#having one of those handwritten cards would be so nice but like

[narcissaea]

trying to not kick myself for not getting the 20th anniversary special edition tvxq album by remembering after tax and shipping it's nearly $400!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[jo-harrington]

You don't have time for Christmas.

Work and home and this friend in a crisis.

Work and home and, let's be honest, probably work again.

And before you know it, it's December 20th and you don't even have any decorations up. Barely anyone does. The neighborhoods that are usually lit up with lights and figurines enough to rival the Griswolds are noticably dark this year.

What holiday? What festivity? It's wake up and hustle and lay in bed in a dreamless sleep. Then wake up to do it all again.

You are a cog in a machine.

You don't know how to voice these things, your displeasure, the secret yearning for the pomp and circumstance and childhood whimsy for the holiday season that's tucked somewhere deep inside your weary body. You can't bring yourself to indulge in it.

You're tired.

You glance down the card aisle at the grocery store but don't stop to grab any for friends. You pick up a bag of peanut butter bells for your candy jar at work but then second guess it at the checkout. Gifts are bought with as much care as you could, but you can't even bother to wrap them as prettily as you usually would.

You can try again for Valentine's. Chocolate hearts with the crispy rice inside and roses for your coworkers. Something.

But this year, you don't have time for Christmas.

And he notices.

It starts with cookies.

He likes to bake--started with boxed cake mix and then you bought him a handheld torch one year so he could try his hand at creme brûlée after he watched a little too much Jacques Pepin on PBS--so it's not anything suspicious. No ulterior motives detected.

Only he's dug up the little handwritten notebook full of your grandma's favorite recipes. Grandpa's handwriting because he wrote it while she dictated. Cookies he's never tasted before himself but seemed to have nailed exactly the way she made them. The love he poured into the treats matched hers exactly.

He brings you a plate and a cup of cocoa when you come home and collapse on the couch.

You cry when you eat them. And he lets you.

Then he digs out the tree from the garage.

The one-car garage that you pay extra for doesn't fit either of your vehicles but fits all your crap. You both vow to clean up at some point and never do. He slogs through the boxes of old band tees that don't fit him and kitchen crap that you don't miss or really need, to get to the plastic 6 ft tree that used to have stickers to note which bough went in what slot but those are long gone.

He spends hours figuring it out and decorating it, and imagine your surprise when you come home to an otherwise-dark apartment illuminated by the fat, colorful incandescent bulbs that you're sure he spent a significant amount of time untangling. You'd both given up last year and went without lights. But there they are.

"What?" you drop your bag by the door. "What is this?"

"I dunno," he grins proudly. "Thought it would be nice. Get in the Christmas spirit. Saved the star for you to put on top if you want."

And you did. You wanted it so bad. Ever since you were a kid, you were the one to put the star on top of the tree.

After it's up, you marvel at the special care he's taken with the important ornaments. Fragile little wooden ones from your grandma, popsicle stick frames with baby pictures of both of you, a macaroni snowman that he gave his mom once-upon-a-time that his uncle had stashed away, and then a fancy hallmark one you got the year you moved in together.

They all have special places on the tree and tell a story of your lives, separate and then together.

You both lay under the tree that night, staring up at the glittering lights as you hold hands.

Finally it's Christmas Eve. Which to him really meant nothing, but to you meant the world. Christmas Days were spent with individual families but Christmas Eves of old meant a big dinner and time spent with your cousins and It's a Wonderful Life on the TV.

It's a tradition that got put to the wayside as everyone got too old and too tired. As you started getting scheduled to work, like this year. And it's almost worse this year, as you've done a stretch of you-can't-remember-how-many days, that you even turned down an invitation for the two of you from your mom for a small dinner with her.

You're exhausted by the time you get home and, more than anything, you're looking forward to the day off tomorrow.

Not the holiday. The day off.

Still, you remember to bring in the handful of gifts from their hiding place in your trunk. You don't really do gifts between the two of you anymore. Nothing big at least. Just a cheesy little thing. Something fun, not something serious. But you did a little more this year than you usually would--all of the OT you'd clocked for one, and too many things you saw that you knew would make him smile for another.

You try to tip toe into the house as quietly as possible so you can throw the boxes under the tree and shower but he's vigilant. He's been at the stove cooking for a while, and he greets you at the door as you shut it behind you.

"I thought we said no big gifts," he admonishes you and snatches the boxes from your hands. The wrapping paper isn't festive--just brown craft paper you stole borrowed from work since you wrapped on your lunch--but you managed to slap on some red and green bows from the drugstore that you grabbed the other day.

"They're not big," you explained. "I promise."

"Well neither are mine," he winked.

You slap a hand against his chest and then give him a kiss in greeting and thanks.

"One better be the RC racer I wanted when I was nine," he mutters against your lips.

"Hmmm, you're just gonna have to wait," you tell him. "And no shaking the boxes.

You're almost a little ticked off'; one of them is the RC racer.

You kick off your shoes as the smell finally hits you.

Dinner.

Thick and savory and fragrant.

Some kind of fish and roasted potatoes and the starchiness of a pasta and the tang of its sauce.

Recipes, again, taken from your grandma's little notebook. They stir something deep inside of you. That yearning you never voiced.

The weariness that's been slowly building within you finally comes to a head when you make it to the kitchen and see the pots and pans and two plates already portioned out.

An ice cold beer for him, and a Shirley temple, extra cherries, for you.

"Remember when you told me," he comes up behind you and his arms snake around your midsection, "that you and your cousins would sneak extra maraschino cherries from the fridge when your gram wasn't looking. And then she went to go get them for the pistachio salad and they were gone."

Your knees shake and you practically collapse against him.

"Speaking of which, there is a pistachio salad in the fridge for dessert."

"Why?" you sniff.

"Because that's actually my favorite, so sorry to your grandma's tiramisu." He pecks a kiss to the side of your head and rocks you back and forth. "But if you want to make that for New Year's Eve, I won't say no."

"No," you let out a watery laugh. "Why are you so good to me, why did you do all of this?"

"Because I know it's been a hard few weeks. Few months." You can feel him shrug. "Fuck, it's been hard for me too but...I know this is one of your favorite parts of the year and you just...haven't been in the spirit for it. So whatever I could do to make it happen for you..."

You turn in his arms and bury your face in his shoulder, in his neck, so he doesn't see your tears. Again. Worse this time as you begin to shake from your sobs. He shushes you, runs a hand over your back, and leaves kiss after kiss against your head.

"Baby, I'll do anything for you," he tells you, voice thick with emotion. "I just want you to be happy."

"I am happy," you whine against his skin. "I'm so...so happy."

"Good."

"Thank you," you repeat it over and over again until it feels like you're empty of all the void and indifference that have filled you for the past few months are gone. In their place just...love and gratitude for him.

"Merry Christmas baby. I love you."

"I love you too, Merry Christmas."

[hardly-an-escape]

Fluffbruary Day 26

gonna try to do a little daily drabble just to get the creative juices going while I work on longer WIPs. no guarantees that it'll be every day.

Dream/Hob • rated M • fluff | woolly | care package

Hob smiles when he unzips his suitcase and sees the surprise Dream has left for him. He must have snuck it in while Hob was in the loo, just before the Uber had arrived, because it definitely hadn’t been there when he’d packed last night.

It’s nothing fancy. Just a plain little bag, labeled with his name in Dream’s distinctive spiky handwriting, the black marker feathering a bit where it’s soaked into the cheap brown paper. Dream’s embellished it with doodles of birds and trees, so it looks like Hob’s name is growing out of a tiny black-and-white forest.

Inside is a packet of Hob’s favorite biscuits, and one of sour gummy worms. A miniature instant photo of the two of them together, which Hob recognizes from Matthew’s last birthday party. A pressed flower from their garden, carefully taped to a square of card stock with washi tape. And best of all, a new fountain pen – one of the nice ones Hob’s been eyeing for a while but hasn’t found an excuse to buy.

He flips over the card with the dried flower. On the other side is a short handwritten message: I love you. Work hard. Think of me.

Hob’s insides turn to goo. He hadn’t thought it was possible to fall even more in love with his husband than he already is, and yet he’s standing here in a boring hotel room feeling as though he’s just drunk a bottle of champagne.

I love you. Work hard. Think of me.

As if he could do anything but.

He fishes his phone from his jacket pocket. Dream answers on the first ring.

“Did you find your present?” he asks without preamble.

“Yes. I love you so much. My darling, you would not even believe how much I love you. You are, bar none, the best thing that’s ever happened to me –”

“Did you find all of your present?” Dream presses.

“Yes?” Hob says uncertainly. “It was all in the little bag, right? The doodles are so cute, by the way.”

