#orange sapling

[sockeyesidequest]

Alriiiiight post time. Finished the first project of my first illustration class. The prompt was flora and fauna which I ran with, ngl. I chose an orange tree sapling paired with an epaulette shark. Pretty fun to make but pretty nerve racking not fucking it up bcs of how fine and small the details are. BUT I DID IT and I'm pretty happy with it. :)

[hairtusk]

banana bread in progress

[the-insiders-outsider]

Grown From The Heart. 06/02/2024 7:39 PM.

[heartcry]

Hello Dear

Hello Dear,

Thanks for sharing. :]

Some thoughts of my own: 1. Don’t be too hard on yourself- honestly…you’re at the age where the chemicals in your brain and body are strong and raging and you’ll still have a lot of questions and learning to go through no matter what.

2. I’ve had my fair share of what you’ve described. The fear and the fantasy of being with someone and then being slapped in the face of the reality that the other person is actually “with” someone else. I remember being sad and confused a lot. Pride hurt. Lonely. I think this was a strong pattern for me since…Middle school. So like…I’d go for…3-4 years at a time fantasizing about someone, writing them post cards, chatting online with them on occasion until I’d see a picture of them with a girl.

But I also remember thinking- I want someone who really “Likes” me and that I’m physically attracted to. There’s lots of layers of all these things.

But. Again. The desire for relationship and to be loved is not bad. God created us this way. He created us to desire deep, holy connection that manifests in sex, in friendship, in family love, in fellowship. And the best kinds of relationships in your life are the ones where many parts of you are seen truly and lovingly and strengthened into the best versions of what they’re supposed to be. The desire to be loved only turns ugly when its sole purpose is only for your glorification and fulfillment. The desire to be loved and to love someone becomes ugly when we put all our hope in a future relationship.

Our hope is Jesus. Our true beauty and fulfillment and love can be found in Jesus. And the way we can see Jesus is when we sit in front of him and let him love us. And in turn, may his love empower you to do brave, good things no matter where you are. If you want a brave person full of love for Jesus where you can serve with them and adventure with them- practice being that sort of person first. Practice bravery. Practice being full of Love (Jesus). And in a sense…being full of Love-Jesus- is just being present and doing good work and giving some time to your family and friends and taking care of your body.

You will date in the future. And there are some good things you can do to prepare for dating. Grow in your character. Seek God and ask him about his purpose and how that will play out in your life. With those two good things, your heart will be a more fertile and healthy ground ready to give and receive love from another person.

One step at a time.

Also-this is an orange tree sapling.

 Would you yell at this plant for not producing oranges? Nope. (If you did I would think you’re crazy)

You’d understand that it needs time to grow. It needs rain, soil, sun, weeding and nurturing. And when it’s the right time, it will bear fruit.

[inthelittlewood]

Hey Martyn. Just now I was watching another content creator who said "most people who enjoy stuff enjoy it silently, and those who hate it, hate it loud." and so I just wanted to say you're easily my favourite minecraft youtuber, and most likely top 3 in content creation. I go back all the way to Kingdom of the Saplings, Jet Set Radio and the early jingle jam streams (before they were even called jingle jam); but as uni, early worklife and life in general became a thing I just lost track of the whole content creator scene at about the end of the Christmas ADVENTure. Then when my life got back on track I accidentally rediscovered you when you and Mumbo teamed up in Last Life and it's been a blast rediscovering the content you do; I'm hooked on the Life SMP (congrats on your Limited Life Win btw!), I was grinning at your first MC Championship win (Orange Ocelots!) and while my schedule means catching streams is difficult for me these days, I've been finding Pirates SMP an absolute hilarious blast. But it wasn't until that quote that I realised I never let you know how much fun it's been watching your content, so I genuinely want to let you know that you've been doing great and I hope you're proud of the work you do.

Feel free to cringe at being complimented if you want. I'm British too, I know how it feels.

They're absolutely right, it's not lost on any creator that lurkers make up the majority. It always feels more apparent when you stream, as there's never hundreds of people speaking at the same time, just a handful.

Thanks so much for the kind words, it's awesome to hear I can still make that enjoyment / connection with people a decade in!

[the-possum-writes]

could you do a detailed smut/fluff with adult!Finn after reader has been away on an adventure?

Long time no see 🔞

❥Character: Finn Mertens

❥Tags: NS/FW, gender neutral reader, private parts aren't specified, Face sitting, Oral, Established Relationship, Fluff, Vanilla, No beta,

❥Synopsis: Coming back to Finn after spending months climbing through snow covered mountains. As much as you love traveling, you love him even more.

❥Wordcount: 2400

❥Taglist: @watchingfromthefloorboards @foxpearlwilder

With the treefrort being no taller than a sapling it made it harder to find Finn's mobile home with how much he loves to move around without telling you, but the again, you can't say no to a challenge. 

The air is humid, and the sky grows gloomier as clouds block off the day's final rays of sunlight. The trinkets on your backpack clink together as you hike uphill toward the parked metallic trailer, where the candy horses are already preparing for sleep; any doubts about no one being home are thrown out the window when orange light shines behind the solitary door. A single knock is made while speaking clearly. "Sir Mertens, we've come to discuss your expired warranty," you say as solemnly as you can.

Footsteps approach you as a muffled voice talks from inside the trailer. "A warranty? But I paid choose goose years ago." When the door finally opened, Finn was shocked to see you instead of some unscrupulous lawyer. Even in this temperature, he is dressed in just a pair of faded gray tank top and a pair of denim shorts. He is just as you remember, tall, chubby, but neither too skinny nor excessively jacked up, and his blond beard matches the blond hairs on his head that aren't covered by his customary bear hat. However, he appears to be immune to the autumn season since when he greeted you with a bear hug, you felt firsthand how naturally warm he truly is, with his body heat surrounding you even through the layer of clothes you dressed yourself for travels.

After a minute of hugging you, he laughs in your ear and releases you. "I should've known better; lawyers wouldn't bother trekking up this steep hill just to charge me with a stupid warrant."

"You obviously never met a lawyer then, they're more relentless than a honey badger with a grudge." you point out. This gained another laugh from Finn, "Come inside! you look like you've fought one yourself."

And he wasn't lying, expeditions didn't really leave you looking fresh like a cabbage.

As you step inside his cozy trailer you soon realize why Finn was dressed in light clothes, it's just as warm as he is with the orange lights coming from a heater in the corner of the main area that looks like a living room, a few more looks around the place hold the trademarks of a single occupant, empty pizza boxes stacked together in the trash bin, clean but unfolded laundry basket out in the open and countless trinkets, weapons and treasures mounted on every inch of the walls. You drop your backpack to the carpeted floor as you take in the details of the treasures, some look familiar to you while others are completely brand new. You make a mental note to ask about them later for now you only have one thing in mind as you remove your coat.

"I'mma hog the shower bit." you affirm, not really asking for permission but you do toss in a suggestion for good measure. "You could use one too, I may look the part but you smell more like a badger than me." 

Finn scoffs at your jab until he caught a whiff of himself and agreed non verbally. The last thing you saw before closing the door to the bathroom was Finn grabbing two towels from the cupboard but not a pair of new clothes considering the basket was right there, it sent a shiver down your spine and settled in your stomach, but you choose to ignore it for now as you get your priorities straight.

The sigh you release when the warm water crashed on your body could easily be confused for something pornographic, but considering the rough terrain you've traveled through and the rough weather outside it's no brainier you'd feel so satisfied with something as mundane as a hot shower. Your hands are combing through the knots in your hair when you heard Finn follow you into the shower, you step aside to allow him some room under the shower head as he shakes his head like a dog. "Can you pass me the shampoo? it's on the sink." he asks, eyes closed as he lavishes in the hot water just like you did earlier. You poke your head out of the shower curtain to retrieve the bottle on the ledge of the sink, almost laughing your ass off when you read it's one of those '13 in one for men' brand. "For real? why not have a shampoo and conditioner like Jake did?" you snort.

"Hey, I'm a busy guy. Why waste my time with a ton of bottles if one has it covered?" is his defense, but you comply nevertheless as you squeeze the shampoo over his open palm as he washes his rowdy blond locks with it, you can't help but feel a twinge of jealously, Finn could use car shampoo and his hair would still look majestic and soft. Good genes i suppose. Your eyes went to the single hand washing his hair with his other shoulder leading to a scarred stump you've seen replaced with a multitude of weapons and robotic prosthetics but now it's just as nude as the rest of him. He helps you out with your own hair, scrubbing your back and even cleaning behind your ears like a cat grooming it's partner, and yet you allow him, let him satiate his touch starved need with these caresses on your body that don't necessarily lead to anything promiscuous under the shower head but knowing the two of you it's just a matter of time. He's the first to walk out of the bathroom, handing you your towel as he dries out his long hair in his bedroom. While you follow behind his steps it's like walking in on an undisturbed nymph bathing in a pond during golden hour, with the orange light casting striking shadows and highlights over every noteworthy angle on his body, from his sturdy thighs to his firm shoulders and lastly his prominent ass, it's like you're hypnotized when you slowly walk up to him to wrap your arms around his midriff and press your exposed body to his. "So, what did you bring me from your trip?" Finn asks softly while lowering his hand to meet with yours, caressing your scarred knuckles with his large thumb.

"Since when am i obligated to bring you stuff from my trips? there's not exactly any souvenir shops on top of freezing mountains." you jest, resting the side of your head against his back as your other hand trails up and down his hairy navel, feeling his muscles tense down south.

"You always bring me something," he snorts, "Either way, I'm glad you came back safely."

Finn tosses the wet towel elsewhere as he turns around to face you, expediently but suddenly smashing his lips against yours with a fervor you've only witnessed when he's fighting monster taller than himself, he doesn't leave any spot of your mouth untouched with drooling dripping from the corner of your mouth as you caress his tongue with your own in a cacophony of grunts and gasps that escape past your hot breaths. Finn drops himself back into the edge of his bed and brings you along with him with the only thing keeping you above him being your knee in between his parted legs, if his body is naturally warm like a radiator then the growing length nestled in his loins is overbearingly hot, you raise your knee to tease more of him in an attempt to seek more of the noises that were getting caught in his throat. Seeking more from him, you quit the teasing and get down to your knees, kissing the interior of his firm thighs as you make way to the bulbous pink tip eagerly twitching in your direction. You place one smooch on Finn's tip, before placing another, and another until you take his entire gland past your chapped lips, humidifying them with the droplets of precum slipping through his head as you take more of him with a needy groan.

Finn fidgets a bit in his spot, you raising your view to see him lovingly staring back at you through his gorgeous blonde eyelashes, compelling you to take more of him as you keep eye contact so the memory of you stuffing your mouth with his cock becomes engraved in every cell in his brain. Finn's mouth opens up ever so slightly to expel sighs, grunts and whines every time you bob your head up and down, focusing on the way your tongue swirls around his tip like a lollipop. He's so painfully close it has you aching for him more than all those nights you spent alone on snowy terrain, so you removed yourself from his cock with a final slurp and an audible pop, leaving behind a mess of saliva dripping down your tongue. "...ah, ah, not yet." you insist, ignoring your pained knees as you stand up in front of Finn, softly pushing him on his back as you climb him like a tree.

