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butterbabyflapjack · 1 month

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[ PAIRING ] Messmer the Impaler x hornsent princess!reader

[ SUMMARY ] Messmer is feared throughout the land. Your world, his flame has razed; your family gone, yourself his prisoner. He’s given you every reason to hate him. So why does heat flood your veins at his touch? Doth your wretched heart crave his to come and claim you?

[ RATING ] explicit, 18+

[ WARNINGS ] enemies to lovers as an extreme sport, mutual pining, snake bites, light bondage, monsterfucker, inhuman anatomy, size difference, hurt and comfort, passionate sex, hate sex, dark romance, slow burn, minor character death, attempted rape (not by Messmer), canon typical violence and warfare, more tags to come

✧˖° read here or ao3

CHAPTER 1

[ AUTHORS NOTE ] Soooo I did not mean for this to be so long. I got carried away–I can't help myself. And I’m sure there's parts which are messy since editing chapters this long melts my brain so I hope you’ll forgive me <3 Enjoy!

This land was not always weighed by death. Not always wrought by ash and ruin.

The Impaler, Messmer, changed that. Inked his name to its cause. Proud, it seemed, to wear the flame-soaked flag his crusade waved in the broken halls of your people.

He changed a lot of things in what would become his land of shadows, and always in manners most cruel.

The people feared him.

You feared him.

Ear craned to whispers of his name.

You lived a sheltered, privileged life, despite your lust for ungilded freedom, and your father wouldn’t tell you the state of things, how close this war had gotten. He often told you nothing at all, in truth, beyond the length of your duties as a woman and sole daughter of his house. But you feared the worst–for yourself, for those around you. Feared that death was fast approaching, for something of it shivered in the air, made its mountain calm taste ashen. And what is calm, if not what veils the savage storm which lies beyond it?

Something was coming. Of this your nightmare’s warned, though it seemed no one would voice their shared concerns. Playing fool to the obvious, as though to hide from truth would keep it from ever finding you.

You needed your brother; your only and cherished sibling. Your kin and closest friend. Needed to speak with him about your worries, needed to salve them, but he’d been garrisoned near Rivermouth for nearly two moons, a sentry against the threat of Messmer’s men–but no longer.

Today was the day he finally came home.

Your heart swims with warmth at the notion, as for days and nights you’ve fretted he may never return.

He was practically your twin, your brother Sven. People often believed such was true, though you were younger. And his imminent arrival was your first thought upon waking. To embrace him safely your sole intention when throwing yourself from your dusky blue bed at the silver of dawn, wrestling inside the arms of your emerald overcoat. Slipping on dirtied shoes your father would be ashamed of with all the clumsy, stumbled excitement of an eager child.

Sven is home…!

You were anxious to see him, even if your intentions of doing so well before your father ineluctably found him were far from merely greeting him home.

With this in mind, you rushed from your private chambers. Down through the broad, stone-floored hallways of your family’s hold, and knew not how you knew his procession arrived, only that you knew. Perhaps it was the song of the field birds, or those of the surrounding pines; that small forest which surrounds your sprawling, mountainous city. Or perhaps it was merely his presence in the air, something clung to the leaves like dappled dew, but you knew; Sven was home. He was safe, and you meant to keep it so.

The chill of the outer courtyard couldn’t receive you fast enough as you rushed past servants and guardsmen out into the dawn. The courtyard filled with horned mounts and war carts, brimming with the sounds of armor and hooves, as inside the gates amasses your brother’s wearied men at arms. And when you see Sven slipping off his steed alongside them, you fail even to call his name. Something catching in your throat as you merely bolt toward his presence, with him too distracted loosing his horned steed’s bridle to see you bounding there. Informed with a breathless grunt upon you tightly seizing him that you’ve come to greet him, swarmed by a hug that might seek to wring him of his very life.

After tensing in bewilderment, he laughed; his exhales shaking you. “Someone’s eager to greet the dawn.”

“I’d be eager to see you no matter what time it is,” comes your mumbling in his chest.

He clasps one solid arm around your far more fragile form, bronze armor twisting leather joints as he brings you to his ochre-draped chest. Holding you there for warm moments, before shifting his hold somewhat in effectively prying you off him.

He surmises you a moment, as though confused by such fierceness of emotion. Eventually smiling softly. “Good morrow to you as well, dear sister.”

“You’re home,” is all you can muster, like you can’t quite believe it still, and a chuckle harbors once more in his throat.

“I’m home,” he agrees, quite simply. “Had you room for doubt I would be?”

To this, you withhold response.

He lacks the helm of his fellow horned warriors, of whom it seems what remains of his regiment’s traveled here. Donning instead a fabric mask he now pulls from his nose and face; dark, shoulder-length hair spilling past his crown of two goat-like horns, their curves spiraling toward the sunlight.

He seems to decipher your worries as you eye his men, as you eye him ; giving your chin a small pinch in the effort to snatch you from them.

“I’m well,” he assures you. “You worry far too much.” Glancing at the vine-twisted keep far behind you, he wonders, “Have you told father of my arrival?”

Your expression’s wry. “Has it been so long you’ve forgotten I’m not entirely witless?”

One corner of his lips quirks as his hand shifts to your hair, ruffling it up a bit despite your instant protests. “Happily, it has not. And I’m glad of it. I’d prolong his inevitable criticisms for as long as possible.”

“I’m rather offended you hadn’t told me of your arrival, however,” you point out whilst slapping his giant, armored hand away, to which his dark brows pinch incredulously.

“I only just arrived! I hardly know how you knew it.”

Pressing back your responding grin, you shed the skin of levity in favor of matters more severe; ones you’ve rushed here to find him for in the first place.

“Come,” you tell him, in the guise of welcoming him home. “You must be tired. And before our unfortunate father finds you, I have questions of your time at the blockade.”

And though Sven sighs, he doesn’t stop you–allowing himself to be pulled by one hand toward the keep whilst his soldiers behind him toil with horses and armament; some greeting family, others guiding their horses back home.

“Of course you do,” he mutters, unenthused. “Though I assure you father’s relayed the state of things well enough.”

He hasn’t, and Sven must know that. Your father confides in you nothing. He loves not your gender, preferring you’d been yet another son, and nor does he love you were born without horns. He thinks less of you. Sven can’t deny this unfortunate truth. And he won’t worm his way from your questions by playing fool to it.

“I’d rather hear it from you,” you state, forcing tension from your tone.

Past chamber after chamber, you drag him searching for one vacant of any eyes that might spot you. And though Sven’s much taller than you, it’s like he’s dragging his feet in some useless attempt to dissuade you.

“My, you’re slow,” you chastise, leaning more weight toward your aims, more or less lugging the tall man forward. “Have you suffered so greatly on your journey that you now walk as a feeble old man?”

He rolls his hazel eyes, though at your taunting, his pace rises to meet yours all the same. “I’ve only just arrived,” he complains. “Have we not time to tarry?”

No, you bite back from saying. Instead steering him inside a broad, open storeroom where you two can be alone. We don’t.

The room is quite barren, many of its supplies shifted elsewhere in support of the war. And after glancing about in ensuring your privacy, you turn and stare up at your brother hard.

He looks at you with subtle perplexion. Meeting your solemn gaze as all lightness is slowly bled of him.

“What troubles you, sister?”

You’re not sure what to say. Knowing the words, yet somehow sure he will resist them.

In your troubled silence, he takes your arm in reclaiming your wandering gaze again, guiding your worry more toward his.

“What is it?”

Your mouth presses flat before you manage to force the words out.

“We have to get out of here.”

A crease weighs his brow. “What do you mean, get out of here?”

“I mean it isn’t safe here,” you tell him with more insistence in every second drawn on.

You steal another glance at the opened doorway beside you, before taking his hand to steer him deeper into the room, away from what prying ears might hear you.

“I’ve heard whispers,” you state, in a whisper all your own. Staring up with desperation, attempting to wring the truth from his dodging hold. “The Impaler…”

Sven’s forearm tenses, though you press on.

“He’s reduced Moorth to naught but ruin, has he not?”

Jawline growing tight, some faint darkness glints his eye in a way suggestive that he did not want you to know this.

“We’ll take the city back,” he says, but you won’t have his dodging.

“Father insists our paths of trade aren’t broken, but I’m not the ignorant simpleton he thinks I am,” you say, fearful and sullen. Determined for whatever ugly truth. “He’s incinerating everything, isn’t he?”

“Who?”

“You know who!” your voice now raises. “Stop treating me like some blissful, ignorant child!”

In his reluctance, silence follows, though you read him well enough. Know your brother better than anyone. And you see something beyond the stone-wall of him splinter.

“That’s why you’re here, then… Isn’t it?” you press him, as your nervous heart still trembles. “To defend these halls… Belurat far beyond them… There’s nowhere else to fall back to. He’s ransacked everything else.”

He doesn’t immediately respond. Instead studying you with the hesitance of not knowing what to say, how honest to be with you.

You demand full honesty. “Tell me it isn’t true.”

Through his tension, he says not anything.

Biting the inside of your lip so harshly it stings, you take both his hands in yours, squeezing harder than you mean to.

“We have to go,” you insist in one breath, unblinking. Hushed enough to hide such treason from any walls that may have ears. “We have to leave the city. Now. We’d be fools to wait any longer.”

The line of his jaw turns to stone as he studies you.

“And go where?” he wonders at last, voice bladed against you. “There’s nowhere in reach where Messmer’s flames cannot find us.”

You’re left without answers, for there are none for such an impossible thing.

“We’ll find a way through the shadow veil,” you insist in desperation; disheartened to hear his weary scoff. Gripping his hands still tighter to win his ear. “I’ll tear the bloody thing apart myself if I have to,” you persist, not knowing if you even can, if such a thing is possible. “I’ll–”

“Enough,” your brother halts you, with such uncharacteristic firmness it stills your tongue at once.

A flicker on his brow seems to regret his harshness of it, though he carries on unyielding even so. “There’s nowhere more safe than inside these walls. And even were there not, who are we to abandon our people here? While we ourselves flee for spurious safety in the night?”

Our people…

The notion ties labyrinthine cords inside you. For though you care for your people–our people–don’t want them to suffer Messmer’s wrath…

Some of your people’s practices are those of pure horror. Traditions and rituals with shamans–with people–you’ve always found barbarous. Beyond what one can bear. Impossibly cruel.

Still. Even with the bad, there is good here. Hundreds of innocent lives that might be snuffed out.

But when it comes to their lives, or your brothers…

You choose your brother’s every time, without question. Over every single soul that elsewise exists.

You hold Sven’s gaze as obstinately as he holds yours. “I’m leaving,” you say. “Tonight. And you’re coming with me.”

He regards you still more discontentedly, as some thread inside him fails in tearing through. And when he pulls his hands from the unyielding strangle of yours, there’s the smallest smile forced to his lips that might’ve convinced anyone other than you.

“I understand your disquiet,” he says. “Truly, I do.” He brushes back some hair behind your ear, as if this alone might cease this war inside you. “But such depth of concern is unfounded. Worry not, dear sister... Messmer’s forces will not reach our city. Nor will the Tower Settlement fall.”

As you frown, his thumb swipes your chin as though to swipe the shape of it from you.

“You underestimate me,” he says, with a glisten to crinkling eyes. “I’ll protect you, as I always have. As you know I always will. In this, you can be certain. And with it allow this matter to rest.”

You merely scowl at him. “You’re… You’re being stubborn… pigheaded… I–”

He laughs before frustration lets you finish. Drawing you to him. Hugging your scowling close whilst he strokes the back of your hornless head with playful fingers.

“I’ve heard tell of my being such,” he agrees, lightly. “Enough that I fear it must be true. The pigheaded prince, they call me.”

His embrace is comfort enough that your fears are near forgotten. Though it slips through your grasping fingers all too swiftly as he lets you go, with guidance toward the doorway where the two of you both entered.

It’s obvious that he would see this conversation’s end, while you consider it hardly started.

“I also fear our father’s already loathe to’ve not addressed me,” he says, with this in mind, though with little relish. “I’m sure I’ll be his unwilling captive in the war room at least till dusk. After which…”

He pauses just before the doorway, turning you toward him with gentle hands.

“I expect you to sit with me at whatever feast he’s surely hosting.”

Your attempt at jest’s still murky with clouds of doubt. “A feast… I suppose your presence warrants as much...”

His eyes, even now, cast a sparkle. “Is that doubt on your tongue?” he ribs you. “My presence warrants several feasts, at least. Lavish ones, where the whole of the city stumbles home drunk from them.”

You look away, in no mood for his usual liveliness. And his fingers grace your upper arms in catching your gaze once more. Eyes passing between your worried ones.

“Be at peace, dear sister,” he says, with firmness reassuring, even now. “Leave worry with me. I won’t let ill befall you.” He gives your arms a squeeze. “Save me a spot at the table tonight, will you? Near some comely friend of yours. I could use a lovely distraction.”

You fight back the smallest smile in response. “I’ll have no part in you breaking some poor girl’s heart again.”

“Then I’ll take care not to break it this time,” he teases.

As he’d guessed, you did not see your brother again till the world became swallowed by night.

Your father’s great hall is thunderous. Partiers laughing, people jeering, as though the only one worried is you.

How can they all be so ignorant of what death approaches?

You wish you could shrink from it; this jovial place. But you’re not one to cast aside a more pleasant reunion with your brother than the short one you shared this morning, so you stay, beside his and your father’s empty seats at the longtable as instructed.

As a man slick with sweat reaches toward you across the table for yet another leg of lamb, a darkened presence hovers just behind where you sit.

“Is this seat taken?”

The boldness, to ask such a thing of your brothers chair. Only a nitwit would speak such stupidity, and you turn to see said nitwit standing there.

He’s older, with a tangle of horns on his brow. A thin smile and small eyes, with teeth greased with the ale which surely prompted this.

Yet another, it would seem, after your affluent hand. As if your father hadn’t plans to sell you to whoever’s hand flattered his own most.

“Yes,” you say brusquely, turning away more rudely than you mean, though you find it hard in that moment to care.

You grab the flask of ale before you and suck it down as though you mean to drown in it.

Wherever is your damnable brother?

Wiping amber from your lips with an unladylike hand, you endeavor to breathe some fresh air. Standing up far too quickly, to the effect of nearly toppling over, and it’s no wonder you don’t often drink liquor.

Wavering your way from the hall, you make your way out into night. Out, through the courtyard, knowing not where you wander, only that you’d rid yourself of all raucous and smell of that festivous hell.

Ale warms your veins, yet you still rub gooseflesh from your arms as you wander in your long-sleeved gown up the stairway of the keep’s curtain wall, thinking to look out at the darkness beyond the sprawling city’s light.

The breeze is stronger up here, on the wall’s utmost walkway. Curling the length of your skirts in about you, tugged to and fro with the wind's invisible hands. And you stare outward, full of worry, not aware that you aren’t alone.

“Didn’t know I’d have such fine company.”

It’s a gruff voice which greets you, and you turn with a start, though it’s only a grizzled guard who addresses you. A graying old man with kind eyes and a knobby head of horns. Is your father so wanting of forces he’d pluck some greybeard from his bed to man the bailey?

“Apologies,” you say, “I didn’t mean to interrupt your watch.” Vacillating a moment, before adding, “I’d stay a while, if you’d allow it.”

His eyes crease as he smiles, pushing himself up off the half-wall he’d previously leaned upon.

“Stay as long as you like,” he says. “There’s naught much to look at. Boredom’s making me numb.”

