#its the plant again it did not survive much longer

[sleepsucks]

[sp00kymulderr]

Rise

Joel Miller x afab!reader

Warnings/Tags: 18+. Jackson Joel, Touch starved Joel, Lonely old man Joel. Too much religious imagery. Feelings, feelings, feelings. References to sex. Unedited.

Words: 700~

Summary: You are a brightness, Joel is the undeserving dark.

He hadn’t meant to stare, he really hadn’t.

The thing is, you were just so mesmerizing. The way you laughed and the way you danced and the way you could shine so bright in a world he had rarely known to be anything but cruel.

Jackson brought that out of people, Joel recognised that. The ability to let go finally, to live for more than survival. You had been half the bright star you are now when you first arrived; wary and traumatised. He knew those feelings well. Why had he held on to them for so much longer than anyone else?

You were like the antithesis to him: easy to know, easy to love, creating something out of the nothing your life had once been. You were well liked. Joel liked you more, he thought, but people saw you as someone they could talk to.

Tommy often told Joel he was respected in Jackson, appreciated. But it was never the same. He doesn’t have that glow, that brilliance. People know him. No one knows him. Not since Ellie had started to grow away from him, started to doubt him more…

No, not now. Those thoughts aren’t for now.

Right now, this moment, is for reverence. How had this happened? He had been staring more than he should last night at The Tipsy Bison. How had that lead you to be in his bed this morning? He could barely remember; the night a blur of things he didn’t think he should have been allowed to see. He had bought you a drink, you had given him a dance. And then more, and more. You had given him so much more.

Joel is staring again, your resting form so resplendent in the early morning light. So…divine…there’s no other word for it. You were made to be worshiped, he’s sure of it. Being of blazing light brought down to shine on his dimmed world.

When was the last time he had been touched before you? God, he truly doesn’t remember. Certainly not the way you touch; softness of your fingers paving the way for a needy grip on him, he wouldn’t forget that touch. He had been craving it for too long, imagining. Thought upon thought of what a thing your touch could be but he was never prepared for the reality of it.

Joels own hands find their way to you, fingers skimming the bare skin of your lower back. Unworthy. So defiant that his unworthy hands - so rough from years of wear - should get to lay a place on your body.

The word repeats again and again. Unworthy. Unworthy. Unworthy.

And yet last night you had told him in the silken whisper of your moans and pleas. Worthy. Worthy. Worthy.

His calloused hand travels its way slowly up the path of your back. A pilgrimage across a body meant for more than him. The rise and fall of your breath breathes fresh air in to the staleness of his home.

Of his heart.

What did he do to deserve this? What mistake did you make to let him have this?

Grey and alone and aching in ways that go beyond physical. But you were the one who kissed him first. You were the first to touch, to feel where he had not been felt in longer than he knew.

Joel leans slowly across to you. Those harsh fingers of his trailing down the curve of your waist. He dares to plant a pious kiss to your shoulder. Surely soon you’ll wake and realise the mistake?

“Joel” You moan. A soft little thing that makes his heart jump. The same way you’d spoke it last night while he’d had you on his lap, when he’d told you to come and you had like he should have any say in anything you did.

Fuck. He is undeserving of all of this but his greedy heart wants more. Hungry mouth wants to take you apart on it over and over again. Eager fingers itching to feel their way around every beautiful, delicate crook of your body.

He breathes your name back. You turn to him. Surely now is the time you tell him it was wrong. Now…

Joel’s breath catches as you turn to face him, pull him to you. He practically trembles as your lips meet again.

This can’t last forever. He doesn’t deserve it.

It means too much.

He means too little.

You kiss him again. He feels the glow of you everywhere.

This can’t last forever, he reminds himself.

[morverenmaybewrites]

Masterlist of My Works

Morveren | AO3

This is a personal blog, but I do take the occasional ask/requests. SFW asks only, please.

Genshin Impact

Stories:

✸ Someday, Somewhere (Xiao x Reader) (AO3)

You meet Adeptus Xiao under strange new skies.

✸ Speak (Xiao x Reader) (AO3)

Learning to love him is like learning a different language.

✸ Silk Flowers (Xiao x Reader) (Tumblr | AO3)

It was the silk flowers.

In summer time, they are practically given away: to seamstresses, to scribes, or perhaps, woven into the hair of a well-known customer. The token of a bargain well-struck.

Xiao claims not to be bothered by them, that adepti are above petty mortal concerns like jealousy.

Perhaps he is right, and you are reading too much into it.

But perhaps, as you are slowly learning, adepti are closer to humans than they’d like to admit.

You decide to test this theory.

"Xiao, if you hate the flowers so much," you say, smiling. "Why not take them off?"

✸ A Crown of Bone (Zhongli x Reader) (Tumblr | AO3)

Imagine being a changeling child and living your life in quiet yearning.

You had been found in the dead of winter, or so your mother tells you, a half-fey child abandoned in a snowbank.

Imagine a lifetime of secrets: your first memories are of a spring that does not belong to the mortal realm. You dream of golden eyes gleaming at you from the darkness as your mother picked you up and carried you away.

Imagine keeping these things to yourself, tucked away against the curve of your ribs, right next to your slow-beating heart. Secrets that are half-yearning and half-memory: someone had left you there in that snowbank, and there are days that you think that they did not do so willingly.

And you hope that one day, they will find you again

Headcanons:

✶Imagine Zhongli as Your Reincarnated Lover (Zhongli x Reader) (Tumblr)

✶ Imagine Being Kaeya's Childhood Friend (Kaeya Alberich x Reader) (Tumblr)

✶ Diluc x Fatui Reader (Diluc Ragnvindr x Reader) (Tumblr)

Batman: Arkham and DC

Stories:

✸ The Pizza Delivery Girl's Survival Guide to Gotham City (Jason Todd x Reader) (AO3)

People who lived outside of Gotham City would most often think of it in terms of its heroes and villains. About Batman and Robin, Joker and Harley Quinn.

People who actually live in Gotham City would only think of one thing: surviving.

Who cares about the people in costumes when your house has been bombed for the fifth time, or your wife has been taken hostage just because she worked in a bank?

Or, in your case, when you have to make regular deliveries to places where even Batman feared to tread?

Because let's face it. In a world full of superheroes and costumed villains, the real heroes are the ones who make sure that people get their pizzas in forty-five minutes or less.

✸ His Father's Son (Jason Todd x Reader, Dark Fantasy!AU) (AO3)

Gotham City: the world’s last and greatest bastion of magic. A city made out of spells and twisting steel.

And the only place where the dead can be brought back to life.

After Jason Todd had been forcibly resurrected by his father, he left Gotham City in search of a new life. One where he did not have to be constantly reminded that he now sits on the border between the monstrous and the miraculous. One where he could forget that no longer quite belongs in the world of the living.

But when a strange new curse surfaces, one that causes plants to take root inside of living people and leaving flowering corpses in its wake, Jason finds that he must come back and help solve the case before it devours the city whole.

✸ Rules of Vanishing (Jason Todd x Reader) (AO3)

Here are the rules to survive as a civilian in Gotham City:

The first rule is to keep your head down. Don't draw attention to yourself. Don't make eye contact. Walk briskly and with purpose. Don't wear anything flashy that can be stolen and most certainly do not walk down that dark alley.

The second rule is don't be a hero. Avoid confrontations. Walk the other way when you see a standoff. Don't try to help that man getting beat up in the alley, because odds are you'll get killed right along with him. Gotham City has Batman for a reason.

The third and most important rule is this: Don't get involved with superheroes.

Or in your case, gun-toting vigilantes.

✸ Next to Last (Jason Todd x Reader) (AO3)

After Batman’s death, Jason is left to pick up the pieces.

✸Revenant (Creature!Jason x Reader) (Tumblr)

Headcanons:

✶ Imagine Dark Fantasy!Gotham City (Tumblr)

✶How would Jason react to having his face traced (Jason Todd x Reader) (Tumblr)

✶ Domestic Headcanons (Jason Todd x Reader) (Tumblr)

✶ Eurydice! Jason Todd and Orpheus! Reader (Jason Todd x Reader (Tumblr)

✶ Jason Todd's life outside of work (Gen) (Tumblr)

✶ Jason Todd's day to day life (Gen, mild Jason Todd x Reader) (Tumblr)

✶ Imagine Wayne Manor as a Haunted House (Bruce Wayne x Reader) (Tumblr)

✶ Sleeping Arrangements (Jason Todd x Reader) (Tumblr)

✶ What kind of praise/compliments Jason would be fine with? (Jason Todd x Reader) (Tumblr)

✶ What freaks him out most in a relationship? (Jason Todd x Reader) (Tumblr)

✶ Jealousy and Insecurity Headcanons (Jason Todd x Reader) (Tumblr)

✶ What lesson about love are they still trying to learn? (Jason Todd x Reader) (Tumblr)

✶ How has their understanding of love changed? (Jason Todd x Reader) (Tumblr)

Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia

✸ Stolen (Hawks | Keigo Takami x Reader) (AO3)

He is five years old when he decides to be a hero. It is not as simple learning to fly nor is it as easy as saving people.

But he does not know that yet.

Snapshots of Hawks’ life from child to hero to something else in between.

Jujutsu Kaisen

✸ Made New (Kento Nanami x Reader) (Tumblr) (AO3)

Your husband, Kento Nanami, comes back home after Shibuya. Only he isn't quite the same.

[lemonswoop]

Stray is one of my top 10 games of all time, so I decided to do a little replay to remind myself why I love it so much.

Full journal entry under the cut

Stray

Start date:8/18

End date: 8/27

Platform: Steam Deck

Hours played: 14

Rating: 5/5

On the day I finished Stray I sat back and said "I can feel this game is going to be very special to me." It's an odd game to be in my top 10 games of all time. I knew the simple concept of playing as a little cat (with me being a huge cat lover) would be an instant favorite, but I didn't expect that the message of the game would hit a particular soft spot in my heart.

What I thought would be a silly little cat sim set in a cyberpunk city turned out to be a twist on the classic dystopian future filled with hope, love and the beauty of the human spirit.

The game starts off with a cat falling into a walled slums of a domed society where humans have been dead for thousands of years. Our tiny cat protagonist meets the very last known human in existence, B12, a scientist whose consciousness gets uploaded into a tiny drone. Disease and plague ravaged the futuristic city, leaving nothing but memories and the robot companions programed to serve its lost inhabitants. But something special happened;

In the forsaken slums, gritty and filled with despair, hope thrived before the humans passed. When energy was capped, rebellion lit up the city with neon lights. When things seemed bleak, humans created art, tended to thriving plants, and hugged their loved ones tight. They went to bars to get sloppy drunk and laugh off the dark times with friends.

They Lived.

"Humans often said that making art is important in desperate situations. There are certainly desperate times."

