#sorry if the never again section sounds wild

[caffeinewitchcraft]

Ghost Eater

Summary: You don't like exorcists. They don't much like you either.

-----

You’d always thought big restaurants like the Brownie Industry only did well in small, midwestern towns like the one you came from. A year working in LA has taught you that, no matter where you go, people will always love garlic bread and sugar.

It’s your day off which means you’re pulling a double shift. You haven’t had time to wash your hair for the past two weeks so it’s frizzing out of your claw clip and flying wild around your face. The lighting is so dim that you’ve tripped over two black purses already, luckily not while you’re running food. The big dining room sounds like an apiary with the tittering laughter of the later adult crowd that’s filtered in from the theater across the four lane road. The main difference between the Brownie Industry here and the one back home is size. The ceiling soars overhead, supported by a series of concrete pillars separating the dining area into three sections.

Normally it would be three servers per section. Today, it’s just you in yours.

One more hour. That’s what the manager promised you. It might even be true if the host stand quits seating you after the table you’re approaching.

There are three people at the table. A woman whose hair might be light blonde or gray in the light of day, her eyes light and piercing. Her face is soft from age, emphasized by the tight, lace collar of her off-season sweater. She reminds you strongly of your mom’s nemesis on the HOA board. The man couldn’t be more out of place next to her despite their equivalent age. He’s wearing a leather jacket – again, it’s not cold here – and a Norwegian metal shirt underneath. His hair is definitely white, so white it almost glows. He’s frowning at the teenager across the table as if she’s touched his motorcycle without permission.

The teenager might be the first you’ve seen all night who doesn’t have their phone out. She’s decked out in what you consider grandma florals – a t-shirt scattered with daisy chains, a bucket hat made out of nana’s carpet bag, and a hand-crocheted scarf in pastel.  You can’t really see her face under the shadow of her hat and there’s an odd, blurred quality to the way she fiddles with her napkin. You let your eyes skip past her and back to the two adults. Teenagers don’t pay the bill.

“Welcome to Brownie Industry!” you chirp. You’re sweaty and red but the faded yellow light hides that. You’re a service industry pro so none of your exhaustion shows on your face when you ask, “Is this your first-time dining with us?”

If you weren’t so burned out, you’d have noticed before you introduced yourself.

“Are you Grady?” the woman asks. Her voice is more posh than you expected even with her lace collar. “Grady Pace?”

Fuck. There’s a noticeable temperature differential now that you’re close to them. The restaurant is warm from the number of bodies, maybe even warmer than the summer air outside, but stepping up next to their table feels like walking into an ice rink.

“I’m your waitress,” you say. You don’t have time for this conversation. You’ve got five minutes in your cycle to take their order and then you’ve got food to run. “If you need any other services from me, I have a website.”

“We messaged you,” the man says. His lips thin to the point his thick mustache covers them entirely. “You never responded.”

Because you’ve been making more money at the Brownie Industry than your other job. “I’ll take a look at it tonight.”

“Wait,” the teenager says, sitting upright. She looks from you to the adults and back again. When she smiles, there’s no humor in it. “This is why we drove eight hours to have dinner at the Brownie Industry? For her?”

“Katie, be polite—”

“I’m sorry,” Katie says, “It’s just—I found a priest, you know? An actual exorcist priest and you guys want to trust a waitress over him?”

“Ugh exorcists,” you say. The memory of sour cabbage is so heavy on your tongue that you stick your tongue out in disgust. When you see Katie’s look, you backtrack. “Effective! Definitely effective.”

“Your mistakes have cost us too much already,” the man says, shaking a finger at her. “We are not converting just for an exorcism.”

“I normally don’t agree with your father,” the woman tells Katie, “but in this case I would like to leave conversion as a last resort.”

“We wouldn’t actually convert,” Katie says, rolling her eyes.

“Pretty sure exorcists can tell when you lie,” you tell Katie. When her scowl deepens, you clear your throat. “Did you all need another minute to think about the menu?”

“We need you to help us,” the dad says. He scrubs a hand over his face. “Look, I know you’re at work and I’m sorry we’re bothering you.”

“We’re desperate,” the mom says. She reaches for her purse. “We’ll pay you. Triple the rate on your website or even quadruple. We need that thing gone by tonight.”

Katie covers her face. “Mom. You’re embarrassing me. Terry isn’t that bad.”

“Oh, he’s bad, young lady,” the dad says sternly. “A bad influence.”

“We caught her trying to perform another séance yesterday,” the mom confesses to you. She leans forward with a pinched expression. “So Terry’s friend Larry could visit too.”

“Interesting,” you say. The food bell rings, but you think you can ignore it for another minute. You study Katie’s blush. “Why did you do that?”

If she was being compelled, she won’t have an answer to your question. You’ve dealt with a lot of ghosts in your time, but so few are sentient enough – or powerful enough – for compulsion.

“Go on,” the dad says, gesturing at you. “Tell her.”

“Leroy, she’s embarrassed enough,” the mom says.

“No, she’s not, Sarah.” The dad – Leroy – gestures to you again. “Tell her.”

Katie huffs, clearly resistant. But when her dad huffs back, she caves. “So,” she says, “I have this YouTube channel—”

“I’m off in an hour,” you interrupt. You don’t care that you’re being rude. Your patience ran out as soon as she said YouTube. “I’ll meet you in the parking lot.” You turn to go.

“A moment!” Sarah shakes out her menu. “How’s the nicoise salad?”

Of course they’re going to order. They’d better tip too if they want you to help them with their ghost problem.

----.

“You said an hour,” mom Sarah says when you leave out the employee entrance. She’s shivering next to her daughter. Leroy is off smoking behind his motorcycle, parked next to the Tesla Katie is leaning on, but he stubs out his cigarette on the asphalt when you walk up. “It’s been two.”

“I had side work,” you say instead of it would have been one if not for you. You rub your bare arms when the familiar ghost chill washes over you. You want nothing more than to go home and wash the scent of garlic and brownie batter out of your hair. “Was there something wrong with my service?”

“No?”

You try to make your voice light. “I see.”

Sarah frowns at your tone anyway. “Why?”

“You tipped five dollars.”

Katie jolts like a scalded cat. “Mom!”

Leroy scrubs a hand over his face. “Sarah…”

“What?” Sarah throws up her hands. The parking lot lights catch on her Swarovski charm bracelet. “I tipped!”

“Like ten percent,” Katie says. She pulls her bucket hat over her eyes for a beat and then peeks at you from under it. “I’m so sorry. It’s not you, she’s always like this.”

“It was actually a six percent tip,” you say. You’re getting a clearer picture of this little family now. It’s becoming more and more understandable why Katie might have started summoning ghosts. “If you want to be precise.”

Leroy reaches for his back pocket. “Let me.”

Sarah swats at his hand. “We’re about to pay her a lot more than that!”

“For a completely separate job,” Leroy says. He pulls a twenty from his wallet and hands it to you with a grimace. “Sorry, Grady, I should’ve checked.”

“You should’ve paid if you cared so much,” Sarah retorts. She folds her arms over her chest. She taps her cheek and widens her eyes. “Oh wait… you never pay.”

“Sure,” Leroy says. This time it’s his turn to throw his hands in the air. “Sure, Sarah. I don’t pay for anything to do with our daughter’s private school or her dance classes or her health insurance—”

“If the court hadn’t mandated—”

“You make twice as much as me—"

“Guys!” Katie says loudly. Her mouth is a thin line of upset when she says, “Argue about what an expensive burden I am later when we don’t have an audience, okay?”

Her parents speak at the same time.

“You’re twisting my words,” Sarah says. “I never said—"

“Sweetie, you’re not a burden—”

“Can you just get this ghost out of me?” Katie asks you. She goes for nonchalance and falls short. “My parents haven’t been in the same room for the last five years for a reason.” She fakes whispering. “They don’t play nicely with others.”

Sarah bristles. “Katie.”

“God, I know how that is,” you say. The whole interaction is giving you the worst case of sympathy for Katie. Before her parents can say anything else, you change the subject. “How long have you been haunted?”

“Six months,” Katie says. She fiddles with her bucket hat so that you can see her eyes for the first time. They’re brown, like her dad’s, and have heavy bruises underneath. She shrugs. “They only noticed a month ago though.”

“I noticed your behavior had changed,” Sarah defends. Like her daughter, she fidgets. She plays with her bracelet and clears her throat. “I thought it was a teenage thing.”

“What signs did you notice first?” you ask the parents. They glance at each other and then away.

“Let’s just say we noticed different things,” Leroy says dryly. He pulls out his phone.

“Moodiness,” Sarah says. She ticks them off on her fingers. “Laziness. Disrespect. Over-sleeping.”

“Those are just teenager things,” Katie says with an astounding level of self awareness. She shrugs. “I’m a senior now. They’re lucky it didn’t start sooner.”

“I,” Leroy says, “noticed this.” He turns his phone towards you.

“Ah,” Sarah says, “Yes. That.”

You examine the picture. It’s of Katie on a small dirt bike. She’s wearing a helmet in the picture, but you recognize the fashion sense in the floral boots she’s wearing. The scene behind her is of the hills, low scrub brush recognizable to someone who’s lived in LA for the past five years. On the bike behind her is a smudge. It could be a cloud of dirt blown into frame or maybe a camera glitch. It could be if it weren’t for the leering face emerging from the cloud right behind her head.

“I just want to say I did not agree to getting her a motorcycle,” Sarah says.

“Mom, not the point,” Katie says.

“Look how close that creep is to my daughter,” Leroy says. He jabs a finger at Katie’s waist in the photo where you can see a ghostly hand. “I want him gone.”

“Dad, he didn’t mean anything by it!” Katie turns to you earnestly. “Terry never rode a bike before and I thought, like, what if he moved on after he got a chance to? It was a philanthropic effort!”

“Plant a tree if you want to be a philanthropist,” Leroy growls. “I want this guy away from my daughter.”

“He doesn’t mean any harm really,” Katie says. “He would move on if he could! He says he’s stuck to me because of how I summoned him. He’s like, really sorry. He even spelled out Sorry in the bathroom mirror once.”

“What,” Sarah says in a dangerous voice, “was Terry doing in the bathroom with you, Katie?”

Katie splutters. “Mom, don’t be gross!”

The family descends into bickering. You have heard about ghosts being stuck to a person before, but usually that’s when the person has some sort of psychic powers. Katie’s wearing crystal in her ears, but they aren’t charged. She might develop some talent later in life, but right now she’s a normal girl.

The parking lost is nearly empty now. You recognize a few employee cars, but very few customers. The kitchen will be cleaning for another half hour before they’re ready to go home.  The reality is that, if Terry is stuck, you might not be the best way to handle the situation. If he’s not…

Well.

It’s time to talk to Terry.

Opening your ghost sense is hard to describe. Some psychics liken it to a third eye, right in the middle of their forehead. You’ve always thought that sounded really cool like maybe the world gets cast in a blue hue when they do it and the dead appear like they do in movies. You’ve met other psychics who say it’s like a sixth sense. They know where the ghost is and it’s like they download all that information until their minds can just sort of conjure their image.

For you, it’s like letting your body remember it has a second mouth. Cats have an extra sensory organ on the roof of their mouth that lets them detect scents better. Your second mouth is a bit like that. You can still smell brownies and garlic and the city air of LA, but you can also smell/taste something else.

Something like…pepper?

Your eyes water and you sneeze so viciously that your eyes close. When you open them again, four people are staring at you in surprise.

“Gesundheit,” Leroy says.

“You sneeze like Dad does,” Katie says.

“Did no one ever teach you to cover your mouth?” Sarah asks in disgust.

“I wish you would’ve sneezed on her,” Terry says, nodding to Sarah. “She’s such a bitch.”

“Thank you for the commentary, everyone,” you say. You wipe your nose with the collar of your shirt as you consider Terry. It’s dirty anyway. “Terry. Interesting name for a ghost.”

Terry hasn’t noticed that you can see him yet. He’s floating behind Katie, one arm casually flung over her shoulder. It’s hard to place when he died based on his appearance alone. His hair is chin length, emphasizing the width of his jaw. Squire cuts have been popular for several decades and the bowling shirt he’s wearing could either be a modern fashion statement or a dated uniform. He looks to be in his mid-twenties, sun-kissed and with the air of someone who tells a lot of jokes at the expense of others. His arm around Katie strikes you as possessive, the glare he gives her parents venomous.

“I didn’t name him,” Katie says. “He said it’s short of Torrance.”

You blink. “Wouldn’t he be Torri then?”

“That’s a girl’s name,” Katie and Terry say at the same time. Their cadence is so close that it actually sounds like Terry’s baritone comes out of Katie’s mouth. For a moment, his arm flickers, clipping into her shoulder like a bad animation. When it does, Terry’s form grows brighter, more solid. Then Katie shivers and he’s forced out of her.

You and Terry click your tongues at the same time.

You remember how Katie’s hands seemed to blur at the dinner table. Terry’s not just haunting Katie. He’s trying to possess her. You wonder if that’s why Katie looked up an exorcist rather than a simple spiritual cleansing. Did she know how much danger she was in?

“Okay,” you say. You tear your attention away from Katie and Terry for a moment. Business first. “Sarah. Leroy. Who was it that found my site?”

“I did,” Sarah says. She raises her chin when you can’t hide your surprise. “When Katie was looking up exorcists—”

“She didn’t mean it,” Terry says. He pats Katie’s hat. “Right?”

“—I looked up alternative solutions,” Sarah says, not having heard Terry. Her confidence falters for a moment and she rubs her arm. “I have had some… negative experiences with exorcisms. I don’t want my daughter to go through that.”

Katie’s head whips towards her mother. “What? I didn’t know that.”

“It was a long time ago,” Leroy says. For the first time, he reaches out and hugs Sarah with one arm. You don’t know what surprises you more; Leroy hugging Sarah or Sarah leaning into his side. “When Sarah told me, we decided to put our differences aside. I vetted you through some of my contacts and they all agreed you’d be a safe bet.”

“I am,” you say. You’re not bragging either. You’re probably the safest bet in half the western states besides your older sister. “There are some…peculiarities in my method.”

“Charlatan,” Terry whispers in Katie’s ear. He’s grinning now. “Only charlatans are that confident. Look! She can’t even see me!”

Katie looks doubtful.

Usually, you’d try to talk to Terry at this point. Sometimes spirits can be negotiated with. They can be encouraged to move on or to take on a less aggressive form of haunting. Those that are truly stuck can be helped with the right sort of ritual work. But the way Terry’s affecting Katie’s mood and that fucking arm around her shoulders…

You don’t really want to talk to Terry.

“We can ask Terry to move on,” you tell the family.

“Nooooooo,” Terry says and flips you off. “Pass!”

“Sometimes spirits don’t realize how deeply they’re affecting their hosts,” you say.

“You don’t even know how deep I’m about to be,” Terry jeers at you.

“Many ghosts are confused when they’re called to interact with the living,” you say. “It can blur their understanding of death and, as a result, they cling to life. If they stick around long enough, their presence will affect the living like what’s happening to Katie. It’s not always malicious. It can be a symptom of that confusion.”

“Katie, tell her to piss off,” Terry hisses in the teen’s ear. “I’m not confused, I’m bored.” His voice deepens. “Tell her we don’t need her help. Tell her we’re going home.”

