#he would feed me mulch maybe

[cowboyweevil]

Yup

[emjiroki]

i would love to hear what country kirishima thoughts you’re having if ya wanted to share with lil ol me 🥰

YES I WILL SHARE ALL THOUGHTS WITH YOU AND YOUR LOVELY BRAIN this got soooo long omfg I could write a fic about him I might be going crazy insane

PSA: I'm literally married to a country boy who used to raise and ride horses and build fences and all that good stuff so I'm speaking from a place of loving a real country gentleman 🤭❤️

Country Kirishima! Who you meet at the Tractor supply while picking up top soil for your flower beds. He's grabbing feed for his chickens and notices you struggling to get the large bags off the high shelf. All 6'4" of him in his worn cowboy boots strides over and politely asks if you need any help before grabbing the bags easily and putting them in your cart

Country Kirishima! Who's all sun bronzed skin and smiles as he asks you what your plans are for your flower garden, giving suggests on which mulch and fertilizer to use, and the native flowers in the area that bees love. Who helps you out by loading the bags into your trunk for you with "It's no problem, who'd pass up the opportunity to help a pretty lady" when you thank him.

Country Kirishima! Who you run into again at the farmers market a few days later, smiling so big when you come up to say hi while he's buying honey. You both get into a conversation at first about how your garden is coming along and then it morphs into just talking about your lives. What he does for a living, what kinds of animals he has, him showing you funny pictures and videos of his six chickens who he calls "his ladies", the asshole goat he deals with but loves. After an hour of you two walking around the market and then finally heading to your cars you feel like you've known him your whole life.

Country Kirishima! Who as soon as you turn your car on after you bid your goodbyes is racing back to tap on your window, leaning down with a thick arm against the edge of your door to ask with red cheeks that almost match his hair if you might want to go out with him that night. Grinning so wide while you write your number on his honey receipt cause he left his phone in his truck across the lot. Sending you off with kiss to your knuckles and a "pick you up at five sweet cheeks".

Country Kirishima! Who's at your door at five on the dot, a heavy knock on your door and wild flowers gripped nervously in his hand, a soft "mama always said pretty ladies deserve pretty flowers". Who had raced home to wash his old truck and make sure there wasn't a stitch of dirt or dust anywhere after the market (he wouldn't tell you that though and also his stomach had been in nervous knots all day)

Country Kirishima! Takes you to the "best burger joint this side of the river" to quote his excitement and then to his buddy Denki's bar for beer and dancing. He's spinning you on the dance floor until your seeing double and buying beers until your face is flushed. Being the ever respectful gentleman even as you get a bit more bold, linking your arms around his neck and swaying just a bit closer to his toned body. "Easy there little lady" he murmurs in a rough tone just barely concealing the lusty feelings burning through his veins and only heightening yours, "let's get you home yeah?".

Country Kirishima! Who only had two beers and takes you home with a giant moonlit smile, helps you step from his truck and walks you to the front door, telling you he had the best time and that he wants to see you again. Tomorrow if you'd let him. You nod eagerly (maybe too eagerly once you think about it alone later) and tell him to come back for breakfast and fresh squeezed orange juice, even suggesting slyly that he stays the night with you. He just chuckles and shakes his head, "that wouldn't be very gentlemanly of me sweetheart, but I'll be back with the sunrise" tilts your head up with a calloused hand and asks if he can kiss you.

Country Kirishima! Who tastes like beer and sunshine and something that makes your heart flutter against your ribs. Oh no, you might be in love with him.

[prof-peach]

Heya professor!

I have a question regarding my Torterra, Ygdras. I'm starting college next semester and wil be staying in a Pokémon-allowed dorm, but the scamp evolved a bit unplanned...

Considering his size now (I'm 6ft and his head is at my chest-height), and my 3rd story room its safe to say he can't sleep with me like we were used too. My room overlooks a patch of forest on the grounds however, where he could potentially spend his nights. But winters can get a bit chilly here (north of Kalos).

How cold can Torterra handle? Are there any special steps I can take to keep my buddy healthy during the colder winter nights? Or would he be better of at home where he can sleep in his greenhouse?

Also, is it true Torterra keep growing?

Thank you!!

Think of it this way: Torterra and its evolutions exist without human intervention just fine, and know how to survive winters without us fussing so much. Plants are built to survive, and have many ways to wait out the rough weather and bounce back in spring.

Issues arise if the Torterra in question is a variant that does not belong in the region you reside in. This is not alwasy the case but for instance a palm torterra will need wildly different care to a pine torterra in winter. I will assume yours is a bog-standard pure breed deciduous turt, seeing as youve not mentioned otherwise.

So winter time the leaves should drop, their energy levels will reduce, and if its quite cold, they do tend to bury their bodies in the dirt, and wait out the worst of the cold. This is essentially hibernation. A torterra will find an adequate patch of nutrient dense dirt and start to dig. You could help them with this if they show signs of wanting to do so, but otherwise they are more than capable with those stone toes of theirs. If they struggle to find good dirt, mulch a patch for them that THEY like, and turn it into the dirt. Leave it for two weeks, and then let them dig into that. Should be fine by then. They do not need watering nor feeding during hibernation.

If it's hanging out in a forest with other tree cover, it shouldnt have any issue, even if it snows. even frost is fine with this species, theyre very tolerant. If leaves start to shed, and they seem sluggish, id encourage rooting and burrying the body. They will do this until the ground frost stops.

You could send them home, theyd stay active in a greenhouse but still slow. If theyre in dormancy with you, they wont exactly be up and moving, not wandeiring around or intercting with you much. They sleep, pretty much permanently until the spring comes when its that cold.

Have a chat with them, they may want to do this, it does usually encourage more healthy growth come the new year, and rejuvinates their energy more than if they wander around all through the colder months. You'd see healthy regrowth and a much more vibrant mon, hell, maybe even flowers next summer. Without this rest, pokemon can become a little more run down, but adequate food and rest seems to counter this just fine.

Its a personal choice, some are hot blooded and want to keep moving and battling, others are happy to huddle for the winter and store energy for the coming months. Chat with them, see if you can make your mind up.

[whump-town]

Heredity

Warning: child abuse, alcohol 

There’s a blood vessel in his left eye that remains visible, dark crimson against the white, no matter how much sleep he gets. He’d told his mother once, pleading as he shrunk within himself, “mama, please, calm down. I can fix it.” The ring his father slid on her finger so many years ago, cutting open the skin of his cheek with the force of the blow she delivers. Blinking on the floor, blood sliding down into his eye. He can’t remember his own name. If asked, he’ll shrug and tell his friends (as he told his family), that his mother has the same blood vessel in her eye too. It’s hereditary, maybe.

He looks into the toothpaste flecked mirror and sees his father looking back at him. Dark furrowed brows and gaunt cheeks, a face weighed by insomnia and the plague of having never truly belonged anywhere. He raises his hand to break the mirage but his mouth opens and it’s his father’s voice that he hears. “Keep crying, I’ll give you something to cry about.” When he sits out in the driveway in the middle of December without his winter coat, he tells their neighbor that the wildflower bruises peeking out of his clothing are just from learning to ride his bike. She’ll nod her head and he’ll tell the kids at school his mother is always cold and he inherited that from her. The bruises under his sweater, sweltering in June, throb to the pace of his lies.

Until he’s thirteen, he weighs less than a hundred pounds. Thin and sickly, his teachers try to feed him things. Peanut butter that gets stuck to the roof of his mouth and it’s rich and sweet and quiet unlike the oatmeal his mother allows him before bed. Apples so sweet but burn with a strange ferocity as they come back up on the playground mulch. His head spinning and body limply giving out beneath him.  The doctor at the hospital tells them he’s malnourished and his mother strokes back his bangs and cues soft things into his ear. His father listening grimly, arms folded over his chest, and solemnly admitting “he’s just so picky, we can’t get him to eat anything”.

His mother was an only child and she told him she used to make up grand stories to entertain herself. The point of which was to convince him his father hadn’t meant him any harm when he’d sent a beer bottle hurling towards his head. She’d picked glass out of his cheek and convinced him it was a product of an overactive imagination, one just like her own.

Hearing the concern bleed into his father’s voice he can remember fighting them about foods. Peas hurt his stomach and squash is too slimy. Maybe he’d imagine starving -- the feeling of icy fingers clawing at the inside of his stomach. No, no these people in his mind are not his parents. Not with how gently his father lifts him, tucking him protectively to his chest. Smelling of aftershave and cologne and breath minty. He closes his eyes and tucks his head under his father’s chin, whimpering when his mother grazes a bruise as she pulls a blanket over them. Her soft hand back to his cheek, “it’s okay, baby.”

The first person that he ever tells is Haley. He’s drunk and more intoxicating than the alcohol they got from the ABC store is her hand rubbing up and down his back. She is always touching him and he’s terrified; terrified to beg for more and wants to push away so that he can protect himself from the inevitable rejection. “If I had done that,” he confides sleepily. “My father would have made me kneel on rice in the basement.” Haley had just got done laying out the intricate details of the time she and Jessica accidentally knocked over a flower vase in the kitchen. Doing and being children, racing about where they shouldn’t be.

They had to help clean up the mess and were sent outside, both stopping to apologize for misbehaving. They were four and seven and the severity of what Aaron says strikes Haley. “It was just an accident,” she whispers, looking up at him. His eyes are closed, lips parted as he dozes off. He shuts them just long enough to hum back at her and turn his head further into his pillows. “They would have punished you for an accident?”

“There weren’t accidents in that house,” he mumbles. It’s impossible, he realizes, to explain to her what his childhood was like and, in part, because it makes no sense. She’s always had her head above the water and he has no idea how to explain to her what it feels like to drown. To feel the water forcing its way down your throat. To gag and cough miserably around the salty burn. The way your muscles give out on you as your head sinks below the waves until you stop bobbing back up to the surface.

There were no life jackets.

No survivors alongside him.

Just him. Sinking. Drowning.

Jack looks nothing like him. All blonde hair and blue eyes -- Haley’s little cookie-cutter baby. The nurses make a little joke of it but there’s nothing more he could have hoped more for.

“You know,” Emily Prentiss tells him when Jack’s eight and still looks so much like Haley. “He’s exactly like you.” She comes to visit, Jack’s favorite person and the bond is beyond his control (though, he feels this inky murky feeling they love one another to spite him). He chokes on the water he thought he’d brought up years ago, his lungs aren’t as dry as he’d thought. The land beneath his feet sand, calling him back to that dirty water.

Jack looks up at him with these hopeful eyes and Hotch realizes that Jack doesn’t know what it’s like to drown. Can’t even recognize his father struggling to stay afloat. Jack never learns the harsh snap of Hotch’s palm against his cheek. Never picks rice out of cuts on his knees. He goes to bed full and, often, with sweets. In a home where he’s allowed to express distaste for things -- he doesn’t like peas either and hates avocados.

When Jack looks in the mirror and sees his father he smiles. Wide and full of excitement to see his father’s sharp cheekbones and realize that JJ is right, he does look like Hotch. He can’t imagine being anything but thrilled. All of the markers Hotch once saw within himself, are not evident in Jack -- which is obvious to everyone else as to why but he can’t wrap his head around it.

How Jack escaped his and his mother’s awful deep bruising. Jack’s normal, child-like memory and imagination. No crazy stories or obscene stories played out by his stuffed animals. Not even sickly or pale like Hotch had been. He had a little stomach that healthy stuck out over his diapers and thick, baby-fat thighs. A healthy weight and every doctor and teacher were always so proud to say Jack was tall and healthy and excelling intellectually.

“When did you get so big?”

Jack is laying curled up on the couch, buried deep in his father’s heated blanket. He looks up, freezing for just a moment as he tries to process what his father has just said. Hotch walks over and smiles when Jack sits up, making space for Hotch to sit down. Yawning, as he lays his head down on his father’s lap and settling back down. “I dunno,” Jack mumbles.

Hotch frowns down at his son, Jack’s blonde hair laid out over his jeans. He watches Jack fall back asleep. He doesn’t think he knows what a good father looks like but every time Jack looks up at him, Jack knows exactly what kind of dad he wants to be.

[celestialtitania]

Une Rose Pour Toi (Part 2)

Written for Day 13: Flowershop of Marichat May. Can also read on AO3.

@marichatmay

Marinette was taken aback when she heard a furious pounding on her roof. Exchanging glances with Tikki, Marinette slowly climbed her bed with her math textbook in hand. She pushed the balcony hatch open ready to smack the book in the intruder's face when she came face to face with Chat Noir.

"Chat? What are you doing here?" She blinked at him owlishly as she lowered her arm. He'd leaped back in surprise but moved closer to her again.

"Marinette! I need your help!"

"M-my help?" For a moment, she was utterly lost. Then her face drained. "Is there a supervillain on the loose?" Then she paused, suddenly suspicious. "Why are you coming to me for help instead of Ladybug?"

Her heart was hammering in her chest. If he'd figured out her secret identity somehow...Marinette didn't know what she would do. She couldn't lose Tikki!

"N-no, there's no supervillain!" Chat clarified, waving his hands to dispel her worries. Marinette sagged with relief, her anxious thoughts dissipating.

She frowned at him instead. "Then, why do you need my help?"

"For our garden!" He spoke so matter-of-factly, Marinette had to take a moment to figure out what he was talking about.

