#and the sunbeam particles! wonderful work

[consultingskeletondetective]

Virginal, chapter 4

You're given a rare day off from work to recover from your wounds, both physical and emotional, trying to process what the hell was happening to you and what your life had become.

You were Michael's play thing now, and it wouldn't be long before the shape came looking for more fun.

masterlist ❤️🖤 ao3

chapter tags: serial killer, murder, death, violence, blood, gore, weapons, knife, female reader, non con, stalking, forced orgasms, choking, squirting

Three days this time. 

Three, for crying out loud, wasn’t Michael meant to be a patient man?

You woke late on the third day. It was a rare Saturday where you weren’t working, all to yourself, you already had messages from your friends asking if you wanted to go out that night, and a few messages from a dating site you’d absentmindedly joined a while ago. You pointedly ignored those. Infact, you left your whole phone on the bedside table as you went into the bathroom after you woke up. It was nearly midday by then, and you'd rewarded yourself with a lie in. Those were few and far between anyway, but then you were generally exhausted these days.

You rolled your eyes, you had no idea why.

You stripped out of your nightclothes and left them in a messy pile on the floor by the bath, no matter how many words you’d had with yourself to leave them in the laundry hamper you’d bought for exactly this reason. You turned the shower on and waited a few minutes for the temperature to even out, and you were just about to step under the running spray when you caught a glimpse of yourself in the slowly steaming bathroom mirror.

Your legs were a mottled mess of aggressive bruises. You’d thought that black and blue was a phrase that people threw around but now you knew that it was irrevocably true. Your body was a canvas of pain and destruction. You watched your own hand travel to your throat, it was still sore from where Michael had stuck his cock down it a few days before.

You shivered at the memory, the pain and the way you couldn’t breathe, like it had burned itself into your mind. 

You wondered if this was his method of killing you - to put so much strain and stress on your body that it simply gave out. Perhaps it was simply an experiment. Michael definitely seemed to enjoy it, otherwise he wouldn’t keep coming back for more. 

Your thoughts were blank as you showered, it was almost as if it was your minds way of protecting you from the dark thoughts that seeped black ink into the grey matter of your brain, staining you dark just like him. Michael was leaving his own sickly imprint on your body with every cruel fuck.

You wrapped a freshly laundered towel around yourself, not bothering to dry your skin anymore than that. It was a warm day and you didn’t mind the chill on your wet skin as you walked into the kitchen.

The kitchen was alight with sunbeams streaming in through the gaps in the closed blinds, highlighting the dust particles dancing in the air. The plaque of wood you’d fixed temporarily to cover the hole in the glass left by Michael’s fist cast a grim shadow across the otherwise pleasant day. You planned on fixing the door yourself - it wasn’t like you were going to tell your landlord that a murderer had made child’s play out of your double glazing with his bare fist - but honestly you had no idea about glass or doors.

This was what men were for, you thought absentmindedly, perhaps you’d ask Michael to take a look at it the next time he dropped by.

You smirked at the absurd thought as it crossed your mind before your smile promptly dropped. You really were going mad, weren’t you? Maybe Michael hadn’t escaped at all, maybe he was just a figment of your crazy imagination, or maybe you were locked up next door to him in Westbrook Sanitarium. 

You opened your fridge door and spied a bottle of Chenin Blanc you’d bought for this very weekend, wondering briefly if midday was too early to start drinking, but then you figured that if anything were to drive you to it, then your new friend was.

You hadn’t made your mind up when your kitchen went dim, like someone had turned the brightness down on the sun, and you frowned to yourself. It was rarely sunny in your hometown and you were enjoying the temporary reprieve from the cold and rain, but now it looked like it was turning back to your regular scheduled programme of overcast grey skies.

You closed the fridge, one hand wrapping around the knot at the top of your towel to keep it secure, as you turned to the back door.

Oh fuck.

It wasn’t the clouds that had blocked out the sun, it was Michael.

You couldn’t see him clearly through the blinds, but his bulky silhouette casting a dark shadow over your kitchen floor was enough.

Fear shot through your spine and you backed off, nearly tripping and stumbling over your own feet. You couldn’t, not again, you couldn’t take him again, fuck, fuck, fuck.

You glanced towards your only exit, the door to the living room, before remembering how well that went last time. 

“Just leave me alone!” You screamed foolishly at the door, and the monstrous presence that lurked behind it. “You sick fuck! I don’t want this, just fucking go away!”

You supposed it was your distance from Michael that made you so brave, the door between you giving you some sort of power that you knew you didn’t really have.

Your screams were silenced with a deadly ferocious crunch of wood as your back door shuddered dangerously, another thud and a large crack appeared in the wood, your door creaking and dipping, hanging on for dear life by the aged metal hinges fixing it to the doorway, the wood splintering at the edges. You screamed again at this inhuman knocking, before another blood-curdling blow came, and then another, rattling the door, the frame, the walls and all you could do was sob and watch as the metal hinges gave out and bent inwards, screws spitting out onto the floor, and then the entire door was loose and falling, slamming into your kitchen lino with the same death rattle as Gulliver being slain.

Michael stood in the doorway, his bare hands poised in front of him as if he were preparing for a fight. His knuckles, you could see, were torn and bloodied, from pulverising your door to the ground, no doubt.

Your stomach jumped into your throat at the sight of him bleeding, before he was marching into your home again. His heavy footfalls creaked the wood of the door at his feet that he was walking over, until the glass of the backdoor was cracking under his boots, then he stepped off of the door and onto your lino, stopping in front of you.

He lowered his hands to his sides again, unclenched and unflustered, and merely peered down at you with a slight cock of the head, as if it was no bones to him that he’d just torn your door down - unphased by something it would take a team of men and power tools to accomplish.

You shivered in your towel, were you crying? You didn’t know anymore. Your cooling skin felt like it was being burned by Michael’s close proximity with the heat that broiled off of him. Hell fire.

You glanced up at him with fearful eyes and your voice came out shaky: “I - I should give you a key so you st-stop bre-breaking th-things.”

He cocked his head from one side to the other as he regarded you through those empty eyes of his devoid mask, as if trying to decipher a foreign language you were speaking to him in. 

You blinked, now you could feel the hot tears on your cheeks.

“Just kill me, please,” you begged softly. “I can’t live like this. I don’t know what you think I can give you, but I can’t, please just let me go.”

You didn’t know what you were asking for, to be honest, your brain just went to mush around Michael like it always did. You just wanted whatever this was to stop, so you didn’t have to feel all this guilt and regret anymore. Your stomach felt hollow just at the thought of never having his thick fingers around your throat again, or his thick cock stretching you open, but you didn’t care. 

You closed your eyes against him, trying to expel the heinous thoughts from your mind that ignited those animalistic and wrong urges inside you. He was a murderer. He murdered innocent people. Why couldn’t you get that through your thick skull? Maybe you deserved to di-

A solid brick hand around your throat made your eyes fly open again, meeting Michael’s mask. He was closer to you now, his back bowed to reach down to you, his heavy breathing faster and harder than before, as if angry with you for closing your eyes against him. He wanted your full attention and he took it. You will look at me, little girl, you’re mine.

Both of your hands shot up to grasp at his wrist and you shuddered when your fingertips didn’t even touch each other. You tugged uselessly at him, but it only made your own muscles flex. He just stared at you as you tried to wrench his hand away from your neck, as if slyly asking, are you done yet, with a tilt of his head.

“Please, let me go.” You gasped. Michael wasn’t cutting off your oxygen, not as much as you knew he could, but your voice still came out raspy.

Michael’s only answer was that heavy breathing, loud in the otherwise quiet room. He was utterly still as he held you firm against the fridge, but you caught a shadow dancing across the sunbeams that were streaming in freely now through the open cavity of your kitchen and then those bloody knuckles of his free hand were pressed against your collarbone and his thick fingers were curling hot around the knot of your towel.

You wailed when he ripped it from you, letting the sodden fabric hit the floor disinterestedly as he took a step closer to your now completely naked body, utterly bared for him. Michael’s large back protected you from the spirals of chilly air coming in through the hole he’d made in the back of your house but you shivered all the same. His heat crowded you as he stood closer still, his mask hovering just above your forehead, head cast down so you could feel the cool rubber against your hairline, his metronomic breathing was the only sound.

Michael’s hand flexed on your throat, almost as if in warning of what would happen if you even tried to move. You stifled your cry and bit your lip as you swallowed your own tears, feeling more afraid and more vulnerable than you’d ever felt around him, naked and exposed like this. 

Michael pressed his rough and calloused palm against the soft flesh of your belly and you let out a low moan, expecting it to hurt and you were surprised when it didn’t, except for the drag of hardened flesh of course. It was an experimental touch, flat-palmed and curious. You trembled. 

Michael watched his own hand as he dragged it up your side, rough and tickling, hot and heavy until every hair on your body stood up, tingling in the wake of his rough, killing hands on you. 

He paused when his fingertips pressed against your ribs, he didn’t need to pick a left or right side, his hand settled comfortably around your entire rib cage. You imagined he was weighing up how easily he could close his hand, crushing your ribs inwards until they pierced your own heart. You wondered how many people he’d done that to and felt panic rise in you like bile.

Michael finally moved his hand and cupped your breast. 

You let out a breathy exhale. His skin was hot and rough against your tender flesh there. Your head span, your nipples peaking to attention, your insides soaking yourself. 

He waited like that for longest moment, maybe even minutes as he just stared silently before finally giving your soft and vulnerable breast an experimental squeeze.

“Oh, fuck,” you moaned quietly.

He wasn’t listening to you, but then how would you know, as he ran his whole palm over your breast, grazing the stiffened peak of your nipple with his calloused flesh and you gasped loudly. The sensitive sensation went straight to your clit and you trembled.

You were utterly frozen, caged in a murderer’s hands as he tried and tested the most vulnerable nerve endings in your body, and all you could do was take it. You didn’t know if it was actually possible to come like this, but your desperately clenching cunt was giving it a damn good try.

Michael’s mask moved stiffly, finding your face again, and he kept his head bowed so he was level with your gaze, as if studying your face, as he dragged his palm across your nipple again and you bit your lip, your cheeks scarlet with blood as you stifled your moan.

Your body wriggled. You’d always been particularly sensitive there, it was a sensation you wanted more of and was too much for you to handle. 

He flexed his fingers around your throat, tightening incrementally but you didn’t know what that meant, you didn’t know what he wanted from you so you kept silent and still. 

He dropped his hands from your breast and your throat and you barely had time to take a breath in before you felt his fingers curling around the backs of your thighs until he was scooping you up, quite literally lifting you into the air.

You gasped at the suddenness of it before tucking your legs around his waist to stop yourself from falling. Your hands, once gripping his wrist, worked on instinct alone and you wrapped your arms around Michael’s neck for support as your fingers linked together and your whole front was pressed snug against him, your head in the crook of his neck.

You could smell him like this, the heat and dirt and copper of blood. You could feel him against your cheek, just a single strip of human, male flesh where his boilersuit met his mask and your whole body shuddered against him.

His hands were solid under your ass, holding you tight against his body as he took you from the fridge and walked the pair of you away from the kitchen and into the living room. 

You couldn’t guess why he was moving you, maybe he didn’t want an audience with the door off or maybe he just liked fucking you on the couch.

You trembled even as you clung to him, unsure as always of what was going to happen to you, if you were going to make it out alive this time, all you knew was that you were at his mercy. 

You could feel the heat and pressure of his solid cock, pinned against your core and sodden with your wet cunt pressed against it, wetting the dark blue of his boiler suit to black with your desperate desire.

He stopped in the middle of the living room where your coffee table used to be and you were grateful for his large hands curled under you. Your arms and thighs were beginning to strain under the effort of clinging to such a thick body, he was quite literally about three times the size of you, and your legs weren’t meant to spread that far. Michael made them spread as far as he wanted. 

He tilted his hands and your whole body followed, tumbling back slightly in his grip and your forearms tightened a little around his neck in response. You were face to face with him this way, well, face to mask. In any other situation, if you were a normal couple, this would be the part where he kissed you. But you weren’t and he didn’t.

You dipped slightly when he adjusted his grip on you before he steadied you again and good christ why was that so hot? The cocksure flex of his fingers like he knew he wasn’t going to drop you, it made your body flush with heat.

You realised what he’d done then, transferred your body weight to one hand so his other could drag his zip down, which was quite a feat, really, with you pressed against his front like you were. That must have been why he tipped you back, to make that room for himself. 

Not that you cared even a little bit as that sliver of pale flesh came into view. For one mad second you wanted to push the fabric aside and see him, but you knew you were going mad, and that you’d be dead before you even tried. 

Then Michael’s cock was in his fist and you lost all sense completely. It was thick, hard, his head red and sopping and twitching in his mammoth grip and he pumped himself in his hand just once. Your mouth fell open as molten lava flooded your core just at the sight before he was adjusting his hand under you once more and running his head through your soaking wet folds.

His cock glistened with your need for him until it dribbled down his hot shaft and wetted his balls. 

You tried to breathe steadily. You wanted to close your eyes, or maybe bury your head back between the crook of his neck, but you couldn’t look away from the way he fucked his cock against you before he sunk inside, like he was enjoying the foreplay, and it was the single hottest thing you’d ever seen. 

Your hole was quivering entirely of its own volition, desperate to be stuffed and fucked and he knew it, he was playing with you, watching for your reaction as he slipped his crown up and inside you and your eyes rolled. 

He kept you speared just on the thick and unforgiving head of his cock as both hands cupped your ass again, keeping you utterly immobile as you clenched uselessly and deliciously on just the tip - you wanted desperately to beg for more but you just couldn’t, not to Michael, not to a murderer.

He seemed more patient with you today than he had been before, more exploratory, like he was testing your body’s limits and reactions. You hardly knew why, maybe he just didn’t want to accidentally kill his favourite wet hole.

His devoid mask was inches from your face and if he wasn’t wearing it then you’d have felt his breath fanning over your lips.

His fingers gripped the meat of your ass and the familiar sparks of pain made you sigh, before he began lowering you down on his cock.

Oh, fuck, yes, your mind gasped at your descent, as Michael stretched you obscenely around the fucking steel rod he called his cock, sliding inch after inch wetly into you, his weight and heat and girth carving up your insides like a pumpkin on halloween. 

Your legs tightened around his waist and one of his hands inched up, pressing the small of your back firm against him while his cock twitched and jerked, fully seated inside you. Your mouth fell open as your head tipped back, you’d swear you’d never had him so deep before. It felt dangerous , like any minute shift from either of you might tear your insides. It was worth it, it was so fucking worth it, he felt so fucking good that you might die anyway if he didn’t move.

Michael tilted your hips and your thighs responded by clinging even more pitifully around his broad waist. Every shift inside of you felt like fire, felt like breathing again after days of being under water.

Your cunt squelched audibly around his cock and you winced, fear thrumming through you and adding to your arousal as Michael tipped you back. You envisioned your back crashing to the floor and at this height? Something would break.

Then hot and large hands were curling around your hips, holding you steady and you let out a little breath, your eyes fixed to Michael’s hollow mask eyes as your heart hammered. He began to move your hips up and down, bouncing you on his solid cock and every upward thrust drove him up into your guts.

Guh, fuck, your head tipped forward into his neck, your whole body trembling as he fucked up into you. Michael’s body was utterly immobile, a solid mass, a shape, servicing himself inside your weeping cunt with every brutal bounce of your hips.

Your eyes fluttered at the mixture of pain and pleasure, both one and the same, and the lightning in your nerve endings. Cradled like this in his large hands, your tits bounced with every one of his thrusts and you waited in embarrassment for when his mask tipped down to watch but it never did, it just stayed on you,

Tight to his pelvis like this, you could feel every vein of his cock as he slid into you, and the fat head splitting you open from the insides, making room for himself in your small body. Your wet folds kissed his black pubic hair as he pulled you down on him over and over again with that same steady rhythm that managed to be calm and aggressive all at the same time. He went as he always did, like a machine, the stamina of a teenager and the control of a middle-aged man. He was everything, both, nothing, all at the same time.

You tipped your head back as your cunt clenched and your stomach rolled, thighs quaking - you didn’t know what ripped it from your throat but rip it did -

“Michael, I’m going to come.”

Suddenly, the pressure between your legs became intense as the piston of Michael’s hips sped up until he was ramming inside you. You could hardly tell if he was thrusting in and out anymore, it was just a hard and fucking amazing feeling of fullness. 

You couldn’t help it when your mouth curved into a silent cry and you came hard on Michael’s cock, your fresh spend copious and spurting around his thick length, flying eveyrwhere with how hard and fast he was fucking into you.

Your eyes actually crossed as he kept his brutal pace, hurtling you over the edge once again in a matter of seconds and the feeling of your release being fucked from you was glorious, it made your entire body quake.

The noise you made was loud and hardly ladylike as pure animalistic pleasure was ripped from you. Michael didn’t react, not in any discernible way and somewhere in your subconscious, because your conscious was having its brains fucked out, you realised that you weren’t being punished for making noise. Instead you rode out orgasm after orgasm, coming pitifully on this beast’s cock over and over as he didn’t falter for a second and you had no choice as you were forced to clench and squirt and shiver until you couldn’t think straight, no, you couldn’t think at all.

Your vision was hazy and your head was swimming, nothing in your mind but hot fierce coming pleasure as you eased your forearms down Michael’s neck a little, not realising until you’d done it that you were searching for and then gripping the seam of his exposed flesh with your fingers, shuddering under the warmth of his hot skin.

