#Dog-Strangling Vine

[blackswallowtailbutterfly]

Eating the Spring Shoots of Dog-Strangling Vine--An Experiment

**WARNING** Every member of the milkweed family is poisonous. Some members, including all milkweeds (Asclepias) are edible after cooking, though some need more thorough cooking than others. Beginning foragers should absolutely not try this. More experienced foragers do so at their own risk.

Invasive species are everywhere. They differ from naturalized non-native plants in that they negatively impact the environment outside their native range. Dandelions, for example are not invasive in many places despite their numbers. But dog-strangling vine (Vincetoxicum) most certainly is. Its roots release a chemical in the ground that is poisonous to other plants and it's just close enough to the milkweeds to fool the monarch butterflies into laying their eggs on them, but the hatchlings then starve because they can't eat them. Garlic mustard is another invasive plant in North America and it also releases chemicals in the soil, but it's a perfectly edible plant and could in theory be eaten out of existence. Pity the same isn't true of dog-strangling vine--or is it?

The dogbanes (Apocynum) are another genus in the milkweed family and are known to be much more poisonous than milkweeds typically are (again, some are more poisonous than others). Yet there are edible uses for hemp dogbane (Apocynum cannabinum). It just happens to involve more preparation than, say, common milkweed (Asclepias syriaca).

I'm unaware of anyone dying from consuming dog-strangling vine, unlike lily-of-the-valley, yet another invasive species, which has killed people. In fact I couldn't find evidence of anyone eating it at all. I'm sure I can't have been the first to try, but if it's ever been recorded that information is not easily accessible.

I've read a lot about preparation of poisonous plants into edible vegetables and what I found in common is that young shoots seem to be the safest and generally you boil them (some in several changes of water). Pokeweed, for example, is deadly poisonous but for the young shoots in spring before the stems turn red. In that stage you can cook and eat them, and they used to be harvested fairly regularly and canned and sold in grocery stores.

So my plan was that I would try just a little to start and see if I got sick or had any worrying symptoms and work my way up. This is what I started with:

Just three little shoots from the garden. I fried them up until tender and crispy, at which point they also smelled quite nice, kind of a mix of asparagus and spinach, where before they had an unpleasant chemical smell. The taste was quite nice too. A sweet asparagus flavour. No symptoms after waiting a week.

That gave me some confidence because frying is considerably less thorough than boiling is and yet no adverse reaction. So the next step was to try a handful:

Since these were somewhat older I had to cut the ends off some of them, as you would asparagus. Cooked them longer and on higher heat, just in case. Also threw in some daisy buds. Same asparagus spinach smell, same sweet asparagus flavour. And again, no symptoms.

I waited a little over a week and then it was time for the final stage:

This time I did boil them, since I didn't want to play fuck around and find out *that* much. I then fried them up with some mushrooms I'd collected that day and then I mixed it all into some Annie's pasta, along with fresh invasive onions from the ravine. The final result was enough for three meals' worth, so I had a third for dinner, more for lunch the next day, and the rest for lunch the following day. It's now over 24 hours since yesterday's lunch. No symptoms.

This doesn't make it generally edible. I am a data point of one. What I can say is that, at least for some people this plant can be consumed young if cooked thoroughly with no short-term ill effects. Note that some people are able to eat the poisonous mushroom species of the Agaricus genus with no symptoms. They're still poisonous mushrooms.

The point is it's promising! I have shown it is *possible*. If other brave people who exercise appropriate caution eventually have similar results then, well, anecdata becomes data. :)

For my part I will definitely be adding this plant to my mental list of spring vegetables that require thorough cooking.

[wildflowers-of-southern-ontario]

Dog-Strangling Vine

Photographs taken on October 9, 2022, along the Etobicoke Creek, Mississauga/Etobicoke, Ontario, Canada.

[reddirttown]

Language of Flowers: Swallow-Wort

The flower for today, October 9, in the language of flowers is Swallow-Wort, which signifies curse for heartache. Image above from Wikipedia. Cynanchum is a genus of about 300 species, and is part of the milkweed family. Unfortunately, Swallow-Wort may interfere with monarch butterfly reproduction.The taxon name comes from Greek kynos (meaning “dog”) and anchein (“to choke”), hence the common…

[suckinitup]

honeslty now im just thinking about what flowers to make grow out of william’s skin. i think white chrysanthemums would be nice but i think strangling vine would be even better

[kiseiakhun]

Reading up on invasive plants continue to be a mistake because now that the garlic mustard's died back I am instead seeing dog-strangling vine everywhere. Admittedly Vincetoxicum rossicum and Vincetoxicum nigrum are pretty metal names but they really are out there blanketing the edge of every disturbed field and choking out the rest of the plant life...

[muirneach]

weaponized autism

[0mg-bird]

Sunrise~ Tyler Owens x Fem! Reader

Summary: The curious case of the tornado wranglers, down to earth, girlfriend.

A/n: I just watched Twisters and am in love. Right now Sunrise by Ryan Bingham is my favorite song so here’s a little one shot inspired by it.

Warnings: Language, implied smut

Everyone’s called you crazy ever since you were born. The people in your small Texas town said you were the wild child, your parents had four boys and when their baby girl came around, she had a mean streak just like her brothers. Ten years old and standing in an empty corn field, looking at the thunder heads forming above you, hot and muggy air gusting against your skin, the crack of thunder didn’t scare you, you were utterly curious and amazed. You’ve known storms since you were a babe, you remember the shrill sound of the sirens going off and your mama screaming for you to come inside. Your family was in a panic, you remember your daddy letting the horses loose and the way the cattle ran. That funnel touched down and prayers were prayed, you watched from the bathroom window despite the way your mama dragged you away.

It was beautiful, so utterly terrifying in the distance, a force of straight power.

You were hooked.

Telling your parents you were going to the University of Arkansas to study meteorology was a good idea in theory until they told you becoming a weather girl was a sweet job.

You told them about storm chasing and your mama almost had a stroke.

But you’ve worried everyone your whole life, only you would choose something so crazy.

You met Tyler your sophomore year when you had the same class, your energetic personality hid the fact you were a nerdy kind of cowgirl. The two of you quickly became best friends, despite his cocky personality. You formed a dare devil connection, you were the call he made when he got a lead on something.

Graduation came and you said you were going back home, he hated that idea.

“Come with me.” He said.

“Where?”

“Anywhere, everywhere.”

It’s hard to say no to a man with puppy dog eyes.

Somewhere between gathering a crew up from all over the boons and adopting a one eyed dog you found stranded after a storm in Little Rock, the two of you fell so deep for each other, it hit harder than any storm you experienced.

Here you are now in Oklahoma, cutting through fields in Tyler’s red Ram truck. “Lilly, talk to me.” You call over the radio system on the dash, looking for what data the girl in the vehicle following has. In the backseat, Boone, the right hand man, is recording like always, talking to the followers.

“Welcome back guys, we’re currently back at it again in the Oklahoma plains. This beauty we’re going into is gaining speed, turning into something good. What are we thinking, Tex?”

You look to the camera and smile. “You know, I’d like to call this an easy F2 but the strong updraft we’re getting here could push this baby into the F3 category.”

