Hello! Call me GAYto or Gato (Cat in Spanish) My pronouns are They/She (Prefers She/her) I am a teenager. I have ADHD, Depression, and anxiety. I'm also Genderfae, Pansexual, Aromantic, Trans Androgynous, Asexual, and sometimes Transfem but this community means the world to me; you can't change that about me :[roll]1d8[/roll] + [roll]1d8[/roll] + [roll]1d8[/roll] + [roll]1d8[/roll] = [roll][roll:-4]+[roll:-3]+[roll:-2]+[roll:-1][/roll] I have adopted Golden, Salem, Wes, and Aspen
I'm Fry, a doodler, writer, aspiring singer/songwriter, and sort-of youtuber (check me out!) just trying to spread a little positivity wherever I can<3 Soli Deo Gloria(Sed servus eius crustulum vult) I'm a disabled, neurodivergent, dumpster fire, and somewhat of a clown, but I do my best :3 Crafter of Constellations, vocaloid enjoyer, waluigi’s #1 fan, space alien, danganer of ronpas, and certified silly goose Internet big sib to aspeninthetrees, TheGatoLover, (and hopefully more)
Imagine that you have a neighbor. He doesn't live here. You don't actually know where he lives, but no one else seems to have seen him. But he brings you gifts. Food, mostly. Fish, lasagna, cookies. Those sort of things. He's kind. He declines to enter your home whenever you invite him in. It's strange. Everyone else is looking for shelter, protection from the Liars. But he isn't. You don't know where he lives. But you've noticed the non-native wildflowers and disturbed soil in the garden. You've seen the hole that appears at night. You've heard him talking to no one. To the worms, to the birds, to the food, even. He loves to talk. But he never *tells* you anything. Not where his strange accent is from, not why he cares about you, not if he's seen the other strangers that show up from time to time. You know he's not normal. But you know that shooting him wouldn't work.
He’s out there again.
Always watching, waiting for something. When he notices you in the window, he waves you down, a basket at his hip. Once again, you offer him in, to which he politely declines, saying he has other stops to make, another excuse on a growing list. You’ve asked around. You’ve had people watch. Hell, you stayed up until the wee hours of the morning just to understand. But nothing. He hands you the basket, full of goods as always, and as your fingers brush, you notice the dirt caked under his nails.
He stays to chat with you until “didn’t you say you had other places to be?” He departs, and you watch him go, talking to the wind. Another fruitless conversation. It’s not as if you don’t enjoy his company. The gifts are pleasant, the conversation enjoyable, you just wish he would tell you something. You turn to head inside but catch a glimpse of your garden, wildflowers that weren’t there before thriving. The dirt is no longer flat, but that’s not unexpected, he always manages to use your garden whenever you look away.
Thus far you’ve let him, not disturbing the flowers, but today, you’re curious. Setting the basket down, you bend over and pluck a flower…
The flower pulses in your hand before you pluck it. It felt eerily similar to a heartbeat, but the the hopeful part of your mind tells you it's not. You convince yourself it's just your anxiety, but why are you anxious? After all this is your garden. As you finally pick it, the pulsing stops and blood red liquid comes out of both ends of the broken stem. It may have also let out a scream, but you had let go of the flower out of disgust when you saw that.
You had heard rumors of people disappearing in the night but those had never been proven. The town's guard said they looked into it and found nothing, but they sweat whenever it is brought up. You were told it was bears but one of your friends was told they were gone on a hunting trip. Something has scared the guard into silence and nobody has found any signs of bodies.
What was in the food he was giving you?
Your breathing shallows, and you stumble back. Your mind flashes through the past couple months, and the baskets he’s been giving you. The neighbor who used to live to your right disappeared in May, and he had brought over a delicious chicken pot pie the next day to comfort you. At least…he said it was chicken. Mind racing, you think back to all the meals with meat, most coming soon after a person is reported missing, here, or elsewhere.
As for the flowers, those are a bit harder on your mind. You know he’s been the one planting them, for you certainly haven’t, but you aren’t sure exactly what he’s been planting. With trembling fingers, you open the basket of food and reach about for a napkin. Once acquired, you pick up the dead flower(?) and examine it more closely. What once appeared to be velvet petals now resembles muscle, the seeds appearing to be teeth.
involuntarily, your mind brings you back to one night, many moons ago, when you first saw him in your garden.
WHY IS EVERYBODY DOING THIS?
Cause its cool
duh
Is this some online trend where people all read a story and post the rest in parts?
it’s nice writing, though the first post you could sort of grasp that it was gonna be something about the food, so somewhat predictable in that sense
Imagine that you have a neighbor. He doesn't live here. You don't actually know where he lives, but no one else seems to have seen him. But he brings you gifts. Food, mostly. Fish, lasagna, cookies. Those sort of things. He's kind. He declines to enter your home whenever you invite him in. It's strange. Everyone else is looking for shelter, protection from the Liars. But he isn't. You don't know where he lives. But you've noticed the non-native wildflowers and disturbed soil in the garden. You've seen the hole that appears at night. You've heard him talking to no one. To the worms, to the birds, to the food, even. He loves to talk. But he never *tells* you anything. Not where his strange accent is from, not why he cares about you, not if he's seen the other strangers that show up from time to time. You know he's not normal. But you know that shooting him wouldn't work.
