#dandere week

[maidoftheday]

Today's Dandere of the Day: Nagisa Furukawa from Clannad

[shewhowantsmouseears]

so i might have free time this sunday, and if I do...

[corvidcall]

miss my kitty who just passed. miss having a kitty around. my partner suggested a while ago what if we got a hypoallergenic cat, so i was looking into it, but today i checked on a breeder id been considering and she closed her waitlist like. yesterday. dang

[danderling]

SORRY FOR BEING INACTIVE THIS WEEK!!!! Art block hit me like a land slide

Tropickle (i forgot the other name for it……) lives in my head rent free doesnt pay any bills eats at the dinner table whenever it likes and is basically the landlord at this point i love these two so so much

Imagine Trophy and Pickle’s possiblities dude…. Like Trophy and Pickle open up to each other about their past actions and then like

Trophy gets to learn about Pickle’s experience with Taco as like a way to he able to see his past actions from Knife’s point of view and its a big moment where he realises he struggles to understand his own emotions and needs let alone others which leads to him eventually wanting to change

While Pickle gets to hear about Trophy wanting to change as a person and since he knows so many people who have made mistakes and wants to learn from them he is willing to be there for Trophy and then ghrhrgjekxkgks

THEN THEY KISS ITS A HAPPILY EVER AFTER ASS MOMENT I NEED THEM TO HAVE SUCH A CUTE LITTLE ROMANTIC PICNIC DATE IN THE FOREST SAVE ME

Yeah me and my lomg rambles but thats what you get for following Dander’s blog out of every other one

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for being "obsessed" with my neighbor's dog?

Not entirely sure how else to word this. I'm not sure I did anything wrong, but when I talked to a friend about it they said I was being creepy and I'm open to other opinions here.

I (F27) love dogs, but sadly I can't have one because I'm allergic. It's not a deathly allergy, just if I'm around dog hair and dander for too long my nose starts running and my eyes start itching. So I'm fine if I pass by one in public, or pet one and wash my hands after, but I can't have a dog in my house laying on my furniture and bed and getting hair on my clothes.

About a year ago I had a new neighbor move in we'll call Alice (F30), and Alice has a pit bull we'll call Cain. She actually came and knocked on my door and told me she just wanted to warn me she had a large dog who looks scary and barks a lot, but she'll try to keep him quiet and only let him out during the day so hopefully he won't interrupt my sleep. I told her I didn't mind and I asked if I could toss treats over the fence if I saw him outside and she said yes, I could even come pet him if I wanted. That he looks scary but he's a big sweetie. She even told me she was relieved I didn't freak out about living next to a huge pit bull, and that she had to move from her last place because people kept complaining and saying she shouldn't own such a "dangerous animal".

I won Cain over pretty quickly, because I would carry milk bones in my car and toss him some whenever I saw him out in the yard. Eventually he would see me coming and run up to the fence demanding treats and pets. Then I got permission from Alice to come in her yard to pet him, which I did probably a couple times a week and only when she was home (but not always while she was outside, sometimes she was inside). Then Alice told me how she had to start working double shifts at her job and was worried Cain would tear her house up from the lack of exercise and attention, so I offered to walk him everyday. She told me where she hid her spare house key and left his leash and some water bottles on her porch. I would come over everyday and walk Cain and hang out in her yard with him, then put him back inside when he was tuckered out. I never went in her house.

I thought we had a pretty good thing going. I got along great with Cain and hanging out with him was scratching the itch I sometimes get to have a dog, but I know he's not mine. And Alice comes home to a happy and sleepy pup to cuddle with at night. But recently a video game came out where you can adopt pets, and one of the adoptable dogs looks strikingly like Cain. I adopted that dog in the game and sent Alice a picture of the dog with a joking text that said "He's finally all mine! Don't worry, I'll take good care of him."

Alice didn't text me back that night, and the next day she said she'd prefer if I didn't come over to her house anymore. I asked if she was okay, and she just said she wasn't feeling comfortable with our arrangement anymore. Now I think she's purposely keeping Cain in when I go to work or come home, because he's never out anymore. I haven't seen her or him in a couple weeks, and when I try to call her it goes straight to voicemail. I told my friend what happened and he said I was being creepy and too obsessed with Cain. Was I?

What are these acronyms?

[freneticfloetry]

You guys ever have a real-life experience so utterly ridiculous that you immediately want to turn it into fanfic? Because that totally happened to me yesterday.

FirstPrince is up in the rotation this week, so have exactly seven sentences of ACD feels from the AU that's eaten my brain. Thanks to @heartstringsduet @strandnreyes @nisbanisba @carlos-in-glasses @lemonlyman-dotcom and @liminalmemories21 for the tags. 🥰

Alex had wanted a pet for as long as he could remember. He'd asked his parents for years, practically begged through half of his childhood, but there was always a reason the answer was no — he was too young, life was too hectic, his parents were way too busy. He couldn't fault his father's allergies or his mother's fear of all things amphibian, or that June's intermittent asthma nixed all discussions of anything with dander. By the time he went off to spend the last of his summer with the Scouts, full of horses and lizards and a campground cat, Alex had stopped asking altogether. The winter after his father left home, Alex passed on the pity puppy his mother offered for Christmas. He knew better than to think the gaping hole in his heart could be filled with something so little and so late, not when he'd finally figured out the real reason their house had never seen so much as a goldfish. His family was just too broken.

