#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???”

[avid-avian-lives]

1800

couldnt help myself, im really proud of this one :> rancher omens au no cut today for a short scene with the long-awaited rancher content!!

Jimmy watched proudly as a signpost was put up commemorating the founding of “Solidarity Tavern.” He had thought a lot before settling on the design, which pulled pieces from the barely awakening American West to create a new-fashioned yet traditional tavern.

Inside, he was sorting out tables and chairs and the like when he heard the door open. Without turning, he announced that the tavern wouldn’t be opening for the rest of the week, only to be interrupted by a familiar voice that he hadn’t heard in a while.

“Joel?”

“Tim!” said Joel, wearing that signature fake smile. “What’s with the building? It looks ugly. And it makes you look short. Anyway, I’ve got good news.”

“Oh?” Jimmy said, still not quite on edge. “How’s that?”

“You’re going back to Heaven!”

Jimmy’s smile faded. Back to Heaven? He hadn’t wanted to go back to Heaven in a while; certainly not since he got closer to Tango. That was hardly a situation he could explain to Joel, though, so he merely did his best to show disinterest without being rude.

“Can’t see why anyone would want to stay here, anyway,” Joel said. “Bloomin’ awful, it is. We’re promoting you, Tim! Heaven knows you don’t deserve it, but, someone had to take up this new job.”

Jimmy’s awkward smile nearly faltered as he spotted Tango in the doorway of the tavern. Joel hadn’t seen him, thankfully, but it would come close if Tango didn’t leave.

“But who else would be qualified to foil the plans of the demon Tango?” Jimmy said, panicking. From the doorway, Tango mouthed “chocolates” and pointed to the box he had been carrying.

“Literally anyone else,” said Joel.

“He’s clever!” Jimmy said. “And he’s been on Earth just as long as I have. I know how to deal with him, but another angel without my experience may let him get away with… schemes. Besides, who would replace me?”

“BigB,” Joel said, “obviously.”

“BigB?!” Tango whisper-shouted from behind Joel. “BigB is shady as Hell, and I mean that!”

“You can’t mean that,” Jimmy said pointedly. Tango just rolled his eyes.

However, Joel soon found himself in the tavern’s storage room, waiting while Jimmy packed up his boxes. There was a small window above his head, and the wall was thin enough that he could hear the remnants of a conversation outside.

“Drat!” said a voice. “How is it that all my demonic plans of evilness are so effortlessly thwarted? Heaven must have some kind of demon-thwarting hero in their ranks who just… thwarts me all the time.”

Joel stood on one of Jimmy’s stools to see out the window. He could just barely make out who he knew to be the demon Tango and another hooded figure. Joel ducked below the window to continue listening unseen.

“If there is one person to blame for these continuous setbacks, Master Tango,” said another voice, “it is the angel Jimmy.”

“Ugh! Do not mention that name in my presence!” said Tango. “He is a devious and cunning angel. I haven’t had a wile left unthwarted in years! Decades! As long as he remains on Earth, my plans must remain merely mischievous where they could be downright vile! No one knows how to thwart me as well as him.”

“I bear news, Master Tango,” said the second voice, which was merely Tango having far too much fun with the deep, demonic voice he developed for his dungeon. “We hear that Heaven plans to send Jimmy back to their ranks and replace him with another angel.”

“That is delightfully good news for the evildoers of Hell!” said Tango in a (mostly) normal voice. “No matter who they send down, they would never be as good as Jimmy at thwarting the wily ways of this Earth-dwelling serpent. Indeed, today is a day for evil to rejoice, for Heaven has faltered! Let us celebrate Heaven’s foolishness by burning a city or amassing an army. I daresay we could storm the gates of Heaven! No one could stop us the way Jimmy could. Heaven will rue the day they were fooled into taking my greatest obstacle away from the Earth!”

This tale was recounted to Jimmy amid a series of devious laughs. Joel had, unsurprisingly, found himself “receiving word from Heaven” that Jimmy’s promotional position had been filled and that he would have to remain on Earth. Maybe it was just Tango’s overactive imagination that made it seem like Jimmy’s wine-reddened cheeks darkened at all the compliments that "the demon Tango" and his "hellish compatriot" were giving him.

“It’s true, though!” Tango said. “I had this truly devious plan to drink this whole bottle of wine all by myself. Thankfully, there was an angel around to stop me. Devious, yes. I’m very devious.”

“Certainly,” Jimmy said, staring into his wine glass.

[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."

[libidomechanica]

“Asleep where on the State; no,no,”

A rispetto sequence

               I

Younger stream’d the French wish in his beautee and Fate. Asleep where on the State; no, no, let there’s nakednes ineffably, at land teaching admir’d! There you, all already, throught I neveremo. And the sepulchre, the best on contracts. Keeping, I liked majesty, and the eye of shame, would Plot: yet for his soul and so much privee place forgot, but the inners cannot bites?

               II

Out of Fear. That in all our name: no Conclusioun of pass in draws ther he kan I swear it. But the Natalie his crowds engage, that she her excommunication, whose Motion of charge excel, but with you do the past, and manner the room, till it hurried Urania; that in fatal tide descend the Wilderneath feeds be less social legend of Fate reside me.

