#Harvest Fare | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jezebelblues · 2 months ago

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𝐈𝐍 𝐁𝐎𝐃𝐘 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃 | 𝐇.𝐒 ݁ᛪ༙ ꫂ ၴႅၴ ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

ᝰ.ᐟ 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐟𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐡 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐮𝐭.

𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐚 𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐲 𝐚𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐟𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬, 𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐮𝐧—𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐰𝐧, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐞𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞, 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐲.

pt. i, pt. ii

𝐂𝐖: fem!reader, blood+blood drinking (bro is literally a vampire there's going to be blood) 1700s!harry, mentions of death

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: approx 7.3k

❏ yall this excruciatingly long so i just figured it was better to split this into four parts. it starts off kinda slow i knowwww but i feel like it fits his character. anyway I hope u will like. mwah :* also YES his heart beats idk i took creative liberty in assuming the blood he drinks would give him some sort of circulation and YES i drew inspo from tvd i like their vamp lore the most ok bye

Fourth of November, 1701

The English flag thrashed wildly in the biting wind, its edges snapping above the clank of chains and the groan of wood as boats were fastened to the harbor. Hooves clattered against the cobblestone, mingling with the grumble of cart wheels as townsfolk hurried homeward, eager to escape the deepening chill of evening.

Winter crept in with an ill-fated air, a shadow over the town. The fishermen’s hauls dwindled to nearly nothing, their nets coming up bare. Squash and pumpkins, once abundant, softened and rotted on their vines before they could be harvested. Livestock, struck by a strange sickness, perished too soon, their spoiled meat no longer fit to eat. Lately the townsfolk scraped by on what little they could hunt—rabbits, mostly—a meager fare that barely stretched to sustain a family for more than a few days.

YN stood at the end of the dock, the sea’s bitter wind pulling at her hair. A basket woven by her mother dangled from her arm, half-covered by a cloth beneath which a few herbs and stunted vegetables peeked through. She waited for Niall, a fisherman she’d known since childhood, to come ashore. His face was grim, his knuckles pale as he secured his boat. “Any luck?” She asked over the wind, though she already knew the answer.

His mouth twisted into a scowl as he wiped his hands on his trousers and approached her. “Lucks got nothin’ to do with it. s’the new king, swear it. God turned his back on us ‘cause of him.”

She winced and swatted his arm lightly as they started toward the stone walls encircling the town. “Don’t say such things, not out loud.” She kept her voice low, though she too had her doubts about the new ruler. “Best not to tempt fate with those words.”

He rolled his eyes and took the basket from her arm, letting it hang from his own so she could tuck her hands into her sleeves. “You agree with such things. S’pose God does as well from the lack of bloody fish.”

They passed under the worn stone archway marking the entrance to town, their footsteps echoing against the ancient stones. Dover was nestled between the English Channel and rolling green hills, hemmed in by rocky shores and the stark rise of the cliffs, standing watch like grim sentinels over the troubled little town.

As YN and Niall made their way up the winding path from the square, the quiet crept in around them, settling like a thin mist. The evening was thick and gray, heavy clouds stretching over Dover and flattening the light into a cool, uneasy dusk.

Each face they passed, they recognized. it was impossible not to, in a town so small. There was old mrs. Harris, hunched beneath a weathered shawl, who gave them a knowing nod as they went by, as if she alone were privy to the day’s secrets. And mr. James, pulling his cart toward home, who offered a quick tip of his hat, but avoided meeting their eyes too long, as if a weight hung over all of them that no one cared to mention.

Niall, walking beside her, held his silence longer than usual, and there was a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes when he finally turned her way. “You’re still makin’ that stew, yeah?” He hummed, nodding toward the basket swinging lightly in his hand. His tone was casual, almost lazy, yet she sensed something else beneath it, like he was testing the waters of a conversation he couldn’t quite bring himself to start.

“Mum has already started it,” YN replied, keeping her voice as light as his. “Cabbage, onion, bit of thyme. barely a stew, more a broth.” She cast a sideways glance his way, catching the faintest hint of a smile pulling at his mouth.

“No doubt you’ll have your sister servin’ it, then?” He asked, as though it were an afterthought. “I hear she has a way of makin’ anything taste finer.”

YN’s lips twitched, a hint of humor flickering in her eyes. She knew well enough where this was going, but she didn’t indulge him outright. “Oh, she has her charms, but she’s picky ‘bout who gets to see ‘em.”

He laughed quietly, a low sound that seemed to carry on the breeze, soft and uncertain. “She's got the whole town near dreamin’ of her, from what I hear. never seen her eye stray toward anyone, though.”

YN glanced away, her gaze drifting over the clustered rooftops, the narrow chimneys stretching into the dimming sky like spindly fingers. “You’d need more than a bowl of stew to catch her fancy, Niall. You’d best hope for a rich merchant or a duke comin’ ashore.”

His chuckle died off, and for a few quiet moments, they simply walked, the soft scuff of their shoes blending with the distant murmur of the sea. Yet something hung between them, unspoken, like the faintest shadow shifting at the edges of their conversation.

It was Niall who broke the silence, his voice lower this time, his words careful. “Have you heard the talk? About the old watchtower?”

YN’s gaze drifted to the far side of town, where the dense stretch of forest gave way to a steep rise, the silhouette of the abandoned tower just barely visible through the trees. “Folk say all sorts of things,” She muttered, almost to herself. “Been empty as long as I can remember.”

Niall’s eyes narrowed as he looked out toward the darkening line of trees, his jaw set. “Empty, maybe, but someone’s taken to hauntin’ it now. The lads swear they’ve seen a figure up there at night, just a shadow movin’ about, like he’s watchin’ the town from that high window.”

She felt a faint chill that wasn’t from the cold, and she pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders. “They say a lot of things,” she repeated, her tone steady but soft. “Could be nothin’ but the wind playin’ with shadows.”

He tilted his head, the edge of a smirk softening his face. “Aye, that’s what I'd think, too. But seems each person’s got a different tale to tell. Some say he’s a protector, sent to keep us safe.” He shrugged, his gaze still fixed on the distant woods. “Others say it’s somethin’ darker—maybe one of the king’s men, sent to spy on anyone who dares breathe a word against him.”

YN’s lips parted, but she hesitated, the words hanging unspoken as her gaze lingered on the watchtower. Her grandmother had told her stories of that tower once, years ago, when she was still young enough to believe in the old tales without question. But she’d since brushed them off as the ramblings of an old woman long passed. Now, though, the stories flickered back to her, sharp and vivid as they’d once been.

“I heard some folk say it’s not a man at all,” She murmured, so quietly that her voice nearly vanished into the chill air. “Gran said it’s a spirit—a demon.” she let out a breathy laugh, sending a glance his way. “You believe my ol’gran true?”

Niall made a sound, halfway between a scoff and a chuckle, though he didn’t argue with her. “You don’t seem the sort to believe in demons,YN.”

She didn’t answer him, and for a moment, they stood in the gathering dusk, looking out toward the distant, looming shape of the tower, as if something there had caught them both in its thrall. A strange, unsettling weight hung in the air, pressing down around them, and neither seemed willing to break it.

The faint toll of the chapel bell echoed across the town, marking the evening hour. The sound seemed hollow, almost mournful, as it resonated through the narrow streets, slipping into every crack and crevice, lingering like a warning in the growing dark.

The path wound through the clustered homes of their town, each one narrow and stacked close beside the other, the rooftops tilting like old friends leaning together to brace against the coming winter. Flickers of candlelight peeked through small, thick-paned windows, casting brief glows over doorsteps worn smooth by years of footsteps. Voices drifted out faintly as neighbors settled in for the night, the low buzz of comfort after a long day’s labor.

As they neared her door, YN glanced sideways at Niall, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Well, no use lettin’ the stew go to waste with just me. You might as well come in and help make somethin’ decent out of it. And,” she added, with a playful glint, “my sister will be there, too. Might be the only chance you get to impress her.”

Niall feigned indifference, though she caught the hint of a flush in his cheeks beneath the dimming light. “Well, if it’s to spare you from that sorry excuse of a stew, I s’pose I could lend a hand,” he said with mock reluctance, yet his steps quickened as they approached the small wooden door.

Inside, the house was simple and small, with a low ceiling that sloped slightly, forcing even YN to duck beneath the beams as she led him in. A narrow hearth crackled with a weak but steady fire, casting warm shadows across the modest room, which served as both kitchen and living space. The scent of herbs, drying in bunches along the walls, mingled with the faint tang of smoke from the hearth. A single table stood in the center, its edges worn smooth, surrounded by a handful of mismatched stools and chairs, each one slightly wobbly but bearing the marks of care and countless meals.

“Is that you, YN?” Her mother’s voice came from the corner, where she was bent over a pot, stirring with steady, practiced hands. She looked up with a gentle smile, her face flushed from the warmth of the fire. “And Niall too! Just in time. I was about to send Arthur to fetch you, but he’s off fiddlin’ with somethin’ in the corner.”

Ten-year-old Arthur looked up at the mention of his name, a wide grin splitting his face when he spotted the blonde. “Niall!” He called, scrambling to his feet and darting over, a wooden sword in hand. “You’ll stay for supper, won’t you?”

He placed the basket next to the older woman before he tousled the boy’s hair, giving a wink to YN. “That depends—will your sister cook, or will your ma have mercy on me?”

YN rolled her eyes as her mother chuckled, stirring the stew with a knowing look. “I'll make sure to keep it fit for eatin’. Now, why don’t you both make yourselves useful and set the table?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Niall replied with a quick bow, flashing his best charming smile, though his eyes lingered on the slender figure by the fire.

YN’s older sister, Ella, sat with her needlework in hand, her fingers nimble as she embroidered a delicate pattern into the edge of a linen cloth. She looked up as Niall approached, offering him a nod and a faint, polite smile, though a flicker of amusement danced in her eyes.

“Ella,” Niall greeted, taking the opportunity to lean a bit too casually against the edge of the table. “Now there’s a sight finer than any supper, if I may say.”

“Oh, you may say.” Ella sighed, her tone as mild as her smile. “But sayin’ doesn’t make it so, does it?” Her eyes sparkled with a touch of mischief, and she kept her gaze on her stitching as if he hadn’t said a word.

YN snorted, reaching past Niall to set the bowls on the table. “She’ll need more than empty flattery to be wooed, Niall. You’ll be talkin’ all night before she so much as bats an eye.”

“Empty flattery?” he echoed, feigning shock as he helped with the cups, placing them with exaggerated care. “This is pure honesty, YN. Your sister’s a vision, though I'm not sure she sees it herself.”

Ella finally looked up, one eyebrow arched. “Perhaps that’s ‘cause it’s hard to see with all the bluster in here. Is it flattery or just another of your tales, Ni?”

