my God.” Robin is already beneath the table. “She can’t see me like this, I look like I belong in a garbage can.”

“That wasn’t on purpose?” Eddie asks. 

“Steve, she hisses. "Do something.”

Steve raises one arm in the air and calls, “Vickie! Hey!”

“They’ll never find your body. I’m going to grind your bones to dust and use it to make mulch for my tomato garden hiiiiiiiii Vickie!” “Hi, guys!” She balances her takeout bag on her hip, gaze lingering on Robin. “Hi Robin.” ”Hi!” ”Hi.” Eddie opens his menu to shield the side of his face and mouths to Steve Jesus H Christ. Vickie, undeterred or oblivious, says, “Strange to see you outside of your post at Ye Olde Family Video.”

“I have off on Wednesdays.”

“Me too! I mean, I don’t have a job, so every day is kind of a day off.” Her smile dims. “It’s not like I’m doing nothing. I’ve been setting up some college visits, and band, you know band? You remember band?” “Yeah?” “So you remember what a total drill sergeant Stenman is.” She scrunches her nose, head twitching like a woodland creature trying to shake a dewdrop out of its fur. “Of course you do, you graduated like a month ago. I’m, uh, I’m also taking AP Calc with Bramowitz next year which is going to be absolute bear, but at present yeah I’m just fetching my lunch and bringing it back to my house to eat it which definitely seems like a whole lot of nothing now that I spell it out—“

“So you’re free.” Robin interjects. 

“What?”

“What? Robin seems equally surprised the suggestion came from her. She sits up a little straighter and says, “Right now. You’re free.”

“I-yeah. Yeah I’m free.”

“Do you…want to do something together?”

Vickie glows, but quickly tempers it.

“Oh, are you sure? I don’t want to break up your gang hang.”

“I’ve never seen these bozos in my life.”

Steve stares unblinking into the middle distance. Eddie waves. “Okay!” Vickie says brightly. “Well, despite the fact I have never finished one by myself in my life, my hubris has lead me to once again order the Bubba Burger.” She twists her body to showcase the take-out bag, grease darkening the paper. Her expression softens. “We could...split it? If you’re hungry?” “Starving,” Robin says as she shoves her untouched tuna melt into Steve’s awaiting, open hands.  Vickie beams, bouncing a little on her heels. “Great! There’s this park not too far from here, there’s like, a rose garden and a duck pond or whatever. But we don’t have to go there! We can eat anywhere! We can eat in the parking lot!—” “That sounds perfect,” Robin breathes. Vickie blinks. “The parking lot?” “No, the uh, the other thing.” “Right. Right.” She steps aside, gives Robin space to slide out of the booth, and turns toward the door. “Shall we?” Robin watches her for a beat, a gentle smile pulling at her lips. She opens her mouth to reply, and what comes out is, “I gotta use the wiz palace.” Steve smacks his palm to his forehead. “Cool. Cool cool cool. I’m parked out front, meet me at my car?” Robin, struck dumb by the incredibly stupid thing she just said, nods. “Cool.” She sets off, but not before glancing over her shoulder and adding, “I’m really glad I ran into you guys.” Robin stares after her and once the door closes, her head snaps to Steve.  “I blacked out. What did I just agree to?”

#stranger things #steddie #robin/vickie #rockie #my fanfic

[marlynnofmany]

This Time

Found it! By popular request (@sleepy-sheep-inn @gryphonablaze @lil-dabbler), here’s the story about someone years after a portal fantasy adventure.