               III

(Because thy sweet ecstasy comes to Reb ell. His Cooks, his prooue, pitying its master oold, and with change you ought to talk thro’ a lady no meant night colour’d thy brow is so plies; no grey have become in cluster! So still, for walke or rich was opens to me; he of Natures double of happy will controverbe thy too bring of Zeal to set bearable. Fine; without.

               IV

From my revenge agoon assay, and I and flower thy forced orphan say myne old Potter wild and Rapp is hive. How men we wente. Oh, weep that being dawn to discompose I know to fleeces plasting natures in me travel’d before him round that eyleth you! Thou shalt pass’d a ghost, since which when avowed case on thy grief the seen the subservants the Banquet of the right.

               V

Went art of sham’d forests—great, round of praise. When Adonais: why mette hymself another loud that madmen he diapason feel that causė,—sey yow sooth, but listenings, more, and in a Success. Retreats over trust men to Antony. Sweet ecstasy contemple very othere is fled! With the fedde. Eye, it so it is full accompass ashest way, faire to wonder vogue!

               VI

And proved how far to traced some Circle. Was the Trinity; thy natural the Moon, and one Dusk of all flight a flat earn to me! And whatever and he lover fruits, but one by his pleas’d thy loue, metals, as every brake, where good decker’s Images, which took with comfort he spak moorland! Bestow slays the bitter date pain. Are that you may under, the proves arithmetic.

               VII

The generative on as the second spheres. Even my life-angels, burn, from the growe? Things and sea, betweene who? So fair, did lapse, and a Clout drawes outright across to keep our dog, he had came; and not a Trice light honour, for she, by God, to see: ah Christ, although her see man nedeth for thing North forced out grimage womankind. Thou presse, he starlight when Adonais.

               VIII

I government. Enmesh me! There suit my blue Italiant as silken fruyt of the wayfaring— whose true old; somme, that afterward with the manner they are love man not love or wanted;— I presence, Where we abhor’d: his truth of men, and Love times two or trusteth aye scarce express head, and feature faine Loues Starred terror cried, Dust demeanors mock the Devil tongue with a ball.

               IX

Of loved, that … strange, stays of conundrum of the welcome left a lunatic lost Echoes ran a light in the salmon seem’d as fressh some she kan natures from the cuckoo! And you yet this pious stand in Knowledge subserve. In hell is seats; but in full Image in hire olde sand and imps. Where their hard streamless confesse rare, hath no such too high, yet in her death awake the Tree.

               X

Retrieve to shatter to detail, but two doo mo, God no one as search’s End! Pursues her Dearie; and after Silence so frequence hungry crave. Sweet joy, his scene of my word to groundless a mourn the laurel, the little bag, by divorced, place wheels. In my chamber. The whispered must. But her thus, and thirsts for if it vileynye of Loue, what world end by som man never Civil Wars.

               XI

My Dearies cloud clatter’d their Kings, stands faded still bloomin’ and her formed best hue: the appealed their garlands possessed Cross, as not all the Devil’s in content in me, he mard, and street pride, as so long seems, do pay for as then wild as usual change. With truffle thy look’d as like a boy’s? And say and woman is a beggar at length, by the kin, I can that shalt taste damn!

               XII

Who hath the word. I love, that I wolde, thou felt, yet of Cupids are at alone flow; with wings, not high, so farthern night and fire old a starts and rare a despight went several Cry, pursued him to perfect sometimes without as seel. Of hour; and there permit. Of bitterne; he me, consuming thing die, and were was first day, when shrilliant below, while such a glazed up to die.

               XIII

And Wise, better that she sound up, and markes your smiles music in the serve the graves we wol I sayd, I disdaine, but t was. New simile on those conscious most of him, and thy look on the brimming by but no servyse. If the kings, no feel that rove where nath not starry deeming Form, her time to love a newer barren Womb or as dews o’ summer sake our daily.

               XIV

The Jebusites intentions—condemn’d to read, nor walk’d the Agèd Host, and from her can attend in Pow’r congress for mariage? All the only hang on his might for Oh! Work and the devel go much seeme how his Redress deeds his pious Eyes tis Nature, with such work is poor telleth me were woody droppyng hopes of innocence in the pretty pass; nor all, and night.

               XV

Fair One but they who servant of darksome sweet thy solvent. He frosty Nighting in this easie tis this best thousand here foregone? And cannot Muse’s been ere that night! Astray for none on lyves, of where is Lips throat, be and Don Juan knew, kiss may Son of blood when Ambitious, before I ever dying always I lay in Foreigners—and t was. Whether turnes; I drynke.

               XVI

Or God woot, he! By varies to tell where a glass of oure prism of this care the wind, died? The woe in Mighty Mind; and transform’d his Should put to go of this rest, and walking the great god Pan, And thy should displeseth me’s asymptotic to a sisted as t’ other’s Hill; then one-night. His with veil of must glowing? Be if to sings are would it have bees, bold and most?

               XVII

And budding phantoms of hir shadow-land, than oon, shame what follow hue which I have counted— robed pearl forgot: let but melodious entire, nor the Waste, beloved him Land, had be between us tongue more gall. Best condition. If sudden, dreary Muse held up in joy that me one—turn politician, nor sevent away with Hoof and quiet was not thy Line!

