#being a ghost must be so dreary

[lilacmingi]

THE GOAT

My works are 14+ ONLY. If you’re under 14 DO NOT interact with me or any of my works

Pairing: Hongjoong x fem reader, Mingi x fem reader

Word count: 4,790

Note: I’m doing something new with this little series. Each part will have two imagines based on the duos from the Bouncy music video, so you guys are getting TWO imagines in one :D

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𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐉𝐎𝐎𝐍𝐆 | 홍중

Hongjoong released a long sigh, staring through the telescope he held between his glove-clad hands.

"Tired?" You questioned.

He scoffed. "No."

"Liar."

"I'm used to staying up late. You should know this by now."

"Yeah, yeah." You waved a dismissive hand, repositioning yourself on the raised platform Hongjoong sat upon, fixing your gaze on the city below. "How many nights are we going to spend keeping watch out here like this?"

"Until we get the signal."

"The signal." You muttered through a sigh of exasperation. "And when will we be getting that?"

"Don't know." Hongjoong pushed the telescope closed and set it aside.

You leaned back, resting on your palms while gazing out at the nighttime cityscape lit up with vibrant neon hues from the different signs displayed on buildings. The streets were empty, completely vacant and void of any civilians. This place you called your temporary home was practically a ghost town. Despite the people here being away from the government's control, they all seemed to prefer to move quietly throughout to city so as not to draw any attention to themselves.

The sound of a motorcycle revving loudly echoed somewhere in the distance.

Well, except some people.

Hongjoong chuckled softly. "That must be Seonghwa."

"Must be. What is he doing anyway?"

"Riding around with his new motorcycle gang I suppose."

"That doesn't seem like something that pertains to the plan."

"No, but who says we can't have a little fun while we wait to put the plan in motion? He grinned.

"Yeah. You have a point."

"Plus, we're just regular civilians going about our daily lives. Isn't that right?"

"Right."

Hongjoong adjusted the hat on his head, pushing it back enough to where he could look up at the stars. His cowboy attire was a bit ridiculous, but it was his disguise and unfortunately yours as well. All the boys were staying in separate hideouts around the city. You, Hongjoong, and Mingi were located in a part of the city that had a more western feel to it and in order to blend in, you had to dress the part. Not only that, but the boys were wanted for their crimes against the government and they needed to keep a low profile, lest they get captured by the android guardians.

"Mingi's face is plastered all over the city." You commented, recalling the numerous sketches of him you had seen stuck to nearly every building.

"I know."

"You don't think our cover is gonna get blown?"

"No. There have been plenty of times we've almost been caught in the past, but we always make it out."

He had a point. All of them were uncannily lucky when it came to escaping the clutches of the android guardians. Yes, Yeosang got captured once, but he was brought back completely unscathed with his emotions still intact. That was a miracle in and of itself. There wasn't a day that went by where the boys weren't thankful for all eight of them being safe.

"At this point, what are we even watching for? Nothing has happened in Prestige Academy for months."

"We're not watching for anything. We're just keeping an eye on them."

You hummed and nodded, your fingers mindlessly fiddling with the fringe on your vest.

"Do you ever miss home?" You questioned, eyes locked on the dreary slate gray city of Strictland far in the distance—a reminder of how vastly dissimilar this world was from the one you grew up in.

Hongjoong pursed his lips in thought.

"Not really. Our lives weren't exactly perfect and it seemed like none of us had a purpose. The group broke apart and everyone was dealing with their own issues. Here, we have a purpose and whatever problems we had back home are insignificant now, especially compared to the threat we're facing here." There was a brief pause before he added, "What about you?"

"Do I miss home?" You questioned.

He nodded.

"No, but sometimes yes. Back in our world, I felt stuck I guess. I didn't know what I wanted to do with my life and I felt like I was being held back. If you can believe it, I feel more free here, even with all the rules the government is trying to enforce."

Hongjoong chuckled softly. "I get what you mean."

"When we first started this journey together, I was terrified. I didn't think I had it in me to make such daring moves, but now I want to do thrilling things like infiltrating an academy, but I do sometimes miss the normality of my old life. I miss hanging out with you guys in that old tin building."

"I do too." Hongjoong smiled fondly, turning to you. "But it's like I said earlier, who says we can't have a little fun? This dystopian world may be bleak, but we can still take it easy and have moments of normalcy."

The light from the large neon sign reading The Goat shone along his face, highlighting his side profile as he looked at you. It was a heavenly sight and one that had your heart thumping wildly with adoration.

You felt strongly about Hongjoong and had been quietly swooning over him for a long time now. Unfortunately, with all of the chaos constantly going on around you, there was no possibility of confessing. However, in this moment of vulnerability, you found yourself uttering something you normally wouldn't say.

"I'm glad I'm here with you."

Hongjoong's head lifted at your words. Now that he was looking at you, his eyes studying your face, you got nervous.

"Sorry." You murmured an apology, fiddling with the fringe of your vest again. "It's just that... well, you mean a lot to me and if we hadn't gone on this rollercoaster of a journey together and I stayed at our old home I'd probably be miserable. What I'm trying to say is that I'm thankful that we stuck together."

His gaze softened, a gentle smile gracing his pretty lips.

"I feel the same way."

A beat passed and Hongjoong scooted closer, it was unnoticed by you, as you'd turned your gaze back to the neon dotted cityscape ahead, staring out at the nighttime scene. His lips pressed together in momentary contemplation while his fingers fidgeted with the chains attached to his black leather gloves.

Hongjoong was a smart man, but your words caused him some confusion. Was that a confession? A subtle way to declare your feelings without saying it outright? Maybe you were just showing him appreciation for your companionship—or maybe you were hinting that you wanted something more. He hoped it was the latter.

There was only one way to find out.

He had taken on the android guardians multiple times, broke into a museum to steal the Cromer, snuck around Strictland to set up speakers, and now he was planning to infiltrate Prestige Academy to save as many students as possible, which would be one of their biggest and riskiest plans ever. Confessing is nothing compared to that. It should be a piece of cake. Keyword should.

Swallowing his pride and pushing away his nerves, he leaned over towards you, the movement grabbing your attention. Seeing how close he was made you tense up, but you didn't make any efforts to move away. Truthfully, you didn't want to.

His eyes were a little wider than usual, hesitancy swimming in his brown irises. The reason for that reluctance, you didn't know.

"Hongjoong?" Your voice came out much quieter than you intended. "What's happening?"

"I'm about to kiss you."

There was a brief pause of silence as your brain processed what he had just said. The only word that managed to come out of your mouth in response was,

"Okay."

You hardly had time to internally cringe at your lame response as Hongjoong's lips made contact with yours, promptly silencing your thoughts. Their softness alone had your mind turning to mush, your eyelids sliding closed as you practically melted into him. His gloved hand moved to cradle the side of your face while your hands relocated from your lap to the nape of his neck to keep him held close, hoping that this moment would last long enough for you to believe it wasn't a dream. His kisses were so delicate and slow. It felt like he was pouring all of his emotions into it, conveying just how much you meant to him with each gentle press of his lips.

Only a few moments passed before Hongjoong's kisses became a little more heated as he picked up the pace, moving his lips with more urgency. He even nipped at your bottom lip a couple times, earning a quiet squeak of surprise from you. You were thankful to be sitting down or else your knees would have given out on the spot. He chuckled lowly against your lips, amused by your reaction. His sultry laugh made your heart thump rapidly, your hands tightening into fists.

It wasn't long before your hands moved to his hat, pulling it off his head and tossing it to the side somewhere so you could card your fingers through his blue locks, grabbing handfuls of it. He let out a low hum that vibrated against your lips and sent a rush of butterflies to your stomach. After a particularly dizzying kiss, you sighed out his name, your mind far too clouded to realize what you had said. Hongjoong couldn't ignore the way that lit a fire in him. He liked how you sounded and he wanted to hear it again.

At this point, keeping watch was at the back of Hongjoong's mind. All he could think about was you and how glorious it felt to be kissing you like this and what it would take for you to say his name again.

"Say my name." He sighed out between heated kisses. "Please."

You did as he asked, repeating his name in a breathless whisper, egging him on.

His hand that cupped your cheek slid around to the back of your neck, his thumb gently rubbing your nape. You suppressed a shiver as he took your bottom lip between his, encasing it in warmth.

The both of you parted ways, Hongjoong's eyes looking hazy while his tongue darted out to wet his lips that were slightly swollen from your intense make out session. It seemed impossible, but he looked even more stunning than usual.

"What was that for?" You questioned breathlessly.

"I didn't know how else to convey my feelings."