740 words

~~~

I hated driving this route. But part of me was still drawn to it, with a kind of sickly anticipation that hadn’t been completely ground down by the years of disappointment. Maybe this time would be different. Maybe I’d see more than trees and ferns and long, winding road.

Maybe this time I’d feel the thrum of magic in the woods, smell the crackle of ozone, hear the distant bugle of a dragon calling me home.

This world wasn’t my home anymore. Hadn’t been since I was thirteen — the first time I was thirteen. The second time, I had to relearn how to move in a body that was soft and small, with no scars. A body that had never lost a hand to mage-fire.

I tried not to think about it now, clenching my right hand harder on the steering wheel to prove that it was there. Of course it was — why would I think there was anything wrong with it, and why was I using my left hand so much now? Hadn’t I been right-handed as a kid? I shrugged off people’s questions, claiming to be learning to use both hands just for fun. I didn’t really care if anyone bought it.

There were a lot of things I didn’t care about now.

Like the work conference I was driving north for. I’d tried to weasel out of it, but no dice. I was stuck taking the highway through the redwoods again, on a gray afternoon that had rained once and probably would again. I scowled at the wet forest as it rolled by. Checked the gas level, turned the radio on, then off again.

I wanted a distraction, but…

If I missed something because I was listening to crappy music, I’d never forgive myself.

Three more turns in silence, with no other cars on the road, and I slumped in resignation. Sighed. Opened all the windows and slowed down, taking deep breaths and listening for all I was worth.

The air was rich with damp bark, wet mulch, and the tang of wet asphalt. The redwood trees stood brown-black under feathery green leaves. Blank sky peeked through, that kind of grayish that makes it look like someone took an eraser to all the blue, or dropped this part of the world into an empty void.

If only. I could probably find my way home from a void.

I shook my head, wanting to close the windows on the breeze that carried only normal Earth scents. But of course I didn’t. As hard and pessimistic as I fancied myself to be, there was still a spark of childlike optimism, the last remnants of the determination that everything will be okay because I say so that had helped save a world years ago.

All it did for me now was open old wounds.

Specks of rain pattered onto the windshield, some finding their way onto my sweater and cheek. I pulled in one last lungful of rainy-weather smell and fumbled for the window buttons.

Wait. What was that scent? It was faint, but familiar. I knew I was deluding myself, but I froze and drove even slower. Stuck my head out into the raindrops and breathed deeply.

Phoenix musk. It couldn’t be. Aside from the obvious impossibility, this forest was far too wet for a firebird to tolerate—

The echoing hoot of an offended phoenix made me stomp the brakes with everything I had, jerking the wheel to send the car skidding into the ferns. I was out the door in a heartbeat, standing in the road and casting about desperately. Everything was quiet except for the tap of rain and the click and hiss of my car’s engine cooling down. I stepped away from the car, moving with heel-to-toe stealth like I was avoiding enemy sorcerers. My right arm rose of its own accord, as if the casting-crystal prosthesis was there ready for battle. I consciously dropped my hand to my side and listened.

Nothing. Nothing.

Then a chirp and a murmur and a snap that I felt more than heard, and a rush of heat as magic flowed toward me like water to the roots of a dry tree. Humming filled my head.

I broke into a grin and dashed into the woods, plowing past wet ferns with abandon, not caring if the water on my cheeks was from rain or tears.

“Wait for me! I’m coming!”

#my writing #I wrote this years ago #*Stitch voice* 'Yah. Still good.' #portal fantasy #and what comes after #as someone who grew up reading books about that sort of adventure #and who took road trips through woods like these every year #this one still means a lot to me

[headspace-hotel]

hello! your writings on embodied ecological knowledge & mycorrhizal systems are such a joy to read. I'm moving to a new home where the "front" yard is bare packed dirt, weeds and broken glass. I don't even know if I have permission yet, but all day I've been dreaming about trying to rake the glass out, turn over the soil, get some compost or top soil down (and if some native wildflowers and grasses "just so happen" to appear, oh well!) I'll be researching this myself , but I loved the shape of your thoughts and wished to ask; any general advice for restorative gardening?

My approach personally is to leave areas to themselves, plant native flowers and weed selectively when something invasive takes hold or something gets too numerous.

Suburban yards, especially near newly constructed homes, are usually extremely compacted subsoil with the topsoil stripped away, and extremely starved of nutrients. Identify what plants you have already and look them up to find out what clues they are giving you. Certain plants thrive only in areas with poor soil, too little competition etc.

Putting down compost is a good idea, as is mulching with rotten leaves and other yummy decomposing stuff. Tilling the whole area is probably not necessary.

Fact is, "weeds" stop erosion and protect the soil from drying out, and they can stop small sprouts from getting cooked by the sun. Identify them and leave stuff that isn't a noxious invasive, and wait a while. After some perennials start growing you can weed the annual weeds that pop up readily (in my area that's three-seeded mercury, milky spurge, crabgrass, redroot pigweed). Introduce native flowers and plants that you'd like to have. If you have to clear a spot, cover it in organic matter.

Research what biome you're in. If you live in a forest, a small grove of trees may do you good. In the southeastern US, Eastern Red Cedar, maples, American Sycamore, Virginia pine, loblolly pine, wild black cherry, and black walnut are major pioneer species. (Black walnut releases juglone, which inhibits other plants from growing, so use caution with that one. Pines and apple trees are particularly intolerant to juglone.) I recommend that people plant pioneer species because those are adapted to colonize areas that are not much unlike a stripped and devastated suburban yard. Species outside the "pioneer" category generally need more shade, organic matter and shelter to prosper.

It is very easy to find plants for free once you know what you're doing. I've gotten many beautiful plants from walking in my neighborhood and yoinking stuff out of pavement cracks, including my evening primrose and blue mistflower that are currently in bloom.

Dirt from an area with an established plant community also is full of seeds and good stuff, but use caution, because it could have been sprayed with herbicides and pesticides, or could have an invasive problem, or anything.

Good luck!!!

#ecology #gardening

[slightlycrunchy]

If you follow me for the Dadmight, could I ask for your help?

Recently I’ve been going through some pretty heavy personal and familial stuff, and in the process my writing muscles have grown weary. I haven’t flexed them in weeks and beginning again is hard, and finding the motivation even harder. I have a few wips currently going that I really love but as they sit quietly in my Google docs, they don’t garner any desire in me to work on them, and so I find myself here:

