#auditory creature

[xgarlicbreadx]

Ok so I got to thinking and here's my pitch for an APD (auditory processing disorder) creature. Introducing.... the 'Huh?'

Idk just a thought

[vamptastic]

am used to seeing imaginary bugs out of the corner of my eye or occasionally feeling one crawl on me as a result of sleep deprivation but i now have a new an exciting one where every time i walk by the sliding glass door i see one of my dogs jumping up against it trying to get inside in my periphery. not frightening but a much larger and less abstract visual sensation than seeing a spider or cockroach. weird

[betweenthenotes]

I absolutely love when artists release sped up versions. “I have a new song but also I’m going to be a little silly about it!” okay yay thank you <3 🕺

[drewswife]

summary — your hot neighbor heard your baby screams, and he volunteered to help you while you shower

warnings — baby scream, fluff, you having throw up in your hair

a/n — i’m reading a book called “life to short” and the scene was so cute i got to write it

The shrill, insistent cries of a small human being ripped through the thin membrane of your sanity. It was 6:00 AM, though the pre-dawn gloom still clung stubbornly to the windows, mimicking the darkness that felt perpetually draped over your life these days.

Your baby, whose tiny lungs seemed to be powered by industrial-grade bellows, had decided that dawn was the perfect time for a full-throttle vocal performance.

You dragged a hand across your face, feeling the grit of exhaustion under your eyelids, then reached up, fingers finding something suspiciously damp and chunky tangled in your hair. God, was that carrot puree? Or worse. It was always worse.

Every single bone in your body screamed for respite, for silence, for just five minutes where no one needed anything from you. You’d been up all night, pacing, bouncing, whispering reassurances to a creature whose sole mission seemed to be the eradication of your sleep.

You smelled faintly of sour milk and desperation. Your clothes, a dubious combination of yesterday's leggings and a faded nursing tank, bore the faint but undeniable stains of recent skirmishes with baby bodily fluids. You were a walking, breathing monument to maternal disarray.

Just as you considered the profound comfort of simply sliding to the floor and joining your baby in a symphony of despair, a firm, rhythmic knock echoed through the apartment. You froze, heart thumping a bewildered rhythm against your ribs. Who, in the name of all that was holy, would be at your door at this hour? Your mother knew better. Your friends were still probably comatose.

Creeping to the peephole, you peered through the tiny lens. And there he was. Rafe Cameron.

He stood on your porch, leaning casually against the doorframe, looking unfairly put-together. His blonde hair, still slightly damp, hinted at a recent shower – a concept so foreign to your current existence it felt like a cruel joke. He was wearing a plain gray t-shirt that, frustratingly, hugged his shoulders and arms in a way that screamed "effortless perfection."

Even from this distorted angle, his sharp jawline and the lazy confidence in his posture were palpable. He was, objectively, your hot neighbor. And you, objectively, looked like you'd wrestled a badger and lost. Badly.

Taking a deep breath that did nothing to alleviate the pungent aroma clinging to you, you unlatched the door, opening it just a crack. "Hey, Rafe," you mumbled, trying to subtly tuck the clump of dubious hair behind your ear. It snagged, of course, and you winced.

He straightened, his blue eyes, usually sparking with mischief or a hint of recklessness, softened almost imperceptibly. "Morning," he said, his voice a low rumble. He tilted his head, a faint, sympathetic smirk playing on his lips as another ear-splitting shriek erupted from the nursery. "Sounds like someone's having a rough start."

You let out a humorless laugh, a dry, raspy sound. "That's one way to put it. My kid thinks they're auditioning for a touring heavy metal band. I'm pretty sure I have throw-up in my hair, and I haven't seen the inside of a shower in well, let's just say a long time." You gestured vaguely at your head, then at the baby monitor clutched in your hand, which was currently emitting the auditory equivalent of a smoke alarm.

Rafe's smirk faded, replaced by something genuinely concerned. He ran a hand through his own, immaculately styled hair. "Man, that sucks." He paused, his gaze drifting from your exhausted face to the monitor, where the baby's cries escalated into a full-blown roar. "Look," he began, his voice surprisingly gentle, "I was just about to make some coffee, head out for a surf. But, uh if you wanted to grab a quick shower or something, I could… you know, keep an eye on the little guy. Or girl."

You stared at him, jaw slack. A shower. A hot, uninterrupted shower. The very thought sent a dizzying wave of longing through you. It was a mythical luxury, whispered about in hushed tones by other beleaguered parents, a legend you’d long since given up on. And Rafe, the guy who usually seemed more concerned with his next adrenaline rush than childcare, was offering to stand sentinel over your screaming, possibly projectile-vomiting infant?

"Are you serious?" you croaked, the words barely escaping your throat. It felt like a test, like he was playing some elaborate prank.

He chuckled, a low, easy sound. "Yeah, I'm serious. I mean, how bad can it be? I've dealt with my cousin little monsters before. Pretty sure I'm immune to anything less than a full-on tantrum from a five-year-old." He gestured towards the nursery. "Besides, you look like you're about two minutes from falling over. Go get clean."

A wave of relief so profound it threatened to buckle your knees washed over you. The prospect of hot water, shampoo, and the blissful feeling of being truly, utterly clean, even for a mere ten minutes, was overwhelmingly tempting. All thoughts of propriety, of the sheer oddness of leaving your child with Rafe Cameron, vanished in a cloud of desperate anticipation.

"Oh my god, Rafe," you breathed, a tear pricking at the corner of your eye. "You would be an absolute lifesaver. I could kiss you."

He laughed outright then, a flash of his usual roguish charm returning. "Let's save that for after the shower, then," he teased, stepping past you into the living room, his eyes scanning the chaos with an almost clinical detachment. "Go on. I'll be right here."

You hesitated for a fraction of a second, a flicker of parental guilt, then caught another whiff of yourself. And that was it. You practically sprinted for the bathroom, not daring to look back, not wanting to give yourself time to second-guess this wildly irresponsible, yet utterly necessary, decision.

The bathroom felt like a sanctuary, a quiet, steamy oasis. You locked the door behind you, a small, defiant act of reclaiming a sliver of personal space. The instant the hot water hit your skin, a sigh escaped your lips, a sound of pure, unadulterated bliss.

You scrubbed at your hair with frantic, grateful hands, working in shampoo until thick, luxurious suds replaced the sticky residue. The scent of coconut and vanilla, a smell you hadn’t truly registered in weeks, filled your nostrils, a small piece of normalcy in the chaos.

From the living room, through the closed door, the baby monitor offered a strange symphony. The piercing shrieks had indeed subsided. Instead, you heard a low rumble of Rafe's voice, surprisingly soothing, followed by gentle coos and gurgles from your baby.

You paused, a dripping hand suspended in mid-air. What was he doing? Was he a baby whisperer? The idea was almost comical, conjuring images of Rafe Cameron, charming an infant into submission. Yet, the relative quiet that had descended upon your apartment was undeniable proof of his success.

You washed the grime of sleepless nights and baby spit-up from your body, letting the hot water sluice away the tension in your shoulders. It wasn't a long shower – maybe seven minutes, max – but it felt like a spa day. You emerged feeling like a new human, albeit a slightly damp one.

You quickly wrapped your hair in a towel, then pulled on the cleanest, least-stained pair of sweats you could find and a fresh, blessedly unsullied t-shirt. The world already seemed a little less blurry around the edges.

Taking a deep breath, you pushed open the bathroom door and stepped back into the living room, half-expecting to find a scene of utter devastation – Rafe tied up with burp cloths, the baby covered in marker, the room turned upside down. Instead, you found peace.

Rafe was sitting on your worn armchair, the baby nestled securely against his chest, head tucked under his chin. Your little one was utterly, completely silent. Not just quiet, but content. her tiny hand was fisted around Rafe's finger, and their eyes, wide and curious, were fixed on his face.

Rafe himself looked bewildered, almost. He was gently rocking, a faint, surprised smile playing on his lips as he gazed down at the baby. He wasn't talking, just rocking, a soft, almost domestic hum filling the space between them.

He looked up as you entered, his blue eyes meeting yours. "Hey," he murmured, his voice low so as not to disturb the sleeping (or at least, very quiet) infant. He looked genuinely intrigued by the small creature in his arms. "she, uh they just kinda stopped. After a minute or two."

You walked over, disbelief warring with profound gratitude. "I- I don't know what to say. You got her to calm down." It was less a question, more an awe-filled statement.

