#edible prop dirt

[vampire-skunk]

#Edible prop dirt #movie magic #Film props #dad jokes #Film secrets #film

[fettesans]

Left, photograph by Toby Coulson, Joan Jonas for Tate Magazine, 2018. Via. Right, photograph by Lukas Städler, editorial for (La) Horde, Age of Content, 2023. Via. Watch.

--

The girls never talk, preferring to let the diegetic sounds of their chosen fast-food joint fill the silence. But over the duration of each aesthetically riveting TikTok, anything can happen. Mangoes filled with ice cream grow on cactuses, whipped cream is plucked off the top of a drink and magicked away. With something for everyone (escapism meets foodie inspo meets cosplay meets mukbang meets ASMR meets comedy), they’re addictive. The girls are the best friends you wish you had. But are they mates or are they siblings? Are they family or are they dating? You want that drink, you want to know what the fuck is going on, you have to watch till the end. And then you watch another. (...)

It’s a bizarrely soothing experience, like watching someone divining the future from chicken bones in an internet age. For another video, they go pastoral. Munchie grinds an Oreo in a pestle and mortar then sprinkles the dust into a medium-sized pot of what appears to be dirt. Daintily, she digs into the biscuit-dust and pseudo-soil, then eats it. It has the same appeal as being a child and creating a potion, or actually eating earth in your garden.

Since starting 2girls1bottl3 on 15th September 2022, the props have gotten more elaborate: taller glasses, pinker drinks, the goops somehow goopier, the slimes and salts more involved, the themes campier, the nail art more intricate, more talon-like. While the cocktail assembly is still treated with blank-faced seriousness, there’s more surrounding slapstick. Munchie’s in the back going into mannequin mode. Munchie’s doggy paddling in a pool using a pink floaty. Munchie’s in a chicken shop wearing a chicken costume. Munchie’s wrapped in Christmas paper, emerging as a present. Like the work of any creative mavericks, M&M’s content has an instantly identifiable gloss.

Separately, the actions they do are nonsense, but together they become a pastiche of nonsense. What becomes clear in their symbolism is that we’re not in this world anymore. In our world, dirt isn’t edible. Entering Mixie and Munchie’s realm, you have the haunting sense of witnessing something important, peering through the veil and accidentally glimpsing something you’re too un-special to understand. (...)

They’re most comfortable defining themselves through their references. In the funniest 2girls1bottl3 video so far, the girls wear full black bodysuits in an homage to Kim and Kanye’s 2021 Met Gala Balenciaga moment (Munchie sniffs a fry through the suit). Paris and Nicole’s fingerprints are everywhere, from their velour hoodies to their fast food filming locations. The references keep coming: lifestyle content creator Avani Reyes is an inspiration, as is Euphoria, the Twilight saga, gyaru and other global subcultures, generally. ​“Japanese street style mag-azines like Fruits,” says Munchie.

If they ever filmed a movie, Munchie tells me it would be inspired by ​“this Japanese porn studio that gets all their girls dressed up in schoolgirl outfits. They do all these silent videos of them playing Jenga and doing yoga together. The way it’s shot is really creepy. It would be us doing mundane activities silently.”

Nicolaia Rips, from Who the hell are 2girls1bottl3?, for The Face, September 18, 2023.

#diptych #reoccurrence #linked excerpts #the face #safe new world

[maytheoddshq]

THE 133RD BIANNUAL HUNGER GAMES: A CITY IN RUINS

“The broken eggshell of a civilization which time has hatched and devoured.”― Julia Ward Howe

Below the cut are descriptions of the city.

When the tributes emerge from the underground tunnels, the Arena is changed. However, it is not a city that has been besieged by a hurricane for one night — rather, it seems as though decades of damage have hit the city. Rubble lies in the streets, many of the buildings have fallen or are liable to collapse at a moment's notice. Weeds eat through the cracked asphalt and devour the sides of crumbling buildings. A river carrying muddied, quick waters has carved into the midsection of the city, splitting it in two.

City Square

The concrete is cracked and the water in the fountain is no longer potable, with a thick sheen of green algae growing on top of it. The cornucopia’s glass has been broken into thousands of smaller pieces which could be used as weapons — but they lay all around the area, and could be tricky to navigate, as the sharper glass shards can pierce the tributes’ boots. The items in the Cornucopia have been strewn about and are in varying states of battered and decayed — a backpack with holes chewed in it, a blanket with a layer of mold growing on its edges, etc. The geese have– somehow– miraculously survived the carnage, and have indeed thrived, invading the riverfront. They are just as dangerous as ever, and perhaps even more territorial.

Elevated Train

The tracks are rusted over and creak in the wind, scattered across the track are the traincars, stuck in place. A part of the track is completely split in two, one of the train cars dangling above the great chasm in the city, threatening to fall. If a tribute were to go to any of the train stations they would certainly be putting their life at risk as the tall metal legs holding up the track and the stations themselves shift and complain under any additional weight. 

Bank

The entire structure looks as if it has exploded. The floor is coated in glass and the previous gorgeous marble. Only the vault stands strong, untouched by the cataclysm. Anything that was stored in a lockbox remains as it was before the storm; food is perfectly edible, weapons as just as sharp, there are no signs of rot. However, one of the AIs survived the storm, the water damage and decay to their intelligent systems has rendered them in a constant state of error: Whether it is day or night it will attack anyone and anything that comes into view. 

City Hall

Spray painted on the crumbling steps of city hall in bright red letters is “WE WARNED YOU”. The once beautiful greenery is torn to shreds; dirt mounds take up the space where the flower beds were, grass has now begun to grow over the stairs and up the building. The interior is waterlogged, the reception desk has caved in on itself, the metal detectors are shorted out, occasionally sparking out into the thin layer of water that coats the floor.  A part of the floor collapsed, leading out to the basement. In the basement, there is water about knee deep that tributes must wade through. As tributes explore the basement, they will find replica weapons, like a part of a display from eons ago - an old rusted sword, prop guns incapable of being fired. Further in, there are stacks and stacks of old governmental documents, internal communications, old meeting minutes rotting away, making the air reek of mildew. If a tribute spends too long in the stacks, they will get the feeling of being watched and the sense that they’re being followed. The sound of water splashing from their steps will be echoed by something stopping when they stop, moving when they move, growing closer and closer with each passing minute.

Pandora Science Center

Once a symbol of innovation and hope for the future, the lab is now in ruin. The east wing is now overgrown, vines and grass creep in through a broken wall, if a tribute gets too close to the vines they’ll snatch at their ankles, digging thorns into their skin, attempting to pull them into the decay. On the western wing, a toxic gas fills the corridors, making it nearly impossible to breathe without the aid of a gas mask and if a tribute spends more than five minutes in without one they’ll pass out from lack of oxygen. The only untouched room is the lab where tributes can create the antidote.

Apartments

The windows of most of the apartments were destroyed in the storm. The insides of the apartments are in varying states of destruction, so in some, branches have flown inside and broken the walls or coffee table, while in others, they remained more protected. However, in all of them, the wallpaper is peeling revealing walls growing black mold and the furniture is damp, as if having sat for years in a humid, saturated climate, uncared for. The only things that remain in operation are the TVs, which still post a hypnotic danger for tributes.

Bodegas

The cats still prowl the corner stores, but their shelves have been raided and there’s nothing inside anymore. The few bits of food that remain are moldy and will make a tribute sick — though they might try anyway out of desperation. Most of the shelves have been broken and the windows have all been smashed in. While the cats were always feral and dangerous, they are even more so now, and pose a greater threat to tributes as they seem to have doubled in size and speed.

School

Most of the windows in the school have been broken and the storm has thrown desks and textbooks around their rooms. The posters are peeling off the walls and a community of unusually large rats have taken over the school building. The rats will attack if provoked, and they consider a tribute just walking through a hall or into a room to be provocation. Their teeth are sharp and while they are no larger than a small chihuahua, they can be difficult to shake off.

Subway

The underground of the city remains essentially the same after the storm.

Theater

The theater has decayed, all of the once beautiful, ornate paint and detailing peeling from the walls, the velvet seats spilling their molding contents, entire pits opened up on the stage that seem to fall into eternity and threatening to give way to more with the slightest test of weight (and an unlucky tribute may discover that indeed, it does). The handles have rusted out the locks of the doors to the backstage, where tributes can find a meager supply of potentially useful items that may be found in a first aid kit. There is also a costuming and prop room, where tributes can find very convincing looking prop weapons– though they are useless. There are also a line of mildewed, fading costumes that, if tributes want, they can try on repurpose, though the fabrics and rhinestoning are flashy, and will easily flag attention of others.

After a few hours in the theater, a tribute will begin to see shadows moving out of the corner of their eye and hear the ghostly, distant notes from a talented soprano, or clicking footfalls of pointe shoes against the splintering wooden stage.

Stadium

The soccer field is no longer much of a field, it is now a small, thriving forest, with trees pushing up through the soil and a plethora of  grasses, mushrooms, and bushes overgrowing the field in the spaces between. It’s an odd sight, a little ecosystem island at the center of cracking, crumbling plastic seating and concrete, but provides some shelter — and perhaps foragables — nonetheless.

At nightfall, an echo of the stadium that once was haunts the area in the form of Pascal the Pelican, come to life in his full mascot form, and thirsty for blood. He emerges from seemingly nowhere, ready to take the life from any tribute in his domain with his bare wings. He is incredibly fast and unnervingly quiet, he seems to move most when the tribute’s back is turned. Once he is in pursuit, he is incredibly difficult to shake, and he tends to try to herd his victims into being cornered in the subway tunnels under the stadium.

Hotel

The lobby of the hotel has flooded out completely and has transformed into a swampy, algae-filled bog. The elevators appear to have long-since been out of use, and the doors are rusted shut. The furniture is rotted, and wooden pieces of the frames float about. Frogs sing and croak from lily pads, and fish swim at tributes’ ankles. Above, the chandelier is still hanging precariously, askew and dirty.

After a few minutes of exploration, eels emerge in the waters, beginning to wind and twist around tributes’ legs once they are deep enough into the lobby. They will attempt to topple their victims into the water, to then constrict around their bodies and drown them.

Mall

The roof has collapsed, paving the main center of the mall in shattered glass. The stores are in disarray, mannequins are overturned, animals and time have eaten away at the various goods, everything is covered in a thick layer of dirt and dust. Weeds push up through the floors and moss covers the walls, the escalators creak and moan under the weight of tributes. Most of the merchandise is a curiosity at best now, completely unusable at worst, though some items may be able to be cobbled together or repurposed for tribute use.

The food court is now certainly devoid of anything nourishing, and is simply another testament to the indifferent march of time and persistence of nature. In the now rusted freezer in the back of the salad stand, there is a skeleton of a tribute, now only bones, as if they too have fallen prey to decades of decay in the span of a few hours along with the rest of the Arena.

#133

[katbelcreates]

Edible Prop Dirt Recipe

Ingredients: A package of split vanilla/chocolate cream cookies and whatever white sprinkles you can get ahold of.

