#Florence is wilting

[sacrifical-lamb-core]

I’m so mean to my mom

For context, I got an injury on my arm and neck. It’s getting better but I needed to really rest it.

my mom told me to go and take the bin out, and I was upset because my neck and arm hurt. I did it bc I had to but I was rlly upset. Our bin bags are rlly heavy and you have to throw it in

I am now in a lot of pain and came back complaining about it. She said sorry but it didn’t sound sincere, it felt like the kind of sorry that parents give to make u shut up.

and I pressed the issue, because it really hurt. And my mom got really angry and yelled that she was sick and that she was grieving. (My grandma passed away and my mom hasn’t been feeling well about it). She called me ungrateful and said that I didn’t realise how much she was going through.

so I felt angry but also bad. And she came to me and started lecturing me. When she’s mad she starts lecturing me on all the stuff that I’ve done wrong (the dishes, studying, church etc) so I brought up how making me do labour intensive chores when I’m healing from an injury then not properly apologising wasn’t nice either

and then she talked a lot about how sad and alone and miserable and grieving she was, and I brought up how whenever she talked so much about how much she was affected by this and venting to me, her preteen daughter, made me really uncomfortable/ worried. Now this makes me feel bad, but her venting can be really worrying (saying she wanted to unalive herself, crying a lot, ect) and that’s when she stopped being angry and said sorry for the garbage thing. She sounded rlly bad (I’m low-key scared about her mental health)

I feel bad. But also upset at her. But also petty, bc i feel like I was making a big fuss about nothing, esp to a grieving single mother who just came back from a long shift and he’s to deal with 2 kids. But also upset at her bc my injuries were on track to healing and her trauma dumping is really hard for me.

She’s been nothing but nice since the argument.

I’m a mess rn.

[theblueflower05]

Heavy In Your Arms

A/N: We didn't get enough time at High Camp. I swear, it was the perfect setting for hurt/comfort. Forever upset about it.

Word Count: 5.5K

Warnings: Explicit smut. Aged Up characters. Talks of PTSD and war. Injuries. Blood. Angst. Cursing. Oral Sex(male receiving). Riding. Service Top Neteyam. Reader with a praise kink.

Summary: You and Neteyam find moments of peace during the war. Neteyam x Fem! Omaticaya Reader

I was a heavy heart to carry,

My beloved was weighted down.

My arms around his neck,

My fingers laced a crown- Florence & The Machine

Life can change in an instant.

One moment, things are as they have always been. Your existence a well loved pattern, easy and comfortable in the Forests of Pandora.

You had been born after the Long War, after the evil Tawtute had been sent back to their dying planet. You had only ever known peace and kind humans like the scientist that lived in the rickety out post. You’d only ever known the rich and abundant rule of Toruk Makto, Jake led your people to victory and prosperity. The Omatikayan Village had been a beautiful one to grow up in, colorful and cheerful and thriving despite all that it had endured.

Your days had been filled with community and childlike wonder.

That had all changed when the Sky People returned. When they set fire to the Forests just to watch the Great Mother bleed.

Your naivety had been stolen, snatched away by uncontrollable circumstances.

By war.

High Camp is nestled deep within the Ayram Alusing hidden in a twisting impenetrable cave system.

It is bustling and busy and just bit cramped.

The Omatikaya are a resilient people and even through forceful uprooting had managed to make due of the space given. The Stronghold is littered with Canvas tents and woven mats. Small burning fires, and a larger one for the communal meals that are so desperately needed after long days battle.

You spend most of your time in the main healers keklu, working tirelessly with Mo’at and the other medicine leaders. You’d never been much of a healer, always more of a story teller. You’d get lost in the tales of old, in the songs of the ancient ones, but since the invasion, most had honed their medical craft.

It was all hands on deck, wherever you could be helpful you would be.

It’s good. Keeping your hands full is a good thing. It helps to distract your restless mind.

The War Party had left early in the morning- the sun still hiding behind the shadow of the eclipse, and had still not returned yet. You fear that it might be one of those missions, the kind that lasts days and leaves the village in shambles as they wait for the return of the warriors.

You’re grinding Ti’ku’klu seeds into a fine paste, your arm tired as you stare wordlessly into nothing.

The healers tent is quiet, filled with only low chatter and the crackling of the fire, the boiling of the pot that contains a potent medicine. One that needs to be kept hot and steaming. You cant seem to be present, to keep up with conversation when your mind is so far away- soaring over the forest. Focused on the unseen battle

This would be a dangerous one, you’d heard the whispers of the people. The humans were growing sick of the raids. They had heavy precautions laid out- would kill any Na’vi on sight. You trusted your Olo’eyktan whole heartedly, truly, you did.

But the thought of having to lay any more of your brothers and sisters to rest made bile raise in your throat like acid. There had been so much death, so much loss.

You sneak a peek at the woman next to you as she works in sorting bandages.

Zephya is only a few years older than you- and yet the light seems to be gone from her eyes. Dimmed down to something small and wilting. You’d never forget the piercing sound of her cries, echoing off the rock cave walls as her munxatan’s (husbands) body was brought back from the last raid.

Another round of nauseating anxiousness churns in your stomach.

You dont know if you could survive it���

Would you be forced to? Would this war force you to watch the ones you loved die?

The thought of losing your own lover is enough to send you free falling. Spiraling into your own mind.

“That is quite enough” Mo’at tuts her tongue in your direction and you stare at her with a wide, almost guilty expression. Had the Tsahik heard your thoughts? Sometimes you didnt doubt the elderly woman could, with all of her boundless knowledge and those all knowing amber eyes “You will destroy the paste, it is not meant to be so thin”

“Oh” you feel like dunce as you look down at the mortar and pestle in your hand “I apologize, I just wanted to make sure it was well mixed”

“Hmm” she doesn't call your bluff “Why dont you take a break. Go find more herbs, the fresh air wll clear your head. You’re no used to me here with thoughts so loud”

Her words are casual but her gaze is knowing and warm and you nod eagerly “Of course, Tsahik”

You’re happy for the break and the opportunity to stretch your legs, you stand quickly and exit the incense heavy area.

Everyone has gotten good at pretending.

At pretending they’re not terrified, at trying to go on with any semblance of normalcy. The scientists still gather near their trailers, facemasks on and typing away at holo tablets. The karyus’ still teach the younglings, their little giggles can be heard in the distance. You smile, a very practiced mask, at any you pass. Are pleasant. Friendly. Not betraying the inner turmoil you feel-

You’re jostled out of the heavy thoughts.

Nearly rushed straight on your ass, more like it.

“Oof-” the wind is knocked out of you as a small but solid weight collides with your side. You look down and find big golden eyes string up at you- golden eyes so familiar.

“Y/N! Hi!” Tuktirey is the youngest Sully, and probably the one you’ve always been the cloestst to. Back home, years ago, she’d become a bit enamored with you. More specifically, you’re weaving and jewelry crafting skills. Many teased that she was your shadow. “Look, look’it what I made”

You cant help but grin. Her joyful energy is contagious and you’re glad for the distraction. You take the necklace she shoves into your face delicately. Run your fingers over the rows of mis matched beads. She really is quite good.

“Very pretty, Tuk. You’re getting so good! Soon you;ll take my place- the whole clan will be trampling over themselves to wear one of your pieces” You’re words make her blush, make the smile on her face go a bit shy and bashful.

She looks so much like her brother it hurts.

“I did that thing you showed me! You’re right- sometimes the bigger beads need the little ones to anchor them”

Tuk is rarely quiet, always a babbling brook but even she isnt immune to the tense atmosphere that looms, to the toretoure that is waiting for the warriors to return. She talks about the necklace, but her tail flicks nervously behind her. At her side, a carved wooden Toruk toy hangs in her loose grip.

You figure, maybe you can distract her too.

You reach for the toy and she holds tight to it before sighing. You’re probably going to take it, she thinks. Tell her to stop being annoying. Chastise her the way that others had when she’d tried to get them to play with her. All day long, everyone had turned their heads or sighed in annoyance when she’d approached-

You raise the wooden Toruk above her head- and let out an undignified squawk. Your best impression of the mighty beast. It’s dismal, but it seems to satisfy the little girl who instantly breaks out into giggles.

“You better run, Tuk Tuk” you grown payfully, sending the toy into a nosedive “Before I eat you whole”

She shrieks and sets out running in the opposite direction and take after her, ignoring the stares. Should you be back in the medicine tent helping? Maybe. You’d rather play with the seven year old instead.

The two of you play for a while, until your thighs burn and your lungs hurt from laughing. You dont have the endurance of a child, she runs absolute circles around you. She’s fast and agle and quite obviously takes Neytiri’s lessons to heart, even at her young age. You can only use your size to you’re advantage, picking her writing squirming body up and spinning her round-

The horn is loud and echos through the rock walls of the cavernous case.

Both yours and Tuk’s ears swivel, perk up and stand to attention.

There it is. The calls of your people. The sounds of ikran wings flapping.

Tuk writhes in your hold, the back of her head connecting with your lip painfully as she hollers joyfully “They’re back!”

Shes off then, only sparing you a quick glance as you seem to stand there in daze, rubbing your slightly split lip lightly as your stomach does somersaults.

“Come on!” The little one hollers back at you and your feet carry you forward, seemingly of their own volition.

The crowds are building as the people make their way for the edge, where ikrans land by the dozen. Carrying the warriors on their back. Along the way, Kiri and Spider join you. Eagerly bouncing along, following an over animated Tuk.

Excitement and dread bubbles in your stomach, a horribly potent and toxic mix. It’s always like this when they return. When he returns. You’re so anxious to see him, physically there. Alive. So anxious that he might not be-

Your eyes are peeled for the familiar swirling green and blue patterns of Atanzaw, his ikran.

“Mom!” Tuk screeches, of course she spots them first.

Your eyes follow her,

Straight to him.

Neteyam.

He dismonts his ikran, alot less gracefully then his mother did. His actions sluggish and unlike him- it only takes you a moment to notice how injured he is. The bleeding wounds and bruises that litter his body arent pretty and hes limping, not putting his full weight on his right thigh. His face in smeared war paint- blacks and yellows and greens. They make him look intense, as he stangs tall and muscular and still fully dressed in his tsamsiyu(warrior)garb.

When his gaze meets yours your breath gets stuck in your throat.

Usually when he returns they’re bright. The adrenalin of the fight still cursing through his veins like wildfire- this time thats drained. His eyes are filled with barley concealed dread. Sharp with pain.

Your fingers itch and your chest aches, the invisible string that ties you to him taught. You want nothing more then to go to him-

“Sully’s, fall in” Jake’s voice is booming and stern. All Olo’eyktan. Marine. War leader. You can barley recognize him like this. So far away from the carefree doting father he’d always been.

-Its a small thing. A barely there shake of Netryam’s head but it sends a clear message. He doesn't want you to approach. When he turns away from you, giving you the necessary but cold shoulder your unsettled stomach lurches.

It’s like it plays out in slow motion, you watch the family from the edge. An outsider. Not welcome in their obviously private conversation. Even Spider, a human, get’s to be closer than you do.

You’re unwelcome.

The heated words. The way that Jake scolds his sons, you’re not supposed to be privy to it.

“Jesus, I let you two geniuses lead a fleet and you disobeyed direct orders!”