Tagging in @paperstorm @never-blooms @rmd-writes @orchidscript @herefortarlos @ladytessa74 @reyesstrand @walkinginland @whatsintheboxmh @three-drink-amy @alrightbuckaroo @bonheur-cafe and @welcometololaland.

[cartwrong]

for the @ficwip word of the week: wednesday.

River wasn’t even supposed to be here. 

It was supposed to be Marcus with Shirley doing the drop, but River needed to take the OB to a doctor’s appointment last Wednesday, so Marcus had covered one of Lamb’s assignments in his place. But he had only agreed if River owed him a favour. The favour somehow ended with River tied back to back to a chair with Shirley Dander, his wrists already aching from the restraints and his cheek stinging where one of the men had hit him with his gun. 

“You’re gonna regret this,” Shirley seethed from behind him, and River could only imagine the fury on her features. 

There was an oomph as the man punched her in the stomach that made River wince in sympathy and try to hold his legs together as much as he could. Shirley had taken a harder hit to the head than he had, and if she kept this up, then River knew their captors were going to do everything they could to silence her. The realisation settled in his stomach like a stone, then exited his mouth before he could think better of it. 

“Hey fuck face,” River said, attempting to get the man’s attention. He could see him move out of the corner of his eye, straightening up to listen. “No, the other fuck face, yes, you, you fucking prick.”

When the man was close enough, River took his chance and spit in his face, or as close to it as he could. A punch to the ribs answered his act of defiance, but at least the man had left Shirley alone. River only began to question his plan when, after a second attempt to piss him off, the man picked up a wrench.

[pedropascalito]

Some of you might remember I adopted a sweet little dog in 2023. I had to rehome him with my stepsister because it turned out I was terribly allergic to him. I learned the hard way dogs with hair still have dander. I cried and cried for literally weeks and then just cried for months and I still miss him terribly!

But, he is still always in my heart and he loved my Grogu Squishmallow because he has the best taste. Here are some pictures of my sweetie pie cuddling Grogu:

I get to go dog sit him for a week and I’ll be suffering and ecstatic at the same time.

[nerdykeppie]

Added to the Boneyard tonight:

$34.99 $14.99

$24.99 $12.99

The Boneyard is NerdyKeppie's repository of items purchased as samples and worn in photoshoots as well as clothing returned-to-sender and unclaimed by customers. Unless otherwise noted, the items have been washed and worn for photoshoots only; they are stored in a non-smoking house with possible contact with cat and dog dander.

We don't do clearance sales because we don't keep stock of most of our items -- this is the closest you're ever gonna get, so, like... get while the getting is good.

[maidoftheday]

Today's Dandere of the Day: Miku Nakano from 5-toubun no Hanayome

[yogurtkags]

❝ IF NOT FOR YOU ❞ — semi eita

03. honey moon

♫ … cw: very briefly alludes to childhood family issues if you squint very hard (one liner), language, misunderstandings, dialogue heavy, not proofread

"honey, all i see is you, dressed in the moon, i know. and i know, if we can ever set together, like constellations, we can live forever"

series masterlist | prev | next

some days you wish eita drove, purely for convenience of course. most days you don’t, today is one of those days.

the soft genuine smile on your face seeing him knock on your apartment door with windswept hair and one hand tucked in the pocket of his leather jacket, the other holding up his skateboard, can probably rival the gentleness of a pale orange sunrise— not that you believe it, but anyone who can see your face would say that.

the visual before you is so very predictable, so very eita, and you take it all in akin to returning home after a long day.

before you even register it, your body moves on muscle memory and you’re subconsciously bringing a hand up to smooth down some of the wild strands on his head, fully knowing that it’ll all be for naught once you step outside again, the breeze bound to mess it up again. your actions don’t go unnoticed, the faintest of blushes powdering his cheeks in the prettiest of pinks.

“hey, you got everything?”

“yeah, let’s go.” you huff out a humoured breath, swinging your satchel over your shoulders and body and patting it down to make sure all your necessities were in before heading out and closing the door behind you.

getting on eita’s board and wrapping your arms securely around his torso for stability comes naturally, you’ve done this countless times before after all, but this time feels different. it feels oddly intimate, the way his arm curls around your waist to keep your bodies close together, the top of your head just brushing against the apple of his cheek, hair tickling the supple flesh. it’s nothing new, yet today it all feels a little too real, the sensation causing tingles to rush through every nerve and muscle.

shoyo brought it up once before how he’s never seen eita do that with anyone else, no one’s ever hitched a ride on his trusty skateboard, never even come close to getting on it, let alone with him. the thought sent you in an upward spiral of false hope and yearning and made you give him a harsh slap against his arm for planting that idea in your head. you ultimately push it down every time, continuously telling yourself that it’s just because we’re so close.

his words snap you out of your wistful daydreaming, faint and mellow in tone, gentle, “are you okay?”

