#okay thinking about this works to accumulate fear

[araraito]

I hope I see a terrible dream and wake up depressed - I successfully conditioned myself to function under depression

[farshootergotme]

I get emotional thinking about how his family would react to Bruce's change if he ever started working on himself, on improving his behavior. But the one I think about the most is Dick Grayson.

Alfred is the one who was there from the very beginning, but Dick Grayson is who arrived and made the biggest impact. He's the first kid who Bruce took in, the one who approached this man and became his first partner to fight by his side out in the night.

Dick was able to pull Bruce out of the darkness that consumed him. No matter how many times Bruce went back, Dick's presence was a constant reminder that there's not only shadows. That if Bruce pushes back, fights so he won't be dragged down, he will find light.

However, it was a cycle. Dick would get him out, but Bruce would go back, sooner or later. And repeat. And Dick realized this and knew he couldn't let that be his whole life. But despite the distance, it still affects Dick knowing he can't find a definite solution for Bruce.

So, seeing Bruce actually change, get better and seeing that last...it would lift the heaviest weight on Dick's shoulders, who's felt responsible for Bruce's emotions since the day he became Robin.

It's been implied to him that Bruce needs him, that he's who keeps him from falling. And Dick, despite not always feeling like he is enough, carries with that responsibility because, deep down, he also feels like he owes it to Bruce, who Dick has needed (still needs) present in his life, too.

Bruce getting better would be like being able to breath again, but it would be so suffocating too.

Dick would happy for Bruce, for the man who raised him. He'd be relieved that the hurt will stop, for both his father and those he's continuously pushed away. But then he'll be anxious, will it really last? How long until he can be sure? And he'll be scared, does he still need him, now? Does a Batman who's gotten help still need Dick Grayson Robin? Nightwing? And lurking in the back of his mind, there'd be anger. Why now? Why after all those years? Why not before? Was Dick not enough reason to change? Was he never worth this? And shame will drown those thoughts. It's selfish, to think that way. He should be happy. He wants to be happy. He is happy. But he is also mad. He's sad and he mourns the child who never saw this side of Bruce. And most of all, he loves. He loves Bruce too much to hate him for it. No matter how angry, no matter how hurt, he loves his father and he's grateful for him, for his efforts. And all he can do is smile and congratulate him because that's everything he feels he has the right to say.

And when all is said and done, Bruce will come to him and Dick will have to face the worst part of this change;

Apologies.

If Bruce has truly changed, then he would know there's more things than he can count with his fingers that he has to apologize to his son for. And out of everything else, this is what Dick Grayson fears the most.

Dick can take it, he can hear Bruce out, but he can't unpack all the pain he's been accumulating in front of his dad. He can't bring himself to say 'I forgive you' out loud despite having convinced himself long ago that it's alright.

Bruce doesn't didn't do apologies. Things happened and then went back to normal and Dick was okay with that. He forgave him, he did. So, Bruce doesn't need to apologize, he doesn't have to make him say it out loud. He can't tell him, but he's forgiven him long ago. Even if it hurt, even if he was still resentful sometimes, even if he wanted to yell at him for it, Dick could push it all down and forgive him. Bruce shouldn't apologize, shouldn't bring it up again because Dick isn't strong enough to keep it all bottled up if Bruce starts acknowledging it, if he confirms that Dick wasn't crazy for feeling wronged and hurt.

He can take it, but he really can't.

Just thinking about it drives me crazy because, out of everyone, Dick Grayson might be the kid who's been waiting for this the longest, and who thought he'd already given up the idea of his father finding a lasting happiness that would bring permanent change in him. And it would be just so overwhelming.

[spacemothsota]

Cassette player from Cassette?

You know, I love cassettes in Transformers. (I love them so much that if you woke me up in the middle of the night and asked me what cassettes Soundwave and Blaster had, I could probably list them all by name.)

Many people underestimate them because of their size and the fact that they transform into cassettes and they are often reduced to the "children's" equivalent, but listen.. Just listen. In my mind, cassettes are not children at all, no, not at all, to go through such a war and stay alive, you know guys, they are definitely adults. Maybe teenagers close to becoming adults or this stupid period when you are kind of an adult, but you still need a "More adult adult". Moreover, in the comics, Rumble and Frenzy were actually miners, so let's keep that in mind, okay? In short, cassettes are quite adult and independent, this will be useful to us in my subsequent words.

In general, it seems like the show and comics have never said how strong this connection is between the cassette host and the cassette. What kind of connection is this? How do cassette host and cassettes work? Like… I don't remember it being said directly, but obviously there is a connection. (Remember how Soundwave feels pain from Ravage's death, or from Rumble's injury? Obviously the connection is strong, but what kind of connection is it?) How do cassette players and tapes work? HOW?

How the fuck does this work???

Well I have a couple of ideas about it actually, it may seem unusual, but here are a couple of my ideas.

It's pretty obvious that it's similar to symbiosis, where one species helps another in some way. While symbiosis can be parasitic in nature, I'm guessing that for Cybertronians it's more like a mutually beneficial phenomenon. Usually, creatures of different species enter into symbiosis, be it clownfish and sea anemones, or butterflies that feed on animal tears (they need it to get sodium). I think that cassette player and cassettes are more closely related. Aside from the obvious symbiotic relationship, where the one offers the cassette safety, care, and a secure life in exchange for some services from other side (like recording information, spying/intelligence activities, etc.), it seems to me that this could have a deeper evolutionary mechanism, for example for survival purposes?

Ever wonder why there are literally only two Cassette Host in the show and comics? It's literally just Soundwave and Blaster (Soundblaster doesn't count, he's a clone. Sorry, fans of that guy). It's also not really clear what niche they occupied in the caste system the Functionalists founded, but it's probably not a very high one since Soundwave was found on the street by Ravage. I think the fear here might be precisely because bots like them are capable of this type of symbiotic relationship. They don't need mods for it, they are designed to share their space and path with trusted Cassettes. This connection itself must imply that you understand each other on some deeper level. Maybe like Gestalts, a common type of internal connection that other bots can't recognize? I think that makes sense. You're basically slightly in each other's heads. The Cassette Host not only takes on the responsibility of providing the cassette, but also of regulating this internal connection, both emotional and physical. In return, the cassettes provide an unlimited ability to store and accumulate data (I think this is connected to their altform, that is, Rumble and Frenzy can be quite smart, they just don’t need it. A striking detail in this regard would be Rewind and how he helped Tailgate reduce the bomb’s radius, but there’s a lot that can be said about him). Understand? This increases the likelihood that the Cassette player and the cassettes act as a single, well-coordinated organism, it’s no wonder that the functionalists were afraid of this. This symbiosis can resemble from the outside both a family unit and a business gang, where there is a boss and cronies. In any case, here’s another thought of mine, what if…

What if, under certain conditions, a cassette tape could become a cassette player?

I know this might sound weird, but just hear me out. You know, I often come across the idea that cassette hosts can create cassettes, and that's a possibility, because my idea is based on that. Could a spark of such a bot be predisposed to create smaller sparks to provide security and support for those cassettes that don't have the ability to become cassette players? Look, we have a cassette host, it can have its own cassettes that it created, or those that were reformatted into this altform and taken under its wing. If the host is hurt or killed, cassettes can remain destitute and forgotten until they die, but what if, due to the symbiotic relationship of these Cybertronians, they have some kind of evolutionary mechanism? What if one host has enough cassettes that it realizes that it strains the internal communication and does not allow time for each? Then one or two cassettes created by the bot and having a predominantly humanoid form and also access to comfort and resources, begin to gain mass of the protoform, form a cassette deck and so on. They become new cassette players, provided that they have always been in this altform and have not been reformatted, I think the second type of cassettes is not capable of this mechanism. Why is this an evolutionary mechanism? Well, because perhaps earlier these two types of Cybertronians really belonged to different groups, but in the process of millennia and millions of years they were simply close for so long that they turned into one group. You know what, in essence, cassettes would be like an axolotl from our world (like… Have you seen an axolotl? They are actually not an adult version of an ambystoma)

This mechanism would essentially explain why we know only two cassette hosts and so many cassettes. Probably, before the war there were a sufficient and diverse number of them, but during the war many could have died and Soundwave and Blaster essentially picked up the destitute, deprived of communication and scared cassettes. None of the cassettes had the necessary level of comfort, fuel and other factors that would contribute to the evolution into a new host, you understand? In essence, this means that Soundwave and Blaster were loaded with an additional level during the war (that's why they look tired, taking care of so many charges is tiring…)

I can just see how after the war, with the improvement in the quality of life, one of the cassettes finally decided that the conditions are good enough, but there are too few hosts… It's time to evolve into an adult version and become a cassette player.

I hope Soundwave can rest and this won't be another world.

[coichii]

FROM THE START - FELIX

pairing - bf!felix ♥︎ fem!reader

genre: fluff & flash back style. self-indulgent cus I don't like horror movies.

word count: 0.7k

warnings: slight cursing & actions used to reduce panic

A/N : hello !! welcome to part six of my fall series, “fall: records of love” where there will be 8 individual short stories for the members :) these stories are based off of songs I deem “fall” feeling ! this story is based off of “From the Start” by Laufey. enjoy !!

“I know I’ve loved you from the start”

“Do you remember when you confessed to me?” He asked you out of the blue. Suddenly, you felt heat rise to your cheeks as you’re reminded of the rather embarrassing day you had confessed to him.

“Do you have to torture me?” You groaned, pushing your head into the crook of his neck from where you were sitting on the couch.

He chuckled at this, rubbing your back in small, consoling circles. “I personally think it was adorable, my love.” Suddenly you’re blushing even harder, if that was even possible.

Your slew of whines that you let out after his remark tells him everything he needs to know, stopping his remembrance with a slight chuckle.

Felix’s mind goes back to the movie you two were watching, Coraline to be exact. But you can’t focus, your mind drifts off to when you confessed to him, a content smile spreading on your face.

◂—past—▸

“Don't worry, I’ll protect you from all the scary monsters.” Felix said cheekily, nudging you in the shoulder. You rolled your eyes at him, hitting him lightly in the arm as he chuckled. “There are no damn monsters in this Felix, we’re watching Scream. Besides I’m not even that scared anyways.” You lied; you were scared.

You two were currently about to watch a horror movie in theaters since Halloween was just around the corner. But there was something else. Ever since you were a little kid, you've hated horror movies. You didn’t get the thrill of being scared nearly shitless for “the thrill of it”. However, it’s Felix you're seeing it with. You didn’t want to possibly let him down by saying no. He was your best friend turned crush after all, you just had to do it.

So, when you find yourself settling into the seats of the theater with the feeling of your heart racing and cheap buttery popcorn, you knew you had only yourself to blame.

It’s only a while of anticipation before the movie officially starts, long, boring trailers and warnings finally out of the way. But to be honest, as the movie carries on, you're slightly wishing those trailers stayed just a tad longer.

It’s a bit into the story when the movie starts to really get to you. Jump scares and screaming making you flinch, which Felix took quick notice of. There's one particularly brutal scene that causes you to fling your hands over your ears, a habit you picked up over time as a form of comfort. “Are you sure you’re okay y/n? we can always leave you know.” he whispers, voice softer as to not disturb anyone else. You nod weakly. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just caught off guard a little.”

Felix saw right through you though, he always does. He didn’t want to push you though, so he just took your hand in his when you placed it back on the arm rest. Now your heart is beating for a different reason than fear, but affection. You’re sure the sweat your accumulating is from a different kind of fear than the type you were just experiencing now, face flushed red.

Bang! a sudden sound from the screen makes, startling you to the point of flinching. You subsequently jerk your hands out of Felix’s and back onto your ears as a desperate attempt of consoling yourself, but it doesn’t really work, and Felix notices.

“Thats it, were leaving.” He whispers, voice firm nonetheless. “Felix, I'm fine. I promise. Just a little scared.” You lied, and he read you like an open book.

“No, you’re not. You’re scared, and that's okay. I don't want you to watch something you’re uncomfortable with. We can find something else to do, and it doesn’t have to be this.” He whispered, earning a couple of annoyed glances his way but honestly, you couldn't care less.

You don't wait any longer, standing up and quickly scurrying out of the theater. The guilt wouldn’t go away though, you couldn't stop apologizing to him the entire rest of the hangout or the way home. Felix obviously said it was okay, that he didn't mind and things like this happen from time to time. He was making you feel a little better, but it wasn’t helping all that much.

“I'm still sorry Felix. I’ll make it up to you.” You say frowning as he pulled up to your house. “Y/n, I promise it's okay. I still had a lot of fun hanging out with you without the stupid movie.” He reassures, locking his doors so you can’t leave without hearing what he has to say. “Are you sure?”

He smiles, grabbing hold of your hand once again. “I promise.” The way he's looking at you, touching you, has you overfilled with love to the point you can control anything you’re saying. “I love you.”

◂—present—▸

“I will say, I’m still upset I didn't get to tell you first how in love I was with you.” He says, breaking the comfortable silence you two had as the movie continued to play.

“Hah! At least I could get one win out of that night. That night was so fucking embarrassing.”

“Really you think so?” You scoff. “I know so.”

“Hmm. I thought it was cute.” He smiles, rubbing your back again.

“How couldn’t you.”

“Hmm. I don’t know. I just love you too much to not find everything you do adorable.”

[pearsandrust]

this post contains my full analysis of moze!! if you'd prefer to read a (only slightly) shorter version, here's a summarized version :)

(I know my Jiaoqiu post was a little more structured, but I'm going back to my incoherent ramble format for Moze's analysis because I love him and I don't think I can ever do him justice. Strap in, because this is going to be really long. Like 1000+ words long. You've been warned.)

Moze's backstory is so good, and I'm so sad they don't touch on it in the main quests. It's a story about isolation and transformation and identity. It represents the existential, human fear that we can never stop our past from accumulating.

Moze is a very resilient person. As a child, he's "taken in" by the Disciples of Sanctus Medicus and forced to take medicine to convert him to a long-life species. He endures this, over and over again, despite the crushing pain it causes every time. Because he's scared.

Endure it. He will then no longer be the orphan abandoned by his village in the wilderness. Endure it. Then, every word he speaks will be answered, and he will no longer be alone. Endure it.

Moze's resilience is not born out of passion or stubbornness or morality. It's desperation masked as endurance. He fears being abandoned, being alone, and most of all, being ... nothing. We see for the first time in this quote that Moze sees being answered, being known, and simply being as synonymous. He thinks that the only way to gain a new identity is integrate into his new family (the Disciples of Sanctus Medicus).

