#the comatose cottage

[thecomatosecottage]

fictive just randomly resurfaced?? i don’t even remember them existing help??

[we-are-not-here]

hey there, i’m shiloh (it/being/he/static), the host and core of an OSDD system (referred to as the Comatose Cottage). don’t know who’s in front/what to refer to us as? Comatose and it/he always works !

this is a personal sideblog (likes come from @soursileu) centered around our current hyperfixations + special interests, which there are quite a lot of and change from time to time

we are physically disabled and have a lot of diagnosed + undiagnosed mental problems, please be patient with us !

if we post any fanart or fanfiction, do NOT repost any of my it OR use it to train AI, or you might suddenly wake up without kneecaps <3

please don’t bring syscourse onto our blog. this includes tagging our posts with tags like pro-endo or anti-endo. you will be blocked.

anything triggering will be tagged appropriately.

basic dni + anti-therian, kink + heavy NSFW blogs, anti-kin, proship, ace/bi/pan exclusionists, anti-palestine/pro-israel, people who believe in narcissistic abuse/anything of the like, MAPS/NOMAPS, anti-furries, etc

current hyperfixations/special interests (bolded = very strong atm):

wednesday pressure (roblox) <- EXTREMELY STRONG RIGHT NOW five nights at freddy’s the umbrella academy (just started watching, no spoilers pls) lockwood &co lab rats transformers : rescue bots bluey the stanble parble (stanley parable) school bus graveyard (yes we’re in the sbgblr server. stares at you autistically.) horror + liminal content multiple gay ships (klance, luberto, etc.)

tag key (<- coming soon)

thanks for reading, mate .

[toconolaw]

Puzzled comatose

Chapter 2; a friend named it. Thanks for the help. 🌸💗🤧 rules

Taglist: @riddentheriddles @blues824 @sol3chu @ughamato @glitteryeelcoffee @bluetoner @pettysolo

Parts: ch.1 | ch.2 (you're here) |

⚠️ none for this part besides [name being a bit lonely] and this fic is a slow burn 🤭 and this is a female reader insert!!!

Tag: puzzled comatos twst fic

This ch. Is more of small info dump so I hope you enjoy that, perhaps the ship might change, maybe I'll do a poll soon on that. <3 Before I start this Ch. It start a few years after you being 'awake'.

You were enjoying your new life. That was until one snowy night. Hearing galloping from your kitchen. "Can I not enjoy my gingerbread cookies and hot tea... IN PEACE?!" [name] said as her cheeks looked as if she was a chinchilla with nuts... She had cookies instead(?) Why? Because its winter, and she had enough to make some cookies.

The lady doesn't remember much of her own life. But she knows she was content with her current position. She didn't understand why she felt a drop in her stomach. She felt lightheaded all of the sudden. Hearing horses galloping around more so getting closer.

She ignored it and went back to her tea, the galloping soon passed. It was a haunting sound. A sound that she would hear every year. And every year she would ignore it. She wasn't aware that it was looking for her.

She was so deep in her world that she soon heard a small but deep 'who'. It was an owl! To be exact it was her familiar, Prince. "Hmm~ Prince was that you?" She turned her head slightly to the cottage kitchen window. Seeing the Owl shoot a delightful who back at her. The lady smiled at the animal, getting up to feed him.

"I am very pleased you came to visit again! How is your wing holding up? Better?" The lady asked the owl questions only for it to who and start bouncing his wings in joyce. "Oh~ that's great news! Happy I could help!" [name] smiled once again to the owl. The owl didn't know how this young lady could understand him and other forest friends of his but he is grateful.

"Huh~ oh! Prince, tell your friends to come inside, its getting a bit could, and they need to eat.." the lady was finishing up small bowls for them all. The owl called the squirrels, birds, bunnies and ect to the cottage. [name] soon opened and closed the door for them all. As she put the bowls on the floor and windowsill.

The lady did this every year. She did this because it made her feel less lonely... Her past is a big blur. She doesn't even remotely remember her parents or if she had any friends, just nothing. All she really remembers is waking up in this warm cottage with sweet animals around her. Animals she can somehow understand fully as if they were people. She did think she was dreaming but that thought changed as it's been a few years now.

She didn't seem to be bothered by this. Peace at mind was something rare to have and now she has it and it feels great. Though she feel like something was missing. Similarly to puzzle that has misplaced pieces. But she ignored the feeling and replaced it with worries of the animals that were currently eating.

She was now sitting down with a book. More so the tale of Sleeping beauty. It was a real story that was very popular in the small town she lived in. The town she lived in was hidden in the forest, called the Feywood. Legend this forest was blessed by three good fairy fae to protect humans and faes alike. This town has humans and faeries living in harmony.

Everyone says that the tale of sleeping beauty is a prophecy that was disowned and burned in the war that happened many years ago. The war against humanity and faeries... [name] does wonder why she doesn't remembers that.

[ben-the-hyena]

It's funny how I see a lot shitting on the King of All Cosmos for being the worst father ever but never anyone shitting on the Queen of All Cosmos

Because yes she loves her son as much as her husband does and her description says she is very proud of him, support him behind the scenes and is concerned about him, and she doesn't punish him or insult him like he does when he fails

But she still can be very demanding and critical when he fails rolling up enough people in We ♡ Katamari and it seems like she too thinks maybe too much about fans and their requests like "Oh hon, I can't say I'm thrilled. It's not nice. Make sure you roll everyone up next time, OK?", "Roll in more fans, for Cosmos' sake!! Names of the crew? I certainly don't want to see those. This is a game, after all. Amuse us!", "I'm a little disappointed. What do you think you're doing, refusing to roll up these poor people? It's boring to just have the credits!", "Everyone seemed to enjoy being rolled into a Katamari, but... There must be more Katamari fans around somewhere! Don't just believe what's in front of your eyes!". And if you do reach the maximum she says "All the fans look so happy ♥️ They're all rolled up in a Katamari, after all. That was another one of my ideas. Isn't it dreamy?" implying fulfilling all these requests may be her idea she inspired the King to have all along ! She may support her child, she is still all for him to reach excellence and will be critical if he doesn't (Asian parenting am I rite ?)

And she seems like an airhead. She does nothing when her husband is an ass to the Prince, but one could say that either she is not aware or that she always makes him pay after for hurting her baby (I mean he canonically IS afraid of her when she is angry so it means she has a temper and does not hesitate to stand up to him when she thinks he does shit). However, supposing she doesn't know, it would mean she is unaware of the obvious, and if she knows but since we see she is as demanding as her husband to her 5 cm tall son when it comes to rolling it means she could also approve or be like "none of my business" about the punishments

But that's not all when I say she is an airhead. She is also accidentally innocently neglectful. The whole plot of Katamari Forever is she doesn't notice all the danger happening to her son and his cousins because she is busier tending to her comatose then amnesiac husband and she doesn't even notice they built the Roboking to replace him nor that he goes on a rampage and she forgets where her son is or about him quite a lot

And the plot of Katamari Online is how she and the King accidentally unplug a black hole and flee à la "UH WE DIDN'T DO IT LET'S LET OTHERS FIX" leaving the Prince and his cousins do it while they could fix it better like cowards or people who didn't want to ruin their vacations when they knew the kids could do it anyway (STILL)

She always has her priorities straight it seems !

I doubt it is malicious, she just seems... forgetful, easily distracted, with a touch of being irresponsible like her husband

We see also she is clumsy since she often trips and spills her cookies and when she was a teenager she met her future husband because she was late at school because she was too busy enjoying herself eating bread. So easily distracted not paying attention to what goes on around her (do maybe she is not an airhead which can be pejorative but just has a form of ADHD ?) and a touch of only wanting to have fun, being a better wife than a mother as much as qhe loves her baby and is relatively better and kinder with him than his dad and could potentially, for what we know, be mad as fuck against her husband if he goes too far (or physical, maybe she is fine if it is verbal but physical she goes into Mama Bear mode)

Speaking of her teenhood... she was a teenager, and yet seemed to live on her own. She had her own cottage, we never see her family or hear about them, in fact all the cousins are on the King's side, and as soon as the Emperor accepted her she went to live with them in the castle

So either she was an orphan who did her best on her own not knowing how it is to be raised and so had a hard time repeating it, or she had parents who gave 0 shit about her and never visited and essentially abandonned her there never coming back and only sending her a postcard for her birthday and Christmas (like Soos' dad or Lola's mom) and potentially never even knowing she married into royalty and had a kid and keep sending postcards to her old address not knowing or caring if she reads them anymore or not, so while trying to be and IS much better than them she can't help but but repeat the neglect she had to a lesser extent the same way the King repeats to a lesser extent the harsh education he had. She is a free spirit and knows how to have fun and cook and do chores by herself which habits she kept evn as a queen probably after years of taking care of herself, but she also lacked an adult guidance to help her mature in some topics so she can be irresponsible for other topics notably motherhood which she hardly experienced and just like how he wants to catch up all the free and fun time he lacked growing up she just goes on living by her rules à la "WOO NO PARENTS I CAN DO WHATEVER I WANT" (probably developped as a coping mechanism not to feel sad and alone) forgetting she IS the parent now. And both wanting to spend time together plus how she may want to make sure her son is capable and independant to live on his own like she was so can be exigent because we never know if one day he will be an orphan like she was or just thinks that would be a good experience to be an adult so she agrees with her husband letting him do it all himself if it is doable indeed

As for supporting her husband with his will to fulfill all fans requests, could be because she herself is supportive in his dream to be loved since she met him when he was very lonely and feeling unloved and doesn't think it isn't the mature way. Both of them are essentially still teenagers in their head who do stuff because "OMG THAT'S SO COOL"

And they rule the universe lmao help

So in conclusion : she was neglected or orphaned (I will go with neglected, that's why she has a roof over her head), repeats it accidentally at times on her own son not helped with her being easily distracted and focused or unfocused and forgetful which could be because of ADHD, wants her son to best himself always more to make sure he is independant like she grew to be and will be a good king like his dad, and just like the latter is essentiallty a better spousr than parent as much as she means well and loves the Prince so much

[witchofimber]

Fracture

This is a fragment of a planned, longer work that I’m probably never going to finish. I already posted one snippet of it on here (which is repeated in this story), but this puts it into a longer context. 