Also from the back seat, Ben, the London journalist asks to explain what you just said.

The rain cap starts and muddies the earth, the truck drifts as Tyler maneuvers it greatly. You pull your sunglasses off and lean forward to get a better look at what you’re driving into.

“What are you thinking, darlin’?” Tyler asks, seeing the way you evaluate the area.

“Take a left, it ain’t gonna hit the tree line, see the way the wind shifted?” You instruct.

“Yes ma’am.” He nods, giving you one of his perfect grins before making a sharp left.

Ben makes a sort of strangled cry of fear as he gets tossed around in the back. You, completely nonchalant, chewing on a Red Vine, turn to look at the Brit.

“Ben, baby, how you feeling back there?” You ask, pointing something else out to Tyler.

“Oh I’m bloody great.” He lies before getting knocked into the door again. You laugh. “Man, I love this guy.” You declare, finding him so amusing. “Let’s keep him, Ty.”

He rolls his eyes at you, making you scoff. You look at the dog in your lap who’s wearing a tiny helmet with the words ‘Killa’ written across the front. “What you think, Rocky? You wanna keep Ben?”

The dog lays his head down and places his paw over his small snout.

“Rude. Ty, Rock used to agree to everything I say, now you’ve done gone and brain washed him. Poor fella.” You pout before yelping in surprise at the way Tyler drifts into a spot. He grips the radio, calling for the convoy to assume their positions.

“Sorry, I’m no expert but it looks like the twister is going to roll right over us.” Ben says as everyone buckles their harnesses.

“You’re exactly right Benny boy.” You say, opening the center console and placing Rocky inside his designated safety seat. “We need to be in its path so the data bugs we’ll launch have enough wind speed to reach the height needed. Put your harness on and you’ll be about as secure as a pistol in a PTA Mama’s purse.”

Ben looks to Boone in question. Boone just shrugs. “At some point you get used to all the odd shit she says.”

Tyler cranks the E brake, then looks at you with a smirk. “You wanna touch my joystick?” He ask, motioning to the control stick that has the button to activate the drills that will anchor the truck into the ground.

“I love it when you talk dirty to me.” You scrunch your nose, pushing the button.

The truck is secured, you’re all buckled in tight, now you have to focus on when it’s the perfect time to launch the processors. Things are blowing against the windows, Tyler’s laughing and Boone is howling into the camera, showing the viewers what they see.

“Tell me when.” Tyler says, and as thick water drops pummel the windshield, you stay silent, waiting…watching.

“Now!” You shout and he presses the button that activates the hydraulic opening lid to the tub in the truck bed, the small bug sensors fly out and are carried up into the funnel that is passing over you.

“Breaker breaker, what are we seeing?” You call into the radio, Dexter in the caravan off in the clearing responds. “We got eyes, Tex. Data is coming in clear.”

You shoot your arms up in victory, this was the first time you were launching the 2.0 sensors. “There we go!” You look directly into the camera Boone is pointing at you. “You see that kids? I still got it.”

You watch the storm pass you, the funnel goes into the distance and the winds calm a bit as you unbuckle your harness. You’re pulling the pup from its safety and throwing open the door, running to the spot it just was.

“Whoo!” You hear Tyler whoop, and you throw that snapback hat of his you were wearing, adrenaline pumping through you. He sweeps you into his large arms, twirling you around. “Did you see that, baby? God, that was beautiful.” He laughs and you pull on the brim of his cowboy hat. “I sure did, let’s go get those bugs before we lose their signals, cowboy.”

Later as you set up camp in some cheap motel, Ben is approaching Lilly and Boone with questions.

“I need a story about the girl, uh Tex? Does she have a name?” He settles into one of the fold out chairs and motions to you sitting on the roof of the truck, looking up at the stars and listening to the music playing on the radio.

Lilly chuckles and then makes an adjustment to her drone. “She does, but she’d kill you if she found out you was using her government name in your fancy paper.”

Ben finds that interesting, he writes a few notes about a very mysterious persona you have. “How long has she been in this business? I tried to ask her some questions but she shushed me and told me she was ‘meditating to a Childers song’ and it was very important that she did this.”

Boone shakes his head. “She says confusing stuff to make people go away when she wants her peace.” He explains. “Tex is the original, her and T were the ones to assemble the squad of us, they taught me everything I know. She might be crazier than he is if I’m bein’ honest, always pushing the limits but every move she makes is calculated.”

Lilly agrees. “She’s my best friend, but has always been a curious case. She comes from Texas, hence the nickname and the accent that gets too thick when she’s drunk. Mama wanted her to be this Southern belle but she turned out to be a real wrangler. She’s the smartest person I know, but has a very relaxed way about her.”

“Who?” Dexter asks as he passes by.

“Tex.” They answer.

He shakes his head. “That girl’s a tree hugging loon.”

Ben quickly comes to know the dynamic of you and Tyler. There is no home but each other, you make the best of every situation because you are together. Two pairs of cowboy boots and wide eyes, that’s what you two are.

“I’d compare her to like…a coyote.” Lilly determines. “She’s the perfect balance of wisdom and foolishness, always willing to make light of situations. One time, we were tracking a desert storm in New Mexico and we were camping in our trucks, it was hot, all our leads were gone and we’re ready to turn back. The sunrise comes and it’s prettiest thing I ever seen, we wake up to just a color spill of orange and pink. We open our doors up and Tex is out there dancing in a sports bra and boxers.”

Boone leans back in his chair, laughing at the memory. “Man, we thought she finally lost it, that being with Tyler for so long finally made her go off the rails. T is standing there, watching her, asking what the hell she was doing and she claims she was doing a rain dance.” He says, making Ben chuckle to himself.

Lilly lights a cigarette and rolls her eyes. “She was out there shaking her ass.”

“You fucking joined her!” Boone argues, taking the cigarette from her.

“Well yeah, you don’t let your best friend dance alone. And what happened that day? The rain came and the biggest thunderheads I had ever seen blew in. The lightning was beautiful, Ben, you shoulda been there.”

New Mexico rain was a memory you thought of often, it just felt a little fresher. Blame it on the heat you were dying of or the thirsty land you stood on, but you stood out in it, getting soaked to the bone and then fell into Tyler’s arms.

Now, far away in Oklahoma, Tyler stands looking up at you soaking in the moonlight. “Come down from there.” He calls. You lean over the edge of the roof and look at him. “Why don’t you come up here?” You challenge.

Tyler shakes his head. “I’m tired, darlin’. Let me take you inside.”

You look back up at the stars, then slide from the top of the truck, making him reach out and catch you. “Alright, take me to bed you old man.”

He shakes his head at your comment. It’s hard to resist anymore, you just looked so gorgeous underneath the moonlight. He leans to kiss you, nothing too deep but still of passion because he loves tasting the sugar of your lips, you were always so sweet that it made his head cloudy.

Arm around your shoulders, yours around his waist, the two of you say goodnight to your friends and head to your motel room, Rocky trotting after you. The lock on the door is hard to budge open, the room has a sort of stale smell.

