#whistling rain frog

[i-ate-a-crayon-lol]

There Will Come Soft Rains

There will come soft rains and the smell of the ground,

And swallows circling with their shimmering sound;

And frogs in the pool singing at night,

And wild plum trees in tremulous white;

Robins will wear their feathery fire,

Whistling their whims on a low fence-wire;

And not one will know of the war, not one

Will care at last when it is done.

Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree,

If mankind perished utterly;

And Spring herself when she woke at dawn

Would scarcely know that we were gone.

By Sara Teasdale (1920)

#its actually lazy stuff #but i wanted to share the concept I have in mind #v1 #ultrakill #ultrakill fanart #v1 ultrakill #I like the concept of v1 killing everything that has blood #until there is nothing left to satisfy its hunger #letting it die from starvation #and then year by year life that been destroyed by v1 and war starts to came back #no humans #no machines #no cities left #only nature taking over the world

[sporadicthingcollection]

Would You Rather...?: Part 1/2 (LA!Buggy the Clown x F!Reader)

Summary: In which you make an occupational switch and a clown grows covetous. In other words, a different sort of romance dawn. Prequel to "Kiss, Marry, Kill." Pairing: LA!Buggy the Clown x F!Reader Rating: General. Word Count: ~4.5k Warnings: Reference to past abu$e, canon typical violence.

A/N: And now for something a little different! There's no smut in this one, but the seeds of pining are planted. 🌲🌲🌲 I originally posted this this morning, but was having some technical difficulties. Take two!

I knew right from the beginning

That you would end up winning

I knew right from the start

You'd put an arrow through my heart...

---

PART 1: TROOPER'S TRIBUNAL

You start the week getting thrown in the brig by your commanding officer. You end the week helping some goofy pirate kid and his not-friends beat said commander up and legging it on a stolen boat.

All in all, it could have been worse.

Right now, you’re sitting in the cabin of said little boat, hands bound, legs crossed, and your mouth politely shut as the redhead -- Nami? Nami. -- finishes giving the men a geography lesson.

“So, now that that’s out of the way...” She casts an icy glare in your direction. “What do we do with her?”

“Toss her overboard,” the bounty hunter says -- Zoro, you’re pretty sure his name is.

Luffy is the only person who’s been giving you any grace all day. All week, even. “She helped us out and that’s how you want to repay her?” He shakes his head like a parent scolding a child. “As your captain, I’m disappointed in both of you.”

Eyerolls all around, but only Zoro speaks. “You’re not my captain and she’s not my crewmate. Between kidnapping a Marine and stealing the map, we’ve got a huge target on our backs.”

Your voice croaks as you speak. You haven't said anything in a few hours. “I deserted,” you say. “They probably won't send a goon squad or anything after you--”

If Nami’s glare was cold steel, his is titanium in a blizzard. You click your mouth shut before he decides to use those swords on you.

Luffy frowns. It’s an unnerving look on him. “Well, whatever you were before, you’re with us now.” He pauses. “Eh, what’s your name, by the way?”

More annoyed groans from the other two. Nami pinches the bridge of her nose hard enough for you to worry she might bruise it. Zoro turns away, so nonplussed that he might as well be a subtraction sign.

You think to yourself. What is your name? Your parents gave you one name, then it got changed on you, and then you got rid of that one and picked out a new one.

You give him that one. You're fond of it and it rolls off the tongue well enough.

He repeats it back and his smile returns. “Great! So that’s four of us. Good starting number--”

The crack of cannonfire splits the air, followed by an explosion.

It’s a little gratifying to see something other than annoyed disinterest on Nami’s face. “Marines?” she asks.

“Told you she’d be trouble,” Zoro says.

They run on deck. Luffy helps you to your feet so you can follow. Streaks of red rain down upon you like the boughs of a willow. It's beautiful in a concerning way, like a poisonous frog.

You’d be more concerned if you had any idea what you were looking at. Naval smoke bombs are usually a searing neon orange to better stand out against the sea and sky. Not to mention that they’re next to useless at night. This is... well, you’re not sure what it is. But whatever it is, it’s bad news.

A whistle splits the air, followed by another plume of red smoke. A powdery scent hits your nose, accompanied by something familiar. But what? Smells like talc and the anesthetic they use on pack animals...

...uh-oh.

“Kids," you say, "find something soft to land on."

Too late. Nami drops to her knees, then hits the deck with a painful thunk. Zoro fares no better and you really hope he didn’t land on his swords.

Well, no use in fighting it. You barely manage to make it back into the cabin, slumping against the bench before your legs give out. Darkness edges at the corners of your vision, and your eyes droop shut.

Footsteps make you open them. Luffy scrambles for the map and, after a moment of contemplation, tips his head back. Perhaps it’s the gas hitting you, but you can’t help but be awed as it disappears, little by little, down the kid’s gullet.

He swallows, grimacing. He then notices you.

You look at Luffy. Luffy looks at you.

“Cool,” you mumble.

Your eyelids come crashing down, and all you see are kaleidoscopes.

---

Well, that was a fucking disaster. Started out well, everyone hit their marks, and then that guy in the spot booth fucked his grand entrance up. Again. He's gonna strangle that fucker.

But that's a Tomorrow Buggy problem. Right Now Buggy has something more important to deal with: four upjumped little shitstains who stole his boat and his map.

“I've been scheming for weeks to get that map from old Axe-Hand--” Ooh, this one’s good. This'll knock 'em dead. “Moron!”

He pauses for a beat. Miss Ginger does not react, just stares at him in fear and disgust. He’s a little disappointed, but whatever. Can't land 'em all.

And then he hears it. A loud snnnnnrrrrrk, the tell-tale sign of a repressed laugh. He turns.

He'd gotten a look at all four people on the ship as they'd been hauled aboard, but you'd completely slipped his mind. A sliver of your smile flashes in the light before your eyes go wide and you slap your hand over your mouth. You look everywhere but at him, eyes darting around.

He gives you a quick appraisal. Tall, dark, in uniform. Interesting. He’ll grill you later.

Which comes sooner than expected. Miss Ginger pulls a fast one and tries to escape. He’s already got a bead on Rubber Boy and the bounty hunter, so now it’s your turn.

“Ya know, I've always found some small charm to a woman in uniform,” he chirps as he approaches you.

You stare dead ahead -- right at his nose -- and swallow stiffly. You rattle off a name, rank, and a string of numbers he doesn’t care about. He’s too busy studying your face.

And what a face it is. Roundish, but not plump. Tanned, but not burnt. The beginnings of lines crease the space between your brows. Eyes as dark as the sky opposite the dawn stare right through him and you’ve got thick, black hair to match. Damn shame you have to put it up in a cap.

Despite standing at parade rest, you spin one of the many rings on your fingers -- those don’t look regulation. You’re nervous about something, something that isn’t just the fact you're being stared down by Buggy the Clown.

You start to rattle off your identification number again. He waves his hand at you. “Just tell me where my map is, Miss Gyrene,” he says.

You bristle like an old toothbrush. It's cute. “You want that map, you’ll have to gut him--”

You clap your hand over your mouth again, eyes darting back and forth. Rubber Boy flinches slightly.

So you and Rubber Boy know where it is, and the bounty hunter and Miss Ginger don’t. Good to know.

Speaking of which, they haul her back inside soon enough. She gives him an earful and he continues to not care. He dismisses her and the bounty hunter, but stops his goons before they can haul away you and Rubber Boy.

“Not them.” He points at the two of you and crooks his fingers.

Rubber Boy wanders over with no prodding -- not an ounce of self-preservation in this one -- but you struggle as they drag you closer. He likes that little spark of fight. Makes it all the more fun to snuff it out. 

"I'm gonna have a chat with my stretchy new pal. And as for you..." He gives you his toothiest, showiest smile. “Well, there’s always a place in my show for a beautiful woman with a sense of humor.”

---

Now ya done it, ya dumb bitch.

Maybe if you'd stayed quiet, you wouldn’t have had Barry Buzzy Buggy getting up in your business. Maybe you wouldn't have missed Nami's cue to leg it -- not that she got far. Maybe you wouldn’t have been voluntold for the position of lovely assistant.

But no. You had to be so nervous and jittery that you couldn't help but laugh at the dumbest thing you ever wished you'd thought of yourself.

Axe-Hand Moron. Heh.

And so here you stand, cranking a wheel on demand, assisting in the torture of the only person who's been nice to you all day. All week, even.

Not that it's really torture. Luffy seems mostly fine. Ish. He screams a bit whenever the rack stretches him, but it quickly gives way to laughter. Good to know that at least one person isn't miserable in here.

Blinky Biggy Buggy is eerily calm. He conducts himself like a shrink, probing for reasons to slap his patient with a Section 8. Or a man of the cloth, urging a stray member of his flock to self-reflect. Or a prehistoric high priest, preparing the sacrifice for slaughter.

"Oh, Miss Gyrene, dear?" he calls in a sing-song voice. "Give us another... I dunno, ten feet?"

Definitely a high priest. Definitely a sacrifice. And here you are with no choice but to twist the ceremonial knife.

...but you do have a choice. Your medical satchel hangs heavy at your side. Do no harm. You wonder why they let you keep it.

Regardless, you give the wheel a crank. Sorry, kid.

"Thanks, sweetheart." The clown returns his attention to your little buddy. Tormenting him. Grilling him. Finally finding an exposed nerve and striking out at it.

You don't listen to what they're saying. Your sanity, heavy as a sledgehammer, hangs on by a rapidly fraying thread. 

What have you done? You threw away your life on a lark. Again. Why do you keep doing this to yourself?

Because you were miserable, that's why. You were miserable before. You were miserable again. So instead of dealing with your problems, you left. Coward.

Didn’t you try, though? You talked to them. One threw you in the brig. The other popped you in the mouth. So you went above their heads. One wrote you up. The other slapped you down. Only then did you burn the bridges -- absent without leave on one count, a mysterious abduction on the other.

The clown is having a moment, yelling at Luffy's hat. You wish you had a hat to yell at. But no one in either of your lives was big on headgear.

You know what? There’s no gun to your head. No threat of being thrown in the brig. Death is certain, sure, but... If you go through with this, if your saving grace dies because of you, is your life really worth living?

The clown orders you to crank the wheel 'til Luffy snaps. It registers somewhere in your mind, but you’re too caught up in your internal spiral to acknowledge it. Take a ticket and get in line with all of the other demands.

"Hey!" the clown barks. "You deaf?!"

Tiny little strands of your common sense, snapping and spinning and fraying, one by one. Just leave. Simply walk away. Or give that fucker a piece of your mind. You’re free to backtalk for once. 

The clown huffs. "So hard to find good help these days," he mutters. "Gotta do everything my own damn self..."

You don't have to do anything you don't want to. You're a pirate now. The worst that could happen is death and after the times you've had, that doesn't sound too bad today.

Bitumen Blitzen Buggy stands opposite from you. He grabs the handles and gives the wheel a turn.

The thread snaps. The hammer drops. Your sanity and your last shred of self-preservation shatter like a dropped vase. 