“Look farther. Under your clothes.”

Hob obediently digs deeper in his suitcase. At first he doesn’t see it, but then his fingers encounter something unfamiliar. It’s small, but firm, and heavy for its size. For a second he’s puzzled – then he realizes what it is and bursts into laughter.

“You maniac, did you pack me a butt plug?”

“I thought you might get lonely.” He can hear the smile in Dream’s voice.

“I’m only going to be gone for three nights!”

“Yes. Three long, lonely nights. In the wasteland of Bangor. Without your husband to comfort and please you after your long days of toil.”

“It’s just an academic conference, my love, not manual labor.”

“I’ve seen how you medievalists get. All those heavy books. You might strain yourself if you don’t find a way to relax.”

Hob laughs again, and rejoices in Dream’s laugh in return. After all these years, it still sends a shiver down his back.

“I really do love you,” he says.

“And I you,” Dream answers softly. “But I must go. Matthew is almost here. He promised to come distract me from my woeful solitude. I believe he is bringing Die Hard.”

“Have fun. Tell him I said hi. I’ll call you in the morning, okay?”

“Till then, my love.”

“Bye, darling.”

prompt list!

[allthegothihopgirls]

some hc I have about the batboys' handwriting

dick: the straightest most neat handwriting you've ever seen in your life. might as well have been typed word for how neat it is

Jason: the curliest curviest prettiest cursive in the world. he read all those classics and couldn't help but think that it'd be cool asf to write all fancy lines how the ppl in his books would have

Tim: somehow cursive and straight print at the same time. some letters connect with loops and some don't. dead ass looks like dick and Jason took turns writing out each individual letter. he's a stalker boy to his core your honor

duke: I'm not too familiar with duke yet, but he gives chicken scratch to me. not only that, but he also writes tiny. he can barely read his own handwriting sometimes

Damien: generic and normal asf but everything he writes is italicized but to the left

i do think dick would have neat handwriting when he's doing birthday cards, writing letters etc. however, hear me out, the quick handwritten notes he makes whether it be for patrol, or a quick note he'll leave at the batcomputer for bruce to see in the morning. pretty much doctor's shorthand.

i don't think jason would have overly nice handwriting, his upbringing + dying y'know, lack of formal education etc etc. but i think he definitely has a distinct style that is easily recognisable. his r's are very pointed, so are most of his letters. i think he'd be the type to write 'uppercase' versions of the letters in lowercase.

out of all of them i think tim would be the one to learn different fonts, for whatever reason it might be for. your description of his handwriting sounds exactly like how i write with the cursive + straight print thing, i definitely think tim would do that.

i think damian would have the nicest writing of them all. he does a brilliant cursive, his print is a little more relaxed though. he's into art and everything, so it really wouldn't surprise me if his handwriting was just super neat.

[piles-of-numbers]

hi, I wrote / doodled my aroace journey for pride

id below the keep reading

ID: A series of 10 images featuring a handwritten story and doodles along the way. They read as follows:

Growing up, I believed my life would follow a certain path. (Doodle: footpath with grass around it). It was the path of all my favorite books, shows, movies, etc. Doodle of a row of five triangular flags along a path. The first is labeled "meet a guy," the second is labeled "we develop some witty banter," the third is labeled "He confesses his love for me," the fourth is labeled "???", and the fifth and final one is labeled "Profit."

That path was in my mind during most interactions with my guy friends. Doodle of a stick figure posed with hand on face, considering another stick figure. Next to the stick figure is a list: nice (check), funny (check), smart (check), likes me??. These candidates became my crushes. I waited for a confession. Sometimes, my friends would suggest I take initiative. Doodle of the same stick figure in a thoughtful pose, along with two more stick figures. One says "You should ask him out!" The other says "Yeah!". But something about the idea felt off.

I told myself I wanted to focus on school instead. (Doodle of a paper with an A on it, two books titled Math and Biology. In truth, the idea of dating didn't really excite me. I thought that there was nothing wrong with being single. Thought it wouldn't be the end of the world if I just kept to myself. But all those stories taught me about what happened to those kinds of sentiments. Doodle of a stick figure, hands on stick hips, saying "I'm better off alone!". Below that is words written in the Spongebob timeskip card, "Two Days Later....". Then there are two stick figures holding hands and looking at each other, saying "I'm only complete now that I've found you."

So, being the star student I was, I decided that I was just staving off the inevitable and decided to skip to that part where I found someone I liked. My sophomore year, the stars seemed to align: I turned 16, the age of most teenage protagonists, I heard through a friend that a guy would have asked be to Jr. Prom if I hadn't already expressed I was busy that day, and said guy got me a small gift for my birthday. So, with encouragement from my friends, I decided to strongly hint (but not outright say) that I liked him. And so, a week after my 16th birthday, he asked me out, to which I responded with a super confident "sure?"

We went on two dates before I ended it. He didn't do anything wrong, but something on my end felt wrong. I wouldn't say that I was repulsed, that seems to strong of a word. But the situation seemed forced. I decided I must not be mature enough, that I would date when I got to college. Towards the end of high school, I discovered the actual definition of asexuality. A doodle of the stick figure wondering Wait... sexual attraction? What is that? That's real? Cue about 3.5 years of questioning: how to prove a negative? maybe I am just anxious? No "right person" yet? I don't hate the idea of sex? Other people are exaggerating?

Fun thing about the anxiety question, I started taking anxiety medication during my last semester of college. With my mind a little more ordered, it all became clearer: I'm ace. The stick figure now waves an ace flag. With that sorted out, I was ready to move along in life when... the stick figure is handed a paper by a little brain and asks "oh? what is this?" The happy little brain smiles as the paper reveals the words HAVE I FELT ROMANTIC ATTRACTION???* The asterisk leads to the smaller note "also gender???"

Of course I had. Right? There was the aforementioned guy in high school, and in early college I thought about pursuing two guys. But I realized something: I always thought I had to like somebody. The butterflies I had in high school were less about the guy, and more... Doodle of two butterflies having a conversation. "Omg he likes us" "Mission accomplished" "Wait now we have to go on a date." "Ahhhh? what do we even do?"

What even is romance? I don't know. It's different for each person. Like a lot of people, I crave a connection founded on trust, shared interests, inside jokes, etc. Doodle of two stick figures, there are squiggly lines between them, a connection. But I think something about that connection, maybe its very essence, is just different. Two stick figures with different squiggly lines between them. I remembered thing how I've always wanted to skip the whole "head over heels" part of the relationship, and go right to being an old married couple. So, I'm aro. At first, I had a mini crisis. Doodle of the stick figuring sitting on the floor with tears, holding the aro flag. A sad brain pats the stick figure in support.

But that crisis ended when I stopped treating this revelation as a path being blocked... Doodle of a path leading to an archway, the archway is boarded off.... and more like a bunch of new paths I hadn't really considered opening up. Doodle of the archway path no longer blocked off, surrounded by a bunch of other archways.

Honestly, the first path isn't even gone, it just looks a little different. Doodle of the archway path looking the same as before, but the archway is a rainbow in the colors of the queerplatonic flag: yellow, pink, white, grey, black. The pathway has pebbles of those colors. I'm thankful for all the stories and comics people have shared related to the aroace spectrum. I shudder to think what my life would look like if I hadn't found these words, what paths I may have forced myself to walk. So now, it's my turn. Happy pride 2023, especially to my aros, my aces, aroaces, my aspecs, and to everyone still figuring things out. Doodle of a stick figure holding an ace flag and an aro flag.

End ID.

[rainbowsky]

Handwriting CPN

"Wishing BXG happiness every day, hoping your wishes will come true. by Friend"

I've gotten a lot of asks about the handwriting CPN. Sorry, I've been very busy during the holidays and haven't spent much time online or had much time for replying to messages. I'll try to address some of that here. Sorry for the group post but this is just easier for me.

Fake, fan fiction, CPN.

For those who are unaware of this candy, it's got a bit of a history.

Back on 26 June 2021 there was a LRLG rumor that ended with a photo of a handwritten blessing card. The blessing read, "Wishing BXG happy every day, hoping your wishes will come true. by Friend."

At the time there was a lot of speculation that it was written by GG, because fans had long believed some of the closing messages of LRLG rumors were written by GG, and because they felt the handwriting on the card looked like GG's.

There could be no direct comparison made using the same text, so while it was a nice theory it was hard to find strong evidence. However recently photos have been circulating of autographs GG has been signing with the same message "happy every day." And now suddenly a direct comparison can be made.

There was also a notecard accompanying some cakes and milk tea GG had brought in for ADLAD cast and crew, and the handwriting there also had turtles squealing.