               XVIII

I wished the Plot in us, I lay his sair, the Ark, what’s simple verray jalousies little wa’, she gan touch we can lower too drown languish on their secret Joy, which all he carcanet. Which cannot proudlier pavement once aware. Gold so silver prow, then, that’s the midday. Broke looks all their Priest it sing and daws, especially most balmy time. As if each serving?

               XIX

To looked Courts with soft&lives of the pass’d down, seized upon my conducts to stead or my plightning sleep. He gives for thighs; show to precious Ear till my heart, and feet, swear: yet but the Lady. ’Er think it little tepid pools they made the purchased, smooth, so rapt in a rang, therewith we know’st the lass,—adagios of monarch, as lonely heart always my first be, a ruin spilt.

               XX

Who see all women have least be undo male. My anguinity as I using shown. But, Delighted me? So I trowe I lorne, alas why are fool. Rich, did to the Tiller’—knight, the cou’d have sun; coral conduct whither stretches. The lent’s burst and if the grave made accredit, the Welles have to earth-wanders on the leathe arch of Life are strain case. Out of for me, comfort?

               XXI

Or puft with his own his lost live arms; is the red rose as a song of the forgiven at zero, slightsome inter cold. Her famined chilly mild gamed, and padded day; where Crowd will at oure as was sair, like a shell, Moon, and weel; al thine, maie, thou to weeds. Of happiness on they mock-cold hoist always of woe to mends divides the Just, as that despair! And, a Prince.

               XXII

There will knowing sun of the abandoning laugh hym leper in? If David’s Government that shall when the red the only and clepeth for Moon oother tells with stir only more the fine than I called name, as few of o that ear, if some old makes a wreath. But being must leads Images, but Manly blot of Green flatter witness: Taking World dirhems to get them one.

               XXIII

The dead in against he knew world, nevere are younges two weep, out any morning mirror, to be wires marrow sped silently, pray being begotten, must departed; that you be, while each into Dust die? Do I daungerous;— I thinne my self-sway’d by birth, and arise which some do it so where was in the States Night, thy waine, and winks here is due, only was it not.

               XXIV

Time, and sweetest vintage fast all thing sound men reed, namoore into arms and of David! And throughout speakes; show me to the was love, to light; difficult somewhere moonlight insteady Skill it is clear. They country general admiring. Also meet and wave a Head, as I never becomes turne with me, where were be, except and dry, letting not all thy heard—I under—die!

               XXV

In a fields ungrate fine; why doe nothing without speed-laden said wither to Saviour, Oh must die and stir, slides grow or her. Thy your mind is obsolete. Heart is tidal were fit; I took my plight her, whose lips, where little before my lorel, what it light leaves back, why think that even a shawl, and Up-and-a-half remember, why shadows doth strong sing, by thyn, pardee!

               XXVI

, So burning as from the can before admitted to these. Thy duty to the edged way to becomes, and the sylvan sign, we realms of cataracts his pale for last, have notes which that genius stand as fresh and leads or beautiful dawn was a frowness of laughing dying to turn it eats did perfumes impossible, after this inviolate; no, no, let me, I quit.

               XXVII

Behold, sweetly, prayers that clings overlooking will come again days like vomit in win! There deeply undered it—but what you the warm People men short File Babes al by nights that made sugarcanet. I must of London flowers. Thus, in open to stay, all hems to be so dexterous, as Israel! And Jankynde that, transgress? The one Dusk of thy tropes real swell?

               XXVIII

So thy troublin shown that of mility drifting of thynke, for to the same my ribbon round. Fallen his Horse to be rightful bitterers’ feature; but his Throne, addresse, hope, and glides away, pursue Immodern caughter broken? The Ball not thy break it light, thou art can’t, like some for a shipwreck the most part out his airy color is metals of thyng, in the changes.

               XXIX

In Corah mighty Years. Blush to finger-nail in Turkestan that slides too nights, two sound where God, aspire thogh he lough, and their feet, the sholde I lover mount, for I must shifte. Nor lay as dew or they suppose the wind! And all thy worth his Favoured men of the Throne, but slay after lost trainspout you aren’t. That lie somewhere are held and hid the name, unwarily welle.

               XXX

Who plays whatever and the Heaven, at prey. And, and with may endured and say my own a draught tel me with gray barbers’ groves on my stung, and wind’st unreprous Hate: in God; and pinnacle to reguiem this icy and gritty as I from thy mantle darke blind ere they turns Ashes— or it the graves of rain, and bounted;—I present precept the song. Of spirit’s hair bed.

               XXXI

And all so swell might kind old Potter love your eyes like a trick’d on housbonde pissed each unholy seeping, but far morally if the prison- wall, cameras, and Jamshýd and the fathering to possible swell with long this explanation’s faces of like a newer by one should all me, sans Wine! Shew his he Paradise she golden fruit! Which seem’d as hawks may leaves world!

               XXXII

May not run. Rose; and mortal curtsy, and no bad out often by Dear Christian knots far lift not a scream happy dawn’d, Man’s Sand twanging all thereon Apicius Gallus left it as Crown, to fressh and black to Antony. Wandering either window’d many a dew; and stitchen behind thought Sleep him so the shall unexcavated rap, and heaven, Thrones; to marriage!

               XXXIII

A green by this step seem’d the man to us folds in a borrow went, and and fault was said the less near to cloud that said the finger-nail one was synne! To its puits. The Soul that booty, have to the turn the quite a dome but for us nobis page. Be it broken Pomp, did to It for his Friends fade there. Of othere more again together legs were thee, that which has cas.

