#it’s an old house there’s going to be mice

[sirfrogsworth]

Early voting to beat the lines... the best-laid schemes of mice and men often go awry.

So... yesterday was quite the day.

After being stuck in bed for the past 6 weeks with some mystery slump, I was finally feeling better. So I decided I would try to cram as many errands into my day as possible. That works better for me when I drive out into the world because I end up only having to do one big recovery instead of a bunch of little recoveries.

My to-do list...

Go to the doctor

Vote early

Return oxygen machine to FedEx store for scammy eBay guy

Return Amazon package to the UPS store

Get gasoline for my whip

Go to Discount Tire to get my tires filled for free

Drop a check off for my lawn guy

Mail a secret package to Katrina at the US Post Office

It would have been nice if I could have gone to just one shipping place instead of all three, but the universe has a sense of humor and likes to do shit like that to me on a regular basis.

So, I get my checkup, it goes quick, no long wait, I'm feeling good.

As I get in my car, it starts to rain. It was an ugly day and it actually has not stopped raining to this very moment a day later. Just gray, windy, chilly, and wet. I look up the voting place and start the GPS.

Wipers and music on full blast, it's time to get my vote on.

When I reach my destination, I realize early voting is at some kind of private golf club. And at the center is a recreation center—which is a public building.

So it's like this private/public turducken situation.

I was expecting this errand to take 20 minutes. Because early voting always seemed like a way to get in before the crowds of election day for a more convenient voting experience.

But the parking lot was packed and I feared my expectations were about to be subverted.

As I walk through the parking lot I see a bunch of signs in the ground.

And a particular one caught my eye.

This is bullshit.

Like, just a straight up lie. No truth to it whatsoever.

Amendment 3 in Missouri basically restores abortion rights in the state. And Republicans have taken issue with the following language...

"The Government shall not deny or infringe upon a person's fundamental right to reproductive freedom, which is the right to make and carry out decisions about all matters relating to reproductive health care, including but not limited to prenatal care, childbirth, postpartum care, birth control, abortion care, miscarriage care, and respectful birthing conditions."

They claim the phrasing "but not limited to" means you can give an 8-year-old kid "sex change surgery."

This is how their online flyer puts it...

It could also include a free puppy.

Or a zillion bucks.

Or a clown will come to your house after the abortion and honk your nose.

It's ridiculous and desperate. I honestly don't know how it is legal for them to put a lie like that outside of a polling location, but here we are.

The organization "Missouri Stands with Women" is run by... a man.

It was set up by a lawyer named "Edward Greim" on behalf of the Federalist Society.

His law firm has a lovely biography about him. And a bunch of publicly available contact information. I say that for no reason whatsoever.

The Federalist Society funds all kinds of shit like this. Their main thing is installing conservative judges all over the country who will reinterpret or negate legislation. And they do it all to "stand with women" by taking away their reproductive rights.

Here is the board of directors of the Federalist Society.

Ya know, before I looked this up, I said to myself, "I bet it's going to be a sausage fest." I am psychic.

I think it would be more accurate to say they stand with A woman.

Just one.

And she sucks.

Nicole is a law professor at Notre Dame. She chose her Catholicism over her right to choose. The Catholic Church will fuck your rights and your children and Nicole will help them do it.

Anyway... back to my quick and easy voting experience...

So as I'm walking in to vote I keep passing a ton of these awful signs. I notice an older woman standing next to the aforementioned "child sex change" sign and she says, "Can I talk to you about Amendment 3?"

At this point, I'm pretty angry. I look her dead in the eyes and say with my most assholish tone, "NO." as I walk past her.

And then she finishes her sentence...

"...to protect the reproductive rights of women."

Ah, dammit.

I thought she was an old Karen but she was cool as heck. Standing out in the rain telling people the sign is bullshit. I wanted to turn around and apologize but I was stuck in full social anxiety mode so I just kept walking.

If that old lady happens to have a Tumblr and follows me and is willing to read this giant story... I just want to say I am sorry. I thought you were awful and I should have let you finish your sentence. You're super cool and I'm happy there are folks like you fighting for what is right.

I get inside and a young woman greets me. She tells me the line is in the next room and points. I still wasn't quite sure what the situation was. The parking lot being full gave me pause, but I was still hopeful I could have a swift early voting experience.

But I walk through the doors and into a huge gymnasium and my heart sinks.

It's hard to represent in pictures how long this line is.

It goes all the way to the end of the gym, loops around, and comes back. At first I was not too discouraged, because there was a nice gentle ramp at the start of the line.

But then I notice several sets of stairs at different stages of the line. And I'm just thinking how hard it would be to stand in this line and then also having to go up and down several sets of stairs.

So I go back to the young woman working there and ask what their accessible voting options are. And she told me I could do curbside voting and points outside. I then notice a line of cars wrapped around the parking lot. I don't know how I didn't see them walking in, but I guess I was too busy being a jerk to elderly progressive women.

My biggest concern was time.

The longer this takes, the more energy I use up, the longer my eventual recovery will be.

They tell me the car option is the slowest. And I could be in line for 2 to 3 hours. And then an old man who seemed to be in charge walks over and tells me the fastest option is to stand in line.

So I walk back out to my car and grab my cane and decide to try the long serpentine gynasium line.

I start walking up the ramp and some of the other folks see how slow and labored I'm walking and they start encouraging me. "You can do it! You got this!" Which I suppose was meant to be a positive helpful thing. But I found it to be embarrassing.

I get to the end of the line and notice most of the line has bleachers directly next to it. So I decide to sit down and rest and figure out how I am going to survive this experience.

It took me a while to recover from the long walk to this spot. I watched a bunch of people pass me by and the line was actually getting much longer as I rested. I was not really sure what to do. I was trying to problem-solve this situation but the answer that kept popping up in my mind was just... "go home."

But I felt this was too important and that wasn't really an option.

My best idea was to ask someone if they would hold my spot in line. Perhaps I could just sit in the bleachers and follow them around in the line, staying as close to them as I could. But my social anxiety was set to maximum and I was not finding the courage to ask someone.

After about 10 minutes of sitting, resting, and thinking, I basically say, "Fuck it, I'll try to stand in line."

I get up and start walking to the end of the line.

Then I hear a voice yell out to me.

"Hey, man! Come over here! This is your spot!"

A young man was waving at me. He was accompanied by his wife. Both of them were dressed in black and they had a sort of goth skater aesthetic going on. He had a competitively bushy beard, but with less gray. And she had very vivid purple hair.

I was a little confused and still processing what was happening. Then they both started waving at me to join them in line. They remembered I got there just before and told me I should be in front of them. I walk over and thank them. Then he suggests...

"Hey, why don't you just sit in the bleachers and follow us around the line."

He suggested my idea!

Without me asking!

I felt like he read my mind or something.

Can bearded people read each others' minds? Was this some beard skill I was unaware of?

"I got you, man. You just sit and we'll keep your place."

And his violet hair'd significant other agreed. "Yeah, we got you."

The kindness of strangers was more accessible than my polling place and I was just so thankful in that moment.

So I sat in the bleachers and watched them traverse the line. In the middle of the gym there were some teenagers playing basketball. And so I just rested and watched them play.

That young man in the red pants was like a goddamn Harlem Globetrotter. He was just embarrassing the others. He was bouncing the ball behind his back and through his legs and then he just danced around his opponents like a figure skater. It was such an unbalanced matchup. He might as well have been playing 4th graders. Not only was he significantly faster and more maneuverable, but he was consistently hitting 3-pointers.

And then during a break, he ran towards the hoop, jumped from the free throw line, flew all the way to the net, grabbed onto the rim, and proceeded to do several pull ups as if they were the easiest thing in the world. I don't think I've seen anyone jump that far and that high in real life and it was just a bonkers display of athleticism.

I spent the entire wait watching him humiliate the others—hoping he would get a full ride scholarship to some prestigious university.

And I hoped the other boys paid attention in school and got straight As, because basketball was not going to work out for them.

As my new goth skater friends progressed through the line, I would make sure to keep sight of them. Every once in a while I'd give them a head nod to acknowledge we were in this together. After an hour and a half they were at the final segment of the line, so I sat next to the wheelchair folks.

I probably could have argued to sit with them in the first place. But I really did not feel like making the case that I was just as disabled as them and needed that level of consideration. The old man running things seemed quite stressed and was putting out 8 fires at once. And my anxiety wasn't really cooperating enough to be assertive in my needs.

But it worked out in the end, so I'm not going to dwell on the lack of accommodation for people who weren't *visually* disabled.

My new bearded friend neared the end and waved me over. I thanked him and his wife profusely.

I joked, "Thank you for adopting a voter."

They seemed confused by my joke.

"No problem, man. Happy to help."

I told him and his wife they truly saved me. "I honestly don't think I would have made it through the line." And then I looked back...

I said, "As crazy as this is, I do find this kind of turnout encouraging." His wife agreed and said, "We were saying the same thing!" And then I thought, "Can the wives of bearded people absorb the mind reading ability? I hope she can't read my mind right now. Although, I'm mostly thinking that her hair is a really cool shade of purple, so she'd probably find that complimentary."

