creeping branches

Leaves have fallen,
Shaken then planted,
A seeded atmosphere.
 
Winter creeps
From above,
Branches black,
 
Bare.
Empty.
Sticks enter skin.
—  poeticallyordinary
Autumn Gothic

It is eighty degrees and you are dying. You are wearing a wool sweater and corduroys. The leaves are red outside your window. They can smell you. You put on a wool coat, a scarf, a hat, a black plastic garbage bag. Anything to put them off your scent.

Everything proudly proclaims its pumpkin spicery. Coffee, tea, bread, deodorant, body wash, toothpaste, dental floss, razor blades, kitchen knives, shotgun shells, cyanide. “Ooh, yummy.”

Uggs are afoot. A gaggle of twelve-year-olds in leggings and tie dyed camp hoodies get shorter by the step as their boots slurp them up like spaghetti. You avert your eyes. It’ll all be over soon.

You have to buy new socks. You have to buy new socks or something bad will happen. You don’t know what, but you know it’s bad. One pair has a toe in it. You put it back on the rack. Something bad will happen.

The days are getting shorter and the nights longer. Streetlamps watch you while you sleep. Sometimes you wake up under them, arms outstretched in the chilly air, like you’re trying to climb up and touch them. Like a moth to a flame. The lamp flickers. Buzz. You run, but the noise never lessens. You’re almost one with them now.

Monsters disguised as children come to your door. Their eyes are wet and bulging. They lick their lips and say, “Trick or treat.” Their bags sway heavily, casting shadows. Oh, no. The jack'o'lanterns aren’t working.

It’s nice out today. The sidewalk is smooth, the sky is blue, and the screaming from last night seems to have stopped. Across the street, someone jumps around a puddle of marrow. The sacrifice must have worked.

It is only a dead branch tapping at your window. It is only a dead branch lifting the sash. It is only a dead branch skittering across the floor. It is only a dead branch creeping under your sheets, touching your leg with its awful bony twigs that are definitely not fingers. Definitely not teeth. It is only a dead branch.

The old cider mill hasn’t closed down like they said they’d have to last year. “Good harvest,” they say. “Good customers. Good cider.” It is good. Warm and sweet and deep, deep red. You buy a gallon to take home with you. It throbs under your arm.

There are kindergarteners going to school for the first time. They say the letters are hard to read and that the snacks taste funny and nap time only makes them more tired. The weak won’t make it to first grade. The strong won’t mourn them.

The acorns blink at you from the trees. It would be funny, but when they fall and hit you, you aren’t there anymore. Just an ancient oak tree that wasn’t there before.

Red and orange and yellow and brown. Everything is red and orange and yellow and brown. You have to blend into it or you’ll be caught. You wish for another color. You miss your best friend’s blue hair. But blue is an anomaly and it must be destroyed. A speck of it in the sky is gobbled up by fire. You can still hear her screaming.

The hand knit sweater your grandma gave you is so tight, it’s choking you. She asks if you like it. You nod. You can’t breathe. It’s stretching over your whole body and squeezing. She made it just for you, to keep you warm. Don’t you like it? Who wouldn’t like it? She smiles, and you can almost see her mandibles. “What big teeth you have…” you wheeze before your lungs collapse. Grandma’s hungry.

Jughead x Reader: Jealousy Is A Killer (Part 1)

Warnings: mentions/descriptions of murder and grotesque descriptions. TW- rape.
Requested: yes
A/N: this is a little different but I really like it and I am very proud of it, I hope you like it too. also, whenever “her” or “she” appears and refers to Jughead’s girlfriend, that is you, reader.

Part 2

*3rd person POV*

It was a Monday morning, 4th period at Riverdale High when Cheryl Blossom was arrested for her brothers murder. Since that day, all of Riverdale were on edge, worrying that the killer would strike again.

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Of Cats and Cacti - Chapter 1

So… yeah… I’ve been stuck writing lately, and got inspiration from @syubdaegu and her lovely anons! Enjoy! (This WILL be multi-chapter…not sure how many quite yet.)


So I’m writing it for her!  Enjoy!

