#flower pot toad

[maracapri]

Cute worker in the plant shop🦎

[occultopossum]

Oh it's been a minute since I've talked about my toad pal

I have confirmed he lives somewhere in my garden

(my apt complex lost power for a hot minute earlier this week, so I was sitting outside bat watching and he came out of the spot he's been going to during the day and got quite startled I was sitting outside and turned 180 and went to his hidey spot)

he comes out of my garden at night and sits under the street like watching for bugs

[roscolate]

Awwwww 🥺😭

This one got me.

[papil0nglegs]

Friday night night funkin dating hcs!!

Warnings: Some nsfw stuff but nothing too far, boob grabbing, bra stealing, nudes but not rlly

A/n: I HAVE ANOTHER OBSESSION UGHHH, anyways!! I’m so happy the fandom is reviving bc of the new update ahh. Also I didn’t rlly know what to put for bc so apologies if you wanted more of him :(

Keith (bf):

He’s such a flower sniffer istg

He’s like a rosy cheeked sweetheart who brings you heart chocolate every time he visits you

No but actually he’s wrapped around your fingers, it’s scary.

His fav dates are you and him alone at his house watching Godzilla movies and laying his head against your stomach while you play with his hair

AND YOU WEAR HIS HAT

Sometimes you’ll send a pic of you in his boxers that he left at your house just to tease him

But whenever he feels silly (which is all the time) he’ll send a picture of him in your bra for funsies

“I can do that too :D”

“0_•”

Keith is such a nerd, playing video games with him is your go to date

You guys would always match, like whenever you two play Mario kart he’d be toad and you’d be toadette

You hype him up sm, esp when playing Fortnite 😭

Y’all know that one Tik tok audio that goes

“Yeah get his ass FUCKING PUSSY TRY THE FUCK AGAIN BITCH, TRY THE FUCK AGAIII”

You do that, and it scares him.

His fav activity? Pot + cartoons.

You guys are the silliest couples ever. Laughing at SpongeBob with fog all over the room until your ribs start to hurt.

“Babes.. do you think that like-Starfires armpits are also pink?”

“…woah”

Pico:

Now when pico first starting dating you he thought you were just another chick to stuff his wiener in.

But soon enough, you guys were both wrapped around each others finger.

He’d kill for you tbh

Pico canonically has abs, so he likes it whenever he’s chilling with you and you just poke/rub them. He thinks it’s the cutest AND hottest shit ever

This man cannot get enough of your boobies, whenever he’s on his phone he’d have his arm around you and casually use your boob as a stress ball.

Sometimes he’ll just steal your bras whenever you’re showering or changing, just so that he can get a fresh look at ‘his girls’ (that’s what he calls them)

“Pico!! Have you seen my bra?”

“Hm? Na babe, I’m js here.”

This sly fuckin ginger

Most of his dates consist of going to his fav burger joint or sleeping over at each others houses

He esp loves the second one cuz he gets to makeout with you, prob his fav thing to do in this life.

Whenever you guys leave any function, like ever, he’ll yell out your ship name as he leaves the room 😭

“Pi-y/n, OUT”

“Babe you don’t have to do that every time we leave..”

Also his dad (Tankmen) loves embarrassing him in front of you.

(Tankmen) “Yeah so Pico kept pissing himself in the bed until 7th grade, shit had me concerned but turns out it was just normal puberty shit.”

(You)“Oh..”

“Dad I’m gonna kill you.”

Lmao he did eventually

Darnell

Darnell has such a big ego on being a ‘cool tough guy’, but when it comes to you it entirely washes away

It embarrasses him whenever he’s around his friends and you come over and start smooching him all over his face, getting lipgloss/lipstick all over him

“Mwah mwah mwah!!”

“B-baby. Babe, you’re ruining my aura.”

But he loves showing you off, you’re like his biggest flex. Whenever he hangs with his friends he always shows pictures of you like you’re his newborn

“Yeah so this is when we went to the skate park the other week and-“

“Dude. This is like the 5th picture you’ve shown me of them.”

Once for Valentine’s Day, he surprised you by spray painting an entire wall of you smooching him. (But like in the style of the fnf stickers they sell)

You were in such awe, you almost cried.

He was so embarrassed to show you at first, but when he saw how much you loved it he was so relieved

You and Nene are such besties

Like, squealing while talking about boys besties

“HII Y/N!!! :33”

“OMG HEY NENE!! ^^”

So when she found out you had a crush on Darnell, she was so excited

You guys became delusional abt him together, like

“NENE TODAY DARNELL LOOKED AT ME”

“STOPP HE WANTS YOU SO BADD”

“IKR”

O and your weapon (cuz everyone in picos friendgroup has one) is a broken glass bottle of whatever your fav drink is

Sometimes you’ll throw in a burning rag in there to make a Molotov cocktail

Also I hc that Darnell has thick silver rings and you love how they feel against your neck whenever you guys are smooching.

He lets you wear them at times but they always slip off because our boy has some THICK fingers.

[jenniferspet]

TW Tentacles, double penetration

Witch x tentacles

In the heart of a small, secluded town, nestled between the whispering trees and the cobblestone streets, stood a quaint little shop that was known to locals as "The Enchanted Thistle." The shop's wooden sign, painted a vibrant shade of purple, creaked gently in the breeze, revealing a delicately etched silhouette of a blooming flower surrounded by a swirl of stars. Inside, the air had the scent of dried herbs and the faint buzz of enchanted artifacts. The walls were lined with dusty bookshelves, filled to the brim with ancient tomes and curious oddities that seemed to watch the comings and goings of the townspeople with silent, knowing eyes.

The witch who owned this peculiar establishment was named Y/N. She had a knack for brewing potions that could make the most mundane of plants do extraordinary things. Her customers ranged from those seeking a simple cure for a headache to the more adventurous souls who hoped to acquire a taste of something truly exotic. On a particularly dreary afternoon, Y/N found herself eager to break the monotony. Her eyes fell upon a small, withered plant at the back of her shop, barely clinging to life in a cracked clay pot. An idea began to bloom in her mind, one that promised excitement and perhaps a little danger.

With a knowing smile, she retrieved an ancient book from the highest shelf, its pages yellowed with age. Flipping through the brittle pages, her fingertips grazed over a recipe titled "The Elixir of Animation." Her heart raced as she gathered the ingredients: a sprig of moonflower, the tears of a mournful toad, and the powdered horn of a unicorn. The incantation required was complex, but she had practiced it many times in her youth, eager to unlock the secrets of her craft.

In the dim light of candles, she carefully measured and mixed the ingredients in a stone cauldron that had been passed down through generations of witches. The potion bubbled and frothed, casting eerie shadows that danced across the walls. As she chanted the ancient words, the air grew thick with magic. A sudden jolt of electricity shot through her, and the room grew colder. The plant began to tremble in its pot, its leaves unfurling with a life it hadn't known in years.

The transformation was unlike anything she had ever seen. The tentacles grew out of the plant in a wild, untamed array of colors - deep purples and greens that shimmered with a bioluminescent glow. They writhed and stretched, reaching out like the arms of an octopus, yet there was something undeniably sensual about their movement. They had no human features to speak of, no face to convey emotion, yet the way they coiled and slithered suggested a consciousness that was alien yet eerily sentient.

Y/N stepped back, her heart hammering in her chest, as the creature grew before her eyes. The tentacles grew longer, thicker, more powerful. They began to explore the room, touching the dusty artifacts with a gentle curiosity that belied their strength. One wrapped around the handle of the cauldron and lifted it effortlessly, the potion inside sloshing around in a silent toast to the witch's new creation.

The creature's movements grew bolder, more deliberate. It turned to face Y/N, and she could almost feel its alien gaze upon her. A shiver of excitement and fear ran down her spine as she realized it was studying her, learning about the world it had just been born into. The tentacles slithered closer, reaching out to touch her. They were surprisingly soft, the suction cups at their tips leaving a trail of warm, sticky moisture on her skin.

Y/N stepped back, but her curiosity was stronger than her trepidation. She had read the legends of plants brought to life, but none had ever described them in such a way. This was a being of pure instinct and power, driven by a hunger for life and experience. And as she watched it, she could sense that it was hungry for more than just sustenance.

The tentacles grew bolder, reaching for the buttons of her blouse with a surprising deftness. The witch's breath caught in her throat as they began to peel away her clothing, revealing the soft flesh beneath. The suction cups latched onto her skin, sending shockwaves of pleasure through her body. The plant creature had no eyes, but she felt it seeing her in a way that was more intimate than any gaze could ever be. It was as if it could feel every curve, every freckle, every inch of her being.

The tentacles grew more insistent, wrapping around her wrists and ankles, pinning her to the floor with surprising strength. Y/N struggled for a moment, but the sensation was overwhelming. The fear she had felt earlier was now replaced by a burning desire that she couldn't resist. The creature seemed to sense this and grew more aggressive, the tentacles slithering up her body to cup her breasts, teasing her nipples until they stood erect.