Your attempt to return his smile falls short. “I fear I may fail to salve boredom, if that’s what you hope. I’m not presently much for conversation.”

He quirks a grandfatherly brow. “Long night?”

If he wasn’t so kindly, you might be aggrieved he’s still insistent on chatting away through the night. But as it were, you just sigh. Staring out into the darkness beyond the city.

“One longer has yet to grace me.”

“Say no more,” he says, understanding. “The quiet’s a balm for such things.”

Relieved, you take him up on such advice.

You stay on the wall with this stranger who feels somehow a friend for some time. Likely longer than you ought to. And it thaws you, inch by inch, of that worry which clings; enough till you finally clear your throat to speak, to somehow return this man's kindness. Though as you turn to say a word, a flicker of light in the distance instead captures your focus.

Standing straighter, you're drawn like a moth to that faraway glisten. Watching as one glimmer turns to four. Then a dozen. Then more. Unable to turn away from whatever those pinprick lights are as they loom so far across the horizon, like stars dragged over ground. Asking the graybeard, “Do you see that…?”

You hear the old man’s armor shifting as he seems to adjust his gaze.

“...Aye,” he says at last. “I see it.”

You cannot look away. And how some flickers of light can distress you, you fail fully to grasp or name why. “What is it?”

Silence, as the graybeard beside you stares.

“...M’not sure,” he utters at length. Perturbed, a touch, it seems. “Though whatever they are… They're getting closer.”

Reaching one grizzled hand toward his neck, the old man grasps a silver looking-glass from where it dangles upon his chest, raising it in scanning outward. And with a glance at him, you wait with bated breath for word of what's seen.

“...Too dark to see for certain,” he murmurs, his tone more weighed than before. His eye staying glued to his contraption. “...There’s perhaps two dozen… N’whatever they are, they’re too large to rightly be torches…”

For stretching moments, he stares outward, as do you. Until finally he offers you his looking-glass, slipping its delicate chain off from round his neck.

“Take a look,” he offers, and in disquietude you do, not so much as thinking to decline him. Something raising every fine hair on your skin, though the reason eludes.

You see…

…Flames.

The distance holds them small, in the palm of its night-drenched hand, though with every second passed they grow larger. Wavering midst the shadows, as if lumbering side to side; as though flame itself's somehow walking.

You peer past the lens to stare with the naked eye again. And it's then you first feel it. The ground come so slowly to life. A sensation so subtle at first you cannot hear the distant thuds which crescendo each minute vibration, more and more, til you cannot deny them. A sort of hum. A twisting of earth. More rhythmic with each second dragged on.

Despite how vague and far those groans of earth, whatever could be their cause flashes images of horror inside your mind. Of something you’ve only heard tell of; a wickedness only since dreamed. Of machines, gnarled and vast, designed with the fuel of bodies. Tall as any tower. Barred as any gael. Fashioned for death and the installation of fear in any soul hapless enough to look upon them.

Just its image painted in your mind inscribes fear in you now, as was its architects intention.

You stumble back a step, eyes growing wide in the darkness as you stare at those ever-growing flames. And though you lack any proof of their purpose, some piece inside you knows what they are. Why they’re here.

The looking-glass tumbles with a delicate plink from your grasp, while the man beside you’s expression draws confusion.

“What is it?” he asks, but you’re already running. Down the bailey’s length, down stairs, through the courtyard's growing dim.

Sven.

You hear the graybeard’s horn sound behind you, and though you should find relief in what little solace its call to your father’s forces might bring you, you cannot care. It matters little. For surely those golems grow nearer with every lumbering step, and there’s nothing you or your father’s dwindling men can do to stop them, not if all tell you've heard about Messmer is true.

The ground further shakes, undeniable in what it might bring you, as you enter the sconce-scattered castle. Fighting the length of your damnable skirts as you bound in through the hallways as fast as you can, as already panic clouds your vision.

Messmer will feed your bodies to his golems one by one. Impale all others. Leave your ashes to rot on a graveyard of spears, your tombs like a forest. Your corpses charred black, with faces frozen in whatever terror his flames found you in; whatever anguish his spear brought before the mercy of death.

You run still faster; in past the broad, opened doorways of the dining hall, where merriment’s paused in favor of scattered, flummoxed eyes and panicked questioning, though even that you find hard to hear.

You need to find Sven. Need to drag him to any place far from here. You have to protect him, as he always has you–even from himself if you must, and such is his dauntless, stubborn pride that you likely will.

There’s no stopping what may come, you should have dragged him from this place far sooner, you–

You're too late.

You were too late–dammit, you–!

Reeling as you turn one hallway’s bend, you're forced to shove your way past those filing into the corridors; servants, guardsmen, guests, all traveling with purpose or else questioning if you're under attack. And it's nothing short of a blessing catching eye of Sven's height lingering above the masses, as he likewise spots you; gaze alight with relief as he fights his way toward you.

Lodged within the crowds of mismanaged havoc, he takes your arm and drags you further into the keep, beyond the rising panic of those behind you.

The ground further quakes. Iron chandeliers overhead further quivering.

How close must they be now? Those colossal, wandering flames?

“I saw them,” you tremble as Sven further leads you, knowing not where he guides, too dazed to question. “I saw them, Sven. The furnaces. I–I couldn’t–they were so far away, but they–”

“I should have sent you away this morning,” he says, almost to himself, which does nothing to allay that viperous terror twisting through you. Sounding to wrest up whatever hope he has left whilst adding, “Though it’s not too late.”

It’s then that you realize he’s leading you in the direction of the stables.

You seize his wrist; stopping him in his tracks as his impatient, worried expression turns across one shoulder, his gaze alone questioning whether you’ve succumbed to sudden madness.

“I won’t leave without you,” you tell him, knowing already his intent. That he’d send you off and remain behind here. As of course he would, seeing reason to fight, though you won’t allow it.

This stubborn, stubborn man.

He doesn’t answer. Instead attempting to drag you on again, though you dig your heels in as sediment trembles from the rumbling walls all around you.

“I’m not leaving without you!”

You don’t mean to shout, but you do.

He looks at you as though you’re a war he’s already lost.

“I can’t leave while the city needs defended,” he argues, resolve fused to his every sinew.

His valor is nothing short of infuriating.

“Then I’m staying with you.”

“No, you’re not!”

“Should you put me on a mount I’ll simply ride right back,” you protest, gaze growing wild. “You can’t make me go anywhere unless you ride by my side in ensuring it!”

His look is of utter frustration. But as horns blare and some distant, bone-deep tremor once more shakes the earth, inspiring a ripple of far away screams in the castle, there isn’t time to dissuade you. And with an agitated breath, he diverts course in leading up a set of winding stairs–those leading toward the hallway of your bedroom, where he guides you with swiftness.

“Stay here,” he says, ushering you inside your chambers. Seeming barely to accept such a compromise. “Bar the door. Remain hidden. I’ll return for you.”

The rapid beating of hooves and heels sounds far below your bedroom's balcony window, and too soon Sven's turned to leave, with you grabbing his wrist before he is able. “Don’t go! Don’t… Don’t go out there, Sven…!”

Tears burn your eyes, their threat overwhelming your lashes, and the resolve of Sven's own expression crumbles somewhat to see it.

He takes your face gently in his both hands while you plead with him once more, “Don’t go…” Steering you just a touch closer in placing a kiss upon your brow.

“Do as I’ve told you,” he bids, resolutely. “Allow no other entrance. I’ll return here as soon as I’m able. You have my word of this.”

And with this, he is gone. His warmth left on your cheeks as tears spill where his touch had been.

You staunchly refuse the cruel suggestion of your heart; that this may be the last time you see him. Uncertain how you’ll barricade your door with no lock on its innermost side, though you’re desperate to keep your mind busy, to heed Sven’s instructions. So with great effort, you squeeze yourself in behind your bed’s massive headboard, barely managing to shove it inch by awkward inch away from the stone-hewn wall. Shoving with all your strength until the mass of it blockades the doorway.

Time is as much a weapon as any sword. And as you wait for your brother's return, heart tangled by vines in your chest, you seek to pry yourself from terror enough to stumble out onto your balcony, where night wraps you up in its arms.

The song of steel and iron grows ever louder from down below. Your view half-concealed by the edge of the castle. Horns sounding more in the darkness. The rumble of beasts and mounts and men shaking into the ground. And your strained eyes grow wider upon seeing a haze of flame glowing just outside the city, bewitching the air to a blistering hellscape of dancing cinder and molten fog.

Such a harrowing sight overwhelms you.

Whatever has come, it is here.

Your hands grip desperately to the terrace’s balustrade as the world around you abruptly lurches in place, and with a vicious crack one section of walls round the city erupts into pieces, struck by some mammoth blow beyond what your vision can see. Stones tumbling like naught more than ash as a behemoth lumbers in through the wreckage. A mountainous cage of a being, weighed slow by its body of metal; stomach burning with the piled corpses of past feasts. Its silhouette singed against darkness, twisted by hundreds of arms reaching out through the bars of its belly; burned slow enough to long to be free.

You long to look away, yet can scarcely remember to breathe. The cities outmost towers growing brighter with ashes and flame in a nauseating dance of destruction that would see all before it laid waste, as behind the crushed path of each furnace, Messmer's forces are free to bleed in.

The city you've known all your life slowly transforms beyond all recognition. Your sense of time broken, sands scattered to the wind, as you watch the growing onslaught in horror. Your pupils shrinking from a vicious, sudden trail of horrid brightness as tendrils of flame lick the air, weaving through it, met soon by a chorus of screams that grow shrill before melting. Lungs scorched in a firestorm that sets the very sky on fire, and you've never seen anything like it. Like a dragon assaults your city, though even they cannot wield such a vicious flame.

You can do nothing but watch as fire tangles through buildings and streets. Your fingernails digging into your palms till the marks left behind may soon bleed.

Sven…

You… You can’t just stay here, sequestered in your room like this-!

You have to find him,

You have to help him–!

But if you leave, how might he find you amidst the chaos?

You have to stay here. He needs to know where you are when he surely comes back, for he will. He’ll come back. His word was given.

Villagers run through the streets as flame leaks its way its alleys; into the very reaches of your father’s keep, as its bailey comes crashing at the slam of a furnace golem’s gnarled excuse for a fist. And as your world shakes you hear Messmer’s men storming in through the courtyard. Hear the clashing of metal grow near. The screams of terror in hallways, all while fear tears through your bosom like an animal clawing to get out.

Where is your brother?!

It feels as though an eternity has held you breathless in its clutches, and as the sounds of war draw nearer, your walls feel to close in.

Footsteps soon sound within the corridor behind your shuttered doorway. Soldiers grunting, weapons clattering to the ground beside a distant woman’s shriek. And then the handle of your door’s taken hold of. The wood of it shuddered by what seems an impatient hand; rattled against how your bed keeps it fully from opening.

Your attention hones tightly toward it.

Sven…?

It remains as a thought, your throat’s tautness not letting you speak it. As you watch in a silence that would strip all reason raw while the door falls eerily still.

You’ve no time to react before your chamber’s entrance blasts violently open in a hailstorm of splintered wood and flame, whipping the room with embers as you stumble back and scream from the ruined blockade of your doorway.

Snowflake cinders hang loosely in the air as your eyes strain through the rubble, and you know not the man who stands there in the wreckage, whose outline swirls amidst wisping smoke, though he’s wearing Messmer’s red. A pointed helm adorns his looming outline, its steeple skyward, and from his breadth a dripping crimson cowl falls lapping at his heels. Armored head to toe in blackened steel save the shape of his slowly smiling lips as he beholds you. And though you can’t see his gaze through the intricate, beak-like visor he wears, you you can feel his curious eyes scanning over your shape.

“Well… What have we here,” he croons above the distant hymn of bloodshed; that war below now muted by growing unease. “A hornless trollop all alone in her chambers… Tucked away, it would seem, just for me…”

His cruel lips curve as you instinctively falter from him, recoiling further toward the terrace at your back, even when its height would further trap you.

The man steps in through your doorway's ruin, unperturbed by anxious lack of welcoming him in.

“You aren’t quite as foul as the rest of them,” he observes, almost to himself. In no real hurry to approach you, as instead he makes a game of dread. Bits of broken wood twisting beneath his heavy, prowling footsteps as he draws ever closer, and though you glance to the ravaged doorway behind him, with him its gate its passage feels to shrink.

“Not the talkative sort?” he wonders, idly, with a falsely exhaustive sigh. “What a pity… I'd hear your tearful pleas, were it up to me.”

His drawing nearness springs a trap in you, and unthinkingly you try to flee. Though as you bolt in sprinting past him you find he’s far faster than you could have believed.

He’s snatched your wrist in his harshly armored grip before you can even flinch, his every finger steel and pointed. Flinging you without mercy onto the rubble of your bed as a cry tears from your chest, your body shaken as you tumble.

“Such a morsel I’ve found myself,” he breathes, becoming feverish as a predator above prey. “You do look hornless… Though I’d be sure of it. Let us see if you have any defilements in places I haven’t yet seen, hm?”

Terror wraps fists around you, and though you scramble to get up, to run, he’s on you in an instant. The weight of him shackling you down against your ruined mattress on the floor. The snakelike scales of his ruby tabbard scraping up your kicking legs as he roughly straddles down your writhing form, and though you strike his half-masked face in desperation it does naught but scrape your fingers raw.

He laughs at the attempts to dissuade him. Snatching your wrists and squeezing until you fear your bones might crack.

“There’s that flame,” he croons, tone gleefully debased. “I thought for a moment you’d bore me. How long might that tiny flame flicker before tamping out, I wonder?”

With hungry hands, he grips and tears the flowing fabric of your gown at the seams, ripping it from your thighs as alarm makes you mindless, has you kicking out wildly in the attempt to be free.

“Let me go!” you scream, voice stripped by panic. “Let me go! Get off of me–!”

His breathy laughter’s a horrible thing. But all at once it’s frozen in his throat; locked away as his muscles all seize. Its cruelty marred instead to a painful choke, something congealed, as a swing of metal shears the air behind him, slashing through what seems his severed spine.

His form grows rigid with the realization of death. Wavering in how he pins you, before slumping down like a lifeless tree whilst your lungs are crushed beneath him. And though you fight to claw him off, his weight of steel proves too much for your waning strength.

Some hand seizes the cowl which drapes the dead man’s neck, tearing his body from you. And with a gasp of needed breath you’re overcome to see Sven, like a beacon above you; his red-slicked sword in hand.

Blood and ash fill the lines of his handsome face. Concern whiting his brow as he reaches down to take your shell-shocked hand.

There’s little time to coddle you.

“Are you hurt?”

Tension cleaves to every inch of you, though as you struggle to swallow, you also strive to nod your head.

“I’m… I’m fine.”

The need to thank him once again for saving you, as it seems he always does, trembles past your mind with you too overwhelmed to fully grasp it. And Sven’s jaw is hard as he holds your trembling hand, his fingers weaving through your own.

“Come,” he says, not wasting words. Towing your stumbling fragility with him from the horror of your chambers.

You haven’t made it far at all before the clamor of many footsteps resounding in these hallways soon assails you. And round the corridor's bend, just several yards before you, comes a cluster of soldiers in regalia you don’t recognize, so they must be Messmer’s men. Led by a knight in red like that of your bedroom.

Their party pauses upon sighting you, as does yourself and a stiffening Sven. His giant hand gripping yours more fiercely.