I don't read or write Chinese, but even I can see that these handwriting samples are strikingly similar. Just looking at the strokes, the style, the little hand-drawn emoji, it looks so similar and so GG-ish.

Any differences between the samples looks to me like the difference between the author writing carefully in one instance and writing hastily in another, rather than the difference between two different people's handwriting. It looks like someone sitting at a desk and thoughtfully writing a nice, neat message on a card in one example vs someone hastily signing an autograph message in the other.

Based on what I've heard from Chinese-speaking/reading friends, and also based on how Chinese fans on Weibo are reacting, it seems like those who can read and write Chinese agree - the handwriting is very similar.

Given the context and handwriting similarities, I think it's highly likely that GG wrote that message on the blessing card. And that creates all sorts of implications beyond just "GG might have written a nice message for BXG back in 2021." It strengthens fan suspicions that LRLG is someone directly connected with GG and DD, and by extension makes all the rumors that come from LRLG take on more meaning for turtles.

Just based on context alone, given what we know about GG and about LRLG, I would tend to believe GG wrote that card (indeed, prior to these recent examples I've felt fairly confident he wrote it).

And I don't think it's an accident this phrase keeps coming up all of a sudden, handwritten by GG. I think he wants us to know he wrote it.

Anyway, that's the candy/CPN, and that's my take on it. I am eating this candy, and view it as another of the �� that GG is so known for.

Just my CPN. Others might disagree or doubt, and that's totally fine. We each make up our own minds about these things.

[ibelieveinahappilyeverafter]

The Mafia Princess Part VI: The Offer

Update time! Also, through some trial and area bullshit, I got tipping working on my blog! So, you know, if you're enjoying this little original story of mine 👀

Mafia Princess Masterpost AO3 Link

Winning Result: Be approached at school after classes discreetly.

Reminder: The poll for the next chapter will be under the read more at the bottom of the post!

---

By the time Elsa was halfway dressed for school and shoving her escape backpack under her bed to switch out with her actual school backpack, she was confident that she could pass off yesterday as a really weird dream that happened during her nap. She always had weird dreams during her naps, anyways. 

That didn’t stop her from looking back at the impromptu shock blanket that she had hanging off the back of her chair, a dark blue color that somehow had avoided getting any bloodstains on it. Maybe she could pretend that one was just a gift from her last orphanage or something. 

“School,” Elsa finally muttered to herself, throwing on her backpack and mentally saying goodbye to her one and only favorite jacket that was now covered in blood and hidden in a trash bag under her bed until she could throw it out. She firmly told herself she had no idea how it had happened and she would save up any money she could get to buy a new jacket later. Hopefully before the temperatures started dipping since it was getting later into fall. 

Getting into the hallway, and feeling her stomach rumble, she detoured to head towards the kitchen instead. She wasn’t too surprised by the sight of Becky already at the table and glaring with teenage angst at her bowl of Fruit Loops, but it did make Elsa keep her mouth shut as she grabbed a cereal bar — and maybe paused long enough to shove two more into her backpack. 

She was halfway to escape when Becky spoke up, “Hey.” Reluctantly, and prepared as she could be, Elsa turned her head back to see Becky looking at her. “Relax, I’m not that much of a bitch.” Alright. Fair enough. “You got a letter is all.” 

Becky reached across the table to grab one of the letters from the mail pile and hold it out, Elsa moving to take it and relaxing a little as she did so. “Thanks.” She paused, not sure if she should say anything before finally asking a wary, “You alright?”

“You’re twelve, right?” Elsa nodded, watching as Becky seemed to study her. “You’ve been in the system for what? Couple of years?” 

“Seven.” Elsa wasn’t sure if she liked the impressed look that earned her or not, but it at least wasn’t laughter. Teens, she had found, were usually nicer to her than kids her age. 

“Then you already know. Longer you’re in the system, the worse it gets.” Yeah. Yeah, that was true enough. “These ones aren’t the worst. No hitting.” Becky laughed and Elsa knew she had let out a sigh of relief without meaning to. “Yeah. Just follow the rules and let your ‘big sister’ take all the heat off you and that brat Luke.”

“Let me know if you ever need an alibi.” The offer was impulsive, but she meant it. Friends were hard to come by in the system, but Elsa knew those friends tended to last. It at least got Becky to finally smile for real. 

“Same to you.” With that, Becky put on a high, sweet voice that was somewhere between mocking and teasing. “Have a good day at school, sweetie! Make good choices!”

Elsa snorted, turning to leave with a quick, “Goodbye, Becky.” She got a more genuine goodbye as she left, which was nice. 

She was a little surprised, though, that she hadn’t even remembered she was holding a letter addressed to her until she was on her bus and on the way to school. Flipping it over she saw her name on the front, but it was handwritten instead of printed, which meant it wasn’t some stock card from the state or her social worker asking how she was doing. It was handwriting she also recognized, and a look at the return address showed it was her mother’s name and the shelter she was staying at. 

Elsa stared down at the letter for another minute before pulling her backpack around to her lap and shoving the letter inside it without opening it. Her mom wasn’t a bad person, really, she was just… She was a bad parent. There was a reason Elsa had been in the system since she was five, and it wasn’t because she was one of the ones with dead parents. 

She hadn’t read the last three letters her mom had sent, but she remembered one of the last ones she had read had been about her mom appealing to the state to get custody back over her again. She didn’t want to think about the fact the furthest back memory she had about being warm and full and happy had been after she had been taken away. 

So much for a good start to the day, she guessed. And, like usual, school didn’t make it any better. 

She had moved to Linda and Rob’s place after the school year had already started, which meant she had switched in far enough into the year that whatever kids hadn’t already known each other had already formed their own friend groups. 

It wasn’t like she wasn’t used to it, but this year was sixth grade which meant middle school. For some reason, that seemed to be the perfect time for every kid around to practice how mean they could get. 

So far, just going from the bus to her homeroom, she counted three jokes about her being an ‘Ice Queen’ and two jokes about how she needed to ‘let it go.’ Disney had really screwed her over for life. 

Elsa did her best to just block everything out that she could, speak when spoken to, and follow whatever rules the teachers gave her — so just like every day of her life since she was five, really. The thing that made that day less bearable than all the others before it was that she didn’t even have her favorite jacket, which was stupid because it wasn’t that cold out, but it had been one of the few things left that had been given to her as a gift and not just as ‘mandatory clothing to keep the state happy.’

She’d really need to dig one up soon. She could probably convince Linda to buy her one or swing by a shelter, but the first one would make it feel like she owed Linda something and the second one always made her embarrassed. Plus, what if the shelter she chose to visit was the one her mom was staying at? Too big a risk. 

She was still chewing over the issue when the school day was finally over, Elsa heading down the front steps and pausing when she saw more students grouped together than usual and heard an influx of whispers. 

Curious, she followed the general gaze and saw a fancy black car parked outside with a man in a suit standing outside it, which, alright, that was enough to cause curious students, especially in their part of Seattle. What gave her a heart attack was the fact that she recognized the car as the one from yesterday because now she definitely couldn’t pretend it was still a dream. 

“Elsa, right?” Jumping at the deep, unfamiliar voice suddenly speaking to her and asking her name, it took a second for Elsa to realize that the voice actually wasn’t unfamiliar. “Could I speak to you for a moment?” 

Yep. Yeah. Elsa turned her head to look behind her and it was Desi. He at least didn’t look like he was a mob boss anymore and wasn’t wearing that fancy black suit. She followed him outside of the gates to the school and a little ways down the street, priming herself to run and instead blurting out, “You look like a dad.” 

Desi, who was dressed in beige slacks and a white button up, made it very obvious he was raising an eyebrow at her. Elsa thought she might die before he said, “I figured you would appreciate not being the center of attention, but if you’d rather I can always make a little more of a show.” 

Instead of apologizing and being polite and not a sarcastic pain-in-the-ass, as she was affectionately called by many adults, she blurted out, “Are you part of the mob or the mafia and what’s the difference between them?” 

The only thing that kept her from having that heart attack her body kept teasing her with was Desi’s quiet laugh that was more like an exhale of breath with some noise to it. “Different ethnicities. Look it up online.” Alright. That was fair enough- What did ethnicities have to do with it? One race went to one and another race went to the other? “And the second one.” 

It took a second for Elsa to get it, and then she just nodded and finally managed to shut her mouth as she got confirmation that Desi, the man standing beside her that she had stupidly followed, was a part of the mafia. He was also someone that all the other tough guys running around had been calling ‘Boss.’ 

