#sometimes i see a close up on an insect and for a moment my body gets scared thinking its a spider

[ducktollers]

also currently thinking abt it cuz there was a tarantula on b99. i wish i liked tarantulas. i should love them in theory theyre just fluffy crawly guys. and yet they and all spiders scare the living shit out of me WHY. why do i like insects but not spiders. every time it came up in my uni classes ppl thought it was weird bc insect people are usually also spider people. i love snakes and insects i should love spiders too but i hate them WHY IS THAT

[sapphicswph]

things lottie does that you adore 😵‍💫😵‍💫

pairing: lottie matthews x reader

warnings: tooth rotting fluff, smut, nsfw, praising, dirty talk, oral sex, fingering, hickies, dry humping, insects (??), not proofread, suggestive themes, explicit language, 18+!

─ .✦ when you’re just doing your own chores like everyone else, lost in thoughts and lottie comes behind you, wrapping her arms around your middle. she buries her face in your neck, her messy hair tickling your skin as she mumbles, "mmm, you smell good." she does this randomly throughout the day - sudden affectionate moments that catch you off guard but make your heart flutter.

─ .✦ whenever you're trying to start a fire, lottie wanders over, fiddling with her fingers. she never ask if she can help; instead, she just starts rearranging the kindling you've so carefully placed. "you're doing it all wrong," she mumbes, you can't help smiling as she takes over, her hands deftly building the fire in a way that's both efficient and strangely hot.

─ .✦ she has a tendency to touch you constantly - playing with the hem of your shirt, tracing patterns on your arm, or gently tugging on your hair while you talk to someone. it's as if she can't keep her hands off you, even during casual conversations.

─ .✦ lottie's obsession with going down on you is bordering on unhealthy. she begs, she whines, she pouts - anything to get your legs spread wide open. "baby please... just let me eat your pussy for a bit?" she whines, nuzzling her face into your neck and whimpers. "come onnnn... i just want to make you feel good.”

─ .✦ in the mornings, lottie always wakes up before you. she'd sit on her side of the makeshift bed they've created from pine branches, watching you sleep. her fingers would drum on her thigh, impatiently waiting for you to stir. as soon as you blink your eyes open, she'd launch herself at you, tackling you into a hug and mumbling "morning" into your chest. you'd softly giggle, wrapping your arms around her.

─ .✦ she'd sometimes come back to camp with her arms full, with foraged food and turning to you with a proud grin, like she’d just brought back the most precious treasure. you always made sure to praise her after, telling her how proud you are, even if it’s just berries. she always soaked up in your praises, turning into putty.

─ .✦ she was insatiable in bed – or rather, on the ground covered with furs. she’d initiate almost every night, climbing onto you like a cat in heat, her cold hands roaming your body possessively. she was rough and passionate, leaving love bites all over your neck and shoulders. she loved being on top, looking down at you with those doe eyes.

─ .✦ she was extremely touchy. she’d hold your hand while you walked together, have an arm around your waist. she’d ‘accidentally’ brush against you constantly, or sit so close to you that there was barely any space between you two. at night, she was a big cuddler – always pressing herself against you, throwing her leg over yours, holding you from behind, or using you as a pillow. she had separation anxiety too – she hated being apart from you, even if it was just for a moment to go relieve herself.

─ .✦ while starting a fire, she'd bite her bottom lip in concentration, making you swoon every single time. when she finally gets the fire started, she'd look up at you with those big doe eyes, seeking your approval. "see?" she'd say, her voice soft but proud "told you i could do it." you'd smile, fighting back the urge to kiss her right there.

─ .✦ she was loud. she moaned unabashedly, threw her head back - the whole forest would know you were fucking her, not caring that the other’s could hear. she would grip your hair tightly while you went down on her. she'd spread her legs wider, push your head down, "right there," she'd whimper. she was vocal with her needs – "touch my breasts", "put your fingers inside me". she cursed too - "holy shit", "oh fuck, yesss,” she would hiss. she was dirty in bed. you loved it.

─ .✦ she had a thing for your hair. she’d always be playing with it, twirling it around her finger, braiding it, or running her fingers through it. she'd hum contentedly while doing so, as if it was her favorite pastime. she especially loved it when you wore it down – it gave her more to play with.

─ .✦ she was extremely competitive, even over the smallest things. whether it was who could gather the most sticks, or who could pick more berries, she always had to win. but she was a poor loser - she'd pout, cross her arms and sulk if she lost. you always found ways to 'let her win' just to keep that smile on her face.

─ .✦ she was needy. she'd hump your leg if you touched her breasts. she'd grind on your thigh if you kissed her neck. she'd spread her legs wider if you touched her inner thigh. she was sensitive there – your fingers would barely graze her inner thighs and she'd whimper, spreading them wider unconsciously. she was wet easily too – you barely had to touch her and she'd be dripping. you loved how responsive she was. she was selfless in bed – she always made sure you came first.

─ .✦ she'd catch insects gently to show you, like a kid. she'd gently catch a beetle or a spider, holding it carefully in her hands with a proud look on her face, always seeking approval. you hate bugs so seeing you jump or flinch, she'd immediately freeze, her eyes turning soft with concern. "hey, it's okay," she'd whisper, slowly approaching you with open palms. "look, it won't hurt you." she'd show you the insect up close, explaining how harmless it was in her gentle voice. if you still looked scared or unsure, she'd carefully release it immediately and pull you into a comforting hug and apologize, even if she didn’t really have to apologize.

─ .✦ every time she leans down to kiss you, her height difference becomes apparent. her 5'10" frame towers over you, making you tilt your head back to meet her lips. it's insanely attractive - the way she has to bend down just to reach you. sometimes, she'd intentionally use her height to her advantage, pinning you against a tree trunk or the ground, looking down at you with those brown doe eyes that seem to undress you completely.

─ .✦ also, when she stretches - christ, how does someone make stretching this sexy? she'd stand on her tip-toes and arch her back, exposing that long neck you love biting. it’s enough to make your knees weak.

─ .✦ she loved dirty talk – “good girl…” she’d coo. “you gonna come on my face?” “fuck, you’re so tight… so wet.” she was also multi-orgasmic – she could come multiple times in a row, each orgasm stronger than the last.

─ .✦ she loved aftercare – she'd always pull you close, running soothing fingers through your hair. she'd press gentle kisses to your forehead, your cheeks, your lips. she'd whisper sweet nothings with concern laced in her voice - "you okay, baby?” “was i too rough?” “did I hurt you?" she always worried when she could get a bit carried away. she'd clean you up tenderly with a wet cloth, making sure to wipe every inch. she'd bring you water and berries, make you comfortable, then curl up beside you, holding you close. “i love you.” she’d murmur over and over again.

requests are open :)))))

[moonsglare]

“dearest, you really should be sleeping.”

arlecchino murmurs, fingers idly stroking down your side. her eyes are half-shut, face illuminated by the pale glow of your phone screen as you scroll away. her nose is half buried in your hair, inhaling the scent of your shampoo. your legs are tangled together beneath the sheets, and she’s so very close to dozing off.

you make a small noise of protest at her words. “just a minute…”

“you’re worse than the actual teenagers in our house,” she adds dryly, pressing a lazy kiss to your temple. “pray tell, what is it that has captured your attention so?”

“just this thing i saw on twitter,” you reply, distracted. “it says that the first animal that comes up when you search ‘animal’ is what your partner sees you as.”

arlecchino arches a brow at that. she’s not one to indulge in these online trends—she’s often simply far too busy. she knows they exist in a peripheral sort of way; the kids, especially the twins and somewhat surprisngly, noe, follow them with an unexpected faith. she doesn’t really understand the appeal, in truth, but she lets them do as they please, so long as it isn’t of any concern to their safety.

“oh? and what did your search yield, hm?”

you crane your head to look at her, nose wrinkled in slight distaste. “a bat.”

you show her a picture, and she snorts. it’s not a… terrible picture, but it certainly isn’t the most, well. flattering, in a sense. the unamused look on your face deepens, morphing into almost a pout.

“don’t laugh,” you say petulantly, lightly smacking her arm. she chuckles, a low rumble in her throat.

“it is quite amusing, you must admit,” she replies, drawing circles on the skin of your stomach, slipping beneath the oversized t-shirt—her t-shirt—that you’ve chosen to wear to bed. she pauses briefly, then adds, “and fitting, too, if you ask me.”

“fitting?” you ask incredulously, and she nods, a lazy smirk tugging on her lips. there’s an almost offended look on your face, and it makes her want to kiss you a little. well, a lot, really, but that would lead to other things and she really is too tired after a long shift on her feet at the wards to put you through the mattress tonight.

(next time for sure, though.)

“mm, fitting. you sleep at such atrocious hours, my dear, you may well be nocturnal,” she drawls, and you huff, bunching your shoulders stubbornly. “tell me, what time is it?”

“…almost one in the morning.”

she smiles. “my point exactly.”

“yeah, well,” you huff again, the slightest bit flustered. “it’s not like i stay up of my own volition every night. sometimes you’re the one keeping me up.”

she snorts at that, shifting lower to nose at the nape of your neck, warm breath spilling over your sensitive skin. “you’ve never complained before.”

“you—“ you stammer, flustered, then groan, dropping your phone on the bed. you don’t refute her though, and her smile broadens against your skin. “ugh, anyway— still, a bat is… i don’t know, weird? i guess? i was expecting something cuter.”

arlecchino hums for a moment, savoring the warmth of your body. she kisses the smooth skin there, over one of the many moles adorning your back like little constellations.

“perhaps they are not cute,” she agrees, “but i quite like them.”

you pause, turning your head to look over your shoulder at her curiously. “really?”

“they serve a vital role in their ecosystem,” she points out, eyes tracing the arch of your cheekbones, the slope of your lips. in the dark, she’s not really sure how much of you she actually sees and how much she simply knows to be there from years of drinking in the same sight of you. “insect control and the like. we would be worse off without them, no?”

“well, yeah,” you admit, lips curling upward. you’re so easy to convince sometimes—it’s terribly cute. “when did you learn so much about bats anyway?”

“you talk about them,” she answers simply, and you go still for a beat. she notes the way your breath catches ever so slightly before you let out a small, almost bashful sounding laugh.

“you remember?”

she almost rolls her eyes. what a silly question.

“it’s you. of course i do.”

something flashes in your expression, and then you’re turning in her arms to snuggle up against her, chest to chest. she lets you into the gentle castle of her arms with familiar ease, tucking your head beneath her chin as she runs her hand up and down your spine.

“smooth talker,” you say, voice muffled against her collarbone. she only hums in response, finally letting her eyes drift shut. she could stay like this forever.

“only for you, my dear.”

[my1interspatial2corner]

ִֶָ.𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ Chilly day ་༘࿐

⋆｡ Tags: Harry James Potter x you/reader, gn!reader, sfw, fluff, unestablished relationship, harry is a cutie patootie ⋆｡ Sypnosis: Harry takes notice just how cold you were feeling and decided to take it upon himself ⋆｡ Notes: Why is Harry so unpopular at his own damn movie?? Anyway for my Harry James Potter fans if they're even out here at this day and age

The view was painted white with snow, it was winter yet again at Hogwarts, and the temperatures had reached such an all time low that instead of rain, snow came pouring from the clouds. Hogwarts, for all it's magical artifacts and spells, got quite cold during this season, making people born in the muggle world wish they had a heating system around here.

“My god, is it chilly in here” You complained to no one in particular, hugging yourself for warmth. You were huddled in layers, making you feel like one of the snowmen the first years have been building, and yet, it still wasn’t enough to make you feel anything close to warmth if you weren’t draped with a blanket and standing besides a fireplace.

