#oh and bloomin’ hell!

[fazgoo-connoiseur-1987]

bill the kinda of mf to say jeepers

Not jeepers but something along those lines. He says “Blimey!” every so often and no one really knows what to do about it.

[flamingspud]

As Wild Life came out and as I’m getting closer to actually finishing the plot to my God au Sequel, have a scene that unfortunately got deleted as I switched from an original concept of Grian slowly remembering the events of Real Life

———

Grian, Jimmy and Lizzie find themselves in Lizzie’s living room for reasons that make sense.

“Cookies are done!” Joel announced as he walked into the room. When he noticed Jimmy and Grian standing there, he said, “Oh, hi Jim! I hadn’t realised you were coming over.” He then gave Grian a polite nod in the I have no idea who you are way.

Grian gasped. “I remember something else!” He exclaimed, before making a face and pointing to Joel and Jimmy. “You two kissed!?”

Jimmy’s jaw dropped, and Joel went wide eyed. 

“You two did what?!” Lizzie demanded,

Jimmy put his hands in the air. “I swear I have no idea what he’s talking about!”

“What is going on?” Joel asked, completely baffled. “And who the bloomin’ hell is this guy???”

[tastethebloodofmeatthawsmoth]

The workers on the SP line to strike sent out a call But Casey Jones the engineer he wouldn't strike at all His boiler it was leakin and the driver's on the bum And his engine and his bearings they were all out of plumb Casey Jones kept his junk pile running Casey Jones was doing double time Casey Jones got a wooden medal For being good and faithful on the SP line The workers said to Casey, "Won't you help us win the strike?" But Casey said, "Let me alone, you better take a hike!" Then Casey's wheezy engine ran right off the wheezy track And Casey hit the river with an awful smack Casey Jones hit the river bottom Casey Jones broke his bloomin spine Casey Jones turned into an angel He got a trip to heaven on the SP line Casey went to heaven up to the pearly gate He said, "I'm Casey Jones, the boy who pulled the SP freight" "You're just in time," said Peter, "our musicians are on strike "You can get a job a-scabbin any time you like" Casey Jones got a job in heaven Casey Jones was doing mighty fine Casey Jones went scabbing on the angels Just like he did to workers on the SP line The angels got together and they said it wasn't fair For Casey Jones to go around a-scabbin everywhere The Angels Union No. 23 they all were there And they promptly fired Casey down the golden stair Casey Jones went to hell a-flyin "Casey Jones," the devil said, "oh fine! "Casey Jones, get busy shovelin sulphur. "That's what you get for scabbing on the SP line!"

[sirfrogsworth]

The number of items you qualify for determines which circle of Hell you will end up in.

Here is a handy guide to see who you will be partying with in The Inferno.

First Circle: Limbo or "Heaven Lite."

Were you a decent person but forgot to get baptized? Welcome to Meh-ven. Not quite as good as Heaven, but you still get to live in a neat castle.

Second Circle: Lust or "Too horny for Heaven."

This circle is for those who banged their way through life. You are punished by being blown violently back and forth by strong winds, preventing you from finding peace and rest.

So, basically Chicago.

Third Circle: Gluttony or "You should have ordered a salad instead of that Bloomin' Onion."

I'm pretty sure this is the fat shaming Hell. You are overseen by a giant worm monster named Cerberus and placed into a large slushie machine. You must lie in frozen slush for eternity thinking about all of those hot dog eating contests you won.

Fourth Circle: Greed or "What? I gave $20 to the Red Cross every year!"

You are overseen by Pluto, the dog of Mickey Mouse. Or maybe the demoted dwarf planet. I honestly did not do enough research to be sure. Circle 4 is divided into people who spent too much and people who hoarded too much. They must push giant boulders at each other in a game of eternal rock jousting.

Fifth Circle: Anger or...

The angry must join a fight club and brawl each other atop the River Styx.

The grumpy must gurgle beneath the pugilists--submerged forever in that same river.

Sixth Circle: Heresy or "Ya know, I'm pretty sure the Earth revolves around the Sun. Hey, why is this priest placing me in shackles? It's just science, bro!"

Did you go against the Church? Well, for that they just straight up set you on fire. Not the most creative damnation, but I'm sure all of the flaming souls look neat from a spectator's point of view.

Seventh Circle: Violence or "Apparently, these things are all the same amount of bad... murder, suicide, and booty sex."

This circle is divided into three other circles. Which means there are 12 total circles. Which is confusing, but whatever.

In sub-circle 7a, you have the murderers. They are submerged in a river of blood that is also on fire.

Is blood flammable? Did Dante even try to set blood on fire before writing this? I'm thinking, no. YOU ARE TESTING MY SUSPENSION OF DISBELIEF, DANTE.

In sub-circle 7b, you have people who have taken their own life. These folks are turned into shrubbery. Once in your final shrub form, this handsome harpy gal slowly eats you for eternity.

In sub-circle 7c, you have all of the anal fornicators. If you ever stuck it in a butt or had it stuck in your butt, you get to spend your afterlife in a desert of burning sand. And it is raining. So it is one of those rare rainy deserts I guess. Oh, but the rain is on fire.

WHY ARE SO MANY NON-FLAMMABLE THINGS ON FIRE, DANTE?

Eighth Circle: Fraud or "Is fraud really worse than murder?"

I'm going to be straight with you.

The eighth circle is a hot mess.

I'm pretty sure Dante was getting tired of creating new circles for every bad person, so he made a catchall for the villains that didn't quite fit into the previous circles and sub-circles. Instead of creating 10 sub-circles for the 8th circle, he decided to just throw everyone into their own hell ditch. These ditches are called Bolgias.

And now a Top Ten List from the home office in Wahoo, Nebraska.

Top ten types of people stuck in an eternal Bolgia ditch in the 8th circle of hell.

10. Falsifiers such as counterfeiters and wellness gurus. 9. Divisive individuals such as Fox News pundits and Chris Pratt. 8. Advisors such as self help authors and life coaches. 7. Thieves such as whoever created overdraft fees. 6. Hypocrites such as rich Pro-Lifers who have paid for several abortions for their mistresses. 5. Corrupt politicians such as (the list exceeded this post's maximum word count). 4. Wizards!

3. People who purchase pardons like pretty much anyone associated with Donald Trump. 2. Flatterers such as pick up artists and old ladies who tell me I am handsome in the grocery store. 1. Seducers such as people who have cake and want sex and are like, "Would you like some tasty cake in exchange for sex?"

Look, seduction is in the eye of the beholder and all I'm saying is cake would probably work on me.

Circle Nine: Treachery or "You were my brother, Anakin! I loved you!"

Okay, so the 9th circle has 4 rounds.

Which sound an awful lot like circles.

Which brings us to 16 circles in the 9 circles of Hell.

I'm wondering if Dante named the book before he wrote it and everything was done with permanent ink so he couldn't change it.

The 9th circle has 4 frozen circles rounds, each dedicated to notorious traitors. Like a tribute to their epic level of sinfulness.

First up you have the Cain round. He was the first person to ever have a little brother and no one told him you can't just kill the little shit. People in the Cain round are encased up to the base of the neck, so they can still look around and stuff.

The second round is dedicated to Antenor. He was a Trojan. In reality, he negotiated peace with the Greeks. In myth, he opened the city gates and let the Greeks in so they could murder everyone. He was spared because he painted his house with panther blood.

"Panther Blood... 60% of the time it works *every* time." --Antenor

People here are encased to the top of the neck, so they are looking one direction forever.

Coming in round three we have Ptolemy. He didn't care much for his father-in-law, Simon Maccabaeus. So he invited Simon and his sons to a fancy banquet and Red Wedding'd the shit out of them. Ptolemy rounders are encased face-up in the ice just below eye level. That way, whenever they cry for being damned, their tears will freeze over. Over time those frozen tears create an ice visor that takes away the ability to weep ever again. And I'm guessing everything is real blurry too.

Round four is dedicated to the most infamous betrayer of all time. That's right, my favorite character in JC Superstar... Judas Iscariot.

Judas rounders are completely encased in ice. Permanently frozen and immobile with their bodies in every conceivable distorted and twisted position. Chances are, they have too much Heaven on their minds.

And in the very center of the nine-ish 16 circles of Hell, you have Satan himself. The fallen angel, Lucifer.

The story, as I like to imagine it, goes like this...

Lucifer was shooting the shit with the other angels and was all, "I could probably take God, right? He's not so tough."

And since a utopian existence is actually pretty boring and without drama, the other angels responded, "Absolutely! You've been working out and look totally jacked. You got this, dude." All while trying to hold in their laughter.

ANGEL PRANKS!

Lucifer then challenges God and gets instantly Thanos snap'd into a frozen lake. Lucifer sulks for all eternity wondering why those other angels told him he could whip God's metaphorical noncorporeal ass.

Satan is depicted as a hideous three-headed beast frozen up to his waist. He has six bat-like wings that flap and create a chilling breeze that keeps the ice frozen. Literally a hell of his own making. In each of Lucifer's mouths is a famous traitor being forever gnawed. History's most famous collective stabbers, Brutus and Cassius are being chewed in the left and right heads. And Judas is stuck in the viscous center maw while getting the world's worst backscratch from Satan's claws.

But wait, it gets racist!

Each devil head is a different color... Red for Europeans. Yellow for Asians. And black for Africans.

Dante, you little shit.

Alright folks, it is time to add up your totals. Which circle or sub-circle of Hell are you going to party in for eternity?

I'll do mine.

I am slightly homo for Chris Evans when he uses his biceps to curl a helicopter. I want him to hug me because I think he probably smells nice.

I do consider myself a feminist because I watched too many woke Disney films and I was indoctrinated by public schools.

I once ran out of RAM because I had too many tabs open in Chrome. I'm not sure if that qualifies me as a "porn freak" but I'm going to count it.

I smoked pot twice. The first time it made me feel like my head was full of bees and then I passed out for 12 hours. The second time I only inhaled once... and my head filled with bees and I passed out for 12 hours. Counting it.

When I was 18 my church's youth counselor matter-of-factly stated that my best friend was going to Hell. I thought, "That's silly, he's just a theater nerd who wore a floofy shirt and a Phantom of the Opera cape to school on multiple occasions. He's harmless and religion is dumb." So a big check for atheist.

I idolize my bestie Katrina because she is very good a puns. Is that worthy of idolization? Probably not. But I stand by it regardless.

