#also this may seem like small potatoes... but it's just a small part of the bigger picture of things that are irritating.....

[gideongrovel]

Anyways,,,, God would never treat me like this,,,, 🙄 (ranting below /nbh, family stuff)

Three times this week I (and my sister) had plans that were made prior to anything else that was going on with anybody else that lives here,,,, and near the last minute on THREE DIFFERENT OCCASIONS mom is like "nope :) this is happening instead" 🙃🙃🙃 you can't just change autistic people's plans like that in the drop of a hat and not expect me to be grumpy about it,,,, especially cause I had my plans to be dropped off at my thing way in advance first,,,, 😓😓😓 but it happening so often without care of my feelings, and when I tell mom I'm upset about it, she doesn't care and is annoyed that I'm communicating how it hurts my feelings to be like dismissed into a non priority,,,

[the-californicationist]

Through a Glass, Darkly

A new priest is assigned to your remote abbey, but when you go to him for confession, you realize you are kneeling before the Devil himself.

Anonymous asked: Hiya Cali, crazy thought but happy october 🎃 brain worm, think about mirror sex with vampire!Price / 141 and the absolute flith that would pour from his mouth as he watches you stretch around seemingly nothing…

———

TW: vampirism, blood play, priest abuse of power, heavy religious imagery, fem!reader, rape/noncon, virginity loss, corruption, mind breaking, historical fantasy au, father/my child/sister religious titles, fully adult characters

You’ve been warned, and I don’t wanna hear it. Your click, your fault.

For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known. — 1 Corinthians 13:12

—x—x—x—

When Mr. Hawthorne arrived that morning with fresh milk, eggs, and a cart full of potatoes and turnips, you thought you would forget yourself and fling your hands around his fat neck. It had been weeks since supplies had been delivered, and although you lived in what was probably the smallest abbey in the world, you were just thankful that you had not been completely forgotten.

“Oh, thank you, Mister Hawthorne! We are so grateful for your service. The Lord rewards the generous,” you praised him.

The plump man’s face flushed red and he took off his sweaty cap, holding it limply in his hands,

“Tha’s alright, Sister. I had a good yield this season. You send a letter over to us if you need anything more. Hopefully that new priest will be arriving soon. Margie said she spotted him at the inn yesterday afternoon.”

“New priest?” You asked, wholly unaware of your abbey receiving an actual man of the cloth.

“Yes, Sister. He looks a little rugged for a holy man, but she said he was wearin’ the collar, clear as day.”

“Oh,” you mused, unsure of what to say.

“I’ll take my leave of you, Sister. Hope he’s a good one. It’ll be nice to have services back in the old church.”

“Yes, it will. Take care, and safe travels, sir. May God bless your next harvest.”

You watched as his rickety cart, pulled by an equally rotund mule, delivered the farmer away from you and your tiny sanctuary. As soon as he was out of sight, you rushed back through the wooden doors of the abbey to find Sister Ruth and Sister Sarah to tell them of the news.

They were both as shocked as you were. You had all three been convinced that the good Pope had completely forgotten about your little sect, and no letters had come for months. But, a new priest in this parish would bring much needed governance to the provincial people of your small village, and you needed to prepare.

You and your fellow nuns cleaned, cleaned, and cleaned some more. By nightfall, the abbey gleamed anew.

As you were preparing for bed, you heard the whinny of a horse outside of the abbey doors. You looked out into the corridor, and Sister Ruth was peeking out as well. Arming yourselves with long, steel fire pokers, you made your way to the entrance. Ruth nudged you with her elbow, encouraging you to call out. So, you said,

“It is past hours. Please come back tomorrow!”

“I’m Father John Price, and unless I’m mistaken, this is my abbey,” a deep, gravelly voice called out to you, seeming to flow and roll through the door with a convincing ease.

You cracked the wooden portal and looked out.

There, holding onto a frothy, exhausted steed was the most handsome man you’d ever seen. He wore an all-black capello romano on his head, towering above you by at least a full cubit. His face was pale, protected from labors under the sun, but his hands looked like they had certainly known the true meaning of work. His body was well-muscled and immense. Even in the midst of his flowing black robes, you could see the bulging form of his shoulders stretching the fine fabric. Around his thick neck, his white clergy collar sat dutifully under a jutting Adam’s apple and a proud chin, shaven although the rest of his beard was trimmed to full length.

But it was his eyes that unnerved you. For all of his brutish form, the look in his gaze made your blood run cold. There was something hypnotizing about the pale blue irises. It made him seem almost inhuman.

That deep, purring voice returned, and he stepped closer to you, threatening your threshold with white, sharp teeth pulled in a tight smile,

“Aren’t you going to invite me inside?”

“Forgive me, Father. Please, come in. Sister Ruth will take your horse to the stables. Allow me to take your bags and show you to your chamber.”

He followed behind you at a close distance, studying the abbey’s courtyard and walls, judging its worthiness. You were proud of the work you had done to keep it in good working order, but you knew it was in desperate need of repairs.

As you walked, you tried to make small talk to ease the tension,

“I have been in prayer thanking God for your arrival, Father. It has been many years since we have been blessed to house a priest within our abbey walls. Our parishioners will be filled with joy to return to their pews.”

“Mm.” His hum was polite but noncommittal, so you gave up on the niceties.

Finally, you reached his cell, you pried open the door and allowed him to enter before you. He studied the spartan room with the expected amount of enthusiasm, and watched you lay his bag down on the small chair at his desk. You straightened out the Bible that lay on the table, making sure the corner matched up with the edge of the table, placing it just so.

“Will you take supper, Father Price?”

“No, I am not hungry. You will find that I eat very little, in fact,” he said, taking off his cloak and laying it on the freshly-made bed. He hung his hat on its hook and tried to straighten his hair.

“Should I have a mirror brought in for your cell?” You asked, thinking that he may need to look presentable. As a nun, you never used a mirror as a rule, but you were willing to accommodate your new steward as best you could.

“Do you use a mirror, my child?” Price’s voice deepened and smoldered like a bundle of kindling, threatening to burn. He stepped toward you, using his size to impose himself upon you in the small space.

“N-n-no,” you stammered, “Of course not, Father. But I am not in a position to be perceived such as yourself.”

“Recite Proverbs 31:30, my child,” he commanded, stepping closer to you, slowly creeping into your personal space, close enough that you could smell the scent of the sun and the grass on his robes, mixing with the sweat of his skin.

You swallowed, clearing your throat, and obeyed,

“Yes, Father. Favour is deceitful, and beauty is vain: but a woman that feareth the Lord, she shall be praised.”

“Good,” Price smiled, using his finger to lift your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes, “We must not succumb to vanity, my child. A dutiful disciple is one who serves others, yes?”

“Yes, Father,” you said, stepping backwards, away from his touch, hanging your head in reverence.

“In fact,” he purred, “It is James 1:23 which reminds us that those who look into the glass will be blinded by their own desires, only seeing themselves, incapable of suffering God’s divinity. It is the good works done that are worthy of praise, my child, although…”

He stepped forward again, grabbing your chin in his huge hand roughly, clutching the very bone of your jaw, making you gasp,

“Our Lord has taken special care to display his almighty talent in your face, has he not? Such delicate features. Like an angel.”

His mouth was so close to yours that you could smell the heady scent of iron and musk on his breath. His piercing eyes never left yours, pinning you in place.

Then, he released you, and you left the room without being dismissed, closing the cell door behind you and rushing back to your own cloister. You rushed into your room, locking the door fast, and knelt at your altar to pray for forgiveness.

Except… you were not asking to be forgiven for suggesting vanity to your new priest. No. You were asking to be forgiven for the warm, wet lust that was smearing across the crease of your thighs. Father Price had awakened strong feelings in you not of enlightenment, but of lurid desire, and you begged to be cleansed.

The next morning, Father Price called the abbey together. Yourself, Sister Ruth, and Sister Sarah reported to the small courtyard, along with two young pilgrims who had lived there since the past summer, Timothy and David. You and the nuns had suspected them as runaways, but they pledged themselves to the cloth and took care of the manual labor around the premises since you lacked any monks to speak of. They were well into their young adulthood now, and they would become apprentices to Father Price, if he saw fit.

You tried to put what had transpired between you and the good Father out of your mind, but seeing him in the cold light of day did nothing to quell the sinful desire you felt towards him. The way he had grabbed you…

“Good morrow, everyone. I ask that you will join me in our Biblical studies every morning. I find that the word of God helps me put the rest of my day right. I want to begin at the beginning, yes?”

He looked around at all of your faces, as if anyone would protest against his power, and then he continued,

“What does Genesis 4:7 tell us, Sister Ruth?”

“Speaking to Cain, the Lord said: If thou doest well, shalt thou not be accepted? and if thou doest not well, sin lieth at the door. And unto thee shall be his desire, and thou shalt rule over him.”

“Sin lieth at the door,” Father Price mused, then, as if shaking himself from his thought, he said, “Please continue, Sister.”

“And Cain talked with Abel, his brother: and it came to pass, when they were in the field, that Cain rose up against Abel, his brother, and slew him. And the Lord said unto Cain, Where is Abel thy brother? And he said, I know not: Am I my brother's keeper?”

“You are,” the priest’s voice rose in his chest, startling Sister Ruth and silencing her words. He began to pace back and forth, slowly stalking through your small ranks, “You are your brother’s keeper. You are more than that. You are keepers of this entire parish, are you not?”

“Yes, Father,” you all said in unison.

“There will be a reckoning in this parish,” Price snarled, “I will not lead a flock of demons disguised as sheep. If any of you hear witness or see evidence of sin, deliver it to me at once. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Father,” you repeated.

“I will now take your confessions. I understand that it has been a number of years since you were cleansed, so be prepared to repent lest you allow the Devil into your soul.”

“Yes, Father.”

The day dragged on through the gray clouds, and Father Price had taken his time with the confessions of the members of your abbey. Sister Sarah had gone into his cell after the boys, and she had emerged with red eyes full of tears. You had comforted her in hushed whispers in the corner of her cloister, asking her what he had done, thinking it was something even more awful that how he had accosted you last night.

“He…” Sarah sobbed, “He made me kneel on sharp stones while I recited my prayers. It hurts so much, Sister.”

You breathed a sigh of relief. Although sharp stones were not a gentle punishment, they were at least devoid of physical contact. He had not taken a hand to her. But, Sister Sarah was young. She had avoided some of the harsher training practices of the more traditional members of the church. You knew that there were a bevvy of punishments that would make kneeling in discomfort feel like a blessing.

Sister Ruth also came out sniffling, reporting that she had fifty lashes across her palms for the sin of plucking figs off of a nearby tree owned by the neighboring farm.

Again, you sighed and thanked God that he had a little mercy within him.

His cell door opened, and Father Price locked eyes with you and demanded,

“Come, my child. It is time for your confession.”

“Yes, Father Price,” you complied, taking your leave of the other nuns and following him into his cell.

Inside of his room, a shaft of sunlight cut across his face, illuminating his eyes and stunning you, keeping you from moving forward.

“Shut the door, my child,” his timbre was ominous, and you tried to hold yourself together.

“So far,” he rose from his seat and walked over to you, “I have cleansed the souls of a nun who is a thief, another who is a sloth, a young man who is a liar, and another who is filled with pride. It seems, Sister, that you have allowed the Devil through the door, indeed.”

“Forgive me, Father. I knew not of their wicked ways, nor have I your wisdom to correct them.” You stared at the stone floor. It was easier than looking at him.

“I do not believe that the wickedness was borne within them,” Father Price mused, tapping his finger on his lips as if deep in thought, “Because I discovered this beneath your mattress, and so I know the evil is inside of you.”

In his hands, Father Price held up a square, familiar, looking glass. You trembled, watching as your own reflection met you back. You could see the fear spread across your face, and you were disgusted by it.

“Tell me, my child. How did you use this mirror?” He asked sweetly, but as he watched you think about how best to answer the question, his voice became hot with fury and he snarled into your ear, “And don’t you dare lie to me. I will know your deceit.”

Your heart was banging in your chest, and so, beyond your better judgment, you told him the truth.

“I used it to… examine myself, Father.”

“Show me,” he commanded.

It was as if his whole cell bent and bowed under the weight of his authority. Your body began to move against your own will, relenting to his instead. Without thinking, you pulled back your habit and let your hair fall down your back. Then, you began to peel away your robes. Underneath, you untied your shift, and you allowed the fabric to pool on the floor at your feet, staring at yourself naked in the glass.

He watched you in silent awe, his pupils darkening, his mouth parted at his full lips, his chest heaving as he watched you make yourself bare before him.

“Go on,” he said, knowing that you were not finished with your demonstration.

You felt yourself obeying him helplessly, and you performed the same inspection that you did in private in front of him.

“I wanted to see how God hath made me, Father. So, I looked.”

“Where did you look, my child?”

“Here,” you raised your hands to squeeze the supple flesh of your breasts, showing him how your nipples were bouncy and puffy until they turned stiff and tight.

“And here,” you allowed your hand to fit itself between your thighs, spreading your labia, covered in dense hair, until your pliant lips revealed a shining, smooth center, wet and ready for pleasure.

“Now that you have examined the Lord’s fine works, what did you do with this knowledge?” Price asked.

“I would touch this part of me, Father, and I would let it bring me to Heaven.”

“I would like to know Heaven, my child. Turn around.”

You tried to stop yourself, but he was using his power to bind you. You were nothing more than a toy, helpless to his every whim. You turned, your back facing him, and he set the mirror on his desk so that you could see yourself within it. Then, he moved in front of you and his body blocked your view, reaching down to grab your chin like he had the first night he arrived, raising your mouth up to his.

You thought he would kiss you. His lips were just within reach, but he commanded you darkly,

“Confess.”

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” you recited dumbly, “It has been three years since my last confession. In that time, I have…”

His mouth covered yours, kissing you deeply, feeding you his long tongue and eating up your words before you could say them. Then, you felt his hands on your breasts, squeezing them cruelly, pinching your nipples to make them ache and sting. You couldn’t help the lewd sounds that escaped your throat, but he didn’t seem to care to stop you. Finally, he pulled away, and when you looked into his eyes again, the bright blue had been replaced with a Hellish red.

You gasped, and he grabbed you tighter, pulling you towards him by the soft meat of your breasts, making you cry out in agony. That noise seemed to please him because he smiled down at you, and you could see that his teeth had grown into long, wolf-like fangs. He chuckled,

“My pretty little sinner.”

“D-d-demon!” You cried breathlessly, shaking from fear as he held you to his body.

Price bared his fangs at your assessment, hissing from the title,

“Yes, and you have invited me in, so eager to be corrupted.”

Releasing you from his grip, he held you around your waist with one arm, and he used his free hand to dip between your legs, discovering your wetness there and sighing from it.

“Mmm… Let me taste your sweet, little Heaven, Sister.”

He knelt on the floor in front of you and held onto your wide ass cheeks in each hand, forcing your hips to tilt toward his face. You looked down and watched as his impossibly long tongue flicked against your swollen bud. His wide tongue parted your lips to drag wetly between them. You tried to hold back your cries, but you’d never known such pleasure, so you could barely keep it in. You prayed for forgiveness as you came apart against this demon’s mouth, succumbing to his vileness.

Then, you glanced into the mirror, and you noticed that you couldn’t see his head. Only the collar and robes were visible in the glass. All you could see is how your lips were being spread apart, seemingly on their own.

He had no reflection.

“You… you’re…” You couldn’t say the words, but Price knew what you meant to call him.

He looked over his shoulder, using his thumbs to spread your lips wide apart, gazing at them in the glass and smiling even though he didn’t have a reflection to smile at. Then, he looked back up at you, a sick grin spread across his lips,

“Cain, yes. The immortal wanderer, cursed from the earth which hath opened her mouth to receive my brother’s blood. And I have not tasted food, for it becomes ash in my mouth, just like He promised. But, blood… I can taste blood just fine.”

