#cuckoo fanfiction

[endofradio]

TRUE ECOLOGY — PROLOGUE

WARNINGS: n/a

NOTES: sooo i’ve decided to start writing a cuckoo fanfiction! i promise that i haven’t forgotten about my abigail fanfic, it’s just i am so deep into cuckoo brainrot right now 💀 and, yes! salem’s faceclaim is sophie thatcher because she slays

SUMMARY: salem wakes up to see that her mother is nowhere to be found. it seems that she’s disappeared out of thin air, but there’s more to the story that she doesn’t know.

WORD COUNT: 1,126 (short, but the next chapters will be MUCH longer)

TAGLIST: @lokidoki9 @trelaney @kolcheksluver @simpingforclaudette @blackwolfstabs @actually-adambarrett @samcrpnters @13th-floor-in-moonstone @fran-tau @starryrevelations @spookyspecterino (if you’d like to be added to my taglist, feel free to message me!)

reblogs and comments are highly appreciated. don’t be shy!

When Salem woke up, the first thing she noticed was that everything seemed quiet and… empty. Something didn’t seem… right. Slowly, she rose from her bed, deciding that she might as well investigate.

As she wandered throughout the house, she observed how it was still dead quiet, quiet enough to where one could hear a pin drop. The ticking of the clock on the wall was the loudest sound in the house at the moment. Normally, by this time of day, Salem’s mother would be up and about. She always made breakfast around the same time every morning. Today, the kitchen lacked the warm, fresh smell of pancakes.

Salem tried not to think about it too much. Maybe she just overslept… maybe she wasn’t feeling well. But… there were completely no signs of life. Her father had recently returned home for a brief holiday, and there wasn’t a single sign that he was around, either. No sounds of movement coming from upstairs. To Salem, it felt as though she truly was the only person in the house.

Confused, Salem checked her phone, wondering if either of them texted her by any chance. When she opened her message app, she only saw text messages from a couple of days ago. There was nothing concerning about them.

Maybe they left a note somewhere?

She wandered over to the kitchen counter. Nothing there, either. Strange.

Perplexed, Salem looked around the house, trying to look for anything out of the ordinary. However, everything appeared to be just fine. Nothing was out of place. Everything was clean, nice, and orderly.

Slowly, she made her way upstairs. “Mom? Dad?” She called out. “You guys awake?”

Silence.

Salem’s next idea was to call them. First, she dialed her mother’s number. After some seconds of waiting, it went straight to voicemail. She tried to call her father next, only for the same thing to happen — voicemail.

“The fuck…?” She muttered.

Then, she heard a knock on the door. Her heart starting to race with anticipation, Salem hurriedly walked toward the door, opening it. To her relief, her father was standing right there… but her mother wasn’t around. His expression was as stoic as ever, but there was a hint of something else to it. He was a difficult person to read, but Salem could sense some dismay in his dark eyes.

“Dad, where have you been?” Salem asked, her eyes narrowing. “You could’ve at least texted me. Where’s Mom? I’ve been looking for her. She’s always awake in the morning.”

Her father sighed as he stepped inside the house, slowly closing the door behind him. There was something… off about his demeanor.

“She’s not coming back.” He answered, his voice cold.

Salem raised an eyebrow. “What… what do you mean?” She questioned. “Did something happen to her?”

Her father didn’t meet her gaze, his eyes fixed on the floor as he leaned against the door. “She’s gone, Salem. Vanished. You’ll never see her again.”

“Were you looking for her? Is that why you were gone?”

He nodded. “Trust me, I spent an hour searching for her.” He answered. “I couldn’t find her anywhere.”

“But… why would she just… disappear like that? She was here yesterday, and she seemed completely fine. It doesn’t make sense.”

“I wish I knew. Maybe she hasn’t been completely honest with us.”

Salem’s eyes narrowed even further. “What are you suggesting? She… she’d never lie to us, Dad.”

“You can never be certain about a person’s intentions, Salem. People lie.”

Before Salem had a chance to object, her father briskly walked past her, almost as though he was in a hurry. He headed upstairs, and the sound of a door shutting signaled to Salem that he was in his room.

As she stood there, Salem felt… angry. Angry at the fact that her father would believe that her mother disappeared intentionally. The two of them were incredibly close. They’d talk to each other about anything. So, why the hell would her father insinuate such a thing? Nothing about this made sense at all.

She’ll come back one day.

Salem just hoped that her mother was safe; that nothing had happened to her. Maybe one day the door would open, and she’d be standing right there.

Stephen sat down on the edge of his bed and quickly grabbed his phone to dial a number. He was in a hurry for a reason. As he nervously sat there, he waited for his boss to pick up, staring at his phone screen in anticipation.

Eventually, somebody picked up, and Stephen had to suppress a sigh of relief.

“Hello, Stephen. What is it?”

“Hello, König. I have an update on Jane that I’m sure you’ll be glad to hear.”

“Ah, perfect. Do tell.”

“I just returned from bringing her to the airport. She should be on a plane to Bavaria in the next hour.”

“Wonderful. I look forward to meeting her in the next, ah… eight hours. Quite a long time, isn’t it?”

Stephen let out a small chuckle. “Yes, lengthy plane trip indeed.”

“How did it go? Was she… easily convinced?”

He sighed. “She was a bit reluctant. I eventually convinced her. Just told her not to question anything.”

“Hmm, I see. Well, I am glad it all worked out in the end. You know that this project is of significant importance to me, and I cannot afford for it to go wrong.”

“I understand. Well… unfortunately, I had to lie to my daughter. She’s under the impression that Jane’s simply disappeared.”

There was an obvious tinge of regret in Stephen’s words.

“Ah, but it had to be done. She wouldn’t have been too happy if she knew the truth, yes?”

“Yes, that’s true. It’s just… she and Jane were very, very close. I don’t think she’s handling everything too well right now. She was quite upset when I walked in.”

“My friend, sometimes you must do things that you’d rather not do. There is no need to feel regret. I promise you, you’ve done the right thing.”

Despite König’s words of reassurance, Stephen hardly felt any better. He’d taken Jane away from Salem, and now he’d be paying the price for it. Father of the year, huh?

“I suppose you’re right. I wish you the best of luck with your… project, König. I do have to ask you a question, though.”

“Hm, what is it?”

“Whatever you plan on doing to Jane… you’re not going to cause any harm to her, right?”

König let out a chuckle over the phone, almost as though he was shocked that Stephen would ask such a thing.

“Ah, of course not. Do not worry, Stephen.”

“Thank you.”

And just like that, the call ended.

[im-totally-not-an-alien-2]

Okay, yall know the drill by now

1. The bats all find out that Bruce has another son out there somewhere and Damian goes missing. The bats panic thinking Damian is planning to murder his new little brother, only when they track him down they find him playing Volleyball with this kid who looks a lot like Bruce who is excitedly explaining all the rules and player positions to Damian.

When Dami spots them he smirks. The bats all simultaneously realized Damian wasn't here to murder Danny, he was here to get a head start on being the "Favorite Sibling"

2. While he was out exploring different dimensions/ universes Danny managed to somehow gain the attention of the Justice League who then proceeded to track him down to Amity Park in his home dimension.

They keep trying to make things in Phantoms world better in hopes that this will make him trust them and he'll come out and introduce himself. The way they saw it was that this kid needed a mentor and community with other heroes around his own age to help him learn and cope with the struggles of hero life.

Jokes on them. Danny never wanted to be a hero and with the JL taking care of everything in a professional and humane way Danny saw no reason to keep turning into Phantom.

Batman, who was onto him, didn't like that Phantom wasn't asking for help but didn't want to take away this kids chance for a normal life.

3. Ace a/b/o au where danny finds himself in Gotham right before his heat hits. Panicking, he steals a whole bunch of blankets and supplies as Phantom and builds his nest in an unused apartment.

The bats track him down and Red Robin bursts in through a window. Danny freaks out and accuses RR of being a perv for breaking into an Omegas nest so close to heat. RR asks a few questions, mainly "Whats an Omega?" And "What did you mean by heat?"

He then gets a big whiff of heat pheromones and is promptly (and literally) thrown out. He later goes into rut despite being on suppressants that should have made this impossible.

Damian breaks in thinking that since he hadn't presented yet he would be fine. Hes kinda right. Danny immediately bombarded him with soft blankets and aggressively scenting him with, Home, Family, Pack, My child

Damian got adopted right then and there.

Damian can't say he really minds. Being accepted and loved by his friends and family is one of his biggest insecurities and its so tempting to indulge.

4. Danny begins haunting the Waynes and/or the Bats for a major perceived slight against him. This goes on for quite a while before it stops suddenly after the bats unintentionally made Phantom a grave without thier knowledge.

Danny thought they were apologizing and accepted the grave.

For the bats it was like this person/entity was tormenting them and then it suddenly just stopped. They are very confused.

Constantine/Zatana have no answers because by the time they got there it was already over.

5. Danny learned how to shape-shift and is using that power to just mess with people.

He appeared as a Yiga clan foot soldier (from breath of the wild) and fought a very baffled Red Robin, Pepsiman who just throws Pepsi at people, Roadrunner from Loony Toons to mess with the Flash fam, ect.