He’s out there again.
Always watching, waiting for something. When he notices you in the window, he waves you down, a basket at his hip. Once again, you offer him in, to which he politely declines, saying he has other stops to make, another excuse on a growing list. You’ve asked around. You’ve had people watch. Hell, you stayed up until the wee hours of the morning just to understand. But nothing. He hands you the basket, full of goods as always, and as your fingers brush, you notice the dirt caked under his nails.
He stays to chat with you until “didn’t you say you had other places to be?” He departs, and you watch him go, talking to the wind. Another fruitless conversation. It’s not as if you don’t enjoy his company. The gifts are pleasant, the conversation enjoyable, you just wish he would tell you something. You turn to head inside but catch a glimpse of your garden, wildflowers that weren’t there before thriving. The dirt is no longer flat, but that’s not unexpected, he always manages to use your garden whenever you look away.
Thus far you’ve let him, not disturbing the flowers, but today, you’re curious. Setting the basket down, you bend over and pluck a flower…
The flower pulses in your hand before you pluck it. It felt eerily similar to a heartbeat, but the the hopeful part of your mind tells you it's not. You convince yourself it's just your anxiety, but why are you anxious? After all this is your garden. As you finally pick it, the pulsing stops and blood red liquid comes out of both ends of the broken stem. It may have also let out a scream, but you had let go of the flower out of disgust when you saw that.
You had heard rumors of people disappearing in the night but those had never been proven. The town's guard said they looked into it and found nothing, but they sweat whenever it is brought up. You were told it was bears but one of your friends was told they were gone on a hunting trip. Something has scared the guard into silence and nobody has found any signs of bodies.
What was in the food he was giving you?
Your breathing shallows, and you stumble back. Your mind flashes through the past couple months, and the baskets he’s been giving you. The neighbor who used to live to your right disappeared in May, and he had brought over a delicious chicken pot pie the next day to comfort you. At least…he said it was chicken. Mind racing, you think back to all the meals with meat, most coming soon after a person is reported missing, here, or elsewhere.
As for the flowers, those are a bit harder on your mind. You know he’s been the one planting them, for you certainly haven’t, but you aren’t sure exactly what he’s been planting. With trembling fingers, you open the basket of food and reach about for a napkin. Once acquired, you pick up the dead flower(?) and examine it more closely. What once appeared to be velvet petals now resembles muscle, the seeds appearing to be teeth.
involuntarily, your mind brings you back to one night, many moons ago, when you first saw him in your garden.
WHY IS EVERYBODY DOING THIS?
Cause its cool
duh
Is this some online trend where people all read a story and post the rest in parts?
it’s nice writing, though the first post you could sort of grasp that it was gonna be something about the food, so somewhat predictable in that sense
No. People just like writing
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Yo, I’m Himy, He/Him. I enjoy reading books, understanding why and how things work, anime/manga, video games and obviously, TTRPGS. I’m not the sharpest tool in the shed, but I like to think Im close. I’m good at trivia, history and science
I struggle with empathy. If you’re not sure what I mean by that, it basically means it’s hard for me to understand the mental state of others and respond with the right emotions
Imagine that you have a neighbor. He doesn't live here. You don't actually know where he lives, but no one else seems to have seen him. But he brings you gifts. Food, mostly. Fish, lasagna, cookies. Those sort of things. He's kind. He declines to enter your home whenever you invite him in. It's strange. Everyone else is looking for shelter, protection from the Liars. But he isn't. You don't know where he lives. But you've noticed the non-native wildflowers and disturbed soil in the garden. You've seen the hole that appears at night. You've heard him talking to no one. To the worms, to the birds, to the food, even. He loves to talk. But he never *tells* you anything. Not where his strange accent is from, not why he cares about you, not if he's seen the other strangers that show up from time to time. You know he's not normal. But you know that shooting him wouldn't work.
He’s out there again.
Always watching, waiting for something. When he notices you in the window, he waves you down, a basket at his hip. Once again, you offer him in, to which he politely declines, saying he has other stops to make, another excuse on a growing list. You’ve asked around. You’ve had people watch. Hell, you stayed up until the wee hours of the morning just to understand. But nothing. He hands you the basket, full of goods as always, and as your fingers brush, you notice the dirt caked under his nails.
He stays to chat with you until “didn’t you say you had other places to be?” He departs, and you watch him go, talking to the wind. Another fruitless conversation. It’s not as if you don’t enjoy his company. The gifts are pleasant, the conversation enjoyable, you just wish he would tell you something. You turn to head inside but catch a glimpse of your garden, wildflowers that weren’t there before thriving. The dirt is no longer flat, but that’s not unexpected, he always manages to use your garden whenever you look away.
Thus far you’ve let him, not disturbing the flowers, but today, you’re curious. Setting the basket down, you bend over and pluck a flower…
The flower pulses in your hand before you pluck it. It felt eerily similar to a heartbeat, but the the hopeful part of your mind tells you it's not. You convince yourself it's just your anxiety, but why are you anxious? After all this is your garden. As you finally pick it, the pulsing stops and blood red liquid comes out of both ends of the broken stem. It may have also let out a scream, but you had let go of the flower out of disgust when you saw that.