Those words hurt you, for him. You know that they must peirce right through Neteyam. He still hasnt looked back in your direction and you are sure he doesnt want you to bare witness to any of it.

You slink away, slowly falling back. Fading into the background of loved ones reuniting. Warriors returning, alive and dead. The clan welcoming them back with open arms. You wish, as you so often do, that you could welcome Neteyam the same. That you could run into his arms. Hold him the way you ache to after these difficult and dangerous missions-

You convince yourself that you are content with just knowing that he is alive, and make your way back to the healers tent where your presence is wanted.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

It gets so cold in the mountains. Frigidly so.

The wind whips through the caves, leaving a bone deep chill in their wake. You keep the fire at the center of your tent going all night long, and can normally be found crouching at it’s hearth. It’s been raining on and off all day, torrential down pour to drizzles- from the sound it seems as though it has finally stopped. Quieted down.

You wonder if the sky is clear and the stars are bright. You miss climbing high into the trees after the evening eclipse. Miss gazing at the constellations, miss basking in the Pandoran night and listening to the sound of the forests.

Mo’at had sent you home, demanding you get some sleep.

It had been three days since the soldiers had returned and they had been very busy. Full of tending to the wounded, and organizing for the dead. You’d thrown yourself headfirst into anytask that was given to you. Kept yourself busy. Useful.

You didnt have the time to mope and obsess over a man that was not yours.

That is what you told yourself at least.

This…thing that you and Neteyam shared didn't have a name or a definition. It had started out of loneliness, out of the desperation for comfort. Before the humans had come back and brought their war upon the clan, you dont think the future Olo’eyktan had ever really looked at you twice. Violence and hurt had pushed you into eachothers arms, both of you seeking companionship. Someone to weather the storm with.

It wasnt love. Not to him, you know that. He would marry a woman with high standing one day- one that could be his match. Become Tsahik.

That wouldnt be you.

For Eywa’s sake, you could barely do stitches. You messed up simple tasks like making salves. You would not delude yourself into thinking it was anything more. Many Na’vi couple without mating, pleasure isn't stigmatized in your community. That was all it was. A need for pleasure. Your body satiates him and that is all.

You cant go looking for him. Begging for his time or his touch.

So you sit by your fire, thread your necklaces, and long for the stars.

You’re humming a tune to yourself, something soft and gentle and melodic when theres a sudden shift. The canvas wall of your tent shakes and your stiffen, reaching for your knife that lies on the makeshift table next to your bed-

Neteyam slips through the flap- easy as anything. Smoothly, his motions fluid from all of those years of training.

Your eyes and mouth are wide open, ears lying low to your head.

“Hi” the man grins, boyish and handsome as ever.

As though he hadnt just broken into your home. It’s not like the two of you hadnt done this before, he’d spend many nights sneakily tucked inside your tent but he usually came through the front entrance.

“Vonva!(asshole)”you hiss at him, exasperated “You- ugh! I couldve stabbed you!”

He’s so handsome it makes you sick. He’s so tall and broad, a few of his braids falling into his face as his eyes sparkle with mirth “That would not be very nice of you, what have I done to deserve such a fate?”

“Breaking and entering is grounds for stabbing” you huff “you scared me!”

Neteyam steps forward a bit, hands out stretching to you, tone gentle “Hey, I didnt mean to scare you. I just wanted to see you is all, Im sorry”

You hate the way that you’re so easy for him. He ignores you for days, and then shows up unannounced and you’re jumping at any and all attention he may give you.

The way that as his large hands engulf the tops of your arms, you lean into his touch greedily.

“It’s fine. It's just- very late. I wasn't expecting anyone” you try to keep your tone even “I was actually about to go to bed”

“Oh?” Neteyam wonders, his tail flicking behind him “Can I join you?”

Your heart speeds up, if thats even possible. Both at his words and his tone. The insinuation right there. He had spent too much time in your bed that really, it shouldn't be a question. You'd always welcomed him into your nest of blankets, your warm arms. In between your soft thighs-

“I'm not sure that would be a good idea” you respond, stepping out of his hold.

Neteyam sags a bit, surprised. His ears swivel and his smile weans, tugging downwards at the corners of his full lips “Not a good idea? Why not?”

You shrug, not able to look directly at him. Instead focusing on his shoulders. His abdomen. He’s still all banged up, the bandaging covering his bruises are expertisley wrapped. Done by the Tsahik herself, obviously.

It’s the perfect excuse.

“You’re still hurt,” you insist ”You need to be careful, you don't want to reopen anything”

A smooth chuckle escapes him and makes a tingle run down your spine. He reaches out again, this time he grabs at your hand, leading it from its place awkwardly at your side to his chest. Pressing your palm gently against his warm skin.

“I'd like to stay with you tonight, if you’ll let me” Neteyam starts, you can feel the vibrations of his strong voice in your palm, pressed against the muscle “I may need you to be a little bit gentle with me though, paskalin”

You're quiet, lips quirked, stuck in your head for a moment as your fingers lightly trace over one of his stripes.

“Y/N, hey-” He seems to be more serious than before as he urges you to look at him “I'm not sure what’s wrong, but If you want me to go I will”

Everything in your body, your soul, protests at his words. There is no part of you that wants him to leave.

You’re being so stupid.

Neteyam could have anyone. Anyone. And he’s here, with you. So what if he doesnt love you. You have to take whatever you can get. You dont want him to find solace with anyone else, dont want him to leave and never return-

You lean in, where your hand is, on his strong chest and place a kiss to the edge of the bandaging. Its a small little thing, a barley there brush of your lips but still. When you look up at him through your lashes you know you must make quite the sight.

“Stay” you urge. “I want you to stay with me tonight,” everynight. ”Please?”

He looks unsure for just a moment, clearly thrown off by your conflicting mood, before he nods. He cups the side of your face then, forcing you to make eye contact with him. No matter how uncomfortably intense- you cant turn away.

“Can I kiss you?” His words make you quake. He hadnt asked, so explicitly, for months. Since the two of you were still fumbly and newly exploring eachothers bodies.

It makes butterflies erupt in your stomach, makes you giddiously nervous. You nod, way too hard “Mhmm”

And then he’s bending down, having to crouch because of how much taller he is, to capture your lips with his own.

Its always so good.

His mouth and the way it tastes and the way it makes you feel. Neteyam seems so sweet, everyone in the clan knows him as the Golden Boy. The perfect soldier- in privacay, in these stolen moments of intimacy, he’s anything but.

His kisses are dirty, all demanding tongue and nipping fangs. He kisses like a man whos trying to get his dick wet. Like he wants to pick you up, crush you to him. Rut into you-

And normally he would. Normally he tosses you around like nothing but a child’s ragdoll(and you let him), but he’s still hurt. Still tender and healing. When you wrap your arms around his shoulders and tug, trying to climb him like a tree, he hisses in pain,.

“Shit” you pull away from his mouth, your lips wet with his saliva “Sorry, I didnt mean to”

He just shakes his head, nuzzling at your cheek “It’s fine, I’m okay”

“Im hurting you” you argue.

“You’re not. Just- be gentle, okay?” Neteyam urges, trying to lean back into the kiss “Grandmother thinks they’ll heal quickly, but my ribs-” he breaks himself off, laughing a little strained. “I fucked them up pretty good”

You frown.

He always does this. Always downplays his pain. You will have none of it, you grab his hand and tug “Come, I will make you tea”

Neteyams hairless brows raise “You dont have to, I’m really fine”

“Bah” you lead him to your bed and push gently on his shoulders until he sits. “Enough, it is no trouble”

You keep an ornate clay kettle next to the fire, boiling water always ready. He watches you as you fiddle with the many little jars in your arsenal, collecting herbs here and there. Steeping them in the hot water before pouring him a steaming cup.

“Here- it is bitter, but it will dull the pain”

Neteyam accepts the tea with a small smile “Irayo(thank you)”

It’s nice having him in your space. In your bed amongst all of your softest things as the fire crackles and illuminates the tent in a warm glow.

The shadows it casts over his angular face make him look haunting. So beautiful.

You like to take care of things. Instruments. Broken pottery. Children. It comes naturally to you.

You dote on him even though he protests, check his bandages and make him drink the whole cup of strong leaf tea, before he lies down. You're perched beside him, still on the edge of the bed mat.

“I didn't come here to be nursed, Y/N” he sighs as you rub salve on one of his nastier bruises.

“Humor me” you reply wryly, your dainty fingers all over him.

It takes him a while to relax, as it always does.

But oh, its your favorite thing.

Watching his walls come down and the facade of Olo’eyktan in training slip. Neteyam is funny and witty and a downright gossip. You enjoy talking to him as much as you enjoy getting fucked by him.

You like that when given the opportunity and the ear to do so; he loves to talk. About any and everything. His deep voice is like a blanket, warming you up from the inside out.

“I feel bad. I sneak in here; scare you and then make you take care of me” He snorts, “You must be so sick of me”

“No” you reassure with gentle touches “Never that”

You dont really know what Neteyam sees in you.

You’re pretty enough- but far from the gorgeous warriors and dancers that throw themselves at him. But when he looks at you, like he is now, you know there must be something. Something that turns those eyes of his to molten amber. They’re hungry, you’ve never seen him look at anything the way he looks at you. Except maybe the prey that ends up victim to his arrows.

He makes you want to be good to him. Be good for him.

“I enjoy taking care of you” you whisper as you trace the leather cords of his tweng, your fingertips dipping dangerously below them. “Can I take care of you tonight, Neteyam? You want me to?”

Neteyam nods slowly, making room for you as you climb carefully over him. Spread his legs enough for you to settle between them.

You cant help it, cant help how much you touch. You cant get enough of the feeling of his strong body under your hands. All of that corded muscle, all of his pretty deep tahini speckled skin. His strong calves, his well built thighs.

When you reach where he’s hard, straining against his cloth, his eyes flutter closed. You rub him until he chubs up, all plump and hard. Until a patch of wetness starts to darken the cloth-

“Help me a little, sayrip(handsome)”you urge as you tug on the strings of his tweng. Neteyam lifts his slim hips, helps you shimmy it down his thighs-

You’ve seen him naked more times then you can count, now. But still. You’re always struck by it.

His cock springs free- thuds against his well toned lower stomach. Drooling and pulsing, the tanhi there exceptionally bright. He’s so pretty, so vulnerable that it goes to your head. Your leaning in, tongue first-

“Wait,” Neteyam gruffs, “I want to see you too”

Ah.

Neteyam was very partial to your body. He’d told you many times- would try to wrangle you out of your skirt whenever he got the chance.

You smile, raising up on your knees before tugging the gossamer top off, over your head, Your nipples are hard and peaked, reacting to the cold. You run your fingertips over them, knowing that he likes a show. He likes to watch. He props himself, arm behind his head as he does so, it feels so lewd to play with your breasts for him. To trail your hands slowly down your tummy, to your full hips- tugging on the strings of your own tweng.

When the mound of your pussy is revealed he groans, he can see the way your slick shines in the low fire light.

“Good Mother” Neteyam’s rough and demanding as he yanks on you, pulls you into a kiss “You’re so fucking sexy”

His kiss is fervent and you could so easily lose yourself to them- you know what he wants. He’s already inching closer to your hot wet slit, his big fingers kneading at your plush asscheeks.