FRACTURE: November 1981  

“The boy should be at his aunts,” says Dumbledore.  

Remus says nothing. The noise of St Mungo’s prohibits speech. From far away; hushed voices, footsteps pressing circles into the worn carpet, the clatter of shaking hands putting down cups of tea. He can just about make out Shacklebolt’s voice, but not the words. Further away – distant screaming. Peter’s mother. And inside this room, the same sounds that have been playing for the last five days. There are no beeping heartbeat monitors in St Mungo’s. There is only a green line over Lily’s chest, rising and falling. Sometimes when Harry makes a sound, Remus swears it spikes. Harry in his arms, the smallest thing he’s ever seen. And now Dumbledore.  

“You know they won’t let you keep him, Mr Lupin.”

“Lily’s still alive. I’m not keeping him. I’m – borrowing him. Holding him.”  

“And yet – “

“I’ll fight you on it. Lily and – they left a list of who should execute their estate if they were incapacitated. It was – Peter and me. Peter’s gone, and – I’m the only one left. So I have their money, and I’ll fight you on it.”  

The light flashes over Dumbledore’s half-moon glasses, turns them hard as silver. Silver rattles his teeth and sends shooting pains along his nerves; silver makes the wolf inside him cower; silver are the eyes of the man they have dragged into Azkaban, the man who left Lily comatose at their front door and James Potter dead by his son’s crib.  

Dumbledore sighs. “The boy is in danger.”

“Voldemort’s dead.”

“His followers are not. And – forgive me for bringing even more gloom into a situation that is already dire – we still don’t understand what happened in Godric’s Hollow, or how the Dark Lord disappeared. The fact that his followers believe him gone does not mean he will never return.”  

“I can keep him safe,” he insists; thinks you can’t even keep yourself safe; thinks even monsters protect their young; thinks James, oh James, I will pay this penance for the rest of my life. I’m so sorry.  

There is an opalescent sheen over Lily’s tiny body. A cocoon of spellwork, rebuilding the charred remains of her nervous system from scratch. She doesn’t move. Remus had asked the mediwitch if that meant she wasn’t in pain; the mediwitch had looked at him for a long time, stroked Harry’s head and left without a word.  

“We’d have to hide you,” says Dumbledore. “We know the Death Eaters are targeting Harry. You’ll have to miss the funeral.”  

James will be buried alone. But James would pick Harry every time.  

“Ok.”  

“And you’d have to stop visiting here.”

Lily, third year, during a study session around midnight when they were both loopy with lack of sleep. She’d told him how her grandmother had died in a Muggle hospital, how the people there even cried quietly. It’s awful, and it’s wrong, she’d said, because you’re sitting there feeling the most intense grief of your life at ten, eleven years old, and it should drown out everything, but you can’t even just focus on your sadness because at the back of your head there’s ‘this is a hospital, have some decorum.’  

But, that same night: I think my sister hates me. I can see her hating me more with every passing year.  

“But what about – “ if – “when she wakes up?”  

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”  

Harry still doesn’t have any hair. He’d been born almost completely hairless, and Lily, tired and beatific, had nudged James and said looks like those Potter bald genes are kicking in early. James had rocked Harry, tears streaming down his face, and choked out but he’s so beautiful, he’ll be the most beautiful little bald man in the world.  

“I’ll do it,” Remus promises. “I’ll keep Harry safe.”  

---

They’re in a cottage at the edge of nowhere and Harry’s screaming with the gusto of a full-grown man.  

“I’m sorry,” says Remus. He is on the floor, and in one hand is a bottle of milk and in the other is a shiny little wooden man with a rictus grin and charmed cymbals in his painted fists, crash crash crash, and Remus in between with an equally rictus grin and tears streaming down his face. There is probably snot on his upper lip as well, but he’s too immune to being moist to notice. That’s something nobody tells you about infants – just how much time you spend time squelching. There’s milk and mush and shit and puke and tears and snot, and occasionally Harry just seems to produce various weird damp spots without doing anything. Add to that all the crying that Remus is doing and one day they’ll just drift away, Alice in Wonderland style.  

“Hello?” There’s someone outside, and Remus grabs his wand and has the door open and the tip under the stranger’s throat before he recognises the voice, the face – Arthur Weasley, in a crumpled purple suit, with two bags of groceries on each arm.  

“I’m only supposed to walk the perimeter,” he says, “but I thought to myself I bet Dumbledore has no idea how much stuff babies need, so I picked up a few things – nothing that would set off any alarm bells if I was being followed, don’t worry – oh my, is that Harry? He’s got big lungs, hasn’t he?”

He nudges past Remus into the kitchen, bellowing, “Don’t forget to ask me the question!” after him.

“Uh, ah - “ Remus potters after him, wonders if it’s morally acceptable to obliviate Arthur before he reports back to Dumbledore about what a terrible parent he is. “I don’t - fuck, give me a second - “

“How about this,” says Arthur. “My coat turned yellow on the night of Alice Longbottom’s twenty-second because Peter had spilt a drink down the back of it, and you were tipsily trying to clean it up before I noticed. You thought I didn’t see you, but I did. Will that do?”

Remus scratches his ear. “I’ll pay for the coat?”  

“Ah, I never liked it. Present from Molly’s parents. Hello, little man, what’s got you so upset?” He scoops up Harry, who’s now resorted to thrashing anything around him – the floor, his toys, Arthur’s chest – with his tiny fists.

“I don’t know what to do,” says Remus, right back on the brink of tears. “I’ve changed him and fed him and burped him and walked him and – I can’t do it. I don’t know what he wants. How the hell could I know what he wants?”

“Oh, Remus,” says Arthur. “Sometimes babies just scream. You’ve got to remember that they’re very small, and very scared, and they don’t know what any of their feelings are.”

“He wants his mum and dad.”

Arthur nods. “I’m sorry, lad, but he probably does.”

Remus slumps over and puts his head between his knees.  

Arthur’s voice is soft over the sound of Harry’s screaming. There’s something calming in his cadence, and Remus lets himself drift into it, float away.  

“Bill was a very easy baby, you know. We got ridiculously lucky first time out of the gate. Should have seen it coming with Charlie – nothing that charmed can hold. He got sick a lot. That was the worst of it. You become this sort of – irrational nightmare, standing over a crib and being told it’s just a cough but knowing, knowing, that something’s seriously wrong with your baby and it’s probably your fault. We were wrong, of course, it was just a cough and it was nobody’s fault, but that paranoia never really leaves you. Percy was the opposite – too quiet. We kept on missing these big developmental milestones. You know the sort of thing; wouldn’t look at us, wouldn’t smile. His shapes and numbers and sounds were all on track, but it was like he didn’t notice us. Eventually Molly just sat me down and said, ‘Arthur, our son’s just a little odd, and we love him fine.’ George and Fred were surprisingly easy, given what terrors they turned out to be. I think twins can sort of amuse themselves, you know? Ron’s a stoic little chap, but when he wails, he wails. And then as soon as you think you’ve calmed him he’ll start fussing again. Ginny’s too new to be much of anything, but she’s got a ferocious grip – if she gets your finger it’s like being tussled by an octopus.”

“Harry hates me,” mumbles Remus.  

“He doesn’t hate you. I don’t think babies even have big, complex feelings like that – hate, love. I think they just know safe and not-safe, and sometimes something spooks them. You have to remember that the big, blurry blobs he trusted to keep him safe have disappeared. They usually come when he screams. It’s going to take a while to learn that they – but he’s got you. You’re doing ok.”

“I was drunk the night they died.”  

“Ah, lad. You’re – what, twenty-three? Quite a bit younger than I was when I had my Bill. You’re doing better than me, I can promise you that. Tell you what – if Dumbledore thinks it’s safe, how about I bring some of the boys round for a playdate? You can’t imagine how happy Molly would be to get some of them out of the house. I’ll bring Ron, and maybe Percy – we’ll stick him in the corner with a book and he’ll happily ignore us. I’ll save the twins for when you’re feeling a bit stronger. And then we can have a cup of tea and a chat while they throw blocks at each other. Does that sound ok?”  

“The house is a mess, I couldn’t – “

“I’ll bring you a picture of the Burrow next time as well, and you can see what a real mess looks like. It takes a village, you know that, don’t you? Gid and Fab – Molly’s brothers – used to do what they called ‘the three-week blitz.’ Three weeks after the birth they’d come to the Burrow, hand me a beer and Molly a sleeping potion, and whizz round the whole place with a bunch of cleaning spells.”

Harry had a village, and now it’s dead. “I’m sorry for your loss,” he says instead, because he heard about the Prewitts, knew them on sight – two big, identical Viking-types, the sort of lads he’d seen outside the pub in Wales after a big rugby win slamming back pints, men who would have been threatening if they weren’t so obviously nice.  

“Thank you,” says Arthur. Harry’s calm now, and Arthur lays him back into Remus’s arms. “Well, there’s a lot of that going around.”  

---

The first time Remus heard Harry’s name was three years before he even existed. They were stoned in James and Lily’s first flat, and Sirius was waving James’ seventh-year jotter in one hand and laughing until he cried.  

“What you have to remember – “ James made another one-handed swipe for the jotter, the other hand still pleading at Lily – “what you have to remember is that I was seventeen, and – Sirius, give it back – very in love, and perhaps my taste wasn’t fully formed – “

“Ah, and now you’re a mature old man of nineteen,” said Remus.  