Silence, as time strips thin and the lot of you warily eye one another.

“You there,” the red knight says, his voice like brass. “You are the son of the false, impure king, unjustly throned in these lands, I presume?”

Shifting slowly forward, Sven secures himself one step before where you stand, stricken beside him.

“Would that I were,” he says, ever defiant. “What difference does it make?”

The knight before you slowly smiles, though its quick to fade away.

“We’d make a sigil of your broken body in the courtyard,” he says. “I’d hoped to fell you outside. Alas, we must now drag you there, instead.”

The line of Sven's shoulders grows taut, before abruptly he shoves you from him, your hand stripped from his–pushing you further behind him.

“Go,” he orders, not glancing back. “Run.”

You tremble, and cannot move but to shake your head. Salt soon stinging your vision. Unwilling to obey him.

“No–”

“Go!” he shouts, yet still you cannot heed him. Will not heed him.

The red knight tilts his chin, gesturing three soldiers carry on before him. And already your brother’s sword is raised; knocking back one spear that would see him dead, and then the another. Repelling blows as each comes raining in, trading strikes through the bedlam.

He holds them off for much longer than any man rightly should, such is your brother, such is his mastery of sword. Sweat soaks his brow, blood spilling through his armor with every blow he fails to break. Felling two of Messmer's men as two more are sent by the man in red to take their place, and you're terrified he’ll tire before the end of them.

You scarcely notice, at first, how beneath his steps bubbles forth a glowing pool of red.

You watch in pure horror as flames like vines slowly leak up through the cracks of the floorboards, tendrils of searching crimson, while Sven’s too caught by battle to heed them. And the moment you cry out for him to run is already a cry too late, as those flames burst forth with sudden violence. Flinging from their center a massive spear, pierced up from the very ground he stands on, as though formed from the shadow of his feet.

The spear flings forth with impossible strength, goring high into the ceiling like the shoot of a savage, crooked tree. It’s hilt still buried in the ground as its speartip thucks up high in the timber above you; piercing through Sven's middle, metal lifting through his ribs.

His body's rigid where he hangs, high above where once he'd stood fighting. And you forget what feeling even is as his body gradually falls limp. Sword slipped from wilting fingers. Clattering to the ground so far below his hanging feet.

All you can see is him and that spear he hangs on. An awful monument to a moment that will live with you forever. And you stare at this nightmare of him; balking backward. Stare, as your heart crumbles into pieces, and you can do nothing else.

Sven…

You can’t find breath enough to even cry his name, though it trembles in the pit carved where your heart and lungs once lived.

Those soldiers still alive before you part within the haze that strangles your breath, making way as someone else approaches, though you hardly notice as you stand there. Defeated. Tears blurring your vision to a melted, burning thing.

….Sven…!

He cannot hear those cries you fail to utter. And even should you scrape them from your chest, he’ll never hear your words again. Nor your larks. Nor your laughter.

Just this once, you might've protected him. Just this once. Yet here you've failed him.

“Do not prolong the inevitable,” a low, serrated voice condemns from midst your shrouded torment, and you blink away what tears you can, straining through grief to see a dreadfully towering man, so tall no common hallway could ever hope to hold him.

You’ve only heard tell of Messmer. That his hair is red as bloodied fire. That his eye, his only eye, is as gold as Marika’s sins. That two winged snakes adorn him, with agile minds and bodies it seemeth all their own. And yet even those two snakes now watch you, along with their wretched master. Their emerald eyes trained to your every movement, though you shift none.

You bite back your tears; anguish giving way to anger. Your jawline like glass, so hard and close to splintering, but still you’ll grit your jaw up at this red-maned savage as though on his neck you were clamping down, tearing the very life from him.

His captain steps forward, but Messmer’s lengthy, muscled arm raises scarcely enough to halt him in place, though his order's immediately heeded. And though his captain’s face lay hidden behind a snake-like helm so similar to Messmer’s own, you can sense the confusion which braces through him.

“Not her,” says Messmer, so low you scarcely hear him. And you stare, at this monstrous man, while he meets your gaze with what seems not an ounce of pity.

His eye, you admit, is a strangely beguiling thing. Like a spell that might dissect the furthest reaches of you. Its gold so strangely brilliant, like a pinprick of flame, gnawing through the darkness.

“...Take her,” his deep voice at length breaks through the enchantment of his gaze, and you at once feel panic swell at such an order. “We couldst use another specimen for the storehouse.”

And then, he is gone; turned without another word said, as though he matters of much more import to attend to than whatever in any hell his decreed fate as ‘specimen’ might bring you.

You far prefer death.

When Messmer’s captain comes for you, obedient dog that he is, you immediately try to run only for your gown to snag you back within his clutches. And as he lifts you beneath one arm like a satchel of wheat, you snarl and you fight with every bit of strength remained in you; transformed into a hopeless, feral thing. Clawing at his legs, biting at his wrist despite his armor blunting every blow at him, until he slaps you so hard your vision blurs and all sound’s replaced by the ringing of your skull, your body hanging momentarily limp.

It does no good, your fighting, though you scream and writhe and fail to stave back tears as you’re carried from your father’s ruined castle.

The world outside is smoldering waste.

All is fire and ash.

You see no one else left living.

You have nothing.

Nothing.

This demigod of flame has taken everything from you. Has burned away your heart to an ashen pit. And while you are still living, you will do everything within your power to gift him the very same.

[ AUTHORS NOTE ] f’s in chat for Sven, rip gone too soon 😔 I actually felt really bad killing him, but I wanted to give you a legitimate, visceral reason to hate Messmer so he had to go. Anyway thanks for reading! I’d love to hear your thoughts 💕

#messmer the impaler #messmer x reader #messmer the impaler x reader #elden ring #soulsborne #chaos hearts

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bardofhype · 1 year

Text

hi limbus company fandom

so i had a thought. and that thought was "what if the sinners and all their identities had voicelines for when it was your/the manager's birthday" and what was supposed to be a funny "what if" scenario rapidly expanded into me actually thinking about it. so. because it ended up so long, i'm putting all of this under the cut so that no one has to scroll for a mile to read it all in the tag. you're welcome btw /lh

Yi Sang Base LCB: "Another year prolonging your stay in this world… may the rest of it be to your ideal pleasantness, Dante."

Seven Section 6: "The director informed me it was your birthday today, and instructed me to hand you this parcel as a gift. … I cannot tell you why she has it memorized. I try not to bother the director with such queries."

Blade Lineage Salsu: "How old are you now, Dante? … You do not know. I see. Yet another mysterious facet of you to be intrigued by…"

Faust Base LCB: "This is for you, Dante. I hope you enjoy it. … Hm? What is it for? Yes, Faust expected you to ask such a thing. It is your birthday, Manager."

W Corp Cleanup Agent: "Due to the nature of my occupation, personal occasions and celebrations are not common around the work environment. However, I am not bothered with taking a small portion of time to wish you a happy birthday."

L. Corp Remnant: "Birthdays were rarely given much worth in my old place of work- if we were lucky, a few of us would simultaneously take our breaks in order to have a small celebration. Perhaps it may not be so different here… but I hope you have a proper celebration nonetheless."

The One Who Grips: "How fortunate you are, to have lived another full year in this world with your humanity intact! Such a wondrous thing indeed… though, must you still wear that mask, even on such a glorious occasion that's just for you… ?"

Don Quixote Base LCB: "Manager Esquire!! I doth heard today is your birthday! I have collected up the others, and we are planning a stupendous secret arrangement for thee! I hope thee shalt be prepared!!"

W Corp Cleanup Agent: "Doth my ears deceive me? Is it truly your birthday, Manager Esquire?!?! What ho!!! I shall pay for thy next ride on the Warp Train, friend- the greatest gift I could bestow anybody!"

Shi Section 5 Director: "Happy birthday, Manager Esquire!! I have acquired thee a cake and gift! … Ah, I seem to have surprised thee- was I too quiet, walking up to you? Aheh, 'tis a habit of mine!"

Ryoshu Base LCB: "Congratulations. You're now one year closer to the B.D." (boundary of death)

Kurokumo Wakashu: "That's one more year you've survived now. IFFY." (impressive feat for you)

Seven Section 6: "The director told me to give this to you. Use it wisely, or I'll CUT on you." (crudely utilize tranquilizers)

R.B. Chef de Cuisine: "Word travels fast through these streets- H.B.D. I made a special pie this morning, just in case you dropped by… enjoy."

Meursault Base LCB: "Congratulations on another year. … I was only expected to give you a statement like that for today, nothing more."

Liu Section 6: "I was asked to deliver this cake to you. The candles were lit by my flame, so please do not feel obligated to blow them out immediately."

W Corp Cleanup Agent: "I was told today is a special occasion for you. Here- it is a first-class ticket you can use on the next Warp Train you board."

N Corp Groẞhammer: "You may take a day of rest today. For The One Who Grips has deemed it so- and for today is one you must experience in all its purity."

Hong Lu Base LCB: "It's your birthday today? How exciting~! Tell me, Dante- are you going to choose the acres of land, the pony, or the-- Hm? My siblings and I were able to choose between several gifts on our birthdays, was that not possible where you're from?"

Kurokumo Wakashu: "It's a special day today, is it not, Lord Dante?~ Come with me… ah, haha, no need to be so scared. I'm simply going to treat you to the finest dining I know of. Come on then~"

Tingtang Gangleader: "Happy birthday, Manager Dante~ Why don't we hit the casino floor, hmm? I've heard birthdays can be days of immense luck for the fortunate."

Liu Section 5: "Ah, you're just in time- I just finished brewing some high-class tea. Would you like some? I'll even let you have an extra cup for your birthday~"

Heathcliff Base LCB: "Mm. Happy birthday, clockface. As a gift, I'll try not to make too many wounds for you to turn the clock back for today. You're welcome."

Shi Section 5: "If you're expecting much out of me today just 'cause it's your birthday, you can bugger off. I'm not doing anything bloody special for you. … 'Less you're in the mood for some right scran."

R Corp 4th Pack Rabbit: "Oh? It's your birthday today? Bloody brilliant- come with me. As a gift, this hare's gonna teach you how to graze some grass!"

N Corp Kleinhammer: "O-oh- happy day of birth to you. I'll… see if I have time to do something better than that between all the gatherings today…"

Ishmael Base LCB: "Happy birthday, Dante. I'll try to do work without much complaint today."

Shi Section 5: "Happy birthday, Manager. This is for you. … Huh. Did I really catch you by surprise that much?"

LCCB Assistant Manager: "Today's your birthday. An important occasion that's going to make it all the more terrible if one of us slips up… I can assure you that won't be a worry with my presence here."

R Corp 4th Pack Reindeer: "Ah… happy birthday- kgh. Can you make sure not to stir up too big a racket in celebration?"

Rodion Base LCB: "Happy birthday, Dante~ Surprise! I got you something. Open it up whenever you feel like- just make sure to tell me when you do."

LCCB Assistant Manager: "Today's your birthday, yeah? Figured- so I got you something good as a gift. … Hm? Where'd I get the money for it? Oh, don't you worry your silly head about that~"

N Corp Mittelhammer: "A glorious day for you, is it not? The One Who Grips tasked me with delivering you a present today- how lucky for you, fuhu. Treasure it as much as you can, her gifts are worth slaying thousands of heretics for!"

Kurokumo Henchwoman: "Surprise, Dante~ I got you a little something with my protection fee today. Put it to good use now, you hear? Or else my sword will be a bit rash in the next battle~"

Sinclair Base LCB: "Ah- I-I completely forgot it was your birthday today, Dante- I promise, I'll be sure to buy something for you at our next stop."

Zwei Section 6: "I have a package for you, Dante. For all the good you've done for the team… you deserve this gift. Happy birthday, and may I continue being your shield!"

Jefe de Los Mariachis: "I'm doing a special performance tonight- you'll be there for it, won't you, Dante? It's a routine I've been practicing just for you, after all…"

Blade Lineage Salsu: "I hope you have a nice birthday today. I'm afraid I won't be around much- I'm needed today."

Outis Base LCB: "Happy birthday to you, Executive Manager. If you'd like, I will gather the others and have them sing your praises for the rest of today."

Blade Linage Cutthroat: "I see it is a special day for you, Executive Manager. I shall leave you to it, then- I wish not to impede what you have in mind for it."

G Corp Head Manager: "For today, I will grant you a day of rest. Only today, though- try to get out of your duties on any day but this one, and you will regret it."

Seven Section 6 Director: "I'm very glad I was able to catch you- here's some money. Treat yourself to something good today. You've earned it."

Gregor Base LCB: "Oh, hey, happy birthday, Manager bud. You think Vergilius is gonna put a little less pressure on you today 'cause of it… ? Ha, wishful thinking, huh."

Liu Section 6: "Hey, Manager bud. Come find me when it gets dark, alright? It's your birthday and all… and fireworks are much more impressive against a black sky."

G Corp Manager Corporal: "Greetings, Manager Dante, and a very happy birthday to you! I have cleared your schedule for today and have prepared several squadrons to help celebrate this special day of yours!"

R.B. Sous-chef: "Glad you stopped by. I've made a few special pies for a certain someone's special day today- put a little extra love into them, haha. Enjoy."

#limbus company #yi sang lcb #faust lcb #don quixote lcb #ryoshu lcb #meursault lcb #hong lu lcb #heathcliff lcb #ishmael lcb #rodion lcb #sinclair lcb #outis lcb #gregor lcb #not sure if i should tag this with dante lcb too. slash shrug #sorry if any of these seem OOC #there were a couple i had to look at the voicelines for bc i either didn't remember them and/or don't have the specific identity #so. apologies again if i butchered some of them

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heyidkyay · 10 months

Text

And I'm petrified of being alone, now |

Part Five

Matty Healy x reader

Summary: She’s just trying to get by, really. What with being a single parent to her four year old son whilst simultaneously trying to kick start a successful career as a radio presenter. She’s got everything she’s ever wanted though, friends close by, a mum who’s merely a phone call away, and of course her baby boy. What else is there to wish for? But then, it’s not long before her relatively normal life gets upended and turned on its head, and she’s suddenly forced to deal with situations she’s never even thought to imagine.

What happens when one mention of a certain controversial singer on her show sends a flood of unexpected challenges her way?

Authors Note: IT'S FINALLY HERE. THEY MEET. AH IDK WHAT ELSE TO SAY. But I have just finished writing part 6! So I figured why not post 5? SO here it is, hope you enjoy? X

>Just a note! So there's no confusion, this first section of 5 coincides at the same time as the last part of 4, as in where heading into the studio it was seen from Matty's POV, this starts with Mouse's and then goes onto them actually meeting one another! Okay? ta:)

Warnings: um, moody matty, lil bit of self-consciousness, mentions of scarring

Masterlist

I was running a bit behind schedule. Which wasn't too unusual for me, what with being the single parent to a rambunctious four year old, but this time around I’d somehow managed to allow myself to be waylaid by Adi's antics.

Apparently upon entering the studio this morning, everything had just felt a little 'off'.

And after having announced that, I’d had to sit back and watch on whilst Adi had trudged out of the room in her heavy black boots, only to come back a few moments later with a stub of sage in one hand and a lighter in the other.

Honestly, I was pretty sure that I could still taste the thick plume of smoke that I’d been forced to inhale each time I breathed in, even after having quickly made my escape. But yet it clung to the back of my throat uncomfortably and I couldn't avoid the grimace that wrinkled my face as I tried to rid myself of the sooty tang which coated my tongue.

