#oakwood prompts

[oakwoodwritingprompts]

oakwood prompt #38

Your significant other has brought a bouquet of flowers to every date you'd been on.

It's a shame you never bothered learning Victorian Flower Language, or you'd have caught their warnings much sooner.

[nentuaby]

Risella screwed up her face in concentration and spoke the words of command; she felt the power flowing into her, imprinted her will upon it, visualized in her mind a mighty beast; and with a little *pop*, her Guardian sprung into existence.

A very, very little *pop*. She spent a moment gazing down in frustration at the spiky, toothy creature nestled between her ankles. "Right. You see? The spells I've managed to find in books and such work, sort of, but they never turn out how they're supposed to. Please, I need you to teach me how to do magic right."

"Hmm, yes, I see." The old wizard stroked her chin thoughtfully and gazed down at the tiny construct. "Well, yes, I'm willing."

Risella was already mustering her next argument-- "Please, I know you don't take apprentices since-- oh! You will?!"

"Mmm. Well, I'll need you to do me a service in return, of course."

Risella gulped. A wizard's price could be... Very steep indeed. But still... "Yes, of course! Ma'am, I'll do anything. I NEED this."

The old woman shook her head sternly. "Lesson one-- never, ever agree to a contract until you've heard all the terms. I'll give you that one for free."

"I'll give you the second one free too. I hope you understand I don't do THAT often. Lesson two--" She poked the miniature Guardian with her walking stick, prompting it to begin gnawing fiercely at the hard oakwood. "It is absolutely impossible to manifest a Guardian without a prepared summoning circle."

"So my price, girl... I'll teach you to do magic right, if you'll teach me to do it wrong!”

[snugglywugglysocialist]

Inclement

Your bloodshot eyes dart between the stack of folders piled atop the oakwood desk, and the redhead occupying the space in front of it.

The older woman shuts the file previously splayed opened in her palm, and flings it to the opposite end of her desk, groaning in annoyance. The fine lines nestled in the corners of her eyes deepen as she narrows her gaze out the glass windows of her partition door. Casey inhales sharply, and you know she’s going to continue torturing herself over this case—just as you are—until she finds her smoking gun. You look to her, hoping she can sense your silent inquiry and begin an explanation without being prompted.

“Something is off with the M.E.” She scrapes, the tone of her voice that sickening meld of revulsion and apathy you’re so accustomed to hearing from her; you wince lightly thinking about the times you've heard it before.

“Is there?” You ask, with just enough regard to lend you plausible deniability if she hangs on the incredulous drawl of your words.

“I’ve seen thousands of lab reports, none of them have ever been this clean.” Casey says, angling her lithe body over yours to grab the folder she’d slung across the varnished surface of her desk just minutes ago.

She opens it quickly, fishing out the piece of paper in question with such ease that you’re convinced she has the whole file memorized; she holds the file open in her left hand while wordlessly imploring you to take the report from her right. She's leaning with her back against the desk now, watching your expression as you skim the document. The report takes up about half of the paper, and you’ve never seen one this short.

“Damn.” You whisper absentmindedly, your eyes still glued to the medical examiner’s poorly copied signature occupying the left hand corner of the page.

Casey purses her lips, and tips her head lightly forward with a pervaded smugness. Your gaze moves upwards to meet the redhead’s; her hazel eyes seem to blacken the longer the contact lasts. You’re the first to look away, studying the brass embellishments of her lamp with feigned curiosity as your teeth clamp down on the inside of your cheek. You hand the report back to Casey, pushing back on your heels and resting your hands on your hips.

“So, I guess we’re paying this one a visit?” You ask, almost rhetorically, as you know precisely what she’s going to say next.

“Yep.” Casey says, popping her tongue at the last syllable like she always does when she’s like this—scorned and determined.

The redhead’s agile hands move to deftly collect the scattered files and shove them into her briefcase. You allow your eyes to flutter shut for a few seconds in a brief moment of loss against the battle of exhaustion. This case has left ragged nerves in its wake, and you’re sure it’s evident in the wild-eyed looks worn by both you and the older woman. The sharp clang of her keys hitting one another forces you out of your infirmity just in time to return the knowing gaze Casey tosses your way.

Hours pass and you’re still on the road; traffic is slow and Casey’s speeding, but it’s futile to aptly close the distance between the courthouse and the medical examiners office situated in a different borough. Silence ensnared each of you long ago, only the sounds of distant cars able to penetrate the vacuum of the older woman’s car. As you fixate on Casey’s jumbled keychain, now swinging wildly from the ignition, you find yourself pondering about Casey’s thoughts more than the situation itself.

“What are you thinking?” You mumble, the timbre of your voice one of resonance; the one that always forces Casey to listen.

“Not much.” She responds faintly, and you know weariness is catching up to her.

You nod idly in response, going against your own wishes to press her until she relinquishes an honest answer. Looking away from Casey’s stoic expression, you glance at the GPS and silently praise the concept of time for tipping in your favor, and ending this miserably long car ride. Casey leans in to end the route before pulling into the crumbling parking lot of the medical examiner’s office. The redhead barely shifts into park before killing the ignition, and neither of you hesitate before jumping out of the car.

The wind sucks the air out of your lungs, and you grit your teeth in pure misery at the feeling. Casey is standing parallel to the front end of the car, looking upwards. You angle your chin down in a bootless attempt to escape the biting wind; you curse her under your breath for making you wait outside like this. Without even looking at her, you know she's gawking at the looming black rain clouds nestled in every corner of the sky. Staring at the pavement, you wonder if Casey notices your oddities as you do hers.

Casey turns suddenly on her heels, her gaze now fixed on you as it was on the storm. You face the building once you realize she’s done playing weatherman, and bolt forward in desperation. Casey walks indolently behind you, simply refusing to be bludgeoned by the squall. You finally reach the low-hanging awning of the office, and position yourself in the furthest corner of the entry porch.

You’re sighing into the side of the brick wall, and Casey laughs at your heaving state. Normally, the condescension imbued in the corner of her upturned lips would’ve infuriated you, but you shoot her a genuine half-smile as you open the door for her. Casey nods to you as she heads back, signaling for you to stay behind. You watch as she greets the woman occupying the front desk; soon after, she’s leading the redhead down a short hallway opposite the left wall.

