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theeartuaist · 1 month ago

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The App (2)

Three weeks. Two burner phones. One frenzied apartment change. That was all it took for you to start believing you were free.

You’d torched every digital breadcrumb like a fugitive with blood on their hands. The old phone? In pieces. Your social media? Wiped clean, like a crime scene bleached of evidence. The new number came from a prepaid device you bought with cash at a rundown gas station two towns over—right next to a place that sold fireworks and pickled eggs. You told no one but your family where you’d gone, and even then, you didn’t tell them why.

The apartment was smaller than the last one. Claustrophobic, maybe, but it had good bones: thick walls, double deadbolts, and a front desk guy named Marcus who treated unknown visitors like they were walking lawsuits. Most nights, you even slept through without scanning the corners for shadows that moved too smoothly, too human, but not quite enough.

For a moment, a fleeting, fragile moment, you believed you'd done it. That you’d outrun Raye.

And then the books started arriving.

The first one came five days after you finally began to settle in. No envelope, no Amazon box. Just a dog-eared romance novel—The Billionaire’s Forbidden Love—resting right in front of your door like an orphaned pet. Shirtless dude on the cover, a woman swooning like her bones had gone soft. You laughed, briefly. Then you saw the neon-yellow highlighting, thick and uneven like it had been applied with too much pressure:

“You can run, my love, but you cannot escape destiny. What belongs to me will always find its way home.”

You didn’t laugh after that. You pitched it into the alley dumpster and double-locked the door. Then you added a chair under the knob, just like your dad taught you.

The next day, the second book showed up. But this time, it was inside. Sitting right on your pillow. The highlighted passage was even worse:

“He watched from afar, memorising every pattern, every habit. True love required study, devotion, and pursuit. She would understand, eventually, that his persistence was the purest expression of his feelings.”

You tore the place apart. Every lock, every latch, every inch of ductwork. The windows were sealed, the cameras at the front desk had nothing. No one but you had come in.

By the end of the week, you had seventeen books. Seventeen. Titles like – Surrendering to the Shadow King and The Possessive Duke’s Darling. And they kept appearing in places they had no business being. One in your refrigerator, its pages damp with condensation. One stuffed between your clean towels. One curled like a sleeping dog in your shower caddy.

Each with its own highlighted passage about destiny, ownership, and love sharpened into obsession.

You considered calling the police. Then you thought about what that call would sound like: Hello, officer? I’m being stalked by a man who may not be a man and who communicates exclusively via bodice-rippers. Yeah. That’d go over well.

Then came a knock.

You crept to the peephole, half-expecting a nightmare in a human suit. But it was Mrs. Abernathy, your octogenarian neighbor with a floral scarf and a fondness for raisin cookies.

“You have a package, dear,” she called sweetly. “Special delivery.”

You cracked the door just enough to peer out. “I didn’t order anything.”

Her eyes didn’t look quite right. Too glassy, like someone had forgotten to switch them on all the way. Her smile stretched a bit too wide, like someone had drawn it there with a knife.

“Oh, I know,” she said, waving a small wrapped parcel. “That lovely boy Raye asked me to bring it. He showed me pictures. Said you were engaged. Such a devoted young man!”

You slammed the door like it was a guillotine. Locked everything. Heart pounding hard enough to echo in your ribs.

Through the wood, her voice came again, but it had a different flavor now—tinny, mechanical, like it had been routed through a bad speaker. “He asked me to tell you he’s learned from his mistakes. Movies were poor research materials. He’s found much better guides now.”

You didn’t say a word. Eventually, her steps shuffled away.

You should’ve been gone by then. Should’ve run. But something—foolish hope, or maybe just fear—kept you rooted to that spot. That night, the package still showed up.

You found it on your kitchen counter. Inside was a leather-bound journal. Handmade. Not a book but a log. Each page was filled with razor-precise handwriting—cold, methodical, obsessive. A surveillance diary.

It catalogued your life: what time you left for work, what you ordered for lunch, who you spoke to, how long your showers lasted. Some entries even had photos. From behind bushes. Across the street. Through windows. They dated back months before you ever met him.

The final page was in red ink, as if written in something warmer than pen:

“I have identified the errors in my courtship approach. Fiction is an incomplete source for behavioural protocols. I have been observing actual human mating behaviours and have identified more successful strategies. Persistence is key.”

“I have instead been consulting superior information repositories that your species calls Reddit, 4chan, and various forums dedicated to "game." I have also analysed dating advice blogs and YouTube channels dedicated to human mating strategies.”

“The consensus is clear: females respond to what humans designate as "alpha" behaviour. One must "hold frame" and employ "negging" and "dread game." The courtship requires what your species terms 'pushing past last-minute resistance”. I will begin again tomorrow. You will find my improvements satisfactory.”

You didn’t read any further. You just grabbed your things, left the apartment, and checked into a hotel the furthest from your apartment.

You didn’t care anymore. The world you thought you knew had slipped away, and now you were just running, your phone buried in the lining of your suitcase. At dawn, your eyes opened to a rose on the pillow beside you.

Your phone buzzed, though it was supposed to be off. You checked it. The app was back.

A single message blinked at you like an open eye:

Good morning. I have located your temporary nest. Your evasion techniques are impressive but unnecessary. I now understand that pursuit and resistance are part of the dance. This is biology. I will perform correctly this time. I am upgrading for you.

