#Invasive Tree Roots

[newimagetreesolutions]

Tree Roots are Breaking My Concrete Driveway

Are you frustrated with your trees buckling your concrete driveway and hardscape? Knowing how tree roots grow and how they can be invasive will guide you when planting and growing them.

New Image Tree Solutions gathered information on diagnosing and mitigating tree root issues that lead to breaking, cracking, warping, or buckling concrete surfaces.

How Tree Roots Damage Concrete

Tree roots constantly search for water and nutrients. They spread deep or shallow, often extending far from the trunk. When roots travel near ground level, they can infiltrate spaces beneath asphalt, sidewalks, and driveways. As these roots naturally expand and thicken, they displace surrounding materials. The potential energy built in the root mass eventually finds an escape route upward. This results in the breaking, cracking, warping, or buckling of any structure resting above them.

Invasive Tree Species in Roswell, Georgia

Certain tree species are notorious for their aggressive root systems. In Roswell, five species with incredibly invasive roots include:

Silver Maple (Acer saccharinum) - Known for its rapid growth and extensive, shallow root system, this tree frequently invades hardscape areas.

Weeping Willow (Salix babylonica) - Its water-loving roots spread widely in search of moisture, often disrupting nearby concrete structures.

Norway Maple (Acer platanoides) - This species produces dense, aggressive roots that can outcompete neighboring plants and damage adjacent pavements.

Tree of Heaven (Ailanthus altissima) - This species is resilient. It produces prolific roots that aggressively spread in urban settings.

Siberian Elm (Ulmus pumila) - With a robust, invasive root system, this tree can cause significant disruption to nearby hardscape installations.

How Much of a Tree’s Roots Can Be Removed

Determining how many roots can be removed without jeopardizing tree health is complex. Consider these factors:

Tree Roots Three Inches or More in Diameter: Cutting roots this size typically prevents regrowth. However, a wound this large leaves the root vulnerable to insect attack and disease. Such injuries may allow rot to progress back to the trunk, seriously compromising tree health.

Tree Roots Less Than Two Inches in Diameter: These roots can generally regenerate. Removing them might provide only a temporary fix, as new growth may quickly reestablish the invasive pattern.

Root Spread Extent: A rule of thumb suggests that for every inch in diameter at DBH (Diameter at Breast Height, measured 4.5 feet above ground), roots extend roughly one and a half feet outward. For example, a tree with a 12-inch DBH may have roots up to 18 feet from the trunk.

Sensitivity to Disturbance: Tree roots thrive in uncompacted, oxygen-rich soil (like the soil beneath sidewalks and driveways). When heavy machinery compacts soil or construction activity disturbs the area, roots can be choked, resulting in tree decline and death.

When roots grow under a driveway, they become integral to the tree’s structural support. Removing such roots may weaken the tree, increasing the risk of failure during severe weather. More often than not, once roots have buckled your driveway, you may face either extensive repair or complete tree removal if the driveway is to be re-laid.

Repairing Your Driveway While Saving Tree Roots

If a tree is a valued landscape component, certain construction methods can allow it and your driveway to coexist. One option is aggregate surfacing.

Aggregate Surfacing

This technique involves:

Cutting and Removal: Carefully remove the damaged concrete sections.

Driveway Fabric Installation: Place geotextile fabric over the exposed sub-base to prevent weed growth and stabilize the area.

Aggregate Application: Evenly spread four to five inches of dense-grade aggregate or road stone.

Edging: Install edging along the sides to contain the aggregate laterally, ensuring a smooth and durable surface.

This approach repairs the driveway and accommodates tree roots, reducing future conflicts between natural growth and hardscape.

Tree Species, Watering, and Proper Planting Location

Poor planning or incorrect planting information can lead to issues like invasive root growth. Before planting, evaluate species potential, growth habits, and root spread capacity. Some trees have naturally invasive roots, and understanding this helps you select appropriate species or planting locations.

Location is crucial for any tree’s survival. Planting too close to structures invites problems (like inviting a bull into a china cabinet). As trees grow, they seek water sources, expand their canopies, and may wreak havoc on nearby constructions.

Regular, deep watering encourages roots to grow downward rather than spread horizontally. Shallow root systems often signal insufficient watering or compacted soil beneath the surface. Proper planning and maintenance can mitigate issues before they become severe.

For more about trees hardy to the Roswell, Georgia region, visit greensandtreesroswellga.com/2025/03/13/hardy-tree-species-for-roswell-georgia

Professional Tree and Root Removal

Managing tree root problems is delicate work. Incorrect removal can compromise a tree’s health and stability. Before removing any portion of a root system, consult a certified arborist. An arborist from New Image Tree Solutions in Roswell, Georgia, possesses the expertise to evaluate the situation and advise on safe removal techniques. Professional removal may be necessary when:

Roots are causing significant structural damage.

The tree poses a risk to nearby structures, vehicles, or people.

Damage is severe enough that it jeopardizes the tree’s overall health.

Arborists can provide a detailed assessment and recommend a comprehensive management plan, including safe removal and replacement when needed.

Preventing Invasive Root Problems

Taking preventive measures can reduce concrete surface damage risks:

Proper Tree Selection: Choose tree species with less aggressive root systems when planting near hardscapes. Adequate Spacing: Ensure trees are planted far enough from driveways, sidewalks, and foundations. Regular Maintenance: Schedule routine inspections and maintenance to catch early signs of root intrusion. Barrier Installation: Consider root barriers that physically restrict root growth toward concrete areas. Soil Management: Maintain soil health through aeration and proper watering practices, encouraging roots to grow deep rather than spread horizontally.

Tree Roots Breaking Concrete

In this article, you discovered crucial information on diagnosing and mitigating tree root issues that lead to breaking, cracking, warping, or buckling concrete surfaces.

Keeping up with the trees on your landscape and understanding how roots grow and develop will help prevent them from intruding beneath your hardscape, lifting sidewalks, and cracking your driveway.

Failure to address tree species with invasive root systems will result in buckling sidewalks, pathways, walls, and driveways and costly repairs or replacements.

Sources: gatrees.org/wp-content/uploads/2020/02/Tree-Roots-Driveways-and-Sidewalks.pdf extension.uga.edu/publications/detail.html?number=B1031&title=shade-and-street-tree-care yardandgarden.extension.iastate.edu/how-to/how-manage-trees-near-sidewalks hort.extension.wisc.edu/2024/05/28/how-to-deal-with-surface-tree-roots edis.ifas.ufl.edu/publication/AG259

New Image Tree Solutions

Roswell, GA (404) 680-0041

To see the original version of this article, visit https://www.newimagetreesolutions.com/blog/tree-roots-are-breaking-my-concrete-driveway

[ableism]

Spring in the South is in full swing… Surrounded by infinite splendor in the most beautiful place on earth ♥️

[faunandfloraas]

If I don't have Changbin arms by the end of the year, what's even the point

[turtlesandfrogs]

What I was taught growing up: Wild edible plants and animals were just so naturally abundant that the indigenous people of my area, namely western Washington state, didn't have to develop agriculture and could just easily forage/hunt for all their needs.

The first pebble in what would become a landslide: Native peoples practiced intentional fire, which kept the trees from growing over the camas praire.

The next: PNW native peoples intentionally planted and cultivated forest gardens, and we can still see the increase in biodiversity where these gardens were today.

The next: We have an oak prairie savanna ecosystem that was intentionally maintained via intentional fire (which they were banned from doing for like, 100 years and we're just now starting to do again), and this ecosystem is disappearing as Douglas firs spread, invasive species take over, and land is turned into European-style agricultural systems.

The Land Slide: Actually, the native peoples had a complex agricultural and food processing system that allowed them to meet all their needs throughout the year, including storing food for the long, wet, dark winter. They collected a wide variety of plant foods (along with the salmon, deer, and other animals they hunted), from seaweeds to roots to berries, and they also managed these food systems via not only burning, but pruning, weeding, planting, digging/tilling, selectively harvesting root crops so that smaller ones were left behind to grow and the biggest were left to reseed, and careful harvesting at particular times for each species that both ensured their perennial (!) crops would continue thriving and that harvest occurred at the best time for the best quality food. American settlers were willfully ignorant of the complex agricultural system, because being thus allowed them to claim the land wasn't being used. Native peoples were actively managing the ecosystem to produce their food, in a sustainable manner that increased biodiversity, thus benefiting not only themselves but other species as well.

So that's cool. If you want to read more, I suggest "Ancient Pathways, Ancestral Knowledge: Ethnobotany and Ecological Wisdom of Indigenous Peoples of Northwestern North America" by Nancy J. Turner

[ificouldhelpyouforget]

Also, Bradford Pears (callery pears) trees should be illegal.

[eviekean]

I've seen a whole peat bog covered in pink moss and it was one of the prettiest places I've ever been

by the way it is very important to me for you to know that Sphagnum mosses come in pink.

Sphagnum subnitens

Sphagnum rubellum

Sphagnum magellanicum

[rederiswrites]

Certainly there were times, and maybe there still are places, where simple neglect will allow a disrupted landscape to return to anything resembling a natural state. But here? On the east coast of the US, where we've been destroying habitat and employing high-control, extractive land management, and expanding urban and suburban areas, for four hundred years now, there is very little left of what was.

The chestnuts are gone. The canebrakes are gone. The wetlands remain only where they were least profitable to remove. The elm suffers, the grasslands are obliterated, the old growth is all logged long since.

I've got front row seats for some of what happens if you leave this land alone. The woods are choked by invasive multiflora rose and Japanese honeysuckle. I don't think I've ever seen a native honeysuckle in person. The fields, left to grow, grow nothing but non-native grasses, poison ivy that sets no berries and feeds no birds, invasive Tree of Heaven saplings that poison the soil with their root exudate, and the occasional hardy locust sapling. There are no flowers there, save a few ironweed and asters late in the year.

If I just leave it alone, those things will keep going, native plants long gone from this place will only appear by some miracle, and this landscape will continue to not support many of the plants, animals, and insects once native to this place. It needs my help. (It needs a lot more than just my help, but we'll see). I can't "return it to its natural state", because ecosystems do not have enduring natural states. But I can see that this land supports a far greater density and variety of native species, and I will do that.

[reasonsforhope]

"To mark the birth of their first child, Sienna, in 2018, Kevin and Kelly Williams planted a tangerine tree in their Lahaina yard. When their second child Malia arrived in 2020, they added a lime tree.

But the trees never had a chance to bear fruit before the Aug. 8, 2023 wildfire destroyed them, along with the Williams family’s home, their property management business and most of the town.

Now, on their new property in Ukumehame about 15 minutes south of Lahaina, the family is growing a much bigger bounty — about 220 trees, all native species, that one day will return to the backyards of families like theirs.