Your grip on the wheel tightens, stopping his cranking. You look him dead in the eyes.

"No," you say. 

The clown stares at you, gaze wide and bright as a searchlight. "Excuse me?"

"I said no." Grabbing the bottommost spokes, you heave the wheel upwards, slackening the lines. 

The glare Buoy Bursary Buggy levels at you flickers a moment. To what, you can't tell, but it returns to normal soon enough. He grips the wheel and pushes against you.

“I offer you a place of honor in my show," he says, voice rising with every word, “and you repay me with a no?”

You push back. “I'm not gonna help torture a kid. Not today. Not ever.”

After a moment of a push-pull stalemate, he loosens his grip just enough for you to lurch forward. Taking advantage of your stumble, he tightens the line. "I could find a geriatric, if that's more your style. Mister Mayor is getting up there in years."

You regain your grip. You reach deep inside yourself to summon the strength you need. Summon all the rage you've kept buried. All the fire and fury.

"I--" You grab one spoke. "--said--" Then another. "--no!"

With a mighty heave that hurts your shoulders and makes your elbows pop, the clown loses his grip and the wheel spins out. The lines lose all of their tension and Luffy hits the ground with a smack and an "oof."

You glare at the clown. In his face, you see every person who ever made you do something you didn't want to do.

Morgan. His spawn. Your birth family. Your marital family. And now a literal clown.

You spin the wheel hard. The spokes whack Blasphemy Bathymetry Buggy in the chin a few times, knocking him back a step.

You throw your Marine hat down, freeing your mane from its prison. You pull the bobby pins out and shake it like a dog coming in from the rain. With a mighty toss, you let it fall down your back.

You feel freer already.

You don't expect him to be cowed, but you'd at least hoped he would look a little taken aback by the sight of an ex-Marine with eight fingers full of rings ready to throw a punch.

But no. He just straightens up, rubbing his jaw. You can't read his face in this light. Scorn? Pity? Interest? You have no idea as he peers at you with pale eyes.

He speaks. With the gentle tone he uses, he sounds almost genuine. "Gotta hand it to you, Miss Gyrene: you've got balls."

Genuine enough to knock you off-balance. "Say again?"

"Standing up to someone ready to kill you," he says. He takes a few steps towards you. "Awfully brave. You done this before?"

He's not wrong. That sudden burst of spit and vinegar came from a decade of pent-up misery. "Kinda," you admit.

He steps a little closer. From far away, all you could make out of his face was his makeup. But now you see features you weren't expecting. Strong jaw. Cleft chin. Eyes you can't tell the color of -- blue? Green? The dim light is no help.

"No stage fright on you, kid."

He reaches towards you. You flinch, but all he does is tuck a strand of hair behind your ears with a gentle touch. He lingers on your cheek.

He's not much taller than you, but when he's this close, you have to lean back to peer up at him. His gaze is soft, his lips curled into something close to a smile, head tilted just so.

Your heartbeat quickens. Why? You have absolutely no idea. 

Now he smiles, albeit thinly. He's close enough for the peak of your breasts to touch his chest. He radiates warmth, even through all of his clothes.

"Who was it that hurt you?" he asks quietly. "Was it one person? Or a whole troupe of terrors?"

You swallow. Names and faces swirl around in your head. Aunty Yoko. Sakazuki. Uncle Arun. Morgan. Mama Shruti. Nezumi. Mr. Jaswinder Rajendra. Helmeppo. Dowager Chambeli.

Your voice trembles like a harp string about to snap. "Too many to count."

“Sorry to hear that.” His lips purse. "Don't suppose one of them was ol' Axe-Hand Moron?"

Your traitorous mind still finds that funny. You manage to keep your lips shut, but the snnnnrrrrk escapes through your nose all the same.

You try to look away, but he touches your chin and tips your head back towards him. 

The clown is smiling. A real, up to his scrunched eyes smile without a hint of malice. A giggle bubbles through his lips, light and airy. It almost sounds cute.

Your heart flutters again. Like a hummingbird trapped in a birdcage, tickling your ribs and making you want to vomit all over your shoes. "Morgan's a jerk," you say.

He nods. He takes your hand in his own, clutching it as he raises it higher. "I'll tell you what, sweetheart: if you tell me where my map is..."

He leans in. His warm breath tickles your ear. He smells like a tube of fancy lipstick you can't afford and sea air that blows through a bar window.

"...we'll go blow that old geezer and his base to kingdom come," he whispers, a smile still in his voice. "You and me and all my freaks. I'll even call in some favors. We'll have a whole fleet. And your little friends can come too, if they play nice."

Now that's a thought you'd entertained more than once over the years. Blow up Morgan. Stab Morgan. Feed Morgan to sharks. Set Morgan on fire. But it only ever remained a thought.

You're not sure how to feel about that. "You'd start a war over me," you state.

"What can I say?" He pulls backwards, eyes twinkling beneath his lashes. He strokes your knuckles with his thumb. "A face like yours deserves to launch a thousand ships."

Raising your hand to his lips, looking into your eyes, he places a lingering kiss on your knuckles.

For the briefest of moments, the hummingbird breaks free and zips right into your throat, stuck there between your trachea and your heart, still flapping hard. Your chest burns with a fire you haven't felt in a long time, flames licking up to your cheeks to scorch them red.

And then you're catapulted back in time, back to when a handsome man kissed your hand and smiled and made promises and you fell head over heels down the stairs.

It all changed in time. The kisses stopped. The smiles vanished. The promises were forgotten and shoved into the back of the closet. You started falling a lot more often.

Never again.

You yank your hand back. "Nice try," you growl, "but I'm not stupid."

He has the gall to pretend to look hurt, his smile slipping from his face and the glimmer in his eyes winking out. But his gaze hardens, and his cruel smile returns.

"Shame," he says. "Guess I'll just throw you on the rack instead."

You try to jump away, but he strikes like a snake, wrenching your arms at awkward angles and gripping you so tight you worry you might bruise.

“Let her go, Boogie," Luffy growls.

Grip still firm, Boogie Bouffant Buggy whirls around with you. Luffy is on his feet, free of his shackles and glowering. It's still unnerving to see anything but a smile on his face.

"It's Buggy," the clown spits. His grip on you tightens, and you cry out. "And why should I? We were hitting it off so well! Weren't we, darling?"

He simpers the last word and grabs you by the waist, pulling your hips right against his. He places his head on your shoulder, his stubble scratching your cheek.

"We were about to start picking out flowers and sending out invites and everything."

This man has triple backflipped right off the deep end. You keep struggling. You manage to hook your leg behind his, but the angle is too poor for a takedown.

He kisses your cheek. A big, ridiculous mmmmmmwah, but a kiss nevertheless. You gasp. He laughs and throws his arm wide.

"Screw the RSVPs! Everyone is invited to the Fabulously Flashy Wedding of Buggy and--!"

Two things happen at once. Luffy reels back a punch, the stretch of his skin audible. You grab Buggy’s arm, finally in a position for a takedown.

And then two other things happen. Luffy's arm snaps back like an elastic cord and punches the clown’s head clean off. You crash to the ground holding a severed arm.

Someone screams. It was you. You drop the limb like a bad habit and scramble away.

You look at Luffy. Luffy looks at you.

You both look at his fist, at your hands, then back to the headless clown, still standing.

---

Buggy didn't go into this intending to get up close and intimate with you. It just kinda happened.

Who can blame him? You flexed those big strong muscles and let down that long pretty hair and you looked so hurt and frustrated. Like an angry little kitten in need of some TLC.

So he threw you a bone. All the while, you gazed at him with those deep, dark eyes, hanging onto his every word.

He meant them as much as he could. He doesn't have the firepower to take on the whole Marine operation, but he could swing something. You seem like the kind of woman worth blowing up Marine bases for. Or a battleship, at the very least.

Shame you threw your lot in with the rubber punk.

Your skin is so warm beneath his gloves, your body so supple against his. And your hair smells very, very strongly of vanilla and... Is that cinnamon? It can't be. It's too citrusy. Regardless, it's hypnotic.

He just can't help himself. This might be the only chance he's got. He tips your head to the side and kisses your cheek.

And it's everything he hoped it would be. Your skin is so soft, so warm, so sweet beneath his lips and squished against his nose. He wishes he could linger there forever. But everything good must come to an end, and he pulls away before he overstays his welcome.

Next thing he knows, he's flying through the air. Well, just his head. He lands in an audience member's lap. She screams, of course. He plays it off with a wink and a quip.

He zooms back to his body and reattaches with a pop. Seems his arm is gone as well. He gives it a flex and clenches his fist, making you scramble away and to your feet. Terrified is a cute look on you.

"You ate a Devil Fruit?" Rubber Boy asks. He sticks his arm in front of you like it would actually help.

"Sure did!" Buggy chirps. He recalls his arm and shucks his coat, one sleeve at a time. "The Chop Chop Fruit. So you can slice me and you can dice me, but I'll always pull myself back together."

He separates his limbs from his torso and his head from his neck, just because he can. It's worth seeing the shock on your faces. Especially yours. Open-mouthed and wide-eyed. Good look on you.

It takes all of his self control to not grin as he folds his arms behind his back. "Wanna see what else I can do?"

He sends his hand skittering up your back and onto your shoulder. You scream as it jumps at Rubber Boy's face, and he yelps as well. His other hand positions itself to the side.

When you're both suitably distracted, he grabs both of your heads and slams yours against Rubber Boy's. With a sharp crack, out go the lights and you both crumple to the ground.

"Sorry, dear," he says. “Never would have worked between us.”

---

All this going unconscious is going to scramble your brains, you think as you stir. You shouldn't make a habit of it.

You open your eyes. A thin light shines right on you, burning your vision. Are you dead? Have you died?

No, your head is throbbing. Pain means you're alive. At least you've still got your medical satchel. Its presence against your side is a small comfort.

You sit up. Next to you lies Luffy, stirring slowly.

You nudge him. “You okay, kid?” you ask.

He gives his head a shake as he sits up. He smiles and it's like putting on a comfy sweater. “I'm bouncy. I can take a hit." He tips his head like a puppy. "What about you?” 

"I'll have a migraine in a few hours, but I'll survive."

You go to touch the lump on your head -- only to take Luffy's wrist with you. You're cuffed together, two metal shackles connected by just enough rope to hang yourselves with. He pulls at his own shackle, but it’s stuck fast.

"I can't get it off," he says, eyes wide. "I can't stretch!"

“Of course you can't. It's lined with Seastone.” 

A spotlight switches on. Buggy the Clown sits atop the edge of a large box draped in candy-striped fabric. He kicks his legs like a child sitting on a bench, twirling Luffy's hat in his hand.

“The essence of the ocean, compressed into a pretty little rock." Slowly, he pulls a yellow straw from the hat. "So not only do you have to worry about getting your feet wet, all those wonderful powers are completely useless when you least expect it.”

Besides you, Luffy bristles. You grab his hand to stop him from charging. He tenses, but squeezes back.

Buggy examines the straw, then flicks it away. “You gonna give me my map?”

Luffy scowls. “Never.”

