#gardenwork

[501guy83]

Enjoying my good Old 30-36 501 in the spring. I give it a few more weeks 😉

[corner-stories]

no.4 - story idea you havent written yet ☺️☺️

✍️ more fic writer asks!

4 || a story idea you haven’t written yet

I've discussed this idea elsewhere and I've been brainstorming it for a while.

But basically, the gist is that 5 years after the second timeskip (so roughly 872) Mikasa discovers that Jean has been living on Paradis for the last few years and didn't tell her. He's been hiding out in some coastal cottage where he spends his days living quietly, not drawing too much attention to himself, and painting like the art hoe he is. He even uses the alias "Jehan" when selling his works.

She's conflicted between being happy to see him and being mad that he's been on the Island the whole time without telling her. She's hurt to think that a friend has been so close to her this whole time and she didn't know it. In Jean's mind he kept things a secret because he thinks it's safer for Mikasa to not associate with someone who betrayed Paradis and even now he's concerned for her safety.

And why is Jean living on the Island? Because my man just needed a break from ambassador duties to spend a few years painting and hanging out with his dog. He just needs to live quietly for a while before figuring out the next step.

Meanwhile, Mikasa is still slowly healing from *gestures to her first 19 years of existence* by working in Historia's orphanage. I imagine the Queen ordering her to take a break because she's overworking herself it's scaring the children, and that's how Mikasa ends up in the coastal village where Jean is living.

And in between the saga of Mikasa and Jean reconnecting in their late 20s are flashbacks to 857 during the Ambassadors first visit back to Paradis for peace talks, which explains why exactly Jean and Mikasa act like awkward exes in the present. The tldr is that they hooked up during that time.

Funnily enough, the things that really motivated me to maybe write this is both because my sanity requires it and me stumbling across this S-Tier fanart of Jean being a bearded DILF on twitter because that's exactly how I imagine him in this scenario.

But unfortunately, him looking like that does make it implausible that the Jeankasa reunion doesn't involve her jumping his bones on the spot.

[dividedsingularity]

Menix doing normal things! The beanbag is just a direct portrayal of a time (possibly the first) I sat on a beanbag, interesting experience; and clipping the hedge is what I came up with on the specific request of 'Menix doing some everyday activity'.

[traumxrei-archive]

【 ii. rose petal wounds 】

summary: from the confines of their study, yuu spots riddle doing an odd task— trimming roses in the garden. wait, why was riddle doing gardenwork…? was this another prank by floyd? either way, yuu had to find out.

word count: 1.2k

author’s note: idk if you can tell, but i absolutely love teasing riddle hehehe (also doesn’t dumple’s art of riddle look so cute ?)

[ the perfect debutante series | or read on ao3 (coming soon) ]

Distraction, it seemed, came in many shapes and forms. And for Yuu, it came in the color red. There was a flash of red in the corner of their vision. And they allowed themself to be distracted, their gaze following the color to their window.

Yuu was supposed to be putting together the final expenses list for the butler. But never mind what they were supposed to be doing.

What they saw beyond the window was far more interesting.

"Kalim?"

"Oh! Yes, master?"

"What is Riddle doing in the garden?"

Beyond their window was a view of the estate's garden. Part of the ball would be held there, amidst the rose bushes and fountains. And lo and behold, wading through the rose bushes with a pair of pruning scissors was...Riddle.

Riddle was Riddle. Prim and proper, befitting of the Roseheart name. Always ready to help straighten someone's apron at a moment's notice, with conduct and rules at the tip of his tongue.

He was also a bit naive and a lot stubborn, a combination that made it impossible for Yuu to guess why he was in the garden. Maybe it was another prank by Floyd. Or maybe it was his own bullheadedness leading him down another rabbit hole.

"Well," Kalim seemed to hesitate, his earrings jingling as he tilted his head closer. "Riddle told me not to tell you, but..."

"But...?" They prompted, trying to sound innocent to Kalim's ears. They were sure Kalim would let down his guard soon.

"But well...he wasn't satisfied with the roses in the garden!" Once Kalim started it was hard to get him to stop. "We were on a walk yesterday whilst Master was away— just checking on how the flow of the party would be, because that’s important, Riddle said— when Riddle found the rose bushes needed more...pruning."

They folded their arms, "What about the gardener?"

"The gardener...aha..." Kalim looked even more nervous now. "She stormed off after Riddle's questioning."

Ah. Now that was a problem indeed. Riddle wasn't the most unfriendly person, but his words came across as quite confident at times. Confidence and arrogance tread a thin line in the eyes of others, especially those who aren’t familiar with Riddle’s mannerisms. It was possible that the gardener got fed up with being questioned.

"Alright. I'll be taking a break in the gardens then," They brushed off their slacks, neatening their desk before standing. "When tea time arrives, please tell Ruggie to serve it in the garden."

"A picnic! Yes, Master!" They very gently patted Kalim's head, careful not to disturb the ribbon that they were sure Jamil worked hard to tie.

It wasn't very hard to make their way to the gardens. And it was easier still to find Riddle. The garden was empty save for the single maid wielding the shears with a vice, muttering to himself lightly.

"-unacceptable state," Riddle muttered as he snipped off some overgrown leaves, bending down to get a fallen rose. "Master wouldn't be happy about– ah–!"

Yuu's eyes widened at the sight of blood staining Riddle's glove red, and before they could think about it they had stepped forward, taking Riddle's wrist in their hand.

Riddle blinked, "M-Mas...ter?"

"Ah, it's getting on your apron," They tugged Riddle's hand closer, blood dripping onto the grass. "Does it hurt?"

Bewildered, Riddle shook his head, "It…stings."

"Slowly take off your glove, and sit down," They instructed, turning toward the house. "I'll get some bandages."

"Y-You shouldn’t!" Riddle's uninjured hand grabbed their sleeve. "It would be my failure as a proper maid if I made my Master do such a menial task.” Ah. Riddle's stubbornness tended to pop up at the most inconvenient times, it seemed.

Yuu sighed. When Riddle got like this, there was only one thing to do.

"Maid Rosehearts, I would like to treat your wound personally, as you were injured tending to my gardens," Yuu said with a smile. "I hope that you will listen to your Master's selfish wishes."

Riddle looked torn. There was an adorable frown on his face as he continued to think. His obedience to rules and courtesy made this trick handy for more than one occasion, and the outcome was always the same.

The maid finally opened his mouth, "...Of course, Master. Please do as you wish."

It didn't take Yuu long to get the bandages and disinfectant, especially after they ran into Jamil. (The longhaired maid sighed, "Was it Kalim or Silver this time?" They smiled sheepishly before answering, "Actually, it was Riddle." Even the ineffable Jamil had a hard time keeping his expression neutral when he heard that.) And it only took another moment to get back to the garden.

Riddle was sitting on the grass obediently, his back pin straight as they approached, "Welcome back, Master."

Yuu sat down and took his hand again, "Let's clean your hand first." They carefully used disinfectant to clean off the blood around the wound, before cleaning the wound itself. Riddle flinched slightly. It seemed that they should quicken their pace. They carefully wrapped his hand with the bandages.

"All done," They looked up to see Riddle staring. How long had he been looking this way? The red-haired maid immediately looked away with a cough. His cheeks tinted, and they vaguely wondered if it was due to the heat or embarrassment. Either way, it was a lovely look on the usually stern maid.

"Thank you, Master," Riddle bowed slightly, flexing his hand. "If I may ask, how did you know that I was here?"

"I was working when I saw you from my window," It wasn’t necessarily a lie. It was a white lie. They weren’t going to throw Kalim under the bus, since they did get effectively distracted by Riddle’s hair. "I also got these."