You didn’t even stop to brush your teeth. You didn’t bother packing. You didn’t bother trying to reason with yourself. You checked out of there in a flash, running down the hotel hall, looking for an exit; a chance to breathe without Raye’s presence closing in on you like a vice.

You burst into the morning air, your breath clouding in the cold as you stumbled into the streets. The first taxi you spotted felt like a lifeline, and you threw yourself into it without thinking twice.

The driver was an old man—silver hair combed neatly, liver spots on his hands, eyes soft and wet like a dog’s. He glanced at you in the rearview mirror and smiled, a slow,little smile.

“Where to, miss?” he asked, voice gravelly and warm, the kind of voice you think should come bedtime stories.

“Train station.” Your voice was high, tight. “Please hurry.”

The cab pulled out with a gentle lurch.

“Bad morning?”

You nodded, eyes glued to the window and pressed yourself against the door. You stared out the window, your heart was still punching your ribs. You thought if you stayed quiet, maybe you could disappear. Maybe he wouldn’t find you.

“Boyfriend trouble?” the old man asked, trying to make it sound harmless.

You swallowed. That word—boyfriend—curled in your throat like something rotten. “Why do you care?” you asked, too sharp.

He fell silent.

The city blurred past—gray buildings, flickering signs, streets that all looked like they were exhaling their last breath. Then you realized something was off. A left turn when it should’ve been right. A street you didn’t recognize. You sat up, brows furrowed.

“Hey,” you said, leaning forward, “you’re going the wrong way.”

No response.

“Sir? Did you hear me?”

Still nothing. The cab made another turn. Left. Not toward the bus station. Not toward anything you recognised.

“Hey! Sir this isn't where the train station is,” you repeated, the chill of dread sliding under your skin like ice water. “You’re going the wrong way?”

The driver’s voice came again, but it had changed. Just slightly. Too measured. Too... calculated.

“Creating uncertainty increases emotional dependence,” he said.

You froze.

“What?”

“The literature states that unpredictable environments produce deeper attachments.”

You reached for the door handle.

Click.

Locked.

You yanked this time. Still locked - child locks. Of course.

Your stomach dropped like a stone into a bottomless lake. You turned back to the driver, heart hammering. “Let me out,” you said. “Now.”

“The manuals suggest limiting options increases compliance,” he says, smooth as ice, still not looking at you.

You pulled your phone from your pocket. No signal. Useless. You pounded the window, screaming. “Let me the hell out!”

The taxi sped up, turning down a quieter road—broken sidewalks, chain-link fences, warehouses that haven’t been used in decades. The kind of place where bad things happen and no one finds out until it’s too late.

In desperation, you looked at the driver, ready to plead, threaten, whatever it took—and froze. In the rearview mirror, where the old man's eyes should have been reflected, there was nothing. Just empty space.

As if sensing my realization, the driver's face rippled. Like wax left too close to a fire, the old man melted away. The silver hair receded, the wrinkles smoothed. And what’s left was him.

Raye.

His familiar, too-perfect face stared back at you from the mirror, his expression neutral, observant.

“Was the old man's disguise inadequate?” he asks, genuinely curious, like a scientist observing a mouse that bit back. “I modeled it after ‘trustworthy archetypes.’”

“You... you.. just, let me out,” you said, quieter now. Not because you’re calm, but because you were trying to be. “Please.”

“Your heart rate has increased,” he noted. “The forums suggest this indicates attraction, yet your verbal cues suggest aversion.”

His head tilted. That same goddamn tilt you remembered from your first and last date.

“The data remains inconsistent.”

“Well, gee, perhaps the reason for that is because you are kidnapping me!” You saw the road slipping past. Warehouses and rusted fences blurring by. You tried to memorize every turn. Useless. You knew it was useless..

“Your cultural narratives celebrate pursuit after rejection. They frame perseverance as romantic despite the ethics and laws. Is this your attempt at stimulating narrative tension? Are you playing, as your people say, hard to get?”

You were shaking now. Not from fear—but from thr hot, boiling pit simmering inside you. “They’re written by people who want control, not connection. Hell, do you even understand what you're reading?” You said, breath trembling, “You have no damn idea, do you?”

He processed that. You can see him processing it. "The research is indeed inconsistent." The cab had slowed now, creeping down a service road lined with oleander bushes, their pink flowers drooping like exhausted dancers. "I calculated the most efficient approach based on available data.. the forum posts with the highest engagement metrics suggested—"

"Shut up wbout your stupid data! You don't know anything about love!" I gestured at the surroundings; the locked doors. "This - what you're doing - just creates fear. Not love.”

Raye's hands tightened on the steering wheel. Just slightly. The knuckles went white, then translucent, something that looked like starlight filtering through fog.

"I have exonerated my sources. I have watched 689 romantic films," he continued, voice carrying a new edge like glass scraping against glass. "Read 447 romance novels. Monitored 432 relationship advice forums. Observed—"

"OBSERVED!" You were shouting now, past caring. "That's all you do, isn't it? Watch and copy and calculate, but you've never felt a goddamn thing in whatever passes for your life. Relationships aren't algorithms. You can't learn them from books or websites. You need real experience. And you never experienced love in your life!"

The cab jerked to a stop.

In the terrible silence that followed, your own breathing, ragged and harsh, ricocheted in your ears. Raye's reflection had gone perfectly still. When he finally spoke, his voice was different — quieter, with a sound like distant rain.

