#cricket web stories

[rajexpress-seo]

Famous Female ''Kaathavachak'' Of India

Web Stories - Visual Stories

1. Jaya Kishori:

Jaya Kishori is an Indian musician and spiritual speaker, known for her motivational talks and religious albums. The stories of Shri Krishna are described in his stories.

2. Chitralekha

Chitralekha is an Indian renowned storyteller and spiritual speaker who is famous for her motivational talks and sermons. She preaches Bhagwat Geeta.

3. Prachi Devi:

Prachi Devi is an Indian female storyteller, famous for her sermons. She preaches Bhagwat Geeta.

4. Palak Kishori:

Palak Kishori recites Shrimad Bhagwat Geeta in a musical manner. People have liked her style of storytelling so much that now she has become quite famous.

News Web Stories - Sports Web stories

5. Pratibha Devi:

Pratibha Devi is an Indian famous story teller, who is famous for giving sermons. She preaches Bhagwat Geeta.

6. Krishnapriya:

Krishnapriya is a 27 year old famous female storyteller, who is famous for her Bhagwat stories as well as Ram stories.

7. Devi Nidhi Saraswat

Devi Nidhi Saraswat is a very famous preacher of Srimad Bhagavad Katha and Ramayana. It narrates the story with her sister Neha Saraswat.

8. Neha Saraswat:

Aligarh resident Neha Saraswat, who has been propagating Shrimad Bhagwat Geeta since the age of 7, recites the story of Shrimad Bhagwat Katha and Ramayana along with her sister Nidhi Saraswat.

[scholar-of-yemdresh]

Can we PLEASE get trans protagonists In science fiction, fantasy and action movies & TV shows. Pretty please I'm begging. Can we get multiple main/major trans characters too PLEASE?

For the love of God trans rep doesn't need to be regulated to; grounded realistic contemporary dramas/comedies. Or it's a sci-fi/fantasy show but they'll be a side character in the cis MCs story and who'll have a max 10 minutes of screen time

[mossmx]

love this movie, I mantain the idea was perfect, ecco una dimostrazione del mio amore:

[flawseer]

#29b - "Pokémon"

Smaugust 2024

I felt bad for kind of phoning this one in. So I cut into some of my down time to resurrect a small portion of my original plan for this prompt.

You may or may not be confused by some of the typings I have chosen for these characters, foremost likely why none of them have "Dragon" as their type. Dragon, in the source material, is supposed to be a rare type, and I believe this characteristic would become muddled and meaningless if it was given to basically every character in the story. So the Dragon type here is reserved for Queens, great leaders, and characters of mythical significance. This means that Glory will evolve into a Poison/Dragon type somewhere down the line.

Another, smaller source of befuddlement may come from making Starflight a Dark type. I had this idea that, in ancient times, Nightwings used to be Psychic types, but then became Dark types when they lost their powers.

And lastly, it's not relevant for the characters on these cards, but the Fairy type is reserved for animus dragons.

Here are some other characters who didn't make it:

Moonwatcher, PSYCHIC, Quiet nature, Forewarn

Winter, ICE, Serious nature, Dazzling

Kinkajou, POISON, Impish nature, Vital Spirit

Turtle, WATER/FAIRY, Timid nature, Battle Armor

Qibli, GROUND/POISON, Naughty nature, Adaptability

Peril, FIRE/FLYING, Lonely nature, Flame Body

Riptide, WATER/FIGHTING, Serious nature, Contrary

Deathbringer, DARK/GHOST, Quirky nature, Infiltrator

Fatespeaker, DARK/PSYCHIC, Jolly nature, Anticipation

Flame, FIRE/DARK, Hasty nature, Pickpocket

Squid, WATER, Naive nature, Damp

Ochre, GROUND/ROCK, Lax nature, Gluttony

Viper, GROUND/POISON, Bold nature, Aftermath

Anemone, WATER/FAIRY, Sassy nature, Klutz

Icicle, ICE, Serious nature, Competitive

Ostrich, GROUND/POISON, Impish nature, Keen Eye

Tamarin, POISON/GRASS, Modest nature, Flower Gift

Webs, WATER, Timid nature, Defeatist

Dune, GROUND/POISON, Calm nature, Slow Start

Kestrel, FIRE/FLYING, Hardy nature, Anger Point

Morrowseer, DARK, Lonely nature, Mold Breaker

Scarlet, DRAGON/FIRE, Bold nature, Bad Dreams

Coral, DRAGON/WATER, Adamant nature, Merciless

Burn, DRAGON/GROUND, Bold nature, Beast Boost

Blister, DRAGON/POISON, Careful nature, Corrosion

Blaze, DRAGON/GROUND, Relaxed nature, Emergency Exit

Darkstalker, PSYCHIC/FAIRY, Impish nature, Wonder Guard

Clearsight, PSYCHIC, Serious nature, Telepathy

Fathom, WATER/FAIRY, Timid nature, Triage

Indigo, WATER/FIGHTING, Hardy nature, Stalwart

Whiteout, DARK/PSYCHIC, Quirky nature, Own Tempo

Blue, BUG/NORMAL, Mild nature, Simple

Cricket, BUG, Jolly nature, Power of Alchemy

And probably many more that I didn't get around to.

The default ability of Rainwings would likely be Color Change, for Mudwings it would be Earth Eater... Maybe Sturdy for Sandwings.

Okay, I think that's enough.

[shurisneakers]

being on this webbed site and seeing 2 levels of media legacy is insane. supernatural trends every week and a meme from its penultimate episode 4 years ago has become a permanent part of the culture here. every major news story has castiel's face before an actual article.

on the other hand you couldn't escape the mcu from 2014 to 2020. sebastian stan was tumblrs boyfriend for years. the newest mcu movie dropped on friday and i haven't seen a single post about it. they just announced that rdj whose character died in 2019 is coming back as one of their flagship villains in a movie directed by the same guys who directed Avengers 3 and 4. crickets.

[violentkisses999]

preys and predators

summary: the story of preys and predators unfolds as you exchange numbers with wanda maximoff: a predator of nature your wedding planner.

pairing: fem!reader x wanda maximoff

cw: death of animal, light depiction of blood, (i'm an asshole when it comes to poetic metaphors, pls stick w me)

there was once a swampy bayou. humid breezes raked over soggy lumps of leaves. it was midday when a white swan gracefully flapped near the edges of peaceful waters. its webbed feet squelched into clay like mud as it ventured closer.

the bird's long neck bucked as it peered its head around: checking if the coast was clear. all that could be heard were screaming heaps of cicadas and the occasional yelp of a cricket. once the swan decided that it was safe to do so, it dipped its bumpy beak into the murky water.

the resting waters of the bayou rippled as the waterfowl sipped. its tired eyelids drooped as it drank. it hadn't seen the bubbles of air that emerged from the water.

as the bird's body grew heavier with relaxation, it was submerged further into the thick mud. so far to the point where it could feel its stomach rest against the soft land. unbeknownst to the pure creature, the ripples in the body of water redirected. instead of moving away from the bird's beak, they were flowing right towards it.

once the greedy swan had finally quenched its thirst, it lifted its dripping beak. its eyelids never opened as it ruffled its feathers. its body was graced with a warm gust of wind.

its eyelids fluttered as they peeled apart. though instead of the peaceful swamps it expected to see, the bird's eye view was met with gaping jaws ready to feast. the snout of the slick predator dripped as it lurked further open.

before the swan could retrieve its feet from the mud-

chomp

drops of blood flew to paint the sharp blades of grass. like water colors, the brownish water blended with the crimson substance.

the scene was terrifying, but so is nature. the tailed beast drew back into the murky swamp. the cicadas still screamed, and the crickets still yelped.

after so long, another greedy creature would naively sip from the forbidden bayou. that sneaky gator will be there too. patiently watching its prey fatten before striking. just another day in the wild.

the circle of l- "hey?" wanda repeated, "you okay?"

suddenly, the sounds of civilians chattering, and cars honking infiltrated your senses. busy gusts of wind fanned her fragrance right towards you. miniature bumps rose on your skin.

the tender rasp of her voice had your hands fumbling with your phone. your voice shook, "yeah- no, i'm all good, " you explained pathetically.

a moment of silence passed. though subtle, you managed to notice it. her green eyes sharply peered into yours. the space between her auburn brows creased as her head tilted in the slightest.

before you could further reassure her that you were present, her hands firmly clapped together. her matte lips pursing in disregard.

chomp

"anyways, now that you have my number, we can discuss cake tasting plans over the phone." her stating of the obvious was met with your dumb nodding. you'd be lying if you said that you'd been listening.

"text me later?" her eyebrows raised as she slightly raised her shoulders: physically begging for words. you cheeks warmed as if you had only just noticed your limited responses.

"absolutely!" you blurted out before your lips could stop. your eyelids squeezed shut, and your cheeks heated. your grip on your phone only slipped as sweat drew from your palms. "i mean, yes. i will text you, and i will give mark your number as well."

wanda's shoulders seemed to relax at the mention of your fiance. you wouldn't have noticed, you were too busy staring down other random pedestrians. anything to make this interaction feel more casual.

"well, you do that." with that, she zipped up her coat and drew back into the busy crowd.

and just like that, the chattering civilians and honking cars became real noise again. the autumn breeze still graced your skin. no more goosebumps. huh... weird..

anywho, you should really call mark. planning you guy's wedding has been driving you crazy.

about me main masterlist

[cherrynflowergarden]

stranger? yes. danger? no. || shubman gill

summary; yn sturniolo is in italy and so is shubman gill.

