#and how in the end she couldn't kill him

[5a-alf]

I fear Kevin Day is the type of person whose struggle always came second. He funcioned enough that while everyone knew he wasn't alright, it was also nobody's problem, as someone else was actively having a harder time and they took precedence. He internalises all his problems and keeps going and going but he is fueled by alchool and sheer desperation a 100% of the time. If he were to stop for even a second he wouldn't know how to start again.

Did he ever, at somepoint in his life -away from the ex foxes, a pro player, married to Thea- wish he had it worse, just so that maybe it would have been his turn being saved? Being first? How badly would he feel, just one second after thinking it, because he knows damn well he has enough trauma to fill a stadium and he isn't actually jealous of his friends that had it worse, he isn't . That's a fucked up thing to think, stop it, stop it.

Would he still drink himself into a stupor to shoote the ache, to banish the thought? That's the help he got, when he was at his worst, a drink, and then two, and then a thousand. And it worked, it made him go, it picked him up when he was down, and now he can't get down without crashing.

Did he wish to be saved? Did he hope somebody, anybody, took the time and put in the effort to help him, just because they saw him down, not because he begged, but because they noticed he could use a hand. Or two, actually. Was it torment, to always be under the spotlight, yet never been seen? Did he run toward fame hoping the more eyes on him meant it would be easier to be noticed?

[year-of-the-lion]

Thought of the night (as I've begun season 4): a facet of Kuron's mission could very well have been to drive Keith away from Voltron.

It makes a lot of sense when you think about it. Keith's the only other person capable of piloting the Black Lion and thus leading Voltron. He's shown that he has the potential to be an effective leader, even though he started out with neither experience nor willingness to do so. He also knows Shiro better than anyone; if there was a single person on Team Voltron who could have realised something was off, it would have been Keith.

There's also one more point that's probably the most important: Keith is relentless. He understands the stakes of the war they're fighting better than any of the other Paladins, and he's been shown repeatedly to be able to play those stakes— it tends to be the others that prevent him from doing so (see him advocating for leaving Allura rather than delivering Voltron to Zarkon, or him pushing to chase Lotor rather than focus on evacuating refugees in 4.01). Had he grown and matured as Black Paladin, it would have spelled trouble for Haggar and the Empire, because that's the same kind of tactical ruthlessness you see in someone like Lotor, who is a pain in the ass to go up against.

Enter Kuron. Kuron who has the face and the voice and the memories of the person Keith trusts most in the universe. Kuron who's enough like Shiro that any differences will be brushed off.

Kuron whose differences from Shiro are absolutely devastating.

On the surface, it seems like Shiro! He encourages Keith to accept his position as Voltron's leader...except his actions don't reflect that. It's very manipulative in my eyes, how he simultaneously praises Keith's growth and puts him down. How he tells him that "Voltron needs a strong leader" but repeatedly undermines his strength by issuing orders that he knows the others will listen to over Keith's.

Kuron tells Keith he needs to be a strong leader while doing everything he can to make him seem a weaker one.

All of this comes to a head with Keith feeling like he doesn't have a place with Voltron, especially not as the Black Paladin, and definitely not once 'Shiro' can pilot Black again. Instead of being brought into his own as a leader, he's had his insecurities reinforced, and the only option he feels he has left is to leave for good, and taking with him the only person on Team Voltron who could have posed a legitimate threat to Kuron's infiltration.

[lyxchen]

A thought on Myung-gi and how it's hard to choose to die and how it's hard to still care enough and sacrifice yourself for your child when you have repeatedly been told that you do not deserve this child, that this child doesn't belong to you and that you will never be allowed to be in the life of your own child, in this essay I will-

[companion-showdown]

Who had the worst time aboard the TARDIS?

TOURNAMENT MASTERPOST

[weaponizedmoth]

If requests are still open it would be awesome to see you doodle Christine or Roul, your style is gorgeous!