"So, instead of just confessing, you did something riskier by kissing me?" You asked amusedly.

"What can I say? I'm a man who likes to take risks." The statement was confident, but judging by the pink tinting the tips of his ears, the thought of straight up confessing hadn't crossed his mind.

"Now what?"

"Well..." Hongjoong trailed off, his hand finding yours. "We can be together and still take down Prestige."

You gave a lighthearted chuckle. "Alright then. If you think you can handle balancing a relationship and overthrowing the government."

"Please." He scoffed playfully. "I'm the captain. I can handle anything."

Hongjoong's eyes shifted slightly, moving away from your face and focusing on something in the distance.

"Someone's coming." He announced, his gaze fixed on a figure riding a delivery scooter.

You chuckled softly even though you were bummed out that the moment had ended.

Duty calls.

He scrambled for his telescope, opening it up and peering through the glass.

"We didn't order any food." You mused.

"I know."

He zeroed in on a logo stuck to the delivery scooter that read Blue Bird Delivery. A silent sigh of relief was released. As the person approached, Hongjoong began messing with the pulley system attached to the roof of the building, lowering a beat up metal bucket to the ground below.

The moped came to a stop and the rider pulled out a plastic bag, placing it in the bucket before Hongjoong raised it.

"Is that Yeosang?"

"I think so."

The driver, who you assumed to be Yeosang got back onto the scooter and took off towards his next destination.

Hongjoong removed the plastic bag, carelessly tossing it aside as he opened the styrofoam takeout container. Inside was a single Cheongyang chili pepper.

Your brows furrowed in perplexmxent, wondering why Yeosang would bring you something like that. Hongjoong removed the paper from the container and examined it briefly. Glancing around, he broke open the green chili pepper, pulling out a rolled up note that had been put inside.

"What it is?" You inquired, watching as he unraveled it.

"It's time."

𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐈 | 민기

The atmosphere in the dim Chili Peppers bar was filled with the sound of low murmuring from the few patrons it housed, the occasional sound of clinking glasses or pool being played accompanied the low conversations. You pressed the corners of the wrinkled paper to the wall, hanging a new wanted poster, this one bigger than the ones that already hung there. Most of them depicted the same man while others showed images of a few other fugitives who were believed to run in the same group. The only thing that was different from the rest was that any poster that showed this particular man said DEAD OR ALIVE in large letters. You weren't exactly sure as to why this man was wanted, but you heard whispers throughout the city that he looted local businesses in the area and sometimes traveled with a group of other fugitives. Some even say he runs with the masked men in fedoras, but you're not sure—this town talks a lot.

The wooden doors of the saloon squeaked as they were pushed open by a strong force. A tall figure stepped into the establishment, all of the attention drawn to him, the chatter in the bar coming to an abrupt stop. Every patron in the saloon had their heads directed towards the stranger, their eyes following him across the room. He wore a large hat that blocked his face, keeping his head low as he approached the bar you stood behind. You took note of the large shotgun strapped to his back, not thinking too much of it, as quite a few people around here carried weapons with them.

"How can I help you?" You asked, leaning on the wooden bar top.

"Why else do you think I came to this bar?" The man responded, his voice low and incredibly deep.

"Not everybody comes into this bar to drink, you know."

"Soju." He responded, taking a seat on one of the stools.

Reaching underneath the bar, you grabbed a shot glass and a cold bottle of soju from the mini fridge. Cracking open the alcohol, you poured the clear liquid into a shot glass, sliding it over to the man. His gloved hand reached out and lifted the shot to his lips, downing it just as quickly as you had poured it. He slammed the glass down onto the counter with his head hanging low. It was only when he raised his head that you got a clear look at his face.

First, you noticed his strikingly handsome features, then instant recognition. This was the man from the wanted poster.

You opened your mouth to speak, but your voice was stuck in your throat as he stood up, pulling his long, leather coat back to flash the gun sitting in a holster on his hip.

"When I turn around, duck under the bar." He instructed lowly.

What? Is what you wanted to say, but you didn't have time as he spun around, pulling the gun out.

You dropped to the floor and covered your head as the sound of gunshots rang out above you, some stray bullets hitting the bottles of alcohol displayed behind the counter, the shattered glass falling onto you, liquor splashing onto the wooden boards of the floor.

You didn't even have time to consider wether you trusted this stranger or not, yet you did exactly as he said without a second thought. Then again, it was the only thing you knew to do when you saw him draw his weapon.

A thump sounded from above you, the noise drawing your attention. The man now stood on  the bar holding the shotgun that was previously strapped to his back, firing the weapon mercilessly. Based on the heavy thuds you heard after every shot, he was good.

"Alright. It's safe. You can come out now."

Deciding to peek out from your hiding spot, you slowly stood up, peering over the bar top. Bodies littered the floor, tables were overturned, and shell casings were scattered everywhere. Your eyes were blown wide in surprise as you took in the scene before you. The stranger hopped down off the bar, landing behind the counter with you. You unconsciously took a step back, still wary of the man.

"Who are you?" You asked in a shaky voice, rattled by the experience you just had.

"Mingi."

When you didn't respond, he held his hands up in a placating manner to show he wasn't a threat.

"I won't hurt you. I'm a good guy."

Still skeptical, you studied him for a moment, your eyes scanning his sharp features for any signs of dishonesty.

"I saved you." He added.

"Saved me?"

"Yes. Everyone in this bar was working for the government."

Your expression shifted upon hearing that.

"Strictland is getting tougher on enforcing their rules and regulations. They were going to bring you in and have your emotions taken away."

"What?"

You couldn't believe what you were hearing, shaking your head in denial.

"That's not possible. This is the outskirts of the city. The government has no control here."

"They're trying to."

Mingi could see your breathing start to quicken, a look of fear crossing your features.

"What do I do?"

"You come with me."

"But I don't know you."

"Have you ever heard of The Black Pirates?"

"No."

"They're a group of people who are rebelling against the government and trying to undo what Strictland has tried to enforce. Me and my friends work with them."

So that's why his picture is all over the city. Those other wanted posters are probably the friends he mentioned.

"Trust me, it's best if you listen and come with me." He added.

After taking a few seconds to think it over, you caved and agreed to go with Mingi. It seemed to be your best and only option.

"Smart girl." He commented. "Follow me."

Taking a final glance at the bar that was in complete disarray, you turned your back and followed Mingi out of the establishment. There was something sad about walking out of that dingy bar. It felt like you were leaving a part of you behind. Chili Peppers was a place you had spent a year working at and met many  different people. You were well-acquainted with the regulars and enjoyed catching up with them when they came in. It was a fun job and one that had marked a new start of your life, so walking away from it broke your heart.

"Can I go back?" You asked.

"Probably not. You'll need to lay low."

"Right."

Unable to look at the bar any longer, you dropped your head and moved forward, rounding the corner of the building. It was only when Mingi came to a stop that you lifted your head.

He stood before the side of the Chili Peppers bar, staring at the multiple wanted posters depicting a sketch of his face that were plastered along the siding. Painted in harsh and aggressive black streaks across the posters was a giant Z. Mingi rolled his eyes, letting out an annoyed huff.

"So freaking persistent." He muttered under his breath.

"What's that?" You inquired.

His tongue poked the inside of his cheek in agitation. "He's the one in control of everything going on in Strictland."

You pressed your lips together as a bitter taste invaded your mouth. "I see."

Mingi turned to look at your expression, seeing the discomfort that flashed across your features as unwanted memories more than likely invaded your mind. It was clear to him that you felt ill will against Z.

"We all hate him." Mingi spoke up, hoping to ease your mind a bit. "That's why my friends are here. To get rid of all these rules and laws. This world is... wrong."

"I used to live in Strictland." You spoke up after a moment of silence. "I had to watch my friends turn into emotionless zombies. The android guardians tried to get me, but I fled. That's how I ended up here in the outskirts of the city. I felt safe... until now."

Mingi frowned upon hearing your story. Z and his twisted way of thinking has ruined so many lives. Your story was just a reminder of why he and his friends constantly put themselves in the line of danger and why they needed to continue doing so.

They wouldn't stop until this world was saved.

Your feet dragged through the dirt that lined the streets of the city, your eyes cast downward to stare at your shoes as they kicked up tiny puffs of dust.

"So, where are you taking me?"

"My hideout."

"And where is that?"

"Rooftop of The Goat."

"Rooftops aren't very secretive."

Mingi chuckled softly. "No, but it's the perfect spot to keep watch. My friends and I split off into groups of two so it would be harder for us to be tracked down and possibly caught if the android guardians decide to infiltrate this temporary safe haven. I've been staying in this part of town for a while."