You pace around the front foyer as you try to discern the muffled voices coming from what you believe to be the autopsy room. Your eyes rake slowly over peeling yellow paint, and the various papers pinned to a decaying cork board hung above a row of upholstered chairs. You realize that Casey’s voice is considerably deeper than that of the doctor, and you chuckle thinking about how she’s probably taller than him as well.

Not even ten minutes later, the familiar sound of Casey’s heels against the floor pulls you from your stint as an interior design critic, and you look up just as she rounds the corner. She waves a piece of paper to you tacitly, and from the way her teeth clamp into her bottom lip, you know she’s holding the real report. You wait for her to get closer before heading down the drab hallway and out the door.

You peel your eyes away from Casey’s intoxicatingly hubristic expression, and finally notice what you’d walked into. Casey stops herself from stepping out from beneath the awning, and raises her eyebrows as she looks forward. Despite your years spent in the northeast, you’ve never seen rain like this. You can see but a few feet in front of you; the rest is a complete white out.

“Fuck.” Casey says, and it’s just barely audible above the abrasive rain.

“We can’t drive home in this shit.” You say indignantly, and Casey nods in response, squinting in attempt to see through the pummeling sheets of water.

You walk back a few steps to lean against the brick wall of the office, letting your head hit against it. Casey keeps her back to you, and you exploit the opportunity to let your eyes lazily rake over her figure. Suddenly, she turns to you, looking as if she’d found some sort of absolute truth to the universe. She moves to angle her body against the building as well, and cocks her head to the left.

“I saw a hotel as we were driving in—about a block down that way. I say we go there until this passes.” Casey says, speaking rather loudly on account of the rain.

You nod in agreement regarding the older woman’s plan, still focusing on the movement of her hands as she lets them fall to her sides; she could’ve told you the sky was red, and you would’ve nodded dumbly in concurrence just the same. You watch absentmindedly as Casey shoves the report into the inside pocket of her jacket, and buttons it. Without saying anything, she’s grabbing your forearm and dragging you towards the car in a sprint.

Within seconds you’re both planted stiffly in the seats of Casey’s car, saturated from the assaulting downpour. The redhead mumbles expletives under her breath as she pulls the keys from her pocket. You let your head sink into the cold leather of your seat, trying to ignore the sudden urge to rid yourself of the drenched suit now clinging to your skin. Casey makes it to the hotel quickly in spite of the weather, and you’re relieved to see that the entrance is roofed.

She unclips her seatbelt after parking and twists to reach something in the back seat, her white button-down slipping from beneath the waistband of her slacks and revealing the line of her hip bone. You close your eyes and shake your head lightly as if doing so would suppress your thoughts about the older woman in the seat next to you. Thankfully, the valet now standing in front of the car derails your previous train of thought. Casey exits the car seconds before you, swinging open the back passenger door, and fetching a small duffel bag you’ve never seen before.

“Do you seriously have an emergency bag of clothes?” You ask, closing the car door for her.

“You don’t?” She remarks, smiling arrogantly at her own prudence.

“I knew you were insane, but this breeches a new territory of control freak.” You say, genuinely laughing at the prospect.

“You should follow my pre-planning skills; I’m not going to be the one stuck in wet clothes for hours.” She says, quelling her expression of conceit before approaching the front desk.

You signal Casey to hand you her bag as she begins speaking to the front desk clerk. She complies without thought, still speaking amiably to the man situated behind the concave desk. You stand to the side of the redhead, staring at the grain patterns in the wood veneer and static occupies the expanse of your thinking. Lethargy diseases your entire being, and you try to remember the last full-night’s worth of sleep you’ve had; just as you determine it’s been about a week since, Casey’s pushing a keycard into your hand and pulling her bag off of your shoulder.

“We shouldn’t be here more than a few hours.” She rasps quietly after taking a few steps down the corridor.

You nod indifferently, fidgeting with the plastic card in your right hand. Casey stops in front of a door abruptly, and you’re thankful that the room she scored is on the first floor. You scan the card, and fling open the white door with such vigor that it bounces off the opposing wall. Casey glares at you for the noise before slinging her bag onto a low table in the middle of the room. She looks around for a moment, and raises her brows in approval of the room. You throw yourself onto the bed petulantly, and groan out for no discernible reason.

“Didn’t know I hired a ten year old.” Casey says, looking at you with amusement.

“My mental age goes down two years with each day I don’t sleep, we’re sitting at twelve right now.” You mutter, sliding your hands down your face in attempt to stay awake.

Casey chuckles before sitting on the bed next to you and making your breath hitch. She exhales sharply before ripping off her suit jacket, and throwing it on the same table with her bag. You can see that the sun is beginning to set behind the rows of concrete buildings outside the window, and you wonder how long this storm is going to last. Neither of you speak now; the wind throws the window pane against its frame with an offensive knocking, and it’s all you can focus on. Eventually, Casey stands to grab her bag, and the idea of dry clothes is much too appealing for you to ignore.

“Do you have something I can borrow in there?” You ask quietly, and you know she’s going to give you hell.

“I do, but it would be much more enjoyable to torture you by refusing.” She responds, her voice so bereft of humor that if you didn’t know her, you’d think she was serious.

“My mental age goes down three years every hour I have this shit on.” You say, gesturing to your coldly dampened suit; Casey laughs and launches a ball of clothing directly at your head.

“And here I thought your softball career ended in high school.” You manage to say between laughs, and Casey clutches her chest in fake offense at your jab.

You try to ignore the spinning of your head as you stand and head into the bathroom. As you unfurl the folded hoodie and shorts, you stare in surprise at the college logo printed on each of them. You peel the suit from your body in haste and begin to shiver. Casey’s clothes hang off of you limply, and you force down the feeling in your gut at wearing the other woman’s sweatshirt. You drop your head downwards when you realize how the clothes smell like her despite probably being in her car for months.

You walk back into the room to see the redhead lying on the bed just as you were, her eyes hooded and jaded. You place your suit over the back of a chair positioned in the corner of the room, and approach the bed once more. Sitting down, you look at her knowingly and purse your lips in understanding. She turns her head away from your gaze and stands to grab the clothes she’d laid out for herself. You check your watch as she goes to change, and the likelihood of being forced to stay overnight in this hotel is burgeoning rapidly. Casey returns wearing a similar outfit to yours—a tattered hoodie and shorts.

“You never told me you went to Harvard.” You note dully, and Casey grins as she throws her pantsuit onto the same chair as yours.