Tools: Food processor or whatever blending device that will work on solids.

Process: Pulverize about 2/3 of the chocolate half of your package of split cookies or 1/3 a package of only chocolate. Add in vanilla cookies and white sprinkles until the dirt is the desired color and consistency.

I was able to generously cover 4 bowls of pudding with this recipe

#edible prop dirt #pumpkin patch #october #spooky #fun food #simple recipes #eat dirt #edible dirt #potting soil

[volchi]

Hearth Magic

Lately I have been very fascinated with fire cooking, and the potential for spellwork using the fire, pan and food itself. The advantage here is the consumption of the spell; you can put people under your control, empower them, weaken them, heal them, by having them literally put the magic inside them and carry it around with them so you dont have to snoop around hunting for taglocks for malefic curses or have the disadvantage of somebody needing to carry a protective charm on them which they may be likely to lose.

I was heavily inspired by a post made by @/qedavathegrey detailing the practical similarities between witchery and cooking. I cook frequently over a fire so I was wondering if I could lay a trick over bread or pastries using fire. So anyway:

First you need to know how to cook over a fire. I dont fuck with charcoal briquettes! And a lot of potency from the spell can come from the type of wood you use. For example:

Apple or sugar maple wood for love workings

Mulberry wood for spells intended to make others obey you

Cedar wood for ancestor work

Oak wood for jovian and abundance work

Pine wood for protection and empowerment/healing anxiety

And so on. In these types of spells I would use fires from materials that are as natural as possible. In some places "living fire" or fire that you started by rubbing two sticks together is very powerful in spellwork. I don't know about you but I am absolutely not able to start a fire by doing that, so if you cannot start the fire like so I would at least breath on it to stoke the fire. While making the fire you can also raise a lot of energy -- it's a pain in the ass so making a fire while pissed off can't hurt for a curse.

Also if you don't have a bunch of different types of firewood at your disposal, you can also add things to the existing fire to help it power the spell. For example, herbs, objects and things such as written psalms, sigils, tarot cards and playing cards can be thrown in. One possible method for herbs close with water could be to gather the herbs, wet them, and put them into tinfoil with holes poked in it so that it is constantly steaming as the fire is burning. (this also keeps bugs away. :) Around the area that you are starting the fire, you could also draw a circle in the dirt for extra protection during the spell. The whole idea is to enchant the fire so that whatever you cook with it will also be tricked.

When you're actually cooking the food, it takes a little while to adjust to using a fire so i would give it a few tries. I always use my cast iron cauldron, and you ALWAYS cook over the coals unless you're like boiling water or something. Don't fall for the cute little larpy pictures of people cooking over the high flames! You'll end up with half of your food burnt to shit, half of it ice cold and ALL of your pan completely black and charred.

Also you don't really want the coals to touch the bottom. Because it will burn. It just gets way too hot. My cauldron has little legs to keep it high up but if yours doesn't you'll want to suspend it from a chain or prop it up between 3 rocks, maybe a little metal grill.

If you're cooking soup or frying something you just need coals on the bottom, but if you're making bread or cake you'll want to actually preheat the cauldron like it's an oven, and shovel coals on the lid too. My bread keeps getting burnt on the bottom so maybe put more coals on the top. Bread holds up pretty well to cooking over a fire actually, in my opinion because it's wild and temperamental just like that fire.

And, once you're done cooking, if you laid a malefic curse over the food you can also save the salt used to clean the cast iron for future curses. :)

Anyway here are a few possibilities!

Blessing/Protection Strawberry Pie (for safety and ease at sea)

Start a fire from pine wood. Into the fire, put herbs St John's Wort, Angelica root, Hawthorn, Blackberry thorns etc you favorite combination of empowerment and luck herbs with "fuck off" herbs. To tailor it for protection at sea i will also be adding psalm 64 and swallow feathers.

It's for one person so we'd be making a mini tart, let's say strawberry rhubarb because of strawberries being sweet and lucky. You could also use blackberry for its protection. Or any medley of berries. Into the tart you can also slip some powdered/tinctured st johns wort, chamomile, etc lucky or soothing EDIBLE herbs. maybe not too much to change the flavor? but funny tasting witch tarts seem to be part of the charm LOL

So to cook a small tart you'll need a small pie tin, and you'd need to preheat the oven itself to about 350 fahrenheit. Maybe lift it off the bottom so it won't burn. You can blind bake the pie crust if you want. Its small so i would put the pie crust in with the filling, brush with egg and sprinkle some sugar, and cook for 15 minutes.

When it's done, you can whisper psalm 64 over it or what corresponds with your intention, and whoever eats it will be protected.

Otnovo --

Good Old Fashioned Love Spell Bread

This one is folksy and not a hundred percent ethical but it's just for educational purposes and I'm not your mom so. Make a fire from apple wood or maple wood. To this fire add sunflower petals, apple peels, orange peels, rose petals and ferns.

In the bread, if you can, mash in a (whole, fresh) mole heart in the liquid, maybe make it a beer bread to mask the meat flavor, or maybe make it stuffed bread and mix the mole heart with spiced pork or chicken, it's all up to you! If you don't have mole meat just lying around you can add coriander to the bread and similar love herbs and spices (take care that it doesnt taste like shit)

Preheat the oven by shoveling coals underneath but mostly on the lid and let it be for 15 minutes. It should be about 400 degrees Fahrenheit. Put the bread in, cook it for 20 minutes, and give to the person you are interested in.

Those two were examples so let me know how they work if you do them, obviously this method heavily depends on what you have accessible to you so just use what you got! Happy spellwork :)

#hearth witch #hearth witchcraft #spellwork #kitchen witch #witch tip #kitchen wicca #pagan wicca #baby witch #green witch #hedge witch #tag whoring sorry #anyway somebody else might have been doing this since day 1 so sorry if it seems basic

[haus-seeblick]

Suptober Day 1! “Harvest”

My first ficlet for Suptober! Read under the cut :)

Pairing: Castiel/Dean Winchester

Rating: Mature 

Word Count: 2,218

Tags: Fluff, Disaster Bi Dean Winchester, Daydreaming about hot farmers, Some suggestive language (and swearing), Angelic wheat harvest assistance, The Dom Brow makes an appearance, Sam Ships It, Mini Case Fic  

On AO3 here.

“All right,” Dean announces as he stomps into the hospital room, trailing mud with every step. “You’re not gonna have a problem anymore, Randy.”

The man propped up on the hospital bed cushions glares at Dean from under bushy eyebrows. “Well, it’s about time,” he snaps. “First these-- these things terrorize my fields for weeks, then y’all show up and are so useless that they maim me after you’re already on the case, and now I’ve lost the prime window to harvest a year’s worth o’ growth ‘cause I’m laid up in this godforsaken facility. So don’t you tell me I ain’t gonna have a problem anymore.” 

Dean sinks down onto the rickety plastic chair next to the bed, moving gingerly to avoid jostling his (probably) dislocated shoulder, courtesy of some extremely vengeful spirits. He fixes Randy with an even gaze. 

“Man, I’m sorry about your leg. I am. The spirits had a wider range than we thought and we figured you’d be safe at the house.”

Randy snorts in obvious derision, his scruffy mustache fluttering comically. Dean presses on.

“But, we’ve put them to rest. Your great-grandparents aren’t gonna give you any more grief.”  Even if the rest of your family did totally fuck them over.

He stands again, awkwardly, and pats Randy’s good knee. “Sorry about your harvest, though. Can anyone help out? Neighbors? Friends?”

Randy glowers. “I ain’t takin’ no charity.”

Dean quirks his lips and nods. “Right. Take it easy, Randy.” He leaves the still-grumbling farmer behind, following his own trail of mud back down the hallway. A tall janitor lurking around the corner sends him a death glare and Dean tries for an appropriately apologetic smile. 

It’s been a real headache of a night. 

The pair of spirits haunting Randy Johnson’s wheat fields ended up being way more pissed off than Sam, Dean, and Cas had anticipated. By the time Cas located the heavy brass key to the farmhouse that was apparently tethering the property-line-obsessed spirits to the material plane, Dean and Sam were long out of rock salt. In their retreat, they’d ended up waist-deep in a pebbly creek, splashing and wobbling as they beat off the screeching spirits with crowbars. Dean has an unfortunately-placed boulder to thank for his dislocated shoulder -- he went down hard and clumsy just as Cas reappeared next to the stream, the old key melting dramatically in the bright glow of his palm. 

The spirits burned away in a shower of sparks, along with Dean’s dignity.

To top it all off, Dean drew the short straw to go tell Randy the case was closed, and he may have stomped off in a sulky huff before thinking of asking Cas or Sam to put his shoulder right. 

Oh, well. At least it’s dealt with. One more night in their more-stained-than-usual motel room, and first thing in the morning they’ll get the hell outta Dodge (almost literally - they’re up in Osborne County). 

Dean thinks of a bright July morning on the open road and sighs in relief.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He doesn’t get his wish.

“I just feel bad, Dean!” Sam protests as Dean gesticulates incredulously at him. (His shoulder was very pleasantly healed by Cas the night before, and if Dean noticed that Cas’ warm hands lingered a little longer on his skin than was technically necessary for a cursory dislocation repair, he didn’t mention it.)

“God, Sammy, yeah, it sucks about the guy’s leg, but maybe if he wasn’t such an asshole to everyone he knows, somebody’d help him out! It’s not-- it can’t be our problem.”

Sam crosses his arms stubbornly. “It’s not about Randy. His fields are part of a huge supply that feeds a ton of people. Do you want people to go hungry, Dean?”

Castiel chooses that moment to materialize directly next to Dean, his nose inches away from Dean’s cheek. He’s holding two steaming cups of coffee and Dean immediately grabs one. Cas squints and tilts his head. “Why does Dean want people to go hungry?”

“Oh my god.” Dean throws his free hand up. “Fine. Fucking fine. We’ll find someone who’s willing to plow the dude’s fields. That’ll be easy.”

Sam opens his big mouth, probably to say something about having faith in humanity, but Cas beats him to it. Still planted firmly in Dean’s bubble, he sends a puff of warm air against Dean’s face as he speaks.

“Oh. I can do it.”

Dean and Sam both look at him. Dean shuffles back a couple steps and wills his eyes away from the guy’s lips. He really spends too much time staring at them.

“Um--” Sam clears his throat. “You can harvest Randy’s wheat?”

“I can plow, yes.” Cas nods firmly. Dean’s first sip of coffee comes spraying back out. He pounds his chest and wheezes. 

“Like-- like-- with a combine?” 

Cas furrows his brow. “Is that a machine? No, I don’t require machinery. This is a very basic task.”

“Plowing,” Dean says weakly.

“Harvesting,” Cas corrects, tilting his chin down and narrowing his eyes. “Humans have been doing it for a very long time. I used to help, now and again. I can’t imagine the process has changed much.”

Sam slaps his thighs as he stands up from his bed. “Well! Look at that, Dean. Cas doesn’t want people to go hungry.” 

