#Seven Gravity Collection

[tiredandoptimistic]

All the art of grown up Dipper and Mabel has brought me to the realization that if you just drew Mabel with my actual bedroom and the clothes I'm wearing currently it would make perfect sense

[bigification]

Tag You're Fat

"Bro, why the fuck are we playing tag, we are grown ass adults." John asked.

"Just go with it man, it'll be fun." Brad pleaded. "It's not just any game of tag, It's called tag you're FAT! The way it works is that one person gets selected randomly to be it. He will eat this." Brad holds up a large pill. "It will turn them into a fatass for a short time, the fatass will then be contagious. Any person he touches will also become a fatass. Everyone hides and the last person to get fattened wins."

"Dude this game seems weird." Graham spoke out.

"C'mon just try it, it'll be fun." Brad pleaded once again.

The group seemed to collectively sigh and agree to play. Brad then pulled up a random number generator on his phone. "Everyone pick a number, I'll be one."

Each man then says a number between one and seven. Brad generated a number. "It's 4, who's 4!"

A couple guys pointed at Graham. "Man this is bullshit, I didn't even want to play this stupid ass game." Graham complained.

"That's too damn bad, take the pill." Brad responded.

Graham grabbed the pill and stared at it for a bit. "This is temporary right?" He asked.

"Ya of course, just take it." Brad said as he pulled up a photo of Graham on his phone, just for comparison for after.

Everyone started to get impatient so Graham finally swallowed the pill. Almost instantly, he began to twitch and grunt. As he twitched, his body began to jiggle more and more. His once flat stomach grew rounder and rounder by the second, riding up his shirt in the process. It kept growing until he had a solid beer gut that sagged over his waist line and love handles that thickened his once slim waist. His defined pecs became soft and plump as they sagged onto his gut and his arms became plump with a thick layer of fat. His pants tightened under the pressure of his growing ass and thick thighs. Finally his face widened as fat filled his cheeks.

Graham stood in silence as he took off his tiny shirt. His friends waited in silence for him to say something.

"Huh huh huh, that felt good!" He said in a dumb voice.

No one could tell if he was being serious, but they figured he was when he kept giggling and playing with the fat on his belly.

"Ok everyone, HIDE!" John yelled as he ran to a hiding spot. No one had time to react, so they just ran. Each of them found a hiding spot as Graham started to slowly hunt them down.

John trembled as he heard the large man stomp towards his hiding spot. He struggled to keep quiet as Graham approached. "Boo!" Graham yelled as he turned the corner. John jumped and proceeded to plead for Graham to not tag him.

"Wait wait! You don't need to tag me. You can just go find someone else." He practically pegged.

"isn't that the point of the game though?" Graham asked as he reached for John's arm. John yelled in fear, but immediately stopped when Graham made contact.

His muscles seemed to tense up, and he started to grunt. John started to grow much faster than Graham did. Within moments his belly had grown so big that he looked pregnant. It grew and grew, almost never ending until it was larger than a beach ball, ripping straight through his shirt. His hands grew to twice their size as he held his massive gut. A thick layer of fat covered the rest of his body, giving thick arms and legs, and large man tits. His ass also grew to the point that it ripped through his pants, leaving him completely naked, though it's not like you could seem much under that hulking gut. Similar to Graham, his face was the last to change. His face rounded out until it looked like a circle and he grew multiple chins under his thick beard.

John sat there for a moment, getting used to the way his body felt. The thick legs that rubbed together and the giant gut that changed his centre of gravity made it hard for him to move around.

"Get up big guy!" Graham pulled John to his feet.

"Shut it pipsqueak, you try movin around with a gut like this." John snapped back.

The two men soon went back to searching for the rest of their friends, shaking the ground as they walked. Dewayne and Miguel hid together nearby and peered around a corner to see Graham and John searching.

"Dude is that John?! He's fucking massive, and he's naked." Miguel whispered.

"Shut up, they're gonna hear us." Dewayne whispered back.

Almost as if on cue, John and Graham turn and start walking toward their hiding spots. They were cornered, so they just curled up and hoped they wouldn't be seen. It did not work. Graham turned the corner, chuckled, and grabbed both men.

Dewayne started to grunt as his body grew. His soft gut spilled out of his black tang top and over his shorts. He grew soft man tits that stretched his shirt to its limit. His body quickly started to say under its own weight as a thick layer of pudge covered his body.

Miguel befell a similar fate soon after. Although the effects didn't seem as bad on him since he was such an athletic person, but that could only help him so much. His six pack rapidly turned into a beer belly larger than his own dad's gut, riding up his tiny gym shirt. His solid pecs swelled into a pair of moobs with nipples that showed through his shirt. The defined arms and legs he worked so hard for softened into pudgy limbs.

The two men emerged from their hiding spots, happy as ever without a thought going through their minds.

It didn't take long for them to find Andrew after that. He was the tallest in the group, making it hard for him to hide. He tried to run but quickly ran into John, knocking him straight on his ass. Unfortunately for him, his arms hit John's belly in the impact. Andrew sat on the floor as his mind cleared and his body started to grow. Within seconds he had a giant hairy belly hanging out of his shirt, only rivaled by John's. His limbs bilmped out and his ass expanded, popping open his belt and threatening to rip his jeans. Finally a thick double chin formed under his beard. Andrew stood up, towering over the rest and crossed his arms. "Well who's gonna find the rest?" He asked in a dumb voice.

Brad trembled as he heard someone approaching his hiding spot. He had no idea who it was, but it sounded like someone massive. He got scared and decided to get up and run from his hiding spot. As he got up, he was met by Andrews thick underbelly.

His forehead impacted Andrews belly, knocking him back. He grunted in pleasure and pain as the transformation began. His body was hit the hardest since John. His once unnoticeable belly soon became impossible to miss, riding up his shirt to his chest and drooping over his waist. His skinny chest exploded with fat, growing larger tits than he had ever seen before, with large sensitive nipples. His previously thin arms became engulfed with fat and his legs thickened until it was basically impossible for him to separate them. His love handles spilled over his waist and his ass fattened until his crack was visible above his pants. He got up once his transformation was complete, struggling to stay up due to his immense weight. He pulled up his shirt and looked down at his hulking gut and man tits, he smiled before following the rest of the men to find the last of their friends.

"Omar, you're the last one you can come out now!" John yelled.

Omar appeared from behind a couch and stood in shock at the sight of his friends. Each one of them bursting out of their clothes and sagging with fat, John had even ripped out of his clothes. Omar started to laugh hysterically, pointing out how fat his friends were. Once he regained his composure he asked his friends, "so when does this wear off?"

"What do you mean wear off, why would we want it to wear off?" John responded.

"No no, you said it would wear off." Omar's expression quickly changed.

"What do you say boys, this guy is lookin a bit too skinny for our standards, how about we change that." John asked the rest of the boys.

Omar backed away, but quickly became cornered by the horde of large men. It didn't take long for one of them to grab his arm. He froze in place and started to grunt as his body began to change. He tried to resist, but there was no point. His gut burst out of his shirt, popping off the buttons in the process. His pecs grew into thick moobs, and he grew multiple chins under his light stubble. His ass fattened until it ripped through his jeans, and his thighs ripped what was left of them, leaving him naked from the waist down. His arms fattened up as he held his gut.

"Now for the best part about the game." John started as he approached Omar. "It has made up who we were meant to be, it made us hot." John gets really close to Omar, pressing both their bellies together. "Now we can do whatever we want with each other." John grabbed Omar's dick as he spoke, making him moan.

With all the tension built up over the game, it didn't take long for all of them to rip off their tiny clothes. Nothing in their heads other than sex and food.

[hgfictionwriter]

Master List

I figured it may be time to create this list. Again, thank you, thank you, thank you to anyone who has read, liked, reblogged, commented. There are some absolutely stellar fics and writers out there, so thank you for welcoming me into the fold.

For anyone who’s new, I write JFlem fics of the smut-with-feelings variety. ❤️

Requests are always welcome!

Stories and categories below:

Smut Fics

Finally

Quiet

Celebrations

Reunited

Teasing

Ache - Part Two, Ache - Part Three

Protector

Birthday Gift

Comfort

Gravity, Gravity - Part Two

Bliss

Long Distance Call

Fantasy

Insatiable

Unwind

High Definition

Late Night Desires

Sizing Up

A Show

Good Girl

Cravings

Discretion

Firsts

Reflection

Safe Word

Smut Fics: G!P Universe

Self Control Series: Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight, Part Nine, Part Ten, Part Eleven, Part Twelve, Part Thirteen

Road Trip

Mine

Jackpot

Discovery Series: Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six

Frustration

Midnight Satisfaction

Possession

Non-Smut Fics

Ache

Getaway - Part One, Part Two

Handy - Part One, Part Two, Part Three

TLC

Maybe This Time, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six

Sickness

Scattered

Mending

Just Friends

Moments

Changes

D.D.

Blurbs/Other

Smut headcanons

Snapshots

WIPs

Below is a collection of WIPs. Feel free to submit requests.

If you requested something and don't see it here, check back at a later date - I’ll pick things up as inspiration and opportunity strikes!

G!P Universe - Control series (~weekly updates)

Tentative WIPs (not yet started)

[TBD] - No kissing smut fic (angry sex? ex sex? TBD!)

[hezuart]

LN Channel Change AU Sequel: “Seven” {1} {2} {3} {here/final}

And they lived happily ever after. Or did they? We've established our main characters Mono (TV/space-time) and Six (Soul Sucking) have strange supernatural powers. I wanted Seven to have one too. (Hydrokinesis aka water bending)

Notes for how I came up with Seven's powers and the deeper meaning behind his interaction with Mono:

1. Each child has nightmare prophecies (something to do with Mono's time loop?)  at the beginning of their stories. Six's is the Lady, Mono's is the door that leads to the Thin Man, and Seven's is being pulled underwater. Six and Mono's nightmare visions are fulfilled at the end of their stories; revealing that the thing they dreamed about, they essentially become or usurp.  Seven's differs. His dream resolves in act 1 and he kills the Granny, the creature assumed to be the one pulling him underwater in his nightmare. But what if Seven's dream prophecy was still valid... even post-Granny? Being dragged underwater... for a different fate?

2. Seven is the only main cast character shown with the ability to swim. 3. "Seven Seas" anyone? Water is a symbol of purification & life, hence, Seven gains his new powers after he survived and Mono broke the timeline loop to start fresh. "Washing it away" so to say. 4. Water is a liquid; passive in nature, but powerful in circumstance. Seven is kind and sneaky but kills the Granny when continuously attacked and threatened by her. He does the same to the Octopus monster.

5. Water molecules have adhesion and cohesion, meaning water likes to stick to itself, and stick to other things. Seven has an attachment to Nomes. He is always drawn to other people and other creatures, wanting to help them. His belief is that survival chances are higher amidst a group. Water is also known for containing life, no matter how strange or deep, such as ocean fish that often travel in schools/packs often to confuse or fight off predators, thus, another reference to Seven's new life, and his teamwork with Nomes and Mono.

6. Seven is often in fandom depicted by a circle. A water droplet. 7. Seven collects flotsam; typically boat debris, but in this case, bottled messages that come from the sea. Yet another connection to water.

All this indicates heavy implication and well-fitting power to bestow hydrokinesis onto Seven. I was inspired by the INSIDE game's drowning chapter and Stanley and Stanford's secret boat hide-out on the beach from Gravity Falls. Which is why I have selected Mono, Seven, and all their future friends to a lovely and sunny (future) beach house, far away from everything they've suffered. And living near the largest body of water on the planet with a kid with hydrokinesis? ...Certainly has its perks!