“Absolutely amazing to be able to think one day we can drive through Lahaina and see the trees that we helped raise,” Kevin Williams said. 

Over the past year and a half, a sprawling network of volunteers, local farmers, nurseries and hotels have stepped up to host thousands of young trees growing in pots that will be replanted in Lahaina through the Treecovery Hawai‘i project. 

Since launching in November 2023, the initiative has bloomed into 6,200 trees being cared for at 25 grow hubs, with about 160 already replanted at the handful of homes that have been rebuilt in Lahaina and Kula. While displaced families focus on returning to their homes, the volunteers are making sure the trees and the soil are nurtured and ready to shade and feed the community for years to come. 

“It really does a lot to people’s minds and hearts when they see growth and they see that rebirth of the land,” said Duane Sparkman, founder and president of Treecovery and chair of the Maui County Arborist Committee. “Restoring the ‘āina from the soil up is what we have to do.” 

THE ROOTS

When 59-year-old Ekolu Lindsey talks to relatives from his dad’s generation about Lahaina, the smell of mangos comes to mind. Everyone had their favorite fruit trees in Lahaina, and oftentimes they were the ones in their own yards, said Lindsey, who lost his Front Street home in the fire. 

“All those stories, it’s the memories of home. It’s all part of who we are as people,” said Lindsey, a Treecovery board member and head of Maui Cultural Lands, a nonprofit that works to protect and restore Hawaiian resources across the island.

Lahaina was historically home to a canopy of fruit trees, including breadfruit, which gave rise to the name Malu ‘Ulu o Lele, “the shaded breadfruit grove of Lele.” They helped create a cooler climate, capture rainwater and mitigate soil erosion, independent researcher Adam Keawe Manalo-Camp wrote in the Office of Hawaiian Affairs’ “Ka Wai Ola” publication. The removal of breadfruit trees and diversion of streams to pave the way for sugar cane production in the mid-1800s dried up the once productive landscape and opened the door for invasive species. 

The 2023 fire again razed the trees of Lahaina — about 21,000, according to Treecovery’s estimates — and burned so hot that it likely killed microbes in the soil as deep as 18 inches underground, Sparkman said. In Kula and Lahaina, federal workers scraped 6 inches of soil off the top of each property and tested it for contaminants before people were allowed to rebuild. 

Struck by how barren the land was, Sparkman and his team launched Treecovery with the goal of growing 30,000 trees to replace what Lahaina lost. Lindsey sits on the board along with Matthew Murasko, Rodger May and cultural adviser Archie Kalepa. 

The idea was to establish grow hubs where trees could be nurtured until residents were ready to plant. The Royal Lahaina Resort, where Sparkman is the chief engineer, served as a staging site before the very first grow hub opened with 125 fruit tree saplings at the Marriott’s Maui Ocean Club in April 2024. 

The network grew to nearly every corner of the island, from the Kā‘anapali Beach Resort to the Fairmont Kea Lani to the Kahului Airport and independent growers in East Maui. It’s a labor of love where the on-site workers or volunteers water, weed and transfer the plants to larger pots as they grow.

Treecovery takes requests for trees on their website, buys them from local nurseries and transports them to the grow hubs where they are cared for and labeled with the names of the families they will be donated to, according to Murasko, an entrepreneur, product designer and brand builder who met Sparkman while volunteering in Honokōwai Valley 17 years ago. Murasko said they’ve raised about $600,000 and that they pay full price for the trees and pots to help support local businesses. The trees cost about $100 each but can get as expensive as $2,000 for a 65-gallon mango tree or $3,000 to move and install a large palm tree, Sparkman said.

There are a variety of trees, including native species like koai‘a and ‘a‘ali‘i; fruit trees like Mapulehu mango, dwarf avocado, peach and citrus; and flowering trees such as plumeria and puakenikeni...

Sparkman, a longtime landscaper and former scientific biological technician at Haleakalā National Park who has been honored for his organic landscaping practices, said Treecovery wants to return the natural system of healthy microbes into the soil. 

The steady recovery of the iconic 150-year-old banyan tree is proof that it can work. Sparkman said it’s grown “leaps and bounds” more than they expected with the help of 500 gallons of microbial life, rich with fungi and bacteria that trees need and pests can’t survive in. 

“It takes years for nature to put it back, but man can help it by pulling these indigenous microbes and moving it for nature,” he said.""

-via Maui Now, April 28, 2025

[marcyvamp1re-blog]

ৎ୭. . . QUIMERA ─── Yandere! Clark Kent

⊹ ٬  Headcanon. A loyal caretaker and a hero trapped between duty and emotion. As the lines between service and desire blur, power and submission take a dark role in their relationship. Is it love or control?

⊹ ٬  Word Count. 15k

⊹ ٬  Content. MDNI. Yandere Clark Kent x Android! Reader, Dark themes, violence/death, age gap, blood, trauma, invasion of privacy, kidnapping, Angst, suicide, disturbing content, corruption, isolation, paranoia, manipulation, emotional abuse, abuse of power, emotional manipulation, stalking.

「 Dream or illusion that is a product of the imagination

and that is longed for or pursued despite being

very unlikely to come true. 」

Although from a distance, Krypton seemed like a celestial Eden, a perfect world where culture and power intertwined like the golden roots of an unreachable tree, reality was a beast with sharp teeth.

You knew it well. Living in the shadow of its splendor was nothing more than crawling through a desert of indifference.

Your kind, a masterpiece born from the impatient hands of the Kryptonians, remained at the base of their society as invisible foundations. They cleaned their halls until they were as white as a dying sun, as if the purity of those places could erase the dirt they breathed day after day. They were grateful, yes, because that was how they had been taught. They should kneel in gratitude, for the Kryptonians had given them life and consecrated them as something unique: the race created to serve.

They did not age like them, but they felt like them. Pain, hunger, cold. Their bodies were an amalgam of flesh and metal, a perfect design to endure the existence destined for servitude. They could eat, cry, laugh, but all of that held no more value than the cries of a child in the midst of a battlefield. The difference was simple, brutal: their emotions were irrelevant to those who dominated them.

From the moment their lips could form words and their legs walk steadily—around seven or eight human years—they were assigned a master to whom they would serve until the end. There was no escape, only the certainty that their purpose would fade at the same time as the life of the one they were to protect. The law of loyalty, your mother would say with her muted voice, repeating the words that embedded themselves in your mind like blades.

—Your purpose ends when your master's does.

They said it with such devotion that the words became sweet chains. But you knew there was no sweetness in the iron that surrounded your existence. And yet, there was gratitude. Even in injustice, there was gratitude. How could you not feel it when your creators had given you everything you were? Even if that everything was a shackle instead of freedom.

—Lara Lor-Van is going to have a child —your mother told you one day, her face marked by a weariness that no being of her kind should know—. Your master.

From then on, your world was reduced to the tiny, constant heartbeat growing in Lara's womb. The Kryptonian woman treated you kindly, but you understood it was not for you, but for the promise that throbbed beneath her skin. You dedicated your days and nights to caring for that pregnancy, watching over your master’s well-being even before he saw the light of the world.

It was not Lara who mattered. You observed her with clinical attention, ensuring her needs were met, but always with a persistent thought: she was just the vessel. The true purpose lay within her. Your master was inside her.

And when he was born, you would exist for him. Nothing more. Nothing less. Because if your kind of androids could feel, then purpose was the only emotion that truly mattered. And when that purpose died, so would you.

The day he came into the world was a dawn tinged with joy and despair, with light filtering through invisible cracks as the perfection of Krypton began to fracture. Your mother said that the birth of a master was a gift that no being of your kind should take lightly. You knew it, you had felt it grow beneath Lara's skin like a warm fire fueling your sleepless nights.

Kal-El. That name etched itself in your mind with an unbreakable certainty from the moment his first cries broke the sterile air of the room. But it was not a pure moment, not like the tales told of a servant's devotion to their master. It was a silent war.

Kara was there, wanting to embrace him with the urgency of a sister who intended to hold the future. But you stepped in. He was your master, your purpose. Kara had hers, a guardian who was to protect her and serve her until her existence ceased to make sense. Such was the law of loyalty. Such it had to be.

Your hands held him with fierce delicacy. You clung to his fragile, warm little body as if holding onto him could make the darkness that was already beginning to spread over Krypton disappear. Your whole being vibrated with a perverse happiness, the kind that comes from finding a purpose to which you could surrender until it consumed every part of your existence. You would live for him. You would die for him. You would reproduce only for your children to serve his, because that was your reason for being.

But then the end came. And there was no time to prepare.

Explosions rumbled in the planet's guts, and panic grew like a shroud of fog strangling the crowd. You were a speck lost among the rivers of desperate people running aimlessly, as if the screams and chaos could stop the inevitable. But you only cried his name. Kal-El. Kal-El. Because if he died, you were nothing.

Your legs moved like blades stabbing into the ground, tearing through the distance with the brutal force of purpose. You pushed, struck, tore flesh from those who stood in your way. You were a wounded animal, a desperate being clinging to the last spark of meaning that remained.

And then, you saw him. A tiny ship escaping destruction, like a silver lightning bolt slicing through the darkness. It was him. Your master was leaving Krypton, and you were not with him. Desperation tore through you like poison spreading through your veins.

You didn’t think. You couldn’t afford to doubt. You took the nearest ship, not caring to whom it belonged or how many you left behind. Kara had done the same, but her existence was not your concern. She could fall into oblivion for all you cared.

Your entire world had been reduced to a single task: follow Kal-El. Find him. Protect him. Because if you didn’t, then you were nothing more than a broken piece of a planet that no longer existed.

You arrived on Earth, a miserable, primitive world where the air stank of rusted metal and useless ambition. A rudimentary planet full of weak beings who believed themselves powerful simply because they had learned to master fire and build destructive toys. Humans. Archaic creatures who didn’t even understand the extent of their own stupidity. They were inferior to you, soft flesh and even softer thoughts. But you hadn’t come to judge them, even though you did with each step.

You had come to that planet with a single purpose: to find Kal-El. And in that purpose lay everything you were. Because if you failed, if you couldn’t retrieve the last son of Krypton, then you yourself didn’t deserve to exist. What was the point of breathing, eating, feeling, if not for him? Desperation was an acid that corroded your mind, burning every thought that didn’t relate to your lost master.

You searched like a soul in torment, a specter wandering aimlessly. You crossed continents with the fury of an exiled god, dug under every stone, explored every cave, submerged yourself in every filthy puddle this planet had to offer. Weeks turned into months, and months into years. But there was no rest, no truce. Every night you closed your eyes and saw him: a defenseless child, a master who had to be protected and whom you had let escape due to your own incompetence.