"The rose garden? In the park?" He elaborated when Marinette still seemed a little confused. As understanding dawned on her, Chat looked a little offended. "Does our garden mean so little to you that you could barely remember it?"

"No, of course not. I just hadn't realized you'd want to share it with me," Marinette confessed.

"We planted the roses together, that makes it ours," Chat told her firmly. "And it needs help!" He looked terribly upset. Marinette automatically shifted gears into her planning mode, nodding at Chat to tell her what exactly was the problem.

"The roses are dying!" He wailed. "The leaves are turning yellow and the few roses that do grow; wilt and die way too quickly!"

Marinette's brows furrowed. "They get enough water?" She checked.

Chat Noir nodded earnestly as she hummed to herself. "The roses were planted in a good section of the park, so there's plenty of sunlight. What fertilizer do you use?"

Chat simply blinked at her. "Fertilizer?" He echoed.

"Don't tell me you don't use fertilizer!" Marinette said aghast.

"I didn't know I was supposed to!" He panicked. "Can we fix this?" Chat's big eyes looked into her and she noticed his bottom lip quivering. The garden was for his late mother, of course, he would be protective of it.

She sighed. "Of course, we can. Meet me at the entrance of the bakery."

"At the entrance? Why?" Chat sounded puzzled.

"I have to get a few things and let my parents know I'm heading out. I'll be right there!" Marinette promised, scrambling to grab her purse and gardening booklet. "Let's go, Tikki!" Her kwami zoomed into her purse.

"It's really nice of you to help Chat Noir like this," Tikki observed.

Marinette gave her a soft smile. "He's willing to share something so important to him with me, Tikki. How could I not?"

She rushed downstairs, waving at her parents as she headed out the door. Once outside, Marinette glanced around looking for where Chat Noir had gone off to.

"There you are," he dropped down from the roof, causing Marinette to let out a startled shriek. "Sorry!" He apologized, throwing his hands up. "I didn't mean to scare you."

As Marinette took in deep breaths to calm her pounding heart, she also took in his contrite expression. With a sigh, she let it go. "Give me your baton," she ordered.

He looked curious but obeyed instantly. Squinting at his baton, Marinette opened the GPS function and inputted an address. "We need to go here," she handed the baton back to Chat.

Taking his baton back, Chat took a moment to study the map before scooping Marinette up. She squawked in surprise, her arms naturally looping around his neck and she tightened her legs around his waist, to keep herself from falling. "We'll be taking the express pathway," he had the audacity to wink at her when she tilted her head back to glare at him.

Before Marinette could protest, he was vaulting away. Within moments, they were standing in front of Marinette's favourite flower shop.

"So, what are we doing here?" Chat asked as he set Marinette back on the ground.

"Maybe a bit of warning next time?" She frowned at him.

He nodded. "I pawmise," he said with one hand raised while the other was on his heart.

She narrowed her eyes at him but forced herself to move on. "We're here so we can buy some fertilizer and mulch to make sure the roses grow strong and healthy."

"Mulch?" Chat tilted his head at her.

"I'll explain everything," Marinette sighed. "Let's go." She led the way into the shop while giving him sidelong looks. "I thought you would have researched before starting the garden."

"I did!" Chat agreed while tapping on his baton to let out some of his anxious energy. "I just wasn't very successful." Marinette fondly rolled her eyes at him before grabbing his hand and walking up to the store counter.

"Hi! How may I help you today?" The saleswoman perked up when she saw them. Seeing Chat Noir had her appearing quite excited but she remained professional while speaking to them.

"We're looking for fertilizer and mulch for rose bushes." She turned back to Chat Noir. "Did you say some flowers had appeared?"

He nodded, looking a little distracted at all the flowers around them. "We'll also need several stakes then."

The saleswoman nodded. "Your rose bushes will thank you. It's nice to see young people taking an interest in gardening," she remarked. "Alright, so inorganic mulch," she scanned the shelves underneath the counter.

"Is it a large garden?"

"No! It's the small one in the park, I don't know if you've seen it," Marinette began to clarify but the saleswoman's eyes lit up.

"Oh! I heard about that! I love knowing the rumors were true," she exclaimed. "Okay, so that's what, five bushes?" She pulled out a large bag of inorganic mulch. "That should be plenty, but feel free to come back if you need more."

"A high nitrogen fertilizer would be best," the saleswoman explained, bringing out yet another bag. "Say, do you kids already have the rose feed?"

Chat stared blankly at her but Marinette gasped. "Oh! No, we don't. I forgot all about the feed."

"No worries, I'm just glad you're aware that they're different things. I get a lot of customers thinking they only need one or the other. I would recommend alfalfa. One cup now, one cup after pruning, and one cup after the spring flush. Think you can remember all that?"

Marinette nodded before Chat could even react. "I'll help with everything," she promised him, making him smile at her in relief.

"Last bud not least: the stakes," the saleswoman began as she took them to another part of the store.

"You're a punner?" Chat asked in delight.

"You stand around flowers all day and not want to make a pun or two," she dared him. "I take it you approve of my punning?" Chat grinned at her in response and nodded; he appreciated anyone who could make a good pun and this woman was taking the time to help him out with something that was important to him.

Marinette resolved to make a few more puns as Ladybug if that was all it took to make her Kitty happy.

"If you have five bushes, then four stakes should be plenty. Do either of you have any experience with stakes?"

Marinette volunteered, so the saleswoman handed them to her. As they paid for their purchases, the saleswoman smiled at them. "Thanks, kids, you guys really made my daisy."

"Thanks a bunch for helping us out," Chat threw back as they picked up the heavy bags and headed out the door.

Chat vaulted away with the bags before Marinette could even suggest walking. She sighed, resigning herself to waiting for him to appear again.

"He's just trying to be helpful," Tikki put in before Marinette could complain too much.

"I know, Tikki. It would just be nice if he'd at least talk with me first instead of making decisions all by himself."

She patted her purse to let Tikki know to hide again as she saw Chat coming closer. He landed and held out his hand to her. "Well, Princess? You ready?"

"Only so we can help the roses faster," she told him, looping her arms around his neck as he held on to her waist. Then they were soaring over the rooftops, wind blowing Marinette's hair backwards until she was set firmly on the ground again, next to the little rose garden.

They took a moment to take their supplies out of the bag and get set up.

"Feed, fertilizer, and then mulch," Marinette told him. "You can start by giving them a very small amount of feed and I'll do the staking."

Chat nodded solemnly, carefully measuring out a cup of alfalfa feed while Marinette expertly put in the stakes and tied the stalks of the bushes to them. She was careful to not get pricked by the thorns and soon enough all of the roses had adequate support.

"It's looking great," Chat gushed.

"Not done yet," Marinette reminded him, handing him the fertilizer. "Pour some fertilizer on and I'll add the mulch."

It was long and tiring work, but both enjoyed themselves. It was easier to garden when a friend was keeping you company. Once they were done with the fun part, they had to clean up as well. They gathered their supplies putting it all back in the large paper bag they had been given with their purchases.

Chat stored the remaining stuff next to a large rock. "I'll take it back home with me," he explained. "But it's easier to store it here for now." Marinette nodded in full agreement.

Finally finished, they collapsed next to each other onto the grass, using each other as support for their aching backs.

"That was exhausting," Chat panted.

"More than fighting supervillains?" Marinette joked, but she was tired too. Gardening in the sun took a lot out of you.

"How about we get cleaned up and go get some ice cream to cool down?" Chat suggested. "We can walk this time," he offered.

Marinette laughed. Chat being considerate now erased all of her previous complaints. It was nice to know that he paid attention to her as well.

"With Andre right over there? Yeah, a little walk works," impulsively, Marinette grabbed Chat's hand.

He glanced down before his eyes flitted up to meet hers. Whatever he saw, caused a smile to break out on his face, and then he was tugging her along towards Andre's cart. All Marinette could do was smile back while her heart pounded just a little bit faster than usual.

[trillian-anders]

marital bliss

pairing: steve rogers x reader

warnings: angst, fluff, miscarriage, depression

word count: 2.2k

description: 1950s au; steve knew he was going to marry you the moment he laid eyes on you, but you struggle with something your parents deem not fit for marriage. and everything that comes with that. 

note: for @jbbarnesnnoble‘s mental health awareness month challenge. 

prompt:  It was progress. Baby steps forward. Maybe it wouldn’t all be okay today, but someday? It would be.

Steve had loved you since the moment he saw you. And he can remember exactly when it was. You’d been at the drive-in. Three cars down with the guy you’d been going steady with for a while. You’d been wearing a powder blue dress and a matching headband in your hair. The dress had daisies stitched into it on the hem. You snacked on junior mints and scolded the guy for touching your hair with his buttery fingers.

You sat against the trunk of your boyfriend’s car on intermission. That’s when Steve first saw you. Shaking the box to unstick the candies while he walked past, bumping into the shoulder of one of the boys joking with your boyfriend, only because he wasn’t paying attention. Only because he was trying to count the lashes that were fanned on your cheeks.

“Watch where you’re going punk.” A shove and he was on the ground. His mom had just about killed him for getting grass stains on his khakis. His popcorn spilled all over the ground. His eyes met yours, connecting for the very first time and it just about took his breath away. He maybe looked a little too long,

“You lookin’ at my girl?” A fist in his shirt collar, yanking his small frame from the ground.

“Michael!” Your voice had been like a melody to his ears, your hands wrapping around ‘Michael’s bicep, his hand curled in a fist, “Leave the kid alone.” It hurt a little, but he was sure you thought by his height and lankiness that he was a kid. But he was sure he was the same age as you, or at least around the same age.

Steve watched in horror as Michael lay his palm flat over your face and push you backward, your back hitting the trunk of the car and without realizing he was even doing it, swung forward and connected his fist with Michael’s jaw.

The next thing he knew he was sitting in his living room with a bag of frozen peas on his eye, held there by your hand and wrapped in a dish cloth.

“My Ma’s a nurse.” He’d told you, “She works nights.” With no one to take care of him you helped him home, the sleeve of your dress ripped and a bruise blossoming on your arm. He was dizzy and unsure how it happened.

“I don’t know if you were really brave back there or really stupid.” He winced at the cold touch of the frozen peas and shivered when his hand covered yours, holding it to his own head.

He remembered seeing you yell at Michael. You threw something at your boyfriend, and Steve remembered you helping him off the ground. His head ringing.

“Are you going to be okay?” If you leave him. He doesn’t want you to. You smell soft like clean linens and cotton. Lemon.

“I should really walk you home.” He said. So he did. And he mapped out the slope of your nose and the way your lips curled. He watched you tilt your head as you debated something about the movie you didn’t get to finish. And he knew then, he knew then that he was going to marry you.

It was good. Really good at first. You were so bright and full of life. Happy. Your smile would pull the sorrow from his body. The soreness from his bones. He’d been so sore the summer he hit his growth spurt. But you’d been with him the whole time.

He could see it now looking back, the melancholy. The odd blue and grey moments that seeped in at the edges of your ray of sun. The days where you hadn’t seen him because you were feeling under the weather. Laid up in bed without visitors.

Your Pa warned him not to marry you.

“She’s not fit for it, son.” A hand on his shoulder when he asked your Pa for permission to marry you. “We shouldn’t have even let it get this far.”

He didn’t understand. Your Parents wanted you to be locked away. Like you’d just stay home with them for the rest of your life. “Her fits,” Your Ma told him, “She’s not what you would want in a wife.” But he loved you. And he reasoned those bad days were worth how good the good days were.

You turned him down initially, crying in your back garden. His knee in the grass as he looked up at you hopeful. “You don’t want to marry me.”

“But I do,” He assured you, “Baby… I love you.” In sickness and in health. He wanted to be by you through it all. He couldn’t imagine his future without you. “I want to marry you.” So he did.

He’d never been happier than on your wedding day. Something that happened much to your parent’s chagrin. He remembers crying, choked up when you walked down the aisle towards him.

The happiest day you’d had in a while. He could see it on your face. Cheeks sore from smiling and many kisses, a soft touch and bubbly champagne. It took those innocent, sweet, loving kisses into something a little more lustful. Timid touches of the first time, for both of you. It was over embarrassingly quick and left him wondering how he could do better next time, wondering if you’d even had the time to enjoy it.

You’d gotten pregnant almost immediately. A joy.

You were so happy, a little sick, but happy. You were glowing and flushed, a kiss goodbye in the morning as he went to work and dinner on the table when he’d gotten home.

But it didn’t last.

The horror of that scarred you. The blood you’d woken up in. A miscarriage a few months into the pregnancy. Not even long enough to show.

That was the first time in the marriage that you hadn’t been able to get out of bed. Steve remembers the routine. Kissing you awake, you’d smile and hum. He would get in the shower and you would start breakfast. He’d find you in the kitchen and wrap his arms around you, hand splayed wide over the growing life inside of you.

And then it was gone in an instant. He would try to kiss you awake and you’d push him away. Weepy and tired. It had begun a downward spiral that he didn’t know how to help. This was met with a snarky comment by your Ma. An ‘I told you so’. It didn’t help.

So he hired someone to help you around the house. Someone to cook and clean. Lucille who could keep you company while he was at work. And you eventually came around. You were happier, but the shadow was always there. A little emptiness in your eyes when you would gaze off into the back yard. The vacantness when he would ask you a question.

This is what they meant. Your parents. That’s what Steve thought when you screamed and cried, throwing things at him. The simple question of whether you should try again. “I’m sorry,” You said later, your hand over your face sunken down on the bathroom floor. The tile hard on his knees as he sunk down to sit beside you, pulling you into his arms. “I’m so sorry.” It broke his heart.