“I guess not. I went for law school.” She responds lowly, and you fail to suppress a giggle.

“Is that funny to you?” She asks playfully, joining you on the bed.

“I’m just trying to envision you in college.” You say, and Casey scoffs at your statement.

“Why do I get the feeling we’re going to be here all night.” Casey breathes, staring blankly out the window.

“Looks like you’re sleeping on the floor, Novak.” You mutter, and her scraping laugh follows.

“It’s a queen sized bed. I’m sure we’re both capable of staying on our own side.” The redhead responds, and you exhale sharply.

The thought of being made to sleep in the same bed as the older woman—as enticing its appeal—has your head pounding. Casey shifts closer to you unknowingly, trying to get a better view out the window, and you shift to glance at her. The expanse of Casey’s neck is exposed as she cranes to the side, and you know you should look away, but you can’t. The water-blurred moonlight shines through the window and reveals the intent expression worn by the redhead; you hold your breath as you fixate on her unabashedly now.

She eventually looks back to you with a slight frown as she heeds your staring, pulling you from your trance. You move to get up to avoid having to cover for your gawking, but she grabs your wrist, keeping you planted to the bed. You snap your head back to her in shock, and she catches her tongue between her teeth for a moments before straightening her posture. Casey increases her constriction exponentially before speaking as if it were mirroring the veracity of her following words.

“What was that?” She asks rigidly, and it’s barely enough to shake you from your panicked state.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” You respond, your tone dripping with sudden animosity at the pain.

“Why the hell were you looking at me like that?” Casey grills crossly, tightening the grip on your wrist even harder, and pulling you toward her.

“Go to bed, Casey.” You say to dismiss her question, but she doesn’t relent.

You attempt to get up once more, but she keeps her hold on your wrist firm. You’re not sure if it’s the weariness or the way Casey’s glaring at you, but you choose to sit there silently; your bluff seems to work, and the older woman drops your arm irascibly. She turns away from you and runs her hands through her hair quickly, seemingly trying to process what just happened. She stands and walks a few steps forward, attaching her hands to her hips and keeping her gaze fixed at the wall.

You join her, approaching her towering figure from behind, and grazing your hand across her spine; she shutters at the feeling and leans back. Your resolve dwindled hours before now, and the consequences of your thoughts cease as a threat when Casey faces you. Her eyes are harrowing and the tattered crewneck she’s wearing hangs off of her too rightly. Your hands find her face, the tips of your fingers brushing along the contour of her cheekbones and jaw; the plaintive expression she wore just moments ago withers with each fleeting touch.

Casey’s eyes flutter close as your thumb moves gently over her full lips, and she sways into your ministrations. The older woman mumbles something under her breath when your hands move down to her waist, but you can’t quite make it out for the pounding of your heart in your ears. Within seconds, she’s on your lips with urgency, angling her hand across your chin in a silent plea to not pull away. Her tongue grazes across your teeth as she moves her hands to slide beneath your sweatshirt, and you feel as if you’re going to collapse. You’re panting when you pull away, and her look of forlornness returns until you’re pushing her towards the bed.

Casey sits on the edge, and you give her—or yourself—no time to think before perching yourself on the redhead’s lap, and attaching your lips to hers once more. She slides her hands over your chest falteringly, and her hesitation doesn’t go without notice by you. You drag your lips downward until you reach the side of her neck, and you can feel the vibration of her moans when they crack through her chest. The pressure between your thighs builds with each sound slipping past Casey’s lips, and you find it increasingly more difficult to think. As your teeth sink into the flesh bridging the gap between her neck and shoulder, her hand glides beneath your shorts.

Your head drops into the crook of her neck as she toys with you, and you begin to rock your hips into her touch. The redhead whines when she slips past the barrier of your underwear, moving along the length of you languidly. She makes several passes through your folds, lingering near your clit before she enters you slowly. Your cries of impatience bounce off the white walls of the room, and Casey croons in your ear sincerely as she pumps in and out of you. You’re on the precipice within moments at the torturously skilled digits sliding into you, and your legs tremble uncontrollably. You grip the back of Casey’s hair as she plants soft kisses across the skin of your face and neck, contrasting the vigorous pace her hand now moves with.

Your hips stutter and jerk as every part of your body snaps taught; Casey fights to keep you in position as she guides you through your orgasm, bringing her other arm around your waist and forcing you into her. Her movements slow and your body goes slack against hers, your lungs burning. You groan as she slides out of you, and she pushes her fingers past your teeth to fuck your throat with them; when she removes them, she occupies your mouth with her own, smiling slightly at the taste of you on your own lips. You break from her and force her down suddenly, the carnality with which you want her—begging and writhing beneath you—overwhelming your self-control.

Casey gasps when you tear her sweatshirt from her body, throwing it behind you to the ground before repeating the same actions with her shorts. Her pale skin flushes a deep shade of pink at the abruptness of your actions, and she shuts her thighs in humiliation. You shoot her a glare before prying her legs apart, and keeping them open with your knee. She moans when you begin to meticulously suck marks into the skin of her chest, taking your time to ensure each of them will bruise. Her back begins to arch upwards, grinding your hips together and eliciting the friction she so desperately craves. The redhead continues this action until you apply your full weight to her body, halting her actions.

“Please.” She begs against you, her trembling hands moving to grasp your waist in fervor.

“I don’t know, my wrist still hurts; you can cum on your own, can’t you?” You say wryly, and her face drops at your recommendation.

“I want you.” Casey pleads, and the uncharacteristic shame on her face amuses you immensely.

“Get yourself off and I’ll consider.” You chide, kissing her cheek softly just to piss her off even more.

You rid her of your presence, moving to sit on the edge of the bed to get a better view of her heaving body. Casey exhales petulantly as your hand swats the outside of her leg, imploring her to oblige your wishes. She peels her panties from her legs, tossing them to the floor to join her other clothes. The older woman brings her hand up to glide across her slit, and you moan at the visual alone. Your hand braces her knees apart to embarrass her as much as possible, and she begins moving in and out of herself. Your name tumbles from her lips in a bid to entice you into replacing her hand with your own. She continues fucking herself and repeating an oscillating mantra of your name and lewd expletives until she’s just about to finish.