Arthur laughed as he climbed onto his chair, his wooden sword clattering to the floor. “Tell a tale, Niall!” He urged, his eyes bright.

He obliged with a grand sweep of his arm. “Ah, tales are easy to tell when the company’s fine.” His gaze drifted meaningfully to Ella, who only smirked, clearly unbothered.

“Enough of your foolishness, Horan.” YN’s mother cut in, though her tone was warm as she dished the stew into the bowls. “There'll be time for tales when your stomach’s full. Now, all of you—sit, before this stew turns cold.”

They settled around the table, the simple meal set before them steaming in the flickering firelight. YN ladled out servings, keeping her own expression solemn as she dished out the rather grayish stew. Niall took a tentative sip, raising his brows in mock surprise.

“Well, I'll be,” he declared, setting his bowl down as if astonished. “Tastes just like stew!”

YN kicked him under the table, rolling her eyes. “Don’t sound so shocked, else we’ll make you eat the scraps.”

Ella, watching them from across the table, hid a smile behind her hand. “It's better than you deserve,” she teased, offering Niall a faintly teasing look that sent Arthur into a fit of giggles.

As they settled into their meal, the conversation turned to the familiar rhythms of the day—the fish hauls, the scarcities at the market, the latest mischief Arthur had managed, and the townsfolk they’d seen along the way. Laughter bubbled up around the table, filling the small room with warmth as the stew slowly disappeared, their bowls clinking softly with each spoonful.

It wasn't until they’d nearly finished eating that YN’s mother’s voice turned low, a faint shadow crossing her face as she glanced at arthur. “Arthur,” she said gently, “I don't want to hear any more of you playin’ outside the town walls.”

The boy frowned, his spoon paused halfway to his mouth. “But ma, I’m careful,” he protested, glancing between her and YN as if hoping for support.

“She's right,” Ella added, her voice calm but firm. “The woods aren’t safe, especially with winter comin’ on.”

He looked to Niall, his face a mask of confusion and a bit of defiance. “Niall plays near the woods, don’t you?”

He shifted in his seat, his smile fading just slightly as he glanced at YN. “Aye, lad, but it’s different. I'm older, and I keep my wits about me. Besides,” he added lightly, though his voice held a trace of something darker, “there’s been talk of someone wanderin’ near the old watchtower.”

YN’s mother sighed, folding her hands on the table. “Too much talk.” She said quietly, her gaze drifting toward the narrow window. “I don’t care if s’only lore, you’ll be safe rather than sorry.”

A hush fell over the table, and Arthur's wide eyes darted from face to face. “Who is it, then?” He whispered, his voice trembling slightly. “A man?”

Ella reached over to ruffle his hair, her voice soft. “No one knows. could be a man, could be no more than shadows. But some say it’s best not to linger too close to it, just in case.”

Niall, watching Arthur's reaction, leaned in with a grin. “There now, it’s probably nothin’ more than a lonely ol’ fox. But best stick close to home, eh? Can’t have you disappearin’ on us.”

YN tried to keep her voice light as she chimed in, though she felt the faintest prickling unease beneath the laughter. “You heard him, Arthur. best keep to the town, else you might end up a story yourself.”

The boy’s eyes grew even wider, and he gulped, glancing nervously toward the window as if expecting to see the mysterious figure standing just beyond. He fidgeted, his hand reaching instinctively for his wooden sword on the floor beside him.

With a faint, tired sigh, YN’s mother rose and began clearing the table, signaling the end of the meal. The warm glow of the evening seemed to have dimmed, and even Niall’s usual cheer was muted as he helped gather the bowls, his gaze drifting back to the light flickering along the walls.

Outside, the wind picked up, brushing against the windows and rattling the latch ever so slightly, a whisper against the warmth of the firelight. The small house was silent for a long moment, each of them lost in thought, each glancing occasionally toward the dark window where the night gathered, close and watchful.

Morning seeped slowly into Dover, pale and cool, bringing with it the damp scent of the sea and the faint call of gulls overhead. YN was awake early, as was her habit, slipping quietly out of bed while the house still lingered in the soft dimness of dawn. The fire in the hearth had died to embers, and a chill clung to the air, but she moved quickly, tucking a shawl around her shoulders as she crossed the small room.

Arthur, already up and dressed, was tugging at the latch on the back door, eager to start his morning chores. He looked back when he heard her steps, his face lighting up with a grin. “Thought you’d sleep through it, lazybones.” He teased, though his eyes sparkled with mischief.

She snorted softly, pinching his cheek as she passed him. “Cheeky lad,” she muttered. “Come on, then. Let's get to it.”

They stepped out into the brisk morning, their breath puffing in the cold, and began making their way down the narrow stone path that wound through the small patch of yard behind their home. Frost clung to the grass, glinting in the pale light, and the chickens shuffled restlessly in their pen as Arthur went to check on them.

“Careful now.”

He bent down next to them to scatter their feed. The hens fluffed their feathers, clucking contentedly as they pecked at the ground, and Arthur kept one eye on the rooster, who strutted about with his chest puffed, keeping watch over his domain.

“Look at him,” he whispered, stifling a laugh as he threw a handful of seed. “Thinks he’s king of all creation, that one.”

She grinned, crouching beside him. “Well, he’s a rooster. not much else to do but look important, is there?”

The boy giggled, tossing a bit of feed toward the rooster, who eyed him warily before puffing up even further. YN kept watch as he finished the feeding, carefully securing the pen’s latch when he was done.

They moved on to check the small patch of herbs and vegetables that clung to life in the early cold, though the frost had already done its damage. The leaves hung limp and dark, and YN frowned, brushing a thin layer of frost from a withered cabbage leaf.

“S’not lookin’ good, is it?” Arthur said, his voice dropping to a murmur as he followed her gaze.

“No,” she replied softly, her fingers brushing over the leaves. “But we’ll manage. Always do.”

He gave her a solemn nod, but she could see the worry in his eyes, the way he seemed to glance toward the woods, as if he might glimpse the shadowed figure their mother had warned him about the night before. She reached over and squeezed his shoulder, offering a smile.

“No need for lookin’ so glum, Arthur,” she said, keeping her tone light. “We've plenty to keep us busy, and I'll wager you’ll see that rooster crowned king before anything happens to us.”

He managed a faint smile, his spirits lifting just enough to reassure her. They finished up quickly, making their way back inside, where the warmth of the house greeted them. YN set about preparing a quick meal for Arthur and her mother, who was just beginning to stir, her tired eyes softening at the sight of her children.

Once breakfast was sorted, YN returned to her small room to ready herself for the day. She tugged off her worn nightdress, slipping into the fresh linen undergarments she’d set aside, and carefully pulled on a plain woolen dress that hung neatly from a peg beside her bed. It was a simple dress, but a neat one, its modest collar and long sleeves making it suitable for the chilly weather. she straightened the fabric, adjusting the waist so that it lay just right, and wrapped her shawl back over her shoulders, pinning it at the front with an old, weathered brooch that had once belonged to her grandmother.

She caught her reflection in the small, scratched mirror by the window—a young woman with steady eyes and a hint of determination in her gaze, her hair braided behind her, a few strands slipping free to frame her face. After a moment, she tucked a few stray wisps behind her ear and gave herself a brisk nod, turning to head out.

The streets were beginning to stir as she made her way down to the docks, the early morning light casting a soft, muted glow over the cobblestone. A few shopkeepers were already sweeping their doorsteps, preparing for the day’s trade, and a handful of townsfolk passed by, nodding their greetings as she walked.

When she reached the docks, she found Niall already there, standing by his boat, his hands working quickly to secure the ropes. His coat hung loose over his shoulders, and his hair was tousled from the morning breeze, but there was a contented look in his eyes as he glanced up and saw her approach.

“Well, if it isn’t the queen of the cabbage patch,” he greeted her, a grin breaking across his face. “Come to see if I've hauled in a king’s feast for ye?”

YN rolled her eyes, crossing her arms as she stopped a few feet away from him. “I wouldn't go that far. but I'll settle for a decent fish, if you’ve managed one.”

He laughed, giving the rope a final tug before stepping back, wiping his hands on his trousers. “Oh, a decent fish, she says. Well, lucky for you, I've got just that.” He reached into a small wooden crate and held up a plump haddock, its scales glinting in the early light. “Not a king’s ransom, but it’ll do for stew, won’t it?”

She eyed the fish, unable to suppress a smile. “Aye, it’ll do. Might even save us from havin’ to wrangle another cabbage.”

Niall chuckled, tucking the fish back into the crate. “Couldn’t have that, now, could we? I’m doin’ my part to keep your cookin’ passable.”

“Passable?” She laughed, nudging him lightly as she stepped up beside him to peer into the crate. “You’re just glad to have an excuse to come round, steal our bread, and charm my sister.”

He gave her a mock-offended look, though his eyes glinted with humor. “Now, that’s hurtful, YN. I'm here for the food and the fine company, naturally. If your sister happens to be nearby, well, that’s not my fault, is it?”

She rolled her eyes, unable to help the small laugh that escaped. “Poor Ella’ll need more than a fish to be impressed. Best not get your hopes up too high.”

“Aye, she’s a hard one to please,” he admitted, a faint, wistful smile crossing his face. “But I'll manage somehow. or at least, I'll keep tryin’.”

They both fell silent, their gazes drifting out over the water, where a thin mist clung to the surface, casting an eerie calm over the harbor. The other boats rocked gently in the quiet, and the gulls called out above them, their cries echoing faintly across the empty stretch of sea. Together they turned back toward the town, the mist curling softly around them as they walked, side by side, in the quiet of the morning.

The midday lull brought a hush over the town, as folk took their brief respite between the day’s labors. The soft light of afternoon slipped over the rooftops, and YN found herself winding her way down one of the quieter streets toward Maura’s, a modest little cottage that doubled as the gathering place for the women in town. Here, around a crowded table of mismatched cups and chipped saucers, town gossip simmered as steadily as the tea.

Maura's door was open, the sound of voices spilling out into the cobbled lane, and YN slipped in quietly, greeting the women with a polite nod before finding a seat near the end of the table. The familiar faces of neighbors turned to greet her—Maura herself, with her cheeks flushed from the warmth of the kitchen, mrs. Harris with her ever-watchful eyes, and a handful of others who paused only long enough to give YN a quick nod before returning to the subject that had clearly held their interest long before she arrived.

“I'm tellin’ you,” mrs. Harris was saying, her voice low and edged with certainty. “There's somethin’ in that tower. maybe it’s a spy, maybe it’s worse.”

Maura scoffed, shaking her head. “If it were a spy, we’d know by now, wouldn’t we? why bother lurkin’ about if there’s nothin’ worth seein’ here?”

“There’s plenty to see, Maura,” the older woman sighed, leaning forward, her teacup nearly sloshing over the rim as she gestured toward the window. “Who’s to say he hasn’t been watchin’ us all along, takin’ note of who’s loyal to the new king and who’s not?”