As Tyler is distracted by setting up a bed for the dog, you grab your things from your duffel. “Dibs in the bathroom.” You shout before making a run for it. Tyler groans and tries to beat you, but you stand in the doorway, sticking your tongue out at him. “You just gotta be faster.” You tease before shutting the door in his face.

The low bulb light casts a hazy orange glow to everything, you start the shower and find it to have weak water pressure. Your clothes make a pile on the floor and soon the air steams up.

Your muscles relax as you wash off, you let out a small groan at your fingers scrubbing your scalp. The sound of the shower curtain being pulled back and Tyler stepping in behind you makes you turn. “I haven’t even been in here that long.”

He shrugs, then moves to hog the water. “I got impatient.”

After being with someone for so long and sharing everything, nothing really fazes you. The crew jokes that you and Tyler could probably morph into one body at this point.

By the time the two of you are mostly rinsed off, he’s getting handsy. His fingers trace over your handful of tattoos, wet skin sliding across you in a feverish way. You lean your head back against his shoulder, looking up at him. “Ty…”

He looks down you was an innocent smile. “Oh come on, we’ve been traveling with people for too long. We get one night without Boone gagging when I kiss you.” He says, then leans his head down, nuzzling into your neck.

You bite your lip at the feeling, your arm coming up to run your hand through his hair. “Who’s in the room next to us? These walls are thin.”

“I don’t give a shit about that.” He mumbles, hand slipping far past your navel, earning a loud gasp from you.

You lean your weight back against him, nodding feverishly as his fingers do wonders to an aching spot between your legs. “Okay, not having Boone around is really good.” You breathe.

He’s practically holding you up, his other arm is around you, holding you to his chest while he makes you fall apart.

It didn’t matter that the room hasn’t been updated since the 80’s or that the mattress groaned under the weight of the two of you or that Rocky runs and hides, the two of you were savoring this alone time because you didn’t know when the next time would be when you got it.

You’re laughing, making out and switching positions. The feel of his hand running past the valley of your breasts and giving your throat the lightest grip, it makes you feel on fire. The headboard’s getting knocked into the wall, you’re breathlessly whining and he’s loving every reaction you give him. By the time you’re gripping his shoulders so tight and his name is sounding broken as it cuts from your throat, he’s barely holding himself up.

The air conditioning makes an odd hum sound as you lay against him, skin on skin. You never understood how people could get bored of sex after being with someone for a while, having sex with Tyler Owens was hotter than west Texas in the Summer.

Well, the first time was a little awkward. Most people don’t establish they love each other before they sleep with each other, but you guys did. When you sat in his lap, lips slotted against his, you had to fight to push the idea out of your mind that you were grinding against your best friend. Everything was slow and every touch was unsure, after it ended you were scared that the relationship dynamic would never work if this was how sex was together.

You laugh now, thinking about it.

“What’s so funny?” He asks, fingers tracing the long horn skull that is tramp stamped on you.

“I’m just remembering the first time we had sex.” You shake with amusement. He groans. “You have to stop bringing that up.”

Pushing up from his chest, the blanket falls off of you. He watches in amazement as you swing your leg over his waist, your hands planted on his chest. “I think it’s cute, we were just babies.”

“Yeah, sometimes I miss the days where I didn’t know how insane you were.”

You glare, immediately going to move off of him before his grip yanks you back to your spot.

“I’m kidding, I always knew you were crazy.” He says.

“You love it.” You lean over him, and his hand comes to tuck some of your hair behind your ear. “You know I do, darlin’.”

Falling asleep was easy, you could fall asleep anywhere, but in a bed with Tyler holding you to his chest, it had you dreaming in seconds. You wake before he does, slowly sliding away to get dressed. You stand at the balcony outside, a cup of coffee in your hand as you watch the sunrise. After a few moments of peace, the door behind you opens and out comes your lover boy.

“No rain dance this morning?” He asks, kissing the top of your head.

“There’s plenty of rain in Oklahoma, they don’t need me to shake my ass in the parking lot for it to come.” You state, leaning down to pick up Rocky who trailed out after Tyler.

The two- well, three of you, look out at the horizon line, the air is already getting hot.

“You ready?” He asks you, and you turn to kiss his jaw. “I’m always ready.”

[eddiebabygirldiaz]

tease tidbit tuesday

tagged in things over the weekend and today by @hippolotamus @honestlydarkprincess @try-set-me-on-fire @bigfootsmom @eowon @spaceprincessem @freewayshark @kananjarus

muah! thanks darlins <3

finally got the ability to share something yay! more of my big bang fic :)

“L-look I know, I know it’s scary,” Buck whispers, everything about him from the sound of his voice to the slant of his eyes and the breadth of his body gentle and earnest and pleading. “Realizing how much I want you, how deep this goes, nearly knocked me on my ass in that bar. But it’s okay, because it’s you and me. And we are–”

“We’re not anything, Buck,” Eddie bites out, or at least he intends for it to come out harsh and cutting like the press of teeth into flesh, but it just sounds tired, empty, detached like he’s reading from a script he doesn’t understand or agree with.

Buck makes a pained, wounded noise, high-pitched and deep and drawn out like a dog that’s been hit by its owner.

He blinks at Eddie, taking in the blow and even then still not going anywhere, still remaining where he is and touching Eddie as if he can’t bring himself not to despite the fact that Eddie is only hurting him.

Eddie hates himself. He doesn’t think he’s ever hated himself as much as he does in this moment.

The hurt tearing across Buck’s face is awful and it punches Eddie in the gut hard enough he could puke, but he doesn’t take it back. He lets the words hang in between them, lets them settle further and further into Buck until he realizes Eddie isn’t going to negate them or apologize, because he doesn’t know what else to do.

He’s in a corner he shoved himself into, one that isn’t sweet like honey or intimately private, but one that is full of ruin and strangling vines made of guilt and secrets best kept hidden no matter the cost. And even though he put himself there, even though he wants nothing more than to drag Buck further in with him so he isn’t alone and can find a way out, he instead pushes Buck out.

“Oh,” Buck breathes, sounding so terribly small.

Eddie watches in horror as Buck allows himself to be pushed, so easily believing the false shit that just spewed from Eddie’s mouth in a fucked up attempt to protect them both. Buck nods in acceptance, dropping his gaze like he can’t bear to look at Eddie as he lets his arm go.

tagging @shitouttabuck @queerdiazs @devirnis @jeeyuns @spagheddiediaz @daffi-990 @exhuastedpigeon @spotsandsocks @shyaudacity @ghosthunterbuck @sibylsleaves @dr-shortsighted-owl @mustachediaz @lonelychicago @monsterrae1 @bi-buckrights @lemonzestywrites @epicbuddieficrecs @transboybuckley @butchdiaz @eddiediaaz @buckera @rewritetheending and anyone else who wants to share!

[robin374]

A request for Tf2

How would Sniper, Scout and Engie react if they found a venomous snake in there Bedroom?

I know it's a really random question and I don't know if you do this kind of request if not then it's totally OK to ignore this

Englisch isn't my first language so pls ignore my grammar

Mercs reacting to a venomous snake in their bedroom

Notes: Don't worry! I had so much fun writing this. This can be read as romantic or platonic!