“It’s okay sweetheart.” A kiss to your hair, “We don’t have to.” This was enough. But it didn’t stop another pregnancy from happening. Less happiness this time. But you seemed to cheer at the thought. The prospect. He would find you in the kitchen with Lucille instead of her coming to wake you later. He bought you seeds when you said you wanted to try to plant in the back garden. Pounds of mulch and fertilizer he helped you lay over the weekend. Little sprouts of zucchini and your attempt at watermelon.

He was naïve. He thought you’d been happy this whole time. When the entire pregnancy you were just waiting to wake up in blood. The death of another child. The fear of that. You’d given birth to what would have been your second born. A sweet little boy you couldn’t bear to hold.

Full of cholic and wailing. He didn’t know what to do. Steve didn’t know how to help you and he felt useless, bottle feeding his son formula and staring at your back as you gazed vacantly at the wall.

He lay the boy in his bassinet, sleepy and full. And curled himself around you. He thought you’d be happy. Your baby was healthy. He thought maybe it was just the loss of your first child that made you so sad. He thought maybe you’d be okay now.

But you weren’t.

It only seemed to get worse. The anger, the yelling, the crying. The vacant stares and isolation.

“We should have locked her up.” Your Ma was unrelenting, “With the rest of them.” Steve asked them to stop coming around. He couldn’t imagine putting you away like that. His Ma told him about the asylum. How they treated people. You were better off with him.

He talked to a Doctor. Someone who might be able to help him, even if he was a little biased.

“She has depression.” Simple. Easy. “We can do electroshock therapy in these instances, usually.” He didn’t know what else to do. So he made the appointment.

You screamed at him that night. Told him no. You’d broken a lamp. Sobbing and shaking, “You think I’m crazy.”

“No, sweetheart, I just want to help you.” A sniffle, a plead. “This is what the Doctor recommends.” You shake your head, grabbing a fist full of hair.

“I don’t like it.” You cry, “I don’t want to. I’ll try harder.” You reason, and he looks at you with despair. “I’ll try harder.”

“I just want you to be happy.” He cries. He doesn’t know what to do. And for the first time he really understands that you don’t know what to do either. He cancels the appointment.

 That night you wrap yourself around him and he holds you. “I don’t know how to be happy.” You whisper into his neck, “I do want to be happy.” A kiss to your cheek.

“We’ll figure it out.” He truly believed it.

The next day you were a little less blue and he woke you with those soft kisses and you didn’t push him away. Baby James, who had always been restless found comfort in your arms, laying on your chest while sitting in your lap. The sweet babe’s hair curled in your finger while you read the paper, chatting softly to Lucille when Steve came down for breakfast.

It gave him hope.

You started talking to him. He started accommodating you better. Helping where he could and standing back when he couldn’t. There were still those days dipped in blue. Days where you couldn’t get out of bed and where you didn’t take care of yourself. The days where he would bring you what you needed and leave you alone. But then there were days where you’d beat him from bed. You’d make breakfast like you used to, James on your hip. Singing in the kitchen.

Days where he would find those little bits of you that he remembered and not the person you fought against. But it hits him like a realization that you were this person the whole time. They were every bit of you just like the playful smiles and the way you fixed his hair with your fingers, the way you straightened his tie and told him to be home on time. You were the same person even if you were just laying in bed and weepy and tired, a soft I’m sorry and curled in on yourself wanting to disappear.

You were the same person either way. And he loved you regardless.

You sit out in the back garden and get sun, while James toddled around. You said maybe you should have a barbecue for his birthday. How you went with Lucille to the store and saw sparklers for sale and bought three packs, how maybe you should give little James a sibling.

It was progress. Baby steps forward. Maybe it wouldn’t all be okay today, but someday? It would be.

And he wanted to be with you for all of it. He’d loved you the moment he saw you. And watching you, a full person in front of him and not the mirage of just a beautiful woman with a soft gaze, he knew that his gut instinct was right. He knew that he was right to want to love you. He knew that he was right to marry you and he knew that there would be blue days. And watching you chase after your son barefoot in the back garden, four new vegetables added to your garden and the soft way you’d wrap your arms around him later while he was brushing his teeth he realized that he wouldn’t change anything.

In sickness and in health, he wanted to be with you for all of it. Didn’t matter either way.

[adventures-on-foster-island]

Hello! I recently found a concerning case of Pokémon abuse and was wondering how to help my Pokémon in the best way possible. I have a transgender female Lurantis(I live in Alola) that was part of a traveling circus act of sorts. The leader of this circus previously owned the Lurantis, and treated her horribly. I don’t just mean transphobia, though there was a lot of that. He flat out beat her, starved her, etc. My lurantis is still pretty traumatized. How can me and my team help her?

This is awful. I hate those traveling circuses for this very reason. Often the Pokémon who are forced to participate are mistreated and eventually abandoned when they become too sick to preform. It is the season for them though, which means the island will likely see a spike in rescues of this nature.

The first thing Lurantis needs is medical attention. I assume you've brought her to a Pokémon Center, who would have helped with physical injuries and malnutrition, however she will likely need to return to a medical facility several times over the next year to make sure she is healing. Get her a big pot of half soil, half compost, with a good mulching on top, and water it until water -just- stops absorbing into the soil. That is her bed for a little while. She will need to root in at night to draw in extra nutrients. You should also increase her feeding, and maybe use a baby food as it contains more nutrients than adult food. Use a very sharp, sterile knife to gently remove any damaged tissue to help redirect energy into growing new, functional parts. Once she begins to recover, she will likely need physical therapy to get her body back to what it once was.

As for the mental trauma, you can bring her by the island if it's not too far out of your way, or look for a center near you that has the experience we have. Another grass type friend, an artificial, or psychic type who can translate for her is something you might want to look at adding to your team to help out. She will likely be skittish, afraid of loud noises, and have triggers related to her trauma that may take years to get to the bottom of. She needs a therapist for sure.

If you haven't already, report that circus to your local Ranger Base, include pictures or physical descriptions of anyone you remember who worked for it and the kinds of sets they used to help track them down. Do not go after them yourself, as often these kinds of operations have merciless security.

[lady-divine-writes]

Good Omens - “A Christmas Without Santa” (Rated PG13)

Summary: When Warlock comes home from school, he's in a foul mood. Through a little sleuthing, Nanny finds out that her young charge has been confronted by an unfortunate truth. And she gets to deal with the aftermath. (2299 words)

Notes: Written for the wonderful @theantichristmaszine 2020 :)

Read on AO3.

Warlock comes home from school in a foul mood.

He’s in a foul mood because he’s had a foul day.

He stomps up the walk after his chauffeur drops him home, completely bypassing the inflatable snowman, the animatronic skating penguins, the singing elves, and the laughing Santa in his giant snow globe. Nanny watches him from the kitchen window as he scowls at the cheery decorations, blowing by them when he would normally stop a moment and stare in awe. Mrs. Dowling told Nanny Ashtoreth that Warlock had picked out those decorations himself, and that the Santa snow globe had been his particular favorite. Indeed Nanny has seen him sit cross-legged in the snow to stare at it. He’d be there for hours on end if Nanny didn’t scoop him up and make him change into dry clothes.

But now he seems angry at it, and Nanny cannot imagine why.

“Hello, dearest,” she greets him as he marches through the door. “How was your day?”

“Fine,” he grumbles, taking off his backpack and tossing it in a corner. The zipper opens when it lands, a corner of his math book having wedged between the teeth. She hears his bedroom door open, then slam shut. She should take him his afternoon snack - a glass of milk and a plate of chocolate biscuits. But she holds back a moment, eyes fixed on the backpack, its contents spilled over the floor.

Nanny isn’t snooping. She’s tidying. There’s a difference. Mrs. Dowling would be cross if she came in and saw Warlock’s things on the ground. And with the day he’s had? He doesn’t need disciplining right now. Nanny doesn’t necessarily object to snooping, especially where the Dowlings are concerned. In her mission for Hell, it’s sort of expected. But she isn’t snooping nonetheless. And while she’s not snooping, she comes across a note.

A note that makes her blood boil and her amber eyes burn red.

She finishes her tidying, then takes the note, clenched in her fist, and heads out the door.

“Brother Francis!” she calls out, picking her way through a once green garden covered in a rare blanket of snow. “Brother Francis! Where the Heaven are you?” She spots his beige coat-covered rotund figure waddling out by the hedges. He’s heaping layers of mulch on the spot where the dahlia tubers are hiding below ground, to keep them warm till the spring thaw. Nanny stamps her foot and turns up her nose. Brother Francis is doing exactly as he should, but he didn’t ask for her advice. He looked it up for himself in one of those gardening books he brought along with him when he was hired.

Typical.

“Brother Francis!” She waves to get his attention. When he smiles and waves back, she calls out, “May I have a word?”

“For you, my dear? Two.” He lays his shovel against a wheelbarrow filled with composted bark, steam rising from the mound into the crisp, winter air.

“How very gracious.” Her words shake, which, if asked, she’ll blame on the cold when, in fact, she doesn’t feel it a bit. The tremble in her voice comes entirely from watching Brother Francis perform anything that even hints at hard labor. He has the sleeves of his coat rolled up to his elbows, exposing forearms not normally visible through his disguise.

Bulging, muscular forearms that belong entirely to the angel hiding underneath.

Seeing them like this raises Nanny’s temperature enough to melt the snow around her into a puddle.

“What’s wrong?” Francis asks, misreading the pinched expression on her face. “Is it Warlock? Is he ill?”

“Here!” She thrusts the note in his hands when she can’t string together a coherent sentence. “I found this in Warlock’s school bag.”

Brother Francis begins to read, but an anxious Nanny doesn’t let him get far. “They called him a baby! And a few other things for believing in Santa Claus! They all signed it, the little plague rats!”

“That’s very organized of them considering they’re only eight. Surprisingly neat penmanship, too.” Francis tsks. Children. How can they be so cruel? Who teaches them to behave this way? Where’s the sense in sending Warlock to a fancy, expensive school if this is the caliber of student that attends? “What have you done about this?”

“Nothing yet. But I swear to you, revenge will be swift!”

“Nanny, no …”

“Their class has a pet. A rabbit that bit Warlock once so I don’t think he’d be upset if I boiled the blasted thing in oil and left its skin hanging from the blackboard.”

“Nanny, dearest …”

“Oh, I won’t let Warlock see. I’ll take him to the zoo that day, go visit the jackals, the lions, other animals he likes, while we plan the personal take down of every student who put their name on that blasted note!”

“Nanny! That’s not what I mean! What did you tell Warlock?”

Ashtoreth looks at him and grimaces. “What do I tell him?”

“Isn’t it obvious? You have to tell him the truth.”

“And what’s that? Hmm? That the world is a cruel place where nothing magical ever happens even though both you and I are, in fact, supernatural, and could snap up a jolly fat man in a red suit because we have powers!?”

“I understand how you feel, my dear ...”

“Do you!?” she snaps. “Because last I checked, the gardener isn’t expected to take care of Warlock! I am! I feed him his dinner! I help him with his homework! I tuck him in at night! And when it comes down to it, the dirty deed falls on me here, doesn’t it?”

Francis sighs. “You’re right. I’m sorry. You are going to bear the brunt of this. But I’m willing to help in any way I can.”

Francis peeks up at Nanny with apologetic eyes, and she softens. “That’s very kind of you.” She reaches out and gives his arm an indulgent squeeze. “But I have a plan.”

***

Nanny Ashtoreth’s plan is more of a tactic.

She decides there will be no problem if they simply ignore it.

If they don’t talk about it, it’ll go away.

If she can get Warlock caught up in the excitement of Christmas, then maybe he’ll forget the whole sordid affair.

Nanny does everything she can think of to distract Warlock.

They color.

They drink cocoa.

Lots of cocoa.

They finish making Mr. and Mrs. Dowling’s presents.

They bake cookies.

And even though Nanny consistently reminds Warlock that tonight is Christmas Eve with all the enthusiasm she can muster, she knows the poor boy’s heart isn’t into it.

When the time comes to tuck her charge in that night, she caves. “Warlock? Is there something troubling you? You don’t seem at all yourself today.”

Warlock stares at his red tartan comforter, chewing his lower lip thoughtfully, wearing the look of a person preparing to make a choice they know they’ll regret. “Nanny? Is there a Santa Claus?”

“Warlock …” Nanny sits on the edge of his bed and leans in close “… I’m going to be completely honest with you. Because you’re a smart boy, and you deserve no less than the truth.”

Warlock’s breath hitches. “That means no … doesn’t it?”

“I’m so sorry,” she says. “But there is a silver lining to this.”

“Yeah?” Warlock sniffs. “What’s that?”

“Now that you know, you get to carry on the tradition.”

“Of what? Lying to kids?”

“No, my dear. Of being Santa Claus.”

Warlock stares at Nanny with puppy-dog eyes.

The saddest eyes Ashtoreth has ever seen.

“I don’t understand, Nanny.”

“Santa Claus isn’t so much a person. He’s a symbol. He represents everything that’s good about the holiday season. Everything that’s good about humanity, too.”

“B-but how am I supposed to be Santa Claus?” he asks, wiping his eyes with the backs of his hands. “I’m only eight!”

