#and the damp grass smelled very specific and nice

[bluewindfall]

3 good things

It was kind of warmer today?

Kind of just chilled at rotation

All my patients were nice at work today T. T

[forasecondtherewedwon]

3 Simple Rules for Dating a Centenarian - ch. 2

Fandom: The Falcon and the Winter Soldier Pairing: Sam Wilson/Bucky Barnes Rating: T Chapters: 2/2

Read chapter one on Tumblr.

Chapter two summary: Sam and Bucky talk after their date op in Germany.

“Four,” Bucky says.

Sam, plodding down the road beside him, turns to stare. His sidekick (and fuck him if Bucky’s thinking of Sam in the same terms) has his chin lifted, moving his gaze back and forth across the horizon in a slow sweep. With the lines of trees planted as windbreaks around the fields, they can’t see the highway from here. It could be nice, without the rushing noise of cars and trucks, if Bucky knew how to shut up. That sorta pout his mouth does when his face is in its sour resting position—that’s what Sam wants to see. Only because it means Bucky wouldn’t be talking and Sam could maybe find a few minutes of peace, some quiet in which to consider the Flag-Smashers they just fought.

“Four what?” he demands when Bucky doesn’t continue.

Can’t be hostiles. If Bucky had spotted anybody, he wouldn’t still be striding along, looking unconcerned. No, he’d be running flat-out towards their adversaries like the rash moron he’s always accusing Steve of having been. Trying to leave Sam in the dust until Sam kicked off and spread his wings.

“Four stars,” Bucky says, carefully, clearly, like that clears anything up.

“What are you doing? Rating our trip down the highway? That was a transport truck full of medicine and super-soldiers, not an Uber.”

Sam’s grinning to himself when Bucky turns his head to glare. Ah. So gratifying. Amends sound good in theory, but Bucky’s irritation is so much simpler in practice. Sam knows how to handle that. He’ll take the grouchy stewing post-mission over having to meet Bucky’s eyes across a table, the promised snapper dinner laid out in front of them. They haven’t gotten around to that yet.

“I’m not rating the ride,” Bucky says, “I’m rating our date.”

That trips Sam up, but just for a second.

“No, no, no, dates don’t end with me rescuing you from the underside of a truck.”

“You didn’t rescue me.”

“Man, those wheels would’ve turned you into ground beef,” Sam says with a snort.

“I doubt it. Fell two hundred feet without a parachute today and I’m fine.”

“You want a second opinion on that?”

Instead of watching Bucky’s scowl deepen at the joke, Sam sees his expression flatten out. It makes Sam narrow his eyes in suspicion.

“What?” he prompts.

“You’re wrong,” Bucky states plainly.

“About what those wheels would do to you? We can test it when we’re back stateside if you want. I’ll requisition a truck.”

“Not about that.”

Sam’s looking closely, so he spots the smile. A curl at the corner of Bucky’s mouth. He hopes, secretly, that Bucky is scanning the surroundings well enough for both of them, because Sam’s attention is homed in on this little sign of Bucky’s amusement.

“About the end of the date,” Bucky finally clarifies.

“Mission. The end of the mission, when I rescued you.”

“The end of the date, when I was on top of you.”

Something to throw with all his strength, that’s what Sam needs right now. Some physical outlet for how badly he wants to fling the creeping, seeking, aching things he’s feeling very far away from himself. He wonders if Steve ever just whipped the shield as hard as he could to vent his frustrations. It’s hot as hell out here under the sun and Sam can feel the dampness of his chest inside his suit, the sweat riding his spine.

He takes a deep breath through his nose, fine with the scent of manure and getting nothing but grass instead. Like inhaling the colour green. Smells like the field they landed in. Landed in and went barreling across until, yeah, Sam wound up on his back with Bucky above him, their arms fastened around each other like life preservers or umbilical cords or anything else tight and necessary for keeping people alive. Goddamn nose-to-nose. Over the phone, Sam could brush Bucky off. When he says this shit in person, Sam has nowhere to go, besides extending the wings and launching himself into the sky. But he doesn’t want to overreact (doesn’t want Bucky to see him overreact).

“You just calling it a date because you don’t have rules for those?” Sam asks, deflecting.

“My three rules, you mean?” Bucky asks. He loses the smile.

“Right.”

“They’re for… everything. Supposed to be a blanket rollout, not doing anything illegal or that’ll hurt anybody in any aspect of my life. I’m sure the rules go for dating too, though Dr. Raynor and I didn’t really talk about those specific circumstances.”

“I think you might’ve mostly stuck to those rules today. I don’t think we hurt those guys.”

“Maybe you didn’t—”

“Get over yourself.”

“You’re a rude date,” Bucky notes. He’s looking straight ahead. No, not looking, staring. Like he does.

“I didn’t even invite you,” Sam says, refusing to correct this bonehead again about what kind of outing this was. “You walked onto that plane.”

“You wanted me to come.”

“Didn’t need you.”

“Oh really?” Bucky challenges. Sam clenches his jaw as he avoids meeting Bucky’s gaze.

“Hey, I was still in the air while you were clinging to that truck like a toddler to their dad’s leg.”

“You were in the air, but for how long?” Bucky asks, halting and grabbing Sam’s arm. Sam shakes him off in annoyance but stops too. “Until the Flag-Smashers knocked you out or broke your wings like they broke Redwing. They were mopping the floor with you.”

“And it was so damn useful to have you there to be the other mop,” Sam says sarcastically.

“If you’d put me back on the truck instead of in the field, we mighta had a shot at them.”

Bucky’s hands go to his hips, his Vibranium arm gleaming in the sun. He’s going to have to say more about that White Wolf thing. Wondering where the hell Bucky’s sleeve went and refusing to ask, Sam crosses his arms tightly over his chest.

“We had no shot. Not today, not without more information.”

“Information takes too long.”

“That’s what a successful op is,” Sam stresses, chopping the side of one hand into his opposite palm. “Intelligence gathering, corroboration, planning, execution. Information is what tells you to hang back instead of throwing yourself into a fight you’re not prepared enough to win.”

“We were already here. We couldn’t just let them leave.”

“Don’t worry about the hypotheticals now; them leaving is exactly what happened.”

“Unless Captain America has ’em on the ropes,” Bucky says deadpan.

“I hope they pushed him off the back of one of those trucks.”

“Were you thinking about that while we were up there with him?”

“At the time, I was thinking about pushing you off the back of the truck for getting us into that situation,” Sam explains, “that’s why I can picture it so clearly. See, Buck? I always have a plan.”

“Just like Steve.”

“No, not just like Steve.”

Sam pushes past Bucky to start walking again. After a couple steps, Bucky’s back at his side.

“You think the new guy had a plan?” he asks. “I don’t.”

“I don’t give a shit.”

“Sure you do.”

“Are you trying to get me to talk now? Mr. ‘I’m not a words guy’? Fine,” Sam huffs, tired from everything inside him that’s pushing to get out rather than their leisurely walk down a country road. Even so, he walks faster, almost stomping, and Bucky has to lope up next to him to stay in step. “I don’t think he had a plan. I don’t think he could fasten that dumb helmet on his head without a direct order. I don’t think he and his partner found us on their own initiative.”

“They work pretty smoothly as a team though,” Bucky tosses out.

“That looked like familiarity, not the result of inspiring leadership on the part of the Captain.”

“And not as good as us.”

Sam sends Bucky poisonous side-eye.

“I’m not trying to lead you.”

“I don’t wanna be led,” Bucky replies. “We fight together better than they do and that’s with you pretending you hate me.”

“Oh, I don’t need to pretend.” The comment is habit.

“All I’m saying is that it’s better. The two of us being out here doing this stuff together.”

“Especially with that dick waiting in the wings.”

Bucky stares at him long enough that Sam turns his head to stare back. When he does, Bucky glances away, but Sam knows where he was looking—at his back, where his wings are folded away.

“Waiting in the wings is a figure of speech,” he tells Bucky angrily.

“It’s perfect though. I always think of you as that dick in the wings.”

Sam exhales hard through his nose.

“I hope you don’t always think of me as anything.”

“I do. I always think of you.”

Freefall doesn’t jar Sam, no more than what he can remember it feeling like when he was a little kid and his dad would toss him into the air before catching him again. But what Bucky says changes the physics of his insides, the gravity all wrong with his organs. Heart plummeting then trying to sail straight up his throat like a balloon somebody just let go of.

Then Bucky adds, “You and that shield.”

“Drop it.”

He could just fly to the airport, leave Bucky here with plenty of time to think his stupid, shield-related thoughts. Maybe this smartass would have all the answers by the time he reached the plane, or Munich, if they went wheels-up without him. The truth is that the shield—and the Captain America persona—are on Sam’s mind just as much as they’re on Bucky’s, only he manages to keep those thoughts locked up tight. He has to make sure that shit’s contained, particularly if the new poster boy’s going to turn up like this. Sam doesn’t need that in his face.

As they walk, he glances at Bucky, who’s probably as aware of it as Sam is when Bucky gives him that stare. Blue as the sky overhead and heavy as a boulder. The realization that, although he didn’t mean to lead, Bucky followed him here, and continues to stick with him, is staggering. The pages of his mental photo album flip and he sees Steve crack a grin. It’s not like that, Sam tells that blond do-gooder, young in his memories. The only blond do-gooder who ever has or ever will look right with his arm threaded through the straps of the shield.

Maybe, maybe, this thing could work. Him and Bucky running ops, doing better at not getting their asses kicked in front of the government’s hand-picked hero. But Bucky’s gotta let that shit go. Since the Blip, Sam’s been trying to fly under the radar and that’s what he wants to continue doing. He doesn’t need to be showy, just effective; he doesn’t want to get dragged into some Cap vs. Cap contest, the inheritor against the upstart. If Bucky would take the time to think and listen, they could figure this out and be good. And do good. Understanding each other the way Sam wanted when he called Bucky up and they talked about Tunisia and rules and fish dinners. Bucky could make his jokes and, the next time, Sam could call his bluff. Show that gruff, rusty motherfucker what a real date looks like. What kind of team could they be? All kinds.

“Are we even going the right way?” Bucky asks after a half-hour of silence.

“Yes,” Sam says firmly.

He actually hasn’t checked. After they untangled themselves in that field, he just started walking, too keyed up to establish their position. He wonders if the grass still shows their path, crushed where they rolled to a stop.

“You sure?”

“Uh huh.”

“Got any thoughts you wanna share?” Bucky asks. Sam frowns and steals a glance at him. “What? I told you I’ve been going to therapy. I know the importance of a healthy dialogue.”

Sam tries to force his mouth to keep curving down, but he really wants to smile. Bucky’s not the worst company and he is obviously capable of growth.

“A question,” he says.

“If it’s sarcastic, I’m not—”

“Four outta what?”

“What?”

“You said four stars,” Sam reminds him. “Is that four outta five or four outta ten?”

Bucky’s smile spreads slowly, smugly, and Sam rolls his eyes hard. He’s no more aggravated by Bucky than he is by his own need to know. ‘Four stars’ was an incomplete assessment! Typical.

“I hate you,” he says.

Still smiling away, Bucky sways into Sam as he walks, their arms brushing. Could be an accident.

But probably not.

[maraudersftw]

7 or 26 for the prompt asks? ❤️

Thank you so much for the ask, Mia! I’m going for 26 in fluff (”you’re really warm”) because we all know I’m a slut for mutual pining!Jily.

Little Triumphs

“Lily, where are you going?” Marlene yelled when I broke away from the group, her arm slung across Mary’s shoulder, “Come on, there’s sure to be a party soon.”

“I’ll enjoy the peace and quiet for a while, thanks!” I shouted back, making my way towards the Great Lake, “The team’s going to take some time to return to the common room anyway.”

“Alright, see you!”

“Don’t be late, Evans!” Mary yelled with a small wave, the pair of them disappearing with the crowd as they made their way back to the castle.

I took off my sneakers and socks, settling down on the lakeside and unwrapping the scarlet and gold scarf from around my neck. Letting my toes curl around the damp grass, I closed my eyes and leaned back on my hands. The sun had almost set over the horizon, the last few minutes of its warm rays washing over my skin in the most pleasant of ways.

It’d been a rather long afternoon, the Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw having run for over four hours. The seekers on both sides had constantly been in a touch-and-go state and several feints were attempted to fool the opponent team. By the end, even the spectators on the stands had grown tired of shouting and the adrenaline had all but dried up. When the whistle finally sounded, signaling that Gryffindor had managed to catch the snitch, ending the match with a lead of hundred and eighty points, the stands had erupted into one of the loudest cheers I had ever experienced during my entire time at Hogwarts.

Not that I was anyone to judge, being one of those madly screaming spectators myself. My eyes had been trained onto a very specific player for most of the game, whose grin had been visible even from a great distance, erupting pathetic little butterflies in the pit of my stomach.

He was also incidentally the captain of the bloody team and my best-mate, which meant I’d been able to conjure up a banner with his name on it without drawing any suspicion to my glaring crush on the blighter.

Not that I cared. I just wished he’d catch on to the hints I kept dropping already. It was getting rather ridiculous.

Just the other day, I’d all but gone and sat on his lap, and even Sirius—whose lack of subtlety was notorious throughout the school—had shaken his head pityingly at me when all I’d received for my attempts was a pleasant smile and a simple ‘hullo, Evans.’

Well, he could shove his hullo—

“Why didn’t you come congratulate me?”

A smile spread across my face at the voice, knowing he’d come looking for me using that brilliant map of his. Not that he could’ve missed my noticeable hair blazing in the orange light on his way up to the castle, but I allowed myself the happiness of thinking it was the former since he was alone.

“You were rather busy with your admirers.”

“Are you jealous, Evans?” He asked, dropping down onto the grass beside me. My eyes moved to look at him, a cheeky smile pulling back to reveal his straight, white teeth, the happiness all but spilling from his eyes, and the light shining on his damp, dark hair, meaning he’d taken a shower already. I was glad for that—I could smell the clean soap and Jamesness off of him from this close. “You know you don’t need to be.”

“Yes, Potter,” I rolled my eyes, bumping his shoulder with mine and not entirely able to keep the grin from my face either, “Thank you so much for that assurance.”

“I thought you’d come,” He said, his voice slightly softer as he looked at me with a strange expression.

“Were you looking for me?”

“Well, you know, yeah,” He said, and my heart swelled like a balloon, “everyone else was there, even the lads.”

I rolled my eyes again, wishing he’d move beyond thinking of me as one of ‘the lads’, even though I did adore the group of idiots with all my heart. Pulling out some more of my Gryffindor courage, I decided to go for another reckless try. “That’s precisely why I wasn’t there, James. I wanted you all to myself.”

My eyes didn’t miss the red spots that appeared on his cheeks at my words and hope bloomed in my chest, but the git just laughed, trying to cover up his flustered state, “You know you can pull me away anytime you want, Lily.”

I almost groaned out loud, but reined it in just enough that it came out as a heavy exhale, and dropped my head onto his shoulder. Almost immediately, his arm came around to wrap around me and pull me closer to his side.

"I know I don't need to tell you this, but you were brilliant. As always."

"No harm in hearing you say it."

I closed my eyes and smiled, letting silence settle over us as the sun finally disappeared over the horizon. We sat there like that for a while, and I didn’t know what he was thinking, but it didn’t matter—it felt nice, just having him hold me like that. Like it didn’t matter that he couldn’t speak the words I so longed to hear, for his touch told me enough.

“You’re really warm,” His voice was a husky sound that pulled at my heartstrings. “How long have you been sitting here?”

“I was waiting for you.”

“Hmm,” I could hear the pleased note in just that little hum, “Well, I’m here now.”

“I can see that, James,” I laughed, “Do you want to go inside?”

“To the party, you mean?”

“Yes. And to great food and Firewhiskey, as I’m sure the boys have already arranged from Hogsmeade.”

He was quiet for a while, and I wondered if he was going to reply at all, but then his lips settled gently on the crown of my head. “In some time, maybe.”

“Good.”

[venom-visor]

✿ - DECAY - an old memory, from childhood perhaps

Dingo had been planning this for him for months now.

He runs through it again. Wait for guard shift to change, unscrew air vent cover, go down the unblocked vent, then short hallway, then a left, then a window, then outside. Outside.

...outside.

He can't think about that now– he'll forget something and ruin this shot. Gotta run it through again.

He nervously rubs his thumb over the clock face of the watch stowed in his pocket– the three-hours-and-seventeen-minutes-off pocket watch.

Run through it again.

The light from the slim window 40 feet above him will reach the mark Dingo'd left on the wall, meaning the guard watching the security feed will have left the room to switch with the night guard (who's always late, and barely pays attention).

He'll use the screwdriver he hid in his shirt to take out the two screws left on the air vent, and quickly climb in and hold the vent cover in place. He'll wait until security saw nothing– assuming he was under his bed again. He'd been doing that for months now. For this. The guard will get bored and switch away, indicated by the tiny red light on the side of the camera switching off, that he'd been training himself to watch. He'll set down the cover and continue.

The path he needs will be the unblocked right vent at the second fork. He'll have to very Very Gingerly work his way down so as not to hit the bottom too loud and be found out. Then on. The end of the vent will be uncovered. It will. Dingo promised. He'll be out the other side in time to get down the hall before the next guard came around the corner on their patrol path. Exactly six minutes after the light touches the mark.

Then he'll need to wait.

Hiding behind the left corner down that hall is a camera blindspot. The end of the hall down that corner, however, is not. He won't be able to see the camera until it can see him, so he will need to wait. Dingo will be waiting to distract the camera's viewer at EXACTLY ten minutes after the light touches the mark.

Past that is a door directly outside. Before going through, he'll need to grab a blanket hidden behind some storage crates. Camo print specifically colored for this area of Tantalus. Dingo's. From there, it's just space. Open, grassy flat space. He'll have the blanket around his shoulders to easily cover if a light or guard gets too close. Dingo had shown him a crude map of the patrol paths, and how to avoid them. He burned it into his memory.

At the thirty minute mark, the guards at the southwest gate take a break and a clunky bot takes their place for ten minutes. The bot can't turn it's head or hear, so getting behind it and waiting for it to swivel is no issue. And past that gate he just needs to avoid the guards and lights until he gets to the small town directly west of the gate. He should still see the sun setting. If he's on time.

He'll need to be checking the seconds on that pocket watch constantly.

"This is the most important part," Dingo had told him, "if you forget to check it, or you're even a second off, this could all fail."

He had practiced checking it without looking. Silently listening for the ticking. Holding his breath and ignoring the thrum of his heart.

Tick, tick, t-tick

Tick, tick, t-tick

Dingo will meet him there and get him smuggled off world. He can't come with him. He has to stay. The plan will have been for nothing if he goes with.

It's time.

His breath is shuddering, his movements are less smooth than desired, but he gets the grate off of the vent, slips in, and holds it.

He stares at the camera light, holding his breath.

He counts the seconds.

It feels like hours.

It's been a whole minute.

The light flicks off.

He gently sets down the cover and quietly shimmies through the vent. 57, 58, 59...

Two minutes.

He passes the first fork, feeling it out in the pitch black dark, and reaches the second. He feels his way to the right vent and stops. He fumbles with the ragged laces of his shoes. He holds them tightly in one hand. 59...

Three minutes.

With the quietest bare-footed movements, and as gingerly as a trembling 14-year-old can, he climbs down the drop-off. 13, 14, 15– Anxiously, he counts. He's taking too long! 26– He doesn't know how far the end of the vent is– 48– He had taken too long holding the vent cover– 57– taken too long to find the way– 59–

Four minutes.

His feet find the bottom. He almost slips from surprise, but keeps his grip. The vent is, blessedly, right there. Open, and about five feet away. He peeks his head out. The hall is empty, he made it in time. He quietly drops down from the vent, eyes on the camera mounted next to it on the wall. It turns. 47, 48, 49... It turns back. 50, 51, 52... The red light flicks off. 53. He dashes down the hall and around the corner. 56. He sits and begins tying his shoes, still counting. 57, 58, 59...