Characters: Sniper, Scout, Engie

Scout:

>>He would scream in the most hight pitch scream you've ever heard. I bet that the dogs in the nearest village from the base heard it too. You know that thing that micrphones do when you approach them too much to the loudspeaker? Yeah, like that.

>>He woul be jumping around the bed like that vine (this one) saying that he's gonna strangle it if you don't give him his bate.

"Oh shoot! There's a snake! OH MY GOD IT MOVED; Y/N, COME GET IT PLEASE I?M SCARED. AAAAAAAA Y/N IT'S MOVING TOWARDS ME! I'M TOO HANDSOME TO DIE!"

>>Yeah, you two had to call Sniper. You weren't scared by the fact that it could bit you, you were scared if it bit Scout. You realise the drama he would make just for that? I mean, if he died, he would respawn or Medic could revive him too.

>>After Sniper takes the snake out he steals all the credit and says he did it because you were scared. (You were holding him in bridal style)

Engie

>>He was a bit scared, to be honest. Not as much as Scout but he was worried that it bit him during the night.

>>After checking if he had any bite marks of the snake, he took it with his mechanical hand. He bumped into you while going to Medic's lab.You asked him where he found the snale and he told you the story. Apparently, Soldier was hearing your conversation and suggested to leave it at Scout's bed. Just for the fun.

>>At first, he didn't agree with you two. However, he remmbered that the last battle Scout stole an ammunition pack from him as a joke, and they both knew that he needed that ammunition. Because of Scout, he got killed by the BLU Spy and his sentry got destroyed too.

>>Now the snake is on Scout's bed while he's sleeping soundly. That is some good revenge over there.

Sniper

>>He was so chill about it. Like, "Oh another one? Well I'll just leave it next to Scout's door again."

>>He would take it as if it was a normal spaghetti. I'm sure that he's got bit by every single venomous animal in the world that he's become inmune to the venom.

>>He woul tell you to help him. He took advantage of this situation to show his abilities with wild animals. You were impressed at how managed to not to get bitten by the snake.

>>I feel like he's that Spanish guy that is expert on snake and reptiles. Frank of the jungle. Y'know? No? Well, I know what I'm saying. Not in appearance, but more in the fact that if he sees any reptile he launches himself to it takes it just to let it loose around the base and cause chaos in secret.

[0p4l3sc3nc3]

More fem!Tomarry unicorn and doe flavoured thoughts... Blab about the elements i chose for the background under the cut!!

The flowers are rhododendrons (allegedly represent danger) and dog strangling vines (pretty self explanatory name haha). Green eyed animals represent Harry and red eyed ones Tom! The rabbits are mostly there because they're a fun staple of the unicorn tapestries, snakes and lion are pretty self explanatory, wolf is.... Well... I didn't have other ideas for a foil to the lion (if anyone does 👀 I'd love to hear them), and the doves are there for variety's sake.

[yanderemcu]

Yandere Steve Rogers Alphabet

A=Affection (How do they show their love for you) 

Cuddling,hand holding,kissing,hugging,holding,arm over shoulder

B=Bound (How much do they share with you) 

Wants no secrets between you two

C=Cruel (How do they punish you) 

Spanking,isolation, yelling,starving,force feeding,takes things from you

D-Desire (How long until they take you) 

3 months

E=Even (To what level are they dominant) 

Same level as you

F=Future(What are their future plans for the two of you) 

Get married. Have a kid or two. Get a dog.

G=Gifts (What do they give you) 

Old stuff,stuff animals, CDS,sweets,food,flowers,jewerrly

H=Hell (Worst experience with them) 

His punishments, his killings,his jealous moments, his angry moments

I=Insane (How insane did they get because of you) 

9/10

J=Jealous(How easily do they get jealous) 

Very easily

K=Killing (How do they handle killing) 

Strangles them or throws his shield at him

L=Language (What is their love language) 

All of them

M=Manipulation(What could you do to get your way) 

Show him a bit of affection,be sweet to him or do a chore

N=No (To what strength would they go for you) 

He'd do anything for you

O=Obsessed (How obsessed are they with you) 

10/10

P=Pet names(What do they call you)  

Doll,dollface,angel,angelface,dove,darling,honey,sweetheart,babe

Q=Quit (How would they act if you died) 

This would break Steve

R=Runaway (What are your chances to get away) 

Follows you and brings you back home

S=Stalking (How good are they at stalking you) 

8.5/10

T=Type  (What type of yandere are they) 

Stalker,Obsessive,Caring, Sweet,Possessive, Delusional, Overprotective

U=Unique (Different from other yanderes) 

He's a bit old fashioned

V=Vine (How would they feel if you fought back) 

Punishes you over and over again

W=Will (Would they do anything against their loves will) 

Ties you up,force feeding, holding,forces you to do things

X=X-Ray (How much do they keep hidden from you) 

Nothing

Y=Yearning (How much do they want you) 

7/10

Z=Zzz (How do you two fall asleep together) 

Cuddles you tightly and closely in bed

[blackswallowtailbutterfly]

Well, so far the experiment with young dog-strangling vine shoots is successful: I fried up three until tender and crispy and ate them. They taste like asparagus, and so far no adverse reactions. It's been almost three hours. I'll know for sure by the morning. That won't mean they're perfectly safe cooked if there's no reaction! It will only mean that the young shoots are safe cooked and consumed in small amounts. I'll have to try with increasing amounts until I either get a reaction or I get to a fairly large helping. Whichever comes first. If that's successful, it will still only mean that the young shoots are safe cooked, but that's good enough for me, especially if boiling in a change of water isn't required.

[ghoulsanderson]

For @mrhalloween2ficpage 's You Aren't The Only One fic

I'm going to write a proper oneshot about this fic, I already have one planned out, but for now have a Tumblr snippet

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

El writhed in her restraints, choking on the metallic blood in the air. It felt like she was seconds from suffocating on dust pouring from the floating debris or the noose-like vines around her neck. She gasped desperately for a breath when they would allow it, tugging and pushing, but she couldn't escape, even as Vecna lifted his claw over Max's face.

The other girl was terrified. Powerless, bound, and helpless, she could only chant 'Please, please, please' as a hushed whisper. She wanted to scream, but only a wheeze came out.

This was it. The end of the line.

Max would never leave Hawkins or turn fifteen. She'd never see Lucas again or her mom.

She would never find out what happened to Mike after she left him lying by the elevator.

Vecna's eyes rolled back, and Max mustered a final sobbed plea before his claws sunk into her head, creating a band of crescents.

His power was different to El's. Hers felt like a soothing balm, but Henry's was a thousand needles ripping through her veins. She screamed as they built in her leg, snapping it, an arm following.

But the pain stopped in an instant, and through her gasped breaths, she wondered if she'd fainted, died, or maybe El had managed to break free.

Her eyes cleared to Vecna sprawled on the floor, and she looked to the other girl, but El wasn't free, nor looking at her.

El looked anguished, disbelieving. Max followed her gaze, and it felt like the world dissolved around her.

