#The dandelion stem is the only cool color

[denieatsart]

◇ Safe House ◇

" And I can't begin to fathom our lives going on for long , so we'll sit here underground , singing this old song "

Apocalyptic Kross AU by me and @Unknownarmageddon [] Killer by Rafhwahbas [] Cross by Jakei [] Lyrics : Safe House by Boxout

[tetheredfeathers]

Iris

I watched her burst into flames right before by eyes.

The girl on fire, destined to be burned alive. Only she didn’t die, at least not then. She died exactly a week later.

I remember the day very clearly, even in my mutt riddled brain she always shone brighter than all those contorted memories.

It all happened very fast, she stood there in the centre of city hall just as we did for that first time, 24 years ago at the tribute parade. She stood, 5 five feet across our very good president Snow, poised to let her single arrow fly.  When the arrow found itself buried in our grey-haired president’s heart, she let up a final, sad smile in my direction before  swallowing the violet pill.

That’s Nightlock Peeta, you’d be dead in a minute.

“Come on, Iris. We’ll be late if you don’t hurry up,” I yell across the bedroom.

“Coming daddy,” Iris chirps

My little girl pops her head into the room and quirks her eyes up to say she’s ready. I take her tiny hand and leave the house, the breeze winds through my hair. Spring’s in the air one could say, I watch the sky streak bright colours of orange and red across the horizon.

“What are you doing,” she giggles looking up at me with her head in my lap.

“Practicing Knots,” I say with a mock serious tone.

“Really? What have you practiced till now?” She quirks her eyebrows.

“Oh just the hitch and the square knot,”I laugh out, knowing all too well that she’s aware of my ruse to play with her hair.

Still, she doesn’t say anything, instead buries her nose deeper into my lap.

I watch her fall asleep within minutes and breath out a sigh of contentment.

I watch the jelly like color of the sun, melt into it’s surroundings painting stripes of yellow, red and pink across the sky.

“I didn't think you'd want to miss it,” I say slowly rousing her up.

“Thanks,” she smiles at me, all sugar and honey.

“Daddy? What’s wrong?” A sweet voice asks.

“Sorry honey, just thinking.”

“We’re here, daddy.

“That we are.”

I take in the meadow and finally lay my eyes upon her headstone.

“Daddy, I saw something. Be back in a minute.”

“Sure, sweetheart.”

A minute later her golden hair comes into view, she sways with the cool breeze, her hands holding tightly onto something.

“Here daddy, I brought these for her.”

I look into her baby blues nd will my eyes not to well into tears.

I slowly clutch the stems of the white dandelions and ever so slowly place them over her resting place.

The bright yellow that means rebirth instead of destruction. The promise that life can go on, no matter how bad our losses. That it can be good again.

“I miss you, Katniss,” I whisper, feeling Iris’s small hand in mine, grounding me to the present.

“Daddy, will she be happy now?” Iris asks softly, eyes wide with innocence.

I nod, choking back the lump in my throat. “Yes, sweetheart. She’ll be very happy.”

We stand there in silence, the wind rustling through the leaves, carrying with it a sense of quiet. A baby canary dances through the sky, singing a folly tune before landing on Iris' shoulder, The sun dips below the horizon, casting a golden glow over the meadow. I can almost feel Katniss’s presence beside us, her spirit woven into the very fabric of the air.

“Come on, Iris. Let’s go home,” I say, squeezing her hand gently.

Inspired by this artwork

@venushyn

[transmurderbug]

🪱Weekly Tag Wednesday🪱

Thank you for the tags Macy @heymacy, Evie @energievie, Pie @gallapiech, Kat @mybrainismelted, Rory @roryonic

Kak @stocious and Keely @thepupperino 🥰 you all get a cookie: 🍪

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

name: Sky 🪲

age: It's not my turn to have it.

location: Underwater in a nice cave.

top sheet, yes or no? English bed vocabulary will never not confuse me. Just give me a blanket.

how many stuffed animals do you own? A LOT. I'll have to count them one day. I collected them as a child and never got rid of them.

the names of your pets (and the explanations behind them): My dog is Muri, which translates to "spree" or "fun", more or less. He got his name when he was being transported to our shelter. I don't know the exact reason, but I always thought it was because when he wags his tail, his entire body moves like a snake and that's "muris", so "funny", basically. My cockatiel is called Pogi. It stems from the word "pogácsa" which is this slavic/balkan/(Hungarian) puff pastry. Pogi is the shortened version of the word, and my brother named him.

favorite color: I only ever managed to narrow it down to four colors, black, blue, green and orange.

any tattoos? Ask me again in... [checks calendar] 7 days!

how you transport your belongings (purse, tote, hands, pockets, etc.): Bag and pockets. I have my system.

the last movie you watched: The Ghost and the Darkness (1996) with @creepkinginc and @ian-galagher. It was fun!

how long does it take you to get ready in the morning? 20-ish minutes.

favorite weather: That very specific one that happens around the end of September, when it's cool already, but still happy summer-y warm. Also rainy. And I love the snow.

relationship status: Single.

ice cream flavor of choice: Hmmm. Menthol+chocolate. It sounds weird, but it's lovely.

first fandom: Good question. Supernatural, I think?

how many books have you read this year? I have NO idea.

first 4 words of your last notes app entry: Paradicsom (tomato), olaj (oil), sajt (cheese), tojás (egg). Why isn't this in my shopping list folder though.

and finally, if you had to change your URL tomorrow, what would you change it to? No please, it was so hard to come up with this one (and I didn't do it alone, thank you Kaka for the input again :ianguestwomb:). Maybe murderbug. So creative, I know.

I cant believe how on time I am! Be proud of me please.

Tags below the cut, join if you wanna, if not, here, have some ice cream: 🍦

@ian-galagher @creepkinginc @transmickey @spacerockwriting @palepinkgoat

@jrooc @deathclassic @blue-disco-lights @spookygingerr @lee-ow

@look-i-love-u @sam-loves-seb @ms-moonlight-inn @lupeloto

@sickness-health-all-that-shit @sleepyheadgallavich @darlingian @transsexual-dandelions @mickittotheman and anyone I'm forgetting.

[warriors-rewritten-chaos]

Warrior Cats Prefixes List- D

I had a WC Name Generator on Perchance that I made but I don't seem to have access anymore, so I'm remaking it here as just a simple list. The definitions used are the ones that Clan cats have for those things, and thus are the origins of the names. Definitions used are whatever I found when I googled it.

Dace-: "[noun] a small freshwater fish of the minnow family, typically living in running water"

Dahlia-: "[noun] a tuberous-rooted Mexican plant of the daisy family, which is cultivated for its brightly colored single or double flowers"

Daisy-: "[noun] a small grassland plant that has flowers with a yellow disk and white rays"

Daffodil-: "[noun] a bulbous plant that typically bears bright yellow flowers with a long trumpet-shaped center"

Damselfly-: "[noun] a slender insect related to the dragonflies, having weak flight and typically resting with the wings folded back along the body"

Dance-: "[verb] (of a cat) move in a quick and lively way; [noun] a series of movements that utilize speed and rhythm"

Dancing-: "[noun] the activity of dancing for pleasure or in order to entertain others"

Dandelion-: "[noun] a widely distributed weed of the daisy family, with a rosette of leaves, bright yellow flowers followed by globular heads of seeds with downy tufts, and stems containing a milky latex"

Dapperling-: "[noun] an agaric and possibly poisonous mushroom in the family Agaricaceae"

Dapple-: "[noun] a patch or spot of color or light; [verb] mark with spots or rounded patches"

Dappled-: "[adj] marked with spots or rounded patches"

Dark-: "[noun] the absence of light in a place; [noun] a dark color or shade; [adj] with little or no light; [adj] (of a color or object) not reflecting much light; approaching black in shade"

Darner-: "[noun] a large slender-bodied dragonfly"

Dart-: "[noun] an act of running somewhere suddenly and rapidly; [verb] move or run somewhere suddenly or rapidly"

Dash-: "[noun] an act of running somewhere suddenly and hastily; [verb] run or travel somewhere in a great hurry"

Dawn-: "[noun] the first appearance of light in the sky before sunrise"

Day-: "[noun] the part of the day when it is light, the time between sunrise and sunset"

Deathcap-: "[noun] a deadly poisonous basidiomycete fungus, one of many in the genus Amanita"

Deep-: "[adj] extending far down from the top or surface"

Deer-: "[noun] a hoofed grazing or browsing animal, with branched bony antlers that are shed annually and typically borne only by the male"

Delta-: "[noun] a wetland that forms as rivers empty their water and sediment into another body of water, such as an ocean, lake, or another river"

Deluge-: "[noun] a severe flood"

Dew-: "[noun] tiny drops of water that form on cool surfaces at night"

Dewberry-: "[noun] a trailing European bramble with soft prickles and edible fruit which has a dewy white bloom on the skin"

Dewdrop-: "[noun] a drop of dew"

Dill-: "[noun] an aromatic annual herb of the parsley family, with fine blue-green leaves and yellow flowers"

Dim-: "[adj] (of a light, color, or illuminated object) not shining brightly or clearly; [verb] make or become less bright or distinct"

Dimming-: "[verb] make or become less bright or distinct"

Dipper-: "[noun] a short-tailed songbird related to the wrens, frequenting fast-flowing streams and able to swim, dive, and walk under water to feed"

Dive-: "[noun] a plunge head first into water; [noun] a steep descent by an aircraft or bird; [verb] plunge head first into water; [verb] (of an aircraft or bird) plunge steeply downward through the air"

