#its like. a healthy thing to do. but i do know that the current approach kills me. badly.

[caruliaa]

one thing abt me is that i will get my silly little hopes up despite being actively aware that thats how i get my silly little feelings hurt

[colourstreakgryffin]

HELLO! If you are taking requests can you do a Dazai Osamu! Reader with Alastor, Lucifer and Husk? Both romantic and platonic please. If you are uncomfy with it its perfectly fine!

Hehe! Okay. I actually haven’t gotten Lucifer or Husk yet and I like both of ‘em! I’ve written about this character before, Dazai Osamu but since it’s different, I’ll try it but i am sorry, I can’t manage over six over six-to-seven headcanons for the three boys in both platonic and romantic so just romantic it is! I hope that’s okay!

Alastor

Romantic

Alastor feels like he has to have you on a leash 24/7 and whilst it’s annoying, he wouldn’t mind being near you all the time. You’re a cunning and sophisticated person but you’re also quite suicidal and lazy at times so he has to have a eye on you all the time to ensure he won’t walk into you trying to make a joke, out of stabbing yourself

Alastor is quite protective. You’re a suicidal maniac and you even openly say to him you want to properly die with him, die with a handsome man and he is repulsed by this idea so he has to always cling you onto him to control your very bad habits and bad mannerisms. He will get you over them eventually, as your boyfriend, he cares about your health and he is thankful that you reciprocate

Alastor is glad when you’re more into your funny, caring state. When you’re more of an approachable and good person. Because then, it’s a golden opportunity to bond with you and not act as your damn suicide prevention police. He much prefers when you’re not fantasising and being picky about how you get erased then fail to complete these processes

Alastor’s quite impressed by your skills. You’re the strongest and youngest mafia leader back in your human life and your current sinner life so you have the passion you act you don’t and you’re more mature then you behave as. He is proud when he can watch you take charge and lead around the Hotel with your own knowledgeable being the main guide

Lucifer Morningstar

Romantic

Lucifer is a goofy sweetheart so you bet your ass that he is very good at keeping you passive and giggling, away from your dark mind. You’re always smiling and joking around with the King of Hell since he can handle you very well. He is as caring but he treats you like you’re made of glass. Something he won’t stop doing until your obsession over suicide dies out

Lucifer likes how mysterious you can be. You’re not entirely open, which he understands whilst being immensely open himself. He will just have to win your trust and your ability to express yourself over time as your new partner. You’re dark and enigmatic, if not the opposite of Lucifer and it’s a wonder why he likes you so much and he could write a book about why he likes you

Lucifer loves how committed and willing you are. You’ll do even the most shady things for him and he always feels both extreme pride and the extreme desire to scoop you up in his mighty six wings to kiss your face off. You’re so loyal and you do so much for him, it’s not a surprise that he sticks to you like he’s glued onto your hip

Lucifer is actually quite protective to you. He doesn’t want you touching even the smallest weapon, even if you’re an adult as well but because of your mental issues and how suicide trigger-happy you are. At least, you do have a good sense of humour and have a fun-loving side through how much you tease people, it’s adorable! Lucifer does like them, it, for some reason, soothes him hearing you play around more genuinely

Husk

Romantic

Husk is a grumpy, quiet but yet patient and considerate man. He may be older but he is still caring and makes a wonderful partner. Especially for this carefree and relaxed soul, one who expresses their suicidal tendencies quite a lot. Husk knows about your suicidal desires and for that, he has such a sharp’s tiger eye on you

Husk(in reality, of these three boys) is the most healthy to date. He is gruff and emotionless on the outside but compassionate and gentle on the inside, he is a Tsundere at best and he doesn’t mind being stern with you when you’re falling down a rabbit hole or trying to harm yourself like it’s some comedy show. You’re life is beautiful and you need to see that

Husk relates to you a lot, on deep levels. You’re both lonely, you’re both lazy, you’re both basically done with everything but you have each other, you both hide your real selves and your genuine personality under a armour of behaviours, so Husk acts as the proper one for you two. He tries to encourage you to join him whenever-wherever and to try put your wits and intellect to good use. He’d feel so proud of you if you did

Husk always sticks around you. He never leaves you alone, he doesn’t want you hurt so he takes you to bed with him, he cuddles you to his side whenever you’re both walking, he even comes into the bathroom with you. He does it for many reasons, mainly because he feels so comfortable with you

[temilyrights]

simple thing, where have you gone?

alex blake x gn!reader

summary: for @storiesofsvu's holiday bingo "first snowfall" square + also inspired by this ask i recieved. alex knows you aren't sleeping and is determind to find out what's bothering you, and she's bringing out the big guns - hot cocoa.

word count: 3.2k

warnings: nightmare descriptions: feeling claustrophic, being trapped. alex touches r's hair (long enough that she moves a strand from r's eye - no description of hair type/colour). kissing. no use of y/n or pronouns. hurt/comfort with a happy ending.

a/n: this was so fun to write. i think it may be my fav thing i've written. i'm changing up the photos i post because i've seen a lot of people do this format (e.g. @emilys-bangs & @catssluvr - check them out <3) and i think it looks a lot prettier and cleaner than a gif so i'm jumping on the bandwagon.

Alex balances the two trays of steaming cocoas in her hands. The aroma tickles her senses, the creamy chocolate temporarily transporting her back to her childhood, to winter evenings in front of a fireplace with her family. It’s a welcome comfort after five days in chilly Bismarck, ND. She pushes her way into the conference room the team are currently taking up residence in; multiple heads lift up, sighs leaving lips, as shoulders relax at the indulgent scent, and Alex knows she has made the correct choice in grabbing the sweet treat for everyone. 

“Is that what I think it is?” JJ sighs, hopeful and exhausted. 

“I thought we could all use a little pick-me-up, especially in this weather.” She responds as she places the heavy trays on the table. Her eyes dart around the room as eager hands begin reaching for the hot beverages. Your absence is notable, and makes her teeth dig into her lip. A common theme this week.  

“Thanks, Blake.” Morgan nods gratefully. He sips the cocoa, savouring the taste, thrown back to his own happy memories. It’s beautiful how a simple drink can have a room full of agents silently reminiscing. She catches Hotch, tenderly holding the cup, a warmth making its way up his cheeks as he takes a sip, so unlike the stoic figure he tries to hold whilst at work. 

Alex grabs the last two cups from the tray. “Where’s-”

“Out back.” Reid interrupts, worry obvious. She wasn’t the only one that had noticed your declining state. 

She retreats from the room with a smile as the team all voice their thank you’s. The cold night air is less forgiving when she steps outside a second time, biting at her skin, and causing her face to flush pink even as the hot cocoa continues to provide warmth to her hands and she buries her face in her scarf. She finds you leaning against the precinct wall, the glow of a nearby security light breaking up the night sky, highlighting you enough that she can make out your arms wrapped tightly around your body and your stare stuck on a point in the distance as she approaches. 

You look around, the bags under your eyes more obvious in the unflattering yellow light. You haven’t been sleeping, Alex knows. Has been able to hear you restlessly moving around your room late at night due to the thin hotel walls. And despite that, you are always pouring over casefiles when everyone arrives in the precinct in the morning, looking like you’ve been glued to the chair for hours, even though the clock only reads eight am. 

It’s not healthy, you’re working yourself to the bone and she can’t figure out what it is about this case that has you on such high-alert. It was brutal, three victims so far tortured and mutilated, but she’s watched you not flinch at worse.

She’s worried about you. 

“Hot cocoa.” Alex says in lieu of a greeting, a small smile gracing her lips as she pushes the drink in your direction. 

Your eyes widen, mouth opening in surprise, “Oh.” You take the cup from her hands, eyes tracking her face for a moment before you fully accept the gift, always looking for an ulterior motive. 

You lift the drink to your nose, eyes closed as you inhale the chocolatey aroma through the mouthpiece of the lid. A hum leaves your lips, your shoulders relaxing further into the wall. A sense of peace finally settling over you for the first time this week. 

Alex finally rewards herself with a sip of her own cocoa. The hot liquid fighting off the cold air and encompassing the ball of warmth in her chest that is directly related to you. She did good. Anything that eased the now permanent furrow of your brows was a win in her books. 

“Thank you.” You sigh, eyes fluttering open. Your body rolls against the wall, leaning more towards her and creating a little pocket of space where the harsh biting air seems to dull. Her eyes move across your face, caressing every detail, wanting to hold this time while she can. 

“How are you doing?” She asks, trying to keep her voice light so you don’t get defensive, and unintentionally making it soft and intimate in the small space.

You take another sip of your drink, nodding. “I’m okay.” 

She arches her brow, she can’t help it. Her lips tilting upwards as her fingers reach out to ghost your arm. You follow the action, breath catching, and she forces her hand away, scolding herself for wanting more, always having to resist the urge to pull you closer.

She tucks her free hand into her trouser pocket, “How are you doing?” 

You blow out a breath, visible in the air. She wonders if it might snow, the air feels frosty enough. “I just wanted a breather. I was about to head back inside.” 

“A breather from what exactly?” 

You huff, eyes moving away from her and focusing on something across the street. “I mean isn’t it normal to want a little space after five days of being in each other's pockets? I love the team but it’s not like any of us have had five proper minutes alone since we got here.” 

She nods. She would agree with you if you weren’t beginning to get defensive, eyes avoiding hers and feet shifting beneath you. She tilts her head, aiming for casual, but knowing the words will hit anyway, “And this has nothing to do with the fact you’re not sleeping?” 

Your eyes snap to hers, panic obvious, before they flicker away and you bury your head back in your cup. “I don’t know what you mean,” You murmur, words threatening to be lost to the cup as you take another sip of your drink. 

She aches to reach out and stroke the hair away from your face that you are using as a shield. Instead, her fingers flex on her cup, her teeth digging into her lip. “You can talk to me.” She whispers, voice coming out like a promise, a vow. “I want to help, however I can.”

“Why?” You ask, disbelief coating your features, looking at her like she’s a puzzle you can’t solve, no matter how hard you try. 

“Because you’re hurting.” She responds honestly and swallows down the lump in her throat that tries to make itself known. 

Tears build in your eyes as you shake your head. Your eyes flicker over her face and then away again, a soft laugh escaping your mouth as your fingers tap a pattern against your cup. “Just like that?” You whisper throatily, gaze still trapped in the distance.