He swept in like the epitome of power. Blood-red lightning wove between his fingers, curling around his arms like bandages. Control of the dimension slipped from Vecna's grasp and into Mike's, who made bolts of lightning strike from the sky in deafening claps, stretching across the crimson clouds like the roots of a tree.

This... couldn't be Mike. Couldn't be the boy she'd argued with all summer and mourned for. That boy had deep, dark brown eyes and round cheeks...

But this one...

His irises swirled with iridescent blood red that seeped down his sunken cheeks to his pointed jawline and over a long pink scar. They were matte with hate and rage, and his heavy, leather boots squelched as they walked through puddles and stepped on vines like they weren't there.

The vines were powerless anyway. Writhing at the heat of the lighting like a bowl of worms, flinching every time a spark from Mike landed on them.

"You..." Vecna rasped, sounding about as terrified as Max was when he was hovering over her, and it was now that Max noticed the webbing of scorched skin on his back caused by a bolt.

Mike didn't say anything. He didn't even twitch but under his nauseating green uniform, his chest heaved.

"Mike..." El finally managed to get a grip on herself. The name gasped from her lips, fat tears spilling over her cheeks. Suddenly, the bonds were more unbearable than ever, and she whimpered as she struggled. She needed to get to him she needed to before he vanished again-

Without looking at her, Mike waved a hand, and the vines fell away, convulsing in agony as electric sparkles bounced off of them, "Mike..." Max sobbed, and a wail of agony burst out of her as Mike freed her as well.

El ran to her, taking the other girl into her arms, but neither could tear their eyes away from their friend- a year. A fucking year.

He was really alive.

Changed, broken, but alive.

And swaying on his feet.

Vecna noticed and, despite his injured state, managed to tilt his head and knock Mike sideways onto the floor, dirtying his clothes and forcing a grunt out of the boy, "Your powers are strong, but you are weak." He growled, "You cannot survive in the void."

Mike bared his teeth like a dog. It was true. Projecting here drained his strength like a battery.

A force wrapped around his throat, nearly crushing it as it strangled him, creating blotches of purple and black in seconds. He tried to gasp, but not even a flicker of air could get to his lungs.

"No!" El screamed, stretching out her hand and throwing Henry to the side, allowing Mike to suck in a large breath.

He crumpled, his cheek hitting the floor as he coughed and shuddered.

El panicked, setting Max on the floor. She ran to him, but her hands went through him as he faded into ash, the rest of the world following, "No!" She shrieked, hitting the ground, but it vanished around her, as did Vecna and Max.

"Mike!" She wailed.

-----

Lucas yelled as Max finally fell into his arms like a ragdoll, waking with a gasp, "Max!" He sobbed, turning her face to him and sagging in relief at familiar blue eyes.

They were wide and panicked, and she grasped at him with her one good arm, "Mike!" She gasped, "Mi- M-Mike- he was- he was there."

Lucas froze. His heart plummeted heavily like a ton of bricks landing in his stomach, "What?" He whispered, and she just held him harder, like she needed him to understand.

"He was there!" She sobbed through her pain, "He s-saved me."

Lucas couldn't speak a reply. Any mention of Mike, living status or not, had formed unbearable pain since he 'died.' All he could do was cradle his girlfriend as her eyes slipped closed, succumbing to her injuries.

He sat numbly until the ambulance arrived.

Would he be reunited with his best friend, after all?

[rotworld]

11: Slither

(previous)

something strange is going on at the university.

->briefly suggestive. contains gore, drugging, mentions of child neglect.

.

.

.

You can still smell it.

Death. Blood and snow. Stiff corpses left in purposeful poses, waiting for you to open your eyes. Bits of brain on the pillow next to yours. Heads like roadkill. You barely eat all day, too sick to your stomach. 

He was in your room. He stood at your bedside, watching you sleep. One by one, he dragged their bodies inside and arranged them like old friends sleeping off a party, close and intimate. And then he just left. Is this how it’s going to be from now on? Rushing from place to place, fleeing the snow? Can you go anywhere? Can you stay with anyone? How many chances do you get before he finishes the job? You wish you’d asked more questions. But if anyone knows anything, you’ll find them at the University. 

You’ve driven for hours without stopping, afraid of the weather changing. You adjust your route, taking the road east. The scenery becomes strange as the sun goes down. A clock tower looms just off the shoulder of the road, red brick and Verlinda-touched by strangling vines. An oak tree grows clumps of green-tinged parking tickets instead of leaves. A patch of wildflowers grows in the shape and colors of a University sweatshirt. This is a good sign; it means you’re close.

Macbride University used to be located in Bevin, a small town torn to shreds by a particularly vicious shift in a time before anchorware. Those disparate pieces still exist throughout the Drift. Several of its hiking trails landed in the Stillwoods back when it was Green Valley, albeit with noticeable spatial and temporal distortion, and the art museum was excavated in the south end of Primsville. None are more remarkable than the University which emerged along the highway, fully intact, still containing a bewildered student body and faculty who were oblivious to the sudden relocation. 

Today, it’s a city of its own. A costly, meticulously maintained perimeter of anchorware has given it an unusual amount of stability—you can almost always find it towards the east of the Drift. Still, the shift that ripped it from its foundations from Bevin left a mark on the fabric of reality and the University has a tendency of shedding like a thick-coated dog, each relocation lodging bits and pieces of town into the surrounding highway. They make for useful landmarks, and you’ve never been quite so relieved to see them as you are now.

Soon, you’re passing beneath streetlights and blending into campus traffic, flanked by stately lecture halls with stone columns and arching doorways. “WELCOME,” the artsy metal sign on the overpass says, “TO MACBRIDE UNIVERSITY.”

[NOW PLAYING ON THE RADIO: PAPAOUTAI BY STROMAE]

You’re familiar with the University. It’s one of your preferred destinations to make deliveries. Navigation is simple. Every building is named and labeled by black stone plaques, every district easily found by following a network of blue road signs. Every section of the city, from the tidy bureaucratic buildings of the Administration District to the picturesque Tudor manors of the Residential District, have reserved courier parking spaces and dedicated exchange offices.

The campus is beautiful. Blushing autumn trees line the cobblestone paths. Cloister gardens are tucked inside the labyrinthine sprawl of college buildings and canopied walkways, quiet corners flush with greenery. You can smell the cloying earthy sweetness of the egg gardens. The College of Medicine stretches across a hilltop overlooking the rest of the campus. You pull into your designated spot outside one of the libraries and pull your deliveries out of the trunk.

The box from Compass Hill is slim but heavy with anchorware, wooden lit stamped with the old textile factory logo. The Stag gave you something the shape of a small glass jar but wrapped in layer after layer of protective coverings; newsprint, bandage wrappings, some kind of thick, glossy leaves.

The library is modern but cozy, earthy colors, tall arch windows and wooden furniture. Students flit through the shelves and crack open thick, dusty tomes beneath warm table lamps. The woman at the reference desk calls Dr. Loyola down to take your delivery. You’re invited to help yourself to tea, coffee, or any of the books while you wait. Most of what’s on the shelves is too dense and dry for you, seventh edition treatises on acute shift sickness and investigations into anomalous anchorware radiation. You sit down with a drink and your map, considering where you’ll go next. You scratch out the motel with a giant X.