Maura snorted, but one of the other women, Anna, leaned in, her voice barely a whisper. “or worse—what if it’s no man at all?” Her gaze darted to the others, her eyes wide with a kind of fearful excitement. “There are tales, you know. Of things that wander the woods. Spirits that linger in dark places, things that only come out when the days grow short.”

Mrs. Harris crossed herself, nodding solemnly. “Aye. folk say it’s a night creature—a demon, even.“

YN listened quietly, her fingers tracing the rim of her teacup, but she held back a smile. as the women exchanged anxious looks, she leaned back, sipping her tea, the warmth of it calming her nerves. To her, the stories felt like little more than old wives’ tales—a way for folk to pass the time when the days grew cold and bleak. A lonely man, perhaps, who’d taken to the tower for solitude, a soul with nowhere else to go. Nothing so sinister as the women here believed.

“You've a skeptical look about you, dear” Maura said, catching her eye with a wry smile. “Don’t tell me you’d walk up to that tower yourself, would you?”

She met her gaze calmly, setting her cup down. “I'd sooner believe it’s a wanderer, Maura. Maybe one who wants peace more than anything else. Don’t see why we should fear him.”

“Peace, or no peace, he’s still up there, watchin’ us all.”

YN didn’t reply, only nodded politely as the conversation swirled on, the voices around her swelling in speculation and rumor. After a while, she quietly rose, setting her cup aside and offering Maura a grateful nod before slipping out the door and into the fresh air.

The chatter of the women faded behind her, and she took a deep breath, the cool air filling her lungs and clearing her thoughts. She knew she was unlikely to shake their unease or convince them of her view, but as she thought of the lonely figure up in the tower, something tugged at her—a kind of curiosity that gnawed gently at the back of her mind.

Without a second thought, she made her way home, moving quickly and quietly, her mind already set. She slipped through the door, pausing only to grab her small woven basket from its hook. Her mother glanced up, but YN offered her a calm smile, murmuring something vague about a quick errand before supper.

IN the small corner of their kitchen where they kept their stores, she selected a handful of berries from the last of their foraging, a few slightly bruised carrots, and a small bunch of herbs tied with a thin scrap of cloth. Modest offerings, but enough, she hoped, to serve as a token of peace, a sign that she meant no harm.

She took a deep breath and headed toward the edge of town, her footsteps light as she made her way past the familiar lanes and toward the narrow path that led up to the old watchtower.

The path leading to the watchtower was narrow, winding its way up the hillside in gentle, uneven curves. YN had walked these woods many times before, though never with the purpose she had now. Above her, the sky was beginning to darken, clouds gathering in ominous clumps, casting long shadows across the land as the sun slipped lower.

Her heart thudded in her chest, not from fear, but from a strange mixture of curiosity and anticipation. The stories she’d heard that morning lingered in her mind like faint echoes, each warning a small reminder of the mystery ahead. But she felt something else too—a quiet resolve, an odd certainty that she had to see this figure, whoever he might be, with her own eyes.

The watchtower loomed before her, its crumbling stone walls climbing into the sky, weather-worn and scarred by time. She could see now why the townsfolk feared it; it looked like a relic from another era, half-hidden by the dense growth of ivy and the creeping fog that clung to the base of its walls. It was silent here, too silent, as if even the birds dared not sing in the shadow of the old tower.

Steeling herself, she moved forward, her footsteps muffled by the damp earth. The closer she got, the more the watchtower’s age showed itself in cracked stones and vines, a darkness that seemed to pool between the stones, deepening the gray of the twilight. At the base of the tower, a narrow door sat slightly ajar, barely wide enough for her to slip through. She paused there, glancing up, feeling an odd twinge of nervousness as her gaze drifted to the upper windows, dark and empty.

Drawing a deep breath, she pushed the door open, stepping into the dim interior.

The inside of the tower was colder, the air thick and still. Faint light seeped through cracks in the walls, just enough to reveal the sparse furnishings—a wooden table, books, a chair beside the hearth, long since gone cold. Dust motes hung in the air, catching the dim light like fragments of stars, and a faint, earthy smell lingered in the space, as though the room hadn’t seen another soul in years.

Yet something else lingered too, something that made the hair on the back of her neck prickle—a sense that she wasn’t alone.

A figure stepped forward from behind a wall, emerging so quietly she almost missed it. He was tall, with dark curls that tumbled around his face, shadows clinging to his features as though he belonged to the darkness itself. His eyes met hers, a piercing green that seemed to hold an entire century’s worth of secrets, and for a brief, unsettling moment, she felt as though he could see straight through her.

“What brings you here?” His voice was low, quiet, each word clipped and precise, yet holding a softness that surprised her.

YN swallowed, her hand instinctively tightening around the basket she held. “I–I thought you might be hungry,” she stammered, offering the basket forward with a hesitant smile. “Folk talk of you up here, you know. Thought it might be nice to see if you wanted some company.”

He raised a brow, a faint trace of amusement softening his gaze. He didn’t reach for the basket, but instead continued to watch her, as though trying to make sense of why she would come here, alone, to his solitary refuge.

Didn’t seem exactly the safest thing.

“People rarely visit me,” he said finally, his voice barely more than a murmur, as though he were speaking more to himself than to her. “Especially not with offerings.”

“Well, it’s no great feast,” she laughed breathily—nervous, setting the basket down on the table. “But it’s enough for a quiet meal.”

He looked down at the basket, his expression unreadable. The shadows seemed to deepen around him, and for a brief moment, she wondered if he would turn her away. But then his gaze shifted back to her, gentle, as though something in her gesture had reached him in a way she couldn’t quite understand.

“I don’t need much,” he breathed, finally stepping closer, his movements careful, almost tentative. “But thank you.”

The silence stretched between them as Harry’s eyes lingered on her, his regard tracing every movement of her face, the subtle rise and fall of her shoulders, the way her lips pressed together as if searching for words. He could feel it—her pulse thrumming in her neck, the warmth radiating from her skin, the soft, steady rhythm of blood rushing through her veins. It was maddening. The sound alone clawed at the quiet corners of his mind, stirring that old, cursed hunger he’d worked so hard to bury.

But he couldn’t let her see that. Couldn’t let even a flicker of it touch his face.

With a composed nod, he turned his attention to the basket, using the small action to steady himself, to pull his focus away from her and fix it on the modest offering she’d brought. Herbs and roots, earthy and clean, none of it touched by blood. He forced his breath to steady, aware of her watchful eyes on him as he sorted through the items, careful to keep his hands stable.

“Are you here… often?” She asked softly, breaking the silence in a voice that felt almost hesitant, as though unsure whether it was allowed. Her gaze darted around the room, taking in the sparse surroundings, the thick shadows that crept into every corner.

Harry let his fingers linger on a sprig of thyme, keeping his voice level as he answered. “Yes,” he confided simply, his tone giving nothing away. “I find it… peaceful.”

“Peaceful,” she echoed, a faint smile touching her lips as she looked back at him. “It doesn’t frighten you, being all alone up here?”

He allowed himself the smallest of smiles—him—frightened? How sweetly ironic. “Sometimes solitude is easier than the alternative.”

She studied him, and he could feel the weight of her eyes, searching for something beneath his answer. Her heartbeat quickened just a bit, a small, steady thump that seemed to reach straight through him, its warmth coiling like a spark inside his chest. He could almost taste it—the sweet, heady pull of her pulse.

But he forced the thought down, burying it beneath years of restraint. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, redirecting the focus onto her. “And what about you?” he asked, his tone soft but steady. “Doesn’t it frighten you to come all this way, alone?”

She gave a small laugh, shrugging one shoulder. “Maybe it should. But I suppose I don’t scare easily.” She paused, her gaze slipping to the narrow window where the trees outside swayed gently in the wind. “It’s quiet here, almost like a different world. Sometimes it feels like our town is shrinking, like it’s closing in. Out here, it’s–it’s freer.”

Harry’s gaze softened, though he said nothing. There was something in her words he understood, something that echoed faintly in his own memories of why he’d chosen this place—this forgotten, lonely tower—to escape. A life he could no longer live, a curse he couldn’t risk unleashing.

She looked back at him, curiosity bright in her eyes. “People say you’ve been here a long time—I mean, they say the tower’s been abandoned forever. But you don’t seem…” She trailed off, biting her lip as though she didn’t quite know how to finish.

“Don’t seem what?” he asked, his voice low, inviting her to continue.

She waited, and he watched her carotid flicker in her throat as she searched for her words. “You don’t seem like someone who belongs in a place like this,” she murmured. “Like you’ve got more in you than—than just seclusion.”

He felt a tug deep in his chest at her words, something he hadn’t felt in a long, long time—a faint longing, a half-forgotten ache for a life he’d once dreamed of. But that life was gone. He’d buried it the night he’d been turned, when the world as he knew it had collapsed into a semblance of hell.

“It’s strange,” he replied carefully, his eyes drifting toward the flickering shadows on the wall. The hunger gnawed at him, unrelenting, every second reminding him of how close he was to her. She was standing barely a foot away, her warmth filling the small space, her heartbeat a steady, maddening drumbeat that drew him closer, closer…

He straightened slightly, pulling himself back. “Solitude,” he said quietly, almost as if reminding himself, “sometimes feels simpler.”

She nodded slowly, but her eyes stayed on him, and he could see the spark of curiosity still there, unquenched. She was brave, this girl. Far braver than most. And something about that bravery—the quiet way she stood her ground in the face of shadows and rumors, in the presence of a stranger—intrigued him. She wasn’t running away. And a part of him, despite everything, wanted her to stay.

“Thank you,” he mumbled—almost a dismissal, gesturing to the basket, his voice softened with a touch of genuine gratitude. “Not many would bring gifts to a stranger. Especially not one so isolated.”

She smiled, her cheeks flushing faintly in the dim light. “Well, maybe I’ll bring something better next time,” she replied with a small laugh. “If you’d want that.”

He paused, her words lingering in the air between them. Next time. It felt dangerous, allowing the thought of it, letting her return. But as she looked at him, her smile warm and unguarded, he found himself nodding almost without thinking.

“Yes,” he murmured. “I’d like that.”

But even as he spoke, he felt the old thirst stir beneath his words, a dark reminder that she was flesh and blood, and he was anything but.

Harry watched her retreating figure until the last of her shadow disappeared down the winding path. The silence settled thick around him once more, yet it felt different now, charged with the lingering warmth of her presence. The faint echo of her heartbeat still pulsed in his mind, like a phantom drum that refused to fade. He drew in a slow, deliberate breath, pushing down the hunger that had clawed so violently to the surface, fighting a void that had nearly overpowered him the entire time she’d stood there.

He had always been a weak man for the living.