“Of course,” 

You swallow roughly, eyes finding their way back to hers, lost and scared. An expression she never wants to see on your face again. She doesn’t have it in her to resist again.

She sighs, stepping closer and gently brushes the hair from your eyes. They fall close, a soft breath leaving your lips as you lean into the gesture. She memorises each detail of you, committing the length of your eyelashes to memory, the lines around your mouth, the feeling of your skin beneath her touch. Her hand trails down to your arm and settles there, safe. 

Your eyes flutter open, holding her gaze as you nod gently. ”I haven’t been sleeping well.” You confess.

She waits patiently for you to continue as she notices a few white snowflakes land in your hair. 

Snow. 

“I’ve been having this recurring dream where I'm trapped in this box, and I can barely breathe. It’s—awful.” You rapidly blink away the tears in your eyes. “I’m screaming but no one comes. I’m all alone. And then I wake up and I feel claustrophobic in my own body, all these emotions bubbling up that I can’t release.” Your tears spill over and you reach up to hastily wipe away the mess with a shaking hand. “It’s stupid and selfish. There’s three dead women and I’m crying over nothing.”

“Sweetie, no.” She urges, hand tightening on your arm. “You are none of those things. Those dreams sound atrocious. No wonder you haven’t been sleeping.” 

“I’m so scared to close my eyes.” You whisper, hauntedly. 

“Then let me watch over you, and when the dream hits we can break the pattern. I’ll be there.”

You shake your head, laughing, “What? You’re gonna watch over me while I sleep—”

“Yes.” She interrupts, voice serious and weighted. She won’t let you joke this away, not when you look seconds away from collapsing. Alex would sit there the entire night if she needed to. She would watch over you and keep you safe. 

You swallow roughly, unable to hold her intense gaze, the probing eyes that not only saw you, but took action to help. Snowflakes continue to slowly fall, landing on your hair and face, and making her heart erupt with emotions. The urge to touch is amplified tenfold, the combined beauty of the snow and you almost too much to bare. She forces her hand to fall away. 

“Alex, I will be okay. You don’t need to do any of this.” 

She nods, knows that, but it will not stop her. “You need to sleep. You are destroying yourself pretending you don’t. Why wouldn’t I help when I can?” 

You sigh, frosted breath erupting into the space between you. Annoyed, frustrated, at the thought of needing anyone. “Only because I need to be able to focus on this case.” 

She smirks, eyes brightening. “For the good of the case.” She hums, catching your eye and enjoying the almost bashful expression that coats your features as you huff out a laugh and your gaze skates away again. 

You take another sip of your drink and she mirrors you. It’s beginning to lose its heat, but you don’t complain. Snowflakes continue to fall, and Alex turns towards them, lifting her head into the snowfall. The delicate flakes land on her face, cold and wet, and a smile tugs at her lips. This was the first snowfall of the year, and she could not think of a better moment for it to arrive than when you were standing next to her. 

The chattering of your teeth breaks through her basking, and she turns back around, a disapproving tut escaping her mouth when she finds you shivering on the spot in silence. “Let’s go inside before you get hypothermia.” 

“No,” You protest, hand landing on her arm to stop her moving away. “No, you love the snow. Let’s enjoy it a moment longer.” 

“Honey, you’re shivering–”

“I’m fine.” You rebut, shoulders squaring in stubbornness. And then, softer, from below your lashes, “I want to finally enjoy the snow with you.” 

She melts, putty in your hands. She can’t argue with you, your eyes should be considered a weapon the way she crumbles for them. She nods, and outstretches her hand, “Here, give me your cocoa.” 

You pass it over without objection, and Alex walks a few steps away to dispose of both cups in the bin. Long since cold and of no use to anyone now. She begins pulling off her scarf as she approaches you again, and your eyes widen. 

“Alex–”

She wraps the burgundy cashmere around your neck, bating the hands away that try to interrupt her task. Your shoulders slump, your nose burrowing into the material as a sigh leaves your lips. She smiles and ignores the biting cold now hitting her body as she fiddles with the end of the scarf, making it lay flat against your coat. 

“There,” She whispers.

You sigh, holding her gaze with a furrowed brow. She can see thoughts winding their way through your head, but you don’t voice them. Instead, you stumble forward, your arms pulling her in and wrapping tightly around her waist, eliciting a surprised “oh” from her throat as her own arms hold you close, after a second to compute. Her nose finds its way to your hair, the smell of your shampoo evading her senses and making her hold you tighter.

“Thank you.” You whisper. “For everything.” 

“You do not need to thank me.” She responds, hand stroking your hair before she pulls back to see your face, missing the sight. Your hands remain fixed to her waist, your teeth digging into your bottom lip as you look at her. She tracks the movement, heart thumping in her chest. 

“I don’t want you to think your actions go unappreciated.”

She finds a strand of your hair, one not even in your eye, and stokes it out the way, a choked tut escaping her throat. It’s getting increasingly more difficult to remember herself, to draw back, especially when you look at her with soft, unguarded eyes. The snowfall is getting more intense, covering you in white snowflakes, landing on your eyelashes and melting as you blink.  

“I could never feel unappreciated by you.” She responds, voice barely louder than the wind. Too honest, too much of her heart on show, and you must see it, the way your breath catches, your hand tightening in her jacket. “I just want to do what I can to keep you safe.”

You arch a brow, “You know that’s not always gonna be possible, right?”

She nods, hand moving to cup your cheek and caress the cold skin. You lean into the gesture, your eyes falling close. She isn’t silly, she understands the risks of this job; she knows it isn’t always going to be possible. However, why does that mean she should stop trying? “I know, but sometimes it’s nice to know someone has your back.” 

Your eyes open again, blinking slowly, snowflakes interrupting your sight. “And that's all this is? Just you having my back?” You run your lip between your teeth, your tongue swiping out to moisten the chapped mess you leave behind. 

Alex tracks the movement under heavy eyes, “No,” She breathes, honestly. 

Your mouth parts, your chest rising and falling, eyes focused on her own mouth. Her thumb trails down your cheek, pausing by the corner of your mouth as her gaze finds yours again. You watch her, pupils blown, and Alex slowly pulls her thumb across your bottom lip, feeling the soft flesh, and nearly crumbling at your heaving breath. 

“Alex–” You sigh, eyes pleading for more. Her heart thumps, head hazy with desire, as she finally brings her mouth closer to yours. Your hot breath hit her lips, breaking up the cold, and melting the snowflakes that have landed near her lips. She doesn’t mean to tease you, she just can’t believe she’s here, and is set on memorising every moment of this interaction. 

You have other ideas, a frustrated whine leaving your lips, as you thrust forward and close the remaining distance. Her body hums at the first brush of your lips, needy and impatient, her stomach tingling as you pull her flush against her. She can’t think, can’t breathe, as your lips move together, the sensations perfectly overwhelming. The kisses melt into something gentle and slow, but the neediness never leaves, simmering under the surface. You both balance on the edge of something more; blood rushing through her veins, but she’s not able to forget her location. 

She pulls back, short of breath, the cold air rushing to fill in the space and making her shiver. Your lips are swollen, so kissed. The most irresistible you’ve ever been. She caresses your cheek, “You, my dear, are the person I’m falling in love with.” 

You rapidly blink away tears, “Really?” 

“Of course,” She nods, smiling. “It’s you.” 

You shake your head slightly in disbelief, “You make everything sound so simple.” 

“I think with you it could be.”

“God–” Your voice cracks, and you tug her back your lips finding hers again, frantic, hot and needy. You devour her with bruising kisses, communicating what you fear to say aloud, and Alex catches it all. I feel it too. I want you. I’m scared. Please stay. 

She pulls away, earlier than she wants to. “Honey–” She meets you in another kiss, but drags herself back again, forcibly taking a step back so she can’t fall into you again so easily. 

“Sorry, sorry–” You say between laboured breaths, shaking your head. 

“It’s not because I do not want to.” She explains, a blush rising in her cheeks, that mingles with the permanent one on her face because of the frosty air. 

“I know,” You nod, smiling bashfully. “But we should get back to the team.” 

She sighs and nods. “Yes.” 

“And out of this snow before we catch a cold.” 

She looks out at the white flakes, beginning to settle on the ground. Hopefully in a few hours she’ll be able to feel the crunch of snow under her feet. Your hand rubs up and down her jacketed arm, “When this case is over, I’ll find a place where you can properly enjoy the snow.” You promise. 

Her heart warms, gaze softening as she looks at your earnest expression. “Come on, you’re right, let’s get inside.” She places her hand on your back and pushes you back in the direction of the precinct.

You oblige, shoulders bumping together as you walk. Alex catches your eyes just before she opens the door to the building, eyes soft and her smile just for you. Her hand falls from your back, forcing her touch away, as she pulls open the door. You step inside, subtly squeezing her hand as you pass, making her heart thump. 

She follows, watching as you attempt to shake off the snowflakes that cling to your body. It's useless, they’re already melting, soaking into your hair and clothes, but she enjoys watching you try. 

“There you guys are.” Morgan interrupts, making her break her gaze away from you and to the man watching you in mild amusement. Alex’s not ready to give away just how much she’s feeling for you to outsiders just yet. She wants to keep it between the two of you for now. “Hotch wants us to go over victimology. Thinks something isn’t right.” 

She nods, ready to focus back on the case. “Of course, let’s go.” She heads in the direction of the conference room, mindful of the way Morgan hangs back to speak to you. 

“Is that Blake’s scarf?” She hears him ask, amusement thick in his voice. 

She doesn’t dare turn back around. 

“Yes, I was cold.” You respond, defensive, and likely with an eye-roll.

He whistles, “I see you, casanova.” 

“Morgan–” You protest, voice dripping with annoyance. Alex winces and pushes her way into the conference room, hearing his loud chuckle sounding from behind her. 

The rest of the team is already spilling over folders, and she takes her seat, pausing first to slip out of her wet coat and discard it on an unused chair. You make your way into the room and she can’t resist looking at you from the corner of her eye as you take the seat opposite her, a smile on your face that conveys you can feel her stare. 

She looks away, forcing you out of her mind, and instead focusing on Hotch as he starts to voice the holes in victimology. 