But Seven gaining powers is important to not only their survival but also him. He was still nervous about Mono. He knew Mono was very powerful and mysterious. In more ways than one. Mono is stronger than him and can also use telekinesis on objects on the beach. He's a better food hunter and seems more like a leader. Seven also likes to lead, but he felt outshined by Mono. (I don't portray that well in my comic) Seven is weaker and defenseless. His only shining quality in comparison is his ability to swim, but even that can only get him so far. He risks his life for his Nome friends and loses his life doing so. Or so he thought. By a miracle, his powers over water awaken. He drains the monster of its water, beaching it. He walks to Mono in a new light. It's a new him. He holds up his hands as if to say "See? I'm like you now." He's leveled the playing field. (It also helps that he now has jurisdiction over power Mono cannot interact with) Now they are truly equal. Two kings; one of land, one of sea, both ruling the island in equal standing. Seven will never again feel like a burden left behind. (Seven's powers activating also has something to do with the fact he bit the Octopus creature to save the Nome. Mono and Six both consume their powerful prophesized enemies to gain some of their power, if they didn't already have some before. Seven biting into the Octopus's flesh and unknowingly consuming some of it may have jumpstarted his power deep within him, on top of him encountering Mono; supernatural kid extraordinaire that brought him through a tower wormhole to escape the city)

~~~

A threequel is planned, and maybe the last addition to this series, but the next one is not fully fleshed out yet so it may be another year until I can really touch upon it yet. Otherwise, hope you guys enjoyed!

[radiaurapple]

T is for Tax Evasion

“What is it?” Alastor says. “What's happened?” Lucifer shakes his head. He doesn’t have the words yet to explain the gravity of his mistake. Alastor pulls Lucifer back into his arms, and Lucifer still doesn’t say anything — he just burrows deeper into Alastor’s embrace. Soon, he’ll need to face them all. He’ll need to explain to Alastor, and the rest of Hell, what all this means: That Tax Season has begun.

It is said that two things in this universe are inescapable: Death and taxes. Lucifer is spectacularly bad at coping with both.

This is my entry for the 2024 Radioapple A-Z Project! I am so excited to be a part of this project and highly recommend checking out the rest of the collection!!

Link to read on AO3

Fic preview below the cut!

Part I: The Bell

42 Days Remaining

As violet dawn breaks across the horizon, the Bell tolls. It echoes mournfully down the silent streets of Pentagram City, along the cobblestone streets of Old Town and beneath the bass of the bars still hours away from last call. It sways the cars on the deserted Ferris wheel at Lu Lu World and rumbles the Hotel’s foundation.

It’s like a dream, at first. Lucifer groans and buries his face in Alastor’s chest as the first toll fades. Then, the grandfather clock beside the fireplace ticks once, twice — seven times, and the Bell tolls again. 

The Hotel shudders. A thin cloud of plaster drifts lazily from the ceiling and dusts over their bedspread. Lucifer wakes all at once and sits bolt upright. A frigid dread trickles down his spine. He extracts himself from Alastor’s arms, stumbles to his feet, and throws open the curtains of their window. 

Fragments of torn paper swirl on the opposite side of the glass. They collect on the ground like ash, blanketing the hill that leads up to the hotel in fuzzy white. 

The bell tolls again. In the distance, a flock of crows take flight. 

“Alastor,” Lucifer says in a small voice.

Behind him, the blankets shift; Alastor stretches his shoulders with a disgusting crack , a habit that drives Lucifer nuts, but he can’t find it in himself to complain now.

When Alastor speaks, his voice is thick and groggy. “Hm?”

“What day is it?”

“The first of June.”

Lucifer lets out a shuddering breath. The dread building inside him drops like a stone and settles in his gut. He backs away from the window and plops onto the mattress, where he curls up in a little ball and hides his face in his hands. 

Alastor's gentle fingers stroke Lucifer’s hair. “What is it?” he says. “What's happened?”

Lucifer shakes his head. He doesn’t have the words yet to explain the gravity of his mistake. Alastor pulls Lucifer back into his arms, and Lucifer still doesn’t say anything — he just burrows deeper into Alastor’s embrace. 

Soon, he’ll need to face them all. He’ll need to explain to Alastor, and the rest of Hell, what all this means: 

That Tax Season has begun.

[stellar-constellations]

An Alliance (part 1)

        Fem! Spy! (Y/N) x Yuri Briar

        Parts: Current part, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten (to be continued when Spy x Family has more Yuri content!)

        (Y/N) is given her own backstory that is important for the story!

        The setting for this story is based off West and East Germany's (because Spy x Family is heavily based off Germany in the 1940-1950) laws (or at least replicated to the best of my abilities since it's unknown what time period Spy x Family is exactly in, we'll go with 1950 for the sake of this story). 

        Historically-accurate women misogyny and mistreatment! Only small comments and historically-accurate laws (replicated to the best of my ability). 

        The story, plot, and settings might not match up to the Spy x Family manga as it's not completed and the manga is still being crafted.

        This series contains spoilers for the manga and anime!

        Almost three months ago, I was caught as a Westalis spy. I found out I was ratted by a fellow spy and because of it, I was in the hands of the Secret Police, where I met the second-lieutenant, Yuri Briar. 

        .

        .        

        “Tell me, what information have you given to WISE?” the man in charge of interrogating me spoke.

        “I told you, I didn’t do anything.” I affirmed, my eyes tired from all the fake crying I had to previously do.

        What's it been? Two hours now? I'm pretty fed up of this.

        “I’m sorry for whatever I did to gain your mens' attention, but I swear I’m not a spy.” I pushed.

        I’m lying. A spy lies all the time. Though I hate to lie, it’s necessary to help create peace between the two sides; or at least to the best of our abilities. 

        “I’ll ask you for the last time... What did you tell Westalis?!” he shouted, slamming his hand on the table.

        I fake-jumped, the handcuffs on my wrists clacking together as my eyes widen.

        “I didn’t tell them nothing. I only lived there for some time, then the war struck and my home was destroyed so I moved here. I was born a (birth country) civilian but I’ve lived here in Ostania since I was ten.” I explained, letting out a cough from how sore my throats been with all this fake crying, shouting, and screaming of my proclaimed “innocence.”

        "I ain't got time for this. My shift was over a quarter ago; I'm going home." The man sighed.

        The man stood up from his chair as did the transcriber in the corner of the room.

        I was left in the room for a good thirty minutes, keeping my posture slightly tense and observant as I looked around the room. 

        If there's any cameras, they'd be looking for any signs of guilt in my body language. Acting too careless or neutral would make it appear that I don't understand the gravity of the situation, or that I'm playing too natural and collected which would be suspicious. Being too tense would give away any signs of anxiety or panic at the possibility of being caught. If I look around the room too much, they'd believe that I would be searching for cameras and microphones which wouldn't look good for an innocent person; but if I'm not checking my surroundings, it could lead them to the impression that I've been in these interrogation rooms before under suspicion of espionage.

        A knock on the metal door was heard, pulling me out of my thoughts as the door opened.

        “Excuse me, I’ll be taking over from here. Your previous interrogator had to go home.” A young man spoke as he stepped into the room. 

        He couldn’t have been any younger or older than me by two years. He had deep black hair and piercing red eyes. He almost seemed innocent with those large eyes, that was until I noticed how the atmosphere in the room changed.

        Suddenly, it didn't quit feel like I was in control of the situation.

        He looks easy to fool. I thought to myself.

        I remained quiet as I watched him close the door, walking into the chair the other guy previously sat in.

        "Hello... (Y/N), right?" he asked, setting his hat down on the table and taking a seat across from me.

        "Yeah." I confirmed, feeling heart raise as I stared at him, stopping myself from sounding meek so he doesn't get any information on me.

         It's just cause he's a new interrogator, I thought.

        I memorized the previous one's body language and go-to patterns, I can figure out this one's too. I'll stick with my same backstory I gave the other man. I need to be calm but angry too, detectives use special techniques such as that new American Reid technique to extract information from people of interest; they'll be studying my body language, tone, words, and mannerisms. Leaving me alone for so long was one of the steps they've used in the technique.

        I'll admit, I was impressed at how young this guy was. I was also impressed that he pronounced my name correctly despite it not even originating from Germany, but instead in (your name’s origin). 

        "It's a pretty name—from (your name’s origin), correct?" he smiled, causing me to internally squirm in my seat, unsettled at his knowledge and hospitality.

        That other man was screaming orders and demands at me, and here this guy is, bothering to know where my name originates from.

        "Yeah... My mom wanted a unique name; I supposed all mothers want something that stands out." I replied truthfully.

        To create a flawless lie, you must also dab in the truth. Be detailed, but not too detailed. Create eye-contact and don't slip up on your words.

        "I see. And where is your mom now?" he questioned. 

        "She's dead..." I muttered, looking away from him, forcing myself to bite my tongue.

        It was a sour memory, my tone was truthful. I'd be seen as peculiar if I didn't show any emotions talking about my dead loved ones, spy or not.

        "And your dad?" he asked.

        "Same..." I muttered dully, taking in a deep breath.

        "I'm sorry about your parents. Do you have any siblings?" he questioned.

        "Well, I did." I scowled, showing my dislike for him and his questions.

        Remember, not too hostile. That was teetering the edge...

        He ignored my glare and smiled.

        "I can assume the same as your parents?" he spoke.

        "You can." I sighed, a weak attempt to cool down.

        I need to control my emotions, otherwise I'll slip up. Remember, no connections to your past.

        "So, you were born in (your country of origin), what brought you to Ostania?" he asked.

        "I was born in (your country of origin), then my family and I moved to Westalis when I was six. Then the war broke out, the bombs and all, and my family died except for me. I was found in the rubble, then I made my way into the Westalis army. During the war, I got injured and was forced to step down. Eventually, I made my way here to get away from the war since I heard there wasn't any bombings going on, supposed to be more peaceful." I explained, forcing myself to avoid eye contact since it wouldn't help me think.

        "You have to understand though, that doesn't make me a spy! I came here to get away from the war, the bombings, the threats, and all this crap here. I just want to live a peaceful life in Ostania for as long as I can." I concluded.

        "That's very unfortunate." The man frowned. "I'm sorry you had to go through something like that. How old were you when your parents died?" 

        "I was seven." I explained. 

        "And you're...?" he paused, waiting for me to verify. 

        "Twenty." I confirmed.

        "We're close in age." He smiled. "How come you decided to stay inside of Europe? Move into Ostania whilst in the middle of a war, nonetheless? You could've went to the United States or something." he questioned.

        "I didn't want to learn a new language. Since I was young when I moved here, it was easier for me to adapt to the language since I was growing up and learning it with other kids my age trying to write and speak it too." I explained. 

        "I see. I'm sorry for what you've had to go through growing up, I really wish it wasn't as bad as it is here; however I'm afraid I cannot do much on my own." The male flashed an empathetic smile, like he lived what I lived. "It's sad for you to have gone through so much so young." 

        "You're around my age and you're in this type of business." I pointed out. 

        He smiled, his eyes too squinted and his smile too big to be friendly. It was dangerously sinister, too sinister even for me.

        "This type of business? You make serving and protecting our country sound distasteful. What negative things have you heard, Miss (L/N)?" he questioned, leaning his head on his gloved-palm.

        He opened his eyes and lowered his smile, yet the smile was still present. 

        This lighting makes him look absolutely terrifying. I thought, suppressing the urge to swallow my fear, yet I had no control of how my hands and legs started to tremble. But also...kind of attractive, I supposed...?

        "You're the Secret Police, right? I hear you guys torture anyone who doesn't give you what information you want. Anyone can report someone as a suspected spy at any time, and they'll be brought here to be tortured for 'treason' and such. Even women who aren't married after 25 are suspected to be spies and that's completely ridiculous! You do know that the Salem Witch Trials in 1692 happened to have many innocents meet their demise, just because they were blamed, because some people didn't like them or were jealous? Some even put others to their death for entertainment! Do you see a pattern?" I questioned.

        "And where did you hear this? About the Secret Police?" he asked.

        "You hear it all over. The new gossip in the office, what's on the daily newspaper, and even on our TV's. It's happening right now, in this very room." I sneered. 

        "That's just word on the street." The man spoke, doing his best to keep his poker face as he ignored my last comment.

        I could tell he wanted to get mad, frown at me, maybe even yell, but he kept up his good-cop act. 

        "The war was originally word on the street too—look where we are now." I retorted. "And you wanna know something else? Despite all the bad things I've said about Ostania so far, Ostania is just as bad as Westalis.

        "How so?" he huffed, a scowl on his face as his manipulatively cocky smile was immediately wiped from his face, losing his composure.

        "I've been on both sides of this war. I can guarantee to you that Ostania is censoring its newspapers and screens so their people don't know what it's really like—just like Westalis did. Hell, probably even still doing. You work for the State Security Service, but the SSS works for the government—you're not the ones getting information when it first comes out. You gobble up what lies and little white truths they give you." I explained, leaning closer to him on the desk to further emphasis my point. "You're just a pawn in this game of chess. Me and you hold no power to the big guys up there, but just as the word on the street says; once you get captured by the SSS, there's no coming back. Guilty or innocent, the scale is rigged."  

        His fingers drummed at the desk angrily as he closed his eyes and knitted his eyebrows. I savored the sight of this. The frustration of a Ostanian officer, weak and forced to believe my words for this interrogation, but doubt them too. All the second-thoughts flashing through his face as he wonders if I'm right or if I'm screwing with him.

        "If that's how you see it, then I supposed I'd have to accept it." He sighed roughly, intertwining his gloved fingers together. "Enough of that. Tell me all the jobs you've worked."

        "I worked at a bakery when I was six, then the Westalis army at seven, moved here and had a mix of delivering newspapers and working in pet shops as an assistant when I was ten. I got a waitressing gig at eleven and kept it until I was nineteen. Finally, I started working at a local bakery down my street." I explained. 

        "So, why did you accept being recruited into the Westalis army?" he questioned.

        It seems like we're running in circles. I thought to myself, mentally sighing. We've already gotten past that bit.