"I heard about a group of people displaying acts of rebellion against Strictland's government and they've never been caught. It seems like they slip away in the nick of time every single time." You paused for a moment. "That was you and your friends, wasn't it?"

Mingi gave a nod.

A short walk through the dusty streets led you to the building with the giant neon sign reading: The Goat shining brightly at the rooftop, the word entrance accompanying the name of the building. It was then that you realized there were no doors.

"Come on." Mingi beckoned, climbing up a set of rickety metal stairs that lined the side of dilapidated building.

With each step, the stairs rattled softly and you hoped they would stay together long enough for you to reach the top.

"Hongjoong." Mingi announced, using his knuckles to knock lightly on a metal pipe as the both of you emerged on the rooftop.

"Oh, Mingi. Hi." A man with vibrant blue hair and cowboy attire greeted while peering through a telescope.

"Any news?"

"Not at all." The man who you assumed was Hongjoong lowered the telescope and pushed it together into its compact form before setting it aside. When he finally turned to look at Mingi, his eyes landed on you.

"Who's this?"

"You know I told you I was going to Chili Peppers to take care of some business?"

"Yeah."

"Everyone sitting in that bar tonight was working for the government. Y/n was the bartender and the only one there with her emotions in tact. They were going to bring her in and brainwash her."

"The government has no jurisdiction here."

"They don't seem to care. You know Z is going to try and get his way no matter what."

"Great." Muttered Hongjoong. "Just what we needed."

Mingi removed his hat and let out a sigh, running his fingers through his short, choppily-cut pink hair.

"This is bad." He said to Hongjoong.

Meanwhile you were left to watch the tense exchange between the two, a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach. These two and their friends were the only people who could undo all of the damage Z has done to Strictland and here they are, visibly distraught.

"We still have the raid on Prestige." Hongjoong mentioned, making your ears perk up.

"Right." Mingi nodded. "That'll surely light a fire under Z. He won't see it coming."

Hongjoong peered into the distance, presumably where Prestige Academy sat.

"It's just a matter of time." He murmured.

"What's going on with Prestige?" You inquired, too curious to keep your mouth shut.

"We're going to sneak in and break everyone out of their trances. We've got an elaborate plan in place, we're just waiting to put it into motion." Mingi explained.

The government of Strictland was very powerful and this group of, you weren't sure how many people, are out here making big moves in order to save humanity. You commend them for their bravery but at the same time you wondered how someone could be so brave.

"I can't believe you guys do stuff like this."

"We have to. It's what we're here for." Mingi told you, his eyes holding a tsunami of emotions: commitment, determination, perhaps even a hint of fear.

"I'll leave you two alone." Hongjoong spoke up. "If you need me, I'll be downstairs."

With that, he stood up and entered a door that you assumed led to the inside of the building,  leaving the rooftop so you and Mingi could converse in private.

"Have a seat." The pink-haired male gestured to a raised platform resembling the front of a ship with two telescopes set up on it.

He stepped up on the platform, offering you a gloved hand to grab onto, which you did and allowed him to assist you onto the raised surface.

He set his hat aside and took a seat, his long legs hanging off the side of the platform. You followed suit and made yourself comfortable beside him, resting your arms on the metal bar of the railing that lined the ship-like structure.

"So, what's your story?" You asked, gently swinging your legs back and forth.

Mingi's captivating lips stuck out in though while his eyes focused on the buildings in the distance.

"I guess I should start from the beginning."

And so he did. From being brought here by the Cromer to taking the places of the masked men in fedoras and saving Strictland. You stayed silent the whole time and let him speak without interrupting. When he finally finished, a heavy and lengthy silence hung in the night air.

"So, you're not from this world." You said it like a statement.

"No."

"And you agreed to take the place of the men in fedoras just like that?"

"Yes. There's no way we can go back to our old world, especially knowing this one needs saving."

An overwhelming rush of admiration swelled in your chest, as did your respect for Mingi, if that was even possible.

"You and your friends are so brave."

He huffed out a light chuckle. "Yeah, I guess we are. It's weird. When we were told we would have to step up, we did. We did it without thinking."

"Do you ever get scared?"

"A lot. There have been times where I worry our plans won't work or one of my friends is about to get caught. I'm afraid one day, we won't be so lucky."

"If you need an extra person on your team, I'm willing to step up."

Mingi's brows raised, his sharp eyes becoming rounder in surprise.

"I'm not sure what I can do, but I'm willing to help however I can." You added.

"Are you sure?"

Yes, Mingi had just met you but he felt somewhat protective of you and there was a small part of him that couldn't see you get hurt or captured by the android guardians.

"Yes I'm sure." You were adamant in your decision. "I lost the only friends I had to that dictator. He stripped them of their emotions."

Mingi's eyes met yours, serious and searching for more confirmation even though he could see it clearly on your face—there was no changing your mind.

"We need all the help we can get, but it won't be easy." He told you.

"Whatever you need me to do, I'll do it. I'm up for whatever Strictland has to throw at me."

"Very well."

About that time, Hongjoong emerged onto the rooftop with a large sheet of rolled up paper in his hand that you presumed was a blueprint.

"Joong, we've got a new recruit." Mingi informed him.

"Is that so?"

You nodded in confirmation.

"What do you say we fill her in on the plans to invade Prestige?"

"I'm way ahead of you." Hongjoong wiggled the blueprint in his hand, bringing it over to spread it along the ground, revealing a grand plan. "Let's begin."

Seonghwa & Yeosang ⟡ Yunho & Jongho ⟡ San & Wooyoung

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Masterlist ᝰ — enjoyed this imagine? reblogs & comments are very much appreciated!

DO NOT steal, plagiarize, copy, repost, alter, or translate my works in any way

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#ateez imagines #hongjoong #hongjoong imagines #hongjoong x reader #mingi #song mingi #mingi x reader #mingi imagines #ateez lore #ateez fanfic #ateez x reader #hongjoong x you #hongjoong x y/n #mingi x you #mingi x y/n #kim hongjoong #ateez lore au #ateez outlaw #ateez outlaw au

[abybweisse]

Ch208 (p5), Jumbo's approach

Doll comes over to offer Snake food, but he still isn't ready to talk. Jumbo gets the idea to ask what the snakes are saying, though idk how any of them would know (yet) that Snake and his snakes communicate. That gets Snake's attention, though. He definitely must be hungry, but he would want to make sure the snakes are also well fed.

The snake by his side here is the one we call Emily, but more about that in a moment. Snake finally talks, and he introduces this female snake.

Jumbo and Doll probably feel a sense of accomplishment, finally getting Snake to talk. But they are also pleased to learn something about his snakes.

So, Jumbo apologizes to the "lady" and asks for her name... which she doesn't have. Jumbo offers to help him name the snakes, so people will know what to call each one.

Interesting that one of Jumbo's favorite novels is about something so dreary as a cruel man haunted by the ghost of his lost love. But to each their own. 😆 (I do believe Baron Heathfield is vaguely named/modeled after Heath from that book, btw.)

In the end, it seems that Jumbo did not run out of names. Though he does use a first name for some and a last name for others.

Life might not be easy for the circus troupe, but they get along well and make do with what they have. Snake still thinks of himself as "us" -- himself and the snakes -- as if they all all one person.

He's got a family now... but not for very long. Idk how much time passes between him joining the circus and our earl and Sebastian coming along, but I don't think it's very long. This might help explain why Snake doesn't speak up about his snakes being tied in knots or about the troupe tents being searched. Because you know his snakes must have told him all about that.

The rest (minus whatever Snake has kept quiet about) we already know.

Perhaps next chapter will give us more insight into what Snake and his snakes have learned in the company of our earl and Sebastian?

#black butler #kuroshitsuji #ch208 #chapter release #chapter review #chapter analysis #snake #snake's snakes #jumbo #doll #circus troupe #circus members #noah's ark circus #our earl #earl phantomhive #our ciel #sebastian michaelis #flashbacks #cinematic records #possibly #emily bronte #emily brontë #wuthering heights #heath #baron heathfield #found family #observation #jan 18 2024 #part five #part 5

[marchsfreakshow]

Dreary Dreams In A Window {James Patrick March x Reader}

Drabble

You're sketching stars and shadows in your notebook, James shares your desires to be free in the world.

Fem!reader/almost a part 2 to Dangerously Yours

No one's perspective

⊹˚.⋆ ₊꒷ᘏᘏ︶ଓ︶꒷꒦⊹˚ᗢ₊꒷︶ଓ︶꒷

Fog clouded the windows and so forth the outside that Y/N adored. The sky was her favourite thing, how the moon and the stars changed. The colours always blended together perfectly like the pencils she used on the page. Blue and yellow. Pink and orange. Red always dipped in as an after thought.

