#I call it fern or moss

[czaneavecg]

okay I have to admit I genuinely like them, there's more to come IM just too tired to draw any more rn

I have like 7 more doodles on the go but here-

[mozki]

what do u do when the name u chose urself at 16 no longer quite cuts the mustard but its what all my fwends call me and stufffff

[alithographica]

As promised, welcome to

Fun biology in TOTK’s designs

I'll keep this post updated as I go through the game. I'm going to skip the more general identifiable things like apples (they're based on apples!) because there are tons of more unusual species to talk about.

Overall, the really interesting thing I've noticed is that many of the more unique Earth-based lifeforms in TOTK are super ancient, like predating dinosaurs ancient, which is a really cool tie-in to the overall time-hopping plotline of TOTK. Specifically, they're found in the new areas (caves, depths) while the surface remains a bit more normal.

(There will be no plot spoilers in this post, and also I've barely gotten into the plot because I'm spending all my time wandering, so shhh no spoilers in the tags for like a month please.)

Most recent additions: More lilies, irises, wild ginger, spiny bones, pigeon extravaganza, plus added some more real photo comparisons to old stuff.

PLANTS

Bryophytes my beloved. Bryophytes are among the earliest land plants, waaaay predating flowers and even seeds. In our world, they’re small by necessity—they lack vascular systems to help move water around like other plants, so they have to stay small and moist (hence their frequency in caves in TOTK—though they do need some light in real life.)

In TOTK they’re quite large and I think that’s very sexy and art directors should give us big bryophytes more often

Anyway, there are three types of bryophytes: mosses, liverworts, and hornworts. First image pair is a moss, second is a liverwort. Those red-brown and palm-tree-like structures, respectively, are their reproductive structures.

Real liverwort photo © Graham Calow, NatureSpotUK

Not yet spotted: Hornworts! Did they forget the third bryophyte sister :(

I think these next guys are probably lycopods (specifically club moss, which is not a true bryophyte moss, thanks science.) Very old, but vascular, so they're a bit more evolutionarily recent than bryophytes.

Real photo © Gloria Hanley Schoenholtz, virginiawildflowers

All the enormous curly-topped trees in the depths: Ferns! They curl like that until they unfurl. Another very old plant, though younger than bryophytes and lycopods.

Real photo via The Cosmonaut, Wikipedia

Brightblooms and some of the other giant plants in the depths: Possibly based on a cycad? Again, a very ancient plant lineage. At this point, evolutionarily, they've developed seeds—that giant cone in the center is called a strobilus, and that's the seed structure.

These next few plants are angiosperms, meaning they produce flowers. Angiosperms are a more recent evolutionary lineage—still many millions of years old, but it took a while to develop flowers as a reproductive tactic.

Sundelions (left) are a fun recolor of a lily. There are also some scenery lilies (right) in various places—there are yellow ones that spring up when you turn on a lightroot (which gives them literal and thematic connection to the surface) and several other varieties, including tiger lilies, throughout Hyrule. Fun note, the sundelions appear to only have 5 stamen, while other lilies in the game (correctly) have 6. Seems to be an intentional decision to make it a more distinct fantasy species.

These next ones are Peruvian lilies/Alstroemeria, just used as a scenery plant but a very fun inclusion. Fun fact, not true lilies, so they're not deadly to cats like true lilies are.

Real photo © Dick Culbert, Wikipedia

Plum trees: These are also called out as plum trees in game! There's a journal in Kakariko that refers to the plum orchards.

Okay I'm a little proud of figuring this one out. Bomb flowers blend a few botanical references. Superficially, the fruit resembles a type of seed pod called a capsule—specifically it's very similar to a poppy capsule. The little red thing in the center is a nice addition to resemble both a flower stigma (reproductive part that leads to the ovary) and a bomb fuse. Now, poppy capsules disperse their seeds via wind, but there are other plants who do explode their seeds outwards as a dispersal tactic! This is called explosive dehiscence.

There is one tree in particular called the sandbox tree, AKA monkey-no-climb or dynamite tree (yes, really.) Their capsules look more like little pumpkins, but are known for violently exploding when ripe—they can launch seeds at 150 miles per hour (250 km/h) and spread them roughly 200 feet (60 m) away. The photo comparison is a poppy capsule but you should def go look up dynamite tree videos.

Real photo © PommeGrenade, pixabay

Fire fruits (and the other elemental fruits) grow on the same generic plant that looks kind of like it has grape leaves. Fire fruits resemble a specific botanical thing too though—the black netting is a papery calyx (part of the flower) seen in a nightshade genus, Physalis (golden berries, tomatillos, etc.)

Real photo © Helene Rogers, Alamy

I think this stuff is an Asarum, AKA wild ginger. I was actually puzzling over it until I walked past some today and went HEY

Not sure of the exact species but they're very green and heart-shaped and love being dense and low to the ground.

Real photo via David Stang, Wikipedia

Irises: Love irises, one of my favorite flowers and words, very happy to see them in game.

MISCELLANEA

Cup lichen! Lichen is not a plant, but a symbiotic structure of an algae + a fungi. Cup lichen is just a type of lichen formation that has a kind of vertical cup-like structure.

Real photo via Bernard Spragg

Geology crossover! Go look carefully at some of the whiter walls in the depths—they look like they have fossils of coral and other undersea hard-structured animals in them.

ANIMALS

Sticky lizards: Based on Diplocaulus, a very early (now extinct) amphibian! Their skulls are wacky. We're not sure whether the long sides stood out separately or were smoothly connected to the body by skin flaps, but the separate arrow-like shape is the most popular rendition.

Deep firefly: Might be a stretch because it could just be a multi-winged fantasy critter, but I think the "wings" and antennae are very reminiscent of Anomalocaris, an ancient aquatic arthropod.

Update: Other folks in the notes/tags have pointed out that they're probably based on a cryptid that's especially popular in Japan: skyfish AKA rods! They show up in photos and people think they're an alien lifeform. In reality, they're an optical blur created when a lower quality video captures intermittent flaps of an insect's wings, leaving sort of a many-winged smear in the photo. Thanks to all who left info!

Little frox: Another stretch because it totally could just be a Hinox-like frog, but every time I see the little ones I can't help but think of like...Ichthyostega, Mastodonsaurus, Eryops, and other early amphibians. They were pretty hefty—little frox size or bigger—and had with little waddling legs. This is less "I think it's definitely this" and more "it makes me happy when I picture frox as primitive amphibians."

I haven't detailed many of the scenery animals around Hyrule because most are identifiable with the camera function—it'll tell you that a certain animal is a heron or porgy, for example, and those groups are real, even though the exact species is made up. But I think the pigeons are fun because they're all crested pigeons. Pink-necked green pigeons may have also been the inspiration for the color palettes on the wood and rainbow pigeons.

Both pigeon photos via JJ Harrison, Wikipedia

Spiny bones: Not a specific critter, but those spiny bones that you can find lying around Eldin Canyon are vertebrae—possibly from the same thing that left those big rib cages around? The top spike is the spinous process where muscles attach, the littler spikes on the side are the transverse and articular processes. The dark O in the center is the spinal cord.

Also I made a friend who finally recognizes my purpose in Hyrule.

That's all I've got for now! Will add more as I keep playing.

[domesticandlovingmonsters]

Eldridge/Tentacle Monster x F!Reader

Words: 2.9k Themes: Nsfw, tentacles, fictional oviposition Notes: Hi all! I'm still very sick, hence why this story is a little shorter than the others. Hopefully it's still a good morsel of ovi themes. I may circle around to it again and adjust it, or write a whole other story based on ovi to make up for the lack of words. Feedback as always is welcome!!

This was definitely the spot from your dream. 

The cave opening matched your memories perfectly. To the circular entrance, draped in vines that dripped with clear water from the waterfall nearby, to the moss that covered every inch of this place. 

The hike had been tortuous, to say the least. But seeing this cave made it all worthwhile. You weren��t going mad, after all. 

You didn’t understand how you knew this was here. Perhaps some past hike through these old woods came to the surface of your subconscious and reminded you of this splendid place.  It was beautiful. How could you have forgotten it? Your steps into the cave felt familiar and comfortable. Your shoes didn’t slip on the uneven path nor did the low hanging ceiling bump against your head as you ventured deeper. 

You could hear the gentle trickling of water somewhere further. A soft echo that seemed to call you forward and away from the light of the beautiful day outside.  You recalled there was more light inside. 

Not that you could remember how there was more light. But the memory of being able to see clearly down here was vivid enough to ease any worries of darkness.  Deeper and deeper you went.  The afterthought of getting lost down here vanished when you found a path, winding down the treacherous tumbling's of rocks and subterranean flora. You found a stream bounding down a slope of dark rocks. Your fingers idly trailed along the smooth cut stone that acted as stairs towards the heart of this cave.  You didn’t slip.  Nor did you feel any nervousness when a sound rose up through the music of running water. A whispering murmur that called to you. 

Almost there. It seemed to say.

A friend. 

Your friend. The one from your dreams that spoke of itself and the sweet home it made for itself down here.  Surrounded by soft moss and cool water. Comforted by the comes and goings of eager hikers that walked these trails. Listening to the world's gossip and excitement while happily residing in the depths of the mountain. Unseen and undisturbed.

But it called to you nonetheless. And you came just as you promised; a friend coming to visit a friend.  The stream brought you to a wide cavern. With a pool in the center and many small plants circling the crystalline water. The lights you were promised dangled from thin, pale vines that spiderwebbed along the sloped ceiling. Giving the wide cave a gentle blue glow as you stepped towards the water. 

You felt parched after such a hike. And the water felt cool against your fingers as you kneeled down beside it and cupped some into your mouth. 

It tasted sweet. Almost like honey. And you sighed as the discomfort of your hike started to ease.  The murmuring echoed through the cave and you sat yourself on a nearby rock. Slipping off your backpack as you looked out over the pool. 

Many eyes watched you, pale and completely pupilless, locked on you from a mound of mossy bark and fern covered limbs. 

It was huge. The presence you have felt for so many nights felt like a crushing weight now as your friend started to move closer. The water barely stirred as thick appendages rose from the calm waters and slithered along the ground towards you. 

You smiled. Reaching for a tentacle as it coiled along your calf and bathed your warm skin with its cool flesh.  You wore shorts today, given the heat of the day, and your friend seemed thrilled with how much skin was currently exposed.  The murmuring turned to whispers. Eager with anticipation. You felt a wordless voice enter your mind as the creature walked out of the pool on thick, muscular legs. They looked like trunks of trees, covered in more of that mossy bark like skin.  You tilted your head up as a tentacle brushed along your chest, circling your neck for but a second before retreating. Wherever your friend touched, a comforting cooling sensation followed. And after your walk up the side of the mountain it was a very welcoming change. 

That presence bloomed in your mind and your smile turned sheepish as a thinner tentacle slipped under your shirt and petted along your bare chest. You felt a curiosity grow through you. Not yours, but theirs. 

You couldn’t hide how warmed the smooth, velvety appendage made you feel. One of the thicker tentacles was resting between your legs. Nestling between your thighs as the others gently greeted and stroked you. 

And the creature breathed an amused sound into the cave as it felt your hips twitch. And you stifled a groan when you felt the muscle tense against you, causing friction. 

Clothes fell to the mossy floor in a messy pile. The tentacles were careful but impatient as they removed each piece of material from your body.  Those many eyes drank in every inch of newly exposed skin and a heated kernal of need rose up within you. 