The Disciples' medical treatments literally transform his body, which acts as a VERY clear metaphor for his desire to shed his past and become somebody new, somebody worth loving. And we see here how Moze deals with trauma: he convinces himself that if he can run away from the past and hold firmly onto the future, he'll be okay. But it doesn't work.

No one cares what he has to say, so he slowly grows accustomed to not talking.

Even when he endures the Disciples' treatment, they don't give him what he truly wants -- to be acknowledged. And yet, when Feixiao captures the disciples and rescues Moze, he's furious at her for murdering his "family". He says this about the Disciples:

"They saved me. They are the only reason I am alive."

When Moze holds onto something, he does so wholly and completely, because the alternative is being alone again. And he carries that same mentality into his time at the Xianzhou, when he frequently tries to assassinate Feixiao, who offers him a deal: as long as he agrees to a life on the Yaoqing, he can try to kill her whenever he wants.

This is because, to him, each successful mission is an opportunity... An opportunity for revenge. "For every successful mission, you will earn one strale. One strale will buy you forgiveness after each assassination attempt."

To me, this portion of Moze's backstory is the best example of his personal ideology. For his "family", he continues to hold onto this idea of revenge, even long after he realizes that the Disciples didn't actually care for him. Because he still can't be sure that his future on the Xianzhou is secure; because after all he's done, he's still only Feixiao's guard, still invisible, still without people to love. His role as an assassin and his ability to conceal himself exemplify this feeling of being unseen. It's a feeling he's known his entire life, and one he slips into easily. And to add to this, he's literally a shadow guard -- always standing behind someone else, always out of the light. The concept of "shadows" also ties back into his perception of identity: a shadow only exists when another object blocks a source of light, which represents how Moze feels that he can only exist when others perceive him. And so he continues to hold onto the people that have hurt him, which is represented beautifully by him clutching a strale in his E6 art (to the point where it cuts into his hand):

Oh god, the strale in his E6 art. Where do I even begin. At first glance, it's an obvious metaphor for his unfounded obsession with revenge. Similarly, it can be seen as a symbol of how he holds onto everything long after it begins to hurt him. But here's the weird thing:

Feixiao didn't have to make him pay a strale for each assassination.

In terms of combat skill, Moze is NOWHERE near Feixiao's level, and it's likely that he might never be. So it's not like Feixiao has to limit his assassination attempts by putting a monetary restriction on him -- after all, she pretty much has nothing to fear. In my opinion, she does this because she knows Moze's only comfort is the idea of exchange. Moze tries to exchange his life as an orphan for an identity as a Disciple of Sanctus Medicus. Moze tries to exchange his complex feelings towards his family with the simple motive of revenge. Again and again, he tries to to start over, to dissolve who he used to be and put a new identity in its place. Peace, to Moze, is cleansing the past and replacing it with the future.

In part (I think there are other things that tie into this, but I'm not going to get into them), I think this may be why Moze feels that keeping clean is so soothing. It's symbolic: by cleaning his hands of blood, or even by dusting off old shelves, he can clear out the memories of who he's been or what he's done.

The most obvious (and most terrifying) example of this is when he and Jiaoqiu encounter the Disciples of Sanctus Medicus in the field again. Moze's immediate reaction isn't fear or grief, it's:

The black-clad shadow guard appears in the light before them and stands solemnly. Silence can not conceal the murderous rage that once again wells up inside him.

Anger. Bloodlust. More than anything, Moze can't stand to see his past return, can't stand that the people who hurt him still exist. Because it shatters his worldview, a worldview built on vows and exchanges and promises, a worldview where he has a chance to be someone that was never lost or abandoned or scared. In the end, it all comes back to the idea that the Disciples instilled in him -- to be loved, he has to be transformed. And it's so ironic that even though he escapes the Disciples, he can never escape that ideal.

Moze gets better. He becomes more comfortable on the Yaoqing, and he carves a niche for himself. But still, he never achieves that goal of rewriting his own history. And I love that about him.

Punish evil and fight for good? That is never his motive.

In the sparkling eyes of the child in front of him, he can see himself clearly in his umbral clothes. He walks in the darkness and stands in the darkness. The crow-feather weirdo, the shadow guard… they are all parts of who he is.

Moze doesn't become a perfect, amicable, conventionally-lovable person. He doesn't do his job because it's morally correct, he does it for his own purposes. He remains in the darkness. Even the title of "Crow-Feathered Weirdo" adds to this; it implies that he's still socially isolated, that others still see him as a bad omen, that his presence is (usually) unwelcome. But he states that these identities, however unfavourable, are "all parts of who he is". And that in itself is a tremendous achievement. At the beginning of his story, Moze only defined himself by what he didn't want to be anymore: abandoned, alone, and afraid.

Of course, Moze doesn't gain what he originally sought; an identity through his bonds with others. The title of "Crow-Feathered Weirdo" is pretty much his and his alone. But even though he doesn't do it the way he expected to, Moze becomes someone. And that is so, so valuable.

But still -- does Moze find the family he once ? After Moze kills the Disciples that he and Jiaoqiu encounter, Jiaoqiu says this as he treats Moze's wounds:

"If it hurts, then say it out loud. What good does enduring your pain do? Just seeing you like this is agony for me." He nods. He has become accustomed to not speaking, but also to having people speak on his behalf.

At the beginning of this post, I mentioned that Moze equated being answered to being loved/known. In particular, he wanted others to answer him when he spoke, a privilege he was denied by the Disciples. And the thing is, he never really achieves that. Hoyoverse doesn't end the story with Moze and Jiaoqiu talking. Instead, Moze refuses to speak, and Jiaoqiu knows what he's thinking anyway. The point, then, is that Moze never truly overwrites the terrible things that have happened to him. The many years of conditioning that made him silent in the first place still follow him to this day.

The core theme of Moze's story is not that transformation begets love. It's that despite the weight of our pasts, we continue to seek and give and hold onto love. What Moze learns is that there is truly no prerequisite to being found, because Jiaoqiu and Feixiao undoubtedly love. Undoubtedly. I'll die on this hill.

Funnily enough, it's not the type of love that Moze expected at all. Jiaoqiu's statement that Moze's pain "is agony for [him]" directly contradicts what young Moze originally thought about family:

Who knew that one has to bear so much pain to finally find their family?

The parallels truly do converge at this point. Young Moze being fed medicine by the Disciples mirrors Jiaoqiu treating his wounds. In both cases, he chooses to endure the pain. The difference is that while the Disciples dismiss his suffering, Jiaoqiu understands it. He notices Moze's pain, and through treating it, asserts that one does not have to suffer to be loved.

Moze returns Jiaoqiu and Feixiao's love in his own way. We know that at the end of the 2.5 quest, he makes this pledge to Jiaoqiu:

An eye for an eye.

It may not seem like much, but because of how much Moze values exchange, it's the most meaningful thing he could've said. He makes a vow to Jiaoqiu, just like the vow he made to the Disciples and the deal he made with Feixiao. Equivalent exchange: an eye for an eye, a strale for a strale, one life for another. Moze will likely never let go of that ideal. But in this case, his application of it is unique. In every other scenario, Moze has accepted a promise/vow/deal from somebody else. But here, for the first time, he makes one of his own.

Moze is no longer alone.

P.S. When you add him to a team with Feixiao, he vows to fight alongside her until the very end. Truly the trio of all time.

[dj-wayback]

((ooc feel free to ignore if there's too much here or just cus. Couldn't make up my mind on what I wanted to send. My first ever ask so I'm not used to this (⁠•⁠ ⁠▽⁠ ⁠•⁠;⁠) ))

Sep strikes me as someone who might appreciate fidget toys. Or just having something to do with their hands (I'm partial to making origami myself). I'm sending over a package with a few small fidgets of varying types and materials (metal, plastic, etc.), a crochet kit, some yarn for finger knitting, a small booklet of tear-off origami paper, a couple hair ties, a puzzle, and a pair of those funny oblong magnets that make that odd sound. And a weighted plush of 33 because I don't think you've gotten many (any?) of those. Sep, I'd appreciate if you'd humor me and try a few of these out. Shouldn't get in the way of your productivity since I don't think you really need your hands for that (correct me if I'm wrong). Give it a shot if for nothing other than the sake of the scientific method (I'm testing a hypothesis here). Up to you though, of course.

This also made me think of fidget spinners, so I'll send a couple of those (one classic plastic, one light up) Wayback's way. And some of those foam capsule dinosaurs you put in water. Bet he'll love those :) .

Khm, hmm, that is, I do value the gesture. I am not one to refuse offerings. Especially ones of high quality such as these. I can tell this was a lot of thought and work, and…but…

I fear you are utterly mistaken in your impression of me. I do not need “something to do with my hands”, I don’t—I do not know why you would…this is not to undermine your efforts, of course, but I am quite unsatisfied with my chamber being used as a place to accumulate purposeless objects.

Because, truly, I do not know what expectations of my actions you had in mind when you sent these over. I do not “fidget”. I do not need “something to do with my hands”. These items add nothing to my productivity, they simply take up space and…I don’t have the time for this. Even if I did have time, I would not be utilizing it in such a senseless way. It’s really not…

A-and if you genuinely needed these tested for…the sake of science…you could have easily done that yourself, I apologize as that is inconsiderate, but it is the truth. Of course in every other circumstance I am always, always happy to provide help and do what’s required of me—this, however, is just…what you ask of me is…

…

Play with them!

I do not—(Needless Separation scoffs in disbelief, like that was an answer they weren’t completely anticipating)—“play”. Who do you take me for? A toddler?

heeeey, what’s the implication here, man? Playing’s fun! Playing with the things you got looks fun! There, logical conclusion just for you brother. PLUS they said it’s for their Hypothesis‼️‼️

I do n—

You Do Not Do Fun, right? Or something like that? You Have No Need For The Fun? You Do Not Require The Fun? did you know you speak like a cartoon villain

…

…….

Okay, fine, you don’t have to Play, but you got other stuff in there too, right? Like—oh! OH!

I—uhhhaha, yyyeah? i mean, what’s not to like, right? it’s also really fun and you get to make a pretty picture and feel smart about it, it’s like, very high on my tierlist of Activities. straight up A-tier

I simply did not take you for someone who…

…

Well, I would not use something as unsophisticated as “fun” to refer to it. I would call it intellectually stimulating, if anything.

oh, it’s intellectually stimulatingggg, okay whatever you say Mr. Serious (definitely not cartoon villain)

I—

i still think you should do it! i—well, i don’t know if you want to—probably not—but i could, y’know, help……or i couldn’t…..or i…………could………………………or i couldn’t. Or could I

…While, yes, this activity seems to at least serve as a solution to a problem of some kind and has a designated purpose, thus being made more appealing than all the…other ones, I am still, ah, busy. As you can see.

i can?

Yes.

Are…you busy?

…Yes. Was that—was that not obvious?

Oh, um…right.

…

So…

No, then.

…

…

…

I…will give your offer some consideration.

[pearlthedoll]

Hidden

A doll who serves, but is never seen.

Charlotte pulled her front door open with an exhausted yawn. It had been yet another long day at work and she was about ready to collapse into bed. The pay was nice at least, and the job itself wasn't too bad, but there was no doubt that the long hours had had an affect on her. She switched on the living room lights and glanced around the place. Much to her chagrin, her home was becoming visibly sloppy. A pile of discarded dishes had accumulated on the coffee table, the shelves had become noticeably dusty, and she couldn't remember the last time she vacuumed. She wanted to clean the place up, but she'd never been an early riser, and her job left her too tired to do much of her chores even during her off time.

It wasn't worth stressing out about it though, not right now at least. Charlotte was far too tired to bother with any housekeeping; what she needed to do was grab a snack then go to bed. And so, she did just that, trudging over to the pantry in a sleepy daze, switching on the overhead light to ponder her selection of food. That was when she noticed that the box of tea biscuits had been raided again. Charlotte breathed an aggravated sigh. She'd had this mouse problem for weeks now but had still not caught sight of any sign of the creature. Why did it only go for the tea biscuits anyway? Maybe the mouse had a particularly sweet tooth or something? Why had it never touched any of her other sweets then? Why was she pondering the eating habits of a mouse?!

Charlotte slammed the pantry doors shut. She was just stressing herself out looking at it. Maybe she could grab something out of the fridge instead. Yawning once more, Charlotte turned to head towards the fridge when she caught sight of something strange out of the corner of her eye. There, on her ding table, one of the teacups that had belonged to Charlotte's late mother sat alone, and next to that, a tea biscuit, bitten in half. Charlotte jumped back with surprise, thinking, just for a moment, that she might have been haunted by her mother's ghost.

But that made no sense. Ghosts weren't real, and they certainly didn't eat biscuits or drink tea, so that couldn't be it. Was somebody else living in her house without her knowing? No, that couldn't be it. The only things that ever went missing in the house was tea and biscuits along with the occasional cup or platter. Unless her unseen housemate was somehow subsisting entirely off of sugar and had the smallest appetite known to man, it couldn't be another person... but come to think of it, that did line up with something she knew. Charlotte had learned growing up that dolls of all things had famously tiny appetites and tended to stick with one or two mainstay food options when possible.

Okay, so it wasn't a mouse at least, but a stray doll really wasn't much better. Charlotte had come from a family with its fair share of witches, and that had proven a problem when it came to light that she had a case of severe pediophobia. Nobody was ever able to figure out why, but the sight of dolls always sent a chill up her spine and made her freeze up stalk still. Of course, Charlotte knew they meant well, she did not fear dolls necessarily, but she could not stand the sight of them. And now she had one living in her house, and somehow not seeing it made her feel even more nervous. The absolute last thing she wanted was to come home from work to see a doll lounging on her couch. She just might throw up at that point. No, she needed to get this doll out of here, preferably soon.

And so, for the rest of the week, Charlotte tried to do just that. Every day she'd come home with a new trap, lure, or repellent, each of which promised guaranteed results for dealing with stray dolls, and each of which proved ineffective. Whatever was living with her, it was good at staying out of sight. By the end of the week, dealing with the doll was practically all she thought about. Several times, she contemplated calling doll control services, but she could never bring herself to do it. She knew what happened in those facilities, and while she didn't want the doll living with her anymore, she didn't want the poor thing disassembled either. It had never been violent or troublesome to her, only stolen her sweets, it didn't deserve to have its core silenced.

Maybe, it occurred to her, she was being a bit selfish. She knew how hard life could be for stray dolls who lost or were abandoned by their wishes. There weren't many people willing to take a stray in, and fewer still who were suitable witches or owners. Really, this doll hadn't been disruptive in the least, compared to what it could be, and now she was setting up traps and attempting to scare it out of her house. The poor thing must've been so lonely and scared, and she was only antagonizing it. No, that wouldn't do.