@love-belle pookie wookie cookie this is for you🎀💋🫀‼️

an; hiiiiiii soooooo sorry for disappearing just like that my results for this very important exams were declared few days ago and i'm so disappointed w it :( anyways i'm back pls pls pls someone tell me how to login on tumblr web 🙏🙏🙏 picture quality in the app is horrible idk if you'll be able to read it properly 😓

imessage

instagram

tagged: mattew.sturniolo

liked by tarayummy, shubmangill, nicholassturniolo and 679,907 others

yourusername italy through my eyes🌷

view comments

username YOUR SO PRETTY OML

username EXCUSE ME MA'AM WHO'S IN THE SECOND AND LAST PICTURE??????

username NOOO NOT MY WIFEEEE

username shubman you're not slick

username 🤨⁉️

username i want your jewellery so bad

username literally the best sturniolo!!

username i met her today!!💞💞💞

username omg how does it feel to live my dream 😓

username LOVELY!! SHE'S LOVELY!!!

username omggg where did you meet her

username i saw her in a local bakery, she was there w a man idk who but he was nice enough to click my picture w her!

username A MAN??? MOTHER DID YOU FIND OUR FATHER????

yourusername maybeeeee😝

username GIRL WHAT

twitter

instagram

tagged: shubmannotfound, chrislovepepsi

liked by mattybraps, birdhater, ynswife and 43 others

urbffswife italy pt 2 (heh)

view comments

birdhater who tf

urbffswife my husband your brother in law😍💋

taraunyummy gc update when

ynswife rue when was this 🤨

urbffswife teehee🤭

taraunyummy i will smack you yn😀

ynswife you scare me sometimes

urbffswife 😇🙏

shubmannotfound helloooooooo

mattybraps 🤨

shubmannotfound 👋

chrislovepepsi no

shubmannotfound 💔

birdhater 👺

shubmannotfound 😓

urbffswife get tf out of my comments

shubmannotfound who's that handsome man in the second slide 😹

urbffswife not you😇

shubmannotfound 💔😓

shubmannotfound last slide?????!!!!!!;;;;;;;;/////???

urbffswife 😝

pagalwagalhaikya he was mine first

urbffswife 🎵🎶 he's mine you might have him now but i have him all the time 🎵🎶

urbffswife stay mad, kishan😹

mattybraps you actually are insane.

urbffswife 😈😈😈

chrislovepepsi go back to psyc ward yn🙏

urbffswife LEARN HOW TO SPELL FIRST YOU COMMON VILLAGE WHORE👺

yourusername via instagram stories

view all replies

username GIRL WHAT

username NOOOOO NOT MY WIFE💔

username did you find our father, mother?

mattewsturniolo 🤨

teeheeheehee😈

urbffusername OH????

hehe🤭🎀

username yn bby come back home the kids miss you😿👩‍❤️‍👩

username EXCUSE ME?????????

imessage

instagram

♫ mitski • my love mine all mine

tagged shubmangill

liked by abhisheksharma_4, tarayummy, nicholassturniolo and 989,589 others

yourusername cause my love is mine all mine💌

view comments

username EXCUSE ME MA'AM?????

username yeh wali toh sundar bhi hai aur funny bhi ab hater kaise bannu 😔😔 translation; she's pretty and funny, how can i be a hater

username i hate couples❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

username MOTHER??? FATHER???

yourusername CHILD????

username OMGGG

username wife noooo not a man💔💔💔

username why he kinda

yourusername 🤨⁉️

username sorry mother😔

yourusername i get it bc same😊‼️

username omg

username cricketer x yn???? wow i was not ready for this crossover

username he's yummy

yourusername 'cuse me🤨

username did i lie

yourusername no tbh😝

username not yn fighting for her man and also thirsting over him all together in the comments

imessage

[britishraptor]

Gonna kick the hornets nest here, but the file from the most recent episode of The Magnus Protocol was incredibly underwhelming. It didn’t take into account at all anything that actually makes snakes scary, little to no foreshadowing, and basically attempted to jumpscare the audience with a reveal that reads more like a parody of a horror story than an actual one.

I might look like an idiot or a fool when everything all strings together later than the line, but I’m questioning so much about this episode.

Parasites are scary. Worms, and insects and mold and rot. Decay, possession. Spiders are scary because they’re hard to see, hard to pinpoint and they move fast, plus the connections with webs related to control, and manipulation. So yeah, a worm lady, sure, a person filled with spiderwebs, also sure. But the only connection between snakes and parasitism could be a joke about ‘shedding your skin’ or how disturbing that one scene in Harry Potter was.

Snakes are scary for two reasons:

1) the same reason bears and tigers all that are scary. Hunt style being hurt, and killed, and eaten. Simple.

B) uncanny valley reasons. Snakes don’t blink. They don’t have facial expressions. The way they move and eat and exist is totally different from humans and mammals. They’re often described as alien and cold.

My questions:

a) why rodent control? why was he even actually brought in? His walls are FULL OF SNAKES. It wouldn’t have lasted five minutes. It doesn’t make any sense even if you know he was concerned about parasites. Snakes don’t give a shit about other snakes. To call someone a snake is to literally call them callous and prone to betrayal. A snake eats the rodent, so you kill the snake. Plus a snake store would have access to medications to kill mites and deal with snake illness? Why call the guy at all?

b) the foreshadowing on the owner is terrible. You could have mentioned his skin needed moisturising. That it seemed dry, flaky. Scaly. But just. A red rash? A rash? Are you saying being full of snakes is an infectious disease? That’s what he said at the end, right? That his throat itches. It was swelling. You can just?? Grow your own snakes?? Is that the implication?

No uncanny valley mention on the owner either at all. He didn’t move weird, being full of snakes? Didn’t sway or limp as he walked, didn’t move sluggishly? Bad hearing, didn’t know what to do with his hands? No? Just a short tempered customer. Okay.

c) You lost me at the thousands of snakes. THOUSANDS? What is this, a clown car? A snake clown car in some random guys skin, who explodes because he was mad a customer walked out.

Look, I’m Australian. And when I ask my friends ‘hey, how big do you normally picture a snake being?’ we picture snakes about 1.5m long. Dinner table length is pretty common for all of our common brown, tiger snakes, red bellies, and even longer for our common carpet pythons. But even if I adjust to like, other countries’ grass snakes, thousands?

The throwaway line at the end was plot relevant I’m sure, but I’m all around confused, and totally not even a little bit scared.

The only praise I have is that the description of the crickets was very creepy, and I loved the visual of them moving around like a shuddering wave of pixels on a screen, only really perceived by their screaming.

But yeah. The setup, the foreshadowing, the coherent theming and consistency all just fell totally flat for me. The only thing I learnt was that this guy applied to the institute and was rejected, and that snakes can’t do dishes.

[demvalhaken]

Hiiiiiii!!! Here’s me yapping about Insect culture and stuff

I drew this little thing of Mrs. Creek, who’s a Dragonfly by-the-way. This is probably just a doodle cus I didn’t work that long on this drawing of her. The architecture in the back is based off on some Greek temples and stuff like that. The Library of Aldaros is basically where she lives as she’s like literatures number one fan. Also don’t judge, she’s bald on the top of her head.

(Random language thingy cus I like making weird words in fictional languages)

So the language of Aldaros is called Aldarin because you know, but Aldaros/Aldarin are exoterms (I think that’s the right word?) Aldaros and Aldarin are actually from ancient Wasps who discovered the continent and it’s inhabitants (Ex: Crickets, Dragonflies, and Flies) The name comes from the ancient Waspian root Aldar/Aldor which means “less or fewer.” Basically the name of the continent means “Land of the lesser/inferior” to people who understood the ancient Waspian language. The endoterm actually used by its people is Ultoria, where Ult means foliage or flora and Ria means land or area. The endoterm is Ultoria (Land of great flora/foliage) and the exoterm is Aldaros (Land of the lesser) There’s actually unique letters for both Wasp and Ultorian but it’s better to show them in English then the actual native letters. Hold on, let me write them for your own curiosity!

I might change these letters but remember THIS IS NOT MODERN WASP LETTERS!!! This is from around 4,000-6,000 years ago when the term was created.

I forgot to mention but in Ultorian if there is an G-like letter in-between two other letters it means there is great/many of the first letter. A lot of people just write it without the G-like letter but some like to describe it better with great/many.

You should probably know who Bevel Stingheart is by now if you’ve seen my post but for those who haven’t I’ll basically just say who she is.

Bevel Stingheart is a descendant of Henry Stingheart, who was a royal guard like her. Bevel is in a secret marriage with Queen Snow Seaclaw (Current ruler of Wasp City) and is her royal bodyguard. She’s also a General of the People and General of War, as for General of the People that means she can arrest people and do whatever to keep the people protected and/or safe. General of War means that if there’s a war, she’d probably help make plans and get everyone ready for combat/give instruction or help.

I think Bevel is really silly, I really need a break from all this nerd talk help :l

Ancient Queen Bloodlust/Bloodlust 2,000 years ago when she was actually visible to the public. I based her clothing off of Ancient Chinese wears like the Han Dynasty I believe (I REALLY HOPE IM SPELLING THAT RIGHT) I never really had a crown design for her so I just put a giant jade on her crown cus like I don’t really have any Spider culture down just yet BUT I PROMISE I WILL! There are claw marks on her neck because of a recent war that happened in the Ancient Spider Kingdom (War of Webs) THIS IS SUBJECT TO CHANGE THOUGH!!! I believe as of right now the war is about territory, Bloodlust’s kingdom wanted more land as their population was growing but the lesser weren’t cooperating. NOW THATS A LOT OF YAP I KNOW, BUT I LOVE THESE GUYS THOUGH!!! CATECIS IS JUST A WAY FOR ME TO SHOW MY LOVE FOR STORIES

So sorry I haven’t been posting a lot, I haven’t been doing too well mentally and I feel like shit 24/7. I love all of you so much!!! Especially my children (Followers)!!!

(If you have any questions, you can ask. If you like this yapping, consider supporting because there’s a lot of Catecis art on the way)

EDIT: I FORGOT TO MENTION BUT BLOODLUST’S HAIR IS TIED IN LIKE A BOW SHAPE!!! No the hair on her head isn’t ears or stuff like that, it’s just a hair-tied bow. Spiders don’t even have that kind of hearing

[lewmagoo]

before the devil comes for you | robert "bob" floyd

chapter one

next chapter

summary: the year is 1975. robert floyd is a young reverend haunted by demons from his past. fresh out of seminary, he is led to take up a backwoods church in a small mining town. there, he meets a woman who is in the midst of questioning the very foundation of her faith. as their worlds collide, robert soon finds himself tangled in a web of temptation and lies. with the past he’s spent so long trying to outrun quickly closing in, he is faced with a decision, in which he must either condemn the woman he loves, or turn his back on his faith.

listen to the playlist here

pairing: robert "bob" floyd x oc (fairlight mackall)

warnings: 18+ ONLY, this story will contain heavy religious themes, poverty, eventual smut, violence, mentions of death, religious trauma, mentions and/or depictions of abuse. specific warnings will be added to each part accordingly

note: i am no longer able to add anymore blogs to my taglist, as i've hit a tagging limit. please follow my tag #before the devil comes for you if you would like to keep up with this story

series masterlist

It was an unseasonably warm day in late May when Reverend Robert Floyd arrived in the backwoods village of Backforty Gap, smack dab in the middle of Preston County, West Virginia.