Dean flips him off, but it lacks the usual heat.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

An hour later, they find themselves on the edge of a vast, lazily undulating expanse of gold. They’d skirted the north edge of the field extensively while working the spirit case, since the activity was strongest there along the creek, but in his single-minded focus Dean hadn’t really paid much attention to the field itself.

It’s big. Like, squint-into-the-distance-and-you-can’t-see-the-end big. 

“You’re really gonna plow all that?” Dean asks, glancing at Cas. The morning sun is turning the tips of Cas’ hair a chestnut gold. 

“I will cut down the stalks, separate the grain from the chaff, and deposit the edible grain into a large truck, which apparently takes it where it needs to go,” Cas says matter-of-factly. “I visited Randy early this morning to make sure I knew which truck it was.”

Sam laughs. “Oh yeah? How’d good old Randy take that?”

“He seemed dubious,” Cas says. “And rude. I assured him that despite his unsavory attitude, he would come home to harvested fields.”

“Very angelic of you,” Sam remarks. 

“So how’s this gonna go?” Dean lifts a hand to block out the steadily-rising sun. “You gonna be flapping back and forth? Probably not smart to let the locals clock an angel doing the harvest.”

Cas arches an eyebrow at him, somehow gazing down at Dean despite being an inch shorter. “I don’t flap, Dean. I may have wings, but their movement in the ether is beyond your comprehension.” 

Dean rolls his eyes and turns his face away in a show of studying the field to the north, but mostly to conceal the flush of his cheeks in response to that eyebrow. 

For Christ's sake, keep it together, Winchester.

“I can’t explain to you how it will look,” Cas continues, oblivious. “You’ll just have to watch. Anything you see will be for your eyes only. I guarantee no locals will ‘clock me.’”

Dean looks back just in time to see the tail end of the finger quotes. Cas is staring right at him, that damn eyebrow still up, a subtle challenge, daring Dean to make a move.

Maybe not so oblivious. Asshole. 

Dean smiles sweetly and gestures at the wheat. “All right then. Have at it, buddy. Show us what you’ve got.”

With no further ado, Cas is gone. Dean’s left staring through the previously-Cas-occupied space at his brother, who’s grimacing with an air of great suffering. 

“What?” Dean demands. 

Sam sighs heavily and gazes out over the field. “You two are so weird.”

Dean’s about to respond with something really witty when Sam perks up and points into the distance. “Holy crap, look!”

Dean follows the path of Sam’s outstretched finger and his mouth drops open. On the horizon, at the far end of the field, there’s a cloud. No-- a mini tornado. A golden tornado. A… sparkly tornado?

“What the--” Dean cups his hands around his eyes like blinkers. Even with the glare of the sun blocked out, though, the tornado is just as bright -- a swirling, racing funnel criss-crossing the field way faster than a combine, or even Baby, could drive. 

“Why is it-- what’s the sparkly stuff?” 

Sam’s squinting too. “I think it’s the pieces of the stalks he’s separating? And they catch the light as they get tossed around.” 

The tornado’s already halfway across the field, approaching them steadily. It’s about as tall as an oak tree, and as it gets closer Dean sees that Sam was right: thousands of little stalks and bits of grain and -- what had Cas called it? -- chaff are whirling and flitting amid the twisting golden dust of the tornado. The effect is a bit dizzying, kind of like that ocular migraine Dean had one time as a teenager, when an aura of tiny flashing spots obscured his vision, right there in his eye yet impossible to focus on. 

He steps back instinctively, Sam mirroring his movement, when the tornado grows close to them. It whips past, blowing Dean’s jacket open, and where there was once chest-high golden grain, there’s now just dirt littered with aborted stalks. 

“Damn,” Dean whispers. He’s seen Cas do all kinds of badass things, of course, but they’ve been more of the smiting and heavy-lifting variety. This is a new level of cool. In a farmer-y way. This, of course, leads Dean’s traitorous brain directly to images of worn flannel stretched tight over biceps; of a blade of hay dangling jauntily from chapped lips; of long, strong fingers gripping a pitchfork--

“--Dean!” 

The pleasantly-evolving bubble bursts. Dean twitches as Sam elbows him in the ribs.

“Dude! Cas is done, come on.”

Dean blinks a few times to bring himself back to reality (a reality with wheat-harvesting angel tornados) and realizes that Sam’s heading north along the field to where a normal-sized, non-funnel-cloudy Cas is standing, brushing off his trenchcoat. Dean follows his brother and takes in the scene; the whole field really has been reduced to nothing -- just a flat, dappled expanse.

“Damn, Cas,” he says quietly as he reaches Cas’ side. His voice comes out strained and a little breathless. “That was some good plowing.”

“Thank you, Dean,” Can replies gravely. He tugs on his cuffs and some wheat dust puffs out. “It was an effective harvest. I disguised myself from mortal eyes -- including yours -- as I transported the grain to the truck, but I trust you saw the rest?”

Sam nods enthusiastically and launches straight into a barrage of questions about the physics and techniques and yadda yadda before Dean has to come up with a response. Yeah, I saw it. Yeah, it got me all tingly. That’s normal. He takes a few deliberate, slow breaths to calm the pounding in his chest.

Still tuning Sam out, he zeroes in on a single piece of wheat still stuck in Cas’ hair. It’s poking up toward the blue summer Kansas sky -- a tiny, trembling link between earth and heaven. Dean sidles up to Cas before he can overthink it. He slips his fingers into Cas’ wild, dark hair and plucks the wheat out. 

He throws it on the ground. It belongs to the earth. 

Sam falls silent with a choked-off laugh and Cas turns his trademark unblinking stare onto Dean. But this time there’s a slight crinkle to the edges of his eyes. A quirk of his lips. 

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas says again. He reaches out and -- Dean stops breathing -- brushes another piece of wheat out of Dean’s collar. His warm fingers graze Dean’s throat and all Dean can do is watch the little stalk flutter to the ground. 

Well. So much for a steady heartbeat. 

“Hey, I’ve got stuff in my hair, too,” Sam announces, voice thick with amusement. “Anyone gonna help me out?”

Dean tears his eyes away from the enlightening piece of wheat and points a finger at Sam, leveling him with his sternest shut the fuck up face. He prays his cheeks aren’t flaming. 

“If you need assistance, Sam--” Cas says, starting toward him.

“--He’s fine,” Dean interjects hastily. Maybe a little loudly. He coughs to cover it up. Smooth. “Let’s go. I wanna hit the road.”

Sam’s already jogging away before Dean’s done speaking. “I’ve still got the keys,” he calls over his shoulder. “I’ll warm up the car. You guys can catch up!”

Cas and Dean are left at the edge of the empty field. Dean rubs his neck and shuffles his feet, acutely aware of Cas’ piercing gaze. It’s nearly warmer than the morning sun. “Uh-- that was really cool, Cas. Thanks for letting us see it.”

“Of course, Dean,” Cas replies, measured and deep. “I enjoyed sharing that with you.”

Wow. All right. Dean needs to get moving or he’s going to explode. But not before filing that particular comment away for extensive mental perusal later, in the privacy of his bedroom. 

He flashes a grin and punches Cas’ shoulder. “Come on, farmer angel. Let’s go home.”

#suptober21 #destiel #minific #i had fun with this #this is the first fic I'm ever posting y'all! #happy harvest

[shnuggletea]

Chapter Three is LIVE!

Pick your haven: Fanfiction, AO3, or keep reading!

Chapter three: Sloth and Diligence of Moondust, my SM AU for @sins-week​!

Summary: In the garden of eden, sin is all around. Serena and Endymion wade through to the other side, but how much longer will they last in the Luna Company? And how much longer until the truths come out into the light?

“Our first assignment?” Silas cried, “Are we going to be paid for this?”

Lita shook her head, her irritation on her face and obvious. “If that’s all you care about, then you should leave.”

“The Luna company is about saving lives and making them better,” Amy added.

“But,” Serena started, shocking all especially Endymion, “we’re here to improve our lives. This takes funds. If you want to improve lives, then shouldn’t you start with ones right in front of you?”

Both women wore strange looks on their faces as if they were trying to fight what they felt off their faces. Endymion was worried they would boot Serena any second now. He was no stranger to the means companies would take for free labor. Offering a job that didn’t exist only to interview people, asking them to ‘show’ what they’re capable of? Endymion no longer fell for that trick, so he waited with the others until one of the women caved. Endymion wasn’t surprised when it was the Doctor.

“Of course, we’re going to pay you for your time. That should go without saying. The point we were making was that we want someone hungry in the position. That…at Luna, it’s not all about the status quo.” Easy for them to say, they weren’t close to starving in the streets. Endymion held tight to Serena as they all entered the massive room full of lush green life. Ay continued to explain. “For example, this is our Greenroom. Here, we’re trying to create plants that are cheap to seed and grow a lot more fruit. Everything in this room is edible.”

Looking around, Endymion saw they weren’t kidding. Save for the dirt they walked on and the occasional plant prop or pot, there wasn’t a plant in the room that wasn’t safe to eat. Of course, they may not be tasty; the roses Serena was leaning towards delicious to smell but not as tasty to eat were an example. But the large rows of corn along the back wall would taste good once cooked.

“What is it you want us to do here?” Almas asked.

Lita smirked, “take a look around. Taste a few things. And see if you have any ideas for further development.”

They wanted them to give them ideas? Endymion could see it now, his grand idea causing Luna’s stock to go up exponentially while his family rotted to dust. Any thoughts he had, he would be keeping to himself until the job was his.

It was a good thing he didn’t have many with Serena on his arm, leading her around like they were courting. It was something he would have done with Beryl if he’d ever had the time. Gently walking the girl he liked through a garden on a warm and sunny day? Endymion felt like he’d been waiting his whole life for a chance to be a gentleman. And Beryl had him waiting still while Serena had no problems with him taking her around in his thin suit.

She pulled from him, spying some ruby red tomatoes the size of a grape. Serena didn’t hesitate, pulling a couple off and popping them into her mouth. She moaned, then gasped, turning to him with eyes wide and full of curiosity. It made Endymion’s heart flutter in his chest. “They’re so sweet! You must try one!”

Crouching at her side, Endymion took the offered fruit and popped it in similarly to Serena. The sweet and tangy juice flooded his mouth and teased his tongue. “Amazing.”

All the tomatoes Endymion had were overripe and lacked good flavor. Unfortunately, they were eaten for their nutrients, not their taste, and the overripe ones came at a discount. Nevertheless, it was better than lacking in vitamin C, and they were far cheaper than oranges and lemons.

Serena left him to eat a few purple grapes while he took in the general spender. If they opened this place to the public, it would solve a lot of the hunger in town. “What do you think?”

Endymion spun, finding Lita behind him and watching him and Serena. He glanced back, making sure Serena was still near and safe before giving Lita his attention again. “I think Luna is a bunch of hoarders.”