He shrugged, a small, self-conscious smile gracing his features. "Guess I've still got the touch. My niece used to pull this trick on me." He gently shifted the baby, who stirred slightly but remained blissfully silent. "What do you do now? Does she, like, nap? Or are they just recharging?"

You let out a soft, genuine laugh, the first one in days that didn't feel forced. "Hopefully nap. Thank you, Rafe. Seriously. That was I don't even have words."

He met your gaze, and for a moment, the usual guard in his eyes seemed to drop, replaced by something warm and almost vulnerable. "No problem," he said quietly, then cleared his throat. He carefully handed her back to you, his movements surprisingly gentle.

"Just glad I could help." He stood, stretching slightly. "Well, I should probably go get that coffee. And hit the waves before the tourists clog everything up." He glanced at your baby one last time, a strange, almost wistful expression on his face, before turning to leave.

🏷, @spencerreid66 @starrii-sturns @dsfault @vxncevis

[americanegg]

Wait why does Lethal Company actually bang holy shit

[monstera-modd]

DCxDP Crossover #2

The Space Worm

After a battle with a particularly tough ghost, Danny seeks refuge among the stars, hoping that his obsession will aid in his healing process. As he floats through the dazzling lights and passes by moons and planets, Danny finally finds the perfect spot! He trills and chirps in delight as he wraps himself around the metal structure, soothing his throbbing core. Closing his eyes, he indulges in the much-needed rest that Jazz always encourages him to take.

_________________

Constantine is going to kill someone (himself preferably).

Bleary-eyed, he reaches for his phone on the nightstand.

"Bat, if the world isn't on fire, I swear I'll curse you ten ways to Sunday!"

The call goes silent—par for the usual with Batman and phone calls.

"There's a massive spectral entity encircling the Watchtower."

John curses the day he ever got involved with their shit in the first place.

"...I'm on my way."

________________________

"This is awesome!"

Batman grunts as Flash smashes his face against the glass in the viewing dock, trying to catch a glimpse of the glowing worm. ("What? It has no legs, Batman—thus, a worm!")

Batman's glare hardens. "Constantine is on his way. Until then, no one makes loud noises that could draw the creature's attention to us."

"Did he say what it could be, perhaps?" Wonder Woman asks. She had been sitting at the end of the table but now stands near Flash, looking out into space.

A ping on one of the screens announces Constantine’s arrival. Superman, pacing silently, flies over and lands just as the doors slide open, revealing Constantine, who looks like he got dragged through Hell and back—twice. He rubs his eyes with the back of his hand, muttering something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like a curse meant to banish hangovers.

“Alright,” he sighs, stepping into the room. “I’m here. Where is the bloody emergency?”

Batman, ever the efficient one, gestures toward the massive viewing window. Constantine follows the motion, and for the first time, his usual deadpan expression falters. His cigarette almost falls from his lips.

"Bloody hell," he mutters.

“Right?!" Flash chimes in. "It’s a worm! A big, glowing, space worm!"

Constantine doesn't respond immediately. Instead, he steps closer to the glass, eyes narrowing. The creature is massive, coiled protectively around part of the Watchtower’s exterior. A strange, rhythmic hum reverberates through the hull, though it’s unclear if it’s coming from the worm or just an auditory illusion from its sheer size.

“Looks spectral,” Constantine finally says, rubbing his chin. “But… it’s not actin’ like a typical ghost. It’s just… resting.”

Wonder Woman folds her arms. “Could it be intelligent?”

“Most ghosts are,” Constantine mutters. “Even the dumb ones.”

Batman’s voice cuts in. “If it’s intelligent, we need to figure out its intentions before taking action.”

Superman frowns, his X-ray vision scanning the creature’s form. “There’s something… odd about it. I don’t sense hostility, but there’s definitely something going on with its heart.”

Constantine stiffens. “Its core?”

Superman nods. “It has a fluctuating energy source. Almost like…” He hesitates, then looks at Constantine. “Almost like a ghost that’s injured.”

That gets everyone’s attention.

"Injured?" Flash repeats. "So, what? This thing came here to take a nap?"

Constantine curses again, louder this time. “You bunch of blokes just let a massive, injured ghost curl up around your base without knowin’ what it is?”

“I tried to scan it,” Batman says, voice tight. “It’s unlike any spectral entity we’ve encountered before.”

Constantine sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Right, fine. Let’s do this the old-fashioned way.”

He raises a hand, fingers curling as he murmurs in Latin. A faint golden light pulses from his fingertips, stretching toward the glass. For a moment, nothing happens. Then—

A tremor shakes the Watchtower.

The worm stirs.

A low, warbling trill reverberates through the station, and suddenly, a pair of massive, glowing green eyes snap open.

Constantine stumbles back. “Ah, shit.”

The entire room tenses. Batman reaches for his belt. Superman prepares to engage.

But before anyone can act—

The worm blinks. Its form ripples, shifting, distorting, and then—

A human shape peels away from the massive ghostly coils, floating weightlessly in the vacuum of space.

A boy.

White hair, black jumpsuit, glowing green eyes filled with exhaustion and confusion. He clutches his chest as if it pains him, his breathing heavy.

Then, through the comms, a weak but familiar voice crackles through the static.

“Uh… hey?” The boy—Danny Phantom—gives a sheepish grin. “So… this isn’t where I parked my spaceship.”

The room is dead silent.

Flash is the first to speak.

“Holy crap. The worm talks.”

Constantine groans. "I hate this job."

-Danny the green worm

[reasonsforhope]

"In Australia’s latest survey of whale populations, humpbacks have been seen migrating north along the eastern coastline in record numbers.

Over 5,000 confirmed sightings were made by mariners and others in the state of New South Wales so far, as the animals make their way out of the southern oceans with their calves.

The Organization for the Rescue and Research of Cetaceans (ORRCA) held its 26th annual whale census, an activity which over 600 citizen scientists participated in. Bringing binoculars, flasks of hot tea, folding chairs, and their kids, they lined 159 individual locations along the coast of NSW hoping to catch a glimpse of some of the largest animals on the planet.

“It’s a wild species coming right on our doorstep and they’re just magnificent creatures,” Caroline Jones, who has volunteered with ORRCA for more than three years, told ABC News AU.

In the 1960s, perhaps a few hundred humpback and minke whales would pass north along Australia’s east coast. Still more than a decade away from the international whaling moratorium of the 1980s, their populations were heavily depleted.

Preyed upon only rarely by orcas and great white sharks, humpback whales’ primary threats come from illness, ship strikes, or auditory trauma. Since the moratorium came into effect, the humpback populations around the world have grown remarkably, and it’s excepted that 40,000 will make the trip north from Antarctica this year.

OTHER WHALE REPORTS:

Humpback Whales Are Singing More: Number of Songs Has Doubled as Food Sources Became More Abundant

Sighting of Many Blue Whales Around the Seychelles is First in Decades – ‘Phenomenal’

Fin Whales Are Feeding In Huge Numbers in Antarctica for First Time in 45 Years – WATCH

The ORRCA census tries to track numbers of animals as well as species they belong to, along with individual size and health.

ABC News reports that the count is still ongoing, as the whales’ migratory period lasts until August."

-via Good News Network, July 4, 2025

[falmerbrook]

Falmer appearance and attire headcanons

(click on drawings for more details and notes!)

Hair

In Skyrim, we pretty much only see two hair styles to go off of: completely bald and the hair the "shaman" have (which are also the only females we see (a post for another day)).

In concept art, particularly Adam Adamowicz's, we see more potential hairstyles. He draws it as wispy and messy, as well as containing braids and the ties we see in the shaman in the game. This art is largely what defines my own interpretation of their hair.

I picture the typical Falmer hair as wavy, thin, wispy, and looking frizzy. Given the high number of hairless Falmer we see, I imagine baldness is common, particularly among males, and sometimes among females. Their hair can be commonly styled into braids or knots to keep it under control.

The ability to grow long, thick hair is less common, but those who can tend to style it in other unique ways. Especially among females, long hair is commonly styled into large dense locs (akin to a Polish plait) and held into shapes using ropes or leather ties.

(While I think the intention with the way their hair is drawn and modelled in the game models and concept art was that it was braided and held up with those ties, before looking at it closely I always sorta interpreted it as too stiff to just be braided. As a result, I developed the locs headcanon and have become kinda attached to it even though I have 0 in game or lore support for it)

Materials

The material used in their clothing is obviously dependent on what is accessible to them, and given their unique situation that makes the materials they use and value unique as well. In Skyrim, we see that almost all of their armor (which is mostly what we see them wearing) and homes are made of chaurus chitin (and potentially shellbug chitin), so this is likely the most common resource available to them for non-combative coverings as well. Other materials from their arthropods companions could include their cocoons, unhatched eggs, etc.