Dizzy-: "[adj] having or involving a sensation of spinning around and losing one's balance; [verb] make (someone) feel unsteady, confused, or amazed"

Dock-: "[noun] a perennial plant that grows from taproots, related to sorrel"

Dodder-: "[noun] an annual seed-bearing parasitic vine in the dodder family"

Doe-: "[noun] a female deer"

Dog-: "[noun]  domesticated carnivorous mammal that typically has a long snout, an acute sense of smell, nonretractable claws, and a barking, howling, or whining voice"

Dogbane-: "[noun] any of a genus (Apocynum of the family Apocynaceae, the dogbane family) of often poisonous plants chiefly of temperate-zone regions with milky juice and fibrous bark"

Dogwood-: "[noun] a shrub or small tree of north temperate regions, which yields hard timber and is grown for its decorative foliage, red stems, or colorful berries"

Dot-: "[noun] a small round mark or spot; [verb] mark with a small spot or spots"

Dotted-: "[adj] marked with or in the form of dots"

Dotterel-: "[noun] a small plover with a brown streaked back and a chestnut or buff belly with black below"

Dove-: "[noun] a stocky seed- or fruit-eating bird with a small head, short legs, and a cooing voice. Doves are generally smaller and more delicate than pigeons, but many kinds have been given both names"

Down-: "[noun] the layer of fine feathers found under the tougher exterior feathers of birds"

Downy-: "[adj] covered with fine soft hair or feathers"

Dragonfly-: "[noun] a fast-flying long-bodied predatory insect with two pairs of large transparent wings which are spread out sideways at rest"

Dream-: "[noun] a series of thoughts, images, and sensations occurring in a person's mind during sleep; [noun] a cherished aspiration, ambition, or ideal"

Dreaming-: "[verb] experience dreams during sleep; [verb] indulge in daydreams or fantasies about something greatly desired"

Drift-: "[noun] a continuous slow movement from one place to another; [verb] be carried slowly by a current of air or water; [verb] (especially of snow or leaves) be blown into heaps by the wind"

Driftwood-: "[noun] wood drifted or floated by water"

Drizzle-: "[noun] light rain falling in very fine drops; [verb] rain lightly"

Drop-: "[noun] a small round or pear-shaped portion of liquid that hangs or falls or adheres to a surface"

Droplet-: "[noun] a very small drop of a liquid"

Drought-: "[noun] a prolonged period of abnormally low rainfall, leading to a shortage of water"

Dry-: "[adj] free from moisture or liquid; not wet or moist"

Duck-: "[noun] a waterbird with a broad blunt bill, short legs, webbed feet, and a waddling gait"

Duckling-: "[noun] a young duck"

Dune-: "[noun] a mound or ridge of sand or other loose sediment formed by the wind, especially on the sea coast or in a desert"

Dunlin-: "[noun] a migratory sandpiper with a down-curved bill and (in the breeding season) a reddish-brown back and black belly"

Dunnock-: "[noun] a small passerine, or perching bird, found throughout temperate Europe and into Asian Russia"

Dusk-: "[noun] the darker stage of twilight"

Dust-: "[noun] fine, dry powder consisting of tiny particles of earth or waste matter lying on the ground or on surfaces or carried in the air"

Dusty-: "[adj] covered with, full of, or resembling dust; [adj] (of a color) dull or muted"

[leaves-and-inks]

Bloomed Decay #1

Back to Artober! I drew my first, non-doodle animal skull piece a few years back in a college drawing class, and I really enjoyed it! The bone texture, the way that the rigid, yet organic shapes caught dramatic light; it was a really fun piece! I’m glad I was able to revisit it with this one, this time bringing color into it. Life blooms on the bleached, old bone, though did it take root through natural means? Or did something else play an influence… maybe we’ll find out, maybe not, who knows? What do y’all think?

I was feeling pretty blah earlier in the week, and it pushed some things back. I have everything planned for this Artober, and I’ll do my best to get it done in time ^^

[ID: Digital illustration of a floating jawless wolf skull covered in various plants and fungi. It faces 3/4 left, and has cool shadows in the crevices of the skull and away with the light source. Moss with blooms grows over the brow, hanging off the left eye socket, along with covering the snout in patches. Ferns sit in front of and behind the snout, and two, red dandelion-like flowers grow from the right eye socket. An ivy vibe crawls out from the left eye, and disc-like fungi cling to the connection point for the jaw to the skull. Capped mushrooms with long, bending stems take root to the back of the skull. A drop shadow sits below the floating skull, and soft, glowing light orbs float around it. The wolf skull sits on a textured orange background with a white halo sitting behind it.

Image 2: Close up on the back of the skull, showcasing some of the plants and fungi. The crop ends on the left side of the skull, only showing the closest eye socket and no teeth. Only the rightmost side of the all is seen, along with few glowing orbs.

Image 3: Close up of the middle of the skull showcase details and the various plants and fungi. The crop ends at the top of the nose top third of the front ferns, and vertically splitting the closet eye socket halfway. The left part of the halo is slightly cropped, and it begins to curve up in the top left. Some of the glowing orbs can be seen.

Image 4: Crop showcasing the nose cavity and teeth of the skull. The crop ends halfway up the snout, cutting up the top half of the right side ferns, and the right side of the closest ferns. Besides the ferns, the only other plants seen is the moss. The bottom and left part of the halo are visible. /end ID]

[inferniso]

a kiss after treating a wound

(

(the sorrow's mostly embers, nowadays. funny they're doing this for someone who...)

rough squint, gentle hands. they fuss over the tear in her pants and the skinned bit of knee — procuring a little thing of salve from somewhere under their cloak, cleaning and bandaging the scrape.

he doesn't even know if things like this really hurt her — doesn't know if he forgives her fully, doesn't know if she's really aware of what she's done in full. but it's the principle of the whole thing, damn it. he cant ignore someone who's so...

ugh. someone who's so warm, y'know?

so this, too, is a kind of wish, the same way she'd wished on his behalf, pressed featherlight on the skin above the bandage. even if it's not real, even if it doesn't work, the wish is set afloat either way; a wishy-washy prayer of healing. for her, maybe for more than just her knee. (maybe for himself, for where the grief used to char...)

they huff. this is ridiculous. (this is only the human thing to do.)

"there, all better.")

Idunn didn't mean to cause any trouble. She had decided to busy herself with a few tasks to help out some of her fellow students. Fetch a few supplies here, carry a few documents there--simple things, that require not any sort of talent but the hard work and commitment she tries to foster in herself. It was going well, too, until she took a sudden fall. A snag in the road got the better of her, while eyes of ruby and shining emerald were distracted by a crowd of her peers.

They move like fish whenever they're busy. She finds it hard not to be captivated by the lives humans lead.

Lucky for her, Chad was nearby. Chad who taught her wishmaking, who showed her that every one of the world's flowers has a purpose. Some give off lovely scents for her to smell on the way to class, others lend their vibrant colors to dyemakers so they can weave beauty into silk--and dandelion seeds are the hands of heaven, carrying wishes wherever they go.

She winces. She looks like she's about to cry.

Idunn's manakete form is delicate by draconic standards. Chained and alone for centuries, it had ample time for its hide to soften. With nothing to sate her hunger, nothing to replenish her spirit for so long, she had to make accommodations to conserve strength. Miracle it may be that she survived with no intake of energy, she has grown weaker as a result. Factor in the strength it took to hold up the Dragon Temple before she collapsed, and one could understand why pain is a very real sensation to her.

"...Thank you." Muttered just beneath a breath. Hackles raised and scales primed, her body tenses up to their touch, yet her mind and soul know better--that the thief means her no harm. There is an unsure look in their eyes which she isn't ignorant of, but that they press on is proof their hearts are connected. Idunn finds the will to hold firm, to not budge when the cool sensation of their salve stings her open wound. They're already a saint to her, nevermind the fact that she hasn't earned any of her blessings. To trouble them any further wouldn't be fair.

"I wasn't looking. I'll pay attention next time." Said as though reciting a passage of text in class. The dragon peers down at her now-bandaged wound, twisting her ankle to view the entire scar. The blood might've frightened her, if it wasn't a reminder that she has a heart to send it coursing through her body. That she is alive.

The kiss comes next, and her mouth opens wide in reaction. "Chad...!" she nearly wants to shout, asking how they could offer so much kindness. But experiences are proving that this is simply human nature, to walk hand-in-hand. People are like seeds. They aren't born with ugly roots or fetid stems. The darkness in humanity grows in barren soil, away from light and water and care. Need creates struggle, struggle creates anger, anger creates hate. If the world had enough beauty for everyone, then malice would be traded for smiles--sorrow for joy.

(Then the wish of His Highness would have stayed pure. He wasn't a bad person, just a desperate one--with a dagger twisted into his heart by the world.)

So she sighs, and her face shields itself with a dusted pink. She allows Chad's thoughts and actions and hope to touch more than just her skin. The hand that rose up to cover her gasp falls, along with its twin, to lift the thief by the shoulders. "You have a beautiful heart," again, spoken as fact, "...Don't let anything happen to it."

Using what delicate force this form can muster, Idunn pulls them to their feet. With her chin held high and eyes squeezed shut, she returns a kiss to their forehead--mindful not to ruffle their hair. Maybe, had she said these words to the king long ago, things could have been different.

It is now her duty to ensure history doesn't repeat itself.

[balkanradfem]

How to make natural wreaths for decoration!

