#it’s 3 am and I’m having shrimp emotions

[ratfreecog]

Listening to far away from tulsa makes me wanna sob it’s like I can hear the wind in the piano and the violin. I can hear the wood of their home in the guitar. It feels like standing on top of a hill and feeling the sun beat down on you like this distinct memory I have from when I was a kid in the springtime laying in the grass. It’s almost overwhelming in how peaceful it is and how it makes me ache and long like them so deeply, how it feels like you can hear the rain gentle on a window pane, the breeze in the trees and bringing leaves down with it. I’ve never listened to a song that feels so deeply in the instrumentation like poetry it makes me wanna cry with them and for them and imagine everything they had and could never have and always wanted in spite of everything. Every time I listen to it I’m struck so deeply with the thought of “I can hear the wind in the air and on my body in this song”

[sinnabarmoth]

Worthy of Devotion (5/9)

Pairing: Sea God|Rafayel x Worshipper|Reader (fem)

Summary: An encounter in the library leaves Reader and Rafayel reeling with emotions they don't know how to maneuver.

Content Warnings: Adult language.

Length: 2k

Chapters: (1) (2) (3) (4) (6) (7) (8) (9)

Read on AO3

~~~

“You really need to take better care of yourself.”

“For goodness sake, Raf, it was one bad fish. You’re acting like I intentionally poisoned myself.” You were back up and moving but still taking things slow since you still needed to replenish all the fluids you lost during your unfortunate vomit festival the other day.

“You might as well have. I thought you were smart enough to know when a fish was rotten.”

“It didn’t look rotten! It didn’t taste rotten. I thought it was fine. How many times do we have to go over this?”

“I just think that you should still be resting.”

“I’ve been resting for days. If I stay in bed any long I am going to go insane. Besides, you say you want me to rest but what I think you mean is you want to use me as a pillow so you can take a nap.” You were currently in the library reordering the books. The previous system these tomes and scrolls were categorized in was baffling. Did the previous followers just stuff them wherever they could find an open slot?

Rafayel was following behind you with a stack of books in his arms. “You have proven surprisingly comfortable.”

“I think you just like that I play with your hair.”

“That as well.” he handed you another book to put on the shelf. “So what do you say? Quick half an hour nap?”

“Maybe after we finish reshelving this section.”

“Ugh.” he dropped the books and plopped himself on the ground. “All you ever do is work. Do you hate fun or something?”

“If you’re going to be dramatic can you not take it out on the books? I had those already ordered.” you sighed and started picking them back up.

“Stop working.” he grabbed you by the arm and pulled you down onto the floor with him.

“At the rate you want me to go I’ll probably have this temple rebuilt and reorganized in a couple years instead of a couple months.”

“And what’s so wrong with that? A couple years away from the noise of civilization. Just the peace and the quiet.”

“Peace and quiet? Am I supposed to get that here because there is this very whiny god that keeps coming by to disturb me.” you gave a little flick to his nose.

“And what god could this be?”

“Well he’s tall, wears a lot of jewelry, pretty lazy, doesn’t like cats--”

“Ethereally handsome?”

“Actually I was going to say he can’t win a game of Jumping Shrimp to save his life.” you smirked at his annoyed expression.

“I think maybe this god is just letting you win at Jumping Shrimp.”

“No, he’s too competitive to hand me wins. Although, with how well he plays he might as well be.”

“Hmph,” Rafayel rolled over so his back was facing you.

“And he also loves to pout.” you poked the back of his head. “Raf, come on. I was just teasing.”

He scooched along the floor to put more space between you two. You rolled your eyes and scooted after him.

“Rafayel. Look at me. Please.” you poked him again. He didn’t turn.

“If you don’t look at me I’m gonna start being formal again. So turn around.” Again he didn’t move. “Rafayel. Your Radiance. Oh God of the Seas and bringer of storms. Will you please bless your devout follower with your gaze?”

Nothing.

“You big baby, will you look at me?” you pulled on his arm to get him to turn but he went rigid and pushed back so you couldn’t move him. “Oh how very mature. I’ll get you to look at me one way or another.”

You hovered over him trying to get a look at his face. He kept turning and turning until his face was flat against the floor. You groaned. “Rafayel! You’re just doing this to piss me off now.”

“Is it working?” he muttered into the stone floor.

“Yes!”

“Good.”

“You absolute--” A torrent of blasphemy waited on your tongue to be unsheathed so you could cut this childish god down to size.

You grabbed him and shoved him with all your might until he was flopped back on his back. “Ha!” He flopped back onto his side the second you got him on his back. “Oh no you don’t!”

You grabbed him again. The two of you began rolling around on the floor as you tried to get him to look at you. You had a leg hooked over him and was trying to get him under you so he would be forced to look at you.

“Raf, can you please just--ow!” you tugged your arm free of him. “Did you bite me?”

“Maybe.”

“You want to play dirty? Fine then.” You grabbed a handful of his hair and yanked.

“Ow! Ow! Ow! Let go!” he tried to pry your hands off.

“Not until you look at me!” You tugged his head back but he rolled again, like an alligator rending its prey. “Damn it, Rafayel! We are not doing this all day!”

With a final bout of strength you flipped him to his back, grabbed his wrists, and pinned them to the floor. You sat straddled across his waist, breathing heavily. Finally! You had him! You looked at his face but he had his eyes shut tight. You dropped your head. “Do you think you’re funny?”

“I don’t know. According to my “most devout follower” I’m a big lazy baby that can’t win a simple game of Jumping Shrimp. She said nothing about being funny.”

“It is a wonder that you are considered a god.” you muttered. “But fine, you win. Don’t look at me. Never look at me again. Who am I to deserve his fishy-ness’s holy gaze. That just means you don’t get to see me give you your apology. I was going to say I was sorry but since you won’t even look at me I don’t see the point. Oh well. I guess we are to be strangers from now on.” You let go of him.

It was then he decided to open his eyes. You turned your gaze away. Rafayel sighed.

“Hey,” he said. “Look at me.”

“No. If I am unworthy to be looked upon by you then I am surely not worthy to look upon you either.”

“Yet sitting on me doesn’t seem to be an issue.” he tried turning your face to him but you squeezed your eyes shut like he had.

You felt him shift as he sat up. You tried to move off his lap but his arms circled around you, keeping you in place. His hands had decided to settle on your hips. They burned through the thin material of your clothes as if you wore none at all. “Clownfish, look at me.” he crooned.

“No.” You weren’t looking at him for an entirely new reason now.

“My little human,” he said, his voice a gentle whisper. “I’d like it very much if you would open your eyes now.”

You shook your head. You prayed that he couldn’t hear how hard your heart was beating.

He grabbed your hand and crossed it over your chest to cover your heart. “I can’t hear a thing. I promise.”

Damn it! Stop praying!

“I’m sorry for angering you and for making you uncomfortable…and for biting.” You could hear a hint of humor in his voice. “That’s not the type of god you deserve.” You felt a gentle brush of his lips against your cheek.

You forced your eyes back open and found his intense gaze settled on you. “It’s alright…” you mumbled, “I’m sorry for teasing you and wrestling you and pulling your hair. You deserve a better follower than that.” He seemed to be waiting for something.

Your hands were still resting over your racing heart. You leaned forward, your eyes traitorously drifting to his lips for just a moment. When your gaze flicked back to his that blazing fire was back in his eyes. Your breath caught.

“Cor meum…” he murmured, his face so close you could feel his breath brush against your lips.

You turned your head and kissed his cheek before leaping off his lap and grabbing a random armful of scrolls off a nearby table. “I need to go shelve these before I lose the afternoon light!” you shouted over your shoulder and fled. Fled like a coward.

~~~

Rafayel was stuck to the floor, helplessly staring in the direction you ran away.

By the tides…what was he doing?

He touched a hand to his lips. The feel of your skin against them was burned into his memory now. So was the way your legs felt straddled across him. The way your hand gripped his hair, even if it did hurt. Then to feel your own lips press to his face…

He had thought for a moment that you had a different target in mind when he saw you leaning in. He didn’t miss the way your eyes flicked to his mouth. Had he been too eager? Had you seen something that frightened you? Maybe all of it frightened you. Maybe whatever this was becoming, these feelings that grew every day between you, they were all too much.

You hadn’t asked for any of this when you decided to leave the mainland. You hadn’t expected to actually meet him or to be stuck on this island for weeks. Closer to months now. He certainly hadn’t expected to keep returning. He could have sent a number of emissaries from Lemuria to deliver you food and clothes and other needed supplies. He didn’t need to stop by almost every day to see you, talk to you, play with you. He shouldn’t have been. There were duties in Lemuria he was shirking every time he came here.

Yet the days he stayed away were the loneliest yet. All he wanted was to return to the temple and find you. To be greeted by your smile and your cheerful voice. To lay next to you, his head in your lap as your hands ran through his hair, expelling all the worries that came with running a kingdom.

When you said that he was keeping you from working, that at the rate he kept you at you wouldn’t be done repairing the temple for years. He wanted it. He wanted to keep you here. The thought that in a short couple months you could just be gone, this temple empty once again, haunted by your presence…

Cor meum.

It had just slipped out. You were so warm in his hands, smelled so sweet, and he just wanted to keep you there forever. Cor meum. My heart.

[jolenes-doppelganger]

hiii, i was wondering if you’d be willing to do a continuing of your rose the hat one shot, maybe where reader pays off her debt? ;) or literally anything with rose / rebecca, i’m sooo obsessed with her and ur fic made me go feral it was amazing !!

[Hi Anon! I originally didn’t consider making a second part to the fic, (I just like the vagueness of one shots), but I am happy to write a second story involving similar themes. We’ll call it a multiverse addition. :3 Thank you for the request!]

Belligerent Collector

Rose the Hat x Fem! Reader

NSFW 18+- MINORS WHO INTERACT CAN AND WILL BE BLOCKED.

Summary: A chance meeting at a supermarket with a specialized clairvoyant brings Rose more than she could ask for. A little too much. [Shifting POVs].

Warnings: Depictions of straight sex between Rose and Crow (oral M and F receiving/giving, 69), one slap (R receiving), choking, depictions of attempted SA, overly emotional for a smut fic, lesbian smut (oral R receiving, strap on use, strap sucking R giving, forced deepthroating, Rose uses a set of vibrating panties to get off), a wee bit dub-con for good measure

A/N: Author pushes her writing boundaries in the name of character authenticity!!! No I’ve never had straight sex, no I don’t want to have straight sex, but boy oh boy, Rose has and will continue to fuck our little corvid boy, and you bet the mattress has some stories to tell. (I promise it ties in!!! It’s very brief!!!).

Word Count: 5.6k

Waking up in a foreign environment had always felt strange. Waking up in a foreign environment in a dream, only to wake once more in reality made realities blend together. Were you really in the rundown motor home of your Grandma’s in Dallas or were you in the divinely furnished home of some elite posing as a trailer park beauty? Then memories… Oh fuck, the memories.

“Rosie, the kid is barely even a kid, not worth eating at this point.” Crow lamented.

“Oh, for fucks sake, she’s not a kid, she’s an adult, let’s just call her that.” Rose spit back, crossing her arms over her bra covered breasts.

“Okay, fine. The adult-kid, this little overgrown shrimp, can see us coming from miles away. We wouldn’t even know about her if you hadn’t brushed her hand in a supermarket.”

Rose rolled her eyes, or more so you felt the motion of her rolling her eyes. These were her memories after all, and you were living them through her eyes.

“The rube brushed my hand, and she brushed right through my train of thought. She skimmed my mind, Crow! She skimmed my mind!”

Rose felt many things in this particular memory. Anger, a sense of deep humiliation, or more so violation. Rose felt that she had been violated by the little bitch child, a half-adult. The little half-ling had brushed her hand reaching for a lane divider for the conveyor belt of the grocery store, and had managed to skim her mind doing so. Like it hadn’t even been a forethought. She read the inner monologue of Rose the motherfucking Hat like it was as simple as brushing her hand in the first place!

“I want her dead.” Rose blurted. “Not just because she’s a little steamier than normal for her age, but because she read my mind. And now she knows who I am, she knows what I do, and she’s an adult, Crow!”

“-And since she’s an adult she has the authority and the ability to cause more problems than a kid, blah, blah, blah, I get it!” Crow cut her off.

Through Rose’s eyes, the bare-chested man was neither handsome nor appealing. He was a fucking vermin. One that had been latching on to Rose like an overgrown calf, sucking her dry; patience, charity, her damned sex drive all dried up like a desert.

“Out.”

The memory ended there, and with it came a brief reprieve, but brief. Another one of Rose’s memories slammed right into your head, the intensity of it hitting you hard. The last memory had been triggered by the touch of the sheets under your fingertips. This memory by the weight your body exerted on the mattress.

I need to breathe, oh fuck I need to breathe-

“Rosie baby, you taste so fucking good.” Crow moaned, sliding up, his dick sliding out of Rose’s mouth.

Rose sputtered, taking in mouthfuls of air. She laughed once she could, wiggling her hips enticingly. A mouth came down on her open entrance once more, tongue rolling wet circles over it; the way she liked it best. It was a 69, Rose was on the bottom because they were trying something new. Rose opened her mouth again, breathing in deep before guiding Crow’s hips down again.

The angle forced her to deepthroat him in his entirety, without exerting too much pressure on her uvula. She felt him licking and kissing her open pussy, moaning into her as she swirled her tongue at the base of his dick. It was the closest to breath play Rose was willing to go, and even as tears streamed down her cheeks, jaw aching at the stretch and gag reflex struggling against her higher will, it was fun.

The memory was ripped away, and you shot up as fast as you could, desperately trying to get away from the unwelcome memories that kept springing upon you. Never before in your life had someone's memories been so vibrant, so stubborn to be heard. You felt humiliation, no, violation. These mental images springing upon you without warning, without a trigger other than touch were akin to being violated. Usually you had more control over your abilities, you didn't have the ability to so easily peruse someone's mind, but with Rose it was like you weren't even trying. Well you weren't. Clairvoyance was an entirely conscious effort, at least it always had been. But Rose? Her mind and memories jumped open. It wasn't like a book sliding off a shelf, or a book falling open, no. It was like the books were violently flying off the shelves, ripping themselves open and shoving your face into them.

"Didn't I tell you to get out already?" Rose sighed, setting the book down she'd been reading.

Andy appeared, worrying her lip like a frightened child. Well... Hadn't she been a teen? Rose couldn't remember, age was pointless anyways. Whether she was 32 or 15, she'd look young with a fresh batch of steam in her.

"But.. I thought-"

"It was a one-time thing. My man is coming home today, and I'm not in the mood to pull apart a cat fight." Rose huffed.

This was the morning after she'd turned Andy, the night after she'd eaten the little blonde's pussy again and again until the young woman's body gave up on pleasure entirely. And waking up after that power trip, that victory for the Knot, it put things into perspective. But regardless, she was being a little too harsh on the newcomer.

"Put your clothes on, and come over here."

The blonde wasn't special, like Rose thought. A glorified pillow princess. And the blonde did have an ability that would benefit the Knot, but Rose was hungry now. She'd given Andy her own damn steam, her own life force. Sure, it had been fun, but not fulfilling.

"Why?" Andy whispered, sliding into Rose's open arms.

Rose groaned, sliding her hat over her head. She had her pair of two day old panties on, nothing else. She looked good, as always, but she was tired.

"Because it just can't. It was fun, it was something we could share, but I'm not available. I can get away with one night, one little welcome for the newbie, but I can't justify more than that to my Crow Daddy." Rose sympathetically explained. "You'll find another, there's plenty of youngins in the Knot still. Silent Sarry, for one."

Andy stared down at her feet. Rose watched her large brown eyes fill up with tears. Then she jerked her head, willing them away. A tough cookie, Rose thought. She'd get over this.

"Can I hug you goodbye, at least?" Andy whispered, looking at the floor still.

Rose chuckled at this, pulling the girl in for a gentle hug, followed by the softest kiss she was capable of giving.

"There. Now chin up, go have breakfast with the others. You're True now, you're family."

As Andy gently closed the door behind her, Rose let out a soft sigh, drawing patterns over the floor with her toe.

You dropped to your knees, clutching your head. It was painful, exerting this much energy into viewing her memories, even if it was completely against your will. You'd been in and out of consciousness for... You couldn't be sure. Time had lost all meaning. You were bombarded by memories until your body succumbed to exhaustion, only to wake up and be subjected to more memories. Rose's memories.

You knew her better than yourself at this point.

"Ah, you're actually conscio-"

Rose carried the little rube to her trailer, smirking as the girl twitched spasmodically.

"Bit off more than you can chew there, huh? Too greedy? Viewed too many memories at once?" Rose taunted, watching the young woman as she continued to twitch, her eyes wildly fluttering as her eyeballs roved around beneath her closed eyelids.

"God, she's like the dying." Barry the Chunk commented.