        "There wasn't really anywhere I could go without needing money. I also wanted to give justice to my family and siblings; you would too, wouldn't you?" I questioned.

        "Yes. I have an older sister and I love her dearly. It's why I do this job, so I can understand where you're coming from. Do you have an older sister too?" he asked.

        "Yes. An older sister, an older brother, and two younger brothers. Believe it or not, but we were at each others' throats every chance we could get. But I never did get to tell them that despite all of our fights and bickering, they were my family and I love them." I explained, forcing myself to look away from the male as tears started to distort my vision. 

        "It's always important to tell them that when you still have them, yeah?" he smiled.

        I nodded, not having the strength to look up. There's no way I'm going to cry in front of this bastard.

        "Yeah, and—fortunately for you—the files we've been given have matched up to everything you've been saying and more. There's really nothing left." The second-lieutenant spoke. "I'm sorry for having my co-workers drag you here, but it's protocol." 

        "It's cool. I can understand." I sighed, not exactly believing that the interview was over.

        There's no way it's over. Every spy that's been captured by the Secret Police has never been seen again, even innocent people on the streets haven't been seen again either! I really doubt I'd be the first (guilty, but even if I was innocent [that'd be an accomplishment itself]) person to actually walk free from the SSS—as much as I'd like for that to happen. 

        I waited for any movement from him, waited for him to grab his hat and walk out, waited for him to speak again, anything really. But he just sat there, smiling at me, like he knew something I didn't, and I'm starting to become pretty certain he does. 

        "Are you going to uncuff me?" I questioned.

        His smile seemed to brightened yet darken at the same time, how he did that, I have no idea.

        "I'm glad you asked; but you see Miss (L/N), unfortunately I can't let you go." 

        I sighed, knowing that I was going to get caught one way or another.

        "And the reason why is...?" I paused, impatiently waiting for the answer.

        Luckily, he didn't let me ponder about it for long.

        "While you're innocent, you're still guilty." He answered.

        "But you just said I'm innocent. Innocence until proven guilty, correct?" I huffed, getting frustrated. 

        "Yes, but that's not how it works around here. See, I'm going to have to leave soon for my next interrogation, but I know there's more to your story." He spoke, no smile on his face. 

        "You said my backstory covers everything!" I exclaimed.

        "I did—from what you told me, that is." He explained. "(Y/N) (L/N) age twenty. A spy from Westalis. Code name is Vixen. Moved from (country of origin) to Westalis for your father's promotion at six. Served for three years in the Westalis army at seven. Got recruited to be a spy at ten, then went on missions for a decade—until now, that is." He explained. "Very impressive how WISE can implant work reports in company files, but the calligraphy is wrong. We would've never found out if the store owner didn't drop dead halfway through your employment at that local bakery you speak of. The owner's daughter took over and started writing the work reports, yet your reports remained with the same handwriting from the previous owner." 

        Damn it, I really can't fix that at all. Some in the letter forgery department was lacking—or slacking—information for the bakery. I thought.

        "I don't think you understand what type of spy I am. I'm a peacemaker spy! I stop terrorist attacks, threats from Ostania and Westalis, assassination attempts for the government. Hell, I even helped stop another nuclear bomb that would've killed at least 500,000 people in Hugaria!" I shouted. 

        "So you admit to being a spy now?" he taunts me with a smile.

        "I—" I paused, realizing what I said.

        Well, no going back now.

"Yes!" I groaned. "You were right, ya happy?" I aggressively huffed.

        "I'm glad we could come to an agreement, but you know, I'm a little sad now." The man spoke with fake sadness. "I was starting to develop a soft spot for you since you were so honest... for the most part." 

        "Bite me." I rolled my eyes. 

        "We don't usually do that in our sessions." He stood up from his seat and stalking towards me.

        Torture sessions... I thought to myself, feeling a sense of dread creep up me that I tried to push down. 

        My heartbeat's rhythm became louder and irregular, it boomed in my chest and as blood rushed past my ears, hearing a slight ringing in them.

        "If you're planning on killing me, I don't think you'd find much pleasure in it. I'm trained not to give reaction to punishment, no matter how severe." I claimed, fighting the urge to wiggle in my chair for a fruitless attempt of escaping, but it'd just make me look more pathetic then I do already. 

        "I have a few tricks up my sleeves." He smiled. 

        "It doesn't matter if you kill me or not. Westalis will still prevail just like Ostania will. My death will have no meaning to Westalis' or your victory to this war." I stated. 

        "I'm aware. We weren't really looking to killing you—or locking you up in a cellar either.... even though I believe we should..." he whispered that last part to himself like I couldn't hear it.

        "This isn't gonna turn into a low-budget porno if that's what you're thinking." I deadpanned.

        "I wasn't thinking of that either; but I'm flattered." He chuckled.

        I rolled my eyes, my skin flushed yet I was thankful that he agreed with me. 

        "So what are you planning on doing with me?" I questioned.

        "Well since you're so curious, I guess I can ruin the surprise." He spoke. "You were right when you said you're a peacemaker spy. In fact, there's not enough reasons for me to even put you in jail or on death sentence since your good deeds outweigh the bad. I was told to make a deal with you for my boss. I can keep you out of the troubles of being a spy (or ending up dead) if you become an SSS agent." 

        "And if I don't accept?" I questioned.

        "Death sentence; but that's not exactly favorable, now is it?" he smiled.

        "Okay... What exactly am I doing?" I questioned, a slight distaste in my mouth. 

        "Well. It's always nice to have information on the Westalis spies. It'd also be nice for someone to listen to bugged rooms and watch interrogation videos. I could finally get the sleep I've been needing—it's hard when your coworkers are being killed off by spies or quitting." He sighed dramatically. "Oh, you'll live with a SSS agent too, supervision 24/7 so you don't try any funny business."

        "You never mentioned I'd living with someone." I huffed, crossing my legs since I couldn't cross my arms with my hands still in cuffs.

        "We have to make sure you're not getting into any trouble, remember?" he smiled triumphally.

        I'm starting to realize that I hate this guy's stupid smile.

        "Who will I stay with?" I questioned

        "Eh, who knows." He smiled, shrugging his shoulders carelessly.

        I resisted the urge to grit my teeth and come up with something sarcastic to say. Instead, I bit my tongue and dug my nails into my palms as I sighed and huffed out a "fine."

        "Good! I know we're going to get along just fine around here." His smile deepened as I resisted the urge to run away.

        He leaned down and unlocked the handcuffs on my wrists, his eyes just daring me to do something stupid and see the consequences.

        “When you say information on the Westalis spies, are you referring to me committing treason on my own job?” I questioned. “I don’t see how that’s any different from treason on the country. I’m quite confused on your views of morals and justice.” I sighed. 

        “Then let me dumb it down for you.” He sighed. “I want to make this country a better place for my sister to live in, but with scum such as yourself and the Westalis spies, it makes it harder to do so.”

        “Are you sure insulting me is going to make me want to cooperate with you? Because I don’t work in places with workplace abuse.” I deadpanned.

        “You’re a spy; it’s nothing you can’t handle.” He smiled.

        Yeah, I want to punch that damn smile off his face.

        “Follow me, we’re going to go to the Director and inform him of our contract. Stay close to me and don’t wander off. If you try anything stupid then our contract will be breached and you can say goodbye to your ‘peaceful Ostanian life.’” The man explained.

        I clicked my tongue get nodded my head, showing that I agree. We exited the interrogation room and started walking down a dim hallway. The hallway had other doors connected to it with windows and I could see other people being interrogated. Some were being yelled at, others were being either punched or tortured.

        I’m surprised I didn’t get that kind of treatment. It’s probably since I’m a woman. 

        Living in 1950 in Ostania, it hasn’t even been 40 years (32 years, to be exact) since women officially gained voting rights, and even then, we don't even have equal rights! We can't work outside of our house without our husband's permission. With the war going on now, our rights have been pushed to the side and the main focus for women now is to take care of the kids. Even with our husband's permission, it’s still rare for women to be working in "men dominated" places such as the military, police, mechanic shops, and more.

        “Take your hands out of your pocket; you look suspicious.” The man spoke. 

        “Like I don’t already look suspicious, I’m the only woman here and I’m not wearing a uniform.” I spoke, rolling my eyes. “You boss me around a lot. If you’re going to be lecturing me, at least tell me your name, sir.” 

        “That’s not an option at the moment. If you want to find out, you’re going to have to earn it.” He spoke.

        “So what do I call out when dinner’s ready?” I spoke, sassy and sarcastic at the same time.

        “Sir has been working so far.” He hummed. 

        “Whatever…” I rolled my eyes, ignoring the heat on my face as I followed him without question.

        He opened a door, at least having the human decency to hold the door open for me. I stepped aside and waited for him, ignoring the stares of the men in uniform. The man lead us to a dark oak door and stopped in front of it. He knocked on the door, then waited.

        “Enter.” A voice from behind the door called out.

        The man opened the door again, letting me walk in before closing the door behind us. A man was seated at a desk, the Ostanian flag standing next to him as I looked at the man. He was old and wearing sunglasses…indoors?

        Weirdo. I thought.

        He stood up straight and saluted, “Director.” 

        “Second-lieutenant. And this is…?” the boss spoke, waiting for the questions to be answered.

        “(Y/N) (L/N). Otherwise known as Vixen, the Spy from the West.” He spoke.

        “Ah, yes. So, you’ve agreed?” the Director questioned.

        “Yeah...” I muttered hesitantly, shoving my hands in my pockets.

        It was short-lived as the younger man next to me quickly—and roughly—smacked my arm, making me sigh and take my hands out of my pockets.

        “I see. Come sit down in front of me.” The Director invited, but I could tell it was an order.

        I bit the inside of my cheek yet obliged, crossing my legs and arms. Second-lieutenant walked over and stopped at my side, side-eyeing me as he made sure I wouldn’t do anything bad. 

        I mentally rolled my eyes and waited for the Director to speak.

        “Sign this contract here on the line.” The Director settled a heavy packet in on the desk as he flipped three pages and pointed.

        “What am I signing it for?” I questioned.

        “Just to show that you’ve agreed to our contract.” The Director smiled.

        I glared daggers at him, rudely snatching the packet from the desk, flipping back to the first page and carefully reading each line to make sure I’m not signing something I don’t agree to.

        “I don’t agree with this.” I said, pointing at a line in the packet.

        “What aren’t you agreeing with?” The younger male asked. 

        He bent down and got in my personal bubble to read the page. I rolled my eyes at his closeness, ignoring the anxiety of my heart as I moved the paper a little closer to him. 

        “I don’t agree with ‘disclosing all of the Westalis secrets, including names, locations, meet-up places, and missions.’” I spoke.

        “Hm, and why is that? Are you expecting to return?” The Director's face darkened as did the unknown male.

        “No.” I rolled my eyes for what seemed to be the billionth time.

        Maybe...

        “I’m in debt to some of the people there, so there’s some information I can’t spill.” I explained.

        “Is your life worth those secrets?” the young male spat out harshly.

        “I wouldn’t be here discussing this contract with you if it wasn’t for them.” I spat back, twice as passionate in my anger as he was with his.

        His red eyes rivaled my own as we glared daggers at each other.

        The Director chuckled and spoke: "Okay, we can cross that line out." 

        "What? We're the ones making orders here!" the second-lieutenant complained.

        "You can't expect someone to cooperate with us if they don't get any benefits. This can't be two-sided." The Director spoke. 

        "They get to live!" the second-lieutenant hissed through his teeth. 

        "She's not the only person that could die from this contract too." The Director chuckled, then rested his face on his palms. "Our contract will be built on trust and communication. We'll give you information from the Secret Police that we see fit to give you, and you give us information about WISE that you see fit to give." 

        The second-lieutenant spluttered nonsense, exaggerating hand and body motivations as he tried forming words to complain.

        "Do we have a problem, second-lieutenant?" the Director darkly spoke.

        "Ack!" the second-lieutenant jumped in the air. "N-no, sir." He muttered, looking over to side-eye me. 

        I stuck out my tongue at him, proud of my small victory (if you can even call it that). In response, he glared at me again, fire in his obnoxiously vibrant red eyes. 

        "Here, sign this." The Director spoke, grabbing a different paper. "This one is our agreement that you're under our—the SSS'—care and protection for as long as you don't break our contract." The Director pointed to a blank line. "Make sure you add your full first and last name."

        "Okay..." I muttered, writing my full legal name down on the paper. 

        "Great. Now, second-lieutenant, you write your full legal name here." The Director pointed to a line next to my name. 

        The second-lieutenant hesitantly signed the paper with no questions.

        "Great. Here's your marriage certificate." The Director spoke.

        I choked on air as the second-lieutenant screamed at the top of his lungs in distress and rage.

        "NO WAY! GIVE ME THAT PAPER!" he screamed, lunging over the desk in a fruitless attempt to grab the packet and rip it to shreds.

        "YEAH MAN! WHAT'S YOUR PROBLEM TRICKING US LIKE THAT?" I screamed. 

        "Calm down. It's a cover for you two." The Director calmly spoke.

        "COVER FOR WHAT?!" We both screamed, slamming our hands on the desk.

        "(Y/N) is still legally a spy, and you, second-lieutenant, are still a member of the Secret Police. The government doesn't know that our methods are... frowned upon. And she previously lived in Westalis, so she's already in danger from just that. If (Y/N) is exposed to be a spy to our government, we may just be able to dig her out of that hole. And by we, I mean you, second-lieutenant." The Director spoke, using the lieutenant's low rank in a harsh mannerism. 

        Of course they're frowned upon, you're forcing innocent people to admit to being spies by beating the crap outta them. I thought, resisting the urge to roll my eyes as I bit my cheek instead to keep quiet.

        "Whose gonna find out?" the second-lieutenant deadpanned.

        "Traitors." The Director sighed. "Do you think that all of the members of the SSS are really focused on keeping our country safe? For all we know, me or you could be a spy too."

        I feel attacked. I thought to myself.

        "Wait. There's spies inside of our forces?!" the younger male exclaimed, shocked.

        "Are you stupid? 'Course there are!" I spat out harshly. 

        "Shut it!" he hissed.

        "Of course there is, just like there's members of the SSS in the Westalis spies." The Director spoke.

        "What?!" I exclaimed in my own shock.

        "What are you? Stupid?" the second-lieutenant mimicked. 

        "You shut it!" I hissed back.