He stepped closer to you, bringing your hips down against his, until that space between your torsos disappeared and your bare and sweat-soaked chest was rubbing against the unforgiving material of his boiler suit with every measured rut into you. Your nipples rubbed cruelly against the fabric and you winced and shivered as your hitherto untouched clit trembled and kissed Michael’s solid abdominal muscle.

You buried your head where your hands were, and you sobbed as you came again, the new sparking sensations running tight through your body forcing you indelicately over the edge again. The rubber of Michael’s cool mask pressed into the seam of your neck, that loud breathing right against your ear and you whimpered.

The rub of his boiler suit against your cunt was unforgiving, scraping your clit in a way that was almost painful. You didn’t think, your animal brain zeroed down as you let one hand leave his neck and trail between your tight bodies until the pad of your finger found your clit. It was hard and aching, ready for the attention it had been so cruelly denied for the last few weeks, and you shuddered as a gentle rub made your eyes flutter and your cunt clench deliciously on the big cock inside you, this new and intense orgasm making you dribble onto Michael’s collar.

You yelped a little unexpectedly as your body dropped, but then Michael’s hand was framing your ass again and you breathed as you rolled your hips against him, your hand pressed protectively against your still twitching clit.

Michael’s large hand framed yours, his fingers pressing messily against your spent cunt and you squeaked as you felt his calloused fingers rubbing hard against your clit in a poor and heavy-handed imitation of what you’d just done to yourself. You winced as pleasure shot through you, too over-sensitive to feel anything other than intense, and your fingertips found the bones of his wrist, not so much to pull him away but more to hold on for dear life as he rubbed sloppily against your poor, used clit and your cunt squeezed his still moving cock as your hand reflexively squeezed his wrist and you came sharply and painfully, clamping down on him until a deep exhale caught your attention and Michael stilled, holding you tight against him as his cock erupted a gallon of burning seed into your used core. 

You blinked slowly, overwhelmed, grip not loosening on his wrist as you felt your exhausted head spin. The feel of Michael’s heartbeat under your fingertips accompanied your descent into darkness.

The world came back to you slowly, like strips of colour entering your vision as your heavy eyelids blinked open. You floated aimlessly on the edge of consciousness for a few moments before your mind re-entered your body and you groaned, feeling every sore and pained inch of it. You were still naked, and still damp from your shower, but you were rested wonkily on your couch like a cadaver in a horror movie.

You sat up with a frown, muscles stiff, trying to remember when you’d passed out. Your thighs were stuck together with the creamy white mess of Michael’s come and the memory of the herculean beast bouncing you on his cock came back to you with a flash and your eyes fluttered.

It was still light outside, so you reasonably couldn’t have been out for very long, but you couldn’t see or hear Michael anywhere. You made your way cautiously upstairs to retrieve a nightshirt and pull it over your head for decency, and for the chill that was beginning to sit deep in your bones. Michael wasn’t up here either.

He must have left, you thought, like last time, as soon as he’s done with you.

You walked, bow-legged and shaky, back into the kitchen, definitely after that wine now.

The first thing you noticed was a hammer on the countertop, which was weird, primarily for the fact that you were fairly sure you didn’t own one. The second thing was that the door was no longer on the floor, which you’d completely forgotten about, but rather it sat wonkily back in the door frame with heavy screws brutally nailed through it until the heads were at odd angles. Regardless, the door was back in its frame, haphazard but sturdy. You walked slowly towards it like it might jump out and attack you. It creaked a little as you swung it open onto the empty street, but open it did. 

Huh, your startled brain chipped in, as was often its way lately, at the most inopportune moments, Michael really did know about doors.

[heseltinemanor]

This is an anonymous question, most definitely not sent by the theme-maker herself to ask: what were your sources of inspiration for Heseltine Manor?

I had initially envisioned something entirely different.

I initially planned to use the nineteenth-century painting Summer Flowers by Jerome B. Thompson as Heseltine Manor's focal point—which I eventually did—and base the entire aesthetic aspect of the package on the painting's color scheme. I spent weeks figuring out the coloring and creating many different PSDs, hoping to create something that would favor the painting's color palette. Something very vibrant and bright. Something that evoked the feeling of falling asleep on a picnic blanket after going for a swim.

It was at this point—when the header composition was almost done—that I decided to go in the opposite direction. When I started drafting Heseltine Manor's initial version, released under House Rowan, my main sources of inspiration were The Forgotten Garden, A Midsummer Night's Dream, and Barbie of Swan Lake. Seeing I hadn't been able to transmit what I wanted to transmit, I decided to forego daytime visuals and went for nighttime visuals. Sunbeams became moonbeams, golden turned into midnight blue, and dust particles turned into starlight. I was ecstatic when I realized I could add woodland creatures. And so the initial story I had in mind completely escaped my control and became something living and breathing.

Heseltine Manor is an old house in Cornwall, a wrinkle in time girls from other eras slip through, through beech trees and weeds, into a perpetual summer. Unlike my previous hypothetical roleplays (which featured zombies, spirits, witches, and pirates) I envisioned this roleplay as vibes only. I couldn't imagine a dramatic plot drop if I tried. I know this section is probably scrolled through and being honest I've never received any sort of comment about my inspiration rundowns in general, but I was hoping maybe (maybe!) this one in particular would get your attention. Because Heseltine Manor is—at its core—an ode to girlhood as I knew it. Everything about it, from the color scheme to the paintings and everything in between, is a callback to things I loved during my childhood and adolescence.

Horror is cathartic in nature, and many horror fans, myself included, have found solace through it. However, when I was well underway with House Rowan at the beginning of the summer, I started questioning really how productive it could be to center so much of my work inside and outside of this platform around it. I love horror. But when I found myself going back to it every time, and consuming horror when real-life horror already took up so much of my day-to-day, I decided it was time to put it to rest. House Rowan is without a shadow of a doubt a project I'll forever be proud of—as insignificant as it might be in the grand scheme of things—because I gave you what you guys wanted. And I loved it too.

But I wanted something happy. Something bright. I wanted to put aside the tales of ghosts and isolation. I wanted to give a direct nod to the beautiful things that inspired me to come up with stories as a child and the friends that have given me so much love as an adult. Whereas my summer had been literally gloomy, I wanted to create a place where the days were sunny, and the nights were bright. Whereas Rowan was temperamental I wanted his sister to be nothing if not sentimental.

Like every wonderful girl I've ever known.

I believe this has gotten long enough. Anyway. I just wanted to share this with you. I will get ahead of myself—a talent of mine—and let you guys know about my forthcoming projects, bright and happy! Only bright and happy! I might eventually go back to my roots 'cause I'm a creature of habit. With that being said, I hope you take this as a sign to reconnect with your comfort films now autumn's come around! And to cut yourself some slack and allow yourself to accept all the good fortune that's coming your way!

The northern hemisphere might no longer be sunwards, but I sure hope you are.

[hydroessentialserumus]

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This regular serum might assist with further developing skin insusceptibility. Additionally, it might likewise lessen free extreme harm in the skin. This serum might assist with building a sound construction of the skin. In addition, this normal enemy of the maturing equation might give sound glimpsing skin inside certain weeks.

6. May Eliminate Wrinkles

The principal indication of maturing on the face is the flaw. It makes your skin dull and dark. Normal ingredients of Hydroessential Serum Shark Tank Serum might assist with eliminating kinks and scarce differences. They might secure dampness and make your skin versatile and adaptable. It might likewise make your skin firmer and better for all intents and purposes.

7. May Reduce Cracking of the Skin

This normal enemy of the maturing item might saturate your skin. It might likewise lessen the breaking of the skin and make it look youthful. This recipe might hydrate and skin and make it delicate and flexible for a long time. It might revive your skin and keep it new for a drawn-out day.

Do you confront any incidental effects after utilizing this enemy of maturing serum?

No, Hydroessential Serum is a characteristic recipe containing peptides and other normal ingredients. No proof shows that this item causes any serious incidental effects in your body or to the skin Be that as it may, you should utilize this serum in a restricted amount to get the best outcomes.

If you face any skin sensitivities or disease in the wake of utilizing this serum, counsel a skin subject matter expert. You can likewise visit the closest facility or clinic to seek quick treatment.

►►Click Here to Order Hydroessential Serum◄◄

What are the disadvantages of Hydroessential Serum items?

Hydroessential Serum is a natural and regular equation to dispose of maturing issues. In any case, there are a few downsides of this item, for example,

·         You can't buy this item from any neighborhood clinical store or retail shop or online webpage.

·         The aftereffects of this item might change from one client to another.

·         This item isn't experimentally assessed by the specialists.

·         Pregnant women and lactating moms should not utilize this item.

·         The item is in restricted stock on the authority site.

Where to Buy Hydroessential Serum?

You can purchase Hydroessential Serum online just from the authority site of the maker. At the point when you visit the authority website, there is a web-based structure. You need to compose every one of the subtleties in Hydroessential Serum structure. Compose name, address, versatile number, city, state, road name, and email ID. Then, at that point, you need to present this internet-based structure.

The following stage is to pick a strategy for installment from the full rundown. You can do installments through credit Hydroessential Serum or check cards, money, or e-wallet. In the wake of doing the installment, the organization will send the item to your enlisted address in scarcely any workdays.

To think about the outcomes, you can arrange a preliminary jug of this serum. You can attempt this item for quite a long time and take a look at the outcomes on the skin. There is an unconditional promise on the authority site if you don't get the ideal outcomes within half a month.

Associate Disclosure: The connections contained in the Hydroessential Serum surveys might bring about a little commission to us. If you select to buy the item prescribed at no extra expense for you. Peruse T&C before purchasing and counsel your doctor before applying serum.

►►Click Here to Order Hydroessential Serum◄◄

Content Disclaimer

The substance on Hydroessential Serum or of the substance appropriation organizations are those of the support (Source of content) and don't mirror the authority strategy, position, or perspectives on the substance distributer. Neither Hydroessential Serum nor content appropriation organizations collaborating with Hydroessential Serum are along these lines not liable for the substance and its realness and legitimate remaining of the topics. Every individual is needed to practice its substance when making a buy from any deal.

Any buy produced using the public statement is made at your danger. The publication value of content is dependent upon the news distributer and its downstream accomplices. Counsel a specialist consultant/wellbeing and an expert guide before any clinical or wellbeing-related item buy. Any Hydroessential Serum buy produced using any connection is dependent upon the last agreements of the site's selling that item/administration. Hydroessential Serum and its downstream appropriation accomplices don't assume any liability straightforwardly or in a roundabout way. If you have any protests or copyright issues identified with the substance, mercifully contact the organization on which the news or content is about

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[pasteljeon]

buttermilk.

anonymous said: I know you’re on hiatus but I love your ot7 x reader scenarios and want give you an idea of one where y/n is at the dorm alone while the boys are in the studio or whatever and y/n goes though he boys clothes since there’s so many and has fun just seeing their different styles then the boys come home and see y/n in the clothes and it’s all fluffy and cute and funny too 💓💓

summary | while the boys are away, the babie will play.

pairing | OT7/Reader, poly!BTS

warnings | just really fucking soft, okay?

length | 1.3k

notes | hello, hello! i have returned for dis lil drabble cause i liked the idea sm. please lmk what you thought of it! hope y’all are doin well! school’s pretty hectic for me atm, but i’m happy to announce i’ll be returning as a writer starting december. :”)

.

.

.

It’s Sunday.

Sunlight filters in through the translucent curtain, dust particles swirling between empty spaces.

The silence is interrupted by the mellow beats of your lofi playlist, the ghost of warm bodies and sweet kisses lingering on your skin as you step into the shower.

It’s a lazy morning, woken intermittently by soft lips and gentle whispers of good morning, baby against your temple, fingers trailing down your bare arm.

Time has no significance on Sundays. Just you and the comfort of your home. A rare kind of serenity that’s usually lost to the chaos of something more. You like this, too.

You run a hand down the fabric, surveying the rows of clothing as you clutch the towel closer to your chest.

You could spend days in here, engrossed in the vast range of colours and styles. You know them well, enough to notice when new designs are added from their return. Adventure. A different story behind each thread. One that belongs uniquely to them.

“This one, because I thought of you,” he murmurs. You can feel his arms around you, easily pulling you close, chest warm and solid.

You drop your towel and reach for the first one.

.

.

.

Simplicity and elegance. Clean button-ups and black slacks. Wool jackets and Givenchy sweaters.

But of them all, your favourites have to be his assortment of pink hoodies.

“Jin.” Your breath tickles his collarbone, head resting against the broad expanse of his chest. He’s wrapped around you, making you feel so small. “Jin,” you say sleepily. He nuzzles your cheek. Whispers your name in a throaty exhale. Laces his fingers through yours and brushes a kiss over your knuckles.

“You smell so good,” he groans, burying his face in your shoulder.

You blink, reaching up to touch the marks on your neck.

His hoodie falls below your knees, the faint scent of his cologne lingering on the material making your head spin pleasantly. The sleeves fall much farther, and you press them against your mouth, hiding your shy smile and concealing the flush of your cheeks.

.

.

.

You make lunch dancing in Namjoon’s jacket. Belting out notes horribly offkey into the wooden spoon between stirs of your pasta.

He likes streetwear. Denim. You’ve never seen someone pull off denim like he does.

“Warm,” you whisper sleepily. His large palms cup your thighs, stroking your calf slowly. Safe. He always makes you feel safe.

“Can we stay like this,” he says quietly, smile lopsided, “Just the two of us, forever?”

“Some days I don’t want to share. Some days, I want you all to myself.” He doesn’t need to say it; when it’s just you, he wears his heart on his sleeve. It’s written between every subtle gesture, the shaky exhale, the wrinkle between his eyebrows, the weight of the resignation in the unspoken words.

You eat lunch wondering if he’s eaten, too.

.

.

.

Dramas are watched in Hoseok’s tees. The ones that are oversized for him, even more pronounced on you. They’re easily transformed into spring dresses, thin and light as you tie up the excess material so the shirt flares like a skirt.

Sometimes they’re extravagant, expressive of his energetic personality and bold fashion sense. Experimental clash of street colours. Sometimes none.

He’s silent when you appear, decked in his glow, and he genuinely thinks he’s dying because he definitely can’t breathe and his dick is way too hard for such an innocent act.

You’ve always been beautiful, but fuck if you wearing his clothes isn’t the one of the most arousing sight he’s ever had the honour of setting his eyes on.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he groans, pressing you against the wall, one hand up the fabric, thumbing your nipples, the other hitching your leg over him as he ruts against you frantically. Like a fucking teenager in heat. He’s 25 for fuck’s sake!

Still, he can’t help himself. The urge to claim you. You’re not an object, something to be possessed, but shit –“You’re mine.”

You have to pause the episode halfway to splash water on your face.

.

.

.

You work in one of Jimin’s collection of loose-fitting v neck sweaters.

Frustration mounts as the cycle of typing, deleting and restructuring paragraphs of your thesis wears you down quickly.

“Don’t wanna be lonely, just wanna be yours,” he croons. Phantom strength braced against your stomach, tracing invisible love letters. He’s distracting, even when he’s not here.

You take a sip of your cold tea and push your laptop away.

You’ll try again tomorrow.

.

.

.

Yoongi’s turtleneck. You look ridiculous, you know, but it’s so comfortable and thick.

You’re lying on the ground of the living room, right under a sunbeam, the cool brush of the wood flooring muffled.

A nap sounds nice.

“No. Don’t move.” Voice hoarse, low. Stubborn. He’s so stubborn.

“Yoongi, I’m working,” you say, exasperated. He peeks up at you from under his fringe, eyes slitted. Arms tightening.

“No.”

He refuses to sleep elsewhere.

Miss you. You roll over.

.

.

.

Chicken.

That’s a lot of chicken, you muse as you examine the organized clutter of the kitchen.

Their love for chicken is unrivaled. “By everything but you. We’d give it up in a heartbeat if it meant you’d stay.”

“Japchae,” you say aloud, spinning on your heel. Jungkook’s plain black shirt flutters with your movement.

“Smells good.” Cheeky grin, doe eyes bright. A shiver ripples down your spine. Almost like he’s here.

But when you whirl around, it’s empty save for yourself.

.

.

.

You sleep in Taehyung’s button-downs. Today it’s Gucci.

[00:01] him: wait for me.

The bed feels too big. Pillow too soft. Mattress too hard. Blankets too suffocating.

“I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you.” Chanted with so much anguish it perplexes you. As if it physically pains him to experience what he does. Gaze burning, nails digging into soft flesh, the bed frame trembles.

You finger the hem of the shirt, mind wandering.

They all have expensive tastes, evident in the high-end brands adorning every label, scores of zeros streaking across every purchase. But they are so, so deserving, and every piece is made fitting of its price.

To them, it means more than just the financial success—it means stability. Means they’ve made it.

Taehyung no longer had to dream of Gucci.

To you, it’s pride. Watching them grow has been a privilege.

.

.

.

“Baby,” he half-moans, half-laughs as he swallows your giggle, kissing you deeply. Lifting you up and twirling you around. “The day dragged on without you. I thought I was going to die.”

“You’re so beautiful.” A confession, sighed dreamily against your skin, nose skimming the column of your neck.

“I used to hate sharing so much,” he rasps. “But I can’t help it with you. It drives me crazy when I’m working and all I can think about is you. Your scent. Swallows me whole. Want you like this all the time.”

It’s overwhelming, the sheer love they feel for you. Heart racing, a feverish haze settling over glassy eyes. Desire and affection thrumming through their veins, wound like a livewire.

“I won’t go through the ordeal of not having you again.”

“So you’ll be able to rest in my embrace.”

