#the body part with flowers is a little rusted and taken over by nature!!!

[thecosmos-system]

okay!!! asked you guys what i should make for a minecraft skin and with the suggestions I got, this is what I came up with! Little robot that’s made of different pieces 

(tagging @the-origins-system / @originsender and @eunoia-sys since they’re the ones that gave me the suggestions i used “robot, colorful, and something with light pink flowers”)

- Michael

[sluttbuttsstuff]

Hucow!AU Part 5 (FINALE!!!)

WOOHOO!! It’s finally Bruno’s turn, I saved best boy for last.  All parts combined in gdocs are 29 pages total, this is def the longest thing i’ve written in over a decade!! I hope you enjoy, and look forward to whatever i decide to write next

thanks, and enjoy!

as always. credit goes to @dark-side-blog2 for the wonderful hucow! au

WARNINGS: not sfw, yandere, duncon, noncon, sleep fucking, force feeding, manipulation, dark themes, afab reader, she/her pronouns, all characters 18+!!

After taking care of Narancia and tucking him into bed, Bruno returned to your room once more.  You slept like the dead, worn out from a long night.  Bruno smiled proudly, you had been wonderful for them.  Each bull, you had accepted their love, their passion, their essence and earned your place in the herd once again.  It filled Bruno with such joy, knowing that you were the perfect mate for them, for all of them.

You were caring and kind for Narancia, playful and fun for Mista, calming and gentle for Fugo, accepting and attentive for Abbacchio.  And for Bruno: you were everything.  For so long, there had been a piece of the puzzle missing in his life.  He had a family with no mother, no children.  

Bruno had met you first in a very dark part of his life-his herd was beaten, driven from his home in fear, on the brink of death with no hope.  And then, you had appeared, an angel hidden away in paradise, offering safety, shelter.  Much more than that, even, with a little bit of convincing, and a lot of planning.  He would have his family, his children, and you.

Bruno knew how to play the long game, how to strategize and manipulate, but he only did it for good reason.  He had to, you were too prideful, too stubborn to realize how much you needed him.  You were running a giant farm several acres large by yourself, no employees, relatives or neighbors to help.  Bruno couldn’t have that,now could he?  He and the other bulls took over the hard work and heavy lifting-eventually, after a lot of hemming and hawing from you.  Bruno managed to talk you into it; it was beneficial for both of you, a way for the bulls to earn their keep and for you to get some help.

The bulls helped with Bruno’s plan as well, in their own ways.  Mista put his cooking skills to use, making you healthy meals infused with lackweed (Mulgeo, a plant that encouraged your body to lactate) and pills that increased your sexual urges.  He’d even been adding charcoal to your meals to cancel out your birth control; it wasn’t necessary, Bruno had gotten rid of your birth control months ago while you were asleep, but Bruno appreciated it nonetheless.  

Narancia had gotten you to warm up to them very quickly, being as innocent and naive as he was, and Bruno was able to use him to display his parenting skills.  Yes, Narancia was a grown bull, and mostly treated as such, but he was still the youngest, and hard not to spoil.  Plus, the way you seemed to light up when Bruno would baby Narancia- it was clear your maternal instincts were awakening.  Good!  It was excellent practice for your own children.  

Fugo was admittedly the most awkward around you, it wasn’t really his fault, though.  He had the least experience out of the bulls with women, but Bruno could tell his true feelings about you.  So, he encouraged Fugo to show his strengths to you; mainly his brain.  There was an old tractor collecting rust that needed repairs, and you had lost several crops last season due to lack of irrigation. Fugo was able to repair them, thanks to researching some books and some help from you.  Plus, it was one less job for you to do, and another reason for you to depend on them.  Bruno knew Fugo was nervous, but Bruno was certain he’d be a good mate and husband.  He would make their children very smart.

Abbacchio could be a little rough around the edges, it's true, but he clearly had a soft spot for you.  While he would smack Mista and Narancia around when they got on his nerves or got ornery, you he respected and let a lot slide.  Bruno had seen you tug on his tail (admittedly by accident) , elbow him (after a funny joke), and even put flowers (that he was allergic to!) in his hair!  Abbacchio had taken it in stride, and even defended you when Mista’s teasing or the other shenanigans went too far.  Plus, Abbacchio’s skills as a lockpick let them sneak into your house when you were away or sleeping.  Very useful indeed…

 Bruno knew he had to share you, as much as he wanted you for his own.  He couldn’t hurt his herd, his brothers, who loved you almost as much as he did.  So Bruno was patient, he let them have their turns first, keep the peace….

But Bruno couldn’t wait any longer.

The timing had to be perfect, to ensure he had the best chances. He had snuck into your home months before, stealing and disposing of your birth control, and destroying your refill prescription.  Thankfully you were too busy and preoccupied to make a new appointment with the doctor for new medication, which Bruno appreciated greatly.   Digging through your trash, he was able to record and determine your cycle, in order to find out when you would be most fertile.  He would allow his herd many things,including you.

But his child would be first.

Letting the others go first- he allowed it before you were truly in heat.  They didn’t know why, but were grateful nonetheless, eager to claim you. 

He pulled back your blankets, after making sure you were deep in R.E.M. sleep.  Birds started chirping as dawn rose outside, but you were dead to the world.  So much, in fact, that when Bruno pulled back your bed sheets you didn’t so much as flinch.  You were still nude, too tired to put your pajamas back on last night; Bruno admired the early morning light glowing on your body.  Bruno kissed down your face and body everywhere the sun touched, relieved you were still asleep.  Bruno made note of every bruise and marking on your skin to treat later that morning, as he went lower and lower down your body.  Spreading your legs, you tasted divine.  You were definitely ready, too: now would be his best chance. 

 Licking the others out of your core, he heard you quietly whimper- he paused, waiting for you to stir, but you eventually drifted back to sleep.  You always were cute when you slept, the way you would sometimes talk in your sleep or kick your legs “Running.”  Bruno had learned a lot observing you, and intended to learn a lot more from you today.  He cleaned you out with his tongue and prepped you thoroughly-maybe it was petty of him, saving you all for himself, but Bruno was the alpha bull, and the perfect mate for you.  That’s why it was so important to not just get you pregnant, but pregnant with his children.  It’s what you, the both of you deserved.

Once Bruno was certain you were ready ( you were still soft and wet from last night, and pleasantly warm against his tongue and fingers)  he leaned over you, pulling your legs up against his shoulders into a mating press.  It terrified him how easily you slept, how dangerous it would be if his herd hadn’t found you.  What if someone else had found you before them, taken you like this in your sleep?  It worried him so, that’s why he had to do this, claim you and protect you from any rivals.

  Bruno stroked your cheek, before pressing inside.  Finally, after all this time, he was inside of you, warm and wonderful and all his.  You squirmed in your sleep,but otherwise accepted him without complaint.  Bruno was so happy he could cry, he settled for kissing your  shoulder as he pushed into the hilt.  Bruno couldn’t hold his urges back any longer, he thrust into you again and again, hitting against your sweet spot.  You cried out in your sleep, jumbled noises Bruno convinced himself were his name.  In this position, he was able to reach so deep, force himself as far inside as he could reach.  

His grip on you tightened, feeling the strain of the position, the slap of his balls on your ass fueling his desire more.  But it wasn’t enough, he had to make sure you felt good too.  He suckled your chest, licking your nipples the way he had seen you enjoy.  Your pussy was so wet he was able to rub slick onto your hard throbbing clit, careful to rub the raw skin gently. 

“Y/n, I’m so thankful to have found you, finally we can make our dreams come true~” Bruno whispered to you, desperate for you to know the feelings he’d held back for so long.

“I can hardly hold back with you; I’ve been waiting so long for this, and I can tell now that so have you.  Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you, we all will.  Just give in, you can trust me.”  Bruno pleaded, close to the edge.  Bruno grit his teeth, it was about to end, all too soon.  Bruno wasn’t ready, he wanted to stay like this with you forever.  Relief washed over Bruno as he heard you cry out in release, tightening around him and bringing him to release.

“I’m cumming, y/n.  Please, accept all of me!”  He gasped,spilling his seed inside.  Tears Bruno had held back spilled down as his emotions overcame him, something he would only allow to happen while you couldn’t see.  He was certain this was the right thing to do, now more than ever.  You were his, all of theirs, safe and protected. 

 In the next months, you would become full with child.  Naturally, you would have to stop manual labor-which would be fine, you could depend on your sturdy bulls to run the farm for you.  And then when you had their children, you would need to raise them. Obviously, you had five capable mates to help you; taking turns feeding them, staying up on long sleepless nights, teaching them right from wrong.  So many precious memories to be made with you, Bruno could 

hardly wait.

As Bruno turned to leave you to rest, he saw you start to rise.

“...Bruno?”  You called weakly, and Bruno was by your side in an instant.

“Y/n?  What’s wrong, you’re up so early?”  Bruno asked, concerned.  

“...It’s hot” you groaned, reaching out for him.  Bruno’s heart fluttered, you called out for him.  He felt your forehead; admittedly sweaty, but not necessarily from illness.  

“You are a little warm.  Let’s get you out of these sweaty blankets and cleaned up.”  Bruno helped you out of your sheets, and ran to get a damp washcloth.  He returned quickly, sitting on your bed and wiped the cloth over your body.  Your body flushed, and whenever you thought Bruno wasn’t looking, you would glance over at him.  Bruno smiled to himself, you really were spoiling him this morning-he couldn’t be more delighted.

“Are you feeling any better?  You should take it easy today, you had a long night.”  Bruno said as he washed your stomach.

“Umm, yes, im-ahh!”  You jumped, as Bruno’s wash cloth reached your nether regions.  

“Relax, bella, It’s important to clean this area as well. We don’t want you getting sick now do we?”  Bruno continued, unfazed by your reaction.  You fidgeted a moment longer, but considering all that had happened, you relented.  What more could Bruno do to you?

He toweled you off quickly, patting you dry and then headed to your closet.

“Let’s find you something extra comfortable to wear today, shall we?”  Bruno asked, flipping through your hangers.  What a shame, most of your outfits were utilitarian and industrial, not befitting a mother to be.  

“Oh, Bruno, you don’t have to-”  You began, but Bruno cut you off.

“Here we go, perfect!  Ah, and this shade of lavender will look lovely on you!”  Bruno proclaimed, holding up a flowery sundress made of soft cotton.  Very comfortable, but not the best for farm work.  Bruno couldn’t be stopped though, grabbing some undergarments for you    (how did he know where you kept them?) and helped you sit up in bed.

“Let’s get you dressed, as much as I love the thought of having you nude all day, nothing will get done around the farm with the boys fawning over you.”  Bruno chuckled, sliding socks onto your feet for you.

“Bruno, please! I can dress myself!”  You pleaded, trying to pull away, but Bruno stopped you with gentle but firm hands.  

“Bella, please-let me take care of you the way you’ve taken care of us.  It’s only fair, isn’t it?”  Bruno smiled, tugging your socks up to your ankles.  He held a white pair of panties out for you, “Step in, dear, one foot at a time” You groaned, turning an adorable shade of red Bruno loved, but did indeed let him slide the panties up and onto you.  He convinced you to skip a bra today (Bruno wasn’t completely selfless) and slip into the sundress, snug as a bug.

“Much better!  Now, do you want to see if you can get some more sleep?  You didn’t get many hours of sleep last night, and your body must be very sore.”  He asked you, stroking your cheek.  “Well, maybe later, but-”  You began, only to be interrupted by your growling stomach.  Bruno chuckled, “Ahh, of course, let’s get you fed shall we?”  he winked, placing a hand on the small of your back and escorting you to the kitchen.

You tried to make yourself breakfast, really you did, but Bruno wasn’t giving you any leeway this morning.

“Please, Bambina, let me cook for you.  You always make the rest of us meals, and I’m not completely hopeless in the kitchen.”  He told you, sitting you on a kitchen chair, rolling up his sleeves.  True to his word, he was decent in the kitchen-more than decent, in fact.  Bruno fried up a pig’s worth of bacon, crispy and fried with a sprinkle of cinnamon.  Eggs, sunny-side scrambled and over-easy, just a little bit runny and fresh from your henhouse.  And the cru-de-ta, a mountain-pile of fluffy home batter pancakes, smothered in homemade syrup and creamy smooth butter dollops piled on top.  Bruno piled your plate to the brim, sure to give you only the crunchiest bacon strips and roundest pancakes, with plenty left over for the boys.  It was a miracle the other boys hadn’t woken up yet, but you supposed they were still wiped out from the night before and needed a little more rest.  

Bruno didn’t mind one bit, enjoying the one on one time with you he rarely got.  Sitting patiently for him like a good mate, letting him clean you, dress you, even feed you. Bruno was determined to spoil you, so you would never want for anything other than him again.  Looking around your plate, you asked Bruno, “Sorry, but you forgot to grab a fork and knife.  Would you mind?”  

Bruno smiled, unblinkingly, “Oh no, I didn’t.  Open wide~”  He cooed, stacking a silver fork full of your breakfast.  You looked at him incredulously, “Seriously?”  

Bruno didn’t relent, smile unwavering, “You wouldn’t turn down all my hard work and this delicious food, would you?”  

You wanted to argue with him, you really did.  For every inch he gave you, he took a mile, and it was starting to be humiliating.  But for whatever reason, Bruno always made you cave.  Besides, after everything you’d been through, he’d never hurt you, always gentle and caring.  So, against your better judgement, you sheepishly opened your mouth for him.

Bruno lifted the fork into your mouth, watching your lips close around his fork.  You savored the buttery rich flavor of the pancakes, the spongy texture bouncing lightly in your mouth as you chewed.  To say it was delicious would be an understatement; you were starting to consider letting Mista and Bruno handle mealtime more often.  Bruno bit the corner of his lip, watching you eat your meal.  You wanted to pout, not give Bruno the satisfaction of knowing you enjoyed being babied like this, but you couldn’t help smiling as you swallowed bite after bite, opening your mouth and even leaning forward.  Each bite was better than the last; the salty sweet bacon grease and runny eggs soaked into the pancakes, soaking up the flavor medley and sending your palette into overdrive. 

 Bruno loved every minute, watching you let your guard down for him, licking up syrup from your chin, even letting him wipe your cheek clean with a napkin.  Your stomach puffed out as you ate through your meal, it excited him to know he did that to you, and that your stomach would soon be even more distended and full with his baby.  Your plate was nearly clean, but you didn’t think you could eat another bite.  Bruno had given you so much already, and it was all delicious and rich, and had no more room.

“Please, Bruno, I’m full to the brim.  I’m sorry but I can’t eat anymore.”  You groaned, clutching your stomach.  

“Oh please, just another bite, bambina~  you’ve done so well, you’re almost done.”  He cooed, forking the last bits on your plate.  You tried to excuse yourself, but Bruno stuffed it into your open unsuspecting mouth.  You nearly choked on the utensil forcing your way into your mouth, a sugary syrupy mess that was starting to nauseate you.  It was too much, too rich, but Bruno held your mouth shut.

“Please, y/n, you have to eat more.  Think of our children, won’t you?”  You froze, as you remembered everything that had happened last night with a wave.  You looked at Bruno, mouth still full and ready to vomit.  His gaze tore into you, more serious than he had been all morning.  In fact, the last time he looked at you like that…

Bruno rubbed your back, as your eyes watered and spilled over.  Poor thing, were you already having morning sickness?  No worries, it was only natural; he would take care of you. You were having trouble breathing, not sure if it was the food or the panic setting in.  

“Come on Bambina, you’re almost done.  Just swallow it all down, you can do it~”  Bruno hissed, as he plugged up your nose.  Bruno sighed, watching your eyes bug out; he didn’t want to be harsh with you, but what other choice were you giving him?  You needed to follow his orders, that’s how he kept you safe and happy.  “Now, y/n”  

Despite the lump in your throat, you had no choice but to swallow, the lack of oxygen making you gag.  How could you forget who you were dealing with?  How could you let him take advantage of you again and again?  You wiped the snot and tears from your face, catching your breath.  You flinched as a familiar hand reached out and grabbed your chin.  Bruno turned you to look at him, his face calm and smiling as if nothing had happened.

“There, Bambina, that wasn’t so bad was it?  You have to let me take care of you, okay?  We don’t want you hurting yourself do we?”  He asked, voice soft and patronizing, like he hadn’t just force fed you against your will.  You wanted to run away, but didn’t know where to go.  It didn’t help any as you heard footsteps coming down the stairs.  

“Yo, y/n!  You’re up already?  I thought we wiped you out last night!”

“Guess we’ll have to try harder next time.”

“Are you okay, y/n?  You look ill.  Maybe you should go back to bed.”

“Ohh, it smells so good!  Did you make breakfast for us, y/n?”

You were surrounded.  No way out.  Five strong angry bulls that had taken over your life, your home, even your body.  You couldn’t trust them, not any of them.  There was no escape.

“What’s wrong, bella?  Are you crying?”

“Don’t cry, y/n!  There’s nothing to worry about, we’ll take care of you!”

“You can count on us, y/n.  We’re mates, after all.”

You were trapped.

Trapped.

Trapped.

 You opened your mouth to scream, but it was no use.

It’s not like anyone would hear you, anyways

END

[marvels-writings]

Entrancing Roses

Natasha Romanoff Masterlist

Requested by @ophelias-heart​: Its in the flower beds that are delicately fed, watered and weeded each day. The collections of succulents, spider plants, cacti that litter the common areas and half of the surface area in her bedroom. Its healing of her touch. The warmth of her hands, often dirt clad or clutching the dead heads of her bushes. The calm of the small patches of grass cut for purpose or the rest she wants to grow wild, swaying in the breeze. Its the undercurrent through the soil and clay that demonstrates the power of the fingers, shoulders, head and heart. This beautiful home can be given and taken. Chasms can rip through the earth with the quake of her arms, or drawn together. Such power in beauty. Hey! Sorry I got a little carried but would you be up for Nat, Wanda or Carol being taken by a new recruit that instantly has an effect on the whole place. And they slowly realised it’s not the nature based magic they are entranced by, though it is pretty cool. Thanks lovely! 💜

A/N: Since I just changed my entire theme to flowers, it seemed like a good day to write this, and I used the entire first part of the request as part of this series, hope you don’t mind

Word Count: 1, 688

It's in the flower beds that are delicately fed, watered and weeded each day. The collections of succulents, spider-plants, cacti that litter the common areas and half of the surface area in her bedroom. It's the healing of her touch. The warmth of her hands, often dirt clad or clutching the dead heads of her bushes. The calm of the small patches of grass cut for purpose or the rest she wants to grow wild, swaying in the breeze. It's the undercurrent through the soil and clay that demonstrates the power of the fingers, shoulders, head and heart. This beautiful home can be given and taken, chasms can rip through the earth with the quake of her arms, or drawn together. 

There was more power in beauty than Natasha ever thought there could be, she was completely entranced by the way you tended to the garden in the balcony of the compound. The redhead couldn’t tear her eyes away from you, your hair was let down, the tresses gently falling off your shoulder as you examined the plants. You wore a casual, white blouse, the top of it tied together stylishly, paired with faded, light blue jeggings, a pastel blue bomber jacket with the sleeves rolled up.

It was the most casual outfit anyone could expect, but you looked absolutely stunning in it. Natasha admired you from the kitchen, head propped up on her elbow, her rust colored hair let down and rested behind her shoulders. 

“You’ve been here for a long time.” Steve commented, sitting down next to her with a cup of coffee, Natasha startled slightly at his arrival but regained her composure, stealing a glance at you before turning to look at him. 

