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headspace-hotel · 8 months

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There, in the sunlit forest on a high ridgeline, was a tree I had never seen before.

I spend a lot of time looking at trees. I know my beech, sourwood, tulip poplar, sassafras and shagbark hickory. Appalachian forests have such a diverse tree community that for those who grew up in or around the ancient mountains, forests in other places feel curiously simple and flat.

Oaks: red, white, black, bur, scarlet, post, overcup, pin, chestnut, willow, chinkapin, and likely a few others I forgot. Shellbark, shagbark and pignut hickories. Sweetgum, serviceberry, hackberry, sycamore, holly, black walnut, white walnut, persimmon, Eastern redcedar, sugar maple, red maple, silver maple, striped maple, boxelder maple, black locust, stewartia, silverbell, Kentucky yellowwood, blackgum, black cherry, cucumber magnolia, umbrella magnolia, big-leaf magnolia, white pine, scrub pine, Eastern hemlock, redbud, flowering dogwood, yellow buckeye, white ash, witch hazel, pawpaw, linden, hornbeam, and I could continue, but y'all would never get free!

And yet, this tree is different.

We gather around the tree as though surrounding the feet of a prophet. Among the couple dozen of us, only a few are much younger than forty. Even one of the younger men, who smiles approvingly and compliments my sharp eye when I identify herbs along the trail, has gray streaking his beard. One older gentleman scales the steep ridge slowly, relying on a cane for support.

The older folks talk to us young folks with enthusiasm. They brighten when we can call plants and trees by name and list their virtues and importance. "You're right! That's Smilax." "Good eye!" "Do you know what this is?—Yes, Eupatorium, that's a pollinator's paradise." "Are you planning to study botany?"

The tree we have come to see is not like the tall and pillar-like oaks that surround us. It is still young, barely the diameter of a fence post. Its bark is gray and forms broad stripes like rivulets of water down smooth rock. Its smooth leaves are long, with thin pointed teeth along their edges. Some of the group carefully examine the bark down to the ground, but the tree is healthy and flourishing, for now.

This tree is among the last of its kind.

The wood of the American Chestnut was once used to craft both cradles and coffins, and thus it was known as the "cradle-to-grave tree." The tree that would hold you in entering this world and in leaving it would also sustain your body throughout your life: each tree produced a hundred pounds of edible nuts every winter, feeding humans and all the other creatures of the mountains. In the Appalachian Mountains, massive chestnut trees formed a third of the overstory of the forest, sometimes growing larger than six feet in diameter.

They are a keystone species, and this is my first time seeing one alive in the wild.

It's a sad story. But I have to tell you so you will understand.

At the turn of the 20th century, the chestnut trees of Appalachia were fundamental to life in this ecosystem, but something sinister had taken hold, accidentally imported from Asia. Cryphonectria parasitica is a pathogenic fungus that infects chestnut trees. It co-evolved with the Chinese chestnut, and therefore the Chinese chestnut is not bothered much by the fungus.

The American chestnut, unlike its Chinese sister, had no resistance whatsoever.

They showed us slides with photos of trees infected with the chestnut blight earlier. It looks like sickly orange insulation foam oozing through the bark of the trees. It looks like that orange powder that comes in boxes of Kraft mac and cheese. It looks wrong. It means death.

The chestnut plague was one of the worst ecological disasters ever to occur in this place—which is saying something. And almost no one is alive who remembers it. By the end of the 1940's, by the time my grandparents were born, approximately three to four billion American chestnut trees were dead.

The Queen of the Forest was functionally extinct. With her, at least seven moth species dependent on her as a host plant were lost forever, and no one knows how much else. She is a keystone species, and when the keystone that holds a structure in place is removed, everything falls.

Appalachia is still falling.

Now, in some places, mostly-dead trees tried to put up new sprouts. It was only a matter of time for those lingering sprouts of life.

But life, however weak, means hope.

I learned that once in a rare while, one of the surviving sprouts got lucky enough to successfully flower and produce a chestnut. And from that seed, a new tree could be grown. People searched for the still-living sprouts and gathered what few chestnuts could be produced, and began growing and breeding the trees.

Some people tried hybridizing American and Chinese chestnuts and then crossing the hybrids to produce purer American strains that might have some resistance to the disease. They did this for decades.

And yet, it wasn't enough. The hybrid trees were stronger, but not strong enough.

Extinction is inevitable. It's natural. There have been at least five mass extinctions in Earth's history, and the sixth is coming fast. Many people accepted that the American chestnut was gone forever. There had been an intensive breeding program, summoning all the natural forces of evolution to produce a tree that could survive the plague, and it wasn't enough.

This has happened to more species than can possibly be counted or mourned. And every species is forced to accept this reality.

Except one.

We are a difficult motherfucker of a species, aren't we? If every letter of the genome's book of life spelled doom for the Queen of the Forest, then we would write a new ending ourselves. Research teams worked to extract a gene from wheat and implant it in the American chestnut, in hopes of creating an American chestnut tree that could survive.

This project led to the Darling 58, the world's first genetically modified organism to be created for the purpose of release into the wild.

The Darling 58 chestnut is not immune, the presenters warned us. It does become infected with the blight. And some trees die. But some live.

And life means hope.

In isolated areas, some surviving American Chestnut trees have been discovered, most of them still very young. The researchers hope it is possible that some of these trees may have been spared not because of pure luck, but because they carry something in their genes that slows the blight in doing its deadly work, and that possibly this small bit of innate resistance can be shaped and combined with other efforts to create a tree that can live to grow old.

This long, desperate, multi-decade quest is what has brought us here. The tree before me is one such tree: a rare survivor. In this clearing, a number of other baby chestnut trees have been planted by human hands. They are hybrids of the Darling 58 and the best of the best Chinese/American hybrids. The little trees are as prepared for the blight as we can possibly make them at this time. It is still very possible that I will watch them die. Almost certainly, I will watch this tree die, the one that shades us with her young, stately limbs.

Some of the people standing around me are in their 70's or 80's, and yet, they have no memory of a world where the Queen of the Forest was at her full majesty. The oldest remember the haunting shapes of the colossal dead trees looming as if in silent judgment.

I am shaken by this realization. They will not live to see the baby trees grow old. The people who began the effort to save the American chestnut devoted decades of their lives to these little trees, knowing all the while they likely never would see them grow tall. Knowing they would not see the work finished. Knowing they wouldn't be able to be there to finish it. Knowing they wouldn't be certain if it could be finished.

When the work began, the technology to complete it did not exist. In the first decades after the great old trees were dead, genetic engineering was a fantasy.

But those that came before me had to imagine that there was some hope of a future. Hope set the foundation. Now that little spark of hope is a fragile flame, and the torch is being passed to the next generation.

When a keystone is removed, everything suffers. What happens when a keystone is put back into place? The caretakers of the American chestnut hope that when the Queen is restored, all of Appalachia will become more resilient and able to adapt to climate change.

Not only that, but this experiment in changing the course of evolution is teaching us lessons and skills that may be able to help us save other species.

It's just one tree—but it's never just one tree. It's a bear successfully raising cubs, chestnut bread being served at a Cherokee festival, carbon being removed from the atmosphere and returned to the Earth, a wealth of nectar being produced for pollinators, scientific insights into how to save a species from a deadly pathogen, a baby cradle being shaped in the skilled hands of an Appalachian crafter. It's everything.