This was not what he should be saying, not at all. But the more time he spent in utopia, the more he thought about the elders he’d left at home. What would they eat today? Did they even remember what a good tomato tasted like? It only served to make his stomach twist until he was unable to eat. Something only he suffered, Almas crunching on an apple while Silas a pear. Serena was nibbling on grapes, so it was just him that had problems eating food while others starved. It was sure to ruin his chances, but Endymion found it impossible to lie. Not while angry like this.

“Care to explain?” Lita asked.

Endymion shook his head, but it did nothing to dispel the growing anger in himself. “You are all sitting on a gold mine here. When you could be feeding the masses.”

“You want them to sell the food?” Serena asked, suddenly at his side again.

Her question had him burning. “I want them to do something. I want them to help the town they sit in the middle of, doing nothing while it falls apart.”

“Is the town suffering? I hadn’t noticed,” Lita chuckled glibly.

Endymion had never wanted to strike a woman till then, so it was good Serena stepped between them. “Just because you do not see the suffering, it doesn’t make it go away.”

“I suppose you would know,” Lita said, her smile turning sad, “what with your experience outside the walls.”

Serena shook her head, “experienced or not, you have a man here telling you the truth, and you’re laughing at him?”

Lita had the decency to look ashamed. Serena had softly spoken to the woman, but Lita still acted like a fully scolded child, lifting her eyes to Endymion with an apology on her lips. But he didn’t want to hear it; he’d heard enough. He took Serena with him as they went deeper into the garden. This would be the last chance he and Serena had in paradise since they were both indeed cut from the running.

“I’m sorry, Serena.” He began, and when she questioned with her eyes, big and bright, he caved all the more to his failings. “I should have kept my mouth shut and talked honeyed words to these people. That’s what you do in a job interview, isn’t it?” He knew it was true; he’d been on plenty. And he could hear the sugary words Silas and Almas gave as their answers. Only Endymion and Serena had screwed up. “I most certainly shouldn’t have gotten you involved.”

Serena pulled him deeper, coming to an herb garden that was overwhelming with scents. She paused before they both went on to discover. “I’m not about to stand by and allow good people to fight alone. And you’re a good person, Endy. If Luna can’t see that, then…I don’t want to work for them anyway.”

“I thought you needed the job for your family?”

“I do.”

She answered simply and pulled away, bending down to touch the broad basil leaves. “Your mother is sick? She might benefit from the medicines that Luna creates….”

“Those won’t help.”

Then Endymion supposed it wasn’t so bad if they didn’t get the job? He would be where he was this morning, penniless and empty-handed. Beryl was waiting for him, and perhaps she would wait a little longer? He had to hope since Luna was never going to hire him.

It was a nice distraction, watching Serena’s golden curls bounce as she walked, bent over to touch, and giggled at the slightest of things. Even with all that pressed on her, Serena was carefree and bright…and he envied that a little bit.

The light hit the liquid metal pools of Serena’s strands just right, making them look pure, and distracted him further. So much, he found himself slapping the bud out of her hand before Serena so much as sniffed it. Her eyes watered in confusion and shock and hurt, but Endymion only had a little guilt. “Don’t touch that!”

“He’s right,” a voice came from behind, Amy now watching them, “that one isn’t for eating or smelling.”

“Why is it in this garden then?” Serena squeaked, still recovering, and Endymion gently brushed the hand he struck.

“Because, little rabbit, the Nigrum Luna has many beneficial aspects. But unless processed correctly, it is dangerous.”

“He’s right.”

With Dr. Amy backing him, Serena looked appeased, standing and stepping away from the plant. Endymion made sure to glare openly at the woman behind them. “You said everything in this garden was edible. What if I hadn’t been here….”

“I was here. The whole time. No worries, Endymion, we will weed the garden of those unworthy.”

Amy spoke as if a riddle, and he was too busy reeling over the close call and the Doctor knowing his name to figure it out. Had they listened to them in the lobby when they told their names? They had to have or listened to him and Serena as they walked around the garden. Amy did say she was watching, but Endymion was sure Serena had only called him Endy this whole time. It had to be when they were in the lobby; that was the only thing that made sense.

“Alright, everyone,” Lita called from somewhere unseen, “time’s up!”

They followed Amy back to the others. More doors, not the ones they entered through, were just behind the two women. Endymion expected them to lead back outside the building since both Lita and Amy gestured for Endymion and Serena to step closer. He didn’t hesitate to grab Serena’s hand in his. Although inappropriate, Endymion found it a great comfort. As if he could face anything with Serena by his side.

The other two men stepped up as well, all four of them heading on through the next set of doors. It would seem they all failed.

But then the doors cracked open to reveal utter darkness. Lita stayed behind while Amy led the way. Serena’s hand cinched tighter on Endymion’s as they passed the threshold into darkness. Finally, the door behind them shut, locking them into the gloom. It was why Serena screeched, the obscurity getting ripped away so fast; it was painful.

Amy was opening shutters harshly as she quickly spun around the room. It was empty but looked ready for others to work. Tables made of polished silver stretched on end while glasses of varying sizes littered them. Some held colored liquid while others were empty. It looked like they had interrupted work instead of coming in before it started.

“This is where we experiment with the herbs grown next door!” Amy breathed, out of breath from running around and excitement, “Lita and I work together to create life for plants and humans.”

“Medicine. This is where you make Luna’s medicine?” Almas asked as if bored.

Seeing as he was here to meet a person yet to show themselves, Endymion figured the man was very bored indeed. While Silas suddenly seemed very interested. Amy wore a forced smile, “yes, this is where we produce Luna’s wide variety of medicines. But it’s also where we genetically engineer our plants to produce better fruits….”

“Are the tomatoes from here?” Endymion asked.

Amy’s smile turned real, “They are. Did you like them?”

“They were the best I’ve ever had. But that’s not saying much, I’m afraid.” The Doctor’s smile fell, and her eyes danced to Serena, who still held tight to Endymion’s hand. “And you, miss? What did you think of the food you sampled?”

Serena’s smile brightened the dim room, “I liked all of it!”

It was contagious, everyone smiling now, even in the otherwise sterile room. It was a stark contrast to where they’d been, metals and tile instead of greens and dirt. Amy seemed to love both rooms along with Serena. Silas danced around the tables -without permission- and leered over tubes of colors. “What’s all this? Making anything we’ve heard of?”

Amy went rigid and stared for the doors to their left, different from the ones they entered through. “We are working on something new. This one will be a life-changer.”

The anger that swelled in Endymion was getting lesser and more manageable. He accounted it to becoming numb to the inequality around him even though he should have been used to it years ago. “Life-changing for who? Luna? Those who can afford the drug?”

Serena squeezed his hand again, and he stopped. Not that there was any point. He still wasn’t sure why he was still there, allowed to continue in the interview, but no one was stopping him. Or Serena and Endymion found he was ecstatic about that. He may not be a good fit here, but he would be dammed if he allowed Serena to suffer thanks to him.

It was similar to Lita’s earlier reaction, the blue-haired woman turning and looking back at him with a sad look on her face. But she wasn’t looking at him; she was looking at Serena. “We haven’t decided what to do with it yet.”

“You should give it out for free,” Serena suddenly added.

Endymion didn’t think the golden woman was listening, but a look at Serena’s face told him she was very passionate about the subject. Serena said nothing at Luna would save her mother, but maybe she meant nothing they currently had out? If this drug was a life-changer, perhaps it could change Serena’s and her mother’s lives?

Amy said nothing more on the subject, looking over all of them instead of just Serena. “Alright, that’s enough for today. On to the next challenge.”

Endymion didn’t understand; not only was he allowed to continue, but he had completed the challenge? When had he? Not a single idea came from his mouth, and even if he’d had one, he wasn’t going to share it. All he’d done was insult the company to those that worked there. With no one else greeting them, Endymion had to wonder who these women were exactly? They couldn’t be heads of the departments shown; they wouldn’t conduct interviews. Were they being led around by women as a waste of time?

Silas strolled by, hands in his pockets and a smirk on his face. It had Endymion wondering, but Serena tugged on him to break him out of it. Then, the doors before them opened, and Endymion expected more of the same. Something he would never do again while in the Luna company—because this door opened and revealed a tall and lean, dark-haired beauty.

“Hello everyone, I’m Raye,” she said with a smile that only grew the longer they stared at her, “welcome to hell, your next assignment.”

Tags:

@kagometaishostory @master-ray5 @sailorlolo @jayangel10 @zelink-inukag @malditamigs @liz8080 @infamousblueskies @jjwalla12 @gofoulpuppycollector @carbidopa-lynseydopa @witheykd @yeagro @preciouslyours @angelarin @pia-bartolini @blairex @reispinkoveralls @billyjbradshaw @littlemissinukag @usako98 @sloeaction @mamabearcat @wolverine1092 @dayfreshie-blog @windkissedsakura @kitsune-nomajo, @neutrons-inukag @parkdangbee @fawn-eyed-girl @yukinon-writes @bluejay785 @lavendertwilight89

#sailor moon fanfiction #sailor moon fandom #sins week 2021 #i'm a 😈 and a 😇 #usagi x mamo #fluffy #willy wonka inspired #stardust AU #Stardust elements

[be-bi-do-crime]

I’ve been really enjoying your sge au so far and absolutely love the dynamic you’ve created between Carmen and Julia in it! Im curious to know how their relationship progressed from their first meeting was it in a similar way to cannon or differently? Also how they eventually started dating and how they even managed a relationship between a never and an ever.

thank you so much anon!! honestly these two create the dynamic themselves, they’re such fun characters to write and make it so easy for me!! again, replies are under the cut!

i’d say they were “rivals/enemies” for the first week? julia was just super skeptical at first and thought she was stubborn, hotheaded and had a bad temper (not a poor assumption, considering carmen had her fingerglow lit in her face) and overall only tolerated her because of player. i’d say after carmen opens up about her father and how she just wants to learn more about her past, she starts to warm up a bit? she begins to understand carmen’s motivations and how her upbringing with the faculty made her the way she is.

carmen on the other hand thinks julia is too uptight and serious. she always tries to crack jokes and like, shapeshifts sometimes and singes some poor kid’s hair while hiding in the trees during their surviving fairy tales classes just to get her to laugh, but julia’s mostly unimpressed and tells her to pay attention.

“how you’re evil’s top student amazes me. are you sure it’s not nepotism?”

“how you’re highest ranked at good amazes me,” carmen scoffs back, dropping her shift and stealing some of julia’s berries they were forced to gather (to distinguish what’s edible and what’s not). “all you do is hang out in the library and ruin my plans.”

“i’d hardly call them plans. childish pranks at best, maybe. and so what if i spend most of my time at the library? at least i didn’t get ranked second during yesterday’s surviving fairy tales class because i messed up the wicked witch of the east and west.”

julia grabs a handful of berries from carmen’s basket and puts them back in hers, and continues along the forest path. carmen sputters and chases after her, yelling. “hey! that was a simple mistake!” (she was distracted staring at julia, trying to figure her out and definitely not because she looked pretty in good’s button up shirts, but she couldn’t just say that, could she?) “anyone would have gotten them mixed up!”

