#if its in my house/territory my brain would be going *whats there? whos in my territory?? if someone is here ill chase them out!*

[hyewka]

soobin + humiliation kink + hes such a perv

priorities, you perv | c.sb ࿐

⭑ synopsis. a blind date? oh thats immediately pushed aside just for the addictive high you get off messing with your roommate, who seems to be more pouty than usual tonight for whatever reason.

⭑ warnings. sub perv soobin, panty sniffing, underwear used as bondage kinda, handjob, fuck buddy roommate au, humiliation kink sortaa, dacryphilia, vibrator, bunny/pup petname, not proofread, use of goddess

Soobin’s been intent on following you around like a puppy this evening, all around the house, but the longer he keeps it up, the less it becomes cute and funny and the more it crosses into the ‘overbearing jealous boyfriend who isn’t actually your boyfriend’ territory. Because really, why the hell has he been acting like a pet with abandonment anxiety the day you have your blind date scheduled?

“You can’t come in my bedroom with me.” you finally say, flashing him a superficial wide smile, behind your door.

He abruptly stops, stumbling back like his mind really was on autopilot following you—then his face falls, brows knitting together. “What, why?”

“Because I don’t want your cooties all over my bed.” He isn’t amused, clearly, with a brow raised. You groan, it could be life or death and your roommate would still not choose to humor you. “I’m going to change idiot.”

“It’s not like I haven’t seen you naked before?”

You click your tongue at him—he might have an amazing track record with academics, but sometimes it really is rocks for brains in there. “You’re not coming in Soobin, tough luck!”

In lightning speed he sticks his arm between the crack before you shut your door. “Wait, no, I wanna—I wanna help you pick something out!”

Now its your turn to raise a brow. Soobin? Help you get ready? He’d rather die of boredom.

You knew you weren’t crazy.

All day, hes been acting extremely out of character. Throwing you pouts during the one lecture you shared, feeling his eyes bore into you like he’s trying to burn a hole in your face, yet still spending money to buy you your favorite tiramisu even when he’s been sulking like you’ve wronged his entire bloodline.

The craziest thing is that you truly do not know a bigger cheapskate than Soobin. He’d chase a quarter in a crowd of people even if it took him all the way to Japan. So the tiramisu was a mind boggling investment. For you, let alone. It’s like he was bribing you.

He couldn’t have magically fell head over heels, it has to have something to do with the one thing different today. Your blind date.

You reach out to pat his head, mock pouting. He takes the bait anyway, lowering his head a little, looking so cute confused. It’s adorable actually, how quick he is to go with whatever you do.

“Aww Soobie, it’s okay, I promise you’ll always be my number one good boy. You really don’t have to be jealous and act out.” you tease, intentionally using baby talk to agitate him a lot more than it would’ve.

He scoffs loudly snapping his head to the side, bewildered this is the direction you decided to take things. “What? Jealous? Jealous? Jealous of what? I’m not jealous.” You stand there wearing a skeptic look on your face and a cross of your arms over your chest.

He wags his finger at your face like he can’t believe your audacity, dryly laughing (which really just sounds like a bunch of scoffs stringed together). “You’re funny, I—I gotta give it to you Y/N, you should really try your luck with Hueningkai’s comedy group again. Is it a crime to want to support your roommate after being all too aware of her notorious losing streak with the dating world? I don’t think so!”

Ouch, the all too real call out. “Damn, okay asshole you can help.” you faux hurt, not missing the chance to flip him off before walking inside and leaving your bedroom door wide open behind you. Maybe his input will have you get to your date earlier. “By the way, I do not have a losing streak.”

————-

There are outfits you just think you’d never wear to a first date—your black bodycon with cuts at the waist was an absolute no-go, especially with it’s length. Then there was the crimson red shoulder-off that had your tits looking too full—that was a big no. You don’t even know how your blind date looks, you wouldn’t want to have a man you find sexually unappealing to find you sexually appealing. That’s always a cause for a migraine.

But the problem you’re facing right now is far greater than any migraine you’ll experience. Soobin seems to think every outfit you wound up coming out with is, in his own words, “too much”.

This one’s the worst of all. “It’s literally just ripped jeans and a crop top!”

“That’s the problem! It doesn’t even look pretty!” he splutters, eyes wide and a large pout on his lips.

“You want me to wear something pretty?”

He looks to the side, mumbling, “Whatever.”

It’s raining, you hear it pouring and you’re like, fifteen minutes late already. All for Soobin’s useless input. It’s not worth it, and you’re proven even more correct when you come out the bathroom with the outfit you picked out. White, tight, but flowy at the ends of the dress. Girly and especially tight at the chest, just like you know he likes it.

Soobins eyes don’t fail to shamelessly rake over your body, stunned, looking like a deer in headlights. He clears his throat, snapping out of it. “No, absolutely not.”

You feign innocence, tilting your head. “Why not? It’s pretty.” You make it more of a point when you turn around, acting like you’re just checking your outfit through your wall mirror, knowing damn well the horndogs probably salivating at your ass barely being covered.

“It’s too much.” he parrots again lamely, chewing slightly on his lips. “Change, you can’t go out like this.”

Okay, that sort of pisses you off, turning around with your arms crossed again to the boy sitting at the edge of your bed. He doesn’t have the right to order you around. “Yes I can, I very much can.”

Suddenly, there’s a switch—he cowers like a kicked dog. “You can wear whatever you want I didn’t mean to-”

You break into a grin all of a sudden walking towards him, shutting him up.

He gulps, sitting there, avoiding eye contact when you’re close. You prop his chin up, and he just lets you, forcing him to look you in the eye. God, he already looks stupidly entranced. “You’d hate for me to wear this, huh?”

“Yeah..” he admits way too easily, a little whine in his voice, brows knitting up. Cute.

“But you love the dress, don’t you?” you purr, caressing his face with your thumb.

Your phone suddenly rings and you’re pulled out of the moment for a second, glaring at it then back to your roommate who looks like he’s under some love spell. Yeah no, this is much more fun.

You ignore the call, letting it ring as you drag your thumb down his bottom lip and god how obedient he is just sitting there and looking up like you’re his deity.

“What?” you giggle at the way his breath hitches the further you trail your finger down his body. The switch right before your eyes, oh that transformation’s worth more than anything else in the world. Bunny’s horny.

“You’d love to take this off me, right? You’d love me tease you bit by bit, have my tits bouncing in the restrictions of them, just struggling to keep your hands from ripping it apart...” you trail off, finally getting your hand on his half erect clothed dick.

You can see him holding back, holding back from humping your hand, the one you just purposefully let rest on his growing boner. “Your date.” he reminds.

You quirk a brow, taken aback. “Want me to go?”

Suddenly, he vigorously shakes his head, “No, no, don’t. I want you, please.” The strain of his voice when he pleads—god it’s the sexiest, most sinful thing ever.

Shameless. Just the way you like him.

“Hm? You do? Don’t you always?” you tease, walking away to get something out of your drawer.

“What are you looking for?” he mumbles skeptically.

You gleam, pulling out the vibrator and turning it on, showing it to your unsuspecting roommate. “Let’s play with this.”

He frowns. “You know I can make you feel ten times better than that toy, you don’t need it.”

“Who says its for me?”

You enjoy the blush that trickles his cheeks, and how easily the tips of his ear turn red as he blinks rapidly to collect himself. His adam apple bobs up and down again, stumbling over his words. “God, you’re such a himbo.”

“W-wait!” he shrieks, suddenly covering the tent in his pants.

You halt, the vibrator only a few inches from his crotch. “Can—can you…” he sighs frustratedly, looking away from you, the steam coming his red ears has you curious, what’s he so hesitant for? “Can you take off your underwear?” Oh.

Of course.

Your lips form into a smirk, knowing exactly what he wants to do with them. Slowly, with one hand you pull down your panties and let them drop to the floor. His eyes are, despite having a hard time telling you what he wants, eagerly fixed on the black lace, you could see the bead of sweat that breaks from his forehead. Pervert.

You bend down to grab it, purposefully making a show of it and he just huffs. “Get with it already.”

You laugh, “You’re being so bratty today. Think you’re owed a fuck?”

He whimpers dejectedly, shaking his head. Mockingly, you wave your panties in front of his face like an owner wagging a bone in front of their dog. He’s so indecent he has the audacity to take a whiff when the garment is close enough. God, he really is absolutely shameless.

And you really need to relieve yourself. You’re trying to not rub your thighs too much.

You crumble the underwear in your hand, and coo. “Open your mouth wide baby.”

Soobin’s mouth falls open almost immediately, tongue lolling out, looking up at you expectantly so much so it would be endearing if not for the situation you’re currently in. You shove it in his mouth, cringing at the saliva that wets your fingers.

“This is how it started huh?” you near the vibrator on his inner thighs enjoying the way he sighs through his nose, shuddering. “Fooling your roommate into thinking you were a studious, innocent good boy but in reality you just snuck in the laundry room every night to jerk off with her panties. Disgusting.”

He moans wantonly around the fabric, his hair brushing over his eyes as you near the vibrator to where he actually wants it. His dick. Poor him, its probably weeping in his pants.

“Violating me like that without my knowledge— you’ll always be a bad boy.”

Again, he shakes his head hard, to the point your panties fall out of his mouth already. “No, good boy. I’m your good boy.” he pants, face flushed. How’s he so easily worked up?

You giggle, pressing the vibrator against his cock, having Soobin’s jaw fall slack. “Couldn’t even keep the underwear in your mouth for more than two seconds. You’d make a really good camboy, always wanting people to hear you moan and whine like a slut.”

“No, no, just want you. Just want you to hear me.”

That affects you more than you’d like, and you try to fight the blush that warms your cheeks. God damn Soobin.

But he isn’t even aware, if his babbles were any indication. He dips his head back, big hands digging onto your sheets as you run the vibrator up and down. “Fuck.” he groans, still keeping his eyes open to watch your chest. You know he’s trying hard to keep up the good boy act for you, so you throw him a bone.

He gasps when your hand goes down his pants to wrap around his cock, and it’s the cutest thing ever how he immediately melts. You’re sitting next to him, twisting and jerking off his dick with his head leaning on your shoulder when you’re supposed to be under an umbrella with a future dating prospect instead.

Who cares, that man you’re sure wouldn’t give you what he’s giving you.

“Don’t wanna cum yet, wanna fuck you f-first.” he breathes into your neck. “Please goddess, please. Want your pussy.” he begs dumbly, starting to lay wet kisses to your neck— hes just not leaving room for you to really hold back.