All was well and good until he was back in Gotham and saw the little sword Robin in a stand off with someone. Danny purposely landed on Robins shoulder as a tiny little bird, knowing that it would make the animal loving vigilantes day (night?) and ignored the humans surprise and the chatter from the heros opponent.

This turned out to be a mistake as Danny found his left wing run through with a throwing knife and Danny screamed. Naturally his scream sounded inhuman but also sounded nothing like a bird. In an instant all Danny could see was green as he launched himself at his assailant.

[bodysnatch3r]

mien'harel [gen; mature]

characters. solas; felassan; mythal; original elvhen characters; andruil; ghilan'nain; elgar'nan; falon'din; dirthamen; abelas.

relationships. solas & felassan; solas & mythal; solas & original elvhen characters.

A spirit is called from the world that dreams into the world that wakes. He is given the name Solas, and then he is told to forget he ever was a spirit at all. He grows up as the son of a scullery maid, a servant of Mythal the All-Mother, and knows no life but the life of the incarnated.But unknown to him, and to the other Evanuris, history is being nudged (or perhaps shoved), and Solas will soon find himself in the position to change the course of Elvhenan forever.

PART ONE: ALL NEW

CHAPTER SIX

Out of the folds of her dress, a dagger sung in the light. She held it aloft, and it caught the red reflection of the moulting trees: for a moment it shone crimson, instead of blue. In the air, a rumble rose: stones lifted upwards in the currents of the Fade. The dagger sang, but not in Solas' ears: it sang in his bones. The melody rang through his marrow, his heart. In the chest, it beat in the rhythm of his blood. He'd never seen anything like it. “What is the dagger made of?” “We call it Lyrium. The blood of the world.”

READ FROM THE BEGINNING

[arrumiekookie]

Thanks to whoever wrote this Quentin Quire [Kid Omega] and Idie Okonkwo [Oya | Temper] oneshot... I owe you my life. @/chabons-escapist

My baby x-men.

[haveyoureadthisfanfic]

Summary: Phil was captured by a hybrid fighting ring and forced to fight. But the owner thought he lacked the motivation to give his all, and so a chick was placed in Phil's nest. A father fights way more fiercely if he is protecting his young.

Author: @kuraiarcoiris

[evil-feather]

I finally started writing again. Send motivation and prayers that I actually finish this one😩👀

[cherrygummycandy]

Fragile Porcelain Person

Fandom: Jack and the Cuckoo Clock Heart.

Yandere!Joe x Porcelain!Reader, Platonic!Jack and Acacia x Porcelain!Reader

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(AN: So, for those who don't know, Jack and The Cuckoo Clock Heart is a film about a (14?) something french boy born with a frozen heart, so it is replaced by his adoptive mother with a clock. He isn't allowed to fall in love, as it will be too much for his heart, but he does anyway, and loves a singer. There's another plot with this rival for the singer's love, but that is the jist. It's spoilers from here on out in this AN, so go watch it on Bibibli if you haven't seen it. For the sake of this fic, I have changed Joe and Acacia's relationship to one of a brother and sister relationship, in which he wanted to protect her from mingling to closely with anyone due to her parents migrant status, and his fear of her getting deported. As for Jack and Madeline, I'm writing them as living at the end of the film, where this fic takes place. Sorry for the long explanation, just wanted to clarify some things!)

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Tick-tock, Tick-tock, Brrr-ing Brrr-ing! The lively ticks and rings of gears, clocks, bells and chimes sound out across the workshop of the notably eclectic Mademoiselle Madeline, who is currently busying herself at her work station. She hums to herself, placing a small gear against a winding mechanism, and stepping back to watch a small wooden bird pop out of the top window of a clock, perfectly tweeting in rhythm with the now-turning gear. A sound not entirely foreign to her makes her turn round, the sound of a soft groan comes from a fragile form laid atop her operating table, as she had taken to calling it. Placing down her tools, she approaches her guest.

A lantern's light disturbs you from a deep slumber. As you awaken, you notice your body feels freer than it has in quite some time. Or at least, you remember not exactly feeling top-shelf, in the before. But, you suppose then this isn't the before, but rather the now.

"Awakened from our beauty-sleep, I see..." A pale-skinned woman, sporting a dress covered in oil stains and minor cuts stands to your left, observing you with a calm curiosity. You try and sit up to get a better look at your host and surroundings, and though you're a little dizzy, you can gather that you seem to be in some sort of workshop, laid on an operating table. "And How are you feeling, mon petit ami?" She asks. You remain silent, but wiggle your arm, legs, and other joints. Everything seems to be in working order, though a few pieces of your ball-joints seem to be needing some sort of grease or oil. "I- Well, I think I'm quite alright, but..." You look at the woman. "How did I get here, and who are you?"

"I," The woman bows her head slightly in greeting, "am Mademoiselle Madeline, and you, mon ami, are in my workshop." She gestures to the cluttered workspace behind her. "Now, as for how you got here, only you can answer a part of that mystery." Madeline steps back to her desk, and rifles through a series of tools and parts while she continues her tale. "I found you while I was out on a stroll in the historic district, the demolished old Kimbrough house to be exact. You were quite the sight, y'know. Pieces of you were all over the place. Took me quite a bit to find all of you and transport you back here. I haven't ever worked with your material before." She says, turning to back to face you for a moment. "Porcelain, are you?" You nod. "Hmm, I thought as much." She picks up a small cloth, and a jar filled with a thick, white paste. "If you don't mind holding still, I'd like to patch up a few minor chips." You hesitate, but allow her to continue. Using a small trowel, Mademoiselle Madeline spreads the paste onto a few small cracks surrounding your ball-joints, specifically the ones that let your knees function. Once the paste is applied, she pulls out a small pouch, and produces from it a few chips of porcelain. She places the back into the damaged areas with an artisans precision.

"There, just be sure to let that set for a while, no sudden, rough leg movements, alright?" She says, returning the materials to her desk. "Now, here's where I'd like to ask you to help me. Who are you?" She asks. You open your mouth to respond, but find no words come from your mouth, and no thoughts come to your mind. "I don't know, I can't seem to remember. It feels... It feels like a piece of me may be missing." You explain, brows furrowed in frustration. Mademoiselle Madeline pushes you no further, and only nods in pity. "I wouldn't be surprised if that was the case. When I found you in that demolished property, it looked as if that old house had practically toppled down onto you. It's a miracle I found all your outer pieces. It's entirely possible that a few important inner elements may be missing." She says, looking you over for a few moments, as if taking you in. "You're an incredible piece of art, I must admit. I wasn't one-hundred percent sure you'd actually work, even with my tampering, much less be capable of thought. Then again, stranger things have happened." Her brief mentioning of how odd you are gives you pause.

"Miss?" You ask, and she hums in acknowledgement. "I'm not normal, am I?" She chuckles softly. "Well, to most, probably not, but to me?" She laughs. "You're just another patient." You tilt your head. "Patient?" You ask. "So you've treated people like me before?" You ask. She shakes her hand in a so-so manner. "Yes, with prosthetics and such, though I admit I've never dealt with someone entirely mechanical." You nod, looking at your now-repaired knees. "Sorry to cause you so much trouble." You apologize, but she quickly shakes her head. "Not at all. Most of your mechanisms only needed minor repair, I'd actually say the hardest part was working with those porcelain fingers of yours." She grabs your wrist and holds it up before her face, manipulating your fingers with hers. "I might have accidentally swapped the fingers into the wrong spots a few times, but I think I've sorted it out. Let me know if they give you any trouble." She muses, letting your hand fall back onto your lap. "Am I alive, truly?" You ask. She shrugs. "I don't know, I think it depends on your definition of 'alive'. Your whole body runs on gears and pulleys, but you seem to think and feel like any other person." Madeline picks up a picture, surrounded in a frame of copper. "You know, you actually remind me a bit of my son, Jack." She presents you with the photo.

A boy, around your age is sat in front of Mademoiselle Madeline, with pale skin and oddly-styled brown hair. Your eyes travel downwards, and you notice a peculiar feature of the boy, a clock lays prominent on his chest. "A time-piece?" You ask. "A cuckoo-clock, actually. Jack was born with a frozen heart, and I needed something to keep him ticking, for turn of phrase. Let me ask you something." You look at her. "Without his clock heart, Jack would die. His hands of time keep him ticking and tocking all the day long. Now let me ask you, does that make this human boy any less alive." You furrow your brows in thought, biting your frigid lip. You shake your head no, and she smiles. "Then I think you have the answer to your question."

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The rest of the afternoon, Mademoiselle Madeline treats you to tea (though you quickly find out that it tea is't the best idea when your stomach mechanics rust). In an attempt to clean the rust, you both stumbled upon a hatch in your chest and stomach, allowing for an easier clean up. It also gave Mademoiselle Madeline a better way to poke around in your inner-workings. You're grateful she always remained gentle. Eventually, you find yourself sitting in her kitchen, warming your cold porcelain over the flame of a candle. Madeline toils with a watch over at her desk. As you sit quietly, you hear footsteps approaching from outside.