“right,” julia deadpans, not even looking at her. “i didn’t.”

anyway. they bicker a lot, and player unfortunately has to witness most of it. (zack and ivy usually spend lunch brewing potions or learning the borderline illegal spells that carmen wrote down for them.)

how they eventually started dating... hmm. i’m a sucker for angst and moments of realization like “oh my god please don’t die on me turns out i don’t hate you and i’m actually in love with you”, so during the trial by tale, i think? one of them stumbles upon the other and finds them unconscious or badly hurt. i love the idea of carmen finding jules lying near the river barely keeping herself awake and immediately shaking her like:

“jules?! jules, what the fuck? who did this to you?! i’ll kill them,” she seethes, pulling her into her arms and her fingerglow absolutely blazing red. (magic follows emotion!!!!!!)

“carmen,” julia wheezes, eyes slipping shut. “my flag’s in my boot, just let me go. i don’t want to slow you down.”

“not until you tell me who did this to you,” carmen says fiercely, gripping her tighter.

“it was dark, i couldn’t see very well-” julia coughs, her ribs aching. carmen turns to look at her glasses- they’re cracked, one of the lenses completely gone and the other punctured. “they had, uh- light bending. manipulation. made it darker. even with my talent i couldn’t see who it was because it was so dark.”

carmen freezes. she recognized that talent. “mime bomb,” she snarls. “that stupid teacher’s pet.”

“at least those other classmates of yours didn’t find me. i think the cat one would’ve torn me to shreds, or the electric one would’ve shocked me with his lightning bolts.”

julia coughs again, shifting in the moonlight. it illuminates just how scratched up she is- blood and dirt stains her breeches and her armor is pierced through. carmen’s fingerglow gets impossibly brighter as she hauls her up to her feet, throwing julia’s arm around her shoulder so she can carry her.

“not going to drop my flag, huh?” julia asks weakly, the two of them limping down the river bank. “that’s not very evil of you.”

“i’m starting to think that being evil is overrated,” she says softly. “and i- look, you’re a pain in my ass sometimes, but i care about you, okay? we’re friends.”

“friends,” julia echoes. “thought evil didn’t have friends, just henchmen.” carmen opens her mouth to retort, but julia continues. “you’re like... a good kind of evil, i think,” she whispers. her words are starting to slur, the pain and exhaustion catching up to her. carmen slips her makeshift sword into the sheath at her side and lifts julia gently, carrying her bridal style.

“a good kind of evil,” carmen repeats. “i like that.” julia closes her eyes, humming. carmen speaks softer, brushing her hair from her face. “i like you, jules. i’ll get us out of this, okay? trust me.”

“always,” julia mumbles, falling asleep.

carmen finds some herbs and stuff, does some illegal spells, heals some of her wounds and all that jazz. there are like 5 students left in the woods at this point, the other 3 being mime bomb, gray, and chase.

chase effectively takes out mime bomb (as a pun, i’d like to think his talent is super speed and agility, so whenever mime bomb tries to hide in the shadows chase can get there in time), but gray takes out chase (because like, even if you’re fast, lightning can take you out).

once julia can walk again, they start searching for gray, and aksfjfkdfkj omg gray shocks carmen or something and julia is furious and screams, channeling enough of her power to override his lightning and disrupt it, reducing it to small, harmless sparks.

carmen wastes no time and grabs his flag, throwing it down. he disappears into the clearing, leaving both carmen and jules as the last two students.

they’re both exhausted and don’t want to fight anymore and julia brings up the earlier “i like you” thing, both of them leaning against each other propped up against a tree and she’s like “for the record, i like you too.”

they kiss just as the sun comes up and the trial ends!!! everyone bursts in and sees them holding each other and are like. Well. What The Hell Are We Going To Do Now.

not me practically writing a whole fic for this response ASKDKFJ BYE i hope this is enough anon! thank you again for asking and fueling this niche au!! <3

#asking carmen #sge carmen au #blood tw

[rcguna-archived]

“ Raguuuunaaaaa~. ” Rem had been gone for most of the day, after forewarning him that she would have to be preparing for a very important meeting with some very important politicians on this very important day, but she had also informed him that when she comes back that night, she’ll have a gift ready for him.

Little did Raguna know, it was all a plot from the very start. If the strange absence of Betty was anything to go by (or maybe he assumed she had to be present as well?), Rem wasn’t just preparing for an important meeting. No no. That was all a ruse; a little white lie to save face for what she had in mind…!

And what she did have in mind was a gift so grand, so heartwarmingly filling that the mere mention of it would warm any icy heart! But to really make it meaningful, Rem had to employ the help of another member of her new, immediate family; Betty.

Having Betty help with baking a cake would have once been pretty difficult. Were it not for the various occasions Betty had spent with both Rem and Raguna practicing baking, she likely would not have been at all prepared for this day. However, Rem was fully ready to show her the ropes, and placed a bet that Betty could help her to make the best birthday cake Raguna’s ever seen in  his life! But what would it be…?

Betty had joked about it being a dirt cake, but little did she know that that idea alone had influenced a growing idea in the back of Rem’s mind; a literal black forest cake! the inside would remain the same as such a thing, but the exterior would be artistically created using Rem’s fine skills with all the baking tools and goods at her disposal!

Thus, the two got to work. The past few days had consisted of Rem taking small-ish breaks from the farmhouse to gather supplies as discreetly as she could, and today marked the day where the cake would be created. And the result…?

Rem’s voice had called out to him so that he could open the front door to his lovely, isolated home. Perhaps he was taking a bit too long, and a smaller voice almost immediately followed. “ Hurry up, I suppose! This is heavy..! ” A little fairy girl who he’d grown quite fond of, sounding bothered by something. When that door opens…

The surprise is revealed! In both of their hands, Rem and Betty hold a platter housing a rather large, circular-shaped cake, styled in a fashion with frosting and edible fake props that help the cake to resemble a growing, beautiful forest, with a field of flowers Rem had basically spent all day getting just right with the tools she had on hand! The edible flowers created a garden that looked vaguely similar to the one in which their favorite bench is parked next to. It becomes evident, then, that the cake itself is meant to be an artistic recreation of their new home, and a special candle that is molded almost perfectly to fit the image of Raguna, with a thumbs-up and a wicker in the middle of the thumb, lit aflame by a quick flash of fire magic that Betty incants the moment the door is fully opened.

“ Happy birthdayyyy~!”

“ Happy birthday, I suppose…! ”

------------------------------ @onlyhorn​

Raguna hardly even thinks about his birthday. Given the fact he has amnesia, it very likely wasn’t even his actual birthday! Just the day that was given to him to use as such many years ago when he first showed up in Kardia. His birthday, his name, his taken occupation. All of these things were given to him like gifts of their own by an oddball of a young woman. They’re celebrated if remembered. And sometimes he’ll have people wave him down when he travels into town, but otherwise he’s perfectly content to let it pass without any fanfare.

For him, the coming of Spring means the coming of the next season of planting and the farewell to the frost. This meant that the farmer was busy. Clearing brush. Tending to the soil. Ensuring he had the right amount of seeds for the fields he was going to have prepared for that first warm week. That was the excitement, and something very clearly conveyed to Rem and Beatrice. He never even mentioned his birthday once, which of course didn’t keep Rem from finding out about it. She wouldn’t have had much trouble learning about it from other townsfolk after all.

Raguna would thus be none the wiser to her disappearance along with Betty’s. While he may have appreciated assistance now and then in the fields, this was nothing he wasn’t used to doing on his own. They had their duties and he had his. What was important was that they continued to support one another.

The day that his birthday at last rolled around was probably the busiest yet. Intentional? Certainly not. But he does decide that he’s done about the best he can do without hurting himself. If there was one thing he didn’t want to do it was come back inside and look as if he had overworked himself. Dirty, slouchy, weary... Rem didn’t like it. And he didn’t like making her worry about him. So with the setting of the sun does the farmer wash himself off at the spigot and put away the tools. A little bit of a stretch before opening the door at his fiancee’s beck--....???

“ Happy birthdayyyy~!”

“ Happy birthday, I suppose…! ”

“........” Stunned speechless? Well, yes. That and genuine surprise. There’s a decent helping of oh right it was my birthday... mixed in those features as well. Realization comes at him quickly as he looks between his contracted spirit, no, his adopted daughter, and then his wonderful radiant fiancee. Even with how beautiful that cake looked, her pride in it shone even brighter without a hint of exaggeration.

He’s certainly not biased.

“Wait, you guys... you... did you two bake this cake together? For me?” Hard to see it any other way. With how confident and smug (in the case of Beatrice) the pair looked that was definitely how things were looking in this home. His heart warms and any fatigue he had felt washes away with their voices as they begin to sing a short song together. He’s blushing, he’s sure of it, but is still able to blow out the rather unique looking candle once it’s all said and done.

The cake is gorgeous. All the small nuances of their shared home evident in its design almost down to the array of flowers themselves.

“Thank you... I love you both so much. This is really really special. I wish we didn’t have to cut into it, it’s like taking apart a painting or a book, haha. What a piece of art...” His musing is interrupted by a rumbling gurgle from his insides. Even if he was trying to flatter them, other parts of his body were suddenly feeling very impatient to do otherwise.

“....er, shall we get the knife?”

#onlyhorn #inbox :: submission #inbox :: answered ic #though the past is painful our future will bloom like a garden :: rem x raguna #if only they had cameras #or the patience to paint a picture #because that must be one hell of a cake #submission

[reigning-rhapsody]

A Maiden’s Blush Stanza

A loud THUMP echoed through the void of nothing but Banora White trees, the curved plethora of large vegetation curling itself over the two youths that tumbled on the ground after successfully fulfilling the mission they set upon themselves like a tunnel, rays belonging to the sun sun shimmer of light, seeping through the holes in the ceiling leaves kissed by the summer created. Said mission consisted of the sweet goods Banora’s agriculture could call its very own.

Dripping with the moisture of the downpour that occurred just mere hours ago, three dumbapples that the boy managed to shake down as he fell off his friends shoulders, reflexively trying to hold onto a branch, lay on the ground. A fourth followed, unable to hold on any longer from the aftermath of the branch’s rattling and frantic flapping, hitting the auburnet boy right on the head just as he managed to sit up, effectively knocking him down on his back once more. Mother nature’s force, huh?

“Gen?”

Genesis groaned, rubbing his head, jaded eyes pinched shut while the back of his clothes soaked themselves full with dirt and grime, the path all muddy from the aforementioned rainstorm. “You okay?” Angeal asked, one hand on his bent knees while the other was stretched out toward his friend, held out as an offer to get back on his feet.

He took the hand, “Yeah.”, pulled back onto the soles of his expensive shoes drenched in the same filth that his backside was. Great, mother and father would be delighted. Paled porcelain palms quickly changed their milky white exterior to a dark muddy one as Genesis tried to get some of the path he’d be taking home that day back on the ground where it belonged, primarily attempting to wipe it off his back, then going to combing his dirty fingers through his hair, but to no avail. He only made it worse, really. Obviously.