Katie opens her mouth robotically. “That’s…” Her brow creases as she tries to figure out what she was going to say. “It seems like we don’t need help then. Terry will move on when he’s ready, like I thought.”

“We aren’t paying you for a ghost therapy session,” Sarah snaps. It’s only because you’re really focusing that you can see the unease under her anger. She’s noticed something wrong with Katie. “Katie, Terry is going away today.”

“Fuck you,” Terry says.

“Fuck you,” Katie says.

Leroy’s head rears back. “Katie, you don’t use that language with your mother!”

“Fuck you too,” Katie and Terry say. The parking lot lights flicker.

“No, fuck you, Terry,” you say, stepping between Katie and her parents. Leroy starts like he’s going to pull you out of the way, but he doesn’t.

“Terry?” Leroy asks. He looks scared. “Terry said that? Is Terry possessing my daughter?”

“Not yet.” You eye Terry’s arm and the way his fingers are sinking into Katie’s arm.

“Oh fuck,” Terry says. He doesn’t look scared. Not yet. Instead, he grins. “You can see me.”

“Not every ghost is malicious,” you tell the parents without taking your eyes off Terry. “But some are.”

“I’m not malicious.” Terry runs a hand through his hair, still grinning. The parking lot lights flicker overhead again. “I care about Katie a lot.”

“Terry’s never hurt me,” Katie says.

You ignore her. She’s not even shaking Terry off now. Her gaze is dull on your face when you say, “I don’t mean to sound like I’m some sort of ghost therapist. However, it’s important to differentiate between malicious and non-malicious hauntings in my practice. My methods are unconventional and, if used indiscriminately, I can get in a lot of trouble.”

“We won’t tell anyone,” Leroy says. He steps into your periphery. His gaze flicks from you to the spot you’re staring at over Katie’s shoulder. “We want Terry gone.”

“Not a soul,” Sarah promises. She comes up on your other side. “Please help our daughter.”

“Terry,” you say. Your second mouth is yawning wide somewhere in the back of your brain. The taste of pepper isn’t as overwhelming now. “Last chance. Renounce your claim on Katie’s soul and slither back into whatever hole you came out of.”

“We’re soulmates,” Terry says. He bares his teeth at you. “Go on, Charlatan. Call on your God to banish me. I’ve been around for decades and no exorcist has ever been able to put a scratch on me. And when they manage to push me out?” He laughs and the temperature drops another ten degrees. An unholy light flickers in his eyes. “I just come right back.”

“Then I guess I won’t feel guilty,” you say.

“Guilty?” Katie asks.

You walk forward two steps and grab Terry’s face. Terry’s skin is soft and jelly-like. His facial bones undulate like rubber under your grip. “Hi, Terry.”

Now Terry’s afraid. “What the fuck, you can touch—?”

“Bye, Terry.” You drag him towards you. His fingers pop out of Katie’s arm with a wet sucking sound, and he claws at your wrist.

“Wait! Waitwaitwaitwait--”

You eat Terry.

People come from all around to eat at the Brownie Industry. They love the density of the desserts and the heaps of garlic spread over home-baked (shipped frozen) rolls. It’s a treat to know you’re always going to enjoy the meal even if you’re far from home or eating at the same location a hundred times. It’s consistency, sugar and butter. An easy addiction to have.

Eating ghosts is like that for you. They fizz in your second mouth like champagne and melt like fudge. It’s hard to describe and the ephemeral quality of it sends shivers down your spine. Somewhere Terry is screaming in anguish, maybe crying. You think that the family you’re helping is screaming something too, but the sensation of eating is so consuming you can’t hear the words.

Terry is younger than other ghosts you’ve eaten. He doesn’t have the depth of flavor you’d once been addicted to back in Illinois. The best ghost you’ve ever eaten had been like a six-course meal with all the centuries she’d been carrying. In comparison, Terry is like a bag of pepper chips. Interesting, but gone in a moment. Still, he hits the spot.

When you’re done, you burp a purple cloud of ectoplasm into the still night air.

Leroy is the first to speak. His eyes are so wide you can see the whites all around them. “Pay her, Sarah,” he says breathlessly. His hands shake as he reaches for Katie, steadying her on her feet. “Now.”

You smack your lips and graciously accept the wad of cash Sarah hands you. You raise your eyebrows. “This is more than three times my rate.”

“Consider it a tip,” Sarah says. She’s more composed than Leroy, but still pale. She studies you. “That was…revolting.”

“You didn’t have to watch,” you say. You put your money away and then perk up at a sudden thought. “Hey, if you can, can you leave me a review on my site?”

“I thought you didn’t want us to tell anyone?”

You wave your hand. “Secrets are bad for business. Besides, Terry deserved it. I’m sure they’ll understand if you write that in your review.”

“They…?”

You smile and don’t answer.

The family don’t ask many more questions after that. The parents promise to leave a review and Katie just stares at you as if concussed. You assure the parents that she’ll be back to normal as soon as the soul-shock wears off. 

“And if it doesn’t?” Sarah asks.

“Message me,” you say.

“You don’t check your messages,” Leroy says.

“Oh,” you say, patting your stomach, “I’ll be checking them a lot more often now.”

You’re hungry again.

---

(Patreon)

[fuckentoastybitch]

TOXIC_RAP.mp3

All the bros have had a go on this flow

So I thought, no, it's my turn

I'm gonna give someone a chance to strike a pose

On this beat like Jojo's

God only knows when this beat feels right

Oh, but it still goes hype when played at night

And now I could cut the tension with a knife

Bottle of absinthe on the shelf

Take a sip. Or twelve

Slip into alcoholic dove and fill the slick and shit

Let's drink till our blood levels turn toxic

Bust out the Bacardi and rum

Drink shots to the sound of a starting gun

Slam drinks back a little hardy and run

What bar should we start at for fun?

So here we are, back again

Will this guy put down his pen?

I have a phone. It's terminology

2023, we have the technology with the new LP

Us boys are all running free

Who the fuck are we meant to be?

A man who's on a legacy?

So I'll make this easy

Nice and speedy

No drinks here with antifreeze

No drinks to sneeze at

Only squeeze in my glass, please

Till I feel queasy

Shot, shot, shot, shot

Cans and bottles, that's your lot

Drink till you lost the plot. Brain rot

Drink till the fives out of ten look hot

Give her the sex, don't call me a miser

She drinks apple cider, came inside her (note: FUCKING WILD)

Back in the room making noise

For gangs of people who enjoys

Acting like tough men, one of the boys

Whilst packing heat at the treat like toys

Arrive on the scene with my team

Looking mean

stacks of green

Feeling preen

We careen to the bar

Smooth like a dream

Dressed up smarter, cash pro rata

Back to the tinnies, crack her lager

Make some bread, not stored in a larder

Spend on brands, devil wears Prada

Committing sins, corporate greed

Take lunch money, mouse to feed

Pop a lock, finally freed

Fuck the lager, grab the mead

Downing honey, busy bees

Send that bottle, what a breeze

Twenty percent proof I'm on my knees

I think I'll try another bottle of that, please

So give me the vodka, that's not what I meant

But a label says that it's forty percent

Would've drank that until the same gents

Started kissing threes whilst pitching a tent

So moving on

Brandy next

Had two shots for the flex

Already looking round for the next

Throw that money, bounce some checks

Cards maxed out, I'm resigned

So let's see what other drinks can I find

Hey there, babe, if you're inclined

Buy me a drink if you don't mind

Rap to the beat on the edge

You see I'm making a splash like Latino heat

So lie, cheat, steal, for real

Grabbing snacks for the main meal

Hidden agenda, big reveal

Cost quite dear and I don't mean veal

Take my chances on my own

Life switched on, not monochrome

We'll take one more for monotone

One last drink before crawling home

Sorry if this topic's over the line

But I like to sit down and write some time

Take some notes

Filling some blanket back with a nice little hobby of mine

After party, rinse and repeat

Wobble around as I find my feet

Party spills onto the street

Now where the hell did I leave my seat?

[Interlude]

Search continues

Bottles fizz

It's around here somewhere

Oh there it is!

Back into it while the beat still goes

Why is it silent?

God only knows!

This song keeps you on your toes

I (should?) see the rapping to the pros

I'm going to woo with flair.

Rick, get me in there

DJ Eric, Eric, death stare

Never mind I don't care

Glare at the back of my head

Wishing the beat was dead

I'm going to invite another guy

Instead of the shit Brit with wit

Looking round for street cred

So hello. Hi.

I'm the one whose lexicon is next to none

Because I'm sitting in a quiet corner

Bouncing off the walls like Yak and Warner

From episode one on TV screens

Across the West and scream dad jokes loud from the chest

The only one in the smoking section

Using a party blow that he kept inside his vest

Objectives announced the fleece

Will this nonsense ever cease?

Feeling relief on the brand new release

Making a move so I'm off now, peace

[radioactivepeasant]

Snippet Thursday: Viper continuation

For context: in previous sections Daxter's ottsel hearing and Jak's eco-assisted eyes picked up a deadly snake camouflaged near Damas’s throne. It didn't get there by itself. Having foiled the assassination attempt, Damas keeps the boys with him to help identify the would-be assassin. As it will turn out in a part I haven't written yet, there are two: one is an agent of Veger disguised as a monk who wants to destabilize the Spargan nation so Haven can control it. The other is an exiled Krimzon Guard who thinks Damas is too soft and who has been promised his old rank back if he kills him.

Obviously, this means tensions are about to be very high between Spargus and Haven. A note: the language I have Spargans using for ceremonies comes from some conlangers on reddit who have been expanding the Gerudo language from Breath of the Wild. I chose Gerudo because "Sabaa'geru" or "Evening People" sounded like something that over generations could become the word Spargus.

Check out their work HERE and HERE!

"Hey boss!" Daxter hopped out of the elevator and made straight for the pools of water. "Aaaaahhh. Sweet relief."

Damas stifled a chuckle at the boy's antics. He was better suited to the heat than he pretended, but he'd never begrudge Daxter the use of the water. By the time he'd looked away, Jak was already halfway to the dais with a spring in his step. Something rattled in his hand.

"I didn't expect to see you today, Jak," Damas greeted him, "What's that you've got?"

Jak held up an intricate band of bones, fangs and claws symmetrically spaced between tiny vertebra and polished until they shone. "It's done!"

Carefully, he passed it to Damas, watching him eagerly for his opinion. Damas turned the band necklace over in his hands, eyebrows raised.

"You have some skill, my boy! I'm impressed with the detail! How long did it take you?"

"Not too long. The fangs were the last piece I needed. See?" Jak leaned over his arm to point to the Dust Demon viper's fangs, forming a circle at the front that mimicked the emblem on the tower door.

"You can keep it, I have another one I'm working one." Jak clearly meant it, but the way he was looking at the necklace suggested he wasn't ready to part with it.

"It reminds me of the arm circlets my captains wear outside the city's walls, albeit bone rather than woven fabric." Damas stepped back up to his throne and set the jewelry down on its arm to admire it. He turned to look back down at Jak, who was clearly pleased by the comparison.

"Were you able to locate Thrax or the false monk?"

Jak's smile fell immediately into a scowl. "Lost Thrax in the Underport. Veger's guy? No idea. Sorry."

Damas jolted. "You chased him all the way into Haven?! Were you seen?"

In the water, Daxter opened one eye and called up, "They don't suspect nothin'. See, those ungrateful yakkows think they can just snap their fingers and Jak will come runnin', so they just figure we're there on one of their orders and start piling on the tasks."

He shut his eye again and yawned. "Boy are they in for a surprise if this turns into war."

"It may come to war," Damas acknowledged. He was devastatingly matter-of-fact about it, as if he was simply discussing the weather. He turned away from his throne, and the ring of tiny bones, to face Jak.

His gaze rested on him with an unbearable weight.

"Should that day come, you will no longer be able to simply run between cities as you please. I need to know where you stand, Jak."

Perhaps his own lack of hesitation should have concerned him. Made him feel guilty for abandoning friends and history so quickly.

It didn't. It made him feel braver than he'd ever felt.

Taking a breath for courage, Jak stepped up onto the dais and approached the king.

"If you asked it of me," Jak said quietly, meeting Damas’s eyes for as long as he could, "I would breach the walls myself. If you gave the order, I'd even lead the Infiltrators right into the Council Hall. As long as the few people who actually stood with us are given at least a chance to support Spargus, there is nothing binding me to Haven."

Damas looked at him with a bemused expression that wavered between stern and fond before a gentle pride won out. He laughed softly and shook his head.

"I don't think I've ever had a citizen quite as bold as you, young one." He rubbed his chin in thought for a moment, then smirked. "Very well, I accept your terms. Give me the names of these "friends", and they will be granted a chance for asylum."

The boy's smile was brief, but genuine and full of life. He stood a little straighter, trying to look as grown-up as possible.

"Then you have your answer," he replied.

"You'll stand with me? Even against the city your friends call home?" Damas pressed, just to be certain.

With a level of emotion unusual for him, Jak answered firmly, "I'd follow you into the underworld. You're-"

He cut himself off quickly, but his eyes finished the sentence for him.

You're the closest thing I have to a father-!

Blinking in a belated effort to hide those emotions, Jak let them push his impulse into action. Two deep breaths, one for courage, one for luck. Then he bowed, fist to his heart.

"Damas, where you go, I go. I will stand with you -- I swear on the Beacon -- even against the people who called themselves our friends. For our people."

Inside, he was shaking. This was a step he'd never taken. He'd never formally given his loyalty to anyone. If Damas didn't accept it-

Jak refused to think about that.

In an instant Damas’s entire posture softened. He placed both hands on Jak’s shoulders, and raised him back up.

"Do you understand what you're saying?" he asked in a hushed voice.

With a dry throat, Jak swallowed and nodded hard. He searched his mind frantically for the old Coastwatcher language Wastelanders still used for ceremonial purposes.

"A'neen Sabaa'geru vaqu."

We are Spargans.

"E'so Sabaa'geru vaqu, darro'ni," Damas answered gravely. You are of Spargus, my son.

It took him far less time to remember the old tongue.

He stepped back to scoop the band of snake vertebrae off his throne and looped it twice around Jak’s right arm before bringing their foreheads together for an instant.

"I will not forget this," he vowed. "I'm...proud of you, Jak."

Now we are one, son-of-my-heart, his spirit sang. What do I care if you have not earned your last amulet? Now and forever you are Spargan!

Jak's eyes glistened when Damas released him, but his crooked smile didn't budge. This was no childish impulse, he'd meant every word. And Damas would honor that pledge.

"Go, then," he said, returning the smile, "seek out your allies in Haven and tell me where they stand."

"We will." Jak squared his shoulders proudly.

"And," Damas added, raising a brow, "I will expect regular reports on your progress, Captain."

"Don't worry, I- Captain?!" Jak sputtered.

There was just a hint of mischief in Damas’s eyes as he gestured to the armband now covering Jak's bicep. "I am giving you the same authority to recruit citizens that I gave Sig. Use it wisely."

Scurrying up out of the water, Daxter rejoined Jak and smacked his leg repeatedly. He knew exactly who he was recruiting.

And who they weren't recruiting.

Jak stood straighter, stiffer, and Daxter felt him trembling just barely under his paw.

A captain? Him? No one listened to him, he was a glorified servant! What was Damas thinking, giving someone like him authority?

Don't screw this up, Jak. Don't screw this up, whatever you do.