He planted the softest kisses between your shivering thighs, sucking on the thin skin, and then, after slaking his thirst with your sticky center once more, he sank his fangs right in the inside of your thigh, making you howl with pain.

His eyes were locked on yours, watching you writhe in agony, your nerves sensing his venom coursing through you as he sucked the life from your veins. You watched yourself in the mirror, seeing the puncture wounds, watching as blood spilled out across your skin, smearing and being licked away by his greedy tongue. Finally, he released you, and the poison of his mouth took effect. You became deeply fatigued, and you could barely stand on your own. He had to hold you in his arms to keep you in position.

He stood, smiling down at you, his mouth caked with your dark blood, his teeth stained red,

“What a blessing you are, my child. Such perfect innocence tastes so fine, so… pure. I almost hate to sour your ripe little fruit, but that will be sweet in its own way, yes?”

You watched as your demonic priest yanked at his collar, popping it from his neck. Then, he pulled off his robes, tearing away at his layers until he was as bare as you, both of you fully naked and pressed together, joined in a crash of skin and heat, his mouth painting your body with your own blood as he kissed and licked your breasts and belly, teasing you with his tongue as he explored you.

Then, he stepped around to your back, and you caught sight of his heavy cock as it swung between his legs like that of a rutting beast. You tried to fight the black spell you were under, but it was no use. You were trapped in his thrall.

“Watch yourself in the mirror, my child,” Father Price commanded you, grinning as you immediately obeyed, “Come and behold the marvelous works of God.”

You couldn’t turn your eyes away. You were alone in the mirror, and yet, your breasts were being crushed by invisible fists, your nipples tormented between unseen fingers. Then, you felt Price fit his phallus against the entrance of your sex and press it into you, stretching you wide across his prodding cockhead. You saw how your body was being invaded by him, pulling itself apart to allow him inside. The dark hole of your quim opened like a toothless maw, drooling and starving, hungry to take him deep within you, welcoming him up to your womb.

You sobbed at the strain, and then you felt something give way sharply inside you, and he had a much easier time of filling you with his engorged length. As he fucked himself up into you, he was grunting like an animal, praising you in your ear, telling you his own confession,

“Forgive me, my child, for I am sinning. Right now… I am sinning with you, and it is so sweet. God has made you for me. What a gift you are. See?”

He used his hand to swipe at your gaping hole, bringing his hand in front of your face so you could see the bright blood that coated his fingertips,

“You have broken so easily for me. The Lord knew you needed me to come and serve you. He brought me to you, my child. You welcomed me inside, didn’t you? Spread these lips for me, invited me in… Didn’t you? Say it.”

“Y-y-yes, F-father…” You whimpered, tears dripping down your chin and onto your bare chest.

The loud slapping of skin against skin filled the cell, and you watched as your hole spread wider and wider, taking more of him with each punishing thrust.

“Louder, my child,” he hissed in your ear.

“Yes, Father!”

His hand was playing in your slippery folds, massaging your hidden bud and forcing you to clench hard around him from the pleasure. In the glass, you could see your hole trying in vain to twist itself shut, pumping him in a steady beat.

“Didn’t you pray to God for a prick like mine when you touched your filthy quim in your mirror?”

“Yes, Father!”

It was true. You had touched yourself, hoping that you might one day know the pleasure of being taken by a man. You had watched the mating of cattle in the field next to the abbey many a summer past, hanging clothes and sheets on the line, and yet all the while looking into the grassy glade, staring at the bull who would mount his cow and thrust his turgid rod into her to breed her deeply. And she would croon for him, and when he left her, the spent seed would hang in long, thick strings from the head of his phallus, making him wet and ready to sink his sword through its next sheath.

“And the Lord answered your prayers, did he not? Begging him for someone to breed you like this, isn’t that right?”

“Yes, Father!”

Price was the bull, and you would be bred by him, and you would be cast out of God’s mercy forever. Ruined. Steeped in sin and tainted by lust.

“You smell like a ripe plum, my sweet child, and you’re just as soft in my mouth,” Price began to lick your neck from your sloping shoulder all the way to your earlobe, over and over, letting his spit cover your flesh. Then, he sank his fangs into your vein and began to drink from you in long, slurping sucks, swallowing your blood into his throat in audible gulps, moaning with each mouthful of your essence.

The venom of his demonic bite made your head cloudy and your will compliant.

“Touch yourself, my child,” he mumbled, quickly returning to his feast on your flesh.

You had no choice but to obey. You felt him increase his pace, his long cock bottoming out inside of you with each thrust, flinging his weight into you like a hammer. You began touching your breasts, pinching yourself gently as you watched your ruination unfold in the looking glass, helpless to stop it.

Then, you began to touch your rigid nub, taking over for him as he continued to drink from you. You made achingly slow circles around your most sensitive spot, and because you were so wet, you were able to go faster without any discomfort. You made yourself come quickly, jerking your hips against him as he fucked you, listening to him groan from the feeling of your tight hole trying to squeeze the come out of his body.

“Beg me for my seed, Sister. Beg me to spill it in you,” Price murmured, licking your neck in the spot where he had bitten to rub the taste of your blood across his tongue.

“Father, please… Please come in me. Spill in me… oh!”

You felt him jerk inside of you, and then you heard his growling orgasm rip through his body, his cock pulsing wildly, shooting ropes of creamy seed all over your walls, bursting through your tight, virginal core.

“So perfect for me, so perfect…”

Price caught his breath while he was still inside of you, panting and smiling against your neck before he pulled out of you, watching his invisible shaft slip through your cunt in the mirror, the gaping hole slowly shrinking before your eyes. As he retreated, you saw large strings of come drip out of you, white and endless, flowing out of you and onto the floor of the cell.

Father Price dressed himself in front of you, leaving you standing where he had last commanded you to be, admiring your ruined body. Once he clipped his collar back under his shirt and cloak, he stepped in front of you to pinch lightly at the tips of your nipples again, making you whimper like a hungry mutt.

“For all your virtues, Sister, you are prone to sin. An innocent such as yourself must be trained to resist the Devil. Come to my cell for confession every morning and every night. I promise,” he stroked your cheek and then your neck, right where he’d bitten you, “I will put my goodness deep inside of you, my child. Right here.”

His other hand came to touch your bare belly, gently caressing the skin and flesh that protected your womb.

“Yes, Father,” you said, trying to avoid his furious gaze, shaking with pure, gut-wrenching terror, understanding that for you, there was no escape. You were under his vampiric command, and if he wanted you, your body was going to obey. You’d taken the Mark of Cain on your neck, and the only hope for you now was to beg for his mercy.

“Take this mirror with you, my child. I want you to kneel in prayer over it, spread those plump legs wide, and I want you to watch my seed drip out of you. With every drop, you will thank God for me and my prick. When the Lord answers our prayers, it is our duty to be grateful.”

“Yes, Father,” you said, pulling your robes back on and adjusting your habit.

He handed you the mirror, and you took it with a crushing amount of shame, feeling his come still seeping in a steady stream out of your well-used hole.

As you left his cell, he smiled down at you, carefully petting your cheek,

“Don’t worry, my child. Your next confession is in only a few hours. You will feel the warmth of the Lord’s forgiveness again very soon.”

—x—x—x—

Reblogs and comments deeply appreciated!

AO3 Link

[xenosagaepisodeone]

more on that post from yesterday, I feel as if people who grew up needing to manually learn social rules due to neurodivergence are often susceptible to a kind of cynicism that (ironically) normietypicals don't necessarily subscribe to. it makes sense, once you pick up on the social hierarchy built in to a lot of spaces, it can make social relationships seem transactional and hollow. if you aren't surrounded by people who have your interests/opinions/habits/etc, the only value in fitting in is the emotional experience of being a part of a crowd and how much your "I Am Normal" self-concept is validated. there's also the pride in realizing that you've figured out "the rules" unlike your peers who may not be as socially adept. socializing becomes a game you can "win" in the kind of way you win trivial pursuit, except if the only subject was arbitrary social norms.

i'd say the biggest disservice people do to themselves when contorting themselves this way is losing the ability to recognize that some adults are just unpleasant, not a reflection of the world at large. most of the time when you do a social faux pas, there's normally a way to ameliorate the situation (with the obvious exception of like, exclusive settings, networking or work events where social conduct is part of the package you're selling). if you've internalized heirarchical thinking however, you'll come to believe that you've lost the interaction- that everyone has now seen you for the awkward autist you spend every waking moment repressing. you don't need to do this! people outside of particular circumstances do not see socializing as a game to win. if you keep talking and are kind, understanding and considerate, it's small potatoes- but you need to commit to the bit. other people intuit "the rules", but they aren't actually as committed to most of them as you think (a lot of them don't even fully understand why they exist, they just know it's what you're "supposed" to do). a situation I've observed more than once was someone who had deeply wound themselves around a set of behaviors finding themselves frustratingly confounded when a newcomer with some behavioral quirks was well-accepted by their group. as it turns out, whatever punishment your parents or schools dolled out for your eccentricities don't necessarily carry over to people who are actually compassionate and understanding in the adult world LOL. you poison yourself by believing that hierarchy and being boring is intrinsic to "normal people".

I don't know though, maybe social interactions only work for me in spite of my shortcomings because everyone thinks I'm a pretty princess

[issdisgrace]

Can I please have Thomas Hewitt x male reader where the reader is also serial killer?(he was a serial killer before he met Thomas)

🔪

MOVED AWAY

WARNINGS: Talks of bullying. use of the f slur, murder

I met Thomas Brown Hewitt when I started working at the local slaughterhouse. He was a big quiet guy that wore a leather mask covering the bottom half of his face. Because of said mask and his quiet nature, he was frequently made fun of, called names, and made the butt of many jokes. But Thomas was a hard worker. He worked harder than any of the low lives that made fun of him. He was always the first one there and the last one to leave. I admired him from a fair for a while until one day the harassing was just so bad and Thomas was just taking it. It had started since those low lives arrived for work today, and now it was well into the afternoon. It was getting on my last nerve and when they started calling him an inbred faggot, something inside of me snapped. I finally said something and let’s just say some words were exchanged and coupled with the fact Ii was similar in height and stature as Thomas, they backed away, clearly not brave enough to face me like true men.

 From then on, me and Thomas started to become friends and good ones at that. He was much smarter than they had given him credit for. And as I grew to know Thomas more, that burning desire that got me here in this shit town was back again. The only reason why I was in this town in the first place was because my little hobby was discovered, but I manage to avoid police and ended up here. The law didn’t take too kindly to people like me, anyway I guess they just don’t enjoy ridding the earth of scum. God where those people that said all those things to Thomas scum. A couple of them had already “moved away.” But there were still some to go, like David Sinclair, one of the biggest piece of shit that made fun of poor Thomas. He “moved away” a yesterday.

Now with every mostly quiet. Me and Thomas were left in peace for the most part. Our relationship was flourishing. It was nice, so nice that today I asked Thomas if he would like to have dinner with me tomorrow as it was both of our day off. He nodded, and we made it a date. It was around 5 when I started getting dinner ready nothing to fancy, just some steak and potatoes. It was around 5:30 when Thomas arrived. He looked nice. You could tell he cleaned up, and he cleaned up nicely. No doubt by his mother??? Luda May that I have been told much about but yet to get the privilege of meeting. I let him in and we made small talk while we ate.

It was halfway through dinner when a thud is heard, then followed by David bolting out of the room, he moved to down the hallway towards the front door. I quickly get up, not paying attention to Thomas any more, grab one of the steak knives and chase after him. Stabbing him in the back before he was even able to make it off the porch. He screamed as I dragged the knife down his back, cutting him open. I got off of him as he started to bleed to death. I sighed as I stood. This was definitely not how I expected my night to go. I look back to the door way there Thomas standing there watch his eyes flicker from David to me.

“Look, I can explain. Trust me.”

The conversation that followed was quiet, along with one. Starting with why I moved to the town in the first place and my hobby. Then to why David was well kidnapped and now dead to the others that “moved away.” It was hard to tell if Thomas was flattered or not, but he didn’t seem bothered by it at all. Not by the murders and, least of all, not bothered by my feelings for him. It was nice to have confirmation that he felt the same way I do about him. It was refreshing, to say the least. I could tell that this would be the starting of a very long relationship. 

[weeping-statue]

ask, and ye shall receive 🙇🙇🙇

if u take multiple characters, may i request naib, ithaqua, and alva with an s/o whos a kleptomaniac? if u dont do multiple chars, maybe just alva if thats ok!

much loves 💞💞💞

please read🔻

This.. has been rotting in my inbox since the start and I am so sorry. Usually I’m trying to find motivation for all of these writings but things came up yesterday and I just needed to write something to make me feel better. So this was more self indulgent. I would love to write for Alva but I fear I don’t have a good concept of him yet. Also Kinktober stuff will be posted in the near future. There will be a part two of this with Ithaqua, I think? not proofread and not great-

Naib with a kleptomaniac s/o! —————————————————————-

He’s got a massive safe, with all of his stuff in it and you don’t have the code.

No I’m kidding,

Well, sorta.

He keeps his room clean anyways so there’s nothing to really take other than a few pencils, coins, or wrappers of leftover food.

He does keep a hidden snack drawer that’s filled to the brim with all kinds of stuff and he can tell if you’ve been in there. Even if one thing is gone.

Naib had taken you to his room a few hours ago, just so he could be near you. No need for talking when your presence is enough. Which brings us to now, where you were chilling on his beanbag chair with a book that you stole from Joseph’s office. Naib had quietly grunted to signal to you, then gestured to the door that he’ll be back. You nodded and went to go read as he shut the door.

Perfect.

Now was your time to strike. The feeling had been itching away at you ever since you got there. You just had too. It’s not like you could control it anyways. So you crept over to his snack drawer in the bottom of his desk. And picked out a.. large almond joy? (I’m so sorry I’ve been craving fucking almond joys for like weeks so.. you get almond joys.)

Oh well, they were good anyways. Especially frozen, to get that crunch! You place the sugary treat into a pocket that’s least likely to smush it or melt it. Closing the drawer you slip back into your spot, pick up your book, and continue like nothing happened. And that’s when the door opened again, Naib coming back with.. more food? A family sized bag of potato chips to be exact. You roll your eyes and let out a small huff to conceal your want to laugh. He was a strong guy, always working out, burning calories, so eating like this was reasonable, you thought. When he walks over to his snack drawer pulling out a Twix to eat with his chips, he nods to you, politely gesturing again if you wanted some. Which was another way to tell you he loves you, because there was no way he was sharing with anyone else.

You decline, because chips? No, the almond joy. Which means you had to escape, and quick before he finds out.

You stand up, stretching like you’ve been sitting for too long, and grab your jacket off the back of his chair. Turning to him, to say, “Nah, no thanks. I think I’ll wait till dinner to eat. But I’m gonna head out now, see if Victor has any mail for me.”

Naib nods, and stands by the door watching you start to leave. When he suddenly asks, “Did you go in my snack drawer?”

You pause and turn to him, internally “wtf?”-ing. With a shake of your head you lie. “No? Why?”

Naib fixes his hood, looking you up and down for anything out of place. “Dunno, just seemed like there was less than before.”

You glance at the drawer and shrug, trying to play it cool. You really had to go. “I don’t know what to tell you, I really didn’t take anything.”

Naib nods and lets you go for now. Choosing to believe you. Which was great for you, slipping out of his room and shutting the door quietly. Quickly walking away.