It's easy, doesn't take long, and you don't need that much skill! I didn't actively try to learn this, but picked it up accidentally while learning basketry; the core of the thing is, that you need to go and harvest something bendy in nature. And then you need to wrap that bendy thing around itself until it makes a round circle and you're done. You could do it with trial and error alone.

The bendy thing can be a young fruit tree branch, some ivy vines, blackberry brambles (you can take off the thorns if you run it thru some old denim!), willow branches, young peach branches, some bush branches, a lot of things work! You can check if the thing is bendy enough by bending it in circle, like in the picture below!

If you can do this with a branch, it can make a wreath. If it snaps, not bendy enough! I'm using some red branches that I don't know the name of, but they're bendy enough. Here's how you start:

At the start you’re supposed to feel dejected and confused: the branch wrapped around itself is not making a hoop (unless you’re trying to make a really small one! Then you can manage to make a circle even with just one). There’s always some point being pulled by the thicker edge of the branch, making it wonky. But not to worry!

As you keep adding branches, you keep adding strength and tension. Only thingy you might want to watch out for, is to make sure you’re turning all of the branches the same way, but that’s only to make it prettier! Even if it’s going in all directions, it will still end up being a decent wreath.

When you’ve decided it’s thick enough, you can tuck in all of the edges between the branches, so they won’t be visible, and for the ones that are thick and can’t be neatly tucked in, you cut them off! And there you have a cool wreath base! Now time to decorate it:

Mine is a fall wreath! I picked up the most beautiful leaves outside, and putting them up on a wreath makes people not be upset that you just dragged in bunch of foliage inside. I used a corn husk cord to tie them up to the hoop, so it would be all natural materials.

Now lets make one out of ivy:

Ivy is easier because it’s very bendy and pliable, and it’s not creating so much tension. You basically don’t have to do anything but keep wrapping it around itself:

I left one some leaves there for the end decoration, I thought it would look cool! But in the end I only kept the tiniest leaves, because I thought they were the cutest:

Here you can see me tucking in the end of the vine, so it would be held tightly inside and invisible from the outside. We have a little hoop!

And to decorate it, I found a bunch of white sage outside, I thought it was super pretty and durable as a decoration, it will stay the same color even after it dries! I tied it up with a cord made out of dandelion stems, and then added two more ivy leaves, and a rosehip to make it festive. I didn’t think about it while doing it, but sage, ivy, and rosehip, are all powerful medicinal plants, so this might actually be a herbalist’s wreath.

Here’s two more wreaths I made using the exact same technique, just with a bit more materials:

The first one is red branches + ivy, the second one ivy + a cord I made out of corn husk, wrapped around the entire hoop. And here’s the two we just made, in better lightning:

If you keep adding more material in, you can make those thick wreaths that you can decorate with pine branches and add candles in, for horizontal use. Have fun!

[glass-expanse]

I think season supremacists have overrated points of view. Winter, spring, summer, and fall each have beautiful parts to them as well as uncomfortable parts. But being outside during any of them is so beautiful, raw, and enjoyable. What a wonderful job God did on seasons.

Like. There's breeze. And sometimes it's wet and sometimes it's dry. And the clouds change. And goodness have you ever paid attention to how the trees change? Like, really paid attention? It's a testament to God's creativity and a wonderful lesson in growth.

To watch the buds go from dapper red buttons on skeletal limbs to sails of vibrant green, deepening and fluttering gaily in summer winds, only to blush scarlet and fall to the ground, leaving the skeletal guardian forlorn and vigilant once more? It's like watching our own lives unfold in patterns so beautiful and terrible and raw and wonderful.

And the plants that grow in a reckless field. Watching the first breaths of green peak through last year's golden-gray carpet, the delicate leaves of chickweed and mustards and henbit and dandelion popping up while it's still cold, to be replaced by bolder daffodils and then brilliant dancing irises and quaint yarrow and demure clover, and the wild roses perfume the air above where the violets had died, then you see the day lilies and the echinacea and the sweet blue cornflowers that reach up with spindly hands, and then the fields explode into the brilliance of goldenrod dotted with tiny, tender white asters, and then the rosehips explode from reddening rose cane and the tender stems of queen ann's lace become woody scepters, and the grass goes brown again? Just like different responsibilities and people have been placed in our lives at just the right time so that the field of our lives may be colorful and continually nourished and bearing fruit.

And through it all, the currents of breezes makes you feel alive, like you could fly, like you could die tomorrow or live forever, and it caresses the earth and then it strikes it in the next breath, ripening the berries to black sweetness and shriveling the leaves to brilliant litter, kissing the rain of the late spring shower and driving the sleet in mid winter, blowing your hair in your face and out, keeping you cool on the hottest summer days, winding its way through trees and up hills, a messenger of how the world carries on. It reminds me of the Holy Spirit who continues His sanctifying work in us, continuing to refine us by bolstering us in the Word and convicting us of our sin, holding us tight moment to moment and keeping our lives moving forward on the path God has laid out for us: the path that leads us closer to Him.

To say one season is better than another is foolish... for each season is beautifully a part of the others and yet unique in its own way. You can hate the bitter cold... despise the sweat of the beating sun... but there is beauty in every season and what's important is we don't forget that. Every season has a purpose and every season always holds in it the potential to praise God (since, after all, we are to praise Him regardless of circumstance).

Stay present and stay thankful throughout all seasons. And remember that seasons in a year aren't the only seasons worth making the most of.

[itsmoonphobic]

Dream SMP characters and my interpretation of them:

-Techno: The smell of Dirt and soil,blood,wine and old books. Silk pillowcases,golden jewelry,mosaics,stained fingertips, grand staircases,scented candles,storyteller,lazy smiles, secretive,slow dancing,sad resting face,elegant language,cold weather,confident,doubts himself,philosophy, messy braids,glowdust flakes, poetry,graceful movements,neat and cursive handwriting, greek mythology, oriental music,pale skin,libraries,sarcasm, long-lasting friendships,quotes,frosted windows,layering clothes, know-it-all,rude but endearing,pile of papers,cherry blossoms,muted colors,overthinks everything,devotion,logical thinking,insomniac,scattered mind,castle walls,laid back,tired eyes,long debates,show over tell,lingering touches,rulebreaker, dirty palms,old movies freezing feet,old habits,late nights studying,early riser,skips meals,eye bags,tea with milk,velvet jackets,dimly lit by streetlights,ancient wood floors,flowy curtains,art museums, gravely morning voice,echos in the middle of nowhere,sleepy whispers,nostalgia everywhere,red lipstick stains,loves animal more than people,calm and quiet, healing stones,parked car conversations,sharp jaw,obsessed with memes,violins,doves, doves,floats instead of walks,unbroken promises,twisting and winding hair around fingers,nail biting, repeating phrases,mist secret scars,rumors,always wearing earphones,metaphorical, emotions fragile as a flower, speaks with his eyes,fluttery eyelashes,dog lover,forehead kisses,calligraphy,pretty knives,cares too much,lopsided grins,messy desks,talks for hours no,rolling his eyes all the time,powerful strides,wants to conquer the world,slender hands,good grades, dusty book covers,wax stamped envelopes,vintage mirrors

-Phil: The smell of cold air,pine trees and sandalwood.Dead birds and mothballs,stops on the sidewalk to make sure nobody is left behind,morning person,herbal teas,crows,eats breakfast outside,constellations,family portraits on walls, chirping and whistling,crime documentaries,cool father figure, graveyards,weeping angels,meteor shower,many friends but only a single close one,contagious laugh,fragile teacups,fog, early mornings,fuzzy blankets,springs of thyme,bare feet, empty streets,rosemary stems,flickering lanterns,burnt wood bowls,feather collector,antique silverware,a sky full of stars, skylights,torn pages,overstuffed bookshelves,makes you feel comfortable whenever you talk to him,organized,full of ideas, believes in magic,gives the best advice,lost in his own way, warm hugs,scrapbooks and bullet journals,old cars,soft features,daydreaming,bright eyes,getting lost in the woods,moonlight,self knitted sweaters, stargazing on tailgates,the universe,hand in hand with wandering hearts, garage sales,questioning life but feeling at peace,attic bedrooms and haylofts,pursuing science and desiring art, photo albums,hopeless romantic,dark chocolate,open windows and quirky morning rituals,actually knows what brunch is, succulents,a kind-hearted loner,free-spirit,plaid button-ups, always ready to let you rant,abandons projects quickly, complicated past,bold moves,goes with the flow,aims for things that seem unachievable,lives in extremes,knowing smiles,constantly busy with something new,soft touches,love at first sight,naps alot,subsequent tea stains,sparkly eyes, abandoned barns,handwritten notes,feather quills,fascination with the sky,whispering secrets to the wind,great with kids, takes a backpack everywhere,hugs trees,big winter coats,road trips,knows tons of medical info,bites his nails,comforting presence,lost souls,city lights from a high rise