Humans may have passed, but humanity lived on in the companion robots who gained sentience. The only models they had was what humanity had left behind for them. In the lowest levels of society is where the beautiful parts of humanity survived. The robot citizens didn't need to eat, wear clothes, love one another, but they did so because of the examples that were left for them. They fostered a community to protect one another all while dreaming of it all being better somehow.

The main goal of a small group was to open up the domed city, see the blue sky and go back to the long abandoned outside. It's what the humans would have wanted, and a place the robots have only ever heard about in stories.

One of my favorite aspects of the game is that while it reaches far beyond the scope of a little cat plot-wise, the cat represented a larger theme of hope for better still existing and it was time to start trying to reach it again. The cat inspired brave and bold actions in the robots, all resulting in finally reaching the top of the walled city. A sterile place where the rich and powerful operation controllers all lived; now gone. And in that city no culture, no art, no humanity survived. The robots were just robots, forever following the last directive they were given before humanity perished.; A pristine wasteland.

B12, the last human, sacrifices himself to take down the system and open the walled city to the bright blue sky. No longer did B12 feel the need to carry the weight of humanities past because they never left. They just belonged to a new society lovingly passed down. A future existed where our best qualities as a collective are what survived.

Sometimes I feel as if the beautiful message of this game gets overlooked, which is a shame when its a message I feel we all can use when the world at large feels bleak.

Nothing is ever wasted or in vain. The beauty of humanity is in what we leave behind. Even the small and whimsical things that only exist to bring us joy; they all matter.

Making music, art, reading, tending to a garden, hugging a loved one, holding onto hope... and yes, loving and finding companionship in a little cat.

"But I see a future in the companions, and in you."

[lordgrimwing]

The Big 5-0-0

(Or, Glorfindel has a gift for his husband)

[for Glorfindel Week, hosted by @glorfindelweek, Day 7]

“Five hundred years!” Exclaimed the shocked tavern keeper.

Glorfindel shrugged as he helped the Man lift the roasted lamb from the cooking fire that also heated the dining room. “Five hundred years is not so long for elves.”

The Man scoffed, taking up a towel in one hand and pushing the steaming carcass from the spit. She wagged a finger at him. “For an Elf with a thousand years ahead of him, maybe, but any marriage that endures longer than kingdoms ought to be celebrated to the fullest.”

A thousand more years felt like pitifully little time to Glorfindel. He certainly would take every opportunity to celebrate every memory if he knew his time in Arda was so limited. How Men, who were lucky if they lived within a stone’s throw of one hundred, went their whole lives without bursting into song and dance in celebration of existence, he’d never understand. 

“I saw that horse you rode here on, so don’t bother saying you don’t have the means to throw a proper party.”

Asfaloth, being an Elvish steed, demanded a certain level of finary when he went out. The bells, however, were entirely Glorfindel’s idea.

“Erestor detests parties, and he says adorning a horse in gems and bells will get me killed—again!” 

She snorted at the jest, passing Glorfindel a platter for the meat he was stripping from the bones, unbothered by the heat that would burn her hands. “And in five hundred years, have you learned only what he dislikes and nothing of what he likes?”

He smiled softly. He knew much of what his beloved liked.

“Should I call all those men back in and ask them to recount tales of wives whose husbands didn’t bring them an anniversary gift?” The tavern keeper threatened. 

She’d cleared the dining room of local patrons until the meal was ready. The gleaming Elf-lord had garnered more raucous attention than she liked when it was her building, table, and chairs at risk, and it hadn’t felt right to ask him to wait in his room until everyone was distracted by good food. The other Men went willingly enough, though Glorfindel could still clearly hear them milling about outside.

“That won’t be necessary, good lady,” he said. “Duty brought me this way, but I made time to find something he will treasure.” He patted the purse tied to his belt.

She shot the purse a dubious look, doubtlessly skeptical that anything that fit in a small bag could adequately encompass the magnitude of a couple’s 500th wedding anniversary. 

“Well,” she settled on. “Don’t say no one warned you if he kicks you out on your ear.”

--

When Glorfindel finally arrived in Imladris, Erestor met him in the narrow pass leading down into the valley, too impatient to wait longer.

“My brightest night star!” Glorfindel said, alighting from Asfaloth’s saddle to sweep the loremaster into his arms. He planted a kiss on his forehead, thrilled by the absence of an audience to their reunion: Erestor disliked people kissing in public almost as much as he disliked parties. “Oh, how I’ve missed you.”

Erestor huffed but did not pull away. Reaching up, he pulled Glorfindel’s head down to return the kiss, leaving his husband blushing with excitement. 

“You took your time, Dandelion,” the black-haired Elf accused when they separated. “Elrond expected you back a fortnight ago.”

“I admit to tarrying longer than needed for the task he gave me,” Glorfindel said, leading the dusty stallion as the lovers continued down the path hand-in-hand. “But I promise it was not without reason.”

“It had better be a good reason, and not just that you had to climb some mountain to return one of Manwë’s foolish birds to its nest.”

Erestor was with him on that particular occasion, about fifty years before they married, though he had no interest in scaling the last cliffs to return the unfledged eagle to her home. Glorfindel insisted on it, knowing the young bird couldn’t survive the fast-approaching thunderstorm alone in the open and was too wild to keep in with them until the weather cleared. Trusting his skill and light step, Glorfindel climbed alone, the bird wrapped in a cloth to keep her wings and talons contained and secured in a sack over his shoulder, only her head poking out. The task wouldn’t have been challenging if not for the storm. He made it back to the sheltered test just fine, reassuring the flustered eagle parents with a song as he freed their lost eaglet. On the way down, however, his hands split on the rain-soaked stones and fell—only a few feet down to the next ledge, true, but it was enough to leave his heart pounding and senses ringing with the echos of dragon-thunder and flash of balrog-whips overlaying the storm. 

Erestor threatened to knock him out and tie him up the next time such madness came over him when he eventually made it back to safety, dripping wet and jumping at every clash of thunder that came too close. Glorfindel agreed to let him.

“Oh, no, you will find this delay was entirely to your liking,” he promised.

“A lofty claim, indeed,” Erestor said. “I will require proof.”

“When we are both safely home and done with our duties, I will show you.”

--

Glorfindel was sitting, comfortable and cozy, in bed with his embroidery when something hard bounced off his head and landed on the covers next to him.

“I cannot believe you!” 

Erestor’s sitting in an armchair by the window, using the last rays of the setting sun to inspect his gift—Or he had been. Currently, he was standing, slate tablet in one hand, the other still extended from slinging the little dog figurine from the side table at the golden-haired fool sitting in bed. His face was scrunched up, mouth pinched like he’d bitten into a lemon (except he usually had too much self-control to ever react to the unassuming citrus, but the comparison was good enough). 

“Where did you find this? How did you find this?” He brandished the old slate aggressively, for a moment looking as though he might throw it too.

Glorfindel set aside his project. “Is it not to your liking?” 

Perhaps he’d misjudged entirely and he would end up out on his ear just like the tavern keeper warned.

“Not to my liking? Not to my liking?” Erestor lifted the tablet high, gesturing to the small drawings on it with his other hand. “Sunflower, The elf who made these stories died four thousand years ago. How did you come by this?”

He sounded more shocked than angry, and Glorfindel relaxed. “Through much patience and the exchanging of many letters with various collectors of first age relics. I made a detour to collect that on the way back. That’s what delayed my return.”

“Did it not cost a small fortune? I spied no gems missing from your horse’s daft accoutrements.” 

A grin broke across Glorfindel’s face. “I dare say it is worth as much to you.”

Softness spread across his husband’s face and he touched the old slate now with tender, almost reverent fingers as he caressed the time-warn drawings. His eyes clouded with old memories of the past rarely recalled from the careful places he stored them in. “I laughed over this depiction of Lords Celegorm and Curufin when it was only days old! I helped Vekkawë hide his collection in our mattresses when Captain Crímainya came to destroy the ‘defaming misinformation’. I thought I’d never see one again after the Valar sank Beleriand.”

Eyes clearing, he brought the tablet, with its child-like depiction of long-gone beloved lords, to his chest and said, “This is a great treasure. No fortune can take it from me.”

Glorfindel laughed. “I’m glad the Dwarf I bought it from did not know the true value, then, for I am not sure I could have gotten it honestly for that price and would not have departed without it.”

Erestor snorted, muttering “Six pounds of that hideous tack you insist on dressing your horse in would have covered it, no doubt” as he turned away for a moment of privacy to wipe his eyes clear before he accidentally shed tears over the small remnant of his past.

“Asfaloth cannot be parted from his gems when he is afield.” 

Glorfindel opened his arms, and Erestor—after setting the tablet carefully on the side table like it was as fragile as a hollow dove egg and not slab or stone almost as old as the world itself that had survived devastations and travesties unnumbered—fell into his embrace. 

They spent the rest of the night in bed, though neither got much sleep.

[biscuitbox23]

Dead weight.

summary: you run into the woods to get away from the group, you were reaching the end of your life as you suffer from aplastic anemia, only to get stopped by Rick.

A/n: I’m not a medical expert, i have no familiarity with the field of medicine I am just an idiot who is a sucker for terribly made sad stories. This may be a very long opening to the actual climax so im sorry for that :( please do DM me for advice on how i can make my fanfictions better!

Warnings: inaccurate depictions of the illness, non-established relationship (rick and reader), mentions of death, angst, cursing. (Not much due to me being a minor.) somewhat bad grammar since English isn’t my second language.

words: 1.3K

It has been a while, well, a while since you had a good stock of medicine. You had been in an abandoned cabin a few months after the outbreak. During it, you got stuck in a pharmacy in Atlanta. The law was gone now, so you hoarded a ton of antibiotics, capsules, injections, and anything you could get your grubby hands on.

When Rick and Daryl saved you from a trio of men who were trying to take advantage of you, you joined them and did not stay inside forever, especially when blood stained the floors of your shelter. It was a mistake.

You wanted to stay with yourself, isolated from the horrors and sacrifices that the world has offered now. It was harder to find medication now that most stores were stripped clean. It was easier for you to catch minor fevers, and you tended to have more rest than the others in the group. The only reason you were there is because you knew how to survive.

In the woods, in the apocalypse, no problem. Whatever your dad knew your dad would teach you, he was an outdoor person and loved to forage different shrooms and plants. God knows what happened to him.

You grew closer to the group, helping them find food and clean water, scavenging what you can find in abandoned retail stores (even if it does not have much importance.)

Now you find yourself walking out of Alexandria by attempting to climb the steel borders to the outside of the wall, your head spinning as drowsiness has consumed you to your very core, yet you still have the urge to continue. Or else you are just dead weight. You had a few foot slips —you swear, Enid makes it look easy— but managed to get out. You can sense your muscles aching as if you did not even have the strength to pull yourself up despite climbing trees more than a million times when you were a teen. You needed to disappear 

from the people, the group. Rick.