“Is that painsilk, by any chance?” 

You look up and find someone leaning over your table, resting one hand on the lid of the wooden box. He—or she, perhaps, beautiful and androgynous in a loose knit sweater and black jeans, wavy brown hair just long enough to tie into a low ponytail with a red ribbon—is young but not as young as some of the others milling about the library. A graduate student, maybe, or a new professor. 

“You can stop guessing. I’m not a man or a woman, and would rather not be referred to as such.” You quickly apologize but they seem unbothered, waving off your tension. “You didn’t know. Now you do.” They pull out the chair across from you and sit casually, an elbow resting on the table, chin set against their hand. “Ah, I haven’t gotten to ask this in a little while. Where are you from? And where will you go after this?”

You hadn’t expected to meet a child of the road here, but there’s no reason why you wouldn’t. People come to the University from all across the Drift. “I’m from somewhere to the northwest. Not sure where I’m headed next, depends what I get to deliver.” 

“Oooh, cryptic,” they say with a grin. “I like that. Mind if I see your map?” You pass it across the table and they flip it around, dragging their finger over your hasty scribbles. “You’re not from any of these, then? Compass Hill? Rivermouth?” You shake your head. They hum thoughtfully. “Have you not marked your ‘home’ due to physical constraints, such as the size of the paper, or is it simply irrelevant information?” 

You don’t like the flippant way they say “home,” like it’s nothing but a mirage. “Does it matter?” you ask. 

They seem surprised by your hostility. “Ah, my turn to apologize,” they say, hands raised in a placating gesture. They slide the map back to you. “I’m asking from a place of genuine curiosity. I’m studying children of the road for a research project. For all the hearsay and rumor, there’s not much reliable information about people like you and I. My current hypothesis draws on the fundamental mechanics of micro-metaspatial alignment, so I’ve been trying to get better geographical distribution data. Physical birthplace versus metaphysical point of origin, the birthplace of parents if applicable…”

“What about you?” you ask. “Where are you from?” 

“Hm? I have no idea.” 

You pause, waiting for elaboration. They offer none. “Okay, but where is it?” you press.

“Now who’s being belligerent?” they say, but they’re grinning as if they’re enjoying the banter. “I just told you, I have no idea. I have no inner compass, no little tugging sensation in my chest. I don’t dream about it.” They shrug, as though they didn’t just tell you the most horrifying thing you’ve ever heard. “Anyway. This is painsilk, right? The Department of Paraphysics is expanding and we need a few specialty construction materials. I don’t suppose I could ask you for a ride that way? The last bus ran an hour ago.” 

“I don’t mind,” you say. “But I can’t leave yet. I’m waiting for someone to pick something up.” 

“I’ll wait with you, then, if you aren’t sick of me yet. I’m Jamie, by the way.” 

After your rocky introduction to one another, you reassess Jamie as blunt but friendly. They introduce themselves in a rapid bullet point list: paraphysicist, avid science fiction reader, tea snob. Their graduate thesis was about the reproductive behaviors and cycles of a coffin shroudweed colony in the Stillwoods. 

“I actually lived with the colony for two years. They were incredibly open with me. Gave a few…hands-on demonstrations,” they add with a wink. “But in all seriousness, I was there in the first place to settle a dispute. The Stillwoods municipal government had come up with this frankly abhorrent development plan for new luxury housing where the shroudweed live. It was fine to bulldoze everything and douse it in pesticides, they said, because shroudweed are aggressive, mindless and invasive.” They scoff. “Aggressive? Not in the least, unless you disturb the mycelial creche where their young grow. Definitely not mindless, either. Communication was difficult but completely possible, we worked out a system of shared symbols. Invasive, then…” They laugh bitterly. “What a useless word in the Drift. You and I are invasive, by that logic. They won’t say it out loud, but they will say it in all sorts of quiet ways.” 

Dr. Loyola is still wearing his University staff lanyard when he arrives, photo ID dangling from his neck. You hand him the jar and tell him it’s from the Stag. He looks understandably alarmed and rushes off with the strange thing cradled in both hands, careful not to shake it. You decide you don’t want to know.

Jamie follows you out to your car, sliding into the passenger seat when you move the egg box on the floor behind you. You notice them looking around with interest, studying the interior, the food you have stashed away, opening your glove box to glance inside, but they don’t disturb anything. “I envy couriers,” they say. “The grass is always greener, I’m sure, but still. Perhaps I do still have some trace of that wanderlust instinct we’re all supposed to have.”

You shrug. “It’s different for everyone. I’ve met children of the road who can’t imagine ever leaving home again, wherever they find it. For those of us who keep moving, it’s the same. I can’t imagine sitting still.”

“Do you remember your parents?” 

The sudden shift in topic makes you pause. “No,” you say. “I might’ve been abandoned. Or maybe they’re the ones who left me in Compass Hill.”

Their gaze softens. “I see. Rejection is unfortunately common. The lucky ones will find new families, but I know that’s not the norm.” 

“Is that why you’re not a courier?” you ask. “You’re one of the lucky ones?” 

Jamie gets quiet. You glance over and their smile has turned stiff, not quite meeting their eyes. “Oh, yes,” they say. “I was very lucky.”

You take a winding path back down the hill, following the signs guiding you to the Paraphysics Department. This isn’t a part of campus you’re familiar with. These buildings are much newer, designed with an unpleasant mix of hard Gothic angles and bizarre alien curves. Cathedral towers curve and twist. Windows are misshapen, squished ovals as though melting in their frames. Halls are joined by spiraling aerial walkways. Jamie directs you to Lyman Hall, a building shaped like a frozen wave. A new section is affixed to one end, skeletal scaffolding that bends and twists in ways that don’t seem possible.

Jamie sets their hand on your shoulder as you take your keys out of the ignition. You’ve noticed in just a short time that they’re very physical, walking close, frequently touching your hand or back to get your attention. “I should warn you before we go in,” they say hesitantly. “A lot of my colleagues are…eccentric.”

You ask, “More than you?”

“A courier and a comedian? Come on.” 

You tuck the box under your arm and follow Jamie through the front doors. Lyman Hall is just as confusing on the inside. You feel like you’ve somehow found yourself in the old, majestic building of another department with grand, ornately framed church-like windows and antique decor, but everything is just ever so slightly off. The angles are strange. The hallway looks lopsided and half-sinking. A spiral staircase rises into nothing, abruptly ending just short of the rounded ceiling.

“They used to run artificial shifts here to study their effects,” Jamie explains. “It’s done some odd things to the architecture.” They gesture for you to follow, leading you down a hallway that’s much longer than it looks. “Do you know much about shifts? What happens during one, and why?” 

“Not really,” you admit. 

Their eyes light up. You get the feeling this is something they don’t get to explain often. “Think of it like this: this is us.” They lift their hand, bent at a ninety-degree angle with their palm facing the floor. “This is our home and all the rules that hold it together. We’re so small and so deep inside that it’s all we know. It’s hard to even imagine that there could be more. But there is.” They raise their other hand parallel. “This is another plane. It might be like ours with similar rules, or it might be completely incomprehensible to us. Now, different planes normally exist at different frequencies. They’re like ghosts to one another, invisible. They would pass right through each other without any interaction, any knowledge of one another whatsoever. But, rarely, those frequencies might change. They might start to harmonize, you could say. And when they do…”

Jamie brings their hands closer, fingers lacing together. 