Thank you! Here you go:

[skrunksthatwunk]

how do i tell my roommate that her cat repeatedly pissing on and destroying my things is something that people usually offer to clean or replace or apologize for instead of shrugging off

[tenwhiteandalusians]

and then no one said anything about the fact that if i watched ONE MORE episode tenax pulls a "i'm not angry i'm just disappointed i'm hurt" about scorpus signing with the white faction.

[juliareed]

You still cling to naive ideals. I learned, at a very young age, the only currency worth anything in this world is power.

[hauntingblue]

Jayce telling vi she won't make it on her own.... okay mr. projector...

[autumnoakes]

okay i was highkey using a guide to get the shadow mantle but i was supposed to meet toriel at some point in the last minigame before the boss fight.

but because i'm doing snowgrave, i met tenna, who talked about spamton (i don't know what toriel talks about, if anything). and i watched an animation just now on that scene after the normal spamton neo fight (where susie and ralsei notice how shaken kris appears by the fight) and realized that..... spamton, in a way, is a sort of reflection of kris. something happened to him that changed him, likely having to do with the roaring knight. tenna talks about this a LOT, in this cutscene in particular. he talks about how spamton took a call one day and how spamton disappeared without a word after that.

i think that seeing spamton neo, a puppet on strings acting on instinct to get to kris' soul, disturbed them so much because it was a reminder of their own situation, and it showed how powerful and dangerous their soul really is. the game makes it very clear that kris is rather hostile towards their soul. they don't like that we're in control of them and they take several opportunities to take control back. whether it be by the way they say certain dialogue choices, maliciously complying with commands, or removing the soul from their body entirely. this does also seem to be a situation that was happening before the events of chapter 1, because kris is familiar with the soul. they know how to remove it. they know how to use it to seal dark fountains. i just don't think they realized how much danger they're in because of it until they met spamton.

the reason i think spamton is a sort of reflection of kris is because i think he's also under someone else's control (potentially the knight's control). after the normal route spamton neo fight, he talks about being free because of kris, susie, and ralsei. his neo form is a puppet, being controlled by something out of sight.

[paintedskinenthusiast]

I wish I had more to say about Jentry, because I honestly feel as connected to her story as I do Kit's in several respects and she's very important to me on an emotional level, but I'm very indecisive on how I want her to be in the aftermath of. All Of That. Chat should she get better or worse?/j

[darkclouds-rainsounds]

The above is a screenshot of one of tropes from Shadoo's section in the SPM TV Tropes page that caught my interest.

“Never mentioned to be killed...” Hm. If I go by my headcanon of how Dimentio fits into the story of the Pixl Uprising (i.e he's both the Magician's son and the surviving apprentice who defeated the Pixl Queen), then that would give another parallel of how Dimentio was once a hero who had a Pixl that could see the truth who stopped an antagonist who had the Dark Prognosticus who several thousand years later switched sides. And by another parallel, I mean it works perfectly alongside this.

The reason Shadoo exists (if they are the Pixl Queen) is because he couldn't go through with killing his sister; he cared for her too much and now here she is stuck at the bottom of the Flopside Pit of 100 Trials and wanting to exact revenge on the Ancients for sealing her away. Based on how Shadoo has a robotic text box and says that they were created by the Ancients, it can be presumed she forgot she was ever human. She forgot who she was.

Fast forward to the events of SPM and Dimentio's intended kill-shot for Count Bleck gets intercepted by Nastasia and knocks her unconscious in addition to injuring her. Either he had the power of that shot just enough to kill Bleck and no further and that's why Nastasia survived, because why waste precious energy? All he has to do is finish Count Bleck off who is already at death’s door thanks to the heroes.

Or Nastasia was just very fortunate to survive a full-powered blast. My money's on something like the former because Dimentio has well more than enough power to absolutely guarantee no one would survive an attack like that. (the average person who isn't a hero or built for combat— which Nastasia very much isn't— anyway.)