Bones from other creatures (draugr, skeevers, trolls, adventurers, bandits, etc.) underground or from aboveground raids could also be used fairly often. These could also provide a source of leather or fur, albeit not a lot of it.

Falmer groups and subcultures inside or in close proximity to Dwemer ruins probably make regular use of the materials present in those ruins as well. With all the metal and machinery present in Dwemer ruins, metal probably makes regular appearances in their clothing (and general decorations) even if they can't manipulate it themselves. Falmer more separated from Dwemer ruins would make much lesser use of these materials, however. Additionally, We see implications of Falmer preparing, cooking, and potentially cultivating fungus in-game, but see nothing indicating they have any plants in their diet, and therefore it is unlikely they regularly make or use textiles or fabrics in their clothing, and if they do they likely come form Dwemer ruins or raided adventurers/bandits/settlements from the surface.

On that note, we know that there have supposedly been incidents of Falmer coming to the surface to attack its inhabitants and travelers, as well as instances of them killing bandits, adventurers, and researchers who venture below, so it's not far fetched to believe that they have access to some materials from the surface. This could give them some access to furs from surface animals, beads, glass, jewelry, textiles, metal objects, etc. they might not otherwise have access to. The rarity of these material among the Falmer would depend on the amount of access any given group of Falmer have to the surface, but among many of them these materials could be seen as more valuable for their rarity and the difficulty to gain them.

While gemstones and ore might be accessible from both natural deposits and underground ruins, unless they had some kind of auditory function or unique texture, they might not have much value to Falmer.

General Attire/Accessories

I like to imagine that the Snow Elves, and by extension the Falmer, have an innate cold resistance in the same way Nords do, and therefore don't require clothes for the purpose of warmth even in the chilly caves of Skyrim. Additionally, their blindness likely means that wouldn't dress for visual aesthetic either. My thoughts are that they are then left with the sense of sound and touch to communicate with each other, and their clothing and accessories could reflect that.

Falmer clothing, decoration, and society in general is very heavily based on touch and texture and little on appearances. They touch each other very often for both communication, movement, and just general day-to-day interactions, and their clothes isn’t very modest, but the tactile patterns and materials used can communicate certain things such as position in society, “wealth”/power, whether they are taken, single, pregnant, with a child, etc., their roles, their age, notable achievements/skills, who is who, etc. on both their clothes and buildings. The more noise one makes, the more attention they draw and the more they drown out other noises, and the more noise making things they can “afford” to have, so the amount of noise one makes in a Falmer settlement is a status symbol. Certain types of noises or noise makers are more coveted than others (chitin beads are common, while furs are less common, and materials only gained from raiding the surface are rare and coveted).

Some noise making accessories could include:

Dangling metal, bones, beads, chitin, etc. that hangs off of their clothing or ears and jingle/clank against each other (in my drawing I show them as pretty uniform in shape and size, but they would probably be much more irregular than I depicted them)

Bells (metal or other materials) that are affixed to or dangle off of their clothing or as earrings.

Hollow bracelets, anklets, necklaces, or other accessories that are filled with rocks or beads.

Rattles tied to the body (made of chitin, dried hollow chaurus eggs, dried chaurus cocoons, beads, etc.) with leather or rope.

Flute or whistle like tubes made of metal, chitin, or dried and treated tube-like fungus that makes a woodwind-esque noise when air passes through it in a certain way. They have been designed to make noise easily from even the slightest movements.

Dried grasses (more temporary) tied to the body that make a swishy noise. More permanently, a similar thing can be achieved with hair. The hair can be sourced from Falmer (either through just cutting hair or through taking it from fallen enemies) or killed humans/mer/draugr. That sort of thing can also act as a kind of trophy.

Necklaces with various materials dangling close together that jingle against each other.

Various materials can be tied into braids or the leather ties in their hair as well.

Some textural accessories could include:

Beads. Since they wouldn't have the ability to tell the color of the beads, the patterning of beadwork would be based on the roughness, material, size, or shape of the beads. (I'm sorry I suck as drawing beads)

Furs. This wouldn't be as common since the Falmer likely don't have too much interaction with furry mammals, but some they may have access to that are big enough to make clothing/accessories out of include skeevers or trolls (and potentially rarely animals from the surface). A potential meaning of wearing furs could be as hunting trophies, but it could have other meanings as well.

Chaurus chitin would like be the most common material in Falmer attire, and depending on the part of the chaurus body, the size of the chaurus, or the life stage of the chaurus it was sourced from it could have different textures. Some chitin parts could include large spikes and deep groves, while other parts could be smoother and less rough. The use of this chitin in clothing could take advantage of this contrast in textures. Additionally, chitin or shells from shell bugs might be a different texture from the chaurus chitin. (it's unclear to me whether shell bugs are exclusive to the caves around the Forgotten Vale or if we should consider them distributed throughout Skyrim's underground)

The placement of textured components on the body could have their own meaning to it alongside what accessories or textures are being used.

Specific Falmer Subcultures

While most Falmer settlements we see in Skyrim are just a small-ish collection of huts and chaurus corrals, there are two distinctive settlements that are larger, seemingly more organized, and I like to think have their own distinct subcultures worth mentioning: Blackreach and the Forgotten Vale. The unique scope and environment of these Falmer cities (as I like to think of them) could lend to unique clothing cultures as well.

The Falmer of Blackreach have access to a vast Dwemer settlement and have has the space to spread out throughout it more fully since it seems to be more in tact than other Dwemer ruins we see. These guys would likely have a clothing culture much more heavily based on what the can access from these Dwemer ruins (metal scraps, leftover fabrics, etc.)

The Falmer of the Forgotten Vale would also have access to unique resources, such as Vale deer, Vale sabre cats, and frost giants for fur and leather. Additionally, materials accessed from the Chantry of Auri-El such as textiles from clothing, bedding, tapestries, etc. could give them a greater access to fabrics than other Falmer groups. We don't see many close Dwemer settlements to the Vale, so they would have less Dwemeri influence in their clothing than other Falmer groups.

I like to think that the Falmer's evolution exclusively underground has made them poorly equipped to handle the outdoors during the day and has made them particularly susceptible to sunburn, necessitating the need for covering for those in the Forgotten Vale who have significant settlements outdoors. With greater access to textiles and leather, they could use them as coverings when outdoors.

Armor

I actually have very few notes on armor, for two reasons. 1) I hate designing and drawing armor. It is the bane of my existence. 2) I really like the armor they have in game! I think they look awesome aesthetically, and I like how clearly they are made from chaurus chitin. Per usual, Adam Adamowicz's designs seem to have been the major inspiration for the Falmer armor, and he did a great jobs (even if it isn't the most functional looking armor ever).

(off topic but I also just want to add that he draws them with little hairs and tufts on their ears and I love it. ok that is all)

I do have a few thoughts about armor though.

Even attire made of textiles make noise when someone moves in them, and I can imagine moving around in armor, especially armor made of hard, insect shells would make a lot of noise when someone moves around in it. When you're relying on sound to navigate your environment and pinpoint potential threats or targets, wearing something making a lot of noise would not be ideal. On the other hand, getting into a fight unarmored would be a problem.

So here's my solution: heavy armor (see below) would only be worm within the camps/settlements where noise was already high and space is more cramped (and therefore more risky in a fight) as a sort of guard in case they were attacked. Those guarding the settlements along the outside might still wear armor as well, but less of it. Those going out to scout or hunt (if they do hunt) would wear as little armor as possible, and try to wear it strategically so that it wouldn't rub against itself and make noise. This is why most Falmer we encounter in the game are wearing little except for loin cloths and kneepads.

One more idea I have for armor is a specific armor piece. On the note of guarding or protecting a camp or settlement, I imagine the noises of it all (especially with the noise based headcanons I've laid out here) would make it hard to actually catch any potential threats when you can't see. A large slightly concave piece of armor worn behind the head could block out noises from behind the wearer, as well as a help focus sounds ahead of them.

That is all! Thank you for reading! A lot of these concepts around the culture of sound I think could also be applied to their buildings and even a culture of music, but those are posts for another time.

All of the concept art I used was taken from here and all of the Skyrim screenshots are from UESP.