Almost as if he read your mind, Finn grabbed hold of you with a single hand. "Come here," he pulls your hips to his face, stuffing his mouth with everything you could offer to him. You gasp in bewilderment as Finn takes in as much as he can in his own mouth, sucking, nibbling and letting his tongue run wild all over you as your body instinctively jerks back and forth while tugging on his blonde hair. The action has Finn growling from under you, with his own hips jutting forward even though there's nothing to rut against, Finn has learned to become a patient man when it comes to his urges but it's like the build up from months without any lewd contact finally went to his head and has him tapping into a lustful state. And boy, you're all in for it. You remove yourself from Finn's face, ushering the most basic english through needy pants. "Need you inside, now."

This has Finn tossing you to your side, keeping you in place as he dips his head in between the crook of your neck and shoulder to lick and bite to his pleasure. He guides his fingertips to the opening of your mouth, letting him wet his digits with the excessive saliva pooled in your tongue as you got his fingers nice and wet. It's in your best interest after all. "That's it babe, i need 'em nice and slick, I want you to take me... all of me..." he whispers in your shoulder. After he's satisfied with the copious amount of drool he guides them to your already wet opening (thanks to his own saliva from earlier) and slips in one finger after another, poking and prodding inside you as he stretches you out a bit. His touch has every nerve in your your legs twitching, growing accustomed to the isolation and lack of his touch after all this time has you whimpering like it's your first time with him, and Finn dwells in this. "Missed me after all huh? or did you miss my cock?" Finn replaces his fingers for his hot rob, rubbing the tip over your entrance in a teasing manner just like when you rubbed your knee against him.

"Everything. I missed everything about you Finn-" you confess absolutely breathless, taking his mouth for another kiss as his slips himself inside you, with both of your grunting in unison.

"I missed you to," is the last time you hear him speak in a soft tone. "...Won't keep you waiting." Finn's voice struggles to sound coherent as he secures his arm around your midriff as he drills into you from behind, already starting with a rough pace as he keep true to his word like the knight he is. Your cries of ecstasy combine with his own mix of grunts and growls, even biting into your shoulder to add more marks to the growing collection on your skin. Finn didn't stop his onslaught on your for a second, not when he switched your positions and laid you on your back as he raised your legs over his shoulder to fuck deeper into your wanton body, taking in all of his rough biting that you returned with long scratches on his already scarred back, the angle not only allow for deeper thrusts but it also gave you a beautiful view of his gorgeous body. Just like the treasure mounted on his wall, some of his scars were familiar while there were new ones to the collection, one of them being the unfinished tattoo decorated over his beefy hairy chest, you run your hands over his torso, feeling the muscle underneath flex with every movement Finn provides both for your pleasure and his love for you. It's these touches of yours that has Finn slow down from his heated session against your lower regions to dwell a bit in the feelings that have you two in this situation in the first place, his thrusts become slow and shallow, taking the time to release his hold on your thigh to grab your hand and kiss your knuckles which although were scarred and calloused they felt soft against Finn's lips.

The moment is tender in it's own right, and yet it doesn't fail to have you craving for this silly man all over again. You nudge him with the sole of your foot, silently prompting him to continue.

Finn resumed his onslaught into your warm insides but with more adoring looks and complements that remind you that you're also worthy of his love and attention. "You're taking me so good... No one else can rile me up like this..." Finn calls out your name multiple times, feeling himself near the edge as his hips loose rhythm in favor of faster and harder pelvic thrusts that feel like he's straight up rearranging your guts.

"Finn, Finn please...please..." you find yourself begging, almost teary eyed.

Finn complies and smooches you one last time, driving you to that sweet sweet liberation that has you aching your back and wrapping your legs around Finn's waist, meanwhile he releases a combination of desperate whimpers and grunts as he empties a vast amount of pent up come inside your tight little hole that rushes out from around him and leaks into his bed sheets. The blow up has Finn crashing down on you, needing to tap him in the arm to remind him he's crushing you.

"My bad." he rolls sideways but not without pulling your against him, as he closes his eyes to take in the feeling of you body against his no matter how sweaty the two of you are.

You in return, appreciate his peaceful face from up close. To the scar on his cheek from the beard scattered over his lower jaw, he's marvelous, not to mention when he finally opens his eyes to look at you with those glistening pools of blue. "Like what you see?" he jokes, smiling at you despite the few missing teeth.

"Very much," you place a kiss on his nose, watching him scrunch it a bit.

"Well, if you stay for the weekend i can make it worth your time before you go back to mountain climbing." he states, which has you reconsidering.

"Hmm, actually i think I'll take an indefinite hiatus from traveling. Or atleast until i can get you something better than this dinosaur tooth i brought you." you accidentally slip up which has Finn sitting up with a knowing laugh of victory.

"Hah! I knew you brought me something!"

[oncewhenalongtimeago]

Hiii saw your requests open and i thought why not give it a shot. I love your stories, I'm more attached to your style of writing melancholy like on floret, counting coins, better left unsaid and always the angel never the god. So, just a random idea to throw out there you can do whatever with it:

Hiccup and yn were engaged early on. Yn is a bit older and fitter to follow around Stoick to learn how to defend and manage Berk. Yn feels sorry for Hiccup and tries to make him enjoy his youth and time with his friends more while she made him handle the rest. Leading to a misunderstanding that he didn't feel needed when in fact he did have a crush on her with how she doted on him and how cool she looked fighting dragons and ordering people around. While she liked him for his thoughtful caring side but still envied his freedom and creativity.

That's pretty much it idk lmao it was just a word puke. That's just the gist no need to be word for word, if it's too much i completely understand but truly want to praise your eloquence and how you caught me right in the feels augh. Thank you for your time! 🦀

Wildflower

Pairing: Unrequited!Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III x Fem!Fiance!Reader

Words: 2113

You never asked to be here.

Tags: Mild age difference, fem!reader, heavy exposition, non-canon politics, original characters

Next>

His arms ached, heavy and stiff as if the body of a sapling had been shot right through the bone. They loosened slightly and dipped under some hefty weight- he paid them no mind, eyes drawn to the wild world on the outside even as he grunted and struggled. 

With a jerk, dropping the sword, he with a strength he’d never really been able to spend on the all things that really mattered. There was a hefty clatter and a clang, the sound no less thick than the bang of a heavy bell or a gong, long metal body slamming and dancing against stone.

 His feet and legs stuttered as he stepped both forwards and back, palms roughly meeting the wood of the counter, bouncing eagerly as if he might begin to run or be startled into action.

There had been a shout- something indignant, deeper than normal, not so much a battle cry yet no less defiant and sure. He thought he might have known it- he had to look. 

The feel of smoothed, aged wood beneath his palms, both flatter and rounder than liquid, solid and uninterrupted- the sound of warring battle-cries from the world outside and the sweltering feel of heat from both the forge and the terrible reign of dragonfire and sharp teeth and clawed mouth- all of it came secondary to his searching, the bulk of him overshadowed by the hefty forge window

It was too early in the battle and the warriors of Berk had been too prepared for there to have been a line outside the door, and well- most of everyone had already left for the other side of the island, where the assault had been most violent.

He felt the burn on the side of his hand as he brought his hand back, grazing it against the side of the table- he’d accidentally pressed it against the face of the sander’s belt. It’d stung and buzzed with a thickness not unlike the feeling of folded cloth crusted in dragon spit or the hard skin on the bottom of an old foot, though the skin on his own palm, he knew, wasn’t so thick or stubborn.

Past raging orange flames and scorching yellows he saw you, lonesome, outlined like a shadow in the light across the clearing. 

Your shoulders were stiff and your stance full as you swung the hard, metal-rimmed bottom of a bucket against the head of a beast- a Gronkle, its thick, green-brown head giving way to a wide maw as it bellowed.

 It bled, its blood splattering across your face as if it were naught but a shock of light or darkness made liquid; as if, instead, it was you who had been violently cut and not it.

There was no vicious, beautiful Astrid here to ogle at- not now, as there had been in the before times and as there would be later- no, just you. 

You, who had been meant for him… At least, he thought so. 

He wasn’t completely confident in the fact- the whole thing went rather unspoken of. It wasn’t a taboo per se, more something that lay heavy, made clear through few words a long time ago then made obscure by the lengths of time and age.

Still, there came a suresty with it even if there wasn’t much of a bond between the two of you, something that, for him, acted as a heavy comfort. In times like these, he leaned into it, felt the lump in his chest beat against it like his bones were nothing but taut leather and wood.

-

Blazing red hair, nearly imperceptible against the raging fires as she swung an axe- it took you a while to find any of the others.

Before you was fiery Tove, a tallish Viking girl-woman from a house named ‘Alfson,’ not so influential as it was just there and nearly forgotten. In it, she was like a polished gem among a lot of plain, unassuming stones. She was also a member of your peer group, aged older by about nearly a winter. She’d been born in the warmer month, when the sun was at its hottest and the earth was at its greenest.

You settled by her with crossed arms, close enough to be recognized as part of the group and yet not close enough to hint towards any one specific alliance. 

It was the darkest of nights above yet the fires rendered it light as day. You tried your hardest not to inhale any of the soot as you watched the rest -the two of four, really- fooling, knocking into each other with rough shoulders as you worked where it really mattered.

Your peer group was a large one. The number of you here was only a smallish fraction of a whole, the rest drawn away in the moment by other troubles and politics.

They’d grown complacent in the chaos, used to the raging fires and battle as you all were, carelessly leaving the fires around to burn and eat away at everything. You kept yourself still and casual in spite of it, knowing that, here, words and tussles were just as dangerous as the rock-shattering jaws of any beast.

Brigading was a task born more to temper the fires of the eager younger men more than it was to assure the sanctity of the village, though no task was without its uses- more often than not, however, you all ended up taking up a weapon and battling to your own ends.

Still, you took it seriously. 

You’d not so much been invited into the brigade as you’d one day picked up a bucket and started helping along in silence, though you probably would have been asked along eventually. 

Approval from the others had been slow to garner and yet it was strong, anchoring- you’d no intention of trying to shake it, though you believed it would be hard to.

With the thick wooden handle lying clenched within one hand, you stopped above the smooth, round top of a viking helmet, resting your foot against it as if you were at the edge of a cliff with a sword.

You’d rather be, at least in the day, when the smoke would be blown out and the air fresh and clear.

“-Codswallop!” The one with the protestant words was Duckmaw, who belonged to a set of intimidating burly arms and short-cropped, burned blonde-ish hair typically hidden under a helmet that had made him look bald, soot darkened face scratched and laying posed under your fuzzy brown boot. 

He was unusually brawny and bold for his breed but was also just as soft- he was an Ingerman. Ingermans, though bustingly fierce as any other Viking, also tended to be the most tempered.

“You lot are all the same- tubby poets, you are!” Bjorner spoke back with sharper words. He was the second, and a Thorston, though his second name, Evenson, did not quite match his ties. He also didn’t quite stand on par with his blood, a bit thicker and more prone to jumping into battle than the rest of his clan, who preferred a good bit of taunting first. 

His family was a branch-off- one of many, as there tended to be with the Thorstons. “Gooey hearts and even weaker swords.”

“Your words are of poor taste, though I’d expect no less from a bastard!” Duckmaw shrugged aggressively forwards, jerking away, half turning before he thought to face Bjorner again, stepping closer this time. He looked quite silly with his rounder, younger face and slightly more plump body, standing nearly chest-to-chest with a man who was about two winners his senior.