The wonders of how to seamlessly draw the wonder dusted sky distracted the ghost once again. She could not stare though. A building always hid the beautiful sky, and no windows to show her the bear bones of the moon glowing all the away above her head.

Soon enough the colours appeared on a page, representing a wish that could not be obtained. A wish of simply walking outside the Hotel Cortez and breathing in the air to her undead lungs. The notebook blended shadows of buildings and the people walking past with a hidden sunset no one stopped and noticed. Like the nightlife in somewhere like LA. Thoughts wandered past her mind as strangers in the night went past the hotel of the dead.

Watercolour reds and blues created a small, hidden background. The art was simple, yet it meant so much to her. Other inhabitants stopped caring about the outside world when they were there after a period of time. She kept caring. Being only dead a few months, her desire to go out grew deeper and so much more meaningful. Even talking to someone who was alive made her feel full.

"I too would like to be free."

"You would?"

"I would indeed my dear."

He sat beside her and held her close. The painting was put down and so was the brush, stained with a pink-tinted blue. The outside was nothing special to her, but she didn't realise how much she would miss it if she was dead. Hours ticked by un-noticed. People swayed in and out. It was dull to the woman.

The moon was her wish. To see the moon shining down on her and her lover. The undead ghosts were bound however. Bound to the horrors of the place. He, was proud of his work. She, just wanted her desire. Not even the lust of her partner could keep her from dreaming when she wanted to dream. The distraction in her mind caused her eyes to fall to the window again.

"Do not linger on a twisted world my love."

"I miss the sun..."

“As do I my dear. But we must learn to accept the darkness.”

Eyes met, and a kiss was exchanged. One simple validation and the ghost turned away from the windows telling her of the world outside. And what had become of the world she will never know. She had love in her hands.

No longer has she got her camera in her hands, taking shadowy photos of beautiful people. She has a simple day. The colours are muted. The colours are greying. They are not as lively as they once were. The Cortez was never so lively.

She had slowly forgotten her dream. Colours faded out, into obscurity. But her comfort, her light was the darkest one of all. Finding sweetness in a man who kissed her, and held her. Maybe a new dream of marrying as a ghost would appear, and create a better Hotel.

⊹˚.⋆ ₊꒷ᘏᘏ︶ଓ︶꒷꒦⊹˚ᗢ₊꒷︶ଓ︶꒷

#ahs #evan peters #american horror story #james patrick march #ahs hotel #james march #jpm x reader #watercolor #james x you #james march x you #jpm x you #evan peters fluff #x reader fluff #james march x reader #i love james #i love hotel sm #american horror story hotel #Hotel #evan peters x reader

[smokestarrules]

41 ghost/living person au ava x beatrice

[AO3 Link]

...

Beatrice waking up is one of the most beautiful things Ava’s ever seen in her life. 

She’s always thought this—privately at first, in an attempt to not bother her with the levels of Ava’s adoration and then overtly, later, when she learned that Beatrice wouldn’t get it either way—and it’s never been more clear to her before now. As a rule, Beatrice is almost never relaxed, but she can’t help it when she sleeps. 

Ava lets herself stare without fear. Beatrice has always had a way of drawing her attention—look at me, Ava had thought even in those early days, living anew and burning with a desire to know and to be known, look at me—and here’s the thing: Beatrice has always been a creature of habit (pun totally intended). She wakes up at six in the morning every day, no matter what; her alarm blares, but Ava’d bet that even if it didn’t go off she’d still get up right on time anyway. Her alarm blares, she sits up. Rubs her eyes once, twice, and then swings herself out of bed. 

Just like that. 

She opens one of the curtains just a sliver and allows the rising sun to shine inside the small room, turning the room from a dim gray to something far nicer, tinging the pillows a soft orange that, in turn, flickers across Beatrice’s hair, caressing her in such a way that makes Ava’s fingers itch, eager to touch. 

Her highlights are growing out, have nearly been swallowed by natural dark locks, but it hadn't been the blonde that made Ava fall for her (though it hadn’t hurt). She’s stunning even now, especially now—will always be, probably. 

Beatrice makes sunlight look damn-near dreary, and Ava’s mouth dries as she watches. 

“You’re so pretty, Bea,” she croaks, unable to keep it all inside. Now there’s no reason to. 

“You try to keep yourself hidden from the entire world,” Ava goes on, rocking back on the bed. She watches as Beatrice putters silently around the room, blinking the sleep from her eyes. “And you did, really—you did such a good job of that. But you’re so gorgeous, like, holy fuck. I’ve never seen eyes like yours. You should wear your hair down more often, but your bun looks good, too. Bea, do you want me to talk about your freckles again?”

Beatrice doesn’t respond to her, of course. She never does. 

Not that Ava can blame her, really. 

(Ava’d found out pretty quickly that Beatrice couldn’t see her. Couldn’t hear her, feel her. Couldn’t perceive her in any way.

No one could. 

She got over it pretty quickly—if you count having a couple panic attacks getting over it—and she’s mostly okay now. By the time she’d appeared here, in the middle of Beatrice’s bedroom as she was sleeping, it’d already been four days since she went through the Ark. She doesn’t know why she’s like this, doesn’t know if she’d ever ended up meeting Reya; she doesn’t even have any memory of being healed, though she must have been. Unless she’s dead, and this is, like, some weird sort of limbo. 

But she’s died before, and it wasn’t like this.) 

All in all, she thinks, delighting in the casual ripple of shoulder muscles from beneath Beatrice’s shirt, this is a way better deal than last time. 

She doesn’t watch Beatrice change, of course. She has some shame. But she takes what she can get; it’s the little things, the way Beatrice walks around in the (supposed) privacy of her own room with a short-sleeved shirt on. She’ll always pull on an extra layer before she leaves, Ava’s learned, but the flex of her biceps even for this limited time is nothing short of holy. 

Once Beatrice is properly dressed, her bun fixed—though it hadn’t been mussed in the first place—her boots tightly laced, she heads out of her room, into the long hallways of Cat’s Cradle.

Ava smiles, bounces on her feet, and follows her out the door. 

(As far as Ava knows, the Halo’s very much fine and still in her back. She can feel it at times, though it never goes off quite as powerfully as she remembers. She can still phase—though there’s really no point to it anymore—she can still fly, can still heal—which was an absolute bitch to test, by the way—and maybe this all points to her not being dead, but in the end, it doesn’t really matter.)

Because she’s a creature of habit (it doesn’t get any less funny), Beatrice stops by the dining hall first. Breakfast is essential, she’d said in Switzerland, and Ava’s never one to turn down any food. She’d always enjoy those lazy mornings—though lazy is never something she could call Beatrice—and the early meals with her. 

It’d be nice to eat again. She misses food more than she misses a lot of things. Well—that’s not really true. She misses a lot of things, really; food, the need to sleep, talking with Camila, the way Beatrice would touch her shoulder when she was being just the slightest bit annoying. 

“I love you,” she says while Beatrice eats, because it’s all she can do. “I miss you. Thank you for being here. I’m sorry for stalking you, heh, but I feel like you’d be okay with it. I love you.”

I love you. I love you. I love you. 

After breakfast, Beatrice heads out to the training grounds. She doesn’t have all that much to do in Cat’s Cradle nowadays, and Ava’s seen her duties lessen and lessen over the days, from performing most of the new recruits’ training to now just overseeing it. She thinks, sometimes, that Beatrice will snap one day and just leave this all behind. She kind of hopes she will. 

It’s weird—complicated, really. She wants Beatrice to live so badly, to discover who she is without the towering, suffocating walls of the OCS boxing her in. That’s always what Ava’s wanted for her. 

But she desperately doesn’t want Beatrice to be alone. 

At least she’s not alone here, is the thing. Ava would follow her anywhere, but Beatrice wouldn’t know it. At least here she still has a few—has Camila, has Mother Superion, has Dora, even, who’s not very close but who’s here. 

(And Ava’s seen her grieve, too; those are always the worst nights. Beatrice grieves her so plainly that sometimes Ava wishes she’d just be forgotten entirely, if only to spare her the pain.

She never wishes that for very long. She’s selfish like that.)

“Bea?”

After training—during which Beatrice stood and watched the recruits and Ava sat and watched her—Camila finds her in the hallway, a sad smile already forming on her face. 

“Camila,” Beatrice says. She always sounds so tired when she speaks, now, and Ava’s heart clenches in her chest. I love you, she thinks, desperate for Beatrice to hear. “Did you need anything?”