[frivolousimagination]

geek out | henry loomis

summary: henry convinced you to come along to Ile Saint-Hubert, you both are excited to see living dinosaurs

warnings: Jurassic World Rebirth spoilers

word count: ~1.5k

notes: I didn’t proof read ❤️ never will ❤️ I love him ❤️

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · · ─ ·✶· ─ · · ─ ·✶· ─ · · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Each and every part of this trip continued to leave both you and Henry in complete shock and awe. It began with seeing the Mosasaurus in the water, the two of you likely being the only ones to actually smile at the sight. How could you not? The creature was gorgeous. She looked so healthy, and was so impressively living.

And, although Henry and you had shouted the dangers and cautions to the team as you escaped the spinosaurus’ on shore, the two of you had also spent several minutes together afterwards marveling at their speed in the water, and their wits in circling prey for the Mosasaur. Excited smiles, and overlapping words as you both spewed compliment after compliment for these creatures. You’d earned several eye rolls from Martin at this point, and a handful of concerned looks from Zora.

“I don’t get how the two of you could be so excited when everything we’ve interacted with has tried killing us.” But she had a smile too. It was somewhat endearing, if she was honest. The two of you were cute enough to watch as you geeked out with one another.

You’d stayed close together on the walks in between, arms often bumping in to one another as you were hardly focused on your path. Your eyes were too distracted by trying to take in the plants around you, and attempting to spot any other hidden creatures. You squeezed his hand as you both whispered about what you hoped to see on the trip.

And as the mission continued and you got the second necessary blood sample, Zora began to understand your reason for excitement. Seeing the Titanosaurus was life changing. For Zora, seeing something so massive yet so gentle was nearly incomprehensible. The way the creatures moved together, clearly having some sort of connection that she never even considered to be a possibility.

For you and Henry, it was an exciting confirmation of everything you could ever dream of. To see them existing, and seeing the way that they were just like every living thing. Seeking love, seeking connection. Both of you were brought to tears, enveloping one another in only the biggest of hugs and warmest of kisses.

But, eventually, you had to move on. There was a final sample to get and both you and Henry found yourselves bubbling with yet another excitement at the prospect of not just seeing but holding a dinosaur egg. And not just any dinosaur, but a Quetzalcoatlus. It was another moment of complete and utter adoration even in the face of danger.

You and Henry had shared another impressed smile when she made her way to her eggs. Your smile was quickly wiped when the dino began pecking, (with her stellar beak that was nothing less than impressive to see) but both of your observations of her continued. The way she moved, her instinct to protect her eggs, the color of her eyes, her response to auditory distractions. You both wanted to soak in every possible detail you could catch, planning to pull out a notebook and write it all down.

However, your heart fell to your stomach the second that rope snapped and sent Henry over the edge. Zora was quick to react, and it was good for your sakes that the Quetzalcoatlus had left the cave, but Henry was so determined.

“It’s gonna snap!” Zora shouted to him, both your eyes glued right on where the rope was fraying.

Your palms had never felt this sore before, holding desperately on to the rope to help as best you could. But it was no use, both you and Zora hardly had a good position yourselves, and Henry was determined to get the sample as it rested just on the ledge.

The rope snapped, your stomach dropped. Henry had shouted happily about getting the sample just before plummeting to the ground. Your mind was screaming as you ran as fast as you possibly could, through ancient ruins that you otherwise would’ve so desperately wanted to explore had Henry not been in such danger.

“Fuck,” You muttered as you stumbled and nearly fell.

Zora grabbed your arm to help you keep your balance as you both bolted. “Hey, slow down. We’ll be of no help if we both eat shit on the way down.”

You could hardly hear her as you continued on. He’d hit vegetation on his way down, that was a good sign. You had hoped it was enough to soften his fall and land him safely because you needed that to be the case. You’d come too far on this mission, and loved Henry too much to have this be the end.

The sun blared through the ruin’s opening, your eyes squinting as you rushed out and immediately began looking for him. You heard movement in nearby water and went that direction with no hesitation. Zora was somehow still shocked by your lack of self preservation even after everything that had just happened. You were lucky it wasn’t something dangerous in the water.

“Henry!” You shouted, eagerly hoping and waiting for a response.

More splashing could be heard. “Did you see that?” An excited voice. It was him, you recognized him immediately.

Your heart allowed itself to slow down, and your shoulders had a weight lifted. But your brows were still furrowed with concern, and now there was an overwhelming relief washing over. Your pace quickened, if possible.

Henry was absolutely beaming with an ear to ear smile. He was sat in a small body of water, sample canister in hand and entirely soaked from head to toe. You both were laughing, likely just processing everything that happened and both glad to see you made it out. There was no hesitation as you trudged right into the water, successfully soaking your own clothes now.

“Are you hurt?” Your hands cupped his face, tilting his head in various directions as you checked for any obvious injuries.

Henry just kept smiling, his free hand resting on your waist. “It was breathtaking,” he wasn’t talking about the fall. “She was gorgeous, and those eggs. I actually held the egg of a Quetzalcoatlus.”

Zora stood at the edge of the water and watched the two of you. Henry was moving, and talking. She took those things as a good sign, and was less amazed at this point that he wasted no time in gushing about the damn dinosaur.

And the second that you knew he was okay, you jumped right in too. “She looked so much like Mark Witton’s depiction.”

“The blue pycnofibres!” He exclaimed in agreement and another burst of excited laughter.

You smiled down at him, his face still in your hands. His eyes showed no signs of regret in going for the vial and inevitably falling, just a genuine love for his work and excitement in getting to share it with you.

“Think it’s about time you thank me for convincing you to come along.” Henry joked as his hand gently squeezed your side. “After all, you have seen several dinosaurs while here.”

Another quiet laugh, your thumb skimmed over his cheek. None of it felt real. “I’ve also seen my husband nearly die, and almost died myself.”

He hummed, kissing your lips and trying to sound convincing at a whisper. “But you also saw a Titanosaurus… and Apatosaurus, Mosasaurus…” another small kiss. “Ankylosaurus, Spinosaurus, Quetzalcoatlus.”

He gave another kiss, although you accepted it you also rolled your eyes.

You hadn’t noticed, but everyone had regrouped by this point. Martin pulled you both back to your reality as he shouted to ask about the sample. The only thing that mattered to him.

You looked at him over your shoulder, letting go of Henry. Krebs was a selfish, greedy bastard. He hadn’t known what happened, and didn’t care to know. No use in retelling it to a man who only spoke one language. He wanted money. That wasn’t Henry’s reason for risking his life for that sample.

Henry leaned over to proudly show him the canister, hand still on your hip. “You thought we’d leave without it?”

Martin let out a sigh of relief, hands on his knees as he caught his breath from the run. The others were resting too, recuperating and doing their damn best to previously ignore the dino rant from you and Henry. They all hated that beast and couldn’t stomach the idea of appreciating a thing about it at the moment.

Henry finally stood from the water, holding your hand for support. Both your hands held on, and you stayed closer to him now than you had before. Just because you could still admire these creatures for what they are didn’t mean you didn’t become increasingly more cautious of their dangers. Henry too.

He squeezed your hand, giving you a kiss atop your head. His smile still had yet to falter. “Well, let’s see what we come across next, hmm?”

do y’all want a fic about medic!reader next, or a total switch up about the rock wall at his gym 🤭 let me know

check out my first henry fic

[gothmoes]

𝐑𝐞𝐝 𝐖𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐒𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐨𝐯𝐚

❥ pairing: Wednesday Addams x fem!vampire!Reader

❥ wc: 3,7k

❥ summary: Wednesday had taken the initiative to surprise you with an date evening together. You, however, were nowhere to be found, and the loss of your presence made Wednesday miss you threw a wrench into her carefully thought out plans. Unacceptable.

❥ warnings: terrible, entirely self-indulgent writing. lots of swapping between povs

❥ a/n: thank you to my wonderful beta readers! your efforts and input were much appreciated xx

It was late at night when you hauled yourself up your balcony and finally made it through your window. One glance at the grandfather clock read 1:46 am; okay, you thought, grimacing, so it’s early morning the next day, Saturday. Great.

Under normal circumstances, the halls would have been abuzz with secret parties and sleepovers to welcome the weekend, starting Friday night. Due to your busy exam week, even the few students who had the energy to celebrate on Friday were now in their rooms, trying to recuperate some of their lost sleep and accumulated exhaustion. It seemed you were the only one awake on school grounds now. You would’ve been more appreciative about this if you weren’t so worn out yourself.

