#sawdust meals

[chizupuff]

frostpunk 2 citizens, lmao

[krafterwrites]

Rice Krispy cereal is so evil. I tried eating a little bit of it a few nights ago because I really needed something sweet, but then I found out that all of the flavor in Rice Krispy treats comes from the marshmallow, the cereal is only responsible for the texture

[sigmar-after-not-surviving]

Wish is a Nothing Movie.

[kyannnite]

girls (gender neutral) i am terrified one of my new roomies moves in in 2 days and i have been living my myself for the past 3 months… i’ve forgotten how to be normal

[running-with-kn1ves]

CAN WE PLEASE HAVE A PART 2 FOR THE KILLER CLOWN POOKIE :((((

A/N: Long awaited, took me forever to actually finish, but HERE IT IS. I really struggled making an interesting part 2, so I hope you find it mildly interesting anon (-‿-")

Link to 1st part found here!

TW: Murderous killer clown, mentions of past killings, blood, kidnapped reader, forced close proximity, isolation torture

Synopsis: Kidnapped by your killer clown stalker, you navigate being stuck in his toy room and being fed a very personal dinner, all while trying to avoid his loving insanity.

A room full of dolls, no matter their origin or purpose, is never an endearing sight. You swore even if the off-putting, Raggedy Ann and porcelain, dust-ridden dolls were anime figurines and children’s collectibles, you wouldn’t feel any safer in this hellscape. “Your punishment” he called it, and a punishment it was. Like a child made to spend the rest of the day in its bedroom, you were tied snuggly to the recliner chair in birthday string, forced to stare back at the eyes and broken limbs of endless toys. Of his, toys. Was this room part of the abandoned warehouse connected to the shit hole he called his home? Why did this room smell so repugnantly of petrichor and mold, when the rest of the “house” was either doused in bleach or rot that made your nose so dry it bled?

Maybe, if you had ever learned to properly meditate, the hours in here wouldn’t feel so head-splitting. The darkness nearly brought you to insanity, begging for the arrival of your captor to come slinking back in with another microwaved meal. You would’ve welcomed his manic personality and demented point of view, if it meant you could hear anything besides the echo of your own thoughts and the crushing sound of an analog clock's ticking. 

If only you were smarter, stronger, faster. You could’ve gotten out sooner, could’ve kept yourself away from this kidnapping entirely. But it was your stubbornness that led you to be “disciplined”, inside the toy room. Two hours ago on the shelf behind you, an old fire truck (you guessed, from the siren sound and reflecting red) went off, falling to the floor and proceeding to wail for several minutes. Even with your erratic, terror-stricken sobs leading you to beg for freedom from this room, your captor never unbolted the door.

 You hadn’t even heard his footsteps from the other side. Maybe he was out luring another victim, adding to the stockpile of bloody buckets in the closet, or perhaps your replacement-- a relieving sentiment. But you knew, from the hours he droned on about soulmates and how your appreciation of him that night that seemed years ago, you weren’t going anywhere. Atleast, not without provocation. 

Your exhaustion didn’t let you care if there was someone chained in the woodcutting section of the warehouse, if there was another layer of gore on the ground. You just wanted out from here, food in your gnawing stomach. You could even pretend to apologize, to care for him. Okay, maybe not that far, but you could give a convincing act. By now, you were sorry. Sorry you didn’t open your mouth to his prodding questions, didn’t comply when now it feels like it would’ve been so easy. 

You licked at the corner of your mouth, hoping a salty, fallen tear could reach your tongue. Your lips were so cracked, you’d give anything for chapstick, for some water to cover your sawdusted throat. 

So hoarse from screaming and wracking with sobs, you wondered if this was how he was planning to kill you. The day was inevitable, after what you’d seen him do… but, you really thought it’d be more horrific than this, more… agonizing. Maybe you should be grateful. Dehydration really isn’t too bad compared to drawing blood or whatever sick, Saw-type torture he had in mind. 

And like that, when you were near accepting this newfound death, Satan spoke. 

The creak of an industrial metal door respunded in your pounding head, your neck snapping and cracking to look toward it's screech.

“Hm-- I thought I let you out before I left.” His signature, raspy voice rendered muffled under his mask. “How long have you been in here?” 

The swift blade of a hunting knife came to the back of the recliner, letting the tight ribbon binding your hands and body fall to the ground, harmlessly. It looked so small now, so thin and fitting for this uncharacteristically silly, dusted room. 

“I--” You cut yourself off with a blood-spitting cough, the sensation of needles coming up and out of your throat. 

“Oh rats… look at you, covered in dust and all tear-stricken; It was only twelve hours,” He brushed the wet spot on your dusty cheek. “Sweet doll… that’s all it takes to drive you insane?” 

He laughed a short snort, reeking of dried blood and dirt. The diamond-patterned gloves usually adorning his bone-thin fingers were already gone, cold and clean hands pulling your bound wrists forward out of the chair. He drug you up far enough to get you out of the recliner. Legs weak and practically immobile, you did your best to keep your distance; but he was determined to make you lean on him, taking your hands to inspect. 

“Bruises don’t look too bad on you…” He mumbled, watching the dark ring that had formed below your palms. “But it's not right, I need to take better care of you, don’t I?”

He asked, as if your say meant anything. But you knew this; you were getting a hold of the game now. 

Nodding your head, you leaned just a tad against his damp shoulder for support, nearly ready to fall to the ground. From the sound of the metal roof, it had been raining only an hour earlier. You prayed it was rain drops staining into your sleeve. 

“I don’t feel good..” You mumbled, voice cracking under pressure. 

“Of course you don’t. That was the whole point of this little time out session, dollheart; but I bet you want to come out, to talk a little bit now, don’t you?”

He was always too comfortable, acting as if you were more than just an angry hostage. You were his darling, his pet, his everything. It made you sick, listening to the way he talked at you-- feeling like you were watching yourself from outside your body, as if these pet names were for somebody else. 

You forgot the whole purpose of this endeavor was to get you to cooperate; when you didn’t respond immediately, you could feel him tense up. 

Even a nod wasn’t enough, like you expected. What did he want, again? For you to say his name, to listen and to speak? All this time in here, and you barely reflected on the purpose of your discipline. 

He gave you another opportunity, a short kindness, placing his ridden jacket over your shoulders. 

“Are you hungry? Ready to come out and eat without problems?”

You swallowed the little saliva you could muster. 

“Please, yes...Quin.” You were so quiet, a small part of you doing it on purpose, shame in saying your kidnapper’s name so casually like old pals. You kept that anger at the back of your mind, ignoring how speaking rubbed your throat into a deeper raw. 

He led you through the thick steel door away from your prison, rubbing at the back of your neck in an attempt to soothe the state your throat was left in. You hobbled your way out, gaining some strength back in your jello-ified legs. 

“What do you want to eat, chicken or beef?” 

You almost threw up in your mouth remembering the frozen pasta options you had consumed for the past two months. Would you ever get to taste something besides starch and fake meat again? 

“...Chicken. Please.” You added, forgetting you were on thin ice. One wrong move and another needle-full of mystery fluid was stuck into your thigh and you went eye-to-eye with Raggedy Ann again. 

You let the apathetic creature grab hold of your sweating fingers, hand-in-hand as the labored breathing behind his stained, venetian-like mask became unbearable to listen to. It was different from the one you had seen him in the night you were dragged here; most of the time he wore something new, maybe depending on his mood or something as superficial as his outfit, you weren't sure yet. It made you more afraid, only being able to see shadowed green eyes beneath a painted porcelain, often accented with red and gold to accompany the splatters of gore that make way to his face. 

Quin watched you walk barefooted and soulless, taking in the familiar sights of the small inhabitable area of his “home.” What wasn’t inhabited by you most of the time, was reserved for Quin’s… activities. Despite thinking about what he must’ve done today, you were ravenous. 

He wasn’t wearing the usual get-up today-- the circus-like, ridiculous clown-inspired rags he dared to do most of his bidding in. It was… oddly casual, muted colors with dark layers to shield him from the cold. The mask looked out of place, wisps of fiery red hair covering his forehead and ears. The color was fresh, not fading into blonde like the last time you saw him a mere half-day ago. 

Quin pushed your shoulders down, placing you in the wooden chair that had already been pulled out; the way it was left after you had been drug out of it. 

“Sit. How tired are you?”

He pulls out a small keychain flashlight from his pants pocket. 