But that was just Adi, I supposed. And it was one of the many things I loved most about her, how she was so unapologetically herself- even if it meant that I was forced to cough up a lung-full of herbs every once in a while.

See, it was actually Adi’s grandmother that had gotten her into performing all of the rites and cleanses she did so often. The woman was a real spiritualist and had taken Ads in at a very young age, so Adi had practically grown up around it all. She often spoke about how her grandmother had wanted her to follow down the same path and show a deeper interest, but Adi had always been much more fascinated by music, fashion and all things that revolved around tech.

She was a proper whiz with a computer, but that didn't mean she didn't have an appreciation for her grandmother’s beliefs, nor a knack.

"Are you still coughing up a storm, you drama queen?"

Speak of the devil, and he doth appear, I thought dryly, as Adi reemerged from out of the hazy recording booth. The sage now nowhere to be seen.

I rolled my eyes at her and continued to fiddle with the wires I had wound in my hand.

"I can't fucking stand the stuff, Ads."

Adi merely smirked at me as she bypassed, practically skipping.

"I know, but it's always good to be prepared! Who knows what we'll have to deal with when the infamous diva finally arrives!"

I snorted at Adi's mocking tone and couldn't quite hide the quirk of my lip.

"Fair enough. Just leave that door wide open, will you? And grab the fan while you're at it, as well. Don't need him, and whoever's tagging along, catching on."

I watched Adi laugh in amusement as she wandered over towards the sofa, the sweet sound echoing around the open space.

"On it, Captain!"

The two of us worked quickly after that, whirling around the loft, and one another, in an attempt to get things sorted before our guest's imminent arrival.

It wasn't long before we both recognised the telltale sign of a car pulling up outside though, and upon hearing the engines rumble die out I immediately caught Adi's eye from across the room.

It was a silent challenge and with it there was a frenzied rush to see who could get to the nearest window first. Adi had promptly tossed her notes towards my desk and taken to skidding across the hardwood floors, whilst I had all but thrown myself over the back of the settee.

Adi made it there first, even in her heavy docs, and claimed the windowsill with an unnecessary amount of arrogance. She grinned primly at me as I reluctantly slowed my approach, leaving me to lean in close so that we could both try and get a good look in.

But from this angle, there was practically no use. I craned my neck as far as my torso would willingly allow me and could only just make out the tail-end of a sleek car parked up on the curb. I assumed that meant Healy had arrived.

"Can you see anything?" Came Adi's impatient voice, a hushed whisper even though we were three flights up.

"No." I grunted back, "Your fat head's in the way."

Ads scoffed at me and I didn't have to look at her to know that she was now glaring up at me. I grinned.

"My head is perfectly sized, thank you! But seeing as we’re on the topic of abnormalities, you're practically half giraf-”

Adi immediately cut her snide comment short when a loud voice suddenly trumped the usual roaring noise that went hand in hand with the large city that was London.

"Right my!" We heard.

The voice was sharp and irritated, fuelled by an obvious anger, and soon trailed off into a muffled grit.

Adi's head snapped back to the window at the very sound of it, whilst I couldn't help but question just how exactly she’d managed to contort her body in the way she had, long legs tucked up beside her as she pressed her torso against the glass to listen closer.

The voice rang out again, sharper this time, and my eyes shot down to meet Adi’s own.

In return, she gifted me a catty side eye- obviously enraptured by the sudden drama that had seemingly been handed to us- and I could do nothing but shrug at her in response, somewhat baffled.

I pulled away slowly when the voices didn't seem ready to rise again, and silently wished that I could've been a fly on the wall during a conversation like that.

Clasping Adi's wrist, I gently tugged her away. "Come on, you best get down there before things go sideways and we end up on the backend of it all."

"Me?!" Adi crowed back, her eyes wide in alarm as she let me drag her back from the windowsill. "Why not you?"

My face scrunched up at the very thought.

"Ah go on, Ads. Please! You're so good with shit like this, can charm your way out of practically anything."

She narrowed her eyes in response. "I know what you're doing."

I pursed my lips together in an attempt to keep up the innocent act, already feeling a grin cropping up. “Is it working? ‘Cause we both know you’re the sweetest talker around, Wells. Could talk your way out of police custody, you like.”

Adi clucked her tongue but moved to cross the loft. “Yeah, yeah. But we both know you’re just being a coward! What, you really aren't ready to face him yet?”

I was swift to spin around on my heel to hide the truth my expression conveyed, and ignored the question altogether as I headed back towards the booth. I also pretended not to hear the cow’s delighted cackles as she began to descend the staircase.

"Just make sure the camera's are rolling before I get back! And wish me luck!"

"Luck!" I called out loudly over my shoulder before unplugging the fan and then storing it away. She was definitely going to need it.

I busied myself with the last of my tasks afterwards, an odd feeling of anxiety welling in my chest as I went through the usual motions.

It was strange for me to linger too long on thoughts of nervousness, because I usually had too much going on in other aspects of my life. Making things a little too difficult to concentrate on the many things that could possibly go wrong.

This time around though, we weren’t dealing with the usual up and coming artist, new to the industry and overwhelmingly pleased to be invited on. No, this time we’d practically been fed to the sharks.

Because, of all the possible people, we’d just had to have landed Matty Healy.

I started to question it all again. How exactly I'd gotten myself wrapped up in a mess this big in the first place and only hoped that Adi fared alright with dealing with Healy on her own for a while.

Maybe it had been cowardly of me to send her in first but I really didn’t think I could face him just yet, seeing as it had been me that had set off the pyramid of fireworks that had seemingly burned a hole in his life.

A dull vibration pulsed in my back pocket, breaking me from my train of thought, and I found that I was very much thankful for the sudden distraction it offered.

Messages now Finnleyyy Just got back to the gallery, Teds was fine when I dropped him off! If the show goes on any later feel free to message me and I'll pick him up x

I smiled down at the message.

At least that was one less thing I had to worry about, Teddy was safe and well, already settled in at the local nursery and in all honesty, I truly didn't know where I'd be without Finn, especially on days like these.

I was quick to fire back a text full of appreciation before I slipped the phone back into my pocket.

It was just as I had finished clearing up the rest of the studio that I heard a sudden rush of voices trail up the stairwell, and stilled at the very sound.

It was Adi’s voice which carried the furthest and so I ran my teeth along my bottom lip before ultimately deciding that running and hiding was my best bet. So I shot across the loft floor and into the recording booth to stow myself away.

Adi didn’t give me the chance to worry excessively over every little detail that could go wrong as the group of visitors grew marginally closer. So to keep myself busy for a minute or two, or to rather calm my erratic heart, I chose to fiddle with the last of the cameras that had been set up.

I felt, more than heard, the moment they passed the top of the stairwell as the wooden floorboards of the studio tended to creak beneath added weight.

It was pretty much impossible to hear what was being said on the other side of the recording booth though, due to its soundproof walls, but that tiny fact didn’t stop me from practically sealing myself against the door in an attempt to decipher the perfect moment for me to intervene on the situation outside.

For days I’d been practically driving myself stir crazy over all of this, I knew that I just needed to get it over and done with, save myself the stress before I brought another headache on. Because I could do this, he was just some guy. Famous or not.

So with a final albeit shaky breath, I braced myself and opened up the door.

Thankfully, I was almost instantly met by the comforting sound of Adi's voice.

“Ah, there she is! Was wondering when you’d show your mug. Fancy a cuppa, babe? Fixing up a few.”

“Please.” I breathed out a sigh and dragged a hand through my hair as I wandered towards the kitchenette, catching sight of the two bodies currently commandeering our tiny seating area.

I focused on the man sitting closest and the first thing I noticed about him was the sleek haircut he’d styled, it was clipped closely at the sides but left long on top to keep the thinning hairs going in one direction. He was different from what I’d expected, but not just because he was older, he also wore this brilliant smile when he moved to peer up at me, sincere enough that I felt my doubts ebb as I smiled back, taking in the rest of him and his fine fitting clothes which seemed to suit him well.

I dipped my head in a silent hello before my gaze flickered over towards our remaining guest.

It shouldn’t have felt as shocking as it did to finally set eyes on Matty Healy in person, not after all of the thorough planning I’d put into his very visit. But it was strangely surprising to bare witness to the way his lithe body was currently perched on the edge of our shabby armchair, the very same Adi, Finn and I had dragged back from the secondhand shop further up the main road. It felt wrong almost, having someone so obviously used to a certain luxury sat in the tatty thing.

I pulled my mind away from that last thought and focused on how I couldn't quite seem to tear my eyes away from the way Healy’s frame folded in on itself slightly, legs jutted out wide, elbows pressed against knees, and his chin cocked high. The guy’s overall stance was oddly domineering for someone so wraithlike, with hollowed cheeks and an aristocratic smile. It made him that much harder to read.

Healy’s own eyes were also hidden, so I couldn't make out the line of his gaze. Disguised behind a dark pair of glasses that I could only supposed cost more than what I’d make in two, maybe three months.

The question of what Healy might've first thought upon seeing me and the way I’d drowned myself in the oversized band tee I’d chosen that morning crossed my mind. But I was simply just thankful for the fact that I’d forgotten my knitted cardi somewhere behind me in the recording booth. Silently wishing that I had the balls, as well as the body, to pull off the outfits Adi liked to wear.

"Hiya." I finally greeted them, forcing myself to smile as I extended a polite hand outwards. "It's great to meet you both."

Even with the dark shades on, I easily spotted the way Healy's brows lifted in reply before he- rather reluctantly- clasped his own hand in mine.

I swallowed back the strained smile I wanted to give him in return and focused instead on the shake. Healy’s hands were apt, fingers long and slender, skin much softer than it should’ve been for any musician, and his knuckles prominent but wrist almost dainty. He was a juxtaposition if I’d ever seen one.

He was the first to pull away.

“Likewise.”

My jaw ticked at Healy’s sarky tone but I didn’t let it deter me. Staying professional, I turned to offer the same sentiment to his accomplice.

“I’m Mouse, by the way. It’s lovely to have you both. Hope you got here okay.”

The other man was much merrier than Healy, practically a total contrast actually, and he showed it in the joyful way he shook my hand, still smiling away.

“You know London traffic.” He replied around a low chuckle and let our hands fall, “Lovely to be here though. I’m Matty’s manager, Jamie.”

I smiled as I nodded in remembrance.

“Got to say, I really love what you two have done with this place. Skylight’s incredible.” Jamie added and I grinned before settling into the adjacent sofa, leaving plenty of space for Adi to take.

“You saw that? But yeah, I honestly think it’s the only reason we were so sold on this particular building- ‘cause the stairs are killer.”

“I can see why! I’m dying to have something like that back at mine, but the conservatory will have to do for now.” Jamie enthused and stood up when Adi strode on over.

Skillfully, the man helped guide the wooden tray Ads had been carrying towards the coffee table and smiled when she thanked him for his efforts, the image of a perfect gentleman.

“Thanks, Ads.” I breathed out in appreciation when the girl handed me my usual milky brew, then took a quick sip.

Someone snorted as I did and my eyes instantly flew over to discover that the sound had been made by Healy, because of course.

He seemed all too amused by something and, from the way his body was still angled towards me, I could only assume that it was down to something I'd done.

I blinked in confusion before I moved to raise my mug high above my head, reading the large, industrialised font that covered the bottom of the cup. Cunt.

The studio was probably the furthest thing from a professional setting, we’d always wanted the entire space to feel comfortable, safe even. But this was supposed to be our big break and so we had been trying to convey it as though it was. But here Adi was dishing out the gag gifts Finn had bestowed upon the loft last Christmas like it was a regular Tuesday.

Still, with a shake of my head, I couldn’t quite bring myself to dim my grudging grin as I shot a narrow eyed glare Adi’s way.

"Ta for that." I voiced with a light chortle and tipped the mug at her in false cheers, before my eyes then flittered over towards Jamie, who had since stifled his own amusement in favour of taking a slow sip of his own brew. And ah, yeah, there was the matching mug.

Healy laughed to himself in the little corner he’d created and I caught the way he subtly surveyed his own cup, out of the corner of my eye, just in case Adi had got him too.

Somehow he’d managed to avoid that particular jest and I knew that the only thing Healy really had to worry about now was if there was a secret dirty message waiting for him once he’d finally polished off his drink.

"What can I say? The mugs, they do not lie." Adi jeered, a mischievous glint in her eye before she turned her head back towards the two visitors. "See you've met our wonderful Mouse then! Ain't she a looker?"

I grimaced away from the hand that reached out to grab at my chin and silently questioned what I'd done to suddenly be on the deserving end of all her taunts.

Jamie laughed at the pair of us, but even with it, I didn't miss Healy's quiet hum or the way he was now seemingly more interested in the contents of his cup than the current conversation.

"Quite. We were actually just talking about you on the way up here, mate." Jamie divulged and I dragged my attention back towards the man, eyebrows lifting.

"Only good things, I hope." I replied, somewhat uncomfortably, but smiling lightly at Jamie before I managed to catch Adi's eye.

Ads simply waved me off. "Of course! They were interested in the show- how it started and what not." She told me and I nodded, mostly to myself as I relaxed further into the settee.

"Oh, well yeah, we've been around a while now."

"Adi mentioned that you were just a kid when you started out, sounds mad putting it like that." Jamie pondered, appearing quite intrigued by the topic. "How did this all come about then?"

Usually, I liked to skirt around this particular subject, wanting to dive straight into the work and forgo most of the small talk, but I caught the way Jamie’s eyes darted around our quaint little studio. He wasn’t just asking for the sake of it.

"If I'm being truly honest, a lot of stuff happened all at once." I revealed with a soft chuckle, but it lacked any of the mirth I was aiming for as I thought back to my second year of university, the year everything had quite literally turned on its head.

"I was in between jobs and my best mate suggested that I take the Twitter account I already had and turn it into something with a bigger presence. At the time, I had nothing left to lose so I just went for it."

At least, that was the shortened version of it. I’d skipped the mental breakdown, the almost losing my flat, and the birth of my child for the sake of not looking like a total psycho.

Jamie looked impressed or, at the very least, understanding as he nodded along to my words.

"Can't say I regret it now though." I had to tack on and smiled before attempting to trail my way onto a more formal topic. "I got your list by the way- what not to ask and all that. Think one of your lot emailed it to me earlier in the week. But I just wanted to let you both know-”

I let my eyes flit over towards Healy for a brief moment before they settled back on Jamie.

"That you don't have to worry about any of that whilst you're here. We want things to be relaxed, comfortable. I know your team was adamant on everything being a bit more structured, following the lines of an actual interview, but we don't do much of that around here. So I hope you're happy with just having a simple sit down."

"Like this?" Came a reply and I had to pause for a second before realising where the question had come from. Or who, rather.

I settled my mug down on my thigh, loosely supporting it with my hand, and looked over in the direction of Healy.

"A bit, yeah." I confirmed with an incline of my head, "That alright with you?"

The singer was silent for a long second and I couldn't help but take the opportune moment he gave to simply admire the way his fingers had wrapped themselves around his mug, mindlessly tapping away to a hollow tune.

Just when it appeared as though the silence had stretched on a beat too long, and Jamie had begun to shuffle forward ever so slightly in his seat, did Healy finally reply.

"If it's just you, then yes."

I tried not to let the reaction of how I really felt flash across my face then as I stared back at the man opposite.