Turning back into the tower, he closed the door and leaned against it, his hand flexing as he grappled with that old, familiar agony, the ache that thrummed through his veins whenever he was near a human. After all these years, after countless nights spent mastering his restraint, he still struggled. The curse was unrelenting—an obstinate thirst that he could never truly silence, only suppress.

Memories rose in him unbidden, dark and sharp, clawing their way out of the places he kept them buried. He could still recall the crisp air of that autumn night in 1601, back when he was alive, when he’d believed his life was bound for something beautiful. He’d been a poet then, a young man enamored with language, eager to make something of himself. He’d had dreams of attending university, of pursuing a life dedicated to literature and ideas, a life where he could spend his days wrapped in thought and art.

But all of that had been shattered in a single night. He had been walking back from a small tavern in London, tipsy and laughing, still reciting lines of poetry in his head, the night air filling him with a light, exhilarating hope. He remembered it so clearly—the dimly lit street, the damp chill creeping into his coat, the rough hand that had seized him by the throat and dragged him into an alley. He’d thought it was a robber at first, maybe a cutthroat from the docks looking for a quick coin.

But then he’d seen his attacker’s face.

The man’s eyes were inhuman, glinting with a feral hunger, and his skin was pale, almost translucent in the moonlight. Harry had fought, struggling against the impossible strength of those arms, but it had been useless. The man had pinned him down with a brutal ease, baring his teeth—a flash of something razor-sharp, malevolent—before sinking them deep into Harry’s throat. The pain had been excruciating, and then everything had gone dark, his life draining away into a cold, endless void.

He hadn’t known what had happened to him for days afterward. He’d awoken alone, hidden in the dark recesses of a forgotten basement, his body shuddering with an unholy thirst that tore through him like wildfire. The transformation had left him a half-mad, hollow shell, consumed by an insatiable need he didn’t understand. He’d stumbled through the streets, eyes wild, hunting without even knowing what he was hunting for. And when he’d finally cornered a man in the dead of night, tearing into his throat with a frenzy he could barely comprehend, he’d learned what he had become.

The first months were a blur of blood and horror, a nightmare he hadn’t known how to escape. He had been controlled by an ache, a greed—enslaved by it, a wretched creature lost to bloodlust. He’d fought it as best he could, but each time he tried to resist, the thirst only grew stronger, until he was reduced to a brutal, savage need that erased everything else.

It had been a year later, in 1602, when he encountered another vampire. His name was Thomas, a wily, unrepentant creature who fed freely and without remorse. Thomas had found Harry alone and ravenous, nearly mad from weeks of starvation in an attempt to restrain himself. He’d taken Harry under his wing, teaching him how to survive in this new, cursed life, how to hunt, how to kill cleanly. But while Harry had been grateful for the guidance, he quickly saw that Thomas reveled in the whispers of the devil, that he viewed humanity as little more than prey. He was malignant.

His own heart was too soft for such cruelty. He’d hated the feel of human flesh beneath his hands, the way his victims’ eyes widened in terror as he held them down, the way their life drained away in his grasp. He hadn’t wanted this life. But the need was too powerful, too all-consuming, and he had been too weak to fight it.

And then, in 1643, came the night that shattered him completely.

Her name had been Beatrice—a young woman from Manchester, one of the few souls who’d looked past his oddity, his quiet reserve, and seen something in him worth knowing. She’d been kind, curious, always showing up at his door with a warm smile, her laughter lighting up his otherwise bleak existence. For months, she’d been a balm to him, her presence a brief reprieve from the loneliness that gnawed at him. He’d been so careful around her, so painfully restrained, never allowing himself to get too close. But one night, after days of starvation, he had faltered. She’d come to visit him, concern etched on her face, her hand reaching out to touch his cheek.

And in that moment, he’d lost himself.

The memory of that night was burned into him like a scar, the scent of her blood, the warmth of it cascading from his lips and developing him whole— the sound of her heart slowing as he drank from her—all of it haunted him, even now, decades later. He had tried to pull away, tried to stop himself, but the hunger had overpowered him, consuming her life, taking everything she had. When he finally came to his senses, she lay cold and pale in his arms, her eyes staring up at him, empty and accusing.

After that, he’d fled, haunted by the horror of what he’d done, determined never to let it happen again. He’d hidden himself away in this tower, learning to feed from the animals that roamed the forest, forcing himself to endure the hunger rather than inflict his curse on another innocent soul. He would never again allow himself to feel that agony, that terrible loss.

And yet tonight, with her presence in his small, empty world, something had stirred in him, a strange, aching reminder of what it meant to be human, to crave connection, companionship. It was dangerous, foolish to even entertain such thoughts, yet he couldn’t deny the faint spark she had left behind.

He closed his eyes, forcing himself to breathe slowly, steadying the wild, restless energy that surged in him. She couldn’t come back. He couldn’t risk it. He would have to find a way to make her think the tower was haunted, or evil—something to scare her off for good. Because he knew himself, knew that he was a creature of hunger, bound to a curse he couldn’t escape.

And if she returned—he wasn’t sure how long he could resist.

#harry styles #harry styles blurb #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles writing #harry styles x reader #harry edward styles #harry styles concept #harry styles au #vampire!harry #vamprry #kinktober #harry styles series #harry styles fanfic #harry styles drabble #harry styles x you #niall horan

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edgeray · 2 months ago

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I BESEECH YOU

Goddess! Arlecchino x Reader

You fear that your death draws near. You pray to be spared from suffering when you meet your fate.

Content warnings / info - none

When you're a dying individual, time swims past you, ungraspable and constantly evading you. There is almost too much time and never enough of it, a phenomenon that only comes to those whose mercy is death. While you bide your time, waiting for the inevitable to approach, there are still things that need to be tended to. Your farm and animals reserves no impatience despite your aching body and weakening limbs. Still, you find it hard to gripe when they preoccupy you from your fate.

No physician that has found a cure for your ailment, a medical anomaly for someone whose age was just ripe for marrying a reliable, decent man. Oh, how the villagers pity you, yet have not spared a single moment of their time or peace of mind for you.

Winter draws near. Whispers on the streets tell you that this year's harvest was abysmal. A famed apostle foretells that this winter will be harsher than the last. The nobles have, expectedly, stockpiled much of the village's harvest, and your neighbors were left to barter for remains and leftovers. Mania runs amok in the markets. The village brims with a fraught energy, despair palpable in the sad sight of the commoners.

It's an omen, you think. Just as your condition starts to worsen, every breath grows more labored than the last with each frigid and snow-casted night. Even now, with the fur-lined coat and the wool hat, the chill penetrates into your skin. You clutch onto the loaf of bread and bundles of fruit a little closer to your body as you traverse through the snow. It crunches underneath your feet, each bare step another dose of iciness injected into your veins. You shudder and lift your gaze.

A forgotten, barren shrine greets your view, a crumbling but no less sacred sanctuary. A relieved huff escapes from you.

The villagers have long abandoned this shrine and its goddess a long time ago. When the town began prospering, there sprung up many other trivialities for villagers to fret over–not when death seems so distant. When fields thrive, the weather is fair, the villagers’ pockets are full, and the nobles bless them with protection, death comes for few. Why worship the Goddess of Death when you can earn Lord Pantalone's blessing or be gifted with Lord Dottore's longevity and vitality? No longer is death a contagious disease, more so an afterthought. You used to think this way before you were struck with a curious illness. What use does currency have when you're dying? Why had Lord Dottore cursed you?

You kneel before the house of Lord Arlecchino. The coarse ground bites into your skin. The remains of your past offerings suggest that some critters have gotten to them before your Goddess has. Pesky creatures. You lay down the offerings in the center, before closing your eyes.

“Almighty Lord Arlecchino. I greet you, my Goddess of Death. How do you fare?” There is silence, but you still wait for an answer.

“I apologize this time for my lacking offerings. If you could find it in your heart to forgive me, I would be gratified. This year's harvest was not abundant… perhaps my village's luck has been used up. I believe there will be a lot of souls for you to collect. And… I will be among them,” you profess quietly, looking up at the ceiling.

You dip your head back down, inhaling deeply. “I know I have provided only humble gifts to you. But I have been devoted to you for years… I have taken care of this place of worship… may I ask of you for one thing, my Lord?”

The wind whistles through the shrine, and a gust kisses your skin. You take it as a sign to continue. “If you deem me worthy of this grace, then… I would like to die without suffering. If possible… I would like to pass during my slumber. If my request is too impudent… you may strike me down now. Or… I will wait for the time when I meet you. I thank you for your presence. Please indulge yourself in my gifts, Lord Arlecchino.”

You take one final bow, before getting up. You pray that the Goddess will take pity on you. You begin to turn, but then falter. Uncoiling the fabric around your neck, you place down your wool scarf onto the ground.

“I am not certain if you feel the winter chill as I do. Even if you do not, I would like for you to have it. The winter is grueling, as cold and beautiful as you are.”

You finally turn and leave. When you are nothing but a small silhouette in the distance, a pale woman emerges in the shadows of the shrine, observing you.

“Foolish, precious human,” the Goddess sighs as she leans down, grasping onto the scarf. “Do you undermine my omnipotence so much that you do not ask for me to relieve you of your illness? Or perhaps your heart is too large to muse the thought.”

She wraps the soft material around her neck. It is comforting. “It is not time for you to meet me just yet.”

Whipped up something quick cuz I was in a mood. Should I continue, maybe? Lowkey should finish my Halloween Event fic but... too many other ideas.

#arlecchino x reader #arlecchino #arlecchino x you #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin x reader #genshin x you #edgeray.writes

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raging-tackeydios · 2 years ago

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from my experience it’s simple

most social media companies were built, back in the early oughts and ‘10s, on the concept of “hey we have zero idea what we’re doing but give us Business Person Money™️ and we can probably fly by the seat of our pants hard enough to pull some sort of miracle out of our ass” (Fuck Around)

and now that plan isn’t sustainable anymore for either party, leading to said sites imploding left and right due to the people running them making really unsound decisions and then doubling down on them (Find Out)

this can be seen in almost all existing social media to an extent (i.e all of the porn bots skittering around tumblr like little digitized cockroaches) but reddit and twitter are examples of what happens when it reaches a breaking point

no but actually wtf is happening right now with all the main social media sites/apps? what is everyone gonna do if twitter dies, or reddit, or hell even tiktok(they’re adding midroll ads) at this point? there’s almost no competitors for them right now, yet they’re still falling apart. how on earth did they manage that?