Absent from your lot were a Hilde and an Arne, who was a plump and tall, honorable nearly-man with blonde hair who was suspiciously absent. Away in a fashion that remained unexplained or pondered was a Jorunn, Frode and Hjerson and a Njal.

“Agh, the lot of them,” Trove spoke appealingly, panting slightly, having brought herself to your side, nudging you in the shoulder. She was thicker than you by about a half and a great deal taller, so her elbow landed more against the top of it than along the side, “We womenfolk know better, yes?”

You gave her a skeptical, apathetic eye before turning your attention back to the conflict, standing still and firm- she hadn’t knocked you hard enough to unbalance you though she had given you quite the hard jab, albeit half of it must have been without intention, the other half with surety and mild competition.

Trove didn’t take so much offense, probably more used to your silence and your stoic behavior now than before, when she also used to grace you with a gruff, judging eye.

“I’m no bastard!” Bjorner barked deeply, squaring his shoulders and stepping forwards again. You couldn’t make out all of it, the sound of splintering wood and the white noise of cooking everything raging for but a moment. “But at least my mother’s no manky whore!”

Gritting his teeth, Duckmaw didn’t back down, even as the thin brown furs still attached to Bjorner’s leather overcoat brushed up against his jaw. His arm- the one facing you- twitched up and down as if he’d wanted to lift it, meaty fists clenching uproariously. “Don’t speak of her that way, you-! You-!”

Your even face did nothing to hide your apathy, even as your eyes stayed trained on them.

Their argument went beyond petty bonds and snippish words- it was, in truth, not their argument at all- more an argument of their house, monoliths of Vikings to which they were of little consequence. It was some tiff over land and the excuse was woodstock. The conflict had grown itself into a mighty feud. 

“Tis the hobby of fools, to spend all their time arguing about their mamies,” Tove said, her freed red hair still doing wonders to blend her in with the fires, some sticking to skin and face, red, pale and slick with sweat like fish’s skin.

You nearly rolled your eyes. As you did, you caught something from the corner of your eye.

“How’ve you lot been doing?” You heard, nearly lost under the crackling of fires and crumbling of houses, the sound of battle-cry off in the distance. He had a plaintive, respectable voice, still somehow smoothe even under the assault of smoke and ash, all male and deep. 

…Ah. Here came the cavalry with a bucket of his own.

You graced swept blonde hair with a nod, what should have been wheat made russet by soot and fire, bursting from the back of Arne’s head where the front was covered by a metal mask- a hazard, as it was, metal being prone to heat and melt under the vicious might of dragon fire. 

You suspected, in a few years, he might have one mighty burn scar running down the side of his face- if he made it out of the whole ordeal alive, as it was. 

His clothes were torn and he sported a bloody gash on one arm- he’d gotten caught up in some battle, then. He was the only one of them who’d already been accepted by the warriors as one of their own, who’d taken up a sword with quiet determination as the rest of them stayed managing buckets.

You occasionally joined him- you hadn’t received any fuss either, and yet… Well, the others needed managing… Watching, more than anything.

He nodded back at you as you levied up your bucket, grasping it by the bottom.

You huffed a breath of hair, blowing away a heavy tuft of soot as it threatened to hit you in the face, unusually large yet very thin, almost enough to be called a burnt wood scrap.

“-That’s what I thought,” Bjorner said maliciously, distantly- he’d jerked forward, and during the time you’d been distracted, Duckmaw, younger and more naive, had faltered. 

You stilled. It didn’t matter so much who was what in this minor, petty battle of wills. It wouldn’t change the outcome. 

It was only by an odd fluke of politics that you’d ended up here, a fisher’s girl from nowhere island, and so while not at all illicit in origin, you were no better than a bastard. 

Here, in this world of blood and fire there was no room for the girl in the woods. You knew that with a quiet, simmering surety, painfully aware of the small square booklet in your back pocket, padding against your thigh as you moved, fresh leather delicately held shut with a clasp, pressing deeply the dulling, colored faces of soft, pressed flowers.

[nevadancitizen]

-> CH. 8: MIND PALACES & OTHER SHATTERED CRYSTALLINE DREAMS

synopsis: connor has a talk with amanda, and you have a talk with your own mind. connor reminds you, once more, that he's made of plastic and metal, not flesh and blood.

word count: 2.8k

ships: Connor/Reader, Hank Anderson & Reader

notes: i know there's a real life viktor petrov. atomic heart is just weird and named characters after real life people

HoFS taglist: @catladyhere , @foggy0trees0 , @princessofenkanomiya (if you'd like to be added to the taglist, just ask!)

HEAD OF FALSE SECURITY MASTERLIST

The Zen Garden is nice, if a bit humid. Connor’s footsteps are quiet as he walks on the marble that paves the sprawling paths.

Again, that stone stares at him, the soft blue glow entrancing. And just like last time, Connor kneels and touches it. The thrum of energy he expected still shocks his system, and still causes him to take an unneeded, artificial breath. With one last glance over his shoulder, Connor walks away.

When Connor approaches the dock, Amanda is waiting on the water in a quaint little rowboat, an orange and white wagasa resting over her shoulder.

“Hello, Connor.” She smiles. “I thought you might enjoy a little cruise.”

Connor steps into the boat, then pushes it away from the dock. He takes the looms of the oars in his hands and pushes the blades through the water to propel them backward.

After a few moments of looking around, Amanda speaks. “I love this place. Everything is so calm and peaceful, far from the noise of the world.”

She turns to Connor. “Tell me, what have you discovered?”

“I found two deviants at the Eden Club.” Connor looks away, then back to Amanda, then away again, like a nervous dog. He wrings his hands in his lap. He’s not sure why he feels the need to. “I hoped to learn something, but… they managed to escape.”

“That’s too bad.” Amanda’s voice is laced with overly-obvious sympathy. “You seemed so close to stopping them.”

Connor takes the looms of the oars and pushes the blades through the water again instead of responding. Again, there’s that voice (yours – he’s sure it’s your voice) in between his lines of code that tells him to snap at her, to tell her to stop with her fake worry and honeyed words. 

“You seem… lost, Connor,” Amanda says. “Lost, and perturbed.”

Connor’s lips draw into a thin line. “I thought I knew what I had to do. But now I realize it’s not that simple.”

“You had your gun trained on those deviants at the Eden Club. The Officer even told you to grab the Lieutenant’s gun,” Amanda says. “Why didn’t you shoot?”

Connor looks down at where his hands rest in his lap. “I don’t know.” A deep pang of something shoots through his systems, and his eyes snap up to meet Amanda’s. “I don’t know.”

“If your investigation doesn’t make progress soon, I may have to replace you, Connor,” Amanda says, her tone cold and even.

“I understand,” Connor says softly. He can feel something within him twitch – an instability he’s confident will correct itself as time goes on.

The twitch pulls him to look to his left. In the surrounding trees, just barely on the treeline, is a little sapling Connor knows wasn’t there before. It’s silvery and wispy, and can’t be more than a foot in height. But trees shouldn’t be that color. And saplings are supposed to be covered in leaves because of their need to absorb as much sunlight as possible. This one is bare.

“Is something amiss, Connor?” Amanda asks.

“No,” Connor lies. He turns back to Amanda. “Just thinking. That’s all.”

Suddenly, a clap of thunder rolls across the sky even though the clouds above are thin and an orangey color. Amanda looks upwards, as does Connor.

“Something’s happening. Something serious.” Her eyes return to Connor. “Hurry, Connor. Time is running out.”

Your eyes snap open as you gasp, inhaling lumino-polymer. It floods into your lungs, causing the warm and pleasant feeling that comes with having another living being invade your system.

It doesn’t shock you that you’re here again – in your memories. Your mind loves putting you back in the Vavilov Complex, a place you frequented in your youth when you were able to feel solid ground beneath your feet. (Or, rather, above your head, as most of the complex is underground.)

The lumino-polymer that surrounds you is kept in a transitional state: a diffusion-sensitive, anaerobic-bacteria-friendly, translucent, and gluey liquid. The bacteria is suspended around you in little specks of glowing blue. 

You’re not sure which way is up, but you kick your feet to propel yourself towards the light. After a few moments, you break the surface and haul yourself out of the pool, settling on your knees by the edge. Lumino-polymer sloughs off you like you’re a shedding reptile – in one gross, voluminous heap that quickly settles back into the pool.

You put a hand on your chest and take a deep breath. Now, there’s nothing in your lungs but air. But memories and minds work in weird and inconsistent ways, right? So that’s to be somewhat expected.

Yet when you look up, the one thing that’s always consistent is still consistent – the PEC-4 Birchtree is still there. The symbol of the Vavilov Complex and the capstone of its research efforts stands tall in her five meter-diameter by ten meter-tall cylindrical capsule. 

She’s not the typical birch you’d usually think about. Her trunk is thin and silvery, and her leafless branches resemble a wispy mycelium complex rather than sturdy wood. They hang down, almost like weird, sinewy versions of the leaves of a weeping willow. She’s more angel than tree.

You look down and find a metal pail by your feet. It’s already been filled with lumino-polymer. You pick it up and start walking up the stairs. 

When you reach the top, the PEC-4 Birchtree is staring down at you without eyes. Her branches wave despite the lack of a wind to move them. You kneel before the capsule and press on the fuel inlet. As soon as it opens with a soft click, you pour the lumino-polymer in.

When it settles in her soil, the PEC-4 Birchtree almost seems to inhale inside her capsule. Her branches relax soon after.

“Что мне делать?” You ask softly. You look down at where your hands rest in your lap. “Я чувствую себя… потерянно. Действительно потерянно.”

Look at where you are, my child, she responds from within your mind. She doesn’t speak in English or Russian or any other human language – she sounds like the electrical impulses from within your own brain. You’ve escaped from situations more dangerous than this. Remember where you came from. Remember your parents and the reactors they worked in and Chelomey as a whole.

“Я знаю, но…” You bring a hand to your face, then look up at her. Your voice is quiet and quivering when you speak. “Мне страшно.”

You don’t need to be, she says. You can always rely on yourself. Memorize the cards in your hand. Know when to play them. Stack the deck if you need to. Real life plays dirty.

“Да… да, вы правы.” You stand and put a hand on the plexiglass of her capsule. “Спасибо.”

You start to turn to walk away, but are stopped by the PEC-4 Birchtree’s voice permeating your mind again. 

Please be careful, she says. They need you. Both of them. You can keep them on this Earth. Be vigilant. I love you. 

“Да, мэм,” you say softly. “Я тоже вас люблю. Спокойной ночи.”

You zone back in and register your surroundings. You’re in the android autopsy room. Your autopsy table is empty.

Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, then you breathe in deeply. No lumino-polymer in your lungs. Just air. No PEC-4 Birchtree here. Just you. 

A knock sounds at the door. You glance at the clock – it’s just past 6:30 in the morning. You stand and open the door.

Connor stands there, his blazer now clean. “Hello, Officer. I assume an adequate amount of time has passed for you to process the events of yesterday evening and early this morning?”

You step to the side, allowing Connor in. “Khm, yeah. I guess.”

Connor steps through and the door closes automatically behind him. He moves over and sits in the chair he was sitting in yesterday while you hop up on your autopsy table. (Internally, this only solidifies that chair as ‘Connor’s chair’ in your mind.)

“Why did you come here?” You ask. “I don’t really feel like reviewing case details right now.”