“Welcome home.”

[solessaserumreview]

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·         Solessa Serum is a natural and normal equation to dispose of maturing issues. However, there are a few downsides of this item, for example,

·         You can't buy this item from any nearby clinical store or retail shop or online website.

·         The aftereffects of this item might differ from one client to another.

·         This item isn't experimentally assessed by the specialists.

·         Pregnant women and lactating moms should not utilize this item.

·         The item is in restricted stock on the authority site.

Where to Buy Solessa Serum?

You can purchase Solessa Serum online just from the authority site of the maker. At the point when you visit the authority webpage, there is a web-based structure. You need to compose every one of the subtleties in the structure. Compose name, address, portable number, city, state, road name, and email ID. Then, at that point, you need to present this internet-based structure.

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[coffehbeans]

51. Landing

Thanks for asking! It’s my first completed oneshot here, so I’m excited. English is not my first language, so there might be some grammar and vocabulary mistakes, so pls lemme know if smth sounds confusing.

Hope you all like it!

(I didn’t expect to research about agriculture for this story aushausha)

51.Landing

The sky turned yellow as the afternoon approached its end, the sunbeams shining the humble cottage on the farm. Alicia calmly finished washing the dishes, trying to dry them as fast as possible so she could plow the terrain outside before night came. Her grandmother and only company, sat at the armchair half-asleep, barely listening to the rather alarmed tone of the news anchor on the television.

-The United World Nations at the moment gathered all military force to eliminate the new attack by yet another extraterrestrial spaceship.

Oh, that’s right, Alicia thought as she listened to the news, the global powers are fighting once again to save the Earth from yet another alien force. The attacks were getting frequent now, she noticed. Not that it gave her even an ounce of concern, since Earth has quite the amount of technology to defeat the hostile species, and thanks to the giant robots that were built, a large and indestructible army could battle in the sky, far away from any defenseless human.

It’s not as if any alien invasion would soon happen where Alicia lived, anyway. Her home was in a rural area far away from any people agglomeration, and the only town close to the farm is small and barely populated. Nothing really interesting for an extraterrestrial being.  

Besides all that, since her grandmother was already of old age and walked with difficulty, Alicia had to take care of most of the farm’s plantations, living pretty busy to worry about any spaceship’s attempt to destroy the Earth.

It was a dull life, she knew that, but a peaceful one. She felt grateful for its tranquility.

Although, as Alicia picked her hoe to head outside, she peered at her pile of Engineering and Physics books and sighed. Indeed, she longed to know more about Earth’s defense robots, the subject that caught so much of her interest. How they worked, how they were built, or even if she would be able to design one.  

But that did not matter now. Alicia felt comfortable living a calm life in such a chaotic world situation, and that was all that mattered.

-As of now, the new mecha models, AS-31, are being used for the first time in this attack. Due to the governments’ assurance of its new potential and ability, the entire world population is laying all their hopes on these promising machines.

Now that piqued Alicia’s interest. ‘I wonder how these new models are’, she thought. However, she only quickly glanced at the footage of the new type of robot as she held onto the doorknob and readied herself to go outside before the sunset.

-I’m going to clear off the field now! -she warned her grandmother as the latter jostled awake.

-Alright. -she said to Alicia. -Just make sure to return before dark!

-I will!

And she was off.

Scratching the dirt soil, over and over again, time passed by quite quickly as Alicia’s mind went blank and concentrated on her work, forgetting all about the deal with robots, or crazy space invasions. Yeah, she thought. Her life didn’t match the current world situation at all. She was ok with that. Things were peaceful as they should be. Thus, she continued looking down, plowing the entire plantation and all the terrain of crops that still had to grow.

Until she heard a whirring sound, as if from a motor. ‘A plane?’ She thought and looked up.

Indeed, there was a black dot on the yellowed sky above, but she couldn’t identify if it was a plane, jet or missile. Those are very common to pass by one day or another.

But before Alicia could decide to look down, the black dot became bigger, its silhouette turning more defined, to reveal a, helmet? Connected to some sort of body that was sharp around the edges. Its form resembled a person, but colored in silver black and made of metal. Fire and smoke left its shoes and back as the thrusters flicked on and off. Alicia widened her eyes in realization.

That was a mecha.

She let the hoe fall down as the robot grew larger and larger, apparently coming closer to her, lowering towards her direction.

It was falling.

Her stomach sank.  

-Grandma!!! - she turned her head towards her house and shouted from the top of her lungs, heart accelerating.  

-Grandma!! Grandma!!

Her grandmother opened the door in confusion, oblivious to the giant robot that threatened to fall above them. The whirring sound got louder.

-What happened?

-Get out, get out!! There’s a giant robot falling down here!!

-What?!

Alicia’s grandmother slowly got out of the house, walking towards her as Alicia ran and ran to help her while also looking up from time to time. She could make out some details of the machine now, the words “AS-31” marked on its chest. Her stomach dropped. ‘It seems to be over 100 feet tall.’  

She reached her grandmother and intertwined her arm with hers, helping her to walk as both started to pace quicker and get as far away as possible from the falling steel giant.

-What’s going on?! - grandma’s voice cracked.

-It’s a mecha! The new version one! It’s falling down here! Hurry!!

And they hushed past the house, past the barn next to it and the farm terrain, as the buzzing grew louder and the mecha lowered closer and closer to the ground in free fall, until-

Suddenly from its hands and feet, although flickering, some sort of fire thrusters emerged, slowing its fall and making it soar right above the duo as everything came to slow motion.  

And it landed with a thunderous sound that convulsed the entire earth and toppled both Alicia and her grandma to the ground, an earsplitting noise ringing in their ears as dust spread everywhere. Alicia sat up with quickened breaths, immediately turning towards her grandma to help her up.

-Grandma! Are you okay?

-Yeah, yeah, I am, don’t worry ’bout it. - she dismissed as she took her hands out of her ears and got up with Alicia’s help without much trouble. -What on earth was that?!

-I, I think that a giant robot fell down on Earth from that battle the news reporter mentioned. - Alicia said in between breaths, trying to inhale more air to calm herself down, which proved to be a failure as powder filled her nostrils.

-Sheesh. - her grandma reacted without as much of a worry. -why right here, at our house?! Hope it didn’t destroy anything.

-Wait a bit, grandma, I’ll check it out. - Alicia said as she swiftly rushed towards the fallen robot. She could only see the top of its laid down body now, since the dust blocked the rest of the view.

-You be careful, Ali! It might blow up.

-Don’t worry, I’ll check it out real quick.  

At that, she ran.

-Don’t get near that thing! - she could hear her grandmother saying. But her mind wasn’t processing any imminent danger. Despite Alicia’s heart hammering through her chest, or the dirt particles filling up her nostrils and making her eyes water, she went towards the mecha to scan the possible damage it might have caused.

But it didn’t, Alicia realized as her mouth dropped.

It went over the crops, the house, and the barn and fell a few feet after it, not damaging any plantation, despite forming somewhat of a crater at the spot it landed on. Aside from the fact part of the cottage’s walls have fallen down, nothing else was damaged. She let out a breath in relief.

The giant robot laid perfectly still, its head facing to the side, while smoke faded out from its feet and hands. She gasped at its sheer size, noticing how her height wasn’t even the length of its longest finger.

Letting herself be allured by curiosity, Alicia strode forward, until she was a few centimeters close to the thick glass visor of its helmet.  

She widened her eyes and gasped in awe, mouth agape. It looked fascinating. Urging to look around, Alicia climbed its head to see if it had a monitor, or a panel, anything she could dismount and analyze later. But nothing. She climbed down and furrowed her brows. Now that was weird. Wasn’t the head supposed to have some sort of engine somewhere? It is where most of the mechanical functions come from after all. But the way the helmet was built didn’t give space to any compartment that allowed a quick check on its AI behavior. Wouldn’t that be dangerous?

But before Alicia could walk around and check the other parts of the robot, she noticed a small, rectangular-shaped button in the corner of the glass pane of the helmet. Without a second thought and taken by her eagerness, she pressed it.

And the glass pane suddenly disappeared, leaving the face part of the helmet completely open.

And revealing a giant human-looking face, with its eyes closed, mouth firmly shut and brown-colored bangs slightly covering part of its cheek.

Alicia sucked in a breath.

-Wh, what? -  was all she could pronounce as she wheezed, aghast.

-Is, is this some sort of fake skin to cover a metal skeleton? - said her wobbly voice as her mind tried to process what was in front of her. There was absolutely no way that was a living being. Right?

With trembling hands, she caressed the skinned surface. It was soft, as if truly was human skin. ‘As if it’s a real human in massive size.’ Her heartbeat quickened. Taking a deep breath, Alicia attempted to rationalize it all in her head and calm herself down once again. ‘It’s okay. It must be a way to personalize the robot so the body is not only metal. Yeah, that’s all there is to it. Just a fake human-like face. A realistic human-like face’.

But the gigantic hand abruptly twitched, tensing her up.

Her stomach sank and she held her breath, blood pulsing through her veins, goosebumps taking over her skin as Alicia felt a slight breeze fluttering her face, coming out of its nose. As if it was breathing.

-N-no way, it can’t be. -she stuttered.

-T-this can’t be real, can it?

But while Alicia was still speaking, its huge eyes shot open, revealing grey orbs around the size of her head that reflected her trembling and astonished form.

And that instantly looked back at her.

[trashbaggage]

i think these liminal spaces are trying to tell me something

you finally put yourself to sleep at three fifty two in the morning only to slowly come awake with the muted dawn settling down into the blinds smudged indigo and soft-brushed gray seeming to hold on tight long past when you think the gold and orange should start yawning in you wonder when your alarm will finally sound but you can’t break the spell by rolling over to check

it is a brisk morning and the air tastes clear in the back of your throat as you walk down to the small pool that paying rent gives you access to no one else is around and you jump in to sink like a weighted blanket and rest gently at the bottom fingers finding coarse grooves and growing roots that live as long as that crisp breath you took into your chest can stand sunbeams weak and wobbling as they fracture above you

there is an afternoon storm coming that you can feel in the downy hair at your temples and in the crooks of your elbows but you still stop at the playground that sits between work and home there are usually children screaming and laughing as they hang from bars but now it’s quiet and so very still you climb to the tippy top onto the sloped roof of hard plastic and sit looking up at the clouds waiting for them to break open and clean the dirt from your face

the highway is a different beast at midnight humming brighter for the vast and lonely dark that stretches out from its borders miles and miles eaten up while your eyes connect with the middle distance and your mind drifts until something makes you look and see the gas gauge is low you pull off at the convenient station that popped up at just the right time and as you fill the tank you realize you and the window-blurred cashier are the only heartbeats you can hear overlaying buzzing fluorescent lights

the nurse wakes you again at one thirty one in the morning she needs to take another blood sample and is blessedly quick about it the needle in and out before you can even lift your lids more than halfway she leaves and you can’t get back to sleep no matter how tired you are and you are so very tired but you just trace the same shapes into the ceiling for a small eternity and think that she took more than your blood with her feeling like a theory of a person than any sort of definitive proof you wonder how long you’ll get this time between hospital visits

the grass in the backyard of your childhood home is so green and the slightly wild and overgrown feel of it tickles along the arches of feet and between your toes you watch the dust particles dance in the sun just warming up and you smile while sipping at an endless cup of late-dawn coffee

[kingarise]

Learning to be Silent

Swallowing my words

Staring at the floor

Counting little cracks in the tile

Struggling to smile without choking

Learning to be silent

Lucette’s blue eyes watched dully as the multitudes of nobles danced around the ballroom, their laughter and chatter becoming only a background buzz to her. When that got boring, she directed her to the marble floor, counting and recounting the little decorative cracks. In the back of her mind, she vaguely wondered why they were there. Her uncle hated cracks, the little imperfections that they represented. He would be irritable if he noticed them. She managed to look up in time to notice Duke Armond walking up to the dias. She knew exactly what he was here for.

“Duke Armond, a pleasure to see you again on this fine evening. Good to see you in good health.” Her uncle greeted politely. Armond bowed deeply to the king before rising up with a grin.

“An astounding pleasure to see you in fine health as well, Your Majesty. And a fine evening it is, indeed! A magnificent ball, worthy for royalty. An honour to be here in your presence tonight.” The duke responded jubilantly, before turning his eyes onto her.

‘And here comes what he wants.’

“I desire to ask Her Highness if she would honour me with a dance at the ball. She moves so gracefully on the floor, it is as if she floats above us all. It would be a shame for her to only sit here on her throne the entire evening.” He proposed, his brown eyes going from her to Kane and back to her. When her uncle turned his face to her, she already knew what he wanted her to do.

“Lucette, why don’t you go with the Duke for the rest of the evening? You have been sitting here all night. Go enjoy yourself.” He ordered, waving a pale hand at her. At his words, she wanted to tighten her hands into fists and refuse, wanted to get up and go to her room, to get away from all the noise. But that was not how a princess behaves. So instead, she choked back her irritation and anger and smiled sweetly at her uncle.

“Yes, Uncle. I would be honored to dance.”

Watching how the dust

Dances out the door

Noticing my hands start to shake

Contemplating taking up smoking

Learning to be silent

Cassandra’s fire orange eyes stared distractedly at the door of her cabin, the papers on her desk forgotten as the pirate retreated into her mind. There was something...peaceful about watching the tiny dust particles flutter and flit out the doorway, into the outside world. Almost as if they were dancing. At the word dancing, Maria’s smiling face flashed in her mind, the same smile she would direct at Cassandra if she ever caught her dancing while doing her chores or work. Blinking the too beautiful image away, Cassandra casts a passing glance down at her hands. They were shaking. From what?

‘Maybe some cigars will help. I heard Puerto Mico makes some top quality ones. Raid a ship or two and I can snatch a couple to sell and for myself. But...Baba wouldn’t want me to sink that low.’ She contemplated, her eyes clouding over with a veil of grief at the thought of her Baba and his disapproval. He hated smoking, finding the practice distasteful. He would be rolling in his grave if he knew that she even thought about doing such a thing.

‘If he had a body to roll.’ Her mind supplied unhelpfully, reminding her that her parents did not get the fortune of being buried. The closest they got was burying the ashes, but it wasn’t the same.

“My lady.”

The synchronized voices brought her out of her reverie, turning her attention onto the two floating cloaked women.

“What is it?”

“It seems that Sir Mikhail has no interest in repaying you as you asked.” The left one answered, a sly tone under her words.

“He plans on running to Polaris to hide.” the right one continued, her tone empty andflat. Cassandra wanted to growl and throw her papers on the floor in rage but held herself back, sticking with an annoyed glare.

“Tell Esmerelda to chart a course to his location immediately.”

“Yes, my lady.”

Always hearing

“Hush, Ethal!”

“Silence your tongue, Cassandra!” The orphanage maid scolded harshly, glaring down at the little dusty child. The child’s cheeks turned red as tears started to gather in her eyes, a mix of anger and frustration rolling in them beside the tears.

“But it’s true! Baba told me so! He told me that I’m a princess!” She shouted up at the grown woman, her tiny voice barely filling the run down bedroom. The maid narrowed her eyes, her patience dwindling at the nonsense.

“Do not spout such ridiculous notions! Look at yourself! Do you look like a princess?” She asked the child sharply. Orange eyes gazed down at herself, her hand fiddling with the torn dress, the tattered edges barely grazing the tops of her bare feet. No, she did not look like a princess at all. She looked like a peasant girl from her Baba’s stories.

“Baba said clothes aren’t what makes a ruler!” She shouted back up at the maid, determination burning like a wild flame within. Only to be snuffed out and silenced harshly.

“Have you ever thought that your Baba lied to you? That he told you all these fantasy stories to make you feel better? To make you feel more important than you actually are?”

The cruel questions stabbed Cassandra deeply in her heart, doubt seeping in like poison.

‘That’s not true! It can’t be true! Baba would never lie to me! He said lying was wrong!’ Her little mind defended, trying to push the hurt and doubt away. “No! He would never lie to me!”

“Oh? And what exactly makes you think so?”

“Because….Because Mama wouldn’t let him!” She refuted, a quick moment of silence as she searched for a good answer. Only to reel back when the maid let out a sharp, haughty laugh.

“Your mother is no better then! Letting your father fill her daughter’s head with silly childish stories like that! She should’ve plucked you off his lap and set you both straight like any good, proper mother would do. She too failed her role!” The maid rudely insulted Cassandra’s deceased parents in her face, her words causing the tears to spill over.

“You can’t say that-”

“I can, I will, and I have! Your parents were nothing but a disgrace! Now, stop entertaining these idiotic thoughts!”

“But it’s tr-”

“HUSH, CASSANDRA!” The maid finally shrieked down at her, shocking the child into silence. By that point, a small crowd of children were watching the altercation from the doorway, eyes widening when the maid lost her temper. Now that Cassandra was finally quiet, the maid huffed and stormed out, not before snappishly sending the children to their rooms.

“Out, all of you! To your rooms, now! To bed with you all!”

As little Cassandra shuffled into bed, she softly began to cry, reaching inside her pillow to pull out a gleaming golden ring, her tiny fingers rubbing over the lion engraving.

“Baba…”

“Please, Vi!”

“Please, Lucette!” Queen’s exasperated voice floated down to the small, curly haired child standing before her. Light blue eyes glanced up sheepishly before looking back down at her slippered feet. The silk was cool on her skin but the heat on her cheeks from shame distracted her.

“But I don’t want to go to the tournament in these shoes. There’s a lot of standing and the shoes start to hurt my feet.” She mumbled, trying again to convince the female clockwork to let her wear her more comfortable black slippers that she would wear on the ship.