Then there's him saving O'Chunks and Mimi from what would have been certain death by teleporting them to Dimension D. We know they didn't end up in the same place as Peach and Bowser because neither they nor O'Chunks and Mimi make any mention of such. Pair that with the fact that the Void can't be seen from Dimension D and thus heavily implying that anyone inside it would survive the Void that would destroy everything else, and you're left with the only explanation of Dimentio having saved them. I do believe that Dimentio screwed up by not only "catching feelings" and he genuinely did care for the other minions deep down as much as he tries to deny that; and I have mentioned in a prior post about him putting all of the people who could have possibly done something about the Super Dimentio fusion in the same place.

If he hadn't cared as much as he did for them and just left them to their fates, he would have won. I feel that the reason why the floor came out under Bowser and O'Chunks is because of Dimentio— because why make a trap like that that is intended to kill any who don't make it out in time and then have it to where after a certain amount of time, it would give any of the heroes still inside who may somehow still be alive an escape and make a comeback? It makes no sense. And it's because of that, that Peach was able to survive by landing on top of Bowser.

Had he only teleported Bowser out and left O'Chunks, and teleported Peach while leaving Mimi, the minions wouldn't have been able to band together with Count Bleck and Tippi to recharge the Pure Hearts and destroy his invincibility. It was his inability to go through with killing them or just letting them die because he actually cared about them— cared too much— that caused his own undoing.

History literally repeats itself if one subscribes to believing Dimentio is both the Magician's son and the last surviving apprentice.

First Shadoo who may or may not be the Pixl Queen, was spared by her brother who couldn't bear to go through with killing her therefore causing future consequences for if she ever gets free. Then the minions— including Nastasia and Count Bleck who for the latter, Dimentio in his ever present wisdom decided to spare killing for later— with their love for each other that was allowed to continue existing all because he spared them for the time being, recharged the Pure Hearts and caused immediate consequences for himself and was the catalyst for his defeat.

In the first instance, he was on the “heroic” side. For the last he was on the “villainous” side.

[babieken]

I was expecting so much more from Again My Life considering lee jungi was its main character but it was such a let down...

[kneelbeforeclefairy]

What I think is most different and most striking about Sunrise on the Reaping is how CYNICAL it is. To some extent we knew it was going to be. This is a midquel. That the reapings go on and the Hunger Games only ends 25 years later is a forgeon conclusion. We know nothing that happens here is going to work.

The book is about implicit submission, and why, with numbers on their side, the many submit to the few, even when the few are unjust. And it's because, the book seems to say, numbers aren't ENOUGH. the Newcomers alliance is much bigger than the Careers. They should be able to team up and defeat them easily. But they don't. Eighteen of them are killed outright, because the Careers have the strength, the skill and the training. And that's just that.

Plutarch asks why the tributes don't overwhelm the Peacekeepers during training, and Haymitch is rightfully outraged at the privilege of this question. Why don't they? Because they probably couldn't kill them all, and even if they could, what good would it do? It wouldn't stop the Hunger Games. It wouldn't change a thing. No one would even know about it outside that room, because the Capitol would change the narrative. Just like Katniss and the Star Squad can't REALLY take on the Capitol single handed and assassinate the president, the scrappy alliance of kids can't really do any real damage to the system the Capitol has in place. All they can do is choose if they want to die now or later. So why don't they, if there's no difference to them, as Plutarch asks. Because, as Snow puts it. Hope. The slight chance that one of them will come out of it. And, more cynically, the hope that if they are good tributes and obey, their families will be left alone. If they choose to rebel and choose to die now they guarantee retaliation against their families and perhaps their entire district. We see that even in the tributes that attack the Gamemakers in the arena. They rise up, they break that bond of implicit submission--and they die bloody for it.

Why don't they rebel? Because they don't have the privilege to lose.