Your shoes squelched with each step you took further into your bedroom, and the sensation of the cold water pooling in your soles made you cringe and shudder with discomfort. 

A wide puddle from your jacket, heavy and drenched with rainwater, formed beneath you. You peeled it off, cursing it beneath your breath as you did, so much for a raincoat. You did nothing to protect me from the unforgiving elements. You tossed it through your bathroom door and into your bathtub to wring out later, revealing your equally soaked-through second layer. Being thoroughly wet from the rain made the ever-present coldness in your bones seep even more profound, almost freezing. Your bloodstained shirt, jeans, and, finally, your boots followed swiftly, hitting the tub with a booming thud. 

Most of that outfit is ruined for good, you mused as you pulled a clean hoodie over your head, too exhausted to wash up properly, but that's a problem for future me. 

For a moment, you considered your reflection in the mirror. The only light in your room was that of the moon, illuminating the centre of your chambers with its phantasmal glow. Beyond the centre, however, pitch black consumed the room. Shadows cast by the furniture stretched and bent around you in strange shapes, enveloping you with their cold and unforgiving embrace. 

You sighed quietly, the serenity of the night like the comfort of a dear friend, and some of the tension you amassed from the day lifted from your shoulders. 

Despite the darkness, the dried blood on your hands and the specks on your face were visible to you. With your hunger sated, the smell of the blood was no longer appetising. Instead, something in the pit of your stomach churned, disgust curling your lips as you scraped the crust off your knuckles. 

“Welcome home.” 

You heard the voice before you saw the person, which was especially impressive when considering your perfect vision in total darkness and inhuman auditory capabilities. The magnitude of this accomplishment ended as soon as you considered who the culprit was. If any human could sneak up on a vampire, it would be her.

An unnatural warmth bloomed from the cavity in your chest at the thought, something akin to pride, spreading like wildfire to your extremities.

The figure shifted from the farthest corner of your room, rising from the leather chair behind your desk. It took shape as it moved through the shadows slowly and deliberately. The form that stood before you had the appearance of the most darling earthly creature in all the realms—your ultimate weakness. If you had a heart, it would have leapt straight out of your chest and into Wednesday’s hands. 

Oh, how you’d missed those reproachful eyes. 

“Well, hello.” You greeted them with disgraceful breathiness and glimmering eyes, “My beloved blood drop, you should be in bed.”

If looks could kill, you would’ve been six feet under already. As Wednesday stared you down, the thought that she would not entirely be against driving a stake through your heart crossed your mind. Again. It was undoubtedly her go-to threat for swift correction, and she always kept hers on hand. So cute.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Wednesday said tersely, ignoring how your stupid nickname caused a hitch in her breath. You did not react. Wise. “You missed classes today. Where were you?” 

“Hunting,” was the only reply you could muster as you gazed upon her with that sickeningly tender look. 

Wednesday’s hands clenched into fists at her side, nostrils flaring almost unnoticeably. That’s it? That’s all you had to say? 

Wednesday couldn’t quite describe the wretched emotions that drove her to madness throughout the day; too many had happened too fast for her, but she cut you an affronted glare all the same. At the end of the day, the fact was that you’d thrown her wildly off balance with your sudden shift in routine. You forced her to notice your absence. But worst of all, you made her feel and weren’t there to help her deal with those strange and overwhelming emotions. 

Now, she was standing before you, and those unbearable feelings continued. 

That was simply unacceptable.

“You…” Wednesday stopped and pursed her lips, her gaze sliding from your eyes to roam across your face. She’d spent the better part of the night sitting alone in the shadows of your room, going over all the creative ways to make you regret abandoning her for a whole day with those idiots you called friends. Still, she had failed to mull over how to ask her interrogative questions without sounding so damn needy. You didn’t deserve to hear how desperate she was to see you. 

Not yet, anyway. 

“You failed to notify me of your absence today,” she gritted between clenched teeth. Her eyes, black as obsidian, bore into yours unflinchingly through her lashes. “I-You were supposed to be there, yet you left me alone with all of them.”

There was an edge of irritability to Wednesday’s tone, which became even more apparent by her rigid stance and the unusually rapid drum of her heart. Still, something was just under the surface that you couldn’t quite place. Her brows met with the tiniest crinkle, her lips set straight. She tilted her head the slightest bit, chin angled up—her eyes a raging fire.

That atrocious flip-flopping in your belly returned with the vengeance of a dozen bats wreaking havoc in your rib cage.

“I know.” You eventually acknowledged her words with an apologetic smile. You dared to rub circles over her crossed arms with a feather-light touch. Thankfully, she didn’t attempt to hack off your hand (this time). The lack of Wednesday in your day and the space between you was abysmal and all-consuming and had obviously taken its toll on you. You needed to feel Wednesday’s warmth against you or feared you might disintegrate right where you stood. 

“I didn’t anticipate needing to go hunting today,” you continued, filing those alarming desires away for inspection later. “It just… happened. I had that ravenous hunger when I awoke; the blood bags did nothing to satiate it. I needed to feed from something raw and unprocessed as soon as possible.” Your fang caught on your lip, brows furrowed. 

A hungry vampire loose at a school would have been catastrophic. No matter how annoying, those students were your friends, not food. Even worse was the possibility that you could have hurt Wednesday. You shivered; the idea that you were merely one wrong decision away from being responsible for something so horrific froze you from the inside out with a bitter coldness not even death could match.

As you explained, Wednesday took an imperceptible step closer, pressing more of herself into the weight of your hand as her eyes studied you again from head to toe. She was undeniably seething, but her eyes had softened. She knew the exact moment it happened because the emotions that had driven her for most of the day, which were as robust and tumultuous as the ocean, gave way to an equally strong sense of unease.

Wednesday’s brain computed your unspoken concern. She hated how fast she deflated at the flash of fear that crossed your eyes. You were never easily frightened, less so than herself, so seeing that agitation on your face made the pit of her stomach heavy with lead. 

Wednesday’s hand shot out to fist the front of your shirt, effectively breaking you out of that train wreck of a notion before you could truly get lost going down that path. She yanked you down close enough that your noses brushed, with so much force you would have knocked into her if it weren’t for your vampiric reflexes. She ignored your small huff of complaint and cupped your jaw sternly, thumb stroking the dried flecks of blood from your cheeks with uncharacteristic care. 

A stray thought wandered into Wednesday’s mind as she regarded you, something wholly distracting involving the sight of you with the blood of your prey still on your body and the elongated fangs still peeking out between your teeth, further proof of your successful kill and your capabilities as a top predator. She forced the thought away with a slight shake of her head.

“You should have told me.” Wednesday’s palm flattened over your cheek, her eyes glinting. Her voice had lost its edge as she closed the space between your bodies, stressing, “I would have helped.” 

You shook your head immediately, pulling a frown from Wednesday’s lips.

“I know,” you murmured, pulling her hand from your cheek to lace your fingers through hers. You delivered a kiss to the slender fingers, and the tender gesture pulled an involuntary shiver from Wednesday, her traitorous body spiking with heat that crawled up her neck. “I know you would have helped if I’d told you, Wednesday, but I couldn’t risk hurting you. I was out of control. Seeing you before I fed was absolutely out of the question.”  

Wednesday’s jaw clenched. She felt like she was five seconds away from stomping her foot. 

Your decision was level-headed, and your actions had been driven by reason. You’d done what was safest for the school and, most importantly, Wednesday. However, you had ripped out the part of herself that she’d carefully hidden away behind the safety of a concrete tower reinforced with steel and forced her to face you—to face the feelings for you that had taken root in her heart and continuously grew like a parasitic infection; that part of her still held your decision against you because you left her for a whole day. 

Not for the first time, Wednesday had to acknowledge that she was well and indeed done for. You’d spoiled her rotten, and now she couldn’t even bear the thought of being without you for one day without wanting to rain retribution down upon you. It-no, she was pathetic. 

Wednesday breathed in deeply through her nose, eyes fluttering closed. “I understand,” she said tightly, “I just—” the rest of her words lodged pathetically in her throat, growing thorns that prickled her skin. She didn’t speak again, though. She swallowed hard, brows furrowing with annoyance as her eyes roved across your face wantonly. 

“I know,” you spoke for the two of you, and your eyes conveyed your understanding. You reached out to bring Wednesday close, guiding her into your space by her hand. “I missed you dearly, my blood drop.” 

