#me: that is how you farm maggots

[ploridafanthers]

modern europe is already so climatically-unrelatable to me (floridian) but it is just impossible for me to conceive what they say life was like there during the little ice age

[neverchecking]

Day 5: Sweat- Twilight

Smut so Minors Do Not Interact. If I find out a minor has interacted with my blog, I will block you.. Thank you!

Smut CW: Sweat, licking of said sweat, country boy

This is Day five of My Kinktober so be sure to come back and check out the other days! Friendly Reminder that all of my smut is tagged 'Cindersins' including this, but this will also be tagged as 'Cinder's happy halloween' along with the run of the mill smut tags.

Kinktober Masterlist <<< Day 4 >>>Day 6

Everyone knew that farming was a…taxing business. Being a ranch or stable hand was not an easy job. Certainly not one anyone could do. They had to be born and bread or carved out of the depths for it. 

Twilight had been born, bred and raised on farm work. Anyone with working eyes could see that. See the way his biceps had bulged and curved, or with how broad his shoulders were. Made for carrying heavy stacks of feed or, in his case, wrangling Ordonian goats. Not an easy task by any means, but one he was more than willing to take up. The feeling of pure dopamine after a job well done kept him hooked, and the steady, slow consistency of it all brought him comfort. But more than anything, it made him work. Made him push his own limits to the point of nearly snapping, only to drive right past those pre-conceived notions of restrictions and carve out new ones for himself. It had made him sweaty, yes, and gave him an odor that eventually even the goats would avoid, but the feeling of pure accomplishment won over any negatives. Threw them to the ground like worthless maggots as he trampled his way forward. 

His shirt had long since been shed as he continued moving around hay in the back of the barn, his entire chest coated in a sheen of sweat that shined in the dusk of the ever falling sun. It was getting late, and you would worry in that same adorable way you always did, but he had wasted too much time in talking to Rusl this morning and had fallen behind on his chores. He’d feel guilty for the rest of the night if he didn’t finish, even if Fado had long since waved him off. It was his own conscience that wouldn’t let him rest until the day's work had been completed. Although, he wasn’t overly excited to delay going home to you. You’d understand, it’s who you were. Just as hardworking and resilient as he was, if not more. You believed in seeing a job until it’s end, even if it wasn’t necessarily a good one. You were just perfect like that. One of the many, many things he positively adored about you. 

Throwing down the pitchfork, he ran his forearm along his forehead. It came back, coated in sweat, but it was shaken off. The job, at last, had been finished with the last goat’s pasture finally cleaned, and he was free to leave. Free of the torment of his brain and it’s need to torment him. 

Just as he turned to make the trek back to you (After a dip in the river of course), he nearly shouted at the sight. You were there, hanging onto the pole of the stall and staring him down much like a predator would it’s prey. Your eyes never left his chest as your other hand fiddled with the gold band on your finger. 

“Ya’ okay there, darlin’?” He dared to ask, hoping his racing heart calmed itself. “Scared me half to death back there.” 

You blinked then shook your head, as if snapping out of some sort of trance. “Yeah, yeah, just…Do you trust me?” 

What a foolish question. He would rip out his still beating heart and give it to you if you asked because he knows you’d use it for something worthwhile. He’d tear the kingdom right out of Dusk’s grimy claws if it meant you could have it because he knew you’d run it perfectly. He would side with Ganon should you so wish since he knew you had his best interest at heart. 

Still, he nodded. 

You stepped forward, hands reaching for his chest before they glided against his pecs, thumbs brushing just against his nipples. It wasn’t something new, you had an odd fascination with his pectorals and he knew it, but the look you were giving them was something he had never seen from you. It was hungry and laser-focused, nothing deterring you from whatever you had deemed necessary in this very moment. 

He licked his own sharp canines. “Sweetheart-” His mouth suddenly clamped shut as his entire body went stiff. Your tongue dragged right between the valley of said pecs, licking up to the curve of his collarbone before flicking away with the sweat collected. Your saliva, which was quickly cooling along his skin, shined much in the same way the sweat did, marking no real difference to what you had done. Not to the visible eye at least. But to Twilight? 

His entire head was screaming at him, pushing him to move or do something, but it was as if he just couldn’t. He was stuck. 

“Sorry, I just- I don’t know what came over me, but-”

“Do it again.” 

You paused. “What?” 

He gently grabbed your hands, holding them away from your chest. “Do it again. Lick e’ry inch a’me until ya can’t taste anything else. Until every time ya look at me y’er reminded of what ya did. Do. It. Again.”

You swallowed. When you hesitated, he leaned in close with a gruff growl. 

“I said, do it again.”

[bhaalschosenone]

Jiwoon thinks theres a lot of things one could be insecure about. Really, in his earlier Idol days, his bandmates whined day in and out about dry hair, weirdly done makeup and most important... their bodies.

Jiwoon is a lot of things, but he doesn't judge.

Okay, he definetly judges. A lot. But not you. Mostly because... there just isn't much to judge you for.

Obviously, you would disagree. "My weight!" this, "My looks!" that, when to him- you're the most beautiful human in the world.

Which.. given, his world isn't as big as it once was - Entity and all - but that doesn't matter.

He himself couldn't believe how weak he's gotten.

.

It all startet when he found Ghost Face's camera laying around with his owner no where to be seen. Jiwoons lips twitched, Danny must've visited his little "He's not my boyfriend, dipshit"- Frank. They made a cute pair, if one could consider constantly bitching at each other cute.

Nosy as he was, he picked up the camera, filled with Dannys gruesome selfies and disgusting- wait a minute.

A new face. A pretty face. A... really bloody face.

A new survivor?

Jiwoon didn't like the way Danny executed the survivors. It was so.. rushed, he didn't take his time, he didn't even let them scream. Most of the photos were pasable, some he could even call aesthetic but that new face.. your face.. It would stick with him. He denied it but.. he wanted to see you. To face you in trial. He wanted to hear your voice. Your pain. And he wanted to cause it.

As so many things in Jiwoons life, this too turned out to be harder than he thought.

Because when he finally, finally faced you in a trial - that ugly and sandy Coldwind farm of all places - he couldn't bring himself to kill you. Hurting you, even. Somehow all his knives missed their mark - and he never missed. Or.. so he thought.

You were getting on his nerves, sure you were pretty, but how fucking dare you make such a FOOL out of him?! Don't you know who he is?! Everyone here knows!

So.. why won't you stop running? You didn't know him yet! Sure your little friends would have told you about him but those maggots couldn't possibly tell you EXACTLY how great he was.

Luckily, he found the Hatch before you and closed it. And just as he turned around-

There you were. In all your dirty, bloodied and scared beauty. He couldn't hide the cocky smile started to lift the corner of his lips.

So you came to him after all. Of course you did, how couldn't you?

"You're a slippery one, aren-", but he didn't get to finish. A small, silver - thing? - flew right in front of him and exploded into a bright ball of light.

Did you just fucking blind him and take off?

Seconds later, he heard the gate doors' siren and he knew you'd escape. Never in a billion years would he steep so low and try to run after you. Pft, he wasn't desperate.

So he leaned against a fence and waited until the Entity took him back again. Your audacity infuriated him. "Didn't even fucking let me finish... little brat..", he muttered and threw a knife into the air.

He would get you. If not today, then tomorrow. And if you didn't stop for him on your own, he would make you.

You'd be on your knees for him soon enough - just like everyone else.

//

This screams pt.2, doesn't it?

[h3rmess]

COLLAPSE

-> 1✰Geto Suguru

LASER LIGHTS ☆

"ignore it 'til I feel alright."

I'm not really sure when it started. It might have been when Satoru and I were sent out on yet another mission, the gravity of which being way too much for people of our age to handle.

Or, it may have been on an earlier occasion when I was promoted to special grade following my evaluation after the exchange event. The gravity of that title held a great responsibility within it : to help the weak.

Gravity. The force constantly acts upon us on a daily basis. The vector quantity that holds both direction and magnitude. The magnitude of the situations only seemed to grow, and I only seemed to be moving backwards, deeper and deeper into a pool of depression.

"Your job as Jujutsu sorcerers is to help the weak. Save those who can't save themselves."

So what happens when I need help? Who's going to save me? Do I rely on another sorcerer to put me out of my misery?

Being the strongest is nothing but a curse. Living every day knowing everyone is counting on you to help when no one else can. Being the first and last resort in all situations. Having responsibilities that, if given to any other human, would eat them alive and leave nothing but blood splatters on the floor.

Why me? Why did I have to be the strongest? I can't save everyone. I can't save anyone.

Satoru seemed to be doing a little better than me. By a little, I mean a lot. He had become the strongest. He was able to laugh and joke so casually about these topics. Meanwhile, they cause my stomach acid to burn my guts. Thank a sheltered childhood for that. Being the family's pride and joy must have been great for him. Not having to climb his way up must have been amazing. Being born the strongest, never once having to doubt his ability because it came so naturally and effortlessly. He must love his life.

He was being sent on more missions on his own. Naturally, this meant that I, too, had to be sent on more missions alone.

Every day was torture for me.