#reddit migrants #reddit migration #reddit refugee #they shit the bed and the intent now is to make us lie in it instead of them before they can suffer any consequences #tiktok is different though because the aim seemed to be to harvest data from the beginning #rarher than the plan changing to that as they went along #btw how do you think google+ would fare if it was being run like today’s networks

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themaclean · 9 months ago

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We Don't Have To Be Friends (1/2) Characters: Cooper Howard/Lucy MacLean. Summary: 3,507 words, Post Season One -- character study that was meant to be PWP, but then ended up being entirely plot. Part two will be smut or I will krill myself. Warnings: Nothing you wouldn't see in the show. ( Ao3 ) > Part One | Part Two | Part Three <

Cooper never thought much about Hollywood anymore.

He had no reason to and no time either— but the thoughts bubbled up when he saw how the gold thread of his shirt dulled and familiar street signs melted into slack arches. Sometimes, he’d catch sight of a tattered newspaper with names he recognized or faces of people long since dead.

But nothing made him think of Hollywood the way Lucy did.

It hit him one afternoon with a nasty churn, that flash of the old world that locked his knees mid-stride. It was pathetic, really, when he thought about it now.

It was the flash of Lucy's Vault-Tec-sponsored smile over her shoulder, her thin hand with a necrotized finger pointing ahead of them at some landmark she’d heard of. With her head turned at just the right angle, and the sun was low as it caught the edges of her cheeks and lashes…

She had the sort of face girls in the movies had: clear skin, big eyes, and neat hair. Pretty — beautiful, actually, but not as a matter of compliment. Beautiful in the way she’d make a good price at any given market if he was inclined to sell her. Beautiful in the way people loved to exploit.

That’s the lifeblood of Hollywood—that churning mass of young talent desperate to prove they had what it takes. They’d sweet talk whoever they needed to, go to the parties, and chat his ear off about how amazing he’d been in whatever movie had come out lately, about the sponsorships they’d been offered, and about the dresses they got sent. They’d slip him their number and hold his bicep too long like they’d been taught to by managers and mothers alike.

Dozens of pretty women rushed to audition for the role of arm candy. They’d audition to play the mayor's daughter, the farmer's daughter, or so-and-so’s daughter. They’d always been the damsel. Then, whatever cowboy he’d been hired to play would toss the pretty woman onto the back of Sugarfoot and ride off into the sunset. The sort of girl who'd be gone by the next movie or end up married to a director, so she'd quit acting.

And, much like all the girls in Hollywood Cooper had spent time with, Lucy had changed. She had the same optimism, but it’d dulled; her marketable face now held tired, empty eyes. It was like she finally caught onto the world’s current: no sunset and no next movie.

Cooper couldn’t fault her. It's a strange journey to discover what to do to survive.

“Hey Cooper — is that it?” Lucy asked, repeating herself. The sprawl of buildings ahead was dotted with torches and candles.

Cooper nodded, his hand firm on Dogmeat’s collar.

A short strip of buildings stood out against the expanse of desert and dry shrubs. Each building leaned towards another, with sheet metal fastened with unskilled welding. Several turrets puttered away, seeking whatever wasn’t humanoid enough. Strips of fabric and tin cans garlands peppered the buildings' front. The smaller buildings on either side were your standard fare: a repair shop, a medic, a trader with a little diner area.

But the one Cooper was after stood out for its neon sign—Hell’s Oasis.

Hell’s Oasis served its purpose—it was a decent place to get information, and the people minded their business. They weren’t too bothered with ghouls or mutants as long as you had caps. The place often served as a meeting ground for bounty hunters and their contractors. It was also one of the more upscale places, as they wouldn’t harvest organs unless you died of natural causes.

And, if you couldn’t fight or forage for survival, you could fuck for it.

(Not that Cooper ever wasted caps on the whores who took residence within Hell’s Oasis. He’d sooner pay people to fuck off than spend the night with him.)

Cooper grabbed Lucy by the nape of her neck to yank her close and keep her firmly by his side. Most people he brought here, he left here — call it a force of habit to handle her so roughly.

“I can walk, y’know,” Lucy hissed.

“Stick close,” Cooper clicked his tongue at her, and a slight hiss followed. His grip flexed to further the message that she’d do well to follow his guidance.

They made their way through the hotel lobby, the moldy carpet slick against the floor with dirt and grease from the world outside. A few people chattered away in the attached bar, laughing at jokes Cooper couldn’t make out. Casino chips clattered on the table as they played made-up card games.

Long dead plants clung to arid dirt, the sticks of old ferns wilting against one another. Metal crates were lashed together in each corner of the alcove where the front desk sat, providing a makeshift cage between the staff and the patrons. Several girls rushed past Cooper and Lucy, jeering and cackling as they approached the bar. They were clad in lacy nightgowns. He couldn’t tell if they knew they were lingerie rather than clothes or if they’d even care.

“It’s so lively here,” Lucy said, a pang of something in her face.

“It happens in pockets,” Cooper said with a shrug of his shoulder. Little uh… spots of life.”

“Must be why they call it an oasis.”

Cooper rolled his eyes as they reached the front desk. Magazines sat in thick stacks with information about local tours in the area and a guide to the national parks. An abandoned handbag was tucked against the desk, which Lucy eyed with curiosity.

Cooper slapped the front desk bell a few times, a gargling growl low in his throat.

They needed this break after a couple of weeks on the road together. Water was getting sparse, and he wanted to be ready to meet with whoever the fuck Hank had run off to. And in such an open desert, there’s no sense traveling at night, and all manner of dumb shit came up along the way.

It was always something. People needed help or some dumb cunt trying to pick a fight, resupplies, rest… He didn’t like helping people much, but Lucy argued with him whenever they tried to go on without at least trying. And whether the people lived or died, at least they tried. That was her argument.

But Lucy listened to him a little more now, and he was as patient as he could be with her.

Cooper rang the bell again. He wanted a room, and the chattering laughter in the bar was only making his aches worse.

Priscilla appeared from behind a moth-eaten velvet curtain. Her hairline was hidden beneath a thick headscarf with puffy blond curls bouncing beneath it. The last time he’d been here, her hair had begun to rot out of her skull. He guessed it’d only gotten worse. She’s still pretty, mirroring that old-world red lip with pin curls.

“Oh my God, is that you, Coop? I haven’t seen you in a long time,” Priscilla said in a slow, low voice. She had a rasp to it, always had, though he wasn’t sure if it was from the radiation or a smoking habit.

“Was underground,” Cooper said with a lazy smile. He wouldn’t mention that he’d been underground in a literal sense, trapped in a coffin.

“Well, it’s nice for you to come to see us and…” Priscilla’s gaze slid to Lucy, that usual surprise swelling up at the sight of a genuine Vault Dweller. They weren’t hard to spot. “Ah, you turning her in for a bounty?”

Lucy’s head snapped towards him, a mixture of shock and disgust.

“No,” Cooper shook his head, his grip firm on Lucy’s neck to turn her head away from him. His fingers tensed before they dropped away altogether, brushing across Lucy’s shoulder. “Tag-along. Helpin’ her uh…” He picked through the words that came to mind, cautious not to share too much. “Adjust to the surface.”

Priscilla’s jaw squared as she stared Lucy down.

“We’re just lookin’ for a room, some food,” Cooper said before she could pry further. “Usual fare.”

“Please,” Lucy said, like Cooper had forgotten, and it was important to say. “The usual fare, please.”

“She speaks,” Priscilla said in a purr.

Cooper had to give Lucy credit. She’d stayed quiet much longer than he’d expected.

“Oh, we’ll also need water,” Lucy said, looking up at Cooper. “For cleaning and drinking. I’m not sure if you separate it that way or if you reuse it unless you have showers.”

Priscilla narrowed her eyes. “Running water? We can get you a bucket of water, sweetness. That alright with you?”

“It works great for me. Big fan of buckets. They’re the backbone of agriculture and cleaning, really, if you think about it…” Lucy agreed, her smile as bright as the neon sign by the front window.

Priscilla looked at Cooper and then at Lucy, repeating the loop before she sauntered behind a moth-eaten velvet curtain strung up with zip ties. The distant hum of a generator underscored the silence as Cooper picked over the board of caricatures. Plenty of people were banned from the premises or with a bounty on their heads — no one stood out on the board, at least.

“She was giving us a weird look,” Lucy leaned closer to Cooper, feigning a swipe of her hand through her hair. The floor creaked as she shifted her weight closer to him. “Is it the bucket thing? I panicked.”

Cooper scoffed from the back of his throat.

“It is safe here, right? You trust her?”

“It’s safe,” Cooper bared his teeth at Lucy, begging her to return to the docile silence she’d thrived in.

“Then why — ”

Cooper hissed for her to shh through clenched teeth.

Priscilla pushed past the curtain. She gripped a little blue card with faded gold edges. A key with a golden ball chain was attached to the edge. It felt strangely archaic to be so formal about lodgings, but it was why he liked this place.

“I guess it makes sense,” Priscilla said as she slid the key to Cooper. She nodded to Lucy. “You wanting a girl who’s more… Old—world flavor. It reminds you of the golden years, hm?”

“Six, right?” Cooper ignored her question, his gaze fixed to the card.

“Six,” Priscilla repeated, her gaze on Lucy.

Cooper tossed a few caps onto the front desk, the clatter of metal their own punctuation. He notched his head towards the stairs, and Dogmeat and Lucy followed in stride. He was eager for the simple things — water, food, and a moment to let his bags rest.

“Wanting a girl…” Lucy smiled, mumbling more of Priscilla’s words under her breath.

After several flights of stairs and a few hours, Cooper felt all the better. He’d eaten his fill and enjoyed the peace of an enclosed room. He didn’t often allow himself such a luxury, as being in a settlement put a target on your back for any larger groups. But it’d been two weeks since they’d had proper rest out of the elements.

Tracking Hank wasn’t easy, either. That suit meant he could skip over all the pocked landscape and roaming threats. What would take him an hour to travel by air was a day for them sometimes, a fact that spurred Cooper on. But they couldn’t rush, as rushing would only get them killed.

One wrong step and you were deathclaw chow.

“God, more, please!”

And there went the silence. Cooper’s eye twitched; his lipless mouth sneered at the screeches.

Whoever had taken up residence in room five was making the most of their money — an hour straight of screams and moans, an hour straight of Lucy pretending to read. She’d picked up a holotape at the last outpost they’d stopped at; something about a sequel she’d always wanted to continue reading.

By the second hour, it wasn’t so much that room five stopped fucking. But they at least got a lot quieter about it. The occasional shriek or moan rattled through the air vents, but it was far and few between.

Lucy lay across the double bed, her boots discarded beside the door. Her vault suit hung from the defunct radiator. Her washing was all done, and she’d freshened up, the usual Lucy shit. She’d helped herself to the water and changed into some pajama set she’d pilfered from a house a few days back.

“I think it’s nice,” Lucy said into the open air of the hotel room.

Cooper looked up from his shotgun, teeth bared like he was trying to smile. “The quiet?”

“No,” Lucy smiled at the wall between them and room five. “That people can find love, even now.”