“I just came to talk, Officer,” Connor says. 

You pull your legs up onto the table and cross them. “You talk an awful lot. And about personal things, too.”

“I suppose I do.” He looks down at the ground, then back up at you. “When I was in the car, you were talking to Hank. What were you talking about?”

You sigh and your eyes fall to the floor. “His drinking problem. How he gets when he drinks. His suicidal tendencies. How I can’t spend a second without worrying about him.”

“Are you coping well?” Connor asks.

“Of course not.” You let out a humorless laugh. “I went back to my apartment, but I just… couldn’t sleep. So I came here.” You gesture vaguely around the room. “Work is a constant in my life. I like filing reports and organizing data and everything that comes with it. But recently… it’s gotten turbulent.”

Your jaw clenches. “And with everything that’s going on? All the deviants? They’ll find one way or another to pin it on the Soviets. Something like a breaking news article about how a spy put a bug in an American android’s code to cause them to deviate, and it spread.”

“You won’t be able to work on the case without a good coping mechanism,” Connor says. “I suggest you find one.”

You exhale sharply and look at him. He’s leaning forward with his hands folded together and his elbows on his knees.

“You sound like Chariton Zakharov,” you say, a smile creeping onto your face. “Well, kind of. Like the way he cared about science more than the wellbeing of his employees.”

Connor’s LED flickers for a moment. “The Head of the Neurobiology Department at the Pavlov Complex of Facility 3826?”

“Yeah, that one,” you say. You don’t have to ask him if he had to look up that information this time, because you know he did – nobody would know that off the top of their head. “I remember the letter he wrote to himself that Dmitry Sechenov found after he died. The one about how man himself isn’t corrupt, but his body.”

“I haven’t read that letter,” Connor says. “And I can’t find that information in my database.”

You hop off the table and start to rifle through the drawers of your desks. “Hold on. I have something here somewhere…”

“You have a lot of personal effects in the autopsy room, Officer,” Connor says. “May I ask why?”

“It’s basically my office,” you say. “I have an actual desk, but I’m rarely there.”

You open another drawer and find the book you were looking for: The Life, Death, Neuropolymer-Induced Transformation, and Secondary Death of Chariton Radeonovich Zakharov. “Aha! Here it is.”

You put the book on the table and flick through the many worn, scribbled-on sticky notes jutting out of the side. When you find the one you’re looking for, you open the book to the pages you stuck it on. The text is in Russian, but you translate it as you read aloud. “Okay, here. The letter reads:

“Vice is a physiological property. In the magnum opus of “opium for the people,” the Bible, this is well shown, if allegorically. Man has become depraved not by tasting the mystic fruit, but by becoming aware of himself. The body dictates our depravity. 

“We want to multiply, so there are rapists and perverts. If we want to eat, we steal money and food. We want to be pleased, and now we surround ourselves with stupid luxury. It is not man himself who is corrupt, but his limited, primitive shell, which needs food, sex, drugs, and care. 

“The radiance of pure reason, and it alone, can illuminate the path of humanity. Because a human being is not a body. It’s a way of thinking.”

You look up and close the book. “Do you agree with Zakharov?”

“Agree with him on what?” Connor asks. 

“That being human is not about having a human body, but thinking in the way a human does,” you say, then look away. “Actually, I guess that’s a redundant question. Because I’m asking you if you think deviants should exist.”

You meet Connor’s eyes again. “And you’ve been programmed to… exterminate them. Right?”

“Not exterminate,” Connor corrects. “I’ve been programmed to find the cause of deviancy and to help find a way to prevent it.”

“But you’re still a hunter,” you say. “And they’re your prey. No?”

Connor blinks. Once, twice. His LED flickers yellow and barely dips into red before turning back to yellow. “Yes. I am.”

“So you’re a regular Viktor Petrov.” You lean your hip against the table. “Not the Ukrainian one, but the Russian one. A man widely-regarded as a class traitor who’s just working for what he perceives as the greater good.”

“I’m not a man,” Connor says. “I’m just a machine.”

Your face falls and your stare hardens. “No, you’re not. I’m not saying that you’re not a machine – I’m saying that you’re not just a machine. You said it yourself. You can be whatever Hank and I want you to be. We’re Dmitry Sechenov, and you’re Major Sergey Nechayev.”

“How so?” Connor shifts in his seat. He can’t be that stupid – he knows exactly how.

“Nechayev devoted his life to the USSR. In return, he only earned isolation and numerous wounds – both physical and mental. Sechenov was the only one who treated Nechayev with basic kindness. And the Major folded like a cheap deck of cards.” You lean towards him with a hand braced on the table. “Sechenov took him in and molded him into his perfect pet soldier. All because Nechayev, in his vulnerable state, let himself be molded. Just like how you are.”

“I am not being molded,” Connor says. “I am an RK800 – a machine with a mission. I may have secondary missions, but tracking down deviants has always been my number one priority.”

“But you are,” you say. “You’re changing, whether you like it or not. Connor, when you were in my apartment… you laughed. Androids don’t laugh. Only deviants do.”

Connor stands, and you’re reminded of just how intimidating he can be. He moves over so that he’s standing just a yard away from you. (A faint flicker in your mind tells you that if he shot you right now, it’d be considered point blank. But you quickly dismiss it. Connor wouldn’t do that. Not to you. Right?)

“I laughed because I was mirroring the environment you created,” Connor says. “I was designed to work alongside humans. Humans mirror and are mirrored. I was just following my programming.”

You stand up straight and set your jaw as you look him in the eye. You’re searching for any kind of emotion, anything that looks like how Connor looked when he was with Bronislava. But no. There’s nothing. His eyes look dead – like prosthetics that can move.

“You don’t laugh when you’re with Hank,” you say softly. “Even when it’s an intimate environment, like the one in my apartment. He’s a riot. Why don’t you laugh?”

“It’s like you said,” Connor says. “Androids don’t laugh. Only deviants do. I know what I am, and what I am not. And I am not a deviant.”

“Leave.” You step back, turning to your autopsy table. You reach out and grab the book, then trace the embossed lettering with your thumb. 

You glance over your shoulder. Connor’s still standing there, just like early this morning by the Detroit River. 

“What’re you waiting for?” You grind out. You nod towards the exit. “There’s the door. As if you need to be told where it is!”

Connor’s jaw tenses, and he looks like he’s about to speak, but stays silent. 

“You’re disobeying a human.” You turn away from him and look forward. “You know that, right?”

“I’m allowed to disobey orders if they contradict my mission statement,” Connor says. “If I’ve been given contradicting instructions, I opt to execute whichever has highest priority.”

“You’re not a regular android,” you say softly. 

“Of course not,” he says. “I’m a prototype.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.” You turn to look at him. “You’re…”

You look up into Connor’s eyes again. They’re still dead pieces of plastic. No emotions. No mirror of your own. 

“You need to leave.”

“Officer –”

“Leave!” You bark. “Сейчас!”

Connor steps back. He almost looks… hurt. But you know better. You were taught better, by Connor himself. 

He turns and leaves. The door shuts behind him. You move over and sit in Connor’s chair, then let out a shaky sigh. You draw your legs up to your chest and curl in on yourself. 

“Боже, почему же всё так сложно…?”

[birdstudies]

July 26, 2024 - Orange Ground-Thrush (Geokichla gurneyi) Found in a spotty range in parts of eastern and southern Africa, these thrushes live in mountain forests. They eat invertebrates, especially earthworms, as well as small amphibians, berries, seeds, and fruit, sometimes following ant swarms or mole-rats to capture fleeing insects. They build bulky cup-shaped nests from twigs, roots, leaves, fern fronds, and moss in saplings, stumps, vines, tree-ferns, bushes, or banks. Females lay clutches of one to three eggs.

[libraryofmoths]

Moth of the Week

Kentish Glory

Endromis versicolora

The Kentish glory was first described in 1758 by Carl Linnaeus. It is a part of the family Endromidae which was created in 1810 by Ferdinand Ochsenheimer. This is a monotypic genus, meaning there is only one species in it being the Kentish glory.

Description The male and female of this species are clearly told apart by their colors and size.

Males are darker and more orange than females with feathery antennae

Males hindwings are orange

Females are paler/more washed out in color and larger to carry eggs

The forewings of this moth are a marbled black, orange, and white. The outer edge of the wing called the outer margin is brown with white stripes along the veins. The females hindwings are the same marbled black, brown, and white with a brown edge. The males hindwings are orange with brown markings.

The legs and antennae are black while the thorax is brown and white. The females abdomen is black while the males abdomen is a similar orange to the hindwing.

Sources differ on wingspan range.

Wikipedia: 50 - 70 mm (≈1.97 - 2.76 in)

Butterfly Conservation: Male 27 - 30 mm (≈1.06 - 1.18 in), Female 34 - 39 mm (≈1.34 - 1.54 in)

Diet and Habitat The larvae of this species eats mainly birch (Betula species) but will eat other trees and shrubs such as Alnus, Corylus, Tilia and Carpinus species. Adults do not feed.

This moth’s range used to be much larger, such as living in the southern and western English counties of Kent, Sussex, Berkshire, East Anglia, Herefordshire, and Worcestershire and the southeastern Welsh county of Monmouthsire.

Now this moth is restricted to living in the central and eastern Highlands of Scotland. It is seen in the Scottish counties of Perthshire, Inverness-shire, Morayshire, Aberdeenshire and Kincardineshire.

They prefer to inhabit open birch woodland and lightly wooded moorland.

Mating Females use pheromones to attract males, who can detect them from 1-2 km (≈0.62 - 1.24 mi) away.

This species has one single generation per year. The females lay their eggs, which are yellow at first then purplish-brown, in batches of 10-20 eggs on low birch scrub at an average height of 1.2m (≈1.31 yd). They prefer to let them on sheltered, unshaded saplings, usually the first few batches are near where the females emerged. The eggs hatch after 10 to 14 days.

Predators Males usually fly during the day from mid morning to early afternoon while females fly at dusk. Because of this males are presumably preyed on by daytime birds while females are preyed on by bats.

Fun Fact The females do not fly as strong as males due to the eggs they carry as it weighs them down. Females tend to lay their first few batches of eggs close to where they emerged due to this fact.