We were unsure of how it came about, but the frequent disaster of the last year probably played a role. Cursed spirits were springing up like maggots.

Exorcise, absorb. Over and over. Exorcise, absorb.

The more curses we killed, the more I had to absorb to remain the strongest. Once you're at the top, you can't back down. Do you know what it's like to absorb curses? It's like eating a rag that's been used to clean up vomit and shit. It makes me sick to my stomach.

Exorcise, absorb. Who am I doing this for?

Maybe it was the pressure of being strong. Or, it could have been the frequency of our missions. Before I knew it, dark circles were forming under my eyes. Sleep became a foreign concept to me. Something that i yearned for dearly. So many people had died.

Soon enough, my meals started to look unappetising too. Revolting clumps of farmed rubbish put together to be consumed. Curses. Revolting lumps of negative emotions put together to be consumed.

Nobody understands.

I kept it under wraps in front of the others, remaining inconspicuous at all costs. The strong can't help the strong.

It seemed to be getting better for a while. But then, Gojo was evolving. He was learning things I knew I could never do. His pace was immense. He picked it up so easily. I tried to keep up. I was losing my speed.

Satoru had it so easy. He never had to think about anything the way I did. His technique was spoon-fed to him, served on a golden platter. He was born with a silver spoon in his mouth. I had nothing. I was nothing. Amongst the entirety of Jujutsu society, not once would you hear anyone say, "Geto Suguru is so strong!" "He's the strongest!" It was always Satoru. Always him who would block my only hope at being the strongest. Always him who would block my chance at being a decent human being. Getting the recognition I deserve rather than being drenched in a boundless sea of tasks once one had been completed. I was never once thanked for my work. I thought I didn't need it. That was until he came and stole it all from me. I hated it. I hated being weak! I hated Gojo Satoru.

Or at least that was my justification for the events that occurred on that fateful day.

I had found myself at the lowest point in my life. I was heavily torn between being able to save one person or an entire population. It was a tough decision to make. Did I want to continue saving people indefinitely, or did I want to get it all done with in one go? To me, the more logical answer was the latter. Re-educating the entire country of Japan would be near impossible. What if there were people like Zenin who had no cursed energy? What, then? Would I be forced to save all the non-sorcerers again?

Then it hit me. The root of my problem. No matter how much I tried to stray from it, it was always right in front of me. The cause of all of my misery. The reason why I was so malnourished. The reason why I found myself in this position in the first place. Those non-sorcerers. The useless beings who couldn't do so much as defend themselves against curses that didn't even qualify for grade 4. The people with no cursed energy who lived their lives in ignorance, not knowing of the mental and physical torment some of us endured daily. Those damn monkeys. Those sub human creatures! They were the issue! The bane of my existence.

And so, my plan to rebuild the nation of Japan was put into action. I needed to wipe out all of the monkeys and build a new world ; a world of jujutsu sorcerers. That way, everyone could defend themselves. I would be putting the weak out of their misery. It would limit the number of deaths from cursed spirits. A small sacrifice like this in the grand scheme of things wouldn't hurt, right?

I killed an entire village. They all went up in flames. It felt amazing. Never once before in my life had I felt such joy, such untainted happiness. I knew that this was for the greater good, and that's what fueled me. That's what drove me to save two girls and build a family where we all shared one common goal - obliterate the monkeys and bring about a change.

Needless to say, I was expelled from Jujutsu Tech, and everyone was after my head. They really didn't get it, did they? They didn't see the bigger picture at all.

And that's when Satoru got involved. He had found out about my massacre and was not pleased, to say the least. Screaming at me on the streets like some uncivil beast. A savage dog spewing bullshit with every word he spoke.

"You know it would be impossible!" He screamed, and I stopped.

I had been blocking out what he was saying, but that combination of words was the straw that broke the camels back for me.

Impossible? He thinks it's impossible? Satoru Gojo, who, with his hollow purple, could wipe out the entirety of Japan. He thinks it's impossible?

Don't make me laugh.

That arrogant bastard. Saying that something is impossible even though he could do it with minimal effort?

How hypocritical.

It must be nice to be so sheltered that you have deluded yourself into completely disregarding your heritage and cursed technique when talking to others. To wholly be able to forget about being strong and try to make yourself appear as if you are anywhere near the level of ther jujutsu sorcerers.

It must be amazing.

He knows that he could do it, and yet he doesn't want to admit it.

Is this the power the strong have? All along, it wasn't about cursed energy or cursed technique, but your ability to manipulate those inferior to you.

Satoru was very crafty indeed.

But two could play at that game. If he thought he was the only one who could manipulate and alter someone thinking, he was dearly mistaken.

"Are you the strongest because you're Satoru Gojo? Or are you Satoru Gojo because you're the strongest?"

The words flowed from the deepest part of my heart, a feeling awakened by his ignorance to his own strength.

No, it wasn't ignorance. It was Satoru being pitiful towards the weak, sympathising with us as if he was anywhere near our level. We are merely lowly peasants compared to him.

He acted surprised at my words, telling me everything I needed to know. If I wanted to progress in my mission, I had to let go of my past self, strip myself down until I was nothing, and rebuild a better version of myself. Only then would I be able to achieve my goal. Only then would it be possible to wake up one day without feeling like the world could come crashing down at any second.

I left my best friend that day. The only one who understood me until that point. It had only been us.

I had to start anew, to build a world in which only sorcerers exist. That way, arrogant brats like Satoru wouldn't have free reign over the weak, and my mind would be at ease.

Just a little longer. Everything will fall into place.

m.list

navi☆

[picturesofthegoneworlds]

For one word prompts, I'm finally seeing some green in my garden again, so: Sage?

Oh, of course you know how to appeal to me. I hope this brings the vibes <3 ~

There was a variety of sage (still is, most likely) - sanctified – a herb that they would dry hanged from the rafters and tie into bundles like broomstick bristles, its own fibrous stem knotted in noose around the neck and ankles of the bale, burnt at the stakes and raised pitchforks to sweep away the wicked.

The smoke was what woke her, herbaceous floral distress signal, thrown through the open (paneless) window, accompanied by salt and circle.

They hoped to lure her out the front ‘door’ - she concluded with groggy post-dream clarity - strategized to trap her between saline force field and stone and mortar.

She stumbled over herself, gathered her few possessions. In time shorter the flames carpeted the threshing covering the floor, climbed into her bed to alight the straw stuffing the mattress, exorcised from there to cross exposed rafters to the mossy thatching comprising the roof-

She left through the vacant fireplace.

From a distance fled she observed the thick grapevine coiling of smoke as it billowed out above the forest canopy from a chimney that had crumbled decades ago.

Fire-licked masonry, tattered and scorched fabrics. Perhaps their malice left the cabin more befitting, well-suited, paralleled - outfitted in ash grey skin and soot ichor stains. The hunting party retreated but she could not return. She wondered who would take up residence in the hollow shell - as such a body must be an invite, must be a vessel (at least that was a lesson she was soon to learn) - but who would cohabitate with the spiders, birds, and other small mammals?

The thick smoke filtered through the pines

All of her grievances aside (packed away once again with her bedroll and cauldron), it smelt rather wonderful-

~

There was another sage (surely must be, still) - common - cultivated in window boxes and allotments, the leaves torn to marinade meats, to infuse healing balms, unbiased towards the dead or the living, transmuting itself for both in order to permeate soft tissue.

Laudna would grab handfuls of the silver-furred leaves; amass them in pocket-lint-lined-bundles of potpourri. Crushed the sage between her fingers, rubbed it on her pulse points, tied it with red twine dried in parcels of cheesecloth that she decorated around her person. Loose in her coin pouch, trinkets, her spell component satchel too, sewn into Pâté’s stuffing, flattened behind her belts and tucked into the front of her bodice and trampled in the soles of her shoes-

Never sure if it was necessity or in her head, not like when she wore flushing and sweating flesh, saturated, awkward teenager dealing with the stubborn stench of puberty or drenched in the fragrance of a farm-girl-butcher’s-daughter composting straw manure and coagulated pigs’ blood –

-not the perfume of The Ladies, certainly, refined with their age, aged mahogany liquor barrel vintage sophisticated palate, finery of silks satin lace velvet layers stored in lacquered marquetry hardwood armoires and mausoleum-sized wardrobes, aired in gilded vase and bouquet’ed marble surroundings, chandeliers ornately framed paintings in alabaster hallways-

She would feel rather self-conscious of it; of her differences - but continued her play with the worms in the forest regardless.

Then, for a short time, she slept with them.

Or rather, she woke to fall onto a heap moving with them, dancing drunken room-spin carpet shag pile of maggots and flies and mosquitoes and pillows of other larvae unidentified, turning familiar faces into fertiliser.

She was not sure if it was the memory, or the actual (un)working order of things

Permanently rotting 

Hard to smell past the end of a decomposing nose

Perhaps it wasn’t so hard to tell for others?

Every time she passed the plant she filled her pockets and hands - ironically unaware of how time had stilled, that she was embalming herself - hoping it would fight the trauma-ever-present smell, that she could throw off the(ir) scent.