She’d check on you again this evening. There was an unsub to catch.

taglist: @aburman03

[freestyle-crocodile-trashpile]

Smooth

Summary:Your more than just a criminal, your a smart one. No recklessness with you

Type: Scenario:??:Arthur Morgan & GN!Reader

Verison:rdr2

~

"How'd you do it?"

Arthur looks at you, the one person in this camp who actually looks out of place. You look sweet, young, noble even. People don't see you as a criminal- not even a horse rider half the time. You can walk into a town and rob them clean and everyone still loves you. He's watched you walk past people who have hunted him and other camp members for their bountys- your like butter, slipping through every crack like it's nothing, slipping through obstacles and dodging bullets by walking straight into them.

"Mm? What do you mean?"

You turned to Arther, furrowing your eyebrows at him. He could mean maybe things, theirs more than one thing you do. You fish better then him, hunt small creatures, smooth talk people, kids, theirs so much he could be talking about. It's not that your better than him, just a tad bit smarter.

"You...your so damn good at bein' a criminal. How? It's like your made for this, but you only joined us last year at least"

Arthur seemed actually frustrated by this. He's had to kill so many people because of this line of work, and you practically just smooth talk them into killing themselves. There zero trace of you anywhere- while he's fighting bountys off his hat. With a hum you looked forward again at the lake. You two and gone hunting and where currently camping out. It was just you and him. And... actually kinda nice. Arthur doesn't talk to much alone, just a few things here and there. The silence of nature was lovely.

"Well...when you think before hand it helps a lot. But, I just understand the brain, Arthur. When you know more it helps out a lot. Its why I can hunt and fish better than you too"

Arthur huffed, finding your words a little annoying. He wasn't stupid, just reckless sometimes. And even then it's not often. Arthur thinks things through, so why are you still so much better than him? What's he doing wrong.

"I ain't stupid, so yeah are you so much better. Why don't you get hunted like me?"

Your chuckle pissed him off a little, looking at you with a small frown. When you looked over at him, all smug with a big ol' smirk he wanted to just go to bed. He hated talking to smug people.

"When you look less rugged and like a beast people see you less as a threat. You big Arthur, bigger than me. And I have a more...gentle approach to things."

Arthur relaxed abit. As much as he hated that answer, you were right. He was a much easer threat then you, if he didn't know you then he might've just waved you off. It's a good thing you went to Dutch instead of him, Arthur would've ignored your request with how small you were. When you shifted Arthur looked back over at you, noticing the more sad look in your eyes.

"you see, I grew up poor. Got use to using my innocent look to get things. People saw me and women pitied me, gave me things. And when I realized everyone looked at me and just saw a kid, I started to steal."

Arthur hummed, liking that answer much more then you just getting the people. But still, he wanted to smack that smug look off your face- only because of how smug you were, not you, he just hated that smug look. Arthur has come to enjoy putting smug people in their place, it's more fun when his not target is a smug bastard.

"I just learned that when you look sweeter, less healthy the people are less likely to question you. I mean, why would a brittle person kill a brute? Doesn't make any sense."

No wonder you looked like you'd snap. You weren't necessarily skinny- well, that he could see. Your clothes much bulk you up abit, you just had that look of weak bones that he didn't understand. There was always something about you- something that made him tick. Not in a bad way, he didn't dislike you like Micah or Bill. Arthur was just a little frustrated with how well you do when you've barely been with them- to him this is your first time. But there's so much he doesn't know.

"we should sleep, there's a elk we gotta hunt for the camp. Good night Arthur"

Arthur made no move as you stood up, walking over to your tent to snuff out the oil lamp and adjust your bedroll.

"Yeah, we should. Night, Kid"

There was a grunt behind you as Arthur stood up. He waited until you laid down before putting out the fire and snuffing his own oil lamp. It wants to cold so he wasnt worried about his blanket. You were definitely an odd person, so much to discover- and to much for his impatience ass.

~

[A/N:Red Dead has been eating away my brain cells guys. I hope you enjoyed]

[canmom]

canmom.art is well overdue getting updated with a lot of posts on here. it still doesn't even have the music theory series, for example. plenty of other posts, book crit and such, needs to go on there. rpg posts are woefully behind current thoughts on all that.

unfortunately this seems to be slipping into the 'bin of large imposing tasks', which i rarely open, instead apparently preferring to say something about AI or some shit, which is easy to start doing.

the habits need to change. my relationship with reading and posting on this site (and other social media feeds like youtube) is not healthy - projects I want to continue have been backburnered for months of years, new ones barely get started, my work is not doing great rn. and yet it seems to represent something I need, because I keep coming back here for many hours when I planned to do other things.

I have tried other approaches, like keeping a personal journal that nobody else will read, but somehow I come back here, maybe because I will get a number for my trouble. the exact number isn't that important, if it isn't zero - sometimes it's less than 20, sometimes it's like 60, these are about equally satisfying. the rare numbers above 100 can be pleasing, but also slightly worrying, since they are more likely to bring in someone who comes in hot with an angry disagreement.

I do however have a lot of admiration for (presumed to be) autistic people who define their own little web corner full of blog posts, fiction, art, comics, manifestos etc. etc. etc. on all of their projects and scattershot interests. Jennifer Diane Reitz is the prototypical example. Schuschinus and xrafstar are powerful examples in the artistic sphere; floraverse is a more community-shape one; qntm is a more normie-aligned one; todepond is a newer flavour; bogleech is borderline, hewing a bit close to a consistent listicle Content(TM) flavour. they might deliver fiction, essays, or some other stranger thing. sometimes the material is quite inaccessible to outsiders, or requiring immersion in an insular but devoted community, but these are not totally inaccessible - they aren't timecube style crank websites. other times it goes to great pains to lay it all out and be somewhere you can get lost, and yet can't help but have its own specific character. it must be at least a little intriguing. you should be saying 'what's the deal with this' - it must have its own deal, but the more inscrutable the deal, the better.

depending on the person, the look and feel of such sites can be aggressively saturated and high contrast blast, or at the extreme end of programmer-driven cleanness and readability. what you should not find is ads. the site is paid for by a day job, or perhaps a patreon. it is personal. it accumulates sporadically over the years, more varied than your average webcomic site, by the whims of its creator.

very often people who run such a site will have strange opinions that interject unexpectedly into their work. JDR infamously positioned herself as the expert on 'transexuality' in the early internet, presenting a very partisan medicalist account best represented in the 'scientific' are-you-trans test called the COGIATI. today I came across someone from the ratsphere called 'gwern', whose site was among the most impressively featured static sites I've encountered with some very clever hover-based interactions, but they will also randomly drop into some bizarre eugenic parenthetical about the effect of mental illness on evolutionary fitness or some other condescending shit. baffling person. this is part of the character of such websites, though. you don't get to be a weirdo on the internet without being, well, a weirdo.

if you vibe with their flavour of weirdness, finding such a site is like finding a treasure trove, and feels more like getting to know someone's soul or whatever than most other encounters on this dreadful internet. even if this is as illusory as all other parasocial relationships.

this is what I want canmom.art to be. perhaps it already approximates it. and if I can make it the main nucleus of activity, then I am less tied to one or another social network. such is the hope...

when I die, I hope my website will serve as some sort of time capsule record of what I was, a place for someone to discover what one life was animated by in the early 21st century, and ideally a trove of art to fascinate them. but it is perpetually incomplete; for all the pride I take in making it standards-compliant web engineering, it's never quite there. some known issues: the comment field breaks the responsive design causing a huge horizontal scroll on mobile. it is not loading as instantaneously as a static site should, largely due to the large web font, with a warning about layout being forced that I have not solved. most images in the animation night archives do not have alt text, and may never. there are no pages which collate tags.

[random-xpressions]

Goal setting? People often make a mistake of starting to write down things they want and aspire in life. I take an opposite approach. I begin by listing out things that I DON'T WANT IN MY LIFE. Yes, you heard it right and I recommend you try it out. Works more efficiently. Instead of adding more positives to your life, begin by cancelling the negatives. Ok. So you don't like your 9-5 job that sucks and adds no purpose to your life? Quit. Don't think of what would happen next. If you don't love it, quit. So you don't like your friend circle due to their excessive indulgence and killing away of time in worthless pursuits. Then shun. So you don't like being addicted to consuming unhealthy and junk foods. Then substitute it with something more organic, more healthy. So on and so forth. Begin by knowing WHAT YOU DO NOT WANT. I'm not just talking here about the greater things in life but even your day-to-day living. You are not feeling sleepy - don't sleep. Stop forcing things on yourself just because it is a norm that people sleep at night. No, that's not what your being is prompting you towards. Whatever comes naturally to you, let that be the direction you take. You feel hungry, eat. You feel you need a shower, don't stop because its 3 am. The idea is not to go with the trend but to avoid what's not fitting into your current need. So be very clear about WHAT YOU DON'T WANT and start cancelling, deducting them one by one...

Random Xpressions

[darcytaylor]

I get people who are saying he appears to be outgrowing his friend group, however it honestly seems like he is firmly committed to them regardless of his growth. The one constant thing we’ve seen has been the presence of at least A through all the promo and she seemed to be very involved with everything and everyone else in his life apart from Bridgerton. I believe she was even seen with his cast mates from TSOT recently.

I hate to say it, but I am starting to see Bridgerton as the outlier that doesn’t seem to be built into his life, but instead kept separate. The issue for Luke is that Bridgerton and the persona he is/was around it is what he’s known for now, and by seeming to do all he can NOT to be identified with it as his defining role, I think it’s causing problems. Again, not saying any of this is fair or even right, but it isn’t unexpected and I do hate to see this sort of thing playing out so publicly for someone who we know historically struggled with anxiety (although I know some people who have been around awhile and seen him in person have said he is noticeably different as a person now and more confident/not the dorky guy he was… that’s part of why I feel like Bridgerton Luke is not really him anymore).

You have made some very good points in regard to Luke’s commitment to his friend group (and also good points in general). But just because someone is committed to a particular path doesn’t necessarily mean it’s the best choice for their life or that they’re fully aware of its impact. The choices we make affect our lives, and sometimes these impacts are not always positive for ourselves or those around us. 

In Luke’s case, while it's true that his friends are posting about his private/personal life, he is still responsible for setting boundaries and making choices that align with his personal and professional goals. His current approach suggests that he may not fully be aware of the progress he has made or the level of growth he has achieved. It appears he is not surrounded by people who match his professional aspirations, which could be hindering his career. (This is all speculation on my part).

