#something something plant a tree twenty years ago

[imnothereyet]

can anyone tell me why i just thought it would be a good idea to throw myself headlong into a sequence of research & effort that summarizes as "human geography & urban planning historical revisionism" and would require learning how to do a from-the-ground-up redesign of entire metro areas based off of current understanding of the course of technological advancement, finding the oldest topographic data to use, spending hundreds of hours learning to effectively draw/paint semi-realistic architectural & landscape scenes, likely learning 3D modeling whether digital or physical, improving my understanding of building standards/options, and keeping up with emerging technologies.

[solbaby7]

Wanting You, Wanting Me

pairing: azriel x reader

based off an anonymous request- got carried away but I tried to stay within the guidelines; this was actually a really cute concept

warnings: angst at first but it gets fluffy towards the end, swearing, jealousy, mutual pining, mentions of nightmares, sleep deprivation, probably some typos

summary: Silent yearning only remains silent for so long when you suspect your crush likes your best friend instead

--

Elaine was like flowers budding in the Spring; new and fresh, full of promise and beauty. She was kind and caring, compassionate and soft-spoken, dainty and slender—all the pretty things that males loved in women.

Or maybe it was just her.

Because you were fairly new and fresh too; just barely in your twenties and full on the idea of life and love and everything in between. Maybe you weren’t as kind, not as nice or welcoming; you didn’t always have the right words and in lou of sounding stupid or making a fool of yourself, you stayed quiet.

Watching; observing, learning the family around you as you navigated your place in it. Everyone already had their role; playing their parts as if they’d been trained their whole lives for it and even Feyre and her sisters had fallen into a steady rhythm after the Cauldron. But with all the new additions, couples pairing up and friendships pre-established a hundred years before you were even a thought—your place there seemed less clear.

Especially since Azriel had started paying such special attention to Elaine and her annoyingly beautiful garden and the plants that seemed to thrive tenfold at the mere sight of her.

You didn't mind at first; the three of you falling into a steady rhythm of hanging out together, taking walks and sharing stories but somewhere along the lines he stopped looking at you when he'd laugh. Envy builds for a woman too kind to deserve it and it makes you feel even worse--masking your distaste with soft smiles that you hoped looked as welcoming as hers.

You can’t even help the turn your thoughts take but no matter how much envy fills you; there’s not one con that presents itself when regarding her.

It becomes subconscious, the way you mimic her; fixing your posture, hands reaching to push back strands of hair and smoothen out the fabric that the soft curve of your stomach. Silently nitpicking parts of you that you’d never considered wrong before but that had to be when everything Elaine had got was so right.

He walks in like you’ve summoned him, steps silent and sure. “You’re up early.”

“Couldn’t sleep.” You mutter a beat too late, only realizing he was regarding you when you’d finally glanced up over the book in your hands.

You’re acutely aware of his every move, the radiating warmth of his body contrasted by the cool kiss of his shadows sifting through your hair when he leans over the back of the couch. The smell of his soap reaches your nose when he leans in, hazel eyes skimming over the pages you're reading and you thank the good Mother above that you’d gotten past the naughty scene three pages ago; where the good guy who pretends to be bad slides his fingers between the maidens thighs, urging her to be silent as he worked her over through her clothes while being surrounded by a whole camp full of males and a looming threat lingering somewhere in the trees. “Bad dreams again?”

You pray he doesn’t catch the slight uptick of your heart rate, the closeness forcing your body to react without permission and it takes great effort not to tear the delicate pages under the pressure of your fingers alone. “Something like that,” You grit out, reminded of the nightmares that assaulted your slumber; the sight of Elaine and Azriel—kissing. Enough to rip you awake and force you to empty all of your stomach contents; you’d just barely made it to the bathing chambers, hairs sticking to your cheeks and nightgown damp with sweat as you leaned into the toilet.

You still hadn’t been able to keep anything down; stomach too unsettled and brain spiraling enough to distract away any signs of hunger.

“She’s been getting them all week,” Elaine softly adds, fingers busy with her knitting needles and yarn; a new blanket for you to add to the giant collection neatly folded your closet. “—won’t drink the tea I made for it though.”

“Because the tea makes them worse and then I wake up from them with my body still paralyzed,” You’re quick to say, familiar with your best friends tactics in divulging important information to the shadowsinger to ensure you actually did something about it—that you took care of yourself. “I’ll happily keep just the bad dreams.”

Azriel's not even looking at you anymore though, already rounding the couch to sit beside Elaine, ball of yarn rolling between them and you can’t help but stare. “Tell me more about this tea?”

“I make it from the plants in the garden,” She points at the window behind them, pale green yarn still wrapped around her finger. “Camomile and ginseng and usually it helps but she just reacts to it differently.”

Azriel hums and you hate the way the words make you feel; like there was another thing setting you apart from the others and this perfect life that didn’t seem capable enough to hold room for all of your imperfections. You don’t wait to hear anymore, steps light and hands quick to stick your bookmark in place and collect your tea cup before you’re gone and down the hall; tears burning in your waterline.

Because, you were sure that if you had to sit there and watch them a second longer you were going to scream.

Scream at Elaine for being so sweet and gentle; so knowledgeable and helpful and certain that it was you that was the issue and not her stupid herbs grown in her stupid garden. You wanted to scream at Azriel until you were blue in the face, listing off every single thing you've ever done to show that the thing between you was way more than just friends. How he was everything and you know that maybe you weren't perfectly skinny like Elaine was but you'd always found great beauty in things that were different.

You can’t tell if you’re happy or not that no one comes to check on you the whole four hours it takes for you to relax; binging the entirety of a book until you were too focused on someone else's life to focus on your own and only once you'd finished the book in it's entirety were you forced to leave the room in search for the one that followed.

The library is empty when you enter, only a few lights still burned and you’re already murmuring soft words to yourself while you search around for what your looking for, fingers bumping over the slides of books; their engraved titles all unique and beautiful and probably interesting but still not quite right. It takes some time but you’re certain you’ve found it, a few rows higher than you can reach but it’s easy to drag over a chair for assistance. "Come on," You mutter, nose scrunching with strain as the tips of two fingers graze the burgundy spine. You’re prepared to jump and pray the chair doesn’t collapse beneath you when the book simply slides out and floats down to you, cool shadows twirling up the length of your arm as if to stabilize you as you step down. “I didn’t need help,” You grumble without looking at your savior, the weight of the book now in your palm and excitement swirls at the thought of more.

“You never do.”

You don’t mean to be so snappy but the sleep deprivation takes a toll and it was becoming harder to distinguish truth from dream; your brain always stuck on his mouth leaning in for Elaine’s and the anger that ensues is all consuming. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Azriel shrugs, sighing as if he knows how this conversation will end and in no way will he ever come out on top. “I don’t know—just don’t get why you wouldn’t have told me you haven’t been sleeping.”

“Because, Az, what would you have done? Help Elaine make me tea’s? No, thanks.”

Confusion spreads on handsome features, hazel eyes fierce even with his lids lowered. “What does Elaine have to do with any of this? Because she told me?”

The breath you let out is heavy, defeat settling in once you realize the hole you’d been digging yourself and it’s a struggle to heave yourself out and drag the chair back to its original spot but Azriel’s there in seconds. He’s quiet; waiting for an answer as he takes it from your hands. “No,” You concede, all fight leaving when it was a one-sided battle. “She doesn’t have anything to do with it. It’s fine—I’m just tired.”

“Then sleep,” He urges softly. “I’ll stay with you.”

“I can’t.”

You can’t even focus on the words of your page under his stare. You’ve read the first line six times over and you still haven’t fully processed it. The thought of him being nearby as you slept, the thought of his eyes on your body in nothing but a nightgown and your hair free from all its carefully done braids. “Can you tell me what you’ve been dreaming about?”

His brows raise when you suck in a sharp breath, cheeks flinching at the suggestion and you shut the book altogether. “I’d really rather not.”

“What’s so bad you can’t tell me about it?" Azriel's hand covers your own, voice so soft it hurt. "You tell me everything.”

Your heart thumps so hard in your chest you can hear it in your ears, your free fingers fumbling against the other under the table and you can't refrain from the nervous chuckle that pulls free. There's a second where you want to just tell him; to confess your feelings and how much you loved the way he was looking at you but fucking hated how you knew that look wouldn't stay if Elaine walked in. The reminder of her alone makes your body deflate, gaze going far off and Azriel's concern only grows when you stay quiet too long to be normal.

The cool touch of a shadow grazing your cheek pulls you out of it. "I suppose this just isn't worth telling."

It's not the answer he wanted, that much is clear by the frown that tugs on full lips, the wings that tuck in tighter and you want nothing more than to give him everything he'd wanted and more to get his face to stop looking at you like that but before you can say another word, another person enters. "Sorry to interrupt, I was just looking for you.

His eyes instantly go to her, hand pulling away from your own and attitude seeps out when you regard her. "Well, you found me."

Elaine's eyes bounce between you and Azriel as if she could feel the tension in the room that held so thick you could cut it with a knife. Her voice is hesitant when she begins, a steaming pot held in hands covered by thick oven mitts. "I made a new recipe for the tea," You don't even hear the carefully curated list of herbs she rattles off, informing their uses and how well they work together but you can't stop shaking; chest tightening at the way Azriel watches Elaine gracefully flit about the room and you can't stop thinking about how quickly he pulled away his hand. "It's really strong so you can't have too much but the madja said that it would help with the sleeping and the paralysis."

You couldn't of cared less, snatching the kettle from her grasp and in your anger you can’t even hear her gasp, can’t feel the burn of the boiling handle against your palm as you pour a mug so thick it nearly spills over the top. “Thanks, Elaine. Really, I hope it knocks me out for a week.” You don’t stay to take in the worry on Azriel's face or the hurt that laced your friends features. Your book is tight in your grasp and you’re halfway down the hallway when you feel your palm begin to throb.

Your bedroom door shuts with a slam, pure frustration pulsing through your whole being and you can feel it ebbing from the top of your head to the tips of your toes. A sigh pulls when you take an angry sip, it burns your tongue, slightly bitter but it was eased with a little sugar and a teaspoon of honey.

Guilt swells at the kind gesture and your misguided anger; Elaine had only been trying to help, making things to quell the dreams she didn’t even know were centered around her and man you loved but didn't love you back. It weighs on you as you change into your night clothes, smoothening ointment and wrapping thick gauze around your burn; there was no blistering but the angry red mark was sure to remain there for quite some time.

You try to distract yourself, silently sipping as you read your book.

It’s alarming how quickly you relax, the giant mug nearly empty when your book slips between your fingers and thuds to the floor, body slumping into the sitting chair and you don’t even have enough time to drag a blanket over yourself before your eyes flutter shut and sleep takes over.

And this time, you didn’t dream.

There was only peaceful silence and maybe an uncomfortable pressure in your chest that it came and went in waves; too grateful for the relief that settled in your bones to care. It was like you were sinking, body slowly falling into a sea of cushion and comfort and you’d have been willing to stay there forever.

Your brows furrow when a noise pierces through the silence; eyes squinting in the darkness to find the source but the harder you try to make it out, the darker the rooms gets. A hand rubs against your chest, the pressure coming back and this time it’s so hard it makes you cough, eyes clenching shut and it’s like that was the switch to wake you up.