“Sorry for the surprise visit, but I wanted to check in and see if you were alright. Yesterday was a lot for a kid — even a twelve-year-old.” Desi looked genuine and Elsa decided she didn’t want to know how he had found her and what school she went to. Did he know her address? “Scotty said you disappeared from the hospital before you could get checked out. Any injuries?” 

Elsa slowly shook her head, trying to figure out who Scotty was and finally deciding it was probably the man who had led her into the hospital. “Not unless you count some ruined clothes,” she finally said, looking around to see if anyone was looking at them and thinking they were suspicious. From what she could tell, they were a lot more suspicious of the car. “But, uh, no, I was fine.”

Should she run for it now? Desi seemed like he just wanted to make sure she was okay- Should she be calling him Desi even in her head? That seemed probably not good to do to a mafia boss who had survived getting shot at three times. “That’s good to hear. I actually wanted to ask if you would let me repay you for your help yesterday.” 

Repay her? Elsa’s full attention went back to Desi, who was smiling as if he knew that would get her attention. She hated that it had. “What… sort of repayment?” If it was money she wouldn’t take it. It probably would have been fake money or stolen money. 

“Nothing fancy.” Hm… “If you’re not against it, though, I’d like to take you out and buy you a new outfit. Replace the one that you said got ruined while you were patching me up.” 

Elsa was way more tempted than she should have been by that offer, especially with her ruined jacket on her mind all day. Trying to buy a little time to convince herself that was a bad idea, she resorted to the ancient tactic of deflecting. “Should you really be out of a hospital when you got shot at a bunch?” 

“My jacket was pretty good at making that much less of a problem.” She had been right. It had been a bulletproof jacket. Damn. She wanted a bulletproof jacket. “I’m also on some really good painkillers.” 

Elsa felt herself wanting to give in and did her best to stay strong. She wasn’t sure if Desi noticed or not, but his voice got a lot more genuine, sort of like he realized the sudden offer was suspicious at best. “Hey, no pressure to say yes. If you’re uncomfortable with the shopping I can give you a lift home instead? You can also just walk away. It’s your choice.” 

Her choice… Somehow, Elsa felt like she really didn’t have a choice.

[nicolettesdreamworld]

Guilty as sin - Chapter 19

After Elena left following breakfast, the house felt strangely quiet to Nicolette, a hollow stillness settling in the space around her. It hadn’t felt this empty since the time Klaus had possessed Alaric's body, and now, despite knowing he was just in the hospital, she couldn’t help but miss him.

With the weight of the silence pressing down on her, Nicolette decided she needed to see Alaric. It wasn’t as if he was gone forever, but she hated the thought of him lying there, hurt and recovering, while she felt helpless to do anything.

She dressed quickly and grabbed her keys, heading out of the house. The crisp air outside felt like a wake-up call, clearing some of the fog of her thoughts as she drove toward the hospital. Maybe spending some time with Alaric, even while he was still recovering, would help her feel less alone. At the very least, she wouldn’t have to confront the stillness of her empty house.

Nicolette spent the entire day with Alaric, savoring the normalcy that had been so rare in her life lately. They made a pact not to discuss anything supernatural for the duration of her visit, and they stuck to it. For once, it was nice to talk about school, friends, and everyday life, things that seemed distant and almost trivial with everything else constantly going on. In return, Alaric shared stories about Meredith, the doctor who had recently come into his life.

He even introduced her to Meredith during the visit, and Nicolette was beyond relieved to hear that she’d been cleared of suspicion. Meredith had been in surgery when someone had attempted to kill Alaric, so she couldn't have been involved. That was a weight off Nicolette’s shoulders, but it also left them back at square one—whoever had attacked Alaric was still out there.

It wasn’t Klaus, Nicolette was sure of that, since she had been with him at the time. And all of Klaus' hybrids had supposedly left town. As much as she questioned Klaus, one thing she had learned was that the originals always kept their word—though their wording was often riddled with loopholes. If they weren’t such dangerous creatures, Nicolette mused, they would have made excellent lawyers.

As the day passed, talking with Alaric about normal things helped her push the chaos out of her mind for a while. But beneath the surface, the question still gnawed at her: if it wasn’t Meredith or Klaus, who was responsible?

Nicolette remembered how Damon had once suggested the possibility of Stefan being behind the attack, but she dismissed the idea immediately. Stefan would never hurt Alaric, she was certain of that. Even with his darker tendencies, Alaric had always been one of Stefan’s closest friends. Plus, like herself, Stefan had been present at that chaotic dinner when the attack on Alaric had happened. It just didn’t add up.

As Nicolette pulled into her driveway, her mind was tangled in unanswered questions, but those thoughts paused the moment she spotted something unusual. A large box, perfectly wrapped with a bow, sat on her doorstep like a present waiting to unravel its secrets. She stepped out of the car, cautiously approaching it. An envelope lay neatly on top, her name scrawled in unfamiliar handwriting.

With a frown, she picked up the box and brought it inside, setting it down on the kitchen island. Her fingers hesitated over the envelope before she opened it, revealing a formal invitation—an invitation to the Mikaelson ball. For a second, she blinked, trying to place the name. Mikael-son. Like Carl-son. Mikael… and then it clicked. The Original family.

Her pulse quickened as she turned the card over, eyes catching on a handwritten note scrawled on the back: "Save me a dance? — Klaus."

Nicolette stared at the note, her heart skipping a beat at the familiar, almost teasing message from Klaus. "Save me a dance?" It echoed in her mind, sending a mixture of emotions swirling through her. The Mikaelson ball. A grand, formal affair held by the original family, no doubt a display of their power and control over the town.

For a moment, she stood there, frozen, trying to process the invitation, the note, and the implications of what it all meant. Klaus wasn’t asking her for a simple favor—this was his way of keeping her involved, drawing her back into his world. She sighed, wondering if it was even possible to escape his influence. The bracelet he had given her still glittered on her wrist, a constant reminder of his presence in her life.

Shaking her head, she set the card down and turned to the box. What could be inside? She carefully untied the bow and lifted the lid of the box. The breath caught in her throat as she gasped softly. Inside was a gown, light blue and ethereal, like something out of a dream. It might have been the most beautiful dress she'd ever seen. The fabric shimmered subtly, catching the light in a way that made it seem almost alive, as if it held a trace of magic within its delicate folds.

She gently lifted it out of the box, her fingertips brushing against the silky material, vintage yet flawlessly preserved. Every stitch, every glimmer, had Klaus written all over it. Another gift. Another impossibly exquisite thing, designed to ensnare her in his web of control. And yet, she couldn’t help but admire its beauty, even as it unsettled her.

To be honest, the dress surprised her. It wasn't provocative or daring like she might have expected from Klaus. No plunging neckline, no tight corset meant to accentuate anything other than elegance. It was refined, almost… innocent. Still holding the gown, she made her way upstairs, as if in a trance, and slipped it on.

It didn’t make her look hot or sexy. Instead, as she stared at her reflection in the mirror, she saw someone different—someone ethereal, graceful, a vision from a long-forgotten age. She looked like royalty, almost untouchable, like Grace of Monaco in all her regal beauty. Klaus hadn’t given her a weapon to seduce; he’d given her a gown that transformed her into something otherworldly. Something untouchable. Something dangerous in its own right.

But she quickly shook her head, snapping herself out of the moment. No, she wouldn’t let Klaus get to her. Not like this. She hurried out of the gown, folding it with deliberate care, and tucked it back into the box as if it hadn't just made her feel something she wasn’t ready to confront.

She slipped back into her normal clothes, her heart still racing, but her mind forcing a calm she didn’t quite feel. Klaus was already creeping into her thoughts, more than she’d ever care to admit, not to herself, and definitely not to anyone else—but she wouldn't let him win. Not now. Not ever.

Whatever twisted version of Pretty Woman this was, it was ending now. Klaus wasn’t Richard Gere, and she sure as hell wasn’t Julia Roberts. Maybe if Edward Lewis were a murderous psychopath who tormented Vivian and everyone around her, then—maybe—this comparison would make sense. But there were no happy endings in Klaus' world, only power plays, manipulation, and destruction.

No, she wasn’t going to be his twisted fairytale heroine.

She quickly grabbed her phone and sent a message to Elena, asking if they could meet for brunch tomorrow. She needed to talk to someone about everything that had happened, but not tonight. The day had drained her, both emotionally and physically. Right now, she just needed some space to clear her mind.

After a long, hot shower, she brushed her teeth, put her pyjamas on, and climbed into bed. The moment her head hit the pillow, the weight of the day settled in, and for the first time in hours, she let herself breathe. Tomorrow, she would deal with it all. But tonight, she needed rest.