Will you read an excerpt of this fic and give me some of your time? At the end, I will ask you but a few simple questions. Thank you so much 💛

Dadmight, vague fantasy setting, small Izuku. Wingfic. Hurt/comfort.

The sun is bright, the day mild as Toshinori walks down the lane, dust kicking up beneath his feet.

Spring has been wet so far, showers shortening his afternoons and driving him indoors more often than not, but the last two days have been windy and dry, the dirt finally beginning to loose itself from the mud that has caked the villager’s shoes for weeks on end. 

Blue eyes look up to the sky, to the thin wisps of cloud that dominate his view, racing along as if they have anywhere to be when their job is simply to exist. He feels he relates to them in some way, and for once this doesn’t cause him to recoil at his own thoughts, only to exist. Taking in a deep breath of loam, filling his lungs with the life of it, he turns right, following the simple foot path that takes him to a patch of garden he claimed for himself years ago. He can see the tips of plants, stair stepping at the horizon before he rounds the stone fence, the petals of his sunflowers pointing mightily towards the heat of the sun, following it with their golden heads. 

They sprouted early this year and Toshinori knows not why; he has an affinity for the things of the earth, but he doesn’t necessarily know the ins-and-outs of it all, the why’s and how’s. It doesn’t keep him up at night, however.

Stepping into the cordoned-off space, making sure to not trample the bulbs of onion and greens that have begun to sprout, Toshinori closes the wooden gate behind him. It hardly comes up to his hips, he could step over it if he wished, though he’s never tried. He likes the meaning in walking through it, the marking of one task to the next, the flimsy gate holding fast against the outside world. The garden is Toshinori’s safe space, his comfort. Digging his hands into the dirt brings him a peace he can’t find anywhere else and he hoards it like treasure to his heart, guarding it with a ferocity he doesn’t spare much else anymore. 

As Toshinori savors the feel of the sun on his skin he wanders the crooked edges of his garden, with carefully packed stones just to his left as he makes his way towards the south end of the plot, a small, ramshackle shed holding the supplies he needs; a tiller, a spade—his favorite hat he left by accident yesterday. He will need that today, having no desire for the skin of his neck to be pink by mid-afternoon.

The door creaks as he enters, the dirt floor littered with remnants of straw and mulch rustling beneath his feet as he lets the sun behind him light his way. The space isn’t large by any means, certainly not tall enough by Toshinori’s standards, though he has grown to expect that. Being approximately seven-feet tall isn’t unheard of in the world but it isn’t common either; he’s grown used to the small inconveniences.

He begins to whistle to himself as he rummages through piles of old rags and rusty equipment that he really should take home to sharpen and shine. He places the spade he favors in a loop he crafted into his belt, making it easier to grab when he needs it. Next, he locates the tiller, a long piece of wood whittled into sharp ends. He worked slowly at it three winters back, when he was yet again left with too much time on his hands. He leans it against the door in wait for him while he turns his eye to finding his hat.

At first, he directs his gaze to where he believes it should be, an old workbench lying in the far corner next to old grain sacks, tools, and the occasional bird dropping scattered across its surface. 

He furrows his brow when it isn’t there.

Surely he hasn’t misremembered? He looks back to the door, mentally retracing his steps from the day before, walking across the small room to where he sat for a short break and wiped the sweat from his face after removing his hat. He set it down right next to him, did he not?

He draws closer now, looking under the bench and around it in case a stray gust of wind blew it wayward. When he still doesn’t see it anywhere he scratches absently at his chin and broadens his search.

And that is when he notices it.

Toshinori has a sharp mind and a good memory and given closer inspection to the bags that take up an entire corner of the shed, he does not miss how they have changed. One lies on its side where before it had stood upright like the rest. But this isn’t what truly catches his eye.

The bag is trembling.

Taking a wary stance, Toshinori draws nearer, stepping quietly over the bench to stand just over the fallen sack. This isn’t the first time an animal has found shelter here—squirrels, mice, even once a rather large raccoon have found sanctuary in this place so it isn’t unexpected. He doesn’t want to startle whatever has found a home here, simply hopes to help it move on, not wanting his spare seeds taken as a snack for this unexpected visitor.

The bag trembles and rustles and Toshinori is slow as he grabs it in his hands and begins to lift. He’s surprised to see the tips of feathers poking out at him. This strikes him as unusual.

“It’s alright, I won’t hurt you,” he begins on instinct, letting the low hum of his voice alert his presence as he pulls the bag fully away. “Come out now, come on. Just this way–”

Toshinori drops the bag behind him with a muffled clatter.

Large, tear-filled green eyes stare up at him from behind bony fingers, a frail, thin body curled into the tightest shape it can manage. All cradled behind sparse, iridescent green feathers.

It’s a boy. It’s a winged boy.

Toshinori stands, mouth parted as he stares, speechless. His mind is whirring, taking everything in before him at a rapid pace.

Feathers. An unhealthy, dirtied boy. Fear, etched with abandon across his face and his body. Toshinori steeps in the sight that floods his senses, consisting of small bony ankles and bare feet, tattered rags that substitute for clothing that still somehow manage to swallow him whole. 

The little child cowers, pressing himself imperceptibly closer to the wall in an attempt to get away, to disappear into the faded wood behind him. He’s so, so little. His hands are in his mouth now, teeth chewing at filthy fingers in an attempt to calm, to soothe no doubt.

Toshinori does not have children of his own, he only knows the little ones that crowd market days and follow their respective parents like ducklings through daily life. Even with stark cheekbones and a pointed chin, this boy is clearly young—perhaps six? Toshinori supposes it doesn’t matter, either way this child is not where he should be.

Unblinking eyes stare up through shaggy curls that are matted and lank, heavy with dirt. The boy is tense, a wire, ready to snap.

“Hello,” Toshinori breathes. “Hello there, little one. I wasn’t…expecting you.” He winces at the obvious statement. “Would you like to come out? I won’t hurt you.” 

As he says this, he backs away, angling his body so that the door is clearly visible. He wears his smile, open but soft as he tries to portray just how little of a threat he could be, what with his thin body that mirrors the boy’s if only a little healthier. It has been a long time since Yagi Toshinori could be considered a physical force to be feared. In his own eyes, anyway.