They dropped a pair of gardening gloves onto Riddle's lap, "Gardening...gloves?"

"If you want to keep pruning, I want you to do it safely. And besides," Yuu grinned as they pulled out another pair of gloves and shears. "I'll help you out this time."

"Master!" Riddle looked absolutely horrified at the thought. They almost chuckled. "You are going to inherit the Duke's title soon, you mustn't spend your time doing something so trivial as gardening!"

"Then what if I ask you to teach me?" Yuu said before they stood up, dancing away from where Riddle was trying to take their gloves. "As a way to broaden my horizons?"

Riddle huffed, brushing off his skirts and petticoats, ready to go after them, "A maid cannot teach their Master."

"I give you permission to," They waved over Riddle's shoulder. "Is it tea time already?"

Ruggie looked to be carrying a picnic basket, "We're getting to it, shishishi~"

Ruggie's laughter made Riddle sputter slightly, "T-Tea out here?"

"Riddle! Did you get hurt?" Kalim was also running toward them, his apron flying wildly behind him. It seemed that he had a tray of cakes in his hands. It was a wonder that none of them fell as he was running.

Riddle sighed, clearly defeated, "I am fine now. Master has tasked me with teaching them how to prune roses." Yuu beamed at Riddle’s cooperativeness. It seemed that Riddle had finally given in.

Ruggie spread a picnic blanket over the sunny ground, just as Kalim set down the cakes. And Riddle… He started on the tea. Tea was his specialty after all. They sat on the blanket next to Ruggie as they waited. There was a time for arguing over technicalities, and there was a time to serve. For now, they would look forward to Riddle’s tea.

thank you for reading ^^ if you’d like to read more, check out my masterlist ! like the art ? look at more of dumple's works on insta !

[ prev chapter | series post | next chapter ]

[koeni9in]

Pookie do you fw Nikto doing some gardenwork

I DONT KNOW WHY THIS WAS SO MUCH FUN! I love the outcome and this lineart/sketch brush UGH 😫

[moethh]

yooo you wanna draw valjean doing gardenwork while at petit-picpus (or like anywhere? rue plumet would prolly be neat too). i hope this is enough information. uhm. hes probably gonna be wearing a large straw hat too

here you go bestie pal amigo friend buddy bestie pal

as for the straw hat……

it uh. blew off his head (I TOTALLY DIDNT FORGET IT)

btw guys this was the post asking for requests. rn i probably wont do any but yall are always free to ask! (animation requests could be fun too!)

[head---ache]

Sonic when Emily's born be like: I am no longer Baby!!! I am now... Father.

*Dresses exclusively in birkenstocks and socks and hawaiian shirts. Does all the gardenwork, even though he's allergic to pollen. Calls everyone younger than him "champ"*

Had to draw it

[katiekatdragon27]

Fuck you @/rainbow-wolf120 anyways hello Rayman fandom🧍.

Every time I draw my line art style just gets more and more complicated💀😭.

Guess who gained a new interest to stick on the wall?? That's right! Me~~~~!

So, I have this very unhealthy habit of choosing favorites that never get fanart ever. In this case, Goth Teensy (my pookie💖) and Romeo.

Some info and progress photos under cut:

My sibling indoctrinated me into this fandom, and I should have seen all the signs but my fixation on GT rn is too much for my ape brain to see though. (First a fanfic about GT that is eerily characterized close to me, then forcing me to endure CLH twice (it's not that bad), then being nice to me while playing Origins, then being there while I played Rayman 3, then wrote a story about GT together that's in the works lol).

Anyways, I have a sort-of interpretive version of the tennsys lol. They remind me of Moomins, so I gave them tails lol. Also, the amount of "nightmare" magic a teensy uses determines hair growth and fluffiness.

Since this is based in our AU origins story where Goth Teensy turned into a nightmare during his formative years, he's a purple fluffy teensy. Romeo is a regular nightmare magic user (Livid Dead resident), so he's fluffier than the average teensy and is able to maintain a head of hair lol.

(Ales fits in this too, but he can't keep his hair cuz his magic is super weak and embarrassing L Bozo.)

Romeo is Goth's babysitter-sorta-found-family-adoptive-brother. When Goth isn't in the lower levels of the Livid Dead (where all the nightmares are), he's with Romeo doing gardenwork, learning about the Glade, or just practicing his magic with someone who can coach him properly. They both listen to rock a lot too.

Have a nice day jahombres.

[501guy83]

Maybe it doesn’t show but these are real tight. Don’t dare to bend over much 🙈

[lotus-lamps]

pt. 3 of im bored so im gonna post my ao3 works here lmao (yes i AM just going to copy the format)

(ao3 link if you prefer to read it there)

Hold onto your dreams (I won't forget them)

word count: 5.1k | date of creation: 6/22/2024 | status: incomplete, will likely be updated soon | fandom: Project Sekai | relationships: Kohane & her mom, Kohane & An (soon)

synopsis: Kohane's mother leaves to forage for food in the forest. As night falls, Kohane begins to get worried and looks for her mother herself. (fantasy au)

tw: violence, blood, gore, injury, death, & rot. minor mentions of decapitation, insects, vomiting, and nausea.

1. The girl and the wolf

"Once upon a time, there was a little girl named Little Red Riding Hood." Kohane reads aloud, softly to herself. Her mother leans over and smiles at her, taking a seat next to the little girl.

"That one again? You seem to like this story a lot. Is it your favorite, honey?"

Kohane thinks about it for a moment, but simply ends up shrugging. She likes the story, but she can't help but find it...unsatisfying, in a way. Her mother has two editions of the book: One where the story ends with Little Red Riding Hood getting eaten, and one where both she and her grandmother get saved by a carpenter, who cuts open the wolf's stomach. Kohane wasn't particularly pleased with either telling. She didn't believe that Little Red Riding Hood couldn't tell that her grandmother was replaced by a wolf, so she wasn't fond of the original version. She didn't like the second one either because she also found it unrealistic. She didnt believe that the grandmother could come out unharmed from the wolf's stomach and that the story was resolved so easily. But in the end, Kohane was okay with it, because she believed that Little Red Riding Hood deserved a happily ever after regardless.

Her thoughts get interrupted by a loud growl from her stomach. Her mama laughs gently and smiles at Kohane. "Alright, I'll go forage for food then, we're running a little low. How does rabbit stew sound?"

Kohane nods once, watching her mother pull out her expertly crafted bow and a quiver full of arrows. She slings a bag for hunt over her shoulder and grabs a glowing lantern, temporarily setting the items down on the wooden table to smile at Kohane.

"Wait right here, okay sweetie? Mama'll be back soon with our dinner." She comes over and envelopes Kohane in a warm, tight hug. The little girl lets out a happy giggle, snuggling into her mother's hug. Her mother cups Kohane's face in her hands, kissing both of her cheeks before she gives the little girl a wave and heads out the door. Kohane waves back, kicking her legs eagerly on the wooden stool she sits on.

Kohane waits for a few moments and then peeks out the window on the front door to check if her mother was gone before bounding out the back entrance. Her mother warned Kohane not to go out alone for her own safety, but she allowed the little girl to wander around the small, fenced area of their backyard where they kept the chickens and other livestock, along with their vegetable garden. Her mother used to only grow edible plants, but with enough pleading from Kohane, she gave in and started raising flowers as well. Kohane lugs out a large bucket of water for the plants, scraping it along the ground as she was too weak to lift the whole thing by herself. With some difficulty, she carefully waters all the plants, quickly emptying out the bucket.

