#doolally

[heavenbarnes]

the obedience that came with your older bf!simon hadn’t started out as inherently kinky. it actually stemmed from a rather vulnerable admission, one that happened to come about as you were riding him.

“i need to follow orders”

it’d caught you off guard, but you’d been quick and accepting with it as your pressed your palms against his broad chest. you’d nodded, panting slightly as you tried your best.

“i want you to hold me down and really fuck me, si”

and that was it, he was gripping tight on your hips and jackhammering his own up into you until your head was tipping back and a fucking squeal was being torn out of you.

the rest was history.

simon explained it as he’d built a career off of following orders, he’d kept himself alive by doing what he was told- being in the right place at the right time.

if you wanted to see him at his best you had to tell him exactly what you wanted him to do.

after a particularly soft evening on the couch, one that would never leave the four walls of your home, where simon was cuddled into your front with your arms wrapped around him- he told you he felt safest when he had explicit instructions.

part of it was just easier that way, like when he didn’t really get the hype about sexting but you told him what you wanted and then you’d both be happy.

the other part of it was that security, he had someone who loved him enough to put him in the right place at the right time and eliminate as many variables as possible.

that didn’t mean spontaneity was out of the question, he could surprise you and you could do the same to him- but once you really got into things, he wanted you to tell him in graphic detail what you wanted him to do.

“just like that, don’t move your hand at all”

“cum inside me, please”

“bend me over, want you to use me”

“look me in the eyes, want to see you when you cum for me”

“lick my cunt, simon”

there was also something in there for him about you, sweet little you, looking this big man right in the eye and ordering him around.

made him weak in the fucking knees.

[affairesasuivre]

Hak Baker - DOOLALLY

Singer-songwriter Hak Baker: ‘The old guard is being priced out of London’

Time in prison helped the east Londoner reflect on his life. He’s now releasing a brilliant album that considers race, class solidarity – and the odd flirty, boozy night out

Jenessa Williams

[spaceintruderdetector]

‘‘I began the narrative by briefly profiling the fundamental biomedical factors affecting such related techniques as hypnosis, biofeedback and transcendental meditation so that their objectives and mode of functioning could be compared in the reader's mind with the Gateway experience as the model of its underlying mechanics was developed, Additionally, that introductory material is useful in supporting the conclusions of the paper. I indicate that at times these related techniques may provide useful entry points to accelerate movement into the Gateway Experience....’‘  1983

https://archive.org/details/cia-rdp-96-00788-r-001700210016-5_202303

[kiras-monkey-bum-face]

I told my grandad about the reading I got the other day with my gran coming through and he basically replied with "lol yeah I havent told anyone but she's literally still in the house I speak to her every day" like wtf richard you could've mentioned that earlier

[thunkinator]

hate the idea of being an adult cause nobody wanna have fun and frolick anymore

[stariepie]

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

MY ❤️💜❤️💜💕💖💕💖💜❤️😍💥💥💥💥🔥🔥🔥💀💀💀☠️☠️😵😵😵

[xnecromantia]

“You shouldn’t be out here all by yourself this late at night.” ( from Caleb? (: )

Terrible First Meeting Starters II Accepting

                      "Hm -- I wonder how much longer it will be?" Facing away from the other, he was fixated on the road. The question was missed or completely disregarded; no immediate answer was given. "The bus was meant to be here ten minutes ago." There was no knowing whether he was speaking to himself or the man, voice sounding distant. Unfocused. Fingernails stained with fresh blood scratched at an exposed forearm, revealing completely blackened skin; a stark contrast against the rest of his alabaster hue. It was visible under the intermittent flickering of the bus shelter light above them, casting everything in a sharp white and revealing more details about him. From the way his open hoodie was torn, trousers smeared in mud, and sporadic streaks of maroon ruining the front of his shirt; he appeared worse for wear. But no injury could be seen anywhere on his chest.