“Every culture has had a Saint Nicholas of sorts - a kindly gentleman who hands out presents to those who deserve them. So when you give a present, what does that make you?”

Warlock stares at her in confusion. But when he catches on, he squeezes his eyelids shut and shakes his head, looking more angry than comforted.

“But why do adults do it? Why do they lie?”

Nanny sighs. She is at an impasse, caught between a rock and a hard place.

Her duty to Hell versus doing what’s right for Warlock.

As a demon, Nanny knows this conversation should go in an entirely different direction. She should be sowing seeds of resentment in the boy so that he grows to distrust and distance himself from his mortal parents. That would be an easy way to reap his soul for the Master, put him on his path to his inevitable destiny.

But Warlock, anti-Christ or not, is a little boy. A sweet, innocent boy … for the time being. And tonight is Christmas Eve. It’s a time of love and joy and family … even if God herself handed her only son over to the masses to be nailed to a cross.

But that’s a story for another holiday.

Nanny can always sow seeds of hatred and resentment on a less family-centric occasion, like bank holidays or Guy Fawkes Day.

“Because you need to believe in something, Warlock. It makes this world we live in tolerable, gives us a reason to wake up in the morning.”

“So … there is no Santa?” Warlock asks with the sad finality that comes with acceptance.

“No, dearest. I’m sorry. There’s only one man in a red suit in your life, I’m afraid.”

“And who’s that?” Warlock asks, looking at Ashtoreth with watery eyes.

“Your father.”

Warlock sniffles. Then his eyes twinkle, his face screwing up with laughter. “You’re so weird!”

“Oh, my little love,” Ashtoreth says, leaning forward to rub their noses together, “you have no idea.”

Footsteps on the roof capture their attention, causing Nanny and Warlock to freeze.

“What was that?” Warlock whispers, lower lip trembling with fear but his eyes bright with hope.

A hope that Nanny is wrong, that there really is a man in a red suit who travels all around the world giving out presents to good girls and boys. And that Warlock, even with his B-minus in math and his propensity to ‘forget’ to make his bed in the morning no matter how many times he’s told, may be among them.

Nanny startles for a second until the golden threads of a familiar holy aura rankles her senses. “That, my dear, is questionable decision making, I’m afraid.”

The footsteps continue their way across the shingles, heading for the gutters over Warlock’s window while a resounding “Ho, ho, ho!” announces their arrival. Nanny and Warlock sit still, listening as they progress. “Ho, ho, ho! Ho, ho, ho! Ho … ho … ho-no, no, no, no … aaahhh!”

Nanny and Warlock’s heads snap towards the window where a bulbous red blur streaks through the drift of falling snow, landing somewhere out of sight below the sill with a painful-sounding thud. Warlock’s eyes go wide with shock while Nanny’s head finds the palms of her hands and buries itself there.

“Nanny? If there’s no Santa, who’s that then?”

“That, my love, is an idiot. But he’s our idiot.” Nanny plants a blood red kiss to the boy’s pale forehead. “Everything will be all right,” she whispers earnestly. “I promise you. Get some sleep. And when you wake …”

“Everything will be different.”

“That’s not necessarily a bad thing,” she says without thinking, a lump forming in her throat when the words sink in.

“Goodnight, Nanny,” Warlock says, rolling onto his side as Ashtoreth gets up and begins to leave.

“Goodnight, Warlock.” She turns back and catches Warlock staring at the window, smiling like the child he was on Christmas Eve last year.

She holds her breath and prays (for the first time in centuries) that smile lasts.

***

“What are you doing!?” Nanny whisper-yells as she races through the snow towards a reddish lump buried under a foot-and-a-half of snow.

“I’m stuck,” Francis mumbles, rocking back and forth in an effort to free himself.

“I can see that.” Ashtoreth snaps her fingers, sitting Brother Francis bolt upright.

“Oof! Thank you, my dear,” he says, brushing at his arms. “Big help that.”

“What were you thinking!? I thought we were meant to tell him the truth! That there is no Santa Claus!”

“Well, yes,” Francis says sheepishly, twiddling the thumbs of his thick, fleece mittens. “But I got to thinking - he’s still such a youngin, and believing in Santa is so much fun! The anticipation, presents underneath a tree full to bursting on Christmas Day, the stockings, the pudding!” Francis’s eyes twinkle so heartily when he speaks, Nanny wonders if he’s ever imagined what it would be like to be a boy growing up in a human household, experiencing the wonders of Christmas firsthand. “B-but I think the way you handled it was better. You always manage to do what’s best, r-regardless of your job description.”

“I don’t know that I did or not,” Ashtoreth admits. “Either way, I think your little stunt helped buy him another coupla years of what if. So huzzah! The magic of Christmas is saved, and we didn’t have to use a single miracle to do it.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“Yes,” she says fondly. “It’s a very good thing.”

“Well then,” he says, gleefully patting the snow, “I suspect I should get out of this kit, eh?”

Ashtoreth grins. “Don’t. you. dare!” she demands, putting both hands on his chest and pressing him back into the snow. “I do believe I have a thing for men in red suits.”

[standfortheangels]

I HEAR YOU! (for Cinder and chester ;W;)

Send me “I HEAR YOU!” for Your Muse (Ask Sender) to find My Muse in a secluded place, injured and alone.

(Prompt post here)

((Okay, so, I did this in two or three sessions, hopefully it doesn't seem too disjointed or sound weird anywhere, but if it does, that's why. >w>' I'm also definitely putting this under a read more because it is loooong))

The deep woods. This was the part of Chester's job that he usually minded the least- right from the start, when he was new to the village, these trips to gather supplies were like a welcome break for him. He didn't have to be social, or funny.. he could study the plants they needed without keeping his nose in the books that he could barely make out anyway. Maybe that's why Elzin made it 'the apprentice's job' back then. He was certainly fit enough to do it himself. After all... that was how they'd met. And though Chester had never outright admitted it.. odds were his reading trouble was no secret. Probably still wasn't in this village. People had a funny way of finding information they ought not have. Chester chuckled at the thought. His old teacher just, sending him out here conveniently to match up the illustrations with the real thing, learn where they grew, find out what else around here looked similar... All the while never saying a word about the deeper purpose to it. The same way his grandfather used to when he was a child. Though he suspected that was more to get him out of the way now and then.

The sound of semi-wet mulch under his feet was a sign he'd found his next target. He was never the best at navigating the woods, but he could memorise a route like no-one he knew. Well, sort of. It often felt confusing, and he'd get a little ahead of himself sometimes. But there were always little markers to pick up on. He'd take a mental note of them, and repeat the list to himself over and over as he went, and then, it wound up sticking in his mind. Somewhere inconvenient, like a sheet of paper tucked into a dusty book on the top shelf, but it was there all the same.

It was nowhere near as natural as the way Cinder and her people navigated the woods. Of course they did have the advantage of being raised there for generations, but it didn't take away how it would wash over him now and then; this marvel at how, in seemingly any territory, Cinder could pick out a path without having to stop and analyse it, never passing the same point twice. Humility and adoration aside, there was no denying it was a level of talent he could never catch up to.

Still, he had learned a lot from them. Maybe he should bring something back after this. Nothing to mess with the ecosystem though. ... Maybe tea. Dried plants were definitely safer.

He rested his hand on a damp log and carefully hopped over it, pressing on as the light grew dimmer through the canopy. Shouldn't be far now.. Just a few more paces to the east, and- yep, there! A small collection of tiny but beautiful yellow flowers, all joined by long entangled stems. Exactly what he needed. He took a dull little knife from his hip, apologising to the plant under his breath as he cut off what he needed.

Pulling at the small bag on his hip, he popped it open and quickly rifled through with a finger, just nudging the plants around and mumbling their names to himself. "Perfect. In you go... and next iiiis... Ah."

Skirt flower. These things were trickier. He sighed, and stood for a second, then off he went again. There was no point delaying it. He'd told the townsfolk he'd be back before evening fell, and if he was late, he was bound to get an earful from someone or other. Maybe Mrs B, so overly concerned about him missing the chance to eat that she'd practically force-feed him her latest concoction... whatever that would be this time. He practically shuddered at the thought. He would always try his best not to hurt her feelings, as all the village did. But he'd try even harder to avoid her food.

This next plant wouldn't be easy though. These things required a little climbing to get to. Thankfully not upwards, but, really the next worst thing. They grew along the walls of steep land. Valleys, cliffs, sometimes even stone walls if they were loose enough. Unfortunately, they also needed a lot more moisture than they could get in the open air of the village. This dank part of the forest though, where dropped leaves and mossy soil could hold water, this ought to be enough for something to grow. Though it would make it trickier still for him.

There was a place just a little further in that Chester called The Ledge. Not quite a cliff, not quite a hill, just a section of land that seemed.. fractured. As if the forest floor was made of separate pieces, and every so often, one piece would sink downward, making the area look like different chunks or steps or- well, ledges. The word was more fun to say than this place deserved, especially when he needed something from here. But, this was part of his job. 'Wizard' was a title to be earned, and never forgotten.

Every breath was practically a sigh as he tugged on the strap and the cords of his bag, looking down at where he had to go. The last thing he needed was to lose the plants he'd gathered already. Though really, he'd made this bag sturdy enough. He just... Needed to start. Just get in place, and the rest will be okay, right? Yes. Getting down and finding his footing was the hard part, he could do the rest~ If he didn't think about heights, or falling.

He probably looked like the least elegant man alive right now. Slowly crawling backwards towards the ledge on his knees, shifting his weight unsteadily onto his elbows and chest, legs just kinda.. dangling as he tried to find a foothold. One foot finally hit something that was definitely solid, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Thank all the world's goodness that no-one could see him like this.

With just a brief pause, he began shuffling back again, keeping that one foot stable, then wiggled his arms out from under his chest, elbows now pointing out, hands as flat to the earth as possible. This was the part he hated most. ... Actually, no. It was all terrible. Equally terrible. With some deliberate breaths, he began to bob a little. Up down up down up down, "One, two, three-" UP and backwards, every part of him screaming for just a second as he moved his weight down onto his feet. Great! Foothold was sturdy. Handhold, however..

He grasped desperately for the ground at the top. One hand succeeded. The other only found loose soil that slipped right off the edge, effortlessly, and though he strained, the weight of his body off-balanced him completely. The rocky foothold scraped his knee as he tried to catch himself, dirt up his nails as even the sturdier ground came away, the bottom ledge was somehow in the air above him before it walloped into his shoulder and back, his stomach did flips, and then-

SMACK

...

He opened his eyes. It felt like, cold stone, under his cheek. Pulling his face away from it, he heard a low groan, and brought an arm in to push himself upright, more or less. Behind his shoulder, there was a dull but unignorable pain. His eyes.. no, his head? Eyes? Maybe both, felt.. off. Like the world's worst and sharpest sinus headache. He heard another, shorter groan- given that he felt it in his throat, it must have come from him. But, he hadn't chosen to...

With one hand bearing his weight on the ground, he brought the other to his head. Only when the two made contact did the pain really hit him. He tensed, shrinking down into his shoulders, mouth open with barely audible sounds, breaths leaving in an erratic fashion at first. He was curled now, still sitting, as the pain continued to collect at the front of his head like fluid pooling in his skull.

... Pooling. Oh-... Oh no.

His eyes were open now, full of every fragment of fear as his mind finally clicked back into place. Blood. He'd.. He'd fallen, into this, pit. And now... He glanced down at the stone he'd woken on. It was solid, not small either, with a corner so sharp he gasped at the sight. There was only a tiny, tiny amount of blood on the stone where he'd landed, only inches away. His breathing spiralled almost instantly. If he'd hit that- if he'd landed just a hand's length to the left.. he wouldn't have woken up.

"I have-.. I have to get out of here" he whispered to himself in a panic, and rushed- in a haphazard mess of movement- to get up onto his feet, as fast as possible. His arms, and worse, his legs, seemed too hard to control. He wasn't even sure of his torso either. And did his head usually throb like this? Probably not.

His hands caught him as he lost balance and fell forward into the wall of the lowest ledge- managing to stay on his feet, but only just. What was the matter with him? Everything was spinning, he was so nauseous... "No, it's fine, it's fine," he spoke barely louder than a whisper. "We can do this. Just gotta get out of this hole and get back home. Or.. ditch. Outta the ditch. Get out of the..." A new wave of nausea literally knocked him back, and he had to rest his weight on just one hand while the other covered his mouth tightly. He shut his eyes, making little muffled noises as he fought his body's urge to vomit. His eyes opened again, frantically looking up the hill and to the trees, over to the side- no, it was even steeper over there. Though those tree roots might be worth another try, maybe he could get enough purchase on that big thick one if he stood on something- His thoughts were interrupted as he suddenly lost the war against his stomach, folded over and couldn't stop himself.. Maybe he got too distracted. Yeah, that was probably it.

Breathing harder and hating every second, he used his arm- from the elbow to the side of his fist- to hold himself away from the wall, and rested his forehead against it, looking down. Already he was back to fighting the next wave, and it didn't help that now there was a new smell on his breath. He closed his eyes again, so exhausted it was a challenge to even think about stepping away. Slowly, his lids opened again, to a world slightly blurrier than the one he'd seen just seconds ago. At least he couldn't see any flecks of red in his vision, though it wasn't easy to tell right now.