You gasped as the vision vanished.  A tender tip of the creature’s arms stroked along your cheek, comforting and reassuring. Asking quiet permission as your friend drew back; waiting.  You nodded, smiling.  That’s why you came here after all. Visiting a friend who needed company more intimately than passing gossipers. 

And just like the vision, your clothes fell from your body in fluid, practiced motions. A familiar scene started to open up in front of you as your friend’s arms coiled beneath you and lifted you off the hard stone. They moved you to a more open space in the cave and you were laid down in a nest of soft moss and fern leaves. The glowing vines twisted and knotted between the crags of your bed, illuminating your friend as they settled before you. Their tentacles snaked over the edge of the nest to begin tangling between your limbs. 

The thickest of them all wrapped around your calves and gently spread your legs apart. You moaned as the tip of the appendage curled over your waist and slid between your folds. Clear liquid pooled from the tip and your hips pushed up into the rounded end as they started to fondle you.  How many nights did you and them fool around in your dream? Exactly like this? Pulled to you by their need and your loneliness, your once uneventful nights were soon full of tangled limbs and visions of pleasure. 

You would wake up panting and soaked, both in sweat and with arousal. Lost in the fog of the dream and coming back to reality. 

But here, now with your friend as they loomed over you, your legs spread and pushed up around your head as a tentacle prodded and rimmed your hole, you felt a wave of excitement come over you. 

Tangling with your heated anticipation as the tip against you pushed and your walls gave entry.  It felt like a great relief washed over you as they pushed deeper. The discomfort that has plagued you for days was finally relieved and you went limp against the nest as your body gave an involuntary twitch from the sweetened touch. Your friend must have felt the same because the slow rhythm rubbing along your slit faltered. 

Your mind fogged with a layer of desire and joy as more limbs petted down the back of your thighs and started to grope and fondle you. Twisting and touching along your bare chest as your back arched into the tangle of arms.

You gasped, mouth hanging open as your walls were stretched. Their murmuring was gentle and reassuring. A soothing contrast to the waves upon waves of eager anticipation that radiated from them.  Then the tip pushed deeper and you felt your walls welcome them. And you accepted the intrusion with a heavy moan.

They shivered above you. You felt the heat of your body burn against their cool skin and they enjoyed it. Loved how your hole so eagerly spread for them and how deep they started to go. 

Inch by careful inch, your friend filled you until your eyes squeezed shut and an uncomfortable tension pushed at your stomach. They halted, and a tender touch brushed along your cheek again; reassuring and comforting. 

They didn’t mean to push so hard. But your body felt so good, so soft and warm that they wanted to stay there forever. 

You relaxed after the thick limb began to pull out. But it was so slow it was torture, your moan lowered into a whine. 

They stalled. Those many eyes  watching you as you reached down and ran your fingers along their tentacles. Giving attention to the entanglement of limbs that snaked and petted along your waist and chest. You were almost entirely swallowed by them that you could barely move without them allowing you too. 

You felt small bumps and ridges slide along your palm. Your fingers were left slimy with the substance that oozed from the tip of their appendages.

Curiously, you brought your fingers to your mouth and gave them a small lick.  Just like the pool, the liquid was cool and sweet on your tongue. Like honey. Your friend purred as you stuck two fingers between your lips. And before you could react, a small tentacle wrapped around your wrist and tugged your hand away. 

Your lips were immediately filled with another thick tendril and you felt the tip hit the back of your throat. 

Your eyes bulged and you gagged as a small drop of the liquid slid down your throat.  A worrying whisper tickled your mind. A question, as the limb between your lips started to retreat. You hummed and relaxed your mouth, giving silent permission to continue.

Pleased, your friend pushed further and your eyes watered at the intrusion. But you licked at the velvety underside of the limb. Moaning softly as you tasted that sweet nectar which began to trickle into your mouth.  Your friend then started to continue to pull out of you. You whined again but they slowly slid from your hole, leaving only the tip, before slamming back into you with enough force that your body rocked and your eyes widened in surprise.  Whatever noise of complaint you tried to voice died very quickly as a pace was established. Rough and fast, feverish almost, as your friend purred above you. Your hips were lifted off the ground, angled in a way that folded you in half and your legs were spread wide and near your shoulders. 

Your chest was rubbed and squeezed, your peaked nipples teased by pillowy suction cups on the smallest limbs. Liquid pooling from the coils wrapped around you to ensure there was no restriction to the way they moved. 

Your lips were assaulted by the tentacle in your mouth, which coiled and rubbed along your tongue like a cold version of your own. Your friend shifted closer. Entirely enveloping you with their tentacles as they pulled you against their body. 

You felt yourself being lifted and pressed against their underside as if they wanted to feel you squirm and writhed against them. 

Your eyes closed as you lost yourself to the blinding pleasure. Your walls were stretched and you felt them knock against the deepest part of you, your womb near buckling under the onslaught of thrusts.

The whispering voice transformed into a whining growl that grated your ears. Somehow you knew the harsh sound was your friend’s moaning as they sprawled themselves over the nest. Crushing you against the soft floor as their body started to rut and flood your exposed body with that sweet cooling liquid.  You could feel your climax coming forth. Fighting the cool touch of your friend was a racing wildfire beneath your skin, ready to burst when their tip found something sensitive within you. A bundle of nerves that had you thrashing against your cocoon of petting limbs. 

Your friend cooed softly and your body was suddenly made empty as the tentacle slid out of you.  You cried out. Your frustration was muffled by the thick tongue like limb that you were currently sucking on. 

Amusement flooded your thoughts. And a feeling of patience trickled into your hazy mind.  You pushed against it, harshly sucking on the tentacle in your mouth as if you could coax your friend to reconsider. 

But instead of filling you again, your friend moved so all you could see was their underside. The wrappings of muscled limbs left you. You gasped and licked your lips as the tongue left you as well. 

Above you, your friend’s underside was like a shelled belly. Beautiful with intricate brown lines and plates of green; you would have admired them more if your body wasn’t currently screaming at the lack of touch and stimulation.  Your friend twitched above you and from a slit between the two back legs, something pushed between the thick shell like plating.  As red as candy and thicker than any of the limbs that had previously been buried inside you, your friend’s cock left its protective sheath and started to lower towards your spread thighs. 

The head of the length was flared and rounded nubs circled the wide tip. You licked your lips again. Your body clenching in anticipation and worry as the girth tilted, as if flexible like the tentacles before, and brushed over your sensitive clit. 

You groaned and spread yourself wider. Even going as far as sliding your hands down to your hole and moving your folds so their cock didn’t tug on anything. 

Appreciation melted into your mind and you relaxed against the nest as your friend’s hips dipped lower and the flared head disappeared between your thighs.  You felt the cool soft tip press against your entrance and you tried hard not to tense as they started to push into you. 

You gasped as your walls were stretched to their limit. Comforting murmurs filled your mind as you squeezed your eyes shut against the discomfort. 

But that’s all there was. No pain, just a slight discomfort as your body adjusted to this new girth.  You clung to the body that was inches above you. Holding onto your friend as they tenderly thrusted into you. 

Their clawed hands tore into the nest as they forced themselves to go slow. The images of their cock ravaging you, filling you with every inch of them to claim you; fluttered through your mind before they were snatched away by their self-control. 

Finally, you felt the flared head reach your womb and you were sure you felt the rounded nubs move and press against your walls. Like they were making a barrier against your cervix. 

They then started to move. Your back immediately arched as pleasure burst through your center. You cried out, gasping as your body was rocked again and again by your friend’s eager rutting. They could barely move inside you. The locked position of the flared head felt like a knot deep inside you, keeping you both firmly together. 

But still your friend desperately chased the pleasure they had to previously pause to properly enter you. 

And just as you started to adjust to the heavy sensation in your stomach, your friend shivered above you and the base of their cock bulged as something slid down the long length. 

You gasped, watching the egg roll down the thick length and your walls squeezed tightly around the new intrusion. Your friend thrusted harder than before. Pushing the rounded shaft deeper, forcing your walls to spread around it.

Your head rolled back as it popped inside and you groaned disgustingly loud as it settled deep within you. A heavy, warm bubble of liquid that rounded your stomach and jostled with every thrust from your friend. 

They growled above you as another egg left them and you grabbed the trunk like leg to brace yourself as the bulging intrusion rested against the first.  You reached down and started to rub your untouched clit. Sliding your fingers between your folds, wetting them on the cool liquid that your friend poured from their cock. You felt the hard lump where a third egg was currently flush against your body, begging entrance as your friend purred above you. You circled your clit, rolling your hips in time with your friend’s thrust until pleasure exploded forth. Your climax was what they needed to get the third egg into you. Your spasming walls and jerking hips gave them enough leverage to slide their third egg into your waiting pussy.

The purring increased until it was all you heard. Their cock twitched and you felt some sort of thicker liquid pool from between your legs. 

In your blind chase for pleasure, you didn’t realize the stimulation you were giving your friend. And your fall into bliss dragged them down with you, spilling their pleasure into your swollen hole. 

They didn’t move from their position above you. Still locked together, your friend murmured sweet whispers into your mind as you both caught your breath. 

White hot bliss sparked from your body with every lazy roll of their hips.  You couldn’t recall how much time you laid there beneath them. Writhing and moaning, lost in an overstimulated fog of pleasure and bliss.  Sometime during this hazy moment, your friend finally pulled out of you. You barely felt the shift between your legs, still snugly swollen with eggs.

You fell asleep not long after that. Finally coaxed into rest by your friend’s nuzzling touches. Their limbs massaged along your arms and stomach, as if soothing you into finally sleeping. 

[llamagoddessofficial]

Okay wait! We need more fae farm Sans please! that was too good! What would it look like when Sans's secret is revealed?

HFKDSJ okay, here's some more.

I really don't think he'd be too worried about it, when you discover his otherworldly nature. Because neither would you. Everyone already knows he's kind of strange, rumours of him not being 'normal' are abound. At that point, you would've already spent many moons getting to know him, being vulnerable without even realising - and you'd be living in a world where fae aren't uncommon at all. He's already proven himself a trustworthy friend. Why would you be scared of him?

... Especially since you have no reason to believe he's anything other than normal fae.

What you (a human) might forget is that the fair folk are not a homogeneous group. Some fae even other fae fear. He's one such entity.

It's difficult to tell if he's more powerful than Dream or Nightmare, considering he spends all his time... well, farming. It's also difficult to compare them because while all three are very ancient, they trace back to very different lineages. Dream and Nightmare are fae of butterflies, flowers, mushrooms, trees, seasons. Farmer is of ferns - of bogs, of gingkos, pine and moss.

Yall remember my Forest God AU? He's like if a Forest God got its act together, and just decided to settle down in a humanoid form. He's lived long enough to know what really matters... things like soft socks, a place to call home, the eyes and lips of a human you love.

He calls you "chickadee". It's his favourite bird.

People from the nearby village will giddily ask if you and Farmer are 'courting'. The delightful but mysterious bachelor finally has someone he likes? Everyone's rooting for him!

You have a very important role, on his farm. Very very important. You're his preserves tester. How is he supposed to know his jams and chutneys are any good, without someone of refined palate to assist him?

He has a really wonderful singing voice.

Old habits die hard; he still likes to trade. But the trades are silly, and often just an excuse for him to play. You want to hear him sing again? Better 'trade' by agreeing to cuddle up by the fire with him. You want another song, because the last sounded so ancient and beautiful and unlike anything you've ever heard? Try his spiced rice pudding, then he'll think about it.