~

There is a sage that blooms violet throughout the summer - wild - like early humid evenings with head thrown back in laughter and perspiration jeweling tanned neck, clouds underlit and voluminous as purple-sunset tousled hair.

Imogen points it out with inquisition; at the gatherings of spears of blossoms lanced into soil growing not far from the bank of a river in the sun-bleached and crunching-under-foot tall grasses of an open field.

Seeds from dried out flower heads are carried along the docile breeze, ashes falling in hazing-heat ground fog, smithing dandelion diamond rings to decorate the fingers of the willows that lazily wave, bid farewell to the jewellery that doesn’t fit, allowing it to marry elsewhere between clumps over the grass and charms accumulated at the banks of the gently moving river.

“D’ya know what this is? Smells good.”

She kneels down with her palm held open to the purple blooming sage, presentory, skin offering the tan lines above her knees exposed from the displacement of the tops of her tall leather boots, a dandelion seed catching in the mass of her mane like a feather, her hand not designated to indicating specimen shading above one of her eyes squinted shut and the corner of her mouth raised baring teeth as she looks to Laudna with the midday sun over her shoulder.  

It’s a bit overwhelming, the life and the bliss it elicits.

Laudna walks the few paces over to her, gives a quick inspection with the cast of her shadow.

Smiles in familiarity, nods to the plant in greeting

“Would you like to try it?”

Imogen starts the fire, uses the abundance of dried grasses as kindling. It smells just like the burning cottage had, does so every time. Laudna prunes the wild sage, gathering toothed leaves and small violet petals into her wicker basket, rolls the fragranced stems between the pads of her fingers and inhales, implores the herbal scent to momentarily mask the memory of deterioration as it once had. Imogen sets up the frame for hanging the cauldron, drives the iron spikes into the dry ground, fills it from the river, has to submerge her hand into the gathered water, fingers tweezers removing errant dandelion parachutes that she wipes onto her gauzy dress skirt, skin glistening with the cascading droplets that intuitively follow the scarring of her lightning marks and drip onto the floor, where a lizard with skin like stones flees under the weave of the trodden grass once her footfall returns, retreats for safer ground. Laudna questions whether it will turn to watch the fire or let instinct tell it to keep running-

“You’re quiet…”

Imogen states, offers a softened and upturned corner of her mouth.

Another feather of an airborne seed lands in her hair. A warning arrow shot through the window and puncturing her pillow, innards flying-

“I seem to be having a reflective day, sorry.”

 “Anythin’ you wanna share?”

Imogen wears her empathetic apology in her brow, strained, and Laudna isn’t sure of how legible abstract memories are to her, if the furrow is from an attempt at unknotting the tangles, mostly it feels a weight too unquantifiable to know what to share with intention.

“Not now. I think this is good, something new.”

Present is good, a gift, shared (willingly, in part).

“I don’t dislike it…”

Imogen declares, staring into her cup as she swirls its contents under inquisitive-eyed assessment.

“It sounds like you are warming up for a caveat there.”

She pauses, holds the pottery between her hands on her lap.

“I’m not, s’just new. Tea back home was mostly black and made with lemons and alotta honey or sugar; was cold if the occasion were special-” she tucks her hair behind her ear as her eyes read the pattern of the blanket they had laid over the floor. Laudna wonders if there were birthday parties on picnic blankets out in the paddocks, waited by her father, Imogen and her childhood friends drinking sweet tea and running around in daisy crowns “-I guess we had other teas, but they were more for if y’all were sick?”

She doesn’t like to think of that.

The birds and the crickets carry on their background accompaniment, Imogen's hand returning to the other cradling the cup. Laudna feels as though she can see the slow turn of the skin on her exposed thighs from bronzed tan to sun-kissed red, convinced she is observing the freckles multiplying.

“This one is supposed to be good for anxiety.”

Imogen scoffs, it causes a nearby bird in the brush to scatter

“Yeah? Well I’ll report back on that - maybe we should take more with us just in case.”

Laudna laughs agreeably, enthusiastic. She knows how to make plenty of room for sage.

To follow the tea she also makes them a salad with the plant’s greens; a field-foraged thing prepared with borage and dandelion leaves, fleshed out with wild strawberries, a little olive oil and a little cider vinegar, served in a wooden bowl. 

finishes the assemblage with an intentionally random flecking of the wild sage's violet petals, as though the bowl is a miniature diorama of the meadow in which they sit, olive oil babbling brook and cast iron fork fallen-tree bridge ready to present on a plinth, garden plans proposed by the landscaper in the study to a snooty gent stroking his chin and um-ing and ah-ing -

the hidden door that was disguised behind ornate wooden panelling, adjoining the ransacked and emptied floor to ceiling shelves of the study via dark stone corridors to the equipped and practical, cell-like laboratory- 

She thinks that was the layout, at least - worries who she will rouse if she thinks too hard on it. There is comfort in the answer being left immaterial.

“All’a those times I was sittin’ in fields of flowers, I never really thought I could be eatin’ them.”

It is so nice to have someone she adores break up her ruminations.

“You had a lot of quality produce, there wasn’t really the need.”

"I guess not. Honestly, I think I prefer the salad to the tea." 

Imogen licks her teeth, reveals a violet petal plastered over incisor that she shortly removes with a blade-of dry-grass toothpick, re-places the petal on the flat of her tongue, rolling it around her mouth and swallowing it. 

Laudna stares.

"You like the flowers?" she finds herself leaning towards Imogen. Wants to tell her that for years this one was her perfume - pomanders adorned and concealed in tattered layers.

“They’re purple, ‘course I do.” she giggles, resting sat cross-legged with her weight behind her on her palms. Her head rolls towards Laudna, leaves their foreheads almost resting against one another, Laudna able to count each individual eyelash.

Purple, like the deep undertones of her hair. That much Laudna was very aware of.

“I should have guessed that that would be what caught your attention.” She brings her hand up and wraps her bony index finger in a ringlet of Imogen's hair.

“More like your magic, I was thinkin’…” She drawls, tenor lowered and breathy. 

“And the taste?”

Imogen visibly swallows, cheeks flushing a further tint than what the sun has already given - it makes Laudna feel overly aware of the networking of her own heart and veins.

Imogen clears her throat

"’s’good - kinda familiar."

Laudna feels overwhelmed by the compelling need to kiss her - so she does. Her hand with finger still tied in ringlets of hair sprawling over Imogen's chest as she responds with a squeaked moan that reverberates underneath it. Her lungs halt in their expansion as her mouth is sealed with her own, the increasing pulse at the base of her neck decipherable carved runes under the tip of her fingers, her heart thudding against her palm.

Familiar. Laudna can muse on that in the future, certainly.

She sits back from Imogen - already breathless and chest heaving, lips kiss-swollen - and appreciates the sight she helped curate; the picture of her looking a little dazed on their tartan blanket with the surrounding flora densely reaching above her shoulders, crowned in multi-coloured paint strokes.

“Familiar? And here I thought that was your first time eating a flower.”

Causes her to blush furiously

“Don’t you use ma’words against me.” She pushes Laudna playfully at her shoulder, pretends to look away in dissatisfaction, bottom lip pouting.

“I apologise, that is your advantage to keep. My words are but humble ammunition for your armoury.” Laudna exaggeratedly plays acting pious at Imogen’s half-turned back, Imogen turning back to her with one eyebrow raised and a laugh she is clearly trying to keep within her stomach murmuring at the corners of her lips.

"That so? Well alright, how would y’all describe it?" 

She puffs out air towards her head, hairs previously put behind her ear falling back out of (or into, depending on which of them you ask) place, sits forward again, arms folded. Adorable. Laudna is aware of how susceptible Imogen is to her teasing, always so charming and charismatic, and so often a bumbling mess - and it is intoxicating - to exercise any sort of outcome on such a gifted sorceresses’ disposition, is doing her best to learn what the differences and distinctions are between that and her own longer ongoing situation…

Focus.

Despite the more imposing associations, she can still remember

Can still remember her father butchering the pig, her mother in the kitchen slicing its fatty flesh into patchwork diamonds, stuffing the incised indents with sage and garlic and other seasonings, the slab of flesh tied with butcher’s twine around a whole peeled onion and roasted, skin crackling, the three of them sat around the oak table, talking about the small things, Laudna's mother showing off the basket Laudna had weaved that day, presented like a cornucopia on the kitchen table top, holding that weeks offering of vegetables.

She would describe it as herbaceous, sweet, and floral. Peppery, perhaps like a minty aniseed. Earthy. Mulchy. Rich as the soil it grew from. Could also admit to it being 'like the first home I'd made burning down, like the incense I'd crush between my palms and rub behind my ears so as to not offend any people who would be so kind as to get close enough to notice the death’

what she does say is

"nostalgic." 

not a lie - though she hopes in futures she won’t be drowned marinating in it, the complex layering of all of the ingredients and flavours, hopes one can remain dominant, bountiful and nourishing.

Imogen there, seen over the end of a nose that did not rot and fall off. She’s sure that it can change.