He turned, putting his back against the slope and dropping his arms. His eyes were barely open, then closed, then halfway open again... He was still breathing hard into the air that grew colder- it must be late evening by now. And he was still so tired... There were only two things this could be. One... One would leave him dead here before morning, probably. And there was nothing he could do. The other... Well, it'd be tricky, and unpleasant for sure. But he could still get out of here eventually. He had to get out. He had to fight every bit of this and get out of this ditch! He turned again with a push and put both hands on the slope of dirt and leaves- the leaves were a slippery nightmare when wet, but if he could dig his fingers into the soil... thankfully his desperation helped him on that front.

Ignoring the dizziness and nausea, he began to half crawl, half climb, upwards, but when one foot slipped, he couldn't react fast enough. Before he could even figure out what to do next, he was falling. It was quick, he'd barely made it anywhere, but his head- his head felt like it was still falling. Maybe it would fall through his body- maybe his body was falling through the floor! Mayb- He clenched his hand around some leaves. No, he was just on the ground. Again.

Alone.

He let out almost a whimper and- slowly- dropped his head. This wasn't going to work. He couldn't do it. Under his breath, he spoke a portion of the Goddess' prayer. If nothing else, if she let him survive this, she wouldn't have to put up with his presence in her own realm. Not that she would anyway. He'd probably be haunting these woods forever. Reminded him of those old stories... The not-fun ones.

Staggering back to his feet again, but always using something around him for balance, he looked around a little more. "Okay.. let's think about options, Chester, you can do this. Do what, who knows, but you can do it. Just, have to... Uh..." There was a tree here, a big one, growing right up close to the side of this miserable hole. But he couldn't climb trees at the best of times, and certainly not now. The wall again, with the tree branches and a big rock... Climbing on easy mode, right? Oh but it was so far away.... He almost fell forwards just thinking about walking over there now.

After catching himself for balance again, he realised something more worrying. He was shaking. And shaking hard. He looked at his arms, his legs, and fear flooded his thoughts. No. No, not now. His head was killing him. ...Maybe literally. "No, no, don't think about that" he muttered to himself. If he went into shock now, here, alone.. Okay. Change tactics. He may not be able to heal himself, but he was still a medic. Time to act like one.

With a strong determination, he got himself over to the tree, the world spinning again, but that's okay. It's okay, it'll be fine. He pulled his cloak a little tighter around himself with one hand, holding it there, and lowered himself as carefully as he could to sit back against the rough bark. The ground was still a little cold, but at least this section was mostly dry. The last rain must have come in from the other side, and this big tree blocked its path. Now resting his head back against it, he reached back and patted the bark with his free hand, murmuring his thanks. This was probably the most this tree had helped someone in its whole life. True it didn't really get much say in the matter, but still. If it sheltered him from further rain tonight, he'd be grateful.

Alright, medic time. His whole body seemed to appreciate stopping, but he couldn't relax too much, he mustn't let himself. His eyes were still objecting to being open but he made them stay, forced himself to keep them open. He couldn't risk just 'resting his eyes' right now, it was too dangerous, he mustn't fall asleep. Unless he died, in which case... there wasn't much else he could do. But he HAD to stay awake now. Stay awake long enough to let these symptoms ease off. He probably wasn't bleeding into his skull, but-

Actually, it might be better to check.

Carefully feeling around with his fingertips, both hands, he mumbled the different sections to himself. One hand still for reference, the other very gently walking over his scalp. "this should be where that joins... Little pressure... No movement, alright.. nothing there... Down to the back plate..." Once he'd moved back as far as he could go, he tested the very top of his spine, where it connected, just in case. It hurt a little, but no more than expected. He breathed a sigh of relief. Knowing he hadn't fractured anything didn't entirely rule out a bleed inside, but at least it ruled out one huge cause of one. And now... Now there wasn't much to do. In fact, only one thing not to do. Sleep.

The cold could actually be helpful there. There were only tiny specks of sky he could see way up there, through the leaves and the pine branches he still hadn't managed to collect, but it was enough to know that it was getting darker. Soon the nocturnal animals would be waking up. He wasn't too thrilled about meeting them. But maybe the uncertainty and fear would help too.

...

...

Uncertainty and fear were wearing off. It was definitely night now. He could hear the owl's call, though he doubted he'd be mistaken for a mouse, so there was no danger there. There weren't even any mice here with him. In fact, the only animals he'd seen were a worm and some kind of tiny flying bug too small to even care about. So all his worrying and imagining had kind of lost its edge when nothing happened. And he still wanted to be asleep.

He held his cloak tightly and pulled his knees up, shivering a little- thankfully, he was now sure it was only the cold autumn air causing that. And, he seemed to have better control now. But his head still felt like it was splitting and spinning and, almost floating too. His eyes drifted shut and he forced them open again in a second. "No. You stay awake, stay focused, come on! Uhhh, lightning trays, the biggest jar of- medical spiders, Peru with a whole treasure chest of knives, ahhh come onnn, think, something scary, something really really scary, something so scary I can't ever sleep again." He squeezed his eyes shut as hard as he could, his fists balled tightly, and tried to imagine something- anything that would overpower this exhaustion. And then, opened them. This was a whole different situation, different setting, everything. But maybe there was something... from there.. that he could use. As much as he hated it, the things they made him do must have helped him to stay awake, or keep his mind running at least. And that was good enough for now.

His hand went to the little bag on his hip, but he wouldn't open it, no, that would ruin the game. Instead, he had to remember. Remember every plant he managed to find and put in this bag. One at a time. Get that list growing, repeat it, add the next one, repeat it, add the next, and so on, until.. he very quickly reached the end. He'd put eight different plant cuttings in this bag. It felt like a lot at the time. It was more than planned, but he wanted to make that tea for Cinder to try. Maybe tomorrow, maybe the next day... Maybe never now.

"I should have gone for the sage. Skirt flower's a stupid idea.." He dropped his head back against the tree- gently, of course- and looked up again. Quietly at first... he began to sing. A song from his birthland about the dangers of traveling by sea. This... Wasn't the sea. But there had always been good advice in this song. Advice he probably should have listened to more. He sang those lines slowly, as if he was turning over each word in his mind, and grew just a little louder. Then, he stopped. And tensed. There was a sound. And there, again! A voice? It almost sounded like...

"Chester!"

"Cinder?" He was quiet, eyes wider than they'd been in hours, then tried again- maybe this wasn't real, but on the off-chance it was.. "Cinder?" He called out, louder now.

"Chester! I hear you! Where are you?"

"Uh- This way! I'm in a hole and I fell and-" he smiled, relieved, and took a breath. "I'm so glad you're here~ Can you- I-I'm just going to keep talking, just, follow my voice!"

"Stay there, I'm coming!"

Finally, his body relaxed, and not out of exhaustion this time.

"I couldn't go anywhere if I wanted to. Trust me, I tried." He smiled again. He wanted to just stand and move to the edge of the pit, but, it would probably be better not to go dizzy and fall again right now. But it was okay. Cinder was here. It was all going to be fine.

[yurtletheturtlehenderson]

ASoUE REWRITE - Season 1; The Miserable Mill - Part V

⇢ Klaus x Reader⇠

[gif by eggogorgon]

    Insomnia, if you have been fortunate enough to have never heard of it, is the ability or lack thereof to fall asleep and remain asleep, most commonly due to psychological turmoil and anxiety. One might be suffering from insomnia if they have a big test coming up, maybe a beloved pet went missing, or perhaps a treasured friend and brother had returned from the optometrist acting quite strange and unusual.

    This could be said for Violet Baudelaire and Y/n L/n. They did not have an important exam coming up - not yet anyway, nor did they recently misplace a pet near and dear to their heart. But each girl was terribly worried about their friend and brother, who had recently returned from the optometrist and was acting quite strange and unusual.

    Violet plucked another flake of sawdust from her sister's head when she heard shuffling, followed by a disgruntled sigh from the bunk below.

    "Can't sleep either?"

    Y/n sighed, shifting onto her side to face Violet up above. She could just barely see her from above Klaus' bunk, though she tried not to focus on him.

    "No." She whispered. "Is Sunny asleep, at least?"

    Violet looked to her sleeping sister and smiled weakly.

    "Yes. I'm grateful, today has been awfully tiring for all of us, and I'm glad she is able to get some sleep."

    "Me too." Y/n said. "I can only imagine how tired she must be, what with all the biting she's done today."

    It was quiet for a moment, and Y/n spoke, hoping she wasn't crossing a line.

    "I don't blame you one bit for being concerned about Klaus. Truthfully, I am worried as well."

    "It's just that, our parents made me promise to always look out for Klaus. But I didn't. He wanted to leave and I made him stay. And now he's acting strange and unusual. It's all my fault."

    "Violet, I do hope I'm not overstepping my boundaries here. I only mean well, but don't you think you might be a little hard on yourself? That seems like an awfully big weight for a fourteen-year-old, to be responsible for what happens to your siblings. Though I do suppose I understand, having siblings myself. But my point is, the burden of motherhood falls on young girls such as ourselves and we are often blamed for how our siblings turn out when we were the ones who stepped in to help when our parents failed to do so when the fact is we are only still children ourselves."

    It is silent again in the lumber worker's dorm, apart from Norma Rae's snoring, and Jimmy's mumbling, and for a moment Y/n fears Violet is angry at her. She prepares for the worst when suddenly her friend speaks.

    "I suppose so. But that doesn't mean I'm not always going to look after my siblings,"

    Y/n shook her head immediately.

    "Nor should it."

    "It sounds like you know an awful lot about this."

    Y/n's eyes stared blankly ahead as she thought back to the years of her early youth.

    "I do," she mumbled. "My parents traveled frequently, and even when they were home they scarcely had time for us. Whenever B/N or S/N needed something, I'd have to fetch it for them. It was up to me to entertain them, feed them, dress them, bathe them, teache them, watch out for them. I was their mother more than I was their sister, and truthfully I resented it. Not them of course, I loved them and it wasn't their fault."

    Violet listened intently, her heart hurting for her friend.

    "What I'm saying is Violet, I don't blame you one bit for whatever is happening, nor do I believe Sunny would blame you either. Or even Klaus. And don't forget, I'm here to help in any way I can."

    For the first time that day, a smile broke out on Violet's face. She slowly turned her small cramped bed to look at her friend down below in the adjoining bunk.

    "Thank you, Y/n. Thank you for being such a good friend."

    Y/n's smile rivaled Violet's and the two girls nodded in understanding. Not long after that, with the strengthened sense of friendship and comfort, the two girls had fallen fast asleep.

    That was until,

    "Get up, lumber laborers." Bellowed the foreman's voice from the intercom. "Lucky Smell has no time for dawdling."

    Y/n, Violet, and Sunny all stirred from their beds, rubbing the sleep from their eyes. Y/n and Violet had been in fact, lucky enough to catch a few hours before they were awoken. Y/n mindlessly sat up, and threw her legs over the side of her bed and began slipping on her shoes and socks, just as any other day. But her ears perked when she heard the next few words from the intercom.

    "Klaus Baude-liar, would you like to get out of bed this instant?"

    Y/n watched blind sighted as the boy before her, abruptly rose from his bed where he had not moved since the previous night. He looked wide awake. And he smiled.

    "Yes, sir."

    Y/n rose to her feet and shook Violet awake, keeping her eye on the boy. The brunette stirred awake and looked at her friend groggily.

    "Y/n? What is it?"

    "It's Klaus. He's-"

    But before she could utter another word, the screech of the intercom interrupted her.

    "Would you like to bring your baby sister?"

    Y/n's eyes widened and they darted to Sunny, who had been so exhausted from debarking logs with her four teeth, had slept through all the raucous. A word which here means, a very loud lumber worker's dorm filled with the sounds of bustling people and the terribly loud shouts coming from the intercom. Before she could stop him, Klaus left his bed on the opposite side and grabbed poor little Sunny.

    "Sunny!" Y/n cried, running after the boy. "Klaus, what are you doing?"

    In all the commotion, Violet had managed to jump out of bed and as quickly as she could, began slipping on her shoes though not without wondering how Y/n had done it so quickly. No sooner was she able to slip her way through the crowd of fellow lumber workers and catch up to Y/n, who had seen him enter the lumber mill.

    "Lucky boy," called the foreman from the speaker. "It's wood chipper time. Would you like to make some mulch?"

    "Klaus?" Y/n called, quickly following the boy up the stairs, where he had already started making mulch.

    It was at that moment that Sunny let out a series of intelligible shrieks. Only this time, not a single person could make out what she was saying, not even her siblings, not to mention the young survivalist. But she knew well enough the poor young Baudelaire wanted out of her brother's arms. She reached the top of the metal staircase and quickly brought Sunny into the safety of her arms.

    "Klaus! Stop this now, you're frightening us," Y/n urged.

    Klaus did not answer but merely continued his current lumbering task in an unusual silence.

    "Klaus, what is going on?" Violet pressed.

    The bespectacled Baudelaire boy carried on with his task of turning lumber into mulch, still not uttering a single syllable. And the three children opposite him watched in great sadness as each scrap of wood was chucked into the woodchipper, feeling as if their hopes were being thrown inside the chipper as well, and immediately torn to shreds.

    Violet stepped forward towards her brother to stop him from throwing another piece of lumber into the woodchipper and looked at him with a pleading gaze.

    "Stop it, and we can leave." She offered, much to Y/n's dismay.

    The young L/n child's heart fell at the proposition, even though she had no intention of intervening. She was of course in full support of breaking Klaus from his unusual behavior, and whatever he and his siblings would choose to do thereafter, but she couldn't deny her disappointment.