“Lemme take care of you” your mumble is insistent, and he sighs. Letting you pull away. Letting you re situate yourself between his legs.

He just lays back flat once more, a lazy grin on his face. “Okay, baby. Take care of me”

You’d always loved giving pleasure with your mouth, and lovers you’d had before had told you how good you were at it. You liked the taste and feel of a heavy cock on your tongue.

With Neteyam, as everything seems to be, it’s different. You dont just like giving him head, you love it.

You love the way that he jerks when you give his rosy tip that first little lick. You love the salty tang of his precum, so much that you spread it all over. Your lips, your cheeks. You rub his cock along your face, nuzzling it. Your cheeks, chin and nose wet with him. You love the way it stretches your lips as you take him into your mouth- he’s the biggest you’ve ever had and it pushes you to your limit. The hinge of your jaw aching as you force him down your throat.

“You’re such a good girl for me” Neteyam praises you, all choppy. His long fingers tangled in your waist length hair.

That is what you adore the most.

The Omaticayan prince is so vocal. He’s all whimpery moans and deep gritty groans. He lets you know exactly what he likes and doesn't like. And he rains down praise on you like its his job.

You’re his good girl. His sweet berry. His little whore..

You take it so well. So- ah- determined for him. You ram him down your tight convulsing throat ,until you’re sobbing around his dick. Never trying to pull away. Eager to get him off.

It is the most shameful position you’ve ever been put in. You’re addicted to the way that me makes you feel- you could never allow yourself to be this with anyone else.

“I-Im close” He warns as though that's not exactly what you want.

“Good” you hum, before diving back in. Suckling on the head and the sensitive sides of his shaft over and over. Just like you know he likes it.

It doesn't take long at all, you can feel him twitching n your mouth. His balls, so full and swollen, start to pull up, taught and ready to blow.

“Oh fuck, Y/N. Fuck”

He gasps as he knots his fingers at your scalp, as he holds on for dear life, his hips swiveling madly. His belly concaving with his heaving, rapid breaths as as his orgasm rips through him.

It’s a good one. You can tell. He’s biting his lips bloody and grinding his head back into your pillows, eyes tightly closed as he rides the waves of pleasure. The whole time, he fists your hair, holding your face to his crotch.

You take his cum, all of it. Popping the tip on your mouth and catching the thick spurts with your tongue. He tastes so good, it feels so intimate to get to have him like this. You close your eyes and savor it, dont pull off until he's twitching and whining with over sensitivity.

You sit back on your haunches, wiping your messy mouth clean with the back of your hand and assessing the damage.

Neteyam is all shivery, his arm thrown over his face as he comes down from the high. He’s still struggling to catch his breath and you cant help the pride that

“You feeling any better, baby?” the human term of affection rolls off your lips, smug and sultry and he laughs behind his arm.

It takes a few moments, but he finally collects himself “You are way too good at that” he’s told you before, but repeats it as he pulls you close. You’re perched in his lap, his strong arms around your waist as he holds you close.

“I like watching you” you admit between the pecking kisses “I like the way you come”

He smiles into your mouth, you can feel his sharp canines on your lips “That’s my good girl”

You full body shiver at the praise, gritting your forehead against his and breathing through your nose in an attempt not to lose it. You're gushing between your legs, your thighs a sticky mess and your cunt swollen and blood hot.

“Your turn, huh? Come on, I know that pussy has to be needy. You want me to eat it?” Neteyam whispers hotly in your ear and you just groan.

And while his skills with his tongue are legendary, you’re feeling particularly empty, needing to be full of him after weeks of distance “Mmm, no. Want you inside of me”

“Can do” he affirms, his hands going to your hips, nudging you “Lay down, I’ll fuck you, paskalin. I’ll fuck you so good. Wanna’ stretch you out”

“Wait” you press a hand to his chest when you notice the grimace on his face. The one he’s trying to hide as he attempts to lift you “You’re still hurting, Nete”

“I’ll be fine, I’ve got you” He assures, stubbornly “I want you to feel good, too”

He’s not the only one who's stubborn. You wiggle out of his grip, pressing down firmly on his chest.

“We can try something else” you suggest, really not wanting him to hurt himself even worse. Neteyam can get…intense when hes fucking you. It’s all very physical, he pours buckets of sweet down onto you as he works your body.

“You want to get fucked” He reminds you, his hips jerking up pointedly so that you can feel his erection between your legs.

Eywa, yes you do. You want him, you want him to carve his way into your body. To bully your tight walls until they accommodate his wide girth.

You bite your lip and reach for his length, pumping his cock thats still wet with your spit before leaning in close so that you can whisper in his ear “We’re just going to have to compromise”

Neteyam is huffy until you sink down onto him and ride him until neither of you can formulate thoughts.

Until you’re boneless, tangled limbs and buried under your quilts.

The afterglow is your favorite.

Neteyam is always so gentle and tender after sex. He holds you, lets you lie your head on his chest and listen to the steady thrumming beat of his heart as he plays with your hair. The only thing that could make this better is if he reached for your kuru. Is if you got to experience Tsaheylu with him-

It’s not fair,

How could he expect you not to fall in love with him?

The quiet stretches on. The fire is dim and dying and the tent is mostly black, night creeping in and covering you both in darkness.

“I’m sorry” his voice almost startles you, his words confusing and unexpected “I’m sorry I ignored you- the day we came back. I was trying to figure out how to calm my dad down. He was so pissed and Lo’ak’s attitude only makes it worse-”

You don't say anything. You just keep listening to his strong heart.

“I didn't mean to hurt your feelings”

You don't respond for a while. You don't want to shatter the atmosphere that is shimmy fly wing delicate “I was just happy to see you alive. It terrifies me, that you’ll leave on one of these raids and never come back. I dont- I wouldn't know what to do if that happened”

“I'm not going to leave, Y/N” his arms tighten around you and you close your eyes, relishing the way he holds on to you. It makes you feel like maybe you're not the only one desperate for this to never end.

“Do you promise?” You sound young, look so small in his big arms.

“I promise”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Weeks later, The Sully’s leave the tribe.

They’re running, fleeing for the good of the Omaticaya people- that is what Jake says. He claims it is for the best. You have never doubted his prowess as Olo’eyktan until that moment.

The tribe mourns, falls into great sorrow as the family says their goodbyes.

You can not bear to look. You drown in your tears and hide in the crowd. Will not meet Neteyams gaze no matter how much he tries to get you to.

When he mounts his ikran and takes to the skies you feel something inside of you shatter. He disappears into the vast horizon.

Neteyam leaves.

You were a fool to believe he’d keep his promise.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Welp. Um hi guys lol. I was like let me post something short and sweet to come back with before I start hitting you guys with all of my Kinktober prompts next month. Somehow I ended up with a 5k angst filled what could be first chapter of a series. LOL I HATE MYSELF AND THE FACT THAT I CANT WRITE ONE SHOTS.

I literally don't have the time to work on another story, but if this one was a little too much angst, I'd be glad to give us a fix it Part Two.

This will be the last kind of stand alone update until after October. If you havent alread, check out Luna’s( @pandoraslxna )Kinktober prompt list. She is such a gem for cultivating it and helping keep this fandom alive and thriving.

As usual, please leave me some feedback. Good, bad(not mean though lol my psyche’s very fragile rn) I want to hear your thoughts!

Love ya, pretty babies!

[kimosims]

There was a well-known saying in high society, one even the most no-gossip types couldn’t help but whisper. "There’s nothing darling about the Darlingtons," they’d mutter to one another the moment a member of the infamous family entered any rare event worth their attention. Never to their faces, of course. Cold as they were, the Darlingtons held far too much power for anyone to dare cross them, even in the slightest. Not that they would care.

However, Albert Leopold Darlington, the youngest of the Earl's four sons, seemed born to defy that belief. He entered the world in the shadow of tragedy, blamed by his brothers for their mother’s death during childbirth. The already distant and severe Darlington household grew even colder, with Albert finding himself not only neglected by his absent father but also tormented by his elder siblings. Life in that vast, austere estate was difficult, to say the least.

Yet, amidst this frigid atmosphere, Albert found solace in the company of the estate’s female servants. His clingy, yet undeniably charming nature won over their affection easily, and they, in turn, provided the warmth that the men of the household so harshly withheld. They would pat his hair and whisper reassurances, calling him a "good boy," allowing him fleeting moments of comfort in an otherwise unforgiving world.

As the years flowed by, Albert’s innocent fascination with femininity blossomed into a deeper, more romantic yearning, drawing him ever further from the path his family had carved for him. Where his brothers found purpose in land management and social dominance, Albert sought refuge in the arts. He poured his spirit into painting and music, enchanting the women of high society with his striking good looks and his profound sensitivity. In a family of hard-edged, pragmatic men, Albert stood apart, his very presence exuding the softness and introspection that the Darlington name seemed to lack.

To the unyielding Darlington men, however, his artistic inclinations were nothing short of ruinous. Every brushstroke and melody was a symbol of wasted potential, a harbinger of disgrace for the family’s name. As the youngest, it was expected that Albert would assume a clerical role, ensuring the Anglican benefits that would bolster their family’s influence. But the thought of such a monotonous existence—shackled by duty, rituals, and societal expectations—filled Albert with dread. He craved the freedom that only a life dedicated to the arts could offer, far removed from the oppressive weight of tradition.

Yet, his father’s decision was final. “You’ve enjoyed the last of your boyhood,” the Earl declared sternly. “Soon, you’ll cease your frivolities and become a real Darlington—a man of duty, not of whims.” The countdown to Albert's adulthood had begun, and with it, the crushing realization that his days of freedom were quickly slipping away.

Of all the children who had once roamed the Blythe estate, none had been as full of life and boundless energy as Florence Lily Blythe. She had danced through the halls of the grand yet decaying manor, her laughter echoing off walls that, even in her earliest memories, seemed a little emptier with each passing year. What had once been a home bustling with staff and grandeur slowly diminished; furniture would disappear without explanation, and the once-lush gardens wilted under neglect. At first, Florence’s youthful exuberance shielded her from the bleak reality, but as the years wore on, she could no longer ignore the steady decline surrounding her.

By the time she was old enough to understand, the harsh truth hit her like a cold wind: her father and eldest brother had gambled away the Blythe fortune. What was once a noble house, proud and prosperous, had been reduced to little more than a crumbling façade. The Blythes still held their titles, but they were nobles in name only, shunned by high society and forced to live on the fringes of the very world they were once part of. Their ruin wasn’t just financial—her father and brother had squandered not only their own wealth, but the money of other nobles, leaving the Blythes in irreparable disgrace.

This fall from grace weighed heavily on Florence, but none felt it more deeply than her mother, a woman of delicate constitution and spirit. Sensitive and fragile, she could not bear the shame and sorrow that engulfed their family. The constant humiliation, paired with the bitter isolation imposed by their peers, broke her. Overwhelmed by grief, Florence’s mother succumbed to a deep sadness, passing away and leaving Florence adrift in a house filled with anger and ignorance. The men in the family—drunk on both despair and literal spirits—took out their frustration on her, lashing out in their unhappiness while drowning themselves in liquor.