The wooden door of the home swings open, and a flurry of snow and cold air sweeps into the home, prompting you to pull the candle closer to your chest. "I'm telling you, they look fine!" "You know I don't like them though, besides, I'm not afraid of bumping into things." A boy and a girl enter, clearly engaged in a debate. In the girls hand there is a pair of white-and-red dotted glasses. "Jack, while I would prefer Acacia to wear her glasses, she isn't as fragile as you." Madeline says, turning to face the boy. He sighs in defeat, prompting the girl to grin and shove her glasses back into his hands with a "Hmph!" of satisfaction. "No kiss?" Madeline asks, and Jack shakes his head and places a kiss on his mothers cheek. "Hello, Madeline." He greets. She nods in sanctification and exchanges a greeting with Jack's young love, Acacia. You watch the encounter from your place in the kitchen.

"Jack, I made an interesting new friend today..." She says, turning to face the boy. As the pair of teens remove their shoes, Jack nods to his mother. "Really? Someone in need of work?" He asks, tilting his head up to look at her out of the corner of his eye. "Mhmm, sort of." His face falls to confusion, and he turns to face Acacia, only to be met with a shrug. Madeline speaks no further, only motioning to the kitchen with a hand while returning to her work. Jack and Acacia follow her hand, a gasp leaving the boy as he sees you. The girl seems to have no reaction to your appearance, but you quickly realize she may not be able to see you. . Your eyes dart from them back down to the candle in front of you, unsure how to introduce yourself. Acacia is the first to approach you, while Jack simply stays back, examining you from a distance.

"Hello..." She greets softly, eyes squinting as she attempts to look at you. Jack smiles and sighs, before walking up behind the girl, reaching over her head and placing her glasses on her nose. She grumbles as she adjusts, blinking a few times as you come into focus. "Oh!" She lets out a surprised gasp, a smile spreading across her face as she looks back and forth between you and her lover. "Jack, they're mechanical, just like you!" She exclaims. You can't help but feel your nervousness fade away at how enthused the two seem. Jack quickly extends a hand to you, and you accept. He holds on, turning your hand over a few times to get a look at your delicate fingers.

"You're made of porcelain?" He asks. "So I've been told." You joke. "So, you're not human at all are you?" You wince at these words, and Jack feels a familiar ache in his clock-work heart when he sees your face fall. "I didn't mean... Well, I meant human in a 'flesh-and-bones' sense, not a 'feelings-and-senses' sense." "I sense your saying 'sense' a bit too much Jack, ease off." Acacia whispers. He blushes, embarrassed. You sigh, and say "No, I understand what you mean. And no, I don't have any skin. I'm all cogs and gears." You laugh. "Can't say I have much of a mind either, I can't really remember anything before now..." You muse, eyes trailing down absentmindedly. You feel a hand on your shoulder, and look up to see Jack has pulled the fabric of his coat to the side, revealing the cuckoo-clock from the photo. "Well, as it were, I understand what it's like being made out of 'gears and cogs'." He assures you. It feels nice.

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"Will you be staying with us?" Jack asks. It's later into the evening now, and the hissing of meat against a pan comes from behind, as Madeline cooks a meal for herself and the pair of teens in front of you, intent on learning all about you. You freeze, unsure how to respond. You would hate to over-step and ask to stay here, but you're not sure where else you could go. You're not even sure you know how to maintain your fragile mechanical form beyond basics like avoiding rain. Before you can respond, Mademoiselle Madeline responds, having somehow sensed your anxiety. "They will be, I'm sure you and Acacia will be more than accommodating." She shoots Jack a playful warning look, and he nods. "Of course, but I hope you don't mind if I ask to see some of your inner-workings. I don't even fully know how my heart functions, much less your whole body." Acacia nods in agreement. "I don't see why not, just don't break anything please. I'd rather like to keep my limbs in working condition. The three of you laugh, and Mademoiselle Madeline begins to set the table. A meal of cooked pork and bean stew sits in a bowl before you, the steam rising from it. You feel an ache in your heart, though you wish the ache was that of hunger instead. How you wish you could eat or drink.

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That night, Jack and Acacia tuck into their separate beds (at Mademoiselle Madeline's insistence). A small resting place has been set up for you on the nearby love-seat, and as you lay down you can't help but wonder if you need sleep, or are even capable of it. You shrug the thought off, supposing you will find out. Soft sighing sounds come from the leftmost bed, Acacia is asleep. A quiet ticking is present in the room, prompting Jack to cough awkwardly. "Apologies, I can't really control the sound." He says, and you sit up to look at him. "No, it's fine. I'm not bothered at all." He nods in response, and sits up to meet your gaze. "How come you don't make any ticking sounds?" He asks. You pause, pondering this. "Maybe my porcelain keeps the sounds inside? I don't actually know." You shift your position, pressing your knees up under your chin as Jack asks another question.

"You never mentioned your name?" He pushes. Once again, he feels awkward when your face falls. "I don't have one. Not one that I can remember, at least." You admit. Jack lets out a hum of understanding, and furrows his brows if in thought. "Well, maybe I could help you pick one?" He suggests. Jack reaches under his mattress and feels around, before pulling back and producing a journal. "These are some old scripts and notes from a friend. I've got a friend, he's a film maker actually." "What's a film?" "Long story. But he's also an excellent storyteller. Maybe we can find a name that suits you in here. For the next few hours, you and Jack traverse the pages of his old friends journal, with Jack explaining various inside jokes and references written within the pages. After some time, Jack points to a name mentioned briefly in the first stanza of a scribbled out poem. "Y/N? What about that? I think it suits you." You nod. "Y/N sounds nice. I'd like to be Y/N." Jack nods, and stuffs the journal back under his mattress. "Hmm. This is actually rather nice, Y/N. I've never had a sibling before." You tilt your head in confusion. "A sibling?" "Like a brother or sister. I mean. if you want to be siblings, that is. Don't feel obligated to agree." He trails off awkwardly. You relish for a moment in the feeling of having a family. "I would like that, Jack." He smiles.

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The next morning, Mademoiselle Madeline sends you, Jack, and Acacia off to school after reviewing Jack's rules three, (though after some minor adjustments to his heart there are only a two rules now.) "Remember Jack, if you need me to go down to the school and speak to the headmaster about-" "No thank you, Madeline. I can handle him myself, I promise. I'll be sure to keep my temper under control." You had overheard this conversation between Jack and his mother this morning as you put on the new uniform Madeline had given you. It felt quite odd, though the woolen school outfit did well to keep your porcelain warm. Now, as you trudged a few feet behind Jack and Acacia, you couldn't help but want to ask about this mysterious tormentor. Your questions do not go unanswered, as you soon find out.

You arrive at the school, staying close to Jack as he assists Acacia through the school gates, holding her hand to guide her up the stairs leading into the courtyard. "Ever the gentleman, Jack." She coos, and he grins. "Isn't that why you fell in love with me?" He teases. She pretends to think for a moment. "Hmm, can't say I did, on account of I couldn't really see you!" The pair laugh, and you can't help but grin at your new brother and his girlfriend. This sweet scene is cut short however, as a boy yells from across the playground. "Oi! Clock-boy, didn't we teach you enough of a lesson yesterday?" A scruffy looking red-headed boy approaches with a cruel grin. Jack's face falls, and Acacia's grows angry. She steps in-between Jack and the blurry form of the boy. "Leave him alone, he hasn't done anything to you!" She yells, stomping her foot down. The boy rolls his eyes. "This isn't your fight Acacia, move." The boy growls. Acacia's stance only grows more firm, and a feeling of worry settles inside you, where on a normal person would be a stomach.

"Please, Acacia, let me handle this." "But Jack-" Jack ignores her insistent remarks, and steps in front of her, bravely facing the boy. As of late, Jack had stopped hiding his heart within the confines of his school jacket, altering the uniform to display his abnormality. He figured that everyone at school had known about it, why should he hide what makes him proud simply to cater to the discomfort of the few who already hate him. Unfortunately, this did make him significantly more vulnerable, as the hands of his heart were now much easier to pull and pluck, and gears could be easily manipulated or removed. Jack and Acacia had initially believed that the bullying may have lessened due to the incident in which a boy lost his eye to the cuckoo-bird living in the clock, but this was not true. If nothing, this only increased feelings of anger and fear surrounding the eclectic boy and his already unpopular mother. "Just let us be, please. You've no reason to harass us." Jack looks the boy dead in the eyes with a firm stare, and for a moment, the cocky facade of the bully falters, fear replacing the jest in his eyes. As the children surrounding you and the group watch the boy with bated breath, he feels unable to back down, and escalates. Clenching his hand, he lets out a cold laugh as he launches a first towards Jack's heart, clearly with intent to harm the boy. You gasp in terror, and can practically feel the world slow around you. You've only known Jack a short while, but his mother made you well aware of how fragile his heart is. In a moment of adrenaline and stupidity, you thrust yourself forward.

As the boy's fist collides with your hard cheek, he yelps in pain, recoiling as you go tumbling onto the ground. You feel odd, and as the boy cradles his bruised fist, you feel as though your head is unbalanced. You quickly realize that your cheek is missing a large chunk of porcelain, which now lays chipped on the ground in front of you. As you grab the shard quickly and hold it to your chest, you look up, causing the crowd to gasp. "What is it?" "Some sort of doll?" "It's terrifying!" "Can it hear us?" "I bet Clock-boys witch mother made it."