You were halfway down the hallway when you heard a door slam open and naib yell,

“MY ALMOND JOY-”

Fuck. ———————————————————————-

I kinda rushed this, it’s not great. Haven’t been feeling well lately, but when am I ever. I’ll try to do better next time, I promise.

[ihni]

A moment in the rain

My last fill for @harringrovesummerbingo, square C3, prompt: "Wedding party ruined by a thunderstorm"

5,3K, general audiences, no warnings.

Summary:

Billy and Steve are at a wedding, when there's a sudden downpour. While the other guests scramble to run inside, the boys both decide to escape the rain under the same gazebo.

(On AO3 here)

Fic under the cut:

With about a hundred guests, the whole backyard decked out in flowers and decorations, a band playing live music and enough food to feed twice the number of attendants, it was a surprisingly grandiose wedding for a couple roughly a year out of high school, even if their families happened to be upper middle-class. But if one scratched the surface a little, one could see that there had been attempts at reducing the costs, and perhaps not everything was as fancy as it looked at first glance. The tablecloths were old sheets, the glasses and plates didn’t match from one table to the next, and the flowers – except for the bride’s bouquet and the groom’s boutonniere – were mostly wildflowers and picked locally. Besides this, Steve recognized the wait staff as mostly teens from the neighborhood, and the guitarist in the band was Tommy’s older cousin from Canada. Steve also happened to know that all the food had been prepared in advance by relatives and friends of the bride and groom over the course of the last week or so – he’d actually been a part of it himself, spending an evening a couple of days ago scrubbing thirty pounds of potatoes for the potato salad.

From what Steve could see, the only thing they hadn’t had a hand in preparing themselves was the wedding cake, which hadn’t been rolled out yet but which he had gotten a glimpse of in the kitchen – it was a square two-tier cake the size of a small table that looked like it was more than big enough to feed everyone in attendance. Steve was currently on his second helping of potato salad – seeing as he had helped make it happen, also it was really good – but he made a mental note to leave space for dessert.

The reception was held outdoors, in a huge backyard where Steve had spent countless afternoons when he was younger. In the middle of the lawn and in the center of attention, the newlyweds held court. Tommy looked more proper than Steve had ever seen him in a grey three-piece suit and a powder blue bowtie, and Carol looked like a dessert herself in a dress that had to have had more fabric than all the tablecloths put together. Both of them were radiating happiness, and despite everything, Steve couldn’t help but be happy for them. The three of them may not have been as close as they once were, but they’d made up after graduation, and as all three of them remained in Hawkins instead of leaving town like so many others, they stayed in contact and eventually started tentatively hanging out again. Steve had even helped Tommy pick out the morning gift for Carol – a small gold circlet, a simple band that would go around her wrist. Steve knew Carol, and suspected that she would cry when she got it.

Just like Carol’s dad and Tommy’s mom had cried in the church, during the ceremony. In all fairness, it had been a beautiful ceremony, and even Steve had gotten a bit emotional and had to blink away tears.

Seeing as they were in Hawkins, and considering the fact that both Tommy and Carol had lived in Hawkins their whole lives – just like Steve – Steve knew or recognized just about everyone at the reception. It was kind of nice, actually – like a reunion only a year after graduating. And he found himself thinking that it was a wonder what a year out in the real world could do. People who Steve hadn’t been able to stand at the end of the school year suddenly seemed more grown-up – talking about college or their work, rather than partying – and he had a surprisingly pleasant and only slightly stilted conversation with Debbie, who he’d avoided for a whole school year after a disastrous second date which ended with him throwing up on her shoes.

The less said about that, the better – a sentiment Debbie seemed to share.

All in all, it was a beautiful wedding and Steve was having a good time. He’d brought Robin as his plus one – knowing full well that it wouldn’t exactly stop the rumors that they were dating – but he hadn’t seen her since Heather Holloway whisked her away an hour ago. He didn’t mind, though, as it gave him a chance to catch up with old friends and acquaintances.

There was one more thing that the newlyweds hadn’t skimped out on, and that was the booze. Considering how they both used to party, it wasn’t exactly a surprise that there was a wide assortment of alcoholic beverages to choose from – and even though Steve had stuck to the (cheap) champagne, he was feeling the effects of it, which in retrospect might be why he found everyone he talked to to be more pleasant company than he remembered. Other partygoers did not stick to champagne, though, and people were already getting louder and a tad more disorderly. Steve suspected that at least one fight would break out before the night was over – which was honestly a staple of a good wedding in Hawkins, Indiana. He doubted that the police would be called, though, as Tommy’s uncle worked for the Hawkins Police Department, and he was already one of the loudest people in the crowd.

Eventually, the cake was brought out to the delight of the assembled, and the crowd cleared an empty space on the grass. The band started playing a slower song, and Tommy reached out a hand for Carol, who took it and let herself be led to the improvised dance floor. She had kicked off her shoes so she was barefoot in the grass as they danced their first waltz together as a married couple. The two of them were beaming and only seemed to have eyes for each other. Once more, Steve had to swallow against a lump in his throat and blink away tears as he watched his old friends be so happy together. He hadn’t even known that Tommy knew how to waltz.

A while into the song, Tommy’s parents, followed by Carol’s parents, started dancing too, which signaled that the dancefloor was now free for all. As couples started swaying on the grass – perhaps swaying a little more than planned, due do the uneven surface and the amount of alcohol already consumed – Steve extricated himself from the crowd and walked off to the side of the big yard. From here, right at the tree line, he could see everything clearly. The house, the people; all familiar in a way that made his heart feel warm, like it had been wrapped up in cotton.

The song ended, and everyone applauded. The band started up a new song – a faster one – to the whoops and claps of the crowd, and the dance had just started anew when the sky was lit up by a flash of lightning. The backyard was bathed in a shockingly white light for a fraction of a second, followed by a loud boom which seemed to shake the earth and rattle the windows of the house. People screamed and ducked before realizing that it was only thunder, at which point nervous laughter spread through the crowd instead.

Then the rain started. Up until this point, Steve had barely noticed the way the sky had darkened – had assumed, in the back of his head, that it was because it was getting later – but now he looked up and saw that the reason why it was darker was that the sky was heavy with thick grey clouds. Another flash of lightning struck somewhere close by, and the rain intensified from one second to the next.

Chaos ensued. People dispersed from the yard like cockroaches; men and women both snagged whatever they could off the tables and ran for the house. Carol’s aunts grabbed whoever they could reach and directed them to carry the cake inside to save it while the band scrambled to protect their gear against the rain. Meanwhile, the air was full of the rumbling of thunder and the sound of people shrieking and laughing as they fled the open space of the backyard. And in the middle of it all, alone on the suddenly abandoned lawn, were Tommy and Carol – laughing and kissing in the downpour, still dancing to music no one else could hear and getting their fancy clothing all wet.

Steve couldn’t help but smile at the sight of them.

But then it suddenly registered how the rain wet his suit and seeped into the fabric and ruined his carefully arranged hair, and he made a run for it, too. People were still cramming into the house, though, so instead he headed for the old gazebo at the edge of the woods, where he and Tommy had played for hours and hours when they were kids. It was run down nowadays and could use a paint job, but the roof was intact and it would be enough to protect him against the rain.

Just when he ducked in under it, though, someone else came running from the other direction to take refuge under the same roof, and in the flash of another lightning, Steve found himself facing Billy Hargrove, who he up until now had only seen snippets of in the crowd. They both stopped at opposite edges of the gazebo, water dripping from their clothes and hair – although Billy seemed to have gotten off lighter, since he’d come from the cover of the trees.

“Harrington,” Billy said as the thunder rumbled, one side of his mouth tipping up in a leering smile as he shook his head to get the wet tendrils out of his face. “Long time no see.”

It had been a long time, was the thing. Steve hadn’t really seen him since graduation day when Billy had sped out of the parking lot immediately after the ceremony. According to Tommy, he hadn’t gone back to California though, like everyone had expected – no, he’d ended up in Indianapolis, of all places. Steve had been surprised to hear it, since he hadn’t gotten the impression that Billy liked Indiana. But perhaps his dislike had only applied to Hawkins.

“Hargrove,” Steve said cautiously with an acknowledging nod, and watched as Billy’s smile widened. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Nah,” the man said. “I live in Indy now.”

Steve nodded, but didn’t speak as he shook his sleeves to get rid of the excess water droplets, and they fell into silence. It wasn’t really an awkward kind of silence, despite their history, because the rain beating down on the roof was too loud for casual conversation anyway. Steve twirled the glass he was still holding between his fingers, and downed it. He put the empty glass down on the railing and looked out across the yard, considering if it was worth it to cross the yard in this weather.

Everything looked grey in the rain, and the house was barely visible due to the downpour. Tommy and Carol had disappeared, and all that was left on the lawn were the abandoned tables and scattered and overturned plastic chairs.

Out of the corner of his eye, Steve saw Billy come up next to him, but keeping a respectful distance.

“Nice party,” Billy commented, his voice more audible now when he was closer.

Steve couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or not, but before the rain had hit it had been a nice party, so, “Yes,” he said simply, “it is.”

Billy huffed out a breath. “It suits them. A wedding party as stormy as their relationship.”

It rankled, for some reason, to hear Billy talk about Tommy and Carol like that, even though Steve knew that what he’d said was true. Billy hadn’t known them for more than a couple of years – what did he know? “You think you know them so well?” he couldn’t help saying.

Billy peered at him and then turned to face him. “You think you do?”

Which, as much as he hated to admit it, was fair. Steve had been the one to pull away from Tommy and Carol back in school, while Billy had spent most of senior year at their side. And Steve knew that they were still in contact with Billy, that they’d been visiting him in Indy a couple of times, even. He just didn’t like to be called out on it. But he wasn’t about to argue. The last time he’d argued with Billy, he’d ended up on the floor of the Byers’ house with a concussion. So, “Maybe not,” he said between clenched teeth and a stiff smile. He turned to Billy to say a polite goodbye, planning on making a run for the house after all – that cake had looked good, and he wanted a piece – but the words died on his tongue as it registered that Billy was shirtless under his suit jacket. Not just wearing a shirt that was half-unbuttoned, like he’d expected – no, there was simply no shirt at all.

He stared for a moment too long, because Billy let out a laugh and said, “My eyes are up here, Harrington.”

Face burning, Steve’s eyes snapped up to Billy’s, expecting to see a mean smirk or calculating eyes. Instead, he was met with a smile and eyes glittering with mischief. It made him want to relax and tense up at the same time, not knowing what to expect. “Where’s your shirt?” he blurted out, in a too-obvious attempt at distraction. He had to have been wearing a shirt earlier – Steve doubted that the priest would have let him inside the church if he hadn’t been wearing one.

“Someone spilled wine on it,” Billy replied, still smiling.

“And, what?” Steve said. “Carol just let you walk around with no shirt on at her wedding?”

Billy took a step closer so Steve could hear the purr in his voice as he said in a low voice, “Carol was the one who spilled the wine. Accidentally, of course.” He raised one eyebrow. “She was also the one that pointed out I couldn’t very well walk around with a shirt with a wine stain on it. She basically begged me to take it off. And who am I to argue with the bride on her wedding day?”

Of course. Steve wasn’t even surprised, Carol had always had a wandering eye – and even Steve had to admit that Billy was nice to look at. “And Tommy was okay with that?”

“Tommy had no complaints,” Billy said, voice low and rumbling like the thunder overhead.  “I caught him staring, too. Kinda like you, just now.”

The reminder brought a flush to Steve’s face, and he took a step back. Desperate to change the subject, he grasped for something, anything to ask.

“What were you doing in the woods?” was what he came up with.

Billy leaned back so he was half-sitting, half-leaning on the wooden railing, comfortable as you will while giving Steve his space. “Had to take a piss.”

“In the woods?” Steve asked, struggling to regain his composure after Billy had knocked him off-balance by getting so close and being so … shirtless and sultry. “Classy as always, Hargrove.”

“Have you seen the queue to the bathroom?” Billy cackled. “It was the woods, or piss my pants. And then I’d been without a shirt and pants, and then the horny little newlyweds would probably have ravaged me right there on the lawn.”

Pointedly not thinking about Billy out of his pants, Steve snorted. “You wish.”

Billy made a so-so motion and shrugged. “I mean, none of them would be my first pick, but it’d be rude to ruin their big day by refusing …”

Steve clenched his teeth. He knew he was being baited, knew he shouldn’t ask. He really shouldn’t ask.

“Who’d be your first pick, then?”

Fuck.

Billy’s eyes were sparkling with delight at Steve playing along with whatever game this was, and he flicked his eyes down Steve’s body, making sure to take his time as he dragged it up again. When he met Steve’s eyes, looking at him under his lashes, he bit his bottom lip and said, “Wouldn’t you like to know, pretty boy?”

Steve had to work to get enough spit in his mouth to swallow. Billy just stayed there, leaning back, watching. Waiting. His suit jacket was open, showing off his chest, still damp from the rain – or was it sweat? His eyes were hooded and his hair fell in messy curls over his shoulders, longer than they’d been when Steve last saw him. Steve wanted to grab a handful and pull, which was an insane urge that would probably get him killed if he gave in to it. Billy oozed danger; like a tiger in tall grass, waiting for its prey to get close enough to go for the kill. But it was a decidedly different kind of danger than he’d exuded back in high school. Back then, the end result would have been a beating. Now?

Steve was startled to realize that he kind of wanted to find out.

But playing along just to see where this would lead would be stupid, and dangerous, and Steve had had enough of being stupid and running into danger to last him for a lifetime. He much preferred to face the threat head on. Which was why he straightened up and stood with both feet steady on the ground as he asked, “Okay, what is this?”

It seemed to throw Billy off, but only for a moment. His smile faltered, but was quick to reappear. “What is what?”

“This,” Steve said, motioning between the two of them. “What are you trying to … What are you saying, exactly? What is this? Are you flirting with me?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

Doubt made him impatient, and he was a second away from stomping his foot like toddler. Swallowing against sudden bile, he huffed, “Cut the crap, Hargrove. We both know you hated me in school, so what the fuck are you –“

“What? I never hated you,” Billy interrupted, looking honestly surprised.

Which just added to Steve’s ire. “What do you mean? Of course you did! You were a right asshole, you were on my case all the time, wouldn’t leave me alone at practice or in the hallways. You beat me up!”

That elicited a reaction. Billy pushed off the railing and mirrored Steve’s posture, feet planted and arms at his side. Not threatening yet, but ready for a brawl. “Okay, first of all, you lied to me about my sister’s whereabouts after she’d gone missing, when I finally found her in that weird house in the woods with you and a bunch of boys. That was super sketchy, and I won’t apologize for what I did, back then. You deserved that.” Steve took a breath – to say what, he didn’t know – but Billy continued before he could speak. “As for the rest of it …” He shrugged and turned his head so he was looking out over the lawn. Another flash lit up the world, and for that bright white second, he looked uncertain. When the rumble of thunder followed, it almost drowned out his voice. “I liked you.”

Sure he’d misheard, Steve blinked and shook his head slightly as if to clear it. “I’m sorry, what?”

Billy took a deep breath, and pulled on the mask of confidence like someone else would pull on a jacket; he straightened his shoulders and turned back to Steve with a cocky smile that was too wide to be real. “I used to crush real hard on you, man. Guess I didn’t handle it very well.”

He was pulling Steve’s leg – it had to be a joke.

“You’re joking.”

“I’m not, actually.”

“But you slept with like, half the girls at school!”

“So?”

Frustrating! Billy was so frustrating. Was he seriously standing here, telling him he used to have a crush on Steve, and that that was why he was such an asshole in school?

“I don’t believe you,” Steve all but spat.

Shrugging, again with just a little too much flair to be real, Billy took a breath and turned away, as if to leave. “Believe what you want, then. I’m out of here. Have a nice life.”