“You’re still cold?” Harry asked, acting like he himself wasn’t covered layer by layers, wearing thermal wear and a thick coat “You need to get burnt alive in order not to feel cold, apparently”

You rolled your eyes at his sarcastic comment, shoving him to the side. The two of you were walking through the corridors of Hogwarts, Ron and Hermonie not present at the moment “Shut up, you’ll see who gets burnt alive, Harry”

Harry rolled his eyes right back at you, a grin on his face. If he was like Hermione- who had thousands of books and spells memorized, he would’ve given you a spell to keep warm, if that even existed. But he wasn’t, and so he grabbed your hands, but he almost jolted away from you.

“Your hands are like ice!” Harry exclaimed, surprised by the sheer stark contrast between his hands and yours “No wonder you’re so cold, your body temperature is so low!”

“Oh, now you’re concerned?” You retorted, huffing but not turning his touch away. His hands were warm, and it was comforting compared to the chilling temperatures at the castle.

“I was concerned before, I just didn’t know it was that bad” Harry replied gently, his eyes softening, he tugged on your arm, guiding you around “Let’s go somewhere warmer”

“What about Ron and Hermonie?” You asked, classes had ended for the day but the four of you intended to go outside together.

“I’m sure they can wait a little bit. Ron is quite tardy sometimes” Harry replied, eventually stopping at one of the emptier spots with a fireplace.

“Yeah that’s true” You mused out loud. Ron was quite stubborn, and if he wanted to finish something he would do so first, making you, Hermonie and Harry wait for him. Harry guided you so you would sit at the small sofa sitting in front of the fireplace, joining you on your seat. He cupped your chilly hands, bringing them close to his mouth and letting out a breath, rubbing them together to warm them up. The sight made you giggle, which made him smile but his confusion was evident in his gaze “What? Did I do something funny?”

“You’re like a fly!” You exclaimed, which just confused Harry further, his face puzzled

“What?” He asked, blinking rapidly. Of all things? He couldn’t say he was fond of the idea of being compared to a fly.

“You know, when they rub their little insect legs together?” You asked, making Harry make a noise of understanding, nodding and laughing with you.

“Seriously? You’re so weird sometimes” Harry said fondly, looking at you tenderly, the two of you going quiet for a moment, soaking in the closeness.

“But you like me weird, right?” You asked after a beat, getting closer to him for warmth.

“Yeah, I guess I do” He whispered, closing his eyes and leaning towards you

Meanwhile…

“Geez it’s quite cold in here, how long are they gonna take?” Ron asked to Hermonie, who shrugged.

“Maybe a teacher needed them?” Hermonie suggested, looking unaffected by the cold.

“How aren’t you cold?” Ron asked, pulling his jacket closer to his body.

“I used a spell!” Hermonie replied “Want me to use it on you?”

[starryytales]

More Manipulative Ragatha.

ACK-

This was meant to be ~500 words and one part of a short story that went into detail of Ragatha doing different things on different days to push Pomni's boundaries, get her closer, etc. And was inspired by yesterday's ask about Ragatha intentionally throwing herself into harm's way to get hurt and get Pomni's attention.

Instead it ballooned up into a little over 2000 words and will be something of a standalone.

I would like to give my thanks and dedicate this to @miguxadraws whose enthusiasm helped push me to hit the ground running with this one!

With that said: small TW for needles (the sewing kind), and I hope you all enjoy..!

“I’m never sure how to start these things…”

I muse to myself as I tap the colorful pencil’s eraser against the empty, waiting page of my journal. Being the second longest lasting person in The Digital Circus changes how you think about information. Unlike Kinger, for example, I’m doing my best to not go insane by holding on to every piece of information until my mind snaps and I become amnesic. That means writing things down. Journal writing and compartmentalizing things. Separating the bad from the good and keeping the good close and the bad locked away.

“I suppose starting with this morning wouldn’t be a bad idea.” I flip the pencil around and begin jotting down what all happened…

Pomni woke up on me today. I didn’t bother with sleeping. Instead I just enjoyed watching her quietly snore throughout the night. God, she’s so cute when she’s asleep. She’s even more cute when she’s startled. She woke up, adorably mumbling about whatever dream she was having (I heard my name!!!), and stared up at me for a few moments. I didn’t say anything because she was clearly still out of it and wouldn’t have understood me anyway. When she realized she was using me as a full body pillow she let out wildest little yipe I’ve ever heard. She nearly hit the ceiling from jumping off of me so hard! It took a hot moment and a re-heated, leftover salmon cake to calm her down after that. I let her get dressed in peace (thank you again, God, for giving me a button eye to stealth watch with) and she left with a sweet little smile on her face.

I pause writing for a moment when I hear someone trying to stay quiet while working on something outside my door. Probably Jax. Probably with a bucket of insects and some kind of mechanical trap setup. I shake my head irritably but stay quiet. Jax would have been a lovely boy toy to keep if not for the fact he can’t stop being a punk for more than ten seconds. My single regret with him is that he only had one heart to break. The sound of his trap construction jolts me back to writing by jogging my memory.

The adventure!

How could I have nearly forgotten that when it was a huge amount of progress with Pomni?

Caine rounded us all up just like he does basically every other day.

“HELLO MY MUTANT MASHED POTATOES TODAY’S ADVENTURE BLAH BLAH BLAH-”

It was some kind of movie-like, ancient temple we had to find the treasure room of. The important part was Pomni and I took the ‘medium’ difficulty route, and we did it by ourselves. I was just about to see how well she dealt with an unprompted hand on her shoulder when I realized I had seen the hallway we were in before on a different adventure. Caine doesn’t just re-use NPCs, he re-uses chunks of levels sometimes. And I knew we were about 15 steps away from a circular saw trap that would shoot out from the wall and try to leave us with a nasty cut, to put it lightly.

My first instinct was to let Pomni walk into it. I thought it’d probably go right through her leg, maybe even both of them. I’d have to carry her all the way to the end and she’d have no choice BUT let me hold her. My better judgment got a hold of me, though. That was an awful plan. She’d hate being useless and dependent on me (at the moment, anyway). But I could still use the trap to my advantage to make her touch me…

I suddenly remembered why I nearly forgot the whole thing. Ever feel so much pain your body and brain try to factory reset?

“Hey, I think I’ve seen this hallway before.” I told her as I switched the side of her I was walking on. I picked up my pace slightly to make sure I triggered the saw without catching her as collateral. I braced myself as hard as I could without letting on something was up. A small part of me was begging to just not do this, but the opportunity was too good to pass up.

“Really?”

“Yeah! From a different adventure!”

And I think she was going to ask if I remembered anything helpful about it. That’s about when a single stone beneath my foot pressed down and I let out probably the longest running censor-bleep in Digital Circus history. The saw was as quick as lightning. My left arm, right above my elbow, was effortlessly sliced off, and the blade tore through my side like I was made of paper. I screamed and fell away from the blade. I landed against the wall opposite of it and started sliding down to the floor. Good God it hurt so bad I was seeing stars. Pomni shrieked and rushed over to me, hovering over me like she’d found a murdered body in an alleyway. I was in too much pain to get her to stop screaming for a moment so I could tell her what to do, and then she said that she would go get help.

That lit quite the fire under me, because:

1. I needed to get her used to touching me by getting her to patch me up, and, perhaps more importantly-

2. I’M TIRED OF HER RUNNING OFF WHEN I AM IN INCREDIBLE PAIN.

I have to say, despite the pain I was in, I was pretty slick with my next words.

Any person scared and hurt might say ‘don’t leave me,’ but if I left it at that, she might have just offered me a platitude about being back as soon as she could be. I had to twist the knife. She managed a single step away before I lunged at her foot and seized her ankle. I didn’t need to pretend to cry, as there were plenty of real, agonized tears.

“Please don’t leave me again!”

The ‘again’ sold it like beer at a college ball game. Oh, it hurt to see so much remorse in her eyes but it’ll make her think twice before running off again in the future. She dropped to her knees next to me and sputtered a dozen apologies before going quiet when I placed my hand on her upper leg to get her attention.

I remember gritting my teeth and having to hiss through the pain to direct her to my dress pocket (conveniently on the same side I was missing an arm on, and oh my how those little hands wander in a pocket) where I had my emergency sewing kit. Ugh. I could have died from cute-overload while watching her fumble so shakily while trying to thread that needle. When she finally managed it she looked at me with huge, worried eyes for guidance on what to do next.

I pause again to enjoy the memory of her looking at me that way. It’s almost dreamy to picture her like that. So nervously hanging off my every word… I could REALLY get used to that. Where was I? Oh, right, my little jester doing doll surgery on my side.

Feeling her touching me gently was so, so nice. And she listens so well. I bet if I told her that the stitching would only hold if she barked like a puppy, she might have actually done it. I’m so used to sewing myself up that the little pricks of the needle barely registered to me, so I up-sold the pain they caused. Clenching my teeth and (remaining) fist, and scrunching my eyes while hiccuping every few seconds as if I were holding back a breakdown. She paused once and held my cheek, and told me if I needed a break she would stop. AGH. I could have eaten her alive on the spot for being so sweet! Instead I sighed, enjoyed the touch, and thanked her but said I was okay...

I love Pomni to bits but she sews like a blind grandmother with arthritis. No cut like that is ever good or easy to work with, but even Gangle manages a cleaner stitch on a bad day. Still, that meant we got to spend the rest of the adventure like that. Her pressed up against my side, trying her best to hold as steady as possible, while keeping my stuffing from falling out as she stitches me back shut. Definitely worth every ounce of pain. When she was done she even crawled over to my arm and offered to try putting it back on. Absolutely precious.

I told her not to worry about the arm. Caine could fix it when we get back, and about when I said that our AI Overlord’s voice rang clear throughout the structure. Caine congratulated Gangle and Kinger for reaching the treasure room first, and declared the adventure over. Pomni and I fell through a portal that suddenly opened beneath us, and just like that we were back in the tent.

Caine looked me over and quipped I had gotten “too adventurous for my own good,” before snapping his fingers and fixing my arm. He then said something about seashells and vanished. The others were already heading their separate ways when I walked over to Pomni and hugged her. She jumped slightly, but didn’t pull away. I thanked her as warmly as I could for staying with me, and I saw on her face that same guilt from earlier being soothed slightly. It wasn’t enough to put her at peace, but enough so she knows I will happily praise her for doing something good.

I let her go and I offered her another meal tonight – if she was feeling up to it, that is. I could see her putting real thought into it-

My writing is once again interrupted by a dainty knock at the door.

“Ragatha? I’m here for dinner, but-” I quickly slam my journal shut and hide it away again. The last thing Pomni needs to see is the contents of that book. I hop up from my chair with a spring in my step and grab the doorknob, only for Pomni to suddenly shout.

“D-don’t open the door yet! There’s a bucket full of something on the door frame. It’s attached to some kind of trigger. Kinger’s getting it down now.”

I hear Kinger scraping something metallic away from the door before the man himself speaks up.

“Oh! That’s where you’ve all been. How do my centipedes keep winding up in buckets..?”

I had clean forgotten Jax trapped the door. The thought of being stuck with a bucket on my head as all of Kinger’s little hellspawns crawl over my face is almost enough to make me throw up, pass out, and start writing a manifesto. All at the same time. Did I say earlier I only have one regret about Jax? I have two. And the second is that I can’t drown him in the cellar.

“Okay! It’s safe now!”

Cautiously I crack open the door. My eyes are drawn to the movement of Kinger walking down the hallway with a bucket full of nightmares in his arms, but I quickly focus back on to Pomni. I let out a low, tired sigh and smile at her.

“You saved me twice in one day.” I try not to swoon, but it still kind of comes out that way. The little blush she starts sporting on her face doesn’t help.

“Ah- don’t worry about it.”