Florence’s salvation came in the unlikely form of her estranged aunt, a widow who had lost her husband early in life. With only one grown son to care for, Aunt Beatrice turned her attention to Florence, seeing in the girl a spark of the Blythe spirit that had not yet been extinguished. She swept in with the kind of calm authority only a seasoned widow could possess, pulling Florence from the ruins of her family and thrusting her into the high-stakes world of marriage. With what little wealth she had left, Aunt Beatrice dressed Florence for the marriage market and set her on the path toward restoring her family’s dignity.

But it wasn’t as simple as debuting in society and waiting for suitors to come calling. The Blythe name was tainted, and no amount of finery or charm could erase the scandal that followed it. During her first season, Florence had been a vision—radiant with youth and beauty, her modest grace attracting attention wherever she went. But the cruel reality of her situation quickly became clear. The only offers she received were from men seeking discreet mistresses, those who desired her beauty but wouldn’t dare risk their reputations by tying themselves to the fallen Blythe name. She had been prepared for whispers, for judgment, but the humiliating propositions shattered her optimism.

Now, in her third season, Florence had resigned herself to becoming a wallflower. The once-bright glow in her eyes had dimmed, her spirit weighed down by rejection after rejection. Even her substantial dowry, painstakingly put together by her aunt, was not enough to attract decent proposals. She lingered on the edges of ballrooms, a ghost of the vibrant girl she had once been, waiting for a fate that seemed increasingly out of reach.

That is, until Albert Leopold Darlington took notice. Unlike the others, he saw not just a dowry but an opportunity. Florence’s quiet beauty and her potential for freedom from his own familial shackles drew him closer. In Florence, Albert saw more than a tarnished name—he saw his own path to escape. And Florence, though wary, couldn’t help but be intrigued by the man who didn’t flinch at the mention of the Blythe name.

At one of the season’s many grand soirées, the weight of it all became too much for Florence. Once again, she found herself pressed into the corner of the ballroom, watching the glittering crowd swirl past as if she were invisible. Her gaze drifted to the large windows, where beyond the glass, the world seemed so quiet and serene. She longed to be out there, far away from the endless parade of gowns and whispers, in a place where her dreams of marriage and motherhood were more than just distant fantasies.

As the laughter and conversation grew louder, the flow of elegantly dressed guests too relentless to bear, Florence felt her chest tighten. She needed to escape the suffocating atmosphere, if only for a moment. Slipping away unnoticed, she made her way to the garden, hoping the cool night air would calm her frayed nerves. With each step further from the ballroom, the tension in her body slowly eased, and she breathed in deeply, relishing the stillness that surrounded her.

But tonight, unlike every other night when she had fled the stifling confines of the ballroom for solace in the garden, she was not alone. Unbeknownst to her, someone had followed her—none other than the most sought-after bachelor of the season, Albert Leopold Darlington.

Albert couldn’t let this opportunity slip through his fingers. Marriage had never been something that occupied his thoughts, but the idea of a beautiful, sensitive woman who would allow him to live a life immersed in the arts seemed infinitely better than any future his father had laid out for him. What he hadn’t expected, however, was the striking beauty that the sorrowful woman under the ivy-covered archway in the garden had developed in the years since their first encounter. Always used to being the charming one in any interaction, Albert now found himself utterly smitten by the woman standing before him.

"Miss Blythe," he spoke softly, his voice carrying through the cool night air. "It’s such a lovely evening. What could possibly be so grave as to bring you to tears?"

"Oh, Mr. Darlington," Florence startled slightly at the sight of him stepping into view. "I must apologize for my lack of composure."

"I don't concern myself with such things," Albert replied, offering her his handkerchief with a small smile. "But you still haven’t answered my question."

And for some inexplicable reason, Florence couldn’t hold back. She poured out all of her sorrows, her doubts, her deepest frustrations—everything that had weighed so heavily on her heart.

"Goodness, look at me," she said at last, now free from tears. "Throwing all my troubles at the feet of a stranger. Forgive me, sir."

"But we’re not strangers," Albert said, his smile growing as he gently took her hands in his. "Or are you going to tell me that you’ve forgotten?"

Florence was taken aback. She hadn’t expected someone as busy and desired as Mr. Darlington to remember such a fleeting encounter. It had been during her first season, much like now, and she had slipped away from the ballroom, finding herself in an outdoor space that had a piano. Someone had been playing a lovely melody, and she couldn’t help but hum along. At the time, she thought it was a hired musician, but no—it was none other than Mr. Albert Leopold Darlington!

The moment she realized it, she had stopped singing immediately, her face flushing red like the darkest of roses, and she had quickly fled the scene. It had been such a small, insignificant moment—or so she had thought. Yet him remembering it now stirred something in her heart, something that had long since been dormant.

"I could never forget a voice like yours," Albert said softly, his eyes locking onto hers with a playful glint. "In fact, I’ve been wounded all these years, Miss Blythe, thinking I wasn’t nearly as memorable to you as you were to me."

Florence blinked, startled by the unexpected warmth in his tone. "Surely, Mr. Darlington, you don’t expect someone like me to leave much of an impression on someone like you."

"But you did," he replied with a smile, a teasing lilt in his voice. "And it’s been a terrible burden to carry, knowing I’ve been so easily forgotten."

In that moment, something shifted inside Florence. The playful way he spoke, the sincerity hidden just beneath the surface of his words—it was undeniable. Standing there under the moonlight, in the quiet of the garden, she realized she was completely and utterly captivated by Mr. Albert Leopold Darlington.

Their marriage came swiftly after the courtship that followed in the days after that fateful night. Albert’s father had been staunchly against the union from the very start, issuing a clear ultimatum: if Albert dared to tarnish the Darlington name by becoming involved with the ruined Blythe girl, he would be disinherited and cast out forever. Albert, in his youthful arrogance, saw this as a wonderful proposal. His immaturity prevented him from fully understanding what a life without the luxuries he had grown accustomed to truly entailed. All he could think of was the freedom he believed he was finally attaining.

Mr. Darlington and the newly titled Mrs. Darlington quickly departed for Brindleton Bay, where Albert had promised a fresh start—humble yet liberating, far removed from the suffocating shadows of their former lives. Florence had longed for a sanctuary beside a man who made her feel cherished and vibrant, while Albert sought the freedom to create, away from the expectations of his family.

They secured a bank loan that allowed them to purchase a charming and sizable house by the sea. Albert envisioned his days spent painting, determined to build a reputation as a renowned realist artist, while Florence dreamed of filling their home with children—strong sons to carry their legacy and many daughters she could love and nurture.

But as these two young souls—barely past the threshold of youth—settled into their new life, they soon found themselves face-to-face with the weight of adulthood and its many responsibilities. Were they truly prepared for the challenges that lay ahead?

[diamondcrownacademy]

DCA Info Part 61: Fairy Brother Trivia

To learn about their roles in DCA, click here!

❤️ Florence

• The eldest fairy brother who loves to shop for anything red or pink. He is very much into jewelry trends and would have clippings from magazines into his journals to take note.

• His personality is more of a charming gentleman who is a social butterfly and is always up to date in trendy topics. He doesn't care if the clothes he's wearing are close to a dress, if he looks fabulous in it then he wears it, no questions. Much like Asher, he acts like an overprotective dad towards his students, even during events where RSA and DCA have held balls on either campus, he's always scanning the area to make sure the boys don't do anything rash to his precious students.

• Once met Divus during a fashion show and the two keep in touch from time to time. Though there were times Divus starts to contact him more often ever since Ella got enrolled into the school. And he's always kept tabs on her latest creations and he sends Divus pictures with her permission.

• Even though he and Asher may bicker from time to time, they do care about each other but it's a tough love kind of relationship between them. Their ideals and morals just always seem to clash and it leads to comical arguing.

• He absolutely loves flowers and sometimes the students place a lovely arrangement in the vase placed on his desk. He makes bookmarks and even would make flower crowns out of them.

• Florence has a small flowerbed full of roses and he named each one. Every time the flowers wilt and regrow into buds he addresses it with "(Flower name) II, III, IV..." and he will proceed to go up a number every spring. He keeps the flowerbed in his quarters.

• He can be seen snacking on strawberries during break. He likes chocolate-covered strawberries when buying his snacks.

💚 Faustus

• The second fairy brother that keeps to himself sometimes. He does say something now and then but he likes to spectate rather than interact. He is a rather small-talk kind of guy. Doesn't say too much and won't make the first move at all.

• For some reason, he can't spend a single second in the kitchen without something catching on fire when it involved the stove or oven. Which is why his brothers insisted that one of them but him gets to use the kitchen. The only thing he could make was PB&J.

• His skills in music were so phenomenal that even the animals gathered and danced around whenever he starts music class.

• Secretly a bit of a troll who wants to watch the glorious chaos unfold. When Florence and Asher start yelling, he's sitting on his folding chair and munching popcorn. He got the idea to set up the “Asher vs. Florence” club and everyone but the two professors knew about its existence.

• Usually he wears a polite smile, but the thing that his brothers know is NOT to make any noise when he's napping or sleeping. He's very terrifying and will become such a menace that it almost looks like he's going to commit murder on the perpetrator.

• This is the only time the two would try to get along and even reschedule an argument at a later date in fear of facing Faustus' wrath.

• He loves a good tea party and can even be seen lounging around Futterwacken's tea table during lunch break. He likes sample platters, he thinks it's like a mukbang but it's the miniscule version.

💙 Asher

• The youngest of the fairy brothers who is the toughest out of them all. He gets along with Actius and they sometimes work out together and they even have arm wrestling competitions. They even took turns on the mechanical bull to see who can last the longest. Sometimes they play matador with it, purposely trying to make it angry and try to dodge it's large metal body.

• He is rather blunt and won't sugarcoat unless necessary or the situation is dire that being straightforward won't help. He isn't as strict as Mozus, he's just stern because he thinks logically that people will take advantage of someone who is innocent so he wants to open their eyes on reality, his views clashes with Florence's who thinks that girls don't have to always be tough to be taken seriously.

• Asher likes to drink a variety of alcoholic beverages. His favorite is vodka. Though when he isn't craving anything alcoholic, he'll sometimes get a root beer float. He is great at making the most aesthetically pleasing sundaes and floats when he feels a little hungry for something sweet. He dislikes eating plain ice cream and will bring out a lot of toppings and snacks to add to it.

• When he gets mad, he rolls up his sleeve and goes in to talk with his fists, it's instinct by this point and he has to be held back.

• Divus makes him nervous every time he smacks that whip, he thinks it's the sound it makes and how he can imagine how painful it would be if that hit someone.

[nervousladytraveler]

Fic title ask:

For All The Tea In China

The Dressmaker's Dilemma

@jomiddlemarch thank you for these. Such a fun diversion for a dull Saturday afternoon. Both my titles are Poldark based.

“For All the Tea in China”

Upset by what she understands to be a snub by Ross, Demelza returns to her place–and finds her resolve–in the kitchen.

Snippet:  “Fuck it. We’re having the rapini for dinner!” Demelza said aloud to nobody and slammed the slightly wilted bunch down on the work surface.

Dinner was hours away–in fact she was still preparing lunch–but this decision felt like an act of defiance, and that was precisely what she was in need of at the moment.

Ross, or Mister Poldark as he was to her today, disliked rapini. He hadn’t said it in so many words but the absence of praise the last time she served it allowed her to solve for x.

--AND---

“The Dressmaker's Dilemma” (also Poldark but not a modern AU).