The redhead glanced at the clock, he was right, she had been sitting in the same spot for over half an hour, she shrugged and stole a sip of his coffee before returning her gaze to you. Steve smirked a little, he wore a tight, light blue, short sleeved t shirt and navy blue jeans. 

“Didn’t have anything to do.” Natasha commented, putting the coffee down and scrunching her nose when she realized he had put too much sugar in it.

“Or you were just too busy staring at the new recruit.” Sam commented, walking inside, he wore an army green t-shirt and black jeans with black vans. 

“She is pretty.” Steve muttered into his coffee, smirking when Natasha glared at him for the comment. 

“Bet you 20 Nat won’t ask her out.” Sam stated, sitting next to Natasha so the redhead still had a full view of the balcony you were tending to.

“Deal,” Steve said, shaking Sam’s hand and laughing. 

Natasha scowled at both of them before making her way over to you, fully aware of their gazes at her back. The redhead couldn’t help but fidget when she approached you, green eyes flitting to the ground before you turned around to face her. 

“Hi.” You greeted happily, hand caressing the bud of a red rose, eye/color eyes glinting in the sunlight of the balcony.

“Hey, whatcha doing?” Nat asked, trying to act conversational. You shrugged and gestured to the rose bud in your hand, which was growing from a light brown to a rust red. 

“Gardening.” You answered, kneeling down and tending to the rest of the dead flowers. 

“I’d told Sam to water these while I was on a mission.” You muttered, brushing hair/color hair behind your shoulders to get a better view. 

“It’s Sam, what did you expect?” Natasha joked, watching in awe as the dead, beige roses turned into a rust red.

“I guess you’re right.” You chuckled, tending to the rest of the roses before deciding to prune them.

You lifted up your sharp secateurs and asked Natasha to hold on top of the roses so you could cut them correctly. The redhead did as instructed, careful not to get cut by the thorns as you carefully cut the best roses off, taking all of them with glove hands and grinning at Natasha.

“Thanks for the help.” You smiled, Natasha lost hold of one of the roses accidentally while you were taking them, muttering a curse word in russian when blood started to seep from her left thumb.

“Sorry, I’ll help you with that, just give me a second.” You apologized, walking hurriedly inside with Natasha following you and trying to get the bleeding to stop.

You set the roses down on the table, quickly running off and getting a few bandaids and paper towels. You missed the way Sam and Steve were smirking at Natasha from over their coffees when you returned, holding her hand in yours gently while trying to stop the bleeding.

“I’m really sorry about this.” You apologized, wincing when the paper towel turns red every time, missing the way Natasha was staring at you. 

“It’s just a cut.” Natasha reassured, clenching her jaw to distract herself from your gentle touch. 

“Still,” You muttered, taking a bandaid out of the box you had gotten and wrapping her thumb in it, smiling softly at her before returning the objects and coming back to her. 

“So you can take out buildings with a flick of your wrist but you can’t bear it when Natasha gets a cut?” Sam asked, you rolled your eyes and took the flowers from the table, moving to the kitchen counter to cut off the bottom with scissors.

“It’s the same way you can take helicopters out but can’t bear thunderstorms.” You quipped, Steve barely bit back a laugh as Sam scowled at him, Natasha couldn’t help but laugh at the statement.

Natasha moved to help you with the roses, mostly watching as you carefully tied them together with some string you had found and set them in a vase, the buds pointing towards Steve and Sam whose eyes were wide at how gorgeous the roses were.

“Explain to me why you aren’t a florist?” Steve asked, you smirked and moved to stand between the vase and Natasha, leaning back against the counter. 

“Because SHIELD would rather have me helping others than running a florist shop.” You answered, Steve shrugged in defeat and went back to his newspaper, bickering with Sam about a football match as you turned to Natasha.

“Hey, it matches your hair.” You commented, reaching out and lifting a strand of hair, smiling up at her before letting go. Natasha nodded, tilting her head to see the roses better, it was exactly her hair color.

“Did you do that on purpose?” She asked, smirking when you flustered slightly.

“Maybe,” You answered, shrugging, you moved to engage in the conversation Steve was in before Natasha spoke to you. 

“Uh, would you like to go to dinner with me tonight?” Natasha asked hopefully, heart pounding in her chest as she thought of possible answers.

“I’d love to,” You answered, giving her an award winning smile as you looked up at her. Natasha breathed a sigh of relief before continuing, a smile slowly growing on her face. 

“Great, I’ll meet you at the front door at 6:45?” Natasha asked, almost timid. 

“It’s a date,” You grinned up at her, you glanced at the clock and saw you had to go to train, excusing yourself politely and pecking Natasha’s cheek as you left. 

Natasha grinned to herself, laughing when she saw Sam grumbling and passing Steve a twenty dollar bill. She leaned one hand against the counter, examining the rose buds with one hand, comparing them to her hair. It was almost uncanny how you’d gotten the shade perfectly. She was touched that you'd grown the flowers for her, she didn’t stop staring at them until Sam forced her to go on a run with him. 

-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-

6:45 couldn’t come quickly enough, Natasha had gone to her room at 6:00 to get ready. She spent more time getting ready for a date with you than she had for any Gala before.

 She picked out an emerald green, off-shoulder dress which complimented her eyes perfectly, her hair resting on her shoulders in soft, rust colored waves. Her eye makeup was perfect, a silver winged eyeliner with silver eyeshadow. Her neck and ears were adorned with silver jewelry, the pendants complimented her dress. The entire outfit paired with pine colored heels. 

Natasha had gone to the meeting spot almost 5 minutes early, fidgeting with her silver clutch as she waited for you to arrive. 

“Sorry I’m late.” You apologized, one arm behind your back as you approached her, Natasha’s jaw almost dropped at how good you looked. 

You wore a favourite/color, body-con which went down to just below your knees, your neck and ears covered with gold and favourite/color jewelry. You wore similar colored high heels and held a small gold clutch to top the outfit off.

“It’s fine,” Natasha said, eyes widening at you. “You look amazing.” 

“Thanks, you look gorgeous.” You complimented, one hand still held behind your back, Natasha frowned lightly at the action.

“Care to share?” Natasha asked, gesturing to what you were holding behind your back. 

You grinned shyly and showed her the bouquet from this morning in your hands. The rust colored roses were wrapped up in an emerald green bouquet holder, the buds were enormous.

“Wow.” She gasped, accepting the roses gingerly, scared of messing them up.

“I thought you might like it.” You said shyly, smiling at her. 

Natasha grinned softly and held the bouquet in one hand, gently grasping your elbow in the other hand and leaning in to kiss your cheek, her hair brushing your neck lightly. You tensed slightly, eyes wide as a prominent blush spread across your face. 

“I love it.” She whispered in your ear, breath tickling the shell of your ear as she pulled away. 

You were at a loss for words as you looked down at the ground. Natasha laughed and offered you her elbow, you took it and let her lead you to her car, talking the entire way of the night to come. The entire date, Natasha was completely entranced by you, you were absolutely gorgeous, her heart leapt when you mentioned the prospect of a second date, Natasha could barely wait.

Tag List: @capcarolsdanver​, @versdan​, @lesbian-girls-wayhaught​, @lovebotlarson​, @dhengkt​, @5aftermidnight​, @hstoria​, @natasha-danvers​, @veryfunnyal​, @xxxtwilightaxelxxx​ , @ophelias-heart​  , @never-didbefore​ , @justarandomhumanhere​, @the-most-unicorn-of-them-all , @thatssocamryn​ , @lesbian-x-blackwidow​ , @wlw-imaginesss​ let me know if you’d like to be in any of my tag lists!

A/N: Tell me what you think!

[foulserpent]

only human

long character analysis + fan fiction hybrid involving critically acclaimed worst best game of all time The Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion! martin is in a mental and emotional hell! ned and martin resolving unresolved sexual tension after like, 100000 false starts! being mentally ill with the bro’s! "fluffy" ending!

cw: brief depiction of violence, ptsd, implications of past relationship based trauma, borderline explicit but not really sexy sexual content (nothing p*rnographic but 18+ pls)

On some nights, Martin was in hell.

The world was on a slow death march towards ruin outside the walls, this much he knew. Not even the strongest fortification could shield him from it. Every night from his gilded cage, he heard the screams, breathed the foul smoke and burning flesh and disemboweled gut, see the daedra drag the near-dead into the shadows to be torn apart, still crying out as they were devoured. His hands wet with blood, shaking in vain as his healing failed him and the survivors were pulled apart by their own wounds. The long walk out of the doomed Kvatch, past swarming flies and hundreds of blank eyes looking into the unforgiving sun. The revelation that all this was for him.

On the worst of these nights, staring into the ceiling of Cloud Ruler Temple as the sun began to creep over the horizon, he would wish he had just died.

This time last year, he was on track to live out the rest of his days in obscurity. Probably in Kvatch, probably remaining a priest, where the only weight on his shoulders was giving people their assurances that the Divines would look out for them and hoping he would finally taste truth in these words. It would be better than this. Those who held the reigns of the Empire were even more deluded than he'd thought, if they believed that his noble blood would divinely grant understanding of what to do, some inborn ability to keep collected and strong and sane trapped here as his friends faced death at his behest.

He would be called "lord", shone and polished as a commodity, loved and utterly devoted to, and never, never known. His feelings did not matter. This message had been thoroughly beaten into him. None of it mattered to whatever hand kept him guarded as preciously as the helpless king on the chessboard, behind a line of pawns to the sacrifice. Xikeel bringing him little gifts from gods-know-where (some teeth, a ring, a few spoons), slithering down from the rafters to visit him in the late night hours. One of the blades- bewildered - walking in on them dancing, without rhythm or music.

Long conversations with Ned, who would never treat him like an emperor, who barely even seemed to want to be there but had become doggedly devoted to Xikeel and himself. Bringing him wine, face softened into a smile in anticipation of an evening sitting outside in comfortable, quiet company. Tired and spiteful, but so warm.

He did not know when his feelings had turned to want. There was never an astonished realization, no moment that had changed everything. The first time he consciously acknowledged it was not as a revelation, but as an observation. Ned had cut his hand, a simple, foolish mistake that left Martin wearily healing him, in spite of the bosmer’s protests. Martin had held onto his hand longer than the spell needed, feeling the pulse in his fingers and wanting to entwine him in his own. Wanting to pull him in closer. Noticing that he wanted this, and noticing that it did not surprise him.

It was one of many things to think about, significantly less distressing than every other aspect of his current existence to say the least. He wondered if it was the day he had returned from his nigh-suicidal mission to cheat a god, haggard and shirt bloodied and yet with the softest eyes Martin had seen in the man, cracking a weak smile (a flash of teeth) that said "I've done it, and I hope you can forgive me". He wondered if it was Ned's unwavering devotion to leaving his shirt half-unbuttoned, the burn tearing through his chest on display like a trophy. The necklace would fall across the older man's breast while he laughed and joked about stupid things with Martin as if they were old friends. He was not above simple things.

Perhaps this was a test of the temperance he had spent years cultivating, hollowing out a part of himself to nurture the seed. After all, he had not been with anyone for a long time.

---

He had loathed the existence of the arena in Kvatch, drawing in men and women from all around in what amounted to mass suicide. There was little honor in it, just desperate people consuming themselves for just to grasp a thread of glory, dying in the mud as the crowd roared.  But Martin was only human. He had found himself looking on the men as they passed through town, all muscle and scars and fiercely alive. He had found himself drawn to one who had come into the temple for a blessing of protection. The man never said why, though Martin knew where he was bound. It was never hard to tell.

The man was tall and rather handsome, with a muscular frame and dark hair and looking to be only a few years younger than himself, (this had to be around when he was forty-one or forty-two. Had it been that long?). They'd spoke first as strangers do, running through the motions of a blessing under a thick smoke of incense and flowers burnt in offering to the Dragon. Martin averted his gaze from the sword at the man's hip as he prepared the oil. Its hilt glittered in iron filigree and unmistakable rust of dried blood struck gold by the afternoon's dying light. His eyes wandered to the man's face instead, moving to begin the anointment. The dark haired man swiped his tongue over his lips and glanced away, and Martin's heartbeat spiked.

For gods sakes.

The man talked compulsively, glancing around as if something stalked him in the shadows between the stained-glass-light. Martin had silently hoped he would grow bored with the old priest and be on his way, if only so that he'd have time to himself to contemplate what the hell was wrong with him. So, naturally, the man kept talking long after the ritual was complete and the candles extinguished. About where he had come from, (all the way from High Rock, it turned out), the unusual rains lately, family. Partners. Lovers. The conversation turned here, and had fallen with such a speed that he barely realized what was happening. The man had found Martin beautiful, and Martin, exhausted with penitence and enthralled by the stranger and aching to just be human again, had found himself quietly slipping out with him.

Martin's home was truly tiny when occupied by two, an unfamiliar claustrophobia that was quickly dragged into the mire and drowned in a little too much wine. It was cheap and burned his throat with its sweetness, but he didn't care. They'd stumbled and fallen into his bed.

"For good luck," the man had said, as they kissed rough and far too clumsy.

"For good luck," Martin had kissed into the man's neck.

The man was a bit fumbling, all muscles and scars and fierceness. No matter how close their bodies pressed, no matter the grip Martin had - his fingers marking new trails over a scarred back -  there was that distance. Two magnets repelling, even as they forced themselves together. These men going to their deaths couldn't be touched. And neither could he, no matter how he tried. There weren't even the barest roots of love here. Just body on body, flesh on flesh. It wasn't bad, though. Martin was only human.

He didn't know what to say in the morning, as the man collected his belongings to go off to the fight. "Good luck," Martin said again, feeling stupid. The man had said "thank you" with his eyes distant. He bent down and out the door, and walked out into the humid morning air, leaving Martin with a strange emptiness in his gut. He never saw him again.

It shouldn't have impacted him so badly. He'd had a one-night stand that was, frankly, pretty good. He'd given another man some comfort, something above and beyond his duty as the Priest-Healer-Penitent. It wasn't really against any vows. His lungs still breathed the smoke of offerings to the Dragon, a shrine to Dibella was dutifully kept at the foot of his bed and given a clumsy offering before the main event. He had not fallen back into the snares of that damned daedra. It wasn't a betrayal of those he'd lost. So why was he guilty?

---

And yet here he was now, on the precipice yet again. Really, he was long into the fall.

Him and one-of-two Heroes of Kvatch had slept together for a week now. Nothing more than the sharing of a bed and body heat, their day to day lives much the same as the world crumbled around him. They had kissed a few days ago, slightly dizzy with wine and the memory returning only in a haze. They'd kissed again the night before, sober and beyond any deniability as the bosmer was making his way out on errand. Ned had blushed and flicked his ears back, leaving him with a soft smile and a quiet "See you," as he slipped into the night.

Now, Martin found himself kneeling as if in prayer at the foot of his bed, his companion sitting up before him. Ned was half naked, body all muscle and scars and an exhaustion that ran far deeper than that. Martin had been healing a wound on his stomach- sliced open by a nasty (and thankfully, poorly aimed) dagger. The Mythic Dawn long since knew what he looked like, though they had hardly been this bold before now. They stalked the base of the mountains like jackals at the edge of a kill, waiting for an opening to lunge in and tear off some scrap of flesh. Ned hadn't wanted to talk about this one. His hands shook as he'd taken off his bloodstained clothes, and he scoured them with a washcloth long after they were clean.

"I'm fine." He had said. "I'm just tired."

Martin was tired too. That first night together, he had this romantic notion that being held by his friend would keep away the nightmares. They had come as they did most nights, crawling out of the depths of his subconscious with the worst of him they could offer. He'd woken up, breathing hard as terror dripped down his body. There was one difference. There was a warmth pressed to his back, and it breathed a half-snore as it moved in closer, nuzzled into his trembling neck. Ned hadn't woken. He had just wrapped Martin up into strong arms, and settled back into a deep sleep. Maybe it was just wishful thinking, but even as the last traces of the nightmare pulled out its spurs, Martin felt safe. All he wanted was to return the favor.

Now, Martin leaned to kissed the gash across Ned's chest, the one that the man would wake up in terror clutching at, eyes somewhere far away and breathing hard. He trailed kisses down the line of skin warped by fire and blade, and Ned laughed. "I can barely feel it."

"Really?" The sword and its burns had probably damaged a nerve. Or done something worse, something that cut deeper. It was a daedric weapon after all. Martin would later ask where exactly he had sensation, to see if anything could be done about it. Later, perhaps. Now, he was tired of being the Priest-Healer-Penitent.

He leaned back in, close but just out of reach. His lips hovered down over the soft hair down his middle, making a glancing contact below the wounds. Even there, the skin seemed to have been broken and healed many times over a long life. How could someone live like that?  He kissed him, just below the lower scar.

"How about here?"

"S'better"

Ned was definitely feeling something. The man's breath caught just slightly at the touch. He overcorrected, shifting in his seat a little and clearing his throat. Uncrossing his legs. Martin moved further down, just a little past his navel, laying another kiss on the recently healed wound. He wanted nothing more than to taste - touch the man before him, and to wake up with no guilt, no loneliness- he kissed him again.

"Or here?"

"Little better," the man's tone was flirtatious. "I mean, it'd be lot more sensation if you went just a bit low...er."

Ned had trailed off in the last word and froze at his own indiscretion. He was tensed like one with a hand raised against him, expecting a blow. As if he could have misinterpreted where this moment could go, alone and naked with his friend kneeling before him. As if Martin would be mad.

"Sorry, I didn't mean-uh." Ned flailed, pulling his knees shut.

"No, no, I'm sorry. I'd like to, if you would."

Ned's breath hitched. He looked utterly bewildered.

"OH- yeah, sure? Uh- Yes. Yeah." He sputtered.

They looked into each other’s eyes for a moment that lasted an eternity. Neither man dared to even take a breath. Ned cracked the tiniest fraction of a smile.

They both laughed, pulling apart. The tension had snapped, and the ache in his gut relented, put itself to the side. Martin hoisted himself back up onto the bed, sitting to his friend's side with a chaste several inches between them.

"It's... Been a while." Martin sighed. "Look at me, acting all nervous."

"Me too man, me too." Ned laughed, covering the blush on his face and utterly failing to hide the red of his ears. "’Promise I'm not usually like this, I have no friggin' idea what my problem is."

"Well, this'll just have to do." Martin made a show of shrugging and frowning in mock-resignation.

Ned let out a 'ha!' and leaned back, all muscles now relaxed as he smiled up at his companion. His words and smile were casual, but he was looking at Martin with such soft eyes, as if this tired old man was the damn moons and stars.

"Can I kiss you?" Martin asked.

Ned nodded.

He leaned over him, and went in for another kiss. And another. This time, it was as if a dam had burst. All lips and tongue and teeth and breath and hands moving on skin with a practiced clumsiness that spoke to years of experience, and spoke to one treading a ground that was brand new and wonderful for it.

As they pulled apart, Ned smiled and squeezed Martin's hands, and he squeezed back. They guided each other downward.

Now, Martin's lips were at a precipice below deniability. His hands held ready at the man's waist, a few fingers interwoven with his, beyond caring if their palms sweat or if their arms shook. He looked up to meet Ned's gaze, who cracked a smile and looked away, threading his other hand into Martin's hair in spite of his sheepishness.  

"Can I keep going?" Martin asked.

"Yeah," Ned answered, still smiling. Eyes closed. "Please."

Ned's thumb brushed his cheek, a gentle encouragement. A 'thank you'.

And he kissed him.