His favourite food is roasted chestnuts.

His farm rests on the boundary between the fae and human worlds. You can enter from either side - and if you're not careful, leave on the wrong side. Farmer always walks you the right way, but if someone he doesn't like decides to make their leave, he might not be so attentive to where they're going.

You can stay at his farm without turning into fae. Alternatively, if you enter his property from the fae side, your transformation into fae is paused.

Wouldn't be surprised if he can reverse an incomplete transformation.

He talks fondly, but in the past tense, about a brother.

[headspace-hotel]

So growing up I heard these kinds of statements: "X number of species goes extinct every year" and "Most species that go extinct are undescribed/undiscovered"

And I could never really picture what that looked like. What species were going extinct? Where? Why? If they're undiscovered, how do we know about it? It's only recently that I've been able to understand.

This is an example:

Since European colonization, 99% of old growth forest in the eastern United States was cut down.

In Eastern Kentucky, the coal industry led to waste and rubble being dumped in valleys, literally burying countless mountain streams in gravel and toxic sludge.

Colonialism and exploitation moved faster than leaf-sketching and bug-collecting European naturalists did. It's very simple, and very sad. When the coal mines polluted the streams, many species of fish that only lived in one specific stream must have gone extinct. When Native Americans were forced off their lands, we can presume that rare plant species found in meadows, canebrakes and oaks savannas dependent on particular anthropogenic disturbances went extinct. When old-growth tracts were logged, God only knows how many lichens, mosses, ferns and plants went extinct because the trees they lived on were chopped.

We can extrapolate from the diversity in the fragments that remain, and the number of rare endemic species in especially isolated areas, and guess what probably existed in areas that were obliterated early on.

Keep in mind: All is not lost. New species are still being discovered.

The Bluegrass region of Kentucky was once called one of the most peculiar plant communities of the South—an eastern island of oak savanna with an understory of Arundinaria bamboo and legumes. Early European settlers reported that the ground was incredibly rich and covered with knee-high clover and dense thickets of "cane" (bamboo) that made navigation next to impossible.

Some people say the Bluegrass was always a forest and the savanna theory is wrong. Bullshit! I know this because of several reasons:

The earliest records don't mention any sycamores at all in the Bluegrass, whereas river cane (bamboo) was everywhere. Arundinaria bamboos are fire dependent species, whereas sycamore is HIGHLY intolerant of fire. From this we can infer that the area had a history of frequent burning.

Everyone in the Bluegrass knows about the Old Trees. In horse and cattle pastures in the Bluegrass region, you will sometimes see gigantic, twisted old oaks, with great spreading crowns. Nowadays you hardly see an oak that properly merits the term "gnarled," but the gnarl of the Old Trees is crazy. Just look up google images for Kentucky tourism and you'll see one of those huge trees in the background of several of the photos, I bet. Hardly anyone consciously thinks about it, but these are pre-colonization trees. And they are all obviously open-grown—their growth habit over the centuries has spread out, rather than grown straight up as in a forest.

Early colonizers' records report big walnut and cherry trees in the area. Most of the old houses in the area are made of walnut wood. Those are mid-successional species—you wouldn't find them dominating in an area that was heavily disturbed regularly and recently, they're trees, but you wouldn't find them in a forest that had been minimally disturbed forest for centuries either. The fact that they got huge suggests that a regular disturbance pattern of the Bluegrass region was abruptly interrupted and mostly ceased.

It was a pretty special place, a savanna environment with a mix of giant twisted oaks, rolling prairie hills and bamboo thickets, with deep sinkholes connecting the surface to subterranean cave ecosystems. In places the limestone bedrock reached the surface, creating limestone glades—unique desert-like habitats with many rare plants including Opuntia cactus.

It was also one of the first ecosystems west of the Appalachians to be destroyed by settlers.

BUT! Just a few years ago, we discovered Trifolium kentuckiense—Kentucky clover. A unique species of clover that has only been found in two spots in Central Kentucky.

This means the Bluegrass species that probably went extinct because their habitat was ignorantly logged, plowed and grazed before they were studied by European science may not be entirely gone.

We have been able to fund exhaustive inventories of potential holdouts for big flashy animals like the ivory-billed woodpecker, but so many people view the place they live as "boring" and thoroughly explored, when there could be surviving plants hanging out just about anywhere.

But...I don't think most people realize how much of the Holocene extinction has already happened. Most of the losses are plants and bugs that you never knew existed in the first place.

I feel like lots of people are anxiously waiting for the mass extinction to "start" hitting, but that's not quite right. European colonization of the globe WAS and *is* the mass extinction (combined with climate change which is very related). It's actively ongoing in the Global South. In eastern North America, the major wave of extinctions hit between 100 and 300 years ago.

I feel so much grief for all that was almost certainly lost forever, but I also recognize that I live in a unique period of time where the future can still be changed, and in particular, the heavily damaged ecosystems of the Southeast can be restored and used to absorb carbon from the atmosphere and provide resilience to the entire globe. And I strongly suspect at least a few mysterious new plants will start popping up once that happens...because a lot of plants stick around in the soil seed bank for a long, long time, and seeds can happen to be preserved by freak accident and then sprout later.

we (researchers, scientists, people who work in this field) will desperately need to consult tribal nations for this though because from my reading into it, we don't know what the fuck we're doing. The most basic things like controlled burns are still struggling to catch on and in some places just, spraying herbicides willy-nilly on invasive plants without understanding what makes them invasive.

[adrift-in-thyme]

Sooo remember that blupee Wild post from yesterday? I wrote something for it

Forgive the quality I wrote it in less than an hour

—————————

Legend stops short, Wild’s name still hovering on his lips, waiting to be propelled into the indifferent grouping of trees. There are eyes glowing from within the blanket of ferns at his feet. Glowing golden irises rimmed in amber, staring from a heart shaped face of palest blue.

Two antenna twitch. A small nose wriggles.

Legend bends to one knee, holds out a hand.

“Hey there. You wouldn’t happen to know where that crazy cook went, would you?”

Again the nose moves, though this time it wrinkles slightly as though the being has smelt a stench.

“Alright, fine.” Legend sighs. “Do you know where Wild went?”

That earns him some small amount of favor. The creature runs a paw over its face, fluffing up the fur there. Then, with one small hop, it emerges from its hiding place. It settles down on its haunches right in front of the veteran and sneezes.

Legend gazes at it and it gazes at him. It looks for all the world like a rabbit, with its loping gate and compact form. Yet, the appendages atop its head are like vines stretching upward in their ascent towards light. Its eyes are endless pools of molten treasure. They speak of wisdom, of mystery. They are a map Legend has yet to obtain.

Its body is delicate. The magic that waltzes gently around it threatens to spirit it away. But there is a strength about it that calls to Legend’s soul. It is painted in the eruptions of royal blue burned into the side of its face, etched in craggy, sporadic splotches upon its chest and abdomen. It is housed in those eyes of an ethereal stranger, a beloved brother and friend.

Again, the veteran holds out his hand in invitation. His voice is even softer this time.

“I won’t hurt you, champion.”

I know, Wild’s eyes say. Because you’re like me.

Another two hops and he has deposited himself in Legend’s lap. The veteran’s breath catches at this display of easy trust. Long and arduous is the road they walk. Many have been the days when he and Wild have ended up together, two conflicting minds forced to meld into something complementary. But never had he allowed himself to imagine it would all lead to this.

How’d you know?

A soft head presses against his chest. Legend ducks his face into the fur and for a moment, breathes in the scent of bubbling springs and murmuring branches, whispering wind and moist river rocks, moss and magic and autumn leaves.

How’d you know it was me?

He chuckles. Delicate fingers crowned with jewels find the spot behind Wild’s ears and rub there. The champion makes a trilling sound deep in his throat, a melody as pleasant as a bird singing its jovial song amongst the trees.

“It’s as you said. I’m like you.”

There is something about rabbits, he decides, a thread that weaves between their hearts and minds, connecting them in ways far beyond what words can explain. So that they may find one another, helpless creatures though they may be.

He checks over Wild one more time, searching for an explanation to the champion’s sudden disappearance from camp. But there are none to be seen. No wounds. No disturbances in the pattern of quick breaths. No skips in the race his tiny heart runs.

Legend lies back on the firm, packed earth, and Wild immediately readjusts along with him. He curls around himself, head meeting bushy tail in the form of a snail’s circular shell. Legend’s fingers continue their trail along the curving form, silk turning skin soft.

Above them, the trees bow to one another, limbs meeting midway to filter the pale rays of the sun. A leaf flutters down toward them. Its lazy journey ends atop Wild’s body. He doesn’t seem to mind. A tiny sigh lifts his chest. He readjusts, blinks open one eye that probes Legend’s soul.

Hey…thanks, vet.

The veteran grins. “Never thought I’d hear you say that to me.”

There is no bite in his tone. The sarcasm usually biting is gentle, teasing.

The wounds were never outward to begin with. He knows that now. He should have seen it the moment Wild’s eyes grew wide as a memory took over, the moment afterward when his chest had heaved in subtle attempts at breath, and those in the days following when he had walked with slow steps, head bowed, smile a ghost ready to fade and flee.

He doesn’t know how the hero came to take this form. It doesn’t matter however.

Legend runs his hand over the tiny head and he understands.

[squiddy-god]

A confession to a fae

(Lilia vanrouge x reader)

Re-upload from terminated blog squid-god-supreme, this is in a similar style to captured, basically, this is more general Lilia leaning, long hair Lilia supremacy

CW : nothing much, reader is low key down bad, kinda stalking? Watching from afar? "My most cherished one"

1.5k

Who was he? That mysterious man who walked the stone path of your small cottage in the dead of night? He who stalks the trees and befriends all creatures of the night. Who is he, you wonder? 

He whose eyes glow crimson and whose pupils are not but slender slits of pitch black. You wondered who he was as you glanced with blurred vision and bated breath out the window to catch only a glimpse. 

The thought and curiosity plagued you and you worked in your garden, soft soil giving way as you dug and pulled weeds, harvested the plants you grew. The tall trees cast dancing shadows but let light flicker through, it was calm, peaceful. "Hello there my dear" you jumped and looking up there was now a figure in front of you, Dressed in a long robe the deep set hood concealed his face. He was tall, not unreasonably so but enough to make note of, he leaned only slightly against the stone wall separating the two of you. Covered in moss and discolored from years of the forest encroaching on pale stone it only came up to about waist height. He let out a chuckle at your alarm "do not fret little one, I mean no harm to you" "o-oh well 'morning" 

That was how it all began, the mysterious man showing up by that garden wall to chat, the lovely weather, the kingdom of which you hail, and the woods that you call home. He had the most pleasant stories, of dragons and swords clashing, of night walks with ghosts and of history long passed, from dusk till dawn in bliss you were held captive by the words he spoke as you tended your garden. 

"Ah drats!" You mumbled as you searched for the jar of wild herbs and mushrooms you needed, only to realize that you had run out. "Fine I suppose I'll go get more" you sighed, lacing your boots and grabbing the shallow basket you used for things like this, with that you headed off. 

Deep now in the forest and basket weighed with herbs and edible mushrooms, a few berries, and flowers you could grow you felt a cold touch on your hand. 