There could be a better way to do this, there had to be. One day, Charlotte had an idea. She placed a brand new box of tea biscuits on the dining table before she went to work as a peace offering, placing with it a handwritten note. Charlotte told the doll of her phobia, and how desperately she did not want to see the doll around the house, but she also told that it was welcome to stay, so long as it didn't cause trouble. She wouldn't call doll control on it, she wouldn't set anymore traps. She'd provide a box of tea biscuits whenever the doll ran out, and she'd buy extra tea and stop attempting to hide either of them. She encouraged the doll to try and find a witch when it could, but explained that she understood the trouble.

When Charlotte got home at the end of the day, she noticed that the box had gone missing, but her note remained on the table. Charlotte went to grab the note and dispose of it when she noticed that in large, squiggly letters at the bottom of the page, a reply had been written. "OK." With a heavy sigh of relief, Charlotte couldn't help but smile a little. Maybe, she hoped, she could finally get some sleep without worrying about waking up to the sight of a doll.

The next morning, though, something curious happened. When she went downstairs to prepare for work, she noticed the mountain of bowls and cups on her coffee table had disappeared, and that in fact, all of the once dirty dishes now sat in a pristine state, lined up on the shelves exactly where they belonged. Charlotte looked around, finding no sign of the doll, but still decided she needed to express her gratitude somehow. So, when she brewed a fresh pot of tea for herself, she poured an extra cup and set it on the dining table, exactly where she'd put the biscuits the night before.

That evening, she found the cup empty, just as she had expected, but she also found that all of the shelves, once besieged by an army of dust bunnies, were now entirely spotless. "Oh, well, thank you!" Charlotte spoke into her house's empty halls, hoping the doll would hear her words, wherever it was.

Thus it was that things continued. Charlotte would leave in the morning, come back at night, and find that her chores for the day had always miraculously been finished for her. Occasionally, she'd stumble upon an empty box of tea biscuits sitting in the open, and she'd drive down to the supermarket to buy a fresh supply, always of the same brand. The house had once been lonely after Charlotte lost her mother, but now, no matter how long it had been since she had company home, there was always a hint of companionship in the air that lightened Charlotte's heart.

Sometimes, Charlotte and the doll would write notes to one another. Charlotte always ended up rambling in her letters, talking about work and her attempts at a love life, and thanking the doll again and again for its hard work. The doll's replies were always succinct. Simple responses summed up in three words or less, but eventually, they began to be accompanied by drawings. They weren't the highest art, in fact they resembled doodles by a child more than anything, but they still brought a smile to Charlotte's lips nonetheless. The majority of the drawings were of a woman that vaguely resembled Charlotte herself.

One day, out of curiosity, even despite her phobia, Charlotte asked the doll if it could draw itself, to which the doll politely declined. "I don't like being seen." The reply said, the single longest sentence Charlotte had ever received from her companion, clearly something the doll felt strongly about. So, Charlotte asked the doll its name, embarassed she had never learned over the two months they'd lived together. "I don't want one." The doll replied.

Over time, Charlotte began to feel quite attached to the doll, despite never seeing its face. There were days that she considered asking the doll to never leave, but she could never bring herself to do such a thing. A doll deserved a witch, not a silly woman who couldn't bear to so much as glance at a doll without feeling ill. Still, she appreciated the doll's help immensely, and exchanging letters with it was a delight, even if the Doll wasn't very talkative. It was nice.

It was only when that sank in did the day Charlotte had begun to dread came to pass. She came home one evening to a note on a table, a surprise considering she had not written that morning and the doll normally only offered replies. The note read in one single sentence. "I found my witch." Immediately, Charlotte began to cry. While of course she was happy for the doll, and she knew it deserved a happy home, but she still didn't feel like she was ready to say goodbye. She knew it was selfish, the doll deserved better than her, but truly, she couldn't quite help it. Though it had been a few short months, she'd grown accustomed to the doll's presence, and she knew that with it gone, the house would feel lonelier than it ever had before. But it would be okay. The doll would be happy, Charlotte knew that, and that made her happy in return.

One could imagine Charlotte's shock then, when she flipped the note over to be confronted by the sight of the witch the doll had chosen. There, drawn in uneven squiggly lines, was a shape that Charlotte had seen more than a dozen times over by now: herself, as drawn by the doll. Just like that, Charlotte had begun sobbing once again, this time with tears of joy. Never had she imagined that of all people, the doll would choose her to be its witch, but here it was, plain as day. Really, Charlotte still wasn't sure she had it in her, what it took to be a witch. She didn't know the first thing about doll care, and she'd never casted a spell in her life...

But really, the doll never asked for much. Besides tea and biscuits, its only requests were to be unseen, and to not be given a name. Maybe that's really all it wanted. Maybe that's what made it the most happy. It took a while but once Charlotte was through crying, she stood up from the table, and turned to sing through the house a joyful "thank you," hoping, nay, knowing that the doll—her doll—would hear her, wherever it was hiding.

[studentinpursuitofclouds]

Okay so i had this in my mind, so do you know about moominmamma from moominvalley, just to summarize her shortly, she's described as a calm and comforting caretaker, who has a odd way of doing housekeeping and seems to always be calm, always making the tastiest foods, always carrying around a handbag that seems to have everything, and also knows the slight changes in the moomin house after her hibernation, and also might have been hiding a criminal (Stinky) from the police.

Soo i have a fun idea of the farmer being exactly like moominmamma, they do an odd way on doing anything, giving off strong parental figure vibe, always know whenever someone move or took their stuff, even a little, and maybe even befriending monsters( i can imagine them simply hanging out with Apophis or even having tea with Gabrielle).

How would all of the RSV characters react to a Moominmamma! Listener?

Hell yeah, Moomin mentioned! :D

I really like that idea for Farmer ❤️ Thanks for your ask, dear anon, and enjoy!

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Trinnie and Keahi adore Farmer and will never miss a single opportunity to visit them on the farm. After all, the kind Farmer always treats them to something tasty (Keahi sometimes even thinks that Farmer is a little better cook than his father), always lets them pet the animals, and even ride a horse (not without a protective helmet and supervision from Farmer, of course), and also never refuses the energetic children in advice if they are worried about something. Admittedly, if Farmer gets Keahi and Trinnie up to mischief, it's not without a dose of light scolding (who uses a bomb for a prank?), but on the whole, Farmer is a favourite adult for the kids.

Maddie, Flor, Kiarra and Paula decided to make a little experiment at their leisure in Stardew Valley, and asked Philip to move some things in Farmer's house while Farmer themself was standing with the girls (Farmer allowed it). When he returned to his friends, however, all four girls waited to see what Farmer would say in reply. "Philip moved my coffee mug in the kitchen a little to the left of the sink." The shocked man nodded his head in confirmation. "HOW?!" "It's always like that. Anyway, who wants some berry pie?"

Aguar has an experiment of his own on Farmer as well... Only in this case, it will also involve the dangerous monsters that lurk in the depths of Ridge forest. Why are they aggressive to everyone but Farmer? What kind of aura do they exude that monsters obediently stand near them and willingly accept... cookies in their clawed paws??? He can use their power to his advantage. For the defence of Ridgeside Village, naturally (well, and other purposes...).

Farmer has practically replaced Yuuma's parents while they have to travel for work. The boy was at first uncomfortable with Farmer's care and didn't want to impose on the adult with his chores and thoughts, immersing himself in taking care of his older brother. But it was Farmer's help, kindness and care that allowed Yuuma not only to have free time to be a child, but also to vent his accumulated emotions to someone, about his fears and worries for his brother and how much he missed his mom and dad.

No, Jio doesn't need anything from Farmer. And no, he doesn't need woollen socks, it's not cold in the woods- no, he doesn't need it in any way at all. Elf doesn't need a warm hat either. Why is Farmer chasing him like a protective mama hen? He's an assassin, this is ridiculous- No! For the last time, Jio doesn't need this- !!! Okay, he'll take the plum pudding, it looks delicious. Thanks. And go away.

The kindness and parental care from Farmer is just a breath of fresh air for the Amethyne family, whose members sacrifice almost everything for the legacy of their family name. Louie clung to Farmer like a magnet, wanting to spend more time with them. He even stopped calling them a servant and started working on his behaviour thanks to their advice and help. The advice was especially accepted by Ariah, who was already freaking out due to a nearly failed exam and a lot of pressure. The faithful servants Irene and Sonny themselves were not left out of Farmer's attention, they were even a little unaccustomed to it - usually they take care of family and guests, but here it was somehow the opposite. Zayne is a little shy, but very grateful to Farmer for everything and for always listening to him and helping him in difficult decisions. Maive is just happy with Farmer and appreciates them for everything they have done for her family, sometimes being surprised that Farmer sees only good in her too, even though the head of the Amethyne family herself knows that she can be strict and even unpleasant.

While the grumpy elf is trying his best to hide from Farmer, Daia is taking full advantage of this. Who could say no to a delicious cranberry cheesecake, especially since Farmer makes it just perfect! The ninja has never known family and parental care, having been raised from an early age with only one job - to kill anyone her Lady points her finger at, so Daia doesn't mind feeling cared for, if only for a little while. Though she admits it's a little strange.

"Farmer, we need to have a serious talk." Belinda doesn't even know anymore whether to be angry at the careless Farmer who approached Gabriella's closest minions unarmed, with intentions of "settling the conflict," or surprised at the minions agreeing to peace and having a tea party??? with Farmer. Can damned monsters even drink anything? It's as if Farmer has some sort of aura that makes all evil spirits calm down. At her mute request for help in this strange situation towards Raeriyala, the fox spirit only laughed softly at what was happening. Her deceased friend had been such a caring mother, and it was rather amusing to see Farmer adopt those traits of their grandmother. Maybe it's a hint that the damned souls can still be saved, since they're treating Farmer peacefully at least.

Olga has become resistant to Farmer because they are spoiling her husband Bert (who really doesn't mind a tasty sweets from Farmer) and daughter Trinnie with their maternal care. She is grateful to Farmer for their recipes for culinary masterpieces, sweaters and, though a little strange, very useful advice about the house, but Olga repeats time after time that these two need a stern hand.

Lenny sat on the picnic table with the rest of the adult residents of Ridgeside Village and was dying laughing when she saw Farmer, with arms full of sweaters, almost running after anyone they thought was not dressed appropriately for the cold weather. "Ay, ay, ay, are you jealous because you don't have a sweater either?" slyly quipped Carmen, who however was also amused by the scene. Especially since her daughter Blair was perpetually dressed lightly and had a good chance of catching a cold (despite her mother's scolding), so Farmer, who had persuaded her to wear sweater they had tied, was her salvation. Shanice, Naomi, and Malaya giggled quietly at what was happening while Richard with Pika and Lorenzo explained to a confused Kimpoi that Farmer had always been like this. Even though they all laugh, everyone knows that Farmer is the kindest soul, best friend and just a blessing from Yoba.

On the one hand, Faye is a bit annoyed by Farmer's care and advice, because she can take care of herself, you know (ugh, they are like her parents!). But later the waitress realises that they do it out of kindness, not because they think she is incapable of independent life. Plus she can't turn down Farmer's food (their cauliflower with cheese is delicious!).

"Aw yeah, free lunch!" Ian gave Sean a stern look after his not too polite comment when Farmer's stopped by their workplace with a hot meal for the boys. But the ginger man himself couldn't agree more with his friend: Farmer cooks so gloriously that it's impossible to refuse. They have become a frequent visitor (not even a customer anymore), just to make sure that both Ian and Sean don't forget to eat after their hard work. Ian is especially grateful, as he can save more money for his family.

Anton has already come to terms with his failures in life, believing that the only thing he has left to wish for is to numb the pain with cider and sleep. However, Farmer appeared in Anton's life and became a friend, a counsellor and a shoulder to cry on. And they always have plenty of tissues in their handbag after crying.

After the whole damn thing with that Jio and "Gabriela's followers", Corine is surprised at how calm Farmer acted at the sight of danger. Wait, don't tell her that Farmer didn't take up arms just because they want to be friends with these... creatures and live in peace like in fairytale. With all due respect to her good friend, Corine doesn't think just words will solve anything here... whatever that was.

Alissa and Ysabelle are going to be a little confused. It's not that Farmer's attention and care makes them uncomfortable, not at all. It's just... They're not little kids anymore, and they can take care of themselves. Alissa is a bit shy to say it directly, so as not to hurt Farmer's feelings, while Ysabelle said in plain text that if she needs help, advice or warm socks, she will ask directly. Luckily, Frmer understood both girls perfectly and is in no way offended.

Shiro was so happy when before his eyes Farmer cared for and helped Yuuma, allowing the boy to enjoy at least some free time like a child should. Even chuckled a little when his younger brother was a little shy of care from Farmer. Laughing until Farmer's attention turned to Shiro himself. He was a little shy too, but was grateful for the help and care, occasionally reminding him that he could take care of himself too. Heh, why does he need so many woollen socks?

"Don't you think I'm too old for all this?" Kenneth, June and Jeric in no way meant to insult the Farmer or their gift of a knitted jumper. It's only that such overprotection causes them a little confusion and misunderstanding. All those sweaters and- oh, ok, that cheesecake looks delicious. They'll accept that. Thanks Farmer.

For Lola and Freddie Farmer is the kindest, most polite and calm youth they have ever met. All their deeds, all their concern for the other residents of this town has not escaped the eyes of the retired assassins. And of course, two elderly men will not refuse the knitted socks that Farmer has put their care and love into (especially they are woolen - just the thing against the cold wooden floor in their house!). Lola is a little worried, though, because of Farmer's desire to solve all matters only in peace and even be friends with monsters. She's afraid lest Farmer's get in trouble because of it.

[alphabetbill]

Macabre [ HEMLOCK GROVE ] - Chapter 10

~ description ~

A werewolf whose only skill is running from his fears and a half-upir with no idea of the true darkness lying inside of him, supernaturally bound to each other after the mysterious death of a girl they both knew, and the grim visions that haunt them.

Some secrets in Hemlock Grove should have just stayed buried. In a town that isn't so sleepy after all, monsters of all kinds are wide awake under the surface, crawling their way up.

~ warnings~

This story will contain mature and heavy themes that may involve potentially explicit content, gore and murder, talk of kidnapping and stalking victims, animal death, supernatural/paranormal/religious themes and trauma, any other themes not covered in the general description will probably be tagged here at the start of the chapters that other significant warnings apply to.