(Source: Butterfly Conservation, Wikipedia, Rothiemurchus)

[justathingfromthebrainvoid]

Wild Life Episode 2 Items and their corresponding effects (to the best of my knowledge, there are definitely errors and missing bits): (under the read more because there was a lot)

Original: Sugar Cane- Jump Boost, Cobble- Nausea, Dirt-Levitation, Seeds- Water Breathing, Pointed Dripstone& Dripstone Block- .5 Food, Diorite- Night Vision 3, Stone Shovel- 3 Food, Copper Ingot- Absorption 5, Diamond- Infested 2, Cobble Deepslate- Jump Boost 2, Raw Iron- .5 Food, Pale Moss- 1 Food, Gravel- Speed 2, Granite- Weakness, Andesite- Nausea, Polished Deepslate- 2 Food, Grass Block- Portal Sound, Short Grass- .5 Food, Stone Hoe- ? Food, Dandelion- Health Boost 5, Cornflower- Levitation 3, Seagrass- ? Food, Allium- Health Boost 4, Redstone Dust- .5 Food, Redstone Torch- 3.5 Food, Tuff- Health Boost 4, Lapis- 1.5 Food, Obsidion- 3+ Food, Wooden Shovel- Haste 4, Torch- Infestation, Ladder- Hero of the Village, Sugar- Darkness 5, Paper- Infested 2, Stone Axe- Blindness 3, Skulk Vein- 2.5 Food, Oak Planks- Mining Fatigue 5, Crafting Table- Blindness 4, Birch Slab- Glowing 2, Polished Deepslate- 2 Food, Stone Bricks- Oozing, Yellow Dye- Elder Gaurdian Sound, Light Grey Dye- .5 Food, Sunflower- Infestation 4, Bonemeal- Poison, Oak Log- Ivisibility 4, Clay Ball- Night Vision, Calcite- .5 Food, Smooth Basalt- Poison 2, Pink Peatles- Wind Charged, White Tulip- Regen 5, Rose Bush- Wind Charged 5, Liliac- Water Breathing 4, Oxeye Daisy- Oozing 4, Wheat- Darkness 3, Sand- Levitation, Arrows- 2 Food, Blue Dye- Night Vision, Cobblestone Wall- Jump Boost, Pumpkin Seeds- Levitation, Bone- Nausea 4, Stick- Blindness 5, Iron Axe- Resitance 5, Gunpowder- 1 Food, Orange Tulip- Hero of the Village, Red Tulip- Instant Health 4, White Tulip- Regen 5, Stone Pickaxe- 2.5 Food, Gold Ingot- Oozing, Clock- Condiut Power 3, Name Tag- .5 Food, Skulk Viens- 2.5 Food, Red Dye- 3.5 Food, White Dye- ? Food, Iron Nugget- .5 Food, Bamboo- Resistance, Campfire- Night Vision 3, Light Blue Dye- Jump Boost, Polished Deepslate Wall- .5 Food, Scaffolding- 2.5 Food, Stone PIckaxe- Silverfish Sound Effect, Torch- Infestation, Feather- Glowing 5, Amathyest Block- 4 Food, Coal- Wind Charged 5, Raw Gold- Slow Falling 5, Pale Moss Carpet- .5 Food

After 1st Randomization: Pointed Dripstone- 3 Food, Short Grass: 2.5 Food, Oak Sapling- Strength 5, Peony- Speed, Polished Deepslate- Infestation 4, Cobble Deepslate- Water Breathing 4, Tuff- Invisibility 3, Torches- Weaving 4, Redstone Torches- .5 Food, Cobblestone- Slow Falling 2, Iron Chestplate- ? Food, Chisled Deepslate- Slowness, Deepslate Brick Wall- Night Vision, Cobble Deepslate Stair- Infestation, Cobble Deepslate Wall- Mining Fatigue, Deeplate Brick Slab- Night Vision, Deepslate Brick Stair- Mining Fatigue, Deepsltae Wall- ? Food, Polished Deepslate Stair- ? Food, Polished Deepslate Slab- ? Food, Lily of the Vally- Streangth, Pale Oak Leaves- Haste, Lilac- Glowing, Seeds- Darkness 3, Dark Oak Leaves- "Spooky" Sound Effect, Pink Peatls- Health Boost 3, Oak Planks- Posion 2, Birch Slab- Health Boost 3, Sticks- Wind Charged 2, Pink Peatl- Health Boost 3, Seeds- Darkness 3, Ladders- Infestation 4, Bowl- Slowness 5, Obsidion- Streangth 4, Stone Shovel- .5 Food, Pink Dye- .5 Food, Birch Leaves- 2 Food, Grass Block- .5 Food, Azure Bluet- Levitation, Dripstone Block- 2 Food, Amathyst Block- .5 Food, Oak Planks- Poison, Ink Sack- Blindness, Redstone Dust- Weaving 3, String- Poison, Lapis- .5 Food, Diamond- .5 Food, Iron Ingot- 1.5 Food, Cherry Sapling- Piglin Noise, Stone Hoe- Infestation 2, Wooden Shovel- 2.5 Food, Dirt- Blindness, Gold Boots- End Opening Sound, Crafting Table- Health Boost 3, Stone Pickaxe- Levitation, Rose Bush- Nausea 3, Raw Gold- 3.5 Food, Raw Copper- 2 Food, Birch Sign- Water Breathing, Gunpowder- .5 Food, Dirt- Blindness, Scafolding- .5 Food, Deepslate Bricks- Jump Boost, Barrels- 2.5+ Food, Arrow- .5 Food, Spruce Planks- Dolphin's Grace 5, Spruce Lop- Glowing 5, Gravel- .5+ Food, Wheat- Oozing 2, Dandelion- Night Vision 4, Clay Ball- Slow Falling, Pale Moss Carpet- Portal Sound

After 2nd Randomization: Seed- Jump Boost 5, Short Grass- Weaving, Dripstone- 1 Food, Chisled Deepslate- 3+ Food, Pointed Dripstone- ? Food, Coal- Regen 5, Raw Copper- 1 Food, Tuff- Hero of the Village, Cobblestone- Water Breathing 2, Pale Oak Leaves- .5 Food, Copper Ingot- Levitation 4, Pale Hanging Moss- ? Food, Stone Bricks- Condiut Power 5, Cobblestone Wall- Invisibility 3, Amathyst Shard- 2.5 Food, Dirt- Slow Falling 4, Birch Leaves- Ender Dragon Death Sound, Pale Moss Block- .5 Food, Stone Brick Wall- Oozing 3, Oak Log- Weaving 5, Dripstone Block- 1 Food, Cherry Leaves- 3 Food, Red Dye- .5 Food, Azure Bluet- Condiut Power 5, Light Grey Dye- 3 Food, Redstone Dust- Dolphin's Grace 5, Oak Sapling- .5 Food, Peony- Slowness 4, Pink Peatles- Streangth 2, Amathyst Block- Sheep Sound, Stripped Cherry Wood- Dolphin's Grace, Music Disk- .5 Food, Flint- ? Food, Gunpowder- 2.5 Food, Glow Lichen- Mining Fatiuge 2, Chest- Dolphin's Grace, Cobblestone Stairs- Regen 3, Spruce Leaves- .5 Food, Oak Sapling- .5 Food, Flower (Red Tulip?)- Blindness, Spruce Log- Water Breathing 5, Granite- Invisibility, Polished Deepslate- 2.5 Food, Raw Copper- 1 Food, Iron Boots- Resistance 4, Iron Pants- Instant Health 2, Iron Chestplate- 1+ Food, Gravel- .5 Food, Stone Shovels- .5 Food, Magenta Dye- Wither Sound Effect, Peony- Slowness 4, Bonemeal- Darkness 2, Sugar Cane- Night Vision, Dandelion- Poison, Clay Ball- Wololo Sound, Red Mushroom- Blindness 3

After 3th Randomization: Cobble Deepslate- 1 Food, Redstone Torch- ?? (Bad), Chisled Deepslate- Weaving, Cobblestone- Health Boost 4, Cobble Deepslate Slab- .5 Food, Raw Copper- 1 Food, Tuff- Weaving 4, Pale Oak Leaves- Fire Prot 4, Short Grass- .5 Food, Redstone Dust- Jump Boost 4, Sticks- Speed 3, Dirt- Posion 2, Torches- Weaving, Cobble Deepslate Stair- Conduit Power, Diorite- Infestation 4, Diamond Helmet- Anvil Sound, Iron Pants- ??, Pale Hanging Moss- Sound Effect, Iron Sword- Slow Falling, Dripstone Block- Posion 2, Stone- Slowness, Raw Iron- 4 Food, Peony- Regen 5, Clay Ball- 2.5 Food, Seeds- Levitation 2, Wheat- Night Vision, Pale Moss Block- End Open Sound, Stone- Slowness 3, Cobblestone Slab- Mining Fatigue 2, Pointed Dripstone- 2.5 Food, Birch Planks- Levitation ?, Copper Ingot- 1.5 Food, Polished Deepslate- ? Food, Sprunce Log- Jump Boost, Sugar Cane- Weakness 4, Lapis- Sound Effect, Blue Dye- Hero of the Village, String- Mining Fatigue 5, Arrow- 2.5 Food, Cobblestone Stair- Glowing, Scafolding- 4 Food, Bamboo Planks- ? Poison, Pink Petles- Haste, Amathyset Block- Dragon Sound, Birch Leaves- Poison 2, Spruce Leaves- 2.5 Food, Cobblestone Stair- Glowing 4, Arrows- 2.5 Food, Stone Sword- 1.5 Food, Pale Moss Block- End Open Sound, Birch Sapling- .5 Food, Polished Granite- .5 Food, Polished Granite Slab- Nothing??, Polished Diorite Slab- Firework Sound Effect, Sugar- Slow Falling, Red Tulip- Instant Health, Magma Block- Haste 4, Bonemeal- Health Boost 3, Pale Oak Slab- Hero of the Villiage 3, Gold Ingot- 2.5, Red Mushroom- Resistance 5, Gunpowder- 2+ Food

After 4th Randomization: Gravel- .5 Food, Short Grass- Abosrption 5, Cobble Deepslate- 4 Food, Clay Ball- .5 Food, Clay Block- 4.5 Food, Diorite- Health 2, Sugar- Resistance 4, Cobblestone Slab- Levitation 5, Dirt- Jump Boost 5, Torch- Night Vision 5, Cherry Planks- Water Breathing, Wooden Shovel- Nausea 4, Cobblestone- Resstaince 3, Stone- Weaving 3, Dripstone Block- ? Food, Pale Oak Planks- Invisibility, Bowls- 2 Food, Peony- Dolphin's Grace, Redstone Torch- Minecart Noise, Sand- Wind Charged 5, Polished Diorite- Darkness, Birch Leaves- 1 Food, Copper- Bell Sound, Pale Moss Block- .5 Food

[mytheoristavenue]

GOTG Rocket x Reader 🍋 - Heatwaves

Summary: Long from home, the ship's air conditioner breaks, resulting in hallucination-inducing heat. Your obvious crush on Rocket doesn't make things any better.

Warnings: Inspired by a series of TMNT fics I did a while back, sexual innuendo, dirty talk, degradation, praise, illness from excessive heat, daydreaming/hallucinating, suggestive situations, sexual tension, judgment impaired by arousal, fem!reader, non specified species!reader, humanoid/anthro!reader, takes place between vol. 2 and infinity war

You were so dizzy, melting into the sofa, sprawled out with no regard for anyone else's comfort. Your head rested against Mantis's leg, while your legs invaded Drax's bubble, not that he minded. His people didn't really understand the concepts of personal space anyhow. You were all in this boat though, Gamora splayed out on the floor as it was the coolest surface in the ship. With this heat, all there was to do to bear it was strip down to the littlest clothing possible before becoming indecent and napping to make the time pass quicker.

"C'mon, you guys, cheer up," Peter forced a cheerful tone from the cockpit. "Rocket said he should be finished with the repairs on the AC tomorrow."

"Thank God," you groaned, pinching the fabric of your tanktop to unstick it from your chest. "I can't take this shit anymore."

"Yeah, I'm so sweaty, it feels like I showered in my clothes." Mantis agreed from above you, doing the same and wiggling all over to have her shirt sit right.

"But you didn't," Drax gave her a lead-poisoned stare. "I have been watching you for hours and you haven't moved, let alone gone to shower." The empath's head very slowly turned towards him, her glare and pursed lips screaming that she was done with his nonsense.