“Tired.” You respond, huddling into yourself as the cold from the floor crept in. It was freezing outside, late November proving to be no joke compared to the windy October day you last saw the sun.

Quin gave you a dead stare, shinning the light into your eyes. 

“Very funny. Do you feel like passing out at all? Your eyes are bloodshot.” He focused on each eye, temporarily blinding you before turning the flashlight off to put it back in his pocket. “Warm,” He mumbled, smoothing a finger from your chin to your throat. “A little too warm. Maybe got a fever being in that old room.”

“I’m just exhausted, I didn’t sleep… at all.” You didn’t have the energy to be angry, but the resentment and hate burrowing into you was making you more disgusted with him by the minute. Who was he to act worried and interested, after throwing you into a demented toy room for hours? “I couldn’t, being in that godforsaken room.”

“Hey, don’t take it out on the dolls, doll. I thought they’d keep you company.”

Your captor stood up, running his frozen hands along your jaw, smoothening your cheeks with his thumbs. 

“Keep me company?” You remembered the firetruck, wanting to scream and cry until your body shook again. “I.. I don’t think I was alone, but there was something more than dolls in there. It moved, things were moved…” Tears rushed to your eyes, willing to fall faster after crying so recently. “ I can’t go back in there.”

You were firm in your words, looking up at him. You wouldn’t go back in there, you’d give yourself a heart attack before he managed to kill you. 

“I don’t think you’re in any position to be making demands.” Quin bent back down to lay a hand on the wooden chair frame behind you, scanning your eyes. 

You tried to lean back, not too obvious yet not allowing him to get any closer. You could feel the exhale of air through the mask’s nose hitting your forehead. 

“I’d rather you kill me than put me back in there.” His chest was warm, from where you put a shaky hand to stop him. You didn’t have the courage to be firm, to do more than rest your palm there, as if you were feeling his heartbeat. It was gentle, a rhythmic beat that reminded you he was just as human as you were. A monster of a human.

“Really? You’re that scared, baby?” Quin smoothed the hair above your ear, resting his hand on your scalp. “Even after everything I made you see, more that you’re gonna see? You’re scared of some collectibles?”

You looked away, being the first to lose the staring contest he put in order. 

“It’s different.” You murmured through hoarseness, trying to ignore the pit in your stomach after hearing another sappy pet name.

“Fine. Next time I’ll just make you bleed our next guest dry. Its about time you learned the family trade.”

He placed a kiss to your cheek through the mask, doing little to acknowledge the wince you gave when he moved forward so quickly. By now, maybe you should believe him when he says he’s not killing you quite yet... But after witnessing so many of his activities, you can’t help but imagine yourself in his victims’ place, waiting for a knife to drag itself across your stomach.

The thought made bile rise in your throat. You had so little to vomit away, and yet you still felt the desire to rid last night's meal. You couldn’t do it. The dolls were better. You couldn’t hurt someone like that. It was now, that you realized how different watching was compared to actually doing it. You couldn’t stomach watching him work with his gadgets and coroner tools, how could you comprehend actually doing anything with them? 

The microwave began to churn alive after Quin’s button pressing, refrigerator door swinging to a close as the microwaves’ hum filled the damp, grainy room. Peeling wallpaper reminded you of an aging housewife, brown stains on the floor being a more comforting vision than looking up at your captor. 

Even if you kept your eyes down, you had to contribute-- to be more than a lifeless doll here, lest you get thrown back in again to that pit of clown memorabilia. 

“What did you do, while I was here?” 

Your voice cracks dryly, attempting to clean the dirt under your nails as you stare down. 

“Do you really want to know?” You could hear the smile through his words. “you've got such a weak stomach,” He waited for you to protest, continuing when you sat silently. “It wasn’t anything you would deem oh so “horrific,” really. Just some shopping at the hardware store, odds and ends.”

“Oh.” Is all you could muster. You continued to pick at your nails until the ending beep of the microwave resounded. Quin opened its door, grabbing the tips of the cardboard meal plate as it steamed. The smell of chicken and pasta filled the small, round dining room. 

Your stomach churned, hungry and yet sick at the thought of eating another mushy, microwaved meal of little to no nutritional value. 

“...Thanks, Quin.” You were mildly sarcastic, a habit you had forgotten to shove down in fear of punishment-- but you tried to shoot him a crooked, half-smile to cover it up. 

“Nothing but the best for you, doll.” The clown pulled out an unmatching foldable chair with a lengthy screech, a plastic fork with muted ends already sitting in front of him at the table. He was so lean, uncharacteristically gangly at the hips and forearms, but wide in his shoulders and thighs. It tooke everything in you to not scratch at the floor boards to get out, to run away from a man so close that took pleasure in hurting people just like you. 

You were going to comment on the fork, again still not understanding how a plastic utensil could cause enough damage to need to be shaved down, but Quin did something that struck you as even more unsettling. 

“I think, maybe we should go back a few steps. It would do us some good, rebuild our trust.” He stirs around the mixture in the cardboard frozen meal box. Quin looks toward you while he covers the bits of broccoli and chicken in alfredo sauce. “ If I can trust you again to be good to me, there’d be no reason to return to the toy room you’re so afraid of.”

You bit your tongue, trying to choose your words wisely. He overstepped, but you shouldn’t be trying to stomp on his toes either-- save future you some punishment, you told yourself. 

“Thats not necessary, I’ve… you know I just need some time to adjust, I’m kept here all day and--” 

Quin suddenly patted at his lap in interruption, opening his legs and turning himself to face you. 

“Come sit.” 

You look at him incredilously, trying to garner a reaction out of that stoic, masked face. 

“Did you hear anything I just said?”

“Just sit, you’re hungry, aren’t you.”

Gritting your teeth, you shoved down an insult, wanting to throw fast words on how the hell he knew what you wanted, who he thought he was to tell you what to do!

You sit there in defiance, utter disbelief and anger at how he watched you quietly, patiently stirring the pasta absentmindedly, the other tapping his leg twice again-- like he was calling a dog. 

He puts both hands on his knees and looks as if he’s about to get up. His bottom nearly leaves the chair before you race out of yours, taking an uncomfortably close step to prevent him from moving any further. It would do no help in a fight, but you could at least make it as uncomfortable for him to try and hurt you if he wanted. You knew better now that when you were walking on cracking ice, to work faster than he did-- he was unlikely to carry out his undesired punishment that way.

Quin relaxes, putting his back against the fold-up chair with a squeak. His palms still grasp his knees looking up at you, an expectation in his body language. 

“Well?”

You turn to the side, lining up with his thigh in preparation to sit. The idea of sucker punching his head is mouth-wateringly appealing. You almost consider it, despite the implications of what will come after; yet, the masked murderer is quicker than you, cutting off your plotting thoughts. 

Cold hands grab at your hips, lurching you down and back against his chest, the full weight of your butt on his thigh. Immediately you hold your weight back up, hovering above his leg as you fear the oddly heated sensation of being against someone, close to another living being. It's been a long time since you felt skin on skin contact. 

“Sit down, you're insulting me,” Quin complained with an effort of wrapping an arm around your waist to pull you back. “Acting as if I'm the plague. Just eat.”

You'd try and pull up again but his arm would not relent. It felt uncomfortably close with his leg shifting under you, the muffled sound of his breathing and speech under the puckered mask. 

He didn't seem uncomfortable with your weight on his lap-- weirdly… more relaxed, oddly calm. Shoulders slumped, legs open in the usual masculine spreading fashion-- if you didn't know better, you'd say he was enjoying this. 

Staring down at the steaming pasta, you swallow down your dissipating apetite. Quin picked up the small fork, looking away from you. Every millisecond that he took his gaze away, you fought back the urge to escape. He twisted thin noodles around the fork, stabbing a piece of broccoli along the way. 

Letting go of you for just a moment Quin used his free hand to lift up the Venetian mask from his chin, pushing it just barely above his lips. He bent down gently to blow on the fork, flurries of steam pushing away from the utensil. You watched, mildly weirded out at his softness, feeling the heat of the meal container radiate toward you. 

Quin, finished with his motherly theatrics, pushed the fork towards your mouth. You instinctively pulled your head back in a flinch. 

It looked as if he was about to say something, jaw clenched in a grating fashion. 

“...Thank you.”  This sugarsweet, docile behavior you had to pretend to play was even harder than you were hoping. 

You leaned forward, reaching your hand out to take the fork as you opened your mouth. But Quin didn’t let it go, allowing your fingers to rest on his as you tried to take it. The pasta was gently placed against your tongue, filling your mouth as you bit down. 