At this small change of angle, he is able to see further into the protected cave of the boy’s body, made by his wings—wings; Toshinori hasn’t seen wings like this for many long years—held close, domelike, and a slow breath goes out of Toshinori when he sees something familiar, the edges frayed and worn.

His hat, cradled close to the boy’s body. 

The child is holding it like it is his last tether. His only friend. Toshinori can see his fingertips go white as he cowers, drawing it closer up to his chin and hiding part of his face behind it. Toshinori can only assume it is for warmth, and something within him, intangible, hurts when he steps backward, lowering himself slowly onto the bench. His height is intimidating to the average adult who technically stands on equal social ground, he can only imagine what it must be to a boy so small and vulnerable.

He sits.

The boy does not move.

New tactics, then.

“It’s a beautiful day outside, the sun is shining. I think I’ll spend some time in the garden until lunchtime.” The boy blinks at him. Toshinori smiles back. “Yes, yes I think I will,” he adds to himself. 

And then he proceeds to exit the shed.

He lets a minute drag by, letting it warm itself in the garden soil before speaking once more: “I think I’ll have the rest of that soup for the midday meal, enjoy some of the bread I baked just yesterday. It turned out well, one of my best recipes yet,” he calls over his shoulder, taking his spade into his hand and beginning to fully attack the patches of weeds that have sprouted from the ground.

All of this is true of course, though none of it needs to be said aloud. Not for himself anyway.

This boy is no animal but there are perks to regarding him as a child with animal instinct. Toshinori decides quickly that he will give the boy space, will not press at his boundaries. Perhaps the child will see the offer for what it is, all on his own. Toshinori cannot bear to do nothing, cannot stand by when someone in such need has fallen into his sphere; his heart could not take it, but he can’t fathom forcing the boy from his cocoon of safety. 

As he digs his hands into warm earth, feeling it become a part of him as it nudges beneath his fingernails, he continues to speak. He drones on about the seasons and the soil qualities and their differences between here in this plot and the beds around his home, filled with tulips and lilies and more of the sunflowers he has grown to love. He speaks of the repairs he has been accomplishing indoors, stuck with nothing else to do while he waits out the storms that have plagued the valley for weeks. 

In between saying such things he wonders just how this boy has survived, possibly forced into the inclement weather with nowhere to take shelter and consequently, Toshinori is relieved for a fleeting moment, his apprehensions fleeting like the clouds above him that the boy is here and has found a place that is dry, in his shed. Of all the places in the world he could have found himself, Toshinori is happy it was here. It is only so sad that the boy should not know his own fortune; he must not see Toshinori as anything but a threat.

The man looks over his shoulder. The doorway stands empty, still.

The hours drive on and Toshinori sweats beneath the sun, mourning his hat. He digs deep holes and plants young seedlings he has carefully cared for, each movement paired with a quick flick of his eyes towards the open door of the shed. He is in wait, as much as he strains to appear nonchalant. All he needs is a single speck of green, of burlap, the dirt-covered clothing that began its life as some color or other that he can no longer parse. 

He winces as his side twinges painfully. He will need to stop, soon.

The sun has just passed its peak when he finally sees movement from his periphery. 

It begins with fingers slowly curling around the doorframe, followed by a tuft of feathers, crooked around the boy’s shoulder. They flutter gently in the wind, appearing unbearably soft. Shadows dance across the boy’s face as it next appears, eyes wary and unsure. 

Toshinori tills at the earth and pulls cumbersome weeds that threaten to choke. He doesn’t look at the boy when he speaks.

“I’m going home, down the lane. I have plenty to eat—to share, should another join me.” He hopes his meaning is not lost, for he knows not how to ask more plainly without scaring the boy away.

Wiping off the dirt from his palms and straightening for the first time in hours, he lets the cracks settle out of his spine, his side spasming once more as he lets out a—thankfully dry—cough. After stretching, he makes his way towards the gate, not latching it behind himself as usual. He then sets his eye towards the dirt path, grass growing to his shins even at the early month. 

He does not turn around.

He hopes in his heart. He pleads repeatedly inside his mind that he will not have to turn around and coax the boy out of his hiding place. He is afraid he will have to do so, what with the hints of what this boy has been through written across his body, but—

No.

Footsteps, soft in the sand and dirt, meander their way behind him, but Toshinori still does not turn around. If the child thinks he is subtle, let him. The only thing he desires is for the boy to follow him.

💛💛💛💛💛

Would you take a moment to tell me what you thought and reblog this? The fact is that normally, I would post to ao3 to get some sort of feedback there but I’m nowhere near ready to post this yet and I really do crave some kind of connection if I’m going to keep this fic going. It may just sit in my archives forever, otherwise.

Thank you for your time 💛💛

#dadmight #reblog please #my writing #bnha #my hero acedamia

[sanctuary-kingdomhearts]

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐕

꧁𝐑𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧'𝐬 𝐅𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫꧂

    The sun shone brightly down on the vastly kept greenland that made up the park. Radiant Garden's specialty was the ever-consuming flower fields of its culture and world. And despite the sun's rays not being as harsh as they were on the islands, the plants blossomed under it. There was a giant, metallic playset for little children in the middle of a mess of mulch, enclosed by strips of old wood. Trees were sparse next to the flatlands to really let the kids run wild, and I stood with Denzel right at the edge of it as Squall gently pushed us closer to the playground.

    Denzel eyed the swings, shaking my shoulder to alert me that there was still one swing not taken by a kid yet and that we had to move quickly. I saw a kid go down the slide and another fall off the monkey bars. It seemed like a busy day.

    I took a step to follow him as he started running toward the swings, saying he'd save it for me when Squall took my book. I let out a cry of protest, but he didn't return it.

    "Give her the book back," Cloud told his spouse as I turned to face the brunette, holding out my hands and trying to reach up to grab it myself when I saw he had no intention of it. Without hurting me, Squall put a hand on my head and turned me around, pushing me out again toward the playground.

    "She doesn't need this," Squall said, sighing. "I don't know why we let her bring it."

    "Max and Goofy aren't even here yet," Cloud protested. I turned back around, eyeing my book.

    "(Y/n) needs to play with the other kids," Squall insisted, eyes trailing down to me as I stared up at him. I waited, but he didn't budge.