Afterwards, she digs out the weeds and feeds the animals in their pens, her favorite part of the gardenwork. Kohane wipes the sweat off her brow and plops down onto the ground with a sigh. Yardwork was quite tiresome for such a small girl, but she was glad to help out her mother in any way she could. Kohane knows how much her mama does and sacrifices for her, so she always tries to repay the favor in any way she could. She lies down on the soft grass, closing her eyes and listening to the sweet songs of the birds. After a few moments of tranquility, Kohane sits up and opens her eyes, looking up into the sky. It was a beautiful sunset unlike any other, a glorious mix of purples, pinks, and oranges surrounding a large, glowing sun just above the horizon. Soft and fluffy clouds paint the sky, and small, shining stars emerge into light. Kohane stares in awe at the stunning scene, mesmerized by the beauty of it all. But when she snaps out of her trance, she was suddenly aware of how late it was. Usually her mama would be home by now, cooking up a hearty meal for both of them. Kohane begins to get worried, fearing for her mother's safety as it got dangerous in the dark. She gets up and considers searching for her mama, but the girl knows that her mother is strong and capable of defending herself, and that Kohane would only be causing more trouble if she goes out by herself.

The little girl sits back down, planning on making a flower crown for the two of them. As none of the flowers in their garden were finished growing, she resorts to picking wildflowers instead, choosing an arrangement of pink, yellow, and white flowers. Sunflowers are Kohane's favorite, but sadly, they don't have enough space to grow them, so instead she waits every week for her mama to bring her to the large sunflower field nearby. It was so tall and vast that the girl felt as if she were swimming through an ocean of golden petals, laughing as she ran between the stalks and brushed her hand across the waxy green leaves. She'd seen someone there once, a long time ago. Kohane had merely stopped to sit down for a moment when she heard a girl's singing ring across the sunflower field. Kohane paused, listening silently to the beautiful music spun by the stranger amongst the golden flowers. Her voice was brilliant and dazzling, her song nostalgic and warm in Kohane heart, a powerful and moving melody that the little girl would remember forever. The stranger's laughter danced across the flowers, sweeter than honey and brighter than the sunflowers that surrounded them, and Kohane found herself laughing with her- Yet the moment Kohane made a sound, the singing and laughter immediately halted, followed by a rustling of leaves and the sound of shoes hitting the dirt. Kohane raced after the footsteps, wanting to both apologize for startling the girl and express her great admiration for her singing. Even so, the sunflower field was a tall and vast maze, and soon Kohane had lost the stranger amidst the sea of gold, only barely catching a glimpse of shimmering black hair whisked into the rows of flowers. Kohane never saw her again. It was a sad thought, she supposed, but also a bittersweet memory. Kohane hums the same song softly as she works, wanting to keep the melody forever in her heart. Even if she would never see the stranger again, Kohane was glad to have heard her once, the vivid voice of an unseen girl whose songs were homesick and radiant. Though she doesn't think much of her own singing, Kohane notices the birds chirping along with her and smiles to herself before her eyes get caught on a particularly beautiful blue flower. When she reaches over to inspect it, she realizes that it is her mother's favorite. Forget me not, she thinks to herself, remembering what her mama told her when she first asked.

"Quite a unique name, isn't it?" Her mother asked.  Kohane nodded. "It reminds me of the important people in my life. Like you, sweetie. I'll never forget you," she said, wrapping her arms around Kohane in a warm embrace. Kohane hugged back with a giggle. I'll never forget you either, mama.

The girl gently picks up the flower and adds it to the flower crowns. Kohane promised never to forget her mother, but she couldn't say the same about her father. He was gone soon after Kohane was born, and what little she knew about him came entirely from what her mother told her. When the little girl asked where he was, her mother just smiled sadly at her and said that he was in a place far, far away. Kohane read enough fairy tales to know that it meant her father was dead. Even if her mother doesn't talk about him often, the little girl knew how much her mother missed him. Kohane missed her father too, even if she never knew him. Eager to forget about her sad thoughts, she looks at her work and smiles at herself, proud of the pretty little crowns she made for the two of them.

It was even darker now though, the sky a mix of deep blacks and blues, sprinkled with thousands of glittering, golden stars. It was a beautiful sight, but it only furthered her concern about her mother's safety. Her mama had never been out for this long in the dark before. Kohane knew that it was dangerous for her to go into the wilderness alone, but she was afraid that she'd be too late if she waited any longer. She clutches the flower crowns in her small hands and goes back inside, searching for some items to bring before she goes out into the forest. Kohane pulls out a dusty and rarely used lantern, taking out a match and lighting it up. The girl stashes a sharp knife to cut down any obstacles and a basket of berries in case either of them got hungry and to mark her path. Breathing in, she bounds out the front door and into the thick, lush forest, holding the bright lantern up in the air.

Kohane dips her hand into the basket, gathering a few berries and crushing them in her spare hand, smearing the blood red jam onto the bark of a tree. She continues along into the forest leaving berry juice on the trees, marking each one she comes across to create a path she could follow on the way back. It was eerily silent, and Kohane would be lying if she said she wasn't terrified. She picks up the pace, grateful for the moonlight that peeks through the thick leaves of the trees. It brought a stable source of light to make up for her hands that shook so much that she feared she would drop the lantern and be left shrouded in the darkness. Every small movement and sound sent her jumping into the air with fear as she shivered in the darkness. Kohane was just about to call out for her mother's name when she hears a blood curdling scream. The girl goes still with shock, temporarily frozen until she comes back to her senses, running toward the source of the sound. It was no doubt her mother. She prays that her mama wasn't in trouble. Her breathing becomes labored, losing breath as she sprints through the sharp brambles before she makes her way into a moonlit clearing. She stills.

Kohane lets out a shrill, agonized shriek.

Her mother's corpse is on the ground, headless. Blood pools on the grass beneath her, staining the once green grass a deep, hideous red. A monstrous, silver wolf looms above the body, chewing on the gory gash of her severed neck, the vile sound of chunks of flesh being torn apart between sharp teeth. The creature notices the little girl, baring its blood stained fangs at her, eyes feral and unhinged, thick blood dripping down its chin. Kohane let out a choked sob, swallowing bile.

She's dead. Her mother is dead.

The wolf's claws dig into the ground, preparing to lunge. Kohane's feet were planted into the ground, but somehow, with miraculous, sheer will, she just barely dives out of the way. The wolf's mouth just barely grazes her skin, shredding through the edges of her sleeves. It sneers, spitting out the fabric onto the ground and preparing to lunge again.

She's going to die. Kohane is going to die.

Her ears are ringing, heart beating faster than her ragged, hyperventilated breaths. She feels like everything is slowing down, fear and adrenaline coursing through her veins. Kohane fumbles with something, anything, until her hand reaches the lantern, still shining bright in the darkness. She had dropped it in the heat of the moment, and the thick metal framing allowed it to survive the fall. She grabs onto it and does the first thing she can think of, hurling it with as much force as she can and landing a hard hit on the wolf. The glass shatters on impact and pierces the animal's skin, making it shriek in agony. The flame of the lamp catches onto the wolf's silver fur, and it bashes its face on the dirt in an attempt to put it out, only causing the glass to get dug further into the creature's fur. It flails around wildly, letting out pained howls until the fire goes out, leaving a hideous, charred scar on the side of the wolf's face that still gushes fresh blood from the wounds.