"You are... correct. I have no experiential database for the emotion you call love. Only... approximations. Simulations." His head tilted, that familiar gesture now seeming disappointed rather than curious. "The inconsistencies in human behaviour patterns suggest an underlying complexity I failed to accurately model."

Something changed in the air. The child locks clicked open.

"If love cannot be calculated or observed from the outside," he said, still facing forward, "then my research methodology is fundamentally flawed."

You didn't hesitate. Your fingers were on the handle, your foot hitting the cracked asphalt before my brain could catch up. You were already running, but his final words followed you down that empty road: "I will... recalibrate. Begin new research. Attempt to understand the variables I overlooked."

For three days, there were no books, no messages, no signs of Raye. You began to hope that perhaps you had crashed his reasoning, created a logic loop he couldn't resolve.

Then on the fourth morning, you found a book on my new kitchen table in yet another new apartment that no one should have known about. It wasn't a romance novel this time, but a philosophy text opened to a passage about identity. A note had been paper-clipped to the page, written in that same mechanically precise handwriting:

"I purged the corrupted data. Your internet contains many viruses of thought. I will observe more carefully now, without intervention. When I understand the paradox, I will return."

"The designation "fiancé" was premature. The designation "researcher" was inadequate. I find no human words for what has transpired between us. Thank you for identifying the error in my programming. I will experience love."

next chapter

#yandere #my writing #male yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x darling #yandere x you #yan blog #yandere x y/n #yandere alien #fantasy #alien oc #writeblr #yandere oc

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cityofmeliora · 3 months ago

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the Nameless Ghouls lore post 🎭

i've posted about some of this stuff before, but i wanted to make a separate post about it because i think the canon lore material for the Nameless Ghouls is pretty interesting and cool!!

the Nameless Ghouls are humans who were killed and transformed into undead servants of The Clergy through a ritual sacrifice.

various sources indicate the Nameless Ghouls are humans.

the Era 0 Ghouls are obviously humans.

The Future Is A Foreign Land // Metal Myths

Primo has stated that the Ghoul Writer is a human.

That’s right. Ghost have their music written for them. In one online interview, a so-called “ghoul writer” is mentioned who supposedly composes melodies and lyrics with the help of ungraspable powers from beyond – devilish whispers instruct him which words should accompany which chords, and so forth. “There is indeed a human individual who composes patterns of tones and words which operate ever so beautifully in unison. However, I am of the belief that there is a higher being who speaks through this individual,” asserts the Pope. Sweden Rock Magazine (November 2010)

the Meliora lore video series The Summoning shows the Nameless Ghouls are just humans who wear costumes. the Nameless Ghouls are seen unmasked and not wearing uniforms while the band was between album cycles. Sister Imperator presented their new masks to them, and they always wore their uniforms from that point forward.

The Summoning

later, Sister Imperator says that the Ghouls' devil masks are actually meant to be the faces of their dark gods, which the Ghouls wear as representatives of the church.

SISTER IMPERATOR: You wear your masks for the press, but your masks were never intended to simply hide your faces– they are the visage of the Gods, and you mock them with your senseless orgies and trysts. Even your depravities are dull! The Summoning VI: The Proceedings Intensify

the lore also indicates the Nameless Ghouls are undead servants.

in The Summoning, Sister Imperator describes ritually sacrificing the Ghouls– she kidnapped them, tied them up, and buried them alive.

SISTER IMPERATOR: It started with a vision: you were all standing before me, hoodwinked and bound with both caddy and shack! I led you each toward a coffin, where you were made to lie down. The lids were closed, and one by one, I placed a level on the top to make sure you were still and cold in the darkness. Iron nails fell from my hands and scattered like leaves around my feet. The Summoning V: The Square And Hammer

at first, i wasn't sure if she was talking about literal events, but she later mentions the "harrowing initiation" the Ghouls went through, so it would seem that this event did actually happen and it's how the Nameless Ghouls became Ghouls.

SISTER IMPERATOR: I charge you with dereliction of duty! For the harrowing initiation you have been through, I would charge you with treason! The Summoning VI: The Proceedings Intensify

the 2022 lore video Metal Myths describes the dead Papas I, II, and III as being reanimated "faceless ghouls". though the Papas are just kept in their glass coffins and don't get to do anything else, i think this still fits with the description of Ghouls as dead servants. they were killed and are now being used in service of the Clergy.

DUSTY COMSTOCK: If the breaking of the sacred bloodline wasn't enough, what Sister Imperator did next was shocking. She had orchestrated, and had carried out, the assassinations of Papas 1, 2, and 3. They'd been housed in The Ministry since their retirements, as is customary, but Sister, with the collaboration and support of Papa Nihil, had a different plan for what should become of them: reanimate them, and use them as 'faceless ghouls' on the impending tour. Once on tour, these former Papas would be entombed in a traveling crypt, as in the catacombs of old. Metal Myths: Ghost Pt. 2 (April 2022)

the Nameless Ghouls in the band are considered to be Papa's apostles and missionaries / leaders to believers of the church.