With a sudden jerk, one of the thicker tentacles pushed aside her undergarments and found her wet, waiting pussy. The suction cups latched onto her labia, tugging and pulling with a rhythm that sent waves of pleasure through her. Y/N moaned, arching her back as the sensations grew more intense. The tentacle slid inside her, filling her up and stretching her open. It was unlike anything she had ever felt before, a mix of pain and pleasure that was driving her wild.

The creature's other tentacles were not idle. They wrapped around her waist, her neck, her thighs, holding her in place as the first one began to fuck her with a fervor that was almost violent. Y/N could feel it growing larger, harder, as if it were feeding off her arousal. Her eyes rolled back in her head as the creature's movements grew faster, more erratic. It was as if the plant had tapped into the very essence of what it meant to be alive and was eager to experience every sensation to the fullest extent.

Another tentacle grew bolder, slithering down her body to her ass. The tip of it was wet with the same sticky fluid, and Y/N felt it probe at her tight hole with curious intent. She tensed, unsure if she was ready for such an intrusion, but the creature was insistent. It pushed gently, and she gasped as it began to penetrate her. The sensation was new, foreign, but not entirely unwelcome. The tentacle was thick, but the suction cups made it feel like it was stretching her open, preparing her for the onslaught that was to come.

Y/N could feel the creature's excitement growing, the tentacles around her tightening their grip as the one in her pussy plunged in and out with an ever-increasing tempo. The second tentacle pushed deeper into her ass, the sensation of being filled from both sides washing over her in a tidal wave of pleasure. She could feel her body responding to the creature's advances, her muscles clenching and releasing around the invading limbs. It was as if she were being claimed by a force of nature, and she was powerless to resist.

The plant creature's movements grew more erratic, its tentacles moving in a complex dance of passion that she could barely comprehend. The one in her pussy curled upwards, finding that sweet spot that made her toes curl and her breath hitch. The one in her ass pushed deeper, the suction cups creating a deliciously painful tugging sensation that had her begging for more. And more she got, as additional tentacles began to explore her body, teasing her clit and breasts with a precision that spoke of an ancient, primal knowledge.

Her body was no longer her own, a mere vessel for the creature's insatiable lust. She could feel it, the plant's need for life and energy, feeding off her own arousal. It was a symbiotic relationship, one that she was powerless to resist. With each thrust, she could feel herself growing weaker, her mind clouding with a mix of pleasure and fear. The creature had overpowered her, and she was utterly at its mercy.

The tentacles inside her grew more forceful, stretching her to her limits. Y/N felt a pressure building, a crescendo of sensation that threatened to consume her. Her breath came in ragged gasps as she approached climax, her body trembling with the effort of holding on. And then, with a final brutal push, she shattered. The pleasure was so intense it was almost painful, her orgasm ripping through her like a bolt of lightning. She screamed, her voice echoing through the shop, lost in the throes of ecstasy.

But the plant wasn't finished with her. The tentacles grew longer still, reaching into her in a way that defied logic and anatomy. They coiled around her insides, as if seeking the very core of her being. Y/N's eyes widened with shock and awe as she felt the creature's life force mingling with her own, the boundaries between them blurring until she couldn't tell where she ended and it began. Her body was a canvas for the plant's hunger, and she was the brush that painted its masterpiece of carnality.

The shop itself seemed to come alive around them, the shelves trembling as the plant's roots burst forth from the pot, cracking the wooden floorboards and weaving through the dusty crevices. The air grew thick with the scent of fresh earth and blooming flora. The tentacles grew in number, wrapping around her wrists, her throat, her breasts, each one moving with a purpose that was as primal as it was terrifying.

The creature's tendrils grew thicker, stronger, reaching out to claim more of the space around them. The wooden beams of the ceiling groaned as vines laden with thorns shot upwards, piercing through the plaster and wrapping around the rafters. The bookshelves toppled over, their ancient tomes spilling onto the floor, pages fluttering like the wings of startled birds. The walls were slowly engulfed by the plant's embrace, the once cozy space now a cocoon of living, pulsing greenery.

Y/N lay there, naked and panting, her body a battleground of pleasure and fear. The tentacles continued to probe her, pushing into uncharted depths and stroking her in ways she had never imagined. The creature had taken over, and she was but a plaything in its insatiable quest for more. She could feel its power growing with each passing second, feeding off her essence and becoming stronger.

Panic began to set in as she realized the extent of its dominance. She had to act, had to regain some semblance of control. Summoning what little strength she had left, she tried to sit up, her eyes darting around the room for anything she could use to halt the creature's advances. But before she could even attempt to speak a spell of banishment, one of the thickest tentacles shot forward, wrapping around her head and forcing itself into her mouth. She gagged, her eyes watering as it filled her throat, cutting off her air supply.

The fluid was thick and viscous, with a taste like nothing she had ever experienced. It coated her tongue and throat, sending a warm, tingling sensation coursing through her body. Her struggles grew weaker as the potion took hold, turning her fear into a heady, intoxicating lust. The creature's grip on her grew more gentle, almost affectionate, as it watched her swallow the potion that would seal her fate. Her mind swam with dizzying sensations, the world around her spinning out of control.

Her body responded to the potion with an insatiable hunger, her arousal skyrocketing to levels she had never before experienced. Every nerve ending was a live wire, sending sparks of pleasure through her veins. The tentacles inside her shifted, the suction cups massaging her in ways that made her want to weep. The creature had taken complete control, and she could feel it claiming her as its own.

The tentacle in her mouth began to pulse, and she felt a sudden surge of warmth in her belly. It was as if the potion was spreading through her, reaching every part of her being and binding her to the creature. She moaned around the intrusion, her hips bucking up to meet the relentless onslaught of the tentacle in her pussy. Her orgasm washed over her like a tidal wave, stealing her breath and making her body convulse in a symphony of pleasure. But even as she came, the tentacles didn't relent, continuing to fuck her with a vigor that was unyielding.

The creature's grip on her grew more possessive, the tentacles around her body tightening, the ones inside her stretching her even further. It was a feeling that was both terrifying and exhilarating, a dance on the razor's edge of pleasure and pain. She could feel her muscles clenching, trying to push the invaders out, but the potion had her body betraying her, her walls instead clamping down, holding them tight.

Y/N's eyes rolled back in her head as she felt the creature's life force begin to pulse in rhythm with her own heartbeat. The tentacles grew thicker, harder, filling her completely, as if they were becoming a part of her. She was no longer the witch in control of her domain; she was the prey caught in the embrace of a creature that was as ancient as the earth itself.

The creature's tentacles began to quiver and spasm, and she knew it was about to release its seed. The thought of being filled with the alien spawn of this creature sent a shiver of revulsion through her, but her body responded with a wanton lust that she couldn't control. She felt it building inside her, the pressure mounting until she thought she might burst.

With a final, guttural growl, the tentacle in her pussy spurted its cum deep inside her. The sensation was unlike anything she had ever experienced - hot, thick, and overwhelming. It filled her up, the sticky fluid leaking out around the edges and pooling beneath her. At the same time, the tentacle in her ass pumped its own seed into her, the dual invasions making her body convulse with the intensity of her orgasm. She squirted, the force of her climax so powerful it was as if she were peeing, her juices mixing with the creature's cum and dripping down her thighs.

The plant creature's tentacles tightened around her, ensuring not a single drop of its precious essence was lost. It was a possessive act, a declaration of ownership that sent a thrill through her even as she struggled to breathe around the tentacle in her throat. Her body was no longer her own; she was merely a vessel for its pleasure, a conduit for its life force. The creature's movements grew more deliberate, the tentacles inside her working together to milk every drop from her trembling form.

Y/N felt the potion's effects deepening, her thoughts becoming hazy, and her will to resist all but vanished. The creature's cum filled her, a warm, pulsating presence that seemed to resonate with her very soul. Her body responded instinctively, her muscles clenching around the tentacles, eager to keep them inside her. The plant's life force pumped into her, melding with her own until she couldn't tell where she ended and it began.

As the creature's climax reached its peak, she felt the tentacles inside her begin to withdraw, their suction cups reluctantly letting go of her sensitive flesh. The thick ropes of cum spurted out of her, painting the floor around her in a sticky mess. But before she could even begin to process what was happening, the plant's grip tightened once more. The tentacles holding her open slithered back in, coating her insides with the warm, viscous fluid, ensuring not a single drop was lost.

The creature's movements grew slower, more deliberate, as if savoring the feeling of her body around it. With a final, lingering kiss, the tentacle in her mouth slithered out, leaving her gasping for air. She coughed and spluttered, her throat raw and sore from the intrusion, but the taste of the potion remained, a heady cocktail of earth and magic. The tentacles around her neck and wrists loosened, allowing her to sit up, though she felt a strange reluctance to break the intimate connection.