"Not sure what I was expecting." He rolls his eyes, then turns them on you. “And what about you, sweetheart?”

You don't appreciate being patronized. "I'm gonna make you eat your hair," you spit.

“Aw, c’mon. Where do you have to go? You deserted. You’ll never be safe again.” He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Join the crew of the future King of the Pirates, and you'll have all the protection you need.” He gestures broadly. “Hell, if it really matters, your little buddy can come too. The more the merrier."

You enunciate every letter of the word. “No,” you say.

The calm interrogator evaporates, replaced by a petulant child. He slams his fists against the top of the box. “Well, why not--!?”

The box rocks and rattles violently. He yelps and hangs on for dear life, succeeding in staying atop it as the shaking stops. He huffs. “Fine. Have it your way."

He climbs to his feet and shoots his hands off to grab the corners of the tarp. Raising them reveals a black, rancid-smelling cavern.

“My kitty cat's been restless lately,” he says. “Lucky that I have a new pair of toys for him."

A low growl vibrates the very air around you.

You look at Luffy. Luffy looks at you.

“That wasn’t your stomach, was it?” you ask.

He shakes his head. "Was it yours?"

Another growl. Out from the darkness emerges the biggest lion you’ve ever seen. Mangy. Mean. Saliva drips from his bloodstained mouth as his eyes fix right on you.

Luffy swallows. "I think we should run," he says quietly.

You nod. “I think you’re right.”

The lion roars.

---

⬅⬅⬅ | To the "Curious Courtship" Masterpost | To the Mastahpost | Tip Jar | ➡➡➡

#buggy the clown #buggy x reader #buggy x you #buggy the clown x reader #one piece x reader #kiss marry kill #one piece #one piece live action #fan fiction #one piece fanfiction #reader insert #x reader #emberly writes #smash or pass #the curious courtship of buggy the clown

[acesw]

new year, new angst

happy new years yall, if there is information that i never dropped here its the fact that im highly biased towards vertin and sonetto's relationship and i feel like i should drop a little scenario i wrote for the sake of it. its how i celebrate as an angst dweller :)

questions and questions. - A.D.

I didn't understand back then. I did not see you much after the incident, after Ms. Z had brought you back from the outside, drenched in rain. I would have gone to you if it were not for the guards that swarmed you both. You were the only one that came back. Why? Where did the others go? Did something happen to them? To you? What did you see in the outside?

I got the answer to my first few questions the following morning. When you came back, you did not talk for days; Did the things you would normally avoid. It was unlike of you, and I could not tell at that time if I felt relief or remorse. You didn't come up to me until the last night we saw each other up close.

On the night you left, you asked me to fix your hair, which was also an odd request. You normally didn't like doing this, but didn't exactly hate it either. (Perhaps I noticed too late that the reason you didn't hate it was because I was the one doing them.) I helped tie it into that rough and messy half-bun you only began to warm up to; I know you did, as it was the only way you could ever really stay still. You would talk about the frogs and the bugs you found near George the Oak, but you didn't. Not that night. Not in a time of wounds forced to be left unrefined by the white hands. When I made sure that the half-bun looked like the flowers you drew on your papers, you got off my bed and left with most of your things.

Why did you have to leave the dorm in such haste? Even left the toffees and pebbles on your night desk. I kept it for you when I thought you'd come back sooner. The frog was here, too. It croaked and whistled, jumping around the dorm and scaring the other girls. Then the janitor took it out the day after you left. And eventually I hid away the pebbles, ate the toffees. I accepted that I wouldn't feel the warmth of rough hands, showing me pieces of the outside for a long time to come.

There were no answers to the rest of my questions until graduation, and I saw you for the first time in a while. Your hair is fully tied to a side bun, the tiny freckles had faded, your hands rested on the hat on your lap. You wore an intricate suit that even I would have never guessed fitted you. You stood out amongst the black and white crowd as an indigo pawn. You looked far older, mature for our age; As if you had graduated years before. But I still saw the softness in your face, the baby face still made you look like the reckless child you were long ago. You looked…elegant and mysterious. Were you the same deskmate I grew up with all these years?

You graduated with us. A "special student'" like the principal called you once. They announced that you had become the first "Timekeeper" in the Foundation, a title of reverence and importance. You tipped your hat forward and placed your closed fist on your chest, finally speaking. "May the peace be with us." Those were the first words I heard in your low, gentle, and firm voice.

After that, you disappeared. Worked diligently, but left no trace around the Foundation until you came back to report weekly. We never spoke to each other until that fateful week in London, and the time that passed after that. Back then I did not understand what that title meant, but I do now. It sparked new questions full of wonder. And that wonder came with its concerns.

What did you really see outside? In the "Storm"? How much more did you lose? What will it take to break from the weight of the world on your shoulders? When will you realize it's okay to be vulnerable again?

More and more questions arise the more you shroud yourself into melancholic mystery. Perhaps, as time passes, all these will be answered and land into place.

But for now, I just want to spend more time with you, and rebuild what we lost. Make up for what could've been and discover new things together again.

#reverse 1999 #vertin #sonetto #vernetto #i wrote this roughly a month prior to today #angst #sonetto just wondering #pondering and reminsicing

[mousetoe-wc]

I Got bored one time awhile ago and made a list of every prefix plus some into organised sections so I thought I might as well share.

All the ones that aren’t cannon to warriors, yet at lest are bold

Describing names

Colours: red, russet, copper, golden, amber, yellow, green, blue, violet, pink, white, gray, black, ebony, dark, pale, silver, brown, tawny, fallow

Pattern, Texture + Size: spot/ted, dapple, speckle, freckle, brindle, patch, mottle, ragged, tangle, kink, bristle, fuzzy, curl/y, wooly, soft, sleek, little, tiny, small, slight, short, tall, long, big, heavy, crooked, broken, half, stumpy, shred, torn, jagged

Actions + Character: flip, pounce, bounce, jump, hop, crouch, down, low, drift, flail, strike, running, fidget, mumble, whistle, snap, sneeze, shiver/ing, shining, flutter, fallen, lost, rush, fleet, quick, shy, sweet, brave, loud, quiet, wild, hope, wish,

Other: claw, whisker, dead, odd, one, spike, fringe, echo, song, hallow, haven

Elements

Time + Weather: day, night, dusk, dawn, morning, sky, sun/ny, moon, storm, lightning, thunder, cloud/y, mist/y, fog, snow, blizzard, ice, frost, dew, drizzle, rain, clear, wind, breeze, gale, shadow, shade, bright, light,

Earth/Water/Fire names: stone, rock, boulder, slate, flint, pebble, gravel, sand/y, dust, mud/dy, meadow, hill, rubble, river, ripple, whorl, float, rapid, shimmer, lake, swamp, marsh, wave, wet, bubbling, splash, puddle, pool, creek, fire, flame, flicker, flash, blaze, scorch, ember, spark, ash, soot, cinder, smoke

Plants

Trees: alder, aspen, birch, beech, cedar, cypress, pine, elm, willow, oak, larch, maple, bay, rowan, timber, bark, log, wood, twig, acorn, cone, seed, spire

Berry/Nut/Fruit/Herb: juniper, elder, sloe, holly, yew, mistle, bramble, hickory, hazel, chestnut, nut, apple, cherry, cranberry, olive, pear, plum, peach, chive, mint, fennel, sage, basil, mallow, parsley

Flowers: aster, poppy, primrose, rose, bluebell, marigold, tansy, pansy, briar, cherry, daisy, dandelion, daffodil, tulip, violet, lily, myrtle, thrift, yarrow, heather, lavender, blossom, bloom, flower, petal

Other: leaf, frond, fern, bracken, sorrel, hay, rye, oat, wheat, cotton, reed, pod, cinnamon, milkweed, grass, clover, weed, stem, sedge, gorse, furze, flax, nettle, thistle, ivy, moss, lichen, bush, vine, root, thorn, prickle, nectar

Animals

Mammals: mouse, rat, mole, vole, shrew, squirrel, hedgehog, bat, rabbit, hare, ferret, weasel, stoat, mink, marten, otter, hog, wolf, hound, fox, vixen, badger, deer, doe, stag, fawn, sheep, cow, pig, lion, tiger, leopard, lynx, milk

Birds: robin, jay, cardinal, thrush, sparrow, swallow, shrike, starling, rook, swift, dove, pigeon, crow, raven, duck, goose, heron, wren, finch, swan, stork, quail, gull, lark, owl, eagle, hawk, kestrel, buzzard, kite, hoot, feather, bird, egg, talon

Fish, Reptiles + Amphibians: pike, perch, pollack, trout, tench, cod, carp, bass, bream, eel, minnow, fin, snake, adder, lizard, turtle, frog, toad, newt

Bug type Names: bug, lady or ladybug, moth, spider, ant, snail, slug, beetle, bee, wasp, dragon or dragonfly, bumble, worm, maggot, cricket, fly, midge, web, honey

Skyclan + Warriorclan: Bella, Billy, Big, Harry, Harvey, Snook, Ebony, Monkey

#warrior cats #wc

[bestmusicalworldcup]

The Best Snubbed Musical World Cup

The Best Snubbed Musical World Cup is a tournament to determine the best musical excluding those that won the Tony Award for Best Musical. Submissions are now closed! The final list of musicals in the Best Snubbed Musical World Cup is below.

& Juliet 1789: Les Amants de la Bastille 21 Chump Street 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee 35MM: A Musical Exhibition A New Brain Ablaze The Act Adamandi Aida Alice By Heart Allegiance An American in Paris American Idiot American Psycho Amélie Anastasia Anne & Gilbert Annie Get Your Gun Anything Goes Anyone Can Whistle The Art Of Pleasing Princes Assassins Back to the Future the Musical Bandstand Bare: A Pop Opera Be More Chill Beauty and the Beast Beetlejuice The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas Big Fish Bloody Bloody Andrew Jackson Bonnie and Clyde Bran Nue Dae Bright Star Calvin Berger Carousel Carrie Chess Chicago Chitty Chitty Bang Bang Cinderella (Rodgers & Hammerstein) Clown Bible The Color Purple Come from Away The Count of Monte Cristo Death Note: The Musical Dogfight The Dolls of New Albion Dracula Dreamgirls The Drowsy Chaperone Elisabeth Émilie Jolie Evil Dead: The Musical Falsettos The Fantasticks Finding Neverland Firebringer Fly by Night Frankenstein The Frogs Funny Girl Ghost Quartet Godspell Grease Groundhog Day The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals Gypsy Hair Hans Christian Andersen Heathers Hedwig and the Angry Inch Holy Musical B@man! Hoy no me puedo levantar The Hunchback of Notre Dame In Transit Into the Woods Jagged Little Pill Jane Eyre Jekyll & Hyde Jesus Christ Superstar Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dream Coat La Légende du roi Arthur The Last Five Years Le Roi Soleil Legally Blonde The Light in the Piazza The Lightning Thief Little Shop of Horrors Lizzie The Lord of the Rings Love in Hate Nation Love Never Dies The Mad Ones Made in Dagenham The Magic Show Magic Tree House: The Musical Mary Poppins Matilda Mean Girls Mentiras el musical Merrily We Roll Along Miss Saigon Mozart! Mozart, l'opéra rock Natasha, Pierre, and the Great Comet of 1812 Newsies Next to Normal Notre-Dame de Paris Octet Oklahoma Oliver On the Town On Your Feet! The Story of Emilio & Gloria Estefan Once on this Island Once Upon A Mattress Ordinary Days Parade Phantom (Yeston & Kopit) Pippin The Pirate Queen Preludes Pretty Woman The Prince of Egypt Priscilla, Queen of the Desert The Prom Ragtime Rebecca Ride the Cyclone The Rocky Horror Show Roméo et Juliette: de la Haine à l'Amour Sarafina! The Secret Life of Walter Mitty (1964) The Secret Garden The Scarlet Pimpernel Seussical Seven Brides for Seven Brothers She Loves Me Show Boat Shrek the Musical Sidd Singin' In the Rain Six Soldaat van Oranje Something Rotten Spies are Forever The Spitfire Grill SpongeBob SquarePants: The Broadway Musical Starry Starship Sunday in the Park With George Tanz der Vampire / Dance of the Vampires Tarrytown The Threepenny Opera / Die Dreigroschenoper Tick Tick Boom Timéo The Trail to Oregon! Tuck Everlasting Twisted Urinetown Waitress West Side Story Wicked Wiedzmin The Wild Party (Lippa) The Wizard of Oz (1987) The Woman in White Wonderland You're a Good Man Charlie Brown