[witchesoz]

What we know of Oz: Book 1, the East

# Let’s talk a bit about the first Ozian region that Dorothy travels through: the land of the East, the Blue Land, the land of the Munchkins. This region’s “official” color is blue – well, official is maybe too much of a term. In the book it is merely referred to as the “favorite” color of the land’s inhabitants, like all the other “official” colors of Oz. However it doesn’t mean the whole land is blue – the flowers, the grass, the birds are said to be a diverse and vibrant palette of colors. Blue is rather found in man-made things: the Munchkins houses, farms, fences and doors are painted blue. The Munchkins also dye blue their bedsheets, their rugs and their clothes. In terms of clothes, we know that women and children wear blue but we don’t know exactly what they wear. However we have an exact description of the typical clothing worn by all the adult male Munchkins (and it seems that being an adult in the Munchkin population is being old enough to sport a beard) : a blue round hat that rises to a small point a foot above their heads, with little bells around the brims that tinkle sweetly as they move, blue clothes the same shade as the hats, and well-polished boots with a deep roll of blue at the top. In terms of culture, we know that the Munchkins are by nature kind-hearted people, very emotional and very empathic – for example, when Dorothy starts crying, immediately the three grown-up Munchkin men around her also start crying. 

The narration adds says that the Munchkins are good farmers able to raise large crops – in fact, all the Munchkins houses we see are also farms of some sort, and most of the Munchkins are farmers, the only exception mentioned being a tinsmith and a family of woodchoppers. A typical Munchkin house is round, with a big dome for a roof, all painted blue. # The Munchkin country is “sometimes pleasant, sometimes dark and terrible”, as the Witch of the North puts it. Boq has a very similar warning: “the country is rich and pleasant, but to go to the Emerald City, one has to go through rough and dangerous places”. Indeed the Munchkin Country seems to be split in two areas – its most eastern area, which is a true Eden Garden, a rural Arcadia – and its western part, the closer to the Emerald City, that is basically one gloomy and creepy forest filled with dangers and monsters. Is it the natural disposition of the region? Or was it a natural tool the Wicked Witch used to isolate even more the Munchkins? Or maybe the whole country was peaceful and beautiful a long time ago but the Wicked Witch of the East made its border a world of doom and death? Who knows, all theories are possible.

To explore the Munchkin country, I will probably follow the Yellow Brick Road, the one that crosses the whole land. Note that in the book the Yellow Brick Road isn’t a sort of “historical landmark” or “main axis” in the Munchkin country. It is merely the only road that leads to the Emerald City, and in fact it isn’t cared for by anyone anymore, falling into ruin in the most isolated parts of the country. Most of the Munchkins never want to go to the Emerald City – Boq for example never went there, and the Tin Woodman explains that his father went once to the city, when he was a small boy, and that it already was “a long journey through a dangerous country”. (Take in note how there is a separation between the “dangerous country” and the one the Munchkins live in; I will talk about it later with the Quadling country). As for why the bricks are yellow, it is not explained in the book, even though a theory explains that the road is yellow merely because it goes towards the west, hence the yellow color (and it suggests that there are similar roads, a purple one for the north and a red one for the south).

The road starts in the best part of the country, with “neat fences of dainty blue color”, fields of grain and vegetable in abundance – it is also where is located the house of Boq. For those of you that don’t know of him, Boq is apparently “one of the richest Munchkins in the land”, his house being larger than a regular Munchkin house, and after the death of the Wicked Witch he hosts a party with a bunch of friends where they abandon themselves to the typical Munchkin pleasures – dancing, singing, playing the fiddle and eating feasts of fruits, nuts, pies and cakes. After this house follows the cornfield where the Scarecrow is first met. After that the road becomes rough, the yellow bricks said to be uneven, broken or missing. The farms are “not well-cared of”, there are fewer houses and fewer fruit trees, the country becomes “more dismal and lonesome”, until there are no more fences, and the land becomes rough and untilled. Clearly, the Munchkins avoid being too close to the western part of their country, or had to move away from it.

The road then enters into a forest – which seems to occupy the whole western part of the Munchkin country. The forest is said to be “great”, with trees “so big and so close” that their branches meet and unite, blocking the light of the sun, so that at night the forest is pitch-black and no human can even see what is going on around them. This is where the Tin Man’s house is located. The presence of the Tin Man is actually quite an interesting thing… you see the Tin Man is the only “human” inhabitant of this forest, and his cottage is the only house found in the forest. Since the Tin Man lived there (and then stayed rusted there) for a very long time, it is very possible that he lived in the woods at a time when the forest was still occupied by Munchkins lumberjacks and woodsmen, but that they ended up abandoning it, leaving only one wood chopper behind, the Tin Man. But again, the Tin Man’s cottage is quite close to the edge of the forest, so maybe even at the time when lumberjacks worked in it, they did not dare go into its depths. Further away, the trees and branches become so thick that if they aren’t chopped down, one can’t keep walking on the yellow brick road, clearly indicating that the road was abandoned and that nature grew wild around it. The road goes on in these “thick woods”, its yellow bricks covered with “dried branches and dead leaves”, with no birds around (because as the narration puts it, birds prefer open spaces and sunshine), but with deep growls in its depths, the growls of wild animals – in fact, it is in this part of the forest that we meet the Cowardly Lion. Then the road is split, yes, split, by a wide and deep ditch that divides the forest “as far as can see”, with jagged rocks at the bottom and sides too steep to climb – the Lion has to take his comrades on his back and jump over it to continue along the Yellow Brick Road. Later, our little team meets another gulf that breaks the road, but this one so broad and so deep not even the Lion can jump over it, and they have to cut down a tree to cross over. These gulfs are obviously quite “recent” given that they actually break the road in two – which makes one wonder when, exactly, the road was created. Either the ditches are recent, either the road is very ancient. (Interestingly, in the audio series “Chronicles of Oz”, the explanation given to these huge breaks in the road was that the Wicked Witch of the East broke the Yellow Brick Road to prevent the Wizard from invading her domain). It is also very interesting to note that these ditches actually act as the “borders” of a very specific part of the forest, said to be “thick and gloomy” – the territory of the Kalidahs. 

Kalidahs are one of the threats of Munchkin land, “monstrous beasts with bodies of bears and heads like tigers” the Lion says, with claws so long and sharp they could cut him in two. I’ll talk of the “mind” of the Kalidahs later, but I will already mention here that the mention of the Kalidahs as “monstrous”, especially when it is done by the Lion, himself a beast, seems to indicate that the Kalidahs are seen as monsters or abominations by the other beasts of Munchkinland. However, this should be taken with a grain of salt – it may also just be the Lion’s cowardliness speaking. Immediately after crossing the great gulf, the trees become thinner and start to bear fruits (peaches and plums mostly, in the forest the only fruits available were nuts), until the Yellow Brick Road stops at a broad river. This broad river seems to act as the border between the Eastern lands and the central region of the Emerald City, so I’ll stop my description here. However, note that to go from where she landed to the Emerald City, Dorothy had to walk around five or six days – four or five in Munchkin land, roughly one day to go from the river to the Emerald City. Some of you may like to calculate the amount of miles or kilometers she crossed in this time based on complex calculations… I remember someone once calculated the rough dimension of Oz… It must be still on DeviantArt somewhere

[starwrite-er]

Manjushage - Tooru Oikawa x Reader (Hanahaki!AU pt2)

AO3 | Part 1

Summary:

Perhaps there was just enough time left to convince her to have the literal root of the problem cut from her lungs. That, or maybe by some miracle he’d return her feelings in time.

He knew it wouldn’t happen though, and if petals wouldn’t choke him, his guilt certainly would.

❀

Though he presented himself in a manner that would suggest otherwise, Oikawa was the kind of person that wouldn’t let something as fleeting as love distract from his passions. The way he always prioritised volleyball had caused relationships to break apart before, but he never truly regretted it.

Because of volleyball, nobody could get close enough to him to suffer the worst consequences, and so volleyball remained the one true constant in his life.

But now all that he could think of when he saw the reds and yellows of the different balls were the bloodied rose petals on the court floor.

A dear friend was dying and it was his fault. There was a seed of regret planted by his one true love for volleyball.

He blinked and shook his head. No, not a seed. Not a seed.

Seeds- Plants- Flowers- Roses- Petals- Asphyxiation-

He’s actually grateful for the smack of rubber against his skull, for Iwaizumi’s berating. It jolted him from his thoughts: the game of word association his mind constantly played receiving an abrupt interruption.

He chose to ignore the concern behind Iwaizumi’s eyes, but a needling voice - the same one that refused to let him rest until he’s perfect, no matter the injury, no matter the cost - raised the question of whether or not Iwaizumi blamed him.

Probably. Hell, Oikawa blamed himself.

His friend’s affliction (friend, friend, friend. That was exactly the problem.) was dire - Oikawa had no idea how she hid it for so long - but perhaps there was just enough time left to convince her to have the literal root of the problem cut from her lungs. That, or maybe by some miracle he’d return her feelings in time.

He knew it wouldn’t happen though, and if petals wouldn’t choke him, his guilt certainly would.

❀

It would seem he wouldn’t be the first to choke though.

He’s numb when he hears the news, oh so very numb, the blood rushing in his ears the only accompaniment to the fog that settled over his mind. He’d regard his clammy hands with distaste if he was present enough to notice them. He didn’t feel the ache in his fingers as they gripped the beige material of his school uniform trousers, knuckles white.

No, there wasn’t enough time. It’d only been a few weeks. He should have had more time.

He felt nauseous.

Eyes bore into his soul where ever he went, but the gazes of his schoolmates no longer hold the same respect and admiration. They were cold, judgemental, blaming. With a heavy heart, he found he couldn’t bring himself to disagree with their accusations.

The first time he immediately leaves the scene and locks himself in the toilet is when a loyal member of his fanclub had the audacity to blame Y/N for her condition.

When he throws up, the only thought passing through his mind was a conjured image of her final moments.

❀

They say distance makes the heart grow fonder.

They also say time heals all wounds.

He’d feel a great deal better if his body could pick an idiom and stick with it.

It was truly infuriating. It got easier with every passing day, it did, but there was still something that lingered in the back of his mind, haunting his very soul. The guilt faded, little by little, and he convinced everyone that he didn’t need help, he didn’t need therapy, he didn’t need guidance on how to cope. He almost convinced himself, too.

But there were some things that just hurt.

Seeing a new student take her old desk left him feeling bitter. It felt disrespectful. It didn’t feel real, as if Y/N would come walking through the door at any moment and stare at the student for a few lingering moments before turning her attention to Oikawa. They’d exchange a look, scoffing at the poor fool that had mistakenly sat there, before she’d take her place with some good-natured faux politeness.

She never walked through that door though, and the desk became that student’s permanent place.

The sting of his palm after serving the ball was satisfying, it served to him as an indicator of his work ethic - if it hurt, he did it well.

It was a counterproductive measure at times, but sometimes that sting was the only thing that kept him grounded. Raw hands and beads of sweat reminded him he was alive, that he was working, that he was improving.

The euphoria of winning a tough match simply built on this - but the sting of realising he couldn’t share his victory stories with an old friend was one he found no comfort in.

One day he took a detour on the way home after practice. The setting sun was pretty, truly, but there were no friends or teammates to distract his thoughts. There was an absentminded realisation that his feet had taken a path that ran by an old park he once frequented.

A long lost memory was unearthed when he saw the swing set. The one he’d spent hours on was still in perfect condition, but the seat she preferred was dangling. One of the two chains was clinging on, while the other was rusted and neglected, snapped clean in half.

It was hardly something to get teary-eyed at, but Oikawa sobbed until the sky turned indigo and the stars gazed forlornly upon him.

❀

Finding a gift from an admirer in his locker made him lightheaded. Once upon a time he’d smile and thank those that built up the courage to make such a move, but there was an ache in his heart at the sight of such a gesture now. He never wanted someone to harbour affection for him again. He knew he would never return their feelings, and seeing such a fate befall another would be too much, to put it simply.

This gift in particular though made him question whether it was truly a gift or not. A flower and a note seemed innocent enough, but it left a vile taste in his mouth.

Yellow roses are what killed her, after all.

Oikawa swallows thickly before a dry laugh bubbles up out of him, a weak coping mechanism when faced with such an insult. His laughter grows, manic, hysterical, until he coughs, something caught in his throat.

Pulling the petal from its place on his tongue didn’t fill him with the anguish he might’ve expected. Rather, he felt almost relieved, as if he were finally receiving his due punishment.

He was glad he was alone in this moment. He didn’t want the prying eyes of his friends, his teammates, his fans. The petal of a red spider lily was his problem to deal with alone.

He knew it was foolish - the dead cannot love you back - but if she wouldn’t cut the foliage from her lungs, then neither would he.

Red spider lilies symbolised a final goodbye, after all. Oikawa was willing to suffer for his passions, and though he once thought that solely meant his sport, it was more than that now.

The note in his locker was swiftly torn up, but the yellow rose remained.

He had a few more things he wished to accomplish in his final year of school before it was too late, but inevitably a lily would soon join that rose.

Perhaps the ache growing in his lungs was some divine retribution.

Perhaps he deserved it.

[writing-the-end]

Exodus- Part 4

Previous Chapter

An Edolas Hermit Story (AU belongs to @theguardiansofredland )

Impulse has escaped the city, avoided the leaders, but now he’s lost in a world he knows nothing about. And no matter how far he goes, it’s never far enough to stop the feeling of being watched

-----------------------

LET”s try this again shall we?. Yada yada nods to other games, easter eggs and inspiration. 

But still! CHECK OUT RED HIS WORK IS AMAZING AND HE”S THE FUCKING GENIUS THAT CAME UP WITH THIS. I just put words to paper. Sometimes I do it well. 

Warning: This story contains general dark elements and language

_________________________________________

The hours stretch into days, the sun rising and setting without a clock to tell Impulse when the nights are looming and retreating. He seemed to have lost Xisuma and Cub a while back, but that doesn’t stop him from running. He can’t put enough distance between them and himself. He can’t put enough distance between the city and himself. 

But he knows that with each step away from the bonds of Hermitland, it’s also a step away from the bonds of friendship. Leaving behind Tango and Zed, being forced to continue without them has been some of the worst thoughts that haunt his mind. Are they okay? Were they seen? Does Cub know who they are? Will they be able to escape some other way? Join him beyond the walls? Questions haunt Impulse in the day, and nightmares run wild at night. Nightmares of what horrible experiences they may have to endure, experiences like he went through. Being caught, interrogated, put through rehabilitation. Or worse. 

The worst nightmares aren’t ones of himself being hurt, or his friends being caught. It’s of them forgetting him. Moving on with their lives, giving up on their shared dreams of freedom. Of the classes they’d taken together, the long evenings studying for engineering exams, cool nights on rooftops dreaming of a world beyond the walls. No memory, no recollection of Impulse. No one left to remember, to care about a poor boy with big dreams to help people. 

As Impulse travels through the birch forest, he’s learned not to trust anything. The eyes of the trees, the whispers of the leaves all betray him. The squeaks and howls of animals are distant voices, carrying the message of his location to unwanted ears. Even the sticks on the ground, the grass are traps in disguise. Ensnaring the city boy and making his paranoia grow. Everything is out to get him. Just like in Hermitland. No, because of Hermitland. It’s all a part of the bigger conspiracy. 

If Tango and Zed were here, they’d be able to quell his fears. Prove to his mind and all it’s wayward conclusions that it’s just coincidence. Tango’s skepticism and caution would point out the flaws of Impulse’s fears, the coincidences that break the story. And Zed would have filled in what was left with optimism, truth and guidance to ease away the sharp worries. 

But it’s just Impulse. Alone in the wild, alone in the world. Is there anyone beyond the walls, or is he the only soul out here? Impulse isn’t sure if he could take living alone, like some hermit out here in a forest full of eyes. Full of things waiting to hurt him, waiting to rat him out to things that only want to do him harm. People that only want to do him harm. 

Impulse trips, crashing into the ground. Clumps of grass and dirt stick to his sweaty face, and he spits a leaf out from between his teeth. He twists, looking to see what brought him to his knees. Sunlight filtering through the trees glistens off two metal buttons, blinding Impulse as he stands in the reflected illumination. Impulse creeps closer, looking at what he caught his foot on. 

It’s a doll, a little rag doll not dissimilar from the toys he grew up with. Metal buttons for eyes, tattered fabric skin and clothes. A plant has grown from it’s chest, the stuffing within long ago stolen by birds and beasts. His foot was caught in the cavity that remains, nearly ripping the toy to shreds. 

Impulse turns his gaze to his surroundings. Trees grow from sharp rises, cliff faces of moss and lichen. No, not hills and cliffs. Homes. Lampposts overgrown with vines, flowers blooming from where lights used to shine down. Rusted iron support beams have fallen apart, tied to the ground by roots and grass. Crumbled stones and structures lay in heaping mounds, cairns of a time long past. Impulse digs the heel of his boot through the grass, and finds concrete beneath the thin layer of dirt. 

He also sees black marks on the stone walls, wooden posts charred and piles of ash tucked in the corners of homes. This must’ve been from a time before Hermitland, before the wall. 

This village was burned in the war with the nether. After all the lies he’s been fed, Impulse was starting to doubt the existence of such an event. But nothing else could explain damage like this. This is more firepower than any overworld army could do. This is why Hermitland was built. What Xisuma, Cub, and Doc were trying to protect the city and it’s people from. 

Utter ruin, total annihilation. But the line between defense and deception is so very thin, so easy to cross without ever realizing. Impulse feels the wind brush past his cheeks, his breath huffing as he stays still for just a minute. Between the broken windows and collapsed doors, he swears he can hear the voices of people long forgotten. The daily life of this village, long lost. 

Impulse can’t help his curiosity. He needs to know more, about the people of this place and how it came to ruin. He feels it’s only fair. Most of the buildings are missing roofs, left to the devices of the elements. Plants have grown over what animals haven’t taken, reclaiming the village in nature’s name. Bringing life back to a town that was once dead. Impulse clambers into one building that still has most of it’s roof, though heavily charred. The forces of nature have been kept at bay more so in this room than the rest of the village. 

It’s a library. Or, it was a library. Most of the books are gone, and the shelves have collapsed into blackened rubble. Impulse picks his way through, picking up whatever books remain. A recipe book, delicious and colorful meals making his stomach growl and ache. He hasn’t eaten in days. A manual on how to play some sort of tabletop game. Best played with three or more people. 

One book does catch Impulse’s eye. It’s a thick tome, the leather binding and yellow pages charred by the fire that had swept through the library. Portals to Other Dimensions: 3rd Edition. Impulse raises an eyebrow, and carefully flips through the pages within. They nearly crumble at his touch, but he’s able to make sense of what he’s reading. 

There may not be a way for him to get as far away from Hermitland in this dimension...but what about other dimensions? Or even other worlds? Anywhere is better than here. There’s nothing left for him here. The nether dimension is absolutely a no, but the book does mention something about another dimension. It’s vague, but something about a place full of lost things. Isn’t Impulse a lost thing? 

He flips the page, but the paper disintegrates before he can read on how to get to this End dimension. The next page says something about stone and brick. Is that how he gets to the End? He can build a portal to a different dimension, just by scrounging up stone from the ruins of this city. He can escape to the End, far away from everything the Overworld and the nether has ever done to hurt him. Make a new life in this strange new dimension, no matter how harsh it is. 

So Impulse begins to build. Tossing off his tattered buttonup, and tightening the bandage around his burns, he gathers stone and stone brick. He organizes the heavy material into an arrangement as close as he can mimic to what he hopes is the End portal. He doesn’t know what it looks like, but the book says that nether portals are six by nine meters of obsidian. If stone bricks have something to do with the end portal, then it’s reasonable for him to assume that it’ll be in a similar arrangement. 