Even Lenore Dove, the Joan of Arc of Twelve, fails to do any real damage or have any real effect. All she does is get herself a reputation for being a trouble maker, and eventually get herself killed. Was she killed as part of the retaliation against Haymitch, or was her punishment because she's a rebel, and that's what happens to rebels? (and Snow hates covey girls.) but she fails because she IS alone. She focuses on small, symbolic acts that do nothing, but that she hopes will rally the people to action.Unfortunately, the people of Twelve don't want their lives to get any worse, and they don't have the privilege of spending time and energy on revolution the way a teenager girl whose family doesn't need her income to survive does--sadly, Twelve will remain this way, in an uncanny valley where they're beaten down enough to need change, but not enough to have NOTHING to lose. They are not one of the districts that rise up. So acting alone does nothing, teaming up does nothing. How does one fight an enemy with better technology, better weapons, and better organization? Beetee's plan doesn't work out. Of course it doesn't. Could it ever? Was it just borne out of grief for his son? And even if it had, then what? What was the plan? Haymitch's poster gets edited away. The Newcomers fail. Lenore Dove dies. The most you can say is Haymitch himself becomes too important to kill, like Beetee, and Snow let him live to fight another day, but so destroyed that he no longer WANTS to.

So, then, what WORKS?

The answer is, quite cynically, Plutarch's version of the world. Numbers mean something, there are more of US than there are of THEM , but that isn't enough. You need weapons, you can't bring a knife to a gun fight, you need EVERYONE on your side. You need organization, not just a series of disconnected rebellions, and you need an Army, provided by Thirteen, as problematic as they are. The timing just needs to be right. And most crucially, what I think Plutarch and everyone involved here learned is that victory belongs to those who control the narrative. Those who control the flow of information and tell their story. And it's not Plutarch, for all his cameras and his propos and his idea behind The Mockingjay, who eventually does that well.

It's Haymitch.

Who learned to tell a story and sell a narrative with himself and the Newcomers. Who tried to paint his poster in the arena only to see it rewritten in front of him. Who won't make that mistake again. When it's time for the deciding factor in the revolution, it's Haymitch who creates the Mockingjay-- and is he also using Katniss and her image? Yes. but he at least sees Katniss and the human she is inside it, unlike Plutarch who hasn't changed much from the man who makes a grieving family do reshoots over and over so he can get his footage, while congratulating himself for letting Haymitch have his goodbye.

When Katniss sets off the spark twenty five years later, the world is ready. The work is in place. Plutarch, Haymitch, Beetee, everyone can say GO , and this time it'll work. So buckle in, and wait for the Long Game, even though only Plutarch really has the privilege to wait, the rest of them don't have a choice. It's cynical. It's awful. People die. The lone rebels and the plucky girls and the alliance depending on its numbers all fail. Plutarch motherfucking Heavensbee, the richest of the rich the privilegedest of the privileged, pulls off the revolution, takes the credit, and lives to see the end of it, without ever once examining his own privilege, and unpacking the fact that despite his head being on the right side of history, he's never managed to see the Districts as PEOPLE . (and you could argue, ANYONE as people. ) But it's just the only way.

But this book isn't the middle of the series. It's the end. How awful would it be to read if we didn't know that Katniss and the Mockingjay rebellion would eventually succeed. We know that despite the cynism of a failed revolution and all its players, that one day it WILL work out. This book is called sunrise on the Reaping....the sun rises on a world where this is inevitable. But one day it won't be.

[lacydollette]

after bf!rafe surprises doll!reader by buzzing off his hair, she can't keep her hands to herself, feeling extremely horny whenever she looks at him

warnings: rafe x fem!reader, pure smut, praise, little degradation, making out, tit sucking, oral (fem receiving), face riding, explicit language, 18+

You lay sprawled on the lounger at tannyhill, sipping iced coffee, and scrolling lazily through your phone while tanning. You knew Rafe was up early today and had been out running errands for Ward, but he'd been gone for hours, and you were really starting to miss him. Just as you were considering calling him, the sound of the front door opening echoed through the house. You perked up, stretching lazily "About time, ray! How dare you keep me waiting so long.”

But when Rafe stepped into the room, you froze. Your mouth fell open slightly, sunglasses sliding down your nose as you took in the sight of him. His hair—his perfectly tousled, dirty-blond hair was gone. Completely buzzed down to almost nothing.