Five minutes.

He stills and listens. 31, 32... He hears slow boot sole on concrete. 45, 46... Not running, no alarm. 55, 56... As it nears the other end of the hall, he holds his breath. 58, 59...

Six minutes.

The footsteps pass.

5, 6, 7...

He breathes a quiet, shaking sigh. 12, 13... It's now that he notices the trembling in his hands– 23, 24– had that been happening this entire time? 26, 27– He isn't sure, but he clenches and relaxes his hands a few times to lessen it. He breathes deep, focusing on keeping his tattoo from lighting. He continues counting the seconds. 58, 59...

Seven minutes.

He pulls the screwdriver back out and looks it over. Could this be any help if he gets caught? 37, 38– Nothing would be any help if he gets caught.

Eight minutes.

Nine minutes.

He stares down the hall, adrenaline picking back up. 14, 15, 16, 17– This is about to be it, the one part that's a true leap of faith. 28, 29– What if Dingo was wrong? What if something happened and he got hung up and won't make it there in time? 36, 37, 38– What if he got caught? 41, 42– What if they noticed something off and he's already dead?!

...

He lost count.

...

He lost count!

He panics– he has to guess now! He pulls the pocket watch out– what time was it when he left? If he can remember, he can jump right back in–

He can't remember!!

All he remembers is the second hand being at three. He watches the second hand ticking from the two towards the three and sighs in relief. He can get right back on. He waits. He makes his way further down the hall, to the edge of the camera's blindspot. The hand reaches three.

Ten minutes?

He peeks out just a sliver, just enough for one eye to see the camera. He continues counting, 1, 2, 3... It's stationary, facing an inner wall. He quickly sweeps across the small room, before reaching behind a crate nearest the door. It's there. The blanket ties easily around his shoulders, and he's out the door before he can over-think. 21, 22, 23...

The air smells of gasoline and copper– but also of damp earth and plants freshly rained on.

He basks in it.

Crouched here, catching his breath next to the closed door, he wonders if anywhere else could possibly have air this nice. This... wonderful.

He pulls the blanket up over his head in a makeshift hood and begins quickly and quietly making his way to and fro, darting between patches of dirt and shrubs, making his way to the nearest gate– the southwest gate. 58, 59–

Eleven minutes.

Then twelve.

Then thirteen.

He quietly scrambles back to a previous shrub, having nearly been caught in the beam of one of the many spotlights atop the surrounding outer wall of the complex. Almost caught, but not yet. He mentally clings to the numbers, drowning his panic. 57, 58, 59–

Fourteen minutes.

Then fifteen.

The gate isn't too far now. He can see the open archway in the wall, arcing over the worn dirt road that leads outside. Outside of all this. Outside of everything he's ever known. The two guards stand, backs towards each other, facing out each side. He waits for a light to pass before dashing to a spot against the wall, the grass high and untended.

Sixteen minutes.

He slowly shuffles, sticking against the wall and in the tall grass. Closer, and closer still. 23, 24, 25, 26– He sees the small decorative grassbeds that flank each side of the road inward, having symetrycal sets of shrubs, trees and decorative grasses. 38, 39– He stops. 40, 41– The neglected plants around the complex seemed a far cry from these ones. He carefully peeks down the path, back towards the buildings. A thinner, taller building than the one he left. The road becomes paved about twenty feet from the gate. 47, 48– The building looks better cared for, too. He squints. There's a sign about 25ft from him, but it's much too far to read. 58, 59–

Seventeen minutes.

He shakes his head. 5, 6, 7– He can't afford to get distracted. He waits for a passing guard to make their way up the road, and dashes to one of the decorative shrubs. 26, 27, 28– He gets comfortable in his hiding spot to take a real breather, knowing the wheezing will only get him caught. He's right in front of the gate. Breathe, just breathe. 58, 59–

Eighteen minutes.

What is life like? Outside these walls?

Every past escape attempt always failed before he could see the trees beyond. He'd never gotten close enough to a gate like this. Never close enough to see the winding path the dirt road takes. Close enough to see the way the horizon ridges up from the valley. To see the lamplight of a small town nestled at the bottom.

Nineteen minutes.

The sun makes it's way beyond the edge of the ridge. That town's straight towards it's descent. Probably the one he's headed for. What is it gonna be like? Probably big and crowded, he thinks. Everywhere feels big or crowded when you've lived in one room by yourself.

Twenty minutes, then twenty one, then twenty two...

He pulls out the pocket watch and counts to himself– it should say three hours and seventeen minutes when the guards are supposed to switch out. 12, 13– Knowing this makes him feel a bit more in control, despite continuing counting the seconds. 34, 35– He'd never heard much about other worlds. Where would he even go? Dingo seemed to have a very specific place in mind, with how regimented the plan is, so where? What kind of place would be able to hide him? 57, 58, 59–

Twenty three minutes.

Then twenty four, and twenty five.

His mind goes blank, save for the counting.

...58, 59–

Twenty six.

...58, 59–

Twenty seven.

...58, 59–

Twenty eight.

The guards are chatting about something, too far to hear the words clearly. They seem relaxed.

...58, 59–

Twenty nine.

They move from their spots, still idly discussing something, and a door in the side of the gate opens to reveal and old, thoroughly rusted robot. 13, 14, 15– Slowly, it ca-clunks out. It's vaguely human-shaped– cylindrical center with two jagged zigzags for legs. No arms, he notes, but a large (if decrepit) multi-chamber gun mounted on it's shoulder. 37, 38– It's head is more reminiscent of a large aluminum can than a head– with a small flashlight and with only one cracked lens for an eye. The two guards wait for it to– with a hiss from the hydraulics– set into place. One says something to the other with a smile, and the other chuckles. 56, 57– They vanish into the door, closing it behind them. 58, 59–

Now.

He watches the bot carefully. 8, 9– He needs to know it's pattern. Ten minutes is all he has to learn. The bot and light turn, painfully slow, illuminating the inside of the walls. Then it turns, just as fast, to the outside. Then back, the same way. It doesn't turn behind it. Yet. He watches still, for a whole minute.

It turns around, looking inward and outward. He notes that.

Then turns back around, doing the same in the other direction.

Over the minute he counts, the bot repeats this pattern. Turns left, turns right, turns further right. Then left, right, further right again.

He braces himself. 57, 58, 59–

One minute.

He dashes behind the bot. It swivels– left, right, further right. Circling around, he keeps himself behind it and never taking his eyes off it. Left, right, further right. Mirroring it's movements. Left, right, further right.

He's out.

Immediately, he darts for the treeline. He's free. Free. He just has to make it to town now. His legs are so tired, never once in his life has he walked and ran this much. Had this much space to move. Do people get this everyday?

He hears a squeak. He looks.

A car comes to a halt, thirty feet down the road from him.

He didn't see it.

Staring down that bot so intently.

He didn't see the car.

There's no way they didn't see him.

A person gets out of the car, holding what looks like a cup of something. Steam rises from it as they peer over the hood.

He holds his breath.

They look right at him in the foliage, smirk, and motion to the other people in the car.

Guards.

He runs.

Still having the inhibitors on, he struggles to summon up any little bit of power. Behind him, an alarm blares. He prays for wings, begs. He's been in one room his whole life. He's outside of the walls for the first time. He's never ran before. The guards are faster.

In a downhill sprint, he breaches the other side of the treeline. He catches a glimpse of the two moons rising above the distant ridge. Knowing it's probably the last time he'll see them. He screams in frustration. The inhibitors around his arm and throat burn, purple seething forth in streams that trail behind him. This was his CHANCE. His chance.

And it's over.

His face meets dirt. Tackled from behind, armored shoulder meeting the small of his back. He kicks, screams, claws the dirt. Easily pinned by a knee between his shoulder blades, he clings to the feeling of the ticking in his pocket. He counts in his head.

1, 2, 3–

The guard over him tries to rummage through their bag, calling the rest over with a shout. He struggles, he kicks.

25, 26, 27–

The guard lifts and thuds their knee down, knocking the wind out of him.

41, 42, 43, 44–

Gasping, struggling to breathe past the dirt and mud, he stops moving.

46, 47–

A needle is shoved in his arm.

57..., 58..., 59...

The screams quiet, struggling stops.

[spilledinkstories]

Darkness and the Man in the Window: by Nicole H (a short story)

“It’s raining, it’s pouring,  the old man is snoring;  he bumped his head,  and went to bed,  and couldn’t get up in the morning.” 

*****

Andrew Bennett was tired of killing people. 

In his twenty years working as a gardener, he had been hired by three separate estates to trim both their hedges and their family trees, and while he’d appreciated the extra cash and the opportunity to utilize his highly underestimated artistic flare, his partnership with the grim reaper had taken its toll. 

It was due to this fatigue, this growing hollow place inside his chest, that he was absolutely dreading his eight-o’clock-in-the-morning meeting with Morticia. But if Andrew was anything, he was a man of his word, and so at seven-fifty-seven on August 29th, his knobbly, weathered fist rapped sharply three times on her heavy black wooden door. 

“Punctual as always,” she said tartly. Her smile sent a troupe of ants parading up his spine, but he simply smiled back at her. They did not speak as she led him through the cavernous front entry of her manor house, down a hallway, and into her drawing room. Andrew personally found it strange that the drawing room was at the back of the house, but the view onto the lawn he groomed so meticulous was quite nice. 

“Tea?” 

“Coffee, if you’ve got it.”

“Of course.” And she poured a steaming cup of coffee, its aroma warming Andrew to his very core, giving him the courage he had been grasping for since entering this vapid house. 

“I don’t want to do it, you know.” His words came out a great deal sharper than he’d meant them to. As she slunk toward him, cup of coffee extended, he braced himself. She simply continued to smile. 

“I don’t see that you have a choice,” she said quietly, once she was directly in front of him. He gulped. 

“Is that so?” 

“I know what you’ve done. What you are. I could turn you in.” 

Andrew stared into her cold eyes, his heart nothing but a heap of ash. His eyes burned, bile stinging his throat, his stomach in the soles of his feet. He had a family that loved him, and a granddaughter that thought he was the most precious thing in the world. He couldn’t bear to make them deal with his mistakes. He sat down on the uncomfortable sofa, and accepted the coffee from Morticia. 

“There, now. Let’s discuss the specifics.” 

She took her time arranging herself amidst some lavish cushions on a sofa across from him, and took her time again studying his anguished features with devilish intent written all over her angular face. 

“As you know my husband and I own the morgue here in town, so first of all I’d like to extend our sincere thanks to you for all the business you’ve brought us.” 

Andrew tried to swallow his coffee, but his throat had turned to a roll of sandpaper, coiling tighter and tighter, and as he spluttered and choked she gave a tinkling laugh that made him want to hurl the delicate porcelain cup right at her face. He didn’t though. He steadied himself, taking off his cap and resting it on his corduroyed knee. 

She continued to speak. “As it happens, Mr. Bennet, my husband and I are well connected people. We know who comes into our morgue just as well as we know who put them there. And now that we’re in a spot of trouble, we can only be bothered to hire the best help in town.” 

“I’ll garden for free for you,” Andrew ground out. 

“Actually you’ll have to be fired as my gardener, you’ll understand that I can’t be connected to you once you’ve done the job. It’s a great pity too because we’ve been nothing short of thrilled with the work you do.” She cast an appreciative gaze over her shoulder to the back lawn of the house, with the pretty garden beds and well groomed hedges. 

“No, I need you to kill someone for me. And make it look like an accident.” 

“Would you get to the point, madam?” Andrew said. He was nauseous and wanted nothing more than to crawl into a hole and never face the sun again, and she was clearly toying with him. 

“I need you to kill a surgeon.” 

Andrew blinked. He leaned back. He let out a booming laugh that took both himself and Morticia by surprise. It wasn’t that he thought it was particularly funny, but stress plays strange tricks on the mind. It was an impulse. He took the last gulp of his coffee and set the cup roughly on the polished table between them. 

“And why would I do that?” 

“It’s actually quite strange. A little funny, really.” 

“I don’t...” 

“My name is Morticia and I own a morgue. Does that not point you toward any ideas?” 

“You have a dark sense of humour,” Andrew ventured weakly. 

“My darling, I am Death, incarnate.”

There was a stark silence in which Andrew considered the very real possibility that the woman before him was raving mad. 

“Is that so?” was all he said. 

“This surgeon is after my husbands career, so I need to fix that. And, I need to have it look like one in a string of many unfortunate events.”

“A few things there,” Andrew said, and he stood up and began pacing, trying to burn off the nervous energy. “First of all, does your husband know what he’s married to? and second, why can’t you just kill him yourself?” 

She didn’t miss a beat. “No, he doesn’t know. He thinks I’m an ordinary woman. And I can’t kill the surgeon myself because it’s against the rules. They wouldn’t let me.” 

Andrew returned to his seat, not taking the bait to ask who “they” were. As his knee began bouncing convulsively and he rubbed his palms together to stop them prickling, he asked, “how could a surgeon be after a morticians job? Aren’t those direct opposites?”

For the first time, Morticia’s smile wavered. She rose and refilled their cups, taking a few steadying breaths. The twisting in Andrew’s gut intensified. That hollow place in his chest was swallowing up what was left of him, and if he carried this act out, he knew that would be the final straw. 

Morticia handed him the full cup and he gripped it, savouring the warmth it provided. It grounded him, made him feel real, and human. She sat, and finally met his eyes. 

“Whenever anyone pictures Death as a person, they picture the devil, or a creature in black cloak. Someone with horrible intentions and a penchant for evil. That isn’t who I am though. I have a schedule to follow, lists to maintain, it’s actually quite stressful. I don’t go around with a pitchfork killing people — big fan of your pitchfork murder, by the way, I thought that was really clever. Anyway, I simply facilitate death.”

Andrew wasn’t sure he understood how you could facilitate death without causing it, and he didn’t appreciate being called out for one of his killings either. He said nothing, and she continued. 

“I normally visit the local hospitals, under the guise of asking for follow-ups on our paper work. Those nurses are always getting it wrong. But I also visit the wards. I go to the ICU, and I speak to people. I see who is ready. I check it against my books.” 

Morticia stood, and crossed to the end of the room where vast bookshelves lined the walls. Andrew thought it was a shelf full of prop books, and wondered privately if she was just trying to seem impressive. But she ran an expert finger along the spines, selecting one once she was sure, and brought it to show Andrew. She sat next to him on his sofa, and he would have sworn before God the air got colder. 

She opened the book, and he was stunned to see a ledger. 

“This is last year,” she said, with the air of an accountant in a business meeting telling him he really ought to trim his expenses. Looking closer at the pages, Andrew saw that beside each name was a date, and in a third column there seemed to be one of four letters. N, M, A, or S. 

“What are these for?” He asked, pointing to an N. 

“N is for natural. A is accident, M is murder, and S – ”

“I see,” Andrew cut across her. “You still haven’t told me what mistake you made. Stop stalling.” 

Morticia sighed and went back to her sofa. Andrew was grateful to feel warmth return to the air around him. His head was getting fuzzy. It was as though he could hear a faint static, and see faint blurs in the edges of his vision. His pulse had quickened, and all together he felt quite ill. His eyes flicked to the lawn, and he imagined could smell the freshly mown grass and damp earth. Andrew swallowed, and the acid in his throat burned a little.

“I was at the hospital, and I overheard the surgeon talking to a technician. This surgeon happens to be my husband’s twin brother, and they also went through school together. One became a surgeon, the other a mortician, and everyone found it darkly funny. Anyway, I heard that he wants to take over my husband’s business. He wants to commodify his patients even further. It’s sickening. I was angry. I acted rashly. I wanted to make a note so I’d remember to talk to my husband about it and I just wrote the name of the surgeon down.”

“In your ledger?” Andrew asked. This was the most ridiculous story he’d ever heard, and vowed to himself that once he was out of this mess he was going to retire once and for all and never leave his house if he could help it. 

“It’s not something that can be undone.” 

“So I have to kill a man for you because you wrote down his name, have I got that right?” 

“I’m so glad you understand.”

“I don’t,” he said, nonplussed. 

“If he’s successful he will basically become a serial killer. He will make sure his patients die, so he can send them to his morgue, and double the bill for their loved ones. His name is in the ledger. So it’s final. I haven’t written a date yet. When can you get the job done?” 

Andrew blinked at her. “You can’t be serious,” he spluttered, beginning to stand, but she lifted and imperious finger and he halted. He thought of his family, his granddaughter, and the dark hole in his heart. 

“I will do it on one condition. Don’t pay me. Write down my name too.”

“What?” Morticia whispered. Her eyes were wide, and the flare she normally spoke with was replaced by an almost childlike awe.

“I am old. I hate myself. I’ve become a monster. Either kill me here and now, or if you insist I do it, kill me afterward. I can’t have my family knowing what I’ve done, so I’ll do what you say if it will protect them from knowing. But I don’t want to be around after.” 

“That’s no way to talk, Andrew. What’s one more?” She said it soothingly, like a mother speaking to a child being theatrical over a mild case of the sniffles. 

“What’s one more?” He croaked. “What’s…? It’s everything. I’m being swallowed up, and not much of me is left as it is. You’re pushing me over the edge. You’re driving me to it.” He was spitting the words at her, but she did not flinch. 

She spoke in a dark, low voice. “Making a deal with Death is no laughing matter, Andrew Bennet.”

“You’re the one striking the deal here. You’re welcome to walk away, and neither of us gets what we want.”

She did not answer. She picked up a pen that had been on the table between them, and slowly opened her ledger on her lap. 

“Simon Travers is the name of the surgeon,” she said, pointing her pen at the spot on the page that marked Simon’s fate. With a flourish, she began slowly etching a name underneath it, in the next vacancy. 

“Andrew Bennet. Call me when you’ve finished the job, and I will add the date for your entry.”

It was about noon when Andrew Bennet finally left Morticia’s house. She’d told him what hospital Simon worked at, and he’d said he’d call her. 

The hollow spot in his chest was writhing and expanding, pushing on his lungs so that he was panting for breath. He walked through downtown, and as he passed a shop window he saw a hunched, careworn man slouching down the street with no trace of life left in his eyes. It was his reflection, of course. His cellphone rang, and he watched the man in the shop window reach into the pocket of his jacket and answer the call. 

“Hi, Grandpa!” Came the happy little voice. He looked away from the man in the window, unable to watch. 

“Hello, dear,” he said happily. She mustn���t know anything was wrong. 

“Mom said next weekend we’re gonna come visit you,” she said happily. They talked for a minute, and he promised they’d make cookies and watch her favourite movie, and go out for lunch somewhere special, and then he hung up. He couldn’t handle this. Not again.

As he continued past shops, the man in the window fell into step beside him. He allowed a small smile to cross both their features, appreciating that the lighting was just right that day so that he didn’t feel like he was walking to the hospital alone. Feeling alone is so much worse than simply being alone, Andrew thought. Today, the world seemed to have understood that he couldn’t feel alone. Not now. 

It was an odd twist in the tapestry of life that caused Andrew Bennet to become a gardener in the first place. He had been a factory worker, close to retirement because his lungs couldn’t handle it much longer. His wife had suggested that he take up gardening on the weekends, to force him to get outside and clear his lungs. He’d fixed up their front lawn so beautifully, that when his wife threw his retirement party and invited the neighbours, he got quite a few requests. It was the combination of his exacting eye for careful detail, and his vision for what things could be, that gave him his edge. 

As he thought of this edge of his, the man in the shop windows looked at him and seemed to say do you remember how proud you were of your plan? He’d set up an elaborate mouse trap of gardening tools that resulted in his wife’s killer being run through in his own backyard. Technically an accident, and while many of that man’s neighbours had seen Andrew milling about the place tending to the flower beds, they’d also seen him carefully arranging his tool box every day. They knew him to be a measured, thoughtful man. Never absent-minded. He’d gotten off scot free. 