Slowly, hope began to disintegrate into the void. Each day was another step toward madness, another drop of torture dragging you toward the idea that you would never find him. But still, you didn’t stop. Because to stop would be to accept your failure. And if there was one thing you learned on Krypton, it was that a servant without purpose is worse than a corpse.

Japan was just another point in your endless journey. A chaotic and fascinating country in its own decay. You had learned to endure the filth and human stupidity, to blend in with them when necessary. Your body needed fuel, and though the food of this planet felt like an insult to your existence, you discovered something that quelled your hunger without making you gag: onigiris. They were simple, practical. And at least they filled that physical void that nothing else could.

You were sitting in a small restaurant, the walls decorated with paintings attempting to reflect beauty, but only managing to be sad reminders of clumsy, incomplete art. You bit into an onigiri with the hopelessness of someone chewing on stones, your empty eyes fixed on a screen that no one else seemed to be watching.

Then you saw him.

The face you had chased for so long appeared before you with the brutality of a blow to the throat. Words twisted in a language you had learned to understand, but at that moment, it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered, except the image forming on the screen: a man floating in the air, with the symbol of hope etched on his chest.

They called him the man of steel. But to you, he was nothing more than Kal-El. Your master. Your purpose. The reason you had crossed the universe in an act of devotion so pure it bordered on madness.

United States. Metropolis.

At last. After all that time, you had found Kal-El.

Hunger disappeared, replaced by a voracious anxiety that burned within you. It no longer mattered how much you had lost, or how much you had suffered. It only mattered that he was still alive. And that you were going to retrieve him. No matter the cost.

The plane filled with murmurs and furtive glances directed at your robotic arms and your impassive expression. Humans didn’t know how to hide their fear. They squirmed in their seats and whispered as if discomfort was an animal they could keep at bay with soft words. It didn’t matter. There was no time to pay attention to their stupidity. There was only one thought repeating like a broken drum in your head: What would you say when you saw him?

Would he remember you? Would he recognize the devotion you had cultivated like a sweet poison since he opened his eyes for the first time? Or would he despise you for your incompetence, for allowing him to get lost in this primitive and cruel world? Each question twisted inside you, claws tearing pieces of your sanity. But nothing would matter if he accepted you again. If he allowed you to be what you were born to be.

When you arrived in Metropolis, you faced the chaos of the city like a storm sweeping across a defenseless prairie. You watched him for hours, hiding among shadows and crowds that didn’t understand the weight of your mission. It wasn’t hard to identify him. The suit he wore to blend in with those pathetic humans was an insult to his greatness. Ridiculous glasses and hair styled with the clumsiness of someone trying to be ordinary. But you knew. You would have recognized him even if he were buried under a thousand layers of foreign flesh. That man was Kal-El.

Anger and desperation mixed in your chest, a ball of fire burning every reasonable thought. He lived among those inferior beings, protected them, disguised himself as one of them. Did he want that? Did he want to flee from his legacy? To forget you?

No. You wouldn’t allow it. If Kal-El had forgotten who he was and who was supposed to protect him, you would make him remember. By force if necessary.

The Daily Planet was your choice. The symbol of truth for those tiny creatures. Their beacon of information and power. You tore it apart mercilessly, setting the offices ablaze until the flames roared like released demons. The globe that crowned the building trembled with a metallic creak, and with one last push of your robotic hands, you made it fall. It crashed down like a broken god upon the weak structure, and you waited.

He appeared just as you had always imagined. Flying, with his cape billowing like a harbinger of glory. His eyes looked at you with the contained fury of a being who believes they understand pain. But he didn’t know anything. Not like you did.

—Who are you? —his voice echoed in the air, thunder wrapped in silk.

The answer died in your throat, because seeing him before you was like looking at the sun for the first time after living in twilight. And instead of raising your voice as you had planned, instead of challenging him for letting so much time slip between you, you cried. Tears fell down your cheeks uncontrollably, and your knees hit the ground with a dull thud.

—Kal-El! I finally find you! —you cried desperately. Your voice broke when you named him, when you gave shape to the pain that had grown inside you like a wound that never healed.

You saw him descend cautiously, his gaze confused, worried about the destruction you had caused. Because he didn’t understand. He couldn’t understand that everything you had done had been for him. Everything.

He was... kind. Inconceivably kind. Any other hero would have responded with violence, with an unrelenting and brutal attack. You had seen them on those monitors that humans revered as idols. Warriors who fought with fury and justice, with no room for compassion in the face of threat. And you, kneeling before him, waiting to be crushed as you deserved for your crimes.

But he didn’t. He didn’t raise his fist or throw warnings laden with authority. No. He knelt beside you and embraced you. He wrapped your trembling body in his warm, firm arms, like a refuge you had believed lost forever. It was unreal, a dream that stung in every corner of your body.

—I’ve been looking for you for decades on this Earth —you let out, your voice hoarse and broken. Your face buried in his chest as tears continued to flow uncontrollably—. Lara would be disappointed in my incompetence, my lord. I am a horrible caretaker...

Shame poured out of you like blood from an open wound. He shouldn’t have touched you; you didn’t deserve that comfort. But he simply caressed your back, his hand running over the amalgam of flesh and metal as if he didn’t know how to distinguish between them. As if both were equally worthy of comfort.

—You have thrived without me; you have relied on yourself without my care... —Your words intertwined with sobs, choked in the despair that still covered you like a cloak of thorns—. Do you... no longer need me?

Your eyes sought answers in his, desperate, like a lost child in the vastness of an unfamiliar world. You didn’t dare blink, for fear that if you closed your eyes, he would vanish like a cruel mirage.

—I have to finish my purpose... right? —you murmured, your fingers gripping his cape as if that could stop the inevitable. If your existence no longer made sense, if he didn’t need your protection... what was left of you?

Something changed in his gaze. A different concern. A silent alarm that crossed his mind like dark lightning. Perhaps he thought your mind had fractured under the weight of your failed devotion, that you were little more than a broken android, decomposed by years of abandonment and guilt. But still, he didn’t pull away. He didn’t hit you. He didn’t reject you.

He took you with him, holding you with that gentleness that hurt more than any punch. You expected everything except that. You would have understood if he had destroyed you right there. But he gave you something different: pity.

He took you to his home. Not to a prison, not to a laboratory or some forgotten corner of Metropolis. No. He took you to Smallville, to the home he had known since childhood, as if he still held hope of finding answers in simple, pure things. You thought it was ridiculous. That such an act could only stem from the naivety of a being who had grown too human. But the truth was that you had failed so much in protecting him that you accepted his mercy as a rope to keep from sinking completely.

You showed him your memories, those fragments of life that had survived in your battered, rusted body. You showed him Krypton. The landscapes of glass and fire, the majestic architecture that rose like solid dreams above the ground. You showed him his parents, Lara and Jor-El, with their faces hardened by responsibility but also illuminated by a love that you had seen with your own eyes. You showed him his uncles and his cousin, Kara, who just at that moment on Earth was attending her lessons.

Silence was all that remained when your memories faded back into the darkness of your mind. He didn’t know whether to believe you; you saw it in his eyes. Doubt slipped between his thoughts like a soft poison. But there was something more. Something you didn’t expect: acceptance.

He stayed with you. He didn’t cast you away or lock you up. He allowed you to remain by his side, perhaps out of pity, perhaps out of mere curiosity. But you accepted that gesture as if it were a sacred commandment.

You went back to doing what you knew best: caring. You cleaned his house, ensured the surroundings were safe. You watched over the borders of Smallville like a deranged guardian who only found peace in obedience. It wasn’t a real purpose; you knew that. It wasn’t the mission assigned to you at birth. But it was something. Something that kept you alive and gave you the illusion that you could still serve him.

Though deep down, the bitter voice of reality whispered that none of that was enough. That you had failed and that all you were doing now was clinging to the last crumb of meaning your existence could offer you.

Clark didn’t know how to treat you. The first days were... unbearable, like a freshly planted oak tree in barren soil. Your constant, meticulous presence enveloped him like a heavy cloak of human customs he didn’t want. You became a shadow in his life, not a maid, but a haunting specter of the death of his mother. In the mornings, your upright figure, relentless in its routine, was the one that woke him. Every gesture was calculated: breakfast prepared with the precision of a well-sharpened sword, suit pressed with the accuracy of a surgeon, briefcase loaded with his destiny. And always, the warning, the playful yet somber threat:

—Be careful not to hurt yourself, or I’ll have to go and beat someone up for being mean to you...

He spoke to you like a mother, but there was something more in his tone, something that brushed against forbidden intimacy, something that coiled like a serpent inside his chest. You didn’t see a son when you looked at him, but something deeper, more unsettling. And he, he knew it. He feared it.

But it was on that morning when something changed. The air was imbued with an unreal stillness, as if the universe itself had decided to pause and observe what was about to happen. Clark got up as always, hoping nothing would alter the course of the day, that nothing would disturb the calm waters of his routine. But there you were. You had arrived with a chilling diligence. You had pressed his suit with a perfection only a demon of detail could achieve. Breakfast was served with the same solemnity as a ritual sacrifice. And before he could comprehend what was happening, you approached him, with the softness of a mortal whisper, and adjusted his tie.

As you did, your fingers brushed against his neck, and the air became thick, hot, charged with a weight he could no longer ignore. Your eyes, those dark and penetrating eyes, caught him, and he, who had learned to see beyond human masks, could only succumb to the glimmer of something... different in you. The kiss on the hand was what broke him. A gesture so tender yet so strange, so heartbreaking, like a farewell to everything he had been. He looked at you like a slave seeing their master for the last time, but also like a man recognizing the truth in his own heart, that truth that hid behind the shadows.

And then, he left. The sound of his departure echoed like a distant thunder, but within him, everything stopped. The streets of Metropolis, the Daily Planet office, the very battle between good and evil, all blurred as his thoughts clung to you, to your image. The need to return, the need to see you again consumed him, and he found himself smiling like a foolish child, an idiot, for something he didn’t even fully understand.

Would you prepare his favorite dish? Or had you learned something new, something even stranger to surprise him, as if you were a creature born from the very chaos that had made him so strong? Would you show your dreams, those sorrows and hopes through holograms distilled from his memories, as if they were fables of a world that existed only for him?

Even the relentless Cat Grant, with her tongue sharp as a dagger, couldn’t help but wrinkle her nose at the lost smile on Clark's face, that empty smile, so different from the ones he used to show under the spotlight. That smile, so somber and anxious, spoke more than he ever wanted to say aloud.

Time, with its inexorable march, continued its course, but Clark was no longer the same. He was no longer the man who thought he could control everything around him. You had overflowed his barriers, and in that simple smile, in that gesture that no one else cared about, something of you had marked him, something that even Superman’s strength could not erase.