The heat of the day had already gotten to him, leaving his fair brow wet with sweat, and his cotton shirt, the one his mother had made him, soaked through. 

He was seated in the passenger’s seat of a rusty old Ford pickup, likely from the 1940s. The seats were worn and cracked. A pair of dirty, old fuzzy dice hung from the rearview mirror. The cab smelled like cigarettes and motor oil. The engine was loud. 

Bob tugged at the collar of his shirt, trying futilely to ease the heat around his neck.

The man driving, who’d introduced himself as Cricket, said nothing for most of the ride, except to make comments about certain landmarks they’d pass by. Bob wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting when he pictured Backforty Gap, but it certainly wasn’t this. 

There were seemingly unending stretches of highway, flanked by dense woods. Occasionally, they would pass by a dilapidated home that he was certain was abandoned, but Cricket would inform him that someone actually lived there.

“That’s the Renner place,” he gruffly informed Bob as they passed by what looked to be nothing more than a little shack.

Bob’s eyes widened. “Someone actually lives there?”

He hadn’t meant it to come across like he was casting judgment, but Cricket took it that way. “Don’t go dogging the way people live here, Reverend. It’ll do you well to keep them thoughts to yourself.”

“Oh, I-I wasn’t-” He tried, but suddenly, the truck took a sharp turn, and the words died on his lips as he lurched to the side, arms shooting out to steady himself. Suddenly, they were on a winding gravel road, and the truck rocked and rattled as they went. Bob was sure the ride knocked a rib or two loose.

Along that winding road, he caught sight of the church that would soon be his responsibility. A run-down country church, white paint peeling around the edges, arched windows furnished with stained glass. 

He almost opened his mouth to ask Cricket to stop for a moment to allow himself to get acquainted with the sanctuary, but thought better of it. The man seemed like he wanted to get this over with, so Bob remained quiet and instead let his eyes flicker away from the small church and onto the road ahead.

They passed by a few houses on the way up the mountain. A few that were just as dilapidated as the one he’d seen along the main road. Others were in better condition. Some were mere cabins. Others were actual houses. 

Many of the houses were littered with wandering chickens in the front yards. Hunting dogs howled as the truck passed. Cats dozed in the shade of old oak trees. Children played barefoot in their yards. 

Bob was a little stunned. This place seemed stuck in time, as if it was a time capsule from seventy years prior. The area was clearly very poor. If the poorly kept houses weren’t a dead giveaway, then the children’s tattered clothes and gaunt faces were. He was quickly beginning to realize why the Almighty had led him here.

He was hopeful about his mission here, but he wasn’t quite sure how the community would react to him. He’d been told numerous times that small-town, backwoods folks like this did not take well to drastic changes like this. He would surely have his work cut out for him.

“Mackall place is up here a ways,” Cricket’s gruff voice startled Bob from his reverie. “I’m gon’ drop you off at the end of their drive, because it’s a real bitch to turn this truck around up there.” Then, he cast a sheepish glance at the young reverend. “Excusin’ the language, Reverend.”

Bob waved a dismissive hand. “It’s quite alright.” He’d certainly been known to utter worse things during his own time away from the Lord.

As promised, Cricket pulled the truck to a stop at the end of a long, dirt driveway. Bob thanked the man and made a move to place money in his hand. But he refused to take it. “S’ the least I could do for the man of God.”

With a shrug, Bob climbed out of the truck and onto the dirt and gravel below. He thanked Cricket once more before he retrieved his tattered old suitcase from the truck bed, and turned to face the seemingly unending driveway.

Here goes nothing, he thought to himself. And away he went.

As he walked beneath the beating sun, guaranteed to turn his fair skin pink, he marveled at the circumstances that had brought him here. He had only just finished seminary, when an offer to take up a church in Backforty Gap had dropped into his lap.

He’d barely given it a second thought before accepting the offer. Admittedly, he probably should have whispered a prayer to ask for wisdom, but he was just so eager to get to work that he assumed this was a sign from God.

A week later, he was boarding a greyhound bus headed for Morgantown, West Virginia. From there, a man from Backforty Gap would be waiting at the station to drive him up to the village. Or, holler, as the locals called it.

That’s where he’d been greeted by Cricket, a man of few words. When Bob had asked if that was his given name, or a nickname, the only answer he’d received was a grunt. 

Cricket had driven thirty-five minutes to get to Backforty Gap. And that’s where Robert Floyd found himself now. 

He was brimming with anticipation over being in a new place. It was a chance for him to have a fresh start and make something out of himself. A chance to make his momma proud, for once. A chance to finally shed all those demons from his past and walk into the light. 

But before he could get on with his mission, he had to settle into the place he’d be living for the time being.

The church property did not have a pastor’s quarters. Instead, Bob would be staying up the road a ways, on the property of the church’s head deacon, Montgomery Mackall. 

He had no idea what to expect as he trod the dirt path. Would he come upon a home as poor and dilapidated as all the others? 

His questions were soon answered when he caught sight of a farmhouse in the distance. It was not grand, but it was no sunken shack, either. It looked big enough to house an entire family comfortably. 

The paint on the outside was sun-bleached and peeling. The screen on the front door was falling off. But that seemed to be the only cosmetic disrepair on the house. Other than that it was much nicer than all the other places he’d seen on the drive up here. 

Inside the house was a young woman of twenty-one, humming a dreamy tune to herself as she set about doing her daily chores. She was in the kitchen, the windows open to let in the warm spring air as she swept the worn, wooden floor. 

When she glanced up from her work, eyes flickering to the open window over the sink, she caught sight of a figure approaching.

She didn’t recognize whoever it was, which led realization to dawn on her. She hastily shoved her broom against the nearest wall, rushing to untie her hand-sewn apron. 

“Daddy! The new preacher’s here!” She called to her father, who was in the back of the house, in the small shoebox of a room he called his study. 

She heard shuffling, and a moment later, Montgomery Mackall stepped into the hall. Standing at over six feet tall, he was a steady mountain of a man. Hard set jaw, striking blue eyes that had seen many things, and a handsome, ruddy face that was slightly weathered from years in the sun.

Montgomery, or, Mont, as his friends called him, walked steadily to the front door, pushing the screen open, but catching it before it could slam against the side of the house. His daughter followed close behind, brimming with curiosity as she tried to peer around his broad shoulders to catch a better glimpse of the reverend.

Down the path, Bob saw two people step out onto the front porch of the old farmhouse, and he lifted his hand in greeting. The cotton of his shirt shifted against his skin as he did so, reminding him of just how hot and sticky he really was, thanks to the warmth of the weather.

He might have preferred to wash up before he met his host family, but there would be time for that later. Instead, he squared his shoulders and walked determinedly. He wanted to make a good impression. Wanted these people to see him in a good light.

He supposed thinking that way was sinful. It wasn’t about him, after all. It was about showing the love of Christ to others. He had to remind himself of that as he finally caught up to the man and woman who’d just stepped off of the porch.

Bob came face to face with a man who stood at eye level with him. The man’s brow was set in a scowl, only because of the sun that shone on his face. Even so, he looked rather intimidating, but Bob tried not to let it bother him.

“Reverend Floyd,” Montgomery spoke, reaching out a firm, work-calloused hand.

Bob shook his hand, a little jarred by the rough grip, but he recovered quickly and returned the handshake with renewed enthusiasm. “You must be Mr. Mackall,” he mused.

Mont nodded. “Sure am. You can call me Mont, though. Don’t need to go by formalities.” Then, he turned, revealing the girl who’d been standing just behind him. “This here’s my daughter, Fairlight.”

As his eyes fell upon the young woman, Robert’s breath caught in his chest. There she stood, flaxen hair glimmering in the sun, the kindest smile he’d ever seen lighting up her face. But it was her eyes that stopped him dead in his tracks. They were unlike anything he’d ever seen before. A stormy, gray-blue that made him feel like he was staring into the sky in anticipation of a summer thunderstorm.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, sir.” She held her hand out, and he took it, gently shaking it.

She didn’t miss the way his hand quite literally swallowed her smaller one. He was not what she’d been expecting in the least. When her father told her of a new reverend by the name of Robert Floyd taking over Backforty Church of God, she’d imagined a much older man. Graying hair. Hunched shoulders. Belly rounded from the evidence of his own gluttony.

Her mind had never imagined him to look like this. Tall and lithe. Chestnut hair, the edges of which were curled around his forehead, glimmering with perspiration. His eyes were the clearest blue, even more so than her own father’s. His features were soft, but striking all at once. Little did she know that this very moment, this first meeting, would change the trajectory of her life forever.

But all too soon, the spell was broken, and Reverend Floyd pulled his hand from hers quickly. She noticed that he flexed his fingers, as if trying to rid himself of the feel of her touch. 

Her father started speaking again. “We got a lot to talk about. You’re gon’ need to be prepared before you walk through them church doors on Sunday morning. But first, I reckon you’re eager to get freshened up.” Mont motioned to his daughter. “Faitlight’ll show you where you’re staying.”

There it was again, that warm smile of hers. If Bob stared too long, his eyes burned. He thanked Mont, and quickly moved to follow the girl. When he looked down, he realized that her feet were bare. She walked surely, so familiar with every inch of land that she was not afraid of where her feet might fall. 

“You’ll be staying in our guest house,” she spoke up, her voice soft, “but don’t expect anything luxurious. It’s just an old shack my daddy fixed up.”

“Oh, I’m not picky. Just thankful the Lord provided a place for me to rest my head while I’m here,” Bob replied with a smile. 

Fairlight glanced over her shoulder at him and mirrored that smile. She moved her focus back to the path ahead, and Bob watched her, pretty floral dress swishing around her bare legs. But he quickly averted his gaze. What on earth was wrong with him? He’d been here all of five minutes and his mind was already wandering.

Father, forgive me.