"It's some twisted Cinderella fetish, is what it is," Nicolette groaned, pushing her coffee cup aside as she and Elena discussed the upcoming Mikaelson ball over brunch. It turns out Elena had also received an invitation—this one from Esther Mikaelson herself.

"And why does the evil witch want an audience with you?" Nicolette asked, her concern evident.

"I have no idea," Elena replied, her fork absentmindedly stirring the scrambled eggs on her plate. "But there's only one way to find out."

Nicolette frowned. "You're not seriously thinking about going, are you?"

"Are you not?" Elena looked genuinely surprised.

"I've already decided I'm not going," Nicolette said firmly. "I even told Damon and Stefan. I'm staying out of it."

Elena sighed, frustration creeping into her tone. "I need you there, Nicolette. I already told them you’re coming. And I need the drama-free, bodyguard version of you, not the one avoiding Klaus." She reached across the table and took Nicolette’s hand. "I get it, okay? I know you're trying to keep some control over your life, and that’s hard with Klaus trying to manipulate you. But please, I need you. We don’t know what Esther wants, and I can’t go alone."

Nicolette hesitated, her resolve wavering.

"Plus," Elena added, her eyes softening, "you heard what Elijah said—Klaus’ affection for you, however twisted, is real. We're all walking on thin ice with him. Please, don’t provoke him. Just… come with me."

Nicolette sighed deeply, but she nodded, knowing that no matter how much she wanted to distance herself, she couldn’t abandon Elena now.

"Careful, Nicolette," a voice chimed in from behind them. Rebekah had strolled up to their table, her expression calmer than it had been the night before—at least when it came to Nicolette. Her eyes still burned with contempt whenever they landed on Elena. "It's all good until she stabs you in the back."

Nicolette exchanged a glance with Elena, already weary of the tense interaction. Elena, however, jumped straight to confrontation. "What are you doing here, Rebekah? I know your mother’s rules—no murdering the locals."

Nicolette frowned softly, unsure if Rebekah had even come with a threat in mind. This was Mystic Falls, after all. The Grill was the most frequented spot in town, a natural place to run into anyone, even Original vampires.

Rebekah rolled her eyes, unimpressed with Elena's suspicion. "Get over yourself, Elena. Not everything is about you." With that, she turned on her heel and walked away, heading toward Matt Donovan.

Both Nicolette and Elena watched in stunned silence as Rebekah handed Matt an invitation to the Mikaelson ball.

"She's inviting Matt to the ball?" Nicolette asked, her brow furrowing as she looked over at Elena.

"What’s her angle?" Elena wondered aloud, narrowing her eyes.

Nicolette sighed, a small smirk tugging at her lips. "Probably just wants to dance with a cute guy. She may be 1,000 years old, but she’s still a teenage girl, Elena."

Throughout the day, Nicolette’s decision about the ball shifted constantly. One moment, she was determined not to go, resolved to make a stand against Klaus. The next, she felt the weight of responsibility for Elena, knowing she couldn’t let her face the Original family alone. With each back-and-forth, her conviction wavered, but by the time evening approached, one thing became clear—she had to go.

Sighing in surrender, she sat down at her vanity. She carefully applied her makeup, ensuring every detail was flawless. Her hair was styled with elegant precision, soft curls framing her face in just the right way. Finally, she slipped into the light blue gown Klaus had sent, its fabric gleaming under the soft glow of her bedroom lights. The long white satin gloves completed the look, giving her the air of an ethereal, almost untouchable grace.

Nicolette stared at herself in the mirror for a moment, her reflection a picture of beauty and elegance—but it didn’t feel like her. It felt like someone Klaus had imagined her to be. Pushing the thought aside, she grabbed her keys and headed to her car, mentally preparing herself for what the night would bring. There was no turning back now.

Next chapter

[mono-socke]

soft asks to get to know people

what song makes you feel better?

what’s your feel-good movie?

what’s your favorite candle scent?

what flower would you like to be given?

who do you feel most you around?

say three nice things about yourself (three physical and three non-physical).

what color brings you peace?

tag someone (or multiple people) who make you feel good. 

what calms you down?

what’s something you’re excited for?

what’s your ideal date?

how are you?

what’s your comfort food?

favorite feel-good show?

for every emoji you get, tag someone and describe them in one word.

compliment the person who sent you this number.

fairy lights or LED lights?

do you still love stuffed animals?

most important thing in your life?

what do you want most in the world right now?

if you could tell your past self one thing, what would it be?

what would you say to your future self?

favorite piece of clothing?

what’s something you do to de-stress?

what’s the best personal gift someone could give you (playlist, homemade card, etc.)

what movie would you want to live in?

which character would you want to be?

hugs or hand-holding?

morning, afternoon or night?

what reminds you of home (doesn’t have to mean house… just things that remind you of the feeling of home)?

I ddon't really know if you want to know only specific ones or like,, everything?? but I'm bored so uhh, have all answers

'Ain't no man Manhattan' (Anthony Rapp) or 'Party Hat' (Eric William Morris and Lauren Marcus)

Hotzenplotz. Specifically the 2006 version)

I don't really like candles, but my favourite scent overall is probably,, freshly baked things (??)

Dandelions (I'm not a big fan of flowers in general (well, they do look really cool and planting them is awesome, but I don't want to recieve bouquets as a gift), but they're fine)

My best friend(s), for sure

uhhh, let me think. physically: 1 my eyes look pretty cool (the pupils at least), 2 I have like,, kinda talented hands,, I guess?? 3 I have very expressive eyes and eyebrows and it's fun to watch myself act emotions sometimes. non-physically: I can draw pretty well (in my opinion) 2 I can accomplish/finish stuff pretty quickly if I actually want to, 3 I have a very good memory

Green

very nervous about tagging people but like,, everyone who interacts with my blog or me in general regularly

Music. or being aggressive (to no one directly, more to myself about some topic that pisses me off) for a few minutes to let out energy

Summer vacation and watching Dear Evan Hansen in october

Watching some sort of musical/play together and talking about it afterwards

Kinda tired and warm, but pretty okay overall

Idrk. Chocolate, I guess??

The Big Bang Theory (I always watched it when I was younger, so I suppose it has something to do with nostalgia, and because I still like most characters)

?

(oh this is one of those messages usually sent around on what's app, but since the ask is anon I can't do that)

Fairy Lights, but with other themes,, like,, bat ones for halloween (if that makes sense)

Of course I do. I don't really buy any for myself anymore, but I still have a few from when I was younger and I don't think I'll get rid of them anytime soon

My friends and their happiness (as sappy as that sounds)

Getting a proper sleep rhythm /hj (tbh, I'm not sure. being able to stand on stage more probably. it's really fun but there are barely any options for that around here)

Don't just fucking sit there in silence and complain. That's not how it works.

Please tell me you stayed in contact with the other three.

A purple plaid shirt to wear opened over t-shirts (idk why either, it just looks cool and I like purple)

Playing with literally anything my hands can grab

It's not really something physical, and if it were, it'd just be a handwritten card with some sort of inside joke. I think the best thing people can tell me is that I'm inspiring them to do something (or stuff like that)

I don't watch that many movies, but I think 'Fak ju Göthe' would be fun

Good old SQUIP or Lucas Gray (or David. Depends)

With close friends, hugs. With others, both are relatively the same

Night

Having cats running around me (I grew up with cats around me constantly, I'm pretty used to that)

Well uh,, now you know a bit about me?? I guess?? Do with this information as you want

[witchybiatryce]

Biatryce.storenvy.com

Intuitive tarot and oracle card readings

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"It was very interesting seeing that the Zebra card popped up and how she picked up on the fact that I was 'stuck.’ The advice from the other two cards was spot on as well. This also shows how good she is intuitively, because I provided no insight and no questions in regards to anything. Biatryce is a very skilled reader, and I would definitely recommend this shop to anyone looking for some intuitive insight”

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"AGH THE READING WAS SO ACCURATE I LOVED IT"

[lightofthemoonglow]

burning with the hope of insight

summary: Sam visits Stu in prison, in hopes of learning about her biological father and maybe even a bit about herself.

notes: takes place after Scream 6 but has no spoilers. past Billy/Stu. this is the first thing i have written in months

It’s kind of like in the movies. 

These days, that usually isn’t a comforting thought, but it kind of is right now. It helps her know what to expect. Sam moves through the process of visiting a federal prison with ease, able to just remove herself from the whole thing until she’s being led into the visitor’s room. It’s going to be her on one side of the glass and Stu Macher on the other, cuffed to a chair with guards that are going to shut anything violent or weird down before it even gets a chance to start. She’s got a list of questions, handwritten on an index card, because her phone was going to be kept up front until it was time for her leave. 