        "Now, now. Let's not try to kill each other just yet. We have many things to discuss about, but let's save that for later. For now, let's get the living situations settled." The Director spoke. "Second-lieutenant, follow (Y/N) to her home and help pack her things. She'll be living with you." 

        "I never consented to this marriage." The second-lieutenant deadpanned, looking at the Director, then me.

        "What wife would she be if you two didn't live together?" The Director smiled.

        The man mumbled grips under his breath, another one being "still didn't consent."

        "I have the papers right here with your signature in permeant ink." The Director smugly smiled as I chuckled in disbelief. 

        Me and this guy? We're not going to get along at all.

        "Aw, don't be too happy about it, sweetheart. To be honest, this will be my first time too." I sarcastically cooed, blushing as placing my hands on my face to add more of a dramatic effect.

        "DON'T CALL ME THAT, YOU TRAITOROUS WITCH!" he screamed loudly, pointing a finger at me. 

        "OI! DON'T CALL ME A TRAITOROUS WITCH! I'M BEING FORCED TO WORK AND LIVE WITH YOU!"I screamed back.

        "I HATE YOU, BRAT!" he screamed.

        "DON'T CALL ME BRAT EITHER, YOU MUTT!" I screamed back. 

        "You guys are acting like me and my wife already." The Director happily—and depressingly—sighed, causing me and the mutt to look at each other. 

        "The day I call him my husband is the day I get executed!" I exclaimed. 

        "The day I call her my wife is the day a nuke drops on Ostania!" the second-lieutenant exclaimed.

        "Well, then get ready you two, because that day may just come sooner than you think." The Director sighed, causing the two of us to go quiet and stare at each other hatefully.

        Parts: Current part, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten (to be continued when Spy x Family has more Yuri content!)

        Want more Yuri content? Check out the Yuri Briar Masterlist!

        Have any requests? Check my masterlist to see the characters I write for: Masterlist (Please request, I have too much free time and too little fics).

[springsylph]

MAGNOLIA, CHAPTER ONE: “THE ROOT”

ghost x f! reader | read on ao3 | playlist

summary: your return to your coastal hometown is punctured by the sudden disappearance and subsequent death of your father. with all proof of his physical presence effaced, you resign yourself to a life of solitude. how fitting, then, that you should find God amidst your perils.

this story is 18+. minors/ageless blogs, do not interact. mind the tags!

warnings: 3.8k. dark!simon “ghost” riley. description of injuries. religious imagery/symbolism. blasphemy at some point in the near future (oops?). paranoia. mentions of suicide. familial grief is WEIRD, but simon is weirder so don't worry. 1 (one) slap. 1 (one) bug is consumed. just the one.

el·e·gy

/ˈeləjē/

noun

a poem of serious reflection, typically a lament for the dead.

You happen across a snarling dog in an alleyway.

The rain is a whip, and the darkness is a yawn stretched long enough to be cause for concern; muscles are pulled thin, vertebrae begin to collapse. Appraisal will only be possible if morning comes.

Moonlight cannot reach you here—will not reach you here. The only proof of life spills out from the window of a flat overlooking the alley, yellow glow a monitory push away as your soul unknowingly pleads for scraps. It warns you of danger. A weakened liver.

Yours recalls, with a sardonic twist, that it is far beyond help. So you approach.

The instinctual flinching stops after the first three barks, but spittle and rain continue to wet your face with each snap of his maw, nerves crackling the closer you get.

At seven paces away, he stands at odds with gravity. It’s not quite sure what to make of him.

At four, the beginnings of what might be fear breach the surface of your psyche. You’ve not seen your ribs, but you think that if he were to pry you open they might look a bit like his teeth.

It’s when you’re at arm's length that you realize he’s large enough to look you in the eye.

His breath, hot against the chill, reeks of an unfamiliar intensity.

(Liar.)

You stand transfixed until the wetness on your cheek splits, and you press a hand to the divide.

Tears.

You draw in a generous breath—your first sin. It’s all rusted iron and scorched muscle tissue, adhering to your lungs like the seductive intonation of a cigarette, and you’re addicted before you can swat at the hand stuffing it down your gullet.

You’re brought back to the dog as your hand lowers, now silent beneath the spray. 

The blood matting his coat isn’t his, but how could you have known?

How could you have known?

(Blood is blood.)

Blood is blood. So you kneel on the cobblestone—-though there is no need to. The rain continues to shout, and he is ever so tall, but you kneel. Bend the rain to do your bidding with the twist of a limb. Strip down that Red luster to a blank slate, vestiges of watered-down violence running down your fingertips in a wet stream. It collects under your nails like damp earth the harder you scrub, replaced and replaced and replaced again until you concede the empty space.

(Well done, well done, well done—)

His fur is wild briar when you finally pull back; ready to burst into flames if you aren’t careful, and so stiff that your hands begin to prickle at the loss. His teeth are still bared, mouth still parted. But he is silent. Frozen in time. And you can’t help but wonder if that softness the blood had alluded to was a ruse—the slick lip of a pitcher plant punishing you for your altruism.

(Altruism. Tumbling right into the belly of the beast, unarmed. Acid burning through your credulity.)

But there’s a spot of Red, just between his incisors. 

(Is it yours?)

Globbing at the tip of your ring finger.

(His? 

Is it his?)

You reach forward. Wipe.

(Again. And again. And again. And again.)

And it is a strange thing, Devotion. If not for the slip of the blood against your fingertips, the rain blurring where one wound ends and the other begins, you might notice that Desperation and Destruction wait just outside the downpour. Patient, but still lingering, for there are things far worse than the Red that bleeds onto the cobblestone to fear.

(Dog is made man. Man is made God. Abomination.)

You reach forward. Wipe again.

And begin anew.

The symphonies composed by the houses of the deceased ought to be a case study.

No matter how softly you tread, how carefully you press the weight of your body against the wall, the stairs let out a fetid belch. An old lover—now free of all pretense and releasing the pungent smell of mildew and wood rot while you creep to the bottom of the staircase.

But the smell is hardly noticeable when set beside the rest of the orchestra’s musicians. Dissonance was a given; their only valued patrons had been the insects crawling amongst the dust until you’d discovered that you’d been named your father’s beneficiary—hardly a qualified audience. At the behest of the rocking handrail, you turn the corner. Amble into the cramped kitchen, yank apart the yellowing curtains above the sink till they grind against their rusty rods to permit the sun entry.

Only, there’s no sun today. Just as there was no sun yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that. Nearly a week spent cohabitating with empty threats of war. You’re trapped in the jaws of a waterlogged trench with nothing to show for it but waning patience and a stiff neck.

Outside the small window, the houses just down the shallow hill are still that same shade of diluted molasses, dulled by the awning stitched together from heavy rain clouds. The cottage isn’t quite elevated enough to see the full stretch of the ocean that lies just beyond—only small underscores between clusters of buildings and trees. The waves you can see are cleaved into wedges, crowned with white foam and kneaded into themselves by the wind. If you close your eyes, you can almost hear them collapsing against the rocky shore.

(You’re eavesdropping on your own consciousness. You were weak, then—scraped your shin after the fishing line nearly dragged you out to sea. He’d cupped the salty water to your leg as you’d wailed, thrashed, clawed at his forearms. Everything not absorbed into the exposed flesh was returned to its source, and the meaning of the word “fester” was spelled out in the days that followed: pus bulging out of what could not scab, an agonizing itch that you were not permitted to scratch. A bad omen.)

You shut the curtains.

Looking down, you manage to scrounge up a little regret over the lack of appropriate attire. Someone would nag. A funeral in a ratty sweatshirt and jeans was in bad taste, yes, but you could hardly be blamed: yesterday’s laundry still swims in the wet breeze. You make a mental note to bite the bullet and call in that favor from Mr. Davies while you pull an empty glass from the countertop and shove it under the faucet.

The pitch of the water drowning out last night’s wine lacks the hubris of its competitors. It’s a difficult admission to make, but it rings true nonetheless. Each atom that exists in this foreign plane is an affront to them—an insult. It’d likely remain that way even after the last brick sunk into the wretched earth. 

But, it’s still a house.

The house is all you have left.

Your thoughts continue to perspire, pilling up the cheap fabric of time until you feel the water curling over your hands and hitting the bottom of the sink with a splat.

“Shit, shit, shit—” You slap the lever down, dump the excess liquid down the drain. The pipes give a weak gurgle and you shut your eyes with a sigh. 

Just for today. Just for today, and you were free. Absolved of all faults.

You wet your throat with the little bit of water still left in the glass. Set it down gently into the sink. Peer down the corroded pipe and into the hells below as your fingers dig into the countertop.

It’s much easier, you find, to regret and correct when there is silence that needs to be filled. Silence to shame.

So you keep your mouth shut, and quietly consider the water amidst the noise.

Your steps down the winding dirt road are hurried, but careful.

The trees are no less curious today than they were the last time you’d taken this trek to the church; trunks held back by the dry stone walls, dark branches suspended overhead like lightning. A swampy gust of air passes through their fingertips, tangling them together in an achromatic flash of black and grey before they settle their grievances and separate. They share a common interest. 

Air on the coast is a permanent brine. The very essence of it settles on your soft palate, tenderizing your tongue till you’re on a sharp enough edge to spit a glob of accumulated saliva into a patch of grass. The mosquitoes have grown tired of you by this point. They hover over the sweat on your neck, the skin of your ankles, discomfiture evident in the irregular beat of their wings. You’ve not made a move to swat at them in the twenty-seven minutes you’ve spent tripping over your shoelaces, and it seems your tacit assent has disturbed the natural order of things.

You can't help that your mind is elsewhere. Timing your arrival and your exit requires a considerable amount of effort.

When the steeple begins to poke out in the distance, you pull your phone from your pocket. 11:43 am. Good. At the pace you were walking it’d likely be another ten minutes till you reached the main yard, leaving you with just enough time to say your “hellos” without having to linger. But just as you begin to slide your phone back into your pocket, it pings.

>> Sounds like an issue with the ventilation. Earliest I can do for you is tomorrow afternoon.

You squint. Right. You’d contacted Mr. Davies about the issue with your dryer just before you’d left the house this morning. How he’d managed to suss out the issue with your stairs from a single phone call was beyond you, but the persistence of your wet clothes had backed you into a tight corner.

But…tomorrow. Tomorrow, Tomorrow. You’re off early tomorrow—though not of your own volition. You’re halfway through typing a message of confirmation when your phone pings again, and your gut punches into your spine.

>> Can send my guy over to have a look at the cellar.

Another text comes in.

>> Emergency with the missus, won’t be back till late next week. Best to have it looked at ASAP if we’re dealing with mold.

The trees looming overhead are suddenly sharp in your peripherals. Pikes for your beheading. As you rack your mind for memories of other employees, your hands begin to feel clammy. You didn’t want someone else. You wanted Mr. Davies. And the cellar. What did the cellar have to do with the mold in the staircase—

A shout just down the road startles you. Your head snaps up and you’re shoving your phone back into your pocket when you hear your name called again.

The figure that approaches waves a hand, and you feel your body instinctively mirror her in an attempt to shelve your panic for later. Community connections are important, after all. Even when they’re breathing sour coffee into your nostrils, and their cheap red press-ons dig into the meat of your cheeks while they pinch, and coo, and squawk.

Distant cousin, aunt, family friend—you’re not quite sure yet. But she has your father’s nose and the same crow’s feet, so you suspect she’s somehow related to you by blood. And, judging by the smoldering cigarette hanging from the corner of her dry lips, she’s already well into her exit route.

“Christ, haven’t seen you since you were still running around in nappies!” She takes the fat of your right cheek into one hand and gives it another tug, using the otherwise unoccupied hand to tap her cigarette ashes into the air. “Shot up like a bean sprout, you did. I told them—told everyone, really—you’d catch up. Knew you would, eventually. They didn’t believe me, but I knew.”

Unaccustomed to the familiarity of the gesture, you stiffen in her grasp while your mouth twists between a smile and a grimace. There’s a dig nestled in there somewhere. But there’s not much time to process it; your equilibrium is tipped the moment the woman loops a leathery arm through your elbow to pull you forward, and you stumble after her as she turns to walk back toward the church. Her pace only evens out once you’ve settled in close enough to brush shoulders.

Not knowing her name is a disadvantage. The conclusion is drawn in greater detail the longer she speaks, twisting around your lungs with enough force to burst the blood vessels that reside there. You don’t know enough. Either that, or she knows too much. It should be easy enough to ask what exactly she is to you, and yet, you can’t. You’re not sure you know how. You chalk it up to her unbroken ramblings and settle for the polite choice: nodding in place of a response.

She doesn’t ask you much about yourself—small mercies. It’s balanced out by the curious glances she shoots you as the minutes slog by. But something etched into the ground must remind her of your sentience, because her face suddenly lights up as she breaks off in the middle of an anecdote to look at you.

“I hate that we had to meet under these circumstances,” she begins, voice rife with something you now can categorize as pity. The coffee still renders it rotten. “Terrible thing, what happened to your father. Can’t imagine what you must be feeling.” 

“Mm.”

You curse inwardly. Too clipped—you’ve let your frustration get the better of you. But the woman doesn’t seem to mind; she finally pulls her arm from your elbow, and you’re almost able to relax until she begins to rub her hand up and down your back. The sensation is peculiar, as is the sound of her hand passing over your sweatshirt.

“Still living in that old shack?” She prods.

Old shack, house, same thing. “I…still am, yeah.” You pause. “Why do you ask?”

“Just reminiscing, is all. It’s a good thing you’ve got there.” And her voice trails off, lost to another round of tapped ashes and shifting dirt.

You manage a nod. You didn’t have much choice in the matter, anyhow.

The churchyard comes into view soon enough. Despite how often you haunt its grounds, you’ve never had much to say about it. It’s old, you suppose. Made from stone, but more of an imprint than a structured thing now that the dense fog has settled over the cliffs behind it.

(At the foot of the cliffs is the sea, still churning in time with the wind.)

“I’m here, if you need anything.”

It’s your turn to look. She’s finally stopped touching you, both hands empty and swinging lazily at her sides. 

If you…need anything. 

“Of course,” you mumble.

You’re distracted by the hesitant timbre of an organ. Its handler is unpracticed.

“I appreciate it.”

It’s over.

You’re sitting in the very first pew. Hands folded neatly in your lap, eyes glazed.

It’s over.

You remember a few faces, more unfamiliar than familiar. Pupils had narrowed as you’d trailed in behind “Bethie.” A family friend, not a relative. The nose had meant nothing.