You tremble before the crowd of onlookers, their words harming you more than the punch to your face. Acacia quickly kneels beside you, shielding your face from the crowd as he examines the damage. "Does it hurt?" She asks. You shake your head. "No, It doesn't really feel like anything." As Jack begins to yell in retaliation at the injured boy, Acacia attempts to fit the piece of porcelain back into your cheek. "It looks like a very small shard is missing." Acacia says, having matched up most of the shard to your face. As the crowd switches between jeering at you and taunting Jack in his anger, a shadow stretches across the playground, causing a hush to fall over the crowd.

Acacia and Jack freeze, as a tall figure emerges from behind where she is kneeled on the pavement. The courtyard is completely silent, save for the ticking of Jack's heart, which has become more erratic due to the stress of the current situation. Clicking heels approach, and Acacia moves up a little, shielding you and your face from the approaching stranger. "Acacia?" The odd male voice questions. She stands promptly, shuffling in front of you as she faces the boy. Though you can't see much, you can tell the figure towers over Acacia, maybe even Jack. The boy has dark hair, and what appears to be an eye-patch covering his right eye. "Joe, hello." Acacia greets, bowing slightly. Jack looks at her, and she only widens her eyes for a moment, telling him to just remain quiet. "What is the meaning of this disruption?" Joe spits, turning to the cowering red-haired boy. The boy points a finger quickly at Jack. "That freak started it!" "He did not!" Acacia yells, but Joe simply puts his hand up, silencing them both. "And is the freak the reason you're bleeding?" He asks, grabbing the boy's wrist and making him grunt in pain. "N-no. I tried to knock that stupid time-piece out of his chest, but I hit that thing instead!" Joe's visible eye flares with anger, and he raises his free hand. "You dare to hit Miss Acacia?" He exclaims, clearly about to face the boy with his full fury. "W-what! No! I didn't hit her, I hit that other freak. Please, Joe, believe me!" Joe's open palm stops mere inches from the boy's face. "'The other freak'?" Joe questions, a brow raised. The boy uses his uninjured hand to point behind Acacia, and Joe steps to the side to peer around her. He sees not much more than a crumpled female form, so he drops the boy's wrist and steps closer. A huff of air leaves his nose in surprise as he moves closer, seeing your chipped face.

"What is it?" He sneers, looking past Acacia and glancing at Jack. "Surely you must know, Clock-boy." Jack sneers back at him. "There not an 'it', it's my sibling." He exclaims, stepping forward to stand beside Acacia. "Their name is Y/N." Acacia says. Joe seems to respect the girl's opinion more, and he calms himself a bit, taking a deep breath. "And it's your friend?" He asks. "THEY are." She corrects him. He goes silent, glancing down at you from your spot on the ground with a cold look. Suddenly, he reaches down and grips your wrist harshly, pulling you quickly to your feet. You stumble a bit, and Acacia places her hand on the small of your back to steady you. "Be careful, they're fragile!" Joe scoffs. "Clearly, look at them. What's wrong with their face?" His free hand roughly grazes around the edge of your cracked facial porcelain. "He was going to hurt Jack, they got in the middle." Joe glances back at the bully from earlier, who seems to be once more in shock.

"Ugh! I think some of it's face is stuck in me!" He yells, panicked. Sure enough, the missing scrap of porcelain that Acacia said was missing is lodged into the boys wrist, having drawn a light pool of blood around it. Joe drops your wrist and returns to look at the injury. "See, look what it did to me- AH!" Joe quickly yanks the shard out of the boys wrist, and drops of scarlet blood begin to drip from the piece. "What was that for?" The boy cries. Joe rolls his eyes and scoffs at the boy's pathetic nature. "It's no more than a paper cut. Besides, the weak of body are weaker of mind." He begins to return to you and Acacia. "Toughen up." He calls over his shoulder. With a glance to the side and a wave of his hand, Joe disperses the crowd of students, who scatter at his command. Joe roughly grabs your chin, placing the small piece against your cheek. He hums in satisfaction when he sees where it fits in, and turns to hand it to Acacia. "I believe this will help out your friend." He says, bowing as he begins to take his leave. He knocks Jack's shoulder as he walks by, and pauses. "See, Jack? I'm capable of doing no harm. Maybe you should learn from me." He coos, before continuing his walk back into the school as the bell rings. As kids file into the school, the three of you hang back to recover.

💜⏰💜⏰💜⏰💜⏰💜⏰💜⏰💜⏰💜⏰

"Do you need to go home? I'm sure I can take you..." Acacia offers, gently rubbing your shoulder. You shake your head, attempting to swallow down your fear. "N-no, I'm fine. Really." She nods. "Alright, Jack are you okay?" He brushes off his shirt, and after adjusting his hair and flicking his clock, he's ready to go. Acacia heads off to her first class, but you grab your brother's sleeve for a moment to ask him to stop. "Jack?" "Hmm?" You bite your lip, wondering if you should ask what you're wondering. Before you can decide, Jack sighs and senses what you want to know. "The boy in black? That was Joe." He looks away. "He's been, tormenting me ever since' I set foot in this school." You feel a wave of pity wash over you, as Jack seems absolutely manic as he recounts the things Joe has done to him. "He's hit me, cut me, and he let his goons rip open my heart!" He yells. He pauses when he sees the fear in your eyes, and tries to calm himself. "I'm sorry, I... I'd just ask you to avoid him. Please." He urges, and you nod. "It doesn't seem like he harbors any resentment towards Acacia. Do you know why?" You ask. He nods. "Yes. Joe latched onto Acacia when she first moved here. His family is single-handedly funding Acacias stay in Edinborough. She's not a citizen, and he seems to think he owns her because of that." He chuckles. "I suppose they're a bit like us. Siblings, I mean. He's very protective of her." Jack explains. You nod, following your brother into the school. As the click of your heels and the ticking of Jack's heart echo through the room, one more question comes to mind. "Why did Joe say you could learn from him?" You ask. Jack looks confused, then clicks his tongue as he realizes what you're referring to. "I'll tell you, but... promise that you won't be scared, okay?" Your expression turns to one of worry.

"Well, now I am a little scared!" You joke, trying to laugh off the nerves. Jack moves his hand to his chest, and he pokes at the little door atop his cuckoo-clock, from which the bird emerges every hour. He taps it, and the little metal bird pops out, squawking thrice before retreating into its home once more. "One day, Joe was tormenting me, as usual. But, I didn't notice the time, and the more he hit me, the closer he got to my heart. He leaned in to grab it out, and well..." He pauses. Shock grips you coldly as you realize that Jack's little Cuckoo bird is the reason for Joe's eye-patch. Jack nods as he recognizes you have understood his words. "I hope you do not think lesser of me..." He says. You shake your head quickly, wanting to remove any thoughts of doubt from his mind. "No. I couldn't think lesser of you. If it had been intentional, I would say it was self-defense, but you didn't even want to harm Joe. You reacted better than most would have, brother." you place your hand on his shoulder comfortingly. He smiles back at you. As the two of you leave the main hall and enter the classroom, you feel a chill run down your spine, but ignore it. What you don't see is the dark, one-eyed figure looming just around the corner.

💜⏰💜⏰💜⏰💜⏰💜⏰💜⏰💜⏰💜⏰

From where Joe watches, he finds the sneer he wore when looking at your brother falling, as gazes lands on you. Jack holds the door open for you, and as peers from around the corner of the man hall as he hears your melodic voice thanking him. His fist clenches. In his heart, 'a real heart', as he so often mentioned to Jack, a battle of emotions rages. His hatred of Jack and his mother's freakish nature, his annoyance at Acacia's newfound love for the boy, and newest of all, a foreign feeling. A warm pulsing feeling spreads in his heart, strange to the icy boy who's lived his whole life in an even colder town. He feels anger at his inability to understand this feeling, but more anger at the desires this feeling brings. He wants your attention, though he doesn't understand why. He wants your strange, 'freakish', face turned towards him at all times, rather than your bastard clockwork brother. He wants your melodic voice to call out for him, rather than in fear of the boy who smashed in your face in the school courtyard. In this moment, he comes to a decision. His tormenting of your brother will continue, possibly even worsen. In this way, your attention will be on him. He can show you that he is in charge of this school. You will see the fear that he is regarded with, and surely your brother and Miss Acacia will tell you tales of his reputation. Surely, your brother is in no position to defend you, he has more enemies at this school than he has friends in the whole village. You'll no doubt face hardship, given your closeness to that freak and your odd features. You'll need someone to protect you, and Acacia won't always be there. Once you are well aware of his power, surely you will turn to him in your time of need, beg him to help you and to stop hurting your brother. He will, of course, for a price. Just like Acacia, he will have you under his thumb, under his protection. His fist clenches as he begins his walk into the classroom, mumbling to himself.

"A precious piece of porcelain needs a caretaker, no?"

[nettlesomecorvid]

Pre-ordered last month.

I'm guessing scalpers and other media retailers snagged all the copies on release day (Oct 23, U.S.).

Finally got it today from Amazon. 😭😭😭

[marvelmaniac715]

Devon has upgraded his podcast and is now able to interview guests. This is the audio transcript of a very special edition of the podcast:

————————————————————-

Devon: Welcome back to my podcast, today I have a very special guest, and honestly I’ve been looking forward to this all week. It took a lot of work to arrange this interview, and I’m proud to say that I’m interviewing the infamous slasher Charles Lee Ray, better known as Chucky!