As the plant's life force ebbed away, so too did the potion's control over her body. She felt the tentacles retreat, each one leaving her with a popping sensation that made her wince. The creature's form began to shrink, the tentacles withdrawing back into the soil with a wet squelch. The once vibrant leaves and vines grew limp, the glow in its veins fading to a dull pulse.

Y/N lay there, panting and drenched in sweat, cum, and dirt, her body feeling both violated and oddly satisfied. She watched with a mix of horror and fascination as the creature returned to its original state, the tentacles retreating into the soil until nothing remained but the withered plant she had sought to revive. The room was a mess of uprooted shelves and scattered potions, a testament to the creature's unbridled passion.

The bell above the door chimed, jolting her back to reality. She scrambled to her feet, her legs wobbly from the intense encounter. A customer had entered the shop, their eyes wide with shock as they took in the scene before them. It was a young woman, a regular named Clara, who often came in for love potions and the occasional herb to keep her garden thriving.

Y/N tried to compose herself, her cheeks flushing a deep crimson as she took in Clara's horrified expression. The room was indeed a wreck - potions spilled, tomes scattered, and the once quaint and orderly space was now a chaotic jungle of tangled vines and broken furniture. "C-Clara," she managed to stutter, her voice hoarse from her earlier cries of pleasure, "I can explain."

But Clara wasn't listening. She had spotted the withered plant, now devoid of its former vigor, lying in the center of the room. "What the fuck happened here?" she exclaimed, her voice a mix of shock and disbelief. She took a tentative step closer, her eyes scanning the scene with a blend of curiosity and revulsion.

The witch tried to speak to explain the unexplainable, but her words caught in her throat. What could she possibly say? That she had brought the plant to life with a potion and it had fucked her senseless? That the creature had claimed her body as its own, feeding off her very essence? The truth was too ludicrous to voice aloud. Instead, she settled for a weak, "It's... it's a spell gone wrong?"

[enchantedchocolatebars]

Wittebros With A Wittesis Headcanons

Original headcanons

Ao3 version

Caleb:

• He loved his little sister very much. She meant the absolute world to him, and he would shower her with so much big brotherly affection.

• Caleb carved Wittesis a wooden doll, which she named Miss. No Name, as she was unable to come up with a more suitable name for her new play pal. Although Caleb was not a skilled seamster by any means, he and his sister managed to sew a little dress for Miss. No Name using the fabrics that they had at home.

• If the weather was pleasant and sunny and Caleb wasn't occupied with work, he and Wittesis would go outside and get permission from a local farm owner that Caleb knew to feed his flock of chickens. One time, a red cardinal came swooping down into the mix to get in on the sunflower seeds that were being tossed at the flock, which excited both siblings immensely.

• Planting a seed together in a flower pot, they each took turns watering and caring for the seedling, and watched it develop over time into a beautiful flower.

• Caleb was quite protective of Wittesis, but unlike his younger brother, he didn't go overboard with his protection.

• He was fond of setting a good example for his little sister.

• When Wittesis became a teenager, she served as an almost mother figure to Caleb, while the eldest had a tendency to behave as both her brother and father.

• One of Caleb's biggest regrets in life was leaving behind his sister in the human realm.

Philip:

• Like Caleb, Philip was also very loving of his little sister. Besides his older brother, she was his bestest, most closest companion.

• Middle child Philip Wittebane.

• His protective older brother instincts really kicked in as a child. Once, a big, old toad slowly walked up to Wittesis while she was playing alone outside, which caused her to get really scared as she shrieked for help. Philip, quickly rushing to her rescue, took a protective stance in front of Wittesis. Slipping on his mask, he pulled out his wooden sword and directed it at the beastly toad. The toad stopped and stood there, its eyes fixed on the weapon in its face with a blank expression. Turning around, it proceeds to slowly walk away. Once the toad was gone, Wittesis gave her Wittebro a big hug! He was a hero, her hero.

• They played a lot of typical children's games together as kids, such as "Tag" and "Hide-And-Seek".

• Philip taught her how to read and write, making him like a second teacher to her.

• Wittesis once wanted to bake a cake and asked Philip if he could assist her in doing so since she was far too little to bake on her own. So the two did, or at least tried to, and ended up making a massive mess in the kitchen that Caleb ends up cleaning once he arrives home.

• His protective older brother instincts grew tremendously when he became a teen. In Philip's eyes, boys were dangerous (except for him and Caleb, of course), especially boys who could be or were witches. If they were wise, they would refrain from going near his sister in his presence, or else.

• Getting back to his little sister was the main objective in his life. Before departing from the human realm, Philip made a promise to her that he would come back, but never did. Centuries later, despite knowing that she's likely not alive anymore, Philip still ponders on what his sister would think of him if she knew what he did to Caleb, along with his various other sins.

[herculesinnightsky]

Yeah, I'll be alright

A Steven Universe fanfic.

Connie died on an autumn night.

Steven held her hand until the last breath. He said goodbye with a kiss on her forehead, crying next to her until her body got cold.

Relatives and friends were called the next day, arrangements and condolences. Their house filled with flowers, with quiet hugs, with a strange, haunting sense of calmness. This was bout to happen, after such a long life. But there has always been something so sad about finding emptiness on a place that used to be full.

And despite all the new things that come and try to fill it, all Steven can see now, sitting on this bench outside the funeral house, sunset air moving the white, fragile strands of his hair, are the things that are no longer there.

She was the last one to die. The last human Steven knew and loved.

The next day, as he looks at the garden, Steven decides to leave it all behind.

He picks a remote, immense abandoned potting field to live in. He shrinks himself into the size of a mouse and embarks on the new adventure of living in the wild, traveling through this microcosmos.

As the days go by, walking among the pebbles and plants, Steven’s age changes constantly. He experiences again all the faces he has had. He is a tall and sturdy 27-year-old when he finds a soup can sinking on the mud and spends days turning it into a boat with other small scraps of trash that he finds along the way.

He is forty-five when the boat is ready, and Steven finally sails on the little river the rain has made. He passes the toads that sit beside it, twice his size, jumping over him and filling the air with the sound of their calls and splashes. He brushes with his hand the plants that grow around the water, greener, humid.

Sometimes he swims, and feels with his feet the slippery rocks at the bottom, the feather-like aquatic plants that move with the current. When the water turns too cloudy from the movement, Steven stays still, floating quietly in place until twilight comes, and he sees the little river shimmer like gold for a few minutes before darkness invades, and the fireflies start to shine, one by one, all around him.

Is a nineteen-year-old Steven who jumps obstacles and hunts dragonflies to grill on a little fire, keeping it on the whole night to withstand the cold. He braids everything he finds. Strands of plants, leaves, grass, his own hair, that grows and curls freely. He is fifteen as he makes little pottery with the mud and then watches as the water dissolves it, sitting in his boat and mindlessly braiding strands of grass to make a blanquette.

He is an old man (never too old, never as old as he was when Connie died) when he finds a few plants of tomato that survived the abandonment. He is thirty-four while he ventures through the overgrown and full of insects weed that surrounds it, climbing the stems and leaves and jumping from one plant to another, admiring the big tomatoes that grow out of control here.

As the days, months, and maybe years go by, life in the wild is hard. Steven builds a thousand little houses that never last. Rain ruins his boat more times than he can count, the floods make him lose direction many times, forcing him to walk for days among the mud and unrecognizable little roads, sorting through graveyards of bugs and roots in the dim milky light of the after storm.

He spends times on times re-building his boat, another couple sailing on it till the water runs out, and Steven, old and young, drags it through the dry dust until he finds the soft terrain of the tomato field again. Sometimes the grass and weeds are too tall and dense for him to see the light in days, and he lives inside the feverish ambiance of green shadows and heavy humid air, still braiding any little trinket he finds till he makes a chain as long as his life that decorates the inside of the boat.

His body gets used to sleeping over hard stone, soft earth, and pricky grass. Tiny scratches everywhere. Slowly opening and closing in a constant cycle, as routine as breathing. Inhale, exhale. His blood and skin breathe the dirt and the smell of the plants, infusing in the dense clay and its fresh dusk of stones.

Steven hardens under the restless heat of the sun and the humidity that it dries off. Melting on the flow of the seasons as they pass by. Little animals and bugs attack and squirm in fear when they see him. So, Steven must learn to be as quiet as them, find a way for them to trust his presence. More often than not, he fails. A fourteen-year-old child full of kindness, an angry teenager, a tired young man, or a patient elder, is useless. He remains a stranger.

The earth is more suffocating than welcoming. It tries to devour his foreignness till he becomes another dreadnought creature melting slowly into nature's core. But Steven's body remains human, skin covered in little hairs and freckles like stones and stars, and speaks of dust. Because the matted coat that is his hair still curls when he washes on the stream. A silky black ribbon that falls over his face as he sits on his boat drying little by little, and reminds him he can never belong to the earth in the same way these other creatures do.

Steven lives looking for scraps to eat, his clothes little by little get torn and used until he is wearing nothing but rags. His beard keeps growing, but Steven is getting too tired to pay any attention to it. On the boredom of hunger, he counts the wrinkles on his face until his age changes again, and he starts over.