I think Luke can still maintain his friendships while also focusing on networking and advancing his career with people who share similar goals. What’s being shown publicly should ideally reflect his professional image rather than his personal/private life. His recent choices to spend time with his current group, especially when aiming to build on his success with Bridgerton, seem counterintuitive. But I will say this again, until we know his specific career goals, it’s hard to say whether his choices align with them.

Maintaining a separation between work and personal life is healthy. I think everybody should strive to do this. The issue isn’t that we keep seeing Luke’s private life, but that his private life keeps intruding into his personal brand (I brought this up in a comment to an ask). Every celebrity has a personal brand, which they use to market themselves. For Nicola, it’s her relatability, humour, and advocacy, which she effectively leverages (she's damn good at her job). In Luke’s case, the overlap of his private and professional life seems to be damaging his personal brand and creating a conflict.

But people do evolve and grow, and I don’t think it is uncommon for actors (or anyone) to undergo significant personal and professional changes, which sometimes can lead to a disconnect between public image and personal life. I also don’t think it would be easy to manage these perceptions either, but I do think it is crucial for Luke to find a balance that could allow him to embrace his growth and maintain a coherent public image (that works and isn't holding him back) at the same time. 

(also sorry this was so longwinded, but you know me, long drawn out paragraphs are my specialty!)

[fairyminnie444]

Hi, I want to manifest the absence of something I've been experiencing for a long time (health and wellness related). The thing is, after I get rid of this state, I have a lot of things to do that I can't do because of this ailment. And when I affirm that I don't have this ailment, I ask myself why I don't do what I've been putting off for so long, since I'm fine now. I know I don't need to act as if, and I don't want to, as it will trigger me. I can't imagine and tell myself that I'm actually doing those activities, because they require certain thoughts (for example, I haven't watched any shows and when I say I watch them, I feel stupid, because I don't know what's going on in those shows). I also feel stupid when I say I don't have that ailment anymore and yet I'm doing some bs (something I wouldn't do if I were fine). I've tried future tense affirming, but it didnt work, and honestly it doesn't make me feel any better to think that it's going to happen soon, because I've had that ailment for so long. Anyway, what would your advice be?

It sounds like you’re struggling because you’re caught between the desire to manifest the absence of this ailment and the pressure of what comes after—trying to reconcile your current reality with your desired one. Here’s how I would approach this:

1. Focus on the End Result: Don’t worry about the details of “doing” anything just yet. Instead, focus on the feeling of being free from the ailment. Your goal is to shift into the state where you are already without this issue. You don’t need to immediately act on that new state by doing things—your first step is just to believe and feel that the ailment is gone.

Affirmations like “I am healthy and whole now” or “My body is free and strong” should be your focus. You’re not saying “I will do X, Y, or Z when I feel better,” you’re affirming that you are already better, and that’s enough.

2. Let Go of the “How”: You don’t need to know what actions you’ll take once you’re healthy. That’s the 3D getting involved and trying to control the process. Just stay focused on the end state—feeling good, free from the ailment, and healthy. This will allow the 3D to catch up in its own way. The “how” will unfold once the new belief is firmly in place.

3. Don’t Force Yourself to Imagine the Actions: It’s okay if you can’t imagine yourself doing those activities yet. Instead of imagining the doing, focus on how it would feel to be healthy and capable. Think about how good it will feel to live a life without this limitation, without worrying about the ailment. It’s not about visualizing action—it’s about feeling the freedom that comes with your health being restored.

4. Release the Resistance: If imagining the future feels forced or uncomfortable, stop. There’s no need to push yourself into it. Trust the process and let go of the pressure to “act as if” or to fill in the details. You’re shifting into a new version of yourself where the ailment doesn’t exist, and from that state, the actions will flow naturally when it’s time.

5. Affirmations and Trust: If you feel triggered by affirmations like “I am doing X, Y, or Z,” then simply focus on “I am healthy now” and let go of the need to prove it by doing things. The truth is, once your health is fully restored in your mind, the actions you want to take will feel natural, and the desire to do those activities will come without resistance.

Stay focused on who you are becoming, not on how you’re going to do things. The more you focus on the absence of the ailment, the more it will disappear. When you affirm, “I am free from this ailment,” do it without needing to justify it by action immediately. The 3D will follow your inner state of health and well-being.

[genderkoolaid]

What do you think about the concept of "since kink and porn is an art form, you should be able to critique it like an artform" (but like, with actual critique rather than just kink-phobia AND ALSO don't critique someone's specific piece of art if they didn't ask you to, like we're still applying the basic rules of art critique to this).

In the same way you would examine and criticize someone animating a character saying something violently transphobic, you would criticize someone for making violently transphobic porn. (Of course there is nuance to this, just because a character says something violently transphobic doesn't mean the creator is transphobic in that and same with violent transphobic porn)

But I guess in order to get to that point, we need to get past the "it's not morally pure" and "you're gross for liking that" type shit in order to do that in a healthy way. Because I believe there is a healthy and honest way to critique porn and what kind of message people are putting out into the world with porn (oddly enough, porn can be used as propaganda), but I don't think we as a society are ready to do that with the current state of puritanism.

I would say, one, that kink =/= porn. I think it makes sense to critique porn like an artform, but kinky sex in private is, y'know, private, so it would be weird to try and artistically critique someone's sex life. Not all kink exists for public consumption & it private kink shouldn't be judged like its inherently meant to be consumed by the public. Porn, on the other hand, is meant to be viewed (for purposes of arousal), and that includes kinky porn. (Also, we can critique the way people do kink, but I don't think that should be compared to how art is critiqued yk? Like there's a difference between artistically critiquing movies about sports and critiquing the way sports are played. And when it comes to interpersonal relationships it should really be left to people actually involved in the situation since they know their needs best.)

I definitely think there's merit in critiquing porn in an artistic sense. But it definitely has to be done from a perspective outside of "this is depicting a Bad Thing and making it seem like a Good Thing, therefore its Bad." Personally, I think more should be done to emphasize the kink aspect of kink- a lot of CNC porn removes the context of kink, which is extremely important for not only engaging in but just understanding CNC. If you listen to people who have rape kinks & engage with them in healthy ways, its very clear that part of the arousal is the fact that its in a kinky context, and the knowledge that you either have power taken away or are given power based on mutual trust. I said this before in another post but I think a lot of the negative things attributed to kinky porn itself comes from people consuming it without having any kink education to put that porn in context. But this has to come alongside systemic changes to how we approach kink and sex in general, and make it easier for people to get educated about these things in an open way. I very strongly feel that we should have some kind of at least surface level kink education in sex ed- by "surface level" I mean, at the very least, getting the concepts of "scene" "safeword" "soft/hard limits" "SSC/RACK" "aftercare" etc. into the general consciousness.

Anyways, the point is that if your critique only goes as deep as "this makes rape seem good, and thats harmful!" then its not a very good critique. But something like "the choking method used is dangerous and shouldn't be encouraged" or "this video showed the discussion of safewords and limits before the actual scene, which emphasis that its a scene & encourages good communication" could be very helpful.

But also, why limit porn critique to that? I wanna see people writing articles about the camera angles & the talents of the performers.

[deathdetermineslife]

i feel like answering the rest of the asks I haven't answered for this ask game I made :] feel free to read if u so choose ,,, (I do really appreciate when people do <3)

-

disregarding the career your f/o currently has, what other career would they consider going into, if given the chance?

when i wrote this one out i was honestly unsure of what I would say if I got this. because, in truth, I know kiyo really loves anthropology, and while I'm probably just projecting onto him, I doubt he would've ever liked it if it weren't for his sister.

its an interesting train of thought to go down, because in essence, he doesn't exists without her. everything down to his appearance and uniform and talent is all influenced by her. so what would he do if not anthropology? i cant say. i like to think maybe he would still be in the history field, or he would be doing something else entirely. I've seen a lot of people say maybe something to do with the mortuary world?

is your f/o religious? what's their opinion on religion or spirituality?

he isnt religious, but he believes in ghosts (clearly). he doesn't nessecarily think that there's some spiritual higher force or anything like that, but be believes your soul persists after death.

is your f/o more comfortable giving or receiving gifts? why? do they have any preferences on gifts they like receiving?

hmm... definitely giving. though he doesn't mind receiving gifts. he doesn't know exactly how to react when people give him things.

he prefers hand made things. they hold more meaning to him. though he's not opposed to anything gift in particular.

if your f/o could change one thing about themselves, what would they change and why?

I don't think there's much. though, a lot of people find him creepy or mysterious which hinders his anthropological abilities, he thinks. so hed likely change that in favor of coming off as more approachable.

I don't think he has many problems with his appearance or personality other than that...

does your f/o have any remedies they follow when they get sick? like taking a shot of whiskey to get rid of a fever?

he will try anything than go to the doctors. any remedy you can think of he's doing before even considering it. or just toughing it out.

when your f/o was little, did they dislike vegetables? do they still dislike them?

mmm, no I don't think so. he's not picky by any means, I don't think he ever was. "vegetables keep you healthy" or whatever.

he still likes them, well, more like has no strong feelings on them

does your f/o have a favorite animal? what is it? are they scared of any animals?

I think his favorite animals are snakes! or maybe ravens. animals that symbolize death, he's fond of. i don't think he's scared of any animal, though. he doesn't seem like the type. maybe bugs? but those aren't animals.

what are some beige flags your f/o has? so, not bad, but not nessecarily good either. just. "oh. you do This."

he will tell me the craziest anthropological fact, and when I ask "oh my god is that really true?" he'll say no. is he lying to me ? is he lying about lying ? who knows. oh that and hell eat anything raw. but I also do this. just for the experience.

how does your f/o feel about death? are they afraid of it? is there anything specific they'd like to do before they die?

he has a deep fascination with death. "how you come to terms with death also determines how you live". he's not afraid of death, he welcomes it.

as for what he wants to do before he dies, probably make several significant contributions to the anthropological world. contributions that actually mean something, not like theories that have limited importance.

does your f/o have a favorite scent? why is it their favorite? do they have a least favorite scent?

hmmm... Ive always thought he liked woody, herbal, musky scents. like incense and essential oils.

I don't think he likes a lot of clean scents...? like, laundry detergent, cleaners and scents that are overly sterile. they remind him of hospitals.

does your f/o have any allergies? food or otherwise?