You smack her hand away when it becomes too much for you to only watch, and you quickly begin to move through her slowly. She grabs fistfuls of the sheets when you increase your speed, keeping her right on the edge before pulling away, and attaching your mouth to her clit. Casey’s nearly screaming now, burying her spry hands in your hair and holding your head to her core. Your tongue moves across her deliberately, trying to weaken every muscle in her body with your actions. She cums hard, grasping at your neck and hair in a frenzy as you maintain your pace. Casey is cursing now, releasing words you’d never even heard her utter until this moment.

After tormenting the older woman to a point you deem sufficient, you force your mouth away from her cunt and crawl up her body. Casey is still gasping for air when you envelop her lips softly, her legs still spasming from the scourge you’d ended just seconds ago. You kiss her gently until her breathing slows, and she relaxes fully into the mattress in pure exhaustion. You chuckle at her pathetic state, and note the absence of the distress that was present in her face earlier in the day. The redhead winces as she props herself up on her arms, and raises up slowly. You bend to retrieve the clothes you’d torn off her body from the carpet.

“We’re fucked if anyone finds out about this.” She breathes, moving to take the hoodie out of your outstretched hand.

“This can’t happen again.” You respond, despite you both knowing it will.

[teine-mallaichte]

Day 30 @ailesswhumptober - Prompt: delirious.

After his hired mercenary collapses Markus takes him to Oakswood. continued from Whumptober day 29 - Burnout

CW: illness, fever, delirium, implied slavery, references to past trauma, themes of servitude, pain, distress.

AIless whumptober list

Echoes of a forgotten war

Eldrin master list

It had been a quiet day in Oakwood, the bitter cold keeping most of the townsfolk huddled inside the warm inns and taverns. The last thing Arfam had expected was for Markus to stagger into the guild, a delirious and barely conscious mercenary slung over his shoulder. It was not unusual for sick or injured sellswords and adventurers to turn up at the guild, nor was it out of character for Markus to bring them in. The merchant had an irritating habit of hiring escorts too green for the multi-day journeys between towns.

But it had quickly become apparent that this was not your average injury.

Arfam shook his head, quickly shifting his focus back to the task at hand, applying cool cloths to the mercenary’s fevered skin as the elf muttered and twisted seemingly entirely unaware of his surroundings. “We need to keep 'im calm,” he said, his voice steady despite the growing concern in his gut.

“Calm?” Markus echoed incredulously, his eyes wide. “He’s delirious, Arfam!”

The dwarf sighed; Markus wasn’t wrong, but there was little they could do. Neither of them were healers, and neither had much expertise in elven physiology. Arfam’s mind drifted back, memories rising like mist from a distant past. He remembered the free elves from his youth— their laughter ringing like music, their eyes bright and full of life. Now, it felt like a lifetime ago. In truth, he hadn’t seen an elf in at least thirty years—probably before this poor lad had even been born.

Since arriving in the human cities, places where no free eld would dare tread, the only elves Arfam had encountered were conscripts—broken shadows of the beings he once admired. They wore the same pointed ears and delicate features of the free elves his hometown had traded with, but their air of desperation and fear made his heart ache. The sight of them had haunted him. He’d learned quickly to avoid them. It was easier that way, but it never sat right with him.

The elf’s breaths were shallow, his skin glistening with sweat as he mumbled incoherently. “Master… I… I can do better,” he murmured, a web of frost beginning to spread from his hands over the stone floor beneath him.

Arfam exchanged a worried glance with Markus, "what you say his name was?"

“Eldrin,” Markus replied, his voice tense, "picked him up in Westport for days ago… I… I thought he was human."

Arfam nodded. “Eldrin,” he called softly, hoping to pull the mercenary back from the edge of his fevered mind. “Can you hear me?”

Eldrin’s eyes flickered open, but the once-vibrant blue-grey was now clouded by a dull silver, he gasped, each breath shaky. “Master… please…” The words slurred, tumbling from his lips. “Need to…”

Markus knelt beside them, his hands wringing nervously. “What's happening to him?"

“Affinity burnout… It’s like a sickness,��� Arfam explained as he rewet the cloth, pressing it to the elf’s brow. “Causes fever, delirium… Elf affinities aren’t just magic—they’re like… a part of them. Reacts to emotions." He shot Markus a dry half-smirk that didn’t reach his eyes. “Bet they don’t teach you human-folk this stuff, do they?”

“So… he’s suffering because he pushed too hard?" the merchanat asked slowly, trying to make sense of the situation, "That’s…”

“Common for conscripts.” Arfam’s words cut in sharply, his voice low but steady. “Conditioned to push past their limits. But you—” he gave Markus a look that was almost pitying, “you went and picked up a fugitive without knowing it, didn’t you?”

"I… I thought he was just a sellsword…" Markus stammered, "A bit jumpy ye, but untill he practically summoned a blizzard he seemed… Normal."

Arfam's brow furrowed as he focused on the elf, wiping the sweat from Eldrin's brow while carefully avoiding the ice that threatened to creep up his arms. "'Normal'" The dwarf echoed glancing back at the merchant, his voice low but firm. "You need to understand what you’re dealing with 'ere. This elf… he’s not just a mercenary. He’s been trained as a weapon. Whoever his 'owner' is, they'll be looking for 'im. The nobels don't take kindly to their 'property' escaping."

Markus swallowed hard, the implications of Arfam’s words sinking in like a stone in his gut. “What do we do?”

Arfam’s eyes narrowed as he considered their options. “First, we get 'im stable. Once he’s coherent, we can figure out the rest,” he replied, his tone authoritative.

“Eldrin,” Arfam called again, leaning closer. “Can you hear me?”

"Eldrin’s eyes fluttered, his focus drifting from Arfam to the empty air, as if he were straining to see someone only he could sense. 'Master… I… I won’t fail,' he muttered, the words torn from him in a hoarse, broken whisper.

Arfam pressed a cool cloth against Eldrin’s feverish brow, meeting the dull, haunted glint in the elf’s eyes. “Focus on me, lad. Not 'im. You’re safe here.”

A beat passed, the tension thickening as Eldrin's body tensed momentarily. Finally, Eldrin’s gaze caught on Arfam’s face for a fleeting moment. "Too warm…" he murmured, his voice softer, as the frost crept up his arm once more.

The dwarf sighed as he re-dampened the cloth on Elrins forehead, "I know kid. We're got ya'."

[coastermaynia]

Coasters on Previous Years' Lists

List of coasters on the prompt lists from 2020-2023, alphabetical by park name!