“Holy shit, you’re good.” you realize in awe, probably wetting your bed with how aroused you are right now.

“Then take me baby, take me how you want. You’ve been good, so good.” you slur, and he practically jumps onto you like an oversized bunny, having your back on the mattress and him hovering, pulling you into an open mouth kiss almost immedietely.

“You’re so hot, fuck, you drive me crazy.” he says rushed, kissing you again, melting his mewls and pants into it.

You feel the roughness of his hands playing with your tits already, kneading so desperately you think he must’ve been itching to do just that this entire time. You like it with him, how it’s so dirty and quick, but still passionate enough to keep you wanting more.

“Fuck, wanna see them, please, please.” he whines as he salivates even more, playing with your nipples through the fabric, cheeks red and flushed, pathetically humping your cunt with his boner. “No, be a good bunny and fuck me good.”

He’s sniffling and tears stain his lashes, yet he still nods obediently, humping your cunt like he’s just restless enough to not pull out his dick and put it in—it’s the hottest thing ever.

But eventually the fabric feels rough against your skin, and you hiss, taking it upon yourself to pull out his cock from his pants.

God, his tip is red, leaky— it’s gross, a testament to how he gets with you and you love it. “Come on baby—bunny, fuck me.” you look up at him with wide, doe eyes and it immediately has him nodding frantically, missing your entrance once before he completely bottoms out, suffocatingly filling you up in one push—you’ll just never get used to his size.

“Always so mean, you’re always so mean to me.” he dumbly babbles, tongue out as he fucks into you maniacally, getting lost in your pussy.

“But you’re in my cunt right now aren’t you?” you mock, knowing that’s always his end goal with you, his end prize.

You’re breathless, curling your toes the harder he snaps his hips. You’re used to how it is with Soobin, he’s always animalistic and unrhythmic, rubbing your clit like he has no idea what he’s doing. But that’s the fun in it, how inexperienced and pathetic he is.

“Gonna cum, gonna cum, are you? Are you?” he’s out of it, kissing your neck, biting, panicky as he nears his orgasm, that before you could respond, you’re already feeling his seed fill your cunt.

He can tell, he can tell when you didn’t get there so he’s already pulling your dress up over your tits, attaching his mouth on one of your nipples, pulling the other through his hands, playing with them till they become puffy and have you withering under him. “Fuck, fuck Soobie…just like that,” you moan, feeling his long fingers squeeze into your pussy, speeding up, trying to rip an orgasm out of you.

The tense of his arms, veins showing, cease once you arch your back and cum at getting a good look of his face— lips raw and red as he bit onto them for majority of the time, eyes wet and big, just silently begging you to cum on his fingers, you let yourself go, the tightening band finally snapping.

—————-

note. lol im not super duper confident but let me know how you guys feel about this one, feedback keeps me going

[draconicarsonist]

23. you hear a scratching noise around the corner, what does your kintype do

dragon + beast- ears prick straight up, angled towards the sound, and i lift my head and stare in the direction of the corner it came from. standing up and lowering my head i quietly stalk towards the corner so i can look and see what made the sound.

or if im somewhere strange/outside my territory, ears prick up quickly and i lower myself to the ground, staring at the corner and not making a sound, waiting to see if whatever it is will come closer, and if its a threat.

[whatitshouldvebeen]

A man like Johnny 😍 how nice it would be

I'm gonna burst my own bubble here and say: I'm sane enough to realize being with Johnny would be 10000% toxic.

But, I can't help the fact he turns me on like crazy. I'll break down what a relationship with him would be like.

Johnny is a supreme narcissist. The extent he cares about you directly correlates to how much you care about him and stops the moment being with you is more difficult than it's worth

He would require and demand complete submission from you, constantly. If you give him lip, you're giving him a problem, and every instance of you being an issue pushes you further into "disposable" edible territory.

The part of my brain that craves submission is absolutely infatuated with the idea of a man who would kill for disobedience. I recognize this part of me is not grounded in reality, its more like a supreme power fantasy.

Johnny would struggle to show affection, and if you need affection, you'll have to settle for the look in his eyes when he's pussy drunk.

He will cuddle you, but it's never for you. He just likes to possess you.

Johnny will never tell you he loves you unless he's at absolute ecstacy levels of pleasure. And even then, if you say anything about it, he'll tell you he didn't mean it, and treat you like shit for being stupid enough to believe what he says when fucking you.

He is supremely possessive. I consider this a good thing, but most women would probably hate not being allowed to have friends, never speaking to a male, covering up unless he was with you, and dealing with his paranoia.

He needs to keep track of your every moment of every day. If you forget to tell him where you're going, even if its just to the mailbox, he will become extremely irate.

Johnny is abusive. He will slap, beat, spit on, degrade, and straight up leave you locked in a room if he feels like you deserve it. And "deserving" it could mean as little as not having dinner ready when he gets home.

Speaking of that, if he keeps you around the house, you better keep it spotless. Johnny might not be the most cleanly man in the world, but he expects you to keep everything in order. He will use your making a mess as an excuse to beat you.

Don't expect that he will ever let you leave the house. He might take you out around the house, but he will likely never take you on a date and especially not out of town.

Johnny is my safe space to express my desire for the penultimate submission. When he says, "Die for me!" I feel like I would be happy dying if it was by his hand. I recognize being with a man like Johnny would make me into a mere shadow of him, with everything in my life revolving around him and his goals, his happiness, his pleasure.

I hear people say "I could fix him!" But in my mind, in the darkest recesses of my desire, I wouldn't want to change him. Which is why I'm absolutely in love, and thrilled he doesn't exist, because then, I'm not sure I could resist.

[writingcold]

Bound

AU Jake X Chris slash 

A/N: At the announcement of Mirador, and that first picture of Jake and Chris, my brain went to the following blurb. I have been working on an AU currently titled The Dead. This story is about soulmates that have been cursed to live apart - and at the time of story, they have lived many lifetimes apart. Within the story there are 6 versions of our Jake set in many different eras, just as there are 6 different versions of Maéva - the Y/N character. It has been so fun to write! But I am rambling. The point is, the following blurb is just ONE of the lifetimes that Jake has across 400 years. I was only going to share it with a few friends, but then @katuschka, @its-interesting-van-kleep and @thewritingbeforesunrise really have thrown their support behind me and this blurb. The rest I’ve shared with - you know who you are - are such an amazing group, so I hope they enjoy the revisited blurb. I’ve cleaned it up a bit, polished it, honed it a little more. This will NOT be in the story proper, it’ll be mentioned, but not known to the main character. At least at this point, it is not. Our secret. And as always, thank you to @edgingthedarkness for listening to me carry on and on and on and on… and on about this story and being so patient with me over the mess that it is. 

***This is an 18+ story for adults only. This is a blurb of Yakov Petrov (Jake) and Christian Hertel (Chris Turpin inspired). It is an AU set in time when Michigan was voted in as a state.***

Content warnings: Sexual situations m/m, oral, unprotected sexual situations, a little angsty (of course, and loops back to the actual story), a touch of Yakov (Jake) being a brat.

Word count: approximately 2600

Journal Entry - Yakov Petrov, June 1862

     The commission had come in August of 1854 to survey the new territories of the northwest. Christian had reservations, but the money would be good, lodging and food was included. He had enough hands to set out like a grand jungle expedition into the wilds of the unexplored lands of the United States. I did not understand his reservations. To set out into the wilderness that only those native to the land had known? What adventure. What a privilege to see and paint and study. But, my Christian was the one who gained the commission, not I. It would be his decision to go and his decision to take whom he felt would be fitting to the project. Just because we shared our appetites with each other, did not mean that I would attend the expedition. 

     We had boarded the ship in Boston, May of 1855, that would take us first to New York, then up through the St. Lawrence Seaway, into Lake Ontario. We’d then follow the Niagara River to Lake Huron. From Lake Huron, we’d find ourselves on the Detroit River to finally push our way into Lake Michigan. Detroit would be our destination for a fashion. Christian had called it our last stop of frayed civilization before traversing into the untamed wilds of the north lands. 

     I will not be untrue - being aboard those ships brought me a joy from the core of my spirit, but a mournfulness as well. I felt this joy to be old, sunk down in the marrow of my bones and beyond me in a way that was confusing and best forgotten the moment my feet touched the land of Detroit. We were housed in what was considered a grand house of the region, but after such luxury in Boston and Philadelphia, I was finding myself holding my tongue from spoiled and rude comments. A tent in the grand garden of our townhome would have been more comfortable.

     A month of those conditions prepared us for the path before us. We had native guides and set out with a troupe of sixteen hands to carry and maintain our academic venture. Christian was a marvel in his organization of those men. He wanted to start at the northern point of Sault Ste. Marie. That meant more travel by water, which was fine. The commission demanded each step be documented - not just in paint and charcoal, but recording for scientific reasons, the flora and fauna, the animals, the geography. All of it was to be recorded and sent to Washington, DC, for study. That was to be our nature of work, and we would follow it to the letter.

     My foot touched the aged pier of Sault Ste. Marie and I felt an illness within that I could not explain. Christian wanted to send me home to Boston, I was so taken. I took to a bed in a passable inn and shook with a fright that I could not shake. It was in my blood. It invaded my breath. I sent Christian on with the promise that I would catch up if he were to leave me a guide. I was behind him by weeks, only, but in that time, my soul seemed to cry over the wild, windswept land that was this already old place. I found myself walking upon the grounds of a once great shipmaster’s house that overlooked the great lake of Superior. The French manor house that barely clung to its elaborate balconies, was a ruin. It was a ghost of memories that seemed to dance and toy with any and all who passed it by, eliciting the imagination of grand balls and fancy turns of women’s voluminous skirts. 

      It was on this scrap of field that I felt it for the first time, an ache that would go on to haunt me the rest of the journey. I set up my easel and painted what I saw: the town and the port beyond this desolate beauty that hurt my spirit for unknown reasons. Perhaps it colored my stroke a bit, leaving me with a melancholy piece that once set, was boxed and housed to make its way back to the capital. This ache was ever present as I finally was well enough to move across the peninsula to catch up with Christian. It was a dogged feeling that I knew this land as sure as I knew myself. Odd, as I never had been anywhere except the grand cities of the east coast.

     It was a reunion of quiet touches and catching up when I did finally reach the party. My Christian was always so enigmatic when it came to our relations. He might one day grasp me by my whole body and not let go without a laugh and caresses that were never hidden, while the next, may only be in the form of a clandestine brush of the back of his hand against my thigh. I did not mind. It kept me guessing and intrigued and returning to him for more. This reunion, however, he walked away from me as if upset. I followed him, calling his name like a wounded puppy might.