Azriel is leaning over you, hands on your chest and cheeks red with exertion when you cough and cough, soul aching to return to the peace—that silence where there were no dreams. “Why’d you wake me up?”

“Wake you up?” His voice holds no more room for placating to your wants; hands shaking at his sides and it’s then you see the fear. “You didn’t have a pulse. I came to check on you and you were—“ Azriel clears his throat, voice cracking with his clothes disheveled and full lips firm in a straight line as he stood before you, crouching down to meet your eye level. “Tell me right now, what were you dreaming about that was so bad that you were willing to die to stop them.”

Your chest heaves as you take in air, a ringing begins in your ears and you back away; avoiding the words, the conversation—the sight of his mouth on hers. “I can’t.”

“You can and you will."

"Azriel—"

Az groans at your tone, turning his entire body away as if he physically couldn't bear hearing another aversion; another lame excuse as to why you couldn't tell him what was going on when you always did. "Do you not trust me? Is that it?"

“What?”

You'd never seen him so upset, eyes blazing and wings rustling in his frustration as he stood. "I'm just listing shit at this point because all I've done is try to be there for you—me and Elaine, and you just keep pushing us away."

"Oh, please," You snap back, gaining the strength to stand and the ache in your chest only gets worse and you begin to wonder just how long he was on top of you breathing air into your lungs and willing breath to stick with the push of his hands. "If Elaine's around, I might as well just walk right out of the room because that means you'll be otherwise occupied shoving your head up her ass."

"You sound ridiculous." He lets out a gruff laugh, arms crossed over his chest. "Are you jealous or something?"

"It's clear you have feelings for her. I get it—she's perfect and pretty and skinny and obviously you like that sort of thing but don't stand here and pretend you even notice I exist with her there." There's no taking back the words and you don't even care to look into the way his brows furrow at you, words punching at him a mile a minute as a dam breaks and days and weeks and months worth of emotions rage forward with no signs of stopping. "How couldn't I be jealous? When it’s so obvious that you love her and not me.” It feels pathetic to say out loud, hands crossing over yourself as you did your best to remain strong; to get through the feelings even though your skin was on fire and you couldn't stop fidgeting. "That's what my dreams have been about. Why I've been missing sleep and hiding things from you because every time I close my eyes all I can fucking see is you and her."

You don't even realize how much distance you'd been putting between you two, subconsciously searching for a way out when Azriel inevitability let you down easy. "You love me?" Words die on your tongue, feelings laid bare and vulnerabilities left out for his viewing pleasure; eyes like drops of gold boring into you as you gently nod. He sinks onto the edge of your bed, a breathless laugh emitting as scarring fingers traced over the soft fabric of your duvet. "The only reason I started talking to Elaine in the first place is because you and her had gotten so close and I wanted an excuse to be around you."

Your brows furrow, lips parting in confusion and the nerves begin to fade. "No."

Azriel's head nods once, settling into the fell of your room and the little trinkets you'd kept close on the nightstand; pictures neatly framed and resting on books you favored a little more than the others on the shelves. Hand sculpted vases made from blown glass that scattered rainbows across the room when the sun shone through the curtains to feed the bright flowers inside of them. "Yes, but you kept leaving and I thought it was because you weren't interested."

"But, I thought—"

"I think it's safe to say we both were off in our assumptions."

It feels like a dream and not the kind you'd been running away from but the one you'd been sinking and falling into earlier before Azriel had pulled you back. The one that felt like peace and comfort and something like hope begins to brew in your belly when you dare you look him in the eyes. "You like me?"

Azriel's features soften, the fear and worry from before a thing of the past when he stood and walked towards you, shadows kissing at your legs when warm knuckles grazed your cheek. "I love you," He corrects gently, his touch like home and its instinct the way you close the proximity. You can feel his heartbeat on your chest, the strong muscles of his arms itching to be traced and a smile forms at the blush that forms on the tops of his ears under your attention. "—and those smutty little books you've been reading."

His chest is hard when you jokingly smack it, cheeks going hot and eyes darting to the book laid forgotten on the floor. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

The lie doesn't deter him and neither does the little gasp that pulls free when he gently forces you to look up at him, hazel eyes trained on your mouth and the tongue that darts out to wet plush lips. "I'll pretend I believe that if you just shut up and let me kiss you."

Maybe reality was better than dreaming.

Because this time, when he leaned down with intent to press his mouth against another’s for a kiss—it was with you.

[strangererotica]

EXPLICIT CONTENT | MINORS DNI

Stepdad!Hopper x Reader • age gap (reader is 21, Hop’s in his 40’s)

Please read PART ONE first! 🥰

@honeylavender-323 @mrshopper84 @reidsbookcase @currently0bsessedwith

Ahead of him, Hopper saw Starcourt Mall, Hawkins’ new shopping and entertainment destination. A shiny beacon of fun in an otherwise dull little down, Starcourt had quickly become the hotspot for locals to hang out. An abundance of neon lighting adorned both the mall’s interior and exterior, bathing its halls and storefronts in a dreamlike glow.

While Starcourt wasn’t Hopper’s idea of a good time, he knew you liked the mall. So much that you were apparently meeting a boy there tonight. On a date, which, to Hopper’s knowledge, would be the first you’d ever had.

Since meeting (and marrying) your mother a couple of years ago, Hopper had wondered when you might begin dating. As his marriage to your mother deteriorated, Hopper realized his feelings for you were becoming inappropriate. Maybe he’d always been attracted to you in some way…but as you’d neared your twenty-first birthday, the sexual aspect of his marriage had all but disappeared. It was at this point that Hopper started fantasizing about you, taking a perverted interest in your body that racked him with guilt. But not enough to stop.

He’d sunk so deeply in his obsession that Hopper truly believed he’d fallen in love with you. Regardless of whether his feelings were actually motivated by love rather than lust, Hopper’s desire for you was real…so real, he feared it could lead to something he’d later regret for the rest of his life. If Hopper acted on his urges, it would not only destroy his marriage, but also any trust you had in him…

Hopper assumed you must view him as a father figure. He’d been the only stable, older male in your life for a long time. Hopper had no idea you wanted him as much as he wanted you…or that your ‘date,’ tonight was pure fiction, a lie you’d invented to test Hopper’s potential for jealousy. Your test had proven successful, far more successful than you’d imagined. Because when you’d pulled out of the driveway on your way to Starcourt, Hopper had discreetly followed, just far enough behind that you wouldn’t notice.

Upon entering the mall, Hopper checked the directory. Since the cinema was located on the upper floor, he made his way to the escalator and started up. The mall was exceptionally crowded that day, even for Starcourt. Hopper’s eyes scanned the many faces around him, seeking yours first and secondly, the face of the boy who’d somehow charmed you enough to secure himself as your first-ever date.

Your date being a lie wasn’t something Hopper suspected in any way. He genuinely needed to know, out of both a twisted jealousy and a desire to protect you, what this ‘boy from work,’ was like.

When he finally caught sight of you, a sense of relief washed over Hopper, followed by curiosity. You were alone. There were other people in the ticket line, of course…but notably, no one was standing with you, accompanying you. Hopper lingered far enough away from the cinema that you wouldn’t notice him. He leaned against a decorative pillar, the synthetic palm tree planted in front of him adding to his camouflage. Hopper lit a cigarette while watching you purchase a single ticket for yourself. He’d spent so long gazing at your lips, that reading them came easily. You were seeing Back to the Future; and therefore, Hopper was also.

When you disappeared from his view inside the cinema, Hopper took your place at the ticket window. He purchased admission to the movie, then lingered behind a group of people while you bought a soda and some popcorn from the concession stand. You checked your ticket, then looked up at the title displays to see which auditorium was showing your movie. You then headed down the left hallway, in the direction of auditorium three.

Now that Hopper knew which auditorium you would be seated in (he’d been too focused on you to check his own ticket for that information) he decided to hang back and take his time, finishing his cigarette while he waited. If he went inside too early, before the auditorium darkened and the show started, you’d surely see him. Hopper bought himself a pretzel, and kept an eye out for any young men who might potentially be your date. He put out his cigarette and finished his snack, then listened outside the auditorium to make sure the movie had started.

Satisfied that the room would be dark and noisy enough to avoid drawing attention to himself, Hopper made his way inside.

“Oh shit!” you cried, walking straight into Hopper’s chest. In an instant, his arms closed around you, instinctively protecting you. Even before realizing who you’d collided with, you recognized Hopper’s scent. You looked up at him with wide eyes and a confused expression. “Hopper?” you began. “What are you doing here??”

He tried to think of some way to explain, but couldn’t form a convincing lie quickly enough. Additionally, Hopper found it difficult to focus with you in his arms, a closeness that in the context of his feelings for you, seemed wildly inappropriate.

“I-uh…” Hopper stammered, before asking, “What are you doing? Why aren’t you in your seat-?”

“-I had to pee!” you snapped, prompting someone in the nearest row of seats to shout, “for god’s sake, keep it down over there, will ya??!!”

Hopper’s eyes glided over your breasts, pressed together against his chest. “Where’s Jack?” he whispered.

“Who??”

“Jack,” Hopper repeated, forcing his voice low. “Your date?”

Now it was your turn to improvise a lie. “He uh…I guess he’s not coming,” you shrugged, trying to play it off like nothing. Hopper huffed indignantly. “He stood you up??!” he asked, louder than he’d intended.

“Shh!!” the same cinema patron from before sneered.

“That ungrateful little shit,” Hopper grumbled, ignoring them. “He has the chance to go out with a perfect girl like you, and he fucks it up. Unbelievable. What a motherfucking-.”

“-Hopper!” you interrupted calmly, trying to cool his temper. “It’s okay, really! I didn’t like him that much, anyway.”

Hopper’s eyebrow lifted, along with his hopes. “You didn’t?”

A small grin shaped your lips. “Not really,” you replied. “Actually, he was kind of young for me, anyway. He was my age, and I really want a man who’s older...”

Hopper blinked a few times, before realizing he was still holding onto you. Loosening his grip, Hopper gave you the chance to back away; but you remained in his arms. He cleared his throat, feeling his heart rate kick up a few notches and his cock twitch against your stomach, much to his horror. God he hoped you wouldn’t notice.

“Ol-older?” he stammered. “I didn’t…I had no idea you liked older men.”

“Mm-hmm,” you replied, nodding sweetly, your tits squished wickedly against Hopper’s chest. “I do. There’s this one older man in particular, who I’ve liked for as long as I can remember, but…” You looked down, pretending to be shy. “…I’m not sure he likes me, too.”

Hopper swallowed, trying his damndest to lose his erection stiffening against you. “Well, uh, why don’t you tell him?” Hopper asked, his voice wavering. “This older guy, you know? Just-.” Hopper groaned, unable to help himself when you twisted slightly in his arms, adding pressure against his now-obvious hard-on. “-Just, tell him how you feel,” Hopper added. Suddenly, the annoyed audience member from before left his seat and approached you both. “Hey!” he whisper-shouted. “If you two can’t keep your goddamned mouthes shut, I’m getting security! We’re here to watch a movie, not listen to your fuckin’-.”

“-Relax, asshole,” Hopper retorted, removing his badge from his pocket and shoving it in the man’s face. “I’m the chief of police. I AM security.”

