Between the Roots and Branches [Open to All]

[applesaucemod]

Don't worry, dreamers of Manhattan. There will be no humiliating episodes of sudden-onset-clumsiness tonight - at least, nothing more severe than what you might experience naturally. Your physical and mental faculties will be left perfectly intact. What a treat! And what luck, because if you do lose your footing, it's a long way down to the forest floor.

But hey, who wants to be on the boring old ground when there are so many wonderful treehouses to explore? There are dozens of them spread throughout the surrounding forest, connected by a series of bridges and catwalks (some, admittedly, a bit more stable than others). It's easy to forget - or fail to notice - that there really is no easy or conventional way down to the ground when you're surrounded by such splendor.

The houses' styles range from charming and rustic to modern and sleek, with many falling somewhere in between. There are viewing platforms for bird-watching or simply taking in the scenery (trees, mostly, though if you venture high enough, you'll be treated the sight of the forest canopy stretched across a valley far below). But the insides of the treehouses are comfortably furnished to varying degrees as well, so there's no need to immerse yourself in nature if you'd really rather not. Some are complete houses in their own right, with all the amenities of a Manhattan apartment and then some.

Go for a climb, or kick back and relax. The only enemies you'll find here are other dreamers... and, potentially, gravity.

Comments

body horror BODY HORROR so much body horror, emetophobia, suicide ideation

[postictal]

"Jay," Tim says hoarsely as the other man plants himself there, staring at it, staring at it, what is he doing he knows that's dangerous, Jay -

Jay, Jay - Jay, no, Jay run just run you dumb fucking shit no Jay no Jay run

Jay, Jay no -

not again

Tim whimpers, unable to bite back the sob, the condensing horror as that thing does what it does with its playthings, stretches them out and discards them, the warped pieces of what used to be Jay, what were - what was -

He retches.

Bodies aren't supposed to change like that.

He can't cough, can't howl, can't run. He can only lie there, useless, watching it do what it's always done, distorting things and sending the tatters of Jay drifting like leaves to the long-drop ground in wet, lazy spirals. Watching flesh peel back, watching him disintegrate into bone. Groaning, creaking, straining like the branches on the trees that have eyes.

"Please," he rasps. "Please."

He can't tell what he's asking for. Please, give Jay back. Please, leave them alone.

Please, take him too.

It's what it's always wanted, isn't it?

tw: gore, much gore, death

[dendrophobia]

[It doesn't move closer. It just is there.

It doesn't react to his words, but presses on his chest with invisible force to keep him down, on his back where it can peer down into his eyes and see him. He isn't exactly what it wants of him yet, but he will be.

Him it does touch, long sharp limbs piercing and pinning him to the ground as it forces itself into the cracks of his mind, heedless of the damage it might cause there. He'll feel an edge softly tracing a line down his abdomen, sharp enough that it takes a second for the pain to hit as it peels him open to see what's inside.

There are things moving beneath his skin, lifting soft wet parts of him out into the sunlight for the first time and placing them on his chest, where he can see the pile grow and feel the heat of his own lifeblood soaking back into him.

If Tim lasts long enough, he may even feel its touch on the inside of his spine.]