Adventureland

Dragon (2021)

Monster (2022)

Outlaw (2023)

Alton Towers

Galactica (2022)

Oblivion (2021)

Smiler (2020)

Wicker Man (2023)

Blackpool Pleasure Beach

Icon (2021)

Busch Gardens Tampa

Cobra’s Curse (2022)

Iron Gwazi (2021)

Kumba (2020)

Montu (2023)

Busch Gardens Williamsburg

Alpengeist (2022)

Pantheon (2021)

Verbolten (2023)

California’s Great America

Gold Striker (2020)

RailBlazer (2023)

Canada’s Wonderland

Bat (2023)

Behemoth (2022)

Leviathan (2020)

Yukon Striker (2021)

Carowinds

Copperhead Strike (2020)

Fury 325 (2021)

Nighthawk (2022)

Cedar Point

Corkscrew (2022)

GateKeeper (2023)

Millennium Force (2020)

Steel Vengeance (2021)

Chessington World of Adventures

Dragon’s Fury (2022)

China Dinosaurs Park

Dinoconda (2021)

Dollywood

Lightning Rod (2020)

Thunderhead (2022)

Dorney Park

Steel Force (2023)

Drayton Manor

Shockwave (2022)

Efteling

Baron 1898 (2021)

Vliegende Hollander (2023)

Joris en de Draak (2022)

Energylandia

Zadra (2020)

Europa Park

blue fire (2023)

Silver Star (2022)

Wodan (2020)

Farup Sommerland

Fonix (2022)

Ferrari Land

Red Force (2021)

Fuji-Q Highland

Do-Dodonpa (2020)

Eejenika (2022)

Fujiyama (2021)

Takabisha (2023)

Fun Spot Atlanta

ArieForce One (2023)

Hansa Park

Flucht von Hovgorod (2023)

Karnan (2020)

Heide Park

Colossos (2022)

Krake (2023)

Hersheypark

Candymonium (2020)

Skyrush (2021)

Wildcat’s Revenge (2023)

Holiday Park

Expedition GeForce (2021)

Holiday World

Voyage (2020)

Indiana Beach

Steel Hawg (2021)

Islands of Adventure

Velocicoaster (2022)

Kennywood

Phantom’s Revenge (2020)

Steel Curtain (2021)

Kentucky Kingdom

T3 (2020)

Kings Dominion

Intinidator 305 (2020)

Twisted Timbers (2022)

Volcano (2023)

Kings Island

Beast (2020)

Mystic Timbers (2021)

Orion (2023)

Racer (2022)

Knott’s Berry Farm

GhostRider (2022)

HangTime (2020)

Silver Bullet (2023)

Xcelerator (2021)

Knoebels

Impulse (2022)

Phoenix (2020)

Kolmarden

Wildfire (2020)

Liseberg

Helix (2020)

Marineland

Dragon Mountain (2022)

Motiongate

Dragon Gliders (2023)

Nagashima Spa Land

Hakugei (2021)

Steel Dragon 2000 (2020)

Nanchang Sunac Land

Coaster Through the Clouds (2022)

Oakwood

Speed (2021)

Parc Asterix

Toutatis (2023)

Phantasialand

F.L.Y. (2023)

Taron (2020)

Winja’s (2022)

Plopsaland De Panne

Ride to Happiness (2023)

PortAdventura Park

Dragon Khan (2022)

Shambhala (2021)

Sea World Australia

Leviathan (2023)

Sea World Orlando

Ice Breaker (2020)

Mako (2021)

Sea World San Antonio

Texas Stingray (2021)

Silver Dollar City

Time Traveler (2020)

Silverwood

Aftershock (2023)

Six Flags Fiesta Texas

Dr. Diabolical’s Cliffhanger (2023)

Six Flags Great Adventure

El Toro (2022)

Jersey Devil (2021)

Kingda Ka (2020)

Nitro (2023)

Six Flags Great America

Maxx Force (2021)

Six Flags Magic Mountain

Full Throttle (2023)

Goliath (2020)

Twisted Colossus (2022)

X2 (2021)

Six Flags Mexico

Medusa (2021)

Six Flags New England

Wicked Cyclone (2022)

Six Flags Over Georgia

Blue Hawk (2022)

Thorpe Park

Colossus (2020)

Nemesis Inferno (2022)

Stealth (2021)

Swarm (2023)

Tobu Zoo Park

Kawasemi (2022)

Tokyo Dome City

Thunder Dolphin (2020)

Universal Studios Florida

Rip Ride Rockit (2021)

Universal Studios Japan

Flying Dinosaur (2023)

Walibi Belgium

Kondaa (2021)

Walibi Holland

Untamed (2020)

[embracetheremarkable]

mostly a drawing practice for trees

worldbuilding rambling for the under cut lol:

Usually, trees and rocks are affected by the strange magic of the world. This causes patterns in the bark of trees or surface of rocks, some varying in different patterns depending on the region, temperature, or whatever other factors there are

Generally, trees that grow in warmer or temperate climates have the swirling patterns drawn in the picture above

As for the blood drift birchwood, these are trees only seen in the Blood Drifts, an extremely dangerous location in barefield of the flat drifts district. This kind of lumber is very expensive, partially because of the rich red color the wood is. The labor required is taken into consideration, as these trees are in a location with such frigid temperatures that would make even the most heavily dressed people die within minutes. On top of that, the trees produce a red sap that releases chemicals. These chemicals will make the person feel as though theyre killing a living person, prompting most to drop the axe and leave the tree alone

The "eyes" of the tree are also made to intimidate people into leaving it alone

and then heres the bald version of the oakwood lmao

[pynkhues]

hello!! for the mini fic asks I would like to request D) subtle kindnesses, Roy siblings (any dynamic of your choosing!) <3

Hello! LOOK, this is neither a mini fic, nor probably what you wanted, haha, but I hope you like it regardless. <3

-

“Can I take your bag, sir?”

It takes Connor a minute to place the voice, to find the source among the crowd of staff lurking inside the doorway and briefly, he wonders if he’s come in the servants’ entrance, which - - jeez, wouldn’t that be embarrassing? Worse than the time he used the dessert spoon instead of the soup spoon at the Carnegie Weill Gala, or maybe not, given at least the only witnesses here would be the help, but then he casts his gaze up to the oakwood staircase, the gold-dipped chandelier, the ornately framed portrait of Caroline’s grandfather, and - -

Yeah.

Okay.

Not the servants’ entrance.