Despair is individual; hope is an ecosystem. Despair is a wall that shuts out everything; hope is seeing through a crack in that wall and catching a glimpse of a single tree, and devoting your life to chiseling through the wall towards that tree, even if you know you will never reach it yourself.

An old man points to a shaft of light through the darkness we are both in, toward a crack in the wall. "Do you see it too?" he says. I look, and on the other side I see a young forest full of sunlight, with limber, pole-size chestnut trees growing toward the canopy among the old oaks and hickories. The chestnut trees are in bloom with fuzzy spikes of creamy white, and bumblebees heavy with pollen move among them. I tell the man what I see, and he smiles.

"When I was your age, that crack was so narrow, all I could see was a single little sapling on the forest floor," he says. "I've been chipping away at it all my life. Maybe your generation will be the one to finally reach the other side."

Hope is a great work that takes a lifetime. It is the hardest thing we are asked to do, and the most essential.

I am trying to show you a glimpse of the other side. Do you see it too?

#american chestnut #hope #climate change #biodiversity crisis #climate crisis #trees #plantarchy #learning to imagine the future

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casper00 · 2 years

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Woman, Life, Freedom

(Kurdish: ژن، ژیان، ئازادی / Jin, Jiyan, Azadî)

#crown imperials #fritillaria imperialis #weeping bride #endangered species #endangered flower #kurdistan #reverse tulips #ژن، ژیان، ئازادی #jin jiyan azadi #woman life freedom

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fanaticsnail · 5 months

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Flowers

Full-length fic because my roses are currently in bloom in my garden and I couldn't get the romance away from my head while crocheting.

Word Count: 3,587

Swordsman just needed something light and fluffy.

Masterlist Here, song vibe suggestion here.

Inhaling the sweet fragrances of botanicals, you reopened your eyes to gaze at the vast abundance of colours that lay before you. Hues of vibrant orange tulips, deep red roses and the softness of babies breath with sweet jasmine paling the arrangements within the harbour-side florist.

You tapped your chin and hummed thoughtfully as you continued to mull your decisions over in your mind. The whole reason you joined the Straw-Hat pirates was specifically to document rare and unusual species of flora, fauna and fruiting plants that remain undiscovered and undocumented. You worked hard with Sanji whilst out on the open sea, determining the edibility of certain plants or what properties they could possibly wield to benefit your crew.

“Can I help you with anything there, love?” a voice called from inside the florist shop. An elderly woman made her way over to you, a warm grin adorning her cheeks in welcome.

“I’m just browsing for now, thank you,” you smiled in return, turning your gaze immediately to seek out a small floral arrangement in the corner of the room.

Vibrant green-drooped flowers hung lowly; trumpeting out along their wide stem. Peppered throughout the arrangement were pastel purple orchids, small bundles of dark crimson and yellow roses and small bulbs of vibrant pink gumnuts. Although the arrangement was beautiful, the true star of the show were the larger stemmed clusters of the emerald flowers.

“Ah,” the shopkeeper sighed, “you’ve seen my gladioli. Aren’t they spectacular?”

You gasped in absolute delight, bringing yourself closer to the cluster of florals.

“The arrangement,” you began, turning back to the elderly woman, “it’s breathtaking.”

“It’s peaceful, romantic and-,” she cut herself off, a small gasp sucked through her hissed teeth before releasing her breath, “sorrowful. This day marks ten years since my husband departed from this life and awaits me in the next. These are what I created for him.”

“I may not have known him,” you said, walking over to the woman and bowing a nod of respect towards her, “but from the representation of the flowers: the roses for grief and devotion, the eternal love from the orchid, the playfulness in the gumnuts; he sounds spectacular.”

“Don’t forget the gladioli,” she smiled through her sorrow, “they were his favourite.”

“Gladioli for integrity, honesty, and,” you reached down and took her hands within your own, cradling them against you warmly, “strength in character. He sounds like an amazing man, and I am truly sorry for your loss.”

She smiled at you and nodded her head at your words, receiving comfort from the sympathetic utterances from a complete stranger. You tore your gaze back towards the vibrant emerald colour of the gladioli flowers, fixating on their beauty.

“This may sound a little harsh; but, may I buy them from you?” you asked her in a low tone, turning your face back towards her with a soft smile, “you’ve placed a quest onto my heart that I require to see meet fruition.”

She quirks her brows at you and looks back to her prized arrangement, looking longingly at them.

“I would only sell them for good reason, lass,” she nodded, pursing her lips, “what quest holds over you?”

You sighed and released her hands, rummaging into your bag in search of your berry.

“Under usual circumstances,” you began, furrowing your brows as you continued your rummage, “men only receive flowers once in their lifetimes.”

“Oh,” she gasped lowly to you, nodding her head sorrowfully in acknowledgement, “how long has he been departed?”

“He’s not dead,” you smiled and shook your head, “although try as he might, he’s still with us.”

She furrowed her brows, tilting her head to the side and immediately smiled at your words, “these are for your fella then?”

“He’s not exactly my ‘fella’,” you nodded with a light laugh at her words, “but for a friend, yes.”

A small twinkle formed within her eye as she brought herself closer towards you and whispered; “and for how long have you been in love with him?”

You stiffened at her words, halting in place in shock. You had never thought about how you felt about Zoro aboard the Going Merry. Not when he would bring you a fresh cup of coffee and sit with you in the early mornings, silently watching the rising sun bring warmth over the ocean in solitude. Not even when he would instinctively hold out his left arm to shield your body from harms way once conflict arose with formidable foes. Even still, not a single thought regarding him absent-mindedly seeking you out for your opinions on shrubbery and moss he’d located and presented towards you; sitting adjacent to you and cocking his head to the side as he actively listened to everything you said about botany.

She hummed in delight and made her way over towards her arrangement and began to collect the stems from within their display, flourishing it with a brown hessian sash and tanned parchment paper.

“35,000 berry and they’re all yours, sweety,” she cooed at you, scrunching her nose up at you.

“That’s awfully low, Ma’am,” you frowned at her, locating a more appropriate amount of berry, “you’ll take 352,000, and I’ll also leave you with my name for future business arrangements.”

She halted her movements, looking down at the arrangement in her hands one more time before nodding to you and taking your berry from your outstretched hand.

“Thank you for parting with these,” you upturned your eyebrows in empathy, placing your hand on her shoulder and giving it a light squeeze in comfort, “they are beautiful and represent everything I want to now say.”

“I’m glad to be of assistance,” she hummed, tilting her head into your embrace. You held onto her for a moment longer before bidding her farewell with your departure.

It took a while for the remainder of the crew to return to the ship, you sat and documented within your botany journal a diagram of the flowers you purchased; shading various petals and leaves to depict the beauty of the arrangement.

As you had a small amount of time to yourself, you began to actively think on why exactly you immediately thought of your crewman as soon as you saw the flower shop. You never usually purchase flowers, especially since you would always find them on your adventures and set up arrangements to decorate the kitchen and your crew-quarters. You had never once thought to decorate a fellow Straw-Hat’s crew quarters, nor gift an arrangement prior.

What changed? Did you have budding romantic feelings developing for the loyal knight and protector of the Straw-Hat crew? You gulped the dry pit forming in your throat, a giddy feeling arising within your chest. Your fingers began to tremble and your heartbeat thumped with a drum-like rapidity.