Steve’s hand shot out before he could think it through, grabbing Billy by the arm to stop him from leaving. Billy didn’t speak, just turned his head slowly to look down at Steve’s fingers around his bicep. Then, just as slowly, he looked up at Steve. There was something wary in the way he looked, but there was steel in his eyes and voice when he spoke; “Didn’t know you were so homophobic, Harrington.” Steve reeled at what he saw in Billy’s eyes; words that were supposed to be a joke, which hid a threat, which hid … vulnerability?

He pulled his hand off the other man’s arm as if he’d been burned. “I’m not. Homophobic, I mean.” Billy watched him cautiously, and Steve babbled on. “One of my best friend is a homo. I mean, she –“ Shut up, Steve! “I mean, I don’t have anything against –“

“Fags?”

The word cut through the air between them just as another flash of lighting lit up the sky. They stood in silence while waiting for the accompanying thunder to pass – it took longer this time, so maybe the storm was waning – and when the only sound was the noise of the rain around them, Steve opened his mouth to speak, but found that he couldn’t. The silence grew to discomfort, and something in Billy’s posture crumbled. He smiled, sardonically, and looked down at his own two feet. “Great talk, Harrington. See you around.”

Steve didn’t reach out this time, but he called out “Wait!”, and Billy froze. “I don’t have anything against … fags,” Steve said, rushing to get the words out and not caring if the words were right or wrong. “I really don’t. I have friends who are like that, and, and. It would be pretty hypocritical of me, actually, considering my first kiss was Tommy!” His eyes widened and he sucked in a breath – he hadn’t meant to admit to that – but it worked, as in that it drew a surprised laugh out of Billy.

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.” In for a penny, and all that. Steve braved a smile and gave a one-shouldered shrug that probably failed at making him look indifferent. “We were like, nine or ten, and he was crushing hard on Carol even then, and we got it in our heads that no girl would want to kiss someone who didn’t know what he was doing. So … we practiced. With each other.”

Billy still looked guarded, but there was a small smile playing on his lips even as he said, “Kid’s stuff, Harrington. It doesn’t count.”

“Well,” Steve said and swallowed in preparation for taking the plunge. “We continued practicing until our second year in high school, so …”

That got a reaction. “No shit? You and Hagan?”

“Why are you surprised? You just said that Tommy ogled your bare chest when Carol got you shirtless. You have to have suspected.”

“Tommy being at least half gay doesn’t surprise me, I’m pretty sure he and Carol are plotting to try to get me into bed with them on their wedding night as we speak … But you! King Steve.” He looked honestly flabbergasted, but there was delight tinting the surprise. “You’re shitting me.”

It was a thrill to be able to throw Billy’s words from earlier back in his face. “I’m not, actually.”

“Huh,” Billy said. He didn’t look like he was planning on leaving any time soon. “How about that. The biggest womanizer in the history of Hawkins’ High … playing for the other team?”

“Now, now,” Steve said, holding a hand out. “I wouldn’t say that. I like girls. I just …” He thought about everything he and Robin had been talking about, and finally decided on, “I’m just an equal-opportunity guy, I guess.”

“Really?” Billy said, and looked almost impressed.

Steve felt warm under his gaze. “Yup.”

“So …” Billy said, and that mischievous glint was back in his eye. “Did you ever …” He made some lewd gesture, complete with raised eyebrows, “… with both of them? Tommy and Carol?”

Steve was pretty sure that the way he blushed at that question was answer enough. By the way Billy threw his head back and cackled, it was.

“Shut up! It was one time!”

“Oh this is too good! Wow! You are such a slut.”

“You’re the one to talk!” Steve said, but he couldn’t help smiling because this felt … this felt more like friendly ribbing than anything else.

Billy ignored him. “Oh my god. You should have brought that up in a speech during the dinner.”

Steve actually hadn’t done a speech. Instead he’d bought the happy couple a set of expensive kitchen appliances, and called it a day.

“Yeah, well. It’s not exactly something that one should speak of out loud in Hawkins.”

That had a sobering effect on Billy. His smile dimmed. “Don’t I know it.”

Their whole conversation had been a roller-coaster and Steve still didn’t feel all too stable in it, but Billy looked almost wistful – so much unlike the Billy he remembered from a year ago – that he couldn’t help but ask. “Is that why you …?” When Billy looked over, he made a face. “You know. Went out with all those girls?”

Billy exhaled and tilted his head to the side. “I mean, yeah. There’s no better place to hide than in a crowd.”

Silence descended on them again, but it wasn’t so awkward this time. And this time, Steve was the one to break it.

“So … are you also an equal-opportunity … player? Or …?”

“Oh,” Billy said, then shook his head. “No.” And for a second, Steve felt a thrill of fear run through him, suddenly convinced that Billy had been lying in order to get blackmail material on him. But then Billy continued, “No, I was never really into … girls.”

Steve raised his eyebrows, mind whirring. “Huh.”

“Yeah.”

It was weird. There must have been something about this particular place, and this particular moment. The two of them were standing in a run-down gazebo, rain beating down on everything around them and separating them from the outside world. It was like they were in their own little bubble, outside time and space. It felt as if everything revealed here was … safe. In that way, it didn’t feel real.

“Why are you telling me this?” Steve asked, softly. Because he suddenly had a lot of things that he would have to think about, but that question was on the forefront of his mind.

“Because …” Billy started, and hesitated. Like he wasn’t sure himself. “Because I don’t live in Hawkins anymore,” he decided. “No one here can hurt me.” His eyes flicked to Steve at that, as if to make sure that Steve didn’t mean any harm. When Steve didn’t move, he relaxed a fraction. “And because … I saw you today, and.” He cut himself off, looking down at his shoes. Scuffing one against the wood underneath his feet. “And I think I might have lied to you, just now.”

Furrowing his brow, Steve tensed up. “What?”

“I said I had a crush on you,” Billy said, and Steve had time to feel crushing disappointment in the split-part of a second before Billy added, “But I think that I still do, actually.”

And before he knew it or could react, Billy was in his space and his hands were in Steve’s hair on either side of his face, and that was Billy’s lips on his and –

– and time stood still. Like if lightning had stuck him where he stood, the world lit up with white light and electricity. Gone was the sound of the falling rain and the rumble of thunder, gone was the house and the woods and the lawn, gone were the whole world outside of this gazebo, outside of this moment. His heartbeat made its way through his body drumming like an army marching to war. Steve didn’t breathe, didn’t blink – just existed in this moment where there was only Billy, and Billy’s lips on his.

And then the world turned white for real and shook with a boom, and they jumped apart. Billy swore and ducked over the railing to check the sky.

“Shit,” he said. “That was a close one.”

Steve’s whole body was tingling, the hairs on his arms standing up. The air smelled crisp, and he wasn’t sure if it was because of the lightning, or because of the kiss. Maybe both.

“We should …” he said, a bit shakily. “We should get inside. It’s not safe out here.”

Billy glanced at him, with a hint of apprehension that might as well have been a blaring neon sign pointing at his head. He was obviously nervous about Steve’s reaction to the kiss.

“You worrying about me, pretty boy?” he said, but his voice shook a little, as if he was struggling to hold on to the confident façade. And Steve marveled, because had he always been this transparent? He couldn’t believe he’d been fooled by Billy’s cocky attitude back in school.

“Well,” Steve said, and pointedly looked down at Billy’s bare chest. “It wouldn’t do to deprive Tommy and Carol of their eye candy on their wedding day, now would it?”

Relief, in the form of a smile. “Eye candy, huh?”

“Well,” Steve said, and gestured kind of helplessly to Billy. All of him.

The smile grew. “I’m staying at Motel 6 when I’m in town,” Billy said, apropos of nothing.

They both drifted forward, and were suddenly in each other’s space. The thunder rolled over the sky, but without a flash this time. The rain wasn’t coming down as hard anymore. The storm was abating.

“Uh-huh.”

“So I was thinking …” Steve watched, mesmerized, as Billy bit his lip; watched with bated breath as his Adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed. “If you want to, you could stop by tonight … after the party …?”

“Yeah?”

“And we could …” He exhaled on a laugh. “Practice kissing some more.”

Steve leaned back, if only to attempt an insulted gasp. “You think I need the practice?”

Billy honest-to-God giggled. Fuck, Steve was screwed.

“I don’t know, Harrington. You don’t exactly seem to be a hit with the ladies these days.”

“Hey!” Accurate, but still. “I get around.”

“Uh-huh,” Billy said with a smirk. “You do know your date is a lesbian, right?”

That actually had Steve take a step back, mouth open. He didn’t think he’d let that particular cat out of the bag, Robin was going to kill him –

“Relax, I saw her smooching with Heather in the pantry after dinner,” Billy said, which – huh. Way to go, Robs. “And also, I clocked her on my first week in Hawkins. No straight girl draws boobs on her shoes.” He gave Steve a significant look. “Like knows like, I guess.”

Steve didn’t have time to answer, before another lightning lit up the sky – further away this time, though, and the rumbling of thunder took some time to reach their ears. When he turned to look at the house, he could clearly see the lit-up windows and the people milling about inside. When concentrating, he could hear music coming from inside, and he realized that he could only do that because the rain had slowed to a drizzle.

Their bubble was gone.

“We should probably …” He gestured towards the house.

“Yeah.”

Not knowing what to say, he only managed an awkward, “So …”

Billy rescued him with an all-too-aloof, “So, I’ll see you later?”

Steve could feel himself grinning. “Yeah. Room 10, right?”

Billy matched his grin. “Room 10.”

“It’s a date,” Steve said, heart fluttering, and grabbed his empty champagne glass. “Now let’s get out of this rain. I want some cake!”

[thebibliosphere]

Fellow adhd writer, how do I stick with a single topic and finish it? I could always manage my academic papers well enough but I’ve been trying to write fic for the last few years and can’t ever seem to finish one before another idea grabs me and I keep following one idea after the other

So, the way I manage that, is I often have more than one project going on at once. Being able to alternate between them provides my shiny crow brain with enough stimulation and variety to prevent me from getting bored.

I also keep a word document of "random thoughts that won't leave me tf alone," where I scribble things down to get the idea and impulse to follow it out of my head.

If I still can't stop thinking about it, I'll start planning it out. Devoting that level of attention to something will do one of two things for me. One, I'll have the outline for my next WIP done, or two, my brain will go, "aw, you want to make this into work?" and drop it like a hot potato.

To make progress on current projects, I set small daily goals. On average days, my minimum creative word count is 500.

Which, by the way, is often on par with the goal professional, award-winning writers set for themselves. Being able to write tens of thousands of words in a day sure is a thing some people are capable of (I am when I'm hyperfixating), but it's not sustainable, and you may be setting yourself up for burnout--especially if you try to maintain it longterm.

On bad days, I will reduce it to "okay, let's do a half hour and see how far I get." If I'm able to trap my attention, great. I'll keep going until I meet my goal.

If I can't, I accept that today is a low-attention day and acknowledge that I likely need more sleep, food, or stimulating recreation to give my brain both a rest and a boost. I do not consider these lost or failed days. They are all part of the productive, creative cycle and necessary. This is true whether you are NT or ND.

Body doubling can also be very helpful for those of us who work better with others present. I do body doubling with friends or people in my Discord sometimes. (Starting that up again soon, folks, just as soon as I get the okay to start working more from the eye doctor!) So if that sounds like something you'd enjoy, try asking friends if they'd like to set time aside to write together. Shared productivity can be beneficial for keeping ADHD and other flavors of ND on track.

If you lose all interest in a project. Shelve it and follow one of the other WIPS. Sometimes you need to be in a better place to work on certain things, and that's okay.

Some people thrive with a stricter structure than that, but this is what works for me. Small goals, allowing myself the time to follow diversions (while also trying to meet daily goals), and taking the time out to ensure I'm getting enough good stimulation in other ways. Took me a while in therapy to figure out a healthy work-life balance, but that's mine.

I hope that helps or provides a greater sense of solidarity.

[got-into-worm-by-mistake]

Gestation 1.3 Live Reactions

(This is me, writing reactions as I read, because why the fuck not. They're not complete, mature thoughts taken after I sit back and evaluate what I've read. Consider them as such)

My training schedule consisted of running every morning and every other afternoon.  In the process, I had picked up a pretty good knowledge of the east side of the city.  Growing up in Brockton Bay, my parents had told me stuff like “stick to the Boardwalk”.  Even on my runs, I had scrupulously stayed on the Boardwalk and avoided the bad part of town.  Now it was Sunday night and I was in costume and breaking the rules.

Running off the boardwalk in the middle of the night in costume looking for crime to fight feels like the least of your rulebreaking, Taylor.

Just moving from one block to the next, you could see the change in the area.  As I made my way into the Docks, I could see the quality of my surroundings decline steeply.  There were enough warehouses and apartments in the area for even the most destitute to find shelter, so the only people on the streets were unconscious drunks, whores and gang members.  I steered clear of any and all people I saw and ventured further into the area.

I always love it in stories where the setting becomes a character, and from what I hear, that's definitely going to be the case for the city of Brockton Bay.

 Anyone paying attention to the local cockroach population might think something was up,

That, I think, would be a list that would include exactly zero people at this point. Even exterminators wouldn't be 'paying attention' to the cockroach population, per se.

I knew who these guys were.  They were members from the local gang that left the tags ‘Azn Bad Boys’, ABB for short, all over the East end of the city.  More than a few went to my school.  As far as the criminal element in Brockton Bay went, they weren’t small potatoes.  While the typical gang members were just Koreans, Japanese, Vietnamese and Chinese forcibly recruited from Brockton Bay’s high schools and lower class neighborhoods, the gang was led by a couple of people with powers.  Gangs didn’t tend to be that racially inclusive as far as who joined, so it said something that their leader had the ability to draw in members from so many different nationalities and keep them in line.

Ah yes, the ABB. One of the parts of Worm that I gather ages poorly, and may not have been all that well thought out. But that's hardly surprising, nor a black mark against Wildbow or Worm.

As for it being so ethnically diverse, I'd say that has as much to do with how everyone is grouped together under the 'Asian' heading here in the US, rather than Lung being particularly open-minded. Though I could be wrong.

He went by ‘Lung’, had successfully gone toe to toe with whole teams of heroes and had managed to keep himself out of jail, as evidenced by his presence here.  As for his powers, I only knew what I could scrounge up online, and there were no guarantees there.  I mean, for all I knew, he could have misled people about what his powers did, he could have a power he was keeping up his sleeve for an emergency, or he could even have a very subtle power that people couldn’t see at work.

Another cool choice, especially given what I gather is Taylor's penchant for Puzzle-boss wins later on, as it were. Also one of the reasons why information really is so vitally useful in Worm, and how Taylor's powers are key for that.

Most conventional superhero verses I'm familiar with definitely lend themselves more to an approach where a supervillain or superhero's powerset is largely established - obviously DC and Marvel can't avoid that, but even other superhero media seems to have that too.

But the internet is full of lies, mistakes and misrepresentations. Really makes you wonder what the in-universe wikipedia entry for Superman is like tho.

I decided to move away from where I was and find a better vantage point to monitor their conversation, which seemed like a good compromise between my curiosity and my self preservation. 

Very fair. Going against the fire-breathing armored dude who can eventually become a dragon does seem hazardous to one's health.

They were going to kill kids?

And so the Wormverse turns. Had she not heard the word 'Children', or had Lung used a different word, or just said 'The Undersiders' or whatever...

1.3 doesn't really seem to have a whole lot going on honestly but it isn't nothing, and sometimes you just need a bit of a bridging chapter.