They’d smelled the tobacco clinging to her and laughed, sucking out the humidity that’d crept indoors like venom from a snake bite. Proximity had allowed you to reap the benefits, but not for very long. Their eyes had turned to you with the same curiosity Bethie hadn’t the wherewithal to fully disclose, but they were quick with their heavy-handed condolences in the interest of time. Another blessing.

You can remember more things than faces. Light filtering through the stained glass windows. The sound of tongues unsticking themselves from the roofs of mouths before every speech, every discordant hymn. That air of indecisiveness in knowing that the urn was hollow, that there was not enough left of the body to constitute a casket.

They express their joys, their sorrows, though you identify with none of them. There’s disbelief, too. That such a man would take his own life. You find yourself nodding along with the chorus of sniffles and sobs. Impossible. Unbelievable.

But one voice—you cannot, for the life of you, remember the face it belonged to—relied upon the poeticism of it all. The ocean had been harsh in its taking, he’d said. But your father, more than anything, had loved it. Those gathered could be hopeful in that regard. He had died at the hands of something he loved.

Everything after that was a blur. Whatever words you’d uttered during your speech were a blur. But it was enough for claps, and a few chuckles. Nothing like the laughs Bethie had prompted, but a response was a response. 

Invitations to convene afterward at the local pub are declined. You’re tired. You need time to think. You miss him.

They leave.

The nave has been emptied.

It’s over. Long gone. Downstream. Discarded.

And you’re still sitting in the pew.

You look down, after hours have passed, to find your shoelaces still untied. The growling of your stomach and the weight of your head on your shoulders fold you over, and you will your fingers to refasten them. It’s time to leave.

When you stand, it’s with a wince. You’ve tied your strings too tight. You can feel your arches pulsing in time with your heartbeat, but you can only hope that the sensation will keep you sane long enough to make it home.

As you turn to finally walk down the aisle, you’re struck by a sudden chill. Anxiety blossoms in the confines of your throat, tearing through muscle and vocal cords that are ill-equipped to handle such pressure.

It should be over.

But something has been unearthed.

Your eyes flit from one thing to the next in the cavernous space, searching for the disturbance until your eyes lock with a divot in the shadows. 

The moment you meet his stare is like flint to steel. The darkness disperses, leaving behind—

This.

(There is a dull horror here. The crepuscular noises of your residence, appearing only at night when the chill has set in and the foundations have shifted. A tree felled by a violent storm. Sinking its teeth into a house occupied by unsuspecting bodies. Time has remedied what it can, righting nature’s wrongs with roots and vegetation to soften the edges of all that has split open. Pieces of the outside world have been braided into the vines. But the more you look, the more you begin to see that it is not a braid, but a sickening tangle. Hair shorn with rusted clippers and impatient hands. A bent nose pushing out from beneath a mask. Bones, wrapped in hulking muscle. Eyes. The hint of a mouth. Was there a victor? The tree? The house? You’re unsure. But you do know that all who set eyes upon this mass have lost.)

You’re sure that he is many things. But he appears to you as a human, so you greet him as such.

“...Hello?”

You think his eyes have withdrawn under the heavy cliff of his brow bone until it dawns on you that he’s blinked. A slow sort of thing, yet once it’s over it’s as though it never happened.

“‘Ello,” he responds. An echo tinged with mockery. Flint to steel. Flint to steel. Flint to steel until there is nothing left to strike with but your bare hands.

In the back of your mind sits a flinching clock. Growing more and more anxious as the seconds stretch on. The man sits in the rear of the church, closest to the exit.  The pews reject him. 

Your phone vibrates in your pocket and you reach for it almost immediately. Some robocaller looking to scam you out of your meager savings. You set it to your ear like a shield as you walk, measuring your steps so it isn’t obvious that you’re attempting to flee.

One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. Over and over until his voice spears your chest in one quick thrust once you’re standing just beside where he lurks.

“You’ve been sitting there a while.” You think you can hear the wood screaming under his weight. It chokes out into a whimper when he opens a heavy thigh out into the aisle. “Believe in God, do you?”

He thinks you were praying.

“I’m just here for my dad,” you supply. You keep your eyes trained on the heavy wooden door. You don’t look, but you hear the pop of a single knuckle.

“Tha’s not wha’ I asked.”

Cheek still pressed to your phone, you gulp. You should answer, and answer only. Par for the course. But you overshoot:

“No,” you confess. Then, after a pause, “not really.”

The man hums as the rest of his knuckles pop. “Why.”

He sounds young enough not to judge you for your lack of faith. Old enough for you to recognize that he’s probably toying with you. So you throw him a bone: a saccharine pursing of lips while you “contemplate” your response. You’ve been plagued by thoughts of this omniscient stranger longer than most.

“It’s a little easier to believe all the shit luck I’ve had happened by chance.” You slide your phone into your back pocket, seeing as the poorly put together excuse isn’t working. “Someone else trying to pull my strings sounds a little too human for my tastes.”

Nerves are shoved into a cramped corner, and you shift your focus from the doors to the man’s face. Interestingly enough, he turns his gaze back toward the altar.

“Made in his image, ain’t we?”

“I hope not.”

He barks out one laugh, then another, and your body seizes up. It rattles up your spine, metal rod clanging against the bars of a cage.

You’ve met your fair share of strange men, but something tells you that you’ve bitten off more than your mouth can chew. More than your stomach can digest. More than your body can entertain.

A glance at the crack in the door tells you that the sun has been cut from the sky. It’s nighttime.

Go.

“I’ll…be off then,” you say. His shoulders are still shaking when you finally wrap your fingers around the cold door handle, prepared to walk out into the nothingness.

Only to stumble sideways when a calloused hand slams into your neck, shoulder crashing into the wall next to you and sending a spark of pain through your collarbone. One blink, and he’s towering over you. Previously dispersed shadows form a curtain around the two of you as he hauls you upright with one hand.

“Mosquito,” he says. “Nasty little buggers, hm?” He flashes you his palm as proof.

You, still winded, still lightheaded, force yourself to nod. There is no apology.

Any sense of composure you’d prided yourself on is torn to shreds when you burst out of the front door, neck still throbbing. You must be imagining things. Another bad dream, come to haunt you.

It must be.

(You’re sure of it, for no other reason than the fact that when you chance a look over your shoulder, you think you see him drag a palm over the flat of his tongue.)

CHAPTER TWO: “ROOT ROT” ->

[sapphiresterreart]

Inspired by this post: where Shadow finds Super Sonic and ONLY Super Sonic attractive. Sonic's normal self is not wanted.

It made me cackle because I couldn't help but picture Shadow deciding to explore this gay awakening in the most convoluted way possible. Cue me getting carried away with the idea and scribbling a rough scene.

Stuffed under the Read More.

At one point after seeing Sonic's glow-up into Super a few times, Shadow's brain latches onto an idea and goes insane until he scratches the metaphorical itch.

He zooms around the entire planet to collect the 7 Chaos Emeralds AND the maximum amount of rings a single person can hold.

Randomly shows up at Tails’ workshop/house one day, looking particularly deranged to the poor fox because the guy's spent the past month running himself ragged and is now gunning for his older brother for some unfathomable reason. Eggman couldn’t possibly have recovered from the last beat down in such short time! Something’s clearly wrong.

Shadow’s carefully manicured quills are in utter disarray. Gunk and grease coat his muzzle. Gloves notably tattered and inhibitor rings tarnished. There’s a suspicious smearing of red all over his typically immaculate chest fluff. Worst of it all are his eyes: near feral in their intensity as they pin the fox in his computer chair from afar.

The surly hedgehog snarls. “Where’s Sonic?”

All the while, Shadow has to keep ahold of the seven emeralds that prolly act like magnets and want to repel away from each other. His sanity’s hanging on a thread. 

Luckily Sonic shows up soon (instead of late? First time for everything! What a relief) after a brief, albeit frantic call from his lil bro.

Sonic does not expect Shadow to look like such a wreck. He does not expect his usually composed rival to yank an absurd amount of rings from the pocket dimension everyone had in their feathers, fur, or otherwise back part of their body. He does not expect those same rings to be shoved into his hands and quills, forcibly stuffing them into his own ‘inventory’ of a pocket dimension. 

He does not expect the rings to keep coming until he can’t hold anymore.

He does not expect the Seven Chaos Emeralds to immediately follow after.

“Shad–” Sonic tries, absolutely baffled.

“Transform.” Shadow gives him nothing except a haggard sort of desperation. “Now.”

And. Well. When asked like that? Damn. He won’t say no but that’s some voice his rival has on him. Hmm. Still. He doesn’t go super just yet because there’s only so long a transformation can last and he’d like some of the facts first. Especially if the situation’s as dire as Shadow’s making it out to be.

“What’s up?” He tosses out a tense smirk and a quip to lighten the mood. “Got yourself in trouble with the law again, Shads? Need me to use your own money to bail–“

“Transform.” Shadow staggers and oh no he’s gonna pass out isn’t he? He straightens before he can truly fall. 

Sonic lets the smirk fall. This is too unusual. “Not until you tell me what’s going on! What the heck Shadow?”

The glare intensifies. He looks weirdly… hungry? Oh. He hopes that's not some alien DNA comin’ out to play. Sonic’s not in the mood to be eaten. At least… not in the way his shoot-first-questions-later friend would likely consider.

“…Transform first and then I’ll tell you.” 

What an oh-so generous counter-offer. Sonic’s tempted to refuse on principle but the guy looks ready to collapse and there’s only so long Sonic himself can hold all seven emeralds at once before they launch outta his grip. 

He sighs. “Yeah, alright.”

Sonic closes his eyes. Concentrates. Feels the power humming in the gems, lets them push away from him with him as their center of gravity to orbit. Momentum builds as they whirl around him. His focus deepens. A zen sort of calm settles over him like a familiar cloak as he pulls the gems back into his core sense of being. A spark ignites and he’s set aflame.

His feet leave the floor as the power repels him against the planet. Feels the gems thrumming alongside his veins as he opens his eyes. The world glitters a beautiful gold but he doesn’t have time to smell the roses. Rings are burning like a candlestick’s wick, after all.

“Start talking.”

Shadow does not start talking. Instead he stares. Only stares. It’s… kind of concerning, actually. 

“Shadow?” Super Sonic frowns, spending more energy concentrating on maintaining the sheer power humming in his soul than on coming up with a funny joke. “Are you alright?”

Shadow doesn’t make a sound. Is he even breathing? Super Sonic’s brow furrows and gently glides from near the ceiling to hover in front of his rival. Red eyes track the movement like a predator intent on its prey but Super’s not worried about that. Not right now, at least.

Keeping his expression soft, yet unwittingly focused, Super examines his rival’s disheveled state. For the Ultimate Lifeform, he looks ultimately wrecked. He smirks, just a lil, and Shadow hones in on it like a laser beam. Super blinks, smirk twisting into a puzzled smile as he tilts his head, before slowly grasping Shadow by the shoulder. 

“C’mon focus, Shadow. You with me?” Wide, red eyes blink dumbly and Super huffs a laugh. “How can I help?”

Shadow. Doesn’t respond. Merely gapes at him like he’s drinking in the sight. It’d be flattering at any other time but right now it’s just frustrating.

“I can’t help if you don’t tell me what’s goin’ on. On a time limit here–“

“You have full inventory.” 

Finally! He speaks! But lacks sense. “What?”

“Rings.” Shadows answers though that doesn’t answer much. Choosing instead to fall silent once more and continue staring.

Super doesn’t know what to do with any of this so he turns to someone who might. “Tails? Any clues?”

“N-no…” His lil bro trots over to them, visibly disturbed. Good. Glad he’s not the only one confused here.

“I’m burnin’ rings.” Super settles for instead. “Thought you said it was urgent?”

“I thought it was.” Tails gestures at the catatonic state of their friend. “I mean look at him! What was I supposed to say?”

“Well.” Super starts strong only to trail off.

He pivots in the air, still hovering in front them both. Cups his chin with a thoughtful frown. Absently skims the cluttered workshop as he slowly spins in place before re-centering with a shrug. It’s surprisingly hard to keep focus and maintain the super form when there’s no imminent threat. Without anything to go on, he's just wasting power. So. His gaze returns to his battered rival.

“If nothing else I could try this?”

He drifts closer to the still stunned speechless ‘hog. Frowns slightly at the white part of Shadow’s eyes. They’d reddened significantly. Had he blinked once in the past minute or two? Nothing worth worrying over, he supposed. Not if this worked.

Super reaches a hand, still glowing a vibrant gold and soft flames of light emanating off him, and gently braces a palm against the side of Shadow’s face. Shadow doesn’t even move as Super closes his eyes.

Tails shifts beside them. “Try what?”

Super hums. “We’ll see if it works first, buddy.”

The sound vibrates in his chest and makes its way down the arm connecting him to his rival. The rings are burning slower than usual but once he starts this, they start burning like they would in battle. 

Super focuses the gem’s energy from their raw state of chaotic power into something he can channel into another person. He smoothes corrosive edges, softens acidic potency, gentles the sheer intensity of it all and funnels them through his own energy. Pours bits of his own chaos mixed with the gem’s through that funnel in his palm. Pushes it from there into Shadow’s own energy.

Shadow doesn’t do anything more than gasp sharply and let him do his thing. Super mentally shrugs, privately delighted by the fact Shadow was letting him touch him at all especially his face, and continues his foray into healing via chaos energy. 

The rings are gone even faster than in battle and soon after the last wound has closed and Super’s pulled away, the power keeping him aloft drains completely. The golden glow fades from his quills and they drop back into blue as he returns to the ground, his normal self once again. His grasp on the chaos emeralds slacken and the tension that had been building between the seven finally releases. The gems launch themselves harmlessly out of him like a slingshot and scatter once more.

He bounces a step from the residue energy crackling inside him and beams at his rival. “So now that that’s over with, mind telling us why you came all this way looking like you crawled outta a dumpster caught on fire?”

That of all things has Shadow snapping back to himself. Any awe lingering in his rival’s face vanishes. Fully returns to his normally composed self as he straightens and crosses his arms with a muted huff.

“Merely an experiment. Good day.” Whirls on a heel with shoes revving, dips his head in what might’ve been a polite farewell at his lil bro. “Prower.”

And leaves. He leaves. The cryptic jerk leaves.

Sonic gawks. “Whuh–? What was that?” He spins to face his brother. “Did you see that? Did you see?”

“I saw.”

“Didn’t even say goodbye to me! Me! He was the one who asked me to come all this way! I was next in line for brainiac dogs over in Spagonia, you know. Not as good as chili dogs but it was buy one get one free day! What the heck?”

His younger brother can only shrug helplessly with a puzzled smile, twin tails swishing behind him. “Don’t know, big bro. He did say it was an experiment.”

“Experiment in driving me insane, maybe! Now I’m gonna go crazy trying to figure him out.”

“You mean you weren’t already?”

“Tails!” He grins and hooks an arm around his annoyingly adorable baby bro. “I’ll show you who’s crazy!”

His bro only laughs and swats at the fist digging into his hair. Futilely fighting against the inevitable noogie but he's got him secured by the shoulders. “Have mercy! I’m not the one who spent the past month looking for seven whole emeralds and an entire inventory’s worth of rings.”