And as far as masturbation goes... again, I ran out of RAM for having too many tabs open in Chrome.

I think I qualify for the seventh circle of Hell. I think I am going to engage in some mild thuggery so I can hang out in 7b as a nice shrub getting eaten by a harpy.

I realize there are only 12 options and 16 possible circles. So I have decided you may use a yoga pants multiplier.

1x if they are too tight but you went through tremendous effort to put them on so you are just going with it. 1x if they were acquired from an MLM mom on Facebook. 1x if they make that booty pop. 1x if they contain a pattern with as many non-complimentary colors as possible.

Welp. I put way too much effort into this.

I guess I'll see you all in Hell!

[paleparearchive]

Bazille Is A Worrier?

Bazille's initial 2★ story (1/1)

Location: garden (morning) ; morning sky ; Renoir, Monet, Sisley & Bazille's room | Characters: Bazille, Monet

Bazille: For God's sake… He's not even here, huh?

Monet said he was going to take care of the garden, but where did he go? Jeez… He didn't even go back for lunch, so I came to see how engrossed he was. I don't think so, but he didn't forget to hydrate himself and collapse somewhere, did he?

Monet's voice: WOAAAAH! What a spectacular view! It's so niceee!!!

Bazille: … This voice, is it Monet? God, where is he?

H-Hey! What the hell are you doing on the roof!?

Monet: Oooh! If it ain't Bazille! The view from here's awesome! Ya should climb up here too! Just put your feet up on the fence there and you'll get a good show!

Bazille: Who would climb that! It can't be that easy. No, I'm not a monkey. Generally speaking, gazebo roofs are not made for people to climb up. Get off before you fall!

Monet: Now now, don't say that. It's breezy and awesome!

Bazille: Listen up. Why are you even there in the first place? It's not safe!

—

Monet: Well, the flowers in the garden have started bloomin' and they look great! I just thought it'd look even more beautiful from up here!

Bazille: That's why you climbed up on the roof. … You really are a simple-minded guy.

Monet: Huuuh, why? When something's beautiful, ya just wanna see it from a better angle, dontcha think!?

Bazille: Well, I can understand that mindset... We're artists who pursue beauty after all. But I guess it's part of human nature to use reason in face of danger…

Monet: Noo way! Sometimes a painter's passion for beautiful things can get out of control!

Bazille: Jesus Christ. Don't be a sophist and get the heck off there! What if you fall and break a bone in your hand! You might never be able to paint the pictures you love again.

Monet: D-Don't scare me like that!

Bazille: It's not just a threat. It's a prediction of the worst possible future that could happen as a result of your shallow actions.

Monet: Uuuuugh… Gotcha, I'll just get off. Jeez, ya worry too much, Bazille.

Woah!?

Bazille: MONET!!!

—

Bazille: Hey, are you okay!? Stay strong!!!

Monet: Owowowow… Aaaah, I feeeeell…

Bazille: You're still alive, right!? Are you injured? Where does it hurt!?

Monet: Aaaaah… I'm okay, I'm okay… aaah, it hurts!!!

Bazille: You're not okay at all! Let me take a look at it. Where is it? You don't think it's your arm, do you!?

Monet: No, my leg…

Bazille: Your leg... It doesn't seem to be broken. Let's go back to our room and patch it up. Can you walk?

Monet: Y-Yeah. Thanks, Bazille.

Bazille: … Whatever.

Aaah, alright! I'll lend you a shoulder, don't try to force yourself to walk! You'll only make it worse!

—

Bazille: I can't believe you fell off the roof and only sprained your ankle. You're very sturdy.

Monet: I am! I'm workin' out like Manet-aniki! It's good muscle trainin', wanna do it too, Bazille?

Bazille: I won't do it. Mostly because I don't even want to climb up there.

Monet: It's good to change your perspective once in a while.

Bazille: Just be glad it wasn't your arm that got injured.

Monet: Uuugh… Okay. I'll be careful.

Bazille: Right. From now on, no more climbing up high places. And of course, no tree climbing as well.

Monet: Huuuh!?

Bazille: Don't go out too much for a while. If you walk around with poor protection, you'll lose your physical balance and it will affect your brush strokes. Oh yeah, muscle training is also prohibited.

Monet: W-Why!?

Bazille: You're the kind of guy who, if he moves his body even a little bit, is definitely going to want to move around more. At least stay put until you get better.

Monet: But I'm fine…! I'm not that dumb…

Bazille: If you don't understand it, I'll make a picture of you in your stupid bandages and hang it all over our room, okay?

Stay put. Got it?

Monet: O-Okaaay…

[moonchildstyles]

Oh bloomin' hell. rêvasser was so good. Not sure if I want to cry because I loved it so much or because it's still Friday which means there's still 7 more days (sorry, is that presumptuous?) until the next part. In any case, I'm emo for sure. I think this my favorite so far.

omg bestie!!! thank you so much im so happy you liked it!!!! it means the world to me thank you thank you!!!! next part will be coming out next friday yes but I promise itll go by fast!!!!

[salemoleander]

Joel turns at the slamming sound of his front door, and freezes. He looks down. He looks up. He looks past her and out the door, as if that might provide an answer.

"Cleo," he asks incredulously, "where did you get a gun?"

Catching sight of the muted comm on his wrist, Joel reads the most recent lines of chat.

bigbst4tz2 was shot by ZombieCleo

impulseSV was shot by ZombieCleo

impulseSV was shot by ZombieCleo

impulseSV was shot by ZombieCleo

<Grian> wHAT?? Is happening????

Grian was shot by ZombieCleo

Grian was shot by ZombieCleo

<MumboJumbo> oh dear

He pales. "When did you get a gun?"

"This morning," they say, lips curling. "Etho remembered some old code for one, and Martyn spawned it in for me. Grian really should not have given that man admin permissions."

Joel feels sort of like he's in a reality TV show. Not like, the murder one he's basically in right now, a different one where the doorknobs are all made of chocolate or something. "Why the bloomin' hell would he do that?"

"Thought it would be funny."

Joel nods, because well. It is a bit funny. One of Cleo's snakes (snake hairs? Snairs?) is attacking its own reflection in the window to her left. This is making it very hard to take his potentially impending death seriously.

"So are you going to kill me, or...?"

Cleo arches an eyebrow. "I mean, maybe? My plan was actually to just go around and murder all the people who've personally annoyed me this time round, and you aren't on that list, somehow. Yet."

Joel chews on this for a moment, considering. "Can I come with, so I can see the surprise on everyone's dumb faces? At least until you off Tim. I'm alright as long as I die after Jimmy."

"Yeah sure," Cleo says, grinning a tombstone-smile. "I'd love some company." She lowers the pistol and gestures out of the house, and Joel follows.

Sure, he could probably disarm her, but the novelty of this whole situation is much funnier.

Bouncing along the path beside Cleo as they make their way to Jim and Skizz's terrible log cabin, he tacks on hopefully, "And also I get to murder Etho?"

"No!"

Then, consideringly, "...Well, maybe later."

[sharpace]

Wooooooo!!! Only just saw the latest comic and it defo picked up my mood. My skull feels like it's trying to burst open but seeing V prompt Jayce to talk more about his interest warms my ADHD heart <3

I've been shut down a hell of a lot (it's why I always try n get people to keep talking if they're cut off or told to hush, to the point where I make others wait until I've finished a convo to start a new one) and it gets really disheartening at times. I was also lucky enough to find a friend like V who doesn't mind my long ass rambling so that comic connected deeply!!!! It feels so raw and I love it!!! Makes me want to go poke that buddy about his interests now...

On an entirely different note I would die if someone gave me a lil quartz cat. Cutest thing, straight on ny shelf. I don't suppose you have the full script or written up rock facts because I'm genuinely interested but straining to see the tiny print hurts my head rn lmao and I'd love to see more of them if they didn't make it into the final cut!!! You're bout to send me on a rock googling spree, oh god XD

I hope that's bloomin legible, screen getting blurry :/

Ack! Y’all are making me cry now!! Oh how the turn tables.

As I said, this is very much a personal experience of being on both sides of infodumping about my hyperfixations and having friends who feel safe enough to share their interest with me. I really wanted it to feel real and let others feel what I’ve felt in the hopes that they know what it’s like too. And ack the wonderful messages I’ve received!! 🥺 I’m so happy we have a little community like this (I mean Crank It wouldn’t exist if everyone didn’t let me fully indulge in my hyperfixation hahaha)

In terms of script well… here’s draft 1 and 2

Hahaha. So as you can see by the *rock facts* note, I was pulling from a Wikipedia rabbit hole and a stream of consciousness for Jayce rambling. The most important part was just having a lot of things being said. Haha

But I have the high res version so the bubbles say:

“Okay so rose quartz is part of the quartz family (duh) and is a silicate mineral. It’s also part of the trigonal crystal system. It’s said to have healing properties and a symbol of unconditional love”

“Oh my God that reminds me!”

“A silicate mineral are rock-forming minerals made up of silicate groups. Oh! Did you know that class of minerals and make up approximately 90 percent of Earth's crust.”

“It’s believed crystals hold energy to be released and has converted energy OR just has meaning any individual. Personally I like to think they’re lucky AND meaningful.”

“Oh so this is a geode which is a hollow rock… crystals”

The rest is gibberish made to look like my writing.

Thanks for letting me indulge ;)

[alterrune]

BACKGROUND PROGRAMS #1: THE HIGHER-UPS

TOPPAT CLAN HIGHER-UPS CHAT LOG - AIRSHIP, 12:00 PM

List of people in chat: Fredrick Muenster, Matilda Ivy, Gene Fredrickson, The Witch, Mr. MacBeth, Stu Pendles, Burt Curtis

Alright, laddie, wot's the big idea here? I was in the middle o' somethin' important!

Would you please just calm the hell down, Matilda? Me and Burt called this meeting because the situation has gotten quite dire thanks to Kyle's brothers.

That's an understatement, cheese-head. Do you have any idea how little a train driver's licence gives you when you're IN THE AIR?!

MacBeth, I know you're frustrated that you can't drive the train right now. Maybe one of the herbs Violet taught me to make will help? They've certainly calmed Mr. Pendles down.

Yeah...I'm less of a nervous wreck now. No need to be paranoid about what I owe Carol, heh-heh...

Regardless, we need to come up with ideas to get back at those idiot brothers of his. Any ideas?

I was kind of thinking...how about a solid gold cannon?