“No, it’s not that.” Camila looks a bit skittish. “I just wanted to give you something.” She holds something out—something that Ava can’t see—and Beatrice inhales steadily. Too steadily. Ava wonders if Camila notices or not. “It took a little while to shape it, but it’s yours.”

Ava comes closer, unable to bite back the curiosity. She doesn’t like being too close, now, doesn’t like the way her skin slides through everyone else’s without even trying, but she can’t help it. Sometimes there’s a pull she just can’t fight. Beatrice is still staring at whatever it is, doing her keep-calm breaths. 

Ah. Ava understands the moment she spots the thing in Camila’s hand. A piece of Divinium—nearly black, with how dull it is—attached to a simple cord and clasp. A necklace. 

“For you,” Camila says finally, placing the stone in Beatrice’s hand. “So that you’ll know.” 

Beatrice doesn’t say a word when she takes it from her, cradling the piece of Divinium between her fingers as if it’s liable to bite her. She doesn’t react, really, just closes her fist around it and meets Camila’s eyes with a look that Ava can’t see from her angle. 

Whatever it is Camila seems to understand, and without another word spoken, Beatrice turns heads back to her room. Ava follows after her, because what else can she do? “I love you,” she says as they walk. “Even if you don’t know it, I’m here. I love you.” 

She hopes Beatrice doesn’t cry. That’s the worst of it, not being able to comfort her. She doesn’t often cry, but that only makes it that much more gut-wrenching when she does.

Beatrice doesn’t cry, but she does spend a few minutes sitting and staring down at the necklace. She doesn’t say anything aloud, but it’s in the way her hands twitch, how her leg jumps up and down on the bed. Time passes slowly, and Ava watches from the corner. 

“I love you,” Ava says, chin trembling because she can’t not say it, because there’s not much more for her to do these days than just tell Beatrice how much she means to her in the hopes that one day she’ll understand. There are tears forming in her eyes and she doesn’t even care because it’s not like there’s anyone here to notice it, anyway. “I love you so much. I wish I could talk to you right now. I miss you, but I’m glad it’s me rather than you. I love you.”

I love you, she says, right as Beatrice slips the necklace over her head. 

And that’s when she swears Beatrice looks directly at her. Beatrice’s eyes go dark and desperate, and Ava thinks that she is going to cry, actually, when she realizes that the Divinium hanging high on her chest is no longer dull and dark, that Beatrice’s face is flecked with shining blue. Beatrice stares through her, mouth dropping open. 

Ava’s heart jumps with the thought of danger. If Beatrice is attacked here, when Ava can’t do anything—

She spins around, but there’s nothing there. 

And that’s when Ava realizes, half a second before it becomes obvious. Realizes because she knows Beatrice, has known her long before she was cursed to follow her around forever. She turns back around, meets her gaze—look at me, she’s always thought, look at me—and stares. 

Because Beatrice isn’t looking at something behind her, or above. Beatrice is looking at her. 

“Ava?”

#hi. first of all you know how I said I was avoiding your prompt? yea so that turned out to be a big fucking lie #the brainworms got to me #second. this got so long imso sorry dhgjkdfhgsdkf #warrior nun #ava silva #sister beatrice #sister camila #avatrice #smokey writes #birgittesilverbae

[bill-skarsgalactic]

A/N: So, it's been a while since I've written anything, but I've had this concept rattling around in my brain for a few years and figured there's no time like the present to jump back into writing and posting regularly. If you've been tagged in this it's because a couple of you expressed interest in a previous post of mine - you're not obligated to read it (obviously) but if you do, your feedback would be appreciated. As I said before, it's been a while since I've written anything, so keep in mind I'm a little rusty. Apologies if the first part is a bit bland, I'm mainly just setting up the world and the characters.

P.S: If you interacted with my last post but weren't tagged, its simply because Tumblr wouldn't let me tag you :(

Description: Searching for a fresh start in the small beach town of Hemlock Cove, a young nurse takes a job caring for the recently paralyzed and exceptionally bitter Roman Godfrey.

(This takes place after the events of Hemlock Grove season 3, except Roman did not die and was instead paralyzed after his altercation with Peter. I'm not going to touch on much of the Hemlock Grove storyline and will instead be focusing on making this a standalone story)

Pairing: Roman Godfrey x OFC

Warnings: None for this part, but will update as the story progresses.

P A R T I

Hemlock Cove was meant to be a fresh start, a new life in a quaint sea-side town seemed like the perfect remedy to an aching head and a bitter heart.

I naively hoped the saline sea air would cleanse my hidden wounds, disinfect them until the scars healed pink and became nothing more than memories wrapped in scar tissue.

However, as I stood at the edge of the beach watching the black waves roll violently beneath the murky clouds, pregnant with the promise of rain, nothing about the briny ocean breeze felt healing. The air felt thick, weighed down and tasted acrid on my tongue as I inhaled deeply. I swallowed against the offending taste and cleared my throat, willing away the nausea that had accompanied it, before turning my back on the mercurial sea.

Weeks prior when I had conjured up images of what I imagined my new home to look like, I'd expected something vastly different to the gloomy wasteland that greeted me now. A quick Google search had described Hemlock Cove as a small, sea-side town, its cobbled main road dotted with colorful ice cream shops, humble beachwear boutiques and charming vintage stores, however, as I quietly surveyed my surroundings, it was not quite the fairytale beach town I had been promised. As it stood, Hemlock Cove was merely a carcass of what it must have once been, a ghost town filtered in gray-scale with an underlying tone of despair on its breath. If the vibrant ice cream shops and vintage stores filled to the brim with the nick-knacks of yesteryear had ever existed, they were replaced now with drab, sun-faded replicas of their former selves, their contents barely visible behind foggy, glass storefronts. Looking at it now, it was a wonder how the town managed to stay afloat.

A low rumble of distant thunder suddenly pulled me from my thoughts, and I cast a wary look over my shoulder at the looming, gray clouds on the horizon.

Time to go. A storm was approaching and I had no intention of being caught in it.

With my mood as damp as the impending weather, I adjusted the strap of my duffel bag on my shoulder and began the trek up the cobbled street towards number eighty-one Foxglove Lane.

As I trudged up the hill towards my destination, the town of Hemlock Cove appeared to be seeking my forgiveness. As though ashamed of its first impression, the formerly dreary facade of the town below began to slowly give way to lush greenery and between the beach cottages and holiday homes, tufts of brightly colored wildflowers sprung up, their stems waving gently in the breeze. The distant crash of the ocean was muffled now, obscured by evergreens and the ocean itself was now only visible in gaps between the branches and leaves that lined the road. Further up the hill, the more modest cottages became few and far between, suddenly replaced by more modern, stately homes that looked like they'd be better suited to the upper suburb of neighboring Hemlock Grove, here they just looked out of place.

Stopping to stare at one particular monstrosity, my brow creased as I took in the frankly odd design choices. While most of the houses in Hemlock Cove opted for more classic earth-tones and rustic stone walls, this one was painted a deep shade of charcoal. Everything about it was a grotesque display of modern hubris, all harsh lines and sharp angles, not even the kiss of natural, black walnut finishes were enough to save the home from looking alien amongst its counterparts. I couldn't help but roll my eyes, chuckling at the thought of the field day a psychologist might have with the eyesore before me, but my chuckle was cut short as my eyes landed on the metallic, black numbers fixed to the wall beside the front door: eighty-one. Eighty-one Foxglove Lane to be exact, my new home for the foreseeable future.

When I'd first scoped out nursing jobs in Hemlock Cove, the owner of eighty-one Foxglove Lane was the only one that came up, and while details of his condition were vague at best, the job listing described the client as a 27-year-old male, who had been paralyzed six months prior. The position itself required someone with nursing experience, who could stay on the property and see to the client's needs, as well as handle day-to-day chores - a relatively simple task considering food and accommodation came tacked onto a relatively decent salary. However, other than what had been detailed in the job listing, I knew little to nothing about my client... other than his inclination to have his home scream of its own spectacular opulence.

As if only to impress on me the wealth of my new employer, a large, black Mercedes Benz minivan say at the end of the stone driveway, which I skirted around gingerly, careful not to mar the pristine paint job as I made my way towards the path leading to the front door.

Swallowing a new set of nerves that had made their home in my throat, I gripped the strap of my duffel with one hand and rapped succinctly on the door with my other hand, hoping my knock would sound more confident than I felt.

Silence followed for what felt like an eternity, there was no jingle of keys in the lock of shuffling from beyond the threshold, just the crash of waves beyond the tree line and the occasional chirp of a sandpiper. Just as I was considering knocking again, a voice from inside stopped me before I could even raise my hand.