The sun sets on the ruined city and ruined boy, but Impulse doesn’t stop. His pace becomes feverish, to the point that he actually puts his broken clock to the side so he can work without worry of breaking it more. It sits next to the open book, catching the moonlight. Impulse refuses to stop. No amount of hunger, fatigue, or pain will stop him now. He’s run so far, but not far enough. There’s still a chance he could be found in the Overworld. He needs to go beyond. 

Impulse scrambles up the lopsided portal frame, pushing his dirty, windswept hair out of his eyes as he places the keystone at the peak of the portal. One stone brick portal, which hopefully will take Impulse to the End. Impulse steps back, admiring his handiwork, and feeling his entire body screaming for him to stop. To rest, to eat, to heal. 

But his fear, his paranoia tell him to keep going. He swears he can hear voices in the distant, whispering among the leaves of the trees. People are close, or at least he can swear they are. People who want to harm Impulse. He rushes to pull out his flint and steel, not even taking the time to test the striker before sparking the portal. The rift opening nearly throws him off his feet, red swirls and sparks drifting free of the portal frame. 

He did it. He opened a portal. Hopefully, a portal to the End. Impulse grabs his clock, and steps up to the portal. In the distance of the birch forest, beyond the ever present eyes surrounding him, he can hear something howling. He doesn’t hesitate. 

Impulse leaps through the portal. His mind and body feels distorted, like he’s going to throw up. Like everything and nothing is happening to him. He exists, yet he doesn’t. Every atom of his being colliding and condensing. Until he’s out the other side. 

He stumbles forward, catching his weight on a sapling. But the young tree can’t handle the weight of the young man, and snaps. For the second time today, Impulse goes crashing to the dirt. But this time, he leaps back to his feet, ignoring the dirt and grass. His feet drag against the ground, body tired from running, low on energy. He’s running on empty, nearly burned out. Not enough to stop him from breaking his own portal. 

Impulse rips the stone portal apart, rock after rock tossed in all directions around him. The frame collapses under its weight, severing the connection between the birch forest and wherever he is now. He doesn’t care- he’s gone, in a completely different place than Hermitland. Somewhere Xisuma can’t get him. Somewhere no one...not even his best friends...could ever find him. It’s all gone, all the bad. But so is all the good. 

Days of running, without food and fighting through the painful cuts and bruises all over his body finally catches Impulse. He barely has enough forethought to step away from the rubble before his knees give out from under him. 

He’s gone before his head hits the ground.

[gravitysrainbow-1x1]

Sebastian Langston

Name on Birth certificate: Sebastian Langston

Nickname: Seb

Age:35

Height: 6′3

Build: large frame, muscular build

introvert / extrovert / ambivert

risk-taker / cautious

organized / disorganized

close-minded / open-minded

calm / anxious / restless

disagreeable / agreeable / in-between

patient / impatient

outspoken / reserved

leader / follower / flexible

empathetic / un-empathetic

optimistic / pessimistic / realistic

traditional / modern / in-between

hard-working / lazy

Moral alignment: lawful good

Strengths/Skills:  creativity, live sketching, oil painting, writing Weaknesses: low charisma, low mental fortitude, struggles to communicate when under duress Phobias: Eisoptrophobia (fear of mirrors, reflections of self), Nyctophobia (fear of darkness), Cleithrophobia (fear of being trapped)

Biggest Vulnerability: stress, sleep, difficult social confrontations  Physical Ailments: occasional wrist/shoulder pain from overuse in art Addictions/Bad Habits: formerly an alcoholic, can easily reform the habit as a crutch for trauma Birthplace: Los Angelos Current Residence: N/A Education: Academy of Art University in California Religion: raised as a Christian but isn’t sure if he believes in God anymore, or if God simply abandoned him for making a few bad decisions; he’d rather not talk about it. Job: artist  Hobbies: sketching, pottery, cooking, poetry, yoga & calisthenics

History:

Sebastian was raised in a sea of mixed messages. His parents were supportive of his natural inclination for art; having an intuitive eye for it, he couldn’t explain how he created things, he just did. Though they supported his creative talent, he felt drowned out by his older brother, who had found his success as a fighter and married his high school sweetheart. Their father approved vocally of his favor with the eldest brother. His interest in Sebastian’s work was fleeting, and shallow.

Sebastian always was more of a momma’s boy.

 In high school, he was accepted part time to the Academy of Art University in California to take classes alongside his high school education, and his skills blossomed as he developed a deeper understanding of fundamentals and art theory. 

After he graduated, Sebastian struggled on his own. Making a living off of his art became a challenge, and getting his art into galleries in L.A was difficult. The initial meetings and interviews never went well, as his introverted personality was misconstrued as a lack of confidence and low charisma. His art was beautiful, but when questioned about their meaning and origins, he struggled to put the words together in front of people.

Sebastian slipped into depression and confided in alcohol to take off the edge. He secluded himself from his family and friends, even going as far as downgrading from his studio apartment to a small basement room of an old antique shop - telling no one so they no one could find him if they looked.

---

For a moment, his luck took a turn for the better. To pass the time, Sebastian would visit the antique shop above his room to sketch the assortment of odds and ends that the owner - a little, shriveled old woman named Beatrice - had collected throughout her travels over the years. Over time, he developed a polite relationship with her, bringing her a cup of coffee now and then, and even offering to watch the shop for her so she could go spend the day in the flower market. She always brought him flowers for him, too.

One gloomy day while he was watching the shop for her, the quiet was broken by the sound of a voice. His voice. Startled by it, he searched for the source until he found himself in the back room in front of a glass case tucked away deep into the back corner. It was peculiar; little papers with strange symbols were taped to it’s borders, and inside the glass sat an old, antique mirror on a wooden stand. It was made mostly of bronze and silver, constructed in 3 parts: the circular mirror plate, the handle which was ornate with gems and twisted like a tree’s roots, and the decorative ring on the bottom of the handle. The mirror, though rusted and dulled, was still somewhat reflective as Sebastian observed it. He noticed something peculiar about his reflection. Curiosity overwhelming him, he ignored the warnings in other languages on the paper sigils, and opened up the case to investigate. The moment his eyes locked with the stare of himself in the mirror, a smile slipped across his reflection’s face. A smile that was not on his own. He blinked. Everything went black.

Glimpses of the world here and there kept him aware that he was not dead. Instead, he was a passenger in his own body, and at first, he was okay with that. Whoever walked in his skin seemed to be a better version of him; suave, clever, well spoken, charmastic and charming. Things that might’ve taken Sebastian years to accomplish were done within days. The art gallery he’d been courting to try to get his art into had rejected him initially, but this clever version of himself demanded a follow up and walked out victorious with a sizable amount of space in the gallery.

All Sebastian had to do was wake up, paint, and go to sleep. The rest, his other self seemed to take care of. It was a dream come true. An answer to his prayers.

Or so he thought.

(to be continued because wow this got long)

[theveryworstthing]

i have a guide for y’all today.

How To Prepare A Rabbit. A Simple And Peaceful Guide To Traditional Island Funerals As Led By Vultures Respectful Of Rabbit Culture With Perfect Customer Service Records Pertaining To Never Being Cursed Or Tortured By Vengeful Restless Spirits.

The Body Is Found. A crowded bedside, an open field, inside a room who’s door was still rusted shut until we broke it down how in the world did they get in there??? Somewhere on the island, a rabbit’s body is found and sometimes they are attended to by vultures. Some vultures prepare the dead a little differently, but these are the steps taken by senior priestesses Fifteen-Stab-Wounds and Irresponsible Botany and so are nearly identical to traditional rabbit-led funeral customs.

You’ll know when we get to the bit rabbits usually don’t do.

Steps Are Taken. A special tincture made of wine and charcoal is applied to the soles of the feet (if they still have them), which are then gently pressed first onto a piece of cloth and then onto a piece of edible rice paper. The cloth is the ‘second to last step’, and is kept for the funeral display. The rice paper is the ‘last step’ and is left where the body was found as an offering to any malicious spirits or persistent sorrows that were hounding them to the very end. This is supposed to be a symbolic gesture to give the soul the peace it might need to leave for The Rest instead of lingering out of worry or fear but something is eating those things the moment the body is gone and no one is looking, and something flattens the grass in interlocking circles outside of the morgue if the offering is forgotten.

To be fair this last part could be urban legend and asshole teens but something is definitely eating those dang rice papers.

Identification. The body is identified through necromancy or other ghost conversation if possible(making sure that the rabbit confirming their identity is the real deal and not…something else). This process, known as opening the left eye, also seeks to find the definitive cause of death (at least from their point of view) and secure final wishes before the soul begins their connection fast. This fast is a period of time where the dead should not be contacted. This is a time for reflection, adjustment, and mourning for the living, as well as a settling period for the dead. Fresh ghosts are a little volatile if they don’t pass on to The Rest very soon after death and can become trapped in the living world though their attachment to a person. After the soul is safely in The Rest loved ones are brought over for a second identification, known as opening the right eye, and real prep begins.

Cold Storage. The body is refrigerated above ground in specially built storehouses(the dead should not be brought underground into a warren or burrow), inspected one last time (careful notes are taken), gutted, cleaned with island fresh water(or any salt water), and readied for the funeral soon after. Well, some of the body is readied. The head, arms and feet are preserved and prepped for the funeral but the rest is put back into refrigeration (except for the heart, which is burned or thrown to the bugs asap) since rabbits consider it cleaner and only really care about those ‘main bits’ unless the dead had a very specific request. And even then it depends of the rate of decomposition. The less contact an entire group that lives in close quarters has with the majority of a rotting corpse that might carry disease, the better,

There is an exception for kits. They have their innards removed but are kept whole and are ‘fixed up’ as much as possible. It makes things…less worse.

Portraits And Dressings. Floor length death masks are made by painting a portrait on a circle of canvas, sewing it to the mask, and draping it over the face of the dead. These portraits can be very simple, putting eye color, fur patterns, and notable scars inside a general rabbit outline or they can be beautifully lifelike likenesses. It really depends on the customs of your warren and the artist in your local funeral home. In the past people with the means and access to good artists would go to get their portrait drawn every year just to have something nice to pin to their death mask (plus people just like having pictures of themselves). In modern times this is still done, but now the few that have gotten their hands on cameras have photographs as an additional option.

Bodies are displayed suspended on round yellow straw mats made to resemble the sun. The head, arms, and feet are arranged around a false body of flowers, dried fruit rinds, straw, and smoking incense. A brightly colored cloak is draped over them, allowing the flesh and fur bits of their ‘body’ to show. Flowers, pretty stones, and precious items are tucked in beside them and on top of them to further the illusion. The cloth with their ‘second to last step’ lies beneath their feet and a line of ash mixed with tiny jagged stones or thorns leads from it to the nearest doorway. The line symbolizes a kind of path to their death that they don’t want you to follow. You do not step on it.  

The Service. Close family enters before the service to view the body if they wish and kind of just privately mourn. During the service mourners walk up to the body one by one after an attendant paints vibrant pigments onto their palms(choosing the color and amount of pigment that best represents their relationship with the dead), and briefly grasp the trailing edge of the death mask. You are not supposed to speak during this ritual. There is no one there to talk to anymore. This is just letting go.

This is all fairly quick unless people linger.

Food. When everyone who wants to has had their turn a memorial meal is served in the nearest warren dining hall. The death mask is taken to this meal and draped over a stand in the brightest area of the room. This is the real service. This is where, after staring out into space for fifteen minutes before someone hands you a drink and the remnants of chalky paint on your thumb smears ‘friendship’ on the glass that the pain hits. During this meal people grieve and sing and cry and fight and tell stories about the dead. It’s very chaotic and rowdy compared to the beginning of the funeral. It has to be. Everyone has to prove to themselves that they’re ready to keep going.

Food. Rabbit funeral directors will usually stay the whole memorial meal, which can last all night. But unless they personally know the person, vultures like the esteemed Fifteen and Irresponsible with arrive for the first toast and leave about an hour after the kits go to bed. Nobody talks about why they leave so early.

While the revelry continues, the body is back at the funeral home being butchered and skinned by the priestesses. Ears, distinctive bits of fur, and tattoos are all set aside for the grave slab. Everything else is mostly sliced off the bones, which have holes carefully drilled into the ends so the bugs can retrieve the marrow without trying to gnaw through them. The meat and previously refrigerated viscera is thrown into a big pot with some of the flowers and smoky herbs from the funeral, doused in boiling water, and left to stew a little. The bones (and any meat that can’t possibly be cooked or eaten that day) are taken to the bug kennels where carrion beetles and maggots make them shiny and clean before sun-bleaching.

And the priestess’ meal is delicious. A little sad at times, but delicious. Fifteen still cries just a little, just a tear drop, every time her wife holds her talons and presses their foreheads together over the steaming stew as they pray for the rabbit inside it. She can’t help it, she’s sentimental. And also, to both of them it’s just…a wonderful process. By making sure that the body is consumed by life, useful and beautiful in the end, they honor that person and acknowledge that death sometimes creates a fear and grief so tangible that all you can do is eat it or transform it but mainly get it out of the world before it hurts people more (the rabbits’ memorial meal is the same principle really, just not as eloquent and with more angry weeping about how the deceased still owed them a solid.)

Grave Slabs. When the meat is gone and the bones are cleaned, bleached, and prepared then the grave slab construction begins. Bones, ears, tattoos, significant trinkets, etc, are arranged in a mold by suspending them in layers of crystal clear (sometimes colored) resin. They are particularly careful with the skull, making sure to coat it with a layer of protective resin but leaving the jaw hinged and exposed since after their connection fast is over necromancers can use it to contact the dead. They are also very careful with the ears, as they must protrude from the resin mass as if still attached to a living rabbit or at least be posed inside the mass in a natural way. Skulls are a link to living people, but ears are seen as a link to their experience in the living world. Both are very important.

When the grave slab is ready it is delivered to whatever grave area the family desires. These areas are always sunny, above ground, and very rocky or laid with cobblestones. While some grave slabs are simply propped up on simple stand, others are bricked into low stone walls, making some old family plots glimmering bone mosaicked monuments. Once the grave slab is secure and the family is satisfied you’re done.

And that’s how you prepare a rabbit. Serves everyone.

Eventually.

[madamhatter]

ACT I. PROLOGUE your name is.....

NOTE(S): District names, locations, and NPC names (and roles)  are ‘noncanonical’ by reasoning that I’m not the creator!  Please enjoy! C= C= C= C= C=┌(;・ω・)┘ 

Tucked away between a valley had once been the memory of a home for one who longed for any semblance of being. Even in the peaceful times in the country, one would always wish for more. For how the circumstances came to be, this was certainly one surprising. Yet, she stands among passing figures, avoiding brushing and impolite touches with strangers, and her story, to her relief, disappears among converging crowds.

Tucked away between a bar committed to long-wasted lives to alcoholism and a brothel bustling at this time of night was an alleyway that led to freedom. Even in the quiet times in the city, one could never find peace. For how the situation came to be, this was certainly one unavoidable. Yet, they scurry through busy streets, avoiding getting hit by cars and certain death, and their story, to their irritation, drags on with rushing pursuers. 

Eyes alight to the horizon, taking a glimpse of the rising sun with the rim of her hair providing shade from the rays. Not too far had been the crescent moon, its ghostly form blending into the powder blue sky. The day has only begun.

Eyes dart to the horizon, taking notice of the bleak night with the extensions of roofs providing no help with the chasers. Not too far had been the crescent moon, its phantasmic form illuminating from the black night sky. The night has yet to end.

However, today had been different from the other 364 days spent in the suspended city of Topaxi; no matter what the track of daily fate ushered them into, she couldn’t miss what the date meant. It was the first anniversary of her arrival to the empire’s capital, a place to call home.

In a distant memory away, her home had once been a roaming countryside of wheat fields and plains from how far the eye could see. A winding river dividing the northern and southern half, its serpent form bring cultivation and life for either side; the upper half wealthier than the lower, but all still with fortune and prosperity in sight. A pocket hidden from the modern marvels in the ever-growing, ever-moving world, one that embraced its temporal stasis to times forgotten. 

In the closest memory, soot and ash snowed down on her small frame, hellish ember glowing in the distance above the thick smog that overtook home. Matting down her unnaturally silver locks and remains of natural white hair had been the debris and remains of dust and spared gravel from the wreckage. A never-ending whirl of blaring whistles and ear-rupturing drops, a place engulfed by cataclysmic finis, and she bears witness to the desolation of her world.

A flower weed endures adversity and scatters to survive.  It survives to..

Get through another day.

Get the hell out of here!

12 D2, commonly known as the “El Pecho de Rosas,” was among the largest flower bazar available to massive municipal capital; most of the rarest and endangered flora, strangely unavailable for a place so grand and plentiful with endless possibilities, were often imported and sold at the open-air market. Given the bonus that the district was among the closest to the major shipping ports, the privileged and wealthy taken all their pleasure to walk carefree through and not feel at all endangered. And the ever-so curious was, not surprisingly, not one of those ‘gifted’ with such fortune, but she found herself falling into the bad habits that curiosity brought. 

24 D24, coined by the locals as the “Cayo Condenado,” was among the festering pits that existed in the crevices of cracks in the pristine image of the massive municipal capital; typical unsanctioned and illicit crime, among other things, were subjugated in the nearly-claustrophobic space. Given the benefit that the district was compact and no longer than several blocks, squished between two massive guild wards, the unhinged and the deviants roamed taken all their pleasure to walk between the shadows and public space, eagerly awaiting for those to take the wrong steps into a place that was seemingly harmless by day. And the ever-so impulsive was, not surprisingly, not one of those visibly aberrant, but they found themselves falling into the bad habits that curiosity brought. 

Form weaves through languid foot traffic, taking precaution to avoid any other humanoid presences, but far too drawn into the potted and hanging plants on display. She notes an empty stall, its vendor taking a step away, and her head tilts. How curious.

Form weaves through haste traffic, taking urgency to avoid being caught or hit by a car, but far too restricted to stay on the sidewalk and pass by the other businesses. They note growing bunches of crowds, most taking little care of the group of men behind them, and they bow their head. What a pain. 

A potted plumeria was what first drew her towards the corner of the booth. Most of their buds had been closed and unwilling to bloom; she could only suspect that being in such a pot restricted itself from growing to full potential. 

Two men holding together an assortment of mechanical parts, most likely torn from cars, was what first caught their attention amid their run. Rusted, jagged, sharp pieces bunched together, poorly ripped apart from unsuspecting vehicles; they could only suspect that being in such a rush meant the thieves wouldn’t be able to reap all the wealth they could’ve gotten from their impromptu thievery and terrible scavenging. 

She leans over, tucking a loose strand from her ponytail behind her ear. Her brows lower, a soft frown emerging as she pats the top of the branch. Words of encouragement and sympathy given, she couldn’t help but whisper and pour out her feelings to the plant that deserved to be rightfully in the ground and growing to be the largest tree it could be for their flowers. After each sentence, the tree was already starting to look better. 

Their posture straightens, shaking their head to keep their hair from falling over their eyes. Their brows raised, and their lips were slightly part, far too caught up in whatever was brewing in their mind. They nipped their thumb, glancing over their shoulder and back towards the incoming men, as they couldn’t hold onto their breath and ponder anymore. After each second spent in silence, they remove their hand from their mouth, finally set to do something.

Which was perhaps the literal interpretation one has to take when the wilting plumerias began twirling out, blossoming, with several of its branches began reaching out towards her. Her hand rests against the rim of the pot, watching the tree gain several more centimeters, hopefully not that stark of a difference. Several of the in-ground roots began peeping out from the soil -- to an unfortunate sound of a crack.