Gene. We've been over this before. You do realize how much a solid gold cannon would weigh, right?

Wait, Muenster. I actually think the former mayor's on to something here. We load up said cannons, fly over the Blackjack's base, then drop the cannons from the ship. If they don't crush the victim, they'll be blasted by the cannon!

My god...I never thought I'd say this, but...Gene, we're going with your plan.

Uh...Muenster, before we do that, can I ask you something?

What is it, Ms. Witch?

Change yer hat, ya bloomin' idiot! There's feckin' MOLD growin' on it!

Oh, dangit! Welp, glad I bought all those blocks of cheese when I did, makes making new cheese hats easier.

Looks like Operation: Gilded Broadside is a go. We'll start making some solid gold cannons, stat.

END OF LOG

Bios obtained:

🧀 Fredrick Muenster

👩🏻‍🎤Matilda Ivy

🧹The Witch

💎Gene Fredrickson

🚂Mr. MacBeth

💸Stu Pendles

🛰Burt Curtis

[dawntrailing]

PART ONE —

Sentence starters inspired by the Limsa Lominsa Main Scenario Quests. Lines have been altered slightly for roleplaying purposes.

Oi! Y'all right?

You were moanin' in your sleep an' sweatin' buckets besides.

Rollin' of the ship got your stomach churnin', has it?

Don't seem like seasickness, now that I look at you.

Some are more sensitive to the stuff than others.

No need to fret, though. You'll soon get used to it.

Eurgh. Might as well have been bloomin' seasickness.

I reckon I might head out─get meself a breath of fresh air.

Seein' as you're awake an' all, how's about you keep me company till we get there?

Judgin' by your unusual garments, I'd say you were one of them new faces. Am I warm?

Goin' wherever the wind blows, seekin' fortune an' glory─now that's what I call livin'!

So long as you can avoid dyin', I mean.

Power? As in, er...power to do good? Like protectin' the weak, an' fightin' for what's right, an' all that?

Well, you do get up to a lot of fightin', that's for sure.

I'll set you on the right path.

Well, if you're willin' to take on them tasks as other folk ain't, you can win fame what coin can't buy.

It's a dream we've all had at one time or another.

You've learned to handle yourself in a fight.

It ain't just about killin' things, after all.

A peaceful pastime may well help you make your fortune!

Well, if you ain't inclined to tell, I ain't about to pry.

I might be a chatterbox, but I sure as hells ain't no busybody.

We all have a secret or three, don't we? Me? Dozens.

I don't go stickin' me nose where it ain't welcome.

Just remember, though: there're more important things than fortune an' glory. Such as breathin'.

Ain't no profit in bein' dead, an' that's a fact.

Have ye no sense!? Get below!

What is the world comin' to...?

You either have a boatload of balls or bugger all for brains.

Ye can rest easy, friend.

That was too bleedin' close... Glad one of us kept their head on their shoulders─I reckon I'd've lost mine, otherwise.

'Course, most folk ain't so quick to change.

You can imagine how many naysayers an' troublemakers I've got to deal with.

Here, I want you to have this─by way of thanks for savin' me arse earlier.

Hey─you never did tell me your name, did you? Well, here's an idea…

Become the sort of storied personage I can brag about havin' met, an' I'll consider us square.

Hey, where in the bleedin' hells do you think you're goin'!? I told you to get over here!

I can only love you as much as a paid bride can love her betrothed.

How can I complain when so many lost so much more?

I'm sure you're itching to explore.

Without a bit of knowledge, you're like to get your throat slit in some piss-stinking alley.

I might curse like an ale-sodden sailor, but I got a soft spot for wide-eyed people like yourself.

I'll set you straight.

If it is rumors or like-minded fellows you seek, then you have made the right choice in coming here.

You're cheap, you're loaded with grog, and you never say no.

Best you sort out your affairs here before you start gallivanting about.

Bit premature for you to leave, don't you think?

You should know it's only polite to spare a moment for those in need.

What'll it be? ...Ah, but you ain't 'ere fer the drink, are ye!?

I seem to spend more time savin' the necks o' whelps like yerself than wettin' my throat.

Ye 'ave a knack fer findin' trouble, see.

Oh, no one knows what I’m plannin', o' course...but if I’m plannin' anythin', ye can be sure it's to kill the lot of you.

This place seems peaceful at a glance, but look again, an' ye'll see a people livin' in fear o' what tomorrow might bring.

An' who can blame me, after everythin' that's 'appened?

No one's been able to explain it in a way as makes an onze o' sense.

None o' the folks what saw it an' lived to tell the tale seem to agree on 'ow the tale actually goes.

'Tis all foggy...like recollections from an 'ard night on the ale.

Ye can imagine why people might fear fer the future if they can't rightly recall the past.

I ain't forgotten what ye did fer me.

'Tis like starin' at a gull flyin' in front o' the sun─all ye see in yer mind's eye is a shadow set against a blindin' glare.

That's 'ow every bugger describes it, by the way...give or take the odd gull.

What say ye? Ye willin' to lend me yer strength?

Ah, but listen to me, yatterin' on like a sun-touched fishwife.

Put yer scrawl right there.

Sending your friends signals, were you?

Ye've got the wrong person.

I wouldn't be caught dead fraternizin' with such unsavory elements.

I cannot be too trusting of others at a time when the loyalty of even my closest friends is in doubt.

Ye needn't worry, though─I keep one eye open at all times, me, an' two more often than not.

Now, what say ye to a tankard o' me finest ale afore ye return to yer duties, eh?

Not a watered-down cup of piss like last time, I should hope?

Ain't got the faintest idea what yer on about.

Look, there's a chair over there just cryin' out to be sat on, so kick off them 'eavy boots, eh!?

I've taken to clappin' irons on anyone who looks vaguely suspicious.

Don't take it personal, though.

I can be an 'eadstrong bastard, 'tis true, but given time, I'll grow on ye.

Take a moment to gather yer wits

They steered ye my way fer a reason.

Strange as it sounds, it won't work till you 'ave.

Don't go throwin' yer gil around just yet.

Why's me coinpurse so light?

Got all that?

Bugger it! There I go, sendin' ye off without tellin' ye summat crucial.

That bloody Calamity's made a right mess o' me memory, I swear.

Sounds like a chore.

Ye never know what interestin' opportunities could be lurkin' out there, just waitin' fer ye to stumble on 'em.

That person over yonder's been castin' glances at ye since ye waltzed in.

Why not lend an ear an' see what I 'ave to say?

Yer like to find yerself runnin' odd errands in the beginnin'.

Once ye build a reputation as a person folk can trust, the jobs'll get 'arder an' the rewards more generous.

An' that, my friend, is 'ow ye go about becomin' a legend among 'venturers.

Might be as I 'ave a juicy piece o' gossip to share with ye.

Aye, I've sent more than a few of your kind this way of late.

Fear not, I shall be brief.

There is, however, no need for unseemly haste.

I will be here to answer your questions.

Every shelf groans under the weight of wonders borne from all four corners of the world.

Pray browse the stalls until your eyeballs ache from ogling the overabundance of unbelievable bargains.

I would love to elaborate upon the unrivaled quality of my merchandise.

I must have left it behind along with a week's pay and several bells' worth of intoxicated memories!

I am most grateful to have it back.

Needless to say, your good deed must be repaid.

Such knowledge will serve you well if your purse is light or your time is short.

Ah, but verbal instruction of this kind will only profit you so much.

Experience has ever been the surest teacher─if not the kindest.

[feraladhdsouschef]

My boyfriend is taking the clothes washer apart to try and figure out why it's making a funny noise, and talking to himself while he does it. He sounds like he could be anyone's father trying to figure out household appliances.

Here is a short list of things he's muttered in the last half hour:

Now if this is anything like the last washer I took apart....

Bloody hell, it's totally different.

You're having a laugh!

Fuck off. Fuck off.

Why would they use metric AND imperial measurements?

Yeeess. Yes YES YES!!

Oh dear, that was the wrong bolt

Bloomin......

It's not plugged in so it can't electrocute me at least.

DAMNIT.

I'm looking it up on YouTube.

[ladyartemesia]

when you said you loved writing dialogue in your audio recording... yeah I can see that because your dialogue is god-tier. I fucking love fics with good, flowing, witty and natural dialogue and you definitely nail that in your fics. in fact, that’s what made me click that follow button in the first place a long time ago. I found your fic ‘Arrested’ and I was like WHOA. THIS DIALOGUE??? OH HELL NAW IM FOLLOWING RIGHT AWAY. and the rest, as they say, is history

YOU FOLLOWED BECAUSE OF ARRESTED?!

Wow! You have been with me awhile! That was my first and only Jin fic and I absolutely adored writing it. Jin’s characterization is one of the hardest to do well and I worked so hard to get him right.

Not only that... it was the first fic I ever wrote for BTS (the first two I posted were repurposed and augmented from my writings for a previous fandom as I was still testing the waters to see if anyone would want to read my stuff in this lovely little corner of the internet). Arrested is really special to me.

But oh my gosh this compliment is FANTASTIC! I love it! Dialogue (for me) really makes or breaks a story. I have read stories where the dialogue just captured me and it was so engaging and I have read other stories (like professionally published books) where I’m reading and I’m like “what the heck is even the point of this conversation.” So to receive such a compliment on my dialogue is just bloomin transcendental. Thank you so so much. I’m absurdly flattered.

And thank you for following me back then and staying with me as I continued to write for this fandom. I am so happy you are here! And also thank you for listening! 🥰

[vanchlo]

Under The Bed / Chapter Two, “Harry”

ABOUT: Josie Stephens was having a hard enough time at her mere age of five, having to start Kindergarten and move to a new house. Little did she know that it all would get a lot worse that first night when a monster popped out from under her bed, changing her life forever. Inspired by the 1989 movie, Little Monsters, one of my childhood favorites, I began this story in 2016 and recently fell back in love with it.

->   SERIES MASTERLIST

->   MAIN MASTERLIST

-> READ ON WATTPAD

WARNINGS: Mild swearing

WORD COUNT: 5.3k words

TAGLIST: IDK HOW TO DO THESE, BUT IF YOU WANNA BE ADDED SO YOU KNOW WHEN A NEW CHAPTER IS POSTED, JUST LET ME KNOW! :)

@berrynarrybanana​

@wotamelonsugar​

SNEAK PEEK OF COURSE ->

"I said, who are you?!"