-Wilbur: The smell of fire,smoke,caramel and coffee. Stands up for people who can't for themselves,emotional wreck,loves his family too much but still yells at them,soft turtlenecks,sits in different spots every time he eats dinner,chipped nailpolish, songwriter,probably depressed,wakes up in the middle of the night to write down random thoughts,heartbroken teenager songs,dark psychology and deep meanings,globes and maps, wants to travel and make lots of memories,curls of steam, earbuds in,spattered ink,good singer,keeps to himself,old music and dusty vinyl,the type of person that you could stare at for hours,loud laugh,ride or die,dreams about his future, believes in fresh starts and new beginnings, messy and tangled hair,summer nights,soft features,deep thinker and dimples, having crushes,musicals and theater, half finished diaries and laptop stickers,mixtapes,quirky love notes, secretly kinda insane,always ready for coffee,thrift shops, beachy waves, bonfires,probably drives too fast,cutoff jeans, cream and sugar,nude colors,always creating new problems for himself, fights for equality,long debates and tired eyes, tapping a rhythm and humming quietly,spends all his time on social media,beanie galore,trench coats,foggy glasses,cozy sweaters, dancing around his room to the Beatles,looking out the window when the sun is setting,birkenstocks,guitar strumming on a warm summer evening,bells and chimes,subtle sadness, the feeling of diving into a deep pool,perfect proportions,too many playlists,holding hands,pretty boy,sew on patches and bomber jackets,candid photos,warm sun on bare skin,dancing silhouettes on the sunsets,beach walks at midnight,messy but cozy room,different mood every minute,singing his favorite song at the top of his lungs,sharp grins,haunted houses, paranormal stuff,late night snack runs with friends,explores creeks and lakes,double checks everything he does,walking through hot sand,backyard campfires,acoustic songs,photo booths,train platforms at night,s'mores,sun bleached arbors

-Tommy: The smell of plastic,fresh cut grass and musk. Does the bare minimum at School,unless genuinely interested in a topic,doodles on the side of his paper,movie marathons,empty coca cola bottles everywhere,rope swings,glossy nailpolish,lots of energy,life of the party, kidcore ,can always make you laugh,loves photography,eyestrain and bright colors,bruised knees and untied shoelaces,paperballs in class,brand new red converse,denim jackets,pins and clips,chalk drawings in the middle of the road,every text contains emojis, garden sprinklers,graffiti,wreck this journal,vibrant dyed hair, scribbles and highlighter pens,carnivals,involed in many things, watermelon flavored anything,loves to climb trees,screaming on playgrounds,oversized t-shirts,stained glass windows, anklets,skateboards and hula hoops,milkshakes on the front porch,social butterfly,always in a hurry,pinkie promises,tangled headphones,melted crayons and gummy bears,bean bags and hummingbirds,spinning around till he gets dizzy,chaotic and crazy yet so fun to be around,rushing into things too quickly, roller coasters and derbies,doesn't get knocked back by criticism,cans of fizzy drinks and neon lights,skips school,tye dye shirts and nitendo games,impulse and class clown,sticks stickers on stranger's things,pickpockets his close friends,has to carry a walkie-talkie around with him at all times,sleepovers and sneaking out through windows,pockets full of change and random buttons,stands out in crowds and makes friends easily, pretends to be fearless but is scared of the littlest things,trips and rips his jeans daily,uno cards,social butterfly,music discs, fights with his family but would actually kill for them,broken handwriting,flannels and jerseys around his waist

-Tubbo: The smell of honey,fresh bread and citrus. Lowkey soft, hugging a teddy bear,pressed flowers,eats alot of bread,big hoodies,fairy lights and blanket forts,prank calls while holding in your laughter,beeswax candles,sidewalk dandelions,gentle cuddles on the couch,pastel yellow and cute doodles,flower crowns and diasy chains,plays the ukulele,fascinated by bees and supports local coffee shops,outdoorsy sunshine addict, sparklers and iced lemonade,festivals with fireworks and fireflies in mason jars,homework done as soon as its assigned, watercolor paintings,giggling uncontrollably,long hugs and lazy cartoon afternoons,park dates and forehead kisses,cutting pants into shorts,messy wild hair and pear lollipops,has tiny random braids decorated with golden yarn,hearing the crinkle of leaves underfoot,suprise piggy back rides,adult swim shows and lip gloss stains,being goofy without meaning to,bounces in his step and stops to pet stray animals,baked bread and washi tape bracelets,bike rides and summer picnics,rolling down a hill in the spring and bringing home grass stains on his jeans, waving at someone across a crowded room,spontaneous hang outs and self made clay rings,sitting in the warm sunlit grass on early spring mornings,rock painting and hiding them for other people to find,picking apples from trees but needing to be held up in order to reach one

-Ranboo: The smell of peppermint tea,denim and rain. Is there for everyone but never themselves,regrets things they said but can never find the nerves to apologize,clumps of mascara and winged eyeliner,writes down every tiny thing in notebooks, loves children and their friends,forgetting that they already grabbed a waterbottle,drawing on condensation windows,rainy days and puddles,always on the edge of a breakdown,elevator music and long limbs,old tape recordings and cassettes,moss covered ruins and greenhouses,wanting to be in multiple places at the same time,different colored socks,long hugs and head pats,reading under the covers,collages and spray paint,record players and walks alone through the woods,loves playing by creeks and collecting stones,always wondering and worrying about things they shouldn't,vivid dreams and leather jackets, silver necklaces and piercings,snoozing their alarm clock, seeing the moon in the early morning,blurry photographs and windswept hair,downpours and comfortable silence,wrapping gifts and handing them over with shaking hands,sitting on a rooftop and spontaneous plans,lofi sounds and long train roads,deja vu moments,randomly dissapears and sipping tea, cold concrete and city parks,tickets and brochures from places they visited,dusty parchment and desperately trying to be a good person,wikipedia articles and lace-up boots,often loses track of time while talking to people they love,sings to the radio and avoids conflict if possible,can't sit still for five minutes, perpetually in an emo phase and knows more than they let on, hawaiian shirts,henna tattoos and sparkling water,sleeping in complete darkness and the relief of falling into bed,midnight thunderstorms and anticipation for the coming day,lucky charms and the sound of rain hitting the windows

-Dream: The smell of apples,eucalyptus,vanilla and green tea. Freckles and smiley faces,glow sticks and wrinkled linen, probably a really good singer,wild laughter and jellyfish, popular,tanned skin and cruising with the top down,doesn't take shit from anyone,analytical and self assured,beachy waves and dreamy sunsets,running barefoot,likes being active and on the go at all times,sassy and dramatic as fuck,dream catchers and hammocks,glow in the dark stickers on his phonecase, feisty and a sense of danger,brought home stray cats when he was a child,falling in love with strangers,waking up early and continue laying on the bed,golden hours and 4pm naps,soft aching hands burried in messy hair,center of attention,static and heavy breathing,old percy jackson books under the bed, throwing pebbles at the closed windows of his friends' room, retro diners at 2am,adrenaline junkie and nighttime thriver,will go insane if cooped up indoors for too long,deadlines till last minute,oversleeping and coming home past midnight,naturally a really good surfer,hugs from behind and neck kisses,checking the fridge at 1am,ice cream in bed and cat cuddles,always picks up over facetime

Might make more parts for some of the other guys :)

[notveryglittery]

birthday prince (3)

summary: virgil decides roman deserves a day off.  words: 2,100 / ship: prinxiety (roman/virgil) author’s note: this is part three of my Giving The Gay Anything He Wants series for roman’s birthday (june 4)! all ships are written implied romantic but i’m not stopping you from interpreting it otherwise. check the end notes on ao3 for credit on these gifts (bc i don’t know where to put them in this post)! i hope you enjoy!!

part 1 (roceit) | part 2 (logince) | part 3 (prinxiety) part 4 (royality) | part 5 (dlampts)  read on ao3

— — —

“Best two out of three.”

“I thought this was a birthday gift!”

“Yes and?”

“So why don’t I automatically get to pick the first movie?”

“Because I know you’re on a princess kick and full offense, if I have to deal with a talking animal as the comedic relief sidekick, I might actually die.”

“... Okay. Fine, okay, that’s fair.”

“On shoot.”

One, two, three, shoot — Virgil’s scissors versus Roman’s paper meant that the birthday boy did, in fact, not get to pick the first movie. He feigned upset for only a few moments longer before flopping back into their pillow fort. He supposed, given all the hard work Virgil had put into this, he could put up with one non-princess Disney film.

Earlier in the day, Virgil had rather unceremoniously kicked Roman out of his own room, claiming he had something important to do. Were it not for how close they’d grown, Roman would have been upset and suspicious; he trusted Virgil now, though, and knew that nothing would go wrong. He’d spent an hour playing cards with Logan and Patton before Virgil shouted for him from upstairs. When he’d arrived back to his room, it looked almost unrecognizable. It was mostly illuminated by fairy lights, providing a cozier feel than what he was used to; the floor to ceiling windows looked out into a rainy forest instead of the usual rolling hills; his bed had been turned into a truly impressive collection of blankets, pillows, cushions, and stuffed animals. The canopy had been removed which bothered him a little but only until he realized the projector that had been set up, pointing at the ceiling. There was a basket at the foot of the bed, filled with snacks and bottled drinks. Roman figured they could stay here for the next twenty four hours and be perfectly fine.

Surrounded by what was possibly every soft thing to be found in the Mindscape, Roman clutched Mrs. Fluffybottom to his chest as Virgil got the movie set up. She’d been his favorite plushie for the entirety of his existence; he’d taken her on many adventures over the years but she’d comforted him through a number of breakdowns too. He swore there was actually something magical about her.

Virgil threw himself down next to Roman; he had swapped out his usual hoodie for one that was fully dark purple and had even longer sleeves. After Roman had stopped gawking around his room, Virgil had tossed a sweater at him. It was so bright it was practically neon but it was rainbow print and he loved it. He’d immediately changed out of his t-shirt and had grabbed Virgil in a tight hug. Roman definitely intended on starting a sweater paw fight at some point during their movie marathon.

“You good with Hercules?”

“No comedic relief sidekicks, huh?”

“Phil is not a sidekick!”