Rose laughed at that. Her fingers were frozen in twisted shapes, like the claw of the arthritic hands of the elderly. It was nothing like Grandpa Flick's nasty rheumatoid arthritis, but it was comparable.

"Well, that's what happens when someone gets too big for her britches." Rose smirked, hauling the girl right atop her bed. "She'll stay here under my watch until she can maintain conscious-

"Oh god, make it stop!" you cried out, clutching your head as it throbbed dangerously.

You were so tired, so hungry, and thirsty beyond belief. Nothing about this place was welcoming enough to allow you even a split second of rest and relaxation. Out of the corner of your eye, a ring covered hand came forward, reaching out to touch you.

"Don't touch me!" you shouted, voice dry and ragged.

Rose raised an eyebrow, looking at you quizzically. It was one of the few times you'd seen her. And unlike the mirrored effect you were used to viewing her in, the only perspective of herself she had, you were looking at her in the present, through your eyes.

"So now you're calling the shots? Oh, well excuse me." Rose let out an annoyed laugh.

You were scared to breathe, waiting for another memory to suddenly implode over you, but none came.

"I just... I'm tired. And if I move, if I shift my weight over the damn floor I might get another memory."

Rose cocked a brow.

"Get another memory? What, you can sense the memory of objects?"

You hesitantly nodded. Rose let out an intrigued sniff, but that's the only reaction she gave. You had been in her head long enough to understand what her different mannerisms meant. It gave you an advantage, being able to read her so.

"So... You've been reliving whose memories?" Rose asked, brow raised in that calculating critique.

Stern, that's what she was. This was Rose being stern.

"Yours. Only yours."

Rose's nose twitched in immediate disgust and disgraced anger.

"Not by choice," you butted in, trying to calm the storm before it began to brew much farther, "I keep passing out from exhaustion because I can't figure out how to stop viewing the memories. I'm tired, I've had enough of your thoughts and memories and..."

You cut yourself off. The next words out of your mouth would have been 'hedonistic escapades', or worse, 'sexcapades'. Rose eyed you dangerously, neither really believing or listening to your plight.

"Too big for my britches, crude violator, shrimp, halfling, rube, bitch-child," you listed, "I know. And I know too much. I don't want to know, I-"

You cut yourself off, pausing before you reenacted Irina Spalko's inversed lament. This could be something out of an Indiana Jones movie, you supposed. Rose had the special, magical hat after all.

"So, what. I don't care if you do or don't want to read my thoughts-"

"Memories-"

The slap that landed across your cheeks stung, and for the first time since meeting Rose, you were stunned. Slapping someone wasn't something the woman did. She was zealously cruel, calculatingly wicked, manipulating, hateful, over-indulgent and sadistic, but the woman didn't hit people. To lose herself in such a motion would surely seem overdone, by her standards.

"Shut your mouth." Rose seethed.

It was anger. Pure, unbridled, raging fury that caused her hands to shake. You'd never gotten a memory from Rose where she was so angry. Her trailer wasn't a place where she let negative emotions hang about, and that's why it was her safe place.

"You have the audacity to interrupt me when I'm speaking to you? You've been leaching off of me for weeks while I tracked you, reading not just my thoughts, but re-living my memories, and you have the fucking gall to interrupt me?" Rose spit, hands reaching up and choking, squeezing your windpipe.

It was an ego wound, you realized. She was bitter because her ego was being trodden all over by someone who'd been in her head for as long as you had. It was simple, in essence. You knew her. Intimately. More intimately than anyone else. In all of Rose's glory and power, you were interrupting her like any other individual regardless of the fact that you knew her. Knew what she could do, knew what she was.

"I don't even want your steam anymore, I just want to watch you die."

Your stomach lurched, and a memory slammed so violently into your skull that it didn't have somewhere else to go. You grabbed onto Rose's wrists, pulling her down the rabbit hole with you.

"Fucking Rube!" Malte wheezed, hands clinging to Rose's wrists.

Rose was shaking, her hands were shaking. The man beneath her wiggled like a squirrel caught in a trap, his eyes bulging violently, the whites of them rolling wildly. Rose was scared shitless, squeezing harder on instinct, even as the man beneath her slapped at her arms, trying to pull the young teen's hands off him.

He'd tried to rape her. He'd lured her into a street corner, promising her cash if she hiked up her skirts for him. She'd agreed to do so, she needed the money to feed her family. But she'd misheard him, or more accurately, had misunderstood him. The English these American foreigners spoke didn't cling to her Irish tongue easily. That and the structure of the English language was hard. It didn't match up with her native tongue. Combined with a day working in the filthy factories of Jersey had rubbed her hands and mind raw, so "Lift your skirt" meant to quite literally lift your skirt, no other motive or hidden arrangement. She was tall for a fourteen-year-old girl, but he had been stronger. Malte, the son of the factory owner, descended from Dutch immigrants who settled in Delaware, well before it was called Delaware had his eye on her. And he'd shoved her up against the brick wall of the factory, pawing at the front of his trousers, trying to bury himself between her legs as she tried to politely get him to stop.

But Rose was tired. And there was no direct translation for 'no' in her native language, and she couldn't remember the English word for it, so all her words were mixes of jumbled Irish phrases, none of which he interpreted correctly until she struck him between the legs.

His mouth was starting to froth. And the more pressure she exerted on his neck, the more afraid she got. If she killed him, oh god, if she killed him she could ruin her own life, the life of her family. They'd starve, they'd have nothing left to eat. She reached for the first strewn article of clothing she could grab. A top hat, the expensive satin lined kind, one that could fetch enough food for her family if she sold it. Food, eat, live long, stay young... Eat well, live long, stay young...

<------------->

Rose was crying. Sobbing like a fourteen-year-old child all over again. And the body underneath her was seizing, twitching and letting out garbled sounds. Rose grabbed the body, hugging it to her chest with possessive neediness. She needed physical contact, she needed that reassurance. The memory viewing had ended there, but Rose's memories filled in afterwards. She'd run home, falling into her overburdened mother's arms, sobbing and whimpering like her infant brother, still latched on her mother's breast. Her father had been furious, her mother scared. They were all scared in the perpetual twilight of Rose's memory.

Malte had never pressed charges. Whether it was pride or some other vice that compelled him to stay silent about the assault, he never did speak a word of it to anyone. But Rose found that her hours were cut back, her position was regularly filled before she had made it to her station. She looked for other work, worrying over the little bump that grew inside her mother. Worrying about food, about money, about the things that they needed to stay alive, let alone stock up to build their American dream.

"Tá brón orm." she sobbed into the girl's hair. "I'm sorry." she repeated.

Because Rose wasn't holding the rube girl anymore, she was holding a mirror of her younger self.

<------------>

Waking up for the upteenth time was more exhausting than being awake itself. Your head swum with too many thoughts, the mind's way of catching up after being unconscious. Someone was petting your hair, little strokes and teases that pulled at your scalp menacingly.

"We have a debt." Rose murmured. "My people are hungry, and they're going to go hungry because you're not on the menu any longer."

Her words rolled over your head in weary waves, peddling meanings over the valleys of your brain until they slowly sunk in, stringing together cohesive ideas once more.

"And why does that mean I have a debt with you?"

Rose gave the hairs at your scalp a tug, raising an eyebrow as she looked at you seriously.

"Because what I say goes, honey pie."

You closed your eyes, nodding in defeat. The light hurt, everything hurt.

"Got any more memories to view? I have millions, my mind is a cathedral."

You fought back the urge to mouth the words along with her. You knew her little cliches too well.

"I don't think so. The last memory was pushing others out of the way until it could be seen."

The logic behind that theory was imbued with a hidden clarity that had come from somewhere in your unconscious mind. The memories would stop jumping in front of your eyes again.

"Okay, well, you owe me. I'm keeping you alive because you're useful. Clairvoyance is a gift, we don't have a lot of True with such wide sensors as you."

Leaning forward felt like the next best thing with your head throbbing so violently. A soft little 'mmph' left your lips as you did so.

"You're not listening..." Rose said in sing-song fashion.

"Brain hurts."

Rose snorted at this.

"So eloquent. Truly, you should write novels with your linguistic prowess."

You let out another grunt in response.

"Its like talking to a caveman." Rose muttered.

She brought a cup of something to your lips. Tea. You drank it, not really caring that it was lukewarm and half full. It was liquid.

"Not picky. I'll add that to your list of positives."

You eyed her wearily.

"And let me guess, all the negatives include the fantasies of me you can't have because I know you too well."

Rose cocked an eyebrow, momentarily stunned.

"Well. I do have plans for you in the physical department. Crow and I are fizzling out, it might be time to break in a new lover."

She said it so confidently, in a fashion that made it almost unbearably flirtatious.

"You're wondering how good my head game is."

Rose laughed, a stunned kind of bark that caused her chest to jiggle, the swell of her breasts unencumbered beneath her t-shirt.

"Oh god, you're hysterical. I mean yes, but you make me sound so blunt. So, collected." Rose snickered. "I can be blunt, and I certainly try to be..."

Rose trailed off, eyeing you carefully.

"Kiss me."

It was a command that cut through your tired brain. She caught your head as you leaned in, pressing her lips against yours, one hand tangled in your hair, the other resting on your back. Rose pulled away after the short kiss, seemingly a little vexed by something.

"How much... How much experience do you have? You kiss like a petrified boy."

You blushed profusely, even though embarrassment in your exhausted state was difficult to even feel.

"I'm tired. Not in the mood."

Rose sighed, nodding at that statement.

"Fine. We'll nurse you back to health before the turn, get you all spick and span. But right before then... You and I are going to sort out this little debt situation we have going on. And then we'll see if you survive the turn."

The thought made your stomach queasy. You were between hell and a hard place. Become like her or die.

"What if I'd prefer being on the menu?"

"Not a lesbo?" Rose teased.

"Not a child eater."

Rose rolled her eyes, leaning in closer as she gripped your hips tight. She kissed your neck chastely.

"Eat well, live long, stay young."

You found yourself looking up at the ceiling, almost willing another memory to intrude, an excuse to pull away from this aggravating situation, but nothing.

"I'd like the luxury of just being normal."

Rose laughed at this, a genuine laugh.

"Whoever told you reading minds was normal. God, you're positively hysterical. I want to make a miniature you and stick her in my hat."

You crossed your arms, perusing the trailer for any signs of food, like a mouse. A little mouse caught in the cat's trap.

"I'll feed you, but first you need to give me a proper kiss." Rose whispered, breath tickling your earlobe.

As if you had anything on your mind other than food. Rose was pushing at your boundaries, playing with you and molding you into a state somewhere between desperate and stubbornly defiant. You leaned in, but you paused. You were coming on too strong. This needed to be natural, not forced. But it was forced, that was the paradox. Leaning in again, slowly, you met her grey eyes, taking a deep breath in. Your hands you drew up to her face, thumbs gently rubbing over the hollow of her cheeks. Rose leaned in, eyeing you with predatory intent.

"Good." she whispered. "You're getting somewhere."

You leaned in even further, pressing a teasing kiss to the corner of her lip, catching her gaze with hers. It was a game of both movement and eye-lines. Each of you would rove your eyes up and down the other, trying to catch the opponent in the act, making that split second of contact before drawing away to brush noses, to shift grip slightly. You weren't kissing yet, no, this was all about will. Who could tempt the other into making the first move.

"I believe I asked you to give me a kiss." Rose whispered, growing a bit bored of the game.

The softest brush of your lips over hers, making that eye-contact.

"Is that what you want?" you asked.

Rose's eyebrow quirked, and then she leaned in, pressing her lips to yours in response. The kiss wasn't as soft as you would have made it had you been administering the kiss. Rose kept you steady with a hand on your hip, a hand in your hair, her mouth occupied with yours. You forced yourself to be more engaged, even with how hungry and weak you felt. She tasted of mint tea, an undercurrent of something sour clinging to the edge of your tastebuds. It was the product of your clairvoyance, surely. Rose didn't taste quite right, a fact that lingered in the peripherals of your thoughts as you leaned into the kiss. She pulled away after a moment, seemingly amused.

"You're so chaste with your kisses. Or perhaps neat is the correct word. It's entertaining to see you so careful and focused."

Rose leaned back, dropping her hands. She easily maneuvered you out of her way, walking towards a fridge on the side of her camper. She wasn't wearing any pants, just too tight lacy panties. Her long legs were on full display, bare feet padding across her wooden floors. Her motions were all so elegantly careless, like she didn't much care what kind of gesture she made, so much as things landed in their respective places.

"Eggs alright with you?" she sighed.

"Yes, thank you."

Rose hummed in reply, starting up her gas powered stove top. She cracked open three eggs, reaching into the fridge for chives, cheddar cheese and bacon bits. It smelled good.

"You're pale, drink this."

A glass of orange juice appeared in front of you, and Rose looked down at you with some amusement.

"Like a startled lamb, freezing up in front of a newcomer." she laughed.

You drank the juice, grateful for the liquid. You weren't really paying attention to where your eyes rested as you drank, you were too tired to focus on much else other than the motion of your throat as you drank down the juice.

"I look that good do I?" Rose teased, grabbing your chin and angling it up.

You'd been staring at her upper thighs. Being so tall, Rose's legs filled much of your central and peripheral vision as you spaced out. The couch was low to the ground, and her stance gave a clear view of her inner thighs and the patch of dark hair that clung around her bikini line.

"Sorry, spaced out." you blushed, face going hot with the weight of your embarrassment.

Rose chuckled, squishing your face in soft teasing. She took the glass out of your hand, returning to the stove top. She came back with three eggs piled with cheese, chives and bacon. An American breakfast classic. You ate quickly, and the miserable tightness of your stomach gradually subsided.

"Perhaps you'd like to lay down on the bed and take a nap." Rose suggested.

You nearly choked on your bite of egg. The memory and the feeling of being forcefully deepthroated through Rose's eyes still clung to the back of your mind.

"Uhh, no. Not the bed. Couch is fine."

Rose cocked an eyebrow, taking away the plate of food you were still working on.

"Why? My hedonistic escapades still haunt you?" Rose threw your earlier internal monologue right back at you. "My sexcapades?"

You looked up at her in pure disbelief and jaded embarrassment. Rose wore a shit eating grin, leaning in as she grabbed your chin.

"Poor thing, thought you were the only one with the ability to skim someone's foremost thoughts, huh?" Rose cooed. "Maybe that's what we'll do.. Re-enact that little fixation of yours, get it out of your system."

You found yourself shaking your head and stuttering, hands searching for something to grab onto.

"Mhm, oh you're getting all flustered just thinking about it." Rose grinned cruelly, pulling you up to her feet. "What a perfect way to settle our debt, huh? We'll re-enact one of the memories you collected."

This time, you ardently shook your head, getting over your momentary bout of shyness.

"No, I didn't have control over what I was seeing, I didn't want to-"

"Shush, honey pie." Rose cut you off, pushing you to sit on the bed. "It'll be fun, we'll go slow-ish."

Rose stretched, settling on the bed beside you. She dusted off her hat, gingerly setting it off to the side. Hands looped around your waist, drawing you in.

"You'll like it, I promise." Rose whispered, leaning in to nip at your jaw and ear.

As she placed little love bites over your face and neck, her hands massaged slow patterns on your waist and back. You let out a soft sigh, leaning into her little nips and kisses.

"There you go, warming up to me perfectly." Rose cooed. "Touch me."

Your hands obeyed, cupping her lower face and neck. She placed a slow kiss in the crook between your jaw and neck, opening her lips to suck softly at the skin there. A soft moan broke out of your throat, to which Rose replied with her own throaty hum. One of your legs crept up to straddle her, and a hand from your waist quickly caught your leg, aiding the motion.

"Oh, good girl." Rose whispered. "Warming up nicely."

You smiled shyly, brushing your nose against hers. Her lips caught yours in a kiss, her tongue sliding out to caress your lip. You met her tongue with yours the longer the kiss went on, teasing her with your tongue. Rose's hands slid down your back, taking handfuls of your ass and massaging slowly. You moaned immediately, allowing Rose to slip her tongue into your mouth. Your hands were in her hair, playing with the half-braided strands that clung to the base of her scalp.

"Ready for more?" Rose rasped, one hand gripping your rear, the other drawing patterns down your spine.

"Yes." you found yourself saying.

Rose pulled off her top, freeing her breasts entirely. She brought your hands to them, biting her lip playfully.

"Touch, squeeze."

You did as she asked, to which she rewarded you with a sinfully teasing kiss.

"Lay down, top off."

You did as directed, pulling off your shirt, and the loose sports bra she'd found you in. Rose rummaged around in a drawer near the bedside for a moment, grabbing several Items. You watched as she slipped off her underwear, pulling a plain looking black set over her thighs again. A remote, which she clicked just twice. Rose bit her lip immediately, wiggling her hips a few times. A fake dick, a harness. You blushed as you realized just what she was going to do.