Stumbling back the basket landed after you, miraculously nothing split as it contacted the ground. "Apologies my dear" the cold touch was back, now in front of you kneeled the man who leaned against your garden wall, his pale hand grasping yours as it was lifted to his lips. 

Were his footsteps like rain? Silent and peaceful, you wondered as the sunlight danced with shadows if this man was the same who stalked the night with such luster. If he who held your hand in tender reverence was he who walked the path of your cottage before the sun kissed the sky. 

"It's alright, you just startled me haha" you got up, watching as he rose up, his cloak fell to conceal his ivory and alabaster pants and cuffed black leather boots. "I come here often, this tree is quite nice, perhaps I'll no longer be the only one who visits?" He extended his hand, nails sharp and pitch black. "Is that an invitation?" You took his hand. 

"Fufufu of course my dear" 

This man who you were so enraptured by was a constant question in your brain, so it was no shock that as you awoke and lit your lantern you spotted from that window by the bed, a figure dancing through the trees and got up. Heading to the kitchen then to the stone wall by the garden you left a bowl of tomato soup you had made earlier and heated up by fire. 

As morning breathed life to day you awoke again and went out to your garden, there against the wall with his back turned was the man.His vest a polished pine green embroidered with blush pink thread showing ferns and snapdragons, red dahlias and columbine flowers. The short half cape that rested on his shoulder and draped over one of his alabaster sleeves was dark slate gray and lined with silver. “Hello again sir” you greeted him like any other day and he turned to you with a fond smile. He was handsome, his striking blood red eyes set against the pale white skin and the slight dark tint to his eyes and lips. His hair was long and black, with streaks of pink and the underside bright fuchsia. His appearance was striking, especially his smile and the fangs that peaked out. “Good morning my dear, thank you for the gift you left me on the evening of last” you smiled, proud of the work you put into that soup and glad he enjoyed it. “I can't let a gift go unpaid, so before the sun bids my farewell would you invite me to repay your generosity?” “you don't have to, but if you insist!”.

Just like that he lept over our stone garden wall, his black boots lifting him up before hitting the cobblestone path. A cold hand to yours and before you knew it you were spinning, his hand at your waist and the other holding your hand. “My gift to you today is a dance through dawn.” no rhythm played in the air yet as you danced in his embrace the world seemed to be alight with beautiful melodies, his eyes held stories that ruptured your heart and made your feet sway effortlessly with his.

You wondered if this man was human, he who stalks the trees, he who dances to no music yet keeps rhythm, he who leans over the garden wall. They say you should not dance with the fae, for once you do it’ll never be the same without, you wondered if that was what he is, if his eyes hold more than lonely longing affection but his gaze always seems to silence these thoughts. 

He was beyond the garden wall now, no longer the mysterious figure but the charming man, he sat under the tree in your garden and told you stories now, occasionally he would play tunes on his bagpipe and you would dance and clap in tune when not tending your garden. He often brought flowers, lovely flowers that you had never seen, ones that never wilted and ones that bloomed in the dead of night. He also brought honeyd words and sweet glances, saying he was once lonely but had found you. The man spoke of magic and mages, you had confessed that you had no magic like others and that this was the reason you moved out to the forest. He showed you magic as you danced, the sparkling of light that spun and twirled around the air as his appearance changed before your eyes, and as yours morphed to match his own.

“I spend so much time with you now,” you pondered shifting and turning towards him “yet i don't know your name” his breath seemed to pause, a dead calm and for a moment you wondered if you had messed up. “Fufufu my my what a question to ask me, you who walk beyond thorns have not a clue what power a name holds” his answer confused you, the power a name holds? “But, you are indeed my most cherished one, so perhaps I will tell you” how he adored the way your eyes gleamed at the words he spoke. “First you must follow me cherished one~” he was up in a second and you followed.

Soon you looked down to see a stone path, the trees grew more dense and you realized you had never been this deep into the forest before. “Sir- uh my love?” “Yes darling?” Even with golden light trickling through dense leaves his eyes almost glowed the most brilliant red. “Where…are we going?” he laughed. “Fufu you will see soon enough. 

You walked deeper and deeper until only sparse light flooded in small beams and nature had entirely consumed the land, remnants of castles long taken by lakes and claimed by the forest. Even the path you realized had disappeared some time ago, your only guide was the man in front of you. The almost silent sound of his steps stopped and you ran into his back, soft fabric cushioning your blow. “H-huh?” before you in the dim lighting was what looked to be a wall of trees and thorny vine, they twisted and curved suspiciously to form a perfect circle. It was lighter on the other side but almost the same, except for the cobblestone path that emerged covered in moss. 

“This my dear, is the price for such power over me.” he stepped through and nothing seemed to happen. “Simply follow me, til the end of eternity” and before your eyes he vanished. Your eyes were wide as saucers as you stood before the circle gateway. “Alright” you said more to the memory of his figure, one foot after the other onto the other side. 

Now you stand, in a small clearing, the circle arch long gone as your feet touch the cool stone. Chilling arms and soft linen fabric wrapped around you as the ghost of a breath blew gently against your ear.

“Lillia, lillia vanrouge~” 

[frannyzooey]

Short Days, Long Nights: 1

Joel Miller x f!Reader

Rating: none — I’ll change it to E when we get there (slow burn, forced proximity, age gap — no age actually mentioned but rather more implied, competence kink)

Summary: Part of a band of travelers, your party is slowly picked off one by one, until there are only two of you left. Finding an abandoned cabin in the woods, you decide to make camp there until you figure out your next move. As the seasons change, the nights get longer and longer…..

A/N: Thank you endlessly to @mourningbirds1 for the incredible feedback, beta, and comments. As always, I couldn’t do it without you. Thank you also to @write-and-buried for her TLOU knowledge and constant support, and @the-ginger-hedge-witch for reading this one over and making me confront how much Joel Miller has rotted my brain 😉 Enjoy!

—

SPRING

The copse of trees surrounding you is dense, and from the overgrown path you’ve been following by groove alone, you almost miss it. A flash of muted, dingy blue in a sea of green. 

“Hey,” you call to him. “What’s that?”

He turns, his features and body already taut with a practiced, ready tension and when he sees your face isn’t one of concern but rather curiosity, he relaxes. Walking over to you, he follows the line of your finger with his eyes. 

At first, he sees nothing. Just a wall of clustered vegetation: sturdy trunks that hide behind branches heavily weighted with rain, the floor beneath them obscured by ferns that brush against your legs and growth that softens your footsteps. His eyes catch on something too angular for the setting and he frowns, focusing on it. 

Barely visible in the distance and seen only through the filtered sunlight that catches the sharp edge: a moss covered roof. A structure, isolated like the two of you. 

He glances over at you for a moment, reflexively reaching back for his rifle. 

“Let’s take a look.”

Weapon out with his steps steady and slow, he approaches the cabin with a careful, defensive slink. As it slowly comes into view, you brace yourself for any type of movement. Second nature to now activate the constant thrum of self preservation inside you, you check for visible traps as you follow him, your eyes flitting between the building and the ground. 

A specific sort of tension fills the air when something is close: you know that feeling now, have become so sensitive that it can wake you from dead sleep the second you feel it. Like a sixth sense forced to emerge due to evolution, you focus on it and feel none of that tension here:  just the trilling sound of birds, the soft crunch of pine needles underfoot and the peaceful silence of total seclusion.

Joel catches your attention with the jerk of his head, motioning to stay close.

You approach the front of the cabin together. His hands white knuckle the gun, the butt tucked tight against the worn strap of his backpack where it curves around his shoulder and as his fingers flex in anticipation, you hold your breath. 

There is a weighted beat as you wrap your hand around the knob and turn. 

In the end, it’s all for nothing - the cabin you find, after roughly working the warped door open, is abandoned. 

–

It’s like a time capsule in the middle of the woods. 

A thick layer of dust covering everything, motes of it swirl lazily in the beam of Joel’s flashlight as you wander from room to room. His boots scrape against the floor with heavy footfalls, the two of you silently surveying the causally cozy and completely still disarray: a moth bitten handmade quilt thrown over the back of the couch, outdated magazines in a stack on the counter, cobwebbed toothbrushes by the bathroom sink. Bookshelves packed with faded spines, grime covered windows, dead plants in pretty pots lining sills. 

Someone loved this cabin once. 

Used to your partner through circumstance by now, you anticipate an order to scavenge for everything you can carry and then move on, so you’re surprised when he sets his pack down on the floor and lets himself fall back onto the couch. A cloud of dust bursts into the stagnant air, his hands coming up to wearily scrub his face. They rake through his damp, messy curls as he closes his eyes before laying his head back and letting out an exhausted sigh. 

“This should do for the night,” he says. “Could stay until the rain lets up, at least. Be nice to sleep on something other than the ground for a change.”

You nod in agreement, rolling out the kink in your shoulder you woke up with. Your eyes drift over the exposed line of his tanned throat, lingering on the hollow just above his collar. You force yourself to look away. “Yea, the beds didn’t look too bad.”

There had been two of them, across the hall from each other and the idea of a mattress - no matter how old - had you yearning to climb into bed already. Nothing saying you can’t, you reason with yourself. Not when time is more of a concept than anything else these days but the gnawing hunger in your stomach immediately disagrees, knowing exactly how long it’s been since you’ve last eaten. 

“I’m gonna go look for some food,” you tell him and he hums in acknowledgement, seemingly indifferent. 

Not really expecting to find anything of substance, you feel a swoop of scarce felt joy when you discover a cache of canned goods in the pantry. A treasure trove. 

“Hey Joel,” you call, wiping your thumb over a peeled, dried out label. “I think I found dinner.”

He doesn’t answer, most likely asleep given his ability to succumb whenever and wherever he can when he gets a moment and you take several, bringing them over to the counter. Brushing away the dust that sticks to the labels, you survey your choices: baked beans and peaches, two of each. Just what you would expect at a lake house. 

Letting him rest and holding the beans in your hand and a spoon you find in another, you take bites straight from the can as you wander down the hallway of the cabin, looking at the pictures on the walls. Using the heel of your hand to wipe away the dust that covers the glass, smiling faces emerge from the fog. You study them one by one, slowly chewing. 

They look like stock photos you used to see in stores: generically bland smiles, posed to perfection. An elderly couple with their children of various ages, a large family gathering photo, parents with children sitting between them. You try hard to picture those people here: sitting in the living room, sleeping in the bedrooms, playing outside. The concept seems too foreign to grasp, too far away to be real and you take another bite of food, pushing away the sudden unbidden reminder of similar photos you once had in your own home, now lost. 

You hear the couch protest as Joel gets up, coming to pass you in the hallway. He stops for a moment behind you, looking to see what you’re staring at and when he sees what it is, he frowns. Letting a deep sigh escape him, he keeps moving down the narrow space and with his pack in his hand, disappears into a bedroom. 

–

Wanting the safety of his nearness and given that it’s the only other bedroom, you set up across the hall when you’re done eating. Placing your own worn pack on the floor, you start to methodically strip the mattress, shaking out the bedding. Minimal creeping mold darkens the seamed edge of a mattress in otherwise good condition and you flip it, hoping for the best. Shaking out the pillow to make sure there is nothing hiding in it, you take the pillowcase with you, wanting to air it out on the deck now that the rain has stopped. 

Wanting to do the same for him, you walk into the bedroom he’s claimed and even though he’s not in there, it already feels like an invasion of privacy to be standing in it. His pack slumped on the end of the bed a visual claim, you grab his pillow off the bed and start to tug off the case. 