You shook your head to rid them of the thoughts, your hands remaining the only thing strained and trembling under the implications of a small budding infatuation. Rolling your shoulders back and closing your eyes, you began to shake the feeling away before the crew began to rejoin you aboard your ship.

“There you are,” you heard a voice behind you. You upturned your head, seeking out the source of the voice.

Zoro’s vibrant green hair was the first thing you drew your attention to. The gladioli were the exact vibrant hue of his short locks; the entire reason you first intended on purchasing the arrangement.

“Here I am,” you replied with a cock of your head and a wide smile. His expression was airy, yet unreadable. He had his left wrist hanging on the hilt of his white blade attached to his hip, raking his eyes over your seated position at the polished wooden deck table. He quirked his head once his eyes met with the flowers in front of you.

“You got flowers?” he asked, his brows furrowing together in the middle before asking you again, “someone give them you?”

You laughed a small melodical chuckle before rising to your feet and clutching the wrapped flowers within your hands. You walked over to his place above deck and grinned at him.

“Actually, Zoro,” you began to anxiously giggle, your eyes widened in shock at your next words, “I bought them specifically for you.”

The furrow in his brows rose as he began searching between your two irises for hidden intentions, silently questioning your actions as you held out your hands with the arrangement. He hesitantly reached for them, looking down at the mixture of greens, reds, yellows and soft muted pastels and hesitated.

“Why?” he asked in a low rumbly whisper, halting his fingertips a hairline away from receiving your gift.

“Because I wanted you to see them,” you whispered in return, searching his face for reason for his apprehension at receiving his gift.

His fingertips brushed yours as he took the parchment wrapped florals into his grasp; the waft of whimsical beauty falling in waves over his senses.

“Why do you want me to see them?” he asked you, continuing to hold your hands within his as they clasped around the flowers. Both of your eyes held firm to the complimentary florae, focussing on anything other than fixating on each other’s eyes, ignoring the tension arising between you as you relished in his extended touch.

You sighed low and sorrowful, retracting your hands from the stems as you secured them within Zoro’s grasp.

“Men only receive flowers only once in their lifetimes, and they never even get to see them,” you sighed, taking your lower lip between your teeth to halt your nerves. A small rumbly growl of confusion began to rise in Zoro’s chest, questioning you on your thoughts.

“I wanted you to see them,” you reiterated, “you are so strong, Zoro,” you reached your hand up and hesitantly pressed your palm against his cheek, “you fight valiantly and with honour and integrity.”

You began to retract your hand, Zoro chasing your palm with his cheek as he clutched the flowers within his hands. You giggled at him, reluctantly placing your hand back to his cheek.

“And what is the one occasion men get flowers?” Zoro cluelessly asked you, prompting all playfulness to flee from your face. You didn’t think you had to actively inform him on the subject. Your brows rose upwards in sorrow as you searched around his cheeks, chin, nose, forehead and temple before settling once again on his eyes.

“Their funerals, Zoro,” you whispered, completely retracting your hand from his face, “this is a mourning arrangement for the honourable departed.”

Your eyes fled from his face and again made contact with the arrangement he held within his grasp.

Pursing your lips, you hardened your resolve and began to walk him through the several pieces clutched in his expert grasp.

“The yellow rose is for strong ties, as I am bound to you as your crewman,” you uttered in a low tone before adding, “the dark red is for grief and sorrow.”

You stood taller on the tips of your toes as you stooped with your index finger extended towards the various florals; “the gladioli, that’s the green one, is for a strong character. You’re so strong, Zoro,” you snuck a glance upwards to see Zoro’s eyes darkened and his teeth held tightly shut in a vice-like grip. You hesitated before continuing, “the gumnuts are for your humour.”

A small rumble began to form from his chest in disapproval at your comment, prompting a small giggle to escape from your lips as a natural and organic response.

“And the big purple ones?” he asked, his brows creasing and lip upturning in thought, “what are they for? I don’t speak flower.”

A wide grin appeared once again to your cheeks as his smirk playfully returned to his.

“Those are orchids,” you whispered, your eyes and smile softening as you stepped closer to him. You felt your pulse drumming painfully harshly within your ears as you sucked in a trembled and shaken breath, nodding to yourself before declaring; “those are because-,” you hesitated once more before flittering your eyes down to the flowers before looking up at him through your eyelashes, “well, they’re because I love you, Zoro.”

Disbelief. Complete and utter disbelief came over Zoro as he heard those words depart from your lips. He never thought his feelings towards you would ever be returned, holding fast within his resolve for his broody pining to forever remain painfully unrequited.

He had hoped, sure. He had longed, absolutely. He had dreamed that you would lean yourself against him in the early rise of the sun’s rays as you sat together. He had imagined having your lips meet for the first time as he loyally protected you from harms way on the battlefield. The way you spoke so passionately about honing in on your craft as botany and plant specialist bewitched him every time you opened your lips to depart knowledge onto him. His thoughts were only of training to finally match the league of Dracule Mihawk, and of how desperately and deeply he cared for you.

“I’m sorry,” you added, retreating from your proximity of him, “I shouldn’t have said anything. Please-,” you held your right hand up defensively in front of yourself and began to back away in retreat, “-please don’t treat me any differently. Enjoy the flowers,” you added with a small, soft smile, “they’re yours to do with what you will.”

Zoro now found himself in a bewilderment. He was perplexed that you relayed your emotions and intentions in such an unbridled manner, so boldly presenting him with your gift. He was sure you had even surprised yourself, not intending on relaying a romantic declaration on a meagre Tuesday afternoon in the middle of a random layover.

“Hey,” Zoro called over to you, a small harsh growl erupting from his tone; halting your step in your retreat, “get back here.”

Your body ceased up at his command, every fibre of self-preservation in your body refusing to turn to face him again. A warm blush had reddened against your features, hues over your nose, cheeks and tips of your ears heating your face to an uncomfortable temperature.

“Now,” Zoro again ordered you. Your body responded immediately, turning back to face him with your head holding firm in its bow to the floor; your eyes fixating on the wooden crevasses of the ship’s deck. Once close enough in bodily proximity to the swordsman, you heard his footsteps approach your body and almost stand flush against you.

The scent of the flowers hung within the air as he brought his left hand, which cradled the bunch, against your right shoulder. His right hand hooked his index finger under your chin as he raised it upwards. Your eyes first met with the broad scar across his chest, inflicted by the great warlord of the sea as he granted to spare his life under the great duel.

He continued to rise your chin, your gaze meeting with his lips; focussing on the small flicker of his tongue which darted out and retreated back within his mouth.

“Look at me,” he uttered with an air of confidence, prompting you to hesitantly meet his gaze with a small rose-tinge lingering still atop your cheeks.

His eyes held a foreign softness within them, his aura still commanding and noble as he held you tenderly within his fingertips. He smiled, wrapping his left arm around your shoulders and hooked you into his torso; the floral bunch resting behind your back within his clutches. Your breath hitched within your throat as your eyes widened in shock at his closeness.

“You buy me flowers for my funeral,” he uttered into you, the whisper of his breath against your lips force your eyes half-lidded in desire and anticipation, “and you don’t even stay for the procession?”

A small whimper fled from your lips at his attention, a tingle shooting up your spine and igniting the follicles on the surface of your neck and forearms. He released his hold on your chin as he fled his hand down to grasp at your hip, pulling you flush against himself as he brought his lips down to mould themselves atop your own.