"I've never... I can't suck dick." you blurted out.

Rose laughed, sliding the harness over her hips.

"Too bad. You're gonna. And if you leave teeth marks on my nice silicone cock I'll throttle you."

Rose settled between your thighs, dragging your leggings and underwear down in one motion. She spread your thighs, eyeing the glistening folds of your inner labia. Taking a moment to gather saliva in her mouth, Rose leaned down, spitting on your red, erected clit.

"There's something you can focus on while I stretch your throat."

Rose crawled over you in a traditional 69, slapping the silicone dick on your chin.

"Open."

You could see the soft blur of the panties as they vibrated, producing a noticeable wet spot on the black fabric. Opening your mouth as wide as you could, you were careful not to graze the silicone with your teeth. The saliva Rose had placed on your clit slowly began to drip down and cool, producing a maddening sensation. Leaning forward all the way, Rose propped herself up on her elbows, holding your thighs open.

"Breathe through your nose, deep breath, now relax."

Rose pushed her hips down, forcing the silicone past your molars, past your uvula and down into the hollow space of your throat. You gagged, grabbing at her hips and thighs, desperately trying to push away the weight on your head that bore down. Rose laughed as she heard you gag and choke, letting up after fifteen seconds. You sputtered, nose running and eyes blurry with tears.

"Catch your breath, I'll give you fifteen."

Fifteen seconds felt more like five, and the silicone was back down, further this time. You couldn't breathe through your nose, and the burn of your lungs mixed with the stretch of your throat was both terrifying and maddeningly difficult to get away from. Rose let up after a moment, and you were quick to breathe in through your nose, filling your lungs as rapidly as you could, exhaling shortly thereafter. The next time, you breathed in through your nose as the dick slid down your throat, forcing the muscles of your throat to relax. Rose hummed in approval, pressing a soft kiss to your clit.

"Good girl. Now I'm going to rock. If you absolutely cannot manage to get any air in, two taps to my hips, got it?"

Rose didn't wait for you to make any sort of noise or gesture in understanding, she just undulated her hips slowly. You exhaled with every thrust out, inhaling as she thrust in. Your lungs slowly began to accommodate the lack of air, your throat muscles relaxing. Rose kissed your clit again, humming carefully as she rolled her tongue in slow circles over your clit. You found yourself getting the hang of things, more focused on the sensations between your legs than the burn of your throat. Rose's own stimulation was heightened by the pull and stretch of the vibrating panties that shifted with every movement of her hips. You moaned as she licked down into your entrance, and Rose let out a breathy hum in response.

Her mouth settled at your entrance, licking and probing gently. You gripped her hips, helping to support her thrusts. Overtime, your nose brushed her clothed clit as the base of the strap met your lips, adding direct pressure to the vibrating panties. Rose moaned loudly at this sensation, fervently kissing and licking your open pussy. Your lower abdominal muscles coiled rapidly, and by the way Rose was growing sloppy with her thrusts, she must have also been close.

Warm tingles slid up your spine as you climaxed, and your moans were muffled by the strap. Rose slipped the silicone dick out of your mouth, allowing you to gasp and moan through your orgasm without threat of suffocation. Still relatively aware, you had the forethought to find her clit through the panties and rub circles over the vibrating fabric. Rose let out a series of breathy whimpers, pushing her hips back into your thumb until she too climaxed. In need of a place to rest her weary hips, Rose sat back, resting on your face. A mouthful of panty-clad pussy and an eye-full of ass was all you knew for a good fifteen seconds.

"Fine then." Rose sighed, sliding off of you after you tapped the side of her ass twice.

Rose looked down, eyeing your puffy, tear and snot covered face. She smirked, reaching for something on her bedside table. A polaroid camera, one that had to be from the 90s. She snapped a photo of your frazzled state, taking out the photo produced and grabbing a pen.

"What shall we name this one? 'Belligerent collector', perhaps."

Rose gave an evil grin, sliding off the vibrating panties and casting them aside. She swung one of her legs over your face, angling her still wet core over your mouth. Another snap of the camera, capturing your mortified eyes as your mouth was obscured by her vulva.

"And this one we'll title 'debt settled'."

<------------->

[thecapricunt1616]

The Bear & His Honey Chapter 3

Inspo: Quote - “All the lights couldn’t put out the dark that’s running through my heart ”  Summary: (18+ ONLY FIC!!!) Winnie & Richie meet for the first time, have a conversation about their love for Taylor Swift over a cigarette while Carmen fights through a panic attack in his office. W/C: 3,000 A/N: Oh my WORD!! I am so excited for this chapter, I hope you all like it!! I’m hoping my Carmy and Richie are doin’ it for ya! I’m feeling this pacing for the moment, but I promise there will be a time jump at some point. I just want to have the relationships build a little and have you guys get to know Winnie outside of who she is with Carmy!!  Warnings for BTC: Abuse (Verbal, Emotional, Physical), Swearing, Self Harm, Cigarettes, Mentions of alcohol, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Disassociation, Negative self talk, bad coping skills. (0 smut though, wow!!) 

𝒞𝒽𝑒𝒸𝓀 𝒪𝓊𝓉 𝑀𝓎 𝑀𝒶𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉!

Chapter 2 Here!

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

“Don’t worry missy, mommy isn’t forgetting about you” I brush my hand over my cat, Persephone’s, supple fluffy white tail. “Jus’ give me a second ok?” I leaned into the mirror, finishing applying a mauve lip liner to the edges of my lips before filling them in with gloss. I give myself one final lookover, smoothing down my pale, buttercup-colored cardigan. I look like I should be freezing my ass off, but thanks to my fleece-lined nude tights- I am warm as can be. 

I head into the kitchen, Persephone weaving in and out of my legs as she usually did getting a giggle out of me. “Poor starving fluffy baby mm’?” I coo, grabbing her dish from the cabinet and emptying one of her favorite shrimp-flavored Friskies lil’ soups into the bowl, and setting it down for her. She dives right in and I scratch her head lovingly. “There, that is your bedtime snack ok? You got it early, so when it’s really time for bed later, don’t try and tell me I forgot somethin’ yea?” I go grab my ‘purse’ from the bedroom which was just the tote I’d gotten at Taylor Swift's concert a few months ago, as well as my white pleather platform boots, and sit in the entry hall, putting them on. 

I look at myself once more in the hall mirror, adjusting the white bow tying back my long locks that I’d curled. “Love y’ baby, Mama be home soon, be goods ok?” I called to Seph’ who was still chowing down in the kitchen. I slipped on my fur cape shawl-type garment over my shoulders and stepped out of my apartment. Locking my door, I headed back down a few blocks to The Bear. I put on my headphones as I walk, humming softly to the music blasting through them. 

As I approach the alleyway, I see light puffs of smoke coming out into the street. I hurried my pace, hoping it was Carmen out for a smoke before I showed up. But when I finally see around the corner, it's not Carmen, it’s some other man. Older, wearing a brown leather jacket. He nods in my direction and his lips move, his voice completely drowned out by the music that was still blasting in my ears. I pull my headphone away from my ear lightly “Sorry, wha’dya say?” I asked, taking them off and putting them in my bag.  

“I asked if you were in your Fearless Era? Nice sweater” he said and I smiled wide. “Shut up- you listen to Taylor Swift?” I walked up to him, leaning a few feet away on the brick wall. “Hell yeah! My daughter loves her, you saw the show too?” He takes another drag of his cigarette and I smile with an enthusiastic nod. “Mmhmm!!” I say proudly “Can you believe She played Death By A Thousand Cuts and Mad Woman?! Those are like, my favorites from those albums!” 

He blows the smoke past me and nods with a smile. “It really was fuckin’ fantastic. Broad puts on such a crazy show it was fire.” I looked closer and realized he was wearing chef's clogs “D’ you work here?” I questioned. Another nod “My cus’ owns it. You been?” He asked and my eyes widened before I let out a laugh, a real laugh. 

“I’m here for - for him!! Actually. He umm..invited me for a drink.” I said a shy smile dancing on my lips and my cheeks heating slightly.

“Holy shit” he laughs. “Holy fuckin’ shit” he shakes his head in disbelief. “What?” I giggle. “He has a secret girlfriend or somethin’?” I joked and that got another chuckle out of him. “No, no. Absolutely not- I just am- in shock and awe.” He snorts, taking another drag. 

“Why’s that? Am I ugly or somethin’?” I teased “oh no no quite the opposite actually, surprised he was able to talk to you. Kid gets all quiet around pretty girls.” I shrugged. “Hes….shy. But very funny.” I added. “Funny? Wow. I can’t wait to tell Sug’ t’morrow. Wait so how did you- how did he ask you out?” He questioned.

 I took a deep breath, a sheepish smile on my face “ok, so- he didn’t - he did ask, but he did it by making me ask. He was like ‘oh so you only go out with guys that have xyz’ and I was like ‘no you askin’ me out player?’ And he was like ‘nope but we can go out’ he’s such a dork” I smile at my feet and he snorts a laugh, rubbing his chin like Carmen does. 

“Yeee’ that’s Carmen’s style. He's very indirect- with girls that is. With family though- god. He’s too honest most of the time” I look back up at him. “So… how does this whole thing work, like- so Carmen is your cousin, and who is Sugar?” I asked “oh, yeah Sugars my cousin too, but she’s Carmy’s big-sis. That’s why if you decide to start comin’ ‘round more often don’t be surprised if you see her bossin’ him around even though he’s technically the boss” I giggle a bit. 

“Ohh no I saw it already. She’s- she can be scary. But she’s very pretty, so that makes up for it. She came in tellin’ him off about cups earlier” I said and he chuckles “Yeah. She was the torment today, it’s usually Carmen but he was ok for the most part. Except at the end of the day, oh! Shit!! Oh my god you” he said and I looked at him, confused. “Me?” I question, pointing at my chest. “You. Yeah you. That’s why he was sooo fuckin’ dead set on hauling everyone’s asses out the door at 9:40. Oh and that’s why he had Marcus deep clean the bar. I see.” He took another drag of his cigarette. A heat brushed my cheeks.

 Is he nervous to see me? 

I take my bottom lip between my teeth in thought. “How’d you meet?” He asked, bringing me back. My gaze meets his again, “ah- we met today? Actually? Well, I think I’ve seen him like- around, because I’ll take walks on my breaks so he’s probably been out smoking. But I was gonna come by the restaurant for lunch and he was in need of a light so, I gave him one. And then he found I work at the bookstore and figured that means I’m smart or something and with his pretty eyes he just… managed to rope me into editing your dessert menu” I said and he laughed. 

“That’s one thing about Carm’ this place?” He taps the brick with his finger “Is him, he will do anything to make something perfect about it. So I guess consider yourself smart since he trusted you to even suggest he does anything differently. That’s so much trust with him, he must really like you” he said and I blushed, my eyes meeting my boots again. 

Really like you. 

“So are all you Berzattos this charming, or is it just you and Carm?” I teased and he laughed, his head falling back “Oh, I like you” he pats my arm before stomping out the butt of his cigarette. “Here, you don’t have to walk all the way around - let me just let you in the kitchen” he dug keys out of his pocket, unlocking the large metal door. “Just realized, never got your name.” He said, opening the door and holding it ajar with his foot. 

“Winnie” I reply, and held out my hand. He shakes it, his hands were cold from the weather but his touch was gentle. “Richie” he said and I looked into the hall that leads into the kitchen, my heart beginning to hammer in my chest. “Well I’ll leave you kids at it. No fuckin’ in the kitchen it’s spotless “ he said, breaking the tension in my chest and earning a laugh from me. “No promises, know where he is?” I asked and he nodded with his chin down the hall “2nd door on the right, his office. He’s probably finishing up paperwork n’ shit.” He said and I gently kissed his cheek on my way through the door, a friendly gesture. 

“It was very nice to meet you, Richie.” I said sweetly, his cheeks were bright red. “You too, Winnie. Hopefully we see you around more- Carm can use the attitude adjustment you gave ‘em this afternoon a little more often.” He joked and my cheeks were the ones that now felt hot to the touch. 

He actually listened to what I’d said about being good. 

I nod “I’ll work on it” I said and he nodded with a smile, “night.” He said “g’night! Be safe!” I replied as he shut the door. 

The kitchen was completely silent, the only sound was the buzzing of the lights. It was literal night and day. The bookstore was always quiet unless we were doing story time for littles, and at night it was just as quiet. 

“Carmen?” I called out, my heels clicking as I made my way down the hall. “Hellooo? Hello hello?” I called, hoping he’d open up the office door. My heart picks up again, I feel it in my throat. Pounding, booming. I try to swallow the thick thumping, but it doesn’t help. I hear a hard thump against Carmen’s office door, causing my eyebrows to furrow. 

I get up to it, leaning in and I hear Carmen breathing, heavy and uncontrolled. I speak up, trying to find my confidence. He had invited me here. He wants me here. 

He trusted you to even suggest he does anything differently. That’s so much trust with him, he must really like you…

Richie’s words of encouragement bounce around in my mind. 

I took a deep breath, gently tapping on the door with my French tip. 

“Carmen? Carrrm? Ya’ in there? Hellooooo? I hear you breathing in there… Ok, well guess what- I just met your cousin Richie, and apparently? He listens to Taylor Swift too. So, unless you open up this door? I’ll like- totally go right back out there and flirt with him - and, you’ll positively 100% lose your super-duper smokin’ hot date to your awesome, super friendly cousin-“ 

Carm POV;

**10 minutes before Winnie shows up**

I lean against the office door, eyes screwed shut, so tightly my forehead was beginning to cramp up as my hand shakes uncontrollably next to me, my wrist cracking with every violent flick. I was desperately trying to feel something, but my entire body was numb. My chest heaves up and down rapidly, tears burning my eyes and I roughly rub over my forehead and cheeks. Clawing at my hair and pulling tightly, to feel something, anything at all. “Fuckin - get it together, fuck!” I muttered, desperate, my nails digging into my forearm so hard that if I had any mind to me at this moment, I’d realize I was drawing blood. She would be here any second, the first - first girl, the only girl I have ever had the balls to ask out, and of course one of these - these - episodes.. Just had to come on - right now. I bump my head against the door in a futile attempt to ground myself, but it doesn’t work. I still feel fucking nothing. 

All of a sudden, per usual to this bullshit- I’m transported back to New York, to Noma, in the bathroom, hurling my guts up before my regular night shift. The pang in my stomach though, was merciful compared to the fucking hell on earth that place was.

 Then, I was on line, making Julianne cuts to a carrot for the 3rd time since the previous 2 were ‘obviously done by a blind ape’, or ‘disgustingly amateur’ as per what I can only presume is the words of the demonic human incarnate of every, single, sin, in any life, I’ve ever fucking lived, coming back in this one to haunt me in to my grave. 

 “You fucking stupid sack of shit” he seeths in my ear. “You are pure shit. Hear me? You are nothing motherfucker, you are a fucking shitstain on my name. I swear, at this rate? You get outta’ here? You are done, Hear me? DONE!!!” he barks in my ear so vociferous that it circumscribes the furthest corners of my mind, my knife slipping when I twitch slightly at the pain of the volume in my ear and it shreds into my skin, deep. 

I hissed at the sting before the fire of pain, my hand jerking away on instinct and dropping the knife. It clattered to the floor loudly and before I could react he grabbed the collar of my whites brutely, dragging me somewhere, my feet stumbling and tripping over each other as he towed me like a ragdoll, before he was violently throwing me to the floor of the bathroom in a pathetic, bleeding heap. “Fucking pussy” he growled, digging his chef's clog in my side just enough to knock the remaining wind out of my lungs. “Clean yourself up, pathetic moron. There's fucking work to be done, or did you overlook that? You slothful, utterly useless, piece of garbage.” The door to the bathroom slams, and I’m left alone, my blood leaking into the tile. At least he didn’t spit on me this time. 

My first thought isn’t if I need stitches, or of the unbelievable pain coursing through my hand and wrist - of course not, why would I ever think of myself first? Instead, it’s of the fact that my blood pool has already grown so large that it’s leaking into the grout of the restroom floor. And if it stains with the remnants of my stupid mistake, I am fucked, done, and utterly screwed. I scramble up, wincing lightly as I try to take a breath, a sharp ache going through my left lung where his shoe had dug in. 

Suddenly, I’m ripped through the walls of space and time, the soft hum of the heater meeting my ears, as the sound of the sweetest voice I’d ever heard makes its way through the door, She’s here.

“Carmen? Carrrm? Ya’ in there? Hellooooo? I hear you breathing in there… Ok, well guess what- I just met your cousin Richie, and apparently? He listens to Taylor Swift too. So, unless you open up this door? I’ll like- totally go out there and flirt with him - and, you’ll positively 100% lose your super-duper smokin’ hot date to your awesome, super friendly cousin- I also brought my book since you were just sooo interested earlier. Maybe you can take some tips from the bat-boys for your flirting skills, handsome.” 

