Everybody wanna hear the real version of life, then don't get so sensitivewhen I say something a little bit raw
PM me the word tomato, NOW, ALL HAIL O_MERLIN_O, AND THE GREAT O_MERLIN_O ARMY. NOW GIVE ME A 4d8 attempt: [roll]1d8[/roll] + [roll]1d8[/roll] + [roll]1d8[/roll] + [roll]1d8[/roll] = [roll][roll:-4]+[roll:-3]+[roll:-2]+[roll:-1][/roll]
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, artsy dumpster fire, and somewhat of a clown. But, I'm also god's favorite princess and the most interesting girl in the world. Crafter of Constellations, vocaloid enjoyer, waluigi’s #1 fan, space alien, danganer of ronpas, and certified silly goose
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
Somewhere between a genius and a moron.
It was me Barry! I Jumped Jack Flash!
If I pretend my problems don’t exist and walk fast enough, they’ll eventually disappear
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
Somewhere between a genius and a moron.
It was me Barry! I Jumped Jack Flash!
If I pretend my problems don’t exist and walk fast enough, they’ll eventually disappear
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
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
The thunderclouds broke up And the rain dried up The lighting let up The clacking shutters just shut up
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
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Hey y’all, you can call me Sel or Julian or whatever, I don’t really care. Pronouns are they/he. Some things about be, 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 or Julian or whatever, I don’t really care. Pronouns are they/he. Some things about be, 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!
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Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
May each word that I speak be backed by each of my teeth.
Everybody wanna hear the real version of life, then don't get so sensitivewhen I say something a little bit raw
PM me the word tomato, NOW, ALL HAIL O_MERLIN_O, AND THE GREAT O_MERLIN_O ARMY. NOW GIVE ME A 4d8 attempt: [roll]1d8[/roll] + [roll]1d8[/roll] + [roll]1d8[/roll] + [roll]1d8[/roll] = [roll][roll:-4]+[roll:-3]+[roll:-2]+[roll:-1][/roll]
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, artsy dumpster fire, and somewhat of a clown. But, I'm also god's favorite princess and the most interesting girl in the world. Crafter of Constellations, vocaloid enjoyer, waluigi’s #1 fan, space alien, danganer of ronpas, and certified silly goose
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DOODLES
Hello! You may call me Gato (cat in Spanish)
I am a STAY
Everybody wanna hear the real version of life, then don't get so sensitive when I say something a little bit raw
PM me the word tomato, NOW, ALL HAIL O_MERLIN_O, AND THE GREAT O_MERLIN_O ARMY. NOW GIVE ME A 4d8 attempt: [roll]1d8[/roll] + [roll]1d8[/roll] + [roll]1d8[/roll] + [roll]1d8[/roll] = [roll][roll:-4]+[roll:-3]+[roll:-2]+[roll:-1][/roll]
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, artsy dumpster fire, and somewhat of a clown. But, I'm also god's favorite princess and the most interesting girl in the world.
Crafter of Constellations, vocaloid enjoyer, waluigi’s #1 fan, space alien, danganer of ronpas, and certified silly goose
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
The thunderclouds broke up
And the rain dried up
The lighting let up
The clacking shutters just shut up
No. People just like writing
Somewhere between a genius and a moron.
It was me Barry! I Jumped Jack Flash!
If I pretend my problems don’t exist and walk fast enough, they’ll eventually disappear
Your honor, shut up, you wasn't even there
It’s only a war crime if you lose
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)
The thunderclouds broke up
And the rain dried up
The lighting let up
The clacking shutters just shut up
It do be like that sometimes
Somewhere between a genius and a moron.
It was me Barry! I Jumped Jack Flash!
If I pretend my problems don’t exist and walk fast enough, they’ll eventually disappear
Your honor, shut up, you wasn't even there
It’s only a war crime if you lose
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
The thunderclouds broke up
And the rain dried up
The lighting let up
The clacking shutters just shut up
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
Indubitably the real account of the Salem you're thinking of, Mr. Mason Spark, the Prodigal Fox
I has addiction to Life of luxury
Artise
Totally not part Asian
Has cars (cats)
I don’t see any reason you wouldn’t be welcome back?
The thunderclouds broke up
And the rain dried up
The lighting let up
The clacking shutters just shut up
In my mind, I didn't exactly leave in the best way. Good to see you, PJ
Indubitably the real account of the Salem you're thinking of, Mr. Mason Spark, the Prodigal Fox
Oh hey Salem
Somewhere between a genius and a moron.
It was me Barry! I Jumped Jack Flash!
If I pretend my problems don’t exist and walk fast enough, they’ll eventually disappear
Your honor, shut up, you wasn't even there
It’s only a war crime if you lose
Thanks
how you doin?
The thunderclouds broke up
And the rain dried up
The lighting let up
The clacking shutters just shut up
Hi Are. How's it goin'? What taverns are alive?
Indubitably the real account of the Salem you're thinking of, Mr. Mason Spark, the Prodigal Fox
I'm gonna be honest, I'm barely holding myself together.
How about yourself?
Indubitably the real account of the Salem you're thinking of, Mr. Mason Spark, the Prodigal Fox
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 or Julian or whatever, I don’t really care. Pronouns are they/he. Some things about be, 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
Oh hey I remember you
elk‘s friend
Hey y’all, you can call me Sel or Julian or whatever, I don’t really care. Pronouns are they/he. Some things about be, 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
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.
May each word that I speak be backed by each of my teeth.
Hello!
Hello! You may call me Gato (cat in Spanish)
I am a STAY
Everybody wanna hear the real version of life, then don't get so sensitive when I say something a little bit raw
PM me the word tomato, NOW, ALL HAIL O_MERLIN_O, AND THE GREAT O_MERLIN_O ARMY. NOW GIVE ME A 4d8 attempt: [roll]1d8[/roll] + [roll]1d8[/roll] + [roll]1d8[/roll] + [roll]1d8[/roll] = [roll][roll:-4]+[roll:-3]+[roll:-2]+[roll:-1][/roll]
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, artsy dumpster fire, and somewhat of a clown. But, I'm also god's favorite princess and the most interesting girl in the world.
Crafter of Constellations, vocaloid enjoyer, waluigi’s #1 fan, space alien, danganer of ronpas, and certified silly goose