A list will be linked here upon completion and upload of each chapter:

Cicada and the Snake

Chapter 1 . Chapter 2 . Chapter 3 . Chapter 4 . Chapter 5. Chapter 6 . Chapter 7 . Chapter 8 . Chapter 9 . Chapter 10 . Chapter 11 .

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c h a p t e r   t e n .

Peter Rumancek

<<>>

"YOU WANNA KNOW WHAT I THINK?" Roman Godfrey asked, because no one actually had.

"Not really," Peter replied.

He was stretched out on the couch with a joint dangling from his fingers, and at the current time, he possessed no interest in anything the half-upir had to ramble on about this time.

The rich boy paced back and forth across Peter's living room, covering the distance in a span of about four steps, which for Roman equated to the average stride of a giraffe.

"I think your cousin is a liar," he said. "Either all this ritual bullshit is fake, or she's not telling us on purpose."

He took a drag from the joint as Peter gave it back to him, shivering fingers concealed by designer winter gloves.

"Visions don't just appear on command, fuckwit. Even rituals don't work every time," Peter replied. "Besides, have you even considered the thought that maybe Jude's the one not telling us anything?"

"What?" Roman stopped his pacing, as though the audacity of the werewolf's suggestion had offended him on a profound level.

"That's bullshit. She'd tell me if she— she'd tell us if she saw something important."

"Would she though? Because I don't know what you've been seeing, but I've seen the way she stares off into space. I've seen the way her eyes go blank, like she's not really here, like she's somewhere else. When she wakes up screaming in the middle of the night and still insists everything is fine."

"Maybe she doesn't remember what she sees," Roman insisted.

Several weeks had passed since Jude and Destiny had tried to make contact with her spiritual memories, and since then, nothing had come of it. Of course, Peter wasn't stupid, and like the fresh snow accumulating outside, his doubts had begun to settle in too. Someone had seen something, one of them knew something, and whatever it was, there was a reason they didn't want him and Roman knowing. A reason he could only choose to respect for now.

"I'm gonna go check on her," Roman announced, as if he had been stressing in silence over whether or not he should, ultimately losing the battle. He took off down the hallway and rapped his knuckles thrice against the door to the spare room.

Peter couldn't shake the light smirk on his face. His concern for her was sweet in the most ridiculous, tragic way. Oh what the world had come to— in which his childhood best friend was Roman Godfrey's only soft spot, the only thing that shifted the attention away from himself for a while.

Peter tried to think of a world in which the two of them would be okay, but as it had many times before, the possibility escaped him.

It became clear after a while that the gypsy should find something else to occupy himself with, and so with his mother's grocery list in hand, he headed outside. The December morning air was cold and crisp, cutting cleanly through his coat like a knife. The boy climbed the wooden stairs leading up to the roadside, nearly slipping on several of the frosted steps.

Once in town he was on his way to the grocery store, rounding the corner near the ice cream shop, he spotted her.

Letha Godfrey. She was leaning against the brick wall, her gold-spun hair tucked under the fluffy hood of her woollen jacket, but the locks framing her face caught the sunlight at just the right angle.

The two of them had gotten to know each other more ever since he'd moved here, often opting to sit together in the classes they shared. Maybe it was just that she looked like an angel, or maybe it was just the allure of her being Roman's cousin, but he often found himself in quiet awe of her.

She was eating an ice cream cone, her glossy lips curling in a friendly smile as she caught sight of him.

"Oh hey Peter," she said, her voice light, teasing. "You know, all this time I thought you must be a hermit. I've never seen you out around town at all."

Peter grinned, eyes softening.

"And all this time I thought you were one of the only sane members of the Godfrey family, until I came across you eating ice cream in the middle of winter"

His gaze lingered on her a little longer than intended.

Letha laughed, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as her cheeks flushed pink—not from the cold.

"It's ice cream, good to eat in any weather", she defended, despite her violent shivering. "Besides, I like to suffer for my pleasures."

There was a beat of quiet between them—comfortable, curious. He watched a flake of snow catch in her hair and melt without her noticing.

A quiet hum of energy existed between the pair, something unspoken, but familiar. A pleasant warmth that caressed his soul– providing a nice change from the stress of everything that was happening.

"You want to grab coffee or something?" he asked, the words slipping out before he could stop them. Groceries could wait. Letha didn't answer immediately– instead, she wiped her hand on her jeans and pushed off from the wall.

"Sure," she said, falling into step with him.

The smile on her face made the air feel warmer than it was.

They ducked into the cafe on the corner of the main street, the wood fireplace inside generating a comfortable heat. The place was small and cozy and smelled of cinnamon.

Letha ordered something sweet and absurdly complicated. Peter just asked for plain black coffee.

They slid into a booth near the window, stained glass fogged up. For a moment, neither of them said much. It wasn't the kind of silence that felt strained or forced, not the kind of silence that made things awkward.

He noticed the Godfrey girl observing him, and he didn't know why, but Peter felt a small, pleasant shiver go down the back of his neck.

"So. You and Roman," Letha started, stirring her drink lazily, "you two have gotten close."

Peter shrugged, blowing into his cup to cool down the beverage. "He's alright, when he's not being a pain in the ass."

She smiled at that, eyes glinting with some fondness. "He's always been a pain in the ass. But he means well, sometimes. He could really use a friend like you after everything he's been through."

There it was. The glimmer of sympathy in those pretty blue eyes.

"He um. He told me that you knew Judith too. When you were kids."

"Oh. Yeah. My family and hers were close before she and her dad moved here. We were kids the last time we saw each other."

"It can't have been easy, coming back like this. How are you dealing with it all?"

"It hasn't been too bad. I know Roman's been pretty shaken by it, he knew her for longer. He really liked her, didn't he?" Peter asked.

Letha's smile faltered for a moment—just for a flicker—before she took a sip of her drink.

"Yeah," she said softly. "I think he did."

She toyed with the edge of her napkin, gaze dropping briefly before meeting his again. "Roman doesn't open up easily, so when he finds someone he trusts, it's hard for him to let go."

Peter nodded. He watched the way the steam from her drink curled toward her face like it wanted to kiss her.

"He's been on edge lately. I don't know, he just thinks there's something's off with everything that happened."

Letha arched a brow. "Do you think something's off?"

Peter hesitated, the weight of all the things he couldn't say pressing into the space between them. "I think this town has a way of keeping secrets. I think there's no way something isn't off."

"That," she said, giving a quiet laugh, "might be the most accurate thing anyone's ever said about this place."

They lapsed into silence again, but this one was heavier, thoughtful. Outside, snow began to drift harder against the glass, muffling the world. Peter studied her a moment longer, her smile, the way her hair fell like light over her shoulders.

She looked soft.

Safe.

Peter dreamed that night.

He was standing naked in the middle of a lake, murky black water rising to his knees.

The cold slashed right to his bones, leaving him a shivering mess in the middle of the water as he tried to make sense of his surroundings.

A wall of trees lined the shore like monoliths, ancient and always, their branches clawing at a starless sky, trapping him in this endless place. Fog unfurled over the surface of the lake, like a living thing with a pulse.

A full moon swelled in the sky, the only source of light. Where he may have expected to hear the croak of a frog or the buzzing of mosquitoes, the wolf heard only silence, and the faint, distant scamper of his own heartbeat.

Sloshing through reeds and rotting fish that had died and begun to float, Peter caught sight of something on the shore which made him pause.

She was a figure of light, draped in milk white silk, her smooth pale skin stained with inky water and mud. Her back was facing him, golden hair spilling in perfect curls like a halo. He knew it without needing to see her face. 

Knew it was Letha Godfrey.

He knew it was her—not from the clothes or the hair, but from the feeling in his chest.

Relief bloomed in his ribs for a single, perfect second.

Then it curdled.

Something sour rose in his throat, leaving a bitter, almost bloody taste in his mouth. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t call out. The air around him thickened into something unbreathable, like thick smoke without fire. Every instinct screamed at him to run, to wake up, to do anything—but all he could do was stand there, locked in place, dread pooling in his gut. The longer he looked, the more wrong it felt. Her stillness wasn’t calm—it was eerie. It was final. 

As she walked further into the trees, disappearing in the dark, Peter could not submit to his temptation to follow her even if he wanted to, for the lake held him still, powerless.

In the dark between the trees, in a place he could not see, her scream rang out.

Peter shot up from his bed, sweat pooling in the sheets. Dragging a hand through his hair, he tried to steady himself, lungs heaving. For a long time he just sat there— frozen, heart slamming against his ribs. It wanted out.

The echo of Letha's cry never left him, not even after lurching out of bed and violently washing his face in the bathroom sink. Stop it. Stop it. Stop screaming.

When he looked up, he met his own blue gaze with a certain understanding.

He needed Jude to talk. Talk about what she had seen. Because if she didn't then they would never come close to avenging her. Never come close to finding out who was doing this. More would be next. More girls would die. 

Letha Godfrey would die.

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Me when my diabolic plans for chapter 11 involve Christmas 👀

[moonlightisdancing]

The Gallery/ s.f.k

Pairing: Sam Kiszka x Female Reader

Word Count: 3650

Warnings: NSFW 18+ MINORS DNI light arguing, mentions break-up, emotional and physical intimacy, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected sex (wrap before you tap!)

PLEASE TELL ME IF I MISSED ANYTHING!!!!

playlist of songs inspiring this (x)

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p.s. im sorry for the lack of “black swan” feeling like i lost the plot a little:(

There’s two types of goodbyes. One where you know they’ll come home after a long day and tell you all about it over dinner, and one where you don’t know if or when you’ll see them again. Two weeks ago you fell victim to the second goodbye, except you were lucky enough to know the next time you’d see the “former” love of your life. You still had to pick up some of your belongings from the space you both used to occupy. Although you both claim it was a mutual breakup, it feels very one sided on your end. You couldn’t handle the lack of physical touch while Sam was away for work. He’d been on the road for some time with his brothers doing small gigs across the country while working on some new music. More so, you couldn’t handle the lack of communication while he was gone. You’d worked all day and he worked well into the night, leaving little to no time for the shortest of phone calls. With the band just starting to take off, you couldn’t afford not to work. After a while you found yourself pushing Sam away for reasons unbeknownst to you. Were you trying to be content in the lack of contact? Or were you trying to make the inevitable decision easier? You didn’t know but god did you fucking hate it. All you did know is that you would have given anything in this world to be with Sam while he was away. From the moment he stumbled into your life you were confident he’d be the only one you could entirely and unconditionally love, him being the only one to love you the same. His love was otherworldly, always loving big and often, always loving every aspect of you. If it weren’t for the complex work lives of both, you’d easily spend the rest of your days sharing every intimate detail of your lives together. The fear of holding him back was the only thing to make you pull away.

The pit in your stomach only grows deeper as your feet find their way up the driveway to the door of a home you once called your own. You knock on the door and wait anxiously for Sam to answer. You hear footsteps padding through the hall before hearing the door unlock, watching as it slowly creeps open with Sam’s tall figure peering behind.

“Hey, come in.” He spoke timidly with his voice hoarse from crying, the evidence of emotions solidified by his dark and swollen eyes.

The house was still organized with the exception of a few boxes filled with your belongings strewn about the living room. Sam has always been a very clean and organized person, you were just glad to see he’d been doing okay enough not to allow that aspect of his personality falter.

“I think that’s the rest of it.” He points his finger across several boxes resting in different parts of the room.

“I really appreciate you finishing the packing, thank you.” You walk towards the box next to the coffee table.

You notice on the coffee table still resides a framed picture of your first winter together when Sam had taken you to a Christmas store in Frankenmuth. An aching feeling moves into your chest as you try your best to hold back tears. You ultimately fail when you look around to see he still hasn’t taken down any of the pictures accumulated over the years.

“Sammy, did you want me to take these down for you?” You timidly ask pointing to the photos.

“Nah, I was gonna take them down when I was ready, I guess. The room’s just gonna look really empty without them.” He walks over and lays the picture frame face down on the coffee table before grabbing some boxes.

He helps you bring them outside and load them into your car, you follow him inside to grab what’s left. You pick up the last box, trying to fight the unfamiliar feeling boiling inside. A feeling of emptiness, sadness and guilt washes over you.

“Again, I really appreciate you finishing the packing, this week has been hell.”

“Tell me about it,” He takes the box from your hands and places it on the old piano bench. “Can we talk before you go?” Sam was starting to get teary eyed.

“Of course we can.” You reassure him.

“I’m so sorry I couldn’t be there for you when you needed me. I always would have done anything you asked me, even if it meant getting hurt in the end. All I ever wanted was for you to be happy, and I wish I did a better job at that.” He places his hand on your cheek and kisses you on the forehead. “If you ever change your mind, I’ll always be right here, waiting for you.”

He pulls away but you’re quick to reconnect the point of contact, not wanting him to leave. You still love him but you know this is for the best. You wrap your arms around his torso as he hugs you back, resting his chin on your head.

“Sammy, it’s not your fault. None of it. I should have said something sooner instead of pushing you away. I still have so much love for you, and I hope we can still be friends. Maybe even more again? Once we figure ourselves out?” You let the tears roll down your cheeks, soaking the front of his shirt.

You peel yourself away from him, catching a familiar look in his eyes, one of sadness. In your three years together you’d only seen him like this not even a handful of times, and never by the grace of your own actions. Being in his arms made everything for the first time in two weeks feel so right, but you knew it shouldn’t have. Unsure if anything would ever feel right again, you place your hands on Sam’s cheeks, rubbing a thumb over his bottom lip before kissing him one last time. You’re not sure what overcame you, quickly pulling away to apologize.

“I’m sorry, I don’t- I shouldn’t have done that.” You go to move your hands away from his face, but he gently grabs your wrists to keep them there. “Sam I should-”

He cuts you off to pull you in, connecting your lips to his once more, deepening the kiss. Your hands find their way tangled in his hair as he rests his hands on your hips. Sam slowly drags his hands up the side, dipping his fingers under your dress, feeling you however he can before you’re gone for good. You place your hands on his wrists and slide them out from under your dress, placing them between the two of you with a squeeze.

“Sam, we shouldn’t do this…” You look into his eyes, a place you once found solidarity now filled with nothing but hopelessness.

“Fuck, Y/N, stop doing this to me. You do one thing and say the other. Just tell me, what do you want?” He brings his hands to his face. “Please, just tell me?” He’s begging for an answer.

“It’s just going to hurt you more and I’m tired, Sam. I’m tired of hurting you.” Admitting it was enough to make tears swell in your eyes.