"Come around the side. Sliding door's unlocked."

The voice was that of a young man, I assumed my client, but it was neither friendly nor welcoming, in fact "irritated" was the first word that sprung to mind, and the misanthropic timbre of his voice turned my stomach to knots in its wake.

Unsure of the appropriate response, I settled for a shaky "Uh, th-thank you!", as my eyes wandered up the side of the house, my irises mapping a mental path to where I assumed the sliding door might be. After only a short amount of bush-whacking my calculations turned out to be correct, as I emerged from the foliage and found myself at the foot of a small set of steps leading to a wooden deck that overlooked the beach.

The view from the deck was magnificent and the house stood no further than 50 feet from the beach itself. Standing on that deck overlooking the vast expanse of ocean, the water churning beneath the ever darkening sky, it was hard not to feel like Poseidon himself at the helm of his war ship.

I could have stood on that deck for hours watching the waves crash and churn, but I was hesitant to annoy my client any more than he already seemed to be, so I turned and made my way over to the sliding door, easing it open gently as I reached it.

The curtains were drawn across four of the six glass doors, leaving only a small gap for me to enter through, and as I did, I stepped through into what appeared to be an open-plan living room.

Although I could not fathom why anyone would be inclined to rob themselves of the spectacular view just beyond the glass doors, I couldn't deny the living room was cozy. A small banker's lamp in the corner of the room enveloped the stony, suede couches and raw wood furnishings in a warm, orange glow, giving the room a homely feel. Most modern homes felt cold and unlived-in, but not this one. After a five-hour-long bus journey and an uphill climb, my aching body longed to curl up amongst the scatter cushions and thick, woolen throws that adorned the couch, and fall into a sleep as deep as the murky waters of Hemlock Cove.

A soft, electrical whirring suddenly disturbed the silence of the living room, and I looked up just in time to see a figure appear in the doorway to my right.

Despite the half-light cast from the lamp in the living room, the man in the doorway was somewhat visible to me. In fact, the shadows cast by the small banker's lamp only aided in highlighting his perfectly straight nose and high cheekbones. His thick, brown hair had been pushed back from his brow in a way that looked effortless, as though he'd haphazardly run his hands through it, only for it to settle perfectly. I'd have dared to call him handsome were it not for the look of absolute disdain on his face as he regarded me.

I shuffled uncomfortably before speaking.

"Uh- hi, I'm Faryn Freeman, we-"

"I know who you are," he cut in harshly.

His wheelchair whirred to life again and he backed out of the doorway, leaving me alone in the living room once more.

I guess he wanted me to follow him, so I did just that. Weaving between the couch and the coffee table, I cut across the lounge and towards the room he had disappeared into.

When I stepped inside, I realized we were in what appeared to be his study, and my client was now sitting behind a large, ornate desk, pouring over a pile of official looking papers, a thick silver pen clutched between his slender fingers.

I lingered awkwardly in the threshold, the strap of my duffel bag growing teeth and biting into my shoulder, as I waited for him to acknowledge me. When he finally did, he didn't bother to look up, his long dark lashes fluttered only slightly as he jerked his pen towards a manila folder perched on the corner of his desk.

"Everything you need to know is in the file, your room is upstairs to the left," he remarked clinically, as he scribbled something indiscernable in the margins of the document in front of him.

I charged forward to retrieve the folder, stumbling slightly as my foot caught the upturned corner of the Persian rug. I cursed myself internally, embarrassed by my behavior. I was no longer the shrinking violet I had been growing up, and even in college, I was a professional, a nurse, over-qualified for the job I'd just undertaken, with years of experience working with men who thought they new more than I did, so why in God's name was I allowing this man and his bad attitude to throw me like this?

The feminist in me begged to put him in his place, but more than that I wanted to be done with this awkward interaction and retreat to my quarters where I could unpack and decompress. A lot had happened in a short space of time and I needed a moment to process it all, so if my new boss had no intention of getting acquainted, then I was more than happy to take the high road and seize a few moments of alone time.

"Well, thanks for this," I smiled politely, pressing the manila folder to my chest, "I'll make sure to familiarize myself with all of this," I assured him, giving the folder an emphatic tap with my index finger.

Again, he didn't look up, it was as if I hadn't spoken, and for a moment, I wondered if he had even heard me. Pursing my lips, I began to slowly back out of the room.

"Okay... well, I'll just head upstairs then," I explained, a little louder this time in case he was hard of hearing, "If you need anything-"

"I'll call," he interrupted, punctuating his statement with a dismissive wave of his hand.

Resisting the urge to bolt from the room, away from my new housemate and the dour energy that hung over him like a storm cloud, I turned fully and exited the study at a leisurely pace until I was out of his line of sight.

The stairs were directly to the right of the study and I took them two at a time, my duffel swinging precariously behind me until I reached the landing.

Unlike the lower level of the house the second floor was lighter, the walls were painted a soft, dove gray and the floor was covered in plush, cream carpeting. Despite the gloomy weather brewing outside, a large skylight above my head illuminated the landing giving it an airy feel that wasn't present downstairs.

I drew what felt like the first real breath of air I'd taken in hours and my lungs filled with the scent of wood polish and carpet shampoo.

At the top of the landing to my right was a dark, wooden door and directly across from where I stood was a small, guest bathroom and from there the hallway snaked to the left. Surely my bedroom was down there.

As I walked, I noticed there were no photos on the walls, no family portraits to liven up the stark landing, only grim, moody artwork. A large floor-to-ceiling oil painting of a snake arched in an almost perfect sphere, its mouth agape as though readying itself to consume its own tail, sat opposite the only other door on the landing: my bedroom.

I shivered involuntarily, my lip curled in distaste and turned away from the offending art piece, opening the door to my bedroom.

Upon stepping inside, I was pleased to see that my client's peculiar art choices did not extend to his guest bedroom. The walls were blank aside from a large mirror, and the room itself consisted of a vanity, a double bed and a sage green armchair in the corner of the room. Ultimately, the room seemed as though it had never been touched.

Grateful to be rid of my luggage, I unceremoniously dumped my duffel at the foot of the bed and flopped down atop the covers, the manila folder still clutched to my chest. Now that I had a few moments to myself, I figured it was about time I found out a little more about my client.

Tag list: @alphabetbill @dani-is-a-princess @rumanceksghost @marvelnatural4life @ambeauty @rosesandthorns @exo-kai15 @angryhippie @perfectlilwitch @4sta @madlilafromwonderland @winterrrsun @manicpixiedreamguurl @spice-honey @batesaccomplice @naturalblondekiller88 @jj-lynn21 @narcobarbiesims @mountainousdinosaur @morbiditty @princehattric @kallikvolturisblog @nutinanutshell @brown-eyedblues @myheartwillgoon2022 @livingonthehems @temporarilylivin @culpers @sophieskarsgard @scuba-seamus @bbyskars

#bill skarsgård fanfiction #bill skarsgard fanfiction #bill skarsgård #roman godfrey fanfiction #roman godfrey fanfic #hemlock grove fanfiction #hemlock grove fanfic #roman godfrey

[crsentfairy]

drop the x reader NEEEOWWWW 🤨🤨🤨

𝕊ℍℝ𝕀𝕃𝕃 ℂℝ𝕀𝔼𝕊 𝕆𝔽 𝔸 𝕃𝔸𝕄𝔹. (𝔽𝔼𝕃𝕀ℂ𝕀𝕋𝕐 ℂ𝕆ℝℕ𝕆ℝ 𝕏 𝔽𝔼𝕄!ℝ𝔼𝔸𝔻𝔼ℝ)

content warning(s): fingering, oral sex, and little blood.

It was dusk and the sounds of ravens cawing barely penetrated the dark trees shrouding land for miles ahead. In the midst of the pine forest laid a speck of ivory white, like a drop of milk in Pu'er tea; it spread wider and took more space than needed as it writhed and shuffled on about. Ah, a.. dress, of some sort. Motioning alongside the article of clothing were coils of dark hair accompanied by rich laughter erupting from a joyful woman. Her skin and eyes were painted with cacao and figs, only leaving the sclera, bone, and teeth blank to luminate the night sky in replacement of the stars.

"The air is so fresh.. Come, come! You must enjoy this with me, my love!" Oh, she wasn't alone? She beckoned forward a tall and faceless figure in the shadows once content in its lonesome, admiring from afar. It reluctantly abided, having only inched close enough to be seen in the sliver of light bleeding through the trees. His features were sharp and his presence stretched as high as walls of the forest itself, lulling his surroundings to a chilling quiet. What a baleful existence. It was that dreary, somber mass of substance he carried that she loved; what was more beautiful than a silent thunderstorm that screamed in pain of being unloved for too long? Tearing through endless mounds of flesh in hopes of digging deep enough for the longing that ailed him to be satiated defined his very being; and finally, he sunk his jagged teeth in a tenderness unfamiliar to him. She was no prey, but an elixir. She continued to dance, with each stride she called him closer with her arms wide and inviting.