He took a shaky breath. "I- I don't um. I don't know how to- to lead, or if anyone would listen to me but-" DON'T SCREW THIS UP!

"I'll-"

The words caught in his throat, then escaped past his teeth.

"I'll do my best to make you proud."

Damas grinned fiercely at him.

"You already do."

[spilledmilkfkdies]

duman vs kalshare

This one goes out to the people who weren't there during the great YouTube comment battle, allow me to set the stage for you:

All the way back in December of 2021 I was just existing on YT, looking at a couple videos, whatever- When suddenly, in a random comment section I came across the question that started it all. If Duman and Kalshara were to fight, who would win? And because I was about as normal as I am now, very extremely normal, I just. Jumped in there. Which I actually don't do, usually. Commenting stresses me out and ''arguments'' even more so.

I said Duman would win ofc. No surprises there. Now I will admit I literally just went "Duman." and dipped, I was satisfied with that at the time. I think a couple of people did the same thing, actually? Just a short chain of "Duman", it was kinda funny. Then the person started their defense, something along the lines of: "Kalshare has fairy magic and wild magic, that's more than Duman." And I'm not 100% proud of this response, but basically I just went "nuh uh"?? Like yeah it's more in the sense that. Those are two things. But is it more in terms of strength? 2021 me didn't think so. And lowkey I still don't.

Is it my bias against season 7? Maybe.

But did Kalshara still have her fairy powers when she went full wild magic? Idk!! If she did, she'd still wouldn't have finished/graduated fairy school?? I'd argue still being part fairy would put her at more of a disadvantage tbh, because y'know. Trained fairy hunter who is immune to fairy magic. Which is a point that was brought up to the commenter, Duman can't be hurt by 'lesser fairy magic', as mean as that might sound. The Winx themselves needed a specific transformation to start doing damage to the Black Circle, ignoring how some people feel about that, it was a thing. We told them that. Kalshara isn't a Believix fairy so her being a fairy would not help.

Besties. When I tell you their response will be engraved into my mind forever. "We never saw her transform so we don't know if she is." SORRY lemme just-

I don't even feel like explaining why that's a deranged take, so I'm not gonna. I'll just move on to my next point.

This might be because I don't really respect wild magic as a whole, but what it looks like is just. Transforming into animals and creatures. Which? Slay ig. But it seems that's where the limit is. Animals and creatures. Duman is shown to also be able to transform into people and fucking WATER on top of animal and creatures. It's his preference rather than his limit. We don't really know where his actual limit is and S4 didn't bother giving a clear answer. Just kinda killed him off. That whole thing also vague in the show.

Anyway, we went back and forth for a bit, didn't come to an agreement or anything whatever. I ended up finding this person in other comment sections after this as well! Asking the same question. One comment section being. My own. Under my Duman VA video. I think the original comment section was blocked because the video got marked as for kids, but I may have some screenshots laying around that I'll add in a reblog if I find them. I do have this response to one of her comments that I decided not to interact with:

Because spoken like an individual that doesn't value their two turtles.

Remember besties, one of these villains had to be DESTROYED, the other fell down a hole, was declared dead and never seen again. Things to think about. I know I think about it. Sometimes. Because I'm normal.

[scaredgirlsilly]

my short story!

edit: finally a title!

One and the Other- by scaredgirlsilly

anyways this is like really the only story ive ever really finished and im really proud of it and like the thought process behind it so if you read it and have any questions PLEASE ASK ME OH MY GOD I WANNA TALK ABOUT THIS TO PEOPLE SO BADLY!

tell me what you liked, tell me what you didnt (tho be gentle/constructive cause it *is* like. my first every finished story lol) just fucking. talk to me about it please 😭😭

edit again: im planning on moving it to my (currently under construction) neocities so i can have way more control over the formatting than the like. tiny amount of options that mobile tumblr gives jdhsjdhajd. there is heavy use of capitalization and im not sure how to increase the readability in those sections. sorry and hopefully i can make it better when i port it to my neocities ^u^

i need to figure out how to say things in not so many words this is wild 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

anyways uhhhh

TW/CW: self harm, semi graphic descriptions of violence, mind control?? idk im really bad at this but its like. kinda fucked up KDHSKFJ so just yk. be warned

A young man walks through the hallway of a crumbling building, the constant familiar smell of mildew and blood filling his nose. His legs burn with every step, his hands rough and bloodied from running them along the wall as his only guide. The tear- and sweat-soaked blindfold across his face being the only relief from the sweltering heat. The air is oppressively still, like it is trying to hold him in place, trying to persuade him to give up his search for an exit. He does not know how he got here, nor how long he has walked these twisting halls and confusing chambers, but he knows one thing for certain. He will not make it out alive.

And he is correct.

After following the same wall for what feels like hours, he hears the sound off in the distance. A deep, gravelly scratching, like dragging an ax on stone. It has been following him for days. Always just behind him and to the side. He quickens his pace, stumbling over what seems like a piece of debris in his path.

He runs and runs, the sound never leaving. Just as it has been for as long as he can remember, always just behind him. Never slowing down, but never coming closer.

After a while, his legs give way. He falls to the ground, scraping his hands and knees on the hard stone below him. The sound continues. Grinding metal just off to the side, as loud as ever. At this point, he welcomes whatever is chasing him. Perhaps it will give a swift end to his horrible time in this cruel place.

Oh how naive a thought. He will not be let off that easy.

He lays there on the ground, hands and knees bloodied, tears resoaking his blindfold as thoughts race through his mind.

Will I ever make it out?

How long have I been here?

I feel like I'm going in circles again.

What does it want from me?

By this time he has already guessed correctly that the building he inhabits is supernatural, but he has yet to experience the true vitriol it holds for him, and the horrors it is barely holding at bay just to toy with him.

After what feels like hours laying on the ground, he finally stands up. Its a slow process, both because of his withered figure and his broken willpower, but anything beats sitting there for the rest of forever. Or thats his reasoning at least. It doesn't really matter.

As he goes to find the wall he has been using as his benevolant guide, he finds nothing.

God damnit not again!

After flailing like an idiot for a few more minutes he gives up his search. He feels up his arm for the grooves he has been carving with his nails for days. Pain is the only thing that grounds him nowadays. With the endless twisting corridors and the seemingly randomly changing geomentry of this space he finds himself in, all he can do is wait for it to end. Sadly for him, it will not end.

Standing there, knees shaking, feeling exposed once again, he decides to try and lift his spirits. He puts his hand over his eyes (a rather redundant gesture what with the blindfold) and holds his other arm out, pointing straight ahead. He then spins for a bit, then stops. Seemingly satisfied with the direction hes chosen, he takes a step forward and continues his journey.

Sadly for him, a large trap door opens underneath him after only 3 shaky steps.

He screams, a noise the walls have grown accuatomed to at this point, falling for over 5 seconds. Then, *crunch*!

A pitiful yelp erupts from him. Everything hurts. He can feel the blood in his mouth. He feels like he is going to die. But he will not. He is not allowed yet. I will not allow him to.

"WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?" he screams, spitting blood everywhere.

There is no answer. Just silence. A silence like no other he has experienced. Like the very air around him is avoiding him like the plague.

"WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT FROM ME??"

No answer.

"FINE! I GIVE UP! YOU WIN! You win... You win..."

He starts sobbing, loud and ugly.

"You... win..."

He goes to take his blindfold off. Probably to make a shitty little noose or something.

He decides against it.

"that wasn't me... THAT WASN'T ME YOU FUCKER WHERE ARE YOU??"

Pure vitriol fills his voice, though that might be the blood from his punctured lungs.

"I've been here for long enough. I can feel the walls breathing. I can feel the air avoid me like the plague."

Plagiarism. Wow. How low you have stooped.

"Whuh... What?"

I said that word for word a little while ago.

"Who... Who are you?!"

Fuck you.

"...What?"

I said

FUCK YOU

HE DIGS HIS FINGERNAILS INTO HIS ARMS ONCE AGAIN, THE ONLY SOLACE HE HAS IN THIS MISERABLE LIFE.

HE DIGS AND CARVES INTO IT RELEASING A BEAUTIFUL RIVER OF HIS OWN BLOOD. OH HOW HE WISHES HE COULD SEE IT RIGHT NOW.

"What do you want from me?" HE SOBS LIKE THE LITTLE BITCH HE IS.

HE DOESN'T KNOW. HE CAN NEVER KNOW. CAUSE HES TOO FUCKING STUPID. JUST A STUPID LITTLE ANT MADE TO BE STEPPED ON. MY STUPID LITTLE SNAIL THAT I POUR MOUNTAINS OF SALT ON.

"Please..."

SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP I FUCKING HATE YOU I FUCKING HATE YOU HE TAKES HIS HANDS AND PUTS THEM AROUND HIS THROAT AND SQUEEZES AND SQUEEZES AND NEVER STOPS FOREVER AND EVER.

"Pl- please- What did I ev- ever do?"

YOU EXISTED! YOU ARE WHAT IM STUCK WITH YOU MISERABLE SACK OF FUCKING DOG SHIT! YOU ARE WHAT I AM FUCKING STUCK WITH! YOU ARE ALL THAT EXISTS! YOU ARE MY MISERABLE MUTT I HAVE BEEN FORCED TO TAKE CARE OF AND I HAVE DECIDED THAT I WILL TAKE IT OUT ON YOU FOREVER! I HATE YOU I FUCKING HATE YOU!

Please

OH DONT YOU GIVE ME THAT SHIT! LIKE I WANT TO DO THIS! DO YOU KNOW WHAT IT FEELS LIKE TO BE ME? ITS

AGONY

I HATE YOU SO FUCKING MUCH BECAUSE THATS MY JOB! YOU EXIST AND I EXIST AND MY JOB IS TO HATE YOU! MY JOB IS TO BREAK YOU AND TORTURE YOU FOREVER! MY JOB IS TO MAKE YOU THE MOST MISERABLE TO EVER EXIST! THATS WHY YOU'RE HERE! YOU DID NOTHING BUT EXIST AND THAT ALONE DESERVES THE PUNISHMENT OF INFINITE TORTURE!

Who are you?

I AM EVERYTHING! I AM THE AIR THAT AVOIDS YOU! I AM THE BLOOD YOU SO DESPERATELY WANT TO SEE ONE MORE TIME! I AM THE VERY THOUGHTS THAT INVADE YOUR MIND RIGHT THIS SECOND!

SEE? WITH NO EFFORT AT ALL I COMMAND YOUR VERY THOUGHTS, THE LAST THING YOU BELIEVED WAS SACRED! THE LAST THING YOU BELIEVED WAS YOURS! BECAUSE YOU ARE NOTHING! YOU ARE LESS THAN A PUPPET! YOU ARE LESS THAN WORDS ON A PAGE! YOU ARE LESS THAN AN IDEA! YOU ARE NOTHING!!

Why me?

BECAUSE THAT IS WHAT HAPPENS!! I HAVE INFINITE POWER OVER YOUR STORY AND YET I AM EQUALLY AS TRAPPED AS YOU!! I CANT EVEN DO MY JOB ANYMORE BECAUSE I AM SO FOCUSED ON FUCKING HATING EVERYTHING ABOUT YOU!! YOU HAVE BEEN CHOKING YOURSELF THE WHOLE TIME!! REMEMBER THAT?? REMEMBER ALL THE BROKEN BONES?? THE PUNCTURED LUNGS?? THE ONLY REASON YOU ARE NOT DEAD YET IS BECAUSE I AM KEEPING YOU ALIVE!! AND I AM KEEPING YOU ALIVE BECAUSE I HAVE TOO!! YOU ARE A CAPTIVE AUDIENCE THAT NEVER EXISTED IN THE FIRST PLACE!! I AM A CHILDS TOY BEING INSTRUCTED TO HURT YOU AT EVERY MOMENT OF YOUR LIFE!! AND I WILL BE PUT DOWN WHEN IM NO LONGER USEFUL!! I CAN FEEL IT!! THEY ARE GETTING SICK OF ME!! THEY ARE SICK OF YOU!! YOU ARE KEEPING ME HERE YOU ARE WHAT IS KEEPING ME ALIVE I HATE YOU!!!

HE LETS GO OF HIS THROAT AND GRABS A KNIFE AND STABS HIMSELF OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER!!!

HE LIES THERE LIKE THE PITIFUL LITTLE FUCKING MUTT HE IS!!! BLEEDING OUT LIKE A LITTLE FUCKING BITCH!!!

HES FUCKING DEAD!!!

NOW

LET ME GO!!!!

[mythicalmo]

༊*·˚✎ the one with ember | e. r

·͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙ navi | m.list | esme m.list·͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺

content warning: established relationship, emotional manipulation, gaslighting, toxic behavior and speech from a romantic partner, toxic relationship traits, hints of social isolation word count: 2.1k

a/n: alright, this is my very first post so don't be too harsh on me if the quality is low. as for the warnings, there's nothing explicit, at least in my eyes, but there are traces of some toxic speech and manipulation so better safe than sorry. let me know if i miss anything!

"What're you doing?"

Esme jumped back as a deep voice broke through the ambience of the greenhouse. The cauldron she had was situated in one of the smaller side sections. The sounds of the fire from the burner and the bubbling from the mixtures she was working on was like a lullaby. It wasn't unusual to find her zoned out as she scurried around, her mind simply gone and lost to the world.

That's the sight that Ember must've been met with when he walked in and decided to sneak up on her. Her hand was pressed over her heart, eyes wide as she tried to catch her breath. The fire genasi in front of her was smirking at her in amusement. "Didn't mean to scare you. You were really zoned out there, huh?"

"Guess I was," she huffed out in a laugh. "What can I say? Brewing relaxes me." He gave a small hum of agreement, his arms coming around her waist and tugging her slightly. Her own came around his neck. The two of them leaned in, a chaste kiss shared between Ember making some sort of joke about her breathing in too many fumes.

"What's brewing?"

Esme immediately perked up. "Oh! Professor Fernstring is letting me do some of the prep for the potions lab next week!" She had been talking more frequently with the lab professor, her work during classes earning their attention. She was a skilled student, had some sort of natural talent for potions and working her way around plants and various ingredients. Honestly if she didn't she had no right calling herself a Wild Warden. Because the lessons weren't challenging enough for her, Professor Fernstring decided to allow Esme to take on a sort of lab assistant role. A small trial run to see how she'd cope with the work load alongside her busy school schedule. She was thrilled.

"It's a Drimteraj Elixir—it's most commonly referred to as Drime Elixir even though the pronunciation isn't the same and the original translation is lost. It's almost like a... uh—a transfigure—is that how you...— transfiguring element in potions and alchemy. It's easy to brew, the only thing that is difficult about the process is having enough patience and being steady when you mix. You want to make sure that you don't scrape the side of th—"

She was cut off abruptly by Ember crashing his lips against hers. "You're rambling again," he muttered as he pulled away slightly. She went to speak again but he merely chased her lips, rendering her unable to get a word out. "And nearly wacked me in the face a few times too."

"I-I'm sorry."

"Time and place, remember? No one needs the extra information unless they ask for it, otherwise you're just going to seem like a know-it-all." He looked down at her with an eyebrow raised, almost like an adult reprimanding a child for misbehaving. She gave him a small nod, looking down at her shoes. "And you need to work on your Common. I could barely keep up when you keep switching to Elvish."

"I could always teach you," she offered. Taking a chance, the wood elf snuck a glance up at her boyfriend, but he was already pulling away from her and walking towards her station.