“hmm? yeah, why would i not be?” taken aback by the sudden question, you look up at him quizzically, eyebrows furrowed.

his eyes remain focused and don't leave the road, hardly sparing you a glance within his peripheral vision. this particular street is empty at this time of day and there’s really no need for him to be on such high alert, he’s not the most reckless of skaters and prioritises safety over anything especially when you’re with him — does he not even want to look at you? “you tell me, it’s been more than a week of radio silence from you.”

oh.

you conjure up a half-assed attempt at deflecting, untrue yet genuinely apologetic, cheek warming in embarrassment, “i’ve just… been really stressed out with assignments, don’t even worry about it.”

sometimes you hate that he knows you so well, it feels like he can see right through you. he’s always been able to read you like a well-loved book, the only sign of age and use being the yellowing pages sandwiched between pristine paperback covers and favourite phrases highlighted and lines annotated, dusted off regularly so dirt and dander doesn’t collect.

you hate lying to him, but it’s necessary this time to protect your heart from yourself, not him — he won’t break your heart, but just the implication of things ever moving forward in your friendship and the potential of it all falling apart shakes a deep-rooted fear in your inner child that you’ll never be ready to confront. not right now, not when it could concern him.

“you know, you’re a terrible liar.” he mumbles, just barely loud enough for you to hear over the sound of wayward wind and plastic polyurethane wheels on asphalt. he drops the topic there and then, but what’s done is done. maybe it’s the past week or so of quiet that encourages a stillness to fall over the both of you, but the rest of the ride to campus is done in a suffocating silence.

the walk across campus to the music room was awkward to say the least, you’re looking at the dirty grimey floors more than ahead, letting muscle memory take you to where you need to be. eita trudges along next to you, heavy footsteps echoing down the hall as you walk side by side, a thick barrier of tension built up between you. the only thought in your mind is to get to the room as soon as you can, at the very least the boys will be a pleasant distraction from whatever this is.

pushing the door open, three heads immediately lift up from whatever they’re doing in attention, eyes lighting up when they see your figure trailing behind eita, spouting a chorus of greetings.

atsumu comes running over to you, throwing an arm around your shoulder, “i missed ya! semi-mi doesn’t bring you along often enough.”

akaashi greets with a smile, polite as ever, “nice to see you! it’s been a while.”

your gaze flits over to the youngest in the room, kageyama, “hi kags!” and he cutely responds with a shy hello, eyes averted. the boys dote on him lots and look out for him whether they like to admit or not and you’re no exception.

“i swear you guys are more excited to see her than me.” eita begrudgingly mumbles, flipping atsumu off when he sticks out a tongue in retaliation.

“it’s all in good fun! i missed you guys too.” you reassure, setting your things down and getting comfy on the small two-seater situated in the corner of the room, propping your laptop up on your lap.

eita, seemingly distracted, puts down his guitar case and pauses in his steps for a second before taking a seat next to you, leaving a gap wide enough for you to notice it’s deliberate. “come over here for a sec, we got something to show you guys.”

you don’t like the hesitancy in his actions and it hurt a little to see, but you try to pay no mind, instead focusing your energy into not peeling the skin around your cuticles off in nervousness.

thankfulness looks a little different for you, it’s typically laced with a veil of self-doubt, anxiety and a dilapidating fear of failure. it’s easy to say offhandedly that you’re grateful for the good things that have come out of struggle, but it comes and goes in waves. you love this little community that you have backing you: eita, your roommates, the boys, always at your beck and call — but showing them original creations has always been daunting, even more so than putting your work out on social media. you care more about what your loved ones think that any random faceless nameless stranger on the internet.

coming up behind you to gently massage your sweater-clad shoulders, atsumu leans forward to peer at what’s on your screen, “relax, it’s just us. and yer stuff’s always good, ya never miss.” resounding nods and hums of agreement from the rest temporarily calms your heart, taking a deep breath and hitting play.

as the tunes flow from your little laptop speakers, the rest of the room falls quiet, only the sound of shoes tapping, fingers drumming sound aloud and subtle quips of approval ring in your ears. you zero in on the track and let your mind get lost in the music, only realising that it's ended when the same hands on your shoulders begin shaking you. “it’s so good, what the fuck!”

"tsumu, i swear to god." you barely manage to laugh out as your body jostles from side to side, eyes briefly settling on eita's and letting the tiniest smile slip as he nods, almost to say i told you they'd like it.

"you sound great in this genre, it's fresh, i like it. right kageyama?" akaashi lightly bumps his hip into kageyama’s, said boy nodding with bright eyes and mumbling a soft, “it’s really good.”

with a sigh of relief, the tension leaves your body. you had nothing to worry about, eita said so and his words ring true even now. they always do.

with flushed cheeks, you clap, "okay let's get on with what we were supposed to do. did you have any songs that you wanted to practice?"

akaashi fills you in on the few songs they were planning on trying out today to possibly add to their next gig's setlist. it's almost comical how much they deny being in a band together, yet they're the regular, or rather the only line up every time eita gets invited to perform at an event or lands a gig. one of the songs catches your attention, the title sparking recognition and familiarity in the database of songs that is your head. eita jokingly calls you 'spotify with legs' sometimes much to your chagrin.