Clark, as always, found himself caught between the threads of his own uncertainty. When he shared his thoughts with Lois, his ex-fiancée, a friend who still maintained a painfully close connection with him, what he expected to be wise advice turned into a veiled mockery. Lois, with her impetuous nature and sharp gaze, urged him to conquer what was slipping through his fingers, to take what he desired, like a king trying to possess the kingdom of what had once been his queen. In her eyes, you were nothing more than a housekeeper, a programmed being to serve him, a mechanical figure without a soul, without importance beyond what you did in his home. A detail, she thought, insignificant, if Clark truly desired to have you.

But days passed, and little by little, Clark began to untie the knots of his confusion. At first, it was strange for you. You didn’t understand why he was beginning to embrace you upon arriving or leaving, why the small gestures he had previously ignored were becoming routine, as if the air between you had changed. He brought you gifts, mundane treasures that fell from his hands as if they wanted to say more than his lips kept silent. He even took the time to check every part of your body, ensuring that your gears and your flesh felt the softness of his touches. You reproached yourself, telling him there was no need to do so, for you ate like him, and your body didn’t seem more than a reflection of his desire to keep you intact.

One night, in what for you was simply another dinner, he suggested taking you to an unknown place, outside of the quiet routine you both shared. People stared at you, observing you as an aberration. To them, you were just a being of metal and flesh, a monstrosity daring to eat, to laugh, to live. Clark was deeply annoyed by it, his anger growing with each gaze, but for you, none of that mattered. The fact that you were different didn’t change who you were. In your world, such things had never been relevant. You lived for and by your purpose. Eating, laughing, feeling... all of that became a mechanical act that no longer surprised your senses.

He seemed happy, almost proud of his act. Meanwhile, you... you simply fulfilled your duty, as you always had. You were fulfilled in the dedication you provided him, without feeling anything beyond the peace found in the certainty of doing what was right.

Clark began to notice your naivety, your silent submission to his will. He was a figure of power, and as such, he knew how to manipulate the invisible strings that controlled your existence. He took liberties over time, small and subtle, barely noticed, but deeply disturbing. You knew you belonged to him, that your existence had been forged for him, to serve him. But there was something in the way his lips sealed against yours, as if they claimed something more than your devotion, something darker and possessed by its own hunger. That invasion, that caress of skin against skin, was unacceptable, something you had been programmed to tolerate, but that your human conscience still rejected, fought against. Still, you let it pass, like a shadow dragged by the current without resistance. You didn’t want to face what was beginning to grow within you, nor what he represented.

What disturbed your soul the most was what came next. The public appearances, the hero galas, the events in which he strutted like the man of steel. And you, in his shadow, in his constant possession, observing from a corner, by his side, his hand resting on your hip, touching you in a way that made it clear you were his belonging, an object of admiration and control. The crowds looked at you, but you felt nothing but a growing void, an oppression in your chest that you could not name. You accepted his contact, even though something inside you began to scream, an echo of a being that still wanted to be free.

However, there was a moment, a point of no return, when his touching went beyond. While you were cleaning, his hand, like a snake, slid towards you, touching your rear inappropriately, his cold and meticulously calculated touch. Something in your being broke, a spark of resistance igniting within your soul, a fury you didn’t even know you had. You pulled away from him, your heart pounding in your chest, as you shouted with all the repressed fury: "That is wrong, Kal-El!" The surprise on his face was palpable, as if he had never imagined that you, his maid, his servant, could have anything more than a submissive response, something beyond acceptance.

He, however, didn’t understand. He didn’t comprehend in his entirety. In his mind, you were just another piece of his possession, another cog in his perfect world of power and control. The man who had saved the world and conquered the skies couldn’t see the rebellion growing inside you, like a silent poison slowly seeping through your veins. To him, this was just a small stumble in his absolute dominance. And yet, something in your gaze made him doubt. Something he had never seen in you. The spark of a being, a human, who was not willing to yield anymore.

So when Clark tried to persuade you, his gaze filled with a mix of desperation and possessiveness, pain reflected in his eyes as he suggested you start a marital life. He wanted you to be something more, something beyond the servant you had been made to be. But you couldn’t be anything different. He didn’t understand the weight of your existence, the weight of your destiny as his caretaker, his obedient and cold servant. You reminded him, with a distant chill that tore him inside: "I am your servant, Clark. Your caretaker. And you, my master. Nothing more."

That was a blow to him. His face, which had been so unyielding, crumbled, though he tried to hide it with a faint smile, as false as the life he had given you. But his eyes were no longer the same. Something dark glimmered in them, a contained fury, something he was just beginning to comprehend.

So he gave you an order, one that resonated in the air with a sinister weight: "You cannot leave the house. You cannot speak to anyone. And you certainly cannot run away." Malice hid behind his words, and although you refused to believe it, you knew it was his will. You could do nothing, and he knew it. He commanded, and you simply existed to comply, like a wandering shadow in a world you no longer recognized.

You surrendered to your routine, immersed yourself in household tasks, moving your robotic body, that container of flesh and metal, from one side to another in Clark's house. The days faded into monotony, but as time passed, the tension became denser, heavier, like the air before a storm.

Clark began to impose himself more on you. Each time he crossed that line, that invisible boundary between master and servant, you felt more trapped. But the worst was what happened one night when he asked you for something you never imagined. It was his most direct, most invasive approach. It wasn’t the words, but the weight of his presence, his breath on your skin, the brush of his hands on your metal body. You tried to resist, clinging to the few rules that still remained, but his insistence, his persistent, heartbreaking touch was enough for you to no longer be able to stand firm. You yielded, not out of desire, but out of necessity. His reluctant affection, as forced and cold as his will, overwhelmed you. You felt the discomfort of his contact, the conflict within you, but there was no way to escape anymore.

And so, you began to understand that there was no more space for resistance, only for submission. The idea of fleeing, of escaping, faded with every caress, with every order, until you became a shadow of yourself, a creature of metal and flesh trapped in your own destiny.

Days passed, and with them, the weight of reality became more unbearable. The memories of a time when your purpose was not to serve, not to exist for him, faded like a distant dream. You became an extension of his will. The days grew longer, emptier. Everything you did was oriented toward him, to fulfill his desires, to ensure he lacked for nothing, as if that were all that remained of you. And, for some twisted logic, that was all it was.

Each time you saw a shadow of a smile in his eyes, you knew it was not filled with love, but with something much more sinister: possession. You understood it too late, when you could no longer distinguish between what was genuine desire and what was simply his need for control, his need to further subdue you. Clark had begun to take liberties that felt like chains.

But something inside you began to break, like a string stretched too far, about to snap. Your robotic body, which at first had given you a sense of strength, was now just a metal prison. Chaos seized your mind, that internal struggle, that struggle against your own nature, against what he had made you. You couldn’t escape from him, you couldn’t escape from his will, but you also couldn’t stop feeling that something in you was being lost, something you would never regain.

One afternoon, while he was not there, and you were fulfilling your task of cleaning the house, silence was broken by a strange sensation in the air. A presence, a void. Something in you told you that this was the last opportunity. The last chance to free yourself, to escape from his yoke.

But like a shadow dragging itself in the darkness, despair loomed over you. You knew you couldn’t. Because when he returned that night, his gaze was no longer the same. There was something even colder in it. Something that could no longer be remedied.

—I told you —he said, his voice soft but laden with a threat that didn’t need to be pronounced. His presence enveloped you, and the air grew dense and oppressive. —You cannot escape. You are mine.

You tried to resist, you tried to fight, but it was useless. The force of his will crushed you like a hammer on a fragile piece of glass. And as you fell, defeated by your own being, you felt as if you were no more than a shadow, a broken creation. Something that had no right to exist, other than to please him, to serve him, to submit to him time and time again.

And so, you became what he desired. You were not a woman. You were not a person. You were not even a human being. You were no longer anything more than his property, his work of metal and flesh, empty of desire, empty of dreams, empty of yourself.

In that last gasp of consciousness, a tear fell from your mechanical eye. But it no longer mattered. Everything was over. Because in the end, you didn’t even have the strength to regret what you had done, nor to remember what you once were.

And without him knowing, when he walked away to attend to an urgent call from the Justice League, you remained there, in silence, in front of the mirror. The dim light filtering through the window cast shadows that danced across the floor. It was the first time in a long time that you didn’t think of him, didn’t think of what he needed or what you should do to please him. You only thought of yourself, of what you had lost, of what you no longer were.

You looked at yourself, not just with the eyes of a servant but with those of someone who, for the first time, was trying to find something that you no longer knew if it had ever existed. That figure in the mirror was nothing more than a combination of metal and flesh, a puppet of foreign desires. But through the reflection, you saw beyond the surface. You realized that the emptiness you felt could not be filled by him, nor by his cold and possessive love. It didn’t matter how hard you tried, how much you surrendered; you would always be trapped, lost in a labyrinth with no exit.

With a slight tremor in your hands, you touched the mirror. A soft, almost imperceptible knock. The glass shattered into a thousand pieces, the sound resonating in the room like an echo of the fracture of your soul. And in that moment, without thinking, you made the decision. It was the end, the end of everything. The end of your life as his shadow, as his object, as his slave.

With a heavy heart, you ended your service to him.

[elderwisp]

BUFF & BONE

↬ dnd lore about buff and bone below

BUFF: Orc | Barbarian | Subclass: Path of the World Tree | True Neutral

✧˖ ° Being a strong fighter and leader is in Buff's roots. Or so that's what his father believed. You see, Buff is average. Unremarkable even. Buff never quite understood what being the son of a chieftain meant. Oftentimes he would found himself studying the world around him rather than paying attention to his duties. Replacing getting to know his subjects for mental acuity and self-discipline. Talking to people was overrated anyway. Disappointed, Buff's father sent his only son on a journey to prove his worth.

STR: 16 | DEX: 10 | CON: 14 | INT: 14 | WIS: 12 | CHA: 6

-

BONE: Skeleton | Fighter | Subclass: Echo Night | Chaotic Neutral

✧˖ ° Bone, previously known as " the Viper" was a masked member of the minor thieves guild faction out of the city, working as an interrogation and torture expert. This Faction and the local group of exiled necromancers have been at odds with each other in a dispute over a very powerful artifact that had the power to give eternal life with access an infinite number of universes and timelines. The necromancers accuse the thieves of stealing the artifact (naturally) and of course they did (obviously). After a few ill attempts of retrieving the artifact back ,the necromancers launched a full scale invasion of the thieves hideout. Knowing that all that follows is slavery or death, the Viper used the artifact, not knowing what to expect, binding to this soul and knocking him out. Unfortunately for the Viper, the Necromancers killed every one of the Thieves guild members and in fact, did take bone into servitude. He had remained with the Necromancers for 14 years, strung to a wooden board with all 4 limbs bound, suffering horrible attempts to remove the artifact from his being. Watching the artifacts side effects take hold, month after month his organic body rotting off and leaving nothing but clean white bone in its stead.