Rick was a leader, for sure. He had all the correct morals and cunningness and looked up to him for it. You were no longer the person of any use to him and his group. You could not even defend yourself without stumbling down to the ground.

You were around when T-dog and Lori passed away. You 

remembered falling for Rick when you first saw him, only to discover he had a pregnant wife and a kid. It started like a rocky road. You were so used to the isolation that it took a lot of convincing to get you to come with them to the prison.

You took a liking to his daughter Judith. You loved babies. It was a surprise. You thought that you would never find a baby in this world again. Carl was the closest to you. You tell him stories about your life and would do the same, reminiscing about the world that used to be. He praised his father a lot and got a good idea of what Rick was like as a father. Hershel would check up on your health while Rick would stand beside the old sport as Hershel examines you.

Making your way into the woods, you stopped by a tree to take a breather. Your hands were on your knees as you stared down to the ground, crinkles of the leaves crushing on the bottom of your shoes. The night was cold and airy. The chill on the tip of your nose was evident as you took one more glance at the haven that shielded the real outside world from its inhabitants. The sour stench of rotting meat was not detectable and gave some fresh air — It is not like you cannot get fresh air in Alexandria. You want to be alone most of the time.

“thought I'd find you here." A voice called out, the voice echoing in your ears sounding familiar as the crunching of leaves has gotten closer and closer.

“fuck” you curse under your breath, “how did you find me?”

“Carl saw you tryin’ to climb the walls.”

“huh,” you playfully scoffed but was met with a chill and a cough, “thought I was being sneaky…”

“what're you doin’ out here?” Rick asks out of the blue, staring you up and down as you lean back into the tree.

“Rick," you sighed heavily, “go back.”

“I'm not goin’ back till you tell me what happened, y‘know that, don’t you?” Rick asked with a twinge of concern mixed with his southern drawl.

You paused.

“I'm leaving, Alexandria,” You rubbed your forehead as your stomach grumbled. Sliding down to sit as your back leaned onto the tree further.

“If this is about your illness we can make—“Before Rick could finish his sentence you interrupted.

“Make it work? Yeah, I don’t think so…” You retorted, “You don’t understand, Rick. I have a condition where my bone marrow doesn't produce enough blood cells, and I have no meds to help me, what are the chances of finding a pharmacy? A pharmacy where it has all the things I need to survive?” You spat, frustration filling your mind like hot liquid.

“Denise can help you, Y/n, you have seen her efforts in helping you,” You can sense Rick’s desperation to get you back to Alexandria’s infirmary. His voice remained gentle but firm.

“Why, Rick?” Your eyes stared into Rick's ocean blue orbs, frustration, and confusion, “I’m not strong, anymore. I can’t go on runs, anymore. I can’t protect anyone.”

“Because we still need you—“

“Maybe it’s you who still needs me, Rick…” You spat, leaning your head on the wood as you got the strength to finally stand up, with the support of the tree, of course.

“Y/n we can discuss this once we get back,” Rick sighed, coming closer to you as he held both your arms gently.

A rush of adrenaline painfully scours into your veins as you push him away with all the remaining strength you have.

“GODDAMNIT RICK, WHY CANT YOU JUST LET ME DIE OUT THERE!” You yelled at him. “YOU KNEW I WAS GOING TO BE A BURDEN AND YOU SAW HOW MANY PILLS I HAD ON THE TABLE!”

Rick scoffed, “You're giving up now? After all that has happened? The prison, terminus… and you decide to end it all here? Where we’re finally safe?” His tone wasn’t as gentle but it was now harsher, deeper.

“if you think more treatments, will change anything, it won’t. I'm done and I won't let you guilt me into continuing this charade.”

“then what’re you gon’ tell Carl, hm? That you’re sick of bein’ alive so now you’re gonna leave?”

“This isn’t about Carl, Rick it’s about you keeping me to fill in the gap of what Lori gave you,” you glare with poison in your very eyes. “Leaving you to care for a child that was never yours.”

Rick went quiet, as you realized what you had said, “i-I’m sorry… Rick…” you pleaded, holding his hands.

Rick sighed, “Maybe you're right."

You nodded, your breath becoming shorter as your legs finally give in. You feel your body starting to shut down. Rick helped you sit down comfortably on the ground. You were paler and had many bruises on your arms and legs. You were heating up again.

“I'm sorry, Rick,” you breathed heavily, clutching the hand he gave you.

“It’s okay, Y/n,” Rick comforted you, kissing her knuckles as her legs trembled. Rick’s voice was shaky, almost labored.

“I don’t wanna turn, you can ask Daryl to keep my gun, you’ll need it,” You softly chuckled. Rick looked at you, taking his revolver from his holster.

“Get back to Alexandria, to Judith…” you smiled as you felt bile in your throat, blocking your airway and your heartbeat becoming more abnormal.

Rick gives you a final kiss on the head as an act of kindness and comfort on the edge of a quick and painless death.

—————————————————————

a/n: Hello everyone! This is my very first Fanfic and I thought about it on the spot 😭 Reading it for me makes me kinda cringe but don’t we all? Anyways hope you guys enjoyed it (cuz I didn’t but I’m a sucker for tragic love)

[glassandhamsandwich]

the fix it au. pls pls tell me about it.

Ok so again, this is very underdeveloped… It will get better I prommy….. Also this is so cringe and incredibly self indulgent but I DONT GIVE A CRAP!!!!!!!

Also I wrote this over the course of 3 days and I did NOT re-read it so if it sucks to read I am SO SORRY!!!!!!!!!!!

ADDAIR CENTERED AU BECAUSE I LOVE HIM I DON’T CARE IM GIVING HIM A REDEMPTION ARC BUT ITS NOT AN ARC ITS JUST THE WHOLE STORY !!!!!!

Actually let me start with a list of all the people that get to survive in this…. Its just all of the characters that I care for at all.

All of the infected (including Roper, O’Connor, and Raffs even though I always forget about them LMAO… i still have to decide if I want them to be infected in here…. Raffs is a most likely because I’m making a design for him rn)

Caz, Finlay, Roy, Brodie, Innes, maybe Archie, and maybe a few other background characters so that it seems a little bit less like everyone died because now that I’m writing this down thats really not a lot of people….. But also a lot of people did die

so if i ever did decide to do any writing for this like i wanted to.. It would start pre-making the infected be normal again. The way that they figure out to bring them back to normal is that they basically have to remove the shape from whatever part of them it attached itself to, because theres always one main “contact point”. The shape can either be removed by basically poisoning them into throwing it up and/or killing the shape with chemicals, because it is technically just a plant. Or cutting it out of them.

Muir was pretty easy to poison because he kept trying to eat things because…. cwd.. bro was hungry.. And he still is it did NOT help!!!

Both Trots and Gibbo had to be restrained, Trots got it basically tore out from his goopy lack of legs and Gibbo had to be force fed rat poison and cleaning chemicals because he was freaking out too much for them to safely cut into him.

Rennick incapacitated himself by getting into a battle with Addair and got fucked up pretty bad because his ass is NOT built like Addair’s is, and they were able to cut it out of him fish dinner style.

They did not get Addair he is still out there at this point.

So since they figured that the shape can be killed they start destroying it little by little, tearing it down when they can and drowning all of it in chemicals. This is a pretty slow process because I think that the game would be so much cooler if it took place over multiple days because I just like drawn out horror. Also because I want this to last longer, the shape did not damage the rig to the extent that it did in the game, so it was still “safe” to be on.

And now is an important time to get into how the shape affected them mentally. Pretty similar to how it is in canon where it gives you hallucinations of your loved ones, but in addition to the auditory hallucinations, they also have visual ones.

This was basically Addair’s motive for working for the shape so insistently, it gave him the illusion that he was providing for his family.

Uhm anyway when they managed to fully kill the shape Addair’s currently messed up brain saw that as them killing his family…. Which he was not super psyched about obviously. The shape is dead and its dead in him… but 1. He was affected the longest so his head was a little crazier than the rest of them and 2. He never got it properly removed so erm… he's a little freaked!!!!

Anyway so after they kill the shape the main challenge just becomes not letting the damage that was caused break the whole rig and kill them all while they await rescue, and also avoiding Addair at all costs because he is more out for them than he was before.

And I totally forgot to mention this before but it is important.. Addair has a tendency to specifically target Caz… actually just hates that guy so much there is a seething jealousy he has for him that comes out as anger because that's just how he makes himself.

So yeah the rig is still kind of falling apart and not working like it should….. including the flare stack…. and I think we know where this is going…

This is what that comic that i mentioned like one time and then never finished was about. So Caz, Finlay, Gibbo, Trots, and Roper are sent to go relight the flare stack, because safety in numbers or whatever. And Brodie and Raffs stay in whatever that section Brodie is in during the flare stack scene in the game idk what it's called…. but erm… yuh oh! Addair is here….. down at the flare stack I mean.

Caz takes the relighter to run down the stack while the rest of them try to distract Addair. But that buzz sound that happens in the game happens and draws Addair’s attention over to Caz… who again he just absolutely hates… way more than everyone else so he changes his focus onto getting Caz. And obviously he blows up like he does in the game because he's a fucking idiot… But the flare stack doesn't go down with him this time so Caz is mostly safe on that front. So yeah Addair falls in the ocean but he very shockingly survives it… and manages to crawl his way into the pontoons (or whatever that flooded part is idk anymore) and basically collapses there for the time being.

Back to everyone else they are somehow still waiting for rescue to come after a few days and are wondering if it's even coming at all so they’re now having to worry about that.. And their also having to worry about running out of supplies.. So they hit that classic “let’s split up, gang!”, both to scrounge around the entire rig for literally anything they can find, and to check for any final traces of the shape. Gibbo get sent to the pontoons by himself because he can navigate it way easier than anyone else can because I gave him gills😁😁😁 but uhh yeah guess who he finds down there….. Haha….

This is were this au slowly gets more character relationship based because I LOVE character relationships and interactions they are my favorite things ever.

So yeah Gibbo find Addair down in the pontoons and is like “WHAT THE FLIP!!!!!” and at this point Addair has gotten a bit more of his normal conscience back because the shapes been dead for “a while” now and he hasn’t been surrounded by people that he feels he needs to kill so he’s got more of an understanding of his environment then he used to but he’s still kind of in that animal instinct going on so he ATTEMPTS to scare Gibbo off because he sees him as a threat obvi. But he does a very poor job of this because he’s still incredibly injured and honestly Gibbo just thinks it’s a little pathetic. because it is…. So Gibbo basically decided to just leave him down there and not mention it to anyone else because he is NOT feeling up to dealing with that rn but he knows that Addair wouldn’t want the others to know he’s there and at the moment he’s just going to let Addair have it his way because he is in a PITIFUL state rn and even if that's not the best decision, it's the easiest. He backtracks on this decision pretty quickly though because it’s hard to just forget that there's a dying little freak in your basement so he’s like…. I should probably go check on him… So he does.. And then he keeps doing it and they start BONDING i'm forcing them to be friends because they're my favorites and Gibbo’s trying and SUCCEEDING to make him a better person. Uhm so since Gibbo keeps going to check on Addair in the pontoons, he keeps just disappearing for a while and everyone else is obviously wondering where he’s going because he isn't telling anyone. They all decide to send Trots after him when they catch him leaving one time because Trots is who he’d probably trust the most to tell anything. He does NOT tell Trots anything so Trots pulls the good ol’ “I better follow him” and struggles his way down to the pontoons following Gibbo as best he can and when he finally gets down there he sees Addair obviously. He's very hard to miss. So now Trots gets his turn to go “WHAT THE FLIP 😨😨😨😨” But he agrees to not tell the others that he saw him, against his better judgment, after Gibbo begs him not too.

