@pinetreeoverme / pinetreeoverme.tumblr.com
Hey are you still around? I was wondering if I could ask you for some advice on a fic I am writing. You have some great works btw
Around is a relative term- I returned to the states and promptly flung myself headfirst into a total career change, so I'm still trying to unrock the boat there at the moment. That being said, I'm always down to hear folk's ideas and perhaps give advice if they so desire! And also, thank you! I'm glad you've enjoyed my brain-word vomit
Inspired by THIS post by @incorrectgravityfalls
Wendy gives the good life advices, the twins should be taking her seriously.
A companion piece to @pinetreeoverme‘s Selfish Sacrifices.
The air in the house is somewhat stifling, warm and stuffy. As he considers the fire in the fireplace, it feels as if the room is closing around him. Still, it’s nice to be amongst family, all of them pressed closed as they chat idly about the holiday season. He doesn’t see his family enough anymore.
A hand lands on his shoulder, and he stiffens, turning to see his father. “Dipper?” his father asks, voice light. “You’ve been pretty quiet all evening.”
I am actually offended on my friend's behalf I forgot to reblog his excellent companion piece. Offended I say! At myself! Fuck you, me!
Welcome back
Why thank ya thank ya, kindly anonymous neighbor!
Storm stories are pinecest tradition. Since I grew up with hurricanes, seems right I should make mine during one.
The sky is gray. The air is cool. The wind is restless, yet somehow Mabel feels like everything is still.
She’s sitting in a wicker chair, watching the trees and bushes sway with the gusts, waves rolling up the beach behind them. It’s a strange sensation, that still feeling. She sees the plants sway to and fro almost constantly, yet it is the moments when they stop, when the water drifts softly back into the ocean, that stick with her. That build the mood of the calm before the storm. The peculiar harbingers of the devastation that will soon arrive if not for her.
She wonders if those who lived here in the days before satellites saw these hints, knew what they meant. If they would have merely thought some lesser storm were on its way. A simple rain shower or the vibrant power of thunder storm, all dwarfed equally by the maelstrom now coming. How could they have known any difference in the signs without mankind’s mechanical eyes in the sky?
DUDE. READ THIS.
I am so mad I missed this. Don't play with my heart, fucker.
First off; Salaam Alaakum, United States! Been a hot minute.
Now that I’m back and got the obligatory ‘get fucking shitfaced’ portion of my return to the west done with, I think it’s about time to start posting fics again. Iraq was a hoot, had some good times, some bad times, and made a lot of friends amongst the local population.
Without further ado, Raise Hell. (It’s a song, Brandi Carlile. I’d suggest looking it up.)
We’re hours away from Ramadan and all I pray for is that this is a month of peace and growth for us and our loved ones. May we reap all the rewards and may Allah SWT accept our fasts and prayers. May we all come out of this blessed month with stronger iman and connection with God forever and always. May we live to see many more of this month. Ramadan kareem 🌙💚
رمضانكم كريم وتصوموا وتفطروا على خير
For those of you that don't know, ISIS sees the Islamic holy month of Ramadan as a perfect time to launch attacks against their enemies- which includes anybody Shia, any Islamic minority, any other religion (including the ones Muhammad said were okay so long as they pay a tiny tax) and even SUNNI CIVILIANS that don't support them. Last Ramadan was one of the bloodiest months in modern Baghdad's history.
Whatever you believe, lend your hearts to everyone this month, but particularly those in Iraq and Syria.
A small comic from the fiancée. Mabel clearly does not know how to behave herself.
I laughed in a crowded office full of serious men doing serious things seriously. Damn you, Asshat's Fiancé!
#CROW NO
Crow: CROW YES!
It’s actually impossible to measure how many fucks a corvid give because there is no device sensitive enough to register such a tiny amount.
science/animal side of tumblr… explain to me the birb thing
Tail Pulling is a behavior noted in many corvids. The practical application is to create a distraction that will allow the birb to make off with the target’s food. Imagine being in the lunch room and a large fellow has a Twinkie you covet. You can’t just take it from him because he’ll defend his Twinkie. But if you thwap him on the back of his neck and then dash around to snag the Twinkie while he investigates, you stand a decent chance of enjoying spongey goodness. This is basically that in birb form.
Except corvids don’t only do this as a distraction. Sometimes they seem to just being doing it to mess with other animals/birbs. But to use my lunch room analogy, there are times you might thwap someone sneakily on the back of the neck just for amusement. Primates exhibit behavior that appears to be just be annoying other animals for amusement. Given how intelligent crows are, its not unlikely that this is a manifestation of an innate desire to just fuck with someone else for the fun of it. Such as this from the link above:
THANK YOU FOR THE BIRB KNOWLEDGE
BECAUSE IT IS FUN
This speaks to me on a molecular level.
birbs just wanna have fun
Sorry to hijack a little, but to put it bluntly, corvids are also pretty BALSY. They are more than prepared to harass other huge birds of prey which could deal them a lot of damage. There’s plenty of cases of corvids ‘riding’ other birds as well. It’s often to harass the larger bird out of the area, but as @red3blog said, they quite often (in layman’s terms) enjoy fucking shit up for fun.