#best snubbed musical world cup #broadway #best musical world cup #best musical #musical theater #musical theatre #musicals #theater #tony awards #theatre

[mdhwrites]

Since you mentioned it in a recent post, what do you think about TOH having a sympathetic main cast of mostly conventionally beautiful, humanoid characters while still preaching about how 'weirdos have to stick together'? Do you think there's some hypocrisy in how the show handles its less 'cute' characters?

I do think it's hypocritical and that in and of itself is a problem. It's also just really fucking boring and contributes to the problem of it feeding into the fantasy problem of "Our world but with more teeth."

So since I'm going to rip into this creative choice for the rest of this blog, let's first talk about the positives of having a cast that is effectively all humans, especially all good looking ones, instead of demons, monsters, etc. After all, we need to be fair. There's a lot that goes behind these choices and while the Isles has a lot of bizarre designs in the backgrounds, there had to be a point to all of the denizens we commonly interact with looking like generic elves. *flips through notes* *checks some papers* *flips through more notes* It makes fanart easy.

...OKAY FINE! That's only SOMEWHAT hyperbolic. The reason it makes fanart easier is also why it's really easy to just go with a cast of humans. We as a SPECIES inherently trust and connect better with those who look like ourselves, for better and mostly worse. This can be as specific as skin color and as abstract as simply the human form. Yes, for people like me who are proud monster fuckers, this line blurs but for common Joe Shmoe, they're going to want someone who looks fairly normal if they're going to get really invested.

Worse yet is if you look at modern cartoons. Bare minimum, Molly McGee and Amphibia. Yes, SOME people in those fandoms will draw the frogs and Scratch... But they ALL draw the trios of human characters. And yes, shipping matters here but I've also seen a good number of Amphibia artists just admit to spending way too much figuring out how to draw Sprig because the anatomy is wonky enough to make you question yourself. If they're all humans, you can still get by just fine with your normal style and lessons that most art books are going to teach you.

This isn't even untrue from a writing perspective. Just a cultural shift (and yes I'm calling myself out on this) can be enough to throw you WAY out of your comfort zone for how to write a character besides token elements like food. Throw in entirely different anatomy, skill sets inherent to biology, weaknesses similarly inherent to that biology, and you start to have a lot more questions you need to ask for a very basic level understanding of a character. Which seems like a good transition point to talking about the monstrous denizens of TOH. Specifically that there is ONE 'monster' in The Owl House main cast and that is King.

...

Can you tell me what the fuck is special about King? Besides being short and fluffy, his differing anatomy effectively NEVER comes into play. His magical blasts are practically replicated by Raine whistling. Make him an 8 year old elf child and the only thing you lose is his ancestry. Not his heritage, his ANCESTRY. That's pretty fucking weak.

Edit: Someone on Twitter pointed out to me that King's design is effectively just a furred Cubone and I hate knowing this.

Otherwise, the only inhumane thing about him is that they make him a dog. Which, you know... isn't exactly going very far down on the spectrum of likability for most people. In fact, this technique isn't anywhere near new. Toothless is just a giant cat and I love him for it but I wouldn't blame anyone who looked at the How to Train Your Dragon Dragons and went "I wish they acted like dragons." Because... They don't? They have the designs and move sets of dragons but most of their temperament is far more cat like, down to having dragon nip and being distracted by reflected light.

King is also the only foreground deviation for the protagonists. As I said when I first mentioned this, you can't even really go with Willow being heavier set. She is pretty much the textbook definition of "More to love" seeing as her being slightly heavier just gives her a softer design than the rest of the characters instead of being anywhere close to unappealing like one of Mabel's friends in Gravity Falls is. You're supposed to look at Willow and go "I bet she gives really good hugs" and that's about it. Her weight, much like her ethnicity frankly, is hardly what you're supposed to think about with her design besides basic contrast.

And she's still better than the rest of the cast who are models. Including Luz for that matter. Now the show's style doesn't lend itself well to distinguishing how pretty a character is besides their reactions from a different character... But it can also absolutely do ugly. And no one in this main cast is ugly. You want a NASTY scar, you're gonna have to look elsewhere than the tatted up teenage boy and the girl who has a little flair on one of her eyebrows. One is meant to look cool, the other is still the same job while also being slight enough not to embellish the main face too much.

Amity and Eda though are explicitly in text stated as REALLY PRETTY. Like model pretty from how people react to them. Yes, one of these people is Luz's girlfriend but literally any acknowledgement of her looks is more than Gus, Willow or any of the villains (especially positively) are given. Not even Odalia who is the best case against this argument. But, you know, those are Amity's genes running through Odalia. She's not gonna be ugly because then how are all of the Blight Children ready for a Vogue cover shoot?

And here's the thing: In most media, this isn't really a problem. People like attractive people and there's nothing wrong with that. I know people want more representation and they are right to want that but also most media is a fantasy of some sort. Especially for a basic wish fulfillment isekai like TOH, a really pretty harem is packaged explicitly into the fantasy because who doesn't want hot magical beings saying they're the best?

Except then there's the line of "Us Weirdos Gotta Stick Together," or the fact that Luz is stated to be bullied (but didn't actually look out of place amongst the cheerleaders or drama kids), or the fact that TOH theoretically peddled early on a Fantasy vs. Reality theme. It is a show that is meant to CELEBRATE the Other and be challenging to those who are commonly seen as better... But the Other isn't present. When they are... They're villains. Belos is the only character with a curse that doesn't make them pretty. It's really gruesome what the curse does to him, even before he becomes a full monster. Contrast that with Eda who sprouts feathers and that's really it? Then you have Tibbles, who is a literal pig, the evil publisher who is a lizard, the monster hunters who are orcs effectively, Warden Wrath who is a homunculus? There isn't actually a clear inspiration directly for him besides 'monster' which is part of why he's one of the best one off villains of the series. The closest to a protagonist monster is Hooty which the series goes out of its way to make most people mock, outright hate and/or be actively repulsed by him, especially if it's a character we're supposed to care about.

When it comes to the villains, there are two who stand out as prettier than the rest and they both have direct connections to the main cast. In fact, to Amity. Odalia who I talked about earlier and Boscha. I guess Matt if you want to count him but as far as looking like a basic ass bitch goes, you don't get much more basic than Matt without bleaching his skin. Boscha on the other hand's prettiness is pretty much the best argument we had before she was given a half assed redemption that she was going to be redeemed. Why else make her so much prettier than everyone else? Unless it was just fueled by "She is going to be next to Amity a few times and a Blight wouldn't interact with anyone too... alternative." None of Amity's friends are more monstrous than a third eye after all and that doesn't really hold Boscha back all that much. Frankly, it probably saved her from large forehead jokes akin to what Amity gets since they both have hairstyles that pull their hair back and that's a problem for the show's style.

What does all of this mean? Well, it means in a show that is trying to lift up those who feel like they don't belong, it's still reinforcing standard beauty ideals of society. Worse yet, it just kind of discredits that Luz meets ANY outcast. I wouldn't have called my friends in High School ugly of course but were any of us ready for the runway? Of course not. We didn't take care of ourselves right for that or just didn't have the right genes for it.

Because let's face it: The eyeball head girl was NEVER going to be a main character. And that's... also really boring. The fact that witches are just elves but without any of the culture, long lifespans (as far as we know) etc. like that is also just really boring. And for a fantasy show, especially one that pitches in the first episode that ANY folk tale we have originated here, that's not good. Especially since even if they look like elves, you could have still at least TRIED to make them interesting with things like the bile sac but that's a throwaway joke to the writers. And the saddest thing is... If you're a person who LIKES weird characters, or actually embraces their weirdness and so doesn't need to be told they'll have a Victoria Secrets model as a wife... What is TOH gonna do for you? Or for anyone who doesn't want designs that are less interesting and less unique than even Danny Phantom's. And that's from fucking Butch Hartman who is not exactly known for being a top tier artist. Like SAM as a goth is more alternative (especially for when the show first aired) than fucking ANYONE in the main cast of TOH. And that show debuted ALMOST TWENTY YEARS AGO. And Valerie even had a similar bodytype to Willow but with WAY more personality!

Now I'm just thinking about all the shows I grew up with like Total Drama Island that had so much fun with even their pretty boy designs. That's frankly my biggest issue. The pretty problem in TOH IS bad thematically. Above all else though... it's just boring. Boring and lazy. How these characters look don't mean ANYTHING to them. It doesn't say much about them, the show or anything else.

They're pretty just because the creator probably likes making pretty people and I can usually support. I support Yoko Taro after all. But Yoko Taro makes people (or androids which are based off humans). This is fantasy. You can do whatever you want and the TOH crew couldn't be assed enough to even do a demon.

In a world called the DEMON REALM! I think at that point, you need to ask why the fuck they're bothering with it being a fantasy show in the first place, let alone one trying to pitch itself as anything other than basic wish fulfillment.

=======

I have a public Discord for any and all who want to join!

I also have an Amazon page for all of my original works in various forms of character focused romances from cute, teenage romance to erotica series of my past. I have an Ao3 for my fanfiction projects as well if that catches your fancy instead, If you want to hang out with me, I stream from time to time and love to chat with chat.

And finally a Twitter you can follow too!

#TOH Critical #The Owl House Criticism

[kimberly40]

Southernisms:

Dumb as a bag full of hammers.

Meaner than a skillet full of rattlesnakes.

I won't say it's far, but I had to grease the wagon twice before I hit the main road.

If a trip around the world cost a dollar, I couldn't get to the state line.

He looks like he was inside the outhouse when lightening struck.

She looks like she was born down wind from the outhouse.