Mistress Trelask, respected Truro dressmaker, stares down a very grave problem indeed. She has taken an order from Mrs. Francis Poldark for a lovely robe à l’anglaise of soft brown silk taffeta with sleeve ruffles and matching silk ribbons. But she has only now learned that her daughter, Miss Florence, has already fitted Mrs. John Treneglos for a quite similar gown (only fewer ruffles and no fichu). And both are to be ready in time for the upcoming ball at Place House.

Mistress Trelask must now decide which patron to disappoint while protecting her own reputation.

Snippet: No doubt, she’d lose the patronage of one of these fine ladies. And who might blame them? Such an insult to one’s standing to be jilted by a dressmaker! But on the one hand, there had been very few visits of late from Mrs. Poldark (soon to be Mrs. George Warleggan if the rumours are to be believed). And wasn’t it odd that she’d come out of mourning so soon?

[clairyclue]

all flowers must wilt one day (oh honey don’t i know it)

florence’s unanswered calls to god

hello?

there’s a bottle of tylenol on the floor

and my heart doesn’t feel as heavy now. 

not my real heart—

the Heart that noticed you never called me your best friend

you were MINE. 

is that okay?

i don’t know if you’re still-

um-

on the line, but if you are

i want to tell you that we can

pretend my arms are around your 

shoulders while you sit in my bed 

i’m really dead, oh god. 

you didnt understand my grief 

but you mourned your family, in a way 

(how is nissy?

waverly?)

are you still there?

goodbye. for now. 

i’ll call again tomorrow. 

god wont answer my fucking calls

and i’m calling collect from this side of heaven 

and prudence, i just want to tell you i love you

not in a way i wanna use rings and share a life

but ive never kept a secret from you

are you listening?

it’s florence. again. 

(it’s always florence)

i didn’t make it to twenty-five. 

it feels like an echo chamber in here

prudey, i want to go home. 

you’re the only one looking for a call

please please please don’t forget me

i’ve been thinking all this time

can you mourn your own death?

maybe it’s my loss of mortality 

but i’ve also been thinking—

i really was a good friend, wasn’t i?

i would get scared sometimes because

because you seemed so different 

but maybe it was better when i was there

to piss you off

than you to be alone 

?

don’t sit in the auditorium 

not in my seat, row B chair 24

don’t watch the songs 

not the ones i used to dance with you to

(you hated it, i know)

don’t torture yourself, prudey

hey, okay

maybe i’m getting good at it?

you still can’t hear me

i know, i know

how did i not think you loved me?

you called every day when i was in london 

you biked to the middle of nowhere 

because i told you my mum was dead

i wish you could listen to me,

because it’s ridiculous 

prudence i’m on this side of life now

do i believe it?

i do. 

i wasn’t as bad as i thought 

(when you left home at 18 you cried in my room with me and came to my house first)

(you sat in my bed and you cried and you trusted me with your tears, you trusted me not to ask)

(was i your best friend?)

[fragmentsofemelia]

Original Short Story - Chastleton House

National Trust: Chastleton House File

April 2005:

During the examination of Chastleton House a series of letters were found within a wall cavity in the Cavalier room. The letters were bound together in twine, with a crimson wax seal. The letters detail the first stay of Florence Whitmore-Jones (born Florence Clough) at Chastleton House. Although much of Florence’s early life is undocumented we can assume that she is between nineteen and twenty one at the time of writing. Florence would go on to marry John Henry Whitmore-Jones in the spring of 1830 and in the autumn she had her first child, Arthur Whitmore-Jones. Unfortunately Florence passed away during the birth of her third child, Willie Whitmore-Jones.

August 2016:

The letters were handed to the National Trust in the autumn of 2007 and were displayed within the property up until 2016, when the living relatives asked for them to be removed.

LETTER I

27th November 1829

Dear Mother,

It gives me the greatest pleasure to assure you that I arrived safely at Chastleton House in the late evening last night. The journey was exceptionally long, however, Mr Whitmore-Jones graciously sent a carriage to collect me from Cirencester station. Upon my arrival at Chastleton it was nightfall. I was resentfully rushed inside by the groundskeeper who took great care to tell me how late in the season it was and that Mr Whitmore-Jones is due home a week from now. Mother, I am so excited to meet him! Alas, I shall attempt to stifle my excitement with my letters to you.

The next morning I was made tea by one of the kitchen maids and was shown around by the miserable groundskeeper. This house is a labyrinth of secret rooms and passageways, with multiple staircases and a gallery full of Mr Whitmore-Jones’s collection of paintings and busts. I am sure that I will fit in here, Mother. The groundskeeper informed me that I am to stay in the snug Cavalier room. The walls are lined in a complex pattern of rose wallpaper, which looks rather wondrous! However, when I laid my bag down I saw a puckered scrape of the original wall where time had eradicated the paper. I fingered the loose parchment and watched as it disintegrated. I ran my hand across the harsh oak bed frame, where flecks of the wood submerged themselves within my palm. The groundskeeper assured me that I am the first inhabitant of the Cavalier Room since Mr Whitmore-Jones was announced the rightful owner. I hope that my stay here will prove to be rather wonderful, and if not it will not matter as I won't be gone for long!

Later that afternoon I was shown the grounds, which are entrapped by large shrubbery, with an intricate maze marking the centre of the gardens. The groundskeeper appeared rather excitable when we came to his rose garden. However this excitement soon turned to despair once he saw how the sharp air had bitten the petals from their buds and spat them upon the floor! I felt an acute pity for him and his dismissal of the winter. Mother this felt strange to me – our groundskeeper at Watlington Manor understands so much of the changing in season and never becomes disparaged by the wilting of his crop. The groundskeeper did not speak again unless it was to tell me of the history of the grounds or to complain of the bitter weather. We walked the entirety of the gardens until the night fell upon us.

Still, I am not quite sure as to why Mr Whitmore-Jones requested my presence so close to Christmas - perhaps he has heard of my talent with oils and hopes to add my work to his collection! Oh Mother, how wonderful would that be? Perhaps he will pay me handsomely and I may finally dedicate myself to artistry.

Your adoring Daughter,

Florence

LETTER II

1st December 1829

Dear Mother,

The sky has grown pregnant with white and grey, I'm sure it shall snow again soon. Chastleton has been coated with thick snowfall since I last wrote to you. On the first night of the snowfall I overheard the maids anxiously babbling about how early in the season it was for snow and that they do not think that Chastleton shall cope in these conditions– I can not say that I myself have been made anxious by this snowfall, I think it to be rather exciting! Although I do regret not asking Elizabeth to pack my warmer clothes. I am yet to fully understand the maids’ anxieties of Chastleton’s ability to withstand the winter, however as the days have rolled by it is becoming more apparent that it is in great need of a loving hand.

Last night on the west staircase I heard the furious cry of the Groundskeeper, protesting to a poor maid that Chastleton is in no position to allow guests– this made me ever so nervous and I rushed back to my room. Since my arrival at Chastleton I had noticed the derelict nature of the house, with the rooms coated in debris from the summer; there are even little birds nesting in the parlour, which I cannot bring myself to tell the groundskeeper about as I am sure they will meet their end. I have gone to great lengths to avoid the groundskeeper since last night.

During my days at Chastleton I have been resigned to sitting in front of the window and watching as the flakes turn the garden into a barren landscape of white. Unfortunately, the maids refuse to let me use my oils, over fear that I shall create some sort of unfixable mess! Otherwise I would take great pleasure in painting the trees that have been kissed with frost and the lawn that sits idly under the untouched blanket of twinkling snow. My candle illuminates the growing iciness upon the window pain as I sit and write this letter to you! There is something remarkably calming in the stillness of winter. Yet, I have become agitated by the impending nature of the spring – it stirs a fear within me that I am unable to place.

I have heard nothing of Mr Whitmore-Jones’s whereabouts. In vain I have tried to pull information about him from the maids, yet they refuse to speak of him. I think they have decided to keep me at a distance from them, as they retreat whenever I enter a room.

How are you and father? I do hope that you are well and that I shall hear back from you soon! I long for when I will be back with you again.

Your loving Daughter,

Florence

LETTER III

7th December 1829

Dear Mother,

I am restless at your absence, Is there a reason as to why you do not respond? I am sure there is a delay due to the snow but my heart longs to hear from you.

Since I last wrote to you I have found this insatiable urge rising within me to clean, as if I were a housemaid! I lay awake at night preoccupied with thoughts of dirt lining my nails and debris piling on the floor. The walls breathe iciness upon my skin as I feverishly clean this house in preparation for Mr Whitmore-Jones’ return. My days have become obsessive and tiresome at the sheer magnitude of work that Chastleton requires. Yesterday, during one of these fits of cleaning, the parlour became encapsulated by a rotten, festering aroma. The scent trickled down my throat which my body rejected as I violently wretched. I found the perpetrator of the odour whilst cleaning the fireplace. Underneath the cobweb ridden logs I made out the cream plumage of one of my house sparrows. I threw the logs into the centre of the parlour to reach her rotting body. As I picked up her wilted frame I felt her twitch and writhe as maggots pierced their way from her insides. Oh mother how horrid it was! I screeched as I saw them burrow out of her and retreated to my chamber. Yet this incessant urge within me to clean brought me back to her body. I held the poor thing in my palm and wept. I took her into the garden and buried her in the snow. Mother I do not know if I shall cope if that same fate falls upon the other sparrows!

My distance from Mr Whitmore-Jones upsets me so, as I believe he became quite fond of me. Mother, do you remember those lovely letters he would send me over the summer? I can still picture the crimson crested wax seal and the beautiful twine he would bind them in. He was enthralled at the mere idea of me visiting Chastleton– yet, where is he now? Still the maids refuse to tell me of his whereabouts and I am still forcing a distance between myself and the groundskeeper out of fear that he detests me! In fact, Mother, I haven’t seen anyone in days– The maids retreated with the growth of the snowfall, so I have been left to clean and long for Mr Whitmore-Jones to return.

I do hope to hear from you soon!

Your worried Daughter,

Florence

LETTER IV

8th December 1829

Dear Mother,

I know it has only been hours since my last letter – yet, nights at Chastleton cause me to question what I know to be true. At night the house eradicates my tender hours of labour. It toys with my spirit and forces me to start anew in the morning. My slumber is interrupted almost nightly, as of yet I do not know what it is, but there is a damp warmth in the air that suffocates my dreams.

Last night, in the haze of my dream, a thick dampness fell upon my chest, expelling the air from my lungs. I felt a gouging asphyxiation trickle down my body. I yelped as it curled up on my stomach causing my abdomen to gurgle and throb. My mind has become forgetful since my arrival; so I began to question if I were still in that lucid dream I had only encountered mere moments before, or if this horror was truly happening. My abdomen relentlessly groaned as my thoughts became wilder. I retreated from the Cavalier room, forcing myself down the west staircase to the Old Kitchen. A kitchen maid fixed a cup of tea to ease my mind and the pain eventually subsided. I told her at length of the damp horror that torments me so, and a brief glimmer of terror shone in her eyes. She held me as I walked back to the Cavalier room. The maid urged me to not only return to my slumber but to not tell the other maids of this damp horror.