[acourtofwhatthefuck]

Fireleaf (Part Eight)

Lucien Vanserra x Reader

Hiiii everyone. Hope you’re all doing well! So sorry that this part took a little while longer than usual to get out — I’ve been quite unwell for the past week and have been writing in between bouts of intense pain 😅 I also wanted to get this chapter just right because I think it was one of the first ideas @greeneyedivy and I bounced around right at the beginning of planning Fireleaf — the Hunting Trip 😏we’ve had a good few conversations mapping this one out in detail and hope you enjoy!

Sorry if there’s any mistakes or poor writing along the way! This chapter ended up being so long that we decided to split it into two parts, so the next part will be up tomorrow or the day after! <3

Warnings: Some angst, mentions of homophobia, Jareth Vanserra being a first class cunt.

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

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It was a rare occasion on which all the Vanserras sat down to dine together.

Perched between Dion and Eris, with Lucien directly opposite you, you couldn’t help but long for the private dinners that you and Dion usually shared alone. Sometimes with the addition of a brother or two, but — never usually with the High Lord at the head of the table. The Lady of Autumn sat silently opposite.

And certainly never, ever with Lucien.

You were so uncomfortable, so tense, it was a wonder you didn’t bend your fork out of shape with how hard you gripped it. And with the heavy silence around the table, the lack of conversation, your heartbeats were a heavy drumbeat in your ears. Probably everyone else’s, too.

It seemed like ages — ages — before Dion cleared his throat and dragged everyone’s attention to him.

“So, father,” He said, helping himself to a portion of potatoes and dishing some onto your plate, also, “may I ask what you wished to speak with us about?”

You hated the formality with which he spoken to his own father. No love, no tenderness. You couldn’t help wondering if Beron had ever hugged any of them.

Beron nodded, sipping from his chalice of wine. “The Hunt is coming up.”

Around the table, a small murmur of enthusiasm broke out between Rian and Jareth. They grinned at each other, and even Eris seemed to sit up with interest.

“I won’t be attending this year, unfortunately,” Beron said. “There are far more pressing matters at hand that I need to prioritise. But I still expect you to attend. To represent our household.”

Beside you, Dion dipped his chin. “Of course. We wouldn’t miss it.”

“What’s The Hunt?” You blurted. The mere sound of your voice dragged a steely gaze from Beron, straight onto you.

He studied you — like he was weighing up whether you were even worth answering — before swirling another mouthful of wine. “I suppose the event wouldn’t be on your radar, given that your household is overrun with females, and your father is more brain than muscle.” He sat back, resting his hands on the arm of his chair. “On the same three days every year, it’s said that certain ancient Autumn beasts roam the woodlands – different beasts to the ones we made offerings to during the Harvest Festival. Darker ones. The males of the court partake in a hunt and attempt to ensnare said beasts to bring home victory.”

No — you’d never heard of it. Never been aware of an influx of males gathering in the wild at the same time every year. But then, your family’s estate wasn’t particularly wooded, and he wasn’t wrong about your father…

It was just an example of how sheltered your life had been so far. One hundred and thirty one years in a court, and you were still learning new things about it. And that sheltering would no doubt get worse when you became a Vanserra.

“It’s not really a serious thing,” Dion explained beside you, a soft smile playing on his lips. “The beasts everyone hunts for probably don’t even exist. None of us has ever seen them. But it’s all in good fun.”

“Three whole days of exchanging luxury for nature and fresh air.” Eris nodded. “There’s nothing more freeing than being out in the wild.”

Freeing. Your heart flipped at the thought. Of being away from the estate. Of breathing in the fresh air and sleeping under the stars and not having to behave a certain way. It was just what you needed—

“And what about you?” Beron said, his voice dripping with distaste as he pointed his fork at Lucien. “Will you be joining your brothers?”

Lucien cocked an eyebrow. “I never choose to partake. Why would I do so now?”

“I’d like to go,” You blurted, sitting up.

Everyone turned their eyes on you. Nobody said a word.

Until, across the table, Jareth snorted. “Females can’t partake in The Hunt.”

The statement didn’t surprise you in the least. You’d heard enough comments like it, in the time you’d been at the Vanserra Estate, to last you a lifetime.

You’d learned that there were apparently very few things a female could do, besides bear children. But that didn’t sit right with you.

“Oh?” You cocked your head at Jareth. “And why is that? Do you fear the exertion will cause our wombs to fall out?”

Someone spluttered around the table, and it was an effort for you not to snort. Your attention was drawn away from Jareth and back to Beron as he very pointedly placed his chalice down.

He seemed to be trying hard to stop his lip from curling as he said, “It’s a male-only event. No females.”

You…you stared back at him — just like you had in his office, that morning after the hamlet fire. A stare that told him that he didn’t intimidate you. You weren’t scared of him, his opinions. And he hated it.

“What’s the worst that could happen?” You forced a ditzy, saccharine smile onto your face. “I won’t get in the way while the big, tough males chase after the beasts. Perhaps I’ll find a rock to perch myself upon and make pretty friendship bracelets for everyone out of the wildflowers.”

Silence. Such tense, thick silence. You were trying not to smirk. Beron’s jaw was ticking—

A kick landed on your leg beneath the table, and you jolted. Looked up to glare at Lucien. He didn’t meet your eyes, but the action in itself had been warning enough. Stop baiting the damn High Lord.

Beside you, Dion cleared his throat. “Actually, father,” he said, “it might not be such a bad idea to take Y/N along with us. For her to see more of the court before we marry. She’ll be expected to travel with me on occasion, anyway, as my wife.”

Beron’s gaze barely flickered to Dion before he stared at you once more. Assessing. His eyes were so, so cold; you wondered if they were capable of holding warmth.

“You know,” He said, picking an invisible piece of lint from his jacket, “After Barric visited your family’s estate, he warned me about you. Told me all about you and your sisters.” The room was so, so still, barely sharing a breath as he smirked. “You have Molly — the beautiful one. A true lady. And Sara — not as pretty, but still dashing, even if she doesn’t have anything but air between her ears. Clementine was a little harder to suss out; very private, that one, but the rumour is that she only married to cover up the fact that she favours females. And Willow, the quiet and kind one. Perhaps a bit of a dark horse…”

Both you and Dion stiffened. Beneath the table, you squeezed his leg once.

“And then there’s you,” Beron’s eyes flicked over you, down and back up, their lifeless depths landing on your face, “the feral one. The one who didn’t seem to have secured herself a husband, because she was too busy running her family ragged with her wild antics. It confused me, I must say, why Dion insisted on volunteering your name above real, respectable ladies. But then it struck me — how he always had an affinity, as a boy, for taking in stray animals and trying to tame them. Domesticate them. It seems he never grew out of that.”

You could have heard a pin drop around the table, from the way everyone seemed to be holding their breaths. And you tried — tried so hard to not let it show on your face, how his words got to you. You didn’t care about his opinion of you, but…to be compared to your sisters. To be singled out as the imperfect, unwanted one…

You supposed it hit a sore spot.

Beron suddenly rose from his chair. With a wave of his hand, all plates disappeared from the table; nobody so much as blinked.

“This meal is over.” He said, turning his steeled gaze onto Dion. “If you wish to take the feral cat on The Hunt with you, by all means, be my guest.” He strode to the door without a look back, merely spitting, “but on your head be it, son, when it lashes out.”

⤲

“Fancy a game of cards?”

Dion’s hand hovered at the small of your back. The tension seemed to have followed you out of the dining room, Beron’s words leaving a gaping wound that you wanted to prod at alone. You had a feeling that Dion had sensed how withdrawn you’d become in the last half hour.

“I’m actually really tired, so…I’m gonna go to bed.” The two of you stopped at the frosted glass doors to the games room. “…but you were serious, right? About me coming on The Hunt?”

“Completely serious.” He nodded. “There’s absolutely no reason that a female can’t partake. And besides,” he nudged you gently, “I’ll need you to keep me sane, with Jareth to contend with.”

Laughing softly, you squeezed his hand. “Goodnight, then.”

With a smile, he slipped into the games room, where Eris, Jareth and Rian were already waiting with glasses of whiskey in hand. Where Lucien had disappeared to straight after dinner, you had no clue.

Nor did you know why you even bothered to wonder about it.

You heaved a soft sigh as you dragged your tired feet up the grand staircase. You hated letting Beron get to you, but…ignoring his vicious words was no easy feat, when he seemed to know exactly which ones to wield to cut you deepest. It was why you couldn’t help baiting him, even if it was a fucking terrible idea to do so.

Upstairs, you turned into the hallway that peeled off into your suite.

And stopped dead at the sight of Lucien leaning against your door.

He cut a casual figure — the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up, the first few buttons undone. His hair flowed brilliantly around him, and in the dim lighting, his eyes seemed even darker. Or perhaps that was the taut expression that pulled at his features.

You cast a subtle glance over your shoulder — just to check nobody lingered nearby — before you shook off your surprise and approached him.

“Why are you outside my room?” You demanded, forcing yourself to making eye contact. And to keep visions of his cock and your mouth out of your head.

“I was waiting,” he pushed off the door, “to ask what the fuck is wrong with you.”

You stopped again. Raised your eyebrows. “Pardon me?”

“Baiting my father like that. Do you have a death wish?”

“Huh.” You tilted your head. You could see damn well how much it irritated him. “Good question. Perhaps I do. Excuse me.”

You pushed past him, your hand barely touching the door knob before he was shoving into your way again.

“You’re not going on that hunt.” He said.

You stared up at him, raising your eyebrows. And the severity that lined his face told you how serious he was — that he actually believed he could make such statements and order you around.

But Lucien Vanserra, of all people, was not going to tell you what you could or couldn’t do.

And you could have told him that, but…you knew what would irritate him most. What would goad him, in whatever game this was that you were playing.

So you said nothing. Simply looked him up and down, and snickered a quiet laugh.

And then you stepped around him, shoving into your room, and shut the door in his face.

⤲

She was actually going on that godsdamn hunt.

Lucien laid sprawled across his bed, a book pressed to his bare chest as he stared up at the ceiling.

The fucking Hunt. Lucien hated it — had hated it the first time he partook, and had hated it just as much the last time. It was around two decades earlier that he’d put his foot down and refused to attend any longer. Fuck what his father or brothers thought.

It was just an excuse for males to flounce through the forests for a few days, pretending to search for creatures that didn’t even exist while they egged each other on to become their most vulgar, sexist selves. Lucien had been privy to one too many conversations of said males gloating about various sexual conquests and talking about females like utter brutes. He hated it. Hated the environment. Hated that those were the kinds of males that Beron had always wished Lucien would be. Beasts and creatures themselves.

And if Y/N were to throw herself into the middle of that…

He didn’t know why he was thinking about it so much. There was no guarantee that their hunting party would even come across any others; Lucien, himself, had been on plenty of hunts where it had just been him and his brothers for those three days, not once running into the males of other Autumn houses.

But suppose they did, this time, with Y/N alongside them. The only female. A female who didn’t seem to know how to keep her damn mouth shut.

That fucking mouth, indeed. Lucien needed to stop thinking about it. To stop imagining it wrapped around his cock and sucking him dry. If he fisted himself to release over it any more times, he’d be no better than he had been in his youth.

He was getting sick of this — of every night ending the same. Him brooding about her. Thinking what to say the next time he saw her that would stick the knife in deep and make her stay away from him. That was all he wanted. For her to stay away. For her to stop having whatever this influence was, that she had on him.

That made him do something so appalling as fucking his brother’s fiancée.

Life was so much easier before she’d turned up. When he didn’t have to worry about running into her, about putting up with her smart mouth and quick temper—

And now she was going on The Hunt. The Mother knew what kind of trouble she would no doubt get herself into. He was almost tempted to tag along just for the amusement…

But the amusement was held at bay by the thing that was gnawing at his mind – brought on entirely by her words. She’d pretty much admitted back there that she did have a death wish. Did she mean it? He couldn’t decide. Couldn’t wrap his head around it.

Couldn’t bear the thought of things seeming so dire and grim, for her, that death would be a better alternative.

And if that were the case, well…it was an even worse idea for her to go on The Hunt. Who knew what reckless shit she would try without Lucien’s watchful gaze?

Did he want to go? Fuck no. Absolutely not. He totally didn’t give a shit about her spending three days in the wild with a group of males, his brothers or not.

He sighed softly to himself. Rubbed a hand over his bare, toned stomach and stroked the spine of his book. He couldn’t keep his thoughts from the matter at hand. Because if she was going…if they ran into the vile males that Lucien knew partook in the event…

He tried to shove it out of his mind, picking his book back up. Tried to focus on the words, the poetry that always clenched him beautifully within its fist and left him lost for words.

And in the storm, however brief

He bared himself for soil and leaf

And skin-to-skin, he branded her deep

With all his flames that burned beneath

He glared at the words. And they seemed to glare back. Something about them clanged around loudly in his head. Made something twist in his stomach, his heart.

If she went on that hunt—

He groaned to himself. Threw his book aside and rolled onto his front, burying into his pillow. He needed to stop fucking thinking about her. To get her far, far away from him. The sooner she married Dion, and they moved to their own territory, the better. Much better. Way better.

You keep telling yourself that, a voice in his head laughed at him. You know damn well you’re going on that hunt, too.

⤲

By the end of that week, cold, dry weather had begun to transform, and grey clouds were crowding the sky.

“We’ll only be gone three days,” Dion said, glancing up at the sky as he fastened your cloak around you. “Hopefully the storms will hold off until then.”

It was Friday morning — and far earlier than you usually liked to rise. But the excitement of getting away from the estate had made your sleep fitful, and you’d found yourself awake and ready before anyone else.

“Dion and I have to be back by Monday morning, anyway, for a meeting,” Eris explained from atop his horse. He rubbed the neck of the filly as he also peered at the darkening sky. “The storm is supposed to hit Sunday night, if that old crone in the village is to be believed.”

Dion snorted, watching as you mounted your own horse. “I’d take what she says with a pinch of salt, but…hopefully she’s right this time.”

“Mother above, can we go?” Jareth whined. “What’s with all the dawdling?”

You’d not even set off on the road yet, and he was already irritating you. Something about the look in his eyes when you’d entered the stables…it made you uneasy. He’d looked you up and down with a smirk, as though he was looking forward to your company for his own reasons.

Dion finally climbed up onto his mount, settling himself with stunning ease. “Quit your whining, you—”

His words were promptly cut off by the sudden figure approaching the stables

Every one of you looked up to see Lucien striding over, dressed appropriately for the chill air, sturdy boots on his feet, weapons strapped to his body. His hair was tied into a low ponytail at the nape of his neck.

Your eyes snagged on him. His muscled thighs in those tight riding breeches. The stark gold of his skin against the early morning light. All of his brothers blinked at him.

“Where are you going?” Eris asked.

Lucien barely glanced up as he approached his horse. “On The Hunt.”

“What?” Rian snorted. “You hate The Hunt.”

“Yeah. Well.” Lucien’s eyes briefly flashed to you — but not so brief that they didn’t burn. “I’ve decided to give it another try.”

“You—”

“That’s great, brother,” Dion quickly cut Jareth’s retort off. “The more the merrier. Ready your horse and we’ll go.”

Lucien dipped his chin, pushing into his horse’s stable. And you…you tried not to stare. To watch. To linger on the way he moved with such fluidity, such grace. Those strong fingers fastening the reins—

You swallowed, facing forward.

Unbeknownst to him, Lucien Vanserra had just made the next three days very difficult for you.

⤲

The first day wasn’t so bad.

Everyone was so eager, so pumped-up, that your group mainly spread out through the forest. Jareth and Rian went off alone, leaving you with Dion, Eris and Lucien. And — thankfully — you hadn’t run into any other hunting parties.

It didn’t even bother you that you were, essentially, fruitlessly hunting for nonexistent beings. After the four of you had successfully captured something real and tangible for your meal that night, it’d mostly been travel, languid rides through the woodlands and sprawls of green — and you loved it. The freedom was so heady, you felt giddy with it.