You stood in shock, your eyes looking at his face in awe at his kiss. You snaked your arms around his shoulders to rest at the nape of his neck; fingertips brushing against the tri-pierced left earlobe as you raked your right hand over his muscles. You flittered your eyes shut and smiled against his lips in glee, standing atop the tips of your toes once more to reach more of his towering body.

He immediately dragged his left arm over your shoulders to draw it down to your hips, immediately hoisting you upwards into the air. You shrieked in surprise, feeling his lips grin against you as he picked you up below your thighs. You hooked your ankles behind his back, thighs resting atop his hips as he arched his face upwards to meet against your lips; arching his jaw and chin to deepen the connection shared between you. You felt his blades begin to awkwardly dig their hilt against your flesh, but paid them no mind as you were now held securely within the strong arms of the valiant knight and loyal protector of the Straw-Hat pirates.

You drew your right hand up to rake your fingertips against Zoro’s hair, gently caressing his follicles with your fingertips. He groaned against your lips, furrowing his brows and leant appreciatively against your touch. While continuing to clutch the flowers within his left hand, he smoothed his right hand to rake its hold against your thigh, reaching around the flesh to grasp the muscles of your ass and support your body further against himself.

You were so enraptured by each other’s touch, the feel of your bodies moulding so intimately together; you felt as if you were the only two people existing on this side of the world. Zoro walked your body over to the table and placed you down to rest atop it, his swords again bumping against your body awkwardly; prompting a small giggle to flee from your lips and onto his at the collision.

Zoro tentatively placed the bouquet gently beside you as he stood himself between your parted legs, hooking his hands below your knees to bring your body as close as he could possibly feel you while clothed. You moaned into his mouth as you brushed your hand over his hair and onto his cheek; feeling the cool metal from his piercings once again below your palm.

All of your senses were completely overwhelmed by your swordsman; the way his body felt flush against your own, the waves of desire you could tangibly feel radiating from him for every hungry kiss placed against your lips. He trailed his lips against the corner of your mouth, brushing and grazing your skin below his tongue and teeth as they raked their way down your neck. A small whimper escaped your lips as he located your pulse, swirling his tongue against it with a rough groan falling from behind his own lips.

The smell of the bouquet beside you was as sweet as the sounds you were pouring from your lips and into the awaiting audience of Zoro’s ears; a private performance meant only for him and him alone. The ocean breeze wafting over your senses as the wind picked up, a small inkling of something not entirely unfamiliar to you; but unwelcome never the less.

Tobacco.

A rough cough interrupted Zoro’s action of pulling the neckline of your shirt down to reveal your clavicle for his next assault with his mouth. You both snapped your eyes over to the sound, noticing the blonde chef ignite the end of a new cigarette with the filter end drawn between his lips, a small litter of depleted butts pooling at his feet.

“H-how long have-,” you began to stutter out, eyes wide and in shock at the knowledge you were in the presence of an audience.

“-Long enough to not miss the procession,” the chef chuckled at you both, inhaling the cigarette before releasing the nicotine riddled smoke in a long exhale, “came to let you know lunch is ready.”

“And you didn’t say a word?” Zoro growled through gritted teeth at the chef, prompting another laugh to flee from Sanji’s lips.

“Hey,” Sanji began, holding his hands up defensively, “we placed a wager on it, I didn’t want to sway the odds.”

Zoro growled, reluctantly releasing you from his grasp and shielding your dishevelled body from view of the blonde chef.

“Are you okay?” Zoro asked you quietly as you collected yourself. You sighed with a light smile coming to your face.

“I am, Zoro,” you replied, “better than ever.”

He smiled down at you, fixing the scabbards of his swords on the hilt to his side with a large, wolfy but bashful grin. As you both collected yourselves, you hopped down from your place atop the table and turned to walk towards Sanji, vocal reprimands fleeing from your lips as you did so.

Zoro chuckled under his breath, turning back around to collect his flowers. He stared at the bouquet, examining it. They were beautiful, a perfect reminder of his mortality. He vowed to return the favour at the next port, wooing you with a reminder of your own fleeting moments together in this life.

#one piece #opla #opla fic #one piece live action #x reader #zoro #zoro x reader #zoro roronoa x reader #roronoa zoro #zoro roronoa x you #zoro x you #romance #fluff #flowers #one piece fic

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seduzist · 5 months

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katniss everdeen x fem!reader

pure fluff w/ suggestive content. this is post-war.

you stands in the kitchen, singing lowly some melody that couldn’t leave your head in the last days, your experienced hands cutting some carrots and seasonings that you’ve just brought from your garden.

you’ve heard the door opening and fight all of your instincts to not turn your body to point the knife in your hand to it, you were home, you were safe. you told yourself, it was true.

a cold air hits your back slightly, and you heard steps on the wood ground, smiling softly at the thought that she was back home.

the sound of steps became louder but softer, like she was approaching with calm, she puts her bow on the table, just along with the animal she just hunted for your dinner, with her free hands, one goes to your waist, putting her head above your shoulder and smelling your perfume.

“hi.” you said, just loud enough for her to hear it.

katniss hands were cold, but her breath on your cheeks feel warm, even though she just chewed a few mint leafs before coming home.

“hi, pretty.” she says.

you turned around facing her, noticing how cold she was, it was expected since she just spent almost the whole day in the woods, hunting, chewing leafs of mint, making traps for small animals and running after bigger ones, and just today, picking some flowers for you.

she brings the other hand from behind her back, putting in front of you revealing some variants species, sunflowers, lilys, tulips, daisys, hibiscus, violets, but not a single rose.

it was a improvised bouquet, but looked just as pretty as the ones that was sold in capitol, even prettier in your opinion, your eyes lightened up and you embraced her neck with one of your arms, taking the bouquet with the other hand.

“it’s so pretty…” you looked at katniss with adoration in your eyes.

katniss wasn’t this type, she wasn’t the one to brings flowers or call her loved one pet names, she wasn’t the figure of a romantic, a lover, or any of these things, she never learned to be that way, but she just ended up loving you, so she did these things to makes you happy, even if was against her nature, she could feel her heart warming up when you looked at her with gratitude in your eyes, makes it worth.

you kissed her cold lips, caressing her soft cheeks with your thumbs, showing just how much you loved her gift, you felt her beating heart calm up a little bit, the red blush in her face going away as her body completely relaxed close to yours, feeling your presence, your touch, your lips.

“thank you, katniss, i really loved it.” you peck her lips once again and goes to wash your hands, filling a bowl with water, placing the bouquet inside with care to not damage a single petal. katniss watched your moves from afar with a little smile on her face, sitting at the table.

when you were done you admired the bouquet for the last time, you placed it at the center of the table, staring at katniss, who couldn’t take her eyes out of your figure. “i found those in a little plain close of the cottage, i could take you there tomorrow if you want to.”

“like a date? a picnic?” you walk towards her, embracing her shoulders, by the height of the chair she was sitting, her head was right below your chest, so you looked down in her eyes.

katniss’s eyes lightened up and she nodded with her head, smiling as you leaned to kiss her lips again, after a minute or two, the kiss became hungry and her hands a little exploring, her body now felt hotter and all you wanted to do was bringing her upstairs and thanking her for trying so hard to be a good wife for you, and you would do it in no time if wasn’t for a knock on the door.