[literaticat]

Hi Jenn. Can I ask you some info about “cozy” mysteries? I’m part of a writers group and recently shared some details about the plot of my novel and others in the group keep throwing around this term in relation to my book. Thing is I’m not sure if what I’ve written is a cozy mystery. I mean, it sort of is but also not. It’s a murder mystery and it’s set in a cozy UK village but it’s also kind of dark, with themes dealing with grief and thriller elements. I’m also querying UK agents to start with before I query US ones and while it looks like the term is maybe international I’m also wondering if it’s more US than UK? My comps are Agatha Christie, esp her Poirot novels which I see some saying online are cozy and others saying aren’t cozy, plus modern authors like Graham Norton and Tom Hindle. I know I can ask some of this in my group but I’m embarrassed to as I don’t know if I’ve written a cozy or not or given it’s kind of darker, if I’ve just written a murder mystery. I know this isn’t your area but if you could help me I’d really appreciate it, thank you.

With the caveats that I don't rep adult mysteries, I don't really read adult mysteries, I don't know anything about the market for adult mysteries in the US *or* the UK, nor what terminology is in use for the UK since I am not in the UK? Uh. Sure.

In my opinion, there are four main attributes for a proper cozy.

A cozy mystery must:

Feature an amateur sleuth. In other words -- the main character's JOB is not to solve crimes -- they are not a cop or P.I. or FBI agent or forensic pathologist or whatever. They may be a reporter or a novelist or a little old lady who happens to have a passion for puzzles -- they may be a kooky barista or bookstore owner or chef or something totally not-crime related!

Have a charming setting. By that I mean, warm, cute, safe-feeling -- say, a village/hamlet/vicarage called Button-on-Twee with a delightfully quirky cast of characters. The kind of place you want to take a weekend vacation to. (Not all villages/small towns are like that. Plenty of REAL small towns are in fact impoverished and bleak -- that wouldn't be the case in a cozy small town). It doesn't HAVE to be a village, it could be something like a hotel, vacation resort, or on a large yacht or something -- as long as it's charming/lovely. If it is set in a city, it would be like a pocket-neighborhood within a city. Like, maybe there's a darling B&B and a brownstone full of chatty neighbors and pets on a street that has a kindly greengrocer and a bookstore etc -- and we stay in that little corner of town, far away from skyscrapers and dangerous bits. It would be much harder, IMO, for a cozy to be set on like, a remote and isolated desert planet or farm in the middle of nowhere with no neighbors or something -- those things are not cozy!

Be "clean" -- ie, no explicit sex or grisly violence on page. Obvs there may be romance/relationships, love/kissing, etc if you want, but it will be closed-door, ie, the actual uh... graphic bonking stuff may be implied but will not be shown. Obvs there may be murders, but think, like, the level of violence on Murder She Wrote -- MAYBE we see an assailant whack somebody on the head or something like that -- but when bodies are shown, they are rather discreetly presented, or are discovered off-screen. They aren't showing twisted bodies or guts and gore and maggots in eyes and whatnot, yanno?

Be comforting and satisfying. Like, idk, it's just a vibe. Though there may be murder and light mayhem and delving into some of the darker parts of the human psyche (after all, MURDER, hello!) -- and the reader may certainly experience SUSPENSE (how will our hero get out of this jam?!) -- they will not experience TERROR. The reader knows they are in good hands and that the problems will be satisfyingly resolved and the main character will be OK at the end. They should come away from the book feeling satisfied, with a smile, not upset or stressed out.

If your book ticks ALL of those boxes, you can deffo call it a cozy.

If it ticks 3/4, like, it's sorta borderline 4, as long as the vibe is still comforting, it still could potentially be a cozy, but at the end of the day: If you don't think it's cozy, that's fine. Just... don't call it cozy then! Call it a mystery and then describe it and put the comps and let people come to their own conclusions.

(FWIW, Miss Marple is an amateur sleuth whose books are mostly set in a small town or vacation destinations -- Hercule Poirot is a former cop and professional detective whose books are set all over the map, literally. So by my definition, Poirot books are not cozies. Marple books might be -- but I haven't read them, so IDK about the vibe!)

[daycourtofficial]

“you’d let our son kill me in his pocket?? and be motherless???”

“… is that what you think atlas does with the worms?”

“my poor orphaned babies”

“my love i feel like we should talk about this .. also i’m still alive they’re not orphans?”

“i’ll give you tapeworm.”

“okay my little maggot.”

He would call her his little maggot omg she’d spiral and he’d be like how have you not noticed the giant worm farm we’ve made for Atlas he’d build you a shrine

[anoseforrottenapples]

⏳ for Mary!

@honorhearted

“Admittedly, my engagement with Abraham was not easy.” Mary grimaced as the needle she was working with slid into her finger, catching on the subtle callus marring its tip. Pressing against the skin, she was satisfied when no pinpricks of blood emerged, and she resumed her stitchwork. “Of course, Thomas’s death hung over the whole affair, along with the shipwreck that killed my parents and two of my brothers. Then there was the little issue of Abraham already being engaged to Anna… though it took nearly three years for me to learn about that bit of village knowledge.” She sighed. “Admittedly, that does explain a fair bit of Abraham’s reticence in regard to our engagement and marriage.” Studying her line of stitches, Mary softly added. “Thomas’s death however… that was what truly put a damper on both our spirits. Abraham, for obvious reasons… his brother had just died. My reasoning was admittedly more selfish. I had expected to marry an army officer… and I ended up with a student. One who quickly dropped out of university to devote himself to a cabbage farm that would not produce.”

Mary dropped her voice, her hands fiddling with the needle though she could not continue to work. “We’ve been in debt since we married—every crop has failed due to the maggots, but Abraham is too proud to ask his father for help. I suppose he would rather see his wife and son starve, or end up the shame of the village, then admit he either needs to turn his hand to another trade or change his crop.” That was why she had no regrets burning down the farmhouse, even if she did regret losing all of the household goods that her female relatives had painstakingly created for her to help her set up her own home. But the farmhouse was Abraham’s obsession—not hers. If destroying the house made him see reason, and realize he had to prioritize little Thomas’s future, then so be it. Besides, if he was going to keep up his disgraceful relationship with Anna, at the last Mary felt she should get to live in the comfortable house, and enjoy the privileges of being Whitehall’s Mistress. Abraham was certainly not letting her enjoy the privileges that should have come with being Mrs. Woodhull.  Setting her work in her lap, Mary looked up at her guest wearily. “I’m terribly sorry. You asked a simple question about how I met my husband, and you received a rather disgraceful and long reply. I hope you will forgive me.” She glanced at the teacup sitting at her guest’s elbow and leaned forward to take the teapot in both hands. “Allow me to refill your cup—and turn our discussion toward more interesting topics at the same time.”

[abimee]

MAGGOT THERAPY IS SO SO SO COOL TO ME. did you know rhat for the purposes of removing and healing necrotic tissue its actually both far more effective and cost efficient than more widely-applied therapies? also what i find interestinf is that a concern with using itbmore widely is that it will gross-out patients... but now we have research showing that its often the doctors that are more disturbed by the concept than patients!! its soooo fun

yes i do know that i am the maggot person after all. im admittedly not as interested in the applied research of cost or public concepts of maggot therapy and moreso im just interested in the interaction between the patient and the maggot. like how we go about interacting with the idea of the maggot and how the maggot has evolved.

maggot therapy is cool to me but i dont think of it much in my greater maggot schemes because ive began to twirl along with what i read up and my current love is in the apple maggot. like that they eat the flesh of the fruit compared to other apple-thieves who eat the core and that theres no real impact maggots have on society due to these things eating the fruits besides quote unquote customer response. and with how much the american farming industry overproduces i see nothing wrong with a maggot deciding it wants to have its fill of a lil bit of cranberry; let that lad have its fill

[maggotsarefriends]

maybe you could raise maggots, like a earth worm farm only for maggots!

It's like a mutually beneficial relationship, you give the maggot farm food and they can make fertilizer for your garden or something.

I've raised worms before, it was really fun :]

Woah! WORMIES!! Unfortunately my anomaly doesn’t work on other maggots just the *cough cough* “StOmaCH bUGs” *cough cough* I have tried to request some, but the foundation has denied me. NOT EVEN ELEANOR WOULD LISTEN!!! But it’s fine my little fellas get me through it! They are amazingly company! I’ve recently taught Barb how to do a FLIP!!! It’s so flipping cool! Haha! Get it? Get it? It’s funny because I said fl-

[weepingmilkshakedreamer]

AS1 dial0gue but it'z my au [Act 2]

thiz iz a part 2 0f thiz p0zt that i did z0 uhh yeah. l0l

Bleed: "Bleed and Probe, Back alley MDs" - got a nice ring to it, eh doc?

Alan: Never mind that bleed. someone is coming - this could be trouble!

Brutality: All right! Who's the graffiti artist 'round here? Speak up, maggots!

Bleed: Uhhh, I'm Ignacious Bleed, I'm a surgeon, and this is...

Brutality: Surgeons eh? Well! You boys are gonna help me!