This morning when I woke my chambermaid had drawn a bath for me. I thought this to be quite wonderful as the water was lusciously perfumed and warm. It reminded me of the baths Elizabeth would run for me! My hands began to shake as I worked the soap bar into my damp skin. I attempted to hold myself still and hoped that the stillness would rid the events of last night from my mind. The shaking softened and momentarily I felt as if I had never left Watlington. I felt as if I were only twelve and Elizabeth had run my sunday bath, the scent of freshly baked bread flitted about my nose. I lazily opened my eyes and continued to scrub at my skin. A hue of deep red sat tauntingly underneath the milky film of bath water. I jumped from the bath and this is when I saw the talons of the night marked upon my skin. The lacerations buried into my abdomen right where I had felt that terrible pang! I ran my fingers over the scratches, my skin rising where the ripping had taken place. I dressed quickly so that the chambermaid would not see my mangled form. I fear that the maids know more about Chastleton than they seem; Mother, there must be some awful secret they are hiding from me – something so ghastly and vile that lurks through the halls. This is why they have kept me at a distance, surely Mother? I am fearful to sleep again tonight in case the labourious pain rises again and I become a more mangled form of myself in the morning.

Your frightful Daughter

Florence

LETTER V

10th December 1829

Dear Mother,

The house has once again spat out all of the hours of labour that I have so tenderly afforded it. The grime oozes by night and the putrid odour of the little sparrow haunts my nose, inspiring an acute nausea to overcome me. The great parlour I once spent my days sat in has become littered with grime and sparrow excrement. The chill of the winter beckons me to retire from my insatiable cleaning; yet that same urgency grows and becomes unrelenting at the absence of Mr Whitmore-Jones. The longer he is kept from me the larger my desire to cleanse this house becomes. Upon my arrival the groundskeeper said he shall only be gone for a week– and how long have I been at this house now Mother – with nothing but cleaning and torment to pass the time!

I have thought about slipping away into the night, leaving Chastleton and never returning. However I lack transport and the journey is far too dangerous on foot, especially in this bitter winter. The silence of Mr Whitmore-Jones causes a scepticism to writhe within me. I fear I do not know when he shall come back to Chastleton, or if he shall come at all. I have tried in vain to find the groundskeeper and confront him about the whereabouts of Mr Whitmore-Jones but he has become ellusive. I see his figure in the gardens, traipsing large wheelbarrows from one place to another, but in the thick of the winter I do not understand his exertion, as surely there is nothing left to do?

In this isolation you must think that I have become hysterical, but this is all true! Mother, this house– it breathes with me– these walls like damp flesh that hold my body here. I do not know when I shall be able to see you again.

I still await your response – Mother, if you receive this letter please send our carriage to Chastleton so that I may come home!

Your nervous Daughter,

Florence

LETTER VI

12th December 1829

Dear Mother,

The damp torment that woke me many nights ago has metamorphosed into a curious, childlike anguish. Last night my chambermaid dressed me for bed and I fell into a deep slumber. I awoke to the curious patter of footsteps outside my room. I am the only inhabitant of Chastleton during Mr Whitmore-Jones’ absence, aside from the maids but they continue in their aloofness. The haphazard pounding of feet manifested outside my door. The beating of my heart rang in my ears. I swung the door back and a sharp chill hit my body. There was no being that explained the sound, I was met with the emptiness that I have grown accustomed to. I turned myself back to my slumber when a faint patter of feet echoed down the west staircase. I lit my candlestick in the fireplace and cautiously followed. The floorboards of the hall creaked with my impending steps. The groaning almost caused the patter that woke me to become indistinguishable. The familiar gripping pain penetrated my abdomen but I continued down the stairs, clutching at my already bleeding body. The echo faded as I entered the ground floor. I searched every room on the ground floor in vain, yet the purporator of my dream was nowhere to be found. I began to feel faint at my loss of blood and, to my own recollection, collapsed.

This morning I awoke in the Cavalier room and the scratches that had sunk deep into my skin were gone. There was no sign of blood on my nightgown that I had only clutched to my skin hours earlier. My candlestick sat back in the holder, its wick white as if a flame had never touched it. I grasped the wax stick and threw it into the fireplace. I caught sight of my deterioration in the mirror. My once plump cheeks concave, a grey tinge takes over my skin. Only my hair remains somewhat similar to the girl that entered Chastleton. My frame has been decimated with bruises and frailty bites at my bones. In my inspection of myself in the mirror, my abdomen began to bulge. Something groans and writhes within me, something most horrid and detestable. I fear it is too repulsive to imagine. Mother, I do not remember how I got back to the Cavalier room last night but I feel my condition worsen as I write this to you! The maids must not find out about this thing that thrashes inside me. I weep once more as I do not believe that you are receiving these letters, this house intercepts all of my desire and destroys it.

— Florence

LETTER VII

20th December 1829

Dear Mother,

My cleaning of this house has become relentless – every waking hour I feel the filth creep between my fingers and burrow its way into my mind. I wash my hands until I feel them crack yet the muck stains my palms. My sparrows have passed away, their little bodies pile in the fireplace by night and cause the most foul odour to hang in the air. My condition worsens with the hour as the cancerous thing grows inside me. I have asked my chambermaid, the only one of the maids who still allows herself to come near me, to discharge herself temporarily until Mr Whitmore-Jones returns. I am too fearful of her seeing the wreck I have become. I only leave the Cavalier room to clean or eat in the parlour.

My appetite has become engorged and peculiar; the smell of my once favourite pheasant causes my mind to reanimate the detestable stench of the rotting sparrows. The grotesque rot hangs in the air and suffocates my mind. Only the sweetest treacle keeps this rising hunger satisfied. My mouth salivates as I write this letter and think of the thick tar dribbling down my throat. I have taken to teaching myself how to cook in the dead of night, when the maids have retreated to the opposite side of Chastleton.

Last night the hunger awoke me. I hauled this growing form to the Old Kitchen. I felt the tumorous entity writhe within me as I began to crack eggs upon the cast iron contraption. The transparent slime hissed as the heat ate away at its clarity. My sweat-ridden hands furiously opened a jar of treacle. I grasped a spoon from the counter and heaped the syrup upon the spoon. I threw it upon the eggs, where the blackened treacle bubbled and curdled with the eggs. I heard the familiar patter of feet echoing down the west staircase. This sound startled me and the jar slipped from my grasp. It shattered, spreading treacle and fragments of glass across the stone floor. My body contorted and I fell to my knees, shovelling handfuls of the treacle into my mouth. The concoction scratched as I swallowed it down. I felt a frenzy overcome me as I consumed the mixture. My body convulsed as I coughed and blood sprayed across the Old Kitchen tiles. The patter became louder as the thing tore down the stairs. I sprang back, a chill of terror gripping my body. The wretch inside me squirmed with the rising sound of footfall. The door to the Old Kitchen swung back and a figure stood in the doorway. I felt my chambermaid grasp my shoulder. She pleaded for me to follow her. I obeyed and ran with her through the groundskeeper’s room, through the pantry and the Old Dairy. The incessant patter rang in my mind as we clambered up the east staircase. My chamber maid forced me through a door that the groundskeeper emitted showing me on that very first day here. Through the door was a narrow pathway, with a slanted wall that took up most of the space the room had to offer. On the floor was a mattress and a singular lit candle. My chambermaid encouraged me to lay still on the makeshift bed where I fell, once again, into a deep sleep.

– Florence

[witchblade]

like at most she would dress like. i dont know. florence welch. or one of those people that desperately wish they were a wilting victorian protagonist going mad in an abandoned townhouse

[blueiight]

amc iwtv ep2 w K&Y

the marius painting… THE GROAN…. HELLO… i need this penthouse to be like a nightmare maze in szn2 . things quoted will be K

“WOW LOOK HOW STRONG HE (lestat) IS. FUCK HE NEED A WHEELBAROW FOR?” me: girl he just lazy

“hes (louis) high?” the fake heavenly image of lestat as satan framed by the streetlights .. the angel of death rising under the moon… LESTATS BLOOD WAS GIGGLING INSIDE ME mmmhm ik dat dick sum srs ha

“he (lestat) talkin bout ppl like they meat!”

“is he (louis) gone attack privileged white people?” i said girl i aint gone say yes or no

“bougie ass eating blood with a spoon.”

wait just realized louis did his first kill had a panic attack & ran outside right after😂😂then lestat wan use that as a teachable moment like. & not to mention lestat even in ep2 tryna be daddy n shit likeee i got all the money u need hello. 😭😂

lestat recognizing how my city is TO THIS DAY cops dont give no fucks. tourists fuckin round… also not them being NAKED THE FIRST TIME IN THE COFFIN HELLO

this poor fox omg… he would 100% eat my baby chuchu 💔💔

our book must be a WARNING.. ldpdl and the just say no! DARE campaign of the 2020s

U GONE MAKE ME BEG? Yes Louis I WILL. also louis saying mm me & u we gone have to communicate , just like the meat…. (ALSO LESTAT TELLING LOUIS WE WILL BREAK U OF THIS COMPASSION FOR HUMANS? BREAK?? OF ??.. ik the hoteps would say this an example of Buckbreaking✌🏾✌🏾)

louis never went so far to hear grace’s heartbeat to read her mind cuz he heard what mrs. florence thought looking at him & was too scared to hear what his sister thought… but hey she’s having TWINS!

THE NPC IRISH DUDE CALLING LOUIS BOY. I WILL KILL HIM TWICE. SHE SAID THIS SCENE WENT VIRAL ON TWT OF LOUIS COMNENTING BLACK MEN WHO USE THEIR WEAKNESS TO RISE & THE DABBLE IN FUCKERY IS WHAT MADE HER WANNA WATCH (but also louis saying he was a “black man who uses his weakness” … a weakness to covet power, to get on ahead in white society…)

“chemistry!” she snaps as she loops lestat & louis arguing at the incinerator three times , we got one…

“see this is gonna be one of the things lestat just dont get in their relationship he used the ‘primitive country’ line to trap him in now hes acting brand new about race.” put down the tumblr meta’s gang she got us

“if disrespect was done to u id kill myself? how can i say no to you? awww lestat. how romantic” SHED 100% FOLD💔

1912-1917 was louis wilt chamberlain days. statpadding for the seedy side of society, choking on the big stage (his relationship w his family gradually falling to pieces, and louis in the eyes of society as jim crow regulations creep on in)

“OH LAWD HE GONE BITE THE BABY?” then she got confused over the fact that 5 years passed so soon maybe we needed some more eps @amc lolz

“i always wanted to be a vampire when i was young but i see the problems with it now!“ 😂😂😂😂

LMAOOOOO LOUIS PIVOTING FROM DEFENSIVENESS TO CHOMPING ON DAMEK. THE PLEASURE OF THE LIL DRINK. BRINGING DAMEK TO HIS KNEES. LIKEEEEEEEE???? HELLO. THEY GET FREAKY IN THIS PENTHOUSE OK

shes of the belief that louis did NOT eat the baby gang.

LESTAT SAYING SPARE THE FAMILY ALL THE PAIN NIGGA U TURNED UR OWN MAMA…🆗🆒

louis saying ‘sound like trash to me’ is a perfect accent moment here lolol.