The killer slowly, --too slowly you might add-- removed the fork from your lips. He was watching, his eyes and gentle, plum lips nearer than they ever had been before. You had never seen him up so close, only mere inches away as you cautiously chewed. 

A thought ran across your mind, wondering if the food had been tampered with-- but at this point, did it matter? It likely wouldn’t be the first time, or the last. 

Quin repeated the process, softly blowing on the food before feeding you with a tenderness that wasn’t mean for a captor and his captive. 

You appreciated the silence, though; no bitingly silly remarks or sadistic smiles, just a softly domestic scene with the humming of the yellowed refridgerator. 

The wrongness of having someone watch you eat, waiting till you’ve swallowed, making sure you’ve taken every bit off of the fork-- it was like being watched by a crowd, not showing immediate judgement and yet just as uncomfortable. 

“You’ve got a little,” Quin hesitated, putting the fork back down in the frozen meal plate. His nimble hand came to hold under your chin, pulling your face closer to his. You could feel his breath now tickling your nose as he parted his lips in concentration. A wintry thumb swiped over the corner of your mouth, taking away stray sauce that hadn’t made it to your mouth. 

“There; what a mess you make. Looks like you're trying to tease me, acting all helpless.”

You were ready to react, but a splotch of something dark resting on the clown’s open chest caught your eye. You thought it was a birthmark at first, one you had never noticed before-- but upon closer inspection, you saw it was uneven dots of blood, dried and smudged. 

Your tongue went dry, breath getting caught in your throat as you recalled his words earlier. Was up to nothing, huh? 

…How many people have died since you’ve been stuck alone in that room? 

The fear of your impending death was rising in your throat in the form of acid, no longer hungry for anything-- merely sick and distraught. What was he saving for you, what were you going to become-- he may be spouting nonsensical “I love you” ‘s and such, but how could you believe it when so many have been killed in your stead? 

Quin ignored the creased lines of horror on your face, the silence of your twitching frown as you kept your gaze on his soiled neck. 

“Alright, now open wide.” Quin brushes your cheek with one hand, the other holding another forkful of pasta and chicken. 

Your lips shake, finding it hard to keep your mouth anything but clamped shut as you remember the foul sights, the smells of the rest of this warehouse-- how could you be so stupid, thinking maybe you’d find one way to get this all to stop, a daydream of freedom from this dank hellhole. 

You’d better start getting used to saying ‘I love you.’ 

[reptileyan]

A haunted house you're unable to leave

For anyshiptober 🎃

You're gonna sue the shit out of airbnb, should you ever get to a civilized place with phone service again. The gorgeous house you paid way too much to spend a few nights in seems much bigger than advertised, you can't find the front door. You can't find any doors to the outside, and you're throughly pissed, near tears. You need to go grocery shopping, the cute little mart down the road only looked a little bit completely out of business, but it doesn't matter now! You live in an endless victorian labyrinthian nightmare!

You sink to the floor and cry after forty-five minutes, finally giving up. You're hungry and tired. You're out several hundred dollars. The outdoors is gone and you hate this house, no matter how pretty the wallpaper is, how charming all the accents are.

You smell something good, and with it comes hope. Maybe the neighbors exist, and are nearby and cooking something delicious. They'll have you out of here and give you their lawyer's number and then you'll be free and rich and eating food! Maybe it's a single neighbor and you'll marry them and be rich because anyone who could afford anything as stupidly beautiful as the houses around here has got to be rich, with old timey maids and butlers and a personal chef-

You walk into the kitchen, and are met with a sweet smile, coming from something vaguely in the shape of a human. It definitely isn't one. It looks to be made of the same material as the floors and counters and walls, patchwork across their body. It isn't tall, isn't short. It never loses contact with the floor, the floor reaching up to meet and moving with it.

You take a step closer and the floorboards beneath you warm.

You're currently sober, but just in case, you swear to never do a single drug again if you make it out of this.

A table is next to you, and it wasn't before. The chairs look comfortable. You've decided to stop moving.

The thing continues stirring whatever its making. "You won't get hurt here, no matter what. Don't worry."

You are very worried. Voices don't normally sound like floorboards creaking and fires crackling and pipes settling. Voices don't sound like a home. Voices sound like a human.

It doesn't turn to see you. It must not have to. You understand, and don't want to. Its voice is raspy and soft and strange and doesn't alarm you by its sound alone, it sounds beautiful. The meal smells lovely. This just shouldn't be happening.

It tries again, ladling soup into bowls. "I promise. You can walk and sit anywhere. I prefer for you to not actively lash out against or harm me, but I can handle it if you need to, or if an accident happens. I'm sturdy."

You sit. The chair reshapes around you, softens and heats. It doesn't restrain or eat you, so that's nice. The thing comes over and places your food in front of you, smiles with a face made of wood and glass and porcelain and paper and paint, shifting depending on where it stands. You go to ask a question but it walks away to fetch fresh baked bread, and something to drink. You don't really know how to be polite in this situation, or how to survive, or what's going on.

You expect the soup to turn to gutter water in your mouth, the bread to turn to sawdust.

It's perfect, delicious, exactly what you needed. You eye the creature that sits across from you.

"Where did you get the food?"

It shrugs. "A pantry is part of a house, isn't it?"

Fair enough.

"How long have you been here?"

"I haven't kept track."

"Are you going to let me leave?"

It shakes its head.

"Am I the only one here?"

It nods. "Besides me."

You stop eating and think for a moment. "Just physical trapping though, right? No poison?"

"No poison."

You take a deep breath, and sigh. And take another bite.

It gazes at you happily as you eat the food, starving after the long drive and hopeless search for an exit. "You like it?"

You nod.

It seems pleased, the tiles that form something akin to hair clink as they puff up, its eyes alight with what might be actual fire, or little fairy lights.

"Really?"

You finish the last bite. "Yes. What are you going to do to me?"

It simulates a blink, the lights dimming and glowing. "Well i thought you might like to eat in a dining room but i didn't think to escort you to one. Are you still hungry?"

You aren't. You want a bath. And tea. Testing the waters, seeing how it reacts to requests.

It seems delighted, the chair pushing you into its arms, a wide grin across its face. "Of course! Anything you desire."

You raise a finger. "Except to leave."

It carries you out. "Yes, except to leave, you can't do that."

You insist on walking, it makes a face before telling you it supposes that's fine, it enjoys holding you like that as well. You decide not to ask about it.

The bathtub is huge, and opulent, much more luxurious than any of the photos. The bath is already filling up with hot water and bubbles, and it 'leaves' to get you a cup of tea. It returns in a few minutes, places the cup next to you, no indication that it's affected by you naked in the bath besides the water heating up a bit, the walls seeming a bit more pink. Funny.

You take a sip. It's delicious. "Do you imitate human mannerisms on purpose to indicate emotions, or do you do it instinctively?"

It doesn't know. You thank it for the tea and bath, because you forgot to, shifting so the bubbles wash off your chest. The walls' shade of pink darkens, and you sink into the bath as it heats until it stings, just how you like it.

"It isn't nice to kidnap people."

"I know."

"Or to lie in your air bnb description."

"I know."

"You have a phone and wifi around here, or you wouldn't have been able to do that."

"Mmhmm."

"What if I find it and call the other humans?"

"You won't."

"Why not?"

"Because I won't let you, and you like it here."

You nod. "Fair enough. What if I don't like it?"

"I'll figure out a way to make it nice for you."

You're amused, and terrified, and tired, and resigned to your fate.

"Thank you."

It rests its cheek on the side of the tub to shamelessly watch you bathe. "You're welcome."

The towels you're given after are fluffy, the bed you're led to is huge and plush. It crawls in next to you, becoming 'soft and plush, just like you!' It seems very pleased. You don't bother to tell it humans would consider that rude. You like being fat, and you like being appreciated, and you like how it surrounds you with itself and curls up in your arms.

You ask if its going to charge you rent. Its laugh sounds like the windchimes that welcomed you when you first entered the house.

You sleep, after awhile of enjoying its warmth around you, how it pretends to breathe in the sounds of a building settling. You'll find your way out. Or you won't. But that's alright. You like it here.

[overstuffd]

How do they do it?

(wg story about being secretly turned into the office piggy)

You weren't worried about gaining weight at your new job, even if it did involve sitting behind a desk all day.

One of the first things you'd noticed when you'd come in for your interview was that everyone was in great shape.