“They run into each other?” you guess.

“That’s one type of shift, yes. But it’s not always a collision. Sometimes it’s more like a merging. The technical term is a ‘superposition event.’ Two or more cosmic planes occupying the same location, existing at the same frequency, at the same time. In most of the world, this phenomenon is incredibly rare and incredibly brief. Thirty-four have been recorded throughout all of human history, most lasting between one to six seconds.”

“That can’t be right,” you say. “We have one at least once a week. They last hours.” 

“Those numbers only apply outside the Drift. This place has always been especially prone to them. We’re not sure why.” 

You’ve heard that the world outside the Drift is “much more stable” but never truly understood what that meant. Thirty-four, for the whole world, for as long as humans have been writing things down? Does anything change out there? Is it all the same for centuries, for millennia at a time? How do they plan trips if everything is always the same distance away and never any closer? What grows on their trees if not eggs?

Jamie turns suddenly into an open doorway and leads you into what looks like an old laboratory. The floor is scuffed, stained wood, tables and workstations wooden with polished stone counters. A diagram of a fringed, worm-like creature has been partially erased on a blackboard.  Chemicals and labeled specimens in glass jars line the shelves along the walls. Jamie flicks the lightswitch by the door and you realize there are several people huddled around one of the tables near the back of the room, heads lowered, muttering to each other, apparently standing around in the dark prior to your arrival. 

They all look up at the same time, still as statues and staring right at you. A moment passes in tense, terrifying silence, and then they all relax. 

“Silk’s here,” Jamie calls.

“Ah, excellent!” one says. It’s a woman in a lab coat and small, oval glasses, her dark hair cropped short. She regards you with a smile, coming over to take the box. “Oh, you have no idea how much we appreciate this. Superposition-affected structures aren’t easy to repair, or remodel, or really do anything with. This should do just the trick. Ah, where are my manners?” She offers a handshake. “I’m Olivia Higgs.”

You blink. “Higgs? As in…?” 

“Pioneer of modern paraphysics and paraphysical biology? Yeah, that Dr. Higgs,” Jamie says wryly. 

Dr. Higgs is a household name. Your current understanding of the Drift is almost entirely thanks to her. Her approachable, layman-friendly books on shift safety and Drift wildlife are required reading for couriers who want to survive their job. You have an old, dog-eared and partially rain-soaked copy of Drift Eggs and You: A Beginner Forager's Guide in your car. 

“Oh,” is all you can think to say. 

“And I see you’ve already met my…” Dr. Higgs pauses for an uncomfortably long time, her enthusiasm wavering. “My, ah. My child. Jamie.” She tilts her head slightly as though listening to something, her gaze vacant. “My…Jamie? Jamie?” 

Jamie wraps their arm around you quickly, tugging you back a step, closer to the door. “Well, I’ll get them all settled in.” 

“Wh—settled in?” you ask.

They turn their arm, checking their watch. You see three needles moving at three different tempos across the clock’s face, none of which seem to be measuring conventional time. “The next shift hits in a couple hours. You can stay at my place tonight, I have a spare bedroom.” 

Dr. Higgs shiver. “Jamie? What’s—? Oh my god. Oh my god!” She starts to scream. Jamie’s hand tightens on your shoulder and they draw you back another step, urging you to leave the room. Dr. Higgs claws at her own face, nails raking over her eyes and nose, leaving long, bloodied scratch marks all the way to her chin. She shrieks in thoughtless terror, throwing herself to the ground and curling up into a ball. The other researchers rush to her side, keeping her hands pinned far away from her face, but you see a gushing wound where she tore her forehead open, a rough, circular hole she gouged into herself in desperation.

“GET IT OUT!” she screams. “GET IT OUT GET IT OUT GET IT OUT GET IT OUT—”

Jamie slams the door to the lab shut, leans back against it, and lets out a long sigh. You can still hear Dr. Higgs shrieking. “I didn’t want you to see that,” they mutter. 

You nod numbly. You have no idea what to ask, if you should even ask anything. There’s a loud thud, the sound of chairs scraping, sprinting footsteps up to the door and something pounding against it. 

“Open the door, Jamie!” she shrieks. “Open this door right fucking now and HELP ME!”

Jamie stays where they are as the door jolts and rattles against their back. They close their eyes and take another deep breath, letting out slowly. The banging stops and you hear dragging, Dr. Higgs still screaming, still calling Jamie’s name, sobbing and cursing, as she’s pulled away. “My mother has…fits,” Jamie says. You can’t help but notice they say “mother” not unlike the way they said “home” earlier. “It’s some kind of paranoia. She’s amassed a broad body of work over the course of her career, but her specialty is actually Drift parasites.” 

“So she thinks she’s…infected with something?” you say. 

“Something like that.” 

You stand there in silence for a while. The weeping in the lab gradually tapers off. You hear movement. A gentle knock at the door. “Jamie? I’m so sorry. I’m fine now,” Dr. Higgs says. “Is the courier still there? Did you tell them—”

“Yep,” Jamie says. “We’re going to go now. Don’t stay up too late tonight.” 

“Alright. Goodnight.” 

“Goodnight, Mom.” Jamie smiles at you, as if there’s nothing to worry about. When you don’t move, they clear their throat and step away from the door, gesturing back the way you came. “Why don’t we head home? It’s late, I’m tired, I’m sure you’re tired.” They start moving and all but drag you with them, a hand on your back to keep you heading for the exit. 

“Is she okay? Are you okay?” you ask. “Are you sure she’s not—?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” they say, their smile strained. They make you walk a little faster.

Jamie lives in a small cottage in the Residential District. There’s a fence at the front with a latching gate and flowering shrubs growing beneath the windows. The interior is cluttered but cozy. Papers with handwritten margin notes are strewn across the kitchen counter. An unfinished jigsaw puzzle is scattered across the living room table. All the pillows on the couch are pushed into one corner, a tasseled blanket hanging across the back. They make you tea, fragrant and slightly sweet, and some eggs to go with it.

“It’s really good,” you say.

“Rosemary peppermint,” they say proudly, sipping their own generous helping from a University mug. “There’s just a pinch of salt and honey in there, a little bit of milk. I’ve always wanted to show it off to someone, but, ah. I never have company.” They glance at you a few times, tapping their fingers on the counter. 

You’re escorted to a guest room upstairs that looks significantly less lived in, the bed neatly made, the decor sparse save for a house plant on the window sill. Jamie lingers in the doorway while you settle in, going through your backpack. “Would you…” They trail off, not looking you in the eye. “Would you be willing to take me with you in the morning, when you leave?” 

You look up in surprise. “I could,” you say cautiously. “If you’re sure. Where would you wanna go?” 