I've shared this before but I headcanon that he's lactose intolerant. solely because I am also lactose intolerant.

does your f/o have any food dishes they make often? is there any foods you make for your f/o that they enjoy?

obligatory "kiyo really likes spaghetti" ITS CANON GUYS LOOK. official spaghetti kiyo merch.

I make him pierogi's often :] and halusky. #pennsylvaniacore

[reflections-in-a-critical-eye]

This is it, right? The album is finally out. I'm happy for Jimin. I've been listening to it since the morning and I think he did a great job for a first solo release. He showed he's capable of doing it on his own and make his mark. I hope good things come to him in the future.

I'm not going to analyze the album, or the music video for Like Crazy. This is the end of the road for me. It's time to move on. I know I said I will be here until he finishes the promotions, but life intervenes and sometimes in the best of ways. This is that situation.

First, some basic points. I won't delete the blog. I've worked too hard and a lot on it. Maybe other people will find it at some point and will see something interesting to read. I will not make any posts in the future or answer any private messages. I had some great conversations here for which I'm grateful.

I will not offer any other platform where I can be reached out. I'm getting out of the K-Pop world completely and I want to do this by leaving everything behind. From strictly a music perspective, I might follow Jimin's official schedule for the album if I'm in the mood for it, but nothing else apart from that, followed by the clean cut approach.

I made this blog during a period in which I was ignoring other writing responsibilities. It was escapism, just like getting into BTS at the beginning of the pandemic. I'm not regretting anything. I rediscovered the pleasure of writing and doing it on my own terms. I've wrote some of my favorite pieces here. They might not be the best ever, but I enjoyed every second of it and I'm proud of my writing.

I've said before that I will leave this blog when it's no longer enjoyable. I didn't keep my word and I just dragged it for months. I clearly wasn't having fun anymore, but I couldn't let go. It's familiar, part of my routine, what will I do next? But I realized that just because some aspects are positive, it doesn't mean I have to be stuck with something that doesn't represent me anymore.

I've also lost interest in BTS and K-Pop in general. I've spent three years being a fan, but also in a position of a sort of researcher. I feel like I've reached a point in which the knowledge I currently have is enough. My passion and curiosity is what drives me in everything that I do and get interested into. Now it's time to move on to other things.

I used this blog as an outlet for my rational side as well, writing publicly what I was trying to tell myself when I reacted emotionally to various aspects in this fandom. I was splitting myself because I couldn't deal or admit how some things affected me. But in the end, that's not entirely healthy. Balance is the key and I couldn't actually find it.

I want to borrow a quote from Miss Penny Lane, taken completely out of context, but this is something that I want to tell myself and to anyone who has been reading this blog. ''never take it seriously, if ya never take it seriously, ya never get hurt, ya never get hurt, ya always have fun''. 

Not everything has to be turned into a discourse, nothing is as important and as essential as one might think when we're deep into fandom spaces. Enjoy the song, the media content, the relationship, regardless of its nature, without letting it take over your life. It's not worth it.

Goodbye,

BMT

[pixies-and-poets]

A Bite for Good Luck

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!!

(Early, but I'm impatient)

Sooo, I haven't felt like writing in a while, and I'm still mostly inactive here, but I'm not done being... myself. And I may have been really inspired by @hostess-of-horror yet again. Thus I present to you a little vampire-themed Phandrow thing that came to me in a fit of insomnia. It's kinda saucy! Nothing explicit, but, y'know. Vampire stuff.

Enjoy 🩸 🧛

The poet was working again. A multitude of candles illuminated his words, their light reflected in the polished mahogany desk seen on either side of his parchment.

It was hard to believe it had been just over a month since he had received the letter. The summons. So much had changed since then; he had lived a lifetime in those weeks. Become something of a different creature.

He had always been one to stay up late, but now... now the night was his world, and he spent the days languishing. There was little else he could do. He hardly considered... perhaps hardly remembered... the orange and red hues of his homeland, the plump squirrels and healthy pumpkins. His brain was filled with the howl of wolves, the flap of bats' wings- the sounds of the castle and its grounds, which he was forbidden to leave.

Of course, he had hardly known it would come to all this. Despite Sweetlopek's fears, despite Dryad's dire warnings, he had said goodbye to them both. That was the hardest part. And yet... and yet he would do it again. He would make the same choice, knowing it all. He had been more prolific in these past few weeks than in a year or more combined. Because, after all...

Sir Poet-Warden, the letter had said. I request your services. I am in need of a chronicler of my life, my deeds. In return I can offer you room and board, sturdier and more reliable than that with which I know you currently make do. Moreover, while you are under my roof, I can make you a promise. No curse shall harm you, no ill luck will cross my threshold. I know it may be hard to believe, but my powers are great. You may write as much as you desire, on any subject, with no fear of cosmic retribution. In return I only require that you not leave my premises until released, and handle my particular needs with your utmost devotion and priority.

Ever yours,

Lord Tom Phan

Woodrow kept the letter near his heart, in his coat pocket, but he need not pull it out to see it clearly before him. The red ink, the lovely cursive, the gramophone seal... he had memorized every word before he had even set foot in the castle.

The poet found himself stuck on a rhyme, and got up to stretch. As he arose, a sudden rush of dizziness greeted him. He swooned, and stretched out his paws to catch himself on the desk. Stars and sparkles danced in his eyes behind his glasses. When he had regained himself, he lifted a paw and looked down at it in the candle-light. It was hard to remember how pink it had once been. It was certainly a very pale pink now. He wondered how the rest of him must look - he had not seen his own face in an age. There were no mirrors here. Why would there be?

He sat back down on the chair, wondering what Sweets and Dryad would think if they could see him now. But even more than them, he missed... her. Jinx. His cloud. She was not allowed past the threshold. A storm had taken up residence outside the courtyard, a thick and constant rain in the woods that deterred any visitors even moreso than normal. But, true to the master's word, ill fortune could not come in.

...Was all of this really worth it?

The sky outside was beginning to brighten, ever so slightly. Woodrow knew what that meant. He got up and drew the blinds closed in preparation.

Yes. It was worth it.

And before long, the familiar huge shadow filled the doorway to his room. The poet could sense it before he even saw it.

"You're home," said the writer, turning joyously, ready to approach. There was his lord indeed, his black cape, his piercing eyes, his imposing form- but the poet stopped short. There was red on the corners of his lord's mouth, and in his bulbous transparent belly, streaks and rivulets of crimson sloshed and whirled.

"You- you have eaten already," said Woodrow in shock.

"Only a little, my dear," came the reply. "A small hors d'oeuvre."

"Am I no longer enough for you?"

"Of course not," was the cooing answer, and in a smooth movement the master of the house was upon his guest, one paw on his back, the other caressing his hair. "Nothing can satisfy me the way you can. Perish the thought."

Woodrow smiled in relief. He thought he might be blushing, but- he doubted he had the means.

"It is only..." the Lord continued, "I fear I have been pushing too hard. Taking too much. I fear to let you sate me alone."

"I am fine," said the poet. "Truly."

"I do not think so, my darling." He smiled, sweetly, his pointed fangs digging into his lower lip. "And yet... I am still rather hungry, if not famished. So if you are ready-"

"I have been waiting all night," said the other breathlessly. "I have tried to keep myself warm for you."

"Very well, very well," chuckled the ghost. With ease, he lifted the other and carried him to the bed, laying him down, taking off his glasses, settling his head on the red velvet pillow that awaited. The Lord reached for the pink bow that his beloved wore - every morning, it was there, wrapped tightly, keeping the poet's collar close around his neck; and to untie it was to open a present, the same one every day, but one that never got stale. It was a test of patience, and yet, a ritual. With paws trembling in anticipation, Lord Phan pulled at the ribbon until it loosened, then took it off and set it aside. He opened up the collar of his beloved like peeling back the rind of an exquisite fruit. And then-

Woodrow gasped as the fangs found their familiar indentations, and pierced inwards. He may have gotten used to the pain, but he would never fully deaden to it. And he didn't want to.

Despite his claims, his Lord seemed no less hungry tonight than any other. The familiar suction of the skin, the desperate movement of the tongue to clean up any missed drop- the poet moaned and turned his head, an instinctive bodily reaction to such sensation - and soon found a paw on the other side of his face, turning it gently but firmly back - the message was clear: stay still.

"Mmmnm," the soft, involuntary, almost musical hums of bliss that emanated from the Lord as he fed made Woodrow want to melt into the blankets. He had never had much reason to be proud of his body, but apparently his blood was a delicacy. And of that, he was happy... he was lucky, after all... he was precious, wanted, needed so desperately... he...

He passed out.

----

Some time later - he knew not when, for the blinds kept the room as dark as night at all times - he awoke. His coat had been removed in favor of warm blankets, and while he was tucked under them, laying on top of them at his side was his Lord, gently stroking his hair and his cheeks.

"Are you happy?" was the first thing he mumbled as he came to. In his blurred vision, he could make out the red swirls gorging his beloved's clear tummy, cascading around the musical device at his center.

"Of course, my delight. You need never ask," said the vampire-ghost, red still streaking his chin. And yet... he frowned. "But again, I must warn you. When I get started on you, it is ever so hard to stop. And I fear... well, perhaps we shall take a week off, or so."

"My... My Lord..." said the poet in sorrow. He needed the break, of course. And yet...

"Look at this, mon cœur." The Phantom touched Woodrow's hand and brought it up to his face, and the poet saw that his own paw-pad was barely distinguishable from the white fur around it. "You are not well. I shall bring you whatever you desire, and as much of it as you need, whlie you recover your precious health."

Woodrow nodded, feeling that sleep would soon overtake him again. "Pumpkin and carrot soup," he said weakly.

"What?"

"Soup..." he repeated. "The way Sweets makes it... I shall write him for the recipe, when I... when I am up. That's what I need. I'll be... myself in... no time." And he closed his eyes, his breathing slow and heavy.

Lord Phan kissed him on the forehead, leaving a mark of red. He tucked him in even tighter, and arose, heading for his coffin, for his own daily rest.

[brwnicons]

bro, i miss you so much🥹 but on your last posts, i decide to send a request and my apologise if i did the wrong way of sending request !!!11!!1! 🫶🏼

😡💔🫂📖 with Stede Bonnet !!11!! anyways have great day/night, sweetie (´ω`) you can do other request or ignore this!!