The sharp angles of his jawline, the slope of his cheekbones, and his ocean-blue eyes were suddenly the stars of the show, all of his features more prominent than ever. "Holy shit," you muttered, standing up slowly. Rafe smirked, trying to play it cool as he tossed his keys onto the counter. "What? You don't like it?"

"Are you kidding me?" You gasped, crossing the room in a daze. Your fingers reached out instinctively, brushing over the soft, short stubble of his buzzed hair. "You look... different." His grin widened as your hand lingered on his head while his found the curve of your ass. "Different good or different bad?"

You teasingly bit your lip, "Good," eyes locked on his. "Really, really good." Your fingers drifted down to his jaw, and you tilted your head, studying him like he was a work of art. "It makes your eyes pop even more. God, Rafe, why didn't you do this sooner?" He chuckled, taking your wrist and pressing a soft kiss to your palm. "Didn't know I needed your approval to change things up."

"You don't," you said quickly. "But, wow. Like, really, wow." Rafe’s ego was definitely fueled by your words, your approval meaning everything to him.

Everything else passed in a blur, but you couldn't keep your eyes, or your hands, off of your boyfriend. Every time he passed by, you reached out to touch his head or his face, not believing how effortlessly handsome he looked, stealing kisses amost every minute. And Rafe—well let’s face it. He absolutely loved it.

A little later, you were curled up on one end of the couch, watching Rafe as he sat on the other. He was sprawled out, completely manspreading right infront of you. Fucking tease. His phone was in his hand, and he looked completely absorbed in whatever he was doing. His jaw clenched slightly as he concentrated, his brows furrowing just enough to make him look impossibly sexy.

You couldn't take it anymore.

Without an ounce of hesitation, you jumped up and crawled over to him, grabbing his phone and tossing it onto the cushion beside him. "Hey, what the-" Rafe started, but his words were cut off as you climbed onto his lap, straddling him. Your hands were on his face in an instant, lips crashing against his in a heated kiss.

Rafe froze for half a second before groaning against your mouth, his hands sliding up your plush thighs to grip your waist. "You're killing me, Rafe," you murmured breathlessly between kisses, your fingers threading through the short stubble of his buzzed hair. "You look so fucking good. I can't even think straight."

"Yeah?" he rasped, his voice low and teasing. "Is that why you're humping my leg like a bitch in heat right now?" You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, eyes dark with desire. "Shut up," you whispered, kissing him again.

Rafe growled against your lips as the kiss deepened, both of you losing yourselves in the heat of the moment. Your hands roamed over his broad shoulders and down his chest, your red nails scraping lightly against the fabric of his shirt, desperate to feel more of him. His hands were just as eager, gripping your hips firmly, pulling you flush against him as your bodies rubbed against each other.

"Doll," he murmured against your mouth, his voice low and full of want. Without warning, Rafe's hands slid under your thighs, gripping you firmly as he stood up in one fluid motion, taking you with him. You gasped, instinctively wrapping your legs around his waist as he carried you toward his bedroom. "You're not playing fair," you teased, breathless, as your arms looped around his neck. "Fair's overrated," Rafe shot back, smirking as he kicked the door shut behind him.

He tossed you onto his bed, your hair splaying out across his pillows as you landed with a soft gasp. Before you could say a word, he pulled his shirt off in one swift motion, revealing his toned chest and making your heart race even faster. He was on you in seconds, his hands braced on either side as he hovered over you, his ocean-blue eyes dark with hunger.

"God, you're so fucking beautiful," he murmured, leaning down to kiss you again. Your hands roamed over his bare chest, tracing the hard lines of muscle and pressing against his warm skin. You arched into him, your body craving every bit of contact you could get. His lips moved down to your neck, nipping and sucking just enough to leave faint marks.