A part of her wonders why she’s even doing this. It’s not going to change anything. At the end of this visit, she��s still going to be the same person. The woman who doesn’t talk to her mother, with a dead biological father and a legal dad that hasn’t spoken to her in over a decade. He still talks to Tara sometimes, but never to her. Not even when her sister asks if he wants to. Sam gets it, kind of. She’s felt like she doesn’t want to be around herself a lot.  

All she had done was mention the mere idea to Gale a few weeks ago while they had been getting coffee. They all try to meet every now and then. Gale herself had said that she’s made friends with people who have punched her before, she can do it again. Which is what they are now, Sam supposes. Friends. Why else would Gale call in favors, pull some strings, so Sam could see the only person on earth who would say anything nice about Billy Loomis. 

Hank Loomis, who doesn’t feel like her grandfather even though he technically is, doesn’t speak to her either. He sends a check directly to her every month, that’s it. Sam doesn’t want to talk to him anyway. A part of her wishes he had kept it in his pants, because none of this would have happened. Maybe she wouldn’t exist and in her darker moments, she wonders if that would be worth all those lives being spared. Though even if he did want to talk to her, she can’t imagine he would have anything nice to say about his son. 

But Stu apparently remains loyal to his best friend, despite being the only Ghostface to face consequences. Billy gets to be immortalized and even though that’s way sick, it’s still probably better than being left to languish in a jail cell, forgotten to the point where people aren’t even sure if he’s dead or alive. And that is what a murderer like him deserves, no question. After today, Sam hopes she never sees him again and he will once more be forgotten by even the people who are still suffering because of choices he had made before Sam was even born. 

Recently, the desire to know about her father, about herself, won over than the desire to let him suffer in obscurity. All Sam knows is what she’s read and watched. No one talks about Billy the person, they talk about Billy the murderer, Billy the monster. She only knows one thing, her mom had let it slip a couple times and the first time, she hadn’t even been sure what she had meant. 

The first time, she had been ten or so. Tara had still been a little kid, so it had to have been around then. Mom had been day drinking, though Sam had only realized that years later. Sam had come in from playing with some other kids outside, having stormed away from people that would no longer be her friends in a few years. She had been upset over something she can’t remember now. As she had stomped up to the fridge to grab a popsicle, straining her little arms to reach the freezer, brows furrowed in anger, Mom had suddenly spoken. 

You have your father’s eyes. 

But the man she had called Dad didn’t have brown eyes. At the time, Sam had just shrugged it off, thinking her mom was just being weird, which had been the word for drunk until she had figured out what that was. 

The second and last time she had ever heard anything about Billy Loomis the person, Sam had been 17 and her mom had picked her up from the sheriff’s station after she’d been picked up for loitering and public intoxication, and not for the first time. Sam had still been high, drunk, and just fucking angry at having to keep so much locked up. They had wound up fighting in the car, downright screaming at each other. Sam had been tempted to smack her mom across her stupid, smug face because mom had been acting like she hadn’t fucked a murderer. But her mom’s words after a brief silence broke something in her. 

As they had waited at a red light, Mom had said that she had her father’s eyes. But it had been an accusation this time, instead of a resigned fact. It was like she was saying that eventually she would wind up like him.

Sam had nearly grabbed the keys so she could cut them out. 

Instead, she had waited the remaining months until she turned 18 and then left town, refusing to return until she had been yanked back. 

And now Sam is watching Stu Macher being led to the chair on the other side of the glass. 

--

“You look like your mom. I think. I don’t really remember her.”

Stu’s face is covered in old scars, from the TV’s glass. It had nearly killed him and Sam wonders if he hates Halloween now, because that would have been one of the last things he saw before the TV had come down on him. It had been the last thing he’d seen as a free man. 

“I don’t want to talk about her.” Therapy, venting to…. certain people and just in her own head, Sam has talked enough about her mom for a lifetime. And she’s familiar with her mom as a person, she has to live with the consequences of that every day. “I want to talk about…Billy.” It had almost slipped off her tongue.  I want to talk about my dad.

“He was my best friend. We met when we were kids, before I can really remember. Billy was just always there. We did everything together. I loved the guy.” Which is a given, but it’s still confirmation, another piece of the puzzle falling into place. Their friendship isn’t really talked about in any of the books or documentaries, they barely have any scenes together in Stab. Which is fine, because they don’t need anything more for their weird fans to grasp onto. “He came over to my place a lot. His dad was always away for work and his mom was kind of weird. She hovered all the time, even when we started high school.” Sam feels a twinge in her stomach, Tara’s anger over her smothering ringing in her mind. It’s not the same, you’re not the same, she tells herself.

“So, it was a surprise when she left?” It’s the second question on her list, he already answered the first one. That part is also something that’s glossed over, everyone is far more focused on Nancy Loomis after she had left, with only vague statements about her seeming to be a good mother coming out in the aftermath. 

“No way. Even after we found out why she left, it didn’t make sense. It really fucked Billy up. He just stayed in his room for days after it hit him she was gone, listening to the same tape over and over again. He wouldn’t even let me in for a while.” Stu still sounds hurt about being shut out, his eyes losing focus for a moment, as if he’s taken back to a different time.

“What tape was it?”  It’s not on the cards, but she has to know. Maybe it would help complete the picture despite how meaningless it seems.

“That Nine Inch Nails album with Closer on it. He fucking loved that song.” The guard grunts in warning and Stu finally turns around, telling him to come on and loosen up, it’s just one f-bomb. Sam is more focused on that one bit of common ground, remembering how her old iPod had more than a few NIN songs on it. The Hand That Feeds had been part of the soundtrack to her own downward spiral. 

“Was he as much of an asshole as the movie makes him out to be?” Sam reads from the card once again, forcing herself to keep her voice steady. 

“Not to me. At least not until…you know. But he was pretty cool most of the time.” Stu smiles, clearly thinking about better days. “He knew how to talk to people. People like him. I remember that there were these girls flirting with him the day after he’d been picked up by the cops. He was…it was hard to care about things when he was around.” Billy’s charisma has been well documented, it’s one of the few things most people agree on, but it’s still weird to see someone clearly still affected by it. 

Sam has a short list of less pointed questions after that, a suggestion from Gale, so she could lure him into a false sense of security. She learns that Billy was not much of a school guy, only really trying in English and certain electives, not even bothering to care about math and science. He didn’t have many career ambitions; he had said he’d figure it out when they got to college. His favorite fast food was pizza, he was a beer drinker, though he wasn’t picky about the beer. Typical for a high school boy, she thinks, because he didn’t live long enough to become picky. His favorite color was blue, another thing that she has in common with him. She picks off some of her nail polish at that revelation, though the polish could have flaked off because it’s cheap.

“He had a jacket a lot like yours.” Stu cuts off her next question, the words tumble out of his mouth like he’s just realized it. “I remember ‘cause I was there when he brought it.” Sam looks down at her blue jacket, something she’d found at a thrift store back when she’d first moved to Modesto. Considering Billy had his own cell phone in 1996, he’d probably gotten his brand new and it probably would be considered expensive even by today’s standards. 

“Did you know about my mom?” Instead of saying anything about her jacket, the question just flies out of her mouth as she drops her list of questions. Her heart is pounding, her mouth is dry, Sam can feel that rush of anxiety start to flood in as she waits for an answer. 

“Not her specifically. I knew that Billy was cheating on Sidney, because we were screwing.” So, the rumors are true, she thinks, but that’s not what matters. She had kind of suspected it, because of how Stu talks about Billy. It’s like he’s still in love with him and maybe he is. If her mom is any indication, Billy had a way of getting under someone’s skin and never getting out. “And I kind of suspected that there were other girls. I remember your mom, now that I think about it. She was kind of always watching him, staring when she thought no one was looking. I just thought she had a thing for him.” Stu frowns, that cheery façade breaking for a moment. “But Billy was good at keeping secrets from me.” And that hurts him the most, Sam realizes, and it reminds her of when she’d finally told Tara the source of their family’s now extensive problems. Stu had claimed he hadn’t known Billy’s motive until the now standard Ghostface monologue, which seems to be true.  

“Billy kept secrets from a lot of people,” Sam mumbles, unable to stop herself. Her mom hadn’t even been his biggest secret, she had probably been a speck in his life, while he’d been the center of hers. He probably wouldn’t have claimed her, 

The guard reminds them that their time is almost up, and Sam chooses her final question. It feels silly, but she still asks. 

“Did he actually like scary movies?”

“He loved ‘em. All of them. Even the shitty ones.” 

“What was his favorite?”