“No! No, not knowing the last time I held you in my arms and told you I loved you was the last time is what hurts. You don’t get to decide what’s going to hurt me!” The tears that threatened his lashline now start to spill over, running down his reddened cheeks. “I’m just supposed to continue through my days knowing you’re not here anymore? Knowing I will never come home to the love of my life again?”

“Sam… don’t do this, don’t say that…” You reach your hand up to wipe the tears from his cheek. If he asked, you’d bleed yourself goddamn dry to give him everything, you just can’t stand the thought of hurting him again.

“Please, Y/N? Just one more time where I’ll at least know it’s the last? I miss you.” He leans into your touch, nervously playing with the hem of his shirt between his thumb and index. “Even if you just spend the night next to me, if nothing else?”

You missed him too, having gotten hardly any sleep the past two weeks on a twin-sized mattress in your parent’s anything but heated basement, the harsh cold of a spot next to you that had been filled by Sam for the better half of some odd years.

“We can do that.” You defeatedly sigh walking towards the bedroom, your inability to deny his natural pull was a spell you knew you’d always be under.

Two weeks ago this would feel like any ordinary night. Coming home from work and hopping into the shower before bed, maybe even a nice bath. Every day for 3 years you did the same routine, and most times you were lucky enough to have Sam throw it off balance, to which he simply became part of the routine as opposed to a distraction. You cherished every moment you had with him because no matter how short or stressful it was, the good always outweighed the bad. Sam shuffles through the drawers and pulls out a pair of shorts and a shirt for you to wear. As your feet make their way into the room you see the bed is still made the way you’d fixed it when you left.

“Have you been making the bed?” You ask hesitantly, knowing he never made the bed because he liked how you fluffed the pillows better.

“No, I just haven’t been sleeping in it. Well, or at all really.” He shrugs as he hands you the clothes before pulling the covers back.

“What? Why not?” You go to walk towards the bathroom to get changed.

“Because it still smells like that perfume I like and I didn’t want it to go away.” He slips under the covers and lays facing the ceiling. “You can get dressed in here, I’ll turn around.”

You look at him with a frown on your face. “You don’t have to do that. Besides, I need help with the zipper on this dress.”

Sam sits up at the edge of the bed and you walk up in front of him. He takes a second to run his hands down your frame before he screws his eyes shut and rests his forehead against your sternum. You find yourself getting lost in his addictive presence, snapping back to reality as you hear him sniffle. You watch as he swipes tears from his eyes with his index and middle finger.

“Hey, you okay?” You place two fingers under his chin, pushing his face up to look at you.

“Far from it, I miss my girl, need my girl.”

“Need?” You ask, placing your hand on the space against his neck and collarbone, your thumb resting on his face.

Need. The thought of him needing you as opposed to wanting you breaks your heart more-so than it already is. The nail in the coffin of your unrecoverable heartbreak.

“I just need you one more time, before it’s really over?” His grip on your waist tightens but is still gentle.

“Sammy…”

“Nevermind it was stupid to ask again, I’m sorry.”

“No, not stupid. I need you, too.” You hesitate as the words leave your mouth, fingers twirling the ends of his hair. “I just can’t hurt you again, Sam. I won’t.”

“Missing you is what hurts me and I’ve done that every day since you left. This…” He pauses to point back and forth between the both of you, “isn’t gonna hurt me. It’s closure.” He pulls you closer to him, your legs naturally parting around his own as you fall into his lap. “Hi, beautiful.”

“Hi, Sammy.” You felt heat rise to your cheeks.

“Cute, I still make you blush?” He runs his hands up your thighs until they meet at the small of your back.

“Shut up and kiss me.” You place your hands gently on the sides of his face, the two of you staring into each other's eyes as you rub your thumbs over his damp skin.

Only in this moment does the weight of your fucked up reality finally relieve itself from your shoulders. Nothing else matters completely dissolving around you as your lips meet his, perfectly fitting like a key to its matching lock. He brings one hand from your back up between the two of you, placing your chin between his index and thumb. You place a hand to the back of his neck, pushing him closer to you. The kiss grows in lust and fervor as Sam slowly introduces his tongue into your mouth. You lean into him until he falls back onto the bed, never allowing your lips to come apart from one another.

“Excited?” He asks between giggles, allowing you to feel him smile against your lips.

“You always get me excited.” You whisper.

“Is that so? Still give you butterflies?” He wraps his arms around you, rolling over until he’s on top.

He positions himself with an arm on either side of your head, looking down to you as his hair cascades around your face. He shakes his head just enough to tickle the tip of your nose with the ends of his locks.

“Sammy, stop! That tickles!” You giggle, reaching your hands up to push his hair away from your face, pulling him into you to reconnect your lips with his.

As the kiss deepens, Sam lowers himself on top of you, pressing his hardened length against you as his fingers tangle themselves into your hair.

“Excited?” You quip, bucking your hips up against his length.

“Always, around you at least.” He looks at you with the look he’d given you thousands of times, like you’re the only girl in the world.

You stare into each other's eyes for a short period, his body still pressed against yours before he breaks the silence.

“Y/N?” He whispers.

“Yes?”

“You ready?”

“Whenever you are.”

Quickly following your response, Sam reaches his hands behind you to free you of your dress, pulling it over your head and tossing it to the floor. He unclasps your bra and hangs it off the headboard. You eagerly reach down to rid him of his clothing, with a little bit of help he’s kneeling completely uncovered over you. Sam takes his time planting heated kisses down your sternum, moving his hands to your hips as his lips trail to your center until they meet your aching bud. He presses a soft kiss to you before working his flat tongue over your clit, committing the feeling of you writhing beneath him to memory. He watches your movements through his dark lashes, every detail of the moment permanently etching itself into his mind. He removes his mouth from your mound, moving a hand from your hip to run two fingers through your folds. Sam presses his middle and ring finger teasingly against your entrance without giving you the pleasure of insertion.

“This okay?” He rubs the pads of his fingers against you, waiting for your response.

“Mhmm, now stop teasing me…” You snake a hand down to try and push his fingers into you, but you watch the muscles in his arm flex as he works against your desperate attempt for relief.

“Slow down, angel. If it’s really the last time, I’m gonna make it count. Make you remember me.”

“Do you think I’d ever forget you…?” You furrow your brows.

“I don’t know, you might. I feel like I don’t know anything when it comes to you anymore.” He removes his hand from your heat, sitting back on his calves.

“I’ll always remember you, Sammy.” You sit up on your elbows to keep eye contact. Of all times to have this conversation you weren’t expecting here or now.

“What if you don’t? What if you forget me while I’m gone and I never get my girl back?” His eyes grow with sadness as tears well up again.

“Have I forgotten you the other times?” You push yourself up entirely, crossing your legs and sitting in front of him, placing your hands on his knees.

“No…” He pauses for a second as you watch the thoughts cross his mind, a tear finding its way down his cheek. “But what if you figure yourself out and I’m not there?”

“Not where?” The intimacy in the room shifts to a different form, tears building up inside as you choke through your words.

“In the picture. What if figuring yourself out removes me from the picture?”

“Sammy, you’ll always be in the picture.” You squeeze his knees before hesitantly mumbling the next part. “You created the picture…”

“Created?”

“Sammy, everything we had… everything we wanted, I never wanted before you. I’m not sure there was ever a picture until you came along and painted one…”

“Was it a good picture?” He places his hands over yours.

“The most beautiful, and it still is. But sometimes we have to step away from the picture before it’s finished so we know how to approach it, make it look exactly how we want.”

“I want to fill a gallery for you. Paint every picture just how you imagine, down to the last detail.” He leans forward to plant a needy kiss on your lips, making any words you found quickly leave your mind.

You wrap your arms around his neck and slowly start to pull him on top of you, resuming what you had started, shifting the intimacy once again. As the kissing grows more heated, your legs find their way around his hips, pushing his length against your center once again. Sam buries his face in your neck, sucking on the skin below your ear as he rubs himself against you. The need for some sort of greater contact grows inside of you and with no words spoken other than sweet moans, Sam picks up on your natural cues. He brings his face to yours, meeting your lips with his as he slowly drags himself between your folds, teasing your aching clit with the head of his cock.

“Let me paint you one more time.” He whispers into your ear as he slides himself inside of you.

You can’t remember the last time you had Sam like this, the slight burn from him stretching you perfectly being a more emotionally painful reminder of the one you loved. Sam’s barely 3 inches in, but his pure width makes you hiss at the sensation. He pauses his movement, moving a hand to your cheek.

“You okay? Does it hurt?” He furrows his brows.

“A little, but I’ll be okay.”

“No, no, no, don’t wanna hurt you. Do you want lube?”

You nod yes as he sits up and places his hands on your knees, slowly removing himself leaving you empty. He reaches over into the nightstand on his side of the bed and shuffles around the top drawer.

“I have this strawberry flavored lube we got a little bit ago…” He presents it to you followed by giggles.

“Works for me, I just need you.”

“Okay, okay, sheesh.” Sam pops the cap off the bottle and you take it from his hands, pouring some onto his hardened length.

You take him into your hand as you work the lube down to the base of his cock until he’s fully covered in the sweet substance. You guide him back to your entrance and he pushes into you slowly, watching for any further signs of discomfort.

“Does that feel better?” He asks, rubbing his hands up and down your thighs as he slowly works himself further.

“Feels so good.” You moan, wrapping your hands around his wrists that are now planted on your hips.

Sam continues thrusting into you slowly, watching your eyes flutter each time he enters you fully. He brings a hand up to wipe the tears from your cheeks. You grab his wrist with your hand to hold him there, allowing the warmth from his hand to keep you grounded. He wraps his fingers around the side of your head, rubbing circles on your cheek with his thumb. You trace his knuckles with the pads of your fingers, taking in every minute detail of his hand. He releases his other hand from your hip and brings the pad of his thumb to your center, working tight, fast circles over your throbbing bud. You begin to tighten under his touch, so tender and sweet with each movement as he brings you closer to the edge.

“Sam, I-”

“I know, baby. It’s okay, me too.” He finally starts to pick up speed as both of your emotional releases come crashing down, tears swelling in his and your eyes.

His cock twitches as he empties every last drop of himself inside of you, painting your walls the perfect shade of white. His body falls defeatedly on you, forehead pressed against yours. After coming down from your highs, Sam removes his now soft member and rolls over next to you. He places gentle kisses along your face before meeting your lips once more.

“I missed you.” You run your fingers through the hair framing his face, looking into his big brown eyes. God those fucking eyes. The realization that you might never have someone who cares for and loves you so much hits you like a train. Your hand moves down to lay on his chest, feeling the rise and fall of each breath as it enters and exits his lungs.

“I missed you, too.” He mumbles, his eyes fluttering shut. “I hope that makes it into the gallery.”

[holy3cake]

GET TO KNOW YOUR MUTUALS

Thank you for the tag @lord-aldhelm and @thenameswinter99 :D This is a longggg one so have fun hehehe!

What's the origin of your blog title?

So for some reason I used to be called holy (Holly variation) when I was a kid. Not religious at all lol, just because this was an odd nickname. 3 is my lucky number, and I love cakes so not that creative aha! My actual blog Barney (Walsh) and Jacob (Dudman) is a little throwback to my British babies, I love them and wanted to make posts about them so it all started there really!

OTP(s) + Shipname:

Aethelbert- Osbert and Aethelstan in The Last Kingdom 

Hoffstrahm- Hoffman and Strahm in Saw 

Chalex- Charlie and Alex in 13 Reasons Why 

Athelnar- Ragnar and Athelstan in Vikings

Newtmas- Newt and Thomas in The maze runner

I have a load more but probably better to give me a movie or series and ask because I can’t remember them all 😂

Favorite colour:

I used to love yellow, I mean I still do but it’s more gold and bronze tones now! I really do adore burnt colours, darker ones that go ombre are really pretty! But I do like light pastels as well!

Favorite game:

My favourite game of all time is this super ancient thing called Dark Cloud. I used to play it on PS2 and still own it now :) It was about this little guy called Toan, he had to restore his medieval village and picked up a load of random friends (including this sweet cat girl called Xiao. Love her). And a more updated favourite game, Dead rising! 

Song stuck in your head: 

I won’t name it because it is depraved haha but in my defence, I was writing smut! So it is something by Kim Petras, but thankfully not Whale Dick (that song is actually so awful, like rhythmically). Okay okay the one in my head is called “Hit it from the back.” 

Weirdest habit/trait?

Fantasising about Harry Gilby? Is that a thing? If not uhhhh….okay yeah I’ve got nothing. I wash my hands excessively? OH actually I do have a phobia of metal so that’s quite weird, more of a fear than a habit or trait, but that leads to the hand washing. 

Hobbies:

Writing, reading, knitting, crochet (I’m awful at crochet but I do love to knit). I love to do anything historical so visiting old places and museums. 

If you work, what's your profession?

I really want to go back to studying, but I am currently working part-time at my local Cathedral. If you know me, you’ll know how often I talk about it lmao. 

If you could have any job you wish, what would it be? Realistically?

Weeeelll if we’re speaking realistically, maybe something in academia. I don’t have the confidence to be a teacher, but I would love to be some kind of careers advisor for students. Or a lecturer, but again I DO NOT have the skills for that. 

Something you're good at:

I like to think I’m good at supporting people. I don’t know if that’s really true, but I would happily spend hours listing things I love about someone. Whether that’s friendly or romantic, I like to make people feel valued. 

Something you're bad at:

Knowing when I’ve reached my mental capacity. I often release my sadness in a big destructive explosion, and it eats at everything else. I need to be kinder to myself, because I often love other people but not myself. 

Something you love: 

Harry, Jacob… no okay that may be true, but I do love my friends and my books haha. 

Something you could talk about for hours off the cuff: 

How cute Jacob’s Yorkshire accent is. 

Something you hate:

Entitled people, there’s nothing worse than someone that disregards everyone else and only focuses on themself. 

Something you collect: 

I collect little teddy bears, and I have a collection of monk bears growing that I’ve accumulated from lots of historical buildings haha!

Something you forget: 

PEOPLE’S FACES OH MY LORD. And if you wear a hat or change your hair, I will have absolutely no idea who you are!

What's your love language?

I actually took a quiz on this one, and I’m really surprised by the results! I’ve done this in order of most to least important! Physical touch is at the bottom, but I suppose I prefer intimacy as opposed to being hugged (being touched randomly does irritate me a LOT). 