Instead, he rehearsed Scripture in his mind. Verses he’d had to commit to memory in seminary. He was so wrapped up in repeating those verses that he didn’t even realized they’d reached the guest house. Fairlight stopped, but his head was so far in the clouds that he didn’t see, and he collided with her.

With a gasp of surprise, she stumbled forward from the force, and Bob’s arm shot out, catching her before she could fall. “Sorry! I’m sorry, I-I wasn’t paying attention,” he profusely apologized. 

But when she turned, there was laughter on her lips, flowing like sweet communion wine. “It’s okay,” she assured him. 

His hand was clasped around her forearm, and he quickly released her, posture straightening. He looked beyond her and took in the sight of the house. She hadn’t been exaggerating when she said it was a shack. It was rather small, built from simple wooden planks. But it appeared sturdy enough that the weather would not get to it.

Fairlight stepped forward to open the door, and she motioned for him to step inside. As he did, his eyes explored the space. The floor was also wooden. A twin bed was placed in the corner, furnished with a wooden frame. There was a small nightstand beside it. At its foot, a small chest for storing clothing.

On the other side, there was a small writing desk. In the middle of the room, there was a modest, well-worn couch. 

“Well, this is it. It’s not much, but…”

Bob shook his head. “No, it’s just right. Thank you, really. I appreciate that your father was willing to take me in like this.”

“Oh, he’s happy to do it. He’s just relieved we found a pastor to take on the church. He’s been preaching all the messages lately and it’s really wearing on him.”

Bob paused after he set his bag on the bed. “Can I ask what happened to the last reverend?”

Her face darkened slightly. “We had an outbreak of scarlet fever a while back. He visited all the families that were suffering from it. Then, he came down with it, and it killed him.”

Bob’s eyes widened. “O-oh. I had no idea. No one told me any details. Just that there was a congregation in need of a reverend.” Then, “but, surely he could've gotten help, right? There’s a hospital in Morgantown.”

Fairlight shook her head. “You don’t understand. People in this community don’t trust doctors. We have a local doctor, Doctor McHone. Our people barely even trust him as it is. Hospitals are out of the question.”

He was a little floored at her statement. People were still behaving like this, in 1975? He hadn’t realized just how stuck in time this place actually was. “Wow,” was all he could murmur.

“They don’t take well to new people, either. Some of them might give you a hard time. But with my daddy backing you, you should be fine. They trust his judgment. Besides, I’m glad you’re here. We could use someone to breathe new life into the church.”

Bob dipped his head forward. “I hope I can do that, then.”

Fairlight hummed, folding her arms across her middle. Tendrils of pale hair fell from her plait as she regarded him. “I’ve gotta say, you aren’t what I was expecting.”

He raised his brow. “Is that a good thing?”

“It is. I thought you’d be an old man with gray hair and wrinkles. But you’re not. I like the look of you. You have a kind face.”

Bob couldn’t ignore the odd feeling that spread through his chest. A prickling discomfort. His mind flickered to a moment from his past. A time in which he would never have thought of himself as kind. A time in which he was so entrenched in the pits of sin he thought he’d never escape.

But here he was, a new man, living a new life. A man who’d been given a second chance. He thanked Fairlight for her compliment, though he was certain his neck had turned pink from her words. 

“Well, I’ll let you get settled in. I’m sure you’re used to having running water in the city, but out here, you’d be hard-pressed to find a house with running water. We use an outhouse to do our business, it’s just behind the main house. There’s a tub we use for baths, but I usually just bathe in the river up the road, so it’s up to you as to what you’d like to do.”

“Thank you,” Bob said.

“I make all the meals ‘round here. Breakfast is at seven. Lunch is usually at noon. Dinner is at five.” She paused, as if going over something in her mind. “I think that’s all. Daddy will fill you in on the rest, I suppose. If you need anything, let me know.” She’d inched toward the door, but her body was still turned toward him, like she didn’t want to go.

“Thank you,” he said again, dumbly. Could he not think of a more creative thing to say? But his irritation at himself was forgotten as she turned to go, and he called out to her, his worry getting the best of him. “What…what should I expect, taking on this church?”

Fairlight hesitated, as if considering just how much she should tell him. But she didn’t think she was the right person to do so. Not when in her heart of hearts, she cared nothing for the church, and wanted to see it rot. But that was a story for another time, one she would not dare breathe to a man of God such as the one before her.

Instead, she put forth the all-too-familiar persona of the obedient little church mouse. She smiled and shook her head at the young reverend. “That’s something you should ask my daddy.”

Bob nodded. “You’re right. Sorry, didn’t mean to interrogate ya.”

But she shook her head. “It’s okay. You’re just curious, is all. I would be too. There’s lots to learn about this place. But you’ll come along just fine, I’m sure.” Finally, moved to step back outside.

He followed her, standing in the doorway while she stood on the earth. The sun hit her just right, and she appeared to be glowing. “It was nice to meet you, Reverend Floyd.”

“You as well, Miss Mackall,” he answered.

She waved him off. “Call me Fairlight, please.”

“Fairlight, then.”

She nodded, eyes soft. Lingering but for a moment, she turned away, making her way back to the main house. Bob watched her go, and he tried to push aside the strange sensation blooming to life within him. He wasn’t quite sure what it was. He blamed it on nerves.

Once the woman was out of sight, he turned around, scanning his surroundings again. It wasn’t much, but it was adequate for what he needed. It was time to get settled in. So, he set about unpacking his minimal belongings. 

Bob had gotten rid of many of his old possessions. At seminary, they had taught him that worldly possessions held little to no value. It was vitally important to lay up heavenly treasures, instead. 

So, he kept only what was necessary, and gave the rest away to charity. It had been freeing to do so, because many of his things reminded him of the man he was before. He didn’t want any reminders of him. 

Now, all he owned were some toiletries, a few changes of clothes, pajamas, the watch his grandfather had given him when he was seventeen, a moleskin journal and few pens, two pairs of shoes, a winter coat, a Sunday suit, underclothes, and, his most prized possession, his leatherbound Bible.

Those items were all he had in the world. But he was not in want of anything. He found that, in his travels, he was always taken care of somehow. A kind stranger offered him a place to lay his head. A church held a love offering for him. A sweet elderly woman made him a home-cooked meal. The Lord always took care of His own.

Bob was grateful for His provision.

As he set about unpacking, he was soon interrupted by a knock at the door. He stepped across the room, opening it to reveal Montgomery.

“All settled?” The man asked.

“Getting there,” Bob responded with a smile.

Mont nodded. “Don’t mean to pull you away, but I imagine you would like to see the church.”

Bob nodded. “I would, actually. Give me a moment to get freshened up, I’ve been sweating like a sinner in church.”

Mont didn’t seem to find that funny. “Don’t bother, you’ll just start sweatin’ again as soon as you come outside.”

Sensing he didn’t want to wait, Bob complied, stepping outside and closing the door behind him. He followed Mont back toward the house, where he was led to an old pickup truck. Those seemed to be all anyone drove around here.

The two men climbed into the cab of the truck, and soon, they were off. Mont drove back the way Bob had come from, taking the winding, rough, gravel road. It took about ten minutes to get to the church, and finally, the truck came to a stop, breaks squeaking as it did so.

Bob followed Mont’s lead, climbing out of the truck and onto the dirt. As the pair approached the small church, Bob marveled at its appearance. It was more run-down than he’d realized. It clearly had not been updated in quite some time. 

“Needs some work, as you can see for yourself,” Mont spoke up as he stepped up to the front doors, fishing a key out of his pocket and unlocking them. “Been meanin’ to work on it, but funds are tight, and these people are hurting. Haven’t had the heart to ask them to contribute more than they already do for Sunday offerings.”

“Just how bad off is this community?” Bob questioned. “So I know what I’m dealing with.”

Mont sighed as he led the young reverend into the building. “I’m afraid you ain’t been prepared properly for this, Reverend. This is one of the poorest communities in the area.” 

“And nobody has started a mission to help them?” 

“Nobody cares about backwoods folks like these. They’d rather let ‘em rot.” Mont stopped at one of the old, worn benches, knocking his fingers against the wood. “People ‘round here are dirt poor. They won’t accept charity. Their livelihood is coal mining. Most of the men here are miners. They take providing for their families very seriously. And since the fighting in Vietnam started, there have been a lot of mining spots needing filled, with some of our boys off fighting. The people are hurting from the loss”

The war was over. At least, that’s what had been announced a month ago. But Bob figured most of the boys weren’t home yet. And, it was likely that many of them had died in action and would not return to their families in Backforty Gap. He didn’t ask more questions about it, however. He would learn what he needed to know once he got familiar with the community. 

“I didn’t realize how…stuck in time this place would be. I wasn’t expecting something like this in America, of all places. When you think of poor areas like this, you picture a village in Africa somewhere.”

Mont raised a brow. “Shows how privileged a life you’ve led, Reverend. No disrespect.”

“None taken,” Bob replied.

“These people, they don’t do well with change. They like things the way they are. It took a mighty bit of convincing for them to agree to bring on a new pastor.” His eyes held a serious stare as he stepped closer to Bob. “You’d best not let them down.”

The weight of this responsibility hit Robert like a ton of bricks. How was he going to shepherd and care for this impoverished community? Was he cut out for such a thing? Could he be the pastor they needed? Worry bubbled to life within his chest, but he forced himself to swallow it down.

This was what God had called him to do. He had to trust His plan. Bob had been led to Backforty Gap for a reason. It would do him well to get to work and quit worrying about all the little details. Everything would fall into place soon enough.

“So what do you say, Reverend? Think you’re cut out for this?” 

Bob pulled his shoulders back confidently and smiled. “These people need me. I can’t turn my back on them.”

Montgomery returned his smile. “That’s what I was hopin’ you’d say.” Then, he turned. “Follow me. There’s lots for you to see.”

And so it began. 

Although the task at hand seemed overwhelming, Bob knew this was where he was meant to be. He was grateful he’d even been considered for this opportunity. 