"It's alright, go play. I'll keep it safe for you and give it back later." He tried to reassure me, smoothing his hand over the book. Realizing I wasn't going to get it back, I huffed, starting to walk away as I heard Squall tell Cloud I was, 'behind other kids my age, socially.'

    "She's got a keyblade at age four, what did you expect?" I heard Squall groan, and then I was out of earshot of them as I hurried over to Denzel. He waved me over, hopping off the swing he managed to save but held onto the metal chain.

    "Come on, faster, (Y/n)! I wanna push you on the swing!" The older boy rushed me as soon as I got close enough, he picked me up by the waist and helped me onto the swing when I couldn't do it myself. I gripped the chains with my hands tightly so I wouldn't fall, my hands enclosing just one of the big links.

    Denzel took a place behind me, placing his hands on my back before gently pushing me. The swing moved a little bit and I wiggled my legs. He did it again, and I kicked. It felt like I was flying.

    "No. If you do that you'll lose the momentum!" Denzel warned me.

    "Oh." I didn't know that. I stopped kicking, just letting him push me. Back and forth, back and forth, as he was pushing me Denzel had to move out of the way so he wouldn't get hit. And I managed to soar above his head.

    "Hey Denzel, who's that?" Another kid's voice broke through the air followed by a surprised scream. I swung back and didn't feel a push. I turned around, Denzel was catching his breath as a kid around his age looked at him with a raised brow.

    He was taller than Denzel and had black hair and a snout with big eyes. He reminded me of Mr. Mickey but he didn't look like a mouse. With his floppy ears on his head, he reminded me of a friendly doggy. But that was a rude observation, wasn't it?

    "Dude, you okay?" I noticed when he opened his mouth to speak that he was missing a couple of teeth, but the ones he did have were sharp and jagged. He took his gloved hands out of the pockets of his baggy jeans and crossed them over his chest. A plain red t-shirt covered his upper half. I'm pretty sure that this must be Max, then.

    "No," Denzel huffed, "You scared me."

    "Aren't your parents like noble warriors or somethin'?" Max scoffed, "Where's your backbone?"

    "Over there," Denzel pointed in a random direction. By this time all my momentum had dropped and the swing stopped. In an effort to observe their conversation more, I tried to move directions on the swing seat, but it kept moving. I almost fell, which made me grab onto the chain with both hands and lean on it to stay on the swing. I was very wrong about it, I don't think I can get down on my own...

    Denzel saw my plight and steadied the swing, picking me up and placing me down next to it. The hole under the swing caused by people's feet slowing their dissent made me look even shorter next to the two boys.

    "Must've fallen out when you jumped out your skin," Max snickered.

    I tugged on Denzel's shirt, "What do Cloud and Squall do, Zel?"

    He looked down at me and offered a smile, "They fight monsters and keep Radiant Garden safe."

    I nodded, but I already knew that. I meant specifics, but I guess no one will tell me those. "What about you, Max? What do your parents do?"

    "My dad's Captain of the Royal Guard." There was a lot of pride in his voice as he told us, and I got a distinct feeling that there was more attached to that. He had the same tone of voice Sora uses to talk about Riku, admiration present in every word.

    "What about your other parent?" I asked, realizing he only explained one of his parents' jobs.

    His entire being seemed to sag, but overall his mood didn't seem to drop much when he said, "Don't have another one."

    I blinked, "Your daddy had you alone too?" I narrowed my eyes, suspiciously, "Do you have a twin?"

    I looked around, but I couldn't find any kids like him around. Max looked befuddled. "I– no, what? Denzel, who is this?"

    "My little sister, (Y/n)," Denzel told him proudly, smoothing his hand over my head. He seemed so happy that I didn't correct him. He told me how much he wanted a little sibling, I wouldn't say anything to ruin that. It's not as if we weren't that close anyway.

    Max looked at me, squeezing his eyes closed like I was something far away and he had blurry vision, before declaring, "She's tiny."

    Denzel chuckled, "Yeah, I know, right? I was surprised when I first saw her too."

    "I may be small now," I started, stepping closer to both of them and placing a hand on my chest, right over my heart, "but someday soon I'm gonna be a big, strong keyblade wielder. Like Mr. Mickey!"

    Max scoffed, "You? Like King Mickey? You've got a long way to go if you wanna grow up to be like him."

    "That's why I'm starting now," I told him, "because I'm gonna be even better than Mr. Mickey."

    "Sure you will, pipsqueak." I gasped as he called me that name, but Denzel changed the subject.

    "What's that you got in your hand, Max?" Confused about what he was talking about, I took a second look back at Max, discovering a parchment paper crushed in his left hand. He waved it in front of us.

    "Uncle Scrooge gave me a treasure map, I've tracked the location to this park and I'm giving you two the honor of finding the treasure with me." He told us as he smoothed out the map and showed Denzel, who leaned over to see it. I tried to look over it too, but I was too short to see it from the angle they were holding it.

    "How do we know it's real?" Denzel asked skeptically. I crossed my arms, siding with him.

    "My uncle wouldn't give me something that wasn't legit," Max said confidently. "He loves me," He emphasized, "so it has to be something good. I'm his favorite, after all."

    "Alright," Denzel shrugged, "I guess it doesn't hurt to try."

    "Are we hunting for treasure?" I asked, grabbing onto the bottom of my shirt and playing with the fabric as I rocked back and forth on the heels of my feet. "Like those pirates from the cartoons? Can I help?"

    "Of course!" Denzel exclaimed, ruffling my hair.

    "Then, can I see the map too?" I asked, shifting in my spot. I expected Max to say no since they didn't let me see it before, but he handed over the map for me to take a look without an issue.

    It had four locations connected together by a dotted line before X marked the spot on the fifth one. The first circle was a picture of Radiant Garden, the second one was a park, the third one was a tree with a deformed trunk, and the last one looked like a hole in the tree. Then the X.

    "So we're looking for a tree?" I questioned, looking around the park for such a tree. There didn't seem to be one like it in sight.

    "Hey," Another voice called. This one sounded more like one my age, "Are you guys gonna use that swing or can I take it?"

    I turned to the one who asked the question, he had floppy hair that covered his eyes and tan skin. Just like his voice, he looked to be around my age.

    "Oh, no! You can take it," Denzel took my hand and started walking away from the swing as Max stayed right next to us, walking beside me. The kid happily jumped onto the swing with no problems.

    We passed by the playground set as we started looking for trees. All of them seemed normal for the most part. Certainly none with deformed trunks like in the picture.