“katniss? y/n?” peeta shouted from outside the door. “it’s saturday! i brought cake.” his voice sounded innocent just as his eyes used to look.

katniss broke the kiss with a frustrated frown, but peeta was right, it was saturday and just like every other saturday, you, katniss, peeta and haymitch would have dinner together, katniss would hunt a lot of meat, you would cook it, peeta would make a cake for dessert and haymitch would keep himself sober and bring the news from capitol so you all could talk about it, it used to be nice.

“what y’all doing in there?” haymitch much rougher voice echoed and you let out a laugh.

“we continue later.” you said calmly, and katniss rolled her eyes playfully, standing to open the door.

#katniss x reader #katniss x you #katniss everdeen x reader #katniss everdeen #thg katniss #the hunger games katniss #the hunger games #x fem!reader #x reader

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bethanythebogwitch · 29 days

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Plant native plants

What's up, northern hemisphere homies? Spring is coming and soon, many of you may be looking toward gardening. When you're deciding what to plant, I have two words for you to consider:

Native. Wildflowers.

There are huge benefits to planting native plants over store-bought plants.

Native plants are already adapted to the local soil. Lots of ornamental plants (especially lawn grass) pull nutrients out of the soil without giving anything back. Native plants are much better at supporting the nutrient cycle.

They are low-maintenance. Because native plants are already adapted to your local conditions, they need much less care and maintenance. You can save time and money on fertilizers, pesticides, herbicides, and water.

Native plants support the local ecosystem. The plants have evolved alongside with animals, meaning they feed local insects, birds, and other animals. They also provide shelter for wildlife, attract pollinators, and boost the local animal populations.

They increase biodiversity. In my country, huge swaths of native land have been bulldozed and replaced with ecologically damaging farmland, lawns, and non-native ornamental plants. By planting natives you help restore the ecological balance and can get an idea of what the land used to look like. Planting natives on your property can spread the seeds to other locations through wind or animal dispersal.

They are sustainable. You can harvest seeds off of your natives and grow your garden, give them to other people, or scatter them in the wild.

They are diverse and unique. How many gardens are full of the same old standards like peonies, daffodils, and tulips? Native plants often look much more unique and interesting than the same old ornamentals. Here are some local species from my area that I think are much better looking than a lot of ornamental cultivars. (top to bottom: prairie blazing star, showy tick trefoil, Virginia bluebell, dutchman's britches, bottle gentian).

Do some research about which species are local to your area and see if your local garden stores have any native species. A lot of places will have naturalist groups who will sell native plants or their seeds or can point you to places you can get them. You may be able to harvest seeds directly off the plant if there are natural areas near you. However if you are harvesting natural plants, check local laws and see who owns the property. The general rule of thumb is that for abundant native species, you can safely harvest about half of the seeds without impacting the regrowth next year. For rarer species, you shouldn't take more than a quarter. If a lot of people are harvesting in the same area, they may be taking too much.

#plants #native plants #garden #gardening #ecology #biodiversity

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plant-taxonomy-showdown · 2 months

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Class Round 2: Eudicots vs Magnoliids

Parsley, Sage, Rosemary and Thyme vs Bay Leaves and Black Pepper

Eudicots (“true dicots”): This is a ginormous class, containing almost all leafy trees, quite a lot of plants that humans get food from (including potatoes and all of the legumes), and the plants we get tea, coffee, and chocolate from. It also contains carnivorous plants, parasitic plants, and some very poisonous plants, as well as tobacco and cannabis.

Magnoliids: The third largest group of flowering plants, with over 10,000 species. Magnolias, tulip trees, bay laurels (as in crowned with laurels, as in the spaghetti sauce leaf), black pepper, cinnamon, nutmeg, avocados. Many species produce fragrant oils, including ylang ylang. MDMA (ecstacy) is derived from a chemical found in some Magnoliids trees.

#eudicots #magnoliids #plant taxonomy showdown #battle of the plants #class round 2 #class #plant bracket #tumblr bracket #bracket tournament #poll bracket #Good thing this is all written down #and I don't have to pronounce 'magnoliids'

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generalsdiary · 2 months

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flowers... for me?

gn!reader x Dan Heng

warnings: none

word count: under 1k

a/n: i read somewhere that men only receive flowers at their funeral- while this ain’t that sad nor referenced to that, it made me think of how dan heng would react to getting flowers ^^, not beta read we miss firefly in this house

description: you gift flowers to him, sweet tooth-rotting fluff

„flowers“ you extend your hands, handing over the beautiful bouquet to him. „yes. I can see. they look fresh, healthy. T- hm... tulips, I believe? I'll have to check in the data bank.“ he graciously turns around tapping on a small screen in the archive. „yes I think those are tulips. I am not as acquainted as you are with Earth's specimen, so apologies for taking a moment.“

you smile, he must be oblivious. with hands still outstretched you softly call out his name, „Dan Heng. they're for you.“ there's a pause. he slowly turns back around to face you. „flowers? for... me?“ you nod. „there's a custom to gift one's significant other with gifts and or flowers.“ smiling brightly at the stoic man with a neutral expression which to you translates that he is flustered. „I see. well then, I grow more accustomed to such traditions of this planet you cherish each day.“ his fingers caress against yours as he takes the bouquet in his hands. „…thank you“

„you should put them in a vase and add some sugar in the water so they last long, and perhaps cut the stem diagonally, they will take water in better that way.“ adorably you give him directions on how to take care of it. „please, I know how to take care of plants and similar species.“ he sighs softly and closes his eyes for a moment. “any particular reason behind this kind of flowers? aren’t roses the most popular Earth’s flower?” “they are. I chose tulips, red tulips because of their meaning. but, also, you could try searching for the meaning or what they symbolize- I don’t have to tell you~” you smirk, taking a small step back, teasing the poor man. he sighs, reaching out with his free hand to delicately take your hand in his, “tell me. it is obvious you wish so”, his lips press soft kisses over your knuckles and fingers while you answer. “among other things, they mean eternal, forever-lasting love.” his lips freeze for a moment, hovering over your hand, the faintest blush covers his cheeks. he blinks a few times, and after gaining his composure he gazes at the flowers, “I didn’t take you for the romantic type”, moving his gaze at you. “it’s hard to not be a romantic with someone as gentle and patient as you.” you just seem to be out for his heart today, he glances away. between feeling flustered and happy he is reminded of how in love with you he is.

your hand cups his cheek, thumb caressing his cheekbone, nudging him ever so slightly with soft moves to look back at you. “you might want to press one flower between the pages of a book, to preserve it.” he nods, “yes, that is a pleasant idea. in that cause, one flower shall be preserved.” he picks out a tulip, pulling it out of the bouquet, and brings it to your lips, “may I request…?” he quietly, almost like he is shy in this bold action, asks. your lips move against the soft petals, careful to not create a crease on the fragile flower. to your surprise, Dan Heng also moves, his lips meeting the petals on the opposite side of the same flower, his cyan eyes making unmoving eye contact with you, making your heart skip a beat.

the intimate moment passes, yet it leaves a warm atmosphere behind it. Dan Heng sets the single tulip aside, eyes lingering on it and his fingers move along the stem. in his mind, he is appreciating the flower, and in your eyes, those fingers are moving a bit seductively, you almost want to call him out on flirting in such a coy nature. your mind begins to imagine how those fingers would feel on your cheek, caressing in the same gentle way, and your eyes close at the comforting image.

you feel a hand on your cheek, caressing gently, “are you alright?” Dan Heng wonders, you appeared to have wandered off in your head. you open your eyes and meet his. the sight and the feeling of his touch fill you with a sense of joy, peace, and contentment. “I love you.” the words come out easily, you say them like it is the most natural thing in the world. he smiles, looking down at the flowers in his other hand, and looks back up at you. “I love you too.”

his gaze is filled with love and loyalty to you only, so when he talks the words seem to blow past the both of you as your focus is on each other, “I’ll have to ask Pom-Pom about a vase then.” “they will be more than happy to help out, I’m certain” you know how Pom-Pom is excited to be needed and they will probably be overjoyed to have such a sweet request. you depart your lips to say how he had you jealous over a flower but the words die down in your throat as you two don’t break eye contact, you smile. it is a personal, romantic moment, belonging only to you two. he blinks, smiling as well, surprisingly he also states something similar to your thoughts- which is quite unlike him, “you had me jealous over a flower. kissing it so… gingerly.” Dan Heng chuckles dryly. “will you kiss me as tenderly as it?” he makes a simple hushed plea.