You had heard rumors of people disappearing in the night but those had never been proven. The town's guard said they looked into it and found nothing, but they sweat whenever it is brought up. You were told it was bears but one of your friends was told they were gone on a hunting trip. Something has scared the guard into silence and nobody has found any signs of bodies.
What was in the food he was giving you?
Your breathing shallows, and you stumble back. Your mind flashes through the past couple months, and the baskets he’s been giving you. The neighbor who used to live to your right disappeared in May, and he had brought over a delicious chicken pot pie the next day to comfort you. At least…he said it was chicken. Mind racing, you think back to all the meals with meat, most coming soon after a person is reported missing, here, or elsewhere.
As for the flowers, those are a bit harder on your mind. You know he’s been the one planting them, for you certainly haven’t, but you aren’t sure exactly what he’s been planting. With trembling fingers, you open the basket of food and reach about for a napkin. Once acquired, you pick up the dead flower(?) and examine it more closely. What once appeared to be velvet petals now resembles muscle, the seeds appearing to be teeth.
involuntarily, your mind brings you back to one night, many moons ago, when you first saw him in your garden.
WHY IS EVERYBODY DOING THIS?
Cause its cool
duh
Is this some online trend where people all read a story and post the rest in parts?
it’s nice writing, though the first post you could sort of grasp that it was gonna be something about the food, so somewhat predictable in that sense
No. People just like writing
I guess people on here are just good at it. It seemed like it was pre-written since it felt very well connected in tone/whatever. (My bad in that case guys, I didn’t mean to offend anyone in that case)
Imagine that you have a neighbor. He doesn't live here. You don't actually know where he lives, but no one else seems to have seen him. But he brings you gifts. Food, mostly. Fish, lasagna, cookies. Those sort of things. He's kind. He declines to enter your home whenever you invite him in. It's strange. Everyone else is looking for shelter, protection from the Liars. But he isn't. You don't know where he lives. But you've noticed the non-native wildflowers and disturbed soil in the garden. You've seen the hole that appears at night. You've heard him talking to no one. To the worms, to the birds, to the food, even. He loves to talk. But he never *tells* you anything. Not where his strange accent is from, not why he cares about you, not if he's seen the other strangers that show up from time to time. You know he's not normal. But you know that shooting him wouldn't work.
He’s out there again.
Always watching, waiting for something. When he notices you in the window, he waves you down, a basket at his hip. Once again, you offer him in, to which he politely declines, saying he has other stops to make, another excuse on a growing list. You’ve asked around. You’ve had people watch. Hell, you stayed up until the wee hours of the morning just to understand. But nothing. He hands you the basket, full of goods as always, and as your fingers brush, you notice the dirt caked under his nails.
He stays to chat with you until “didn’t you say you had other places to be?” He departs, and you watch him go, talking to the wind. Another fruitless conversation. It’s not as if you don’t enjoy his company. The gifts are pleasant, the conversation enjoyable, you just wish he would tell you something. You turn to head inside but catch a glimpse of your garden, wildflowers that weren’t there before thriving. The dirt is no longer flat, but that’s not unexpected, he always manages to use your garden whenever you look away.
Thus far you’ve let him, not disturbing the flowers, but today, you’re curious. Setting the basket down, you bend over and pluck a flower…
The flower pulses in your hand before you pluck it. It felt eerily similar to a heartbeat, but the the hopeful part of your mind tells you it's not. You convince yourself it's just your anxiety, but why are you anxious? After all this is your garden. As you finally pick it, the pulsing stops and blood red liquid comes out of both ends of the broken stem. It may have also let out a scream, but you had let go of the flower out of disgust when you saw that.
You had heard rumors of people disappearing in the night but those had never been proven. The town's guard said they looked into it and found nothing, but they sweat whenever it is brought up. You were told it was bears but one of your friends was told they were gone on a hunting trip. Something has scared the guard into silence and nobody has found any signs of bodies.
What was in the food he was giving you?
Your breathing shallows, and you stumble back. Your mind flashes through the past couple months, and the baskets he’s been giving you. The neighbor who used to live to your right disappeared in May, and he had brought over a delicious chicken pot pie the next day to comfort you. At least…he said it was chicken. Mind racing, you think back to all the meals with meat, most coming soon after a person is reported missing, here, or elsewhere.
As for the flowers, those are a bit harder on your mind. You know he’s been the one planting them, for you certainly haven’t, but you aren’t sure exactly what he’s been planting. With trembling fingers, you open the basket of food and reach about for a napkin. Once acquired, you pick up the dead flower(?) and examine it more closely. What once appeared to be velvet petals now resembles muscle, the seeds appearing to be teeth.
involuntarily, your mind brings you back to one night, many moons ago, when you first saw him in your garden.
WHY IS EVERYBODY DOING THIS?