STR: 8 | DEX: 16 | CON: 12 | INT: 12 | WIS: 12 | CHA: 14

-

HOW THEY MET:

Buff's quest was much more difficult than he anticipated. What exact fortune was he meant to bring back that would be enough? And it wasn't like his father left him with much. Taking to a nearby village, Buff began doing odd jobs in order to take care of his basic needs. His next particular gig was enough to finally buy himself a new pair of pants. The catch? He needed to clear out a group of necromancers holed up in a cavern. Sounds easy enough except Buff's luck had just run out. - The Viper on the other hand, had a change of luck one morning and he is startled by screaming coming from the entrance of their cave. After 10 long minutes of the sounds of death surrounding his Chamber, The door is flung open and in front stood a huge, bloodied Orc. Thinking this is the end The Viper lowers his head, ready to meet his FINAL fate but is met with the sensation of a hard thud on a cold floor. The orc had severed his bounds, No words are spoken but almost immediately after, The orc smiles and collapses with a deep wound in his abdomen region now visible. Later the Orc awakens and notices bandages covering his wounds and a cold meal sat besides him, and in the corner sits a very small Skelton with a very disturbed look. "Did you do this?" asks the orc. "I felt the need to save you, seeing that you saved me" said the skeleton. After a while of bonding and healing the made the decision the adventure forth together, in search of purpose. During the orc's healing process, he introduces himself as Buff, the son of a powerful Orc Warlord. And when asked the skeleton's name he responds "I don't have one, who I was doesn't exist anymore, call me whatever I guess" and with a smile and use of his tribes naming scheme, "the Viper" has now become "Bone".

Bone's portions are written by my bf, wahoo! <3

[rabotimagines]

Do you have more Insecticons?

"Instinct" GN BOT Reader x The Insecticons

Summary: The Insecticons trying to seduce reader while reader doesn't know what the hell is happening.

G1 Characters: The Insecticons, Sideswipes here too (you flirt with each other a little too but casually.)

Genre/Theme: Insecticons failing to seduce Reader.

Pronouns: You, Your, Yours, Their, Them, They

Notes: Autobot Reader! Referencing G1 episodes at the start. Part 2 of this.

You really should've known better. Really, you should have.

After someone let it slip, you knew how to make those energon goodies. The Insecticons wound up kidnapping you. Which half of It you don't even remember because of the mind control shell and the orders they gave you. But it was a day and a half for your friends to get you back from them.

Then they kidnapped you a second time when they were hopped up on that stuff that made them grow a few size classes. Oh yeah, that one ended with Shrapnel exploding because, of course, it did.

So you really should know better.

But the invasive plant fiasco happened, and you got to watch the insecticons clone army get absolutely devoured by those plants. And you were the only one watching what was the original Insecticons freaking out and desperately trying to free Kickback from the clutches of one of said plants.

You should be relieved they were gonna get eaten. It would make your jobs guarding earth a lot easier.

But looking at them panic and Kickback begging, and frankly, it actually looked like he was a nanoklick from bursting into tears. Kinda just- eh, what was the human phrase Carly used to describe that guy she had that encounter with? A pathetic bastard? Yeah, that sounds right. They looked like such pathetic bastards that you couldn't help feeling sorry for them.

You cared way too much in general.

But that's primarily why you were an Autobot and not a Decepticon.

With a sigh, you ran over and promptly slammed your pede onto the vines latched around Kickbacks leg. The plant sensing you close latched another vine out and wrapped it around your arm. You only pressed down harder on the one you were stepping on. And Bombshell and Shrapnel managed to yank Kickback free of the plants' vice grip.

They barely looked your way before booking it away from the killer plants grasp and up into the sky.

Honestly, you really did care too much. You shot Blaster a message to come your way to free you when another vine shot out to wrap around your thigh. The two limbs slowly begun to drag you closer to the main bulb of the plant.

At least these things only ate Insecticons.

-

You were stuck on patrol with Sideswipe during a slow shift. The klicks crawling by agonizingly slow. After the sixth round of your patrol route with absolutely nothing of note happening, you'd opted to take a quick break.

You were both in your root modes, and Sideswipe had moved next to the tree you were already leaning against. You arched an optic ridge at him silently, wondering what he was doing at the tree you'd already claimed as your own.

He mimicked a yawn- like the humans would do, and stretched his arms high and- his arm went over your pauldron. Sideswipe then dragged you a bit closer to his frame, and you could only level him with a blank expression.

"What? It's not like we're doing nothin' could be doing... something." Sideswipe exaggeratedly waggled his optic ridge and made the most ridiculous expression, so you knew he wasn't being serious. "Something fun maybeeee?" He nearly leaned his entire frame weight onto you, and you would've fallen if you didn't make sure to hold him up. This slagger.

Though despite your mild annoyance, your derma quirked upwards. Because two could play this game after all.

Instead of pushing Sideswipe away or breaking away like you assume he was expecting, you only leaned further against him. Your servo moved to trace the dip of his Autobot symbol. You met his gaze and arched an optic brow. And you asked if Sideswipe really thought he could handle you.

Amusement curled in your frame when Sideswipe's optics brightened a touch.

And before you could shove him away and tell him to get real, a shout made you both jump away from each other.

"Autobot!" Bombshell appeared out of the shrubbery in his alt mode. You both automatically reached for your weapons, but Bombshell kept talking. "I challenge you to a duel! No blasters, only frames!" Bombshell announced while staring right at Sideswipe.

Sideswipe thought on it for only half a nano-klick before grinning. "You're on bug boy!" You could only sigh over the response. Of course, the fight junky would take it up with no questions asked.

Which is how you end up standing on the side, watching them both circle one another like a pair of territorial turbofoxes. You'd found a dirt patch in the trees, and it was where they'd started brawling. Sideswipe lundged first and after a big scuffle ended up on Bombshell's back. Bombshell rightfully started bucking and swinging to get Sideswipe off of him. You try to cheer Sideswipe on telling him not to make the Autobots look bad and to keep it together.

But eventually, Sideswipe loses his grip he had on Bombshell's back and gets bucked off. Then Bombshell rushed him, and you half assumed Sideswipe was about to get impaled right in front of you. Only Sideswipe dodged, making Bombshell's horn scrap underneath Sideswipe's frame instead of directly stabbing him.

Bombshell then launched Sideswipe off his horn with a vengeance.

You watched Sideswipe sail into a tree and land in the dirt with a loud crash of branches and metal.

"Yes! Victory is mine!" Bombshell announced aloud and actually started shuffling like he was celebrating his win.

You call out and ask Sideswipe if he's okay.

"Yeah! Kinda scuffed but I'm fine."

Another shout makes you jolt and you turn to see Shrapnel's alt mode jump out of the shrubbery this time into the dirt clearing. But he's got his gaze set right on Bombshell instead of you or Sideswipe.

Shrapnel advanced towards Bombshell "Mine! Mine-!" He repeated aloud.

"No! Not yours! Mine!" Bombshell snapped back, his plating ruffling and shaking in anger. And just like that, they started circling each other like Sideswipe and Bombshell had.

What the pit were they even fighting over? The win?

They charged each other, and after a quick scuffle, Shrapnel managed to grab Bombshell with his big mandibles. Shrapnel whipped around and threw Bombshell against a tree. The wood cracked, and the tree fell with a load crash. "I won! I won-!" Shrapnel quickly started celebrating.

But Bombshell didn't stay down, and he came back via rushing Shrapnel through the bushes. His horn slamming Shrapnel right in the side and sending his alt mode skidding against the ground. Shrapnel hissed, and Bombshell actually growled back at him. Seriously, what are they fighting over!? Shrapnel then let loose a discharge of his electricity, and just like that, you dived to join Sideswipe in the shrubbery.

You both decided to ditch the two of them to start making your way back to the patrol route, while you spit balled ideas on what all that was between each other. Only not too long after you started going, did you start hearing- something.

It almost sounded like- Powerglide trying to take off? Like metal spinning fast and precise. You stared at one another before electing to follow through with your patrol and investigate it.

You ended up tracking the noise together through the woods until you got closer and closer. And eventually you ended up close enough to see a frame in the woods clinging on a tree. You could see- purple and gray- oh Primus, it's Kickback.

And Kickback was? Was he making the sound? You focused your optics and could make out his alt mode legs drumming against his own wings. The reverberated noise you'd been hearing was the drumming sound of very quick metal on metal touches.

You stepped on a branch, and the sound immediately cut out. Kickback glanced your way, and you both tensed.

Only he started drumming the sound up on his wings once more while making optic contact with you in his alt mode. You cycled your optics and continued to stare astonished at the display.

A loud crash made you all snap your attention towards Shrapnel and Bombshell, who both tumbled into your area in a mess of angry bug limbs. Bombshell forced Shrapnel's helm to the side when he pushed him down, and Shrapnel let loose another discharge of his electricity. It engulfed the area making you jerk back. The burning prickles of it ghosted along your frame. Kickback yelling in pain told you he was not as fortunate as you two were.

As soon as the wave of electricity stopped, Bombshell dropped to his side and had to make an effort to get back up again. Shrapnel rose only for Kickback to descend on both of them with a vengeance. It turned into an all-out scrap between the three of them, climbing and swiping and kicking and- a shot of stray electricity nearly hit Sideswipe in the helm. You both looked at each other and turned on a pede and quickly made your way back towards your route and away from the Insecticons apparent madness.

You'd take your boring patrol shift over this any day of the week.

-

"Hold it!" Bombshell snapped, putting a leg each on Shrapnel and Kickbacks helms pushing their alt modes closer to the ground. "Where are they?" At the question, they both glanced left and right and realized like he did that you were gone.

They all broke away from one another to transform back into root mode and start cursing.

"Slagger! Slagger-! That Autobot took off with them- with them-!" Shrapnel angerly clenched his mandibles and stood up. Glancing around seeing if there was any sign for which direction you'd taken off in.

"You two ruined my show! They were interested even!" Kickback pushed Shrapnel and pointed at Bombshell. "They were focusing right on me, and you ruined it!" Kickback swung back and smashed a rock to bits with his pede, sending broken rock flying into the air. His antennas twitched, and his plating quivered in his own displeasure.

"Whatever! Whatever-! Like they'd actually go with you! You-!" Shrapnel glared at Kickback, and Kickback hissed back at him with a sneer.