                   "Late again." The mumbled words came from damaged lips, the bottom torn as though somebody had punched him. It was a failed attempt to defend. Those crafty hands belonging to a Wytch-hunter were not so deft after every bone was shattered, fingers twisted and mangled beyond recognition. What power came from muscular arms was no longer useful as they were contorted into impossible angles, eventually wrapping around his folded torso. Each vertebrae became dislocated, ribs cracking one-by-one, no longer able to withstand the pressure. Eventually the screaming ceased. All that remained was an unidentifiable heap of flesh and bone, but that was immediately buried deep -- deep -- underneath a nearby elm.

                 "What time is it? Perhaps I got the time wrong." There was no timetable posted on the board behind them. It was blank, apart from being covered by graffiti. Underneath, however, there was a notice reading 'BUS STOP NO LONGER IN USE.' Nobody wanted to make a stop on the side of a sprawling forest. As he turned around to stand up, his face was finally revealed. Golden eyes aglow, part of his left cheek was torn open enough to expose teeth and bone; a successful shot from a shaky gun. He would heal. But the rage coursing through his veins had temporarily damaged his mind, instead. There was a pause as he suddenly seemed to notice the other with a short intake of breath.

               "Oh." He slumped back onto the bench with a brief titter, turning to stare down the road once more. Waiting, forever waiting. "When did you get here?"

[impale-me-radio-daddy]

Alastor seduces Valentino to cuck Vox who he knows is watching on the camera.

-Crack Rodent

Alastor's heat always came at the most inconvenient of times. 

There were no seasons in Hell, per se, no way to mark time save for the big clock at the pentagram's center, its hands now ominously slack thanks to Charlie's work, but even so, Alastor had hoped he'd have more time. Sometimes he went years between heats. He'd not had one since he'd left Hell, in fact.

But now he felt sweaty and overdressed and was starting to hope that Angel Dust would offer to suck his nonexistent dick again, so there was no denying that his reprieve was up. He needed to do something about this.

Bringing in someone new was out of the question. His reputation was already in tatters after his televised humiliation by Adam, and sex workers talked. He'd be a joke in the gossip columns by the morning. He didn't have enough prestation to get something discreet through one of the other overlords, and much as his relationship with Husk was strained at times he had no desire to force himself on the man.

Which left Vox.

Before their fight Vox had been the one he'd taken to bed. A competent lover. Willing. Would hold him close and on occasion croon a slow jazz standard in his ear in a way that made Alastor shivery and tender, voice so full of gravel that one could rake it into a zen garden. And for all their public airing of dirty laundry, Vox had never once hinted at Alastor's lack of manhood, which meant that perhaps he hoped their old agreement still held. After everything.

But there was no way Alastor was going to Vox. He would be made to beg, Alastor could feel it. He would gloat. No, Vox needed to come to him.

It didn't take Alastor long to figure out how to make that happen.

“Greetings!” Alastor manifested grin first from the shadow to sit on Valentino's desk.

“Fuck!” Valentino scrambled backwards, nearly falling out of his chair. He kicked the chair aside, putting as much distance between himself and Alastor as possible as he scrabbled around looking for-

“Looking for this?” Alastor picked up Valentino's glitter encrusted gun from the desk and held it between thumb and forefinger, letting it dangle. “I'm not here to fight, you know.”

“Fucking cañona shit ass fuck,” Valentino snarled. “Then what fuck are you doing here?"

“I have... a proposition for you,” said Alastor, folding one leg over the other. Seduction was not his strong suit, but his heat was doing a lot of the legwork there, his body telling him exactly what constituted a sexy pose as he leaned forward, twirling the gun around one finger.

Valentino tilted his head to one side, catching on quickly. “You and me, radio fucker?” He narrowed his eyes, peering at Alastor through his big pink glasses. “What makes you think I would be up for that?”

Alastor smiled, instincts telling him not to sell it too hard. “Aren't you curious? About which of my qualities sent your friend the picturebox so doolally that he's still obsessing over me years later?”