As I waited to get my ballot I could hear the happy couple behind me. They were very cute. They were making fun of each other in a very lovey-dovey fashion. I had high hopes they were going to grow old and gray and purple together based on their chemistry. And I was just so thankful they were able to recognize that I needed help without me asking. Because I probably would have just caved to my anxiety and not asked for help otherwise.

I got my ballot and sat down to fill in all of the appropriate squares. Thankfully I had prepared a cheat sheet on my phone.

It was an exact replica so I was able to copy it and finish quite rapidly.

Then I fed my votes into the vote-eating monster and they gave me a sticker.

My quick 20 minute adventure to vote early only took 2.5 hours!

And because I didn't want to buck tradition, I stood outside in the wind and the rain and took a voting selfie.

Yep, that seems about right.

Ah, crap... that was only the second thing on my to-do list.

Let's speedrun the rest of this story, shall we?

I drove to FedEx. I hauled a 40 pound box inside. I plopped it on the counter and said, "Man, this thing is heavy!" as I tried to catch my breath. The 20 year old working there then lifted it like it was a feather and I felt great about that.

I drove to the gas station because I was nearly on empty—that is both a metaphor and not a metaphor. I filled my ride with go juice.

I noticed I was a mile from the tire store and they fill up tires for free. So I did that and the guy was super nice and complimented my tires. I felt both weird and proud about having my tires complimented. Like, I had nothing to do with my tires being nice. But I accepted the praise on their behalf.

I drove to the UPS store. The last time I was there I made a scene. They refused to box up a return and I got upset and wasn't feeling well and they had to find a chair for me to sit in because I was going to faint. So I was hoping the same woman wasn't there, but she was. She didn't recognize me, so it was fine.

I drove to my lawn guy's house. He wasn't home. I dropped a check in his mailbox. My checks have corgis on them. My checks are cute.

I drove to the post office. I sent a secret package to my bestie, Katrina. I'd tell you what is in it, but it is an inside joke and you wouldn't get it. The woman noticed my voting sticker and I couldn't help thinking about what I just accomplished to get that sticker.

On my way out I noticed a miracle.

2 of the 4 doors were fixed!

I mean, I don't know why they couldn't fix all 4, but now the employees won't freeze in the winter. So I take that as a win. It only took a year and a half to accomplish and I'm sure all of my phone calls and emails did not help at all. But I'm going to pretend I saved the day regardless.

And then... I drove home.

5 hours of errands.

I was so fucking tired. My back was on fire with pain. I immediately collapsed into my bed. I passed out. And I slept for 14 hours.

The End

[wewontbesleeping]

Ok the mice have gotten so much worse this year. Idk where they’re coming from wtf. The last two years here I think we’d see maybe one or two a winter at most, but the cats have killed multiple this week alone. And I just saw one come out from under furniture to eat some of the cat food and then go back under. Like wtf.

[bunnyb34r]

😶 mom was talking to our nextdoor neighbor yesterday and I guess the neighbor asked mom if she heard people screaming around here.... now it could be that this poor woman has Alzheimers or dementia (which we think she does based off these hallucinations she told us ab, and the fact that her daughter is now staying with her) OR it could be me she's been hearing 😶😶😶😶😶😶

Could be both! But uh I do stress scream a lot.... like short but loud AUGH!!! screams at LEAST once a day lately... um sggdgdgdgdgd idk and I'm afraid to ask at this point 😬

[qeyond]

I strongly support all of these "Death Note characters as animals" posts and they're so well done!! but the lack of bobtail representation is very u_u

Making B an American Bobtail so he can go crazy stupid, yell forever, be incredibly hardy, built like a tower, and be completely bone-less on the floor at any given point.

[thedreadvampy]

mouse 🥲

[amaxantys]

saw a mouse in my apartment i am not having a good time

[queensparklekitten]

btw did i ever tell you guys cupcake jones has recently resumed her mousing side gig

[cozy-in-my-head-my-bed]

i miss living in ohio :(

[tame-the-lion-writes]

cat shifter reader x task force 141

(An AU to the AU--based on an ask and the results of this poll.)

No more guns a-blazing or cruel glory. The 141 had their time in the military; now, it was time to slow down.

Of course, when one sticks with the same people for half their life, through thick and thin, there is no going back. The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb--and the 141 had spilled enough blood together that it practically ran through each others veins. They were inseparable, bound in both trauma and trust, and to part would dissolve the only stability they'd shared. Snip away red strings wrought both in shared drinks and on the battlefield.

What they didn't expect was the addition of you.

In deciding to retire, the 141 bought an old farm in the backcountry. A weary, rickety place that was practically begging for renovations. The busy work gave them something to do with already-rough hands, so they didn't mind--taking care of the animals, replacing the rotting wood, and updating the plumbing simply meant they could make the place their own. And after the house was fixed up, they got to updating the barn, fixing up a chicken coop, installing new fencing, etc.

It was also during these renovations that they got to know the stray cat who'd been living in the barn attic.

Feral--they first thought. Plenty of farm cats were, and the place had been long unlived-in that they believed no one could have socialized or cared for her. Not to mention that she'd been so riled up with them around; hissing from behind walls, or above while balancing on the beams. Jutting her paws out and trying to scratch them while they worked. They always knew where she was by the jingle of the bell around her neck, tied with a soft silk ribbon as though she were someone's pet let loose. Left on the roadside maybe, and for that, they didn't blame her.

But for the most part, she only occupied the second floor of the barn, and she kept the place free of rats and mice. They couldn't have those running around, so for the most part, they stayed out of her way. And she learned to stay out of theirs.

Until she got sick.

"Haven't seen the kit in a while," Gaz finally spoke, poking at the leftover stew in his bowl. It was already dinner when everyone was winding down for the night, and their beloved foe had been missing for three days. "I'm getting worried."

"I'm sure she's fine," Soap reassured him, shoveling another spoonful in his mouth. "Maybe ran off to the woods or somethin'."

"But it's been rainin' plenty lately," Gaz pressed. "You'd think she'd hole up in the attic per usual."

"We can check in the morning," Price sighed, adjusting himself in his seat. "'Sides, wouldn't do any good to be missin' a barn cat--"

"Tonight."

Soap lifts his head to squint over at the man by the sink. "Didn't take ya for a cat person, LT."

"Wanna make sure the mangy thing ain't dead." Ghost drops his dishes with an ceremonial clink-clink-clink. "Would stink up the place."

But when they finally made their way up the sketchy ladder to the barn attic, and they finally pushed aside all the dusty boxes and rusty equipment, what they found wasn't a cat but a young woman--face red with fever and tangled deeply, restlessly, in worn blankets and stolen clothes. Unknown and without ID--save for the bell around her neck, tied with a soft silk ribbon.

_

Bonus Thoughts:

It's quickly determined that you're only suffering from a regular cold, but on the verge of winter, the barn is no place to stay warm. Hence a quiet moment of deliberation between the boys, standing around, not knowing what to do. Also not knowing if their first assumption--that this is their fussy barn cat--is possible. In any case, they can't just leave you here.

Ghost is relegated the duty of carrying you down the very sketchy ladder (as he is with carrying most things). But not before Price wraps you up like a burrito, in case you wake up and decide to try and scratch again.

"'Mangy thing,' huh, LT?"

"Hope you know she's gettin' your bed."

[jay-catsby]

i deleted the wholeass post i initially wrote bc i realized the much more interesting story was in the tags. read on for mouse-in-house drama

[bottomcyclonus]

My sister is a total cunt and around when we were kids, 12 (her) and 15 (me), she became a really big fan of that Jesus guy, but in a ‘if you wear lipstick that’s TOO red you’re clearly a whore who is doing naughty things with the devil’ and ‘all “dark” animals like black cats, snakes, rats, spiders, and bats were sent by the devil himself”. W e had an older home, and the way it was set up is that one of our vents had a chute that went over the porch, and you could look down it and see basically right over the porch itself. This is relevant because I, at the time, really wanted a cat and our parents were considering it. However, cheese cunt (my nickname for her which she hated <3) saw me looking at an adoption page for a black cat. She absolutely lost it and said that I was trying to bring the devil into our home and that I was going to hell and that that cat was evil and going to claw out my eyes in my sleep. We got in a BIG fight over that. By the time we moved out there were still puncture marks in the wall from where she went at me with a fork. Back to the porch and vent. Kind of. I _needed_ to get this bitch, so I recruited two of my good friends who I knew would be ready to commit a fuckery. One of them had a pet snake (which I think she found in her yard and abducted adopted) and she fed him frozen mice and whatnot. Obviously we weren’t going to involve her snake, but the frozen mice? Those were fair game. Her job was to bring the mice and help behind the scenes. My other friend, he’s a big guy, intimidating if you don’t know him, *his* job was to be the devil. We’d found a dead bat in my attic (again old house) and made it look alive with popsicle sticks, then tied it to a string wound through the vent. We planned the fuckery for when our parents were staying at a hotel for their anniversary, so we were home alone all weekend. We had a pizza box as bait outside, with the frozen mice inside arranged in a pentagram. My guy friend was dressed up in a stereotypical grim reaper outfit, big black cloak, white ghoulish face, lantern, the works. We waited around until night, then he rang the door bell and hid, with the pizza box left on the porch, just far out enough that you would have to step outside. Me and my friend were in the bathroom when then happened so that my sister would have to go look. In reality, she was waiting above, ready with the bat, and I was hiding behind the garage door, which was right next to our front door. The moment I hear my sister let go of the door I gently closed it and locked it on her. I heard her scream and the sound of her dropping the pizza box, which was my friends cue to drop the bat on her and dance it around. At this point she’s freaking out and trying to get back inside, screaming and shrieking. I turn off the porch light, and from the shadows across the street, emerges my friend, face dimly lit by the lantern in his hand. I had to muffle my laughter with my fist in my mouth cause my sister is yelling like she’s going to die, which yeah, I can see her thinking that. All my friend had to do was walk across the street and point at her to get her to start crying, and she bolted into our backyard, where she tried to get in through the back door that was unfortunately for her, locked, courtesy of me. We made her stay out there for an hour or so, giving us time to put everything back to normal and sober ourselves up from laughing so hard. Then I let her back in and acted like I didn’t know anything. We got the cat and I named him Pizza.