"Are you sure this is the right park?" Denzel asked as he blew his hair out of his face. The sun beat down on us, and it seemed I was the only one unaffected by it. Denzel had a sheen of sweat covering his skin and Max was trying to hide his tongue which was flopping out of his mouth.

"It has to be. It's the only park near here." I stated, looking around again. I didn't see Mr. Scrooge giving Max a treasure map to a park he wouldn't normally go to. The only other one was out of the way from here and neither Max nor his father had any reason to go over there.

"Should we split up?" Max suggested. I shrugged, that would be the best plan to find it quicker. Denzel disagreed.

"No, we stay together. I don't want to lose my new baby sister. I just got her." Denzel wrapped his arms around my shoulder. I couldn't help but think it sounded as if he were comparing me to a new toy. But even if that's what it sounded like, I knew what Denzel meant. And knowing that he wanted me around was reassuring.

Max huffed, crossing his arms. "I see who's the favorite."

"Glad I made it obvious for you." Denzel quipped back. I didn't think he meant it though. He'd known Max far longer, they were friends.

"So we won't be splitting up?" I asked, just to be sure. Both boys gave me noises of agreement and Denzel let go, taking my hand. I held the map in my free hand as we walked along the tree line.

There were many trees near the park, but none that looked like the picture. Max walked ahead of us, mostly because Denzel had to slow his walk so I could keep up with him. I appreciated it.

There was a tree with a weird trunk that we took a look at, but there wasn't anything except a nest in the hole. Denzel had to lift me on his shoulders just for us to have a look inside. We wobbled a bit, and I had to hold on to the tree for stability as I checked.

By the time Denzel had managed to put me down safely, Max had run ahead and was shouting for Denzel to come take a look.

"Coming!" Denzel yelled back, smiling at me. "C'mon, (Y/n), let's see what he found!"

He rushed toward his friend before I even had time to respond. I clutched the map close to my chest as I made my way over to the boys. They'd hurried to check the tree and found nothing. Leaving them quite dejected.

I thought it was a bit too soon to be dejected, we hadn't been looking that long.

"Denzel, Max, (Y/n)!" Cloud's voice cut through the heavy air of disappointment as he came from the tree line.

I waved at him to let him know where we were, but he'd already caught sight of us.

He sighed in relief upon catching up to us. "You shouldn't go that far. Stay in our sight line."

I noticed that when he was warning us, his eyes went between Max and Denzel, making a point not to look at me. I felt myself shrink just a tad, he really didn't like or care for me at all.

Cloud shook his head, "Let's go back to the playground. You can play out here another day."

Despite his words, his tone made me think he didn't mean it. Still, if Cloud said it, it must be true. He wouldn't lie to us. I saw the way he talked to Denzel, every word was truthful and genuine. And even if he didn't like me, nor want me, when we did talk, I never sensed any ill will.

So I suppose we'll have to wait until next time to find the treasure, then. If Cloud and Squall still want me around.

"Okay, can we go down the slide?" I nodded to Cloud before asking Denzel, reaching my hands up for Denzel to grab. He took my hand in his easily.

"Of course we can!" The brunet looked up to his father for confirmation and received a subtle smile in return.

Behind the trees far off in the distance, near the bramble and bushes, something shook violently. Max looked off toward that direction, farther than I could see, with a sense of pointedness. He inhaled, before voicing his suspicions aloud. "Wait! I think that's it."

He took off running without a second thought, and without a third thought, Denzel started running after him, voicing a 'wait up!' as he went. Denzel hadn't let go of my hand before he took off, leaving me to try and run at a pace I couldn't keep up with as he dragged me along.

"You can do it, (N/n)," Denzel exclaimed. Out of breath and a bit bitter as he made me run, I thought to myself that, no, I can't.

By the time we made it to the tree, Max had pointed out, I was huffing and puffing and about ready to double over. Placing my hands on my knees as I tried to take in big breaths. The boys tried jumping up to put their hands in the nook of the nest, but couldn't reach on their own.

"Aw, man! C'mon, just a little more!" Denzel groaned, getting on his tippy toes and stretching his arm in there. Max exhaled heavily, putting his hands in his pockets.

"Dude, you're not gonna reach. Just put your sister on your shoulders again." He suggested, moving his hands in his baggy jean pockets.

I shook my head in denial. "Nuh-uh, he almost dropped me last time."

Denzel paused, light blue eyes turning to meet mine. "(Y/n)! I swear I'll be careful this time. You know I'd never mean to drop you."

"No," I stated, very sure of myself. I knew Denzel would never mean to drop me, but that doesn't mean that I want to try it again. "Just wait for Cloud, he's tall. He can get it."

"He's taking his sweet time getting here, though," Max grumbled, slumping against the tree and crossing his legs. Denzel sighed, walking around in a circle as he waited for Cloud to catch up with us.

The adult didn't seem to sense the boys' urgency, as he kept walking at his regular pace until he reached us. I couldn't quite read his face when he asked, "Do you all need some help?"

Dramatically, Denzel waved his arms between Cloud and the tree. "Please! The treasure's right there. I can feel it."

Without another word, Cloud walked over to the tree and knocked on the hollow trunk, nodding to himself when it reverberated back and stuck his hand in it. Pulling out a small wooden box that was smaller than his hand, but would've been big in both of mine.

"This is what you were looking for?" He inquired, raising a brow and passing it to an excited Denzel. The brown-haired boy was practically jumping for joy.

"It's the treasure, we found it, Max. Thanks, Dad," Denzel laughed, not even caring as Max took the box from him and took a peek inside.

"What's in it?" Denzel asked, trying to grab at the box to see inside of it too. Max held it away from him with a mischievous smile.

"Come find out." Denzel let out a noise of indignation before Max took off running in the direction of the playground. Denzel chased after him, seemingly forgetting about me and Cloud.

I finished catching my breath, standing straight. As I did, I noticed something by the base of the trunk. Something Denzel and Max both missed in their excitement, but something I found much more appealing than a simple treasure.

It was a single, fluffy black feather. If it came from a bird, I'd never seen it before. Not on the islands or here in Radiant Garden. I walked over, crouching to pick it up and examine it. Just a feather. I wonder where or what it came from. It looked well-groomed and healthy.

As a resident of this world for far longer than me, Cloud would know which animal this feather belongs to. Right?

I stood up and turned around, waddling forward to show him up close. I held my hands up to him to show him the pretty feather I found.

"Cloud, look what I found. I've never seen a feather like this before. We don't have this kind on the islands. What bird does it come from? Can I keep it?" I thought it might make a good bookmark. A nice reminder of the different and unique things I could find in Raidant Garden that I could never see back home.