And obsession was the word. Alastor could feel Vox’s attention on him already, a prickling in his antlers from the security camera mounted in the corner of Valentino’s office. He smiled at it, letting his distortion drop momentarily as he made eye contact, before turning his attention back to Valentino, who was clearly considering the offer.

“Is it true you’ve got a pussy, Radio Demon?” Valentino asked, the lines of his lips shifting from snarl to leer.

Had Vox told him? Alastor kept his smile level. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” he said, a purr creeping into his voice, and he was dimly aware of a power surge, probably Vox shitting himself in his control room.

“I have nothing to hide, venadito,” said Valentino, his wings pulling back to reveal the dark sequined bodysuit he wore beneath. He was graceful, a dancer as he stepped closer, over the fallen chair, until he and Alastor breathed the same air. “If you let me taste that sweet papaya of yours, I’ll even let you touch them.”

Compromised by his heat as it was, Alastor felt his body respond to the proximity, a surge of arousal leaving him squeezing his thighs together as Valentino leaned over him. Valentino was certainly tall. “Them?” he repeated.

Valentino grinned, with one finger opening a slit in the side of his bodysuit and peeling it open to reveal the satiny purple skin beneath. “Them,” he confirmed, as he peeled the suit open over his groin. Alastor watched in fascination as he revealed three members. The central one could be mistaken for human, albeit rather long, but the two either side, sitting nearly at Valentino’s inguinal crease, were curved inward, long, pale spines splaying from them. “I bet you’re wondering what they feel like, yeah?” he said, grinning, and Alastor wondered how many people that line had worked on. “Now, you, venadito,” he said, a little pink liquid trickling from his bottom lip.

Alastor’s hand went to his belt and the lights flickered with the power glitch this time. Oh, Vox was certainly watching. Certainly pissed. Lovely. Unable to match the showmanship of Valentino’s tease, Alastor opted for simplicity, dismissing his pants with a snap of his fingers, and uncrossed his legs for Valentino, putting the gun to one side.

“Fuck,” Valentino hissed, his good antenna twitching as he caught wind of the smell. “You’re in fucking heat?” He drew close, long fingers trailing over Alastor’s bare thigh, and Alastor shivered. “Big bad radio demon, gagging for co-”

“Val!” Vox manifested from a nearby power socket like a bolt of lightning, looking frazzled, looking more pissed than Alastor had ever seen him. His voice was deliciously dark, pointed teeth showing as an aura of static buzzed around him. Oh, just the sight of him was a heady thrum between Alastor’s thighs. “Get the fuck off of him, Val. He’s mine.”

“Oh, I am, am I?” Alastor grinned at Vox as Valentino withdrew from him, nonplussed. “Nice of you to inform me.”

[monsterfuckerconfessions]

I had a dream.

I was a robot, a well made one, more like an android, and I had done all my daily chores and whatnot. My master then, after I seat him, pats his knee for me to sit on. Once I do, he starts to undress me. I don't mind of course, this oh, this was a treat~. He then lifts my chin and starts kissing me. the feeling of his silky soft tongue sliding in and out of my mouth felt lovely. I am then lay on to the table, my legs spread then my master shoving his cock inside myopening is so fucking hot. The overlay of my sensors and my mind and voice glitching sends me doolally with pleasure as he keeps hitting my sweet sensitive spot.I

Once I cum out of my opening, gasping and panting, my master then mends part of my thigh, which had been a little dislocated, yet the feeling of pleasure overwhelmed that. I am a male robot, so no-one will believe I can be fucked like that.

if I'm extra good I am taken to bed and played with, either my dick or opening is played with till I can't think no more. Then I suck off my master, his yummy cream, dripping down my tongue.

Oh god. Probably my favourite dream.

.

[idle-soliloquy]

last lines tag!

@onyxsboxes and @irregularcollapse thank you of the tag, and oh my, am I excited about the last lines I've written...