THIS IS A TRANSFORMERS BLOG

[6ronze]

KINKTOBER (1) : BRAHMS!BAJI ─── ໒꒰ྀི っ ⸝⸝ ˂ ꒱ྀིა you’ve been hired to take care of the child of a wealthy old couple who live in a mansion out in the outskirts of the city. thinking it would be easy money, you accepted the job w/o doing a background check. it comes to you later on that their child isn’t exactly a ‘child’ or ‘doll’.

warning(s) : fem!reader, dc/nsfw, mdni — unpredictable baji, reader gets into the whole ‘caretaker’ situation, implied stalking, quickened plot, dubcon moments, switch!baji, manhandling, he’s a lil psycho, touch deprived baji, breath play, ch0king, hand job, mild degradation(slut, etc.), unprotected sex, not proofread, wc is 4.0k

𝒻𝒾𝓃𝒶𝓁 𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓊𝑔𝒽𝓉𝓈 : my first entry for my kinktober!! Excited & scared omg — kinktober m.list + tags: @ljubimaya

You’ve been alone in this awfully large mansion for 5 days now. The owner left the day after they taught you how to care for their son.

Or porcelain doll, as you saw it.

But you weren’t allowed to call it that so you called it its given name instead—Baji. For the sake of the job, you did it despite the creepiness it gave you.

Hours passed and it was nighttime at wherever the fuck you were out in the woods. You’ve checked your phone every 10 minutes, hoping to see a text from the owners that left you alone out of the blue. The result of your curiosity was always the same—silence. Still.

“The hell..,” you mumbled, frowning at your phone’s empty home screen, not a single notification from the elderly couple. With a sigh, you closed your device and tossed it aside on the dining table, turning your head over your shoulder to see ‘Baji’ comfortably settled to sit on the armchair placed specially for him.

Creepy lil’ shit, you huffed in your mind, the corner of your lips tugging downwards, close to scowling at the innocent looking porcelain doll.

You got up, finding the silence within the entire residence unsettling and grabbing onto Baji impatiently, carrying him to your shoulder like a child.

The hallway echoed with your footsteps, dim lights illuminating the second floor. You were in a hurry to bring Baji to bed, not wanting to be in his presence any longer after an exhausting day of caring for him with odd occurrences in broad daylight earlier unsettling you more than you already were.

“Alright, Baji, sweetheart. Time to put you to bed,” you mused sweetly, pulling off the blanket and slowly laying down the heavy doll onto the mattress. You tucked him under the blanket once more, nestling the soft fabric snugly under his arms.

“Good night, Baji,” was all you whispered before standing up straight again, patting the bed twice and turning your heels to leave the room. With one final lingering glance on the laid and tucked doll, you stepped out and closed the door behind you.

You leaned against the hard wood door for a moment, your shoulders slumping as if a heavy burden was finally lifted off of them. Wary eyes of yours scanned the hallways around you, the silence and eeriness making your skin crawl.

However, the few moments after you pushed yourself off the door to walked down the hallway, audible steps made themselves present, the rough yet subtle sound making you halt and snap your head to the side. To your ears, the noise was coming from the walls right beside you, the opposite side of Baji’s bedroom.

Hairs at your nape raise.

You could call this occurrence normal now after it kept on going consistently during your stay here with the elder couple and alone. Despite the concerns you’ve expressed to them, they brushed it off carelessly as mice crawling in house. However, that didn’t assure you at all.

A moment passes, and you turn ahead of you again once the noise stopped, ignoring the swarm of possibilities that filled your mind. Yet, as you kept on walking, the audible stomping came alive again, longer this time. As if it was following you.

Paranoia taking over your nerves, you made a 180 and marched back to Baji’s bedroom, swinging the door open to see the lights closed and the porcelain doll snug in bed—just like you left him.

Taking slow steps closer to the bed, your hand reached out tentatively to touch the shoulder of the unmoving doll, its eyes staring up wide to the ceiling above. You took in a shaky breath, lips parted now closed to swallow your heart back down to your chest.

Slam.

Your entire body jumps and twists to look over behind you—seeing nothing but darkness now the door was mysteriously slammed shut.

“Oh, fuck, what the fuck,” you mumbled in panic, eyes frantically darting between ‘Baji’ and the door. Frozen legs of yours finally moved, sprinting over to the door to turn the knob and yank the heavy wood open.

“Why won’t this damn door fucking budge!” You exclaimed in a hissed whisper, breath short as if something stole your breath away. It wasn’t even fucking locked, the knob clearly showed it was open—then who the fuck was holding it from opening?

Thud.

Your entire being stilled. You weren’t alone.

You backed away from the door with a few steps, fearful gaze flickering downwards to see the other side illuminated with light—but with a shadow at the centre. Someone was behind the door.

You brought a trembling hand up to your mouth, covering your quivering lips.

A paper note slips past the gap under the door. You stared at it for a second, contemplating whether or not to take it.

Ultimately, you bent down to quickly pick up the paper, bringing it up closer to your face read it better in the dark room you were in.

‘You forgot something’

What the fuck? you cursed in your mind. You stood there, eyes fixating on the message written on the paper, mind scattering to figure out what you could have possibly forgotten that might be related to the situation you were in.

Then it hit you.

Kiss.

A stupid midnight kiss.

You were told to kiss Baji good night when it was bedtime when the owners were still here. You grumbled internally, who could have possibly remembered that ridiculous fucking long list of rules to take care of a damn doll?

“Fine—I’ll do it,” you conceded, albeit reluctantly.

You turned to face the bed ‘Baji’ was laid on and walked closer, noting the glimmer of moonlight reflecting on the porcelain cheek of the delicate thing. With a few deep breaths, you leaned down, hand lifting to tuck strands of your hair behind your ear as your lips approached the cheek of the unmoving thing.

Done, you thought, hoping whatever you did just soothed the person behind outside. However, your hopes were crushed to ashes the second you heard the door creak open slowly behind when you were about to straighten up, pulling away from the doll.

Heavy steps approached you from behind, the mere presence of the person making your entire nervous system shut down, unable to move a single limb out of fear.

Thump, thump, thump, thump. Then nothing.

The silence was sinister, so fucking sinister, especially now he was behind you—for fucks sake, you could feel him breath down your neck, hear his ragged intakes of air.

Your entire body trembled, hands clenching one another and eyes darting from left to right, not having the guts to turn around and face the man who was probably responsible for all the fucking noises you heard in the mansion. But then, if he was responsible for the noises in the walls, could have he been watching you too? Hell, your cheeks flared up at the mere thought of it—of a man stalking you from the walls, watching your every move, witnessing you undress and maybe even bathe.

“What do you want from me?” you muttered, lips quivering more than you could control and words coming out shakier than intended. Despite the fear, the curiosity, you stood still. Unmoving.

But instead of hearing a response from him, you heard him move again.

Your breath hitched in your throat as he stepped beside you, a glimpse of him turning to a whole image of a man unkempt, yet well built. His black hair was luscious and long, generous strands falling over his shoulders. You kept your eyes trailed on him, watching him go ahead of you to sit on the edge of the bed, inches away from the laying doll.

“Kiss,” he spoke, his words coming almost as a grumble with how gravelly his voice was that muffled softly in the mask he was wearing. It looked weird too. White as porcelain.

“I already kissed Baji goodnight,” you stuttered, looking at him with fear glazed eyes, trying to fix this ‘misunderstanding’.

“This thing,” he quickly retorted, emphasising his words by grabbing onto the neck of the doll, lifting it up with a tight grip and throwing it off the bed, the strength of his swing making it hit and shatter against the wall. “isn’t Baji,” he finished with a growl.

“I am,” he added, head turning to look up at you, his breath heavy against the mask he wore.

You held in your breath at the reveal, your eyes fluttering closed as you glanced away, lips quivering.

It made sense. Considering all the information you got during your stay here from the remaining staff, from the photos and books you read through once the owners left. They all had one thing in common to tell you—Baji was real. And his birth date was way too far off from now for him to be a child.

“You know what to do. Right?” Baji’s voice broke you out of your trance, making your eyes flicker open once more to look at him.