When Trots goes back to the rest of the group and they ask him what he found he just LIES and says that he lost Gibbo’s trail and couldn’t follow him the whole way. The next 2 times that Gibbo goes down to see Addair, Trots goes with him, but it only takes those two times for him to be lik e”yeah… you cant keep doing this dude and also I think we need to get Addair some “proper” medical attention or else hes going to die…” because at this point hes just been sitting with untreated crazy ass wounds from being BLOWN UP (they aren’t as bad as they would be because I think that the shape made them really physically strong, like they can take some crazy blows and be mostly ok) and they’re getting infected (IRONIC!!!!) because hes been sitting in these nasty ass pontoons for a while now and those wounds are FREAKED!!!!! SO Gibbo and Addair are both (very reluctantly on Addair’s part) “ok I guess☹️” and they VERY painstakingly make their way out of the pontoons because Addair can NOT move very well.

OIL RIG FAMILY REUNION!!!! The rest of them are NOT happy about Addair being here. They don’t feel threatened by him because… again he can barely move it snot like he can really do anything. But Gibbo and Trots vouch for him that he’s mostly normal now and isn’t going to try to kill them and also is trying his darndest to start being a better person. They agree to basically not kill him I guess and let him stay (Caz, Finlay, and O’Connor were against this decision but in the end they aren't going to actually leave him to die(Caz would actually I think)). So he gets the most lackluster medical treatment (basically just bandages and like…. Neosporin or something idk) and begins his terribly slow physical recovery process.

During this this time they finally are able to figure out that the reason rescue is taking so long is because the rigs communications got cut off so none of their messages actually went through and somehow Cadal hasn’t realized that something is wrong yet and nothing has been coming from the Beira D. TERRIBLE COMPANY I HATE YOU!!!!!

Ok i need to wrap this up im 3 pages into the google doc im writing this in oh em gee….. Anyway rescue finally comes eventually and they get back to shore and Cadal is like “ok guys so how about we DON’T talk about this or sue us over this or anything yeah 😊😊😊😊 we’ll give you some money if you don't talk about it <333” and they all just kind of have to oblige because otherwise they risk the safety of the infected if the public finds out about them. So they find a place to stay and then the rest of the AU is just me putting Addair THROUGH THE WRINGER. He is NOT having a good time… that's my promise to you…

“This is underdeveloped” I say and then write 3 pages worth of stuff for it….. and I didn't even really get into any of the character relationships.....

Anyway if you want to ask me anything else……. You know what to do……

Posting this and not opening tumblr for a while because I’m embarrassed about it LMAO… MY IRL FRIENDS ARE GOING TO SEE THIS THIS IS SO NOT COOL!!!!! I’m blocking you guys…..

[yama-does-art]

Cyber!Earth AU TFP Headcanons

[Please Note, this was written before TF Earthspark was a thing, This has been sitting on my computer for forever.]

What if Earth was cyberformed but instead all life being destroyed, it hybridized with cybernetic biology. A Techno-Organic ecosystem in a primeval Earth envionment. Cyber!Earth AU

Or… Let's create a cybertronian death world that will make Magatron wish there was a few phase six'ers still online.

Environment ->

Most things are upscaled to cybertronian size: fauna, flora, and everything in between

Except humans, they stayed comparatively the same, adults ranging between 5-10ft on average, children being smaller than that

Most of Earths lifeforms would mirror its organic counterparts, poisons, diseases, bacteria all have to potential to harm both organic and non-organic life to varying degrees (For example, there are new viruses that Cybertronians have to deal now or animals like the jellyfish can sting a Bot' as much as it can a Terran)

Though the physiology of cyberformed organisms look like eldrich abominations of flesh and metal (which they absolutely are) in actually, all the components are hybridized at a molecular level, creating a truly unique class of lifeform

Energon is integrated into the ecosystem, in every aspect of life. On one hand, Cybertronians have options for renewable sources of energon, on the other, the same Cybertronians are now a part of the food chain

Imagine the horror of landing on Cyberformed Earth, only to realize anything can and will try to eat you (and they thought scaplets were bad)

Life cycles continue as it was, organism will die eventually through natural means (Without technological intervention, Terrans will still pass in as many years as their human counterparts)

Cyberformed Humans ->

Officially cyberformed humans call themselves Terrans

When spiteful, they call themselves the Children of Choas (After the horror of a civilization ending event, complete and involuntary body restructuring, and learning that their alien overlords equivalent to space-Saten is you planets core: people are going to wear that title with pride)

Terrans DON'T have T-Cogs, inbuilt blaster weapons, or sharp talons (Cybertronians make the mistake that these "new" humans are just as squishy and defenseless)

Nope! All of our natural survival adaptations are just dialed to 11: insane pain tolerance, robust immune system, high endurance, excellent mimicry skills, and the ability to consume nearly anything

Sure a Terrans' skin (really, it is more akin to a fine mesh) is just as sensitive and fragile as a cybertronians protoform and all of our major organs are still organic-like (in other words, we're still going to be little meat bags)

That will not stop a group of Terran's from hunting the local mega-fauna or giving some bot's a bad day

Humans of old were persistant hunters, our major advantage being that our bodies did not overheat compared to the game that we hunted. So how would that translate for a techno-organic? Temperature Regulation and Energy Conservation - what if a Terran's body had a better temperature to fuel ratio? We would be able to run for far longer with minimal energy loss

In this scenario, a Terran could keep pace with a cybertronian in its root mode, and outlast said cybertronian on fuel (the assumption that the hotter a cybertronian burns, the greater amount of fuel that it needs)

Unlike Bots', Terrans have the capacity of consuming anything remotely organic or living metal (tree bark, leather shoes, loose wires, raw minerals, semi-organic cabling, all of it, yes. And if not, boiled in a stew)

I imagine some cyberformed plants would become something poisonous to cybertronians and the the Terrans are like, "Nah man, that's just a mango, only the skin is toxic.." and the bot's are once again mortified by the cybertronian equivalent to chili peppers

Terrans have their own form of adrenalin too, in the form of red energon (cyberformed humans can convert the energon in their semi-organic frames into red energon, overclocking their systems to hyperspeed)

Like a adrenaline rush for a human, a Terran could over extend themselves in such a state, even if their bones are as durable as armor plating

[redgoldsparks]

February Reading and Reviews by Maia Kobabe

I post my reviews throughout the month on Storygraph and Goodreads, and do roundups here and on patreon. Reviews below the cut.

Ruthless Vows by Rebecca Ross read by Alex Wingfield and Rebecca Norfolk

This book started a little slowly for me, as I waited for Roman to regain his memories and for Iris to get back to reporting at the front. Luckily, the magical typewriters once again play a major role in this story as they did in the first one; Roman and Iris's letters are the emotional heart of this series. I also love how it fore fronts the importance of journalists during wartime. Iris's bravery and constant willingness to move towards danger and the unknown in service of sharing the truth makes her a very compelling character. Unfortunately, the magical divine conflict behind the war just didn't compel me very strongly in this book. I think the gods were introduced too slowly into the narrative, and that a lack of a human motivation behind the war simplified the conflict in a way that sucked some of the tension from the text. If you are looking for a solid romance with a strong epistolary element and the aesthetic of wartime setting, this series delivers; if instead you want a complicated, devastating, deeply emotional story of young people surviving a real historical war, pick up Code Name Verity or Rose Under Fire.

Mamo by Sas Milledge

Jo has lived in her small seaside hometown her whole life, and loves it there. But then things start to go wrong- curses, bad luck, mysterious illnesses. She seeks out the town witch and finds a teen girl about her own age, named Orla, who Jo has never met before. It turns out Orla has just returned to town after the death of her grandmother, the previous witch. She wasn't buried properly and her bones are scattered around the town, stirring up bad energy, disturbing the local fae and trolls. Jo and Orla set out of lay the old witch properly to rest, but there's more going on than either of them realize. This is a fairly short but well told tale, queer and magical, and with a little bittersweet edge.

Look on the Bright Side by Lily Williams and Karen Schneemann 

This is a very charming follow up to Go With The Flow, taking place over the friend group's following high school year. Brit, who was diagnosed with endometriosis at the end of the previous book, had a surgery to remove it over the summer. When she goes back to school, she finds her affection caught between two different boys. Christine has finally admitted to herself that she likes Abby as more than a friend... but telling Abby that is another matter. Abby is still working on her campaign of menstrual justice on campus, while Sasha struggles to balance her homework, sports, and time with her boyfriend. The girls learn, grow, make mistakes, and support each other.

Gathering Moss written and read by Robin Wall Kimmerer

It took me a little longer to get into this one than Braiding Sweetgrass, mainly because I had much less personal knowledge of mosses than the larger types of plants which Kimmerer wrote about in Sweetgrass. It doesn't help that mosses do not have common names, so are referred to mainly by scientific names, and I was rarely able to picture them well in my head. However, by about a third of the way through I had fallen into the miniature world of mosses and the striking and insightful ways Kimmerer links them to all other organisms in their ecosystems. I loved learning how mosses, like tardigrades, with which they probably co-evolved, can survive desiccation and be revived by water even after all seeming signs of life have disappeared. I was intrigued by the story of a moss species which changes its gender over its lifespan, starting out producing only female reproductive stalks in its early days, shifting producing a mix of male and female stalks as it matures, and then producing solely male stalks as the patch reaches peak density. I was frustrated by stories of the illegal moss harvesting which is stripping Oregon rain forests bare. And I was once again completely charmed by the beauty and generosity of Kimmerer's writing and worldview. She's a bestseller for a reason; I highly recommend everyone pick up at least one of her books at some point.