The man’s eyes went wide. “A call came into the station,” Hopper added, his voice full of authority. “Saying someone matching this young lady’s description was going on a shopping spree today, using counterfeit currency…” It took you a few seconds to catch on to the game Hopper was playing, but once you did, you decided to play along. “And I’d do it again, Chief,” you insisted defiantly, watching a look of shock fall over the other man’s face.

“…Well,” he said nervously, taking a step back. “It looks like you’ve got a real rebellious one on your hands here, Chief. I won’t stand in the way of official police business, sir.”

“Enjoy your fuckin’ movie,” Hopper spat sarcastically back at him. The man retreated to his seat, glancing back as if fearing you might commit a crime on the spot.

“You wanna get out of here?” Hopper asked.

“Yeah,” you grinned. “Let’s go.”

You exited the theater with a giddy little spring in your step…because Hopper’s hand was holding yours, walking you through the halls of Starcourt like it was nothing…but to you, it was everything. Just like a date, with the man of your dreams. And after the events of tonight, you were more convinced than ever that your dream was about to come true…

[softpascalito]

I To Dig a Grave I Chapter 2 I

Summary: Twenty-one years after the outbreak, you come to Wyoming looking for something and end up in Jackson after a stranger saves your life.

But he doesn't stay a stranger.

Turns out Joel Miller is looking for something too. It feels like a fresh start. But when bad luck seems to follow you, Joel is the only one to turn to, forcing both of you to confront your feelings about your pasts- and each other.

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader Rating: Explicit / MDNI Word count: 7k+ Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Age Difference, Smut, Explicit Content, Grief/Mourning, Mental Health Issues, Canon-Typical Violence, Chose not to use Archive Warnings, Tags to be added

AO3 LINK // Series Masterlist // Playlist

notes: i can't tell you all how i excited i am to get this fic going! thank you for the lovely comments on the first chapter, i promise there is a lot of cool stuff to come!

this fic will deal with heavy topics. please note that it doesn't use archive warnings and tags will be added as we go in order to avoid spoilers. each chapter will have detailed warnings in the end notes on ao3.

Chapter 2 - The Patrol

‘Someone has to leave first. This is a very old story. There is no other version of this story.’  - Richard Silken, The Worm King’s Lullaby

There is a thin sheet of ice covering the streams that are heading downwards. It crunches under the hooves of their horses that dutifully carry them up the hill and past the gas station. Joel is glad that it's Tommy next to him. He's more tense than he's felt in ages, a gnawing feeling in his stomach that has little to do with the skipped breakfast and a lot with the worry that is etched into the frown between his brows. He wouldn't want anyone to see him like this, much less try and calm him down, something he knows is a lost battle.

“They might be fine, Joel,” his younger brother says gently, just loud enough for him to hear. Tommy thinks there will be no response until one comes, a little too late for it to not be premeditated.

“She talked about leaving, sometimes. They would be stupid enough to run off-”

“And leave Jackson?” Tommy raises a brow. “Maria said their house looked normal, all their things still in place. They wouldn't be stupid enough to leave all that behind.”

Joel doesn't want to hear it. He knows, better than anyone. Knows that you wouldn't just leave, not without saying goodbye to the children you'd come to care about so much. Would you leave him without a goodbye?

He almost hopes you would. Because if you didn't leave willingly, what was the alternative? It would've been nearly impossible for someone to take you from inside Jackson with no one noticing. But he can't shake the feeling that something is off.

It’s Tommy who has to keep reminding him to ride slow, to keep an eye on the ground for possible tracks. Joel just wants to go, to spur Old Beardy on until they're galloping up the hill, despite not knowing where it is he needs to go. He just wants to find you. Preferably in one piece, happy and healthy. 

He would’ve missed it.

The small footprints leading off the road and onto a smaller path, one that's twisting through pines and further into the woods. 

Tommy nods. “Pretty sure ‘tis the one that leads to the hunting cabin.”

It only takes a few minutes for them to be sure. The wooden cabin is hidden away behind a few trees, difficult to spot if you don't know where to look. It doesn't really serve any purpose, at least not anymore. The roof at the back caved in years ago, allowing rain and plants alike to enter the dimly lit room. It’s less than five miles from the gate of Jackson, tucked away from the main road.

He can’t help but think that this would be the perfect place to run off to. Or to hide a body.

Joel is off his horse in a second, not even bothering to tie the stallion's halter to the wooden posts in front of the cabin. Without thinking, he tugs his revolver out of his waistband, using his foot to nudge the door open.

He smells it before his eyes even have a chance to adjust to the dim light. The unmistakable stench of blood. And mixed with it, creating an odor that immediately makes him sick to his stomach, the smell of gunpowder in the air.

***

The sun has been slowly rising while you’ve been flipping through the pages, trying to find the volumes you’re looking for. The library of Jackson, though rather small, has been frequented more and more, especially in the winter months when the weather doesn’t always allow activities outside and people resort to what they’ve always known: Books.

The entire place is supposed to be relocated soon, to a small store on main street. But compared to the greenhouses needing repairs and the stables being expanded, books don't seem to be a priority for most of the townsfolk.

���Books can’t feed us or keep us safe,” Maria pointed out when you brought the slow progress up to her. You politely disagree. You feel like you could live off books for the rest of your life.

Still, packing up everything means the old place, a shed tucked away behind the church, is currently a mess. Sagging bookshelves, a leaky roof and too many books for too little space means chaos. One that only few bother to navigate in its current state. You among them.

It was the crack of dawn when you slipped out of the house, deciding to let Lane sleep in while you walked through the still empty streets to the far end of the town, hoping to get the library work out of the way before the first lesson of the day.

Maria is the one that finds you, making your head peek up from between two shelves with a frown. “You changed your mind on those books?”

She gives a small laugh, one that sounds oddly like relief. Then her face becomes stern again, the look she carries much more often. “You two have some explaining to do, do you realize that?”

Now it's your turn to frown. “We two?” She pauses at that, looking around the small room. But there is no one here but you and her and the characters bleeding from the pages.

“Is Lane not with you?”

You shake your head, turning your attention back to the book in your hands. “She has the 8AM class today.” 

“She's not there,” Maria curtly responds. You can tell she's trying to keep her voice steady but there is a hint of anxiety regardless. 

“Then she overslept again,” you half guess-half ask, closing the book again.

“She's not at home either.”

An odd feeling crawls over your body. You can't remember what was in your hands a moment ago, but the question is forgotten in an instant. Maria carefully watches as you step out from between the shelves, her tone still gentle. “I've sent Tommy and Joel out to search. We thought you two snuck out.”

You feel numb as you shake your head. “No, I- I didn't see her this morning. I thought she was still asleep.” You rack your brain for the memories of this morning, of last night, of the last week even. But nothing comes to mind, nothing out of the ordinary.

“I was out late last night, finishing up some paperwork,” you mutter, more to yourself than the woman in front of you, retracing your steps in your mind. “Lane got home before me, I had dinner, we talked about blueberries-”

“Blueberries?” Maria asks, her hand already back on the doorknob. She seems restless and it's that fleeting detail that worries you more than anything. Maria stays in control. Always. 

“Yeah, we- It doesn't matter. I don't know where she is,” you finish lamely, getting up and joining her at the door. But she hasn't moved yet.

“You should stay at home. I'm sure she'll show up again soon and if she comes back to your place, someone should be there.” You nod but your mind is already drifting again. Lane’s been doing fine, good. So have you, really. Maria gently reaches for your shoulder, steering you out of the shed and towards the church, down the street that leads to the center of Jackson. 

You're passing the small graveyard that's protected by brick walls, the stones already withered, pale in contrast to the dark metal fence running along on top. The gate is ajar, but you barely pay it any attention as the information settles in your brain. It takes a few seconds for it to reach your mouth and leave your lips.

“She went out a few times.” 

“Out?” Maria enquires, raising an eyebrow as her attention shifts back to you.

“I thought she'd met someone. Cat and her were pretty close and I figured-” You give a small shrug. It's more than uncomfortable, suddenly, and absurd, that you're discussing Lane's private life so openly, with Maria of all people.

“Don't tell her I said that,” you add quickly. 

Maria nods as you reach the end of the brick wall. “I won't. I'll get back to the city hall and see if there’s any news yet. You go home.”

Your head nods as if on its own accord. Maria has already turned her back towards you when you pipe up. “Maria?” 

She pauses, her back straightening a bit. “Yes?”

“You don't think anything happened to Lane, do you?” 

The older woman shakes her head softly. “No. I'm sure she's fine. Now get home. Maybe she's already there.”

And she hurries off, leaving you at the corner of the street with a trembling body and a heavy feeling in your stomach. For a fleeting moment, you allow your thoughts to wander past the point you've been dreading to consider. What if something has happened? If Lane did sneak out, maybe with Cat, maybe alone, and got into some sort of situation? What if she's hurt?

The sky has turned from pink to a light blue, only a few clouds piling around the mountains on the horizon. You glance down at your hands, shaking ever so slightly. You decide to blame it on the cold. The cold that may be getting to your head as well. Because after a few moments, you turn on your heels, heading for the stables. It's only a few rows of houses until the large wooden wall looms in front of you, blocking out the little sunlight you could get in the morning. The wall that protects you from what lies beyond. Infected and Raiders and maybe, you think, as you slip into the stables, maybe answers.

if you enjoyed the chapter, please consider reblogging/sharing and commenting, every single notif on this fic makes my heart swell with love <3

[daycourtofficial]

peppermint gingerbread latte please

oh and a cupcake too. whatever the special flavor is

OKAY THIS WAS SO CUTE

Close to the coast of the Day Court held the only tropical landscape in all the solar courts. Densely packed forests with trees over twenty feet wide lay just a day’s travel from the beaches of Day. It is also where the second oldest Vanserra, Leif, was accompanied by his uncle Lucien in search of a very special frog.

Leif was much more of an outdoor explorer than either of his parents had anticipated, but nothing brought him more joy than exploring the woods around the Forest House. At only seven years old, he had made his own trails through the woods, often documenting what creatures he saw as soon as he returned home.

On rainy days, he preferred spending his time inside, playing with his siblings until they became too much for him. He would retreat to his own room, looking through his library of books.

His uncle had joined them for dinner a few days ago. Leif had been mostly quiet during the meal, letting his siblings chatter on endlessly to Lucien about their day. It wasn’t until Lucien had mentioned a researcher from Autumn coming to Day to look at wild golden dart frogs that Leif had begun a barrage of questions.

It was comical how quickly he came back to life when the topic of frogs came up, this particular species one he just read about in a book but could not fathom what they looked like.

At his nephew’s interest, Lucien couldn’t help offering to take Leif along on the expedition.

Leif found himself trekking behind his uncle, his own tiny walking stick helping him keep steady as they maneuvered through the forest.

“These trees make your uncle look young, Leif.” Rye, the researcher, spoke about Lucien as if they knew each other very well. He was slightly smaller than his uncle, his own hair a dusty brown that Leif liked.

“You’re only a few months younger than me!”

“Yes, but you carry your age much harsher than I do.”

Lucien scoffed, looking down at his nephew. “Leif, do you see what I deal with? It’s not just your parents who treat me like this.”

Leif’s giggles continued, much happier to listen than to be in the conversation.

“So, Leif, I hear you are interested in the natural world, particularly frogs?”