“…I don’t remember.” And it troubles Stu, she can see it all over his face. It’s an odd feeling, forgetting something that had been so important once upon a time. It’s like losing that person all over again, every time you forget something about them.  

“In the movie, it was Psycho” She can still hear Luke Wilson saying that he’s like Norman Bates. A boy’s best friend is his mother, and Sidney had taken his best friend. It had been cheesy, clunky, but maybe that’s how it had been in real life. 

The guard comes forward to take Stu back to his cell. As Stu gets up, he turns to face Sam one last time. 

“You have his eyes, y’know.” 

In response, she just nods, awkwardly waving as he walks away, not sure what to do with her hands. Leaving is much easier than arriving, she’s outside within minutes. For a little while, she just stands by the entrance, thinking about everything that she’s learned. 

In a way, she understands Billy. Abandoned, angry, feeling so alone in the world that you can’t even tell the person you’re closest to about anything you’re feeling. She had been the same age when the anger had started creeping into her bones, given her violent thoughts. Sam thinks about how at one point they both had sat in the back of a classroom, probably wearing near-identical outfits, with something simmering in their blood as they thought about how stupid and pointless everything going on around them was. But she’d turned it all inward, she had wanted to stab out her own eyes not her mom’s or anyone else’s. And now, she’s working on that part, so no one can get hurt. Not even herself

There’s one last question that she didn’t get to ask, but she doesn’t need to. The answer to do you think I'm anything like him doesn’t matter because whatever runs in their bloodline, it’s not going to do to her what it did to Billy. She’s making her own choices, just like he had. 

Sam steps into the sunlight, a little smile on her face as she moves forward.  

[saltdomain]

moneyposting pt. 2

@snowcultscuffle wanted to follow up on one of my previous posts, so let's get into it!

The short answer is: yes, absolutely, but how he spoils Chalice depends on whether she would want to be spoiled in the first place.

You could make a case in either direction; show!Chalice grew up a street kid and grifts people for material gain. She also seems to prioritize luxury goods whenever possible.

Now, Saltbaker can be manipulative himself, so I don't think this Chalice would be able to trick him into giving her anything. But a scenario where he winds up adopting her would be interesting, because she wouldn't have to trick anyone to survive, and in fact it would be more productive to just ask for what she wants. Imagine how shocking that would be to this street urchin.

(It would be easy for show!Chalice in a post-DLC timeline to pull the "you tried to kill me & my friends, so you owe us BIG TIME" card, which Saltbaker can never, ever argue against.)

Now, as for game!Chalice, we do have this scene from the 2018 E3 trailer where she hangs out in a mausoleum while using a vanity setup that may or may not belong to her:

On the other hand, she doesn't seem like much of a material girl outside of this instance. Neither do her comic & novel iterations; she's mostly just vibing and getting into shenanigans with the cupbros.

And this is why I believe that the items in that mausoleum scene are indeed hers, and that they hold sentimental value to her. Chalice was interred with them because people wanted to make sure she was comfortable in the afterlife! I'm sure that even if all she was laid to rest with were handwritten letters, she'd treasure those just as much. So my verdict as far as game!Chalice's POV is: she wouldn't turn down Nice Expensive Things™, but she isn't motivated to chase them either. She seems to be happiest simply spending time with her loved ones.

Saltbaker being who he is, though, the urge to pamper her is ever-present- at least until he better understands what she values. To him, Chalice is THE MOST SPECIAL GIRL in the whole world so she deserves THE MOST SPECIAL TREATMENT in the whole world. Saltbaker would probably opt to spoil Chalice by bringing her on fun little trips - rock climbing, sailing, that sort of thing- and by recreating ancient Greco-Roman recipes that she grew up with.

[esmeraldabheriya]

February 10th, a package gets delivered to Esme’s door. It’s several plain wooden wine boxes and inside each is a bottle with a clear, amber liquid inside. There’s a handwritten letter and several pictures attached. 

“Happy lunar new year to you and yours from Norway! 

My wish is for us to have a great dinner with our packs (or merely your direct family if you grow weary of crowds) upon our return. Though I long greatly to see my family and the home of my youth, part of me is saddened greatly that we will miss the celebrations with you and yours in the city. All the same, you will have the greatest of feasts, even without me to aid finish it, haha! 

Honey-wine is a traditional gift of this festival for my people. I know you have a great many mouths to feed and share with, so I decided to make extra mead for you. One bottle I made traditionally, merely water, honey, and yeast, and ripened until it carries both strong taste yet sweetness remains. It should be enjoyed first by those who have never tried mead. The others are all differently flavored with different fruits and spices, or were aged shorter (sweeter and lighter on the tongue) or longer (stronger, perhaps something to stow away for yourself). I even made one inspired by your cooking, with hot peppers! I cried after tasting it, but it should be perfect for your tongue. Or merely a fun prank for those who cannot handle your cooking, hehe. The labels on the bottles will tell you all one needs to know. 

I shall return with more gifts and trinkets from me and mine for you and yours. My mother and older sisters have already cracked my mind regarding you since I mentioned befriending a great leader, mother, and she-wolf. (The questions were only hostile for the first months!) You would like them and I sing the highest praises when I write that you remind me of them and they of you. Perhaps you could meet them some day, and I could show you and your family the village where I grew up. Perhaps though, such are dreams for childhood, when the trees are tall.

I look forward to meeting again, to break bread and share drink and stories. 

Good health and much happiness to you and yours, 

Thorsiffe” 

The attached pictures are a collection of the (mis)adventures of the younger Thoda Laal wolves and the Dragonhearts. They include a selfie by Thorsiffe where over their shoulder you can see their giant of a cousin Egil wrestling with two of the Thoda Laal’s pups. Another features a nice, posed, family friendly group picture at the start of a night out, with Thorsiffe posing on the ground in front of the group, either to show off or make space in the back of the picture. It’d be a normal picture, weren’t it for Leela dogpiling on top of Thorsiffe. There’s also a picture of that same night out at the end of the night, which is decidedly less normal, savory and family friendly, and decidedly not posed. Several people in the picture are making out and Leela is drunkenly hanging off Thorsiffe’s shoulders, the latter’s eyes red from the camera flash. Scribbled on the back is “do not let them know I gave you this!” Lastly is a picture of Esme and Thorsiffe playing cards, unaware they were being photographed by a loved one, with Esme laughing as Thorsiffe points at her, cheeks flushed red, accusing Esme of cheating. Despite that, their lips are curled up into a loving smile.

The package was a wonderful gift that Esme took the time to appreciate the care and thought that had gone into it. The mead would go down easily with wolves when they were celebrating but the chili one was going into her personal stash, knowing she would bring it out on special ocassions. Or to torture someone like Caleb.

The photos were even more special and she made sure to frame the last photo, adding it to the ever growing wall of photos that lined the hall of Esme's home. When Thorsiffe returned, she would ensure she repaid them for this gift.

(@thorsiffe-dragonheart)

[sunspray-peak]

Ch. 51: Pathetic

MONDAY - WINTER 1

Achilles had spent the last day of Fall in bed, rising once to use the restroom and once to clean out Voltaire’s litter box. 

Shane had come a-knocking in the afternoon—to collect the last harvest of the season, no doubt—but Achilles, half-asleep, had only tossed the cigarette he’d been smoking into the ash tray on the floor and punched his pillow. The man needed neither him nor his approval for whatever farm-related task was at hand. Shane knew what he was doing, better than Achilles ever did, that was for sure… 

The fresh start Fall had once foreshadowed had petered out, to be replaced by a terribly drastic decrease in both temperature and mood. Achilles had already wasted his second day of being 28, and was quite a bit inclined to waste another. But plans and promises made by a more functional Achilles of seasons past were now waiting to be fulfilled, and he had little choice but to drag himself out of bed before the dawn of a late rising Winter sun. 

Today was to be his final visit to Meteor Elementary and his somehow still-stubborn pride wouldn’t allow him to let Penny down. 

Besides, perhaps it would be good to get out, right? Be… somewhat productive. 

Right. You tell yourself that… 

After deciding he didn’t really need to shave, he tugged on a scarf, grabbed his messenger bag from the back of his chair, and hurriedly made for the kitchen to scoop some more food into Voltaire’s automatic feeder before heading out. 

“Meow.”

“Yeah, yeah, go meow yourself,” Achilles grumbled, chucking his early morning cigarette into the sink. “Chill, I’m not bringing it to the school, who do you think I am?” 

To emphasize his point to the cat, he withdrew the lighter from his pea coat pocket and slid it across the kitchen table. It was just a plastic little thing, part of the “mental breakdown emergency supply kit” that he always kept under the bed (it was also where the cigarettes had come from), and it ricocheted off the edge of the typewriter that he and Alex had placed there three days before. 