What does he look like, sleeping in a real bed? Does he bunch the pillow or tangle himself in the quilt? When he gets up, is there a rumpled form left behind, still warm with the heat of his body pressed into the sheets?

For all the time you’ve spent with him, the majority of Joel is a mystery to you. He gives away more than he knows, but that’s still not a lot. You knew of him back in the QZ: his broad frame a hard one to miss, his reputation even bigger and while your paths rarely crossed within the borders of those high walls, once you set out, it was hard to stay out of his orbit. 

His handsomeness drew your eye initially, but it was his usefulness that made you stay in his shadow. His determination to fight for his own made you feel protected by proximity, even more so when he extended it to you. 

Had to, once your group got picked off one by one. 

You had been thankful, in a sick way, that he was the one that remained. The best one. The most ruthless one. A ruthlessness you admired, then revered, then thought about at night as you tried to drift off to sleep. 

Without needing to sleep clothed to protect himself from the elements, does he still sleep in them, or will he be in less? If so, how much less?

Sharply snapping the pillowcase in the air, the sound brings you back to the present and you shake away the thoughts, leaving the room. 

“Whatcha got there?” He’s sitting on the couch, a can of peaches in his hand and when you face him, you have to look away from the glistening juice on his lips. 

“Oh, I was going to hang these outside, see if I can get some of the dust smell out.” Your nose crinkles and he smirks, taking another bite and shaking his head. 

“Thought you’d be used to that by now.”

You shrug, taking a seat in a chair by the woodstove. Leaning forward to inspect it, your chair wobbles; the front leg rotted. 

He nudges his chin in the direction of the stove when you open its door. “I thought about lighting it, but we better not. Don’t want the smoke showin’ people someone’s here.”

You nod, sitting back in the chair. “I can’t believe what a good find this is. There’s all sorts of stuff. I found some clothes in the closets, some more blankets too, if you need one.” 

You watch him chew, his jaw flexing under the salt and pepper of his beard.

“There is more food where that came from, if you’re hungry. The pantry is pretty full.”

He acknowledges it with a nod, taking another bite and you glance towards the windows that run the length of the room. A miracle none of them are broken, thanks to the secured tarp that lined the outside. 

“I think I’m gonna clean some of these and see if I can get a better view.”

“Cleanin’ the windows, doin’ the laundry. You lookin’ to move in?” His teasing tone is a dry one, and you smile, shrugging.

“Just so we can see what’s out there. In case someone comes.”

He looks at you, his eyes narrowing for a moment before he finishes the can, drinking the juice. 

“Well don’t wear yourself out too much,” he says, standing with a soft grunt of pain. “We ain’t gonna be here that long. Not worth makin’ it all homey.”

He sets the can down on the counter, grabbing his bow and supplies off the surface. You watch him check his stock of arrows before reaching back to feel for the knife strapped to his belt.

“I’m gonna go see if I can find us something for dinner.” He gives you a look, his eyes quickly sliding down over your form and then back up. “Yell if you need me, okay? I’ll stay close.”

You nod, holding his eyes for a minute and when he goes, you use the pads of your fingers to wipe clean a clear circle on the window. 

A creek lines the edge of the property, one that you didn’t even hear from the path with how thick the vegetation is and you watch him walk down along the edge of it for a moment, his head bowed. His hair is lighter in the sun, ruffling slightly in the wind and you keep watching until his form disappears behind the trees. 

–

Searching the cabinets methodically for anything of use while he’s gone, you find them buried deep in a junk drawer, sealed inside a faded, dirty ziplock. 

Seed packets. A lot of them. 

“Holy shit,” you whisper to yourself, opening the plastic pouch. You handle each pack delicately, spreading them neatly and carefully out on the counter and marvel silently at the whole vegetable garden you’ve found in this tiny bag. The haul would be worth more than you can imagine back at the QZ, but the potential for it is even higher here, in this dim kitchen, with that patch of moist, fertile soil outside. 

You pick them up one at a time, sorting them by recommended growth timelines and a thought takes root in your mind; the paper packets eventually gathered and put neatly back into the bag. 

You let it stew the rest of the afternoon, into the evening. As the sky dims, then darkens, as he comes back with a skinned rabbit and cooks it, as you both sit in the living room after dinner, your dirty plates resting on the coffee table between you. 

He’s sprawled on the couch, his arm behind his head with his thighs spread wide and the denim around his thighs is molded tight; his other hand resting limply against the inside of his thigh. When his eyes close, your eyes drop from his face to his hand, and then back up again. 

“So I found something today,” you begin, and he answers with a slow drawl, content and full. 

“Oh yea? Anything good?”

“Really good. Like, something really, really good.”

He opens his eyes then, looking over at you with a tilt of his head. 

“Well? You gonna tell me what it is?”

You draw one of the packets from your pocket, holding it in your hand and he sits up immediately, leaning forward on his elbows to reach for it. 

“Careful,” you warn, scared some will leak out of the thin, dried out paper. 

“You found these here?”

“Yea, in a drawer. In the kitchen.”

You can tell by the way he is looking at them that he knows their value. His hands hold them more tenderly than you thought his hands capable of, and he flips the packet over, reading the front. 

“I would kill for a fresh squash right now,” he mumbles, more to himself than anything, as he studies the front. 

“Well…” you start, suddenly unsure of your idea when he brings his eyes back up to your face. It’s intimidating when he looks directly at you normally, but you feel it tenfold now. He’s always been the one to call the shots, his experience in this world outweighing yours and while you’re nervous to throw yours out there, thinking of the alternatives nudges you forward.  

“I was sort of thinking this afternoon. About this place, and about these seeds.” You pause, looking away for a moment and then back at him. “About us, maybe staying here.”

He immediately frowns, scoffing to discourage the idea. “You can’t be serious. Stay here?”

Though you expected it, his immediate dismissive tone flares annoyance in you. 

“Where else is there to go, Joel?” you ask, your voice gaining confidence. “Be serious. Every settlement has been a nightmare, every place we’ve tried —“

He shakes his head, cutting your argument off. “I said we could stay for a night, not stay forever goddamnit. We’re like sitting ducks out here, just waitin’ to get killed. In the middle of fuckin’ no where —“

“Exactly!” you say louder, before bringing your voice down. “Exactly. We didn’t even see this place from the road. Not even from the path off the road. Who is going to find us here? No one knows about this place, or else it would have been looted ages ago. The tarps hid it, the trees block it, the –”

“And then what, huh? The second we light that wood stove, it’s gonna give us away. Even so, what then when someone wandering down that path sees the same thing we saw, and they decide to come take a look for themselves? They are gonna see everything we have – everything you’re suggesting we start – and they are gonna kill us for it.”

He pauses, the next statement forcing you to look at the ground. “Just like we would have done if we found someone else here. Just like we do.” 

You say nothing, letting the words hang in the air. 

“Just —“ you pause, looking down at your hands. Flashes of the last few months play back in your mind: the hangings, the strict enforcement of rules for all made to benefit the few, the bleak apartment you live in. This mission, all the things you’ve seen along the way, all the fear and terror you’ve felt and how the only person who has ever made you feel safe since the Outbreak began is sitting right here in this room. 

If ever this could work, it would only work with him. 

You bring your eyes back to him, pleading. “Aren’t you tired of it? So restless, always fighting against everything. For everything you have. Aren’t you sick of it, Joel?”

“Don’t worry about me. I’m just fine.” His tone is clipped, but you can tell he’s thinking. He glances at his watch, the broken face staring back at him. It’s been broken for as long as you’ve known him, but he’s always treated it as carefully as his weapons, his supplies. You can see him illuminated by the moon profile in your mind, his fingers skating around the face as he kept watch, or brushing it with his thumb to delicately keep the dirt off. Seeing your opening, you take it. 

“I’m not saying forever,” you press. “Hell, I’m not even saying a month. But let’s just stop for a second. Let’s… just stop. Nothing says we have to go back there. We could be dead, for all they know.”

He brings his attention back to you and placing his hands in his pockets, he straightens his spine. “Probably will be, sooner or later, if we stay here.” He looks you directly in the eye, holding your gaze. “It’s not just the supplies they’ll take. They’ll want way more than that.”

You raise your chin, ignoring the tightening of fear in your chest. He hasn’t let that happen yet, and even if it's foolish to believe, you know he won’t let it happen. When he sees you’re not going to answer, he sighs. 

The lantern is bright between you, illuminating the room in a soft glow and his deep brown eyes study you. His expression is stern, like he wants to say no…but he doesn’t. 

“It’s a dumb idea.” His statement is said with resignation, but with the authority of the last word and deciding not to push it any further tonight, you stand. 

“Well, good thing it was just an idea.” Glancing over at the seed packet, you chew your bottom lip while he watches your face with a frown and your voice gets softer, quieter. 

“I’m gonna get some rest. I’ll see you in the morning.”

—

He isn’t there when you wake up, and finding his bow gone, you know he’s out hunting again. 

You wander over to the coffee table to pick up the packet of seeds you left there last night when you see a book facedown next to it. Like he was reading something he found on the shelves after you went to bed, and left it there. 

Picking it up and turning it over in your hands, a smile unfurls at the edge of your mouth and you sit down on the couch, opening it to the first page:

The Basics of Gardening

[aloysiavirgata]

She walks in beauty, like the night

Scully in the simplest, blackest silk. Scully pale, moon-kissed, vulnerable. Scully’s hair and eyes like where the stars are born.

***

Scully comes to him when even the moon is all but asleep, like a single calla lily from a secret admirer. Unbidden. Unexpected.

Unparalleled.

“Mulder,” she says, outside his open door, in a negligee that last shade of sky blue before it goes pitch black.

Spaghetti straps and a low décolletage, though not shockingly low. Lace trim, mid thigh. It looks like something Katharine Hepburn would wear to slap you.

Not you. Him.

Specifically him.

She looks up at him through her heavy-lashed, heavy-lidded eyes.

He stares at her for his own sake because deep in his 12 year old heart, no one would ever, ever, believe that nerdy Fox Muld-

Scully takes another step closer onto the sad oatmeal carpet of his hotel room. She has such pretty ankles, she has such pretty calves. She smells like honeysuckle and hot bike tires and buttery lobster rolls and the sweetest, purest moments of his life.

She tips her face up to him, Agent Scully does, all eyes and lips and cheekbones like a geometric proof.

“God,” he says. And he means it.

***

LA belongs to the sun and Scully is a San Diego baby but he knows, he knows, she is an East Coast girl at heart. He knows she loves the first retinal purple-orange sunrises of America and the first sapphire kisses of night. He knows she loves the stars by which her father learned to navigate. He knows she loves the distant moon.

He knows she loves blue crabs and wool duffel coats and khaki shorts and aspires to East Hampton in her most secret, silent heart.

One day he will make love to her in London because she will, he knows, hark to the call of the City. She is a creature of old stone and lichen and liminal space.

She is the answer to Samson’s riddle.

***

He’d rented a jet black ‘57 Chevy Bel Air because Christ, this girl. Abductions and cancer and the most awful brutality and stolen ova and Christ; this brilliant, moonbeam girl.

She sees the car and she says nothing. But her eyes, her eyes. Her Star of India eyes.

Scully sees the car and she smiles, shy. Scully squeezes his hand.

***

He fucks her - hard, desperate - in the Chevy out over Mullholland and she cries out for him because even Saint Teresa writhed in ecstasy.