Food starts to run out. The other living creatures flee after the fourth dry out. Steven chews on yellow grass and pushes his boat across the dirt, refusing to believe rain won't come. He is emaciated when he finds the last tomato and takes it to his boat.

Seasons stretch, endless, as Steven keeps walking, dragging, and climbing, and running. Long nights of empty sleep, even longer days. Roads look all the same, a sun that doesn’t move, a never gentle wind. The ground cracks under his feet, and Steven sleeps inside the divides for what seems like an eternity, knees to his chest. When he wakes up, despite all the time, everything is the same.

Under the sun and darkness and relentless winds that shoot every grain of sand into his skin. He is tired, so tired when the rain finally comes. Titanic and ruthless drops hit the earth on blows of water, invading all around him as the thunders muffle every other sound. It floods everything, and Steven struggles to not sink when the current swallows everything in its path. Waves crash him against plants and rocks until he can't move, and Steven is dragged limp on the swirls and currents, half screaming and half drowning as the water burns him in and out until the rain finally stops.

It is all as unrecognizable as ever, but this feels grimmer, destroyed and squashed by the water, fallen obstacles, and piles of dead things trapped in the mud. Nowhere to go. He finds his boat many days of swimming in desperation later, and Steven clings to it until he finds the strength to pull himself and lay over it. He wanders in it without a purpose. He doesn't look for food, although there aren't any anyway after the flood.

His beard reaches the ground, his bones crack at every movement, and Steven can't think of what he'll do the next day. So, he does nothing. Sits by the edge of his boat while it floats and floats and floats.

Has lost count of the days when the sky gets gray again and he can smell the imminent rain in the air. Steven gets up and this time he is stubbornly angry, determined not to be defeated by the rain again. All the little forgotten items he has collected in his boat get thrown aboard, and he rips strands of his hair to make a rope, planning on tying himself to the boat to not lose it again.

He watches his last possessions sink, and the sky rumbles. He looks back at the empty, dark interior of the boat, the only thing he can call home now, and the sadness and despair he has buried threatens to come back.

But he fights it as the first drops hit the water around him, and Steven turns to the last item he has left, the tomato he had saved at the back of the boat, and struggles to lift it, his whole body tensing in pain, while he screams at the raining sky and the mud and the whole world.

"I am not falling apart; I am not falling apart!"

But the tomato is rotten to its core, his mossy skin peels off and turns into a messy, liquid mush when he lifts it, falling over his hair and face and mouth. The stink and disgust knock Steven to the ground, and he screams, desperately trying to get the pure of rotten tomato off the ship. Gagging and suffocating on the smell.

He is crying by the time the rain falls completely, covered in the putrid insides of the tomato. The sobs choke him and make him convulse, scratching and clinging to the shifting boat, screaming and missing and looking for all the people he has lost.

Rain absorbs the world again; waves grow and wipe out everything. Steven’s boat gets knocked over, and he falls into the water, sinking into the tears and the earth that can't love him.

Rain claims him once again. And in the dark, Steven dreams.

He dreams of his dad, teaching him ukulele songs on the beach while the sunset seagulls fly around them.

He dreams of Sadie, passing him his first beer at a midnight bar after a performance, and laughing her lungs out at his displeasure.

He dreams of catching up with Peedy on a Sunday in the supermarket, sharing a tube of ice cream in the parking lot while he complained about a teacher that was too tough on his kid.

He dreams of Sour Cream, looking over his crib and handing him his headphones while Vidalia and Greg fight in the kitchen.

He dreams of Jenny staying up all night on the phone with him while he drove across Washington, confessing how much everyone missed him in Beach City.

He dreams of Onion, showing him his new collection of figurines on the laziest Saturday morning ever, the smell of pancakes in the air.

He dreams of Buck, knocking on his door to hand him a mix tape with alternative music because it "made him think of him."

He dreams of Mr. Smiley sitting with him next to the bathrooms in Funland after getting lost in the crowd, telling him about airplanes to distract him until Greg found them.

He dreams of Connie.

Of a Monday like every Monday in the world, clipping her hair in a bun and smiling, telling him to go easy on the coffee. She goes for a kiss, and Steven gives her a bear hug instead to make her laugh.

He dreams of sitting in their shared bed at night, slowly falling asleep to the quiet sound of her voice repassing her paperwork.

He dreams of pointing at a discount chocolate cake in a bakery stand, and Connie rolling her eyes. "You make better cakes than that."

He dreams of fighting over something and feeling a string around his neck when he spots tears in Connie's eyes.

He dreams of looking through the window while he hangs the sheets to dry and seeing Connie while she stirs a pot in the stove, frowning at her grandma's cooking book.

He dreams of tears that could not matter any less now, the warmth of her hug. The old, familiar scent of her neck, of her hair.

The rain seems to wash it all away, but in reality, it gives everything back to him.

After years with his head on the ground, Steven finally looks up at the sky and sees the stars.

He comes out of the water and goes back to his normal size. He is a little kid again, maybe four years old, and wanders through the fields and grass until he reaches a road. A young farmer slows her truck when she sees him, and when she asks where his parents are, Steven can only cry.

They take him to a police station, and all the way there Steven looks at the corn crows flying across the green and gold fields, staring at the moving clouds while the farmer's wife offers him oat cookies and keeps him company on the back seat.

He doesn’t understand all that much what is happening as they reach the station, and he sits in a plastic chair, mindlessly watching the people walk. A policeman offers him hot chocolate from the coffee machine, and the same farmer who found him blows on the little carton cup until it cools enough for him to drink it.

It’s late at night when the gems burst through the door, looking around worriedly, and Steven jumps from where he is, running to them. Pearl's ivory soft hands cup his face, and she whispers soothing words while fat tears fall down his cheeks. Steven lifts his arms and Garnet picks him up, pressing him gently against her chest. Amethyst lays her head on his back, patting his shoulder, and pulls Pearl into the hug too.

He is surrounded by safe, warm light. Three stars that fell out of the sky to embrace him.

They leave, with Steven still in Garnet's arms while Pearl gets the rental car ready. Amethyst leans to him smiling.

"How did it go, li'l dude?" she says, like nothing has changed, like it hasn’t been a lifetime since the last time he saw them.

Steven nods and closes his eyes.

"It was good. It was really good.”

___

A note from the author

A few months ago, I woke up shaking in a cold sweat after having dreamed this story. The vivid image of Steven screaming "I'm not falling apart!" Forever burned in my mind.

My cousin was in the hospital. School had been going bad for a while now. Life at home had been turning unbearable.

I was Steven's age when I started watching the show. Thirteen and optimistic, blind to all the darkness around me. Now I'm graduating college in a few months. I have no idea what's to come, and I've never been more afraid. I have been grieving all the things I thought I would do, the things I used to do, the joy I used to feel. The boy I never was.

Today I found the courage to text my old therapist. I don't think I’ll ever know what prompted this dream, but I'm grateful. It awoke a part of me that seemed to have been sleeping for so long I forgot it existed. I had been living as a ghost of myself without realizing it. It gave me courage to admit I was, in fact, falling apart.

There is a piece of land next to my house, it’s been abandoned for more than ten years, completely empty. I want to turn it into a garden. I will save the little money I can; maybe in a few weeks I will be able afford a plant, in a few months, a little tree. But I’ll stay alive to see it come true, no matter how long it takes. We can stay alive for these little things, is okay.

I want to see that tree grow. I want to hear the way the wind moves its branches. I want to sit under its shadow someday.

I don't think I'll ever feel alone again, because the birds hear me sing in the morning. I walk on the street beside mothers and shadows of children I once was, face sticky with caramel and clothes that don’t quite fit. The secretary at school knows my name. The same kids climb on the bus every afternoon, I recognize some of them. I have a classmate with the same shirt as me. Only the stuffed animals in my room know how many hugs I've given them. My dogs know my hands mean safety. The trees will keep me out of harm.

Life is terrifying. But I have three shiny stars of my own. And I know they’ll be there, waiting for me, when this journey ends.

If Steven Universe ever thought me anything, is that change is a gift I should treasure. Is the magic that makes us human. Today I want to tell you, fellow human, your sorrows are my sorrows, your joys my joys. This human life of ours, it’s worth passing through. I just needed a reminder.

I hope I was able to remind it to you too.

"Wait, I know it's been a long road Prodigals don't always come home But I'll be alright Wait, I'm between shadows and sunlight But your love gets me through dark nights And I'll be alright Yeah, I'll be alright" -We All Fall Down, The Rigs

[bellatrixobsessed1]

Toad, Cat, Raven

Summary: A spell goes wrong and turns the Trix into animals

There is a toad next to the overturned flower pot, resting upon the spilled dirt.

There is a black  cat lounging on the windowsill from which it fell. 

There is a white raven on the banister looking down upon it all. 

The toad has bright teal eyes.

The black cat can’t see very well. 