What about the second time, we weren’t so careful then, were we? The man in the window mocked. But Andrew was approaching the intersection in front of the hospital, and he decided it was too exhausting to go through his own ledger, so he said goodbye to the man in the windows. He crossed, and headed up the steep steps to the front doors. 

The lobby of the hospital was lit by large green-blue glass walls, giving the impression that it was a gloomy, rainy day outside despite the sun. It was sombre and sterile, and Andrew heaved a sigh as he approached the reception desk. 

“I have an appointment with Simon Travers, could you tell me where his office is please?”

“Of course, and may I get a name?” Said the receptionist without glancing up from her screen. 

“I’m a good friend of his brother, Scott, actually. My name is Andrew.” 

“I don’t see you here.” 

“His brother sent me. We spoke on the phone. Where’s his office?” 

“Whatever. Fourth floor, room two-fifty-one.” 

He walked away without thanking her. 

On the fourth floor, he got off the elevator and was greeted by a wide hallway, across which was a large cafe and seating space. Andrew felt the hollow spot inside him settle into a calm, background type of feeling, as a mixture of resolve, focus, and resignation took over his mind. He glanced at the signs on a post which told him that the room he was looking for was to his left. He crossed the hall and bought two coffees, then took them to a table in the corner where he could look out over the balcony at the floors below. 

He wasn’t really looking though. The main thing was that his back was to the hallway. 

He unzipped his jacket a little bit, and pulled out an envelop. Inside were some dried plants he’d brought with him. While he hadn’t known who Morticia had wanted him to take care of, he’d known what the meeting was about, and he’d come prepared. Being a gardener had given him certain advantages. 

To the untrained eye, he was an old man sitting alone with two cups of coffee, looking at a dried Queen Ann’s Lace flower, possibly mourning the death of a loved one, or else praying for their swift and safe recovery. To an expert however, he was carefully avoiding touching the Hemlock roots with his bare skin, as he rolled the dried stems between the paper of the envelop, dropping the fine powder and liquid from inside the roots into one of the coffees. Highly toxic, all he had to do now was get Simon Travers to take a few sips. He replaced the envelop carefully in his jacket pocket, and rose.

Room two-fifty-one was a prestigious office at the very end of the long hallway. The door was open, and hands laden with coffee, Andrew knocked gently with the toe of his shoe. 

“Simon Travers, yes? I’ve been so keen to meet with you.”

Simon Travers looked up from the papers he’d been reading, and his furrowed brow deepened as he said, “sorry, do I know you?” 

“No, we haven’t met, young man. I’m here for a chat about your practice,” Andrew said boldly, using the same foot to now ease the door shut. He crossed the room with a confidence and ease of gait that only comes with age and experience. 

“There you go, son,” he mumbled, setting the coffee down in front of Simon. He took a seat directly across from him, took a laboured sip of his own coffee, and set it on the edge of the desk with a satisfied “aahhh, there we are.” 

“Who are you?” Simon pressed, trying not to be too rude while speaking loudly and slowly. 

“Andrew Bennet is the name,” Andrew said in the same tone. Simon’s brows shot up, and he pursed his lips, an invitation for Andrew to continue. 

Looking at the young man before him, the hollow darkness in Andrew’s chest reared up, pushing on his lungs so hard he felt he might faint, pushing up his throat so that he could barely speak, and reaching his brain to form a dark cloud over his thoughts. He couldn’t very well snatch the coffee back, could he. His palms prickled with sweat, and he suddenly became aware of his own body odour. It was too late. His head was swimming. He was here. It was about to happen. Again. He didn’t want to watch. He shut his eyes, pressing his lids so tightly together he thought he might be able to force blindness upon himself. 

“Are you okay?” Simon’s voice sounded a long way off. Andrew hadn’t prepared anything to say to this young man. His plan had simply been to give him the coffee. 

“Listen, sir, I’ve got a surgery I have to perform in an hour. If you have something to say, spit it out.” 

And just like that, eyes screwed shut, a blinding clarity came over him. Maybe he wasn’t a bad person. He had been exacting justice this whole time. Avenging his wife was noble, and preventing the murder of several patients at the hands of a surgeon with a tendency for malpractice, well, that wasn’t so bad either. Andrew opened his eyes. Over Simon’s shoulder was a stunning view of the city. He let his gaze wander, curious if he could spot home from where he was sitting. 

“Sir, I’m going to have to insist that you make this quick.” 

Andrew’s eyes stayed on the glass but his gaze shifted, so he could see the man in the window again. He supposed he’d followed him from the shops on the street. Andrew watched the man in the window speak to the back of Simon’s head. 

“I haven’t got a lot of money and that coffee was a gesture you know,” he snapped. Simon pulled a face, picked up the cup and tilted it toward Andrew as though to say “cheers”, and took a swig. 

“Now, I’m here because Morticia said you’re her husband’s twin.” 

“Oh, here we go,” Simon said, rubbing a hand over his face. “What did she tell you, that I’m driving her business into the ground because I’m so good at saving people?” 

“What? No, she said you’re killing people to support your brother’s business, the business that you plan to steal from him.” 

Simon leaned back and let out a laugh without mirth. His chair turned a bit, and he stared out at the city before turning back to Andrew. “I save people for a living, do you understand that? I could never do something that monstrous.” 

“Why should I believe you?” Andrew said, feeling the roiling monster inside him start to gnaw on his ribs.

“Go ask any of the staff on this floor. I’ve been working at this hospital for nearly two decades and I’ve only ever lost two patients on the table, both during my fellowship at the beginning of my career. I’m a miracle worker, Mr. Bennet.” 

The smooth arrogance on Simon Travers face was not enough to condemn the man to death. If what he had said was true, Morticia had told a boldfaced lie, though why that should surprise Andrew he did not know. He no longer felt present. The darkness inside him had made its way through his brain, his bones, his heart…he watched Simon raise the coffee for another drink, the whole time staring with a triumphant glint at Andrew. 

When he set the cup down again, Andrew could see it was half empty. More than enough had been drunk. 

“My mistake then lad, sorry to bother you.” 

“Tell Morticia she can rot,” he said darkly. Andrew merely nodded and left the office, careful to close the door behind him. 

He made his way out of the hospital, and realized it wasn’t the glass that made the sky look rainy. It was now pouring. He didn’t care. He pulled out his phone, and called Morticia. She answered, and he said, “It’s Andrew. It’s done,” and hung up. 

He pulled his hat down more snugly on his head, and let the rain soak him as he stepped outside. He let it work through the thick denim of his jacket, let it make the corduroy of his pants turn to lead from the weight of the water. His feet squelched in his shoes, his socks sliding down and balling up under his toes. He let the water get into his eyes, welcoming the stinging, blurred vision. He let his nose run. He let all these things happen because they grounded him, made him feel present and real and human, even though the dark hollow thing in his chest was doing everything it could to prove otherwise. 

He had been right, when he was sitting in Morticia’s drawing room that morning. This murder had been the last straw. 

As he walked up the final block into the suburbs where his house sat, he wondered who had been the liar: Morticia, or Simon. He wondered if it mattered. He wondered whether he would have acted differently if it had been Morticia. He wouldn’t have, because she’d blackmailed him. He thought of his sweet granddaughter. He wondered if Simon had a family of his own. He hadn’t bothered to ask. 

While he was wondering all this, Andrew hadn’t been paying attention to his footing. His toe caught on a raised lip in the sidewalk that he trod every day - he had memorized this little raised lip and normally carefully stepped over it, but today was different. He crashed to the ground, smacking his head off of the concrete. 

He rolled onto his back. 

He let the rain thunder onto his face for a moment, allowing it to soothe the stinging on his forehead where his skin had broken. He swiped at his face. There didn’t seem to be too much blood. No one had been around to see Andrew Bennet fall, and as the old man hoisted himself back to standing he felt a small relief that his dignity wasn’t hurt. He shuffled the remaining few steps, not bothering to take his usual glance at his immaculate front lawn as he entered the house. 

Though it was only about five in the afternoon, Andrew shuffled upstairs and changed into dry clothes, and climbed into bed. He embraced the weight and warmth of the blankets after the long walk in the rain. He hadn’t turned on any lights, and as the dim early evening light lulled him into that blissful middle state between sleeping and wakefulness, he wondered if Morticia would keep her promise to him.

 As the rain kept pouring down, the darkness inside him pounded in his chest and in his head - though he couldn’t be sure if his head didn’t just hurt from its introduction to the sidewalk. 

Evening turned to twilight, which turned to night, and the darkness inside him ate up the entire room, easing him into slumber.

When morning came, Andrew Bennet did not wake.

[boorishbint]

Joxter stinky (I love him but he stinky) (for the prompts thing)

Moomin stops dead in his tracks, unsure.

Moomins are creatures of many talents. Explorers, storytellers. Handsome and Moomin thinks himself a touch braver than the average creature also, if he does say so himself. They are creatures of friendships and warm hearths. And they are always creatures of exceptionally large and sensitive noses.

Though perhaps on this occasion too sensitive.

He’s on the wood path, making his way back from a misadventure with Sniff and Littly My that has ended with her chasing the former back round the meadow. But something has stopped him and that something is right up his nose.

It’s a musky, damp smell. A touch heady, too. Like stuffy perfume but the kind that’s been sprayed on well-worn clothes that were then left out in the rain, and then not dried but instead crumpled in a corner to grow very damp and unpleasant. And also perhaps dipped in old cooking oil that lingers with meat long discoloured.

Not that Moomin is to be specific about it. But the long and the short of it is, it’s a very strong and very unpleasant smell and Moomin stops, quite confused as to where such a thing could ever come from.

He isn’t confused long, as Moomin takes one turn around a tree and finds the offending creature. Which only serves to stun Moomin more.

To say Moomin has never seen a creature of the like would be a lie. For he very much has but that like is Snufkin, and it must be quite impossible for these two someones to have anything in common.

Yet.

The creature is taller, like Snufkin had been tugged out in places like old elastic. He’s lying down in some long grass that sprouts by a tree, a strikingly similar hat over his face as he apparently sleeps. He’s got heeled boots crossed at the ankle and a long, rope-like tail that coils over his lap.

‘Ho there?’ Moomin asks, nervous but he comes close all the same. The creature moves to tilt his head back with dark paws, black like soot.

‘Ho here,’ he replies, accent familiar too. Moomin frowns. ‘Why look! A Moomin!’

‘Uh. Yes,’ Moomin says, thrown. ‘Who are you?’

‘The Joxter.’

‘What’s a Joxter?’

‘Not a Joxter,’ the Joxter corrects, sitting up and replacing his hat on his head. His face is sharp, with a pointed nose and unkempt fur that sticks out at odd angles from his cheeks. ‘The. Though if I’m an anyhting, it’s a Mumrik.’

Ah, so that’s it then, Moomin thinks. The same as Snufkin but most certainly not either. Snufkin can be a bit scruffy but Moomin has never thought him to smell outright unpleasant. The Joxter most definitely smells unpleasant. Moomin has never met another Mumrik before and wonders if they are all as different.

‘I see,’ Moomin says cautiously. ‘And what brings you to Moominvalley, Joxter?’

‘I’m looking for someone. And also possibly a house, if it happens to be the same direction as my someone. Perhaps you know it, being a Moomin yourself.’

‘Which house?’ Moomin asks, suspicious.

‘Moominhouse. Surely you must know it as you wouldn’t be as unlucky as to have family near and not know them,’ the Joxter says before a strange expression flickers over his angular face. ‘Terrible thing that, you know.’

‘I know it as it’s my house,’ Moomin says and the Joxter’s ears prick up, their points like arrowheads. ‘Well, my father built it…’

‘Did he now,’ the Joxter says, sounding interested. But instead of moving, he digs around in the pocket of his tattered smock and takes out a pipe. ‘That’ll do nicely, little Moomin.’

Moomin bristles. ‘I’m not little.’

The Joxter looks over his pipe as he bites on the end of it, fishing now for matches it seems. ‘No. I suppose one could you accuse you of much but not being little.’

The bristle grows. The Joxter lays back further on his grass as he lights his pipe. He blows out long streams of smoke from his large nose and it clouds up and right into Moomin’s face. The idea of that coming into the house makes Moomin grit his teeth.

‘That- er, tobacco you’re smoking there smells rather strong,’ Moomin says, hoping he’s not being rude in saying so but his eyes are watering. The Joxter blows smoke rings.

‘It’s not tobacco,’ the Joxter says and Moomin waves a paw as the smoke rings hit him on the snout.

‘All the same,’ Moomin says, holding his breath. ‘I think I saw some mint leaves a ways back, I can get you some before coming to the house if you like?’

The Joxter takes a deep puff of his pipe, eyes fixed onMoomin’s face. Moomin tries not to shrink away but really, this creature has the most unnerving eyes he’s ever seen. Blue like paint.

‘Are you saying you don’t like the way smell, troll?’

‘No, no! Not at all, I just thought- well, you know!’ Moomin is babbling and his fur sticks up straight all over as he flushes from ears to toes. ‘You might want to clear that pipe smoke from your breath before company.’

The Joxter seems to think on that for a moment.

‘It’s not just the pipeweed you’re taking offence to.’

That may be true but Moomin was raised better than to admit such. But at the very least, if this shabby vagabond is to be in his house then the pipeweed is the one he may be able to somewhat solve.

‘Well, you’ve clearly been travelling a long ways,’ Moomin says in what he feels is a diplomatic manner. The Joxter’s tail flicks. ‘I can show you to the stream if you’d like the chance to freshen up a bit better.’

‘Need the smell,’ the Joxter says bizarrely as Moomin can’t think as to why anyone would want this musky, cloying scent. The Joxter taps his nose. ‘Otherwise how will my son find me? Only polite to give him fair warning.’

‘Your son?’ Moomin asks, suddenly very curious. ‘Who’s your son?’

‘It’s the least of what noses are for, you know,’ the Joxter says sagely though he looks far from anything of the like. ‘Especially when he was blessed with mine.’

Moomin tries not to be offended at how he’s been ignored and decides that he doesn’t like this Joxter very much. Or indeed at all. Time to write off this whole thing, Moomin thinks and with any luck, the breeze will keep the scent behind him.

‘Well, then,’ Moomin says, brushing at his coat awkwardly and the Joxter looks like he might smile. ‘Good luck with that then. I hope you have a pleasant day and your son finds you.’

‘I hope that every day, little Moomin,’ the Joxter says and Moomin chews the inside of his cheek. The Joxter laughs full of smoke. ‘Sorry. Big Moomin.’

Moomin doesn’t think that’s better but he’s quite out of patience now. He bids goodbye and heads along, hoping that he not have the bad run of it to cross paths with the Joxter’s son, who Moomin doesn’t doubt to be just as unpleasant. For what else could the son of a Joxter be?

[jenny-kirk]

Story Time with Jenny: Swimming

That one time Micah agreed to have a splash about. When I got things wrong.

(Sad-Fluff- blueballs Micah)

The supply wagon, practically falling apart from overuse, creaked below the boots of those offloading it.

“Careful you don’t break your back there grandad,” Jenny mocked towards a disgruntled Pearson, recognising the humour within the girl’s comments although not sharing in its effects in the slightest.

That was usually the way it was these days. Banter, mock comments and the odd flirtation were all in good humour, although not always seen as such by others.

Davey on the other hand received only flirtatious looks as Jenny deliberately bent over when picking up crate after crate, revelling in her ability to fluster him while brushing off his advances.

Placing the final crate upon the food wagon’s flimsy table, Jenny observed the numerous preserved goods, canned and sealed for storage. Beans, Peaches, Strawberries and some rather suspicious looking pickled eggs among the haul. Yuck.

Blackwater was a far more beautiful sight, laying lazily across the horizon. Jenny had decided as much merely upon her first venture through the town despite its ghastly smell and occasional dubious inhabitants. And their camp, just to the West of the dockyard, perched atop a hillside, was perfect. Quiet, fun and oppotunistic.

Such regular observations had Miss Kirk’s attention drifting away into the breeze. Closing her eyes, content, happily inhaling the afternoon scent, a smile plastered across her rosey face. Cigarettes, damp wood and grass, a stew being brewed in the back and the lingering perfume of the campfire.

Pondering on how best to fill the rest of her day, Jenny considered many things. Robbing folk in town, but of course they were meant to keep a low profile... maybe mocking some of the ‘lazier’ in camp instead would be a good laugh? Of course she could more or less get away with it.

Life was good. And recently, got a lot better. There was however one thing that still bugged the naive woman...

That gentle warm breeze soon carried across a sound the brunette had become used to over the past few weeks, painting a gleam across her lightly-freckled face.

A deliberately loud sigh turned Jenny’s attention to the blonde man with whom she had only a short while ago made a secret arrangement with.

Waltzing over, the heavy man leant against the countertop she worked at, making it bend uncharacteristically under the pressure. Her gentle yet irritated hazel gaze meeting Mr Bell’s icy blue one, that appallingly obnoxious smirk, so cocky and proud.

“Misssss Kirk, how are you doin’?” 

His words spaced and separated, hardly a sentence at all. It was usual for the two to flirt and had been for quite a while, however as always, Jenny scanned the other’s face, scarred and wrinkled as it was, sour and bitter all at once, for any inkling of what approach to take to best irritate or please him at any given time.

Jenny was nothing if not observant.

Maybe it was because of this, or the simple fact that Miss Kirk didn’t brush Micah off, she listened, she disapproved but she heard him. Joking and flirting while others (understandably) avoided him like the plague.

Mentally taking note of each interaction and habit, trying to make sense of the enigma before her. A man she hated yet lusted after. Because that's all it was! Lust and convenience. Despite her good nature desperate to find something redeemable within him that seemed not to exist in the slightest.

���I’m well Mr Bell, and you?” Her gaze cautious of those around them.

“Good, good...y’got any plans this evenin’?” The question seemed strained, forced, as if it was difficult, awkward even to say. 

Jenny initially felt her face turn a little redder, assuming the question to be a subtle way of saying ‘best you be ready for tonight, I'm gonna fuck you over a barrel all night long n’ if you ain’t quiet, you ain’t getting no relief.’ That was after all the arrangement that had been made.

But that wasn’t his style, to sugarcoat things that is. It would be much easier for him to simply say to meet him at a designated place at a specific time.

“Fixin’ to go swimming later”

Her reply casual, denying Micah whatever plans he held in mind. Micah merely huffed a chuckle, uneasily looking about. Embarrassed at whatever he had in mind being rejected perhaps? 

“That so is it?”

“You have somethin’ else in mind?” acting aloof to add to the irritation unaware of Micah’s real intention- a meal in town, followed of course by copious amounts of alcohol and a cheap bed for the night. His way of showing she was potentially more than just his next good fuck.

“You should join me, you uh, could do with a wash.”

“Hm, very funny.” Micah’s unamused features let out an aggrivated sigh partnered with an impatient glare. Something on the tip of his tongue he couldn’t bring himself to say. 

“Then I suppose you ain’t wanting to go to town with me?” 

The invitation took Jenny by surprise, eyes widening, stopping what she was doing to examine the sincerity of his words before carefully deciding her response, continuing to empty the crate on the table.

So far their arrangement had kept business nearby camp, around the back and to the outskirts, the two only leaving when on a job. It was after all still early days. Now he wanted to take her to town?

“What you got a job need doin’?”

“No” 

That blunt response merely confused Jenny further. The blonde man irritated in her not agreeing directly yet not wishing to explain his intentions for the embarrassment of rejection or his being viewed as weak.

“’fraid not Mr Bell. Not tonight at least...”

“Tomorrow then” Micah more-so demanded then asked, his way or the highway. Going off with himself after a snort and a grumble Jenny rolled her eyes. What was that man playing at now...