I officially started the Atonement AU after a month of planning and research. I still have shit loads to do, but I was going doolally keeping it all inside my head, so here we are:

A giddy laugh pushed against the insides of her cheeks, but she clamped her lips to conceal it. Operation 'dramatic reading' was to remain clandestine. The Cottage by the Beach—that’s how she decided to title the story there and then—could lure a distant memory of a better time into the present. The uniqueness of Gale and John’s voices fit the roles she had sketched out on the cream paper and now clutched to her chest: Bucky as the desolate lover, enclosed by the itching skin of a common mutt, whining and wagging his tale at his sweetheart. Gale as the heroine, his voice turning soft and crooning when the plot called for it, transforming into a white dove at dawn, the span of its wings veiling the sunrise. At last, she saw the truth in what Gale had told her; how in subtle ways fiction could affect reality. Her story had the means to heal the festering wound at the heart of the manor, and get Gale and Bucky larking about in front of mama Egan again, who in recent months had taken to pinching her mouth whenever Gale was around.  When it had become apparent that the rift was there, and Marge was none the wiser as to why, she tried to ask Martha why she didn’t like Gale anymore. Her stepmother scolded for being too nosy for her own good. That same night, John told her to knock it off and quit asking silly questions.  “She likes him well enough,” he said while glowering at his mother across the nursery. “She’s just old and bitter.”  “She is not that old,” Marge said resolutely, but Bucky was no longer listening; his eyes were glued to Gale’s slumped figure leaving the room through the back door, and heading for the scullery, where his mother was polishing silver before dinner.   The dramatic readings ceased not long after, and trapped between Martha Egan’s withering stare, and Bucky’s casual dismissal, Marge no longer asked Gale to join them in the nursery to celebrate another finished project.

When I tell ya I'm buzzing for this. It's gonna be oh so painful. Tagging @angelfruittree and @london-cowboy - they have to listen to me yap about this story at least once a day.

Also tagging @euph0riacc @solmussa (thanks for the help, you're the best), @middlingmay @swifty-fox @c-goldthorn @polifandom and anyone else who's not done the tag game yet!

[icouldhyperfixatehim]

emotionally overwhelmed by ray's rehab entrance scene (who? me? i know right how weird and out of character for me to be doolally over a fictional happenstance with a broken character) and finding it so refreshing that, other than once by sand, there hasn't been an insistence that ray get help "for himself". that at his intake interview, he's given the option to be undertaking this scary vulnerable thing for somebody else's sake. because there is someone who loves him who wants him to do this, and that's reason enough. because he's hard to love! he knows he's nobody's fair weather forever, he's a broken, dysfunctional person, and he's hard to love, it requires patience to be with him, and he doesn't have that patience. ray's on the list of people for whom ray is hard to love, how is he meant to do something as hard as giving up drinking for himself? ray can't give up drinking for ray, ray's not worth that struggle.

but sand...

do it for yourself doesn't get it done for everybody. sometimes do it for yourself just makes it that much harder because "yourself" isn't a person you think is worth fighting for. but for a person you love? who against all odds and reason loves you? yeah maybe it can be done. and at the end of it all it doesn't matter why you do it - quitting drinking, not killing yourself, whatever it is - it matters that you DO it. and i found it really powerful to see that portrayed, when so many depictions will stress that the only way to truly recover is to do it for you. with support, yes, but not with someone else being your "reason" because that's "dependent" or "not healthy". when really, in practice, i don't care why you're still here. i care that you're still here, however you manage it.

[perplexingluciddreams]

Mixed feelings about the "price" of doing Things with autism. And how much sensory overload headaches Suck™️:

Recently I have tried to be brave and do things that connect me to "the real world" more. For example: bedroom door open sometimes, play cards with Mum, listen TV shows or music on out-loud speaker instead of headphones.

The past two days I am extra brave - I even listen music out-loud while in swing! (Today was Beethoven 6th Symphony "Pastoral"). This is a big thing for me.

I am proud of myself, of course. But, man, the sensory overload headaches afterwards are not fun!! Ouch ☹️😡.

For so long I tried to do everything I could to prevent even a teeny tiny bit of overwhelm, because I didn't have enough energy to stim enough to recover from it. It was my only option.