"Calm down, ya big baby! I came from under yer bed an' I scared ya. Now, what does that big brain ol’ brain of yers tell ya I am?" he replies, and it takes a few seconds before the answer pops into my head.

THEN

It's not the easiest to remember, but when a monster just happens to pop out from under your bed one night, it's not something that you can forget.

The moving trucks were pulling away from the house. Finally. No longer was the front curb crowded by their orangeneness and height. At last, the few big guys walking in and out of the trucks holding all of our stuff were too. I didn't want to move, and I didn't like the new house. It smelled weird and the staircase was like a mountain that I had to climb every day with my short five year old legs. All of my toys were in boxes that were stacked in my room. Nothing but my new big girl bed, a lamp and Mr. Snuggles, the stuffed duck, took up my scary big room that was all mine. But, boy, were there boxes. There were ones labeled in Mom's scribble, 'Josie's clothes,' and ‘Josie's toys' and 'Josie's books.’ Blah blah blah. 

All of this moving business seemed pretty stupid to me. I liked our old backyard better, and that we didn’t have a staircase I had to struggle to climb too many times a day. Lastly, I moved away from Betsy who lived across the street, and Mollie who lived on the corner. I had nobody to play House with or have tea parties with. I think that was the worst part of moving to this stinky, new house. I had to leave my old friends, which meant that I had no friends at all. Maybe Mr. Snuggles was the only one but he couldn't talk, and tea with only two people is boring. I had a new scary bed and bedroom. A new, big house to get used to. Painting the new, cracked sidewalk with chalk didn't sound like fun. 

I had no friends, and I felt so alone.

/

Dad closes my door behind him and Mom, mumbling one last 'sweet dreams' and a kiss before the creaky door closes. The room is cloaked in darkness, making new sounds I don't like and that scare me. The Scooby Doo night light next to my bed is the only light there is, except for the faint streetlight out the left window. Otherwise, it's pitch black, so much so I can't even see my own hand in front of me, and that's when I know it's bad. Lying there under the new, cold, and scratchy sheets, I stare into the dark trying to fall asleep. Mr. Snuggles' fuzzy yellow head is tucked under my chin, and my pink blankey;s clutched to my chest. The sound of cars outside is a small hum through the window, and I can hear the muffled noise of my parents talking downstairs.

It feels like I've been lying here for hours, making me wonder why Mom said that 'I should be out like a light after how tiring today was’ when I just can't fall asleep. But, I don't know, because I didn’t do much else besides sitting on the rickety swing outside. I sat there with Mr. Snuggles watching Mom, Dad, and the moving men bring stuff into the house. Bug Juice after Bug Juice and a mini bag of Oreos was for lunch. 

After a while, I hear the lights flick off and the bar of yellow light under my door turns to black, their work done for the night. My parents' voices get closer as their steps creak on the stairs and disappear down the hall, and then it's quiet. Too quiet. Shutting my eyes, I take a breath as I hold Mr. Snuggles closer and breathe in his familiar scent. But then there's a small click and when I open my eyes, the nightlight is out. Not soon after that, there's a scuffle and my bed lifts on the one side only to fall back down to the floor with a thud.

My heart is thumping in my chest fast and I'm sinking down into my Hello Kitty covers, pulling them over my head as my nervous breaths leave my mouth loudly. I suddenly hear somebody else breathing and the sound of footsteps. Quickly, I'm pretty sure I'm going to die and Mr. Snuggles is going to die with me. No, not Mr. Snuggles. A pair of hands rips the covers down off of my face, but I keep my eyes squeezed shut.

"Are ya serious, ya think bloody bed covers are gonna keep ya safe now?" a thick slow voice says, one that sounds . . weird. It sounds like a boy, an older one than me, and he says his words all weird. "C'mon now, open yer eyes already."

I shake my head, not knowing why I'm doing it but I do. Mom always says I'm stubborn and don't like to do what I'm asked of, whatever that word means. "Oh my god, just open yer eyes," they groan, and I don't know why, but I do. I hear a loud 'boo!' and a pair of hands shake my shoulders, making me scream but a hand comes over my mouth to stop it. A strong musty smell surrounds me. "Bloody hell, ya gotta pair of lungs on you! Keep it down, will ya? Don' wanna wake yer parents an' have 'em come in here. 'd lose me bloody job an' 'd only make yer life mo’ of a living hell if that happened, I swear t’ it," they mutter, voice high with alarm, and ending in a creepy laugh. His tongue makes a weird sound, but I can't see him. I can only hear him. For a second in the dark, I see two hovering green circles above me that don't go anywhere, and then tiny little blue dots appear out of nowhere.

Breathing hard and fast and trying to protect Mr. Snuggles, I open my mouth and bite down hard on what I think is his hand. It tastes gross, and it's cold. He mutters a loud 'ouch!' and then there's creaky steps, his musty smell going away, but only a litte. "I can' believe ya fuckin’ bit me, ya li'l brat!"

"Who are you?" I nearly shout, words feeling weird as my voice shakes.

"Be quiet, will ya? You'll wake yer parents- how many times do I gotta say it?!"

"T-tell me who you are, now!" I bite back, slowly sitting up and hearing sounds from across my dark room. "A-And what did you do with my nightlight?"

"Ya want it so bad, then here, have it," he says, something scuffing against the ground before suddenly it's back in the wall and it's all lit up. "Yer sumthin', arentcha? God, never knew why you goddamn kids liked some stupid dog that talked, anyways. I bloody hate nightlights, they don't really do anythin', do they?"

"I said, who are you?!"

"Calm down, ya big baby! I came from under yer bed an' I scared ya. Now, what does that big brain ol’ brain of yers tell ya I am?" he replies, and it takes a few seconds before the answer pops into my head. I hug Mr. Snuggles tighter to my body and breathe him in, my eyes growing hot and watery.

"Oh my bloody god, dontchu cry. No, no, no, dontchu fuckin’ cry on me," they say really fast, letting out a loud breath at the end. The tears fall down my cheeks long and hot, Mr. Snuggles taking the brunt of them as I hold onto him for dear life. "Please, I hate it when you lot cry, 's bloomin' annoyin’ an' it hurts me ears . . Yer not s’posed t’ do it ‘til afta I leave, ugh. Please stop yer cryin' already, Josie."

I sniffle and lift my head after a second, trying to find him in the dark, whoever he is. But, I still can't see a thing. I think he's across the room towards my closet, but I don't really know. "H-how do you know my name- who are you? Tell me already!"

"Okay, okay. Will ya ever shut that bloody mouth of yers? 'm uh, well 'm a monsta, if ya hadn't figured that out already. Yer a bright little five year old, figured you'd know that by now," they reply, and then there's footsteps. They're getting louder and, so I think, closer.

"How do you know all this stuff about me?"

"That's not even that much, ya brat. I know loads 'bout ya. Know yer birthday, even what time you were born down t' tha second. Know ya hate spiders and frogs, think they're gross 'cuz they're all slimy an' squishy. Know ya jus' moved from yer old house t' this one t’day, an' that ya think tha basement's reaaaaal scary. Also know that yer scared of unda ya bed, as ya should be, an' that tha biggest thing yer scared of 's tha dark," he replies, and even though I can't see it, I know that my jaw is hanging down. Who is this person- well, monster, and why does he know so much about me? How?

"How d-do you know all that, and why do you know it?"

"'s me job t' know that stuff 'bout you, Josie. I only get sum stuff, y’know, tha stuff that matters t' me an' I need t' know. Now, why would I need t' know what yer scared of if 'm a big scary monsta? I bet ya can answer me that one, Josie Posie," he says, and I gulp loudly. Thinking about it for a second, I peek a look over to my door, or in the direction I think it would be in.

"No, no, dontchu even think 'bout screamin' or yer really not gonn' like me, Josie," he warns as I sniffle. I can taste the strawberry chapstick on my lips as they open and I yell the two words.

"Mommy, Daddy!"

"Ugh, ya've really done it now, Jose. I thought ya'd learn yer lesson, but guess not. Thanks a fuckin' lot," the boy mutters quietly. There's a tickle on my ankle before a scuffle, and my bed rises and dips again. 

The lights click on outside my room. I hear fast pitter--patter before my door flies open, and the light turns on. My mom comes in first in her pink bathrobe, pulling it around herself as she rushes over. Dad’s hot on her tail in a Packers shirt and checkered pajama bottoms.

"What is it, sweetie?" Mom hums as she stops in front of me, her face looking sad as her brown hair is all a mess.

"There was a monster in my room! He came from under my bed, and he was all mean and scary!"

They look at each other before pulling me in for a hug, playing with my hair and giving me kisses on the head.

"Honey, you probably just heard something. It's an old house and it makes noises sometimes, but it's nothing to worry about. You're just fine, there's no monsters under your bed because there's no such things as monsters," my dad says, sitting beside me and putting an arm around me.

Mom wipes my tears away and smoothes back my hair as they shush my worries and calm my mind before helping me back under the covers. There's about five 'no's when I ask if I can sleep with them, Dad looking more upset than Mom about it until they leave my bedroom with another 'goodnight' and a 'sweet dreams.’ The room is silent and still, except for the hovering Scooby Doo head lighting up the floor around it next to me. My eyes stay there as the warm blankets hug me. With Mr. Snuggles and blankey close, I shut my eyes and try to get some sleep, like Mom had said.

They fly open when I hear a sound, and I whimper when my bed moves again.

"Ya think yer a smart one, d’ya, Josie? Ya can’t get ridd’a me that fast, love," the boy murmurs, his footsteps creaking on the wooden floor. "They didn't believe ya, did they?"

A small 'no' comes from me as the blankets surround me in a warm cocoon, but I suddenly don't want to be lying here anymore. I want to sit up and see him, but that thought scares the bejeezus out of me the second I think about it.

"Didn' do a lotta good cryin' fer mummy an' daddy, now did it? Maybe ya should think 'bout that tha next time, an' see how good of an idea it seems."

"What do you want?!" I say, my lips bending into a frown as I pull myself up to face my closet, wishing I could see his face. But again, all that's there are the little blue random dots that seem to be in the shape of a rectangles or something, and the bright green dots.

"'m a monsta, love. Already told ya that, what d’ya think I want?"

"Are you really a monster?" I whine in question, feeling like there's a circus happening in my chest.

"Yeah, sure I am."

"You're not telling me a fib?"