Cause its cool
duh
Is this some online trend where people all read a story and post the rest in parts?
it’s nice writing, though the first post you could sort of grasp that it was gonna be something about the food, so somewhat predictable in that sense
No. People just like writing
I guess people on here are just good at it. It seemed like it was pre-written since it felt very well connected in tone/whatever. (My bad in that case guys, I didn’t mean to offend anyone in that case)
It do be like that sometimes
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Yo, I’m Himy, He/Him. I enjoy reading books, understanding why and how things work, anime/manga, video games and obviously, TTRPGS. I’m not the sharpest tool in the shed, but I like to think Im close. I’m good at trivia, history and science
I struggle with empathy. If you’re not sure what I mean by that, it basically means it’s hard for me to understand the mental state of others and respond with the right emotions
Imagine that you have a neighbor. He doesn't live here. You don't actually know where he lives, but no one else seems to have seen him. But he brings you gifts. Food, mostly. Fish, lasagna, cookies. Those sort of things. He's kind. He declines to enter your home whenever you invite him in. It's strange. Everyone else is looking for shelter, protection from the Liars. But he isn't. You don't know where he lives. But you've noticed the non-native wildflowers and disturbed soil in the garden. You've seen the hole that appears at night. You've heard him talking to no one. To the worms, to the birds, to the food, even. He loves to talk. But he never *tells* you anything. Not where his strange accent is from, not why he cares about you, not if he's seen the other strangers that show up from time to time. You know he's not normal. But you know that shooting him wouldn't work.
He’s out there again.
Always watching, waiting for something. When he notices you in the window, he waves you down, a basket at his hip. Once again, you offer him in, to which he politely declines, saying he has other stops to make, another excuse on a growing list. You’ve asked around. You’ve had people watch. Hell, you stayed up until the wee hours of the morning just to understand. But nothing. He hands you the basket, full of goods as always, and as your fingers brush, you notice the dirt caked under his nails.
He stays to chat with you until “didn’t you say you had other places to be?” He departs, and you watch him go, talking to the wind. Another fruitless conversation. It’s not as if you don’t enjoy his company. The gifts are pleasant, the conversation enjoyable, you just wish he would tell you something. You turn to head inside but catch a glimpse of your garden, wildflowers that weren’t there before thriving. The dirt is no longer flat, but that’s not unexpected, he always manages to use your garden whenever you look away.
Thus far you’ve let him, not disturbing the flowers, but today, you’re curious. Setting the basket down, you bend over and pluck a flower…
The flower pulses in your hand before you pluck it. It felt eerily similar to a heartbeat, but the the hopeful part of your mind tells you it's not. You convince yourself it's just your anxiety, but why are you anxious? After all this is your garden. As you finally pick it, the pulsing stops and blood red liquid comes out of both ends of the broken stem. It may have also let out a scream, but you had let go of the flower out of disgust when you saw that.
You had heard rumors of people disappearing in the night but those had never been proven. The town's guard said they looked into it and found nothing, but they sweat whenever it is brought up. You were told it was bears but one of your friends was told they were gone on a hunting trip. Something has scared the guard into silence and nobody has found any signs of bodies.
What was in the food he was giving you?
Your breathing shallows, and you stumble back. Your mind flashes through the past couple months, and the baskets he’s been giving you. The neighbor who used to live to your right disappeared in May, and he had brought over a delicious chicken pot pie the next day to comfort you. At least…he said it was chicken. Mind racing, you think back to all the meals with meat, most coming soon after a person is reported missing, here, or elsewhere.
As for the flowers, those are a bit harder on your mind. You know he’s been the one planting them, for you certainly haven’t, but you aren’t sure exactly what he’s been planting. With trembling fingers, you open the basket of food and reach about for a napkin. Once acquired, you pick up the dead flower(?) and examine it more closely. What once appeared to be velvet petals now resembles muscle, the seeds appearing to be teeth.
involuntarily, your mind brings you back to one night, many moons ago, when you first saw him in your garden.
WHY IS EVERYBODY DOING THIS?
Cause its cool
duh
Is this some online trend where people all read a story and post the rest in parts?
it’s nice writing, though the first post you could sort of grasp that it was gonna be something about the food, so somewhat predictable in that sense
No. People just like writing
I guess people on here are just good at it. It seemed like it was pre-written since it felt very well connected in tone/whatever. (My bad in that case guys, I didn’t mean to offend anyone in that case)
It do be like that sometimes
To be fair I’m not much of a writer, I do session summaries and write my character backstories. If I wrote more I’d probably be more efficient/better at it
Well, I'm alive. And I'm back. I don't know really if I'm welcome back here, but I figure it's worth a shot, right?
Hello, all you people
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Professional anthro maker. Adohand dweller. Selectively social, grunge obsessed, genderfaun, pansexual furry and therian. The Fox of Adohand's. Friend (maybe foe) of AgateElk, personally. I love everybody here. Need I go on? Discord: _salems_lot_ "Zoro knows exactly what MLM means." - AgateElk My Non-Self Given Titles: Sovereign of The Four Seasons, My Child, The Fox, Herr Flaumig, Saint Crispidad My thread/ Extended Sig: Cult of the Fox. My CHB Characters, In a Google Sheet
Well, I'm alive. And I'm back. I don't know really if I'm welcome back here, but I figure it's worth a shot, right?
Hello, all you people
I don’t see any reason you wouldn’t be welcome back?