He had worked hard to clean his life up, and it was finally paying off. But past demons always have a way of rearing their ugly heads when one least expects it, and those demons were about to give Reverend Robert Floyd a run for his money. 

next chapter ⮕

-

taglist:

@rhettabbotts @roostersrooster @buckymcu12 @dissonannce @bigassnocash @bxbygvrllll @vintagemulti @nobody7102 @whisperofsong @benhardysdrumstick @burnerbitchh @callsignunsung @pijkwejk @todayithoughtof @topgunmaddie @cherrycola27 @hangmandruigandmav @angelbabyange @grapejellyyy @moonyscardigans @wh0re4ficti0nalm3n @opalthebae @petlaufeyson @pr3ttyboysmakemecry @poisonjinkxmay @bimbeeno @beyondthesefourwalls

@magentamistress @eighthwvnder @edensbuttercups @lenafromthenordiccoven @luckyladycreator2 @dojacatmarryme @breezy14fan @bradshawseresinbabe @paigewinchester67 @lunamooncole @citrusrising @flashyourgreeneyesatme @lenaandcalliope @withahappyrefrain @h0neyfire @shantellescrivener @itsmemy-dudes @phoenixssugarbaby @morgang-the-mage @bradshawsbitch @thedroneranger @glodessa @milesmillergf

[boygiwrites]

Harley D. Dixon 9

An amazing edit inspired by this story! (Cred to Cora_Line99) Harley D. Dixon's Pinterest Board! Harley D. Dixon's Playlist!

📖Chapter List.

Author's Note. New chapter! :)

If I had to guess, I'd say a week has passed.

Our days are spent driving, siphoning gas, and sleeping. We wake up in whatever overgrown pocket of forest we spent the night in, buckle up for an entire day of winding up and down side-roads blocked by trucks or dead bodies or fallen trees, and then we spend the night in another pocket of overgrown forest, feeling just a little more exhausted than we were the day before; dirtier, bloodier, and hungrier.

At least nothing more has happened between Shane and my Dad, yet. We've all been too busy trying not to starve for that.

Tonight, as the thicket hoots and rustles around me, I close my eyes.

It's nice to pretend that time has stopped.

I listen as the river flows past my bare shoulders, undisturbed, like I'm just another steady rock amongst its gentle ripples. I let the water skim across my fingers and wash over my hair. I can feel the satisfying smoothness of riverbed stones on the pearly soles of my feet, and I wiggle my toes against the current, breathing in the freshness of night air. It's not as luxurious as a shower, 'cause showers don't quite got leaves and twigs and dirt in 'em, but I pretend it's luxurious, anyway. I feel the day being lifted from my skin and carried away down-stream.

Fwip.

A flock of birds takes off from the trees.

I snap my eyes open.

On the muddy bank of the river, a dead woman drops to her knees. Blood oozes like thick, brown pudding from a crossbow bolt pierced through one of her eyes. I gasp, paddling backwards, as she slumps head-first into the water. The rest of her mossy body slides in after her.

Splash.

The river carries her away, too.

I watch as the fuzzy hump of her back slowly floats away until it disappears around the bend.

Whew. That was close.

"Harley!"

I turn around.

On the opposite bank, from where he's been supervising the whole time, my Dad swings his crossbow over his shoulder.

"Time to get out, now. Ya clean enough?"

Oh, right. I'm supposed to be bathing. I got a little distracted.

"Yeah!" I call back. "I'm clean!"

I squeeze the last of the suds outta my hair.

"Come on, then."

He holds out his hand.

Quick to obey, I wade through the water and onto the pebbly shore. He grabs my arm and helps me step up over the shelf of dirt, onto dry land, where he wraps me up in the big towel that he bought with us. A gust of hot breeze sails through the forest as I hastily dry myself off, wanting to get back to camp as soon as possible. It's never good news when we find walkers. They've been following us for days, travelling tirelessly through the night while we sleep. Besides, dinner is probably being served by now, since I'm the last one to bathe tonight.

As usual, I'm not looking forward to it.

Once I'm dry, I step into my underwear and my purple pyjama pants, and then pull on my frog shirt and my lady-bug boots.

My Dad packs the bottle of hand-soap that I used to wash myself with and my old, dirty clothes into his pack.

He nods me forward. "Let's go."

We start the short hike back to camp. We step over mushroom-infested logs and shallow ditches filled with noisy crickets; our path lit by a flashlight. At one point, we have to duck under a glittering spider-web, which is pretty cool. I like spiders, especially fat and colorful ones.

Soon enough, we can hear a fire crackling in the distance, and we step through the trees.

We made it back.

All the vehicles are parked in a bumper-to-bumper ring around a tiny campfire, where the group is silently sitting together in the grass. Rick rations the cooked food into a bunch of bowls, mugs, and plates as Glenn passes bottles of boiled water around. We take our spots next to Carol. She takes four bowls from Rick, and hands one to Sophia, and then another two to me and my Dad. Dale hands us some spoons. We don't bother thanking them. There's a grim look on both their faces. They don't wanna be doin' this, but they don't got a choice, and neither do we.

Everyone settles down, reluctant to begin eating.

I look over at Carl, who's hair is also wet from his river-bath. He peers into his bowl. He looks like he's gonna puke.

I peer down at mine. I feel the same way.

"Dig in, everyone." Rick mutters.

T-Dog echoes him unenthusiastically.

Oh, well.

I can't survive without food. I should just get it over with.

I start with the intestines.

There are disgusting crunching and chewing and slurping noises all around me as I inch the brown tube into my mouth.

It's chewy like a frozen squid ring, and slippery like sausage-skin.

Tastes like chicken, I tell myself, even though I know it came from a skunk.

I think about what's inside a skunk. It's got a little heart, much smaller than ours, which I think is what Rick is eating, 'cause I can see little pipe-like things hanging off the chunk of meat in his hand. The fire flutters ominously over his face, his stare locked onto a burning branch as it turns to ash. Then there's the liver, which is now diced up on Carl's spoon. He swallows it one go, like cough medicine. There are the kidneys. Glenn got those, but he's not really eating 'em. He's knocking 'em back like big, rubbery pills instead, so he don't gotta taste 'em. There's also its stomach and its spaghetti-intestines, and then the breast and the ribs, which is the good part, which I'm saving for last.

Then, the most shameful parts are the paws and the tongue and, ugh, the nose and the tail and the eyeballs.

Those parts aren't meant for eating. I never even saw 'em in the freezer section at the supermarket.

But we're eating 'em.

We'll starve if we don't.

With oily fingers and scrunched up noses, we bite and chew and swallow every last morsel of the poor skunk, including the feet and the snout, until it's just a bad memory — Just protein and fat to keep us alive, and not animal-guts. I remember back at the quarry, I used to think surviving meant using a single square of toilet paper instead of four or five, but now I know it's this. It's gnashing on skunk organs.

"Saw a walker out there." Dad mumbles, as he nibbles on the tail bone. "S'just the one, but..."

"Where there's one, there's a hundred." Glenn muses.

Walkers are like ants. There used to be a big ant-hill in our yard, and sometimes I'd just watch 'em crawl over each other, mindless.

"We'll pack up at first light." Rick frowns. "One walker ain't gonna slow us down."

"You okay?" Jacqui asks us.

I nod, staring down at my shiny lumps of skunk-gut.

"What happened?"

"It was just some loaner." Dad explains. "Came up to the river while Harley was washin'. Shot it quick."

"More and more seem to be poppin' up." Shane tells everybody. "Keep your eyes peeled tonight, alright? Who's on watch?"

Glenn and Andrea lift their hands.

Then Morales points between himself and Rick. "We take over, afterwards."

Shane nods. "Y'all know the drill. No noisy weapons; no gunfire. Try to keep everyone alive 'till sunrise."

"How close even is Fort Benning by now?" Carl suddenly asks. "We've been driving for ages."

"Carl..." Rick rubs his forehead.

"Listen, we drove down Lone Oak today. We're nearin' Hogansville." Shane says. "So, we're just shy three days away, I reckon."

Carl sighs heavily, picking at his food.

Three more days means three more nights, which means three more dinners like this one. My Dad skinned it the best he could, and it's cooked all the way through, but it's still a little nasty considering we've only been eating granola bars and tinned fruit up until now. Even the squirrel burgers Uncle Merle used to make tasted better than this, 'cause at least he threw some salt and pepper on those.

"It's not forever, baby." Lori comforts Carl. "We just need to stick it out until then."

"Yeah, I guess." He grouches.

As I suck the meat off the skunk's leg bone, I think to myself, Just three more days.

After a while, T-Dog stands.

"Thanks for the experience, man," He sighs, "But I think I'm gonna turn in."

Rick nods. "I think it's best we all do. We got more travelling ahead of us; Need the rest."

"I know I do." Dale scoffs, stretching.

Glenn and Andrea walk off to start patrolling the area for the night, and the rest of us drop our dishes into a bucket of water to be washed tomorrow morning. I say goodnight to everyone and follow my Dad into the truck. He hands me one of the pillows and the blanket to snuggle into. He clicks off the ceiling light, and 'cause he don't sing for me tonight, I count the fish on my blanket until I drift off to sleep instead.

I swear I hear Shane and Dale arguing sometime during the night.

Grrr...

The next morning, I wake up to the sound of a car engine humming lowly. Groggily, I turn over, covering my ears with my blanket. The noise persists. I turn over again, trying to fall back asleep, but again, the noise persists. And it keeps persisting, almost for a full minute, until I begin to think, That doesn't actually sound much like a car engine. Confused, I slowly lift my head, peeking out the wind—

Smack!

A pale hand, grabbing at the glass.

Grrrr...

It's not an engine.

It's a walker.

It's nose bone makes a tick, tick, tick sound as it knocks into the window, its purple gums and black teeth kissing at me, tongue licking.

I scream.

My Dad jumps awake beside me.

Smack!

He's confronted with the sight of the walker mouthing and groping the glass, and he quickly puts his arm in front of me.

He huffs, "What the Hell?"

Smack!

"You okay?"

"Uh-huh." I answer, "But... aren't Morales and Rick supposed to be on watch?"

They wouldn't have let a walker get this close if they could help it.

He peers outside. "Yeah, they are."

Smack!

Behind us, there's another one. With two bloated, gummy hands, a second walker palms at Dad's window, leaving behind sticky hand-prints and gooey blood. He unsheathes his knife, angrily winds the window down about an inch, and stabs it through the forehead. It crumples to the ground, only to be replaced by another one. Then another, and another, all rushing to pile on top of each other, sniffing the air and clicking their rotten teeth at us. I count them — Three, four, five — Five walkers crowding against Dad's side of the truck.