Despite having made a secret agreement with the man, she still pondered over his antagonistic nature. It was so difficult to know when he wasn't teasing and like so many, Jenny didn’t wish to be the butt of his ‘jokes’. Was he capable of being ‘decent’? Not offending someone for five minutes? Maybe through their agreement Jenny could subtly challenge that on his own terms. Afterall she played the game by his rules.

All of these thoughts passed through Jenny’s head as the day rolled along and, keeping to her word, she readied herself for a swim as the evening approached.

Only just submerging herself underneath the murky cover, gasping coming up for air, the cold creating pin like sensations across her skin while the stench of the unsavoury water had her pulling an unsatisfied face.

The uncomfortable feeling that wakes you up at night, when you’re scared from the ghost story around the campfire, when you should be alone yet you sense a pair of eyes watching over you. That feeling, suddenly became present within the pit of Jenny’s stomach.

Looking about, her hair kept tidy by two individual braids, the figure of someone, a man, standing on the coastline was visible. Red and white. Micah.

A smirk overcoming her, Jenny waved an arm beckoning him over, when he refused to move Jenny made her way closer to the shoreline.

Micah never seemed to have any regular fun. Perhaps killing, robbing and mocking was the closest he had to that. But maybe, just maybe she’d see a new side of him. See if he was capable of gentility, of innocent playfulness. Naive curiosity she knew Micah had no time for yet insisted was explored at least once. He tolerated her behaviour enough, so why would he not partake in it?

Part of their agreement insisted that emotions remain unattached. It wasn't sensible in their line of work and if camp found out of their affair it would spill the end of any respect Jenny harboured. Still, understanding him was worth a try, satisfying each-other in more ways than one.

Sure they’d kissed, but it was nothing meaningful. They were very much heat of the moment markings of power and playfulness more than anything else. Not an ounce of emotion or meaning in it.

Micah’s face told a story on its own. His features were not furrowed as usual, he didn’t look irritated, nor sad, angry or even cheerful. Just, observant, lost in thought. Relaxed and calm? It was peculiar, a gentle look she’d found unusual, unintentionally making Miss Kirk cock her head to one side, a thoughtful pout across her rosey lips as she unattractively choked on some water.

“Mr Bell, y’ain’t gettin’ wet with me?” Her usual teases and innuendos trying to break the distant glance from his features and coax his presence to join her in an activity besides fucking.

Looking around to check no one was watching Micah smirked shaking his head, that long string of a chuckle wavering on with a wave of his finger.

“Mh, this one time sugar, since you asked so nicely.”

Of course Micah was not very enthusiastic about submerging himself within such a disgusting river despite the presence of a woman such as Jenny convincing him otherwise. 

Removing his boots was the indication Jenny needed as she smiled in return, noticing while she at least had her undergarments to protect her somewhat from the climate of the water, Micah on the other hand had no such thing.

Both submerged in the cold water Micah was visibly biting back complaints of the cold. His skin bumped, hair on ends.

“See, ain’t so bad once y-”

“Shut up” he clung his arms about his torso in protest. Jenny could only find amusement in his discontentment before he threw the dirtied water over his head, cleaning out his hair to the best of his ability hoping the action would help him get used to the cold, despite splashing Jenny in the process. More water going down her throat, mouth having been open from giggling. 

“Hey! Watch it” 

“Accident’s happen Miss Kirk, you should know-”

The water fight that ensued shutting the pair up brought forward only laughter and similar snide remarks to toy with one another, both of them soaked to the core before long.

At first Micah was angry, humiliated, frozen and submerged, but soon gave into the game under the expectation that he should most certainly be rewarded for such generously tolerant behaviour.

As the energy and laughter died down Jenny watched Micah carefully, how he seemed to unwind despite keeping watch for potential passers by, regularly telling her to shut her mouth.

“You’re hair’s still greasy” the shorter of the two observed mockingly but without giving Micah time to respond with an insult of his own Jenny clambered closer, bringing a cupped handful of slimy water over his head, dripping it down before working it into his scalp.

Tongue poking from her mouth in concentration, for Jenny it was a task as any other. She was only helping him keep clean after all.

For Micah however, his face was that of confusion, anger and realisation all at once. Why was she helping him? Not that he needed it! And how dare she mother him so! THIS was why attachments were wrong, the mistake his brother made, to be coddled and chased after by a woman wishing to set the world to right, to control you and your life!

Yet, Jenny knew he called the shots... Maybe this was merely a tendency of her’s he'd have to deter...

Yet for some reason, Micah didn’t erupt. Not yet. He watched, irritation clenching his jaw keeping his eyes tight and trained. There was something soothing, something weak to it that he didn’t like. Yet Micah made no attempt to remove himself from the situation. Her smaller hands kneading into his scalp.

There was something lacking in the arrangement, mutually identified yet hidden. But for the first time, Jenny saw a slip in Micah. Wanting to relax despite irritation and embarrassment. Resentment for enjoying something  he’d drilled himself never to enjoy.

Maybe just maybe, this was a step in the right direction. Playing the game as he called it, while every so often subtly including gentility. Care. To show it wasn’t weak, caring never got anyone killed...so far.

Hardly a minute had passed that Jenny had fixed the older man’s hair, yet her hand lingered. Her eyes tailed him, the way his light brows creased, the scar on his chin she so desperately wanted to touch. To be close to. To trace and ponder over. Realising she was lost in thought and Micah seemed rather unimpressed although silent, Jenny removed her hand.

“This, I've enjoyed this. Maybe we’ll do it again?”

“Maybe. It’s real cold y’know,” Micah gesturing downwards suggestively, “I know what you’ve been playing’ at darlin’ n’ I think ol’ Micah deserves a treat.”

It was obvious what Micah expected Jenny to do to overcome the issue he faced. However Jenny was curious to see how long Mr Bell could enjoy the moment without things turning sexual. Not that she was looking for anything more than that but to answer her wonder for if such a thing was possible for a man such as himself. A naive mistake.

A soft shrug had Jenny’s small palms grazing across Micah’s torso and belly. Studying it before looking towards where Micah wished her hands to roam, making her fateful decision not to obey for once.

Moving closer to him their body heat merged pressed together, technically a way to warm up although not the one Micah was hinting at. 

Tracing each scar and mark across his belly, clear she was not intending to follow through with his suggestion Jenny gazed up to the blonde, a smaller hand reached towards that slanted scar, mouth parted in curiosity.

It was no surprise when Micah backed away, a disapproving, no, disgusted look over his face.

Maybe the others were right when they spoke behind his back. Maybe Mr Bell was really all bad, no ounce of redemption to be found. no shiny glimmer of hope Jenny was determined to search for. 

If only she had accepted his invitation. Not pursued her own naive curiosity of looking for the best within even the most hardened of criminals. 

Now she’d somehow offended him, caused him grief. Micah was undeniably someone in camp it was better to have as a friend rather than an enemy...she knew what he was capable of. Jenny would be sure never to make that mistake again. Micah Bell really wasn’t capable of emotion? Of care?

“Micah I-i’m sorry I didn’t mean t-I thought-” Guilt and regret ripping through her as Micah continued to back away.

“You’re wasting’ your time out here in the cold, the water stinks besides. Excuse me.”

With that Micah left just as quickly as he had joined. Sour faced and miserable, hurrying on back to camp as Jenny shivered in the water thinking on the encounter.

Why was he so sharpish to retreat...had she struck a nerve? Or was Micah unfamiliar with something, scared of his own emotions? Well...either way, it was clearly not Jenny’s place to explore.

As nighttime fell, dried and clean following her swim, mind still racing, heart still pounding. Jenny once again found herself entwined on Micah’s lap by the fireplace, flirting and joking as if nothing had happened.

Maybe some day he’d open up. She’d learn why he was so vile, so unpredictable and changeable. She knew from the rare tales told by the fire that his upbringing left much to be desired. But to what extent?

Maybe one day, the mislead man would learn to change, to open his heart. Not that Jenny was looking for an ‘attachment’ with the man, their agreement purely sexual. But maybe, just maybe. He could learn to care for someone, something, besides himself.

[kusunogatari]

[ ObiRyū October | Day Nineteen | Plants ] [ @abyssaldespair ] [ Uchiha Obito, Suigin Ryū, Hatake Kakashi ] [ Verse: Best Years of Your Life ]

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“You know what you need, Obito?”

Biting his tongue for a moment in concentration, Obito lets the dart in his fingers fly free. It hits the board two inches from the middle, up to the left. “Therapy?” he then replies, scowling at his point total so far. Kakashi is winning. And that’s unacceptable.

“Well...yeah,” the Hatake replies. “But therapy is expensive. I was going to suggest something a little...simpler.”

“Maybe a date, then?”

“You think a date is simple?”

“Ha...true. What, then?”

“A plant.”

“...a what?”

Kakashi laughs, getting up from his reclined position to take his turn. “A plant. I’ve been reading about how they can help a person’s mood by adding something to their environment. Y’know, since we’re stuck here in the concrete jungle.”

Obito can’t help a flat snort at that. “True enough. But I’ve never had a plant before. I’d probably kill it.”

“Get a cactus. You hardly ever have to water it.”

“Will my cat chew on it?”

“Not if it’s halfway smart. Would you chew on a cactus?”

Obito doesn’t bother answering that. “So I get a plant, and...then what?”

“You enjoy it. You do know how to actually enjoy things, don’t you?”

“Plants just...sit there. What good does it do? That doesn’t make any sense, Kakashi.”

“I got one about a month ago. It sits in my kitchen window. I dunno - it makes me smile. To know that there’s something alive, thriving where I live.”

“I already have that with my cat.”

“Plants are different. I have my dog, but it’s not the same. I can’t really explain it, but it really does feel like things are a bit lighter in my apartment. Just give it a try. I think you’d like it.”

Frowning, Obito...doesn’t quite understand. He already has something living in his apartment. Tenebris is great company. Why Kakashi thinks a plant will magically be better is beyond him, but...well, he’ll give a try. “All right, fine. I’ll try to find one this weekend when I’m off work.”

Once said weekend rolls around, Obito keeps his promise and heads to his local farm and garden store. Which...he’s never once set foot in, given he has neither a farm, nor a garden. Not until now, anyway.

...does one plant count as a garden? He’ll say it does.

The store is actually really big, and he hesitates by the entrance for a moment. They...do sell plants here, right? Because he’s not really sure he could manage with some seeds.

A sales associate then asks if he needs any help.

“I’m, er...looking to buy a plant…?”

“All right! Any specific kind?”

“Something...easy. I’m new to this.”

“Sure, sure. Our greenhouse is along the left hand side of the store - just follow the wall and you can’t miss it. Ask for Ryū, she’ll help you out.”

“All right. Thanks.”

Directions acquired, he follows them, passing by a million things he’d never have a use for before making it to the automatic doors that lead into the garden center.

As the doors open, a pleasant aroma reaches his nose. Obito finds himself taken aback. He knows flowers are supposed to smell good, but this is a lot stronger than he was expecting.

This place is huge! Which...he supposes makes sense. A whole section is set aside for supplies: planters, watering cans, sprinklers, even fancy stuff like fountains and statues. A bit outside his budget, let alone the space in his teeny tiny apartment. Then there’s soil mixtures, fertilizers, and concrete border bricks and rocks.

Only then do they get to the plants, and...wow, there’s a lot. Flowers are the vast majority, but he also spots some like berry plants, baby trees and hedges, and decorative plants like ivies and ferns. There’s so many he literally has no idea where to start.

Well...he supposes a good first step would be finding this Ryū lady the guy inside said to look for.

There’s a guy at the register they keep out here, but...he doesn’t see a woman. Maybe she’s hidden among an aisle somewhere? Not wanting to look lost again, he instead tries looking like he’s browsing, peeking surreptitiously into every new row of plants and supplies. Several attempts later, he finds what he’s actually looking for.

Ryū - if that’s actually who this is - is up on a step stool to reach the topmost shelf, rearranging some flowers that he has...no idea what they’re called. She’s wearing a plain brown smock over the store’s uniform, a kerchief helping to keep her hair out of her face, and...wow. Her hair is white…? Reminds him of Kakashi’s, but it’s even lighter, and...wavy! It kinda looks like a poofy cloud around her face.

And then he realizes she’s looking inquisitively at him.

“Oh, uh…”

“Can I help you?”

He shifts his weight, suddenly nervous. She’s actually really...cute? Large grey eyes in a heart-shaped face watch him curiously. “I’m...looking for a plant…”

Stepping down to the concrete floor, she dusts at her apron and then gives a sweet giggle. “Well, you’re in the right place for that! Can you...be at all more specific?”

How to explain… “Well, a...friend of mine suggested I look into it. But I’ve never had a plant before. So I’m looking for something...easy. Simple.”

Understanding alights her face. “I see! Well, I’ve got a few that are pretty easy to keep.” Gesturing for him to follow, Ryū leads him to another aisle. “This is a snake plant! They need very few waterings, and don’t need a lot of direct sunlight in case you don’t have a well-placed window or balcony. Then we have a spider plant. They do like sun, but it’s not a full necessity. They just thrive a bit better that way. When it’s warm they like a good amount of water, but you can cut back when it gets cooler. There’s also...devil’s ivy - they like dry soil. Aloe vera needs good drainage, and a cactus soil is best for them. Then on the other end of the spectrum, nerve plants like a lot of water, if you’re the sort to go a bit overboard!”

Obito watches as she points out all the different plants. None of them have flowers on them, but...well, he doesn’t really mind. Flowers are a bit too feminine for him, anyway. Something simple and green should suit him just fine. But she starts dumping a bit too much information on him, and he flounders. “...uh…?”

Realizing as much, she laughs again. “Sorry, sorry...I tend to ramble. If I were you, I’d try devil’s ivy first. They don’t need a lot of water or light. And they grow like weeds, which is fun! I recommend putting them in a hanging pot so all the limbs can drape down. It’s really pretty. Just be careful about overwatering, as that can bring about root rot. Make sure the soil gets plenty dry before you water again!”

Picking up one of the plants, Obito looks it over. The subtle marbling of lighter green on the leaves is pretty cool. It reminds him of his friend Zetsu, what with his vitiligo. Maybe he’ll name the plant after him. And it’s not too expensive, either. “Okay, I’ll give this one a try.”

“Perfect!”

“Do I...need anything else?”

“You can get an attachment to turn that pot into a hanging one - they’re easy to put on and pretty cheap. Once it grows a fair bit, you’ll need to repot it: to put it in a bigger pot so the roots don’t get too crowded. But that’ll be a while yet. It’s already in potting soil, so it won’t need any fertilizer, either. And you can just water it with a cup, honestly. Unless you feel like getting fancy, you should be good to go! There’s a million guides online if you need more help, too. Never fear looking something up if you’ve got any questions.”

“Er...okay.”

“So...I guess if that’s all you want, we can get you rung up out here, so you can take your new plant baby home!”

Subtly, Obito’s nose wrinkles. Baby…? But he doesn’t complain, following her to the checkout stand after getting a hanger for the planter and paying for his new plant. Then it’s a walk to the bus, a short ride, and he’s back at his apartment.

...now what?

His apartment does have a small balcony that faces to the west - it gets a good amount of afternoon sun. He’ll have to look up how much is enough and not too much. He doesn’t have any hooks to hang it on yet, so...for now, he can just set it on the floor. But will Tenebris bother it?

Speaking of, she’s purring and twisting around his legs as he gets home, looking to the plant curiously. He cautiously offers it for her to sniff. He occasionally gets her those little pet grasses (which never last longer than a week before it dies…), but otherwise she doesn’t get anything green.

After a few sniffs, she declares it inspected and leaves it alone.

...well, hopefully she won’t try and chew it.

Just in case, he fetches a little end table from his room to set it on, arranging it by the glass door to the balcony. The soil feels a little damp, so no need for water. He makes a mental note to get some hooks next time he’s out and about.

...he’ll admit, it looks...nice. And it’ll look even better once he gets it hanging.

For now, he snaps a picture of it with his phone, first sending it to Kakashi with the message, all right, got the plant. happy now? :P

The next he sends to Zetsu. made a new friend today and named it after you. see the resemblance?

From there, he decides it’s about time for some lunch, so...he leaves Zetsu junior by the door and fixes himself some quick food.

And so begins a new routine. After feeding Tenebris every night (and cleaning her litter box, eugh), he checks the plant. A finger gauges the dampness of the soil, giving it a little water whenever he finds it to be too dry. Careful eyes look it over for any imperfections.

...and every time he looks at it, he’s reminded of the lady who sold it to him. What was her name? Ryū? She was super helpful, and...really nice.

...and really cute.

He kind of wants to go back and see if she’s there again. Why, he’s not sure. He doubts he’d have the stones to ask her for her number or anything. After all, their only connection is as a customer and retailer. She was nice because that’s her job: to encourage someone to buy something.

Which he did.

Would she even remember him? It’s been two weeks now...surely he’s lost in a haze of other people she’s been forced to talk to since then.

...but in the end, he decides to try.

This time, he knows exactly where he’s going when he steps into the building. But...he also lingers outside the door for a little while, realizing he has no idea what he’s going to do or say once he gets in there.

And it doesn’t help there’s some kind of a sale going on, so the place is actually a bit crowded. He doesn’t want to interrupt her working: he knows that well enough himself. But he’s already come this far, he can’t just leave now!

So he squares his shoulders, takes a breath...and then heads inside.

Quite a few people mill about, looking at all the wares and plants within the garden center. To help with the load, more employees are fluttering around compared to last time. Everywhere he looks, there’s people.

But where is Ryū…?

With so many others to catch attention, he doesn’t bother trying to hide his searching gaze, everyone too focused on their own tasks to care. He makes a full lap around without seeing her. Did he really manage to miss her, or...maybe she’s not here? Surely she must be! Then his whole trip would be for noth-

“Whoa!”

Rounding a corner, Obito manages to skid to a stop before running into...Ryū! She too comes up short, eyes wide in surprise and clinging to the woven bamboo in a pot she’s carrying.

“...oh! It’s you again!”

Wait, she...she recognizes -? Oh...it’s then he thinks to account for his scars. That would make him memorable.

“The guy with the devil’s ivy, right? How’s it doing? Did you get it hung okay?”

He blinks. “...uh...y-yeah, I did. It’s by my balcony door. Seems to like it there.”

“That’s great!” She gives him a smile. “See, I told you it wouldn’t be so bad! Are you here to get another plant?”

“... uh ?”

“I know it’s hard to stop once you start, right? You could get a second ivy and have one on each side of the door!”

“Er, maybe...actually, I -?”

“If you wait just a sec, I can help you look for one! I need to run this to a guy at checkout, then I’ll be free!”

“Uh -?” Before he can protest, she’s already zipping back to the counter.

This isn’t good. He’s not here for another plant, he’s here to say hi! But now he’ll feel bad if he doesn’t get one...and maybe she’s right. Having a balance would look nice. And then Zetsu junior won’t be lonely. But what to name the other one...Zetsu the third?

As he mulls it over, Ryū manages to return unscathed. “So, what do you think?”

“Sure, I...can get another one.”

“Perfect!” They move to the right aisle, Obito perusing the plants before picking one up.

“So...um…”

“Need anything else?”

The tips of his ears slowly go red. “Well, actually...why I really came here was to...say hi. You were...really helpful before. I appreciated it.”

Ryū blinks, clearly taken aback. “Oh...well, you’re welcome! Thanks for stopping by again! Um…” Her smile then turns sheepish. “Sorry...you don’t have to get another plant, I just...figured that’s what you wanted.”

“No, it’s fine! You’re right, it’ll be nice to have the balance. And it’s...nice seeing you again.”

At that, she suddenly turns bashful, gaze dropping and a hand tucking hair behind her ear. “Yeah...you too.”