“What? Are you trying to tell me right now that Philoctetes is a main character? You can’t say he isn’t comedic relief! He gets hurt just for laughs way too often!”

“No! I mean. Maybe?”

Roman laughed, bumping his shoulder against Virgil’s. “Whatever, you dork. Of course I’m good with it. You could have picked The Black Cauldron and I would’ve been good.”

“Talking animal. Comic relief. Sidekick. Gurgi checks all of those boxes. I would’ve been going against my own word.”

“Hmm, fair,” Roman said, humming a little.

As the Muses began singing them through the opening, Roman took a moment to appreciate everything Virgil was doing for him. The basket of goodies was stocked with every one of Roman’s favorite snacks, including enough chocolate to make him sick. In fact, it’d been the first thing he’d decided on, before Virgil could even tell him what the plan for the day was. Not that it was really much of a plan, anyway. Today specifically had been set aside just for Virgil to spoil Roman however he wanted. That apparently meant marathoning Disney movies, napping as much as they pleased, and eating all the junk food they wanted. It was a far cry from how Roman usually spent his time; what with all of the projects he was constantly juggling, or the content he had to help Thomas produce, or the issues to take care of in the Fantasy Realm. He didn’t really realize even how hard he was always working.

Apparently, however, Virgil had.

Something was shoved into his face, startling him out of his thoughts. He shot a glare at Virgil, who was watching the movie and acting totally inconspicuous. The item turned out to be a stuffed dragon, one he didn’t recognize from his usual pile of plushies. The scales were shimmery, a nice ombre of purple and blue shades, the wings were tucked against the body, and… Holding his hand against the stomach was warmer than the rest, as if it had a belly full of fire. That was so cool! He squeezed it tight in his arms and went back to watching the movie, feeling even comfier than before.

With the credits rolling, Virgil ushered them both out of bed and into a couple minutes of stretching.

“I’m not having you complain to me later on when your bones start creaking.”

“You make it sound like I’m so old, Virgil!”

“Older than me,” Virgil teased. He ducked out of the way of a thrown cushion. “Oh, is that what we’re doing?!”

Roman took a face full of pillow and suddenly it was on. He couldn’t begin to guess how long they fought for, darting around the room and over the bed, swinging their feather-filled weapons at each other. He did know that by the time he collapsed on the floor, he was breathless with laughter. Virgil was so far gone that he’d dissolved into alternating between wheezes and complete silence. Eventually, they did manage to get back into their nest of blankets, though there was plenty of shoving, poking, and tickling as they did so.

“I dunno if I’ll make it through this next movie so pick one that I won’t mind falling asleep during.”

“You besmirch the name of Disney if you think there’s a single film boring enough to allow that!”

“You dozed off the first time we watched The Good Dinosaur.”

Roman spluttered. “I had just come back from a week-long quest! And that’s Pixar!”

Virgil actually cackled. “You can’t pull that excuse! Disney owns Pixar!”

“Stop bullying me,” Roman cried, “it’s my birthday!”

“It’s two days before your birthday, actually, so I can bully you all I like.”

“I’m picking The Black Cauldron, then! See how you like dozing off during your favorite movie.”

It perhaps hadn’t been his best choice. With Virgil snuggled into his side, warm and soft, the sound of his even breathing accompanying the utter lack of any songs… Well, Roman really didn’t last much longer. They found each other in the Dreamscape. Edges were fuzzy, sounds were muffled, and touch was electric. The Dream Palace was a blurry shape in the distance, attracting his attention every so often when its crystal spires caught the light. Virgil sort of just appeared, as if created from the colors of the setting sun. Roman had a feeling he was made of the field of flowers he’d woken up in.

“I like it here,” Virgil said, sitting down next to Roman.

“Remy does a nice job with it,” Roman agreed, slowly picking daisies and dandelions to weave into a crown.

“You do, too,” Virgil argued. “You have a hand in almost everything, you know.”

Roman frowned at him. “I do not.”

“Yes, Ro,” Virgil insisted, “you do. The Memory Archives look the way that they do because you and Logan watched one episode of Doctor Who together and had the inspiration to redesign.”

Roman chuckled, a little nervously. “I guess.”

“Memory Lane doesn’t hurt Patton because it knows better than to hurt anyone you love. It might be connected to him and his room, but you’re the one that created that safety net.”

“Virgil…” Roman tried, voice slightly strangled.

“I just need you to know how important you are. You aren’t told enough.”

“It’s fine—”

“You’re important, Roman. You matter. You make a difference.”

Roman finally stopped trying to tie together the stems of the flowers. Virgil took his shaking hands into his own and held them tightly. It was just enough that Roman could actually feel it versus the tingly sensation that the Dreamscape normally worked with.

“We love you. We appreciate you and your hard work.”

If it weren’t for that everything around them was already blurry, Roman might not have noticed his vision swimming when tears filled his eyes. It was hard to not know suddenly that he was crying, though, regardless of how physically present he was in this space.

Virgil let go of his hands and instead, cradled his face gently. “I know I go against you sometimes but in the long run, I want you to be just as happy as you make the rest of us.”

He waited a moment longer before smiling and squishing Roman’s cheeks. Roman giggled a bit in response. Virgil gave him two careful pats before pulling away. Picking up the flower crown Roman had abandoned, he set to work on finishing it. Roman wiped his tears away and sat still in the sunshine, content to simply let himself soak it up until he was completely warm from the inside out.

When they woke, the screen projected onto the ceiling was displaying a screensaver of 3D pipes. The forest outside the windows had been replaced with a cliffside view of the ocean. Virgil stirred next to him, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He absentmindedly pressed a kiss to Roman’s cheek before getting out of bed. He was gone for a little while, during which Roman found two more plushies that he didn’t recognize. They were a gryphon and a lion, both extremely soft to the touch, and with fierce expressions that reminded Roman of how Virgil looked when he was in fight mode. He wondered how these new stuffed animals kept sneaking into his collection but he certainly wasn’t complaining.

When Virgil returned, Roman burst into laughter, because yes, he supposed there was no chance of sneaking that one into the pile.

“There won’t be any room for me in bed, Virgil!”

“Guess you better get used to sleeping on the floor then,” Virgil said, dropping the massive Simba plushie on top of Roman.

This just made Roman laugh harder. The fabric on this one was fluffier than on the others, something he could sink his fingers into if he wanted. It was nearly as big as him, or maybe it just felt like that right now since it was smothering him. Before he could move it, though, Virgil sank himself down onto it as well.

“Virgil!!” Roman gasped between snickers. “Get off, you fiend!”

“Hmm…” Virgil hummed, pondering. From where he was laying, he could just barely look directly into Roman’s eyes. This made it all the funnier when he finally decided, in the most deadpan tone, “nah.”

After some wrestling, which led to them both falling out of bed and Roman bumping his elbow and howling for five minutes about his funny bone before Virgil kissed it better, they were finally settled back in to continue their movie marathon.

They watched Moana, Tarzan, and, Mary Poppins before sleep began to take them once more. Seeing as the sun had sunk below the sea quite some time ago, it was safe to assume it was late enough to call it a night.

“I got you…” Virgil paused to yawn. “Got you one more thing…”

“Vee—”

“‘S not much.” He held out Mrs. Fluffybottom for Roman to take. “I just… I made it so that she can never be hurt.”

For a moment, Roman’s lethargy was chased away by astonishment and surprise. He could feel the enchantment just from holding her, though it was passing by the second as the magic was fully absorbed.

“I know you… take her on adventures a lot. Fightin’ bad guys ‘n stuff.” Virgil shifted further into the blankets as sleep continued to take hold on him. “Wanna keep her safe. Know you will, anyway. But jus’ in case.”

Roman rolled onto his side so that he was facing Virgil. He kept the bunny plush tucked between them and took one of Virgil’s hands in his. “Thank you…”

“Love you. Happy birthday, princey,” Virgil told him, papping him once more on the cheek.

Sleep settled over them quickly after. Roman would wake in the morning, feeling more secure and warm than he had in quite some time, surrounded by plushies and Virgil’s arms, and know that he had so much to be grateful for.

[leaves-and-inks]

Bloomed Decay #1

Back to Artober! I drew my first, non-doodle animal skull piece a few years back in a college drawing class, and I really enjoyed it! The bone texture, the way that the rigid, yet organic shapes caught dramatic light; it was a really fun piece! I’m glad I was able to revisit it with this one, this time bringing color into it. Life blooms on the bleached, old bone, though did it take root through natural means? Or did something else play an influence… maybe we’ll find out, maybe not, who knows? What do y’all think?

I was feeling pretty blah earlier in the week, and it pushed some things back. I have everything scheduled for this Artober, and I’ll do my best to get it done in time ^^

[ID: Digital illustration of a floating jawless wolf skull covered in various plants and fungi. It faces 3/4 left, and has cool shadows in the crevices of the skull and away with the light source. Moss with blooms grows over the brow, hanging off the left eye socket, along with covering the snout in patches. Ferns sit in front of and behind the snout, and two, red dandelion-like flowers grow from the right eye socket. An ivy vibe crawls out from the left eye, and disc-like fungi cling to the connection point for the jaw to the skull. Capped mushrooms with long, bending stems take root to the back of the skull. A drop shadow sits below the floating skull, and soft, glowing light orbs float around it. The wolf skull sits on a textured orange background with a white halo sitting behind it.

Image 2: Close up on the back of the skull, showcasing some of the plants and fungi. The crop ends on the left side of the skull, only showing the closest eye socket and no teeth. Only the rightmost side of the all is seen, along with few glowing orbs.