“always” you move closer, your nose brushing past his, making your lips meet. and you could swear they feel softer than the tulip’s petals and taste sweeter than the flower’s nectar.

#hsr #honkai star rail #dan heng #dan heng drabble #dan heng x reader #dan heng x you #dan heng fluff #imbibitor lunae #dan heng imbibitor lunae #imbibitor lunae fluff #imbibitor lunae x reader #imbibitor lunae x you #dan heng oneshot #imbibitor lunae oneshot #dan heng writing #imbibitor lunae drabble #dan heng x y/n

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ataraxiaspainting · 3 months

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Yan Phantom Troupe + Hisoka + Illumi / Darling Asking “What Am I To You?”.

Warnings: Yandere themes, stalking, kidnapping, implied violence, not SFW implications for Hisoka because he’s a creep (and a mention of M*lluki in Illumi’s section I’m sorry for your loss) and also for Nobunaga because he’s bleh, Nobunaga threatens to take out your teeth for biting him it's up to you whether or not to believe him, and manipulation.

Word Count: 4.5k. (literally how lmao)

*~*~*~*

Chrollo

“Hm…” The sound goes on for much longer than what you would have liked or at the very most could handle without sneering, the crescendo in his voice rising and rising like tulips sprouting from soil. “Hm…”

His tone was barely a whisper at first, but it soon evolved like some hideous, god-forsaken species outcasted to a deserted island or planet. If you did not have your forks and knives taken away for trying to pick and cut off the cuff and chain attached to your ankle, a consequence from last week’s horribly executed escape attempt, you would threaten to stab your eardrums if he didn’t actually answer your question. But part of you thinks that he would only find it funny, and simply hum for twice as long as he has already planned to. Or would he be petty about it, and a second cuff and chain will appear on your ankle along with having your only friend, a silver spoon, taken away? With Chrollo, you do not think you will ever be able to fully tell.

“Please answer me,” You decide on responding with a musical note of your own, a drone. It seems to be the safest option, all things considered. You stare at the soup in front of you instead of at him, playing with the idea of counting the precisely cut vegetables and small rings of pasta. You would have entertained the thought of throwing the boiling bowl at him, but you now know that his speed is beyond what you could ever hope to achieve.

You would never get that far, would you?

You would have to wait until he is gone for the time being to even be able to step on the welcome rug by the door. You managed to convince him to finally buy you hairpins yesterday, and they are safely tucked away in the corner of the table next to your side of the bed, hidden underneath a pile of neatly folded silk pajamas until further notice.

“Well, what do you think you are to me?” He asks, brushing his foot against yours underneath the dining table. It takes everything in you not to move your chair away. That would only make things worse, wouldn’t it? Or would this just further make him see you as an adorable little thing because he knows you would not get that far, not with the cuff and chain on your ankle and the several locks on the door and him here right in front of you?

Again, you cannot tell. When can you ever? Could anyone ever read him, you wonder?

His porcelain dish is already empty, with but a few drops of red broth and a few herbs swirling about. He moves his chair forward and gently grabs your hand, his thumb massaging circles into your palm. You don’t know whether or not to answer his question.

This life is like a torturous game of chess, and you aren’t a player at all. It is up to Chrollo to decide whether or not you are worthy of being a pawn or queen or king, and where you go.

Is this all you will ever be?

His fingers rise to your cheek as he stands up, the touch so light it is hard to decipher the intentions of it. Comfort? Ownership? A statement?

Without thinking, you shut your eyes and lean into it. You coo. You coo like a dove, a baby bird, something so small and fragile in the face of a predator that wants nothing more than to take off its wings so it can never fly away. Perhaps the predator in question is the parent of the chick, never wanting it to leave the nest and explore the big, scary world.

Is this all you ever will be? A helpless, silly little thing stuck way up high with no way down, something cute and small that needs to be protected and cared for because they cannot take care of themselves?

You finally look up at him and he leans in then. He coos back at you, and you want to go back to closing your eyes and trying to stop hearing whatever he will say as a response to your refusal to answer. But you can’t.

So, you think of an answer, something that would make him happy but also not have you speak too long because you don’t want to speak at all. You just want this to be over with, you just want Chrollo to for once respond to your question instead of rebutting with one of his own.

You don’t have a choice, as always.

“Something to possess,” Your voice is soft and hoarse because you never use it aside from when you cry. “Something… someone to keep for your pleasure and your pleasure alone.” He coos again. It is sweet and sticky and latching onto you like thick honey or candy.

“You’re halfway there.” There is an unspoken praise in the air, one so nectarous it’s suffocating and you almost can't breathe. It is like Chrollo’s hands are on your throat, squeezing and squeezing until you pop like a balloon. There is no escape.

He turns and gets his fingers off your face, but the feeling of freedom is quickly taken away by the sound of Chrollo’s footsteps approaching you.

“I suppose I see you as both above and below me at the same time.” He says. You want to run but he’ll catch you in no time before you could even execute the idea.

He is behind you now, grabbing your arms and tugging as your chair squeals and squeaks like a lamb cornered by one who will soon sell its tender meat. You want to scream like one because you too are cornered by someone who will never let you out of here alive.

One of his hands smoothly moves up like you are a violin, lightly pinching your chin and forcing you to look up at him. You just hope there is no encore after this. You hope that in the future there are no such things and that he will just answer your questions and be done with it, but that is so foolish of you, isn’t it?

“You are human and have humanity,” He murmurs, his eyes wider and more intense than you ever had seen them before. “And I would love nothing more than to steal that away.”

Nobunaga

“You’re so silly, you know that?” You recognize the rhetorical nature of the question and choose not to answer. This causes Nobunaga to toy with the thigh-high socks he insisted you wear after returning from another day of thievery.

Every time you tried to express yourself verbally, you were met with a laugh, a gentle touch, an embrace, a peck, or... something far more dreadful than any of those gestures. You preferred to steer clear of that type of affectionate act for as long as you could, even if it meant just a few days. It would be a noteworthy achievement. Of course, Nobunaga's libido would never wane, as he shows no mercy unintentionally to you and intentionally to anyone else in his life.

The way your food is placed on pink plastic plates with little sections of where to put vegetables and where to put a small dessert for a job well done of eating all the food, which is always raw or burnt to a crisp. The pastel frilly clothes you’re forced to wear always show too much skin. The threat to remove most of your teeth if you bite him again. The way he keeps touching your thighs, pinching and groaning and-

Nobunaga never answers your question, resuming to hand-feed you some severely undercooked cookies he baked himself. Well, you scooped the dough at least, and that’s the most you’ll ever do in the kitchen while you are held captive.