God she’s so cute when she’s bashful. I open the door and step aside to welcome her in with a playful flourish.

“Well, come on in! A hero deserves her heroic feast! I’ll get on it right away.”

“A heroic feast of spaghetti and meatballs?” She laughs, the sound as sweet as wine, as she enters and steps passed me. I laugh back with her as I start to shut the door so we can start another night off right.

“And garlic bread, that’s the really heroic part!”

[missblissy]

Bitter

Summary: A little drabble that takes place after the events of the game. In an intimate moment, Astarion has feelings of disgust within himself, and can't help but break down, talking to you about how he feels in his own skin. You stay supportive and help him through it.

Warnings: mentions of sex/domestic trauma, and panic attacks, but no actual smut. :) Only angst. Just angst. :)))

A/N: Hey hey! This is my first Astarion X Reader! I have been sucked in and now I'm just another one of his girlies :') I used a GN!Tav with no mentions of race/class/gender whatsoever. I really wanted to explore Astarion's sexual trauma, how he deals with it, and how he feels about it. I like to think Astarion desperately wants to be whatever he thinks "normal" is, and that he has a lot of shame and pained feelings towards not being able to be whatever this "normal" is. So I wanted to give him some angsty love/hurt and comfort. Enjoy!

Bitter. Like sour brandy. A perpetuating ick that crawled with insect-hooked feet into his skin. The itchy pain of ghostly memories was hot on his flesh. The crawling and coiling were unconditional. The buzzing of past words, actions, and regrets all flooded his mind. His body moved with a mind of its own in a sheer thought of panic. Moving. Repulsed. Unwanted even. But it still happened. Bittering the moment, souring the taste in his mouth, clutching at his undead heart with a rage he didn’t know he had, so soft and subtle that it built like a breeze over the ocean, hitting him like a typhoon. 

But no sign foretold that in the sudden jerk and pull back of his own hand from yours. No longer interlocked. The recoil of his body from instincts rather than thought or sound mind. How he fell away from you, not into you. Both surprised him, his internal rage, and his body betraying him. A breath hitched in his throat as he was pulled back to the dimly lit room of reality.

Where was he again...? His mind was foggy, far way, but yet still brim and bright with paranoia. Flush and festering with one too many distant memories.

“Star-bite?” Your voice was always soothing… Enough to pull him from his mind. The fog far from leaving his eyes traveled with ease across his face in the dark room. No light was needed for you to see that.

The honey worry in your words where enough for his eyes to meet yours despite his shame to look away. It pained him even more with the love welling in those sweet pearls and staring up at him with nothing but patience. Seemingly something he didn’t have. A tender hand lifted to his head, “Are you okay?” You asked. He flinched away. Again. Not even twice now in five minutes. You didn't pull back, however, but rather left your palm open with patience.

Astarion closed his eyes and leaned his cheek into your hand for only a second as he tried to ground himself. Self-hatred bubbled in him. Embarrassment. Shame. It was all the same feeling at this point and it was unbearable.

He sat up and back on his legs, no longer looming over you as the moonlight bathed him in a glow. Glossy with an otherworldly shine you stared up at him, skin exposed to the night. And watched as his shoulders fell with a deep sigh of frustration as he threw his hands to his face as if to hide while shaking his head, “I’m sorry-” He started. You slowly sat up as well, a blanket bathing over your own equally nude body in a half attempt to cover up.

“I’m sorry.” He said it again, “I.. I Don’t know what came over me,” He tried to laugh it off, the fact he blanked out, flinched from your very touch, and found himself disgusted even with the person he loved most. You understood… This was hard for him. Sex. Intimacy. Anything that related to his body. So you so desperately wanted to comfort him.

Which could be a hard thing to do sometimes. Despite that, you tried to reassure him. This wasn't the first time this has happened, “You don’t have to do this, It’s fine-”

“It’s not fine!” Astarion snipped with a whisper that could have been a scream, “I’m… not fine.” 

Bitter. It was always bitter on his tongue even when he laughed like it was as sweet as syrup before it turned into wine, “I don’t want to be… like this,” His voice carried on as he gestured to his entire being, “Every time. Every single time it doesn’t matter how much you love me I still feel disgusted in my own skin and that’s not fine!” He finally snapped out with a subtle sob, “I want to be able to do more than look and love you from an arm’s reach without wanting to burn my bones and erase the memory of everything I’ve ever been through every time I’m simply just touched by another!” 

There wasn’t an easy way to hide the pain on your face. The bitter truth. Even you knew it and it still stung fresher than a wasp’s stinger on a knuckle. No amount of love you gave Astarion could fix the damage done to him over two centuries of torment. No kind words, no simple nothings, or gestures could undo any of it. Nor erase it. Even dead, Cazador would always be with him.

Astarion’s voice picked up, another twisted, sad, and painful laugh, “It sickens me… It kills me,” He sighed, “That even no matter how much I love you, adore you, want you, and need you…” Silver-flowing tears trickled along his cheeks, flicking with faints of pink, betraying his true nature. A vampire’s bloody tears never lied. A sour sniffle sucked back up into his nose as he spoke again, “No matter how much I care I can’t be fixed. I’ll always fucking be like this!” 

He felt so trapped in his own skin. Disgusted with his own body. Hateful towards the person he was forced to become and betrayed by the thought of the person he could have been. It was a bitter cycle. And to think… This all started as a lovely night. But Astarion could just add this to the long list of many other things he’s ruined.

You sat on your knees, scooting just an inch ever so closer, “Astarion?” You held out your hand for him, palm up, open and there for him to take if he wanted. And of course, he did, “You will always be broken.” His eyes shot open and he stared at you, surprised by your honest take, “But you will also always be loved and cared for even if you are broken,” You squeezed his hand lightly and gave a soft smile, “And I don’t mind that you’re broken,”

Something told him you were lying but Astarion knew better than to believe that. It didn’t stop his little scoff as he averted his red gaze, “Even if I can’t fuck you?” Bitter. It was in his voice, the way he spat the words and laughed by adding, “I know I’m supposed to be this amazing, beautiful, and skilled piece of work but I’m no-”

“You’re not supposed to be anything,” You softly interrupted him, knowing exactly where he was about to go with this tangent, “You’re only supposed to be whatever you want to be. Not what others have made you out to be.”  

He still couldn’t meet your gaze, but you could see the doubt in his eyes and the subtle pout of frustration on his lips, “Even if I don’t know what I want to be?” He spoke more softly this time, like it was mostly to himself so he could finally speak it out loud, “... Or who I am?”

“Absolutely,” You promised him. It broke your heart every time he had these moments, how hurt and torn he must feel inside you could only imagine. You leaned a little closer, enough to still give him his space, “I’m not with you for the sex, Astarion, it was never about the sex. So I could go the rest of my life waiting, or not waiting, or simply just being there,” You reached up and cupped his cheek again and pulled ever so gently to get him to meet your gaze, “You… Do. Not… have to have sex with me to keep me to stay with you,” A little glimmer in your eye sparked with affection, "I'll say it as many times as you need to hear it, you are enough just as yourself. And I'll say it forever, I love you for you, and that includes even when stuff like this happens."

That got the littlest smile out of him. He brushed his cheek deeper into your palm and found himself even leaning into your embrace, “You know I want to,” He huffed, “I just don’t think… I can… not without this feeling being there, that is," It was still bitter. He closed his eyes, head resting by your shoulder, nearly hiding in the crook of your neck, “I don’t want to be this way. It’s like I'm not even free. Like my time in the sun was worth nothing in the long wrong,” He quickly looked up at you and corrected himself, “I know that’s not true,” A bitter smile, “It just feels that way, sometimes,” 

Your smile, bitter too, but sweet, with a sad nuzzle of your nose against his in a loving and comforting gesture, “I know, Star-bite,” Then a little kiss to his nose for reassurance, “But this,” And a tight squeeze of his hand, referring to just this simple act alone as you spoke, “You can do. And this is more than enough,”

[xxnghtclls]

Permission Playlist!

So I‘ve tried to put together the songs which inspired me the most or that I remember vividly listening to, while writing chapters!

A lot of them just served to put me into a certain mood, so the lyrics don‘t necessarily match up, but the lyrics of most of the songs played a huge role. You might recognise some of them even 😋

Here’s the link: Permission Playlist

And if you haven‘t read Permission yet, here‘s Chapter 1.

Other than that, I want to give a little direction here, that you know which songs belong to which parts of the story, since sometimes they guided me for a whole chapter, sometimes a whole song for just a short moment! Sometimes the songs describe y/n’s point of view, but sometimes Sukuna’s too!

I’ve been writing Permission for over a year, so I probably won’t remember everything, but these were the most important ones I remember! I also tried to put them into order of when they fit into their moments or chapters:

(in-depth description (-ish) under the cut)

Song 1-15 (Wicked Games - Jenny Of Oldstones)

I listened to those songs mainly when I was planning the whole story. To give me moods, themes, emotions that I want to convey. I listened to the Game Of Thrones Soundtrack a lot in general, but those songs I listed in there were the ones who inspired me the most!

Fun fact here: Mado Kara Mieru from Christopher Tin was the one which gave me the most inspiration for how Sukuna’s melody would’ve sound like.

Song 16 (Serj Tankian - Rains of Castamere)

Basically my Soundtrack for Chapter 13 and especially the throne room scene, when the new girl arrives and Sukuna invites her in.

Song 17 - 21 (Obsessed - Entitled)

Those songs guided me from the moment when Sukuna saves y/n from the curses until the end of the camping arc. I don’t recall listening to music a lot during that time of writing, cause I acquired that skill only later 🌝

Honorable mentions here:

Zandros - Obsessed was for me the moment y/n sees Sukuna standing over her after killing the curses, seeing the snow flakes crash against his body. Idk this song carried the mood for me.

Adin - Somebody Else was one of the few songs that I connected with Sukuna’s pov.

Song 22 - 23 (Crash and Burn - Breathe)

Those songs described for me the moment when they return to the shrine and long for each other, before y/n gains the courage to knock on his door in chapter 24.

Song 24 Max Richter - On The Nature Of Daylight

I don’t remember clearly, but I think I listened to this to get in a sad mood to describe y/n’s pain when Sukuna left for war and she misses him dearly.

A good song in general to get a fucking sad mood tbh.

Song 25 - 27 (The Way - Violently)

Oh those were the songs I listened to when y/n follows him into the war. Chapter 29 & 30 all the way.

Zack Hemsey - The Way was perfect to listen to when she realises, she’s close to Sukuna and the war is starting. This remix with the sirens was perfect for me to visualise how she’s running over that battlefield, dodging the bombs, fighting her way through. It’s still such an epic scenery in my head which I hope I could convey!

Jayme Deville - Right on Time kinda gave me slow motion pictures in my head, for when Sukuna approaches her during battle.

Mira - Violently is such an incredible song for me. It describes her whole journey and emotions so so good. I listened to it when I wrote the kissing scene, but it grew to be a super important song for their whole relationship, that’s why I would choose it for a rolling credit song hehe.

Song 28 - 31 (The Shadows - Take Me Back To Eden)

Those were all the songs which inspired me for the Sex Scene when Sukuna returns from war in Chapter 32.

Honorable mention here:

Sleep Token - Take Me Back To Eden just IS the moment for me when y/n notices, that Sukuna stayed in her room and he opens his eyes to her.

The lyrics

My, my, those eyes like fire

I'm a winged insect, you're a funeral pyre

just describe the effect that Sukuna (and his gaze and eyes) have on y/n (and on me tbh) so perfectly, that I needed to add that to the rolling credit choice as well.