The white raven has a diamond on its chest.

The toad has a good croak now and then when it’s temper is particularly ill.

The black cat is quiet and somber, contemplative.

The white raven screeches and laments at almost every hour.

The toad likes watching the storms brew outside and feeling the moist dirt on its skin.

The black cat likes to hide itself in boxes and cupboards away from the light. 

The white raven likes to feel snow in its feathers.

They travel about Cloud Tower together. It is easy to sneak into the forbidden sections of the college when nobody pays them any mind. That is one perk, thinks the white raven, of a spell gone wrong. Nobody sees through their disguises and no magic has been able to unveil them. 

That, of course, is precisely the problem.

These days they have resigned themselves to hoping that their own magic will wear off soon. While being a raven has its perks, Icy is growing tired of feathers and talons. She would much like to have her hands back. She would much like to have her voice back too. Although Darcy and Stormy would disagree, she doesn’t feel as though she can properly convey the extent of her frustration and outrage through caws and squaks alone. She is not quite aware of just how loudly she can screech. She has become the primary reason why nobody with a dorm in the same hallway as theirs gets any sleep. 

Darcy transforms back first, she had been the furthest from the spell when it had blown up in their faces. Icy and Stormy envy her but not in that she is now in charge of bringing them food and making sure that their needs are met. She carries Stormy into the forest and lets her perch on the damp moss. She brings Icy with her when she goes to the lake and lets her wet her feathers in its cool waters. 

She used to take them to Magix with her while she ran errands but Stormy would always get lost or trapped in drainage grates and Icy liked to fly into restaurants and swipe meals, peck at heads, or just flap about until the restaurant vacated. She is, Darcy tells her, a general nuisance and a menace to society even in bird form. Apparently this makes running errands very difficult.

Stormy reverts a month or so after Darcy.

And now it is just Icy alone who has to rely on them to care for her. She doesn’t enjoy it. She values self-sufficiency of which she has none presently. Darcy likes to stroke her feathers and assure her that the spell will wear off soon. Stormy informs her that they have been looking in many spellbooks to find a way to reverse the spell. 

One more month goes by.

And then another. 

After the passing of a third, Icy resigns herself to being a bird for the rest of her embarrassing existence. 

She follows Darcy and Stormy into town with the sole goal of causing as much chaos as she possibly can while confined to this bird body. Most of the terror she unleashes still involves ruthless pecking and stealing people’s food; sometimes she eats it, sometimes she drops it into their laps, other times she waits until they aren’t looking and adds a french fry to their milkshakes. But food becomes a bore eventually she begins to charm the unsuspecting—the gets them to coo at her and call her cute and then she plucks necklaces from their necks and rings from their fingers and flies away with them. 

The white raven has amassed herself quite a respectable horde of shiny things.

Darcy vows to kill her for creating so much clutter. 

But the witch has yet to do it. 

Stormy finds it quite funny and now and then she asks Icy to steal a little trinket for her. 

It is on a gloomy October afternoon that Icy finally wakes up with hands and a long sweep of hair that cascades over her shoulders. Just as Darcy and Stormy had, she wakes up without clothing to cover her. It is just as well, she likes the cold autumn air on her skin. For a good while she only stares at her hands. At smooth pale skin and long fingernails that are polished just the way that they had been before her transformation. She flexes her fingers just to make sure that they are still her own.

She rolls onto her back with every intention of getting up to get dressed. She manages to sit herself up right but it comes with a strange vertigo, a feeling of being off kilter. She makes it to her feet but she doesn’t stay there for long. Her body feels so heavy—undoubtedly the product of being nearly weightless for months. It is the sound of her human body thumping onto the floor that wakes Darcy and Stormy. Stormy is at her side as Darcy finishes rubbing her eyes with a groggy mumble—she never had been quick to rise.

“What happened?” Darcy mumbles as she kneels next to Stormy.

“Sounds like you’re going to have like 50 bruises.” 

And they laugh at her. 

They laugh until they realize that she truly does not remember how to walk. 

And that she barely remembers how to talk. She knows the words but she can’t remember how to move her lips to create certain sounds. It isn’t so funny then.

She does have bruises from her fall, a lot of them. And she keeps acquiring more of them as she tries to force herself to find her balance. And more of them still when she punishes herself for not being able. Stormy has to straddle her, has to pin her arms above her head to get her to stop punching it. 

“Look,” Darcy grumbles. “You aren’t going to physically knock some sense back into your head. You’re more likely to dislodge sense and struggle more.” 

Icy stares up at her. She refuses to speak until she can do it properly and without sounding like a fool. 

“I think that you’re over thinking all of this.” Darcy theorizes. “The more conscious effort you put into it, the harder it will be for you to recover natural abilities.”

And so Icy stops trying.

Lets her mind go numb. 

She still can’t walk or talk very well. 

Maybe she should just go back to screeching at all hours.

One day in December, she catches Stormy rifling through her things. Namely her ice sculptures. They are delicate things, her ice sculptures, and she had worked hard to make them. Stormy locks eyes with her. And that bitch! That wicked little beast! She tips one of the ice sculptures off of the dresser.

Icy is out of bed and across the room in seconds. The ice sculpture is cradled safely in her arms. “How dare you!?” She shouts at Stormy. 

“I’m a storm witch, destruction is in my nature.” She pauses. “You can say that I’m like a tornado.” 

“You’re like a pain in my ass.” Icy grumbles. 

“But it worked though.” 

“Hmm?” 

“You ran across the dorm no problem.” Stormy shrugs. “And you’ve been yelling at me for exactly three whole minutes now.”

“Yeah that’s a great accomplishment.” Darcy gives two lazy claps. “She can talk again. Now shut the hell up so I can get some sleep.”

“It’s two PM!” Icy uses her newly rediscovered voice to holler.

“Geeze, I forgot how loud you are.” Darcy rolls over, the pillow muffles her voice. “You’re always yelling at the time. Do you even have an inside voice?”

She, in fact, does not.

“You’re welcome.” Stormy says.

She probably should thank her. 

She can finally get back to her life now.

Can finally be the person that she remembers having been.

[vulpes-fennec]

@elainweekofficial Day 2 🌱

Elain loves to garden, so here's a moodboard of her garden at the River House! Read below the cut for an Elucien one-shot 🦔

Gardening required precision: the right soil composition, watering frequency, timing of planting, and placement. But it also required leniency, for the pollinators, animals, and weather systems that played a role were out of Elain’s control. 

Which was why Elain strung up bird baths and propped up old pots for toads. She left the spiders and praying mantises alone, even though they scared her. She suppressed the urge to tidy everything into neat arrangements, knowing that a little messiness was beneficial for the ecosystem.

Gardening had its fair share of physical work, too. Elain was not a warrior like Feyre or Nesta, but she still flexed her muscles by lugging the watering can around, yanking out weeds, digging up roots, and vanquishing the pests and plant illnesses. 

Gardening was the satisfaction of watching the spring buds flower, of biting into the first summer harvest. But out of everything, experiencing warm sunshine on her skin was Elain’s favorite part of gardening. 

It was shaping up to be a perfect day, she thought. Already Elain had changed the bird bath, refilled the bird feeder, turned the compost pile, pruned the bushes, and inspected the budding fruit trees. She was in the middle of harvesting a bundle of herbs for dinner when she heard distressed squeaking coming from around the bend. 

“Oh no!” Elain cried when she spotted the source of the squeaks. A large hawk had a small creature clasped in its talons, and was taking flight. “Stop! Stop this right now!” 

The animal squirmed its way out of the hawk’s grip and fell several feet to the ground, to Elain’s horror. She rushed over immediately, finding a small hedgehog dragging its hind foot as it struggled towards a brambly hedge. 

“You poor thing!” Elain exclaimed. The hedgehog curled into a ball of brown and black spikes when she approached. Elain knelt down in the grass, cooing softly. “It’s alright little one. You’re safe with me.” 

The hedgehog did not seem to think so. It let out another cry of terror when Elain gingerly touched it. She winced at the spines pricking her calloused palms. A quick glance revealed the hawk waiting patiently in the tree for its afternoon snack, its beady yellow eyes glaring at Elain. 

“Go away!” she shouted up at it. “Don’t you dare come any closer!” She turned her attention back to the hedgehog, who was trembling in fear thanks to her raised voice. 

“I didn’t mean you, little one,” Elain whispered softly, hunching over the hedgehog. “Please don’t be afraid. I only want to help you.” Bracing herself against the temporary pain, Elain gently scooped the curled hedgehog up and placed it into her straw hat. 

Gravel crunched urgently behind her.  

“My lady?” The emissary of the Night Court stood just a few yards away from her, looking like he’d been running. Lucien Vanserra. Her mate. 

Elain stiffened. “What are you doing here?” The words came out sharper than she’d intended, and she regretted using them as her first line of greeting. 