“Lucette, beauty is pain. Perfection is pain. You are the Crown Princess of Valencia. You represent Valencia and everyone in it, including Kane and us! You must look perfect! Those shoes are old, worn, and not fit for the feet of the princess! They do not even match with your dress!” Queen explained, trying her best to keep annoyance out of her voice.

“Then why can’t I change my dress?” She asked, tilting her head curiously. Queen let out an irritated sigh.

“Because I went through great lengths to get you that dress in time for the tournament today and it matches your eyes so wonderfully. It brings more attention to them, don’t you think?” She asked, trying to appeal to her admiration for her eyes. Lucette’s fingers fiddled with the slippery cloth nervously as she tried to decide her answer.

“Yes, but why do I have to bring attention to them if I’m at a tournament?” She questioned.

“Because, as I have said before, you are the principessa. Even though it is a tournament, the minute you and Kane arrive, all eyes will be on you. From the moment you step out of the carriage, to the moment you sail home.”

“But why?!”

“Because that is how it is! This is the world of royalty, Lucette! You must obey its rules!” Queen, finally reaching the end of her patience, snapped down at the princess. “Now, you WILL wear those shoes or so help me, I will bring Kane down here to deal with you himself!”

At the threat of her uncle getting involved, Lucette’s jaw snapped close. She knew that her uncle would not be as patient as Queen was.

“Yes, Queen.”

“Good.Now, go put on your rose pin and the sapphire flowers Rooke got you. It will be a nice contrast from the light blue.” Queen commanded, shooing the princess to her dressing room. Stopping by the door, Lucette turned her head to weakly try again but Queen’s cold tone ended any thought of rebellion.

“Enough, Lucette.”

“Let’s not have this conversation”

And so I stand by

While my mind takes a small vacation

La la la la

The rhythmic tapping of her pencil on the wooden desk became an irrelevant background noise as Cassandra’s eyes stared upwards at the ceiling, though her mind was somewhere else. In her head, she was enjoying a picnic with Maria in a magnificent garden, the flowers sweetening the air. Maria was dressed in a pale yellow sundress, a wide brimmed hat on top her head to protect her from the sun. She was glowing. Whenever the sunbeams hit her, she lit up and you wouldn’t be able to tell if the beams were coming from the sun or her. She was laughing at something, but then again, she was always laughing at something.

Cassandra let out a pleased sigh, her body relaxing further into the seat as she enjoyed her imaginary date with Maria.

La la la la

Despite her tutor’s droning, Lucette’s attention was on anything but the lesson. Her half lidded eyes stared out the large Polarian window next to her, the wide expense of one of the many cloudy skies that make up her home helping her fade into her daydreams. In those dreams, she was dancing again with Edward, his soft laughter ringing in her ears like a beloved melody as he spun her around. Even though he kept saying that he wasn’t that good at waltzing, he followed her steps like a shadow, his movement in tune with hers. His soft warm hands covered her own, holding them tightly as if she would fade away if he let go.

The air was warm, perfumed with the scents of the sweet smelling flowers that encircled them. This was their ballroom. The sun was their chandelier, the grass their marble floor, and the sound of turning gears and birds chirping was their music. Nothing could be better.

Making little sounds

Other folks ignore

A frown tugged at her lips when the topic changed to betrothals and weddings, an inevitable topic considering these were young noble girls. Lucette tried to make up an excuse to excuse herself from the group but they were too caught up in each other to notice her opening her mouth.

“My father told me that Count Lorenzo plans on asking for my hand soon.” One girl with pale blonde hair done up in a hairnet announced, proudly puffing out her bosom.

“Truly?! So soon? You’ve only been courted for six months!” Another exclaimed, her dark brown hair contrasting nicely against her sunny yellow dress.

“Of course! My father wouldn’t tell me such a thing if it were not true!” She adonished the brunette, narrowing her eyes at her for a moment.

“Pard-”

“Don’t let him get your hopes up! Who knows what shenanigans could happen!” A blue haired mare added in, silencing Lucette’s attempt to leave politely. She was becoming more and more uncomfortable as the conversation went on, their talk bringing up now painful memories.

“She’s right! For all we know, he could be out sneaking around with another woman! You know how noblemen are with their penchents for hoarding potential wives.” A different girl agreed loudly, twisting the knife in Lucette’s chest painfully. Her lungs felt like they were constricting, desperately begging for air but Lucette’s closed throat allowed none. A choked gasp tore from her lips, soft and distant. But the girls were far too busy being in each other’s business to spare a glance or even an ear to the princess’s cry.

“Do not fear, ladies. We talked a lot about our future. For instance, he says he wants three kids, two boys and a little girl.”

She and Edward also desired three children except they didn’t care about the gender of any one of them. Any child of either would’ve do. They would’ve loved them all equally. By now, tears were silently streaming down her face, a hand over her mouth as she tried to regain control over herself. But it was no use. The scars were still too fresh.

That was when Queen walked, asked to check on Lucette to see if she was alright. She was most definitely not.

“Mima!” Queen shouted, stopping the conversation as she hurried over to her side, cold hands softly resting on her cheeks.Lucette rested her weight against her as she sobbed in Queen’s arms, finally letting go now that someone familiar was there. Queen whirled around, glaring down venomously at the noblewomen with a rage few have ever seen. And even fewer live to tell anyone they’ve seen it at all.

“What is the meaning of this?! Why is she crying in your presence?!” Queen demanded, fixing her black gaze on each woman in the room.

“F-Forgive us, My Lady, but we do not know. We did not even notice that Her Highness was upset-”

“How could you not know?! She was sitting right here! You blind fools! You were to be her Ladies-in-Waiting and yet you did not notice your princess sobbing right behind you! What were you gossiping about?”

“We were only talking about Lady Giulia’s upcoming betroth-” The mare instantly froze, her eyes wide with realization matching the eyes of the others behind her. Queen was silent for a few minutes before giving them the final command.

“Dismissed.”

Immediately, all the girls quickly got up, curtsied and scurried out the door, frightened of Queen could do if they stayed any longer.

After that day, Queen forbid anymore lady in waiting auditions. Until Lucette was Queen and pick them herself.

Quieting the beating of my heart

Never being part of the moment

Cassandra felt as if her heart beat was too loud, which is odd considering she was walking down a busy street with Maria. Well, she was supposed to be, anyway. Now, Maria was in front with two other friends, A Necromancer and Life student, the two girls and boy chattering to each other excitedly about something. Too far away to hear properly. Too far away to be in the moment.

When the two friends got distracted by something for a moment, Maria took that time to look back at Cassandra, a worried look in her eye. Not liking that emotion on her, she gave her a wave and a smile, signalling that she was okay. But even as she did those actions, she felt numb. Not being part of the moment. But the action did the trick, receiving another grin from the pyromancer before the friends came back over and striked up another conversation with her. Dragging her attention away from Cassandra, once more. When they reached a popular cliffside, the Necromancer, Victoire, suggested a picture. They all grouped together, Cassandra behind Maria, but even as she smiled; she didn’t feel like she was there.

When she looked at the picture, she could recognize the false happiness look in her eyes. The look of absence. The look of never being part of the moment.

Learning to be silent

Learning there are some topics that we don’t even mention.

A group of courtiers quickly hushed each other when she drew closer, quickly bowing and curtsying to her when she passed. She snorted, able to see through their simpering act to see the pathetic snakes that they were. As if it wasn’t obvious just how exactly Baron Mateo died and who was behind it. She could not understand why her uncle didn’t punish these fools, they committed a crime in HIS kingdom and yet here they were, bowing and kissing her feet! When she reached her suites, she slammed the door and stomped to her dressing room where Alma was rearranging her jewelry.

“Alma, did you hear?!” She demanded angrily, her hair falling out of its carefully put together bun. Alma calmly placed another jewelry box back on the shelf as she answered the princess’s question.

“I assume you mean of Baron Mateo’s passing.”

“Ha! Passing? Is that what we call it now?” She taunted, roughly pushing her curls out of her face as she glared at the red veiled maid.

“It referring to what, Lucette?”

“You know exactly what I mean, Alma! Poison!” She shouted, banging a fist on the small table that lied between her and the clockwork. But Alma was not bothered, used to the girl’s fits of rage after all those years.

“Ah, I see. You suspect of there being poison involved.” She remarked, now done with the jewelry boxes and turning to her. Lucette growled deeply, not liking the clockwork’s words.

“I do not suspect. I know.”

“Really now? Please do explain to me how you know for certain.”

“Come now, Alma! Don’t be ridiculous! The last time anyone ever saw him alive was when he was stumbling to his room in a drunken stupor with a servant girl laughing in his arms, then the next morning he is found dead in his bed bleeding from every hole and pore on his body and the servant girl says she has no idea what happened? What in this mess sounds remotely believable to you that this was just some sickness?!” Lucette asked, unable to comprehend why her maid was acting so aloof.

“It is possible.”

“Possible doesn’t mean that that’s the truth, Alma.” She replied, arching an eyebrow at her. The clockwork let out a deep sigh, glancing out the window before focusing her attention back onto her.

“Yes, Lucette. But the King has decided that sickness was his killer and the King’s word is law.”

“But Alma-”

“Not another word, Lucette. No more mentions of this situation. From this day forth, Baron Mateo had lost a battle with a sickness and passed away. No poison, no rival families, none of that.” She commanded sternly, glaring down at the girl. Lucette’s cheeks were puffed in anger as her eyes spat venom at the clockwork but she only uttered two words.

“Yes, Alma.”

And if they come up

Then we try to be vague

“Hey Cassandra, what are you doing for Father’s Day?” Joseph, a pyromancer in her class, asked curiously. At the mention of Father’s Day, Cassandra’s body tensed. She didn’t want to tell anyone that her parents had been dead for years. She didn’t want to be known as the only girl who will be staying in her dorm room probably crying. But she knew that Joseph wouldn’t let her go if she refused to answer.

“Uh...I do not do anything on Father’s Day. I don’t celebrate it.” She mumbled, hurrying to stuff her books into her bag.

“Really? Why not?” He persisted, giving her a confused look. She bit her lip to try to keep from growling, the question getting under her skin. Why can’t he take a hint and leave her be?! Stay out of her business!

“Because he is not here.”

“Well duh, he can’t be in Ravenwood but-”

“He is not here and he is not there. He is in a place far away from here that I can’t reach. Now, if you’ll excuse me, Maria is waiting for me. I’m going to have dinner with her and her parents.” She snapped, giving the boy a sharp glare before storming out the doors and making her way to Bartleby where Maria waited.

“Hey Cas! Are you ready to-Are you okay?” She asked worriedly, stopping her excited question when she saw the look on her girlfriend’s face. Cassandra quickly reigned in her anger, letting it drain off her face as she took a deep breath and smiled sweetly down at the pyromancer.

“Yes, I’m fine. Just got into a bit of temporary annoyance. Are you ready to go?”

“Yup! Come on, my ma can’t wait to meet you!” Maria answered excitedly, tugging on the girl’s arm to pull her to the portal.

“Can’t wait.”

There are subjects from which we divert all attention

“Your Highness!”

Lucette’s head swivelled around to look behind her at the call of her title, releasing a sound of disgust when she saw that it was Count Alessandro walking over to her. Alongside his sister, Countess Agata.

‘Dominitus above, help me with my patience.’ She silently prayed as she put on a charming smile for the duo. After they bowed before her seated form, they rose and started up a conversation with her. Oh great.

“Your Highness, lovely for you to be the hostess of such an event. And in your own gardens, as well!” He complimented, his storm grey eyes bright. Looking at them hurt too much, reminding her heart of another with similar eyes, so she looked away and focused on the sister.

“Indeed, Fratello. You have cultivated these gardens for years with such love and care. and open it for the enjoyment of the children, both poor and noble. Such generosity!” Countess Agata continued, her pretty yellow fan waving back and forth like a cat’s tail. She gave them a tight smile, trying to seem delighted, but she can tell it didn’t reach her eyes.

“But of course, after all, I am the princess and the princess is to serve the people. Our children especially. They are our future.” She explained before a blonde haired little girl dressed in a pure white Robe a l’Anglaise Retrousse toddled up to, a glowing grin on her face.

“Miss Princess?”

“Yes, darling?” She asked, leaning down as she gave the child a genuine soft smile at the title of Miss Princess. Not something she has heard of before but it was said so sweet and innocently that she refused to reprimand the girl. The child held out a hand to her, a little white daisy clasped in her grip.

“I picked this for you!” She announced proudly, as if she had completed a task from Dominitus himself. Taking the flower, I leaned down to give her a gentle kiss on her cheek, drawing a sweet little round of giggles from her.

“Why thank you, darling. A gift fit for a princess, but then it shouldn’t belong to me.” She said in a dramatic shocked tone. This of course confused the young girl who looked around before looking back up at her.

“Then who?”

“Why, what a question! Only the most beautiful and sweetest princess in all of the Spiral!”

“Where is she?”

“Hmmm, weeeell” Lucette stretched out, tapping her chin before looking back down at the girl. “She is standing right in front of me.”

The child looked around her for a bit before she realized what Lucette meant. Lucette felt a flower of pride bloom in her chest when she saw the wide smile filled with joy and surprise that appeared on the child’s face. Gently putting the flower in the bright blonde hair, she gave her a little kiss on the cheek before speaking.

“Go have fun, little princess.”

“Thank you, Miss Princess!” She yipped happily before running off, no doubt going to tell her friends that the princess called her a princess.

“My, my, how well you get along with children.” A female voice purred, interrupting her thoughts. She resisted the urge to scowl at the reminder that they were still there, instead turning around to put her attention back on them. She didn’t like the way the Countess was looking at her over her fan. Like a predatory cat that found something to prey on.

“You work soo well with the little ones, Your Highness. Tell me, have you finally decided on whom you will produce an heir with?” She asked slyly. Lucette’s eyes widen before narrowing into harsh slits, her body shifting into fight mode.

“No, I have not. Not that that’s any of your concern. Your attention should be on producing an heir for your own husband. Oh, but, you haven’t yet, have you? You haven’t for the past 15 years of marriage, in fact. Barren as a useless field. I would keep a close eye on your husband if I were you. Who knows what other, younger, more fertile woman he will find an interest in.” She berated harshly, snapping open her own fan to hide the scowl that has twisted her features. The Countess’ face was the epitome of offended shock, her jaw dropped open as her eyes widened, a single hand rising to her stomach. In other times, Lucette would’ve felt sorry for her and apologized for her harsh words but now? No. She will not tolerate such blatant rudeness to her face in her domain!

“I-Your Highness, if I have offended you in anyway-”

“Your mere presence has offended me, Madame. Think before you speak, especially to royalty. Militus Terrus!” Lucette reprimanded before calling for her friend.

“Yes, Your Highness?” He asked with a bow, walking over from his post to stand next to her.

“Please escort Countess Agata out of the palace and off the palace grounds.” She ordered coldly, keeping her glare on the woman. A hint of a smirk could be seen on Terrus lips as he nodded and turned to the countess with a stern look.

“My lady, if you will please follow me as I escort you to your ship. Resistance is futile and will be met with force.” He recited monotonically, his hands shifting towards his pistols as a threat. The countess looked back and forth from Terrus to her, looking as if she were about to argue but seemed to know better when she met the princess’ glare. Giving her a curtesy, she let herself be led away by Terrus in silence.

“Count.”

“Y-Your Highness?” The flabbergasted man stuttered out, looking back at the princess almost fearfully. Lucette didn’t blame him, she was said to be a vicious woman in fights, after all.

“Do not bring Countess Agata back here, ever again. Until I pardon her.” She ordered darkly, her sharp eyes boring into his own.

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“Good.”

And some we avoid like the plague

“Hey, Cassie.”

“Hm?”

“Why don’t you ever take off that ring? You wear it everywhere you go, even in the shower.” Maria questioned, looking down at the sitting pyromancer on the floor from her perch on her bed. Cassandra’s heart skipped a beat at the question, her mind freezing before running around in panic.

‘What should I say? Should I tell her? But I don’t want her to get involved!’ Her mind debated back and forth before going with avoidance.

“Well, why don’t you ever take that bracelet off?” She rebutted, gesturing to the wide bead bracelet that Maria always wore under her clothes.

“Well, it’s waterproof.”

“So?”

So, I can put it in water and not have it fall apart.” Maria answered, with a tone saying that it should’ve been obvious.

“How are you so sure of that?” Cassandra asked, insistent on keeping Maria’s mind off her ring.The longer they talked, the more she would forget.

“Because it hasn’t fallen off yet.”

“So you’re just gonna wait until it falls off your arm and scatters beads all over the floor?”

“Well, no but-”

“So how are you sure?” Cassandra cut off Maria’s excuse, leaning against the bed frame casually. Maria’s brow furrowed in confusion at Cassandra’s question.

“Uh, well, I, um….I don’t know.” She finally admitted after minutes of searching for an answer.

“Exactly. Point made, checkmate.”

“But-”Maria was about to speak until the sound of the door bell Cassandra enchanted onto her door started to ring. “Pizza!”

Maria flipped backwards off the bed and ran to the door, getting the pizza and paying the guy before running over to Cassandra carrying the large pizza box.

“Bon Appetit!” She announced, placing the pizza box on the floor before sitting next to Cassandra.

“Do you even know any other French than that?”

“Nope.”

I’m

becoming a mime

Biting my tongue

Fingernails dug sharply into flesh as Lucette tried not to get up and strangle her ex lover who sat across from her. It was becoming more and more of a battle to stop herself from acting on her murderous rage and just stab him with something. Luckily for him, she didn’t have her weapons because of Ulysses and she was being somewhat held back by Ulysses. He’ll live another day.