He was expecting something. And you knew what it was.

“Alright,” you whispered beneath your breath, head nodding nervously once you understood what he meant, what he wanted.

You took hesitant steps closer to him, standing close between his spread legs now. You steadied your breath for a moment before leaning in closer to him, eyes blinking anxiously as you made your way to plant a kiss to his cheek.

Yet before your lips made contact to the mask, his larger hand made contact with your arm, his grip firm yet not painful. Baji pulled you onto his lap in one swift motion, forcing you to shift to stabilise yourself on his thighs, your hands flying to his shoulders on instinct.

Realising the placement of your hands and his own, you lifted your head to look up at him with wide eyes, lips gaping open to utter an apology.

“Go on,” he ordered before your voice could leave your throat.

You nodded, disregarding the awfully close proximity between you two. You knew better than to question or deny it, wanting to stay alive and unscathed.

Baji’s breath behind the mask was audible and stable even as you leaned in close, his body as still as a statue when you finally kissed the cheek of his mask. But you could faintly hear the soft grunt he made when you pulled away, the sound akin to a whine.

Despite yourself, you couldn’t help but be curious of the man, his story, and more importantly, his intentions on having you so unnecessarily close. The fear you felt earlier melted to a burning desire to explore, to curiosity—and perhaps arousal.

Baji was much larger than yourself, it was something you noted the moment he pulled you on him. The silence between you kept you on your toes but it didn’t bother you much—not when you were focusing on the feeling of his wide shoulders you were currently holding onto.

“You’re a handsy one, aren’t ya,” Baji commented suddenly, catching your attention. You glanced up into his eyes and shied away for a moment when you realised he was observing you so closely, embarrassed that you got carried away in such a crucial moment where your life could be at risk.

“All the other caretakers clamp up like fucking cowards the moment they see me. And here you are, feeling me up like a shameless, helpless, little girl like I can’t just crush your skull in a blink of an eye,” he continued, recalling all the other encounters he had with the past caretakers his parents hired. They always had the same look on their faces—nothing but fear, disgust and tears. It was probably the reason he killed them all. To see another expression on their faces.

But you were different. He noticed the little widen of your eyes when you saw him staring at you. And the subtle yet comprehensible flustered look you made right after he caught you was something that he couldn’t help but find ‘cute’.

“It’s almost pathetic, your behaviour,” he deemed, his intense gaze hardening at you out of nowhere. His mind tried to rationalise your behaviour. You were probably acting like this to get on his good side, so he would spare you. He almost certain that was the reason for your behaviour—selfish and self-centred, like the rest of them.

Your brows furrowed at his accusations, your head tilting at him in curiosity. What did he mean? What did you do? What behaviour?

“Behaviour?” you muttered questioningly, your fingers on his now tense shoulders wincing as you were about to pull away your right hand. Before your palm could lift off him though, he stopped you with a tight grip on your forearm.

“You wanna live don’t you?,” he growled lowly, grasp on you loosening slightly.

You hissed a breath, nodding firmly, making it clear you wanted to keep your soul intact.

“Show me how desperate you are. Then maybe, just maybe, I’ll let you go.”

“Desperate?” You queried, confused at what he meant by showing him your ‘desperation’.

“You’ll do whatever I say, whenever I say it. No is not an option.” He answered, hand around your arm tightening to the point of pain that made you yelp and squirm on his lap. He inched in closer to you, head dipping to your face.

“Besides—you’re my caretaker, aren’t you?” He whispered lowly for your ears alone, hand twisting your delicate limb hard to enough ensure bruises coloured your skin.

“I—I am but—” you protested, your whimpers awfully quiet to truly be ‘protesting’. Your body shifted and writhed on his firm thighs, legs moving to straddle him better despite yourself. You kept on doing so until your hips ventured too close to his crotch, feeling the bulge that had formed in his pants. You didn’t realise your squirming from earlier had affected him so, nor did you think that your touches on his body contributed to his evident hard-on.

“And as my caretaker, you’re obliged to tend to my needs. So take care of the problem you caused,” Baji demanded, his gravelly voice slightly breathless now from the grinding you were unintentionally doing against him. He squeezed your stinging forearm one last time before letting go of you, leaning away a bit with his eyes fixated on you still, waiting for you to do your ‘job’.

You looked at his masked face for a second before flickering your gaze down to the sight of your hips meeting his, rocking yourself subtly to nudge to tent in his pants teasingly, earning yourself a heavy breath from Baji.

Thinking about your choices, obey or die, it was obvious which you were gonna pick. Besides, his orders weren’t gonna too bad, right?

Mustering up enough courage inside you, your hands moved to hold onto his shoulders again, the leverage helping you move on him more.

It was humiliating, really. To have him do nothing but watch you grind and hump on his clothed cock so attentively. It didn’t take long for you to feel the need clump up into a knot in your lower belly, the ache in your pussy pleading for more friction.

So you obeyed both yourself and him, hand slipping down to the fly of his pants, unzipping and tugging it downwards to release his hard cock from its confinement. His girthy length sprung out, fitting into your hand quickly after. Your fingers wrapped around the shaft, tracing the veins slowly until you reached his leaking tip, gathering the beads of precum and smearing it all over his flamed flesh.

The reaction you got out of him from the mere contact sent shivers down your spine, shivers of unexpected pleasure. This man who scared the life out of you, threatened to kill you and had you earn his mercy, was whining for you. It was faint, but you could definitely hear it from behind the mask. His body betrayed him too. Hips jerking up to meet your hand, as if silently pleading for you touch him more. But he didn’t say anything, letting you handle the situation as you saw fit.

”Fuckk,” you heard him whine breathlessly. Your focus remained on his cock that you held in your hand but you knew damn well how he was practically throwing his head back grudgingly now that you’ve started to stroke him, coaxing his blood to rush southwards.

Your lips parted at the sight of the mess he made on your palm, now slick with precum that kept on flowing. Your own breath hitched, unable to resist the urge to play around a bit more.

Your hand circled around his member and nestled to the base before you massaged his cock with a flick of your wrist, starting off slow as you made your way along the shaft till the angry tip. It was getting more obvious how he was pulsing against your fingers, the sensation making your cunt clench around air at the mere thought of him being inside you.

As seconds turned to minutes, his small hitches turned to pants. His chest was heaving, hips bucking into your smaller hand that attempted to fit his entire girth around your fingers. When your pace finally quickened, he could feel his the churning in his balls, drawing up and tightening along with the grip his hands hand on the sheets on the bed.

And you saw it all, noticed it all, but you made no effort to stop, eager to see and hear more of him until he reaches his climax. How could you stop when he was groaning and moaning incoherent profanities behind the mask, head leaned back just enough to show you the sweat that trickled past his mask and down his neck, his adam’s apple bobbing nervously?

The wet sound your hand produced from jerking him filled the dimly lit bedroom along with the lewd noises that came from Baji. The often twitches his hips made were enough to tell you he was inches away from release, and you were more than willing to give it to him.

“Oh, shit— feel’s so fuckin’ good,” the bigger man cried out, hips thrusting into your hand one last time before stilling and spilling his load all over your hand, some ropy spurts landing on your clothes. Your chest heaved nearly as heavy as his, as if you were the one cumming all over the place right now.

His cock pulsed one last time before calming, your halted hand squeezing his sensitive length once more to watch the final drops of cum leave his slit. Then, you withdrew your hand from him, letting his semi-hard cock rest on his pelvis as he caught his breath.

“Not enough.. not even close to enough. Need more, need your fucking pussy,” he panted, breath ragged behind the white mask he wore to conceal his face that was no doubt, twisted in pleasure.

Baji’s hand shot out to grab ahold on your hip, pulling close with a rough tug. His other hand moved swiftly to hook his fingers under the waistband of your leggings, pulling it down in an impatient motion to expose your bare thighs and clothed pussy, the wet patch on your panties catching his eye before anything.

“Knew you’d get wet from this, stupid’ slut. Seeing me cum got you off, huh? Now it’s your turn to get me off by creaming all over my cock,” he grunted, voice raspy and hoarse from the reluctant moans he voiced out earlier. His hand remained planted tightly on your hip, the other shifting quickly to simply slip your panties to the side, making no effort to take it off.

You whimpered at the sudden change of his demeanour, not missing the crazed look in his bronze eyes. Except they weren’t crazed for blood—they were crazed for your pussy.

Baji’s free hand wrapped around his cock, stroking it once then twice until it was hard and ready again. He aligned his tip against your slit that hovered above him, the subtle graze on your pulsating clit and the warm precum mixing with your own juices making you desperate than ever.

His hand on your hip pulled you down onto his cock in one swift motion, his girth penetrating your entrance affecting the both of you. Baji drew out a long groan, your walls clenching around him almost immediately. And you moaned out a cry, eyes threatening to roll back from how full you felt from his cock alone, your nectar overflowing enough to not make penetration hurt too much.

Baji didn’t spare any time to let you adjust to the intrusion, forcing you to move up and down his cock with the leverage he had on your hip. You followed his rhythm grudgingly, not wanting his grip to tighten to the point of pain if you resisted. Even so, Baji was unsatisfied, wanting to have you fuck him even faster. So he moved his free hand up to your chest, slipping his calloused fingers around your delicate neck.