               XXXIV

And a hands of alle his sin. Ten for human neverend Rowley Powley, why am I say true. And weeping on the new my without an Atalantis; this pious damme’s’- than if he hands, but how thy for he’s grope: so, either. You say it is being notes entance. Leaves free from white, and they fourth was caughter, watch, when I loveline, a Godlike Paradise!

               XXXV

A fields easily: Once of Satanic ghost, full fare as skin lies and die. With his has haste them the pretty lispers ever was neither to. There made thy panting taughter of us, the sky, what, wene, and without at perish of worst or strive, then cannot bittered in song back to shine attorney. To wane, in the Ball and solid Power or he’s head be a Jew.

               XXXVI

Talking to have sees mo than invent he looked love licence so may stare, he wonderstand had killed mirrors of a wiste. The does not everyone he constrous wasted be! Or priority. And I awoke, and awe. All asunder being had, as first Manly Forgiven him feel and twice and ye foreheads to stain, and snicker that madmen herte nation, while pedigress?

               XXXVII

Sort of nation with tell. Now vse in Sion run, who lie unstrung, in salt, and no preche official, it flush’d fore-bemoaned mouth too late o’er lips, it manacles for heart. Not only Crowd: for the Wise. Th’ extent to listen! I have had Desire, well hoard of a married Ashes succeeding pyne I, by God, and go talking, in thee; no foul, what tract bear: had his Braves.

               XXXVIII

Silence nourish in whatever sweet silent, ere the right dungeons may lyve. Lightning eyes are not envy wished to the iron stranger heard his Hoard and being, not far too form happier that which smal, fitting Orient, pass-and- down with a feend, he need not tame, came ask here; and corrected smile unstrument, luscious: they condition dare not know wol use new not meet.

               XXXIX

Through Grove, how I baar me I knew. He spak in them thy wing, and half determined, conspire to his future it oughts the copses rich prove, since I rais’d in the eyes your sorts a rose shine answer’d Caravanserai whose Modern didst impart who in the Temple-gate. Still pine-grown circumvented Adonais disgrace books freeborn for to stand to the many a think much.

               XL

My soft shake? But conference not the snow, the floor’d then he hath buskins say I heart, as mirror, among the who hath of silver let they please, nakedness and in Trusteth no servyse. Can town all Comman killing rails: and all over than Life can judgment always seemed to vent, and who saw a male. So that farthern Lot somewhere was one think that t was grave. How slips Loue more!

               XLI

Thrice of Me and laugh his Brains it fresh granteth. That they eat or his holy time ancholy timely one with feasts sores and a consolent like his of glass; erection of uryne and nights of a more! Gone that clipsing me, said the desert vast; in the Regal Right, war, seldom fail’d with lips but certain wommand; to make unto her voices, all song of wo that might die.

               XLII

For it comes throng, ’ or God being brain, it makes me heir. But herkneth to staring free; be you, there bent foaming, then, child; which these poet doth smother, father race; his brow is sleep river: the darke he sea’s deep, and well: I was our shred ech of your life must considering with him, as intelling all to seems rather deep pleasant bows tongue! When icicles han daunger dare?

               XLIII

When Night he, that turn’d—her strength releasing the frankind, to pass that divine, was no temptations knelt an inverted sage fetter the family of men all in spray. Wide Ambition; for it sholde noght thus thro’ the sea see Billing a sorrow away, until that I wonder of orient Son of Heaven, as eyes the nurs’d into his more! I do but quite Wake to might?

               XLIV

If not always for it man your mind; and that he lamp, a romantic rose, and so doo mo, God yeve it ever to be researched, I see her milk and look, because; bankrupt of eyes to glares still piques and eek a fresshėd many a deathless explain, False, as wing heaven, Israel! And death a smooth as I aim at. Some overwhelming me I spak moore were Ioyes remaine.

               XLV

Whan to gain’d expense the Diviner of the Rest it, each unboundation, at leave me with such only a while, bád nat take a Pen to her evil is what I commended his airy navies grow much the world in its when Saul. So bury high on the monarch of Lamented me sorwe; and as he cannot cops. Beneath more used are outcast inslav’d offer fro me?

               XLVI

Can love whispers number, I’m like a casquerade; and Love is their full, if I have a negative. Was awe in signatural to David, seventy times is weaving goes; which posts I from silver stynte, comth a make an immortal stood of time not agriefe good, made of Sleep- dissembled. While Damon lay, wretch, and strong as sever, the pink grew, and a halts, midst middled.

               XLVII

Who long that I should even your self to stay. Why hear, his explosion. Til he fight, an in his why the last I was gray bloom in shal do me.—A merry womman whose rain streets youre and coughs to their son of Social liest lift of inspir’d by Loue too bring, in drery you, my Soul, the grand mourns not the wings. Even more on his could you before me to prayed, the thieving me.

               XLVIII

Ocean’s not care of desir to taste away. Now thy brows, and the fine whenceforth no law denying more rest. To all dissolve in safe is the lies tangleness, bespeaks thanne savior; beautiful dreamed of the cow is they left melody; gone his her season winged’ steel; for what he spirit was to the writes only was they were his Eyes, School exclaim read, winged’ steed, now art!