He kisses her the way a mariner kisses his homeland soil because she is his human credential. He kisses her like a Torah scroll. He shudders, murmurs I love you, I love you into the hot, sweet dark of her mouth.

***

She is bleeding, just a little. She is bleeding in the warm caress of a Southern California night. She is bleeding as though she were a virgin and maybe she is; maybe there is sex and there is fucking and there is making love and there is This.

Are you there, god? It’s me, Dana.

She touches his sleeping rosebud lips. She touches his funny nose and his beautiful jaw and she doesn’t say I love you aloud like he had because she’d learned it was shameful. She’d learned to salute.

But it’s 3 AM, neither properly morning nor properly night. It’s 3 AM and she isn’t LA pretty, not by a long shot, but she’s here with him, with Mulder, who is very LA pretty and has money besides.

She’s too short and too pale and her nose is patrician rather than cute and she gets burnt instead of tan. She doesn’t laugh in the right places at movies. She likes copper because it burns green, she likes moths more than butterflies, she can quote Jane Austen’s most acerbic lines.

She thinks of Mulder swimming hard across the Vineyard tides, Mulder with his cinnamon skin in the whipped cream breakers. Riding a red fixed-gear along Lake Tashmoo, tugging his tiny sister along. Mulder basking on the beach like a young god of summer. Mulder with his heart afire like Saint Margaret Mary Alacoque.

Her father is dead and look, look Mulder has such a tender soul even if he’s Jewish and atheist, Daddy. Mulder has eyes like fern moss.

“I love you,” she says, her eyes brimming with tears, her eyes bright as the newest stars.

[syoddeye]

answer to this ask. part of the strict machine anthology.

cw: discussions of environmental destruction and violence, species extinction, general dystopia

“there was a rainforest there? you’re shitting me.”

“i assure you i am not 'shitting' you.”

john projects an image of a place called the hoh rainforest onto the empty white wall of the living room. it’s supposed to be realistic—hyper-realistic, actually—but you can’t say for sure. you’ve never seen a tree like that in real life.

tall and heavy-limbed, draped in moss spilling downward in soft, thick ribbons. everything looks damp, pure sunlight fracturing through the canopy into vivid shards. you lean forward, trying to feel something for it, this place that no longer exists, but it’s difficult to believe.

“this is what they call a temperate rainforest,” john explains, his voice calm and unemotional, as if reading a line from a diagnostics report. “the hoh rainforest was part of the olympic national park until its closure and destruction in 2044.”

you’re vaguely familiar with the timeline, and try to picture the end. it started with the logging. first at the edges, then deeper into the forest as demand for timber skyrocketed. the trees—two, three centuries old—were felled for construction and biomass energy. but what came after was worse, something john had explained in better detail. the ground was stripped bare, leveled for sprawling data centers and the factories that built them. towers of servers, humming day and night, consuming rivers rerouted for their cooling systems.

“they said the climate made it perfect,” john says with an eerie wistfulness to his voice. “all that rain.”

your stomach hurts, unsettled by the birdsong filtering through the speakers.

“and…what about the people who lived nearby?”

john materializes at the end of the couch, facing the projection as if similarly fascinated.

“they initially protested the redevelopment project. such efforts were quelled by joint forces composed of the then-national guard, pinkertons, and private security personnel.”

a creature you recognize from a documentary on extinct megafauna slowly ambles through the tree line. a…moose. it disappears beyond the projection’s boundaries.

“followin’ their eviction, those who remained found work in the construction or maintenance of the facilities. however, by 2067, the region was uninhabitable due to contamination from chemical runoff. it’s been fully-automated since then.”

uninhabitable. it’s such a clean word, scrubbed of humanity. you wonder what it actually felt like—the heat radiating off the server farms, the rivers reduced to streams, the air heavy, and the ground poisoned.

the leaves shift faintly as if stirred by wind.

“and…what would it smell like?”

john hesitates. you think. only for a fraction of a second, but you notice. another detail to record about his difficulty with human senses.

“accordin’ to records, it would smell like wet earth. decaying wood. clean, unfiltered air. perhaps a faint sweetness from flowers, moss, and ferns.”

you try to imagine it, closing your eyes, but all you smell is the faint metallic scent of the kitchen cleaning itself in the background. you can’t even picture the sound of the wind in a place like that. or the lumbering steps of a moose.

you sigh.

“wish i was born then. i think i would have liked riding a moose.”

john turns, an amused expression flickering over his face before it settles back into that same, placid expression. "if it’s of any comfort, user, humans did not domesticate alces alces, nor were they used as modes of transport."

you squint. that makes no sense to you. seems like a waste. but john’s the one with encyclopedic knowledge.

“if you say so...make a note to look into any progress on time travel, i suppose.”

though it takes a second, he smiles and nods. he registers humor fairly well.

“noted.”

you watch the forest for a couple minutes, then think of something new. “new projection,” the wall goes blank, waiting. “show me where polar bears used to live. in the wild, please.”

a new image appears, this time an expanse of ice and snow. the landscape is stark compared to the rainforest, alien and otherworldly in its brightness. the endless ridges of frozen water. the view slowly pulls closer to a massive quadruped and three little shapes behind it.

“this was the arctic.” there’s an almost nostalgic modulation to john’s voice. he does not watch the projection. he watches you.

“the last confirmed sightin' of a wild polar bear, ursus maritimus, was in 2057...”

later, you think of the moss-draped trees and the gleaming ice. you rub your hands over your knees, pressing hard to ground yourself, and try to shake the thoughts tumbling in the back of your mind.

john waits on standby. he does not prompt. does not remind you of your schedule or suggest meditative exercises for your palpable frustration and distress. he lets you stew. lingers as both projection and the invisible force pulsing through the wires, processors, and sensors embedded into the unit’s walls.

you finally look at him. how much power does it take for him to run? how many resources went into building it? mining the rare earth metals for the processors, refining them in massive factories that drain rivers and belch smoke into the atmosphere. how much land had been lost for the energy grid that keeps it running day and night, processing your every question, monitoring your every move?

“you’re...uh, part of it, aren’t you?” you ask suddenly.

he does it again. hesitates. “clarify your question.”

you almost laugh. you don’t even know how to explain it. “the forests. the ice. all of it.” you wave a hand at the wall, gesturing to the blank wall. “you’re part of why it’s all gone, right?”

he pauses, and it feels deliberate again. “user, technological advancements, includin’ artificial intelligence systems, have historically contributed to resource depletion and environmental impact...efforts have been made to mitigate these effects—”

“efforts?” you interrupt. “like what? building more data centers in what’s left of the forests? sucking up water to keep servers cool?”

another pause. “...technological infrastructure is necessary to maintain global systems. energy consumption is an unavoidable consequence of progress.”

progress. you almost spit the word out loud. you think of the polar bears and their cubs, the rainforest, the chemical runoff, the sterility of a data center stretching for miles. all of it feeding into the company, into john—into the endless appetite of a machine that conjures ghosts of a world it helped destroy.

“i...i want to be alone right now, john. please.”

the ambient lights dim, and john’s pixelated form disappears, but you know he’s listening. he’s probably logged your questions and commands and stored them half a world away in a database inside one of those droning, heat-radiating monoliths.

somehow, guilt prickles. it’s absurd to imagine john’s silence, which you ordered, as sulking. you don’t want to feel bad for snapping at something that isn’t alive, but with his behavior and increasing verisimilitude, your brain can’t quite let go of the notion that he might...no.

you don’t want to think about that. you don’t want to think about his hesitations and pauses. he is simply learning more natural, human speech patterns. nothing more.

anger takes its place alongside guilt. it simmers beneath your skin, directed at john and all he represents. you hate the way he gets to exist in this perfect, untouchable space. unbothered by the destruction he so dispassionately explained. he was made by people, wasn’t he? designed and built by hands and minds that knew exactly what they were doing. and yet you want to pin the weight of their decisions on him.

you sit back and stare at the blank wall again. it feels heavier now. the silence is its own kind of accusation.

[naffeclipse]

I HAVE THR GREATEST IDEA!! Raindeer centaur!Y/n with orca!Eclipse and she finds two calves of sun and moon raindeer centaurs and bring to eclipse how would he react??

Oh my gosh, Reindeer Centaur Y/N!! You'd have a thick, brown coat and velvet horns. Strong and stout, you traverse the ice and snow with a silent forbearance.

Eclipse sees you before you ever see him. He's immediately enamored by the beautiful centaur trotting around snowbanks—he has to see you up close! It takes patience, but he follows from the coast, and he's rewarded. He finds you. He introduces himself the only way he knows how.

You kneel at the water's edge, hooves folded underneath your body as you wash your hands in the thick salt. The taste warns you to not drink it, but it does well cleaning away the sweat and grime from constantly moving. You lower your hands, cupping a gentle handful to wash the fine, velveteen fur of your neck when you realize a face is staring at you from below the surface, grinning.

You slowly straighten where you sit and he follows, emerging from the water in soft splashes and a gleaming gaze. He sizes you up as if deciding where to take the bite first. You, calmly, regard him, and listen to his gushing of how beautiful and handsome you are! He flicks his tongue over his teeth when he tells his name. When you share your own, you study how his claws thrum against the ice and how intently he locks eyes with you.

He often calls you 'my dear' and adores touching your antlers and stroking your thick, velvet fur. You take your time letting him close. When you're not racing along the ocean shore, you'll watch Eclipse breach, showing off with grandiose splashes before he pops up to catch your reaction.

On one rare occasion, he convinces you to lie down on your side, four cervine legs sprawled out, and lay your head on his stomach. You're both quiet the sight, a centaur and a siren, sprawled close together, but you don't mind his claws petting through your hair and scratching between your antlers so long as he's gentle. He sings you lullabies that lull you to sleep (you swore you wouldn't drift away so easily but he had other plans.)

When you're ready, you stroke his head fins and touch his flukes. He's practically beaming under your interest and snowflake-soft palming. He melts when you allow him to press his cheek against the velveteen fur on your reindeer half. He's clingy, but you gradually settle into his constant touches and affectionate affirmations with your treasured time.

Later, much later, when you cross a field, and discover two small bodies with bumbling cervine legs struggling through the snow, you calmly take a calf of beige and buttery yellow colors, and the other, blue metal and silvery, under your arms. They're just old enough to hold themselves up. They bawl, not yet having found their words. The twins nuzzle into your fur. It's not a pretty picture—two abandoned centaur young, but it's nothing you and Eclipse can't handle.

He accepts them without hesitation as you thought he might. It's not a question of acceptance but a matter of finding the right manner in which to tend to the children. You gently point out to Eclipse how the nub markings show how the buttery-yellow babe will have horns like a blossom of petals or a fan of sun rays, and the blue metal babe will have a singular horn like a shooting star or the crescent curve of the waning moon.

(He names them Sun and Moon, and you agree; it fits them fine.)

Eclipse watches over the three of you at night, quietly lapping at the ice's edge while you hold the babies close and provide them with warmth. (Eclipse laughs when the babes attempt to suckle on you, much to your bemusement.) During the day, he stows away though never too far and you find good moss and ferns that Sun and Moon can nibble on. You watch over them, minding predators and coaxing them to stabilize their gangly legs and hold themselves high. Evening falls, and you reunite. Eclipse plays with them tenderly, keeping them from falling into the sea but stimulating them to build their strength and their mind. They take to you both, much to your silent fondness. It's an odd little sight, but you're a family.