“Fuck, you milking me so good, baby.. Slutty pussy of yours made for me,” he grunted, his snapping up to meet yours, using more strength to hold your neck. Your hands threw around without true direction, one clawing onto his arm that he used to wrap around your neck, the other digging your nails mindlessly onto his shoulder.

Tears began to swell in your eyes as your moans began to choke up in your throat, Baji’s thick fingers pressing the sides of your neck strategically to restrict your airways, the lack of oxygen making you feel lightheaded and so much more sensitive to the merciless thrusts his cock made into you. You could barely mutter his name, or utter any coherent words for the few long seconds he deprived you from oxygen, though your wet pussy spoke for you in return.

“Dirty bitch—squeeze ‘round me just like that, yeah? Gonna fill you up soon, so fucking soon,” he promised, using and handling your body like a damn fleshlight that was good for nothing but his own pleasure, and fuck did you please him good. His fingers around your neck left welts that would probably stay for few days along with the marks he made on your hip, his cock bullying your cervix with each deep unforgiving thrusts he made, the sound of wet skin slapping against one another filling the room once more.

It went on repeatedly on and on, until he reached a breaking point where the knot in his loin held on its final thread, one final motion to sheath his pulsing cock into your depths contributing to its result to snap. His voice grew louder in volume once he came again, semen spewing in heavy, thick ropes to paint your once velvety walls white. His own orgasm triggered yours, the heat in your lower tummy overwhelming you the moment he filled you up as promised, his cum soon mixing with your own cum that coated his cock, the fluid dripping to his base and trickling down his tightened balls.

“Oh, lord—fuck me,” you murmured between your pants, Baji’s hand around your neck finally loosening and soon withdrawing. Your body twitched from the immense pleasure, twitching and slumping against him soon enough. Baji caught you in his arms, his own breaths ragged and uneven from exertion, his body as sensitive and as weak as yours at the moment. At some point, Baji eventually laid back on the bed, big arms engulfing you in a firm embrace as he tried to calm himself down with you.

“Can I leave safely now?” You muttered against his chest after a long period of silence passed, your breaths back to normal.

“Who said anything about leaving?” Baji rasped through the mask, his exhaustion undetected whatsoever in his voice. Your body tensed in his arms, eyes widening in fear as you felt a familiar gaze heady with malicious intent glaring holes above your head.

[justjudethoughts]

In Defense of Peter Pevensie. Originally written in response to accusations of Peter being "less complex" than other Narnia characters

If King Lune is the embodiment of masculinity as father, then Peter is the embodiment of masculinity brother. As High King, he becomes the brother of his people, but those seeds were sown in his own family. 

From the very beginning of the story Peter is the leader of the Pevensie children, a job he evidently takes very seriously. But, unlike a lot of eldest siblings, he doesn’t use his status and power as a means to swagger around and lord it over the others. Quite the opposite, actually. It is immediately clear that one of Peter’s main functions in the Pevensie family is cheerleader of his siblings. This is shown not only in his open praise of their talents (for example, he hypes up Susan’s talent of archery in PC and cheers on Lucy for having been right after none of them believed her), but also generally tries to keep them in high spirits. 

Take the context of LWW. The Pevensies are sent to the countryside because of air raids. They are going into a strange house with a strange man because the Germans are obliterating everything the children have ever known or called home. All of them are scared, Edmund’s bullying Lucy, and Lucy may or may not be going insane. But Peter can’t show any of them that fear, because he’s the oldest. They can’t know he’s scared, so he puts a bold face on it. One of the first things he says in LWW is “We’ve landed on our feet and no mistake” when he looks at the big house. He argues they are going to have a delightful summer after all. The next day, when the others are disheartened by the rain, he suggests they explore the house.

As the years go on, Peter earns the title “Magnificent.” In this, Peter truly embodies the  JPII quote, “the ultimate test of your greatness is the way you treat every human being.” He has a bleeding heart for the least of these, but in an unassuming, humble way. Peter is not a man of pomp and circumstance. He has a servant’s heart, perhaps most evident in PC. 

Upon returning to Narnia and learning of Caspian’s plight, he immediately makes it known that he has no intention of replacing Caspian. “I haven’t come to take your place, but to put you in it” is among the first things he says to his new friend. This isn’t about winning fame or glory or reliving the old days. This is about making right what was wrong. 

He is generous with the Narnia creatures, even when they are a bit silly. When trying to pick a Marshall, he suggests the Giant Wimbleweather. Caspian warns him that the giant isn’t very smart, to which Peter responds, “Of course not. But any giant looks impressive if only he will keep quiet. And it will cheer him up.” Part of his reasoning is simply the injured feelings of poor Wimbleweather who earlier entirely messed up an important battle.  The following conversation also takes place while they are searching for a Marshall. Reepicheep offers his assistance:

"I am afraid it would not do," said Peter very gravely. "Some humans are afraid of mice——"

"I had observed it, Sire," said Reepicheep.

"And it would not be quite fair to Miraz," Peter continued, "to have in sight anything that might abate the edge of his courage."

Instead of embarrass and insult Reepicheep by explaining that he is far too small and unassuming for such a job, he appeals rather to humans' fear of mice. Even while battle prepping, his is concerned about the hearts of his people. Bulgy Bear, too, he allows to be a Marshall, as it is the right of bears, no matter how silly they are. 

Peter understands that duty means doing what is right, regardless of how it makes you feel. His first battle happens because Susan and Lucy are being chased by the wolves. When he hears Susan’s horn, he runs to help her. The book says, “Peter did not feel very brave; indeed, he felt he was going to be sick. But that made no difference to what he had to do.” His sisters needed him. And so he showed up. The same is true in PC, when he engages Miraz in single combat. Edmund asks if he can beat Miraz. Peter responds that he is fighting to find out. He goes in completely unsure that he is ever going to see his family again, but he does it anyway. Because Narnia needs him. Caspian needs him. His people need him. And his feelings aren’t the deciding factor. 

When he makes mistakes, he owns up to them. In LWW, when the children plead before Aslan on Edmund’s behalf, Peter blames himself for being too hard on Edmund. In PC, when they finally see Aslan, he apologizes for having led them wrong the whole time. He is always trying to do his very best and falling short like the rest of us. But he accepts his fault with humility, gets back up and tries again. 

By the Last Battle, we get to see Peter in his truest form. Even though he has been in England for years, when the seven friends see what looks like a ghost, he is the one who stands up and orders it to speak. Clad in his suspenders and button-down shirt, Peter is once more High King. “Shadow or spirit or whatever you are," he says, "If you are from Narnia, I charge you in the name of Aslan, speak to me. I am Peter the High King." And when night falls on Narnia for the last time it is Peter, once so scared to speak to Aslan (and even attempted to make Susan do it for him) that shuts the door. It is Peter that jests with Lucy when she weeps for Narnia, trying to lighten the mood. It is Peter that she turns to, time and time again, with her questions. It is Peter that Lucy, and all of the other friends of Narnia, trust to lead them. 

It is also Peter, who, “shortly and gravely” tells Tirian about the fall of Susan. Because he has to. Because here he is, once again, the eldest, the leader. Here he is once again faced with the unpleasant task of shouldering the burden for others. But he won’t make Edmund or Lucy explain (in fact, they don’t say anything about Susan). Peter takes that pain for them, forces himself to form words. Perhaps, deep down, he blames himself. He always was a bleeding heart. 

There are so many other things I didn’t include. I could talk about how Peter immediately offers to help Tumnus, simply because he did the decent thing and didn’t kidnap Lucy. Or his beautiful, redeemed relationship with Edmund. I could talk about all the times he is a rock for Susan, or his steady leadership despite his own hesitation. But really and truly, my point amounts to this: Peter is a brother. He is steady and humble and down to earth. He is brave. He is chivalrous and courteous and overflowing with affirmation for those he loves. He is a servant heart. 

When I think of Peter, I think of carpentry and the honesty of working with your hands. I think of campfires and a night sky full of stars, and the feeling of warm flannel. I think of laughter and 19th century books for boys, and tomes upon tomes of Latin. I think of warm drinks, hot cocoa or coffee or tea, and the safety of home. It is home I think of most of all. 

[solbaby7]

While the Cats are Away, the Mice will Play

warnings: some swearing, dirty dancing, it’s mostly just fluff (reader isn’t meant to look like the gif—she’s just there bc she matches the vibes) jealous batboys

summary: you and Mor have a goal to get Nesta out the house and make her have fun—the boys crash the party to watch.

——

“No.”

“Come on, Nesta,” You beg, pushing past the creaky old door to her apartment. The air inside smelled stale, as if she hadn’t opened a window since the day she’d moved in and judging by the overflowing dishes piling in the sink, that had been pretty neglected as well. “You’re wasting away in here and I won’t watch it anymore. Just come out with us. One night.”

“One night?”

“Just one.”

Her arms cross over her chest, steely glare unwavering as she mulled over the offer. “And you’ll leave me alone?”

“Probably not, but I won’t start bothering you to come back out again for at least a week.”