The boy sighed in annoyance, the emotion quickly replaced with hunger taking over when Angeal held out one of the deep violet fruits, almost looking like an oversized plum disguised as an apple. He smiled, wiping a hand on his shorts, not that it made much of a difference anymore, before taking the fruit offered up to him. “Thanks.” Genesis said, simply receiving a shake of his head from Angeal who held the remaining three apples piled in his left arm close to his chest, subtracting it by one that was taken in his right hand to join his companion in their well deserved, shared meal.

“We should start heading back, my mom is probably already done preparing dinner…” Angeal muttered, taking a bite of the dumbapple in his hand. A satisfying chorus of crunching filled the air, paired with the footsteps of the two friends as Genesis agreed with the proposal of walking home in form of a nod.

It always felt weirdly mystical to walk through this part of the forest. Scary when you’re alone, especially when the sun sets and wraps their part of the world into darkness, but adventurous when you’re with someone else. “You sure you didn’t hit your head?”, Angeal suddenly ripped him out of his thoughts with a teasing undertone layered in his voice, “Huh?” The ravenet boy chuckled, shaking his head, “You’re so quiet since you fell off my shoulders. Is it the clothes?”

Genesis just huffed, though with an amused twitch of his shoulders. “My friend, your desire…”

And so he began. LOVELESS, the thing that made up about 60% of Genesis’ vocabulary. It was almost like a routine for him to recite it on a daily basis and, scattered across each 24 hours, he probably said the whole poem about five times a day.

“…Is the bringer of life, the gift of the Goddess…”

Not that Angeal minded, really. He wasn’t one to call others out on their quirks. As long as nobody commented on his tendency to make a bit too intense eye contact or the fact that he holds pens with the end hitting his knuckle instead of the crook between his thumb and index finger, there was no reason to point out nail biting, hair twirling, head scratching. Poetry reciting.

“…Even if the morrow is barren of promises…”

“…Nothing shall delay my return.”

“Forestall. Forestall my return, Geal.”, Genesis corrected. Angeal took another big bite of his dumbapple. His previous question was entirely disregarded, but out of the poetic words, he read a simple ‘No, it’s fine. No need to worry and make our parents wait even longer’, but it wouldn’t be Genesis if his words wouldn’t be packaged in a parcel that had three layers of the prettiest wrapping paper on the market. 

“Hm. I still don’t understand what you like so much about that poem.” Angeal broke the short span of silence between him and his friend with a muffled voice, going back to chewing on the pleasantly sweet whitish flesh in his mouth. “Hmph.”, Genesis scoffed. He took a big step which turned into a heel turn, forcing Angeal to stop dead in his tracks to not bump into the pale figure that suddenly stood before him. Genesis threw the not-edible remains of the fruit he ate into the grass that framed the muddy pathway, an unreadable expression on his face as a deep jade stared up into perplexed hazel.

Then he grabbed one of the apples Angeal was carrying before running off, echos of laughter resonating against the trees that bowed down around and above them. “Come on slowpoke, last to arrive has to treat the winner for dumbapple juice!”, the auburn haired boy yelled over his shoulder, still running, not stopping to keep things fair. “Whaー?! Hey!” Angeal protested, going through annoyance, defeat and acceptance all in a mere second before starting to chase after his smug dumbapple-thievery accomplice with a smile.

***

He stood under the three, the one with the small, wooden cross underneath it, stuck into the ground right before his feet. He put it there.

“My friend… the fates are cruel.”

Genesis knelt down, fingertips engulfed by red leather touching the makeshift faux-grave, no person with the intent of desecration of such able to retrieve anything of value underneath the amateur craft of two wooden planks, rotting away with time, going mold. Just like him, almost. His other hand loosely dangled down from the leg that remained propped up, holding the fruit of their youth, the sweet, amethyst memoirs of a dear friend.

“There are no dreams, no honor remains.”

The dumbapple was placed in front of the cross, freshly plucked, a raindrop traveling down to the base of it, shimmering with the moonlight like a full sea of dreams, of honor, being proof of it. Genesis lowered his head until his forehead gently rested against the calloused cortex. It was cold, all feelings and emotions frozen shut, hid behind a wall of metaphorical icicles to impale him with guilt, with shame, even more. His lips thinned, fingers digging into the dirt, though his mako-merged eyes contrasted the frustration, conquering it with nothing but a hollow void. His muscles tensed involuntarily, shoulders stiff and his eyebrows furrowed.

A familiar breeze swept by. A warm touch in a cold night, like a pure, white feather, wildly whirling his hair and burgundy coat around. His deep blue, jade tinged eyes hooded their gaze before fluttering shut completely. He laughed breathlessly.

“There was never a need for you to understand.”

#book of scintillation | writing #burning passion | shipping #gengeal #banorashipping #if you squint #ff7 genesis #angeal hewley #crisis core: final fantasy vii #ff7 #ff vii #final fantasy 7

[glorifiedpigeon]

Fluffuary - Alone Together

Roceit oneshot!! D's best friend, and Roman's brother, has played on their pride. Now they're stuck in the woods, forced to camp to prove a point. Alone. Well, alone together, that is.

AO3

"Dartagnan, my nail fucking broke!" Roman cried out from the other side of the camp ground. D rolled his eyes and looked across the campfire at Roman's half assembled tent.

"That's not my name, try again," D called. Roman pouted.

"Why can't you help me with my tent?" Roman whined. "Broken nails hurt like a bitch, you know."

"Maybe because we're supposed to be proving to your brother that we can spend a weekend on our own in the wild?" D scowled. "I didn't even know you were going to be here!"

"Oh, what Desperaux, you don't want to hang out with me?" Roman's pout intensified.

"Now, I never said that," D said reasonably. "And, that's not my name."

"Then you'll help me out, Damocles?" Roman pleaded. D grimaced.

"Damocles? Like the guy with the sword hanging over his head?" D asked.

"Yes? Yes, that sounds right," Roman nodded.

"That's not my name," D stated.

"Well, then tell me your name. Remus only ever calls you DD, and that's charming, sure, but I wanna know!" Roman went right back to pouting.

"You only want to know because it's secret," D huffed. "That's not any reason for me to tell you."

"What, you don't like me, Damascus?" Roman's pout was honestly very hard to stand guard against.

"I like you better than Remus," D informed with a heavy lilt. Roman snorted, and a smile flashed across his face.

"Oh, really?" He asked.

"It's not a miraculous feat, your brother is quite unlikable," D commented.

"Oh, but you like Remus!" Roman insisted. "I mean, you've been friends since the first grade!"

"And yet, it's so odd that my best friend's baby brother still doesn't know my real name. How fascinating! Maybe it's because I don't want you to know," D stated bluntly, as he finished fastening the tent cover over the lime green hideous thing he borrowed from Remus.

"Oh, but I wouldn't make fun of you!" Roman assured.

"You called my step brother Virgin for three months. You can see why I don't believe you," D snorted. Roman scoffed, offended.

"I was thirteen! I didn't know shit, you're going to judge me by actions I have long since made up for!?" Roman complained.

"Well they were very hurtful actions, you know," D said easily. "Excuse me, I'm going to step out of the sun in my tent now, and read a book."

Roman pouted again, looking at his own disassembled tent, then to D's, and back to his own. D almost gave in and went over to help him, but instead he did as he had said he would and entered his tent, cracking open a book he'd brought with him. Why did Roman have to be so adorably hopeless?

It wasn't that Roman couldn't camp. The man could build a fire, fish three different ways, and identify all kinds of edible and poisonous plants. He'd practically lived in the wilderness with his older brother Remus when their mother was alive. But then of course their mother died of cancer, and they were sent to live with their father, a rich high society man.

D had been Remus' constant lifeline during the transition, but he didn't really hear how Roman took it all. It wasn't until he and Remus met again in college that D even saw Roman, and by then the boy was practically unrecognizable.

The wild child that had been near identical to his elder brother was gone, replaced by- well, D could usually admit when someone was beautiful, but he refused to give Roman the satisfaction, that damn narcissist.

D could practically hear Remus goading his brother to come out here when he thought about it.

You don't even remember anything Mama taught us! He probably said.

Being stuck out here with the younger of the pair certainly shouldn't have been as big a surprise as it was.

"Dammit!" Roman cried out, and D unzipped his tent, looking out.

"What's wrong?" D asked.

"I'm missing a beam!" Roman scowled, tossing the empty storage bag on top of the half assembled tent.

" Well, that's no good," D hummed. Roman looked up.

"And it's going to rain tonight," he proclaimed. D raised his eyebrows and climbed out of his tent, looking up at the sky.

"What do you mean?" He asked.

"Well, there's some rain clouds over that way that the wind is blowing over here," Roman explained, gesturing towards a distant dark shadow in the sky.

"The wind isn't blowing in this direction," D said.  There wasn't much wind at all, really.

"The higher currents are, see which way the clouds are moving? It's going to rain tonight," Roman said decisively. D frowned, and he looked at the disassembled tent, and his own for a second.

"Well, pack up your disaster tent, then. You can stay the night with me," D offered. Roman grinned.

"Thank you! Oh! I'll make dinner, what did you pack, we can pool our food?" Roman asked.

"Ah. Burger patties, hot dogs. Nothing very fancy," D informed. Roman snorted.

"It's camping. The fanciest thing out here should be me," He proclaimed. D smiled.

"Oh, most certainly."

"I mostly brought things to prepare fish with, some vegetables, and my camping grill, but it's a bit late in the day to try and catch a meal. So how about burgers for dinner?" Roman asked. D nodded. "Great, I'll cook. Could you set up my sleeping bag in your tent?"

D looked over towards where Roman's car was parked, about thirty feet up the hillside from their camp site, in a small dirt lot. It was a beautiful burgundy pickup truck, the back filled with supplies, a tarp stretched over the back.

Remus hadn't tossed them into the deep end. It was a national park with a couple stores that sold some basic supplies, and people camping nearby. There were boat rentals across the lake, and there was a fishing zone nearby. Hell, they could've rented a cabin, but Virgil had called cabins "glam-ping", and Remus had latched onto the idea.

Honestly, D was starting to think Remus only hung out with him to terrorize his baby step-brother. Though, to be fair, D had spent most of his time at Remus' house as a teenager hoping to bump into Roman.

D set up the second sleeping bag, and Roman began preparing some burgers. After eating, Roman began to lock up all the food and bundle it up in a bag. D began to pack away Roman's unfinished tent, watching through the corner of his eye as Roman hefted the food into a tree, muscles straining and shirt riding up.

It started to rain at the same time as the sun was setting, the clouds coming from the east and startling D from watching the opposite side of the sky turn pink.

He yelped as a light drizzle rapidly got heavier, and heard Roman laugh out loud, calling over to him. "To the tent!"

D scrambled for the tent, and jumped through the open door. Roman zipped it up behind him, still laughing.

"You're soaked, here," Roman offered, holding out a large fluffy towel. D frowned and snatched it, quickly drying himself off.

"You seem dry," D huffed.