However, I am and always will be constantly dysregulated, which Sucks™️. Anything and everything can make my brain and sensory system go even more doolally than usual. It's just the way it is.

It is good to try and expose myself carefully and gradually to tiny bits of more intense sensory input, I think. At least, I hope it will have a positive long term help.

But, still, I am really fully understanding better now why I used to have such frequent and intense meltdowns every day. My meltdowns really majorly reduced in frequency when I stopped leaving the house, and even more when I (mostly) stopped leaving my bedroom. (Although they did unfortunately get more violent as I get older 🤷🏻‍♂️).

I hate that the price for doing anything I want to do, or anything nice or fun or with other people, is violent meltdowns and aggression behaviours and overwhelm and sensory overload, and *insert any other shitty thing that autism causes*.

And I am so limited by my autism. A lot of times I don't care about this, because I know the Thing would be a horrible experience in reality. But I still yearn to do these things that other people can do - I wish to be able to experience it as a "normal" person would.

It just really kinda sucks. Sometimes I feel left out and left behind. ☹️

It is weird to have such mixed feelings... I am glad and proud that I manage the tiny bit of new/different. But also upset that it comes at such a huge huge price. And that I could never cope with anything more than this tiny amount.

[leiflitter]

about our saltburn boys, idk in what universe/timeline but i'd like to hear about their first proper date from you 🖤

So I am doing a minor bend on this prompt because at this point it's always the YAH!canon but look. Can you blame me? And if you want to read their INTERRUPTED first actual romantic date in YAHcanon, then behold:

Also, to the assorted Saltburnites out there... Feel free to send me art prompts, ficlet prompts, headcanon prompts, YAH questions... Whatever you want, I love answering em!

OXFORD, 2007.

Felix had a suspicion. It was one of those little niggly ones that you couldn't quite put your finger squarely on; a hunch, that was the word, and he'd been tossing it around in his head for long enough to want to act on it.

Oliver was, clearly, inexperienced.

It wasn't necessarily a bad thing. Olls had clearly spent too much time studying, and had neglected his social education. Felix couldn't blame him- after all the stories about his parents, Ollie not being a Casanova was pretty much par for the course. If he had gotten a girlfriend back up in Liverpool, then where could he have taken her? Welcome to my house, it's full of rats and used needles would send any decent lass running in the opposite direction.

Ollie probably needed a girlfriend, too, just for a little bit. It'd be a learning experience. Even better, he and Oliver could go on double-dates with whoever his flavour of the week was. Felix's code of ethics regarding relationships was fairly... Lackadaisical, true, but he had morals. So, yes, he'd shag a girl and be her boyfriend until she got boring, but really... What did they expect? He wasn't about to look for a Future Lady Blabla Catton until at least third year, but this was groundwork. He wanted to find out which girls were the most bearable- and if he didn't go out with them, then how would he know? Besides, there were some right nutters out there. The ones who said I love you after a week, or went all doolally when he called it quits. Or ended up, well... Felix didn’t dwell on that, though. It wasn't his fault; if he blamed himself for everything other people did, then he'd never get out of bed in the morning.

Back to the matter at hand. Oliver Quick's love life, or lack thereof.

Oliver, inexperienced with the fairer sex; happy enough to shag 'em but not confident enough to bag 'em. Besides, he had it on good authority that Ollie wasn't shagging properly. He'd been eavesdropping, yes, but that meant it was far more likely to be true.

Oliver Quick? We hooked up... Well, sort of, he went down on me for ages, I think he was too drunk to get it up, but...

Why else would you do that, other than avoiding the main event? There was nothing in it for Oliver; Felix was a devotee to the snog, finger, fuck pipeline for a reason, and it was mostly because if he had his hand up a girl's skirt, she'd be giving him a little action through his jeans. Quid pro quo- and if she blew him, well, that was her choice, wasn't it? Didn't mean he had to venture down south and get his face all slimy.