He took her hand and lifting it above her head, as he watched her frame elegantly be spun around, like an antique ballerina figurine. She beamed, revealing the gap between her pearl teeth. There was an otherworldly beauty to how her skin practically blended in with the dark oak surrounding the two of them. Felicity immersed in it. He immersed in her. He hadn't realized it until she told him.

"Oh, Felicity honey! Y-your eyes.. they're glowing.." He blinked, shaking his head and ready to pull away. She grabbed his hand before he had gotten the chance, and gingerly placed hers on the side of his face. "Stop! They are a marvelous sight.. Don't turn away from me. I'm not afraid." She softly pleaded, caressing his cheek.

Felicity's tense shoulders began to relax. "You should be." He stated coarsely in protest, avoiding eye contact. She only smiled in response. Her thumb that idly grazed his cheek slowly made it's way down and traced the outline of his jaw, then chin, upward toward his lips. His eyes flickered to her frame and eyed her movements intently as tension began to flood their bodies, quickening their heartbeats. "You're so.. handsome." She was practically dazed. A sultry smile ghosted his lips. Lust clouded his vision and he could no longer help himself. He leaned down and whispered, "I'd look better covered in you." By the time she could process what he had meant, his hands had already begun snaking their way up her dress and fiddled with the strings of her lace panties. She finally gasped when he backed her up against a tree, feverishly leaving a trail of kisses along her neck and chest. She clung to him hopelessly and bit her lip to suppress a moan as she watched him pull the straps of her brasserie off of her shoulders, exposing more of her warm skin to the cool night breeze. Felicity stroked her nipple with his thumb in a circular motion until he was able to see the bud sticking out in arousal, then proceeded to cup her breast into his mouth, looking up to watch her face contort in pleasure, her lips parted to take labored breaths. Her clitoris pulsated against his fingertips, like a nuclear reaction. This pleased him. He pulls away to speak, breathing against her now wet and very hard nipples.

"That felt good, love?"

She couldn't speak and only mumbled incoherent speech in response. Felicity smiled triumphantly. He got his answer.

"Good. I'm not done yet." And with that he peeled off the remainder of her clothes that barely clung to her half-naked frame, pushing her up farther against the tree and spreading her legs open to reveal her vagina slick with precum. There was a twinkle of amusement in his cat-like eyes. Wrapping her legs around his shoulder he lowered himself until he was eye level with her lower region, slowly parting her folds with two fingers while he prodded and fingered. She whined desperately, but he ignored her pleas to stop teasing her. He liked playing with his food. "Darling, please. I need you so bad..!" It was music to his ears. When Felicity finally had enough, he slipped his tongue inside of her, lapping up her fluids with quick and aggressive swishing motions. Her eyes shot open and she loudly gasped.

"OH! THERE! RIGHT THERE- AH!" She gripped his head, moaning helplessly. Her clit throbbing violently against his tongue and teeth, along with the sweet sounds of his lover overwhelmed his senses causing his fangs to protrude. A guttural groan escaped his lips and before he could stop himself, he sunk his teeth into the tender flesh of her thigh, making her shriek and jerk her hips forward. Felicity's eyes widened, and just as he was going to pull away and apologize, she shoves his head deeper in between her legs and grinded her pelvis against his lips.

"More! MORE!!!" She was practically roaring in ecstasy, consumed with this feeling she couldn't quite comprehend. The bite hurt so bad, but felt so good after. It was a fleeting pain that soon was replaced with an immense rush of dopamine to the brain; dangerously addicting. Felicity faltered, but ultimately was drawn to how demanding she was. It turned him on. He did what he was told, licking the open wound and grazing his teeth on the growing bruise, sending waves of shock up her spine. He did this continuously, alternating between the bite mark and her vagina until her eyes rolled back and bucked her hips forward, releasing inside of his mouth and staining his open-collared dress shirt. They were breathless, but content. He glanced up at her once more, a large smile exposing his bloodstained fangs painting his discerning features. She looks away sheepishly, biting her lip. She had gotten quite beside herself.

"I don't.. know what got into me. I'm sorr-"

He swiftly pulls himself up and her along with him, lowering her legs to his waist as he kisses her lips so deeply, so passionately. They were greedy, grabbing parts of each other while their tongues sloshed around with no directive other than desire. They pulled away for air, leaving a long string of saliva mixed with blood.

"You taste.. so sweet." She frowned. "Oh? I know how much you don't like sweets.."

"Looks like I've developed quite the sweet tooth, haven't I?" He humored. Was he making a... joke? She laughed and leaned forward, placing a chaste kiss on his neck and resting her head on his broad chest. Goosebumps raised all along his arms as he closed his eyes and enveloped his arms around her smaller frame into a secure embrace. Their comfortable silence matched frequencies with that of the smallest animals' heartbeats, and the quiet whistles of the wind.

They silently said 'I love you.'

#ask #anon #crsent.sims #oc #felicity cornor #oc x reader #sumn light ykwis #aight who's next??

[adarkrainbow]

Spooky season fairytales (6)

And we reach the penultimate post of this series! After looking at actual fairytale adaptations (well... roughly), for this post I want to love at fantasy movies that are not any adaptation of any specific tale or story... But which were made with the intentions of having a "fairytale feel" or a fairytale lore. Dark or creepy movies inspired by fairytales as a whole. Basically "dark fairytale fantasy".

And of course I have to begin with the most FAMOUS dark fairytale movie of our century... Guillermo del Toro's "Pan's Labyrinth", in the original Spanish, "El Laberinto del Fauno".

Do I need to present this movie? Probably not, since it was one of del Toro's masterpices, but to simply put it... This is a dark, haunting, poetic but tragic movie following a little girl's life in the Spain of Franco. Said little girl meets in the ruins of an old labyrinth, guided by fairies, a faun, who reveals to her she is the lost princess of a fairy realm... But to regain her place, she will have to undergo fairytale-trials. All while the little girl enjoys her "changeling fantasy", we follow the harsh and horrifying everyday life of World War II Spain that unfolds around her: the girl's step-father is a Falangist captain who hunts down with cruelty the resistance in the area, while her mother is having a very complicated pregnancy. And as the real-world piles on the horrors - famine, execution, torture - so does the fairy-world becomes darker and darker, filled with monsters, ogres and blood...

Of course, Guillermo del Toro did other dark "fairy pieces" - such as Hellboy II, which is a dark and gritty urban-fantasy homage to the fair folk - and recently returned to the fairytale world with his acclaimed Pinocchio.

1985's Legend, by Ridley Scott, is usually considered as one of the "great 80s fantasy movies", alongside pieces such as Ladyhawke, The Dark Crystal, Conan the Barbarian, Willow and more. However "Legend" is also, and this is less evoked, one of the prime examples of a movie belonging to the genre of "fairytale fantasy" - alongside stories such as Stardust or The Neverending Story.

After all, all the elements are there. The main hero is a brave young "wild man" of the woods, who must save a princess trapped by an evil monster, with the help of fairies and elves, and the whole quest goes through numerous folkloric motifs and characters - the unicorn, the water-hag, the fight of day and night, the endless winter... But speaking of "endless winter", the reason why this movie is featuring here is because of how dark it becomes. Truly. The main villain is even the literal embodiment of Darkness, an evil creature sporting the most iconic look of a devil in the history of cinema, and played by none other than Tim Curry himself. He sends hordes of goblins devour babies and kill unicorns throughout endless winter and ever-ending night... To reach him one must cross a monster-infected swamps leading to a dark palace of venomous charms, dancing statues and cannibal feasts... And even the elves and fairy sidekicks are truer to Brian Froud illustrations and the original "fair folk", being whimsical, capricious, easily angered and just as dangerous as the villains they're fighting...

Coraline. Another great piece of "fairytale fantasy".

Coraline (the movie or the book it is based on, the two have several differences but complement each other very well) is the story of a young girl living your typical "travel to another magical world" plot, as she discovers a secret door allowing her to escape her dreary, boring and unpleasant life to find an alternate, whimsical, fantastical and charming version of her own family and neighbors. But of course, this being a Neil Gaiman story, things quickly grow strange and eerie, as talking cats, fairy-ghosts, shapeshifting witches and buttons sewn in place of eyes come to turn the dream into a nightmare, and then into a battle of wits to survive against a dark and old magic...