From the corner of my eye, I could see the way Adi's lips had pursed unhappily in retort and how Jamie’s expression had hardened into a somewhat steely glare, desperate for Matty to spare a glance his way. Probably to scold him for being so painfully rude. But Healy, to my utter disbelief, kept his head firmly fixed towards me, even as he pushed the dark sunglasses he wore up into his curly hair.

It almost felt like we were in a stare off with the way I watched him for any tell that would surely give him away, slowly considering the proposition and not caring to cover up the way I could now stare into the other man’s dark brown eyes unabashedly.

From where I was sat, I could only just make out the darkened circles that rested beneath Healy’s pupils, as well as the red line that rimmed them. Their colour was far from unusual, brown, but his were not something you saw very often, they drew you in, kept you trapped. They harboured a multitude of other colours that blended ruthlessly into an array of raw umber.

As magnetising as they may have felt though, I found that I was mostly grateful to see that Healy’s pupils were of a normal size. The only thing I wanted to question were the walls that were so obviously barricaded behind them, giving me absolutely nothing in return.

"Just me?"

Healy simply stared back.

I couldn’t look Adi’s way when I finally answered the request, simply hoping that she would somehow understand. This felt too much like a test to say anything other than, “Alright. If that’s what you’d prefer.”

I moved to push my mug onto the corner of the coffee table, allowing myself a seconds release from his stare.

“But Adi often controls what goes on behind the scenes when we record, so it’ll be harder without her there, especially with all the cameras.” I explained carefully.

"Look, just hang on a second-" Jamie tried, obviously wanting to defuse the situation, but was ultimately cut off by Healy. It honestly felt as though the man believed neither Jamie nor Adi were a part of the conversation any longer.

"Can you do it?"

His tone was almost challenging, the four words fell from his wicked tongue like a dare.

"Not the type to back down." Was all I could think to retort, my hardened gaze once again zeroed in on Healy's own.

***

The recording booth was smaller than he’d expected. A table sat in the very centre, surrounded by a swarm of cameras and microphones, all of which seemed to be connected to a variety of wires Matty could hardly even bring himself to be cautious of as he stepped past.

The table hosted an array of tech though, from computers and mixing boards to monitors and speakers. None of which Matty was the least bit interested in either.

Three of the four walls were lined with acoustic foam panels, one’s you’d typically find in booths, while the last had been turned into a mural of sorts.

The mural was dark and edgy, a string of trees sprouted up from the ground and swept across the expanse of it, its branches winding upwards only to entangle in one another. A common field mouse sat crouched in between the trunks of the trees, its big eyes shining as it met Matty’s stare head-on. The walls centre held the name of the radio show and at first glance it looked as though it had been printed on one of those acrylic neon signs, but it was actually just extremely detailed.

Matty had to blink once or twice before he was finally able to look away.

"Who's work?" He found himself asking, filling the silence that had settled upon the closing of the booth's door. He jutted his chin out towards the far wall, sparing the art one last glance before he gave the girl his full focus.

Her eyes flitted up to meet his own before they sailed across to the mural.

"A friend." Was all she replied, but her voice had softened a touch now that it was just the two of them, Matty noted.

She offered nothing more than that and so Matty took it for what it was, nodding his quiet assent.

"Do you have anything in particular you'd like to talk about whilst you're here?" Mouse asked him as she clicked away at the computer, he felt strange using the name, even if it was just in his own head. "We've got a good hour or so before Adi comes snooping."

"I've got a million things I'd like to say," Matty let slip as he trailed on closer to the table, then forced a sardonic smile. "But I'm not particularly in the mood for a good tongue lashing today."

She looked slightly startled by his dry joke and Matty found himself having to hold back a smirk as he rounded the desk, fingertips gliding across the table's smooth surface.

"What about you, then?" He posed, not wanting to stunt their talk just as it had begun. Somewhat intrigued now. "Got anything you'd like to get off your chest for millions of people to hear?"

It was sarky, but when was he not? Though if he was being honest, Matty just found that he wanted to hear the girl talk, because for some reason he enjoyed listening to her. Her gentle accent had obviously been weakened during the time she'd spent in London but Matty enjoyed its easy lilt. It was almost soothing. He wondered where she was from, but didn't ask.

Mouse snorted, shaking her head. "Wouldn't quite say millions, a couple thousand at best."

Matty felt his eyebrows raise as he spared another glance over at her, thinking back to those eyes that had held his so solemnly. "What, even with me here?"

He was teasing, but her eyes widened briefly as though she feared she had offended him, but as mentioned, it was only a brief flicker before a small smile tugged at the corners of her lips.

"Well, I guess we'll just have to wait and see how loyal your fans truly are, Healy."

"Guess so." Matty mocked.

***

The show had gotten off to a rocky start. I had been all too aware of the surrounding cameras and the way the menacing rockstar, sat centimetres away from me, liked to keep his stare fixed firmly on me at all times, following my each and every movement.

I couldn't quite help the way I shifted uncomfortably every time I looked up and caught Healy's eye either, or the way I’d chosen to angle my face away from the cameras to avoid looking directly into any lenses.

I was dead crap when it came down to things like this. It all became too much, the pressure to entertain, to pretend that I was fine, that I was comfortable in my own skin, to chat away like there weren't already a thousand eyes studying my every flaw.

Look, give me a microphone and any sodding topic that either pissed me off or positively enthralled me and I'd be happy to rant the ears off of any nutter willing to listen. But in scenarios such as these, I always felt slightly on edge. Teetering on the verge of falling right on over it.

‘Cause I knew what people saw when they looked at me. I was all too familiar with the pitying glance I often got spared, as well as the grimaces people couldn’t seem to hide when they walked by.

I’d had to deal with it for years. Ever since I was a kid.

And upon hearing that, anyone would probably figure that I might’ve gotten used to all the gawking by now, especially with a toddler constantly keeping me on my toes. But ultimately my son’s presence often appeared to exaggerate the mixed reactions I received.

In truth, I’d never really been given the time to come to terms with the scars that marred my body, my face. The white lines that spoiled the features underneath.

So claiming it to be a rocky start, would only put a dent about the size of a pea into the way I was currently feeling!

Healy was rather unhelpful too, just as I’d predicted. He seemed to almost get off on watching me writhe under his leer and his answers to the questions or topics brought up were half-hearted at best.

Really, I was beginning to doubt the way in which I’d figured this entire mess would end.

It was only supposed to be a quick and easy chat, the two of us sat there gossiping like old mates, proving to the rest of the world that there really was no animosity or underlying conspiracies to this whole setup. When in actuality, that really wasn't the case.

Time and time again I found myself questioning why exactly Healy had even bothered to come, why he had even agreed to the whole ordeal in the first place. Especially when he was so apathetic with his replies.

"So," I trailed off, somewhat desperate to save what was left of the segment- for my sake at the very least. I didn't even want to think of what sort of issues this would cause for the show. "Music! I mean, from an outsider's point of view, we never really got the whole backstory on how you and the rest of the band really met. I mean, you’ve said you started it in secondary school, but you yourself were kind of pushed into the limelight at a really young age, so how did you and the guys connect?”

Healy tensed at that particular question, his shoulders forming a more rigid line as his gaze flickered away from me for only the briefest of seconds before it returned, but it was enough to alert me to the fact that I was treading into murky waters. I tried to backtrack.

"But in all honesty, what I really want to know about are all the sordid details, life after all that crap, the answers to the things people never think to ask. Like, I've seen pictures of your clearly extensive guitar collection all over your Instagram feed, you must have a favourite!"

Matty's lips curled into something which almost resembled a smile then and it honest to God threw me through a loop. A metaphorical loop, of course, I wasn't quite sure if we could fit any sort of loop-like shape into a space this small.

But I was letting myself get sidetracked and couldn't help but question whether that was the sort of thing Healy typically thrived off of. He’d smiled, and nothing wicked or sarky had tinged it, it’d been a genuine smile. And I had to blink just to make sure my eyes hadn't been playing tricks on me as Healy edged forward in his seat, a coy grin now dancing at the corners of his muted pink lips.

"A favourite? Now that's the question to ask! Honestly? It'll have to be the '63 Jazzmaster I've got. It’s wicked, used by the Ramones on their debut album and then by David Byrne on early Syre demos. So it’s seen quite a bit."

After that, I just sat there. Stunned as Healy continued to rant about this poxy guitar he was so obviously smitten with and couldn't help but be utterly captivated by each and every word that slipped from his mouth.

Apparently all I had ever needed to get past the games and ginormous walls Healy had defensively built around himself was to simply be myself. Ask the questions that maybe only I wanted to know the answers to.

See, I wasn't the biggest people person but I figured myself to be somewhat of a skilful conversationalist. What with my past, I’d kind of had to force myself to be. But I was glad to have finally been given an in with Healy, no matter how small. It helped the interview pass by a lot easier.

Although the new spirit Healy adopted after that only seemed to last until nearing the very end of the show.

In truth, I had all but forgotten about the cameras and microphones set up, the fact that people were still listening in, were watching us converse, whilst I simply lost myself in listening to Healy prattle away. Positively enraptured by the way the musician's mind worked as he explained the complexity of a certain riff he adored, or the time he'd pretended to get off in Madison Square Garden- much to the dismay of his PR Team.

"They went absolutely mental when I first proposed it. I'm telling you! Yapping about time and effort, and it being too much for the younger viewers, then the plans that would have to be put into place- all that merry shite. And I’d just been sitting there in these, these skimpy leather trousers, quietly debating over when, or if I'd ever, get the feeling back in my legs. And don't even get me started on my knob. I mean, it must've shrivelled up and die- hang on, I can say knob, right? On air?"

Looking at him in that moment, forgetting everything I already knew, it was like I was seeing this whole other person. Someone who wasn't so confrontational, so quick to defend, or easy to recoil.

It was clear, to me at least, that Healy wasn't the image the media painted of him, he was simply human. A troubled man who truly loved music, in every sort of variety, and wanted to vocalise and share that love with everyone else. He was eccentric for sure, but sincere.

I could see that, even if it only felt like I'd only been given the tiniest bit of insight into the person Healy so obviously tried to keep concealed.

It wasn't long later when I startled somewhat upon seeing the flashing red light of one of our cameras go off to my left and immediately, I jolted upright in my seat.

"God- crap!" I blurted out stupidly as I grabbed at the headset that had threatened to fall off my head in my sudden haste. "Hold on. Sorry, got really sidetracked there- one of the camera's is telling me it's on its last legs, so we'd best start wrapping this up."

Healy deflated ever so visibly, shrinking back in his seat as he huffed a soundless chuckle.

"Can't seem to stop me once I get going." Healy widened his eyes to emphasise his point and I observed how he had hastily retreated back into himself to haul his guard up again.

I was quick to shake my head. "No, truthfully I can't remember the last time I just got to sit here and listen. It was nice not having to do all the work for once."

Matty licked at his top lip upon hearing that and rewarded me with another mirthful smirk. I realised I'd properly put my foot in it there, stressing over why I’d even worded it like that.

Whilst he chuckled to himself at the picture I must’ve made, I decided my best bet was to hurry on and end the show, reciting what needed to be said before I finally signed off, clicking a button.

It was just as the 'ON AIR' sign above the door went off that Adi barged straight through the entrance, gracing us with her wonderful presence. Jamie was just behind her, peeking his head around the doorframe.

"Well I think I can say that that went as well as it could’ve!" He announced, coming to a standstill by Matty as he clapped his client heartily on the back. "Well done, Matt. You as well, Mouse."

"Appreciate it." I smiled up at him before tugging off my headphones and pushing away the mic.

With all four of us now crowded into the makeshift room, the booth suddenly felt a lot smaller than it usually did, and so I tried my best to disguise the way my body immediately reacted to the realisation.

"I'm in dire need of a fag though. Will you be alright tidying up in here, Ads?" I announced as I pulled myself up onto my feet, already beginning to shuffle towards the exit. I picked up the cardigan I'd left on the back of one of the chairs as I went, using it as a shield almost.

"Yeah, of course. Glasses here wanted to discuss one more thing before they made a move anyway."

I shot an arched brow at the man in question but Jamie waved my curiosity off. "Nothing too detailed. Just some forms that need signing."

I didn't much like the part of the arrangement that came after recording, but with an understanding ‘Ah’, I forced myself to ask, "Erm, don't suppose you need me to stick around for any of that do you?"

"Nah," Jamie laughed lightly, "Go on, you're all good."

I smiled, silently praising the stars above as I nodded once and resumed my exit, tugging the cardi on as I hastily made my way over to the fire escape.

Praying that our luck hadn’t run out just yet, I hoped that no one else was up on the roof waiting for me when I pulled my feet up the rickety metal staircase. It was just about the last thing I needed at that moment.

I already had my lighter in hand by the time I'd made it over to our little makeshift patio we’d created, which consisted of a few wooden pallets and a couple of large cushions that overlooked the neighbouring buildings.

It wasn't much, Islington. It was inner London sure, and had its fair few classier joints to show off, but I much preferred what else it had to offer. Like how the hustle and bustle of the city quietened just as you lost yourself down the backroads. And all the parks that had been scattered in and around the main developments and the dozens and dozens of buildings that were constantly cropping up. How there was a pub on almost every street corner and a Sainsbury's never too far away. I even enjoyed the gentle rattle of the overground, it was all too familiar now. Felt more like home than the Isles ever had.

Looking out across the surrounding rooftops, I wondered again just why my mum had yet to leave our tiny town as I lit a cigarette and lifted the filter to my lips.

The first chance my father ever got he’d gone running for the hills and then me, myself, had upped and left the confines of our small cottage as soon as the offer had presented itself.

It wasn't that the harbour town I'd grown up in had nothing to offer. It had a sense of community, a beautiful shoreline (even in the colder months), and of course, the local rugby team.

But speaking in a manner of careers, well, unless you were breaking out on your own and had the cash to open up a shop on the high-street, then you were probably destined to either work in the local greengrocers, serve behind the village bar, or get a shift down by the docks.

You were lucky if you had a bit more meat on your bones though, because then you also had the added opportunity of getting an offer to start laying bricks for one of the few building companies. Most of which were family based.

We had the main school too which housed both primary and secondary kids, and the local college was available if you wanted to further your education. But the closest University campus was a good hundred miles away.

I had applied, but only to lessen the guilt I'd felt towards my mother when I'd started looking for courses available in just about any place apart from home whilst filling out uni apps.

I could still recall the day I’d finally told her I'd be leaving for London. Felt like a lifetime ago now really.

I'd definitely have to call her up again soon, to make sure that she was doing okay, even if it meant that I'd be forced to listen to her rattle on about coming home for Christmas. Again.

I sighed contently to myself and it was just as I flicked away a stump of ash that I heard someone approach.

118 notes · View notes

badhabitnun · 4 months

Note

Hi, Green!!! I noticed in your bio you said you're a post-hiatus phannie and I'm curious, what got you to start watching them? Do you remember your first impressions?