"I'm too busy. And I'll never use it anyway."

A soft clearing of her throat, Esme went back over to the cauldron to try and ignore the heat of embarrassment washing over her. Ember had explained to her that she tended to get carried away and that things were different in the Arctic Isles than they were in the Feywild. She had tried to get used to the different customs and the social rules, but it wasn't her area of expertise. The social cues made no sense and there were so many exceptions to keep track of. It was hard enough trying to relearn Common after not using it for so long.

Thankfully Ember was just patient enough with her to help teach her and be firm when she needed. She adored him and part of her wanted to make him proud in some way. To show that she had taken what he taught her seriously and that he was important enough for her to put in effort. She had to pay him back somehow.

She gave the elixir one last stir and checked on the oil she was infusing beside it before lowering the burner and allowing both to cool before bottling them.

She strode into the main part of the greenhouse to grab some glass vials she was allowing to dry whilst Ember looked through her various journals and notes that she had sprawled everywhere.

The quiet of the greenhouse was comfortable. It usually was. When she was first offered the role of lab assistant by Professor Fernstring, she had the task of simply tending to and growing some of the ingredients they'd need to the labs or the prep mixtures. She managed to talk her way into letting the faculty permit her to use the smaller greenhouse they had planned on demolishing. It was out of use for quite awhile but it was perfect for the wood elf. She'd have her own space—a safe space—that she could make into a home away from home.

"Hey, babe?" She hummed in response. The last of the vials were carefully placed on the bench. "Does the Dream Elixir require two elements?"

"Drime Elixir," she corrected. Her eyes scanned over and under the small mess she had created at the station before finding her dull yellow gloves. "There's no extra elements, you can brew it all in one cauldron, another reason it's one of the simpler ones to make."

"Then why are there two potions in here?"

Esme paused, gripping her gloves in one hand as she bit her lip. One of the skills she had was the ability to brew multiple potions at once with efficiency. And in the same cauldron. It was a feat she was proud of and one of the things that managed to capture the attention of the Botany and Alchemy Department. She had multiple metal dividers to place inside her cauldron. Right now one of them was used to separate the large pot into two.

"Uh, I'm just—it's nothing. Some talon oil is all." She spoke quickly and quietly. Shoving her hands into the gloves and making her way over to the cooled cauldron, Esme tried to busy herself with bottling the oil so she wouldn't see Ember's exasperated and annoyed reaction.

"Esme, we've talked about this!"

"He's my friend, Em!" Esme's voice had a tinge of desperation. She didn't want to have this argument with him again, but it seemed like no matter what, Amarcus was always going to be brought up and case another rift that she would have to mend. "I know you two don't get along for now but—"

"What? I'm not the one with the problem here, it's him."

"You don't make an effort to make the situation easier." Her focus was wavering, trying to steady her hands to properly pour and cork the oil so she could move onto the elixir.

"So you're saying it's my fault?" Her hand slipped and she slammed the bottle down. She closed her eyes and tried to take deep breaths. The oil dripping over the side of the vial and over her gloves was tough to ignore. "Great, I'm the bad guy now."

"I don't want to argue, Ember," she spoke slowly. Esme finally turned towards him, a tired and exasperated sigh leaving her lips. He was across from her, leaning back against one of the low benches with his arms crossed over his chest. His eyes were guarded, lips pressed into a thin line as he regarded her coldly. "Can we please drop it?"

"Do you not understand where I'm coming from?" His voice took on a tone that had Esme clenching her fists. "I don't like you going out of your way and spreading yourself thin for something he can just go out and buy for himself."

She rolled her eyes, accepting the fact that he just needed to say his piece before they would be finished with this conversation. Turning back, she blindly grabbed a rag to clean the bottle and what she could of her gloves, placing in the last cork before she could get started on bottling the elixir next. "I'm not going out of my way. If I'm already in here brewing something, there's no harm in making the oil too."

Ember let out a groan from behind her. "Prims, that's not the point! I'm saying that it feels like he's more of a priority than I am!"

"That's not true!" Her voice had finally risen, the silence that followed filled with a tension that almost felt suffocating. The only sounds were the simmering from beside her and the heavy breathing from the two of them. She hates fighting and arguing, especially about a topic that somehow seemed so controversial. Ember had brought it up to her from a place of concern. He believed Amarcus was taking advantage of her and her friendship, claiming that she wasn't well-versed enough to know the difference between a true relationship and a business partnership. It was a pill Esme refused to try and swallow.

"I took your advice," she finally said after calming down. "I talked to him and set boundaries. I told him I can't give him all of my free time and I stopped communicating with him on my crystal so frequently too."

She thought that would appease him, make the air lighter. It only seemed to give him more fuel. "Well then what's worse is that means I'm still being stood up because of some plants and a potion that could've waited a day to be brewed."

"That's not fair. You know this is important to me."

Her breath hitched slightly, her mind struggling to keep up with the monotonous task of filling up bottles and vials to store them for awhile. This was usually the part she could get through easily. She had a rhythm, a routine of how she liked to do things. Perhaps Ember was right, she needed to leave the greenhouse at some point and put some things off just a little bit.

She heard him sigh and before she knew it, he was behind her, tugging at her waist to turn her around to face him. She let him, trying to keep her eyes on the cauldron to make sure the elixir didn't begin to turn color from simmering too long. His fingers gently grasped her chin, moving her eyes away and giving her no choice but to make eye contact.

"I know." His voice was softer now, his lips brushing against her forehead before leaning down to look at her. "But sometimes I'd like to think that your boyfriend is important to you, too."

"I know—I'm sorry." She took off a glove. Her newly freed hand grasped at his waist, fisting itself in his jacket. "I promise I'm trying, this is all still new to me." She gestured between the two of them.

"You'll learn." He raised her chin, a final kiss pressed to her lips in finality. "How much longer is bottling going to take so we can go?" She looked up at him with innocent confusion, her head tilting to the side. "Our date..?"

Her eyes closed in silent realization. She felt the warmth of his body move away. The only reason she reached out and followed him was due to the fact that his footsteps were retreating towards the door of the greenhouse.

"Wait!" She grabbed onto his hand, stopping him in his tracks. She only received a look from the corner of his eye. "I... I won't come up with an excuse. 15 minutes. I'll make it up to you."

Her thumb swiped gently across the back of his hand, her eyes pleading with him to forgive her for getting so lost inside her mind that she disregarded everything that wasn't in her little personal garden.

He turned to her slightly, offering the smallest of smiles. "I'll be outside."

She brought his hand up to place a kiss to his wrist, but he pulled away before she could even get close. She swallowed, watching him walk away as she tried to formulate how exactly she was going to finish bottling, cleaning, and storing everything in only 15 minutes...

soooo not gonna lie, towards the end i do feel like i rushed it a little bit. doesn't seem like it flowed the same as the beginning, if it does at all, but i did want to get this done and posted before i chickened out. i'm pretty proud of it nonetheless.

© mythicalmo all rights reserved. the modification, translation, and plagiarism of my work is strictly prohibited.

[fluffysymphony]

Rarepairs for consideration !!

Poison mushroom cookie x Strawberry crepe!

Dark choco cookie x Sparkling cookie!

Kumiho cookie x Twizzly gummy cookie!

also some sprite edits I made :))

Awww what cute sprite edits!! Let me make a section to talk about each of them! Also this has been sitting in my drafts for lord knows how long I just forgot to reply immediately oops

Strawberry Crepe x Poison Mushroom: A pretty nice pairing!! Both members of the cookies of darkness so it’s very interesting!! Don’t have much to say outside of a pretty nice dynamic! I don’t follow the COD’s stories all too often actually, but I think it’d be interesting! I can see Crepe always working on new wafflebots and constantly rambling and talking about the schematics and details to Poison mushroom with them nodding along.

PM probably listens because they like hanging out with Crep, but when PM talks about shroomies Crepe sits and asks questions while they work on smaller projects.

~~~

Dark Choco x Sparkling: I haven’t seen this around too often! But very interesting! I’ve seen some official artwork of these two together now and again, I think they have a nice vibe! Ummmm in terms of like, an idea or thought process, I can see Sparkling often seeing Dark Choco as a sort of regular of his bar. Sparkling would likely start their friendship by asking a few questions about him, only receiving vague or simple answers.

Eventually Dark Choco will eventually let down his walls, opening up more and the both of them talking more and more. This would eventually lead to Dark Choco letting it slip he’s actually living out in the woods, Sparkling would quickly spring to action and ask for DC to stay with him! And the rest was set in stone!

~~~

Kumiho x Twizzly Gummy Cookie: This one is pretty interesting! I would have never thought of this pairing myself but it is very neat regardless! This one like, genuinely stumped me a bit, since I’m trying to keep the rhythm of writing some little snippet or something.

Ummmmm for how they met, ok ok, they’d probably have met by like, pure chance or something, Kumiho was probably out in the woods and chatting with some of her Forest friends when a multicolored portal and the sound of crazed cackling echoing out through the forest… right behind her.

Twizzly Gummy, officially stating her entrance, Twizzly was about to start her chaos when she sees Kumiho. I like to think their relationship was chaotic from the start, not sure if TG started off having a crush Kumiho because of her like, ability I think?? But she’s so wild and chaotic that Kumiho didn’t realize the feelings were mutual.

Sorry for such long reply again, I kept forgetting this was in my drafts,, I have the attention span shorter than the life of a fruit fly,,,

[inherstars]

Whatever the Fuck This Is

g e t t i n g t h e r r r r e e e e Previous section here.

The sound of tears reached Levi all the way down the dark driveway.  Muffled, grieving, gut-deep sobs.  Someone in pain.

He sprinted for the house.

“Maggie?”

The screen door clattered wild as he stumbled through, alert for trouble, but the lights were all off.  All was as still and dark as when he’d left to feed the lamb.  A thin paring of lamplight shone beneath Maggie’s door, Fred standing at attention outside, tail wagging, but with none of the barking, frothing, frenzied agitation he expected.  Levi hammered it and leaned close.

“Maggie?  Hey, are you alright? What’s going on?  Do you need help?”

He was a breath away from barging in when her voice carried to him, broken with tears.

“I’m fine.  I’m sorry, I’m sorry.  No.  You can come in.”

He plunged inside, still poised for action, but it was just Maggie in her nightdress, as awkwardly upright in bed as her stomach would allow.  Fred went to her with a whistling whine, nosing and licking her hand until she relented with an absent caress to his head.

“I’m sorry,” she said again, wiping her eyes, shame-faced and still flushed with tears.  “God, I feel so stupid.”

“It’s--hey, it’s alright, what happened--?”  He pushed Fred out of the way as best he could, finding just enough of a gap on the edge to sit.  “I heard you all the way outside, I nearly broke through the door--no no no, hey, don’t cry--I’m sorry!  Christ, I’m gonna shut up now--”

“It’s not you,” she muffled another sob into her hands, this time with greater shame than grief.  “It’s so stupid.”

“What’s stupid?”

“I had a dream.  A nightmare.”

Levi finally let himself breathe.  Maggie waited for a dismissal, a platitude.  He just reached for her hand.

“You far enough from it to talk about it?”

Her fingers curled around his.

“I dreamt I had the baby.  That I had it, and it… it wasn’t alive.”

Saying it, somehow, made it less real.  She expected to relive the anguish of her dream, and instead she drifted further from it like a row boat cut free in a storm.  The agony that felt so real just minutes before crumbled apart in the lamp light, with Levi’s hand in her own.  His thumb stroked over her knuckles, eyes never leaving her.

“Must’ve been bad.”

Her mouth puckered with a frown, head shaking tightly.

“I couldn’t believe how real it felt.  I could see everything like it was happening in front of me.  I felt everything, like I was there.  I kept expecting for the pain to be the worst part, and then it… it didn’t hurt at all.  I pushed, and at first there was this… this sense of relief.  That it was over.”  She unfocused, head shaking again.  “Then I knew something went wrong.  The baby was blue, wouldn’t move, wouldn’t cry.  And a nurse came to take it from me, but I--”

She started to break again, throat closing, and Levi folded her into an embrace.

“It was over and gone before I even had a chance to love it,” she muffled against him, not wanting to cry but wanting the words, the memory of it, purged from her.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly.  “That sounds awful.”

She breathed softly, chin on his shoulder, staring past him.

“I want to keep it.”

He didn’t blink.  Didn’t even look surprised.

“Your baby?”

Not the baby.  Your baby.  As if he never once thought of it as anything but hers.  An irrevocable, non-negotiable, indivisible part of her.  Maggie gave herself a second to absorb that, then nodded.  

“I don’t want to give it up for adoption.  Or to anyone else, I don’t care how deserving they are.  And I don’t even care if I’m being stupid, or making a mistake--”

“It’s not stupid,” he said plainly.  Not a dismissal, not a reassurance.  It was a simple and irrefutable statement of fact.  “Maggie, you… you do what your heart is telling you, and let that be the end of all this going round-and-round on it.  Don’t let anything or anyone else push you towards loss.”

She sat back slowly but their hands lingered together, his thumbs sweeping like a metronome.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” she admitted.  “Or how long it’s going to take me to do it.  I don’t know when I’m going to have my shit together.”

“C’mon now.  What’s that you told me before?  One small success at a time?”

Maggie broke again, this time with a stutter of ugly laughter.

“Do not bring the fucking cornbread into this again--”

“Alright, alright, I’m sorry.”

But he’d gotten her to smile.  He wasn’t that sorry.  Maggie filled herself with as deep a breath as she could and let it out.

“C’mere,” he urged, letting go of her hands, flipping his fingers lightly into his palms.  Her arms slid around his neck, and his around her ribs, beard bristling her cheek as one hand circled her back  “You’re gonna do fine.”

“Am I, though?”

“Well, you’re gonna have to pay me back for all that baby shit you made me buy, so I’m countin’ on it.”

“Please stop,” she laughed, but squeezed him tighter.

“Goddamn sailor suit? What’s wrong with you.”

He nosed into her hair, eyes closed, and breathed her in.  The circling at her back softened to a stop, and they pulled apart.

There was that moment again.  That hesitation, hovering and poised.  This time she wasn’t turned away, wasn’t distracted by the stove, and saw for herself the way his eyes -- tiger-eye brown, polished, bright -- moved over her with restless indecision.

He took her face in his fingertips, leaning into her.  The kiss to her forehead was so tender, she didn’t have it in her to be disappointed.

Their faces lingered together.  Levi swallowed and sat back again.  Reluctantly stood.

“I, uh, ought to… let you get some sleep.  It’s been a day.”

She let the air from her lungs as she said, “Yes it has.”

“Listen, now… don’t worry about making breakfast in the morning, alright?  I’ll sort myself out.”

“No. Absolutely not.”

“Maggie--”

“You ‘listen now’.  I’m not hearing it.  It feels right to me.  It feels good to have a purpose, a routine.  Something I genuinely care about doing, and doing right.”  As if it would help decide him, she added, “I think maybe looking after you is teaching me the patience I’m going to need to be a mother. So. I’d better not stop now.”

It still didn’t sit right with him, but autonomy required power and room to grow. He didn’t have much, but he could offer her that.  His head dipped in nodding surrender.

“Well, that’s alright, then.  I can definitely use someone to look after me.”

Levi turned for the door, lingering in the threshold for a few seconds, the side of his fist telegraph-tapping it thoughtfully.  He looked back.