Still, raw cookie dough is better than burnt in your opinion.

Just like delusional Nobunaga is much, much better than angry, heartbroken Nobunaga.

Your broken pointer and middle fingers are proof of that.

Feitan

“...”

He blinks; once, twice, thrice… and then you stop counting. It’s pointless anyhow, he is most likely not going to answer your question yet again.

As anticipated, Feitan walks away wordlessly, descending to his basement without a single step on the stairs being audible.

Just as you believe he has vanished, he creeps up from behind, clutching an object in his palms, causing you to nearly shriek. He would find amusement in that if you did. Whenever you engage in any action he deems foolish, he chuckles. It is the closest semblance of happiness you have witnessed from him, his snickering.

“...Here.”

With trembling hands, you accept the concealed object from his grasp.

“...Well?” Feitan asks, raising his eyebrow, his coat hiding what is most likely a smirk of some kind. “Like it?”

Huh? It's... a ring, from a fancy jewelry shop that you had been setting aside money for. This shop happened to be the priciest in the city you grew up in, with all of its items being highly sought after.

“I do.”

Happiness is like the rarest star in the universe to you now, and you will never let it go, now that you have it once again.

“...Glad.”

After a few moments of silence, Feitan is the one who speaks again as you stare at the jewel’s beauty.

“Do you want the finger that came with it?”

(machi, hisoka, phinks, shalnark, franklin, shizuku, pakunoda, bonolenov, uvogin, kortopi, and illumi under cut!)

Machi

Somehow, Machi’s posture becomes even more tense. But it does not stop her from still pouring the pot of instant ramen into your plate, though hers remains empty.

In silence, she puts some edamame, still cold from the fridge, on top, along with some spinach and carrots.

With her bare hand, she pulls out one of the soft-boiled eggs from the bowl of ice water, rolling it on the table until its shell cracks and she takes it off. She then, along with the egg and vegetables, puts some seaweed on top.

When you lean in closer to the utensil drawer, Machi opens it before you can.

She doesn’t ask you which chopsticks you want. She already knows your favorite one by now. The wooden ones with purple handles with white rabbits on them. Hers are plain.

She puts yours in one hand and your food in the other, walking to the kitchen table and putting both down. It’s winter now, and so she makes you drink tea nonstop and thus has a cup of it in front of your chair too.

“…Do you think I hate you?” Her voice, while still cold, has an emotion in it this time; worry. “I don’t, I really don’t. I promise you.” With that, she cracks the other boiled egg and puts it into her empty bowl. “I promise.”

You feel horrible for asking. You just wanted to know. You never know what she is thinking, that is why. But you feel horrible. Now she does too. Both of you, here, in silence, pondering whether or not the other despises you.

“I know, I just… wanted to make sure.” You don’t know if you are lying, and neither does she.

She takes good care of you. But she also ties you up when she has to leave, and one time she had to take out the syringes when you got too aggressive.

So what exactly are you to her?

Hisoka

Hisoka, still standing over your sitting form, puts his right hand on you, squeezing it just barely enough for it to sting.

“Aw, come on [First], lighten up.” If it were possible, with his words Hisoka grows twice as large as he was before he said anything. “I still have lots to teach you.” He chuckles as his long nails, sharp enough to be daggers or a ferocious beast’s teeth you think, dig further into your shoulder. The message is clear. You’ll never be rid of him, as much as you try to.

Even now, when you move to a secluded village on the other side of the country, for just the slightest chance he would leave you alone.

Your basket of berries and herbs is still next to you, a reward for all the foraging you did just before Hisoka showed up again.

“I did your leaf-in-water test already for you.” Just before you ran for the hills, you finally gave into Hisoka essentially begging you to test what kind of Nen user you are, claiming that you were now his pupil. “The water tasted sweet. I’m a Transmuter. That’s what you wanted to know. There is nothing else you can do for me, you know I am no fighter.”

Hisoka nods, and you think that this is it. Maybe he will finally leave you alone and you can go about your life without knowing anything else about Nen. But instead, Hisoka sits next to you on the grass.

He takes a berry from your basket and squeezes it between his fingers before it turns into a sticky mush.

It’s red.

“I know, but there are other things I can indeed teach you, can’t I?”

You don’t want to know what he means, you don’t want to know what he wants to do to you, but before you can stop him he is already on top of you, pushing you behind the bush you were picking rose petals from. You kick and scream at him to let go and cry, but he, as always, is so much stronger than you’ll ever be.

“This will hurt for a bit, but I promise you’ll feel very good, and you’ll want more.”

Phinks

Phinks stops pressing the buttons on the remote and stops reading the little synopsis on each of the shows he was thinking about watching with you, or each of the movies. You were not paying attention, instead looking at your fingers and playing with the dry skin by each nail.

He sets it aside, placing a hand on the back of his head and gently scratching. His gaze falls to the floor, and you follow suit.

He exudes nervousness. This comes as no surprise, as Phinks has always been one to shy away from openly displaying his romantic desires, as odd as it were to you when you were first brought here.

“Uh. Why do you ask? Isn’t… it kinda obvious? Um… you know I’m not exactly cut out for all this sappy bullshit… I… I… Um. Just… just forget it, okay? Just know that I see you as my partner… Wait, oh God, that sounds so bad…”

He keeps stuttering as he tries to explain everything. But, as funny as it would have been if you had known him outside of being your stalker and now current captor, his words only make you feel more hopeless.

Shalnark

He puts down his phone and stands up from his armchair. You’re in your pajamas, the fluffy pastel pink ones, standing in the doorway to Shalnark’s office area, where there are many computers and such on the walls and his large desk.

“Aw!” He murmurs, then gently pinches your cheeks upon approaching. He playfully rubs his nose against yours. Trying to distance yourself, instantly regretting seeking an answer of any sort from him, yet as always, his overpowering strength prevents any escape.

“C-Come on, Shal…” The nickname sometimes works when you ask for some dessert or a game of some kind, so maybe it will work in a situation like this too. “I wanna go to bed.” You nearly whine as he stretches your cheeks out further.

“But I still haven’t answered your question, sweetie!” He exclaims.

“F-Forget it.” You mutter, looking to the side. “It’s fine. Really. Get back to work.”

But he does not let go.

“Let me answer! Hmm… you’re so cute, like a kitten. You sure snuggle against me in bed like one!” Shalnark chuckles, and you can smell a mix of coffee and oranges in his breath. “So maybe… that’s the best analogy for it?” Some mint too. “Something to cuddle with? Something to keep safe.” He boops your nose. “Something too silly and adorable and airheaded to live on their own.”

You’re not sure if his words are supposed to hurt you or cheer you up.

“Yeah, I think something like that works!” After what seems like an endless amount of time, Shalnark releases his grasp on your face. “Just look at you.”

“O-Okay.” You murmur, turning away and attempting to make a beeline for the bedroom, regretting ever opening your mouth. “Sorry for asking. Good night-” Shalnark grabs your arm, making you stop moving before you even start.

“Come on, cutie! Spend some time with me. We can even play Wild World together again!”

He points to your 3DS, a rose gold color, and then to his, which is dark violet and covered in stickers referencing popular memes he saw on the internet. At least he has never made you see some particularly gruesome scene in the horror games he plays late at night out of impulse.