He hasn’t spent that much time at this particular house – one of the older Collingwood estates, and well out of London, located low on the rolling Cornish Coast – and honestly, he’d spent his last stay here drunk enough on the wine Caroline’s brother had brought up from Veneto that he’s not sure he remembers much beyond the bathroom anyway.

The thought makes Connor pick his duffel up off the floor, take a breath, inhaling the pungent smell of camphorwood and a log fire, somewhere in a room nearby, and, weirdly enough, the slightly saccharine scent of vanilla. 

“All good, señor, I’m gonna keep this one on me,” Connor says, stepping out of the way as one of the staff scrubbing at the floor inches closer to his shoes. “Trust me, I know how good the little hands in this house are at getting into things they shouldn’t.”

The butler gives him a strained smile at that, and Connor can’t help but laugh, even as two of the maids flutter past, one carrying a fax machine, the other rolls of paper, which feels - - positive? Maybe? He watches them disappear down the passage, chest oddly tight, and clears his throat, glances up, around, at the high arched ceiling, across the staircase, searching for anyone who isn’t getting a paycheck. Finally, he figures he just may as well ask it.

“Uh, is my dad - - ”

“Connor! You’ve made it!”

It’s Caroline’s voice, bright and loud, that bounces around the foyer, and Connor barely gets a glimpse of dark hair and narrow shoulders, a black draped gown like a Dickensian widow’s, before his throat dries and he bows his head like he did as a boy in Caroline’s ever simmering presence. He adjusts his bag strap, huffs a little at himself, reminds himself he’s not fifteen anymore, before forcing himself to look up as Caroline materialises at his side in a puff of tobacco and cinnamon-infused perfume.

She offers her cheek, and without a thought, he leans in to kiss it.

“Long flight, I imagine,” she says. “Do you want a drink?”

Connor blinks in surprise, glancing sideways at the grandfather clock down the hall, barely having struck midday, and says:

“Isn’t it a little early?”

“Surely you’re still on American time,” she grins, waspish, tilting her head as she steps over one of the floor cleaners and starts down the hall, as clear an instruction as any to follow her. “And a good host couldn’t let you drink alone.”

Stay Soft, Get Eaten 5k words. Succession gen fic. Set in 1987.

Send me mini fic prompts

[apexwindow]

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[social-media-agency]

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[oakwoodwritingprompts]

oakwood prompt #42

"You never answered a single letter I wrote!"

"...what letters?"

[slidingglassdoorrepairhub]

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[animar64]

The Gingerbread Question

RDP Tuesday Prompt: Day Light Savings Time The question we ask, as we set our clocks back and then forward again- how should we use  all of that saved time and how hard should we chase after the time we lose when we Spring forward? Photo A.M. MoscosoOakwood Cemetery.Beaver Dam WI USAOctober2023 But then I wonder, if I could ask any of these people sleeping at the Oakwood Cemetery what they think…

[kylewoodman]

Texas man suspected of killing ex-girlfriend commits suicide at her memorial

A man suspected of murdering his ex-girlfriend in Texas tragically ended his own life after being discovered at a memorial dedicated to her. Juan Carlos Mata, aged 20, had been evading law enforcement since allegedly shooting 19-year-old Lesley Reyes outside her Pasadena apartment on Monday. Authorities received a report about a suspicious individual near the memorial at the crime scene, leading to an encounter with Mata. He managed to evade arrest one final time by retrieving a shotgun from behind a car and subsequently committing suicide in front of an officer.

Juan Carlos Mata, the sole suspect in the murder of Lesley Reyes, was found deceased at the location of her memorial. The police had been searching for Mata since the fatal shooting occurred outside the Oakwood Village Apartments. Witnesses reported an argument between the couple, followed by gunshots. After the shooting, Mata took Reyes' phone and repeatedly apologized to her mother. It was later discovered by Reyes' parents that their daughter had been fatally shot, prompting Mata to flee the scene when officers realized the gravity of the situation.

According to Reyes' family, Mata had developed an unhealthy obsession with her, and their relationship had been marked by abuse and toxicity. Despite Reyes ending their relationship, Mata refused to accept the breakup. In the month leading up to the murder, he would frequently send her text messages and show up uninvited at her residence. Reyes' sister, Lourdes Martinez, disclosed that Mata exhibited possessive behavior and couldn't bear the thought of her being with someone else. The family believes that Mata's actions not only claimed the life of their beloved sister but also deeply impacted their community.

Pasadena Sgt. Raul Granados stated that there were no documented instances of domestic violence between Mata and Reyes, aside from a disturbance around a year ago. However, Mata persistently attempted to contact Reyes while she actively tried to distance herself from him. Authorities believe that Mata remained in the area after the murder but disposed of his phone, making it challenging for investigators to locate him.

Lesley Reyes, a young woman with a promising future at only 19 years old, tragically had her life cut short. Her family and the community are devastated by her untimely death. The murder-suicide has left a lasting impact on those who knew her, and they are grappling with the senseless violence that took her away.

[bloomingbedminster]

Summer Trip to RHS Wisley Sunday 16 July

This year’s South Bristol Gardening Club summer trip will be to the Royal Horticultural Societies flagship garden at RHS Wisley.

About RHS Wisley

George Fergusson Wilson, a keen grower of fruit and orchids, bought the Surrey site in 1878 and established his 'Oakwood experimental garden. After Wilson's death in 1902, Sir Thomas Hanbury, founder of La Mortola garden in Italy, purchased Oakwood and adjoining Glebe Farm and donated it to the Royal Horticultural Society for its perpetual use. Since then, the garden has expanded hugely over the years to its current size of 97ha (240 acres). Wisley is all about inspirational gardening, rather than a museum of plants and conservation. The RHS are constantly assessing and updating the plants and planting schemes to ensure there's always something new to excite and inspire.  

Full details for the trip will be announced in May.

If you’re a member of the RHS you get free entry to RHS Wisley for yourself and one guest, so you will only pay the price of the coach travel. You’ll be asked to confirm this when bookings open for the trip in May.

The trip is open to garden club and non-garden club members alike. Booking for the trip will be available in May. If you would like to receive notice when bookings open, please complete the register your interest form below (please note, this does not commit or guarantee you a place on the trip yet).