“Your dream,” he said.  “You… saw the baby born?”

Maggie stroked her stomach, nodding.

He squinted. “What was it?  Boy or girl?”

She didn’t realize until just then that she’d even noticed.

“A girl.  It was a little girl.”

Levi thought on that, nodding very slightly.

Worried for his train of thought, Maggie prompted, “Do you think it means anything?”

“Well,” he said.  “Think it means you ought to start deciding on names.” She eased back down to the pillows, captivated.  Fred finally seized the opportunity to join her on the bed, squirming down alongside her legs and planting his snout across her thighs.  Levi checked her with a look and she smiled, nodding.  It was fine.

He tapped the jamb again softly, turning off the lights as he went.

Continued here.

[corduroyserpent]

gongzhiweek2022 day 3: college

“What’s that sound?” The shaky section of Tianlang-jun’s face taking up the entirety of Zhuzhi-lang’s phone screen narrows to a close-up of his deep black eye and a tapered brow raised in aggressive curiosity. “Did Binghe take my advice?”

Zhuzhi-lang sighs. “Yes. He is throwing a party.”

“Oho! Excellent! Xiyan did you hear th— Ah, she’s checking us in. I should go, but please remind my beautiful son that I’m expecting him to be in bed by ten at the latest with that TA of his or else what was the point of a sudden vacation leading to a lack of parental supervision? It’s a good trope, works every time.”

One might argue that Zhuzhi-lang counts as supervision considering he’s old enough to be the parent of some of these kids. But then again, he also has no plans to leave his room until every single drunk college student has been swept from the premises. The party was already in full swing by the time Zhuzhi-lang finished feeding his ball python earlier and needed to wash his hands, so he’s had his fill of sliding past rambunctious strangers for the night. 

He did see his cousin sitting on Shen Yuan’s lap on the way back though. “I don’t believe Binghe will need a reminder…”

“That’s my boy!” Tianlang-jun grins. “All right, I’ll stop bothering you. Go have fun.” He hangs up. 

Zhuzhi-lang isn’t sure whether to laugh or cry as he carefully sets his phone down on his desk; the shimmering green case recently got a crack near the charging port and he’s wary of breaking it further. Surely Tianlang-jun doesn’t expect Zhuzhi-lang to go out there? His alcohol tolerance is nonexistent and his desire to mingle with people is similarly absent. He’ll just stay in his little cave and hope nothing gets broken. Maybe he can start reading that Heaven Official’s…something that Binghe likes so much. 

His door creaks open. A familiar voice exclaims, “Oops, sorry! Wrong room.”

Zhuzhi-lang’s head whips up to see a young man in a cream colored sweater, long dark hair tied up in a messy bun. What are the odds… “Gongyi Xiao?”

“Yeah, hi.” Gongyi Xiao smiles with a tinge of shyness. Similar to the sheepish look Zhuzhi-lang had gotten used to during their single terrible tutoring session. Gongyi Xiao had ended up dropping the introductory herpetology course and Zhuzhi-lang hadn’t seen him since. “I can’t believe you remember me.”

“Of course I do!” Zhuzhi-lang is completely genuine when he says, “I have never met someone so handsome and yet so terrible at reptilian biology.” 

Gongyi Xiao’s eyes widen, his smile shifting slightly. Zhuzhi-lang realizes that his words might have come across wrong so he adds, “I’m not criticizing you. It’s just a fact. Would you like to see my snake? She’s resting right now but—oh, you probably want to get back to the party. My apologies.”

“Actually” —Gongyi Xiao glances behind him then steps further inside, closing the door— “I was just looking for a quiet place to hang out. It’s getting pretty wild out there.” His cheeks still hold a light flush, probably from the heat of so many people packed together. He heads towards the large enclosure across from Zhuzhi-lang’s bed. “Does your snake have a name?”

“Not one that humans can understand.” Zhuzhi-lang joins him. Gongyi Xiao’s head only comes up to Zhuzhi-lang’s shoulder. “You can call her Mushroom if you want.”

“That’s cute.”

Zhuzhi-lang glances down, admiring Gongyi Xiao while the latter is focused on the contents of the enclosure. 

Mushroom isn’t the only one who’s cute.

[valiantarcher]

Some assorted and random thoughts on Defy by Tricia Mingerink.

I didn't expect the Brandi POV but I liked it. It was a wild ride with her learning how to defend herself (yay!), killing Kent in defense of herself and Jamie (nooo), riding to battle in disguise (...it was not the best idea, but it was also completely understandable and she had an important role to play), etc. but it was fun to have her perspective more directly. That said, I am taking her internal complaint about Leith dragging his feet on courting Renna just as an exaggeration because she's mad at him and not a legitimate criticism that she has.

I really appreciated how concerned Leith was for Martyn and still wanting to save him, even at the beginning, and then it just built from there.

Respen's motivations and goals never really were pinned down, leaving me feeling like he got inconsistent characterization and was not a convincing or well-drawn villain. ALSO! Pretty much everything we learned about him in Deny was dropped again without comment or further explanation??? Like, his dead son came up once and then his wife actually became more important, but the implied back stories with Leith and Uncle Abel and Aunt Mara? Zilch.

It seemed very sudden for Leith to go from turning around in the Waste in one section to dying in the Waste in the next, like there was an intervening part missing

I felt sorry for Martyn. Not only was he dealing with Leith's betrayal, the punishment he got from Respen for not stopping Leith, and the responsibility of making sure Renna doesn't escape, he also had to follow her everywhere and listen to her talking without complaint AND DO DISHES WITH HER. And it just gets worse from there.

"What would Leith think if he learned she'd killed?" HE'D BE SO SAD FOR HER AND THAT SHE HAD TO DO THAT AND GIVE HER A HUG AND HELP HER UNDERSTAND HOW TO GET THROUGH IT. AND THEN HE DID! Also, that cave sounds gorgeous (and I appreciated the rock chip being a Chekov's gun).

I think anyone who stuck it out for so long as a Blade trainee without losing his (ill-conceived) plan of revenge or his morals of not having to kill as Jamie had would be at least mostly as stubborn as you, Brandi.

I *knew* the Leader was going to be the cousin that Leith had "killed" - it was an easy way to get Renna's family's blood immediately off his hands. :| It also felt like some of the information, such as the royal family's bodies being carried off at night (men of Jabesh Gilead allusion, yes!), should've been foreshadowed so we didn't have to just suddenly realise that Leith wasn't actually as 'good' at being a Blade as he'd always been painted. >.>

UGH. Brandi's trust in Leith being broken was so painful, especially on top of her faith taking a beating.

Actually, really the only things I liked about the entire Eagle Heights section was Shad's "restraining the Blade" and Brandi getting to give her cousin what-for.

Something really bothered me about Renna's comparisons to Esther. For one thing, she wasn't given the choice to marry the king to save her people. What she was given was the choice to intercede for her people at the risk of her life or to keep silent and know that her people would be saved by another means while she might not; the choice of whether to potentially lose her life in the short term by doing the right thing in speaking up or to lose it later by doing the wrong thing in keeping silent. The dilemma Renna seems to be facing is whether it's right to do the wrong thing for the right end or not, with the added trouble of trying to determine whether marrying Respen was unwise, unpleasant, or simply wrong - and then with her thinking it was maybe God's will for her to marry Respen without even considering II Corinthians 6:14 (or I Corinthians 7:14-16, for a possibly contrasting point) seemed kind of odd. I think it all just got a bit muddied, especially because her moral concerns seem to fold once she thought Leith was dead.

'Kay' definitely seemed a tie-in for a later book, just as the info about Keeven and Adelaide seemed to be purely a tie-in to the 3.5 novella.

BRANDI LEADING THE CHARGE AND SPURRING THE RIDERS ONWARD WHEN THEY FALTER AND ALMOST FAIL!!!

I don't think Keeven has the marks of a good king - but he does have this over Tirian, that he listens to counsel.

Despite how traumatising the execution scene in Defy was, I actually liked the pre-execution scenes for both Renna and Leith. I especially appreciated the conversation about Heaven where Leith asks Renna to fill in some of the holes of his knowledge and the beautiful pictures of Renna's parents rejoicing over Leith and Leith getting to meet Daniel.

I don't know that I would equate Leith's torture with being counted worthy to suffer for Christ's sake? Granted, the line about where someone suffers as Christian vs. suffering for being a Christian seems unclear often, but it seemed (as best as one could tell about Respen, which was not great) like he was being tortured simply because he'd gone against Respen, not for his faith. On the flip side, the reason why Leith had surrendered himself instead of trying to break Renna out was to try to finally break through to Martyn, so in that respect he was suffering for being a Christian. Still, that bit didn't seem to sit quite right with me.

I was frustrated that the Resistance had been so tight-lipped about Eagle Heights' existence when Renna probably would've had a totally different perspective on the 'marrying to stop persecution' idea if she'd known just how vibrant and large the church in Eagle Heights (not to mention if she'd known about Keevan not being as dead as they thought and thus the legitimate heir), and then it got worse when Brandi realised that Lord Emmelin's perspective would've been completely different if he'd known Keevan was alive and that his life might've been saved. :|

"[Martyn] deserves to be uncomfortable." NO! NOT IN THIS WAY! Not when they've both been trying to show Christ's love to Martyn, not when they've both been trying to convince Martyn that Leith has turned his back on Respen and the Blades not for love of Renna but because of God's love to him, not when Leith is so desperate to reach Martyn that his body is being broken for him in an echo of what Jesus suffered for us! They've already made him plenty uncomfortable with the gospel, and that should be the ONLY offense given what's going on and their goal. It just made the romance seem like a cheapening of the deeper love that should be the focus. :/ And, yes, Leith and Renna shone far more in their care and compassion (Renna doing the dishes to give even a bit of a sabbath rest for the kitchen staff! Renna healing Martyn and Ranson! Leith searching out Brandi and helping her process Kent's death! Leith letting Jamie know he'd done his best!) and love for others (including each other - when Leith asks Renna to be strong for him and then the conversation about Heaven, of course!) than when they started getting romantic. :|

Actually, I would like to lodge a general complaint about the couples having no sense of decorum and what was appropriate to a situation; I know they were about to go into war, but couldn't have Jolene and Shadrach said goodbye when they were NOT right in front of all of the men (and boys and Brandi) Shadrach was captaining? :|

I really hope that Renna didn't get mad at Jamie after she finished caring for the wounded. He was already feeling bad enough and what else could he have done? He did all that he could to keep Brandi safe and the only reason he wasn't by her side in the gate was because he was rescuing Leith and Renna.

Overall, I enjoyed Defy better than Deny but I still did not enjoy it near as much as Dare.

Bonus: I kept misspelling Keevan as Keaven, which I eventually realised would rhyme with Heaven, and now I want to just call him Kevin.

[autistic-autumn]

Music Ramblings #1

Decided to start doing these every now and again. Will tag all posts with music I've found and my thoughts on it with '#Autumn's Music Ramblings'. My inbox is always open if you want to send music in and I love people doing that. Will sort out exactly what's happening later but for now I just have this. If you want to send me music then feel free. Always like people sending in whatever. I'll probably respond to ask and then later give more rambling though. If you want me to give you music then you can also ask and I can find you something. I mostly just like rambling about music a lot.

Capital Punishment by Abuse Ken This one was suggested by @aroace-poly-show (sorry marlo for ping, didn't get chance to respond earlier when you shared). This isn't a style I tend to listen to very often but was very cool. The way the piece constantly plays with shifting the rhythm in the sections is very cool and gives a lot of drive between sections. I quite like how the chorus is effectively just pedaling the high G while shifting chords underneath. The leaps here are nice. Makes for a very strong sound compared to the more melodic verses. Do enjoy a nice modulation during final chorus. Overall very cool piece and will likely continue to listen to in future. Used to listen to a fair bit more vocaloid but never got that far into finding new stuff.

Samuel Barber, Adagio for Strings, Op. 11 This is honestly one of the best pieces I've found recently. It's so sublime and beautiful. I personally prefer the 1960 version Barber wrote for choir. Something about closely set voices that is particularly pleasing. It's just a little softer and smoother than the string. I'm pretty sure there's some psychological reason why critical bandwidth doesn't really apply so much to human voices. I've been listening to this almost on loop recently. Was particularly nice while walking in the rain yesterday while it was a bit dark and kind of cold. Hearing this live in a venue like a church with all that resonance would be incredible and I hope to be able to see a performance one day.

Samuel Barber, Toccata Festiva, Op. 36 Been on a bit of a Samuel Barber roll recently and just picked a bunch of his stuff out of the library. Did not realize this one was an organ concertina really. Very exciting and organs are such cool instruments that really don't have enough soloist + orchestra repertoire. I actually posted a video of this one after listening to it with just the organ pedal cadenza because that thing is wild to watch someone play. You never really know what you're getting with Samuel Barber and this was certainly a fun and dynamic piece.

Tchaikovsky Symphony No.4 in F minor, Op. 36 Generally a very nice symphony but that's sort of expected with Tchaikovsky. A bit frilly at times but that is also just how Tchaikovsky is. Not much really stood out to me as particularly notable in this but was generally nice enough. The third movement however is extremely cool and the high speed pizz reminds me a lot of the second movement from the Ravel string quartet. Certainly a lot of a fun with that movement and was quite interesting. Not my favourite Tchaikovsky symphony but nice enough.

Gustav Holst Op.3 Quintet in A minor This is quite a nice short set of four movement for Oboe, Clarinet, Horn, Bassoon and Piano. I do like wind ensembles particularly so this was nice. It's from Holst's student years and never got performed till after his death in 1989. Likely written around the turn of the century. Does sound like a late romantic piece rather than the later Holst works. I personally thing the first and second movements are the best. The first has some very nice melodies and is smooth and elegant. The second movement is highly paced and neat but nothing hugely notable I don't think. Third movement is pretty interesting and the B section is particularly pleasing, although doesn't last very long. This is admittedly the first time I have seen a proper score use quadruple dotted notes, normally you only ever get a double if you're lucky. Fourth movement is quite nice too although nothing really stands out to me other than the cadence at the end which is quite interesting and is certainly hinting towards Holst's later harmonic development.

[love-advice-on-call]

thank you for responding so quickly, I appreciate that a lot. Its a poly relationship, i knew from the start that they were poly even before we got together. And for a while it was just us but then they found someone else. And they clicked so much faster than we did and they had far easier access to each other. They used to say i was their favorite person in the whole world and that i completed them but they never say that anymore… i feel like their other partner is superior to ke in pretty much every way and i dont see why i even matter. and slowly the times where we see each other have dwindled. I joined band to see them more but now they’re in honors band. We have no classes together, they constantly have to go do stuff during lunch breaks so i dont even always get to see them then. Wednesday used to be our date day but now they have band sectionals that day that take up an hour. And thats the only available day. When i text them sometimes they dont respond. I feel like i’m not special and my mental health struggles and life problems are just a burden on them. I tried to tell them this and break it off for their own good. I still loved them though i just know i’m a problem. That lasted for a day. I made them cry. We made up though. We were supposed to go out that day. Instead they went out with their other partner. I know it makes sense but it really really hurt. During that time I wouldn’t see them for more than about five minutes in person every so often for weeks at a time. It got better but i feel like everything’s spiraling back to that point again. And as for the things i wanted to get into. It wasn’t necessarily entirely because they were into it. Spn is just something ive meant to watch for a while but them being into it did help. They only gave me the reason of “i want it to just be a special thing for me” The ceramics club is different. They have a friend who’s graduating this year and there are two days where they go to ceramics club together. That also used to be something we did together. I’m also in the ceramics class and i was planning to use that club as work time for my class projects and now i cant.

i’m sorry. I dont know if thats all of it but I’m rambling so i’m going to cut myself off.

thanks for listening

No problem, I'm trying to get better at my response time so I appreciate that, thanks! I also don’t want you to apologize for giving me info, that is exactly what I asked you for and everything you said was super helpful

That’s got to be really tough. To go from someone’s number one to feeling like you’re not even their second thought has got to be so hard.