Lucien didn’t say much, though.

That first night, Jareth and Rian were still hunting while you and the other three Vanserras got settled into your camp and ate. It was peaceful without the two of them — the conversation sparse and easy and quiet, leaving you to sit in your thoughts by the fire with a full belly, your eyes already heavy with the day’s exertion. You were drifting off sat up, leant against Dion’s side, when Rian and Jareth finally burst through the trees; an unwanted injection of noise and ruckus.

“I’m telling you, you little shit.” Jareth said, slumping down opposite you. “I know what I saw.”

Rian snorted, grabbing for what was left of the food that you and the others had cooked. “You saw a deer.”

“It was way bigger than a deer. Huge.”

Stretching his arms behind his head, Eris raised an eyebrow in vague interest. “You saw something, Jareth?”

“He saw a deer—”

“It was massive. Some huge, horned beast, prowling through the trees.” Jareth’s eyes bounced over his brothers, as though he was looking for some indication of belief. When they landed on Lucien, though, he smirked. “Hey—maybe it was Lucien’s lover.”

You felt yourself stiffen. Felt the mild humour and ease around the fire fizzle out in seconds. What lurked in Jareth’s gaze was a beast in itself.

Lucien merely rolled his eyes. “What.”

“Tamlin.” Jareth shrugged. “He has horns in his beast form, doesn’t he? And the two of you are so close. All those solitary trips you’ve taken to the Spring Court, do you really expect us to believe you’re not letting the High Lord stick those horns somewhere where the sun doesn’t shine?”

You blinked — at the sheer viciousness in Jareth’s tone. Beside you, you heard Dion exhale a small sigh.

“You know, Jareth,” Lucien said. The casual tone of his voice suggested to you that this wasn’t the first time such words had been wielded. “You seem mighty fond of those horns. I can put in a good word for you, if you like.”

“Don’t make me sick—”

“Would that be a problem?” You snapped, your tone pure ice.

Everyone fell silent. Turned to look at you.

You ignored the rest of them. Locked eyes with Jareth. “What, exactly, would the issue be, Jareth, to have a family member who favours people of the same sex?”

“My father taught me — all of us — to have morals.”

“And yet,” you tilted your head, “you don’t believe everyone should be free to love who they love. Interesting.”

“I believe,” he gritted his teeth, “that females exist for males.”

Dion gently squeezed your arm. “Believe me, there’s no point—”

“And how’s that working out for you, Jareth?” You ignored him. “Because in the couple of months I’ve been around you, now, no female seems to exist for you. Perhaps they’re put off by the utter shit that comes out of your mouth.”

“You—”

“Unless the problem is a downstairs one, of course.” You cut him off, pointedly glancing at his crotch. “In which case, you needn’t fret. There are all sorts of enhancement tonics around these days. Although…if I were you, I’d request the highest dose.”

Across from you, Eris snorted — and Jareth…Jareth just gaped at you. Seemed to be scrambling to think of a response.

You didn’t give him a chance. You needed to walk away before you really ripped into him. Without a word, you stood from the log you were perched on.

Dion glanced up at you. “Y/N—”

“I need to pee.” Was all you said, not glancing back as you headed for the trees.

You’d only taken a few steps when behind you, Jareth had finally mustered a retort. Aimed at Dion, though, instead of you.

“Fucking hell.” He scowled. “Good luck marrying that, brother.”

⤲

Saturday was much the same. But something heavier hung in the air that second day. Perhaps the approaching storm, or…

Or perhaps the glares Jareth kept cutting you from his horse.

You left in the early morning once again, covering even greater distances than the day before. Areas of your own court that you’d never even heard about, let alone seen with your own eyes. You didn’t know how far from the Vanserra Estate you’d travelled when you reached your second location. More forestry awaited ahead, but you’d also glimpsed an outcropping of craggy cliffs and rocks jutting from within its belly, as though the trees had made their homes around the gaping pit of rocks and caves and refused to leave.

“It’s alleged,” Dion said from where he rode beside you on his horse, close enough to reach out and touch, “that a half-man-half-pig creature lives in these caves and can sniff out Fae blood from miles away.”

You snorted quietly. “Are you sure it’s not just Jareth?”

His head fell back as he snorted a laugh, leaning over to give a teasing prod to your side that had you yelping.

“We’ll split off into pairs to explore.” Eris said. “Me and Lucien. Rian and Jareth. And the happy couple. We’ll meet back here at sundown and find somewhere to camp.”

Your shoulders had thankfully relaxed at that. Not having to deal with Jareth all day — even his pathetic, icy stares — sounded like a good arrangement to you.

It turned out to be one of your favourite days with Dion yet. With the lines you’d drawn with each other clear and concise, all feelings out in the open, it gave you the opportunity to act like the friends that you were, without the pressure to force feelings and behave a certain way. You spent the day simply exploring, Dion regaling you with tales of previous hunts and you providing story after story about Willow. He swallowed the information greedily, and you knew from one flash of those sweet, brown eyes that he was utterly smitten.

The day, however, flew by. You couldn’t help feeling a knot of anticipation in your gut as you and Dion met back up with the other four.

Something in Jareth’s eyes told you he wasn’t too tired to stir up trouble. As usual.

“The storm should hold off,” Eris said, glancing up at the fading daylight as he mounted his horse. “Lucien and I found the perfect place to camp. It’s not too far from here.”

You could already feel the drop in temperature, the strange charge in the air that you could only assume was the gathering storm. Dion seemed to sense your discomfort, and he guided his mount closer to you as your party set off into a steady lope.

After a few minutes of silence, it was Dion who commented, “I take it nobody successfully hunted anything?”

Eris snorted from beside Jareth. “Nobody saw any horned beasts today?”

The quip dragged a light titter of laughter from the others — even Lucien. But Jareth glanced over his shoulder. Directly at you — as if you’d made the comment. And glared.

“You know,” He said, facing forward again. “From everything I’ve heard, Y/N, I expected you to have the most successful hunt. What with you having years of private training, and all.”

You could almost feel Dion stiffen beside you as you narrowed your eyes. Because your training…your skill…it wasn’t supposed to be common knowledge. Certainly not information that you wanted in Jareth’s brain, given what his twisted mind could no doubt do with it. You and Dion had specifically discussed it in one of the first conversations you’d had — that such things were not, under any circumstances, to get back to Beron. To end up in the wrong hands.

You turned your head to meet his gaze. He frowned at you, lifted his shoulders in a subtle shrug. “I haven’t told anyone anything,” he swore quietly.

“Anyway—”

“Your sister Molly and I,” Jareth cut off Eris’s interjection, “we had some mighty interesting conversations during the Harvest Festival. Tell me, Y/N, who is Linden, exactly?”

Even on horseback, you could feel the stillness that swept around the group — like the Vanserra males knew their brother all too well, and were holding their breaths for one of his showdowns. Lucien, who had been a few strides ahead, seemed to hang back, his eyes darting subtly to yours as he fell into stride with yours and Dion’s horses.

“…he’s a family friend.” You answered Jareth, your back ramrod straight.

There was an amused snort; from Jareth or Rian, you weren’t sure. But pure malice lurked within the sound.

“Huh. Right.” Jareth said, nodding. “Do you make a habit of fucking your family friends, then?”

Every single part of you went rigid.

You didn’t know where your tension ended and where Dion’s began. Didn’t know where to look or what to say or how to think, as you blinked forward, your body going ice-cold.

“See, Molly was telling me all about it. And she and I couldn’t exactly figure out what a lady such as yourself would want to fuck a brute for,” Jareth tilted his head. “But then…I suppose you’re not a lady, are you? Not really. Not like your sisters. I said it was probably payment. That you were whoring yourself out to Linden for his services. Am I right? I’m right, aren’t I?”

Rian threw his head back and barked a laugh.

Eris seemed to be just…gaping at Jareth, like he couldn’t quite believe the vitriol he was spewing.

And there was a growl. No — two growls, of pure, menacing anger. One from your right — Dion.

The other from your left. Lucien.

“I guess that’s why you’re not already married. Used goods, right?” Jareth smirked. “Lucky for you, Dion doesn’t seem to care about that. And quit your damn growling, Lucien. I’m sure if you ask nicely, Dion will let you have his leftovers—”

Eris struck so fast, you didn’t even register what he’d done until Jareth went tumbling from his horse. And you realised the eldest Vanserra had punched him off of it.

“Shut your damn mouth, you little prick.” He sneered at him. Jareth was too busy groaning and rolling on the floor to respond.

And the fact that the three of them — Dion, Eris and even Lucien — had come to your defence…it did soften the blow of Jareth’s words just slightly.

But…not enough. Not enough to prevent them hitting home, right where it hurt.

⤲

Lucien didn’t think he’d ever seen her so quiet.

Even listening to her mouth off about something was better than the preternatural stillness she now sat with around the fire, her eyes gazing off somewhere, unseeing. Whatever mark Jareth’s words had been intended for had truly hit home.

Lucien could kill him for it. Utterly kill him.

It was no secret to anyone that Jareth Vanserra was a nasty piece of work — a true copy of their father. But he’d really put his reputation to use on this hunting trip. Lucien couldn’t wait to go home. To get away from him.

She hadn’t wanted any of the food Eris had cooked, instead opting to sit quietly, huddled in her cloak, not contributing to the light conversation around the dwindling fire.

“I’m going to fetch some more wood.” Dion announced to no one in particular, rising from the log he was perched on. “I won’t be long.”

A lulling, soothing quiet settled into the camp, and yet Y/N’s silence was still the loudest amongst them all. Lucien settled back, watching, subtly, the way she tightened her cloak around her, bunching it within her fist so hard that her knuckles turned white. The fire reflected in her eyes, and Lucien could only imagine that her mind was burning just as fiercely. Whatever she was thinking had her flinching, as though she could feel the lick of the flames from inside her mind. Or maybe the effect of Jareth’s words.

She was…complicated. Perhaps the most complicated person Lucien had ever met. And he hated how it intrigued him. How it kept him awake until the early hours, thinking about what she might do next, how she might surprise him.

This was a surprise – seeing her recoil into herself like this. He didn’t…didn’t assume her capable, he supposed, of being bothered by somebody’s opinions. She usually seemed so sure of herself, so…quick-witted and silver tongued. Confident.

And perhaps that was utterly naive of him.

“There’s still some food left,” Eris spoke to her, scooting closer. “Why don’t you eat something? You’ll be even colder if you don’t.”

But Y/N merely shook her head, quietly insisting, “I’m not hungry.”

“I packed some of that chocolate–”

“I’m going to help Dion.” She rose from the log on which she’d perched, her movements slumped and weary as she followed in the direction Dion had wandered off in.

Eris sighed to himself softly. Seemed genuinely concerned as he raked a hand through his hair and stared at the fire.

But Lucien – Lucien settled back on his bedroll, his tension easing slightly. Perhaps it was good for her to get away from the camp, even if it was just for half an hour. Maybe she’d vent to Dion and get everything off her chest, and then return, once again the quipping, quick-witted person she was. If she needed to cry, she could cry to Dion, away from the others. Away from Lucien himself.

And he…he would try not to let the thought bother him. Because really, when it came down to it…it was for Dion to deal with, as Y/N’s fiancée. Dion’s responsibility.

So Lucien closed his eyes and steadied his breathing, attempting to expel the tension that had built up inside him. Dion and Y/N would be gone for a good while; if any tension remained upon their return, hopefully Lucien would be fast asleep by then. Too asleep to be aware of it.

With just the quiet hum of conversation between Rian and Jareth, the camp wound down, the fire’s dying embers pleasantly warm and soothing. The sky gradually transitioned from the threatening grey of daytime to a thick, inky black above them. Night swept through the forest, and Lucien was happy to embrace it. Just one more night to get through, and tomorrow they would travel home.

And he could go back to staying away. Staying far, far away from his brother’s fiancée. Far enough away to not be tempted by his stupid lust.

He was just teetering on that light precipice between sleep and wakefulness when Dion returned over thirty minutes later, strong arms carrying more wood than they probably needed.

“It feels like there’s rain in the air,” He said — and then stopped. “Where’s Y/N?”

Lucien lifted his head, rubbing at his eyes. Scanned the four figures around him; Rian, Jareth, Eris, Dion…sure enough — no Y/N.

“She went to help you.” Eris frowned.

“Well, she didn’t,” Dion allowed the logs to drop from his arms, thudding to the forest floor. “The last time I saw her was here.”

“Maybe she went for a walk?”

“It’s dark.”

“What’s the big deal?” Jareth sat up, rolling his eyes. “She can defend herself. She has the training, remember?”

“Run your smart mouth one more time, Jareth—”

“Can we not have another fight? We’ll find her.” Eris stood, wandering over to the small opening through the trees that Y/N had taken. His voice was an echoing boom as he called her name into the night. “Y/N?”

Dion immediately joined him, pushing branches and leaves out of the way. “Y/N?”

One look at Rian and Jareth told Lucien how unbothered they were, as they continued their conversation like nothing was happening. He gritted his teeth, brushing his hair back as he followed his other two brothers.

“You’re sure she went this way?” Dion pursed his lips, brown eyes peering around wildly.

“Positive.” Eris nodded. “She went the same way you did.”

Lucien also nodded. “Said she was going to help you with the wood.”

“Fuck.” The curse fell from Dion’s lips, his shoulders tense. “She doesn’t know these parts. We need…we need to look for her.”

Without a single moment’s hesitation, Eris was turning on his feet. “We’ll split up and search for her. You too, Jareth Rian can stay at the camp with Y/N’s horse in case she returns.” He shot Jareth and Rian a scathing glance. “And as leader of the hunting party, that’s an order. Get off your ass, now.”

When Jareth didn’t even twitch, both Eris and Dion yanked him up by his arms. Shoved him forward.

Lucien was already striding for his horse.

“Split off and cover every bit of ground until we find her.” Dion commanded, mounting his horse. “I don’t give a shit if the rain comes. We’re not leaving her with whatever lurks in these woods.”

Lucien didn’t bother to reply, didn’t bother to hide his panic, as he climbed up onto his horse and grabbed the reins. He didn’t look back, either.

Nor did he comment that he was worried, not only about the forest beasts finding her first.

But also about the possibility of Jareth finding her first.

And that worry only solidified inside him as he heard Jareth’s voice call from behind.

“Let the half-man-half-pig eat her, I say!”

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

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[angelpuns]

Spinoff kid Leo Au (fan story)

Part 2

Lunch was ready and everyone was reunited at the table (or coffee table for the living room. It was small, and there were no chairs. It's fine.) and not to complain about the food either, but whatever this was, didn't seem like something you could digest or at least that's Leo's opinion, 'cause everyone else was fine eating it. It looked like some sort of smash potatoes... but dad didn't bring potatoes, which made Leo distrust the dish. 

"Is everything fine, blue? You haven't touched your meal." Eugh boy, Leo really didn't want to try it. Spoon fully right at his mouth. "Oh yes,  everything is fine, just trying to figure out what this delicious thing is. Heh." He gave a thumbs up. Leo was really nervous, he didn't want his dad to feel bad. The dish wasn't bad, in fact it didn't have any flavor. Makes him question more. 

"I know it is not great cooking, but it's what we have." Splinter seemed disappointed, not about his cooking nor their way of living, but of himself. He could give his children a better life. If he wasn't so selfish, would they be here? Would he have his lovely children? It's something Splinter wouldn't like to think of, because all the decisions, for the good or for the bad, brought him to where he is now, to his family. He would never change that, but he wishes to give them more, a better life than the sewers. Be a better father to them. 

"Now someone is centered in his thoughts, eh. Everything fine pops?" Leo just wanted to light the mood. If he was going to stay here, at minimum try to avoid making his dad go into depression mode earlier than anticipated. 