Jamie leans against the doorframe, smiling bitterly. “Ah, of course. This looks bad, doesn’t it? Like I’m abandoning my mother when she needs me. It’s not like that, I promise. I’ve been planning to do some field research for a while now.” They cross the room quickly, sitting on the edge of the bed beside you. Their hand finds yours, settling on top of it. “Maybe I can explain it better in the morning,” they offer, shifting closer. “I just…don’t want to think right now.”

The kiss takes you by surprise. They’re gentle at first, almost shy. Their lips are soft and their hands are wandering restlessly, one cupping your cheek, the other smoothing down your chest. They swallow your quiet, startled gasp and it seems to embolden them. Quick, fleeting kisses grow longer and hungrier, more forceful. They’re pushing against you, a hand on your shoulder easing you down onto the bed. 

“Jamie?” You barely manage to get the word out with their mouth moving against yours. “Hey, wait—”

You push against their chest and they pull back with obvious reluctance. Their hand lingers under the bottom of your shirt, fingertips ghosting over your bare stomach. “You don’t want to?” 

“That’s not…” You trail off. Suddenly, you don’t feel good. You feel yourself breaking out in a cold sweat. The room is spinning. The room is spinning. You try to sit up but Jamie pushes you back down easily. 

“You’re alright,” they murmur. “Shhhh, you’re alright. Close your eyes. You’re going to sleep really, really well tonight, I promise.” They lean in, pressing a kiss to your forehead, and then their weight lifts from the bed. The lights flick off. You hear gentle humming. The door, gently pulled shut. You fight to stay awake but it’s a losing battle, your limbs too heavy to lift. Jamie’s footsteps go back down the stairs and the noise is distorted as you drift in and out of consciousness, too loud, muddled like you’re hearing them underwater. 

You think you can hear them talking to someone in hushed, excited whispers.

(next)

[junosartsthetic]

hi hello nsfw if ur ok? sdc joseph using hermit purple in an inappropriate way?? thanks

Warning(s): Joseph being a dirty old man, mentions of sex, age gap, inappropriate use of a stand, afab!reader, pubic hair, voyeurism-ish, Hermit Purple is convenient for teasing

--

You should have known better than to invite your overeager and impatient lover to a fancy formal dinner with a few coworkers. You figured he’d at least be able to wait until after the meal to start teasing you. That was a silly assumption. 

It started with a prickly sensation coiling around your ankle, mimicking the straps of your heels. You looked down, past your long-slitted gown, to spy a familiar purple stand. You narrowed your eyes, hoping it would retreat quickly. You knew he wanted to get out of here, and he’d made it clear before arriving he wanted nothing more than to rip your gown off and take you right there in the entryway, but to resort to such childish actions? To what, get a rise out of you? You weren’t actually that surprised, but still. You told him you’d leave after eight. And it was only seven forty-five. He could wait fifteen minutes. Maybe.

You shook your foot a little, trying to shoo him away. Unfortunately, the vines clung on, slithering higher up your bare leg. You resisted the urge to bend down and grab them. 

“So, how’d a guy like you end up with someone like (Y/N)?” one of your associates teased, laughing. You glanced back up from your slithering situation. She rested a hand on her chin, leaning on it. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’d figured she’d get with someone. . .”

“Younger?” Joseph finished lightheartedly. You felt the vines squeeze you, as if to juxtapose her comment. 

“Oh I didn’t mean to offend you,” she corrected. “I’m just curious as to how you’ve got her wrapped around your finger. She never shuts up about you.” 

You smiled as calmly as possible given the ever heightening purple vines now brushing against your thigh, stifling a laugh at her choice of words. If she only knew just how wrapped up he had you. “I don’t talk that much about him,” you insisted, your hand sneaking under the table to pry the vines from snooping any further. They wouldn’t budge. Your eyes moved to Joseph’s. You glanced at his stand before looking back at him. He played innocent, ignoring your annoyed stare.

“Oh, I have my methods,” he quipped, letting out a laugh. “Nice to hear she talks about me. All good things, I hope. Or not. Depending.”

“Quit it,” you huffed, reaching over to smack his shoulder. “We’re at a formal place, this is no place for a double entendre.” You hoped he’d get the message about his Hermit Purple currently fiddling around with your panty seam.

“It’s fine, (Y/N)! It’s not that formal. Besides, I’ve heard the things you’ve said about him. It’s no secret what you two get up to.”

You wanted to strangle your coworker. Her words fueled the fire that now nestled itself under the soft fabric of your panties. Thorns trailed down your pubic hair, gliding it out of the way to find what it hunted for. 

You sucked in a breath. Bullseye. 

Damn it, Joseph. You win this time.

“Hey, I just remembered I need to let my dog out,” you sputtered out, wrenching yourself out of your seat. “She’ll pee everywhere if she doesn’t go A-S-A-P. Sorry to cut things short but we’ve gotta run! See ya! Thanks for dinner!”

You threw some bills on the table, grabbing Joseph by the wrist as you hurried out the restaurant door. The driver wouldn’t be there for another ten minutes, but you couldn’t sit there a minute longer. You’d wait outside in the cold. Maybe the freezing air would knock some sense into your horny lover. Probably not.

Joseph wheezed hysterically as you pushed him out of your way to sit on the sidewalk curb. “We don’t even have a dog!”

“Shut up! I panicked. You try thinking straight when vines start massaging your clit halfway into dinner,” you whispered harshly. “You’re a dirty old man, you know that?”

“You’re not really mad at me,” he insisted, taking a seat beside you to rest his suit jacket around your shoulders. “If you were, you'd have thrown me across the room with your stand and torn me a new one. You wanted out of there just as much as I did.”

You scoffed. Was he absolutely correct? Yes. Did a masochistic, voyeuristic part of you want him to tease you until you came underneath the dinner table? Yes. Were you currently sitting in an ever-growing wetness staining your panties? Yes. You had no counterclaim. You were frustrated out of your mind. But the only thing you wanted to do was pull Joseph into the nearest alleyway so he could finish what he started.

“Well, maybe so,” you stuttered out, crossing your arms. “But-”

“But what, sweetheart?” he countered, voice condescendingly sweet as he grabbed your chin with his hand, pulling you close enough to smell his cologne. His thumb teased at your bottom lip, pulling it down just enough to see your tongue bit between your teeth. “But you still want me to grab you right here and fuck you on this street corner? But you still want my hands caressing every centimeter of your body as I pound into you? But what, baby? Tell me.” 

Throwing away the last of your restraint, you pulled his hand away, lips crashing into his hard enough to knock him back. Your hands found his tie, pulling him impossibly closer. You could taste the red wine on his lips intermingling with your champagne-tainted tongue. It was intoxicating.

You didn’t bat an eye at the car pulling up beside the two of you, waving off the honking until you had to break away for air. “You’re sleeping on the couch tonight,” you grumbled, pushing yourself off the curb.

“No I’m not,” he replied effortlessly.

“Can you at least pretend to humor me? I’m trying to be in control for once.”

“Just get your ass in the car, sweetheart,” he replied, smacking your ass as you stepped inside. “And when we get home I’ll show you who’s in control.” 

[vfdinthewild]

"Dog-strangling vine forms dense stands that overwhelm and crowd out native plants."

-via Invasive Species Center