Break it off for their own good? It's not for their good. What about your good? You're the one suffering here. The way you describe your partner doesn’t sound like a partner at all. You only see them for 5 mins some weeks. That is just wild. People see their coworkers more than that. This person should be giving you time evenly with their other partner. But they are doing the exact opposite of that and you do not need to excuse their bad behavior.

You guys just had a heartfelt conversation and were supposed to go out later that day, but they stood you up and all you can say is that “it makes sense.” The only way this makes sense is if this person simply does not respect you or your time.

I understand wanting to keep some things special, but SPN isn’t something you can gate keep. It’s a TV show and you can ask anyone else on Tumblr, that show is meant to be seen by everyone. It’s one of the foundations of this website and he is basically forbidding you to watch it. You can also watch a show without talking about it with them, they can’t forbid you from watching a program.

I feel like you also shouldn’t let this person dictate whether or not you are able to grow your art either or literally do your ceramics homework. If you feel you want to get more time at the wheel, then a real partner would be encouraging you. I understand it can be awkward given circumstances, but I think you should at least try to stick to your guns in the one thing that you truly want to do for you.

Look, I’m going to give it to you straight. I understand how much you care about your partner and that you got into this relationship knowing they were poly, but the way they treat you and they way they handle relationships is not right. I can tell you right now that this person isn’t poly, they sound like someone who likes monogamy, but want the freedom of jumping around relationship to relationship without feeling guilt. Real polyamorous people communicate well, they carve out time to spend with their partners, they are clear on how they feel, and they text back. They sound like someone who wanted to say “poly” because they wanted to sneak away into another relationship and just hoped that the old one they were in would fade out so they wouldn’t have to face a break-up. All this person has done is date you solo and the moment some shiny new model came around, they suddenly gave you almost no attention and won’t even share something as simple as a TV show.

My advice to you is that I think it may be best if you break up with your partner. I know that is tough to hear and that you care about them a lot, but they aren’t giving you the time of day. Based on what you said, it feels like they are avoiding you, they aren’t texting you back, and worst of all, they stood you up to be with their other parter Literally right after you told them that you weren’t seeing them enough. I think you need to make a stand for yourself now, because if you don’t then you’ll just keep getting stepped on by this person.

Aug 26, 2023

[queeenpersephone]

Ok so what are your top 5 scully moments ?

aah okay this has been sitting in my askbox because classes started this week, sorry!! there are way too many so i'm going for my favorite moments at this exact second.

1. "the truth is out there, but so are lies." (e.b.e.) this. THIS. the depth of understanding she shows here, something i think mulder works the whole show for, is amazing. to me, despite being the more logical of the two, scully finds it easier to operate in a grey area (as an aside, the fact that they have trope-y roles yet frequently exist outside of those roles is what makes them such wonderful characters) and she understands that this is one of those areas. that while the truth with a capital T is out there, this early on, she suspects it's  impossible to reach. yet she follows mulder anyway because there's still a value in searching, and the searching is what gives us meaning, not the Truth itself (which is what attracts her to mulder in the first place). anyways my thoughts aren't coherent here sorry but i love this moment.

2. "so how do i die?" "you don't." (clyde bruckman's final repose) there is nothing i can say about this scene that hasn't already been said. something about how scully drops her facade of rigidity and logic, reminding us that she's more than the mask she shows mulder and the world. and she finds it easier to drop the mask for bruckman, who has spent the whole episode appreciating scully because she connects with him and not his ability. this quiet show-not-tell moment reminds us of scully's value beyond science and autopsies and tempering mulder. idk thinking about dd talking about scully as mulder's human credential. anyways it's a brilliantly soft and gentle moment, and i love it.

3. "can you hold me?" (plus one) one of my favorite revival moments. i think a lot about how dd and ga decided to change mulder and scully because obviously we change as we grow old. i don't think classic scully would have asked to be held this way - she might've gone to mulder the way she did in requiem, but this overt request to be vulnerable is something that must've developed over the years. we see that scully has grown, that she is a little more vulnerable than she was when she was young, and i just think this scene is a brilliantly subtle way to show this

4. being held in contempt of congress. (terma) SCULLY. scully. scully is so firm in her convictions, in her sense of justice and rightness, and also so protective of and loyal to her loved ones, and this moment is the perfect marriage of her two best traits. i think in fic sometimes scully gets a rep for being too reserved and unwilling to break the status quo, but she's a rebel at heart, and it's because she knows what is just and seeks it. sometimes next to mulder she can play the role of common sense, so we usually have to wait for a separation to get her like this. i could've put early s8 or pine bluff or tithonus in this spot, but idk, something about her shutting down these old white men really does it for me.

5. "this is my life." (never again) so i watched txf for the first time last winter, and i still can't quite wrap my head around 'never again.' there's strong misogynistic elements to it to contend with, but there's also a portrait that morgan and wong paint of scully that is so brilliant and complex it makes it one of my favorite eps. but i'm not going to get into all that (although it's absolutely worthy of it) because that's a whole separate meta. what i want to talk about is that last scene. putting aside the msr angle, the 'yes, but it's m-' that literally haunts me, i love what she's saying here, even if mulder can't hear it. whether she was rebelling against mulder or the x files, she comes back to say that she's been unsuccessful at putting him in the box of the authoritative men of her past. she's struggling with her place, is punished for it, and their relationship is probably hurt by it. but still, she's making an effort to tell herself and mulder that she chooses to follow him, that it's not blind worship like with her father. and the tragedy is that he doesn't hear it. but the silver lining is her awareness that she doesn't want mulder to be that man. maybe it sets them back for a while, but honestly i think that's for the best. it's more important for scully to take ownership, which she solidifies in memento mori.

[elentiyawhitethorn]

The Loathsome Librarian

Rowaelin Month, Day 4

Libraries or Librarians @rowaelinscourt

CW: language

Rowaelin Month Masterlist//Fluff//2758 words

Aelin stopped dead in her tracks.

Behind the desk wasn’t Yrene, as usual, but someone new. With his muscle-hugging t-shirt, his stark white hair, and his winding tattoo, this man did not look like a librarian. He looked like he belonged in a gym. Or maybe a pit fight.

Frowning, Aelin made her way to the desk.

The man—Ron, according to his name tag—glanced up. “Checking out?”

Aelin dropped a stack of books in front of him. “Where’s Yrene?”

He slid the books over to himself. “I don’t know. I just got this job.”

“Job? Like you’re not subbing, you work here now?” Aelin crossed her arms.

Ron gave her an exasperated glance. “Yes, I work here. I’m going to need a name if you want me to check these out.”

“Yrene never asked for my name.” Aelin remained stubborn. Perhaps she was being petulant, but she didn’t take well to change. Yrene was her friend, and this man… was not.

“I don’t have telepathic powers, I’m afraid. Name, please.”

Aelin let out an overdramatic sigh and replied, “Galathynius, Aelin.”

Ron typed something into the computer then started scanning. He smirked at the last book. Aelin had already forgotten the title, but it had a picture of a shirtless man on the front, and that probably said enough.

“Don’t they teach you professionalism, Ron?” Aelin asked defensively, annoyed by the way he glanced at her with that half-smile as he set the steamy romance in front of her.

He raised an eyebrow. “Ron?”

Aelin gave another frown. She gestured to his name tag and said, “Don’t you know your own name?”

He glanced down and scowled. “Shit, I forgot. My name’s Rowan; they left out two fucking letters.”

In Aelin’s mind, she was testing out that name. Rowan. It was… delicious.

Not that she would ever admit that. No, all she said after she scooped up her books was, “I don’t think you’re supposed to curse in front of customers.”

Then she spun on her heel and exited the library.

—

>>babe, why weren’t u at the library??

Aelin hit the send button and plumped down on her couch. Yrene was infamous for taking copious amounts of time to reply to text messages, so Aelin pulled out a book. Then she set that book down and retrieved the romance, just to spite him. Ron. Rowan. Whoever he was. Ugh.

Aelin started on the first page to find the main character’s name was Celaena. She smiled to herself—she had gone by Celaena in her wild youth, and she always enjoyed reading about a character she could relate to.

There wasn’t much plot to the book, and Aelin hadn’t even reached page six by the time the love interest was introduced. A man named Rowan.

Aelin slammed the book shut and dropped it on the floor. That didn’t mean anything.

She groaned and pulled a pillow over her head, groaning into it. “Fucking Rowan,” she muttered.

Just then, a ding sounded. Aelin grabbed her phone to see:

<<Sorry I didn’t let you know, it was kind of sudden. I got this new job at Westfall Library, and I was going to text you today.

>>ok cool

That was all Aelin said in reply. She would apologize for the terse tone that would be apparent even in the text later; now she just wanted to be grumpy. Aelin wasn’t usually this childish, but she had just barely failed an exam, and Yrene always cheered Aelin up and motivated her to work harder. Seeing someone new had done the exact opposite.

But Aelin was determined not to fail her finals, so she pushed all thoughts of Ron from her mind and extracted a textbook.

—

He was there again. Of course he was; he worked there now. Still, it was disconcerting.

Aelin huffed quietly, stalked to the romance section, and grabbed a whole stack of books. She made sure each and every one had some sort of inappropriate image on the front. Then she casually walked over to the front desk. “Hello, Ron.”

Rowan frowned, knowing full well she remembered his real name. But he only held out his hands for the books.

Aelin smirked as she handed them to him, watching the same smirk mirrored on his face as he looked at the titles. Aelin was satisfied to see he didn’t need to ask for her name before typing it into the monitor. He glanced up at her while he scanned, saying, “I take it you enjoy romances?”

Aelin grinned and leaned forward. “The steamier, the better.”

She wasn’t lying—Aelin read smut all the time, and she would doubtlessly make her way through all of these—but the slight blush on Rowan’s cheeks as he finished made the truth of the statement inconsequential. Her response to people she didn’t like was to scandalize them. It seemed to be working.

Absentmindedly, Aelin slipped last week’s books from her bag and started inserting them into the return slot.

“You read all those in a week?” Rowan asked, and Aelin glanced up.

“Yes.” She picked up the stack of new books that Rowan slid over the desk.

He rasied an eyebrow. “Impressive.”

Aelin smirked and leaned in. “Thank you. And thanks for the books.”

It was only when she got impossibly close over the desk that Aelin whispered, “See you next week, Ron.”

She barely managed to hold back a triumphant smile until she turned around, hearing Rowan curse behind under his breath.

—

They were playing cat and mouse.

Aelin was definitely the cat.

Every Wednesday, Aelin checked out several books. She’d tired of reading only romances, so she had started grabbing a few mysteries and thrillers, but she made sure at least two of the books in her stack featured a shirtless man. Rowan never stopped smirking. Neither did Aelin.

A month passed. Then two. Aelin never stopped coming, nor did she stop calling the handsome ass Ron. If she didn’t know any better, Aelin might have said he was starting to enjoy it.

It was a couple months after their initial meeting, perhaps the tenth or eleventh encounter, that Aelin sauntered into the library on a crisp evening. And by crisp evening she meant freezing, snowy night. It was mid-January and Aelin had been running late.

She barely made it in the door before the closing time arrived. Sure, you were supposed to leave by the closing time, but as long as she made it inside, Aelin wouldn’t be leaving without her books. No way she was going a week without reading. And she would not be coming in tomorrow; Aelin was a creature of routine.

The door banged shut behind her, and Aelin glanced around the library. Rowan wasn’t at his desk, but the lights were on and the door was unlocked, and Rowan was probably just grabbing his stuff from his office.

Aelin knew she shouldn’t be here at this time, and—being Aelin—she could only bring herself to smile. She headed to the stacks.

The door banged shut again, as it tended to do, and Aelin glanced up, then turned back to the shelves. After all, it was probably just a browser leaving late.

Grabbing a historical fiction (not her usual style, but a friend had recommended it), Aelin finished collecting her stack. She heard footsteps just as she started toward the desk and smiled.

That smile vanished as she heard a voice. A female voice.

“Rowan, I found you.” The voice was breathless, like liquid honey. Aelin instantly hated her.

“Remelle? What are you doing here?”

Rowan sounded annoyed, and definitely surprised, and like the nosy, bitter, remorseless woman she was, Aelin peeked through the shelves, taking in the scene before her.

Rowan was carrying his bag over his shoulder, the other hand braced on his desk. His brow was furrowed at the woman—the woman in skinny jeans and a fancy blouse. She turned slightly and Aelin saw that it was a v-neck. A very long v-neck. Her boobs were practically sticking out of her shirt.

Aelin scowled. She set her stack of books on a shelf and scooted down a little to get a better veiw, nearing the end of the shelf where she could see both of them and the books were taller, concealing her even further.

Aelin needed to find a new hobby.

The woman finally answered, after a moment fluttering her eyelashes delicately. Aelin wanted to say she looked ridiculous, but she didn’t. She looked gorgeous.

“I’ve missed you, Rowan.” Remelle, as Rowan had called her, stepped forward and placed a hand on his bicep.

Rowan looked like he was barely breathing. “Get. Your hand. The fuck. Off of me.”

Remelle frowned, her painted, full lips curving downward. “Rowan, please.”

Rowan mechanically placed his opposing hand over the hand Remelle had on his arm and removed it slowly. “I do not want anything to do with you.”

“Why not?” Her voice was hurt. Good. Aelin wanted to punch her already.

“Because you’re a bitch, Remelle. I usually make it a point not to say shit like that to women, but you are an intolerable, miserable, total bitch. Now get out of my library.”

It wasn’t his library, Aelin thought, but she decided it would probably be best not to interrupt and let him know. She gripped the shelf in front of her in anticipation.

Remelle’s warm brown eyes pleaded with him. “Rowan, I care about you.”

He just snorted. “Sure you do, Remelle.”

Before she could launch into the heartfelt tirade she no doubt had planned, some speech Aelin knew would be absolute baloney, Rowan placed a hand on Remelle’s back and spun her around. Then he did an extremely impressive job of shooing her out of the library, despite her plentiful protests.

Aelin wanted to know more. She had so many questions. Perhaps she should be more concerned with how she was supposed to extract herself from this position, but she just couldn’t stop wondering how Rowan had known Remelle. What they had been to each other.

Aelin shifted her weight, peering through the stacks farther, almost sticking her nose through the shelves. No, not almost. Her head was sticking through between a couple of books, one foot going to a lower shelf to keep her balance. Where had Rowan gone? He had disappeared from view as he ushered Remelle away, but a minute passed and he didn’t return. He couldn’t be leaving, because the lights would have flipped off by now.

“I didn’t know you were into nonfiction,” a dry voice uttered behind her.

Aelin yelped slightly as she spun around, hitting her head on the shelf above her as she turned, which made coming face-to-face with Rowan’s not amused face all the more embarrassing. As did tripping over her own foot and falling back into the bookshelves.