“Favero”

“What?” She snapped, keeping her glare, safely hidden under her dark veil, latched on Teach.

“If you glare at him any longer, he is going to become suspicious.” Ulysses tried to warn the princess to no avail.

“He is already suspicious, Ulysses!” She hissed at him, finally turning her glare off of Teach on to him.

“Then do not add on to that suspicion by glaring at him with fire from Tartarus. I understand your anger and resentment towards him but you must not let it interfere with our mission. He will receive his punishment in due time.” He scolded her lowly, much to her annoyance. She opened her mouth to voice a protest but a harsh glare from those sharp red eyes made her bite her tongue to hold the words back. Instead, she looked down at her lap and let her anger shimmer in silence.

“Yes, Captain.”

Biding my time

Smoke hissed off the surface of the wooden with each aggravated tap of Cassandra’s fingers. In her other hand was a newspaper from Valencia. On the front page in big black, bold letters “Crown Princess of Valencia Hosts Large Celebration for New Bride.”. Underneath the headline was a picture of the wedding party with the princess sitting delicately on the edge like a little porcelain bird she has seen before in stores.While the focus was no doubt on the bride and groom, a person would have to have been blind to pretend that the majority of the attention was on the princess. Lucette. Lucette dressed in a pretty dark blue dress, no doubt made out of some fancy silk, lined in flashy silver. But the thing that stood out the most about her was her eyes. A bright shade of blue that matched the skies of Wizard City’s clearest days. They had a knowing light in them that the artist captured well, the small grin on her lips saying that she knew things hers did not. It disgusted her.

‘Blue eyes! Blue eyes! How can she be apart of our bloodline but not have the eyes or the fire magic?! If my uncle truly married a Valencian woman, why do I see so little of him in this slip of a girl?’ She questioned, the questions only making her more enraged until she crumbled the newspaper in her hands into a ball, getting ready to burn it until logic spoke up once more.

‘Wait. Prepare for the future. Do not be so quick to dismiss her absence of pyromancy when she has never had a need for it yet. Wait until it is time. Bide your time until an opportunity arises.’ She reminded herself, unfolding the newspaper only, to tear out the picture and throw the rest onto the floor. She stared at the picture for a while, as if she were staring down the girl at that very moment, before carefully folding it until it was a small square and dropping it into a drawer.

“Patience is key.” She murmured softly, sitting back down at her desk. Silently biding her time.

Trying not to scream

(Trying not to scream)

All around her was afire, blinding her vision with nothing but orange and yellow. She felt as if the ash and smoke had morphed themselves into a single hand to strangle her. She could hear screaming, the gender of the voice uncertain from how high its pitch has gotten. She herself was trying not scream, though she did not know why. Her mind was consumed by panic and fear, the most poisonous of emotions that spread to the rest of your body like wildfire.

“Baba!”

“Mama!”

“Uncle!”

She called out desperately into the darkness behind the flames,her voice uselessly reaching for a light of hope, a light of familiarity to get her out of this wretched place. But there was no one there. Not anywhere in this hellish landscape. She was alone. Utterly and completely alone.

Managed it before

(Managed it before)

She tried to reign in control of herself, trying to tamper down the terror that engulfed her. For a second she thought that she was already being torched by the fire, for a split second, she can see her already dark skin blister, boil, and char black. When she blinked however, she saw that she was fine and not yet burned. But was the fire closer than before?

“I need-I need to get out of here! Am I asleep? Is this all a dream? It has to be! It must be!” She tried to convince herself, wrapping her arms around herself as a futile attempt to comfort her.

Not knowing if I’m going to survive

And

As the fire creeped steadily closer to her, all the young woman could do was hug herself and grit her teeth. The scream had morphed into several different voices screaming, some familiar, other not. She tried to pinpoint them but it proved useless as they were all too mixed together to separate. When she took a step back, she let out a shrill scream when her leg was engulfed entirely in heat. She quickly jumped forward, just barely missing the roaring flames in front. The flames have gotten closer. She now only had a three feet space. And it was steadily decreasing.

“No, Mama!

“Papa!”

“Please somebody help me!”

That’s when it finally reached her. The searing claws of heat dug deep into the skin of her feet first, before soaring up her legs to her torso and latching onto her hair. She felt as if thousands of razor sharp blades were slowly peeling off her skin while dunked in saltwater, the pain blinding and deafening her to her her own shrieks of agony. She was locked in a maze of suffering with no exit. There was fire on her arms, in her hair, biting through her scalp, and she couldn’t feel her legs anymore. Her screams were now joined with the others.

Damn it!

Blue eyes snapped open as Lucette’s body shot up out of bed, her hands instantly grabbing the bed frame. As she stared at the the far side of the room, her breath coming out in quick, uneven pants, her mind trying to comprehend what she saw and is seeing now. Once she finally managed to get a solid grip of her terror and realize that she was in her room, she let go a heavy, exhausted sigh of relief; falling back down on her bed. The sweat on her skin made the air seem cooler than it was, something she did not mind in the least. She desperately wanted to tear off her cotton nightdress, but didn’t even have the energy to move an arm.

She was about to roll over when her bedroom door opened, letting in a dim ray of light.

“Lucette? Are you alright?” A smooth, mature yet gentle voice called out, alerting the princess to who she was. “I heard your heart rate rapidly increase unexpectedly in a way reminiscent of when you have nightmares.”

“Yes, I’m okay, Alma. Just a nightmare, that’s all.” She explained weakly.

“I see. Do you desire comfort in order to return to a peaceful rest?” She then asked, walking across the large bedchamber to her bedside. Lucette rolled over, facing Alma with tired eyes. As if sensing the unspoken answer, the red clothed maid sat down on the edge of her plush bed, stroking a single cold hand on her cheek as she began to softly sing.

“Little baby, hear my voice

I am beside you, oh maiden fair”

Fire orange eyes snapped open as Cassandra’s body bolted out of bed onto the floor, her fists erupting into flames. For minutes that felt like hours, she snarled and glared at the wooden wall of her cabin, her mind shifting into fight mode before calming down. Recognizing no threat, her body sagged forward, the short rush of adrenaline that powered her vanishing into thin air.

“A nightmare. I just had a nightmare, that’s all.” She murmured to herself softly, sinking back down on the bed. Half of her wanted to go down to Aftab’s stable but she didn’t want to disturb his rest. So she laid there, mentally chained to her bed as she tried to urge herself to sleep,  humming a half forgotten lullabye from years long gone under her breath.

I’ve got to practice

Practice

Learning

Hmm hmmmm hmmmmm

[eorzeasntm]

ENTM Tumblr Cycle 11 

Round 2: Faithful Steed

For Round 2 I brought back our classic “on (or with) a mount” round, in which our models were asked to go and take a shot with their favorite mount in land, sea, or sky.  This cycle, we took out all the color to make it a bit more of a challenge.  The model who showed us how faithful their mount is in black and white or sepia this round was:

Adam Evershot

Congratulations! That’s the second week in a row for a win, so this is a strong start this cycle for returning competitor Adam!  The judges and the community were nearly unanimous this week -  all the elements of this image came together, and the night sky made your sepia colored bird really pop out.  

Our guest judge this week was Vederah of Aetherflow Media, who was a primary judge for Cycle 10 and a rotating judge during Instagram Cycle 1. Thank you, Vederah!  Check out her blog, The 13th Deity of Glamour, if you haven’t read it before.  And be sure to visit Aetherflow Media dot com, one of ENTM’s community partners via Hydalaen International.

For all of our models, and their beautiful steeds, the judges have some feedback below the fold.

Judge Vederah

Halia:  I love the sense of regality this shot portrays- tells a story about the character through the glamour and mount choice alone. I do feel like the shot is a touch too dark.  While I like the spotlight type effect, I think the lights could’ve been spaced out just a touch more so the details of the horse’s face aren’t lost in the background.

Adam: This was a very smart mount choice here. I love how the particle effect of the mount melds nicely into the starry night sky in a way that makes them look like constellations. The only thing is I wish the image was a touch more moved to the left- allowing the moon to move into the right portion of the shot. It looks a bit heavy in the lower left hand corner. Having the moon up to the right would tempt the eye to glide across the entire image more.

Ni’ko: This image reminds me of the last shot of an intro from a 70’s sitcom in the best sort of way.  Like I expect someone to come up with some sort of clever theme song about a guy and his mischievous chocobo counterpart. Just makes me smile. I think I just wish a different expression emote would’ve been used on the character- something with a bit more personality to really capture the dynamic of him and his bird.

Yojimbo: I’m a sucker for sunbeams- so I find the lighting in this shot to be quite nice. There was so much potential here, but I think some of that got lost by being so zoomed in on the bird. I think if the camera was moved out more so we could really appreciate the wingspan of the bird (and potentially see what  the character is looking at) this picture would’ve been much stronger.  Careful with overly centered shots as well.  Centered images are great for showcasing glamours, but for most other screenies tends to make the picture feel really cramped.

Kota: I really like how cohesive this shot is- everything from the glam, mount choice, and backdrop all look like they belong together. I just wish the picture was zoomed out some more and panned a bit to the left. That would prevent from clipping the mounts wing and would keep the eye moving across the entire image.

Bria: I know some people prefer high levels of contrast in their black and white images, but I’m the kind of gal who just loves that greyscale. So the coloring of this image is really a treat for the eyes.  My only complaint is that the shot should’ve been zoomed out or moved much lower. When the prompt is for a duo mount/character shot, I prefer to see most, if not all, of the mount.

Yomu: I really like the backlighting effect of this shot. Typically Im more of a fan of seeing all the details and wanting them lit, but this just really works for the image. I just wish there was more happening in the background. The dense fog helps the contrast, but also makes the shot feel very stagnant.

Peaceful: I enjoy the level of greyscale here, as well as how the glamour used matches alongside this mount. However this image does seem very busy- mostly because of the background choice. Not only is the character in the center of the image, but so is a large building in the background and taller trees in the foreground. It’s just a lot competing for the eyes attention. A quieter background would’ve drawn more focus on the roe and his steed where it should be for a prompt like this.

Luma: I like the sense of humor in this shot- cat looks like it’s struggling to hold on for the ride of its life. I just wish that there was a bit more to the image. The background is very dark, and flat- so it removes some of the life and brightness that your characters movements are showing.

Judge Kusuh

Bria: I love how elegant your shot looks this week! Your black dress combined with all the frills and flowing mane of your horse makes it seem like you are a part of some great royal procession or something similar! Normally I’d be hesitant to use another photo in a winter landscape after it being last week’s theme, but I think that for this shot it works! I’m excited to see you outside of the cold environment next week though! Your head facing the camera is what makes the shot for me this week. This is a very simple and straightforward shot, so it’s the little details that are going to stick out! Can’t wait to see what you’ve got next week!

Luma: you instantly get points to uniqueness and making me laugh. I’ve seen many version of the “Noble Steed” theme and I must certainly say you’ve taken a very different approach to it! Now, let’s move on to the actual composition of the shot. Your expression alongside leaning back on the dodo really fill the picture with a sense of triumph and valor; a real juxtaposition of what we the viewer see! My main critique here is of two mall things: lighting and setting. For lighting, black and white can be tricky to ‘color balance’, but I notice your shot has a little bit too much brightness on the left hand side of your model. You can tell this my how the border between your white shirt and the background tends to get a bit fuzzy. Just play with the light balance a bit and see what happens! Next is setting: yes the joke is funny and I love it, but afterwards I have to ask, what else is going on here? With the way the shot looks, I can’t tell where you are or what you’re doing, you’re just kind of in a nameless void. Basically, I feel like I could be slotting out your background for anywhere, be it the fringes, Foundation, Kugane, or the like, and nothing would be lost, or gained. When the main theme of the shot is so simple and readily apparent, then I’m going to start looking at other things to keep me interested in the shot, and without any context given via a specific location, it just leaves me kind of lost. Those are only minor things, though, and I still know I’m going to remember your shot for quite a while!

Peaceful, if I was asked what your theme was outside of the given one, I’d say it was “Metallic”. The metal armor and wings on your mount alongside your own plate armor really tie you and your mount together, which I think is a very important thing; if you are with another photo subject, I like the idea of you all matching. The Shire Gear also matches the setting of the Hinterlands which is another thing that ties your picture all together. Here’s my main suggestion for you this week: you appear to be in motion, given that you are both flying and your mount is moving forward. However, you are centered in the shot, which actually cuts out any feeling of movement for me. This is where the Rule of Thirds comes in quite handily actually, as having yourself either to the left or right would preserve the sense of motion; it would look like you were either just entering or leaving the shot. As a rule of thumb to remember: center  balance is good for portraits or still subjects, while off-balancing the photo is good for dynamic and mood shots. You’ve shown marked improvement already from last week’s shot to this one, so I can’t wait to see you go further!

Yomu: I’d like to start of by saying that you’ve really nailed the ‘menacing silhouette’ look here, both with your armor, and the way you’ve set up your lights! This plus the perfect placement of where you’re standing makes me imagine that I’m out on a dark and stormy night, I hear strange sounds in the distance, I’m all alone, and I look off into the distance to see this image! It’s spooky, but in a way I really enjoy and want to see more of! I’m sure I sound like a broken record at this point in the critiques but I feel my suggestion for you is one that I’ve found applies to few pictures here: the background doesn’t add to the picture. The theme of being on/near a mount is a very simple one, and to balance that simplicity, every other part of the picture needs to be a deliberate choice. I will say, for this one, the clouded background does feel very deliberate, but I’d need some sort of confirmation on that. If the stormy background was by choice, then my main suggestion would be to zoom out a bit so can see if you’re in the air or just on a really high hill, I feel like I need that knowledge. Either way, wonderful shot this week, and I can’t wait to see more!

Kota: Honestly, I didn’t think of the Manta Ray as one of the first things that comes to mind when I think “faithful steed” but you really convince me! Every element here plays into the tying the whole picture together: the Sui-no-Sato attire, the underwater elements, and the palace glowing in the background all remind me that in this setting, this guy is the typical faithful steed! The fact that your mount also takes up most of the frame also really conveys the size of this sea pancake. Here’s my main suggestion for this week: I know from experience that sepia is a filter that can be really hard to work with, and there are some parts around your face and body that are kind of dark. Having a softer light (like...type 2 or 3) closer to you would balance some of that out! My suggestion is pretty minimal this week because I’m really happy with what you put forward, and I can’t wait to see what you’ve got planned for the next shot!

Judge Terrini

Adam: You have really nice framing for this shot and I love the looks of this Sepia tone to keep things in with a sense of heaven and earth. Your glamour keeps you popping for the most part, but one down side is you legs don't stand out much and your bird fades into the rocks below you. If you had a little more distance between yourself and the rocks you would have avoided the blending from making the shot sepia. 

Bria: I don't get much meaning out of this shot except a lady out for a leisurely ride in the snow. You look very striking, but the grayscale makes your mount fade into the landscape and I do not get a sense of comradery that the theme of "Faithful Steed" makes me think of. The Elemental does give a nice illumination for the composition but it doesn't add much for the story. 

Haila: This is a very nice use of the Sepia tone by making the Underwaterscape look like it might be on land. The glamour choice connects you with your choice of setting and the coloring helps you keep a stark contrast to your background. The framing gives an impression of a Lady escaping from home but looking back with worry and concern, as if leaving something important behind. 

Kota: Your appearance here makes me think of a warlord to rival Yotsuyu. Your lighting is used well to highlight yourself and your horse, but the glamour choice at this angle isn't the most flattering with the clipping. Still a nicely striking image. 

Luma: The simplicity of your background is a bit underwhelming, but the expression and playfulness in riding the Dodo is just delightful. The story you're spinning just warms my heart with all the details on your glamour and lighting used to highlight in the monochrome.

Ni'ko: I love how you really brought home the idea of just starting out here in the Shroud, wearing your starter gear with a starter chocobo in the starter zone. Your framing is spectacular, but I think you might have been able to play with the lighting a bit more to pop out in the sepia. Still a lovely shot that plays with the nostalgic monochrome beautifully.

Peaceful: You look awesome with this regal bearing, but you still need to watch your composition. Pay attention to the flow of the picture and ask yourself about everything you see. Are you trying to frame something with the raised wings and do you want to do that? Make it meaningful. Does the dome add to the picture or should you angle the shot so that it's not in frame? Are there any elements of yourself that aren't standing out from the background? If there are, you can add lighting our adjust the angle so that element changes to have a contrasting backdrop. Keep improving! 

Yojimbo: The shadowing outlining with the lens flare of light is a lovely effect here, but the pillar of rocks directly behind you ruins the effect a bit and detracts from your style. The left of the image is fairly empty and the framing would have been nicer shifted to the right with that pillar to the left of you than directly behind you. 

Yomu: You are a striking figure in your dark glamour on your dark horse against the light backdrop on the light ground. I love the image of you climbing up from the right of the image but I would have liked to have something to the left to imply where you're going and give me a bit more to enjoy here.

Judge Ona

Haila: I am in love with this image. Your composition is spot on. Normally, I don’t like images that are super centered but this one works perfectly. I love the spotlight effect on this, highlighting your face and the horse. I love the shine across the top of his (her?) mane and the draping of the barding.

Your dress matches fantastically with the flowing barding of the steed. It compliments the other beautifully. Your headpiece may blend a tiny bit too much with the background, however it does not detract from the overall image. I love how you are not looking at the viewer. Its almost as if you are sitting on top of this noble steed, proud and wondering where the day will take you.