"oh i love that one so much." you muse, pulling it up on the speakers as the initial strums of 'honey moon' by holding absence sinks into your skin and seeps into your bones. it’s poetic, it’s lovesick, and full of yearning, right up your alley, and oddly suited to the situation you have yourself stuck in right now.

and so a few warm ups and guitar tunings later, you find yourself seated upright against the plush couch cushions with a microphone in your hand, the boys wired up to their respective equipment and waiting for eita’s cue. you aren’t supposed to sing with them, but with some coaxing you gave in with a lighthearted eye roll and the compromise that you’ll be doing just the harmonies. you’re just teasing, you won’t pass up any chance to sing and they know it very well.

singing comes as naturally as breathing, not that you’re self assured in your abilities but it’s something that’s been ingrained you in since you were a child. letting the sounds weave into the crevices of dead spaces in your heart and mend unhealed chambers, you close your eyes and let the music overtake your senses, losing yourself in the lyrics and clearing your head, self-soothing even if just for a little while.

eita takes the opportunity to trace his sight over your features as your voices meld together in unison. regardless of how you felt, music was always the one thing that could lift your spirits.

he feels terribly guilty that things have taken a turn for the worst today, his thoughtless jab earlier seeming to have struck a nerve with you. he doesn’t want to invade into your space more than he has already done, backing away and letting you welcome him in again in your own time. it just sucks that he knows you well enough to tell when you’re lying, and hopes that it wasn’t because if anything he’s done. did he say or do something wrong that has you pushing him away?

you’re like a kaleidoscope — you’ve known each other all your life, yet it feels like he keeps finding new sides and shades of you that he’s unable to comprehend. especially recently, it feels like something about you is changing, within you, in your dynamic with him. eita doesn’t know what this means but he’s afraid, afraid to be a thorn in your side, afraid that he’s not really what you want after all. he knows he’s being irrational and letting his emotions control him in this moment but what else is he supposed to do?

his thoughts seem to confirm themselves when he sees you packing up your things and making a move to leave with atsumu once the session wraps up. wait, you’re not heading back with him?

— fun facts.

♫ … the music room on campus used to only be used by semi (lead guitar & vocals) and yn until atsumu (drums) and akaashi (rhythm guitar) came in as freshmen and started jamming out together.

♫ … shy aloof kagayema (bass) wandered in the next year and the rest was history.

♫ … yn met akaashi in a creative writing class, and has seen kageyama in passing (met through shoyo) and atsumu's just here for the vibes.

♫ … yn is the closest to atsumu, they just hit it off really well from the get go and he brings out the playfulness in her. if not eita, she often goes to him whenever she needs a male's perspective on something, or just a good time!

♫ … regardless of whether semi and yn show up to band practice together, he always makes sure to send her home, which is why he's a little ??? about her taking off with atsumu unannounced.

taglist. open (link to form) @wyrcan @aozui @cheesypuffkins87 @peachyugoose @tetzoro

@twiishaa @samuel1004 @blueparadis

notes. ruh roh, misunderstanding and jealousy arc!

© yogurtkags. please do not repost, plagiarise, or translate my work.

[superfluffychickens]

Phew! Just disinfected the nursery with Virkon, literally scrubbed every wall, the floor, the doors, the window, as well as the brooder and brooder plate, the big crate (that I’ll use once the chicks are a few weeks old), even the trash can! I’m a bit paranoid about the babies getting sick, but that’s because they’re my babies. You know how strict obstetrical wards/NICUs are, because you don’t want to take risks with your babies when they’re just born and have such weak immune systems. I have the same philosophy. So I always change clothes when I have to go between the coop and the nursery, I wear a shower cap in the coop so I don’t get dander in my hair, and of course I wash my hands throughly. If it’s within my power, I’ll do it to keep the babs safe. I’ll even vaccinate them myself if I have to. I hope it doesn’t come to that, it’s expensive and I’ve never given an injection before, but I’ll do it.

[wyrmst]

Out in the Cold (Part Seven)

M Orc x M Troll (Hulder) Reader

PREVIOUS || STORY TAG ||

Wordcount: 3909

Content Warnings: Sick Reader, Discussion of Abuse

I think we could all use some fluff after this week. Conveniently, that’s exactly where this chapter was already going!

You’ve made it through the night without freezing solid, somehow.

Warm thoughts alone just aren’t cutting it anymore.

You want your lovingly crafted winter cloak. You want the nest of furs piled high on your slept-in bed.

Most of all, you want your lover.

But as you remind yourself, sullenly tracing over the details carved into the face of metal fibula in your fingers in thought, all of those things have been forsaken now.

…And you can't help but feel like you've made a horrible mistake. 

But it's too late to turn back. He wouldn't take you back now… 

Would he…? 

No, you force yourself to stop thinking about it. No use in giving yourself false hope.

What's done is done. 

The last paltry flame of your campfire burns out. Looks like it's time to move, even if light is just barely breaking the horizon.

You sneeze, feeling pitiful; chilled to your very core. 

LAST SUMMER

The weather is perfect for outside work today. It’s sunny, but mild, with an occasional gust of breeze. The last of summer is still holding out, but the autumn crisp is starting to creep in at the edges.

Because you are still essentially a floater when it comes to work assignments, you’ve been doing some of the care tasks of the communal flock of alpigs for the last week, since the normal shepherd is on bedrest. Which, while not ideal for them, is great for you, because you absolutely love these cute little guys. They’re dangerously smart, with sturdy, rotund bodies, and wooly fur covers their bodies and hangs down in a curtain over their eyes, only their wide snouts and a set of tusks each poke out from each of their heavy fringes.