...a silence falls. And then -

“Would you -”

“Could I -”

“Like to -”

“Get your -”

“Trade -”

“Numbers?”

As the sentences jumble together, they both come to a stop with a jolt before laughing nervously. “Sorry, um...what was that?”

“Nothing, I just...uh…”

“Um...maybe we could...exchange numbers…? Y’know...just to chat?”

Obito blinks. Did she really just -? “...yeah! Yeah, I - I’d like that.”

“Okay...cool!” She fetches her mobile, Obito doing the same as they add one another. “...there. I guess I’ll have to talk to you later! I better get back to it, or...I’ll get in trouble.”

“Oh, sorry!”

“It’s fine - we’re busy enough I bet no one’s noticed I’m gone yet. But it was nice seeing you again, um…?”

“Obito! And you were...Ryū?”

“Yeah!”

He grins. “...all right, well...see you...later?”

“Yeah...have fun with your new plant!”

“I will, heh. Later.” Paying for Zetsu number three, Obito heads home with a light feeling in his chest. That...went far better than he could have dared to hope.

He’ll have to tell Kakashi he’s one step closer to getting that date, too.

     This...could be longer but it’s late and I’m tired :’D Meg yet again suggested a plot and it was SUPER CUTE. Hopefully I did it justice in my limited time jkjhfdg      Meg and I have both become plant parents over the last year so this is super relatable x’D You can’t get just one. You can’t.      But now, it is bedtime. I must sleep uwu Thanks for reading!

[artificialqueens]

The Key (Cat) to my Heart (Branjie)- athena2

A/N: So, @bennitone brought this prompt/artwork to my attention, and I just had to. A woman offers her hand in marriage to anyone that can get the key from her cat’s neck, but she’s a shapeshifter and the cat is her all along.

Vanessa is fed up with marriage proposals, and Brooke is a softie who’s very good with cats.

Vanessa was the most beautiful woman in the village. People came far and wide to tell her how beautiful she was, to lay flowers at her feet, and heap marriage proposals on her. But she always refused.

Vanessa was beautiful, anyone with eyes would agree, but she was kind, too. Brooke worked at a tiny café in the village, and customers scowled and yelled at her all day long. Vanessa was always sweet to her when she came in for her morning coffee, with a splash of cream and a spoon of sugar. Sometimes she even came back in the afternoon for a sandwich, and Brooke knew to give her extra tomatoes.

But Vanessa hadn’t been in for a few days, because she couldn’t take more than two steps from her cottage door without someone rushing at her asking for a date if they were somewhat kind or demanding immediate marriage on the spot if they weren’t kind at all.

Brooke understood why Vanessa stayed inside, but she had to admit how empty it felt at the café without her smile, without her rough but warm voice telling Brooke to enjoy her day, which she would turn over in her mind enough to tune out customers berating her because their coffee was exactly what they had ordered but somehow not what they wanted.

She hoped Vanessa came back soon.

—

One day Vanessa stood in the village square and announced a game. Since everyone wanted to marry her so badly, she would put it in their hands: she would tie the key to her cottage around her kitten’s neck, and she would marry anyone that obtained the key.

The village fell into an utter frenzy. You couldn’t move through the square without bumping into someone mapping the cat’s movements and scheming ways to get the key. Men emptied their pockets buying toys to tempt the kitten, some just waving coins or jewels to attract it. They laid out food on plates to lure it into a trap, but ended up with empty plates and empty traps. They laced up their shoes and chased it for miles, but no one ever got the key, the cat turning circles around them or running up trees, key dangling just out of reach.

Brooke sat on the cobblestone street, watching a man fall into mud with a splat as the kitten tricked him and changed directions.

The kitten wandered over to Brooke. Its white fur was swirled with light brown spots, and it had brown eyes as big as tea cup saucers.

“Having fun?” Brooke asked softly. “I bet you are.” She reached out a hand, well-practiced from two cats of her own, and the kitten bent its head. Brooke stroked the fur, so soft she figured it was what clouds felt like.

She didn’t understand how everyone thought throwing a gold necklace or running after the cat would make it want them. They just had to be its friend.

The kitten rubbed its nose against Brooke’s bag, and she remembered the sandwich stored inside for her lunch.

“Are you hungry?” Brooke asked.

The kitten meowed and seemed to nod, and Brooke unwrapped the sandwich. She was pretty sure the kitten smiled and clapped its paws together eagerly.

“Hang on kitty, let me give you the half with more chicken.” She tore the crusty bread apart carefully, holding the ingredients inside. She offered it to the kitten, but it darted out both paws and grabbed the half with less chicken and more tomatoes.

“I guess you like tomatoes, huh?” Brooke asked.

But the kitten had already wandered away.

—

Weeks passed, and while some still ran into walls chasing after the cat and buying out the toy supply at the shops, many more gave up, muttering under their breath how ridiculous it all was.

The kitten strutted over to Brooke everyday when she was on her lunch break, propped up against the side of the café.

“I got a surprise for you today,” Brooke whispered. She pulled out a stuffed mouse. “You can play with it,” she explained, nudging it toward the cat.

The cat rolled around with the toy, meowing in excitement through Brooke’s lunch hour. She continued to pass it pieces of her sandwich, which the cat gobbled up.

—

“Come on, I have a friend for you to meet.” Brooke’s own cats trotted along behind her. She met Vanessa’s cat in the grassy field just past the square and crouched down among the daisies.

“Hey, kitty, these are my cats. Henry and Apollo,” Brooke explained. “Maybe you want to play with them?”

Vanessa’s cat swiped a paw at the other two, the three of them rolling around in the grass together, a tangle of paws and tails. Brooke had brought two sandwiches. She broke one into three and passed it to the cats, and ate the other herself as the cats crawled over her.

Her clothes were more cat hair than cotton at the end of the day, but it was worth it.

—-

“This coffee is too sweet! This isn’t what I wanted! How can you be so stupid?”

“Sir,” Brooke tried to stop her voice from shaking, “You-you asked for it extra sweet.”

“Well, this is too sweet!”

“I-I can make you an-another.”

“Make it. Maybe you won’t mess that one up.”

He stormed out to the streets while Brooke made another coffee, putting in less sugar. The man stomped back in a few minutes later.

“Whose cat is out there?” the man demanded of the whole café. “It chewed up my pants!”

Brooke smiled and had to smother her laughter behind the counter.

—

Brooke stretched her long legs and pulled out a book, sun bright overhead. The cat hopped into her lap and trained its head on the page.

“You can’t read, silly,” Brooke smiled.

The cat whipped around and gave Brooke a flash of pink tongue, and Brooke laughed. She turned the pages, reading aloud softly so the cat could hear.

She tipped some blueberries into her hand and let the cat’s tongue tickle her palm as she ate them.

The weight of the cat on her legs made her warmer inside than the sun did.

—

A man was chasing the cat around, which was nothing new, but then Brooke noticed his hands. More specifically, what was in them.

Brooke ran into the village square and the cat bounded toward her. Brooke scooped the kitty up and cradled it against her chest, its small body trembling.

“Wh-what do you think you’re doing?” Brooke asked the man.

“I wasn’t going to use it,” he insisted, lowering the crossbow.

“I don’t care. Get a-away from the cat.”

The man obeyed, and Brooke took a deep breath. She’d never stood up to anyone before, letting insults from customers roll off her shoulder even as she wanted to cry. But she couldn’t let someone harm Vanessa’s cat.

“You okay, kitty?”

The kitten nodded and mewed softly, its shakes easing as Brooke continued to stroke its fur. It craned its neck and gave Brooke a damp kiss on the cheek.

—

Rain had been pounding on the café roof all day, and when Brooke left for the night it was still going strong. The wind howled and the rain came down in sheets, pelting off Brooke’s rain jacket.

A tiny whimper caught her attention. She picked the cat up where it had sheltered itself under the café window.

“Vanessa must be worried about you, kitty. I can’t leave you out in this rain.”

She tucked the cat inside her jacket, its fur against her chest warming Brooke from head to toe even as the rain came down and splattered up her legs. It was a short walk to Vanessa’s cottage, in the opposite direction to Brooke’s own, but she just held her jacket closed tight and got the cat home as fast as she could.

It nodded at her as she set it down on the cobbled path that led to Vanessa’s door, flanked with flowers in bright pinks and yellows. It scurried up to the door, and Brooke spent the whole night thinking about walking past those flowers and knocking on the door herself.

—

Days passed, and Brooke found herself counting down the minutes to her lunch break at the café, knowing she’d have a blissful hour with the cat at her feet or in her lap.

She could have taken the key any time. It was right there, and in a few seconds it could be hers. But she couldn’t just take it, show up at Vanessa’s door, and demand marriage. It wasn’t right.

Besides, she had grown to like the cat. Brooke had never really had anyone to talk to, and talking to new people gave her a stomachache. Even though the cat couldn’t answer her back, it was nice just having it there to listen, to feed lunch to, to pet.

It was almost like having a friend.

—

Brooke decided to take the cat to the park one day, and settled on her stomach on the cool grass, the cat across from her.

“You’re a lucky kitty, aren’t you?” Brooke mused, burying her hand in the cat’s fur. “I bet Vanessa cuddles you at night, and kisses you…” She found herself lost in the cat’s big brown eyes. “I’d give anything to be in your place. To hug her and kiss her and…” Brooke slammed her mouth shut, but it was no use. It fell open again and the words tumbled out, and Brooke couldn’t stop her rambling.

“She’s always so nice to me when she comes in the café. I think she smells like coconut but she never gets close enough for me to be sure. I wonder if I’m right…what am I saying? She’d probably be so disappointed if I unlocked her door. I bet she’d slam it right in my face and lock it forever. Why would she want me?”

Brooke rolled onto her back and threw her hands over her face, trying to stop the blaze burning through her cheeks. She sighed and looked up at the clouds.

“Why am I saying all this to a cat?” Brooke muttered. “Well, at least you can’t tell anyone.” She froze and glanced at the cat. She didn’t think it could talk, but… “You can’t tell anyone, right? Oh, please don’t tell her, she’ll think I’m an idiot…”

She swore the kitten frowned for a second, then leaped onto her chest, fluffy paws settling against her skin. It lowered its head, the key swinging above Brooke’s nose, gold glittering in the sun.

“You…you want me to take it?”

The kitten bobbed its head up and down.

“You really think she would like me?”

The kitten nodded again, faster this time, paws pressing firmly into Brooke’s chest.

“Well, okay,” Brooke wasn’t convinced, but she reached up anyway. “Stay still, kitty, I don’t want to hurt you.” She carefully eased the key from around the kitten’s neck.

There was a flash of light, and the weight on Brooke’s chest got heavier…

Her mouth hung open as the cat vanished and suddenly Vanessa was perched on Brooke’s chest, legs on both sides of her torso. The breeze tugged gently at her wavy hair and her skin glowed in the sunlight. Her brown eyes were just as big and wide as they were in cat-form.

“V-Vanessa?”

“You did it!” Vanessa crowed. “I was starting to think I’d have to follow you around forever!”

“You…” Brooke’s words were stuck. “The whole time, it was you?”

Vanessa smiled. “Yeah. Sorry I tricked you, but I wanted to see who would respect me when I wasn’t me. I hoped it would be you all along.”

Vanessa lifted herself off Brooke and held out a hand. “What do you say we go use that key?”

Brooke nodded and stood up on shaky legs. Vanessa wrapped an arm around her waist, and Brooke let her chin rest on Vanessa’s head.

She really did smell like coconut.

[namjuicyy]

The Lonely Cherry Blossom Tree

Recommended listening | Watch the painting being created 

Masterlist | Requests are open.

WARNINGS: there’s nothing explicit in here but there are themes of a mature nature so please be wary of that when you read.

Genre: Fluff, angst.

Words: 1.9k

Standing in the centre of the lake stood a miracle – a simple tree that defied all the laws of science solely by existing. Happily it stood, the blossoms on the branches swaying in the spring wind, fully grown and completely healthy; seemingly placed there by a deity to improve a once bleak skyline. The lake itself was always quiet, always empty and void of human life as though there were a protective spell cast around it where only the pure of heart could enter its perimeter and gaze upon nature’s wonder. And given that humans were hardly around, there was never any kind of pollution – no trash to dirty the crystal-clear waters; no light to blind the night sky and cloud your window to the universe beyond. You could simply sit on the tiny, rooted island and gaze at the reflection of Orion in the calm aqua and feel the mild breeze as it blew around you, making the cherry blossoms dance to a song the world created.

You and your then best friend discovered this place when you were children. Even at a young age the two of you could appreciate the lake for what it was and how it was meant to be. From a young age you daren’t speak above a whisper as to not disturb the life inhabiting this magical place. Even when you laughed at him when he came out the lake wet to his waist and a grumpy look on his face, it was more of the giggle of a schoolgirl trying not to get caught and scolded by her teacher. All he wanted to do was find out just how deep the lake was, but slipped and fell, ending up a little further into the water than he intended. He splashed you, trying to wet you too. All you got was rained on, however. Much to his dismay.

Later on, when you’d hit your preteens, you’d discovered you’d need a boat to get you to the centre island, something you’d both been trying to do when you’d met there almost every day for five years. So, you had both put what little pocket money you’d saved and shared the cost of a small rowboat you dragged to the lake. He hammered logs of wood into the lakeside so you could tie your boat down when you were no longer in your private bubble, and once again when you’d arrived for the first time at the island. Stepping onto it was peculiar to say the least. It felt as though the ground was swaying just as the boat did on the water, but it of course was just your imagination. However, the view you had once you stopped and allowed yourself to take in your surroundings was breath-taking. You could see the entire lake from here, the luscious green grass framing the liquid crystal, the soft ripples on the surface, the cherry blossom leaves floating away, adding a touch of pink to a once clear reflection. That first time on the little embankment saw you both staying there until well after dark – in fact, well after your bedtime, and meant you’d both be grounded by your parents as soon as you got home but it was worth it to play cards as the sun set and the stars came out to play. Each day you visited the cherry blossom tree in the middle of the lake, you found something new to do with him, even going as far as to build a swing for you both to enjoy.

During your teenage years, when school had separated you both, you’d meet every evening to watch the sun set together. When the world became almost unbearable, you’d find one another waiting under the forever blooming cherry blossoms waiting for the other half of you to arrive. One night, he found you gently rocking yourself on the swing, your posture deflated, and your head lowered. He had no doubt you were crying. Getting to you had been quite a challenge as you’d taken the only boat across, but he’d got to you eventually. And, as he thought, your once happy eyes were dull of their sparkle and hidden behind fresh tears. He could hear your heart breaking, and he held you from behind, let you sob into the void as he kept you close to him, hearing about the boy who got what he wanted from you then left you – the first notch on his bedpost and the first time you vowed to stay away from men. It was then, as the wind blew some pink leaves off the tree to tangle in your hair, and he was able to pull out the first sad smile from you he knew he was desperately in love with you. He held your hand, knelt on the damp grass and promised you he’d protect you no matter what.

In your late teens when school had finished and you were promised a place at university, it was here that you told him. You pushed the confirmation letter into his hand and watched as he processed the words on the paper. He looked up at you, his eyes reflecting the starry night with pride and love on his face as he pulled you into a tight hug and whispered how proud he was of you and that this will be a nice, fresh start for you. But you could hear the underlying sadness, the twinge of melancholy in his voice that was still ever present even behind the happiness. It was then he told you he was in love with you, when his hands cupped your face and pulled you into a kiss that told you more about his feelings than his words ever could. He made love to you that night on the tiny embankment, under nature’s pink canopy with the stars in the sky to watch over you. He made you his own with his lips and his hands and ruined you for any other. He lay claim to the love of his life and was relieved yet pained to know that everything he had been feeling, you had too but had been too scared to say. You awoke in his arms the next morning, still as naked as you were to him last night and sleeping on his chest, his own head propped on the roots of the tree. He was so angelic when he slept – you watched him for what felt like hours before he woke up and claimed you again. He then dressed you, looking like a lovesick fool and rowed you back to the other side of the lake with the promise you made to him and he to you that there would be no other than the person in front of you. Not before you’d both carved your initials into the trunk of the tree to finally mark it as your own and commemorate the night you spent together.

For once in your life a promise had never been broken. Out of term time, when you returned to the life you had before you’d meet under that tree and share your lives with one another, and your bodies, hearts and souls too. For the three years you were coming and going, he never once looked at another woman. He knew you were it for him and oh, how you missed him when you were away.

The day you came back from university, for good this time, he was waiting for you under that tree with a picnic set and a spread of food. A small welcome home banner hung from the sturdy branches and a wireless speaker playing music he made specifically for you accompanying the music you’d both been listening to your entire lives as you spent time in this place. You danced with him the whole night that night and celebrated your reunion and promised you’d never leave him again. He asked you to marry him, too. And of course, you said yes.

Woven in your white wedding dress were small, pink cherry blossoms to pay homage to the tree that had been present for all your victories and defeats. You didn’t want to marry at the lake, as beautiful as it would have been, because then you would have had to have shared your sacred place with others and that was something you couldn’t do. It was just a place for you and your husband and not for anywhere else.

The tree was always there for you, even during times it felt your husband was not. After every argument you would find comfort on the swing with the initials of you and your husband on them and remind yourself that he adored you as much as you did him. When you miscarried for the third time, it was to the peaceful lake you disappeared. And, for the first time in years the tree saw another new face and heard the cries of your very first child as you introduced it to the new addition to the family, as though it were an old friend.

It was to the tree your husband took you when you were getting on in your years and told you it was terminal. That there was nothing more that could be done for him and he wanted to spend whatever time he had left with his wife, his children and his grandchildren. You danced with him again like you did all those years ago, using the leaves to shelter you once again from the harsh realities of the world and take you back to a time that was much simpler, much gentler but filled with no less love than it was now.

Wearing your black suit, you stood from the boat carefully and made your way to the tree. You traced your fingers over your husband’s initials, holding a framed picture of the two of you in your hand and weeping at the base of the tree. You clutched at the photo and lay on the ground despite your bones telling you not to do so, but the grief had weighed you down and had blocked your lungs. Out the corner of your blurring eye, you could see the branches swaying and somehow it was a comfort to you. Perhaps your husband was sending the breeze from heaven to comfort you one last time before you were separated forever. You couldn’t be sure. But you were adamant you could smell him in that light breeze – that his cologne was carried in the wind and wrapping you up in him, telling you that you could do this and that you would live again.

Your children learnt the location of the lake only when you were no longer able to visit; and you made them promise to take care of the place most important to you when it was your time. You, like your husband, were buried holding a cut from the tree in your arms and became the second brightest star in the sky that overlooked the tree.

Heaven, to you, was going back to that tree with your husband the night he first loved you. Living the memory for the rest of eternity with him in your arms and knowing that the life you lived was worth it because of everything he gave you, all the love and the children you shared. All because of a single cherry blossom tree that stood alone in the middle of a lonely lake.

[kpop-forwhaat]

warm - hybrid! BTS au part 1

genre: hybrid! BTS, BTS AU, fluff, poly, (eventual) smut

Pairing: hybrid! BTS x hybrid! reader, poly

Warnings: angst, fluff, mentions of abuse, mentions of smut

Summary: you stumbled into the backyard of an entire house of humans and hybrids, what could go wrong?

Author’s Note: So this is literally the first hybrid fic I’ve ever written, so I’m sorry if the editing is bad!

part one part 2 part three part four part five

It had been a couple days since you had seen any roads. The only thing on your mind right now was finding food, and hopefully soon. You had managed to catch a couple of squirrels, but there’s only so much meat on one squirrel that can satisfy your malnourished hybrid body. 

You ran from your last owner, he wanted nothing more than to show you off as a prize. One of the only lynx hybrids left, you were definitely a prize sought after. You don’t remember how many times you were forgotten, just shoved back into the damp basement after each house party. The only person who would remember to feed you was the other hybrid living there, Jennie. But she was the prized favorite of your master, she was his mistress. She didn’t mind, she had the hybrid bond with him. She loved him; and he used her. You couldn’t get it through her head that all she was is something he could use. She would just smile and say, “I promise he loves me.” 