Song 32 - 33 (O Saki Saki - Lahu Munh Lag Gaya)

Heh! Chapter 33, the festival! I actually planned to have a dancing scene with y/n and other people from the festival, kinda Bollywood style, to impress our Lord and Saviour Sukuna! 😆

However, since that requires A WHOLE OTHER LEVEL of writing skill, I decided to leave it. The Songs still served me perfectly well to get in the mood for a cool ass festival atmosphere for a cool ass King!

Song 34 Clann - Her & the Sea

Chapter 35, when Sukuna and y/n talk on the bridge. Just that moment and atmosphere.

Song 35 - 36 (Timeout - You Thought)

Mood Songs for when y/n is gonna find out that Sukuna fucked around when he was in war. No particular moment here, but served me to get into her emotional state.

Song 37 - 41 (Ecstasy - Luscious)

Again mood songs for sex scenes after Sukuna’s confession in Chapter 36.

I think I listened to Ecstasy and All I Need by The MXXNLIGHT for the Throne Sex in Chapter 25 as well.

Song 42 Clann - She Loves The Rain

I think this one explains itself…Dancing in the rain with Sukuna in Chapter 44.

Song 43 - 44 (Fatal Attraction - Obsession)

Again mood songs for their overall relationship, that represent how knee deep y/n is in love with Sukuna.

Song 45 Mira - Thorns

Oh Mira, how I love her music. That song was published a few chapters before I was ready to write Akiko’s murder, but it described y/n’s reaction regarding Sukuna’s apathy so perfectly in Chapter 45. My heart ached so much when I listened to it the first time!

Fun fact here: The moment when Sukuna reveals that he was pushing the maids with motivation, was actually planned to be directly after Akiko’s death. I noticed in the early draft of that chapter, that it doesn’t work out and decided last minute to completely change that plan and to write that moment into the finale of the story.

Song 46 - 48 (Blood Code - Cold Blooded)

My soundtrack for y/n’s killing spree in Chapter 46 😆

Song 49 Zandros - Look What You’ve Done To Me

Mood Song for the aftermath of Sayako’s death and y/n’s feelings about coming a monster in Chapter 47

I think that‘s it. I hope you enjoy! <3

[kit-williams]

Sleeping Fields

Nostraman is said to be poetic sounding right? I've been binging this Dzivia's stuff recently and heard this one today... and Anrir wormed his way into my mind... I think this is Belarusian but just SLAVS throws hands into the air

This should be a short fic

Tag list: @bispecsual @egrets-not-regrets @moodymisty @bleedingichorhearts @liar-anubiass-blog @thevoidscreams

Amir sobbed as you did your best to calm him down but it just was one of those nights that he wouldn't sleep... out of everyone else in the nursery he was the only one awake. You bounced him over your shoulder as you rubbed his back... gave him the oral paste... fed him... everything. He would frown and fuss if you tried singing to him and you were getting tired. You watched Amir suddenly stop as his eyes focused on something in the dark. You swallowed as you looked over your shoulder at Anrir slowly slinking out of the dark.

Fussy hands reached out for the paternal figure as this was a problem with many of the children... they were very comfortable around their paternal figure causing many of the caretakers here to fear giving Anrir their charge worried if it will look badly upon them but out of the roughly ten or so children here being taken care of... you knew that sometimes they just wanted their... father if you could call him that.

"Now why are you up Amir?" He cooed flipping some of his hair over his shoulder to keep Amir from grabbing it and pulling... some of your strands of hair in between his tiny fingers. The black sclera of Amir blended in with the dark but contrasted by the light grey of his eyes... in time his eye color would develop and most likely turn an almost black like his father.

"He doesn't want to sleep." You said tiredly.

A deep timber fills the air as the low tones of a song rumble out of a chest meant for bellowing orders... snarling like an animal... being barely human while still counting as human... as the poetic tongue of the droning lullaby doesn't match the body it comes out of. You watch Amir let out a big yawn, his tiny body stiffening for a moment just like before he sneezes.

Anrir hums for a bit before continuing his song... it sounds far too pretty for his mouth... sounds like it should come out of a kinder man... a far more romantic creature then what sings it. Your eyes slowly droop as the song sounds so comforting and inviting... but knowing Anrir it's probably about something horrible... but it's so... relaxing.

He feels Amir's heart relax as he sings him the Nostroman lullaby. He looks over to you seeing how his lullaby also worked on you... How Amir buried his face into his chest as he walked over to you and easily picked you up in his other arm feeling your face nuzzle into his neck as he continued to sing. He could wake you up... but he enjoyed the feeling of your breath against his skin as he assigned another caretaker to watch Amir for the rest of the night as he took you out of the nursery for the night.

The ending of the lullaby breathing in your ear softly... gently... as you weren't on this cold ship... you were back home in a field as insects chirped at night... знішчыць.... знішчыць.... знішчыць.... знішчыць.... знішчыць... he whispered to her as the door to his room closed behind them.

[macescumdrenchedhusband]

Oh Baby...

A fic abt Keegan and my oc who's his kid. I know ppl dont like these "boring" fics but idc. Takes place in 2025 btw.

Baby- they/them

Keegan- he/him

Tw mention of overdosing, drugs, mental breakdowns, self harm, mention of suicide

Falling into drugs was a quick process for many people, Baby was no exception. A bad relationship with their father didn't help that addiction either, just edged them further into the near death experience. They wouldn't care about overdosing anyway, not like Keegan would miss them. Keegan was too busy to care, all work, work, work, and... more work. Baby wasn't wanted, it was blatantly obvious. The way Keegan would avoid them, not wanting to take responsibility for his own mistake. Drugs was an easy escape that Baby could turn to, not like Keegan noticed. Shooting up heroine, peeling at their skin, passing out. A cycle difficult to break.

Keegan wasn't oblivious. He's just quiet. He could see his kid get skinnier, skin get torn, hair get thinner, he knew, just didn't know how to stop it. He ran off to the marines so he didn't have to deal with a dysfunctional family that ruined him. You don't run off like that unless you have demons back in that house, hidden in every corner. The neglect he put Baby through wasn't on accident. He just didn't want to put them through those demons, but as a result, he just made new ones.

Baby was back on the bathroom floor, body numb and brain racing. They ran dry with no drugs in their system, and it felt like they were dying. So they sat with their back against the tub, those soulless eyes staring at the sink cabinet. In their brain, the noise was nonstop, voices colliding together, screams echoing. But one the outside, silence. Pure silence that could drive a person insane. They didn't even react when the door opened to show Keegan. Their eyes never bothered to look at him. It felt as if insects were burrowing into their skin, crawing underneath and feeding off of the blood within their veins. Their medium length hair being ran through.

"I know you're not dead, kid, I've seen ODed bodies before, and you're not it," he sat on the edge of the tub, his calloused hands brushing through their hair, stands getting pulled off with ease. He grimaced at that, Baby used to have such pretty black hair, then they bleached it and took up drugs.

That wasn't his kid anymore.

But were they ever? He only had custody due to his one-night-stand dying. He never wanted to have a kid. The moment he learned she was pregnant, he dipped. He did have to admit that sometimes he did love being with Baby, it just wasn't all the time.

"You remember the Bug Juice runs? I do. You always got the red one, and I got Pall Malls. Good times," Keegan paused on the hair stroking, remembering when they would get in the car excitedly and listen to his shitty dad music. Of course Baby remembered, they stayed up at night thinking about it. Letting tears fall down their face as they tried to figure out what they did wrong to make Keegan hate them so much. "You were just a princess back then," he cracks a small smile, trying to get a reaction out of his baby. Nothing.

They swallowed, the whites of their eyes turning red from tears building up, drowning their vision. They just wanted to tear their body apart and forget they were alive, to let the bugs be free.

"Oh, Baby..." he pulled them close. This was the most affection he's shown to them in twelve years. Baby didn't register it as love, but as false care. They thought it meant Keegan was saving his ass, just giving fake affection so if the other Ghosts asked if he tried stopping them from suicide he could say he did all he could do. For once, they were wrong. Keegan genuinely cared. He saw someone within them, someone he left in that house, but they somehow got out and crawled into his kid.

"My baby..." his voice cracks a bit. He could feel every bone in their body as he held them close, they weren't dead, but you could swear they were. They both knew that this was a one time thing, yet they also knew this was a needed one time thing. It seemed daddy issues was genetic in the Russ family.

"I can't keep doing this daddy," they cry. Their slender fingers grasping his shirt, an ugly crier, but an honest one. They sobbed into his chest, years of sadness being released with the person that caused it was an experience they never thought they'd go through. Their brain slowly turned to buzzing, a fuzzy feeling as the choked on air and let everything go. The feeling of those fingers go through their hair again, Keegan was shaking.

A man can't cry, especially not in front of his kid. His teeth sat together, trying stop himself from joining the mess of salty tears.

God he wasn't as strong as he thought.

It took a few minutes before they both could calm down. Baby was asleep, they always fell asleep after bawling. Keegan was still awake though. His hands squeezing their shoulders and thinking. He fucked up big time. He tried staying away from Baby in order to stop problems from developing, but that didn’t do shit. Just made things worse. He caused this. He was a horrible father, hell, he wasn't even a father. Just man with custody. He always ignored Elias's advice, that caring advice that told him to spend more time with Baby. To love on Baby. To be a dad.

Keegan ruined everything, he always does.

He caried Baby to his bed, letting the kid finally sleep with him. Keegan could always recall when they'd try to get on his bed when they were in the single digits. They'd always say it was because of nightmares, but they both knew it was because they wanted to spend more time with Keegan. Keegan knew Baby always tried spending more time with him, always giving him those kid gifts of bad art and friendship bracelets. They never knew he kept all of it.

"Oh, Baby..."

Lemme know if its bad, I can take criticism. I just wanted to write a quick, short fanfic.

Both Keegan and Baby have daddy issues, this shit is a CYCLE

[nargacuga-tamer8000]

Can I get a fluff story with Cheval maybe the reader is pregnant and they're cuddling?

Yes of course! I find this content to be very wholesome!

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

In a Bed of Flowers

You and Cheval are expecting your first child. The two of you decide to take a moment of contentment in the flower field that was planted for his mother.

The sun was setting over Hakum Village, casting a warm, golden light over the landscape. The garden where Cheval's old house once stood was in full bloom, with vibrant flowers swaying gently in the evening breeze. The air was filled with the sweet scent of blossoms and the soft hum of insects, creating a peaceful atmosphere that seemed to embrace the two of you.

You sat on a soft blanket spread across the grass, your hand resting on your growing belly. The gentle movements of the life within you brought a smile to your face. Cheval, your husband, joined you, wrapping his arms around you from behind and pulling you close. His touch was tender, and you could feel the warmth of his body against yours. He rested his chin on your shoulder, his breath soft against your neck.

"I can't believe we're going to have a family," Cheval whispered, his voice filled with awe and gratitude. "After everything that's happened, I never thought I'd get this chance."

You turned your head slightly to look at him, your eyes meeting his. "I'm so happy we're doing this together, Cheval. Our baby is going to have the best father."

Cheval's eyes softened, but you could see a hint of worry in them. "I hope I can be a good dad. Sometimes, I worry that I won't be able to protect our family like I should."

You reached up and gently cupped his face, your thumb brushing against his cheek. "You already are a good dad, Cheval. You're strong, kind, and you care so much. Our baby is lucky to have you."

He leaned into your touch, closing his eyes for a moment. "Thank you. Your support means everything to me. I promise I'll do my best for both of you."

You shifted slightly, turning to face him more fully. "We'll do this together, just like we've faced everything else. And we'll make new memories here, in this garden, where it all began."

There was silence for a minute as he pondered your words, and the winds blew through the flowers, sending a wonderous fragrant scent your way. His gaze was casted towards the garden and that's when a small frown came upon his face and his eyes were downcast.

"Do you think my mother would be proud?" He asked, voice barely above a whisper.