Register your interest in the RHS Wisley trip

https://bs3ln.onlinesurveys.ac.uk/rhs-wisley-summer-trip

RHS Wisley Trip Itinerary

Approximate timings - to be finalised in May

9.00am PROMPT – Coach departs St Paul’s Church, Coronation s.  Please arrive by 8.50am. Don’t forget to allow time to find parking place in surrounding streets.

11.15am approx – Arrive at RHS Wisley. Optional introductory guided tour (1hr) soon after arrival (See booking) then free time to explore the garden. There is a café, restaurant, tearoom and takeaway. Also plants available to buy as well as a well-stocked shop for garden-themed accessories

3.45pm  – Depart RHS Wisley for return journey

6pm approx – arrive at St Paul’s Church, Coronation Road

[teine-mallaichte]

Day 31 @ailesswhumptober - prompt: panic attack.

Eldrin discovers that a room full of people can be terrifying.

Cw: panic, anxiety, panic attack, social anxiety, past slavery, fear of vulnerability, fear of weakness.

AilessWhumptober

Echoes of the forgotten war.

Eldrin master list

The Oakwood Adventurers Guild was brimming with activity, a lively mix of people filling every available bench. Young faces lit with excitement, old veterans sharing stories, and nervous newcomers shifting restlessly in their seats. Humans made up the majority, but he spotted a few dwarves, a halfling, and even a gnome, all eager to carve their names into the annals of adventure.

Arfam was relieved that pledge day only occurred twice a year. The process was a necessary tradition, but it often irritated new adventurers who believed they could simply waltz in, register, and be ready to work by the next day. He chuckled to himself, imagining the chaos that would ensue if that were the case. A well-structured system was essential, even if it meant today would be stressful.

Today was about more than just signing names on a parchment; it was about ensuring each aspiring adventurer was prepared for the challenges that lay ahead. He scanned the room, his eyes catching on the various groups. Some had already formed parties, their camaraderie evident in the way they leaned into whispered conversations and shared nervous laughter. Others sat alone, a few fidgeting with their gear, casting uncertain glances around the room.

His heart swelled with pride and concern; these kids were his responsibility. Each one represented a potential hero or heroine, and it was his duty to make sure they were equipped not only with skills but also with the right mindset to face the dangers of their quests.

Amidst the cacophony, he spotted Eldrin, standing slightly apart from the throng. The elf had been more than a bit annoyed when Arfam had insisted that he register like everyone else. Arfam may be letting the runaway conscript live at the guild for free—another thing that seemed to irritate the young elf—but that didn't mean he could skip out on tradition and formality. But what he saw in Eldrin now was not irritation, not annoyance or anger, but something else. The elf's posture was just slightly too stiff, his hands trembling as his eyes kept darting around the hall.

Eldrin closed his eyes, attempting to drown out the noise, but it only amplified the pounding in his chest. The lively chatter around him felt overwhelming, a sea of voices that washed over him like a tide. The scent of sweat and wood smoke filled the air, and with it came a wave of nausea that twisted in his stomach. Breathe, he told himself, but the breath felt trapped, caught somewhere deep inside him.

Shadowed images surfaced at the edge of his mind. Days and nights spent under the command of his master, a stern figure looming over him, always demanding more, always ready to remind him how replaceable he was. His failures, his mistakes, punished swiftly. He'd been trained to kill without question, his body hardened to fight, to withstand pain—but not this. Not the quiet battle of standing in a room full of people.

A burst of laughter rang out, sharp and loud. Eldrin flinched, the world tipping for a moment, edges blurring as his vision swam. Cold crept into his fingertips, a sharp, familiar chill that prickled painfully as frost crystals began to spread across his hands. No. Control it. Not now. He took a deep breath, willing the ice to recede. Hold on.

But the pressure behind his eyes grew, his breath quickening as though it had a mind of its own. The sounds merged into an endless echo, laughter turning to taunts. He took a step back, his elbow catching a table, rattling cups and drawing unwanted eyes.

“Hey, watch it!” someone barked, but Eldrin barely registered the words. His heart was pounding. Chest tight. He couldn't focus on the hall anymore.

His hands began to ice over again, the cold snaking up his wrists, frost biting through his gauntlets as he clenched his fists tighter. The sensation would usually have grounded him, but instead, it only reminded him how close he was to losing control.

Across the room, he caught sight of Arfam, whose easy smile had fallen into a look of worry as he pushed through the crowd, eyes locked on Eldrin. No, not Arfam. Not here. He couldn’t look weak in front of a room full of people. Strangers. But it was too late; Arfam was already making his way over, his expression shifting from joviality to urgency.

No, no, no, Eldrin thought, his pulse hammering in his ears. He was one step away from spiraling completely out of control, and he couldn’t let that happen—not in front of everyone.

His breath came in shallow gasps, each inhale a desperate attempt to calm the chaos in his chest. The laughter, the scents of sweat and smoke, the warmth of too many bodies—it was all closing in. Suffocating.

Focus.

Every face around him blurring into a smear of eyes and mouths, watching, laughing. He felt the frost spread, a lattice of ice locking down his fingers.

“Eldrin!”

Arfam’s voice sliced through the fog, the firm, familiar tone anchoring him just enough to focus. “C’mon, lad. Eyes on me.”

Eldrin’s lips parted to speak, but no sound came out. His mind was still spinning, his body frozen with the ice creeping over his knuckles. Weakness. The memory of his master’s voice hissed in his mind. Pathetic. Useless.

“Let’s go outside, away from the noise,” Arfam murmured, his grip gentle but insistent around the elfs wrist as he guided him toward the door. Ignoring the curious glances and whispers.

The moment the fresh air hit his face, Eldrin gasped, the chill piercing through the fog in his mind, loosening the ice from his fingers. He staggered into the wall, pressing his back against the rough stone, the cold bite against him a grounding sensation as he fought to steady his breathing.

Arfam kept a hand on Eldrin’s arm, his tone steady. “Deep breaths, kid. In and out.”

“Not a kid,” Eldrin whispered, fighting the lingering tremor in his voice.

Arfam chuckled softly, though his gaze stayed focused and steady. “To me, ya are. Now breathe.”

The cold night air settled over Eldrin, the panic easing its grip as he let the frost melt from his hands, the icy tendrils retreating with each steadying breath.

“Ain’t no shame in feeling overwhelmed,” Arfam murmured, his voice soft, pulling Eldrin back to the present. “Noise like that can be a lot to handle, even for the best of us.”