Felix didn’t want to ask Ollie if he was a virgin, but he definitely wasn't fucking before Felix took him under his wing. Again, it wasn't bad, just... The first time was always a big deal, and Olls probably wanted to have an actual connection or something girly like that. Farleigh had agreed, slyly, smirking all over his face when Felix had asked for a second opinion. Farls seemed to think of it as somehow insulting; Felix almost thought it oddly nice. Ollie took things seriously, that was all. He probably wanted to do it for the first time with someone he loved.

That made Felix feel a little nauseous, but why wouldn't it? All that mushy stuff triggered his gag reflex. Besides, Felix didn’t want Olls to get all long term committed. He just wanted Oliver to get his dick wet, because he was a good friend and hated anyone missing out. Oxford was heaving with skirt; he didn't want Olls to have a reputation as an overly-licky limp noodle.

Said noodle was trying to focus on an essay while Felix lay on his bed and slowly deconstructed his crisp packet in the hope of finding some more crumbs of salt hidden in the creases. He jammed a finger into his mouth; nothing, more's the pity, and Felix let the packet fall to the floor as he wiped his greasy hands on his jeans. "Olls."

Ollie was ignoring him, but he was sitting a little straighter. Felix rolled over, resting his chin on his hands. "Ollie-Ollie-Oliver, earth to Oliver, s'terrible manners to ignore your host, mate..."

"Just lemme finish this sentence, Felix, then I'm all yours." Oliver lowered his head determinedly, pen scratching against his notebook.

"Oliver Quick, I know how long your sentences can be. You'll get semi-bloody-colons involved, and I want to ask you something."

Oliver sighed, put the pen down, then gave a cursory glance behind him before flopping to Felix's grubby carpet. From this angle his weird eyes looked awfully big; Felix smiled down at him, the plan firm in his mind. Train Ollie up, turn him into a proper Romeo by the start of second year, and then they'd have loads of fun. "Would you like to go on a date, Oliver?"

Ollie's face screwed up. "Y'wha?"

"Fuck off, not like that, mate, I'm not bent. But I bet you've never ever been on a date before, yeah?" Felix was using his most reasonable voice. "It's like Rocky. A training montage."

"I don't want to date, Felix. Got enough on my plate as is." Oliver was still all scrunched-looking. "I'm fine as I am. No montage needed."

"And that attitude is exactly why you need my help." Felix pushed himself up, crawling off the bed to jab Oliver's ribs with one bare foot. "C'mon. Off you trot, put on something nice. I'll pay- fucking starving, up for Chinese?"

Oliver went all floppy, like a recalcitrant toddler, before nodding, slowly hauling himself upright. "Fine. But only for free food. Don't get any ideas."

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Felix thought that Ollie might only have one nice shirt. It wasn't even a decent nice shirt, that blue plaid thing, but Felix had excellent manners. He'd smiled as Oliver begrudgingly opened his dorm room door. Now, seated across from each other at a two-person table, Felix was going to teach Oliver how to carry on a polite dinner conversation.

"I have to say, Ollie, the colour of that shirt really brings out your eyes." Felix shoved another complimentary prawn cracker into his mouth, giving Oliver his most attentive smile. Ollie took a swig of his beer, nodding slowly.

"Thank you, Felix. You look... You look lovely, too." That was coupled with a very grim little smile, and Felix shook his head.

"I told you, Olls, you've got to pretend I'm, y'know, a fit bird. Not me. Try it again, mate, with feeling this time."

Oliver sighed, loudly, before reaching over and putting his hand on Felix's wrist. The eye contact went from fleeting to intense so quickly Felix felt as if he'd been pinned to some metaphysical wall; Oliver smiled at him, dimples puckering his cheeks, going all squinty and bright. "You look lovely tonight, Felix."

"Oh." Felix blinked, and the glow faded from Ollie as he withdrew his hand, returning to his usual, friendly little self. "Christ. No, you- you've got that down, mate. Good job."