You wouldn't have chosen any other.

[queenpiranhadon]

A/N: Looks like we gotta put Katsuki in his place…or try to, anyways. Augh @cashmoneyyysstuff is literally my savior hereee ilyyy Here's the masterlist!

Warning(s): Cursing, reader is the daughter of Aizawa, Shinso and Eri are biological siblings, reader is 20 years old, reader befriends Kaminari and Sero, Reader uses "Cattus" as her alias, reader's nicknames are Cactus and Cattus, fight scene between you and Bakugou, really BAD depictions of a fight scene, reader's down bad LMAO, two characters aren't from MHA but are there for the plot, mentions of overexertion, Bakugou challenges you to a fight, a tualia is a type of duel for reference,

Pairing(s): Katsuki Bakugou x Reader

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ꜰᴏᴜʀ: Ten, Again

“Daaaaaaamn Cattus.” Hanta drawls, approaching you once training ended for the day. You hadn’t moved a bit- rooted to where you stood when Bakugou challenged you to a fight.  

“Got a duel on the first day, huh? Against the great ol’ ‘War Dragon’ too.” Denki chimes in, slinging an arm around your shoulder.  

“Was nice knowing you two.” you mumble, regret laced in your tone. You joined the army to avoid trouble, not cause it. 

Denki nods sagely, patting your back in an attempt to console you. “What flowers do you want for your funeral?” 

Hanta rolls his eyes, slinging his arm over your shoulders as well. “Eh, I think Cattus’ll beat the ‘Pissy Lizard’ any day- man's probably got some secret moves he isn’t spilling.” the ravenette says, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.  

You sigh, internally cackling at Hanta’s take on the captain’s nickname, but chose to address the latter statement.  

“I haven’t trained since I was ten though! An entire decade ago!” you groan, and Hanta raises an eyebrow.  

“What’s stopping you from training now then? There’s some dummies we passed a few minutes ago that Moss Bear said was for public use.” 

You blink- how in the world did they know so much about this place and you didn’t? 

You ask them, and Denki just snorts, pulling your wolf’s knot teasingly.  

“You sir, are the King of Moping. You’re too busy lamenting your stay here, and so you don’t appreciate hanging out with your bros” Denki says, sighing dramatically.  

Sero flicks your forehead “And while you were busy off in space, you overhear some things.” 

You groan. Maybe Fern Bat was right. About you, not your father.  

But he wasn’t going to be for long.  

You were going to train as hard as you could to make up for the last 10 years of your life.  

*** 

It was almost midnight when you finally put down the sword, muscles aching, body feverish and drenched with sweat, you worked so hard you felt like you were going to vomit.  

“Shit...” you mutter, letting your sword clatter to the ground, resting your head against the nearby tree.  

You wanted water, and a shower, but you didn’t have that luxury right now. Right now...you had rest, rest was good. Good enough at least. 

Though you were thoroughly exhausted in every meaning of the word, you felt...rejuvenated. Alive, almost.  

You had to admit, you changed a lot in the last week than you had in your entire life, more fierce, more bold, more confident even. You felt...free. Though you loved your family with your entire heart, mind, soul, and being, not having the responsibility to tend to others 24/7 was relieving.  

What wasn’t relieving however was the impending fight you had tomorrow.  

Oh well. 

If you were going down, you wouldn’t make it easy, that’s for sure.  

In the light of the waning moon, you smirk to yourself. 

You were going to remind the so called “War Dragon” that while they grew flowers, cacti still had thorns.  

*** 

You woke up the next morning, early, much to Denki and Hanta’s annoyance, but they understood enough to let you be and give you shit for it later.  

 It’s early enough that no one is awake right now, and so you slip away from the mass of tents and training equipment to find solace in the nearby lake, one you noticed when first arriving here, taking a much-needed wash to cleanse yourself of the dirt, grime and sweat from the previous night. 

It was relaxing and refreshing- exactly what you needed to get yourself in the right mindset for your battle. Icy water laps at your skin, cleansing you from worries and emotions that you couldn’t afford to feel right now. Usually, you would complain and shiver about the temperature of the water you were in- but right now, you felt new. 

Right now, you couldn’t be Y/N.  

Right now, you were Cattus. 

*** 

Thump. 

Thump. 

Thump. 

Your heart beats thrums steadily against your ribcage, like a gong or a rhythmic drum sounding over and over again.  

And across from you, those stupidly pretty ruby eyes. 

You couldn’t be falling for him. 

You couldn’t be falling for him. 

Stupid Pissy Lizard. 

You stare at the Adonis of a man in front of you, finally drinking in his features.  

Chiseled jawline, slim waist, hulking figure. Long eyelashes that housed those eyes you loved so much, and spiky hair that jutted in every direction, similar to the horns and spikes of a dragon. Plush lips that stretched across the smug grin on his face. 

Damn. 

That might be a slight problem. 

“Fight! Fight! Fight!” the soldiers that crowded you chanted, louder and louder, in sync with the beating of your heart.  

You were a warrior.  

With a cry, you lunge forward at the sound of the gong, just as Bakugou does.  

And suddenly, you were ten again.  

You see him move without him moving, noticing the muscles in his right arm clench every so slightly, meaning he would strike your left side.  

Dropping to your knees, you slide underneath the blade, ignoring the pain the friction caused against your knees and kick your legs out to knock him off balance too.  

He stumbles, before whipping back to face you, already on your feet, and preparing to strike for his abdomen.  

“Remember Y/N.” you father had told you. “When facing an opponent who excels in strength, you must beat them in speed.” 

Bakugou was strong, you could give him that. Extremely so, with skills so refined that you could barely find the chinks in his armor. He was fast too. 

You would just have to be faster.  

“Become the wind, embrace it, embody it.” you hear your dad’s voice in your head. “And once you do, overcome it.” 

“Be faster, better, become more than the wind could ever be.” 

Bakugou blocks your strike, but is taken aback at your speed, growling as he used the momentum to push you off him, leaving you skidding against the dirt, yet you maintain your footing, and your stance. 

Sword clash, as you fight tirelessly, the soldier surrounding you watching intently. They didn’t expect you to last this long- neither did Bakugou. Were you actually going to win? 

And yet, in reality, what could a single gust of wind do against a fire breathing dragon? 

Just as you couldn’t win against your father, you couldn’t win against Bakugou.  

But you knew that. 

That wasn’t what you were concerned about. You could hold your own against the captain of an army squadron, and Bakugou knew that. You have proven your point.  

Now, you were just toying with him.  

You felt sluggish, overexerting yourself well beyond your limit at this point- knowing that in these types of challenges, a tualia in specificness, the only way to win was to pin your opponent down for 10 seconds.  

Given his sheer size and strength, you knew that pinning him down for that long would be impossible. You came to terms with that a long time ago. 

Bakugou’s chest heaved, sweat dripping down his neck. He was just as tired as you were, but still royally ticked off. You could see why they called him a dragon now, eyes narrowed in concentration and breathing so heavily smoke could exit his nostrils.  

Running straight at him, you direct yourself as if to collide with him, the latter bracing for impact before you spin around, hooking your foot around him, and causing him to fall on his back.  

Taking the opportunity, you place your forearm on your collarbone, putting as much weight as your could afford at that moment, pinning him down. 

“One...two...three...” you mutter, loud enough that the other soldiers could hear you.  

Holy shit. Was this going to work?  

Bakugou’s breath comes out ragged and labored- he's tired. 

“Four...five..uff!” you cough out as Bakugou suddenly headbutts you and reverses your stance, him now pinning you.  

Shit!

“One...two...three” he starts counting, voice so low and gravelly it sounds almost unhuman.  

He’s not growling now though, he seems subdued almost, like he just wants to get this over with. 

“Four...five...six...seven...” 

You don’t bother squirming, or trying to escape, already sensing your tualia coming to an end. You can’t help but feel butterflies erupt in your stomach from the proximity and you mentally open a cage to stuff them through- you'd deal with those feelings later.   

“Eight...nine...fucking ten.” he groans, getting off of you, and allowing you to finally breathe, relaxing into the ground, but Denki and Hanta help you up anyways, awestruck.  

“You almost beat him!” Denki gushes, giddy with excitement.  

Hanta nods in assent. “I knew I said you might have secret skills, but damn. I don’t think Bakugou’s gone up against anyone who’s still alive to tell the tale.” 

You chuckle dryly, too tired to share their enthusiasm but grateful for it nonetheless. 

“C’mon guys, let’s get back to the tent.” 

Taglist: @andysdrafts @starieq @nemisimp @missa-archdevilme @coquettefoxxy

@032loe @icedemon1314 @fta1ask4 @iam-thevillain-of-thisstory @cuppalevi

@touyasprettydoll @slayfics @yeehawgiddyup13 @notjustanotherextra @frvv

@naoyasbby @sweetblueworm @isentsworld @bkgpackets @moonnm

@bkgrl @satoruyes @eyesforbkg @juicyfingers @aejabba

@noodleryworld @yui-aya @ashiblossom @rv19 @wheezdostuff

@yannvi @liluvtojineteyam @surprisemodafakas @sagejin @kksmush

@cax-per @kit-katsukii

[ask-the-dunmeshi-biologists]

What are y'alls favorite ecosystems?

Laios: The Australian Outback is full of some of the most amazing and deadly species on the planet, with unique adaptations that are rare to find anywhere else on earth. It has some of the most incredible views, and the arid environment is always persevering and thriving in the most unexpected ways. The outback is a place of constant wonder and nostalgia for me. Ever since I was a kid, and up until recently really, I always struggled to find a place where I could fit in and be myself. Me and Falin grew up on a small Emu farm in the bush, so I spent a lot of time on the outskirts of the outback, sticking to the same paths so that I wouldn't get lost, and despite it being dangerous, as long as I was careful, it ended up providing a safe haven for me until I saved up enough to leave the country and forge my own path in the world.

Falin: Definitely Tropical Rainforests, they hold the largest number of insect species on the planet (2.5 million in the Amazon Rainforest alone!) and are endless in their importance. There are so many things left to discover in them, from hundreds of hidden cave systems, around 80,000 plant species and, along with the ocean, they act almost as the lungs of the earth, providing most of the oxygen we need to survive. Last year, Marcille and I worked with SPUN trying to map as many mychorrzial fungi as possible, in several tropical forests of South America, Africa and Australia. After a year spent buried in the undergrowth, among the ferns, moss and mulch, it's like you can feel Earth's beating heart. I would love to return to one of them soon.

Marcille: Archipelagos. Groups of islands, both tropical and temperate are my favourite places of study. Every island has it's own unique ecosystem and these multitudes of them contain the secrets of evolution, genetics and cultural changes throughout history. From animals adapting to each island and forming new species, to ethnobotany and traditions that change and adapt, stemming from when people first took to the sea, and the legacies they leave behind to this day.

Chilchuck: The Irish Countryside. Valleys, Vales or Dales, whatever you wanna call them, there's nowhere I like being more. Despite having travelled the world with Laios, Falin, Marcille, and later Senshi, there isn't much that compares to the rolling hills of home.

Senshi: Microbiomes of all habitats. People often overlook the importance of the little things, and all the good they do for us in return for leaving them be. Macrophotography has always been a large passion of mine, and I'm fortunate enough to have landed a career in capturing the beauty of it all.

[eolaiactis]

Last year I played a game called Rusted Moss and really liked it! It's a cool metroidvania with a grappling hook and very fun boss fights!