Which would explain the sudden rush they gave past two men, nearing knocking them off of their feet. Discernible bile and yelling mixed on their faces, uniting with the consistent shouts and jeers that came from the men still hot on the young runner’s trail. However, there was only yelling until a loud clatter overcame them. Bumpers, tires, tailgates, and loose doors had flown out of the two men’s arms, colliding with the pursuers, flying in whichever direction, but it always made contact with the group of men. 

“Oh no, no more growing--” A quick breath left the young woman, ready to fan her hand to quell the sudden growth of the plumeria. “You’re cracking the pot; you need that still.” She pats the roots as they were slowly curling around her fingers, and she sighs, giving them an affectionate squeeze. Her expression softens, noticing the insistence behind the plant. If not, it was unsought desire, but she couldn’t provide any more. Her hand draws back hesitantly, quietly yet playfully scolding the curling out vines that hovered seconds more for what she’d given. Again, they slowly return into the recesses of the earth, and her hands rest over her abdomen. 

“Oh, that wasn’t supposed to hit as hard.”  A sigh left them, quick to turn backward and remain jogging in place. With three or four men either flat on the ground, out cold, or stumbling around, trying to find their way, guilt has taken its weight. Their expression loured as they remained paused...until one the burliest one of the bunch stumbled in the right direction. Black eyes met brown eyes, the moment of placidity vanishes as he takes his first step forward. Without any other option, they continue running, pushing forward, bracing themselves to reach the alleyway. 

"My, my, what beautiful flowers. Miss Hatter, you have a keen eye.” A throaty yet serene voice calls out from behind her. Upon the sound, she hurriedly turns to acknowledge the recognizable voice, her body purposely stepping in the way to obscure the sight of the unsightly crack on the pot. 

“Get back here, bastard! Give it back!” An out-of-breath and hostile voice calls out from behind them. Upon the demands, they continue flitting and refuse to acknowledge the remaining voice behind them; their body purposely remaining straight ahead to withdraw any inkling of power the stranger thunk he had over them. 

“Good day,” she hums.

“Fuck off,” they retort.

Elisabeth Belmonte, age 83, jet-black hair that hasn’t shone any sign of age with amber eyes that would always give away when they’re watching someone, no taller than 157 centimeters, and the current guild master for the folklorist society of Topaxia. All this information came immediately to the woman as she presents a genial smile and a welcoming aura. 

Raggedy Jack, age not relevant, hair missing and flesh used to be inked with numerous hand-poked tattoos, from a local artist in the city, with puny black eyes that are always scolding, taller than the runner, and one of the leading man in a gang circuit that hasn’t made its name yet. All this information came immediately to them, as they groaned and rolled their eyes with blasé.

Stepping forward, she offers her arm to the older woman, who graciously takes it and pats the younger woman’s forearm as both saunter away. “You’re doing quite well for yourself, Mrs. Belmonte, I wasn’t expecting such your appearance,” she muses, “especially in such official garbs. Is today special for your guild?” Yellow irises widened, proud smile on  the guild master’s face, as she gestures to her robs with the shrug of her shoulders, “Several of our latest scouted members had their induction ceremony today, of course, I had to dress the part.” Elisabeth, though, glances at her companion’s attire. “As for yourself, what would have you wearing such a thick shirt for the summer? Had you already ran out of clothes? Shouldn’t a seamstress have closets’ worth of clothing?” The young woman looks down at her shirt, a long black turtleneck with its collar reaching below her chin. She hooks her finger into the collar, ensuring it is kept up. “While all the more peculiar, it just happens to be a habit of fashion, one could say. It isn’t that dense for the cool morning weather.” 

Several steps forward, they are finally between the buildings that squeezed one of the few accesses out of the district. Desperation tangled itself into their thought process as the narrow gap to their safety was only guided now by the moonlight; most of the passing headlights and standing lampposts never had their lights meet the area. “Finally,” they breathed out in relief, their jogging finally coming to a slow halt. Hunched forward, their heavy lids finally closed and allowed the fresh night air to graze against their perspiring nape. Alleviation came in the most indirect forms, and their fingers groomed back the bangs stuck on their forehead from their sweat. Taking in all the air they could breathe, an invisible hunger sated, yet their stomach was far from full, but it was their lungs they’d concerned themselves more with. Scarred palms begin patting down the front of their thick jacket, accounting for their belongings, and they even checked inside, paying close attention to the hidden pockets. “Alright, all are there,” they muse, straightening themselves out, and they close their coat. Yet, it looks darker in the alleyway. “All’s there? Good.” And it feels more crowded. 

“I take it you’re looking for congratulatory gifts for your newly initiated,” the young girl presumes, and she’s met with a thumb’s up from Elisabeth. “I encourage you to consider such flora like the laelia orchids, asters, and bougainvilleas. Quite hardy flowers, they are,” she waves her finger in the air, looking around at the other booths. “There is so much available here that I haven’t ever had the chance to see in person,” the words leave her lips, quieter, as if in a confessional, “a lot of these  I‘ve only read in books--.” The older woman’s eyebrows raise upon hearing the whisper and eagerly jumps in to speak, “Of course, Topixa has plenty to offer for someone like you. Where else can you find one of the empire’s most elaborate and extensive collections of flowers? Compared to the rest of the world, we’re far too ahead of most in preserving, and some of these plants can no longer be found. Even in the few countries remaining outside of the alliance, just like yo--.” As chatty as a the empire-born citizen was, pride came second-nature to describing the internationally-recognized behemoth of power. Yet, as she turns her head, realizing the younger woman never shared which country she was from, there was only a polite smile. One from a face turned away from her, eyes remaining forward and away from her, and as much warmth there was seemingly in that smile, Elisabeth dared to ask herself: ‘how could one be so summery yet so cold on the inside?’ 

“Whatever kind of parlor trick you pulled or whatever you coordinated didn’t work.” A large hand came forth, groping centimeters between the runner’s face and Raggedy Jack’s palm, so large it could’ve held and crushed their entire face whole. Instinctively, they took a step back and rushed back to straightened posture, turning themselves to face the other. “Did you really think you had a one-man job?” He jeers, taking no hesitation to take all advantage of the wide-eyed startle and paralysis that overwhelmed the other moments ago. A swift step to the left and an answer he receives, “Are you qualified to ask that? You needed five for this job.” Hand-to-hand combat and close-quarters brawling hadn’t ever been a particular liking for the shorter; it wasn’t a matter of inexperience any ‘honorable’ code they followed, just a matter of cleanliness and time-consumption they overtly valued. Neither of their movements had been anchored, the constant back-and-forth between an aggressively offensive and an equally defensive opponent. Jack imposed to find any weak spots and take out all their anger through each blow their arms could make, and the scrawnier prioritized following their movements. Each swing and movement always had a prompt. All thoughts had a neurological function connected to the physiological effect, and much to their credit, they’ve been taking advantage of it. Twitching fingers, eye movements, footing, breathing -- any minuscule detail they could find within the fabric of this man’s fighting style only benefited them and their dodges. Strength was in no way an opportunity to overwhelm them in this situation. However, the fact stands that this was a stalemate if they persisted hopping and dodging in each of their counters. A rush of wind whistles near their cheek and the younger blinks, focus returning to reality; their objective isn’t to fight, nor was it any personal pleasure to fight, and the only thing racing against them was time. To run now or not? Their mind concludes the percentages, failure outweighing success, with considered and varied variables in play. But, there isn’t time for that; there isn’t time for anything. Seconds could mean everything at that moment, and they took the risk as they quickly turn and push themselves ahead -- to the rude awakening of their shirt collar pinned against their throat. 

Whispered exchanges were made between the guild master and the foreigner, the last topic uncomfortably dying on the former’s lips as all she received was a pointed nod and the same polite smile yet unnerving gaze. Quietly, the young woman offers a gesture towards several of the booths, with personal recommendations of their vendors, musing the most about ‘sunflowers’ with nostalgic in her tone. It was then that both parted from another, leaving the silver-haired alone and still in the crowds. Her hand hovers over her covered neck and she hangs her head low. 

Inaudible and adamant protests came between the silver-haired youth and their pursuer, frantic kicks in the air and nails burrowed and dragging down the man’s exposed arms. Broken flesh and drawn blood weren’t enough against him. Tighter and tighter, his palm closed around their neck, windpipes struggling to hold air and loud gasping emitted from the tenaciously desperate one. All the pressure forced into the larynx, forced coughing and wheezing growing louder and louder from them. Every inch of their body consumed in wild heat, frenzied resistance growing wilder as Jack raised them slowly into the air; they brutally bit down on their tongue, trying to breathe through the nostrils, unwavering to feed the sadist behind his black eyes.  Resistance was met with equal brutality; his raised clutch smashing their frame against the brick wall. 

Head turned by someone’s call, the sunflowers bloomed in the reflection of her earthly irises, dazzling golden and youthfully as it was a fragment of the home she finds. Crimson stains the apples of their cheeks, overwhelming their composure and stance had been flightiness. It continues stunting the fine lines of their facade and leaves a chill down the spine. 

Head forced back by their throat, the stars swam in the reflection earthly irises, twinkling hopefully and brightly as it was the only fragment of peace they find. Crimson stains the corners of their mouth, iron overwhelming their nose and mouth. It continues spilling between the fine lines of their lips and drip down their nose.

Hurrying over, the silver-haired woman murmurs ‘excuses mes’ and ‘my apologies’ to each person that she might’ve bumped into. Her hands clasp together as she approaches and halts to a stop, a respectful distance from the guild master and the sunflowers in her possession. Bright eyes dazzled at the marveling sight of home, one that used to belong to roaming hills and fields untouched by anyone, no less, the empire. Her hands twitch from excitement and she takes a deep breath, keeping herself together, despite the tingling sinking in her boots. The guild master blinks before smiling, surprised by the sudden reaction, and could only assume that these were flowers that the younger had only read about. At the first inquiry, and needing a suggestion, Elisabeth asks if these flowers were appropriate for fits -- despite their height and how unusual it might be for any gift. 

Dangling like an unstrung marionette, head laying back, every weight in their body finally welcomes gravity and its drag towards the ground. Unmoving and silent, the rampant monologue that Raggedy Jack is only met by a tough crowd of one seemingly dead rat from the streets. The man jerks his hand, his victim’s head slumps to their side, eyes glazed over and expression overwhelmingly calm, despite the gore smeared across their face. An inquiry he gives, only met with silence. An accusation he gives, only met with silence once more. A smug grin crosses his face, though vexed by how suddenly done the fight was. His mouth opens, ready to cry out --- and he was then met with the entirety of a foot shoved down their throat, stuffed right into oropharnyx. 

Drool drips down the corners of their mouth, jaw hinged and incapable of movement, Jack’s clutch is quick to tighten once more around the attacker’s throat. And immediately, the heel of the other boot comes their way, whizzing to then become a hollow and a dull thud against the bridge of his nose. Any retaliation was met now their heel into their eye, specifically targeted right into the socket of the man’s left eye. Squelching, wet noises mixed through gurgling, agonizing screaming muffled by the stuffed foot in the man’s foot. And as the scelera of the eye mashed against the edge of the heel, white turning redder and redder by the minute,losing its once solid form,  they continued kicked. Repeatedly, repeatedly, repeatedly. No sign of emotion legible on their expression. And then, in his own desperation, he tossed against his attacker, his yowls now echoing into the alleyway and mixing together with the seedy sounds of the district.

 Raggedy Jack and the runner unceremoniously drop onto the backs against the pavement, one out of searing and hysterical pain, and the other out of a successful ruse -- yet, they are still taking desperate and loud breaths to regain themselves. They covered their head with their arms as they met the impact of the ground, while the other was writhing against the ground, yelling and screaming curses that were lost on ears that were still recovering from the blow to the back of their head. 

Hurriedly, the runner drags their shoes against the ground, trying their hardest to get rid of the remains of mushed white, blood, and saliva on them. Turning their head, a quick spit of their blood and saliva left their mouth before they swiped off the drying blood from underneath their nostrils and corners of their lips. Both of their palms slowly greet the cold ground, thundering pounding apparent in their head, slightly swaying their head. It was a little longer until they managed to collect themselves, push through the pain, and regain their footing. On their feet, struggling to hold themselves together, they managed to speak, despite the large red hand print around their throat, which’ll soon bleed to purples, blues, and blacks in the upcoming days. 

"These are wonderful!” 

"I didn’t quite catch that. But I, nonetheless, don’t fancy myself to be your listener.” 

No matter where I’ve begun, I must still move. I was nameless, a no one, and I want to remain that way. This journey I lived was but a footnote in a book that I wasn’t ever meant to be a part of. I am going by many things like the seamstress or the informant, depending on who I must be or what I must be. I am, undeniably, Sophie, the sorceress. But, I do not wish to be, and fate has proven to be untrue, breakable by my hands. It’s something man-made and not at all true to what it’s known to be. And I work in spite of it. 

            Yet, I fear something terrible is in the near future --  worse than         what I was ‘fated’  for.  

(want a funky start, instead? | want a morbid start, instead? | want a melancholic start, instead?) 

NOTE(S): Thank you for reading and thank you having me! ^^9 A compact version of Sophie’s stats will be available shortly.  If you have any questions, concerns, or anything of the sort, please DM on Discord or IM me on here. I will address everything that I can in a timely fashion. Thank you once again for reading! 

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are Weird: Human Augmentation: A Mara and Elizabeth Story