He nodded shyly, not taking in that Rye was ahead of them and therefore could not see the movement.

“I have been studying frogs for a long time incidentally. I like wetlands - areas where the water and the land work together in harmony. Perfect frog habitat.”

The trio moved through the forest, the chirps of insects filling the silence.

“These frogs are very interesting. They secrete poison - do you know what that is?”

Leif nodded again, remembering the poisonous berries his father warned him about time and time again.

Rye waited for Leif’s response this time. Leif felt the silence get heavier before responding, “yes, it’s when something can make you sick by eating it.”

“You are a bright boy, Leif.” He straightened his back at the compliment, the only one he really enjoyed receiving. When he thought of brightness, he thought of Lucien and how he lit up a room.

It was a high compliment to Leif.

Lucien’s hand spanned across Leif’s chest, stopping him in his tracks. He crouched down, silent as he pointed to the plant that stood next to Leif.

There on top of the giant, green leaves sat a vibrant frog, almost the color his dad’s golden rings. It had black spots on its back as if someone sprinkled black pepper on top of it.

It was small, probably the size of Leif’s pinky. Black eyes met Leif’s, and all he could do was stare in wonder for a moment before the frog hopped off the plant, further away from their path.

“Do you want to keep going, Leif? Or is one frog sufficient?”

The two males looked at Leif, waiting for his response. He swallowed his fear, not enjoying all of the attention on him.

He nodded. “Let’s find more frogs, please.”

[sdwolfpup]

More Joy Day 2024 is next week!

And I finally put together a real post about it. Progress!

What is More Joy Day? An explanation cribbed from my original post:

Years ago, I was reading the American Idol recaps over on Televisionwithoutpity.com and I came to this paragraph, written by the recapper Jacob:

Some dick cuts you off on the highway, and you give yourself the pass to be a dick to the next five customers, and your bad mood fades by lunchtime, and you forget the dick on the highway, you forget the color of his car, you forget how he was on the phone with his ex-wife, yelling about custody of their kids, and how he never meant to cut you off in the first place, he was just distracted. Your day continues as planned, and at lunch you check your websites and read a funny recap, and you maybe laugh out loud, and you go home and watch TV. But those five guys give themselves the pass to be dicks to the next five -- they're having a bad day, so it's okay just this once, and they're happy again by lunch -- and those twenty-five become six hundred twenty-five, and those six twenty-five become a million, and you've added to the sum total of anger in the world. But it works with love, too, and kindness. ... Your donation is something tangible, but what it means is something altogether more powerful, and it's that you continue to stand, and you continue to remember that you're not alone, and with reverence for this fact, you can't help but add to joy. Which is your entire job, from the day you're born until the day you die: more joy.

These times are desperately in need of joy, and it is incumbent on us to do our small part if we can, to send the ripples out into the world.

So every year since 2008, in the interest of spreading more joy, I’ve proposed that on a designated day in early January we each engage in one act, either online or physical space (or both!), which brings joy to another person, in the hopes that that person will spread that joy further, and exponentially onward.

This year's More Joy Day will be on Friday, January 12!

EVERYONE is welcome and encouraged to participate in even the smallest way! Some ideas of things we can do, fannish and otherwise:

Write a fic, make a podcast, make a vid, or make a fanart for someone.

Buy someone paid discord or tumblr or Dreamwidth time.

Leave someone a nice comment on their work.

Say something nice about someone.

Say something nice about something fannish you love and encourage squee.

Donate five dollars to the charity of someone's choice.

Send flowers to an online friend in a different city.

Buy someone you know a present.

Plant a tree or a flower in someone's honor and take a picture of it and post it.

When somebody cuts you off on the road, wish them well and hope they get where they’re going safely.

Make somebody a friendship bracelet. Or a construction paper heart.

Call someone you love and tell them so.

Buy someone lunch.

Give a stranger a compliment.

Put up a Zoom background celebrating the person you're talking to.

Or anything else you can think of! The sky's the limit.

Then on Friday, make a tumblr or DW post or tweet or skeet or snapchat or WHATEVER, saying what you've done (and/or a note that it's More Joy day), and that will hopefully help spread things further.

I look forward to sharing the joy with all of you!

[grison-in-space]

Hey! Not trying to keep an annoying conversation going but I wanted to say I super appreciate your rebuttal on the ARA stuff, it was a really good clear summary. Particularly glad you brought up the "nothing with us without us" thing because that tendency in ARA circles to treat animal liberation as the Same Thing as liberating marginalised humans, who can speak for them-fucking-selves, is so upsetting and overtly dehumanising and it's really valuable to see that pointed out. It's also so connected to the move towards tankie or fascist rhetoric, because it so strongly relies on a paternalistic view of exploited people as passive recievers of harm and charity. Anyway sorry I'm a bit ill and rambly but I really appreciated the clarity of your takes is what I wanted to say.

No worries, the boundary I wanted to set was more "I'm not interested in repeating that I know full well what ARA ideology is and how that hooks into veganism, and I'm not a captive audience." I'm happy to have conversations, including with people I disagree with; I am not happy to have to repeatedly explain the same thing that has, again, been my consistent experience for nigh on twenty years of interacting with the community. This is not that, so. Thank you for the compliment.

The paternalism is such a huge factor. It reminds me very much of benevolent sexism (as opposed to hostile sexism), and rings all the same alarm bells. It really, really, really reminds me of the way Autism Speaks talks about autistic children and always has.

If animals don't have language (and they largely don't) and if they communicate in ways that might be non-intuituve to a human (and they often do), surely it's incumbent on us as humans to decode the meaning of the signals they are sending in order to understand how to ethically interact with one another. Communication, after all, can happen perfectly well in the absence of language. And yet.

There's also just so little understanding and interest in the reality of what the consequences of "freedom" for animals living in captivity actually are and can be; consider for example Flaco the eagle owl who escaped into NYC, as @why-animals-do-the-thing covered last year. For a species that is notoriously reliant on our social structures and learned skill sets to survive, you'd think we could handle this better. But I see an awful lot of animal rights activists who seem to think that successfully releasing animals into the wild—freeing them from human control—is just a matter of one heartwarming video where the animal steps out of the cage and immediately locks its new job as an independent forager into place. It isn't.

I am also just straight up not convinced that freedom in the sense of being on your own and able to do whatever you want is all that great. I have spent my entire life boldly going where no one has gone before. It kind of sucks, actually. On the other hand, as a neurodivergent person personally I do a lot of structuring my choices with an eye to Past Me pissing off Current Me because I know Future Me will appreciate it. I can devise my own structures to let me successfully do that ... or I can just outsource the enforcing to a third party with opinions, which is something I sometimes need to do badly enough to purchase and train an entire stupid dog about it, because asking other humans to do it is relationally expensive. Sometimes having external structures that keep me from doing dumb things when the impulses get me is good actually.

And I mean, I'm a biologist. I went a little viral here a few years ago for being silly and describing what acacia trees do to try to fight off their greatest enemy: the mighty but terrifying giraffe. I know how plants engage their agency as dramatically and persistently as any animal; they're just sessile, so they do everything without the ability to get up and go. They are, however, no less active or opinionated a participant in the ecological chaos of the world than any other kingdom. To say nothing of fungi! To live is, unless you have chloroplasts, to consume. And even an awful lot of chloroplast-bearing species engage in a little heterotrophy now and again.

So like. Why should I think that eating plants is necessarily any more ethical than eating animals? Why does ARA-driven veganism think that increasingly processed and modified diets that camouflage and hide our connection to our food as part of the natural world that, yes, we also live in? Why do we hide from the complexity and the small grief of life, the shadow of death that has to come for there to be any room to change? One day, I too will die, and something will consume me unless I choose instead to be consumed by fire itself. That's carbon, baby!

[saint-ambrosef]

climate change fatalism is so exhausting. it easily becomes a ecological scapegoat to blame instead of humans taking accountability for how their individual actions affect the environment.

i had a conversation earlier in a fb garden group where a women told me that since desertification was changing her local landscape and making it harder to grow native plants, it was actually okay and even good of her to be planting invasive exotic species that could adapt to the "new normal" climate in her area so that the wildlife would have at least something for shade/shelter/food. in the same message she mentioned trying to eradicate native weeds on their acreage because it had no personal use to her or her non-native livestock.

and i was like. no girl. the desertification in your area has been caused by decades of bad agricultural land management practices, something that is fully reversible. those weeds you are ripping out provide more benefit to wildlife than your nasty exotics, and ranchers removing these "undesirable" natives for decades is why the land has grown barren. planting invasive exotics to replace the artificial loss of biodiversity will only hasten the problem you seek to fix.

but the point of my post isn't this specific woman, it's the general attitude she represents. it's a lot easier to blame the nebulous figure of climate change than to work toward ecological restoration. it's simpler to plant invasive exotics than to reverse decades of poor land management. it's more enjoyable to grow a pretty flowering shrub and pretend it's necessary due to climate change than to allow native ragweed to grow even though the allergies suck because it feeds the birds and pollinators. and it's a helluva lot easier to blame climate change for the worsening of your local environment than to admit that overgrazing your livestock and ripping out native plants just because they have no immediate value to you might have contributed heavily to the decline of your microbiome.

climate change has quickly become this collective responsibility that no one individual is responsible for, because it's so easy to blame the slightest change in environment on it. "we're running out of water because of climate change!" it's because urban landscaping practices channel away water instead of letting it soak into the groundwater wells, and turf lawns use 80% of the city water. "the city is so much hotter now!" yeah because twenty years ago developers planted fast-growing but short-lived/weak trees which have now all died, meaning our roads and neighborhoods have way less shade and foliage to absorb the heat. "the bees are disappearing because of climate change!" sharon it's because there's not a single thing in your yard that a native pollinator would recognize as a food source.

anyways i don't know where exactly i'm going with this. i guess i'm just tired of climate change fatalism because it removes personal incentive to do anything to reverse environmental harm that we could be fixing on an individual level. but "global warming" has become a very convenient excuse for many people, unfortunately.

just makes me wonder how often things blamed on climate change are actually a result of direct human actions that are reversible

[monstrous-fusion]

I hope everyone who celebrates has a blessed Ostara! Decided to draw something new just for today, since I can't plant a seed. (You know, planting a metaphorical seed).

This period of the season is a great time to start planting seeds and bringing new life, to blossom after the long period of darkness from the season before. We clean our spaces, start our gardens or learn new skills that we might not end up carrying with us later. Whatever you choose to celebrate the season of renewal and growth, I truly hope it goes easy for you.

Every season is lovely and beautiful in its own ways. The best time to plant a tree was twenty years ago, the second best time is now. /ref

And </3 yeah this is me saying that Tune and Engie are pagans. This is my silly blorbo AU and I get to project onto them. Faye isn't pictured here, but she's learning too!

[tamurilofrivendell]

The Dragon | part 1 | Thranduil x Reader

{Part One} {Part Two} {Part Three} {Part Four} read on AO3

Pairing: Thranduil x Female Reader

Summary: You found a dragon egg and secretly kept it but when Thranduil inevitably finds out, after the egg has hatched, he is beyond furious and the tentative thread that has grown between you both is at risk of being severed forever.