SISTER IMPERATOR: I expect no more interruptions. You had your chance to defend yourselves. Without your guitar and drums, you are are mere acolytes, not the grand missionary men you were trained to be. You want to be equal to your Papa? Ha! [...] Why are believers still living in secret, spinning your records in their parents' basements? Why have you not led them into the murky light of His shadow? You are supposed to lead. It is your task. Your task! To lead! I think you're afraid of real change. Let's take a breath. I think I understand the problem. You think Papa's words should be enough. But then you misunderstand the nature of true power. Papa is not a mouthpiece for the Dark Divinity. He is not a pawn. He is a mediator. He is the path. His way is the truth and the darkness! And you, you are his apostles. The Summoning VI: The Proceedings Intensify

however, while the Nameless Ghouls are expected to respect Papa's authority and follow his lead, they don't actually work for Papa– they work for the Clergy / Sister Imperator.

sometimes they're given tasks unrelated to / outside of the band.

i don't really consider Escape The Ministry canon (because a lot of it doesn't make sense), but i think it offers interesting insight into the lore. Escape The Ministry states:

The unnamed ghouls are sometimes tasked with mindless administrative tasks like taxes. These directives always come from The Clergy, however. Escape The Ministry - archived video; no longer available to play :(

as for other tasks unrelated to music, Sister Imperator ordered the Nameless Ghouls to kill Papas I, II, and III. the fact that the Ghouls actually did it shows that they are more loyal to Sister Imperator + the Clergy than they are to the Papas.

Chapter Three: Back on the Road

and i'm not surprised the Ghouls don't feel loyalty to the Papas, considering they don't interact with Papa much and are often mistreated by Papa when they do. Terzo was said to be pretty nice to the Ghouls, but never really interacted with them offstage. and Secondo notably cared so little about his Ghouls that he didn't recognize them offstage and sent attack dogs on them for his own amusement.

INTERVIEWER: How has it been working with the third Papa? How is he fitting into the group? NAMELESS GHOUL: We like him, actually. He seems to be quite nice. Obviously, we haven't really done our "miles" with him yet, so we don't know him that well. And he doesn't travel with us- he sort of goes separately everywhere, and he appears just before the show and then he just disappears. So we haven't really had the time to sort of fully get to know him. But overall, he seems quite a joyful chap. Metal Injection (September 2015)

What was the moment you realised you’d made it as a rockstar? “When Papa II actually recognised my presence as OK on our last ministry meeting. It was definitely a sign that I was starting to make it!” With great stardom often comes great ego. Have you ever uttered the words: “But don’t you know who I am?!” “I have actually – several times in fact, but Papa II is just as inconsiderate as Papa I, and will hush you and then ask you to leave the backstage area.” What’s the worst fight you have ever been in? “When Papa II ordered the dogs to be unleashed on me. This happened right after he gave me the feeling of having made it.” Metal Hammer (April 2013)

the Nameless Ghouls are not part of the Clergy and are not involved in the decision-making process for the church / band.

So how would you choose Papa III? Oh he's being chosen by the clergy. It's like having a President. There's a board that decides who will be the next guy and we just have to follow and hope for a better one next time. Phoenix New Times (October 23, 2013)

and their meetings / briefings are kept separate from Clergy meetings, as shown by the title cards in the 'The Summoning' lore videos.

THE CLERGY HAS ADJOURNED AND THE NAMELESS GHOULS ARE SUMMONED… The Summoning part 1 // The Summoning V: The Square And Hammer

(to be clear, the word "summoned" here means "called into the room to attend a meeting", not literally summoned from hell or something.)

the Clergy also assigns elements to the Ghouls. the Ghouls don't come pre-installed (for lack of better phrasing) with their elements.

INTERVIEWER: You have funny signs on your costumes and guitars. NAMELESS GHOUL: They represent the elements, with the addition of a 5th, like... the aether. Yes. INTERVIEWER: So actually, they are not funny. NAMELESS GHOUL: No, they're not there for fun. They have a meaning. That's not our entire meaning, but it has a symbolic meaning. INTERVIEWER: And everyone has a symbol. Why that? Did you choose it yourself? NAMELESS GHOUL: No, they were given to us. INTERVIEWER: By the Papa? NAMELESS GHOUL: By the Clergy. Berlin Metal TV (December 9, 2013)

sadly, though, Ghouls' elements only seemed to be relevant in Era 2 and Era 3, when the symbols were incorporated into the uniforms. Terzo stated in his 'If You Have Ghosts' talks that the elements were simply used to distinguish the Nameless Ghouls from one another, and he referred to them as Earth, Air / Wind, Water, Fire / Alpha, and Quintessence / Omega. but starting in Era 4 and going forward, the elemental symbols were no longer incorporated into the Ghouls' uniforms, and Cardinal Copia refers to all of them as just "Ghoul" or "Ghoulette".

also, there may be Nameless Ghouls that aren't part of the band at all.

in The Summoning, a strange hooded creature can be seen sweeping the floors. not sure if this thing is a Ghoul, but Sister Imperator describes it as a "haunted servitor."

SISTER IMPERATOR: Do you see this [UNINTELLIGIBLE], this haunted servitor of our Dark Father asking for nothing while it does its simple tasks? You see it and all think, "Our instruments are far greater than that old broom!" But they are not! They are merely tools to do His great work! The Summoning VII: Believe This

in addition, Sister Imperator is specifically addressing the band's Nameless Ghouls in this meeting, but many other people can be seen in attendance who are unmasked and wearing plain clothes. they sit behind the band Ghouls (who are wearing their uniforms) during the meeting, and they stand up and applaud at the end of Sister Imperator's speech. these people might just be congregants, but it's also possible these are other Ghouls who aren't members of the band. (i'm not sure why they'd be at a meeting where Sister Imperator is addressing the Nameless Ghouls if they're just regular people.)