"Nope, promise me black li'l monsta heart," they say, and I take a shaky breath as my heart thumps in my ears. Holding Mr. Snuggles as tight as I can, I swipe my tongue across my dry lips and stare into the darkness. The ceiling fan overheard whirs softly, the only sound in the room besides my loud breathing. "'m not tellin' ya a fib, Josie. Promise ya that. How d’ya think I came out from unda yer bed, anyways?"

"How am I supposed to believe you? I don't know you, and I can't even see what you look like when you're talking to me. Danget, I don't even know your name o-or if ya have one!"

"God, yer a feisty li'l one, arentcha, doll? Take a breath, would ya? I dunno, ya don' hafta believe me I s'pose, 's upta you on that one," he replies, and I only grow more confused, heaving a big breath. "Don' get so bent outta shape over it, 'm just yer monsta an' I scare ya. Yer not s'posed t' know me name, 's jus' how it 's, I reckon. Tha's all t' it, really. Now, if I did me job an' yer all scared outta yer socks an' everythin', 'll be off. Got other li'l tots I gott' scare besides yerself, y’know."

"But-," I chance, learning I was two seconds too late. There's a flick of something moving past the space the Scooby lights up, and my bed moves. e's gone. "No fair!" I shout, falling back onto my pillows with a plop. Tugginig my blankets back up, I mutter annoyances to Mr. Snuggles, picturing him replying and agreeing with me.

Then there's that sound again. Like a shoe against carpet, or something like that because Mom never lets me wear my shoes in the house, so I can't be sure. "Sweet dreams, Josie Posie! Oh, and sleep tight! I hope all the beddy bugs bite. 'll see ya later, ya li'l brat!" the squeaky scary voice says again before there's another scruff and I hear him leave, wherever in the world he came from.

Turning over with a whimper, I pull the covers over my head and shut my eyes, trying to think of happy things like sugar plums and fairies. I try to forget about what just happened, and the fact that I have a monster under my bed- my own scary monster.

/

The next day was unpack this and unpack that. Move this and move that. To make it plain and simple, it was boring, it was hot out, and I didn't want to ‘fill up my new bedroom,’ like Mom and Dad kept saying to try and make it sound fun. But it wasn't. Because I couldn't stop thinking about the night before when that thing came out from under my bed. After awhile it just melted down into a bad dream or something I had imagined, because I'm a kid and that's what kids do, right? I must have dreamt it or made it up. 

"It's looking nice so far, isn't it, Josie?" Mom says, looking around at my room staring to well, look like a bedroom. There's my dresser, and my little table for tea parties with my favorite stuffies sitting on the chairs. Clothes are beginning to get hung up in my closet, the bookcase against the wall just needs some books to make it look better and not so sad, and a nice pink rug sits by my door.

"Yeah, I guess," I say sadly, taking a seat on the purple beanbag in the corner, watching Mom turn towards the door when Dad comes in holding another box. He pushes his combed back blonde hair off of his sweaty forehead, wet patches showing under his armpits as he turns to walk away after setting down another box.

"Hmm, I wonder where we should put this," Mom says quietly to herself, holding an old shoebox of something or other. Taking a few steps, she crouches down to push aside my pink Hello Kitty comforter.

"No, don't!" I say, standing up fast and running over to her.

"Why noyt" she replies, looking at me quickly. I glance to the empty space under my bed, now that she's pushed the fabric to the side. When I see nothing but the dark wooden floor, I no longer worry, but now I'm confused. "You don't still think there's a monster under there, do you?"

"No, but maybe a really scary dust bunny," I joke and she smiles before pushing the stray box under there and standing back up to get working on things, because she'll never believe me, anyways. Dad and her didn't the first time, because who would believe me when I tell them there's a monster under my bed? I don't even know if it was real myself.

After a while, we take a break and all sit under the shade of the tall oak tree in the front yard. A pitcher of lemonade and hot dogs with potato chips is for lunch as we sit at our new picnic table. The hot June sun beats down on us as Mom and Dad quietly talk about where to put the couches and which would look better in different spots. I nibble on a crinkly yellow chip, looking around at the new neighborhood. And I wonder if I'll ever get past the cold fear settling in my stomach about this new house.

/

Mom kisses the top of my head, smoothing my hair back with her hand before disappearing into the hallway where Dad talks to somebody on the phone loudly. The door closes with a squeak and I turn over with a huff. I hold Mr. Snuggles and blankey as close as I can before closing my eyes, willing him to not come back. Please, please, please. Please don't come back, please don't come back. I fall asleep mumbling it under my breath, the Scooby light protecting me from the darkness, like Mom said. But I don't know how much I believe that anymore.

/

"Wake up!" a voice shouts, and I jolt awake to find somebody bouncing on my bed. "Bloody hell, get yer arse up already!" they say again, and as I rub my sleepy crusted eyes, I recognize the voice and how the words sound funny. It's the boy again, and he's back. It's the monster.

"I was sleeping."

"I can see that, but ya aren't anymo' so wake up. Did ya know ya snore? 's bloody annoyin', if ya ask me," he mutters, something hard like his leg not far away when I stretch my own out and touch him. They recoil from the cold sensation and I hug them back to my body.

Taking his words carefully, I reach over slowly to find the smooth metal chain and yank it hard to bathe the room in light. A scream leaves my lips when I lay my eyes on him, and as if things are moving in slow motion, I see his yellow tinged eyes with bright green circles roll into the back of his head. Next thing I know, he's practically lying on top of me with his cold gross hand over my mouth. My hurried words leave my mouth in muffled murmurs as his bad breath fans over me.

"Dontcha know how t' keep quiet, ya brat?" he spits, shaking his head of dirty brown curls, making them move and dislodging hair from around the two small yellow horns poking out of his head. One on each side, but that's just the first of it. "Scared ya, did I? Good tha's me job, ya li'l bugger. Now, if I take me hand off yer mouth are ya gonna promise not t' scream? Told ya last night what'll happen if ya do it again."

I nod my head slowly, taking in every part of him. His round head slowly nods too before he removes his hand from my mouth and sits back, letting me get up too. Crossing my legs, my eyes stay glued to him as he turns his head to I guess look around my room. "Looks like a bloody pink pixie threw up all over yer room, 's a bit much, innit?" he says, playing with his bottom lip as he scans my bedroom. A few boxes still sit there waiting to be unpacked, but for the most part my room is all made up. I swallow, and he looks over at me, his eyes going over me. "Ya forgot how t' speak or summat?"

"Y-You're really a monster . . I'm not just imagining it," I whisper, my words going all kinds of places.

"Sure am, Josie Posie. No point in really lyin' 'bout it, now 's there?" he says, breaking eye contact as he stands up. And I find out quickly that he's tall. Another twelfth thing I've learned about him in the last minute.

He waltzes over to the corner of my room where the tea table sits along with a shelf holding pull out baskets with different toys in each. His long pale fingers wrap around one of the handles and tugs on it, picking a red headed Barbie out and making a disgusted sound before stuffing it back in. "Yer such a girl, arentchu?" he complains, his blue tinted skin not bothering to push the basket back in before moving onto my bookshelf, picking up a light blue and purple book. "How ironic 's it that ya have this book, huh?" Turning to me and flashing the cover at me, I see that it's Monsters Inc. I want nothing more than to go back to sleep, I think.

"What does that word mean?" I say nervously, his movements slow and careful as he flips through the book and tosses it onto the floor carelessly, ending right side up on an open page. Looking back to me, his crazy brown eyebrows go up as he looks at me with his bright green eyes. I realize that's what I saw last night glowing in the dark, his neon eyes. "The word starting with an 'I'."

"'ironic'?" he asks, and I nod as he takes his time walking around inspecting my stuff, picking up Beary Jones and petting his soft brown fur. "It uh, I dunno how t' describe it, really. Means that sumthin's funny in a weird way, I guess."

"Whatever," I say, my head falling onto my pillow as I get back under the toasty warm covers.

"Ya can't go back t' bed yet."

"And how come?"

"Cuz, I haven't scared ya all good yet. I can't go yet 'til I have," he replies, running his hand over Beary Jones' ears before pulling at his red overalls. In a blink he rips his head off and white cotton is falling down onto the floor like snow.

"No, not Beary! Why'd you do that?"

"Would ya shutup already, ya nosy li'l brat? 's just a fake stuffed bear, get over it!" he snarls, flinging it onto the red table. Beary's head sits on the floor sadly, getting squished by his grimy black sneakers as he walks back over to me. I shrink into the covers as he approaches. "I scare ya all good yet, Josie Posie?"

I reply with a soft 'no' but as he gets closer I move back, reaching the other side of my bed until I'm almost falling over the edge. His pale face, a shade of light blue, gets closer and closer to mine. The little blue dots like freckles covering his ghostly skin look like little flattened balls of playdoh before they're gone, shouting a 'boo! My back hits the hard floor. A whimper leaves my lips and I hold my achy elbow as tears well in my eyes and my bottom lip quivers, turning away when he walks around the corner with a laugh.

"Go away!" I yell at him, my voice small and weak and the crying isn't helping.

"Yer such a li'l baby, ya know that?" he smiles, crouching down. A holey black t-shirt clings to his sides amongst his muscly arms covered with black pictures and words. Pants the same color and just as old and beat up are on his legs, but they're tighter.

"I said go away, I don't like you!" I repeat, smushing my face into the fuzzy white rug next to me. Hot tears spill from my eyes and wet my hot face. My heart thuds loudly as I sniffle with each sob, no matter how quiet I try to make them. He begins to say something I think, but I stop him, "No! You're mean and I never asked for a monster, I hate this new house and you're making it worse! I hate you I hate you, go away and never come back!"

"Josie," he says softly, whatever his stupid monster name is. "Hey, look at me."

"Why should I?"

"Cuz I said so, now look at me, you li'l shit," he says angrily, and I pull away my sweaty teary face to look up at his. It's blurry, but it's blue and weird and dirty. Reaching his hand out for a reason I don't know, I look between it and his face before opening my mouth and biting his finger.

"You li’l fucker, ow! Why d’ya keep doin' that, ugh?!" he swears. I get up from the floor and dash out of the room and down the hallway. "Yer really gonn' get it now, Josie! Thought you weren't gonna be too bad, but now, I dunno anymo'." I hear lastly as I turn left down the hallway, and I stop in front of Mommy and Daddy's door. I take one last peek down the hall to my bedroom where the light flows out into the dark hall, hiccups leaving my lips as thoughts bubble around inside of my head.