(For the first part of this series please view this story for context: https://niqhtlord01.tumblr.com/post/186292345701/humans-are-weird-absorbing-culture )  The human city towered over the surrounding area and cast a shadow so large some of the smaller neighboring cities used it to tell time depending on how much of their small city fell within the dark canvas.  From a distance one could be forgiven that the massive city was as calm and peaceful as a natural mountain scraping the sky. That illusion began to fade away the closer one got however as the viewer began to distinguish several hundred moving dots that spun and circled the city likes bees over flowers.  As one edged even closer to the monument of human ingenuity they would then begin to make out the seething masses of people shuffling through the streets. Crowds of people packed so close together that they appeared as a living wave that road between the towering skyscrapers, each person going to hither and yonder.  A seething mass of which two unlucky and wayward souls now attempted to press through. “Sorry!” Mara shouted as she bumped into yet another bystander. Their response was a sneer and glare aimed her way before they continued steadily onwards past her. She had just turned around when yet another person bumped into her, to which she then said “Sorry” yet again.  This had been going on for several blocks now as Mara was unable to find a way through the mass of people without bumping into a dozen or so of them. “You know, it was cute of you to keep apologizing to everyone you bump into Mara.” Mara turned to see Elizabeth had stopped and the crowd parted around her like river water around a stone.    “So you’re saying that it’s not cute anymore?” Mara remarked as she dodged just in time to avoid yet another passing pedestrian. She dodged again until she was standing next to Elizabeth. “Hardly. Though I was going to say you should stand closer to me.” “How is it these people part for you but are fine trampling over me?” “It’s all about looking a certain way. Not with clothes, but with posture and your expression. When they are just right it’s like you radiate a field letting others know not to mess with you.” Mara snorted. “Sure, but I think having a robotic chassis helps a bit more than you think.”  Elizabeth’s robotic insect legs glinted in the sun light. Despite the murmur of the crowd Mara could still make out the “click, click” sounds of Elizabeth’s spider legs touching the sidewalk. The eight legs easily maneuvering her through the ever opening and closing gaps in the crowd allowing her to move forward effortlessly.  Elizabeth reached out and grabbed Mara’s hand. “Here, It’s easier if I lead the way.” Mara didn’t know what else to do at the moment so she let Elizabeth pull her through the crowded sidewalk.  It was weird how Mara had come to Earth to make a name for herself back home by surviving on the human homeworld, yet now she was letting a human with robotic legs lead her through the streets of an unknown city. Her first day on Earth was going by so fast that she had not really thought about it. Should she really be so trusting of this human?  While she was lost in thought Mara also lost track of where she was until she finally felt Elizabeth stop tugging on her hand.  “Here we are!” Elizabeth announced proudly, though to Mara she had no idea exactly where “here” was. To her it looked like an empty alleyway that was dimly lit.  Oh fuck, Mara thought as she realized what was about to happen, she’s going to murder me!  Mara began slowly backing the way she had come why Elizabeth’s back was still turned to her. Elizabeth was approaching an ominous doorway at the end of the alley, the clicking of her metal limbs on the wet stone echoing and unnerving Mara.  Elizabeth reached the door and pounded on it hard. Mara was about to turn and run when a slit opened up and a pair of intimidating eyes gazed out at the two.  “Password?” came a raspy voice behind the door.  “Marvin I know it’s you so just open the damn door.” Mara was surprised with the boldness of Elizabeth. “That’s not the password.” came the reply.  Elizabeth started pouting and put her face right up against the slit in the door. “Marvin, so help me if you do not open this door right now I will beat the shit out of you with all eight of my legs!” There was a long pause.  “Come on Lizzy.” The eyes behind the door suddenly softened up. “I’m just doing my job here.” Elizabeth slammed her palm against the door. “You mean the bloody job I helped get you?!” “Oh, right. You did help me with that.”  Another long pause of silence before the person behind the door rolled their eyes and began unlocking the door. The rusted iron door began slowly opening outwards and Mara got a good look at the figure standing behind the doorway.  She wanted to say he was human, but he was easily twice the size of Elizabeth. He was heavily muscular and his right hand had been replaced with a large claw like clamp Mara had seen on cargo unloading machines at the spaceport.  Marvin gazed down at Elizabeth and though his eyes had returned to their once serious gaze the rest of his body made him look like he was embarrassed. “Is it really so hard to remember a single password Lizzy?” Marvin said as he stepped aside to let her through. Elizabeth smiled and began walking through, the two of them fist bumping with their metal limbs as they passed each other. “How the hell am I going to remember a password with eight letters, a number, and a symbol? This is an underground private market, not an email account!”  Marvin nodded as if he had been arguing the same thing. “I said the same thing to my boss last week and suggested we get special bits we’d get implanted in our body to identify customers. But then he said “Well what if someone just steals the bit?” So I said that’d be great, because then the customer would have to come back and buy a new one just to get in again! But the boss didn’t like the idea and shooed me away. Sometimes I just think he doesn’t take me seriously.” Elizabeth placed her real hand on the him and looked up into his eyes. “You are just far ahead for our time my friend. Keep at him though with your ideas, I know they’ll get through his thick skulls eventually.” Marvin smiled a bit at her words. “Would be a long while then. The boss just got a new diamond carved skull for his brain unit so it’d take a while to get through that material.” Elizabeth just looked at the him and just patted him again before whispering “Never change....never change...” It was here the man finally turned away from Elizabeth and saw Mara, eyes looking at her inquisitively. “Lizzy, there’s a strange alien looking at me. If she’s not with you then I’m giving her the clamp.” To emphasize his meaning his right clamp opened and closed forcefully causing Mara to take a few more steps back.  “No! Bad Marvin!” Elizabeth called out before swatting his clamp away with her legs. “She’s a friend of mine I made a little while ago. I’m here to show her the specialty shops.” Marvin looked back and forth between Mara and Elizabeth. “Now when you say “a while ago”...” Marvin began. “I met her two hours ago...maybe three.”  Mara watched as Marvin stared at her with such inttensity it felt like a building was falling on her before he finally spoke., “Okay, she can come on in then to.”  He moved aside again for Mara to enter. Elizabeth turned around and motioned for Mara to come in. She was hesitant at first, but she was also paranoid that if she ran the claw man would chase her down. At least now he looked more docile with Elizabeth around.  She took one step forward and stared at Marvin. When he didn’t move she took another, then another, and another, until she had reached the door and was passing under it.  “Why are you so trusting of me even though I have only known Elizabeth for a few hours?” she asked Marvin who was beginning to close the door. He shrugged slammed the door shut before locking it and returning to his post, a little side table and stool with a game of what Mara had been told were “cards” being played out. “I’ve known Lizzy for a long time and am used to this sorta thing.” Marvin said as he drew a card with his clamp and placed it on top of another. “This one time she brought home a bear cub out of the blue.” “Is that odd?” Mara asked. “Considering we lived in the middle of a desert....yes, yes it was.” Before she could ask anymore question Elizabeth had taken her hand once more and pulled her through another set of doors.  Mara was met with a sudden blinding light and wash of earth music that dulled her sense for a moment. As her head cleared she a vast underground market filled with stalls of every shape and color.  “This is my favorite place in the whole city.” Mara turned as Elizabeth spoke, her eyes filled with wonder once again as she looked over the stalls. “Welcome to the Gotz Market, your one stop shop for oddities galore!”  They walked past the stalls and Mara couldn’t help admit that Elizabeth was right. Not only because the sellers did have some of the most odd merchandise she had ever seen, but because compared to Elizabeth the other customers were even more outlandish.  At table she passed what she thought was a female human who wore a reflective mirror mask over her face. Mara wondered if the masked came off when they had to eat only to realize that the woman’s left hand was actually a metal mouth chomping on food.  In a stall she saw the vendor displaying a variety of different augmetic eyeballs in a dozen or so glass jars. The customer they were talking with would smack the back of their head and an eyeball would pop out. The customer would then replace it with the one the vendor was holding and putting it into their empty eye socket. The customer turned and Mara saw the new eye glow with a fiery red.  Most odd was when Mara’s attention was drawn by a hooded figured walking between the stalls. At first she thought it was a Mubari considering it had four arms, but as she got closer she saw that it was a human that had grafted two additional artificial arms to their body. The two lower hands were holding a series of boxes while the upper hands were fiddling with a game of some sort on a mobile device.  Each stall they passed and went to Mara saw more and more mechanical wonders that continued to push her knowledge of humanity to its limit. Elizabeth seemed very much at home though and smiled and greeted several vendors and customers as if they were old friends.  “What do you think?” Elizabeth asked as Mara was inspecting a series of crystal limbs. “These are more advanced and artful then  anything I’ve ever seen.” Mara conceded. “But I never knew so many humans had birth defects like yourself.”  Elizabeth cocked her head to the side trying to comprehend Mara’s statement. “That all of these people were damaged somehow is most disheartening, though I am thankful such a place exists that they can make themselves whole again.” Elizabeth, realizing what Mara was getting at, shook her head.  “Not everyone here was like me Mara. In fact, most of the people here didn’t have any problems with their normal human bodies.” “Then....then why did I see so many humans that did not look human?” Mara asked as she looked once more at the surrounding customers.   “Humans have always dreamed about altering their bodies even before they had the means to. When we got our hands on such powerful technology we finally had a chance to make these dreams a reality. Each of us could strive for our own personal perfection.”  Mara pondered this as they continued through the stalls. As Elizabeth said, each human she passed must have been working towards their own perfection, since no two humans she saw had the same augmentations.  Eventually they reached a stall that was near the center of the market. “Ula, I’m home!” Elizabeth called and from behind the curtain came an elderly woman. “Well if it isn’t my favorite spider girl.” the woman said as she went in front of the counter to give Elizabeth a hug. “I had a feeling you’d be by when I messaged you your order was ready.” Mara didn’t understand what this order business was all about when she noticed Elizabeth had opened the front of her chassis and was attempting to exit it.  “I can help you.” Mara said reflexively and went to asst Elizabeth. She got her out and put her down on a nearby chair, inwardly remarking how light Elizabeth was when compared to her size in the chassis. “Thank you deary. I’d have helped myself but my old limbs aren’t built for sweeping women off their feet anymore.” The old woman said as she hooked a cable inside Elizabeth’s chassis and began remote controlling it behind the counter.  “Give me a few minutes and it’ll be ready.” she remarked before disappearing behind the curtain.  For the first time Mara was able to get a clear look at Elizabeth’s legs. Unlike the rest of her upper body, her legs appeared slightly shriveled up, like they were fruit that had been out in the sun too long. Seeing them like that she couldn’t help but realize what joy her new legs must bring her.  “You keep staring at my legs like that I’m sure people will start getting ideas.” Elizabeth chuckled. Mara broke out of her trance and took a look around at the surrounding customers who were all staring at her now with light grins. Suddenly dawning on her the implication, she turned to Elizabeth again and stammered out a barely understandable response. “It’s alright Mara.” Elizabeth said as she opened up her arms and hugged her.  The hug, the first hug she had ever gotten from anyone let alone a human, felt warm and comforting.  Mara didn’t know what to do at first and simply returned the gesture and hugged Elizabeth back. So.... warm, Mara thought. A complete contrast to how her lower body appeared. In a way, that hug gave Mara some understanding as to why humans augment themselves so oddly at times. They didn’t care if the rest of the world understood them or not for their choices and tastes, all they cared about was staying true to themselves and finding their own happiness. Just as Mara was starting to enjoy the hug the elderly woman appeared again with the chassis in tow and saw the two of them hugging. “I can come back later you know. Benefits of owning your own stall and all.” Mara quickly let go of Elizabeth, though Elizabeth hugged her for a bit longer before finally letting go and they both turned to look at the chassis.  Instead of the previous polished metal look it was now adorned with a desert yellow paint and covered with symbols and pictures Mara did not understand. she was going to ask what they were when Elizabeth began clapping and giggling happily. “It’s perfect!” she declared, waving the woman over so she can return to her chassis.  With a bit more enjoyment this time, Mara helped Elizabeth into her exoskeleton and watched it seal up around her. Elizabeth took a deep breath and closed her eyes and began moving her robotic limbs one at a time to ensure they were running fine. “Aside from the detail work I ran a diagnostic and general maintenance on it as well. She’s fit as a fiddle so go play yourself a tune.”  Elizabeth paid the woman and she and Mara both continued on their shopping.  “Thanks for being patient.” Mara looked at her and saw her bright smile again and didn’t know how to respond. She looked down and pointed at the symbols now on her legs. “Those are impressive markings. What do they mean?” “This is a memorial to my people’s culture, what you’d call Egyptian.”  “I see, and are these your gods?” she said as she examined the artwork. “They were at one time, but now I like having them just to remind me of home.” Elizabeth remarked. Mara was still looking at them when she felt Elizabeth grab her hand.  “So you came with me on my errand, you pick what you’d like to do next.” Mara was about to answer when her stomach gave off a loud rumbling sound.  “Food would be nice.” Without even asking what kind of food, Elizabeth smiled and began leading Mara away in search of their next adventure. Earth food.   

[cutegirlmayra]

Surprised no one asked you for an amnesia prompt yet! Since Rememory had Amy without her memories of Sonic, how about Sonic's turn to lose his memories? Whether it's like Rememory where he'd only forget about Amy or just a full-blown amnesia is up to you.

(x) Special thank you to @thatange for allowing her art to be featured with this prompt! If you or a friend would like their art featured on this blog’s prompts, please message me! I would be very grateful for your permission :)b

Rememory Fanfiction: FF.Net (x) AO3 (x) DA (x) Wattpad (x)

Prompt:

“It’s just… This feels familiar, this situation… somehow.” Sonic talked to himself out loud, holding the Iblis flame lightly flapping in a floating lamp of sorts.

He placed his finger to his lips in thought, remembering Blaze crying and the flame suddenly appearing as an entity wanting to destroy the fabric of space and time. Blaze claimed to not have known about it but felt she was responsible for it in some way.

…But then…

“Amy…” Sonic turned around, seeing her standing behind him.

“What’s wrong?” She tilted her head, waiting.

He felt a bit guilty and finally told her the truth. His eyes arched back, “I just can’t… help but feel like this is gonna end badly somehow. Like… If I blow this flame out, I won’t remember certain things.” he wondered how such a tiny flame could cause so much mass havoc.

“You mean…” she cutely walked up by his side, leaning to see the flame floating on its lamp above his hand. “You’re familiar with this flame?”

“…I’m not sure.” He closed his eyes and shook his head, turning away from her. “But I gotta blow it out. It’s the only way to reverse time back. How far back.. I’m not sure.”

“…But…” Amy stepped forward, “You won’t forget us, will you, Sonic?” She hopped a little more in front as he scratched the side of his head, showing he wasn’t sure if he could answer that honestly. “You… You can’t risk losing us!” She bundled her fists together, an odd step forward on her pigeon-toed feet.

“If you do… if you do… how could you even consider it!” her sorrow dragged in her voice, before picking up to betrayal and anger. “I won’t let you! I’ll blow it out!” She stumbled as she reached for the flame, Sonic lifting it high above her and catching her before she tumbled.

“Amy..!” Sonic held her by the waist, making sure if she squirmed–which she did struggle–that regardless, she wouldn’t be able to get the flame. “This is…. this is the only way to set everything back! The world’s covered in magma and ashes, Amy! You can’t choose us over them.”

“Yes I can!” Amy tried to get out of his hold, but his lock on her body was secure. She was able to get her feet under her and pull at his arm, “No,..! No, no, no!” she finally gave up and reached for the flame, wobbling on her tippy-toes. “Why do you have to do it!? Why can’t I…” her tears began as she watched the flicker of the flame, the slow dance it made as Sonic held it up high out of her reach, a torch that could possibly extinguish the memory of her only true love.

“If I had to choose between the world… and you…” she slowly dropped her arm, turning to a new desperate attempt at stopping him.

She hesitated, turning around and looking into his eyes, highlighted by the deadly flames glow.

“I would choose-!” she jumped at him, kissing him off-guard as the flame… slipped…

As Sonic stabilized himself, leaning back and eyes widened at her gesture– which she hadn’t stepped back from, even now, by the way…– he saw the flame began to slowly fade away as it fell through the empty space between time.

He quickly acted, moving more into Amy’s kiss and grabbed the flame falling behind her, it singed his glove as he spun to keep her away from it.

the spin… had the flame extinguish… and the world go dark… as their lips never parted.

——-

Amy cheerfully was enjoying the sunny, spring day. Picking flowers was a necessity in May, no exceptions!

She bobbed her head as she dipped down to pluck some flowers before a gust of wind threw her off her usual cheeriness.

“…Sonic!” her eyes grew wide.

She remembered instantly, it didn’t even take a half-second for her body to instinctually start racing after the wind.

She remembered, everything up until Blaze crying.

“H-” She was at a loss, “How could I forget Sonic?!” she felt afraid for a moment then, stunned and worried how she sent days not thinking about him, not wondering what crazy adventure he had gotten himself into lately.

She bolted. The drive in her heart like a gas tank that revved up her breathing and kept her legs full of fuel. A fine-tuned car that started for none other than the one she loved.

“Sonic!” she called out, desperate for his attention and absolutely frantic at having forgotten about him.

‘It’s impossible, I couldn’t have forgotten him!’ she told herself as she continued to run. ‘Sonic would have slowed by now, why isn’t he stopping?’

She came to a halt when her body finally couldn’t take in enough oxygen and keep pursuing. Though the heart was willing, her body was starting to lose its adrenaline rush.

She clutched her knees as her shoulders moved up and down in rhythm to her rushed breaths.

‘Why didn’t he… why didn’t he stop for me?’ she questioned.

Her ears flicked around, showing not only confusion but also trying to hear which direction he may have taken.

His blue blur was far out of sight now. There was no way to tell by sight alone where he could have gone.

It would take another 3 weeks to track him down, all torturous, all longingly hopeless as she bared the harsh nature of her world to find him.

At last… she found a figure lying on a roof, blue and perfect as her memory seemed to fail her again. ‘Was he always this laid back? I feel like he was… why… why is it so hard to remember?’ she was growing frustrated with herself, but that emotion came out strong in her voice, causing a bad reception on the other end…

She threw her arms down by her sides, “Sonic The Hedgehog!” she cried out, “Why didn’t you stop and say hello to me when I kept calling you?!”

A face turned to look at her, his eyes half-way closed and his expression mostly indifferent. “Hmm?”

“Ah! How rude!” she puffed up her cheek, seeing he didn’t seem to care. “I’ve been trying to find you for weeks!”

“…Yo, you found me.” He raised a hand, acknowledging her accomplishment. He then yawned and used the same hand to stick his pinkie finger into his ear in boredom. “Such a loud voice…” he mumbled to himself quietly.

“Is there somethin’ you need?” He finally asked, after a moment of silence while Amy’s heart broke inside her.

“…I… Sonic… It’s me. It’s Amy. Amy Rose! You’re Amy…” She defeatedly withdrew a little bit. Her head came down, her hands met down in front of her, but her eyes remained to the back of his head.

“Oh?” He looked behind him, shrugging with the same arm. “Never heard of ya.”

The nonchalant reply shattered the windows of her eyes.

Even Sonic’s eyebrows lifted at the sight of her absolute destruction.

“You… You… That’s not funny! Sonic, you’re a jerk! Idiot!” she cried, launching her hands up to the sides of her eyes as tears sprayed out and she raced off, sobbing.

“…Was it something I said?” Sonic looked confused at the camera.

Amy continued to race away, crying loudly. ‘How… After all these years… how could he forget me?’ It was her worse nightmare, she couldn’t handle it, her heart was failing her as the engine she once trusted so much began to falter and wane.

As though an old and rusted furnace, the lining of her heart began to peel off and she slowly sunk to the ground, tucking her legs up to herself as rain began to fall.

A figure in the rain stood over her, his hands on his hips.

She heard a rustle of muddy grass approach her like footsteps, and tried to peer up through the thin but heavily pouring rain to see the man.

“…It’s never wise to be out in rain.” The voice stated, offering her his hand as he bent down to her. “Come on, you’re crying is upsetting the sky.”

It was a tender remark, but it was still a direct piece of pain to her heart.

She nodded and took his hand.

“Where are you from, anyway?” he asked.

She couldn’t even bear to look at him.

When she didn’t respond or even turn her head to him, he sighed, remaining still a moment before looking up at the storm clouds.

She sneezed then, and he smiled.

“Well, we won’t get anywhere by just standing around.” He scooped her up bridal style and was amazed at how well she adjusted in his arms. Though, he didn’t say anything regarding the strange sensation that he had done this sort of thing before, but he hadn’t really saved a damsel in distress. Did this mean he was officially her hero now?

“For a fan, you really put everything you have into seeing me.” He meant it as a compliment, “A few weeks, huh?”

He looked to her, but she just clutched her hands around his neck tighter, gritting her teeth.

‘How could this have happened? There must be an explanation. Was it Eggman?’

When she didn’t respond again, he sighed once more. “You don’t seem thrilled about any of this…”

“How can I be happy knowing you’ve forgotten me?” her voice cracked mid-sentence, too ashamed and worthless to stick up for herself. “If this is a joke, it’s not funny. It’s.. too cruel. Even for you.”

The statement just left Sonic staring at her.

In silence, he decided it best not to push anymore conversation. He wasn’t good at it anyway.

Deciding, very consciously, not to be confused- Sonic trekked on through the blowing rainstorm. It was a warm rain though, so he didn’t mind.

He tried to be a gentleman and shield her most of the time, but her head was ducked under his anyway, she would get wet everywhere else regardless.

He found a batch of matted foliage and ducked under there to see if any water leaked through.

It was a batch of greenery, but small for a den.

‘Eh, it’ll have to do.’ Sonic looked to Amy, watching water drip off her quills and slide down her cheeks.

Were those rain or tears..?

His eyes softened to her and he looked away.

Taking a breath, he turned back with a heroic smile on his face. “Miss? We’re here.”

She sniffled, “Where?” her three bangs had fallen over her sad, little pitiful face and Sonic couldn’t help but find that rather cute.

“Heh.” he felt bad for the girl, wanting to turn her mood around. “A type of briar patch I would imagine.” he pointed to the tightly knit thorns above the entrance, “But our quills should keep us safe.”

“You knew I was a hedgehog?”

“Uhh… I may not have heard you calling from all the wind rushing past me, but my vision hasn’t failed me. Yet, anyway.” he winked, trying to be charming.

She turned away again.

“…Ohh.” He groaned, upset that for the first time, he couldn’t seem to cheer a girl up. “Here.” he tried to be polite now, just stick to good manners and set her down in the sheltered cover first. “Watch your head and dress.”

Her dress got caught on a twig and before it could tug her, he swiftly loosed it and she continued to crawl inside the den.

She turned around and sneezed again as Sonic sat beside her, ‘whoo’ing a gesturing of relief at getting them out of the rain.

He grinned even more now, knowing how contagious a smile can be. “Good thing you’re loud, lady. Or I’d have been looking for ya for a while.” he rubbed under his nose, finding it a bit embarrassing to say that.

“…You were looking for me?” She turned back to him, before puffing up her cheek in anger again. “Quit acting like we’re strangers! Hmph!” she rejected his kind gesture to make her laugh.

He flinched at how cold she was being, “Now, now…” he sweatdropped, “Give a guy a break…”

After a moment, Amy turned to him again, “You… You really, honestly don’t remember me?”

Sonic shrugged, “Not a clue!” he beamed.

Amy’s heartfelt Eggman’s robots surround her and fire directly to her core in an execution.

She silently fell back but was pricked by a thorn.

“Ow!”

“Woah! Hang on there…” Sonic reached his hands back for her, helping her stay upright. “You alright?”

“Yeah, I… Ohhh!!! How can I be alright when you seriously don’t remember me!” she reverted back to herself a moment before remembering to be mad again.

“Heh, okay, but I’m not entirely at fault here.” He kindly tried to look at her with some sympathy. “It’s not like you told me where we met before…”

“Ohhh! We’ve been friends for years!” she kicked her legs up and down like a mini-tantrum, not wanting to be spiked by the prickly twigs again.

“For years, huh?”

“I know Tails, Knuckles… everyone will be missing you!”

“…Who?”

“W-what?” her mouth dropped a moment, losing all her anger than to replace it with fear. “Tails… Knuckles… You don’t remember them either?”

“Not a clue.” Sonic shrugged, “But it sounds like a wonderful life.” He grinned.

“…No,… don’t be carefree about this… this is awful! We have to help you meet your friends!”

“Friends?” Sonic scoffed slightly, turning away from her and putting a hand up by his mouth. ‘She’s a little nuts…’ he told himself, ‘But at least she’s cute when she worries about me.’

He turned back to her, deciding to play along. “And what were you and ‘my friends’ and I doing together? Partying? Up to no good?” he reclined a little, wanting to see how far she’d take this.

“We’d fight Eggman…” she looked to the ground, heartbroken that this was all real.

Sonic’s eyes widened a little, “Eggman?”

“You… probably don’t remember him either.” she brought her legs up to her, holding them close when Sonic smirked.

“How could I forget Eggman?” He laughed, “How could anyone forget him?”

“Waahhh!? You remember Eggman but not me!?” Amy looked hurt, spreading out as she fully turned to him now.

“Haha! You’re so dramatic.” he pointed at her and continued to chuckle. “No need for the theatrics, lady. But it is kinda funny.”

She puffed up her cheek again, “Ohhh… you may have lost your memory, but you sure haven’t changed!”

“Heheh. So… what was Tails to me, in the past?” he closed one eye, turning playful.

“He.. he’s your best friend.”

“Tails is a boy?” he looked a little surprised to hear that. “His name sounds a little funny.”

“He’s got two tails, but his real name is Miles. We just call him Tails cause he prefers his friends to call him that.” she wiggled her finger along the dirt, still crushed by this discovery.