-🦈

☆ You sent it perfectly, thank you! I'm so sorry for stopping writing so suddenly. I abused too much of my hyperfocus states I grew so tired I couldn't write anything. However this time I'll be taking things easy and healthy! Btw I love sharks!! 🦈💛 ☆

😡💔🫂📖 + Stede Bonnet

1k followers event: Send me 3/4 emojis and a character and I'll try to write something <3

-> Resume: Stede and Reader have a fight and Lucius steps in to solve everything before either of you dumbasses throw yourselves off to the sea because it seems like you two can't be apart for more than 5 minutes. 1.8k words (~7 min)

-> Tags: GN!Reader, First Mate Reader, Stede Bonnet x reader, Blackbeard didn't arrive at the Revenge here, Angst?? It doesn't feel like it, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Lucius should be paid for his therapy service. Talk it through my ass, Mr Bonnet.

-> Warnings: None

Please tell me if you see any mistake!

The atmosphere is uncomfortable and the tension surrounding the galley could be cut with a knife. Nobody talked and everyone would slightly flinch at the sound of cluttering.

The fight you had previously had with captain Stede was heard in every bit of the ship and it had been so strange to see you both shouting at each other that everyone else were left petrified. And now? You were eating with the crew for the first time in months, with a frown on your face and handling the cutlery roughly, as if instead of stabbing some steak you were stabbing Stede.

Lunch went abnormally peacefully and without any argument and when everyone was finished you headed to were Roach was cleaning up the dishes and remains.

—Let me help you— You offered Roach as you took a plate and a sponge and started scrubbing. Roach only shrugged in response and stepped aside to give you more space.

As you were both working in silence, you were able to notice his ocasional side glances on your head and his sometimes hesitating breaths, as if he were deciding whether your situation actually was or was not none of his business. After a couple of minutes he sighed and decided to ask.

— Uh... you OK? That seemed like a pretty much intense argument. We expected you two to take out your swords and all.— He tried to brush it off with a bit of humor and a indifferent pitch but you caught that he wanted something. Maybe it was comforting you (something kind of odd knowing Roach's personality) or he was trying to get fuel for the crew's gossip. Your current mood didn't let you think of his intentions as friendly and so you glared at him and left the dishes in complete silence, leaving through the door right after.

What you didn't know was that a certain scribe had been intently watching the scene.

————

As the day progressed the deck's atmosphere began losing its previous tension and recovered its usually cheerfulness. You grabbed a broom and decided to busy yourself with some sweeping.

— Now, spit it. What the hell happened with you both before?—

You rose your head to meet Lucius' eyes next to you. He was sitting on the deck's stairs with his hands supporting his head.

— It's none of your business, Lucius— you turned to leave when you heard him stand up.

—None of- None of my business?! Dear, you've been nothing like yourself since that fight. You both never even fight!— he approached you and put his hands on your shoulders to make you look at him.

—Remeber when you helped me when Pete and I fought? About all the corny things you told me?— You looked down at the memory of asking Lucius to recall every time he and Pete cuddled or how happy he made him —Let me help you this time—.

You accepted your fate and sat down with him in the stairs, where you hugged him tightly.

— I was just worried about the raids... Last time he got hurt and I was so scared and— You could already feel the tears building up and you hid your face in your hands. You could feel Lucius' hand on your back, doing soothing circles —I don't want to lose him, Luce! He gets so carried away he forgets about taking care of himself!—

— And... That's why you told him you would left and resign as his First Mate if he didn't stop raiding without thinking? —

—Yeah...— You sniffed and wiped off your tears with the back of your hand when you felt a thin object being put on your knee. You accepted the handkerchief with a sad smile and wiped your eyes properly.

Seeing your current state, Lucius abruptly stood up and offered you his hand.

— I'll go talk with him — He had a stern look that said that his opinion couldn't be changed because the decision had been already made.

You sighed in defeat and, accepting his hand, you stood up and shook off your clothes.

— Alright... But don't be too harsh, please—

Lucius smiled at your words and gave you a few pats in the back

— Definetly you're not the same y/n that was trying to stab a piece of meat during lunch — You looked at him tiredly, he hadn't answer your question. — Alright, I promise. I won't be too harsh with him. —

You smiled and he gave you one final hug before walking towards the Captain's cabin.

————

Lucius didn't even bother to knock and bursted open the door to the cabin. Any pirate captain would response to that disrespectful behaviour with the amputation of a finger at least. Instead, captain Bonnet seemed so busy weeping and sobbing in his bed, in a nest made of blankets and cushions, that he didn't hear neither Lucius bursting the door open nor his next approach.

When he was right next to his captain blanket-cocoon and Stede was still unaware of his presence, he cleaned his throat to call for his attention.

— Uh... Captain? I need to talk to you —

Stede gave a visible and violent full body flinch at Lucius' words. He turned his head to the boy next to his bed and quickly tried to act as if he wasn't crying just a second ago, his face still all piffy and red.

— Good lords, Lucius, you startled me! —

He took off the blankets and stood up with a quick jump. — Well, what do you need? I hope it's important, boy! I'm quite busy at this moment —.

Lucius huffed and approached the sofa. He sat on one edge and patted the spot next to him. — I'm here to talk about your fight with your partner. Now, move your ass here because I'm going to set some things clear —. Lucius' tone didn't admit rejection and after hearing a loud gulp from Stede, he had his captain sitting next to him, fidgeting with the edges of his robe.

— What do you mean you want to talk about y/n...? Have you talked to them? — Stede was no longer able to hide his nervousness. Yeah, he had gotten angry because his dear y/n had threatened with leaving if he didn't take care. But, still, he loved them and thinking about them being sad because of the fight made his heart break. He hadn't wanted to get so angry.

— Yes, I've been talking to them — Lucius took a deep breath and interrupted his thoughts. — I can't believe it! — He pointed at his chest — You're the one that always presses the whole "talk it trough" on us but then, you transform into a sad dog after a misunderstanding with your partner! It's ridiculous! —

— Well, I'm aware that I certainly haven't behaved‐ —

— No! — Lucius grabbed one cushion that was laying around on the couch and shoved it into his captain's face — Look! I've got the cushion so it's my turn to talk. Now, listen to me. You have fought with someone who was worrying about your health and well-being, because you're the only one able to lead a raid after having been stabbed in your damn stomach! They take care of you, they worry about you and you get mad at them because of an obvious lie?! —

Stede felt silent. He knew he had made a mistake the moment he saw you running under the ship after that fight. He had felt horribly after and as the coward he was, the only thing he did was sleep. And drink. Both to forget that he hurt you.

Lucius dropped the pillow on Stede's knees and crossed his arms.

— You may speak now –.

— Lucius... — Stede hugged the pillow tightly. His glassy eyes didn't allow him to see Lucius clearly — I'm so sorry we fought- I don't want them to leave! I mean- not because of my mistakes. — Lucius gave a hum of approval as he inquired him to keep going. Stede sighed.

— I love them so much, Lucius. When the possibility of them leaving crossed my mind I got so scared I could only shout at them... I certainly wasn't acting rationally... I let myself get carried by the heat of the moment —

— Keep going — Stede sighed again and decided to maintain his eyes in a loose thread of the pillow instead of holding Lucius hard gaze.

— Neither shouldn't I have been so reckless. We don't need the raids at this moment in time and I understand y/n is as worried as my well-being as I am about theirs. I should have had their feelings into account. —

Lucius grinned in success and clapped excitedly.

— That's good! Yes, sir! Now, how do you feel —

— Miserable —.

— Well, lucky you! I'm sure a certain someone has been happy to hear all this lament of yours — Lucius gave Stede a light punch in his shoulder that Stede answered with a instant "ow". He turned towards the cabin door and waved.

— I know you're there, y/n. You can come out now! —

You peeked out from behind the door and the moment Stede saw you he stood up a headed towards you.

— Oh, dear... — He dropped the cushion at the sight of your glassy eyes, not caring if he was already crying, and took hold of both of your hands.

— I am so sorry, y/n. I mean it. I am so sorry I hurt you. Please, I can't bear being apart from you knowing it was me who hurt you. Please, forgive me. I- —. You cut his spiraling of guilt with a tight embrace.

— Of course I forgive you, you silly —. You pulled apart to take his face in your hands — I shouldn't have said that I would leave. You know I wouldn't, I love you —

— Oh, dear. I love you too —. He hugged you again and you could smell the vanilla scent of his hair.

— Well, then. I'll let you two lovebirds to it. No need to thank me I see! — You heard Lucius' fake offended tone but before either of you could thank him, he dissapeared behind the door.

— He's quite a mediator... —. You giggled at Stede's thoughtful expression and hugged him again.

————

That night you picked out the book for the night reading. You fell asleep quickly, leaned on Stede's side. A soft blanket covered you both and although tiredness didn't allow you to distinguish his words, you could feel the deep rumbling of his chest while he talked.

And next morning, you woke up next to him in the captain's cabin. He had his head on your chest and his arms encircled you. He snored softly as the golden light from the morning sun made his hair glow.

How could you leave?

[rainsonata]

People I Want to Get to Know Better

Tagged by @traveleorzea!

Last Song: This reload arrangement for "Wiping All Out". I love Persona 3 and strongly recommend people to try the recent Persona 3 Reload game. Unfortunately, female route is not available on it, so Persona 3 Portable continues to be the only game offering that option 😭. This arrangement reminds me about how we will never get the female route in modern Persona 3 games.

Favourite Colour: Purple! I also love red and blue.

Currently Watching: Recently finished Dungeon Meshi! I love how the series approaches healthy eating by encouraging people to eat, but doesn't shame them for what they eat.

Last Movie: FFVII Advent Children. I love this movie so much. It's not the easiest movie to follow, but it's well animated and the fights are beautifully choreographed. Rufus Shinra is also there and he is so handsome, I cannot-

Sweet/Spicy/Savory: I prefer savory, but I love salty snacks like pretzels and cheez its (white cheddar).

Current Obsessions: Working on ffxiv housing commissions and writing about my WOL. I have several FFVII fanfics on my to do list I'm super excited to work on! I haven't written this much in months, so I'm happy to keep going on this writing momentum.

Last Thing In My Search History: Sailor Moon Cosmos Movie (been waiting for the most recent movie to come out!)