They seem to like you as well, but you have a sneaking suspicion it's because they can use their body mass to bully extra food from you when you’re feeding them, since you're so much smaller than their usual keepers.

You sneeze dramatically into the elbow of your tunic, blinded by the summer sunlight.

Maybe you’re allergic to something flowering right now?

You thought at first you might have an allergy to alpig dander, but Torg informed you their fur is naturally hypo-allergenic, so they most likely aren’t the culprit. 

He also told you to go to Shaman and he’d take over your tasks for today. But he’s just being his usual worrywart self- The last thing you want to do is visibly start slacking so soon after moving into the Chieftain’s household. It's a bad look, and you've put in enough work becoming the settlement's beloved oddity that you don't want to lose it now.

And you don’t even feel bad- so why make a big deal out of a sneeze or two?

You’ve finished milking, now you set about feeding them. They only almost knock you over once, even!

But, you still have to muck out the pen… then give them some love and brush out their coats. It's apparently almost time for the last shear of the summer, so you want to make sure to do a good job of maintaining their fuzz. Today is tusk cleaning day, too… better pick up the pace if you want to finish before sundown.

You head over to grab the pitchfork, but you don't even make it inside the building.

Suddenly, you feel rather dizzy, the colors of the pen around you smearing into a beige soupy mess. You manage to catch yourself and sit on a bale of hay instead of falling over, but just barely.

Just need to… sit down for a minute…

You collapse back against the bales of hay, suddenly completely overcome with fatigue.

Why am I… so tired? We didn't even do anything very strenuous last night…

You think to yourself in a lightheaded haze, absentmindedly petting the fluffy back of the alpig that’s hopped up on the bale and made itself comfortable at your side.

Too bright…

You squint, raising a gloved hand to shield your curiously over-sensitive eyes from the caustic brightness of midday sun.

And when’d it… get so hot…?

Your world goes black after that, your next blurred memories consisting of being lifted from your straw nest and carried somewhere with a softer light and more varied swirling colors.

Your whole body aches, every muscle fiber crying out in complaint like you’ve just pulled a full day of physical activity, despite you being at rest. Your head throbs dully, your throat is raw and scratchy and your eyes are just so hot - burning in their sockets like two smoldering coals.

And it’s not just your eyes- You’re burning up all over. Even though you’ve been stripped down to smallclothes and covered in minimal bedding, you're still soaking them through with clammy sweat.

Strangely, the ceiling you’re looking up at looks nothing like where you’d expect to wake up, and instead the vaulted ceiling of a noble’s home.

You’re back in your childhood bedroom at the jarl’s castle, somehow. You’re overcome with instant, deep seated dread.

Someone is sitting at your bedside, but you can’t make out any of their features from the distorted shape.

“Mother?” You question piteously, unable to think straight through the heat of your fever.

The dark blur of color at your bedside speaks to you, but their voice is warped to your ears, the words indistinguishable, sound both a low rumble and a high pitched ringing.

You choke out a sob, gripping their forearm. You know words are coming out of your mouth, that you’re arguing desperately over something that feels so important at the moment, but they might as well be a foreign language to your own ears.

You’re barely sure what is real and not, memories of your past bleeding into your current senses. Time melts together like the blurs of color in your vision and the distorted ringing in your ears. Eventually you give up on communicating and fall back into fitful sleep, but you have no clue how long it takes.

The next time you open your eyes and manage to keep them open for longer than a few moments, you see the correct wooden beams on the ceiling of Torg’s - and you suppose yours as well, now- bedroom.

“H-Huh-?” You sit up, the damp rag slipping down from your forehead from the sudden movement. You slump back again immediately, reigned in by the sense of exhaustion hitting you in return.

Torg reaches out, collecting the rag to douse it again. He’s pulled up his behemoth of a well-worn armchair to your bedside.

“Torg?” You rasp his name through your hoarse, pained throat, more of a greeting than a question, comforted by the mere sight of him.

“I’m here.” He smiles, but looks tired; his hair messily gathered up and his shirt heavily crinkled. The beginning of faintly purple bags are starting to form under his eyes, the kind he gets when he’s been working too hard with too little sleep.

He pours you a glass of water from the nearby pitcher. You drain it immediately, then half of a second one before your throat is damp enough to speak again.

“...What happened?” The last thing you clearly remember was dozing off in the alpig pen. You know time has passed since then; judging from the evening vermillion visible out of the window, you’ve lost at least most of the day.

“Tusk flu. But don’t worry, Shaman said you’ll be fine."

"I don’t feel fine." You croak weakly, then pout when Torg chuckles at your plight. “Everything hurts.”

“I told you to go get checked out.” His grizzled voice gently chides you with a weary sigh. Even getting scolded, the sound of his voice is music to your ears. Torg reaches out, feeling for your temperature on your cheek and forehead with his hand. “The fact that you have the strength to complain now means you’re already doing better, anyway.”

“Mmmh.” Your eyes flutter closed at the welcome feel of his comparatively cool skin on yours. You don’t have it in you to plead your case- mostly because you know he’s right.

“Good. Much cooler than before.” You can hear the relief in his voice as he judges your temperature. He smiles down at you warmly, and pulls one of the fur blankets back up over you, now that you’re slightly colder. “Your fever must’ve finally broken.”

“Hmmm… Before?”