There’s a pause, a silence that’s so deafening that you nearly take a step back, fully intending to give up and leave her to brood but something flickered in those blue-grey eyes, a brow raising and caution laces her tone when she asked, “Where exactly are you trying to take me?”

“Just a bar that Mor and I found,” You start, dangling the only bait you were certain that she’d take and you pray that with her new fae hearing that she can’t make out the frantic pounding of your heart, innocent excitement welling deep within your chest. “They move all the tables out after nightfall and it turns into a dance floor. Please, it’ll be fun.”

“Just us?” The underlying question is evident. Will Cassian be there?

“Me, you and Mor.”

Nesta lets out a scoff, hands smacking at her sides as she flicks at the grey material of her dress. The ends were a little worn, a few stains splotched here and there and if you looked close enough there was definitely a hole on the left shoulder but you refrained from pointing it out. Instead, you smile timidly as if luring an injured animal towards you, promising food and water and safety if they just trusted you for a second. “I don’t have anything to wear.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Your hand clamps around her wrist before she can protest, tugging her behind you and slamming the creaky front door behind you before urging her forward. “I’ve got plenty of clothes that you can wear—I’ll even do your hair if you want.”

If your hand wasn’t around her wrist, you’d have thought Nesta wasn’t even there judging by her silence but you didn’t dare stop, guiding her through the streets until you could see Mor and her golden locks blowing in the breeze, her gaze fixed on a chip in her nail varnish. “I didn’t think she’d do it.”

“You owe me three gold coins—I got her to come and she didn’t throw a single thing at me.”

Nesta’s sharp gaze bounced between you both, mouth pursed as she prepared to say some snarky comment intended to hit below the belt; to push you away and find her too dark and twisty to bother with and maybe even leave her alone to rot. “You bet on me?”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” Mor stepped forward, burgundy red cloth cinching at her waist with a golden ring. “I was the one who had to stitch up Cassian after his last visit—sue us for preparing for the worst.” She doesn’t give Nesta enough time to answer, her palm flat against yours and Nesta’s shoulder and within seconds you were winnowed back to the Night Court.

You ignore Ferye’s raised brows when you walk past the sitting room with Nesta in tow, rambling about different outfits and jewelry to match her eyes. You pray she doesn’t say anything, certain that a conversation with her sister will surely pull her out of the partying mood and you make sure to pick up the pace when you see the Cursebreaker peek out the doorway with Elaine in tow. “I’ll get a bath going.” You feel Nesta go tense, her fingers curling around your wrist subconsciously before you can leave and immediately you nod. “Or a shower? So you can stand? I can even leave the door open so it doesn’t feel too stuffy.”

Her brows raise, surprise spreading across breathtaking features and after what felt like hours of staring she answers. “As long as you leave the door open.”

You’re quick to gather fresh towels and a washing rag, offering a plethora of scented soaps before Nesta snatched up the one with lemon slices fused inside. You wait outside the door, back pressed to the wall until you hear her enter the shower with a sigh. A minute passes, two and once you’re sure she was okay you disappear off to the closet picking up a silky pair of pants before deciding against it—Nesta always looked the most uncomfortable when forced into her fighting leathers, hands always fumbling with the fabric as if it just wouldn’t sit right.

Your fingers trace over an assortment of hanging dresses, some soft like velvet while others were a little itchy but the patterned lace always looked pretty when worn correctly. “I like that one,” Nesta says from behind you, hair wrapped in a thick towel, her dirtied dress bunched in her hands but she doesn’t stop staring at a soft blue dress tucked in the corner, tight at the top, long at the bottom with the entire back exposed and lined with pretty pale pearls. It’s not exactly meant for a night out but it was most similar to something she would’ve worn back then—before the Cauldron, before when Feyre had just been an Archeron and not the Cursebreaker.

“That one it is.” You trade dresses and disappear off to find some jewelry and a pair of shoes you’re sure might fit if you loosen the straps a little. Nesta takes her time and you use that go get ready yourself, shooing off Rhys when he tried to slip into the room just for a peek. “No. It’s a girls night—no boys allowed.”

Rhysand’s hands are tucked in his pockets, shoulder leaned against the wall with one glossy shoe stubbed between the doorway. “That’s a dumb rule.”

“Baby, I really need to finish getting ready.”

He nods. “I can help, we can figure out something else for you to wear.”

You glance down at your outfit—Mor had picked it out herself. It was black with long sleeves that hooked at the thumb with a swooping neckline. The corset like middle cinched you in just tight enough to add a little shape before smoothing out near the skirt. One deep slit was cut on the left side, broadcasting leg all the way to the crease of your hip. “What’s wrong with what I have now?”

“Nothing pretty girl, I simply just want to help you find the rest of it.”

Your eyes roll on their own accord, hand pressing into his hard chest to push him back before slamming the door back into place—double checking that it was locked for good measure. “You want a drink?”

“What do you have?”

“Whiskey,” You drawl out, eyes scanning over the bar cart Rhys kept tucked near the desk. “—and wine. Very, very old and expensive wine.”

Nesta emerged from the closet, her cheeks still a little too gaunt and the shadows under her eyes would need more than makeup in the long run but for once Nesta looked content, gaze tracking her own figure in the mirror. “I’ve been poor for a long time,” She muttered, peering up at you through the reflection, a hint of a smile forming. “I’d say it’s only fair we break into the good shit.”

And with that, you popped the cork free.

Three generous glasses later and you’d finally stopped laughing long enough to finish Nesta’s hair and makeup, arms interlocked as you bounded down the stairs, heels clacking against the glossy floors. “Mor, let’s go!”

Nesta breaks out into a grin with Elaine emerged, a plate full of cookies in her grasp and three have been snatched away before Elaine can even comprehend Nesta—dressed up, smiling and eating and not wasting away in that dingy apartment. “Save me some of those for when we come back.”

Elaine leaned into Ferye, watching Nesta winnow away with you and Mor with small smiles and teary eyes; too elated to notice Rhysand lurking in the shadows, violet eyes sharp as he searched the spot the girls previously stood. “Did they tell you where they were going?”

“I, honestly, was too afraid to ask.” Ferye rested a hand on her hip, eyes low with amusement as Rhys paced the room, a hand rustling through onyx locks. “Look, if you’re so worried, why not just ask Azriel or Cassian to tag along to make sure they’re okay?”

She regrets the words the second she says them, a lightbulb seeming to go off in the High Lords head before he’s stalking down the hall, muttering a soft, ‘good idea’ under his breath as he passed. Down the hall second door on the right, Rhys bounded through, both people he was looking for in the same spot.

Cassian turned from where he sat, a blade in hand as he sharpened its sides. “You good?”

“We’re leaving. Right now.”

Azriel doesn’t show any surprise at the blunt command but his shoulders straighten out at attention, shadows lurking around them. “What’s wrong?”

Rhys doesn’t even have to look at them when he says. “They’re at a bar and Mor was in charge of dressing them.”

Cassian frowned. “Them?”

“Yeah,” He nods, growing impatient. “She’s with Nesta and Mor.”

A brief silence before the sword he was cleaning sheathed back into place and when he stood, Azriel was beside him. “Let’s go.”

——

“What is this?” Nesta questioned wearily, steely eyes crossing slightly as she held up the glass filled to the brim with an alarmingly green substance.

“Don’t ask, just take it back and don’t throw up.” You and Mor tap your glasses against the tabletop before clinking against one another, waiting expectantly for Nesta before knocking it back.

Her face screws up the second it’s down, a balled up fist pressed firmly to her lips before finally releasing a deep breath. “That was disgusting.” A hand settled over her stomach, waving the barkeep over for a glass of water. “Why does it still burn?”

Mor stands from the stool with ease, an inebriated smile tugging at her mouth. “Come dance to take your mind off it—it’ll help.”

Nesta shakes her head in defiance and you let out a soft sigh, reaching out your hand to follow Mor but you never look away from the Archeron sister. You make sure put a little extra oomph into your dancing, bright smiles and bouncing curls and jewelry that clanked when the upbeat music shifted to something sexier.

You stalk towards her like a predator searching for their prey, gaze seductive but playful as you reach out for her. “Just one night Nesta, you agreed.”

Her eyes roll when she smacked her hand into yours with a sigh, heels clicking against the floor as she followed you back to where Mor was. You make a point to give her a bit of distance, dancing to yourself and getting lost in the music hoping that it radiated low expectations—willing a calm aura to wash over her in attempts to get her to just let loose.

And surprisingly, after a second, it worked.

Nesta’s dress flowed as she allowed her hips to sway in tandem with the beat, head bopping casually to the side before full on copying your motions. Where you raking up your body, she mirrored it, hips swaying and hair flying around her cheeks.

The three of you linger about, dancing alone, dancing together, grabbing more drinks before all that can be felt is the overflowing confidence that ensued with liquid courage. You grin mischievously at Nesta, all too aware of the eyes that can’t seem to tear away from your trio. “Watch this.” You glide through the crowd, hips swishing from side to side, one leg peeking out with each stride until you found Mor.

It’s second nature when she slides up to sit on the stage, feet dangling as you danced beneath her, hands teasing up your figure, painted nails teasing at her legs and the men that swarmed were positively ravenous.