Originally posted by kookielife

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader

Other Members involved: JungKook, TaeHyung, Jin

Genre: Totally gonna be a mixed bag of Fluff/Angst/Light Smut

Word Count: 4.4K

Of Cats and Cacti : Chapter 1 : Chapter 2

Chapter 1

There it was… the yellow tabby cat that you’d seen around the neighborhood.  Freezing in place on the sidewalk, you watched as it stalked along the top of the stone wall that closed off a gated neighborhood just a few blocks from your apartment.  It didn’t have a collar, and looked a bit shabby.  It was also pretty shy of strangers, and every time you’d tried to get close it darted away.  You hadn’t seen it in almost a week and were getting worried.

But here it was… and you were just a few feet away.  You walked very slowly towards the wall, which was about as high as your head, maybe a little taller.  It was mid afternoon but no one else was around.  Then it saw you.  You smiled and took a step back, trying not to look threatening.  Holding out your fist very slowly, you made a few soft kissing noises.

“Hello again,” you said, taking a step forward.  “It’s okay!  My you’re pretty…”  The cat’s hair started to bristle on it’s back and it hissed at you.  “Ok… ok…” you said, your feet stilling in place, “Not pretty… handsome then…  You a handsome boy?” you asked.  He swished his tail indignantly and mewled in annoyance.  You wished you had some food or something on you, but you didn’t go around carrying meat in your purse.  You took another step forward and he didn’t move.

“That’s it…” you said softly.  “Just let me get a little closer….”  You honestly had no idea what you were going to do if you caught him.  You didn’t have a leash, collar, or any way to carry him other than your arms… which would definitely get scratched up and bloodied if he didn’t want to cooperate. And what would you do when you got it home!?  You already had two cats… both strays you’d adopted.  You didn’t want to…couldn’t become the crazy cat lady! Two cats was still a bit normal… just teetering on the edge for a single girl. A third though!?  You might as well only wear cardigan sweaters and never brush your hair again.