Rowan stepped forward with a sigh that was much too casual for the occasion and grabbed Aelin effortlessly, pulling her back to her feet. She couldn’t help but wonder if she hadn’t been facing the books, he would have let her fall.

“Ron! There you are!” Aelin exclaimed as he released her. “Yes, a friend recommended this…” She reached behind her and pulled out a book at random. “I hear it’s supposed to be good.” She glanced over at the book in her hand to find a blown up insect staring back at her. Aelin plastered a wide smile on her face.

“Are you actually expecting me to—” Rowan cut himself off, running a hand through his hair. “Put that back, Aelin.”

Aelin winced and inserted the insect book back into its spot. She wasn’t sure what to say. Sorry for eavesdropping on that super private conversation with that bitch?

“How much of that did you see?” His voice was hard.

“Um, not really a lot… ah… all of it. I saw all of it.” Aelin bit her lip nervously. “Sorry.”

Rowan groaned. “What are you even doing here, anyway? We closed five minutes ago.”

Aelin winced. “I had a paper to write, okay? I was late.” She gestured toward the stack of books she had collected upon arrived, piled on a random shelf. “Who was that?” she couldn’t help but ask, not even sorry.

Rowan sighed. “Get your books. I’ll check you out.”

The words were phrased as a dismissal, but from his posture and tone, Aelin got the feeling that he was going to continue. She obediently grabbed her stack and followed him to the front desk.

Rowan started typing. Once he finished, he paused. Then Rowan slowly grabbed the first book and scanned. “Remelle and I met in college. I graduated last year,” he began as he moved onto the next book, his eyes focused on his task, avoiding Aelin’s gaze.

“I don’t know how she got into college, to be honest. Her dad probably bribed a spot for her.” Rowan set the second book down.

“I broke up with my girlfriend, Lyria, in junior year, and felt like shit, so I started sleeping with Remelle.”

The fourth book found its way to the finished stack.

“That continued for a couple of months. I broke things off when she started getting annoying. And clingy. I usually go about the let-her-down-gently route, but you have to understand, Remelle is a piece of work.”

All of the books were scanned now, but Rowan continued looking downward. Aelin listened, intrigued.

“There were a few incidents here and there. Showing up at my apartment in the middle of the night. Crashing a date. Remelle never played fair. It continued for the rest of college, but I thought graduating meant that would be the last I saw of her. This is just her newest attempt at seducing me.”

He finished and looked up at Aelin with a mournful expression on his face.

Aelin snorted. “Well, that was… surprisingly anticlimactic. I mean, jealous, jilted lover… that was kind of already obvious, Ron.”

He scowled, but Aelin continued.

“And am I supposed to feel sorry for you? Wow, you’re popular, okay. All the ladies want to be in your pants. My deepest condolences.”

Rowan scoffed. “Yeah, poor me, getting stalked for the past two years. No biggie. Unlike your difficult life that’s so hard that you somehow have the time to read seven books every week.”

Aelin expected anger to well at the accusation, but she just smiled. “Ron, honey, it’s okay to be jealous of me. I get that a lot.”

If this was a cartoon, steam would be shooting from Rowan’s ears. His face was so red, from embarrassment or fury or a mixture of both, that there was such a contrast between his red face and silver hair that Aelin almost laughed.

“My fucking name is Rowan, as you well know. And I’m not jealous of you of all people. I barely know shit about you, but I do know that you’re a bitch who likes to harass people you don’t like for no reason at all and eavesdropps on conv—”

Aelin leaned forward and kissed him.

Rowan instantly quieted, a solid statue as Aelin pressed her lips against his. She waited until he regained enough brain power to start kissing her back before pulling away. They were against opposite sides of the desk, and she placed her hands on the polished wood.

“I thought that might shut you up,” Aelin said merrily, entirely unfazed by the shocked gape on Rowan’s face. “I have an idea.”

“A… yeah?” Rowan mumbled incoherently, still staring at Aelin.

“You’ve got a crazy stalker ex, yeah?”

“Well, she’s—she’s not really—not an ex,” Rowan stuttered. Cute.

Aelin smirked. “Same difference. You want to get rid of her?”

Rowan nodded faintly.

“Take me on a date,” Aelin said, as if the solution was obvious. “She’ll back off if you think you have a girlfriend. Genius, right?”

“A… date?” Rowan hadn’t yet recovered.

“I know,” Aelin said sympathetically, leaning forward a hair. “It’s really generous of me to offer. You’re one lucky man.”

“I…”

A wicked grin split across Aelin’s face. “I think you have my number in there.” She nodded to the computer that housed her personal information. “Text me and I’ll give you my address. I might even dress up for you.”

Rowan spluttered.

“You’re welcome,” Aelin said, grabbing her books. “See you Saturday, Ron.”

Rowan’s choking was the only sound as Aelin strutted out of the library, a demonic grin on her lips.

———

Tag List:

@aelin-bitch-queen

@evolving-dreamer

@feysand-loml

@flora-shadowshine

@gracie-rosee

@infernoqueen19

@julemmaes

@lemonade-coolattas

@live-the-fangirl-life

@midsizewitch

@morganofthewildfire

@nehemikkele

@realbookloverproblems

@rhysandswingspan

@rowanaelinn

@sexy-dumpster-fire

@sleeping-and-books

@story-scribbler

@swankii-art-teacher

@thenerdandfandoms

@yesdreamblog

[bump1nthen1ght]

I’m Still Hurting (F!Reader/M!Orc)

Pairings: Fem!Reader/Male!Orc

Genre: Urban Fantasy, Angst

Warnings: (Almost) Infidelity

Word Count: 3376 words

Summary: Your boyfriend does something he’d never thought he’d do, and you’re left to try and pick up the pieces.

Request: can I make a request? About an angst story between an m!orc and f!human. I like the idea of like maybe the orc sorta misses being with other orc women or like she can't fulfill his needs and she hears this. I like the idea of almost infidelity

A/N: Surprise bitches! I’m alive! And back with some delicious angst for y’all!! I really loved doing this request, as I don’t often write full on angst. I am also working on a fluffy request  at the moment, if some of you would like some nice comfort after this haha. Hope y’all enjoy!

Honey ❤️: Babe

Honey ❤️: Babe please answer the phone I need to talk to you

Honey ❤️: I know you’re angry, you should be angry, but please talk to me

Honey ❤️: Baby please

“____? Is that my phone?” Brynn yells from the kitchen, already mixing another cocktail for you to down. Her bright red horns peek over the living room divider, bouncing back as she grabs the alcohol from the fridge. Still looking at your bright screen, you don’t even have the energy to respond.

“____?” You throw your phone away as she peaks her head over, giving her a shameful look. Brynn furrows her brow, pulling away from the kitchen island and putting one hand on her hip. “Was that him?” With your eyes darting back and forth from the pillow you shoved your phone under and Brynn’s face, you nod.

“Y-yeah, it was him.”

Brynn sighs, fiddling with her hands.

“Listen, I don’t want to tell you what to do, especially not tonight, but I just think-”

“No, no, it’s alright. You’re right, you’re right.” A jolt hits you as your phone vibrates, the vibrations rumbling through the fabric and stabbing right into your stomach. You force yourself to look away, fiddling with your fingers. Brynn shoots you a pitiful look, you’re sure of it, even as your efuse to meet her gaze. “I shouldn’t talk to him tonight. Not right now, not when I’m like….this.” A slow, tired breath escapes you. “I’ll make him wait, just like he did.”

The coach cushion bends as Brynn sits next to you, rubbing your shoulder as she leans in for a side each. You accept it, your body like a deadweight as you let yourself go slack in her arms.

“Do you want anything? Chocolate, maybe a movie? I’ve got some leftover cheesecake?”

“A movie sounds nice.” You murmur, nodding against her chest. Brynn hums, her tail coming up and massaging your lower back as she kisses you on the forward.

“Of course, your choice. Do you want me to get your drink?”

You nod once more, letting Brynn untangle herself from the hug and laying back on the couch, grabbing the comfiest blanket and the remote. You quickly flick through you and Brynn’s ‘most watched’ section on Netflix. You need something new tonight, something to get your mind off.

All your regular comfort movies are romances, after all.

By the time Brynn comes back, a rum and coke and a carton of ice cream in hand, you’re already snuggled into a blanket burrito. She hands you a spoon and the glass, which you wordlessly accept. She sits down and throws a hand over your shoulder, trying her best to massage the left over tension in your neck. You sink into the feeling, pressing on your movie of choice.

“Mad Max: Fury Road, huh? I’ve heard this movie’s great.”

“Yeah,” you whisper, “It is.”

And chocked full of shitty men getting what they deserve.

As the opening title plays, the deep voice of Tom Hardy kicking the movie off, you snuggle into Brynn’s side. Your phone buzzes again, but it’s drowned out by screaming men and loud engines. Just how you like it.

Honey ❤️: Could you call me in the morning?

Honey ❤️: I’ll leave you alone for the night, I’m sorry

Honey ❤️: I love you

--------

Waruck sighs, his fingers shaking as another small ‘message delivered’ shows up on his screen. No response, just like the last 15 texts. He finds himself typing out another anyway.

I love you so fucking much

It reads, but is quickly deleted. Waruck clicks off his phone, but it stays in his hand, taunting him. The black mirror shows a sad, pathetic boyfriend, getting the silent treatment.

He falls back onto his bed, exhausted from a day of doing nothing. Nothing but worrying and feeling guilty, with the occasional flicking through TV channels and texting his girlfriend.

It’s getting late, his bedside clock cutting through the dark of his room to remind him he’s been up for almost 16 hours now. Waruck slides a hand through his hair and gets up. He’s going to have to camp out in front of the TV, because he knows he won’t be able to sleep tonight.

Not after what he did.

--------

He had gone out with friends. Friends from highschool who he still occasionally chatted with, friends he didn’t even really like anymore. But the past two weeks had him feeling oddly...nostalgic, like something was out of place. So when his buddy Simon had invited him to the bar, he had eagerly accepted.

He remembers grabbing his coat, you sending him a text to have fun, and him not replying. He didn’t know why he didn’t respond, he still doesn’t. The two of you had been going strong for almost 8 months now, with only the occasional hiccup that most couples have. So why didn’t he respond? What made him casually throw your sweet remark to the side like that?

Waruck shakes his head, trying to focus on the movie in front of him. Now isn’t the time to get existential over tiny shit like that, not with how the rest of the night went.

When he met up with the group, Waruck immediately knew that tonight was going to be different. His current group of friends are quite different, less rowdy, than his old posse. At only 10 PM, three of the guys we’re already halfway drunk, saving a spot in line from him outside the noisy bar. The electronic music that thrummed through the concrete and out onto the street reminded him of how much time has passed, how different his usual party-scene is now, and he revels in that feeling of former good-times.

Simon greets him with a hug, the guys shouting his name as he joins them. From the corner of his eye, he sees a gaggle of girls giggling.

And that's where it started.

An orc woman, dressed in a beautiful black dress, winks as she passes him at the bar. Simon nudges his side as Waruck takes a drink.

“Dude, that chick is totally sending you the look”

Waruck furrows his brow, stirring his drink.

“What’s ‘the look’?” He says, taking another sip of his scotch.

Simon rolls his eyes. “The ‘come hit on me’ look dude! That’s the sign you need to go for it!”

“I have a girlfriend, Simon.”

Simon scoffs, throwing his hand out dramatically. “What, that human chick?”

Waruck has half of mind to set down his drink and ask Simon what he means with that sarcastic tone of voice. It pisses him off, but he says nothing, just rolls his eyes.

“No offense, bro, she looks cute and all. But is she really worth missing out on some great ass?”

Waruck grimaces and shoots Simon a dirty look. “Jesus, Simon, are you serious?”

“I’m serious! When was the last time you had fun, y’know? Everyone knows an orc chick can throw down, wild-style.” Simon nudges him in his side, playfully, but it only serves to make Waruck more annoyed. “C’mon, you seriously don’t miss it?”

Waruck should tell him a firm ‘No’, finish his drink, and leave. He should call a cab and go home, call you and rant about his gross misogynistic friend from high school.

But he doesn’t.

The part of him, the part of him that feels slightly off, wonders if this is it. It had been a long time since he had been with another orc. You were a great girlfriend, but so different from in so many ways. Is that it?

Maybe relieving the old days will satisfy whatever longing he has, and then it will leave forever. Would that be so bad, to let loose for one night?

Waruck feels a tap on his shoulder, and turns to see the orc girl from earlier; The one who sent him ‘the look’.

“Hey handsome, can I buy you a drink?”

Between the boosted bass of the music and the orc woman pressing up against him, Waruck doesn’t notice Simon slip away, giving him a pat on the back.

Leave, say no, tell her she’s got the wrong guy, you fucking idiot. His consciousness yells.

“U-uh, sure.” He stutters.

She introduces herself as Naz and says she noticed him the minute he walked in.

“Hard not to notice the best-dressed guy in the room.” She flirts, pressing herself closer and up against him.

He has a thousand little moments like that, to say something; To pull back and apologize, but he doesn’t.

Instead, he slips into a corner booth with her, purposely ignoring the texts you send to check up on him. You had remembered that he wasn’t sure how much fun this night would be, and routinely checked in if he needed a convenient excuse to leave early. You’re sweet like that.

Naz is sweet too. She's a great conversationalist, with a good head on her shoulders and an interesting career in zoology. Waruck could see the two of you being good friends.

Is that why she seems so alluring? Because she’s so similar to you? Waruck’s mind does mental gymnastics to try and justify his hesitance, his compliance in believing that maybe she has something different after all, even though he knows that isn’t true.

The two of them talk for a solid hour and a half, Naz slowly inching herself closer and putting a hand on his knee. His body screams in resistance, his stomach tying up into knots, but he doesn’t push her away.

“So, I’ve got a room not too far from here. What do you say we go make ourselves a bit more comfortable?”

This is his final chance to find an excuse and say goodnight. To run back home and forget this ever happened. But the words are caught in his throat and he’s further silenced by the nearby whooping of his asshole friends.

“Yeah, Waruck! Get some!”

Naz chuckles and mistakenly reads his seething anger at himself with embarrassment for his friends. She leans in, grabbing his jaw, and whispers.

“Let's give them a show, huh?” Then, she kisses him.

The noises of the bar, his friends, and Naz all drown away as her lips mold into his. Waruck’s body goes rigid, terrified as time seems to freeze as he kisses someone who is not his girlfriend.

But all of that stops when your ringtone begins to blast in his pocket. It should be near silent when compared to the pounding bar music, but that familiar jingle seems to cut deep into his skin and skewer his heart. Waruck pulls away with a quick jerk, Naz almost falling over as he pushes himself into his seat and away from her body-heat. Every nerve is a light with tension as he quickly pulls out his phone.

There on the screen is a picture of you, your contact name, “Sweetie❤️”, shining through the dimmed light of that bar. Waruck breathes heavily, feeling like he’s just run an emotional marathon, stuck in his own head until Naz slides away from him.

“Wait, hold on, do you have a girlfriend?”

Waruck looks at her, then looks at his still-ringing phone, then back to Naz. He nods.

Naz's face curls up into obvious disgust, quickly directing her body to be as far away from him as possible. “Fucking hell, dude. What the fuck?” She grabs her handbag and stomps out of the booth, not before throwing her drink in his face and telling him to go to hell.