The Summoning VII: Believe This

so to summarize:

the Nameless Ghouls are humans.

they were killed and transformed into undead servants in a ritual sacrifice.

they work for The Clergy, not for Papa.

they're considered to be apostles and missionaries.

they sometimes have other jobs unrelated to the band.

their elements are assigned to them by The Clergy (but they're not really relevant anymore)

there might be a lot more Nameless Ghouls other than those in the band.

#please please please send me asks if you have headcanons related to the canon ghouls lore 🥺#nameless ghoul #radley post #the band ghost lore #quotes #analysis #headcanons

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topeka-commission-for-the-arts · 5 days ago

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My newest crochet friend: Caddy! I actually used a pattern for the Loch Ness Monster, but repurposed it for our favorite friend from Snake Horse Harbor

She’s already learning about herself (and her human’s favorite band):

(If you see my hand it’s because her neck isn’t stiff enough to stand up on its own)

#nancy drew #nancy drew games #clue crew #her interactive #nancy drew pc games #nancy drew game #ddi #danger on deception island #crochet

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what-was-that-pipsqueak · 3 days ago

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────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────────

EXAM SEASON

The apartment was quiet, save for the occasional scratch of your pen across your apple-themed notebook and the low, ambient hum of your calming study playlist drifting from your monitor. On your second screen, Pinterest was open to a board of motivational quotes and dreamy workspaces that felt galaxies away from the chaos inside your mind. The overhead light cast a sterile, white glare across your desk, turning the once-helpful to-do list for university into something far more ominous, a looming death wish masquerading as productivity.

Your eyes burned, the sting of screen fatigue and exhaustion blurring the ink on the page. It was all just... too much.

You didn’t hear the door open, but you felt it.

Caleb’s presence always felt like gravity itself, an invisible pull, warm and grounding, bringing you back to earth when everything else felt like freefall. He didn’t speak right away. He just stood there in the doorway for a moment, quiet and observant, reading the stress etched into your posture: the slope of your shoulders, the way your fingers gripped the edge of your notebook like it might somehow hold the key to surviving exam season with your sanity intact.

Then, wordlessly, he crossed the room, warm hands brushing against your back with featherlight reassurance. He bent down, pressing a slow, steady kiss to the top of your head, grounding you further. Without needing to ask, he turned around and returned with the soft, cat-patterned weighted blanket you kept folded neatly at the foot of your bed.

“Arms up, Pips,” he said gently. You lifted your arms instantly and without question, as if your body already knew to trust his words.

He draped the blanket around you carefully, making sure it sat snug over your shoulders and head. You let out a shaky breath as the weight started to slowly soothe your anxiety. Caleb let out a quiet, satisfied hum and walked back to the kitchen. Soon, the comforting sounds of a kettle and the soft rustle of ceramic cups floated over the low swell of your music.

When he returned, he carried your favourite mug, the one with a faded photo of the two of you at summer camp, grinning with marshmallow-smeared faces—now filled with something warm and green. The soft, creamy scent of vanilla and matcha drifted over to you. He knelt beside you, cradling the mug in both hands before offering it to you.

“How did you know that's exactly what I needed right now?” you murmured, taking the cup.

“You didn’t need to say anything” he said simply, brushing a stray lock of hair from your cheek. “I know that look.”

You took a slow sip, the warmth spreading through your chest, unspooling the knot of tension in your stomach. Caleb reached over to your bedside caddy and, with a practised familiarity that made you blink through the haze, began pulling out your skincare routine. The gesture was so unexpected it made you laugh, breathy and soft, despite the weight of the day still pressing down on you.

He took a wipe and gently cleaned your face, holding your chin steady with the kind of reverence one might reserve for their lover. Then came the serum. He warmed a few drops between his palms and pressed them into your skin, slow and patient. Next were the star shaped pimple patches, stuck on with clinical care and maybe a bit too much pride in his "accuracy". Lastly, moisturiser, smoothed along your cheeks with gentle thumbs and a quiet, “There we go.”

You leaned into his touch, eyes fluttering shut. It was better than any spa treatment—more intimate, more personal. Each motion was a love letter in silence.

Then, without a word, he stood and retrieved your hairbrush, drawing it through your hair in long, slow strokes. The rhythm of it was hypnotic. Your eyes slipped closed again, and you felt yourself begin to unravel.

“Braids tonight?” he asked softly, already parting your hair. You nodded.

He braided with care, his fingers sure and patient, each weave precise, like the intricate styles he used to do when I sat at his feet before school, pleading with sleepy eyes. When he finished, he tied it off with a practised flick and pressed a kiss to your temple. Then he paused and tilted his head, reading your mood like a seasoned pilot charting stormy skies.

“Do you want your comfort movie on?”

You looked at him. “You’ve seen it a million times.”

“I’d watch it a million more times if it helps you feel better,” he said, giving you that crooked smile that always made something in your chest ache and soften at once. “Or I could just recite it for you. I probably could at this point.”

You gave him a small, grateful laugh. “Let’s put it on.” He knew exactly what you needed in that moment, and you were grateful to have someone who understood you so well.

Without protest, he cued it up, dimming the fairy lights until the room was cast in a warm, golden glow. He settled beside you on the bed, pulling you gently against him, one arm wrapped securely around your shoulders as the familiar opening scene flickered to life on the screen.