It was a good thing Felix wasn't a girl, else he'd have gone all giggly and flustered; a result which meant there was nothing Felix could teach. A shame, really, but after that it definitely felt a lot safer having dinner as mates.

[legacyshenanigans]

If ominis and rowan had a massive falling out (like almost break up worthy) would marvolo step in and mediate? I can imagine at first hed be hella reluctant but i can imagine being stuck between rowans stropping and ominis' bitching would eventually drive him doolally!

I think he would, yeah! He cares about them both, and I think the awkwardness of his best friend and his brother arguing would definitely drive him mad! I also think he wouldn't give them the chance to leave the situation until it was resolved 🐍🐺

Ominis: Ooh for goodness sake!! *frowns* It's always about YOU isn't it?!

Rowan: Nah! It fuckin ain't! THAT'S the problem. It's NEVER about me! It's ALWAYS about YOU!!!!

Ominis: How DARE YOU raise your voice at me!!

Rowan: Don't you fucking try to pin it all on me though!!

Marvolo: *sat in his own room, trying to read, and sighs angrily*

Ominis: FUCK OFF, GO ON! GET OUT!

Rowan: FINE!! *storms out of Ominis's room*

Marvolo: *storming out of his own room with a frown on his face, heading towards Rowan*

Rowan: He started it! *frowns*

Marvolo: Get back in that FUCKIN room now..We're sorting this out.

Ominis: What, are you a relationship counsellor now?! Pfft *folds his arms moodily*

Marvolo: Right now? YES, I'm not having my brother and my best friend being all fucking aggy and moody. We're sorting this, NOW.

~

[elenagoeslightly]

GIRL

I am poor again BUT I GOT TO THE SCENE

and head is full of thoughts

First and foremost the fact that Julian is so worried and that the air in the shop was so oppressive and the skull and stuff I am thinking about the ritual like 10/10 also Asra looks so out of touch??? Like my bro isn't there

ALSO???? WHO IS THIS???? ASRA HAS BEEN NOTHING BUT SWEET LIKE WHO IS THIS???

and pls, pls pls Julian devorak find your spine you are a doctor you should know where it is

I think this might be pre ritual Asta bc he is a. A bit doolally and b. Not really caring about anything else and ence a bit cruel this was literally a game of cat and mouse

[weirdowithaquill]

Traintober 2023: Day 25 - Distress Signal

What's Out in Tidmouth Bay:

“And every year, on the date of the sinking, the ship rides the seas again, searching for the crew that abandoned her to her watery grave…” Salty finished, grinning at the assembled engines. “Rubbish!” snorted Douglas. “Thir's na sic thing as ghost ships rising up oot o' th' ocean. Whit a doolally idea. Whitevur neist? A submarine letting oot distress signals, even though thir's na yin thare?” Both he and his twin Donald sniggered. Edward scowled.

“You shouldn’t joke about lost submarines,” he said grimly. “After all, there’s a tale of a submarine that was lost off Tidmouth bay that will make you funnel quiver.” “Ooo! Tell it! Please!” exclaimed the other engines. Edward shot a dark look at them.

“This is not a pleasant story, and it’s certainly not one to make light of…” With one last sigh, the old engine began his story.

“Back during the First World War, both Britain and Germany began to deploy early submarines to disrupt shipping and try to starve their opponent out of the war. But back then, the submarines were still new technology – they rattled, and sprang leaks, and they were loud most of the time too. But when they glided underwater, not even the keenest of eyes could spot them.

“In 1916, several British submarines began docking at Tidmouth. These submarines were manned by local Sudrians who’d signed up for the navy, and they were very proud of their machines. ‘Best in the Navy!’ they would boast. ‘Never to be beaten!’ we would often reply, caught up in a great patriotic spirit for our country and our boys doing their part to defend it.

“One of the duties of these submarine crews was to tow large underwater mines into choke points in the harbour waterways. These giant, spiked balls of explosives were placed randomly, so that enemy ships would be unable to get too close to the harbour to attack. The submarines were good at this job, and the island’s people always felt safer knowing they were protecting us.