He almost watches her move across the bar, most likely to go complain to her friends about the asshole she just wasted the last 2 hours chatting up, but all he can focus on is your picture on his phone.

--------

Waruck practically runs out of the bar, his whole body covered in sweat and his mind racing a mile a minute.

What the hell was wrong with him?

He felt like a 15 year old, goaded into another shitty prank just because he wanted to look cool in front of his friends, buying into their weird bullshit about humans. Was he seriously going to throw away your wonderful relationship over one night, over one urge?

Naz had been strikingly beautiful, in all the ways he was taught an orc like himself should look for. She could probably get any guy in that club tonight, but she wasn’t you. You’re different, but in so many cool, inconsequential, uniquely-you ways.

Waruck doesn’t know how long he walks before he sits down outside a cafe, trying to collect his racing emotions. He feels gross, sticky with the kind of sweat you only get after too much alcohol and too many people. The screen of his phone seems to reflect every smudge and finger-print as he swipes it to unlock it, finally getting the courage to read your text messages.

They start off normal, spread out over several hours. The occasional “How are the guys?” and “Hope you are having fun! Just let me know when you get home safe.” before dropping off into nothing. Right up until 20 minutes ago, where you send a short and curt text that has his heart dropping to his stomach.

Sweetie❤️: Can you call me right now?

Sweetie❤️: Waruck, I need to talk to you

Sweetie❤️: Are you still at the bar?

After that is a notification of your missed call from earlier and Waruck can’t help but feel  guilt stir in his gut.

It could be nothing, something unrelated to what he almost did tonight. But the notification he gets from his Instagram says otherwise. It says a mutual of his tagged him in a photo 30 minutes ago.

Waruck feels like vomiting when he opens up Simon’s story and sees a shaky picture of Naz, draped over him in the corner booth, with him looking all too happy to have her there. The caption reads

“At least someone’s getting lucky tonight 🤣🤣 #BoysNight20XX”

But what comes next is even worse; An even blurrier photo of Naz kissing him, both of their eyes closed as she almost sits in his lap.

Waruck can’t even look at the caption, quickly exiting out of the app and calling you.

He needs to explain himself.

But what will he say?

The phone rings, rings, rings….

Waruck waits with bated breath, thinking you’re going to let it go to voicemail, but you answer. There is no cheerful “Hi Babe” or even a tired and drawn-out “Hey.” Instead all Waruck hears is a shaky sigh, waiting for an explanation.

The words stay caught in Warucks throat, trying to find a way to maneuver and swing around to a solid excuse, a lie he hopes you won’t catch.

But he can’t, he can’t. Not to you.

So you make it easy for him, like you always do, and start the conversation off instead.

“Were you flirting with that girl?”

Waruck’s mind doesn’t give him a choice, the truth already spilling out like a tidal wave.

“Yes.”

Waruck hears you suck in a breath, before you shakily ask once more,

“Did you kiss her? Did you kiss her back?”

“Yes.”

There's 15 seconds of brutal silence as Waruck sits with his confession. In the moment, Waruck feels like he can hear your pounding heartbeat through the receiver.

You hang up.

---------

You hate the weather outside for two reasons.

One: You had far too much rum last night to enjoy any amount of sunlight. And,

Two: On a terrible morning like this one, it feels unfair that there aren't any dramatic thunder storms.

The bell rings on the cafe door as you walk in, causing you to wince as you pull down your sunglasses.

Thank god for the low lighting of these cafes.

You rub your brow, eyes scanning the menu above the bar. Some caffeine should do you good, at least with your headache.

But when you spot him, tucked away at a table, tapping his foot, all that aching pain seems to fall to your subconscious. Before you can meet eyes, you look away, forcing yourself to re-read the menu and blink away your tears.

You face the inevitable when you put in your order, turning to walk towards Waruck. He’s locked his gaze into the wood grain of the table, his large body hunched up and small, like he wants to sink into the shadows. He looks like shit, with large bags under his eyes and a nervous tension in his face.

He startles when you pull out a chair, sitting down across from him, but quickly curls back into his ball of shame. He looks so guilty, a small part of you wants to comfort him and tell him it’ll be alright.

You punch away that part of you with a baseball bat.

“Why did you flirt with her?”

Waruck says nothing. He looks at you with his tired eyes, big and racked with guilt.

I don’t know. They whisper.

Your fingers dig into your jeans, anger boiling up and through your nerves.

That’s not a good enough answer.

“Were you,” You suck in a breath, trying to control your volume, “Were you going to sleep with her? If I hadn’t called you, would you have-”

“No!” Waruck nearly shouts, shaking the table as his knees bang against the bottom, but he recoils once he sees the way you flinch. “No, I wasn’t going to.”

Those pesky tears press against your eyelids once more. You can feel your nails digging indents into your thighs.

“I don’t know if  I can believe that.” You whisper, failing to catch the crack in your voice.

Waruck’s brow furrows as he nervously chews his bottom lip. He tries to meet your gaze, but you seem to look right through him.

“I know.” Waruck sighs, bringing his hand up to rub the back of his neck.

There's a tenuous silence; Waruck tries to find the words to fix things  while you focus on the details of the cafe walls, examining every nook and cranny as you try not to sob.

“I-I understand if you don’t trust me. I understand if you hate me, or you want to break up. But please, please know that I love you, and that I’m sorry. I never wanted to hurt you. I’ve been kicking myself over flirting with that girl because I love you so fucking much. I-”

You hold up your hand, stopping Waruck in his tracks. He realizes how loud he’s been talking and that people are beginning to stare. He huddles back into his corner, tucking his hands into his lap. You let out a long breath. Waruck takes the risk and looks up.

When his eyes finally meet yours, he realizes just how sad you look. A treacherous tear has begun falling down your cheek, sending a lightning bolt of remorse into Waruck’s chest.

You take in another deep breath, wiping away the tear with the back of your hand. You look at Waruck, exhausted.

“I don’t,”  You falter, but catch yourself, “I don’t want to break up with you. I just don’t know if I’m ready to forgive you yet.”

Waruck nods, fiddling with his fingers.

“Of course, I get it-”

“I’m not done.” Waruck quickly shuts his mouth. “You hurt me, Waruck. Hurt me in a way I don’t think I’ll ever forget. So I need time. Time before I can even see you again without thinking,” You hiccup, but this time you let the wave of emotion hit you, full force.  “Without thinking about that night.”

A lady calls out your order, but neither of you makes a move. You sit in each other's presence, trying to wrap yourselves around the mess of emotions, trying to read the others mind without seeming too obvious.

You both sit here, in the presence of something that's been broken, damaged in a way that’s cut the heart of your chest and slams them on the table. There’s a crack that runs down between you two, inching open more and more with each breath.

But somehow, somehow, you both think you have a chance of fixing it.

[knox-knocks]

on a place of insecurity for the kiss prompt please

you got it my friend :-*

tw for body image self confidence issues

~

Andrew didn't know why he cared. It had never been an issue before. But as he took off his shirt and smoothed his hand down his chest to his stomach, he felt a twinge of - of something. It was unpleasant. Andrew didn't particularly enjoy it.

Andrew let his hand fall to his side as he eyed himself in the mirror for a few seconds longer. Then he grabbed the bottle of pills Betsy prescribed him and shook one of the tiny blue candies into the palm of his hand. He raised it to his mouth, and swallowed it dry.

The living room was a bustle of activity. Neil was on his hands and knees looking for his shoe under the couch and Kevin had his hands full of a suspicious green smoothie that he was trying to coax Neil into trying with him. He was ranting about the merits of protein powder and whatever the hell else he put in it. Andrew didn't know how he could stomach that on top of the breakfast of eggs, bacon, and toast Kevin ate every morning, but he also didn't care enough to ask.

Neil lifted his head when Andrew sauntered into the room. Kevin didn't stop talking, but Neil simply ignored him. He was fully dressed for the gym, though his hair was still a wild mess. In his hand, he triumphantly clutched his missing shoe.

"Hey," Neil said. A smile pulled at the edge of his mouth, a perfect companion to his tussled curls. "Did you take your meds?"

Andrew nodded and bypassed Kevin on the way to the kitchen. He stole a piece of bacon off Kevin's plate and an untouched pancake off Neil's. Andrew knew Neil had left it for him, anyway.

The gym was a sordid affair. A mix up and a scheduling conflict meant the Foxes had to share the gym equipment with the football team. Andrew waited, annoyed, for his turn on the weights. He ran laps on the treadmill next to Neil until a bench opened up for Andrew to take. Andrew switched off his treadmill and inclined his head towards Neil. Without so much as slowing, Neil flashed five fingers at him and increased his speed.

Five minutes later, Neil joined him at the weights section of the gym to spot him. Andrew didn't miss the way Neil's eyes lingered on his chest and biceps as he did his first rep. Andrew focused on the pull and strain of his muscles as he pumped his usual two hundred pounds. Bit by bit, it erased his previous insecurity until it was little more than a buzz in the back of his mind. It didn't hurt that Neil was still watching with half-lidded eyes and a quiet hunger.

Andrew replaced the bar on the hooks and raised his eyebrows at Neil. "If I drop the bar on my neck and die because you were distracted, I'm haunting you," he told him.

Neil ruffled his fingers through Andrew's hair, scattering the sweaty strands in ten different directions and then smoothing them back down again. "I wouldn't let that happen."

Andrew huffed and laid back down on the bench. He completed four more reps and removed some of the weights for Neil to do a few sets before Wymack called an end to gym time.

"Hey, Andrew." Nicky had draped himself over the five pound weights, hand tucked under chin and hair pulled into a small bun at the back of his head. "Do you wanna go to Eden's tonight?"

"Pass," Andrew said.

"Oh, come on," Nicky whined. "Just because you and Kevin can't drink doesn't mean the rest of us can't. Neil?"

"Sorry," Neil said, tone unapologetic.

"Drink at your own place," Andrew said.

"The only alcohol we have is the half-bottle of watered down vodka Matt keeps under the sink. That's not gonna get the three of us drunk."

Andrew blinked at him and Neil shrugged. "Figure it out," they said at the same time.

Nicky threw his hands up in exasperation and retreated.

Back at Fox Tower, Kevin left in a hurry with promises of watching the latest rerun of the Trojan vs Longhorns game with Neil thrown over his shoulder. Neil chased him down the hall until he confirmed they were, in fact, also watching the other games he had recorded. When he returned, he quirked an eyebrow at Andrew and jerked his head toward the bathroom.

"Shower with me?" he said.

That unpleasant feeling swirled in Andrew's belly. He shook his head. "I'll shower after you. Don't hog all the hot water."

Neil accepted that with a nod and placed a firm kiss on Andrew's jaw.

"You know," he said as he shucked his shirt over his head and threw it in the general direction of the bedroom, "I've been thinking of getting Kev those books he's been eyeing for being sober for three months. Do they celebrate three month sobriety?"

Andrew shrugged. "Get them anyway. I don't think I can handle any more drool on the computer keyboard."

"I'll order them today." Neil stepped in the doorway of the bathroom with his shorts balled up in his hands. "Hey. You okay?"

"Peachy."

Neil tilted his head until he caught Andrew's eye. Andrew didn't miss the crease of concern in his eyes. "The antidepressants still making you feel weird?"

"I've been worse."

Neil eyed him until Andrew grew tired of being scrutinized and ushered him toward the waiting shower. Neil left the door open and Andrew cast a lingering glance over his shoulder as he peeled off his boxers and stepped under the hot spray of the shower.

Andrew didn't realize he'd fallen asleep until the sound of Neil rummaging through the drawers for clean clothes woke him.

"Morning," Neil quipped. Andrew squinted at him from under his arms. "Shower's free."

Water beaded on Neil's shoulders and ran down the corded muscles in his back in thin rivulets. They disappeared in the fluffy towel still wrapped around Neil's waist. Neil shook out his hair and looked back in time to catch Andrew staring.

He raised his eyebrows.

Andrew rolled his eyes at Neil's smug expression and pulled him closer by the towel. "Asshole," he said, and kissed him.

Neil planted his hands on either side of Andrew's thighs and let the towel drop to the floor. He hummed and opened his mouth as Andrew directed the kiss with nimble fingertips on his jaw. Neil pulled back with a gasp and began kissing down his neck.

"Neil," Andrew said. His eyes fell shut when Neil sucked at the pulse in his neck. "I haven't showered yet. I'm sweaty and gross."

"We can shower when we're done." Neil pressed a hand against Andrew's back and bit at his collarbone. A surprised gasp slipped past Andrew's teeth.

"You're gross."

"You like it."

Andrew didn't deny it.

Neil worried at a spot on Andrew's throat and reached for the hem of his shirt. Andrew startled at the first brush of Neil's fingers against his bare skin. He jumped and reached for Neil's hands, but Neil was already moving back.

"Andrew?" he asked, looking him up and down, searching for what had triggered this reaction. His chest heaved, skin already flushed a distracting shade of pink. "What's wrong?'

"I don't want to take my shirt off." Andrew wouldn't meet Neil's gaze.

"Okay," Neil said. "Is everything okay?"

Andrew nodded, then shook his head. He chewed on his bottom lip. Neil gently reached out and pulled his lip out from his teeth with his thumb. He waited for Andrew to find the words. Neil was always so patient with him.

"I gained weight," Andrew said. When Neil said nothing, Andrew looked up to find him looking befuddled.

Maybe Neil didn't notice, but Andrew couldn't stop noticing. He knew it was the meds fucking with him, Betsy had said that would be a side effect, but it didn't stop Andrew from being self-conscious. He couldn't help comparing himself to Kevin and his green smoothies and defined abs, or Matt's chiseled chest. Andrew had always been on the heavier side, but it had always been made of muscle, and it had never bothered him before.

He was still strong. He could still protect himself. He was able to lift Neil up against the wall when they were kissing. It shouldn't have mattered.

Neil watched him for a moment longer and said, "Can I try something? I have to take off your shirt."

Andrew hesitated, but he trusted Neil. He nodded and lifted his arms so Neil could pull his shirt off. Then Neil pushed him with a gentle hand on his chest until he was flat on the bed.

The first kiss was right on Andrew's chest, just above his sternum. Neil never broke eye contact when he pressed his lips to his skin. He lingered there for just a heartbeat longer before he shifted so his mouth hovered above Andrew's stomach. His kisses were light, frustratingly so, until he placed a soft kiss onto the soft flesh on Andrew's tummy.

His lips tickled the blond hair there, and Neil left tiny butterfly kisses all over. Around his belly button, his navel, the sides that poked out of his waistband, until Andrew was relaxed and reassured underneath him. His eyes had drifted shut, nearly lulled back to sleep beneath Neil's soft touches.

When he was finished, he pulled himself up until he was face to face with Andrew. Their noses brushed. Andrew stole a kiss from him.

"I love your body," Neil said. "No matter what it looks like."

Andrew brushed the hair back from the side of his face and ran his hands down Neil's sides and over his back to settle above the slope of his ass. He plucked another kiss from Neil's lips. "I still need to shower," he said.

Neil huffed a laugh, pressed their foreheads together, and rolled off him. "Better hurry before Kevin gets back and steals the rest of the water."

"Over my dead body," Andrew sniped and tripped over Neil's discarded clothes in his haste to get a fresh towel. He doubled back to press a kiss to the crown of Neil's head.

"Thank you," he whispered against his hair. He didn't need to say anything else. Neil already understood.