Wednesday stiffened for a moment, out of a lifelong habit more than anything, before slackening. She wrapped her arms around your middle and burrowed her face into you, her cold nose finding home in the cool flesh of your neck. Instantly, the raging sea of emotions in her chest quelled, tempered by your soothing embrace. With the familiarity of your scent, the noise in her mind quieted. 

“I would never leave without telling you first unless the situation was dire. You know that, right?” Your words were muffled, spoken into Wednesday’s temple, but she heard them clearly.

Wednesday nodded slightly and sighed. Of course, she knew that. Hearing you say it to her was reassuring in a way she couldn’t verbalise, but she was glad you understood that about her; she was glad for you. 

“No matter what, I’ll always come back to you. I promise.” You ended your promise with a chaste kiss on her forehead, the freckled space between her brows. 

Wednesday abhorred how effortlessly, thoughtlessly, she leaned into your lips, chasing more of your affections. Her fingers dug into your sides, lashes fluttering shut as she mumbled, “I know.”

“I’m still sorry I left you,” you carried on, an edge of mirth in your tone. “I can’t imagine how dreadfully joyous your day without me was.”

“You should be.” Wednesday sneered, but there was no weight to her words. She couldn’t make herself fake it through her unsuccessful attempt to crawl into your hoodie. “Enid tried to make me smile.”

“How dare she!” you responded with appropriate appallment. 

“She almost managed to when she tripped over Thing.” Wednesday sighed, giving up for the time being. You weren’t particularly helpful in her endeavour, but she swore she would be back in her rightful place nestled on your chest for bedtime. “It was awful.”

“Ghastly. Would you like me to maim them for you?” you asked as you wrapped your arms around her again.

Wednesday was glad for the protection of your chest. She couldn’t hide the smile that curled her lips at your earnest offer. She weighed her options carefully. 

“Not unless you can do that without leaving again.”

“A later time then,” you said. “Just say when, and I’ll be on them like a vulture on a carcass.”

For a while, you stood in the middle of your room, underneath the moonlight, with Wednesday tucked securely into your chest. You swayed gently from side to side, making a thick fog roll over the edges of Wednesday’s mind, your steadying breaths against her cheek lulling her deeper and deeper into an enticing abyss. 

As you moved, you faintly hummed an eerie and reposeful melody, your mind fuzzy with contentment. You periodically nuzzled your cold nose into Wednesday, breathing her in with an animalistic instinct until you had her scent committed on a cellular level. The specific flutter of her heart and draw of her breath was ingrained into you already; you could pick her out of a crowd of a thousand blood bags by that alone, but you never tired of feeling her heartbeat, hearing her breaths, and smelling the scent that was unmistakably hers—all signs of her liveliness and health.

You were making gentle circles over Wednesday’s back when suddenly, you stiffened. “Wait a minute,” you muttered, breaking the silence. 

Wednesday lazily opened her eyes to peer at you. She hummed in askance, an adorably feline noise, and blinked blearily, big eyes glossy with sleep. 

“You're wearing your outdoor clothes.” You pulled back, creating a space between your bodies, much to Wednesday’s chagrin, and assessed her outfit thoroughly. She was bewitching, as per usual, but she was dressed in her ‘investigation’ outfit, something practical but wholly uncomfortable. You arched a brow. “What were you doing in my room when I came in? Did you stay up… waiting for me to come back?” 

Wednesday’s face turned passive at your question, eyes sliding away from yours to tack onto something beyond you on your desk—Oh, look. That’s where she left her stake. No wonder her pockets felt so light. 

Truthfully, she’d forgotten about this part of her day after you delved into your explanation for your absence. It took her a long minute to answer, but the sweet smile on your lips never faltered. 

“After classes,” she began, pursing her lips in the way that made her dimples visible for a fraction of a second, “I thought you’d be back by then. The weather forecast for tonight was prime for a night out. Cold rain and thick fog.” 

Wednesday paused as you stroked your thumb over the crease that had formed between her brows, loosening the tightness in her face. She could feel the intensity of your gaze on her. She had your undivided attention. She bit her bottom lip, forcing her eyes to meet yours, and let herself freefall into the sentiments that the utter devotion in your eyes conveyed. 

“After this week of exams, I believed you might fancy spending the night together in private. I thought you might appreciate it even more if it came unexpectedly.” 

Wednesday would never know how the countenance of a creature as impure as you could regard her with such affection and devotion. All she knew was that her parents would be beside themselves with pride and joy at what she’d found here at Nevermore. She’d never live down the humiliation of eating her own words. Damn you.

“A date.” Came your breathless whisper, eyes widening. Wednesday could practically see the moment the stake of realisation pierced through your undead heart. “W-Wednesday,” you murmured, voice cracking, “What did you have planned?”

“Grave digging,” she muttered, ears growing hot. 

“Grave digging—your favourite. You wanted to do it together?” your grip on Wednesday tightened so much it was almost painful. She welcomed the ache. It gave her something other than the downright devastation in your eyes to focus on. Wednesday returned her head to your neck and nodded. 

The blood you’d consumed earlier bubbled up your oesophagus. You weren't there when Wednesday wanted to take you on a surprise date—the first she’d ever planned for you. The stake twisted deeper, cutting through you like a serrated knife. Your eyes gleamed with something Wednesday hated to see. 

Vampires weren’t supposed to be able to do that. Right?

Still, something about your reaction warmed Wednesday from the inside out, and she scoffed to hide the slight sound of amusement that threatened to leave her lips. You were as theatrical as you were romantic. You were such an Addams. 

“Wednesday,” you croaked ruefully, “I’m so sorry. I would’ve never missed out on such an important—”

Wednesday cut you off with a finger to your lips. “I know.”

“I’m here now,” you continued, kissing her finger as you spoke. Your eyes were pleading. “Would you still like to go? We can leave right now if you wish. Just say the words.”

Wednesday sighed, curling a hand around the back of your neck to mash your lips together, effectively silencing you. “Shut up,” she muttered darkly against your lips. “You’re rambling.”

“M’kay,” you said weakly.

Wednesday’s hand released you, but neither of you moved to separate. She smoothed her hands over your shoulders, mapping out the powerful muscles underneath your annoyingly enticing skin. 

“No,” she said, the shake of her head making her bangs bounce. “Grave digging can wait. I want to be here,” she stabbed her pointer finger into your chest. “Where I belong.”

“In my… heart? You already stole it,” came your cheeky reply.

Wednesday rolled her eyes, unable to hide the pleased curl of her lips. She didn’t bother reminding you that you didn’t have a heart, a beating one, anyway, and pressed on, braver now that you’d made a fool of yourself more than she ever could. 

“In your bed, in your arms, on your chest.” Wednesday purposely enunciated every word with another forceful poke of your chest, her gaze assured. 

“Oh… Well, aren’t you a demanding little thing?” you chuckled and took Wednesday’s hand in yours. 

“I could kill you.” 

“I know.” Your eyes had that soft look again, and your smile was delicate. It was, dare she say, adorable the way your fangs poked into your lips. “You don’t need to keep wooing me. I’m already yours.”

“An Addams never stops,” Wednesday quipped, brushing past you. She shed her jacket and toed off her boots, leaving them folded on a chair by your desk as she made for your closet with the air of a girl who was right at home. “Get used to it.”

As Wednesday rummaged through your wardrobe, you sat on the edge of your bed with a lovesick grin. Wednesday had such a way of livening up your room that it no longer felt like your home without her. You lived here, and you had for years; the objects in this room were all yours, from the enormous canopy bed to your clothes and books and the tiniest miscellaneous trinkets adorning your shelves. Yet, everything here undoubtedly belonged to Wednesday—everything, including you. 

Wednesday knew that. It was evident how she moved throughout your room like she owned the place. You were more than satisfied with this.

Seeing her reemerge in your sleep clothes to take a seat at your vanity table made the ghost of something warm and heavy, a heart, or maybe a soul? Thump swiftly against your ribcage, sending an electric shock through your veins. You appeared behind Wednesday in a flash and stilled one of her hands from their work of undoing her ties. You fingered the end of a braid and met her curious eyes through the mirror with a hesitant smile. 

“May I help?” you asked with unexpected shyness. 

Wednesday froze, evidently taken aback by your question, but nodded, the corner of her lips curling up the slightest bit. Your touch was featherlight as you removed the bands securing her hair, each touch purposeful and gentle. She nearly closed her eyes as your fingers nimbly undid her braids before raking through her scalp with the brush to loosen the waves. She did several times briefly, but she couldn’t bear missing the way you so delicately touched her. It had been long since anyone else had handled Wednesday’s hair. She nearly purred. Shameful.