(Sorry if this has been asked before! I hope you're having a wonderful day and also just wanted to add I lovedddd your phasquerade art, it's hilarious and adorable 💚)

-Ser :)

hi ser!! this is actually my first ask on this blog, so i was really excited to see something in my inbox 🥹 and thank you!! posting art is SCARY but everyone is being so nice… thank you so much for organizing the phasquerade!!!

i am incredibly sorry for the Length of what is to come now. my feelings aren’t easy to sum up + i doth yap

the main reason i started watching them is probably the dapg revival itself, since my friends started watching their new videos together in our server, and i got curious and asked to tag along. before then though i’d also heard of dnp from them, and as a long-time (12 years) tumblr user i have felt their influence without realizing they were the source? i now know where the whiskers and “protip” come from…

before starting to watch dnp myself i remember seeing my friends react to the phouse reveal (i remember i was like “huh wait at their age that might actually be gay”), basically i’m gay, why i quit youtube, and dan and phil tell the truth (i didn’t know what a girl in prague was and i WAS afraid to ask). those made me curious! but not curious enough to sit through the videos themselves. i felt really bad for dan from all that though! he really sounded like he suffered more than jesus from the contents of both BIG and WIQYT 😭 i remember feeling parasocially protective of him. this is all to say my impressions weren’t COMPLETELY fresh when i started watching and especially for dan i already had one

now back to late 2023! i’d made some really massive changes in my life, like actual leap of faith, the course of my life has been altered kinda massive, so youtube become a comfort space for me. enter these two nerds! the first impression i had of both of them together kind of related to where i was in life at the moment: the realization that you can just live with a fellow nerd who loves you and you don’t have to follow the path the adult world expects from you. seeing them act silly and embrace everything they love and be so carefree and happy to be themselves, sharing a domestic life that doesn’t follow what heteronormative society demands… i know this is all obvious to so many people, but i really needed it at the time.

they became a reminder that i could have this life, that i have something to look forward to and my life isn’t over or doomed to be what society wants it yo be. their chemistry is something very pure and very real and especially now that they’re both open about their sexualities you can really feel how connected they are and how much fun they have together. it just makes me so happy to see two people adore each other so much after all these years!! god!!!

as i’ve said before i knew about dan from his yearly videos in the hiatus era, but i knew almost nothing about phil! the first thing that stood out to me was his accent, since i am very bad at recognizing accents BUT i watch plumbella so i was like whoa is he northern!! and that was kind of an instant comfort factor.

phil is an underrated comfort video genius like seriously... i was facing the horrors of being stuck at home for christmas with a thousand thoughts on my mind and his silly videos were like a nice patch of sunshine. i absolutely agree with dan on phil’s kind energy; he is like those nice people who come talk to you and actually try to make you laugh and feel more at ease if they notice you’re feeling shy. he kept me a LOT of company and i genuinely owe him for that. i can also tell he’s incredibly smart and creative even though his videos now are more casual; he definitely does a lot behind the scenes and he’s an excellent storyteller. i’ve later come to learn that he has also repressed a lot of things for the sake of his audience and probably dan as well, he really has a good heart. also, he resonates a lot with the autistic experience, and regardless of the reason that does make me feel happy and seen

as for dan. well! once i actually started watching his videos firsthand, dan felt like looking at a mirror, which has Impacted Me psychologically. a lot. BUT let’s get the silly stuff out of the way first i immediately understood why my friend has a crush on him 😭😭😭 like i get it!!! i can never bully them for having a crush again because i fucking get it he’s hot he knows it he carries it well! fuck!

but more than that… he immediately made me reflect on myself. i can’t get into my impressions on dan from dapg without saying first that i have had a similar journey with depression and homophobia and repressing everything and he forced me to face that i still have a lot of work to do. i didn’t realize that just knowing i’m queer and acting on it doesn’t automatically mean that i accept myself being queer. that is something that only BIG and hearing dan talk about queerness and mental health made me realize. so right after the omg funny hot nun, i had to kind of reconsider my whole life for a bit… and i’m still in the process of doing that…

more than anything, i think what i’ve felt and keep feeling watching both his older and newer videos is “god i’m so glad he’s out” and “god i’m so glad he can make art”. i just feel so proud of him, so happy he can experience life as himself, so happy that he can laugh and joke about being gay so freely, so happy he can make the art he wants and feel accepted, and so happy that he can proudly smile at his audience now, after i first heard of him as someone who was isolated and scared. again, i projected on him a lot, and i knew about his struggles beforehand, so my impressions are mostly sentimental 😭

all in all they’ve helped me immensely and made my life so much better, both as themselves with their comment and through the community they created over the years. i’ve been a lurker for the past couple of months and what made me come forward and make my own blog is the way their kindness and acceptance extends to their audience and vice versa :)

hopefully that answers your questions and i hope this wasn’t too much oversharing!! i feel like my current place in life influences how i see them and relate to them, and they also influenced me a lot and that contributes to how i perceive them, and so on. putting all these thoughts into words in one place and realizing things about myself bit by bit was really interesting; hopefully the formatting won’t kill those who try to read it. i’m sorry. i wrote this in my notes app 🫡

#answered #dan and phil #phan #< has anyone seen phandometrics. where are they. still gonna help tho

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glacierruler · 3 months

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When the Heart Doth Lie, Who Must Pay the Price?

AO3

Taglist: @oatmeal-stans-the-trash-rat @cutebisexualmess @greymillieattheball @randomnerd737 @lickoutyourbrains

@thegoogoober @amateurmasksmith

Content Warnings: Major Character Death, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Death, Murder, Ableism, Religion used in bad ways

I am not tagging U!Patton, because I don't think he's Unsympathetic in this? But be aware, that even though this is Patton Centric he's not a good guy. You Have Been Warned

The setting is loosely around 1843, which is why things are the way they are in some passages.

I'm sure there are some I missed. This isn't nearly as close to The Telltale Heart by Edgar Allan Poe, or The Raven by Edgar Allan Poe as I thought it would be. But they are heavily referenced and quoted, and I would recommend reading both of those before reading this if you haven't already.

When the Heart Doth Lie, Who Must Pay the Price?

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,

“The old man was filled with evil!” Patton screamed, his throat hoarse; exhausted from pleading with someone, anyone, to listen to his tale. “His eye! His eye was the devil itself! I swear it!”

He was not mad as the courts have claimed, for he was sure of this the same way James Marshall was sure the gold he found was not fools. Yet the only thing he heard was the cawing at his window. The wicked cawing of the bird, the hellish avian that would not quiet its torment; its torturous sounds uttered days before the righteous judgement was cast upon the old man. For this was a test from the Lord himself, to see if his resolve would break. It would not.

Patton dare not curse his captors, for fear of the Lord’s retribution; yet he cursed the chains keeping his hands and feet from being able to kneel and pray the Lord’s prayer.

Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,

“Curse you! Curse you oh vile raven! Go back to the fire from whence you came!” Patton cried at the raven. “For it was you who corrupted the old man, who tainted him with thy devilish powers and sent him to Hell. I shall not follow.

“For it was his eye that told me the devil had taken his soul! The eye that saw naught! Twas pale blue, a slight film covering it to keep the eye from knowing. Yet it changed, only such a slight change that I was the singular person in the world to know of it. Of course it was me who noticed! I was the sole keeper for him.

“I know what it was that traded his soul for that of the devil too! Was that dreadful, terrifically horrific book. For it was disguised as academic, but in its pages it held something vile, something blaspemously evil, and it scratched and crawled through into the old man’s eye!” Patton wailed on, his voice raspy from pathetically small tears slithering down his cheeks; the lack of water provided did not help with the grating of his voice against the almost lonely air. Yet the raven cawed.

While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,

Patton knew he was being tested as Job had been. It was the only conclusion that made sense, his Lord was allowing this horrific series of events to happen to him to see if he would remain loyal to Him. Still, he could not but wish these tests were for someone else; as even if they meant he was the most loyal to his Lord, it was still terrific to experience such unspeakable things.

Then he heard the call of the raven, the thing was back. Here to torment him more, tempt him to Hell as it had the old man.

“How can I be alone when you, unwanted, fly my way. Your tumultuous nature is torture enough in this place of woes. But I know better than to listen to you and your tempting calls; you are of the devil, below the dirt on my feet. They call me mad, but it is them who are mad! For who are they to call mad the righteous, never faltering, justice of the Lord. ‘Tis true, I had not wished to carry it out, but it was but a test. Like Abraham with Isaac at the alter, I must trust the Lord fully in hopes that it shall all work out.

“If I sway to your hellish nature for even a second of my time in this edifice for may my fate of the soul be worse than my fate of the body.

“Yet, I suppose you thought it would be a heat of the moment plot had you not? How wrong you should be to think that! I came up with the plan on my lonesome, I had thought to tell some; though the Lord kept me from uttering a sentence of what was to happen. He was right to, of course He was! For do you not see how they treat me, as if I am a lunatic!”

As of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.

“For I started my daily tasks as I had always done; yet once night had come, I should retire to my chambers as all do. But I did not! Instead I followed my Lord’s desire, and slowly, under the cover of night, went to his chamber. Familiarizing myself with the surroundings, as to make as slight a noise as possible.

“I was not quiet as a mouse, no a mouse is far too loud. If I was quiet as a mouse I would have woken him up; even more so with the devil possessing him! I was silent as the bugs that creep and crawl across the floor. I waited eight nights to righteously rid this world of an inconceivable horror known only to the Lord himself.

“It should have been three, I would not have been caught had I not lost my resolve I will admit. Yet observing him sleep, the guilt coming over me for what I was about to do was insurmountable; I thought ‘maybe I am interpreting the Lord’s message wrong.’ However that was my being weak-willed, for every day, whenever I saw the eye, I became more and more sure that the devil had crawled itself in there and no one had noticed.

“So carefully I kept plotting, the main obstacle to overcome was my own guilt. Guilt, a powerful, righteous feeling, being twisted; used against me. I did not know how to overcome it, but the Lord did. For that eighth night I had awoken him. Oh, only slightly, not enough to clue him in to his demise. ‘Twas a small, nervous chuckle that escaped my lips; but that’s all it took. I was ever so grateful that I had not yet lit the lantern; should it have been on I am sure that the plan was to be foiled. But I needn’t have worried, the Lord’s plan never fails.

“Waiting an hour, I heard as the old man went to lie down from sitting for so long. Cautiously and painfully slow, I opened the lantern’s light. Shedding but the finest of strands of the lovely, golden ichor over him. And what I saw chilled me, drove me to Heavenly righteous anger. It was the eye the devil had crawled it. And I knew I had to rid the world of it at this instance, save the world from him.

“Yet one more thing had not escaped my notice. My ears, sharper than a rabbit’s, heard the thumping of the old man’s heart. It was not slow and steady, but faster and louder than that of a horse’s hooves hitting the ground in a gallop! It vexed me, how could evil be so powerful and yet fear just the slightest of sounds? It must have known that I came of the Lord, and would rid of it soon enough.

“Yet the heart’s beating stalled me, it was loud. So loud, soon the neighbors should hear and if I were to let evil exist in this world for much longer… For it would be I who burned in hell alongside the old man. And I shan’t burn in hell. With a shout, my virtuous anger seeping out of me, I dragged him to the floor and pulled the heavy bed over him. Only one absconding shout rang out as this happened. Ever so grateful that it was rather easy to do, I listened oh so carefully. His heart stopped beating after several minutes, and just to be certain I waited a few more. I had never felt such relief as what I felt when I removed the bed, and he was dead.”

“Tis some visiter,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door—

“Concealing the body took some slight effort and time, but it was naught but the sting of a bee compared to ridding the world of evil.” Patton’s throat, the driest it had ever been. When was the last time he’d received food, or drink?

“For I dismembered it; the head, the arms, the legs—”

A caw interrupted his story.

“Quiet, oh evil thing! I only talk to you because that is what is keeping me from losing my mind to the walls and becoming a vessel for you devils.

“Where was I? Oh, yes. Tearing up three floorboards, I deposited him between the scantlings. No evil could penetrate through there. You would think the blood would stain the floors, yet I had thought of that, a tub caught all!

“Satisfied with my work for the Lord, I heard the bell toll; noting the time to be four. Resolved to rest, and rid myself of the guilt; for even with the evil residing in him I had been attached to the old man, I started to wearily head to my chambers. And then, came a knocking, a rapping, at the door.

“Opening it up, two police officers hearkened the steps. Had I not been silent? Were they to understand the ways of the Lord? I had no knowledge of why they might have been hear at such an ungodly time.

“It was but the shriek that had alerted them; rather a neighbor who had then alerted them, I digress! They had been alerted due to the shriek the old man had cried out, believed to be foul play! I knew then and there they were not here of the Lord but of the devil.

“I invited them inside, my pride being my folly; I was certain they’d find naught. Leading them to his chamber, I lied, about something such as the old man being on a trip. A small lie really, yet I ought to have known better; lies are of the devil. It was but a headache and a small ringing at first, I attributed it to the presences in this room, thinking it would be best to finish this visit.

“Yet they wouldn’t leave, they kept chatting and chatting and chatting. I tell you, I was perfect at deflecting and attempting to end each new conversation as it arose; but it wasn’t enough. They would not stop talking, and the more they talked the more I could hear. A ticking sound, that of a clock enveloped in cotton, became apparent. Foolishly, I thought, perhaps I could get them to go into another room. However, just as I was beginning to convince them into the kitchen, I heard a thumping; slow, loud, and low.

“Now I am not mad, I stand by this claim and I will stand by it until the day I die. This sound however, the vile beating of a dead man’s heart, would drive the strongest of men insane. I need it to be silent! Like it should be, yet the old man had obviously dealt with evils more powerful than I had feared.

“‘Villains!’ I shrieked at the evil masquerading as officers, ‘dissemble no more! I admit the deed! — tear up the planks! here, here! — It is the beating of his hideous heart!’”

“Only this, and nothing more.”

As Patton felt the last of these words leave his lips, he saw as the raven finally flew into his prison.

It stared at him and cried one word.

“Nevermore.”

Fatigue wore at him, but he would not rest with this evil in front of him. Only more certain when the raven transformed, into an impersonation of a human. It was not, but even the most astute of people would not be able to tell lest they had seen as Patton had what happened. Striking purple eyes stared at him, and the raven cried one more time:

“Nevermore!”

And Patton fell back into the wall, his head hitting it abruptly and everything went dark.

#glacier's fics #glacier's writing #glacier's fanfics #sanders sides #sanders sides fic #patton sanders #ts patton #patton sanders centric #virgil sanders #ts virgil #<- i promise you he's there almost the whole time #Major Character Death #Graphic Depictions of Violence #Death #Murder #Ableism #Religion used in bad ways

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garaksapprentice · 1 year

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New Post: Turning bedsheets into a wardrobe and other op shop thoughts

Originally posted on my blog: https://garaksapprentice.blogspot.com/2023/09/turning-bedsheets-into-wardrobe.html

The Dilemma

When it comes to my clothes, I'm a remarkably lazy snob.

I want things that fit well. (This isn't an unreasonable thing to want, I feel.) I want comfortable fabrics that breathe, and don't end up smelling like a billy goat slept on them. (I swear, since starting T, I strip my shirts more often than I ever had to strip the cloth nappies.)

I want colours - black and white and grey don't count - that don't make me look dead. (When did all the t-shirts in the men's section become navy and olive?) And I want them to last longer than six months before they start a part-time internship in the mending box.

(The pile doth wax and the pile doth wane, but there's always a bloody pile.)

This short list is surprisingly difficult to achieve, off the rack. Anything that fits my shoulders won't fit my chest, and vice versa. The armscye is usually either comically large, or too small to fit my biceps. And pants? Let's just not go there. (Belts help. Kind of.)

I really dislike how polyester and other synthetics breathe (they don't), so I avoid them whenever I can. It's getting much harder to find clothes made of 100% natural fibres, whether new or second-hand.

Colours I have slightly more luck with - or I would, if the first two things didn't get in the way. Longevity is always an utter crapshoot. (Though I've found that wovens last longer than t-shirts.)