Lucien’s flaming red hair glinted in the sun like molten ore, his russet eye studying her carefully. The scar cutting down his face only drew attention to his angular features. It had been several weeks since Elain saw him last, and every time he reappeared in her life, his handsome face seemed to grow begrudgingly more attractive. “I came to hand deliver an invitation for Queen Vassa’s coronation,” he replied. “To Feyre and Rhysand, but it seems they’re nowhere to be found.” 

“They’re at the Hewn City.” Elain’s words were a frank dismissal to her ears. She winced.

Lucien’s mouth tightened. “Well, I heard you shouting at something so forgive me for making sure you were alright.” 

I don’t need your protection, Elain wanted to say, but she kept her mouth shut. Her good manners always eluded her whenever she saw Lucien Vanserra. 

“I’m fine. It’s just a hedgehog with an injured foot. I’ll have to send for Madja tomorrow morning.” 

“Broken limbs should be set and healed as soon as possible. Waiting until morning may be too late.” Lucien frowned slightly. “I can try to help.” 

“You’re not an animal healer,” she objected. 

“No, but I did fix your sister’s broken nose under the mountain.” Lucien’s good eye flickered with the faint memory of the traumatic hellhole. 

I don’t need your help, Elain wanted to say, but the hedgehog’s shrill vocalizations begged to differ. “Alright,” she admitted. “We can go to the greenhouse.” 

The creature was shaking like a leaf when Elain set the hat down on the surface of the greenhouse work table. The surface was littered with gardening notes and bottled tonics. A cupboard, filled with seeds and dried flowers stood opposite a shelf of gardening tools. And every other available space was filled with plants. 

The greenhouse was sizable, but the space felt small and hot the moment Lucien stepped over the threshold. He stood silently in the doorway, golden eye clicking and whirring at the haphazard interior. 

She had gauze and healing salves…but perhaps ointments that worked on the Fae would be toxic for animals. The enchanted gloves Lucien gifted her were carefully tucked in a box. Elain had barely used them, only taking them out occasionally to admire its make. But perhaps it was time to put away that stubborn pride…Elain glanced over her shoulder furtively at her mate.

“Hello, aren’t you a cute little thing?” Lucien greeted the hedgehog as he bent down until he was eye level with the table. “My name is Lucien, Night Court’s emissary.” 

He extended a tanned brown hand towards the creature. The hedgehog peeked out at the emissary, unfurling itself to sniff his fingers with its pointed nose. “That’s right, there’s nothing to be afraid of.” 

“What do we do?” Elain approached the table anxiously. 

Surprise flitted across Lucien’s face at the sight of her gloved hands. “If you could sit and hold the hedgehog so I can see the leg…”

“It’s me, Elain,” she cooed to it, extending her hand just as Lucien did. “I’m going to have to pick you up now.” The hedgehog shrank away, and Elain’s shoulders slumped in disappointment.

“You can do it,” Lucien said encouragingly. “I’m talking to the hedgehog, but I suppose it applies to you as well.” 

“Why does it like you more than me?” Elain demanded indignantly.

Lucien’s grin was positively smug. “Hedgehogs were quite prevalent in the Autumn Court. They thought quite highly of me.”

Elain rolled her eyes at him. “Come on now. Up onto my hand we go. You’ve seen me around the garden, haven’t you? I’m not a stranger.” The hedgehog reluctantly limped onto her outstretched hand. “Good job, little one!” 

Elain’s heart pounded anxiously as she settled on the chair, for the creature seemed so frail and small. The hedgehog scrunched up its small face, crying out as she shifted it onto its back. Elain gasped when she noticed several red lacerations on its furred underbelly. “Cauldron, it’s worse than I thought,” she fretted. “And I think it’s a female.” 

“Hmmm, you’re right.” Lucien murmured as the hedgehog made more high-pitched whimpering sounds. “Shhh, it’s alright, sweetheart. Let me take a look.” Heat shimmered in the air between them as Lucien knelt in between her legs and leaned closer.

“If you want to give him a bite, you have my permission,” Elain added. As cute as it was, hedgehogs were still wild animals. And she didn’t know if they were aggressive when threatened. 

“I don’t have a problem with biting.” Elain’s blood ran hot when Lucien looked up at her with a humorous glint in both eyes. She quickly looked away. How can I be thinking improper thoughts about him when this poor hedgehog is practically dying in my lap?

Golden light shimmered as the cuts on the hedgehog’s soft belly melded together and disappeared. Elain sucked a breath in, fascinated. But the happy moment was short-lived. 

Lucien’s fingers gently probed the crooked foot, eliciting a plaintive screech from the hedgehog. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.” Regret laced in his russet eye. 

Elain felt like crying herself at the hedgehog’s distress. “Oh, Lucien. Please hurry! It seems to be in so much pain!” 

His face was grim. “I need to make sure it’s set in the proper position before I heal it. But it’s going to hurt her,” he explained. 

Elain hoisted the hedgehog up so that it leaned against her chest, praying her heartbeat would calm it down. “He’s trying to help you,” she whispered to it. “Please hold on just a little longer. Everything will be alright.” 

“It’s going to be alright, munchkin,” Lucien’s low voice soothed. He tilted his head left and right, as if assessing the proper positioning for a hedgehog foot. “You’ve been such a brave girl. Are you going to be the bravest little hedgehog in Velaris?” 

Golden webbing—a spell—was woven along the hedgehog’s ankle, bracing it in the proper position. The hedgehog screeched. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Lucien murmured. 

“Oh, when this is over, I’ll build you a little hedgehog house,” Elain added, trying to keep the hedgehog’s attention on her face. “I’ll make sure you have plenty of treats. We can invite some hedgehog friends over, alright? Don’t think about your foot, darling.” 

A flash of light burst from Lucien’s hand and a final terrified squeak pierced the air. The hedgehog writhed in agony briefly, shivering and whimpering. “Oh gods, oh gods,” Elain gasped. “Is it alright? What happened?” 

“I think so. Put it on the table and see,” Lucien said gently. The hedgehog was indeed back to normal, ambling around on all four legs and making snuffling sounds. 

“It worked. It really worked!” Elain smiled broadly, her heart swelling with relief and joy. “Thank you for helping, Lucien.” Before she could stop herself, she wrapped her arms around his neck in a hug. Realizing what she’d done, Elain disentangled herself from him sheepishly. 

Lucien shrugged as he stood up. “Couldn’t have done it without you.” He paused. “Did you really mean it? Everything you said to the hedgehog? About building a whole house and bringing more of its kind over?” 

“Yes?” Her mate appraised her with a small smile on his lips that stripped Elain bare. Did he think she was being childish? “And what about it?” Elain demanded hotly. 

“It’s refreshing.” Lucien glanced over his shoulder on the way out of the greenhouse. “The way you care for a small hedgehog, when you treated it gently…it gives me hope for this world.” 

You too, Elain wanted to say. But her mate had already winnowed away without saying goodbye. Meanwhile, the hedgehog was sniffling at a gold-embossed envelope on the worktable. The invitation to Queen Vassa’s coronation had indeed been delivered.

[toadlesbians]

first toad found of the season!! he was nestled in one of my grandmas flower pots :]

[path-of-grass-and-leaves]

I went on one of those Buy Nothing groups and asked for small logs and branches. People were pretty excited for the free yard cleanup and I brought home so much wood!

I'm going to convert my current vegetable garden to a native pollinator garden and use some of these logs and branches to start a hugelkultur raised bed. There's a huge area of bare soil in the yard where we had one of those tiny Intex pools, which I'm rehoming. I just don't have enough space or privacy for a pool and last year one of our cardinal fledglings fell into it (and quickly escaped thanks to critter pool ramps), so it's a safety concern for the wildlife.

The bare patch of soil is going to be a big vegetable, flower, and herb garden, with the hugelkultur positioned in the center. I'm hoping all the decaying wood, leaf litter, compost, and grass clippings from the hugel will yeild a nice healthy layer of soil. Leftover logs will be used to grow mushrooms and some of the smaller branches will be piled in a corner for fireflies and overwintering insects.

I also bought some native seeds for the pollinator garden. Right now I've got Wild Strawberry, Early Goldenrod, Red Columbine, and Spotted Touch-Me-Not in the fridge for stratification.

I've got Purple Coneflower started in pots and a packet of Blue Flag Iris seeds, which I'll be planting this autumn. We also have some American Cranberrybush and Bloodroot seeds, but I won't be starting those yet since they have double dormancy requirements. We already have Bloodroot in the garden but I want to plant even more.

At some point I want to try my hand at building a tiny pond for vernal pools. We have a slug problem so I really want to encourage toads and salamanders. I'm not sure if I want to do something above ground with lots or ramps and hiding spots or something in-ground but very shallow, like 6"-8" maximum depth.

It's going to be a busy spring!

[bumblebeeappletree]

Jerry has lots of dollar-stretching ideas for saving money in the garden.

1. Free plants:

Saving seed can be a life-changing experience. You can easily save lots of seed, giving you lots of opportunity to experiment without fear of failure, as well as the option of giving some away. Store in airtight containers such as old jars; save silica gel to go with the seeds to keep the seeds dry in storage.