"Ya know," the captain called again. "If you're hot, just think how Rocket feels. It's probably way hotter down there in the boiler, plus he's covered in fur."

"I am Groot." The sapling said, raising his head off Gamora's chest as she nodded, agreeing with him.

"I don't care that fur is like insulation, if you're hot, he's hot. And I don't see any of you trying to help him, so stop whining." Peter's light reprimand, admittedly had pulled on your heartstrings a bit. It was awfully nice of Rocket to fix the AC all by himself, even if he was the only one with the know-how to do it.

"He's right," you sighed, begrudgingly tearing yourself off the sofa, your exposed skin having stuck to it. Finally separated from the mound of leather and flesh, you stumbled over to the kitchenette and threw open the fridge before grabbing a few bottles of water. "Rocket might need some help, I'll go check on him."

-----

You had never been in this part of the ship before, slinking through halls and around protruding pipes and fixtures. It was much hotter down here, closer to the water heating systems. You had to halt for a moment, pressing your hand to the wall for stability as you hunched a bit. If you were already feeling faint, you couldn't imagine how Rocket was feeling. For all you knew, he could have passed out and nobody would have known.

Suddenly you began to make out a distant, distorted racket that echoed and reverberated against every surface. It sounded almost...melodic? Following as it became louder, it led you to a warm light that streamed out from beyond a closed door. You halted for a moment, now being able to separate the noise, which you now recognized as a voice, singing lazily. Rocket never sang in front of people and you almost felt perverted as you listened to his rendition of Silver's 'Wham Bam Shang-A-Lang'. "Now that it's said and we both understand," he softly crooned, voice carrying to far reaches. "Let's say our goodbyes before it gets out of hand."

Inhaling sharply, you finally found it in you to grip the door handle and let yourself in. Orange light flooded out of the small room and the music became as clear as it was going to get, loud enough to conceal the sound of the door opening. Your heart skipped a beat at the sight of him.

Everyone had always been able to tell you were sweet on Rocket, and you'd never done much to hide the fact but seeing him now, bathed in marigold neon, laid flat on his back up underneath a large fixture...shirtless- it was too much for you. His fur was slicked against his chest from sweat and his jumpsuit was tied loosely on his hips, revealing much more of him than you ever could have been prepared to see. Adding to that his admittedly lovely, gruff singing voice, the scene was a recipe for an upset tummy.

Deciding you couldn't handle this, you silently tried to back out of the room, eyes trained on him like a deer in headlights. You may have gotten away with it, had one of the water bottles not fallen from the crook of your elbow, alerting him to your presence. Instantly, he rolled out from under the machine, set down his tools, and sat up, staring at you. "(Y/N), what are you doing down here?"

Now that you could see his face, you were in even worse shape. The white stripes on his cheeks were smeared with grease, whiskers crumpled, and fur unkempt. He looked incredibly rugged- more so than usual. "Hello? Knowwhere to (Y/N)?" he croaked again and waved a hand in front of him, voice hoarse from unrestricted use. "You okay?"

At last, you shook out of your trance, flustered to hell and back, and eagerly swooped down to grab the bottle. "Y-Yeah, I'm great! You're just really hot!" Rocket stared at you for a second, waiting for you to correct yourself before owning the compliment and mocking you for it. Obviously, you didn't take the hint, so that was his cue.

"Well thanks, dollface," he smirked, standing up and sauntering over to the doorway, taking the dropped bottle from you before popping off the cap and chugging it. About halfway through, he stopped with a deep, relieved sigh. "I always thought I was pretty hot but it's still nice to hear it from someone else." That's when your stomach dropped, realizing what you'd said. Time to backtrack.

"Oh my God, no!" you gasped, once again dropping what you were holding to slap your hands to your face. "I don't think you're hot!" Rocket looked at you quizzically, hand on hip. "I-I mean I do think you're attractive, b-but not in a weird way! More like a friend way!"

"Uh-huh," he teased, crossing his arms and leaning on the doorframe. "Friend attraction's the best kind, ya know? And don't sweat it, Quill says I'm hot all the time."

"Rocket, please..." you finally gave in, physically crumbling. "I meant like- you're probably getting hot down here and I wanted to bring you something to drink."

"I know, dollface, I'm just yankin' your chain." he laughed, pushing off the wall and walking back farther into the room to sit on a bucket. "I needed a break anyway, thanks princess."

"Princess...?"

"What?"

"N-Nothing!" You finally let out a sigh of relief, following a bit closer and sitting on the floor. "So how's it coming?" you asked, uncapping your own bottle after passing him the last one.

"Well, I've identified the problem, but I don't got the right parts to fix it. Good news is, I think I was able to work up a temporary replacement that should at least get us back to Knowwhere. I know if we can just get home, I can get a brand new part for cheap-" You weren't sure when, but at some point, you'd stopped listening, mind and eyes wandering.

" Ah, fuck, (Y/N), easy! Yeah, j-just like that, keep movin' just like that for me princess..."

"Are you even listening?" Rocket's annoyed tone brought you out of your daydream. You must have zoned out without realizing it, how embarrassing. "Jeez, you're hopeless, ya know that?" He chided, standing up and grabbing a rag to wipe his hands on.

"Sorry..." you slumped shamefully before trailing him as he got back into position. "H-Hey, is there anything I can do to help you out?"

"Hmm," he paused, laying back down on the creeper, ready to roll back under the unit. "I guess you can keep me company, hand me tools," he proposed, disappearing under the machine. Suddenly his voice dropped an octave, words echoed against metallic surfaces that made you freeze. "I know my girl is very good with my tools."

You squeaked at his sudden turn in demeanor, falling on your behind and scrambling away from him. "W-What?!"

Rocket rolled back out, propping up on an elbow, eyeing you with concern. "What, what'd I say?" he asked frantically. "What's up with you?"

"Y-You said-" you stammered, not even comfortable with repeating what you heard. "Y-You said...I'm g-good with your tools!"

He looked at you like you were the biggest moron he'd ever met. "Well, yeah?" he chastised. "You help me in my shop all the time, so I know you know which ones are which. You're good at knowing which ones to hand me." Your chest heaved as he once again returned to his position, reaching his hand out. His small fingers curled, a sign for you to hand something over. "Gimme that ratchet." Quickly, you placed it in his hand, before clicking open the socket set.

"What size socket?"

"Twelve millimeter." He answered, settling the tool on his stomach to use both hands for whatever he was doing. Scanning the set, you plucked out the shallow twelve millimeter piece and set it on his chest, waiting for him to grab it. He did and growled in dismay, giving it back.

"No, princess," he corrected, gasping through clenched teeth. "Need it deep."

"You...w-what?" you carefully asked, feeling incredibly dizzy and unable to discern truth from hallucination.

"I need the deep twelve millimeter, not the shallow one." Rocket scolded, giving a frustrated sigh as he listened to you scramble for the correct piece, profusely apologizing all the while. Finally, you found the right one, presenting it to him just in time for him to roll out from under the fixture again. "Okay, dollface," he titled his head, worried. "What's your deal?"

"Deal? There's no deal!" you played dumb, laughing nervously, hoping he'd just drop it. "I'm fine, really!"

You went rigid, watching him silently creep closer to you, unsure if this was real or not. Finally, he placed a paw against your cheek and whispered in close: "You're burnin' up, baby."

"Rocket, I don't feel good." you stated abruptly. "I-I think something's wrong with me."

"I'll say," he cooed, dragging his knuckles down the side of your face. "How about you let me change that, hmm?" The world around you began to blur, and all you could make out were his words. You understood that his hands were on you, but you couldn't say where; you couldn't feel it, you couldn't even see clearly. "Yeah, baby just lay down, lemme do all the work." He soothed seductively. "Let daddy take care of you, 'kay, (Y/N)?"

That last word, it was your name, right? He kept repeating it, like a broken record, and suddenly all the gruffness left his voice. You listened as intently as you could, hearing it morph from lustful to monotone, and then increasingly more worried- desperate even. "(Y/N)!" There it was again.

Slowly, as his voice became more clear, the cloudiness in your vision dissipated and your senses began to return. Your cheek burned against hot metal, and you could feel patting on your face. A figure hovered over you, close enough to breathe on you. "Goddamnit, (Y/N), wake up!"

"R-Rocket...?" you stuttered, recognizing the figure. "What's going on...?"

"Nevermind that," he hushed. "Lay back down," Suddenly, he turned away from you, yelling out the door, presumably to the oncoming footsteps stampeding down the hall. "In here!" Your eyelids began to get heavy as the world began to fall away again. The last thing you remember was being lifted into the air by a second, hulking figure, then nothing.

-----

You awoke in your bunk, arctic air breezing by your face. What had happened, how did you get here? Where was Rocket? Your fingers twitched, sore from lack of use and the tips of them caught the sensation of something foreign. Multiple fibers connected to one source, soft in mass but wirey when you singled one out. Letting your hand travel up the organism, you froze, realizing you'd answered one of your questions. Glancing down, you found Rocket, curled in a ball at your side. That was odd, you did share a room, but Rocket never slept in your bunk.

Your movements must have roused him as he stirred under your touch, slowly unfurling himself and stretching out. "You're up," he noted, smiling a bit. "You'll be happy to know the AC is fixed."

Now that you took notice of it, the room was cooler, cold even. "Wow," you yawned, smiling back sleepily. "How long was I out for?"

"About eight hours," he copied, yawning as a reaction to seeing you do the same. You halted a moment, confused.

"Wait, I thought you said it'd take you another day to fix it?" you rubbed sleep from your eye waiting for his explaination.

"Nothin' an all nighter couldn't fix." He laughed exhaustedly, curling back up into your side. You'd usually question his sudden cuddliness, but it made your bed that much cozier. "Honestly, your little heatstroke..." his voice softened a bit. "It scared me a little. I was worried about ya."

"Heatstroke..." you repeated. "That makes so much sense," At least now you had an explanation for all those hallucinations from earlier. Though you were glad to be well again, Rocket's attention was nice, even if it was all in your head. "That explains me hearing and seeing things that weren't there down in the boiler. Sorry for acting so weird.." you confessed sheepishly.

"Don't be sorry," he chuckled cockily, eyes peacefully resting. "We'll definitely be having a lengthy, private conversation about all that after I catch up on some sleep." Your stomach dropped at that, imagining all the terrible outcomes that could result from said conversation. "And for the record, dollface, I do think you're very good at handling my tools, ya know," he smirked, nuzzling your ear. "When you follow directions."

Your stomach did flips as your head began to feel heavy again. "I-I must still be hallucinating...I swear I just heard you say-"

"Did I fuckin' stutter?"

[marlynnofmany]

The Ability to Smell Beauty

“Do you smell that?” Paint asked, flicking her tongue out to taste the air, just like the orange-scaled lizard she resembled. “That is LOVELY. Where is it?”

I looked around the forest-lined landing pad. All sorts of plants that I’d never seen before waved on the breeze: tree-things shaped like willows that someone had coated in enough hairspray to make them stand on end, bush-things with leaves that snapped at flies, moss and mushrooms and lumps that could have been frogs or seedpods, or maybe oddly-shaped rocks.

“I have no idea,” I told Paint honestly.

“Help me find it,” she said, striding away from the ship with her shoulder bag held tight and determination on her scaly face.