“I’ll give ya that!” Sonic cackles and lets him free. “What was up with that anyway?”

Elsewhere, unbeknownst to the brothers, one Shadow the Hedgehog was having a crisis of epic proportions. He had discovered a new, albeit incredibly difficult goal in life: to have Sonic turn Super more often than not because wow did he look alluring with a face of focused intensity framed by golden hues.

[thisisnotthenerd]

and the other half of round two, the sidequests!

feel free to give reasoning/propaganda as you like!

the intrepid heroes poll

quick episode descriptions:

volcano of violence: all of the lotr parallels in one place. leiland being a cringefail after casting circle of death. markus negotiating with an eagle. the combination of grasping web and reverse gravity. balloon elf. sokhbarr raising the lava mog. the concept of galfast hamhead. efink facing her father and husband and beign conflicted

the great chase: caravan chase, mad max style on the teenager's bed. ti wants to blow up the boy. car-go and bean are remarkably effective. boomer is a boarding party. jizz balloons. lots of toy vehicles. car-go transforms with felix inside.

the horizon beyond the squall: marcid attacking a chimney. you wrote a whole song just to be mean to me. cheese, prince bitch. no kings for this captain. nat 20 medicine check to revive myrtle. destroy undead. beating a motherfucker with another motherfucker. bob's inflict wounds. ending with cheese getting a ship and the buccaneer buddies sailing off.

unfinished business: splitting up to resolve the mystery. buckster's legendary nat 20 persuasion to give advantage on stealth. daisy and the vicar sneaking in. sylvester failing at climbing the tower. lars killing the constable and pretending to be a ghost for lucretia. gangie and the vicar undulating. daisy and sylvester simultaneously arriving. shitting out of a window to "provide a cushion". daisy getting her story with sylvester's help. gangie falling into mrs. molesly's room. sylvester almost dying but getting a nat 20 death save with buckster's help. a wedding and bacchanal.

we're the heroes: one of these things is not like the others. collecting the bag of socks. jammer crying about weights. sam and philtrum. dates at the questing beast. the tournament. dream's cinderella moment. where did those mice get lithium. you don't get wet fire. i disavow you. what do you want me to tell your family. he had enough. blast him to the underworld. you can gps a phone. my girl just glinda'd your ass! that's some american magic, bitch! evan and dream lock up tallulah's wand in an orb.

i fucking love you: no one is surprised. incendiary cloud. OSTENTATIA'S DIVINE INTERVENTION ON A 19. god wants a bag from ostentatia. antiope will not submit. penny texts i'm in. nta 20 counterspell on finger of death. nonna wallace approves. katja trips a snake. i didn't even know you could trip a snake. antiope's incredible action surge turn that ends with showing her ass. sam is power word killed. that's my sister. danielle channels anima. revivify. bringing talura through the doorway in death. ending with graduation and 'take us to the book!'.

waylaid by werewolves: the werewolves are girls. zarb mini with six buttholes. chewing gum mist. fifi. shooting through the flamethrower. losing dracula. drago was the star. fifi becomes a werewolf. reading a letter in the middle of battle. florina under the carriage. enraged frenzy. i've heard of a cat scan. i make the horse fly. something seems very familiar about her. the dog is my wife! izzy holds with disappointment. a monster has been eating my letters to you.

duel on the southern lawn: rumor phase. rue writes the letter and commands wuvvy to burn it. i drank tea and went to bed. letter to wrackingspelt. rue's assistant. hob getting clocked by rue. wuvvy demanding satisfaction. andhera demanding satisfaction. wet wrestling. this is the biggest stretch of a fuckin' lifetime. nat 20 to be a slippy boy. hoisting andhera up by his taut cotton pants. accepting the hand of friendship.

yonder where the fruit do be lyin': quichei. deli's perception roll. raphaniel as a youth pastor. giant radish head. colin is covered in blue. extremely realistic fake orange. rick perry, you dog. silence. queen's losing it. raphaniel gets the orange down. banana boat guy. come on provolone! deli attacks queen pamela rocks. subtle spell shatter in the carriage. brennan kills pamela rocks again. you died for nothing. chasing and murdering the mushroom guy.

in the heart of death: brennan walks jujubee through an optimized turn. 49 damage immediately. troyánn slips. keekee starts falling. scorching ray. the devil works hard, but d20 works harder. buddy bear shoves zaria into the pit. lightning javelin in the titty. fireball. princess does like 70 damage and pushed kerwyn into the abyss. troyánn goes down. princess gets keena. nat 20 counterspell. twyla crits on morgan to end the battle.

case closed: the party converges on oblongata station once more. they're facing down the don and madam loathing, who can turn them against each other. imelda and dan flash the gangsters to wildly differing results. ivana rolls a 59 on hunch and he still comes back. elias punches his boss. dan goes down. the fix eats the key. conrad rolls a 57 [the number of heinz varieties] to bring down madam loathing. elias steals a birthday cake and runs out into the street, gets a date and reconciles his childhood trauma as he goes into witness protection.

evolution & revolution: warning the populace. pitching scam calls. driving the truck. phoebe is jaegering dr. wenabocker in a very gross maxi. the ground collapses. revenants are charmed. viola is very efficient. thorn calls lightning. tula attacks her son for 67 damage. ava attacks the groun for 109 damage and a long rest. jaysohn gets phoebe. lila fireballs. viola crits twice and kills one guy with paladin/fighter shenanigans and then kills the rest by kicking the trigger of a gun and hitting a gas tank. tula heals jaysohn, lukas, and herself a little bit. battle is over in 1.33 rounds.

[art-that-fucks-you-up-tournament]

SET FOUR - ROUND ONE - MATCH SEVEN

"Statue of Vincent and Theo van Gogh" (1963-1964 - Ossip Zadkine) / "Jeanne d’Arc écoutant les voix (Joan of Arc Listening to the Voices)" (1876 - Eugène-Romain Thirion)

STATUE OF VINCENT AND THEO VAN GOGH: i'll let geoff dyer (from his book of collected essays and reviews, titled 'otherwise known as the human condition') explain why i love it so much: “It is not immediately obvious which of Zadkine’s figures is Vincent and which is Theo. Like all who relieve the suffering of others, Theo—in a process that is the exact opposite of a blood transfusion—has taken some of Vincent’s pain into himself. Soon, however, it becomes obvious that while the sky weighs heavily on both figures, one, Vincent, feels gravity as a force so terrible it can drag men beneath the earth. From this moment on you are held by the pathos and beauty of what Zadkine depicts: despair that is inconsolable, comfort that is endless. One figure says, “I can never feel better,” the other, “I will hold you until you are better.” (@carryingpitchers)

JEANNE D'ARC ÉCOUTANT LES VOIS (JOAN OF ARC LISTENING TO THE VOICES): The expression on her face, oof. I see a somber realization of what she has been tasked with and what it will most likely mean (@unbelievable-screaming-moth)

("Statue of Vincent and Theo Van Gogh" is a 2.5 m (8.2 ft) high bronze statue by Ossip Zadkine. It is located close to the Van Gogh church, and near the house where Vincent and Theo were born.

"Jeanne d’Arc écoutant les voix" (Joan of Arc listening to the Voices) is an oil on canvas painting by Eugène-Romain Thirion. It measures 225cm x 163cm (88.5 x 64 in) and is located in the Church of Notre-Dame in Chatou.)

[seaside-writings]

Well, well, well! Hello. all you lovely people! It's been a hot minute since I did one of these lol.

As you can all probably tell, I've been dragged kicking and screaming back into Gravity Falls by "The Book of Bill." Because of this, I wanted to make a prompt list from all of my favorite lines of darker dialogue from the book.

Now I know this book is filled with dark dialogue from front to back, but these are the ones that stood out the most to me, and I know they stood out to others as well.

I hope you all enjoy this list, and if you use any of these prompts, please credit/tag me so I can come check out what you’ve created!

I hope you all stay blessed and safe throughout your day.

Lots of Love & Wishes: Celia 💙△💛👁️‍🗨️🖤

P.s. I did add some lines from the Axolotl’s poem I just felt like they fit well in this mess.

"Until there was no one left but me, covered in blood, alone in the universe,"

"Turn back while you still can, or live forever with the regret,"

"It infects other books!"

"Any regrets about causing the apocalypse?"

"Blame the arson for the fire."

"It's not with it. Trust me. You have to trust me,"

"Love is a trick and worst of all it's a trick you play on yourself,"

"Even his lies are lies,"

"I don't want to die alone,"

"I'm broken wanna fix me?"

"Once you kill with one of these, it becomes a "serious straw,"

"This book has no codes,"

"They don't even consider for a single moment the sheer improbability that they got to exist in the ONE timeline where they kept all of their bodily organs,"

"Maybe one day in the future all their good luck will finally run out,"

"I've peered into the souls of the madmen, but this was the first time I'd been in a mind that was collapsing like a neutron star,"

"Your world is controlled by dark invisible forces that need to operate in the shadows to maintain their power,"

"Some desperate part of him seemed to be trying to heal himself, hoping to weld his memories back together like one of his robots,"

"For the first time, I felt a kind of pain that wasn't hilarious,"

"Nightmares about trying to wash blood off her hands that never comes out,"

"Recurring nightmares about overhearing a fight between his parents he wasn't supposed to hear. Why do you think they were in such a rush to get the kids out the door for the Summer?"

"A single spark from the memory inferno hit me, and a hole sizzled straight through me like a laser through butter,"

"And if I ran into any symbols, I'd be ready,"

"Their screams getting louder and louder."

"Listen not to his lies!"

"And he tended to rip out journal pages that had anything to do with his issues with others… especially me,"

"Is my strange way of seeing the universe a gift or a curse?"

"Is loneliness just the cost of greatness? And if it is… how long am I fated to endure?"

"On your own, you're a bunch of sepia-tinted nobodies destined for the dumpster of history,"

"Although the day had begun with us as strangers, it ended with us as brothers, bonded by vengeance and a newfound hatred,"

"Someone had reversed the Shaman's spell and had summoned me back! Who would it be?! A genius? An idiot? Oh. Oh my goodness me. Yes. It was both,"

"Can you collect them all before the end-times come?"

"How about that; you've got an inferior clone! Why didn't you just eat him in the womb? Think of how powerful you'd be!"

"Assemble all seven collectibles to open the seal,"

"The perfect weight to kill a man,"

"Says he's happy, he's a liar,"

"I grow maddened."

"A different form, a different time."

"He looked distant, more distant than I'd ever seen him before,"

"By a monster."

"He laughed joylessly,"

"It would eat you alive."

"Trust no one,"

"As the chanting grew louder, the forest was suddenly engulfed in flames, screaming laughter echoing, and then- I awake on the floor, gasping for breath,"

"I could see in the third dimension,"

"But being special comes with a price,"

"I've shut down the portal! Damn it all!"

"My mind reels from horror and humiliation! How could I have been so foolish!?"

"Saw his own dimension burn, misses home, and can’t return."

"I was wrong about everything!"

"Break my bones if you must, but you cannot break my will!"

"No, I won't give him the satisfaction! Instead of destroying my work, I'll destroy him instead!"

"That's because I've been knock-knocking your skull against the wall!"

"Has he done this before?? How far would he go?"

"I keep coughing up spiders,"

"My heart was in my throat until I heard the dial tone… the pay phone was out of order. The message hadn't gotten through,"

"You're my property. Don't forget it,"

"You gave me your blood, You let me into your mind!"

"From the graves around me arose a horde of cackling cadavers eyes aglow,"

"Why are you doing this?! Why won't you just leave me alone?"

"Without me, you'll always feel unseen, surrounded by dolts who don't recognize your true potential,"

"You've always felt alone in a crowd, haven't you? Who else will give you this feeling again?"

"Even if you got rid of me, you'd miss me. Admit it, you'd miss me,"

"The hillbilly abandoned you, your father won't want you returning without millions, you have no friends, and if you died out here in the snow. who would even miss you?"

"I have no one else,"

“I awoke from the hallucination, heart pounding, to find myself back in my living room, clock ticking, record skipping- and began to weep,”

"What if… he mocks me? What if he sees that I abandoned our family to become a recluse on the brink of madness?"

"Where did you all go? WHERE DID-"

"Shame is a powerful emotion. But if grows even more in the dark,"

"I thought I was protecting my family, but I was really protecting myself… from humiliation,"

"No, they mean nothing to you!"

"Because no matter what the idiot counselors in this smiling cage say, I don't need anyone, I never have, and I don't miss any of them!"

"I'm fine,"

"This morning I awoke to find my knuckles bloody and sore. He must have been punching and scraping the steel door like a caged animal all night in a frenzy to get in,"

“Someday… someone… will let… me… out,”

[fanficapologist]

Of Dragons and Maelstroms

Themes and Warnings: slow burn, enemies to lovers, blood, violence, explicit language, sexual violence, period-typical misogyny, sexual themes, smut, tension, marriage, jealousy, pregnancy, childbirth, miscarriage, attempted sexual assault, breastfeeding, major character death, divergent timelines

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood/Game of Thrones characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Chapter Fifty-Seven

A day later, the brief respite from the tumultuous events shattered as Dowager Queen Alicent burst into Aemond and Maera's shared chambers. Distress etched across her face, her tearful brown eyes pleaded for assistance, revealing the gravity of the situation she carried with her. Responding to the urgent summons, Maera swiftly made her way to Queen Helaena's chambers. Once a refuge where her friend withdrew from the world, now it bore witness to a different kind of crisis. The maids, who had entered that morning to serve breakfast, discovered bloodstained sheets and Queen Helaena, doubled over in pain and in desperate need for help.

As Maera entered the chamber, the distressing reality unfolded before her eyes. A group of midwives stood clustered around, pleading with Helaena to allow them to assist, their faces etched with concern and worry. The urgency in their voices mirrored the gravity of the situation. Nearby, Maester Orwyle, resolute in his efforts, unpacked various vials of medicine and unsightly tools, which made Maera’s stomach churn with uncertainty.

The stone floor bore splatters of blood, a grim trail leading to Helaena, who was in the corner in her once-white nightgown, now stained with blood. Her hair, matted with sweat, framed a face etched with knowing anguish- she was losing the child in her womb. Angrily mumbling to herself, Helaena’s distress echoed in the chamber, a painful reminder of the fragility of life and the turmoil that gripped the room.

Careful not to make things worse, Maera knelt a few feet away from Helaena, acutely aware of the Queen’s heightened sensitivity during times of stress. The air in the room crackled with tension, the collective breaths held in anticipation of the impending ordeal.

“I’m here, Helaena. It’s okay,” Maera whispered, hoping her words could offer even a moment’s respite.

Through painful cries, Helaena vehemently replied, “It’s not okay. It’s happening too soon, much too soon.” The horror etched on her face mirrored the pain and loss she was enduring. The knowledge of losing another child, combined with the excruciating physical agony, painted a portrait of grief.

Maera, witnessing the depth of Helaena's suffering, held an empathetic gaze as she scooted slightly closer, the cold floor beneath her knees. “I know it is. But the babe is coming, your Grace,” she offered, her tone filled with pity.

With a groan of pain and sweat on her brow, Helaena shifted into a more comfortable position, moving from sitting to kneeling, causing Maera to move right in front of her to provide more physical support. In the midst of her distress, the Queen grasped at Maera's shoulders with a tight grip, her nails digging in as if seeking a lifeline in the storm of pain.