Acts of service 

Quality Time

Words of Affirmation 

Receiving Gifts

Physical touch

Favorite movie/show: 

LOVE ROSIE AND WARM BODIES FOR THE MOVIEEEEEEES. I do love Lisa Frankenstein as well, and my favourite show is The Last Kingdom. 

Favorite food:

Absolutely anything with truffle on it, possibly truffle pasta. I love prawns too. 

Favorite animal:

A sun bear! And all bears really :) 

What were you like as a child? 

Very shy and very cautious. I had a very hideous childhood, but adulthood has treated me much better! I have always always had a thirst for learning, so that will stay with me until the end. 

Favourite subject at school?

English, both aspects with language and literature. I also really loved psychology, which makes sense now I have my psych degree!

Least favourite subject: 

ANYTHING SCIENCE BASED! I am not good with any of that stuff, especially chemistry!

What's your best character trait? 

I would love to know what other people would say to this haha but I would hope kindness!

What's your worst character trait?

Uhhhhhh maybe hopelessness? As in I’m quite quick to be pessimistic about situations, so I want to try and look on the bright side of bad things!

If you could change any detail of your life right now, what would it be?

I would probably like to magically fix my teeth. I’ve had such a longwinded processes with my upcoming braces, and now I find out I have a bone condition, I would just like my teeth to fit in my mouth as God intended please. 

If you could travel in time, who would you like to meet? 

OKAY I know I’m obsessed with the guy, but I would like to meet the real life Aethelstan of England. He would be so interesting! And Aethelflaed too, she’s an icon and I love hearing her story. I visit Malmesbury so often, and they’re both an item of interest in all the local shops and museums. And I wouldn’t need to travel in time to meet him but…Jacob Dudman hahahaha. 

No pressure tags: @grinningkatz @lancedoncrimsonwings @book-and-music-lover @synintheraven @errruvande @kingslionheart

@waterfallsilverberrywrites @bilbotargaryen @persephones-journey @whitedarkmoonflower @paula-in-dreamland @thelettersfromnoone

[d1s1ntegrated]

okay guys so. here's some updates!

-my grandma died. (not sigma.)

-i got the infinite hours glitch at work (im working sm now)

-i'm broke af still cause i honestly genuinely truthfully laurv grocery shopping too much (the horrors of the economy are incomprehensible)

-i love homicipher!!!!!!!!!!!!!

anyways. that's basically it. i'm trying to get back in here cause i feel so bad for all the unanswered prompts and asks in my inbox. i know i kinda flopped. im doing my best!!

also small announcement below the cut!!! especially considering ive been experimenting more with dead dove/nonconventional topics and themes.

first thing; i made a side blog for my dead dove and other extreme fics. the reason why i'm doing this is bc some people don't want to see that kind of stuff- and that's totally okay! and ik the filtering/blocking tags thing doesn't always work, especially for more "niche" topics.

i plan on branching out my repertoire by writing about topics that are "scary" or "new" to me- so this little counterpart to my blog will make it easier for me to post things that aren't typically sought after by the gen. pop. things like sickfics, whump, noncon, and other graphic or heavy themes.

in addition/addendum to that:

idk if this is common knowledge for any of my followers, moots, etc, but i have a severe phobia of vomit. like. huge. and at my big ass age of 21 (lol) i think it's time to start...getting through that fear. i've struggled with contamination OCD for a really long time and it's something i never thought id even try to overcome- but then i came across a creator on here who makes fetish art- which def wasn't something i was looking to encounter. but like a car crash, i couldn't stop looking at their work and i ended up coming across a post of theirs where they explain that they do what they do to get over their fear. at first i was fucking baffled as to how they couldn't manage to do that, but i get it now. taking something innately fucking horrifying and flipping the narrative so casually can be cathartic, and i finally after over a year of contemplation, gave it a whirl in my own writing. i mean, what better way to get over something by attacking it from my best angle??

typically this isn't something i'd ever consider doing. but...here we are. and i feel like im doing myself, and other people who feel the same way, a disservice by hiding this type of content in my notes app, never to be seen by anyone but me.

my blog has always been a safe space for the freaks and weirdos, and i want to keep facilitating that space while also keeping it enjoyable for all crowds. so by keeping a little separation between the two blogs, it'll ensure i feel comfortable, and others do too. i'm not gonna force everyone who follows me to come across some crazy fetish content they didn't sign up for, especially when previously i'd stated i don't write that kind of stuff. but alas people change and grow and i don't want to stifle myself from writing good things because im too afraid of judgement or my own insecurities.

i think kink is a very important thing in the fanfic world, because it allows the writer, as well as the audience, to connect on an even further level through the delivery of fetish content. as someone who hyperfixates on the development and accumulation of fetish and kinks, especially from a psychological level, this is something i was considering in the past- but not to this level, yk? like yeah, i could continue to just write sweet little hcs of softgaraki, and i love doing that, but also...like, i need these freak ass men to live their truths, and i need to live mine.

with that all being said, @compendiumofdecay is where these nasty fics will be for any and all who are interested.

[scarletwritesshit]

📷 Fulmine x F!Rover 📷 Stop Motion

Fulmine’s energy to talk about Echoes was seemingly limitless.

"...Not to mention, the Diggy Duggy's fur is incredibly soft! Though, I wouldn’t exactly risk walking up to a Tacet Discord trying to pet one. You, I believe that you could hold your own should one decide to attack. Me, however, I know for a fact I wouldn’t stand a chance against one, which is an utter shame as I would hug each and every single Diggy Duggy that I run into. I’m built for making friends, not foes. At least the ones living in Plushie Village are super friendly. I don’t have to fear for my life going near them. And they’re very hard workers, too! Have you ever had the chance to actually see a Diggy Duggy in action? They have earned that rugged appearance, let me tell you..."

Rover could not fit a single word in. In the split-second timeframe that she was presented with to think of a response, the opportunity was lost as quickly as it was given as Fulmine would continue after catching his breath. Not that it was a bad thing. His “constant yapping” made the trek up Penitent's End far less dreadful. His abundance of knowledge proved invaluable as well, as Rover had accumulated an encyclopedia’s worth of knowledge in this outing alone.

Specifically, plushie Echoes, as Fulmine had spent the past hour and a half talking about them.

"...I think they’re the ones responsible for building the village up to where it is now. I never really get to see them up close, though. They’re always busy, and I don’t want to disturb them..."

Especially the Diggy Duggy.

"You really like those Diggy Duggy, don’t you?" Rover finally managed to get in.

"They’re my favorite!" Fulmine excitedly exclaimed. "They’re adorable! And hard working too! And... oh my, I’ve been rambling again, haven’t I? Sorry, sorry!"

"Oh, you’re fine. You only have to be worried about keeping your voice down once we get closer to the dragon," Rover said.

"Right. Sorry. I still feel bad for subjecting you to this. I don’t know what you see in me, honestly. All I ever do is talk about Echoes, and when I’m not, I talk about pictures of Echoes!"

"And I have all the time in the world to listen to you talk about Echoes. Do you really think that I am not paying attention?"

C-MOSS wasn’t paying attention, that much was certain.

"M-maybe? I wouldn’t be the slightest big offended if you chose to stop listening."

"Then let me prove it," Rover said, smugly.

"Huh!?"

"Go on. Ask me anything."

"Uh, okay. Uh...what Echo wanders in search of a replacement body?"

"Chop Chops. And they often utilize buildings as said body."

A simple question, though niche knowledge. Fulmine looked at her surprised, but she smiled in return.

"Righto. Now, uh, something a bit harder. Like, what Echo is comprised of stained glass?"

"Vitreum Dancers. It’s kind of hard to forget those things when they reflect a disco ball’s worth of light into my eyes with every twirl.”

"And here I was thinking that you would confuse it with a different species. But what about my favorite Echo? Do you remember that?"

"Diggy Duggy. You told me minutes ago. Don’t you remember?"

"I do! It’s just, I really didn’t think that you cared to listen. Sorry."

"You apologize too much," Rover said, pulling in Fulmine to rub his head with her knuckle. "You don’t understand just how thankful I am to have a boyfriend who doubles as a walking Echo encyclopedia."

Fulmine tripped over his feet, trapped in a headlock as a result of Rover’s affectionate wrath. Some of the film strips in his hair flew out, and he frantically fumbled to try and catch them. She kept dragging him up the mountain path, causing those very film strips to fly off into the breeze. He could only hope that they would decay into the soil long before anyone could find them.

Rover glanced upwards and stopped in her tracks, allowing a brief moment of respite for Fulmine to wiggle free from her muscular arms. He straightened out the tangles in his hair, a bit concerned about the absence of multiple film strips.

"Your grip sure is amazing, my love-"

"Shh," Rover hushed Fulmine, putting her finger to his lips. "We're almost at the top. We don’t want to wake it before we can even see it for ourselves."

"Right. Sorry."

Rover rolled her eyes and put her hand behind his back, nudging him upward. The closer they got to the summit, the louder the snore of the dragon got, and the more nervous Fulmine became. Rover could feel the increasing tension in his body, and though he was clearly excited to meet such a beast face to face, the thought of its power had his nerves on edge.

He was more concerned for Rover than himself, however. Though time and again, she had trampled gods and proclaimed herself savior of Solaris-3, he couldn’t help but feel worried for her.

"Scared of a little dragon?" she teased, rubbing his back to try and comfort him.

"N-not at all! I mean I am, but not as worried as I am for you."

"Theres no need. Peel back my corset a little bit and you’ll see that I’ve survived worse."

A tempting offer. Fulmine went to do just that, but he stopped before his hands brushed upon her lower back. Too scandalous. He instead opted to take her word for it, and simply blushed and focused on the path ahead of him.

Suddenly, Rover grabbed onto the back of his clothes, stopping him dead in his tracks. He glanced at her to silently inquire about what the issue was. Her only response was to point over the edge of the cliff beside them. Fulmine followed her instructions and turned to look, only to be frozen in fear by the sight.

The Dragon of Dirge was curled up and fast asleep, snoring loudly.

Rover was relatively unphased by it. C-MOSS was far too small to be able to see, but was able to infer from Fulmine’s reaction that the sight was most likely an unpleasant one.

"You don’t have to stop breathing," she said, putting her hand on his shoulder. "It’s slept through the raring circus of fools that lives below. Just...still be mindful of your tone."

"Right, sorry, uh...where did I put my camera again?"

C-MOSS hopped up and nudged him as if to say, "where you always put it, stupid." Fulmine fumbled to grab his camera, and once it was in his hands, he wasted no time snapping countless pictures. Within moments, it was as if all fear disappeared from him, and he burned through an entire roll of film. Just when Rover thought he was done, he took out a second roll, and took a few more shots before all of a sudden hesitating.

"Is something the matter?" Rover whispered.

"I can’t just burn through all of my film now! I want to go take more pictures around it!"

"Then stay close. And quiet."

Rover walked up past the cover of the cliff’s edge, to the very summit of Penitent's End. Fulmine looked up at her wondering if she really was doing this, and she gestured for him to follow with haste. C-MOSS wasn’t very keen on stepping dangerously close to a dragon’s nest, but it was either be killed alone where no one could hear it scream, or be killed alongside beloved companions, so it reluctantly opted to follow.

Sticking close to Rover, Fulmine kept low and continued snapping photos, making sure that he thoroughly documented the beast while also using his film in moderation. Though she didn’t have her weapon drawn, Rover remained vigilant on the chance that they accidentally disturbed its slumber. Fulmine may have finally been able to relax himself, but it was Rover’s turn to stand guard.

One tail flicker that seemed to be a bit too energetic froze Fulmine in his tracks. Rover jolted back instinctively, thinking that the dragon was waking, but it appeared to be nothing more than a tumble in its sleep.

"Nothing to be alarmed over. Everyone tumbles in their sleep a little," Rover said.

"Sorry. I guess I’m just a bit excitable right now. That's all," Fulmine said, making the mistake of taking his eyes off of the dragon.

A mistake that Rover proceeded to make herself, as she turned her head to gently smile at Fulmine. Both were now completely oblivious to the dragon that was rising and stretching behind their gazes.

When Fulmine turned around, he was greeted by the sight of the Dragon of Dirge standing on all fours stretching out its massive wings. It let out a fearsome roar, and practically at the same time, Fulmine screamed in utter terror, though it was barely audible compared to the dragon. Rover manifested her blade, ready to strike and counter should it dare threaten Fulmine, but the way the dragon roared struck her as... rather odd. It didn’t appear to be moving with any semblance of hostility.

Fulmine, in his panic, failed to notice such minute details in its behavior.

The dragon approached them, and Fulmine backed as far into Rover’s arms as he could. She stood her ground, unphased by the grand beast approaching them step by earth-shattering step. Fulmine’s love for Echoes did not outweigh his love for life, and more importantly, his love for Rover, so he remained as close to her as he could possibly manage. Though he would much rather offer up his life in exchange for her safety, Fulmine had no intention to admit his fear despite how glaringly obvious it was.

Rover dared not raise her blade, despite being readied for a duel.

"Rover! It’s gonna kill you!" he shouted.

"If it wanted to, it could’ve already-"

"I DON'T WANT TO DIE YET! WE HAVEN'T EVEN GOTTEN MARRIED!"

C-MOSS, however, had a very quick switch-up on its opinion on living.

Ignoring his comment, Rover held steady as the dragon continued to approach them and said, "It most certainly would’ve killed us by now. I’ve fought it before."

The dragon stopped mere inches away from Fulmine. All he could do now was hold his breath and face his death with honor. But the dragon did not lay a single talon on him. In fact, it sniffed him, gently and curiously.

"I think it wishes to befriend you," Rover said.

"Befriend? It’s eyeing up its next meal as we speak!”

"Calm down, dear. It’s not. Trust me, I know."

"Do you really?"

Fulmine and C-MOSS both looked at her with equal skepticism.

"There might have been...one small detail that I have neglected this entire time.

"The Dragon of Dirge belongs to the Captain of the Troupe of Fools. There’s no way that it would hurt either of us.”

"W-W-W-W-WHAAAAAAAT!?”

The dragon nodded its head, confirming Rover’s claim.

"That guy, in possession of that Echo?”

The dragon once more nodded its head.

"And you didn’t tell me sooner?"

Both Rover and the Dragon of Dirge nodded their heads.

"I-is this some kind of cruel joke to you? I swear, I’m going to... aaaah, never mind. I suppose I wouldn’t even have gotten this close if it wasn’t tame."

"Not only that," Rover said, "but we would’ve been knocked off of the mountain and our bodies incinerated after letting it stand this close to us.”