    If you've ever found yourself in a position where you are alone, or in an environment surrounded by unpleasant and or people you share no interests or commonalities - whether it be a different taste in genre or very fickle depression that prevents you from maintaining relationships, maybe even a significant age difference with the people around you, because you are a child working in a lumber mill with several adults, like Y/n L/n, was - then you might be saddened to hear this. To have made such fast, and good friends with three wonderful children of varying ages that share like experiences with you, only to have one of them disappear for an entire day, and come back acting strange, and then plan on leaving you behind. It was all very overwhelming, after all.

    "Lucky Smells is our life," Klaus replied rather bleakly. "Lucky Smells is our home,"

    "No, it's not," Violet argued, unaware of the suspicious look crossing Y/n's face at the all too familiar statement. "A home is where people take care of you, not make you work in a mill for gum. I should have listened to you when you wanted to go. If you're still in there, I want you to know I miss you. An inordinate amount."

    The moment Violet uttered the words, Klaus got a very funny look on his face, as is he were waking from a dream. He blinked several times before he fell into a squint, trying hard to discern where he was. When he realized where he was and what he was doing, he shut the machine down. Phil, who had been passing by and caught Violet's words, stopped and smiled up at the children.

    "'Inordinate?'", he giggled merrily. "What the heck does that mean?"

    Klaus instinctively smiled, and had he been wearing his glasses he would have pushed them up by the bridge in his usual manner.

    "It can mean many things, immoderate, irregular," Klaus trailed off, looking at his older sister. "but in this case, I think it means you miss me a lot."

    Violet smiled widely, a smile larger than she had in a long while. As did Sunny and Y/n.

    "Klaus, you're back!" Violet cried, a great wave of relief washing over her.

    Klaus chuckled and tilted his head.

    "Where was I?" He wiggled his toes and looked down at the floor to see that the only thing covering his feet were his socks. "And where are my shoes?"

    "You left them at the dorm," answered Y/n. "We were awfully worried about you."

    Klaus felt his heart sink at her concern, and he only then realized what strife he had inadvertently caused his sisters and friend.

    "I'm sorry I caused any worry," Klaus said earnestly. "But to be perfectly honest, I'm not sure what's going on any more than you do."

    "Teefca," Sunny said, meaning "We're just glad you are alright now."

    "Me too, Sunny." Klaus smiled.

    "Klaus," Y/n said, a thoughtful look in her eye as the gears turned in her brain. "What's the last thing you remember?"

    Klaus thought about this a great deal, realizing just how fuzzy everything had become. It dawned on him how serious it was when he realized just how much time he was missing.

    "I was with Phil, in the waiting room. Dr. Orwell showed up, and everything kind of blends together after that." The growl of his stomach grabbed his attention, and he brought a hand over his abdomen. "Didn't we just have lunch?"

    Violet and Y/n shared a concerned look before glancing back at Klaus worried.

    "Klaus, that was yesterday," Violet said worriedly. "We didn't see you again until after lights out. You were acting very strange."

    A harsh screech filled the dusty air, quite abruptly interrupting their conversation, and the even worse sound of foreman Flucatano speaking followed.

    "Baude-liars!" He barked, grabbing their attention quite rudely. "Go to the very fancy door. You have visitors."

    The Baudelaire children were filled with an odd, flickering sense of hope at the words. They did not know why especially considering their vastly unfortunate luck in the recent episodes of their lives. Sunny babbled, reaching for Violet, and Y/n immediately complied, handing her over to her sister's waiting arms.

    Together, they descended the stairs and Y/n watched them forlorn. A word which here meant, a sense of dread and worry for her friends, sensing something dreadful was around the corner and knowing there was nothing she could do to stop it. Klaus turned to her briefly, and upon noticing her look of forlorn, he offered a weak reassuring smile.

    "We'll be right back, it'll be okay."

    If you, like thousands of people, have what is called arachnophobia - a profound fear of spiders - then you might know the great and festering feeling of dread and fear. And if you were to find one, lurking in your bathtub, per se, and were too afraid to dispose of it, you might ask a friend or relative to do so. And perhaps when you left the room to fetch them, you, like thousands of others who have experienced such a terrible fate at least once in their lives, will return to find the spider is gone. It's a terrible, painstaking experience, to know a threat is nearby, but unable to stop it. You feel helpless.

    Much like how Y/n felt at this moment. She nodded at Klaus, not out of feeling reassured. Like one might, had their friend or relative returned from the bathroom to tell you they had disposed of the spider plaguing your plumbing. But she nodded, ruefully accepting the fate placed before her, and sick, plunging feeling of fear from not knowing. Not knowing what was to become of her and her friends as they left for the very fancy door.

    What she didn't know, was that Klaus was half right. They would be back, but it would be far from okay.

    The Baudelaires disappeared from her field of vision when they existed the lumber mill, and Y/n's sense of fear only grew. She was faced with two options; get back to work and hope her friends would return, or she could follow them discreetly, assuring that everything would, in fact, be okay.

    Y/n, being the skilled survivalist she was, went with the latter. She exited the platform in the direction of her usual station, the board stamper, and when she was positive no one was watching - especially foreman Flucatano - she slipped behind a stack of finished wooden planks. As she had discovered rather quickly in her time at the mill, behind their outgoing stack of lumber, there was a rather snug route to safely sneak away and outside without being seen. This is where she typically went to eat her lunch, the scraps she saved during dinner. But this time, she was quick and agile enough to navigate the dangerous machinery and sneak outside unnoticed.

    She found herself in the usual spot outside the mill, but on the opposite side from where she wanted to be. No matter for her, as she was quite adept at adapting. She navigated around the warehouse with ease and followed the footsteps of her friends. Y/n found shelter behind one of many stacks of outgoing lumber. She could not see them, and she was much too certain from where she stood, if she were to peak, someone would surely see her. But it wasn't difficult to imagine their expressions based on their tone.

    "But who is visiting us?" Asked Klaus, sounding rather confused.

    "Oh, I don't know," Charles answered, sounding as if he had brushed the question and their concern away. "But they can't come inside, because that would be trespassing and then they would be put to work. But, I can tell you they are just on the other side of that very fancy door."

    No more words were said in following, but Y/n did hear the sound of work boots traveling across the bark chips and she then deemed it safe enough to look. Peering around, ever so slowly she noticed three things; her friends, the Baudelaires heading away from her, Charles with his back turned to her watching the three orphans, and what was indeed a very fancy door in which the Baudelaires were headed.

    Their trip to the very fancy door was a short one, but it did not feel that way to the Baudelaires or Y/n L/n for that matter. It was a moment filled with anticipation, and dread which is exactly what made this moment stretch on for a small eternity, and all for good reason, too. The doors opened slowly, revealing-

    I am dreadfully sorry if I have caused you any frustration or dismay by interrupting this woeful tale, but I promise you it is for your own good. I beg of you, put down this story right now and leave the Baudelaires with their small victory of fleeing Captain Sham, and finding solace in the company of their new friend. By doing so, you are gifted with the ability to imagine that they lived the rest of their lives in a series of unencumbered experiences. Not unbridled by wretchedness and disasters like their previous endeavors. Because what you are about to read, should you continue, is exactly what you will find, I'm afraid.

    I encourage you to imagine something far better than what really happened that day. You could imagine that the woman on the other side of that set of very fancy doors was the Duchess of Winnipeg that had come to throw the Baudelaires and their good friend Y/n a pony party at her chateau. Or you could pretend that she is a butler with a tray of blueberry pancakes, or a loving parent that you thought you'd never see again. But if you choose to read on, let me warn you, the misery does not end here.

    In fact, I visited Paltryville myself, many years later. It was long after the Lucky Smells Lumbermill had closed its doors and Dr. Orwell's office had fallen into despair. Of course, it was not originally an optometrists office at all, but the headquarters of a secret organization.

    That is where I learned what happened to Klaus Baudelaire. Poor, poor Klaus Baudelaire. It's enough to make you want to abandon civilization and live by a pond, but if you choose to look this misery in the eye, you should be asking one question. It's the same question that the Baudelaires should have asked, and my beloved Beatrice on the day that she died and that question is;

    The pink figure in Klaus's blurred vision slowly came into view as she placed his freshly repaired glasses onto his face. It was a woman, two women in fact. One of them Dr. Orwell herself. The other wore a rather convincing wig - though of course not convincing enough to fool the Baudelaires and Y/n who had watched the scene unfold astonished - a bodysuit under the blinding pink outfit that gave off the illusion of certain physical traits and a rather heavy face of makeup. The woman, who was in fact, not a woman at all but a ghastly villain in yet another disguise, smiled, revealing several lipstick stains on her many crooked teeth.

    Where is Count Olaf?

    "My, my, my, my, my," purred the fake secretary, with a most wicked grin. "Aren't you a... lucky boy."

    The same ghostly smile Klaus had worn the night before returned to his face and he nodded slowly.

    "Yes, sir."

+ + +

    You might be wondering what will become of the Baudelaires and Y/n L/n, and you might not and I would not blame you. But I cannot in good conscious end this miserable chapter without providing you with all the details in their egregious encounters at this miserable mill. Only minutes before the arrival of Count Olaf, unbeknownst to the orphaned friends who were in the mill attempting to break Klaus from his trance, Sir received a very suspicious phone call.

    "Lucky Smells lumbermill," He barked, listening to the mysterious voice on the other line. "Yeah, this is he."

     "..."

     "The Baudelaire orphans working at the mill? Well, that's ridiculous!"

    Now, you might or might not be wondering about the identity of the mysterious caller who rang to inquire about the Baudelaires. I've conducted extensive research and all that I can tell you is whoever it was,

    "Now who is this?" Barked Sir, awaiting an answer that would never come. "...Hello?"

    They were of no help whatsoever.

    The banker on the other end hastily hangs up his phone, eliciting a long string of violent coughs. He picks up his pen and crosses off the words Lucky Smells Lumber Mill on his list of nearby locations.

    "Let's see what's next on the list," chirped Mr. Poe, with misguided optimism.

+++

Taglist: @ggclarissa​

[cchexmex]

Kotalblack mmmmfluff. You can milk alpacas, right?

“They like you more than that heating lamp… might just have to leave you here.” Erron rested his chin on his hand, glancing back down at the small chicks clambering over themselves to nestle underneath Kotal’s cupped hand. “Maybe they’ll pay ya… chick warmer.”

“You wouldn’t dare leave me here…” Kotal murmured softly, eyes drifting up to lock onto Erron’s, only for a second before he returned his gaze back down.

“Probably not…” Erron smiled, reaching out a hand and grasping a shoulder. He moved behind Kotal, settling his other hand on the side of his waist before trailing up to his free shoulder, gently massaging the muscle that loosened quickly at his touch. “Could you imagine that, Kahn of outworld, leaving to become a full time chick warmer.” It made him laugh, a soft chuckle making the corners of his eyes crinkle, lines deepening and meeting the dimples of his cheeks. Kotal groaned half heartedly, urging the chicks back to the safety and warmth of their heat lamp with gentle hands.

“Only if you joined me.” Kotal huffed, a smile teasing his lips. He stood up straight and pulled down his shoulders, Erron taking advantage and putting more effort into his impromptu massage.

Erron mused his words, cheeks prickling hot as he stared at the back of Kotal’s head. Thick hair poking out from underneath a battered and sun bleached straw hat they had picked up at some estate sale years ago. He noticed it a while back, a single grey hair hiding in the dark brown waves of his hair. “Of course I would…” He let the words slip past his lips as he dragged his hands down. Down the small of his back, laying a small smack to the seat of his pants, making Kotal laugh and push back into Erron.

“Dork-” Erron smiled up at Kotal, slipping his fingers into the loops of his jeans and holding him steady as Kotal chuckled under his breath. “been thinkin’ about it… haven’t you?”

“I have…” Kotal let his head roll to the side, hands drifting to lay on top of Erron’s for a moment. “Retiring my title eventually has… crossed my mind more often as of late.”

“Yeah? Gonna take me up on that offer I gave you? Come out here… become goat farmers…” Erron pulled back and grinned, reaching a hand up and running it through his hair. One gray hair for his fifty or more. Erron’s hair graying at his temples, he’d always find more the next day. A trick of the light or the years catching up to his body. “Or… maybe alpacas…” Erron looked around at the aisles beside them, breathing in deep and smelling the faint trails of mulch and straw lingering in the cool air. “Wool and milk.”

Erron nodded, alpacas could work. Half teasing, half serious. He set his hands on his hips and glanced up at Kotal, noticing he had closed their distance. A shared smile, Kotal lowered his head and pushed back the brim of his hat with a finger.

“With you… anything.” The words lingered in the air, heavy and warm. As heavy and warm as the hands that found their way onto Erron’s hips. As heavy and warm as the pounding of Erron’s heart in his chest. One kiss, simple and sweet. Erron sneaking his hands in between Kotal’s arms and hugging him close as that one became two, became a three. He groaned against Kotal’s mouth and pulled back, falling down against the heels of his feet.

“Hey now… can’t be slobberin’ on each other in the middle of a feed store.” He teased, reaching a hand up and cupping the side of Kotal’s face, dragging his thumb across a flushed cheek.

“Am I slobbering?” Kotal whispered, handing darting up to touch at his lower lip, eyes darkening with self satisfaction when Erron laughed and patted at his face.