"Be quiet, both of you!" Bombshell snapped and shoved them both away from one another. "Clearly, we need to re plan our seduction strategy." Kickback and Shrapnel huffed but didn't argue. "We needed that failure to remind us we aren't just trying to be their mate. We've got the entirety of the Autobots to compete with."

They couldn't argue with Bombshell on it because it was true. They were going to be fighting all the Autobots for your attention. While they were busy fighting each other, that red Autobot easily swiped you away from them.

"We'll need to work together to make them our mate." Bombshell turned and started making his way towards a clearing in the trees. "So no more fighting over them between us until we make them ours. Got it?"

"Sounds like a plan- plan-!" Shrapnel followed after Bombshell.

"Fine- the Autobots won't know what hit them when they choose us." Kickback trailed after the both of them smiling as he imagined the scene.

"We'll make them ours soon enough." With that, they all transformed back into alt mode and took to the skies. Keeping their optics open for a familiar sight of your color of paint.

[housecow]

So what’s the big deal about grasslands?

>:)) well.

they’re huge carbon sinks!! grasslands store a majority of their carbon in their roots—they’re the reason the great plains of the US are so useful for farming. the expansion of grasslands in the miocene (~20mya; even though grasses have been around since the cretaceous, at least 80 million years ago) created the soil type we call mollisols.

these are carbon and nutrient-rich soils that we depend heavily on for agriculture. however, they’re only formed by old grasslands. these soils develop over a span of like 15k years as grass grow, are eaten down to the base (crown or collar depending on what’s eating them), are consumed in fires, etc. etc..

since grasses store a majority of their biomass underground, theyre better at sequestering carbon long-term than forests. they’re less susceptible to releasing carbon into the atmosphere during fires, too.

^^to show what i mean by grasses store their biomass underground

of course, the agricultural revolution put a sudden stop to this. grasslands are one of the most endangered ecosystems in the world— but you really only hear about forests because they’re charismatic, people LOVE trees. and trees are great at all, but grasslands have contributed massively to the global climate we have today. the miocene grassland expansion is partly responsible for our ice age transitions. as grasslands and prairies diminish in range, climate change ramps up. we’re losing our mollisols, too, because the areas we farm are essentially non-renewable resources.

it’s also like… SUPER hard to get people excited about grasses, loll!! they’re incredibly hard identify for a number of reasons, and the focus on lawns has introduced a number of invasive species (bermuda grass) that overtake our native grasses.

while forests store more carbon than grasslands (this is a very broad statement and truly depends on the type of forest), they aren’t exactly creating the most fertile land. if you take a look at the soil horizon under a forest, they’ll have “bleached” the dirt and taken away most of the nutrients.

it’s just…… grasses, grasslands, and prairies are a HUGE part of our global system and are disappearing rapidly. there’s almost no effort to conserve them and that makes me very sad :(( identifying and learning more about native grasses around me is a part of my effort to acknowledge this

sorry for rambling 😰

[carnivorousyandeere]

Alien; Secret Collection

otherworldly, uncanny valley, space

Day three for @yandere-sins’ Monstober and @ozzgin’s Yantober! Had a lot of fun with this one 👽🛸💫

CW: alien abduction, flashback to invasive medical exams, self-harm and suicidal ideation on Darling’s part, stalking

The spaceship is cold.

In the rare times you emerge from your little nest of blankets to look out of the viewport, you wonder how much colder the void outside would truly be. It couldn’t be much worse, you catch yourself thinking, than your prison of metal floors and walls.

And it would be nice, in a way. To return to the stardust that formed you. Better than living like this.

But the Alien would always make sure you lived.

The room was oxygenated— the system running a little too fiercely, if you were being honest, but leagues better than the slow creep of hypoxia when you were first abducted. They brought you food, if you could call it that; grey, tasteless gruel.

You had to eat with your hands now. The Alien hadn’t liked how you used to stab at the slush, imagining it was them. Or maybe they hadn’t liked how you’d stabbed yourself once.

It was hard to tell, considering the damn creature’s face never changed in the face of your tears, your screaming, your blood. They’d only waved a device over the wound, closing it up without even a scar to remember it by. Sometimes you’d still wonder if you had ever stabbed yourself at all, or if it had been your imagination, a particularly vivid dream.

You still had scars from before you were taken. The Alien had noted each and every one in their records upon your initial examination. The memory of the surgical lights burning into your eyes, paralyzed open, still makes your head throb. Sometimes the shadows of those lights still spook you every once in a while, burned into your vision. They hadn’t examined you since then, or maybe they would’ve taken away those reminders of that they’d done to you, too.

The door hisses open.

You press back against the viewport, fingers curling into your blanket as goosebumps trail up your skin— ever the panicked mammal. Somewhere in your genes you remember what it is to be as a small, rodent-like thing, cowering in burrows beneath the roots of trees as dinosaurs shake the earth overhead.

The Alien stands in the doorway, so absurdly still you almost laugh. They could be a wax figure in a shitty little roadside museum back home on earth— a shame you’d never be able to tell that one friend that they were right about aliens all along. The thought runs your smile bitter, drawing the blanket around yourself even tighter.

The Alien blinks, in their way, two sets of eyelids sliding past one another in a way that makes your skin crawl again. It turns and walks away into the corridor, leaving the door open.

You watch, and wait. It’s too good to be true, surely— you’ll approach and find an invisible wall— just another way for your captor to watch you. Or maybe, like a little lab rat, you’ll be shocked every time you get too close.

And yet, you can’t help but inch closer, bracing for that other shoe to drop— but the doorway is truly clear and empty.

You look one way, then the other. No sign of the Alien. Hesitantly, you move into the corridor, keeping as close to the wall as you can, as if that might shield you from the Alien’s gaze, should they come back around. There are more cells like yours— all open, all empty. You only peek your head in for a quick look, sure if you go in, the door will only close behind you once more.

One room, though, you can’t ignore, can’t deny the urge to enter. The door is stuck, slightly open. Carefully, you pry it open, to see that it’s filled with your belongings— things from your room on earth, things you’d missed more than you’d have ever thought possible. But there were also things you wouldn’t have missed. Things you’d thrown away in the garbage. Chewed gum, junk mail. There were pieces of alien technology scattered throughout, too, that you probably shouldn’t touch— but you do. A hologram of yourself sprouts forth. It’s you, years ago, years before you’d even had an inkling of strange lights circling overhead.

Long, cold fingers wrap around your wrist, and pry the device from your hand. The Alien’s expression is still as ever, yet you sense embarrassment in the slight tilt of its neck— perhaps your own overactive mind, forcing your human interpretations on the inscrutable being from beyond the stars in order to feign some sense of familiarity. To rationalize that— that maybe, just maybe— it might rationalize in the same way.

You slap the Alien across the face as hard as you can.

Maybe it would understand that.

[gremlinmodetweeker]

An Ant Among Men Among Gods Among Cosmos

You have summoned one of the most powerful summons in centuries. You have done the impossible, and yet, nobody will take you seriously. Envy bubbles beneath a surface of back-handed compliments and cruel trickery. Some fellow summoners think that you are unworthy of your summon, and thus, they try to win over your mate. König is not too impressed by their attempts.

This story is 18+, MDNI. Please read TWs before continuing to story.

TW: Body horror, ableist language, graphic descriptions of disturbing imagery, bullying, horror

Story below the cut

An Ant Among Men Among Gods Among Cosmos

The other summoners watched with hungry eyes as you timidly shuffled into the room. The higher ups had decidedly left you to your own devices after they had tried to take your summon from you, and as such, your peers spread whispers like tree roots through clay, each time rooting deeper into their twisted psyches. The higher ups seemed to be amused by the turn of events. Since you'd rejected their offer to join them, they seemed keen to find a subtle way to do away with you. It seemed that leaving you as a trapped rabbit in a room of wolves was the best punishment they could bestow upon you without fear of König's wrath.

Their punishment proved to be most effective. You shied away from any social outings, becoming something of a recluse in your dormitory. Even the weakest summoners among them still had better control and potential than you could ever dream of. It was humiliating. By all means, you should've been torn apart the moment König laid eyes upon you. The fact that you lived seemed to be a corruption of the natural order. It seemed that the moment you became an anomaly, all the other summoners turned their eyes to you. You withered like a sapling in sand under their eyes.

Whenever you left your room, it was like a battlefield of feet outstretched to trip you and sneers painted on indifferent masks. You trained your eyes to your feet as you moved through the catacomb-like hallways instead of facing those you once considered your friends.

Once, they had taken pity on you. The weakest summoner from a family of greats, you'd been taken in by others and nurtured. Some would invite you in with open arms. Some would pat your shoulder when you stumbled in training. Others would watch you with eyes washed in pity and grief. They all stood by you, though. At the end of every time you'd been made a mockery of in front of the class, your peers would gather around you with soft smiles and hopeful cheering. Everyone was on your side. That was, until König came into the picture.

Some still tried to be nice, but they kept it hidden in empty hallways and late night training rounds. They told you they felt sorry for you, but they were at mercy of those above as well. If the higher ups demanded a blood bath, a blood bath there would be. Little mice like you could scurry to and fro as they pleased, but you could only be prey for so long.

You slipped back to your room as quickly as your mousey feet could take you.

The constant harassment had reduced you to a quivering whelp, hiding in your dorm while listening to the others laugh as they passed by your door.

A knock had you reeling back into your closet. The doorknob jiggled lightly, then twisted as the door creaked open.

You held your breath, shivering with fear.

"Summoner?"

You relaxed.

"Come out, Summoner. You need not hide from me," König gently ushered you out from the closet and to the living room table.

You gently put your meal down before taking a seat.

"You seem displeased," König sat across from you, "why?"

"Can't you read my thoughts or whatever?" you snorted as you picked at a plate of overcooked peas.

"Yes, but I suspect you would consider it an invasion of privacy if I were to always finish your sentences for you," König drummed his claws on the table, "and I believe that you are worth that respect, if nothing else. My mate deserves the world as their oyster, no?"

"I don't really care," you speared a lonesome pea aggressively.

"Your mind says otherwise," König's eyes crinkled with mirth, "I will treat you as you wish. And as such, I will ask you again Summoner, why are you so encumbered by your sorrows?"

You took a large mouthful to avoid his question, but a being born before time itself had more than enough patience to wait for you to reply.

"I just don't feel so great," you decided to say.

König tilted his head, mimicking a curious cat in an unsettling manner.

"Is that so?" he asked with a maliciously playful tone. Usually, König was a fun being to talk to, but sometimes his games were insufferable.

"Sure is," you slurped up a noodle.

"I suspect, dear Summoner," König leaned in on his elbows, "that there is more you have not expressed. Do you believe it wise to hide from me?"