"Of course," you answered without hesitation, moving so you could place a tender hand on his chest.

Cheval sighed. "I just wish she was here to experience this."

"She is, even if you can't see her. You know she's watching over us," you replied and moved to kiss his cheek, hand moving from his chest to cup his jaw.

Cheval smiled, his worries easing as he looked at you. He placed a gentle kiss on your forehead, then on your lips, before pulling you into a tight embrace. The two of you sat there, wrapped in each other's arms, feeling the promise of a bright future ahead.

As the evening turned to night, the stars began to twinkle in the sky, casting a soft, silvery light over the garden. You and Cheval lean back on the blanket, looking up at the stars. Moving to lean against him for support, you placed a hand lovingly on your baby bump. The night was quiet, save for the occasional rustle of leaves and the distant call of a nocturnal creature.

"Do you remember when we used to stargaze as kids?" Cheval asked, his voice filled with nostalgia.

You nodded, a smile playing on your lips. "I do. We used to make up stories about the stars and dream about the adventures we'd have."

Cheval chuckled softly. "And now, here we are, living those adventures. It's amazing how much has changed, and yet, some things remain the same."

You turned to look at him, your heart swelling with love. "I'm glad some things haven't changed. I'm glad we still have each other."

Cheval's expression softened, and he reached out to take your hand in his. "Me too. I don't know what I'd do without you. Would've have lost my way, I guess."

You squeezed his hand gently, feeling a sense of contentment wash over you. "We'll always have each other, Cheval. No matter what."

The two of you lay there in comfortable silence, the bond between you growing stronger with each passing moment. The garden, once a place of memories and dreams, a reminder of his mother's passing, had become a symbol of your love and the future you were building together.

As the night grew cooler, Cheval pulled you closer, keeping you warm by wrapping an arm around your shoulders. He held you close, his arm wrapped protectively around you while his hand rubbed your shoulder, sending warmth through you. The other hand he placed lovingly on your belly, overlapping your hand with his. "I promise I'll always be here for you and our baby," he whispered, his voice filled with determination.

You nestled into his embrace, feeling safe and loved. "And I'll always be here for you, Cheval. We'll face everything together, just like we always have."

Cheval's grip tightened slightly, as if he was afraid to let go. "I know I have my worries but having you by my side makes everything seem possible. I want to be the best father I can be, and I want our child to grow up knowing they're loved and protected."

You looked up at him, your eyes filled with reassurance. "You will be, Cheval. I have no doubt about that. Our child will have the best parents, and they'll grow up surrounded by love."

It was at this moment that the baby decided to kick. Cheval was still so stunned by this feeling; it was as if a feather was delicately brushing the palm of his hand. He imagines it feels very different and maybe not as magical for you. His eyes got this child-like wonder in them as he felt around your swollen tummy, you moved your hand so he could feel the baby moving better.

"See? Even the baby agrees with me. You're going to be the best dad and make sure they are loved and protected. There is nothing to worry about," you stated with a smile while moving to stroke his cheek.

Cheval's eyes glistened with emotion, and he leaned down to kiss you gently. "Thank you for believing in me. It means more than you know."

You smiled against his lips, feeling a deep sense of connection. "Always, Cheval. We're in this together."

Then he moved to face your belly and got a lighthearted look in his eyes. Placing both hands on it, he caressed the unborn life within. "And thank you, my baby, for supporting me to."

Cheval then placed a gentle kiss on your swollen tummy, and your heart swelled with love for this man.

The night continued to unfold around you, the stars shining brightly above. The garden, with its memories and promises, stood as a testament to your journey and the love that had brought you to this moment. As you lay there in Cheval's arms, you knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you would face them together, with love and determination guiding your way.

[pinkslenderfolk]

Pink Slendermod,

I can help with that. Here are the main entities and a brief description (Thank you fandom wiki)

SPOILERS FOR THE MAGNUS ARCHIVES.

Avatars embody the fears they represent. They can also be "touched" by other fears - exactly what it sounds like. A pot of broth with a dash of pepper - the avatar's fear is the broth, the "touch" of the fear is the pepper.

The Buried

The fear of small spaces, suffocating, drowning, being buried alive. Fear of everything crashing down around/on oneself. Fear of being trapped without enough space.

The Corruption

The fear of corruption, disease, filth. Fear of the feelings of disgust, revulsion and the things or beings that might evoke such feelings.

^ while this is the fandom wiki's description, it's worth noting that the idea of your body and mind being horrifically altered beyond comprehension is the main way I see it. As we see with Jane Prentiss, the corruption may use disease, insects, and filth to embody itself, but the true effects are of changing oneself. At least, this is my interpretation, aided by Gerard Keay's description of the fears.

The Dark

The primal fear of the dark, of the unseen, and the creatures hiding from our view.

The Desolation

The fear of pain, loss, burning, and destruction, especially with a senseless cause.

^ It's worth noting that the desolation is centered around loss. It is not just meaningless death- that is the slaughter. The desolation is taking away where there was hope, where there are things to be lost.

The End

The fear of death itself—⁠uncaring and unstoppable, the fear that everything ends eventually.

The Eye

The fear of being watched, exposed, followed, having secrets exposed. Can also pertain to the drive to know and understand, even if your discoveries might destroy you.

The Flesh

Born from the fear held by animals bred for meat, and in the human realisation that we are just animated meat and bones.

^ This explanation isn't very... Easy to understand from the outside, I think. The flesh is basically all about body horror, sometimes to the point where you can hardly call it a body at all, and flesh and gore

The Hunt

The animalistic fear of being chased or hunted; the primal fear of being prey.

The Lonely

The fear of isolation, of being completely cut off and alone or disconnected from the rest of society.

The Slaughter

The fear of pure, unpredictable, unmotivated violence. The fear of pain coming at sudden, random moments.

^ On second thought, the slaughter may be more fitting for Wildcard than desolation. They're quite closely related all the same.

The Spiral

The fear of madness, that the world you know is wrong, that your mind is lying to you. Fear of deception, lying, deceiving of the mind and senses.

The Stranger

The fear of the unknown, the uncanny, the unfamiliar. The creeping sense that something is not right.

The Vast

The fear of heights, falling, and large open spaces including sky, space, and deep water. More broadly: the human fear of insignificance and meaninglessness, of losing oneself in too much space.

The Web

The fear of being controlled or trapped, especially being unaware of one's own entrapment. The fear of being forced to do things against one's own will, of being manipulated. Also the fear of spiders.

Ooc Mod here!

Appreciated!

I tried looking it up myself but only was able to find an explanation of the term avatar and who is UNDER each avatar category but not what they each meant, so again it is appreciated, thank you ^_^

I can also see why Pink and Wc are hard to place, The Slaughter does better fit Wc over the desolation in my opinion, Chaos, violence, intentional unpredictability, while there is a reason to fuel the actions; the actions themselves are nonsensical violence for the sake of violence, or intended to be seen as such at the least ^_^

The Desolation would actually better fit Atropa, but that is irrelevant at the moment, merely an observation as for Pink....while less on the nose then Icelandic (and Discourse as another example) mayhaps The Dark? Pink may not frequently show eir hunting abilities but ey are an ambush predator, watching and waiting and unnerving those unseen hidden in plain sight or amidst the dark ^_^

But again less obvious and less on the nose for a clear choice compared to the others (The Spiral COULD work too bit I think that's even more far fetched, more akin to the 'pinch of pepper' analogy you used)

[bolton-buried]

I still kinda wish we had something different to do episode three on than, well. You know. Not least of all because someone else had to take the footage.

But here it is.

[[Video ID:

Harold stands in front of the camera. His black coat drips water like someone has just dumped a bucket of water on him, and his bangs completely cover his eyes, only allowing the camera to see the bottom half of his dark features.

“This is not my side of the camera, but I was asked to open today’s video, due to my personal connection to the subject matter. When I was 11, my father developed a Hyde-esque alter ego, which drove him into a murderous fury whenever he encountered something paranormal. I was one of those things. Enough said.”

Cut to black. White text reads “Footage of this portion is unavailable, due to Charlotte’s failure to remove the camera lens cover.”

Charlotte’s voice can be heard.

“Mr. Bolton, can you please, in your own words, tell us about when this began?”

A gruff, masculine voice responds.

“A dozen years ago. I was hunting with an old pal of mine. Sorry, you said Harold is here? He can’t come in—he knows what I’ll—”

“Yes, we’re quite aware of that. Now please, your story?”

“Errr, yes, right. This force—I couldn’t see it—knocked me over. For a moment I imagined it was a wolf, which clawed at my chest, but my chest was fine afterwards, so that was just my imagination.”

“And after that?”

“That’s when I realized that my hunting friend was made of cockroaches.”

Cut to:

Talking head of Angie, a woman with blonde curls under a bandanna, dressed like a psychic medium. She is holding a piece of paper.

“According to news reports of the time, Nicholas Bolton went on to kill two people: his hunting companion, and a steward on the train he took back. Both bodies were found to be highly abnormal in autopsies. Though we were unable to access the autopsies ourselves, various sources reference the companion’s skin being found hollowed with a few insects nearby, and the steward’s was found to be just skin, all the way down.

“After reaching his home village north of Newcastle, Bolton went on to attempt to shoot his own son, chasing him with a rifle until the child fell in a river.”

Angie looks up, and her expression becomes agitated.

“Stop making that face—I’m reading the script, you don’t have to look all—”

Cut to black.

Back in the prison, but we actually have footage this time. The man on the other side of the glass is pale, but his hair is the same shade as Harold’s—and greasy enough to match the color of Harold’s hair being wet.

“I don’t know what to tell you. Just sometimes, when I meet someone, they have a smell about them, and then I start to see red, and then the next thing I know I’m standing over a corpse.”

“Interesting, so would you say you—”

Charlotte is cut off by a slight commotion, through which Desmond can be heard apologizing. The camera turns to show that he has tripped slightly on entering, and is regaining his balance.

“Dez! You’re not supposed to come in, with your—”

“I know, I know.” Dez waves her concern off. “I still wanted to meet my future in-law. Is that such a crime? Plus, he doesn’t seem to be reacting.”

The camera pans back to Mr. Bolton. He is still seated, calmly as before.

“In-law? You mean…”

Cut to black. White text reads “Irrelevant footage removed.”

Footage resumes with a talking head of Charlotte.

“We were unable to get much information from Mr. Bolton that isn’t already public knowledge. I wish I could share a closing word to recommend you all a way to avoid similar instances, but I don’t have any.”

The video seems to be ending somewhat abruptly, but then it cuts into a familiar, LED-lit room, with Dez front and center.

“Okay, so, nothing on the stalker front. I think it left when I went to speak with Nic—meaning it’s not mindless. Makes my life harder.

“I’ve been turning the angel over in my head. I mentioned the letters to Nic, and they were his originally. I don’t think he’s the angel—he’s too much a hunter.

“The angel is an avatar of the web. Hence the manipulation, and the spiders that seem to end up all over certain areas. That rules out Nic, Angie, and Charlotte, at least. I believe they did know Harry in-person at one point, which gives me three primary suspect groups.

“Institute employees, villagers up north, and people who attended Uni with Harold.

“I’m onto you, itsy-bitsy. Watch your back. Or did you forget what happens to you when it rains?”