I glanced back at the captain and several others, who were passing time with an alien card game. The person who was supposed to have delivered our next shipment was late. Nothing else to do but hang around and try not to be bored.

“We’re going to look around a little,” I called, walking after Paint. “We won’t go far.”

Captain Sunlight nodded, her own scaly yellow face focused on the cards. “Scream if you need anything.” Then she triumphantly played a card that made Mur flail his tentacles in aggravation.

I said that I would, and followed my shorter crewmate as she waded into the undergrowth with her tongue flicking madly.

“So what exact smell are we looking for?” I asked, wondering if that was the right word. “Smelling for?”

“It’s kind of sharp, but in a good way,” Paint told me distractedly. “Sharp like a good kitchen knife, like string music, like a poignant memory.”

“Right,” I said, taking an experimental sniff. Everything smelled like alien plants, and not like violins or whatever. “Hm.”

“I think it’s this way. Low to the ground.” Paint scrambled under bushes, getting her bag caught on one of the flytrap mouths.

“Do you want me to carry that?” I asked.

“Yes please.” She held it up, still under the bush. Flytraps slapped at both of us, but weren’t strong enough to do any damage, even to my soft human skin. Paint probably didn’t even notice through her scales.

I shouldered the bag that held Paint’s sketchbook or novel or entertainment screen; whatever she’d brought out for waiting in the sun. I’d been about to go back in for something similar when she’d hared off on this quest.

“Over here!” Paint said, sounding more sure. She rustled out the other side of the bush and made delighted noises. When I made my way around the shrubbery, I found her at the base of a large boulder, gathering walnut-looking things into a greedy pile.

“Is that it?” I asked.

“Yes! Smell one!” Paint thrust one toward me.

I took it and sniffed. Not bad. Kind of like cloves, that sort of spicy sharpness that just felt festive. “Huh. Pretty good.”

“Isn’t it amazing?” Paint asked, holding up a double handful and taking an open-mouthed whiff. “Gimme the bag back; I’m taking these with me.”

“Are you sure they’re safe?” I asked as I handed it over. “Do you know what kind of plant they are?”

“Yeah, it’s that one from the store on the beach back home,” Paint said, shoveling eagerly. “The good one I could never find again. I forget the name. Sunlight will know.”

“All right,” I agreed. They really didn’t smell that special to me. It would be interesting to see if Captain Sunlight also treated the things like lizard-alien catnip, or if this was just something that Paint liked. A lot.

When she’d gathered everything on the ground — a few good handfuls — she looked around for more. I spotted one growing from the spindly sapling that poked out of a crack in the boulder, and Paint happily added it to the rest.

“I wonder if there are any other bushes like that,” she said, standing with the bag and studying the trees.

“We shouldn’t go far,” I reminded her. “Gotta stay in screaming range.”

“Sure, sure,” Paint said. “Just a quick look over this way. I think those plants grow near the beach, and I hear waves.”

Remembering Kavlae’s description of the landing pad as being “within dancing distance of the sea,” I put more attention toward the ambient sounds. That wasn’t all windblown foliage after all.

Paint was already disappearing into more bushes, so I hurried after, not wanting to lose track of her. “Slow down! I’m sure they’re not going anywhere.”

“Yes, but they’re so beautiful!” she said from somewhere ahead. “There are whole worlds in that smell. Don’t you think so?”

“It’s okay, I guess.”

“Okay?? It’s gorgeous! I want to decorate my room with them, and smell these every day! You really don’t think it’s that big a deal?” Paint sounded insulted.

“I think my nose just works a little differently from yours,” I said gently. “I’m sure they’re very nice.”

Paint huffed, pushing through the leaves harder and muttering something uncomplimentary about a nose that couldn’t smell beauty.

I had to laugh. “There are plenty of good smells out there,” I said. “And I don’t need my nose for beauty; I have my eyes for that.”

“Really,” Paint grumbled. “If you can’t appreciate this, then forgive my doubts.” She was still grumping about loveliness and the ability to sense it when she shoved through the last of the bushes. “Well, there’s the beach,” she said. “No trees, crackle it. Let’s go back.”

I ducked under a leafy branch to join her just as she turned to go. The view stopped me in my tracks.

Blue waves crashed against a beach made of glittering gemstones, sprawling as far as the eye could see in either direction. Every color under the sun, fist-sized and head-sized and a fine shimmering sand, washed bright by the waves. I could swear that native birds somewhere were singing a dramatic crescendo of a symphony, though maybe that was just in my head.