Her voice was like a tether, gently tugging me back into my body. It’s as if my soul snaps back into my physical self all at once, her words ringing through my mind like soothing white noise, not registering a single thing she’s saying, but relishing in the fact my feet were on the ground, and I was beginning to be able to feel them there again. I try to find focus on the sound of her sweet, sweet voice.

My face finally relaxes, and I force my eyes open. I’m back- Back at the bear. I let out a shaking sigh of relief, my entire body was trembling. Blood felt like it was pooling back into every one of my limbs in a tsunami. I suddenly felt so heavy, like I could just sink into the floor in a heap and die there.

“J-J-J” I stutter out, biting down on my cheek so hard I felt a sting of pain and the taste of metal filled my mouth, so embarrassed that I’m succumbing to my old habits, especially in front of her. Forcing a deep breath into my lungs, finding my head, find your head, find it, find it Carmen. 

I inhaled so deeply it felt for a moment like my lungs could pop like balloons, before focusing all of my energy into letting out the breath as controlled and light as I could, which finally centered me enough to be able to find my tongue. “Just One sec. M’ sorry” I managed to get out, rubbing over my face roughly to get rid of the remnants of any stray tears, before wiping my hands on my shirt and turning to open the door. 

Before my mind and my….brain? Could process my actions, I was pulling the door open, pulling her into my chest, and nuzzling my face into her neck. I held her to me tightly, as if we were hanging off the very edge of the earth, and she was my only tether to reality. I took a deep breath, my knees feeling weaker at the intoxicating scent of her, Jasmine, rose, orange? Maybe grapefruit…and…Honey.  

“Thank y’ for comin’, Winnie, I need a fuckin’ drink, now.” I mutter quietly into her supple skin.

Read Chapter 4 Here!

[brennan-lee-mother]

Tula from burrows end?

ANON IM SO GLAD YOU ASKED

Look I’m quite insane about this woman oh god I love her she’s my everything she’s the moment she’s one of the inspirations for my url

Brennan characters always hit different, he laces them with crack I’m so sure. How is it he plays a single mom of two SO well it’s actually unfair.

Everything surrounding her suicide/resurrection makes me bawl like a baby. I watched the confrontation with Ava at like one am and I felt shrimp emotions. The themes of passive suicidal ideation and learning to love life and learning through wanting that life for another you deserve it yourself OUGH

I hope you asked because you have similar feelings or else this will seem even more unhinged <3

[wreywrites]

Tiger Shark

Part 3: The Crown

Chapter 20

****note from Wrey- this one's pretty heavy****

We don’t talk about the drawing contest. It was a little too soul baring. But we do start spending more time together, acting like real neighbors who don’t actively avoid each other. The closer my Victory Tour gets, the more time we spend together. There are speeches to write—a general, use-it-in-every-district speech, and then short, personalized additions for the districts whose tributes I was allies with—and emotions to deal with. And I finally understand what Finnick was really talking about with the shark that stops swimming forward. I get bogged down in the speeches, distracted in fragmented memories, Stitch’s laugh, Elsie’s unflappable demeanor, Mako’s face lighting up when we opened a parachute basket to find cinnamon rolls. I fade out all the time, so much so that there are whole days I can’t account for. I can’t fall asleep. I can’t concentrate. I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.

Finnick, who started this endeavor with a very teacher-y attitude, soon gives up. When I fall asleep on the couch in the middle of writing a speech, he drapes a blanket over me and lets me sleep. On the days when I don’t want to think about any of it, he doesn’t make me. Instead we read or play marbles. Sometimes I don’t write, I just talk. And then, a week before we are due to leave on the Victory Tour, he hands me a stack of notecards, labeled by district.

“I just listened to what you said when you were in a talking mood, and eventually I got them cobbled together.” He smiles a little. “You do still have to read them out loud though, so… we should probably practice that.”

I nod, but can’t bring myself to do it that day. Instead, I sit on Finnick’s couch, wrapped in a blanket, playing a very slow and half-hearted game of solitaire. I sit there all afternoon. I don’t move when Finnick gets up and makes supper. He brings me a plate, and I push the shrimp and noodles around for an hour. Then we go back to sitting in silence.

At midnight, Finnick stands up. “Come on.”

I look up.

“If we achieve nothing else today, I’m making you get a good night’s sleep.”

“I’m not tired,” I mumble.

“Yes you are.”

I shake my head.

“Annie, I am still your mentor. You have to trust that in this instance, I know what’s best for you, and I am still trying to keep you alive, and I am helping.” And then he picks me up over one shoulder and walks upstairs.

I don’t bother resisting. It takes too much energy, too much concentration.

I notice vaguely that he has nicer pillows in his spare bedroom than we do. Except after he tucks me in, Finnick crawls into bed next to me and I have the oddly emotionless realization that this is his room. There might not even be pillows in the spare bedrooms here. What company would he have to ever be prepared for?

“Once when I was little, my mom was teaching me how to fillet fish. She had me up on a stool next to the kitchen counter, and she usually cut them up so fast, but that day she was being really methodical and slow and talking me through what she was doing. And then I blinked, and she’d cut her finger off at the knuckle.”

Laying on my back, I turn my head to look at him. “Please tell me you didn’t eat the fish.”

He smiles. “Better, she’d been planning it for days and had only very convincingly pretended to cut her finger off. She laughed and laughed, and I was traumatized. I had nightmares about it for a week. She felt so bad. But looking back… that’s just a good joke right there. And so well executed.”

I roll onto my side. I suspect these stories will require more reaction than the usual fare.

“Another time, she was trying to teach me how to tie my shoes—believe it or not, there was once a time when I couldn’t even tie a square knot—but I was so convinced I couldn’t do it, that finally one day she showed me how to do it, and helped me tie them, then untied them and made me do it myself. I got so frustrated when I couldn’t, so she agreed to keep tying them for me. But then she tied a knot and tugged on it to tighten it, and it just fell apart. She did it again, and the same thing happened, and the fourth time she just dissolved into tears and said she was sorry but she’d forgotten how to tie shoes and now I’d never have my shoelaces tied again. And I felt so bad that I’d done this to my mom that pretty soon I was comforting her and telling her it would be okay and that I thought I could remember how to do it, and then I tied my shoes. And that was when my fascination with knots started. Of course I found out years later when I realized that she’d been tying her own shoes just fine all that time that my mom had lied to me, but again, in hindsight, it’s a good joke and apparently a great way to teach your kid how to tie his shoes.”

I pull the blanket up to my chin and nod.

“And when I was eight, my dad gave me my first trident, which ended up being the trident I used to kill all those seagulls for Beck a few years later…”

~~~                               ~~~                               ~~~

I wake up the next morning, sunlight streaming in through the window, curled up next to Finnick, who is snoring. I have to leave.

I don’t get far.

~~~                               ~~~                               ~~~

I come around in a closet full of coats that aren’t mine. Somewhere, a door slams.

“Annie?” The shout echoes through the house. “Annie?”

I wonder how long it has been. A while.

“Annie?” The shouts are closer. I wish I knew where I was. Then I would know how to leave, how to escape without encountering anyone. I shrink back into a corner of the closet, wrap my arms around my knees, close my eyes.

The door opens.

“Annie!”

There is a hand on my shoulder. I try to escape, to scramble backwards, to run, but stupidly, I have already backed myself into a corner. I should know better than this.

Finnick’s hand is still on my shoulder. “Annie, it’s alright.”

“No!” I lurch for the door, pushing past him. “I can’t! It’s not-! Stop!” I yank my arm away from the fingers around my wrist. There. I am free to leave, to run, to… to what?

We stare at each other.

He opens his mouth.

“Don’t.” I shake my head. “I don’t know what you’re going to say, and I don’t care. It doesn’t matter. I used to be happy! Do you understand? Happy!”

I get no reaction, so I keep going. “I had a normal life! Friends, neighbors, family! I had Mako! I’d never killed anyone and I didn’t want to and all I did was go to school and go to work and live my life! And now everyone treats me differently! They look at me differently, and they think I don’t notice but I do! And every day I wake up and the first thing I feel is guilty! Because I came back and no one else did! Not Zalea, not Merritt, not Elsie or Stitch, and not Mako! And every day I have to live with that! And sometimes I don’t completely hate myself and I think I’m getting better, but then there’s this-” I gesture wildly, “-I don’t even know what this is, but it makes me feel even more guilty, and what am I supposed to do? Just live with it? I-”

Something snaps. “You think I haven’t gone through all that too? That I’m not right there with you, drowning in guilt and what-ifs? This is life now! There’s nothing else we can do with it! I would love nothing more than to curl up and die and be done with it, but that’s not an option! I will not be the shark that drowns!”

~~~                               ~~~                               ~~~

My house is quiet. I sit in the downstairs study and read the speeches on the notecards and whatever happens happens. It takes me a whole day to get through them. And then I spend another whole day getting through them again. Part of me thinks it is good that the personal speeches will be at the beginning, in Eleven, Ten, and Eight. But then I remember that the last speech will be in Four. And I remember that I will then spend Districts Seven through One knowing what the families of my allies look like, how they react to what I say about their children, how they look at me when they see me with a crown on my head, when it could have been their child instead. And I have lost Finnick. Dad does his best, but he’ll be the first to admit that he doesn’t know what I’m going through, so he can only do so much. I don’t hold it against him. I can’t. None of this is his fault.

The week passes in a haze. And then my prep team arrives.

They are all joyful screams and laughter, hugging me and telling me how much they’ve missed me. I can’t even work up the energy to respond. Even Marius looks happy to see me, but rearranging my face into any semblance of a smile is too much effort. They dress me and curl my hair and paint my nails and talk and sometimes I nod, but mostly I sit, staring into the space in front of me. I am drowning.

~~~                               ~~~                               ~~~

We get on the train the next morning. Mags is not there, and for the first time, I come to terms with the knowledge that Finnick was my mentor, and it is Finnick I am stuck with. I haven’t even seen him since our shouting match. And now we are on the train together. At least Casca, Marius, and the Preps are there. They create a sort of buffer between the two of us.

Finnick is back to his old self. He talks and laughs with everyone. This makes it easier to ignore him. I can spend the day in my room and come out only when I am so hungry I can’t stand it.

The train goes on all day, stopping only to refuel. I read the District Twelve speech over and over until I have it memorized. I wonder if I will be able to muster up any emotion at all when I read it. I probably should, but I doubt I will. I barely sleep that night, much to the horror of the prep team. It turns out I have looked terrible and sleep-deprived for a while now, and one more sleepless night has made it that much worse. They combat the circles under my eyes with lots of makeup.

All Marius has to say is, “At least we know you don’t have any food stuck between your teeth.” He’s not wrong.

The speech in Twelve goes about as well as I expected it to. I am flat, barely there, and I fade out for a good thirty seconds somewhere in the middle. The only good thing about this is that I have successfully matched the mood of Twelve. They have a reputation for the most lackluster parties because they are the poorest district and they never have anyone to celebrate. The bigger, richer districts have actual parties, but it is because they know that if they didn’t win this year, they probably will next year. Twelve doesn’t have that kind of hope, or that kind of budget. Add to that the fact that the boy from Twelve would have won if I had just drowned ten minutes earlier, and they are downright sullen. But so am I, so I doubt it matters.

We get back on the train and depart for Eleven. The mood is much more subdued than it was yesterday, even than this morning when there was perhaps still a faint ray of hope that I would be able to pull myself out of whatever this is. But I haven’t. I can’t. I am drowning.

~~~                               ~~~                               ~~~

I don’t even remember what happens in Eleven. One of the Preps tells me my little speech about Zalea was beautiful. I make a mental note to thank Finnick for writing it, then I remember Finnick and I aren’t talking to each other.

At some point it occurs to me that Mako would not be happy about what I’ve become. But what does it matter? He’s dead. He has no say over my life, if I can even call this existence a life.

In Ten, I read my regular speech, then I look at the families. Elsie’s mom looks just like her. Merritt… with Merritt’s family stands another man, who looks as worn down, depressed, and terrible as I feel. It is Alvan. Alvan, who is too young to be Merritt’s father, but could quite feasibly be his uncle. Who must be his uncle, from the resemblance between him and the older man who can only be Merritt’s father. I read two sentences from the speech, and then I crack.

~~~                               ~~~                               ~~~

We are back on the train. I am in my bed, covered by a pile of blankets. I can hear the voices, the screaming, the sounds of death. I am the one screaming.

~~~                               ~~~                               ~~~

We are still on the train. There is a doctor standing next to my bed, looking at a notepad. He is talking to someone I can’t see without moving my head. Moving my head is too much work.

“She’s fine, physically. Maybe a little underfed, but there’s nothing we can do if she’s decided she won’t eat. Mentally, though…”

~~~                               ~~~                               ~~~

We are back in Four. I am in my room in my house. I am still piled with blankets. I force myself to look around. This can’t be right. I’m supposed to be in… Nine? I wonder what day it is. I wonder if the Victory Tour is over, if we finished it and I just don’t remember, if I lived through it the way I’ve lived through so much, just drifting through in a haze. I roll onto my side and see him, asleep in a chair.

Finnick.

After a very long time, he wakes with a start, reaching for anything to use as a weapon. Then he takes a deep breath, visibly calming down. He looks at me and his face floods with relief. “I thought you weren’t going to wake up.”

“What?” I rasp. It must have been quite a while since we were in Ten. I sound like I haven’t talked in weeks.

“The doctor said you just shut down. Gave up. Something like that. They said they couldn’t help you, because you didn’t want to be helped. So all we could do was bring you back here and hope for the best.” He stands up. “Your dad told me to call him when you woke up and he’d come home and trade me.”

“Wait!”

He stops.

“Please stay.”

I am amazed when he obeys, sitting back down.

“What happened?”

“They cancelled the rest of the tour.”

“What?”

“Yeah. It was live. Everyone in Ten, and everyone who happened to be watching at home… they all saw it.”

“How’d they spin it?”

“Said you were sick. Had been for a while, but you were trying to soldier through for the districts because you knew how much they loved seeing their victors. You know, the usual pack of lies. Anyway, they said it finally just caught up to you and you were hallucinating because of the fever and then you passed out, and they sent you back to Four so the doctors could treat you at home.”

“What really happened?”

He takes a deep breath. “I think you noticed Alvan. And then I don’t know what went through that mind of yours because historically I’ve been bad at figuring that out, but you just… screamed. Like somebody was ripping it out of you. One of the Peacekeepers tried to help you, get you off the stage and inside, and you put up a good fight. So I stepped in and… helped. And we were walking you into the Justice Building when you just dropped. That was when they got a doctor and sent us on our way to the Capitol. We were there for…” he pauses, thinking about it, “…four days. You woke up once and went crazy on them. Attacked one of the doctors,” Finnick smiles a little. “You almost broke out of the med center. They had to send me after you.”

“Bet you enjoyed that.”

“Maybe a little. It’s been a while since I had a good fight.”

I smile.

“After that they kept you under while they ran every test they could think of and pumped you full of fluids and all that fun stuff. And when they decided there wasn’t anything wrong with you they could fix, they just announced that your illness was much more serious than anyone thought and that you were being sent back to Four for treatment and that the Tour was cancelled.”

“Oh.”

“The doctors wanted to make sure you weren’t faking, so they… they called everyone they could think of. Guess they all gave satisfactory answers because when they finally asked me about it, they believed me.”

“What did you tell them?”

“The truth.”

“That I was getting better and then the very idea of having to do the tour set me off?”

“I told them it happens all the time. Not usually this bad, but sometimes pretty bad.”

“But it doesn’t happen all the time. Or, it didn’t, I guess.”

He gives me a strange look. “It happens all the time. You don’t always go as far as hiding in a closet for four hours and not remembering any of it—most of the time we’re eating, or talking, or playing a game, or reading, and you look up and your eyes slide out of focus and you’re not there anymore. And it’s not for long, only a second or two. Sometimes you’re even still talking, but some part of you just steps out for a bit, then comes right back in.”

“Oh.”

He chews his lip and takes a long breath. “Annie… I’m sorry. About a lot of things.”

“It’s-”

“Don’t say it’s okay, because it isn’t. Just hear me out. Please.”

I nod.

“I don’t know how to help you. It is all I want to do, but I can’t. I barely got myself through being a victor, and I have no idea how to do it for you. I am trying my best, but it’s not enough and I’m so frustrated and sad and… sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry you got reaped, I’m sorry Mako got reaped with you. I’m sorry I couldn’t do more while you were in the arena. I’m sorry you had to come out alone. I’m sorry you had to sit on stage alone and watch your Games. I’m sorry you had to come home and try to fit back into your old life even though it was impossible. I’m sorry I… about that night at my house.”

I should say something, but I don’t.