As his hands slid under your top, pulling it up and over your head, you let out a soft whimper, desire building with every touch. Rafe pulled back slightly, his gaze raking over you, taking in the sight of your perky tits. You were perfect. He immediately leaned in, capturing one of your nipples between his lips. You tugged him closer, nails digging into his shoulders as you whimpered out, "I need you, Rafe."

His breath hitched at the raw need in your voice, his hands sliding down your sides as he licked and sucked all over your chest, his touch leaving your cunt aching for him. "Tell me what you want," he said against your skin, rough and low. You pressed your head into the pillow, biting down on your bottom lip, "I want to sit on your face."

Rafe froze for half a second before a devilish grin spread across his lips. "Yeah?" he said, his voice laced with amusement and excitement. You nodded eagerly, licking your lips as you looked up at him with anticipation. "Whatever you want, Doll," he said, his voice dropping even lower as he leaned back, settling himself against the pillows and pulling you with him “Come here."

Your pulse raced as you straddled his chest, hands braced on his shoulders as you hovered over him. Rafe's hands slid up your thighs, his digits pulling the soft lace of your soaked panties to the side. "Shit—you’re drippin’, baby.” he murmured, his blue eyes locked on your as you positioned yourself over him.

Rafe’s hands gripped your hips, holding you in place as he kissed your inner thighs, his touch sending sparks through your entire body. You threw your head back, a soft moan escaping your lips at Rafe's teasing. He didn’t waste anymore time though, his tongue lapping through your wet folds, leaving you gasping for air.

“Such a sweet fucking pussy.” he mumbled quietly, his hot breath against your core sent shivers down your spine. You gripped the headboard for balance, head tilted back, a soft cry escaping your lips as you shuddered against him.

"ray—oh my god," you whimpered, voice shaky as you rutted your soaking cunt against him, his lips wrapping around your sensitive nub, sucking and circling his tongue as if his life depended on it. Your fingers instinctively drifted to his buzz cut, the soft, bristly feel of it only adding to your overwhelming senses. You couldn't stop touching it, letting your nails lightly scrape across his scalp as you rocked against him.

"That.." you breathed, voice trembling, "feels so fucking good." The sound of your voice, so needy and desperate, only spurred him on. His grip on you tightened, helping to drag your cunt against his tongue. “you’re gonna make a mess for me, baby?” he groaned, his blue eyes looking up at you from between your legs. You nodded hastily, the band in your lower stomach about to snap as Rafe moaned against your clit. within moments, you fell apart completely, body trembling as you released all over him, moaning out his name.

You were panting as Rafe lapped up your juices, overstimulating your poor cunt as your legs trembled, “Shit.” Carefully sliding off of him, you leaned down and kissed him, tasting yourself on his lips. Your hands found his head again, fingers stroking the soft buzz as your body pressed close to his. "You really can't stop touching it, huh?" he teased, his blue eyes glinting with amusement. You grinned, cheeks still flushed from your orgasm. "Can you blame me? You look so good, rafey. It's actually insane."

He chuckled, his hand sliding down to rest on your hip. "If l'd known buzzing my head would make you act like a needy little slut, I would've done it a long time ago." You rolled your eyes, yet you couldn’t help the tingling sensation in between your legs. "I'm serious," he murmured, smirking. "I'm definitely keeping it now. If this is what I get, l'm never growing it out again."

"You better not," you teased back. Rafe let out a low chuckle, but his amusement faded quickly as your lips attached themselves to his jawline, your eagerness reawakening. Your teeth grazed his neck before you pulled back to meet his gaze. "I want more, Rafe." His blue eyes darkened, and a cocky smirk spread across his lips.

"You want more, huh? Still can’t get enough of that shit?"

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[my-name-is-mine-to-know]

Hello. Your turn. Tell me a story. Anything. Fiction. Non fiction. Whimsical. Literally anything. Just tell me. Also, you’re awesome, have an absolutely fantastic day.

Okay so firstly I would like to sincerely apologize for just how long it took me to answer this; I don't even know how long it was but I know that it was too much time. Like, I probably got this a year ago at least. Man. Anyway, here's the story! It might be a bit rough but it was fun to write so here ya' go:

Maybe flower picking… wasn’t the best idea.