"Yeah. I was just thinking... maybe more salt?" Was he really trying to lie to Leo? He's a teen, not a toddler any more. Things won't be easy any more, are they?

"Yeah. Maybe more salt." He repeated. He won't make Splinter talk about his feelings. Took Mikey years to make his father talk openly to them. He won't try that to him now. 

And it's contradictory because if it wasn't that their father was locked in his room, they wouldn't escape to the surface, they wouldn't meet April, wouldn't become friends, and many other things wouldn't have happened. And of course they love April, but they also needed their father more time with them. Man, if they ever gave Leo to choose, he couldn't. How would he? 

It was a silent meal... until Mikey decided to make it uncomfortable. "Do we have a mom in the future?" There goes a lovely evening. Splinter almost choked with the spoon. Leo didn't know if to laugh or cry... or both at the same time. He could totally be like: Why yes brother dearest, in fact we have two. One is a giant spider who tried to kill us many times. And maybe more me than you. And the other one is a goat sheep-man who also tried to kill us, also more me than you... maybe including dad. I don't know. Or simply pretend he didn't hear him and change the subject. He turned to his dad to see if he could save him, but the old man just turned his gaze, Leo gave him a smile that could be read: help me or I can ruin your entire career. I know all your secrets old man. 

The older toddlers just looked at Mikey as if he had something wrong. Clearly he was curious, an innocent question you may add. But by the uncomfortableness between both adults, you can tell they felt distressed. Donnie helped save the day. "Why would you ask that? That's kinda gross, maybe Leo doesn't know about that because of his inferior knowledge. Why won't you ask something more simply? like something about us?" Ohmigosh. You had to make yourself sound so smart, didn't you? with all those fancy words. Please Donnie, you only have six. But thank you anyways. 

"Oh I see. Then... how babies are made?" Leo immediately ran out the kitchen, with pain by his injuries, but fast as he could. Repenting "Nope." On his way out. He will not be the one who has to explain that to a toddler. Splinter.exe has stopped working. 

"Mikey. No.~" the only thing that could Donnie do is just give a gentle squeeze at Mikey's little shoulder. Raph and Mikey were confused. Adults and Donnie were confusing, but it's best not to ask. 

After a couple of hours. Leo had returned to the kitchen to help his father clean while the kids were playing. "So, no mom. eh?" Splinter started jokingly, he wasn't interested in the topic, but it was funny to see Leo's face turning red. Even though you can't notice at simple sight because of his stripes. "Really dad. You too?" He didn't want to make eye contact, he felt embarrassed. 

"No, not really. But you should have seen your face. Hehe." Leo finally turned to face him, Splinter's sincere smile was contagious. "Heh, yeah. But I'm still not answering that." They both laughed.

"And how about you? Do you have a girlfriend?" Splinter asked while they both were washing the dishes. 

"What?" 

"Or boyfriend. I won't judge. So tell me, will I be grandpa? And how many grandchildren will I have?" Now he did sound interested.

Leo didn't believe what he was hearing. For the first time his father showed interest in them... in him... well, not the first time. He already is… he was like this when he was little, but after the age of eight, when he left them on their own... Nothing was the same. Not even at their teen age, and when he finally left the couch to help them fight a great threat. When their lives were at line. He was there, but not like he wanted. He wanted a father, not a sensei. Not even Raph deserved what he's been through only for being the oldest. But they were still grateful that at the end... no... in continuity, they had their family all together. Metaphorically speaking. Leo had to figure out how to go back to his family of his time. But it is still counted as a win. Kinda.

"Pfff sadly no. Not that I know. None of us have a couple or children, except for Donnie, but robots can't be considered grandchildren, can they? Just don't tell little Donnie I told you this, ok?" 

"Heh maybe. It depends. And don't worry I won't tell." This was nice. Leo felt like he could tell anything to this Splinter and he would actually listen to him. It didn't have to be the: he didn't listen to me again, fine whatever. The feeling of being ignored wasn't good, but they were used to it, and that wasn't good either. 

"Papá! I'm bored!" Yelled Mikey from the... probably the living room. Splinter gave a reassuring smile to Leo before he went to help his child in "distress" and leaving the teenager alone. 

It was calm, It was silent. No caos, no trouble, no villains to fight against, no life threatening situations. A normal life. Leo didn't realize they had a calmed life before going to surface. He wished this could've lasted a bit longer, but also having gone to school could've been cool. "You can't always have everything Leo." he said to himself.

Side note: I did this in honor of Angel and his amazing blog/Au. If you liked it, I could continue with the small side, side, non-official, fan story. If not, is also fine, (it's my first time writing a story) I would love to hear some feedback and your opinion. 

Thank you for reading 💙

- 🌸

WGAHHDHFHFHF YES YES YES LOVELY AS ALWAYS!!!

Omg Mikey asking the real questions out here- ' how are babies made ' HE WOULD ASK THAT LMAOOO

I do hope they get to eat some nice food soon ;-; maybe Leo can make them some pizza :D

[agentem]

It's that time of year when you are going to see some "Irish" t-shirts in stores and can get your Shamrock Shake at Mickey D's. There will be St. Patrick's Day parades this weekend and next.

And I just want to be a nerdy know-it-all for a second. St Patrick's Day was originally a religious holiday (as most holidays were, holy + day = holiday); it still is in some places, like some actual Irish people from Ireland who believe in God--though the American parade/festival mentality seems to be gaining steam in some parts of Ireland, I am told.

St Patrick's Day as we know it is deeply rooted in the United States. Though it's been celebrated here since 1600 in the territory that became Florida, the tenor of the holiday greatly changed after the Great Famine of Ireland.

You may have been told in school that the famine occurred because a blight wiped out potato crops in Ireland. This is true but doesn't address the crux of the matter.

The blight started in North America and travelled to Ireland and into much of Europe. But we only think of it as an Irish problem because the Irish were too poor to eat other foods.

Some scholars have said it was a "man made crisis" and I agree that is true. Other crops in Ireland were not affected by the blight, in fact, this time was considered one of "plenty", but all that food was used to feed the English. Not the Irish.

Nor were the English quick on providing aid, "There is such a tendency to exaggeration and inaccuracy in Irish reports that delay in acting on them is always desirable," said Prime Minister Sir Robert Peel after initial reports of the catastrophe.

Workhouses designed to assist the poor and starving were closed prematurely. "The only way to prevent the people from becoming habitually dependent on Government is to bring the food depots to a close," said Charles Trevelyan, the man who was literally in charge of famine relief. He also said some gems like, Sure the famine is bad but "the moral evil of the selfish, perverse and turbulent character of the people" was the real problem. Great guy; he became a Baronet.

The soup kitchens, which replaced the workhouses were also closed prematurely, were widely believed to serve portions too small even for children and lacking any nutritional value due to them being watered down to feed more people than anticipated by the brilliant British government.

A million people died in Ireland from famine and disease and nearly 2 million left Ireland for other parts of the world. Including my father's family. (If they survived the "Coffin Ships" leaving their home.)

So when I said above that the tenor of the holiday changed, it was because of increasing Irish Nationalism and anger at Britain. Now, Ireland is a Republic (though it's not unified, yet) and we are proud of those who stayed and fought to make that happen.

We are also proud just to still be alive anywhere. The population of Ireland is 6.9 million now--slowly nearing the 8.5 million it was home to before the famine--but people with Irish ancestry across the world has been measured to be about 80 million people. Take that, Sir Robert Peel.

The English actively tried to kill us. Nevertheless, we persisted. A lot.

I hope you have a Happy St. Paddy's Day (it's Paddy not Patty). Drink some Guinness. Dance some jigs. Definitely eat some potatoes (Boil 'em! Mash 'em! Stick 'em in a stew!) But please remember that when people are starving, you should feed them. Don't be like the English government.

In fact, as I write this there is a crisis in Turkey and Syria. It just so happens that the Sultan of Turkey wanted to donate money to Ireland (10,000 pounds) but since Queen Victoria donated just 2,000, he was told it would be against protocol.

[bleue-flora]

Hello, I come to you with a silly prompt!

In what way do you think Dream is disabled/affected post-prison and if he does, what do you think he does to hide it?

So I’ve loved all of the different answers to this, lots of fun. Sorry to be late in the game. Like usual I’m probably gonna make this more complicated than it needs to be. No surprise there though lol XD. But ya know you asked for my thoughts so here are my thoughts, as messy as they are.

See this is hard for me because there is a divide between what we know for sure is canon, what we can speculate in general and what is more fun to imagine. As well as, the difference between Minecraft and our physical world. Because like obviously no one can actually survive living that close to lava, so we have to decide which elements would match our world consequences and which wouldn’t.

Because it’s Minecraft and things aren’t necessary like the real world, I play looser with some of the effects. So things like for example messed up vision from the lava don’t apply. I mean everyone spends times in mines, the nether, even has lava in their house so it’s not something I personally include. The same with things like seizures and such.

When it comes to canon, obviously we know potions exist in this world, but the thing is there is never confirmation of them being used in the prison. They don’t appear in Quackity’s or Sam’s inventory (besides fire res) when they visit and during the visits we get to see, Dream is munching on potatoes to heal. So does that mean he never gets potions since basic food can work to heal in Minecraft or does he get some only with more severe and dangerous injuries or something. Or would he have sustained less serious injuries because the potatoes can only heal so much. Then again canonically Quackity is swinging a diamond sword and a netherite axe around, which aren’t exactly gonna do small damage.

And the thing with scars is that the only scars we know of are from canonical deaths, meaning Dream would probably have some from the other time he went to limbo (or multiple if went multiple times), and Tommy killing him (quite a few actually given how many arrows he took and stuff in staged finale) but there’s not necessarily confirmation of scars other than that, and Quackity can’t exactly take credit for those.

There’s also the question of whether he was dying and respawning as non canon deaths, especially because again Quackity is using some high damage weapons. Though I tend to lean away from believing that since that isn’t shown except with Sam accidentally killing Dream after Techno escapes.

I also don’t personally think he suffered anything super noticeable because the guards in prison as well as Ghostbur and Tommy and even Techno, don’t mention the torture. Ghostbur and Tommy don’t notice anything, Techno has to be told, and the guards like Badboyhalo even after hearing screaming still seems almost unsure of himself. Plus, Antfrost talks about visiting Dream and yet had no clue about the torture until Bad brings it up. So in my mind he doesn’t have anything too mutilated or missing body part wise, because that’d be kinda obvious. This includes eyes and also even missing fingers (though if he is missing one let’s just all agree it’d be his left hand ring finger because of Quackity’s breakup with his fiancés… ;]). (Though if we decide they were using potions then it’s interesting to play around with the idea of Quackity doing something like cutting off his arm and Sam having to fix that like I did in my fanfiction.)

So in my mind, no major cosmetic things, besides being smaller due to poor diet and starvation. Though again, in my mind it’s not quite the same as real world so I don’t like to imagine him as grotesquely skin and bones if that makes sense… (look he can be broken and still pretty ;D).

But despite what I said, I do like to imagine he has scars and I think potions may not have been a staple but probably did happen if Quackity ever went too far. Maybe early on before Quackity mastered his craft a bit more or later when he became more and more enraged and extreme in his desperation to break Dream. Either way, I think it was a rare occasion type deal. And because of that, in my mind he does actually have scars because the potatoes provide poor healing. So other people dying by falling in a hole or fight in a war don’t really have scars from that duo to respawn and potions or golden apples, while Dream deprived of that would have more lasting effects (because as someone with many scars I like to imagine he has some as a testimony to what he went through). This also means that some of his broken bones perhaps didn’t heal properly causing some pain or even having things not quite right. So fingers bent wrong if you really studied them or knees misaligned or whatever. So some sensation of pain at all times is pretty guaranteed. Though even without injuries healed wrong he’d still have chronic pain because scar tissue is very sensitive and messes up the nerves so it freaking hurts, it hurts to move, it hurts to touch, it hurts to use… etc.

One of the things he’d do would obviously be to the cover the scars to hide them from view, because embarrassment, shame, looking weak… etc but he’d definitely do it in really soft and not super tight fitting clothes because again the skin is sensitive.

I sometimes like to imagine that injuries that are obvious and badly healed enough he would like break them and reheal them, maybe even with Punz’s help. In general, though broken bones, concussions and stuff heal on their own given time so even if not the best, things heal eventually and Dream is up and about swinging an axe so it ain’t like he’s too debilitated. Still, moving and stuff would be painful and he’s definitely not in shape like he was so it makes sense why he uses so many pearls all the time and why Tubbo would say to Punz in the finale about killing him, “He was sluggish—he was slow—he was out of practice we took him by surprise.”

Though, I do think sluggish and slow could also be a reference to his mental ability as well, implying he isn’t as quick witted or as good at reacting, something that if you watch that finale fight does align. His counter measures aren’t super fast especially compared to how adaptable and swiftly clever he was before.

Obviously, he likely has Depression, PTSD, and an Anxiety disorder, as a result. Anxiety is the one we seen him at least try to mitigate by finding the most secure place to sleep so he can feel less stressed out, not going out and provoking people to avoid being attacked, kinda blocking out the world and stuff, not great for his depression though nor his PTSD…

I also imagine he’d be the type of person to think he could get over fears and trauma by exposure. Like sleeping in the cell with the lava down to remind himself he doesn’t need to be afraid of it… things like that perhaps. With limited success.

I imagine he has a lot of nightmares so he mitigates this by not sleeping as much as possible. Old habits die hard I guess…

Based off of Bad talking to Antfrost after the prison break about how he thinks someone was coming in and torturing Dream: “Anytime I would go and visit Dream he would be all shaky and he wouldn’t wanna talk.” I’d say Dream does shake, sometimes out of fear, sometimes out of weakness, sometimes out of stress, and sometimes because his body doesn’t work as it should. He mitigates this by trying to build up his strength and change strategies in battle if it ever gets debilitating, like switching to food, pearls, potions or TNT. He does a lot of pearling and running, and he never takes off his armor in fear of what might be around the corner.

Despite living in isolation for so long, he’s not overly social like he used to be. He goes days, weeks even without really talking to anyone between spurts of being overly talkative and needing interaction.

When talking to people, perhaps he hides his hands behind his back when they shake, he wears his mask to hide anything he might feel - fear, panic, sorrow, they can’t really see the tears building in his eyes or falling down his face that way. They can’t even really tell he’s hyperventilating unless they are paying attention.

He likes to do a lot of pushing down his feelings, which worked in the prison, it’s a good way to survive but it’s no way to heal. Maybe he schedules his meltdowns or panic to a later time - He’ll get upset about the fight with Quackity at home, he can’t breakdown in the streets now.

Maybe he spends days feeling numb, not leaving his bed, feeling like there’s no point. It’s better that way, if he doesn’t do anywhere he’s safe. If Punz asks he’ll lie, and Punz won’t believe him but he won’t push either………….

“Purpled, do you know what that does to a man do you know the limits that people have it—it goes beyond those limits its not okay.”

[screechingcheesecakecheesecake]

I like your dol elite social rankings post so I'm gonna blab about my thoughts, sorry.

I agree that Quinn has the highest political power. You could probably make an argument that some of that power is co-opted by Bailey due to the blackmail, but it's still nominally Quinn's.

I don't think Bailey has the social background of the others, and that automatically puts them at a disadvantage. They've clawed their way into the power and connections that they currently have, and they seem quite good at managing it, but I doubt that Bailey's considered "high society" in any real capacity.

Remy strikes me as extremely powerful. Possibly the biggest rat bastard of them all. Could potentially be more powerful than Quinn, but they prefer to stay out in the farms & moors, distanced from town. This affords them more resources--land, lurkers, privacy, etc., plus the manor itself may be anchored to a powerful supernatural site within it. Really high social influence, especially considering that they're probably not regularly attending society functions the way Avery does.