“Thistledown Potter,” sang Sirius.  

“For a boy or for a girl?” said Pete.  

“God, does it matter?” said Lily. “James, in what universe would I have agreed to any of these names for my kid – “

“Hey, these are old family names, some of them are traditional – “

Remus leaned over and snatched the book from Sirius. “Oh yeah? Hey Padfoot, do you remember any Bowie Potters on the family tree?”  

“Your great uncle, I believe, wasn’t he James?” Sirius stopped jumping around and fell onto the sofa next to Remus, half in his lap. “Second cousin of – ah, here it is – Zepplin Potter. Are we about to find a Ramones Potter somewhere on the list?”  

James raised a finger as if to argue, and then lowered it, abashed. “Ramona. For a girl.”  

“I can’t believe I’m in love with you,” said Lily. “I’m going to name my kid something nice and normal. None of this weird pureblood shit.”

“Good shout,” said Remus, pulling the joint from Sirius’ mouth, “otherwise you might end up with something really out there, like – I don’t know – James.”

“Fuck off, Remus. Me and Pete are the only ones here with a proud family tradition of normal nomen- nomen- ugh, name-stuff.”  

“Nomenclature,” said Remus, which earned him a middle finger from Lily.  

“Isn’t your sister called Petunia?” said Sirius.  

“Petunia,” said Lily, with a grand and sweeping air, “does not count as a person. Anyway, I’m going to pick something as aggressively mundane as I can. Bob or Sally or Harry.”

“I like Harry,” said Pete.  

James scoffed. “Harold, surely. Shortened to Harry.”

“Absolutely fucking not, otherwise he’ll grow into the sort of person who ends proclamations with surely.” Lily planted a kiss on James’ nose and snuggled softly into his arms as she gestured at Remus and Sirius. “Anyway, what about you two?”

Remus turned his head into Sirius’ hair. “Darling, are you pregnant? But you told me you were on the pill.”  

“I’m baby-trapping you,” said Sirius, and kissed him firmly on the nose. “Gotten tired of waiting to see you make an honest woman out of me.”

“You could always adopt,” said Lily. “Do you want to?”

“Not sure,” said Remus, who was dimly aware, through the wavering mist of hash, that this conversation was dangerous.  

“We’ll just be the cool uncles to Harry-not-Harold Potter,” said Sirius. “Teaching him how to ride a motorbike and giving him his first tattoos.”  

“And I’ll stop them from doing that,” said Pete.  

And after that it became a running joke, the kind that peppered all their conversations until they were nearly incomprehensible to outsiders. Lily, asking Remus if he really needed that much firewhisky for one party – Ah, Lils, I’m saving it for Harry-not-Harold’s first birthday. Sirius won a shitty plastic watch in a Muggle claw-machine and proudly presented it to James to save for Harry-not-Harold’s seventeenth. Pete ducked out of the office early to meet them for a pint – I told them I was needed for babysitting duties. If anyone asks, Harry has a terrible cough. James, pissed as a lord, had snorted and declared loudly that his son had the lungs of an ox, how dare you importune – is that the right word? – how dare you DENIGRATE the Potter family name. So by the time Lily stood up at a dinner party with a glass of sparkling apple juice in her hands and announced that she was pregnant, it felt like Harry had always existed between them.  

Like they’d spun him up into being together.  

---

“Read about it in a Muggle parenting book,” says Arthur, beaming proudly at Ron and Harry. They’re painstakingly transferring ping-pong balls from one bowl to another, spoon by spoon. Occasionally they get confused and start transferring the other way, re-filling the original bowl. Arthur and Remus, by unspoken consent, have decided to let this happen.  

“They’re terribly clever, these Muggles,” says Arthur. “All sorts of ideas as to what to do with babies. With Bill, I think I mostly just walked around the house and pointed at things, telling him the names. He used to love the bathroom when he was a little ‘un. Always got very excited when I pointed at the taps. Now it’s so difficult getting him into the bath that half the time I just aim a strong Augamenti at him when he’s on the back step.”  

“You make fatherhood sound so fun.”

“Oh, you’ve got a lot to look forward to.”  

“It’s not – I won’t be there for that bit, Arthur. Lily’s going to wake up.”  

Arthur’s giving him a strange look, and it feels like a fist to his sternum. “She will, Arthur. She will.”

“I know,” says Arthur. “But you’ll still be around, won’t you?”  

“I’m not his dad.”

“Remus. I know you loved James. But Harry doesn’t have a dad anymore. He needs you.”  

And Remus stares at the floor and tries very hard not to cry, until Harry flicks a ball into his nose and gives him an excuse.  

[pepperpepperzplayhouze]

mandatory introduction post

this blog will contain LOTS of triggering content that i may forget to tag. this includes (but is not limited to) weirdcore, dreamcore, traumacore, derealization, blood, knives, vents, unsettling images, creepy imagery, mentions of trauma, and more. please block this blog if any of these things could be harmful to you.

moving on…

i’m pepper/paprika, i’m a fictive of pepper from pepper’s playhouse (roblox) and i am part of a DID system known as the comatose cottage. i use they/it/she. i am not the same as my source material. i share this blog with the host of our system, and will occasionally refer to ourselves using the pronouns ‘we/us/our/etc’ depending on if we’re in a state of cofront together (which is often). the host goes by the name howdy/sil and the pronouns it/they/he.

we enjoy playing the games critterspace, pepper’s playhouse, fnaf sb, the intruder, intrusion, doors, and any other horror/weirdcore games we can get our hands on.

tags (other than appropriate TWs/specific headmate tags) ::

#paprika.thoughts / 💊.thoughts :: i talk abt random shit

DNI

basic dni criteria, homophobes, transphobes, aro/acephobes, biphobes, panphobes, kink/nsfw blogs, people who reality check, anti-roblox/people who think roblox is for kids, pro-nazi, people who want to discuss politics, people who sexualize minors, people who write fanfics for minors under 13 that aren’t aged up, people who write nsfw for minors of any age, flat earthers, satanists, etc

[animebookworm16]

I was thinking about Puss and Boots 2: The Wishing Star recently and how Death was portrayed as a wolf. That got me thinking about other fairy tales that include a wolf. I coud think of three: Little Red Riding Hood, The Three Little Pigs, and The Boy Who Cried Wolf. And before anyone says it, I know that (if I’m remembering correctly) these were originally word of mouth stories told in heavily forrested areas where wolves were a real issue and it wasn’t a metaphore for anything, but I want to try and add a layer to it.

So what if The Big Bad Wolf you hear about in fairy tales is literally Death?

Examples?

Little Red Riding Hood: She has to go through the forrest to her grandmothers cottage. On her way there she meets a ‘wolf’ maybe she trips on a tree root and falls down a steep hill (something that can kill a person if they fall or land incorrectly). Now in most itterations of this story, the ‘wolf’ rushes ahead, eats the grandma, and disguises itself as Red’s grandmother. This is roughly in the dark ages, disease was rampant, and usually the story goes that she has to go visit her grandmother because the grandmother is sick. So in this instance the ‘wolf disguising itself as grandma’ would be the grandmother dying (or goming into a semi comatose state right before her death) before Red gets there. And Red is usually depicted as a young child or young-ish child, it is very possible she wouldn’t imeadiately recognize a dead body, hence the ‘questions’ she has for the ‘wolf’. The wolf, usually, then proceeds to eat Red, aka the body spreading the disease to Red. And from what I’ve seen the ending is where it flucuates the most, with them both dying and a woodsman killing the wolf, a woodsman coming and saving them, or them managing to somehow kill the wolf from the inside. This theory works for most endings. In the first ending described, they both die, and the woodsman who ‘kills’ the wolf, could be a third person discovering their bodies and burning them, thus preventing the spreading of the disease. The second ending could be something like a traveling doctor (in this one the grandmother isn’t quiet dead yet) discovers them and is able to treat them, thus ‘killing’ the wolf and saving them. Finally in the third ending (again assuming the grandmother isn’t dead yet), Red would have been coming to care for her grandma, so she probably would have been caring some medicine, thus ‘killing’ the wolf from the inside out.

But, I have more! In the Three Little Pigs, it depicts three brothers building their houses out of three very different materials, a wolf showing up blowing two of the houses down and failing to destroy the third, yes? Yes. Now, imagine the ‘wolf’ is a storm. The first brother builds his house out of straw (or the real world flimsy equivalant) a bad storm comes in and the winds knock it down, and it really doesn’t matter if you go with the version of the brothers living or getting gobbled up by the ‘wolf’. The second brother builds his house out of sticks, still something that goes down easily to the high winds of a storm. Finally, the third brother built his house out of brick, something that won’t get knocked down easily in a storm and manages to last until the storm blows itself out.

And Finally, The Boy Who Cried Wolf. This one is easy. A kid keeps screaming that he needs help and everybody rushes to help him until he actually does need help, but by that point everyone is fed up and ignores it thinking it’s another prank and he ends up getting eaten by they wolf/dying.