     I followed into the deep woods, where the light dappled on the ground as if fighting to penetrate with its goodness. I suddenly realized, goodness was not meant to see what he needed, nor wanted from me. His mouth crashed into mine with a carnal anger that left me breathless and needing more. No coherent words passed between us. Only desperate touches and demanding utterances graced us as he nearly tore my clothes from my body. His fingers knocked my hat from my head and his eyes stilled in absolute offense.

      “Damn it. Why did you cut it, Yakov?” he growled as he discovered my hair much shorter than when he had left me.

      He tugged it at the roots, pulling my head back to expose my throat to him. He ravaged my skin, leaving not an inch untouched. My man knelt in the black dirt and sucked me down, leaving me ruined and ready for him and only him to love as only he could love me. He kissed and lapped and ground his mouth on me until I was nearly weeping and close to orgasm before he clutched me with a kiss that was full of passion. He wrapped his hand around both of our girths and began to rub hard. Feeling his cock against mine was one of my favorite things, and to have him eye to eye with me, reading my face as he fed my need was near otherworldly. My love poured out on the air in my sighs and moans of pleasure.

      He turned me, helped me to find my hands on the gnarled bark of a tree. His mouth sucked at my shoulder with promises of love and adoration as his cock found my entrance. And he loved me. He penetrated me in a hard press that filled me with a desire that no one had ever given me. He loved me. Each in was demanding while each out was a caress and need for more. Yes. He loved me. And when we both reached a pitch that could no longer be staved off, we danced in ecstasy as our high crescendoed into a shared gratification. He held me and I held onto him in the dirt. Our skin was inflamed with joy and our words gentle towards each other. 

     My fingers tangled in his sun kissed golden hair and smoothed across the manicured mustache that resided over his lip. How many days had I woken to this face only to be so enraptured by it each and every time. And he looked upon me the same. His fingers in my dark brown threads, even though I had cut it quite short, and across the hair on my chin. Always with such love. Always with such care.

     We worked our way across spidery waterways. Through dense forests and broad meadows. One word was always on my tongue - beautiful. There was no green like it on the wind battered east coast. Surely, this virginal green was unlike anything on this fledgling continent. It was strong against the eye, yet the wind pushed it as if with a whisper of promise of what settling it would provide. Eagles, in grand mass, relegated in towering pines, while the deer were thick in numbers, grazed unaware of the dangers that were to come. Industry was waiting. It was our purpose to sell the dream of this ground to industry. Christian both hated the idea, but loved it for what riches it would bring to the region. Hated for it would surely be destroyed under the bootheel of man. Loved it, as he captured the most natural golden beauty through our work.

      We had been in the wilds for well over a month. We pushed our way south, sketching, recording, painting. Day after day brought something new to be cataloged. Something new to be puzzled over. But most of all, captured. We were capturing the spirit and nature of this land. 

      The cold came swiftly in this region. Our party was forced to choose - build cabins and wait out the harshness of winter, or try to rush to the south and east to Detroit before the ice bound up the land and winter there. Christian ordered for cabins to be built - we were to settle and capture a winter’s season in the new land. We were not the only ones in this region. A new village was chartered and was beginning to grow as the last of our timbers were set in place for our shelters. I spent hours sketching and painting - even putting in the men as they labored. Frankenmuth. They were going to call the village Frankenmuth, so I titled the painting as such.

      I knew hard winters. I knew winters where the sun seemed to extinguish itself for days on end and the ocean would lash at the shore in unrelenting undulation that was sure to tear permanently at the land. But this - this winter in this land of Michigan was beyond me. There were moments of crystalline beauty and desperate cruelty of storms that lingered. Christian laughed at my poetic rendering of what was around us, but it is what it was. Horrid. But beautiful. 

      The spring of 1856 was slow to thaw. Despite there being still snow on the ground, Christian and I were out, wrapped in heavy furs and easels in hand to sketch the landscape. It was midafternoon before I realized that he had put me into the picture he created. I laughed at him as he gazed at his work with an eye that I knew well. He was smitten with me, still. He had started to apply paint here and there, but he left it unfinished as my ministrations to him had become too blatant for him to ignore. My usual trick to get him to love me rather than paint me.

      On the eve of our resumed expedition, he held me with the lament of wanting me to be his forever. He wanted to marry me as he would a wife. He seemed so adamant and passionate about it. We were together, that was enough for me. 

       He became sullen and started to argue with me. He pulled away and it was as if the Earth was pulling away from the moon. He was unconsolable in the moment about how I was changing with this land. I was changing? How? He said to look at his drawing, how I looked to the land like it was my lover. I was baffled. He said that I would talk in my sleep about love. At first he thought that it was himself that was causing my midnight sighs and caresses. 

     “Unless my name is suddenly changed to Maéva, I doubt very much that it is I who is featured in your deepest dreams, Yakov,” he had argued.  

     “But if you’re angry about dreams, surely you see the absurdity of your argument,” I fought back, showing that I was totally unaware of what he was talking about.

      I smoothed back his hair, dragging my fingernails over that patch of skin just behind the shell of his ear. I watched as he quivered under my touch. I pressed kisses to his furrowed brow, cooing and whispering my love. I promised that I would be his husband and he would be mine in our hearts. It would be enough. I took his tongue into my mouth, sucking it hard enough to elicit a soft chirp. I relished the taste of his creamy skin, passing my mouth across the sparse, downy patch in the middle of his chest. 

      “I want you to quit cutting your hair,” he growled as I found his cock with my lips. “Why do you cut it when it’s so pretty?”

       I pressed behind his ball sack hard as I slid my mouth up the shaft with a saucy pop. “Ever think it’s to make you upset with me, Chris?”

       His eyes pinched at the edges as I looked up at him, my chin coming to rest on his thigh. He trailed his fingers down my cheek. I knew what he wanted of me. I knew and so I took him into my mouth until I was downright slobbering. I spit into his entrance as he moaned loudly, egging me on. I wrapped my hands around his thighs to spread him enough for me to enter him. And we made love, face to face.  My eyes roved across his lean body, loving each turn of bone and stretch of skin. The way his mouth stretched with pleasure, and how the head of his cock peeked out as he stroked himself tightly as I moved with confidence within him. I bent, his thighs pressed hard around my hips as I lapped at the precum on his head with a moan of satisfaction. The hard inhale of breath and I knew one more trick to send him into another plane. I swirled my tongue over the head as I pressed in, snapping my hips into his rump. My fingers dug at the meat of his flanks as I dragged my tongue over the softness of his belly, circling across his nipple before sinking my teeth into the flesh of his shoulder to unravel each other until we were a complete mess.

       In the darkness, he slept well as I held him close. I listened to his breathing for hours. It was shame that kept me stirred. He was not wrong about how this land was claiming me. This woman - Maéva -  was haunting me in my slumber. The meaning of it was so blurred. It made me hold to him all the tighter. It was him that I loved. I belonged with him. He understood me best. Yet, this woman was a memory of deep time. She belonged to another time, another existence. I knew it deep in my bones, just as I had felt the joy of crossing all those rivers to come to this land. But my heart was cleaved in two, wasn’t it? A fractured shard that belonged to one that was not in my time of now. It was that piece that I could never surrender to my Christian. And he was mine. I pressed my face into the mass of golden hair to allow his perfume to swell around me. He was mine.

I hope you liked my tangent here into Yakov’s life. It was such a tangent that strangled me, and continues to play in my brain even though this is pretty much it for Cake Lane in this story. I’m not sure when The Dead will be ready to go. Life has been so busy, making writing time sporadic, but I’m getting there. I will be putting out a new tag list sign up when we’re closer to release, but for now, this will remain tag-less as it's just a one off. Until then - happy reading, happy writing, happy creating!

[megumimania]

connie x black! fem reader, in a connie brain rot need him real bad i fear !! likes and reblogs r greatly appreciated <3

best friend!connie who has known you since you were toddlers, with there not being a memory in his life that you weren’t apart of.

best friend!connie who always picks up when you call, whether it’s talking shit about someone or picking an outfit for an event, he’s always there for you

best friend!connie who joins you when you go to the nail salon to get your nails done, often asking for a matching design with you

best friend!connie who always pays for everything despite you constantly reminding him that you can pay for things yourself, saying that his grandma would roll in her grave knowing that he’s letting a pretty girl like you buy things with her own money

best friend!connie who likes catching you off guard when he compliments you which happens like all the time tbh

best friend!connie whose bald head makes him a perfect impromptu wig stand but when he gets bored of being your test subject, he’s quick to make you work for that wig by making you chase him for it 😭

best friend!connie who loves taking candid shots of you when you guys hang out with his captions being so ambiguous that people don’t know if you’re dating or not

best friend!connie who is your biggest hype man, always reposting your shit and changing his pfp to a pic you recently posted

best friend!connie who still calls you by your childhood nickname to this day, only saying your name when shit gets serious or when he wants to scare you.

best friend!connie who doesn’t reply when people ask if you guys are dating, preferring to let them believe what they want

best friend!connie who is the only person that knows you inside out and vice versa. he always knows when its time for you guys to head out from your body language

best friend!connie who feels slightly territorial when a guy approaches you to ask you out even though he knows you can hold your own

best friend!connie who always helps you detangle and style your hair when its wash day (i wish someone could do this 4 me omds 😔🙄)

best friend!connie who puts on your bonnet on your head when you’re too tired to do it yourself

best friend!connie who stays over at your house so much, he practically lives there, i mean he literally has a spare key to your house

best friend!connie who is always eating your food like damnn 😭

“con, how the hell have you been here for 3 days and managed to clear out our entire fridge??” you said staring at the fridge dumbfounded

“im a growing boy sweetheart i gotta eat! plus you know I’ll pay your mama back for the food i ate anyways” he replied with a smile

“i’m a growing boy, my ass.” you muttered to yourself storming out of the kitchen.

(dw connie bought you wingstop later that day to make it up to you.)

best friend!connie who will ride for you until the very end because you are one of the people outside his family that he actually cares for

best friend!connie who loves you more than you know and is grateful for your presence in his life

[moonshynecybin]

I remember many years ago, someone (and for the life of me I cannot remember who, but I think it was a commentator) called Vale "the man with the golden mask", basically saying that the Vale we see on TV and in interviews is only the person he wants us to see and that only a few people know the real Vale, and for me this has always explained why he is the way he is with Marc and why it went way from the ranch.