"I was putting some towels in here when I felt the first few drops," Roman explained. "You want to play a card game?"

"What do you want to play?" D asked, trying his best to sound uninterested.

"Do you know Bullshit?" Roman asked.

"Indeed, my poker face is exquisite," D informed. Roman slid the cards out of the box easily, and smirked.

"Isn't your face always exquisite?" Roman asked. Internally, D was screaming, but he wasn't lying when he said his poker face was good.

"Aww, are you crushing on big brother's best friend?" D teased.

"Oh, some friend Remus is. He was just going to make you camp out here by yourself. How much experience do you have?" Roman snorted.

"Hey, I have camped before," D protested. Though, he'd only ever camped in his backyard, with Virgil, to prove that their backyard wasn't scary. Roman rolled his eyes, knowing very well what D was referring to by "camping".

Finally, the deck was shuffled and then split between the both of them. As they played, they talked. And when D won, Roman accused him of trickery, so they played again. D won three times before Roman dropped his cards and gave up.

"How are you so good at lying?" Roman demanded.

"Years of being your brother's best friend," D explained with a snort.

"Ah, so you're who kept him out of trouble. Good job, then, Deimos," Roman said, toasting with the water bottle tucked by his pillow. D rolled his eyes.

"That's not my name," D stated.

"Why don't you like your name anyway?" Roman asked.

"Why do you like yours?" D demanded. "It's just a title given to you by your parents, it's not a big deal."

"I like Roman because it's regal and charming," Roman stated. "Remus likes his because wolves."

"My name is neither regal nor charming, and it most certainly has nothing to do with wolves," D huffed. Roman laid down and cupped his hands under his head.

It was silent for a long while, the rain pattering against their tent and making the only sounds. D settled into his sleeping bag and reached for his book.

"You know, D, whatever your name is, I'm sure it isn't as bad as you think. I honestly think you could make anything sound good," Roman murmured. D blushed.

"Careful, Roman, wouldn't want to sound like you like me," D joked.

"I do like you," Roman murmured. D looked over to him in the dim light of their battery powered lantern. The rain was loud. Roman was propped up on his elbows, looking at D seriously. "I like you a lot."

"Oh. Thank you," D mumbled.

"You're too cute, D," Roman chuckled.

"Deuteronomy," D corrected.

"Huh?" Roman asked.

"M-my name. It's Deuteronomy," D explained, his face burning.

Roman stared at him for a long moment. "What, like the Jewish scriptures?"

D spluttered.

"The Jewish- what- why would that even come to your mind!?" D demanded.

"You're the one whose name is a book in the Torah!" Roman exclaimed defensively.

"Oh my god, just shut up!" D hissed.

"Okay, fine!" Roman said, raising his hands in surrender. They fell into silence again, the rain filling their ears. Finally, "I was right though, you make Deuteronomy sound really good."

"Oh, that's it, come here!" D hissed, and he reached over and grabbed that stupid, beautiful man by his collar. He smashed their lips together to kiss that stupid, beautiful mouth and it's stupid, kind words.

@tsshipmonth2020

#deceit sanders #roman sanders #roceit #sanders sides fic #sanders sides #tsshipmonth2020 #glorified pigeon writes

[broadwayrpmemes]

mean girls the musical sentence meme, pt. vi.

FEARLESS.

“Wait--- who is my boss now that [name] is gone?”

“I’ll wear what I want... which is what I have on.”

“I thought you would cave but you stood up to her! You were strong, you were brave.”

“No! You know what you were? You were fetch --- so fetch!”

“You were so fearless, you didn’t cry or hide or throw up.”

“Well, some people need to grow up.”

“Got no time for her drama, so go cry to mama.”

“From now on, I’mma be fearless.”

“A girl's got to do what a girl's got to do.”

“I did it for me, sure, but really for you.”

“Brush that dirt off your shoulder.”

“Imagine just dancing like no one was there. Everyone staring, but you do not care.”

“[name], I’m sorry this had to happen.”

“Who knows what I will do tomorrow?”

“It feels like the morning and [name]’s the sun.”

“It feels like that movie where the underdog won.”

“It feels so strange, like things can change if you’re fearless.”

“This is how life should feel.”

“Don’t live in the shade.”

A CAUTIONARY TALE REPRISE.

“This is a cautionary tale that we continue to unveil.”

“This is the insane part where it all flies off the rail.”

“Enjoy the cautionary tale.”

STOP.

“Ironically, I need to scare you straight because this should not be how we roll.”

“You want to do slash have it all because you have no impulse control.”

“So before you snap, tag, like, or god forbid call, here is my advice: stop.”

“When you send five texts and you get none back so you want to send a sixth one--- stop.”

“You gotta stop.”

“When you’re failing math ‘cause you think it’s more attractive to guys if you’re stupid--- stop.”

“Do better and stop.”

“I know it’s hard but try, don’t instantly gratify.”

“My god, girl, he’s just a guy. You really need to stop.”

“When you talk and you talk ‘til you can’t get calm. It keeps coming out like word vomit. Stop!”

“Eat a cracker and stop.”

“And when they kissed --- which by the way, gross --- I wanted to murder her.”

“I couldn’t stop.”

“Dude you really need to stop.”

“‘Cause when you feel attacked, that’s a feeling, not a fact.”

“Stop picking at the emotional zit that you can’t pop.”

“And now he won’t talk to me, and he won’t accept my edible arrangements.”

“Stop--- When you think to yourself, ‘should I get a tattoo of the Chinese word for wisdom?’ Stop, check the spelling and stop! It means bucket.”

Stop--- When you’re babysitting kids and you make them go to bed so you can take their mom’s oxy, stop.”

“Stick to vodka and stop.”

“I’m actually a human being and not a prop.”

“As right as it might seem to overshare, troll or meme, that’s just low self esteem.”

“Stop being glued to your phone, counting followers and likes and ignoring your friends.”

“She’s leaving! Just like my dad.”

“Honestly, everyone stop.”

#sentence meme #rp meme #sentence starters #rp sentence meme #rp sentence prompts

[asking-the-danger-star]

*The genie felt uneasy around the forest, everything was so chaotic, unlike his beloved home. He followed the the sweet scent, and saw a bush with some fruits that were pink, but there were more unripe green ones, he carefully picked a pink one up, summoned the active fire gen and presented her the berry* You are only allowed to eat it to check if they are poisonous or not *those berries seem to be infected with draconic magic but they still could be edible for that elf*

Aaravos remained where he was left, head propped up on one hand now his legs were no longer crossed (he got bored and it was uncomfortable sitting like that too long). Using a stick he found to draw the web lines in the dirt as his Familiar worked on the real thing. He didn’t exactly need Viren anymore...but he was an elf of his word and would do what he could to fulfill the Dark Mage’s deep heart’s desire. Though the human wouldn’t admit what it was he truly wanted...not even to himself.

The Archmage smirked, amused by that. How Viren was so adamant about the lie he told everyone, including himself, about his desires. Sure he may truly care about humanity’s survival and prosperity...but he wasn’t much different from Aaravos when he was much younger. He wanted the praise that came with his success...and the power it granted as well. How long would it be before the man faced the truth, Aaravos wondered. He looked forward to finding out...

#rp #sword anon

[katbelcreates]

Mini Pumpkin Cakes

It was my big sis’ birthday so I made my annual pumpkin cake! Two years ago I made a single large pumpkin out of two bunt cakes and an ice-cream cone stem. Last year I did a medium pumpkin, a bunch of mini pumpkins, and a sheet brownie for the dirt of my pumpkin patch. This year she showed me a video on making edible prop dirt (tune in next time for that recipe), so I opted for mini pumpkins in a chocolate pudding and edible prop potting soil patch.

To start of I mixed up the batter, I used a pumpkin spice flavor, but any flavor will do. She likes pumpkin flavor, as an October baby, and since it is season it is easy enough to acquire so why not!

My auntie has this adorable mini bunt pan which I tried not to overfill, but it does not really matter in the long run even when they overflow. And yes it is when not if they overflow!

It may be hard to tell from the picture just how tall some of these got, but like I said it does not matter as the first step to decorating these to look more pumpkin like is to level these tops to get a clean bunt shape.

The rest of the decorating process can be seen below!

#baking #cake decorating #fun recipes #pumkin #pumpkin spice #cake #pumpkin patch #october baby

[everlarkficexchange]

Be In My Eye

(Prompt 70)

Written by: @reachingforaspark on tumblr, Grace_d on AO3

Prompt by: @567inpanem

Prompt 70: No one Katniss knew got reaped, and after the 75th the games stopped, hunting became easier, she’s looking forward to graduation, and she feels a growing attraction to boy with bread but she’s clueless as to what to do after 1 ½ decades of acting role of son her father never had and man of the house. She approaches problem like stalking game: observe. She learns a lot but realizes she needs help from only one person: popular merchant and Peeta expert Delly who’s thrilled to help in manhunt <3 

AN: Thanks so much for the prompt @567inpanem. I got super excited and planned out a multi chapter fic response to this prompt, but considering I’ve got two other two Everlark multi chapter WIPs already I abandoned. Instead I crafted a one shot from a scene in the story I planned, which still fits the prompt. When I have some free time I’d love to revisit and expand on the world presented in the prompt. Thanks to @xerxia31 and @javistg for organising!

Rating: General, minor coarse language.

Disclaimer: This is a fan work and I don’t own The Hunger Games!

Be In My Eye

Peeta Mellark is everywhere since the Revolution. At the moment, he’s between me and my way back into the district. And he’s not alone.

I pull back into the tree-line, watching as he walks in circles around the meadow. Twin blonde heads flash in the sunlight. He’s got his niece, Ava, scooped against his broad chest with one arm, a bag tucked under the other. He must find what he’s looking for, because he sets Ava on her feet and pulls a blanket from his pack. Peeta always spends a few hours on a Sunday looking after his brother’s toddler.

It’s a perfect spring day, and he’s picked the end where the wildflowers grow, under the overhang of the great oak tree that reaches across into the fence. Recently someone has hung a swing from the heavy branch, and it drifts softly in the breeze.

Belatedly, I realise there’s no reason for me to be lurking in the woods. I have a hunting permit now, and special permission to be beyond the fence. I hear Delly’s cross voice in my head. He’s just a boy, she’d told me, not a damn bear. Stop hiding. I’ve discovered that Delly Cartwright is an unexpectedly bossy ally. But for whatever reason I don’t feel like strolling out of the trees and interrupting this scene.

Peeta is propped up on his forearms while his niece sits in front of him, babbling away. From here I can just hear her bright tones, punctuated by squeals as she occasionally reaches over to pat his face. Babies in Twelve are round cheeked and happy now, and Ava is no exception. My mother and Prim cooed for a week over her the first time she attended the new check-up clinic. I’m not one for babies normally, but now the Hunger Games are abolished, even I have a smile for Ava, with her dimpled chin and blonde curls.