“When I woke up I knew… that was the best I’d slept in years, and I knew it was a mistake. And I was going to apologize, but you weren’t there. So I went to find you to apologize. To make it right, right away, because I knew what you were thinking. I knew how complicated it had to feel. I went to your house, and you weren’t there. I asked Mags and she hadn’t seen you, and neither had Beck, and neither had the old guys fishing at the pier. I went to your old house. You weren’t there. I went to your dad’s office on the docks and he hadn’t heard from you since the morning before. By the time I got back to my house I was… Annie, I was scared out of my mind. Four hours, that’s how long I’d been looking for you, and when I finally did find you, I was so relieved that you were there and alive and hadn’t, I don’t know, walked yourself off the pier or something because you couldn’t take it anymore, and I was so scared that you had snapped and you would just be a shell walking around going through the motions… I forgot why it was so important that I find you.”

He trails off. I don’t know how to respond to all that, but it does come with some concerning new information. “I was gone for four hours?”

He nods. “Honestly it might’ve been longer. It was a little over four hours from the time I woke up to when I found you hiding in the closet in my third spare bedroom.”

And I don’t remember any of it. “I had no idea. I thought it was, I don’t know, maybe twenty minutes, half an hour.” Wow. “I’m sorry I… lost it on you.”

“No need to apologize. We maybe should have had that discussion sooner. You had a lot of stuff to get out.”

I nod. “I just… I never felt like I could tell anyone how I was feeling or what I was going through because they’d try to help, and I didn’t want anyone to help, I just wanted them to listen and not look at me like I was going crazy. And I didn’t realize until after that it was always you. But being around you makes me feel guilty. Like I shouldn’t feel the way I feel when you’re around.” I stop. I just said that out loud. Now I really do want to walk off the pier.

But Finnick is smiling. A very small smile, but also a very genuine one. “I won’t tell anyone your little secret. And don’t worry, you snuck up on me too.” And with that, he stands and leaves the room. I hear him go downstairs and begin rattling around in the kitchen.

What does that mean? I snuck up on him? I’m good at a lot of things, but sneaking my six-foot, red-headed self around has never been one of them.

Finnick comes back in a few minutes later with an entire pot of coffee in one hand and two mugs in the other. He hands me the one that is already full.

“I know you’re crazy and don’t like coffee, so I made you hot chocolate. And I am going to drink this whole pot by myself.” He pours himself a cup. “Called your dad. He’ll be here as soon as he can. Said he was going to pick up chocolate rolls on the way.”

~~~                               ~~~                               ~~~

Finnick does indeed drink the whole pot of coffee. He is on the last cup when Dad gets home, dripping with winter rain but triumphantly carrying a box of chocolate rolls. These he drops unceremoniously on Finnick’s lap when he enters the room and wraps me in a hug.

“I was so worried. So worried. Please don’t do that again.”

I nod into his shoulder.

“I know you can’t help it, but… Annie, we want to help you, if only you’ll let us.”

I nod again. “I know. But it’s hard.”

My father puts his hands on my shoulders and looks into my eyes. “I know. I know I can’t ever fathom what you went through and what it did to you and how you feel at any given time. But I can be here for you. Okay?”

I smile a little. “Okay.”

~~~                               ~~~                               ~~~

I am supposed to be on bedrest, so we all stay in my room eating all the chocolate rolls until suppertime. Then Dad goes down and makes a quick meal of rice and clams and a new pot of coffee, which I sense is a point of contention between him and Finnick, and then brings it all upstairs so we can eat together. After supper, he asks if I want him to stay home from work the next day.

I shake my head. “Just because my life is completely upside-down doesn’t mean yours needs to be. Besides, somebody has to tell the crew I’m still alive and on the mend.”

Dad nods. “They’ve been worried about you. Wanted to come visit, but I told them to wait until you were ready for that much company.”

I nod. My crew is a lot to handle. “Thanks. Tell them to give me a few days and then we’ll see what we can do.”

He smiles. “That I can do. Now, I’m going to go to bed. One of the crews is short-handed, so yours truly gets to do some real work tomorrow.”

I wait until I hear his bedroom door close to turn to Finnick. “Will you stay?”

Finnick nods, pouring another cup of coffee. “As long as you want.”

****

****

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@avoxrising @snow-dragon-rider @anakins-ride-or-die

[afr0-thunder]

[Poor Chronicles Pt. 6]

I’m down to 14 packs of ramen noodles. I am absolutely pissed that I have work during grocery store hours, but I see this is a test versus one of my “enemies”. They hate me, I don’t care. This infuriated them more. Winter stock should be interesting. I obviously need more than 11 boxes for a month’s stock. I will not be able to restock until Sunday which far overshoots my average daily food consumption. Depending on how I stretch this I will either be out of stock by Friday or even worse by 12am Thursday. I luckily have work until then and unlike my “frienemies”, I chose a source of income that provides and won’t have to pay. It will limit me to one chicken salad Friday and Saturday, but better than paying. I currently sit with $100 in my account (to be monthly expenses), about $3 in bills (started an unusable “savings”) and about $2 in quarters (leftover laundry fund). I refuse to cave and be as weak as my counterparts and use what I have to be able to eat just a little more. I will not die with a few days without 2000 calories (or near). I will not becomes like my overweight degree monkey, certification idiot, salary slave so-called “competition”. I am aware this is one of those “You’re just like me!”/“Break just one of your rules.” moments and the answer is “FUCK NO YOU FAT BITCH! GO FOR A JOG!”. It sucks, but I decided the leftovers from my check were to be for home necessities instead of this urgent food matter. Saw it coming honestly.

I have been fantasizing about taco salad and boneless chicken wings lately. Pizza sounds great, but this chicken salad might turn into my favorite snack one day. I’ve been fantasizing about specializing in excessive ramen noodle consumption and shrimp fried/combination fried rice even in wealth. Still missing chips *sigh*, but these ramen noodles are a hit every single fucking night.

Also, thinking about owning many fish. Clown fish, more specifically. I have grown an emotional connection to animals I don’t even have yet. I would off the world if anything happened to them. I don’t consider them to be “pets”. They are my friends. I would love for them to have a HUGE aquarium so they aren’t confined to a small tank. Thinking turtles, they are arguably my favorite sea animals, but they are so unpredictable in caring for them. The fish might tie them because this is so new to me.

- MH (2023)

[suckitsurveys]

1. What is something in your life that you feel hopeful about right now? This year in general. Mark and I are getting our health back on track and we might both have new jobs/positions by the end of the year. I’m also kinda hopeful because my sister is moving and my dad’s house could potentially go to me and Mark in the future.

2. What was the last thing you worried about that turned out better than expected? Bro I am constantly worrying about everything and anything and it’s generally never that serious haha.

3. Name somewhere you are planning on visiting in the near future? I am going to Boston tomorrow!

4. How often do you go grocery shopping and how much food do you usually get in one go? We go once a week and get a weeks worth of snacks/food.

5. What is a meal you eat extremely often? Or do your meals & food choices vary a lot? We eat various kinds of seafood A LOT. Shrimp, salmon, sushi, fish sticks. I also eat a lot of cereal for breakfast

6. When was the last time you felt unable or unwilling to speak your mind to someone? I want to tell my brother in law what a piece of unbelievably awful fucking garbage he is but that would for sure ruin my relationship with my nieces and my sister. God I just wish my sister admitted it to herself and fucking left already.

7. What was the last thing you changed your mind about? Dinner the other night.

8. Who was the last friend you saw, and what did you do together? If video chatting with Ellen counts, then that lol. I am going to see my friend Sarah tomorrow evening when I get to Boston though! We are going to spend the day in the city on Saturday and then Sunday we’re going to see JOHN MULANEYYYYY.

9. Who tends to show up in your dreams? Do you ever wonder if you appear in anyone else’s dreams? Celebrities I have crushes on hahahaha. 10. What is something you wish you could say to someone who is no longer in your life, or something you wish they could know? I’m good.

11. Instead of flat earth, what do you think of the simulated earth theory, that we’re basically all just a giant computer program or virtual reality? That seems more likely hahahah.

12. What worries you most about your future? Health shit.

13. What is something you do to feel better when you’re scared? I mean, it depends what I’m scared about.

14. Who do you feel you can count on the most in life? Is there anyone you wish you could count on more? I wish I could count on my sister more. I know she has a family of her own but I wish I still felt like I was her sister. I feel like we hardly know each other.

15. What makes you trust someone? When was the last time someone broke your trust? I can trust people who share my sense of humor because I know they can tell when I’m serious about something or not. Something about making someone laugh and them making you laugh is just such a comfort. It’s like all your guards are let down and it’s when you’re most yourself. .

16. When was the last time you shared a secret with someone, and how did they react? I don’t remember. I can’t think of something that would be a “secret” right now.

17. Are you more likely to give advice or to ask for it? Eh.

18. When was the last time you felt totally lost, figuratively speaking? How about literally? Blah.

19. In what ways are you emotionally strong? In what ways are you emotionally weak? Bro. Being in my brother in law’s life makes me the most emotionally strong person on the fucking planet because I have to keep all my fucking emotions in check.

20. What is the strangest book you have ever read? How did you find out about it? I can’t really think of a book I’ve read to be “the strangest.” Probably some book for school..

21. Do you prefer to watch movies or tv alone or with other people? Is there anything you refuse to watch alone? I enjoy both, especially if I know the other person likes what we are watching. I hate the pressure of showing someone something I like that they have never seen lol.

22. What was the last thing you broke? How about fixed? I broke and fixed the system I use for work today hahah.

23. Is there a sign or symbol that means a lot to you for whatever reason (eg. seeing certain animals or birds, 11:11 or other repeating numbers, syncs, butterflies, hearts in nature, etc)? Cardinals, the number 24, praying manti. I am sure there are others.

24. Do you have any personal ghost stories or paranormal experiences? Eh.

25. What do you get complimented on the most? My hair and my nails.

26. What is something unusual that you find attractive? I can’t think of anything.

27. What time do you tend to eat your first meal of the day? And your last? On week days I usually eat something at work between 8am and 9am, and then we usually have dinner between 5pm and 7pm. On weekends it varies.

28. What was the subject of the last video you watched? I can’t remember. It was a dumb Facebook reel, I know that much.

29. When was the last time you traveled out of town, and where to? Technically I am out of town right now, since I work in a different city.

30. How would you describe your overall aesthetic? Lazy girl.

[shoichee]

Can you do a scenario with Murasakibara, Hanamiya, Imayoshi and Kagami where their S/O really wants a lot of attention like cuddles etc? Do you mind making it fluffy as hell? I just finished finals and I’m so drained mentally. Good luck with your finals I hope you do well luv! 💗

My rules are 3 characters max for requests (GoM requests are the exceptions), but it’s been a looong time, so I’ll do them all as a treat! I RLLY HOPE YOURE DOING OKAY, FINALS SUCK SO MUCH :(( I think i did my finals alright heh // these are more formatted as fluffy (within their character LOL) reactions more than anything, enjoy! IM SORRY I TOOK SO LONG PLS FORGIVE ME ANON 

Murasakibara Atsushi

“Hnn?” He looked away from his plate on the table in the living room to see you fidgeting with the hem of your shirt after asking to cuddle. Your shirt had been slightly stained from all the messy cooking you both did together earlier for lunch in his home. “Okay.”

Murasakibara immediately goes back to eating his shrimp tempuras, delicately picking each one to pop into his mouth despite his large hands. He didn’t need to look at you to see how flustered you were in hearing such a casual response from him. Normally, he would be hesitant to agree, he knew that, but sensing how you were too antsy in wanting physical touches from him, he didn’t mind to indulge you. Besides, who’s to say that this isn’t also a treat for him, as well? Not like he would admit that so readily though.

“What are you standing for, (y/n)-chin?” he slightly frowns with an averted gaze before opting to stare at his food on the table instead. “Hurry up already…” At his words, you skipped to sit on the floor next to him with a happy flush, sitting close to him and watching him finish his meal before you can pounce on him. Murasakibara eyes you swaying side to side with anticipation, and he immediately sighs with closed eyes before he gently puts down his chopsticks. Your questioning gaze immediately morphs into one of surprise when he swiftly picks you up and places you on his lap, with your back against his chest and his chin on top of your head.

“Hm? Why do you look surprised? Didn’t you wanna cuddle?” he drawls, moving his chin off your head and tilting your head back by nudging your chin upward to gently kiss your forehead. The languid giant then picks up his utensils again to pick up the last shrimp on the plate to place it against your lips. “Hurry already, food doesn’t taste good when it gets cold, (y/n)-chin…”

As you were chewing, he put the chopsticks on the cleared plate and pushed it away towards the center of the table, all while nuzzling his own face closer to your hair and temple.

You also didn’t miss the way his spare arm was slowly sneaking around your stomach to pull you tauter against his own warm body.

“Hm…” he hums with a deep rumble from his chest. “You feel nice… Oy, stop moving around, (y/n)-chin… what are you doing?” He curiously stares at your fingers carding through his moppy hair, wondering why you’re so drawn to it. When you tell him that you simply want to appreciate every part of him, he merely smiles like a satisfied child before he takes that same hand running through his hair to place a chaste kiss in the palm.

“Hm?” He slyly smirks at your flustered expression. “I want to appreciate every part of (y/n)-chin too, obviously.”

Hanamiya Makoto

Most would be very afraid to be in the near vicinity of Hanamiya Makoto. You’re one of the very few who would approach him so unabashedly, let alone be direct about what you want from him. Even still, Hanamiya raises a thick brow at you before loudly scoffing at the question of you two possibly cuddling together because you “missed his touch.” He ignores you completely and turns his attention back to analyze his teammates practicing on the court, reclining his back further on the bleachers with a stretch. Yet, he’s inwardly ticked yet somewhat touched that you knew that he had no objections to you cozying up to him, without him needing to say anything. Ah, but the ever so “Bad Boy” wouldn’t easily let you approach him like so, and he knew from the way you were standing there expectantly, you knew too. After all, Hanamiya would never pass up an opportunity to potentially savor the sweet taste of misfortune of others, no matter how menial.

“Come over here, darling~” he coos with an open grin as he continues to relax with his arms behind his head, saccharine tone oozing with his dark, rich voice. “I can’t stand a moment without you by my side.” Of course, he once again feels conflicting emotions of subtle pride and irritation in being unsuccessful in embarrassing, flustering, or even provoking you in the slightest. When you settled yourself by his side with a casual scoff of your own, he immediately shot out his arm around your shoulders and cradled your head closer to lay on his shoulder. But he leans in close to your ear to hiss with his usual infuriating sneer, “Like I’d ever say that, dumbass.” You only respond with a customary retort before snuggling closer against him, pulling his arm around your side for more optimal cuddles.

Even despite the harsh rebuke, his touch is gentle, reverring, protective one would dare say, even if his eyes are currently more occupied watching the court than you.

“... Hey,” he curtly calls out after some minutes later, flicking your ear with the hand around your shoulders to ensure you are listening to him. He gets a small sense of satisfaction seeing your dismayed expression. “You’re being awfully damn clingy lately. Are you actually that fucking touch-starved?” Yet again, his actions betray his words, the same fingers that harshly flicked your ear were now softly toying with your hair near your temple in a clumsy, nonverbal attempt to soothe you.

He hates how you somehow knew yet again how he meant that he was only curious about your recent actions, the way you cheekily replied back how he’s actually reciprocating the cuddles with a raspberry tongue to try to provoke a reaction from his end. And he hates it even more when he willingly lets you reciprocate the soft touches when you tuck his shoulder-length hair behind his ear.

But all he could do to save face was to click his tongue arrogantly. Even still, you somehow see straight through him.

Imayoshi Shoichi

“My, my, those are quite some puppy eyes you’re shooting at me, hm?” Imayoshi relaxes his posture and lays back against the couch to give his signature closed-eye smile. “To think you were this needy.” He simply cocks his head innocently, but you knew something ulterior simmered behind that grin. Even without opening his eyes, his “stare” was still overwhelming in intensity that you couldn’t help but squirm and debate to take back your request.

“Ho? What’s with that look, my dear (y/n)? Don’t mind me darling, keep doing what you were doing before… Hm? I’m being mean?... I’m only graciously doing what you asked me to do. You wanted my attention, correct? You have my full attention now…” His smirk only grows wider when you huff at his comments. “You meant that you wanted to cuddle when you asked for my attention…? Now, now, (y/n), you know that greed is the greatest vice… Still, how cute of you to try to monopolize all of me so.”

Before you can either utter a single comeback or simply leave the room, he abruptly wraps his arms around you and immediately encloses you between his legs. You look up to try to scold him for being so difficult, but all words are caught in your throat when his eyes are slightly open in relishing your figure in his embrace. He merely smiles at your stunned silence, although he knew that you could tell that it was a genuine, affectionate one.

As you begin to relax, Imayoshi rubs gentle circles on your arms, occasionally giving a goading comment or two that elicited eyerolls from your end. Eventually, when you fall into a light snooze from his therapeutic touches, he stares at you fondly for quite some time before an idea crept into his mind.