Chucky: Hey, great to be here.

Devon: I also have my boyfriend Jake here in order to restrain him. He’s waving- Jake, they can’t see you, this is an audio recording, maybe say hi instead?

Jake: Hi.

Devon: As you can see he’s very talkative… anyway, let’s start with the first question. Chucky, as some of the listeners may know, you’ve made quite a name for yourself as a killer doll, but you were also quite prolific as a human, would you mind talking about one of your favourite murders or crimes committed as a human?

Chucky: Of course, the only problem is that there’s so many good ones that it’s hard to pick… damn it, I knew a question like this was gonna come up, but I didn’t prepare for it, isn’t that stupid?

Devon: It’s not stupid at all Chucky- can I call you Chucky?

Chucky: Sure, I hate being called Charles anyway, and Mr Ray was my father- may he rest in peace.

Devon: Okay, would you like to move on then? I have a few more questions I can ask in the meantime.

Chucky: No, no, I thought of three, is that alright?

Devon: Sure, I’m sure my listeners are just as excited to hear about your past as I am. 

Chucky: Okay, I guess my first pick is when I killed my mom. Nothing special, but it got me started, and it’s always good to remember where you come from, keeps you grounded y’know? My second pick was the whole thing with  Vivian Van Pelt. Again, nothing notable there, but the misunderstanding over her ring meant that I eventually got married, and… well, Tiff and I get on sometimes, and she gave me two… interesting kids, so it all worked out for the best, right? My final pick was this one murder where I managed to get my hands on a chainsaw, the blood went everywhere! Tiff was pissed cause I made a mess on her new white rug, but we were both laughing our asses off when the cops found the body and one of ‘em slipped and fell in the blood on live tv. Classic.

Jake: Devon, we’re gonna get arrested or something over this, should we really continue this?

Devon: Shh, Jake! You know why we’re doing this! Now Chucky, it’s interesting that you mentioned your mother, mind talking our listeners through the process behind that first kill?

Chucky: I’d be happy to. So basically I had a knife in my hand and an oppressive situation I had to get out of. That’s pretty much it.

Devon: That’s it? No remorse, no deeper reasoning? Didn’t you love her?

Chucky *scoffing*: Nah, I always preferred my dad, mom never let me stay up past my bedtime, but dad did. Oh yeah, sorry about your mom by the way. We good?

Devon: …Sure. I’d like to ask about how you got into voodoo, because I’ve always been quite curious about that.

Chucky: Well I was stalking potential victims at a bar one time and I came across this girl who was reading the book Voodoo for Dummies. I started a conversation with her and she told me more about voodoo. I killed her obviously, but what she was talking about really interested me, so I bought my own copy of the book and found a voodoo doctor to teach me more, Doctor Death - his real name was John and I killed him too - so yeah that’s about it.

Devon: That’s so interesting! Now I’d like to take a break from the crime from a moment and get to know the man behind the murders. I’ll start with an easy one, what’s your favourite movie genre?

Chucky: Horror, no questions asked. If it’s got blood, terror and screaming, I’m down.

Devon: I thought you’d say that. Following on, what’s your favourite horror movie?

Chucky: The Shining. I loved it as a human and I love it now, a classic movie based on a classic book that I’ve read eight times.

Devon: Does all work and no play make Chucky a dull boy?

Chucky: Ha, nice reference! And yeah, I’d say so, I like to have fun.

Devon: Glad you liked the reference. What’s your favourite not strictly horror movie?

Chucky: One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest. I love the psychological drama elements, and it reminds me of the times I was in a mental hospital.

Devon: Do you… see yourself in any of the characters? Not even like emotions wise, just like, based off of physical appearance?

Chucky: …Nope. I do like Nurse Ratchet though.

Devon: Really? Even if I show you this picture of yourself as a human and… give me a sec- this picture of the character Billy Bibbit?

Chucky: No, not seeing anything…

Devon: That’s weird. Do you see what I’m talking about Jake?

Jake: You know what, you’re right! He totally looks like-

Chucky: We seem to be going on some weird tangent, any other questions?

Devon: Yeah, sorry about getting sidetracked there.

Chucky: No worries.

Devon: Okay, continuing on, what’s your favourite book?

Chucky: Anything by Steven King, the man’s a literary genius.

Devon: So he’s your favourite author then?

Chucky: Totally.

Devon: Alright, two more questions. The first is, do you regret anything?

Chucky: No, I’m pretty happy with life.

Devon: Okay, now I don’t regret what’s about to happen.

Chucky: What do you mean?

Devon: Final question-

Chucky *thrashing to break free*: What the hell’s going on?

Devon: Don’t worry about it. Jake, tie him to that chair and step back.

Chucky: What?!

Devon: Final question.

Andy *kicking the door open and bursting into the room, cocking a gun*: Hands where I can see ‘em!

Devon: Are you ready?

Chucky *sighing*: Damn it, this is why I don’t do interviews…

[kaiidos]

there is a distressing lack of fanfiction for classic literature. please let me uwu-ize and babygirl the characters in my English assignments so I can find a reason to keep living

[endofradio]

TRUE ECOLOGY — CHAPTER 2: SIGHTSEEING

PROLOGUE | CHAPTER 1

WARNINGS: n/a

NOTES: what would you do if you were salem and you were in a car with könig 🤨

SUMMARY: könig stops by salem’s suite for a bit of a chat. later that night, she returns after a nighttime walk, only for sabina to warn her about something. the next morning, könig takes salem on a car ride through the forest, which leads to an interesting discussion… and a proposed opportunity.

WORD COUNT: 2,650

TAGLIST: @trelaney @lokidoki9 @13th-floor-in-moonstone @spookyspecterino @fran-tau @kolcheksluver @actually-adambarrett @blackwolfstabs @creelmalfoylaufeyson69 @starryrevelations @samcrpnters (feel free to shoot me a message if you’d like to be added to my taglist!)

reblogs and comments are heavily appreciated. don’t be shy!

Salem stood by the window of her bedroom, gazing outside and taking in the bright and sunny view. She could hear birds chirping and found the scene relaxing. It was peaceful and mostly quiet, just the way she liked it.

She was then snapped out of her thoughts when she heard a knock on the door. Quickly, she turned around.

“Mom? Dad? Is that you? Come in.”

The door swung open, and König entered, still clad in his turtleneck and jacket from before. He adjusted his round-framed glasses and then spoke, offering a polite smile.

“Ah, not your parents. I hope you don’t mind.”

Salem was mildly surprised, but she wasn't complaining. “I wasn't expecting to see you here,” she said, crossing her arms. “How did you find me, anyway?”

König let out a lighthearted chuckle as he slowly stepped further into the room, his brown shoes quiet against the floor.

“Perhaps I have a sharpened sense of hearing.” He quipped with light sarcasm. “Did you forget I was...right there when you and Sabina were talking? I heard every word.”

Salem slowly nodded. “Ah… right.”

Something about König’s mannerisms gave her a sense of unease. The way he spoke was polite and gentle, but instead of making him seem approachable, it only made him intimidating. The way he walked and carried himself reminded Salem of a predator stalking its prey — his movements were slow and methodical. When König looked at her, he appeared to be studying her. Analyzing her. He was… mysterious.

Salem watched as König quietly wandered over to the window, his hands placed behind his back. He hummed quietly as he stared out the window, seemingly pondering. After a few moments, he turned his head to look at Salem, gently smiling again.

“Nature’s truly marvelous, don’t you think?”

Salem hummed in agreement. “Especially here.”

“Do you… have an eye for nature, perhaps?” König then asked. “I believe it’s a… quality trait.”

“Of course I do. I studied photography in college.”

König’s eyebrow was now raised in intrigue. “Ah, photography? Good choice, good choice indeed. Well, this place is perfect for you, then. I take it you’ve brought a camera with you?”

Salem nodded. “I plan on using it while I’m here. My camera’s like a… visual diary of sorts. Memories are important to me.”

“One day, you’ll have to show me some of the pictures that you’ve taken. I’m… intrigued.”

A smile started to tug at her lips. “Oh, of course. I’m… flattered that you’re interested.”

König chuckled. “Flattered?” He repeated. “Has nobody else seen your work?”

Salem’s smile then turned slightly sheepish, her eyes darting away from his for a moment, focusing on the floor instead.

“I don’t show my photos to a lot of people. When I do, they don’t really care.” She quietly explained. “College was the only time people seemed to care. My dad isn’t the most supportive of my passion for photography. He always says that… art won’t pay the bills.”

“Ah, but what does he know?” König then asked, stepping closer towards Salem. “You two are… different individuals… with different interests, after all.”

Salem nodded slowly, and for a few moments, they stood together in the room in silence, quietly observing the scenery outside the window. While standing there, König reached into the front pocket of his jacket, taking out a small, wooden instrument.

“What’s that?” Salem asked, tilting her head just a little.

Instead of answering her, König brought the instrument to his lips before carefully blowing into it, filling the room with a sharp, haunting sound. He held a note for just a few moments and then turned to look at Salem again, smiling.