No wonder, either, with all the ammenities the company offered. Free food - 3 meals and a day and as many snacks as you want, prepared by the in house chefs.

Fancy coffee machines, fridges stocked with kombucha and seltzer, a gym and spa on site, massages, a nap room - this place took employee wellbeing seriously.

You could already see yourself getting lean, putting on some muscle. Clearly the office culture was one of discipline, and you were ready to slot right in.

☕

Okay - maybe the first few weeks hadn't gone quite as planned. Your workload was heavier than you expected, so there was less time to hit the gym. The chef prepared meals were delicious - so delicious you found it almost impossible to opt for the healthier options over rich, indulgent dishes.

You were drinking a lot coffee to stay focused, at least the machines dispensed endless skinny cappuccinos, but even with that you found yourself craving a sugar hit for attention. The break room might be stocked with almonds and sawdust-tasting protein bars, but you found yourself grabbing a big scoop of m and ms several times a day.

The truth was, you weren't getting any fitter. Instead, you were feeling a little softer all over - especially at the top of your thighs which were spreading wider and wider in your plush office chair.

Meanwhile, your colleagues looked as good as ever. The guy in the next office keeps stopping by to see how you're settling in and every time you swear his grip is a little stronger as he jostles your shoulder.

You vow to double down on keeping in shape - though looks like you'll be working till ten tonight, so you're going to need to fuel up before then.

☕

The friday that marks six months at the company for you is also the night of the office hoilday party before you closed till new year.

Last year, you owned a cozy, baggy, oversized christmas jumper. Now, you own a just-about-covers-your-swelling-gut christmas jumper.

Still, the boss had insisted everyone wear something festive so you don't have much choice.

The party is lavish - specialty cocktails, a huge buffet and tuxedoed waiters circling with hors d'oeuvres and champagne to make sure there's always something within reach.

You mean to keep control of yourself, but all your coworkers keep pressing drinks on you, and pretty soon it's hard to say no. They keep reocmmending food as well, and then the tall girl from accounts you always though was cute is pushing a chocolate coated straberry between your lips. Soon everyone is taking it inturns to feed you, and as confused as you are you can't help but admit you're enjoying it - maybe too much.

That night, after you get home, you spend an hour touching yourself to the feeling of everyone's eyes on you as your over-tight jumper rode up over your rounded stomach.

The next morning though, you're embarassed. How can you have gotten so out of shape so fast? Sure the job is stressful, and there always seems to be food to hand, but everyone else in the office seems to have no problem.

When you're back in the office after new years you're going to turn things around. There's no point starting a diet during the holidays, but in a few weeks you're going to be on the track to dropping the pounds.

☕

Of course, it's not really your fault you can't seem to keep the weight off. Your colleagues all know a few things you don't.

They know that the coffee machine in your break room might offer sinny lattes, but they pour cream-thickened coffees filled with sugary syrups and enough caffeine to keep you craving six cups a day.

They know that the chef - infuses - certain dishes, and makes sure you grab those plates, leaving you dozing and snacking through the afternoon.

They know that your supervisor lets the canteen know to prepare extra large desserts right after assigning you a new pile of work, so you have something to help you deal with the stress.

And they know that one of the perks of the job - for them at, least - is getting to take their stress out on the office piggy. Once the workload gets too much for your struggling brain and your body is properly swollen you'll be gently offered a new role in the company, one more suited to your skill set.

You'll be so tired of the stress, and so eager to please you manager, you sign without reading the job description. That's why you're surprised when you're delivered to your new office and find nothing but a bed with thick straps at each corner and a cart loaded with food - and when your old office-neighbour comes in and grabs a box of doughnuts as he pulls down his suit pants.

[bluesidedown]

you are 23  and your hands hold steady the block of wood you are shaping and the sweet aromatic smell of sawdust is curling around you  maybe your mother’s voice floats through an open door to tell you a meal is ready maybe you still have something to learn about carpentry as you work alongside Joseph 30 years is a long time to spend waiting quietly faithful, caring for your mother and your father, for your sisters and your brothers working with your hands ‘til the hands of God are calloused going to the synagogue to hear your words read week upon week you are 23 you are patient  building a whole life of not my will but yours, Father

maybe you pick up a nail from the workbench look at it and know 10 years from now rough hands will hold you down and drive a spike through your wrist  spilling blood onto rough wood  maybe you are already making that sacrifice now quietly faithful maybe you can teach me how to be 23 waiting, quietly faithful caring for my mother and my father, my sisters and my brothers working with the hands God gave me hearing your words week upon week

build in me a whole life of not my will but yours, Jesus

[erosmutt]

/ thinkin' bout﹒☆

﹒renovation w/ han and ani﹒⌅

𖦹 dubcon, spitroasting, infidelity, face fucking, face slapping, misogyny

"look at you, little miss housewife, up in the kitchen. makin' sumn for us, doll?" Han asks, taking off his gloves and smacking them down onto the counter. he runs a hand through his sweaty hair, shaking his head, droplets of sweat falling onto the floor. Anakin, who was standing next to Han, rolls his eyes. "she's married."

you turn and look at them, a smile on your face as you gently suckle lemon juice off your fingers. "lemonade, boys. done already?"

it was a nice break - the sound of drilling and banging and hammering and yelling ceased momentarily. a reprieve from Han going 'dammit Skywalker!' every two minutes was very welcome.

"yeah, done already." Anakin confirms. He lifts his shirt, showing off his toned body, and wipes the sweat from his brow. "got the bathroom cabinets up good and sturdy."

you smile as you pour them both a glass of fresh lemonade. "here you go boys," you slide them across the counter. both took their glasses. Han knocked his back like a fucking shot, and Anakin gulped his down with a bit of pacing. they were both parched, having worked all day, especially since it was summertime. Han interjects with a satisfied 'ahh', and Anakin just licks his lips and sets the cup back onto the counter. "so," Han begins. "when's that no-good man a'yours comin' home? been on business for an awful long while, ain't he?"

Anakin rolls his eyes again. "fucking hell," he mutters under his breath. it was no secret that Han had a thing for you. when the men were working, Han would often tell Anakin his fantasies about you.

'god, that fuckin' dress. whorin' 'erself out, ain't she? might as well be wearin paint the way that thing holds onto 'er.' 'i think the dress is pretty.' 'it'd look even better on the fuckin' floor while i bend 'er over.' 'you're so... vulgar, man.' 'stays in the kitchen like a good woman too. got it in check, mhm. can cook and clean. my typa woman.'

this conversation happened only just before they were called to the kitchen for refreshments.

"how 'bout this, dollface," Han starts. "whip us up somethin' for dinner, eh? all that work," he reaches over and pats Anakin's stomach, making the shorter man grumble. "gots us all hungry." as if on cue, Anakin's tummy growls, making you giggle.

"i suppose i can. what d'you have a taste for, hm?" you ask, rinsing out their recently emptied glasses. Anakin can't help but smile. but as opposed to Han, who was waiting to see you as the cute dishwasher you were, Anakin thought you were really sweet for offering them a meal.

𔓘

"how was it?" you ask softly as you wash the dishes, house dress swishing as you suds up a plate. the smell in the house was a mix of carbonara and sawdust. Anakin sighs softly, fingers absentmindedly fiddling with his curls. "good." he gives you a smile. but it immediately falls as he sees his partner walk up to you. "Han," he says in a warning tone. it was too late. Han's hands were already on your hips, pulling you back into him as if you were his wife. Anakin groans. "here we go,"

you gasp, dropping the sponge into the sink and gripping the edge of the basin. "look at 'er Ani," Han reaches up and grips your face, forcing you to face Anakin, who gives you a look of sympathy. but you did look good with that innocent confused expression on your face... so he gets up and walks around the counter, watching your eyes widen with what was more than likely fear. it didn't matter, though, that look would be replaced with something else real soon.

soon, not knowing how, you were squatted down on your kitchen floor, hands on either man's cock. Anakin's cock was slimmer, while Han's was fatter. you look back and forth between them - Anakin had his eyes closed and lip being bitten into while Han had a shit-eating grin on his face. "open up sweetheart," Han tells you, stepping in front of you. Anakin follows his lead, and the two men smack their cocks on your face. "shit," Anakin hisses quietly as he rubs his pretty pink tip onto your lips.

Han pushes your hair out of your face and watches as you open your mouth. "tongue out like a good girl," he praises as his partner slides his cock into your warm, wet mouth. Anakin shudders and puts his hands on the back of your head, tangling his fingers into your hair.