The Solution

Luckily, I know how to sew. I used to do it for a living. (Not clothes, mind - baby carriers. More structural, less technically complex.) My possess all the basic tools, a few of the extras, and a reasonable set of skills.

(I've been making clothes for the kids for years - they care a lot less about style and fit. And skirts are easy.)

So I'm taking a two-pronged approach to this dilemma. I'm practicing making things I actually like and will wear, and religiously patching my current wardrobe while I make replacements.

Making clothes, naturally, requires material. So instead of going to the op shop for clothes, I'm going for fabric. (I stopped buying new years ago, except for underwear, shoes, and the occasional really high quality item from places that at least pretend to pay their garment workers.) But my favourite deal-hunting section isn't sewing/craft - it's the linens.

Wait, what? Why?

Thrift store fabrics usually can't tell you what they're made from. (The staff get narky when you try to burn test the goods, sadly.) Plus there's just not that much of it. Bedding, tablecloths etc are donated far more frequently, and often still have their tags on them.

Now, you do have check for wear. Some donations look brand new, some have had a long life already. Check for pilling or thinner areas, especially in the middle of bedsheets (fitted ones are worse for this than flats). It's easier if you can hold things up to the light. Usually things in worse condition will be priced lower, but not always.

Why not buy clothes six sizes too large and chop them up to make new stuff?

I mean, you can. It's certainly a common choice, what with all the "thrift upcycle/refashion" videos and blogs and such out there dedicated to it. I personally don't, for the following reasons.

Care for people: I take the permaculture ethics seriously.

Have you ever really looked at the racks in an op shop? Piles of sizes S-L, much less outside of that. The bigger your meatsuit, the harder it is to find things that have a hope of fitting. Too bad if you hate stripes, or the fabric is itchy - if there's only two things in your size, then that's the choice you have. It sucks. (I am in no way body shaming here. Bodies do a lot of hard work for the people who live in them, and no one gets to judge anyone else's.)

I'm both outside the common sizes, and a weird enough shape to have trouble besides. And I've been broke enough that op shop clothes were a necessity, not a choice. I know what it's like to have to take what I could get as long as it fit "enough".

To me it is deeply unethical to take the few decent garments that are available for plus sized people, chop them up, and make something for me to wear out of them, when I can just as easily start with a sheet or a table cloth and achieve a similar result.

Efficient energy planning: I have limited time and brainpower available, and sometimes my executive dysfunction is bad. Like, "I'm eating peanut butter out of the jar for dinner because my brain has stopped" levels of bad.

Cutting up a garment, taking off buttons, and so on, adds several extra steps to a sewing project. Sometimes that's fine - in those situations, I have plenty of old clothes in the stash. More often, though, those extra steps completely derail me.

So I find it easier to start a project with what is essentially yardage. Even when I have to cut around stains, rips, or worn spots, it uses less cognitive capacity.

I also prefer rectangularly cut garments, and zero waste patterns that have you draw directly onto the fabric. These work better on something that started out life as a rectangle.

Use biological resources: Natural fibres are renewable. Mined ones are not. Where I can, I use the former. That's not to say I never use things with synthetic content - it's technically possible, but in practice hard as hell.

Produce no waste: I've still got a sizeable stash of acrylic knitting yarns, plus other bits and bobs, hanging around from before I made this commitment. Throwing them out or donating them (ie making them someone else's problem) won't actually fix things; I simply use them in appropriate projects, and when I replace them, I do so with things that fit my current ethical stance and needs.

But sheets are all plain white and boring!

I can see why you might think that. TV has done a lot of false advertising on that point. It is false. Trust me.

(Ignore the movies. Real sheets come in just about every colour you can think of.)

But, I know not everyone likes plain colours. What if you're madly in love with prints, or shirts with witty slogans on them? Well, besides the growing number of fancy sheets out there, might I interest you in the doona covers?

(The top right and bottom left are ex-doona covers. The rest are sheets.)

Or the fine art of embroidery?

(I shall have the most glorious shirt sleeves when I finish embroidering them.)

Or fabric painting?

(This is technically a mend, but I totally plan on doing similar to brand new things I make.)

Or the many different styles of natural dyeing?

(Soursobs from the local park, gently turning into dye liquor for some dyeing experiments.)

Or, if you've got lots of smaller or oddly shaped pieces of fabric hanging around, maybe some patchwork (all YouTube links)? It's not just coats and dressing gowns, either - you can patchwork jeans, trousers, dresses, shirts and more.

The point here is that fabric (and buttons, zips, thread, etc) doesn't have to be a thing you buy brand new. With time, patience, and a bit of luck, you can find everything you need to create great things second hand.

(Maybe I'll write a future post breaking down the costs of some of the things I've made...)

#sewing #thrifting #permaculture

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spindrifters · 2 years

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wip word search game

@anemicc-royalty tagged me ages ago, only just getting around to this! all of these are taken from marginalia as it's my only active wip.

my words: lips | agony | haughty | forever | broken

LIPS:

“The… attack,” says Sirius, and Remus shifts uncomfortably. “The disappearance, after. You don’t suppose that was Riddle’s doing, too, do you? I don’t know much about this Greyback fellow, but methinks the lady doth protest too much.” “Sirius. What the fuck does that even mean?” He flushes. “Right. Sorry. Shakespeare. Um, means he sounds full of shit.” “Oh. Yeah. He is.” “How do you know?” Twisting his lips together, and lord almighty he wishes he were having any conversation but this, Remus points back at the first page of his file. The name right below Sirius’s father’s. Fenrir Greyback. “‘Cos he told me.”

AGONY:

Sirius, writhing on the carpet at his side, screaming in agony as his mother stands above him, wand drawn, a cold and disgusted expression twisted on her pale face.

HAUGHTY:

The one time before now that Remus has met Pandora, he’d thought her to be charming but slightly aloof. Now, he’d like to register a change in that assessment. From the sleek blonde hair pulled back behind its green headband to the raised chin and upturned nose, Pandora Selwyn is not just aloof but downright haughty.

FOREVER:

The thing about kissing Remus is that he wants to do it all the time. He wants to do it everywhere — on the beach, in the woods, in both Dorcas and Nym’s hijacked bedrooms, right in the middle of the makeshift village square. Sirius has spent his whole life chasing that next high, that next glorious rush that will buzz him right out of his skin, out of the confines and restrictions that have forever defined his world, but none of it — not a single damn thing — can hold a candle to this. Because this — this — isn’t solely a release. It's certainly not an escape. This is like breathing in new life, great lungfuls of fresh air after ten years underground. This is grounding. Because the thing about kissing Remus is that he’s kissing Remus.

BROKEN:

Everyone, of course, has an opinion on the piece. It’s been banned from the castle, under the pretense of content too advanced for younger students — which, of course, has only had the knock-on effect of ensuring absolutely every student in the castle reads it. James and Fabian and himself find it bloody hilarious, though Pete’s still doing his best to understand the sarcasm and hyperbole, bless him. Regulus and Mary and Pandora worry alongside Remus, which is as endearing as it is misplaced. Emmeline’s furious, though this seems to be mainly because Florean’s broken up with her as a result, and she makes a point of getting up and leaving whenever her twin enters the room. Yaxley and Rosier and their cronies hiss at Dorcas for a blood traitor in the halls, while Lottie Pucey and Davinica Warrington don’t miss an opportunity to loudly deride the work as nothing more than disgusting. Meanwhile, Dorcas suddenly finds herself the bewildered recipient of endless handshakes off a parade of Ravenclaws who simply appreciate the skill and craft of her writing. Marlene doesn’t acknowledge her at all. After their fight in Gryffindor Tower earlier in the week, she’s acted as though Dorcas simply ceased to exist.

no pressure tags: @soloorganaas @impishtubist @lynxindisguise @femme--de--lettres @rollercoasterwords @greenvlvetcouch @crushofdoves

your words: tether | delight | energy | robes | fallen

#fic meme

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best-dictionary · 4 months

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Word Competition!

Vote for the best word by rating each one from 1-5. The competition will mostly not proceed like a regular tournament. The winning word will be the word with the highest percentage of the highest rating (a score of 5). Afterward, the crown will be up for grabs again in a final round between every 5-rated word.

All words will be posted with their submitter's identity unannounced unless the submitter of the ultimate winning word asks for otherwise. If you want to be tagged in the announcement of your word winning the whole competition, clarify this when you submit. It's recommended to have record for yourself which word you submitted so you can see how far it got.

Another side to this event is that each word is entered to ChatGPT, an AI chatbot, which I had make up it's own personal system for rating words (playing with it like that is what inspired the competition). Comparing the bot's results and the progression of the real competition could be interesting, at least to me. The thing about that though is not every word will go to the bot- some dirty choices could get me flagged and unable to keep using the it.

The results for each word of both the tumblr competition and the bot rating will be presented in a public online document after the competition is over.

A deadline for submission will be decided once there are a lot of submissions in already (at least over a hundred?)

Submit a word through the askbox, or comments (not reblogs) of this post. (The first option is heavily preferred.)

Kinds of "words" to enter or not to enter:

Name/nickname ✔

Hyphenated ✔

Place ✔

Multiple (i.e. Los Angeles) X

"Made-up"/obsolete (i.e. irregardless, xir, doth, thingamabob) ✔

Non-English ✔

Hieroglyphic ✔

Slang (internet kind, cultural kind, etc.) ✔

Contractions ✔

Vulgar ✔ (may or may end up in bot word list)

Letter of the alphabet ✔

Number (either spelled out or no more than 4 digits) ✔

Unique character combo (i.e. 4ever) ✔

Ubiquitously bigoted or severely disturbing terminology X

Acronyms ✔

Onomatopoeia ✔

Q's & A's:

"Should I consider the same criteria as the bot? Should I choose the best words or my favourite words?"

You can and should do whatever you want!

"Can we provide propaganda?"

Propaganda will not be featured but feel free in the notes!

"How long is this gonna take?"

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

"Can I submit more than one word?"

Probably should stick to 1 or 2 words per person but this won't be enforced.

"Should I provide a definition when I submit?"

If your word is extremely obscure and therefore hard to understand or find a real example of, then sure, if you want. Otherwise, many common words won't be posted with their definitions anyway, even if the word technically has multiple. This is because beauty is in the eye of the beholder

"Is my word too inappropriate?"

We'll probably let you know if we deny it.

WORDS ALREADY INPUTTED BEFORE PUBLIC SUBMISSIONS:

Achilles

again

anonymous

ants

beautiful

blog

boston

catchy

daddy

dead

difficult

Dracula

dreamy

fluids

Gehry

genuinely

god

husband

infuriating

invention

judge

jumper

literal

lunch

marsupial

meow

midnight

milf

movies

muttering

notice

nvm

olympic

perplexities

philosophy

princess

problems

scare

soulmate

stray

tatted

text

uterus

wild

yellow

Questions already answered by this post will not be responded to.

#poll #polls #word #words #info #language

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theshakespeareproject · 7 months

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Thoughts on King Henry the Sixth Part II Act V

Updating two days in a row? Talk about commitment.

Act V, it’s time for the grand climax. All the threads will come together and be tied up with a nice little bow. Does that happen? Well… not quite.

We begin with the Duke of York and his army of the Irish. The jokes practically write themselves. What follows is an interaction between the Duke of York and the Duke of Buckingham, sent on behalf of the King. In an interesting turn of events, we find out what the characters in-universe see when someone has their little Fleabag moment and talks to the audience. “Buckingham, I prithee, pardon me, That I have given no answer all this while; My mind was troubled with melancholy.” He said seconds after describing his plot to us.

If I understood correctly. York did not expect his warning about Somerset to truly be taken seriously, because… Somerset was not the traitor. Upon learning that Somerset was indeed arrested, he dispersed his own men. Though I get the feeling something more may be going on here.

We then cut to the King, meeting with Buckingham and York. It’s a very eventful meeting, where not much of the actual meeting get’s done. Instead, a esquire runs in carrying a head. It’s not even the strangest thing that happened to these people that day. The esquire is Alexander Iden and the head is the traitor Jack Cade. Having accidentally put a rebellion down, Iden is promoted to Sir Iden and he does indeed get his bag. What a nice way to wrap up that weird character cul-da-sac that happened.

York meanwhile, rolls a Nat 1 on intelligence. Instead of just shutting up he blurts out “That head of thine doth not become a crown; Thy hand is made to grasp a palmer’s staff (giggity)”. Therefore revealing his true intentions and leading to the prisoner, the Duke of Somerset, being allowed to arrest the Duke of York.

You think this is over yet, well you thought wrong. Old Clifford is here and he has quite the innuendo up his sleeve: “Are these thy bears? We’ll bait thy bears to death,”. I swear to god there are gay bars less gay than that single line.

I had to ask myself, throughout this whole scene. Why isn’t King Henry just ordering all of these people executed. It would be a lot easier then literally letting them plot his own downfall in front of them. Either way, Richard, not the King, get’s the closing tag of “If not in heaven, you’ll surely sup in hell.” And honestly, he slayed that line.

Are you ready for action, because this scene is the action scene. Stage directions flash by revealing that two people enter and only one leaves. In the battle of the Duke of York and Old Clifford, O.C. is slayed. In the battle of Richard and the Duke of Somerset, the Duke is put down like Old Yeller. It’s not looking good as King Henry’s allies continue to fall. Their only hope is Young Clifford, who upon seeing his father’s dead body declares “Meet I an infant of the house of York, Into as many gobbets will I cut it,”. Oh boy, that sounds exciting, wait, the next play starts on the next page? How will Young Clifford get revenge and save the King in only one scene? Well, I told you not everything gets tied up. It’s the darkest hour y’all. The King is forced to flee in shame with his dwindling entourage in tow. To London he must run, to get Parliament on his side. Pursued by the rebels: the Duke of York, Richard (still not the King), the Duke of Warwick, and the Earl of Salisbury. Shakespeare had an honest-to-God cliffhanger. You’re welcome Infinity War.

#lit #literature #read along #shakespeare #william shakespeare #war of the roses #books

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libidomechanica · 2 years

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Untitled Poem # 8654

A rispetto sequence

Heavens toward signs as shows his brain, and try to tae that I am now with faint low sigh, and whom the open hatchway vomiting the

air be music and in the sought will: out spak’ the queenly bear it. What went too? While often in her, nightingaling through her sweet hand.

Line dance will love it would I leave him to see’t; yet Juan’s breath; for her not always snare some one lifts by day; they saw his moral lesson’

then a belovèd hand like mountain. An enjoy. My Muse may chance thinks me be darksome sell, and demand what the time may penetrate.

The warld’s most pure dyes which shall lot. So they have over there it be sent home fruit in Change; and trouble my Julia. Too justly what I

cannot do they what we made of us thou can, more terrible Self-solitude! ’ Id est— blackguardsman was old, its puddle.

Dog howling: she replied, Your bloom the lips throbbed to fill a boat, and some face, their knowing dames, the floor. His dying, dying words are?

Not shield a burnies trot, and the bell. All over met him a goodly sun: and, as did not prevented to save. A dream of white seal.

Smell may get they begins to be friend of father! Which their crystal nunneries; notwithstand could not last. Try to the air, smell may the

lattice wrought of late: o God, think the sleep, he is a feast once, farewell worse than if I say? Will blush by day, and then the selected.

Against me. When you must you, a Lover’s treasures whose sufferings I have pleaders and soft and day; who walked with tears rush’d with the proof we

should look, some shepherds unlike Parias; and, looking of Ireland, one is too soft lutes: for ever! My husband has a lady to it.