[borathae]

PLEASE I LOVE THEM BOTH SOO MUCH I CANT

their bickering please oof

sometimes they are my babies sometimes they are my parents

I’m a plank once I sleep WHOEVER WHO SAYS THAT, ARE DEFINITELY NOT PLANKS *source me bro. also my cousin said 'i sleep like a dead body' in a sleepover and her sister said nah you sleep like the body getting possessed and its been forever her nickname. 😭

Lies. We’re equal me and dad sharing chocolates or sweets be like

They contain silly and funny one liners which are exactly Jungkook’s humour. genz humor in a nutshell

there was one time where the fan stopped working due to power cut during a sleepover (5 in one bed💀) and guess what we did, we moved the smallest on to the table 😭😭 and 1 slept on the floor

wow to be in an amajin relationship where u dont continue bickering cuz its turning to argument, i wish i would be in one like that

“I’m keeping my ass out tough” SAY WHAT BOI??? WHAT IF A INSECT DECIDES TO CRAWL INTO IT ?? IM NOT TAKING ANY CHANCES

You never know, sleep paralysis demons EXACTLY TELL HIM SIS

“I’m sure the demon is hot, so they can poke my hole if they want to.” I- understandable have a nice day

“Not even if you could watch? Imagine waking up to me getting railed by a sexy, hot demon.” oh no IDK WHAT TO DO NOW AAAH

“Aww sweetie, don’t be. It’s just my sleep paralysis demon.” yeah very normal shit what do u mean it doesnt happen everyday

“I’m a little horny.” THERE IT IS WE ALL WERE WAITING FOR IT

“Mhm? Are you gonna manage to be quiet? MOMMY STOP AAH

but getting him to beg some more is way too much fun not to do it. He is so delicious when he is desperate.  AAAH HER MIND 🤩🤩🤩

you can’t deny him when he is hitting you with The Good Boy. THE POWER OF GOOD BOY™

His tits are pressing into your arm like this. dont know if its the flu dizzy or reading this dizzy BUT IM DIZZY AAAH

“And out”, he whispers, “get it? I WOULD HAVE FULL ON STARTED CACKLING * i mean night, the time where breathing is funny

You want to tease him for being loud? You dare to call him a whiny baby? AAAAH

he chooses his childhood bed. poor bed, its definitely the top g

“My good girl”, he whispers who is a dom? what is a dom? idk, USE ME DADDY

do the unthinkable crime of sliding your fingers between his buttocks just to rub his hole. UR GOING TO MAKE THE BABY LOSE IT HES GONNA BE TOO LOUD LOL

“See? Told you, someone gonna poke your hole tonight “ STOP

“Ah, ouchies my head.” I- at least its better than getting leg cramp while rubbing one out

and hits the headboard softly stop he is such a cutie pie STOP THEY WERE JUST SOO HOT AND DRIVING ME CRAZY NOW THEY ARE SO CUTE AAH

Okay fine, teamwork come on.” THE REAL SHIT GUYS

mystery of the universe, but you managed. FUCK I WANTED MY PLAYSIT TO PLAY MY UNIVERSE that i even cheated by going bathroom, so that next song plays & i can say omg my universe played when i read this BUT THAT THAT STARTED PLAYING I-

“There we go. Right where you’re supposed to be.” FFGFHGRRRRRAAWR M FERAL

his childhood bed croaking from the movement.  please tell its not their last night on it

No other words, no matter how nasty and dirty, could get his cock as hard and leaky as your confession of love could get him in those moments. dont know if i should cry from eyes or between the legs

He has such a pretty birthmark on it. You love to kiss it. HIS NECK MOLE KILLS ME LIKE I WANNA KISS IT SHUT UP

closes his mouth around your digits, sucking on them with pouty lips and big doe eyes. I NEED TO MEDITATE THIS IS KILLING AND RESURRECTING ME BACK TO LIFE

Tears run down his cheeks, he is arching his back even more. Yeah, you’ve really got him good.  THE DESCRIPTION IS SOO GOOD I NEED A PRINTER FOR MY BRAIN

“I kinda feel like your parents must have heard something.” “Please don’t say that, I’ll cringe to death.” THEY WERE PLAYING UM WRESTLING YEAH DOING YOGA NORMAL SHIT U KNOW?? DECIDED TO JAM TO SONGS ON BED

“Please ignore the noises, air sometimes has its own mind”, THANK U I WAS SHOOK ONE TIME WHEN I HEARD IT OUT OF MY OWN HUHA LIKE BRO U OK?? (ik why it happens but that was loud?? give a warning bruh)

we fucked in a motel only to realise we didn’t have tissues?” i will definitely have this haunting me everytime i listen to hotel motel pitbull

THE SMUT WAS GOBSMACKING AS USUAL and fucking delicious *insert that licking fingers tiktok audio

they were so in love they were my parents, my babies, i cried i lost all my uwus i also wanted to gobble them

good fucking night *shudders and sigh whistles

DAMN THIS IS LONG LONG

this is the best BEST REVIEW EVER!!! OMGMG I LOVE IT SO MUCH OGMGMMG HEHEHHE THANK YOUUU 💜💜

SAY WHAT BOI??? WHAT IF A INSECT DECIDES TO CRAWL INTO IT ?? IM NOT TAKING ANY CHANCES

felT AHHAHAHAH

“I’m sure the demon is hot, so they can poke my hole if they want to.” I- understandable have a nice day

FELT AGAIN FANDSFN lmaooaoa all your reactions to the smut parts are so funny I am living for them <3

He has such a pretty birthmark on it. You love to kiss it. HIS NECK MOLE KILLS ME LIKE I WANNA KISS IT SHUT UP

SAEM BITCH OMFG SAME FNADSNFN

“Please ignore the noises, air sometimes has its own mind”, THANK U I WAS SHOOK ONE TIME WHEN I HEARD IT OUT OF MY OWN HUHA LIKE BRO U OK?? (ik why it happens but that was loud?? give a warning bruh)

GIRL YES OMFG and then you can't stop it like 😭 when I was with my ex it happened like one time and then I laughed and it got worse cuase the movement squeezed it out more like whY WOULD YOU DO THAT COOCHIE??? 😭😭 (he didn't even laugh he just stared weirdly like- fucking weirdo, that dude was so stiff)

ALSO OHEHEHEH THANK YOU!!! I'M SO HAPPY THAT YOU LOVED IT SO MUCH!! I LOVE EVERY SINGLE OLINE OF THIS REVIEW 10/10 ehheheeh 💜💜

[crystallizedkingdoms]

cicada calls & goldfinch songs

Rory and Carrie have an emotional moment… on the floor.

wc: 4,817 || tw: ableism

you can also read this on ao3 <3

Droning hums of cicada calls are the only sounds that hit Rory’s ears that don’t come from the dingy box fan right beside his face. The suffocating September heat, too early for fall to kick in but too late to justify turning on more than one fan, drags Rory down into the dirt-stained carpeted floor of the living room. He lays there, stewing in the heat and sweat, eyes closed and mouth parted ever so slightly. 

Usually, Rory falls asleep after a certain amount of time on the floor, but this time, sleep just can’t come to him. Maybe it’s the awful sticky feeling that the humid weather plasters on his skin, or maybe it’s the mind-numbing cacophony of insects seeking each other out that permeates the walls. Maybe it’s the pain in Rory’s back from moving the new wave of shitty movies onto shelves all day. Whatever it is, it keeps Rory up, stuck in an exhausting state of limbo, limp on the floor. It keeps Rory’s mind awake enough to think.

I should change out of this stupid uniform, really, I need to shower, too, but god am I hungry, I think I need to make dinner tonight. Dinner for one? no, no, dinner for two at least, maybe three if mom drops by before she goes out, she might be gone a while she might be hungry maybe make enough for leftovers just in case, sure, maybe that bitch should just cook for herself though no god sorry. Ignore it ignore it fuck those cicadas are loud as shit. Visit dad at ward tomorrow and sneak leftovers. Dinner for two, Carrie will be hungry, should ask her what she wants for dinner wait where is Carrie? Sun is setting she should’ve been here already, first day of school ended hours ago should I get up and look? She does this sometimes she should be fine but what if she’s not what if something is wrong maybe I should get up but I don’t want to god my back hurts what if she’s hurt what if I—

What pulls Rory out of his messy head is the sound of a scraping key against a keyhole and the subsequent slam of a door opening. Rory’s body freezes, and his brain scrambles, begging him to get off of the floor in time before the person sees him, but the unbearable heat keeps him down. All he can do is crane his neck to look at who is entering the house and hope it’s not a client.

His thoughts and prayers are answered when Carrie stumbles past the door, staring him down. Rory can’t see her face very well, as the fleeting rays of the setting sun illuminate her from behind, casting leaving her face and in shadow. The open door temporarily lets in the songs of American goldfinches and common crows into the Mancer home, into Rory’s spirit. 

Temporarily being the keyword. Birdsong drowns under cicada calls as Carrie slams the door behind her and chucks her backpack down on the ground. She kicks her bag further to the side and lets out a strained huff. “Hi,” she signs, her right hand unusually stiff and curt as it moves up from her forehead.

“Hey,” Rory replies, his hand much less tense as he returns the movement. His face screws up, canine idly biting his lip. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Carrie’s hands are quick to respond, almost sloppy as she angrily throws her hands down to her side when she finishes. She stomps closer to Rory, her eyes never leaving him and his state on the floor.

Rory doesn’t press. It’s a delicate situation, deciding which questions to ask, what exactly to say, but he tests the waters with another question, “Tell me why you took so long, at least. Please.”

Carrie huffs and crosses her arms. Her way of saying she won’t talk, no matter what! She swears that she means it every time she does it. But when Rory gives her those big brother puppy eyes, worried and searching for an answer, she gives in without a second thought and uncrosses her arms. “I was just in the graveyard. Far end, near the overpass. That’s all. I promise.”

Rory sighs and visibly relaxes. “Good. Now, come here,” he says, patting the floor beside him.

Carrie looks to the side. Her frown is more noticeable in this angle. “The floor? I don’t need to do that anymore. I’m not a baby.”

Rory pats the floor harder, forcing a smile. “Come on,” he insists, “floor time. You need it. I need it.”

The frown on Carrie’s face doesn’t leave, but the body loosens up from its previous stiffness. She relents, and slowly she descends to his level to lie by Rory’s side. Her hair, short and blunt from a recent chop she had done herself only a few weeks earlier (she was found teary eyed and regretful in the bathtub the morning after), doesn’t fan out across the floor like Rory’s does, but it catches the light from a slit in the curtains that Rory’s couldn’t catch from his spot. 

Rory gives her some time to settle in. He closes his eyes and listens to her sigh and grumble, her frustration as unbearably hot as the surrounding air. She stews in her anger, eyes boring holes into the ceiling above. 

Rory wants so desperately to ask her why she’s acting this way. What could’ve happened in school to cause this? Although he knows the answer, not even buried that far back in his mind, he desperately wishes it will be anything else. He hopes with all his soul that it will ever be anything else than what he already knows. So, he knows better than to ask. At least for now.

For as much as Rory deliberates on asking Carrie the question, it is actually Carrie who turns to fully face him. She taps him on the shoulder, and he faces her the same way. “How’s your new job?” she inquires.

“Ugh, you don’t wanna know. It is actually insane how nothing can happen in that place. All I do is restock stuff that never sells and sit around on the company computer. I guess it leaves me with a lot of time to think, though,” Rory explains, exasperation oozing in every movement. The heat and sweat only exemplify his messy style.

Carrie can only let out a disappointed groan. “Are the movies at least watchable?”

“I promise, not one of them is even worth watching passively. I tried watching one during work in the back, and for a moment I thought that it would be more entertaining to sit and face the wall than just looking at that movie.”

Carrie pouts. “So, you can’t bring some home?” 

Damn. Rory’s eyes shift away to avoid looking at Carrie. “You wouldn’t like the movies, really…” he says. His eyes catch Carrie’s by accident, and that mixed look of residual frustration and genuine disappointment gets the better of him. “But, well, yes, I can bring them home. We can make fun of them together.”