Unlike with people like Biaggi, Stoner, Jlo etc, he clearly genuinely liked Marc (I think possibly because Marc reminded him of himself lol but that's a whole different topic) and I always got the impression he let Marc see a bit of the real Vale behind the mask bc he trusted him, then when Marc rocked up at his ranch with his whole team, he saw it as Marc trying to outdo him and broke that trust. Vale then sees trusting Marc as a mistake, overanalyses everything Marc does on and off track from that point on (rightly or wrongly), sees a lot of it as Marc deliberately sabotaging him, even though it's just his usual demon behaviour, and then 2015 cements his view that he's made a huge mistake in ever trusting Marc with the real Vale. And that's why still now, even though he's had fights and crashes with a lot of other riders, he can't let 2015 go, not just because of the 10th, but because the others were just battles on track; Marc hurt him on a personal level and he blames Marc as much as himself for allowing that to happen. I think the "the mask" went back into place the day Marc left that ranch and has stayed very firmly there ever since, and had it not, maybe things would be different today. Or at least, that is how I've always seen it (sorry for the essay!)

i COMPLETELY agree.... ive already talked like. truly so much about how i think that marc bringing his mechanics to the ranch was seen as the first shot in their little war by vale... like marc transgressing on vale's territory and bringing the smoke to a fun friendly ranch day was spun in vale's brain as MARC being the one to throw the first stone here... like yeah vale has a pattern of icing people out once they become real rivals but i actually think he came into being competitive with marc still open to being friends (or at least thinking that lol) !! and then marc shows up at his house like remember i want to destroy you on track! :3 which for marc's insane brain (mechanics are my familyyy and what happens on track stays there) is fine ! but not for vale lol. and then there's insecurity and ego and marc being an annoying crazy person et cetera blah blah blah so it goes = divorce

i also think ummmm. literally every day about when marc had to introduce valentino to the audience in his documentary, and the first thing he said was "to me, valentino is SHOW." and then also literally immediately identified ranch day as definitively when vale started icing him out... like even if he was in denial during the 2015 season, i think in hindsight he is PAINFULLYYYY aware of exactly when that mask went back up AND when he was unceremoniously removed from the small circle of people who ever get to see vale without it. like there was a shift. and it hurts his feelings lol.

and youre so right! marc IS different than those other guys bc they had a really good relationship before... vale's ability to show the press only what he wants them to see is one of his most effective mechanisms of self protection. (SO effective that he apparently does it in his real life relationships, like with his dad)... if no one sees the real you, then you never have to be vulnerable. if youre never vulnerable, its a lot harder to get hurt. unfortunately for vale it also makes it a lot harder to build meaningful connections ! so i think when he let marc in and then was "betrayed" by him, it was a) a rare occurrence for him to get that close with another racer (academy boys are a lil different obvs. like he thought marc was his equal, which i think compelled him AND freaked him out) and b) deeply effecting when he felt like that trust got betrayed... so even though hes the aggressor in the sepang drama i think he felt pretty victimized at that point. which like yeah is delusional ! but is also just sometimes how emotions work. especially when you have trust ego and vulnerability issues lol

[depizan]

Creatures/people/things I would be surprised to find knocking on my door, in increasing order of weirdness:

corvid

bear

bigfoot

alien

fairy

Starfleet officer

walrus

the loch ness monster

Jedi

bantha

Explanation under readmore.

It's all about how much your understanding of the world needs to change to accept what's happening and/or how many odd things need to happen before who/whatever it is ended up on my doorstep and knocked.

No crow or other corvid has ever knocked on my door, but that's in the realm of things I can imagine them doing. Bears live around here, but they aren't known for knocking or getting into apartment buildings, so that's getting into weird territory. Bigfoot probably doesn't exist, but if they did, they're similar enough to humans that the knocking doesn't seem weird, just the existing.

With aliens, we're starting to have more questions. It's not just that they exist, it's that they're here, knocking on my door, having (presumably) passed a whole bunch of other doors they could have knocked on. If i lived in a house, if it was an important looking house, if I were a government official, if I were the leader of a country...it gets less and less weird.

With fairies, it's less the selection of a specific door--mine--than that for a fairy to be knocking on my door, that means that magic exists. I have to do some fundamental reconsidering of how I think things work that I don't need to do for an extraterrestrial. So even though it might be less weird that they're knocking on my door, it is far more weird that they're real.

With a Starfleet officer, I have to accept that Star Trek (or something akin to it) is real. Gene Roddenberry wasn't just writing fiction. WTF. However, it is a future fiction of this world, so at least they're in the right reality. And I'm a little more willing to accept them knocking on a random door, not just an important one. (Still works out to weirder than just an alien, or even than a fairy, because it calls into question what fiction is. Or at least it potentially does.)

There should not be a walrus in my (very landlocked) state. Walruses aren't known for knocking on doors. The walrus had to get into my apartment building before it could flipper its way to my door and knock. The logistics of this are melting my brain in a completely different way than Starfleet officers, fairies, aliens, or the like. In fact, I'd be likely to assume that one of the above has to be involved because how in flying frick is there a walrus on my doorstep!?

The loch ness monster (or other sea serpent type critter). All of the questions of the walrus plus it isn't something I know exists.

Jedi, or anyone else from a fictional universe that is not supposed to be our own, is even more mind bending. They're fictional! They're from another galaxy! In the past! What does this mean about fiction? About space (and time!) travel? What (if we go with Jedi) does this mean about magic? (Or something close enough to magic) A whole lot of things about how I understand things work are being called into question.

And with a bantha, we've now added the logistical and animal behavior questions that walruses and loch ness monsters bring to the fiction!? space travel!? time travel!? questions.

I mean, past the corvid, they're all weird and unlikely, and I'm going to be questioning my understanding of reality. But there are degrees.

[adeandreamguardian]

Warriors Cats oc-Foxfur’s Backstory

Foxfur was originally a kittypet named Shadow abandoned by her two legs as a young kit left in a cardboard box in the streets of the twolegs. Shadow grew up a stray loner cat on the streets eating leftover food from the trash that the twolegs threw out.

It was not until Shadow came across some strange cats that she never seen on the twolegs streets. They had awesome skills at crouching down and killing mice but not eating them.

“Hello, that was a great catch, I believe I never seen you from around here,” mewed Shadow.

“Exactly what a kittypet would say, go back to your cozy home with your twolegs kittypet!” The strange cat said his mouthful of mouse.

“Kittypet? Twolegs? You mean people, I’m sorry but I’m a stray, my house folks abandoned me when I was just a small kit,” said Shadow glumly.

“What’s your name?” The she-cat mewed.

“I don’t have a name, except my house folks called me Shadow before they dumped me on the streets to fend for myself,” Shadow grumbled.

“What’s wrong with that? You don’t have your food handed to you from a can, you get more freedom outside being a kittypet,” the she-cat meowed.

“I’m not a kittypet, not anymore, I live on the streets,” meowed Shadow.

“Well, then you must be a loner!” The Tom spat.

“If you don’t have house folks and don’t live on the streets then where do you cats live?” Shadow meowed.

“We’re Apprentices training to become warriors, we are wild cats that live in the forest of Thunderclan territory,” mewed the she-cat proudly.

“Warriors? The forest? You think I can live in the forest to train to become a warrior too?” Shadow mewed.

“Clan cats don’t allow loners in!” The Tom cat spat.

“Take it easy on her! She must be starving living off twoleg filth on the streets,” mewed the she-cat.

“Who cares, a former kittypet who gets dumped by its twolegs will never make it on her own!” The Tom cat growled.

“Have some heart Sunpaw! She could use some help from our clan,” meowed the she-cat.

“I’m not giving up my fresh kill to give to a sad loner on the streets!” Sunpaw growled.

“Our clan is still well fed, we need to help this poor cat, it’s twolegs left her with nothing!” The she-cat hissed.

“Oh, alright!” Sunpaw grumbled.

Sunpaw plopped the dead mouse down at Shadow’s front paws.

“Is this, for me?” Shadow mewed.

“Yes, any cat who has been dumped by its twolegs with nothing deserves respect from our clan,” the she-cat mewed.

Without words Shadow started to take big bites out of the mouse gulping it down feeling satisfied from her hunger.

“Yum, I never tasted anything like this, much better than garbage,” meowed Shadow.

“My name is Furzepaw and you met my friend Sunpaw, I told him to give his fresh kill to you,” said the she-cat.

“Thanks Furzepaw, it’s been a long time since I had a real meal,” said Shadow.

“I got an idea! How about you join our clan, we could use some extra apprentices in Thunderclan,” meowed Furzepaw.

“Really?” Shadow meowed.

“As long as you can prove to the rest of Thunderclan that you can fight off other clans, hunt for the other cats of our clan and follow the Thunderclan code,” meowed Sunpaw firmly.

“Code? What’s that?” Shadow mewed.

“It’s the rules run by our clan handed down by our ancestors in Starclan,” Furzepaw mewed.

“Be quiet! Mouse brain! We now broke the Thunderclan code by feeding an outsider!” Sunpaw hissed.

“Yes, but even for a loner cat she couldn’t feed herself on these filthy twoleg streets when her twolegs dumped her, she needs us!” Furzepaw meowed.

“You’re always the one to help cats in need, no matter where they’re from,” grumbled Sunpaw.

“Don’t mind Sunpaw, yes he’s a bit of adurdon at times but it’s only because he doesn’t understand that loner cats who’ve been through a lot would still need help from a clan cat,” mewed Furzepaw.

“I’m not bothered by him, I was just so relived after he gave his mouse to me to fill my belly,” mewed Shadow.

“Come with us to the forest in Thunderclan, leave this twoleg streets of filth behind and our mentors will train you to become a clan warrior!” Furzepaw meowed.

“That’s quite nice of you but what would your clan leader think of me being in their camp?” Shadow questioned.

“We will know once we get to the Thunderclan camp,” meowed Sunpaw.

“Follow us, we’ll lead you into the forest to meet our clan leader,” meowed Furzepaw.

Shadow followed Sunpaw and Furzepaw out of the filthy twoleg streets and into a place where there were more trees but still twoleg nests full of twolegs. Shadow can smell the scent of the air smelling a lot cleaner then what she smelled in the twoleg streets. Shadow never smelled the air this clean in many moons ever since she was a tiny kit before her house folks abandoned her to become a stray.

They left the twoleg streets behind them and after crossing many gardens, twoleg nests, and fences they were now in the lush green forest of Thunderclan territory.

Shadow can tell because there was no more stench of twolegs or their filth that she used to live on in the streets anymore.

She felt more happier getting the scent of the fresh forest air instead of eating out of the trash and being chased by stray dogs.

“No more twoleg filth, I can now hunt in the forest,” thought Shadow.