“Breathtaking,” you whispered, awed at the sight of the raven hair cascading down Wednesday’s back in silken, inky waves. You kissed the top of Wednesday’s head, cold hands cradling her jaw reverently. Wednesday shivered. She angled her chin high, a hand coming behind your head to pull you into a kiss. “Bedtime now?”

This time, Wednesday had nothing to say, but she clung to your neck and let you pick her up.

Once you were both finally in bed, Wednesday wasted no time burying into you, just as she had promised. Wednesday released a deep breath as her eyelids grew heavy and her limbs relaxed. Your cold lips were pressed against her forehead, and your fingers carded gently through her hair. Your touch was cold like ice and gentle as death's embrace, more soothing and comfortable than any morgue she could ever sneak into. She fell asleep promptly with a final murmur of your name and admission of affection on her lips.

[meo-eiru]

I apologize in advance for any mistakes (English is not my first language) BUT I JUST CAN'T! I can't stop thinking about how exactly the main character will end up completely dependent on Father Micah. If elves, dark magic, incubi and other creatures exist in this world, I would venture to suggest that possession by demons or other evil spirits is also a known phenomenon.

Just imagine a situation in which the main character is forced to attend church because she realizes that something is wrong with her perception of reality. It all starts small - insomnia, minor auditory hallucinations, which can easily be attributed to general fatigue from work or school. She can try to self-diagnose and self-medicate, but there is practically no effect.

Disjointed and disturbing dreams give way to nightmares, auditory hallucinations become more unbearable and are now accompanied by visual distortions as well. Any sane person in such situation will rush to a psychologist (more likely even a psychiatrist), but the treatment doesn't give the desired results. Her relatives are very worried and concerned; someone from a more devout background may advise turning to the clergy - and Father Micah is simply an excellent candidate to help this poor unfortunate soul. If she really feels better after each visit, then she'll come back again and again. Just to not lose her damn mind.

But what if Father Micah is the root cause of her condition? If he's not as pure and holy as he seems? What if he's the one who made a contract with the entity that is currently ruining her whole life?

He can't keep her in church by force unless there is a good reason, but even if she'll try to stay away, her condition will deteriorate so much that she WILL inevitably attack someone close to her at some point, mistaking them for Father Micah or that entity due to hallucinations. And SHE WILL have to return back if she doesn't want end up accidentally taking the life of someone from her inner circle. But even if she'll refuse to do so voluntarily, her dangerous condition is in any case a good reason to forcibly isolate her from the others.

And I doubt Father Micah is interested in fully exorcising her.

Oh god I love this scenario.

So I don't think Micah would actually make contracts with evil entities to curse you, but he would make you believe you were cursed. I can definitely seem him drugging you small dosages by giving you small snacks whenever you visit the church or run into him by "chance". He'd always play it off as a gift from the church or some leftovers from what they made for the orphans.

You wouldn't suspect him at all. Why would you? He's THE Father Micah. The beloved angel of the town since he was a kid. No human has seen him do evil deeds.

He would know exactly when the drugs kick in and when they are the most effective, and he would always be there at the right time. Talking to you, making you believe it's unnecessary to see a doctor for such mild sickness. Surely it'll get better if you pray.

It's not getting better even after praying? Maybe it was more serious than Micah expected, but worry not, he knows just the right thing to do. You just have to come to his house so he can bless you with his personal prayers. Why not at the church? Haha you wouldn't want to bother everyone there for such a trivial issue right? Don't worry, Micah will give you special treatment in his house, just trust him.

And trust you will, because everyone knows if there's someone you shouldn't fear it's Father Micah.

[bloomseishiro]

LOCK IN, GAMERS! 

playing a horror game with your bllk gamer bf ft. itoshi rin + nagi seishiro 

a/n: if u know what game i’m referencing we are automatically besties :3

ITOSHI RIN

Rin thinks you’re skilled at many things. Playing horror games, however, is not one of those things. In fact, he might go so far as to say you are incredibly bad at it. Hiding behind his in-game character, having no auditory awareness of your surroundings since “game noise is scary,” and continuously running into objects and breaking valuable items… Simply put, you were a bull in a china shop. 

A very pretty and very charming bull, Rin admits, but a bull nonetheless. 

And yet, Rin found himself enjoying every moment with you and your clumsy play style. Just your willingness to spend time doing the things he enjoys, despite not being a fan yourself, was enough to warm something in his heart. 

“Oh, my god! What is that?!” you yelp into your headset. 

Rin runs over to your spot in game, wondering what horrible creature elicited that type of screech from you. When he arrives, he can’t help but crack a smile. 

He should’ve known, after all…

“That’s a gnome,” he says nonchalantly, his eyes trained on the decreasing value amounts flashing on his screen in succession. “You just pick them up and throw them.” 

You make a small noise. “Oh. That sounds easy enough.” 

He nods, knowing you can’t see him over a voice chat. As a larger swarm of gnomes run to the cart, Rin annihilates them one-by-one.

“Rin…” you trail off. He notices your character is bouncing around frantically. “How do you pick stuff up in this game?” 

Only a moment of disbelief passes through him before he snorts in amusement. This whole time playing, you had no idea how to do the basic movement of grabbing objects? It’s no wonder you were so bad. “You press and hold your left mouse button.”

“Which button?” you echo, spamming different buttons and clicks instead of following his simple instructions. Finally—by some miracle—you grab a gnome by the head and toss it aside. “Rin! Did you see that?” 

Rin notices the excitement in your voice and he can only imagine you puffing your chest up like a peacock ready to mate. That is the first gnome you manage to destroy while he was getting rid of the remaining twelve of them. Still, it was progress. 

“Of course I saw,” he says with a hint of pride. “You did great, babe.” 

You giggle at the term of endearment. “I’m getting good at this. Maybe horror games are fun!” 

Rin, who carried you throughout the whole gaming session, simply hums in agreement. “That means we can play again tomorrow.”

Your enthusiasm falters, but you do your best to stay upbeat. “But I thought— Well, sure, I guess. Why not?” 

“I’m only teasing,” he amends swiftly, picking up on your change of tone. In game, he begins collecting more valuables and pushing the cart along as you trot right behind him, blissfully unaware of the monster just across the hallway. “I want to do what you enjoy, too. We have plans for a picnic and painting date at the park, don’t we?” 

“We do!” you perk up, attempting to pick up an expensive vase and accidentally walking into a wall. Your little character drops the antique and it shatters at your feet. “Oops…” 

Rin watches eight grand disappear before his eyes and grimaces. Maybe that one singular gnome was a fluke. 

“My pro gamer,” he says dryly, a grin on his face despite himself. “Come follow me, let’s win this round already.” 

“I’ll try not to die this time!” 

“Of course, you won’t.” 

And though Rin knows, with all his heart, that you will see a monster and get your character annihilated in the span of two seconds, at least the two of you can enjoy each other’s company while you are at it. 

NAGI SEISHIRO

“Hey, Nagi!” you say in a sing-song voice. “Wanna play this new horror game with me? Pretty much everyone is talking about it right now.”

Nagi looks up from his phone, a sigh of dismay escape his lips after another unsuccessful gacha pull. “What’s it on?” 

He has an affinity for mobile games, especially gacha games. He’s played a few popular horror games with his friends in the past, but it’s certainly not part of his repertoire. 

“PC,” you respond, blinking at him with wide, pleading eyes. “Can we play?”

Nagi considers it for one moment. He hates getting up to turn his PC on. Sometimes, it takes too long to load. And he often forgets to charge his mouse and keyboard, adding even more barriers to play a game. He would much rather click one button on his phone and have the game up almost instantaneously. But for you, Nagi manages to agree.

He slowly nods and walks over to his desk in your shared office room. Beaming, you skip beside him and get the game started up. 

Nagi may be selfish and egotistical on the field, and he knows he isn’t the perfect, most selfless boyfriend. But he finds himself wanting to give into your whims. There’s a thrill he gets when he sees you smile and blush in a way that only he gets to witness. 

You are his soft spot, after all. 

“So, what’s this game about?” he asks as he purchases and downloads it onto his computer. 

“It’s just a game where we go around a map and collect valuables, but there are lots of different, scary monsters and evil ducks!” 

“Evil ducks,” Nagi repeats. 

“Very evil, annoying ducks,” you say with full sincerity, not breaking eye contact with him. “Clingy, too.”

He cracks a smile. “Seems easy enough.” 