“Yeah. You’ve been in and out since yesterday morning.”

“That long?!” You wheeze, turning your head and feebly covering your mouth as if it would help at this point. No wonder he looks tired, if he’s been caring for you for that long. ”But won’t you get sick too?”

“I won’t. I already had it as a child.” He leans in and gives you a quick peck on the lips as if to prove his point. “Apparently it's only this bad when you get it for the first time as an adult- at least according to Shaman. And I doubt you had been exposed to it, wherever you came from."

“The alpigs-” You say forlornly, remembering your failed task. 

“Relax.” He laughs, shaking his head. “It’s all taken care of already.”

A sigh escapes your tired lungs as his hand gently strokes through your hair and comes to rub at one of your soft ears. You sink down into the blanket, eyes closed in pleasure, and smoosh your face into the touch. You have to forcefully keep yourself from purring.

“This reminds me of when you first came here.” He laughs fondly. “Should I get used to finding you passed out?”

“Mmm…” You pout and whine, but still enjoy the feeling of his affection too much to swat his hand away in indignance. “Give me some credit! It’s only happened twice…”

“And twice is much more than never.” The deep rumble of laughter that comes from Torg’s chest almost makes the teasing worth it. …Almost. “When I came to make sure you went to Shaman’s and found you laid out on that hale bale instead, I thought you were just taking a catnap in the sun.”

“I would never do that.” You lie, blissfully.

“Hah, right… I’m glad you’re back to yourself.” Torg says quietly, his eyebrows beginning to furrow in a deep, furtive slant. “...You were saying some strange things while you were burning up.”

“Mmn-?” One eye finally pops open, staring up at him quizzically. 

Cold fear grips you.

Oh no. 

Did you blow your cover while you were out of your mind?

“You called me ‘Mother’, for one thing.”

“Oh, pfft-” You snort, breaking into laughter. Then you take his large hand and press a kiss to the back of it. “Don’t worry. You don’t look very motherly, I promise. Especially not like mine.”

“Heh. I feel like one after the last day or so.” His amused smile falls a bit at the seriousness of his next words. “Most of what you said was nonsense, but some of it was… Well…”

"Scandalous?” You try to laugh it off with a cock of your eyebrow. “Or just embarrassing?”

“...Concerning. Like you were being made to do something you didn't want to do."

“Oh. Well, my life up until I came here has mostly been doing things I didn’t particularly want to do.” You shrug, nonchalant.

"I don't want to pry into what those things were, if you don't want to tell me. Though, I admit I am curious." He scruffs his beard with his hand in thought.

"It's… Nothing all that interesting." You fiddle with the edge of the blanket. “Nothing worth talking about, really. Nothing good.”

"Right." He says, noting your discomfort and seeming to back off of the idea. "I just want you to know that you can tell me anything."

You have to admit, that is a tempting prospect.

You could tell him. You could just… tell him everything. You’ve essentially been given an invitation on a silver platter.

You have to wonder what would happen if you did. You assume you would be kicked out- or worse. But… maybe you wouldn’t? Maybe he could help you get out the mess you’ve made for yourself…

Then, you snap back to your senses.

…No, that’s nonsense, you decide. Nothing could ever be that easy. Not for you.

The fever must’ve gotten to you for a moment.

You have to stop yourself from laughing incredulously. It's a lovely sentiment, but you have a feeling it just doesn't extend to deceiving him with the intent to steal from him for all this time.

But you should tell him something… Otherwise the fact he doesn't know something will keep nagging at him. You know him well enough by now that you know that to be the case.

"Oh, you know how it is... Classic sob story, really." You say flippantly with a wave of your hand. "My mother never really wanted me and it showed."

You decide on information that is not inherently false, but won't have any bearing on keeping up your deception.

"Ah. What makes you think that?"

"Well, the general disinterest for my wellbeing from a young age was probably the biggest sign. After my father left, she lucked into getting remarried to the jarl of our village, somehow... It became pretty clear that I was only a nuisance to her after that. Getting in the way of the life she deserved, I suppose. Because after that, he always came first."

"Hmm." He leans back in his seat, closing his eyes. "He was no better than her, I take it?"

"No. He was a slimy weasel of a man. Heartless and miserly. He had to control everything down to the smallest detail.... Enjoyed tormenting people below him. He's the reason I ran away when I did."

"Ran away?"

"I left home when I was 14." 

That was more than a decade ago now. Time flies when you're struggling to stay alive every single day… 

"That's so young." Torg can't hide the look of deep concern on his face, no doubt thinking of any of the tween-aged orclings around the settlement he's responsible for having to endure the same strife.

"Being on the street seemed like the better option."

"I’m sorry. It must've been unbearable, then."

"It was a culmination of a lot of things, really. The day before I left, he caught me in the pantry sneaking food after I was sent to my room without dinner, and he cornered me and wouldn't let me by until I guessed what he wanted as 'toll’- You know, because I’m a troll. He thought he was so funny. I may have been young but even by then I knew that wasn’t going to lead to anything good. I was lucky a servant showed up when they did and he had to pretend to be normal."

"Your mother did nothing?" It's subtle, but you see Torg's jaw clench in rhythm like it does when he tries to keep his temper in check.