Tagging: @rocketbirdie, @sherlockwolf, @blazingsnark, @freevoidman, @adelacreations, @hoardingator, @wyrmsongs, and anyone else who wants to join

[faoighiche]

Children of Darkness | Ariadne & Burrow

PARTNER : @ariadnewhitlock TIMING : Current. LOCATION : Somewhere in the Pines. SUMMARY : Ariadne and Burrow cross paths on the site of a new hedge hound's creation. Ariadne gets to pet a weird dog, while Burrow starts to wonder if her understanding of the world is flawed. WARNINGS : Animal death (gets got by the strangle weed)

Satisfaction tickled Burrow’s throat, forcing a chuckle onto her lips. Yes. Her precious vines had another success, claiming another for the pack. She wondered what new hound this host would blossom. She was quick to sate that curiosity, changing her venturing to the quickest path to her vines. When she came across the awaited sight, the animal still struggled under the yearning of the vines. Legs clawed at the ground while its tinier mouth ripped at the stems. Stems that continued in apathy, soon replacing whatever the creature managed to tear off. The beast was frightened. Delirious. And causing too much inconvenience to her kin. There was no use keeping it in that state. So, Burrow imbued her essence into the vines, quickening an already heightened growth. She focused her vine’s yearning to the throat. A throat that succumbed to the vines' eternal writhing. The animal’s struggle was soon no more, reduced to the twitching of death’s aftershocks. 

All that was left was quiet. Burrow relished in the feeling of a new host, a new hound, a new friend. At least, she tried to. The forest was quiet in more than just sounds. The buzzing of her kin ceased. Her heart tried to follow: skipping a beat but continuing. So, her body followed instead, moving to desert the area. Though, not completely. She would not abandon her hound who was still so young. She watched behind the trees and the bramble as a human stumbled into view. Was she the one who scared away her precious ones? The human did not deserve to bask in her hound’s creation. The human did not deserve to run back to town and send the killers their way. Burrow stepped out into the speckled sunlight. “What are you doing here?” She demanded of the human as she watched her closely. Determining the best course of action in the following silence.  

She’d heard something resembling a whimper, and Ariadne froze, because it didn’t sound human, but she also knew that she didn’t usually create that sort of reaction in animals. It was usually more aggressive, when she was around. Either that or just altogether disappearing. By which she meant running away. Which clearly wasn’t happening right now, but she was far too curious to entirely step away, even though she was certain that if her heart could beat, it would be jumping far out of her chest right now.

A voice startled her out of her thoughts, confirming to her that she was, in fact, not alone, and she jumped at the other voice. “I – was going out for a walk.” It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t as detailed as she might’ve made it if she wasn’t feeling so entirely on edge. “I’m sorry if I bothered you.” Ariadne glanced down at the ground. “I just – I heard something, and it sounded like someone was in trouble, and so I wanted to come over to make sure things were okay, or if not, to see if I could help or stuff.”

The human seemed agreeable, in the same as the nectar on a pitcher plant. Burrow knew well of their liar tongues. While their words hardly served her much purpose, their bodies certainly did. If the human was eager to help, then she would be sure to show her the proper path. No sense in forsaking a fly that wished to be on the web. Especially one that looked so youthful and healthy. “You may help by stepping on the vines. You may approach the vines.” May the human’s presence be loved instead of feared. Come human, be blessed by her kin’s touch, and know true usefulness. But another of her kin was quicker to claim. Unlike her vines, her tick did not have a host to distract itself. Until then, of course, as the tick set its eyes on the human. It scurried up the human’s shoe. Further up still it would go, to find refuge under the sock. The best place for a bite.

Except… it didn’t. Burrow’s tick regarded the human the same as it would an exposed root. Its disinterest was not due to the poison humans so loved to bathe themselves in. No, her tick scurried across the leg, as it would on any other leg. The only difference was the lack of a want to bite. In fact, the human did not register as a thing that could be bitten. Not a snack, but merely a thing in its path. Burrow stared, frustration relenting to a spike of curiosity. “Wait, what are you?”

“I don’t – won’t that hurt the vines?” Ariadne looked over at the woman. “I don’t want to hurt them - but - if it will help…” though how it would help, she wasn’t sure. In fact, in a lot of ways it was deeply confusing to try and make any sort of sense of that, but she’d never claimed to be a botanist, and so she supposed that she couldn’t really claim too much to understand what was going on.

Then there was a bug crawling onto her shoe, and Ariadne would’ve held her breath if she’d needed to, waiting for the bug to somehow shriek or fly away or run away. Except it didn’t, and then the woman’s voice cut through Ariadne’s thoughts. “I - what? What - I - I’m Ariadne!” She winced at the heightened pitch of her voice. “What do you mean?” Except that she could only play at being ignorant for so long, because the what are you comment probably didn’t have anything to do with her name. “Why?”

Such an eager fly — approaching the web without much question. Only one question had sufficed: a concern for the web. It was almost sweet. The humans never cared to be kind to Burrow’s vines after watching them claim. It was too frightening for their brains to comprehend. But, this wasn’t a human, was it? This was something else. Something her parasites did not deem worthy of taking. A thing that had no spoils to offer. She only knew of one such being: the dead who took such spoils the same as her parasites. “Oh. Are you one of the dead? That is what I mean by my question.” 

Burrow observed the strange through her own senses and that of her tick. Her precious one felt no warmth of rushing blood below the other’s skin. Only a coldness was offered and a strange smell it could not place. This must be one of the dead, yes? The dead had always fascinated her. Their appetites aligned with that of her own: the blood and the flesh of those living. A great feast that made the life of others into her own. Even the fae, the ones the dead deemed the most supple, was upon Burrow’s own plate. Though, she would consume them in other means. So different and yet the same. “You will not take a taste of me, unless you offer me something worthy in return.” Her intrigue did not transfer into generosity. That was reserved for her parasites, not those who emulated them. But that emulation, that mirror upon her own nature, had her wanting to give. A piece with a price tag, but even that was a wonderful gift. “Do not approach the vines. The vines are satisfied.” She would not let her curiosity be claimed by another. “Tell me more about yourself. I am curious about you.”

She always did her best not to lie. Ariadne just didn’t much see the point in it, and she’d seen how lying hurt people far too much – how even little lies could do their own kind of damage. She supposed that just by not telling people what she was, she was sort of lying in her own kind of way, but she did her best to believe that was okay – especially because a lot of the time it was a matter of possibly dying again if the wrong person found out. Though that was something she’d discovered more recently, Celene had advised her against advertising what – who – she was to others. It was absolutely annoying that she couldn’t tell when someone else was a mare, but she’d made do.

Which didn’t explain how this absolutely alluring and yet anxiety-induing person knew what she was. “I don’t – I’m not gonna try to feed on you!” Ariadne wanted to shrink into herself, hating the fact that this was what the stranger first assumed about her. First assumed that she’d hurt them. “I can offer you stuff, if you want?” She didn’t know what, exactly, she would offer them, but it seemed like the right sort of thing to say. “I won’t – I won’t touch the vines, if you don’t want me to.” She shook her head. “I – I’m Ariadne.” Which she’d already said. “I – I don’t know how you could tell I was dead, but I – yeah, I am.” She only hoped admitting this wouldn’t result in regret. “I – I’m a mare.” The word caught tight in her throat. “Do you – know of people like me?”

The heightened voice, the shrunken stature — the dead seemed upset about something. Was the dead upset about the thought of eating? Most enjoyed eating, such as Burrow herself. No, the change in demeanor was likely caused by something else. Did the dead dislike being known? Did the dead think she would not make for a tantalizing treat? She would make for a lovely treat. The best treat. She let out a huff, but with it, her tensions departed. “Yes. I do want you to offer me stuff.” Burrow eyed the dead up and down, as if she could spy out any delectable treats or dazzling trinkets she wanted to claim. If the dead had any such thing, it was buried amongst pockets and hidden places. “What stuff do you have to offer me?” 

Burrow felt no need to offer anything in exchange, including her name. It remained absent on her lips. “Hello. Yes. I am aware of the mares. The mares are the dead who eat the dreams. The mares trample on the living when we sleep so the dreams are forced out of the mouths.” A strange thing to eat dreams. They were useless to her — both as sustenance and to experience. It had been so long the last time she had dreamt. Still, she heeded her nan’s warnings: there was always a cup of salt in her pocket. It stayed nestled in secret, for there was yet need to reveal it. Instead, she scanned the area for a thing unseen. “Where is your mare? Well, where is your horse, I mean.” She knew her vines had not claimed such a thing, for she would have definitely noticed those tingles of satisfaction. Nor had her other kin been able to dine on such a specimen. All her parasites who were still present were silent about the whereabouts of horses.

“Uh, I dunno. What do you want? I don’t have a lot. But I am happy to help you out mostly however I can. I just don’t wanna lose stuff that’s super important, you know?” She had to, Ariadne figured, if only because she saw no reason to assume anything other than the best of the person in front of her. She wouldn’t give up anything that reminded her of family, or of Wynne or Cass or Alex or Nora or anybody like that, but if the person wanted something else, Ariadne would do her absolute best to deliver.

Ariadne shrugged in agreement. “Haven’t heard it put exactly like that, but yes. That’s the gist of it all. Though I can’t like, swallow or chew dreams like people do other kinds of foods…” she let herself trail off. “I – no, I’m the mare. Not a horse, but like, uh…” she scrunched up her nose in momentary confusion. “Animals normally don’t like me, or like – my – mares. Us. People like me. I don’t know why, but ever since becoming this, animals tend to freak out when I come around, which is more than a little disheartening.” Ariadne clasped her hands together and pressed her thumbs firmly one atop the other. “Sorry if that’s disappointing. Even bugs don’t always like me and that stinks because I do love them. Most all of them.”

The clothings adorning the mare’s body seemed delightfully plush and of pleasant textures, but there was something greater the mare could give Burrow. To ask for it would expose her own nature if the mare was wise to the ways of the fae. An exposure Burrow did not undertake lightly, for exposure rarely did the parasites any good. But, the mare seemed so giving, and she would be foolish to not try to take as much as she could from a generous thing. “I want you to give me the memory of your most recent feeding.” It was so removed from any feeding she had known. No swallowing or chewing, yet sustenance was still achieved. Did the mare still feel it go down her throat? Did it simply blossom into her stomach? Burrow wanted to feel how the dreams entered her, the same as she indulged in the feeding of her parasites. 