“Nobody listened to me,” Helaena yelled, tears of frustration pouring down her face. “About this babe. About Jaehaerys.”

The rat catcher drops a silver coin on the floor

Maera's heart resonated with the raw emotions that permeated the room, bridging the gap between them in the face of an inevitable and heart-wrenching loss.“I am so sorry, sister. I’m sorry you’re going through any of this,” Maera cried, her green eyes reflecting the shared weight of their sorrow.

Having seen many labours previously, she noticed Helaena’s behaviour changing. The Queen began to hold her lower back and exhibit primal groans through gritted teeth. Subtly signaling to one of the midwives, she communicated the need for a progress check. As the woman situated herself behind the Queen and lifted her bloodied nightgown, Helaena attempted to protest. But Maera gently turned her face back, coaxing her to focus on her breathing through the agonizing contractions and invasive examination.

The chamber, filled with the sounds of labored breaths and the quiet desperation of childbirth, became a battleground of emotions. Brushing Helaena’s matted silver curls from her face in an attempt to distract her as she was checked by the midwife, Maera offered words of sympathy to her sister-in-law.

“I wish we could have stopped it, Helaena,” Maera sniffled through her tears.

In a moment of heightened agony, Helaena grasped Maera tightly by the face, her fingers digging into the flesh. “No one could stop it, Maera. It is fate. Foretold by the Gods,” Helaena uttered ominously, causing Maera’s brows to furrow in confusion. She knew these words, she had heard them before. But could not pinpoint where or when she had heard them.

With a quiet nod from the midwife, who remained behind Helaena, the Queen was encouraged to start pushing. Maera pressed her forehead to Helaena’s as the Targaryen Queen strained with all of her might, yelling out in turmoil as her body began to expel the child. A child that was coming five moons too soon. A child that would not survive the process.

The same haunted look remained on Helaena’s face as her purple gaze bore into Maera’s with such intensity that Maera thought she would burst into flames. The Queen shouted out to Maera through her last few pushes. “It is happening to me. It happened to your mother. And it will happen to you. One flower to bloom, two buds cut down, one seedling unearthed-Oh Gods!”

The words hung in the air like a spectral echo, shrouded in an unsettling premonition, through the sounds of agony and effort. Amidst the intense atmosphere, the chilling sound of liquid hitting the floor punctuated the chamber. The midwife, tears in her eyes, caught something small in a cloth between Helaena’s legs. The absence of cries underscored the somber reality- the child had not lived, as expected.

As Helaena, exhausted from the taxing birth, finally allowed the remaining midwives to assist her onto her bed, a collective sense of relief filled the room. The midwives, with careful hands, removed her bloodied nightgown and began the tender task of bathing her with wet cloths. Meanwhile, Maester Orwyle, administering pain remedies, found a more receptive Queen, now willing to accept the relief the medication could offer.

Amidst the subdued aftermath, Maera, horrified and in shock from the ordeal, moved to the table where the midwife had placed the fetus. With a sense of careful reverence, she lifted the cloth, revealing the tiny form. It reminded her of the countless kittens that had been born at Rain House. The babe was of similar size and looked as if it were made of glass, too delicate for this world.

The shock and confusion from the harrowing ordeal left Maera in a state of emotional disarray. Helaena's cryptic prophecy lingered in her mind, a puzzle she struggled to solve, while the graphic loss witnessed had an almost surreal quality, causing Maera to feel detached from her own body.

Approaching Helaena, who lay in her bed with a vacant look, Maera couldn't help but feel a profound sympathy for the friend who had endured such tragic events in a short space of time. Pressing a kiss onto Helaena's hair, she muttered words of solace, a small offering of comfort in the aftermath of such profound loss, before leaving the chambers.

Walking through the doors, Maera passed Dowager Queen Alicent, who bombarded her with questions. However, Maera, still in shock, seemed oblivious to the inquiries, as if submerged underwater. Alicent, sensing the futility, eventually gave up and rushed into Helaena's chambers, leaving Maera to wander the corridors like a ghost, completely debilitated by the weight of the traumatic event.

Finally alone, the weight of shock and grief became too much for Maera to bear. The guttural sobbing intensified, echoing through the empty halls like a haunting lament. As the waves of sorrow crashed over her, Maera's stomach twisted in knots, a physical manifestation of the emotional turmoil. In a desperate search for reprieve, she stumbled toward a nearby window. Overwhelmed by the shock, her body rebelled, and with a violent lurch, she vomited intensely. After a while, it stopped, and after wiping her mouth on her sleeve, she pushed on through the corridors.

In a daze, Maera found herself in the solemn expanse of the Throne Room within the Red Keep. The weight of recent tragedy lingered in the air, casting a somber atmosphere over the grandeur that once defined the space. The absence of courtly activity, the stillness that replaced the usual bustling energy, reflected the collective mourning that had befallen the castle. The heavy silence seemed to echo with the weight of recent events, as if the very walls mourned the tragedy that had unfolded within the heart of the Red Keep.

Maera’s green eyes fixated on the imposing Iron Throne, a simmering anger in her gaze. The gleaming seat of power seemed to mock her, and in the hallowed silence, she couldn't help but wonder how much more blood would need to be spilled in the relentless pursuit of dominion.As she stared at the seat made of swords, a myriad of emotions welled within her, each one a sharp pang of grief.

The memory of murdered Jaehaerys weighed heavily on her heart, and now, the loss of the unborn child expelled from Helaena's body added another layer of sorrow. It was not just the mourning of the present but the mourning of a future unknown, a potential extinguished before it could blossom.

The weight of impending tragedy settled upon her, and in the midst of grandeur and power, she stood as a solitary figure, grieving for the past, the present, and the uncertain future that lay ahead. The echoes of her silent lament mingled with the shadows cast by the Iron Throne, a symbol of both aspiration and despair in the tumultuous landscape of Westerosi politics.

Lost in her own thoughts, Maera remained unaware of the approaching footsteps until she felt a presence near her. Standing before her was King Aegon, his face hollowed and fatigued, tired eyes reflecting the weight of recent events. His disheveled hair spoke of the turmoil that echoed in his visage. The dark green dragon-patterned tunic he wore seemed not quite right on his body, emphasizing the disarray that mirrored the chaos within.

The Conqueror’s crown, forged from Valyrian steel and adorned with rubies, sat atop his head, a regal emblem that contrasted starkly with the haunted expression he bore. His presence, much like Maera's, exuded a distant and haunted aura.If it were anyone else, Maera might have felt a pang of sympathy, but she knew Aegon's tears were reserved solely for himself. Wiping away a tear, Maera reluctantly curtsied to Aegon, her gaze avoiding his face. The weight of sorrow hung between them, a silent acknowledgment of the shared grief that bound them.

“What was it? The babe?” Aegon’s voice cut through the heavy silence. Maera met his violet gaze, searching for signs of genuine concern or mere curiosity. Images of the gruesome birth flashed before Maera's eyes – the blood, the sweat, the agonized screams, the small delicate body beneath the cloth. She shook her head, attempting to dispel the haunting memories, before finally responding to Aegon. “A girl.”

“A girl,” Aegon repeated, the weight of that revelation hanging in the air. Maera nodded in confirmation, her green eyes reflecting a deep sadness as they remained cast downward.

The exchange between them carried the weight of unspoken sorrow, a shared acknowledgment of the profound losses they had individually suffered. After a moment, Aegon’s expression shifted, carrying a tinge of despair. “It seems I have not only lost a son, but now a daughter.”

Maera, grappling with her own grief, found herself at a loss for words. She observed in silence as Aegon ascended the steps, a seemingly reluctant approach to the imposing Iron Throne. The weight of recent events echoed in the solemn atmosphere as he seated himself on the seat of power, a symbol of both authority and the burdens it carried. For a brief moment, Maera watched on, the silence between them pregnant with unspoken thoughts. In her black and gold dress, a sign of mourning, she curtsied before turning to leave, her steps echoing against the hallowed halls.

Just as she was about to depart, Aegon's voice cut through the stillness, a croak that held a peculiar urgency. “She was rather insistent, my wife, about naming the babe after you.” Startled, Maera turned back to face him, uncertainty etched into her expression.

“I would have allowed it…given the circumstances as to how it got there,” Aegon continued quietly as he slumped further into the chair. Maera simply stared at him, a knot of anxiety forming in her stomach. Cautiously, Maera glanced around the room, her eyes scanning for any signs of vulnerability. Aegon, in her eyes, was a monster, and she was keen not to expose herself to undue risk.

Her gaze noted the presence of four guards stationed strategically at different corners of the room. She hoped that it meant that Aegon would not try anything in this moment, being so heavily watched by others. Maera fixed her eyes back onto the King, taking a few steps forward and granted him a subtle nod, showing him that she was paying attention to his words.

“‘Maela’ was the name she picked. It matched Maelor. As Jaehaera’s name matched…Jaehaerys’.” As he mentioned the name of his murdered son, his expression changed, the lines on his face mirroring the heaviness in the room. Maera then began to delicately ascend a few of the steps leading up to the Iron Throne, positioning herself closer to the King so they could continue their conversation.

Standing in front him, she was reminded that Aegon had never been an active father-figure to his children- he didn’t play with them, dine with them, or even spend significant time in the same room as them. Maera could not help but releasing all of the anger she had felt the last few days, the bitterness spilling out of her as she said, “Did you even truly know your son?”

Aegon scoffed, a weariness in his reddened eyes as he conceded, “Truthfully, no. But my mother told me that he was quite confident, adventurous.”

Maera smiled to herself, picturing in her mind the little boy who made her laugh, and was persistent in his claims to riding the blue giant, Ēbrion. “He was.”

In an almost dismissive gesture, Aegon clapped his hands, summoning a maid who appeared as if from nowhere, bearing a jug of wine and two goblets. His gaze didn’t linger on the serving girl as he snatched the goblets from the tray, handing one to Maera. Wearily, she accepted it, allowing the King to fill her cup as she sat on the step beside him.

The air hung heavy with the weight of unspoken grievances and shared sorrows, as Aegon and Maera sought solace in the numbing embrace of wine, each grappling with the consequences of their actions and the emotional toll exacted by the recent tragedies. The silver-haired King, in a desperate bid to drown his sorrows, quickly finished his cup of wine, downing it with a determined swiftness. Without hesitation, he refilled it and repeated the process. Maera observed, concern etching her expression, though not surprised at how Aegon was dealing with his emotions.

Coming to the end of his third cup, Aegon began a self-pitying monologue. “I never wanted this. Any of this. I did not want to marry Helaena. I did not want to be a father. I did not want to be King.”

Maera, however, rolled her eyes at Aegon’s display. The weight of his self-indulgent lamentations proved too much for her patience. Unable to tolerate his whining any longer, she looked at him with a mix of disdain and exasperation, a silent reproach for a king wallowing in his own perceived misfortunes.“Do you expect me to sit here and feel sorry for you, goodbrother?”

Aegon looked at Maera with a confused expression as she berated him for indulging in self-pity. His eyes, clouded by the effects of both grief and wine, reflected a mix of perplexity and a hint of wounded pride.

“Your wife lies exhausted having just birthed a dead child. She is about to bury another, her firstborn. You should be with her, comforting her for all she’s been through,” Maera chided him, taking a slow swig of the wine in her goblet, the smooth red liquid soothing her anger ever so slightly.

Yet, in response to Maera’s scolding, Aegon simply shrugged, a nonchalant gesture that belied the turmoil within. “We both know that I am the last person she would want there.”

“Even so, some show of sympathy would be better than you sitting here drowning in your cups,” she replied to him gruffly, causing him to scoff as he drank, the liquid spilling down his chin, and he casually wiped it away with a dismissive swipe of his sleeve.

Maera, undeterred and frankly sick of being in Aegon’s company, slammed her half-full goblet down on the steps and stood up defiantly. The air between them crackled with tension as she faced Aegon, her gaze unwavering, a silent challenge in her eyes.

“You may not have wanted this, but the conqueror’s crown is on your head, Aegon. It is your responsibility to serve the Realm justly,” she sneered at him. The weariness in her eyes reflected a profound exasperation that had built over time. She had grown tired of Aegon’s self-indulgent behavior, his incessant whining, and the way he seemed to revel in his own suffering. There was a war, children dear to her had died. And it seemed things were only going to get worse.

Maera continued on, the Throne room becoming a stage for her frustration. “And if this is how Rhaenyra plans to win the Realm, with the blood of your children, she does not deserve the throne either.”

Aegon looked at Maera crossly, his anger evident in the furrowed lines on his forehead. His frustration stemmed from a collision of pride and vulnerability, an internal struggle manifesting in his expression. Maera knew he resented being scolded, especially by someone who had witnessed his weaknesses and perceived failings.

Yet, in a fleeting moment, the anger seemed to melt away from Aegon’s face. Perhaps realizing the futility of his previous stance, he earnestly looked at Maera, a hint of vulnerability breaking through the façade. In a voice that carried a weight of genuine need, he asked her, “What would you have me do?”

Maera, well-versed in the nuances of Aegon's demeanor, initially squinted at him, attempting to discern if his request for counsel was laced with sarcasm. Given their history and the frequent clashes, she couldn't help but approach the situation with a guarded skepticism.

However, as she studied his expression and the earnestness in his eyes, a realization dawned upon her. Aegon was, in fact, being serious. The weight of sincerity in his request cut through the layers of their complicated relationship, revealing a vulnerability that transcended the usual dynamics between them.

In that moment, Maera's skepticism gave way to a genuine acknowledgment of Aegon's sincerity. Setting aside her initial skepticism, she opted for straightforwardness and honesty in her advice. “Use the people around you. You have trusted advisors on your council that can guide you. My husband, and the Lord commander…they know what they are doing.”

Aegon listened intently to Maera’s advice, nodding in acknowledgment as he absorbed the counsel she offered. The weight of her words seemed to resonate in the air, their significance echoing in the solemn Throne Room.

As Maera concluded her guidance, she curtsied gracefully, a gesture that marked the end of their conversation. The exhaustion from the events of the day weighed heavily on her, evident in the lines of weariness etched on her face. With a final glance back at Aegon, she left him with one last piece of counsel.

“Protect your people, Aegon. Your House, your Family. Be a King.” Maera turned to leave the Throne Room, the echoes of their shared struggles lingering in the space they occupied.