He scoffs, "Found us, did ya?"

Where there's one, there's a hundred.

He winds the window back up, but the walkers wiggle their fingers through the gap like little worms.

"Damn it."

They start tugging it down with combined strength, shoving their knobbly elbows and shoulders and hands inside. Dad tries to ram it closed, but it gives in, sliding all the way open once more. The dead immediately start climbing inside. I scream again. Dad scoots back until we're pressed up against the opposite window, with the original walker licking at the back of our necks through the glass. I can hear it going, Tick, tick, tick.

Dad picks his crossbow up off the floor and loads it, aims it, and—

Fwip!

The closest walker face-plants onto the driver's seat.

"Where are they?" I worry. "Morales and Rick. What if they're in trouble?"

Fwip!

"Just stay behind me."

The next walker slumps on top of the last one.

He yanks the bolt out its nose and stabs the next one in the eye with it, and then the one after that, too.

He grunts as he pulls it out. Grey blood splatters the ceiling.

"Rick!" He calls out. "Morales! Glenn! Where are ya?"

"Dad, they're not answering!"

Dad drives the bolt into the last walker's ear canal, slamming its head into the side mirror. Both the walker-skull and the mirror crack in half, tumbling into the grass below. He lets the bolt fall with 'em, and winds up the window just in time for three more walkers to run into it, their peeling mouths held agape, and their eyeballs rolling up into their lids. I watch them slobber and moan.

One of them has a hatchet in its neck.

Dad drops back down, panting.

I recognise the yellow tape wound around the handle.

Dad must, too, 'cause he says, "That's Rick's hatchet."

The walkers continue slapping the truck and moaning incoherently as we peer out the windows. Over their shoulders, I can see one, two, three, five, eight, ten walkers stumbling through camp, all tripping over the chairs and the logs from the fire. One by one, they latch onto their choice of vehicle with dead hands, like the RV, which is totally surrounded. I've never seen this many walkers, not even back at the quarry. In the back window, we can see Sophia peeking past the curtains. In the front, we see Dale and Glenn trying to get our attention.

My Dad waves to 'em once he notices.

"Where's Rick and Morales?" He yells.

They get the gist of what he's tryna ask, and they both shrug, which makes us even more worried.

"They gotta still be out there." Dad grumbles.

I scan the sea of greasy heads wandering by. They're all half-beaten, blood-soaked, stringy, and mishappen, but oh, not that one — That one's regular, and it's moving way faster than the others. Another one trails behind it, I realize, slightly taller. It must be them.

"Dad!" I point. "I think that's them!"

"Yeah? Where?"

"There!"

One, two, three walkers are slashed to the ground, revealing — Yes! — Rick and Morales.

"There they are!"

Dad leans over me, opening the door. "Hey! Over here!"

"Get ready to go!" Rick yells at us.

The original walker falls onto its back, and both Rick and Morales make a bee-line for the truck, shouldering their way past walker after walker after walker, until they reach the door. They step over the flailing walker and climb inside. We make room for them as fast as we can. I climb onto my Dad's lap behind the wheel as Morales slams the door closed, panting, covered head to toe in blood of all different colors.

"Go!" Rick pats the dash. "Drive! We gotta go!"

"What about all the stuff out there?" I ask.

The dishes, the bucket, the chairs.

"We have to leave it." Rick shakes his head. "We can't stay here a second longer."

"Everyone good?" My Dad asks him, turning the keys.

"Yeah." He pants. "Got— Got caught off guard, that's all. Everyone else was still inside the cars. They're safe."

The truck sputters to life. Dad stomps on the gas. The tyres squeal all at once, and we tear off into the forest, between clusters of thin trees. The walkers try to cling on, but they're too weak to keep up and they topple over into the dirt. We leave them in the distance — shrinking, shrinking, shrinking, until they look like little stick figures, and then like nothing. The truck bumps and wobbles along the dirt road, following after the RV.

Behind us, the rest of the vehicles catch up.

Rick counts them through the back window. He sighs. Everyone's here.

As branches hit the sides of the truck, he speaks up. "You two okay? Harley, you okay?"

"Yeah," I nod. "Just... There were so many of 'em."

He puts his hand on my shoulder, leaning his head back, closing his eyes. "Tell me about it."

We enjoy the silence — the calm — as we make our way through the woods. I can tell Dad wants to ask what happened, but he keeps his mouth shut for now. Caught off guard? What does that mean? After some time, we reach a break in the trees. We tail the RV as it pulls back onto the highway that we started on, feeling just a little more exhausted than we were the day before; dirtier, bloodier, and hungrier.

At least we're alive.

It's not until we've been driving for at least twenty minutes that I spot the bite mark on Morales' wrist.

Oh.

Rick catches me looking, but he doesn't look surprised.

He just looks defeated.

The next time we stop, it's not to siphon gas or to sleep.

It's to kill Morales.

We all wait together on the highway as Shane and Rick march him into the trees. It'll be quick and painless, were the words they used. Apparently, Morales chose to be shot in the head instead of bein' left to turn, and they're gonna honour that choice by killing him. Louis and Eliza weren't comforted by any of this, though. Neither was Miranda. I feel so awful for them. They cling to each other, a family made up of pain and hurt waiting for the worst to come, which will be in the form of an echoing Bang a few minutes from now.

Jacqui gives Miranda's tear-coated cheek a kiss, and Lori rubs her back gently.

It's the best anyone can do.

My Dad sits next to me on the bed of the truck, watching the trio disappear between the shrubs.

Rick's revolver glints in the afternoon sun.

"It's gonna be like Tank again, ain't it?" I ask numbly, ready.

It's quick and painless, the vet-lady had said, before she poked him with a needle that sent him into a permanent sleep.

"Yeah." He mutters.

He rubs my back now, as well.

It's a bit like Jenner, too, I accidently think, And a bit like Momma.

Sadly, I muse, "I liked Morales."

He grips my shoulder and pulls me into his side.

Together we watch summer clouds pan overhead.

Bang!

Kinda sounds like a firework.

Miranda starts weeping.

Quick and painless.

Maybe for Morales.

But not for us.

It's two days later now, and we still haven't reached Fort Benning.

Miranda, Louis and Eliza are no longer part of the group. After Morales died, they wanted to leave, and so they left. After some convincing, Rick and Shane set them up with a box of bullets, a pistol, and a map, and then we all exchanged hugs. Eliza gave me and Sophia each of her two beaded bracelets. We were real sad to be saying goodbye the other kids like this. Their little station wagon drove off into the horizon, and then that was it — We were suddenly down four people; one dead, and three gone, all overnight. I never realized how small our group was until then.

I think everybody's takin' it pretty hard — Especially Rick, who hasn't spoke in days. I think he was the one that shot Morales.

Problems, I can handle. Full-scale disasters, not so much.

Nobody from our group has died until now, so I'd say this classifies as a full-scale disaster.

I think what we've learnt from all this is that whether you're scavenging or travelling, you can't cheat yourself out of danger.

Still, we've been pushing on. It's what we do best.

Sitting in the passenger seat of the RV, I try re-reading Hairy Maclary again while Dale drives beside me, but it's hard to concentrate. I give up after a while and switch to gazing outside at the rolling landscape. Every now and then, we pass a walker, and I'm reminded of everything all over again.

I'm staring at a bird soaring alongside the highway when the RV comes to a stop.

"Ah, jeez." Dale mutters.

I frown, "What's goin' on?"

When I look out the window, the answer is immediately obvious.

"Oh."

"Jammed to Hell." He sighs.

"We gotta be cursed or somethin'." I mumble. "So much is goin' wrong."

He chuckles a little. "I think you might be right about that."

Glenn walks up behind us and grabs both our chairs, peering outside at the littering of cars.

"Wow..." He sighs.

Dale gestures vaguely at it all. "Just our luck, isn't it?"

"Maybe we can circle back?" Glenn suggests. "There was an interstate bypass back there."

Dale shakes his head. "We can't spare the fuel."

I glance at the fuel meter. I don't know how it works, but I'm pretty sure the E is for empty, and the needle is way too close to it right now.

My Dad brings the truck up besides the RV.

"You see a way through?" Dale calls out to him.

Dad nods us forward, driving ahead to guide us through the wreckage. Dale follows. He steers the huge RV along the narrow path, and we crawl along like this for a couple minutes. We watch in unison as a group of birds casually peck at an empty baby seat strewn across the tarmac. They stare at us with their beady little eyes as we pass. There are car crashes mangled in with the guardrail, and walker-bodies smeared into the gravel. I remember bein' on a highway exactly like this one with my Dad and my Uncle Merle, in the beginning, when people still thought they could drive away from it all. We chose to leave after a while, but many stayed. I guess this is pretty much what happened to them all.

All of a sudden, as we're turning a slight corner, the RV gives out a clunk, clunk, clunk noise.

That's not good.

"What was that?" Glenn frowns.

Clunk!

As if to answer, smoke starts trickling out from underneath the hood.

We roll along for a couple more feet before creaking to a definite stop.

That's not good either.

"Ugh, it's that darn radiator hose." Dale slaps his knee, frustrated. "I knew it wouldn't survive the trip. I just knew it."

He gets up, and me and Glenn follow him outside into the hot sun.

Both ahead of us and behind us, the others hop out their cars, confused.

"I said it, didn't I?" Dale complains, watching hopelessly as his precious RV billows smoke. "A thousand times... Dead in the water."

I try smiling. "Don't worry. We'll fix it."

He tries smiling back, but he doesn't look too convinced.

Shane approaches. "Problem, Dale?"

"Oh, I don't know." He sighs. "Just the small matter of being stranded in the middle of nowhere, with a herd breathing down our necks and no hope of ever finding a new—" He cuts himself off, remembering where it is we're standing exactly. "Okay," He mutters, "That was dumb."

We're surrounded by radiator hoses.

"If you can't find a radiator hose here..." Shane scoffs.

My Dad jogs up to us, frowning at the broken engine. "What's goin' on? That the hose again?"

Dale nods. "Broken, just like I predicted."

Dad shrugs. "I can have a go fixin' it up. You got tools?"

"A few. Nothing fancy."

"I can siphon more fuel." T-Dog offers.

Carol suggests, "Maybe find some water?"