Kohane uses the distraction as an opportunity to fish out the knife she kept in the pocket of her apron, gripping it tightly with two shaky hands. She sucks in a large breath and holds the knife high above her head, driving it deep into the creature's heart. The wolf lets out a ear piercing shriek, clawing wildly at the girl, its claws scratching at her arms. Kohane ignores the pain, wringing out the knife and stabbing it over and over again in a frenzied rage. Soon the animal no longer fights back, going limp with the plague of death. Kohane does not care. She continues to stab over and over and over and over again, turning the body into an unrecognizable, mutilated corpse. Blood gushes out of the carcass, staining Kohane's clothes and painting her arms and face a dark red. The creature's organs spill out onto the grass, creating a disgusting, vomit inducing squelch every time the knife comes into contact with the soft pink flesh. Kohane does not care. She maims the hideous carcass until she is too weak to lift her arms up again. She pulls out the knife a final time, the weapons and her arms drenched in viscous, rotten, blood.

It's dead. The monster is dead.

Kohane does not care.

Does she?

Her legs give in, and she collapses onto the ground with an agonized scream, vomiting onto the bloody grass. Kohane begins to sob hysterically, choking on her never ending tears as she digs her hands into the dirt, the sounds of her miserable cries filling the air.

Her mother is dead. The monster is dead.

Kohane is not dead. She is not going to die.

She almost wishes that she did.

...

Once upon a time, there was a girl named Little Red Riding Hood, but everyone called her Kohane Azusawa.

Where is her happily ever after?

2. Take two.

Kohane collapses onto the cottage floor in a bloody mess. She manages to collect herself after the mortifying scene, dragging herself back home through the thick forest. She wanted to bring her mother home as well, but Kohane was too weak to pick her up, and if she had to look at the decapitated corpse for any longer, she would probably vomit and pass out again. Luckily, Kohane's screaming didn't draw the attention of any other creatures in the forest, for if anything did find her, she would surely just give up and allow herself to be killed. She returns empty handed, for holding the knife makes her feel terribly sick and she couldnt be bothered to bring anything else back. Only her mother truly mattered.

Kohane looks at her dirty hands, a vile mix of the wolf's blood and her own from the wounds on her arms. She couldn't stand the stench, the foul smell of blood and guts that only recreates the image of her dead mother in her head. With what little energy she has left, she pushes herself up and picks up some clean clothing before trudging out the door towards the riverside. Under any other circumstances, she would find the scene immensely gorgeous, with the cold blue moonlight shining onto the still water and thousands of glimmering stars dotting the night sky, but Kohane was far too distracted to be enamored by nature's beauty. She discards her bloody clothing and sinks into the freezing water, barely affected by the temperature. As she scrubs weakly at the blood on her arms, she stares down at her reflection in the dark water. Her eyes are large and empty, her face vacant and expressionless, smeared with stains of blood. She should feel something. Kohane should feel something, but she doesn't feel anything at all. Her throat feels tight and tears bubble in the corner of her eyes before streaming down her dirty face, but her expression remains emotionless. Kohane is terrified. She is enraged and heartbroken and utterly distraught. She is disgusted and shocked beyond comprehension and completely traumatized, but her face remains unchanging. Why isn't it changing? She clenches her fist, and with a shout of rage she drives her hand angrily through the water, breaking up the reflection with a loud splash as waves of water ripple away from her.

Breathe. In, out.

Kohane collects herself, submerging herself completely in the freezing water for a few moments. The coldness is calming, and Kohane is tempted to stay there forever.

Breathe. In, out.

She swims back up to the surface and scrubs at her face and limbs, getting rid of the foul blood and ignoring the wounds on her arms. The redness of the fluid dissipates in the cold, river water.

Breathe. In, out.

She pulls herself out, shaking off the water and reaching for her towel. Kohane wipes at her body almost violently, drying herself quickly. She slips on her clean clothes and eyes the battered and bloody old ones.

Breathe. In, out.

Unsure what to do with the unusable clothing, she simply dumps it into the water, stabbing a stick through the cloth and into the dirt shore of the river to keep it from floating away. Kohane would return for it another day. She doubts that day will come anytime soon.

Breathe. In, out.

She silently trudges back home, opening the door to an equally silent cottage. What once felt cozy is now suffocating. The house is quiet and empty, without a single sign of life. The sweet laughter of her mother, the warm smell of her cooking, her soft lullabies, and her gentle smile are all gone.

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

Breathe.

In, out.

Kohane no longer worries about feeling nothing. She just barely avoids breaking into tears again, sucking in a sharp breath and releasing it slowly. She collapses onto the floor again, hugging herself tightly.

Breathe. In, out.

It will be okay. Everything will be okay.

Kohane drifts into heavy, dreamless sleep.

She awakes to the warmth of sunlight and sweet birdsong, though it does nothing to comfort the longing, painful ache in her heart.

Her stomach growls. She should eat, but she just feels sick. She's afraid that she'll just end up vomiting out the food. But Kohane has to eat something, or she'll be too weak to do anything at all. She pushes herself up again and rummages around for food. She works up the energy to make an easy sandwich out of some bread and a few slices of cheese and ham. There is little food left, and Kohane knows that she will have to either start rationing or go out and forage for herself. Even so, she wishes her mother could have just made a simple dinner and waited for morning to gather food. Kohane would gladly take any severity of hunger for a mother who is alive and well. Chewing idly on her food, she tries to distract herself by the gentle scenery outside to avoid truly tasting it, feeling its filthy textures between her teeth and being reminded of the gory scene the day before. She goes out into the garden and buries herself in the work, pushing out any thought of her dead mother. If she tries hard enough, she can simply pretend that her mama was still out foraging, and that Kohane was merely playing in the yard and awaiting her return. It was easy to forget. Too easy. The truth hadn't fully dawned the little girl. She was still in deep denial, and she refused to believe that her mother was truly gone. Still, Kohane had witnessed her mama's death before her very own eyes, and the sickly sight was hard to get rid of. The scene replayed over and over again in her head: her mother's decapitated corpse, the wolf's bloody body, organs spilling onto the grass. Driving the knife into the creature's heart, the sound of her own screams.

Breathe.

In...

...

...

The day passes by in a blur. She doesn't remember anything anymore. She won't remember anything for a long time.

...

Breathe. Keep breathing. Keep breathing. Keep breathing. Keep breathing.

In, out.

-

Kohane finds herself in the forest again, dragging her feet aimlessly-no, lifelessly- through the thick pines. She has a reason for being there.

Night approaches, the setting sun casting a piercing golden glow onto the endless rows of trees. It forms sharp, harsh shadows that seem to stretch on for miles on end, only thin slits of sunlight cutting through the vast darkness.

Kohane trudges forward, impassively following the smears of berries on the trees, handprints the color of blood dragged across the rough bark. She has business to finish.

Kohane is not strong enough to lift her mother, but it's not like she has a choice. It would be improper, distasteful, to bury her mother in the blood stained grass where her very head was torn apart. Kohane would drag her mother's corpse back to the garden, even if the remains were filthy with rot and reeked of decay, the blood a nauseating brown and the body littered with maggots.

It would not matter.

The wolf's carcass would be there too, rotting beside her mother's corpse. How disrespectful. Kohane hopes that the flies tear its body apart.

She makes it to the forest clearing once more, standing before the piles of flesh that decorates the ground. The cold, sharp moonlight shines on the mutilated corpses like a glaring white spotlight. Kohane is reaching toward her mother's decapitated body when she hears a rustle amongst the leaves. She stills, eyes widening and the hair on her arms rising as she jumps into a defensive stance, nearly hissing like a feral wolf. Her arm fumbles around wildly for the kitchen knife and she finally gets ahold of it, handle still stained with blood. She hides herself within the protection of the thick bushes, the foliage dense enough to secluded her entire body. The source of the sound dashes through the shadows as if it were part of the darkness itself, snaking between the endless maze of trees. Kohane catches a glint of moonlight shining on its narrowed eyes. She grips the knife tighter, its weight a comfort in her trembling hands. But she is not afraid anymore. She aims the knife carefully and precisely, with a steady and unnerving accuracy. Kohane has killed something once. She'll do it again.