[slasherkisss]

CABIN FEVER - JASON VOORHEES X READER [CHAPTER 5]

Summary In an effort to remove yourself from your previous life in the big city, you move to Crystal Lake. The cabin you had inherited from your father makes the perfect place for a fresh start, however, there is a secret in these woods (and within yourself) that you must come to accept…and to love.

A/N Chapter 5 is here! I’m gonna finish this fic if it kills me, I promise. I’m just so slow at writing with my work and life. My 2020 resolution is to at least get this done at some point fghgh. I hope you all enjoy this next chapter nonetheless!

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You had seen Jason almost every day since then.

As the seasons shifted with the rotation of the earth, so did your attitude with the presence of the Crystal Lake Killer at your side. Rather than live in isolation as you had planned to, the forest as your only friend and the sound of birds and babbling brooks being the last signal of life within your reach, you had instead found comfort in another figure nonetheless. His hulking stature brought with it a warmth so unique to him that you could feel it radiating from far outside your home each time he visited. It was like a string of fate, you thought with moderate amusement in your mind’s voice as you would constantly guide yourself to it in order to bring him in as you usually did, tying you to him as you allowed yourself to drown further and further against him.

He was a sun at the bottom of water, reflecting stars in the warmest of ways.

Your mind wandered over to the subject the most when you two were making love.

‘Making love’. It’s what you called it. It’s the phrase you used to ease him into the idea of being so intimate with you. For some reason the wording seemed to put him in a more relaxed state than other synonyms. You didn’t mind, though. You had always found it vulgar when your partner talked to you with those phrases dying on their lips as they pushed themselves upon you. ‘Fuck’ and ‘Bang’ and ‘Boink’... All stupid words that stupid people who were not serious about their relationships used to justify their wants. To find someone and use them and then leave them alone.

There was nothing wrong with it, you supposed in the end. Some people liked that style of living. Partner to partner parkour suited those who found joy in it and that was okay, but you? There was a craving for something more in the base of your chest. Thorns digging into your lungs and heart, clutching around each organ tighter and tighter the longer you were without that sweetness of a lover willing to devote their all to you. You hadn’t known that you wanted someone like that in your life until you met Jason Voorhees.

Until he saved you like that, and you repaid him with your love. It made sense now why you never enjoyed the other men. Why you never gained pleasure when they fingered you. As Jason’s thick, delicious fingers filled you to the brim as they always seemed to, you understood what you wanted.

Him. Always him.

Your moans were soft, beautiful noises that hit Jason’s ears in all the right ways. His head tilted slightly to the side, eyes admiring you through the small holes of his mask as his massive fingers curled deep into your throbbing core. Your hips rolled to accompany their movements, fingers finding fistfuls of his ragged shirt and gripping until your knuckles turned white as the sheets of the bed you were atop. His other arm rested on the bed, dipping it dangerously to one side but neither of you could find it in you to care in the throws of your passion.

“Jason,” Your moans of his name were a song to his heart as you arched yourself up into his touch, “There - yes - please! You’re doing so good - ahhh - so, so wonderful and good. My good boy, mmm, that’s it… Jason-!”

Your moans and praises only spurred him on, his confidence increasing with every ‘good boy’ and sweet words of love that left your voice. Each crook of the fingers within you sent your mind running on a high that pushed your entire form over the edge. You came when he twisted his two thick fingers within you and crooked them curiously, hitting a spot inside of your core that made you see stars. Your entire body shook as you cried his name, your moans beautiful on your lips as he memorized the face you made as you soaked his fingers in your cum.

Laying on the bed, you caught your breath as you watched him heave his own heavy ones, his cock hard in his pants as he shifted before you with a needy stature. You knew what he wanted next, smiling as he begged for it in the shyest of ways possible, and it was only natural for you to return the favor. Sitting up, you leaned upwards to kiss his mask. The material was cold under your lips but you didn’t care, not when he leaned forward eagerly in the movement, pressing his cock onto your bare thigh. Your hand came down to free it from its constraints, making a low and shaky moan pull itself from the killer’s throat. You smiled proudly.

His moans were like the wind. Each echo of them burned the very walls of your cabin as you stroked his throbbing cock in your hand, his entire body shuddering as he leaned forward to rest his head on top of yours. In this position, when you looked upwards enough, you were always able to see the beautiful blue of his eyes through the mask. You held onto them as you smiled, your pace increasing as you pleasured him.

He was so perfect.

After taking care of you and your lovers needs you excited the bedroom in an outfit of thick jeans and a plaid button-down shirt. The sleeves were rolled up to your elbows, bending tight at the forearm as you meandered about in hopes to locate the seeds you had haphazardly placed somewhere in the kitchen before being whisked off by your lover into the bedroom, where he cared for you so well. It was less of an active search effort, however, and more of a generalized meandering of your open space.

You found yourself in that short of mindset nowadays. With nothing to focus on outside of the things you wanted to, life had gone at your own pace. Your only timers now were the sun and the moon as they traded spots in the sky, cycling through each other endlessly as they fought for the attention of the humans down below. Your world went by at a careful rhythm that followed the beat of your heart as you progressed. There were some days you just wandered around the winding paths of the forest, admiring the trees and the animals that scurried past your feet. You gathered the skulls of creatures you passed by when you could, too.

It had started when you found a squirrel skull on a trail. Scooping it up without much thinking about it, it now joined the rest of the bones and plants Jason had gotten you on the various displayed points within your cabin. Soon to join it were the small amalgamation of animal teeth, spine bones, and raccoon skulls that surrounded your living room in a macabre visage of rural beauty.

The trail of thoughts was burst when you turned around from your fifth pacing circle in the kitchen, running face to face with Jason as you did so. His hulking form had entered the kitchen only a short while ago, hands outstretched as he offered the missing seeds to you with a tilt of his head, as if asking ‘is this what you were looking for’?

“Oh!” You giggled and took them from his hand, “Thanks, Jay, I appreciate it.”

You stood on the tips of your toes to kiss his cheek. To accommodate the action, he modestly bent his knees to feel the warmth of your mouth over his mask. If corpses could blush, god, you imagined that he would be red. Shaking the seed packets in your hand, you found the trowel that you had gotten in your short time at the store in the town a few miles out from your location and waved it around with a laugh.

“Want to help me work?”

His nod was adorably eager as he followed after you into the backyard. HIs footsteps fell heavier than your own, making it sound as though your own were echoing off of the edges of your floor as you spun the trowel lightly in your hand.

Outside the house was beautiful. Sun rays proded through the leaves of tall trees, sprinkling themselves down onto the earth below. The dots warmed your skin and made you sigh with a pleasant contentedness as you shut your eyes to bask. The warmth hit your face as you swayed in the mulch below you. Jason watched you for a moment, your perfect face glowing like fire in the rays of the light. Birds chirped their secretive pleasantries around the branches they hid in and he could see the glitter of love and appreciation for his home in your eyes as they opened back up.

The Cabin’s backyard was a large spread of land fenced off with old wooden posts that lined themselves with barbed wire. Your Dad had always said that it was to keep animals out, but, you now wondered if it was to keep something more out. Something that you had let in instead. It was a cruel sort of humor that made you laugh at it before trying to forget about it, focusing instead on the half of the land rimmed with two chicken coops and a small plotted feeding ground for pigs. On the other half of the land, in front of you where your cabin’s entrance spat you out, was an even set of plots. They were perfect for growing fruits and vegetables of all sorts. Your grip on the bag in your hand clenched tighter as you hopped towards the dirt and began your preparations.

You were on your knees and pulling out weeds when Jason joined you, his own hands hesitantly finding the unnecessary plants and removing them fearlessly from their roots. You smiled up at him as he did so, the shimmer of the sun reflecting off of his hockey mask.

“I want to get farm animals,” You announced with a soft sigh, “Some chickens and maybe a couple of goats. Wouldn’t it be fun to have a few pigs around, too?”

He nodded in excitement, the thought of all of those creatures safe within the confines of the land with you a delight to his ears. You watched him stand up and look around, as though he was ready to start finding animals right then and there. Reaching out your hand, you held onto his pant leg as he tried to move, making him look down and offer a quizzical stare in return.

“Not right now, silly.” You laughed, “We have to plant seeds first. And then maybe start stocking up on feed. I don’t want them to go hungry. I’m sure we can make some natural feed out of the things in the woods. You can help me with that later, too, alright?”

He sat down, picking idly at the earth as he helped remove more of the weeds, and nodded.

The two of you worked on your garden in quiet, words not necessary as the both of you relaxed in the presence of the forest and each other. You could count the seconds between the bird’s tweets, slowly recognizing the different iterations of each species. Your fingers felt cool in the dirt as they dug shamelessly through the ground, not afraid of getting dirty if it meant giving you the fruits of your hard work in a few months. Lines were created, holes shoved into them as you had Jason insert each seed of different varieties into their rows. They were so nice and neat. When you told him you were proud of him he beamed.

You put your hands over his as you showed him how to cover the seeds properly, ensuring that they were correctly layered with the amount of dirt necessary. You felt how strong his hands were. They were as powerful, you realized, as they were gentle. Your own didn’t even fit in his palm. HIs massive body was so much more against yours. If he wanted to he could grab you right now, holding you there and then snapping your neck without a second thought.

You could feel them now. Tight around you. Parching your breath. The twist of your flesh… gentle but firm… your tendon snapping and your spine shattering in his grip.

Cr-Ack

You startled yourself as you realized you had broken a twig under your palms, staring down at the earth with wide eyes. Jason’s hands were still under your own as you watched their difference again, trying not to let your mind wander down that path again as you looked upwards towards the massive killer. His hockey mask gave way to his eyes, which were soft as they searched yours. Curious and worried, that sweet look of his made your worries melt away and you smiled softly, lips parted in a breathless laugh that made no sound. Leaning forward, your lips found his again. Well, where his lips might be. You wondered if you could get him to take his mask off at some point. You would have to get there on his own time, especially when he was doing so well for you already.

“Let’s go inside, okay? I think we’ve done all the work we can for now… It’s just up to letting these little guys grow now.”

You cast one last familiar gaze at the plants below you and then let a smile form itself light on your lips, “I’ll even make us some lemonade, okay?”

Jason nodded slowly and it occurred to you that, perhaps, he didn’t have to drink lemonade. Perhaps he’s never had lemonade before. What kind of childhood was that, you wondered, that this man had never had lemonade before he died? A tragic one, certainly, but no one ever claimed that Jason Voorhees had a good childhood.

The inside of your cabin was cold compared to the warmth of the sunny outdoors. It sent a chill down your spine as you wrapped your dirty hands around your arms and rubbed them, the friction accompanied by the feeling of mud being smeared across yourself. It was a nice feeling, though. Dirty and gritty… as though you were closer to the earth. As though, slowly, you were going to become one with it.

That was the part you never seemed to mind about the concept of dying, at least. Being buried deep within the earth or scattered ashes across fertilized plains of existence. The echo of your voice a deathly sound on the wind as all the pieces of you were moved about in different locations… All of it was as beautiful as it was melancholy. It was a terrifying concept but so peaceful in its honest ideal that it almost made you crave it sometimes. To be in the ground with the worms as they used your body to fuel their lives. To fuel nature. Soon you would be the trees towering above you or the plants at the bottom of a lake, swimming and watching the rays of the sun filter downwards into your eyes and system…

A touch lifted you from your thoughts. You turned your head slightly to notice the hand on your shoulder. Jason’s touch was not hard by any means. It was a light rest of his palm on your shoulder, not even squeezing as he waited for you to respond with something akin to worry radiating off of his massive, blank features. Reaching upwards with your own hand, you touched his and rubbed at the textured knuckles, your finger dipping into a part of his skin that had long been peeled away by decay. You felt the texture of his bone against the tip of your finger and shivered with delight at its strangeness. At its unique difference to any other hand you had held before.

You wanted to dip your tongue into it. To taste what his bones would be flavored like. Maybe you could ask him if it was okay later.

Right now you needed some lemonade and a good book.

“I can read you a story after we make some drinks,” You suggested, your first words after a terrifying silence as you pat his hand and smiled brightly at him. Jason’s serious demeanor seemed to lax at the idea, enjoying the sound of your voice when it lulled him into a net of safety through fairy tales and history books. You had read him the tale of Bonnie and Clyde at some point and he seemed to have an interest in the roaring 20s ever since. You tried to imagine him in flapper wear, dancing gaudily to electro-swing, and it almost made you laugh out loud as you entered your living room to skim the stocked bookshelf curiously.

Your fingers passed grimoires of fairy tales and texts of history tomes, lowering themselves idly to the edges of other books whose titles you had yet to read even since your arrival here. Inch by inch you scanned the shelves as you tilted your head sideways, gathering the titles in the light to better comprehend them.

It’s when you saw it.

It was a simple book, blue in its cover with plain white lettering. It was clear and easy to see, yet it nearly mixed with the rest of the blander covers. Perhaps to others it was bland. Yet, still, its concept caught your curiosity. Your heart jumped and you couldn’t help the smile as you pulled it down from its shelf and scanned the front of it.

American Sign Language: Conversations for Beginners

“Jason!” You turned a little too excitedly as your eyes lit up, holding the book upwards to show the startled man before you. He tilted his head in an indication of confusion as he gazed down at the book, which only served to rile you up more as you bounced on the heels of your feet and smiled.

“How would you feel about learning a new language?”