Jess had thought it would be fun and productive: he liked botany but hadn’t familiarized himself with the local flora, and handpicked/arranged flowers would be much more meaningful than a box of over-sweet chocolates from Walmart. He loved Emmy and wanted to show it.

He’d even prepared for less-than-desirable scenarios! He made sure to learn all that his girlfriend was allergic to, and had memorized any and all potentially problematic plants that might grow in his climate (looking at you, wood nettle).

Jess had departed for the forest around 6:00 AM, and was planning to go back home around 2:00 PM. He’d packed a lunch of a sandwich and some snacks including grapes and trail-mix. He wore his good hiking boots and a waterproof windbreaker in case of rain. The news had said there was a 30% chance, and, while it was currently sunny and clear, one could never be too careful. It was shaping up to be a nice day.

If only reality revolved around him. Then, it might have abided by his request for a peaceful and pleasant trip.

Reality did not, in fact, revolve around Jess.

Reality, at least for that day, had decided to revolve around one bunny in particular, and to grant said bunny’s wishes of grandeur, which happened to include tormenting Jess at every chance it got.

It was adorable and unassuming at first, bumping its forehead on his boot while he was resting on a rock, eating his grapes. Jess knew, of course, to never feed wildlife, but really, it was so fluffy and harmless. What could one grape do?

Let this be a lesson to all those reading: NEVER tempt the fates by asking such an arrogant, unnecessary, and open-ended question. They will always hear your taunts, cackle with glee at the prospect of a new victim, and proceed to fuck up the rest of your day, week, or even life, depending on just how stupid your question was.

Case in point: the bunny would not. Stop. Following him.

At first, it had been cute, but now it was getting really annoying. It kept bumping into Jess asking for food. Then it graduated to running in front of him blocking his path. Then it figured out what flowers he was after and proceeded to go chomp/stomp on then whenever he spotted a sprout, and he was pretty sure some of them, bunnies shouldn’t eat!

All of these problems were small and could be easily solved by just going faster, but he didn’t want to go faster. Jess had wanted to have fun exploring the forest and picking flowers. That’s all he’d wanted when he came.

Now, he very much wanted to pick up a certain bunny and chuck it into a clearing so perfect it would never leave. The other option was to drop-kick it into a river and watch scream and die, which would be far more cathartic, but would also be sad. He didn’t want to live with blood on his hands. Or water and bunny fur.

The third option, of course, would be to ignore the bunny entirely and hope it would give up eventually. Due to the distinct lack of heavenly clearings in the area, it would have to do.

————

Well.

It’s been three hours.

The bunny has not left Jess’s side for even a minute. Going to the bathroom had been incredibly uncomfortable.

He gave up.

He wasn't getting any good flowers except for the three he'd gotten before encountering the bunny, he was tired, it was not rainy and was in fact very hot so his water was running low, and writing a nice little note and buying some chocolate was looking infinitely more appealing by the second.

Jess decided to simply leave the forest. The bunny could follow if it wanted, but Jess would just keep going until the bunny realized how far it was from home and desisted or was locked outside of his house forever. Jess didn't care which.

He walked along the river to the edge of the forest, he trudged through the clearing between the edge of town and the forest, he got onto the sidewalk and followed it until he got to the crosswalk, he timed it with the cars so that he would get across it safely, if tightly, and-

A squeal. A very loud squeal. A screech, even. Of pain, specifically. Followed by a crunch.

Jess turned sharply at the noise, looking to see what it was...

There was a red smudge on the road interspersed with bits of white fluff and pink meat.

Oh... oh no... oh dear, that was-

Jess gagged and brought a hand up to his mouth to stop himself from vomiting all over the road and hurried to the sidewalk before he got run over. After that, he walked home quickly and silently, barely seeing the road in front of him.

Once he got home, he looked at the three flowers in his hand, now crumpled by his anxiety and shock, and thunked his head on the wall, resigned to chocolate.