A smoky black Tom cat with green eyes saw them return back with Shadow.

“Where have you been, Furzepaw?!” The clan’s deputy yeowed.

“We went out to the street to hunt and found this cat living on the streets who was half starved,” meowed Furzepaw.

“Furzepaw told me to give up my fresh kill for this she-cat,” meowed Sunpaw.

“I’m very disappointed in you Furzepaw, you broke the warriors code but you also helped a cat in need, but why did you tell Sunpaw to give up his fresh kill?” The clan deputy meowed.

“This is Shadow, her twolegs abandoned her when she was just a small kit and all she had to eat was twoleg filth off the streets,” meowed Furzepaw.

“Is that true?” The clan deputy asked Shadow.

Shadow dipped her head nodding silently.

“How cruel can those mangy twolegs get?” The clan deputy yeowed.

“I want to train to become a warrior as your apprentice,” mewed Shadow.

“I’m sorry but I’m training Furzepaw, you would have to go to our clan leader Waspstar, she’ll settle something out for you outsider,” said the clan deputy.

“Aren’t you the clan leader?” Shadow asked.

“No, I’m Thunderclan’s deputy, I’m Spotbelly, I work for Waspstar,” said the clan deputy.

“Can you bring me into your camp to meet her then?” Shadow mewed.

“As you wish,” sighed Spotbelly.

Shadow followed Spotbelly and the two apprentices through the undergrowth of the forest and past many pine trees till they reached the Thunderclan camp where the clan leader Waspstar was waiting on high rock.

“Waspstar! We brought you a new apprentice to train to become a warrior!” Spotbelly yeowed from below Waspstar.

“He smells of twoleg filth and looks underfed, what happened for you to bring a kittypet into our forest!” Waspstar meowed.

“Yes, I was a kittypet but only for a while, my house folks abandoned me when I was just a small kit, all I had to eat was two leg filth from the trash in the two leg streets,” meowed Shadow.

“You must prove yourself worthy then, I sense a lot of spirit in you young street cat, what did your former housefolks call you?” Waspstar asked.

“Shadow,” she mewed.

“You will be trained by yours truly Waspstar as your mentor,” mewed Waspstar.

All the other cats stared at Shadow then looked at their leader in surprise.

“Starclan has given me this young cat’s apprentice name, for now on young Shadow will train as my apprentice as Foxpaw, please welcome Foxpaw!” Waspstar meowed.

The other cats in Thunderclan were unsure about their leader welcoming in a loner cat but Furzepaw was so proud of Foxpaw that she came up to her and gave Foxpaw an affectionate lick on the nose.

“The sun is setting, we must rest till tomorrow, then we can start hunting again,” said Spotbelly.

“Where do I sleep?” Foxpaw asked.

“Follow me,” said Furzepaw.

Foxpaw followed Furzepaw through the brambles of the overgrowth till she saw a den.

“This is the apprentice’s den, we as apprentices sleep here,” said Furzepaw.

Furzepaw was starting to become an even closer friend to Foxpaw although she didn’t know what the other cats in Thunderclan had to say about her yet even Furzepaw’s hunting partner Sunpaw still.

Foxpaw knew that Waspstar was going to train her to become a great hunter and warrior of Thunderclan.

Furzepaw and Foxpaw layed next to each other in the apprentice’s den sharing touches grooming each other till they both fell asleep.

This made Foxpaw feel good, she had a close friend and she found herself a place where she could belong in Thunderclan. This is where she belongs.

The End.

@drake-the-highlander @kingnice1219 @alexcanine @jaysmily2919 @reformedladyfandom

This was a short little backstory of my new Warriors Cats oc Foxfur right now she’s known as Foxpaw by Starclan and the clan leader Waspstar even with her being Foxpaw’s mentor to teach her to hunt for fresh kill for the clan and to fight as a warrior to defend their camp from other clans. I had to make it short because I didn’t want to write on this all day, I had to get to a stopping point but this was a short backstory behind my new Warriors cat oc Foxfur.

[slashingdisneypasta]

ok this concept has been sitting in my brain for a hot minute but what if Inkubus comes to visit the horror house (bc of Jennifer) and starts to cozy up to y/n and Freddy starts to get jealous

Oh boy, the giggle I released at seeing this XD

I have considered this too, watercupboard!! I just loveee it XD This would really highlight the differences between (Goofy, punny, no-game, damaged, 26-year-old) Freddy and (Smooth, mischievous, all-game, demon-born, old-man) Inkubus which I think would be so!! much fun XD As well as the Succubus/Incubus friendship, which totally gives me life XD And jealous, horror house!au Freddy-

Just everything, I love everything about this idea!

Who do you think Y/N should end up with? 😈

Imagine if Freddy had no romantic (Or, really, even sexual) feelings towards Y/N before Inkubus turned up- to him, Y/N was just the succubus' annoying friend that they cant kill or even maim a little (Jennifer was very specific). But then this slick silver-fox type turns up and ~'something'~ about him makes Freddy feel threatened- and suddenly he's getting possessive and territorial over his 'succubus' annoying friend that they cant kill or even maim a little'.

And of course, Inkubus finds the 'little' man's reactions completely amusing and decides to take this as far as he can...

... And poor Y/N's just being used like a favourite toy between 5 year old brothers at this point 😅😅😅 Except, of course, feelings develop also because its the horror house and it's basically horror villain reverse harem 'hell'-

And Jennifer's just there looking at Inkubus like, 'why did i bring you? why cant you play nice? go home already, jesus'. She invited him for dinner and its been a week now 😂😂😂

Thank you sooooo much with this ask, I love this concept so much XD

[ysabelmystic]

PLEASE tell us about the shadow boi

Thank you to the at least four people who humored me on this one.

(Using it/he pronouns for the shadow in a gender neutral way)

This took place during my freshman year of high school. I was living in a newly built tract home at the time. This is the last place you'd expect a haunting to occur, but in my experience, California is funny like that. Despite the southern US seeming far more likely to actually be haunted, most of my and my family's experiences have all taken place within the California central valley. This was just the craziest and most undeniable of those experiences.

One morning around the start of the school year, I woke up at exactly 4:15am. My alarm wasn't due to go off until 5:30. Catercorner from my bed was a tall, vaguely human-shaped shadow. And by shadow I mean a dark blob that hovered in the corner rather than being attached to the wall.

Now, this was almost immediately at the start of my Exvangelical era. My parents and I were wading into deep edgy atheist territory. "Facts and logic" and all that. Instead of freaking out, I decided that I was probably hallucinating and went back to sleep. After getting home from school, I rearranged some of my furniture and put my violin stand (I was forced to play against my will but I digress...) in the shadow's corner.

This did not work, because the next morning, at exactly 4:15am, I woke up to the same shadowy blob in the corner, now covering my violin stand. This time, I turned on my phone light and shined it in the corner. The shadow didn't disappear like a normal shadow would. Instead, it seemed to rapidly melt into the adjacent closet.

I might've been an "atheist", but I couldn't completely commit myself to the idea that the supernatural was a creation of human ignorance and imagination. What I was committed to was the belief that the vast majority of "evil" and "demonic" beings were deeply misjudged and at worst just needed a friend. I did some research on shadowy beings and creatures, and found that this thing most resembled "the hat man" (despite being hatless). And since "the hat man" was "evil", surely, it either neutral or friendly. I would treat this thing with respect, and if it was just a hallucination, then wasn't it better to make friends with my hallucinations instead of demonizing them?

This was my train of thought for the next several days, as every other day or so, I was woken up at a 15 minute increment between 3:45am and 5:00am to this shadow in my room. Usually, it was in the corner, but some days it edged closer and closer to the center of the room.

About a month in, one morning, I woke up to the feeling of pressure on my legs. The shadow wasn't in the corner, but at the foot of my bed was the obvious indent in my mattress that could only come from a person sitting there.

Instead of panicking (probably because I was fucking tired), I said something along the lines of, "I don't care if you're in my room, but you have to stay in the corner".

The indent vanished and the pressure disappeared.

Nothing notable would happen for the rest of the school year. As annoyed as I was to be woken up early, in some ways, I started to appreciate the shadow in the corner. I would say good morning to him or gripe about being woken up early. I asked it for its name a few times, but I never got anything. He was just a nameless entity who lived in the corner of my room.

Sometime around February, I went off of my mood stabilizers cold-turkey. I didn't sleep for three days, and when I finally did start sleeping again, I was afraid that the change in my brain chemistry would mean that I'd never see the shadow again, and when I did, I told him that I missed him. The fact that nothing changed in the pattern of appearances is part of what convinced me that it was real.

The final time I saw it though, things changed.

It was either late May or early June. My family was about to move, and it was my final night in the house. The only things in my room were my mattress and blankets, my art desk, a couple of art supplies, and a wooden stick in my windowsill that kept it from being opened. And that final night, I said something to the effect of, "You're free now. Have fun haunting the new family," and went to sleep.

I woke up at exactly 6am. There was no shadow in my room. Instead, what I saw was the stick in my windowsill levitating in the air. It lingered for a few seconds and then fell to the ground. My window slid open, and the bag of colored pencils in the middle of my desk was knocked to the floor.

I was a little shaken, but I was more exhausted and in total disbelief than anything else, so I went back to sleep.

Later that morning, I woke up to my mom opening my door and scolding me for not being awake and for opening the window when it was so damn hot outside. The stick and pencils were also still on the floor. I asked if she had opened it, and she said that she absolutely had not.

I have no other explanation other than that it was the shadow, and that I had somehow set it free. When we moved across the country, I was actually upset with myself that I hadn't invited him along, and tried a few [failed] demon-summonings to see if I could fill the void. I don't know where he come from or why he was there, but it happened. It was weird, but given that I never felt outright afraid (and with some entities, I have), I assume he was friendly. Given that I spent most of that year being actively suicidal, he was one of the few things that brought me any joy, and was probably one of the reasons that I bothered staying alive at all. Regardless of who it was or what he was, I hope that he's dong okay.

But yeah. That's the shadow boi, and he is my number 1 reason as to why I believe in ghosts.

[devil-doll13]

Wax & Wane

(Part 1)

Tw: Implied Death, nothing else I can think of

So it looks like I finally got myself into gear to write this! This is my first time writing the Sinclair brothers/Bo so I hope it isn’t disgustingly ooc, I tried my best with what I had and ended up rewatching HoW like twice in one day to get all the details right lol.