‘Where the hell is the seatbelt on this thing?’
I mean they deserve a medal for having such huge bird balls imo
Literally no fucks are given by corvids. Ever.
A Double Dippin AU holiday treat for all you lovely folks. A little over 3k, with drunken games and musings on love. Based on a prompt by @asterism-pinoideae with a very helpful addition from @mrdaxxonford, with thanks to beta-readers @equilateral-asshat, @pinetreeoverme, and our dear Sir Waddles.
Sauce writes amazing things! Give this a read, folks. Give this a read.
Well, Tumblr, my date’s been pushed back yet again, so I’ve wrote up a little ditty in the meantime! I come, once again, supported by three amazing beta-readers; one’s certainly the most beautiful, kind, and multi-faceted author I have yet to meet, one’s an amazing mustachioed smutlord friend with a bitchin’ fucking ‘stache, and one’s a porcine friend, one of those people that I would be much poorer without the advice they dispense. I’ll let you figure out which one is which.
As a forenote, this is a one-shot, and holds no connection to any other story of mine or any other. Any impression thereof is simply an expression of my lack of creative motivation.
Without further ado, read on, kind reader!
From the Spectrum AU.
Dipper could scarcely believe it, but they were back at the Mystery Shack for the winter again. He looked to his sister in the orange sweater, smiling as “Mabel” gave him a long and saucy wink. This wasn’t his original sister, but rather ‘Belle,’ a clone his sister had made of herself this last summer.
It had been a wonderfully pleasant surprise and an unforgettable summer, but had threatened to be a huge problem as the end of the summer had neared. While the new sisters had been able to hide themselves in Ford’s empty study while he was abroad, Dipper knew there was no way they could evade their parents for almost an entire year when they had to leave for home.
Luckily, Ford had been the answer there too. His new sister ‘BB’ seemed to think on the same wavelengths as Dipper, and had found a device during their exploration of Ford’s lab and study that might help.
As he remembered the generator, Dipper glanced back to the backpack it was stashed in in the backseat. The generator, nicknamed in Ford’s notes as “The Getaway Device,” was a miniaturized multidimensional portal. It was easy to set up, could open in a matter of seconds, and typical of Ford’s engineering skill it also plugged into a standard wall outlet for power. Dipper had been surprised given that the portal Ford had been trapped through was the size of a warehouse and used most of the electrical grid for all of Gravity Falls, but this portal wasn’t powerful enough to even reach a truly separate dimension. Instead, it created a niche of spacetime that it could access at will and store stuff in.
‘Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house, not a creature was stirring, except for a girl creeping on tip-toes down the stairs. Avoiding the step that creaked, dodging over the step that groaned, she reached the bottom in silence, and crept over to the mantleplace. The way was well-lit despite the hour, thanks to the shimmering tree adorned with lights, tinsel, and enough glass ornaments to almost tip the overworked tree over.
She snuck to the array of stockings, each with a large initial embroidered on the top ruff. Sliding open the top, she slips in the envelope; although she cannot see it in the insufficient light, the envelope is a red and white striped candycane pattern, with a glossy sticker in the shape of a lipsticked pair of lips over the main flap of the letter.
Mabel had been very careful, exceedingly cautious to make sure she didn’t mix up which letter had gone into which envelope. One held a poem of sweet and harmless Christmas wishes for Dipper in the new year: perfectly acceptable for reading aloud in front of parents as they did every year.
The other was…not so acceptable for being read aloud. That poem was for later, for that evening for Dipper to read to himself or read in murmurs to Mabel while she nuzzled and nibbled at his ear.
She had been careful, checking and double-checking that the nice letter went in the envelope with the snowflakes, while the naughty letter was in the candy-cane envelope. No-one could say she hadn’t been careful.
Of course, later that night, when she had moved something on her desk looking for the car keys so they could go out to look at lights around the neighborhood, she had accidentally moved the candy-cane envelope on top of the snowflake one, and the near-darkness hadn’t lent itself to seeing the difference.
She’d find out soon enough.
Tag. Please. Read tags
i gotchu 👍
This...
Okay but surrealism aside all of these Southern Gothic posts are literally how the South is and I’m cackling.
We’ve got creepy ass 24/7 diners that say open but you can’t find the staff for half an hour.
There’s a haunted house and a murder/ghost story in every town.
There’s always a fishing hole no one goes to because of a tragedy living in the waters.
The woods are dark and hunting season is the only time you enter them. So many ghost stories. Haunted everything.
The mountains are alive with the sound of screaming.