"And some food." Glenn adds, cringing already at the thought of eating another dinner of skunk-kidneys. "We could definitely use some food."

Everyone looks like they agree with that sentiment.

Rick considers all this.

It wasn't his plan to scavenge any more, but we need to, and we're not gonna get a more perfect opportunity than this.

"Okay," He eventually decides, clearing his throat. "We'll split into pairs; conquer this one car at a time, together. T-Dog, Glenn. See if you can't find us some more fuel. Shane, Daryl. You're with me. We'll circle the area for walkers, make sure it's safe for now. Dale, you're on watch. We don't need that herd sneaking up on us today. Rest of you, don't wander too far. And keep an eye out for any food and water laying around, okay? We'll be back on track in about half an hour, I reckon."

"Are you sure about this?" Lori asks, clutching her necklace. "This place is a graveyard."

"It—" Rick shakes his head. "It'll have to do."

"C'mon, y'all." Shane says. "Let's just take a look around. Doesn't have to take long."

With that, Rick's new plan is put into motion.

I look down at the pink and green bracelet on my wrist, next to Amy's hair lackey, and I pretend I don't feel sad at all.

I been doin' that a lot lately.

Author's Note.

Okay, admittedly, this one is a little filler-y... I just needed to set up the whole herd situation, and I also wanted to spend a little more time on the road before we reach the farm. I still hope you enjoyed. I've been feeling a little insecure recently about how often I've been deviating from canon, but I'm trying to ignore it, haha.

RIP Morales. Season two just wasn't in the cards for him.

Also the Shane vs Daryl thing didn't really come up in this chapter... Oops. Next time! It's about to get crazy for those two, ahaha. I have some interesting things planned for them and Harley.

Thank you everyone for reading!

[missterious-figure]

“Come into my parlor” said the spider to the fly.

I quote from my favorite children’s book (if you haven’t read it I recommend it! It’s on wiki. These are the last few pages) :

…The spider turned him round about, and went into his den,

For well he knew, the silly fly would soon come back again:

So he wove a subtle web, in a little corner, sly,

And set his table ready, to dine upon the fly.

Then he went out to his door again, and merrily did sing,

"Come hither, hither, pretty fly, with the pearl and silver wing;

Your robes are green and purple – there's a crest upon your head;

Your eyes are like the diamond bright, but mine are dull as lead."

Alas, alas! how very soon this silly little fly,

Hearing his wily, flattering words, came slowly flitting by;

With buzzing wings she hung aloft, then near and nearer drew,

Thinking only of her brilliant eyes, and green and purple hue:–

Thinking only of her crested head, poor foolish thing! – At last

Up jumped the cunning spider, and fiercely held her fast

He dragged her up his winding stair, into his dismal den,

Within his little parlour – but she ne'er came out again!

– And now, dear little children, who may this story read,

To idle, silly, flattering words, I pray you ne'er give heed:

Unto an evil counsellor, close heart, and ear, and eye,

And take a lesson from this tale, of the Spider and the Fly.

"Cricket, what a wonderful peom! Appropriate dynamic, too~ I indeed enjoyed it."

(This is actually my favorite poem, too!)

[lovelyaces]

Endless love

hi lovely people, i haven't posted anything in a while but i will definitely pop here from time to time. here you go with another fluff piece that basically translates my own fears on paper...

i hope you enjoy it. love, ace 🌷

summary : Pete knows and it seems like your world is falling apart.

“I know.” You and Peter were currently outside your friend’s home, trying to regain some balance after your firsts drinks of the night. You’re not sure how but your conversation turned into love interests and taking your chance.

“Oh no. You know ?” You didn’t need any more words from him to understand that your feelings had been unveiled.

“I know.” Peter reiterated with what seemed to be the most neutral expression on earth.

“Oh…” You were mortified. This was it. The world began to close on you and right now you wished you could turn back in time and make this ever growing anxiety ball in your throat stop.

Never had any of your crushes known your affection for them, you always made sure of it. Because what an embarrassment that would be.

Peter tried to approach you, and slowly hold your elbows in a desperately soft attempt to appease you. Tentatively he whispered “I shouldn’t know ?” All you could do was shake your head no. “Alright then. Consider it forgotten.”

“It doesn’t work that way Pete.” Your voice was shaky and you were on the verge of tears. How can you come back from this ? How long had he known ? How long was it going to take for the story to spread ? You were spiralling and Pete was standing there, confused but mostly heartbroken at the sight of you so helpless. “Why is it a bad thing that I know bug ?”

“Because.” Your throat was closing up and you definitely didn’t trust yourself to continue. Because you’ll go. The sound of the party in the back and the crickets sounds were all you could focus on in order to ground yourself.

Wiping your tears away, you stepped back for Pete’s hold, as if cutting yourself off before he got the chance to do so. “Because it’s not going to work out like I hope, you won’t want me back and you’ll think about how silly it was for me to even think about it.” God how pathetic you thought.

There it was. Peter’s heart squeezed so tightly in his chest, he thought it might stop beating altogether. Your voice, your hands, the way your were so sure he was going to mock you. Anyone would have been hurt to be seen as such, but he knew. He knew that it wasn’t personal, but your fear of rejection taking over.

“Let’s sit for now yeah ?” He searched your eyes with his and led you to the bench further down the garden.

Once sat down, he gave you his hoodie to put on your shoulders. He then waited a bit, opening and closing his mouth like he was searching for the right words to come out. You were resting your head on the bench, looking up to help the tears go back down and at the same time, avoid facing Pete’s beautiful concerned frown.

“I would never laugh at you.” You turned your head to look at him. He, who’s always cheeky and loud, right now looked so attentive and worried you might fleet away at any point. “And I think any fool that made you believe that should be webbed to a wall just to reflect a bit on life.” That made you chuckle a wet laugh. “Just for a few hours of course.”

More time passed but it never got awkward, both of you just trying to gather your thoughts.

“I know you think no one’s going to stay and wait for you. And - I can’t believe I am about to say this because you’re oh so wise usually - but you’re wrong here bug. Sure,” he shrugged, “some people aren’t going to reciprocate those feelings - and thank god for that because otherwise I wouldn’t have been able to tell you this.”

He simply took your had and squeezed it twice before continuing.

“I wouldn’t laugh at you because, while simply being near you is a delight, knowing that I might have a chance at being loved by you, it’s everything. It’s like watching the sunset from Aunt May’s while she has music on, over and over again.”

You knew all too well afternoons at Aunt May’s place and the memories this sentence triggered lifted the weight off your chest partially. It was your turn to rub small circles on Pete’s hand, a silent encouragement for him to continue.

“You’re a lot more than you give yourself credit for bug. You just need to let people let you know.”

Exhausted and elated at the same time, you leaned onto Peter’s shoulder and quietly murmured,

“You love me ?”

“I do.” He took your intertwined hands and kissed your knuckles. “And here I thought I did a terrible job at hiding it.” The usual adoring smile had made its way back on his face.

“You’re a lot better than you think you are.” You added sheepishly, quoting his earlier statement. You turned your head that was still resting on his shoulder and placed a kiss there. “And I’d say you have more than a chance at being loved by me Pete.”

And he was right, it did feel like an endless sunset at his favourite place.

[boredwritergirl]

Day 11 - A Midnight Goose

Hey everyone, this is an edit of an old short story I found. I had initially written it a few years ago and believed it to be lost when my hard drive died, but apparently google docs had a copy. So, since I really don't have the time today, I've decided to just edit this story and count that for the challenge. I was a VERY different person when I first wrote this, but it still brings back good memories, hope you enjoy.

A Midnight Goose

Another day, another unpaid overnight shift. Each night I came home stumbling around the tenement, too tired to focus but too restless to fall asleep. 

This night was no different than any of the others, sitting on the floor with a beer in one hand and a controller in the other. The sole illumination of the tv flooding my pigsty of a living room. I knew I should clean it, but I never had the energy to do anything. All I wanted to do was sit-back, take my mind off things and beat up some virtual baddies to the serene sound of crickets.

Unfortunately, I wouldn’t get my crickets. Through the apartment walls that damn middle aged couple was arguing again. It wouldn’t bother me so much if either knew how to shut the fuck up. As much as I wanted to tell them off, I know all too well that’ll only make a longer and louder argument.

There was only one thing I could do, put in my headphones, turn up the music and focus on landing ten string combos in Tekken. I figured It helped get me through my parents divorce, so it would help me again here.

Time flew by as I mindlessly practiced the same few combos over and over again, only stopping when I heard a strange sound. Piercing through the rockin’ tunes of The Protomen, was something that sounded like a sick, twisted hybrid of screeches and screams. I took off my headphones and looked around, only to be met by silence. 

After an awkward silence, I started to put my headphones back on but stopped as I faintly heard something moving in the shared hallway. I put the headphones back down as I turned my head towards my door. The door slowly creeped open;, it felt like my heart was beating twice for every centimeter the door moved. 

With the bottom half of the door obscured by stacks of old boxes and piles of dirty clothes, all I could hear was the waddling of little webbed feet. A brisk cold shivered down my spine as I felt like I was being watched. My heart took a vacation to the bottom of my stomach as I met the creature’s beady little eyes.

HONK!

The goose let out a mighty declaration of its arrival, a loud, hoarse honk that could’ve woken up the dead. My eyes went dull and my jaw made sweet love to the floor. I sat there motionless as a wild animal started roaming around my four story apartment. The shock induced numbness I felt could only have been matched by the curiosity that the goose must have felt as it started sticking its beak into every little thing I owned. 

My uninvited guest then proceeded to stick its head right into a pile of clothes next to the tv. It pulled and it pulled;, obviously it had either gotten stuck or gotten a hold on something too big for it. 

After a big tug, it managed to pull out a controller from the pile. To my surprise, the goose immediately pressed the “on” button with its beak, connecting it to my console. Does the goose want to play? I thought, still too dumbfounded to speak.

The goose then waved both of its wings at me, challenging me.

HONK!

I could tell, this goose was ready to rumble. 

I loaded up VS MODE, sending us to the character select screen. I wasn’t going to show this goose any mercy; I immediately picked my main, Kazuya. ‘We’ll see how cocky this goose is after taking a couple of Electric Wind God Fists up the ass,.’ I thought.