The High Desert by James Spooner 

James' white mother and his black father divorced when he was in elementary school, and he moved around a lot. For high school, he moved with his mom to Apple Valley, a barren small town in the desert an hour inland from Los Angeles. Already a skater, James encountered punk music just went he needed it most: as an isolated and angry teen in a racist town with little to no underground scene or counterculture. The music, and later, the politics, of punk raised James in the semi-absence of parents and role models. This memoir, chronically roughly a year, is an unflinchingly honest look at the cruelty, creativity, friendship, and solidarity of teens. It has the density and scratchy texture of a 90s zine without ever sacrificing clarity. I was very impressed by how clearly and in what detail Spooner was able to recreate his high school angst and activist awaking in this coming of age tale. Punk wasn't the music that found me, but I still remember the high of finding a new favorite band or song that felt as if it spoke right to my teen soul. This book is a testament to the power of music to reach into the dark and pull someone out into the light.

Falling Back in Love With Being Human written and read by Kai Cheng Thom 

Short and sweet, this book is half confession, half spell book. Each chapter is written as a letter- to trans women, to activists, to sex workers, to johns, to those contemplating suicide, to TERFs, to children's book writers- each followed with a little action or ritual. I listened to it as an audiobook and loved hearing the letters in the author's voice, but I can also see how reading it in print and lingering over each letter one at a time would be wonderful too.

The Great Beyond by Lea Murawiec translated by Aleshia Jensen 

Manel Naher is an anti-social and idiosyncratic young woman living an endless city in which everyone advertises their own names on street signs, sandwich boards, at social events, on business cards, and by simply shouting them at strangers. This may not sound so different from our own world except that it's driven by an even more intense desperation: if one's name is not known, and one's presence fades fully from people's minds, and the forgotten person will literally die. Manel wants nothing more than to escape the city into the wilds beyond it, but her presence is so low she suffers a near fatal heart attack and is scared into a fearful scramble to gain enough fame to live. Her attempts to claw her way into people's memories is surprisingly successful, and in the process of becoming one of the 1% she leaves behind everything and everyone she loved. Never before have I read a comic that felt so much like literary spec-fic. The concepts are fascinating and the cartooning knocked me off my feet. A visual masterpiece I'll be thinking about for a long time to come.

The Spectred Isle by KJ Charles read by Ruairi Carter

Saul Lazenby is a disgraced archeologist who served time for a war crime during the recent WWI. Back in England, disowned by his family, he struggled to support himself. The only job he is able to secure is as a personal assistant to a batty old major who believes in fairy stories and keeps sending Saul off to various parts of London to investigate supposedly occult sites. Saul knows it's all fake but he keeps investigating anyway... and then a tree bursts in flames in front of him. And a mysterious gentleman keeps showing up at the same sites of sacred groves or ancient wells which Saul's been sent to look at. That gentleman is Richard Glide, who just happens to be the heir to one of the oldest arcane families in England. And he can't tell if Saul is causing the spiritual problems that keep occurring around him or if it's all an unlikely coincidence. This historical romance is a fun and quick read, shorter than most of the KJ Charles books I've read before. Be warned, the end sets up a sequel which has not, and may not, ever actually come out- but I still enjoyed this one on it's own.

Red at the Bone by Jacqueline Woodson 

A gorgeous, nonlinear novel about three generations of a Black family living in New York between roughly the early 1990s to the mid 2000s. The chapters rotate between multiple POVs, covering moments of change, tension, or reflection for the family. The opening scene is the evening of a debut party for sixteen year old Melody, who wears the dress her own mother was supposed to wear at her debut... except that she was already pregnant. From that moment, the narrative spins back time to how each character arrived there: Iris, a teen who refused to give up her baby but also refused to settle into motherhood; Aubrey, a young man in love with a girl who was already leaving him; Iris's mother Sabe, a daughter of a survivor of the Tulsa massacre, a women who stores her money in gold bars hidden around the house; Iris's father Po'boy, who as a young man ran races, and as an old man holds more love for his family that his body can carry. The character work here is so strong- I was immediately swept away into the cares, worries, secrets, and longings of the family. I read the whole book in one day, but I'll be thinking about it for a long time.

We Are The Land: A Native History of California by Damon B Akins and William J Bauer Jr 

It took me a long time to read this book, as it was challenging to read a history of genocide while also seeing genocide in my phone every single day. But I'm ultimately very glad that I finished it. This is a well researched, approachable, indigenous-authored history of the native people in the land now called California. I enjoyed how place specific this book is. I felt much more connected to the history recognizing nearly every place name, and once the book got passed around the year 1900 I started to also recognize names of organizations that still exist and activists who I'm familiar with. I have a much better understanding of the patchwork creation of and the broken promises of the reservations, land allotments, and rancherias. I was happy whenever the book mentioned Pomo master basket weavers Elsie Allen and Mable McKay, who my mom has been telling me about for years, or Greg Sarris, Santa Rosa based chairman of the Graton Rancheria and author. I have a better understanding of this land where I have lived and worked all my life after reading this book.

Zodiac: A Graphic Novel by Ai Weiwei, Elettra Stamboulis and Gianluca Costantini

I've been following Ai Weiwei's work since about 2010, and was absolutely delighted to learn he was releasing a comic memoir. I managed to snag a signed copy though the Comix Experience Graphic Novel of the Month Club and I will treasure it. This book is organized into 12 chapters, each themed around one animal from the zodiac. It weaves together slice of life moments from Ai Weiwei's day to day life, stories of his father (the revolutionary poet Ai Qing), memories of Ai's time as an art student in New York, his incarceration, time spent with his mother, his partner, and his son, conversations with artist friends and some of his international exhibitions. It is not a tight narrative; it wanders, it indulges in myths and fairy tales, it is open ended and I enjoyed it so much. It was written along with Elettra Stamboulis, and draw in a delicate lose line art style by Gianluca Costantini. A few of the lines from the end of the book haven't left my head since I read them: "Freedom of speech and human rights are not given to anybody for free. They always come through fighting and struggle" (101); "Any artist who isn't an activist is a dead artist" (165) and "... the purpose of art, which is to fight for freedom."(166)

Witchy Vol 2 by Ariel Salmat Ries 

This volume was just as beautifully drawn as book 1; the cartooning is masterful, but I don't have a very good sense of where the larger plot is going. This book was mostly a long side quest in which Nyneve learned how to make a broom under an exiled gay broom making master. I enjoyed this! However it didn't particularly seem to move the story forward. I will keep reading, but the sense of drama and urgency from the beginning of the first book is slightly missing here.

No Gods, No Monsters by Cadwell Turnbull read by Dion Graham  

What a ride! I went into this book knowing almost nothing, and I think that was the right way to go so I shall not summarize the plot. This is the first book of a series; it's ambitious, it's weird, it's got a very large and extremely diverse cast; it is such a fresh and original take on a contemporary sci-fi in which the world realizes that monsters, gods, and magic have existed all along. I worried a little in the first third that the book maybe had too many POV characters, most of whom seemed very unconnected from each other except by geographical proximity to either Cambridge, Mass, or the island of St Thomas. However by the end almost all of the characters had been at least tenuously linked by plot events in a way that really worked for me. The book also has trans, nonbinary, asexual, queer, and poly characters whose identities are only revealed slowly, and usually after you've known the character for a while. I am very impressed by the scope of this story and definitely plan to continue with the series.

Arrive In My Hands by Trinidad Escobar 

Sensual, at times tender, at times haunting, this beautiful little book is a collection of lesbian erotic comics from a poet artist at the top of her field. I am definitely biased, having been friends with the author for years, but I also deeply admire this work. The women, witches, and creatures in these stories yearn for pleasure and for freedom; they chase both through oceans, forests, broken suburban towns, and through dreams. The book is perfectly sized to hold close to your heart.

Bird by Bird by Annie Lamott read by Susan Bennett

I've been hearing about this book for years as a writing guide, but it is almost equally a memoir or collection of anecdotes about the writing life. Parts of it worked for me and other parts didn't. The author has a very different type of brain than I have, and the chapters on working through the anxiety, neurosis, and depression she suffered from when trying to write didn't really speak to me at all. I also did not enjoy the handful of flippant jokes about killing yourself when the writing isn't going well. However. There are also some genuinely really moving pieces about writing books as gifts to loved ones, especially loved ones who are soon to leave us. I thought a lot of the advice in the middle about focusing on details, on recording memories, on research, and on character development was really solid, and I want to keep some of it in mind when I start developing my next book. There was also a set of lines in the introduction, about how writers are able to participate in public life while also working from home and without leaving the house which hit the nail on the head of why I entered this career!

Recitatif by Toni Morrison read by Bahni Turpin with an intro written and read by Zadie Smith

I've been wanting to try another Toni Morrison, since the only one I had previously read in high school went completely over my head at age 15. Recitatif is Morrison's only short story, and this audiobook version is read by the wonderful Bahni Turpin (who you might recognize from Angie Thomas or Akwaeke Emezi's audiobooks). Also included in an excellent essay written and read by Zadie Smith. This comes first in the audio, but if you are new to the story as I was, skip the essay and listen to the story first! Then go back and listen to the essay afterwards. This way the cleverness and impact of the story can hit you fully. It is so smart, so well crafted, and such a master class in writing that both reveals and conceals so much about the complicated relationship of two damaged women.

Delicious in Dungeon vol 1 by Ryoko Kui 

I can immediately see why so many people are charmed by this world and these characters! This is the start of a really fun D&D infused adventure story, with a small group of down on their luck adventures deciding to cut their adventuring costs by eating the monsters they kill in the dungeon. The man behind this idea, Laos, is also searching for a missing sister who may or may not have already been eaten by a dragon. I already have books 2 and 3 on hold; I haven't been so captured by a manga series since starting Witch Hat Atelier.

Delicious in Dungeon vol 2 by Ryoko Kui

I devoured this book as quickly as book one. Our adventure party gets a bit deeper into the dungeon and begin to have more meaningful interactions with the beings who dwell there, including an Orc family just trying to get by, golems which grow vegetables on their backs, and living paintings which might reveal more of the buried castle's history.

Delicious in Dungeon vol 3 by Ryoko Kui

A flashback reveals more of the school friendship of Marcelle and Falin; a deep underground lake leads to many encounters with watery monsters of various types. I continue to have a very fun time with this series!

Bunt by Ngozi Ukazu and Mad Rupert

Molly grew up in Peachtree, Georgia, in her lesbian moms' hardware store, in the shadow of the town's prestigious and expensive art college, PICA. Every since she can remember, she's wanted to attend PICA- despite the fact that her best friend dropped out last year and says the school chews people up and spits them out. But Molly got a full ride scholarship, so her first semester should be a breeze, right? No! Because when she shows up to orientation, no one can find her scholarship or even her registration. It turns Molly will have to pay for her first year after all; she takes out some dodgy loans and scours the financial aid booklets for any other scholarship she can apply for. It turns out, if she can scrape up a full team of softball players... and they compete against other college teams in the same division... and they win at least one game over the course of the semester... the whole team gets a free tuition! Is it possible to win one game with a bunch of big-ego, burned-out, athletically-challenged artists? I loved the energy of this story, with many well-informed digs at art school culture and hypocrisy. The team has great chemistry and the art style is full of action, physical humor, and delightfully expressive cartooning.