Content etc: Angst. Threat of violence. Mutual pining/assumed unrequited feelings etc. Angry Thranduil. 

tags: @firelightinferno​, @achromaticerebus​, @coopsgirl​, @birbixo0912​, @desert-fern​​, @ancient-rime​

The forest was quiet. Too quiet, a fact which only increased your anxiety. You could practically hear your heart hammering away inside your chest, as though it were threatening to burst. Your feet carried you along, careful step by careful step, staying on high alert. The guards wouldn’t be too far behind and you had to lead them far enough away to make sure they didn’t find him. They would destroy him and you just couldn’t let them do that. He was just an innocent, he hadn’t done anything wrong!

It had all started almost a year ago. In this exact forest, not too far from where you were now strangely enough, on a night as similarly dark as this one.

You had snuck out of the kingdom for one of your little walks. It wasn’t really allowed due to how dark the forest had become over the last years. The spiders were getting bolder. The air was heavy and thick. Orcs had been seen. The plant-life was being smothered. The trees were sad.

This was no longer the Greenwood of old.

Still, the freedom was something you couldn’t quite give up. You took a dagger, just in case, and stayed as close to the gates as you could. But you strayed a little too far this particular night and that’s when you found it, half-buried at the base of a large tree.

It was unmistakably an egg, though of what creature you didn’t have a single clue. It was unlike any bird egg you had ever seen before. You don’t know what really possessed you but you felt like you had to help. It must have fallen out of its nest or something and you couldn’t leave it here, to get crushed or eaten. There were all sorts of beasts out here, enemies, and this was just.... defenceless. A baby.

So you took it. You smuggled it into your chamber, made it a warm and comfortable nest in the bottom drawer of your dresser, and promised to look after it until it hatched. It was quite easy to hide, nobody seemed any the wiser... until it hatched months later, of course. Then the utter panic set in.

A dragon. This was a dragon egg.

The little creature had broken through the thick shell after about twenty minutes, during which you kept silent vigil, preparing for whatever little animal would reveal itself to you. However, nothing could have prepared you for this. You immediately felt fear, your mind becoming thick with it. It was going to kill you! You had brought a monster into the halls of the woodland realm and it was going murder you and then turn its sights on the rest of these halls!

However, instead of immediately setting you ablaze, the little animal had regarded you with severe curiosity before stumbling towards you on wobbly little legs and nudging your hand with its tiny snout. You gaped at it, watching as it blinked up at you with wide, trusting eyes. It didn’t... look evil. It didn’t... act evil.

Your panic subsided slowly as you watched the tiny dragon and you decided that you would allow it to stay with you for the night instead of casting it out into the cold - though you didn’t sleep a wink that night, unable to fully shake your worry, despite the dragon curling up into a little ball on your pillow.

───────────────────────────────────

One night turned into two weeks which turned into three months, and still you kept the dragon in your chamber.

You became more and more attached to the little animal the longer you spent in its presence. You grew to love him, even, as the months passed by. He was attached to you too, if the joy he expressed whenever you wandered back into the room or spent time with him was anything to go by. He would sit with you while you read or wrote and you would play with him and smuggle him food. You named him Aegnor and he kept you company as well as bringing you some small comfort. It was nice to have a companion.

However, it soon became apparent that being closed away in your chamber all the time, spacious though it may be, would just not do for much longer. Aegnor was obviously craving the outdoors - to stretch his wings and breathe the fresh air.

So, not wanting to deprive him, you began to smuggle him out of your chambers and into the forest. You took him most often at night and never too far, though far enough away that the danger of being caught wasn’t so high. Sometimes you would take him down to the forest river and sit along the bank while he explored and stretched his little legs.

It had been here that an elf on patrol had found you. There had been a long moment where you had both just stared at each other. He tried to make sense of what he was seeing and you tried to figure out what you were supposed to do. The sound of his horn piercing the air, summoning more guards, had forced you out of your trance. You had snatched Aegnor from the ground and took off running, an arrow whizzing by your ear as you vanished beyond the treeline.

An arrow! They were shooting at you!

You could hear them in the distance. They had gathered quickly and the king had probably been informed by now. A flash of fear spiked through you at that thought but you banished it quickly, needing to keep your focus. You reached a tall, thick tree and placed Aegnor high up on the branches.

“Climb to the top!” You told him. He gave you an unhappy look but you would not budge, urging him to obey you. “You must climb to the top and stay there until I come back for you! Promise me.”

The little dragon looked very uneasy but he acquiesced and quickly clambered high up into the tree and out of sight. You watched him go, praying he would do as he was told, and then you turned and took off running.

It felt like you were running for hours, though it couldn’t have been, but no matter how far you went you could still hear the sounds of the pursuit behind you. They were closing in and you felt fear... fear in regards to these elves you had known practically your whole life. You could hardly believe it.

What you had done, however, would be treated as an act of treason. Dragons were enemies... especially to the Elvenking.

Turning on your heel, you took a sharp left, deciding that you would go deeper into the forest. You had practically forgotten about the dangers of the wood itself, thinking only of your panic and your need to get away, to hide. Maybe you could outrun them and then come back for Aegnor and... and what? Leave Mirkwood? The thought caused your heart to feel heavy. So, so heavy. Yet, you could not give up that little creature to be murdered. You just couldn’t.

Your thoughts were so loud that you didn’t hear it until it was too late. Eight large legs descended upon you, knocking you to the ground. You only just managed to roll slightly to the right to avoid its stinger. You had dropped your dagger somewhere back near the river and you were drained and distracted. A strong, disgusting limb held you in place as it readied for another attack and you could only squeeze your eyes shut and wait, and pray that Aegnor would get away safe.

Then a blade came swinging down through the dark, slicing through the foul creature’s flesh. The spider let out an ear-piercing screech as its legs were separated from its body and the life seeped out of it. You felt a thick liquid splattering across your clothing and your cheek and you let out a screech of your own as you rolled away, scrambling around on the forest floor.

When you opened your eyes, your fear grew tenfold, as you stared up along a silver sword, meeting the furious gaze of the Elvenking himself.

“Where is it?” He hissed, forgoing any discussion of whether or not you were well. You were still breathing, that was enough.

You found that you could not answer, merely staring back at him, able only to focus upon the cold dread you could feel flooding through your entire being.

When you did not speak, Thranduil’s gaze hardened and his voice dropped to a level even more dangerous than you would have thought possible. “Where. Is. It?”

“You...” You paused, swallowing hard against the lump that had formed in your throat. “You will have to kill me, my king... I will not give him up to be slaughtered.”

Thranduil blinked, unable to hide his surprise for just a moment before he recovered, but it was long enough for you to have seen it. “You would choose this... this creature... over me?” His voice was hard but you could just about tell that he was hurt.

“You don’t understand!” You began, wondering if you could plead and beseech your way to an explanation, find some way to make him understand. “Please, I-”

“Understand?” Thranduil cut you off before you could get any further. He was not interested in your placations and lies. “I do not understand?!” His tone was ice as he took a step forward, the tip of his sword pressing into your chest. “Begging will not get you out of this.” There was a pause, during which he scanned your face, before he spoke again. “...how could you?” For just a second you saw raw vulnerability, there and gone so quickly you were unsure this time whether or not you were just seeing what you wanted to see. “How dare you!” The fire raged through his veins once more as he fought the urge to run you through with his blade.

You stayed quiet this time, unable to meet his eyes any longer. The forest was deathly silent. You could no longer hear the advancing soldiers and you wondered if they had taken a wrong turn that took them away from you, or if Thranduil had sent them back to the halls so he could deal with you himself.

The thought sent a shudder right through you.

The corners of Thranduil’s mouth pulled into the smallest, yet most evil smirk you had ever seen grace his expression, as if he had read your mind. His gaze never faltered and you felt as though you were facing down your greatest enemy... which was a far cry from how you had felt about him the previous day.

The silence stretched out and you found yourself wishing that he would just get it over with. If he was going to kill you, you wanted him to do it now, get it over and done with. He would not cease his search for Aegnor, you knew that, but you hoped that the little dragon would be clever enough to flee this forest. Maybe head for the mountains or find a kind soul who would take him in and care for him until he was a little bigger. He was still so little, after all.

Suddenly, Thranduil’s fingers closed around your upper arm in a harsh grip as he hauled you to your feet and began dragging you back through the tangled branches of Mirkwood. You winced at the feel of his nails digging into your skin but you did your best to conceal any discomfort. He wouldn’t care, after all.

“You will rot in the dungeons until you tell me where this thing is.” He snarled, dragging you behind him so quickly that you could barely keep yourself upright. He didn’t care... or at least that’s what he told himself. Thranduil was beside himself with rage but he was also full of sorrow and grief.

The two of you had started off as any other in his kingdom. King and Subject. Over time, mostly during celebrations and festivals and chance encounters, you’d both become something more. Friendly, then friends. Over time, his feelings for you had grown into something past friendship. He could never tell you, of course. His kingdom aside, Thranduil didn’t believe his feelings could be returned and he could handle them alone. Having you in his life and grappling unrequited feelings was better than not having you in his life at all. Your laughter had brightened his days. Your presence had comforted him in his darkest moments.

...and yet.

This was such a betrayal. He couldn’t believe you had done this. To the realm... to him. You were one of the few who had seen the scars he bore from facing down one of those beasts long ago. He had shown you, and you had shed tears for him. You had held him while the memory took him in its violent grip. You had stayed with him while he fell asleep. You hadn’t turned your back on him.

What a lie.

───────────────────────────────────

You were kept in a cell for two weeks before you saw Thranduil again. He came striding into the dungeon, his robes flowing behind him. His sword was at his side and his crown was on his head.

This was it, you thought. This was the day he had finally come to kill you.

You couldn’t have predicted that, from within the folds of his cloak, he would produce Aegnor. You cried out as you looked upon the little dragon. You couldn’t help it. He was all bound up and a sort of muzzle held his jaw in place. He looked upset but he mostly looked like he didn’t really understand what was happening.

“It looks like we did not need you after all.” Thranduil broke the silence, holding the animal out in front of him, his eyes fixed upon your face.

Aegnor wriggled in his grasp but Thranduil only tightened his grip, still staring at you. His skin crawled being this close to it and he was thankful it was so small.

“Thranduil, this is insane!” You couldn’t stop the words leaving your mouth as you looked back at him, not bothering to hide your distress. You knew what he was doing by bringing Aegnor down here, by parading the creature in front of you, showing you how he had subdued it. “You’re hurting him!”

“Do you have any idea the damage these beasts can inflict?” Thranduil glared at you. “I have seen dragons lay low entire villages! I have seen the destruction, the utter ruin, that they leave in their wake! Have you forgotten, little one, the damage that has been left upon my own skin?!”

His voice had continued to rise in volume as he spoke and, as he spat the final words out, he threw Aegnor forward onto the ground. The little dragon fell against the bars of your cell and, before Thranduil could do anything, you’d snaked your arms between the bars and caught hold of him, pulling him into the cell with you.

“No, Thranduil, I have not forgotten.” You said, tears stinging your eyes as you carefully but frantically worked at the ropes binding Aegnor and released his jaw. Your gaze never left Thranduil, who was staring at you like he wished to rip you apart. “How could I?! But-”

“But! Nothing!” He thundered, storming towards the cell and flinging the door open, ripping it from its hinges in his anger.