Wiping my tears away, I change my mind and when I step back into my room, I find his dark, dusty figure with his back to me, picking up something off my dresser. He must have heard me because he turns around and looks me in the eyes only for a second, and then his crazy green eyes fall to the Disney snowglobe in his hand. Little balls of snow fall down onto the castle from in the Magical Kingdom.

"Please don't break it, that's my favorite. I got it from Disney at Christmas time," I cry.

"Won't if ya promise not t' bloody bite me again," he shrugs, looking to me for an answer and when I nod he puts it back. He runs the tip of his finger over Tinker Bell's glittery wing, walking over to my bed and pushing the cover back off of the floor.

"Where are you going?"

"Told ya last night I got other kiddies t' scare, an' if 'm bein' honest, 'm quite sick of you fer tha day, so 'm off," he answers, sticking his long legs under my bed. When I take a step closer, I notice that they've disappeared and it's just the tops of his legs and the rest of him still there. But that doesn't make sense, so much of this doesn't. "Breathe, Josie, 's jus'- 'll be back tomorra, try not t' bite anybody else while 'm gone, sound good?"

"O-Okay," I say slowly, playing with the sleeve of my princess nightgown.

"God, you are such a girl, 's bloody terrifyin'," he says, shaking his head. I open my mouth to say something. "Whatd’ ya want now?"

"You never told m-me your name."

"Well tha's for me t' know an' fer you t' never find out, innit now, Josie Posie?" he smiles, winking one of his green eyes at me. I sigh and throw my hands up, feeling the soreness when my elbow moves and I wince, whining a 'that's not fair, you're never fair!'

"Tone it down, will you?! 's jus' a name, dunno why ya wanna know so bad!"

"Well, if you're gonna be scaring me every night, I want to know."

"My goodness, 'm in fer a load of trouble with you, aren't I?" he shakes his head, looking away and to under my bed where it's just brown wood and the beginning of dust bunnies. Rubbing his big, pointy nose, he lets out a loud breath and I see his wacky eyes once more. "Tha name's Harry. Now, I really best be off. Sweet dreams an' ya betta not hope tha bed bugs bite!" 

There's nothing left but a whisper of his words and a whoosh after he slid under my bed, making me wonder ten new things that I don't know what to think of or what the answer could even be.

With a huff, I wander to the door and find the lightswitch. With a last look to the empty space under my bed, I flick the light off and dash to my bed quickly, even though I know there aren't any monsters under my bed to get me. Well, I can't say that anymore, I think, as I bring Mr. Snuggles back into my arms. And I don't know what to think of that really, and how it should make me feel.

But all I know is that I'm kind of looking forward to bedtime now, and getting to see my monster, Harry. He’s kind of . . what’s the word? 

Cute.

[softlass27]

@nooneelsecomesclose17 requested a Robron and Seb version of the village hall concert in last night’s episode, and I couldn’t resist. I also included Adam because I’ve been watching Mancs in Mumbai and it’s making me miss him. I literally just bashed this out tonight so I’m not sure how good it is, but enjoy!

AO3 link here

Robert shifted in his seat, checking his watch for what felt like the hundredth time.

“Oh for god’s sake, calm down, will you?” Nicola rolled her eyes.

“You calm down,” Robert snapped back, leaning around Laurel to shoot a glare at her.

“I’m sure Aaron’s on his way,” said Laurel, patting his arm reassuringly.

“And even if he’s a bit late, it hardly matters, does it?” Nicola muttered. “It’s the village hall, not the bloomin’ West End.”

“Oi,” Moira laughed from her spot on the row behind them. “Leave him alone, it’s Seb’s first concert, he’s allowed to be a bit nervous.”

Laurel twisted around in her seat to face her and Cain. “Is Isaac singing, too? Dotty didn’t mention it.”

Robert held back a smirk. He’d had Isaac around for enough Disney film nights with Seb to know that there wasn’t a musical bone in the kid’s body. Backflipping off furniture and running headfirst into walls seemed to be more his thing; Robert swore they used more of their first aid supplies on Isaac than they did on their own son.

“Ah, no, but they’re letting him play the triangle,” Moira said, smiling. Robert snorted, then instantly regretted it when Cain’s head whipped towards him, a deep scowl on his face.

“You got somethin’ to say, Sugden?”

“No no, I’m sure he’ll smash it... literally,” he mumbled as he turned back to face the front.

“Robert?” He looked to his left to see Brenda hovering over the empty seat next to him. “D’you mind if I sit here? I like to be next to the aisle, get a good view.”

“No.” His arm shot over it protectively. “Aaron’s sitting here.” Did she not see the leather jacket he’d tossed over the chair as soon as he arrived? He was clearly saving it.

Brenda blinked. “Oh, of course. Cutting it a bit fine, isn’t he?” She sniffed and walked off in search of another seat. He huffed out a sigh and looked at his watch again. Aaron had literally three minutes before he was in serious –

“Hiya.” Aaron tossed Robert’s jacket into his lap and collapsed onto the empty chair, looking slightly out of breath.

“Where the hell have you – ”

“Sorry, traffic was a nightmare, took forever. Adam’s just parking the van,” he added, as if Robert had any interest in what Adam was doing. He held up his watch to Aaron’s face.

“You were this close to missing it, I nearly had to sit with Brenda.���

Aaron grinned and pecked him on the cheek. “As if I’d do that to you.” He held up a small paper bag. “Picked up some chocolate on the way.”

Robert held out for a brief moment, before snatching the bag from him and slinging an arm over his shoulder. “You’re forgiven.”

He heard loud footsteps behind him and turned just in time to see Adam skidding into the hall and squeeze into a spot next to Moira, who cuffed him lightly over the back of the head. “You’re late!”

“It’s not even started, Mum!” Adam rolled his eyes. “Blame Aaron, he’s the one who made us stop ‘cause he just had to get Rob his sweets, apparently.” He kicked the back of Aaron’s chair, and suddenly Robert’s arm was dislodged as Aaron leaned back to shove him in retaliation.

Just as the two were seconds away from roughhousing like a couple of teenagers, Harriet appeared in front of the stage and clapped her hands. “Okay everyone, the show is about to begin!”

Without looking, Robert grabbed the sleeve of Aaron’s hoodie and yanked it roughly so he was facing the front. “Behave,” he hissed.

Aaron looked at him for a second, before interlacing his fingers through Robert’s and giving his hand a squeeze. “He’ll do great. He’s practised so much he could sing every song in his sleep by now. Hell, we all could,” he added with a grimace. It was safe to say the repertoire for Seb’s concert had dominated the Sugden-Dingle household for the last few weeks. “He’ll have a brilliant time, we’ll take him out for ice cream after, and then we can all go home and never have to hear those songs ever again.”

“What if he gets stage fright or something?” Robert whispered as Dawn began herding the kids into their positions.

“Then we’ll get him an even bigger ice cream,” Aaron whispered back.

Robert suddenly became aware of movement in the corner of his eye, and turned to see Nicola rummaging through her handbag. “Where are the bloody – aha!” She triumphantly produced a little plastic bag of foam earplugs and plucked two out. She looked up and paused when she saw them staring at her.

“Earplug, anyone?” She asked, offering the bag around the group.

Robert shot her a thoroughly unimpressed look and shook his head.

“I wouldn’t take it personally, she does this every time,” said Laurel, rolling her eyes.

“When you’ve been to as many of these things as I have, you’ll come prepared, too,” Nicola muttered, wedging them into her ears. “See you on the other side.”

Aaron nudged Robert and nodded towards the stage. Seb was standing in position next to Dotty, craning his neck to find them in the crowd. They both quickly waved until he spotted them and shot them a toothy grin, giving a little wave back. Some of the tension bled out of Robert’s shoulders when he saw how excited he looked – no sign of any nerves whatsoever.

“Are you recording first or should I?” He whispered as the final few kids assembled, Isaac already bashing the triangle in his hand.

Aaron pulled his phone out. “I’ll do the first song, then we can switch. You watch for now.”

As the pianist began to play the first notes, a hush fell over the audience. Aaron held his phone up to start filming, Robert shot Seb one last thumbs up and the show began.

[jimlingss]

Thank you, everyone, for your words of encouragement. In this short amount of time, I’ve been absolutely overwhelmed with messages of support. I want to reassure you all that I’m by no means as hurt as some of you think, or at least not after so much kindness. I’ve always encouraged all kinds of feedback!! From compliments to constructive criticism. And I’m (supposedly) an Adult™, so I can definitely take someone’s opinion.

Regardless, thank you to everyone who reached out to me. I want to respond to each and everyone of you under this post so I don’t flood other people’s dashes.

Anonymous said: about the anon who said your fics lack emotion, hmm i wouldn't quite agree tbh, i remember reading tears of a villian and deadass crying, it hurt me so much!! also, in "fall in hatred" their feeling are so well portrayed and i could understand why they acted a certain way! to conlclude, there is always some space for constructive criticism but your stories, are to me, something very attentively built and created, it's apparent that you completely enjoy writing, I can feel your enthusiasm!!

--to that anon; pls don't get this wrong way but it's just the way I see it and I've read quite a lot till now

nah deadass crying isn’t good enough anymore, anon. You have to be keening and violently sobbing until you’re brought into the ER for my fics to be considered to have emotion. lol I’m only kidding, thank you for the message.

peachiest-hun said: To that anon who said your work lacked emotions, I beg to differ! I have read Jungle Park so many times I know at exactly which chapter when the heavy angst starts happening and I read those parts when I just want to have a good cry (I still cry every. single. time)! Also Head Over Heels to Hell, The Colour of Our Voices, Love So Shallow (because I so relate with OC), and many more have given me the FEELS (happy and sad ones). 1/2

So what I'm trying to say is that Jimlingss is doing a great job in her craft. She does deliver emotions in her work and the reason I love it so much is that it's SUBTLE and not completely in your face. Sometimes emotions that are subtle and they hit you slowly, but powerfully it hurts even more for me. On another note, I'm loving Sugar and Coffee. In times of darkness which are often these days, I have something to look forward to every week to keep me motivated. So thank you Jimlinggs! 2./2

Istg Jungle Park is one of the most unexpectedly beloved fics on my blog but I love it hahaha I can’t believe you’ve read it to the point of knowing what chapter is what though. that’s an honour. There’s definitely stories of mine that are less subtle than others, but I’m glad that you enjoy the latter of them too :’) Thank you.