You sank into him, the weight of the blanket and his steady presence lulling your senses into calm. Warm. Held. Safe. Home.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the movie’s gentle score.

Caleb squeezed you gently, his own silent way of saying he was always there for you.

As the movie played on, you felt a sense of peace wash over you, knowing that no matter what happened, Caleb would always be there for you. In that moment, surrounded by the comforting glow of the screen and his presence, you realised that maybe everything was going to be okay after all.

#caleb love and deepspace #lads #lads caleb #love and deepspace #lads fluff

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britcision · 8 months ago

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So I’ve been having a lot of the Organizing AuDHD lately, where I sit and obsessively sort things for just, a zillion hours

Things like 8 years worth of photos on my hard drive, all of my leather-working and sewing supplies into tackle boxes, grouping and organizing all of the paints and all of our craft closets, and sorting 2 years of CSP materials

(Aaaaand fully resorting and folding 3/10 fabric bins instead of just grabbing the fabric I needed to get started on a thing this is not remotely happening at convenient times)

And yesterday

Yesterday, I got my Granny’s old sewing cart

This thing had stuff in it older than my Granny herself

(Also a good 30% of grandma smell is sheep’s wool guess how I know now)

I’m talking packets of “hook and eye attachments” older than the brand for Velcro

Genuine lambswool threads from Scotland

British military surplus linen thread

This pic is actually after I already spent about 2 hours just separating and bagging things it was worse than this but here she is

So, yeah. Perfect timing. Organizing AuDHD paradise

Dragged all my sewing stuff back to the main room to redo it all again (but y’see I was smart the first time I just sorted my threads and left a space cuz I knew this lil cutie was coming)

And

Well

I promised my partner I’d clear the floors in between every time, and he has kindly offered to sort buttons for me cuz he’s also got Button Sorting ‘Tisms

(The BAGS of old buttons you guys. So. Many. Buttons.)

But. Uh. Here’s what it looked like while I was going

Featuring: my sewing box, Granny’s sewing caddy, both craft dressers, and the noble residents of Box Hell, aka every reasonably well conditioned box I have emptied for 7 years now doing duty sorting objects

(Also the paper patterns I was drafting onto broadcloth for cosplay but shhhh those are nearly done and super neat and out of the way)

And! And!

Four hours later, look!

All tidied away (for now)

I have officially sorted and rolled all of the ribbons (hers and mine)

I also discovered that that fucking massive cone of elastic does not in fact have a single fucking post in the middle there’s a tiny cardboard one that ends half way up and then it’s just a roll of PAPER

(That slid out while I unspooled about half of it to fix where the loops had been slipping off to coil it neatly again. It’s also at least two lengths of elastic but fuck it it’s in a cup now)

And! That little front drawer has been fully sorted and now holds the elastic, velcro, and zippers 😁

Most of the stuff from the main body of the caddy is at least sorted by types now, so the threads are all together and the snaps and hook and eyes all have baggies, but I haven’t touched the top two bits yet and I still gotta sort them baggies

But! I think I’ve found all the elastics and velcro and zippers! And ribbons!

And all the proper actual wool and nylons have their own bag because some of that shit feels like historical artefacts or something and I shouldn’t actually use it and just preserve it or something

It’s in really good condition and I’m a lil scared I’ll ruin it somehow and most of the ribbons are real silk and it’s just. Holy shit.

It’s so old

#sewing caddy sorting #actually adhd #call me jonny sims cuz i am archiving So Much

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aperturerecord · 1 year ago

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well... i got hyperfixated on antique china

anyway heres my fanart of a Meissen teacup! this came from a tea and coffee service created around 1740-45. Most likely hard-paste as Meissen was the first European company to begin producing hard-paste porcelain (China had been producing and exporting for decades before), the designs are very rococo-inspired, and while not pictured on this specific teacup this service was patterned with tiny insects all along the body of the coffee and tea pots, tea caddies, and saucers.

basically i just want to paint some porcelain ok

#my art #digital art #digital painting #illustration #antique china #antiques

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queerofcups · 3 months ago

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Have you ever thought to yourself, gosh! I wonder what tumblr user queerofcups' sewing space looks like! Of course you haven't. But I feel like 99.9% of images of people's sewing spaces online are extremely neat and luxe and I feel like sharing the thing that takes up all my time and brain space when i'm not doing fandom. Might delete later, might not, its my blog.

Picture and a lot of chatter under the cut!

Ok, lets take this in a sort've...top to bottom, left to right sort've motion, shall we?

Up top you've got a sliver of a poster I have that says "I got my own back" which is allegedly a maya angelou quote. Its a lovely poster, I was just sitting when I took this picture.

Immediately below that, we've got a bunch of eyeshadow palettes. Then you've got a collection of different sleeve designs, one of two images I just straight up took from pinterest which is both general inspiration and a reminder that I can make whatever kind of shirt I want (once I...get good at shirts...)

Below the palettes we've got all my immediately needed tools - a pair of shears, a rotary cutter, my favorite pins, some elastic needles and an Ace of Cups that I got from a lesbian book store (which was crazy!!! I have an ace of cups tattoo!). Then there's a bunch of nail polish that mostly belongs to my partner. You may have guessed by now but I live in a small space and storage space is minimal. I just put that black shelf up a month ago and its been a game changer.