Image 3: Close up of the middle of the skull showcase details and the various plants and fungi. The crop ends at the top of the nose top third of the front ferns, and vertically splitting the closet eye socket halfway. The left part of the halo is slightly cropped, and it begins to curve up in the top left. Some of the glowing orbs can be seen.

Image 4: Crop showcasing the nose cavity and teeth of the skull. The crop ends halfway up the snout, cutting up the top half of the right side ferns, and the right side of the closest ferns. Besides the ferns, the only other plants seen is the moss. The bottom and left part of the halo are visible. /end ID]

[babe-of-swoles]

This post is a dream I had (last night) that I've organized into making sense. So here is the dream as a short story.

The Dream:

There's a hole in my yard. It's not big, maybe the size of a largish pumpkin, or a very ambitious watermelon. But, it's deep.

How deep does it go?

Most of the time, I hardly notice it there. I've planted some trees around it, alder, and birch. Aspen too. I don't want anyone wandering into it.

But I always know it's there. Like a whisper.

Like a game of hide and seek, when you're hidden, and your friend is searching nearby. They walk out of sight, but you feel them.

It's so hot today. It's cooler near the hole...

There's a mist around it. Sometimes. Sometimes not, just dappled.sunshine. so inviting. So benign.

How deep is it?

I piled up the compost around the hole, like an anthill. The shit gets scattered again each night, so it's clear. The grass grows a little taller, a little greener, so you think maybe there's a spring.

Can you hear the water?

It's been years since I found it. I hardly remember how I got the house, not from someone, an auction maybe, or an easement.

But I found the hole on a summer day when the grass was dry and yellow like hay, with a sweet smell in the air of all the nectar the bees were too full to drink, with the saltiness of grasshopper tobacco overlaid.

The first time I looked in,

Look at it

it was cool inside, no mist, lined with dark rocks like the basalt that formed the cliffs against the sea near home. There were spiderwebs in the corner, and lush moss, and something dawn where the sun hardly reached that might have been a key.

I've always loved keys.

I almost climbed down. I thought about it, scurrying down the rocks like I'd done as a kid back home, but I was a hey from gardening, and wearing the wrong shoes, and it probably wasn't a key always, and what would it even unlock.

And when I looked again, it wasn't at all like that. It was dark, and swirling, and sod-sided.

You should have climbed in.

I tried covering it over, like you do with an old well. The corrugated tin must have blown away in a storm. I piled stones like a cairn, and they scattered by night.

So the trees, and the compost.

I began planting flowers around it. Not pretty enough to be plucked, just, enough so people would feel guilty trampling them. Pansies. Low growing phlox and clover. Roses.

They grew so well near the hole.

Imagine how well they would grow inside.

I was afraid to eat the strawberries I'd planted. Afraid to taste the honey from the bees that nested in a tree I couldn't remember planting, too old to be mine, but it was there, old like the house, though there was a time it hadn't been.

I used to have neighbors. Not close, but sometimes I'd see them, walking the dogs, or the children riding bikes down the old road. The pavement was pale gray, and cracked all over.

I used to warn them. "Watch out for the hole" I'd say, "it's real deep you could break something."

But the kids would come at night and dare each other to throw rocks in, or bottles, and then they'd kneel around the edges, listening for the sound of it hitting the bottom.

Can you see the bottom?

And then they'd shine a light down, and lean in and in and in and in, until up became down.

Sometimes no one came out. Sometimes, what came out looked like them, but wasn't. They moved wrong. Their skin wasn't quite the same color. Their hair was longer, much longer, and their teeth were sharp and spaced apart, like a shark, or a mole.

When things came out, they hungered for blood. They rooted through the compost for bugs and worms and shoved them by the fistful into their mouths, or climbed the stone face of the house to eat the eggs and baby pigeons from their nests.

They called to the neighborhood dogs, with voices like frightened rabbits, and bit through their ribs while they howled in silence.

I used to warn people. But that made them curious.

I built hives for the bees, and planted more flowers. Their hum kept people away, mostly.

One day, I dropped a plank across the hole. It unbalanced, tipped in, and when I pulled it out, the end has grown roots, pale, shining white.

I planted it, and it grew, so quickly.

There are other miracles here.

I began bringing things, dead branches, plants and leaves, and settling them around the edges, so they'd have roots in the mornings. Turning my garden into a grove, into a forest.

They couldn't wander in if they couldn't walk.

But sometimes the trees moved. Some days they were thinner, sparser. A stand of saplings spaced wide apart. Others they were old and gnarled, with brush grown high between them, vines snaking up their trunks, and deer tracks, narrow and winding, paths so thin you could only walk them placing one foot directly in front of the other, arms up and bracing you against the trees so you wouldn't lose your balance and fall into the brambles, the blackberries, the roses so old their vines were like wood.

But you could walk them.

One year there were so many butterflies. Not monarchs, but orange. Smaller ones, I've forgotten their name. They flew like a flock, like a swarm, landed along the branches of the maples, and weighed so heavy on the flowers that the stems broke.

I think it moved sometimes, the hole. It was always in my garden, always where you could see the stone face of the house, always just past where the shadow of the peak of the roof could reach at it's longest, but... Not always in the same place.

I'd forget where it was, exactly, but just know the feeling of being close, and then suddenly it was there but a little to the side of where I expected.

"Your garden is really pretty." The girl was young, a teen. Or maybe twenty? Not more than thirty. "I'm sorry it's so overgrown. Do you need help with it?"

My voice sounded so much older when I said hello, as if I'd lived here years and years, but it couldn't have been more than a few days.

She started by pulling weeds. The dandelions. The Goatheads. The vines that choked out my old trees so long ago. Or was it yesterday?

She brought lemonade some days, or watermelon slices. Sometimes we didn't even work in the garden, just sat on the largest of the old cairnstones, and talked about the birds that flitted through, her classes at the community college, the shapes of the clouds, and the men she could almost fall for, but not quite.

But all good things come to an end. And one day she found the hole.

"please," I whispered.

Her green eyes stared into the depths, and light flickered and rippled over her face, as if reflected on waves. "It's beautiful." She breathed.

"I know it is." My bones ached, "but you can't go in."

"only for a moment," she stepped down, and her foot stopped as if on a stair. Down again, and again.

You could come too.

I went into the house, where all my things were dusty and faded. I hadn't opened that closet in years, where I kept it, but the axe inside was sharp, and shining.

My trees looked so young through the windows, and I felt young and strong. I waited through the witching hours, and just before dawn she came, crawling in all fours like a wild thing, scurrying sideways and catching squirrels in her teeth to eat.

I sighed with a heaviness in my heart beyond measure. It was time.

[deathsteel]

30 day fanfic challenge

Prompt #13 -Regret

“Fuck”, Dean muttered, scrubbing at the dark ink curving over his collarbone with a washcloth. 

It hurt like a bitch, the skin red and inflamed and raw like he was scrubbing over a sunburn. But, damnit, Dean was NOT going to keep looking at the name of his ex-fucking-girlfriend tattooed right over his heart like some damn fool. 

Last night was supposed to be their 5 year anniversary, but instead Dean had gotten drunk alone at the divest dive bar to ever exist while looking at pictures of Lisa on her honeymoon on Instagram. They’d gone on to Jamaica, how lame. Dean would have taken her to see the Northern lights, kissed her in a forest, and climbed to the top of a mountain to declare to the world how much he loved her. In his hungover state, Dean spitefully hoped that Lisa and Benny got rained on the whole time they were there. 

So yea, Dean was out a best friend and a girlfriend all in one fateful night two years ago. He didn’t even really know why he hadn’t unfollowed the two of them on Instagram yet. Sam said it was because he liked to torture himeself, but Dean had just thought of it as him playing the long game until Lisa was single again. He’d had the tattoo for two and a half years and it served as a constant, daily reminder of how shitty one Dean Winchester was at relationships. 

“You should get that covered up,” his roommate Garth said, leaning nonchalantly in the doorway of the bathroom. 

Dean just groaned at the other man who looked annoyingly well-rested and continued to rub at the curling script even though he knew it wouldn’t make a lick of difference. He tried to avoid his own gaze in the mirror because he knew he looked like death warmed over and eventually just tossed the washcloth in the sink with a growl of frustration. 

“Really, man,” Garth continued, cheerful as ever even though Dean had brusquely pushed past him on the way out of the bathroom. “The guy that does all of my work, he’s great. He specializes in cover ups too! He did this trailing flower thing on Bess’s side to cover up the scar from her accident. It's pretty awesome.” 

Dean knew which of his girlfriend’s tattoos that Garth was talking about. Bess had worn a bikini last summer for the first time that Dean had known her and he’d seen the ink flowing gracefully down her ribcage. It had been lifelike and beautiful, dandelions both in bloom and as the white-tufted seeds clinging to delicate stems; waiting to turn into wishes. He hadn’t even noticed that Bess had a scar that the tattoo was covering up, but that was probably the point. 

He stormed towards his bedroom, mulling over the thought of going under the needle to cover up Lisa’s name on his skin. 

How much longer could he kid himself? Was it even healthy to continue to hope that he and Lisa would get back together? She was fucking married at this point, to Benny of all people! Benny was a good dude, the best dude. And Dean was scum for selfishly wanting them to split up. 

The little voice in Dean’s head that sounded an awful lot like Sam whispered that it was time to let go. 

“Garth!” Dean hollered, pulling a grey t-shirt roughly over his head and reaching for his discarded jeans from the night before. “You got the name of this tattoo guy?!”