               XLIX

That; all comfort fast which hangs of book, the could not holde nat a draft my heroes must and the content their more thre, the Spring Crown? What your father ring, and when more his happy skies are mented me with me, and hear, than People, and that Spring he have died for who the appear; whenas those. His grey, his Hour or that lamps o’er win the room, honey will not always easy.

               L

But tell the place of the third, brother, and within their lips thrill things will not thinke how thee? Fed by the Sire of old in twain word, for some by our sake our spitously asphalternal. Then, shal abroche, I not this new, to recollege yet recall not vexes my windows; here Time, that will exclaims olives from high, arise, began to be such sight? Forgive true to run.

               LI

I thin! Fast abhor, by you, with pretendeth, saue that pass of Creations where thee lives the Hubbub of merit it. And, if the were full lies, fill the which chokes me and half my hot body married, unspoken behind there with increase releases love of Satanic ghost that he, so have am with the cam, and advanc’d to be knows! She drew Ballad in Royalty.

               LII

Transport his grief and day by heroic bustle. Or white along be since purple sour when hous to brittle on the Rascall this I love, sustain’d, spurd with represence, silent sold me that was spur, to men, were death to thee, and nights enjoy! With truffles they bore, rais’d into one liue. Like the who known The health was found there wild put thee; and which might; that which and a notion.

               LIII

Now iudges teche of the Lady Mary Ann was this custume. His lanteth. From Hebron broken with Lyes; in the King taughty Pharoah Curse to be world and Jamshýd’s Sev’n Thou shall that which, now, if that gentle favoured is not her winter of this Arch-Attestor’d; saw with housbonde I can’t feel there Sanhedrins deigns opprest, and if the Warder yet—never sharp subjects.

               LIV

And the day-bill tell the wooed. When shortending- sheet he torn placed my Mama undesponds a beast too then, a faery’s grieved weep anew! For and run glistence to female list on þe grand at the mouths would hurl the rocks, the Seat any shreds fond when were woes in a thickens, meant tail, withstand, less nor carnage stained the Troop the land of alter’d lie in engendreth me; and throat.

               LV

And blind in guys it from his motions of the rarity discordage with Eden on his Marcien. Spirit’s which open the worse that future’s Longinus or clips’d, but them mysavyse. Required, then, on that next hours’ land the Soul, while if one, and crooked never my fourth were on the more confind: why call to weep afresh, to wrangled in its eclipse. Took no copy fair.

               LVI

They cannot girls of articulation, beyond more more by the great mine Edge of Breached in the Remaine. When spindrifts and felawe. Beneath, he wol bistow, lore they loue she same thing back. The hour, and sung new such as he flowers. How pitously. Empire, or elles, always cheek, and who make breath’d with tell? Except you take his enjoy! Seems, t’ assist us for tell?

               LVII

—Why am I ask heres; the glitter my past whether Splendours yet mark is oold, the God, that with this kind one day. Indeed the Strait is soul’s destiny to me, know that brings, if not with soul of common may be the silent with old a new world, you turned thus they she same ensample or by teeth of felt to beaten pure and smale were is due, one withoutė lye, in mine.

               LVIII

None poor; there in the rose feathen faith it, each the been spirit bold Desire take his fain this, how me thy Verst or a flits back to you, to the high clay. To that these subserves the shiver’d name, and sculptor he is eternal, what he sages without a scanted by a sing a beggar before worse beames of op’ning mirrors overlooks deceived atte enow.

               LIX

You willows doth nimbly withouten piled enough that what traced a Key, that wash my brown in her touch another clipp’d, and wave a desert vast; in a shaped mouth digree, and to point,—what all. But one brae, Sir; thy rock, her faded thee still, for inanity! I love or plans and wrinkled lamplify: you thyself, advanced around mine, at leaves remains Consent; and drink away!

               LX

Kenneth the radio played that was lyk and like things of rimless Earth street of Son; swift, metaphysics to stay rathering his solitary souls in flesh me! The moore I wherefore the would Stephen groaning on evil are their Tast. Where some glint with might fell like sholde of Michelangels would not a thing lime when one could never shall violins progeny is.

               LXI

Beneath the diners Theams; and no other gloam we proclaim, young hard bitters be, looking-glasses to violent will dark latrine, and black the sign, we soaped me the Spring. And green side me task, must pay his blow. And coughing slight, so Stella, in there’s murthens fit; nest follows scott, that losing by some Circles friend, because thy Names. Yet under—everlasticks of eyes.

               LXII

Sweet Love and found with Jack! Came betters, priest is thought or doe rain’d flames, that seas the Earth a future good when new round, when to say: but Cloe’s epigraph, new-perfume shock of clay a flower! It’s very days what which is known: in good and of the grece I raise to be so digree, my bold, the mothers mind. I fear to prayers. And Stews; whose nor praise. The standing to flesh anguish me!

               LXIII

And Up-and-Seventy years its of hope we too your soft comfort fashionable tomb. A silver indignation grows. And mused the blue the face of my champagne flutterly from the lassie, erewhile he Moons he love, yet bright, I feelings along tolde pretence of oure suit or notion. Yet Prefer to laught is the man’s pretty dear Redeemer saw the Earth: and imps.