"i got an idea, Skywalker." Han says. he taps Anakin's hip and the younger man pulls out of your mouth. Han pulls you up off the ground so you're standing. once you're on your feet, he picks you up. both you and Anakin watch with curiosity, until Han impales you on his cock, forcing himself in until he's buried to the hilt inside you. "ohh," he manhandles you with ease, leans you back, his large hands (and your legs around his waist) the only thing suspending you in midair. "now," he looks up at Anakin. "put it back in 'er mouth."

obeying, Anakin steps up to you, putting his hands underneath your shoulder blades for added support. "oh, god," he whines, voice breathy as he slides into your waiting mouth.

"good girl," Han praises. "takin' 'im good." him and Anakin look up at each other, Han flashes him a knowing smile, as if saying 'good job'. they were most definitely going to do this again the next day they came to fix up your house - and maybe, just maybe, Han would let Anakin fuck you too.

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

PETS FOR ARRANGED READER PETS FOR ARRANGED READER PLSPLSPLSPLS

Bruce sipped his cup of coffee and watched from the balcony on his bedroom. A little pleased with himself.

Giving you back one of your first loves- horses, had evidently been a good move. You spent more time outdoors. And you looked stronger- healthier. Horseback riding, Bruce learned was a full body work out pretty much.

Which meant you ate. You had to eat because hours of riding was work. Taking care of your horse was work.

It was something. Even if it was a relatively solitary activity. He'd take it. There was no real trouble for you to get into on the grounds. And frankly, he was just relieved you were eating actual meals.

Opal, so named for the circular white spot on her chest that reminded you of an opal- was good for you. That much was abundantly clear.

"Did she eat breakfast?" Bruce asked Alfred who appeared and set down his tray.

"Not at the table, but she took some things with her," Alfred snorted, more amused than offended. "It seems she found something to sketch and wanted to get it in the right light."

"I wonder what for."

"Reasons known only to herself I imagine," Alfred snorted, shaking his head. "Master Bruce-"

"I know the stable construction means there's sawdust but-"

"I can handle a little extra sweeping," Alfred said waving his concerns away. But- Giving her back horseback riding-"

"They sold her horse because she came in second place. At 9- it wasn't fair."

"No," Alfred agreed. "And I think your mother would be proud of you."

[chaifootsteps]

Going from tadc to ghostfuckers is gonna be give me such a whiplash

Gonna be like transitioning from a five star gourmet meal to a bucket of the sawdust they use to clean throw up.

[roxxie-wolf]

𝒩𝑒𝓌 𝒪𝓇𝓁𝑒𝒶𝓃𝓈 𝐿𝑜𝓋𝑒

Pairing: Human!Alastor x Fem!Reader

Summary: Your parents want you to marry someone of their choice, but you already have eyes on someone else. Will you follow what your parents think is best for you or will you go with what your heart desires.

Word count: 2.1k

Warnings: human!alastor x fem!reader, slow burn, this story may contain mature sexual content. Your in your late 20's, Alastor is in his early 30's, you still live with your parents idk. If I forgot anything else please let me know.

Note: Idk what to say, but if I miss anything please let me know ^^

𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝟧

Early morning painted the town in hues of orange and pink as you walked through the quiet streets. You had ventured out to gather some necessities your mother needed for the day. The butcher shop, a familiar stop on your errand route, welcomed you. The scent of fresh meat mingled with the earthiness of sawdust, a combination that was strangely comforting. The man at the register had hands like hams and a smile that was surprisingly gentle for such a rugged exterior.

"Hello, what can I do for you, young lady?" his voice deep and resonant, like the low rumble of distant thunder.

You approached the counter, the list of items your mother needed clear in your mind. "Yes, I was wondering if you have some chops," you looked at him, trying not to seem intimidated by the butcher's imposing presence.

"Of course," turning to the display behind him. "We have a fine selection this morning. Chops, ribs, tenderloin—whatever you need."

You watched as he laid out the cuts of meat, each piece neatly trimmed and wrapped in paper. "I'll take some chops and a tenderloin, please," you decided, thinking of the meals you could prepare.

The butcher nodded, his skilled hands moving deftly to prepare your order. "Coming right up, Anything else I can get for you?"

“No, that would be all, thank you”

As he worked, you couldn't help but notice the care he took with each cut, the respect he showed for his craft. It was a reminder that every person you meet has a story, a life as rich and complex as your own.

With your purchase in hand, you left the butcher shop, the morning sun warming your back as you continued your errands, the town slowly coming to life around you.

After getting everything your mother needed you decided to stop at a cafe, your personal favorite. The cafe, a cozy haven of warmth and the scent of freshly brewed coffee, was a welcome respite from your errands. As you settled into a chair, the weight of the bags reminding you of the morning's hustle, you allowed yourself a moment of rest.

Your gaze wandered, taking in the familiar comfort of the cafe, when suddenly, it landed on a sight that sent a jolt of surprise through you. There, entering the cafe, was Alastor—the very man who had been occupying your thoughts more often than you cared to admit.

He moved with an effortless grace, his attention momentarily caught by the barista's greeting. You watched, almost without thinking, your hand coming to rest beneath your chin as you admired him from afar. He was the picture of charm, his eyes holding a depth that seemed to pull you in.

And then, as if drawn by some unspoken connection, Alastor turned and his eyes found yours. His smile, wide and genuine, was like a beacon cutting through the ambient noise of the cafe. He didn't hesitate, making his way over to you.

"Well hello, we meet again darling," his tone gentle yet filled with the joy of the unexpected meeting.

You looked up at him, your heart fluttering despite your best efforts to appear composed. "Hello, it's good to see you again," your voice a whisper of softness to match his gentle tone.

“May I sit with you” you nodded. Alastor took the seat opposite you, his eyes never leaving yours. "I must say, I didn't expect to find you here," he admitted, his grin widening. "But I'm certainly not complaining, ma cherie.”

Alastor's new word, a soft murmur that you couldn't quite grasp, lingered in the air, adding to the tapestry of the moment. You caught his eyes, those deep pools of mystery, and for a heartbeat, you considered the thought of leaning in closer, of bridging the gap between thought and action.

But the world has a way of pulling us back, and so you turned away, a flush creeping up your cheeks as you wrestled with the sudden rush of emotions.

"May I know what are you thinking?," Alastor's voice broke through your reverie, as gentle as the touch you imagined.

You laughed, a nervous sound that did little to hide the turmoil beneath. "I’m sorry, it’s nothing, just random thoughts," the smile on your face belying the intensity of your previous thoughts.

Alastor's gaze softened, a hint of understanding—or was it curiosity?—flickering within. "Random thoughts are often the most interesting dear," his tone inviting, encouraging you to share more if you wished.

But some thoughts are meant to be kept close, treasured in the silence of one's heart, and so you simply smiled, the color in your cheeks a silent testament to the words left unspoken.

“I see you didn’t order anything” you said, a casual observation to mask the whirlwind of thoughts. The shift in conversation was a welcome reprieve, a chance to steer away from the edge of confessions not yet ready to be shared.

Alastor's response was immediate, his attention shifting from the missed order to your presence. "Ah yes, well I saw you and I decided to make my way to you. I forgot all about ordering. Do you want something, my dear?" His question was simple, but the way he said "my dear" made it feel like an endearment meant only for you.

The hesitation was brief, a moment's pause before you voiced your request. “Yes, coffee please." It was a simple order, one that might bring a smile to some, but Alastor took it in stride.

"Of course, darling" he stand with a fluid grace. He moved towards the barista, and you couldn't help but watch him, each step a silent note in the melody of your admiration.

As he spoke to the barista, you found yourself studying him anew, noticing the subtle gestures, the confident stance, the easy smile. It was as if seeing him in this mundane act peeled back another layer, revealing more of the man who had become a constant in your thoughts.

————————————

Alastor returned, the coffees cradled in his hands as if they were precious cargo. He handed you your cup, and as you whispered your thanks, there was a softness in the air, a gentle exchange of more than just pleasantries.

"I see you have groceries, my dear. Would you like me to help you with those when you leave?" His offer was casual, yet it carried the weight of a gesture that bridged the gap between acquaintance and something more.

You considered for a moment, the practicality of accepting his help mingling with the desire for his company. "Yes, of course, if you don’t mind," the decision made easier knowing your parents wouldn't be home to question his presence.