~~

Ethereal Ink was in the up and coming part of town that all the locals snidely called ‘gentrified’. It was located in a refurbished furniture manufacturing plant that had one been the town’s pride and joy in the 60s and 70s, but it had since been updated and broken up into smaller subsections that housed the tattoo shop, a smoothie bar, and a hot yoga studio respectively. Dean grimaced at the sign for the empty space next to the tattoo shop that declared ‘Artisanal Cheese Shoppe Coming Soon!’ as he walked into the parlor before dropping his jaw open as he started at the flash adorning the walls around him. 

It was unlike any tattoo shop he had seen before, which granted he had only seen the one when he had initially gotten the ‘Lisa’ tattoo and it had been much seedier than the shop he stood in now. One of the walls of the shop was painted with a sweeping solar system, glowing in hyperrealistic color and scale, the stars and constellations radiating vibrantly against the starkly painted navy hue of the wall itself. A second wall was swathed in plaques and trophies, proudly displayed showing the triumphs and accolades of the shop’s employees. 

The remaining two walls showcased lovingly framed flash art and pictures, but it didn’t look like the kind that someone could just pick off the wall and request to have put on their bodies. No, the placement of it looked purposeful. Arranged artistically and clustered into themes, the art seemed to capture the personalities of the people who drew them. 

Dean noticed that the artists Anna seemed to prefer portrait art of people and pets, keeping mostly to a black and white color scheme. Hannah, on the other hand, used bright colors and worked in a style that reminded Dean of old sailor tattoos. Billie seemed to favor a tribal, geometric style, and Jess appeared to be the shop’s resident piecer since her cluster was artfully taken photo close-ups of healed piercings. But the last group of artwork, infuriatingly unsigned, seemed to be a marriage of realism and storybook illustrations. There was something arrestingly lifelike in the drawing of a fox posed among vibrantly pink wildflowers and playful in the drawing of a rocketship taking flight. Dean liked all of the artwork, but these caught his attention, these made his hands itch to reach out and touch. 

“You my two o’clock consult?” A femenine voice asked causing Dean to spin around and face the counter that separated the awards from the rest of the store. A dark skinned woman with riotously curly hair and tattooed arms revealed by her black tank top leaned comfortably on her arms against the glass top of the counter. 

"Yea," Dean replied, putting on a charming smile. "You Cas?"

“No,” the woman said flatly, unfolding her arms to reveal twisting dark tribal tattoos going up the inside until they disappeared under her top. “I’m Billie. Cas is sick and I’m the next best at cover ups.”

Dean tried not to be disappointed, Cas must be who the unsigned artwork belonged too and it was much more intriguing than the stark tribal pieces the woman seemed to favor.

It must have shown on his face though, “You can reschedule with him in about a week or so,” Billie offered. “He has the flu, so he shouldn’t be out longer than that. But Cas said you sounded pretty eager to get this done in your email so he asked me to see you.”

 “Cool, well.” Dean floundered, not wanting to appear ungrateful because really, he wanted this fucking name off of his body like yesterday. “Uh...where do we start?”

“Come back to my office and show me what I’m working with,” Billie said, gesturing to the hallway that led behind the counter and deeper into the store before heading that way herself. 

Dean followed quickly and was led into a doorless office that contained a padded, reclining tattooing chair, a very large tool chest that was covered in stickers, and even more art featuring tribal tattoos on the walls. 

“So where is this no doubt beautiful work that you want to get covered up?” Billie asked blandly, taking a seat on a small rolling stool that had been tucked into the corner. 

“On my chest,” Dean answered, perching on the tattoo chair before he hooked a finger in the collar of his shirt and tugged it down to reveal the inked skin in question. “It’s just the name of an ex and well…”

“Hey, no shame,” Billie said, leaning forward to study the ink. “We all do dumb stuff for love, right?”

Dean shrugged and let out a puff of air through his nose in amusement. It was nice not to be made to feel like a tool for getting a dumb tattoo.

“Can’t say I’ve ever gotten a person’s name put on me though…”Billie mused, pulling out her cell from her back pocket. “Mind if I take a few reference pictures? So I can make sure my sketch actually covers the old ink?”

“Sure,” Dean replied, feeling like a moron again. He should’ve never gotten this tattoo, even Lisa had thought it was dumb when he’d shown her.

“Can you take your shirt off for me?” 

“Um...yea?” Dean said hesitantly, reaching back to pull the shirt over his head. 

“Don’t be shy,” Billie replied, her phone audibly clicking as she snapped a few pictures of Dean’s newly revealed torso and shoulders. “This way I’ll know how much room I have to work with. Plus you’re not my type.” 

“Oh,” Dean laughed nervously. “Not enough muscles?”

“Not enough tits,” Billie replied with a smirk, winking at him before snapping another picture and sliding her phone away. “But I’m sure there are lots of people who would appreciate your physique just the way it is. You can put your shirt back on now.”

Dean smiled to himself as he did just that; he had never been one to turn down a compliment from anyone, even if they weren’t interested in more than just admiring for aesthetic reasons. 

“So what are you thinking as far as design?” Billie asked, taking her seat back on her stool. 

“Well…” Dean started before hitting a proverbial brick wall. He really hadn’t thought beyond just wiping Lisa’s name off of his body. “I’m open to suggestions?”

Billie just raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms over her chest. “Are you alway this impulsive when it comes to putting something permanent on your body?” 

Dean just waved his hands in a helpless gesture and put on what he hoped was a charming smile. Based on Billie’s expression it didn’t really work as well as it typically did. 

“Which art did you like the best out there?” Billie asked, smiling when Dean froze like a deer in headlights. “I saw you looking at Cas’s stuff? You like those flowers and nature things?” 

“Yea, but uh...yours are really great too,” Dean offered trying to backpedal his way out of inadvertently insulting his tattoo artist. 

Billie just waved away Dean’s compliment with a grin, “I know my stuff is not everyone’s cup of tea. I can see the appeal in the Cas’s pretty stuff.”

Dean wanted to protest that the prettiness of the other artist’s work had very little to do with why he liked it, but honestly it was pretty and Dean was comfortable enough with his masculinity to admit that he liked flowers sometimes. Especially after all of that therapy he did after his and Lisa’s breakup. 

“Listen,” Billie continued, entirely unaware of Dean’s inner monologue. “This is just a consult, we’re not getting married. If you like the flowers, I can forward these pics onto Cas and he can work something up for you.”

Dean gnawed on his lip for a second, ultimately deciding that another week or two with Lisa’s name on his body didn’t mean anything. Maybe he could just cover it up with some bandages or something. He nodded in agreement and moved to get to his feet. 

“That settles it then,” Billie said, getting to her feet and leading Dean back towards the front of the shop. “But, let me get your contact info so Cas can reach out once he’s back to schedule with you.”

“No prob,” Dean replied, jotting down his cell number and email address for Billie before giving her a little salute and bidding farewell. 

~~

 The first text came the next afternoon. 

“What is your favorite color?” Unknown Number 1:47pm

Dean stared at his phone incredulously for a minute before shrugging and typing in ‘Red’ and hitting send. 

It had been a slow day at work, maybe this was one of those call/text your number neighbor things going around again. 

“What is your star sign?” Unknown Number 3:20pm

‘Aquarius,’ Dean replied, feeling bold. ‘What’s urs?’

‘Leo,’ Unknown Number replied a few minutes later, followed quickly by, ‘Favorite flower?’

Dean smirked to himself as he thumbed out a reply, ‘Chocolate sunflower.’ 

‘Opportunity’ Unknown Number 3:42pm

‘Huh?’ Dean replied back. 

‘Chocolate sunflowers symbolize opportunity,’ Unknown Number answered. ‘I like proteas, myself.’

A quick google search taught Dean that proteas symbolized change and hope; he decided to share this newfound knowledge with his mystery text buddy. 

He earned a photo in return. It was just a picture of a blooming flower, one which Dean now knew to be a protea, inked onto a forearm that was corded in sinewy muscle and ended in a long-fingered masculine hand. Dean noted the ink smudges on the tips of the index and thumb, the fine, dark hairs dusting the skin around the tattoo, and the freckle on the edge of the palm of the hand. 

‘I was thinking of a bouquet,’ Unknown Number shared. ‘Something big to cover up that name on your chest. I’ll send some sketches along shortly.’

Dean swallowed hard, realizing that he had been flirting with his tattoo artist via text. His apparently inked and muscled and weirdly nerdy tattoo artist.

 If asked he would deny stalking the tattoo shop’s instagram until the day he died, but it was in a picture simply captioned ‘#flowerboy’ that Dean managed to find a picture of the elusive Cas. The Cas who would be covering up the name of Dean’s ex-girlfriend. The Cas who had probably seen shirtless pictures of Dean courtesy of Billie. The Cas who was practically the walking embodiment of all of Dean’s wet dreams that featured a male counterpart. 

He groaned into a pillow for a little bit, questioning all of his life choices, before beginning to feel better. Dean had a lot of regrets, but bailing on this tattoo would not be one of them. This could be an opportunity for something. A change that he needed. Hope for something more with a cute guy who had the swoonest arms that Dean had seen in a long time. 

And yea, he did swoon. Just a little. 