Aegnor had slipped from your grasp and was attempting to waddle away but, in the same moment that Thranduil drew his sword to end the dragon, you snatched the creature back up and drew it to your chest. Thranduil’s sword came swinging down through the air and you squeezed your eyes shut, shielding the dragon as best you could. You expected to feel the sting of steel as it pierced your flesh but nothing happened.

Thranduil had brought his weapon down with the intention of slaying the dragon once and for all. Then you had gotten in the way, curling yourself around the animal in such a way that meant killing it would kill you. He had fully intended to do it... he thought so, at least. He was so angry. Yet, he didn’t. Thranduil watched you slowly open your eyes as he hovered in the space above you, sword pointed directly over your heart, where the warmth of the dragon was clutched in your protective hold. He was breathing heavily and he looked so angry. He felt so angry. And yet he found that he just couldn’t do it. He hesitated and in that hesitation he knew he wasn’t going to kill you. He would have done it already.

“How could you do this to us?” He asked then, his voice quieter than even he had expected. He felt vulnerable again and he hated it. He hated that he had let you so close, hated that you were affecting him in this way, hated that you had betrayed him, hated that thing in your arms.

“Thranduil...” His name left your lips in a whisper and he felt his heart crack. He moved, forcing himself away from you, coming to a stop in the entrance of the cell, his back up against the bars as he sat there fighting to get himself back under control.

You moved slowly, still a bit terrified, but you could see that Thranduil was grappling with something. You could see that, for this moment at least, he wasn’t trying to run you through with his sword despite the grip he still had on it.

Aegnor wiggled out of your grip then and blinked at the king in confusion, tilting his little head as he regarded the elf. He stayed close to you, feeling unsafe, but because you did not attempt to flee, he stayed there.

“Run if you are going to run.” Thranduil muttered. “You will not get far.” Though he would not be the one chasing you this time. He just couldn’t do it anymore.

Tears spilled down your cheeks as you gave Aegnor a resassuring little pet and then crawled to close the distance between you and Thranduil just a little bit. “Where would I go?”

Thranduil shook his head but he didn’t speak. It was like the fight had gone out of him very suddenly, all the rage bubbling over into a large waterfall of sorrow that had drowned him and he had not yet resurfaced.

“Please, Thranduil, look at me.”

Nothing. No response. No movement. It was as if he did not even hear you.

“I did not do this to hurt you.” You continued, shifting just a little bit closer.

That roused him a little and he turned his head just slightly. “Do not take me for a fool, little one.” He muttered, frowning as he glared back at you. “Do not act as though you are clueless. Do not act innocent. You knew what this would do. You knew that this would, indeed, hurt me.”

You blinked as a fresh wave of tears spilled down your cheeks and you reached a hand out to him but he immediately held up a hand and shook his head, pinning you with a dark look. “Do not touch me.”

It stung a little more than you wanted to admit and you lowered your gaze to the floor. “If you would just let me explain...”

“What is there to explain? You brought a dragon into my realm.” His gaze moved past you for a moment, falling on Aegnor, his expression wary. Though, he had to admit, he had expected it to try and attack by now.

You turned to look over your shoulder, following his gaze to the little dragon before turning back to Thranduil. “He is just a baby.”

Thranduil blinked his attention back to you then, shaking his head as he lifted his hand and ghosted the backs of his fingers against your cheek despite his earlier protest at touching. “It will not be so little forever.”

Your opened your eyes, which had closed briefly at his touch. “I was going to let him go somewhere, though. When... when he was big enough to look after himself.” You murmured, still feeling as though anything you said could send him over the edge again. Which was probably accurate. “I didn’t know he was a dragon when I brought him inside...” You whispered, ignoring Thranduil’s look of disbelief. “It was just an egg.”

“It does not matter, you should have told me.” He said coldly, dropping his hand from your face and turning his head again, looking away from you. “I thought we were closer than that...” He didn’t know whether or not he had intended to say those words out loud but they were out there regardless and he couldn’t take them back.

You stared at him, surprised. You blinked and more tears traced their way down your face. For years and years you had buried your feelings towards Thranduil. He was the king! It was improper. It could never be. You were grateful enough to have been able to become his friend and you had soon settled upon keeping him in your life by whatever means. If you could not love him, you would settle for having his friendship and it would be enough.

“We are.” You said softly.

Thranduil’s eyes flashed as he looked back at you. “No. Evidently, we are not.”

This caused you to cry even harder. Thranduil almost moved to comfort you, out of habit, but he held himself firm and forced himself to once more look away from you. Aegnor didn’t like your distress and he moved then, walking forward and nudging your arm gently with his little nose.

Thranduil had shifted again, his grip tightening on his sword the second the dragon moved. He was staring at the creature, his knuckles white.

“He will not hurt you.” You whispered, but Thranduil only shook his head. He didn’t believe you.

You sighed softly, turning away from Thranduil a little so you could pay attention to Aegnor. “It’s alright.” You told him, gently petting the little scales of his head and neck. He nuzzled closer, though you didn’t miss his hesitant look at the king, remembering the way he had been bound and thrown around. “Aegnor...” You said gently, drawing the dragon’s attention again. “Do not be afraid.”

“What would the dragon have to be afraid of?” Thranduil asked harshly, his gaze flickering from Aegnor to you.

You turned your head again, your attention moving back to Thranduil with a soft frown on your face. “You.”

You said it as if it was the most obvious thing in the world and yet it had not crossed Thranduil’s mind. His hard expression melted suddenly into one of complete surprise. “He is afraid of... me?”

Now it was your turn to be surprised because it was the first time Thranduil had spoken of Aegnor as a he and not an it.

You nodded. “Yes, of course he is. Think about it, he... he was born here and it’s my fault but he couldn’t know that he wasn’t allowed. He liked his little life, exploring and growing and learning... and all of a sudden he is running for his life and we are separated and then you... you have him captured and tied up and... and then...”

Thranduil held up his hand then because he didn’t want to hear any more. His eyes were fixed upon the dragon, still more than a little wary, but you could see slight understanding beginning to dawn in his eyes as his mind began working. He had been thinking of this little creature as a dragon - a large, dangerous, fire-breathing monster. He had been focused only upon his own fear, his own terror, the nightmares from his past. Yet, what sat before him was a baby, he couldn’t deny that. It had no experience of the world, of the corruption, it couldn’t even speak yet from what he could tell. Now that he studied it, it did look a little scared... wary, at the least. And it had not attacked, not even in retaliation when his soldiers had caught it hiding in the trees, or when he had ordered it bound and muzzled. When he had nearly slaughtered it - and you - with his sword.

Suddenly, Thranduil stood, swinging his sword through the air but instead of bringing it down through flesh, he sheathed it. Then, he held his hand out to you to help you up from the floor. You hesitated just briefly and he understood why, but then you took his hand and he pulled you to your feet. For a brief moment, you both stood there, looking back at each other in silence, and then he let go of you and stepped away.

“Bring him with you.” He gestured towards Aegnor as he turned on his heel and moved towards the stairs to exit the dungeons.

“What are you going to do with him?” You asked as you reached down to gather Aegnor into your arms, full of apprehension.

Thranduil stopped at the bottom of the staircase and said nothing for a long moment. You stood in fear, waiting for him to tell you he was going to have the poor thing put to death, but he didn’t.

“I do not know.” He admitted, glancing over his shoulder. “You and I will have to figure it out together.”

Then he was swiftly ascending the stairs, leaving you blinking after him in surprise. You recovered quickly, following him as you kept Aegnor held firmly against you, hurrying to catch up to the king.

Hope began to blossom within you as you followed, staring at the back of his head the whole way. Maybe this could be salvaged. Maybe Aegnor could be saved, set free somewhere he would be happy. Maybe Thranduil would not hate you forever.

Up ahead, Thranduil walked with his head held high, none of his inner turmoil showing outwardly as he led you towards his private rooms.

You had not yet realised it, but Thranduil did not hate you even now, after all of this. Quite the opposite.

His love for you was the reason your words had had any effect on him. His love for you was the reason you still had the dragon in your possession. His love for you was the reason you had not lost your life. His love for you was the reason that, at some point, he would forgive you.

He didn’t know what was going to happen with the dragon but he knew that, for this moment at least, it wasn’t a threat to him. There was a lot to work through and a lot to figure out but he felt the faint blooming of hope that, in the end, you would both find a way to make this alright.

[shesailsships]

Okay, so I know it's about to be that time of month, so I'm extra deep in my feels, but I am sitting over here just sobbing because my old neighbor passed away last week and now his house and all of his land that he has poured his blood, sweat, and tears into over the last fifty years is being sold and will more than likely be cleared and turned into soulless track housing.

I live in suburbia, but the kind of suburbia that if you drive fifteen more minutes down the road, people own horses and keep farms. My neighbor, let's affectionately call him Old Man Jenkins, had moved into our neighborhood before it was a neighborhood, fifty years ago, with his new wife. They had the house built on a couple acres and honestly I didn't even know the house and their land was there until Old Man Jenkins introduced himself to us a couple of years ago, during the pandemic. Old Man Jenkin's land is truly like a secret garden. You go past all these houses built in the 90's and then you hit this dead end dirt road, and at the end of it is the hidden away treasure that is Old Man Jenkin's land. Was.

Old Man Jenkins loved his land. He built the most lovely garden you can ever imagine on it. It's kind of like walking through a dream, walking through his peaceful garden. Paths wind through old trees with branches that create canopies overhead, which the sunlight dapples through. There are happy birds flitting everywhere. Rabbits hopping by. Cute deer. Old Man Jenkins planted almost everything, and was especially proud of his giant rohododendren plants. You see, he was apart of the rohododendren society, and he had access to one-of-a-kind rohododendren species. He had over twenty planted of every color, and because they are so old, each plant is more like a tree. Each year he invited us to tour his rohododendren plants while they were in bloom and it was always amazing to see them. It's just so wonderful to share in something someone is so passionate about, and they are truly stunning plants with so much history. I am crying while writing this, knowing they will all be bulldozed. It just absolutely breaks my heart.

In addition to his very special rohododendrens, Old Man Jenkins also planted a variety of apple trees, bushes and bushes of blueberry plants, rare heirloom species of blackberries, and raspberries. Each year he would share his harvest with us and let me tell you what a special gift that is. I can't describe to you the peace you feel stepping on to Old Man Jenkin's land. There is something so calming about nature. It feels like a hug.

I was there this morning with my mom. The house is empty. Old Man Jenkins is in heaven and his late wife was put in assisted living- but still, walking the grounds, the garden is busy with activity. It's peak summer. Everything is so lush and green, full and vibrant. The little animal visitors were busy enjoying the sanctuary away from the asphalt just down the road. My mom and I were there to not let Old Man Jenkin's harvest go to waste. It's raspberry picking season. His beautiful and mature raspberry plants are bursting with ripe berries, just sitting there. I'm sure the birds have had a nice feast, but we wanted to share in them too.

Walking through Old Man Jenkin's garden this morning, the gentle summer sun coming through trees, the tall green grass brushing up against my legs, listening to the birdsong, I was so moved. The fact that soon it will all be gone, and that in the future nobody will know that it ever existed, devastates me. I don't know if the blueberries will make it to harvest, but the bushes are loaded. I don't know if the apple trees will make it to harvest, but they are proudly growing a full crop.