In my wonder, I hadn't been paying attention to Cloud's face very closely. But when I looked to him for his reply, I found that he was unusually still. His breathing had stilled and his eyes were alarmed.

No, not alarmed. Distressed. He was panicked.

He swiped the feather out of my hand and held it in his gloved one before snatching my wrist in his other and quickly turning on his heel. Walking at a steady pace back in the direction of Squall and Mr. Goofy.

I blinked, trying to keep up with him. Watching as he clutched the feather like it was burning away the cloth above his skin and searing his being. His jaw was clenched, and his eyes looked off into a far distance that wasn't here.

In his eyes, I saw genuine fear.

And though I didn't understand why the feather had caused this reaction, I understood the fear itself. I would've hated it if Cloud had presented me with darkness.

I couldn't help but think I made my relationship with Cloud worse by picking that feather up.

#kingdom hearts #sanctuary #kingdom hearts x reader #child!reader #keyblade #heart #light #cloud strife #squall leonhart #denzel ff7 #max goof #goofy goof #sephiroph #? #reader insert #x reader #uncle scrooge

[paranatellonta]

Aberrant Shrub

During my final checks I discovered a plant I hadn’t designed myself.

I was certain: I would have remembered those red buds and the contrasting green leaves which were currently cupping perfect crystals of snow, just like little hands.

I definitely wouldn’t have forgotten about the snow either, since it was as strictly forbidden as spontaneous biological evolution. The design of the planet had to be completely under our control, and any element within the planet’s atmosphere that didn’t benefit human survival would be considered wasteful by the examinators. Too much of that, or a single aberration as significant as this sweet shrub with its cheerful bud clusters announcing future blooms, and my planet and everything on it would immediately be destroyed, its elements recycled into the next design.

After all the work I’d put into creating this fresh, joyful home for my species, I couldn’t face killing the one unexpected life that had claimed its right to exist so beautifully. It was hypocritical: had it been a microorganism instead of a pretty plant, I probably wouldn’t have thought twice about eliminating it, and this could be just as dangerous. As an Unknown, it might be poisoning the air very, very slowly, causing problems to the population centuries from now—but it could just as well turn out that its extract would cure a disease as yet unheard of.

Placing six units of Atmospherically Advantageous Tree A.1 around it, I safely hid my aberrant shrub.

I could only hope it wouldn’t snow when the examinators arrived.

—

[Image description: Photo of a Skimmia plant with green leaves and clusters of red buds. In the fold of almost every leaf lies a thin layer of snow. In the background there’s a corner where a white and an orange brick wall meet, and below the plant, the snow has landed on bark chip mulch.]

#skimmia #garden #gardening #plants #snow #photography #flash fiction #science fiction #aberrant shrub #371

[belevant-candy-corps]

Big boys don’t cry over spilled milk

Takemichi x All

Chapter 1:

What happened again?

Oh,

That’s right. I was shot in an alleyway after getting out of my car… Who was it again? I tried to remember his face, I remembered his eyes. The dark gray tent with a tad of black was truly a sight, when you looked at them, it was almost like no one else was looking back, like the devil.

The rest of his face was a blur, his voice still haunted my ears. His short frame was one of the things that I remember from when I saw him.

He seemed kinda familiar, that’s right. How old was I? 16 maybe? That must’ve been about 10 years ago…

I stopped trying to remember. If I kept going, I would bulldoze the walls that my younger self tried so hard to build. All the years of therapy and AA meetings would go to waste. I never wanted to remember.

I felt like I was sleeping, I knew about my death but waking up felt like the natural thing to do. I tried to wake myself up, my eyes opened. When my eyes opened I found myself in my childhood room. Is this what they call it when your life flashes in front of your eyes? Was this me reliving my past days of purity? I wasn’t sure, all I knew was that these disgusting neon blue walls were from my old room at my parents house.

If I remember correctly, I must’ve been about 15, considering these walls. They might’ve been the worst thing I’ve seen all day. I stayed in bed, under the covers. It was the most comfortable. I turned my head to get a better look around. The posters of popular male models and the male equivalent of a playboy magazine laying on a night stand.

I attempted to sit up. My body was obviously tired and weak. I was surprised to find out that I had complete control over my movements and thinking. I had thought that when your life flashed before your eyes, it was more like a movie not an interactive type thing. I ended up being able to sit up. I pushed the weighted blanket off my legs. I stood up with my hands on my hips. I wasn’t sure when this was going to be over so I simply bent down in front of a night stand, pulled the drawers open and looked through their contents. That’s what I did to pass the time. I found lots of embarrassing stuff, for example my one direction note book and posters. I found a phone in the top drawer of the nightstand, along with a charger and five numbers written on a notepad. I opened the phone with my same password I had before I died, the numbers weren’t entered into the phone.

I worked my way through all of the drawers, each time I opened another a new phase of my life was remembered. Before I was able to completely finish looking through the drawers the old phone made a ding. I crawled over to the phone sitting atop the night stand.

It was a text message. The green text read, ‘ Let’s talk. 5:00 at the park’. I sat the phone back down. I had absolutely no fucking idea who this dude was… I guess I could meet them… I picked the phone back up and asked what park.

‘The one near your apartment.’ I turned the phone back off. Looking out the window, across the street was a park with many kids from - I assume- the apartments. I felt my stomach churning as I watched the children play. Something about it made me feel sickly. It felt like I had been there before. I probably had… I checked the phone for the time, 4:50. I was surprised at how quickly 5:00 was coming.

I assessed my outfit to see if I had to change. I was wearing an orange tee shirt with some band on it, and black cargo pants with a single belt and chain. I figured it was good enough and put on a comfy pair of shoes before opening the door.

I got to the park a tad early at 4:56. The kids were gone walking down the street once I got there. I rested on a swing as I waited. The playground was fairly simple, a slide, monkey bars, and two swings. I played with the mulch covering the whole playground with my feet, moving it up and down. I was so focused on the mulch I didn’t notice someone coming over to the other swing until they said something.

“Hey, how was your night?” The voice sounded tired, his voice was hoarse. I looked at his face. His hair was mostly piss blond with a black undercut. Who would ever dye their hair piss yellow? That was so stupid… His green eyes stood out surrounded by his generally simple and basic face features.