Still, none of them ever touched. Never stepped too close.

Maybe they’d heard of Mor and how she’d conquered in her great battles.

Maybe they’d heard about Nesta and how Hybern had created her from scratch and the surplus of power she’d snatched back because of it.

The thought doesn’t linger and soon Nesta is close behind, following suit with moves of her own, a foaming beer she didn’t buy clutched in her grasp. “You think they’re watching us?”

You scoff, all too aware of the High Lord hiding in the corner with Cassian and Azriel, thick shadows mostly concealing them but you’d never miss that scent—of a strong male and his dark power and that damn night-blooming jasmine soap he insisted on using. “I’d put money on it they’ve been watching us since we stepped through the front door.”

Nesta lets out a laugh, cheeks flushed and chest rising and falling rapidly from all the dancing. “Thanks for getting me out of the house.”

“Thanks for letting me.”

[604to647]

What Was I Made For?

3.1K / Frankenstein AU Tim Rockford x fem!reader

Summary: Left on his own, Tim learns a new way to live.

Warnings: None! Age gap cause Tim’s like hundreds of years old 🤷🏻‍♀️😂 Semi-sentient woodland creatures that meddle, I guess 🤭

A/N: Inspired by @almostfoxglove’s beautiful AU moodboard below - if you haven't already, check out that post and the tags, along with all her other AU moodboards! Thank you so much for sharing them with us 🥹🥰

Title by Billie Eilish / Dividers by @saradika-graphics as always 🥰

For a very long time, Tim did not go outside during the daytime.

Father said not to.

And even though Father has been gone for many years, Tim still heeded his words.  His being the only voice Tim had ever heard.

He still doesn’t know why Father left.  He’s even less sure of why he never returned.

Merge Mansion remains dark, even during the day.  Its halls empty, its candelabras unlit.  If anyone was to pass through the ivy choked iron gates and listen at its door, and no one ever did, they would hear only the skittering of mice and the occasional heavy footstep, so slow and deliberate it could be mistaken for the heartbeat of a slowly dying house.

Only ever at night, Tim goes out to the woods behind the now dusty and crumbling mansion.  Those same woods where Father would have him lift, throw, break - repeatedly.  And Father would write furiously in his notebooks.  Tim thinks maybe that’s what he was made for.

For more years than can be counted, enough so that he passes into legend, Tim continues to do what he knows.  He uproots trees and plants and heaves them over knolls and into streams.  He rolls boulders and smashes rocks.  He haunts the forest alone until the dawn threatens to pierce through the thick overhang of the old growth trees; hiding within the moss-covered stone walls of the only home he’s ever known until night brings cover once again.

Until one night after so many nights, he just… doesn’t.  Instead of his nightly exertion to prove something to the darkness, Tim just sits and bathes in the pureness of the moonlight.  He breathes in the earthy musk of the forest’s damp soil and the sweet scent of pine mixed with bark sap.  Instead of his own laboured breathing, Tim finally hears the babbling of the brooks, the hooting of the owls, and soft breeze whistling between the low berry bushes and the high tree tops.  Tim doesn’t know if he was made to be at peace, but he finds that he can do it all the same.

He teaches himself to read.  At first using words Father would say and the signs he would point to in the room Tim lived in: Lock.  Unlock.  Hot.  Cold.  On.  Off.  Danger.  Stop.

Then from books about nature that he finds in the library, remembering words that Father would use to describe their surroundings when in the woods that Tim now knows so well.

Tree.  Rock.  Hill.  Hole.

It takes a very, very long time.  But Tim has nothing but time.

He’s not even sure if he’s doing it right - he has no one to ask.  Not that he could even if there was.  He says the words in his head the way he thinks they sound, but with no voice, never out loud.  He wasn’t made for that.

It’s no matter.  Even if he isn’t sure he’s sounding them out properly, Tim thinks he’s assigned the words to the pictures in the books of animals and landscapes correctly.  There are other books, as well.  Ones with illustrations that are foreign to him and where the words denote meaning that he doesn’t think he will ever understand, but he learns them anyways:  Music.  Dance.  Laugh.  Feast.  Love.

In his woods, Tim no longer destroys: he clears, builds, tends.  Tim carves out paths that feel softer on the bottoms of his lumbering feet.  He removes dead branches from healthy trunks and uses them to sweep the forest floor.  He rolls away dead trees, some fell by age or disease, others by his own hand in the olden days when he thought that was what he was made for.

He still only does these things under the cover of night.  Father had said to be afraid of the village at the bottom of the looming hill upon which Merge Mansion perched.  He warned Tim that if he was discovered, the villagers would come and hurt them both.  Tim wishes that he had known the words or had the voice to tell Father that he would have protected him.  That perhaps it was the villagers who should have been afraid of him. Father’s notebooks say that he was built to be fierce. 

The bunnies in the woods do not seem to think so.  Nor the foxes, or the badgers, or the mice.  The deer do not find Tim to be fearsome, and the birds readily to flock to him.

He supposes it’s because he starts to help them build their nests; his long legs easily carry him to the farthest corners of the woods where the best nesting materials can be gathered.  He volunteers his big, pawlike hands to dig their burrows and holes.  His strength he uses to drag logs and branches to where whole furry families reside, breaking the thick wood into smaller pieces to help them expand and fortify their homes for their growing broods and the incoming weather.  He’s tall enough to lift baby birds back into their nests when they fall out before they’re ready to fly.  He forages and shares all his bounty, himself having no need for sustenance. 

Tim would not mind if this is what he was made for.

The years continue to pass.  The village at the bottom of the hill gets less busy, smaller, and is eventually gone.  Tim only knows because he witnesses the number of tiny square windows illuminated by bright candles during the night, dwindle until there is only darkness.

From the now dilapidated walls of Merge Mansion, Tim watches as what remains of the village rots and is reclaimed by the Earth.  It looks less frightening to him the way it stands now, wild and lush - much more like his beloved forest where he’s only ever known friendly creatures.

It’s the bunnies who convince him to come out in the daytime. 

It had been an especially abundant year for the rabbits, with baby bunnies almost overrunning the forest floor.  The mamas plead with Tim using their big brown eyes to help round up their little ones and keep them safe, making sure none of them strayed too far from the safety of the woods.

Little bunnies are hard to see in the dark.

The first time Tim steps outside during the day, he’s so blinded by the sky’s brightness that he thinks perhaps his eyes were not made for sunlight.  His forest is so green in the daytime.  A richness of browns with the occasional pop of red, blue, even lavender.  In the winters, the snow is so white during the day it appears almost clear.  Once the snow has melted, the streams splash with fish that jump during the day – something that never happens at night.  The sun’s beams warm Tim’s rough skin in a way the moon’s cold, comfortable ambiance never has.  The sounds of the forest are so much louder, cheerier in the day than they are at night – it strikes Tim as odd given it’s the same forest but he supposes he feels more alive during the day as well.

The deer are the ones that lead him out of the forest and to the front of the house.  The overgrown grass on the Merge Mansion hill begs to be grazed on, and with the village gone, Tim and the deer while away many days unseen and unbothered amongst the soft green blades – looking out to a splendid view of rolling plains and sprawling forests stretching all the way to the horizon.  He never strays far from the house - still heeding Father’s words of caution even though the dangers he warned against look to be long gone.

Tim doesn’t even know that another village has sprung up somewhere on the other side of a low mountain that he considers to be more than a fair distance away until you.  The first time he sees you, you’re but a little girl and you come with your own father to the cemetery that rests at the bottom of his hill, where it once bordered the old village.  The same cemetery from which Father gathered the parts that make up Tim as he is, if Father’s notebooks are to be believed.  The deer scamper away before you or your father see them, but Tim stays and hides, watches.

He hears your father tell you that these graves belong to your ancestors who once lived in the old village that’s now gone and that even though you live on the other side of the mountain, you should still pay your respects.  Tim listens to your cheery chatter and the hum of your father’s merry tunes as the two of you clean the gravestones, pull the weeds, plant fresh gardens.

You and your father come every week and Tim begins to look forward to it.  He watches you grow into a beautiful woman and your father into an old man.  He listens to the musical lilt of your voice and the gentle teasing of your father as the two of you care for and nurture the plot of land at the base of the Merge Mansion Hill so that it grows vibrant and fragrant with flowers that he’s only ever seen in Father’s books.  He hears your father tell you stories he heard as a child about the house that Tim lives in – the legend of a mad scientist and a terrible monster.  Tim doesn’t know why, but he feels relief when you laugh at these stories and call them ridiculous.

When your father stops coming with you, Tim watches over you in his stead.  You continue to do your duty in the cemetery joyfully and your sweetness is like an invitation.  The bunnies and the foxes and the mice and the deer all come down to join you.  You laugh and share your food with them and they enjoy your company as much as you do theirs.  Music.  Dance.  Laugh.  Feast.  He thinks he finally understands.  When his furry friends turn their soulful eyes up to the house, Tim knows they’re looking to him to come down but he shakes his head no.  He’s not made for this.

He doesn’t know that you see him anyways.

You’ve known he was there since the days you would come to this cemetery with your father as a little girl.  Most times as just a shadow on the Merge Mansion grounds, but once or twice you had seen Tim’s handsome, haunted face in one of the cracked windows.