I am just so distraught. To see that that someone can put so many years of hard work and love into something, only to have it all erased, like it never happened- my heart aches. Old Man Jenkins told us a special story about a certain tree planted in his yard. As a present, on his honeymoon, fifty years ago, he and his wife went to the Redwood Forest and purchased a giant redwood sapling, and brought it with them when they bought their land. They planted the sapling, which is now a beautiful, giant tree. I am sick thinking this tree will be cleared along with everything else when the sale of the land goes through. I have never wished to have money more in my life. If I were rich I would spend whatever it took to buy out the land from whoever has purchased and preserve everything Old Man Jenkins worked so hard to achieve. I would turn it into a botanical garden that everyone could visit and enjoy.

Okay, I have to stop here, as I am crying so much it's hard to see my screen. I guess I am posting this so that I can share that this garden existed, and that even when it's gone, I will always remember it <3

[bumblebeeappletree]

All over the world policy makers and communities are planning for a climate change-impacted future, figuring out what needs to happen to make sure we have our needs met, and cities with healthy green spaces are a very strong need.

Clare Hart is the manager of Horticulture at the Melbourne botanic gardens and one of the people ensuring the collections adapt fast enough to survive into the future. She says, predicting future climates “depends on what we do in mitigation works”. If Melbourne experiences an increase in temperature “maybe one, two or three degrees warmer. We’re looking at something like modern day Dubbo.”

Long-term planning is a hallmark of a good public garden but in a rapidly changing climate, it might look different to what it would have been ten to twenty years ago. During the millennium drought of 1997 to 2009, Melbourne Botanic Gardens made major changes to their water management plan and saved about 40% of their potable water use. A climate risk assessment report was commissioned by the gardens with the University of Melbourne to understand what was happening in the living collections.

Part of the report includes a graph depicting all the plants in the botanic gardens, colour-coded for plants most at risk. The data reveals that most of the plants growing today would struggle in the future. Clare says the gardens are already transitioning a lot of their species. “We will still have oaks and eucalypts, our beautiful fig trees and palms as well. What we’re essentially doing is changing now, in order to stay the same.” Clare draws our attention to cool climate oak that was lost in 2019 that has been replaced with climate suited plants for 2070 and 2090.

The Royal Botanic Gardens Victoria created a climate alliance so that botanic gardens all over the world can help each other and solve these problems together. Clianthus puniceus ‘Albus’, also known as Kaka Beak, is an important plant in their collection, gifted to the gardens by New Zealand to grow here in warmer conditions to their own. It’s a way for New Zealand to test how it grows in a warmer climate, and luckily it is flourishing and reproducing.

Not all sections of the garden will be impacted equally. Amy Downie is the curator of what's known as the ‘grey garden’, a diverse group of plantings on one of the gardens’ hottest, most exposed sites. “From cactus to palms, they all have in common their grey foliage. The great thing about grey foliage plants is they can survive in hot harsh conditions with not a lot of water.” Some plants may have fine hairs on their leaves, or powdery waxy coating to help reflect the sun and retain water, such as Eucalyptus macrocarpa. Additionally, Bizmarck Palm and Engelmann Oak have been sourced from other climate zones and Amy says, “we are hoping that some of the plants we’ve recently planted will eventually grow up to be the feature.”

A Eucalyptus grandis specimen from southern Queensland was planted here when Amy was in her apprentice year. It’s already on its way to providing shade for the garden, with projections for it to last for hundreds of years. Amy says that projecting this far into the future, into a time when she won’t be around to see the outcome “feels really good. We know climate change can be a scary thing to face, so seeing the positives that we’re doing here with our landscape succession plan and knowing that we’re going to plant trees that will be here for the next generation, fills you with a bit of empowerment and makes the future feel a little brighter.”

Clare says, “it’s about the legacy we leave is there for my family, for your family, for future generations to enjoy, not only to see the plants we see today, but to immerse themselves amongst the canopy of the trees. That’s what I want to see for the future.”

Featured Plants:

KAKA BEAK - Clianthus puniceus ‘Albus’

MOTTLECAH - Eucalyptus macrocarpa

BISMARCK PALM - Bismarckia nobilis

ENGELMANN OAK - Quercus engelmannii

FLOODED GUM - Eucalyptus grandis

[mindsmade]

[SHIMMER] viNCE AND SO MI 😌✨️

meme

Of all places they could've wound up in, a small lake that isn't a toxic dump has to be the most pleasant. There's not a landfill, factory or other polluter in sight — they're well and truly alone with the water. In fact, as he takes his sights beyond the far edge, he can trace its origins up the slope of one of the mountains encasing them and the side of the road they'd parked on a way's back.

To think that just days ago, they'd set out from the miserable wasteland outside of NC, a ways south of where they are now. It's almost like he'd forgotten where those endless roads could actually take him.

Now, it can't take more than half an hour for the sun to sink behind the ragged shoulders of the mountains ahead ...

Tracing the reflection across the water surface back to where they stand, his gaze – as it so often does – effortlessly finds its way to So Mi; and just as their eyes lock on to each other, he smiles. She grins, and he somehow, against his expectations, knows what it means.

Or maybe he's projecting; making it mean what he wants it to mean.

Either way, he throws caution to the wind — his black shirt comes off, and just as he gets to kicking off his shoes, So Mi's jacket piles on top of it. A grin splits his features, teeth flashing in unadulterated excitement; amusement. He feels like a child again; like the eleven-year-old that would later get in trouble for diving into a river downstream from a power plant, or the thirteen-year-old that ended his day grounded for using the family's vehicles for an unfriendly race against the Wraiths.

But this is so much more innocent. It has to be in the face of this total lack of risk. The water looks crisp, clean, and all too inviting to be left unstirred by them!

No one here to tan their hide for disturbing the peace with their unbridled joy while it lasts, anyway.

V laughs and a small flock of birds thrusts up from one of the trees, and he's briefly left to wonder if this is all a dream. He wouldn't be surprised if it was — the setting's almost too idyllic to be real, and his company even more so.

Dream or not, he intends to make the most of it.

Once down to his shorts, he looks So Mi's way again, and the frantic chaos of his glee somehow subsides. It simmers down into something calmer; something centred on his appreciation of their surroundings, of them against this verdant, painting-like backdrop, in fact.

He stands still a moment longer, marvelling at the sight of her — not the amount of revealed skin, but most of all how her gold-streaked eyes catch the citrine light, and how it in turn casts an orange highlight across her purple hair. It could bring a tear to his eye if only he'd let it.

Instead he swallows and approaches, his expression bespeaking the tenderness of his feelings for her. His slow pace concludes about half a step away from her, placing him close enough to her to necessitate the angling of his chin to hold her gaze. His mind's set on keeping them moving, however, so he takes her by the hand ( skin against RealSkinn ), and nods towards the lake.

He saves his words, leading her to gently lapping water, pausing only to process the biting cold at his feet upon first touch. A breathy 'whoo!' escapes him as he stops momentarily. He looks over his shoulder again, finding her ... unflinching.

He doesn't speculate as to the reasoning behind it for too long ( maybe RealSkinn doesn't need to perceive it so accutely; maybe this isn't the first time she's taking a dive into a lake of glacial water ... ). Rather, he sucks in a breath and carry on, walking backwards just to continue facing her — farther, farther; deeper and deeper, until his toes are hardly touching the pebbles below his feet.

Laboured breathing for the first twenty seconds or so aside, he feels fine — alive and energized, in fact. So much so, his former smirk makes a return as he shifts his weight to float on his back, holding on to her hand still.

Coasting by in front of her, an airy chuckle leaves him as he looks skywards.

❛  You seen those videos of otters holdin' hands while they sleep in the water?  ❜

[asexxxualauthor]

It’s crazy how much the world changes when you’re not paying attention to it. 

I was at a party my parents were hosting in my childhood home’s backyard. They do this every once in a while, where they invite all their friends from the country bar they go to. It’s usually not my vibe, but I like food, and the music and dancing is always good, so I showed up—and between burgers and line-dances, discussion turned to how beautiful the backyard was, and the work my parents had put into it.

The backyard is truly beautiful—there’s a large concrete patio that runs the full length of the house’s back wall, furnished with a gas barbecue, a large corner trellis with a bench, and a pergola crafted from the trellis’ twin. A wall of lilacs runs along the northern and most of the western sides of the patio, and a stout stone wall runs along the length of the fence line, dividing the neatly trimmed lawn from trees, bushes, and wild grasses my dad lets run rampant in the background. There’s a vegetable garden, a large tool shed in the corner, and a quiet little shady spot decorated with shucked antlers and my dad’s dozing hammock.

It’s all so beautiful…and none of it existed when we moved in twenty years ago.

That patio was around the same area in size, but a large chunk of it was loose gravel under a large wooden porch. The lawn was bland and uninteresting—there was a corner garden with a fish pond that we eventually buried, and an above-ground pool where the shed now stands that lasted a good few summers before we gave up on it—and the only plants that could be found were massive bushes of pampas grass that were so annoying we had them ripped out within the first year, and a sapling globe willow that cracked in half in a wind storm a few years later.

That willow was also a treehouse for a time—the spot where my dad’s hammock hangs used to house a clubhouse hidden between the tree and the fence—a second vegetable garden sat beside the first, and was quartered off into sections for me and my sisters to try our own hands at agriculture, something the middle sister still loves with a wonderful passion to this day. And even after that one was abandoned, my dad made two more in the space where the pool once was, and where the shed now is.

(That corner, perhaps, has seen the most change, by far.)

Those aren’t the only changes, either—the whole neighborhood has changed.

When we first moved in, there was a rolling horse pasture that sat beside the road on the way in. Coming back from elementary school, we’d stop to watch the horses and try and give them pats. The horses are gone now, the pastures rolled flat, and a subdivision now stands there.

Out on the southern side of the neighborhood were these large mounds of dirt that the other kids would take their mountain and dirt bikes on. I remember seeing them and wishing I had a bike so I could go and join them. They got bulldozed flat for more houses to take their place before I even got the chance to try.

Perhaps the worst of the bunch is the spot where a neighborhood called Bison Ridge now sits—its eponymous name coming from the small herd of bison the farmer whose land it had been had kept and nurtured. He’s still there, with a few elk he tends to, but the bison are gone and have been gone for the better part of twenty years. I still wonder about where they went.

So much of my childhood memories, gone before I even realized it.

There’s a game my family used to play, whenever we’d leave on a road trip to go see my grandparents. Once we turned the corner on that distant dusty road, all us kids would hop up in our seats, craning our necks and trying for the life of us to be the first to spot their orange-roofed house as we crested the hill approaching them. We’d scream and squeal and laugh as we saw it, knowing soon that we would be scooped up in the arms of our doting grandpa, smothered by our loving grandma, and spend a weekend of movies, fun, and root beer floats.

We’ve gone to that house a few times over the past year, but I don’t think we ever played the game. The dusty road is still there, as is the large hill we crest over—even the familiar orange shingles that you can see like flare on the horizon, they’re all still there. Nothing’s changed. But no one shouts, no one squeals, no one laughs, because that’s not grandma and grandpa’s house. Not anymore.

It’s crazy how much the world changes when you’re not paying attention to it.

[sdwolfpup]

More Joy Day 2023 is coming!