“Ohh…” Sonic wondered if such a girl would be able to find her way home after the storm. She looked like she needed some ‘special’ kind fo help…

“And Knuckles?”

“He… Well, he was kinda like your rival.”

“That sounds fun!” Sonic laughed, “What was he like? A real brawler?”

Amy suddenly realized his tone of voice, “You…” She turned to look at him, “You don’t believe me… Do you?”

He kept his smile.

“And what were you… to me?”

He lowered his head, “Back then? In this, other world?”

She was about to open her mouth and say, ‘girlfriend’ but he’d never believe her then.

She closed it and looked away.

“Oh? Suddenly turned shy now?” he tried to turn his head to see her. “Why all of a sudden? Were you something important to me?”

He was mocking her… wasn’t he?

She ducked her head even more now.

“My name’s Amy.” she muttered.

“Huh? What was that?” He bent his ear toward her.

“My name…” she twitched violently.

She lifted her head in rage, “IS AMY ROSE!”

A large ‘BONK!’ was heard along with a ‘PIKO’ as she raced out of the thicket.

“Ow! Where’d that come from!?” Sonic was totally taken aback by the random hammer and her fist coming directly down on his head. “My fault for getting to close to a nut job.” he grumbled, rubbing his head and sticking it out fo the ticket.

The rain was just a drizzle now.

“Hey, Wait-!” he sped off after her, catching her easily.

“You shouldn’t run off on your own like that. I thought we were having a pleasant conversation?” he continued this teasing, but Amy wouldn’t have any of it.

“If you met Tails and Knuckles, you’d know who they were!” she tried to find a way around his mocking, but he just kept speeding in front of her and waving his arms about to taunt her.

“Hehehe, Okay. I believe you.” he suddenly turned serious, and stood straight, dropping his hands.

“Y-you do?”

“Sure! Besides, I can’t let you run off without someone watching out for you. You may have a cold.” ‘I can’t let her leave like this, someone’s bound to be looking for her. Maybe these -Tails and Knuckles- guys are people who know her.’

She suddenly looked relieved and excited, “You mean it?”

Her change in attitude made him smile, “Yeah, I got nothing else to do.” He sweatdropped. ‘I couldn’t let you get into trouble because of me…’ “I’ll take you home too.”

She smiled, “Yay! We’re gonna restore your memory! You’ll remember us! Ya-ha!” she jumped around and cheerfully returned to her old self, eyes sparkling and her body full of life.

Her energy made him stop and stare a moment, ‘Wow, like 0 to 80.’ He whistled, “That sure changed your mood.” He was glad she wouldn’t be upset while they traveled.

He met Tails first, though Tails also didn’t seem to recognize him. Sonic side-commented that he was pretty sure Amy was crazy, and to go along with her till he could find someone who knew her. Tails was kind enough to agree, saying he admired Sonic too, but not to make up crazy stories like this…

However, Tails was surprised how much Amy knew him, and the spookiness of it all made him and Sonic a little more sheepish around her.

They met Knuckles next, who seemed more like a villain than a rival to Sonic and Tails.

They defeated him and bonded, high-fiving as Knuckles explained that he knew they stole his emeralds, but Sonic admitted he had no idea what he was talking about.

Amy suggested Eggman which turned out to be true, which continued to spook the three, but Knuckles believed Amy to be a witch of some kind.

Finally, Eggman didn’t recognize the whole lot of them but Sonic. “Making friends are we, Sonic?”

“Actually,” he looked around at Knuckles and Tails. “Yes.” He seemed surprised to admit that, but Eggman looked flabbergasted that his long-time enemy was quitting the solo career.

“No matter!” he got ready his ‘ingenius’ plan to thwart them. “More the merrier!”

The newly formed team defeated him, and Sonic finally gained the trust of Knuckles.

“I’ve never had friends before!” Tails exclaimed, excited to be a part of something like this. Especially S-so-social…

“I’ve never been out before!” Knuckles placed his gloved-hand over his forehead to block the sun, looking at the beauty of Angel Island from here, then all the world.

“No, no, no! You’re all friends! We’re all friends! this… you were supposed to remember! Augh! Now what do I do?” She held her head, shaking it in frustration and misery.

The boys looked at each other, then smiled to Amy.

“But we are friends.” Tails stated.

“And it’s all thanks to you, Amy.” Sonic gestured to her, also looking pleased by the day’s events.

“Heh, maybe you’re not so crazy after all.” Knuckles smiled, “But still weird, mind you.”

Amy looked at the three boys, still broken hearted but nodded in defeat. “You’re right… If I can’t bring back the time that once was… then…”

She raised her head and nodded, smiling prettily. “Then I can at least restore what was once lost.”

The three smiled and cheered. “That’s the spirit!”

Later, Sonic pulled her aside, moving his head close to just about touch his forehead to hers, but not really.

His arms folded, night steadily approaching, he asked again, “So… what were you to me? In this other world?”

“I… I wanted to marry you.” she finally said, nervously pushing her pointer fingers in on each other.

His face cracked.

He laughed, gripping his belly. “Definitely a good idea not to go with that at the first meeting!”

She blushed, “You really think I’m still crazy?”

“Maybe…” he quieted down and then looked more affectionately towards her, “But a little crazy never hurt anyone.” He winked, putting his hands on his hips. “Though, if you are a fortune-teller, I don’t know what to think of that one prediction… Still, I owe you a lot.” He looked up at the sky and scratched his nose, then smiled and closed his eyes, thinking…

“Thanks, Amy. I appreciate it.”

Amy would live in this new future for a few years before kissing Sonic and restoring the old world’s memory back to everyone.

But for a few years? She got to fall in love with him all over again~

[eatbreathewrite]

The Adventures of Todd and Granny

(Alternatively: “I Saw Granny Ethel with the Devil”)

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V

Yard Work

Of the many lessons instilled in him by Granny Ethel, the one that Todd knows best, is that good, hard, honest work keeps the devil at bay.

It’s only a saying. But he takes it to heart, if only to reassure himself that his brethren don’t know or care where he’s disappeared to for the past few months.

Really, they shouldn’t care. They’re often called away and sent on wayward tasks by superiors and skilled summoners alike. Sometimes for years.

Todd wouldn’t mind living like this for a decade, or two.

The Human Todd—Theodore—though, doesn’t seem to hold the same morals.

“Ugh—why won’t the damn thing just start?” he gripes at the old push lawn mower, rusted and peeling with age, as he yanks the motor’s rip cord for the third time in a row—unsuccessful. Not even a stutter. The heel of his shoe bounces off of its faded red deck with a dull, metallic thump as he tries to kick it into submission, but hitting machinery never inspires it to suddenly, magically work.

It isn’t that it doesn’t have gas—Todd has made sure it’s well taken care of in its old age and properly filled. It isn’t that it’s missing its grass-catcher bag, either. That’s another issue to be met further down the road.

Ultimately, it’s just Theodore’s poor luck and impatience. And a dirty carburetor, perhaps.

He’ll let him struggle obliviously for a few moments more—but only a few. Granny Ethel’s lawn is overgrown with a wily mass of green-yellow grass up to his shins, in desperate need of taming. But for now, he just shakes his head and minds his business at the stone-bordered garden on the other end of the lawn, getting his claws dirty pulling stray weeds from between herbs and taking notes on which ones need pruning.

More importantly, he only allows Theodore to swear so loudly because Granny Ethel is currently absent.

Their friend Sam from the grocery store kindly drove her to her routine check-up at the local clinic earlier that afternoon, though they probably would have walked if it wasn’t in the next town over.

Being who she is, he’s still a bit surprised they didn’t.

Another kick echoes off the metal body of the lawn mower—followed quickly by a strangled yell and the sound of something heavy—someone—hitting the grass with a sharp rustle. A soft landing.

Maybe he’s lucky after all.

Todd still ignores him, and pauses briefly to admire the ruby red glare of a ladybug landing on the back of his dark hand. Even as the swishing of disturbed grass only grows closer, until a distorted human shadow blocks the bright patch of sun reflecting off of the ladybug’s fragile shell.

Theodore clears his throat.

The ladybug’s wings unfurl in a flutter and it flits away, following the wind.

Again, he clears his throat to garner attention—and Todd ignores him. But he does keep him in the fringe of his peripheral vision.

“No help at all.” He huffs out an insulted breath as he stomps away, unkempt, sweaty blond hair flouncing with each step. It must be the hardest he’s worked out in ages, to get so worked up.

But Theodore doesn’t return to the lawn mower—this time he heads toward the far corner, to the small brown shed topped with a patchy, bright yellow roof. Unpainted, unfinished. It’s something Todd will take care of at an appropriate time. Granny Ethel’s birthday, perhaps…though she hasn’t mentioned it just yet.  

The doors rattle as he gives them a shake—locked, naturally. He sets his hands on his hips and hangs his head in defeat. Bends down and almost collapses in the grass, ready to give up, but stops. Frozen, as if struck by inspiration. His head tilts dramatically as he peers toward something in the corner, resting in the shadows between the shed wall and the fence.

Todd has to admit, this interests him greatly—he turns his head to watch, but doesn’t move from his spot beside the herb garden.

Theodore straightens up and slinks toward the shadowed nook, reaching a hand out into the blackness. And when he draws it back, a scythe handle is gripped in his palm.

It’s dusty. Rusted and bent at the edges, probably dull—and complete with another hand grip protruding from the main rod like a functional tool. Made of old wood; reliable wood. Hand-carved. Theodore wheezes out a laugh of disbelief and quickly turns. Todd can’t turn around fast enough and catches the brunt of the victorious grin wrinkling his face. Knowing, and so triumphant. The absolute epitome of foolish Pride.

He doesn’t even know what he’s holding, certainly. Not with those pristine, clean hands that have only been pricked by a splinter today.

Todd rises to his feet, to his full height. There’s no need to heed ceilings—not outdoors. When he takes the first step, Theodore’s smile crumbles. He clutches the scythe to his chest and takes a step back, shoulders tense. He holds the eye contact just to spook him. Just a bit.

But he doesn’t walk to him. He reaches the lawn mower and kneels to pass a hand over its motor, clearing it of whatever issue remains.

Ah. Like he thought. It’s the carburetor.  

He takes the rip cord in one hand and gives it a brisk yank—the motor stutters. Again, he pulls it, and the machine roars to life. Obedient, like a well-tamed beast.

Theodore’s strangled yelp of outrage satisfies the primal human vengeance he’s come to know as “pettiness.”

As the lawn mower idles, Theodore sets the scythe carelessly aside, dropped against the shed, and trudges through the tall grass toward it. He seizes it by the handle bar without sparing Todd a second glance even as he towers over him, still kneeling, thanks to the height of his spiraling horns.

Still, he doesn’t seem to know just how to operate the machine he snatched away. He pushes it forward, too rough—and jumps back with a start, cursing as the fresh-cut grass clippings pepper his navy-blue slacks in a rush of green.

But the beast has already been released, and as his fingers slip from the handlebar, it creeps its way forward without prompt and with surprising speed.

Straight into Granny Ethel’s beloved and flourishing lantanas.

Then right over them.

Both, speechless and stock still, stare at the vermillion whirl of shredded petals spit out in the lawn mower’s wake. Even as it bumps into the fence and tries to continue on, unaware—until it topples over and chokes itself out, blades whirring to a halt beneath its casing.

Just in time, too. In the distance, but not too far away, a car door slams shut. Swift and familiar, shuffling footsteps fast approach. The wooden side gate creaks open.

“We’re back at last, dears! I’m sure you’ve been working hard. Why don’t we take a break? I saw the most charming bakery on the way home and couldn’t help but—”

Something crashes against the cobblestone walkway. Soft—covered in a plastic bag. Bread. No, cinnamon buns. Todd can smell the sugary vanilla sweetness through the package. But he can’t quite turn to face Granny Ethel as a red hot glare fills his eyes, aimed only at Theodore.

But—no. It isn’t entirely the man’s fault.

It’s his, too, for playing a jealous, petty little game. Because he could have stopped the lawn mower and didn’t.

Sometimes, standing idly by is the worst sin of all.

Todd’s heart caves in as Granny Ethel breathes in and exhales, speechless, and presses her hands to her mouth when he turns to face her.

“Oh, my… The lantanas.”

Her eyes dart to the ruined mess of flowers and she takes a tiny step forward, over the fallen bag of sweet bread. Drops her hands from her mouth and holds them out in front of her as she ambles forward—and stops, a safe distance away from the destruction.

“Oh, my dudes, yikes,” Sam breathes, hissing in through his teeth and rubbing a brown hand across his frowning, pursed lips. “I, uh—I’ll go in and mix up some juice or something. You’ll need it.” He picks up the fallen bag of buns on the way.

Todd’s shoulders hunch as he very nearly curls in on himself in shame, wrapping his shawl tight around himself—because the heat never bothered him and it’s his it’s special and it was a gift from her and, somewhere deep down, he vows to never disappoint her, to hurt her, in such a way again. Ever.

Theodore, flushed deep red from neck to ears ever since his grandmother walked in, shuffles half-heartedly in front of the straight line of shredded lantanas, at least self-aware enough to realize he’d made a grave error. His hands knead roughly together, pale skin turning whiter from the pressure. Sweating, still, but not only from the summer heat.

“Gran, I…”

“Charles grew that patch for me.” Her soft poofs of cloud-white hair twist in the breeze as she closes her eyes and dips her head toward her chest, eyes closed. “Oh, they’ve been there ever since he planted them. Every single one.” She folds her hands in front of her loose, sunflower-yellow dress and shakes her head, saying no more on the subject.

“Oh my God. I’m so—Gran, I don’t… I didn’t mean to, it just… It wasn’t my fault!”

His frantic cry goes unheard by Granny Ethel as she stands with her head bowed in silence.

“There’s a silver lining, here, my dear.” When she looks up, her eyes shine behind her glasses, unshed tears catching sunlight, but her stare is hardened. And harsh.

Even with that small, tired smile, her fury is a cold-burning flame.

“You see, these particular flowers can live again. We will collect the undamaged stalks that are left and root them. Replant them. Then…” Her voice trails off into the silence of an unspoken thought. “For now, I’ll leave you two in peace to finish the yard work.”

Neither speaks a word, stuck in mortified silence, even as Granny Ethel disappears into the house.

The silence is only broken moments later when Sam makes his way back outside holding a tray filled with a glass pitched and three glasses, as well as a small pile of cookies. Peanut butter, of course.

But no sweet cinnamon buns.  

“Here’s that drink! Lavender lemonade with honey—and Granny’s special peanut cookies,” he smiles, trying his best to keep up a positive atmosphere as he sits cross-legged on the lawn with the fine silver tray in his lap. “She helped put it together, dudes, so don’t forget to thank her later.”

Theodore scoffs and grumbles out, “I’m allergic to peanuts,” but Todd knows that isn’t true. He’s seen entire containers of peanut butter disappear overnight, at times. And Granny Ethel simply wouldn’t do something that selfish, so he’s the only suspect.

But if the man is going to be that way about it, then all the more treats for him and Sam. He drains one of the glasses in a single gulp and devours two of the delicious, crispy cookies, nodding in appreciation. Because it’s what Granny Ethel would want—and he’d rather die than let her hospitality go to waste. Her happiness always comes first.

He hopes she’s not crying.

“She’s busy crocheting something in the den, by the way. Humming, and everything. Boy, am I glad she’s not mad.” Sam also eats a cookie and speaks around the crunchy bits in his mouth, providing him with just the answer he sought. “But, man, that’s some gnarly garden carnage, there.” He nods his head toward the lantanas and whistles low. “Did you apologize?”

“Why would I?” Theodore snaps, arms crossed tight as he refuses to look at the flowers and their faces, still evident in his guilt by the way he answers so quickly. When no one gives him an immediate response, he breathes a theatrical sigh and clomps toward the fallen path of ruined flowers. Hands on his hips, now, he observes the mess. “Is any of this even salvageable? None of the stems look un-shredded!”

“You should apologize,” Sam insists lightly, taking another cookie when he finishes the first. He meets Todd’s eyes and they share a knowing glance. Then, his brown eyes light up. “Oh—and by the way, Granny’s appointment went great! She’s fit as a fiddle.”

By now, Theodore is squatting amongst the flower shreds, combing through the mess for anything that looks particularly helpful and root-able. “Of course she is. Her energy knows no bounds.”

Todd can only nod. Granny Ethel’s health is nigh infallible. But—that aside, it’s time to return to work. He finishes his cookies, brushes the crumbs off his palms and carefully makes his way to the flower patch to pick out the lantana stems they can still save.  

There are few—but a few is better than none. And for the rest, they can grow from the seeds.

It will take some time to return Granny’s beloved lantana garden to its former glory, but not forever. And before they know it, this day will be nothing more than a mistake of the past.  

So, they continue their yard work until the day’s chore is done.

The remaining lantanas: neat. The lawn: trimmed. The herb garden: weeded and pruned.

When the tools have been returned to their proper place, they leave the yard behind, and Todd gives one final, sweeping glance around the space as he slides the back door shut.

Something is out of place. He can’t quite pin down what, but later, when he curls up in his small twin bed and drifts to sleep in the room he shares with Theodore, he dreams of a rusted scythe that he can’t quite remember putting away—one that he promptly forgets when he wakes.

[the-lunar-mistress]

The Dark Side Of The Moon

mood music

The Forgotten Knight, Ishgard

The air was thick with silence save for the gentle crackle of a nearby fire. Aleqa sat at a table, face buried in her delicate hands, across from a recently freed Thavnairian slave, and her dear friend K'aej, in an Inn at the Forgotten Knight. A crude sketch of a highlander she once knew stared back at her tauntingly, triggering pleasant and distasteful memories. Many called him Scowl, but his name was Garmund Cantrell, a human trafficker who captures and sells slaves to pleasure houses all over the realm.

Aleqa was 18 summers when he found her wandering off the shores of Thavnair after she had left her tribe. Young and naive, she followed him on what he would call adventures. This is when she learned of her talents. Where she was taught many languages and skills. Taking on different personas, being able to hear and feel her surroundings without sight, but most importantly, being a lover. She could easily disguise herself and befriend men and women to be eventually lured and taken into their inevitable doom without any remorse. Albeit she never actually knew where they would go, she assumed most of them were involved with trading.

Garmund gave her everything; dresses, weapons, affection, and freedom to be herself. He protected her, never allowing any other man or woman of the crew to touch his protégé, for she was who made his business flourish and grow. He gave her many names; Desert Flower, The Lunar Mistress, and more notably, Lulubell Vixen. This name has stayed with her even through today. It gave her purpose and made keeping secrets easier. She was no longer an outcast anymore. She was needed.

Years had passed before Garmund told her the truth of his business, and what part she had to play in it. He confessed there would be a time when he wouldn't be alive and wanted a successor to his empire. This realization slowly took a toll on Aleqa's mental stability. All she had known was a lie. All she was told. Lies. All those innocent people were at the mercy of perversion. But maybe, deep down she knew there was a part of her that was aware of the chaos and turmoil she caused. That thought in itself made her incredibly nauseous.

More time had passed before she decided to make her move and escape. She used her training and knowledge about his business and schedules against him to eventually slip out of his grasp and hide away in Ishgard. She figured he wouldn’t wait long for her because he knew she could always find him. She always did. Imagine Aleqa’s surprise when searching for her beloved would land her right back into his arms.

The distraught Auri woman slid her hands from her face, an exhausted sigh exits her parted lips as she glances up at the ceiling. Finding some kind of resolve with all the information she had finally processed; she lowered her gaze to the silent maiden sitting across from her. “Knowing all that you do about me, after having come from the same man I worked under, why would you choose to help?”