[imagine-darksiders]

How would the horsemen react to another catastrophic event headed towards earth, like a giant meteor that would definitely end all life on the planet, and their human decides that they don’t want to escape earth, but stay behind to die with everyone else, because they already cheated their way out of one apocalypse, and can’t bear to be the last human on Earth once again?

You underestimate the lengths those Horsemen would go to protect you.

You've been through a lot together. You're practically family by now, and they take care of their own.

Death did not go through all that trouble to resurrect humanity just to lose it again to a natural disaster.

They get to work on their plan - an evacuation on a planet-wide scale. It's the largest in history.

Makers are all too eager to provide their services, building enormous cities in the unpopulated ares of their realm, or assisting with cultivating other worlds that have long been abandoned.

Humans are notoriously adaptable and acclimatise themselves to new environments remarkably quickly.

Heaven holds a vote as to whether or not they should open the gates of the White City to Earthen refugees, but the vote goes in favour of keeping the gates firmly shut. However, there were a surprising number of angels who rallied behind humanity. Chief among them is Azrael, who makes the unprecedented decision to give a derelict Eden back to the humans.

Samael can see the strategic advantage of 'allying' himself with Humanity, and he offers a portion of land of the fringes of his realm for them to settle on. The Horsemen are rightly suspicious and are reluctant to even allow this, but humans need the space.

The Dead Lands are out - nothing can survive there for very long because there's so little water and no plant life will grow from the ash. Humans would starve to death before they gained any sort of foothold.

Of course, the problem arises when it turns out that a shocking number of humans simply... don't want to leave Earth? Death no longer frightens them as it once had. They've been to the other side once before, it isn't so scary the second time around.

Much to the Horsemen's distress, you're one of those stubborn, humans. Earth is your home. You'd abandoned it and its people once before and the guilt had nearly eaten you alive from the inside out.

Besides, there are more people you know who are among those who just... won't go down and leave their beloved planet.

The Horsemen offer slightly different methods of extracting you. Ideally, it would be your decision. But after you inevitably put your foot down about leaving, they start to get serious.

Death has already demonstrated the lengths he'll go to protect his siblings, even against their wills. Why do you think you'd be any different?

He gives you every chance to see reason. He gives you the illusion of choice... But as time passes on and you remain unflinching in your decision to stay, he's the first to buckle.

Death resolves to ask for your forgiveness later as he drags you by the arm through a portal into his home real, somewhere safe, somewhere he can keep proper tabs on you.

He gets an earful from you, of course.

You hate him. You'll never forgive him. Why won't he let you die with dignity? How dare he try to decide what's best for you?

But the Horseman has heard it all before from his siblings in similar situations. He does know what's best for you. You deserve a full, gentle life, whether you want it or not...

Strife is ashamed to say that he plays the guilt card pretty early. You're the best friend he had. How could you even think of leaving him? What's he supposed to do when you're gone?

It drives him to the brink of insanity when you refuse to leave Earth, even if it means certain death. Strife can't lose you.

He won't lose you.

He's too selfish. He'd rather have you hate him for the rest of your life, so long as his friend is safe.

He clutches you possessively against his chest with both arms wrapped like vices around you to keep you from wriggling free. Unlink Death, your words cut far more deeply into this Horseman, because your opinion of him is one of the few that actually matters to Strife.

But it's okay. He'll look after you. It'll be great!

You can't stay mad at him forever, can you?

... Can you?

War respects your decision to stay on a doomed Earth... but he doesn't condone it.

The Horseman is ferociously loyal. You'd been his companion in his quest to clear his name, and over time, he felt your alliance with him grow more and more potent.

You've risked your life to help him. He's risked his to protect you.

The bond is unshakable now. It burns him fiercely to deny you your right to a noble death... but it would downright kill him to watch you die and do nothing about it.

He doesn't give you nearly as much time to explain yourself as Strife or Death. Instead, War listens to your reasons for staying on Earth, he considers them for a moment, and then he asks you if you're going to change your mind.

His stomach twists into a ball when you tell him no. You won't. You're sorry.

That was your last chance to leave with him of your own free will. War simply hoists you up onto his shoulder and carries you effortlessly from your home, his jaw set and a wall coming down around his heart. He has to steel himself against your icy tongue and your cries and pleas for him to let you go.

He's an honourable Horseman. And honourable Horsemen don't let their friends get themselves killed.

Fury is the least patient of the Four Horsemen.

She's always been quick to anger, but you didn't expect her to quite literally explode on you after you informed her that you'd be staying behind on Earth.

She hurls insults at you, calls you a fool, growing more and more heated as she works herself up into a frenzy. It's all just fear, badly disguised as outrage.

"WHY BOTHER SAVING ALL OF HUMANITY IF WE AREN'T SAVING YOU, TOO!?" she bellows.

You're disgusted by that The very idea that you're the only reason she helped her brothers find humanity a new home is not only galling, it's a blatant lie. She's only trying to hurt you because that's what she does when she gets scared.

She lashes out.

She doesn't want to listen to your attempts at consoling her. You insist that it'll be okay, you've thought about it a lot and you're at peace with your decision.

You want her to be at peace with it to.

But, what about her!?

Barring Rampage, Fury doesn't have any friends. Her whole life, she's been convinced that she's find on her own, she's better without someone holding her back or tying her down. And then you had to come along and ruin that! Ruin her solitude by being her first, last and only friend.

You opened her eyes to a world she'd been blind to for a long, long time.

Fury doesn't wait for you to come to your senses. She hauls you up over her shoulder and takes you to her home, off-world, where, in a fit of selfish abandon, she locks you away, deaf to your pleas to return home. This is home now. With her.

[dingusbalingus]

Olimar's Voyage Log: Day 1

My name is Captain Olimar.

While traveling through space on an interstellar vacation, my ship was struck by a meteor. The collision had knocked me out, but when I awoke I found myself on the surface of a strange planet. Though I appear to have been mostly unscathed from the impact, the same cannot be said for my ship, the S.S. Dolphin. My diagnostics indicated the Dolphin had lost 30 of its most critical parts across this planet's surface upon entry into the atmosphere. To put it simply, I've been stranded here.

To make matters worse, my atmospheric sensors indicate this planet's environment contains high levels of poisonous oxygen. The life-support systems in my suit are able to keep me alive for now, but without a means to recharge them they won't last for much longer than a month. If I can't repair the Dolphin by then....

....There is hope in this dire situation, however. Shortly after I came to, I discovered a curious bulb dormant in the ground. When I approached it, the thing shot up from the ground as if it were waiting for me, and firmly planted long, slender struts into the soil below. Though I haven't a clue as to what this object even is, whether its alive or simply a machine, it resembles a vegetable on my home planet of Hocotate that we call an onion, thus I've taken to calling it an Onion, as well.

After this discovery, a second discovery immediately presented itself. The Onion had sputtered a seed shortly after its awakening. This seed took root in the soil and, after a brief moment in time, rapidly grew into a developed sprout. This sprout emitted a soft glow, and it swayed back and forth without benefit of wind. I don't know what exactly, some instinct or gut feeling, but something compelled me to uproot the plant from the soil. And when I did, I discovered something most extraordinary....

....what came out of the soil was a living creature, not a plant. It sported a leaf on its head supported by a long stem, and featured a pointed proboscis at the end of its face. The shape of this creature resembles the Pikpik brand carrots on my home planet that I adore, so like the Onion before it I've taken to calling this creature a Pikmin.

Despite my harrowing circumstances, I could not help but be intrigued by this Pikmin... It stared at me longingly, as if awaiting my beck and call. I quickly surmised a few key things about these Pikmin. The Onion seems to act as an incubator for Pikmin seeds. A local variety of flower near our location yielded a nutrient-rich pellet, in which the Pikmin seemed to instinctively know to harvest by the Onion. This is how the Pikmin reproduce; soon enough, I found myself with a small army of Pikmin under my command. The Pikmin seem to have a natural inclination toward cooperation, they form groups to perform tasks that would be impossible for an individual. Using their skills, I was even able to retrieve the Main Engine, the single most important part of my damaged craft. It was a stroke of pure luck I even found it nearby.

Nightfall on a foreign planet frightens me a bit, so I decided that the safest thing for me was to head for the sky. Though I obviously did not expect escape from this planet to be feasible at this point in time, I can at least hover in low orbit above the planet's surface. What I did not expect, however, was the Pikmin to follow suit. The Pikmin's Onion miraculously followed me into the stars. Perhaps the Pikmin cannot survive overnight on the surface, or maybe they've decided to join me for other reasons. Regardless, It seems they will help me again, tomorrow.

A dense forest is visible on the surface below. As it holds the keys to my survival, I name it the Forest of Hope. I explore it tomorrow.

[blackjackkent]

Jaheira quirks an eyebrow up at Hector as he approaches and gives him a fastidious look up and down. "Well now," she says teasingly. "You *can* make yourself presentable, when you have a mind to."

Hector rolls his eyes at her and grins. With Jaheira, as with no other member of his companions - even with Karlach - he has always had a strangely bantering, teasing relationship. He has always, almost from the first moment they met, felt comfortable with her, and has missed her wisdom and her steady presence tremendously in the Hells.

"That makes one of us," he shoots back, equally teasing.

She barks a laugh. "Hah! Forgive me... I am simply excitable. It is good to be out under an open sky once more." As Wyll did, she takes a long and appreciative sniff of the open forest-scented air.

"My first since the reconstruction began," she explains. "We left quite a mess behind, but the city begins to look something like itself once more." She scoffs mock-dismissively. "Same twisting alleys for purse-pickers. Same wooden buildings, ready to get burnt by next year's dragon. Same cisterns overflowing..."

Hector smiles. She speaks dismissively of the city but he knows, deep down, that its survival is important to her, and not just because of her children tying her down there.

"How do you think the rebuilding is going?" he asks.

She chuckles. "Baldurians simply... get *on* with it," she says. "Stubbornness? Civic spirit? Plain stupidity? Perhaps all three - but nothing I will sniff at any longer."

She waves her hand as if to indicate a wide crowd of gathered forces. "Harpers have come from half the world over to lend aid. Farmers, masons, healers... My own son Jord has been wooed to their ranks. Already he plants crop cycles in Wyrm's Crossing."

He can hear the pride in her voice, mixed with affection - and some frustration as she goes on: "Not so for my daughter. Rion's rejoined the Flaming Fist - temporarily, you understand, to 'organize the craftsmen.'" She snorts. "Though she spends more time locking up comrades for pocketing aid funds. They might learn a thing or two - if they don't expel her. Again."

He nods, listening intently, drinking in the news of the city, of her family, of anything she wants to talk about. "All well and good," he prods, "but what about you? I want to hear what you've been up to."