“My dear (y/n)...” he purrs into your ear. “Am I really reduced to a body pillow for your convenience, my love? I’m hurt.” When you slightly jolt awake from the unexpected closeness of his voice, he merely chuckles at your reaction before hugging you tighter and settling his head atop your shoulder. “Well, I must admit, you’re quite lucky that I’m just as greedy for your attention, darling. In fact, if you’re not careful, I might just end up becoming greedier if you end up forgetting about me… eh? You wouldn’t…? Really now… you’re insisting that I can also ask you for attention, any time?...

… how cute, (y/n), but I must warn you to be careful about what you say, yes? Hm? You really do mean it?... ‘only for you,’ you say? Hah… you really are adorable… quite beyond my expectations.”

Imagine his actual, shell-shocked surprise when you suddenly turn around to face him to nuzzle into his neck with a sneaky kiss attack. He stiffens up, his eyes fully blown open to process the sudden sensation his body just experienced, and he could do nothing but chuckle with a slight chagrined blush.

“... You really never cease to amaze me, hm?”

Kagami Taiga

When you mentioned how cold today was, he already knew since that morning; his body has always had an aversion to the cold, and unfortunately for him, he just happened to be more sensitive to lower temperatures than the average person too.

“Well, yeah… I guess it’s been cold,” Kagami mumbles, scooting himself closer to the kotatsu in an attempt to absorb more of the brazier’s heat. And he’s been sitting there almost motionless for nearly an hour, closing his eyes and breathing softly to conserve his body heat.

When he finally opens his eyes again, Kagami turns to you to invite you to a seat next to him, but he nervously gulps when he sees you standing there with a mischievous look on your face. Who knows how long you’ve been observing him?

When you open your mouth to suggest cuddling to stave off the cold, he erupts a cherry red, knowing full well you were taking advantage of his tendency to get cold extremely easily. But you didn’t stop there. You teased him that he ignored you the entire time, and so, cuddles were only appropriate to make it up to you.

Kagami suddenly felt warm from the rush of blood rising to his face and neck.

“C-C-Cuddle?!... well, yeah… w-we’ve done this before… No! I’m not thinking anything more out of it…! It’s just… I—well, no! It’s not that I don’t wanna cuddle! It’s just…” He sputters, but stops when he realizes that he just admitted to not objecting to having a cuddle session, and he merely sweatdrops when he sees a victorious grin growing wider on your cheeks. “Fine… you must be cold too, right?—Wha, where did that blanket even come from?!”

You immediately plopped the weighted fleece blanket over his shoulders like a cape and tackled him with a hug, making sure to tug the blanket over your own body too. Kagami can only react by catching you while trying to break both of your falls, and he topples from his criss-cross sitting position to end up laying next to you, face-to-face.

“S-Stop squirming… how else are we supposed to cuddle if you keep moving under this heavy-ass blanket…? Pfft, well, it’s pretty warm now, huh? Come closer, yeah?” He nudges your head up against his chest, and his breath fans over your head as you sling your own arm over his waist.

“I dunno about you, but I wanna stay like this for a while… if that’s okay with you.”

[orange-waterfalls]

Unnecessary Feelings

The Host x gn!reader

ty anon for the request

A/N: BRO. Bro. Bro I. I am so proud of this one don’t even look at me. Also happy spooky month! Might do something with that, idk though. This is more of another character study with the Host, I’ll be honest. I still think it’s pretty cute, though. I didn’t read back through this, lmk about any mistakes. Enjoy!

Word Count: 2.4k

Unnecessary Feelings

Host isn’t particularly looking for a relationship, of any sort. Not necessarily. It would be nice, but it isn’t at the forefront of his mind. It’s not that important. Change is weird. He’s been in his same office, writing the same kind of stories, with the same kind of people. That’s fine. He likes that. He likes his novels, his protagonists, and his office.

He explained all of these things to Wilford and Darkiplier, but neither was having it. That’s how he ended up staying at the manor for a while, while his place was being “renovated”. He didn’t know how much he trusted Wilford to “renovate” correctly. 

Wilford likes pink. A lot. Host doesn’t. He can't see it, but he knows it. Pink was loud. Pink smelled like raspberries and icing and cherry blossoms and shrimp. It sounded like fair music and joyful screaming and chalk scraping on the ground. It felt smooth and soft and squishy. It tasted like sugar, sugar, sugar, too much to be healthy. Pink made his brain hurt. He doesn’t like pink. Wilford likes pink. Wilford… Wilford fucking loves pink. And Wilford will say it’s pink, and Host will know it’s pink, and even though he can’t see it, he’ll be upset that it’s pink. He doesn’t like pink. He doesn’t know how to say it. So he doesn’t. And he copes.

He takes the opportunity to talk to the others staying at the manor, which was pretty much just Dr. Iplier and… you. Dr. Iplier was a… reasonable man. He was boring. Very boring, really. He directed every conversation to discuss your health or a weird patient he had recently, neither of which really interested the Host. He didn’t enjoy talking to Dr. Iplier too much. 

You, however…

Were also kind of boring?

Well, you mostly just wandered around, reading, cleaning, sleeping, not doing much else. He didn’t initiate conversation and neither did you. If you sat next to him on the couch and he sat a little straighter and breathed a little faster, that was simply a coincidence. And the urge to talk to you about his novel for hours was simply boredom. And the desire to listen to you talk for hours was… it was none of your goddamn business is what it was. He didn’t like you, but he didn’t dislike you either. He felt nothing. You made him feel nothing. This didn’t mean anything.

Really. 

It didn’t.

But, entirely too fast, Dark and Wil were done. Or rather, whoever they hired was done. Which was good. Host bid you two goodbye. Dr. Iplier told him to drink plenty of water but not too much, and you told him you’d keep an eye out for his newest novel. He felt like he should be blushing right now, he felt it in his face. Nobody commented, so he assumed he didn’t. He felt a thing happen in his chest as he looked at the two of you. 

He didn’t like either of you, and if he kept telling himself that, maybe it would come true.

He received a new office. It was much cleaner and brighter, and he actually had room to think. There was an espresso machine in the corner atop a pink table, a “dandelion” yellow couch next to it, a pastel pink desk against the opposite wall, and a few “motivational” posters on the baby blue walls. At least from what he’d heard. Wilford did his best to explain the room. He appreciated that the walls were not, in fact, pink like he expected.

He had to walk around a few times, keep track of his steps, and get used to the new layout. It’s a good room. Clean. No nails sticking out of the floor, no rats scurrying around, no cobwebs, no holes, no nothing. Clean and quiet. Clean. And. Quiet.

… 

He fucking hates the goddamn room.

Who likes silence? Who enjoys that? Who wants to be stuck in a suffocatingly clean office with nothing but their thoughts for hours at a time? Homicidal people, that’s who.

Ignore the fact that he has homicidal tendencies and has almost killed/has killed several people, that doesn’t matter right now.

He can just sit and deal. He can take the office, try to coax the rats into coming back, buy some spiders, and write. No big deal.

Except what if he didn’t deal? What if he told them he hated it and couldn’t work in these conditions? What if he was forced to stay at the manor again? What if he could… talk… and interact with people? Without anything barring him from doing so?

He’s… not lonely. 

He’s not lonely. 

He’s not.

But if he stays in the manor again while Wilford talks about how he has no taste and Darkiplier decides to be in charge of the renovation now, that’s not his fault.

Bim, Eric, and you were staying at the manor when he had to. For the second time. Bim had a thing for rom-coms and dramedy movies, and Eric had started to pick that thing up. You and Host also watched the movies, but whether you actually liked them was beyond him. Usually, you made fun of them together. He couldn’t see them, but he could hear a lot of the ridiculous dialogue. He could drop two random people in a closed-off room together and they’d have more chemistry than half of these Hallmark Christmas Movie couples. You were very quiet during “To All The Boys I Loved Before”, however, so either you loved it or you hated it. He couldn’t really tell.

You two talked a little less than before, you being preoccupied with Eric. Host was fine with that. He could just… talk to you whenever you were done. But you apparently had a low social battery and trapped yourself in a room whenever you were done talking to Eric. That was fine. Host didn’t need to be happy anyways. 

He may or may not have showed up at your door first thing in the morning sometimes to get the chance to talk to you. You didn’t know, so it was fine.

But Eric and Bim were smart. They picked up on the Host’s… “feelings” and desire to talk to you. If either were in a room with you and Host, they immediately left so that you could talk. It worked, and Host was happy, but he felt kind of bad.

No. No he didn’t. He felt no emotion towards anyone or anything. The suit he bought for Bim and the journal he bought for Eric meant absolutely nothing. It was a business transaction. You can’t prove anything.

Somehow quicker than before, the room was fixed. Again. And you, Eric, and Bim saw him off. Eric’s voice sounded wet and Bim sounded a little sad as well. You sounded… fine. But he had a suspicion that you knew you were going to see him again soon. And Host was not upset, of course not. And if he was thankful his eyes weren’t exactly working properly because otherwise he might have shed a few tears, it was completely unrelated. You can’t prove anything.

The new room was completely black and white. Black laptop and a white desk with a black chair. White walls and a black floor. A white couch against the wall. No espresso machine this time, which slightly disappointed the Host. 

Darkiplier sounded proud when he explained the room. Host could see why, it sounded very pretty. Which he tried to say when he turned to Darkiplier. But his traitorous mouth instead said:

“Host asks if this room is meant for the Host or you?”

The Host was teleported back to the manor this time. Wilford was standing out in front, Host knew because he heard the man’s distinct yell of surprise. He also smelled gunsmoke and wine.

“Wilford.”

“Host. What are you doing here?”

“The Host asks what you are doing here?”

“... I asked you first.”

“The Host asked you second.”

“... business. You?”

“... business.”

“Ah… well, cheers.” Quick footsteps get quieter as Wilford runs away. Host stood for a moment,  debating whether or not to apologize to Dark. Before he could decide, the door opened.

“Host?” You asked. Host instantly felt himself straighten up and ball his fists.

“Hello.” He said stiffly.

“Another renovation?” He heard the smile in your voice and forced himself not to smile back.

“Host assumes so.” He nodded.

“So…” You sighed.

“So?” He tilted his head.

“Are you coming in?” You asked. Host let himself smile as he walked into the manor.

He didn’t see you all too much for the rest of the week, and he was severely disappointed. There wasn’t really anybody staying there, just a few people visiting over a few days. Yancy, Illinois, and maybe Bing, if the sound of a skateboard at 3 in the morning was any clue. He was pretty much alone. And that was fine. He was usually alone. He was used to it. This was fine.

Maybe he should stop lying to himself so often.

All too soon, he was on his way back. Again. You were the only one to see him off this time.

“Well… um…” You started. The tension between you two was like a punch to the gut. You were perfectly fine before. What happened?

“Host bids you farewell,” He nodded politely and turned around. Maybe if he left quickly, it wouldn’t hurt as much.

“Wait, Host!” You called. He froze. “I’m, uh… I’m coming with you.” He spun around to face you.

“Host… asks what you mean?”

“I wanna… see your office. I mean, if I’m… allowed to visit?” You said meekly. Host felt his heart quicken.

“The Host would love-like that,” He coughed as he corrected himself. 

“Ok, good,” He could hear the smug smile in your voice. Damn him and his… feelings.

The commute to his thrice-new office was almost silent. Neither of you said anything. You most likely wanted to wait for the Host to start the conversation, but he didn’t want to bother you if you didn’t want to talk. It was a little awkward. But after a while, it became comfortable. He liked just being in your presence.

He thought that was what he would miss most about the manor.

You both stood outside of his office door when you arrived.

“Well… here we are.” You whispered. Host nodded solemnly. “Do you want to do the honors.” Host lifted his hand to the doorknob, feeling himself shake. He clutched the doorknob, not moving an inch. He could feel your eyes on him. You were worried. This was fine. 

You could visit. But what if you didn’t want to? What if you saw his stories? What if you thought he was cruel? He was, but not to you. He would never be to you. He could stop. He could write different stories. He could write a romance! It would still affect people’s lives, but for the better? At least until the story ended and he had no control over it. What if you wanted him to stop? He couldn’t just stop. Would you give him an ultimatum? You wouldn’t… would you?

“Host--” You started. He whipped around to face you.

“The Host does not want to enter the room.” He said, voice wavering a little. He cleared his throat. Embarrassing.

“What? Ho-”

“The Host wants to talk to people. The Host… wants friends. The Host wants to stay with you and the others.” He grits out. God, this was pathetic. Was he begging? 

“Host, open the door.” You sighed. The Host froze. What? Why were you… what?

Oh. So that was it. You were seeing him off… for the last time. You didn’t… you… didn’t like… 

Right. Yeah. You were a polite person. He should’ve known.

“But…” He trailed off and faced the floor.

“Host, I really think you should open the door,” You said, the smile clear in your voice. His eyebrows furrowed. Well, you didn’t have to be so eager about it, Jesus.

The Host grabbed the doorknob and threw the door open with a crack against the wall.

“Jesus, man!” Bim’s distinct game show voice sounded from inside the room. Left front corner. “What’s got your boxers in a bunch?”

“I always thought he was a boxer-briefs man.” Dr. Iplier said from the opposite side.

“I can confirm that he is, in fact, a boxer-briefs man.” Google said from the same place as Dr. Iplier.

“I honestly would’ve thought commando.” Eric’s voice was muffled, as if he was facing away from everyone else.

What… What the fuck?

“What. The fuck.” He said loudly. You clapped a hand on his shoulder, making him jump.

“Surprise! We’re invading your office. Please don’t resist.” He could, again, hear the smirk on your face. He almost wanted to be mad. Almost.

“What?” He turned to you. You let go of him and stepped in.

“We fixed your room! You got your bland-ass beige walls, your hardwood floor, cobwebs, dust, and I think there’s a rat somewhere in the walls…”

“His name is Remy!” Eric said happily.

“Sorry, Remy is somewhere in the walls.” Host didn’t move, still processing this whole situation.

“The Host… doesn’t understand…” He rubbed his temples.

“Well, you seemed… lonely. And we like spending time with you. So… we’re gonna spend time with you!” Bim explained.

“You don’t have to do things alone anymore. Just… call someone up and we’ll come hang out.” Dr. Iplier said.

“Only if you ask, though.” Eric added softly. Host didn’t move for a long while.

The others began to fidget, thinking they did something wrong. Eventually, he took a breath, and everyone else held theirs.

“Is… is the Host’s equipment still here?” He asked.

“Your writing stuff? Yeah, it’s on the desk.” You answered. Host went quiet again, thinking.

“Do… You guys want to help the Host write something?” He mumbled.

“Hell yeah we do!” You clapped your hands once. Host made his way over to his desk. All the others, including you, crowded around him as soon as he sat down, pushing each other to get a good look.

This was slightly claustrophobic and pretty uncomfortable… 

…

It was perfect.

[aspidities]

It’s good to be back. 👋

So I did the whole ‘where I’ve been and how I’m doing’ post on Patreon a week or so back, and now it’s finally time for the Tumblr Version, in bullet points for your benefit!

1. Where have I been:

Well, like, still here. But just….I don’t know, not motivated. I moved in October (big yay!) and we got ourselves the puppy, both of which are great and also big life things. Do you know what no one tells you about raising a puppy? It’s like raising a baby. But WORSE. Babies can’t bite you or your furniture or destroy an entire $20 toy the second your back is turned—at least so I’m told.

And yes, I knew this going in and I still had much to learn, lol. Non stop sleep deprivation from nightly poop runs and lack of energy due to constant puppy supervision is a real drag on the old’ creative engine.

Is it worth it though?

Yes. Oh yes.

So 2. How is the puppy?

Great! Cloud took a long time to learn to sleep through the night but honestly he was otherwise an angel to deal with. Never had many accidents indoors, loves every dog and person he meets and is my girlfriend’s dog’s best friend. He’s now fully housebroken, sleeps through the night, knows about ten tricks, and mostly leaves the cats alone. He’s 6mos and a massive hunk at 54lbs and is the absolute best boy ever. Just the dumbest, sweetest, most obedient kid on the block. I love him and he’s my son, and I am his Dad.

So yeah, he’s doing great. You can even follow his Instagram @forecast_of_cloud where I am a huge Best in Show Dog Dad and post nearly every day.

3. Why haven’t I been posting here?

Well, aside from the puppy madness as described above, I have been going through several different creative and emotional journeys, and, as usual, have been totally unable to articulate any of them. Despite writing words being…y’know, the thing that I do.

First, Supergirl ended and that was kind of a wake up call in a way. I didn’t know what else to write once it had finished. I had existing ideas and I wanted to finish them but then….what next?