Right?

Suddenly, the creature emerges from hiding and leaps into the clearing, and Kohane snaps into position, poised to strike into the heart. Its teeth are yellow and bared as it snarls viciously like a ferocious predator, sharp and dirty claws digging into the dirt with silver fur standing up on its back and-

Kohane pauses.

It is a young wolf, a small one with short, shiny fur and large beady eyes. Its posture is hunched and timid, the frightened creature shrinking in on itself as it steps toward the bodies. It lets out a nearly inaudible whimper, fear and distraught clear in its shocked eyes. The animal looks small and fragile as it nudges its head on the lifeless carcass, as if desperately pleading the creature to wake up once more, for the dead wolf to take another breath, to feel the solemn beating of the heart and the warmth of an embrace.

A mother's embrace.

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe-

Kohane struggles to breathe. Her breath comes in heavy and erratic hitches, as if her very lungs were being compressed and torn apart. No, no, no, no, no, that's not right at all. The wolf she killed is not- was not a mother. It's not Kohane's fault, it never was, and it never will be. She was simply acting in self defense. Kohane would have been killed if she didn't act first. Only the strongest survive, after all. How could she have known? How could she have known that that very wolf was as much of a mother as her own, one with a helpless child just like Kohane and- No, that's not right at all. It's just a stupid animal, inferior to human beings. It doesn't need love, doesn't deserve the care and affection and- but how could it have known, either? How could it have known that Kohane's mother had a child who loved her, a child who would be unthinkably hurt by the loss and death of- and what if the wolf was simply protecting its own child, just like how Kohane only killed the creature to save her own life and avenge her mother, and- no. No, no, no, no, of course not. There is no nuance to the situation. It is clear that Kohane is not, and will never be, the villain. She is no hero, but she has always been and always will be the protagonist. No matter how you frame it, how you view or approach it, the answer is as simple as that. It is not her fault, and she is not to blame. What a stupid thought that would be! It was just a stupid, vicious, bloodthirsty animal. It attacked and killed Kohane's mother first. Nothing else could have happened, no information missing or untold. That is all there is to it. It was an inferior, subhuman, and mindless creature undeserving of compassion. But if not for her human skin and bones, how was Kohane any more of a human being? What defines a human? The heart or the mind? Does humanity come from kindness and empathy or intelligence and sophistication? And why is it that someone who is barbaric, animalistic, cruel, and heartless can still be called a human being?

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe-

Kohane chokes on her own, unsteady breathing. Her lungs gasp for air, clawing wildly in her airway as she begins to hyperventilate, her breath getting louder and quicker and panicked and-

Snap.

The wolf's eyes lock onto Kohane. For a moment, it still looks like small and frightened, like a child just like Kohane: scared and alone. But then it's eyes sharpen into a thin slit, hostile and accusatory, as if it was saying: you did this. YOU did this.

And she did. Kohane did.

It doesn't mean anything. It will never mean anything. No matter what, Kohane will always be Little Red Riding Hood, the innocent and harmless little girl who could never do any wrong, because how could she? She'll always be the unblamable victim of the situation, no matter how blurry and warped the eyeglass must be.

She breathes. In, out.

The small wolf snarls hysterically at Kohane, lunging at her violently. Kohane grips the weapon close to her heart, its shining, blood coated blade aimed at the small creature.

Breathe. In, out.

The wolf's claws reach for her face, but Kohane lifts up her arms to block the slash. It grabs wildly at her face and arms, leaving bloody red marks on her pale, already wounded skin. She pays it no mind, reaching with her other hand to twist the creature off, flinging it onto the ground.

Kohane kill this one too, just like the last one, just like she's supposed to. She won't feel any remorse, any regret. She won't feel anything at all. And it wouldn't matter, because it deserved to die. It won't matter because IT doesn't matter. And that's all that there will be to the story.

In one fell blow, Kohane drives the knife into the wolf's heart.

Die.

The creature lets out an ear splitting shriek, so shrill and pained that Kohane nearly flinches back, but she is stands stiller than a statue as if her body was sculpted to be poised in this position, knife permanently carved to be part of her figure, held between her hands.

Die.

The small wolf writhes painfully and flails its limbs wildly, but Kohane's sculpted stone arms keep it struggling in place. She closes her eyes and breathes slowly, but the creature's howls only become louder in her ears, its sound reverberating and echoing throughout the empty, cold forest.

Breathe. In, out.

Die.

The wolf's claws continue to flail weakly, its arms flinging uselessly at Kohane's face. Kohane harbors no reaction, twisting the knife further into the creature's chest, watching it let out another shrill but noticeably weaker scream as blood gushes out of the wound. She is tempted to make the cruel motion again, to watch as it thrashes in pain and cries for help.

Die. Die. Die.

The small wolf begins to lose energy, its body starting to go limp and puppet like in Kohane's iron grip. After one more fruitless swing in the air, the creature's arm dangles uselessly and falls to the ground, laying lifelessly on the dirt. The wolf goes silent as its body stills, trapped by the press of the girl's bloody knife.

Die.

With one final, fleeting breath, the wolf is dead for good.

Kohane pushes the carcass off of her knife, piles of guts and gore following with it, landing in a rotten heap on the tainted forest floor. Fresh blood pools around the corpse, oozing from the open wound and covering the wolf's once silver fur in a shining red blanket.

Blood drips down Kohane's arm, the viscous fluid staining her already dirtied sleeves and dress. Some of the red liquid makes it to her face, framing her vacant expression and dark eyes. The knife is heavy in her hands, its weight sinking down on her, threatening to drag her deeper and deeper until she becomes the one to flail her arms wildly and scratch at the air.

She stares at the dead wolf, laying as a lifeless heap of skin and bones next to its decaying mother. Maggots and flies surround the stinking carcass and eager attack the newly fallen wolf, the insects eating and buzzing hungrily at its exposed organs, the scent of flesh and rot filling the once fresh forest air.

Bile rises up Kohane's throat. She swallows it back down, tasting the acid on the back of her tongue.

Kohane wonders if she was supposed to end up like that, an unrecognizable mass of meat and filth decomposing beside her mother's similarly decaying corpse, the one that still lays there headless and bloody and cold and rotting and human and-

Kohane throws up onto the fresh green grass for the second night in a row.

that's it for now, thanks for reading :)

fic was last updated on 1/29/2025, will likely receive an update soon. (i wrote this entire fic on my notes app lmao it depends on how often im stuck in no wifi situations)

[hell-much]

The cutting room floor of my Once In A Lifetime sequel is filling at a steady pace, so I thought I'd treat you to a draft of a scene that I'll (most probably) won't be able to squeeze in.

Please accept this as your belated Valentine's treat. 💕 (Can be read as a smutty standalone too, no real context of the original story needed.)

...

With the dial tone in her ear, Sansa stares down at numbers that long have stopped making sense.

She’s almost sure there’s a mistake somewhere in there. At least she hopes there is. There has to be a mistake. If this right there, looking back at her is their profit—

“Hello?”

Sansa breathes at the sound of Margaery’s voice and for a second all numbers, balance sheets and taxes are forgotten. “Hey.”

“Hey to you.” Something rustles in her background. “Is everything okay?”

No, Sansa thinks with her eyes skimming the paper once more. Not particularly.