Summary: Abigail arrives in the strangely deserted town of Ambrose, but something seems very wrong…

Dividers by firefly-graphics

Abigail’s hands felt cold around the bottle as she took another sip of her coke, tapping her fingers to the rhythm of Slayer’s ‘Black Magic’ pouring through her car’s speakers. After she had seen that dingy sign displaying ‘Trudy’s World Famous House of Wax’ she had finally allowed herself to relax, a little more confident that she was at least headed down the right path.

She didn’t receive very specific directions after all.

…But the way ahead seemed to become increasingly derelict, something she noted somewhat dubiously. It did not look like the well-travelled path to a famous monument, but more like the lost remnants of one. Overgrown grass curled up the sides of the dirt roadway as nature reclaimed its rightful ownership over it again; in some sections it was practically swallowed by the marshes and wetlands.

That, and she couldn’t imagine the constant potholes being particularly attractive to potential tourists.

This was enough to make her sigh quietly in disappointment. She had to admit she was actually quite looking forward to visiting it, but… It was supposedly years ago that this House of Wax had been popular. Who’s to say it was still open now? Although she was all too quick to chart out her newest trip here, Abigail did feel a little sceptical now that she had time to properly consider it. She chewed the inside of her mouth, grimacing sourly when she hit yet another pothole. Her stomach was beginning to pang persistently now; evidently a crummy mars bar was not enough to suffice for a proper breakfast. She held out hope that at least there was someplace to eat down here because she was absolutely famished.

Then she had to brake fast, for she saw wide-eyed that there was an entire sunken bog filled with disgustingly browned and swampy water blocking her way into Ambrose. She blinked owlishly.

Didn’t exactly look very welcoming to potential visitors… Wouldn’t this sort of thing be a priority to fix for the locals? The cogs grinded together continuously in her head. Perhaps there was another way in and out, but it still seemed odd to just let this slime fester here… Was there some kind of reason for it? Well, it was not her duty to question their judgement, she supposed…

Still, that idle thought picked curiously at her brain as she leaned over the dashboard to examine the filthy bog. This was not ideal… But it wasn’t as if this was her first time dealing with difficult roads, so it wasn’t an immediate deterrent either. Gripping the steering wheel, Abigail cautiously tried a few alternate routes before - finding it did nothing else but stubbornly imprison her wheels in muck - she determined that it was a pointless endeavour. Her lips curled in distaste. It seemed any attempt to go forward would simply leave her stuck and waterlogged. It was like she was ensnared in some sludgy web…

Well, shit. Abigail sat back limply in her car, grimly staring at the obstruction with a dropping gut. Did she really have to leave her car here?

(I say mine, though I did steal it… She acknowledged to herself dryly. But she felt fiercely territorial over all her worldly possessions. Perhaps a thief most fears their items will be stolen in turn; as a liar suspects a liar, she mused.)

Abigail heaved another weighty sigh and pushed the door open, her boots squelching in the mud. Biting her lip, she looked back for a moment, considering bringing something… Protective with her. Ambrose was still unknown territory, and she never quite felt safe without a method of defending herself; or safe ever, really.

Her eyes roved methodically over her occult stash. She could always bring her Black Book with her, but due to her curses it admittedly smelled rancid. It no longer bothered her, but it would surely draw some negative attention that she didn’t feel like dealing with today.

Her knife or sickle probably wouldn’t do her much good either; sure, it was useful to have around, but she knew rightly she had the physical staying power of a wet paper bag.

Settling finally on a rusty brooch that pulsated like some sort of metallic internal organ, she pocketed all the money she currently had, her current ID and her car keys, hauling a leather bag out of the trunk. Everything else was more or less replaceable; even her artworks, she reminded herself glumly. They were too hefty to carry around most of the time anyway. It was times like this she wished she had more fixed residence of some sort, but those had never ended well... A too-long lifetime of looking over her shoulder had prepared her for constant shifts of intense paranoia and occasional anxiety; and most of the time it was very much warranted.

Slamming the car door shut, Abigail made her way across the pit with careful steps. Her boots offered her firm purchase, and soon enough she found herself standing awkwardly at the entrance of the town. A few ancient buildings were beginning to come into view now, though still with no people in sight. She glanced longingly back at her car, and in turn all the belongings she had in the world.

(If push comes to shove, I can simply steal another one…)

Ambrose was a strange place. Very strange; and that was high praise coming from her.

Her initial viewing of Ambrose held it up as quite idyllic in its white picket fence normalcy; but on closer inspection everything appeared to be coated with a permanent layer of grime, the affliction of age. The lawns and shrubbery were just a tad bit overgrown, the sidewalks sunburnt, cracked and worn, the style of architecture completely outdated. Even the House of Wax itself - although impressive from what she had seen of it - had an air of sad neglect to it.

Despite that, all the cars she saw were decidedly modern and well looked after. There were also some rather tastefully done sculptures around the place that did draw her eye; but nothing too inspired. So far nothing special.

Presently she strolled rather casually down the street, ignoring the warning pinpricks tickling her neck. She curled an arched eyebrow at the selection of ‘Miss Ambrose’ posters taped to a board as she passed it. She hadn’t heard of too many small-town beauty pageants even in her restless travels.

Again she was struck with the feeling that she was lingering in the ruins of a bygone era. The whole town clung to its vintage aesthetic like it had been stuck in a time loop since the 70s. It would have been endearing to her if there wasn’t a distinct sense of unease about the place. She could easily brush it off as her own suspicious nature, but its vast emptiness was intensely discomforting, rather than pleasing to her as it should have been.

(Usually she would loathe crowds, but this place seemed completely uncanny without them…)

The raucous din of artificial yells and alarm rings made her wince, but at least it wasn’t deathly silent. Yet none of it seemed to have a human source that she could see; it was completely void of all life.

Still, it was Sunday. She supposed the culprit was simply Church; a rather grandiose building she spotted at the end of the road.

Lovely looking building, she mused. Also not a place she would ever enter willingly. Not anymore.

“Hey there.” A deep masculine voice drawled out in a thick, honeyed Southern accent.

Abigail had just stopped to admire a pile of spotted puppies in a shop window, watching their adorable little tails wagging happily. (That in itself was rather odd; usually they would have cowered at the sight of her.) She whirled around now to see a well-dressed man peering questioningly down at her with his hands planted firmly on his hips.

This man - certainly in his Sunday best - held a certain innate confidence in his posture. He was tall and handsome with dark, slicked back hair and blue eyes. He had slight, thin sideburns and was cleanly shaven. At once Abigail couldn’t help but feel he bore a passing resemblance to Elvis Presley; he seemed to be just as old-school in manner as his surroundings.

This was the first living person she had seen upon arriving in Ambrose, but he looked as if he could practically represent the town as a whole.

“Car broke down?” The Elvis Impersonator asked her with a charmingly quirked brow.

“No,” Abigail replied simply. She wondered why he’d assume that.

“Ah, I see… See, one of ours saw ya’ pull out and stall near the entrance there. Came runnin’ to let me know - I’m the guy who fixes up cars round’ here, name’s Bo.”

Bo gestured to himself vaguely.

Curious, she regarded him for a moment. He must have been quite dedicated to his job to be willing to drop whatever he was doing at a moment’s notice.

“Oh. I’m sorry to have disturbed you.” She said regretfully, still watching him closely. He shrugged.

“But it was the…” Abigail struggled for a word that might sound less crude to describe it as. “…Difficult terrain that stopped me, not a car problem. I couldn’t find a way to pass it without getting stuck in mud.”

“Oh. That.” He nodded knowingly, then shook his head. “Yeah, I get it. We don’t use that road no more.”

“I take it there’s some other way in and out then?”

“Yeah, there’s another one down yonder. Don’t get as many visitors as we used to.” Bo explained, scratching the back of his neck with a wry smile.

“I see...” She hummed. If there indeed was another road out of town, she had not yet seen it.

Abigail did suspect that Ambrose was no longer the tourist hotspot that it was, but now she felt herself wondering if her journey had been a pointless one. If everyone else was still at Church it would be a while until any kind of café or shop was open, she thought to herself begrudgingly. That meant she’d have to wait around first before she got to eat anything, since it seemed the whole town was quite religious.

“Is the House of Wax not open anymore?” She tried not to let the discouragement sound in her voice.

“Well, It’s still open.” Bo said. A sort of unknown enthusiasm illuminated his face. “Seen better days, like, but uh… Trudy’s work never left the premises.”

She let out a relieved sigh. That was good. It was the only reason she came here, anyway.

“Ya’ won’t even need to pay either, it’s all pretty much public domain now… Just ignore the ‘closed’ sign, the ol’ curator forgets sometimes.” He chuckled darkly, casting his amused gaze at the dogs she was previously so enthralled by.

No need to pay? She raised an eyebrow at that.

How charitable.

Abigail studied him inquisitively, tempted to pry a little more, but thought the better of it. Clearly this Trudy was no longer around; maybe alive, maybe dead. She felt a bit of weight lifted off her lungs as she considered that she’d have something to do here after all. She could easily pass the time in the wax museum until she would be able to get a bite to eat.

“Now before I go back, are ya’ absolutely sure ya’ don’t need me to take a glance at the car?” Bo gave her a pointed look now.

“Yes.” Her keys seemed to burn hotly in her pocket.

“Like I said, it was just that I had trouble getting past… Thankyou for your help. I won’t bother you anymore.” Abigail continued swiftly. Now he was of no longer any use to her, she was rather eager to be rid of him and be left to her own devices.

Bo shrugged again, seemingly nonchalant.

“S’alright. I’ll be on my way, then… Should be almost done now anyways.”

He smirked; an expression which struck her as probably more sinister than intended. She watched as he turned on his heels and returned to the Church, whistling cheerfully all the while.

Abigail didn’t waste much more time as she adjusted her bag and made her way back up to the House of Wax. Its tall ivory structure loomed over her, accented with a sickly shade of mint green. Like the Church, it was beautifully made. While it was not so different in style to most of the other buildings in Ambrose, its imposing size cut an impressive figure over everything else. She supposed it must have been really quite something in its heyday.

Then, stroking a careful hand over the wall, Abigail noticed with a jolt of wonderful realisation that the building itself actually seemed to be made of wax!

(So… The House of Wax indeed…)

She cast a quick glance to the sign hanging from the door. ‘Closed,’ it read, just as Bo had told her it might. She ignored it and tried for the handle. It opened without much hassle, and with a thrill of excitement down her spine she stepped inside.