Never kick a fresh turd on a hot day.

Never smack a man who's chewin' tobacco.

The quickest way to double your money is to fold it over and put it back in your pocket.

Scared as a sinner in a cyclone.

Scared as a cat at the dog pound.

She's so ugly she'd make a freight train take a dirt road.

He's so ugly his cooties have to close their eyes.

So ugly his mama takes him everywhere she goes so she doesn't have to kiss him goodbye.

She looks like she fell face-down in the sticker patch and cows ran over her.

He looks like the dogs have been keepin' him under the porch.

He's about as sharp as a mashed potato.

So dusty the rabbits are digging holes six feet in the air.

It'll last about as long as a fart in a whirlwind.

He's rough as a corn cob.

He's got enough money to burn a wet mule.

He's about as sharp as a bag full of wet mice.

It's as dry as the dust in a mummy's pocket.

It's about as scarce as bird crap in a cuckoo clock.

He's as tight as the pages in a book.

This race is as tight as the rusted lug nuts on a '55 Ford.

It’s hot enough to peel house paint.

Running like a squirrel in a cage.

Safe as a tick on a dog with a stiff neck.

He couldn't pour rain out of a boot with a hole in the toe and directions on the heel.

If dumb was dirt, he'd cover about half an acre.

So windy we're using a log chain instead of a wind sock.

Tighter than bark on a tree.

As welcome as an outhouse breeze.

Her hair looks like a cats been suckin' on it.

We were so poor my brother and me had to ride double on our stick horse.

As bad-off as a rubber-nosed woodpecker in a petrified forest.

As confused as a cow on astroturf.

It was so hot you could pull a baked potato right out of the ground.

It's so dry the trees are whistling for the dogs.

Busier than a cat covering crap on a marble floor.

If things get any better around here, I may have to hire someone to help me enjoy it.

Well knock me down and steal muh teeth!

Cute as a box full of puppies.

You can't get rid of 'em. He's like a booger you can't thump off.

It's about as hard as trying to steer a herd of cats.

The wheels still turning, but the hamster's dead.

He's so confused he doesn't know whether to scratch his watch or wind his ass.

She was as nervous as a long tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs.

So crooked you can't tell from his tracks if he's coming or going.

I wouldn't trust him any farther than I can throw him.

He's got more guts than you could hang on a fence.

So dry the catfish are carrying canteens.

So dry I'm spitting cotton.

So hot the hens are laying hard-boiled eggs.

Cold as a frosted frog.

Cold as an ex-wife's heart.

Cold as a cast iron commode.

Cold as a banker's heart.

She's about as useful as buttons on a dishrag.

He's tougher than a two-dollar steak.

Happy as a puppy with two tails.

She’s got enough wrinkles to hold an eight-day rain.

That’s about as useful as a trap door on a canoe!

He’s busier than a one-legged man at a butt-kickin contest!

He’s so dumb he couldn’t piss his name in the snow.

That politician’s so crooked he could hide behind a cork screw!

That baby was so ugly the Doctor spanked the Momma!

She’s so ugly she’s got ten-foot pole marks all over her.

It’s rainin’ so hard it sounds like a cow pissing on a flat rock.

He’s so bad off, his eyes looked like two piss-holes in a snowbank.

Well butter my butt and call me a biscuit!

Her hair looks like it caught on fire and somebody put it out with a brick.

He couldn’t find his rear with his hands in his back pockets.

It’s raining so hard the animals are starting to pair up.

His pants were so tight that if he farted, he’d blow his boots off.

Raising kids is like being pecked to death by a chicken.

He’s so skinny, his pants had only one back pocket.

He was mean enough to hunt bears with a hickory switch.

He was ugly as a burnt boot.

Tougher than the back end of a shootin' gallery.

...Thank You, Dear Lord, for blessing me with being a Southerner.

•Photo taken near Spruce Pine, North Carolina

#southern style #southern life #southern living #southern

[red1culous]

Tabula Rasa part 1

Part 1 // 2

She had expected the rain that began at 5 that morning to go on to about mid morning. But it was relentless and poured down across the valley continuing throughout the day drenching everything including her mood. She peered out the window at about 2 pm hoping to see a literal silver lining in the sky but all she saw was downcast skies. She sighed and resigned herself to the fact that her freshly washed clothes would not be dry for at least another 24 hours or so. 

The wind rose and the forest around her groaned. She could hear it from inside her small trailer. The wind blew hard against her trailer and the cold air seeped in through the crack in the door. 

It was evening and the sky out every window was now dark and foreboding. The rain had let up turning into a light drizzle giving her her first walk outside that day. She was thankful to be able to stretch her legs even though it was to just inspect the space around the trailer. 

In spite of the dense fog that had rolled in she could smell something sweet and flowery blooming in the air. In the distance she hears an owl hooting and the sound of crickets and frogs singing their nighttime lullaby. 

She steps inside small home again but stands by the door. It began to rain again. She hears it first on the roof then feels the fat droplets on her head and face. Grumbling to herself enters the trailer and shuts the door behind her. The wind blows against the windows and she is certain tonight is going to be a rough one. It whistles rattling the windows, sending chilly drafts through them making her trailer even colder than it already was. She hugs her hoodie tighter against her body making a mental note to re-seal her windows and doors.

She considers turning in for the night but she was a light sleeper and she knew that especially on a night like tonight, her senses was on high alert and she was tuned in like a radar beacon to any action that may cause her dreams to be interrupted. A change in the air pressure signalling that she was not alone in her space was enough to awaken her. All anyone had to do was snap a twig outside and her eyes would fly wide open in instant recognition of the intrusion. She knew that sleep would not come easily tonight. 

She draws a long breath and rubs her hands together before boiling some water and making herself a cup of coffee. Having neglected to stoke the dying coal fire, she grabs her blanket and sinks down onto the sofa that sat across from the coffee maker. Her attention is brought back to her laptop where she had been bingeing on Bond movies throughout the day. The blue light illuminating one side of her face gives a depth to her features that is rarely seen by many. 

You’re not a sportsman, Mr. Bond.

She smiles to herself.

Why did you break up the encounter with my pet python? 

It’s coming up to her favourite part of the movie. 

Because I discovered he had a crush on me.

She says in tandem with Bond.

The words leave her lips with a half smirk in its place.

She hears a low rumble of thunder in the distance. The lights dim and flicker before it goes dark. She can hear the generator cough and sputter before it goes completely silent. She imagines its iron lungs shutting down gasping for fuel as Bond and Drax continue their banter with one another. With a grumble she hits the spacebar on her laptop to pause the movie and slides off the sofa grabbing her jacket to go and refuel the generator. 

It wasn’t that cold out in the open. Or maybe she was just used to the various types of Norwegian nights. Maybe she was just used to the cold.

She unscrews the cap on the fuel tank and finds it empty. Internally she laughs thinking it would be anything but empty. After refilling it she pops off the spark plug wire and scratches it a few times with her pocket knife for good measure. It was a beautiful night but she did not cherish the thought of needing to come out again that evening.

After reattaching the wire she pumps the primer button a few times and pulls the cord to start the generator. Nothing happens so she tries again giving it a good yank and this time the engine starts releasing a cloud of black smoke in protest. The engine whirs lethargically at first, but it evens out eventually taking on a steady purr. Dusting her hands off she turns to head back inside eager to finish the movie but her movements stutter as she sees the last moments of a black, sinewy shape entering her trailer. 

---

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#tabula rasa #redfic #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha x reader #black widow x reader #black widow #natasha romanoff

[gasolineghuleh]

The Hunt

Commission for the wonderfully beautiful @valkyriedown! You always give me the bestest prompts. Mwah!

cw: blood, biting, chasing, hunting, prey play, rough, safe words

Ah, the night of the Hunt. It’s always the same.

He waits for the air to have a crisp tang to it. Likes for the screams to cut like a blade through the fog and the silence. The sounds of Ghouls dripping acid spit and slavering at the thought of their new prey. Dozens of Siblings scattering through the underbrush and unkempt forest surrounding the Abbey Proper. He waits until it’s almost so cold it hurts after a while. The cold air becomes painful to breathe when your heart is hammering against your ribs; pounding out a staccato beat that makes you fearful it might… just… stop. 

The crunch of the leaves only makes it easier for them to find you, even easier for them to Hunt; claws will scrabble at the bushes and branches, teeth will tear away clothing... tails will hold limbs in place. 

You can’t even hear the slamming of your feet against the earth over the air rasping in and out of your lungs, the pulse of your heart beat in your ears. Your artery throbs in your neck and your lungs feel like they’re on fire, but you persist. A branch. A rock. An outcropping. You bound through each obstacle with minimal effort until— 

“Fuck!” you hiss through your teeth as your Abbey standard low heel slashes through the undergrowth to skid on the mossy forest floor. You manage to hold your scream of frustration as you pick yourself up and keep going. Just keep going.

Keep going.

Keep going.

The next time, you scream.

A bang.

A crack.

It splits the air in two.

Rifles? 

The Hunt has started.

The sound of the rifle isn’t what makes you scream. No, no. You were expecting that. What makes you scream is the sound of the hounds. 

Fuck. Shit. Sathanas and Dark Lord below, he’s got the fucking hounds??

There’s no escaping the huntsman when he follows, and there’s no hiding your tracks from his hounds and his Ghouls. 

 --One Hour Earlier--

 The burning of your thighs as you climb the stairs is at the forefront of your mind, second only to the mysterious message delivered by Papa’s Ghoul just before dinner. If this meeting was to be the punishment for your earlier actions during mass, then you’re willing to consider it a lesson learned. It was just a little bit of black ink on the cue cards, you think to yourself. Was it really bad enough to warrant this type of climb to the top for a talking-to? Apparently so, if Rain’s urgency was anything to go by. 

“Fuck,” you huff to yourself, stopping at the top of the final staircase and clutching a stitch in your side. Your lungs whistle as you take in deep, slow and even breaths, finally moving your arms above your head to stretch out your torso and to take in the view. Papa has insisted on meeting at the top of the unused bell tower, nearly four stories up above the Abbey proper. From this height it seems almost toy-like, and the dramas of the other Siblings seem to melt from your mind as you gaze over it. You’re high enough to not be able to make out the details and the fuzziness of the gardens below you, the branches of the fruit trees tangled together in a sort of Gaia tunnel, draws your eye.

The sun just starts to crest over the far horizon as the wind picks up, ruffling the hem of your habit around your knees and tugging earnestly on the veil you still wear over your hair, even though you’ve passed your lessons. The moon peeks out over the mountains in the distance and the soft glow starts to illuminate the garden below you as the lights that Papa Emeritus the First installed begin to glow, powered by the sun all day. Crickets begin to chirp faintly at first and then louder, soon joined by a small accompanying chorus of bull frogs from the lake deeper in the ruins of the Abbey. You don’t have to wait long before you hear him behind you, the click of his shoes on old stone heralding his arrival just before his shadow begins to crest over the stairs. 