“It’s a… wooden flute.” He answered. “Simple… yet lovely instrument. You can say that it’s… my way of talking to nature.”

Almost as if on cue, a particular type of bird call came from the distance — a shrieking call that was somewhat peculiar and alarming. Unfazed, König chuckled lightly.

“Such an ugly sound, isn’t it?” He asked. “That, my dear, is a shrike. Sometimes, they are referred to as… butcher birds.”

Salem’s brows furrowed in a slightly alarmed manner. “Sounds… morbid.” She commented.

“You’d be correct. They are… vicious little things. They appear small and innocent, yet they’ll impale their prey on thorns.”

König paused for a moment, allowing his words to hang in the air before he spoke again.

“Sometimes, they’ll even kill other birds…”

He let out an amused chuckle at Salem’s expression of slight bewilderment. “Ah, but they aren’t monsters.” He continued. “Their… technique… it’s just a way of survival… adaptation.”

“You seem to know… quite a lot.”

König’s smile grew a little wider. “I have a background in it — ornithology. It’s the… study of birds.”

Salem slowly nodded. “Do you have a favorite kind of bird?” She then asked.

König hummed thoughtfully at her question. “I do, I do…” he quietly answered, before checking his watch. “I’ll tell you later, hm? Tomorrow, I can give you a little tour of the forest. We can chat then. Is that alright?”

Salem’s gaze curiously wandered over to König’s watch. “Mhm, that’s fine.” She replied. “You’ve got somewhere to be?”

The German man was silent for a few moments as if he was considering whether or not to answer Salem’s question. Eventually, he spoke.

“Indeed. I have to, let’s just say… pay somebody a little visit.”

“Ah.” Salem nodded. “Well… I hope it goes well.”

She watched as König turned around and made his way to the door. His hand hesitated momentarily before his fingers curled around the doorknob. He looked back at Salem, and their eyes met once again. Instead of speaking, he just flashed her a small smile before slowly opening the door and disappearing from the room.

When he was gone, Salem was standing alone in the room with much to think about.

“Hm… that should be good enough.”

After reviewing the photos she had taken, Salem repositioned her camera strap around her neck and drew in a deep breath of fresh air, taking in her surroundings. König was right, she thought. Resort Alpschatten truly was located amongst some gorgeous scenery. Sure enough, it proved to be useful for Salem’s pictures.

After turning around, she started heading back toward the resort. Maybe going into the forest alone wasn't a wise decision, but nothing appeared to be out of the ordinary. It seemed relatively safe to Salem.

As Salem walked along the trail, she watched various bird species fly from tree to tree above her until she eventually caught sight of the resort. When she headed inside, she noticed that the lobby appeared to be mostly empty, with Sabina being the only other person there, seated at the reception desk.

“You know, you’re lucky you made it out alive.” She commented, raising an eyebrow at Salem. “What time is it?”

Confused as to why Sabina was asking the question, Salem glanced up at the clock. “Uh… almost ten o’clock?”

“Exactly.”

Salem narrowed her eyes. “What about it?”

Sabina leaned back in her chair, blowing a bubble of bubblegum. “Are you not aware of the rumors?” She asked, almost in a know-it-all tone of voice. “There’s a reason why this place closes at ten. Notice how the lobby is mostly desolate, except for us two?”

Salem slowly nodded. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Well…” Sabina sighed, chewing the now-popped purple bubble. “Rumor has it that there’s a… serial killer who wanders around the forest at night. Some kind of woman who wears a trenchcoat and sunglasses.”

“That’s… strange.”

Sabina chuckled, leaning forward in her seat just a little. “Would you like to know what’s stranger?” She asked. “All the staff here acts like it’s just some kids playing a prank. I have enough reason to suspect that’s not the entire truth.”

Before Sabina could continue, a woman in a hospital gown suddenly entered the lobby, looking almost… dazed. Tired. Both Sabina and Salem turned to look at the sickly-looking woman as she hurriedly opened the refrigerator, grabbing a drink and guzzling it down as though she hadn’t drunk anything in days.

STORY CONTINUES BELOW THE GIF.

Sabina glanced back at Salem. “This is the kind of shit that happens at night.” She explained. “I’ve seen that woman before. Tried to ask her if she needed help, but… she wouldn’t answer me. I don’t think she can speak, actually.”

“She’s wearing a hospital gown.” Salem then observed. “What is she doing here?”

“There’s a hospital on the resort grounds,” Sabina answered. “I’m assuming she’s a patient.”

Salem slowly nodded, and then Sabina spoke up again.

“I’ve tried to convince König to allow me to not work night hours, but… he wouldn’t listen to me.”

The woman in the hospital gown finished the rest of the bottled drink, tossed it on the floor, and then left as quickly as she had entered.

“So, I’m just going to tell you this,” Sabina then said, her voice suddenly taking on more of a warning tone. “Whatever you do, don’t go outside late at night. Alone. I don’t know what’s going on around here, but I have a very bad feeling.”

“This serial killer… have you seen her before?” Salem then questioned, her tone a mixture of concern and skepticism.

Sabina shook her head. “No, I haven’t, but I’ve heard enough about her to believe she’s real.”

“What else have you heard about her?”

“Her way of killing her victims is… strange. They end up dying by choking on their vomit.”

“How does that happen? Does she… drug them? Poison them?”

Sabina shrugged. “I don’t know. I just know that’s how her victims die.”

“That’s… odd.”

“Yeah, I know. Just… be careful, and you should be safe. I know the whole thing sounds ridiculous, but… better to be safe than sorry, right?”

Salem slowly nodded, not saying anything. Instead, she left the lobby, walking down to her suite. She tried to tell herself that Sabina was simply just believing some kind of urban legend, because that’s exactly what it sounded like.

Perhaps she’d have to investigate herself one of these nights and put her camera to good use.

The next morning, Salem was greeted by a gentle knock on her door. As she stood up, gently setting down the book she was reading, she remembered König’s words from yesterday.

That’s right. He said he’d give me a tour of the forest today.

When Salem went to open the door, König happened to be standing right there in the doorway, a pleasant smile on his face.

“Ah, good morning.” He spoke. “Slept well, I hope?”

Salem nodded. “Uh… yeah, I did.” She answered. “By the way, you… said that you’d give me a tour of the forest today. Is that why you’re here?”

König nodded. “Hm, you have a good memory.” He chuckled. “How about you follow me outside? I suggest bringing your camera.”

With those words, Salem grabbed her camera and followed him to the lobby. Once outside, they were greeted by the cacophonous sound of birds chirping and singing.

“Beautiful morning, isn’t it?” König asked as he led Salem over to his car, opening the door for her. “The birds seem to agree.”

“It’s definitely beautiful.” Salem agreed as she climbed into the passenger’s seat. “Considering I’m not a morning person, that must say a lot, doesn’t it?”

König chuckled as he got inside the car. “Perhaps it’s because, until now, you’ve never experienced how truly beautiful a morning can be.”

As Salem sat down, the first thing that caught her eye was a small drawing of a bird. König’s car keys contained a similar drawing of what must’ve been the same bird as well.

“Is… that your favorite bird?” She asked, gesturing to the drawing in front of her.

König grinned at Salem’s question. “Smart girl. Do you… know it?”

Salem shook her head. “I don’t believe I’ve seen it before.”

STORY CONTINUES BELOW THE GIF.

“The common cuckoo.” König then explained, his gaze shifting from the drawing to Salem. “Common, but it’s behavior… isn’t. Its nature is… quite remarkable. Listen closely, and you might hear its call… right now.”

There was a moment of silence between the two, then suddenly, there was a faint “cuck-oo, cuck-oo.”

“Hear it?” König asked, his smile widening ever so slightly.

Salem nodded. “It sounds… familiar.”

“It’s a sound you’ve most likely heard before,” König said, before letting out a disappointed sigh as he stared off into the distance. “Humanity is a… terrible thing, truly, if you think about it. So many species have been destroyed… all because of humanity.”

He paused, allowing for his words to sink in.

“Am I… wrong?” He then asked.

Salem slowly shook her head. “No, you’re… right. I just wasn’t expecting such a… deep topic early in the morning.”

König hummed as his gaze switched to the steering wheel. “Some species need our help to survive and… reproduce.”

Then, he glanced back at Salem, his smile momentarily returning. “I’m a preservationist, you know.”

Salem watched as König twisted the ignition key, the engine coming to life. Then, he pulled out of the parking lot, making his way toward the forest.

The journey into the forest was fairly quiet at first, with the two sitting in the car in silence, Salem looking out the window as she watched rows of trees pass by.

“Tell me about your… photography.” König then spoke up, glancing at Salem for a brief moment. “What do you specifically like to capture? What’s your motivation?”

Salem continued to stare out the window, silently pondering the question. “I just… capture whatever I believe to be beautiful, whatever grabs my attention.” She then answered, before meeting König’s gaze momentarily. “I don’t follow a specific approach or anything. I just… do what works for me, depending on what I’m taking a picture of.”

König slowly nodded, humming in intrigue. “In your photos, is there a… common subject of sorts?”

Salem shrugged. “Not really. I’ve taken pictures of nature, cities, animals, people… pictures of… objects… sometimes I experiment with self-portraits.”

