Oh My God

“There’s a service dog among us”

Traditional forestry is so fascinating actually. Humans used to be much more invested in sustainable practices*, and they got creative about it.

Take coppicing. Coppicing is wild, ya’ll. Young trees get repeatedly cut down so that they regenerate with extra limbs. You know, like a freaking hydra.

This doesn’t harm the trees. In fact, since a regularly coppiced tree stays in the juvenile stage, this effectively makes the tree IMMORTAL, unable to be touched by age and the ravages of time. Also coppicing has been practiced since literal prehistory and has a lot of ecological benefits. In return, humans get a theoretically infinite supply of wood from one tree, instead of having to plant new ones.

tldr if you cut off a tree’s head it will grow more heads like a hydra and become functionally immortal.

*before colonizers realized they could steal all the land & trees they desired

damn fuck i will spam little nightmares on main you legally cannot stop me

spoilers. 

also i’ve never played either games i just watched the walkthroughs and im hooked goddamn it

1/ oh my god, oh my gfuckkdnnddndg god. the game was so beautiful. the graphics were :Chef’s kiss. i want to see every shiny wet surface from the rain in my head at all times. i want to print the hunter’s forest and make it my wallpaper. i want to cry myself to sleep staring at the purple glow of the doors in the transmission tower. i am going apeshit over the graphics oh my goddd

2/ maybe it was just me but i never really was into into little nightmares before? i mean i watched the first game obvs, and i knew there was a second game, but I didn’t hype myself up or stave of my hunger (hah) by gleaming little details as it developed.  so when Mono rescued the little kid from the hunter’s cabin i was like ‘awww, friend. friend from woods. hold hands with friend. team up with friend. keep friend safe at all costs’ and that was that. then what happens? in the rain? after the school? little friend gets a raincoat? little friend gets a very familiar raincoat? little friend is actually really fucking important to plot?? i lost my goddamn mind.

3/ the monsters all freaked me out. one way or another, they did. for the hunter, it was the way six and mono got rid of him (THE DETAIL OF THE SHOTGUN’S DRAWBACK AHSUAIHSUIHSUIWH WHAT). for the teacher it was her freaky ass neck. for the doctor well, other than the fact he’s practically spiderman, it was the fact that they burnt him alive. oh my god and thin man. Thin Man. oh my god.

4/ the details. the details. the details. like i said earlier, the shotgun draw back. the fact that if you hold a flashlight and six’s hand in the same hand then you can’t really use the flashlight. the fact that if you shine a flashlight in six’s eyes then she lifts a hand up to cover them. just oh my god, they do not rest.

5/ six’s coding. man. she’s a really person isn’t she? where she go after you defeated the living hand and got a power cell? you think she’s just gonna wait for you at the exact same spot?? you think you’re, what, a video game character? you think you have to do everything by yourself and act surprised when six actually knows what to do? what do you think she is, an npc of a video game?? huh??? huh???

6/ i think we reached the ending now. the ending tore my heart out. i was like the greek guy that stole fire for Man but got punished by having eagles eat my liver out every day. that but it’s my heart. what the fuck man. oh my god after all we been true. damn fuck six and mono were friends how could you. let them be friends. let them be friends. they need friends.

7/ obviously when my heart has been broken in such a violent manner the only remedy is fanfiction. oh my god the fanfiction. glorious. amazing. you lot are doing god’s work. i will die for each and every one of you. 

https://www.hollywoodreporter.com/news/the-mandalorian-star-gina-carano-fired-amid-social-media-controversy OH FUCK YEAH!!!

it’s really ironic for Cara Dune’s actress to be the epitome of what Cara Dune hates.

Cara Dune would beat the shit out of G*na C*r*no. 

In this essay I thank you for coming to my ted talk

What’s Your Ideal Place To Relax?

There is this place, in my head, that never fails to come to my aid. It is there when I need it most, and it has never not been there for me. I could joke that I trust this mental vision of a place that does not exist more than I trust some people in my life.

The vision takes place in the sunset. Or perhaps it is the sunrise. It mostly depends on my current mood at the time. The sky is orange and purple, blending together like paint on a canvas. The sun is gentle - a source of light, and only barely a source of heat so that I am comfortable. Sometimes there are clouds; soft ones, fluffy ones that feel you up with warmth as you imagine snuggling with one of them in your bed.