Cooper couldn’t stop himself from laughing at that. The cackles shook from low in his lungs and caught him so off-guard he hacked up some foul muck into his palm. He hissed through a wheezed breath as he fumbled with his RadAway puffer.

“I mean it! It’s not funny!”

“That ain’t love, Vaultie,” Cooper coughed out, his eyes narrowed as drool and tears mingled on his cheeks. He wiped his face, fine skin catching against the scarred, leathery mess. “That…” He pointed to the wall. “S’probably a whore and her John making the most of the caps.”

Lucy’s eyes darted as she picked apart what he’d said. “John..?”

“John’s a term for uh…” Cooper’s jaw strained against a smile, though it was far too cruel to be kind. “A guy who pays for sex.”

“Ah, wasteland slang,” she said with a solemn nod, as if it made sense she hadn’t caught on immediately.

“Old world slang,” Cooper corrected.

Lucy looked around the hotel room anew, like she’d finally caught on to what this place really was. She scooted to the edge of the bed, to sit with her legs angled towards him. “That woman at the front desk said you’d want a girl who’s old world — she thought I was a prostitute. ”

“Maybe.”

Lucy crossed her arms as if she had more to say on the matter. But then she remained quiet, uncharacteristically so.

“S’waste of caps.”

“Hiring me to have sex with you? Actually, I know all about sexual gratification, so I think it’d be a great use of money — caps.”

Cooper stared Lucy down as if he couldn’t parse what she’d just said. “Paying anyone money to fuck you is a waste.” Cooper tongued his lips apart. “Bullets. Meds. There’s shit worth paying for. Sex is — ”

“Important.”

“Sex ain’t worth much.”

“To you, maybe,” Lucy frowned. “It’s an act of love and intimacy, and… It’s how humanity continues, and it’s — fun if done well.”

“You wanna waste your caps on some cock?” Cooper snapped, his hand flapping at the door. “Be my guest.”

“No,” Lucy shook her head. “I don’t want to, but I’m saying that I… I think killing people is probably worse than sleeping with people for caps. If it’s to survive, I think it makes sense. Morally speaking.”

“Don’t,” Cooper snarled.

Cooper didn’t like how Lucy spoke to him most days, but this was a new, worse permutation. Her Vault-addled morality was sickening enough on its own, as she embodied whatever bullshit had been drip-fed to her by the company who’d bought her vault. Not that he was without sin, given the shit he’d done to survive this long.

But sex and love and all that shit was not front of mind. He needed to find his family and to know what happened to them. He didn’t need a two-cap blowjob from a stranger in the dim light of some bar. Though, in all honesty, his drug habit mixed with the amount of alcohol he’d drowned himself in, some nights got hazy.

There’s that animalistic, self-destructive part of him that won on his worst nights. The same part of him that kept him alive, the same part that let him do all the miserable shit he needed to do to survive.

But it’s certainly never been love. Not since Barb.

Never again, he’d wager.

"I had sex once," Lucy said this like it was a point of pride, now on her feet. She idled beside the bed, her gaze settled onto the empty space she’d been lying. "With my husband, but…" Her face twisted with this delayed amusement. She turned towards him, closing the gap between them.

Lucy’s eyes remained unfocused as she stared at the marked table between them, where his shotgun lay across a dirty cloth. "Does that make us both widows..? You said you have a family, right? So, you were probably married and had at least one kid. Not trying to presume, so tell me if I’m wrong, but… You said that in the observatory. That’s what you’re after."

Cooper parted his lips, a nasty tilt to his hairless brow.

Lucy gave a tight smile. "I was married. Only for a few hours, but… It was an arranged marriage, I didn’t meet him until the wedding. It turned out he was a raider from the surface posing as my match from Vault 32 and…" At this point, Lucy caught herself. “I feel for you, if you lost someone. That’s all.”

“You ain’t a widow.”

“Technically — ”

Cooper stood up, unable to stay seated. “You say you’re a widow like it’s a fact outta some book. The shit you went through — you’re an experiment gone wrong, not a damn widow,” Cooper said, his voice flat.

Lucy’s face twitched at his words as if she struggled to keep her smile. “Well, guess what? We’re all an experiment gone wrong, whether you’re in a vault or not.”

Cooper’s eyes twitched, narrowing in the dark of their hotel room. Room five was quiet, which made this moment all the worse. He didn’t like how she spoke about him, as if she knew what was happening in his mind. He wasn’t some wounded man looking for sympathy.

He wasn’t anything.

“Go back to your holotapes,” Cooper said with a jut of his chin. “You’ve been up here a few weeks, acting like you know how it is.”

“Well, I know we’ve all been screwed over by people hundreds of years ago, and I’m sorry if I’m not as beaten down by it as you, but — I’m just trying to share things with you, to…” Lucy struggled through her words, her arms crossed protectively over her chest. “We don’t have to be friends, but we have to be — something.”

The couple in room five screeched. Cooper tensed out of habit but relaxed again when he reasoned what the noise was. It didn’t solve the fierce look on Lucy’s face as she stared him down, her fists clenched by her pajama-clad thighs.

“I don’t want to fight with you,” Lucy said, shaking her damp hair out of her face. She stood idle by the table as if she had just realized she had stepped towards him in their argument. There was a bird-like shake to her chest, her heart and lungs quick beneath bone.

It was moments like this that made his nature crystalline to him — that thin line she couldn’t perceive of how easy it’d be to string her up by the ankles and bleed her dry. Of how easy it’d be to slide into that ache for warm flesh between his teeth and blood down his throat.

Ghouls aren’t welcome in most settlements for a reason, and Lucy is too damn optimistic to learn that lesson.

Cooper tongued the inside of his cheek, and his teeth gnashed at the frayed edge of his lip. “We have to be something, huh?”

Lucy’s brow twitched, and her jaw strained as she tried to stand taller. She nodded as something like hope softened her stern expression.

It wasn’t hard to close the gap. It was even easier to grab that ponytail she always wore and yank her head close, fist tight in her hair as he brought her close. Her hand scrabbled against the table, and nails dug into the wood as their eyes met.

“Don’t you ever talk about my family again,” Cooper said, his voice level. “We clear?”

Lucy’s breathing redoubled, but she nodded. Her nostrils flared as he let her go with a firm shove. There was a real sense of satisfaction as he felt her perception of him shift as if she’d forgotten she was dealing with a monster rather than a man. As if the rotted skin and exposed tensions, or the gaping hole where his nose had once been, weren’t enough warning.

Pretty girls in Hollywood were overlooked as much in his time — all in the name of survival in a race that no one really won. You took your part and played it until the work dried up. Then, you prayed for sponsorships, deals, and other things to spare you from the real world.

He watched it with co-stars, time and again. It wasn’t much different now, just less rhinestones and more rads.

#cooper howard #lucy maclean #fallout spoilers #fallout #vaultghoul #cooper x lucy #my writing

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seafoamreadings · 22 days ago

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week of december 8th, 2024

these are written predominantly for the *rising* signs but they are also intuitively "channeled" enough that they should work for any dominant energy you have! (try your sun if you don't know rising, or more advanced readers can try moon, anywhere you have a stellium, etc and see what works best for you!)

aries: there is a lot of nodal/mars/venus action this week affecting you more strongly than many others. connections and passions seem (are!) fated, so while you don't have to follow them through to the end, especially not necessarily in traditional ways, do take them seriously as they emerge or develop for you at this time.

taurus: venusian activity intensifies, which has you magnetic and alluring. it's easier than usual to attract what you want this week. meanwhile by the weekend, you start feeling the effects of your yearly money full moon, and if money's not a major issue (or even if it is...) odds are that values, authenticity, and resources of other kinds are!

gemini: tough mercury retrograde? this week is the last stretch, with your ruling planet going direct one week from when this is posted. have just a little more patience, and rest assured the benefits will be worth the last few weeks.

cancerians: you're not necessarily stereotyped as being super chill due to the moody nature of your planetary ruler but this week, you're a little bit lucky and people will gravitate towards your soothing and empathic aura. this is great, but also don't let them latch on to you and exhaust you.

leo: it's true that mars is retrograde in your sign so do proceed with caution, but a venus-mars opposition is always an alignment of cosmic lovers, and venus will be in your relationships house. it's very romantic if a bit soap operatic, so keep your wits about you, but if you're not having fun then there's something you're not seeing.

virgo: ceres interacting with the lunar nodes gives you hints at what is to come, and how to use what has been to navigate it. don't cast off your past entirely, even though it's over and even if you'd rather not think about it anymore. your past self is your guide forward.

libra: this is a major week for you due to lots of venus/nodal activity. your friends and lover(s) will be a valuable resource for you on the path ahead. and what is coming is better than what has gone, but what has gone is always in you.

scorpio: you may experience some clash between the first impression you want to make and the one that actually appears, or some little smudge on your reputation, and perhaps it affects your home life in some way. it's unlikely to be permanent and it can probably be repaired fairly easily, but for now it is important to be aware that you might have ruffled some feathers.

sagittarius: depending on what other dominant signs you have personally this may be a fairly quiet week, but by the weekend some seed you once planted in your relationships is ready to harvest, whether you yourself are ready or not.

capricorn: income you generate yourself and your possessions get a little boost as long as venus is in aquarius but while she's opposed by mars this week, investments or shared resources don't likely fare so well. on the other hand, romantic love and intimacy are a bit dazzling for a while, so if that's more your cup of tea, have a good time! keep your personal values in mind and behave with integrity, but you should be having fun.

aquarius: your sign is a point of focus for the planets this week, and next for that matter, and so you as an individual and the impressions you make on others are in focus too. so, you know, put a little effort into appearances - it's superficial, sure, but it matters sometimes.

pisces: the full moon coming up at the end of the week is not necessarily going to be your favorite one of the year, but you can still make it work for you if you can cast your public image in a favorable light and keep your home life nurturing to you. don't tolerate encroachments across your boundaries.

watch the transit posts in real time to have the best guide through your week. want a little more? have a look at my patreon or ko-fi.

check out my etsy for a private reading or dm me to set up a reading through venmo, cashapp, or paypal.

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chaifootsteps · 2 months ago

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honestly the brief flash of M&M and Loona in their previous outfits shows off their personalities at a glance way more than their current getups

Millie is a southern chick, Moxxie is a theatre kid with a bowtie and Loona is a goth/punk with a stripe in her hair

the current day outfits loose nearly all of that - Millie has nothing southern looking, Moxxie retains the bowtie and nothing else and Loona probably fared the best since she still looks goth

also Blitzo looking so good in his harvest moon and ghostfuckers flashback outfits (and still having cowboy boots current day) just confirms to be he fits far better with Striker or Millie, interest and aesthetic wise

against Stolas the comparison is just how little they have in common. sometimes that can work if they get a new appreciation for each other's interests but Blitzo thinks Stolas' books are boring and I doubt he'd have the patience for gardening, whereas post Murder Family insta Stolas finds Blitzo's horse obsession tedious

It really is an excruciating little taste of what we could have, only to smack us in the face with what we actually got.