In my mind, I didn't exactly leave in the best way. Good to see you, PJ
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Professional anthro maker. Adohand dweller. Selectively social, grunge obsessed, genderfaun, pansexual furry and therian. The Fox of Adohand's. Friend (maybe foe) of AgateElk, personally. I love everybody here. Need I go on? Discord: _salems_lot_ "Zoro knows exactly what MLM means." - AgateElk My Non-Self Given Titles: Sovereign of The Four Seasons, My Child, The Fox, Herr Flaumig, Saint Crispidad My thread/ Extended Sig: Cult of the Fox. My CHB Characters, In a Google Sheet
Well, I'm alive. And I'm back. I don't know really if I'm welcome back here, but I figure it's worth a shot, right?
Hello, all you people
Oh hey Salem
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Yo, I’m Himy, He/Him. I enjoy reading books, understanding why and how things work, anime/manga, video games and obviously, TTRPGS. I’m not the sharpest tool in the shed, but I like to think Im close. I’m good at trivia, history and science
I struggle with empathy. If you’re not sure what I mean by that, it basically means it’s hard for me to understand the mental state of others and respond with the right emotions
Well, I'm alive. And I'm back. I don't know really if I'm welcome back here, but I figure it's worth a shot, right?
Hello, all you people
Oh hey Salem
Hi Are. How's it goin'? What taverns are alive?
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Professional anthro maker. Adohand dweller. Selectively social, grunge obsessed, genderfaun, pansexual furry and therian. The Fox of Adohand's. Friend (maybe foe) of AgateElk, personally. I love everybody here. Need I go on? Discord: _salems_lot_ "Zoro knows exactly what MLM means." - AgateElk My Non-Self Given Titles: Sovereign of The Four Seasons, My Child, The Fox, Herr Flaumig, Saint Crispidad My thread/ Extended Sig: Cult of the Fox. My CHB Characters, In a Google Sheet
Well, I'm alive. And I'm back. I don't know really if I'm welcome back here, but I figure it's worth a shot, right?
Hello, all you people
I don’t see any reason you wouldn’t be welcome back?
In my mind, I didn't exactly leave in the best way. Good to see you, PJ
Thanks
how you doin?
I'm gonna be honest, I'm barely holding myself together. How about yourself?
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Professional anthro maker. Adohand dweller. Selectively social, grunge obsessed, genderfaun, pansexual furry and therian. The Fox of Adohand's. Friend (maybe foe) of AgateElk, personally. I love everybody here. Need I go on? Discord: _salems_lot_ "Zoro knows exactly what MLM means." - AgateElk My Non-Self Given Titles: Sovereign of The Four Seasons, My Child, The Fox, Herr Flaumig, Saint Crispidad My thread/ Extended Sig: Cult of the Fox. My CHB Characters, In a Google Sheet
Imagine that you have a neighbor. He doesn't live here. You don't actually know where he lives, but no one else seems to have seen him. But he brings you gifts. Food, mostly. Fish, lasagna, cookies. Those sort of things. He's kind. He declines to enter your home whenever you invite him in. It's strange. Everyone else is looking for shelter, protection from the Liars. But he isn't. You don't know where he lives. But you've noticed the non-native wildflowers and disturbed soil in the garden. You've seen the hole that appears at night. You've heard him talking to no one. To the worms, to the birds, to the food, even. He loves to talk. But he never *tells* you anything. Not where his strange accent is from, not why he cares about you, not if he's seen the other strangers that show up from time to time. You know he's not normal. But you know that shooting him wouldn't work.
He’s out there again.
Always watching, waiting for something. When he notices you in the window, he waves you down, a basket at his hip. Once again, you offer him in, to which he politely declines, saying he has other stops to make, another excuse on a growing list. You’ve asked around. You’ve had people watch. Hell, you stayed up until the wee hours of the morning just to understand. But nothing. He hands you the basket, full of goods as always, and as your fingers brush, you notice the dirt caked under his nails.
He stays to chat with you until “didn’t you say you had other places to be?” He departs, and you watch him go, talking to the wind. Another fruitless conversation. It’s not as if you don’t enjoy his company. The gifts are pleasant, the conversation enjoyable, you just wish he would tell you something. You turn to head inside but catch a glimpse of your garden, wildflowers that weren’t there before thriving. The dirt is no longer flat, but that’s not unexpected, he always manages to use your garden whenever you look away.
Thus far you’ve let him, not disturbing the flowers, but today, you’re curious. Setting the basket down, you bend over and pluck a flower…
The flower pulses in your hand before you pluck it. It felt eerily similar to a heartbeat, but the the hopeful part of your mind tells you it's not. You convince yourself it's just your anxiety, but why are you anxious? After all this is your garden. As you finally pick it, the pulsing stops and blood red liquid comes out of both ends of the broken stem. It may have also let out a scream, but you had let go of the flower out of disgust when you saw that.
You had heard rumors of people disappearing in the night but those had never been proven. The town's guard said they looked into it and found nothing, but they sweat whenever it is brought up. You were told it was bears but one of your friends was told they were gone on a hunting trip. Something has scared the guard into silence and nobody has found any signs of bodies.
What was in the food he was giving you?