Some part of Rory expects the news to light Carrie up. If not completely, then at least crack a smile. It does neither. She shrugs and lets her hands fall to the floor. Her nails absentmindedly pick at the carpet fibre, her eyes cast downwards, almost purposefully avoiding Rory. It stings, Rory won’t lie.

Would it be better to let her be? The delicate balance of being too pushy or too neglectful feels impossible to navigate, scorching Rory’s thoughts like a rough summer. For a moment, Rory leans into the thought of leaving Carrie alone. She could always come to him when she felt ready to. She knew that, right? She’s big enough to know that now. That's a whole other horror of itself that Rory isn’t ready to confront.

Rory thinks about how his parents left him be. Left him be, let him be. Let him shrivel under the overbearing sun.

No, he realizes. I can’t do that to her.

An inkling of an idea he had come up with days ago comes to mind. It is silly, but really, what can you expect from an older brother of any age? Rory taps Carrie on the shoulder. She looks at him from the corner of her eye, but he motions for her to fully face him. Carrie does as she’s asked, shifting her head. “What?” she asks, her face providing a tone to her sign that only cranky preteens can unleash.

Rory smiles at the stupid idea brewing in his head. “Do you know how fairies say ‘microwave’?” Rory asks. 

Carrie shrugs as best as she can while laying on her side. “How?” 

Rory raises his hand between them, then closes all his fingers, except his pinkie. He shifts his pinkie side to side in a quick waving motion. “ Microwave,” he says out loud for emphasis to no one but himself.

Carrie stares at Rory blankly. Then her lips tremble. Her back rises and falls too sharply for any normal breath.

Got you.

Before Carrie can call him dumb or insufferable, Rory interjects as quickly as he can, “Have you heard the actual story of King Kong?”

The question stuns Carrie out of her need to tease. “No?” 

“Well, it starts the same as the normal King Kong. King Kong is rampaging in New York City, stomping around and causing crowds to run in fear, when he spots the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen. He scoops her into one of his hands, and he climbs to the top of the Empire State Building, swatting away the helicopters and military that try to defeat him. Eventually, he finally gets to speak to the woman. He props her up on his left hand to speak to her better.” Rory props up his own left hand as he tells the story, and Carrie watches him with curious eyes.

“When King Kong tries to speak to the woman, she shakes her head and points to her ears. ‘I’m Deaf!’ she says. King Kong signs, ‘That’s okay. I know sign language. My parents are Deaf,’” Rory pauses for dramatic effect, and to give his hands a quick break from the sweeping, exaggerated gesture he has been doing. He hears a bitten-back giggle from Carrie, sees how her lips accidentally crack a smile, and he fights back his own grin to continue the joke. 

“And he continues in ASL. He says, ‘You are so beautiful! I love you. I want to marry—’” Rory slams his right hand onto his left one, the sign for ‘marry’. His eyes grow wide in shock, faux horror settling in on his face. “‘Shit!’” 

Raucous laughter fills Rory’s ears, drowning out the sounds of summer insects and failing fans. Rory hadn’t expected her to laugh so hard, he only expected to put a little smile on her face. He doesn’t complain, not at all; he relishes every single sound, watching as her whole body shakes in her big, charming laugh. 

Carrie is still a smiling and giggling mess when she can steady her hands enough to talk. “Where did you learn that?” she asks through jittery hands.

“You know how I said my new job has a computer? Well, it has access to the Internet. I’ve found some pretty cool forums on there. One of them was made by Deaf people and people with deaf family members. They shared some jokes with me that I could tell you,” Rory explains. 

A twinkle lights up in Carrie’s eye when he mentions the Internet. She’s practically sparkling when he talks about the forum. Rory tries to ride that high, elaborating, “Since barely anyone comes in right now, I use that computer and the Internet as much as I can. It’s really amazing. If you need anything, anything, tell me. I’ll try to find whatever you need there. At least until I save up enough to get my own computer, like I told you I would.”

Carrie is still beaming, warmth radiating from her like a gentle star. Rory can tolerate the warmth, even in his sweaty Planet VHS uniform and dirty carpet floors, just so long as it is Carrie’s warmth.

That is why it’s all the more shocking when that warmth is sapped from him not only a minute later. Her sparkle catches on something, flickering away in the humid wind, and her bright smile falters. “Can you find other schools on the computer?” she asks tentatively.

There it is. The small opening, a crack in her walls. Rory’s own smile falters as he tries to keep that crack open for as long as he can. “A new middle school? What’s wrong with the one you’re in now?”

“I don’t know…” Carrie’s hand stands still.

“You can tell me. I won’t tell our parents if you don’t want me to. Please, just tell me,” Rory begs. He’s so desperate in his begging that he starts mouthing his words in English.

Carrie stares at Rory with apprehension. Her body is tense once again, deliberating over her words. Finally, she gives in. “I can’t be in this school. It’s not for me,” she sighs.

Rory looks to the side. Right. Of course. “I’m sorry. I know it’s hard. But I thought your EA was decent?”

“She’s not. She isn’t even as good as you, or even Mom! But,” Carrie balls up her fists in momentary frustration, but she quickly gets back on track, “but she’s not the issue. She’s not the issue. The issue is… um, it’s these girls. It’s these girls in the classroom next to mine.”

Rory scowls. Those fucking bastards. “Same ones from your old school?” he asks, barely containing his anger.

Carrie shrinks into herself. “One. Two others are new. They, um, make fun of me, like usual. But lately they’ve been making sure I see them. They—” she chokes on a cry building up in her throat, the most heartbreaking sound of Rory’s entire existence that she can’t hear— “they get mean right in front of me. They raised their voices at me during lunch, thinking I can’t tell the difference. They came up behind me during P.E and they scared me. They wrote the worst things in a note in my bag and— and I hate it! I hate them!”

Rory bites down on his lip, teeth digging into soft skin until Rory is sure if he goes any further, blood will rush out. It’s the only thing keeping the simmering rage from escaping him, from making him yell and demand Carrie tell him each girl’s name and where they lived. Carrie hates it when he gets like that. The terrible line he has to toe, between his feelings and keeping Carrie comfortable, feels impossible when listening to his little sister in pain.

He’s unnervingly quiet as Carrie vents. “I don’t want to go there anymore. I want to go to school with other people like me. I want to go to school where people like me. I want to be somewhere where nobody knows who me and my family are! I don’t want to be somewhere where people know—”

“Wait, family?”

Carrie clutches her hands together in an instant. Her eyes are wide with shock, like she didn’t mean to let the words slip out. 

Rory narrows his eyes. “Carrie. What are they saying about us?” he presses.

“I don’t want to talk.”

“Carrie,” Rory emphasizes her sign name with a tight movement. “Tell me, please.”

“I’m done talking! Stop it!” Carrie shuts down the conversation, clenching her eyes tightly when Rory tries to talk to her. She rolls onto her back and pins her hands to the sides of her body, shaking her head from side to side. 

Carrie has never spoken to him like this. Rory’s heart pounds a mile a minute as he stares at her, mind racing with the worst of thoughts.

Fuck what are they saying what could they be possibly saying about me? What are they saying to her never seen her react this way is it getting worse how much worse? Need to ask if she has the note I need to fucking bring this up to the school I need to find those girls I need to find their parents. Need to make some complaints need to make a scene it’s the only way to get anywhere in this fucking shithole. They must be saying something about us, something about the family, about me. No no no Rory it’s about her it’s about Carrie she’s the one being bullied, it’s her it’s her she’s hurting she’s hurting so fucking much why aren’t you doing anything do something anything for fucks sake you worthless piece of shit goddamn it ignore that!

Rory shakes his head to rid himself of his thoughts. He searches for anything to focus his mind on instead. His eyes sweep down from Carrie’s shut eyes down to the hand on her side. It’s balled up into a fist once again, denying any sense of continuing any conversation with Rory.

Rory can’t help himself. He takes his hand and snakes it towards Carrie’s. His long, thin fingers gently pry open her fingers until he could slip his hand into her small, delicate palm. Carrie does not respond. Her eyes are closed, her hand loosening enough for Rory to hold, but she does not hold his hand back. 

Though his heart aches at the rejection, Rory takes it head-on. His fingers trace along her clammy palm until he opens it up, completely flat. He arranges his fingers in a particular pattern, with his pinkie, index, and thumb rising up while his ring and middle fingers fold down. He presses this sign into Carrie’s hand harder than he intends to, frantic, longing for her to feel the emotions he felt in this one sign: “I love you.”

There is reluctance in Carrie’s fingers when they first close down on Rory’s index. But when she feels the two folded fingers, her hand closes down on Rory’s hand fully, feeling around the sign without actually looking down at it. Every pass of her fingertips around Rory’s own makes her body tense up, her chest rise, her shoulders shake, until it crescendos into the smallest, weakest sob a girl can release. 

Rory closes his eyes and keeps his hand in Carrie’s palm. He feels her fingers loosely circling his knuckles when he unfurls his hand and pulls away from her. She needs some time alone, he convinces himself; even when her quiet cries and goldfinch songs haunt his mind. His hand retracts from hers, resting by his side similar to Carrie.

Not a second goes by before Carrie clamours to grab Rory’s hand. Her grip is tight on his sweaty palms when she presses “I love you” into his skin. She shoves her hand deep into his palm with a fervour that matches Rory’s. “I love you, I love you, I love you,” Carrie emphasizes by swaying her hand in Rory’s. 

Rory opens his eyes to look at Carrie and the first thing he notices is that a tear has fallen from his eye. He feels the teardrop rolling down his cheek, and he blinks hard to hold back anymore tears. What kind of strong, older brother is he if he cries in front of his little sister all the time? Surely, he can bottle it up tightly this time. He can hold the tears back and release them later, where she doesn’t have to see him. 

Then he sees Carrie lying on her side, looking back at him, tears streaming down her reddened cheeks. And Rory cracks.

“Oh, Care Bear,” Rory whispers, signing his words as he speaks them out loud. He reaches his hand towards Carrie’s face and gently wipes away her tears with his thumb. His caress is uncharacteristically soft; a special compassion reserved only for his sister. Carrie matches his action, wiping away Rory’s own rolling tears, and Rory knows she feels the same.

When his thumb has cleared most of her tears, he pulls away to talk. “I’m gonna look into those schools, okay?” he promises. Carrie’s face lightens up, a dim glimmer of hope, but he interjects, “Look, I can’t guarantee that I will get you out of there immediately. I don’t know how it’ll fly with Mom and Dad, or how long the process would be. But I’ll figure it out. Even if it's further away, I’ll figure it out. I will get you out of there. Okay?”

Carrie does what she does best: she smiles. She smiles through her tears, so wide that it pokes dimples into her red cheeks, so bright it outshines the last tongues of sunlight peeking through the blinds. Rory stares at that smile and wishes he had what she did. “Thank you,” Carrie cries. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” She throws her arms around Rory’s shoulders, her body on top of his upper body as she sobs into his neck. Rory hugs her back with all his might and wishes that could make everything better.

They can’t talk to each other like this. Not when they’re so close, not when their arms are preoccupied with clinging to each other like they are the only things in existence. But as they cradle one another in their arms, their heartbeats so prominent in their chests, talking is not a thought in their mind. Every shift in their grip, every rise and fall of their chest, every tear dry on their cheek, communicates their message just as loud as talking. Perhaps it is even louder.

Carrie is the one to break the spell. She lifts her head from the crook of Rory’s neck and looks down at him. Her eyes are red and puffy, but when she wipes her face, no fresh tears flow from her eyes. She tears herself away from Rory’s embrace, but only so she can return to laying on her side. “More comfortable on the floor,” she explains.

“I thought you weren't a baby anymore,” Rory teases. Carrie lets a quiet grumble and a roll of the eyes respond for her.