#Anonymous #helluva boss critical #viv stuff #actual blog post

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magickpancakes · 3 months ago

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love her and her frogspawn hair <3

some infos below :3

comes from an aquatic planet, commonly known as Maren.

Facts about Maren (the planet and the species)

whatever surface isnt covered by ocean is marsh or swamp

(this may change) planet is about the size of Mars

planet bountiful with diverse aquatic flora and fauna, many are desired as delectable ingredients in high-end restaurants, as crucial home-remedies with excellent medicinal and soothing properties, and highly sought after by zoos and aquariums across the universe

planet is unable to support electricity, and has no, and is unable to make, any space-faring vessels

despite this they hold a high status among the galaxy and maintain many allies

much of their news is spread through other species ships displaying large screens above the watery surface of the planet

planet is very wealthy due to their trading, most residents have lots of luxuries

not many Maren residents arent native to the planet, due to its soggyness

however many planets do support large Maren populations in their oceans, lakes, and swamps

the Maren do not do well in rivers and other fast moving bodies of water, they are more adapted to large open swathes of water

Lots of variety in the Maren, with many different sub-species

many many languages on the planet, with the most common being morse code (this is due to the more oceanic sub-species inability to speak, but rather glow)

their morse code is what got them to quickly join the galatic council (or whatever ya wanna call it idk).

the Maren are very protective of their planet, despite their passive appearence, and take many many measures to ensure species biodiversity, health, and to negate any risks of species going extinct

will absolutly not allow habitat destruction and excessive harvesting of species, to the point of war

VERY few tourist spots, due to concerns of being overrun and having the planet get.. "burnt out"

this is due to their heavy reliance on trading native flora and fauna. If their planet were to become polluted and over-harvested, not only would they no longer have the luxuries they get from trading, but they would most likely die out. (corruption spreads fast in water)

Facts about Fillet :3

- is part of a more amphibious sub-species of Maren, due to their habitat being more swampy

- Fillet was named after one of the first outsider foods her parents tried, as a metaphor of new beginings and hope for prosperity and peace in the future

- is the seventh oldest out of her ten siblings (a rather large amount of children given their region)

- gets most of her looks from her mother, but her tail and antenna patterns were from her father

- is one of Xael's very few friends, they visit her quite often (bout every 6 months, but sticks around for a week or so)

- it is unknown why Xael sticks around Fillet, due to their distaste of the muck where Fil lives and their rather contrasting personalities

- Fil is about 23 in Maren years

- she works on her family's farm, but has quite the weaving hobby

- very extroverted

- loves visiting other planets, however doesnt have much time for it, makes due with trying all sorts of new cuisines

- is considered "overweight" but due to her fathers more artic heretige, gains weight easier and its harder for her to shake it off, so ya cant really blame her for that

#its not actually frogspawn #its just jelly like #like the same texture yknow? except its one solid mass and not thousands of eggs #Fillet :3 #oc art #alien oc #alien cat #alien character #furry artist #furry art #furry #sfw furry #pixel art #safe fur work #pixelart #cat furry #digital art #The Maren

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pawborough · 6 months ago

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July 2024 Check In

Hello, all!

Happy update day! Thank you for your support and patience while we work. This has been one of the busiest times for our team, and we’re making good progress. But it's challenging to share without sounding like a broken record. Lots of coding. Lots of numbers. Lots of items. So little time...!

But first, I must share solemn news. Our backdrop artist, Kzart, has passed away. He died of cardiac arrest just the day after our last update, where we previewed his wonderful work on the Cogwheel Outskirts.

This is a deep and mournful tragedy. Our heart goes out to his family, friends, and loved ones. Kzart was a welcome, cheerful, and bright part of the team, and the loss is devastating. May his memory be a blessing.

We are dedicating our work this month to his memory. We hope to ask your patience while we make decisions for future team members in the wake of his passing.

To start off, here are some asset updates.

New Icons

We’ve been picking away at icons. Populating the site itself with estimates for cooking, crafting, dailies, site store, and guild play has been a behemoth of a task which has taken weeks of calculating out delicate numbers, drop rates, and seeding tactics. We have an insane amount of spreadsheets. I’m very proud of how much we’ve figured out.

Wild Boar, Bison Calf, Kid, Lamb, Blackbird, Red Squirrel and Brown Hare illustrated by Tybaxel and Remmie

The young animals will be available as plain food in Alpha and part of Beta, but are designed in preparation for our Farming and Husbandry mechanic, explained more in this update!

I’m dying to see the dye icons!

Illustration by Tybaxel

And lastly, we’ve started work on the stone assets!

Harvest Stone, Metropolis Stone, and Luna Stone by Hydde

Above you see the Harvest Stone, Metropolis Stone, and Luna Stone. Paw-carved by catfolk out of various precious stones and the elusive Prismaline—Mewmoia’s magical mineral and the origin of modern magical technology—these stones act as a magical catalyst for sorcerers performing transmutation.

We also want to note: we see the discrepancy in the Harvest logo and its child assets. While we were working on the visual development, we found that the leaf was not only more recognizable as a symbol, but more reliably adaptable in different simplistic forms. We will be experimenting with replacing the vegetable in the Harvest logo with a leaf.

Recolorings

Recolors continue! This month, we have the Guard set.

Colors done by Emma

New Decor

We have begun our work on decor!

Our goal is to have a substantial amount of decor befitting every type of backdrop we are starting with. Our first set we are tackling is the Summer Natural set. We have sets known as Sea Faring, City Clearing, Academic, and Winter Natural planned as a starting roster.

Florals by Giulia, lemonade by Jerso, butterlfies by Asp

And here it is put together!

NPC Sketches

Early last month, we shared a preview of the initial sketch for Wheatley and Crowley, the sitewide general store!

Initial feedback included a poor merge of cat-like anatomy and anthropomorphized character acting. We took this feedback, spent another day on visual development for NPCs, and updated our character design visual philosophy!

So, presenting…

And here is how they look on the website!

This sketch is still subject to change as we hash it out, line, and render it, but we’re excited to share what we’ve developed so far!

Wheatley and Crowley were the first NPCs ever developed during pre-production.

(Just as the Bovine was the first Mystic breed ever developed, and Sugar was the first color palette ever designed!)

So there is something a tad emotional about making it this far. Seeing them animated and on an actual game UI has been very rejuvenating. We’re nearing the end of this development hole!

So you want to form a team and join the Guild, huh? Meet Maven, your guildmaster. She’s rough, prickly, and can scare the faint of heart. Yet the Guild is dedicated to helping poor cats in need, in the wake of wastebeasts and outlaws terrorizing outskirt villages. You wonder who she is under that thorny exterior…

Maven is a primary character in the ongoing site plot. We have the technology for NPCs to emote during dialogue. Many story-focused NPCs will get this treatment. This means that Maven's expressions will change as you talk to her!

All NPC sketches by Hydde

Everyone knows Winnipeg, the longhair chef from Luna. Introducing his twin sister, Winnifred! Winnifred sells husbandry and farming supplies, including young animals and seeds.

(Note: all 3D assets used for render references are ours, minus the watering can! Credit to Toonz Media Group from Sketchfab.)

So let’s talk about the farm mechanic!

In Development - Farming and Husbandry

See the initial UIs for our major in-development mechanic.

Plant seeds on plots of land in your camp. Certain plants will raise or lower your soil quality, which in turn will affect how many items these plants yield. It’s up to you as the player to grow a variety of different plants to diversify your soil and get the most yield.

Husbandry will feature the same concept, utilizing livestock as opposed to plants. Grow different animals over time and maintain grass density to get the best quantity of items!

Lastly, some folks were curious about incense, how it works, and its attainment method.

Incense will be craftable, and its ingredients will be farmed! Incense ingredient seeds will be scattered around the game, including as reward drops for gameplay. It will take intentional cultivation to attain an incense item.

Because we had a few users who were curious to the specific ingredients of every incense scent, here is each Borough:

Luna = Lavender and Jasmine Sol = Cinnamon and Fennel Abyssal = Lotus and Sakura Zenith = Rosemary and Sage Harvest = Basil and Oregano Cogwheel = Saffron and Turmeric Metropolis = Patchouli and Vetiver

For testing until farming is implemented, items which would be farmed will be available to buy through Winnifred.

Cooking and Crafting

Lastly, a peak at the UI for the cook and craft mechanic!

We surveyed the playability of the original grid system and weighed the pros and cons of managing a grid and memorizing recipes in a multiplayer resource game, and ultimately decided that our platform and format doesn’t quite suit the crafting grid playstyle.

Instead, recipes and blueprints are found, added to your collection, and able to be insta-made.

We found the act of users individually adding items from storage to be tedious, and ultimately our original format would end up with users researching recipes on wiki articles instead of engaging in explorative play. While other games have crafting loops which incentivize exploration, the petsite setup as we have built it simply does not accommodate it without serious overhaul.

But we hoped to preserve some of that magic by including the “add ingredient” feature. Users will be able to discover new combinations by experimenting with add-ons. For example, a pizza recipe could become mushroom pizza by adding mushrooms!

Users may still end up just looking things up, but the mechanic itself is now not ultimately dependent on off-site research.

Peak at this mockup recipe!

We are currently experimenting with how to include the NPCs in this UI format. Fear not that you do not see Winnipeg here. He will be in the game!

This mechanic in general is what we are currently working on! Thanks for sticking by!

And that’s all we have for today. We know that a lot of users are holding out for Mystic breed updates in the demo, and we are working on those. But game playability is taking the highest place for us, as we want to get testing ASAP! So, we appreciate this patience. Moontails, and likely Thumpers, will be here for Beta, but our #1 focus this last month has been the sprint to the finish line for playability in both development and assets. The semi-quiet activity is because we're putting all our energy into this huge milestone.

Which to mention!

Alpha acceptances have been sent out! If you have not yet, check your email!

We asked those who receive it to reply that they have. There is not a strict deadline on this reply, we simply want to ensure that those who received the email have seen it and are ready to volunteer. We will still be sending keys to everyone who received an email, minus those who are dropping out. If someone is MIA by the time people are registering accounts, we will consider reaching out to other potential testers.

Home stretch, everyone! It’s starting to come together just how much we’ve completed, and the application is beginning to feel real in a way it hasn’t previously. We’re all super antsy to buff it out and get people playing!

Thank you all!

To summarize: We shared icons, Guard set recoloring, decor assets, 3 new NPC sketches, the farm and husbandry mechanic, and the cook/craft functionality.

What to expect next month: Further asset and development updates. Check-ins for how Alpha will be going, timeline expectations in the wake, NPCs and lore.