“Of course,” she says. “Why do you ask?”

“Because it’s bright day outside and you’re calling me.”

“Jon went to Sam together with Robb. They’re helping with the forestry. Alis is at friend’s house.”

“And what are you up to?”

“I’m stuck in the office, bookkeeping.”

Margaery hums like that explains everything. “The way you sound I’d guess, you’re looking at a lot of red?”

“Grey,” Sansa says weakly. “I like to do a first calculation with a pencil. In case I make a mistake.”

“You make mistakes?”

Sansa stares down at the numbers. No, she doesn’t make mistakes. “I don’t know,” she says striving for more levity than she feels and closes the daybook. “My diligence has been lacking lately. What are you doing?”

“I’m sitting the bad weather out on my couch.”

Casting a look out of a window blind with rain Sansa smiles weakly. “You might be stuck on that couch until May.”

Margaery groans. “Don’t say that.”

“We might have snow soon.”

“Is that supposed to cheer me up?”

Sansa leans back in the office chair, playing with the phone cord. “You were pretty excited when you mistook that heavy rime for snow the other week.”

“You’re never going to let me live that one down, are you?”

“Probably not,” she gives back, unable not to smile. “You were too adorable.”

“It’s frozen water either way,” Margaery scoffs back. “Technically I wasn’t wrong.”

“Did you get those winter tires yet?”

“I have an appointment at the garage on Thursday.”

“Good. They’ve forecasted frost for next week.”

“Do you have to sound so joyful when you say that?”

Sansa smiles. “I’m looking forward to winter.”

“You do?”

She really does. This year more than ever before. “It’s the only quiet time we get around here. No gardenwork. No fields that need ploughing, threshing, harvesting.” She pauses, and her hand probes for her cigarettes in her dress pocket but comes up empty. “I’ll have a lot more time for you.”

“If you can get to me with the metre high snow.”

“We have snow chains.”

“That’s quite the effort for a little tryst,” Margaery quips. “I’ll need to step up to make it worth your while.”

Sansa laughs, flattening the crinkled part of her dress. “Any ideas how you’ll do that?”

She hears Margaery’s soft inhale. “I could think of a few things.”

Warmth coils in Sansa’s stomach, easing some of the constant churning. “Like what?”

“What you said the other night,” Margaery says her voice just a little more husky. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about that.”

“I said a lot the other night.”

“That part about what the sex would be like if…”

She trails off and Sansa knows that has nothing to do with being too shy to say it. She’s daring her to say it. Sansa holds her breath for a second before she can get it past her lips, “If you had a cock?”

That bloody crooked smirk is evident in Margaery’s tone. “That. Yes.”

Sansa smooths fingertips down the button border of her dress. “You were right though. We manage pretty good without.”

“No, I know.” She pauses. “There are possibilities though. If you’d be interested in giving that it try.”

“How?”

“There’s appendages you can put on yourself.”

The warmth spreading through her abdomen creeps up her neck. “Have you ever…?”

“No. But I have been told it’s fun.”

Sansa swallows. “I can imagine.”

A breathy laugh sounds from Margaery, vibrates through Sansa as if she was right there next to her, her warm breath right at her ear. “And just what are you imagining?”

“Fucking you like that.”

“Such a top.”

“I haven’t heard you complaining,” Sansa quips back.

“How would you fuck me?”

Sansa considers for a moment, thinks what it would be like to press her in the mattress like that. Or to have Margaery on top of her. Then another image appears in her mind and she hears herself saying, “From behind.”

“On the bed? Me on all fours?”

“No,” Sansa gives back, soaking up the anticipation for a long few seconds. “I’d bend you over the back of the couch.”

Margaery groans quietly. “Fuck, that’s sexy.”

“Yeah.”

“I bet you would fuck me hard, wouldn’t you?” Margaery’s voice sounds a little ragged, almost like when they— “Grip my hips and pound into me?”

Searing hot realisation rushes through Sansa. “Are you…” She can’t get the words out to overwhelmed with the idea. “Gods, you are, aren’t you?”

“Touching myself. Yes.”

For a moment Sansa just sits there, her core clenching almost unpleasantly with arousal. “Do you,” she licks dry lips, “do you do that often?”

“You have been pretty busy lately.”

She’s still touching herself. Sansa can tell just by the sound of her voice. “How often?”

“After I wake up. Before I go to sleep.”

“After we talk?”

She gives a quiet hum, like she does when Sansa finds that spot she really likes. “Sometimes in between, too.”

Sansa can’t help a smile. “That sounds slightly excessive.”

“I have a lot of free time on my hands these days. And you are on my mind a lot,” Margaery returns, the words coming out taut. “Don’t you ever?”

“No,” Sansa says quietly. “I wouldn’t even know…”

There are too many ways to end that sentence. When. Where. Only the how is somewhat clear in her mind.

“Give it a try tonight,” Margaery suggests and her voice turns yet a little tighter. “When you’re in the shower … Close your eyes and imagine I’m touching you. Imagine all the things you want us to do.”

“What do you imagine?”

“I imagine…” For a moment only heavy breathing sounds in her ear. “You on top of me. Sitting on my face. Your face buried between my legs.”

Sansa fingers trail over the skin of her cleavage and for just a second she dares to close her eyes, imagining it’s Margaery’s touch. With her soft breaths in her ear it almost works too. “That sounds nice.”

“It does, doesn’t it? We could make it a little competition. See who gets there faster.”

“And what does the winner get?”

“What would you want?”

“I’d like to watch you. Touching yourself.”

A first soft moan sounds through the line. “Gods, Sansa.”

She dares to slip beneath her dress, just far enough to reach the seam of her bra. “What are you, right now, tell me what you’re doing?”

“I’m on my couch. One leg up on the backrest. Rubbing my clit.”

“Are you dressed?”

“I’m in my bathrobe.”

Closing her eyes, Sansa can see her there, a toned leg up on the backrest. Painted toes curling. The edges of the bathrobe offering a generous glimpse at her cleavage. All the way down to her stomach. “Open it,” she presses out.

Margaery chuckles throatily. “You like to my tits, don’t you?”

The mild obscenity of her words rushes through Sansa. “I do.”

“My nipples are hard for you, darling.”

Sansa’s breath hitches when her fingers breech the fabric of her bra. She feels the flesh of her areola pebble beneath her touch, and imagines she’s touching Margaery.

“Would you like me to wait for you on that on Friday? Spread out here, getting ready for you?”

“Yes. Gods. Yes.”

“Tell me what you’d do to me,” Margaery pleads, like she has her so very close to the edge.

“Fuck you,” Sansa says rolling her nipple between her fingers. “Hard. Until you beg me to stop.”

She might bend her over the back of that couch after all. Appendage or not. Palm her ass, and keep her in place and fuck her until her legs will give out.

“As if I’d ever want you to stop,” Margaery laughs.

“I know. I never want to stop either.”

“Tell me, what you like about fucking me.”

“I love it. All of it. … Those, sounds you make. When you moan my name. “

“Sansa…”

“Yes,” she says with a satisfied breath of her own. “Just like that.”

She shifts in the chair and feels the slickness between her legs. For a second she considers following Margaery’s example, but doesn’t quite dare. Not here.

There’s only Margaery’s heavy breathing for a while before she says, “What else?”

“How you feel,” Sansa says, squeezing her eyes close a little firmer. “Soft. And then so strong wrapping around me. I love how you smell. How you taste.”

“I’m so close, darling.”

A lazy smile spreads over Sansa’s lips. “Go slow. Like I do.”

“I can’t. I’m—"

“Slow.”