Taking her word for it, Fulmine took a deep breath and reached out his hand to gently stroke the dragon’s nose. It growled deeply, startling Fulmine, but closed its eyes and nudged its head further into his hand. The sound it was making was comparable to purring, if a beast was capable of such.

"Oh... so it’s just a big sweetie after all... Sorry, big fella."

The dragon growled softly, accepting his apology.

"It can sense that you’re as equally as sweet as it is,” Rover said.

"S-surely you exaggerate. I’m not all that."

"Not all that? Who all do you know has had the opportunity to pet the Dragon of Dirge on the nose?”

"Uh...you maybe? And the Captain, I guess?"

"That’s what, two people out of the entirety of Rinascita?

Fulmine didn’t have a comeback. Flustered, he looked away and continued petting the Dragon of Dirge on the nose.

"And take a few pictures for the road,” Rover continued, “so that no one will hold any reason to be skeptical of your claims.”

Even if Fulmine had forgotten to take any photos with his camera, his Forte had him covered. It was either a strength or a weakness, depending on how one looked at it, as the film strips in his hair would be abundant with images of Rover and the Dragon of Dirge. Perfect for recording a most precious memory, disastrous if the wrong person were to stumble upon them.

[terrence-silver]

Beloved finds out she can't have children and the doctors tell her that there is no cure in her case. She makes the decision she can't destroy Terry's dream of having a legacy and one day when he's working late at the dojo again she packs her things and leaves. Terry comes home and finds a letter from her, she apologizes and asks him to forget about her and find someone who will give him family. How would he react?

I once wrote how I don't think Terry Silver would necessarily adopt because he's too much of an egoist to do so and an anon sent me a message threatening to kill themselves (hope they're okay) so, yeah, don't do that, because I'm saying it again --- if beloved couldn't have children, I feel he'd just swear off the notion, in fact, in his old age, one gets the impression he long since swore off the notion. He's regretful, yes, but he isn't out here actively doing anything to change it. He wants those kids to be him. And beloved. He wants a mixture of his and their eyes, their skin, their blood, their character, their habits, their mannerisms, their everything reflected in his heirs and if he can't have that, he'll be damned, he doesn't want it at all. If beloved was barren or reproducibly impaired in any way, Terry would prolong his legacy in other ways. Through business. Enterprise. The accumulation of power. Expansion. Control. General takeover. You name it.

Because, consider it.

Terry Silver's an extremely wealthy man. If he wanted children all these years, he could've had them. Powerful people adopt and hire surrogates all the time. Constantly, in fact. The very fact he didn't means something. It means he wants his kids to be his in every way they possibly can be and he wants them to come from someone he's devoted to as much as it is humanly possible. Everything or nothing. Hey, that could be a selfish or even smallminded notion, but when was Terry Silver ever a saint? Beloved packs their things and leaves because they fear they're causing Terry to be bereft of something by being unable to give him his (biological) legacy and it only has him going after them and retrieving them home where they belong because they are already his family, as they are. His name will echo across the world. He will make sure of it. And he will be remembered long after he's gone and he'll achieve this with beloved firmly by his side. His legacy will be his power.

[britswriting]

Fallen For You H.S | AU - Six

Fallen For You Masterlist - find description here

Read on Wattpad

Rancher!Harry x Plus-sized!OC

🦋Delaney🦋

"How's it going with the cowboy?" Wren asked, the two of us sat in the Bunny Pen.

"I think I need to give it up" I confessed, regretting ever throwing myself out there.

I mean, how many times does a guy have to ignore you, turn you down, and blatantly tell you he wants to be left alone before you finally leave him alone. 

Wren's eyes narrowed, "You said dinner the first night went well?" 

"He doesn't want to be around me" I sighed, "I need to respect his boundaries. If he doesn't want me, I need to leave him alone. Plus, he seems to have the farm stuff figured out" I shrugged, softly petting one of the bunnies that had hopped over to me.

Wrenlynn leaned back on her hands, looking over at me, "I think he's just nervous, Laney" 

"Harry? Nervous? Please" I scoffed, Wren grinning at me. "What?" my eyes narrowed, "Why are you smiling?"

"You're so cute, Laney" 

"You never say that with intentions of it being a compliment" I stated, already sussing her out.

"Remember all the stuff we used to hear about the Rickman's?" She asked, my head nodding, confused as to what she was getting to. "They're not nice people, Lane. I'm sure coming here, and being treated differently, is a lot to take in. Think about it, you spend god knows how long over there, then come and work for dad. It's hard to change expectations. I already told you he doesn't socialize with the employers. — I'm not saying ignore his boundaries, but maybe.. I don't know, Lane, maybe just approach him with caution? You really like him. You really like him" She repeated, "Unless he's mean to you, show's behavior you don't like, or tells you he doesn't like you.. I think you just need to be patient" She shrugged, falling back against the grass. "Maybe he just needs a friend right now"

"I'm not going to ignore his boundaries, Wren. He said he likes eating alone"

"And yet you've had dinner with him twice"

"Well, not really. He sort've kicked me out; and honestly Wren, I think the first time was a fluke. I think he wants me to leave him alone, and I need to respect that. We can't lose him" I sighed, wishing I could just outright ask if he liked me at all, even if it went nowhere; but the fear of rejection - even at 26, and the likeness of him fleeing was too much of a warning sign that I needed to tread carefully.

"I just think you need to keep shoving yourself at him. Obviously, not in a way that's going to get you hurt, or upset him... but like, be around? Ya know? Befriend the loner" She said with a teasing undertone.

I groaned, feeling like we were going to go in circles.

Instead of replying, I just nodded and sighed, letting the silence fall between us.

All day I had an internal conflict about if I should just pretend Harry never existed, or if I should put more effort into it. It was a blurry line I was dancing on.

I was struggling to find an organic way for our paths to cross, the evenings being the only open area I could mess with, yet he likes to eat alone. So how was I supposed to try and hang out with him?

We're both busy all day long, there is no room for me to wiggle myself into his day even if it was to be his friend like Wren suggested.

"What if I cooked him dinner?" I asked Wrenlynn; following behind her through the market as we accumulated the things off my Grandma's shopping list.

"You threw a whole fit about how he eats alone" She numbly replied, my dreadful sigh making her look at me, "What? It's true"

"But, he can eat alone. I said make dinner. Not eat it with him"

Wrenlynn stopped, turning to look at me, "Delaney, what's the purpose of that?" 

"To hang out with him?" I questioned, confused. 

I thought that was obvious?

She suggested I be his friend. Isn't this literally her advice?

"Laney, I love you. You know that. I support you being happy, and loved, and successful. I just.. I don't want you to get hurt, okay? I know I was practically shoving him at you, but he seems troubled, Lane. I don't think overdoing it on your end is going to end well for you. Mom likes making dinner, Harry eats it. What's the point of doing all the work to just hand it over? At least mom gets a family dinner. I think you need to be there, but give him space." My face fell, Wren's facial features softening, "Delaney, I want you happy, and healthy, okay? If that's something he can give you, go for it, but don't let him walk all over you. Don't let him use you and don't let your overthinking lead you down the wrong path"

I frowned, "It's just dinner, Wren"

"It always is, Lane. You saw how beat up Morgan was with her ex. I just, I don't want that for you. Just be careful, please?" 

"Always am"

We carried ourselves throughout the store when a lightbulb went off in my head.

"Cowboy Casserole" I blurted, Wren turning to look at me, her brow furrowed.

"What?"

"What if I made him Cowboy Casserole?" I suggested, mentally figuring out all the ingredients I'd need.

"How is you making food for him any different than mom making food for him?"

"Because it'd be from mom" I stated the obvious.

"I thought the purpose was to spend time together?"

"God, Wren! Throw me a bone here!" I urged, Wren's eyes rolling.

"You do you, Laney. Just be careful"

"I'm trying here! You said be his friend! Isn't this friendly?" I scrunch my face, frustrated by the whiplash that was my sister.

Her eyes rolled, "You seem like a desperate girl trying to impress a guy with her cooking skills. Being a friend isn't making him a five course meal with the hopes of him eating you out for dessert at the end"

My eyes widened as I smacked her arm, "Wrenlynn! We are in public! I don't need to be the talk of the town" I hissed.

"Chill, no one is around. Plus, you don't like being in the kitchen? Why are you wanting to make him dinner?" 

"He needs to eat right?" I shot back, wincing slightly.

"How considerate" She snickered.

We continued walking, collecting our ingredients, and I decided to say fuck it and make Harry dinner anyway.

Who cares how it comes across. He'll at least be fed, which was a rule he made.

I carried my ingredients into the kitchen, seeing the clock read 4:39pm.

Pulling out a pan, I started browning the ground beef, listening to the ruckus that was my family members walking in and out of the house.

"What are you making?" My younger brother Keegan asked, hoping up on the barstool.

"Nothing"

"Doesn't smell like nothing" he shot back, an annoying smirk evident in his tone.

"It's not for you, so it doesn't matter" 

"What is it?"

"Cowboy Casserole"

"Oooooo" His voice peaked.

"Don't even think about it" I shot down, draining the grease from the meat before pouring it into a baking pan.

"Why can't I have any?" He huffed, climbing on the chair and leaning over the counter, getting closer to my food.

"Because it isn't for you"

"Then who's it for?"

"None of your business"

"Tell me!" Keegan whined as I pulled out a cutting board to chop up some green beans onto smaller pieces.

"No. Go away" I huffed, rinsing the fresh produce and placing it on the cutting board.

"Since when do you cook?" He asked as I started the chop the green vegetable.

"Don't you have chores to do? Or homework?" I grumbled, sliding the cut green beans into the pan.

"Nope!" He grinned, knowing damn well he was annoying me.

Aren't little brothers great? Sigh.

"Mom's gonna be pissed if your dirty clothes aren't in the laundry room" I reminded him.

Mom hated searching the house for the clothes, so if it wasn't in the laundry room it wasn't getting washed; little younger boys were really bad about doing it until they were almost out of things to wear.

Keegan's eyes widened as he scurried off the barstool, rushing down the hallway.

Ah. Peace and quiet.

I finished adding the cut carrots and the corn; pulling out a can of chicken noodle soup to pour over it when another voice was heard, followed by the slam and rickety hinged storm door.

"God have I had a damn day" Morgan huffed, taking the bar stool that was recently abandoned.

So much for peace and quiet.

"Why? What happened?" I humored, mixing the soup around in the pan before popping open a bag of tater tots.

"What are you making?"

Oh my god

"Nothing"

"Smells weird"

"What do you mean? Mom used to make it"

Morgan's nose wrinkled. "Maybe it's just the pregnancy. It doesn't smell good" She huffed, my eyes rolling. Then leave? "Anyway—"

Morgan proceeded to tell me about how hard it is to do shit whilst you're pregnant, followed by the complaints of doing the simple task of walking. Apparently our driveway was too long.

With the dish in the oven, I cleaned up after my mess just in time for my dad and one of the barn cats to stroll in; my dad covered in dirt.

"I'm showering, no one flush the toilet or use the dishwasher or you're going to be in for it!" He called out, walking down the hallway.

The storm door opened once again; the annoyance that was probably seeping out of me would be a clear warning sign for anyone but my family.

"Whatcha makin' now, Laney?" Wren asked, sitting down next to Morgan whom opened her big fat mouth before I could.

"Dinner that we can't have"

"Ooh" She dragged out,  "For the cowboy?"

"The cowboy?" Morgan questioned, my eyes shooting daggers towards my twin sister.

"Laney here—" 

"Wrenlynn, shut up" I warned, wanting to smack the smirk right off her face.

"Lane has a crush on the new rancher" She said anyway, my body collapsing against the counter as my arms stretched out and head rested against the cool countertop.

I hate my life.

"Oooo! The guy I had to give dinner to?" Morgan asked, a hum followed up by Morgan.

Can the ground swallow me whole? Surely I've already dug my grave at some point in my 26 years of life.

"You like him, Lane?" Morgan's brow furrowed, judgment evident on her face.

Here we go.

"She's smitten" Wrenlynn egged on, my head whipping up to glare at her.

"Shut up, Wren. It's none of your business. What are you? Twelve?" I snapped; Wren grinning, pissing me off as Morgan continued.

"He didn't seem very nice Lane. I've heard he's very arrogant" Morgan put in her two cents; as if I asked for it.

"What's wrong with having self worth?" I questioned, Morgan's head shaking.

"Having self worth and being full of yourself are two different things. Remember The Housley's talking about how his rate was outrages?! What did dad even pay him to begin with? We're broke as it is. He's just milking us for everything we're worth" She scoffed, clearly having distaste for a man she's never talked to.

"I'm sure he has his reasons, and honestly, he's deserving of it. He knows his worth and he uses it"

"But what about the occasional helping hand? Doing it out of the goodness of your heart? He's greedy Delaney; and arrogant, and quite frankly rude"

"Rude?!" My mouth gaped. Wren watching us like we were the best reality tv show out there.That sneaky bitch. "You delivered food. That's it. You can't take tired for rude. He's not very talkative" I defended, Wrenlynn snorting; my head whipping to face her, "What?" I snapped, before glaring, "You know what, no. Screw you both! I didn't put myself in this situation! Wrenlynn, you're my least favorite person today. I hope mom serves you cold peas and Morgan? Stop fucking judging people based off one interaction" I snapped, quickly exiting the kitchen towards my bedroom.

I heard Wrenlynn yell out, "Gonna need some ice for that burn!" Only making my blood boil even more.

What was their fucking problem?

So what if I liked a guy who maybe can be rude to outsiders; or knows his worth and uses it two his advantage? It's not like they're saints themselves! Who knows why he needs the money. It's not like he's living in a really nice house on his own property! Why is it such a big deal if I make dinner for him? Part of his contract is he has a fresh warm meal each night. He never said it had to come from my mom.

My trickle of tear drops quickly became a full sob as I laid in my bed hurt, overwhelmed, and flat out tired of everyone's opinions.

I'm not a child anymore. I can make my own choices; whether they like it or not. 

A knock on my door followed by a whine made me groan, yelling for whoever it is to come in as I wiped at my face.

"Lane?" My dad's voice called out before he walked through the door, Opal right behind him, ready to hop on my bed and provide snuggles. "You're crying pretty hard in here. You alright?" He asked, shutting my door behind him, standing in front of the closed door; a look of concern searing into me.

"I'm fine" I mumbled, accepting Opal's love and affection.

"Would you like to talk about it? Maybe vent? I can offer some possible solutions if you want?" he offered, my head shaking. "Alright. I'm sorry you're upset, honey. My ears are always ready if you need to talk, okay?" He reminded me and I nodded, hiding my face in my beloved Bernese Mountain Dogs fur.