[byneddiedingo]

Cillian Murphy in 28 Days Later... (Danny Boyle, 2002) Cast: Cillian Murphy, Naomie Harris, Brendan Gleeson, Christopher Eccleston, Megan Burns, Noah Huntley, Stuart McQuarrie, Ricci Harnett. Screenplay: Alex Garland, Cinematography: Anthony Dod Mantle. Production design: Mark Tildesley. Film editing: Chris Gill. Music: John Murphy.  Danny Boyle's science fiction/horror film 28 Days Later... was a critical and commercial success, which owes much, I suspect, to its post-apocalyptic theme, capturing a mood prevalent after the terrorist attacks of Sept. 11, 2001. Many viewers noted the similarity of the kiosk in the film, covered with notices posted by people searching for lost friends and relatives, to the real ones posted in New York City after the fall of the World Trade Center towers -- a prescient touch on the part of the filmmakers, since the scene was shot before the terrorist attack and its aftermath. It has also been an influential film, helping spark an interest in "zombie"* movies and TV shows. After a prologue that shows how animal-rights activists attacked a research laboratory and unwittingly released a virus that causes uncontrollable rage in its victims and is spread by contact with blood and saliva, the film's protagonist, Jim (Cillian Murphy), wakes up from a coma in a London hospital to discover that he has been abandoned there and that the streets outside are empty. (The premise of someone waking up from a coma to discover a world depopulated by an incurable virus was repeated by the creators of The Walking Dead, first for the graphic novel published in 2003 and later for the TV series that began in 2010.) Jim soon discovers that he is not entirely alone: He is attacked by people infected with the virus and rescued by two who weren't: Selena (Naomie Harris) and Mark (Noah Huntley). Unfortunately, Mark gets bitten by one of the infected and has to be killed, allowing Selena to explain that the disease takes hold swiftly and is incurable. Selena and Jim then discover two more survivors, Frank (Brendan Gleeson) and his daughter, Hannah (Megan Burns), who have a crank-operated radio that has picked up a signal from survivors north of Manchester calling for others to join them. Frank is infected and killed during their perilous drive northward, and Jim, Selena, and Hannah discover that the survivors are in a well-armed military outpost under the command of Maj. Henry West (Christopher Eccleston). It turns out that West has been sending out the signals especially to attract women to service his sex-starved troops, which means not only that Selena and Hannah are in danger of rape but also that Jim is expendable. Before he helps Selena and Hannah escape, Jim also hears the theory of a soldier opposed to West that the virus has not in fact spread worldwide: that it has been contained in other countries and that the island of Britain is quarantined -- a theory that Jim confirms for himself when he sees the contrails of a jet plane flying high overhead. The released film ends happily -- or at least hopefully -- when Jim, Selena, and Hannah, having escaped, construct a giant "HELLO" sign that is spotted by a plane flying reconnaissance over the cottage where they live. It's not the preferred ending of director Boyle and screenwriter Alex Garland, who proposed a bleaker resolution of the story that failed with test audiences. Well-directed and -acted, 28 Days Later does what it's designed to do: build suspense and provide interesting characters. It also resonates nicely with our paranoia about pandemic infections in the age of COVID. But it doesn't hold up well under the old test of Questions You're Not Supposed to Ask: like, why has Jim been abandoned, stark naked and comatose, in a hospital? If the hospital was attacked by the infected, why wasn't he attacked? If it was evacuated -- we see a newspaper headline, EVACUATION, at one point -- why was he left behind? How did he survive unattended for 28 days with only an IV drip that would have run out in a few hours? If the rest of the world is safe and only Britain is quarantined, why doesn't Frank's radio pick up international broadcasts? Where are the humanitarian operations like the World Health Organization and Doctors Without Borders? And so on....

[xhuth]

re: last post about the disparity with nurses: it's so insane how much they vary. they're either the worst, cruelest mfers you ever met or compassionate in a way that sticks with you for perhaps the rest of your life.

when my dad was dying, my experience with the nurses was one of the latter... my mom and i would go to sit with him in the ICU for a bit on a few of the days. at this point he was comatose as he was no longer on life-sustaining treatment, so it was just a matter of waiting and doing palliative care. he couldn't go to the hospice home yet since there was no space and/or they were managing an issue with some ants (i know that probably sounds gross/frightening lol but it was approaching summer in nature-y area and there was a general kitchen in there, the rooms had kitchenettes, etc).

but, yeah, the team of nurses in the ICU were incredibly kind and sweet, they would regularly come in to take care of him as we waited to move him. i don't remember a lot, but my mom told me about one of the days where it was just her (i was alternating between being there and going to help my uncle pack up his house--my dad was living on a fucking island in maine, so it was an all-day affair with the ferry and such. nightmarish.) and one of the nurses came in to just, gently comb his hair. and she was just really awash with emotion recalling that from earlier in the day.

also, when we were making arrangements to get to maine asap as things were getting dire, it was difficult to find a place to stay. this was mid-may in a smaller town in maine, where everything revolves around "the season", so most hotels/motels were not actually open for business just yet pre-memorial day. also, it was 2021, so still very early in the thick of covid times. fortunately, my mom contacted a motel in a convenient spot just up the road from the hospital, who allowed us to rent two rooms for the three of us as they were making preparations to open. (it was a motel but the rooms were like, actually these really cute individual little cottages and at a manageable price, it was very nice.)

we actually weren't the only ones staying there--right next to us was a travel nurse who was living there temporarily as she worked at a nearby hospital. not the one my dad was at, but one a little further out. she was all the way from texas and had been staying there for several months already, like at least since september 2020 i think.

anyway we ended up speaking to her for a bit, telling her about our situation and hearing about her job etc. i don't remember much about the one long conversation my mom and i ended up having with her other than i think she told us stuff we or at least my mom found comfort in. what i do remember, though, is that she particularly worked with a lot of dementia/alzheimer's/etc patients, and my dad had dementia by the end so we spoke about that for a bit. and she was talking about how she loved her dementia patients especially. i don't remember a lot of the specifics of what she said about that either, but i think stuff along the lines of compassion and patience with their condition, for the confusion and fear it comes with, appreciating the moments where she could be a comfort to them, speaking to them and hearing what they have to say, etc.

that stuck with me a lot because it is very difficult, painful, and understandably frustrating to have to care for someone with conditions like dementia or alzheimer's, because even when you're doing the best you can and doing everything "right", they understandably can become easily agitated, start acting in ways that are unlike how they were in health, saying absurd things that can be upsetting or hurtful to hear. so, it was something unexpected and heartwarming to hear someone express. i think she might have said something about how she had privilege as a nurse she was lucky to use to be able to do these things for patients, since she doesn't know them personally and doesn't have to balance that pain their families in particular have to struggle through as they see a loved one degrade and suffer mentally from illness and become dissonant with the person they have known and loved for as much as their whole lives.

on the flip side, though, my grandmother was also in the middle of dying at literally the exact same time as all of this. so as soon as my mom got back home she had to pick up and go help her sisters with taking care of their dying mother (who had also been suffering with progressively worsening dementia for the past year). i wasn't there for that/not privy to a lot of the details (and struggled even more to remember any i was told because of how fucking turbulent this time was, lol) (also my mom was preparing to have major surgery in a few weeks' time, of which i was already scheduled to fly down very soon to assist her with) but the nurses there were fucking awful.

they were being stingy with the drugs for my grandmother's palliative care in particular to the point she was noticeably experiencing discomfort in her hospice state, which my mom chewed them out for especially now armed with the immediate experience she had just endured with my dad (telling them "what, are you afraid she's going to get addicted?!" and such lol). there was a nurse that my aunt dubbed "nurse ratched" after the nurse in one flew over the cuckoo's nest due to her attitude and appearance, lmfao. overall that experience was an unfortunate foil to how the care went with my dad.

i didn't expect to type this much or for this long lol thank u if u read and have a spewpa....

[thecomatosecottage]

Hii! Fellow Wanda introject :))

- @florasolarsystem

hello !!! :D

[tryst-art-archive]

Forests and Fortresses

There is something to be said for forests just as there is something to be said for fortresses.

But there is nothing to be said for the color gray other than a light remark on its necessity – metaphorically speaking, of course – or perhaps on its neutrality in regard to the color wheel. That is all there is for the color gray.

But there is something to be said for forests and the denizens of them just as much as there are things to be noted in regard to fortresses and the citizens there of.

So saying:

In recent times, I lived in a fortress in a gray world with my eyes closed and my stomach full. I did not, actively, know of what went on around me nor did I particularly care to know. I was one as comatose as any stone and this is the way that the gray world was meant to be. What I then know of fortresses does not include much first-hand knowledge.

But I knew people who had lived in this same fortress and they had been awake, aware, and sad. But they were safe and in a place some liked to call heaven, though it wasn’t quite the afterlife at all. And they were not too terribly lonely for there were many around them; companionship was a matter of breaking the all-encompassing silence.

These people did not like the fortress in the least and though they were, themselves, wonderful people, they betrayed themselves in their sorrow and it happened then, over the uncountable years,  that many left the safety of the fortress and found themselves standing on cliffs that made them appear and feel sullied, dirtied, and filthy, and they would cast themselves off these cliffs to join the painful purity below, hoping forever for a hand to reach out and save them. Some of their fellows condemned them for this behavior, but, for myself, I can see nothing to chastise them for.

Besides, they kept me fed.

But while this all occurred, I slept for years and decades and centuries, content in my slumber, until one unexpected day when the structure shuddered and cracked and several things that had no business happening did.

And I woke up.

In times more recent than the aforementioned, I lived in a cottage in the woods in a colored world of life and wonder that also kept me fed. In the forest of this place, I found much that pained and much that lived in cheer and wonder and much that sorrowed; I found anger and love and, most basic of all, curiosity and confusion.

I wandered through the forest to understand and in my wandering I met shadow and the shadow  was one who was half a thing like me and half a thing more akin to the living, breathing, mortal things I had seen in the wood and elsewhere. However, the shadow did not hunger nor eat nor, indeed, need to be sustained by anything at all; it was a shadow, after all.

Nonetheless, it had hunger.

I spoke to the shadow and it laughed; it hurt the lives nearest by to help me or to hurt me, I couldn’t say, but seeing that this had no desirable effect on me, it ceased and skulked away, chastened. I returned to the cottage and here spoke with the building’s owner who told me the shadow was a strange thing that she did not understand; perhaps I could comprehend it better. After all, she said, I did not have the rules and laws of a world set in my mind and so did not need to make the shadow conform to them. This, she said, was a gift. I thought on this, and returned to the wood the following day to discover what a lack of knowledge could provide.

And discover I did.