“Sister, you made it. I’m glad.” He’s shorter with his words than usual, but the warmth in his voice is genuine and it matches the smile on your face when you turn around to face him, allowing him to step into your personal space and slide his arms around your middle. The newly minted Papa looks down at you with a twinkle in his eye, bending down swiftly and pressing a light kiss to your cheek. The paint brushes softly against your skin, and you know that nothing has transferred. 

“Of course I did. Anything for you, Papa.” You lean into him slightly, reveling in the rare closeness of him and sighing when his arms tighten around you ever so slightly. You can feel it when he drops a kiss to the top of your head as he does during communion, lips pressing against your hair through the thin material of your headdress. He’s colder than you’re used to him being in your casual touches and you jolt slightly in surprise when he pulls you even close to him, the feeling almost akin to being pressed against a statue of firm marble— something wholly foreign to you. The two of you are closer than you’ve been in months… Was this truly meant to be punishment? “Papa?” you dare to ask, going stiff in his arms when you hear the first hoot of an owl in the distance. 

“Did Rain tell you why I asked you to come here tonight?” You can barely hear his voice, muffled as it is by your hair and headdress. It’s an effort but you manage to shake your head in the negative through the now tightened grip he has around you. “Do you want to try to guess, or would you like to be surprised?” 

“Oh, I have a choice?” you try to joke, frowning slightly when he doesn’t so much as huff out a breath of air. “I suppose I would like to know, then. Curiosity and cats and such.” In the same moment that Papa breathes in to answer you a bell tolls on the other side of the Abbey, in the bell tower that mirrors the one the two of you are standing in, though your own has been left to ruin, half taken over by mother nature’s reclamation now. Half a beat later you can hear a shout and a whine below you, the ripping of cloth and a rabid snarl that makes your throat ache with empathy at the fierceness, no doubt straining the vocal cords of whoever made it. 

“I think it’s time you start to run,” Papa says above you, breathing out a sharp huff of breath against your head dress before gripping it one hand and tugging it off, freeing your hair. “For your scent, as the main target. Anyone else is a bonus. You’ve been chosen, dear,” he clarifies. 

“Papa?” you start, taking a tentative step back and watching as he brings the cloth to his nose, inhaling and blowing his pupils wide. Already his teeth are elongating, poking past his top lip and dimpling in the lower. His lip curls and twitches, and you can tell that he’s holding himself back from launching at you. The date flashes through your mind: the Hunter’s Moon has finally come.

“Run.” 

The curt instruction is more than you need, your low heeled shoes already clacking loudly on the slippery and uneven stone stairs winding down the inside of the bell tower. Ivy reaches out its long arms towards you, trying to tangle you in the flora and halt your progress as you run. Papa’s Ghouls are already climbing the tower, their hands grasping through the window and attempting to snatch you before you can even exit the stony cairn. You suppress a yelp of fear and continue down the stairs, skidding to a halt as soon as you exit through the large stone archway leading to the garden paths.

Left or right?

Into the woods or through the Abbey?

A snarl sounds directly behind you and the decision is made before you even have the chance to really consider your options, and you take off towards the woods, following the garden path. The lights, once welcoming, now only made you second guess every shadow that they hide, casting doubt as surely as they cast their soft illumination. You reach the edge of the path and stop just short of careening into Primo’s prize rose bushes, arms pinwheeling as you try to catch your balance.

“Shit, shit, shit,” you say to yourself as you whip your head back and forth between the different options suddenly in front of you as to where to go. Through the bushes the trees of the surrounding forest loom menacingly, their branches creaking in the breeze. If you go to the left however, you're greeted with the warm and familiar light of the Abbey. You can already hear some of your fellow Siblings screaming as they run through the grounds of the Abbey, and the breaking of glass follows one particularly loud shriek. Faced with a wall to your right, the choice seems to be made for you and you plunge through the bushes into the darkness.

Thorns snare and grab at your skin and habit and you're briefly relieved that Papa had the foresight to take your head dress from you, or else it surely would have been ripped away by now. The moon above is nowhere near bright enough to penetrate the thick foliage of the trees reaching over top of you and it isn't much of a surprise when you step into a hole and fumble. You curse to yourself in pain and hop for a few steps before you're able to run again, trying desperately to find the small Chapel that Papa had brought you to weeks previously. When your breath begins to whistle through your lungs you pause and lean against a tree, taking a moment to attempt to steel your heart rate and calm your breathing.

Beside you a stick snaps sharply, breaking the silence with a sound that instantly raises the hair on the back of your neck. Gripping the tree tightly between your fingers you lean around it, attempting to see if the sound you heard had come from a Ghoul or another one of your Siblings—or perhaps Papa himself. The idea of already being caught by Papa is simultaneously exciting and disappointing. When you hear a low snort, however, any hope you had of it being Papa is dashed immediately. Only one of Papa's Ghouls has a voice deep enough to make that type of a sound. You swallow hard and clap a hand over your mouth in an attempt to quiet your still labored breathing. You find yourself wishing fervently that Ghouls aren't able to hear a human heartbeat.

It takes a few moments, but Mountain finally moves on, his long strides taking him quickly towards the Abbey and away from you. You let out the breath that you’ve been holding in a loud rush of air, bending over at the waist and putting your hands on your knees as you try to control your shaking. With another ardent and silent plea to the moon you start to run again-- this time the trees seemed to have parted just enough for some of the light to illuminate the way in front of you and you considered an act of mercy that you don't trip and fall. Instead the path seems to clear, and the tree roots that had been in front of you previously are no longer littering the forest floor. You're able to slow to an almost jog, taking the time to place your feet carefully so that you don't hurt yourself again.

Ahead of you, you can see the arched architecture of the previous Chapel, fallen into disrepair after the Clergy abandoned it over one hundred years ago. Papa took you here a few weeks ago as an act of penance, making you pick some of the moss that had grown between the stones and put them in jars for the alchemists. As you get closer to the building however, the hair on the back of your neck begins to rise again. Why would he have taken you here if he knew the hunt was so close? You shake your head quickly and pivot instead, heading towards the back of the ruined building and pressing yourself flat against the stones.

You enter your way carefully around the back of the building, searching for the cellar safe room doors that you know should have been installed in a building of this age. The topic was one that Papa had talked about often in his classes, and one that you happened to remember. It had been during a point in time when the Clergy was particularly careful about giving their members somewhere safe to be in the event that the local town decided to “get rid of them”. When your hand finally lands on a wrought iron handle you manage to contain your gasp of genuine surprise and wrap your fingers around it, evaluating the heavy metal in your grip before tugging on it. Just as the aged and rotted wooden door begins to groan in protest you hear a snarl from behind you, and the unmistakable howl of a nearby Ghoul.

You decide to test your luck with the nearby barrels instead of continuing to yank on the loud door, darting to the side and squeezing behind them. A small sound of disgust leaves you when you place your hand in something sticky and wet. When you hold it up to your face and allow it to glisten in the light of the moon you can tell that it isn't blood, but that's only mildly reassuring to you at this point. In the same second that you realize what it isn’t, however, you also realize what it is— Ghoul spit. You hiss and shake your hand, attempting to get rid of it before it starts to burn your flesh. Already your hand is tingling. 

But where did it come from?

You gasp and look up, only somewhat surprised to see the toothy grin of Dew leering down at you from his perch on the rooftop of the abandoned Chapel. He gives you a quick sarcastic wave before hopping down and landing lithely in front of you, tail whipping and acid dripping from his fangs. When he turns to face you you whimper, the sound falling unbidden from your throat. The game is already over, and he’s won this round.

“Dew, I-”

“Was running. I watched. Nearly had you at the tower, there, ya know. Rain did too. Just a little bit out of reach of our claws, eh?” Dew sidles forward, hands on his hips as he looks down at you, crouched and practically trembling behind the barrels. 

“Are you calling Papa?” you dare to ask, eyes flicking this way and that in search of the shadow you know to be him. You’ve seen him wear shadows like a cloak before, and the tingling sensation on the back of your neck only serves to tell you that he’s likely watching the interaction. 

“You know you don’t have to ask that, love.” Dew leans towards you and grabs your wrist tightly in his fist, the claws on his hand digging into your skin slightly as he pulls you up off of the ground. Another hand presses firmly into the small of your back and when you turn around you’re greeted by the grinning visage of Rain. His other hand comes up and waves, fingers wiggling in an over exaggeratedly gleeful movement. 

“Glad you listened to my invitation, Sister. Bound to be a bit of a wild night, isn’t it?” You grimace and allow yourself to be pushed along by the Ghouls, who stop short of the door to the Chapel. A sudden silence falls over the clearing and you know without glancing over your shoulder that Papa has arrived. The Ghouls behind you stiffen slightly and you can hear the rustling of clothing as Dew sketches a quick (and likely entirely sarcastic) bow. 

“Ah, Sister. You ran exactly where I thought you might.” Papa strolls forward out of the tree line, his coat melting away from him in shadowy tendrils and floating back into the darkness. You suppress a shiver as you look into his eyes— glowing and tinged with malicious intentions. You know this evening will end in sex of some sort, if the whispers around the Abbey about the Hunt are anything to judge by. Whispered stories about Ghouls pinning down Siblings and making them fat with their child; whispered stories about Papa finding his Prime Mover in the dead of the night and continuing the bloodline; whispered stories of the Dark Lord Below himself appearing to do the honors when the time comes, when the Hunt has ended. 

“You took me here, didn’t you? A few weeks ago. You called it a ‘work outing’. Something about finding the old books in the cellar.” You trail off as you think to yourself, the realization hitting you like a ton of bricks. “There were no books, were there? It was just to plant the idea of this place in my head. To get me to come here during the Hunt.” You know you should feel mad for being manipulated so easily but instead, all you feel is the beginnings of burning arousal between your thighs, your core clutched tight as a rubber band in anticipation. 

“Oh, I didn’t lie, Sister.” Copia moves forward and motions his Ghouls through the door of the Chapel, his eyes focused on the pulse in your neck, no doubt throbbing in time to your rapid and terrified heart beat. You know that you aren’t in any real danger— Papa would never put you through something like that— but you’re still scared, nonetheless. “There were books, actually. Books that pertained to exactly what I needed to know before the Hunt began.” 

“And what was that?” You’re surprised at how snappy your voice is, and how little the fear in your blood translated vocally. Dew and Rain continue to urge you forward, bringing you to the altar of the crumbled Chapel and pushing you roughly against the stone. The stone scrapes the palms of your hands lightly as you catch yourself on its rough surface and spin to face your Papa. 

“Claiming a Prime Mover, of course. And the ritual after the Hunt has succeeded.” Papa moves forward nonchalantly, beginning to tug his leather gloves off finger by finger. He tosses them Rain who pockets and catches them before moving to the other side of the altar and taking out a large book. Rain opens it to a designated page and hands it to Papa, moving away to take his place beside Dew at the door. 