Ok shes in love w lestat& im like about to pass out.

the sheer emotional whiplash of going from DID I KILL MY NEPHEW I WONT EVER BE A PARENT 💔 to romantic & shameless dickmatazion slash pontification over lestat as lestat in said flashback waxes poetry over the sheer depression of being a vampire as he says how louis take this feeling of loneliness from him. . my sister topping it off by saying “ouuu romance”

“lestat said if ur not gone sing it right dont sing it at all” ALSO LESTAT SAYING THEY PULING TALENT FROM GAS STATIONS. modern lestat need to be scrapping on stan twt over his utter disgust w regard to music . hes on spaces saying do u know my name? aggressively like shadow v. kd on spaces in 2021

“He’s (Lestat) really fucking crazy!“

This poor soul was someones son… brother.. & he was to be butchered for what? an offending note? [Lestat] Removed a lifetime of confidence & joy in less than half an hour. 1) idiots not only seen the way lestat hunted louis in ep1, ep2 watched lestat torture this poor person , click out on louis for saying that its torture & got surprised that ep5 happened? CTE fanbase indeed also 2) my dummy dummy dummy hc that what lestat would consider ‘evil’ people to eat would b ppl who do v benign but personally offensable things to lestat like having bad singing voices is CANON amc wise😭😭

LESTAT WAS AN ARTIST IN BRINGING DEATH. louis waxing poetry over this scene of horror, watching this entire man’s life… they both crazy. He had a way about him and I was still, very much under that power. afraid not to disappoint… lestat is ur daddy in more than 1 sense huh.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS HOMOEROTICISM” referring to lestat& louis sharing the poor poor tenor. she not homophobic she in a homosexual rigmarole rn my friends

Alice (daniel 1st wife) dying her eyebrow back brown despite half of it being brown is just like louis in the 1910s using conk—[THIS USER BEEN SHOT]

“Aww Daniel & Louis coming to an understanding here. See Louis is a good guy. he got took advantage of by that SEXY ASS WHITE MAN-“ She still got a lil bit of CTE but we will fix it🤎

[beauthief]

𝟓 𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐃 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐎𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄

Track 1: Labour by Paris Paloma

All day, every day Therapist, mother, maid Nymph then a virgin, nurse than a servant Just an appendage, live to attend him So that he never lifts a finger Twenty-four seven, baby machine So he can live out his picket fence dreams It's not an act of love if you make her You make me do too much labor

Track 2: Pretty Little Things by The Crane Wives

Don't buy me flowers It pains me to watch pretty little things wilt away Pretty little things wilt away Pretty little things wilt away There are lessons in life no one should have to learn But trust is now something I make people earn So I'm not inclined to just give it away

Track 3: Cop Car by Mitski

I want to jump into blue water And I miss riding horses, I miss running fast I miss riding horses, I miss running fast I was meant for running fast I pretended you were mine, It made me calm babe I am cruel, I am gentle, I can make you laugh I am cruel, I am gentle, I can make you laugh

Track 4: Queendom by AURORA

The underdogs are my lions The silent ones are my choir The women will be my soldiers With the weight of life on their shoulders Drink until you've had enough I'll drink from your hands I will be your warrior I will be your lamb

Track 5: King by Florence + the Machine

But a woman is a changeling, always shifting shape Just when you think you have it figured out Something new begins to take What strange claws are these scratching at my skin? I never knew my killer would be coming from within I am no mother, I am no bride, I am king I am no mother, I am no bride, I am king

Tagged by: @lovelornes (Thank you! This actually took me a bit cause I realized I hadn't found any songs that inspired my writing for Haru, so I had to go find some LOL) Tagging: @gyokushou, @foolisharcanum, @kckflips, @kingspuppet, @ultdete, @iiguess and anyone else interested!

[sacrifical-lamb-core]

Ahhhhhh.

I’m so empty.

just miserable. And stressed.

[yellghoul]

owo thanks for the tag @agentmika these are so fun

1. picrew game

i wish i looked more evil like this tbh i need to do something fucked up with my hair :v

2. shuffle my on repeat playlist and post the first 10 tracks

1/ the end of love - florence + the machine

2/ kiss with a fist - florence + the machine

3/ to be a woman pt. 1 - fenne lily

4/ aspiring fires - mother mother

5/ new colossus - kaia kater

6/ juice - slothrust

7/ homewreck wifey - slothrust

8/ third eye - florence + the machine

9/ birthday - fenne lily

10/ hoax - taylor swift

wow my shuffle randomization is not very good huh

3. this questionnaire:

Tea, coffee, or soda?

tea !

Dogs or cats?

cats <3

Can you play any instrument?

no but i used to play the piano and clarinet :>

What's your sun sign?

dont know !!!

First song lyrics that pops into your head?

so do iiiiii remind you of someone you never met a lonely silhouette (i have not listened to this song since i was a teenager.. formative experiences ig)

Do you have any tattoos?

i got two !! one of a knife and leaf that mirror each other on my arm, and the other is a hand holding a wilting flower on my left shoulder

i want more !! i want a snake and a mossy skull and a balloon animal dog and a ring of haunted doors and

Favorite place you've travelled?

i really havent travelled many places at all :') but i want to go back to my hometown in china one day

What's the last movie you've watched?

totoro <3

What languages do you speak?

english, broken chinese, a smattering of french and german phrases. ich bin ein Bar motherfucker

Do you have any hobbies?

i like to knit !! i do it like once every couple of weeks but thats not important

You can hang out with one fictional character for an hour, who do you choose?

i wanna say alana maxwell but she'll probably be so bored. one of the narutos ?? kiba bc he comes with a dog

tagging if u wanna !! @hanolliver @caelstyx @corniart

[kimosims]

When the children arrived, Florence kept her eldest daughters outside.

"What is it, mama?" Primrose asked, her eyes darting anxiously toward the door. There was a strange, pulsing feeling inside her—she knew something awaited her.

"A surprise has come for you two today..." Florence replied, her tone playful. She watched as Primrose's excitement grew, eyes glued to the door, while Violet stood by, her mind turning over what it could be. "Any ideas, Violet?"

"Oh, mama, I haven't the slightest! But please don't tell me it's the dog Daisy and Rosie keep begging for—he'll ruin all my things, and I just know I'll be the one who ends up caring for him!" Violet protested.

Before Primrose could argue, Florence chuckled and waved her hand, allowing them to enter and head toward the waiting room.

"I can't believe it!" Primrose gasped as she saw who was inside.

"Rosie, Violet, I—" Georgina began, but was cut off as the twins threw themselves into her arms. Violet was more reserved, but Primrose, in that moment, forgot all ladylike manners. Their godmother had returned!

While Florence prepared afternoon tea for her daughters and Georgina, the room was alive with chatter about the trip. Primrose wanted to know everything, eagerly asking for the smallest details from Georgina’s letters, while Violet listened patiently—she was quite used to Rosie taking charge of situations.

"Oh, it was simply wonderful, girls! I so wished you and your mother could have been with me, but poor Florence is needed by you all so much, and besides, you're both still far too young for the kind of fun I enjoy," Georgina laughed.

"Did you bring us anything?" Primrose asked abruptly, ignoring Violet’s quiet scolding.

"But of course. I’ve brought the most beautiful dresses for my favorite goddaughters, along with some books, and a brand-new violin for you, Violet! I hear you've taken to playing? How marvelous!" Georgina smiled warmly at her.

Before Violet could reply, Rosie interjected. "And I sing! Did you know that, Aunt Georgina? Mama says I'm better than her, and that I could be mistaken for a bird, but I prefer to think of myself more like a siren, and—"

And so the conversation shifted back to Rosie. Violet couldn't help but wilt a little inside. She adored her sister, but as they grew older, her fear deepened—was there anything in life that would truly belong to her? Rosie seemed to take everything: friends were always more hers, she demanded attention with her outbursts, and charmed with her carefree ways. Violet knew she wasn’t ordinary, but standing next to Rosie, she simply couldn’t stand out. There wasn’t even room to try.

Daisy, too, seemed unimpressed by the commotion her sister was causing. She was used to going unnoticed, but the indifference of this new visitor—someone too unfamiliar for her to care about, despite hearing of her for years—only reinforced her invisible place within the household.

[mysticstarlightduck]

10 Songs Tag!

Tagged by @tabswrites! Find her post here! Thanks so much for the song tag! I adore this kind of tag games, as songs are a very important part of my creative writing process (:

Rules: Use your WIP playlist and put it on shuffle. Write the first 10 songs that come up and quote your favorite lyrics from each song and/or the lyrics that fit your WIP best (they might be the same lyrics), then tag 10 people.

From my Tales of Wilted Flowers playlist!

Thus Always To Tyrants - The Oh Hellos

Over hill, over dale, through the valley and vale Do not weep, do not wail, I am coming home to you Every tomb, every sea, spit the bones from your teeth Let the ransomed be free as the revel meets the day Let the valleys awake, let them rattle and shake In the wind that remakes all that time has worn away

2. Brave New World - Kalandra

Stirrings in the wind Resonates a whisper from within Warnings from afar Telling you to heed the morning star Waking from the dream Witnessing the smoke that's rolling in The end is what you fear The scent of embers lingers in the air It's like a web there is no escape from It's got you trapped and you long for freedom Every wish every dream was granted Never knowing what they demanded You see the wall how it's getting higher You want to fight but you're all divided It's not a world anyone can thrive in Is this the world we were meant to grow in? Somebody tell me where are we going? A brave new world will rise If we do not act upon its lies Hold your tongues no more Learn from all the ones who came before

3. Traveller's Song - Aviators

Sing for the lost, for eternal affairs Sing to raise our spirits in great despair Through the ashes of oblivion Quick and unseen like the dragon's offspring For we owe no debts and bow to no king Every war has its costs and we've paid Won by the bond of the party we've made

Warn with a call that the battle starts now As the demons listen we strike them down Fighting back the rifts of blood Sent from the sky lies an angel in need Give him muse to strengthen and words to heed Heaven's doused and set alight We're knocking on the gates of hell tonight

4. Something I Could Never Be - Tony Ann, Wrabel (from my Rylisan Fenrith playlist. Sad Elf Boi Vibes)

Back when I was younger, doubt knocked at my door Asked me if I’m worthy and filled my head with words Like shouldn’t I be stronger and that boys shouldn’t cry If beauty’s for beholders, could you lend me your eyes? [...] Does anybody have it all? Can anybody set me free? When the midnight falls, I turn myself on me It hits me like a drop of ink, clouding everything I see But if I’m being honest All I ever wanted was something I could never be

5. Dear Wormwood - The Oh Hellos (from my Kaellel Nevarth playlist.)

And in my hour of weakness, you were there to see my courage fail For the years have been long, and you have taught me well to sit and wait Planning without acting, steadily becoming what I hate I know who you are now (x3) [...] I have always known you You have always been there in my mind But now I understand you And I will not be part of your designs I know who I am now And all that you've made of me I know who you are now And I name you my enemy

6. Breath of Life - Florence + The Machine

But I only needed one more touch Another taste of heavenly rush And I believe, I believe it so And I only needed one more touch Another taste of devouring rush And I believe, I believe it so Whose side am I on, whose side am I? [...] And I started to hear it again But this time it wasn't the end And the room was so quiet, oh And my heart is a hollow plain For the devil to dance again And the room was too quiet, oh I was looking for a breath of life A little touch of heavenly light But all the choirs in my head sang no

7. Hey Brother - Avicci, Cover by D'Artagnan (from my Eiralis & Kaellel playlist. Kaellel is her adoptive older brother and one of the dryads who took her in as a child.)