Bleed: Uhm... ok what's-

Brutality: No questions! Get Fixin'!

After surgery

Brutality: Hoo! That's better. Don't know why i did that. People i arrested kept suggesting it. Guess i got curious.

Bleed: Well, as long as your happy, Mr. officer sir!

Brutality: Some whack-job round here has started attacking criminals and messin' them up real bad... So carry on, and keep an eye out!

Brutality: ...also you can keep the handcuffs.

Bleed: Ewwww... Bleh!

--------------------------------------------------------------

Valerie: Hey! You guys are the surgeons right? Well listen i just got attacked!

Valerie: I was just minding my own business, siphoning off some petrol from a car, when someone snuck up behind me!

Valerie: BAAAAAARP!

Bleed: Oh cool! Well then, let's take a look!

After surgery

Valerie: Whew. Thanks guys - that was ace.

Bleed: No problem missy! Spread the word!

*Valerie leaves*

Alan: Bleed I've been thinking... your current outfit isn't really suitable anymore, so I grabbed this as we left the warehouse.

*Bleed puts on the bloody overalls*

Bleed: Woohoo look at me! I'm a super-hot surgeon!

Bleed: Thanks doc! All the guys are gonna be saying, "Help me doctor! I have ahuge ick!" and I'll be like, "Hmm! I'd best take a look!" and...

Alan: Bleed! Could we focus, please for gods sake! I think we have another patient!

--------------------------------------------------------------

Vince: Hey! Four-eyes! Yeah, you in the overalls hanging out with the tramp!

Bleed: Jeez and I thought Alan was the only bi- Er uh- I mean... What seems to be the problem, miss?

Vince: MISS?! You little...!

Bleed: wait wha... OH WAIT! I'm so sorry! I thought you were a woman dressed as a cheap male prostitute. Sorry!

Vince: I guess I asked for that. But listen, i suffer from multiple personalities, which is bad for business...

Vince: Could you... You know, fix me?

After surgery

Vince: I feel... Good!

Bleed: (Urgh, well you don't look so good!)

Bleed: So long, pretty boy!

*Vince leaves*

Bleed: ...

Bleed: God... That reminds me of my experience with lobotomies...

--------------------------------------------------------------

Shame-rock: Ah, now I'll know what you'll say, guys!

Shame-rock: You'll say, "Ah, but that guy looks like he's been through the wars!", so you will!

Bleed: Uhh ok?... Have you been through wars then?

Alan: That's not what he meant Bleed you goddamn idiot... But my guess is some kind of farm equipment, or whatever the fuck...

Shame-rock: Ha! But that's all part of being an elite cage-fighter, so it is!

Shame-rock: And besides, you should have seen the other guy!

Alan: Worse off, wasn't he?

Shame-rock: I literally broke me foot off in his a-

Alan: Ah! Ok ok! Don't need to go into detail here! Bleed you take it from here, before he makes me uncomfortable!

Bleed: Right! Well! Let's get cracking on, shall w-

Alan: Bleed, Shut up!

Bleed: Ok...

After surgery

Shame-rock: Well, I feel great!

Shame-rock: But is all the bandages exactly necessary?

Alan: Well, you know how sometimes you have to put a cone on a injured dog to stop it hurting itself again because they have the brain of this dumbass right here?

Bleed: Hey...

Shame-rock: Ah! I see! This is to stop me from destroyin' me opponents too early on?

Alan: Yeah whatever! Let's go with that explanation!

*Shame-rock leaves*

Alan: ....

Alan: You're still a dumbass you know that right?

Bleed: Yeah...

Alan: Ok good.

--------------------------------------------------------------

Distress: So... I HEAR you boys are pretty "extreme"... But you LOOK a bit "old and past it" to me!

Bleed: Hey! I'll have you know I once saved the world from the Spider Queen's evil sisterhood using only my bare wits and a sparkly thong!

Bleed: Er- no, wait... That might have not been me...

Alan: Definitely not.

Distress: Ugh! Whatever! Well, I want you to take it to the next level!

Distress: I want to be your surgical CANVAS OF AGONY! Paint me with pain!

Gimp: Yrrrrrgh! Shrr rrrrrrrryy rrrks prrrrrn!

Bleed: Ewwww! Bleh!

After surgery

Distress: Ahh! That was amazing!

Bleed: I aim to please!

Bleed: Or at least not hit any vital organs!

Grimp: Wrrrrl yrrr strrrrple mrrr brrrrrt-chrrrrks trrrrgrrrtrrr?

Bleed: ...

Alan: ...

Bleed: Uh- sorry i couldn't understand a word you just said! But anyways have you heard of anything about criminals getting attacked miss?

Distress: Ugh! Yeah i heard. Word is, problems started around the same time some creepy French woman started hanging around...

Bleed: French? Hmm... Alright! Anyways be seeing you!

Alan: (Jesus Christ I sure hope not...)

Bleed: (Yeah same here doc...)

--------------------------------------------------------------

Ted: Uh... Hey guys? Will you help me?

Bleed: Uhh yeah I think we should be able to... Whew! Oh man! What did you do, eat a bunch of garbage and then sleep in a dumpster?

Ted: Yeah... I guess, pretty much. Sorry. Listen - it's Joe... he needs to move out.

Bleed: Uhhh what...?

Ted: Uh, Joe's my tapeworm.

Bleed: Oh! Alright i see now! let's take a look then!

After surgery

Ted: Oh man... Joe! What have I done? Oh man...

Bleed: Hey! He was a giant weird, gross parasite who was slowly killing you! What are you upset about!

Ted: Yeah. But... He was my only friend.

Bleed: Huh. Well uh, I guess they say it's those closes to our hearts that can hurt us the most...

Alan: I don't think they meant it in a strictly anatomical sense, Bleed you fuckin idiot...

--------------------------------------------------------------

Caruthers: ...

Bleed: Uhh... What? Sorry i don't speak sign language.

Alan: I'll translate for you bleed! Now what seems to be the problem again sir?

Caruthers: ...

Alan: (I see...) He says that, "He needs our help! And that he's been poisoned".

Bleed: Poisoned? I knew it! Did someone attack you? OH SWEET MOTHER OF- WHAT THE HECK IS THAT?!

Caruthers: ...

Alan: He says that, "It's his pet komodo dragon and good friend Bugeater Peter"

Bleed: Ohhh... Ok anything else?

Caruthers: ...

Alan: He says that, "Today peter wouldn't eat his caviar, so he had to eat some to show em it's delicious, but apparently someone had swapped it out with spider eggs and now he's gonna die... of spiders."

Bleed: Alr well let's see if i can control my phobias long enough to do this, so I'll do the best i can without freaking out!

After surgery

Caruthers: ...

Alan: He says that, "it was very scary but he's grateful for the operation."

Bleed: Ah yes, you're very welcome Mr. Caruthers.

*Caruthers then leaves*

Bleed: You know doc, I've seen something similar to that before!

Alan: Really?

Bleed: Yeah! Back at the warehouse a girl came in full of bugs! She almost seemed to like it! I fixed her up, but...

Alan: You performed surgery without me? Bleed! that was madness!

Bleed: Oh no, it's fine! I did great but... Oh never mind.

--------------------------------------------------------------

Dwayne: Hey guys! Les copains! You gotta help me, see? I was at customs, ok? Customs! Je reviens de la capitale mondiale du café oh man you should have seen all the coffees they had!

Dwayne: But I had too much they said! TOO MUCH! I said I'll tell YOU when I've had enough!

Dwayne: So i had to hide it! I had to! Je dois avoir that sweet, sweet caffeine kick!

Dwayne: slurp-slurp-slurp

Dwayne: Oh baby! Oh boy that's good! But anyway! Fermez-la! I'm talking! Le café - I hid it! Now I need it back!

Dwayne: You gotta get it back for me! Do your surgery thing! Do it do it! Make with the ol' slice and dice, the old snip-snip chop-chop!

Bleed: Ohhh-kay! And breathe!

After surgery

Dwayne: Oh wowee, oh yowza! You got it! Oh I could kiss you my dear Bleed! I could kiss the coffee, that sweet, sweet mocha temptress...

Dwayne: slurp-slurp-slurp

Alan: Wait... What?!-

Bleed: Ugh... Yeah your welcome! I guess, but you need to get over it Dwayne...

Dwayne: Yeah i know! But can you at least help me off the dumpster?

Bleed: (Sigh...) Fine!

*thud*

Dwayne: My... what cold hands you have my dear!

Bleed: That's it! Get out!

Dwayne: Awwww... Not even one little kiss before i go?

Bleed: OUT!

*Dwayne leaves*

Alan: Why Didn't you tell me you had an ex?

Bleed: Well i didn't tell you because it was very personal information you know, And cuz i didn't wanna let you know about the fact i used to date that asshole.

Alan: Oh... Why did you break up with him?

Bleed: I accidentally slept with one of his twin bro-

Alan: AH! Ok ok! That's all the information i need to know why!

Bleed: Oh uhh alright then... Anyways back to work!

Alan: Wow you got over that quick.