"I knew she wouldn't listen, but I told her anyway. She told me I was making things up for attention- that I was ruining things for her like I always do, and if I hated her husband and his hospitality so much, that I could leave. So, I left and never looked back. I wasn’t going to stay where I wasn’t wanted." You shrug, putting a mirthless smile on and deciding to hand-wave the rest of the details between then and now, so as to not rouse  suspicion. “As you can imagine, it was a lot of doing unpleasant things after that, to not starve. Not many lucrative jobs for underage runaways.”

Living in the settlement has been the most security you’ve ever had, especially in terms of reliable access to regular meals. A hot, communal evening meal every night is something that you could have only dreamed about, before. That’s not even to mention the quality of the food… You’ve definitely added a couple pounds since you’ve been here, just from never having to skip a meal, as was a norm for you before now - even after joining a thieves’ guild.

"You shouldn’t have had to endure any of that." Torg gives you another soft stroke on the cheek, his hand trailing down your neck to squeeze your shoulder for emphasis. "I'll make sure nothing like it happens to you again."

You hum in approval, your heartbeat picking up in your chest from the intimacy and the fondness of the statement. For being such a large, gruff and intimidating man, he sure is tender with you.

“Are you hungry? ” Torg seems to remember something, getting to his feet. “Dinner should be ready soon, but if you’re feeling peckish, there should be more than enough in here to tide you over.”

Torg moves a brightly colored basket to the nightstand within your reach. It’s stuffed dangerously to the brim with seasonal fruit, jars of preserves and honey, and other treats. There’s a piece of thick paper stuck into the middle of it.

You take the card, and unsurprisingly, can’t read the text, because you still haven’t picked up Orcish script. There’s a large phrase at the top, with the rest of the paper filled with several smaller pieces of script scrawled in different handwritings. There is also a large, crudely drawn cat smack dab in the middle.

“You’re quite popular around here, you know. Looks like you’ve been fully adopted.” You can hear the approval in his voice. “The knuckleheads dropped it off this morning when they came to check on you, but you were still out of it at the time.” 

“...Cute…” You can’t keep the silly grin from your face, looking at the wonky face on the cat.

“The big part says ‘Get well soon’.” Torg points to the text with a large index finger, chuckling at your look of intense focus.

“I know, I figured that out, context clues…” You mutter, ears laying flat black and flicking in annoyance. The sight just makes him chuckle harder.

Torg returns to the stove, but you keep looking at the card, pouring over all the signatures even if you can’t actually read them.

Emotion pricks at the back of your eyes, and your throat tightens the longer you look at the paper. For just a moment, you had forgotten you’ll have to actually leave eventually, when you take your quarry back to the guild.

But no one at the guild has ever given a fraction of concern as the orcs here have. There was no care given when you were sick or injured, just considered dead weight. Even if you could call some of your ties with your fellow thieves friendly, it’s laughable to think any of them would do anything for you that didn’t have some sort of mutual benefit for them. There were certainly never any gift baskets or ‘get well soon’ cards.

The thought of leaving now fills you with a horrible, crushing sense of loss.

Your body wants to cry, but you’re not about to let it, and struggle to force the feeling down and keep it buried. 

You weren’t supposed to get attached. And here you are, having done exactly that. You’ve been a fool, and now leaving is going to be that much more painful… 

No one to blame but yourself, you suppose…

Finally, you select a beautifully colored honey-pear from the basket, hoping that eating something will make it easier to quell your emotions.

You chew in maudlin silence, trying to think as little as possible, until his voice finally breaks the silence again.

"You know… I left home on less than amicable terms too.” Torg says from the kitchen area.

He keeps his back to you as he works, and his posture is the smallest bit tense, like he has to goad himself to even speak about this matter in the first place. You study his broad back muscles moving underneath his light linen shirt.

"Ah. Are you a runaway too?" You speak through pauses of nibbling on the piece of fruit. It’s juicy and perfectly ripe, the viscous nectar soothing your irritated throat.

"No, I was exiled from my birth tribe." He sighs, shaking his head in scorn. “Though, I was of age already, so it wasn’t quite as hard for me to get by on my own as it sounds like it was for you."

“You- exiled?!” You nearly spew chunks of fruit across the bed in your hoarse outburst. “But you’re so… orderly!”

“Everyone has a breaking point.” He says grimly.

“True enough… What happened?”

“Fistfight with my father.” Torg says in the most matter of fact manner possible as he stirs whatever he’s cooking.

“Did you win?” Maybe not the most emotionally intelligent of follow up questions, but it’s the first one to pop into your head.

“Hah- I knocked him flat. Broke his nose in front of the whole tribe.” There is a hint of pyrrhic pride in his voice, even with his back to you. “I may be an orc, but I take after my mother in a lot of ways. I was already bigger than him at that age, and tired of his bullshit. He didn’t expect me to finally stand up for myself.”

“Oh, he sounds lovely.”

“Nicest man I’ve ever met.” Torg quips mirthlessly. “An absolute joy to be around.”

“This all sounds like a personal matter, though? That’s exile-able?”

“My father also happened to be Chieftain... He lost a lot of respect for it, I’m sure. Losing a test of might, then throwing out the winner because you’re bitter? And his own son at that? Dishonorable.”

“Oh wow.” You chuckle and cover your mouth with your hand, and can’t help but feel a strange surge of fondness for him. “Sorry, I’m not laughing at you- That’s just so unlike you! I don’t think of you as a violent person at all...”