"I love you" I murmured into Opal's neck, running my hands through her thick fluffy black fur. "I know, you hate seeing me sad" I giggled, feeling her warm wet tongue lick against my skin. "You're such a good girl" I sighed, staring into her beautiful brown eyes. "If only animals could talk. I'd have so many more friends"

Opal was getting older. She's a retired working dog; she helped pull carts on the farm, helping us transport stuff. With her old age came medical issues which contributed to her lack of energy, so for the best interest in her, she is now simply a family bet who loves to be a rug on your floor, steal scraps you may have dropped whilst cooking, and offers the best hugs whenever you're feeling down.

She truly was one of my favorite dogs, and it saddens me to think about losing her.

Eventually the timer rang and I grudgingly got out of my bed, pulling out the hot casserole to let it cool.

Am I crossing boundaries again? Is this a bad idea? Am I chasing him away?

 "What did you make Lane?" Grandma asked, opening the fridge and pulling out a covered bowl.

"Cowboy casserole?" I stated, although it sounded more like a question as I prepared for 20 questions.

"Sounds yummy. Wasn't your mom and dad doing steaks? Did the plans change?" She asked, reaching up to fix her headband that held back her short, fluffy, silver hair.

"No, they're doing steaks. I uh, need to just um.." shit, how to I tell her I need to take this to Harry without telling her I need to take this to Harry?

"Are you joining us for dinner?" She asked, ignoring my stumbling.

"I um.. yes, I believe so" I stumbled once again.

"Then what's that?" She nodded towards the steaming hot casserole.

Shit. Would Harry have rather had steak? He would've, wouldn't he.

"Oh um.. just uh.. meal prepping for this week ya know? Busy helping Mimi. Gotta make sure we have something grab and go" I lied straight through my teeth.. or did I?

Should I just deliver the steak and potatoes to Harry?

"That's smart. Your grandpa used to do that. He hated packing lunch" She chuckled, a soft smile filling my cheeks.

Grandma doesn't talk about Grandpa very often. Especially when they got divorced, but ever since he died, he's become a sore, sad topic; so I welcomed the topic with open arms whenever I could.

Dinner time rolled around; my dad bringing in the freshly grilled steaks as Morgan, my mom and grandma finished up on the sides.

"I'll dish Harry's plate in a moment, Delaney" Mom informed, Wrenlynn quickly chiming in with the fact of "Laney made him dinner", mom looking up from the cutting board, questioning me.

"I um.. burned it. Steak's fine" 

"See! I told you you can't cook" Wren laughed, chin quivering a little as I nodded.

"I uh — yeah. You were right" I muttered, watching dad place a steak on the white plate, followed by mom adding sides and a napkin; sending me on my way.

Since when did I become the designated delivery service? Not that I'm complaining..

I knocked on the door, staring at my sneakers when I heard an "It's open!" yelled from the other side.

God damnit.

I was really hoping I could just hand the plate off and be on my merry way.

Shuffling inside, I gently closed the door behind me and just stood on the welcome mat; not wanting to take off my shoes.

"I uh.. have your dinner?" I stuttered, huffing at the fact I could hear my voice wobble.

He's just another person, Delaney. He has to eat too.

"Sorry" Harry said, walking out of the bathroom in dark sweatpants and a red tight t-shirt. Water droplets from his hair fell onto the fabric covering his shoulders, Harry running his fingers through it before looking over at me — our eyes met, then the plate.

"You're here" He stated, licking his lips.

"I am" I nodded.

"You weren't here the past few days" He continued, to which I nodded again; not offering a deeper explanation.

"Your dinner" I held out the plate, Harry's brow furrowing before he relaxed his face, taking the plate and sitting down.

He looked back at me as he sat, lips pursed, picking up his knife and fork.

I guess I should go.

I turned on my heel, twisting the knob when I heard; "Why?"

What?

I looked over my shoulder, "Why, what?"

There was silence for a moment.

"Why weren't you here?" he finally asked.

"You said you wanted to be alone" I stated the obvious, confused why we were doing this song and dance.

Doesn't he want to eat his dinner in peace like he asked? Shouldn't I be leaving now?

"I said I liked eating alone" He corrected, my shoulders dropping in defeat.

"Why is that?" I questioned, rocking slightly on my feet.

"Why is what?" he hummed, taking a bite of his steak.

Alright, this is getting annoying.

"Why do you like eating alone?" I asked in my best — my patience isn't running thin —voice.

He just stared at me. Blank stare. No emotions or thoughts behind those beautiful green eyes.

A few seconds passed and I turned around, opening the door, expecting him to stop me; but he didn't. He let me walk out the door. 

I walked back into the kitchen, racing thoughts of what  could possibly be through his head getting drowned out by the conversations my family were having, already eating.

"Did he say if  it was cooked how he liked it?" Dad asked, my head  shaking, "Ask him when you see him next, please" 

"Why can't you ask him?" I snapped, taking my seat at the table.

Dad's head tilted, "Because I'm going out of town tomorrow morning"

Oh

"Out of town? For what? What does that mean for all the chores—"

"We hired Harry for that reason, Delaney" He interrupted.

"No. We hired him to help us. Not take over. What about your jobs?" I asked, my mom side eyeing us before continuing her talk with Grandma, Wren and Mimi.

"Delaney, it's one weekend—"

"We're not the Rickman's!" My voice raised, "We can't do th—"

"Damnit Delaney! It's one weekend! We need the money so we can fucking pay him! I don't know what else to tell you" Dad snapped, everyone going quiet.

"We can't overwork him!" I argued back, knowing that picking up dads slack means even longer days.

Dad took a deep breath, eyeing my mother then looking at me, "It's one weekend. He'll live"

"Does he know that you're leaving?" I questioned, feeling my blood boil. How can he just leave everything to Harry? "What about the hoof cleaning at the neighbors?"

"Yes, he knows; and they've assigned someone else to it for the weekend" He told me, my cheek between my teeth becoming sore from how hard I was biting it.

"So we're losing money there, too? Where are you even going?" I pressed, confused why no one has told me anything. "Is it just you going?"

"I'm going to the homestead near Fawn Lake" 

Fawn Lake? That's three hours away!

"For the weekend?"

"For the weekend" He confirmed and I just nodded slowly.

I continued to grill him. Asking how much he's making; to which he said he doesn't know yet since it's hourly. I guess he's doing some sort of maintenance and helping out with a few of their horses. I also asked who all was going. Apparently my dad, mom and grandmother. Which was followed up by, whose cooking? To which Wrenlynn oh so happily piped up to say that I burn things, to which immediately signed her up for the job to which she protested about.

I couldn't help but have this nagging feeling in the back of my head telling me;

He's going to think we're the Rickman's and we're now overworking him, and we can't pay him.

We're fucked.

I laid in my bed after showering, Opal on a pile of dirty clothes on my floor, fast asleep, when my a message popped up from an unknown number

010-342-8759: Where do you keep the toilet paper?

What?

I quickly replied; "Who is this?" watching the three bubbles pop up.

010-342-8759: Harry Styles.

Oh.

OH.

Oh.

Oh my god.

I quickly changed his contact, replying "Toilet paper?"

Harry: I'm out

Me: There's none under the sink in the cabinet?

Harry: No

Me: Oh. Um.. we have some? You can come get some

The three bubbles popped up for a while before a message finally came through

Harry: I can't. I'm preoccupied

Preoccupied? Is he texting me from the toilet?

Me: Preoccupied?

Harry: Bring toilet paper over

Me: Please

Harry:

What? 

Me: Say please

Harry: Please.

I grinned, getting out of bed to grab some spare toilet paper, slipping on my flip flops and quickly leaving out the back door, Harlow eyes opening, looking at me.

"Shh" I held my finger up to my lips, slipping out the back and quickly walking down the dirt path to Harry's home.

"Landshark!" I knocked on his door, grinning as I held the toilet paper.

"It's open!" He yelled, welcoming me in.

I walked in, taking in the pull out couch that was made up for bed, the table lamp on next to it; the sheets folded over, appearing ready for Harry to crawl into. His kitchen was clean. Not a dish in sight. I scanned the floor as I slipped off my flip flops; no laundry here.

Either he didn't live here, or he was very tidy.

I looked to my right again, my eyes widening.

"Are you pooping with the door open?!" I shrieked, terrified to walk over there now.

"Toilet paper, Delaney" Harry huffed, and before I knew it, his hand poked out from the door.

Oh my god.

Oh my god.

OH MY GOD.

"I uh.. um.. I.. okay" I stuttered, quickly walking over, keeping my eyes on the ground as I shoved the bag into his hand. "I'm just gonna go" I rushed out; wondering what the fuck just happened.

Mental note; Harry needs more toilet paper.

On the side bar.

He poops with the door open?!

* * * * 

Written on: October 2nd and 7th 2023

Published on: October 8th 2023

Word Count: 3.9k

Seven

[cream-and-tea]

HEYYY so. scanning a menu rn. pallas & agnes 11 12 14 and 56 because it's been half a day and i'm still incredibly abnormal about them 👍

well i’m abnormal about them too this is very effective symbiosis 👍 (questions from here!)

If someone was impersonating them, what would friends / family ask or do to tell the difference?

hmm. when it comes to pallas i think it’d come down to how whoevers doing the impersonating acted around other people. because from the outside pallas seems like they act the same way around everyone, but in reality they really don’t??? like they are openly hostile to almost everyone but often in slightly different ways. how they interact with fiver (who they hate) and calliope (who they also hate) might come across as very similar to someone who’s only observed them, no matter how closely, but if those two interacted with a doppelgänger one after the other they would probably be able to put together that something was Up. either that or agnes could ask about any of the shit that happens in chapter ten of the book bc literally no one knows about that except the two of them.

agnes has a lot of niche interests and hobbies that would make for easy testing but it’s also entirely in character for her to sometimes not remember obvious details/facts about them or mix things up, so i think watching how the imposter acted as her in a stressful situation would be the most surefire way to tell. if the imposter can’t replicate the specific way she snowballs from placating and peacekeeping to denial that anything remotely bad is even happening it would be a hard sell to the people (especially pallas) who know her. also she’s allergic to strawberries and i feel like that would be a hard thing to fake effectively lol.

What’s something that makes them laugh every single time? Be specific!

oooo okay okay. for pallas i think there’s a painting in one of The Library’s art halls that’s some very simple pastoral scene of like. a girl sitting by a window with a cat on her lap. except. except. it is so clear that whichever artist did it could not paint animals for shit and the cat in the painting is medieval heraldry levels of weird looking. they probably found it while exploring as a kid, lost their mind laughing over it, and even now have to suppress a smile when walking past it. tbh not much makes them laugh but i do think they have a fondness for irony or observational humour, if only under very specific circumstances.

agnes struggles A Lot with jokes (itsthe autism ain’t it!!), she’s always laughing at the wrong things or not laughing at all or asking questions that ruin the punchline and it’s generally just a bad time for her, so i think for comedy to work for her it has to be very obviously intended as comedic and she has to know what exactly makes it funny, stuff like puns or even knock-knock jokes. she’s also someone who laughs a lot in general, either when she’s very happy or very nervous it’s kinda her go-to response. sometimes the circumstances of your life get so absurd that you just have to laugh at it all and she has loooong since passed that threshold

How do they put out a candle?

pallas does the “lick your fingers and pinch the wick” move but they don’t lick their fingers because they’ve got bloodflesh magic. except pallas almost never uses their powers for healing they just always think that hypothetically they could use their powers for healing, which means they’re accumulating reckless little injuries all the time bc technically they can fix them later. they like never remember to actually do that though.

agnes doesn’t “put out” candles if she lights one she is letting that thing burn to nothing so she can mess around with the melted wax. she’s also the kind of person who’d have more than one scented candle going at once so her room smells like a particularly tiny stuffy occult store

If they’re scared, who do they want comfort from? Does this answer change depending on the type of fear?

pallas generally doesn’t want comfort when they’re scared because that would require another person seeing them be scared and they would rather be dropped headfirst into the marianas trench than submit themself to that. but when they do want it they almost always want it from the director (<- head of The Library who became their personal tutor at age 13 when their powers started flaring out of control) (<- more succinct way of saying ‘who metaphorically stuck their brain in a blender and turned it onto the highest setting’)

this desire mostly stems from how they do view the director as a parental figure, despite her always insisting that all she has ever done for pallas is teach them and that is all she will ever do (<- things said by a woman about to obliterate any boundary in her relationship with this kid while still insisting on a facade of chilly professionalism.) and despite hating themself for viewing her that way. like that is their boss and their principal and their handler and their colleague and their god but that’s also their mom! and sometimes all they want when they’re scared is for her to tell them it’s not real it can’t hurt them and everything is going to be okay! the thing is that the director knows this and will occasionally offer parental comfort to pallas so that they have to choose between refusing it or accepting it and being punished for doing that. shits bad in here.

as for agnes she figured out pretty early that she couldn’t really turn to either of her parents (her mother would never take her seriously and her father would offer her comfort but then inevitably tell her mother who would get angry with her for upsetting her father. rinse repeat) so for years she ended up seeking out the ghosts she saw in the abandoned town her family were based in. bc of the nature of how ghosts work in lay me down they couldn’t be much help when it came to talking her down or empathizing with her emotions, but she developed a habit of finding the most frightening one she could (like someone who had died a particularly gruesome death) and focusing on that instead of what she was afraid of, which usually worked, and if it was only going to make things worse there were plenty of more peaceful-looking ghosts who it’d be easy to pretend to have a very soothing nice conversation with. flawless system!!!

now that she’s away from home and in The Library pallas has become her go-to person for comfort which they are. um. remarkably bad at giving. but the comfort they provide is a lot more tangible in agnes’s mind (even if something is coming to kill me pallas will kill it first. even if something out there is bad pallas is worse. pallas needs me so they can’t let me get hurt.) so she can handle their TOTAL lack of understanding and sympathy. they’ve also never outright denied her or turned her away when she comes looking for comfort no matter how uncomfortable it obviously makes them (i mean. they’ve never actively welcomed or encouraged her doing it either but that doesn’t matter to agnes at all) and she sees this as a promising sign that she’s making progress towards her eventual goal of Getting Pallas To Be Vulnerable. she gets to feel safer and she gets to make pallas express an emotion in front of her it’s a win win in her books. everyone is always saying ‘agnes why do you keep sticking your head in the lions (pallas’s) mouth’ and never how was the mouth was the mouth fun the mouth looked fun. also the lion (pallas) literally promised her it would never ever bite down. so there <3