Anonymous said: This is my first time ever leaving a message on someone’s tumblr, but I just felt that I HAD to after reading that anon’s comment about your stories lacking emotion. I wholly disagree (in the nicest way possible, not throwing any shade at anyone). I’ve read all of your fics (for the past two years) and I look forward to when you release new material (the highlight of my Mondays right now after I come home from working at a clinic). Your stories have really lifted my mood during this pandemics an

Anonymous said: Sorry for that long tangent. Don’t even know if I made sense. You don’t have to respond to any of this, but you deserve to hear some positive words as well.

Oh my god. Did I just take your tumblr-message virginity? asdfghjkl I’m kidding. but thank you for reaching out to me. I can’t believe you’ve been around for such a long time and that I’m a part of your Monday routine :’) 

Anonymous said: OK that ask about "constructive criticism" was def imo RUDE. You don't just anonymously go into someone's asks and bluntly tell an author that their fics "lack emotion". That is not the way to encourage someone to improve and continue to work hard. That's just flat out mean. That person clearly doesn't care about your feelings or the fact that you write and share your stories for FREE for us to enjoy. I love your stories and appreciate what you've shared with us. Thank you for your hard work ❤️

I like to give the benefit of the doubt to anons and anyone sending me a message online in general. God knows there were times I meant well but it was received wrongly. But anyway, my mind was more boggled than I was hurt, that’s one thing for sure.

joonie-mono said: + it was called love so shallow which genuinely made me see myself in a character, but my point was that your writing has a specific feel to it, it's made me laugh and cry (His Name personally killed me :] ) and that's my opinion. You and your writing are amazing and I'm sorry but that anon was just so wrong.

oof bringing out the evidence. be my attorney please.

Anonymous said: As someone who has read your entire masterlist (and going through it again) i will have to wholeheartedly disagree with that anon. The way you portray SO many emotions in your fics is *chefs kiss* and I honestly thought that the ones that “lack emotion” were meant to be that way, with an open ending, the idea that their love just started, soo.... yeah, I’ll have to disagree.

There are definitely stories of mine that are a bit looser on romance. Such as Kitchen Romance, The President’s Son, The Heiress’ Son, Arcadia, etc. But I have a loooot of fics that are quite emphasized in either despair/sadness or cute fluff.

ladyartemesia said: ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! I am here to disrespectfully disagree with anon who probably doesn’t write effing ANYTHING and has no idea what it takes to produce the content you do. I have followed for months and I’m still not through your masterlist BECAUSE reading your stories is a bloomin EMOTIONAL EVENT. When I read Brass and Strings, I LOST A WHOLE DAY. Like I was so into it, my DAY was gone. Anon is prolly salty there isn’t more smut I guess. That’s whatever for them. (Part 1)

It’s subtle, deep, meaningful, and incredible and you’re one of my favorite authors. I can’t FOR A SECOND let that comment go cause it’s RIDICULOUS. You’re literally so gifted. You don’t need to change a thing. Every artist, no matter their medium, should continue to improve. So in that sense I wish you all the growth in the world as you work towards the perfection of your craft. BUT SERIOUSLY you’re an incredible writer. That anon is loony. I’m so sorry you had to even read those crazy words.

As I answer these messages, it’s starting to feel like I’m the third party mediator of a dispute and all y’all are just HAMMERING it to this anon, LOL. I’m not sure if the anon is necessarily requesting for more smut but if they are, they might be happy this Friday (*COUGH spoiler for those actually reading my responses)

Anyway, you’re too kind. thank you. I am definitely not as hurt as I was earlier.

((and tbh you’re hilarious, you’re actually making me laugh irl))

krystle1990 said: Woah!! Ok first that Anon is absolutely crazy. I literally stalk your page for new work being put out! I probably blow up your notifications daily. I've never been disappointed in any of your work. You always give a heads up if it will take time for the characters to realize their feelings which I absolutely love. It always leaves me ready for the next part and I am glued to my phone with every update. You're amazing and I can't wait to see how you grow with your work. 💜😘

ASDFGHJKL PLEASEEE if it’s someone who’s worried about blowing up notifications, it’s me. To those who have notifications on I sincerely can’t fathom how often I blow up people’s phones. I digress, I always give out warnings to keep people patient since I know slow burn can be excruciating haha thank you for the message.

kigurumu said: Also just want to add that saying you have good intentions or "don't mean to be mean" does not cancel out whatever offensive thing you just said. IT WILL STILL RUDE. Not saying all negative feedback is bad. Criticism can be hard to take no matter how it's phrased, but telling a writer to be more like another writer is like telling them their style isn't good enough which is NOT helpful. Your writing is your own. If the anon wants to read fics that are like gukyi's, they can read gukyi's fics 🙄

Also I've been waiting until Sugar and Coffee is done so I can binge it all at once but avoiding spoilers from all the asks is so hard haha! I keep seeing all these good things about it and I'm SO tempted to just read it now but I've already waited this long so I don't wanna give up kfnrjrofvjskdh guess I'll reread your other fics in the meantime

The message was fine on its own but I think dragging in another writer at the end was definitely not ok. When will comparing writers end. But regardless, gukyi and I are cool with one another - i mean we wrote 100k together so it’s gonna have to take a reverse Zuko arc for us to be on bad terms lol

Anyway, oooh you’re one of those bingers. Can’t say I blame you cause I love binging myself, so it’s understandable for readers to wait till the series is over. and since you were so kind in following up your original message with two more and expressing so much appreciation for me :’), I’ll let you know that the finale of Sugar and Coffee will be posted by July 20th! by then, the entire series will be completed. 

Anonymous said: Tbh i think that neither you nor that anon is wrong. Some people like it more romanticised and cheesy, some people dont. I believe that your stories are more on the realistic side of life. People (whom your characters represent) cant always be cheesy and passionate for love, there are other things in life! Maybe you're just the type who's too realistic for any hopeless romantic things like i am and it's fine. Not all writers can write dramatic romance

Tbh, I agree. It’s a matter of opinion and there’s no one wrong in the fight of opinions. As I’ve said many times on my blog, the cringe factor varies between person to person. What someone might think is fluffy is absolutely cringey to another. What someone might think is a good amount of fluff is not enough for someone else. I’ve written a lot. And I’ve made sure to add lots of variations between the amount of romance in my stories. Indeed, some are definitely more subtle and “realistic” while others are completely cheesy and makes me gag from the amount of sugar in it lol I just think the anon should take a look at more of my stories before coming up with such a conclusive opinion.

Anonymous said: I’ve been reading your fics for over a year now and religiously follow updates every week. Why? Because they make me feel something whether it be joy from fluff or grief from angst. I’ll remember a story of yours months after I first read it and return to it just to feel those emotions again. I understand that emotional responses are usually subjective but I think that anon needs to read your works again, because they sure are missing out.

I replied to that anon that they should check out more of my fics and then come back to tell me if they haven’t changed their minds, so I don’t know if they’re missing out or not lol

I don’t expect my stories to elicit emotional responses or fanatic feedback for everyone. God knows there’s been other people’s writing styles that just didn’t resonate with me no matter how hard I tried to read their stories. But all I ask is that people try. It’s fine if you give up halfway but at least try reading. That’s fair to ask, right?

[mail-me-a-snail]

In the Woods Somewhere

the Hugo Wallace fic, as promised :3

tag list: @crypticphantom17​ @immabethehero​ @iv0ry-keys​

In the deep, secluded wood surrounding the small village of Honeycliff, which has quite the low literacy rate, there walks a Bird Man, using his lantern to guide himself through the night and ward off preying souls. He offers flowers and useful, charming plants, but never gets too close. He is kind. His voice sounds like the wind passing along the branches in the overhang, or as the frightened novice hunter told the townsfolk, the soft padding of a wolf prowling through the undergrowth.

 The hunter tells them all about his encounter with the Bird Man in the town square, where any willing ear has formed a circle around him.

 "First, a bloody plague," complains the farmer's wife, once the hunter finishes his story, "Now a bloomin' bird man in these woods. I don't want the kids runnin' around there no more."

 "Perhaps he's our cure," the lumberjack suggests, "Them herbs might do us good."

 "What might do you good, good sirs and madams," A new voice interrupts, his cane clacking against the cobblestone, "is keeping ten feet away from each other. This plague transmits through touch, don't you know."

 "Docta Wallace," the farmer's wife exclaims, and that is indeed who the stranger is. "We didn't see you there. The hunter was just telling us a story about the Bird Man of the woods."

 "The what of the woods?" Hugo Wallace, the plague doctor dispatched to Honeycliff a few months prior, swings his beak around to look at the hunter. He doesn't miss the big gulp that bobs the hunter's Adam's apple, even through the yellow tinted lenses of his goggles.

 “The Bird Man, doctor," the man explains, and retells the story. Hugo fiddles with the raven topper of his cane. "I swear it on me mum's gravestone, Dr. Wallace, he's real! He has a beak like yours and this great lantern, bright as the sun, it is!"

 "And on what night did you see this?"

 "Last night, sir!"

 Hugo's heart sinks, and then shoots up as he realizes what's exactly going on; they've mistaken him picking herbs in the dead of night as some sort of woodland monster. It all makes sense. He should say that it is actually him, but he doesn't. He feels that some sort of mystery would liven things up around Honeycliff.

 "Fairytales," Hugo sniffs, "Pish-posh. If I were you, hunter, I wouldn't spread such stories. As the farmer's wife said, we have enough trouble on our hands—my hands—as it is with the plague. We don't need a corvid walking around on two legs as well."

 "But it was real," the hunter shakes his head frantically, "Saw it with me own two eyes."

 “Those two eyes of yours better be seeing the door to your home soon," Hugo turns to the townsfolk, who have since made the circle bigger. "That goes for all of you! You are to return to your homes. Contact is highly dangerous."

 He taps his cane on the cobblestone. Everyone takes it as a sign to leave and they do, heads hanging and stomachs grumbling for the night's supper. The hunter trudges back into the woods with the lumberjack by his side.

 Hugo sighs in relief.

 "Bird Man," he scoffs, "Balderdash."

 ----

 The lumberjack goes home. He tells his seven sons and his wife the hunter's story over supper. His wife barely believes it, while the two twins of the seven children are in awe.