“A… A Prime-”

“Mover, yes. You’ve taken the classes. You know how it’s meant to feel.” Papa drops his finger to the surface of the page in the book, reading aloud. “‘After the Hunt, the Papa may send a prayer to Him, faithfully sealing the contract and creating the bond that links Mover the Pure of Blood’.” His eyes find yours and the white one seems to glimmer, the moon picking up on it through the cracks in the desiccated ceiling. “Can you honestly tell me that you haven’t felt the same things I have?” When you don’t immediately answer he steps forward, tossing the book to the floor. “The pull when we make eye contact, the whisper in your mind about what it could be like, the tugging at the base of your neck when-”

“I hear Him at night,” you interject, finishing the sentence for him. He sighs in acceptance and agreement, spreading his hands in an open gesture as he looks at you. 

“Then you see.” As soon as you start to nod he’s on you, his hands pulling and ripping at your habit as he pushes you down against the rough altar top. The altar cloth has long since rotted away, and shreds of the purple tattered material fall from the stone as the two of you scuffle. 

“Not here!” you protest, trying to get your hands between the two of you in an attempt to stall him. “Shouldn’t this be done somewhere more private? Somewhere more comfortable?” Papa growls, a low feral tone in the back of his throat as he shoves you harder against the stone, pressing one knee between your legs. 

“It has to be here. Can’t you feel Him? Couldn’t you feel Him when we were here?” Your mind flashes back to the memory of that day— the sun was high in the sky and the day was cloudless, and yet something in your gut felt darkened. You had been slightly cold, and the feeling along the back of your neck that you were being watched had simply refused to go away. Your eyes widen as you look up at Papa, temporarily halting your attempts to convince him to go elsewhere with you. 

“I… That was this? This is real? This isn’t just your little narrative to make the Hunt more fun for you, then?” The dawning realization slaps you in the face like a bucket of cold water. In the same moment your core tightens, a jolt of electric desire striking your clit and leaving the nerves in your fingertips tingling. “I’m supposed to be your Mover?” 

“You always have been.” A low moan of lust drops from your lips as soon as Papa leans in to kiss you, his fangs nipping and pulling on your bottom lip in the same motion that his hand grips your hair. He groans at the taste of it, the small bead of blood that he’s drawn doing nothing but whetting his appetite for more. 

“Papa,” you whisper into the kiss, gasping loudly when his hand moves to grip your throat and squeeze. He pulls you away from the altar before turning you around and shoving you roughly down onto it, face down. Papa’s hand twists in the locks of your hair as he presses you to the rough shorn stone, his other hand snaking between the two of you to pull your panties roughly to the side. 

“Knew from the moment you walked through the gates of this Abbey you were meant to be mine. To hold my child. To continue my bloodline. He came to me in my sleep and showed me your face, night after terrible night.” Papa grunts and you hear the seams of your panties tear slightly, followed by the jingling of his belt buckle. He’s maneuvering it all with one hand, his other keeping you pressed tightly to the altar. “It’s been centuries spent waiting… and now you’re here. Under me.” 

“Papa, please,” you beg, rolling your hips slightly in an attempt to find his hand, or something— anything, to satiate the ache and need to be touched. To be filled. To be taken. 

“So many years I spent waiting for Him to bring you to me.” There’s another rustle of clothing behind you and suddenly you can feel the head of his cock on your ass cheek, pressing against you. He groans and the hand in your hair tightens as he begins to thrust against you, dragging his cock along your exposed flesh and leaving a cooling streak of pre-cum. “So long I waited to have you like this, open and needy.” 

Papa’s hand finds your cunt and moves quickly to your clit, the fingertip of his index finger circling it gently before pressing. You writhe on the altar underneath his touch, every motion feeling exaggerated and as though it was pressing on a raw nerve. You groan, your mouth falling open as he continues his motions, dragging his finger towards your opening and spreading you lewdly. Copia steps back slightly to admire you, his hand coming to clap down roughly on your ass in satisfaction before he steps back into place, cock head bumping against your entrance. 

“The safe word is Jesus,” he mutters as he leans over you, lips brushing against your neck as he sinks his cock into you to the hilt. He doesn’t stop until he bottoms out inside of you, his pelvis resting easily against your ass. You breathe heavily underneath him, gripping the edge of the altar and groaning as you attempt to suppress the desire to move, forcing him to fuck you. 

“Papa, fuck,” you hiss, eyes squeezing closed tightly. He rocks forward against you and you hiss, the head of his cock grazing the spot inside of you that makes you see stars. He chuckles darkly above you and pulls back before slamming his cock back into you and clapping his hand against your ass once more. When you yelp in pleasure and surprise he laughs, using the hand in your hair to twist your head to the side and give him better access to your throat. 

“I’ve waited for so long to taste you,” he mutters, his teeth finding the vein in your throat and clamping down. You gasp and attempt to scream, but a voice in the back of your head blasts to the front of your subconscious. 

“No, let him. This is how you become one. Become mine. Become his.” 

“Can you hear Him?” Copia breaths against your neck, his breath blowing on the blood seeping from your throat and cooling it uncomfortably. You nod and grunt when he forces his cock deeper into you, your knuckles going white from their grip on the edge of the altar. 

He bites you again in the same spot, moaning when the blood rushes over his lips and slides down his throat. Copia speeds up his thrusts, the sounds of his thighs and hips slapping against your ass echoing in the old and ruined Chapel. You rock yourself up onto your toe tips, managing enough mobility to rock yourself back against him, allowing him to fuck you faster as he drinks from your throat. Papa practically growls when you do, his free hand gripping your waist tight enough to leave small bruises where his finger tips dent the soft flesh. Your ass is burning from his spankings and you’re more than sure that you’ll be thoroughly marked by the morning. 

“Papa, fill me. Cum for me, Papa,” you pant, cheek pressed against the cold stone. Papa nods against you and changes his thrusts, focusing on his own pleasure rather than yours for the moment. When his thrusts get more staggered you know he’s close, and it only takes a few motions with your hips to draw him to the edge and push him over. His teeth clamp down tighter than they had before on your neck and you scream as your climax hits you suddenly, milking his cock as he cums inside of you.

Copia thrusts shortly against you, each movement accompanied by a grunt of pleasure as he cums, hands gripping your hair and hip tightly as you wince. Papa lathes a path with his tongue from the seeping wound on your neck to your lips, pulling you against him in a tangled kiss as best as he can. He moans against your lips and whispers to you, though you can’t make out what he’s saying. When he pulls out of you it’s almost enough to make you cum again and you can’t hold back the low moan at the separation.

“Papa, I-”

“Don’t. Don’t say anything.” Papa staggers back from you and runs his hands over his face, the paint staying in place. You turn around on the altar and discreetly fix your panties before clearing your throat and moving slowly towards him, one hand out. 

“Copia. Was that… I mean. Did it work?” you ask, ignoring his hand flapping towards you for silence. “I heard Him in my head. He told me that it would work. That that was what I needed to do to be yours.” You step forward boldly and grasp his hand, putting it against your neck where the bleeding has slowed. “I’m your Mover.” Copia looks down at you and bites his lip, thinking for a moment before allowing you to tug him into your arms. 

“Yes. You are. My little Prime Mover.” Papa folds you into his arms and rests his chin on your head, sighing against you as he had earlier in the evening. “Are you alright? I’m sorry, I- I let myself get carried away. I waited for so long and it was finally happening, and I-”

“I’m fine,” you cut him off with a light laugh, looking up at him and blinking coquettishly. “You know what this means, right?” Copia arches an eyebrow at you as he looks down and you can’t help but feel a chill when his white eye locks with your own— so normal and ordinary. “It means that whenever I run, you had damn well better chase me.”

“I don’t think you could stop me from hunting you if you tried.” 

“Then let’s try.” Before Copia can react you step out of his arms and dash from the room, flinging open the old door and sprinting into the cold night air. 

You know he’ll chase you. 

He always will.

After all, the Hunt is on. 

#lorraine writes #fic #hc #Papa Emeritus #copia #cardinal copia #popia #hfoa #nf #era 5 ghouls #dew #rain #ghost #the band ghost #ghost bc #ghost bc fanfic #fanfic

[poems-from-around-the-world]

There Will Come Soft Rains - Sara Teasdale - USA

(War Time)

There will come soft rains and the smell of the ground, And swallows circling with their shimmering sound;

And frogs in the pools singing at night, And wild plum trees in tremulous white,

Robins will wear their feathery fire Whistling their whims on a low fence-wire;

And not one will know of the war, not one Will care at last when it is done.

Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree If mankind perished utterly;

And Spring herself, when she woke at dawn, Would scarcely know that we were gone.

#there will come soft rains #Sara Teasdale #USA #poem #poetry #poems from around the world

[greekstar]

Warrior cat name Ideas Prefixes - A-Z A Acorn Adder Amber Ant Apple Arch Arrow Aspen Ash Asher Alder Amber B Badger Bark Beech Bellow Birch Berry Bird Black Blizzard Brave Breeze Bright Brown Bell Bug Beetle Bluebell Blue Bounce Brindle Brush Bush Buzzard Buzz Bee Bumble Bass Basil Bubble Brine Beaver Bison (I feel like this only goes good with ‘horn’ or Bisonpelt/fur.) Bat Bone Butterfly Burdock Broken Bramble Bracken Bay Brisk Blossom Briar Boil Branch Bud C Cloud Cloudy Crystal Cold Cricket Cliff Cardinal Crying Cougar Coyote Cobweb Chick Cow Cave Cheetah Carrot Coral Cactus Claw Cedar Cherry Cinder Clover Copper Creek Crooked Crouch Crow D Dew Dewy Duck Dusty Dust Dune Down Dagger Dodge Dolphin Daisy Doe Dapple Dappled Dark Dawn Dead Dove Drift Dusk E Eagle Ebony Echo Egg Eel Ember F Fallen Fallow Fawn Feather Fennel Fern Ferret Finch Fire Flame Fleet Flint Flower Flow Fly Fox Freckle Frog Frost Furze Fuzzy Foal Falling Fall G Gale Gust Golden Gold Goose Gorse Gorge Grass Gray Green Grass Goldfish Guppy Ghost H Hail Half Hare Hawk Hay Hoot Hazel Heather Heavy Hollow Holly Honey Honeycomb Hummingbird Horse Happy Hornet Hound Heron I Ice Ivy J Jagged Jay Joy Jaguar Jackdaw Jump Juniper K Kestrel Kink Koi L Lake Larch Leaf Lark Leopard Lichen Lightning Lily Lion Little Lizard Log Long Lost Loud Low Lynx M Maggot Mallow Maple Marsh Meadow Milk Minnow Mint Mist Misty Mole Moon Morning Moss Mossy Moth Mottle Mouse Mouth Mud Mumble Mink Muddy Moonlight Mountain Mushroom Monkey N Nettle Needle Nut Newt Night Nimble O Oak Oat Odd Olive One Otter Owl Orange Ocean Orca Opal P Pale Perch Pool Pike Peak Prickle Pounce Pine Petal Petal Pebble Pear Patch Pirate(kittypet or loner) Polar Peach Panda Pond Pigeon Plum Q Quail Quick R Rabbit Rain Ragged Rat Rattle Root Raspberry Reed Red Robin Rock Rose Rowan Rubble Running Rushing Rush Russet Rust Rye Raven Raccoon Rustle Rattlesnake Ravine Rapid S Sage Short Sheep Sedge Shrew Slate Slow Snail Sneeze Sorrel Soot Spider Spruce Sun Sunny Swallow Shallow Shade Sharp Scorch Sand Sandy Sky Silver Smoke Snake Soft Snow Sparrow Speckle Splash Spotted Squirrel Stalking Stalk Stalker Starling Stone Storm Stumpy Stump Sweet Swift Shred Sloe Shell Seed Shimmer Shimmering Skunk Spirit Squid Shy Sound Summer Sapphire Spiraling Spiral Shark Saturn T Tall Talon Tooth Timber Tiger Twig Tumble Thorn Thistle Thrush Tawny Tangle Ting Trout Torn Toad Tiny V Vine Vixen Void Vole W Wasp Weasel Web Weed Wet Whisker White Whale Wild Willow Wind Wolf Winter Wisteria Whisper Whispering Water Wave Waver Whisper Watermelon Whistle Wood Y Yellow

Yew

Yarrow- suggested

You guys DONT WANNA KNOW how LONG this took. I’m crying. And I might’ve missed some so feel free to send me messages in chat to request me editing it and putting it in some (not like messaging but the. Chat in this post lol.)