Then one day, she comes to the basement door. She says that the master has left, and he won’t be back for a few days, he’ll be gone on business. The babysitter will be over in the next 10 minutes. You looked at her in question, your eyes no longer having the spark they once had. But then you realized, she’s letting you go. 

You didn’t think twice to ask her to come along, but she refused. She was going to tell him that the baby sitter left the door open, and you ran. It was a smart plan, as you didn’t want her to get hurt. So you thanked her, and you told her you’d never forget her. And you ran.

That was nearly 3 weeks ago.

You were hardly fed as it is while in your master’s house, but now, finding anything was hard to find. Eating acorns and berries weren’t the best, but they held you over. But then the bushes ran dry and the acorns were buried. 

You’ve been walking with no specific direction, just trying to hunt for anything that moves. You had seen a deer a week ago, but your body couldn’t keep up for the chase. 

Suddenly, you spot it. A tiny rabbit, nibbling on some grass. Your mouth waters at the sight; food. 

You sneakily crouch down, eyeing the prey with new energy. Rabbits aren’t as fast as deer, you should be able to catch this one. 

You get into stance, wiggle your butt a little bit in preparation for the pounce. Your eyes are dead set on the little fluff grazing innocently on the path. It turns to get to a new patch of fresh grass, leaving its back defenseless. Now’s your chance. 

You leap. And miss. 

The rabbit scurries away with panic clear in it’s eyes. But this little guy isn’t getting away. No, you haven’t eaten in days, you will get this kill. You follow it closely, every now and then waiting for it to stop and then pounce (every time successful as the first). You don’t even notice that you’ve in view of a backyard until you see a shed that the rabbit dashes into because of your latest attempt at a pounce. 

You notice the mansion when you hear the sliding door open, and you dash behind the shed. You lay your body low on the ground and peer around the corner, hoping to not be seen. 

You see two humans, bundled up in soft scarves and thick hats to fight off the cold autumn day. Now that you think of it, the first snow will be upon us soon. 

Lost in your thoughts, you don’t smell the hybrid until you hear the growling. 

You turn around to see a wolf hybrid standing there, looking absolutely menacing. You wouldn’t be scared normally, you are a more ferocious predator than this wolf, but you both know that you can’t fight off an attack right now; your body won’t allow it. 

He has on boots, jeans, a simple sweater, a red scarf, and glasses on. His tail is stick straight in anticipation and grey fluffy ears are taunt and alert. “Who are you and what are you doing on our property?”

You whimper at the tone, he is not happy that you are here. 

“Namjoon, what is it?” You’re shaking so bad from fear, you don’t smell the other humans arriving. 

“She’s a hybrid!”

“No shit. But look at her, she’s terrified.” 

“Thank you. I didn’t notice that Yoongi.” 

You sneak a peek through your lashes at the bodies standing in front of you. You see a tall man with dark ebony hair and wide shoulders kneeling in front of you. The cap on top of his head looks like it’s about to slide off, and you have to stop yourself from fixing it. Why do you want to fix it? He’s human, he’s going to hurt you.

You can’t stop the hiss from escaping when you see how close he is. His eyes go wide and he stumbles back, and the Namjoon wolf catches him. 

“She’s a cat, lemme try.” 

The other man kneels down, trying to make sense of this hybrid curled in a ball trying to look mean, but just failing miserably. 

“Hi, my name is Yoongi. I’m a black panther hybrid. Can you tell us your name?” His eyes show warmth, and he has a small smile on his face. You feel you can trust him, you know hybrids. He’s a cat, he’s one of you. 

You’re still tense, but you decide that he’s okay so you uncurl a little bit, and your tail starts to sway slowly. “Y/N.”

Yoongi nods, holding out his hand. “Do you want to come inside, it’s really cold out here.” 

You look at the hand, and then back at the human standing next to Namjoon. “Will he be there?” 

Yoongi looks a little shocked, but the human steps forward immediately. His arms are out to show that he means no harm, “I will but I will be on the other side of the house. Myself and Hoesok will be in another room away, okay?” 

Namjoon still looks hesitant, but nods none the less. “I can make sure they stay there, so you can eat.”

You nod, finally accepting the waiting hand in front of your face. 

When you fully stand to your height, you notice how much shorter you are compared to these giants. It makes you want to shrink back, but you know that’s not who you are. Not what your parents taught you.

Namjoon leads Jin away, briskly walking away from you and Yoongi. He looks at you and sees your appearance. 

She looks like she hasn’t eaten in days, nor has she showered in months. He knows that she must be a stray, and she must be weak. Those lame attempts at pouncing alerted him to the fact that you are in your last few weeks.

He leads you up to the house wordlessly, and opens the sliding door that the other two people just entered through. You can feel the heat leaving the house, and you want to whimper. You haven’t felt warmth in so long, you can’t even remember. 

You look at his eyes and see he’s patiently waiting, knowing that you’re hesitant. You lean forward a bit to scent the house; 2 humans and 5 hybrids. You look back to Yoongi, and he offers his hand to you again. You don’t think before you put your freezing palm onto his soft skin, and he pulls you into the warmth of the house.

The sliding door soft shuts behind you as you take in the house. It’s nicely decorated with clean wooden floors, the living room off to the side and you’re standing in the kitchen; which is huge and amazing. You’ve never really seen the kitchen before, but you knew it housed huge amounts of food that you could never get to. You were fed the normal hybrid pellets, they weren’t filling nor very nutritious as food would be, but it was cheaper than to feed another mouth with steak and potatoes every night. 

Yoongi leads you to a stool seated at the counter, and lifts you up to seat you. His hands around your waist makes you blush, you’ve never been touched like that before. It was kind of, nice.

If he saw your pink cheeks, he didn’t comment on them. Instead he went straight to the straight to the stove and pulled out a pot. He poured chicken broth into the pot and started to heat it up, as well as adding in some pieces of cooked chicken and noodles. He got a glass of water for you, and set it in front of you. 

You looked at the glass and then back at him. His eyebrows raised in question, “aren’t you thirsty?”

You bow your head, “you have to give me permission.”

Yoongi doesn’t know what to say, he’s never encountered a situation like this before. He sees how pale and skinny you are, how you have a few faint scares on your arms. He sees your ripped and dirty clothes, and he feels his face heat up in anger. “Listen to me Y/N, we are not your masters. We are all equals, you can do whatever you want in this house. You can eat and drink whenever you want, you never have to ask for permission,” his hand gently grazes your chin to lift it up, “you are not an animal, you’re a hybrid. You have rights.” 

His words brought about about a change in you. You don’t know exactly what it was, but something is happening in you. You can feel it. 

Yoongi’s breath caught in his through when he saw you smile at him. When you lifted the glass to your lips, he had to turn away and go back to the broth. The way you licked your lips before drinking the water had a heat treading through his body, going straight towards his dick. What was he thinking? How can he feel this way towards a girl that he just met? She needs help, and not that kind of help.

You finish the glass of water quickly, and take a deep breath. You smell the hybrid behind the door leading out of the kitchen, and you stiffen. He’s just standing there, and you can hear him pacing back and forth. A low warning whine leaves your through, causing the form to stop. Yoongi looks back at you and sees your ears back in warning and your tail lightly brushing back and forth behind you. You’re warning someone, but who?

He gets his answer when 3 other hybrids fall simultaneously into the kitchen from behind the swinging door. He sighs, looking at them. 

He looks at Taehyung, the German shepherd hybrid. He’s on top of Jimin, the calico cat hybrid, who is then on top of Jungkook, the bunny hybrid. 

You look at them with your head cocked, your ears forward in curiosity. You’re not as cautious of them, as they all look absolutely ridiculous in the entrance to the kitchen. 

“Yah! Why did you push?”

“I was trying to scent her! I wanted to know what hybrid she is!”

“You’re squishing my ears!” 

The three goofs then stand and try to straighten out their clothes. When they all finally get a look at you, they all unknowingly think together, she’s tiny. 

“Guys, don’t scare her. She’s still a little skittish about you guys, about me too.” Yoongi lazily says, but he shares a small wink with you, making your cheeks heat up again. You put your head down so your long hair goes in front of your face, giving them all a good view of your ears. 

“They’re so fluffy, can I pet them?” The calico cat hesitantly steps forward when you don’t immediately answer him. You cock your head again to the other side, debating on whether or not to let him touch you. He is a cat after all, and the pets that Jennie had given you after lights out were always nice and calming. 

He continues his way towards you, with all eyes are you two. When he reaches you, he looks in your eyes to silently ask one more time. When you blink, he knows that you won’t bite his hand off, but you’re still wary. He takes that as a sign to go slow, and when his hand grazes your ear, it flicks. 

Jimin closes his eyes and leans forward to finally place his hand behind your ear and begins to scratch. He sees your eyes close, and you try to hold back from leaning into his touch. You were about to start purring when a bowl of the soup is set in front of you, and Jimin’s hand leaves your head. 

“You should eat, and then we can get you into the bath.” You nod at Yoongi in thanks, your eyes already showing sparks of life. Yoongi has to tear his eyes away from your beautiful Y/E/C and looks at his donsaengs. “Let’s let her eat in peace guys.” Every nods to leave, but then your small voice makes them halt in their steps. 

“Wait! Can you stay with me?” Your eyes don’t leave Yoongi’s, and you also shift to Jimin asking him to stay. You feel at ease with these two cats, and if you were to be left alone in this big kitchen by yourself, you don’t know what you would do. 

They nod and pull up stools next to you while the other two sulk out of the kitchen. It’s not that you don’t like them, it’s that you don’t know them. You don’t know what kind of hybrids they were. Jennie was also a cat hybrid, a mountain lion. She was also a rare breed, but she was the first hybrid their master had gotten when he was a little boy. 

Yoongi’s warm brown eyes bore into you as you take the first sip of the soup. It explodes over your taste buds, and you perk in delight. You’ve never tasted something so delicious. You briefly feel a small hand going back over your ears and you lean into it. You’ve never felt so warm before. 

[saccharinedanganimagines]

Rantaro, Shuichi and The purple boi hearing that someone is at the door and goes to open it, seeing their fem/crush standing in the rain, clothes ruined and just looking very exhausted saying , "The power went out at my house and I didn't want to be alone. I didn't know who else I'd go to." ( later the same night she might slip out a little bit about her feelings!)

Aww jinkies I hope this never happens to any of you! .( ̵˃﹏˂̵ ) …Unless you end up at your crush’s house too fufufu~-

~ Mod Komaru

Power Outage:

Rantaro-

Immediately welcomes you inside and starts fussing over you. His instincts kick in when he sees you soaking wet and he all but literally pulls you inside out of the rain.

He’s not even truly registering the fact that it’s his crush at the door yet: inside he’s kind of aware but he has this nurturing instinct first thing and his priority is making sure you’re taken care of.

“First thing’s first…let’s get you some dry clothes. My sisters like to send me their favorite dresses when they need some mending, so help yourself to whatever you want to put on while I find you a towel, yeah?”

He walks you to the guest room and it’s only when you’re behind the closed door that he fully realizes it: his crush is here, in his house.

He runs a nervous hand through his hair and rubs the back of his neck, his cheeks slightly pink as he heads to the linen closet to get you a towel.

As he passes the guest room, he knocks politely and asks, “How do you like your tea? I already have hot water on, so it’s no trouble, and we should get something warm in you so you don’t catch cold…ah, come to think…have you eaten yet? I think this house is on a different grid than yours, so I’ll cook something up now in case our luck runs out. I’ll be downstairs, so just find me when you’re ready.”

He hands you the towel through the door, then heads downstairs and makes you something simple and quick, a recipe he picked up from somewhere overseas. When he hears you come down, he starts talking before looking up.

“I hope you don’t mind fish: it’s the thing I’m best at making, being around on that boat all the-” He pauses briefly when he looks up at you, almost forgetting to flip the fish, “-time. Ah, you picked that dress-”

His expression instantly makes you worry that maybe this one was too important to choose, so you offer hasty apologies and ask if you should go change.

“Huh? Oh no, no-!” He laughs, and the sound comes right from his chest, warm and deep and genuine. “-Don’t you dare, you look beautiful! I was just surprised, y’know?” His cheeks flush and he looks right into your eyes.

“I’m…used to seeing my sisters wear those. I never really considered how they’d look…on a woman before.” A beat. “…Sorry, am I making any sense? Ahah. Here, let’s eat.”

He plates up the food, brings you tea, and he switches on the cooking channel while you settle in on the couch.

“If you wanna watch anything else, just take the remote, yeah? I just figured this would be a good way to think of what I can make you next time. That is…I hope there’s a next time, under better circumstances? You’re welcome here any time, (Y/N).”

As he spoke you’d been listening quietly, getting lost in his voice. How could one guy sound so calm and be so comforting so effortlessly?

“…I love you.”

His eyes go wide at your sudden confession and his face goes totally red.

“A-Ah! I’d love to-” You hastily correct, laughing nervously.

“Y-Yeah, no worries, I get you-” Rantaro looks completely caught off-guard for once.

It only makes you want to see that side of him even more.

Shuichi-

“A-Ah, don’t worry about it! Y-You must be freezing, come in-ah, sorry for the mess-”

He’s very introverted and the type to need to really plan before having company without feeling too much anxiety, so he’s still a little flustered, but seeing you in such a state makes him forget all about those kinds of worries.

“…Did a car splash mud all over you? This…really isn’t your night, huh? Um, do you want a shower? I-I’m not saying that like you have to or you should or anything-I just thought, if you wanted, you definitely could, there are towels.”

You nod and tell him, “No that sounds perfect right now, thank you so much, Shuichi. I really owe you for this…”

“N-Not at all. I’m just happy I can help somehow.”

He shows you where the bathroom is and then all but sinks into the chair at his work desk, burying his face in his hands.

…This was really happening, wasn’t it?

Unfortunately, he was so quick to usher you into the shower that he forgot that he doesn’t have anything specific for a female visitor to wear.

So when you finish up and come in wearing his boxers and one of his slightly oversized button-up sleeping shirts, it’s almost too much for this poor shy detective to handle.

“A-Ah! I’m so sorry-I didn’t have anything set aside for you-”

“No, this is perfect. I love…it.”

Your honest answer in the face of his massive bewilderment hits him square in the heart. He covers his mouth and looks aside, cheeks red, not noticing how you’re in a similar predicament from what almost slipped out of your mouth.

He’s really got it bad for you. Your sudden, stifled yawn snaps him back to reality.

“O-Oh, if you’re tired, you’re more than welcome to use my bed, if…if that’s not too strange. I’ll be up all night working on this case anyways so you don’t have to worry about me.”

“Thank you, Shuichi. But…don’t feel like you can’t go to sleep too, okay? I’ll face one side and…we can share. Take care of yourself too, please?”

He manages a hasty nod as you get ready for sleep. He’s totally screaming on the inside.

He really tries not to give in, but eventually he drags himself to bed and gives you as much room as he can, like a gentleman.

What he couldn’t have counted on was waking up as your little spoon.

Kokichi-

“Woah! You’re a mess! Did your power go out too? Nishishi~, not to worry, a supreme leader like me is always prepared! Get inside you dum-dum!”

That’s a lie, this is the absolute last thing he ever expected to happen. Seeing you made his heart skip a little but he’s trying to play it cool!

He leads you to the washroom with a handheld LED lamp and gives you a slightly damp towel.

“I didn’t have time to do laundry yet, but you can use this! It’s the cleanest one, I swear I only used it to dry my hair~”

When he announces that he’s going to find you something dry to wear, you use the towel he gave you to dry your hair. Inhaling something slightly fragrant, you absently bring the towel to your nose.

It’s a surprisingly mild scent, but is this...Kokichi’s shampoo? Strange, you would have thought it’d be something overwhelmingly fruity. It’s unexpected, but it’s so plain that it brings a certain nostalgia to you, like remembering time rolling in the grass with an old friend.

A knock on the door startles you out of your reverie and you open up.

“Hey, hey! Did you get lost in here or something? Nishishi~, I have your sleeping choices all lined up on my bed! Go pick one and come to the living room so we can play!”

He darts off, the sound of his giggling and the padding of his bare feet plodding down the hall quickly. You go to his room and find-

-a collection of kigurumis, laid out on the bed! You pick out the rabbit one and peel off all your wet clothes to change into it before joining him in the living room.

“Surprise! What do you think?”

Little electric tea lights line a path to a huge canopy of sheets and blankets draped around the furniture into the biggest fort you’ve ever seen. He beckons you into a tunnel of cushions and blankets, where there’s piles of candy and chips and snacks.

“Look, your handheld is here from last time-I took the liberty of charging it for you since you forgot it, but mine is charged too, we can still play Mokepon!”

Shoulder to shoulder, you start up your games and munch on your candies. You can’t help but sink a little closer to him when you catch another whiff of his shampoo tickling your nose. Before you know it, you’re both laying back on the cushions, your head tucked into the crook of his neck and shoulder, his head leaning on yours. You play your games for hours like that, and it’s honestly pure bliss-the idle conversation, the peaceful, domestic intimacy of him occasionally asking you if you’re comfortable or if you need anything.

You start trading your Mokepon and send him a Luvdisc. He giggles mischievously and nudges you.

“Isn’t that the one people give each other to profess their love? What a bold move! Nishishi~”

His teasing is light but your face is burning up. You’d...totally forgotten about that. Hesitantly you glance at him, but he’s still playing his game. Or so it seemed.

His shampoo smells really nice. You turn your nose towards it and breathe it in at the nape of his neck.

“Hey.”

His voice is softer somehow.

“Trade with me again, okay?”

You blink and look back at your game. He’s offering the one you just sent back to you.

“I’m...returning it.” His smile is secretive and his face feels warm, so close to yours. “...Do you get it?”

[malodorousmalcontent]

Sixteen92 Review

Hi everybody, welcome to my Sixteen92 review, where I feel unnecessarily self-conscious about how many times I describe scents as 'perfumey'.

I've been sitting on these for a good couple... Weeks? Months? I don't know, but a fateful weekend came where I took a look at my exceptionally busy Notes file, and felt very sad, so I figured i'd knock a couple reviews off my list. Work through all this shit I still needed to review. And that brings us here! Hooray.

I'll be reviewing Kuro Lolita, You Who Swallowed a Falling Star, New Radio, Hydromancy, Telepathy, Mellifera, Vlad Dracul, Paper Moon, and An Excellent Day for an Exorcism.

Hold onto yer butts, folks, this one gets pretty long, here we go

KURO LOLITA (PERFUME OIL) || Black sandalwood, burning resins, straw, porcelain, delicate lace, wet stone, fog, wind-blown leaves.

This smells like a cold rainy fall day in a small southern gothic town, encompassed by farmland, with cobblestone streets and dotted with tiny run-down churches. Bales of hay are speckled around the area: leftover decorations from autumn festivities that happened a week or so ago.

...Just had to get that outta my system, onto the stuff that matters!

The first thing I get, punching me in the nose as soon as I put it on, is sandalwood and damp hay. It's a very warm, woody, dusty scent, with just a little bit of sweet acridness that makes me think there's a dry/decaying leaf note in this (I haven't double-checked the notes yet, so I only remember some of them), and enough petrichor to put the 'damp' in there. The burning resin note comes out after about 10 minutes of wear, and, boy, it's unmistakable: Sweet, with a kick, and a good amount of burniness to it. It smells dark. Like you just walked into one'a those imaginary churches and they were performing a sordid ritual in there, the chapel overrun with incense and candles.