The mares proved to be even more mysterious to Burrow. “What do you mean you do not have the horse?” That was not correct. “Why would you be called the mares if you did not ride the mares? Do not lie to me.” The mares rode the mares: it was the state of things. To suggest otherwise made no sense. Though, the mare’s statement did have some evidence. Almost all her kin who scurried or flew had fled the area. It would explain why the creature from before had been so delirious from fear. A wonderful fear, for it had fed her vines so nicely. Perhaps the mares (the horses, not the dead) are the only creatures not fearful of them. “You must have not found your mare, yet.” She watched as her vines continued to coil about what was once a creature: a fresh hound being born before their eyes. Her essence extended with a gentle hand, coaxing the vines to their proper place around its home. An invisible hand that held the hound, rising it up into its new glory. A beast weaved into a mimicry of the life it took — the vines interlacing into beautiful swirls that turned to legs, a torso, and a head that observed them calmly. A beast without flesh; a beast without fear. “You may approach my hound. Sit on my hound. You may not claim my hound for your steed, but you may feel what it is like to ride the steed.” 

“How do I give you a memory?” Ariadne didn’t know that something like that was something you could do. Maybe this person was making stuff up (which Ariande didn’t understand why, but she also just wasn’t about to start questioning stuff), or maybe they knew stuff she didn’t – which, if she were honest (and Ariadne liked to be honest whenever and wherever possible) was probably even more likely, considering Ariadne knew very little about the world she was newly part of. She wondered when she’d be able to tell herself that she wasn’t newly part of this world. She wondered if it would ever come to pass. She hoped that it would.

“I don’t like to lie!” Ariadne squeaked. “I – animals hate us – me. Mares. I don’t know why we’re called what we are, except maybe it’s ‘cause we’re nightmares, and they just took the night part away?” She hadn’t meant to get so panicked, but it seemed pretty near unavoidable at this point. Which stunk, but there wasn’t much that she could do about it, at least not in this moment. “But yeah, maybe. I’d love to find any creature that liked me. I – well, before I was what I am, I used to adopt bugs and worms and spiders and like, well, anything I could. I gave them good homes! I let them go a-s-a-p, but I just… I loved – love every living thing, and I don’t like that I scare them.” She felt her eyes go wide. “You sure I won’t scare your hound?” She took a few steps forward. “ ‘Cause I don’t wanna hurt the hound, or you, or anything…”

It seemed Burrow’s caution was misplaced. How strange this dead did not know more about her prized prey. “I will show you how.” The first to show her the ways. “Say that you give me the memory of your recent feeding.” The bind crept up the mare’s form, ready to steal away the precious memory. The dead squirmed as if Burrow had already claimed her. The same fidgeting that had been displayed before. What caused this irritation? Could it be the lies? A strange notion, for the dead indulged in the lies the same as the humans. It was as strange as to propose that the mares had no mares. “The nightmares are called the nightmares because of your kind. Your kind are the ones on the mares that come at night.” Was the dead simply lying to her, despite her protest against it? It made more sense than to believe what Burrow knew was false. It was information told to her by fae, who never spoke a lie. 

And yet… and yet a small part of Burrow wondered. “Do you promise that you have not lied to me?” She knew the fae twisted words, but never into a lie. Never. The mare must be mistaken — must be lying. Burrow would fix that mistake. The mare would either make the promise and succumb to her lies, or accept the proper ways of the mares. The most proper way, for her hounds would make the best mares (the horses, not the dead). Her hound mirrored the mare’s steps, taking a few forward. An action instructed by Burrow, for her hound had no care for the dead — nor fear — nor anything, really. It regarded the mare in near silence, the only sounds came from the muffled pops of the corpse in its core. Its vines coiled about it, round and round, churning it to perfection. “You will not hurt my hound.” Both an assurance and a threat. “My hound does not fear you. I want you to ride my hound. Ride my hound.” 

“I, uh, don’t get how that works, but okay!” If she didn’t have to detail her latest feeding, Ariadne would happily go another route with telling people. Any other route, really, because she didn’t like thinking about feeding, and one of her least favorite parts had to do exactly with the fact that sometimes those memories felt good. Far better than they should’ve. “I give you the memory of my most recent feeding.” She gave a sigh, a certain part of her feeling strangely lighter than she would’ve thought possible.

“Well, uh, like I said, I’m really not an expert. You sound smart and like you know what’s up though! It’s weird animals don’t like us, but we can hurt people, so maybe that’s why?” Ariadne shifted again. “Your hound is brilliant and beautiful. I,” she sniffed, “well, I can’t say how thankful I am that your hound will be near me.” 

“I promise I haven’t lied to you! I’m sure I do lie sometimes, but I really really try to not lie if I can ever avoid it. Lying makes me feel all gross and bad, and I already feel bad, ‘cause I have to eat nightmares, and also lying hurts. I don’t want to hurt. Cause hurt, I mean.” She sighed. “Okay.” Ariadne brushed her hand against the hound, doing her best to climb up and onto it. “You sure it’s still okay?” She turned more toward the hound, “thank you for your kindness.” Back up to the strange lady. “I – thank you.”

The memory traveled down Burrow’s throat and swelled in her stomach. Foreign fears swelled as well: those inside herself and those soon to enter. A storm of uncertainty and regret that was almost as strong as the hunger. All only quieted when it entered. The good fear. Who she became in the memory tried to deny the fear, but she wanted it. She needed it. It had no taste or smell or texture yet it was the most delectable thing to enter her. How did it enter her? Did it really enter her? What was this feeling in her very core? She had no words, no knowing, no anything to describe the sensation. Ripped away from everything she knew of the world and becoming an alien to her own body. Even when the memory faded and she was herself again, she was not the version of herself before. Forever changed, ever slightly, by that piece of the alien still inside her. 

Burrow needed to know more.

If only what followed had brought such strange delight. The promise prepared to tear through the dead, yet found nothing to grab. No lies tainted her tongue, just as the dead had proclaimed. But how? How did the dead not know of the mares? How did she not feel a piece of herself missing? Even when Burrow’s family tried to keep her away from her kin, she could still feel them waiting. Waiting for her as the horse surely waited for the dead. Right? Her stomach twisted at the idea she could have spread her family’s lies. No. Something… was missing. She needed to research the cracks in her knowledge had not known were there. She didn’t… her family hadn’t lied to her. “Yes… my- my hound is very brilliant and beautiful.” She finally managed to say. “It is okay. You will sit on my hound’s back.” Her hound did not mind, though they hardly minded anything. A few of its vines slithered past fingers and ankles — almost tickling, though not its intention. Just like its guardian, it wanted to know more of who rested on its back. “That is where you are meant to be.” Though not the horses of legend, her hound was close enough. Close enough to the image in her head that had begun to sport a small crack. “In exchange for your thank you, you will give me any memory I ask you to give me.” The best way to understand someone was to get inside their head. 

[ivanajpeg]

ODESTA WEEK (DAY 1 MODERN AU)

Where Annie is a fashion design student and Finnick helps her with homework.

Note 1: this is gonna be very short cause I forgot to do it yesterday, but still I want to do the whole week. tonight I will post the one that's actually meant for today.

Note 2: english is not my first language so there might be some mistakes, please forgive me.

I hope you enjoy i even thought its quite short.

Annie was a very hardworking student and Finnick knew this. Opposite from the general public opinion, design degrees are very complicated degrees at certain level.

Annie was a fashion design student and she would often ask Finnick (and sometimes Johanna) for help in some projects.

They were either models for her projects, or would help her with other things like getting materials for her or even helping her cook when she had a lot of work.

It was her finals week and she had to turn in a project for her draw course for that semester. She was currently drawing Finnick for this project, she has drawn Finnick so many times that she thought it would be easy for her. She was so wrong for this.

“Can I move now?” Finnick asked, she had been “still” for a lot of hours in his opinion. In reality he was there for just 15 minutes.

“No. Stop moving for the love of god” Annie said, slightly frustrated. not at Finnick though, her frustration came from stress as she couldn't manage to finish a project that was supposed to be easy.

“You know… i think you need to relax”

“I don't need to relax; I need to finish”

Finnick stood up from where he was and walked towards her 

“Finnick, what are you doing you have to-”

“shhh…” he placed his finger on her mouth “Ann, you need to rest. Your project is due till next week, i think you can rest for at least 1 hour”

“Finn-”

“Nope, end of discussion. you're resting” he took her from her shoulders and made her sit on the couch “now, you lay down and rest. I will make something special to you”

Annie didn't protest, she knew it was useless. she just laid down and closed her eyes for a moment. she didn't realize how tired she actually was until she fell asleep almost instantly.

Finnick watched her from the kitchen with a small soft smile that was replaced with a concerned expression. He knew how Annie worked to have good grades but he also knew that at certain points that wasn't healthy.

While Annie slept, Finnick prepared her favorite food for her. He made sure to make it perfectly. He saw her again sleeping on the couch, he had a great idea. He sneaked out of their apartment to go buy her favorite flowers and her favorite candy.

When he came back she was still asleep. He waited for a couple of minutes for her to wake up. When she woke up he approached her.

“How do you feel now?”

“Better, I think I really needed that” she admitted, a bit ashamed.

“I have a surprise for you” she took her hands and guided her to the kitchen.

She was mesmerized when she saw what Finnick made for her.

“Finn… I-” she said “you didn't had to…” she smiled at him “thank you” she hugged him “thank you so much”

“You don't have to thank me, Ann… you deserve this and more” she hugged her back and kissed the top of her head “You're the most hardworking, smart, talented and beautiful girl in this universe, I swear I would give you anything"

They sat on the table and enjoyed their meal. Annie was happy and Finnick as well. They laughed, talked and shared sweet moments. 

(1 week later)

Annie managed to submit her project in time and the grade was just as she wanted to be.

"See, I told you you were getting a good grade" Finnick said "You're extremely talented, everyone with eyes can see that" She kissed her forehead.

"Thank you for believign in me... that really means a lot" Annie said from the bottom of her heart, she really loved Finnick and she was so grateful he was supporting her in this journey of life "I love you so much, Finn" she hugged him.

"And I love you more, Annie..." he hugged her back "more than words could ever express"