“Good.” He returns from the kitchen with a full tray and a grin. “I prefer it that way. ...Here.”

He hands you one of the steaming bowls off of the tray, keeping the other for himself as he takes a seat next to you.

“Hmm?” You reach out to take it, the rising steam already making your face feel better. “What is it?”

“Summer Root Stew.” His voice barely hides his amusement. “Though, it might not be seasoned how you like…”

You groan. You’ll never live it down.

Your comically overblown grimace quickly is replaced with a melancholic smile as you eat in comfortable silence.

“Something on your mind?” Torg asks after a while of you zoning out and picking at your stew.

You shouldn’t verbalize what you’re thinking about, but you can’t help it. He can see right through you when you lie about something like this, anyway.

“I’ve… never really had a place where I felt like I could stay. I always had to leave, for some reason or another. Usually not by choice...” You sniffle thoughtfully, fiddling with your spoon, hoping in some way to cushion the blow of what’s bound to happen someday soon. “I suppose part of me feels like it’s only a matter of time until I’ll have to leave here too...”

“You can stay here.” He says your name for effect, firm but gentle. 

And you wish so badly that you could believe him.

>> ✨ MASTERLIST

[ahedderick]

Splendid Saturday

The rain has stopped and it's the sunniest, breeziest, brightest, most flower-filled Saturday morning you could ever want. Peak April!

Hero has an extra-bad case of the itchy-miserables. His winter coat has been shedding out for a couple of weeks, now, and no matter how much my daughter and I groom him, the hair (and dander) keep shedding.

That pile of hair on the ground is just a small sample of his shedding prowess. There is a metal curry comb that seems to feel best to him, and I have spent a ridiculous amount of time the last week trying to find his itchy spots and help him out. If I don't, he sometimes rubs on a tree until he actually injures/scrapes himself, and I hate seeing that. Of course, the whole time I'm trying to work on him, Nutmeg is either trying to squeeze in between us or bonking me with her horns to get my attention. She Wants to be Groomed, Too.

@plantanarchy if you weren't busier than a beaver after a rainstorm, I'd be begging you to come scrape hair off this poor horse!!

[horsesarecreatures]

I decided to move to the first barn I saw this week. I visited another place today which was pretty nice, close to me, and on the Bedford Trail System. However, it did not have a wash stall or run in sheds. The shed row stalls also reaked of cats so I couldn't really see myself grooming Amba in there on rainy days without having an asthma attack. When outside or in frequently cleaned houses I can tolerate cats, but in close quarters where their fur, dander, etc. build up the allergies are a huge problem unfortunately.

I have Amba scheduled to be picked up at 2:00 tomorrow. Praying that Deborah keeps her distance and doesn't start shouting but I've seen her do it to other boarders who were leaving. Lynn and Mike, the owners of the haflingers, are on a waiting list for a retirement barn that's closer to them, but if they can't get in soon they said they would follow us. I totally understand why they don't want to drive an hour, but it would make the horses so happy if they could stay together. Also I will miss them.

I'm surprisingly not sad about leaving the current place though. Back when I had Cannoli and first started looking for a new place, the thought of leaving made me cry everyday that whole week until things were resolved. But this time, I haven't cried once. I just feel relieved to leave behind the resentment I have for D, the worry I have about Amba not getting proper care, and the feeling of always walking on eggshells at the barn.

Also, it looks like we can keep Julie. The new place is an hour and 20 minutes from Manhattan, but she seems pretty unfazed by long drives. She can still ride Amba for free, but I will be trying to add a real leaser in June.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA? My (25) brother (22) has been bringing his girlfriend and her cat over ever since this last spring. They both know I'm allergic to cats, so they asked if it would be ok, leaving the cat only in my brother's room in the basement. I figured it would only be occasionally and as long as my brother cleaned his room often, it should be fine. They bring the cat over about 3-4 times a week, and he does vacuum a little, but there is still cat dander in the air, on his clothes, and he also somehow manages to always miss the cat litter all over the floor around the litter box. Not to mention that we have our washer/dryer in the basement, so I have to go down there sometimes. My allergies have been acting up all year to the point where I'm stuffy almost all the time, I've gone through MANY tissue boxes, and I had to renew my asthma inhaler prescription for the first time in 6+ years of not needing it. Anyway, the problem between me and my brother is that he and his gf make no effort to keep the cat outside of the house cuz apparently her parents are never home to watch the cat, and her room has no lock to keep the cat safe from her dogs. I told him to get a lock and he said that "it wouldn't work with her door." And apparently, anytime I bring up my issues with my cat allergies in front of the gf, he tells me that I'm making her feel unwelcome in our house. It finally got bad today when I texted him asking if he'd get me more tissues since I've had to buy them myself all year long. He immediately started trying to come up with excuses like he needs to save money (he can easily go to the Dollar Store), he wasn't feeling well (it was a minor stomach ache), and then when I started to tell him I'm tired of buying all these tissues and allergy meds for myself, he went off on me telling me that I'm overreacting, and that he outgrew his childhood cat allergies and that I should be fine, and that I was being rude to him and his gf. AITA for simply asking my brother to help pitch in with my allergy supplies and for wanting him to keep the cat out?

What are these acronyms?