Another 15 minutes, and the sandalwood fades, the resins mellow out some, and i'm mostly left with the hay and that gentle sweet smell of decay. The final note I smell on the drydown: leaves and cold, wet atmosphere. Really interesting atmospheric, evokes a lot of mental imagery.

tl;dr: Sandalwood at first, followed by burning, incensey, sweet resin that mellows out to hay and a decaying leaves note that is present throughout the whole wear. Dries down to leaves and cold, wet atmosphere.

RATING: 3.5/5. Nice, a very good atmospheric, but I feel like it's bordering overly complex, with some of the notes getting lost in the mix and my nose feeling a bit confused. I also don't know how much i'll want to really wear it.

--

YOU WHO SWALLOWED A FALLING STAR (PERFUME OIL) || Dark stone fruits, glowing embers, night rose, sweet sandalwood, plum blossom.

Oh, smells like rock candy.

So this is sitting on a weird edge for me. See, "stone fruit" (peach) notes tend to not work on me more often than not: they go acrid in this terrible, burning bodily fluid kinda way, and this... This is sitting juuuust on the edge of that. It's sharp and tart and kinda heady, rounded out by that rock-candy sweetness (which i'm 90% certain is frankincense. Source: I have a bag of pure frankincense), and just like... It's thinking about being a burny bile scent. But not quite. Nooot quite. There's a smooth, perfumey floral undercurrent to this, too. Lots of smells goin' on at once.

The drydown is basically lush, smooth, perfumey, rich-as-hell flowers, with a slight sourness to 'em. It's actually very pretty, that rose is killin' it. I don't get the threat of burning bile anymore, or the rock candy. It's a little humid-smelling, too - a great summer night scent.

tl;dr: Bright stone fruit and powdery, rock-candy-like incense which fades to lush, smooth florals.

RATING: 3/5. Well made, but i'm not big on how the top notes play out at all.

--

NEW RADIO (PERFUME OIL) || Vanilla milkshake accord, maraschino cherry, pink lemonade, grass clippings, waffle cone.

So, full disclosure, I had no interest in this scent. I saw it and went, woof, that sounds way too bright and sweet and youthful for me, and passed it over time and time again. I ended up getting it as a free sample when I ordered some of those Sea Salt Hair Sprays, and... Wow. I like it way, way more than I thought I would.

In the bottle, it's... Perfect. It's everything. Rich, foody, smooth vanilla; SUPER bright, almost candied, nice n' tart maraschino cherry (this is the note I was most worried about, too, as I don't like cherries - but this note is perfect). The gentlest edge of sour pink lemonade. A perfect, toasty waffle cone, which is honestly one of my favorite scents... I don't get much grass, but I don't need it. In the bottle, it's the perfect summer scent.

You'll notice I keep saying 'in the bottle'.

It touches down on my skin, and lives in that perfect blissful state for about two seconds, and then, boom. My skin absolutely gobbles up most of those wonderful notes. That bright maraschino cherry? Gone. Pink lemonade? Barely there, just giving a bit of a sour zing. All i'm really left with is vanilla and the faintest hints of that waffle cone note. It's absolutely heartbreaking. Like, it still smells good... But, god, not as good as it could. I might get a scent locket for this, though.

Virtually no sillage, but I can smell that vague warm sweetness on my wrist for a pretty good handful of hours.

tl;dr: A delicious, foody, bright, sweet and warm and toasty summer scent that's a dead-ringer for its notes... That my skin devours instantly, leaving only vanilla, a touch of lemonade, and faint breadiness.

RATING: 3/5. This would be a 5/5 if my skin didn't DEVOUR half of it. RIP, beautiful scent.

--

HYDROMANCY (PERFUME OIL) || Fog, cold violet, lichen, ambroxan, mineral accord, petrichor, glass.

This was recommended to me when I went out and asked people for a scent that makes me smell like a ghost, and honestly, this fits the bill pretty well. It's a pretty specific type of ghost, though: the ghost of a waifish maiden who went down with a sinking ship, who you find, suspended frozen above the water, in the air pocket of an underwater cave that she managed to swim to but ultimately starved to death within.

...ANYWAYS

This smells empty, silky, ethereal, dark in a spooky way, and most importantly, pretty darn oceanic and green. The first thing I smell upon putting it on is the lichen and ambroxan, the former being green, sort of dry-smelling (like lichen that's growing just a foot or so above the water, hasn't touched it in a while, y'know), with that weird tang that lichen can have, and the latter giving a very oceanic sweet-saltiness. The mineral accord and petrichor blend really well with the ambroxan note and it genuinely just ends up smelling like very realistic dank cave ocean water.

And then there's the fog and the glass. The Weird Notes.

The fog is less a scent and more a feeling - it makes the entire scent sort of... Soft and fuzzy. It's what's giving it that silky quality. The glass, you can actually smell, and it... Smells like glass, y'all. Cold and clear and giving off a faint sterile scent, but, it's there. Notably, I can only really detect it if I huff so hard that I become anosmic to the ambroxan and lichen, and it comes out more on the dry-down, but. ...Yeah, it's there. Combined with the fog, it's like... The scent equivalent of looking through a window that's become clouded with condensation. If that makes sense.

This doesn't have a ton of sillage - I can just barely detect it from 3 inches away - but wears very strongly on my wrist.

tl;dr: A realistic ocean water scent made fuzzy and silky by a fog note, with a fascinating, realistic glass note that peeks out on the dry-down.

RATING: 4/5. Too oceanic for me, but well made, and that glass note is WILD.

--

TELEPATHY (PERFUME OIL) || Winter narcissus, tonka bean, immortelle flower, sleet, ozone, white amber.

When I first got this, it was basically just straight sleet for the entire wear, and I wasn't wild about it. It was a very realistic sleet note, mind you, but that's not necessarily a good thing: the scent basically smelled cold, bitter, and a little dirty, which is not at all what I had been expecting from the notes.

The good news is, after considerable rest, it's verrrry different.

I put it on, and for the first minute, it's still that dirty sleet note, but then it softens up and out comes the florals - Light and lush and just a little stereotypically perfumey-smelling. It's still a little dirty, which gives the scent some complexity, and there's a gentle undercurrent of something sugary-sweet underneath the florals. This is more... Elegant smelling than I think I expected it to be. I expected it to be light and femme and kinda... Younger-smelling, but the actual scent smells like something a very refined woman in her 40's or 50's might wear.

Looking at the notes, yeah, basically what i'm smelling. Florals from the narcissus and immortelle, sweetness from the tonka bean and probably the white amber, and atmospheric, colder, dirtier notes from the sleet and ozone.

It's very, very light on me - if I huff it too much I quickly become anosmic, and while I was getting a little bit of sillage while it was wet, I have to have my nose pressed to my wrist on the dry-down.

tl;dr: A delicate, perfumey floral with undertones of cold, wet, dirty atmosphere and gentle sugary sweetness.

RATING: 4.5/5. I like this quite a bit. Has depth, but isn't overly complex, and the florals and sweeter notes are so pretty. I'd wear this to something very professional. Docked half a point for being so light, though.

--

MELLIFERA (PERFUME OIL) || Wildflower Honey Accord (not vegan), Violet, Jasmine Sambac, Vanilla Infused Sugar, Sandalwood.

So, i'm not big on honey scents. Unless the honey is very subtle, it can quickly go super overwhelming and cloying to me. Hex's Papa Legba was downright unbearable with how strong and sweet it was.

Mellifera, though, is not!

I mean, it's very honey forward, don't get me wrong, the honey's basically the star of the show, but it's a different kind of honey. It smells... Clearer. Rather than being overwhelmingly sugary-sweet, it's far more floral, with little pinpricks of something kinda sharp and tart and tingly. It's bordering on being kinda cleaning-supply-ish, but it's not quite there. There might be a citrus note in this? That's what i'm basically getting: Clear, gentle honey with a floral edge, and maybe citrus.

Let's CHECK! THOSE! NOTES

Not a LICK of citrus! Go me. The wildflower honey accord explains the quality of the honey, though, and I bet that sharpness that's a little cleaning-supply-ish is the jasmine. The violets are in there, but they're so well-blended with the other floral notes that I wouldn't be able to identify their trademark Purple Burp smell on a blind sniff. I can recognize them now that I know, but seriously, the other florals balance them out so well.

The wildflower and jasmine pinpricks eventually mellow out to a smooth, bright sweetness - a combination of the vanilla and honey, I imagine. I... Still don't get any sandalwood, which makes me sad, 'cause I love sandalwood. :( My wood-gobbling skin strikes again, I guess.

Virtually no sillage - it wears kinda light on my wrist, and I can only smell it from about an inch away.

tl;dr: A clear, floral honey with pinpricks of sharp jasmine that loses its floral edge on the drydown and simply becomes bright-yet-smooth honey and vanilla.

RATING: 3.7/5. Not bad, but the jasmine is just too sharp for me, and I can't see myself wearing it much.

--

VLAD DRACUL (PERFUME OIL) || Carpathian fir needle, red cedar, black amber, black patchouli, scorched earth, opium, blood musk.

This smells like a cologne for someone who dresses in refined clothes but also feasts upon the entrails of freshly-killed deer, so, I guess the name is apt. It's dirty as hell, but in a kind of bright way: like walking around on a very dry fall day through a forest that's all reds and yellows and dry cracked earth with sparse yellow grass. I get a cool airiness from it, and piney freshness, and d i r t. That scorched earth note ain't playin' around. I'm pretty sure that man-stank smell is the blood musk, which is this sorta... Feral, almost pheromonally sweet smell? But it's not bad or actually stinky, just kinda hanging out under the atmospherics.

On the drydown I get a resinous, very light sweetness, I assume that's the opium and/or the black amber, and the atmospheric notes are still there, most notably that scorched earth, but way subtler. It's warm and smooth and just... Prettier than I expected it to be, given the way it started.

tl;dr: A fall atmospheric that's distinguished by its scorched earth note and a sort of pheromonal, feral musk. Dries down to light resinous sweetness and that scorched earth note.

RATING: 4/5.

--

PAPER MOON (PERFUME OIL) || Soft vanilla musk, benzoin, oakmoss, trailing ivy, peach blossom, rose.

Mmmm, this is delicious. It's so sweet and mellow with the prettiest, smoothest florals. The vanilla musk is the strongest thing in this, humid and sweet, with a super well-blended floral edge. The florals are kinda perfumey-smelling, but the rose doesn't go overly chemical, is just lush and smooth, and the peach blossom is soft and delicate. I've never encountered benzoin before, so i'm not entirely sure what it smells like, but The Internet says it's a warm and sweet note - I bet it's part of what i'm reading as the vanilla musk. I keep sniffing this looking for the ivy or oakmoss, but honestly, i'm not smelling anything that hits me as particularly green.

The most morphing it does on the dry-down is that the florals mellow out some, but otherwise, it stays largely the same. It wears close to the skin, but is strong on my wrist.

tl;dr: A warm, humid vanillic sweetness with a floral edge that's lush and perfumey from the rose and soft and delicate from the peach blossom.

RATING: 4.7/5. An EENSY bit too perfumey for me, but that's about it.

--

AN EXCELLENT DAY FOR AN EXORCISM (PERFUME OIL) || Cathedral incense, black clove, burned parchment, tarnished silver, sacred woods.

Woods. Strong, evergreen woods, with a surprisingly light airiness to them - a real nice cold air note, i'm assuming. Genuinely makes the scent smell cool. The woods are strong and perfumey, which puts them a hair off realistic, but I also get that fresh, sap-sticky (I love that term pardon me for using it across reviews), slightly bitter mintiness that smells very much like the real thing.

I have, literally, NO idea what the notes in this are at the time that i'm writing this, apart from a tarnished silver note - which I think might be part of the cool airiness of the scent, i'm not sure. If I had to take a wild guess, i'd say that there's... Woods, resins, maybe a floral giving that perfumey nature, and some kinda cold air/ozonic note.

Here we go, let's take a peek at zee notes

...Wow, I was way off. At least I got the woods and the cathedral incense must be what i'm reading as resins, and is probably the source of the perfumey-ness, and, by process of elimination, the silver note must be what's making it so cold. The burnt parchment and black clove come out a couple hours into the drydown, giving this a tingly, burning quality, and a good bit of sharpness. The sweetness of the incense rounds it out nicely.

Doesn't have a lot of sillage, but says strong on my wrist.

tl;dr: Perfumey incense, fresh woods, and a cold and clear silver note that dries down to a burning, sharp smell that's still accompanied by the sweetness of the incense.

RATING: 3.5/5. Not bad, I love that silver note, but gets too sharp on the dry-down.

[paleorecipecookbook]

The Complete Guide to Herbs: Sto

Herbs are a fantastic way to add flavor to your dishes without disrupting the balance of fats, sugars, and salts. To truly build complexity in your meals, use them to amp up the flavor and health benefits of your favorite Paleo dishes. Knowing how to use them is a simple way to make your dishes shine.

With plenty of antioxidants, delicious flavor, and negligible calories, herbs can be used in roasts, soups, pestos, compound butters, salads, smoothies, and the list goes on! (1) Add gentle, robust, citrusy, or even warming flavors to an otherwise one-note dish. Simply adding something like thyme to butter will impress with its aroma and flavor, for example.

Herbs are not just an awesome addition to your recipes; they can be quite fun and simple to grow at home as well. Herb combining can be daunting, but when a balanced, complementary blend comes together, you can create a symphony in one dish.

Starting and Finishing Herbs

Herbs tend to fall into two primary categories: starting and finishing.

Starting herbs are heartier and sturdier. They are often earthy and can even be woody in texture. These sturdy herbs are great to use at the beginning of a recipe—especially when heating or using in a stock or sauté—so that they may impart their flavor early in the cooking process.

If you use these starting herbs toward the end of a recipe, they haven’t had the time to break down and become palatable, nor have they had the chance to really flavor your dish.

Herbs that work best for starting include:

Rosemary

Sage

Bay leaf

Thyme

Lavender

Lemongrass

Savory

Curry

Verbena

On the other hand, some herbs are delicate and best grown at home to pinch from a pot for immediate use. Herbs like this are best used raw and at the end of a recipe so as not to bruise, wilt, or lose their flavor.

Herbs that are better saved for finishing include:

Parsley

Chives

Dill

Thyme

Mint

Basil

Cilantro

Oregano

Marjoram

Sorrel

Chervil

Tarragon

How to Store Your Herbs to Last

No one wants to feel like their herbs are being wasted, whether homegrown or purchased. Most recipes use just a few sprigs or leaves, and the rest may sit for some time. These little greens wilt and go bad fairly quickly when not stored properly, so here are some tips for getting the most out of your herbage.

1. Clean Your Herbs

Always submerge your herbs when washing. Fill a bowl with cool water and agitate the herbs gently. Lift from the water and let dry on towels in a single layer, patting off excess moisture with another towel. You can also use a salad spinner if you prefer.

2. Store Tender Herbs Like a Bouquet

For most finishing herbs, you can trim the stems and pick off any discolored or wilting leaves. Put about an inch of water in a jar and store like a bouquet. Cover your bouquet with an overturned baggie and adhere with a rubber band. Store in the fridge. They will keep for two to three weeks.

Basil is an exception to this rule, as you can store it like a bouquet on your counter or windowsill. Enjoy the nice smell!

3. Store Leafy Herbs in Glass

For leafy herbs, pick the leaves off and discard the stems. Alternatively, you can save the stems for stock. Wash and dry your leaves gently, then add to a paper towel-lined glass bowl or container. This storage method encourages frequent use, since they’re ready to go. Herbs will keep for two to three weeks.

4. Store Sturdy Herbs in the Crisper

Lay out long sprigs of rosemary or thyme in a single layer on a slightly damp paper towel. Gently roll them up in the paper towel and store in a large baggy or container. Keep them in a crisper drawer for best results. They will last two to three weeks.

5. Freeze Herbs in Ice Cube Trays

If your herbs are on their way to the compost bin, or you simply want a super-convenient way to prepare them, whiz them in a food processor and freeze in ice cube trays. These cubes can be kept in freezer bags or a freezer-safe container. Drop into soups and sauces when needed. They will last up to three months.

10 Popular Herbs and How to Use Them

While there are countless varieties of common herbs used throughout various cuisines, here are 10 popular herbs we tend to work with every day. From fresh basil to earthy sage, use this list for inspiration for when and how to cook with herbs.

1. Basil

The prom queen of the fresh herb world, basil is great in a variety of food genres. From Italian to Thai dishes, basil can be found as a main event in some of your classic favorites. Use fresh or dried, chopped, or even the whole leaf for a pretty presentation. Basil is a great gateway herb to start off your experimentation.

When to use fresh basil:

As a finishing herb

Whole or julienned in green salads and fruit salads

With berries and melon

Blended into pestos and dressings for salad

In dips

Blended into legume-free hummus (like cauliflower or sweet potato hummus)

Pulsed in a food processor with nuts, garlic, and olive oil

With heirloom tomatoes

In stir-fries and recipes that use coconut milk, like soups and curries (opt for Thai basil here)

When to use dried basil:

As a starting herb in tomato sauces and sautés

In Paleo mayo with fresh garlic to make a sauce and dip for fish

In Paleo mayo for dipping with sweet potato fries

2. Tarragon

Tarragon proves your culinary chops. Once you start slinging tarragon around the kitchen, people know you really mean business. With slight vibes of licorice and grassy-sweet notes, tarragon is unmistakable when added to a dish.

When to use fresh tarragon:

As a finishing herb

Sprinkled on top of hot dishes after cooking

With shrimp or prawn dishes

Mixed into grass-fed butter to create a compound butter for fish, shellfish, or steak

Chopped and added to chicken salad with grapes and walnuts

In hearty dishes, like stuffed mushrooms, meatballs, or stuffing

When to use dried tarragon:

As a starting herb

In a dry-rub for pork loin and chops

3. Sage

Sage offers the most earthy and comforting of flavors. It is used ceremoniously and medicinally, specifically for digestive and premenstrual discomforts. There are several varieties of culinary sage, including purple sage, pineapple sage, and even wild sage that grows in dry, upland areas.

When to use sage, fresh or dried:

As a starting herb

To garnish meat and vegetable “noodle” dishes

In a red wine sauce

In pork dishes

Rubbed over roasted chicken

Steeped and simmered for brines and stocks

4. Thyme

This delicate herb transcends boundaries; it is sturdy enough to use at the beginning of a recipe, and delicate and vibrant enough to use at the end. Lively yet delicate in flavor, thyme is popular for good reason. Thyme is antiseptic and antibacterial, and is good for indigestion. The aroma of thyme is even said to be mood-enhancing.

When to use thyme, fresh or dried:

As a starting or finishing herb

Added to flake salt for a compound finishing salt for dishes

With honey for an herbaceous, sweet drizzle over meats or fruits

As a garnish

In cashew “cream” sauces

In sweet baked goods like breads and muffins

In roasted golden squash dishes

As a rub for meat roasts

In stews and stocks

5. Dill

Dill is a feathery, pungent, and fresh weed. The flavor of dill is unmistakable, and of course, it might remind you of pickles. Dill loses its flavor rapidly, so opt for fresh dill only. Its lovely yellow flowers are also edible and can liven up your dishes!

When to use fresh dill:

As a finishing herb for maximum flavor

In green salads

In tuna salad with capers and lemon

With carrots, roasted or in chilled carrot soup

With cucumbers, radish, and cabbage for a slaw

In creamy Paleo salad dressing

With lemon and fish

In soft scrambled eggs with cured or smoked fish

6. Chives

Chives have a light and onion-y flavor. Their tasty purple flower blooms should not be missed. Chives grow like weeds, so they’re wonderful to bulk up your home garden. Chives might be the missing element to make a good dish a great one. Like dill, chives are best fresh, so skip the dried version altogether.