--------------------------------------------------------------

Ernest: AH! DOKTORS! HELP! I AM SICK! I HAS ATE SOMEZING ZAT DSIAGREED WITH ME!

Bleed: Uhm ok... Was it fast food?

Ernest: NOT ESPECIALLY! I HAS CAUGHT HIM WHILE I HAS SRAIGHTJACKET AFTER ALL! HA HA HA!

Bleed: (Let's just get on the table and get em the heck out of here! Though I kinda like this guy, he seems cool!)

Alan: (I don't agree with you on the second half! But i agree with you on the first half Bleed.)

After surgery

Ernest: I recognize you, doktor Alan.

Alan: I... Me? How the fuck do you know who i am...?!

Ernest: I saw you. Saw you in ze Old Medicine Building. All zose people died...

Bleed: Uhh doc am i missing something? What is he talking about?

Ernest: YOU WERE ZE DEADPAN FAIRY!

Ernest: DANCE, FAIRY! DANCE YOUR PIXIE DANCE FOR ME AGAIN! HA HA HA! WOOOO! HA HA!

Bleed: (The Old Hospital? Is it true... Or is he just crazy?)

Bleed: Doc... What that guy said. Did you work at the Old Hospital? I heard about that. It shut down because a bunch of people died. And then it burned down...

Alan: Bleed...

Bleed: I want to know what happened doc! But it'll have to wait. We've got a patient!

--------------------------------------------------------------

Bleed: Hey! You're... Jimmy?!

Jimmy: Doc... Help me! They... Someone sent a exterminator on me! I...

Bleed: He's in a bad way! We need to get going here!

After surgery

Bleed: He'll pull through. But that was a attempted murder!

Bleed: who's doing this?! And what happened at The Old Hospital?! What happened with YOU?!

Alan: I... I will explain what i can, Bleed. But for now... It looks like we have another patient.

Bleed: Ahhhhhh! Doc, you cant just leave me hanging like this! I want to know right now!

[simonnebethel]

To Hear a Lovebird, Chapter 1 Excerpt, Prune's POV

“Stigbyrr, this is Prunhilt Helisende. Prune, this is Stigbyrr, the mercenary I told you about,” He turned to the man she now knew as Stigbyrr with a smile. “She has a potential job for you.”

Now that she was closer to him, his features were more clear. Dark brown eyes against blue-gray scarred skin, with raven-black hair that was swept back into a ponytail, and ram-like horns that curled jut behind his small ears. There were strange scratches on his tusks, but she could not tell what they were for. She didn’t know much about the makoth race or Reyoarfell, their homeland. She only knew what travelers briefly told her when they came through, that they were a proud and stern race, and how they overthrow their own leaders if they make a single mistake. However, the man before her didn’t look like the image she had crafted in her mind when she thought of a makoth man. They rarely came to Ostrein, and often never stopped in this tiny town.

Prune looked away, and instead stared at his mug he had set on the table. “There’s—there’s a beast in the woods. It’s been killing my livestock, and leaving them for me to find. I require somebody to find it and kill it.”

He didn’t reply to her at first, and she was afraid he didn’t hear her. Or maybe he doesn’t understand my accent? It’s different from the rest, being so isolated on my farm during my childhood. She looked up at him to briefly see his face. Confused—no. Interested? Enthralled? His expression faded just as quickly as she noticed it, and he returned to a neutral expression.

“What kind of beast?” He inquired, and her eyes widened at his foreign accent. She expected him to have an accent, but not one so strong, which meant he only recently came to Ostrein.

“I—I don’t know. It only kills at night, and has sharp claws that fester the wound. Worms and maggots come to collect their due faster than I’ve ever seen.” She replied.

He seemed to think for a moment, running a finger around the rim of his cup. “Interesting. I’m not knowledgeable in the creatures of these lands, but if it’s a nocturnal creature, then it has to have a den somewhere that it sleeps in during the day. Have many caves in this forest?”

She hesitantly shrugged. “I suppose we do, but I don’t go wandering unless I have a destination in mind. Exploring is a good way to become a sprite’s plaything.”

“Oh,” He nodded, “I know all too well. The Forest Folk where I come from are as cold and unforgiving as the weather.” He tilted his head. “And…are you sure this isn’t just some fairy you accidentally ticked off?”

She laughed and shook her head. “No. I dare say we have different experiences when it comes to the Forest folk. Any farmer who resides in this forest has to respect the creatures who have lived here long before them if they wish to dwell in it. I swear I have done nothing to anger a forest spirit.”

He sighed and sat back in his chair. “Well, I suppose I won’t know what it is until I kill it, yes? I think it would be safer to look for it in the morning, so you’ll just have to risk another night with it lurking around. I must also ask about my payment.”

“Oh—oh.” Prune nervously wrung her hands together. “I’m sure I have some money—”

“I’ll be helping with the pay,” Dietrich piped up after staying silent for most of the conversation. “This creature is a risk to all the farmers who supply this tavern with food and supplies. I’d worry to much if this matter isn’t dealt with sooner.”

“Oh, that’s not fair,” Prune protested. “You don’t need to do that—I’m very willing to pay!”

She turned back to the horned man. “Come to my farm after you’re done—let me at least serve you some stew and warm bread.”

“Well,” He smiled, “Suppose I can’t refuse a hot meal. It’s a deal, then?”

He held out his hand. His fingers were covered in callouses, with small scars scattered all around. She took his hand and shook it, trying her best to not think about how warm they were. “Yes, a deal.”

[foster-the-moths]

u have some awesome dreams . give me them👁️ njkhdcjd actually tho of the three i remember u sharing it's interestign that all three involved you being some sort of whimsical creature (i'm counting altsar as a whimsical little beast he's very silly and fun to m e)

WOOO YEAH i love talking about my dreams they are so Strange um putting all of these under the readmore bc. they are so fucked up sometimes SJFLDJFLJSJF these ones are more horror oriented bc those are some of my favorite ones. i am just listing 4 for now, because this post got very long. i can post more of them later maybe. i have a LOT more but these are just semi-recent ones i can access easily.

warning for descriptions of body horror, gore, injury, death, and parasites (big maggot) and images of body horror and parasites.

1: had a dream a was a little victorian boy (like 3 or something) on vacation with my family and we were on a train but oops!!! we got on the demon train by accident. the conductor surgically removed all of the skin off my face, taxidermied it, sewed it back on, and then sent me to a shadow mirror realm for 18 years. i got back to the Real realm and it turns out it had only been 3 years for my family; but they had still all been distorted beyond recognition and made into worse versions of themselves. my father had turned into a weird goat man, my mother resembled a deep sea fish, and i couldn't remember what happened to my sister or brother. they also didn't recognize me because i had aged 18 years. the rest of the dream was me trying to reverse their transformations.

2: had another one in which i was trapped in an extra-dimensional liminal space that changed and grew as i explored it. It had video game physics which is always fun. when i walked there was view-bobbing and my hands were always visible in front of me, like a first person shooter. i could also sprint jump and b-hop and side sprint and stuff like that. there were also small creatures that latched onto me and tried to kill me, but my hands were extremely lethal (they caused instant burning pain to whatever they touched, and if i pressed my hands against a living thing it would 'melt') so i was able to fend them off. this meant i was basically unbeatable, but could still be hurt.

^this is vaguely what i looked like. i could only see my hands but i'm pretty sure the rest of me wasn't 100% human. i'll draw something better later maybe.

3. a more tame one i had recently was i got trapped in a fantasy video game by accident and ended up in a village that used pinecones as currency. so i had to grow pine trees. and then this other guy started growing saplings on MY farm plot and i was PISSED. he showed me his farming techniques though so i let him stay. time passed very quickly, each hour was a new season, so four hours was a 'year'. i did not realize the implications of this until about two weeks (about 80 'years') had passed. the npc villagers started aging and disappearing and the guy who i planted trees with turned to face me and his face was rotting away. he told me i took too long.

4. less tame one. I had a giant maggot parasite that replaced all of my organs and it tried to control me via telepathic mind battle?? but. i won the telepathic mind battle. so now i WAS the maggot. and i was piloting my own body with weird nerve things and instead of organs there was just a giant maggot in my abdomen but i WAS the maggot and i could feel myself inside of myself. it was like if you could feel your organs against the inside of your skin. incredibly unpleasant sensation. i had to hide the fact that i was a maggot because usually the maggot wins the psychic mind battle and kills people so if my doctors found out i had a maggot parasite in me they would kill me.

^diagram of parasite in the body. the red is the 'nerves' used to control the body. the brain of the host and parasite become merged, which is how i 'became' the maggot. the maggot could also like. climb up the throat and peek its head out of the host's mouth to maul people with its fangs.

[agentsquirrelsgotrobots]

Tw bugs, specifically maggots

Folks of all stripes, may I present to you,

Fly Eggs

Or

Arcee's adventure in roadkill and self care

It starts when she runs over some roadkill on a blind corner, common on the open road, especially in the Adirondack mountains of Vermont.

Unfortunately, it was something big, probably a moose or deer, so she couldn't quite avoid it. She shuddered as ... it ... squished under her tires. It seemed to explode under the force of her tires. Whatever it was, it was big and covered the road. She can feel just the barest kind of resistance from bones, but those bend and break under her weight, too.