“It all changed one foggy night. A German U-Boat had been spotted off the coast of Liverpool and was sailing north towards us at a tremendous rate. At the time, Tidmouth was a major manufacturer of shells and explosives for the front line, and even one hit to the factory would do irreversible damage. The submarines in Tidmouth bay were sent out to find the German U-Boat, despite the thick fog that made navigation almost impossible – and they found it. Unfortunately, they also found the minefields.

“The radios were filled with crackly cries for help from Sudrian sailors, all lost in the fog and trying to avoid the mines they’d set while also hunting for a German U-Boat. We all waited with bated breath on the shoreline, all listening to the radio and praying for the boys…”

Edward paused, then tears filled his old eyes.

“And then, there was a flash of light – it was so bright, it pierced through the fog and lit up the entire bay – and screams. They came through the radio for only a couple seconds, but they were the longest seconds of my life. They were horrible – wretched, broken, filled with agony and suffering – and then they were gone. One of the Sudrian submarines had found the German U-Boat and fired on it… but they had missed… and hit an underwater mine. Both ships were destroyed, sinking down to their final resting places on the sea floor.”

The engines were horrified. Even Donald and Douglas were silent, eyes wide. Every engine who had lived through the First World War had known someone who had lost their lives – but to actually see it with their own eyes… it was horrific.

“But that wasn’t the end,” Edward continued, startling everyone. “One year later, the remaining submarines were sat in the harbour when their radios crackled with an unknown message. But it wasn’t just the submarines’ radios – no, it was every radio in Tidmouth. Every single one picked up this unknown, crackling message. It was a distress signal! – a shouted one, in two different languages. One was foreign – German; garbled, broken by the static of the radios. The other however… it was the lost sailors from the sunken submarine. They were shouting at each other and at us – and then there was a massive explosion that ripped through the radio-waves. There was a flash of light – and then those screams. They tortured us, far longer than the screams we’d heard on that fateful night. They were in German too now, as if both ships were wailing for their losses. And then… nothing.

“This happened again the next year, and then the year after that – and after that, the people of Tidmouth learnt. Every year, on the date of the accident, every radio in Tidmouth is switched off. It’s a moment of silence, for the men who lost their lives.”

No one knew what to say, and so they all went quietly to sleep.

The next evening, Edward was away on his branchline, and a new driver decided to leave the radio on for the engines in the sheds. This was not uncommon – the engines enjoyed the background noise; it was relaxing after a long days’ work.

It was only Donald and Douglas – Bear had the midnight goods, Gordon had the express, Salty was delivering some trucks to Elsbridge, Duck was collecting a late load of ballast, James and Henry were sleeping at the other end of the line, and Oliver was pulling the last passenger train of the evening. “Edward's story - ye dinnae hawp it, dae ye?” asked Donald. “Na! nae at a' - tis a guid story fur a friten, bit thir's na sic thing as ghosts,” snorted Douglas. “Especially nae ghosts sending oot distress signals.” “Aye, whit nonsense…”

The song on the radio ended – but another didn’t start. Instead, the radio crackled – as if suddenly overwhelmed by a wave of static. Voices could be vaguely heard from the radio, quiet – but growing louder. They were in English… and in German. They were screaming, pleading, arguing, begging for help. It was a distress signal. The voices grew louder, more garbled – and then, there was a sonic BOOM! that erupted from the radio, almost knocking the Caledonian twins off their rails.

It was followed by a horrific wailing and screaming. It ripped through Donald and Douglas, their boilers going cold at the sound. It was the sound of dying men. It stretched on for what felt like an eternity, eventually tapering off into garbled groaning, and then nothing.

An unseen figure in a top hat clicked off the radio, and vanished out the back door, unheard by the twins. They were barely holding in their tears, eyes wide and wheels quivering.

Oliver puffed in, looking very confused. “Are you two alright?” he asked. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost—” “Dinnae... say that…” Donald croaked.

Oliver stayed respectfully silent.

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