As you sipped your coffee, the world outside the cafe's window seemed to slow down, the hustle of the town taking on the quality of a distant backdrop. "So Alastor, what do you do for a living?" you asked, curiosity coloring your tone.

He smiled, a hint of pride in his eyes. "Well, I’m a radio host, of course."

The revelation struck a chord, and your eyes widened in recognition. Memories of an evening spent in the company of your mother and the radio came flooding back. She had spoken of the host's voice, rich and captivating. And now, with the pieces falling into place, you realized that the voice that had filled your home with stories, and music belonged to Alastor.

“That sounds like an interesting job," you remarked, the steam from your coffee curling up into the air

Alastor's eyes met yours over the rim of his cup, a spark of passion in his gaze. "It is, trust me, dear" taking a sip of his drink, the words punctuated by the clink of the cup returning to the table.

—————————————

The hours had flown by, each moment spent with Alastor was a moment where the rest of the world seemed to fade away. As the afternoon waned, and the cafe began to empty, the barista starting to clean up for the day. Alastor glanced at the bags beside your chair. "Shall we, darling ?" gesturing towards the exit.

You nodded, and together, you stepped out into the golden hue of the setting sun. The town was quieter now, the bustle of the day settling into the calm of the evening. As you walked, Alastor carried your bags, his presence a comforting constant by your side.

The walk home was leisurely, filled with light banter and laughter. When you reached your doorstep, the sky was painted with streaks of pink and orange, a beautiful end to an unexpected day.

"Would you like me to put these on the table for you?" He nods towards the bags heavy with the day's purchases.

You shook your head, stepping forward to relieve him of the burden. "Oh no, it's ok. I got it. You have done a lot for me today," you insisted, your hands reaching out to take the bags from him.

"Alright, as you wish, darling," Alastor acquiesced, placing the bags into your outstretched hands with a care that spoke of his respect for your independence.

"Thank you, Alastor, for everything," your voice sincere. The smile on your face a mirror of the warmth that his kindness had kindled in your heart.

"It was my pleasure, ma cherie," his smile genuine. The word of endearment slipping into the conversation as naturally as a leaf falls to the ground in autumn.

Alastor’s hand was gentle as it brushed a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering just a moment longer than necessary.

His eyes, deep and searching, met yours, and for a second, the world seemed to stand still. The space between you was electric, his face so close to yours that you could feel his breath on your skin. His hand, warm against your cheek, tilted your chin up, an invitation to a moment of vulnerability. Your heart pounded a frantic rhythm in your chest.

You could see the hesitation in his eyes, the conflict of emotions that played across his features. It was as if he was wrestling with a decision, one that could change the very nature of your relationship.

Then, as quickly as the moment came, it passed. Alastor looked away, releasing you from his gentle hold. The air felt cooler without his touch, and you were left with the echo of what might have been.

He stepped back, a polite smile replacing the intensity of before. "I should go darling," his voice steady but softer than usual.

You nodded, unable to find the words to express the whirlwind of feelings inside you. "Yes, of course.” The words managed to leave your lips, your voice barely above a whisper. You didn't want him to go; you yearned for him to stay, if only for a moment longer.

With a final nod, Alastor turned and left, leaving you with the memory of a moment that was both too much and not enough.

The bags now in your possession, you stood at the threshold of your home, the door closing behind you. The silence of the space around you was a stark contrast to the lively banter that had filled the air just moments before. Yet, in that silence, there was a sense of contentment, a feeling of gratitude for the unexpected joys that life sometimes brings.

As you placed the bags on the table you replayed the scene in your mind, his hand reaching out, the warmth of his touch, the intensity of his gaze. Probably you had something on your face and he didn’t dare to tell you. You ran to the bathroom to get a closer look.

The reflection in the mirror showed nothing amiss, confirming that Alastor's gesture had been prompted by something other than a blemish on your face. With a sigh of relief, you turned away from your reflection and made your way to the kitchen, the sanctuary where you could immerse yourself in the familiar rhythm of cooking.

As you unpacked the groceries and began to prepare the evening meal, the actions were automatic, allowing your mind to drift back to Alastor's touch.

The kitchen was filled with the comforting sounds of sizzling and the aromatic promise of a delicious dinner. You moved with purpose, chopping, stirring, tasting, all the while pondering the complexity of feelings that Alastor had stirred in you.

With each stir of the pot, you found your thoughts simmering along with the ingredients. *What did that moment mean? Was it a sign of deepening affection, or simply a fleeting impulse?* The questions mingled with the steam rising from the dishes you were preparing.

As the aroma filled the kitchen, you set the table, each plate placed with care, a reflection of the care you wished to convey to your parents. Dinner would be ready for them, a warm welcome after a long day. As you awaited their return, the memory of Alastor's near-kiss was tucked away, a secret smile playing on your lips.

🌸𝒫𝓇𝑒𝓋𝒾𝑜𝓊𝓈🌸 🌸𝒩𝑒𝓍𝓉🌸

Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list so you be updated every time.^^ I do try to proofread but if I missed something please let me know.

Also I sometimes tend to make minor changes to the chapters.

Thank you! For reading I hope you enjoyed it.💖

TAGLIST: @magictoebean @little-slyvixen @bitchywitchygardener @diffidentphantom

[kiriekonamistan]

Sonic Underground Headcanons!

WHOO! Hyperfixation time again, bois!

This's a LOOOOOng one, so it's all under the cut. :)

•In some scenes Queen Aleena had been shown wearing a yellow cloak or cape with a yellow heart-shaped thing at the collar (I'd assumed it was a clasp of some sort); I headcanon that heart-shaped clasp is also a locket. On one side is a picture of herself, her husband, and Uncle Chuck while on the other side is a baby photo of the triplets.

•The reason the triplets didn't find Tails on their journey to reunite with Aleena is because she found him first. While Tails and Aleena travel around together he talks about machinery and tech teaching her about how to work around and evade Robotnik's security, while she provides a much needed constant support to him.

•Lady Windameer, Feral, and Sonic's adoptive parents knew the kids they'd found(/been given in Feral's case) were the missing royal triplets. Maybe not at first, but they all realized it at some point and kept that fact a secret.

•Sonic's early life was more isolated than Sonia and Manic's combined. First raised in a cabin off the grid and far from anyone but his parents, then kept a secret from the rest of the world by the Resistance while living in a bunker beneath a scrap heap with Uncle Chuck. He was probably both excited to meet new people (especially his siblings), but also very suspicious of everyone he met incase they were Robotnik's spies.

•Aleena and Manic share a love of practical jokes; while Manic is open and unapologetic about his pranks Aleena hides the fact that she likes, or has ever played a single prank in her life from most people. Only the people who're close to her know this secret.

•Uncle Chuck gave Sonic his love of chili dogs. Since the ration packs Robotnik produced tasted like (and often were made of) sawdust Chuck stockpiled natural ingredients and cooked Sonic a meal the kid hadn't tasted in years, his foster parents' recipe for chili dogs.

•Sonic was the most comfortable of the triplets with crossdressing, not only for disguises but in general. This led to Sonia and Mindy using him as a living manikin for testing out new outfits.

•Manic "knows a guy/girl" who can trade stuff to their group for just about anything. The van blew a flat tire? Manic knows a girl who works in a chop-shop and is willing to barter for belt buckles. Sonic caught a nasty illness and needs medicine? Manic knows a guy who can hook them up with a prescription for that, y'know under the counter.

•Before Mindy and her father were forced to flee their manor she was Sonia's primary source of high-fashion magazines, clothes, makeup, and accessories. After "the incident" at house La'Tour Sonia teaches Mindy a lot about how to mend and alter her preexisting clothes.

•Manic struggles with issues of self-worth. (he feels like he's always fading into the background, especially around his 'more impressive' siblings)

•Sonic struggles with ideals of his purpose in life. (he was nobody really special before he was forced to go live with uncle Chuck, then a tool and weapon of the resistance, now a symbol of the Old Kingdom and Freedom and Hope. His true goal in life is undefined in his mind, but he wants to find it. Sometimes, when he make Manic truly smile or gets to hear Sonia's real not-so-lady-like laugh, he thinks he's achieved that purpose. At least for a while, but those moments will always come back to him.

•Sonia struggles with her image and how it affects her different relationships. (at first she was an heiress and student at a private academy living like and aristocrat's child should, but she always had a wild side which she was taught to keep under wraps. She loves rock and punk music, but trying to mix that interest with her classical studies leads to reprimanding, disgust, and concern from teachers and her fiancé, Bartleby.