It was the hottest part of the summer, and by the time highway patrol got their sanitation trucks out to clean up roadkill, it was often rotting along as if it had been left for weeks.

Jack patted the handlebars soothingly. "Yeah, sorry about that, Arcee. That can't feel good under your tires."

"No, Jack, no, it doesn't. Now you can see why we don't eat other creatures?"

"Yeah, but that was already rotting. But a nice, juicy steak, from a good farm and greenhouse raised veggies. Mmhh. Yum. Thanks for buying me lunch earlier. "

"Well, I guess humans are omnivores."

"Exactly"

They left the road and onto a dirt parking lot for a local trail, the gore still trailing off Arcee's tires. It had splattered all over her, likely some sort of deer or moose, maybe even an illegally dumped exotic pet. Jack swore he heard it pop under Arcee's tires, the splatter even soaking onto his own jeans.

The parking lot was empty, so Arcee called a ground bridge, and they both went inside.

Jack went into Fowler's office to grab a duffle bag of spare clothes to change. The human sized showers still work, and the water heater was better than the one Jack had in his own house. Had to be, in order to have enough hot water to bathe five alien robots that nine times out of ten came back covered in muck and vehicon guts.

Arcee flung splattered gore everywhere as she transformed to Ratchet's displeasure. She didn't even wait for his lecture, yelling that she would clean it up as soon as she got rid of the rest of it.

She scrubbed at every speck she could find, making a mental note to have Jack wash her later. She didn't like having his hands in and on her outside of the seat and handlebars, but there were times where she was having a really bad day and they had to intercept a patrol and no matter how hard she scrubbed, she couldn't quite feel clean.

Then Jack would hook up the hose and get the good, expensive specialty cleaning stuff. June bought her, and they would talk, and she would try not to think about how this whole thing shouldn't happen.

She was a grown woman that had to be talked to like a sparkling, by a sparkling, in order to get the gore that she wanted off her body off her. Why are basic care tasks so hard when you have lost too much. Why do little hands both hurt her, remind her of spider-hissing-

too-many-legs-can't-vent-TAILGATE! Arcee collapsed onto her knees, turning the comfortable, warm shower into a cold freeze, too cold, like-ice-in-every-seam-like-tiny-fingers.

Arcee could feel her blades pop out of her arms, and she turned off the water before the delicate components could get rusted and ruined.

She dried them carefully before closing them and finally stepping out of the shower, ignoring the feeling of being watched trailing down her back. She could feel an itch under her plates, but wrote it off as feeling a little jumpy from the panic episode. She went to bed for the night, content to forget about the whole thing.

She did, and so did Ratchet. For several weeks, Arcee avoided the wash racks like she usually did whenever her mental health took a nosedive.

That day, she walked down the hallway to that little training area that Bumblebee had made her as normal. It was nice and quiet, away from everyone, yet she could hear for anyone who needed her.

She started to run through all the basic moves, still feeling that weird itch. She moved on to practicing her kicks and jumps. She was just about to free the dummies' head from its body for the fifth time when she felt something leak from her hips. She looked down to see a reddish brown mush leaking along with a few specks of white. When she could feel the specks move, her head swam, and her eyes cut out.

"Arcee? Arcee!"

"Jack, get back and let me work."

"Ratchet, those are fly eggs."

"There you go Arcee, follow the light."

Arcee woke up on Ratchet's exam table, his flashlight in her eyes.

"I have good news and bad news." Ratchet said, giving Arcee a container of the fly eggs and maggots that he had taken from her hip. "Good news is, it's completely treatable. The bad news is that I don't have the equipment to treat it noninvasively with my own two hands. This can only really be done by human hands. Luckily, I am sure June and Jack can provide good care. You will have to consent to me giving them your scans, but they should be able to do it by sight, too. I can sedate and alt mode lock you, too, if being conscious of it is too much. Either way, I will supervise completely and start to finish."

Arcee started to panic. She knew now that transforming was the worst thing she could have done. Now they were closer inside her. Now they were too deep for Ratchet to get in robot mode, at least not all in one shot. Her arm blades popped out on reflex, and her head started to spin.

Ratchet grabbed a cable from the bed she was sitting on and inserted it into her wrist. The mild mood enhancer, that they didn't have enough of to start her on regularly, did its job fast. Her mind started to clear, the dose perfected on trial and error, keeping her awake but out of the spiral she was in.

Jack saw Ratchet use it on her sometimes, especially after getting a good supply of it off the Harbinger.

After a few more minutes of it, Ratchet cut the feed and swapped it with a sedative. He got all the eggs and maggots and decay he could find, knowing that there was more deeper in her.

Arcee woke up in her own bed.

She remembered what he said, the panic from a few hours ago mostly gone.

Now that she could think, it made sense. The spin of her tires covered themselves with fluids and gore that she could have easily cleaned off when she got back to base again, but she was a lot less likely to think of all the eggs and gore kicked up into her underside.

Eggs. She had bug eggs in her body, almost microscopic to her.

She felt her arm blades slide out yet again and forced them back into her.

"Yes, give Jack the scans. I want them gone."

Ratchet nodded. "OK then. Do you want them to do it here, at the house, or at a car wash in town?"

"Here. Just be fast." Arcee was starting to panic again, calmed by Jack patting her foot.

Under Ratchet's careful instructions, she transformed and rolled into the wash rack. Ratchet turned on the shower in the next stall for some privacy. He refused to tell anyone, including Optimus, what they were doing in the shower, just that it was medically necessary and not to bring it up again.

June was called, and she brought changes of clothes, disposable masks, gloves (both of the gardening varieties and a box of sterile ones to put on top of them), various toothbrushes of varying softness from their bathroom closet, rags, old towels, and some cheap car soap, all in an old trash can stuffed into a washbasin.

"So, Arcee, I heard you got the closest thing to lice a bot can get?" June said, setting down the trash can.

Arcee was confused. "What's lice?"

"A mostly harmless bug that young kids can get when they trade hats or share brushes. They lay eggs in a kid's hair, and that's usually the first sign they are there. Treatment? A bath, of course. Jack used to get them all the time when he was in elementary school. It's nothing too worrying, and by what Ratchet said, we will be doing the same here today. Everything here will either be thrown out or sanitized, so don't worry about what we are doing. Just relax, and let us help you." June explained, throwing an old beach towel over her seat and taking a few toothbrushes out of their packages and setting them on top of it.

Ratchet picked up the bottle of soap and searched up the brand name. "This soap should work. Why didn't you just bring the stuff you usually use?"

"Because then she would fight us even more the next time she came home smelling like vehicon corpses." Jack said. "Her lack of self care is worse than June in the weeks after dad left us."

"Wait, Jack's father left you?" Arcee asked.

"Yes, unfortunately. Messy divorces would do that to you. Having a ten year old who came home with lice twice a month didn't really help."

"Hey! It's not like I could have helped it!" Jack fake pouted, pulling on both pairs of gloves and a mask.

Ratchet used a tool shaped like a thin crowbar to remove and loosen Arcee's outer plating around her headlights and windshield, revealing the soft protoform underneath.

Ratchet handled the disconnected plates to June to scrub in the washbasin.

It was then both Jack and Ratchet realized how deep Arcee's struggles with self care really went.

The protoform was filthy, with rotting leaves, bits of vehicon viscera, dots of dried energon, and, of course, small clusters of dead fly eggs from the decayed deer. They had started near her head and neck, taking it all in sections, with plans to take breaks between each section.

There were healed cracks in her protoform everywhere, a few of which had burned fly eggs stuck in them. Ratchet took an interest in those, sitting on the floor and taking out a pair of magnifying lenses out of his subspace. He stuck them onto his face, taking a rag and dousing it with soap and water. He wiped away most of the grime, taking out some tweezers and removing the debris from the cracks.

"Jack, it looks like all of these are well healed, but don't touch the protoform without gloves. All the energon I can see is inert and harmless, but be careful. That goes for you, too, Jane." He said, stowing the soiled tweezers and getting up, his joints creaking.

Jack and June got to work, cleaning out the fly eggs. They took out any bits of vehicon gore with tongs or had Ratchet step in. Multiple times, Optimus had knocked on the door with questions of Arcee's wellbeing, always being chased away by Ratchet before Arcee heard. She wasn't quite enjoying her bath, but wasn't hating it either. She melted when June used a soft toothbrush just on the inside of her plating, and having Jack scrape off the dried energon wasn't the best feeling in the world.

Eventually, her clean front passed Ratchet's inspection, and for a few minutes, she was slightly less exposed to the world.

Unfortunately, she would not stay covered up for long.

Under Ratchet's guidance, Jack moved the panels that made up Arcee's hips. He opened them to reveal…

… So many maggots everywhere, squirming and wriggling for food that can't be found, like a single wriggling mass.

Thousands of little eggs and larva all throughout her, starving yet incubated in the perfect temperature controlled insides.