Rory reaches and brushes Carrie’s short, blonde hair towards the back of her head, feeling the choppy strands slip past his fingers with ease. He rests his hand on the back of her head, staring into her eyes with love, then cranes his head to plant a loving kiss on her forehead. 

Immediately, Carrie gasps, her face blooming pink and red. “Rory!! I’m in middle school now, I’m really not a baby!” she insists, embarrassment exuding off of her exaggerated signs. She covers her face, as if that could stop Rory’s kiss from hitting her skin, leaving enough room through her fingers so she can peek at Rory. 

“You’re still my little sister,” Rory laughs. A genuine laugh. He kisses another section of her head that her fingers couldn't quite cover, and she squeaks in embarrassment. “Loser,” he adds. Carrie swats his hands when he says that, whining loudly that he would say such a thing. Rory is not insulted; he went through this phase before. Worth it.

A door swinging open interrupts their season of laughter, and the choir of cicada calls pouring in.

Rory sits himself up, suddenly becoming aware of the sweat on his body once again. He wipes it off of his temple as he stares at the person who interrupts his time with Carrie.

“Candy” stares at her children on the floor and signs a sloppy “hello” at them. Rory and Carrie silently return the greeting, watching as she kicks the door closed behind her and walks past them, towards the couch across from their spot on the floor. Exhaustion seeps into the carpeted floor, staining it so clearly that Rory notices his own lack of energy hits him once again. Carrie seems equally drained, her smile faltering.

The mother collapses onto the couch, her arms and legs spilling across the couch. “Rory, did you make dinner?” their mother questions through voice, and voice alone. Rory glances down at Carrie, who glances back with a knowing look. He translates his mother’s question before he answers, in English and in ASL, “No, I didn’t. Sorry.”

A sigh escapes their mother’s lips. It is long and drawn out, but it is not disingenuous or even frustrating. “I’ll cook tonight, dear. What do you want? Could you ask Carrie?” she asks. One hand drapes across her waist, the other dangles off the couch. Motionless.

Rory repeats the question to Carrie.

“Just spaghetti is okay,” she says, although she looks a little disappointed. 

Rory repeats the answer to their mom.

“Oh, thank God. I can do that,” the Mancer mother says. She closes her eyes and sinks further into the beaten-up cushions. Her long, dulled blonde hair does not catch the light how Carrie’s does. It looks more like Rory’s hair. Looking at it, Rory can’t find it in him to be mad at her. “Yes, yes. Five minutes, though. Please. Need time to rest. Then I can cook. I can do that, I can do that…” Rory translates their mom’s droning hums. Carrie’s eyes gloss over his hands. All there is left in her eyes is an empty dissatisfaction. 

The Mancer household is miraculously still. Two children laying on the floor now, the mother on the couch. Summer sweat and Soul-sucking duties drain the Mancers until all is quiet.

Rory breaks the silence by getting up. “I need to change,” he tells Carrie. He’s getting sick of the sticky, sweaty fabric clinging to him in places he’d rather they not stick to. 

Carrie gets up with him. She clings to his uniform shirt to steady herself, her thin legs wobbling as she stands up. “I’m going to my room.” She pauses, then leans against Rory. Rory wraps his arm around her shoulder and hums. He knows she likes it when he does that.

Rory and Carrie begin to make their way to their rooms, down the hall, where Rory will take a left towards the basement and Carrie will take a right towards the second floor. 

“Wait!”

Rory turns back to the mother, tapping Carrie on the shoulder so she can do the same.

Mom is still laying on the couch, but she has her upper body propped up on the armrest of the couch to better face her kids. She flashes a weak but genuine smile. She raises her right hand and folds down her ring and middle finger. “I love you,” she whispers, just loud enough for Rory to hear you, swaying the sign from side-to-side. Rory and Carrie repeat it, a silent chorus of I love you, I love you, I love you.  

Mary, not “Candy” or “baby” or any other name, drops her arm onto her chest, then wraps her other arm over it. Oh, Mother Mary, she closes her eyes and rests with her arms hugging herself. It looks just like the sign for love. 

Rory tears his gaze away from his tired mother and towards his sister. “See you at dinner,” Rory says.

Carrie raises her hands as if to talk, but she stalls. Rory raises a brow. He waits for her to admit something tragic. He waits for her to drop some bombshell on him, like her worries about school, her worries about life, or what those kids at school were saying to her about their goddamn family. As if, somehow, that could given him closure to the conversation they just had.

Carrie wraps her arms around Rory in a quick hug, pulling away right as he is about to hug her back. “Thank you, again.”

This is fine, too. Rory lets out a sigh of relief. “It’s no problem,” he assures. “Anything for you.”

Carrie waves goodbye with her small hand. She turns and walks down to the stairwell on the other side of the hallway, and she ascends to her room on the upper floor.

Rory stands in the hallway, staring down where Carrie left, hands up to talk to no one in particular. He looks towards his mom as she rests on the couch and only then does he decide to go down. He descends into the hot basement with a heavy heart, Carrie’s terrifying words still weighing on him. 

Surely Rory can make Carrie’s life better, can’t he?

What a stupid question. Of course he can. That’s what good older brothers do.

Holed up in the depths of the Mancer house, Rory lies on his bed, and finds that he can’t hear the goldfinches and cicadas of the world above. Carrie, up in her room, shall never hear them at all.

[realisticfictiongal]

Cash

Warning ⚠️ realistic fiction for adults

Pursuing things without clear boundaries, and in the company of their friends,... It feels like taking advantage of his feelings. It would be best just to enjoy the weekend with her friends.

The first morning is all about the energy again. Everyone's excited to see some bands and the group soon moves to the festival site. As usual, it doesn't take long for everyone to split up. Mia sees a lot of bands, eats good food, and spends the day with many of her friends. Around midnight, the group gathers again for a headliner no one wants to miss. The air is cooling down and the yellow'ish lighting of the festival sets a cozy mood.

In between a thousand other people, she and her friends make some great memories. People move, go get drinks and switch places to talk. Suddenly she finds herself standing behind Cash, he's blocking her sight. She looks at him for a while, he does look very handsome, his broad shoulders again. Mia taps his back, he looks behind and immediately understands. Without sharing a word they switch places, his eyes keep watching the band. He's always been like this as a kid. So much younger than all of them when he joined as the teenage brother of a girlfriend who's no longer there now. Cash just came for the music, never seemed the enthusiast, yet knowing every word. It used to be cute, now it's sexy...

In this big crowd she suddenly feels his body touching her back, probably just by a lack of space. She doesn't have to, but Mia slightly leans into it, afraid to even look back and acknowledge the touch. And for the rest of the show, it stays like that. All she can feel is her heart, beating out of her chest, electricity through her veins, and a fear that comes with the realisation that this crush is for real. Fuck. She wonders if it was on purpose, if he even noticed. And when the music stops, the group scatters.

Everyone goes to get some food, have a wash, and eventually, most gather at the tents again. The mood is loud, drunk and full of laughing people. Some friends go to bed, others arrive drunk from wandering around, sometimes bringing friendly strangers with beers. The group thins out as night progresses to morning. Eventually two more friends stand up and go to bed, leaving Mia with just Cash. Enjoying the alone time, Mia tries to keep him talking, about music, and eventually about more personal things, lost friends, difficult times, past relationships,... She feels flattered being of interest to him, since he chooses to keep talking to her. But she also feels scared and guilty for enabling her feelings in such way. A couple of times she thinks I should go to bed. Yet, something inside her decides to stay and keep the conversation alive.

Talking quietly not to wake their friends, they put their chairs closer together. Things slow down and quiet moments grow longer. The night is different, with sounds of insects and the wind rustling the trees. Cash says something, soft, a little funny. Mia laughs, but it fades quickly. Her voice feels too loud. She looks up at Cash staring at her. Her heart's been beating in her throat for the past ten minutes. Did he just look at my lips for a split second? Is he...? Slowly Cash leans forward in his chair, towards her. He's hesitant, and Mia sees the question in his eyes, but she's too afraid to answer it, instead she doesn't move for a second, fuck, her mind racing, fighting her body. God I want to. But her guilt takes over, afraid of a story she might regret.

"I should go to bed" she says. And she stands up. Cash stands up as well, folding his chair as he makes a comment about a band they'll see tomorrow. The casualty of his comment and body language makes her doubt if any of this ever really happened. And as she closes her tent, she sighs.

[atrocites]

some of my fav little notes + important pieces of info before i run off again (under the cut bc i love yapping abt him too much)

micah is a Collector of Things, specifically things that remind him of people he's at least semi-close to (which is sometimes one-sided on his part) + things they've said they like; they're smaller things, like little trinkets and knick-knacks (figurines, pens, books, etc). he also keeps Everything that's made for him (like letters, bracelets, the like), even if it's from someone he doesn't know / isn't close to at all.

despite being an incredibly skilled fighter (autism moment fixation on assortment of fighting styles since he was a kid, thanks to his big brother, who would have become a great professional boxer had he lived), he prefers to dodge and weave or talk it out, if he can. this isn't to say he's a stone pacifist -- self defense is self defense, and if it's in the name of protecting someone else, he has no qualms about beating someone's ass (and if that doesn't ruin their pride, the utter disappointment in his eyes might).

speaking of his brother, it's thanks to him that he wasn't bullied, growing up. christian im was popular and athletic, a rising star in their little nowhere town, who loved his little siblings more than life. literally, as he would take a knife that was meant for micah. he never got to graduate high school. though most didn't say it to his face, a lot of people blamed micah, just as they would blame him for his mother's car accident (she was going to pick him up). / mother was a mortician, and micah grew up fascinated by her work, which quickly turned into awe-filled respect. he knew immediately what he wanted to be when he grew up.

his little sister, shaye, is a detective living on jeju island (she decided to live there because she needed to get away from that town, from the death her brother works with -- and jeju island is where their mother grew up). she lives with her detective boyfriend (julien) and her pet jumping spider (elizabeth). her love for all things bugs / insects / etc comes from micah constantly infodumping to her when they were kids (and when she was a baby, little 4 year old micah would bring her bugs he caught, dirt in his fingernails and sparkles in his eyes).

micah's big four: bugs, birds, fighting styles, and the dead.

queer and the way he sees gender is difficult to explain. he is respectful of all identities and, as long as it's not hurtful, respectful of other people's ways of seeing gender and sexuality. he aligns with "gay man," but it's more complicated than that. not really complicated to him, but complicated to explain to others. and i will not be explaining bc girl me too

he is never tired of being nice. you can call him names and even try to kill him, and he'll still give you a little smile and a chance at redemption. he even uses his little mortician business + his groundskeeper office to temporarily home criminals (and spn creatures, verse dependent), offering them discreet help. this depends on the person, of course, as some acts are unredeemable.

he's studied not only the dead, but the living -- he's very analytical, calculating, using what he observes to better interact with the people around him. however, he does it in a way where he doesn't have to mask himself. the only times he lies is if he's hiding someone and the authorities or someone else comes looking for them -- otherwise, he's always honest, and never hides anything, himself. for example, if you piss him off, he'll tell you (because he's so honest and you won't see it on his face, which is always set to either blank mode or smiley mode).

reactionless, when it comes to facial expressions or fidgeting / any body movement (not including dodging or fighting, if it comes to that). dude doesn't even flinch at anything, whether or not he's feeling anxious internally. he'll just stare at you or continue whatever he's doing if you try to get a reaction out of him, maybe give you a little smile.

middle aged virgin and unashamed / doesn't care. as he should. + does NOT get flirting. flirting with him goes one of three ways: it goes right over his head and he thinks you're being serious / just nice; he understands what you're doing and tactfully shuts it down OR politely turns you down; he understands what you're doing and he lowkey has a crush on you and it makes him blush, one of few times you can actually read his face (and he doesn't really flirt back, just very bluntly tells you he likes you, too).