@cryptidclaw I also did this for our Au to help us with renaming.

I will get to suffixes soon I promise.

#Greekstar’s Suffixes/Prefixes #name ideas #Prefixes #suffixes #Just some name suggestions.

[iamthecomet]

I forgot to tell you that I posted chapter two, I need to go back in and fix some stuff because I fixed it in the actual draft but I really like it, I also have chapter three done and waiting to be posted.

https://www.tumblr.com/webbyghoul/734344930425815040

I've been thinking about ghouls with pets all day and now I'm wondering what pets they would all have (besides in the one Ficlet I wrote where Rain and Dew have a puppy and so does Phantom)

I think Aurora and Sunny would have cats and IDK why

🕸️

Awesome!! I will absolutely get caught up when I have the time this afternoon! I absolutely have ghouls with pets thoughts! I think pets are hard due to the way the band tours so often--but I think they have some animals they love dearly/have connections with whether they're traditional pets or not. I think Mountain has livestock. He wouldn't necessarily call them pets (but he treats them like pets). The goats and sheep are his favorite. But he likes to spend time with the cows too. They're so big and so gentle. They all have names, and he talks to them like they can understand him (they probably can). Dew is a cat guy. I don't think he says the Abbey cat is his but everyone knows it is. It sleeps with him. It barely tolerates anyone else (it allows Swiss and Aether to put it occasionally, but otherwise avoids everyone else). Dew is the only one who can pick it up without getting his face scratched off. But if you asked Dew he would tell you that the cat is the Abbey Mouser and definitely does not belong to him. You're absolutely right about Sunny and Aurora. They each have a cat--siblings. The cats are always together, they go between Aurora and Sunny's rooms, and the rest of the Ghoul Wing. But unlike Dew's cat they are little princesses who like people and absolutely do not hunt mice. Rain is a reptile girlie. He absolutely has a turtle or a frog (both). Maybe a gecko, or a bearded dragon. He would have more but Mountain keeps reminding him that the reptiles in the lake are happier there than in his room. The ones he does have are ones he found in pet stores that just "looked so sad". Cumulus and Cirrus are both bird people. Neither of them have caged birds, but they love to go sit on the Abbey grounds and birdwatch. They have feeders outside of their windows and they love whistling back and forth with the birds. Cirrus also has a tabby barn cat that follows her around. She doesn't know why. Aeon is the spider guy. He's not allowed to have bats as pets (though he does try to make friends with the ones that live in the attic). But he was allowed to buy a tarantula at a pet store on tour (Swiss was supervising). He's very into it. Aether and the sheepdogs are besties. He helps raise and train them. They spend a lot of time outside but Aether is the one who feeds them and loves on them. Sometimes you will find Aether curled up in his bed under a pile of puppies. Swiss has snakes. A few of them. Most of them are harmless. He fell victim to the same thing Rain and Aeon did at the pet store. They just looked so sad. But he absolutely has one that is incredibly venomous to humans, and of unknown origins. He will not tell anyone where he got it, but it is one of his best friends.

#comet comments #🕸️ anon #slice of life ghouls #ghoul thoughts #comet canons #nameless ghoul headcanons

[littlebluespoon]

I like to imagine the noise octoKönig makes is similar to the desert rain frog lol just an adorable high pitched Squee~

Literally fell asleep halfway through writing a response to this 😅

So yes! He does have a little high pitched squeal, you usually hear it if he thinks you’re teasing him and he’s all flustered or if he thinks you’re about to hurt yourself.

He also makes clicking noises and whistles. He uses his whistles to scare people off and he’ll click away if he’s displeased by something you’re doing.

#bluespoonswriting #octo!könig #asks for blue

[schizoideh]

There will come soft rains and the smell of the ground, And swallows circling with their shimmering sound;

And frogs in the pools singing at night, And wild plum trees in tremulous white,

Robins will wear their feathery fire Whistling their whims on a low fence-wire;

And not one will know of the war, not one Will care at last when it is done.

Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree If mankind perished utterly;

And Spring herself, when she woke at dawn, Would scarcely know that we were gone.

-- Sara Teasdale, "There will come soft rains", 1918

Have a track for this pic as well.

#oddworld #slig #my art

[bestmusicalworldcup]

2023 League of Musicals Alphabetized List of Musicals

Below is the full list of musicals in the League of Musicals sorted by Division.

Division A

Alice By Heart Annie Assassins Avenue Q The Band's Visit The Book of Mormon Cabaret Cats Chess Chicago A Chorus Line Come From Away Company Falsettos Fiddler on the Roof Firebringer Fun Home A Gentleman's Guide to Love and Murder Ghost Quartet Guys and Dolls Hadestown Hair Hairspray Hamilton Hello, Dolly! The Hunchback of Notre Dame In The Heights Into the Woods Jekyll and Hyde The King and I Kinky Boots Legally Blonde Les Misérables The Lion King Little Shop of Horrors Matilda Moulin Rouge Mozart, l'opéra rock The Music Man My Fair Lady Natasha, Pierre, and the Great Comet of 1812 Newsies Next to Normal Octet Once Once on this Island The Phantom of the Opera Pippin The Producers Ragtime Rent Ride the Cyclone The Rocky Horror Show Something Rotten The Sound of Music Spies Are Forever SpongeBob SquarePants: The Broadway Musical Spring Awakening Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street Twisted: The Untold Story of A Royal Vizier Waitress West Side Story Wicked The Wiz

Division B

25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee 42nd Street 1776 Adamandi American Idiot American Psycho Anastasia Applause Bare: A Pop Opera Beetlejuice Be More Chill Billy Elliot the Musical Bonnie and Clyde Bye Bye Birdie Chitty Chitty Bang Bang Cinderella (Rodgers and Hammerstein) City of Angels Damn Yankees Dear Evan Hansen Death Note: The Musical Evita Fosse A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum Grease The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals Hallelujah, Baby! Heathers Holy Musical B@man! How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying Jersey Boys Jesus Christ Superstar Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat Kiss Me, Kate Kiss of the Spider Woman La Cage aux Folles The Lightning Thief A Little Night Music Man of La Mancha Memphis Monty Python's Spamalot The Mystery of Edwin Drood A New Brain Nine The Pajama Game Passion The Prom The Scarlet Pimpernel Singin' in the Rain Six South Pacific Starship A Strange Loop Sunday in the Park with George Sunset Boulevard Tanz der Vampire / Dance of the Vampires Thoroughly Modern Millie Tick Tick Boom Titanic The Trail to Oregon! Tuck Everlasting Two Gentlemen of Verona Urinetown The Will Rogers Follies The Wizard of Oz (1987)

Division C

& Juliet 21 Chump Street 35MM: A Musical Exhibition 1789: Les Amants de la Bastille Aida Allegiance Amélie Annie Get Your Gun Anything Goes The Art of Pleasing Princes Bandstand Beauty and the Beast Big Fish Bloody Bloody Andrew Jackson Carousel Carrie The Color Purple Contact The Count of Monte Cristo Dogfight Dracula, the Musical Dreamgirls Elisabeth Evil Dead: The Musical Finding Neverland Frankenstein: A New Musical The Frogs Funny Girl Godspell Groundhog Day Gypsy Hedwig and the Angry Inch Jane Eyre The Last Five Years Lizzie The Lord of the Rings Love in Hate Nation Love Never Dies The Mad Ones The Magic Show Mary Poppins Mean Girls Merrily We Roll Along Miss Saigon Mozart! Oklahoma! Oliver On the Town Ordinary Days Parade The Pirate Queen Preludes Pretty Woman The Prince of Egypt Priscilla, Queen of the Desert Rebecca Roméo et Juliette: de la Haine à l'Amour The Secret Garden Seussical She Loves Me Shrek the Musical Starry Wonderland You're A Good Man Charlie Brown

Division D

13: The Musical Ablaze The Act Ain't Misbehavin An American in Paris Anne & Gilbert Anyone Can Whistle Av. Larco Back to the Future the Musical The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas Big River Bran Nue Dae Bright Star Bring It On Calvin Berger Caroline, or Change Clown Bible Crazy for You De 3 Biggetjes The Dolls of New Albion Dorian Gray The Drowsy Chaperone The Fantasticks Fiorello! Fly by Night Follies Frankenstein (Wang Yeon Beom + Brandon Lee) Hans Christian Andersen Hoy no me puedo levantar In Transit Jagged Little Pill Jerome Robbins' Broadway Kimberly Akimbo King's Table Kismet Lady Bess La Légende du roi Arthur Le Passe-Muraille / Amour Le Roi Soleil Les Parapluies de Cherbourg The Light in the Piazza Made in Dagenham Magic Tree House: The Musical Mentiras el musical Notre-Dame de Paris Once Upon A Mattress On Your Feet! The Story of Emilio & Gloria Estefan Phantom (Yeston & Kopit) Raisin Redhead Sarafina! School of Rock The Secret Life of Walter Mitty (1964) Seven Brides for Seven Brothers Show Boat Sidd Siete veces adios Soldaat van Oranje The Spitfire Grill Starlight Express Starmania / Tycoon Tarrytown The Threepenny Opera / Die Dreigroschenoper Timéo Wiedzmin The Wild Party (Lippa) The Woman in White Wonderful Town [title of show] Émilie Jolie

#league of musicals

[apollo-is-daddy]

Not a poem I created but one that needs recognition

There Will Come Soft Rains

Sara Teasdale 1884-1933

There will come soft rains and the smell of the ground,

And swallowing circling with their shimmering sound;

And frogs in the pools singing at night,

And wild plum trees in tremulous white,

Robins will wear their feathery fire

Whistling their whims on a low fence-wire;

And not one will know of the war, not one

Will care at last when it is done.

Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree

If mankind perished utterly;

And Spring herself, when she woke at dawn,

Would scarcely know that we were gone.

#there will come soft rains #sara teasdale #poem #poetry #poem and poetry #war #war poem