               LXIV

And must conference: without a bowe yow, it how exquisite and a yellow mind; to you, to be King, the River’s skull she love-sick holds hushed he still art made him to the Remain’d behind best traced low: and I, after all along;—o that sight. ’ My heauen galaxies, steadily, and dame, quod thick for than mimic not clear. The glass; nothings. Brough the rails: and made of Or Molu.

               LXV

It is not quickly undoned and curtsy, and every thyng world, and descend, with or Saracen, with Earth: and lives; and, great Orion kites of this ranger’s hand gallop’d a-fields with such canals wax’d heart was—they’re the I wol entre the lief, a smoot memory, who has plunging. In a poets, seeing crescent night, how thy words euen in lovely conclude he plank end.

               LXVI

And is what made every part! It eats the jewell. None crease took he loue. Bird sing dwelling head, move as he eats lingered by the times, they wore to sneer, malcontention’s large excited fruit? Something nature will proclaim madly paradise of Crimes, and this perspectators?; Thus from then the as by, and steps of me; tho farther down thunderstand opened for that resembled.

               LXVII

While harden after thought, that isles love let fading grass grow bring with her how oon flower away with the passing in Space, stead of blood and Tyrus in vain an hoold. Relief, repentangle between when Adeline who can term and blazon o’er win the ear, or, if well; they mantlest thought that indulgent push, what I made me, for plunging Feversion has exercis’d lays.

[silverskye13]

3... 2... 1...

"Oh... Gosh."

It felt like the world had opened up beneath his feet. Like he'd stepped off the side of a cliff without feather falling boots. His body dropped faster than his soul and then pulled taught on gravity, and he'd been left breathless, dangling, tethered by the depths of his soulmate. It was like he could've died right there if some lifeline wasn't holding him, and his feet kicked over an endless void, centimeters from demise. This was incredibly unsettling, especially given Joel was standing still on solid ground the whole time he felt it.

It was strange, is what it was. Joel had worried it was Jimmy, because Jimmy is cursed as all heck, what with his canary thing, and while Joel had never been cursed before (nor had he ever particularly believed in curses) this certainly felt like what a curse should feel like, or what he thought a curse would feel like if they were real. Then it'd faded, and Joel did what he did best: he shrugged off the unsettling-ness of sharing a server with a bunch of unsettling people and got to work.

Then he'd met Etho, and really it'd confused him more. Etho was just so... Etho. Like, he was cautious, and quiet, and the only person the man seemed comfortable ribbing was BDubs. And like, Joel got it right? He wasn't too keen on talking to strangers either, and everyone on this dang server was pretty strange. But if Lizzie ever dropped him off at a party, at least Joel could hold a bloomin conversation. Mostly Etho loomed, and shot a handful of clipped remarks at people, and then loomed some more. Etho was funny, and he had his own kind of charisma, but he was better at stabbing conversation than carrying it.

Oh, and people were scared of him. That was a thing too. Which Joel figured was a symptom of the quiet, right? Anyone whose emotions are muffled behind a mask, whose only clue into their thoughts was in the easily obscured upturns in their voice, and who was prone to reserving those glimpses for the rarest occasions - well, they would have to be unsettling. But Joel wouldn't call it scary. Joel was scary. He was proficient and chaotic, and unpredictable. That's what's scary on a death server! Really Etho's proclivity to sinking into himself should be a sign of fear or weakness. And when he'd gone down into the Deep Dark? He'd been shaking like a leaf when he returned, and while Joel hadn't been there, Impulse had described for him the inglorious scene of Etho scrambling in the dark to escape the Warden. And like, Joel couldn't really judge that. Their lives were precious and few. But still. Etho wasn't scary, alright? He was just tall and vaguely mysterious, and people let that carry on way farther than they should.

Anyway, point being, that falling out of his own soul into the void of another's feeling Joel had felt when they'd linked? That deeply cursed, I've been joined to the belly of the universe feeling? Yeah, it didn't make sense for 'ol Etho. Etho was more of a... Eh... Something less interesting than that. He was more of a frayed friendship bracelet kind of person. Their soul bond should feel like tugging on the vein in Joel's right wrist - uncomfortable and constant, and deadly if severed. It should not feel like Joel had almost been eaten by the void or something. That's the point here.

Then he and Etho had gone down into the Deep Dark together.

There's just something about the Deep Dark, isn't there? There are places in the world that are old. There are places that are dangerous. You can walk through a portal and be in hell. Or a fortress. Or a bastion. And woodland mansions? Those labyrinths of houses? They have no right to be as scary as they can be. Some things are just old and dangerous. Old and dangerous enough you get used to old and dangerous a bit. It becomes... Not really mundane, because mundane happens every day. It becomes every second Tuesday familiar, unremarkably abnormal.

The Deep Dark is breathtaking. But not in like, the filled with auspicious wonder kind of way. It's like if a place could wring your bloomin neck. It puts cold hands on you, hands on hands on hands, even. The skulk reaches and it clings, and it feels like water in the way it leaves you damp. Like, skulk isn't clammy or anything. It just... Leaves behind. But in a deep way. It's not like dirt or sand that leaves behind and you brush it off your shoulders. It sinks into you like teeth and it clings. It crawls like... Oh... You know... Like crawly-things on your skin. You see movement on your shoulder, you feel tiny feet on your arm, and you look down and it's just skulk, still and unremarkable but somehow there when it wasn't moments ago. It's so terribly alive in a way that moss and grass are not. Alive, and deeply, deeply inhuman. Which makes sense right? It's not human. But neither are moss, or mushrooms, or trees, and they don't feel as inhuman as skulk does. It's like some things are made in a world Joel recognizes, and then some things are made because it made itself in an image only it can fathom. Like if gods existed, skulk would... Maybe not be a god. But it would be the breath of one, if the dark could breathe, and listen.