Franklin

As your words hang in the air, a silence so profound that you begin to question if he even registered your message, you find yourself fixating on your unfinished meal. Contemplating the merits and drawbacks of broaching the topic once more versus letting it go, you suddenly hear him put his cup of coffee down with a clatter as he almost slams it by accident.

“Where did this come from?” He asks. His tone almost seems concerned, you think, concerned for how you think of him when he is always so quiet or concerned for how you think he thinks of you, that one day he will simply not come back and find someone else more willing.

Franklin does not seem angry, not that he ever was. He is trying to appear neutral, to not scare you, like you were some sort of stray cat who he has yet to earn the trust of.

Though you don’t bite or scratch, you do hide from him.

“I… just want to know why you did all… this.”

Your eyes go everywhere, from the pots of plants he brought you recently by the barred windows to the blinking light above the stairs he promised to fix soon to Frank Herbert’s Dune laid across the couch next to your blanket.

“Franklin, since you claim to care about me… why can’t I go outside and be free?”

After a few more moments of silence, you look up at Franklin. He looks remorseful almost, from his visible frown to his eyes almost being closed to the way he does not look at you. Something akin to pity blooms in your chest.

“...Because unfortunately for both of us, I am… selfish, and you are too much for me to lose.”

Just like that, the pity dies similarly to the vase of flowers in the middle of the table.

Shizuku

You don’t know whether or not she will respond while knowing what you are and what she is. A captive. A captor. But you doubt it because every time she comes back she thinks you are here of your own volition and that you love her just as much as you know her.

Sometimes, you wish that you did, because whenever she sees you she looks at you like you were a gift that she had wanted for years.

Sometimes you wish that you did because that would make things oh so much easier for you. She sometimes forgets you are here, sometimes still goes to your actual home, and panics when she sees you are not there.

Shizuku merely chuckles, hugging you tighter. Perhaps she even forgot the slap she inflicted upon you earlier today for daring to say that you hate her, making you fly across the room.

“My love of course, silly!” Sometimes you hope that one day you will forget everything too because you envy Shizuku for never being cautious.

Pakunoda

“[First]...” Pakunoda’s eyes meet your own, one of her hands holding onto a chocolate-covered strawberry from the box she just got. Her other has a presence above one of your own, a presence so light you hardly recognize it is there.

She looks regretful and concerned.

The look fills you with so much guilt you immediately apologize and put the back of your head on her lap once again. It always works.

“You do know I care about you deeply, right, beloved?” Her long nails glide over your hair, making you close your eyes to calm yourself. You hope that look is gone because you aren’t sure how much longer you can take it before you break under its pressure fully. “I really do.”

You know she does, but it does not make the first days of your capture, which feels like an eternity ago, feel any less real, as much as Pakunoda denies the more horrifying parts of it all.

“I know, Paku.”

She smiles at the nickname.

The strawberry approaches your mouth, and you bite into it. Dark chocolate, you think this one is. Pakunoda loves her strawberries, but she loves parfaits just a little bit more. Maybe, to get her to forget your question, you can ask her to get some and feed them to her.

Soon, you fall asleep. Pakunoda opens her book back up after closing the box of sweets.

With one hand she caresses your hair, and in the other, she turns the pages of her novel. She loves evenings like this.

“I love you…” She murmurs, brushing some of your hair out of your face. “One day… you’ll love me too, fully, right?”

Half asleep, you agree without thinking. Once again, she smiles.

Bonolenov

With a sigh, he turns his head, momentarily interrupting your question. However, he quickly resumes dancing before you, delighting in your observation of his favorite pastime. Although you are unsure of the specific style of dance he is performing, you are confident that Bonolenov will soon enlighten you, taking the opportunity to boast about his expertise in this particular art form.

Listening to his animated explanations is always entertaining. His frequent rants make you feel as though he is a close friend rather than your captor if only that were true. Despite the circumstances, he treats you with kindness and respect. He believes that housing you in his home is an honor and privilege, a sentiment for which you hold some gratitude.

“A lover, because I do love you. You are simply wonderful to be around, after all.” In an alternate existence, were he not involved in criminal activities such as theft, kidnapping, stalking, and multiple murders, you might have developed an affection for him. This is due to your awareness of his deep affection for you and the kindness he exhibits towards you.

So you say such.

Bonolenov stays silent for a little while after that, along with the dancing that he often enjoys doing. Instead, he gazes through the windows, adorned with steel bars, and tenderly places small tokens that he knows bring you joy upon the table in the kitchen.

Uvogin

“Huh?”

Uvogin stops punching the claw machine, turning to you. It’s a mess, all because you said you wanted a corgi plush from it. But is it your fault, when you wanted to win it fair and square?

Maybe it’s not. Maybe it is. You know Uvogin is never one to have coins in his pockets. But, then again, he always seemed to have money when he was placing bets with Troupe members, especially with that Nobunaga person.

He seems confused, albeit he is hiding it behind a smirk. In one of his hands, covered in little shards of glass, is the stuffed animal you wanted.

“Come on, [First]!” He laughs, delusionally proud of himself. “I’m your boyfriend!” He wasn’t, but you would never voice that.

“...I-I know. But still… Do you like me?” You make an effort to convey your thoughts in the most diplomatic manner possible, being cautious not to provoke Uvogin's anger. Despite never having witnessed Uvogin's wrath, you remain steadfast in your desire to avoid it at all costs.

His smile widens.

“Of course I do!”

He presents you with the cuddly toy, having meticulously removed all the splinters of glass embedded within it.

“Do you really?” You ask, thinking of the time he threatened to break your legs if you ever attempted to run away from him again. He wasn’t even angry as he said the threat.

At another one of your questions, Uvogin says yes. But does he really? Or are you just something to hoard?

Do you really want to find out, you wonder?

Your heart tells you you don’t.

Kortopi

He turns his head, confused. It is one of the few expressions you can decipher from Kortopi because of the many strands of hair covering him. At the sight, you bow your head down.

He steps forward, and you step back.

He stops moving. So do you.

He retreats. You don’t speak for the rest of the day. You were used to it though. Kortopi hardly ever talks to you, but you don’t think he means it to be rude.

“Everything.” He mutters, standing above your bed. You sleep so peacefully, something you never were when you were awake. “You are everything.”

Illumi

Gently, he puts his teacup down with a little clatter of the saucer as he does so.

“Do you think I see you in a bad light, [First]?”

You simply look down at your teacup, smelling the lavender and chamomile to try to calm down a bit before answering Illumi.

The query has plagued your mind for an extended period. The exact duration remains elusive, as the days have merged into an indistinguishable blur. No matter your actions, pain will be inflicted upon you by someone, regardless of your conduct. Perhaps it will be Illumi's mother, administering a slightly sublethal, tasteless toxin with a syringe. Or it could be Illumi himself, subjecting you to days of confinement in a food and water-deprived closet. Regardless of your behavior, the inevitability of suffering looms.

With the intent of prolonging your exposure to the morning birdsong and granting yourself additional time in the garden, you opt to respond.

“N-No.” You lie. “You… keep me around to be molded into your perfect spouse, I know that, it is just… just…”

His smile sends chills down your spine, surpassing even the terror of Illumi's younger brother once launching into a lewd tirade about you in your presence.

“That is all there is to it; nothing more, nothing less.”

You sip the tea finally, and the burning sensation in your throat does not bother you anymore.

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