Your breathing shallows, and you stumble back. Your mind flashes through the past couple months, and the baskets he’s been giving you. The neighbor who used to live to your right disappeared in May, and he had brought over a delicious chicken pot pie the next day to comfort you. At least…he said it was chicken. Mind racing, you think back to all the meals with meat, most coming soon after a person is reported missing, here, or elsewhere.
As for the flowers, those are a bit harder on your mind. You know he’s been the one planting them, for you certainly haven’t, but you aren’t sure exactly what he’s been planting. With trembling fingers, you open the basket of food and reach about for a napkin. Once acquired, you pick up the dead flower(?) and examine it more closely. What once appeared to be velvet petals now resembles muscle, the seeds appearing to be teeth.
involuntarily, your mind brings you back to one night, many moons ago, when you first saw him in your garden.
WHY IS EVERYBODY DOING THIS?
Cause its cool
duh
Is this some online trend where people all read a story and post the rest in parts?
it’s nice writing, though the first post you could sort of grasp that it was gonna be something about the food, so somewhat predictable in that sense
No. People just like writing
I guess people on here are just good at it. It seemed like it was pre-written since it felt very well connected in tone/whatever. (My bad in that case guys, I didn’t mean to offend anyone in that case)
It do be like that sometimes
To be fair I’m not much of a writer, I do session summaries and write my character backstories. If I wrote more I’d probably be more efficient/better at it
Nah baalze just had a fun prompt that I went with and moon joined in
writing is more enjoyable when you aren‘t thinking of everything, there‘s an element of surprise
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Hey y’all, you can call me Sel, pronouns they/he. Some things about me, I like reading, writing, dnd, theater, art. I have an art doc and my yt channel linked below. Pms are always open if you need to talk. Love y’all <3
Well, I'm alive. And I'm back. I don't know really if I'm welcome back here, but I figure it's worth a shot, right?
Hello, all you people
I don’t see any reason you wouldn’t be welcome back?
In my mind, I didn't exactly leave in the best way. Good to see you, PJ
Thanks
how you doin?
I'm gonna be honest, I'm barely holding myself together. How about yourself?
Oh hey I remember you
elk‘s friend
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Hey y’all, you can call me Sel, pronouns they/he. Some things about me, I like reading, writing, dnd, theater, art. I have an art doc and my yt channel linked below. Pms are always open if you need to talk. Love y’all <3
Imagine that you have a neighbor. He doesn't live here. You don't actually know where he lives, but no one else seems to have seen him. But he brings you gifts. Food, mostly. Fish, lasagna, cookies. Those sort of things. He's kind. He declines to enter your home whenever you invite him in. It's strange. Everyone else is looking for shelter, protection from the Liars. But he isn't. You don't know where he lives. But you've noticed the non-native wildflowers and disturbed soil in the garden. You've seen the hole that appears at night. You've heard him talking to no one. To the worms, to the birds, to the food, even. He loves to talk. But he never *tells* you anything. Not where his strange accent is from, not why he cares about you, not if he's seen the other strangers that show up from time to time. You know he's not normal. But you know that shooting him wouldn't work.
He’s out there again.
Always watching, waiting for something. When he notices you in the window, he waves you down, a basket at his hip. Once again, you offer him in, to which he politely declines, saying he has other stops to make, another excuse on a growing list. You’ve asked around. You’ve had people watch. Hell, you stayed up until the wee hours of the morning just to understand. But nothing. He hands you the basket, full of goods as always, and as your fingers brush, you notice the dirt caked under his nails.
He stays to chat with you until “didn’t you say you had other places to be?” He departs, and you watch him go, talking to the wind. Another fruitless conversation. It’s not as if you don’t enjoy his company. The gifts are pleasant, the conversation enjoyable, you just wish he would tell you something. You turn to head inside but catch a glimpse of your garden, wildflowers that weren’t there before thriving. The dirt is no longer flat, but that’s not unexpected, he always manages to use your garden whenever you look away.
Thus far you’ve let him, not disturbing the flowers, but today, you’re curious. Setting the basket down, you bend over and pluck a flower…
The flower pulses in your hand before you pluck it. It felt eerily similar to a heartbeat, but the the hopeful part of your mind tells you it's not. You convince yourself it's just your anxiety, but why are you anxious? After all this is your garden. As you finally pick it, the pulsing stops and blood red liquid comes out of both ends of the broken stem. It may have also let out a scream, but you had let go of the flower out of disgust when you saw that.
You had heard rumors of people disappearing in the night but those had never been proven. The town's guard said they looked into it and found nothing, but they sweat whenever it is brought up. You were told it was bears but one of your friends was told they were gone on a hunting trip. Something has scared the guard into silence and nobody has found any signs of bodies.
What was in the food he was giving you?
Your breathing shallows, and you stumble back. Your mind flashes through the past couple months, and the baskets he’s been giving you. The neighbor who used to live to your right disappeared in May, and he had brought over a delicious chicken pot pie the next day to comfort you. At least…he said it was chicken. Mind racing, you think back to all the meals with meat, most coming soon after a person is reported missing, here, or elsewhere.
As for the flowers, those are a bit harder on your mind. You know he’s been the one planting them, for you certainly haven’t, but you aren’t sure exactly what he’s been planting. With trembling fingers, you open the basket of food and reach about for a napkin. Once acquired, you pick up the dead flower(?) and examine it more closely. What once appeared to be velvet petals now resembles muscle, the seeds appearing to be teeth.
involuntarily, your mind brings you back to one night, many moons ago, when you first saw him in your garden.