I am always sitting under a large tree. My back is pressed against the trunk, snuggled in its curves and twists in a way that suits me best. There is a picnic blanket beneath me - a red and white checkered pattern that’s gentle on the eyes. A flask of hot chocolate stands pressed against my thigh, a welcome source of warmth and sweetness. There are no books with me - nothing you would take with you for entertainment.

I don’t really need them.

A few steps away from my picnic blanket, the flower field starts. Sometimes they are sunflowers - bright and cheery, reaching up tall towards the sun. Sometimes they are simply flowers - colourful, vibrant, healthy, magical. The field follows the decline of the hill, and up the next one until there is nothing but bumps of flowers as far as the eye can see. 

There is no sign of human life, here. There is no one except for me. I can lean my head against the trunk of the tree and close my eyes - I can breathe in a deep breath and know that I am safe, in this place.

If I were to tilt my head back far enough and peer through the leaves of the trees, I can see the stars above my head. Glorious against a backdrop of purple and dark blue - of black, at times, at some spots. They twinkle down at me as they retreat away from the sun and sometimes I wave them goodbye - or hello.

I don’t know if such a place exists in reality. I only know that it exists in my reality - and my reality is, at times, all I really need.

Writing Prompt #5

‘Park’

There’s this park across the street where I live.

Looks like your average park; with it’s benches and gravel pathways and trees and bushes. A stone fountain stands in it’s centre, with water spewing out of the gargoyles’ mouth.

A bit gothic, I realise now. But that was it.

It sounded like your average park too. Bird songs in the morning, leaves rustling when it’s windy, kids yelling after school. I could always hear the crunch crunch of the gravel across the usually quiet street, and it comforted me.

Most of the time.

There were other times, of course, when I woke up in cold sweat. Everything quiet and still, except for the crunch crunch of the gravel.

These times, I pulled my covers up to my chin and prayed. Hoped against hope - against the fear that seized me in its claws and refused to let go - that I’d live to see the light of morning day.

You ask me, you ask; ‘what’re you so afraid of? Maybe it’s just someone who went for a late night walk.’ Of course, after daybreak I’ve thought of that. I tried to dismiss my terror as stupid, childish, or even at that slightly overcooked chili I had the night before.

But try as I might, I still could not bring myself to look out the window the nights it happened. I still wrapped myself up in my covers, and shook.

Eventually, they started getting more frequent. I’d spend nights in a row with barely enough sleep and covered in sweat - shaking like I just stepped out in winter with nothing but shorts.

My friends would ask to hang out, and we’d go to the park because it was close. I didn’t use to mind walking through the trees, but the sleepless nights were starting to get to me. I could’ve sworn I saw the gargoyle’s eyes move along as I walked past - could’ve sworn that the rustling of leaves sounded like whispers.

Eventually, it got bad. Really, really bad. I’ve tried filing a police report, but they waved me off and said they had bigger things on their plate than ‘mysterious gravel crunching’.

I was frustrated, but mainly because they were right. I still couldn’t bring myself to even sit up on my bed - much less look out that damned window.

Then it happened.

It was daytime, with the sun shining in and the children playing around on the park across from me. I looked out my window then, a half-smile of my face as I remembered my own childhood days.

Then I froze.

The gargoyle. I could swear that the gargoyle had moved. For the years I’ve spent living across from it, I knew how it looked like the back of my hand now. I knew how the whole damn fountain looked, and could probably draw it from memory alone.

The gargoyle had never been facing me head on like it did now.

That was the last straw for me. I packed my bags and went to live with one of my close friends. I sold the house, though barely just resisted from dropping the price down too steeply - after all, nothing had happened.

Yet.

One day, on my way to work, I passed by a newspaper stand with an eerily familiar picture on its front page. With shaking hands, I unfolded it, and read the article.

A brutal murder, it said, in the house just a street away from a park. The picture was grotesque enough - and I could tell that they’d avoided giving the worst. The details were identifiable enough.

An all too familiar bedroom, half a body on the floor, and the other half presumably missing. Blood that coated every inch of the wall like a fresh coat of paint, and deep deep gouge marks on the window sill.

The article had said that investigating parties assumed that the murder escaped out the window, and had cut through the park to run free. They warned all those who lived in close area to the park to be wary of strangers - never open the door to anyone you don’t know.