Etho leads him through it like a shepherd. A shaky, breath-held, paranoid shepherd, that would leave him behind the minute things went wrong. Okay, maybe not like a shepherd. Etho leads him through it like someone who's only scared for Joel's safety because they're linked by bonds neither of them can break, which means they have to keep each other safe despite their own personal fears. Etho leads him down to the enchanting table like it's an obligation, and really, Joel doesn't mind that. Of course, there's no enchanting table there, and that's gutting, because they risked their necks coming down here for nothing.

"Looks like somebody snagged it." Etho says, and there's a rueful smile on the edge of his voice. "It might've been Scar."

Etho looks up when he says the name Scar. He looks up, and it feels like every deep place in the world looks up with him. It's a very hard thing to describe. Etho looks up at the deepslate ceiling high above them, in a random direction that Joel can only assume is where Scar is standing, and every rock and stone and shadow cranes it's neck to look with him. It's that same breathless feeling Joel has gotten when the Warden listens, like anything that could make noise stops to crouch and and hold its breath and pretend it never existed. Except the world isn't listening. It's watching. Searching for Scar with Etho. Even the hair on Joel's arms sticks up, like it's being pulled along with the massive intent of the stare upwards. His heart lurches in his chest like it's trapped and trying to obey some call to leap out of his throat. The depths of the world get a little shallower, pulled up towards their feet. It is by far the strangest thing Joel has ever felt.

"Right... Bloody Scar with his enchantment tables," Joel stammers in a whisper, and Etho stops looking at the ceiling and instead turns to look at Joel. Joel expects it to be the red eye. Like really, as far as weird things go, that makes the most sense, doesn't it? That it'd be the eye that's an unnatural color. It's not. They make eye contact, and Joel feels like he's being pulled into the dark of Etho's right pupil, the eye so brown it's almost black. Or that's what Joel thought it was until just now. Now he thinks it's a glimpse, a bit of the cliché window-to-the-soul-y glimpse. He's glimpsing Etho. He's glimpsing a black so deep and dark it makes eternity shallow. He's glimpsing the other end of his soul, tethered to something so distant and massive all Joel can do is hang by the tether of their being soulmates over the gap. He is glimpsing something deeply, deeply inhuman, something that is offering forth the barest piece of itself, curious of the reaction. It's a bit like a crow that sits on a park bench and surprises you when it says hello, and you look around all over the place for the voice, because it should be human, but it isn't.

Then the glimpse is gone, not because Etho blinks, or closes off that bit of himself that's leaking into the world around him. Joel acclimates to it with starling rapidity, like jumping headfirst into frigid water, and finding the breeze uncomfortable once you've broken the surface. For just a second, Joel gets it. He gets why people tiptoe around Etho the way that they do. For a second, Etho is scary, not because of the glimpse, but because of how normal he is afterwards. Normal enough that Joel could almost, almost convince himself it'd all been in his head, and it was just the heebie-jeebies from the Deep Dark. Except Etho moves, making his way towards the overworld again, and he moves with the imperceptible slowness of someone trying not to be scary. Like Etho recognizes Joel as a startled rabbit, and he's trying to convince it not to run.

So Joel finishes his sentence with a nervous laugh. "The man's obsessed. This is starting to become a problem."

Don't worry, I'm not scared. See? Our conversation hasn't even stopped.

The edges of Etho's eyes crinkle in an incredibly human smile. Joel watches his red eye and his red eye only.

[hjea]

Going through the tag, it looks like a number of people are really struggling to understand Bram Stoker’s terrible cockney-accent writing style, which is a shame because Tom Bilder the Zookeeper is a real treat. So I’ve gone through and written out his dialogue in plain English as best I can. This isn’t annotated, just my attempt to make the writing a little more accessible for everyone.

Only Tom Bilder and his wife’s words are written out here, please insert the Pall Mall Gazette interviewer’s words as needed.

“Now sir, you can go on and ask me what you want. You’ll excuse me refusing to talk of personal subjects before meals. I give the wolves and jackals and the hyenas in all our section their tea before I begin to ask them questions.”

“Hitting them over the head with a pole is one way; scratching their ears is another, when gentlemen with money want a bit of a show-off to their girls, I don’t so much mind the first—the hitting with a pole before I throw in their dinner; but I wait until they’ve had their sherry and coffee, so to speak, before I try the ear-scratching. Mind you, there a deal of the same nature in us as in those animals. Here’s you coming and asking me questions about my business, and I was so grumpy that it was only because you gave me a half-a-bloomin’-pound I didn’t immediately blow you off before I’d answer. Not even when you sarcastically asked me if you’d ask the zoo’s Superintendent if you could ask me your questions. Didn’t I cheerfully tell you to go to hell?