“Self-portraits, hm?” König quietly repeated. “You say you capture what you find to be beautiful. Does that mean that you… find yourself to be beautiful?”

At those words, Salem chuckled sheepishly. “It’s… not like that.” She explained. “Self-portraits are… something different for me. I mean, I suppose I’m trying to capture something with them, but it’s not beauty. Identity, maybe?”

“Fascinating.”

There was a pause before König spoke again.

“Ah, since you have your camera with you… I have a small request to make if that’s alright with you.”

Salem looked back at König, her interest now piqued. “Hm? What kind of request?”

“You mentioned you take pictures of people, correct?” He asked. “I’d be interested to see how you perceive me.”

“You… want me to take a picture of you?”

“Correct.”

The smallest of a smile formed on Salem’s face as she looked back out the car window. “Yeah, sure. I can do that.”

As König continued driving, Salem noticed what appeared to be a pink bungalow in the distance. Something about it seemed… eerie. It looked almost abandoned, and it didn’t help that it was located in a remote part of the forest, secluded from everything else.

“What’s that?” She quietly asked, watching as König stopped the car.

“Hm… that’s the Lover’s Nest, one of our many private bungalows here at the resort,” König replied. “It’s… quite popular amongst our couples, especially the newlyweds.”

Salem slowly nodded, narrowing her eyes. “It looks… abandoned.”

“It’s… much nicer on the inside, trust me. Otherwise, I highly doubt anybody would be using it.”

König looked around before opening the car door, stepping out into the forest, and gesturing for Salem to exit as well.

“Now, I think this would provide the perfect backdrop for a picture, don’t you think?”

[cuckoo-on-a-string]

Winter Solstice Event? (Join up!)

Friends, followers, and mutuals: want to celebrate the holiday season by making shit and telling stories in the dark?

I'm trying to launch a little event for us to enjoy. Please feel free to share/reblog/link to anyone you think may be interested.

Many cultures celebrate the longest night of the year, the winter solstice, by staying up and sharing stories as a community. I think it's a shame that this tradition has disappeared (in my part of the world, anyway) and I want to revive it here with friends.

The idea: Starting at sunset December 21st (in the earliest timezone with a participant), we start telling stories. Writers, artists, and makers of all sorts get an assigned hour (or more than one, if there are only a few of us) to share at least one thing, and everyone else is their audience and behave accordingly (so we comment, reblog, like, etc.).

This would look something like this: at 4 pm, I'd share a new one-shot or something; everyone enjoys for that hour; at 5 pm, you share something; everyone enjoys for that hour; at 6 pm your friend shares something; everyone enjoys for that hour; and so on until sunrise in the latest time zone with a participating member.

If no one joins me, that's okay. I'll tell some stories and hope they help keep someone's hopes warm through the long night.

If you are interested (even just as an audience member) please do leave comments, etc. If you want to be one of the sharers/storytellers, send me a message, and I'll start getting all official with a spreadsheet and shit.

Happy holidays, be warm, be safe, and I hope to have fun with you all very soon. <3

[crimsonlyinglilly]

No. 8: “I’ve got soul, but I’m not a soldier.”

Overcrowded ER | Outnumbered | “It’s all for nothing.”

Hunger Games, my OCs District Ten’s Victors.

---

It had started in innocence, Angus and his dad used to joke they were outnumbered by the girls in his family, his mom, sisters, aunts and cousins, then the war happened and Angus tried to keep the joke up when it was just him, his littlest sister and closest cousin. A family of twenty down to three.

Whatever innocence left, died quickly when the reapings started and the games kept repeating.

District 10 is the livestock district. It isn't that hard to accept that two of their children every year are just as much livestock as the animals they sent, or the meat, a fair trade to keep those behind alive.

He was outnumbered by the peacekeepers on the 9th reaping when it was his own name, even if he wasn’t he couldn’t fight when it would bring them down on his girls. Then in the games he was outnumbered one against twenty two.

Twenty two because nothing would make him raise a hand against the little girl that had spent the train ride sobbing into his shirt the same way his sister did after a nightmare. He didn’t need to worry about that though as his last clear memory from his games was his thin neck snapping at the hands of a much bigger kid.

He’s fifteen and about to die.

His next clear memory was a hammer in his hands and realising the wet stickiness covering him was blood and other stuff.

He’s outnumbered in the district, the only one to return and every pair of eyes he can feel on screams they would have wanted someone else back.

He’s outnumbered when Peacekeepers arrive for him with a stylist a few years later when  they decide the Victors have the honour to mentor the new tribute. He’s outnumbered in the Capitol, one of the few real people in a sea of mockeries, how can people laugh and cheer as children die?

After a few more years he’s outnumbered as the sole Victor from the outer districts. He’s outnumbered by the number of dead children piling up next to his name as every year he returns to Ten sitting between another pair of wooden boxes.

His close calls, the children he can almost see coming home with him, are outnumbered by the children dead in the first few days.

Even his miracles are outnumbered, not by the many children he failed to save but by the many ways he failed them.

Lambert Edwin, his first success after years of waiting, already full of anger before his name was called. Who had only smiled when Edwin told him “No rules, don’t hold back.” had gone into the games and reflected the Capitol’s true bloodlust back at them with his hooks and habit of leaving the tribute hung up to bleed, a true son of the slaughterhouses.

And when he came out Angus covered him in rules but failed him, because for all he had watched and learnt he couldn’t stop it all repeating on his victor. Couldn’t stop the games following him and taking his mother, couldn’t warn his charge not to let those in the Capitol near because they wouldn’t accept the word No once they had a taste.

In the end his angry boy Lambert was remade by into Capitol’s Edwin, a charming stallion.

Ten’s the livestock district, Angus should have known better, deadstock or breeding stock, those reaped belong to the Capitol. 

Cuckoo who went into the games with a mask of a sadist to cover a romantic at heart, who had already killed the girl she was, when she introduced herself as Culla in the interviews and had her face all over the Capitol the night she killed half the Careers when she lured the Games mutts to where they slept.

Highest kill count for a non-career but the Capitol only cared for the pretty girl biting an apple as red as her lips. She went to the parties without being reminded of the cost, if she didn’t, she shrugged off the marks left behind because she believed they couldn’t truly touch her and Angus hadn’t warned her. 

So when Charley was reaped she broke, the younger brother to her once fiance, the only one from home who had never flinched when she came back. Charley went into the games, as Talon, he was strong, handsome, charming and everything you could need in a victor.

But Angus has learnt that means little and his reaping wasn’t by chance, so while Angus and Edwin worked to keep him alive he hadn’t been able to stop Cuckoo, his hidden romantic from making a deal with the devil.

And in the aftermath of the games Culla and Talon were wed in the Capitol and in the years that follow their ‘happy ending’ Angus watches as his future failures are born, children the Capitol greet with cheers and one day will cry over as they are reaped and die in the games.

Children bred to die, because Ten is the livestock district they know how this goes.

His latest Hereford, who barely counts as a success as he fails her from the beginning, the girl who volunteered to save a friend and had no plans to win at all, only agreeing to live long enough to kill her 12 year old partner.

They dress them as a pair of little lambs, ‘lambs to the slaughter’. She's fifteen and ready for her death and laughs at the joke, bright and free. He was fifteen once, when he picked up a hammer and started outnumbering himself with dead children.

Snow tells him to ensure she wins, so he can remind the current Career districts that they can be replaced, Angus doesn’t know why but he has learnt not to question. So he breaks his one promise, that every one of his tributes can choose to die, and sends her a message, she’s a smart girl she understands it She dies, her family follows.

For years the shows replay the moment she stares at the camera as the moment she decided she ‘would not fall’, Angus knows it as betrayal, it’s the last moment she lets herself show anger.

The friend she volunteered for dies with her family at the same moment Hereford wins, ‘gas leak what a shame’, Snow smiles when he tells Angus, Hereford’s family is left alone.

When she comes out, the interview gives her a new name, Fera for the way she fought desperately to win and because the Capitol already has a Hera from Two. Fera smiles and laughs and it’s empty and fake.

He lives in a village, where the empty houses outnumber the full ones and now he wants it to stay that way until something changes because for every filled house there are twenty three dead children and a broken survivor that he keeps failing.

But it won’t until all the districts learn to ignore the blood of each other's children and turn together against the Capitol, until then they outnumber themselves.

It’s the same within the games, two children against twenty two others.

For the victors where they are dragged out of the games as nothing more than bloody children and dressed up to be torn apart by either the grasping hands of the Capitol or their own nightmares that haunt them.

Ten maybe be the livestock district but to the Capitol they’re the all livestock, but every stockman knows to remain wary around your stock and them, in their painted wigs have forgotten that if they ever knew it.

Angus is old and there's no innocence left, but he’s learned patience and now he’s just waiting for a spark of a fire to start a stampede, that will crush the unaware in the centre.

[some-pers0n]

No, but my actual biggest pet peeve when it comes to literature in general is when a character has an accent / speech impediment so heavy you can't tell what they're saying half the time and it never stops.

Replacing vowels with 'w' when writing a child character will never not be the most agitating thing to me. Same with cutting off half of the words they're saying or replacing certain consonants like 's' with 'z' or 'th'. Please please please I can't read a back-and-forth conversation when one or more of the characters are literally incomprehensible to the readers.