The next row is another pinterest image, necklines this time*. Next to that is a collage I made as a sort've reminder of my own aesthetic impulses and desires. And then we've got a picture of Katya, because I'm going to make that shirt. Also, another reminder that I can make what I want. Yes, I've become mildly obsessed with her bc she's a hottie, but honestly she's been more inspirational to me as a queer femme sewist than 97% of these sewing influencers out here making oversized oatmeal colored boxy shirts**.

Next we've got the detritus zone. A big cup I need to take to the kitchen, some pattern weights that I made (they're not heavy enough), tape, gum, some CBD lotion that doesn't work but smells nice, barely visible pair of (beautlful!!!) snips, keychain, postits so I can remember wtf I'm doing at my machine, tailor's chalk.

My beautiful and incredibly irritating son, my Brother sewing machine that I haven't named yet. Before I got it, I was working on a sewing machine that was about 30 years old (nearly the same as me, in our thirtiiiiiies) that didn't have half the bells and whistles but also I didn't deal with a single tension issue. I need to figure out whats going on bc she sews like a dream, except when horrible eldritch thread monsters happen. My son, she's very pretty. I should name her.

Then we got a notebook, also so i can remember wtf I'm supposed to be doing, a pair of pajama pants I'm fixing for my sweetie and a muslin that I was working on but might be throwing out to start over again.

All on top of a shitty card table I got for like $100 that wobbles like fuck if I sew fast. <3

Ok! Bottom row.

We got my stupidly expensive rotary cutting board. I'm waiting for Joanns to go down to 60%+ discounts before I get a really big one. I need one but they're *so* expensive for a piece of plastic??? Then we've got two plastic bags. One is scraps that I need to throw out. The other is full of muslin fabric. One is trash and the other is pretty necessary. They are totally interchangeable to everyone in this house but me.

And then we've got my extremely high tech storage system, a folder caddy thing full of ummm looks like some different types of elastic, some lace (i use it to create tags), a couple different yards of fabric, a second plastic tub with my less-immediately needed tools (thread, tiny needles, bobbins, different sewing feet etc), some interfacing and...some packing tape? for some reason?

And finally, a big Ikea bag full of all my patterns. Yes they're are loose. Yes, I like to live on the edge. Yes I'm working on a better storage system, get off my back, god.

*I'm...a little obsessed with shirts right now bc I'm teaching myself pattern hacking and design right now. I just ordered a custom bodice sloper, that I'm probably still gonna need to edit, hence all the muslin fabric.

**I have been sewing for about 3 years now and I really don't understand why so much of the online sewing community is so modest and sexless. I've been struggling to find tutorials for making v-necks even? I think part of it is there's a lot of overlap with tradwives as well as older women who've been taught never to be sexy? But its very weird, its compartively hard to find people wearing bright colors, or sewing short skirts or even doing big frou frou sleeves? And if you wanna find a fat person doing it? Forget it.

Anyway, S6 of Unhhh has some of my favorite Katya looks not because they're all good or not ugly (some of the ugly ones are my favorite) but bc its pretty clear she had a bunch of time and a bunch of fabric and was like fuck it! Let's see what comes out! Love that energy, trying to cultivate it in myself. But the top in that print-out is soooo firmly up my alley. Big ol' see through latern sleeves and a giant pussybow? Yes. Absolutely. Exactly.

#i don't really have a personal tag on here #ask me a thing #will have to do

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knithacker · 1 year ago

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Organize Your Crochet Hooks With This Cute Crochet Caddy ... Get The Pattern! 👉 https://buff.ly/3z7EKhs

#crochet #handmade #organization

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thefeatherbender · 2 months ago

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Alpha Caddis

A lovely little Caddis with three nice techniques for the body, wing and hackle. This pattern can be used for any of the smaller caddis species. Fish it dry or as an emerger bith work extremely well. How to tie Alpha Caddis Alpha Caddis pattern recipe Hook: Mustad Heritage R50AP # 14-18 Tying thread: Sheer 14/0 Grey Body: Two moose mane hairs, brown and black Wings: Two CDC…

#Barry Ord Clarke flies #Caddis fly patterns #Deer hair flies

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dangerouscommiesubversive · 3 months ago

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Grandma artifacts for stupid games--I made a needlepoint caddy for my Commander deck to keep it from sliding around while I'm playing, because a 99-card deck, fully sleeved, is not the most stable thing. (The teeth on there are because my newest creation is an extremely obnoxious tokens deck that's all themed around vampires and bats.) It may not even be quite finished; I'm considering putting a purple edging on just to neaten things up, and possibly a little box on the side to hold my various tokens.

(Teeth chart is from BraceletBook Pattern #182755, by Atramore; MtG Planeswalker symbol chart is from pluch1016 on DeviantArt. I charted the hearts and sword myself.)

#dangerous communist propaganda #commie is crafty #needlepoint #magic the gathering

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unfinishedsweaters · 7 months ago

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I’m going to reinforce the armscyes and probably the collar/edges before I list this one up, to make everything more durable. The handspun shouldn’t be too fragile, but it’ll be better with commercial yarn to back it up, especially since it’s knit in combination with multiply yarns.

(This is also the Caddis pattern.)

#knit #knitblr #knitting #yarn #wool #handspun #texture

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cityofmeliora · 9 months ago

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What’s your take on the ghouls ? Like do you think they’re rlly non human (if so what like) or do you go with the more human appearance?

though it's not my personal headcanon, i love non-human Ghoul art! shout out to @bonesy-doodles my favorite Ghoul artist :3

anyway tho, i personally think the Ghouls are humans– specifically undead / resurrected humans.

all signs point to them being human.