It was still in its packaging. Still untouched.

Achilles paused to study the box, a small frown on his face. 

And then he left, slamming the door behind him. 

*****

The children had been sorry to see him go.

Earlier in the Fall, he had offered to have the students’ stories professionally bound by one of his old contacts in the industry, but the slim paperbacks would be mailed directly to the school, and so today’s visit was to be his last.

It had been tough to sound alive, when all he wanted to do was return to his bed. But he sat himself down on the stool at the front of the classroom, feeling like an open wound and yet plastering on a smile. He even managed to flash a thumbs up to little Jacob Carney who complimented his six day old stubble, and answered any final questions from the enthusiastic crowd with as jovial a tone as he could muster before handing back his final edits and notes to each of the students. 

They had been sweet. Had gifted him a small, potted crocus flower, a handwritten card, and a bevy of hugs when it was time to go. He would miss them, he was sure. But the brief elation those clamoring kids had inspired was quickly soured by a new thought. 

Really just can’t help but miss even the tiniest bit of attention, can you? Pathetic. 

*****

Take the bus back. Grab food. Go home. Three bullet points to check off in his brain. Simple. Easy.

He flung up his hood as he shuffled into Pelican Town. It was scarcely past noon and already getting much too cold for his comfort. He’d done his research, he knew Winters in Zuzu could be tough… at least, compared to those in Hyacinthia and Monstera…

Soup would be nice. Maybe a grilled cheese… Did Gus make tuna melts? Ooh with a slice of tomato… sourdough bread and extra sharp cheddar… 

“Achilles! Oh, how are you holding up, my dear?” 

“Ah.” With a start, Achilles turned to his right—he hadn’t removed his hood when he’d entered the Stardrop Saloon, and had to fully pivot to make out Evelyn standing beside him at the bar. “I’m… doing well. And yourself, Evelyn?” 

“I’m doing very well, dear, thank you for asking! Oh, and how lovely it is to see you up and about, George and I were just so concerned after Spirit’s Eve, now, weren’t we? Alex had mentioned the maze had been an awful fright for him this year. Now I’ve said this to Lewis before and I said it to him again…”

Achilles smiled wearily and turned back to the counter, but Evelyn continued to prattle on.

“…now George and I have got a rare evening alone tonight! I thought it might be nice to surprise him and order something special for dinner. No one fries mushrooms better than Gus.” 

“Oh? Is Alex not around? I was thinking of—” He cut himself off. What was he thinking of? Surely nothing. Must’ve been a slip of the tongue, something out of habit. To be honest, he hadn’t allowed Alex to occupy much of his thoughts lately, not since Spirit’s Eve. 

“I’m afraid not, dear. He likely won’t be back until quite late, he’s got a big date of his own tonight, I believe! Were you looking for him?” 

A big date? 

Gus had returned with the rather large order Achilles had placed, but as he clutched the steaming boxes, he found he hadn’t much of an appetite; the plastic containers burned his fingertips, but the pain felt strangely distant. 

“Oh. I see. No, that’s quite all right—”

“I can let him know you were looking for him—”

Achilles cut her off with another tight-lipped smile. “It’s nothing important.” It was nothing at all. “Just… was simply thinking of going for a run. Thought he might want to join.” 

“Oh, yes, you boys and your runs.” Evelyn patted Achilles’ hand as Gus returned to the kitchen. “He can’t join today, but you stay warm, dear! And do stay safe—the paths can be quite slippery in the Winter, especially the bridges.” 

“Of course. Thank you, Evelyn.”

He nodded curtly, left the saloon, and returned home. 

Check, check, check. 

[astrumocs]

what did jules do for valentines in the past vs now... looks at u w big eyes,

Jules ships just for me? wow... looks at u with big shiny eyes too,

In the Past:

Jules has Never been an adept romantic, always been a little shy and awkward, especially in red because he can't hide behind an attitude. For Ladnah, though, I think he'd try really hard to do something nice, like getting him his favorite order from the Cafe they always go to and bringing it to wherever they meet up... God, he's... well, he was a dork, so he probably got him a quads day card with a very sweet and heartfelt handwritten note in it. I also think that maybe it would have tickets to a local small-name play in it... he didn't have much money but wanted to do something he thought Lad would enjoy. :']

For Oda... Jules works hard the day before, finishing any college assignments that are due soon, so he doesn't have to stress about or feel compelled to do those while they spend time together. Then, on the actual day that they spend together, well... Oda would've taken the lead in making plans for them, I think. It's not like Jules didn't know what he was into or liked, but Oda being Oda would've prioritized stuff for Jules as their quads day plans. I do think Jules would've given Odarem one of his pinned butterflies from his old collection, though, knowing he was into vulture culture-type stuff!

In the Present:

Julius does not think about quads day, it's not even on his mind unless someone else or something actively brings it to his attention. At least, not until he’s going to sleep in the morning— he has a habit of checking his calendar before (trying to) sleep so he can mentally prepare for the day ahead. I think he’d see the date and feel a weighty discomfort in his chest before putting his phone down and reflecting on past relationships against his will.

[pierrelucdisaster]

I think the best thing about you was how slow yet sudden it all happened. How one night I'm hearing your name in a meeting and the next I'm sitting next to you and chatting. How nice and easy going you seemed. How I thought nothing of it until the day I did.

I remember hearing your voice. I remember all my friends talking to you. I remember how I wanted to talk to you too. I thought it was normal friend behavior. But it wasn't.

I never thought I'd actually fall for someone again and to be honest me thinking I had feelings for Jack were just a weird way for me to combat the despair and burnout and PTSD that had taken up so much of my May. I didn't actually like him. I just wanted an escape. So the wall I had built and the fear I had sewn into my existence were still intact until it hit me I had fallen for you.

I remember you telling me about your night and the exhaustion and how you were going to your place to finish watching the game and I jokingly asked why the hell you were still there and then you left and I thought about how I missed you and how much I wished you were around.

Do you remember that day we jokingly told people we'd known each other for years just for fun? Do you remember when I nervously played with my necklace bc I had asked you to hang out outside of work? Do you remember how I'd always make sure to say hi to you? Do you remember when I talked about you outloud for the first time in the middle of Boston with a box of pastries in hand? The moment I realized I had feelings for another human being for the first time in a long time, a moment I never thought would happen.

Do you remember any of that?

Do you remember the June night I got drunk while out at the bars and wished you were around and in my drunken haze I chose Will and in that same haze all the girls tried to paint you as something you weren't and the next day while I was hungover and upset we saw each other but it didn't feel the same bc I let those bitches get to me.

Do you remember that sticky July afternoon when you told me you liked having me around and I froze? I couldn't respond and all I did was say a quiet thank you and I ran out of the building and to my car and cried for five minutes I didn't know what was happening to me. I couldn't decipher what I was feeling.

Do you remember that morning I accidentally yelled at you bc I was so stressed and I apologized and you thought it was funny? And I just wanted to be around you that whole day bc you were so safe.

Do you remember that afternoon while I was back on the train from New York and I caught your scent and I thought to myself that my life was going to get better?

Do you remember that night you didn't have time for me and I cried in my apt for hours bc I thought I'd never see you again and you didn't want to be friends?

Do you remember the August afternoon we found each other randomly and we hugged each other so tightly and smiled ao brightly and the light from the sun hit your face so beautifully I knew I was in love?

Do you remember the night you told me to find you so I could talk to you?

Do you remember when I told you I missed you so much? Something I could never do in the past?

Do you remember randomly finding each other, laughing together, sharing our work, and handing you a handwritten Christmas card?

Do you remember the times I tried to distance myself from you? Protect myself bc I thought this could never work?

Or the times I just needed to say hi or the times I went back to Will.

Do you remember the week I cried so much over Will I realized I had to go back to you? And it wasn't the same and I never knew why?

Or the time I saw your wallpaper and wondered who that person was and why they were there.

Do you remember me begging you for weeks to have lunch with me before I moved and you never made the time?

Do you remember me crying in the kitchen in Florida bc you were leaving and I'd never know how you were doing?

Do you remember how much I loved you and how it didn't matter and how it never will?

Do you remember how I never grieved your loss bc Will's ate me up inside for a year?

I miss you still. I love you still. Even though it ended so suddenly, I hope you know I'm a better person because of you. Thank you for showing me I could fall for someone again. Thank you for showing me that there are still wonderful people in this world. Thank you for being you.

I'll choose to remember all the good things about you and I know somewhere in a different world you and I are together on a boat on Cape Cod and nothing hurts.

I wish you the best but I don't want to see you ever again.