To my utter shock and horror, the goose immediately picked one of the most overpowered characters in Tekken 7. A mainstay in the tournament scene and overall pain in the ass,  Geese Howard. 

‘Why did he have to pick that character? Why couldn’t he have picked one of the shitty guest characters like Noctis or Negan? Actually, something about a post-apocalyptic brute with a baseball bat is oddly fitting for a goose now that I think about it,.’ I thought. ‘Actually, I should be fine. Geese Howard is an SNK character, meaning that all of his inputs are crazy hard. If they’re that hard for the human hand, then that goose has no chance of doing any of his special moves.’ I foolishly laughed internally.

When the game finally loaded up, I immediately went for the Mishima style signature move, the electric wind god fist. My jaw had another sudden meeting with the floor as the goose countered my attack. This is impossible, how the fuck can a goose even press ←↙↓↘→1+3!!! This thought echoed through my head as poor Kazuya Mishima was picked up by Geese Howard, juggling my character in the air. As the fight continued, the goose dragged my virtual self across the stage and through the many walls of the Howard Estate until it achieved a perfect victory. 

I dropped my controller at the realization that I lost the first round to a goose without even managing to hit him once. I was too shocked to even pick my controller back up for round two. By the time I regained my senses, I had lost the match.

The goose rapidly flapped its wings again. No doubt, it was mocking me.

HONK!

The goose suddenly rushed at me. In a panic I got up and started running away. The damn thing actually chased me out of my apartment, closing the door behind me as I dashed out the door.

‘This is ridiculous, I guess now’s as good a time as any to ask the neighbors if any of them own a goose,’ I thought, right before knocking on the door of my noisy neighbors from before. 

Not long after I started knocking, the door flew open and my neighbor's body fell out the door frame. Her body was covered in cuts and bruises, her mouth was stuffed with eggs. By the look of things, the eggs went all the way down her throat. Naturally, I could only think of those classic three words. What the fuck?

Her body began to shake violently as the eggs suddenly started hatching. I could only watch in terror as little geese started popping out of her mouth. The baby geese deeper in the body were forcing themselves through, creating a massive hole in her chest as they tried to escape. 

As I slowly started to back away from the body, the doors opened from all across the long apartment complex hallway. Flocks of geese were flooding through the halls. I tried my damndest to run away, but my body was swallowed into the ocean of geese. Each goose that surrounded me, taking a bite or two until I was dead.

Soon after my demise, the geese flooded through the city streets. It didn’t take long for the geese to spread. All over the world, Geese were committing mass genocide as part of a ritual to ressurect their ancient gods; Honkthulu, Honkatalth, Nyarlathogoose, ShubHonkaroth, The Goose in Yellow and many more antedelivuan horrors.

“So shall it be at the end of the world, Thy Honks consumed.”

Sir Honkington The Third 13:11

[themattress]

As we draw ever closer to the 5th anniversary of Kingdom Hearts III, I can't help but reflect more and more upon the realization I've had as of late. For well over a decade, ever since Dream Drop Distance, I have mourned the degradation of the KH series' story and characters, which only intensified after KH3 and all the bullshit it brought to the table in regards to those aspects. But now I understand just as important as those, if not moreso, is the degradation of the KH series' universe. After all, normally in a well-established fictional universe, even if one story with one cast of characters doesn't go over well, you can still potentially look forward to a different story with a different cast of characters unconnected to that other one. And there lies the biggest problem - for all the expansion of this increasingly convoluted lore, the series' universe has shrunk in scope because nothing is unconnected.

The state of the KH universe is that in the beginning it was populated with Keyblade wielders who, due to the machinations of a certain Keyblade master, fought a war over ownership of Kingdom Hearts that plunged the universe into darkness. But then a select few Keyblade wielders restored the universe, which created many more Keyblade wielders who joined up with them, and they essentially ruled over the universe from the shadows in this super special secret world called Scala ad Caelum. Eventually, the machinations of that same Keyblade master from before corrupts a Keyblade wielder who spends his whole life - through several points in time and several different incarnations of himself - trying to take control of Kingdom Hearts so that he could destroy and remake the universe again because he isn't satisfied with how it is now. He is stopped by other Keyblade wielders assembled by a retired Keyblade master, but it caused that damn conflict-creating Keyblade master and his pupils to somehow return, and now the story is venturing into "the realm of unreality" which turns out to have been a big part of that Keyblade master's goal the whole time that he's been working toward since damn near the inception of the universe....OK, do you see what I mean? Everything, and I mean everything, that goes on in this universe that is treated as important by the narrative is directly tied to this one item (Keyblade) and one class of people (Keyblade wielders), and has been scripted by this one omnipotent douchebag (the Master of Masters). Nothing is unconnected, all events and concepts tie back into the Keyblade, the important players who shape the universe are all a part of this one, tightly-knit web of connections, and as a result the universe feels so. fucking. small. It feels so utterly limited in scope and range.

Think of all the Disney worlds in this series, which make up the majority of the universe. Worlds from classic Disney shorts, Alice in Wonderland, Hercules, Tarzan, Aladdin, Pinocchio, The Little Mermaid, The Nightmare Before Christmas, Peter Pan, Winnie the Pooh, Fantasia, Mulan, Beauty and the Beast, Pirates of the Caribbean, The Lion King, Tron, Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty, Lilo & Stitch, The Jun The Hunchback of Notre Dame, Tron LEGACY, Wreck-It Ralph, Toy Story, Tangled, Monsters Inc., Frozen, and Big Hero 6. And then afterwards, ask yourself this single, all-important question:

How many of these worlds matter to this universe's grand story?

The answer: THREE.

I shit you not. Disney Castle (classic Disney shorts), Yen Sid's Tower (Fantasia), and Enchanted Dominion (Sleeping Beauty) are the only worlds that hold any significance, all because of the characters who hail from there that interact with the universe's grand narrative: Mickey, Donald, Goofy, Jiminy Cricket, Chip and Dale, Pluto, Pete, Yen Sid and Maleficent. And yes, I know that Jiminy technically hails from the Pinocchio world, but nothing about his life there prior to winding up at Disney Castle and entering Mickey's service as a chronicler for Sora's adventures really matters. Every other world is visited by Keyblade wielders, but its inhabitants never gets to meaningfully contribute to the story those Keyblade wielders are caught up in.....in fact, they are mostly kept ignorant of its very existence.

And the infuriating part is that it didn't used to be this way! Before the Keyblade overtook everything and was just one important part of a larger universe, the Disney worlds and its inhabitants were able to contribute! In KH1, the story was about the Heartless and the worlds' hearts and a group of villains conspiring to capture a group of princesses to obtain ultimate power and Sora broadening his horizons and making his heart stronger through making friends, all of which were serviced through the Disney elements. In KH2, the story was about Organization XIII and the Nobodies seeking to use the Heartless and the Keyblade for their own ends of obtaining ultimate power, with doing so involving threatening worlds and friends that Sora held dear, as well as competing with Pete and a resurrected Maleficent over usage of the Heartless. So again, the Disney worlds and their inhabitants actually participated in what's going on! Even BBS could be forgiven for not having the Disney worlds connect much to the overall plot (beyond a bunch of Unversed running around and barely anyone reacting) because it was a prequel, and naturally the developers didn't want many world inhabitants getting an inkling of a larger universe before the Heartless invasion of KH1 transpired.

But then it all shifted so that everything that happened in those games were all a part of Master Xehanort's convoluted grand plan which hadn't been remotely thwarted yet, meaning that retroactively all of those aforementioned games and events the Disney worlds and characters interacted with meant jack shit...and a point is now even being made about keeping specific Disney characters (the "new Seven Lights") out of the main action and ignorant to their potential role in it! And then it shifted again so that it's all about the Keyblade wielders of the ancient past and the Master of Master's grand designs, which means that those previously important Disney worlds and characters feel even less important than they already did following the big Master Xehanort reveal! From what I can tell, the only Disney world and character that may be gaining prominence in the universe's grander narrative is Olympus and Hades respectively, and even then only because he lucked out since Nomura wants to recreate Final Fantasy Versus XIII which involved a god of the dead. Otherwise, it's still all about the OC worlds and OC characters - nearly all of them Keyblade wielders - plus those select few Disney characters from those three worlds that actually know what's up.

That's the sad state of affairs. A supposedly vast universe where the majority of its settings and population....don't actually matter. To the point where they all may as well not be part of the universe but a separate one altogether. Daybreak Town / Scala ad Caelum, the Keyblade Graveyard, the Land of Departure / Castle Oblivion, Radiant Garden / Hollow Bastion, Twilight Town, The World That Never Was, the Final World and Quadratum...those worlds and the characters who populate them are the ones that truly matter to the universe. Those worlds plus those three (soon to be four) Disney worlds mentioned before, as well as all the goddamn datascape recreations of such worlds. It's a small (and boring) universe after all.

[welcome-to-ratterrock]

Hello! I read your FAQ about the animals in this world, but I was curious, what about insects? Are they consider nothing but pests?

Cats and dogs won’t be featuring in our story, but by rodentdom at large, they’re seen as beasts of burden at best and dangerous, predators at worst. They have their own form of sentience amongst others of their kind, but communication between other animals, especially rodents…that’s never happened and any chance of that happening is far fetched at best, dangerous lunacy at worst. After all, what would be the point of talking to your food, hmm? 

As mentioned before in another ask/post, birds are by and large merely steeds for the truly daring of mice - think of them as a horse equivalent, if you will. They can be trained, but it takes a certain daring for a rodent to leave the ground. 

But as for insects like crickets and moths and spiders and butterflies, it’s very common for rodent families to have them as pets! Sometimes they serve a purpose - spiders can be trained to spin their webs in certain areas, and their silk can be used to make clothing. Fireflies can be gently put into little paper lanterns or have leashes attached so mice can  walk around at night. And crickets can be trained to play certain tunes as well. 

Baji had the wonderful idea that the rodents have domesticated caterpillars into big fat fluffy weird breeds, and I know for a fact that Rilla definitely had dainty, darling pet butterflies when she was a wee girlie. There’s competitions for showing off your special breed of caterpillar/moth/butterfly, and flight demonstrations too! 

While there’s definitely a few insects that are seen as nothing but pests, there’s a good number that have become very popular with rodentdom and who have even gone on to being treasured family pets.