"Honestly?" she quips. "Much more sitting down than I'd like." She grins, seeing the smile this elicits on his face. "Mistake me not, there is still much to be done. Plans to make. Maps to be frowned over." She shrugs. "But my children are more than capable of doing it. Even the young ones tire of me peeking over their shoulders. This night offers them a brief respite from me, at least."

She looks around thoughtfully, taking in the small campsite, the people thronged through it. "And this place, now I look at it... it is where you all spent your first night together, no? A fine spot for an adventure to begin... a fine spot indeed."

Hector's smile fades and he watches her keenly, reading the expression in her eyes. "You're not going back to the city, are you?" he asks softly.

She chuckles, feeling herself so easily read. "Of course I am," she says mildly. "Perhaps just... the long way around. It would be good to stretch my legs for a bit." She shakes her head. "I'll find my way back, as I always do."

She gives an exaggerated sigh. "I admit defeat. Baldur's Gate is my home." She tips her head to one side, in an attitude he has noticed she uses when she feels she has a lesson to impart. "But that is the thing about home," she says gravely. "The only way to see it clearly is to leave and look back - for a little while at least."

She fixes her eyes back on him, and it is his turn to be read, her eyes seeming to look through him, searching out his thoughts. "For all your travels," she says gently, "I hope you have arrived where you want to be. Home, whatever that means to you."

He has given a lot of thought to this, over the months. The definition of home. Once, it was the monastery, without question, but that was before the nautiloid, and he looks back on it now as something that is of his past, somewhere he cannot return in the same spirit in which he once lived there. Avernus, for all that it has housed them for some time now, is not really home either, not where there is no moonlight. And this camp and the others like it, the travels that made him who is is now... for a time they were home, but that time is past as well.

But there is only one real answer. His home and his heart are within Karlach now, in the life they build together, wherever it happens to land.

"Karlach and I are each other's homes," he says quietly, just a little sheepishly, "in wild Avernus..."

She reaches out and puts a hand on his shoulder, a warm touch of reassurance, solidarity, wisdom. "Karlach is lucky to have you," she answers. "And know that you are not forgotten; if your friends don't drag you from the hells, it will only be because you've freed yourselves first."

She must see the emotion in his face, the lump rising in his throat, because she gives him a gentle shake and releases his shoulder, stepping back. If he needed to cry on her shoulder, he suspects she'd allow it, but the sentimentality is not in her nature either.

"But there will be more to discuss on that matter," she says lightly. "First - I must inspect the refreshments." She gives him a teasing wink. "You never know. Some ne'er-do-well might have tampered with the wine."

[adamwatchesmovies]

Roger & Me (1989)

Roger & Me is not like other documentaries. It has a point to make and facts to show us but the presentation couldn't be more different from its peers. The film should be a lot sadder than it is but the presentation by Michael Moore (his first picture) so expertly showcases the absurdity of what happened to Flint, Michigan, and the quest he embarks upon is so foolhardy, you can’t help but laugh. 

For generations, General Motors was a staple of Flint, Michigan. The company was the city's primary employer until 1986 when GM chairman Roger B. Smith closed all of Flint's plants. Turns out it was much cheaper to build cars in Mexico. The film chronicles documentarian Michael Moore’s efforts to sit down and talk to Roger Smith about the impact his decision has had on his hometown.

Michael Moore has gone on to become a big name, which makes Roger & Me fascinating to watch in hindsight. You can see the seeds of each of his future projects being sown. On its own, it's equally interesting. Moore knows he has no chance of having a face-to-face conversation with Roger Smith about what he's done to the city. Even if he goes through the proper venues, he wouldn't have a chance. The question is, “Why?”. Is it because Roger Smith is afraid of him? How could he be? He's the Chairman of GM. He couldn't possibly care what a scrappy, dumpy-looking documentarian thinks of him. Certainly, he wouldn't care if he really believes he made the right decision when it comes to Flint, Michigan. Considering how persistent Moore proves himself, there's a part of you that wonders why Roger Smith doesn’t just come out in front of the camera and say so. The thing is, the longer the film goes on, the more failed efforts to show a conversation between Moore and Smith we see, the more the truth becomes apparent: the big boss knows he did Flint dirty. Ultimately, he’s afraid to be confronted about it. That’s more than a little surreal. 

The foolhardy errand Moore sets for himself is funny because a part of you wonders if it might actually happen. There's no way it will because you know the regular joe-looking filmmaker is going about it the wrong way. The humor of this foolhardy quest is counterbalanced by many sad sights along the way. This documentary is prime evidence that Flint, Michigan, was absolutely destroyed by Roger Smith’s decision. Some of what the people we meet have to do to survive feels completely out of place in a country like the United States. It’s unbelievable and disturbing, to the point where it comes back around again to become funny. It almost feels made up that the most successful person we see working in Flint is the Sherrif’s Deputy, Fred Ross. He's always busy at work because he spends most of his time evicting families who are unable to pay their rent.

Roger & Me almost seems too good to be true. By that I mean that if you didn't know better, you'd swear some of what we witness was made up. After GM leaves, the city of Flint tries to recover through tactics that you can’t believe a committee would greenlight. As soon as you hear about each plan that's been cooked up, you know it's going to fail and while that will be unfortunate for the city… it will also be hilarious. It’s like this whole situation did something to these people and sucked out their brains or something.

There are several “lightning in a bottle moments” that make for a great narrative, which is ultimately what makes this film successful, memorable and moving. This is a deeply personal journey that shows you what happened in Flint, Michigan, and why what happened there, could easily happen elsewhere too.

While Roger & Me is sad, the mix of humor throughout is terrific. Your tears become tears of laughter. It's a must-see, particularly because the last line in the film (appearing after the credits) is the best final line I’ve ever seen in a documentary. (On DVD, March 31, 2023)

[messagefound]

The Roots

This is a storybook-style piece involving adam in the form he takes in his eve's main timeline. because of the differing circumstances, he looks and acts different, but he is still a loving being at heart.

lilieve belongs to @crashstanding

Summary: The Mother Tree feels a tugging at her roots. Following it, she meets her counterpart again.

One day, the First and Many felt a tugging against her roots. She had dug them far, far below the earth, and not once had anyone got tangled up in them.

Because why would they? Nothing except the most adapted of creatures can survive down there. Humans were not one of these creatures, and yet they would often stray down there anyway. They would overestimate their adaptability, and wander until the Tree ushered them away.

She did not dig life out of the ground for it to come back in again.

Yet the nature of the tugging was not that of a lost fleshling. It had been around for quite some time. Even the Children were noticing and growing restless. “Something’s crying down there, Mama,” they would say, in their little whispering chirps. “Enough to drown any plant. What will happen to you?”

“You needn’t worry.” She would reply. “I will see who’s causing such a fuss.”

So, she descended, down, down, to the depths she dug through all that time ago. She knew there had been remnants down there, life she could resuscitate. As long as she was around, nothing could remain lost and dead and forgotten without her consent.

She had worked much too hard to allow that.

So, what had possibly remained down there, tugging on the roots so? How had it escaped her notice? She had been very thorough before. She must bring it out to join the rest of creation. It can’t hide forever down here, not after all her work.

What she saw wasn’t anything she ever remembered existing in the Before.

He was a man, that much she could tell, and he was certainly crying. But his proportions were…altered. All his limbs were elongated, stretched to be of equal length like a quadrupedal ape’s. Even his fingers were longer, clawed like a skeleton’s with the flesh thinly wrapped on. His feet no longer retained any semblance of humanity, looking more like a bat’s, handlike with all the grasping capabilities that implied.

His body was gaunt, but the average onlooker wouldn’t realize this at first glance. He was covered in layers and layers of moss and leaves and tiny flowers that clung to him like algae on a sloth. They were wilting and browning ever more steadily it seemed, thirsty for a sun that didn’t exist in this darkness. They even spread to his hair, which itself seemed to droop in scraggly black and white strands that covered his face like a drooping weeping willow.

(Perhaps that was what he reminded her of. A weeping willow…)

But the strangest thing of all was his upper body, or rather…the lack of it. No flesh nor sinew covered it, nor did his ribs house any vulnerable insides. It was just that, ribs.

His body posture was closed, curling up inwards as much as he could when he was clinging to the roots for dear life. Even if his insides were gone, his ribs seemed just as precious.

But on closer inspection, the Tree noticed something that might’ve been the most precious to him. A little bundle was in the crook of one free arm, limp and dangling its pale limbs and wispy black hair but alive. But only barely.

The two locked eyes. The man’s tearstained dark eyes met her bright gaze, and all she could read in it was a brief flash of aggression before it seemed to sink back into a raging pool of fear.

The man’s mouth opened, showing unusually sharp teeth, but the Tree didn’t feel like she was being snarled at. It wasn’t a challenge, but a feeble warning.

(Do not come here, for I have teeth and I know not what they will do)

“Do not be afraid,” the Tree said, as quiet as her matronly voice could allow. “I come not to harm you. I will not harm your little one.”

The man clutched the bundle closer, whimpering a scratchy coo out that sounded like a branch knocking against a window.

“I’m sorry”

“Whatever are you sorry for?”

“I didn’t know these belonged to you”

He nervously loosened a foot’s grip on the roots, before clinging back to it in a panic.

“How long have you been down here?” the Tree asked, ever patient.

“Hiding”

He seemed to shrink into himself, scrunching up and tensing and curling to prove the point. His grip on his child seemed more important than that on the roots.

“A long, long time”

The bundle seemed to shift, letting out a pained groan that seemed barely audible even with the silence. The man let out a strangled, yet quiet cry, angling himself so that his own tears fell upon it.

“My little flower, my boy”

He paused for a second, as if awaiting a response from his little cargo. Upon his silence, the man resumed his weeping.

“He’s sick”

“Why do you cry on him?” asked the Tree.

“Flower, water flower”

More tears dripped upon the little boy, all without a single response.

“Things are supposed to get better when I cry on them, like the plants”

“A child is not like a plant, I’m afraid.”

The Tree thought for a moment.

“May I see him?”

The man suddenly flinched, loosening all his grips on the roots and landing upon the ground. As big and as odd as he was, the action made nary a sound, nor did it jostle the child any. Both arms were holding him now, and the man’s…entire being seemed to grow “thorny.” Suddenly every part of him seemed sharper, more predisposed for hurt like the thorns on a rose.

“no”

“Do not fear. I will not hurt him.”

“but you come from above”

“And what’s so wrong with the above?”

“It’s dangerous”

He pointed down to his ribs. On the lower rungs, a rib was missing on one side. Its counterpart, much darker than the rest, remained.

“No matter how many times I try, I can’t make both sons live”

He cradled the child close once more, nuzzling him and blubbering.

“One lives on, but this one keeps coming back to me”

The not-quite-thorns receded, and all the Tree could see was a creature deeply bent and contorted with pain.