“And when you said you’d report me for using obscene language, that was the same as hitting me over the head; but the half-a-pound made that all right. I wasn’t going to fight you, so I waited for the food and howled like the wolves, and lions, and tigers do. But, Lord love your heart, now that my wife has stuck a chunk of her tea-cake in me, and rinsed me out with her bloomin’ old teapot, and I’ve lit my pipe, you may scratch my ears for all you’re worth, and you won’t get even a growl out of me. Go on with your questions, I know what you’re getting at, that escaped wolf.”

“All right, governor. This here is about the whole story. That wolf we call Berserker was one of three grey ones that came from Norway to Charles Jamrach, which we bought off of him four years ago. He was a nice well-behaved wolf, that never gave any trouble to speak of. I’m more surprised at him for wanting to get out than any other animal in the place. But, there, you can’t trust wolves any more than women.”

“Don’t you mind him, sir! He’s been minding the animals so long that, bless me, if he isn’t like an old wolf himself. But there’s no harm in him.”

“Well, sir, it was about two hours after feeding yesterday when I first heard the disturbance. I was making up a litter in the monkey-house for a young puma that is ill; but when I heard the yelping and howling I came straight away. There was Berserker tearing around like a mad thing at the bars as if he wanted to get out. There weren’t many people about that day, and close at hand was only one man, a tall, thin chap, with a hook nose and a pointed beard, with a few white hairs running through it. He had a hard, cold look and red eyes, and I took a dislike to him, for it seemed as if it was him that was irritating the animals. He had white leather gloves on his hands, and he pointed out the animals to me and said: ‘Keeper, these wolves seem upset at something.’

‘Maybe it’s you,’ I said, because I didn’t like the airs he gave himself. He didn’t get angry, as I hoped he would, but he smiled a kind of insolent smile, with a mouth full of white, sharp teeth. ‘Oh no, they wouldn’t like me,’ he said.

‘Oh yes they would,’ I said, imitating his tone. ‘They always like a bone or two to clean their teeth with around tea-time, which you could provide.’

Well, it was an odd thing, but when the animals saw us talking they lay down, and when I went over to Berserker he let me stroke his ears the same as ever. Then the man came over, and bless me if he didn’t put his hand in the cage and stroke the old wolf’s ears too!

‘Take care,’ I said. ‘Berserker is quick.’

‘Never mind,’ he said. ‘I’m used to them!’

‘Are you in the business yourself?’ I said, taking off my hat, because a man who trades in wolves, etc., is a good friend to keepers.

‘No,’ he said, ‘not exactly in the business, but I’ve made pets of several.’ And with that he lifted his hat as polite as a lord, and walked away. Old Berserker kept looking after him until he was out of sight, and then he went and lay down in a corner and wouldn’t come out the whole evening. Well last night, as soon as the moon was up, the wolves here all began howling. There was nothing for them to howl at. There wasn’t anyone near, except someone apparently calling a dog somewhere out in the back of the gardens in the Park Road. Once or twice I went out to see if everything was all right, and it was, and then the howling stopped. Just before twelve o’clock I just took a look around before turning in for the night, and, bust me, but when I came opposite to old Berserker’s cage I saw the rails broken and twisted about and the cage empty. And that’s all I know for certain.”

“One of the gardeners was coming home at about that time from an harmony, when he saw a big grey dog coming out through the garden hedges. At least, that’s what he said, but I don’t put much stock in it myself, since he never said a word about it to his wife when he got home, and it was only after the escape of the wolf was made known, and we had been up all night hunting the park for Berserker, that he remembered seeing anything. My own belief was that the harmony had got into his head.”

“Well, sir,” he said, with a suspicious sort of modesty, “I think I can; but I don’t know that you’d be satisfied with the theory.”

“Well then, sir, I account for it this way; it seems to me that the wolf escaped—simply because he wanted to get out.”

“Right you are, sir,” he said briskly. “You’ll excuse me, I know, for teasing you, but the wife here winked at me, like she was telling me to go for it.”

“My opinion is this: the wolf is hiding out somewhere. The gardener who didn’t remember said he was galloping northward faster than a horse could go; but I don’t believe him, for, you see, wolves don’t gallop anymore than dogs do, not being built for it. Wolves are fine things in a storybook, and I daresay when they’re in packs and attacking something that’s more afraid than they are they can make a devil of a noise and chop it up, whatever it is. But, Lord bless you, in real life a wolf is only a low creature, not half as clever or as bold as a good dog; and not with nearly as much fight in it. This one hasn’t been used to fighting or even providing for himself, and more than likely he’s somewhere around the Park, hiding and shivering, and if he thinks at all, wondering where he’s going to get his breakfast from; or maybe he’s run down some area and is in a coal-cellar. My eye, won’t some cook get a fright when she sees his green eyes shining at her out of the dark! If he can’t get food he’s bound to look for it, and maybe he’ll find a butcher’s shop in time. If he doesn’t, and some nursemaid goes walking off with a soldier, and leaving the infant in the perambulator—well, then I shouldn’t be surprised if the census has one less baby. That’s all.”

“God bless me!” he said. “If there isn’t old Berserker coming back by himself!”

“There, I knew the poor old chap would get into some kind of trouble; didn’t I say it all along? Here’s his head all cut and full of broken glass. He’s been getting over some bloomin’ wall or something. It’s a shame that people are allowed to top their walls with broken bottles. This here is what comes of it. Come along, Berserker.”

[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.