Maera closed the heavy doors of her chambers, shutting out the echoes of the day’s tribulations. A deep sigh escaped her lips as she took a moment to collect herself. The soft glow of early evening light spilled into the room, casting a gentle ambiance on the space.Her gaze fell upon Aemond, seated at his writing desk, diligently sharpening his dagger. His long silver hair framed his face, and the violet of his eye gleamed without the usual concealment of his eye patch. The meticulousness of his actions conveyed a sense of focus and control amidst the chaos that surrounded them.

Aemond looked up as Maera entered, the corners of his usually stoic face softening into a slight, almost relieved smile. His sapphire eye met hers, and the unspoken connection between them hung in the air. Aemond, in his usual dry manner, attempted to lighten the atmosphere.

“I can smell the wine from here.” However, as his gaze met Maera's, he could discern the depth of emotional exhaustion that lingered in her eyes.

Maera, overwhelmed by the weight of the day's events, finally found solace in the company of her husband. The façade of strength she had maintained for days crumbled, and she broke down. In the safety of her chambers, she felt the freedom to release the emotions that had been pent up.

Sobbing into her hands, Maera's cries resonated in the room. The vulnerability she had shielded from the world now poured out, a raw expression of the grief and turmoil that had plagued her. In Aemond's presence, she allowed herself the release she desperately needed, finding comfort in the shared vulnerability that bound them together.

Amidst the echoes of her cries, Maera heard the familiar sound of a chair squeaking, and then she felt herself being enveloped in a strong embrace. Aemond, in a rare display of tenderness, drew her close, creating a sanctuary within his arms.

As Maera continued to cry, she found solace in the comforting hold of her husband. In the warmth of his embrace, she breathed in his familiar scent, feeling a sense of security. Aemond, tenderly tucking her underneath his chin, gently stroked her back. The rhythmic motion became a soothing cadence, offering a semblance of comfort in the midst of her emotional storm.

Though her tears continued to flow, Maera found a measure of comfort in being held by her husband. In the warmth of his embrace, she breathed in his familiar scent and felt herself tucked underneath his chin. Aemond's gentle strokes on her back became a soothing rhythm, a silent reassurance that conveyed a depth of understanding and shared sorrow.

Notes: Merry Christmas bitches. Have some trauma 😅

Tags: @manipulatixe @marvelescvpe @blue-serendipity @shesjustanothergeek @watercolorskyy

Thank you so much for reading! Comments, feedback, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated 🖤

[blueiscoool]

Extravagant Bead Necklace from Neolithic Child’s Grave Reassembled

An elaborate necklace of thousands of beads discovered in a child’s grave in the Neolithic village of Ba’ja, southern Jordan, has been reassembled bead by bead five years after it was unearthed. It is the most elaborate adornment ever found at a Neolithic site, and is a unique testament to the funerary practices of the elite in this prehistoric farming and livestock-raising community.

Located not far from the Nabatean rock-cut city of Petra, Ba’ja was occupied between around 7,400 and 6,800 B.C. It is densely packed with multi-layered stone dwellings that are believed to have been homes and stores for family units. While the deceased were usually buried elsewhere, some of the dead were buried in individual, double or collective graves underneath the structures.

In the summer of 2018, a stone-lined cist grave was found underneath the floor of a stone house. It contained the skeletal remains of a child about eight years old buried in fetal position. While the sex could not be conclusively determined, the shape of the chin suggests the child was female. The archaeological team named her Jamila (meaning “beautiful” in Arabic).

The skeleton was in a very poor state of preservation with bones missing and severely damaged by thousands of years and the heavy weight of the layers above the grave. Excavation revealed concentrations of beads of various materials and sizes mostly grouped around the child’s chest and neck. An astonishing 2,500 beads — flat beads, cylindrical beads, disc beads, tubular shell beads — were ultimately unearthed. Most of them were made of sandstone, but there were also turquoise, shell and amber beads from Lebanon that are the oldest ever discovered.

The bead concentrations were distributed between two large pendants: a mother-of-pearl ring carved from a large single pearl oyster shell with multiple perforations and a double-perforated oval hematite pendant. The mother-of-pearl is particularly spectacular, and cannot have been local. It was likely an import from the Red Sea more than 700 miles away.

Some of the beads were found still aligned in several rows on the left side (the child was positioned on her left side and gravity did the rest) but many were scattered. Repeated patterns and combinations of bead type and color in the surviving rows indicate the beads cannot have been scattered over the body, but it was not clear whether they were originally part of a necklace, a decorated garment, chest piece or something else entirely.

The grave was documented in painstaking detail, and the concentrations and surviving rows made it possible for researchers to reconstruct the original configuration. The entire assemblage was loaned to research laboratories in Germany and France for cleaning, consolidation, restoration and analysis.

The result of the reconstruction is nothing short of spectacular, 12 inches wide at the widest point and 12 inches long at its longest. The most plausible arrangement for all those beads and pendants turned out to be ten rows, seven connected to each side of the mother-of-pearl ring and 3 separated from it.

The reconstructed necklace (with black foam placeholders for the beads that are too fragile to be integrated) is now on display at the Museum of Petra.

[mariacallous]

The “True Sensation” dildo is a fleshy, silicone tool that measures exactly 7 inches and has the ability to vibrate (three different frequencies), thrust (seven different speeds), and self-heat (up to 105 degrees Fahrenheit). It’s just like the real thing, James Guo, the founder of Our Erotic Journey, assures me from his office in Irvine, California. Best of all—everything is controlled through the app AMZ.

“It connects to someone that’s oceans away,” he says of its potential for creating all kinds of sexual fantasies. Teasingly, he adds: “There’s also music that can match the intensity of the vibration.”

True Sensation is just one offering featured among the wide inventory of Our Erotic Journey, the sex toy brand Guo launched in 2019. Its online store, which boasts more than 200 products, is a pleasure chest of sexual self-amusement. Take your pick: There’s the lipstick-shaped vibrator, a remote-controlled rotating butt plug, various cock rings, something called the “Gravity Rocket” (a clitoral suction vibrator with seven massage modes), and a smattering of glow-in-the-dark accessories. “Those are for the ravers,” Guo jokes.

The sex tech market is estimated to triple by 2030, exceeding $100 billion globally in sales. The demand for products, from AI-assisted companions and personal wand massagers to sexual wellness apps, sits at an all-time high. At a moment when industry trends favor artificial intelligence and remote sex exploration, Guo just wants to make eccentric, high-quality vibrators. He’s betting big on toys.

In the years since launch, Guo has built Our Erotic Journey into a quietly influential brand through intentionally whimsical designs and an insistence on quality products. “I know production,” Guo says. His family, he tells me, owns an auto-parts factory in China, and what he learned from the business—how the factory system runs, the science of machines, what style of packaging attracts customers—he leveraged for OEJ.

Guo admits that the initial product line—about 20 toys, of which the Sec Duo vibrator for couples remains a company best-seller—was devised to “fit the market.” “We self developed the first batch through modding, R&D, scaling, all that stuff,” he says. “Everything since that represents more of who we are.”

That’s how OEJ’s six themed collections came to be. The Cristal collection is for glass toys while the Space, Thrillz, and Lit collections are for truly uninhibited pleasure seekers (one features a dildo called “The Girthquake,” that exploits a specific, if sometimes worn out, racial fantasy).

But where Guo, who is 35, sometimes falls short in imagination, he more than makes up for in vigilance. “Users expect and deserve products that meet stringent safety standards, and any deviation can damage a brand’s reputation irrevocably,” he posted in an XBIZ editorial in September. “Partner with trusted white-label manufacturers rather than gamble on the unknowns.”

When I ask Guo about the editorial, he stresses that the success of sex tech is determined as much by the innovation involved in the products as the quality. “We want to be more of a bridge from human to human,” Guo says, “not just from toy to human.”

Even with promising market projections—another estimate goes so far as to predict sales could surpass $121 billion by 2030—industry analysts are not convinced that the future of sex tech is in toys.

It’s a “very oversaturated market that is now avoided by many,” says Olena Petrosyuk, a partner at the consulting firm Waveup. This year, she adds, investors “are looking away from ‘commoditized’ trends”—sex toys, but also sex content and social platforms. “Many failed to prove the economics and scale. The category is still fairly stigmatized,” she says. “OnlyFans being a massive exception.”

So what do consumers want? Petrosyuk says wellness, AI, and immersive realities are hot right now. “Practically every new sex tech startup is thinking in terms of AI use cases,” she says. “If it’s AI toys—companies are looking into how they can anticipate and respond to the user’s needs. If it’s robotics—we see companies looking into sex bots. If it’s content—it’s hyperpersonalized sex personas.”

Guo tells me he is not phased by talk of AI sex robots—“a low-volume business,” in his estimation—because many people cannot afford the high price tag. Continued success, he believes, is will come by expanding on the company’s themed collections. OEJ works directly with US and Canadian distributors; it is not a direct-to-consumer business, though he says customers do occasionally order via the online store.

Although ecommerce is the industry standard in retail and electronics, taking more of an old-school approach works for Guo. Next year, OEJ plans to launch a Zodiac collection, crafting 12 unique toys for each astrological sign. It’s an appeal to the Co–Star fanatics of Gen Z. “Every generation is different,” he says.

The company’s mostly nonexistent social media presence only seems to add to their Wonka-like mystery. “We’re just bad at it,” Jerry Chen, an operations assistant, says. “We’re really focused on production.”

For now, that business model seems to be a hit. Our Erotic Journey recently won the “Best Pleasure Product Manufacturer—Small” prize at the 2023–2024 AVN Awards in Las Vegas, a litmus test for newbie brands in the adult content world. OEJ also received the O Award for Outstanding New Product for “Sexy Pot,” Guo’s marijuana-leaf-shaped vibrator, a customer favorite.

Clearly wanting to capitalize on its unexpected success, Guo says, “It’s time we gave it a sister or brother.”

[charlies-a-ghost]

hi nerds intro posts

im a strange man from the woods here to partake in some henious activity and make bad art

witchcraft practitioner

based in northern california

certified cryptid

I like writing (poetry, short stories, music, novellas), reading (dystopian, horror, graphic novels, comic books, victorian gothic, sci-fi), acting, fencing, archery, art (mixed medias, i do a bit of literally everything), foraging, punk diy, taxidermy, dissection, astrophysics, I speak french and ASL, i have 5 cats and a dog and a lot of shiny rocks i collect, I play mainly electric and acoustic guitar, but also bass, piano, cello, ukulele and kalimba. I have synesthesia as well as a plethora of issues like severe anxiety disorder, depressive disorder, autism, adhd, POTs and hashimotos disease I can NOT catch a break. puppy punk but i like to involve myself in a plethora of subcultures so also goth and emo

i love making friends so if your a minor (don't wanna be talking to adult creepazoids) hmu!! dms are open be nice to me im sensitive

bands: my chemical romance, beastie boys, maneskin, ghost, nirvana, ac/dc, fall out boy, pencey prep, green day, peirce the veil, the ramones, the smashing pumpkins, the smiths, the talking heads, the linda lindas, the strokes, car seat headrest, pixies, the front bottoms, sir chloe, leathermouth, gerard way, the cure, david bowie, opal in sky, freddie mercury, queen, frank iero, siouxsie and the banshees, nine inch nails, sisters of mercy, bauhaus, mindless self indulgence, lemon demon, will wood, gorillaz, ayesha erotica, mitski, jazz emu, tom cardy, joan jett and the black hearts, jack stauber, dead kennedys, christian death, black flag, weezer, black sabbath, metallica, blink-182, iggy pop, i set my friends on fire, she wants revenge, like moths to flames, misfits, ozzy ozbourne, the cramps, skindred, social distortion, dresden dolls, the killers, the peggie's, the runaways, the taxpayers, the used, yaelokre

books: the ash house, scythe, Frankenstein, edgar Allen Poe, ready player one, do androids dream of electric sheep, carry on, 1984, the hobbit, lord of the rings, James herriot, renegades, lockdown, diary of Anne Frank, the true lives of the fabulous killjoys, umbrella academy, paranoid gardens, animal farm, handmaidens tale, the right stuff, maze runner, the giver, fahrenheit 451, brace new world, hatchet, the poison thread, the ruins, the watchers, nimona, dracula, interview with a vampire

musicals: beetlejuice, mean girls, hamilton, heathers, ride the cyclone, six, le mis, little shop of horrors, phantom of the opera, newsies

tv shows, movies and video games: saw, silence of the lambs, a quiet place, midsommar, nimona, the owl house, the umbrella academy, young royals, little nightmares, omori, detention, room of old sins, mechanarium, cozy grove, animal crossing, inside, squid game, the platform, bird box, Alice in borderland, girl from nowhere, breaking bad, demon slayer, death note, black butler, don’t hug me I’m scared, seven deadly sins, the promised neverland, the amazing world of gumball, adventure time, Minecraft, legends of Zelda, fnaf, Fiona and cake, gravity falls, more I’m forgetting

[phen397]

Sonic adventure 2 but told through notes i took while playing part 4 .time to wrap up the hero story for this one

Entering the children into races gonna see if I can clear the beginner races

Got a car

Now a Shovel

Baby rattle

Can't quite get that last flying one

No toys outside yet

Where did they go?

Time for a level I guess

Put the emerald in the console

Amy is something

Eggman got her?

Any way knuckles

Finding emeralds on the ark

Took way too long to find the last one

Level done

Won the last beginner race

Got a watering can and another sonic thing

More races unlocked

Jewel and challenge

Dip my toes and get wrecked

Will come back later

Knuckles vs Rouge time

Did we find her emerald waste of time

Rouge

Boss

Let her finish her attack then hit her

Second half fought in air

Just hit her

Give me my emerald

What kinda lady are you

Slip and fall

Save the FLYING bat from FALLING

Don't owe you anything

Just wanted to hold her hand?(wink wink)

Just take em you smelly echidna

Sorry if it hurt

When you fell

Final look back

Sonic time

Gravity switching and hyper tubes

Flame ring got

Super fancy gravity changing

33 minutes left

Amy held hostage

Sonic arrives

Eggman has a gun

Hand over the emerald for the girl

Hand over the fake

Back off bro

Trapped in a tube

He knew it was fake

Tails got baited

Surprised Pikachu tails

Sonic gonna die?

Finals goodbyes

Launched back to earth

Same properties

Chaos control?

Farewell sonic

Sonic go boom

Tails won't let us down

NEVER BACK DOWN NEVER WHAT

Never give up

Eggman boss

Big and Lazer

Kept shooting till win

Knuckles feels a strange energy

Sonic appears

Final rush

Rails simulator

Mystic melody

Falling debris

Escape it for the win

Outside the ark

Shadow surprised

Thought he died

CUT OFF AGAIN

Die hard

Used Chaos control with fake emerald

Shadow fight time

Running on an infinite highway

Lots of rings

Somersault to avoid chaos spears

But how?

Falling

Spin dash charge for the win

Fall

This is the ultimate power

Do you have any other voice line bro?

Win

Shadow is dead on the ground

Tails has killed Eggman

Pulls out stopwatch

Sonic I did it

Sonic on the radio

Eggman grab emerald

Look outside

Ark doing a thing

Big boom

There he is

Thumbs up bro

Credits?

Is it done?

19 sonic things

I can now select scenes from hero mode

Eggman steals info from base

Shadow the secret weapon

All seven keys collected will let him rule the world

Long live the Eggman empire

Time for dark mode next time