From above, an unknown presence stirred. One large hand came to pull aside a curtain, and from out the window peered a smooth, waxen face. A singular blue eye swivelled in its socket, following her every movement with a discerning gaze. The figure stood silently, contemplating the details of the soon-to-be new addition to his home…

The moment Abigail crossed the threshold of the House of Wax building, she felt her nose crinkle at the thin veil of dust hanging in the entry room. The air was so very stale and stagnant, although it became more bearable as she entered the grand exhibition rooms. It still didn’t stop her from admiring the stunning craftsmanship; both the exterior and interior were magnificent in form. The wax statues were incredibly lifelike, as if they were truly real, living people. They didn’t quite capture the wonder she felt as she gazed upon blood-bathing Countess Bathory as a child, but she supposed that was simply the jaded cynicism of her adulthood speaking.

As well as these sculptures, there were a number of queer little oddities and trinkets filling shelves in the more obscure corners of the museum. They were even more dust-speckled and cobwebbed than the cabinets with silverware in them. She gently blew them off, marvelling at the tiny details she could see, lovingly crafted with wax. They seemed to have a particularly morbid touch to them in comparison to the more conventional beauty of the human-sized wax figures.

Macabre yet oddly quaint; as she liked it to be.

There were also paintings; her preferred medium. Still, whoever the artist was, they certainly had far more skill than she could ever boast to have.

She tilted her head, catlike, as she squinted to make out the golden cursive scrawled on the edge of a lush portrait of a beautiful brunette woman.

‘Vincent’ It read. Odd. Perhaps it was not only Trudy’s wax sculptures here, but a collection of art from the entire town of Ambrose?

Of course, no matter how curious she was Abigail was the ideal spectator, respectful of the artworks, appreciative, strolling by with both her hands kept behind her back.

She was also completely unaware of the mysterious presence lurking in the shadows.

But still, she knew something wasn’t quite right about this place. About the whole town of Ambrose. How empty it was. Quiet. Depopulated.

(At least, in regards to the living.)

How could she have anticipated how noisy these ghosts would be?

Abigail was keenly attuned to these sorts of disturbances, but she never could have expected to feel or hear them now. She didn’t flinch at a haunted building, she’d been in those a hundred times before; but a wax museum seemed like an odd place to die. She wondered if it had anything to do with the loss of popularity over the years…

She stopped in her tracks. A floorboard creaked ever so slightly behind her.

Spidery whispers rippled through the atmosphere and raised the fine, thin hairs on her neck. The uniquely cold, deathly chill of a despairing spirit hung over her like an ominous shroud. It felt like there was a gentle, but still persistent kind of grip latched onto her shoulder that refused to let her walk away.

Someone or something was trying to get her attention.

Then it was eerily silent. Some compulsion drew her to look into the face of a nearby wax statue; who stood still and transfixed in time forever. He was a man with dark hair. He looked cleaner and smoother than the others. Almost new.

“Yes…” She answered his call, her voice soft.

Glassy brown eyes stared fixedly back at her, frozen in wax encasement. But there was something strangely desperate in his empty gaze; pleading, almost.

“…I’m listening.”

(Taglist: @rottent33th, @slaasherslut, @the-pinstriped-hood, @soupbabe, @bluecoolr, @flower-crowned-lady, @goldrose-star, @vincent-sinclair-deserved-better, @solmints-messyocdiary)

Next

[phoenix-flamed]

I can't remember if I've made a post about this before. (Not that that's anything new; my brain only retains completely useless information.)

Elwin/Miles, personally, doesn't want to see the Grand Duchy of Rosaria restored back to a ... well, a duchy, nor will he pose a threat to anyone else who desires to take over as ruler -- because quite frankly, becoming Archduke again is the last thing he wants. In addition to that, he would rather see Rosaria rise again with leaders who properly represent the people as elected officials, rather than ones who take a throne purely based on the circumstances of their birth.

While it's true that it has always been a member of House Rosfield ruling over Rosaria, just as it has always been a member of House Rosfield who awakens as the Dominant of Phoenix, the other High Houses also hold considerable power and sway in terms of the governmental systems. The Seven High Houses each represent the families who once presided over the individual territories that Rosaria was originally divided into, before they unified as one nation -- which of course means that they are all nobility.

Elwin's problem with maintaining the societal hierarchy is that it stacks the power in the favor of the nobility, while the commoners serve them, and the Bearers serve both classes. Which is the opposite of what House Rosfield, at least according to my personal interpretation of what Elwin talked to Joshua about during the feast at Phoenix Gate, is meant to stand for. If evening the playing field so that the rest of the noble families no longer have exclusive control based on birthright, then that includes House Rosfield as well, unless the people choose to have them in power.

It's a long-term goal, not one he intended to push for overnight.

But with Rosaria presumably regaining its independence from Sanbreque, or at the very least being released from Anabella's brutal chokehold and no longer under the supreme rule of Emperor Sylvestre, that means it's time to begin rebuilding their home and re-establishing themselves.

Keep in mind, these are just my Elwin's personal opinions and preferences. How the people choose to establish their government is up to them and those who are left to guide them. So if, say, another Rosfield decided to step up and take the throne as Archduke/Archduchess, he would do everything in his power to support and aid them.

So long as Rosaria doesn't return to its classist ways that encouraged slavery, or adopt a mentality like Sylvestre and Anabella shared -- that the people are expendable, easily replaced. (Incidentally, this also ties into why my Elwin before and during his reign as Archduke takes to the battlefield with his men. Because if the commoners and Bearers are going to fight and risk dying for the sake of Rosaria, then he would rather stand and fight with them instead of remain safe and sound while others die for him, all while they're being viewed as nothing but cannon fodder. Is it a bit of a reckless decision, all in all, given his position in the duchy? Yes, one could easily argue that. But kings and the likes going into battle with their men was incredibly common throughout history, so fuckyeah Elwin, you go out there and kick ass.)

... This ended up longer than it was intended to. And the ironic part is that I'm not even sure it addressed what I'd originally intended to write about, nor that it makes sense. Like always.

[oldguy56-world]

Waterworld

There are three things all people need to survive in the world: food, water and air. For food we can last quite a while without it. Currently I am approaching 11 years without having a donut so that says something. (Not sure what exactly). We can survive without water for a few days at best and as for air, give it four minutes tops. That makes air the winner in needs for us. (Interesting that while we need water if we stay under it for too long the need for air kicks in. Too bad we aren't like other species and have a blow hole, or at least one we can breathe through).

Perhaps you have guessed by reading the title that I am going to discuss the middle one, water today. My fascination was brought about yesterday when a scheduled overnight shut down of our water turned into a full extra half day. I had diligently timed my peeing to coincide with available flush times and this was completely thrown off when I discovered after waking up that it was not to be. Like any true survivor I headed over to the closest mall and marked some territory there. (relax. I used their facilities)

Cooking was going to be fun as most of our recipes involve water. We are fancy that way. There was a brief spurt from the kitchen sink but it would be best described as sludge that came out. Not an appetizing name for anything that is liquid you would want to drink. (Wait a minute! Perhaps a Slurpee that is made of fudge. The Sludge. I will look into that and get back to you.)

Anyway all was fine before supper and I am happy to say we had a nice meal. It did get me to thinking about water while we did not have it though and I thought I would share these ideas with you.

Humans are made up of mainly water yet we get flabby and lumpy. Is there something in this magical water we need to be concerned about? I have never seen flabby or lumpy water but maybe it is like that in other places we don't know about. So now the nightmares begin again.

People like to frolic in the water. So do gators and sharks. God really does have a sense of humor doesn't he? (She? I won't go down that road)

Everything we drink is 99% water, so why is a bottle of pop a couple of dollars and a bottle of wine can be a couple of thousand dollars. Are grapes that expensive? I may be wrong on this but I believe someone is making some fast money here. (Related topic. A liter of Coke goes for a couple of bucks but a pound of Coke goes for...I refuse to answer on the grounds it may incriminate me, but think about it. Same stuff that somehow the addition of water brings the price way down. My head is starting to hurt)

What if there were no oceans? How bad would the Earth smell with all those fish laying around? (Don't think too deep on that one). Or would they all have legs and feet to run around? Who needs a shark running at them while they are jogging? And how many legs would a whale require to be able to move?

What makes rain fall? It goes up and then for no reason it decides to come back to Earth. Does it miss its friends?

How come no matter what combination of foods we eat we pee yellow? Except beets. We need to look into beets.

How come most people want to vacation near the ocean but very few go in? It is much cheaper to just lie down outside your house on a sunny day. Could it be we want to see water but not get involved with it?

As you can see having the water shut off at our place for a few hours seemed to dry my brain out, or maybe it was the alternate liquids I chose to partake in that brought these thoughts to me. I should run a Beta test and find out.

THOUGHT OF THE WEEK: Water is essential for the survival of the human race. So why is so much effort put into polluting it?

[ruthlesslistener]

Random idea I feel like you might enjoy: was thinking about the idea of wyrm sonar (or just general vocalizations given how huge they are) and given that out in the wastelands, visibility seems to be very poor with strong winds and windblown snow/ash/dust(?), the vivid mental image of someone just hearing this like. distant but immense bellow from some unseen creature that could be miles and miles away from them. It'd certainly lend to how a fair few people seem to have an idea of what a wyrm is but there's very little reliable information about 'what they are'.

oOOOO YES that would be sick- I'm imagining small caravans trekking through the vast expanse of the Wastelands, weary and half-blind from the endless dust storms churning across their paths, before suddenly stopping and standing in a rictus of fear and awe because the low humming that they'd attributed to the sound of the wind through the cliffs rose into a long, echoing call from a creature much, much larger than anything that they've ever known. That would certainly cause a lot of rumours to sprout up about the terrifying creatures living in such desolate environments, which would likely be magnified with accounts of other encounters from different travelers. Fossorial animals are difficult enough to spot that the existence of wyrms can be verified by vocalizations alone, while also lending enough of a knowledge gap for nobody to really understand said existence. Sure, a few might parse out that wyrms are generally long burrowing things from watching the way the sand moves or being lucky enough to view one aboveground, but considering the fact that a.) the Wastelands are a dangerous, barren location, b.) Wyrms are a fossorial species that likely dwell deep underground most of the time, c.) wyrms are also god-beings that can STAY underground for longer times than most because they're working on a timescale of millennia instead of decades, and d.) they are extremely dangerous to approach, that would make the actual study of them ridiculously difficult. Calls are likely the only proof of their existence that many mortal bugs would encounter due to the frequency of their occurrence, the many miles that they span, and the fact that, well- you'd likely hear them as well as feel them. Ever been next to a lion when they roar? Picture that, magnified by the thousands. Shit would be intense.