But when you looked at that little face… you didn’t see annoyance anymore.  It was wary.  He was worried, but he also wanted to trust you.  You took another step forward and… and he hissed again, but didn’t bristle.  You set your hand down on the top of the stone wall and he took a step back.  You took another step forward, sliding your hand closer to him.  And he turned and leapt into the tree branch, almost falling before righting himself and leaping to the next.  You gasped, and without a thought, hooked your purse strap over your arm and neck so it was secured across your body, and awkwardly climbed and pulled yourself up onto the ledge of the wall.

~~~~~~~~~~

Yoongi watched in amusement and confusion as you scrambled onto the wall that bordered his backyard.  What the hell were you doing?!  He laughed a bit to himself until his saw your scraped knee.  When you stood, precariously balancing yourself as you walked towards the tree, he finally saw what you were doing.  Damn it

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i’m in love with the idea of magical forest boy Adam Parrish.

flowers turning towards him when he walks past. vines bursting from the ground to protect him from danger. a vine curling around his wrist to comfort him when he’s sad. a moss pillow appearing under his head when he falls asleep at his desk. patches of flowers sprouting under his feet when he walks. trees bending down to cover him from view when he wants to hide from someone. waking up with flowers woven into his hair. Adam Parrish with an honest to god flower crown (!!!). after long shifts at the factory and the garage, coming out smelling like freshly cut grass and morning dew instead of sweat and grease. when its been a tough month and he has no money left for food, a branch creeping through his window with a juicy, ripe apple hanging from it.

the trees in Cabeswater whispering to Ronan that Adam likes him. Ronan turning to look at Adam with his eyebrows raised. Adam getting flustered and telling Cabeswater to shut up in latin. after spending his first night with ronan, waking up with rose petals scattered all over his room. Adam and Cabeswater both being completely in love with the Greywaren.

Joyride

we can clutch six
on a hill country highway
watch the fog lights as they
hug the road like Hankooks

I am the lion
for your sheep
I am the branches
shadow creep
this clay sticks to my heels
and dirties the tops
of toenails
we are walking in the fabled
dust of whence we came
where we go

maybe we stay stuck in wet sheets
waiting to be made into Play-Doh
or shotgun pigeons

Sundials are pocket watches
in a land of wall clocks

the deepest of darkness is hop
scotching clock gears
&
tock ticking across hands
to a door choking light
at the end of the hallway

I hunger for things that will decimate
your flock, you will sell the farm and
your children will succumb to the flu
in the back alleys of meat markets

your cows will become steak for Kings

Let me tell you a secret

You were never safe once you
buckled in.

B.E. Grissom
5/24/17

S.B.

Coomi’s one-of-a-kind, nature-inspired cuff creeps around the wrist, branching out into precious leaves of tumbled fire opals and Ethiopian Welo opals, polished but still in their natural state

Rewritten, Chapter 24: The Master Sword

Read this on FF.net or Ao3  ➜

The Master Sword was the last thing Link needed before going to take on Ganon. Over the last few days, an incredible momentum had been pushing him forward, and he felt like he was hardly able to keep up with it, like he would be swept off his feet at any moment. The four beasts were done. He had regained his memories. He remembered, finally, and he knew now why the sword was so important and where it would be resting. But then, he also knew that it would not be easy to get.

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Too Little Too Late

Matt gasped, his chest heaving and his lungs burning. Running. He had to keep running.

His hair stuck to his face from the falling rain. Droplets caught in his mouth, and burned down his throat as he gasped.

GoforwardgoforwardgoforwardGOFORWARD.

Matt didn’t really know where the hell he was going, nor where he was before, but he knew he had to get away. He knew he had to run.

Matt ran as fast as his legs would take him, the trees moving by him in a blur of green as he hastily ducked out of the way of hanging branches, and creeping roots. For a long while, it was nothing but forestscape. Which honestly really pissed Matt off. Where was a good hiding place when you needed it?

It wasn’t long after he had that thought, that another color blurred by his sight in the woods. Was it?

Matt skidded to a stop, mud standing his pants and feet sinking into the sodden earth as he looked to the side. A house. There was a house!

Matt mentally rejoiced as he rushed to the door, acutely aware of this chase as he stopped in front of Two grand oak wood doors.

Get inside. Getinsidegetinsidegetinside!

He chanted the phrase to himself, wrapping his hands around the brass handle and tugging.

The door didn’t budge.

Of course, why did he expect a door in the middle of nowhere to fucking open?

Matt tossed a look behind his shoulder and stiffened. He tugged two more times, his arms jerking backwards, his movements growing sharper and more desperate as the seconds passed by.

Oh no. Oh no. Ohnoohnoohno. Matt turned around, his back pressing against the damp wooden door as the rain crashed down. His eyes widened as he met another pair.

Honey gold eyes with a crazed look to them stared back at his own, perching behind a familiar pair of thin wire framed glasses as they smiled.

The smile wasnt sweet. It wasn’t comforting or gentle like he’d always imagined it to be. No, her smile was wide, wicked, crazed.

It was the smile of someone who’d lost all sense of reason. All sense of hope and sanity.

She cackled, her hands darting forward and clasping around the soaked fabric of his jacket as she brought her face close to his.

Thier noses almost touched. His eyes locked onto hers, forcing him to look, forcing him to watch. However, what lingered in her eyes, was not something that he wanted to see.

There was a sort of childish delight that danced in her eyes, her golden eyes glowed dully in the moonlight, shining with the most dangerous light that he’s ever seen. But there was something, something, that chilled him to the bone more than just that deadly look she gave him.