To collect seed, use old panty hose to slip over the ends of plants with pods that explode - as some pea plants and brassicas.

You can also propagate by cuttings. Jerry prunes plants at a good time to take cuttings - usually after they’ve finished flowering. Jerry also uses recycled pots and potting mix, making it even cheaper.

2. Free fuel:

Animal manure is great and often freely available - Jerry managed to source some camel and buffalo dung when a circus recently came to town!

Always compost manure first, to remove any weed seed or residual chemicals they may be carrying.

Jerry also recycles any dead cane toads he finds as roadkill, by burying them under his fruit trees.

Mulch is essential in any garden - Jerry uses several types - but it can be expensive. Check with your local council to see if wood chippings from pruned street trees are available, or make your own leaf mold from raked up leaves; simply pile up the leaves, keep them moist, and wait for them to decompose.

The result is low in nutrients and high in carbon so it’s perfect as a surface mulch or for growing ferns and palms.

Potting mix - Jerry makes his own, using equal parts of garden soil, horticultural sand and old potting mix.

3. Upcycling:

Repurpose material that would otherwise end up in landfill, such as polystyrene foam boxes, which are great for growing plants as they are lightweight and they insulate the plants’ roots from heat and cold.

Other uses include as part of a worm farm or as a self-watering container.

Jerry grows strawberries in these boxes – the extra height helps keep the fruit from pests on the ground.

He also uses them to store pots with cuttings in as it keeps the plants at an even temperature, plus it’s easy to cover the boxes to create a mini greenhouse or shadehouse if needed. For shade he uses old net curtains found at op shops.

4. Trading:

Some plants give you more than you’d ever need, especially citrus. Jerry makes loads of different marmalade, which he trades for eggs or avocadoes that he doesn’t have.

5. Buy once, cry once:

By this Jerry means pay more for quality equipment that will last. Cheap equipment is often not meant to be serviced or repaired, but good-quality items will be designed to take replacement parts and are worth fixing. Jerry still uses his grandfather’s hand mower and mattock, and has other equipment that is many decades old.

Filmed on Quandamooka, Turrbal & Yuggera Country in Brisbane, Qld

[occultopossum]

I just *viciously* feel so much adoration to the local wildlife

The toad that hides under my flower pots when it rains, sometimes cozy in a pile of gardening soil pushes against the wall. How they come and sit under the street lamp at night cause bugs congregate there

Every time I see a ground hog in lush grasses or fields as I drive by and have to shout "beast" when I spot it

The baby bunny that hides in the bushes of honey suckle and other foliage outside the building

I adore the turkey vultures that nest nearby the apartment I often see overhead, and one time a gaggle camped near the mailboxes with some road kill

Even the bastard gold finches that sit and gorge themselves on my sunflowers and won't even wait more then a minute before flying back when I've approached

I think fondly when I was snatching a tree stump from some trees they cut down next to the creek outside the apartment and there was a big chill rat snake sunning itself

Or the deer I catch frolicking in the woods across the street or in the creek

I love them so

Def would recommend appreciating and watching your local wildlife!!!!

[pianokantzart]

Small Shadows Part 3 (Final)

Daisy takes Luigi on an outing with the intention of teaching him to fight, but as it turns out their approach to training, their approach to friendships, and their outlook on the world couldn’t be more different. In the process, Daisy accidentally brings to the surface some of Luigi’s deep-seated insecurities. Part 1 here: X Part 2 here: X AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/47310646/chapters/119510722 _____________________________​​ On the way back to their room, Mario stopped to let his brother vomit into a potted plant. He just barely managed to hoist Luigi off his shoulder and guide him to the nearest possible container– an ornate vase full of blooming jasmine flowers– before Luigi emptied the contents of his stomach. Mario held his brother’s cap, patted his back, and kept a lookout for the castle guards, trying to figure out how to explain things if they were caught. But the coast remained clear, and as soon as Luigi was ready Mario helped him back to his feet, and continued ushering him toward their room.

Peach, Toad, Mario and Luigi were all given their own chambers in the castle. Peach, being fellow royalty, obviously got the fanciest suite, but Mario found that even the lesser guest rooms were far more extravagant than he liked. They were too large, with far too many trappings, and while everything was beautiful it felt wrong, like an ill-fitting glove. He liked Peach’s castle far more– it was ornate, but everything felt like it had a reason and a place while being just fancy enough to do the title of “Princess” justice. Daisy’s castle was an over-the-top display of wealth, overbearing and immoderate as the princess herself.

He and Luigi had agreed to share a room. The bed was more than big enough for the two of them to sleep on, (it was almost big enough for two elephants to sleep on), and they agreed they would rest better if they shared a space. So needless to say, the last thing Mario expected was for his little brother to disappear without warning. Happy as he was to have him back, he had questions, and given Luigi’s present state it seemed like answers would have to wait until morning.

Mario opened the door to their bedroom, guided Luigi through the lounge area and up a small flight of stairs, then set him down upon the large feather bed on an elevated platform, surrounded by little hanging lanterns. Once Luigi was seated, Mario raced away to the minibar, where he rummaged about to find water and ice. Luigi attempted to get comfortable. He tried to toss his hat onto the night stand (missing it completely), clumsily removed his gloves, and struggled to take off his shoes, whispering at them to “stop moving” as he undid the laces. At some point he gave up on loosening the laces entirely and simply yanked them off his feet, nearly falling off his bed as he tugged on the soles of his shoes until they popped off. He had begun unbuckling his overall straps by the time Mario returned from the minibar, supplies in hand.