Sonar is also capable of causing serious physical damage (including brain damage) that might cause dizziness, lightheadedness, and mental impairment- a potential source for the Pale King's claim that those who exit Hallownest forfeit their mind to the land beyond. While I'm not entirely sure if the mind-erasing effect of the Wastes can entirely be attributed to wyrm sonar, given that its a canonical problem according to Quirrel's comic, I can totally see the Pale Wyrm approaching bugs outside of Hallownest, attempting to speak with them, causing massive disorientation and brain damage, then change to his bug form and assume that the difference was due to environment rather than mortal-god interactions. I'm still going to stick with my personal headcanon that gods create little oasises of safe magic zones within their mortal-housing territories and that the wild, unrestrained magic of the wastes is what causes eventual deterioration of the memory/mind, but wyrm sonar factoring into that mess would make for some pretty sick traveler's tales about parties who had to turn away from seemingly glorious areas because there was a hum in the hills that made them deeply ill, or finding entire parties wiped out along the trails, with no signs of ill tampering on them other than blood leaking from their ears.

Additionally, the effect that sonar waves would have on the environment has the fun possibility of giving the the land itself some pretty interesting patterns from wyrmcalls, as certain frequencies interacting with loose material is capable of creating complex geometric patterns due to the structure and interaction of the sound waves. They might not serve a social purpose to blind, burrowing superpredators, but I can see a trait like that accidentally evolving as a means of keeping aerial predators away from wyrm nesting sites (and by aerial predators, I mean young gods that have yet to find territory or followers of their own). Wyrm larvae might be a viable treat while they're still young, but once they've reached a certain level of maturity, hunting them would be too dangerous. Therefore, a parent wyrm rumbling at a certain frequency to create large, geometric patterns at the surface would be enough of a visual indicator to potentially deter said predators from attempting to pick off any young that need to surface, as evidence that the parents are close by might end up with the hunter being snatched from the air by a large, hungry breeding adult lurking nearby. Such a defense might be a double-edged sword, as predators who are canny enough to dodge the parents would learn that they're indicators of wyrm rearing sites, but for the most part it would be quite an effective deterrent.

Examples of resonance affecting sand below:

Like imagine cresting a ridge and then seeing the endless sand dunes and rocky hills give way to mile-wide patterns like that. Wouldn't that be so fucking cool (and terrifying) to experience?? The legends and speculation birthed by that alone would be enough to make the entire species holy by nature, if the rules of Hollow Knight's mythology are anything to go by. That sort of impact would cement itself into the minds of many cultures for millennia, lingering in folklore long after their ancestors first heard those deep, rumbling calls, when they were crossing the top of a land that didn't belong to them.

[sablegear0]

Sable vs the Carpenter Bees (Part 1?)

(Tentatively labeling as "part 1" because I expect I will post updates eventually)

So, yesterday I had my first encounter with carpenter bees. For those unfamiliar; they're the size of a bumblebee and look similar, but rather than living in underground nests, they tend to burrow into dead wood to lay their eggs. Note that this can and often does include any unfinished lumber or exposed wooden parts of a house. They're also very territorial. It's worth mentioning that only the males get territorial, and only in late summer, and that male carpenter bees cannot sting. However, they do make every attempt to get up in the business of any perceived intruder to chase them off, other bees included.

And also myself included, obviously.

It has been a long time since I've been chased by bees or wasps. Not since I was a child have I feared my stripèd flying neighbours. But yesterday was something different.

I think the main problem was I was mowing the lawn. See, our property is fairly small so I only have a reel mower, one of those old-fashioned push-mowers that isn't powered at all. It works great for me because I don't mind the workout and it's way quieter than its gas- or electric-powered peers. But it does tend to stir up the bugs, I think partly because it's so quiet. It just makes a metallic rasping noise as it spins, which is enough noise (and motion) to startle bugs but not enough to drive them away. The first carpenter bee buzzed me as I was finishing up with the mower and starting to put it away. I ducked inside my shed and that seemed to put me out of range.

The next came to harass me when I tried to harvest some of my garden veggies. I haven't posted any garden updates this year but things are looking relatively lush, and I'm pretty pleased with it. So I go to clip some peas down and who should reappear but a carpenter bee. Now, when I'm outside doing just about anything, I wear a newsie cap, sunglasses, and my big ol' headphones. This means that the only exposed skin on my head is my cheeks, nose, jaw, and neck.

And that bumbly bastard went straight for the side of my neck like a freaking vampire.

He tried to get in behind my headphones (or into the loop of my bun?) for some reason, and Monkey Brain did NOT like that one bit. I actually freaked out, dodged/ran away, swatted at the damn thing, and ran back inside. We did this twice, as I made a second attempt shortly after. There was also a fair deal of shouting and verbal threats issued. As if it could understand me. But it did make me feel better to state aloud that I wasn't above killing the bugger if need be. I did lay a solid smack on one with my hat, which grounded but did not kill it (as it flew off shortly after).

But of course, Looney Tunes style, this meant war.

Except I had no intention of killing the little bastards. See, while they were being bastards, they didn't know any better. They're just defending what they see as their territory from the big noisy animal that chops up the plants they like. I don't begrudge them, and I do still want them around as pollinators. But not being able to get to my own garden is unacceptable. So I got to thinking, what could I do to keep myself safe without killing them?

Some quick googling suggested that if I was able to find their nest holes (BIG if), dabbing some citrus or almond oil near the hole for a few days would persuade them to abandon the nest. They also apparently do not like noise (duh), so constant music or wind-chimes were suggested as a pest control measure. I honestly was a little surprised by the wind chimes thing but it gives a lot more context beyond aesthetics as to why people might have them. Who'd'a thunk.

So I have my information for longer-term solutions but nothing that would work today because I really wanted to get out there and harvest those peas. I ponder a trip to the nearby dollar store to pick wind chimes and perhaps a bug net, intending to catch and detain the little bastards while I work, then release them after I was done.

Then my Brother-In-Law comes downstairs and I chat with him about the situation and what I'm thinking of doing. And here's where things get interesting. He's in the Reserves, so he mentions he has some bug-netting in his kit. He goes and grabs a mosquito-net head cover for me to borrow. It's meant to fit over an army helmet so it fits nicely over my cap, and would probably go over my headphones too if I wanted. My head and neck suitably armoured, I head back outside.

By this point it's been maybe 20 mins since I was last outside. And the bees are nowhere to be found. Not even seen at a distance, just gone. Go figure. Realistically all I probably needed to do was leave and wait for them to calm down. Still, I like to think the netting helped, as behind the green mesh I was no longer skin-coloured (except for my arms but those were not a target) so I was less perceptible as a threat. Whatever the case, I was able to harvest my veggies in peace.

Later that day, the lads (my partner, BIL, and a couple friends) were hanging out on the patio and I half-expected to hear they had been harassed as well. But they were smoking, and I can only assume bees of any type don't particularly care for smoke, so they weren't bothered either.

Anyway, there's no moral to the story other than maybe I should wait a bit after mowing to do any other gardening, to let the bugs calm back down. I might go hunt down a nice set of wind chimes and the bug netting helmet is remaining by the back door. At least until I can find the carpenter bastards' nests in the... hoo boy, the huge amount of unfinished wood in my back yard, and stink them out with essential oils.

More updates (and garden updates) probably to follow.

[druidgroves]

friendship + loss for feron!

oc asks: relationships edition thank u sm !!! got a lil angsty in here >:3

Friendship: What's your OC like as a friend? How are they at making new friends? What are the most important friendships in your OC's life?

Up until meeting the rest of the tadfools, Feron had.......no friends. Or she thought she did. Sal's hometown was the village of Hill's Edge, once a thriving city near the Reaching Woods where she was held captive by Margaery. It used to boast at least 10,000 people during its busiest times, but with the goblins and gnolls and the hag within the woods drove many away. By the time Feron moved in with Salus, there was less than a quarter population left and most were kind of fond of Feron! A minor part of her backstory involved her running an apothecary, so my thoughts are that Sal opened the business in his retirement and his treks into the woods were to look for wild grown spell components and healing herbs. Feron helped him run it after a while and a lot of their regulars thought she was quiet but helpful and she was convinced they hated her (since for years she had been one of the causes behind the village's declining population; one of her duties was luring people into Margaery's territory after all).

It's very much a goob "they all hated me" while everyone is smiling & waving at him from Meet The Robinson's lmao. There's definitely someone in Hill's Edge who assumed they were friends and Feron had no idea, like Katniss with Madge in THG. She also managed to have a few short-lived flings somehow, but they always fizzled out quickly, either because Feron didn't live up to the mystique they had of her in their heads, or because Feron thought they were getting annoying.

Upon meeting the rest of the brain bug gang, Feron knew she had to either make it or break it since the survival of the entire group depended on them working together towards finding a cure for the worm. Meaning they were stuck together and she couldn't afford to spend however long painfully in awkward, silent agony with the others. So she does her best. Remembers the manners Salus taught her during her rehabilitation period and tries. In the end, she realizes she really had nothing to worry about: her friends were just as strange and fucked up as she was when they first met.

Loss: Is there anyone important to your OC who has passed away? How did they handle the loss?

Salus died of possibly the best thing anyone in a fantasy setting can die of: old age. Even being an adventurer in his youth couldn't take him down, so he lived his full half-elven life span (and nearly beat it by a year; Feron had hoped they could celebrate his 151st birthday before he passed but were shy about three months before he did). He was as spry as ever towards the end, always telling Feron he didn't need help getting around the house or lifting things but always ended up letting her help anyways. They still ran the apothecary together, though Sal would always leave after lunch to go take a nap lol. Then Feron would come home for dinner and they'd read together then go to bed. They had a routine together! So when Salus didn't wake her up one morning for another day at the apothecary, the whole thing really took a lot out of her.

Feron took a long time to grieve. The apothecary was closed for years. For a while she abandoned the house and went back to the woods, killing goblins and gnolls and anything that got in her way. She spent a lot of time in wild shape again, but this time by choice. It was her way of avoiding her emotions. After a particularly close call with a human hunter some decades later, she thought it time to be a person again, and went back to the house to try and get her life together.

She spent a while getting the house together again, then had another mini meltdown when she found out the apothecary had been foreclosed on. While cleaning up the house, she found the courage to go through Salus' old things and came across information on a relationship between him and one of his old adventuring companions. He'd once had a romantic entanglement with the party's gnomish cleric, Calyn Springweave, and it had ended poorly (but not so poorly that she didn't answer his letters when he summoned the party to take down Margaery). Feron thought she had the right to know of his passing and felt that Sal would've wanted her to know anyways. So she managed to track Calyn down to Baldur's Gate and was attempting to find her there when the nautiloid swooped in and got her.