The maiden bit her lip, her expression telling a tale of distress, “I’ve known about you since the very first day Scowl brought you in. I was lucky enough to be a servant of the crew. All of us watched from the shadows as you grew in power alongside him. We were scared when we heard of all you were capable of. The things you did for him made it seem like you were a brainwashed doll.” She took a breath, carefully calculating her next words. “But when you left for good, and rumor spread of the reason why; I grew hopeful. If anyone could possibly save us from a life of servitude, it would be you.”

Aleqa shook her head in dismay. “Easier said than done.”

The maiden nodded, having a full understanding of the risks involved with her request. “I know. Call it wishful thinking.” She rubbed her hands together as if to shake the chill in the room. “I should get going, I have elsewhere to be. I hope this information will be of use to you, Mistress.”

Aleqa flinches at the familiar title, silently nodding as the maiden bows and takes her leave. She turns her attention to K’aej who is starring at his hands with confusion. “What’s on your mind.” It wasn’t really a question. She expected him to tell her.

The Miqo’te looked at her momentarily through the slit in his mask before visibly opening and shutting his mouth, trying to figure out how to formulate his words. “How do you know she’s telling the truth?”

“I don’t. Most of the ones that escape are either found, tortured, or killed. And on special occasions; all of the above.” She said matter of factly. “But I do know where and how to find him.” She pushes herself from out from underneath the table, stands and glides across the hollow wooden floor over to the bed; her steps eerily echoing throughout the room. She opens up her bag and takes out a dagger, gazing at her reflection in the blade while caressing the jewel-encrusted handle. “I will not fault you for not coming along with me. Should you choose to join, make preparations for Falcon’s Nest. I’d advise bringing a coat.” A slow vengeful grin spreading across the reflection’s face.

The howl of Coerthan winds whispered faint memories into her ears, whipping several strands of her natural white hair around her face as she sat waiting for Garmund to walk out and show his face. No doubt getting ready to head out to the abandoned house to briefly discuss trades. With her plan in the works, she still couldn’t shake the chill off her bones. She couldn’t quite place why something felt wrong, but when she caught a glimpse of his face in the merciless blizzard she disappeared into white, mounted a falcon and took flight.

By the time she got to the small secluded hold, she was damn near freezing. “I suppose I should take my own advice..” she thought to herself.

The place was just as creepy as she remembered, though she half expected there to be guards watching over slumbering slaves. But it was empty. Nevertheless, she walked ahead towards the basement. Passing the empty, candlelit tables where many traders would gather and converse. She stopped at the altar, taking note of the rusting scales on the twisting dragon before kneeling in front of it, placing her daggers neatly in her lap.

She sat patiently for some time, humming a lullaby her mother would sing her. One of the very few memories she had of her. Soon the door from the floor above opened and closed. All was silent save for the flickering of candle flames and the footsteps from heavy leather boots. She knew it was him from the way she straightened her back from the chill that ran up her spine.

Every step Garmund took was in tune with her heartbeat and this filled her with a sudden sadness. His footsteps stopped at the entrance and he said nothing for some time, letting the silence sink into her being.

Finally, he spoke and she could feel every ounce of hatred and pain laced in his deceitful greeting. “So the little fox has come out to play.”

Aleqa stopped humming and slowly opened her eyes. “Hello, Scowl.”

“So formal. Are the intimate moments we shared not enough for you to call me by my name?”

Her face twisted in disgust.“I’m sorry. Where are my manners? Would you prefer dog?”

Joyous laughter fills the room. “Are you not happy to see me? And look, you’ve even worn white! I don’t suppose it’s our wedding day is it?” He took a few steps forward, gauging her reaction. She didn’t move. “Come now! Will you not bless me with your angelic voice?!” He roared as he wildly flung his arms in the air.

Aleqa stood up, anger flooding her being. “Are you not satisfied with the pain you’ve already caused me?!” She spat, gripping the handles of her daggers and pivoting herself to take aim at his now vulnerable chest.

A devious chuckle filled her ears as he took hold of her wrist. For a split second, she was filled with fear as he walked her back into the altar, taking a firm grasp on both her wrists while pressing himself against her body. “As much as I enjoy these games we play, I fear I’m not quite in the mood.”

“Games?!” She faltered.

Garmund ignored her question, instead choosing to brush his face against her hair and breathe in her scent. “Mm, you always did love lavender.” She struggled against him, a violent urge to rid herself of this closeness, causing him to sigh in frustration. “Let me guess. This is about that wench who’s buried out in the snow bereft of life?” He purred.

There was a time she felt complete and utter joy in his sadism, but not now. “You slaughtered the woman I loved.” She seethed.

He shrugged nonchalantly. “Yes. Yes, I did. Would you like to know the details? I don’t mind sharing.” She didn’t have to look at him to know that his lips were curved into a devilish smile, a stark contrast to his cool hazel eyes. “I warned everyone of the consequences that would befall them if the woman I love were ever to be taken from me. Did you think you were the exception to this rule?”

She turned her head towards him, laying her watering eyes on a face she hadn’t seen in years. Gentle waves of ear length ebony hair framed his face, just barely touching the line of his strong jaw. He gazed at her, expecting an answer, his face lit up in awe, the lines creasing with the fresh signs of aging. He stood heads over her, clad in a black suit, obviously not intending a fight. Not that he needed to be. “Aleqa. Why must you cry?” His eyes soften. “You were supposed to be an Empress.”

“Why would I want to be with someone who lies, having no respect for my wishes to change.” It wasn’t a question. It was a statement.

He shook his head, rubbing a calloused hand over his stubbled chin, his expression painted with disappointment. “If I told you then, would you have stayed? Though I doubt anyone I sold you to would be willing to put up with such a quarrelsome woman. And at any rate, your entire life is a lie. Tell me, did your late wife know about me? Where you came from? What you’ve done?” She stayed silent, a single tear rolling down her cheek.

“I thought so.” He cooed while wiping the salted droplet from her face with his thumb. “There are too many opportunities out there for a woman with your potential. I’d hate to see it wasted on the simple way of living. You were specifically bred for this purpose. How stubborn of you to run from it.”

“Because it’s not what I want!”

He took her face in both of his large hands, his feet spread shoulder-width apart as his eyes stared back into hers with an alarming intensity. “I don’t believe that. It’s who you are. You found me to take my life did you not? Was this to avenge your beloved or bathe in my blood. Quite frankly I’d enjoy the latter.”

“I will not be consumed by whatever darkness that has consumed your heart.”

“No dearest. You see I’ve learned something. You have yet to be awakened. I can’t use you while you’re broken. I am the only man you have ever been comfortable enough to let your true nature flow. You’ll never be freed from this desperate yearning to belong if you have yet to give in to your true desires. Did you not smile in maniac satisfaction when I twisted the neck of the young man whose disrespectful hands soiled your supple skin?”

Aleqa shook her head violently, only managing a choked “No.”

“Did you not cut a woman down for talking down to me of your own free will? And please believe me when I say that I enjoyed every second of it, but I requested no such thing.”

“NO!” Something snapped in her. For a moment she thought she’d lost track of the entire conversation, but that wasn’t so. She was hearing him clearly.

“When did you start hating yourself so much? Who filled your mind with the idea that you were inadequate...are you angry with me now?” His eyes soften, his guard dropping, the veil slipping from his face to reveal his true emotions as he leaned in to kiss her.

He stopped just shy of her lips, the sharp intake of his breath cool against her face. She looked him dead in the eyes, her lips curling into a wicked smile as his hand met her fist wrapped securely around the handle of her blade that was lodged in between his ribs.

At first, Garmund was shocked, but then he smiled. A genuinely thankful grin lit up his face while his blood pooled into her hands. He seemed at peace even as his mouth dripped with crimson. There was an almost blissful gargling as he tried his best to make sounds, his body feeling increasingly heavy. “You know...If there was anyone who could possibly hurt me, it would probably be you.” He paused, trying to catch the last of his breath. “It’s vengeance you crave. But I fear I can’t give you that, little fox. You’ll be rid of my flesh but my legacy will seek it’s Empress.”

Tired eyes looked down at her, but she remained quiet, tears streaming down her face while he hugged her and brushed a bloodied kiss across her cheek before exhaling and slumping to the ground with a loud thud.

Aleqa Dalamiq rids herself of this place, her dress and cheek stained in red and leaving nothing behind but a small waxing crescent carved into the skin of Garmund’s neck.

“What now little fox?”

“What do you want?”

[svanaturals]

PEPPERMINT ESSENTIAL OIL

ABOUT PEPPERMINT

The cooling sensation that we’re all fond of when we use our favourite Mint body wash, or when a fine glass of Mojito makes our day under the sun, just leaves us speechless isn’t it? This cooling and refreshing quality which is the most popular and infused in our day to day products with such ease, owes it all to the mint family.

The most popular one being PEPPERMINT (Mentha Piperita). It is a hybrid between Watermint and Spearmint and the balance in its components makes it the best and safer to use in a vast variety of products.

Peppermint is indigenous to Europe and the Middle East, and finds itself mentioned in the history and mythology of Ancient Rome, Greece and Egypt. According to one such story, nymph Minthe fell in love with the God of Underworld, Hades and tried to seduce him. Persephone, the Goddess of Underworld and wife of Hades could not tolerate this and converted it into a herb. Mesmerized by her fragrance, Hades knew that she’d be of value even as a plant. And thus it is believed that it is her lingering fragrance that we find in Mint or Mentha and its oil.

GROWING AND HARVESTING PEPPERMINT

From a vast variety of mint, there are few that have excellent commercial value because of their appropriate properties and ease of access and cultivations. Peppermint, Spearmint, Apple mint, Lemon mint, pennyroyal, etc. are few but the kind of demand Peppermint and spearmint enjoy, is incomparable. Though indigenous to Europe, the countries that have taken a lead are United States, India and China.

This is a forever lover of water and thus found naturalized near the streams, ponds or river banks. It thrives best in loamy and moist but well drained soil with a pH of about 6.0-7.0. It is prone to rust if too much fertility is added. Partial or filtered shade suits this plant the best.

·         This perennial herb is grown in summers and best time to plant is 3-4 weeks before the last frost of Spring Season. Known to grow vastly and rapidly it is usually planted in containers or some kind of indoors and then shifted to the garden/field after 5-6 weeks of sowing.

·         Planting Peppermint with its companions like Cabbage and Tomatoes can improve the flavour of these friends, but it may choke its enemy plants as well. So be selective and aware while crop companionship.

·         The invasive mint should be kept within metal strips which will help and keep its runners in place and water it regularly and evenly. Avoid overhead watering to prevent the mint fungal rust.

·         Frequent harvesting is the best for peppermint, and that too just before flowering for a sweeter taste. It will help it grow better in the next harvest. It can be harvested twice or thrice in a single growing season.

WHAT IS PEPPERMINT OIL?

Peppermint essential oil, as suggested by the name is the concentrated oil extracted from the Peppermint plant by using the method of steam distillation. Generally the extraction is done right before the pinkish-mauve flowers start showing up. Fresh leaves or partly dried leaves are plucked for the process. Generally the yield varies from 0.1% -1.0%.

WHERE IS THE PEPPERMINT OIL USED?

Knowingly and unknowingly, people all over the world are surrounded with this super friendly herb. Be it toothpaste, talcum powder, soaps, flavours or in your daily dose of tea, it’s found everywhere. And why not? Peppermint has its own set of benefits and qualities that one wouldn’t want to ignore. Its trait of standing out and being recognized in the strongest of aromas and flavours yet complementing the other elements makes it so special. Found in almost all the pain relieving oils, from headache to joint pain, dental healthcare, digestive disorders and scalp treatments, peppermint is an integral part of the healthcare industry as well. This is one of the most versatile oils found in the entire world and is currently being used vastly in cosmetics, therapeutic and culinary industries. Never really gave it a thought right?

BENEFITS OF PEPPERMINT OIL

·         Relieves pain: Menthol is the most important component of this oil when it comes to pain relief and energizing the body. The oil helps a great deal in reducing headache and joint pains. Thus, found heavily in pain relieving gels, creams and oils.These pains ain’t got no right age with everyone sticking to the screen these days!!

·         Dental and oral health: Another important component found in the oil is Menthone which prevents the growth of harmful bacteria in the human body. Keeping in mind how prone is the mouth to formation of such bacteria, peppermint oil keeps the mouth clean and odor free. Well, who likes odor anyway?

·         Skincare: This oil works as a natural astringent and keeps the pores clean. Its cool and warm sensations numbs the skin and prevents redness and inflammation of the same. Worth giving a shot!

·         Cleaning and Hygiene: The anti microbial properties of this wonderful product makes it suitable for all kinds of cleaning purposes. It is used in the cleaning solvents, sanitizing and deodorizing the environment. A clear choice in today’s scenario!

·         Aromatherapy: Neither last not least, for this oil has got many areas to explore. Due to its strong stimulant properties and immediate effect, it is widely used for resolving nasal congestion and better breathing. Circulation of blood is increased which further resolves mood, hormones, digestive and mental issues. This is also a very popular choice in aiding the patients of IBS with digestive disorders.

HOW TO USE PEPPERMINT OIL?

·         SKINCARE: Add a few drops of SVA PEPPERMINT ESSENTIAL ORGANIC OIL in your daily moisturiser, bodywash, and hand creams. You will notice that not only the frequent skin inflammation is gone, but also it feels like a bliss on the body if the temperature around is higher. Staying cool in the sun seems a good idea!!

·         HAIR AND SCALP: Don’t forget to add a few drops of SVA PEPPERIMINT ESSENTIAL ORGANIC OIL in your shampoos and hair masks since the stimulating power of this oil is so evident, Well. a potential oil for improved hair growth, it may actually reduce the dandruff and any annoying creatures living upon the scalp.

·         HEAD AND BODY ACHES: Diluting 2-3 drops of SVA PEPPERMINT ESSENTIAL ORGANIC OIL with any carrier oil and massaging on the affected area can bring instant sense of relief by numbing the portion and increasing the blood flow. Shoo away those pains.

·         CLEANSING AGENT: Add 1-2 drops of SVA PEPPERMINT ESSENTIAL ORGANIC OIL in a glass of water and cleanse your mouth thoroughly anytime of the day. Speak odor free and confidently. You can also make homemade cleansing solvents by adding a little quantity of this heroic oil.

·         NATURAL MOOD ENHANCER: Such an enchanting and addictive aroma with a trail so strong is a game changer. SVA PEPPERMINT ESSENTIAL ORGANIC OIL uplifts the mood immediately with its chilling and relaxing nature. So...No blues, only greens!!

·         USDA approved SVA PEPPERMINT ESSENTIAL ORGANIC OIL is a promising product for our happy customers all over the world. Its 100% natural and organic for we believe in the purity of product and trade both. We are deeply grateful for the immense love that you have shown to this and all other SVA products.

SOME AMAZING AND EFFECTIVE PEPPERMINT DIFFUSER BLENDS TO TRY!

·         IMMUNITY BOOSTER:

·         2 DROPS OF PEPPERMINT

·         2 DROPS OF FRANKINCENSE

·         2 DROPS OF SWEET ORANGE

·         1 DROP OF CINNAMON

·         1 DROP OF ROSEMARY

·         NOT ANXIOUS:

·         5 DROPS OF LEMONGRASS

·         4 DROPS OF FRANKINCENSE

·         3 DROPS OF ORANGE

·         2 DROPS OF PEPPERMINT

·         SUCH HEADACHE:

·         2 DROPS OF PEPPERMINT

·         2 DROPS OF LAVENDER

·         1 DROP OF EUCALYPTUS

·         1 DROP ROSEMARY

·         CLEAN BREEZE:

·         2 DROPS OF TEA TREE

·         2 DROPS OF LEMON

·         2 DROPS OF PEPPERMINT

·         COLD DISPELLER

·         4 DROPS OF PEPPERMINT

·         3 DROPS OF LAVENDER

·         2 DROPS OF EUCALYPTUS

·         2 DROPS OF ORANGE

[pcttrailsidereader]

Petroffiti?

Deep Creek Canyon is magical. For those who have walked this stretch north of Big Bear, it is both a pleasant and gorgeous area. This trail appears to stay along a fairly constant traverse of Deep Creek Canyon for many miles ultimately depositing the hiker at Mojave Dam. 

In the final miles the Deep Creek hot springs is a stopping place or short diversion for many a hiker. Deep Creek hot springs is only a part of this story. Others have commented on the hot springs experiences in previous posts (October 14, 2016; June 8, 2016, July 12, 2012, and Bradley John Monsma’s “Deep Creek Paradise” in The Trailside Reader: California) Because the hot springs are, well a hot springs, that tends to elicit loads of attention from not just members of the PCT community but others as well. It is relatively easy to get to via a fairly flat few miles of walking along the Deep Creek canyon and the PCT. In my opinion, this is a plus and minus. 

As I walked away from the hot springs it wasn’t long before I encountered the first of many human created tags on the granite boulders along the trail. After many weeks of hiking the PCT I was taken aback by what I was seeing. 99.9% of the time I have found the PCT to be a truly natural if not wilderness experience. Yes there are the leavings of humans along the trail but for the most part this is sacred ground. 

The Deep Creek hot springs are pretty easy to get to from the dam.  As a result many people and their pets find their way there. The pets are technically not welcome on the PCT but monitoring who is accessing this part of the trail is pretty non-existent. With little monitoring it is not surprising that along with the pets and coolers people bring a can or two of spray paint. 

Initially my feelings about what I was seeing were mostly disheartening. I kept trying to work out the ‘why’ and eventually wondered about the ‘what’. What is this? Then it occurred to me that maybe these are  21st Century petrogyphs. Maybe, just maybe petroglyphs I have admired from Vancouver Island’s West Coast Trail to Canyonlands in Utah were really no more and no less the same as these spray painted creations just with more effort to make them not to mention thought. To leave your favorite horse image on the rock face required some effort. NO body knew anything about Rust- o- leum.  

In past times/centuries maybe the people who left the images of horses, friends(?), self portraits(?), etc. were not using nature as their canvas but possibly using nature to proclaim ‘I was here!’. In that light, I thought could that be the ‘why’?  If so, what will future hikers think about these 21st century renditions? Will they feel like me and scratch their heads in wonder and ask what does this mean? What do these symbols represent? Do they convey something about this place? Are they significant to the experience the past visitors had here? Will future visitors accept it as part of the landscape? 

Some people, apparently have attempted to try to cover over the images along Deep Creek. They try to use paint that roughly matches the color of the rocks...roughly. Mostly the images prevail and invite others to leave their mark. 

In urban areas our eyes are more accustomed to what we call graffiti and artists like Banksy are held in high regard. In the Mission district of San Francisco there is a whole alley devoted to graffiti art. The community has designated a place for such art. Before New York city went through a civic transformation the subway cars were active canvases. My question is, does graffiti have a place in a setting that is predominantly not a human creation as in a cityscape? In nature it feels different to me. Yes, humans may have created or even improved existing game trails but decorating them was never a part of the master plan...at least I don’t think so. 

Walking out of Deep Creek I was feeling a mix of exhilaration and disappointing realization that not every one feels like I do about the wild places. I am happy to see and hear about people accessing nature. Some may suggest the more people out there the more advocates we have for preserving these spaces for future generations. I hope that is true and the graffiti artists are the minority. The problem is, like spilling that small bottle of ink on your carpet it leaves a pretty big stain. Letting everyone who follows you know that you loved someone or what your initials are is probably a message best conveyed in a letter or postcard rather than on a rock surface along a nice walk surrounded by flowers and birds and nature.