I’ve been writing fanfic for almost five years now, after a long hiatus from my teenage years, and it’s been wonderfully cathartic but ultimately I saw it originally as a means to an end: to get myself writing more original work. But that’s scary. Honestly, it is. Fanfic is so safe—you can rely on that framework of someone else’s plot, even a barely sketched out one, to hang your own design on. Writing your own work? Hard. Much harder. And no one cares as much as they do about your fanfic—with good reason! It’s harder to break into something you don’t know about.

But lately I have this feeling like I need to try. I’m not done writing fanfic (I still have to give Arcane and Yellowjackets a shot!), and i’m not done writing Supergirl—I just think my priorities have shifted in a big way. And it took me a long time to come to terms with that.

In addition, I found myself feeling more comfortable on the masc side of the non binary world than I ever expected, and the growth and change from that has been huge.

Luckily I have a lot of support and love in my life to help me along that way. ;)

Which brings me to 4. How are things in my relationship?

Awesome. 🥰

J is a wonderful partner and she’s been the main cheerleader for my original work. She is fierce wit, morbid humor, a devilishly good dress sense and a warm little weight on my chest all wrapped in a lacy package that smells of lavender and Yves St Laurent Black Opium. She cares so much about my well-being, both as a person and an artist, and she’s also supporting me in my masc journey by gleefully dressing me up every chance she gets. In return I make her breakfast almost every morning and rub her back every night. We make a beautiful pair of symbiotic creatures. I am a shrimp and she is my goby and we danced to Frank Sinatra while putting up our little Jewish Christmas tree and squeezed each other’s hands while singing along to Hedwig and the Angry Inch on our theatre Valentines date. It’s love, baby. What more is there to say?

So that’s the news from Asptown, where the women are beautiful and the men aren’t cis! I hope you all haven’t missed me too much. I’ll be posting more regularly and i’m STILL going through my messages so just hang in there with me if I haven’t got to you yet. It’s a good thing to be so well regarded, even if it can be overwhelming. I appreciate the heck out of you all. ❤️

[asimovsideburns]

Session summary time! It’s technically-Friday even for me so I’m cutting it a bit close BUT I haven’t gone to bed yet so it’s. Fine. That’s a different problem. This post will be scheduled for a reasonable time, at which point I will most likely be asleep.

Lucky session 13, here we go

I just opened up Foundry to check stuff and it looks like we only had four rolls the whole session, including the one that got rolled with real dice. It was definitely a shorter session but by GOD did we fill it with roleplay, which I will mostly summarize here because I unfortunately am unable to provide word for word transcriptions or recordings that would fully do justice to my brilliant players and it’s been a week so I’m a bit hazy on exact wording.

We pick up where we left off, Sennin surrendering and Nim rushing to him. Nim is angry, Nim is worried, Nim is allowing themself to experience emotion for the first time in a long time. Sennin is numb.

The party has questions. For both of them.

Shrimp needs to read this situation, read these people. Shrimp has -2 to insight. On a natural 20, our homebrew +3 rule brings that up to a 21, which means that Shrimp knows with absolute certainty that everything said for the rest of this conversation is said with the full belief of the speaker that what is said is true.

Nim fusses over Sennin, who responds with anger. Why are they worried about him now? Why do they care now, when they never did before? Now, when he has use to them, because they don’t love him, because they never loved him, and he never should have accepted their proposal, never should have let them use him to hide from whatever they were running from.

Wait hang on a second. Can we get a record scratch sound effect on that? Nim’s proposal? Uh, Nim didn’t propose, Sennin did. Their marriage was arranged for political reasons, a mutually beneficial partnership. What is he talking about?

While this is happening, Adva is holding Shrimp, and Mason comes over and takes her hand, a silent show of support as Adva looks away, fighting back tears.

We don’t have time to unpack of Nim’s marriage issues right now, though, because what we really need to address is this journal. The journal that Nim copied painstakingly by hand, which contains a record of their adventure so far, including the Falcon incident and the execution of Corwin by Chantry and Adva as Shrimp stood by.

Except, Nim explains, that none of them are mentioned by name. No personally identifiable information is present. The only person mentioned by name, with the blame thrown squarely at his feet, is the man who hired them, James Schaefer, who gave them no more instruction than to go and help people and keep his name out of it to avoid political fallout.

Because Nim believes that people have the right to know, and that they have the obligation to tell them. To act as a voice for those without a voice.

The people do know, Shrimp says, we rode back into town with Falcon’s victims’ remains and gave them a proper rest and the people know what happened!

The people here know, says Nim, but the people everywhere need to know. That’s my purpose, the thing I was raised to do.

Shrimp says, that’s insane.

The thing is, Mason says, that Corwin was just as guilty as Falcon! Adva said that—

Stop, Adva says. She needs to tell them something. She tells them that Corwin was innocent. That he had nothing to do with Falcon’s crimes. That she lied to them.

Nim argues, says that James is still the one at fault, that he out Adva on this path.

Shrimp drops Adva’s hand and leaves, walking to the shrine.

Mason sits on the ground, head clasped in her hands.

Adva leaves, too, back to their rooms. She finds a letter, left on the pillow. On the envelope, “Missed you at the Sending office, this came for you. —Joseph.”

The letter is from Chantry, arrived a few days after he was called back to the Port. It begins, Dear Adva, I hope you are doing well, and that things over there have calmed down somewhat. I hope Pell is alright, too. I asked around about Aalin, it continues, and James gave me some information to pass along.

The information is this: Aalin was assigned to a research expedition, top secret, no communication allowed. The expedition was searching for something, an incredible find. The expedition leader claimed to have found it. They dropped out of contact. Chantry is helping to coordinate search efforts right now.

While Aalin was safe, James held on to this information until he could be sure he could trust her, but now he feels that he cannot keep it from her any longer.

Adva leaves the letter on the bed and goes to the shrine, where Shrimp went after Adva’s confession.

They went to the altar, where they made their vow, where they did not make an offering, where they took a wooden bowl and shattered it and said these pieces are not something broken but something new, and I will take them with me.

There he found a mortar and pestle in his bags, and the coffee bean Adva gave her, and he ground it into a paste with the rain that still fell from the clear, cloudless sky. She coated her hand with the paste, and pressed it against the stone alcove of the altar that the mirror rests inside, leaving a mark and letting the rain wash away only as much as it would. As they turned away, they saw Adva standing at the entrance of the shrine.

I think I have to leave, Adva says.

I have to stay, Shrimp replies. I have work to do here. I want to know you, but I don’t know which of us it would break, and I can’t let it be me.

I think I’m already broken, Adva says.

Shrimp asks, where will you go?

Adva replies, home.

They embrace. As Shrimp presses their coffee-paste-coated hand into the base of Adva’s neck, they speak their final words to each other.

“I love you, Eyeless Cave Shrimp.”

“I love you, too, Adva Ezra.”

Adva leaves, and Shrimp doesn’t tell anyone. They know that, if they do, someone might stop her.

That night they sleep on the floor of their room, the room that they reconciled in, unable to sleep in the bed they shared.

Mason and Nim are at the edge of town, with Sennin. Nim wants nothing more than to sit there and stare into the forest. Mason is worried that if she lets all of her party members out of her sight, then this, the one good thing to happen to her in a long time, will fall apart. The three of them stay there until they finally return to the tavern and go to sleep.

In the morning, Mason passes by the door to Adva and Shrimp’s room and sends a message cantrip to Adva.

On a 21 arcana check, a few thoughts pass through her head. That she can hear her own words, which means that the spell has failed. That the door can’t be blocking the spell like she thinks at first, because there’s a crack at the bottom it can pass through. That the range of the spell is 120 feet, which means it should reach anywhere in the building. Which means that Adva isn’t in the building.

She knocks on the door. Shrimp, do you know where Adva is?

We need to talk, says Shrimp. Everybody.

And that’s where we end our session.

[theyarebothgunshot]

I'm gonna add sthg to the Jensen defense squad here- three things that have really stuck with me over the years and impressed me about Jensen:

1) During the peak of "me too" when lots of actors were suddenly called out for their shitty behaviour and plenty were probably shaking in their boots, afraid they'd be next, Jensen passed the whole thing with flying colors. Not only was there not a single woman who had anything negative to say about him (not that I thought there would be, but still), but there were actually multiple woman citing him as a positive example of decent and respectful behavior and he was called a rare gem of a man in the business by one woman.

2) The multiple people who went to school with him and told stories about Jensen protecting them from bullying/just generally being really kind to them. Maybe I'm jaded by my own awful experiences with teenage boys in high school, but that struck me as pretty impressive for a boy that age, especially one that had the potential to be a huge asshole due to being popular, athletic, ridiculously good-looking, raised in a judgemental environment etc.

3) The huge growth Jensen has shown when it comes to social issues and politics. From what I've heard and seen of Jensen's father (and there is some pretty awful stuff out there in the depths of the internet), Jensen almost certainly wasn't raised to be supportive of LGBT issues for example and he used to be a registered republican a long time ago iirc. So whether Jensen actually is [gunshots] himself or whether he and Misha really have some kind of thing going on or not, seeing him for example be so supportive of LGBT charities or liking tweets like the one by Chris Evans or the owl house thing is huge. I know plenty of men with similar backgrounds as Jensen and most of them never got that far or even began to question the world views they were raised with.

So, all in all, I get the impression that Jensen is a pretty kind-hearted and caring guy and always has been at his core.

i’m feeling very parasocial in this chilis tonight. i just. he came so far!!! from such a hard place!!!! i am feeling shrimp emotions. dont look at me.

[coffeeandcalligraphy]

A chatty writing update | novels, short fiction, etc!

Hi folks!

It’s been a while since I last wrote an update on this blog! I thought it’d be fun to go back to basics, and just talk about writing. This post chats about: new plans for Feeding Habits, my newest novel, my short story goals & growing collection, along with process reflections.

(image description: a photo of green leaves with the text “writing update” in a white font written on top. /end image description)

Post starts under the cut!

General taglist (please ask to be added or removed)

@if-one-of-us-falls, @qatarcookie, @chloeswords, @alicewestwater, @laughtracksonata, @shylawrites, @ev–writes, @jaydewritesfiction, @jennawritesstories @eowynandfaramir, @august-iswriting, @aetherwrites, @avakrahn, @maisulli

What have I been up to?

For starters, I finished my second year of my Writing undergrad last week and got two of my final grades back today (A+ baby)! For anyone who has taken online university, y’all already KNOW, but this year was so difficult. Would not recommend! Really proud of myself to have gotten through this absolute rollercoaster of a school term and am excited to get into some writing. That leads us to:

What have I been up to (writing edition)?

2021 started off so fast. By the time January hit, I was so consumed in my new semester that I did not have time to write Feeding Habits (my novel). In the first few days of the term, I managed to write between class, until I could no longer keep up! Essentially, I did not write any of that novel until exam season (last week), where I did manage to get in about 3k words in ~4 days.

Feeding Habits

I’m currently drafting what I believe will be the last chapter of this book (chapter 10: Swan Song). This chapter is so bizarre for a few reasons. It begins the book’s third part and also marks the shift back into Lonan’s head from Harrison’s. I originally thought this part would be much, much longer, with at least another five chapters to go, but quickly realized the book’s content was nearly completed. In my 4 day 3k palooza, I hit 50k in the book (the word count goal), and couldn’t see myself extending past 60k. Since then, I’ve made the loose decision to write this final chapter as a ~novella. Here are a few reasons why:

1. This chapter is structurally very strange.

I unashamedly shift from present to past to present to past past, and so much more every 12 words. I mapped out the timeline on a sheet of paper, and there were over 20 shifts in scenes (the chapter is only about 4400 words at the moment). The fictive past is incredibly important to this chapter, more important than the present, and I thought it would make more sense to not break randomly for a chapter so I could upkeep the consistent inconsistency of the chapter.

2. The chapter is very abstract

This stems from the structural changes, but there are paragraphs in this chapter of the fictive present that are loosely based in reality. They’re more poems than they are factual paragraphs, and keeping them all contained in one place (so a mega chapter/ novella) would reduce the most confusion!

3. There’s not much left to cover

Like I said above, Feeding Habits is on its last leg, lol! I know exactly where the book needs to end up, which is very, very soon from where I’m currently at on the timeline. Swan Song should cover what 2-4 chapters would cover in terms of arcs.

Feeding Habits and I have a really weird relationship, tbh! When I realized a few weeks ago that it’d been over a year since I started the book, I realized I just needed to finish it. Not that I want to rush (because I’ve taken longer than a year to write a book in the past), but that in order to move onto another project, I’d like to put this one behind first. This book has been the hardest thing I’ve ever written, and has reminded me there’s always a time to let go. This sort of scrounges up a conversation about letting this entire series go, which is certainly something I’ve been contemplating doing soon(ish). If this spinoff series gets a third book, that may or may not be the last Fostered book for a very long time (or ever)! There are many complex reasons to move on, but the main one is that I have other projects I’d like to focus on. This is not a definitive decision, but something I’ve certainly been thinking about!

Here are a few excerpts I wrote recently:

(TW: death, gore)

Dying feels like being a trout dangled out of water. Clinging to a hook. Mouth open. Scales iridescent in a final death cry. It’s like blood spurting up the knuckles, drowning out the flesh. It’s that moment on the long fall down when the clouds cup the body. Easy drifting. The sound a skull makes when it cracks is really just the afterthought.

(TW: death, gore)

Kill shot. Death blow. Coup de grace. Right in the heart. He feels it. The blood swelling, slicking his palms. He can do it. Reach into the cavity. Feel for the ribs. Part each bone. Then cup the humming heart. Stay there. Right. It’s never been easier.

Look at this PURE moment of Lonan holding a baby I CANNOT:

The grocery store was a fifteen-minute walk away. With Olivia clinging to his shoulder, Lonan was acutely aware that she could feel his heartbeat. Open valve. Close. Repeat. Hers pulsed right above his, a miniature drumming. The sky had bruised purple, misted with clouds. The evening air nipped his cheeks, so he made sure Olivia was securely fastened between him and his jacket. With wide eyes, she absorbed the drowsy suburbia, all its family cars pulling into driveways, all its couples heading back home after a sunset walk. When Lonan passed a young boy walking two golden retrievers, Olivia giggled, and didn’t stop, even after he’d spent fifty dollars on groceries and nearly the rest on a red Corolla marked with a MUST GO NOW sign outside a convenience store.

Let’s move on!

Mandy and Cora

I said I wouldn’t talk too much about this project, but I just love it so much?? I wanted to share my SUPER early thoughts on drafting a novel, especially one that is SO different from what I’ve been writing recently. I talked about this before in THIS post, but the summary about this project is that it’s a YA contemporary novel! Can’t believe I’m writing YA again, it’s been so long, but I also think it’s going so well. Everything I’ve learned as a literary fiction writer has been a fantastic primer for transferring back to the genre. Admittedly, I have not written much, but I’m having a lot of fun diving back into a lighter project. This is the summary:

Cora and Mandy are identical twins who’ve always done everything together. But when Mandy decides to go to university out of province after graduation and Cora doesn’t, Cora takes this as an opportunity to “test run” life apart from her sister for the first time by spending the summer at her aunt’s house across the country.

I have come up with a few ~things since I last talked about this project, mostly how I’d like to structure it. As of now, I’d like the book to be structured super loosely. I’m really pulling on a lot of inspo from “We Are Okay” by Nina LaCour (which is SO good), particularly how “nothing happens-y” that book is. This project (which I still need a title for!!) will be structured in short chapters that cover something Cora does on her own for the first time (without Mandy). For example, a few ideas are “Flight”, “Lunch”, and “Groceries”. “Flight” is the first “chapter” (they’re really kind of vignettes) where Cora flies to her aunt’s house. I still can’t determine if this book will take place in Canada. On one hand, I feel like there will be a wider audience if it takes place in the US (is that just an assumption??? maybe?? someone let me know!), but also: don’t really care too much about an audience at the moment! It could also take place in Canada (So Ontario and British Columbia). But if it does take place in the US, I think it may take place in NYC and San Francisco. The problem is: I really don’t like researching lol, and while I’ve been to NYC many times, I will definitely write it wrong! Does this really matter on a first draft?? absolutely not lol, but of course I am already overthinking!

But back to structure: I am looking forward to seeing what this looser structure will do. This is a story that is solely around one half of a set of twins learning to be her own person (and ultimately that she doesn’t have to completely forget her sister in order to do that), and as a twin who KNOWS this feeling, I think this structure of her doing things for the first time is SUPER relatable.

I was worried it might sound silly/worrying to others who are not twins that Cora hadn’t done things like “lunch” or “groceries” on her own, but I feel this so much as an identical twin myself! Not that she hasn’t done anything at all by herself, but as a twin, when you do something without your twin for the first few times, at least in my experience, you notice. If any twins are reading this--weigh in!