I would have loved to see a different background. I do not know how this location adds to your image, and although it does not necessarily take away, I feel as though a different location could have added more depth and told a larger story. It looks like it is outside of your home, but I cant quite see enough of it to tell.

Overall, however, I absolutely love this image! Amazing job Haila!

Adam: If someone asked me to capture a bird in flight, I immediately think of outstretched proud wings soaring into the sky. You have captured this idea in this one image! It is fantastically lovely and I am utterly impressed that you somehow managed to make the bird look, well, proud. Smug may be a better word!

Adam, this use of sepia tone is fantastic! It really helps to accentuate the moon and stars and provide a lovely warm feeling to the image. If this was done in a b&w color it would have definitely felt colder and less carefree. I absolutely love how the bird’s body follows the same curve as the mountain range. My only real nit-pick I have is that the birds right wing seems to be paper-thin at this angle. I don’t really know how to fix this, other than to rotate the image, but that may have ruined the composition altogether.

Your depth of field plays to this images’ strengths by sharpening just enough to have the small crisp stars, while causing the aural blur of the bird’s effect. I would have liked to see the tiniest bit of light or separation between the ridge and the underside of the bird, as they tend to blend together the littlest bit. Keep up the stunning images!

Yojimbo: Yoji! That sun flare is beautiful! I love playing with them myself! I love the use of them in JJ Abrams films, and I think that is why they are of special significance to me! Regardless, I love how the flare peaks through the space between Heaven on High and the bird’s wing. Its great placement! I would have liked to see more light on your face and the bird, however. I also would have liked to have you looking at the camera, or just not away from it. Don’t get me wrong, the sun flare is smexy and all, but this competition is about YOU! Next time, try spinning the camera around to throw a light on your face and the breast of the bird!

Final thing, when taking images of a bird in flight, it is important to capture them looking like they are actually flying. When the birds wings and pulled up as you have in this image, it appears to be landing, not necessarily taking off. If you pause the wings when they are outstretched more, it will appear more graceful and less constricted. Overall, I love your placement of the bird in the image, and I absolutely love the contrast in color. I look forward to seeing your next image!

Peaceful: You look so stoic in this image. Your glam and the armor on the horse, both heavier and more battle ready, pair well together.  I imagine that you are flying to a battle on your faithful steed. I do love how the wings are outstretched, however they are clipped at the top of the image, and I would have liked to see the entire wing, especially with how centered the image is, to really put the focus of the image on the steed and you, not just you.

I am wondering why you chose this location, as it is a very busy location. With so much going on behind you, it almost causes your facial features to blend a little too much to the building behind. I love the Gubal Library for screenies, however, I think a different angle or a different location would have worked better for this image. I would like to see you play a little bit with the depth of field in your images. Everything is very clean and crisp, and I know too much can be just as bad as none-at-all, so I caution you to go all out and blur the entire background. However, if you play with it a bit, it might work enough to your benefit to give a slight blur to your surroundings and allow for you to shine a bit more.

I look forward to seeing your image next week!

Judge Nadede

Halia Wetyios:  This is a nice image from you this week Halia and like how it is lit. However, your image this week is too centered and feels very static. Wish that you would have turned the steed towards the audience so we could get a profile of your mount instead of a side view. Also would have liked for you to maybe do an emote or have your mount moving so that the overall image not feel very static. I would suggest to find ways to make your image interesting and find a way to tell a story with it instead of just a pretty shot. I look forward to what you come up with for next week.

Adam Evershot:   Adam your image this week was one of my favorites. I do wish that you had put a lil bit more light to bring out your face more and along the bird’s underside so that it did not blend in with the rocks in the background. Look into examples of rim lighting to get an idea of what I’m talking about. Keep up the good work and can’t wait to see what you come up with for next week.

Ni’Ko Shae:  Another one of my favorite images for the week. It is a very cute, almost candid shot that you have taken. I do like how you and your chocobo are interacting with each other. The only thing that I found distracting in your image is the baby choco at the bottom of your shot. Always ask yourself if there is anything in your image that might even seem remotely out of place, and if so, should I chance it or take it out. Overall, good job.

Yomu Kazul:   Yomu, another one of my favorites this week. When I think of black and white images, I tend to think of stark contrast between the lights and darks within the image, which you have going on here. Only thing I can think of that I would have liked to see you try would be figuring out how to bring out rim lighting casted onto you, especially on your face to bring it out just a bit more. Keep up the good work!

Kota Tumet:   And yet another favorite of mine for the week. Good job Kota. I like this a lot more than what you had submitted last week. I actually like the use of space within your image. Only thing that I suggest working on is lighting, especially close to your face to bring it out just a bit more. I also like the fact that you were the only one that did a mount suited for underwater and have an underwater shot. Good job and keep up the good work.

[downtomyunderoos]

"Things are changing now. I can feel it. Everyone and everything seems brighter and more hopeful."

It’s been years since he’s heard his voice, yet today it came from a dream. But was it merely a dream, or really was it—

Akihiko lays in his bed, drowsily staring at dust particles in a nearby sunbeam.

He considers his and everyone else’s life at present. As promised, they’re striving to become their best selves while bettering and inspiring humanity along the way through their chosen career paths.

His career came with its own cynicism and stresses, many he didn’t foresee, but there is fulfillment in what he does. Akihiko knows he exerts his tapped potential into it, sometimes his enthusiasm and intelligence overwhelming those he worked with, even.

Naturally one would wonder about the actual state of their existence. Not every day was bliss. Calling a normal day ‘bliss’ itself is atypical, but he’s come to appreciate them.

Akihiko interprets this dream as a message from him that they’ve been doing well. That humanity’s burdens are lifting.

Softly, he smiles.

[lifeof-ty]

"One day a lively sunbeam fell through your window. Glittering, gilded specks danced up and down in it. You shook a dustcloth over the ray, and instantly a twinkling million more shining motes were riding up and down in the beam. You wondered what the active, glinting things might be. They were just specks of floating dust, reflecting the brightness of the sun. The air of your room is full of invisible dust motes, which you cannot see unless they vibrate, sparkling in a bright light. Dust is a mirror that reflects both colours and light. It is everywhere; in the atmosphere, near the ground, over the sea, above the mountain tops, in the high air. Dust sows the clouds with infinitesimal particles. And all the time dust is working and making wonders. Each tiny raindrop is formed in the clouds by water gathering round a speck of dust. The raindrop could not hold together without its help. Falling to earth, the dust-hearted raindrops in their turn wash the air clean of dust, carrying it down to the ground. The air is left for a time clean and pure. Fine dust divides the sun’s light into coloured rays, and scatters gorgeous hues like those you see through a glass prism. For the dust particles, floating in sky and clouds, catch the sunlight and help to paint the colours of sunset and sunrise. And on a rainy day you watch the sun break through a cloud. You see a trembling rainbow form its diaphanous arch. It is the dust, floating in the air, that helps to dye with those prismatic colours of the spectrum – red, orange, green, and blue that melts into the deepest violet. Storms of richly laden dust have been known to settle over certain lands, deepening the soil to the depths of thousands of feet. This ground is so rich that it never needs to be fertilized. Dust is not only an artist, but a labourer, a farmer, and an earth builder. Just grains of dust!" 🌈The Book of Nature's Marvels (at Yosemite National Park)

[xyliane]

4:28pm

summary: they made the decision together that they would be apart. so why is it so hard to leave? (the afternoon before the world tree)

notes: so uh. happy valentine’s day everyone. have some end of series feelings about the boys being apart. killugon, hurt/comfort (???), 1000 words

---

Sunbeams filter through a hole in the windowshades, catching particles of dust and making them dance in the afternoon light. It’d be pretty, if Killua cared for that sort of thing. But all he cares about is the way it makes Gon look, brown eyes almost golden with unshed tears.

“Would you do it again?” he says instead.

It’s a question neither of them want. Killua knows, now, that there are things he could have said, realized long before now.

And Gon doesn’t answer, not even after apologizing again and again and again until I’m sorry hangs in the air like mist, seeping into every thought and every movement. That he has nothing he can say now is almost worse than if he could just tell Killua what he is thinking. More than two years of being together, of knowing all there is to know about each other, and it’s on their last day that Gon can’t say anything other than a deep, heartfelt, “I’m sorry for everything.”

Everything?

Does it have to be everything?

Because Killua has so many everythings he never wants Gon to apologize for.

“That’s not good enough,” Killua hears his voice say. It sounds hollow and coarse.

Gon shrinks into himself, shoulders hunched and protecting himself against blows he can’t stop. “I don’t know what else to say.”  

Neither does Killua, and he isn’t sure how he could. And now they have to say goodbye, Killua wanting something he doesn’t know how to ask for.  

“And I don’t want to say goodbye,” Gon says, rubbing the back of his sleeve across his cheeks. It only makes the mess worse, and Killua wants to grin, wants to tell him it’ll be just like always. That someone has to keep his stupid, idiotic, wonderful best friend from hurting himself because who knows what’ll happen if they’re not together.

(But that moment already passed and now Killua has other people that rely on him too. People he’s ignored for too long.)

He carefully wipes Gon’s cheeks instead and tries to ignore how his best friend unconsciously leans away from the touch. “It’s not forever,” he promises. “Just for a while, until Alluka sees what she wants to and we know Nanika’s safe.”

“Just for a while,” Gon echoes. He sniffs, and tries to smile. It’s enough to make Killua want to cry, to shake the entire building down out of frustration. “Right.”

He doesn’t believe Killua. It’s not that he doesn’t want to—Gon always wants to believe Killua, because he believes in Killua. But if Killua leaves without Gon, there’s no telling if they’ll ever see each other again, if they’ll even be together. That’s how it works, right? That’s how it always works. And there’s nothing to keep it from happening again now, with the most important person in his life leaving (forever).

The approaching crack in the world grows closer with every passing second, and Gon can’t do anything about it, because he gave up everything already.

But Killua can. One last time, he can do anything for his best friend.

Gon’s wrist is grabbed and tugged towards Killua before either of them can blink, Killua brusquely untangling the fist Gon’s made of his hand until the fingers are splayed against his, short and strong but missing the familiar callouses and scars they had built together from training and fighting. It’s a hand he knows better than his own most days, one he could trace from memory and not miss a single line.

“What are you doing?” Gon asks.

Killua links their pinky fingers, hating how even that touch makes his best friend flinch. He tightens the grip nonetheless. “This is how you make promises, right? So you’ll believe me if I do it this way.”

“You don’t need—”

“Yes, I do.” Gon’s made these promises to people more times than Killua can count, the words a chant that wormed its way into Killua’s memories. But Killua’s never had to do anything like this, to make it so someone else believes it, too. Because if Gon doesn’t believe, doesn’t want…

He doesn’t think he could handle that.

“I promise we’ll see each other again, if you promise you’ll bring me a better apology,” he says, more confident than he feels. “And I promise I’ll never forget you as long as you don’t forget about me.”

Gon’s eyes are bright as he watches Killua shake their hands up and down, one two three. “I could never forget you,” he promises quietly.

Killua takes a shuddering breath and continues, ignoring as best he can the prickling at the back of his eyes. “And if I lie, I’ll swallow a thousand needles. Which wouldn’t hurt me, anyways. I’m stronger than a stupid needle.”

“Of course you are, Killua,” Gon says, and lets out a puff of laughter, a crack in the tension making them both stiff, a tension that has never been there before. It’s a melody that gives Killua courage, makes his heart beat five times too fast as long as he doesn’t think he’ll never hear it again.

And then the sound is abruptly cut off because Killua presses his lips to Gon’s, eyes screwed shut so he doesn’t have to see the way Gon’s shimmer with barely unshed tears. It’s barely more than a brief touch, hardly enough to really count as a kiss, with their noses out of sync and their hands caught awkwardly between their bodies. Killua’s never kissed anyone before. He doesn’t know how to make it more than what it is.

But it’s a promise.

They don’t realize they’ve both been holding their breath until Killua pulls back and Gon begins to move again, tiny tremors like butterfly wings spreading from his shoulders and down his arms to where Killua holds his hands. He gulps down air into suddenly starving lungs. “Wh—what, Killua…?”

“Sealed with a kiss,” Killua says, and his voice shakes worse than Gon’s. “I promised. And I don’t break my promises. So you can’t break yours.”

Gon bursts into tears, face buried into unblemished and unscarred hands. “I won’t, Killua. I promise.”

[vmaddesso]

Journaling... ​I could no longer ignore my messy house. I began in the bedroom I share with my husband, with my shelf of journals and the tiresome chore of dusting. As I have been keeping a journal for over forty years now, this one shelf can take quite some time to dust. The notebooks I’ve used vary in size, design, and color. The common marble school notebooks; small sketchbooks or more expensive handmade journals; loose sheets of paper that I bind together myself. Some of the older ones have yellowing pages that have become dry and brittle. In these books I have recorded daily events while also wondering, questioning, and venting. I sometimes tease out ideas for short stories or poems I want to write. When working on a memoir piece I turn to my journals to help me remember. There are pages of doodles and drawings when words have escaped me. I pulled out four notebooks, at random, and sat on the floor. I flipped through the pages, reacquainting myself with a past self, a younger self, a different self. July 26, 1982: "Jones Beach today. Billy dragged me into the water and I was glad because it felt good." Billy. My husband, seven years before he became my husband, grabbing me by both hands, walking backwards into the waves, telling me it will be fun. I hesitate, plant my feet firmly, but he does not give up. “Come on! I’ll hold on to you!” he says. His light brown hair is wet and slicked back. His nose is sunburned. His smile is big. I know I trust him. I move toward him, he wraps his arm around my waist, and we are bobbing up and down with the waves. The water cools me, and I am happy. I call him Bill now; Billy is our older son. November 1, 1993: "I should give them to her. My sweet babies, my sons. She is so much better with them than I could ever be. Where does her patience come from? I cannot remember my mother being like that with me, although I imagine she must have been. When I was a baby. Before I became this selfish, miserable person. I feel I am damaging my children." I am sitting on the blue and white plaid sofa in my mother’s living room. She is rolling around on the floor, my toddler playfully wrestling with her, my two-month-old lying on a blanket nearby. Billy is laughing. Steven is trying to turn towards the commotion, trying to focus and see what is happening beside him. My mother tickles Billy’s belly, kisses his cheeks. Then she tells him, “Let’s check on your baby brother,” and they look over to Steven. I am tired. I am hungry. I am wondering if I will ever be able to relax, if I will ever be what my sons need and deserve. Mother’s Day, May 11, 1997: "At times I feel I’ve left my mother. I’ve pulled back, a bit too far; it’s as if I decided she is already gone. I think it is because I just don’t want to be unhappy. I am useless." She is not gone, not yet. One more month. But she is already so sick, weak, tired all the time. And I remember the look in her eyes; unfocused, and so frightened. I don’t know how to help her. I still feel like I need her to help me. I promised her, when she first found out about the cancer, that I would find a way to make her well. A promise I could never keep. March 28, 1999: "We missed Mass this morning. The second graders were to attend at 9am, to be part of a procession for Palm Sunday." My mother has been gone almost two years. It is the phase of my half-hearted effort to be like her, to please her still, by holding on to her religion, by passing it on to my sons. I fail terribly. It makes me realize how much I failed her. Four entries, and so many stories they can tell. I met a young man who held on to me. We married and had two sons. In the way my mother did for me, I tried to care for them. When my mother got sick, I wanted to save her, but I could not. I could not keep her safe from all that can go wrong. I will never be able to keep my children safe. For everyone, everything, grows older, can be broken, can be lost. I placed the notebooks back on the shelf, marveling at how much dust they collect. Perhaps some is the dust of their own decay, their slow decomposition. One day, years from now, all of it — the words, stories, images — will be blown about by the wind, millions of tiny particles floating in a sunbeam. -vmaddesso http://www.stillherethinkingofyou.com/blog/journaling

[leaf-fall-down]

An Arm and a Leg

It was late afternoon, the setting sun’s rays casting a glare over the television. It was annoying, sure, but the two sitting on the couch were a bit too zoned out to care. There had been nothing to do all day, Edd and Matt recall silently to themselves; Tom was keeping busy, but whatever he was doing was mostly meant for one person to do alone, and Tord...well, they haven’t seen him at all the entire day, and most of yesterday too.

And so the two of them sat on the couch, in the same exact positions they had when they sat down that morning, thinking about anything. Edd, with his slouched posture, lazily crossed ankles, and head resting in his left hand placed on the armrest, thought up a whirlwind of random thoughts. Matt, with his legs curled up inside his bright violet hoodie, was thinking about all the dust particles that were caught in the sunbeam that blocked the tv. How they were perceiving the passage of time was a legitimate question.

“Meow,”

A sudden kitty paw to the face startled Edd out of his stupor, him kicking his legs out in shock. He couldn’t stop the small yelp. After taking a moment to recover from the sudden jumpscare, Ringo continuously pawing his face, he smiled and stroked the kitty’s head.

“What’s up, Ringo? Hungry?” Ringo leaned into his touch, purring all the while, “May as well get you some food, I’ve been sitting on this couch for…” Edd glanced at the nearest clock and his eyes instantly grew wide, “far, far too long. Geez--” He stood up, and almost instantly wobbled in his stance, “whoa,” He paused in his advance to crack his back to let the blood flow back into his legs, and then continued what he intended to do.