I can see Peeta’s concentrating, the tilt of his head familiar. It’s how he looks when he’s filling out the chalkboards in class, or listening to the New Panem broadcasts we get once a week from District Thirteen. I creep closer, sticking to the shadows until I can make out the dimple in his cheek as Ava pokes his nose. He catches her hand before it ends up in his eye and pretends to bite it. Ava squeals and toddles off, Peeta chasing her. Something about the scene makes my stomach hurt, and I brush it away.

It’s just the normal discomfort I have when I look at Peeta lately. It’s worse when he smiles, and awful when he laughs. I’ve chalked it up to ongoing guilt about never thanking him for the bread, compounded by the realisation recently that Peeta has probably never thought twice about it. Since the Revolution he’s demonstrated his goodness a hundred times over, volunteering every second he’s not in class or at the bakery, at the school, for the new construction, he even carries clinic supplies from the train station for my mother.

He’s left a sketchbook open on the blanket, pencil forgotten. My eyes linger on it for a second, but instead I track the two Mellark’s in the meadow. I walk parallel to their path, them in the sun, me in the trees, a fence between us, as Ava waddles from place to place ripping flowers from the ground and handing them to Peeta. He accepts each one with serious thanks. The sight of Peeta cupping fistfuls of daisies in his wide hands would be amusing if it wasn’t so achingly sweet. Something’s wrong with my damn stomach again. I’ll talk to Mum about it when I get home.

He herds Ava back towards the shade, and distracts her with cut up apple slices while he picks up his pencil again. If I climb out onto the branch supporting the swing I’ll probably be able to see what he’s doing, but I hesitate. There’s pretty good foliage cover, it’s not like I would be interrupting, but it feels like it’s crossing some kind of line. I try to remember if Delly said anything about that. Somehow I don’t think it’s come up yet. We’re still on the ‘how to say Hello to Peeta’ stage. Casting my mind about, I do remember her saying, Show you’re interested in what he’s interested in. Checking out his art is being interested right? I’ll just scoot out and scoot back before he even notices me.

Deciding that sounds reasonable, I spin my game bag around my back and scale the tree, my handholds sure and steady. I inch along the branch on my stomach, shifting out until I’m almost overtop the swing. Ava’s still got an apple slice clutched in one hand, and a stick in the other, scratching it against the dirt. And Peeta is sliding his pencil against the paper, drawing. I suck a deep breath. It’s incredible. He’s loosely sketched Ava, crouched in a pile of wildflowers, plump fingers clasped around a stem. With each run over the outline he refines her soft form, lines becoming clearer as if he’s pulling her out of the page. It’s mesmerising, and I rest my head against the branch as I follow his hand across the page. The breeze blows my hair against my forehead and I relax into the tree.

I watch Peeta’s hand gripping the pencil lightly, follow the line of his forearms, watching the muscles underneath his skin ripple a little. The light hairs on his arms glint gold as the breeze catches the light and dappled shadows play over his shoulders. Between the rustling leaves around me, the swishing of the grasses and the soft scratching of Peeta’s pencil, I feel trapped in a sort of dream. He flips the page, starting a new sketch, and a rope braid begins to form. My daydream is interrupted by Ava clambering on Peeta’s lap, a prize clutched in her hand.

“Rock!” she demands, holding it out to him.

“Thanks Ava,” he says, “what a pretty rock.”

I smile a little to myself.

“Apple!” She points to the basket and Peeta agrees, picking up a daisy and tucking it into her hair. It slips straight through her thin curls.

“Tree!” she points again and Peeta attempts to tuck the daisy behind her ear. It falls out, dragged by the heavy head of the flower. “Bird!” she squeals, ducking out of Peeta’s reach. “Swing!” she points again.

I bite my lip, holding back a laugh, as Peeta uselessly tries to fix the flower in her hair.

“Girl!” Ava squeals.

I freeze. Ava’s pointing directly at me. I wiggle backwards, trying to retreat.

“Girl?” Peeta sounds confused as his head swings around. “Oh!”

He’s seen me.

“Hey Peeta.” I say lamely, sitting up with a little wave. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“Hey Katniss,” he says, squinting up at me. “Fancy seeing you…up there.” The left corner of his mouth lifts.

I scoot forwards and quickly lower myself down the rope swing. I drop onto the wooden seat. What did Delly say again? Smile, (no not like that Katniss, you aren’t a maniac), and be nice. I force a smile onto my face. It feels like a grimace. Two pairs of blue eyes watch me. I’m suddenly aware that I’m a hot, sweaty mess, with a bag full of dead animals, and there’s a leaf in my braid.

“Katniss, this is Ava,” Peeta says politely, flipping his notebook closed. “Ava, this is my friend Katniss.”

She tucks herself into Peeta’s side. “Bird now?” She asks.

Peeta laughs, lifting the girl into his lap. “Yes, Katniss is just like a bird. And when she sings all the other birds stop to listen it’s so pretty.” He busies himself with finger-combing Ava’s hair.

“Preddy.” Ava repeats seriously, looking at me.

I flush and look away. No wonder I can’t talk to Peeta. I can hardly cope with him telling a silly story to a child.

Sit up straight Katniss, Delly chides me. I roll my shoulders back. Ask him about himself.

“How are you?” I say and cringe at my pathetic conversation starter.

“I’m good thanks. Ava and I are having a lovely picnic. Aren’t we?” He says smoothly, tickling Ava’s sides and smiling a little at me. “And you? Good hunting today?”

“Yeah, very successful.” I kick my foot against the ground, pushing myself on the swing a little. “I forgot my key, for the gate, that’s why I was in the tree. Had to get home.” I stumble over my lie.

“Well lucky for us then. We got to see you in your natural habit.” Peeta says. He’s doing that half smile of his again.

I scowl and pull the leaf from my hair, feeling more like a wild thing than ever.

“Hey! Aim that laser glare elsewhere.” Peeta protests, rubbing the back of his neck. “I meant that as a compliment.”

My stomach rolls. I’m saved from the horror of trying to work out what to do with a compliment from Peeta by him letting out a horrified yelp and lunging for Ava. “Ava! Spit that out.”

She’s got a bundle of dandelions clenched in her chubby fist. A stray yellow petal is stuck to the drool on the side of her chin. I laugh and reassure him that dandelions are completely edible. I’ve eaten enough of them.

“Are you sure?” He asks. He flops back on the blanket, propping his hands behind him. “Oh right, apprentice botanist and resident woodland expert. That’s exciting.”

I nod, surprised he’s heard about my job offer. I guess most people have, new opportunities like that are exciting in Twelve. I push myself on the swing a little, lifting my feet out of the grass.

“You can’t eat these can you?” He gestures to the pile of white flowers beside him. “I feel bad. We practically stripped the whole meadow.”

I laugh.

“You can make wine with them, but I have a better idea.” I say.

I kneel down beside him on the blanket. I run my thumbnail through the stem of a daisy, then thread another daisy through it, showing him what I’m doing. Peeta picks up the method quickly, pulling together his own short string of flowers. Ava wanders back over, sitting between us, leaning on my bare knee with her sticky fingers. I hum to her as I thread dandelions as well as daisies together, trying not to look at Peeta’s hands.

“How do I finish it?” Peeta asks eventually.

I take his short chain from him, rounding off the end to make a tidy crown. I lay it onto Ava’s head. She looks a picture, with her round blue eyes staring seriously at me and the daisies floating on her golden curls. Peeta’s looking at her too, a gentle smile on his face. There’s a smattering of golden freckles across the bridge of his nose that I’ve never been close enough to see before. My stomach flutters again.

Impulsively, I lean over and place my completed chain on Peeta’s head. “For you.” I say, pushing his messy waves off his forehead.

I realise what I’ve done just as Peeta reaches up to grab my hand, startled. I shoot to my feet, knocking Ava back into Peeta’s lap.

“Now you’re matching.” I stammer, avoiding his wide-eyed gaze. Ava seems unaffected by my awkwardness, blowing me a bye-bye kiss as I scoop up my bag and bolt across the meadow, hand tingling.

I try to think of what Delly would say in this circumstance, but all I can recall is her parting advice.

Just be yourself.

#Springtime Edition 2019 #submission #reachingforaspark #567inpanem #prompt 70

[henrysdunne]

rush

rush tackle them to the ground.

It was an unusually bright, winter day near the Rhine. Almost eerie in the ghostly scenery of the snow on the ground and the tops of the trees that surrounded the med station. Henry was in his last weeks of rehab and was honestly ready to get back out on the front. From the stories brought in from some of the injured, it was a brutal battle being fought in the Ardennes. The only thing that was really keeping him from going AWOL was Flora. She’d been tending to him for over a month. Getting him edible, hot food, chocolate, making sure he was comfortable with enough blankets if she could spare them. The proximity was almost unbearable. They stole lingering touches here and there and on a few occasions he almost kissed her, but thought better of it when he remembered she also had a CO she took orders from.

In fact, he was trying to steal one of those kisses as they had a rare moment to themselves. One arm was propped on a crutch while his free hand toyed with the fabric of her nurses apron, a big red cross stamped right on the front of it that glared in his face. “I really want to kiss you. Well, to be honest, I want to do more than that, but I’m a gentleman so I’ll just tell you how good it’s gonna be when—.” she silenced him with a finger to his lips and quickly slipped past him and moved to the opposite side of the room. “You’re intent on getting me in trouble.” Henry opened his mouth to say more when a booming voice from the other room shouted ‘Incoming!’. And then he heard it. A low whistle that only grew louder as it dropped down from the sky. It sounded close, he wasn’t sure how close but he was already moving towards Flora, hobbling as best he could before pulling her down and under the medical table. 

It hit just far enough away from the med station that it only shattered the windows, jostled the supplies on the shelves, and sent snow and dirt flying. “Are you okay?! Flora?!” his ears were ringing something fierce, the room was coming in a blur but he could see her moving. He felt for her legs, back, arms and wasn’t met with any dampness of blood. When he could finally see straight and the ringing dulled, he saw she was perfectly fine. “Are you hurt?!” he could hear her shouting back, gesturing towards his thigh. He looked down to see that one of his stitches had busted wide open and was now staining his pants with blood. “Ah, fuck.” 

Once the dust settled and Henry was back on his bunk, Flora sat at the edge with her medical kit, meticulously stitching him back up. His pants and boxer shorts were off but he was covered with the top sheet of his bed, a screen cornered off the bunk as she performed her work. “You know,” he started as he lit up a cigarette for himself. “This could be the time when we… you know. I’m half naked here and you could have your way with me.” a smirk played on his lips, although she didn’t seem all that amused. “We don’t have enough supplies to keep stitching you back up, Dunne.” she cut the last of the string and began packing up her equipment. “Because I wouldn’t be gentle…” she gave him a suggestive wink before slipping away from his bed. The cigarette dangled from his lips, the smoke burning his eyes as he watched her walk away, wishing she hadn’t said that because it would be playing in his mind, tormenting him until the war was over and he could finally get her alone.

#ablumeforflora #ii. wwii: au / hora meme. #hora meme #that gif is so ugly but that scene was shit quality #and i can't remember what psd i used for all the other ones