It was how sad she looked. Her eyes looked so desperate, Although her hair was cut, and extremely disheveled, all it took from Matt was one glance to know.

“P-Pidge..?”

Her hands wrapped themselves even tighter around the fabric, and she burst out laughing. It was a sharp, humorless laugh, that dripped of madness and hate.

Pidge leaned close to Matt, a sneer on her face as she glared at him. For the first time, Matt noticed a small crack in the glass of her glasses. “Pidge….”

He placed a hand on her arm in an attempt to persuade her to let go of him. “Pidge… What happened?”

Pidge threw her head back and laughed, pulling Matt closer by his sleeves as she leaned close and whispered. “Hewwo. Big Bwother. I’ve bween wooking for you! AHAHAHAHAHA!”

Canon Arya Stark Week Day 5 - Kindness and Compassion

arya’s kindness and compassion. how to begin. so many good instances.

but i think the most underrated one is how she took care of weasel when traveling with yoren’s books; especially since it highlights how much arya likes kids (so idk where this idea came from where she never wanted to be a mother comes from).

weasel and her mother are picked up by yoren’s group; weasel’s mother is heavily injured and dies later that night, leaving only her 2-year-old daughter.

initially we only see arya talk about her crying, and wondering about why the riverlands were getting so destroyed that people had to leave their homes (*coughcaresaboutsmallfolkcough*). but she first interacts with her when the group is attacked.

The fire leapt from one house to another. Arya saw a tree consumed, the flames creeping across its branches until it stood against the night in robes of living orange. Everyone was awake now, manning the catwalks or struggling with the frightened animals below. She could hear Yoren shouting commands. Something bumped against her leg, and she glanced down to discover the crying girl clutching her. “Get away!” She wrenched her leg free. “What are you doing up here? Run and hide someplace, you stupid.” She shoved the girl away. - arya iv, acok

she comes off as brusque, but really who wouldn’t be. a battlefield is no place for a toddler. and notice arya’s main concern is to make sure the girl gets to safety. in fact, when they’re trying to escape she notices the girl and makes sure to take her with them even though she is a huge liability.

As they were running toward the barn, Arya spied the crying girl sitting in the middle of the chaos, surrounded by smoke and slaughter. She grabbed her by the hand and pulled her to her feet as the others raced ahead. The girl wouldn’t walk, even when slapped. Arya dragged her with her right hand while she held Needle in the left. - arya iv, acok


yes, yes i know. hitting a 2 year old is nagl, but weasel doesn’t seem to hold it against her. in fact:

At the sound of her voice, Weasel came creeping out from the bushes. Lommy had named her that. He said she looked like a weasel, which wasn’t true, but they couldn’t keep on calling her the crying girl after she finally stopped crying. Her mouth was filthy. Arya hoped she hadn’t been eating mud again. - arya v, acok

weasel is very attached to her now. as further evidence:

The Weasel put her arms around her leg, clutching tight. Sometimes she did that now. arya v, acok

“You leave Weasel alone, she’s just scared and hungry is all.“ Arya glanced back, but the girl was not following for once. - arya v, acok

she defends weasel, though she’s a liability to the groups survival at this point. none of this bothers arya and she’s almost adopted weasel at this point - weasel follows her around such as she would her own mother. weasel later escapes when the mountain’s group finds them, something which arya is grateful for.

And Arya thought, Run, Weasel, run as far as you can, run and hide and never come back. - arya v, acok

so it’s actually a super short amount of times in the books, but i think it highlights a lot of arya’s character about how much she cares about the smallfolk in general and is compassionate about their plight. in weasel, she probably sees a young girl who lost her family (like arya did) and takes her under her wing and protects her at all costs, even though it would have been easy to just let her die and leave her behind at any point. it’s where we get a good glimpse of her mothering instincts at this point, her need to protect. even when everyone else said she should be left behind, arya refused.

sometimes i wish that she had kept weasel and found nymeria and rode home to winterfell like the wolf queen she is.

a mix for boris pavlikovsky;

[listen]

creep – erik slater // holy branches – radical face // menulis – alina orlova // stakes – vancouver sleep clinic // skinny love – bon iver // the enemy – mumdord and sons // apres moi – regina spektor // alleyways – the neighborhood // arsonist’s lullabye – hozier // come as you are – nirvana // karma police – radiohead // somebody else’s child – the vaccines

for a minute there I lost myself
I lost myself

I promise I’ll forget about everything
I’ll forget those hugs I would wake up for
I’ll forget how you looked at me
I’ll forget how your tone of voice was with me
I will never remember again how your lips tasted when they were against mine
I’ll lose every thought of you if you promise me
You won’t ever crawl back or try to
That you won’t ever creep your branches around me again
That you won’t ever hold me and make me feel safe because to be completely truthful
I don’t think I will ever heal with you around
I will look for you in crowded rooms to lock with your eyes
I will keep my ears alert for your soft voice
Or just in case I hear you call my name once more
So please don’t ask for me to let go
When you can’t seem to go away
—  It’s unlike me to be such a way.
Sealed

I’ve broken lances against the whisper of a promise like this. The deceptive sunlight tempting leaves still dusted in frost to steam. Letting go of precious protection: green bays restraining what we need to beat out our rhythms.

It lies in your eyes, guided and guarded, this promise. It lists and listens, navigating the thin film of ice on the river between us. It will shatter like silence. You will carry those lances to the river’s edge and taint the water red with iron.

But I have shipwrecked even the landlocked. I know the temptation you fear. It creeps like frost branches and leaves across your vision. Pale flowers of stealthy desire unfurl. And the deepest breath cannot erase them.