[pippki-writes]

An Ill-Fitting Name: Snippet 8

NOTES:

Snippet 1; Snippets 2 & 3; Snippet 4; Snippet 5; Snippet 6; Snippet 7

Once more, let’s hear from the bird eh?

%%%%%%%%%%%%%

I want to give the young man a name, since he hasn’t volunteered it. I’ve watched him, but no one has come around to greet him. He spends some time on his phone, leaning in the doorway of his motel room, but he doesn’t much talk to himself. Doesn’t seem to say his own name.

He says mine though, the one he gave me. He’ll call out, “Cat!” and whistle softly, shaking his handful of kibble before scattering it neatly in the mulch. Then he’ll dust off his palms and sit on the curb, and talk to me.

“I suppose you’re only my friend because I feed you, huh?”

I try to stomp my little foot, to make a noise of protest, but I’m not sure if it’s quite the effect I was going for. He laughs in surprise. I notice the button I gave him is now on a cord around his neck, and his hand goes to the button, his thumb tracing over the raised patterns of the crest stamped on the domed metal as he talks.

“Don’t get mad. I...I think that’s kind of how friendship works, isn’t it? You do nice things for someone, they do nice things for you. You enjoy each other’s company. I don’t know. As I mentioned, I’ve never been good at making actual friends. I don’t think manipulating people is quite the same as making friends.” He stares off into the distance, lost in thought. “I’m not good at good things,” he admits softly, with a shrug. As though he isn’t terribly bothered by it. Merely acknowledging a fact. But he is bothered by the topic of friendship, as he keeps returning to it, the line of concern in his forehead growing deeper as he thinks and talks.

“It’s kind of transactional, but is that so bad? I don’t know. I’m guessing most people don’t go on like this...most people probably just…make friends…” He trails off again, clearly continuing a train of thought in his own mind. After a time, he looks down at his fingers, glances around the empty parking lot, then back down to his fingers. “Crows like shiny things, right?” he asks me, and I top my head. He draws a shape with his fingers and murmurs something that sounds like it could be Latin. He holds out his hand, palm up, and concentrates, as a small, shimmering star shape begins to glitter there for a moment. I hop a little closer, tilting my head to and fro curiously. I try to reach out to pick it up with my beak, but find nothing there to grab.

“Sorry,” he says, the star dimming as he speaks, “it isn’t real. But pretty, yeah?” He focuses again, and the star glows brighter. We watch it for a time, before he sighs and lets his hand drop, the star vanishing. “That’s a nice sort of magic. Not my specialty, I’m afraid.” His mouth twists to the side, like he wants to say more, but he doesn’t, and shrugs again.

I would like to name him for a star, I think. But even the ones I know, I can’t speak their names. I hop around to face him, to get his attention, and do my best impression of the soft whistle and chirp that a locking car makes. It’s a good imitation, a pleasing sound. I doubt he knows what I mean by it, but he smiles.

“Thanks, Cat.”

I make the noise first, the soft chirp of a car’s doors being locked. I trust that in time, he’ll figure out that’s what I’m calling him.

“Cat!” he notices me on the roof, shades a hand over his face to get a better look. “It’s not time yet, you know..” he trails off, checks his phone. “Ah, shit, maybe closer than I thought. Daylight savings means nothing to you, I’m sure.” He scratches the back of his head through his thick, sandy brown curls and yawns. “Wish it meant nothing to me. Well,” he stops and thinks a moment, mostly talking to himself, “I suppose it doesn’t mean much to me, aside from the time on the clock. Not like I’m expected at certain places and specific times. Hm.” He gets that strange distant look to his face again. It’s a pretty frequent look for him.

I swoop down and land on the tail end of a nearby sedan. He isn’t paying attention, so I call the name I’ve given him again. He turns to look at me again, snapping out of his reverie.

“Right,” he says with a smile. “Let’s get you squared away, huh?”

Into the motel room he goes. I worry about him, I realize. I have yet to see him speaking with another person. He’s back out again in no time, absentmindedly scattering his offering next to the shrub. He sits on the curb quite close to the food, and I let him, gliding over so near I almost clip his shoulder with my wing.

He looks around the parking lot again carefully before he speaks. As always, there’s no one else around.

“I’m a killer, Cat,” he says, worrying the button with his right hand. “That’s what I use my magic for.”

I’m sure I’ve killed in my time. Accidentally, purposefully, in one form or another. I eat my kibble, because it feels like the least judgmental action I can take.

He laughs, at himself it seems. “What do you care though, hm?” I get the distinct feeling there’s an unspoken half of that sentence—“you’re just a bird, right?” Something like that.

“I’m not stopping either. Some people deserve to die...But...I think I’m doing better at picking who. But I can’t sit with you tonight, I’m...restless. I’ve got to find someone. It’s been too long, and…” he sighs. “I’ll be back later, if you’re around.”

He takes a picture of me, taps on his phone, and gets up. What do you say to all that even if you had words to speak? I call his name again, and take off to wait for him on top of the roof. He waves, and walks toward the shadows on the side of the building, and in the blink of an eye, he’s gone.

- NEXT SNIPPET -

[violent-ham]

The Artemis Fowl Movie

I wrote musings as I watched the movie. Here they are without much context but I’m hating the movie so much that I don’t care to go through and write a comprehensive review. Maybe later.

Also note that it’s been a WHILE since I’ve read the books. So. I’m aware that some of my nitpicking may be off.

Needless to say, spoilers for the movie.

Less than five minutes in. Artemis Fowl II… is surfing.

….maybe that wasn’t Artemis?

 They killed Angeline???

 Psychologist scene was almost spot on. Almost. ….maybe this won’t be as bad as the trailers made it look.

 They had me believing for a moment with his interactions with the psychologist. BUT THE VERY NEXT SCENE. Artemis riding a hover board IN JEANS. Artemis wouldn’t be caught dead in jeans.  The one time he wore them in the books he complained extensively about them.

 Fowl Sr.

 Movie Artemis to have a great relationship with his father who is TEACHING HIM ABOUT FAIRIES.

 Cliched rich absentee father.

 Oh sweet jesus Butler

 SAID BUTLER’S FIRST NAME IN HIS INTRODUCTION.

 So… they’re just gonna completely reinvent Butler. Alright.

 Tantrum over his father’s criminal empire. Book Artemis KNOWS THIS and is actively trying to rebuild his family’s fortune after the disappearance of his father YEARS AGO.

 Is that Koboi.

 Yer a wizard, Arty

 Let Artemis be smart and find out about fairies on his own instead of force-feeding us and him expositional dialogue. Let him be the clever genius he’s supposed to be.

 Really hamfisting the whole “THIS FAMILY IS SO IRISH” thing, aren’t they?

 I can only hear Olaf when Mulch speaks.

 I don’t like that they switched it to Mulch stealing Holly’s wallet from Mulch stealing the badge (?) off another officer and Holly retrieving it. Might just be nitpicky at this point though.

 Briar Cudgeon already in prison??

 Holly… other female LEP… Root… Holly’s whole story arch. Yeah.

 Holly gets a “Missing Father” plot too

 STOP SAYING DOMOVOI.

 NIECE. I can overlook the age down (unless they’re planning to try and romance them in the future. If there is a future). But… NIECE?? Juliet is his SISTER. Not his niece. Why was this a necessary change??

 Short hair… no jade ring…

 Already having the groundwork for The Book and finding fairies laid out for him…

 Explaining shuttles to THE experienced flyboy. Gotta get that exposition in somehow, I guess.

 Holly’s father is a thief too, just like Arty’s! Wonder where they’re gonna go with that… =.=

 Yeah forget keeping the civilization a secret and having underground docking stations for the shuttles, lets just shoot Holly out of a fucking volcano in full view of a major city and fly away unshielded.

 Arty’s gonna sit comfy while Butler, sorry DOMOVOI stakes out the tree to kidnap a fairy instead of wanting to see and make sure in person.

 “Pick on someone your own size!”

 Time freeze capsule.

 Time freeze for the rogue troll in Italy.

 Holly going rogue instead of just to refill her magic…

 Holly and Arty’s dads working together.

 Opal Fucking Koboi.

 Oh good, Arty decided to join DOMOVOI after all.

 Gah, those contacts

  “Not happy!” …my sentiments exactly, Holly.

 In a box, not a cell. Guess they’re not gonna go the route of “Holly breaks the floor of her cell to find dirt to restore her magic and WRECK Artemis’s day.”

 Arty sr. teaching Arty jr. about the dangers of fairies.

 The jeans are back!

 Very, very brief glimpse of Artemis in Arty. This movie needs more of that.

 “There are humans that are afraid of gluten, how do you think they’d handle goblins?” Ok that got me…

 Flannel and jeans. WHERE IS HIS SUIT.

 “I’m going to need the suit.” Oh. There it is.

 Arty firing a fairy gun and actively partaking in the fight.

 …………disabling the time freeze WITH AN ARROW. He’s not even allowed to be clever in escaping the time freeze/blue rinse combo at the end??? Will there even be a blue rinse?

 Also, why did the time freeze act as described in the book for Fowl Manor, but LITERALLY freeze time for the incident with the troll? What are the movie rules?

 Well at least they included the “While I’m alive” stipulation but… they’ve gone so off the rails so far I’m not sure it makes a difference anymore. There’s been no build up, no struggle between the fairies and Arty until he captured Holly five minutes ago. The reveal isn’t going to feel earned if they even go that route.

 Well they kept Mulch jamming his thumbs up a goblin’s nose to fry him in jail. So there’s that.

 Nope. No. Arty should be mesmered and Holly out of there.

 Portals between worlds. What movie are we in again?

 David Bowie is a Fairy.

 The scene between Root and Mulch got a laugh out of me. Small laugh, but a laugh nonetheless. Which is more than this movie deserves.

 Mulch unhinging his jaw was actually horrifying.

 But, they had to go for the comedic “pop out of a painting” instead of coming up through the floor. How did he even get into the wall if he was tunnelling through the ground? Comedy of sensibility, I guess.

 So much for “Dwarves can’t burp”

 Arty should be mesmered. AGAIN.

 Arty unlocking Holly instead of Holly escaping. They’re really pushing this forced bond between them.

 What was that reaction to getting punched! And not even a jab about lollipops from Holly.

 That’s not how allergies work

 “D’arvit.” My sentiments exactly, Commander.

 Mulch having pickpocketed Holly’s gun off of DOMOVOI gave me a chuckle. And the fact that not one of them said “How did you pickpocket that off of DOMMOVOI?” is surprising, but welcome. Seems like they forgot about “show don’t tell” up until this point. And something tells me that after this gag, it will be forgotten again.

 Was there a reason for jamming magic in the house when Holly is the ONLY magic user in there? Unless Cudgeon is actively trying to kill Holly. Which. ….yeah alright maybe. Guess that means Holly isn’t going to almost get pummeled to death by the troll if she can’t heal.

 Holly is consistently a damsel in distress instead of a badass LEP captain.

 How did Holly get the momentum to swing that chandelier thing across the room and through the glass?

 A lot of running, jumping, and dangling precariously off of things. Too many cut jumps, not enough troll fighting. What about medieval suit of armor Butler squaring off with the troll? Did they cut that too??

 Arty losing the gun due to recoil. That should have happened the very first time he fired it if it has recoil. Do neutrinos have recoil?

 Ah, so they blocked the magic as a plot device to make us believe DOMOVOI isn’t going to make it.

 “Buddy.” That shouldn’t be in Arty’s vocabulary. Especially when referring to DOMOVOI. Can’t even work in an “Old Friend.” Nope. Gotta go with “Buddy.”

 Magic unblocked, DOMOVOI saved. Wow, did NOT see that coming……. =.=

 Healing fatal wounds is supposed to be tricky even for trained medics to deal with, much less for a LEP officer to do in two seconds.

 Oh, they’re suggesting that he actually DIED. There was a whole scene about this in the third (?) book and being brought back from the dead had some serious repercussions for Butler. But nah, two seconds and he’s fine. Admittedly he was frozen for some time in the book. But still!

 Sooo… the time freeze exploding did nothing and everyone in the house is fine?

 Why does Holly trust Arty? They’ve really done nothing to earn each other’s trust

 Oh good, they’re friends.

 Forever friends.

 Ok, using the first lines of The Book as a spell… is the ocularis or whatever supposed to be the movie version of The Book?

 Ocularis ex machina, Dad is saved!

 “I’m Artemis fowl. I’m a criminal mastermind.” No, you’re Arty and lucky as fuck that the plot of this movie loves you so much.

 A FEW of the plot points are there. SOME of the scenes are there. It’s like they started to make an actual Artemis Fowl movie, scrapped it, wrote in some unrelated story and mashed the two together. This wasn’t an Artemis Fowl movie. This wasn’t even a GOOD movie if you take away the relation to Artemis Fowl. The acting is phoned in and just plain bad at times, like they just wanted to get it over with as soon as possible. The effects are pretty good in places but my god that does not make up for shredded scrap of a story it has. Artemis wasn’t allowed to be clever or in any way villainous, Holly wasn’t allowed to be a badass LEP recon Captain, Mulch… would have been fine if it were an actual Artemis Fowl movie, even if I could only hear Olaf when he spoke. Arty didn’t earn his “Criminal Mastermind” badge in this, not by a long shot. Waited so long for this movie and every apprehension I had after viewing the trailer was warranted. Just awful.

 They didn’t even include the sprite from the trailers in the movie.