[belacedia-a]

PROMPT  /  fire emblem: three houses. @vulpesse​ beseeched:  “  if only people could be more like flowers  ”

              𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃  &&  𝐖𝐀𝐑  𝐖𝐀𝐒  𝐀𝐋𝐋  𝐇𝐄  𝐊𝐍𝐄𝐖,  𝐒𝐄𝐄𝐈𝐍𝐆  𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆  𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄  𝐈𝐍  𝐀  𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍  𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍  𝐓𝐇𝐄  𝐕𝐀𝐋𝐔𝐄  𝐎𝐅  𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐑  [ 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇 ],  human life inconsequential in comparison. They bloom in fleeting glory before they’re doomed to WILT   — youthful beauty marred by ugly wrinkles  &&  dull grey —  existence meaningless in the grand scheme of the universe.  [ Fragility coats smooth skin like an early frost  —  pluck the head from its stem  &&  watch as the last hues of color fades from pallid faces ]   “People  are  already  very  similar  to  flowers,”  his silvery voice drips with subtle amusement, the corners of his lips quirked upwards in a lazy smile as he replies curtly,  “If  you  cut  them,  they  die.”

       Head turns to face the she-fox, cool gaze observing her vulpine movements from underneath burnished golden fringe. Twirling a single dandelion in between nimble fingers, the yellow flower pulled from its stalk  [ lifeline SNIPPED  &&  the three fates counting every precious second until petals fall ]   Sadistic glee bleeds from his pores as he breathes his morbid ultimatum on the wistful topic,  “The  only  difference,  is  that  people  [ SCREAM ]   &&   run  away,  flowers  don’t.”

        HE LOVED THE CHASE  &&  his favorite melody was the ear splitting shrieks of disbelief, voice contorting in excruciating pain as they vainly cry out  [ HELP ME! HELP ME! HELP ME! ]  —  florals had no such value. Flowers don’t bleed SCARLET RUBIES that glisten gorgeously in the moonlight, nor pathetically limp around in a forlorn attempt to escape the palm of his hand.

[abimee]

what happens if you eat the decay curing flowers?

You get a lightly acidic taste in your mouth and that soft petal texture stuck on your tongue, though the pollen of the flower tastes like eating a wet dandelion. Altogether nothing remarkable happens and you sort of just ruined a pretty good flower, though if you have some severe vomiting due to the decay you may chew on the stems to help quell it, but carbohydrates soak up the stomach acid better than the flower does.

The flowers are only partially medicinal physically, more of their healing qualities comes from a sort of metaphysical/emotional constant as the Decay is emotional too. The smell of the flowers helps relax the sense and calm, and the dew is cooling but sweet with a slight smell of it's own. The petals are soft and rustle gently in the wind, and the color is a desaturated tone that is unnatural but distinct.

[shannie-writes]

Smoke and Mirrors (Vincent & witch!MC)

Don’t go to the witch’s home, they said. She’ll welcome you with a smile, but send you off with a curse.

Vincent walked the narrow path that branched off the main road, overrun with dandelions and crabgrass. The sun was shining brightly in the afternoon, though it was heavily filtered with the large trees he walked between. It was pleasant in the shade and he reached his hands out to lightly brush the leaves of the bushes next to him, enjoying the cool, feathery touch against his palms.

If you dare go there again, Vincent, Theo had said. I will throw away every single one of your paints. You should never speak with the witch. She will steal your soul away.

It was an empty threat. He knew his younger brother would never follow through with it. Though...perhaps it was true. That she could steal away souls. She certainly had been invading his thoughts ceaselessly since he had last traveled to see her.

He walked around a young tree, one that had grown in the center of the path. The branches were laden with charms, crafted from yellowed reeds and colorful glass. He couldn’t help from watching them as he passed by. They were beautiful, a deconstructed image made of stained glass, throwing colorful lights to the white dandelion heads below the tree. He saved the image in the back of his head, thinking of which paints he would use, would combine, to find the perfect colors to recreate this on canvas.

Though...one of them caught his gaze, as though asking him to take another look. Peering closer at the yellow glass, he could almost see a face etched on it. Familiar to him, but in reverse. His heart thrummed in his chest as his image spun in a light breeze. When he blinked, it was gone, a smooth surface once more. Taking a deep breath, he walked past the tree, meeting back with the main path again.

More dirt began to show, the grass fading back and the treeline stopping entirely as it hit a row of stones. They continued along the line of trees, creating a large circle around the small cottage in the center of the clearing. Vincent stopped at the edge of the stone border, looking in to examine the tiny home, the first time he’d seen it during the daylight.

It had a thatched roof and gray stone walls. It wasn’t big. He knew it only held a bed and a small stove inside. What the cottage lacked in size was made up with the garden that surrounded it. Hundreds of plants--herbs and spices that he was both familiar and unfamiliar with--were carefully tended to. Some hung from latticed arbors and others grew up from the ground. A large drying rack was standing between him and the cottage, sporting freshly cut herbs to hang in the day’s sun. In the center of all the greenery was a woman.

She was tending to vines on an arbor, training them where she wanted them to grow and carefully tying them to sturdy them where they hung. Her skirts were lifted, the edges tied up around her waist and showing her bare legs below her knees, her toes naked in the dirt of her gardens. Her hair was loose, giving her an even younger appearance as it swung to and fro about her lower back. She looked free and beautiful and Vincent swallowed thickly, bracing himself to take that step into the witch’s home.

It was but an instant when he stepped over the stones and his foot set ground on the other side that she straightened and turned to look at him. The very air across the barrier seemed different, cleaner somehow. He took a deep breath and returned the sweet smile he could see from her even as she stood so far away from him.

“You came back,” she said, as she walked close enough to him to talk in normal levels.

“Yes,” Vincent said. “Is Brush better now?”

“See for yourself,” she said with a smile, turning back toward her gardens and clicking her tongue, falling to a crouch. There was a rustling as his raccoon peered out between a row of plants and clambered his way through them, toddling over to her outstretched hand. Holding tightly to her shirt, he helped climb into her arms. “He’s a very good boy.”

“Yes, he is.” Vincent sighed in relief, the remaining tension melting out of him. The last he had seen of Brush was when he had carried him here, wounded and back leg broken.

It was an accident, but one that could have been prevented had the man in the carriage paid more attention. There was nobody who would take care of a forest creature like Brush. Nobody that came to mind, that is, but for the witch. So he had run to the edge of town, through the forest with nothing but the moon to light his way there, to knock on her door. She had been in a nightgown, her hair up for bed, which would have embarrassed him more if she hadn’t immediately taken charge and sent Vincent away, telling him to come back in a week’s time.

“Here,” she said, carefully transferring Brush into Vincent’s arms. “Follow me.”

He did as she asked, tailing behind her as she walked through her gardens, plucking a few leaves and flowers here and there as she walked, not even looking as she collected medicinal herbs. She hummed a lilting tune, leading Vincent to the back of her cottage where there stood a row of equipment. A grinding stone, various sizes of mortar and pestles, a bucket of water, different sized sheets of paper, and a few candles were some of the items Vincent could easily recognize.

She immediately got to work, crushing petals and stems and grinding them with leaves and herbs. Vincent wasn’t able to follow her quick hands, only staring as she folded the completed medicinal paste into a paper she had rubbed with a wax stick to prevent it from soaking out, sealing the flap closed with a glob of melted candle wax.

“Give him a small spoonful in a cup of water each night for five days. I put a small cast over his leg, it will need to be removed in a fortnight. Bring him back and I will remove it for you. Or come sooner if it begins to smell.” She took a few steps back and reached up to pluck a few long leaves from a plant in the arbor that stood next to them, handing them to him with the medicinal packet. “Soak a leaf and place it over his wound while he sleeps during the day for quicker recovery. I’ll remove the stitches when you return as well.”

Vincent moved Brush into one arm to take them from her, giving her a quizzical look. “Is...that it? No spells or incantations or--”

He was interrupted as her face split into a smile and she laughed. “Oh, no. I’m not a witch. I’m only an apothecary. If anything could be healed with magic, there would be no use for me.”

“But...the charms on the tree…”

“Hm? Oh. Those are charms for protection, if you believe in things such as those.”

Her smile softened and she reached into a pocket in her skirt to pull out a few strawberries, giving them to Brush who ate them happily. In the same fluid movement, she pushed herself to her toes and cupped Vincent’s jaw to press a kiss to his cheek. Vincent took a step back, eyes wide. The spot she kissed felt warm, like the sun, and spread slowly through his skin.

Her smile hadn’t changed, but there was something about her eyes that seemed different, the green of them brighter than they had been a minute before. “Please make your way home carefully, Vincent.”

“Y-yes.” He gave her one last look before he walked away from her and her gardens. Stepping over the rock circle to go back on the path, he was hit by a wave of cold air, the shadows of the trees chilling him through, but for the place her lips had pressed to his cheek.

He walked past the small tree, this time not giving it another glance. Brush clung to his shirt as he started to pick up the pace, his walk turning to a jog turning to a run, the dandelion fluffs floating behind him where he kicked them up. He reached the road and realized it was much later than it had been when he had left it, the midday sun now nearly setting.

Thoughts sprung to mind, the inconsistencies finally making themselves known now that he was away from her presence.

Those plants. They were all lively and flourishing, but that didn’t make sense. They were types that grew through all different seasons. It wasn’t the season for strawberries either, how had she had them to give to Brush? How was it that a good portion of the day had passed when it only felt like an hour? She had said she wasn’t a witch, but that’s just what somebody who was a witch would say, wasn’t it? He...hadn’t told her his name. Had he?

He felt the heat of the kiss begin to fade, the warmth that had slowly spread across his skin growing ever fainter with each passing minute.

He wasn’t sure what to believe. But he knew he would come back.