Margaery breaths rings brittle, laced with frustration. “You’re a cruel woman.”

“And you’re needy.”

“As if you aren’t dripping wet.”

“I am every time we talk.”

Fresh undiluted lust laces Margaery’s voice, “You are?”

“Before I even pick up the phone,” Sansa says, a single finger teasing her breast. “Just in anticipation of hearing your voice.” She makes a pregnant pause, rejoicing the soft pants that bear proof that Margaery has given up any endeavour to hold back. “I get wet every time I think of you.” She hears her breath hitch. “And I think of you all day long.”

Margaery’s soft, throaty moan sends satisfaction through Sansa as if she’d just come herself.

For a small eternity afterwards it’s just soft contented breathing sounds, followed by soft rustling and Margaery’s husky, “You’re something else, you know that?”

Sansa chuckles as she slowly bats her eyes open. The reality of the stuffy, in dire need of a clean-up home office, isn’t as harsh as she deemed it would be. Not with arousal still tingling through her, with Margaery’s voice and breaths still softly in her ear. “I think that one’s on you.”

“I can’t wait to see you Friday.”

“Neither can I.” She traces the edges of an almost forgotten daybook. The deadline is only next week. And she made good progress today. And Jon will still be gone for a while. She’d really be a fool to let this chance pass her by. For something as dull as taxes nonetheless. “What would you say—"

A car door sounds outside and sends Sansa lurching forward in the office chair. Craning her head, sure enough she finds Jon’s truck parked out in the driveway. She didn’t even hear him in the rain.  That could have gone really wrong, really fast. Her face burns when he spots her through the window and waves. The idea of how he would have found her here just a minute ago, is mortifying.

Margaery reads her abrupt halting correctly. “You need to go?

“I’m afraid so,” Sansa says, pressing a hand to her still warm cheek.

The door to the office opens and Jon sticks his head in time with Margaery’s sighed, “Well, I should really get myself dressed.”

Sansa signals Jon to wait, as she tells Margaery, a bit stiffer than usual. “I really cannot thank you enough for calling.”

“The pleasure was all mine, love.”

The softly mewled words, in contrast to her husband right there looking at her, is more of a turn on than it should be.

Sansa hesitates a moment, then she says, “I swear I didn’t even notice dropping it.” She covers the mouthpiece, but not enough so Margaery won’t hear her the words directed at Jon. “I lost my wallet at the store. Someone found it.”

Margaery laughs at the insolence. “You are something else.”

Sansa bites the insides of her cheeks not to smile. “Would it be alright if I came to pick it up this afternoon? Say in half an hour?”

“Then I suppose I shouldn’t get dressed?"

Getting to her feet, Sansa smooths out her dress, giving Jon a smile as she tells Margaery, “Yes, I’d prefer that.”

[vullcanica]

“You’re like a big, dirty raccoon.” (Affectionate — for Nik 💖)

 "Half your fault."

 And he has the audacity of one too, stretched in full over their little garden swing, hands dirty up to the forearm and head pillowed sweetly onto an inviting lap. Grinning. There's a growing stain on one pristine linen sleeve where he's lovingly stroking his husband's wrist. Since Antonìn doesn't move, he takes it as acquiescence.

 "If you didn't want some awful cretin bare-fisting your begonia dirt, you shouldn't have invited him in the garden at all." A playful dig. But he doesn't mean it. Not really. Not with the smooth purr of his voice at its most content. Left with a pleasant ache from hours of gardenwork, he's laid out his achy bones and sweat-soaked meat and secured a worm's-eye vantage to Antonín's fondly exasperated smile. Resting, simple as that. It's warm out. They have homemade lemonade on the little glass-top table nearby. There's a sunbeam caught in one loose silvered strand of hair up above, perfectly sundialling something like ten in the morning. It might be heaven.

 His weight heaves gently, ankle anchored over the swing's armrest, and a hip pops out long-overdue tension. God, but he's getting old. "He might need some upgrades soon, if he's to catch up with you." Perhaps it's time to get it over with and get his bones nailed down secure...

 With the huff of a satisfied bear stealing his coherence, he turns to bury his nose in Antonín's warm belly and rests his eyes. The arm he's stolen tucks securely under his chin. Ah, he'll wash the stain out himself later.

[ravusnightblossom]

ooc; The move is done. (Well, the items are out and currently taking up space elsewhere, I should say, but that's irrelevant.) Unwinding and unpacking amidst housework/gardenwork/yardwork, but Ravioli should be waking back up here, slowly.

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Ya they have a little garden, Sarah grows the roses she talked about and drives a white Range Rover that Simon bought her to be funny (yummy mummy stereotype). Perhaps an apple tree out front that they take a family pic in front of every year. The cottage is thatched which Simon hates because it’s high maintenance and expensive but Sarah loves it because cottagecore and she’s in her Home Counties era

This is again 100 % legit (yummy mummy 🥲)

The first thing that came to my mind when I imagined the cottage was that it's painted white and has a thatched roof my GOD it would be so disgustingly cute! Apple pies cooking in the oven in the autumn, peach pies when it's spring.

And her cottagecore would get so out of hand! She wants to plant like a hundred spring bulbs (tulips) and Simon has to help her with that. Groaning he has back pains and he just came from work and wants to relax for a bit but his wife is enthusing over the bulbs she ordered and now they've arrived so out he goes to get this thing done... Sarah follows with the box and an overjoyed grin on her face 🌷

Then he has to make love to her after that because she's just glowing from gardenwork 💗 and of course he groans some more about the back pain (doesn't really mind it at that point but he likes to whine when the house and the garden and the babies and his wife are so much work... in all honesty that's his way of saying he's the happiest man in the world)

[serve-303]

me doing some gardenwork in pvc

[rwbyazre]

What types of Dust are in your world?

There's the eight natural Dust types:

Fire Dust

Names: Fire Dust, Burn Dust (Informal), Pulvis Ignis (Scientific Name)

Description: A deep red crystal in its natural form, Fire Dust is one of the most common Dust types found naturally, along with water, rock and electric. It's highly explosive compared to others, emits small embers even when not in use, and has a burning wood smell.

Uses: Fire Dust is used in most industries and households, being used in the heating systems of buildings, ovens, metalworking, and even in personal use for quick firestarters, though its highly volatile nature deters it from being used casually.

When used in weapons, Fire Dust generates a blast of fire that burns anything it comes into contact with, able to create harsh burns that can easily scar.

Blake can use it with her cloning Semblance to creat fire clones that explode on impact.

Water Dust

Names: Water Dust, Pulvis Aqua (Scientific Name)

Description: A dark blue crystal in its natural form, Water Dust is one of the most common Dust types found naturally, but is usually found in wetter environments such as lakes, underwater caves, and riverbeds. Unlike Fire Dust, Water Dust is one of the most stable Dust types, being safer to mine and transport, and secretes small amounts of fluid in any form.

Uses: Water Dust is mostly used in agriculture and in drier environments to kickstart water sources. Firefighters prefer using Water Dust as opposed to actual water, as it's a lighter and more manuverable source of water.

It's one of the few Dust types not to be used in weaponry, as its effect isn't very useful in combat, and is replaced by others.

Blake can use Water Dust with her cloning Semblance to create water clones that collapse on impact, but can trap attackers inside for a second.

Rock Dust

Names: Rock Dust, Earth Dust, Ground Dust, Pulvis Terra (Scientific Name)

Description: A brown crystal in its natural form, Rock Dust is one of the most common Dust types found naturally, with the widest range of environments that it can form naturally. Only volatile when introduced to a trigger, it cannot grow near Fire Dust naturally, as the close proximity would cause a chain reaction that destroys the vein. It also smells herby.