 The next morning, after school is let out, the lumberjack's twins tell their friends all about it. Being children, they believe that the Bird Man is real. They make up stories to scare each other, like the Bird Man being an actual raven who comes and steals people from their beds, or even that the Bird Man is a demon straight from Hell.

 Sister Bellum, a teacher at the school, is shaken to her core when she hears such utterance, and she doesn't take it lightly. The children get a scolding and are sent home.

 ----

 Hugo picks dandelions tonight. He has more than enough stores of yarrow and nightshade to last him a week. He thinks dandelions are beautiful. His lantern hangs from a stick, swinging as he walks through the woods. He ducks into a grove with curtain of lichen, spotting clumps of mycelium growing at the base of one of the trees. He puts the lantern behind him as he starts picking them gently.

 He freezes when someone speaks.

 "Oh, Lord—" a woman gasps, and the grass shuffles where she steps back. Hugo can't see anything but her silhouette from behind the lichen. But for the woman, she can see Hugo's large, sharp beaked silhouette against a lantern's light, like a shadow puppet show. "It's you! You are the Bird Man! I've found you."

 Hugo pauses. He's sweating under his mask, more than usual. He tries hard to remember how the hunter described the Bird Man's voice; croaky and soft. It wasn't his fault he had had a sore throat that night.

 "It is I," he croaks like a fat toad, "The Bird of these woods. What have you come for, human?"

 "My husband is as dead as a nail," she says, "There's no joy in his eyes anymore! It is like he's lost the life in them eyes. He doesn't attend to the crops!"

 Hugo realizes it's the farmer's wife from earlier. It sounds like her husband's drained of vitality. He knows just the herb. He digs around his bag and brings out a root of ginseng. He throws it onto the grass in front of her. She jumps back.

 "What is it?" She asks.

 "One of my herbs, my dear," Hugo explains, "It will revitalise your husband and bring him back to life, so to speak. It goes very well with tea."

 "T-thank you," she stutters, "Truly, this is a gift from God. I will never forget your kindness."

 Once she leaves, he comes out of the grove and puts his hands on his hips. "Bloody mess, this is." He shakes his head.

 ----

 Another woman interrupts his foraging the next night.

 "What is it?" Hugo croaks in frustration, "What do you want?"

 "Not herbs, good sir," she speaks well, especially for a citizen of Honeycliff. "But...to keep good company."

 “What are you saying?"

 "You are an attractive mystery, sir, and I have...thought about you, so to say. In ways the church might have me hung for—"

 Hugo's cheeks catch on fire as he blushes. "No, no!" He squawks, "I d-do not mingle with humans in such ways! Begone!"

 "But..."

 "I beg of you, begone!" He spreads his hands out like wings and curls his fingers into claws to make a big, scary shadow.

 The woman turns tail and runs away. Hugo settles down, everything neck up completely warm with embarrassment. He can't believe it. He just can't. A mysterious stranger turns up in the woods and someone from town just wants to bed it? The plague has made everyone truly lose their minds, Hugo would say.

 ----

 It is the baker that finds him the following night in the same grove.

 "Mr. Bird Man," the baker greets politely, a hint of Scottish on the tongue. "I believe you know why I've come."

 Hugo doesn't have to see him to know it's him. He's had the baker in his mind for quite some time. It makes his heart thump against his chest.

 "And what is that, dear baker?" Hugo says over the sound of his heart shaking. "Herbs? A cure for your ailment?"

 The baker, with his thick, muscular arms for lifting sacks of flour and rough, strong hands that he kneads dough with every day, and every one of those days Hugo watches from the bakery's display window, as the dough is folded and flattened and coated with flour then flattened again, always with those beautifully freckled knuckles worrying at it. The bread comes out golden brown and beautiful, because he's mastered his craft. Hugo longs for the days when he can go inside and actually pick up the bread instead of having it delivered to his house at the edge of the village. His hair is a fiery, shaggy red, like a sheepdog, as is his beard. His freckles are numerous.

 "No. Not plants, not weeds." The baker wrings his hands. "I've come for you."

 Silence. "What?" Hugo prompts, not daring to hope that he's asking what he thinks he's asking.

 "I find you are rather a beautiful mystery. A mystery I would like to unfold, if you'd have me. Unfold, as in...You already know."

 His heart explodes. He's dead, he's sure of it. This must be heaven. It's everything Hugo ever could've wanted.

 And yet...

 Even to the baker, despite the way he smiles so brightly and the charming puff of flour still in his beard, even to him Hugo (reluctantly) says, "No, thank you." As much as he wants those calloused hands to sandpaper his own and ruin him, he can't have it.

 In the morning, the baker claims the Bird Man had sent him away with mysterious and supposedly blessed herbs. They weren't mysterious or holy; they were clumps of yarrow, corn mint, and dandelions. He doesn't expect them to know them, though. He never lets anyone see his medical process or stashes. Hugo passes by the bakery and is surprised to find it completely packed. Everyone wants to hear about the latest encounter with the Bird Man.

 The doctor couldn't care less. He just wants a loaf of bread.

 He's pissed about the whole affair and rightly so. He can't stop the thoughts of the baker that enter his head—thoughts that would make Father Avery and the Sisters thump him over the head with their bibles and have him pray for a month straight.

 Hugo goes out again that night to the forest, picking another batch of herbs, mumbling angrily to himself the whole way.

 ----

 It is a hodgepodge of people who visit him over the next few nights, an even balance of men and women townsfolk. Even the hunter was among them. He said no to each of their sexual advances, though some by personal distaste rather than touch aversion.

 The ones he sends away spread all sorts of rumours.

 The Bird Man's voice changes with your personality! Hugo had forgotten to do the voice a couple of times. He had been tired!

 The Bird Man walks with a limp. He might've tripped over a rock trying to get into the grove one of those nights.

 They are all very amusing, in retrospect. Still, Hugo thinks they're amusing in the silly, childish way. It's a lot of good fun, even with the embarrassment of the one thing they all want.

 Eventually, the baker comes back, and keeps coming the next few nights.

 He doesn't talk at first, but Hugo knows it's him by his large silhouette. Hugo sits and so does the baker, and they stare at the approximate location of where the other would be. They want to talk, but what is there to say? Hugo's already declined. Hugo cannot have him and vice versa. It's too dangerous. His clothes—they're filthy with sickness. He doesn't know what he'll do if the baker gets sick.

 They see each other in the mornings and afternoons. The baker smiles at the doctor as he passes the window. It always does something funny to his stomach, but leaves a sour taste in its wake, like yarrow. He wishes they could stop playing this cat and mouse game. Hugo wants so badly to yell in the square that he is the fabled Bird Man, and it was nothing but balderdash this whole time, so the baker would snap out of it and fall in love with Hugo Wallace instead of this...shadow.

 In that scenario, love is possible, and there is no plague. It amuses him to no end.

 In the quiet of the nights, the time after, when Hugo heads home and lies in bed, staring up at his ceiling, he has...ideas.

 Thoughts.

 Thoughts of calloused hands holding his cheek like a warm ray of sunlight, ruffling his closely shorn, messy hair, the hair that his mother had affectionately told him reminded her of a, "Shaggy black sheepdog."

 Thoughts of those hands holding his, fitting so perfectly; the doctor's palms were smoothened soft by leather gloves.

 Thoughts of those hands going...farther. Holding him down by the wrists, taking what is theirs...ruining him entirely. If they can handle sacks of flour and turn dough into beautiful pieces of art, they can shatter Hugo into billions of pieces.

 It's hard to sleep that night when warmth pools in the doctor's stomach and doesn't go away.

 On the last night of the week, the baker comes again, but this time he speaks.

 ----

 "A demon?" Hugo stands in his doorway, clutching his teacup tightly. "That's a little extreme, don't you think?"

 Father Avery stands in his yard, looking very grim indeed. "A demon, Dr. Wallace, that's what this Bird Man is."

 "He—it—hasn't hurt anyone!"

 "Demons needn't physically harm mortals to be called demons. They are masters of influence—do you know what they're saying, the townsfolk, concerning the Bird Man?"

 "What?"

 "They are saying...well..." Now, the Father looks flustered, pink round cheeks pinker. "...they would very much like to invite the Bird Man into their beds."

 "Oh, my." Hugo tries to act surprised. It's one of the mornings after he's been met with a crowd of townsfolk thirsting after him.

 "It is sin, doctor! Sin! To practice premarital sin with a...a demon, of all things—why, it's preposterous. That is why it is a demon—it's an aphrodisiac!"

 ----

 "It is a sin to love you," is what the baker says when he speaks, quiet. "That's what the church says."

 "Then, do not commit it. You are not a man of sin," Hugo says, "You are a pure, kind-hearted soul."

 "Then, I will pray," The baker speaks quickly, breathlessly, "I will pray every verse I know, that I've been taught. I will attend every one of Father Avery's less than joyful Sunday services and I will pray to God above for forgiveness. I'll spend the rest of my days as a man of God to repent for this sin that I am guilty of."

 "What are you saying?"

 "I love you, with all my heart. I do not know your name, or what you look like, but I love you."

 "You love the mystery of me. The story. You don't love me." Hugo is ecstatic his hopes are true but would rather ingest nightshade than have this conversation. "You love this shadow—" he gestures to the canvas of lichen that separates them. "—not the man behind the curtain."

 "...then show me. Show me your true form."

 "Is that really what you want?"

 "Yes."

 Hugo takes a breath.

 Another.

 He turns off his lamp. The area grows dark around him. He faces the curtain of lichen and pulls it aside with one gloved hand.

 In the woods somewhere, the baker finally sees the true form of the fabled Bird Man, and he gasps,

 "Doctor Hugo Wallace. It's you—you were the Bird Man this whole time?" His hazel eyes are wide in shock and his bushy red eyebrows are raised. The surprise in his eyes reminds Hugo just how stupid the people of this town are—they couldn't even connect the dots.

 "Do you still love me?" He finds himself saying through gritted teeth.

 “I cannot believe this—"

 "Do you still love me?" Hugo grips his cane tightly.

 The baker furrows his eyebrows. He takes his time to answer.

 "I don't know."

 Hugo's heart sinks. "I thought as much," he mutters, and grabs his lantern and goes. The baker springs up to chase after him, but the doctor yells behind him, "Do not follow me! Tell no one of this."

 A painful warmth is building behind his eyes. Fool he was to hope that love would stay true. In the woods somewhere, Hugo Wallace, puppeteer of the Bird Man and plague doctor, runs away and doesn't look back.