Devil’s tramping grounds, hollers, woods, stones, you name it, we got it.
The old people may be racist and bigoted, but they have skin-crawling tales of caution and they’re all true.
Everyone knows someone who’s drowned.
We’ve all got a weird cousin who left the family and never came back. No one knows the circumstances of their disappearance but they were always an “odd duck.”
Community is a foreign concept to many until autumn. People come in droves from the mountain valleys and hollers bearing crafts and baked goods for sale. Apple butter can be smelled from half a mile away and the sound of fiddles fill the air. You will not see these people again until next autumn.
There are cemeteries everywhere, but the ones unloved are left for a reason.
Do not step on the graves, but behind them. If you step on them, apologize to avoid haunting.
Old oak trees = do not fuck with the tree.
100% Facts, I’m not even joking.
when walking through a graveyard, avoid any involuntary (OR voluntary) invitations to spirits to follow you home
church on every corner but all of them are increasingly scary at night
tales of old voodoo, people still performing rituals and locals cautioning against disturbing piles of dead animals and other such things so as to avoid being cursed
groups of teens traveling to haunted locations for some fun and never going back, making it even more tempting for others to go out for some fun
someone died at the school. someone always died at the school and now they’re stuck, so the rumors say
creepy ol country fucks following your car with piercing eyes until you’re out of sight
there really is something about autumn that brings a community together. lots of bake sales, always at the church. even if you don’t go to church, you go to the bake sale. people opening pumpkin patches and children playing amongst the rows, crows cawing with laughter– it’s like a scene from a movie tbh
I really do have a weird cousin and nobody knows where tf he is
you’re friends or relatives with at least one practicing witch (or someone who knows one) whether you know it or not. it’s just like oh? you practice the craft? cool cool, my great grandpa did that.
the woods are fucking scary. even when the sun is up, the woods are dense and fucking scary. it’s so easy to get lost. also haunted.
superstitions like woah
There are abandoned deer stands in the woods. Every year more are built, and more are empty. Why? Be nice to others in the graveyard, or you will trip and scrape yourself up. You’ll never find the root that tripped you. Theres a quarry. No one has been there but we all know about it. Theres catfish under the dam, huge ones. You’ve never seen one and neither has anyone you know, but everyone you know knows someone else who has seen them. The scientists confirm that the catfish are real. Sometimes something in the lake bites you. Its just a fish, everyone says, laughing. It never feels like a fish. The house off the highway is caved in and covered with ivy, trees and huge ferns growing right up against the walls. All you can see is the porch and the smashed in roof. No one could live there. There are baby toys on the porch. Someone lives there. You kind of want to live there. The house that burnt down and was never rebuilt, the husk just stands there. The house with its own gravity. Getting to it only takes 15 minutes or so. Getting away from it takes 30. Sour ground. No one plants there, no one buries there, no one builds there. Its just a patch of funky smelling dirt. Why are you afraid? Deer bound across the highway. Their eyes flash at you. Your headlights weren’t close enough to cause that. Sometimes the statue in town square faces a different direction. No one notices. They all think you’re crazy for bringing it up. “Don’t talk about it, you’ll invite it!” What is it? You don’t know. No one talks about it. “There are snakes in the lake,” your mother warns you. She lets you swim anyway. “There are no snakes in the lake,” the local lake worker tell you. Your mother smiles and takes you home. She reassures you there are snakes in the lake. She lets you swim anyway.
Having lived in the south most of my life... yes. The things in the lake. The things in the wood. You walk through the woods, and find the path back is never quite the same. It never is, again. Streams, barely larger than a handspan, appear and vanish, always ending in a tiny bog with a dead animal in it. You can never find where these streams start- they just do.
There are things that swim in the lake, touch you. You know there’s no real seaweed in them, but what the fuck just slithered down your leg, soft and slimy and smooth?
You find things, left to the wilds, things that have no reasons to be there- tree stands, houses, piles of tires with a car on top. The woods reclaim these things, reclaim them without hesitation. Sometimes, you freeze, eyes wide, heart screaming, and listen.
There’s nothing, there never is. Some ghost of an instinct from the days we were prey is screaming, though, and doesn’t leave for some time.
Some rare times, you fight the instinct, hands wandering to your knife, or walking stick, or rock you pick up from the ground. You follow the screaming in your soul, until you can see your heart beating against your chest, until the blood is singing in your ears, lips curling back into a feral smile... and there’s nothing.
You don’t know if you got lucky, or unlucky, but the feeling haunts you.
Hello all. It’s been a while since I’ve had the occasion to write anything. I’ve had this story sitting around for a long time, so I figured now was as good a time as any to get it finished and post it. The teaser of this story was the first thing I had really posted on this blog.
Hopefully y’all find it fun. It’s basically pure, uncut smut. Enjoy!
Smut! Twinsian Romance! Close calls!
What’s not to love?