Uses: Rock Dust is mostly used in construction and can be mixed with Water Dust to make cement. Some people even use it to landsculpt as it can quickly generate ground and rockbeds, helping with gardenwork and even rebuilding destroyed habitats.

When used in weapons, Rock Dust can generate rocky barriers that can hold off attackers, giving the person time to counterattack or escape.

Blake can use Earth Dust with her cloning Semblance to create Rock clones that can withstand more damage, also making good statues that can pin people down if their attack connects with Blake just as she uses her Semblance.

Electric Dust

Names: Electric Dust, Lightning Dust (Informal), Pulvis Fulgus (Scientific Name)

Description: A bright yellow crystal in its natural form, Electric Dust is one of the four most common Dust types found naturally, being located in higher altitudes in mountainsides. Even in its unrefined form, Electric Dust glows brighter than the other types, and gives off small smounts of static that can shock people who handle without the appropriate PPE.

Uses: Electric Dust is used to power everything in Remnant that uses electricity, as well as being used in batteries, electronics and machinery and electric cars.

When used in weaponry, Electric Dust can shock and stun an attacker, causing seizures and even render them unconcious if hit for long enough.

Blake can use Electric Dust with her cloning Semblance to create Electric clones that explode and shock anything attacking her.

Ice Dust

Names: Ice Dust, Glacial Dust, Cold Dust (A childish name), Pulvis Glacies (Scientific Name)

Description: A pale blue crystal in its natural form, Ice Dust is a rarer Dust type due to needing freezing cold temperatures and wet environments to form, typically forming under ice lakes and rivers in Solitas. Because of this, Ice Dust is more commonly used in Atlesian weaponry than any other kingdom. It emits a fog around it in any form, and is freezing cold to the touch, meaning that contact to bare skin would induce freezerburn.

Uses: Ice Dust is used mostly in coolants, especially in Dust refineries to keep the machinery from overheating. Older fridges and appliances used Ice Dust since it was more abundant, but with the depletion of this type of crystal and its mining difficulty, the far more common Electric Dust was used to power man made coolants instead, though these aren't as effective.

When used in weaponry, Ice Dust can create an ice sheet or formations that the user can use to form barriers, temporary platforms, or to freeze attackers in place.

Blake can use Ice Dust with her cloning Semblance to create Ice clones, which like Rock clones, can take more damage than other clones and pin attackers in place. However, while Rock Dust crumbles under pressure, Ice Dust bursts into fog when hit, reducing visibility.

Gravity Dust

Names: Gravity Dust, Pulvis Gravitas (Scientific Name)

Description: A dark purple crystal in its natural form, Gravity Dust is the rarest Dust type of the main eight, only forming near the poles of Remnant due to a higher magnetic field. Some Gravity deposits form along the northern and southern coasts of both Anima and Sanus, but Menagerie has the highest concentration outside of the poles due to being the most southern continent.

Gravity Dust emits magnetic pulses that can mess with compasses and electronics, and can cause small enough particles to float around it.

Uses: Due to its rarity and lack of application in modern society, Gravity Dust isn't used very much in day to day life in Remnant. Instead, natural floating islands around the world form when large enough deposits form in the earth. Building settlements on these islands is problematic however, due to the magnetic waves messing with most electronics, rendering many aircrafts unsuitable to fly near.

In weaponry, many use Gravity Dust to be able to recall dual weapons, putting it in a ring on their weapons or on themselves to quickly recall it. This use can also help users to traverse harsh terrain by using this attraction to pull themselves over obstacles.

Gravity Dust is the only dust that Blake can't use with her cloning Semblance, as the distortion effects would mess with her clones too much and end up ripping them apart.

Wind Dust

Names: Wind Dust, Air Dust (Informal), Pulvis Ventus (Scientific Name)

Description: A greenish-blue crystal in its natural form, Wind Dust is the only Dust that requires air to form, and so cannot form underground. This makes Wind Dust easier to find, but more vulnerable to exposure to the elements that can damage the vein. Its unique composition makes it lighter than other crystals of similar sizes, and cannot shatter if thrown or dropped.

Uses: Wind Dust is too powerful to be used in households, but is often used in industry fans and ventilation. Wind Dust is also used in airships to help with upforce, as it's cheaper and more available than the more volatile Gravity Dust.

In weaponry, Wind Dust can generate strong winds that can blow attackers and obstacles away from the user.

Wind Dust can also be used with Blake's cloning Semblance to create Wind clones that can propel her further, as well as generate powerful gales when destroyed.

Metal Dust

Names: Metal Dust, Steel Dust (Informal), Pulvis Metallum (Scientific Name)

Description: A shiny metallic crystal in its natural form, Metal Dust is the most recently discovered form of naturally occuring Dust. A rare type, it has only started forming after the Industrial Burst that triggered different composition in the earth. Shortly after, Metal Dust started to form from the far more common Rock Dust, but only around settlements with high activity.

Uses: Metal Dust is used for, well, metalworking. It can be used to reinforce already existing metal, making it stronger and more durable. This means that most of the things using metal in modern Remnant is far stronger and durable compared to its pre-MD counterparts.

It can't be used in weaponry, however, but can be applied to weapons to strength the metalwork and improve it.

Blake can use Metal Dust with her cloning Semblance to make metallic clones, the strongest type that also work as a conduit for Electric Dust attacks.

Atlas also developed new forms of Dust by combining preexisiting Dust types. These are:

Steam Dust

Steam Dust is created when combined with Fire and Water. It's a blue - pink gradient with pale streaks through it, and emits small amounts of steam in its refined form.

When used, it creates thick jets of hot steam. The steam can be used in power generation, and even in places like bathhouses and saunas to create warmer steam. Since it's formed by two very common Dust types, Steam Dust is fairly easy and cheap to obtain.

Combustion Dust

Combustion Dust is created by combining Fire and Rock Dust. It's a red - brown gradient with brighter orange tips that burn hotter, being hotter than Rock Dust and requiring PPE gloves to handle.

When used, it creates an explosion far more powerful than those created by Fire Dust alone. Because of this, Combustion Dust is often used in explosive and demolition. Similar to Steam Dust, Combustion Dust is made of two very common Dust types, but are more expensive due to its volatile nature making it even more dangerous to make.

Plant Dust

Plant Dust is created by combining Water and Rock Dust. It's a brown - green gradient with a more textured top, similar to moss.

When used, it creates small plantlife in the area that it's used. This new Dust type revitalised the agriculture industry, allowing settlements in more harsher environments to be able to grow food and plants necessary for survival. Environmentalists have taken Plant Dust to try and revitalise habitats that've been damaged in the past, bringing countless species back from the brink of extinction.

Just like the other hybrid Dust types, Plant Dust is made of two very common Dust types. Unlike the volatile nature of Combustion Dust, Plant Dust is very stable, but requires a more humid environment during transport to avoid drying out, making it harder to use in deserts and dry habitats.

Hard Light Dust

Hard Light is created by combining three different Dust types; Electric, Gravity and Metal, compared to the two types that other hybrid Dust use. It's a cyan colour with a faint grid pattern over it, often emitting a brighter light than other Dust due to its Electric Dust composition.

The newest form of hybrid Dust, Hard Light is used to create a barrier of light that can block most attacks, and is mostly used in Atlas' defenses. Incredibly rare and new, only Atlas uses this Dust type, with Hard Light being the most expensive Dust type on the market.

That's all the Dust types in AZRE Remnant as of right now. There might be more if I'm feeling more creative, but thanks for asking!