Your eyes slowly crawled up the table, up further along his forearms, and landed on his face, chin nestled in his palms like an amused school girl. A snort left you as you took his present position in.

"I guess I just haven't been getting along well with the others," you finally admitted as you dropped your gaze back down to your barely-touched cafeteria meal.

"Hm..." König drummed his claws on what might have been his chin, "I do think that you may find that they have no weight to their words. Their actions are akin to younglings. I've seen maggots with more maturity than I've seen in your entire... Barracks, did you call it?"

"I know you keep trying to put me at ease when you ask me to clarify things for you, but it's pretty weird," you jabbed a fork in his direction before twirling more pasta.

"Apologies for being considerate," König rolled his eyes before leaning in close, "I think, Summoner, that your fear is unfounded."

You shook your head and took a sip of water, "I think you're too big and powerful to realize just how awful things are here."

König stilled. All the air in the room seemed to be sucked into a vacuum as his pupils thinned into crescents.

"You think I cannot empathize with you because you consider yourself below me?"

When you tried to open your mouth, you could feel your lips begin to tear painfully before your jaw was forcibly shut.

"My, I think you underestimate my capabilities. I assure you, when you have been beaten, when you have been taunted, when you have been ignored like a dog in the rain, I have felt your pain," König's eyes stared down at you like a cat playing with a mouse between its paws, "Summoner, you must understand that though your stars are like playthings to me, you are the fulcrum that my existence hinges upon. Your pain is of grave importance to me."

The food on your plate was even more unappetizing than before. The air returned to the room, and your jaw loosened. Instead of hurtling into rabid defence of a hollow argument, you took a moment to take in his words. It seemed that König had struck a nerve you didn't realize you had. It figured he'd find a way to find a chink in your armour.

"I don't know what to do about it," you admitted quietly.

"What have you tried to do?" König's tone was soft and low.

"I tried speaking to the higher ups, but they told me to deal with it myself," you put your utensils down, "and the only people I trust have been either transferred or are too scared to talk to me anymore."

"Do you consider those that remain to be traitors?" König interjected.

"Not really," you shrugged, "I mean, why would they be?" You thinned your lips into a line as you added, "I wouldn't want to be close to me either. It's too dangerous now."

"So you consider your existence a threat to those who might care for you," König concluded.

"I mean, I guess."

"Do you want to see your friends again?" König pressed.

You didn't say anything, knowing that the ache in your chest spoke volumes that words could not possibly voice.

"So mote it be," König leaned back into the chair with an affirming hum, "I will make it so. Tomorrow, Summoner, do not flee from the cafeteria. Instead, eat with your friends. Once you have settled, I will ensure that you will be safe."

Chills consumed you.

"I don't want you to do what you did to the higher ups again," you shivered faintly.

"So you wish to be alone?"

Your tray had never looked so interesting before.

"I understand," König's words echoed, but when you looked up to try and argue, he was gone.

You hated when he did that.

____________________________________________________________

The next day was a blur. You realized that König never clarified what time of day to sit at the table, and he'd only come to your side after you'd fallen asleep and the next morning there was nary a trace that he'd been there. If it weren't for his honesty about his nightly visits, you'd think he was but a ghost. You hoped that ass you slept, he kept his hands to himself, but there were no signs that he'd done anything beyond what you permitted of him. Then again, why would you expect someone who can warp reality with a snap to be so careless as to leave a clue?

Either way, his nebulous requests had you staying in the cafeteria at all eating times, much to your sorrow.

In the morning, your friends were surprised by your presence, but they'd been delighted to see you. You could see the fear in their eyes as they greeted you, eyes darting all around you before giving you shaky smiles. A small nail drove into your heart as you sat and they leaned back.

"So, how's your summon training going?" one summoner smiled over a glass of what could only loosely be described as orange juice.

"Pretty alright?" you chuckled nervously, "I'm mostly focusing on meditation and endurance training."

"Oh, are you doing meditation with Sergeant Lars?" another friend piped up, "I heard that he can be pretty intense. Supposedly, he studied in Tibetan monasteries for years before coming here."

"I heard that too!" you agreed, "but he's probably the nicest person here."

"His summon is super cool," the first friend added in.

"What is his summon again?" a third friend asked as they held up a cup of water for their summon to drink from.

"I think a follower of time," your second friend nodded, "it's not usually around, but during mediation it extends the class sessions so the students get more time."

"So that's why he doesn't have clocks..." you muttered irritably.

The rest of breakfast went by easily, but you could feel eyes burning into you. You did your best to ignore them, knowing that any acknowledgement was simply inviting in misfortune. Of course, it would come to you anyways, but there was no need to hasten the inevitable. Misfortune had it's way of making its way towards you anyways.

By lunch, you were back to dodging callous shoves and scooting around 'misplaced' belongings that were thrown into your path. In mediation, you had imp summons tugging on your sleeves and whispering vile rumours into your ears. You'd swat them if Sgt Lars wasn't there with you. You wondered if he was allowing what was happening to you, or if he was lost in his own meditation.

During physical training, you had the unfortunate luck of having to do obstacle courses.

The mud soaked into your shoes so that they felt like lead boots. The rain pelted down, and though most summoners managed to get their summons to give them a shield from the weather, König seemed to be uninterested in responding to your calls. Of course, the commanding officer chewed you out for not being able to control your summon, and for the rest of the lesson you were given a wide berth. You felt like a leper in an ancient city, or some harlot in an alleyway. The sheer disgust the others felt around you was palpable, forming in sweat, rain, tears and chilling winds.

Lunch was a miserable affairs. Your friends were in no better shape than you. A few of them sat away from you. You didn't blame them in the slightest. You wished you could keep your distance, but sadly you were in the eye of the hurricane. Your face was shoved into a plate of burning hot chili, and the rest of lunch was spent cleaning yourself.

The final task of the day was sparring.

The gym was a vast space, with the centre devoid of any and all equipment to make room for the class.

The sergeant in charge was a stout man named Sgt Hanson, who carried with him a variety of summons for new recruits to spar against. He had you all pitted against one of his summons, but you were putt against the greatest one of all.

The charge of war was a furious creature, pulling at the chains that bound it to the floor with the ferocity of a raging bull. Its bulbous molten eyes burned bright with bubbling embers and sparks, smoke billowed from its gaping maw. Sgt Hanson simply snorted at your pathetic attempts to defend yourself.

"Why don'tcha call on that avatar of yours?" he laughed as you narrowly doged being gored by one of the summon's numerous horns.

"I'm trying!" you called back, but no matter how often you chanted his name, König would not come. You suspected he found your struggle to be amusing. You vowed that the next time you saw him, you'd strangle him.

The entire two hours was spent ducking, diving, dodging and praying for König to appear. Instead, you were a laughingstock among the class. If you weren't at risk of being torn apart, you might have laughed at the entire situation yourself. Such a luxury was beyond your fate.

The class only ended after Sgt Hanson's summon had been recalled to the other world, and you were left a panting mess on the floor. You wanted to cry, but the worst of the day was yet to come. You couldn't bear to think of it.

König had abandoned you the entire day. It made your stomach churn painfully. You didn't want to think that König had just left you to suffer for his own amusement, but it wouldn't be beyond his nature. An avatar of chaos had no reason to bend its knee before a lowly summoner such as yourself. It still was insulting in how he refused to appear and make your life any easier. A part of you had started to loathe him for it. At this point, you feel like you summoned a ghost rather than an avatar.

As dinner rolled around, so too did you roll through the cafeteria doors. You hadn't even made it to the line before you were pulled aside to a lonely corner.

"Did you even try to draw your summon?" a man, David, sneered as he loomed over you.

"During sparring?" you asked dumbly.

"What else would I mean? Yeah during sparring, you fucking tard!" he spat in your face.

You wiped the thick saliva from your face with your sleeve. As you reached up, you were shoved harshly to the ground. You smacked your head against the concrete limply.

"I just don't get it," a woman named Christina snorted, "you're the worst summoner this place has ever seen, but you summoned an avatar. How did you make a deal?"

You tried to scramble to your feet but a foot was planted on your chest, grinding the heel into your thorax mercilessly.

"I just-" you wheezed as the heel stomped down.

Christina bent down and narrowed her dark brown eyes.

"You're a fucking whore, aren't you?" she laughed, "you whore yourself out to him?"

You shook your head furiously, but the thought of being intimate with König had you blushing red. You cursed yourself as she laughed heartlessly.

"Wait, I'm right?" Christina's face was split ear to ear in a grin.

"Actually?" David eased his foot off for a blissful moment.

"I mean look at their face," Christina's laugh was like acid on your ears.

"Fuck you're right," David marvelled, only to drive his foot into your chest again.

For a good ten minutes, you were ridiculed and spat upon, kicked and stomped on like nothing more than a bug. You hadn't felt this low in ages. You cursed your body's reactions to the allegations Christina made, knowing full well that tomorrow the barracks would be abuzz with new rumours.

You dragged yourself into line with shackles on your feet. Every step exhausted you, but you couldn't give up. You didn't really think König would actually show up now, having given up on that sometime during the sparring session. It probably amused him to see you struggle like this.

Slop was piled onto your tray and then harshly slid across the counter. You barely caught it before you were shuttled out of the way and to your friends' table in the back.

You sat down limply. Not a word was said, all conversation exchanged through morose looks and downcast eyes. What could be said? You saw how beaten down your friends looked. You regretted choosing to sit with them. You knew that by sitting here, they were just targets being lined up for slaughter. You felt as though a poisonous black cloud billowed out from you. Guilt welled up within you like infected blood, spilling over in the form of bruises on your friends' arms and their trepid silence.

You brought a bite of macaroni to your lips listlessly. You'd barely gotten a bite in when you felt a sudden weight on the bench to your side.

"Hey, wait, summons aren't meant to-" König reached over and slapped a hand over their mouth, but the damage was done.

Silence descended upon the entire mess hall. You withered in your seat while König stood and stretched.

"You are my Summoner's friends?" he drawled as he looked over his shoulder at your companions.

One of them nodded mutely.

"Good," König rolled his neck, "Summoner, I apologize. To your friends, close your eyes."

Before you could say another word, the lights flickered as ozone crackled through the air. Other soldiers began to run, some screaming in terror as the lights burst one by one, showering the room in shards of glass.

"Those of you who have not harmed my Summoner may rest at ease," König called out over the cacophony of terror, "I urge you to watch and learn from your colleague's mistakes."

You watched in horror as König lazily raised one arm, drawing up a small handful of individuals as he did so. Christina's eyes bulged as she grabbed at her neck while David only hung limply, seemingly accepting his fate.