Hey brother Do you still believe in one another? Hey sister Do you still believe in love? I wonder Oh, if the sky comes falling down For you There's nothing in this world I wouldn't do What if I'm far from home? Oh, brother, I will hear you call What if I lose it all? Oh sister, I will help you out Oh, if the sky comes falling down For you There's nothing in this world I wouldn't do

8. Princess Toyotomi - Celtic Woman

Days and years praying for our love, our future So silently kept inside our hearts so deeply Time went by never changed and stayed inside us so preciously... carrying all the love for you No one never would say a word 'bout the story we know never let the legend vanish No one ever would tell the truth... the secret we know, our long-cherished dream

9. The Witch of Briar Thorn - Karliene (from my Arista Bryar playlist)

I awoke to true love’s kill Pulled me out of sleep so still T’was the day the curse was born Heart twisted in briar thorn [...] I awoke to true love’s kill Pierced my heart with no blood spilled T’was the way the witch was born Now I kill with briar thorn

10. The Horror And The Wild - The Amazing Devil

You were raised by wolves and voices Every night I hear them howling deep beneath your bed They said it all comes down to you You're the daughter of silent-watching stones You watch the stars hurl all their fundaments In wonderment, at you and yours, forever asking more You are that space that's in between Every page, every chord, and every screen You are the driftwood and the rift You're the words that I promise I don't mean We're drunk but drinking (sunk but sinking) They thought us blind (we were just blinking) All the stones and kings of old will hear us screaming at the cold "Remember me, " I ask "Remember me, " I sing Give me back my heart, you wingless thing

+ BONUS!

From my The Last Wrath playlist!

Because TLW has many characters and POV, I chose two for this game! And therefore I chose two of my all-time favorite characters from that WIP, Quinn Aurellen and Julyan Ashiren.

From Quinn Aurellen's Playlist -

For Your Entertainment - Adam Lambert (slowed and reverb)

Oh, do you know what you got into? Can you handle what I'm 'bout to do? 'Cause it's about to get rough for you I'm here for your entertainment [...] Oh, I bet you thought that I was soft and sweet You thought an angel swept you off your feet Well, I'm about to turn up the heat I'm here for your entertainment [...] Take the pain, take the pleasure I'm the master of both

2. Addict - Hazbin Hotel, cover by Caleb Hyles

Yeah, you fell in love But you fell deeper in this pit (But you fell deeper in this pit) While death rains from above So count your blessings 'cause this is it You're not letting it go So what if I misbehave It's what everybody craves You already know So come if you're feeling brave And fancy yourself a mate You want it, I got it, see what you like? We could have it all by the end of the night Your money and power, my sinful delight A hit of that heaven and hell, a hell of a high

3. Rhythm of the Tambourine - Hunchback of Notre Dame

Dance, La Esmeralda, dance! Hey, soldier boy, I see how you stare Hey, butcher man, I see you admire Come gather 'round Hey, Jaques and Pierre! Come see me dance to the rhythm of the tambourine Flash of ankle Flip of a skirt Feel them excite, enflame and inspire Come see me dance, hey, what can it hurt? It's just a dance to the rhythm of the tambourine

4. Natural - Imagine Dragons

Will you hold the line When every one of them has given up and given in? Tell me In this house of mine Nothing ever comes without a consequence or cost, tell me Will the stars align? Will heaven step in? Will it save us from our sin, will it? 'Cause this house of mine stands strong That's the price you pay Leave behind your heart and cast away Just another product of today Rather be the hunter than the prey And you're standing on the edge face up 'Cause you're a natural [...] Will somebody Let me see the light within the dark trees shadowing? What's happening? Looking through the glass find the wrong within the past knowing Oh, we are the youth Cut until it bleeds inside a world without the peace, face it A bit of the truth, the truth

5. Alive - SIA

I had a one-way ticket to a place where all the demons go Where the wind don't change And nothing in the ground can ever grow No hope, just lies And you're taught to cry into your pillow But I survived [...] I found solace in the strangest place Way in the back of my mind I saw my life in a stranger's face And it was mine [...] I took what you gave But you never noticed that I was in pain I knew what I wanted, I went in and got it Did all the things that you said that I wouldn't I told you that I would never be forgotten And all in spite of you

6. Speechless - Naomi Scott, Cover by Peyton Parrish

I won't be silenced You can't keep me quiet Won't tremble when you try it All I know is I won't go speechless 'Cause I'll breathe When they try to suffocate me Don't you underestimate me 'Cause I know that I won't go speechless Written in stone Every rule, every word Centuries-old and unbending Stay in your place Better seen and not heard But now that story is ending

7. Buy the Stars - Marina and The Diamond, male cover

You bought a star In the sky tonight Because your life is dark And it needs some light You named it after me But I'm not yours to keep Because you'll never see That the stars are free Oh, we don't own our heavens now We only own our hell And if you don't know that by now Then you don't know me that well All my life, I've been so lonely All in the name of being holy Still, you'd like to think you know me You keep buying stars

8. Figure You Out - VÒILA

I could love you with my eyes closed Kiss you with a blindfold Figure you out I might hold you with my hands tied Show you I'm the right guy To figure you out  [...] I heard he got you some new friends With some big dreams, when will he learn That you already got your own?  [...] And I've been thinking Of all the little things That you've been missing When will you learn?

9. Saints - Echos

I'm sorry but your story isn't adding up Think your religion is a lie to keep my mouth shut So I won't testify the crimes you're keeping score of Why don't you throw me to the wolves? I thought you were one You were standing there like an angry god Counting out my sins just to cross them off Saying that my tongue was too loud to trust And that my blood couldn't keep you My dear, you're not so innocent You're fooling Heaven's gates So you won't have to change You're no saint, you're no savior

10. Burn The Witch - Shawn James

The flames lick at my feet Their hearts full of hate What they don't understand, they condemn What they can't comprehend must meet its end [...] But I won't scream, won't give them that satisfaction No, I won't confess my false interaction As I breathe deep and prepare for my passing I hear them chant, "Burn the witch"

From Julyan Ashiren's Playlist -

Hammer and The Anvil - The Longest Johns

And it's sparks a-flying, passion strong I am the blacksmith singing The hammer and the anvil song I thought to make a broadsword, for fighting on the field Much as I know the hammer is a nobler thing to wield For though us humble tradesfolk choose a quiet life The gods of war come to the door of the hammer and his wife And it's sparks a-flying, passion strong I am the blacksmith singing The hammer and the anvil song [...] Now all you merry blacksmiths, a warning take by me Stick to your country horseshoes and your anchors for the sea When the gods of war come calling, promising you gold They'll take your hammer, take your anvil, take your very soul

2. The Sun is Also a Warrior - Leslie Fish

"The sun is also a warrior. Knowledge can also destroy. Nor can the kindest will, Preserve you from the kill. Not all of wisdom brings joy." "Four of those five," the first one said, Are not enough to appease the dead. To save my world all this strife must cease, So now I bid you to conjure peace." The god said "Yes. Though it grieves me sore, For I was also a god of war, And I remember what you forget, Four of those five you may still regret."

3. Blood Upon the Snow - Hozier and Bear Mcreary

To all things housed in her silence Nature offers a violence The bear that keeps to his own line The wolf that seeks always his own kind The world that hardens as the harsher winter holds The parent forced to eat its young before it grows Every bird, gone unheard Starving where the ground has froze The winter sunrise, red on white Like blood upon the snow Like blood upon the snow [...] I've walked the earth and there are so few here that know How dark the night and just how cold the wind can blow I've no more hunger now to see where the road will go I've no more kept my warmth Than blood upon the snow

4. Just a Man - Epic The Musical

Will these actions haunt my days Every man I've slain? Is the price I pay endless pain? Close your eyes and spare yourself the view How could I hurt you?

[...]

But when does a comet become a meteor? When does a candle become a blaze? When does a man become a monster? When does a ripple become a tidal wave? When does the reason become the blame? When does a man become a monster?

5. Play With Fire - Sam Tinnesz ft. Yatch Money

Insane, inside The danger gets me high Can't help myself Got secrets I can't tell [...] My speed goes in the red Hot blood (hot blood), these veins (these veins) My pleasure is their pain I love to watch the castles burn These golden ashes turn to dirt 

[...]

Rite of passage, classic havoc Match in the gas tank, ooh, that's wretched Unstoppable, legendary animal 

6. Last Words - Solaria, Vocaloid

May the winds carry forth My soul when I'm gone May the harsh of the storm Never linger for long May the birds ever fly Where their journey leads them May the land and the skies Be ever blessed with freedom Come, gather 'round and I'll spin you a tale One of tyranny, of humble dreams and those who prevail It starts with a hopeful young bard and a song Through his melodies The wicked king, he wouldn't rule long

A kingdom of isolation Is as glorious as a prison With a feather of eagle The bard was entranced As a sliver of freedom Before him, it danced

7. Scars - Boy Epic

Can you see my scars? Can you feel my heart? This is all of me, for all of the world to see So, who's it gonna be? The one that you only need? I gave it all, and all you gave was sweet misery So, who's gonna save us now? When the ashes hit the ground? I gave it all, but all you gave was sweet misery This is the end My beloved friends I'm lost in dreams And all I know is where I've been Run, love I'm the truth that you're afraid of I'm a fever, that you made up Just a martyr, on a bridge that's burning down

8. Brother - Needtobreathe

Brother, let me be your shelter Never leave you all alone I can be the one you call When you're low Brother, let me be your fortress When the night winds are driving on Be the one to light the way Bring you home

Face down in the desert now There's a cage locked around my heart I found a way to drop the keys where my failures were Now my hands can't reach that far I ain't made for a rivalry I could never take the world alone I know that in my weakness I am strong But it's your love that brings me home

9. City of the Dead - Eurielle

I'm scared of what's inside my head, what's inside my soul I feel like I'm running but getting nowhere Fear is suffocating me, I can't breathe I feel like I'm drowning, I'm sinking deeper White light fades to red As I enter the city of the dead

[...]

I feel it burning through my veins, it's driving me insane The fever is rising, I'm going under Memories flash before my eyes, I'm losing time The poison is killing me, taking over White light fades to red As I enter the city of the dead

10. I'll Be Good - Jaymes Young

For all of the times that I never could My past has tasted bitter for years now So I wield an iron fist Grace is just weakness Or so I've been told I've been cold, I've been merciless

But the blood on my hands scares me to death Maybe I'm waking up today I'll be good, I'll be good

For all of the light that I shut out For all of the innocent things that I doubt For all of the bruises I've caused in the tears For all of the things that I've done All these years, no, yeah For all the sparks that I stomped out For all of the perfect things that I doubt

I'll be good, I'll be good

Tagging: @writernopal, @cabbojage, @unstablewifiaccess, @rickie-the-storyteller, @clairelsonao3, @late-to-the-fandom and @exquisitecrow

[grunge-flavored-flowers]

Currently into strong kick ass women so I'll say..

PJ Harvey

Beth Hart

Patti Smith

Beyonce

Stevie Nicks

💖

Oooo what a good one! Thanks for sending!

Fair warning this one is a by yourself kind of listen there’s some wacky noises involved 💀

Sorry for this one being a video it’s unreleased but it’s my favorite Elle track