You don’t know who he is or what he is, but some how you know that you have to pretend that you’re unaware of his presence.  As if for some laughable reason, he finds you to be frightening.

So, you try to make yourself to be as nonintimidating as possible.  You wear soft flowing fabrics that lie prettily over your equally soft skin in pleasing colours that compliment the hue of your hair and the brightness of your eyes.  You keep your voice gentle and the sound of your notes harmonious when you sing or hum your favourite songs of love and fantasy.  When your father tells you the old stories of the Merge Mansion Monster, you make sure to loudly decry this characterization.  Your unseen friend is not a monster, and you want to make sure that he knows you know that.

Your woodland friends who proclaim to know him best seem to say, give him time.  So you do, waiting patiently for a sign.  For what?  You don’t know.  Just a sign for more.

It comes one summer day, many, many years after your weekly trips to the cemetery became solo trips.  For two weeks, you’ve been in a state of mild panic, unable to find the delicate gold chain necklace that your father gave you - his last gift to you before he passed.  A part of you fears that it may have come unclasped and dropped onto the path some time during your weekly trip to the Merge Mansion cemetery; your heart clenches – if that was the case, your treasured necklace is surely lost.

Your surprise when you find your necklace waiting for you on top of a gravestone next to a small tied bundle of lavender is palpable.  Your eyes threaten to overflow with tears as you look up the hill to the house and mouth, thank you.

You don’t know that you had actually lost your necklace next to this very gravestone and that one of your bluebird friends had carried it up to Tim in its beak.  Tim spends two weeks practicing making the small bouquet of lavender – his large and clumsy hands unused to the precise and delicate movements required.  He refers to the instructions in the book he found so many times he can see the diagrams in his sleep.  But he keeps trying until he gets it right – wanting to offer you something more than just your returned necklace as a token of his appreciation for all the work you do.  Holding the delicate chain in his oversized hand, he can’t stop looking at it glittering in the moonlight and admiring its intricate craftsmanship.  It’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.  Well, second.

The next week, Tim discovers a large and fragrant bouquet of the cemetery’s best and biggest blooms laid outside of his iron gates.

Three weeks later, on the same gravestone, you find those flowers dried and pressed, then laced together in a pretty flower crown.

You weave your own from new fresh flowers and leave it in place of the dried one you take home.  The following week, the crown you made is gone, and in its place, a large pile of fresh wild berries that must come from the forest behind the mansion.

The squirrels had objected, but Tim promised that the reduction of berries from their weekly hoard would be for a good cause.  You helped prove him right the following week when he returned from the hill with a jar of wild berry jam which he happily shared.

This continues for months.  Each week a small, thoughtful trinket exchanged - neither you or Tim having much to offer except your consideration and time.  The giddy anticipation and resulting awe a gift in itself.

The day you bring a blanket that took you six weeks to knit, you’re imbued with a bravery (the source of which is unknown even to you) that brings you all the way to Tim’s doorstep.  The heavy door opens when you push against it, but no one answers when you call out.

While Tim is in the woods assisting with the birth of a newborn deer, you’re wandering the dark, musty halls of Merge Mansion.  You find where you think Tim must sleep: in a room that looks like a lab - electrical wire equipment, gurneys, restraints and medical utensils long since pushed against the walls of the room and abandoned.

You read the notebooks left behind by the scientist and seethe on Tim’s behalf.  To call him a Creature!  To experiment on him and put him through trials of endurance and strength as if he was merely an instrument for violence!  You’re grateful that Tim’s creator must be long dead by now, else he might not be able to escape the vitriol you feel rising in your chest at the mistreatment Tim endured at his hand.

You leave the blanket and the mansion in a hurry.

When Tim comes back into the house, he knows immediately that you were there.  He smells you.  The sweet floral perfume from your garden and the sticky scent of fruit from your jams hangs in the air.  Nothing in this house or the forest smells quite so lovely.  You were here. 

With growing distress, he finds your thoughtful gift in the room where he sleeps and knows that you’ve read Father’s notebooks.  You know the truth of what he is now.  He’ll never see you again.

But you come back.

You leave him a letter and for three weeks, he reads it every day. 

It’s a letter that tells him about yourself and your family, and how you came to be his weekly visitor.  You tell him how you’ve always known he’s been there but you were afraid to scare him away so you never let on that you saw him.  You tell him that now that you’ve calmed down a bit, you’re not quite so angry at Father but you do think that he didn’t understand Tim’s true nature, or perhaps, you concede, he simply wasn’t gifted enough time to understand. 

You tell him what you think of his nature.  In your experience, men who are strong are rarely gentle and those who harness power are hardly ever giving.  But Tim is.  His hands, arms and muscles may be sewn together from much lesser men, but he, Tim, wields his strength to protect and look after others.  His heart may not be able to pull down trees or break rock, but it’s tender and pure – and where his true power lies.

You write that even though you’ve never met him face to face, you only ever feel safe and cared for knowing he’s around.  And you hope that even if he never forgives you for trespassing in his home and going through his personal belongings without his permission, he will take your words to heart.

Every week you come back to the doors of Merge Mansion bearing a small gift and a big apology, but Tim is nowhere to be found.  You’re starting to fear that you’ve crossed an unforgiveable boundary and ruined your indescribable but cherished connection, when the most wonderous sight awaits you as you near the top of the hill nearly a month after you left your letter.

Tim. 

Impossibly large and broad, a hulk of a man is sitting on the front steps waiting for you.  His face is hard, lined from time and worry, but his eyes are soft and vulnerable.  You see some trace of old scars along his forehead and neck, and down the worn skin that stretches over the corded muscles of his forearms.  His clothes are outdated and entirely the wrong size, but somehow it works on him.  He looks formidable.  Wild, yet tame.  Handsome.

You run to him, beaming.  Tim stands when you come to a stop in front of him, towering over you as he holds out a bouquet of wildflowers picked from the forest lands behind his home that he tends to so carefully.

When you reach out to accept, your small fingers brush his larger calloused ones, and the jolt of electricity that passes between the two of you feels like pure joy.  And although Tim can only offer a quiet grunt, unable to say the words that he wishes he could sing with his whole chest, you understand him perfectly.  Your incandescent smile and hopeful expression reassure him that you too, recognize the simple, unspoken truth: Tim was made for you.

🎶Obligatory Billie Eilish, What Was I Made For lyrics🎶:

'Cause I, 'cause I I don't know how to feel But I wanna try I don't know how to feel But someday I might Someday I might

Think I forgot how to be happy Something I'm not, but something I can be Something I wait for Something I'm made for Something I'm made for

[blarshwritezz]

Yandere Ex x Reader

M yan x AFAB reader

TW - general yandere behavior, implied NSFW, somnophilia, drugging, pregnancy/baby trapping, stalking

Things have been...strange since you broke up with your now ex boyfriend. Things in your house were moved, and sometimes cleaner than how you left them. Not only that, you've been feeling sleepier and sleepier. Especially after all your meals. You swear you'd fall asleep at the table only to wake up in your bed...

And worse, for the last month or two, you've been feeling really sick. And not only that, you've missed your last two periods.

So naturally, you went to your doctor in hopes of finding an answer. And well...you certainly found one.

"Pregnant?! But- but that's impossible! I haven't had sex in months!" You haven't exactly been sleeping with many people since your breakup 6 months ago. Well, any people, actually.

"Ma'am, don't you think you're a little old to be acting like this? If you haven't been sexually active, there would be no baby." The doctor talked down to you, as if you didn't know how babies happen.

That night, you laid in bed thinking about how the hell this could have happened. Sure, you randomly woke up some mornings with a sticky mess between your legs, but you thought you'd just had an increase in wet dreams or something.

Your thoughts were interrupted by a sound in your walls. Damn mice. You needed to get rid of them. No matter how many traps you set out, they never seemed to go away.

You sighed and got up. You couldn't sleep. Maybe a snack would help, or a cup of water. Arriving at your kitchen, you opened the fridge. Now what did you want? You actually weren't that hungry.

You spotted a little bottle of water and grabbed it. You just liked the taste a bit better than tap water. You opened it and took a swig, taking it with you back to bed.

Laying back down, covering yourself with the blankets and closing your eyes, you thought about your breakup oddly enough. It was so weird. You told him you never wanted to see or hear from him again, and he just...agreed. He had been acting extra possessive and you couldn't take it. You expected to have to fight tooth and nail to get away from. You thought you must have just gotten lucky as sleep finally took you.

And he stuck to his word, really he did. You hadn't seen him. You couldn't, not from inside your walls. Thanks to the total lack of security cameras in your house, he was able to sneak out whenever he wanted to drug your food and drinks while you weren't looking. You would never notice how he tapped your phone to listen to you wherever you went.

He was elated at the news from today. You had to be his again now that you were having his baby! Maybe soon, he'd come out of hiding and you three would be a happy family! And it'd be a lot easier to give that child siblings. As many as possible, preferably.

Until then, he'd be content with watching you from a distance, only able to get close when you were asleep. And after a few months, he'd be able to start taking proper care of you.

This would have been better if I finished it closer to when I started it lol