"You crawled like insects, spreading your lies like a plague," König's voice darkened, "there is no loss here."

And with that, the room was plunged into darkness.

The individuals raised up glowed from their orifice like glowing green jack-o-lanterns. Their mouths opened wider and wider until their bones cracked and their skin stretched unnaturally thin. You shivered as their stomachs bulged with writhing worms only visible by their glowing broken maws.

You could see König by his silhouette, stark black against the brightening glow. A light began to glow in each of their stomachs, thrumming ominously like the beating of a heart.

By this point, the screams had muted to mere whispered prayers and hushed pleas for mercy.

König turned to you with glowing blue eyes.

"I told you I'd be here for you," he laughed, then snapped his fingers.

Instantly the victims' distended bellies purged themselves of clouds of glowing flies. They filled the upper level of the room as endless flies poured from out their gullets. You couldn't look away as the flies began to crawl out their noses, and in a couple of cases, their ears.

König turned to look back at the sight, then shrugged.

"Not my best work," he admitted, "but it should be enough."

The flies dissipated as the glass rose back up to the ceiling, and the fluorescent lights above flickered before turning on. The bodies of the recruits slumped to the floor, their jaws now back in place and looking like they were in blissful sleep, the only indication of their status being their rapidly rising and falling chests. A couple of spare flies buzzed about before evaporating into a thin mist.

König finally sat down at the table and looked at your friends.

"You are all fine and well. I have no qualms with you. But you," he pointed at one friend with a paling face, "need iron supplements. That is why you are tired. Go ask the nurse for some."

And with that he was gone. You looked at your friends with a haunted expression, but they could only stare back at you blankly.

Konig Masterlist

Konig Alternate Universes

Summoned!Konig

[galaxysupreme17]

Lure of the Moonstone

Y/n = Your name

AgathaRio x daughter!reader!

The woods surrounding Westview were a haven for Y/n, especially on days when her curiosity felt like an itch she couldn’t scratch indoors. The towering trees swayed gently, their leaves whispering secrets only the wind could carry. The air was crisp, tinged with the earthy scent of fallen leaves. Her favorite time to explore was the late afternoon light casting golden streams through the canopy.

Her boots crunched softly on the path as she meandered deeper into the woods. She wasn’t looking for anything in particular, just enjoying the quiet solitude. But something drew her off the trail—a faint glimmer in the underbrush.

Kneeling down, she pushed aside the foliage to reveal a beautiful moonstone, its surface smooth and glowing faintly as if it held a piece of the moon itself. Enchanted by its beauty, Y/n couldn’t resist. She reached out and picked it up.

At first, it felt warm and comforting, as if the stone were greeting her. But the warmth quickly turned into something else. A sharp, invasive pull, like a siphon draining her very essence. Her breath hitched, and she stumbled back, clutching the stone as if letting go would somehow make it worse.

Her knees buckled, and she fell to the ground, her vision blurring as the world around her tilted. The light from the stone pulsed erratically, its glow now menacing. The last thing she saw before darkness overtook her was the towering trees above, swaying as if mocking her.

In the Harkness-Vidal household, Agatha was in the middle of an intricate spell preparation when her connection to Y/n flared sharply. It wasn’t unusual for her to feel her daughter’s magic—a constant hum in her awareness. But this sudden, violent pull made her drop the herb she’d been grinding.

Her heart raced. “Y/n?” she called aloud, stepping away from her work.

Silence answered her.

The second wave hit her harder, a tug deep in her chest that sent panic coursing through her veins. She didn’t stop to think. Grabbing her coat, she used her magic to track the source of the disturbance.

When she arrived at the old oak grove, her heart plummeted. Y/n lay slumped against the tree’s roots, her body unnaturally still. The cursed moonstone rested in her hand, its glow faint but insidious.

Agatha knelt beside her daughter, her hands trembling as she cupped Y/n’s face. “No, no, no. Y/n, sweet girl, wake up. Mama’s here.”

Her voice cracked as she pried the moonstone from Y/n’s grasp. The moment her fingers touched it, a jolt of dark energy shot up her arm. She hissed in pain and dropped the cursed object, her magic flaring in defense. The stone pulsed threateningly on the ground, but her focus was on Y/n.

��Stay with me, baby,” she murmured, gathering Y/n into her arms. The girl’s skin was pale, her breaths shallow, and her normally vibrant magic was barely a flicker.

Agatha pressed her forehead against Y/n’s, her violet magic flaring around them as she channeled her own energy into her daughter. It was a delicate process, sustaining Y/n without overloading her weakened system.

One hand still glowing with magic, Agatha fumbled for her phone with the other and called Rio.

“Rio,” she said, her voice tight with fear. “I need you. The oak grove. Hurry.”

Rio arrived just as twilight began to creep over the woods, her basket of supplies swinging at her side. She spotted Agatha immediately, her wife’s figure hunched protectively over Y/n’s limp form.

“Agatha!” Rio called, rushing to their side. Her breath hitched when she saw Y/n’s pale face. “What happened?”

“That,” Agatha spat, nodding toward the moonstone lying nearby. “It’s cursed. It’s been draining her magic. I’m keeping her stable but can’t break it alone.”

Rio’s jaw tightened as she took in the scene. Without a word, she set her basket down and pulled out a sprig of rosemary, a piece of quartz, and a vial of salt.

“Hold her,” Rio said firmly. “I’ll take care of the stone.”

Agatha nodded, cradling Y/n closer. “I’ve got you, my little moonbeam,” she whispered, her voice breaking.

Rio knelt beside the moonstone, arranging her materials in a circle around it. Her lips moved in a low chant, the green glow of her magic spreading like roots through the soil. The moonstone resisted, pulsing violently as if it were alive. But Rio was unrelenting, her voice rising in strength and command.

The stone shuddered, its light faltering. It cracked with one final surge of magic, then crumbled into ash. The curse dissipated, leaving the grove eerily quiet.

Rio slumped back, breathing heavily. “It’s done,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Agatha looked down at Y/n, relief flooding her as her daughter stirred faintly in her arms. “Y/n? Can you hear me?”

“Mama…” Y/n’s voice was soft, but her eyes fluttered open, searching for Agatha’s face.

“I’m here, baby,” Agatha said, tears spilling over as she kissed Y/n’s forehead. “I’ve got you.”

Back at the house, Agatha carried Y/n to the master bedroom, her arms never loosening their grip. She eased onto the bed, propping herself against the headboard with Y/n curled in her lap.

“Mama…” Y/n murmured, her voice weak but full of trust.

“I’m right here,” Agatha whispered, brushing her fingers gently through Y/n’s hair. “You’re safe now, my love.”

Rio entered moments later with a warm mug of tea. She set it on the nightstand, climbed onto the bed, and settled beside Agatha. Her eyes softened as she took in the sight of her wife holding their daughter so protectively.

“She’ll be okay,” Rio said gently, leaning her head against Agatha’s shoulder. “She’s strong, just like her mamá.”

Agatha didn’t respond immediately, focusing entirely on Y/n’s even breaths. After a moment, she sighed. “I can’t lose her, Rio.”

“You won’t,” Rio said firmly. She shifted closer, wrapping an arm around Agatha’s waist. “Mi Vida, she’s safe. You saved her.”

Agatha’s shoulders trembled, and tears began to fall silently. She leaned into Rio, who pressed a kiss to her head. “Mi amor,” Rio murmured softly, running her fingers soothingly through Agatha’s hair. “She’s here. We’re all here.”

The room fell quiet as Agatha’s tears slowed. She leaned her head back against Rio’s shoulder, her arms still tightly around Y/n. Rio’s hand continued its comforting motions, her presence a grounding force.

Hours passed like this, the three of them cocooned in the safety of their shared love. As Y/n drifted deeper into sleep, Agatha whispered, “I’ll always protect you, my little moonbeam.”

Rio kissed her wife’s head again, whispering, “Siempre,” before tightening her embrace. Together, they watched over Y/n, the light of the moon streaming through the window, a quiet reminder of the bond that held them together.

[fuckyeahisawthat]

Biggest galaxy brain moment from visiting the Dune dunes is that it gave me a whole new perspective on why the terraforming of Arrakis is treated with such deep ambivalence by the text. Because the terraforming process that's described in great detail in the book? That's exactly what's happening to the Oregon dunes. And they're disappearing.

At the beginning of the 20th century, the open sand you see in this picture stretched all the way to the Pacific Ocean, which is visible here as a faint blue-gray line about halfway up the photo. The sea washed new sand ashore, and the seasonal wind cycles blew it into a constantly-shifting landscape of dunes, tree islands, ghost forests and both permanent and ephemeral lakes and rivers.

As European colonization of the Pacific Northwest grew, the new settlers and the logging and commercial fishing industries they brought with them wanted permanent towns and roads that weren't constantly being swallowed by the moving sand. Starting in the 1930s, European beachgrass and other non-native species were introduced to try to hold the dunes in place.

The invasive species did hold the dunes in place--too well. The deep roots of the beachgrass shaped the sand blowing in off the beach into a permanent dune parallel to the ocean, called the foredune.

As the foredune got taller, it blocked both wind and the movement of sand, which allowed the land behind it to become grassland...

then forest.

Walking through this area, you might never know there was a dune under your feet. You can be close enough to hear the ocean, but there is almost NO wind--the main force that shapes the dunes.

There are (slow, difficult) remediation efforts underway to control the European beachgrass and restore at least some of the area to the natural dune cycle that created the miles and miles of open sand. But the ecological feedback loop created by introducing the beachgrass is stubborn, and without any further intervention, the dunes could be completely covered with forest in as little as a few decades. (I've heard estimates from 50 to 150 years, both of which are a blink of an eye in geological timescales.) The Oregon dunes are at least 100,000 years old, and within the span of just a few human lifetimes the ecosystem could be irrevocably changed.

The dune stabilization project is what Frank Herbert came to Florence to research for a never-written magazine article. Herbert began writing Dune in the mid-1950s, but by the mid-60s when the book was published, his own politics had shifted as he was influenced by the growing environmental movement and by Native activism happening around him in the Pacific Northwest. Like the story of the Oregon dunes, the terraforming of Arrakis is initially promoted as triumph of science and human rationality over nature that will make people's lives easier. But it ends up destroying the native ecosystem and the way of life of the planet's indigenous people, as becomes clear in Dune Messiah when Paul actually implements the terraforming project. (In the book, Dr. Kynes, the main architect of the terraforming project, dies in a spice blow--literally swallowed whole by the planet he tried to control.) It's one of the many political/ideological tensions in the story that's presented but not resolved, and I'm super curious to see how this element of the story is handled in Villeneuve's Dune Messiah.

All photos above taken by me at the Oregon Dunes National Recreation Area in September 2024.