Arcee revved her engine nervously, her plating shaking. Ratchet bent down and took something out of his subspace. He clamped it onto Arcee's front wheel. Arcee attempted to roll forward, out of Jack's reach. The clamp caused her to stall, unable to move. June gave her a pat on her seat and took Jack's spot.

"Arcee, I will handle this part. Jack, could you crouch down and check her underside?" June said, handing him a clean toothbrush and throwing the bundled up contents of the now dirty beach towel into the emptied washbasin.

Jack cleaned out all the cracks and crevices while June scooped out maggots and eggs by the handful.

"Ugh, this must be awful for you, Arcee, having us rooting around in your systems for maggots. I think we will be finishing up soon. Jack, how's it going?"

"Buggy, but better than I was expecting. Not much left. Pass me the hose?"

Arcee braced herself for the hose, still not ready for the stream of warm water against her internals. She squeaked as she felt a few stray maggots drown and fall out.

"Arcee, everything looks fine on my end. Mom?"

"Mine too. Just got two more - got it." June said, peeling off her gloves and throwing them in the washbasin. "Ratchet, this is your show now."

Ratchet had Arcee transform and check her over for any stray maggots. Not finding any, he helped her out of the showers and into her own room to get some rest.

Ratchet threatened bloody murder if Miko disturbed Arcee in any way. She wisely made her guitar disappear.

The phantom feeling of the bugs' movement lasts for weeks after Arcee's cleaning. She just can't get the feeling of maggots under her skin to leave her.

The next time she dreams of Tailgate, he has maggots spilling out of his wounds.

[quietwingsinthesky]

Fic titles >:)

- Honey, I ate paint

- Fen's guide to life

- The day I became a pigeon

- Angelproofing your bedroom, and other practical advice

- How to survive grocery shopping

- Locked up with three dimwits

- Thirteen reasons why I should be allowed to have a maggot farm

- In this story, stuff happens, and it's cool (I think) sorry this title sucks and the summary is bad but please read my fic!!!

- Consensual cannibalism should be legal: A Manifesto

LIGHTNING ROUND LETS GOOOO

1. Midam fic, Michael has been babysitting jack and teaching him how to fingerpaint and. well. it turns out Michael was the one who needed the babysitting.

2. Fen post-hammer of the gods, on his grand quest to save his momma from hell. he teams up with many wacky side characters to do so, including ash and dick roman.

3. Gabriel is the one to pull Sam out of the cage, body and soul. Unfortunately he has uh. Issues™️ about this despite being the one to suggest the idea. And he’s suitable punishment for Sam’s great crime of saving the world (and locking Gabriel’s brothers away, possibly forever) is to turn Sam into a pigeon and keep him in a bird cage. There’s a lesson here. Probably. (Not.)

4. SamRuby and the consequences of having a soldier of God who likes to show up unannounced in their motel room looking for Dean. (This is how Castiel realizes he has a blood drinking kink.)

5. Apartmentverse fic where Raphael just wants to get some goddamn menstrual pads but because they said they were going to the store, Michael handed them the grocery list and now they are having the worst day of their life between the Humans and the Cramps and the Choices Between Brands.

6. This is about Ruby again. s5 au where she survives and stays on tfw and now has to deal with the fact that she is actually the only person here now who isn’t suicidally depressed, searching hopelessly for an absent god, or sleep deprived from trying to avoid talking to the devil.

7. This is something that Bobby thinks would be very useful. For monster research purposes. They should understand decomposition. The thing is: Rufus agrees with him, but they are not putting it right outside the house. So, you know, the domestic disputes of two grumpy old hunters with a few two many dead bodies on their hands.

8. Actually the title of one of my terrible self-insert fics from high school. probably the one where my self-insert tried to eat michael (it was a whole thing) (Amara was involved) (he was fine) (weirdly sexual)

9. This is a handbound booklet simply comprised of every time I’ve tried to argue this case with my friend and she has immediately shut me down. come on, ****, just let me eat people. I don’t care about the prions. I would be so good at it.

[cymorilcinnamonroll]

The MAGA and the Maggot: How Satan Became a Trump Supporter

Adam and Samael have been feeling nagged by Lilith and Eve lately, ever since feminism really took off in the 60s. One night, Samael accidentally finds a Joe Rogan podcast with Trump, and enters the manosphere. He admits to Adam he stopped a certain bullet as the Angel of Death a few months earlier, and soon, a Lysistrata war of the immortal sexes plays out...

Samael, having recently felt rather nagged to death by his four wives – the angels of prostitution – and Eve going on about something called a “Brat Summer” and Kamala coconut memes loaded his HellTube one day.

“I need to watch something other than embalming videos or Fortnite Let’s Plays,” he said to himself, scrolling on his desktop. “Ah, what is this – Trump on Joe Rogan. Dare I click it? Lilith will castrate me. Eve will spray me with bear repellant. Like when I told dear old Daddy to go fuck himself, I’m feeling rather rebellious.”

And that was how Samael entered the Manosphere.

Eve took Samael to the polls on the first day of early voting. She had made him and Adam wear Kamala Momala coconut tree matching tees. He always hated when Chavah made him match with Adam. It was like his identical resemblance to his archenemy in Fortnite – Michael – but ten times worse because Adam was more muscular and filled out the shirt better.

“Women’s rights are at stake, men. Remember, we are doing this to save democracy.”

Lilith registered them at the polls as Agrath, Naamah, and Eisheth staffed the booths and voting machines. Adam and Samael shared a look as Lilith handed her girlfriend Eve a boba and Democrat ballot.

“I think men are under attack,” Adam said. “She never makes me sandwiches anymore. Ever since women got the right to vote, Eve has had ideas. I should make the sandwiches for our immortal polycule brood. Sam, my man, with us sharing our five wives and girlfriends, do you know how many sandwiches I have to make each day? I had to open a plant in Xibalba. You know, Mexican labor is cheaper, and I really do think the tariffs will affect that. I just know if I vote for Trump, he’ll restore normalcy. But Kamala will protect my child sandwich factories. I paid a lot of money to Itzpapalotl for the trade rights. I can’t have tariffs fucking up the fertility of a woman who mirrors that Ballerina Farm bitch.”

“Take back the country, Adam,” was all Samael said. He picked up a Democratic ballot from Lilith, who eyed him suspiciously. Eisheth, Naamah, and Agrath were clacking away on Sinstagram. Eve was out the door.

He voted Republican, all the way down. Adam shared another knowing look.

On the drive back with 3/7ths of their polycule, Eve was smiling serenely, chewing on some nata jelly. Lilith knew she liked nata jelly. She drove her suburban mom SUV that not only shuttled the men (Samael and Adam were terrible drivers, being too tall for the pedals and speed demons, so she always made them sit in the back seat with a lollipop.)

“I just know Kamala will win. The common sense choice. Fascism is on the rise worldwide, you know, and any sane man who doesn’t want to divorce his wife will vote to protect their rights. Dammy, Sammy, make sure you tighten your seatbelts. How about some Lilith Fair music?”

“She’s smothering us. They’re all smothering us. Naamah made me take her bra shopping yesterday. And not the sexy kind, Sam. Maternity bras.” Adam whispered belligerently as a child-safe lollipop was forced upon them. A Tootsie Roll.

Samael stole Adam’s Tootsie Roll and traded him his sour apple. “I saved him from the bullet, Adam. It was me,” Sam whispered in the lowest tone he could.

Eve was singing along to “Fast Car” and couldn’t hear.

Adam made the sign of Deus Vult that he and Michael used as their call signals in Diablo 4, when they played with Elon Musk. “As God Wills, Sam. As God Wills. You did the right thing, as the angel of death. It’s not just men. What about my sandwich factory. God knows you never cook for our brood.”

“I took the bullet, Adam. Deflected it. Don’t tell any of our wives.”

Election night came. Adam and Samael were stony and silent as Lilith began immediately organizing for Planned Parenthood and Eve angrily donated all of Samael and Adam and her and Lilith’s fortunes to ActBlue.

When Trump won, Adam and Samael couldn’t contain their excitement. That red sweep, him in a garbage truck, how motherfucking hot Melania was, men were doing right by the country.

“Now Eve, you get to make the sandwiches,” Adam muttered.

Eve looked up from giving away all of Adam’s shirts to orphans. “What did you say?”

And that was how the Kings and Queens of Hell, Heaven and Humanity

Got divorced.

The Shekinah fled from the Demiurge, and Lilith and Eve organized all women into the 4B movement inter-celestially. Much to Samael’s delight, this ushered in the Apocalypse, as no one was reproducing except Born Again Christians, Catholics, and Orthodox Jews.

“Not with a bang, but a whisper,” Michael sighed as he crushed Samael’s skull in Fortnite, impaling him. “Do you think it was a good idea to make the Apocalypse happen with Elon’s help in the Metaverse?”

Samael curled around Michael’s sword, meeting a fiery lake – well, a simulated one.

He thought back to the bullet, the brain worm he had implanted in RFK Jr so Lilith would finally begrudgingly let Samael drink raw milk from Loki’s stolen cow, Audhumla.

“Better to reign in America than serve in Hell,” Satan said

Having won

The West.