And for the shadow I found great pity and such loathing and disgust as I cannot word. Such a miserable wretch, I thought, should not so befoul a wood such as this. However, I countered, such a pitiful wretch deserves such small comfort as a wood such as this can provide.

So I left the shadow-wretch to itself and returned to the cottage with understanding but no satisfaction.

For a week I returned to the wood only to meet the shadow-wretch and when it found none of whatever it was that it sought in me and already knowing it would find none of what it sought in the cabin’s owner, it fled the wood and haunted other dappled forests in search of a lost thing that I could never hope to name or understand.

So I returned to the cabin and settled myself in a gray corner and I slept until the autumn came.

This is writing from when I was 16. You can find my current work @tryskits

[tinyhistory]

Hey! Love your stories so much I just had to ask! Do you have any favorite drarry authors/stories? I sometimes compare the quality of other stories to ROA (oops!) because ROA is just that good. My personal favorites are ROA (of course!), the Foundations Series (saras_girl), the ordeal of being known (louisfake), denouement (the_never_was), Good to Me (And I'd Be So Good to You) (AWickedMemory), and To Hurt and Heal (cassisluna). Have you read these? Have a wonderful day! :)

Thank you, so glad you’ve enjoyed my stories! And thank you for so patiently waiting for a reply. I haven’t been online much in the past couple of weeks. Unfortunately I haven’t read any of your recs, but I’m always happy to add another fic to my to-read list.

I did a rec post a few months ago, but I’ll post an updated version now. The Skyhawke Archives appear to be down, which is crushing news. I’ve had to update a lot of the links.

So here are my favourite Drarry fanfics:

And We Are At Our Apogee (PG-13) by angelgazing

Summary: Draco wanted revenge, but it didn't work out that way.

My notes: Californian beaches, supermarkets, road trips, and a bittersweet ending.

-

A Reckless State of Mind (T) by Lomonaaeren

Summary: Draco is a Psyche-Diver, and his newest patient is Auror Potter, who’s been a pathological liar for over a year—and has just tried to violently end his own life.

Notes: The plot alone guarantees inclusion on this list. Probably the most creative fic I’ve ever read, and the twists and turns will keep you guessing.

-

Berlin, In the Year of Our Lord (PG) by Are

Summary: Harry is a green-tea addict. Draco stalks him.

Notes: Probably my all-time favourite fic, along with Blue Vase. It’s sparse and minimal and I love that writing style.

-

Blue Vase (M) by ivyblossom

Summary: Let’s pretend.

Notes: Draco finds an amnesiac Harry and befriends him, pretending they were once lovers. It’s pensive, short, and bittersweet.

-

The Boy Who Only Lived Twice (E) by lettered

Summary: Harry Potter is an Unspeakable. Draco Malfoy is the wizard who shagged him. Adventure! Intrigue! Secret identities, celebrities, spies! It's all right here, folks.

Notes: Action-heavy fics are damn hard to write, but lettered nails it. The action scenes are breakneck speed, the conversations are threaded with double meaning, and even the silences are tense.

-

Draco in Darkness (T) by Plumeria47.

Summary: Following an accident in his seventh year, Draco loses his eyesight.

Notes: This is one of the first fics I ever read (when it was over on FF in 2003) so it’s probably here just for nostalgia points alone. I read it when I was a kid and just thought it was a lovely golden fairytale, the best romance I’d ever read in my (very short, thus far) life. I love reading it again, even years later as an adult when I can see the tarnish on it; the things my childhood eyes didn’t notice. I don’t care. It’s my soft and fuzzy comfort fic.

-

The Flesh is Frail (NC-17) by wildestranger

Summary: None

Notes: Draco has injuries from curses and spells, and Harry keeps him company. Draco is angry; Harry is stubborn. They argue their way into a grudging relationship. It’s a short read and well worth your ten minutes.

-

Good-bye to Yesterday (NC-17) by furiosity

Summary: Draco felt ready to face even a million years in Azkaban as long as it meant that at the end of it all, he would make Potter pay.

Notes: It’s not a dark fic, but it certainly dips in and out of the shadows. If you like your romance to be sharp as a razor and bitter as black coffee, give it a read.

-

Hymn to Color (PG) by Lomonaaeren

Summary: Months after Draco cast a curse that took Harry’s eyesight, Harry is still trying to come to terms with it. Draco still wanted forgiveness, which was probably the problem.

Notes: Probably my very inadequate idea of “fluff”. It’s a quiet, introspective fic. Draco and Harry are well-written.

-

Kings among runaways (PG) by enderxenocide.

Summary: Later, the toast will be slightly overcooked, Draco will burn the eggs, and there will be another fist fight in-between the living room and the front door, but they’ll eat breakfast with second-hand plates and Draco’s great-grandmother’s silverware.

Notes: Dreamy descriptions, abstract scenes, and the characters are lovingly delineated. Beautiful writing.

-

On Broken Glass (PG-13) by coffeejunkii

Summary: After the final battle, Draco is holding the shards that are left of his and Harry’s life.

Notes: Established relationship. Harry’s forgetful and seems to suffer both short-term and long-term memory loss; Draco stays by his side through six years of post-war amnesia. Very short, just a tiny ficlet. There’s sequels (in bite-size pieces) but I prefer to read the first ficlet and leave it there.

-

Paper Dolls (M) by cupiscent

Summary: In the final year of the War, Draco gets a letter, makes a choice and pays the price.

Notes: Short, succinct, and packs a punch. No character deaths, in case the summary has you feeling nervous.

-

Portrait (PG-13) by Silent Blast

Summary: None.

Notes: Dorian Grey, but Drarry. Of course it’s going to be good.

-

Shattered (NC-17) by femmequixotic

Summary: One damned accident involving one too-lucky curse, and suddenly you'd think he was five again, with their Harry, be carefuls and their quick Levitating charms ready the instant the potion gives way and his rebelling hands lose hold of whatever's in their grasp.

Notes: Draco’s an artist. Harry’s intrigued by his sculptures and paintings.

-

Snatch (PG-13) by didntyoupotter

Summary: Harry is comatose, Hermione and Ron aren’t much help, and Draco isn’t sure about anything anymore.

Notes: The opening scene fools you into thinking this will be a light read with a streak of good humour. Don’t fall for it. By the third act, you’ll be hanging onto every word and feeling a lot of emotions. Also, back in the day, this was one of the Draco/Harry fics. Everyone knew of it. Pay your respects to your fandom history and read this beloved classic.

-

The Stages of Acceptance (T) by Lomonaaeren.

Summary: Harry, already happily married to Ginny, receives the news that he's Draco's mate. Law and custom don't give him the option of ignoring the news. The stages of his reaction, one by one.

Notes: This is not a romance, and I love that the author just casually chucks all the Veela tropes in the bin and says “nope”. In Lomonaaeren’s own words, this fic is more practical than romantic. Harry is unfamiliar with the Veela concepts and hates the very idea of being “shackled” to someone; he rejects Draco at once. Draco is miserable and lonely. They do eventually come to understand each other better, but it’s a huge struggle with lots of setbacks. The general air of pessimism and misery does make the small glimpses of compassion and empathy feel so well-earned. I love a fic that rations out its happiness.

-

The Stately Homes of Wiltshire (E) by waspabi

Summary: Malfoy Manor has mould, dry rot and an infestation of unusually historical poltergeists. Harry Potter is on the case.

Notes: This one needs no introduction. The writing is polished, the characterisation perfect, and the dialogue is fun. I love the humour woven throughout it.

-

Then Comes a Mist and a Weeping Rain (E) by faithwood.

Summary: It always rains for Draco Malfoy. Metaphorically. And literally. Ever since he had accidentally Conjured a cloud. A cloud that's ever so cross.

Notes: Another one that most of us know. It’s a lighthearted and fun read.

-

Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow (M) by novembersnow

Summary: In the war-torn years after Hogwarts, one man has no knowledge of his yesterdays.

Notes: Another classic back in the feverish heyday of the Harry Potter fandom, when books were still being released and everyone had worked themselves up into a shipping frenzy. And no wonder this fic was an instant hit. Draco has lost all his memories and Harry’s investigating as an Auror, but the longer you read, the more you start questioning everything. Good twists and turns that lead to a tender ending.

-

Turn by Saras_Girl

Summary: One good turn always deserves another. Apparently.

Notes: An inevitable inclusion on any favourites list. I think my favourite thing about it is the characterisation. Everyone is so well-rounded; the characters are brought to life and feel like old friends. All their habits, styles, mannerisms, even the way they walk or talk. While I love everyone in this fic, I have to admit that Blaise is just amazing. Of all the thousands of Blaises imagined by fanfic writers, I love this one the best. “Old bean” indeed.

-

Under the Ivy (PG-13) by coffeejunkii

Summary: It is impressive how much you can learn about someone by simply sharing a few rooms. They don’t spend time together, not really, but Harry still knows that Malfoy prefers raspberry jam over strawberry, that he hums along to the Wireless when he thinks no one is around, and that his leg is bothering him more than usual when the temperatures drop below freezing.

Notes: Another old, old favourite of mine. It’s like snuggling into a soft blanket. Remus owns a cottage and Harry moves in after the war. Later, Remus lets a room to Draco, who is an outcast after the war and has limited housing options. Harry isn’t happy at first with the new lodger, but he eventually warms up to Draco. A slow and gentle romance.

-

Vale Sanare (M) by rurounihime

Summary: Draco’s world gains a new component, just when he thought he’d sorted everything out.

Notes: London nightclubs, one-night-stands, loud music and lonely nights. Draco has seizures due to a curse from the war, and the seizures have led to a fear of intimacy. Short and sweet.

-

The Way Down (T) by lettered

Summary: Malfoy’s all, “Come out of there,” the way you say to a cat who is badly behaved. And Harry’s all like, “No, what, I’m a hermit! And I have a chest-monster! And I am crazy magically powerful!” and Malfoy’s all, “We all have problems, bub.” (thoughtfully) “You are crazy though. I’ll give you that.”