This is first notice that More Joy Day is happening again, Friday, January 13, 2023!

What is More Joy Day, you might be wondering? From this post at Dreamwidth:

Years ago, I was reading the American Idol recaps over on Televisionwithoutpity.com and I came to this paragraph, written by the recapper Jacob:

Some dick cuts you off on the highway, and you give yourself the pass to be a dick to the next five customers, and your bad mood fades by lunchtime, and you forget the dick on the highway, you forget the color of his car, you forget how he was on the phone with his ex-wife, yelling about custody of their kids, and how he never meant to cut you off in the first place, he was just distracted. Your day continues as planned, and at lunch you check your websites and read a funny recap, and you maybe laugh out loud, and you go home and watch TV. But those five guys give themselves the pass to be dicks to the next five -- they're having a bad day, so it's okay just this once, and they're happy again by lunch -- and those twenty-five become six hundred twenty-five, and those six twenty-five become a million, and you've added to the sum total of anger in the world. But it works with love, too, and kindness. ... Your donation is something tangible, but what it means is something altogether more powerful, and it's that you continue to stand, and you continue to remember that you're not alone, and with reverence for this fact, you can't help but add to joy. Which is your entire job, from the day you're born until the day you die: more joy.

These times are desperately in need of joy, and it is incumbent on us to do our small part if we can, to send the ripples out into the world. So here’s my idea: In the interest of spreading more joy, I’m proposing that on January 13, 2023, we each engage in one act, either online or physical space (or both!), which brings joy to another person, in the hopes that that person will spread that joy further, and exponentially onward.

Some ideas of things we can do, fannish and otherwise: Write a fic, make a podcast, make a vid, or make a fanart for someone. Buy someone paid discord or Dreamwidth time. Leave someone a nice comment on their work. Say something nice about someone. Say something nice about something fannish you love and encourage squee. Donate five dollars to the charity of someone's choice. Send flowers to an online friend in a different city. Buy someone you know a present. Plant a tree or a flower in someone's honor and take a picture of it and post it. When somebody cuts you off on the road, wish them well and hope they get where they’re going safely. Make somebody a friendship bracelet. Or a construction paper heart. Call someone you love and tell them so. Buy someone lunch. Put up a Zoom background celebrating the person you're talking to. Or anything else you can think of! The sky's the limit. Then on that Friday, make a tumblr or DW post/tweet/snapchat/whatever saying what you've done (and/or a note that it's More Joy day), and that will hopefully help spread things further.

I hope that you'll join me!

[dorunasch]

Hello! I have heard some people express interest in getting a summarized version of the Cray Cross Epic novel lore, which has not been officially translated into English. Because I am very fond of Vanguard lore, I took it upon myself to summarize the first part of the novel. This is a SUMMARY, NOT a translation! I am not very good at Japanese, in fact! Also, I am doing this for fun, so if there's interest in more of these, I wouldn't mind... I want more people to experience Cray lore, after all. Please enjoy!

Chapter 1, Episode 1: The Beginning

Three thousand years ago, in the lush nation of Zoo on Planet Cray, lived a young bioroid boy named Rorowa. Bioroids are humanlike, but with the longevity and grace of plants, and bioroids are capable of manipulating plantlife. Slender and unassuming, Rorowa has dark green hair that is decorated with the beautiful leaves and berries of the rowan tree.

Rorowa isn’t good at much; his skills with a sword are mediocre, and he lacks self-confidence. As a result, he tends to get swept up in the actions of the people around him. One such person is the bioroid Olivi, who travels across Cray with Rorowa at his side.

Olivi — a large bioroid who looked to be in his mid-twenties in human terms — was the one who found Rorowa, seventeen years ago. Unlike most creatures, like humans or dragons, bioroids have no parents and are born fully-formed from the plant life of Cray. Olivi rudely woke the bioroid boy, who was sleeping peacefully in a cradle of thin leaves, by kicking him.

“Sleep time is over! Good morning! Good morning, good morning, good morning!”

The forest around him was withered and dying, the trees naked, and a foul stench of death and decay filled the air. If it had not been for Olivi waking him up, the young bioroid would likely have perished alongside it all.

Because he found the bioroid boy amidst the death of the forest, the only survivor of an unknown catastrophe that wreaked havoc upon the land, Olivi named him after the rowan: a resilient and hardy tree, one that can grow in harsh conditions and survive even being burned seven times.

And just like that, the bioroid youth Rorowa’s tumultuous life began.

—

In the town of Turi, a rural area in the west of the nation Zoo, Olivi overhears some villagers discussing the Burner Ant, a large, fiery insect belonging to a criminal gang within Megacolony. They fear that it is only a matter of time before their wheat fields burn to the ground because of it. Of course, Olivi is unable to stand idly by, and Rorowa finds himself being chased through the wheat fields by the Burner Ant not long after.

Neither he nor Olivi is suited for combat, and they find themselves trapped between a wide, deep irrigation canal and the angry Burner Ant. Olivi mutters something about a “special trick,” which Rorowa is deeply apprehensive about, before picking up Rorowa around the waist and hoisting him up. For a moment, Rorowa thinks that Olivi is going to throw him across the canal, to safety, but, to Rorowa’s dismay, Olivi hurls Rorowa like a spear… at Burner Ant.

Rorowa smashes into Burner Ant with his head, knocking the monster unconscious and probably giving Rorowa a concussion. This is the beginning of their problems.

Part of Burner Ant, still on fire, touches Rorowa’s foot unexpectedly. In his panic, Rorowa kicks it off of him—

—and ignites the entire field of dry wheat.

—

It takes several hours to extinguish the fire, and by then, the crop is totally destroyed. Rorowa apologizes profusely to a kindly turnip dryad, Heave-Ho Turnip, while Olivi unsuccessfully tries to make small talk. Because Rorowa and Olivi have very little money between the two of them, there is no way for them to pay the dryad back for the lost wheat. Olivi suggests selling his pendant, a black stone resembling an olive with fine gold grains embedded in it, but Heave-Ho Turnip dismisses it as a dirty necklace.

In exchange for allowing the two to stay at his inn, Heave-Ho Turnip points out deep ruts along the road and fields. There is apparently someone destroying the roads and crops, and Heave-Ho Turnip wants the two bioroids to find and punish them.

—

As a bioroid, Rorowa feels an almost physical pain at the thought of the wheat field burning down. Unable to sleep, he leaves Heave-Ho Turnip’s inn late at night, wandering out into the dark. The two moons in the sky of Cray are new moons, and there is very little natural light as a result. The fields are black ash, and he kneels down in the middle of it, summoning his innate power as a bioroid to bless the earth and bring life back to the fields. As he pours his power into the ground, small buds sprout up across the field, filling Rorowa with hope.

But this hope is short-lived.

As the grain is almost set, it turns black, as if rotting from the roots, then white-gray, and finally, it withers. Rorowa can remember the day of his “birth”; the ashen plantlife and ashy fields he sees now are just like they were when he woke into this world.

And then he hears the source of the destruction behind him.

A horrible creature emitting a sound so terrifying it is as if you’re being dragged by the feet into a deep abyss, dragging itself slowly across the ground. Rorowa can make out a series of blood-red eyes blinking through the darkness. From the dragging sound, he knows it must be a long creature. And as it opens its red-black calyx*, it laughs.

The creature is so terrifying that Rorowa cannot move. He knows he could never compete with it, he could never outrun it. And through his horror, he hears a familiar voice.

Hey Rorowa, I told you not to go out at night without me.

And Rorowa’s memory ends there.

—

What pulls Rorowa from his slumber is the sound of someone digging in the soil. Rorowa dimly realizes that he is in the dirt, judging by the smell of the ground surrounding him. Finally, the dirt in his face is shoveled away, and a light shines in his face.

Once he adjusts his gaze, he sees a girl holding a lantern and a shovel. She seems to be human, about Rorowa’s age (seventeen or eighteen), with long brown hair tied high and a determined gaze in her eyes.

Without thinking about what it must look like to find a body buried underground that is suddenly able to move, Rorowa reaches his arm up toward her. Of course, she mistook him for a zombie, and with a barely muffled scream, swings her shovel down at Rorowa, and takes off his left arm before he can protest.

It doesn’t hurt; in fact, the arm is shriveled at the shoulder anyway, and with the plant powers he possesses as a bioroid, he will be able to regenerate it. But it takes him—and the girl—a few minutes to regain their composure. The first thing Rorowa asks her as he is safely dug up is whether she makes a hobby of graverobbing. She answers evasively and wonders why there was even a person in the ground there, anyway.

Now that he is out of the ground, Rorowa can see that he is at the base of a massive tree, with roots lifted out of the ground and spread out across the ground. The trunk is thick, so it must be an ancient tree. His head hurts as he tries to remember what happened before losing consciousness. All he can remember is eating dinner and going to sleep… and he doesn’t know where Olivi is.

As he is thinking, a small dragon appears from behind the girl. He is the same color as the flame-colored outfit the girl wears, and he has two horns on his head, with a flame burning on his tail. The girl looks at Rorowa while nuzzling the dragon’s little face and introduces herself as Radylina, a Dragritter from the Dragon Empire, and the young dragon is Momokke, a Kagero dragon. Rorowa knows that the Dragritters are knights of the Dragon Empire who ride their dragon partners through the sky, much like the legendary Dragon Knight, Nehalem. But this dragon is so small and cute, a thought that Rorowa voices out loud. At Radylina’s indignant expression, Rorowa changes the conversation and introduces himself.

“Ah, I’m Rorowa.”

“Why were you buried there?”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out…”

“Maybe you’re a very active sleepwalker, and just walked into the Sanctuary and buried yourself in the ground.”

“Sanctuary?”

The tree, she points out, is the World Tree, and the Sanctuary is part of the city that has sprung up around it. Protected by shrine maidens, the World Tree causes forests to flourish and gives great life to the region. Rorowa had seen it before, from a distance, in his travels with Olivi, but he doesn’t quite know how he traveled this far while unconscious.

He asks her which part of Zoo they were in — east or west? She frowns at him.

“Zoo? This is Stoichea. Zoo disappeared three thousand years ago.”

Three thousand is such an enormous number to Rorowa that it feels like a bizarre joke. There’s no way an entire nation the size of Zoo could just disappear. But before he can question her further, they hear voices coming from a nearby building.

“Who’s there?”

Several bioroids carrying lanterns in their hands approach them. Because this is a sanctuary, they are probably the security. With a click of her tongue, Radylina grabs something off the ground and hurls it at one of the guards. Her aim is accurate, and her arms are strong, so when one of the guards is struck, they fall unconscious. But Rorowa can’t really find it in him to be terribly impressed, because the thing she threw was—

“My arm!”

—Rorowa’s severed arm.

Radylina ditches her shovel and lantern and takes off. Rorowa follows her; when she asks why, annoyed, he has no idea, other than that they’re being chased and that it seems like he’s safer with an angry girl like her around. The voices of the guards chasing them echo in the air. Rorowa thinks he could probably start crying at any moment.

So begins Rorowa’s adventure in the world, three thousand years later.

Note: a calyx is part of a flower, "typically forming a whorl that encloses the petals and forms a protective layer around a flower in bud." This indicates that the creature that attacked Rorowa was some kind of monstrous plant with multiple parts to it.