This story is the most personal thing I’ve ever written. It definitely is an OwnVoices book! Usually, I avoid details that are remotely similar to me because they make me uncomfortable haha, but with this book, it’s all me, lol! The characters are all Guyanese, which is SO fun because I’ve been planning what they eat (my fellow Caribbean peeps know: the FOOD!), which is so fun (yes they have pumpkin and shrimp, yes they have roti, yes they have pera, yes they have mithai). Every time I’ve gone to dabble at this book, or even think about it, I get incredibly emotional for this reason? I don’t exactly know why. I think this is a story I just so want to tell, with the culture I love SO much that I definitely struggled to love as a child. This is reclamation bitchessss!

Not going to lie tho: the prospect of writing ~a book~ is kind of freaky! I’m going to make the minimum word count for this book pretty short (50k) and see where it goes from there. I think I will focus on this project this summer! Originally I was going to write a literary novel this summer, but I think this one’s calling my name!

Here’s a pretty rough excerpt:

Try. I remind myself that’s what I’m doing after the flight attendant fills me a disposable cup of Coca Cola and all I can think of is Mandy and I shoving Mentos into a bottle of the stuff when we were twelve. Just me, wedged in the middle seat between an exchange student heading out for summer break and a middle-aged woman sipping a cocktail, thinking of Mandy and I bursting whole oranges in a blender when we were bored one Winter break as the plane dips through a wave of turbulence. Mandy and I dying our hair neon green with highlighters (didn’t work—our hair is too dark) as the plane lands on the tarmac. Mandy and I arguing so loud last month, we both lost our voices as I lug my carry-on out of the overhead compartment and shuffle off the plane and through the airport, searching for Aunt Vel.

Short Fiction

I’ve written so much short fiction this year! I have a goal to write a short story a month (they can range in length, as long as 1 is “complete”), so my short story brain has seriously been soaking it all up lately. Let’s chat my month to month breakdown so far:

January:

I wrote four stories in January! The first is a flash fiction piece called “Shark Swimming” that follows a young woman who attends a shark swimming class after breaking up with her girlfriend. I wrote this story for a “test” workshop for my fiction class, and it was based off the prompt “think about something you’re afraid to do and make the character do that thing”. I’m not particularly afraid of sharks, but had been wanting to use the title “Shark Swimming” for AGES (literally since 2018).

This story is one of my favourites. It’s only about 900 words, but I think there’s something profound in how mundanely specific it is. The entire story doesn’t even see the narrator swim with sharks once; it actually takes place fully in the sanctuary’s lobby. But I really love this narrator. This is the first story I’ve written in second person in a while, though I felt really connected to the unnamed narrator. She struggles with accepting that she truly is a “boring” person, and there’s something about the final image that really gets me!

I’ve been submitting this around, though it’s been rejected a handful of times. Hoping I can secure it at a magazine one day because I really love it!

The second story is “Joanne, I’ll Pray for You” which is actually a rewrite of one of my very first short stories (the first story I did not write for a class haha), “NYC in Your Apartment”. I LOVE this rewrite a lot, and also learned the original is not a very good short story! Revising this story taught me just how much I’ve learned in the 2 years I’ve been writing short fiction. Seeing the 2019 version versus the 2021 version side by side is fascinating because I essentially “gutted’ the 2019 version of its beginning and end until all that was left was the middle of the story (aka the actual story). AKA: this is the only story I’ve ever written with a hopeful ending and I cut out all the happy bits lol I am SO sorry (that arc is more for a novel or novella). That’s how this went from a 5k word story to an 1800 word story (my Submittable thanks me for this lol). A lot of details and scenes I included were more pertinent to a 3 act structure/novel, which of course short stories don’t often have because of their brevity. I love rambling about writing theory, and seeing that actually pay off is so fascinating!

(TW: trauma)

Like the original, this story follows Joanne, a woman in her early twenties, who spontaneously breaks up with her boyfriend. She claims the poltergeist haunting her drove her to this decision. The original draft focused a lot more on the traumatic events Joanne survives, but this draft really loosens them up. It focuses less so on the events themselves, and more on how Joanne’s life is affected. I found the details of these events were less important, and even sort of contradicted Joanne’s insistence she is being haunted. Instead, the poltergeist really takes more precedence in the new draft as a force Joanne doesn’t understand. That ambiguity, I think, is what the story truly needed.

I also centralized Joanne’s relationship with her boyfriend, Julian, here. Now don’t get me wrong, I really didn’t add anything to this draft. It was a matter of trimming the fat around it to leave the lean “meat” in the centre. But by removing that fat, I was able to emphasize what was most important here, and that was her relationship. Julian always played a really big role in the original draft, but I feel like his role as both a friend and partner to Joanne is much more emphasized since this draft literally is only two scenes now. Because there is less, there is more room for Joanne to reflect, which I’m happy about!

A final change I made was the setting and therefore the title. The original, which was “NYC in Your Apartment,” I couldn’t keep because I shifted the setting to Toronto (this is how I originally saw it, but in 2019 I just?? couldn’t?? write?? canlit??), and “Toronto in Your Apartment” sounded sort of gross LOL. The new title comes from a line in the story which I think is more relevant to the themes!

The next short story I wrote in January was “How to Spell Alpaca.” This one is super fun because I wrote it SO fast (in about 15 minutes or so). THIS is the writing update if you’re interested in learning more. I talked extensively about this one in that update, but some developments are that I dove into an edit a few weeks ago to really understand the core of the story. I’m still not quite there (this is just an intuitive feeling; I know not everything has “clicked), but I am really intrigued by the two mothers in the story, the narrator, and her newfound acquaintance, Violet. Both really struggle to understand their place as mothers (the narrator even declares she isn’t a mother anymore). The narrator, who is in her 50s, sees herself in Violet, who is much younger (~20s), and so she views Violet’s relationship with her daughter in a cautionary, yet mournful way, like she can see it will end up like her own relationship with her daughter, despite wanting the opposite. This is a really subtle story. I feel like if you blink, you’ll miss the message. But I think it’s compelling for that reason. It’s really a portrait of parenting and how to grapple with mistakes you may make that inevitably affect your children. Wow just unlocked the theme writing this lol.

The final story I wrote in January is “The Party,” which may be in my top 3 faves I’ve ever written. This story follows Aida, a recent divorcee in her ~40s. The day her divorce turns official, she moves into a new house and receives a party invitation addressed to the previous homeowner, yet RSVP’s anyway. At this party, she’s hoping to find some sense of noticeability, having struggled with being nondescript her whole life. Things seem quite normal at the party, until it gets bizarre.

I LOVE this story, y’all. Like “How to Spell Alpaca” it really delves into motherhood. Aida, our narrator, is incredibly hurt after her divorce. She now lives farther from her children she struggled to feel connected to in the first place, and doesn’t really know how to reignite her life. This party is a means to do that. This is the first story I’ve written that contains a “twist” which is strange because I really prefer stories that give us as much info as possible upfront, but yes, this one sort of twists.

February

I wrote one story in February, and that was “Protect the Young.” This title is SO changing when I think of a new one because it’s thematically incorrect, haha, but this story follows a woman in her late 40s whose daughter, Lindy, announces she is married the same day all their backyard chickens turn up dead. The discovery of dead chickens prompts our narrator to recall her ex-husband’s murder and the role her daughter may have played in his death.

I love this story so much! I think this would make a great closing for my short story collection. It just has that vibe! I wrote this for my second fiction workshop. I thought I had to hand in the story a week earlier than I had to, so I panicked and wrote this in one sitting! Little did I know, I did not need to do that lol but I’m very happy because this story is so fun. We get to learn more about Arnold (her ex), his relationship with Lindy, and how that translates to Lindy’s relationship with her new husband, Malcolm. I LOVE true crime (I listen to about 3-4 hours of case coverage daily), and this is my first “true crime” story. Because of that, I’m very sus of a few details that probably wouldn’t slide in actual investigatory work, so I’ll also be working on that in a revision. My professor also gave me a great suggestion that may alter the story’s structure a bit, though I look forward to toggling with it in the future.

March

In March, I was really on a Criminal Minds kick lol. I’ve been watching this show since I was seven (oops), and dove into a rewatch since it hit Disney+! This story, “Where to Run When the Lamb Roars,” is very clearly Rachel watching 5 episodes of CM a day. Oops! We follow 14-year-old Astrid as she and her older half brother kidnap a young girl to sacrifice for their yearly ritual.

I knew a few things going into this story, but the main thing was that I did NOT want to show any details of a potential murder (if one even occurs). I really wanted to keep all of those elements off the page because this story is not about those events, but about Astrid’s relationship with her brother. They are a murderous duo, with Astrid actually being the dominant partner. I wanted to explore that. I knew her brother, Fox, was more of a submissive partner in their team, even when he used to do this same thing with his father when he was much younger (chilling!), and so it was a task to explore how this young girl’s desire for violence works. The end actually comes right before the story starts, one could say, but I like it for this reason. It really made me contemplate the story by the time I finished it, and helped me examine what it really was about versus what it appeared to be about.

April

(TW: sexual content, non explicit)

I was so busy this month! Who knows if I’ll write a story last minute, but I did write one story this month called “Five Times Fast.” I wrote this during a “writing sprint” that was being hosted at a flash fiction workshop I recently took with one of my favourite writers ever, K-Ming Chang. I learned so much from this class, and am so happy I came out of it with a draft! This story is just over 300 words, so the shortest flash I’ve ever written, but I’m really happy with it. It was based off the prompt “describe the last time you or your character was naked.” In this case, the narrator has a “friends with benefits” relationship with Ricky who works at a laundromat. This story highlights a moment in this relationship (and also Ricky’s goofy personality lol). I really like it! Hopefully I’ll submit it to some magazines soon.

My short story collection

Very briefly I wanted to touch on my short story collection which I’ve titled “She is Also Dead.” I’ve been meaning to make a blog post on this, so look out for that in the coming months, but this collection is already at around 35k words (about 14 stories so far). The collection also surprisingly has a solid amount of flash fiction which is kind of fun! There’s definitely a range here, which is what I personally love in short story collections.

I feel very professional now that I have a ~collection chart. This is her:

(image description: A chart with the title “She is Also Dead.” It is broken into four columns: Story, Status, Word Count, and Published. Entry 1 - Story: Slaughter the Animal. Status: Revisions, Word Count, 3982, Published: N/A. Entry 2 - Story: Joanne, I’ll Pray for You, Status: Polished, Word Count: 1809, Published: N/A. Entry 3 - Story: Primary Organs, Status: Published, Word Count: 2342, Published: The Malahat Review. Entry 4 - Story: Faberge, Status, Polished, Word Count: 619, Published: N/A. Entry 5 - Story: The Wolf-Antelope Will Not Come for Us, Status, Polished, Word Count: 1556, Published: filling Station (forthcoming). Entry 6 - Story: How to Spell Alpaca, Status: revisions, Word Count: 1327, Published: N/A. Entry 7 - Story: Blink Twice for Final Judgement, Status: Polished, Word Count: 6572, Published: N/A. Entry 8 - Story: The Species is Dead, Status: Published, Word Count: 1208, Published: Minola Review. Entry 9 - Story: Shark Swimming, Status: Polished, Word Count: 907, Published: N/A. Entry 10 - Story: The Party, Status, Polished, Word Count 2339, Published: N/A. Entry 11 - Story: Fig, Status: Polished, Word Counter: 947, Published: N/A. Entry 12 - Story: Protect the Young, Status: Revisions, Word Count: 4128, Published: N/A. Entry 13 - Story: Where to Run When the Lamb Roars, Status: Revisions, Word Count: 2174, Published: N/A. Entry 14 - Story: Phantom Limbs, Status: Revisions, Word Count: 4844, Published: N/A.) /end image description.

This order is DEFINITELY not permanent (at this point whenever I write a story, I just fit it randomly into this chart lol), and some of the info is outdated (for example, Slaughter the Animal is now polished!!! thank god!!!). But just an idea of what I’m thinking of including.

This is the summary so far:

In SHE IS ALSO DEAD, characters are pushed to act on their gravest impulses. A small town turns murderous when their local invasive species, the Janices, begin dying. A child struggles to understand her mother’s suicide. A college dropout who insists she’s being haunted by a poltergeist unexpectedly breaks up with her boyfriend. A mother acknowledges her daughter’s murderous tendencies after her backyard chickens mysteriously die. A young girl caters the funeral of a girl rumored to be killed by a wolf-antelope. A newly-divorced mother RSVP’s to a bizarre party she was not invited to, and a murderous brother and sister upkeep their yearly tradition of abducting a young girl. These stories follow characters who navigate death, violent desires, womanhood, and loss, both self-imposed and otherwise.

This is also so subject to change as I may pull and add stories to the collection!

I think I’m going to leave this update here for now! I’ve written TONS of poetry too, but I honestly ~hate my poetry right now lol, so! Hope you enjoyed this chill rambly update. Hope writing has going well for you all! All the best!

--Rachel

[toru-oikawas-milkbread]

Hi Kasey! Long time no talk 😊 I have a few questions for you:

1. What is a song that never fails to make you happy?

2. What is your go to bubble tea or sushi order?

3. If you could spend a day in any anime universe, which one would it be and why?

4. Captain Squad or Setter Squad?

Hi! Good to see you here as always 💛

1: I have to say “Fantasy” by Mariah Carey. It’s such a good song, I love the beat, I love her voice, I love to daydream about Suna and Atsumu during the song. It always has me singing along no matter what kind of a mood I’m in

2: My go-to for bubble tea is always original milktea. It was the first I tried and it’s a classic and always tastes so good! Sushi wise, I love almost anything with shrimp tempura or imitation/spicy crab. All of them are so yummy. One I love is a snow crab roll 🤤

3: Because 99% of the anime that I watch is gory and I would absolutely die in all of them other than Haikyuu, I’ll go with Haikyuu 😂 but of course that isn’t the only reason. I’d love to run all over Japan and see who I can bump into. See if I can meet a pretty setter or a handsome middle blocker (*cough*Suna*cough*). Become best friends with Kindaichi and tell Kageyama he’s doing a good job. Of course give Oikawa a big hug. As a loving fangirl who he doesn’t know, could he really turn me down? Tell Iwaizumi I think he’s a great ace and praise him and tell him Oikawa isn’t the only “Pretty boy.” Meet Makki and Matsukawa and laugh at their jokes. Try not to spend every second of the day with my favorite Seijoh team and stare at Kunimi for just a second before smiling because 😳 Maybe I’d meander my way to Karasuno, see Ennoshita and tell him I think he’s a great guy and needs to stop being so hard on himself. See if I make it to Nekoma before the day ends just to stare at Kuroo for a few minutes. Of course I’d do anything to see if I could catch a glimpse of Omi’s curly hair and just wave at him. Social distancing with our beloved ace turned outside hitter. Maybe, just maybe, flirt with Terushima and see if he’d flirt back 😍 ugh, there wouldn’t be enough time in the day even if I woke up at 5 AM and sprinted everywhere, how will I visit Tendō and tell him I adore him and tell Akaashi hi???

Crisis over.

For now.

4: Pretty setter squad. Always the pretty setter squad. Oikawa with his pretty brown eyes, Atsumu with his little smirk, Kenma with his grumblings about gravity, Kageyama’s soft looking hair, Osamu in that one second (I think it’s fair to add, he’s an honorable mention), Semi who should have gotten more time, Shirabu who stole Semi’s time, Sugawara who gave up his last year so Kageyama could play because he knew he was what Karasuno needed

Okay, I’m getting emotional now 😭 why are this characters so perfect and why is that all that they are— characters 😭

[elytrafemme]

every time u say u are like attention seeking or like have a high ego or whatever i get slightly confused.

like this is ur blog on tumblr ur supposed to talk about urself and adore it. that’s wonderful and slightly admirable.

or maybe i have very wrong opinions/views.

(and to be fair i send asks from my own attention seeking small brain.)

ha! i will simply not care. ur very amazing 2 me. ur like endearing and also wonderful in ur posts. idk i’m full of silly words today.

ALLLso i was thinking about eyes. that’s all. they’re a bit silly to me. animals have swag emotional eyes. human eyes suck </3

mantis shrimp have orbs

also sorry this ask is all over the place any tips on dialogue? idk who else to ask ima be real. trying to write is uh… so strange.

NO THAT'S FAIR I am simply a bit of an attention seeker IRL as well.. i am such an introvert and tend to avoid social settings but once i'm in them either you have to literally beg me to say anything. or i will not shut up until everyone is thinking about me It's a whole thing and one of my favorite qualities albeit everything's good in moderation

u are so kind to me <3 u are awesome i appreciate u a lot. blorbo in my phone FR ur amazing

ORBS..... i am fond of eyes too! i think some human eyes are cool have u seen those central heterochromia things? so cool. eyes are just neat colors. fond of brown eyes. i have brown eyes but also everyone else's brown eyes are so pretty. and other colors. u get me

i'm gonna reblog this with my dialogue tips so that i'm not typing on this ask for fifty years so gimme like five secds (more like 5 minutes. 15 maybe)