Notes: I just adore this fic. The fic starts well-grounded, giving you a solid backstory and matter-of-fact context, but as it goes on, it slowly unravels into dreamy scenes, lush settings, and repeated motifs. It’s just such a beautiful story.

-

When Love beckons to you, follow him (PG-13) by megyal

Summary: Draco wakes up, lost, somewhere in a forest. He has no idea where he is or how he got there. As he is blundering around trying to find his way home, he hears Harry's voice in his head, telling him what to do.

Notes: I generally like my fics to be bittersweet or with a bit of heartache — but this fic is just a little cloud of softness. If you need something light and lovely without being syrupy-sweet, this is a good choice!

-

The World of the Living (M) by fourth_rose

Summary: A traumatised war hero and a convicted criminal under the roof of an eccentric journalist make for a rather odd ensemble, but Luna has never had a problem with oddities as long as they make sense.

Notes: The story is told from Luna’s perspective, which gives everything a lovely dreamy quality. She takes in a couple of strays after the war — first Harry, who is avoiding his other friends and has quit his Auror job — and then she offers a room to Draco right after his trial. Draco is rude, angry, and ungrateful; Harry is churlish, withdrawn, and moody. Luna doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest, and over the course of the next few months, her house guests slowly warm up to each other.

-

Voices From the Fog (E) by noeon

Summary: After years of running away, Harry crosses paths with an all-too familiar face and follows him to Amsterdam.

Notes: Harry drifts across Europe, trying to forget the war. He ends up in a woodworking shop in Amsterdam, alongside a moody Draco. Atmospheric settings and solid characterisation.

[journiland]

6/12/2022

I woke up with a headache and some dizziness today, so have been sticking to the necessary chores (wish I hadn't procrastinated so many!)

Probably either a "hangover" from too much driving/peopling yesterday, the hours of lost sleep from "Yikes! Bear!", or possibly the freeze-dried mango (not supposed to eat, but didn't have a ton). Or a combo of all three.

I realized how "good* I've been feeling lately. Yes, I'm generally some level of tired between a little and two seconds from comatose, but (until today) I haven't been dizzy, haven't had a headache requiring a pill or stopping me from working (even if slowly).

I think the restrictive diet is working. Yes, it's summer, but I didn't feel this good (and happy! and interested! and OMG *motivated!*) last summer. (And I should be doubly depressed for missing Vampire).

My pigs, I mean chickens, snarfing cottage cheese:

[thetorchwoodarchive]

[image description: Text reading “TORCHWOOD Winter Fic Rec Fest” against a blue background with snow falling. At the bottom of the image there is snow on the ground. To the left there is a wood sign reading “Pterodactyl-Drawn Sleigh Rides This Way” and flurries of snow on it. The sign is an arrow pointing. To the right there a page from a note book. In cursive the note reads “Out Sledding - Captain Jack Harkness”. The Torchwood T Logo is at the bottom of the note cut off slightly. The note is in front of a mug of hot chocolate with marshmallows floating on top, with sprinkles of dark chocolate around the marshmallows.]

Thank you so much for submitting your Winter Fic Recs!!! Below are your favorite wintertime Torchwood fics as submitted by you, our followers!

As always please abide by individual warnings and ratings on each fic.

And This Shall Be a Sign by teand (JackIanto | complete | 1344 | G)

Sometimes, it isn't the end of the world. Sometimes, it's nice.

Lucky Number by Hope (JackIanto, JackGwen, GwenIanto, JackGwenIanto | complete | 17946 | E)

It's not just like Christmas every day, it is Christmas every day.

Christmas Traditions by fakingg_sanity (JackIanto, GwenRhys | complete | 1600 | T)

Its Christmas 2027, Anwen is 17 years old and Gwen likes to say she is 42.

Jack shows up like he always does, with handfuls of gifts for the family of 3.

They sit and they dine just like they have since Jack first showed up for Christmas. its a time to reflect on past losses, past loves and of course what the future holds. Gwen misses her old life, but she misses her old team more.

Light Sweetly Gleaming by pocky_slash (Gwen&Ianto | complete | 7000 | PG)

Gwen tries to make Christmas memorable, but it's Ianto who steals the show.

Snowfall by myotishia (JackIanto, OwenTosh, GwenRhys | complete, series | 13884 | T)

As Cardiff is in the grip of unusually heavy snowfall a man is found frozen solid.

inside this place is warm by PrincessOfTheWorlds (JackIanto | complete | 1590 | T)

Ianto is stubborn about wearing a coat and suffers. He copes by stealing Jack's jumper.

Sweater Weather by princessoftheworlds (JackIanto | complete | 442 | G)

Ianto's cuddling in bed with Jack in the bunker, but he won't stop sneezing.

Snowball Fight by princessoftheworlds (Ianto&Team Torchwood | complete | 447 | G)

The team engages in a snowball fight.

Mari Lwyd by SqutternutBosh (JackIanto, GwenRhys | complete | 9778 | Not Rated)

With only days to go until Christmas, Gwen, Jack and Ianto are headed out to a Welsh seaside village to investigate why villagers are being found comatose on their doorsteps when morning comes. Setting up their base in a cosy cottage, the team strike out into the night to find answers.

The Edge of the World by Orinoco_II (JackIanto, Owen&Tosh | complete | 8448 | M)

When an Antarctic research team disappear without a trace, an old friend of Jack's enlists Torchwood to investigate. What could be lurking beneath the ice?

Simply Having a Wonderful Christmas Time by Paycheckgurl (JackIanto, GwenRhys | complete | 3351 | T)

This wasn’t exactly how they planned their Christmas going, but they were going to make the best of it.

Christmas and the Day After by allfireburns (Gen | complete | 571 | G)

Jack is at the Christmas Truce, and sometimes the weight of tradition is a bit too much.

Home, Take One by NancyBrown (JackIanto | complete, series | 502 | G)

It's their first Christmas back amongst the living.

Home, Take Two by NancyBrown (JackIanto, RhiannonJohnny | complete, series | 528 | G)

It's their first Christmas as a family

Home, Take Three by NancyBrown (JackIanto | complete | 1859 | M)

It's their first Christmas together.

Season of Grace (Coming Out of the Void) (JackIantoLisa, JohnsonAlice | complete | 19181 | T)

The only things worse at Christmas than invading aliens are invading in-laws.

Snow Joke by badly_knitted (JackIanto | complete | 3029 | T)

When Kathy calls Torchwood about reports of a snowman causing trouble, Ianto and Jack have to investigate.

Snowed In by badly_knitted (JackIanto | complete | 2002 | G)

It’s snowing heavily, but this snow definitely isn’t a natural weather phenomenon…

Beating The Cold by badly_knitted (JackIanto | complete | 502 | G)

Rift retrievals in winter can be hazardous; you never know what the weather will throw at you.

One Snowy Morning by badly_knitted (OwenTosh | complete | 1462 | T)

Owen doesn’t like snow at all, so he’s understandably annoyed to find it’s been snowing overnight.

Downhill Slide by badly_knitted (JackIanto | complete | 3335 | T)

A Rift retrieval takes the team out into the Welsh countryside after heavy snow.

Cold Winter Morning by badly_knitted (JackIanto | complete | 2047 | G)

Ianto faces various obstacles getting himself and Jack up and off to work.

The Torchwood Grinch by celedan (JackIanto | complete | 11101 | T)

Ianto survived the 456-encounter... and come Christmas he wishes that he hadn't because meeting Jack's family as well as dinner with his own is a bit too much.

Every Time A Bell Rings, A Time Lord Gets His Wings by gmariam (JackIanto | complete | 20574 | T)

Ianto Jones was done with Torchwood, with aliens and dinosaurs and undying coworkers. And then the Doctor showed up to ruin his already rubbish Christmas. "This is your other life, Mr. Jones," the Doctor said quietly, coming up behind him. "This is what the world would be like if you hadn't joined Torchwood. Let's take a walk, shall we?"

Torchwood Traditions by SammyR1978 (Gen | complete, series | individual word count not available | T)

Gwen and Rhys host a Christmas party that just so happens to get Sam in the holiday spirit

Signals Into Space by lionessvalenti (JackIanto | complete | 5072 | G)

Ianto doesn't have plans for Christmas. Jack helps.

Silent Night by Pumpkingirl (JackIanto, OwenTosh | complete | 2774 | T)

It was just a Chritmas Eve on which - quite surprisingly - the world didn't need saving...

Weakest Link by Engagemythrusters (JackIanto | complete | 1561 | G)

Ianto Jones doesn't know half the things Captain Jack Harkness knows, and most of that is because Jack refuses to share any of it.

[justwinginoverthings]

Harvest

Malina one shot, very fluffly, and posted in AO3 too in case you would give me a nice review :)

Spoilers for those who haven't read the books

BEFORE

The boy was becoming less of a boy every passing day, tall enough to grip a sickle and earn a few coins helping in a nearby farm. His limbs had grown longer, his arms thicker, and as his waist twisted in repeated movements, sweat began dripping down his forehead. Autumn settled near the fields of Keramzin and soon farmers and landowners prowled towns and settlements asking if any young men would be willing to earn their money.

“You won’t be earning any commissions the first years during training and while they send you here and there,” Ana Kuya had warned him, smacking his bicep, “put those arms to use, boy, and start saving money!”

She didn’t say what the money was for, even though she suspected it would go to the savings for a little farm, and the dream of a tiny cottage for two if the war allowed for its soldiers to plan for homes and futures.

So he did as he was told. The boy raised his hand the next time someone came asking around. The girl next to him whirled and her pleading almost stopped him. “I won’t be able to go with you!”

“It’ll buy me some new rope for my hunting bow,” he smiled at her, almost cocky, a word she had never thought to use to describe his smile, “I may even buy you a pretty scarf.”