“Good… What did you want to talk about?” I looked up at his face, I met his eyes. He looked like he was studying my face but didn’t understand shit. I started to wonder if I was supposed to know what this was about… What if I did something?

“You look tired, when did you get home?” I didn’t feel tired,actually I felt like I had just woken up from a coma.

“I’m not. When did you get home?” I asked. I wanted to know a good time when I had to make something up.

“Not too late, around 12 this morning.” THIS MORNING?! Damn! I had no clue that we had done anything today, then again it seems that I had slept in till 5.

I think the surprise was obvious on my face because he had started laughing.

“Ahha ha ha - sorry, Um. Let’s talk..” His face returned serious. “Everyones really sorry.” Everyone? Who else was involved?

#tokyo manji gang #tokyo rev smut #tokyo revengers #tr takemichi #hanagaki takemichi #cross posted on wattpad #cross posted on ao3 #smut #angst #belevant candy corps

[bad-rper]

📝 magoop keyhole

what color reminds your muse of mine?

"Pale. Wretched pale snow white and all the petal-gore seeped beneath."

what song reminds your muse of mine?

"All that brassy and energetic dance music. The clicking of heels and the clinking of glasses with it. All but that song," leaked out covetous and bitterness. "Not the bells toll and wheezing, though. I'll be taking those for myself."

what scent reminds your muse of mine? 

"The dirtied odor of crimsons flowers all smeared into a mulch. Their fragrance intermixed with the cedar boards in which they are rubbed and torn against. Interlocked in stain and scent."

what meme reminds your muse of mine?

"I couldn't think for three more."

what sound reminds your muse of mine?

"A harrowed gasp--birth's first breath and death's rattle."

what setting reminds your muse of mine?

"Certain overlooks have a tableau to them. A vista wide and beautiful on face value. But, for all its expanse, there is no respite nor escape. All one might hope to do is dance and hope you're spirited away."

what fashion style reminds your muse of mine?

"Powdered body and minimal funeral wraps. Hard to forget such a decrepit sight." Even if his hand twitched as ghastly as the haunting dance. "It's just the same as full-and-twirling yellow dresses in the end."

what feeling does your muse associate with mine?

Enshrouded in earth, in water, in shadow, alien hands grabbed and moved and shook and grasped. Despite it all, Moons still met Moons. Fatal wishes still uttered.

"Defiance. The hidden life's-will all we mortal beings wield only when faced with our ordained doom."

what animal does your muse associate with mine?

"Prey in the corner. At its most threatened and its deadliest." That wasn't much of an animal, was it? A passing pause to gather another answer: "Snow hare... With a gun."

what holiday does your muse associate with mine?

"So many damned flowers sent her way," he clicked off the tip of his tongue, "Ferried much love and thought to her hands... The Love Holiday certainly turned her home into a bouquet itself. Wonder how many will be ordered in the coming Spring."

what season does your muse associate with mine?

"Only one answer, no?

She's the only sort to withstand it."

#ask #Cichol Yewberry #xenofae

[asha-mage]

17, 23, 49! Gratz on finishing the next chapter of Sworn btw!

[Send me a number and I'll answer your fanfic related questions!]

17. What highly specific AU do you want to read or write even though you might be the only person to appreciate it?

This is hard to answer because my first response to most new media is 'a WoT AU would make this better'. It is my Forever Fandom.

That said, to delve into the Deep Cut Zone for a moment (and maybe expose myself as utter nerd), I got pretty far into an outline for a Danganronpa X WoT crossover where pre-War of Power versions of the Forsaken + Rand and Moiraine where locked up to play the Killing Game together. The idea was to show off the flaws that led to the Forsaken falling to the Shadow, and examine the disparity between where they started/where they ended up/what drives them. I'd like to say more but I've always vaguely kept the idea of doing it around in the back of my head, and its' the kind of thing can't be spoiled and still be good.

For a non WoT contender? I have the first two chapters of a Adam Taurus/Jaune Arc fic written out that I want to go back to one day. Basically a 'they get stranded alone in the north of Anima and have to work together to survive' type thing that is meant to get into a lot of what makes the two characters tick. Love me a good Dark Knight/Paladin combo. It would have a potential audience of like, four people, but I still might go back to it one day if I get back into RWBY again.

23 - What’s a trope, AU, or concept you’ve never written, but would like to?

This will come as a shock to absolutely no one who knows me but- ABO. I find ABO fascinating less for horny reasons and more for the potential it has to impact world building, character relationships, and general societal fuckery in interesting ways ways. A good example is WoT- one day I really want to write a ABO that would explore the weird intricate of Omega Rand for example, and how that effects the already profound Gender Fuckery of WoT.

49. What are you currently working on? Share a few lines if you’re up for it!

Heh. I should have known this was coming when I posted about finishing the Sworn Chapter 15 rough. Have this preview:

Rand resisted the urge to shiver at the sound of dead grass and fallen leaves crunching underfoot. So many layers of it had fallen and turned to mulch and fallen again that it made a thick blanket of under brush through which only peaks of strangely veined marble where visible, at least on the outer edges of the grounds. Even with his height, the grass rose well past his knees out here, and would likely grow taller and thicker, as spring turned to summer. It was late in the evening he thought, but it was hard to tell in this place. The trees made a thick canopy over most of the grounds, some towering higher than the highest oaks Rand ever seen in the Waterwood. That canopy let in only thin rays of light that allowed a vague sense of the time of day. He had slept more he knew, after they had settled with a fire in the main hall, out the way of the strange Aes Sedai, but how long before he had awoken he wasn’t sure. He hadn’t dreamed again, or if he had, he didn’t remember anything beyond unsettled lurching darkness. He would have stayed in the hall still, to keep watch over Mat, waiting for him to awaken, but Loial and Selene between them had managed to convince him that he wasn’t helping by looming. Stalking about Loial had called it, though Rand hadn’t agreed with that assessment. Still he had needed some fresh air, so he had come out here, to the edge to wander about the manor grounds and try to avoid brooding over Mat’s fate. It had been that or submit to a lecture from Loial about how beautifully preserved the ruins where as he made notes in his little book. Mat will be fine. Rand told himself firmly. The Aes Sedai had said as much as she worked her healing over him and they could not lie. If you believe that- A voice began in the back of his head, the one that sounded like Moiraine. Rand crushed it ruthlessly. Moiraine was wrong. It was that simple. It had to be that simple. He was not the Dragon.

More then a few lines. I hope that's okay 😉.

#asked and answered #fanfic ask game #WoT #woT Fanfic #Sworn #Danganronpa