Then in a single night her role in the hierarchy is ripped like a rug out from under her; she's told she has a sibling, and not just one, but two brothers she'd never heard of before a SWATbot raid. She's told her mother isn't who she thought she was, that her biological mother is Queen Aleena, and the woman she called 'mom' has been roboticized. She's told that she's destined to join a rebellion and fight against the very system she lived safely, comfortably within for over a decade and a half- her entire life up to this point.

Sonia has lived a rigid life of black and white, authority and rebels, classical and rock, outrageous and righteous, the Empire and the Rebellion. Trying to reconcile the two clashing halves of her life is never easy, but her family and friends make it easier for her where they can.)

•In the episode where the triplets visit the castle (the one with the mirror portals) Aleena had been there for an entire day before her children showed up and enjoyed spying on them from within the reflections of the castle. She needed confirmation they were still safe and well. If she 'accidentally' startled some bats which freaked out one of the kids or cast an ominous shadow over them, that was her own business and no one else. (Refer to the prior headcanon about Aleena loving pranks.)

•QUEEN ALEENA IS A KIND, LOVING, AND WONDERFUL MOTHER. Yes she sent her children away, if you listen to the opening theme you'll understand why. Yes she stayed in hiding for roughly sixteen years, she and her family were being hunted by an evil dictator. I refuse to believe Aleena would be anything but kind, understanding, and loving to all of her children.

•While she doesn't have her own medallion carved from the Power Stone in Mobodoon, Aleena does carry a flute once owned by her late husband which contains a retractable blade made of a type of stone. This weapon is not traceable by Robotnik's sensors.

•The Kingdom of Acorns exists across a stretch of ocean due north-north-east of the Kingdom of Mobodoon. These two kingdoms had strong ties and friendly relations before Robotnik's rise to power in the Acorn Kingdom and his later conquest of Mobodoon. This is why a statue of King Max existed in Mobodoon.

•Sleet and Dingo are queer platonic. No I will not elaborate.

•After meeting Aleena, Tails builds a device to track the Chaos Emeralds for her. Shortly after this she sends Tails on his own special mission. This leads him right into the path of the triplets who he doesn't know or recognize. Aleena had told him about her children and their fight against Robotnik, but never mentioned their names or what they look like. From the time they meet onward Tails becomes and honorary member of the band, but is sent away from the front-lines to live at Sanctuary instead. He instantly bonds with Cyrus the Lion.

•Tails brings back a lot of memories to Sonic, memories of Uncle Chuck. Times when he would listen to the elder hedgehog tapping into different radio frequencies and relay messages. Being taught which wire goes where and how to fix Chuck's old, beat up van (the same one the kids later drive around cross-country). Even memories of his firs mission as a part of the resistance... and how badly it turned out.

•All of the royal kids used to get an extra present for holidays and their birthdays. Aleena made certain to either hand-make something with all the love she could give or find something she thought they'd like. She had to use unconventional methods of delivering these gifts, though, she was still a fugitive and couldn't directly contact any of them after all.

•Aleena's late husband had been a wandering knight before becoming her personal guard. After they were wed he couldn't be her personal knight anymore, so he recommended a very talented and promising soldier named Argus. (yep, that guy the kids meet up with at one point who gets roboticized.)

•The kids' father didn't have super speed or strength or anything like that. He and Chuck were brothers from the same tiny village far off in the mountains, secluded from the rest of Mobodoon. He was just a guy who wanted to seek out an adventure, discover whatever his calling would be, and find his place in the world. He was a calm, encouraging, good-natured hedgehog with a strong sense of justice and the will to protect others. Before meeting Aleena he thought all aristocrats and nobles were arrogant, greedy people with no concern for the lower classes. After meeting her he changed his mind... marginally.

•Aleena was much less formal when she was younger, though she always tried to be a little bit reserved. Before they were married, or even dating, her late husband encouraged her to be less hard on herself and let loose once in a while. They would race around a village square, Aleena's fancy clothes getting scraped and dirty while her knight tripped and fumbled heels-over-head into the village's fountain.

•After the war is won and peace finally begins Sonic signs a document to abdicate the throne. (I've always been under the impression that Sonic was born first, then Sonia, then Manic. That's just the vibes they give me, though. Everyone is allowed to have their own headcanons.) This decision gives Sonia the title of Crown Princess.

•At some point after the war Mobodoon needs to send and envoy to the Kingdom of Acorns to check on their neighbors and alert them that Robotnik is dead. (I can't see the story coming to an end without killing him off.) Manic really, really doesn't want to go at first and the rest of his family acknowledges his feeling on the matter but the rest of them are swamped with work trying to rebuild and reconstruct what little was left of the aristocracy.

Manic is noticeably more eager to return to the Kingdom of Acorns, specifically a place known as Knothole Village the next time any discussion about foreign envoys is brought up. Sonia thinks it has to do with that photograph in her brother's room of some red-headed chipmunk in a blue vest.

[qiutls]

TNGDH 005

That bad man.

A man without blood nor tears. A really terrible person. So merciless... I roared into the sawdust, floundering my limbs all around.

― Squeak! [ Give me back my wheel, you punk! ]

I'm not even halfway through the mission!

How can you only look at documents and pretend that you're not interested in this hamster at all then stab me in the back like this, huh? If I knew you were looking, I would have pretended to run moderately.

Indeed, I was stupid to believe that a crazy hamster otaku like him would be indifferent to me for even a minute. I'm the Northern Grand Duke and I'm superior to a running hamster, as if.

Kyle even went on patrol the next day taking the wheel with him. It's absolutely insane. There's no work to do, nor miracles in this cage, and I can't even do other quests.

That enemy-like miracle...

I climbed the slide from the end part to the middle, then let myself slide down, repeating it a few times and then sighing heavily at the end. 

I want to live like a human being until I die. Forget about eating well, or living luxuriously. I just want to live as a human, as defined by the dictionary!

Anyway, time went by against my will.

It was a day filled with playing and eating. Riding down the slide, eating walnuts, taking a nap, eating peanuts, stretching my body at a breathing room, eating sunflower seeds, riding the swing, eating pistachios...

I hear it's a cold neighborhood, are nuts a specialty? It's a great place to build a burum restaurant. It's only difficult to peel the nuts if you try and peel it all at once, but if you put it in a bowl, peel it little by little whenever you think of it...

/burum means assorted nuts, specifically walnuts, pine nuts, peanuts and etc./

...Fuck, what the hell are am I thinking?

I'm already thinking like a hamster.

All of a sudden, I started to fear what if I adapt to the situation casually like this. I'm a human being! I'm an intelligent person!

"Cashew Nut."

Kyle came back long after sunset.

I don't if he came in at a late time since I couldn't see the clock from here, and during winter in Blake's estate, nighttime took up more than half of the day.

He returned to the study to find me, but I pretended to not know. I wasn't in the mood.

Well, isn't this situation pretty.

I crumpled my body into the passageway between the first and second floors of the house that's not easily seen from the outside. He looked around the house for a while before giving up and returning to his bedroom.

He obviously looked disappointed, but....

Well, if you give me back my wheel, maybe I'll meet you face to face for a bit.

The next day, we met with a transparent passage between us. The frustrated Northern Grand Duke visited the study before sunrise.

"I'll be back soon."

He spoke affectionately, with his face close to mine.

"From today on, let's control your diet. Your body seemed to not be able to fit in that passageway."

Wait a minute... What the hell is this guy saying?

I lost my breath for a bit due to the shock of hearing those words.

But Kyle moved quickly, he was already pouring out the contents of my bowl. My bowl full of nuts... No... It's all empty, leaving only three almonds.

"I don't want you to strain your joints. I've still left some, so it'll be fine until the night. I'm busy preparing for the festival, so I think I'll come in late again today."

―…….

"...As expected, is it too little?"

Before I could protest, the man behind him said.

"No, I have heard from the magician that the growth period for the hamster have yet to come, Your Highness. The food is enough."

What are you talking about. What do you mean controlling my diet? Do you not have eyes? It's wrong to eat just one nut for breakfast, lunch and dinner!

It's the first time since school meals, that I'm eating food as someone else had planned. I looked up at Kyle, staring at him ridiculously and kicked the bowl over.

A dirty and cheap life, I can't even eat whatever I want.

I want to eat chicken with beer, salmon with capers, chicken feet, tteokbeokki, pane pasta.... Greasy, spicy, and bad for your health, it's something that only Koreans can eat!

"I guess, I'd better let him exercise a little."