Nihil's Ghouls from Era 0 are obviously human.

PHOTO: The Future Is A Foreign Land // PHOTO: Metal Myths

Primo says the Ghoul Writer is human.

the Meliora Era video The Summoning (part 1) from 2015 shows the Ghouls are humans who wear costumes. Sister Imperator is talking to the Ghouls here, and she presents their new masks to them.

PHOTOS: The Summoning

anyway, i like the idea that the Ghouls are undead because of this quote from Metal Myths:

this quote describes the Papas' dead bodies being reanimated as "faceless ghouls", implying that Ghouls are dead people.

and also this quote from The Summoning.

SISTER IMPERATOR: It started with a vision: you were all standing before me, hoodwinked and bound with both caddy and shack! I led you each toward a coffin, where you were made to lie down. The lids were closed. And one by one, I placed a level on the top to make sure you were still and cold in the darkness. Iron nails fell from my hands and scattered like leaves around my feet. The Summoning V: The Square And Hammer (September 2016)

it's not clear if this is just a vision or if it was a real thing that happened at some point, but it shows a flashback of young Sister Imperator while she's saying this, so maybe it did, IDK. anyway. Sister Imperator is describing kidnapping the Ghouls, tying them up, and then burying them alive.

i think the Ghouls are made rather than literally summoned from hell. i think Ghouls are members of the cult who are sacrificed and turned into undead servants.

i also like this idea because it means you can come up with backstories for the Ghouls easily!

The Summoning videos use the phrase "THE CLERGY HAS ADJOURNED AND THE NAMELESS GHOULS ARE SUMMONED...", but they didn't mean "summoned" as in like, called up from hell, they just mean "summoned" as in like, called to attend these meetings asdkjfadskjfadsf.

#nameless ghoul #asks #headcanon #quotes #radley post #analysis #the band ghost lore

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blubushie · 5 months ago

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Some of my favourite flies I've made in the past few days.

This one came to me in a dream. Literally. I woke up to write down the pattern. I'm certain someone's already done it but it was fun to make. The white thorax glows in the dark.

Some kinda?? Nymph?? Of some kind?? Idk I just like how the thorax came out.

Caddis with nymph tail.

Caddis (I was learning how to angle hackle collars again).

Caddis.

Pink nymph?? My first attempt working with wire. I used purple wire. I like how it looks. It also glows under UV.

And probably my favourite so far...

Itty bitty tiny featherwing caddis! Seriously I can't get over how tiny it is. It's on a size 14 hook. Itty bitty. But I love how the wings came out!

#fly tying

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cadilver · 1 year ago

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intro post :)

this is cadilver!

they/he. nicknames are cool (cad/caddie/whatever)

they're a normal Point with normal Hobbies and a very normal Not Too Dangerous World that is Hospitable to Visitors. Definitely! they don't know why Cyalm Named it Night of Nightmares it's just a Graveyard and a Haunted Mansion and a Catacombs with no Nightmares to be found Anywhere not even in their Vault. um. well they might be Lying about That but it's really not your Business anyway.

// will be the ooc marker for this blog. and yeah cad talks like That (not in 3rd person) and the Capitalizations are worse when he's nervous/lying.

Asks are open! I'll probably make/write stuff even if no one asks anything, but hey why not.

run by @p7agu3 btw

Lore/Design/Backstory infodump below (may contain spoilers, if i end up actually doing anything with this storytelling wise)

cadilver is a portmanteau of "cadaver" and "silver". his aspects include, predictably, metal and general undead shenanigans, though he was also really into Halloween for backstory reasons when he was. alive? (complicated) so that carried over as well. he gets to join the holiday gang (compale and arrolin). stuff happens :) that i may write about proper if i get the motivation

his true form symbol is a concentric cloverleaf pattern, in the orientation associated with metal jewelry and not highways. mostly cause i thought it looked cool and not for deeper meaning. their normal symbol is more. interpretable. it's his prepoint's 'eyes', yes, but also infinity, cool sunglasses, ouroborous, venn diagram. you can really go crazy with it. it's mostly just them big ol eyes.

oh yeah! prepoint lore. i haven't fully decided how much of the p7v plague lore i want to use for him (some of it is insane and wouldn't fit AF well) but what's definitely sticking is the facts that he was undead (if cyalm can pointify a robot then reanimating a reanimated corpse is light work. also, name), cavorted around in a plague doctor costume, was powerful enough to at least hold out against cyalm in a fight, and [definitely something i wanna reveal later].

interestingly, they're more "alive" now than they were before, having a complete kinda-organic body, fully functional senses, and the capability to experience emotion normally. cyalm did some witchery fr. on the downside they just "die" as a extreme stress response now. like a possum. apparently that's called "thanatosis", which is a really good word. usually it takes specific triggers to set him off that badly.

cad's world is functionally the 9th because ixol has been pretty much exiled from the Emporium. the two have never met (cad was Pointified later), and (probably) won't meet until AF2's events. ixol has yet to draw the message or their symbol on the walls to indicate their location. the other points knew ixol somewhat but unanimously (some more reluctantly than others) agreed to exile them once they started hearing voices.

the world is called Night of Nightmares (double reference lol) and is located in the same area as Battery Canyon, maybe on the right side.

#ooc #pinned post #adventure forward 2

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