WHY IS EVERYBODY DOING THIS?
Cause its cool
duh
Is this some online trend where people all read a story and post the rest in parts?
it’s nice writing, though the first post you could sort of grasp that it was gonna be something about the food, so somewhat predictable in that sense
No. People just like writing
I guess people on here are just good at it. It seemed like it was pre-written since it felt very well connected in tone/whatever. (My bad in that case guys, I didn’t mean to offend anyone in that case)
It do be like that sometimes
To be fair I’m not much of a writer, I do session summaries and write my character backstories. If I wrote more I’d probably be more efficient/better at it
Nah baalze just had a fun prompt that I went with and moon joined in
writing is more enjoyable when you aren‘t thinking of everything, there‘s an element of surprise
It was actually intended to be a little teaser for a character I'm working on, but I'm glad you guys are enjoying yourselves!
Hello! Call me GAYto or Gato (Cat in Spanish) My pronouns are They/She (Prefers She/her) I am a teenager. I have ADHD, Depression, and anxiety. I'm also Genderfae, Pansexual, Aromantic, Trans Androgynous, Asexual, and sometimes Transfem but this community means the world to me; you can't change that about me :[roll]1d8[/roll] + [roll]1d8[/roll] + [roll]1d8[/roll] + [roll]1d8[/roll] = [roll][roll:-4]+[roll:-3]+[roll:-2]+[roll:-1][/roll] I have adopted Golden, Salem, Wes, and Aspen
Well, I'm alive. And I'm back. I don't know really if I'm welcome back here, but I figure it's worth a shot, right?
Hello, all you people
Oh hey Salem
Hi Are. How's it goin'? What taverns are alive?
I mad eone
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I'm Fry, a doodler, writer, aspiring singer/songwriter, and sort-of youtuber (check me out!) just trying to spread a little positivity wherever I can<3 Soli Deo Gloria(Sed servus eius crustulum vult) I'm a disabled, neurodivergent, dumpster fire, and somewhat of a clown, but I do my best :3 Crafter of Constellations, vocaloid enjoyer, waluigi’s #1 fan, space alien, danganer of ronpas, and certified silly goose Internet big sib to aspeninthetrees, TheGatoLover, (and hopefully more)
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DOODLES
Hello! Call me GAYto or Gato (Cat in Spanish)
My pronouns are They/She (Prefers She/her)
I am a teenager. I have ADHD, Depression, and anxiety. I'm also Genderfae, Pansexual, Aromantic, Trans Androgynous, Asexual, and sometimes Transfem
but this community means the world to me; you can't change that about me
:[roll]1d8[/roll] + [roll]1d8[/roll] + [roll]1d8[/roll] + [roll]1d8[/roll] = [roll][roll:-4]+[roll:-3]+[roll:-2]+[roll:-1][/roll]
I have adopted Golden, Salem, Wes, and Aspen
HELLO
I'm Fry, a doodler, writer, aspiring singer/songwriter, and sort-of youtuber (check me out!) just trying to spread a little positivity wherever I can<3
Soli Deo Gloria(Sed servus eius crustulum vult)
I'm a disabled, neurodivergent, dumpster fire, and somewhat of a clown, but I do my best :3
Crafter of Constellations, vocaloid enjoyer, waluigi’s #1 fan, space alien, danganer of ronpas, and certified silly goose
Internet big sib to aspeninthetrees, TheGatoLover, (and hopefully more)
Is this some online trend where people all read a story and post the rest in parts?
it’s nice writing, though the first post you could sort of grasp that it was gonna be something about the food, so somewhat predictable in that sense
forgot about a simple twist of fate
No. People just like writing
Yo, I’m Himy, He/Him. I enjoy reading books, understanding why and how things work, anime/manga, video games and obviously, TTRPGS. I’m not the sharpest tool in the shed, but I like to think Im close. I’m good at trivia, history and science
I struggle with empathy. If you’re not sure what I mean by that, it basically means it’s hard for me to understand the mental state of others and respond with the right emotions
Should be all the important bits. Sweet
I guess people on here are just good at it. It seemed like it was pre-written since it felt very well connected in tone/whatever.
(My bad in that case guys, I didn’t mean to offend anyone in that case)
forgot about a simple twist of fate
It do be like that sometimes
Yo, I’m Himy, He/Him. I enjoy reading books, understanding why and how things work, anime/manga, video games and obviously, TTRPGS. I’m not the sharpest tool in the shed, but I like to think Im close. I’m good at trivia, history and science
I struggle with empathy. If you’re not sure what I mean by that, it basically means it’s hard for me to understand the mental state of others and respond with the right emotions
Should be all the important bits. Sweet
To be fair I’m not much of a writer, I do session summaries and write my character backstories. If I wrote more I’d probably be more efficient/better at it
forgot about a simple twist of fate
Well, I'm alive. And I'm back. I don't know really if I'm welcome back here, but I figure it's worth a shot, right?