They still haven’t found the murderer when I checked months later.

I’d visited the family of those I sold the house to. They welcomed me - albeit a bit shakily - and served me tea.

‘They said they’ve been having sleepless nights,’ one of the mothers had said to me. ‘They-they said-oh god if only we’d listened.’

Her wife wrapped her arms around her shoulders and held her close as I half-murmured comforts from across the coffee table. Her gaze met my own as she silently comforted - the grief in them so deep I nearly fell through.

Eventually, the couple moved out, I heard. Travelled far away, where they cut off from their own family and friends. The investigators still worked to find the assailant, but the case was growing cold and I doubted that they’d actually find who did it.

And me? I bought a new apartment from long nights and extra shifts. One far away from parks and gargoyles and gravel. The close friend that I’d stayed with had helped me move in.

‘Looks good,’ they praised. ‘Hopefully you can actually get some sleep in here this time.’

We’d laughed about it. The whole incident had been months ago - nothing more than a bad memory that we occasionally poke at just for the laughs.

That first night, I woke up to the crunch crunch of gravel.

I take in a deep intake of breath, pressing my palms flat against each other. “Okay,” I say. Point towards a youthful face that stared back at me with wide eyes. “You’re me.” My finger flicks toward the other face that stared at me. “And you’re me, too.” My fingers interlock with one another, press firmly against my forehead. “And you’re all here, in my room...why?” Future-Me and Younger-Me exchange a quick glance. Or rather, Future-Me glances towards Younger-Me, as Younger-Me is having way too much fun with my phone. “Universe likes to mess around,” Future-Me finally manages to say. I groan and lean against the headboard of my bed. “Right,” I mumble. Rub my eyes. “That makes sense.” My gaze gets drawn back towards Younger-Me. That childlike innocence. That optimistic hope. They had the whole world wrapped around their little finger - and they had no idea. No idea. Clueless, to what was coming. My eyebrows furrow. I lean forward, my mouth open and- Future-Me stops me by holding a palm out to my face. They meet my gaze, shaking their head. “Don’t,” they say. “You can’t do it.” I straighten to give Future-Me an incredulous look. “They don’t know what’s going to happen,” I say. “Neither did you,” Future-Me reminds. “That’s why they happened.” “I can stop it.” My fingers clench. “I can warn them-” “In the unlikely event that they even understand you,” Future-Me interrupts. “Changing the future can be devastating.” My teeth ground against each other and I glance away. Future-Me was right, and I knew it. As much as I hated knowing, as much as every fibre of my being wants to shake Younger-Me and tell them all the signs to look out for- I can’t. A hand rests on my shoulder. I glance back up, meeting Future-Me’s sympathetic gaze. “You’re angry,” they say. “Wound’s still fresh, huh?” I wince, then sigh. “Somewhat,” I mutter. The hand on my shoulder tightens slightly. “They have to go through what we went through,” they remind me. “They have to learn what we learnt - which means that they will have to meet Her.” Another hand rests on my other shoulder. Turns me around so I fully face my ten-years-in-the-future self.  “They’ll get hurt,” Future-Me murmurs. Gives Younger-Me a sorrowful glance. They sigh, then glance back up at me with a hopeful smile. “But they’ll survive. Just like we did.” I stare into my own eyes for a while, then sigh and nod acceptance. “I know,” I murmur. Give Younger-Me my own glance. “I just can’t- can’t help but worry.” Future-Me chuckles. “Oh yeah, you never really stop.” “Is that a general thing or are you being specific to me?” “I can’t tell you,” Future-Me wags a finger, “just like you can’t tell Younger-Us.” I huff, annoyed. Then sit still, my eyes widening. A hopeful glance back towards Future-Me.  “Does this mean the future’s good enough not to risk?” I ask. Future-Me meets my gaze and smiles; amused. “Maybe.” A lonesome chuckle spills past me. “That’s probably the best thing I’m getting,” I mutter. Future-Me wraps an arm around my shoulder and draws me into a half-hug. “I knew you’d come around,” they tease softly. Our attentions are both drawn back as Younger-Me releases a short giggle of laughter. The smiles on all our faces mirror one another. “What’re you doing?” “Playing!” “Are ya winning?” “Yeah!”

prompt 1394

Write a story that has three characters: yourself ten years ago, yourself now, and yourself ten years from now.