She rolled her eyes, “I can steal some yarn from Ana Kuya and knit one.”

“Not made from yarn silly, from pretty fabric. Soft blue and with golden trimming. Something I gave you.”

The girl imagined something delicate and, immediately, felt her cheeks turn warmer. It sounded like the sort of gift one gave to someone of importance. She stayed silent and ordered her heart to stop beating so fast; stopped the light from showing in her eyes.

The boy worked hard, the way of all commoners, the way soldiers; farmers; weavers; bakers; carpenters; dockworkers and seamen did every day. Silent and obedient, eager for some little money to take back home. When at the end of the week he dragged his feet back to the orphanage, glad to finally sleep in his bed and not in some harsh fabric fashioned into a hanging bed, along with other men in a barn. The sun was almost gone, but he smiled when he saw the girl waiting by the door, her hands greeting him with enthusiasm.

“Look,” she offered her hand, and he took it easily, following her happily as she led him to an empty room. Once, they had made plays for the mice and practiced their letters on the dusty floor. She brought her finger to her lips, a mischievous glint in her eyes, “I’ll get the switch if she finds out.”

Inside, behind a dusty and moldy dresser, were three — three! — jars with a layer of black rye bread settling down at the bottom, the liquid above a rich gold colour. The girl had gathered every leftover from bread and even asked in neighbouring houses for some more, stealing sourdough and honey from the kitchen and adding some of the berries the boy had found for her before leaving.

“You’re mad,” he said smiling, “you’ve lost your mind.” Ana Kuya called kvas a peasant's drink, even when their own teachers drank it, and insisted that the Duke gave them more than enough for boiled water, beet juice or the very occasional watered wine.

“I’m thinking if I go to the fields selling some to the workers walking back home I’ll earn some coins too. If I got my hands on some actual grain I might even make the real stuff.” She beamed at him, as if the idea of selling bread wine wouldn’t make Ana Kuya beat her nearly comatose for the audacity and the disgrace. “I’ll buy you something too.”

“You have to be careful,” he shook his head, knowing he wouldn’t stop her and hoping she’d succeed, “what will you buy me?”

“I don’t know. Does it matter?”

“No it won’t, it’ll be something you gave me.”

AFTER

The girl smiled as her fingers traced the soil. She could hear the sounds of hammering from outside the greenhouse, the sounds of repairing and rebuilding, of the workers who had come to the estate that once belonged to a duke to build a new orphanage. Before they had come, the boy had built them a little cabin for three with his bare hands to dwell as they began planning how to make the new orphanage. They wanted to build a happier place, a safer place. A home.

The second thing he built was a greenhouse: spacious; with a pool; with a table and comfy seats with a view of their meadow. “One day, we’ll connect it to the house,” he had whispered in her ear as they curled up in front of the hearth of their little cottage, “a proper conservatory, with apple trees.”

She had blushed at the memories, and instead of pulling her closer from behind he made her turn, kissing her lips, her eyelids, her jawline, her neck; wanting to make new memories but conscious of the sleeping company of a young child and a cat.

It took some time, the estate had to be cleaned of scorched earth, of blackened wood and ashes. The boy’s calloused hands worked hard in their greenhouse while the girl, the young child and the cat offered any help they could. They built their future home with grief, and love, more tired than they should but hopeful of a chance at life.

“What are you smiling at?”

She had not heard him coming in. Her husband still had the ways of a soldier, stealthy, careful. “Look at this sugar beet plant, it’s doing so well.”

His hand came around her waist, resting his chin on top of her head. “What do you do with a couple of beets?”

“Some syrup, at best. But I’m happy to put it in the book.” Among other things, she spent her days planning what they could grow in the estate. He suggested grain was practical, a patch for squash and potatoes easy to handle, and a fence for cucumbers as a nice challenge. But she wanted an orchard of plums and apples, wanted to look after berries and herbs, pretty and colourful things.

“Mhm.”

She closed her eyes as his chin moved her maroon kerchief, finding a way for his lips to kiss her white hair. She placed her hands on top of his, making him fist the fabric of her sarafan, clearly hungry and restless for his wife.

“Not now.” She could read him now, even easier than a map. Could tell the intention behind every one of his touches. “Be careful, they can’t see my hair.”

He let her go as he nipped her ear, helping her cover her hair properly. “Will you make me chase you?”

“When the sun goes down, maybe.” She grinned, enjoying his cocky smile. “I said maybe.”

“I’ll tell Misha to sleep here tonight. I’ll cage that damn cat if I have to.” His hands were suddenly on her again, twisting her so she’d look at him. There was a glint in his eyes that she knew well.

“What are you hiding?” His smile was wide, so similar to the carefree boy he was before the war that it nearly made her shiver. “What is it?”

“Nothing.”

“Your plans won’t get you anywhere if you don’t tell me right now.”

He sighed in fake irritation as she grinned. The girl had become a wife some time ago by now, and it turned out she enjoyed her newfound power. It was not the power she once had, but it held a special place in her heart, because it made her husband act so stupid he became a boy again. So eager to please, easy to manipulate, quick to complain.

“I bought you something,” he confessed, “a gift.”

Her eyebrows shoot up. They were so careful with money, as commoners were. They led a simple life where the richness of it was in peace, love and hope. From his pocket, he pulled out a small package, wrapped in paper. She beamed at him before taking it. Inside was a new kerchief: soft blue and with golden trimming. The girl was reminded of a secondhand scarf he had once given her, the first gift anyone had ever given her, lost to the Fold like so many other things. She was reminded of bulletproof keftas with yellow sunbeam embroidery, freshly pressed every morning for her. She was reminded of the blue of the ocean, and seeing it for the first time next to him; reminded of the heat of the light she could once summon.

“Mal, you shouldn't have…”

He shook his head stubbornly. “Yes I should, it’s in the vows.”

It really wasn’t. Vows spoke of honor, of faithfulness, of cherishment in the worst or the best of times. There weren’t words about gifts, or building her conservatories or planting her apple trees. Vows certainly never spoke of kissing her until she forgot her own name, of holding her until she didn’t need to trace the line of his body because she was pressed to him hard enough to feel every inch of him.

“Put it on me?”

The boy nodded silently, his hands careful and tender. When he was done covering her white hair, he kissed her again, relaxed and content.

“Don’t you want to go out and boss around the workers? You’re the mistress of this house after all, it’s expected.”

“I want to stay here, it’s warm.” The girl didn’t say that it wasn’t just the heat, but the beautiful luminosity that came through the glass walls. It reminded her of what she lost and still longed for. She didn’t say it, but he understood.

“Leaving me alone with the sweaty smelly stonemasons and that hellion of a child, aren’t you? You think I don’t see what you’re doing.” The boy faked a frown, but his tone was light hearted. They both giggled together.

“I’ll make it up to you.”

“How? You know how I liked my payments.”

She managed to suppress a blush.

“I don’t know.” Her hands went up to touch her pretty new kerchief. “I’ll give you something too.”

“Oh will you?” The glint in the boy's eyes almost made her knees buckle, thinking of his promises to tell Misha to sleep here. It was her who could stay here forever, as long as he kept holding her and looking at her like that. “I wonder what it is.”

“Will it matter?”

“No. I want anything you can give me. Anything. For the rest of our lives,” his words were so serious, the words of a husband who could take a sheepish kiss on the cheek, a playful swat of her hand, the scowl of a bad mood, the tears of a difficult day or the urgent passion of a stolen moment of privacy. His eyes were impossibly dark blue, “as long as you’re with me.”

She didn’t have much to give him that day. Only sugar beets, more ideas of what they could harvest in their new land and a modest meal she would prepare later with Misha. Only all of her, that’s what she could offer. But the girl didn’t think he’d mind.

This was what the boy had worked for since the day he figured out she was his home.

[revengeoftheantichrist]