Hello, all you people
Professional anthro maker. Adohand dweller. Selectively social, grunge obsessed, genderfaun, pansexual furry and therian. The Fox of Adohand's. Friend (maybe foe) of AgateElk, personally. I love everybody here. Need I go on?
Discord: _salems_lot_
"Zoro knows exactly what MLM means." - AgateElk
My Non-Self Given Titles: Sovereign of The Four Seasons, My Child, The Fox, Herr Flaumig, Saint Crispidad
My thread/ Extended Sig: Cult of the Fox. My CHB Characters, In a Google Sheet
I has addiction to Life of luxury
Hallo
People who aren't from here or DeviantArt might know me from various games or might know me as Dino on some of those games
I will go by these if ya wanna say something nicknames: Dinao, Diano, Or Dino
'tis all
:p
I don’t see any reason you wouldn’t be welcome back?
forgot about a simple twist of fate
In my mind, I didn't exactly leave in the best way. Good to see you, PJ
Professional anthro maker. Adohand dweller. Selectively social, grunge obsessed, genderfaun, pansexual furry and therian. The Fox of Adohand's. Friend (maybe foe) of AgateElk, personally. I love everybody here. Need I go on?
Discord: _salems_lot_
"Zoro knows exactly what MLM means." - AgateElk
My Non-Self Given Titles: Sovereign of The Four Seasons, My Child, The Fox, Herr Flaumig, Saint Crispidad
My thread/ Extended Sig: Cult of the Fox. My CHB Characters, In a Google Sheet
Oh hey Salem
Yo, I’m Himy, He/Him. I enjoy reading books, understanding why and how things work, anime/manga, video games and obviously, TTRPGS. I’m not the sharpest tool in the shed, but I like to think Im close. I’m good at trivia, history and science
I struggle with empathy. If you’re not sure what I mean by that, it basically means it’s hard for me to understand the mental state of others and respond with the right emotions
Should be all the important bits. Sweet
Thanks
how you doin?
forgot about a simple twist of fate
Hi Are. How's it goin'? What taverns are alive?
Professional anthro maker. Adohand dweller. Selectively social, grunge obsessed, genderfaun, pansexual furry and therian. The Fox of Adohand's. Friend (maybe foe) of AgateElk, personally. I love everybody here. Need I go on?
Discord: _salems_lot_
"Zoro knows exactly what MLM means." - AgateElk
My Non-Self Given Titles: Sovereign of The Four Seasons, My Child, The Fox, Herr Flaumig, Saint Crispidad
My thread/ Extended Sig: Cult of the Fox. My CHB Characters, In a Google Sheet
I'm gonna be honest, I'm barely holding myself together.
How about yourself?
Professional anthro maker. Adohand dweller. Selectively social, grunge obsessed, genderfaun, pansexual furry and therian. The Fox of Adohand's. Friend (maybe foe) of AgateElk, personally. I love everybody here. Need I go on?
Discord: _salems_lot_
"Zoro knows exactly what MLM means." - AgateElk
My Non-Self Given Titles: Sovereign of The Four Seasons, My Child, The Fox, Herr Flaumig, Saint Crispidad
My thread/ Extended Sig: Cult of the Fox. My CHB Characters, In a Google Sheet
Nah baalze just had a fun prompt that I went with and moon joined in
writing is more enjoyable when you aren‘t thinking of everything, there‘s an element of surprise
Hey y’all, you can call me Sel, pronouns they/he. Some things about me, I like reading, writing, dnd, theater, art. I have an art doc and my yt channel linked below. Pms are always open if you need to talk. Love y’all <3
Is art
@Irunwithskissors
(Both are links, please click them…)
Oh hey I remember you
elk‘s friend
Hey y’all, you can call me Sel, pronouns they/he. Some things about me, I like reading, writing, dnd, theater, art. I have an art doc and my yt channel linked below. Pms are always open if you need to talk. Love y’all <3
Is art
@Irunwithskissors
(Both are links, please click them…)
It was actually intended to be a little teaser for a character I'm working on, but I'm glad you guys are enjoying yourselves!
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
Awake, impure, divine
Breathgiver of the Strugels
Hello!
Hello! Call me GAYto or Gato (Cat in Spanish)
My pronouns are They/She (Prefers She/her)
I am a teenager. I have ADHD, Depression, and anxiety. I'm also Genderfae, Pansexual, Aromantic, Trans Androgynous, Asexual, and sometimes Transfem
but this community means the world to me; you can't change that about me
:[roll]1d8[/roll] + [roll]1d8[/roll] + [roll]1d8[/roll] + [roll]1d8[/roll] = [roll][roll:-4]+[roll:-3]+[roll:-2]+[roll:-1][/roll]
I have adopted Golden, Salem, Wes, and Aspen
I mad eone
I'm Fry, a doodler, writer, aspiring singer/songwriter, and sort-of youtuber (check me out!) just trying to spread a little positivity wherever I can<3
Soli Deo Gloria(Sed servus eius crustulum vult)
I'm a disabled, neurodivergent, dumpster fire, and somewhat of a clown, but I do my best :3
Crafter of Constellations, vocaloid enjoyer, waluigi’s #1 fan, space alien, danganer of ronpas, and certified silly goose
Internet big sib to aspeninthetrees, TheGatoLover, (and hopefully more)