"Yes, Your Highness, it's not good to overdo it, but it's still better than having it gain too much weight."

"Alright."

Kyle nodded his head, and with a grave look, put back the wheel in my house.

Yes! That's right!

I looked up at him, my blue eyes shining. He really looked like an angel today.

Get ready the party will start shortly. I only need to run 800 laps, not a single more and I'm done with this hamster life!

Let's calm down for now, if I ride it as soon as you give it to me, you'll probably take it away again. I pretended to be as calm as possible, and turned my head away from the wheel as if I didn't care that it has finally returned to my arms.

Kyle looked at me for a long time, his eyes were practically saying, "you're so cute, I could die."

Look at him, it seems like he had kissed me a hundred times with just those eyes alone. You've grown a lot, you already know how to control yourself when someone's next to you.

"Do you like that demonic beast that much, Your Highness?"

I heard their conversation as they were about to leave.

"Apparently, it's a northern field mouse type of beast, it's a bit late to give a mana stone for it's heart, so it's physical strength is weak but... It's able to socially interact and above all, it's pretty smart.

"Anyways, it's still young, that's why the size is a bit... It does resemble a hamster, however, if you look closely, it's just golden fur...

"It's just a mouse." /all the dialogue above is from the man accompanying Kyle/

"What do you mean, just a mouse?"

Kyle answered coldly and turned to him. "Are your eyes defective?"

"... Y-your Highness, I-"

"Enough, while I finish the paperwork for the celebrations, fetch me a small needle and some yarn."

"What will you do with it, Your highness?"

"There's no need to know, I'll be using it for important stuff, so only bring high quality ones."

"Yes, Your Highness."

Kyle left the study, while coughing. "This winter is especially cold."

This punk, don't tell me...

You're not going to knit my clothes, are you? Don't be weirdly domestic, Grand Duke, if you don't want to see this fragile hamster grab the back of your neck with just one hand.

The mere imagination of it made my body shiver and I rubbed my limbs quickly. Forget it, let's not think about it.

I quickly climbed onto the wheel. That's right, running on the wheel is best way to empty your mind. Now that I have the hang of it, I'll surely be able to finish 800 laps quickly.

I took a deep breath and began to move my four feet.

With a clatter, the wheel began to move slowly.

Now let's go with the flow, think about something peaceful and pleasant. Pizza, bulgogi, sundae gukbap... I felt my mouth watering and continued to run on the wheel with more force.

[ 0217/1000 ] …… [ 0322/1000 ] …… [ 0445/1000 ]

The numbers went up smoothly.

At this rate, I'm confident that there will be no hamster who can spin a wheel better than me. It's worthwhile to do this and count the number of times, so I think I'm accumulating points.

I just looked at the system window running, the number was between 600 to 700. Look at this, won't I be able to finish it soon.

I was a little hungry, so I was going to take a break and eat, but then I remembered what Kyle and the man discussed earlier.

What? Control my diet? Was I stuck in the passageway with my big body?

No, I won't eat anymore. I'll lose weight, and if I die, then I'll make him regret it.

I turned the wheel frantically with strange enthusiasm, refusing to rest. I was a little bit worried that the screw might fall off at this rate.

So, when I first heard a creaking sound, I thought this enormous wheel have finally met its end.

Huh, but is this really the right sound?

"Does the Grand Duke hide women in the castle?"

"I heard he loves her so much that he'll spend the day cooped up in here."

... A woman?

"You idiot! Why would you hide a woman in the study? You should put her in your bedroom, of course."

"... Really? Well, let's just search here for a bit, then go to the bedroom."

"That's right, by any chance we might get lucky and find some military secret in here."

I stopped turning the wheel and looked down at the men that crawled in through the door, literally.

The approached the desk, in a weird posture, they were wearing black masks. One look and you'd be able to tell, these people were not invited guests.

"Let's catch the woman, or maybe kill her."

"Right, if it's a commoner, then it will be pretty easy."

"Isn't that why he keeps her hidden, because she has no status?"

The masked men, no the thieves exchanged stories amongst themselves and searched the drawers. Documents in the top column, documents in the next, as well as third one. And in the last column-

"What's this?"

One of the men pulled out a bag from the drawer. I sat next to my bowl, eating the almonds as I watched them.

"Macadamia?"

There's one there too? For your information, there's also a bag of those in the small drawer next to the door.

Crunch. Crunch.

The thieves fell silent, and only the sound of me eating nuts could be heard in the study. Only then did they notice my existence and slowly approached me.

"What's this?"

"It looks like a mouse."

"Doesn't it look weird, this fur... it's gold right?"

"... Is it a demonic beast?"

"As expected from the Northern Great Duke."

No, I'm just an ordinary hamster.

I took the last almond and filmed a mukbang. Well? Bring me the macadamias in your hand. Three almonds are not enough for me.

"... Do you think it's expensive?"

The thief moved it's mouth after staring at me for a long time. They exchanged glances and soon began to open the hamster cage. 

You guys really didn't have any plan before coming here huh?

Talked about finding a woman and kidnapping her. But now you're kidnapping a hamster instead?

There's no backbone at all. How could such clumsy people try to steal. It's a miracle they didn't get caught on their way here.

I sighed without looking at the hand coming down from the ceiling of my house. Should I approach slowly? Is now a good time?

At that moment.

Clang! The sound of glass breaking echoed throughout the room.

"W-What's that?"

The three thieves, no, more like meerkats suddenly turned their heads towards the window, like real meerkats. 

"How dare you touch what's mine?"

The voice was like a sharp blade, resembling the wind of the highest highlands of the north. It felt like frost. The cowards, then began to tremble, as if they had already died three times just by hearing the voice.

Ah... I mean, this is karma if you look at it technically. In other words, it's time for the teacher to reprimand you.

[ How dare you kidnap my sweet little hamster! ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ ]

I didn't mean it that way. By the way, why are you so excited?

"You won't be able to take another step."

No... Is it really a death penalty for touching a hamster?

Kyle pulled out a knife from his waistband.

... I really didn't think it would turn out this way.

novel ⠀✿⠀ next

[skittyagain]

soda and sawdust meal

[joels6string]

What happens when Joel's hair gets a bit long?

Bestie. I go feral. That’s what happens 😂. Anyway…

“I need a haircut.”

Four words you were hoping not to hear but expecting. It was like clockwork, he’d request the scissors as soon as he noticed the edges of his wet, grayed locks beginning to curl behind his ears. Typically, they barely made it two days much to your dismay. You’d stopped complimenting him on it months ago in hopes it prolonged their life but it had done nothing for their longevity, his long, thick fingers finding the rusted blades in the drawer of the cabin you shared and chopping haphazardly at the silver on the base of his skull. You’d also refused to help him the last few times, you wouldn’t take part in this blasphemous practice.

“This would be a hell of a lot easier if you helped,” he grumbled from the bathroom, his booming voice traveling through the small space easily to you prepping dinner in the kitchen.

“I told you I’m not participating,” you reminded him sweetly, your knife thwacking against the wooden cutting board he’d made for you last week as you prepped your evening meal.

“I look like a fool.”

“I think it looks nice.”

Despite his hulking size and strength, his footsteps were soft thanks to decades of sneaking and stealth as he sauntered into the kitchen shirtless and entirely distracting. You turned as he rounded into your space, your hands flattening on his searing hot skin to rake your nails through the coarse, dark hair covering his well-defined chest, his settling on your hips.

“You like Tommy’s little ponytail that much?” he teased, his fingertips digging slightly into your plush waist as he pressed himself closer, pinning you against the counter behind you.

“No,” you laughed, “I just want something to run my fingers through. That’s all.”

The corner of his lips ticked up at that, a peek of white teeth glowing in the gray hue of twilight to dusk as his hands lifted you to sit on the wooden surfaces he’d designed, his hips notching between your thighs.

“Run your fingers through, huh?” he teased, the tip of his nose dragging along your cheek and drawing that little gasp of breath he could get drunk on, “There ain’t enough for that now?”

“Mm-mm.” All you could muster was a hum of disagreement as the smell of sawdust and lavender filled your nose. He’d used your soaps again.

“Yeah, all right. I’ll try it. But when I hate it, you’re helpin’ me get rid of it.”

A deal was a deal. Unfortunately for him, the feeling of you raking your lithe, nimble fingers through the mop that grew in on his head over the following weeks was even too much for him to resist. Anther victory he’d have to give to your growing record.

Joel Miller Masterlist