“He’s not the only one hungry,” Tom called out from his room down the hall

“You’re a full grown man, Thomas! You can get your own food,” Edd responded with a hard edge, his voice overlaid with the whirring sound of the can opener

“I’m hungry too!” Matt yelled from the couch

“Ugh--” Edd’s own stomach growling interrupted his grumblings, “Fine, I’ll order some pizza,” He dumped the can’s contents into Ringo’s bowl, with said cat digging in instantly. Edd whipped out his mobile, “What toppings sound good?”

“Meat lovers!” Tom peered out of his room, an uncharacteristically large grin on his face

“Hawaiian!” Matt challenged, earning him a more-in-character glare from Tom

“Don’t do that,” Edd stopped the childish debate before it started while scrolling through Google results, “We can have more than one pizza and/or toppings on them (here we go),” He tapped the screen and brought the phone to his ear, “Tom, go ask Tord what he wants,”

“Wha??” The eyeless man was a bit taken aback from the sudden question, and then childish anger settled in, “Why me?? You know the two of us don’t get along!”

“His room is right there! You’re the closest,” Edd responded

Tom stepped out of his room, “Why not send Matt? He hasn’t done anything at all all day! (most of all thinking,)” Tom added under his breath, seeing the wall-eyed stare of the ginger man

“Look, it doesn’t matter. All you’re doing is knocking on his door and asking a question, it’s not like I’m asking you to make out with him, (dang)” He brought the phone away from his ear

Tom groaned; he had a point, “Fine,” He walked down the hallway a ways, out of sight of the others, and stood in front of that blasted door. Today was going so well, any one single day without sight of the hair-horned Norwegian psychomaniac was a good day. Well, with any luck, all he’d get to witness of Tord was his voice through the door. Taking in a deep breath he knocked on the door.

No response

Tom raised an eyebrow, and knocked again. Still nothing, “Hey Commie!” He called out, “Edd’s ordering pizza, you want any?” Silence. Tom smiled a bit, “If you don’t answer, I’m just gonna assume you don’t want any… Alright then,” He began to step away, grinning

“Don’t you dare, Tom!” Edd called from the kitchen, “See if he’s in there!”

And here’s where Tom’s happiness for the day took a nosedive. If there’s anything remotely worse than that Commie, it’s his room and his freaking laboratory. Everything about that hole in the wall reeked of his evil genius, and stepping in there was reserved only for dragging the man out to get to a bomb shelter. In this case, the bomb in question was Edd’s disappointment rage. It wasn’t entirely that the Cola loving man was very threatening, he can be in the right situation, but with the superpower incident, anything that got his blood boiling was a slight cause of concern. And so, scowling all the while, Tom about faced and approached the door again.

He knocked again, “Tord, if you don’t answer I’m coming in,” The dead air gave him his answer, “Alright then, here I come. Feel free to stop me at any time,” He turned the knob slowly and with a creak, the door gave way.

The stench of chemicals was what hit him first, him turning up his nose in disgust. Ugh. Seems he’s playing with his chemistry set this time around. He opened the door a bit more, a sparse, wan light was all that was giving signs of life. He was now a bit curious, and he opened the door all the way.

Yes, the lab was open, but it was dark. The desk in the corner had the lamp on, the only thing in the room giving light, revealing beakers full of multicolored liquids, papers strewn about everywhere, and the figure of a man slumped over the desk. A slight pause in movement revealed light snoring.

/Huh, he’d fallen asleep,/ Tom thought to himself with no trace of malcontent, /wonder how long he’d been awake for. Oh well,/ he made to close the door

And he paused

A thought had hit him, or rather, the memory of a plan. Tord was always on guard all the time, meaning it was next to impossible to sneak up on him. Such a fact made Tom want to, just once, give him a good jumpscare; catch him off guard and give him a fright JUST ONCE, and be done with it. But alas, Tord always seemed so hyper aware of his surroundings at all times that such a plan couldn’t be enacted, and so the idea had been forgotten. Until now. Until this golden moment. Tom couldn’t stop the rush of excitement, and the subsequent silent giggle as he slithered quietly into the room and tiptoed closer to the unconscious man.

Of course, Tord was Tord, so Tom checked every step he made to make sure they weren’t booby trapped. It took a minute, but eventually Tom passed carpet and stepped onto tile, and then right behind Tord’s chair. Tom’s grin grew wider, but he suppressed the maniacal giggle. He can’t screw this one up, not with such a blatant opening

Taking in a deep breath, Tom grabbed the seat and threw it back and forth, letting out a loud and strange scream. It had the exact effect he wanted.

Tord woke instantly, and with a satisfying, terrified scream. He was spasming instinctively, grabbing at everything to try and do anything. He was mostly grabbing at papers and blueprints, so it didn’t get him very far. He was stumbling to his feet, and the hilarious struggle made Tom lose it. His grip on the chair weakened, and he lowered his head in wheezing laughter. He didn’t need to see what Tord was doing, all he needed was to hear was Tord slipping on papers already on the floor and the clinking of beakers to make him laugh even harder. His laughter went falsetto and his vision was clouded with tears. Oh joy, oh joyous joy, you really can’t ruin thi-

SPLOOSH--CRASH!! Tink tink ti-tink...

Something glass had broken, and something wet had spilled as well. Most likely a beaker or so. That would’ve been fine and all, if a good amount didn’t manage to get on his arm.

“Well done, Thomas,” Tord’s tired voice was laced with anger, “that’s five months worth of theory work on the tile floor,”

“Hey, I didn’t spill it, you did,” Tom hadn’t yet looked at Tord, he was too busy shaking the concoction off his arm

“Ha ha, very funny. You come into my room uninvited and scare me awake and then blame me for the mess. Yes. There are better ways to wake someone for breakfast than a heart attack,”

“Breakfast? It’s 5 in the afternoon,” Tom finally looked up at Tord’s tired face, which was at the moment surprised

“Afternoon? I must have been asleep much longer than I thought,” Tom’s vision twitched to Tord’s arm, noticing it was slick and shiny, reflecting the light of the lamp. Some got on him too then, “I am hungry,”

“Edd sent me in here to ask what you want on your pizza. None of us had eaten anything all day,”

“Really? Just pepperoni for me,”

Tom glanced at his arm, “What even is this? Is it a cause of concern?”

Tord had sauntered his way to a corner of the lab and grabbed an industrial broom and a powdery bottle, “I can’t even begin to list it’s scientific name in it’s entirety, and I doubt you really care. It’s meant for medicinal use; you know, intended to be on human skin. We’re fine,” He tilted the bottle and shook it gently, white powder pouring out and settling over the spill and glass. After he put the bottle back down, he held the broom out right in Tom’s face, glowering at him all the while.

The eyeless man flinched back a bit, “Uh--”

“You spilled it, you clean it, Jehovah’s Witness,”

Expression fading from surprise to annoyance, Tom swiped the broom out of Tord’s hands, “Fine,” As much as he hated to admit it, this was his fault, and as such was responsible for at least a little bit of it’s cleaning. He began to swipe the bristles over the liquid and powder, Tord watching with his arms crossed.

“Circular motions, Thomas,” Tord wiggled a finger in a circle.

Growling in annoyance, Tom obeyed.

“Tom??” The shadow of Edd was heard calling out from down the hall a bit, “I heard yelling and glass breaking, is everything ok?”

“We’re fine,” Tord called back, “just annoyed,”

“Oh, Tord! What do you want on your pizza?”

“Pepperoni, please,”

“Got it,” the shadow shifted away

“So what exactly is the purpose of this witch’s brew?” Tom asked as he wiped his arm against his hoodie, trying to dry the last few drops of the mystery liquid from his arm

“It’s to help with skin grafts and limb reattachment (get all the glass in the powder); make it easier and more comfortable for the nerves, tendons, veins and whatnot to mend itself back together. It was just a prototype and hadn’t been properly tested yet,”

Tom stood up straight again, “So what? Are there going to be some adverse effects?”

“Pfft, the worst that could happen is a bad rash. I said it’s meant to make things more comfortable, it’s not going to make our arms explode. That’s good enough, I’ll get the dustpan,” He walked off and returned with said item. Tom was quick to sweep the dirty powder into the pan, making sure some of the free dust kicked into the holder’s face. Tord coughed a resentful cough, “Thank you for that,”

Tom grinned, “Heh,”

“Now get out of my roo--” Tord had thrust his wet arm out to gesture wildly towards the door, and it had brushed against Tom’s own splashed hand. No cause for concern, if their hands didn’t suddenly stick together, the inertia of Tord’s gesture swinging Tom’s arm and causing him to step forward a bit.

“What?” Tom’s voice wasn’t yet full of concern, mostly just confusion, “Is it a bit sticky?” Tom tried to wiggle the other hand free of his, to no avail

Tord, on the other hand (heh), held his eyes wide open in an expression of panic, the color from his face draining, “I-i-it’s su-pposed to help wounds mm-end together and, and,” His voice was trembling as much as he was, him getting up from his crouch slowly and shakily, “It’s supposed t-to be more than just st-icky,”

Tom, not quite getting it, raised an eyebrow, “Wha--??” The most disgusting feeling gripped his arm, and with his own eyes wide, glanced down at his hand

There are a few things one expects to see when glancing down at a hand; skin, veins, fingers, the impressions of the bone structure underneath, whatever. What you don’t expect is a totally foreign hand to be sprouting from it like a tumor, the edges of the two appendages becoming indistinguishable from one another.

That’s bad enough, but that wasn’t all. The feeling, oh the horrible feeling. It hurt, it hurt on a level no one should ever feel. Their tendons were ripping, they could feel it. There was a second heartbeat, it was racing just as much as his own. Little rivulets of blood sprouted from the edges of their skin as it tore open to accept the new “skin graft.” The bones in their fingers, oh the strange agony; melting to fuse.

Tom and Tord just stared at their hand slowly becoming one, wide eyed and stock still. It wasn’t until the slimy gurgles and crunchy grinding hit Tom’s ears did he truly begin to freak out.

There was no thought, only instinct. Their fusing hand writhed with Tom’s attempt to shake Tord free of himself. The fingers clenched and unclenched, the hand shaking violently into the air like someone shaking themselves free of water, tugging sideways in an attempt to rip away. He could hear the fusing through his head, THROUGH HIS HEAD. Oh god, get it off, GET IT OFF! GET IT AWAY!!

His vision was blurred with panic until a backhanded slap to his cheek knocked him back to his senses. Tord’s yelling voice was the first thing he registered when he recovered from the blow, and from the sound of it, he didn’t start yelling when he slapped him,

“--ade it worse! Now not just our hands are fused, but now our arms are starting to as well!” Tord grunted in pain, “And we are powerless to stop it!”

Tom didn’t need to look down to know this, as the mashing and grinding he felt on his lower arm told him the whole story, but that didn’t stop him from looking anyway. Ugh, he was beginning to feel nauseous, and his knees began to knock.

It wasn’t easy to tell whose flesh exactly it was that was bubbling and traveling up and down the fusing portion. Sure, the hand was still going, some fingers melting together and some not, but that wasn’t the most gruesome thing happening. The flesh on their forearms were pulsating and moving on their own accord, following instructions that were certainly not sent by their own minds. They both watched as veins bulged and flesh migrated, as skin tone splotched then melded, as the sticky sounds and sickeningly sweet smell assaulted their senses. Tord wrenched his gaze away and pursed his lips heavily, using his free hand to cover his mouth. The edges of Tom’s vision began to fade as the tickle in his throat demanded attention. He bent over and coughed aggressively, eventually expelling a small amount of bile. He spat and wiped his mouth with his free hand.

“You’re cleaning that up too,” Tord’s tone was tight and terse; he was clearly holding back vomit of his own.

They spent the next few minutes in the exact same position: not looking at each other, definitely not looking at the arm, Tom hunched over, and Tord holding his mouth shut. They tried to ignore the horrible bubbling and cracking sounds with little success, the sounds alone giving them a mental picture enough to impress Junji Ito. Not to mention the pain and smell. Ugh, let it be over, please…

Please…

It felt like forever before the arm fell still again, the only after-effect was a tingling similar to a limb that had fallen asleep. Tom didn’t want to look, he didn’t want to look oh so badly. But there was a tugging in his mind; morbid curiosity. Protesting every millisecond, he turned his head…

And vomited again

It was disgusting, an abomination. The skin tone was both theirs and neither, but stuck in between the two with vitiligo-like splotches. It looked sickly. The fingers were long and misformed, some having four or more joints while others had branching distal phalanges with their own nail beds. There were two thumbs, one on each side; Tom could swear that his thumb was positioned lower than Tord’s. Anyone would count eight in total, minus the branching nail beds.

Then there was the forearm itself, and if the hand didn’t send you running to the bathroom, this did. Chunks of flesh that wrapped and clung like tumors close to the top, and then became more stable the closer to the hand one got.

Not only that, the forearm was long, too long. The wrist began about where their knees would be, so the fingers would most likely drag along the ground if one were to slouch.

Horrible. Vile. Nauseating. Tord couldn’t hold in his own vomit any longer. It splashed over his papers and blueprints. He mumbled out some vile words in his native tongue under his breath.

Someone had to say something, anything, to diffuse the discomfort somewhat. It hardly mattered what it was, just someone had to have the courage to say something.

“I don’t think I want meat lovers anymore…” Tom didn’t register he said anything out loud until he saw the look on Tord’s pale face. Such a look of disgusted disappointment normally would make him chuckle wryly. Not here, not now, “So...what n--”

“Tom! Tord!” It was Matt’s shadow that was seen on the wall, that square chin doesn’t lie, “Edd asked you not to make out with one another!” And he was getting closer, “Your sloppy makeout session could be heard from the next house over!” He popped his ginger head into view, backlit and shadowed. He had opened his mouth to say something else, but paused as he saw the eldritch abomination that was the combined arm.

His expression was of confusion at first, him standing in the doorway looking perplexed for about ten seconds, before the message pierced his brain fog. His eyes widened and breath hitched, him running away with his hand over his mouth.

“Secret’s out, it seems,”

“I’d rather drink all the chemicals in here at once than make out with you,”

“Hey, the feeling’s mutual, buddy,”

“TOM!! TORD!! GET IN HERE AND EXPLAIN WHY MATT VOMITED ON THE TILE FLOOR!!”

-------------

Walking wasn’t going to be fun. The height difference between the two tethered men meant some of the inhuman fingers were going to touch the floor occasionally. The difference in their gaits would make the skin tug and shift, each of them feeling alien muscles and tendons with every pulse. Tom walked slightly faster, leaving Tord to power walk. They stepped out of the room, down the hallway, and into the sight of the kitchen.

There was the expected yelps of horror as they walked out, Edd dropping his Cola can and reeling back to end up tripping on a chair. Ringo had arched his back and hissed at the sight in front of him. Matt had walked off somewhere out of sight, the aforementioned vomit right by the kitchen counter.

After Edd had collected himself, he gestured to the couch for the two to sit down. After a moment of under-their-breath arguing about where exactly to sit, Edd resorted to shoving them onto the couch. Tom got to explaining

“... and then you called us out here,” He finished his long-winded spiel about ten minutes later

Edd’s face was read as easily as a book: confused, disgusted, angry, just generally not pleased. He had his hands in a prayer pose close to his face, pushing his glasses up further on his nose. He honestly was trying not to glance at the limb that looked like it went through a wood chipper; it wasn’t going too well.

He took a deep breath in, “That was horrifying,” That was an understatement, and everyone knew it, “Unless you want to take a hacksaw to that thing, I suggest ATTEMPTING to get along,” Tom scoffed bitterly, “I mean it,” He shot the man a hard glare, “I know you two don’t get along at all, but in a situation like this, you’re kind of out of luck with simply avoiding each other like normal,” He took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose, “All I ask is no 3 am spats, ok?” The two tethered men mumbled in agreement, “Good. Let us light sleepers sleep through the night, if you please,”

Matt came out of hiding, wearing fresh clothes and carrying rags and cleaning supplies, “If you can’t do anything else, why not try and find a positive out of all this? Wouldn’t hurt, would it?”

“Guess not…” Tom mumbled under his breath, “If you got any I’m all ears,”

“My five months of theory work wasn’t wasted,” Tord answered with less venom than most expected, “We inadvertently tested it. I just need to streamline what exactly the serum needs to bind together, what we’ve got is too broad-spectrumed and powerful,” He sounded more like he was talking to himself than the people around him

“Peachy,” Tom spat, “Now what’s it gonna take for you to find a cure for this?”

Tord narrowed his eyes at the other, “One doesn’t usually ask for a cure to a skin graft, Thomas,” There was the venom everyone was expecting

“Great. Now what?”

“I can try something. Can’t guarantee it would be anytime soon though,”

“Figures,”

“You wouldn’t happen to be right handed, yes?” The question caught Tom off guard a bit

“I’m a lefty. I’ve known you since primary school and you don’t know that?”

The deadpan look on Tord’s face was quite irritating, “One, like I’d care enough to remember, and two, I’m right handed. If you were to rub two brain cells together you would see why I asked,”

Tom understood the moment Tord said he was a righty; their dominant hands were fused. This meant daily tasks were going to be at least five times harder. He didn’t appreciate the brain cell quip, though. He opened his mouth to retort

“Tom,” Edd’s voice was loud and sharp enough to stop Tom dead in his tracks, “Don’t; just… don’t. It’s useless arguing, it’s not going to solve anything. Like Matt said, at least attempt to find a positive somewhere,”

“Positive? Positive??” Tom was getting sick of this act, “How would you like it if you and Eduardo had this happen t--!!!” Tom had meant to raise the few fingers/phalanges that belonged to him in a fist in the air to demonstrate his point. Instead, every finger and finger part on the arm obeyed Tom’s will.