[grand-omega-boss]

Does anybody know any good David Alleyne (Prodigy) fanfiction? I don't like thinkfast ship but if the story is good then that's okay

[evil-feather]

Home

Pairing: MissPeregrineXMissCuckoo

Warnings: sickness but comfort :)

Word count: 1807

Tags: @sam1kath @vykanya @mmemalwa @msperegrinesimp @l-lizzy-y

Notes: I know I know, this took me ages, terribly sorry about that. Also about one tiny thing (because it bothers me somehow): I settled for Fay as Alma's nickname given by Isabel YEARS ago and I actually find it cute to this day. I did cringe the hell when I wrote this because I don't wanna write my name in there so we'll just pretend like I'm not called Fay, right? Thanks🥲

Anyways another thing, there will be a little bonus "chapter" coming soon, as an apology :)

Oh and please let me know if you liked it!! <3

----

It was a normal day, really. 

The children were playing in the garden while the birds were chirping outside and the sun was shining through the big kitchen window.

Alma was teaching the last lesson for the Ymbrynes in training while Isabel was standing in the kitchen washing the dishes from lunch.

Just as she had put the last plate into the cupboard she could hear the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs. 

She looked out of the kitchen and saw the class coming downstairs and separating themselves to go into the garden or the living room.

Isabel smiled slightly as she watched the few girls that went outside to enjoy the sun.

She put the towel away and made her way upstairs to the classroom that was full of students not even a minute ago. 

The door was slightly open so she knocked and pushed the door all the way open.

The huge classroom came into view, with large windows and the wall plastered with pictures and posters. 

At the end of the room sat a tiny woman on a desk that was way too big for her, leaning over some books and papers.

She looked up when she heard Isabel enter the room and gave her a weak smile.

"I see you are still working," Isabel chuckled as she made her way through the classroom.

Alma mustered her shortly before returning her gaze to the papers in front of her.

"I'd also love it if this paperwork did itself but sadly…," she sighed slightly as she gestured at her desk.

Isabel took a look at the papers, now standing on the other side of the desk. 

Then she whispered: "Looks awfully boring."

She looked up and met Alma's face just a few inches from hers. There was a small smile on her face from the comment but there was also something different.

Quickly Isabel noted mentally, how tired Alma looked. She would make sure that she got to rest later. 

Isabel leaned forward a little and dropped a kiss on the small woman's lips before she stood up again.

"I'll bring you some tea and then we can maybe get some things done together, I also need to prepare some lessons." 

Her eyes met the green ones opposite of her and they seemed to shine a bit more than before. 

"Thank you, that's very kind of you," Alma smiled.

"Anything for my favorite falcon," she laughed, making her way back to the door. 

She heard Alma chuckle in the back but when she turned her face again, Alma's nose was already stuck in the papers again.

So she made her way to the kitchen to boil some water. 

In the meantime, she collected all the things she might need to work on the next lesson.

When everything was there and the tea on a tray, Isabel left the kitchen but before she could make her way back to the classroom she bumped into Emma.

"- my, I'm so sorry Emma." 

"Oh Miss, I was actually looking for you! Do you have a minute?"

Isabel looked at the tray in her hand, then at the blonde girl in front of her. 

She sighed, putting everything on a cupboard and following Emma to the garden. 

They stopped under a small tree where Bronwyn and Millard were sitting, a massive book in their lap.

Isabel raised her eyebrow and looked at the three children in front of her with a questioning expression on her face.

"Uhm-, well, we know that you two aren't the biggest fans of celebrating your birthdays and all that," Emma started slowly, nervously fidgeting with her hands as she spoke.

"We still wanted to make something for Miss Peregrine," Millard finished quickly.

Isabel's face softened and a small smile formed on her lips.

"And how can I help you with that?" she carefully put her hand between Emma's to stop her from picking her skin and returned her gaze to the two children under the tree.

Emma's gaze flicked to her hands and the Ymbryne beside her before going to the book in Bronwyn's hand.

"We started to collect pictures from the past weeks and months since a lot has happened and changed," Millard explained.

"And we have collected them into one big album," Bronwyn said, gesturing to the book in her lap.

"We were wondering if you might want to add something yourself."

The Ymbryne thought about it for a short while, then she shrugged lightly.

"I don't think I have anything newer that I could add."

"Nah, we already have newer pictures of you two-," the invisible boy blurted out.

"Millard!" Emma tried to shush him.

Isabel narrowed her eyes slightly and looked at Emma who suddenly looked very uncomfortable.

She sighed and agreed that she'd see what she could find. 

Leaving the kids to discuss the rest, she made her way back inside.

The tea had gone cold so she brought it back into the kitchen and quickly made a new one.

Finally, she reached the classroom with a delay of 47 minutes.

Carefully not to startle Alma, she knocked on the door.

When no answer came she knocked a second time and after being left in silence again, she slowly pushed the door open.

She nearly dropped the tray when the room came into view.

Quickly she put it onto the nearest table and rushed to the oaken desk.

Alma was lying with her head on the desk, looking incredibly pale.

When Isabel carefully laid her hand on the younger woman's forehead to check her temperature, she noticed how warm she was.

She cursed internally for not doing something when she had noticed an hour ago that something was wrong.

Gently she started to nudge Alma's shoulder to wake her up.

After a minute she slowly started to open her eyes, tiredly blinking at Isabel until her vision became clearer.

Then in seconds, her head shot up when she realized that she was lying on her papers.

Immediately she regretted the sudden movement as her head started to hurt again and tiny black spots began to cloud her vision.

Isabel caught her head, just as she started to faint again.

"Why didn't you tell me that you felt this bad?" Isabel scolded her softly.

"It's not that bad. -'m fine," Alma whispered, barely audible.

"Yeah, I can see that," the other Ymbryne sighed. "Come on, let's get you upstairs."

Eventually, after a little bit of convincing, they made it into their shared room and Isabel got Alma to lie down.

"Stay? Please?"

Isabel sat down on the bed, carefully taking Alma's hand into hers.

"I can stay until you are asleep, but then I have to go check on the hatchlings and see what we're gonna have for dinner later."

It didn't take long until Alma was asleep. Isabel pulled the covers over the sleeping woman and did as she said, checking on the kids and Ymbrynes-in-training. 

When Alma opened her eyes the next time the light in the room was dimmed and the house seemed to be quiet. 

Not having the strength to stand up, she turned her head a little to the side. There was a tray on the nightstand with a small bowl and a teapot on top of it. 

In the small armchair on the side of the bed sat a tall figure, cuddled in a thick blanket.

She looked up when she noticed that Alma was awake. Isabel smiled warmly at the ravenette’s tired face.

“What happened?” Alma rasped, not being able to move her head.

Isabel got up from her chair and sat down on the bed, carefully taking Alma's hand in hers.

“You are sick, and you passed out because you wouldn't stop working on your papers,” Isabel replied, a thick layer of worry in her voice.

“Nonsense, I'm not sick!” Alma murmured weakly, barely keeping her eyes open.

The other woman couldn't help but chuckle slightly at Alma's not-at-all-convincing reply.

“Well then, I made you soup. Here, you need to eat something. That shouldn't be a problem if you are not sick, right?” she teased, taking the 

bowl from the nightstand and holding it out for Alma to take.

But she only groaned and threw her arm over her eyes. “Seems like you've defeated me.”

The cuckoo set down the bowl and softly squeezed the small hand she was still holding.

“Alright Fay, go back to sleep. But promise me that you'll try to eat something when you wake up the next time! It will help you get better soon!”

Alma nodded slightly but Isabel was sure that she hadn't listened to her anymore and was already asleep.

——

She didn't get better, rather the opposite.

Three days had passed since she had collapsed over her desk. She had slept through most of the days and had barely eaten nor drank anything, looking paler than ever.

“I miss my children,” Alma whined weakly.

“But you need rest!” Isabel protested, her arms crossed over her chest. This argument has been going on for a while now.

“And I promise that I will do that, it's not like I can move anyways,” the ravenette pleaded, “I just miss seeing them!”

The older Ymbryne sighed loudly. 

"Fine! But if they bother you too much, I'll send them to their rooms again!”

“Deal!” Alma gave a weak smile.

Isabel nodded shortly before picking the small woman up and carrying her downstairs into the living room.

The room was quite warm and comfortable. The fire in the chimney was crackling softly and the kids were sitting splattered around in the room, some reading, some playing games, or simply talking.

However, they all looked up and happily greeted the two Ymbrynes as they entered the room.

“Your Ymbryne is still sick so please let her rest,” Isabel reminded the children as she threw the blanket over Alma's shoulders.

She left the room to make some tea and when she came back a few minutes later, Alma was fast asleep again.

Isabel noticed however that Alma seemed to be much calmer than before and she could swear that there was even a hint of a smile on her lips.

Alma was slowly getting better over the next few days. 

When Isabel checked on her, the following day, she was sitting on the sofas, wrapped in a thick blanket and having little Claire in her lap.

Olive was sitting to her right and they were coloring a picture together.

It was an adorable picture, that Isabel had to pause for a minute and just watch the scene.

It was at this moment that Isabel realized that the kids really seemed to do Alma good. And from that moment on she was sure that things were gonna be okay again.