“And now he’s sick, even as he’s still with me”

The Tree’s gaze softened, and she knelt as if beckoning a baby chick.

“I have children too. Myriads like leaves on a tree. Sometimes, the slightest breeze would sweep them off to places unknown. Sometimes those places are terrible, the most terrible. And yet…”

This time, a few tears dripped from her eyes.

“I can only watch and wait for them to come back. But even being their universal constant can be the comfort they need the most. When they come back broken and bruised with their feathers plucked and weeping mud, they know I will clean them up and let them be in a warm nest again.”

She extended her hand, gently, slowly.

“Let me take care of your dear one. Up above, where I live, there’s fresher air than down here. I will tell my children to be gentle with him, and surround him with their feathery down until he’s warm enough to wake. I will grant him fruits from my boughs until his strength returns to him. Not once, never once, will I harm him. If anyone even thinks to, I will have my brood swarm them until nothing remains.”

“you promise?”

“Always.”

There was a pause, a prolonged silence.

“okay”

Inching closer, little by little like a tiny earthworm, the man placed his son into the arms of the Tree. She held the little boy with the utmost care, taking note of every tear in the cloth of his tattered dark coat to sew back together later. Putting a hand on his forehead, it was certainly warmer than anyone would like.

“You needn’t worry.” She said, faintly smiling. “He can rest, and breathe the air above, and he will open his eyes in due time.”

There was a shaky cry from the man, letting out a sigh-like breath as he swept some hair from his son’s face.

“I’m glad, so glad”

There was another pause, not broken by the shaky warbling sounds from the man’s throat.

“can I stay with him”

“Of course.”

“and, and even after”

The man’s arms slowly moved to cradle himself, and the shivering created a rattling of the ribs.

“can you stay with me or, or rather, can I stay with you, up there”

“Of course. As long as you want.”

“I don’t want to be alone anymore”

“You don’t have to be. I promise.”

The man has stayed ever since, even as his little son opened his eyes and played with the Children as much as any other would. The tunnels have stayed, as they always have.

But now, whenever an unwelcome guest enters, someone sees them. They would make every precaution to be quiet, they would lower themselves to as much of a beast of the dark as they could while still being human, and someone would still notice.

From then on, no one with evil intentions was allowed to pass. No one was allowed to go anywhere near his son. No one was allowed to go anywhere near the Children. None were allowed to go near the Tree.

He will protect them. That was his debt of gratitude.

[highfunctioningflailgirl]

Damage Control - 2x19 Folsom Prison Blues

Tiny’s large body stretches the body bag to its limits, and Dean gives him a silent salute when the gurney is rolled past him, out of the infirmary. He’d liked the guy, and although Sam would be nervous about that, Dean doesn’t care. Not every inmate in this prison is a bad person. Many of them, he’s learned, were simply dealt a tough hand in life, often from the very start, and, like Tiny, hadn’t managed to fight their way out - at least not in the right, legally accepted way. 

In truth, it’s no wonder that Dean fits in here so easily, as Sam had remarked with concern. All the crap he’s dealt with, all the crap he’s done - he’s not much different from Tiny or the others. Hell, he’s been on the FBI’s Wanted List for a while now, and while most of the crimes he’s charged with are bogus or were committed for a good reason, there are some atrocities he’s responsible for that would rightfully put him behind bars for a very long time. 

And he’d survive in here. Not in Solitary. Dean can only face windowless walls and nothing but himself for a limited amount of time. But as part of a community - an inked-up, screwed-up, defensive shields-up community with a clear hierarchy and an even clearer set of unwritten rules - he’d make it through. He might even thrive, judging by the amount of cigarettes he’s won over cards and by the respectful looks he’s getting in the yard ever since returning from Solitary. 

Not Sam, though. Unless they’d put him in charge of the library, Sam would wilt like an unwatered plant. And even then, that big brain of his and his need for independence would make him climb the walls. Physically, he could stand his ground, of course, but mentally? Like Dean, Sam can handle a lot of shit. Being caged in is not one of them.

“Your BP’s fine. Your chest still hurting?”

Velcro rips as the prison doctor loosens the blood pressure cuff around Dean’s arm. Feet dangling, Dean’s sitting on the infirmary’s examination table, one hand cuffed to its frame. A guard is hovering, an eternally menacing glare plastered to his face, 

“A little,” Dean admits. While he no longer feels like dying, his chest is still a little tight where the ghost squeezed his heart.

“Hm.” The doc - a different one than last night’s - wrinkles his already deeply creased forehead. “Have you had heart problems before?”

Massive coronary when accidentally electrocuting myself with an amped-up taser, Dean remembers. But after being healed by a reaper, I believe that no longer counts.

“Not really, no,” he replies. 

“Hm,” the doc hums again. He’s an elderly man giving off grandfather vibes, but his sharp blue eyes belie his age. “Unbutton your top for me, please,” he says. 

With his one available hand, Dean snaps the upper half of his orange jumpsuit open to reveal his naked chest. It’s mottled with bruises, and not all of them come from the beating he took last night. 

“Looks like you got into a bit of a pickle”, the doc says, and, somehow, his manner of speaking reminds Dean of Bobby. 

Dean just huffs, and it turns into a grunt when the doctor palpates his sore ribs. Man, Deacon really didn’t hold back when he used the baton on him last night. Way to make it look real.

“My colleague told you you cracked one of these?” the doc says, pointing at a particular dark swath of bruising along Dean’s lower ribs.

“He did.” 

“And advised you to take it easy for a few days?” The old man reaches for the stethoscope dangling around his neck.

“Spa weekend coming right up,” Dean jokes sarcastically. 

The doc pauses for a moment, his eyes looking directly into Dean’s, musing, and Dean has the sudden feeling of disarmament.

“You better be careful in here, son,” the old doctor says. It’s a warning, but his tone is gentle. “This isn’t a place that takes humor lightly. Might want to think twice when you challenge people like Tiny. You seem to be an intelligent young man. I’d hate to see you getting wheeled out of here in a body bag, too. Now, deep breaths, if you can.”

Caught a little off guard, Dean is glad that the doctor doesn’t seem to expect a response while listening to Dean’s heart and lungs. The stethoscope feels cold against his chest, and every deep breath sends a sharp stab through his left side where he’s definitely cracked a rib. He pinches his face - and hisses when that causes a ring of pain to flare up around his left eye and down his cheek.

“Did you get that x-rayed last night?” the doctor asks, pointing at his injured face.

Dean presses three fingers against his eyebrow to quell the headache and squints at the doc. “No. They said it wasn’t necessary.”

The infirmary doctor on duty last night had given Dean a perfunctory once over before sticking him in his caged, uncomfortable bed and telling him to ‘sleep it off’.

“Hm.” The gloved, rheumy hands carefully palpate Dean’s wounded cheekbone. “Might be cracked as well. But even if it is, I’m afraid the upstanding taxpayers of Green River County won’t pay for anything else than letting it heal on its own. How’s your pain, son?”

“It’s fine.”

The older man arches one thick, gray eyebrow. “Is that so?” 

Dean blinks and tries to wipe any trace of discomfort or weakness from his face. He’s not even sure why. The old doc’s nice and seems to really care. But something about being in here makes Dean revert to the steel in his bones and to the poker face John Winchester taught him. 

“I’m good, doc,” he states, pushing gravel into his voice. 

The old man’s face takes on an expression somewhere between sadness and respect. Surely, he’s seen many men like Dean pass through the prison infirmary - young, bullheaded, messed-up and hiding their pain under tattoos, a cocky swagger and an air of menace. It’s surprising that he doesn’t appear as jaded as the rest of the prison staff. Some people, Dean assumes, take longer to lose their humanity than others, even in the face of hopelessness. 

“Alright then,” the doc says. “No pain meds. Your choice. But I’m going to keep you here for observation for a couple more hours, and I would like to run an EKG, just to make sure your heart really is fine. Can’t have another inmate drop dead on me tonight for no apparent reason.”

Dean replies with an annoyed eye roll, just for show, which the doctor ignores.

“Lie down, young man.” 

While he wheels a quaint looking EKG unit closer on squeaking wheels, Dean clumsily lies down around his cuffed hand, the metal cutting into his wrist as he shifts into a halfway comfortable position. The guard doesn’t take his eyes off him, and, for good measure, Dean throws him a defiant glare. Sam may be right, Dean thinks. He really is fitting into the whole Alcatraz thing a bit too easily. 

The Damage Control Series - Masterlist

Read the whole series on AO3 here:

[deathbydarkelves]

As much as I think the whole Amirdrassil plot is happening WAY too fast in the in-universe timeline (Teldrassil was, like, 5 or 6 years ago as of DF? I think? Less than a decade, anyway), I think it could maybe work if it were on a longer timescale. I don't buy that an until-very-recently-immortal people would be so quick to be like "oh no! okay let's plant another tree and try again :)" I'm not that invested in it, mostly because Amirdrassil's existence relies on Shadowlands and thus clashes directly with my AU, which I just inherently find more fun because I designed it to be fun for me, but I do find the contrast between Blizzard's "kaldorei healing" plot and my "kaldorei healing" plot interesting. Blizzard's is all about them trying to move forward (at least at its center), which is fair enough, that's totally reasonable. And mine is... kind of them going a little bit backwards, actually. They outright leave the Alliance and become a semi-isolationist nation and work to rebuild/reclaim/heal the land they have, versus,, well, whatever's gonna happen after 10.2.

Neither's better than the other, I think they're both valid ways to approach a story like this. I like mine more, of course, but I don't actually think it's objectively superior. On principle anyway, I don't think it makes any sense for the kaldorei to stay in the Alliance even in the canon timeline but fine, whatever.

Like I said, Blizzard's plot would work better for me if it was on a longer timescale and, uh, if Shadowlands hadn't been so tone-deaf about the entire Teldrassil plot </3 And if they would actually address the still war-torn kaldorei territories in northern Kalimdor and also the giant, horizon-splitting husk of a once-thriving city and ecosystem that would realistically be visible for miles inland. It feels very weird to move on to just making a new tree without addressing the remains of the one before! I know that's a really fucking heavy topic but even I, random autistic internet user, have some ideas! Like:

You know how after forest fires, the seeds that were safe underground or were brought in by wind and birds start sprouting? And the odd tree that miraculously survived starts putting out little branches of bright green, startling against its own blackened bark?

yeah... Teldrassil itself isn't gonna regrow, mind you. It's gone. But the island will. Lichens and grasses will start growing around the base again, then flowers, then bushes, then trees. And I would cry if Blizzard did that. And I WILL cry when I eventually write the scene revealing that.

I suppose there's a bit of a parallel "new growth" theme there, but in my opinion it feels a lot more cathartic and almost rewarding(?) to have that regrowth coming directly from the injury itself, as opposed to just growing a whole new tree. But that's me, and I like my fantasy a bit more grounded and emotionally-driven. WoW is... WoW lol.