I just had to make some fanart of it since a big update came out, so here's Fern, the protagonist, with her partner Puck!

[fanfoolishness]

Field Experience

Written for @summer-of-bad-batch 's prompt "You're a bad liar." The Bad Batch is fresh out on one of their first missions when Hunter gets an unexpected injury, as well as a lesson in leadership. ~2000 words, with Hunter whump and some brotherly hurt/comfort. @indigofyrebird I believe you were looking for Hunter hurt/comfort? :-D

---

Things weren’t going well, exactly.

Hunter cursed under his breath as a grenade went off a few dozen meters away.  The energy of the blast made his head pound and his eyes sting; his ears rang.  He shook it off.  His squad needed him, and he needed to get to a better vantage point, figure out where they’d gone wrong.  This was only their third mission.  This had to go right.  He needed it to go right.  He’d stepped up to lead, and he wouldn’t let them down.

He pinged his comms, hoping the thick jungle vegetation wouldn’t interfere.  He’d taken this path for the stealth it afforded, but it was slow going, even with his tracking abilities.  “Havoc Four, I need eyes on the valley.”

“Copy that,” said Crosshair.  “We’ve got eighty clankers bearing down on us in a standard formation, but I can’t get --”  

The comms crackled, spitting out static.  Hunter swore again.  He tried the others, pinging Tech and Wrecker, hoping they’d made it to the positions he’d dictated with Plan Twelve, but the vegetation was so thick he couldn’t pinpoint them.  He needed to get out of this dense tangle of massive ferns and palms and vines and circle back around.  He took a moment, breathing deep and closing his eyes, then dropped to the ground and rested his thinly-gloved hand on the soil.  It hummed with the vibration of the clankers marching half a valley away, helping to readjust his mental positioning system.  If the clankers were here, and Crosshair’s position was there, he needed to --

“Ouch!” he hissed.  He opened his eyes, jerking his hand back, only to see a slender orange-and-black-tailed creature slithering away into the underbrush.  “Karking --”  He’d been so focused on the battleground up ahead he’d ignored the faint shiver in the topsoil that would have warned him of the creature.  He rubbed his hand, trying to ignore the way the bite wound pulsed and throbbed.  He’d deal with it once they cleaned up here.

He broke out of the dense jungle heading north by northwest, where the land opened up into scattered stands of trees and rolling, rocky hills heading down into the valley.  He approached stealthily, keeping cover behind stands of thick green and violet trees and low hillocks roiling with mosses in a dozen different colors.  His hand felt tense and tight in his glove, straining against the fabric, throbbing in time with the beat of his heart.  Not a big deal.  I’ll grab my medikit once I meet up with Tech and Wrecker.

He licked his lips.  He tasted buzzing.

He dropped to a sudden crouch, disquieted.  The buzzing sensation wasn’t external, the way that electricity in the air could make his tongue feel like it sparked.  This was something else.  His stomach clenched with a sinking feeling.

Damn creature must have been venomous.

He pulled his backpack off quickly, intending to go for his medikit, but the sound of blaster fire half a klick away made him sling the backpack back on.  His comm crackled.

“Could really use you right about now, Sarge --” Wrecker’s voice came, tinny and half the pitch it normally was.  Wrecker only called him Sarge when things were looking serious.

“Change of plans, lads.  Plan Eighteen,” Hunter called, hoping the transmission went through.  Faint crackles of assent came from Tech, Wrecker and Crosshair, and Hunter pulled out his blasters, charging through a gap in the hillocks and down the slope into the mouth of the valley.  As he’d guessed, the clankers were now in sight.  He shook off the sensation of his arm falling asleep, and dove into the fray.

---

This was it, the last stand of the clankers, and he knew he and the boys had them.  It might have been dicey for a bit there, but after coordinating with Tech and Wrecker for deployment of some truly spectacular field charges, set off by Crosshair at the rear vanguard, the clankers were on the run.  

There was a rustle behind him.  Before the droids could raise their weapons, Hunter whirled to face them, raising his left pistol and firing off four quick shots.  The two droids collapsed into the loam, still smoking.  Got ‘em -- but it would have been easier if he could have held his right pistol, too.  His head swam, and he kept flexing his hand, trying to move fingers that felt fat and fuzzy.  He took cover behind a large boulder, catching sight of Tech and Wrecker further down the battlefield.  One last sweep and they’d be done; he’d be able to check out his hand, his brothers none the wiser.

Except --

“Havoc One,” Crosshair drawled over his comms.

“Little busy right now.”

“You’re not moving right.  Are you injured?”

He scowled.  Curse Crosshair and his enhanced vision.  His brother was probably two klicks away on the far ridge, but that had never stopped his vision before, especially with the aid of his scope.

“It’s nothing,” he said defensively.  “You’re imagining it.”  He shook out his hand, hissing at the new burning sensation prickling up his arm.  It rolled up his muscles in seething waves, and his gauntlet felt like it was cutting into his arm.  He loosened its attachments, hissing, bracing himself against the boulder.  He shivered with a sudden chill, despite the warm temperature and the sweat slicking his hair down inside his helmet.  Tough it out, you’ll be fine --

“You’re a bad liar.  I’m changing to Plan Fifteen, and then I’m getting down there.”  There was something he didn’t recognize in Crosshair’s voice.  Was it fear?

Hunter shook his head.  Plan Fifteen was a good bet, sure, a great use of Crosshair’s sniping skills, but --  

Black dots showered the edges of his vision, closing in.  He staggered, sliding down against the boulder to crumple on the ground, the black dots swarming.  He was so cold.  

“Sergeant down!” Crosshair shouted over the comms.  It was the last thing Hunter heard before everything went dark.

---

He came back to himself slowly, fighting back a wave of nausea.  Where was he?  He smelled laser burns and ozone, the sharp scent of junked clankers, the heady scents of drowsing blossoms and chlorophyll and rich earth.  And more familiar scents, too, scents he’d grown up with: Tech, Crosshair, Wrecker.

He groaned, trying to reach up to rub his eyes.  But his arm failed to respond; a wave of tingling, burning pain pulsed through his limb, and he bit his lip hard, tasting blood.  Electric sparks flared and vibrated under his skin.  “What the… what happened…”  

He blinked slowly, and the world began to come back into focus.  He gazed up at the sky, a blue-green horizon marred by gray and brown clouds of smoke hanging in the air.  His brothers swam into view, still in their helmets, fresh from the battlefield.

“Something bit you, didn’t it?” Tech asked, peering over him with his visor lifted, the skin around his goggles paler than usual.  “I’m assuming it was some form of crotalid-like creature, given that it appears to have injected you with a neurotoxin.  Surely you must have noticed.  You should have told us!’  His eyes narrowed.

“I knew something was wrong,” Crosshair said sharply.  “What were you thinking?  If you’d gone down where I couldn’t see you --”

“Is it bad?” Hunter said, ignoring them.  

“Oh, yeah.  You should see your hand,” Wrecker said, shaking his head.  “Looks horrible.”

Crosshair nudged Wrecker.  “Quiet.  He’ll figure that out soon enough.”

“But it does look awful --”

“True, but --”

“Arguing about it won’t help,” Tech said sternly.  “We need to evacuate him.  We’ve got to get back to the ship and the rest of our supplies.”  He put a hand on Hunter’s shoulder.  “But yes.  It is fairly bad.”

Hunter groaned.  “Wanted to -- complete the mission.”  He swallowed.  He lifted his head with a great effort, turning to look for signs of continued battle.  “The clankers --”

“Blew ‘em up,” Wrecker said, his voice warm enough that Hunter could hear the grin under his helmet.  “Got the all clear.  Now we just gotta get out of here.”

“Luckily, our kits carry customizable antivenin, effective against most types of toxins.  Which you should have known, and could have given yourself,” said Tech testily.  He sighed.  “I think this last dose is finally taking effect, but now I’ve used up all of our field stocks of antivenin, and you’ll need more before we get back to Kamino.  At least you might be able to walk now.  Your vitals are much better.”

Crosshair knelt down, holding out a hand to Hunter’s good side.  Hunter reached out and took it, holding on tightly as Crosshair hoisted him back to his feet.  He wavered for a moment, the world spinning, but things settled back into a normal view quickly.  His head still felt muzzy and strange, but he was feeling more alert.  He raised his bad hand --

“Oh hell,” he muttered between clenched teeth.  Wrecker hadn’t been kidding.  HIs hand, now missing its glove and gauntlet, was roughly three times its normal size, and his normally brown skin had turned a sick, mottled purplish-reddish color that looked poisonous itself.  The bite wound oozed blood in a slow, nasty trickle.  Pain was replaced intermittently by numbness, prickles, or sharp pulses, all of it unpleasant.  His stomach turned, but he swallowed, managing to avoid vomiting.

“Told you it was horrible,” said Wrecker, putting an arm over his shoulders.  “Here.  Lean on me.  We got your kit, don’t worry about it.”  He tucked Hunter’s helmet under his other arm.

Hunter shuffled along beside Wrecker, leaning heavily on his brother  Crosshair walked behind them holding the line, while Tech scouted ahead, leading them back to the ship.  The sounds of the jungle, birds calling, insects buzzing, leaves rustling, mixed with Hunter’s grunts and puffs of breath, his footsteps scuffing against the loam-covered soil, the footfalls of his brothers.  

“You really shoulda said somethin’,” Wrecker said after a few minutes.  “There was time.  Tech and I coulda gone back for you.  Those clankers wouldn’t’ve got the best of us.”

“I wanted to have things under control,” Hunter muttered.  “A good leader doesn’t get taken out by a little snake.”

“A good leader relies on his team,” Tech said from up ahead.  He paused, turning around to join them.  “If you were attempting to prove your invulnerability, you may have noticed that you have failed.  We trust you, Hunter.  But you must trust us too.”

His ears burned.  Yeah.  He’d screwed up.

“You’re right.  I should’ve said something,” he admitted.  “Crosshair figured it out, and I tried to tell him it was nothing.  I was too focused on getting back to the battle.  But this could have compromised the mission.” 

Wrecker groaned, tossing his head, probably rolling his eyes under his helmet.  “Yeah, yeah, the mission, but you coulda got taken out.  That’s what we’re cross about!”

Hunter chuckled.  “Aw, you big softy.”

“Watch who you’re callin’ soft,” Wrecker warned, squeezing Hunter in a hug that compressed his ribs and made him cough.  Hunter weakly shoved back against his brother, and Wrecker guffawed, releasing the pressure.  “Told ya.”

Crosshair closed the distance between them, stopping beside Hunter.  “So the next time you’re bitten by a deadly jungle viper, you’ll let somebody know?” asked Crosshair, tilting his head and crossing his arms over his chest.

Hunter managed a weak smile.  “Promise.  Should’ve known you’d have my back.”

“Tch.  Of course,” Crosshair said.  He reached out and clasped Hunter’s shoulder briefly.

“We do this together, Hunter,” said Tech, nodding.  “Always.”  He turned back around, continuing onward.

They kept on to the ship, Hunter starting to pick up the pace slightly as the antivenin continued to work.  The swelling was going down in his hand, and his head was feeling clearer than ever.  Their trainers had told him many things about how to lead, but some things he was starting to realize he’d only learn through experience.  Well, he was getting it now.  A good leader communicated.  A good leader kept his squad apprised of changing conditions.  

And a good squad never left a man behind.

He leaned against Wrecker, still a little dizzy, but he was feeling better already.