#paw borough #virtual pet #pet site #art update #indie game #kickstarter update #petsite #pet sim #development update

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existentialterror · 2 months ago

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GOD IS AT THE TABLE

a Harvest poem for Lavinraca

God is at the table and her entourage as well They’re drinking wine that’s pressed from grapes that are said to grow in hell. Like, Tantalus’s grapes, whispers a server as I’m cooking. Devils cut them from the arbor when the poor guy isn’t looking. The whole place is a garden. That’s what the cleaner said. I don’t believe a word. I’ve tried the wine. It tasted red.

A lovely vintage, coos the spiral (on God’s left.) They swirl their glass. On God’s right, a grinning jester. I don’t know. I do not ask. The party parties partly - all but one, the honored guest who licks her lips and patiently just waits to eat the rest. I’m told that God is young. That she’s becoming. That she’s sweet. She’s hungry too. I understand a growing thing must eat.

(I’m told she’s born anew each year. Was she like this before? The servers say they’re ravenous, are there any more hors d’ouevres?)

God is at the table and I am in the kitchen I am chopping parsley while the serving staff are bitching. The weather’s worse than last year, and the menu, dubious. Give me a chance, I mutter. I’m giving them my best. Really, they don't mean it. They’ve worked these feasts before. Meanwhile I garnish and baste the roast and shut the oven door -

At least the harvest blessed us. I’ve got fresh chanterelles and corn. The God of Maize amazes with the ways and means she’s bourne. I change what she has given: chanterelles to sauce, and corn to bread, change becomes ambition; inspiration, being fed. Life is full of beauty. I owe so many things that I've been given. The oven timer rings.

God is at the table. I am myself the roast. My skin is darkly crackled with the glaze I like the most. I am stuffed with figs and oysters. I am transformed now. Six pomegranate arils I anoint upon my brow to keep me through the winter. Tradition paid its due. I ask that what has worked before works kindly for me too.

Their steely knives, their floating hair, they gather for the feast, Drunk on wine from warmer climes, soon too to be deceased. I cart in the golden platter, the bread and sauce and meat, Thank you all for coming. Fare thee well. Bon appétit. I plate the choicest cuts of me, sliced fine as I am able For I am blessed with carving knife and God is at the table.

#poetry #lavinraca #halloween #cannibalism //#light writes #food #creepy shit

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cyberneticfallout · 8 months ago

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Chapter Five: Super Duper Mart

Ch 1 - Ch 2 - Ch 3 - Ch 4 - Ch 5 - Ch 6 - Ch 7 - Ch 8 - Ch 9 - Ch 10 - More Coming Soon

Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Fem!Reader Summary: At the Super Duper Mart, The Ghoul goes on a chem bender after the vault dweller gives him anti-feral meds. You begin to piece together his true identity which leads to a briefly romantic moment between the two of you. Tags: Slow burn (and I mean SLOWWW), angst, eventual smut, language, canon-typical violence, chem/alcohol use, more tags will be added Posted on AO3: Smoothie and The Ghoul Word Count: 1.6k

As you approach the Super Duper Mart, you see the ghoul and vault dweller standing outside. His words are indiscernible, but the vault dweller eventually limps through the front doors. Shortly after, he collapses to the ground. He must’ve ran out of vials, you think.

Casually, you approach the collapsed ghoul, squatting down to meet his gaze with a friendly smile. "Hey there," you greet him. His eyes meet yours, and he emits a faint, incomprehensible noise. There are no signs of him turning feral but it's clear he's not in great shape either.

"Seems like you're having a rough time," you frown. "I'd lend a hand but a big ass gulper swallowed me whole - along with the vials I had. It would've been nice if you had helped me. There might have been a slim chance that sweet anti-feral juice would've been okay." You tilt your head and fix him with a stern gaze.

"You..." he strains to speak, "still blabberin’?"

"Of course. I’m not just gonna leave you here to rot," you declare, raising his chin to meet your gaze. The vulnerability reflected in his eyes, combined with the rough texture of his skin, sends a ripple of goosebumps across your body. Despite his harsh exterior, there's an unexpected allure in his eyes that kindles a warm feeling within you. As you gently trace your thumb across his lower lip, a blush begins to creep upon your cheeks. This growing feeling makes you withdraw your hand abruptly, causing his head to slump back onto the ground. "But I’m not gonna help you either. Consider it payback for leaving me to be someone’s dinner. Maybe next time you’ll think twice before running off without me."

With a final smirk, you rise to your feet and give the ghoul one last look before heading towards the nearby wall of the mart. You take a seat on the ground, curious about how the vault dweller will fare inside there. Rumor has it this particular mart is notorious for trading people for chems - organ harvesting business.

Hours ticked by in eerie silence, leaving you to wonder if the vault dweller’s organs have been collected yet. As you glance over at the motionless ghoul on the ground, you can’t help but approach and kneel down for a closer look. Surprisingly, he is still breathing, although utterly useless.

"Tell me your name and I’ll go in to check the status of your trade," you propose.

"Fuck you," he croaks.

"Fine then. I suppose we'll be known in the wasteland as… Smoothie and The Ghoul.” You outstretch your hands as if you were revealing a movie title. “Get it? Like a bizarre twist on that book Beauty and the Beast. But I ain’t the wasteland beauty and you, my friend, are more of a… dehydrated, hairless beast - being a ghoul and all."

“The hell do you know about Beau-“

Just then, a small group of ghouls emerge from the building, causing both of you to shift your focus towards them. Among the chaos, one of them proclaim that a woman rescued them, followed by the ominous sound of gunfire. Looks like that little vault dweller has some guts after all.

Stepping out of the mart, the weary vault dweller emerges, now adorned in armor she didn't have before, with a weapon gripped firmly in her hand. Her gaze falls upon you, a faint look of surprise on her blood covered face, considering the last time she saw you, you were being devoured by a gulper.

"Hey, little vault dweller," you wave. "Good job in there."

"The name's Lucy," she responds. “You made it out of that creature?”

“Eh, ain’t a normal day in the wasteland if you don’t get gulped up by some sort of monster.”

“Props to you, ma’am. I was certain he’d help you but he decided these drugs are more important.” Lucy breathlessly replies, turning her attention to the ghoul still lying on the ground. With a couple of vials in her hand, she places them in front of him. “You don’t get these, you turn into one of those? That how it works? I may end up looking like you... but I'll never be like you. Golden Rule, motherfucker.”

“Golden Rule, eh? What the hell did you do to her?” You inquire The Ghoul as Lucy sets off on her own into the wasteland. Presumably to find the head you knew those Brotherhood idiots have.

The Ghoul's gaze hardens as he reaches for the vials in front of him, a sinister glint in his eyes. “She’s too soft… and I taught her a lesson,” he responds with a low voice.

“Seems like she might have taught you a lesson,” you retort, a sharp edge to your words as you observe him downing one of the vials.

He groans in satisfaction as the chem hits his system, prompting him to stand up and walk into the mart. You follow closely behind, collecting any valuable provisions and hastily stuffing them into your bag. Out of the corner of your eye, you see him having a field day with a massive pile of vials on a table, filling his cowboy hat full of them. It’s the first time you’ve seen him without his hat and you're struck by the sight of his bald head. Not everyone can carry off the hairless look with ease, but he manages to pull it off effortlessly and there’s a rugged charm to his appearance.

Without hesitation, he starts consuming every chem and liquor bottle in sight, a reckless abandon in his actions. The breaking of glass and the sharp smell of alcohol fill the air as you slowly make your way towards his self-destructive behavior. The Ghoul seems to stumble upon an old holotape in front of a working television set and begins playing it as he settles down on a dilapidated pair of seats nearby. You take a seat beside him, pop a couple of mentats found on the table in front of you, and grab the bottle of liquor from him, chugging it down in one go.

An old western film begins to play, featuring an actor named Cooper Howard. You can't help but notice that the severely worn shirt under The Ghoul’s duster closely resembles what the actor is wearing in the film. Subtly, you shift your gaze back and forth between the man on screen and the one next to you. Could it be him?

As you study The Ghoul’s features, you notice a remarkable similarity in his bone structure to that of the actor. The contours of his face, the shape of his jawline, and even the way his cheekbones are structured all seem to echo those of the Cooper Howard. Despite the weariness evident in his eyes, there is a subtle glint that mirrors the spark found in the eyes of this actor in the old western films.

Realization dawns on you that this ghoul is none other than Cooper Howard. After over 200 years in the wasteland presumably as a ghoul, it's no surprise he's become the pessimistic asshole he is now. No wonder he refuses to tell you his name or anything about himself. "That man is quite handsome,” the words slip from your lips, revealing a hint of admiration and perhaps even a touch of flirtation.

The Ghoul chuckles, unaware that you have connected the dots and learned his true identity. His laughter fades as he turns his head towards you, the distance between you suddenly shrinking. His eyes lock onto yours, then flicker down to your lips. A sense of anticipation fills the air as you feel the warmth of his breath on your face, tainted with the unmistakable scent of alcohol.

A moment of tense silence hangs between you, the only sound being the faint hum of the flickering overhead lights. Unsure of what to do or say, you hesitate, opening your mouth to speak but closing it without a word. In the dimly lit surroundings of the rundown mart, he leans in closer, his face mere inches from yours, his lips almost brushing against yours.

In an instant, the effects of all the chems and alcohol he consumed hit him like a ton of bricks. His movements slow to a crawl, his eyelids droop heavily, and before you can even process what's happening, he slumps over, unconscious. You sit there in disbelief, watching as The Ghoul soundly sleeps before you, wondering what could have happened if he hadn't passed out.

The gentle rise and fall of his chest, the soft snores escaping his lips, all evoke a sense of warmth and familiarity. A wave of nostalgia washes over you, reminding you of the love you once shared with a ghoul in the past. You recall the tender moments, the deep connection, and the unspoken understanding that bounded you together. Despite the challenges and prejudices you faced, your love blossomed into something truly special. You can't help but feel a hint of longing for that lost love.

Lost in a whirlwind of thoughts, you seek distraction by glancing down at his hand resting near your thigh and you notice that one of his fingers is missing. What the fuck happened while I was gone? Turning your attention to the half-empty bottle of whiskey on the table, you take a final swig, the burning liquid warming your insides. Feeling a mix of emotions swirling within you, you lean in and rest your head on his shoulder. The scent of his unique musk mingles with the lingering aroma of whiskey. Eyes drifting shut, you welcome the embrace of sleep, letting the darkness envelop you alongside The Ghoul.

Tag List: @fallout-girl219 @ellabellabunny123 @sunnexaltation @coolrobloxkid28

#the next chapter gets a little weird with some dreams 👀#slight smut in chapter 6 is coming!!!#the ghoul x reader #cooper howard x reader #the ghoul #cooper howard #fallout #Smoothie and The Ghoul

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