The two of them looked on at the fist in abject terror, both white as a sheet. Tord felt Tom clench the fingers, but he had gotten the signal that it was he who did it; that it was just as much his effort as it was Tom’s. Tord’s heartbeat grew exponentially, causing goosebumps to pop up on his skin. And yes, the goosebumps traveled down the arm and back up to Tom, who knew these goosebumps were foreign, but his brain was telling him the opposite. The two looked at each other in the eyes, seeing the same wide-eyed look mirrored on one another’s faces. After a beat, they slowly began to turn away, looking rather green.

Edd wasn't sure what exactly they were suddenly horrified by, but he recognized the look of imminent barf. He took a few steps back

DING DONG

Oh good, the pizza no one’s in the mood to eat is here. Knowing what was coming and not wanting to see someone spew again Edd turned around and powerwalked to the door. He flung the door open, apparently right as the pizza guy was gonna ring again.

The dude was olive skinned and lanky, and a little taken aback at the moment. His eyes were wide and it took him a few seconds before he found his voice, “Uh, you ok there, buddy?”

Edd’s eyes were wide open and his eyebrows scrunched together, sending a look of disgust and confusion all at once. His forehead was beaded with sweat, and his glasses askew. Along with his already pale complexion, his face was devoid of color. He looked about ready to collapse.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Just some excitement--”

HOOOOOAARRRFFFF

“.... I believe you,” he shoved the two extra larges into Edd’s arms, “total comes to--” He was shoved several wrinkled bills in return

“Keep the change as tip,” Edd none-so-politely slammed the door. He walked back into the kitchen and tossed the pizza boxes onto the table. He glanced over at the couch, now sporting a trail of bile yellow and chunk bits. Apparently it was Tord who upchucked, as the trail led to where he was sitting only, and Tom held his free hand over his mouth. They both had a sickly pallor and were shaking like leaves. The conjoined arm was twitching, with the fingers still in that tight fist, so tight the knuckles were white. Matt was nowhere in sight

“You know you have to clean that up, right?” Edd was barely holding it together

“Yes, yes, just…” Tord took in a deep breath, “give me a moment,”

“Fine,” Edd pinched his eyebrows, a headache was forming, “just don’t take too long, please,” He walked away, towards his room. He needed a dark place to sit and destress. Ringo followed close behind.

The door closed and locked behind the Cola lover, the living room in silence once again. The two conjoined waited on the couch for about 30 seconds before any attempt to move was made. Tom made to stand, but the skin on the arm tugged, and all the disgusting thoughts and feelings came rushing back. Tom moaned woozily as he attempted not to add to the barf mess, but his thoughts were interrupted by a burst of pain in the dreaded arm. His attention whisked right to the mass of flesh

There was a needle sticking out of it, Tord pushing the plunger down.

Tom grabbed it and yanked it out, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?!”

Tord grabbed it back, “It’s a neuromuscular blocking agent! We both are sickened by feeling one another’s muscles move, so I reasoned this would work for now,” He stuck the needle back in, this time in a different place, “Any objections now?”

Tom looked away, “No,”

“Good, now let’s get this dritt gone before it begins to really stink,”

They stood up in unison, not feeling anything nauseating this time. Slightly relieved, they let out a breath of air. They coordinated their steps, getting to the pantry at the same time. Grabbing towels, baking soda, air freshener, and the vacuum, they got to work. In about five minutes, the only evidence of vomit was the line on the couch. That would stain, unfortunately.

Now they didn’t want to sit on that couch, so they sat at the kitchen table. With Matt off somewhere other than where they are, and Edd staving off a possible migraine, it was quiet and ultimately, awkward.

It was more of an effort to not sit still and stare at the wall than any real appetite, honestly, but Tom open and took a slice of pizza anyway. It was Hawaiian, not his favorite, but anything is better than stifling silence with...that man

“Why did you have a syringe full of paralysers on you?” Tom said through a mouth full of pizza, “and where did you keep it, you’re in your boxers and tank top,”

“Don’t question me, Thomas,” Tord wasn’t looking

A moment of silence, then Tom grinned, “You know, now that we’ve got this condition, we’ve got no choice but go everywhere and do everything together,”

“I am aware, your point?”

“I tend to get very lonely at night,”

“THOMAS YOU WILL NOT COMMIT SUCH AN ACT WHILE I AM STUCK TO YOU!!”

At long last, I finish the little story I promised @naniroxy; eh, rather his side blog @bad-idea-factory. The picture of inspiration seemed to have vanished, and so I just decided to make the fused arm far more mangled than what was shown in aforementioned picture. Twisted, mangled, chunky, now that’s the body horror I like.

I may or may not be a little messed up in the head

[entergamingxp]

Crysis Remastered Gets Trailer Showing the Game Running on Switch

July 17, 2020 11:38 AM EST

Crysis is looking nice on the Switch.

Remember when it was announced that Crysis, the game that used to be the benchmark for gaming PCs, was heading to the Nintendo Switch as a remastered edition? If you were like me and wondering how on Earth the game would look running on Nintendo’s handheld system, then you’re in luck because there’s a tech trailer showing it off.

The trailer shows off how the graphics in Crysis Remastered look while running on a Nintendo Switch. To be honest, it doesn’t look half bad. There certainly seems to be some particles that vanish abruptly, and some explosions just poof, but the general punch you want from the game still appears to be intact.

The video shows off vegetation bending, basically, you can shoot at plants and trees and they’ll react. The environment is also destructible, so you can buildings up, or just assault bookshelves. The game also has dynamic lighting and there’s voxel-based global illumination (SVOGI).  There’s also light rays and sunbeams to really keep that atmosphere looking tropical.

The lighting has been enhanced in Crysis Remastered and there’s depth of field and motion blurring shown off in the trailer. For those who may be playing with the Joy-Con’s detached you can make use of the gyroscope to aim your weapons. All of what I’ve listed has also been captured on a Nintendo Switch running at 30fps in 720p.

Of course, the port has have been handled by Sabre Interactive who are well-known for porting over large games. The studio was responsible for porting over CD Projekt Red’s The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt as well as Dontnod Entertainment’s Vampyr. It’s also working on a Switch port for World War Z.

There was actually due to be teasing of gameplay earlier this month, but it was delayed indefinitely after leaked footage saw negative reactions from fans. Despite the delay for most of the consoles, the Nintendo Switch version is still slated to launch on July 23.

Crysis Remastered is slated to launch on PC, PS4, Xbox One, eventually, but for now, it’s only heading to the Nintendo Switch.

July 17, 2020 11:38 AM EST

from EnterGamingXP https://entergamingxp.com/2020/07/crysis-remastered-gets-trailer-showing-the-game-running-on-switch/?utm_source=rss&utm_medium=rss&utm_campaign=crysis-remastered-gets-trailer-showing-the-game-running-on-switch

[readbookywooks]

[The author permitted to see the grand academy of Lagado. The academy largely described. The arts wherein the professors employ themselves.] This academy is not an entire single building, but a continuation of several houses on both sides of a street, which growing waste, was purchased and applied to that use. I was received very kindly by the warden, and went for many days to the academy. Every room has in it one or more projectors; and I believe I could not be in fewer than five hundred rooms. The first man I saw was of a meagre aspect, with sooty hands and face, his hair and beard long, ragged, and singed in several places. His clothes, shirt, and skin, were all of the same colour. He has been eight years upon a project for extracting sunbeams out of cucumbers, which were to be put in phials hermetically sealed, and let out to warm the air in raw inclement summers. He told me, he did not doubt, that, in eight years more, he should be able to supply the governor's gardens with sunshine, at a reasonable rate: but he complained that his stock was low, and entreated me "to give him something as an encouragement to ingenuity, especially since this had been a very dear season for cucumbers." I made him a small present, for my lord had furnished me with money on purpose, because he knew their practice of begging from all who go to see them. I went into another chamber, but was ready to hasten back, being almost overcome with a horrible stink. My conductor pressed me forward, conjuring me in a whisper "to give no offence, which would be highly resented;" and therefore I durst not so much as stop my nose. The projector of this cell was the most ancient student of the academy; his face and beard were of a pale yellow; his hands and clothes daubed over with filth. When I was presented to him, he gave me a close embrace, a compliment I could well have excused. His employment, from his first coming into the academy, was an operation to reduce human excrement to its original food, by separating the several parts, removing the tincture which it receives from the gall, making the odour exhale, and scumming off the saliva. He had a weekly allowance, from the society, of a vessel filled with human ordure, about the bigness of a Bristol barrel. I saw another at work to calcine ice into gunpowder; who likewise showed me a treatise he had written concerning the malleability of fire, which he intended to publish. There was a most ingenious architect, who had contrived a new method for building houses, by beginning at the roof, and working downward to the foundation; which he justified to me, by the like practice of those two prudent insects, the bee and the spider. There was a man born blind, who had several apprentices in his own condition: their employment was to mix colours for painters, which their master taught them to distinguish by feeling and smelling. It was indeed my misfortune to find them at that time not very perfect in their lessons, and the professor himself happened to be generally mistaken. This artist is much encouraged and esteemed by the whole fraternity. In another apartment I was highly pleased with a projector who had found a device of ploughing the ground with hogs, to save the charges of ploughs, cattle, and labour. The method is this: in an acre of ground you bury, at six inches distance and eight deep, a quantity of acorns, dates, chestnuts, and other mast or vegetables, whereof these animals are fondest; then you drive six hundred or more of them into the field, where, in a few days, they will root up the whole ground in search of their food, and make it fit for sowing, at the same time manuring it with their dung: it is true, upon experiment, they found the charge and trouble very great, and they had little or no crop. However it is not doubted, that this invention may be capable of great improvement. I went into another room, where the walls and ceiling were all hung round with cobwebs, except a narrow passage for the artist to go in and out. At my entrance, he called aloud to me, "not to disturb his webs." He lamented "the fatal mistake the world had been so long in, of using silkworms, while we had such plenty of domestic insects who infinitely excelled the former, because they understood how to weave, as well as spin." And he proposed further, "that by employing spiders, the charge of dyeing silks should be wholly saved;" whereof I was fully convinced, when he showed me a vast number of flies most beautifully coloured, wherewith he fed his spiders, assuring us "that the webs would take a tincture from them; and as he had them of all hues, he hoped to fit everybody's fancy, as soon as he could find proper food for the flies, of certain gums, oils, and other glutinous matter, to give a strength and consistence to the threads." There was an astronomer, who had undertaken to place a sun-dial upon the great weathercock on the town-house, by adjusting the annual and diurnal motions of the earth and sun, so as to answer and coincide with all accidental turnings of the wind. I was complaining of a small fit of the colic, upon which my conductor led me into a room where a great physician resided, who was famous for curing that disease, by contrary operations from the same instrument. He had a large pair of bellows, with a long slender muzzle of ivory: this he conveyed eight inches up the anus, and drawing in the wind, he affirmed he could make the guts as lank as a dried bladder. But when the disease was more stubborn and violent, he let in the muzzle while the bellows were full of wind, which he discharged into the body of the patient; then withdrew the instrument to replenish it, clapping his thumb strongly against the orifice of then fundament; and this being repeated three or four times, the adventitious wind would rush out, bringing the noxious along with it, (like water put into a pump), and the patient recovered. I saw him try both experiments upon a dog, but could not discern any effect from the former. After the latter the animal was ready to burst, and made so violent a discharge as was very offensive to me and my companion. The dog died on the spot, and we left the doctor endeavouring to recover him, by the same operation. I visited many other apartments, but shall not trouble my reader with all the curiosities I observed, being studious of brevity. I had hitherto seen only one side of the academy, the other being appropriated to the advancers of speculative learning, of whom I shall say something, when I have mentioned one illustrious person more, who is called among them "the universal artist." He told us "he had been thirty years employing his thoughts for the improvement of human life." He had two large rooms full of wonderful curiosities, and fifty men at work. Some were condensing air into a dry tangible substance, by extracting the nitre, and letting the aqueous or fluid particles percolate; others softening marble, for pillows and pin-cushions; others petrifying the hoofs of a living horse, to preserve them from foundering. The artist himself was at that time busy upon two great designs; the first, to sow land with chaff, wherein he affirmed the true seminal virtue to be contained, as he demonstrated by several experiments, which I was not skilful enough to comprehend. The other was, by a certain composition of gums, minerals, and vegetables, outwardly applied, to prevent the growth of wool upon two young lambs; and he hoped, in a reasonable time to propagate the breed of naked sheep, all over the kingdom. We crossed a walk to the other part of the academy, where, as I have already said, the projectors in speculative learning resided. The first professor I saw, was in a very large room, with forty pupils about him. After salutation, observing me to look earnestly upon a frame, which took up the greatest part of both the length and breadth of the room, he said, "Perhaps I might wonder to see him employed in a project for improving speculative knowledge, by practical and mechanical operations. But the world would soon be sensible of its usefulness; and he flattered himself, that a more noble, exalted thought never sprang in any other man's head. Every one knew how laborious the usual method is of attaining to arts and sciences; whereas, by his contrivance, the most ignorant person, at a reasonable charge, and with a little bodily labour, might write books in philosophy, poetry, politics, laws, mathematics, and theology, without the least assistance from genius or study." He then led me to the frame, about the sides, whereof all his pupils stood in ranks. It was twenty feet square, placed in the middle of the room. The superfices was composed of several bits of wood, about the bigness of a die, but some larger than others. They were all linked together by slender wires. These bits of wood were covered, on every square, with paper pasted on them; and on these papers were written all the words of their language, in their several moods, tenses, and declensions; but without any order. The professor then desired me "to observe; for he was going to set his engine at work." The pupils, at his command, took each of them hold of an iron handle, whereof there were forty fixed round the edges of the frame; and giving them a sudden turn, the whole disposition of the words was entirely changed. He then commanded six-and-thirty of the lads, to read the several lines softly, as they appeared upon the frame; and where they found three or four words together that might make part of a sentence, they dictated to the four remaining boys, who were scribes. This work was repeated three or four times, and at every turn, the engine was so contrived, that the words shifted into new places, as the square bits of wood moved upside down. Six hours a day the young students were employed in this labour; and the professor showed me several volumes in large folio, already collected, of broken sentences, which he intended to piece together, and out of those rich materials, to give the world a complete body of all arts and sciences; which, however, might be still improved, and much expedited, if the public would raise a fund for making and employing five hundred such frames in Lagado, and oblige the managers to contribute in common their several collections. He assured me "that this invention had employed all his thoughts from his youth; that he had emptied the whole vocabulary into his frame, and made the strictest computation of the general proportion there is in books between the numbers of particles, nouns, and verbs, and other parts of speech." I made my humblest acknowledgment to this illustrious person, for his great communicativeness; and promised, "if ever I had the good fortune to return to my native country, that I would do him justice, as the sole inventor of this wonderful machine;" the form and contrivance of which I desired leave to delineate on paper, as in the figure here annexed. I told him, "although it were the custom of our learned in Europe to steal inventions from each other, who had thereby at least this advantage, that it became a controversy which was the right owner; yet I would take such caution, that he should have the honour entire, without a rival." We next went to the school of languages, where three professors sat in consultation upon improving that of their own country. The first project was, to shorten discourse, by cutting polysyllables into one, and leaving out verbs and participles, because, in reality, all things imaginable are but norms. The other project was, a scheme for entirely abolishing all words whatsoever; and this was urged as a great advantage in point of health, as well as brevity. For it is plain, that every word we speak is, in some degree, a diminution of our lunge by corrosion, and, consequently, contributes to the shortening of our lives. An expedient was therefore offered, "that since words are only names for things, it would be more convenient for all men to carry about them such things as were necessary to express a particular business they are to discourse on." And this invention would certainly have taken place, to the great ease as well as health of the subject, if the women, in conjunction with the vulgar and illiterate, had not threatened to raise a rebellion unless they might be allowed the liberty to speak with their tongues, after the manner of their forefathers; such constant irreconcilable enemies to science are the common people. However, many of the most learned and wise adhere to the new scheme of expressing themselves by things; which has only this inconvenience attending it, that if a man's business be very great, and of various kinds, he must be obliged, in proportion, to carry a greater bundle of things upon his back, unless he can afford one or two strong servants to attend him. I have often beheld two of those sages almost sinking under the weight of their packs, like pedlars among us, who, when they met in the street, would lay down their loads, open their sacks, and hold conversation for an hour together; then put up their implements, help each other to resume their burdens, and take their leave. But for short conversations, a man may carry implements in his pockets, and under his arms, enough to supply him; and in his house, he cannot be at a loss. Therefore the room where company meet who practise this art, is full of all things, ready at hand, requisite to furnish matter for this kind of artificial converse. Another great advantage proposed by this invention was, that it would serve as a universal language, to be understood in all civilised nations, whose goods and utensils are generally of the same kind, or nearly resembling, so that their uses might easily be comprehended. And thus ambassadors would be qualified to treat with foreign princes, or ministers of state, to whose tongues they were utter strangers. I was at the mathematical school, where the master taught his pupils after a method scarce imaginable to us in Europe. The proposition, and demonstration, were fairly written on a thin wafer, with ink composed of a cephalic tincture. This, the student was to swallow upon a fasting stomach, and for three days following, eat nothing but bread and water. As the wafer digested, the tincture mounted to his brain, bearing the proposition along with it. But the success has not hitherto been answerable, partly by some error in the QUANTUM or composition, and partly by the perverseness of lads, to whom this bolus is so nauseous, that they generally steal aside, and discharge it upwards, before it can operate; neither have they been yet persuaded to use so long an abstinence, as the prescription requires.