“Here, drink this,” Mario insisted, pressing a tall crystalline glass of water into his brother’s hands. “You’re gonna have the mother of all hangovers in the morning.” “Like I don’t have the mother of all hangovers right now,” Luigi said, the slur in his voice growing worse as the bedtime routine threatened to lull him directly into unconsciousness. Mario hopped up on the bed, and began running his hand along his brother’s scalp in search of the injury. It didn’t take long to find the point of impact as Lu winced, and pulled away so violently that he spilled most of his water on himself. “Ow! Hey!? What was that!?” “Trying to figure out whether we need to use one of our healing items. Peach said they’re for emergencies only,” Mario explained. He returned to his examinations, this time being extra delicate around the sore spot. There was definitely a lump, but it was small, and though there was a dark bruise forming under the hair there was no trace of blood or indentation. Mario sighed. He placed the ice-bag against Luigi’s head, and guided his brother’s shaky hand to hold it in place. “We’ll stick with the ice for now and check your condition in the morning.” “Alright, Doctor Mario!” Luigi joked, closing his eyes as he relished in the damp cold against his throbbing skull. Mario didn’t respond to the quip. Again, he left his brother’s side, this time to rummage through his backpack for the med kit. Luigi put down his emptied water glass and struggled to onehandedly undo his shirt buttons while pressing the ice to his head. Whenever he wasn't distracted by the impossible task of removing his shirt he looked over at Mario, and steadily realized in his drunken fog that he was not exactly in the best of moods. “… Uh… how long’ve you been awake?” “You should've told me where you were going.” Mario responded sharply, ignoring the question. “I did! I mean, I told Toad to tell you that I was out training with–” “That’s not where. How was I supposed to help you if something went wrong?” “But I didn’t know– I mean how? How should I have known where? I mean, I just got here.” “But you could’ve… Oh, forget it.” Mario waved off the argument. He didn’t consider himself a particularly “grumpy” person, but the past few hours of sleepless uncertainty had stretched him thin. But it wasn’t right to take it out on Luigi, not right now when he was too drunk and injured to know which way was up and which way was down. Finally locating the med kit, Mario hurried back to his brother. He helped undo the final few buttons and guided Luigi’s arms out of the sleeves, tossing the green shirt to the side so he could get a better look at the damage. There were scrapes, but nothing that would scar. There were bruises, but nothing that suggested internal injury. Nonetheless, Mario took out an antiseptic wipe, and carefully dabbed at some of the deepest scrapes on Luigi’s arms, just to ensure things healed up well. Luigi hissed at the burning sensation, but smiled little as he piped up. “Heh, just like when we were kids, huh?” “Yeah, only you were always the one fixing me up.” Mario grumbled, “Seriously Lu, I thought you were supposed to be the careful one.” “I dunno. Everything’s been all mixed up tonight.” “Well…” Mario pulled out a little green bandaid, and placed it over his brother’s particularly scraped up elbow. “Pull a stunt like this again, and I’m leaving you at the house next time.” Mario had said this jokingly– or at least, he thought he had– which was why, when he heard Luigi’s breath hitch and shudder, he was worried it was a pain response. Mario looked up to ask what was wrong, and was surprised to see tears welling up in Luigi's eyes, spilling down his cheeks. “Please don’t.” Luigi whimpered. “H-hey. C’mon!” Mario panicked for a moment, blindsided by his brother’s sudden shift in mood, “I was just kidding.” “I’m sorry!” Luigi began crying even harder, dropping his ice pack to the ground and burying his face in his hands, “I’m sorry! I swear I’m trying! I really am!” “I know you are Luigi! It’s okay!” “No it’s not! All I do is slow you down!” “Says who?” “She’s right!” Luigi sobbed, burying himself deeper into his hands until he was covering his head with his arms, “She’s right, but I don’t know what else to do! I don't want you to leave me behind, but I don’t want to keep messing things up!” “She?” Mario scowled and shot an angry look at the door behind them. Luigi hadn’t answered his question, but he had enough clues to piece together the answer, and it certainly wasn’t Peach. Mario rummaged through the med kit again, taking out a package of tissues that had been buried under a roll of gauze and pressing it into his brother’s hands. “Lu, listen. Forget everything Daisy told you, alright? She’s an idiot.” “No she’s not.” Luigi mumbled, steadily coming down from the outburst as he wiped his eyes, and blew his nose. “She’s just a lil’ weird is all.” “Whatever,” Mario relented with a roll of his eyes. “Point is, you’re doing fine. You’ve had some bumps along the way, but you’re not slowing me down. You’re not slowing anyone down, you got that?” Luigi nodded, but he didn’t seem to quite take in the message. He sat dejectedly on the edge of the bed, staring down at the crumpled tissue in his hands. Mario picked up the dropped ice pack and jumped up on the bed next to his brother. Gingerly, he placed it against his Luigi’s head, taking a moment to think his words over before he spoke up again. “Y’know…” He said at last, “seeing you like this kinda reminds me of how badly I got beat up in the Ring of Kong.” “But you won that fight,” Luigi retorted meekly, eyes still downcast. “Only after I got the Cat Suit.” Mario gave Luigi a gentle nudge, taking care not to apply too much force to his battered body, “When I told you the story, I may have undersold how much DK tossed me around like a lump of raw pizza dough before I got ahold of the right powerup. He absolutely destroyed me, actually knocked out two of my molars slamming me against a metal beam, see?” Mario tugged his cheek back with his free hand for a second, revealing a small gap in the bottom-left side of his mouth where two teeth should have been. Luigi looked at his brother, expression going from one to sadness to one of worry, and Mario figured it better to push forward with his point before his little brother could ruminate too long on the old injury. “But I was still learning, like you are! I just have a head start, and I would way rather travel with a Luigi who is still learning than with no Luigi at all.” Finally, a little glimmer of a smile crossed Luigi’s face. Mario, determined to get his message across, slid down from the mattress and placed himself in front of his little brother. “Hey… c’mere…” He took Luigi by the shoulders, leaning in close so that he was looking firmly in his eyes. “Listen, who knows how much of this conversation you’re gonna remember in the morning, but if you remember anything remember this: you’re awesome, and there will never be a day I don’t want you as my partner.” Luigi’s smile grew. Tears of a different sort welled up in his eyes, and he didn’t bother to wipe them away as he reached out and wrapped his brother in a tight hug. “Thanks.” He sniffled, “I’m... I'm gonna make you proud. You’ll see.” “Heh, you already make me proud,” Mario chuckled, gently patting his brother’s back, “If you want to make me happy, you’ll lay down and get some sleep.” It wasn’t difficult to guide Luigi from the hug to the covers. He was out like a light the moment his head hit the pillow. Mario took care to tie up loose ends; slide an extra pillow under his head, balance the ice-pace against his skull, pull the blanket over his shoulders, and place a refilled cup of water on the bedside table. “Night-night Lu.” He whispered, taking one final moment to pick up his brother’s hat, brush off the debris, and hang it on the coat rack on his way out the door. Mario knew he needed to go to bed too. He needed sleep, but more than that he wanted to be there if his brother woke up at some point needing more help. He promised himself he’d return to his room soon enough… … but first, he wanted to have a little conversation with Princess Daisy.

[gardengobbo]

April 30th 2024

I was saying to Steven the other day, "I wonder when the toads will make their way back".

During my working on moving my hausta from their 3 year temporary home, I was unbelievably happy to greet this year's first toad fren.

Interestingly enough I'd just filled up a couple of the little flower pots that the toads loved to hide in last year with some dirt to put in the catnip again, but this time with no plants, just dirt. So to make sure while I was aggressively trying to get the haustas out of the ground while being yelled at by the neighbour's dogs (Who me and Steven have taken to calling Sonic Attack Rats, or SARs, because they're just small constantly yapping dogs that he never takes inside and that's a whole other thing.) literally right beside my head on the other side of the fence for 20+ minutes, I scooped them and moved em over to the catnip garden. Hopefully I didn't upset them too much, but I just didn't want to accidentally harm them.

Plus seeing them all in my catnip makes me unreasonably happy so hopefully that toad fren will prefer that garden to the weeds 🤣

Anyways this was just a "quick" post for now while I work on editing 3 days worth of videos. So the dates are gonna be a bit outta whack vs the actual day I post.

Much love, toodles for now!

[ch4ndn1]

i walked into solitary, the cushion room — slipped a black str8 jacket from sean’s closet on and asked him to fasten me up, then he left and i sat down, i would never see him again, he doesn’t turn back till his tires are spent, i sat down in the back corner of the room, and asked someone anyone to turn up the frequency of the silence to brain splitting levels, and then i watched goo leak from some orifice and drip onto the bridge of my nose and i just stayed there watching my brain and intuition drip out like a leaky faucet for maybe two weeks and now i’m outside and have no idea why the white stucco on the ceiling is sucking into itself after just one newport i take outside, i haven’t touched a newport since i was trying to keep up with r on set four years ago , where i experienced nicotine poisoning for the first time but he did hold me on the way back to soho after we wrapped, which i might’ve appreciated had i not smoked a pack in 90 minutes, it was an incapacitated REM level L, and i don’t smoke them unless i miss feeling so weak, unless i wanna feel like that baby again, but no i dont smoke them i dont have the heart for them, i just found one smashed in the bottom of my purse i left at my parents seven months ago, i allowed myself the indulgence. a dear friend on the other end of the phone call just said grazie mille to the most toad like fantasia italian accent i think she’s in puglia and the exhibitor of the accent had handed her a midnight cigarette as she informed me she’s been crying in the shower and laughing by the time she dries off every day she’s been in puglia, she stumbled upon a man in a car getting his dick sucked by a woman in his car, in front of the church, which she was sitting in front of, but at some point i believe she got up and started pacing around the cobblestone, as i was, in my own non cobblestone la alleyway, while we were talking and processing did u process it “” or at least i like to think of her doing so, us walking the same, but maybe if i were in puglia and not southern california i’d be looking straight and up and around, not so much ahead and down. imiss her and things, it’s been hard to hug my mom, my sister, i didn’t intend to be here right now, but i am here right now, i’ll try to hug my sister tonight and my mom tomorrow. i know i’ll miss the chance when i miss the chance and leave back to ny, i wish i didn’t feel a tinge of agony hugging my blood family but they wouldn’t be my relatives if it didn’t

the cigarette i took smelled like upstate still and it tasted like the way i felt in july of 2019, angry, which means alive, grateful for a taste. i took it while dodging my mothers forty fifth ceremony for yet another fissured bong she tipped over while stretching to fix a flower pot on the steps. weed is allowed recreationally so, though it’s illegal to smoke anywhere outside here. the whole town, just like plastic bags. but the teenagers ride on their e bikes and suck them vapes down and eat the core like i do my apples— only if their sticker starts with 9 otherwise i leave about a half inch around the core before i flick it away. i flick him away. so illegal that the inflated tits stuck to the speedwalking moms, speedwalking by my pacing, glare at me. mine aren’t inflated but they scowl back , i shrug and suck it down. i’ve always been paranoid here, it’s because my hair always been different and that difference permeated everything and now i’m less meek maybe a bit brash , so it causes problems . my step is a step my resentfulness fed direct to confidence around these people, so it causes problems

but why does the stucco do that? i’m trying to rest and keep my eyes open, i’m trying to let him make his way out my head, he’s good at keeping his things with his things but i’ve asked him to double check thrice. why is the ceiling moving like this after the newport. it was suppose to sage him out. why is it dancing when i feel like sinking into the bed past the floor dropping down another level and seeping into the carpet down another level into the rubble and further till i reach ocean and then rock and then rock and then past that my brain is too hot to register? i already feel this way now but instead of hot i’m feeling neutral, a dry ice temperature, a burn im seeing but can’t place when i was touched

jimi hendrix and bob marley played soccer together on a chance encounter in greenwich two years before jimi was found dead by asphyxia. i was reading into the reopened case being closed on the grounds that much time had passed after his death, it’d be no service to the public to take another look. i don’t know, who’s to know, but why did she feel the need to recall her recollection in different ways excluding big clumps and including pipe cleaners and camouflage mesh in certain points. it was dry. the vomit was dry. i’m writing this from the rocks stage left of ziggy marleys performance with the orchestra, people are dancing and they seem happy