When to use fresh chives:

As a finishing herb

Sprinkled over deviled eggs

In salads

Blended into dressings

In spreads and dips

To top soups, chilis, and curries

In shellfish dishes

7. Parsley

Flat-leaf parsley is the most recognizable and available herb on the market. The flat leaf variety offers a palatable, strong, and almost celery-like flavor. Plus, it adds a vibrant pop of green to any dish. It boasts many health benefits and should perhaps be classified like a vegetable because of its nutritious elements. Parsley is great for heart health, circulation, and detox.

When to use fresh parsley:

As a finishing herb

In stocks and bone broth

In herb-based salads

As a base for pesto with pecans

In soups and stocks, for garnish

In compound butter

With fish dishes

With lemon and chicken

Fried in a high-smoke-point oil for a crunchy garnish

8. Rosemary

Rosemary is intoxicating and pungent. The smell has even been said to boost memory and alleviate stress. Rosemary has an astringent and clarifying effect; it is used frequently in hair styling, facial care, and other beauty products. It grows as a sturdy bush and holds up well through the colder seasons. Some varieties even have small edible flowers, too.

When to use rosemary, fresh or dried:

As a starting herb

As a finishing herb, when chopped very finely

With whole roasted chicken

With sturdy white fish

With pork chops and tenderloin

With roasted sweet potatoes

As skewers for kebabs (the sturdy stems)

Steeped in olive oil and used as a drizzle

9. Sorrel

This wild herb is foraged and can be found in your very own front yard! Sorrel is tangy and lemony, and most tender and tasty in the early spring. While not typically found in grocery stores, it has been around for ages. It’s popular in older cookbooks and recipes due to its major health benefits. Sorrel is high in vitamin C and good for cleansing the blood; it was frequently found in many 20th century herbal remedies. Always opt for fresh sorrel.

When to use fresh sorrel:

In green and fruit salads

In Paleo cream sauces

With seafood

In soups

Juiced with other vegetables

10. Mint

Mint often gets overlooked in the savory world. Yes, it’s delicious muddled into your mocktail and added to iced tea, but it’s also excellent incorporated in savory dishes. Mint comes in several varieties and grows fast, so allow for lots of space or plant in a pot to contain this prolific plant. Always use fresh mint.

When to use fresh mint:

In Asian-inspired dishes

Added to green or fruit salads

In smoothies

With cacao nibs and powder in baked goods

4 Popular Herb Blends to Get You Started

You don’t have to opt for just one herb per dish! These blends are classics and improve any of the suggested dishes with their complementary flavors. Bonus: They all work in several applications, from currys to salads.

1. Fresh Basil, Mint, Cilantro

This blend lends itself to Asian-inspired dishes. If you are making a Thai or Indian curry, this mix offers bright and complex flavors. It’s also great in coconut milk-based soups and sauces along with ginger root and lemongrass.

2. Oregano, Basil, Marjoram

This trio is fantastic when added to a tomato or cashew cream sauce over zucchini noodle pasta, or used to top a cauliflower Paleo pizza crust. It also pairs wonderfully with dishes that use olives and capers. This blend is great steeped in olive oil for a finishing drizzle on salads and savory Paleo breads, too.

3. Dill and Chives

Keep chopped dill and chives in a little container in your fridge and sprinkle over scrambled eggs, fish, salads, and atop just about every soup and stew!

4. Sage, Lavender, Rosemary, Thyme

This elegant blend is a showstopper. Use as a rub for whole chicken, or over pork loin and roasts. It’s also a great rub for roasted summer and winter squash, carrots, and Portobello steaks.

Bottom Line

There are so many herb varieties to choose from. Experimenting with them, growing them yourself, and practicing different ways to make your meals exciting is a surefire way to keep your healthy lifestyle interesting and tasty.

(Read This Next: How to Grow a Garden Anywhere!)

The post The Complete Guide to Herbs: Sto appeared first on PaleoPlan.

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[first-living-myth]

AN OMEN: The Past

It’s all started with nightmares.

“How’s your sleep lately?” The woman, who sat in front of him, was calm and undemanding. Her gaze was tender, like a wholly delightful and wise person. Though it’s only been nine months or so, Jade was comfortable being around her, Ms. Smith, his second psychologist. They didn’t meet regularly, only when Jade felt like so. He had depression, quite severe as to speak, due to his past, family problems, and all. But that’s for another story to tell. Another thing, insomnia; almost cured, almost not, uncertainty is the best to describe. Therefore, he is here. He had lost count of how many times their appointments had already been, not like he cared anyway─because he knew she has the record, so why bother?

“Do you have any trouble sleeping?” said her, without ire or haste. She is lovely, a caring person─as she should, he believed, or else he won’t be here today, at her clinic, right now. Aside from the fact, whereas the professional like her is supposedly hospitable towards their clients, he feels she was different.

Sure enough, the room filled with flowers, florets, and vines. Many kinds of it, even. He was only able to tell two up to five of it, but never been better at the rest. Most distinct and palpable to his sight is the white daisy, aside from which she puts it quite a lot, represented from innocence, simplicity, and joy to happiness, good fortune and new beginnings. Others are red chrysanthemums, iris xiphium, and galanthus nivalis. He doesn’t know the specific meaning, better than the daisy one, yet he knows as much it represents hope. Indescribably so, Jade thought this feels like home, like he belonged here; quite extravagant if one says it is the most comfortable place, yet the feeling of all tire and sore, would all forthwith lifted. The place to come back to, a place to rest briefly, is the best word to describe all.

There are other things, such as the way she talks and being punctilious every time, whenever Jade wasn’t sure with himself, with all the things that happened around him. It feels like she was always there, to help him, to act like a guide, when no one else can, when no one else could.

“It’s not getting better,” he finally gave his answer, after a long hefty sigh and silence he had, before continuing, “It’s… It’s real, they’re real. Vivid. Those screams. Those faces. Scary. And I was scared,” said he, intermittently so, “I was so scared,” his tone shrank, quivered in horror, whilst both palms were covering his whole face. Then, he took a deep breath, “And yes, I come to you today, to tell you I have something else beside insomnia, beside the current problems I had with my brothers, my family. I had nightmares. Very bad, bad nightmares.”

“What did you see, Jade?” She responded, after a cordial smile planted in her lips, though surely it cannot hide the disconcerning look on her eyes, which was planted, deep beneath it.

“I see myself standing behind the door, a small and plainly artificial, wooden door. I was at someone else’s body, a boy in his teens. His skin was pale, I could tell as much, also he was abnormally thin for a boy around his age. It’s not like I am seeing myself in the mirror in that dream, but sure inexorably hard to breathe and I cannot move as I wish. It was hard, like I could fall within minutes, like I couldn’t run.”

“Can you tell me what you were doing there?”

“I was there, I was hiding from something. Something bad, that I was certain. I cannot tell you yet, because I don’t remember much, but you have to trust me.” Said he, along with his timbre that was full of dread, bewilderment. He needs someone to trust him, whereas he couldn’t bring this to his mother. He was afraid she would worry way too much, as well as not believing his story and the dreams he had; that’d be much worse and bring dismay to his psyche. He was, like one might said, desperate.

“Do not worry, Jade. I am indeed, merely your psychologist, a professional to listen and to heal you, with the problems you have, but that doesn’t mean I do not trust you,” She stopped midway to hold Jade’s hands and caressed it gently, she still had the same look as earlier, concerned yet soft. For those who know and might wonder whether she was violating the ethics of interviewing and counseling, why she suddenly did a physical touch, the comment to this matter is, Jade has already consented at their second meeting, whereas he was crying, loudly even, and shaking. He had said, he is more comfortable in that way.

“I do, Jade. In fact, I’m curious about it. Mind to tell me more?”

“A poor, poor young boy,” Jade continued to reply to her question, in a more relieved tone; she gave him the reassurance he needed at the moment. “Then, the next time, I was in the stables, hearing the horses shrieking in mercy, in fear. But that’s not the thing that perturb me most,”

Jade went silent. That hysterical, then lachrymal, then guilt-ridden hour. More than enough for him to feel his eyes went warm, a grain of tear, followed with another, fell down the red curve of Jade’s cheeks. He was smiling, anguished as so. His pulse arose, breath ragged, he even bit his lower; his canine teeth marred the lips, until it bled. The woman noticed it, thereupon stand to lit the incense; one of her favorite, amber scented. He had never told her directly, yet he has grown accustomed to it, or so to speak, any kind of incense, is also his favorite. It took merely seconds for the aroma to permeate the place; before it smelled like damp early moments of muted dawn and grass clinging with dew, and now, his nostrils catching up a scent that is warm, musky, rich and honey-like, and also somewhat oriental and earth. It blends nicely, he favors it. It shows, from his pulse that somehow, gotten calmer.

“I can hear the sound of humans’ wailing, one begging for mercy, while others were violent, ruthless, cruel, ruffianly. Definitely there were two sides, those humans were separated. I don’t know what the cause is, I don’t know what it is, but again, I know things where I shouldn’t.”

“When did this happen?”

“Around three months ago, but this has nothing to do with my early insomnia. It's a completely different matter.”

“How so?”

“The first time it occured, I was all good. I thought, finally my time has come, to dream. I don’t dream, as you may know. Or, you prefer to call it, I don’t even remember about the dreams I had in my sleep. Either way, it was adequate, it was my daily routine, and I was content.”

“I can see that pretty much.” She reacted, waiting.

“Don't you see that this is an oddity?” Rhetorical question, so to speak. “Because I, myself, see all the odds in this. Why, after all this time, I dreamt, and it wasn’t pleasant at all? Something must’ve happened, something that I need to know. Something, or maybe someone, trying to reach out to me. Like, I need to remember, I mustn't forget.”

“About my question, can you tell me why this occurences of nightmares of yours, has nothing to do with your insomnia?”

Addled at the question given, his brows were furrowed, as well as trying to comprehend. No, Jade is far from being dull or prat. He was confused, his thoughts muddled and couldn’t grasp the gist.

“Oh… Oh, I really am sorry. Sorry, I was confused, I was… I had no one to talk with, I am all alone. Even my brothers, well, half-brother actually, I couldn’t bring myself to tell them this. Friends, on the other hand, the creatures I cannot trust.”

Or so he thought.

“That’s fine, Jade. I don’t mind, though I must tell you the truth, I am the one who’s confused, hence I repeated the question. Please, you may continue.”

Turned out, he was wrong. In a split second, she reassured him and his wandering thoughts. “And so, I.. The dreams were all nightmares, but it wasn’t so bad. It only happened once or twice per month, only snippets. I can not hear, I can not see. I only knew, I had bad, bad dreams. Stories that I do not belong or still in between. Dreams, that feels it wasn’t mine.”

“Did it make you suddenly awake?”

“Yes.” He answered, briskly. “I was rapid return of full alertness, suddenly awake, ruptured yet buffeted breath. I couldn’t drift again to dreamland, I can’t.”

“Sweating?”

“A lot, actually. My whole body was drenched in sweat, rapid breathing for almost ten minutes.”

“You didn’t take any pills, did you?”

“For the past six months, no. Not at all.”

“Very well, then. How often have you had these bad dreams?”

“Indeed it started three months ago, but currently it has become unbearable for the past two weeks. It has occured, every night. Night after night, I dreamt the same thing, the same events, I also hear those screams. I can feel their pain, their hatred, their debauchery. This is why I told you, it has nothing to do with my earlier insomnia. It was about my family, now it is for a different matter.”

“Thank you, for being brave. For telling me, for the trust you have given. Do you have anything else to add?”

“I think that’s all, Ms. Smith.” He was trying to be considerate, by the time session, it was only one minute left. Previously, before he told her this problem of him, they were talking about the problem Jade had, his feelings, the turbulence of assorted emotions towards his brother, Jesse.

“You may have to brew tea or warm milk before you sleep. And maybe, try to listen to soothing music. It might help.”

“Never tried, but I will.”

“I have written the next appointment for you, okay? We will do a therapy session, and after that, if it’s still getting worse… Well, we will save it for later.”

“Thanks, as usual, you’re the best.”

“I am flattered.”

“As you should.”

───────

As soon as he got home, sprawled on the couch, his most cushy place for years--it indeed is wide enough to contain his whole body. Jade then stared at the ceiling. Hollow, impassive, drained. Then, he pondered. “I did not miss something, did I?” murmured, between the thoughts that keep appearing on his mind; trying to recall something, to ease the jittery within.

Twenty minutes, without the raven haired man realised, had passed unavailing. He was dwelling in many thoughts, yet none of them helps. None of them has the answer to his restless mind. “Who are you, dear lady?” said he, the first words, more likely sounded like a question, spoken after the man had gotten home, with hooded, sleepy eyes.

Within seconds, he fell asleep. A deep, practically instantaneous and profound sleep. She, his psychologist, did not dare to give him prescribing medication that might help, because it was the first he told her so. He doesn’t know either, whether she was capable of giving him medications he needed. She was certain, however, that Jade possibly could suffer from nightmare disorder, on the acute yet severe level. The treatments for nightmare disorder may vary, the most prominently prazosin, and several behavioral therapies, of which the nightmare-focused cognitive behavioral therapy variants, especially image rehearsal therapy, are effective. Jade has received one, without him knowing; scented incense, counseling session which happened earlier. Truth to be told, psychologists with a period of three years post qualification/HCPC registered practitioner experience in their area of expertise are capable to give prescription and Ms. Smith already passed all of that.

It feels like the query given, that came out from his mouth, was a spell to his answer. He dreamt about her. This time, the dream that came out disentangled everything; things about the woman he saw, who she actually is, what’s their relationship, and what was yet to come. Other minor things he would love to tell, yet the part will be saved for later.

───────────

To be continued to the next part.

[gtarealestatepros]

Home Maintenance Checklist – 12 Tasks For 12 Days

If you recently decided to sell your house there is probably a mountain of things you have to think of; from getting your furniture in place to painting the house, maybe even buying something new for it.

Amidst all that, you may forget something very important – the maintenance round.

It is not something people are usually happy and eager about doing, but it’s something you definitely should do.

In the end, the responsibility for it falls down on your shoulders anyway, so it’s better to be safe than sorry once the potential buyers enter the property.

With that in mind, here is a checklist of 12 tasks you can do in 12 days to get your home ready to show to the whole world!

CURB APPEAL

Having curb appeal and a nice outdoor space is always a huge plus for buyers.

If you manage to wow them with your yards, they will be more willing to buy the house.

There are so many things you can do to add curb appeal.

You can trim the fence, bushes, and trees to make them look well-kept and organized.

Plant a few flowers here and there to add colour

Mow the grass so it’s levelled properly

Finally, you can power wash the driveway and other concrete areas in the yard to make them sparkling clean and look brand new

EXTERIOR WALLS

Don’t judge a book by its cover doesn’t really work when it comes to properties.

Most buyers do judge the house based on how it looks on the outside, which is why it’s important to make it as attractive as possible.

Check for cracks and chips, any loose or missing caulk or any other visible damage you find on the exterior.

Repair the damage you found and add a fresh coat of paint once you’re done with repairing.

When you do all this to the exterior area, the fresh paint on the walls will give that brand-new look to the house, significantly increasing its value.

INSPECT THE GUTTERS AND DOWNSPOUTS

Flooding and mold can cause a problem, especially if you live in areas with a rainy climate or frequent storms.

– Inspect the trim – Gutters and downspouts – Seals to make sure there is no leakage and they are containing the water during downpours so no water or mold enters the house

REPLACE FLOORING

If your carpets are torn and damaged, remove them.

If your flooring is damaged, fix it.

Buyers don’t like to see damaged floors since floor replacement can cost a fortune.

There are some affordable options available on the market today if you’re going for a full renovation of the flooring, but if you want to go for something more minor, there are always simpler solutions. Like cleaning for instance.

If you have tiles as flooring, cleaning them and the grouts can make them look newer, while if you have carpets, steam cleaning them can help you get rid of any stains or mold that may cause a smell as well.

CHECK HVAC SYSTEMS

Maybe the HVAC filters aren’t the first thing you think of that needs updating since they aren’t visible, but they need your attention as well.

Although not many replace the filters as often as required, this can be something buyers ask about which means you should take care of replacing them if you already haven’t previously.

Check if your filters are; – Outdated – Dirty – Damaged – Replace them if needed

If you plan on selling the house soon, there is no need to buy expensive filters. They are not as cost-efficient as the cheaper ones, but the latter ones do the job almost as efficiently.

CHECK WINDOWS AND DOORS

Damage to windows and doors is pretty apparent once a potential buyer enters the house.

Cleaning the windows is the obvious thing to do, but besides this basic thing, there are other maintenance chores you can do to the windows and doors. – Check – Work properly – Can be closed easily – Don’t make a squeaking and creaking noise when opened and closed. – See if the paint isn’t peeling off – If they have any visible damage or cracks on them that may cause concern for buyers

Same with doors. – Test if they close properly – Can be locked – Are in good condition – Have their sturdiness – Have durability

Another very important thing is to check the weather stripping and caulking.

They are used to seal the cracks between the interior and exterior parts of the doors and windows so no air enters or leaves the space due to air leaks. It’s also a method used to save on energy utilities, so it may be a big bonus when you present this to potential buyers.

CHECK ELECTRICAL OUTLETS

Electrical rust can be a major issue, even though it’s hard to notice.

Make sure to go around your house and inspect your electrical outlets, even those you’re not using actively.

TEST SAFETY FEATURES

Safety systems are a priority for many and as such should be at the top of your maintenance list.

Make sure; – To test all your carbon and smoke detectors, – Replace any fire extinguishers if they are outdated so you know they function properly.

They may save someone’s life in the future.

CHECK THE ROOF FOR ANY DAMAGE

Repairing the roof or completely replacing it is not only expensive but also time-consuming.

While the roof gets repaired or replaced, you will have to go somewhere else, costing you additional money for rent, something you surely don’t want when you already have the huge costs of repairing your roof.

This is exactly how potential buyers will think about the situation as well.

Nobody wants to have to fix a roof just when they bought a house because everyone knows how expensive and time consuming it is.

Besides inspecting and repairing the roof itself, check the chimney for any missing or loose mortar and clear any obstructions in it so it can be functional and operate properly.

CHECK PLUMBING SYSTEMS

– Water pressure – Clogged drains – Leaks – Sink traps – Problems with valves

are all parts of the plumbing system maintenance.

Because this is a specific area, it’s best to hire a professional plumber who will inspect and clean your plumbing system so no issues arise as a result.

In addition to this, it’s best to have your septic systems serviced or emptied if needed. Besides the unpleasant smell no one likes, it can cause flooding, leaks, and problems with the rest of the plumbing system, so it’s better to be safe than sorry when it comes to plumbing.

INSPECT THE BASEMENT

Experienced home buyers know that the basement can be an indicator of many problems, so they can head to it first before looking at other areas of the house.

Any signs of: – Dampness – Mold – Cracks – Leaks – Damaged floors

These can be an indicator of a potentially major problem that requires immediate fixing.

So, don’t forget to inspect what’s hiding underneath your house and do the necessary repairs.

CLEAN YOUR HOUSE

There’s nothing like a good scrub to make your house look spectacular.

After you’ve done all the previous repairs, it’s time to deep clean your house.

Start from dusting, mopping and vacuuming, to cleaning the windows, door screens, even the grouts between the tiles and behind your counters.

Although it may seem like a lot of tough work at first, the results will show in the end.

IN SUMMARY

Not everyone is a handyman so you may not be experienced with fixing things, but most of the maintenance you need to do is not complicated and there is always Google there to help you if needed.

Once you’re done with the maintenance, everything that’s left is to let the numbers do the talking in the end.

All you need to do is be patient and diligent with your maintenance tasks.

Home Maintenance Checklist – 12 Tasks For 12 Days first appeared on: GTA Real Estate Pros 154 Bathurst St, Toronto, ON, M5V 2R3 647-362-2000 https://goo.gl/Yj7G5g

source https://www.gtarealestatepros.ca/home-maintenance-checklist-12-tasks-for-12-days/