Leighton's secure, horrible, and relatively small potatoes. They do real harm, especially to vulnerable students (Darryl, formerly, and Mickey, and possibly PC), but they're content to rule over the school without many further ambitions. I have to imagine they're from a fairly privileged background--I think it just goes with their sense of entitlement--but they're not actively climbing the social ladder. They get along with Quinn bc they're both huge freaks.

Avery, on the other hand, has both privilege and ambition. Very willing to sell their soul to the devil. Well on their way to doing so...

Bonus: Harper. Crazy ass. I have even less of an idea about their whole deal than Bailey's. Harper's doing quite well for themselves; they're still pretty young, but already successfully ingratiating themselves with Remy.

Quinn still wins "biggest creep-ass fucker" imo, beating out Harper and Leighton. Bad enough that even Bailey gives out an explicit warning. Christ.

I would be interested to work a bit under Bailey, especially now that there's a way to raise their love. Insanely curious about their underlying motivations.

HEYA thanks I welcome blabbing lmao

I actually have something to add that I just forgot to put on the OG post too!!

I think Quinn's power focuses primarily on the town and Remy isn't really interested in that. They're a very rich farm owner with lots of resources so they're in a pretty cozy position. From the party they held I think they may be related to the weird cult in town which I think Quinn is also a part of since "Elk street" and the elks in the party. Not sure what the foxes mean to that yet though.

So Remy's assets includes

-Underground farm

-Fields for strange flowers

-The moor which they have people hired to go hunting

-Possible connections to the cult

So they don't need to fight for connections because people fight for their connections basically.

Quinn's political power is scary because it's pretty much how Bailey and Leighton can do their suspicious stuff without repercussions (though Leighton can still be reprimanded with pillory punishment and blackmail). Also Quinn themselves is scary with how nonchalant and cheerful they act despite doing something horrible. (Vrel really did a good job scaring me with that "movie" conversation lmao). Maybe it's because of their possible cult connection that the potential soup kitchen was blocked off by the Mayor's office too. Also, tf are they doing with the pale slimes.

Harper can work as a researcher which pretty much beneficial to Remy so Harper also needs to do good and bring useful results. I can't completely gauge their power though since I haven't been at the Asylum and Idk their status at the hospital.

Bailey is an interesting case to me in a way sometimes. Because yeah, there's the rent they force on us but they can pretty much just sell us straight up as payment. And it seems that they do prefer the orphans to return after getting sold off and it's one of their conditions that we don't get murdered. So essentially we are paying Bailey to be protected. They also apparently like it if the orphans take their education seriously. Feels like an aggressive way to learn independency with Bailey lol.

I really hope we get to work under Bailey in the future because again, I really enjoy the dynamic between PC and Bailey.

[im-a-chunky-potato]

Hi Potato! Just curious, have you ever written for nikozai? platonically or not?

also, use this ask as an excuse to rant about them if you want :)

Ehehe glad you asked! I don't know if this counts, but here's something I wrote a bit of. (Sorry I'm sharing the whole thing since I've never published it anywhere else)

Nikolai sat in a security room in Meursalt, holding a knife in his hand. Blood dripped down the side of the knife and slid down his legs, leaving a red trail in its path. Scattered all around him were dead officers.

He glanced at the security camera. It seemed as if Dazai and Fyodor were speaking a different language and having a heated conversation.

Nikolai yawned. Games of cat and mouse never really were his thing, and this was positively boring! But Fedya did ask him to do this, so how could he not comply.

Although... something was off about Fyodor. Nikolai may not be a genius, but he certainly wasn't a fool either. The way he was obsessing over this mission, how he was always scheming and plotting.

This wasn't him. Or at least it wasn't how Nikolai remembered him. He seemed to have completely lost his humanity in the process of this.

He brushed off his fears. This was Dos-kun he's talking about, of course he had a plan. And Nikolai was a large part of the plan, his job was to watch carefully and break them out when it was time.

But admittedly, something had started to draw his eyes towards Dazai instead of Fyodor in this place.

It's hard to explain. Whether it was the softer eyes he had or the way he spoke so adamantly about his allies, Nikolai was intrigued.

Fedya could never be like that. He had far too many trust issues and relied heavily on control.

...control. Of course Nikolai had some feeling he was being controlled, but it was merely a hunch. And Fyodor knew him better than anyone else, so why would he need or want to control him?

That was a foolish question to ask, and Nikolai was well aware of that fact. But he didn't want to be alone in this world.

At that moment, something Dazai said caught his attention. "The ones who actually make this world turn are those who scream within the storm of uncertainty and run either flowing blood."

He held faith in his people, and did not hold them tight but rather let them do as they please...

Nikolai set down his knife and paced around the office. Now he was no idiot. He would have more freedom on Dazai's side, which is exactly what his mind yearned for. But he neither had the skills nor the mindset to step forth into the light.

And that would involve leaving Fedya. He knew deep in his heart that Fedya wouldn't mind, but he did. He didn't want to leave him alone.

Nikolai strayed deeper into his thoughts, falling into an endless abyss of considering what was more important in his life; his "friend" or his freedom.

His eyes soon found their way back to the screen where the two men were still arguing. But to Nikolai's shock, Dazai turned directly towards the camera and gave him a smirk.

Dazai knew. But how? He couldn't have snuck anything into the prison, could he? No, this prison was the safest place on Earth.

But suddenly it clicked in his mind. Thwre had to be a camera somewhere. He walked around the room, carefully inspecting every panel in the room. Nothing.

He checked every floorboard, every desk, Even every person. Nothing still.

Suddenly he got the odd feeling to check his knife. Low and behold, a small camera and microphone was hidden in the hilt.

Nikolai stared at the knife in his hand before stealing one of the security guards gun and shooting it.

He glanced back at Dazai, who pouted before continuing his argument with Fyodor.

Nikolai couldn't believe this. It was absurd. Dazai-kun, messing with him, while in prison?

Before long he started to giggle. Then that giggling turned into full on laughing. Dazai was providing him such a fun game to play, and he was willing to indulge for longer.

Fyodor would never allow him to do something like this... it wouldn't be necessary to his plan as he would say.

But Dazai was doing this, while keeping Fyodor distracted. The guy had potential. And Nikolai hadn't laughed this long in a while.

This feeling he was experiencing was not unusual to him. After all, it was quite similar to how he felt towards Fyodor.

Bloodlust. He wanted to see Dazai dead at his hands, choked to death by his own bandages.

After all, Dazai was staying in his mind for far too long. He couldn't be truly free if he kept thinking about him.

But no, that wasn't entirely true. He wanted Dazai to have a conversation with him, to hear all that Nikolai had to say.

My, what a conundrum. But luckily he was already planning the great prison escape between the 2 geniuses

Suddenly, Fyodor revealed the signal they planned since the beginning of this, and Nikolai summoned the portals to take Fyodor and Dazai away.

It was decided. Whoever won this game would win his heart and soul.

Well then...

Let the Nikolai games begin.

Ramblings:

What I love about Nikozai is how it contrasts so well with Fyolai! You can do a lot of drama.

And depending on how you view both Nikolai and Dazai, it can take so many shapes and forms! It can either be the pranks of two clowns, a serious talk between the two of them, or anything in between! I love the possible variety<3

Sorry this is a long post already so I won't keep you for long hehe. But Nikozai is weirdly possible to work with.

Like Dazai already has connections to both Fyodor and Sigma, so it's fun to imagine the gossip they'd share with each other. Or Nikolai has already met Atsushi, so how would he speak of him?

Anyways yeah I think that's it for now hehe. Thank you so much for this ask!!!

[virtie333]

Your post about your Damerey origins got me curious... I've never gotten into x-files fics, but I did watch the show in reruns and there was just... no one cooler than Dana Scully (except Batman, but like... he was fictional and Dana seemed like a real person to me b/c my delusions started early in my life).

I've really been mulling over a re-watch. I'm a completist and would have no choice but to watch it top to bottom, movies and all.

Buuuuut.... do you have any favorite season arcs or episodes?????

Wow, this question really made me think. Honestly, this show was so much a part of me for so many years, it's hard to imagine that I haven't watched a single episode in years! Coming here to Tumblr and connecting with people who are current fans has helped my inner Phile reemerge, and I too crave a re-watch. And like you, I'd have to start from the beginning.

I can't say I have a favorite arc. Obviously the Cancer arc was the most important, but as a whole I've just always considered the series as one story (kind of like Star Wars; it's hard for me to watch just one movie, I have to watch them all). I can point out episodes I love from every season, although I will admit Season 6 is probably my overall favorite, hopeless romantic that I am.

I absolutely adore the first movie, Fight the Future, and can watch that over and over and over. I saw it in theaters 5 times, which tied a record for me that wasn't broken until The Force Awakens came out.

My three favorite episodes are:

Pusher

Triangle

Beyond the Sea

Other eps I know by heart include: Ice, Irresistible, War of the Coprophages, Grotesque, Paper Hearts, Small Potatoes, Bad Blood, Folie a Deux, Monday, The Unnatural, En Ami, Je Souhaite, This is Not Happening/Deadalive, Audrey Pauley, and Improbable. I enjoyed parts of the revival, but not enough to really get into it, and I was not happy with what they did to William, so I have trouble accepting Seasons 10 and 11 as canon. I loved seeing David and Gillian together again, but I wish they had stayed with Monster of the Week episodes instead of making the Conspiracy even more confusing and unbelievable than it already was. Also hate what they did to Monica and Skinner. So, yeah...

Anyway, this show truly changed my life. It gave me the best friends in the world, as we met on-line over 20 years ago and are still friends to this day. Here we are through the years; the first one we are on the Queen Mary, where they filmed Triangle, back in 2007. The last was my 50th birthday last year at Galaxy's Edge.

And of course, it's what first got me started in fanfiction.

I may be devoted to Damerey, but I will always be a Phile and proud to be an original shipper.

[mysteryshoptls]

SR Sebek Zigvolt Lab Coat Personal Story: Part 1

"I will most definitely remove that for you!"

Part 1 (Part 2)

[Mister S's Mystery Shop]

Sebek: Hm? I see you, Silver. What are you doing at the Mystery Shop?

Silver: Ah… Sebek… Did you come… to buy some food…?

Silver: You truly are a glutton…

Sebek: Hey! You're just stumbling around again, I see. As one of Malleus-sama's retainers, you should shape up!!!

Silver: …That's why I'm buying… something to help wake… Zzz…

Lilia: Oh, you two. How rare seeing the two of you in the same place like this.

Sebek: Lilia-sama! Whyever are you here, are you doing some shopping?

Silver: Of course he is… This is the school store, what else would he be doing…?

Sebek: Sh-Shut up! It's just small talk…!

Lilia: It's splendid to see both of you so spirited.

Sebek: Ahem… Anyway, what are you buying here, Lilia-sama?

Lilia: Malleus said he was a tad hungry, so I thought I would get him some fries.

Sebek: S-So, the young master also has snack cravings at times, too!?

Lilia: Even someone such as he is still a growing boy. Of course he'd at least want a hot snack here and there.

Lilia: See, doesn't this look delicious?

Sebek: It does seem warm and tasty… But are you content with simply choosing the plain salt kind?

Lilia: What do you mean?

Silver: Recently, here at this Mystery Shop, you can flavor them with all sorts of different sauces.

Silver: They have BBQ, chili sauce, butter… and many more interesting flavors that you may find you like, Father.

Lilia: Oho, interesting. Alright, I'll get one of those sauces, then. I wonder what Malleus would like…

Sebek: I shall go fetch one, Lilia-sama! Please wait a moment!!!!!!!

Lilia: Mm, thanks, Sebek.

Silver: He's dashed off pretty quickly...

Sebek: Lilia-sama, I've brought it! I'll pour it for you now.

Silver: That's just ordinary ketchup. Will that be alright? There are other kinds of flavors.

Sebek: I am sure that my liege likes ketchup on his fries. He used it during lunch just the other day.

Silver: You… really remember every minute thing.

Sebek: Rightfully so! It is the retainer's duty to know what his lord and master's dietary preferences are.

Silver: Even so, I don't think it's a necessity to memorize what he prefers to cover his potatoes with...

Sebek: How could you say that!? This is the sort of information that is vital to the young master's daily comfort!

Sebek: I'VE BEEN THINKING ABOUT THIS FOR SOME TIME NOW, BUT DO YOU NOT REALIZE YOU ARE LACKING AS HIS RETAINER!!!!???

Lilia: Come now, Sebek, lower your voice. You're bothering the other customers.

Sebek: BUT, LILIA-SAMA!!!!!!

Malleus: Lilia, class is about to start… Oh, dear me.

Sebek: M-My liege!? A thousand apologies, in my carelessness, I bumped into you… Are you injured at all!?

Malleus: No, no harm done.

Silver: Ah… Malleus-sama. There is ketchup on your uniform.

Malleus: Hm? …Ah, it must have happened when Sebek and I bumped into each other.

Malleus: Since the lab coat is white, the stain definitely stands out.

Sebek: What have I done…! My sincerest apologies!!! I shall use my magic to clean it up posthaste!!

Sebek: Hiyah!

Silver: …It looks as though the stain simply spread out further.

Lilia: Sebek, you haven't learned cleaning magic yet, have you?

Sebek: B-But I cannot leave his attire in such soiled disarray!

Sebek: My liege! I will most definitely remove that stain for you! Please entrust your lab coat to me!!

Malleus: Hm… You want me to take this off, then?

Malleus: Here.

Sebek: I deeply thank you for allowing me the opportunity to redeem myself. Now then, I beg you to allow me a moment!

Silver: Ah, hey…!

Malleus: Leave him be, Silver.

Silver: Is that alright? A stain of that nature would be nothing before either of your magic, no?

Lilia: True. But…

Malleus: Sebek was very adamant. I'll see how he deals with it.

Silver: …If that is what the two of you wish. Then, I shall go and fetch you a replacement lab coat.

Silver: You were dressed as such since it was necessary for your next class, is that correct?

Malleus: Correct. I appreciate it.

[Interior Hallway]

Sebek: Urk…! No matter how much magic I use, the lab coat isn't getting clean at all…

Sebek: DESPITE THIS, I MUST RECOVER FROM THIS BLUNDER BY ANY MEANS NECESSARY!!!!!

Azul: Whatever could be causing you to raise your voice so loudly, I wonder…?

Azul: Ah, you are Sebek Zigvolt-san from Diasomnia, if I'm not mistaken. Is something troubling you?

Sebek: You're Octavinelle's… It's nothing, go away.

Azul: Oh my, and here I was reaching out to you out of the goodness of my heart.

Azul: …What is with that lab coat? It has quite the terrible red stain.

Sebek: I-I told you, it's nothing! I have no need of your assistance!

Azul: Is that so… What a pity. Why, just the other day, I developed a very potent detergent.

Azul: I am very confident that it would remove even the most obstinate stain.

Sebek: What…!?

Azul: However, it seems you're not willing to try it. Ah, oh what a pity.

Azul: Well then, I shall be heading back to Octavinelle now.

Sebek: W-Wait!

Azul: Oh? Is there something you still needed, Sebek-san?

Sebek: Urgh… About that detergent…

Azul: Yes, what is it? I'm afraid I cannot hear you because you've lowered your voice.

Sebek: I said to tell me more about this detergent you developed!

Azul: I see, well, that's no problem whatsoever. My, my, I am so ecstatic that you've changed your mind.

Azul: Now then, please follow me.

Sebek: W-Wait a moment. Why do we have to go somewhere else…? H-Hey, listen to what I'm saying!!

Part 1 (Part 2)

Requested by @dida-books.