“Paint,” I said, not moving. “Can I borrow your bag? I’ll carry it back for you.”

~~~

Further adventures in backstory for this book. More to come!

[leapdayowo]

Redstone and Skulk OC time :3

Thought I’d turn my persona into a rns oc and give them a helsmet :3 I basically looked at my play style in Minecraft and took a few things from my own life and combined them to create these two! Short version about them below and a little story of their origins under that:

short version:

-Leapday_art (short version Leapday, she/he/they, the player) is afraid of losing important things in their life. He is very cautious about doing anything that could result in him dying and loosing everything in his inventory (sleeps through the night everytime to avoid monsters, barely visits the nether, strip mines, etc) +the cats next to Leapday are two of my darling kitties who unfortunately passed away irl, their names are Toby (left) and Toes (right)

-Nightfall_collections (short version Nightfall, all pronouns, the helsmet) was created from Leapday’s extreme fear of losing valuables and her grief from having lost valuables too many times. Xyr driving goal is to collect and preserve everything that xe can and to make sure there is always at least one copy

-other things about Nightfall: she is a magma cube hybrid while Leapday is a ??? hybrid player (if you read the story below this may make more sense👀). Nightfall can split into smaller duplicates which allows them to be in more places at once and thus more productive in their goal. She uses her goop-like body to write reminders on her clothes, then re-absorbs the goop later

-I think Nightfall would find himself as an organizer between lots of different parties/people in Hels due to being so dedicated to his goal + only being dedicated to this goal (his alignment is probably chaotic good because he’s loyal to his own goals and not to other people or outside rules. He does not take bribes or backstab). Also, Nightfall does not need to have possession of everything, but xe is trying to keep tabs on where everything that exist is at(this makes xem the go-to person for trying to obtain something in particular)

-I think Nightfall would become a sponsor (if that’s the right word?) for the Order of Remembrance because she greatly admires the work they do to preserve Hels’ history. She would also love Zedaph’s hall of all and definitely tries to work with private collectors to protect (and document/track) what they have (and she will keep what she knows a secret if it means protecting valuable things)

-Nightfall does not care about thieves unless they steal one of a kind things

-the doodles below were my earlier concepts, so Nightfall has green eyes before I realized it’s much more fitting for xem to have orange eyes

okay, okay, story time (because I realized the ‘short’ version was getting very extensive):

Maybe it had started in the very first world she spawned in. A brilliant blue sky that stretched over jagged, looming cliffs with forests scattered underneath. Trickling waterfalls and bubbling lava pits here and there. The natural beauty of the world left Leapday in awe and eager to explore what other wonders lay beyond the horizon.

It must have started with the first tree she broke, a squat little oak, one of hundreds in the forest. When the leaves of that little oak had all fallen, saplings littered the grassy floor. She should’ve been excited, feel triumphant even by taking down the tree, after all it’s how the journey had to start. Except, all that Leapday could see was the awkward gap in the canopy from the absence of the little oak. It felt like an itch unscratched, nagging and uncomfortable. Well that wouldn’t do.

They scooped up all the saplings littering the floor and planted one in the same dirt plot the little oak was uprooted from. Then they planted a few more just for good measure. The unease lingered, but planting the saplings felt good. It felt right. Now their adventure could truly begin!

——

In this world, Leapday’s only companions were the pigs and sheep that he passed on his journey, though he would argue, if there were someone to argue with, that the world itself brought him company enough. That the days and nights passing was a conversation between the universe and Leapday, and thus a consistent companion. And what gifts did the universe provide for him to find! Rushing rivers that fed into powerful oceans, plenty of trees to sleep in and collect, and mountains to climb with the best views of the sunset. Never a dull moment for him as there was always something new to experience and see.

However, despite all its gifts, the universe was slow to explain the finer mechanics of the world, such as health to Leapday. A week of traversing through thick forests and steep cliffs left them battered and bruised. They learned how to gauge the distance of a drop and how to place blocks to minimize the pain in their ankles from falls. A similar pain gnawed from the inside of their stomach, which they discovered was briefly satiated by devouring the apples that fell from the trees.

During one climb up a particularly harrowing cliff, Leapday learned about the unforgiving weight of sand by placing it under her feet in order to reach the next ledge. The block had crumbled in a near instant, sending her plummeting towards the ground. Instead of hitting the hard rocks below, she splashed into a stream from a nearby waterfall. When she had dragged herself onto land and her heart had steadied to a more familiar pace, she let out a fit of bewildered laughter that overwhelmed the panic from moments ago. She knew falls much shorter than this one could take days to recover from, so what kind of pain would she be in if she hadn’t gotten lucky and fallen in the stream? Something cold ran through her and sank to the pit of her stomach. Dread of what could have been, what could still be if she wasn’t more careful. She resolved to never find out what would happen. How unfortunate that her next fall would be into a pit of lava, the very one she had been camping at throughout the nights.

He was being careful, more so than he had been for the first week in this world anyways. That didn’t seem to matter because he had still slipped when placing the block before him and fallen. It was his first respawn, and it introduced him to a few new things like a punch to the face. The first revelation was the agony of burning to death, and death itself. He curled into himself, crying at the phantom feeling of the lava eating at his flesh. The intense heat and how the lava had trapped him in place and burned. It was a twisted version of the warmth of the sun, which was shining down on him and in comparison felt as cool as the air in caves. The second realization came slowly as the memory of fire ebbed. Their knuckles no longer popped and their joints no longer ached. The tightness in their muscles had vanished, leaving softer tissue on the bone and the emptiness in their stomach no longer hurt. They felt new and full of energy, ready to begin their journey again. How strange they had forgotten what this felt like. White scars from their oldest injuries and freckles from sun touched skin still littered their body. They had died, but now were in perfect health again. Leapday took in her surroundings, her face lighting up with delight at the sight of a familiar oak tree. It had grown into quite the study tree since the start of her adventure. Soon after her reunion, Leapday discovered her now empty inventory when she reached for blocks to place in order to climb the canopy. The absence of stacks of logs, dirt, and sand had her racing towards the lava pit before her mind could catch up. Panic pushed her feet to run faster and dodge every obstacle. She ignored nicks from branches in her way and the sting of sharp rocks on her bare feet. The timer was ticking down. Her items would be gone- she just had to- if she wasn’t fast enough-

She burst through the tree line and was greeted by the familiar heavy heat of the lava pit. The sight of it made her recoil out of fear of falling back in even from many blocks away. On shaky legs, she circled the perimeter and searched for her items. The timer was still ticking, but they were nowhere to be seen! She crept as close as she dared to the lava and swept her eyes across the surface of the pool. Then she darted into the surrounding trees looking high and low.

Nothing.

No logs. No saplings or dirt or anything!

This was their third lesson. You lose items after death, and lava destroys those items.

Don’t die, especially not in lava, and don’t lose your items.

Now they had to start over, and this time not dying proved to be harder than expected. More falls and similar accidents happened. Zombies began appearing, persistent in their pursuit of Leapday’s flesh. Then skeletons, creepers, and spiders appeared and introduced many more ways one could die. The pain from the deaths hurt, but they became mundane as weeks turned to months. Loosing items became more painful and frightening when Leapday discovered crafting. More time and resources were needed to start over after dying with crafted items, so they took to the world underground. They followed their instinct to craft pickaxes and torches, to chip away at the stone in search of more sturdy materials. They crafted their first stone pickaxe and found it to be superior to the wooden one.

Maybe it truly started with that wooden pickaxe. When she crafted the stone tools, the wooden pickaxe sat in her hotbar, still good for half a day’s work but now obsolete. It had served her well to progress her journey, a necessary step, but it felt wrong to simply set it aside. It felt like the gap in the canopy all over again, but she very well couldn’t plant the pickaxe in the ground and solve her unease. Not sure what else to do, she attached it to her hip and went on with her day. She wouldn’t destroy it or toss it, she would simply carry it with her until she found what she needed to do with it next. It became her new companion (it was her first crafted tool. It was the first and therefore the only one that would ever exist).

Now equipped with wood and stone blocks, Leapday built their base over their mine. The wooden pickaxe found its place over the doorway leading outside, marking the build as their home. It felt right, so they continued their expansions. Farms were planted along a nearby river and fences placed to corral cows and sheep. Torches were the one item they were generous with. They were thrown across their property liberally since their light would deter creepers spawning too close for comfort.

During a thunderstorm that had picked up abruptly one morning, Leapday poked around at their communicator. It was a lightweight device that had been attached to their forearm since first spawning into the world and never disappeared after dying. After lots of fiddling with the different menus and buttons on the screen, they came across YouCraft. It was an archive of videos made by other players scattered across the universe, documenting their own worlds and progress! With the storm still crashing down around Leapday’s base, they curled up in bed and began watching the first video that caught their eye. It turned out that he had lots more to learn about the universe! After waiting out the storm, and then the night, by watching these videos, he learned about other biomes and blocks still left to discover as well as potions, enchanting, and other dimensions! A dragon was where this journey led for most players, though some took their time getting to it. Above all, he realized he needed diamonds. Diamonds were what every player sought due to their strength, but they were rare and dangerous to collect being so deep underground. They were needed to further Leapday’s journey however, so collecting them became his top goal. Quickly he learned how impossible achieving this goal would be. Well, it seemed impossible after spending days underground chipping at the cold stone and coming up empty. Strange echoes rang through the tunnels and more than a few times paranoia of something (or someone. He had heard the legends of Herobrine) sneaking up on him was enough to make him hole up for hours. Grey, grey stone that went on for miles. Grey cobblestone trailed behind him when his inventory filled. Leapday found other minerals, but the sparkling teal of diamonds still lay buried elsewhere. He mined for so long he began to doubt that the rare mineral even generated in this world. That only grey existed. That was until he broke away the next layer of stone before him and found himself staring uncomprehending at the bits of teal poking through stone. Uncontainable joy broke through his shock like sunlight through parting storm clouds. They were real! Diamonds were real and right in front of him! Invigorated with new energy, Leapday got to work extracting the diamonds just as they had seen others do. The amount paled in comparison to the stacks other players had, but in that moment he didn’t care. It was enough to have found them and confirm they even existed in this world. That weeks of sore arms digging at indifferent stone and unsteady gravel caches falling finally amounted to their new prized possession.

By the time he arrived back at his base, the novelty of finding diamonds began to wear off. He had to admit it was a measly amount. Just barely enough for a diamond pickaxe. What good would a stronger pickaxe be with no enchantments or replacements for when it broke? It had taken so long to find just a few diamonds what were the chances of finding more? No, they wouldn’t craft anything with the rare mineral until they had enough for spares and back ups. So back to the mines they went, and excruciatingly slow they found more, and continued to reason that crafting them was a poor decision. What if an accident happened and they couldn’t get back to their stuff? If they were swallowed by a pit of lava? So much time would be spent only to be wasted. Almost like their thoughts and fears had manifested it, a freak lava incident happened not long after. Leapday had been feeling good that day, so good because their most recent mining trip had yielded 13 diamonds and another cluster just across a lava lake. As they bridged across the lake, plans of finally crafting their collection of diamonds began to form making them giddy. It was the type of giddy that made any obstacle feel like child’s play and beyond consequence. That they finally could start progressing on their journey once more. It was enough to distract Leapday from the crunch of gravel under their feet and for their pickaxe to swing off its mark into the unsteady floor. The ground gave way and sent her tumbling into the lava.

She woke up screaming in her bed. Screaming from agony of ghostly flames that ate flesh, and then from loss and frustration. It wasn’t fair! Her luck had just turned up for the best and now all of it was gone! Every plan to use the diamonds tossed out the window and into a burning pit of despair. How stupid of her to not notice the gravel! All that time for nothing! She should have called it a day and come up 13 diamonds richer with plenty of levels for enchanting. All her gear and tools and items from mineshafts would still be intact, but no. Her head was too far in the clouds and now it was gone. She hadn’t even had the foresight to mark the cave to return to, so sure of her victory. There would be no hope navigating the twisting and sprawling tunnels below, and even if she tried to go back, the sight of lava would probably be enough to make her hurl. Fat tears began dripping down her face as she cursed and wallowed. They blurred his vision, so with a few steadying breaths and a final gross sniffle, he wiped at his eyes. Then he went to swing his legs over the bed to pick up the pieces of his day and froze. On his hand, both hands actually, were thick black smudges of… of something. What was that? He reached up to his face and traced the wet tear tracks with a clean finger. It too came away covered in the strange goop. An incredulous laugh burst from him, which evolved into hysterical crying. More tears fell from his eyes and he let them. The tangled web of grief in his chest unraveling as he did so, and he felt the last of his energy drain away until-

Sunlight trickled through the curtains and roused Leapday from their sleep. Birds were chirping and the familiar sounds of the animals grazing and leaves rustling cradled their mind while the events of the previous day trickled back to them. They felt heavy and gross. Their eyes crusty and mouth dry as a desert were a sure sign of their emotional distress. Disappointment felt like stones being dropped on them when they pulled up their empty inventory. It really was all gone. They let their head flop back onto their pillow and took a steadying breath, trying to recount the reasons they should get out of bed. Maybe they would stick to the joys of the world above ground for a month or two. Take up weaving or painting. They had plenty of resources to finally build a barn and an expansion to the house. Maybe they would go with a grassy roof.

Yeah. That could be alright. With one final sigh, Leapday pushed themself up off their bed and dragged themself over to their cauldron to clean up. They could see from their reflection that only a few faint smudges remained on their face, which they gently wiped away. Crying black goop was probably not normal now that their mind was more stable to think it over. Or maybe it was normal? It had never happened before, but the players on YouCraft all had their own quirks that Lepaday lacked, so maybe it was normal for them?

It turned out the inky tears were a new normal. From that incident onward, whenever they experienced a great sense of loss the strange tears formed and sank into the ground. They appeared when Leapday lost their first wolf companion and when they accidentally deleted a creative world full of builds of an ambitious project.

Meanwhile…

in another world…

In Hels, black goop bubbled to the surface of a sea of lava. From a distance, the surface seemed its usual hungry self, shifting and popping as it patiently waited for Hels and its inhabitants to finally crumble in. The goop was not consumed by its hunger however. It stretched towards the netherrack shore like a snake in water. Once it had gathered all of itself onto more solid ground, it sat and waited for more of itself to arrive, bouncing and bubbling over the terrain in the meantime. They could only wait so long however, after all, there was much to collect and preserve and too little time to do so.

And it’s finished! Whew, I don’t typically write, so this was a lot to work on amidst all my finals projects (totally worth it tho! It was great practice). I wasn’t planning on writing so much about leapday, but then I realized the interesting potential of writing about players when they’re new to the world. If they are akin to gods, they still enter the world with a lot to learn. The goop at the end is Nightfall, who then went on to travel Hels and collect as many blocks and items as xe could before xe came across the city Evil X established. At first they were incredibly overwhelmed by the amount of stuff to preserve in the city and mostly stuck to collecting free scraps and garbage. It probably did something to gain the attention of a member of the Order of Remembrance, who taught Nightfall about their goals and a few things about how society/Hels worked. From there, Nightfall set off to establish a massive collection and documentation of anything and everything, working with people in the process but also quite an eccentric personality that can be quite a hermit when buried in paperwork (not many people are willing to do paperwork as diligently as Nightfall)

Also, YouCraft is YouTube in the Minecraft world :P I felt I needed to separate it from our version of mcyt because in this universe the characters are real and making videos about their lives rather than people playing a video game (at least that’s how I’m headcanoning it)

thank you @silverskye13 for providing some more lore about Hels and the Order of Remembrance (as well as Redstone and Skulk as a whole <3) as well as inspiring me to keep trying to improve my writing and thank you to @/yayforocs for inspiring me to finally make my own rns OCs and this post :3

[archesa]

Hawthorn

I am the first to affectionately call Canach a cactus - and it is fitting! both physically and in terms of his prickly character - BUT! Allow me to bring forth an alternative! Canach is not a cactus. He is a hawthorn.

As a sapling, Canach arboured light green bark, and white leaves / petals, his features remarkably devoid of thorns.

Come a few years and a few hardship, and there's Canach as we now know him, his bark turned dark grey and quite a few thorns marring his features.

And now for the comparison. Hawthorn.

As for how far as the comparison goes...

Hawthorns are shrubs, or small trees.

Their bark is dull brown with vertical orange cracks.

The name itself is derived from the anglo-saxon word 'haguthorn' meaning "wall of thorns". "The bramble walls were a stroke of genius. If I do say so myself."

And as for the symbolism of hawthorn, they are associated with protection and isolation, thriving in defensive, thorny hedges, and as solitary trees, with love and renewal, blooming in may, and with death.

[synthetic-witch]

You Think a Little Bit of Hard Vacuum Will Be Enough?

There’s that tree outside the window again, drifting slowly into view. Ever since the dome over the park exploded (fortunately, it was fully evacuated before the catastrophic failure occurred), the station’s picked up a sort of miniature asteroid belt of random park-related detritus. Clumps of dirt forming nano-scale planetoids, partially-deconstructed benches, bits of pipework, plants. I even saw a red and white checked picnic blanket this morning.

But that big ol’ tree is particularly iconic, ripped unceremoniously from its roots by sudden vacuum. I can’t help but feel sorry for it. It arrived when the station was newly-built as a mere sprig of a sapling. But it grew mighty and strong as the station grew around. It was nurtured by generations of horticulturalists, loved by all who stood in its shade.

And now it floats serenely past my bedroom, frozen leaves glimmering in the harsh light of space, cold and alone. No more dogs will piss against its trunk. No more children will swing from those mighty branches,  no couples will carve their names into its bark--

Hang on.

Something catches my eye. Peering closer, I notice a flash of orange and a flash of blue tangled up in those branches. There’s something in there. No, someone-- two someones, in fact; I’m seeing a pair of environment suits.

The tree rotates slowly in its orbit of the station, and as it does, the pair comes into view. They’ve secured their tethers to a branch, and their helmets are pressed together, faces close. They’re holding hands, too.

As I watch, the orange one moves over to the main trunk, a multi-tool in hand. And they begin carving a pair of names into the trunk.

Well, bugger me. I’ve never been more glad to be wrong.