What Kind of Man

Warnings: Mentions of pregnancy, children, gore, threats, possessive behaviour 

AO3  <<<Previous

Chapter 13: Affliction 

“What do you know about him my dear girl?” asked Myrtle, bringing you out of the constant daze you were in. “Hmm? Oh, nothing,” you responded, telling her the truth. “We began to do some observation and research after Madison disappeared,” she started. “There had always been rumours that the Langdon family had been involved in devil worship since time immemorial. It would explain their power and wealth. Count Lucien’s father promised the souls of his decedents in exchange for more. He wanted immortality.” “Immortality? What a strange thing to ask for” you perked up. “Yes. But the irony is, they all died anyway. But he had passed it onto his children. Caesar Langdon was killed by his wife. Lucien Langdon was killed by vampire hunters. You see, these beasts of the night have existed for centuries. There is always someone there to stop them. It’s a curse, to have to feed off the living to keep yourself going. They thought the Langdon line would end with Lucien, but no one was counting on Vivienne on being with child,” she explained. “What about Tate?” “He was far too unagreeable for anyone to willingly give him a child. The hunters would have killed him anyway if Michael hadn’t.” “Michael? Michael killed his own uncle?” “Of course, he did! Well, we can’t prove it, but it was probably revenge for what had been done to his mother,” Myrtle said casually, while stirring her tea. “He was born with this affliction dear, chosen by the devil to do his bidding.” “H- he said he had to feed his clan. What did he mean by that?” you questioned. “Creatures of the night have a complex society. They stick together in ‘Clans’ for protection and sustenance. Michael oversees the Cooperative, which is the name of his clan. They’re the reason we can’t keep you in France for too long, the Cooperative have their claws everywhere. They have been around for far longer than I have dear girl.” You looked at her confused, “Why didn’t we know, no, I know any of this before?” It was Cordelia’s turn to speak. “we only pieced it all together recently, we wished we could have gotten to you sooner. It seems that opium can convince lawyers and accountants to spill their secrets” She was talking about Jeff and Mutt “Did my brother know all this?” “He knew enough to have his tongue cut out.” You looked at her wide eyed, unable to speak after hearing the news. “Why? Why did he choose me?” you began to cry again, what had you done to deserve this. These were only answers Michael had. //// Michael was born with his affliction. His lust for blood was uncontrollable as a child. Maid after maid was drained dry. His own mothers’ wrists and neck scarred from when he would feed of her. His grandmother would look at him with disgust after a feeding frenzy; his little round cheeks glossy with blood. He was always a messy eater. With the bloodlust came rage. So much rage. He almost killed Constance after she commented on his feeding habits. He had killed the dog when Tate had killed his mother, he was biding his time for a longer revenge plan. Mrs Mead had come to work for them when he was 15. She was one of the only staff members Michael hadn’t got his teeth into. Encouraging him to give into his desires, just as his grandfather would have wanted him to. She encouraged him to kill Tate, helping him devise his plan to slowly and painfully kill him. He took great joy in his killings. Hawthorne had let him meet more boys like him. Xavier was like him, a creature of bloodlust. Duncan was a wolf of a great American dynasty. Richard came from a family of hybrids, unstable and unable to survive in either society. But Michael offered him and his siblings a chance, taking them in as staff and the eyes and ears of his projects. No matter how much blood he had consumed, Michael’s cravings were still not satisfied. He craved one thing above anything else. He craved companionship. Someone to share the rest of his eternity with. If cousin Elizabeth could find someone, why couldn’t he? But things were never easy for Michael, they never were. Turning women just seemed to be harder than turning men. All his attempts at turning had been unsuccessful. They were often dragged away by deaths cold hands. The ones that didn’t die were left in a constant state of comatose. Laying between the veil of the living and the dead. There was one benefit to these failures. They became a permanent and constant blood source. They couldn’t move, they couldn’t speak, but they could hear and feel everything. It brought Michael a great sadistic joy that they could feel all the pain he inflicted on them. He had spent his free time looking for the perfect match. The unsuccessful ones usually became a source for him and the clan. He thought that might have changed with Madison. When he first laid eyes on her, the hunger he felt was one he had never felt before. The intense need to have her right there and then overwhelmed him. He went to all extremes to have her. Even promising marriage if she came to him. And she did. She left it all behind for him. So easily willing just like the rest. So, when she was another failure, Michael was shocked. The grief of it all sent him on a killing spree on his grand tour. A bad day and his night visitors never made it home. The feeling he felt after seeing your picture was indescribable. This was more intense than the one he had with Madison. Your image had devoured all logical thought there and then. Looking for girls that looked like you just to satiate him. When he finally had you, he thought he’d kill you. Your scent overwhelmed him, he felt like a wild, ravenous dog in front of a piece of meat. He watched you eat on your first night. He watched you undress, licking his lips with every piece of skin that slowly revealed itself. His fangs ached as he watched you bathe. He feared that if he had gotten too close, he would have ended you. He had almost killed you the night you had consummated your marriage, leaving painful bruises around your neck and breasts. After seeing the bruising, he knew had to control himself if he wanted to spend an eternity with you. Patience was something he never had. His lack of patience made him sloppy. Sloppy enough for him to have his brains shot out. //// You had seen more of the world than you ever thought you’d see. More than you wanted to see. You spent no more than a week in one place, before the paranoia of being watched or followed took over you. You couldn’t trust anyone now. The cooperative always made themselves known when they were around. Places you had stayed would be burned down, or the people that you spoke to would turn up dead. They wanted revenge for what you did to their patriarch. You had become a living omen, forced to wander for eternity, leaving a trail of fire and blood behind you. Eternity. Blood. The smell of your verbenas repulsed you now, but you carried then just incase. Your teeth ached. You couldn’t help yourself. You got hungry sometimes, uncontrollably so. You tried not to take too much, but sometimes you’d go weeks without feeding. Your next meal ending up dead before your teeth let go. Your hearing got sharper too. You heard the Cooperative before they could get too close. You heard about your parents’ death. The carriage accident left no survivors. You wondered what excuses had been given for your absence. You wondered if your family line would end there. Would anyone marry your brother? A man with no tongue? Cordelia and Company refused to kill you. Michael had cursed you in more ways than one. His words rang though your head, when he mentioned a portrait in spring, to represent new life. You understood now what he meant. You understood the other secret everyone hid from you. The Langdon family curse carried on, on Easter Sunday. The cries of a baby boy rang through your secluded cottage at 3 AM. The irony of the event wasn’t lost on you. He looked just like his father, blond curls and blue eyes. A cherubic little thing. Adriel had dimples when he giggled, it made your heart soar. He was your priority now, choosing to settle just for a little bit. The cooperative hadn’t reached the Caucasus mountains yet. You sent news of your son and your decision to settle to Cordelia; the same way you sent every other message, in an intricately embroidered piece of cloth. The sun was bright and warm in the sky and the flowers were vibrant the day you got your reply. The envelope had smelled of smoke and burned flesh. Inside was your ‘letter’ that you had sent, the fabric returned to you singed. Your hands shook as you looked for any other clues. You looked at the envelope again and noticed the seal. Cordelia’s seal was white. This was black; the Langdon coat of arms. The unique form of the seal that was on Michael’s signet ring. He must have been alive. He knew where you were. You had to leave; you were no longer safe here. You ran to grab your son. As you brought him to your chest, you felt the air shift around. The birds had stopped chirping. The breeze had stilled. Storm clouds had quickly engulfed the sun. He was already here, nearby in the forest. You could feel it in every cell of your body, the pull towards your ‘creator’. He wasn’t close enough yet, so you ran in the opposite direction to the pull you felt. But the further you went, the fussier Adriel got. His cries ringing through the silent forest, giving away your location. A flash of brown stopped you in your tracks. A great wolf had landed in front of you. His teeth were sharp, and his eyes were red. You hadn’t felt fear like this in a while. You slowly stepped back, looking around you for a way out. But with each step you took, he took one forward, glaring at you. You thought you’d hit a tree with your next step, but a familiar pair of arms wrapped around you. “Did you have fun enjoying the sights and terrorising innocent villagers my love?” his honey like voice broke through the silence. Adriel had stopped fussing as soon as he heard his father’s voice, as soon as the babe had felt his presence. To you it brought dread and fear, to the child it brought the greatest of comfort, to be held by both parents. You tried to look around for an exit, but you were surrounded. Xavier and Richard to either side. The wolf was Duncan, you could small him. Behind you was Michael. His nose was on your neck, deeply inhaling your scent, “Oh how I’ve missed you so little dove.” There was no way out this time. You weren’t armed. You weren’t as experienced as these creatures. You couldn’t fight without risking Adriel. “Our little game of hide and seek is over little rabbit. I’ve won and now its time for you to come home,” he whispered to you. He had taken Adriel from your arms while you were distracted. You finally got a look at him, expecting to see the empty eyes that haunted your dreams every night. Instead you were met with the same face you saw on your wedding day. His eyes seemed bluer than ever before. His hair was glossier, shining despite the lack of sun. His skin was unblemished, like marble. Not a scar or any discolouration around his eyes. His lips looked softer too. You had missed them so, missed the words that came out of them, the way they felt on your skin. Adriel began to coo at Michael, reaching his tiny hands for his hair. You heard Richard gag at the sight. Michael paid you no mind as he began to walk again. “Where are you going?” you called out, following him like a lost puppy; you didn’t want to be separated from your son. “Your doctor prescribed trip to the French riviera is over. Your fever is gone and oh, how wonderful, the countess has given birth to nice and healthy baby boy. An heir. As I said before we are going home.” You had walked past your cottage and down the pathway. “I’m not going anywhere with you.” “Oh? And is Adriel supposed to have a wet nurse then?” “He’s staying with me Michael.” He stopped in his tracks and looked at you. He began to laugh hard enough to bring tears to his eyes, Adriel giggling with him. His face turned stony again. “The child stays with me. You come now and I might be merciful when we get back. I’m sure you understand the concept of ‘an eye for an eye’. However, if you don’t come with me, I’ll let Shepherd and Mason tear you apart limb from limb. And when you get back to me, well … you’d wish that they had killed you. An eternity is a long time my dear, but my vendetta will last even longer if you don’t get in that carriage right now.” You wished the ground would swallow you up, or that God would strike you down there and then. Your eyes began to well up. Michael walked towards you and shushed you, wiping away your tears. “The world is a scary place for people like us dear Y/N. We must stay together,” he held out his hand to you. The blood in your veins had yearned for him. It wanted to quench his thirst. His blood wanted to do the same to you. You realised then, that you were like two magnets. Always destined to find each other. What would you do without him anyway? Without his protection? His guidance? His ability to satiate all your hunger, no matter what kind or what the cost? You began to laugh to yourself, looking like you had truly, finally gone mad. The conniving bastard. He had planned this all along. Your dependency on him. No matter how far, and for how long you ran, you would always have to go back to him. Child or not. Affliction or not. You would always return to him. There was no place for you to be alone in this world. You finally stopped laughing, wiping the tears of your face. You took Michael’s hand with a bone crushing grip. You’d get revenge for those cracked and bruised ribs eventually. You sat in the carriage in a comfortable silence. The road was long, and you were tired, oh so very tired. You no longer cared about his ‘punishment’, knowing he would have stop eventually. You looked at the scenery from the window, Adriel at your breast. You slapped Michael’s hand away, “Stop distracting him, he’s trying to feed,” you chided. You looked down at Adriel, “And you, don’t go so fast, you’re just as greedy as your father,” you giggled. “I’d like a turn later on,” Michael whispered to you. You rolled your eyes and shook your head, “You’re disgusting. It seems that some of you brain is still splattered across the moor.” He ‘hmphed’ and turned to face away from you. //// What Kind of Man was Michael Langdon? He wasn’t a man, he never was.