Eldrin nodded automatically, trying to steady his breathing. The remnants of panic clung to him, each exhale still sharp and uneven. How could he be this weak? He'd been trained from childhood to be a weapon, to fight in the areas against creatures, 'monsters', other conscripts. A room full of adventurers shouldn't make him feel like this.

"They were all looking at me... Judging,” he muttered, eyes fixed on his hands. Fingers flexing. Banishing the last traces of frost.

Arfam shook his head gently, "Aye, they were looking, but not for the reasons ya think. Most are probably just curious. You're a new face to most of 'em."

Eldrin pressed his back against the stone, feeling the rough texture dig into his skin. He wanted to believe Arfam, but the weight of uncertainty clung to him like a shroud. Curious? Or judging?

“Trust me, lad,” Arfam continued, his voice unwavering, “Ain't nobody out here lookin’ to judge ya. Give it time, there's some good kids 'ere. Just keep ya hood up, head down, and breathe.”

Eldrin nodded, swallowing hard. The words felt foreign, but something about them resonated.

Arfam’s hand left his arm, his warm presence retreating as he started back toward the guild. Eldrin watched him go, feeling a twinge of envy at the dwarf’s easy confidence.

For a moment, he lingered, flexing his fingers to make sure the frost was fully gone. Each inhale felt steadier, and with one last deep breath, he checked that his hood was up, fully hiding his ears. Just noise, he reminded himself as he strode back to the guild hall and opened the door.

[arkhampsych]

she made the strangest face and spoke so curiously … Crane could hardly keep his brow from plunging into a deceptively stern expression. He blinked warily at Lorelai’s dissolving form. She sounded afflicted, perhaps by something that could only be interpreted with extensive knowledge of her other - worldly bearing. He determined that wherever she intended to disappear to — or whatever she intended to do, was out of necessity. her own business. he could take care of her car and possessions while he awaited her return.

A wad of stray bills pacified the parking attendant’s indignant rave. The Woman’s furious voice tapered to a pause as she saw Crane silently open his wallet and thumb a generous row of green paper. His wrist lazily bent towards her. In turn, she reached through her station’s window and into Lorelai’s car to retrieve the sum from his hand. “ I could lose my job … ” The cash reflexively snapped back. Crane’s eyes left the striped bar blocking his exit. They rolled behind closed eyelids, towards the attendant. His lashes rose deliberately to unveil stoic reproach. he would sooner plow through this barred exit than satiate a parking garage attendant’s greed. She withdrew from her timid suggestion, stepping back into her station and hitting a button that prompted the bar to raise. Crane followed through with his offer, releasing the money without so much as a glance, before pulling out of the lot.

how much do the necessities weigh ? a tube of toothpaste, point twenty five grams. shampoo, roughly sixteen ounces to a pound. blouses are much lighter than suits or slacks — did lee pack another pair of shoes ? Crane dropped his briefcase and Lorelai’s luggage immediately after kicking his front door shut. He placed his hands on his hips, looking down at her things as he took a breath. He should have left them in her car. They were her responsibility. He frowned at her bag and squatted beside it, jerking its zipper from one corner to the next so that he could … asses her choice in “ valuables. ”

… clothes. It was all clothing. Crane scoffed at the roughly bunched up shirts she appeared to shove carelessly into her bag — quietly, as though expecting someone to turn a corner and catch his trespass if he were to make a loud sound. no shoes that he could see … He zipped the bag shut and grabbed his briefcase, straightening up before making his way to the kitchen and gently sliding it onto a dark silver - speckled countertop. He removed his glasses and placed them beside the kitchen sink — not their usual resting place, but he could feel them slipping off his nose. They could wait there a while as he splashed water onto his face and buried his cheeks and forehead in a deep royal purple wash rag. A near black negative of his prominent features left to dry where the fabric had been discarded on the counter.

Another busy morning following a sleepless night — perhaps the second or third in a row. He was starting to feel it. Crane opened a stained oakwood cupboard and retrieved an indigo mug. Its rim and handle were discolored, followed by streaks of a dirty color that wouldn’t leave the cup’s ceramic finish, no matter how many times he scrubbed it. He set the mug on the counter beside a coffee machine and a bag of roasted grounds. He might have purchased the bag at the store several months ago — he didn’t remember from where exactly, only that he had made his selection on the basis of caffeine content.

Lately he had done his best to sleep and wake as regularly as his work would allow. He hadn’t relied on caffeine the way he had in school or in his early days working at arkham, it was more of an intermittent remedy in case he should wake hours before he had planned. Now, it looked as though he was falling into old habits.

The exit of the parking garage was surreal. The same infrastructure on every floor, the pattern of sunlight, and fluorescent light passing and reflecting above them in waves were hypnotic enough for her to zone out for a moment. She had totally missed what he had said moments ago. The slow reflexive blink that blocked the wave of false light brought her awareness back to the surface as she looked to the side.

She became irritable, and the stress of running was draining and slowly piling on. Like grains of an hourglass that was reaching its limit. Every day she was getting closer to breaking. The parade of lights was just a reminder of another weakness she had. At the moment, her weaknesses were not what she wanted to dwell on. She looked out the window as she listen to his promise not to invade her privacy. Even though she feels to some extent he already has.

❝I'm sure you won't find anything of value anyhow,❞ she rasped, her head lazily turning to face him, catching a brief glimpse of a smirk. ❝My valuables and extra cash were stolen from my hotel room a couple of nights ago,❞ she added bitterly as she looked straight ahead. ❝Silly me, choosing a shoddy hotel near Crime Alley,❞ she added under her breath with another slow blink as they reached the lower level of the parking garage.

They waited for the car in front of them to leave and it was enough to break that hypnotic parade of lights. She realized the adrenaline she was running on was gone and all that was left was the fumes of anxiety & survival mode. The remark about her car barely registered. She could feel him staring as her eyes slowly closed as she rolled her head away, her chin outwards towards the passenger window. ❝Oh—-h, how considerate of you Doctor,❞ she released sarcastically before realizing what was happening. She was fighting off that predatory switch. He was trying to be civil and she was coming off as fractious.

Her head lazily snapped in his direction. Her eyes were wide as she sucked in a small breath. ❝I think I need to go now, Doc,❞ she sang lightly. Or you're not going to make it back. She unnecessarily unbuckled herself before fading. The seatbelt snapped back up and through her would be body before hitting the frame. Lorelai suddenly stood up before mindlessly taking a few steps away from the car. He'll be fine.