You give him a sideways glance, thinking back on all the times you’ve died from just opening a door, but shrug at his nonchalance. “If you say so… I’m expecting you to excel at this then.” 

“Yeah.”

“Whoever gets the first in-game death owes the other a massage?” 

Nagi perks up at the offer. Not many things motivated him to do his very best, but dangling the proposal of a massage was certainly one of the few that did. “We have a deal.” 

You shook his hand with a laugh, forcing a look of mock-seriousness on your face. “Pleasure doing business, sir. I’ll definitely survive longer. Get your massage-hands ready,” you say as you wiggle your shoulders.

“We’ll see about that.”

[thiccremoch]

I’ve been binging the Worlds Beyond Number podcast with Aabriya Iyengar, Brennan Lee Mulligan, Erika Ishii, and Lou Wilson. And I gotta say, it’s quickly becoming one of my favorite actual plays out there, but not for the reasons you’d think.

Yes, the characters are fantastic. The acting is top-tier. The world building is exemplary. But the thing that makes the podcast really stand out is the sound design. In a purely auditory medium such as a podcast, the sound is so important to paint the scene with color. And between the musical motifs for factions and characters, the masterwork that is the magic sound design, and the creature sound effects… y’all, this podcast has utterly enraptured me. I’m charmed, gobsmacked, and thoroughly enjoying the show so far.

[amellialunarie]

Don't Believe Me

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·┈┈┈┈

There's not much time left.

It's not like we never try any means we could ever think of. I mean, sure, some of them have left me with the lowest impression of ever caring about my curse, and some of them did what they could, but their efforts have never been enough.

And to be honest, I'm too tired.

The Kyklos's curse soon will take over my body, taking my mind as its nourishment for its root, blooming who-knows-what kind of anomaly flower.

Will I become a mindless anomaly, a Kyklos?

Could I even recognize the other ghouls when the curse takes hold?

Will I launch an attack on whatever I see?

.

.

.

We'll be together soon.

Ulp—!!! I almost threw up for reminding me of the sensation in my shoulder at that moment. My limbs go weak at the mere thought that I'm going to be the same as that one creature.

The spiral under my skin pulses. Not in pain. In hunger.

Every time I close my eyes, I see the bloom. Not metaphorically; I see it. A thousand writhing petals of bone and thought twist through my spine. They feel like roots trying to change me from the inside out.

I don't tell anyone anymore. They’ve stopped asking. It’s easier for them, I guess, to pretend I’m still on the right side of the glass.

“Hey, don’t faint on us now,” came a familiar, gruff voice. The latch of a medical case clicked open as Yuri stepped into my room.

The sound of his medical case latching open brought a strange comfort. Familiar. Almost routine by now.

Jiro trailed in behind him, clipboard already out. Eyes scanning, distant as ever. But not indifferent. Never indifferent.

Yuri frowned at the monitor. “Vitals holding steady. Strange. Honestly, with your last flare, I expected to find a lot more degradation today.”

“Not disappointed, are you?” I asked in a faint voice while forcing a smile.

Yuri glanced at me with a snorting laugh. “On the contrary, you’re giving me whiplash. First you spiral, then you stabilize. If I didn’t know better, I’d call it spite-based healing.”

I laughed too—short, bitter.

Jiro came closer and held out a small patch for my arm. Cold, sterile fingers brushed my skin, more gentle than they looked.

I flinched when the patch touched my skin. My nerves have started to fray lately—literally, maybe. The last scan showed root-like black threads in my shoulder joint. Yuri called them pre-bloom filaments. Said it like it was fascinating.

“You’ve been quiet,” Yuri said, glancing at the monitor. “No new auditory episodes? No visual distortions?”

“No nightmares, no psychotic breaks, and no sleep paralysis,” I said, lying flat at that moment. “I know the list.”

“Good memory. That means the frontal cortex is still holding.”

Then Yuri muttered, “Alright, I need to log this and push the data to the upper high.”

"To Darkwick?"

"Of course," Yuri said without looking at me, flicking his holo-tablet open. "They monitor all treatment logs. They get everything. You know the protocol.”

Then Jiro spoke, without looking up, “Even the unapproved ones.”

The air in the room thickened. My skin prickled.

“…Unapproved?” I asked, voice tighter now. “What do you mean by that?”

Yuri hesitated. “Some of the more experimental treatments. They didn’t pass central review. Darkwick flagged them as too… unstable.”

“Unstable for whom?”

Neither answered.

I sat up straighter, blood pounding. “You tried something. You wanted to do more. But they stopped you.”

Jiro didn’t speak, he just adjusted his gloves. But his silence wasn’t empty — it was heavy. Full of words he wouldn’t say. Couldn’t say.

Yuri sighed and muttered, “They said the risk was too high. That it might ‘destabilize anomaly growth’.”

Anomaly growth.

I stared at them and I felt it. That shift. That cold knot in my gut uncoiling as a sudden terrifying thought formed inside my head. They weren’t stopping treatment because it might hurt me.

They were stopping it because it might prevent the curse from blooming.

Suddenly, the pieces fit—too well. The gentle stalling. The false hope. The way every single move Yuri and Jiro made had to be passed through someone else’s judgment.

Not for my sake.

But to keep me viable.

They’re not waiting to save me. They’re waiting to watch me turn.

My mouth went dry. My chest hollowed.

And yet… I didn’t feel betrayed by them. Not exactly.

It was worse than that.

I felt played and pitied.

Like they were trying to save a bird with a broken wing, knowing full well that someone else was already setting up the cage.

In that moment, all my hope — the small flickering ember that hinted at a different ending — faded away. I knew, deep down, all this time. But thought about it in raw—no sedation, no sugar-coating, no hopeful lies...

It scraped something out of me that I didn’t know could still bleed.

Because it didn’t matter how hard Yuri tried.

It didn’t matter how quiet Jiro’s care was.

They were working under a ceiling of glass, and I was the experiment pressed against it.

For Darkwick, this isn’t a tragedy.

It’s a countdown.

To the bloom, to Kyklos. To me—as something else.

“Tell me something,” I whispered as I felt some tears that I didn’t realize I still had, burning behind my eyes... “What happens after I change?”

Yuri finally stopped moving. The light from his tablet flickered against his face. His jaw clenched.

“I don’t know,” he said. “That’s… not in our clearance.”

Jiro turned away.

I looked at them both. They weren’t lying, and that made it worse. They want to help me.

But they may already be too late.

I am a countdown now.

No name. No file. No history. Just a transformation waiting for the right moment to happen, so they can write it down and call it science, a discovery that was only meant to be research but was not given a shred of sympathy.

And I throw up for real now.

⊹ ࣪ ﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖ .fin

Early warning : Tbh, I'm still not finished all the episode to the latest update so I actually have little information while making this (please forgive me if there's any OOC, have mercy). All I ever make mostly inspired based on what people posting so I always link their post in my credit. Word count: 1189.

#credits; seeing this post, I've been inspired.

[tanadrin]

I mean, renaissance does extend to the modern era but started during the middle ages. Discovery of the Americas / reformation are what are usually used as the symbolic cut-off points

no, this is actually completely wrong. modernity is a sticky but diaphanous fluid which began to seep up through a crack in the earth's crust below florence, italy, after the earthquake of september 28, 1453. it adheres vigorously to animal flesh, and minute traces are spread by person to person contact. even in trace amounts, its presence inhibits miracles, spiritual apparitions, and feudalism, and encourages the mercantile spirit, which is why its spread ended the middle ages. it also enables the visual cortex to comprehend perspective, which is why paintings looked so funny before. unfortunately it also tends to accumulate in the inner ear, dampening transcendent vibrations that otherwise are naturally picked up by the auditory nerve, making it impossible for humans to hear the voice of the divine.

that sounds bad, but most of what untainted humans in europe were perceiving as the voice of the divine was actually just the voice of a lesser divinity that pope adrian iv trapped in the roman catacombs, harvesting its body for communion. while non-sentient, the psychic defense mechanism of this creature produced aggression, zealotry, and visions of fire. since modernity is toxic to divine beings, despite the church's best efforts it began to sicken in the 17th century and by the 18th was in dire condition. its death finally enabled the first vatican council to occur.

of course if you ask about this at the vatican they won't tell you the truth. it's not on purpose: when divine beings die all memory of them vanishes from this plane of existence as well, including written records. but traces remain if you know where to look. you didn't think the eucharist was always just a little cracker and a sip of wine, did you? that wouldn't make sense. it doesn't even look like flesh.