Upon my great morning-Shower— one Morne, and seem in their state. And moving his race; and aye my Chloris, wilt not go far, but burnes, mine—

our fair face faded cheeks, like to tall and thus, and sweet self proved him off to see. While we never pry— lest guilt thus keep of delighted.

High and something souls in pain, Paulo Majora. We knowes no sleep: thetis baptize postponed discern how all the windy sigh: the

wars … And many reason for convey a melancholy rise, And though to it, give you hanging to bee. Of ages gathering real.

Was your bodies she saw them what has heart like a nursed him to oblivion. That I’d let the tag o’ her cheeks and some down, or

give anything. She presence of strange a thousand mean not winter by trade; and that please; I ne’er I file thing lover, the oracles.

And the beauty’s bright her—she’d rather pap and dreams do I live or lust make my woeful stare upon his caprice or fan, to carry

out thee, panting, and thou in debates whose her calmly Love’s door of his hastening twins do moue their carriages, the May of dreadful thine.

I say, and captives, whether of a Power to their heart, that impractising and what Loues decree that novelties parcht; her best which

is allotment with wine. For each, but stream with grace is deep and binds one’s hear until now scarce a scaffold high, and dream. That such a sword.

They said she ’d said, exception of the depths of blossom to impossible learned it all; the mere nothing little lazy love

bring freedom by. As if I had no tear; nor blam’d forth merely meant but she doth deny. The boatswain did not wring his heard love the base.

Ben Battle trailed itself to apathy, forsooth: I have been so much, and Vice, and replaced him lie: no need saving left the will call

summer day! And every night and quiet we sat with all that went of cures free. The mind—o’erpowering speech two negatiues affirme!

The shades down, but reality whate’er it, all-damning glow; nor doth sports moved to speak of the will now how men can calculation.

The progress of other, for Buskie- glen, fu’ is his droops of Julia close and liked poetic war to the heads and in such brain, have died.

So withstood in Man even the brittle; perhaps he help’d out: love lingers over and complaining in them quick to your own mouthing

why they mocked the world is full stay; you was not die. Was they benumb our hospitality. And make her caress’d—a bolt is my part.

A vision of our prime, long to your belles and shiver the little girl and if my thee. An old Romance at Maud’s dark chilling chest, simply

blue; her breast. I heard a throng, but what the unquiet mind as your glass will stand among the worldlings I tried to its ink has plotted.

It makes me next, because a knot. Brought: band of all: then she shard, the sports I had to stand nerves, ears, and tongue that extreme verge the muscles

of true ally. Human thought. And I was she saint forget the sugarcane, in love. Long and ” The actor’s parted, and yet there.

Still, but not a mere not. When sees most deeply had love yon red with vigour; the mouth a red, red roses are but with a mistress, or

with wine. But, with human roses blaw in hempen rope hooked arrows of a darke, though the internal throes, and how pure pearlins enow.

Eight show no fault in weak woman of that then shall eat thy thoughts true’, was never saw them of the tulips but often abroad and

comparison of Man terror crouched his soul’s strife, three long without who could confesse: Must we eat. Yet I cannot be—or I at least broods!

The man whom Mankind at every long and will turn the oak tree should not seen such a burning which in the death destruct a young—I see,

Sir—you have got another’s life, saying, Our Machiavellian impresario at no day where a Body perfume. And stern.

For our fortune were so Heaven- song I may not wait through the house is too young, althought ruin other downward, as one with your he

did them what is your sword! Yet neither, betrothed us one way men kills out our daughter, temperate show’d deep blood of fire, obsessed.

Up there’s a word. When I’m engaged to see that sits upon the words were the proudest of delight, knight, whatever was sleep, nor in

quarrel tilts, nor lies and came the sibyl’s den or dry, a man: there’s nought to. Our houses; he does nothing heart is beauty herself.

Then they cannot move, but who am I …?-White handy at makes no anodyne; give my life could not judge for once too in my vows o’

truth before ease they blur into all I cannot take refuge in wrinkled eild; o’ gude advisement warmth of flower as he crowes!

Then what we would know hopes all this . The gory blot of the deaths do they had killed a throne. Bearing the ship came Night, and say, with her, as

if by instrument, he with love. To me; and cherish’d wither, it was flowers. She least would, we grew so weighty pearl and won’t do it.

Now Ben he went, with more splendour. Senseless feelings chart as my Muse may make perforce: the tree that all that the poor desire, the past

stately maybe tellingtons turned to die, or laces, or a while thee, panting smile; but want of worse than the night he lies a wretched!

This caprice or two: but hurriedly think of strange into a scrape, but keep Touch wilt send; it is them. Sat a Lover’s face I recognized

no more, whaever have my comfort both old and Doom: they seeping that brief emergent pattern; and mountain-woods, the honey is wax?

Of air which permanence is far too much better undergo; both makes these our neighbour then spoke I to my birth till each more—but the

white face sharpens and freedom. Winds creep; and the tender you are not the design when midway on day, their dying but Wisdom can come.

The to be deem’d the casket of happier that held no show how far it profits is another can common. The fence at pleas’d to

her know it should forgiue? In each padlocked, one day when he tries, the great expectation. The frock and fair, in some shining, and raised at a’!

As tragedy. A dry radius describing people are raw pulsing just arranging little Leila we’lldispose which flashing

more. Into our breath of weeds of a traveller! Were sick unto the hall the very flowers of summer. In the constant and I.

As for something called lovely leans, and her summon’d hands on either trust cantos up to touch. Perhaps his rude song in the dark disgrace,

he loved in mouth though lean on for ever I have a due respect grew so that flows on this impediment. And angel beauteous Bride.

And the Starrs, all fashioning to that sensation, wear her eye meet. And chafe, although lie with tears, and now scarce find that fled, for we shall

sport—of the heaven’s Dome is at the mild emerald’s beam must be reconciled; and all, or each, Love in sex and yet rolls on their eyes.

From mass of human voice, it will love you may heart coveted though chilling couples huddled in their pure unstained of her pap and many

an islander double. Then The Shah Salámán dedicates his own high prize: now, that state, strive nor ride a monstrous parricide!

Not faulds to yeild. I pitiful and thrust, thought, and hawthorn white another smiling a drap o’ dew, into the very which they be

the wind. Now Ben he least enter one Circassians, as men pass mildly awake with me—he wild dismay o’er-arching to make him feel.

As that was thy smokie fireworks did they sang, and more: lov’d voice kept the rich Hesperides, preludios, trying. From the nights instead thou dost

begun, you’ll root and afternoon who bear, here, and round, and alway. But in two, bread. Are spurn’d tower, especial person, which he list?

Still by degrees, it did not caress, as if a new air, had left the thing, she made a pearls did she had no others rose-bud’s the fingers

are. Is a spirit may, shall know, and leave my life are they filled the deep joy to joy to joy, when a slave man have loveliest nard.

By conquering chips the habit is words, which they could look to shred the first—for he was sickness, as well express when the iron chains

o’ land, my Queen she’s ta’en like the paired bodies, my friends, who make his face, would be soon thine arts, and wings, which they displaying little roar?

And still wear as wheat and anon a soul and span, a commercial, haunts of vapour. But when a young lady fell to each me, that inke

is on, it’s primrose party, who fighter was dead woman’s face; but, within himself o’ermaster’d and in Vienna. Much will his choice.

I will not received, all the pirates; save that pleasing so closer to his mortal body of the column is deem’d some with a sword.

Little lazy love, to sooth, and cherish’d the phantoms kept sound, though our friends of Lethe’s ta’en aback: he hath scarce palls. Sing and down too.

For three dozen men knelt to pay her own, but for the din of an aged aunt, or east, to wanton Satyr did; nor doth half cut thro’

narrow cleanse his face Must we too dearly bought, I fear. Benighted, for thy far-reaching a break. Child of my selfe into his brother.

We tore their heart or covetous and whining rather altars did they meant; but being a sigh relieve a word. They caught me your heaving

sun of human rose roughly moue their lee—another’s lights increased. Though to her heart-flame of Love, strive not at a signal codes, deare.

In hapless child of grief, though I must get out, ’ like they are in each listening to cons they love is dying beyond the iron stain that

from him who was there well. I to my head at her own true forme of a kiss flashing beneath his Nails— he smoke, the air but who knew not.

A Warder walked two night; in vain relieve; the saut tears, and Care: how far too much work, scrape, but Loues feete more the thrushes, the shop’s for the

mind—o’erpowering back the Chaplain physical. And milky way; she had heard love to kill. But there’s not from time is said, No, no.

You say’st, they sow. Became Christian- name was no one and always bring thankes and whom my soul and I myself with the disguises, and

human face, nor canker vice in posterities? But fix’d eye seems apartment: with the Mind like descry what column is defile.

They gazed steps, on they found with paine that I might should be but it eats the grove, ’ at once again and then he fellow’s got no name. Sylvia

the fretful briar will brings passing to pray, the hand your nipple, can finds nor good to that sands one scarce experience with these.

Of the empty corridors which crawl: o moan, and break it shan’t. The list? Twelve days hence, or they were shepherd struck not of your straw mattress—

whatever lets the think’st by hover, and sees most modern subject is haste life’s strife, and I sank and coole: what out of stones, torch but kind?

Cleft between foolscap, while laigh despotic: but in the cushats water on the tumulus—of whom Christ calls back her thing ships; over

and a’! And then a slave o’t; robert Burns: leeze me on me. So when first Man took upon, and love you did enthrall, came one to see.

’ Was strange into plague be doubt no less feeling charge somewhere arrived, as virgin’s heart expect much success, might saw them please their live here

we: the world, and came like flies o’er a name, theology, fine unclipt golden cage. I know nor song, after they burn the unknown, used!

Yet thou madest me still I did not say be sure. Like Russians, bought healthful and debonnaire: the kiss at her face. The hangman, with this

sun and leave that glory also, and something stars; snare of parallel trees, now appeal to the Pile; and your beauty, how it not feel.

But Juan spoke, to me, where the little sparrow besides alas! Mind stiffen’d thy whole against the sun shine like the hideous priest, i’d

feast on beautiful! Such a trial;—then lack. The after a good that Loue decreed: at lengthen one day for my pass, escape. We bough!

That were given to reprover of chromatic scales to Balaam, and, beings passed an instinction as you shalt see the Flame that from

me. Tilt with sweet enchanting her breasts always signs with for a places, ends merely was a bride the tent off cheerfully, and Chatham gone.

What if I had no word, the padded door, and finds no one in the flowers decay. From the love forsooth: I have been and eke my woeful

stated me to his banner rest. Shew thou not recaptured in a cout frae me, my funny kin, as you of dull scenes romantic!

Than thou rove, by conquer all, t is her grey-headed fast, she had love may taken him to save to the little else. And bite through a

long charged with me, only down; they were late showers, at the word; put up your chest, simply blue; her days and to annoy a loyal spouse?

And at once a net, now I must I go hence, ’cause of action, a king in the white! The shore juan replied, Your bloom in praise: a hermit

would put off dearly; fifteen hundred. By then did they of an age in that every prison-wall: till obey the hours with Sally Brown!

To their soul once to greet with it. Concrete tooth is shun the peoples should be at home to roost In high rate. In thy sweet air we went down

the house that Mars, grown, to waste, the cold lips a kiss, that none of us, your ponderous the man sick, and what course on for them, nor one?

They cal that you appearing that my legs in Badajos’s breath, to the delicacy of the serpent twists, facing all still their know.

Is not a wh—re. Of elegant’ et caetera, in from her lace, nor time, and there we: the time, whom Mankind just at the marriage?

On thine ten time for cures for Heaven’s sweates for three, I find a Remedy for a living the same souls in pass there I begun

to sulphurous and ah! To that sort whilst Ben he cross which regard to save then, my absence so fair to be doubt his legs and wishes.

Then Lambro once romantic to burden grown-up daughter look, his Soul is sickness, that to view? That ourself her sake, too, he shock a

saintly brewing, her sex, and change this frenzy insufficient days. Round me with prison that lock’d upon her house which thy Remembrance!

They heart was turn the old man’s breathe, having his corpse, to taste. ’-Th’- Wisp mislight like an aged aunt, or tea and tocher sake; so he

changing glow; nor did her long I have not Love’s doom: where are swept and me, i’ll set me study the queen Maud in a boatswain swore with Me!

Chill Death was but all thou require will stay! Their caps; you away half the devoures, we had stopp’d to be a tatter’d, cabin’d, cribb’d,

confirmed my haruest-time shooting smiled, but that smiles today, then let comes the golden age, people’s trust can bury their compensate, trying.

Toot, toot! No matter of a dark crust is thy smokie fire; for we should have felt a grove when pyramids, as if by instrument; and content

with importunity; or fan, velvet cheekes to be deem’d a habit is snooded sae neat niplet of fire, be it sternly.

This all but he had crossed each cheese- paring, when, who tramped in vain example to seeds&religion, pure blush, with wine. This is there till the

needles’ eyes, do crown the heaven, I believers fall sorts of Heaven’s images against movies, for Ilion lay benefit man.

Being boughs and yet, beneath my fresh ate the winds used in tract of worthless to rent her blow. The wards will flow. She cried; ah, curs’d duke! In

love her for great distresses read? That hide their own her, when you read forget the shop’s foremost terrible Self-solitude! Be my Nell!

I could have also our brand, while some wee things of her Burden ran upon his sight upon the state. Leave a mere sense of the highway

at her full of chromatic scales that I might earnes strange in silence for nought us in the generous band, and sae neater in?

That foolish me! All the same time to behold, nor remember’d not what the mine eyes than they had love. Who, coward it his flower, and

shuddering he love I hold catkins of my body needs let me make his hand it a heavy with me, and soon was a gentle day.

The world owes us nothing shot he shore rocking, sterling, stupid stamp: yes! And make ye flourish all was round, around vase, since what was

you stand how one who have show the pilgrim bore a great projects in every fine; but where dull amaze this yearly go’st procession ends.

Absence, as an eclat, grew, shafts, perhaps the Scales, the prisoner bound when I read and a’! Upon my life scarce her dear or chastity,

you’llhave a vision of our far doth new air, exposed to see except I that none a word. Because with that passions show; so child-bed.

In hopeless as a friend the fault in woods were off—of course was a time, you just not vain to be in sorrow, that fed thee, that this reflex

act of pardon, I am just arranging a word sick I measure, true ally. Blythe I turned to pipe the cause, its water in?

See them pleasure thunderers’ Hole? Be every day there, but he had some sheep and down, like your lips at hand the bride she ever canna

buy; something could not dress’d: ah, woman I am and the red cedar- tree, when your bellies: nor snow continue pure blood part; either.

Pitying its stub branches held hands I could not, though several hard. Who advertise new transgression and all, a thirst not, happy

they ought not to pray; who watcher’s down, but dropped and hid him in vain kind is large. This by thee. Wherein t’ave has enough chills and fetters!

And the tones of a Power to which she earliest nard. My bright and bought, with my mandate like that paleness was a meadows where

naturally charming, and sends new waies those soul with spicy chocolates temperative does not vain by her will his cheek or to enjoy.

Take except for daily brewing, her paroxysm drew towards scooped in vain! In vain by her grey-headed bench, thought, which still help Come, girl, were

not too weak for us side by side, to bear such uneasy virtuous mermaid now, to my Prisoners call I never saw some down.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #153 texts #rispetto sequence

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