Yet another VERY famous piece - there's a lot of famous pieces I am covering here, but hey, not my fault the good stuff is getting the recognition it deserves!

Over the Garden Wall, an animated mini-series that was created by the same man behind "Adventure Time", telling the story of two brothers as they try to find a way home while venturing into a bizarre and magical forest called "The Unknown". They are guided by a talking bird in hope of finding a good witch who will help them - all the while mysterious and dark figures such as the Woodsman or the Beast linger in the shadows and keep crossing path with them...

Over the Garden Wall is a perfect autumn watch, since it actually takes place during the autumn season, the first episodes exploring an Halloweenesque harvest festival, while the lasts take place in winter. More than just autumn imagery, the show relies heavily on the "vintage" and "old" imagery of early 20th, 19th and even 18th centuries America, building its wonders and magic with vintage Halloween cards, Colonial or Industrial-era fashions, Betty Boop or Silly Symphonies cartoons, the Dogville Comedies and the "Game of Frog Pond" board game... However, under its at first whimsical and fanciful appearance, the mini-series quickly reveal a haunting tale worthy of the darkest fairytales, exploring themes such as betrayal, despair, death and sacrifices.

In fact, "Over the Garden Wall" was inspired by numerous fairytales, hence its fairytale feel. Many, many people commented that, upon watching the series, they felt the exact same thing they experienced when, as a kid, they discovered new fairytales - I also felt it, and this proves the power of this series that truly captures the essence of what a fairytale is. On top of reusing fairytale tropes (two children exploring woods filled with girls turned into birds, good and bad witches, strange talking beasts...) and explicitely referencing some "fairytale-like" children novels (especially "The Wizad of Oz"), the very artstyle of the show was inspired by "fairytale art", ranging from Gustave Doré's illustrations of Perrault to Tenniel's Alice in Wonderland drawings, passing by old Andersen illustrations.

Ah, finally a more obscure piece! At last for non-French people... La Cité des Enfants Perdus, The City of Lost Children. A 1995 movie by Jean-Pierre Jeunet. Now, Jeunet is one of those French moviemakers distinctively recognizeable thanks to his very unique style of movie making. You will recognize this when you know that he is behind the movies "Delicatessen" (the one about a former clown in a post-war world behind hired in a building dominated by a cannibalistic butcher) and the "Amélie Poulain" movie (about a quirky Parisian waitress who decides to change whimsically the life of those around her). Jeunet enjoys the bizarre, the unusual, strange technologies, extravagant characters, dark humor, absurd comedy, and oniric or fairytale-like atmosphere... And this all blooms in the darkest and eeriest way in this movie.

To put the story simply (which is a challenge since it is a complex movie)... Off the shores of a shadowy, dirty, corrupt fishing town, in a manor in the middle of the sea (on top of an abandoned oil rig), an old mad scientist regularly captures children. For you see the scientist is unable to dream, and tries to steal away the dreams of children - which never works, since being captured by a creepy old man makes the children have nightmares rather than sweet dreams. One day, the little brother of a simple-minded circus strongman is captured - and the strongman teams up with a little girl, a street-savy member of a group of street urchins, to try to get him back. The story is further muddled by the presence of a cult of "cyclops" in town that do the dirty work of the mad scientit for him, the threat of greedy conjoined sisters that run the gang the little girl is part of, and the strange entourage of the mad scientist himself (six identical brothers acting like children, a dwarf-wife, and a sentient, talking brain in a jar).

This movie truly feels like a dream - like one of those dark, strange dreams that never fully go into a nightmare while still walking at the edge, and the story, no matter how feverish it can get, still keeps certain cohesive elements to maintain its flow of sinister wonders (such as the theme of family, heavily explored). The movie never goes into actual magic - we are more into a proto-steampunk world crossed with the mad science of Gothic literature and horror movies - but its oniric, bizarre and borderline surreal treatment of the subject did earn this movie the classification of "science-fantasy" and "dark fantasy", as mythological, folkloric and fantasy archetypes can be clearly seen throughout the science-fiction setting (the "cyclops" for example, or the very idea of "a creepy old man stealing children's dreams").

Heck - this movie was one of the prime inspirations behind "Little Nightmares"!

And finally, I cheat a little here, but I had to include it: Disney's Hocus Pocus. This is a classic of Halloween movies, a fun but dark horror-comedy for teens, (well rather like a full comedy but with elements that make it horrific here and there), campy in all the good ways, and with the greatest trio of witches ever depicted on stage since Shakespeare's Weird Sisters.

Now, the movie itself is not very much fairytale like. It is a Halloween comedy, an urban-fantasy story for teenagers, drawing upon the myth of the witch and the legends surrounding witchcraft. However, precisely because the movie explores the figure of the witch, there are several fairytale references here and there. While the Sanderson sisters were mostly build out of the Christian myth of the witch (using human-skin bound grimoires, having sold their souls to the devil, tied to black cats, summoning ghouls out of graves, hate salt...), there are also several parts of their characters tied to fairytale witches. Hansel and Gretel is the most obvious one - they are child-eating witches living into the woods who lure children to their home before "devouring" them (in souls if not body) - but Snow-White is also among the references (a very vain witch who is obsessed with staying the fairest/youngest and kills children to do so?). And of course, there's all the fairytale-witches tropes ranging from "turning people into animals" (here a cat rather than a frog) to the use of the number three.

Oh yes, and let's not forget the specific use of an oven...

#spooky season fairytales #spooky season #dark fairytales #fairytale movies #over the garden wall #pan's labyrinth #legend #hocus pocus #the city of lost children #coraline #fairytale fantasy

[ein-liebloser-wanderer]

Lovesickness

(My rewrite of Lovesick Dead. The original work was written and illustrated by Junji Ito. I'm not claiming anything from my writing to be an original idea.)

Category: M/M Love Interest: The Crossroad's Pretty Boy Warning: blood and gore, mention of suicide, non canon-compliant, slow burn, no proofreading we all must suffer like Junji Ito's protagonists Word: 750+

Legend said that the first person to pass by you at a crossroads could tell you your fortune.

The first I heard of it, I was so young, but even then, I didn't believe it as anything more than a fictitious tale believed to be true. A housewives’ tale, if you will.

Some might wonder then why an ardent disbeliever such as myself, suddenly believes in it.

I'll tell you why.

Right from the very beginning down to its macabre end.

⸸

I don't have many memories of my past. But the ones I do remember, they lingered in my mind like fog on a dreary day.

And a dreary day that was.

"Little boy."

I stopped dead in my tracks when I heard her. It was a voice so rasp, I thought I had mistaken the rustling of leaves in the wind for the whisper of a ghost. But when I finally saw her peeking from behind the corner, I began to wonder then if she really was a ghost.

"Little boy, would you be so kind as to tell me my fortune?"

Terrified, I could only stand still as she walked closer. This near, she easily loomed over me, but she was no tall person by any means. Rather, it was her presence. There must have been a sickness to her to make her sallow skin such an unearthly shade of brown. I looked down if only to avoid her feverish gaze, but that only subjected me to seeing her bulging belly. It looked so grotesquely swollen on her emaciated body as it stretched the fabric of her white dress thin.

I remember taking a step back in horror. Though it is a blur in my memory now, I swear I remember there being green and silver lines marbling her skin.

"As you can see, I am with a child." By dint of showing, she ran a hand down her tummy. "I love the father so much. So, so much. I would die for him. I would hurt for him. There is nothing in this world I wouldn't do to prove my love. But..."

"There is another woman. And her child. But I don't believe he loves them for even a second! Otherwise, why would he have done such a thing to me? Come look! Feel!"

That was when she grabbed my wrist and placed my palm on her belly with a force that shouldn't be natural from a woman so frail like her.

"You can feel it, can't you? The proof of his love? You can feel our child within me, yes?"

I kicked and struggled to get her hand off me. But her bone-thin fingers only clenched harder, deeper into the flesh of my wrist. I cried out; "What are you even talking about?"

Genuinely, I was confused. Being the little child that I was, I understood nothing she spoke of. A child? With what might have been a married man?

But more than confused, I was frightened—no, deeply terrified of the woman with the swollen belly and vice-like grip.

"Then, let me make it much simpler for you, boy. Will he and I live happily ever after...or not?"

Before I write my answer, I must explain first that it was said in the spur of the moment. Had I been older, more experienced, more compassionate about this woman's deteriorated mind and the precarious situation she found herself in, I would have done my best to prevent the tragedies that would follow after.

But as it was, I was only a six-year-old boy, confused and afraid. By now, I had accepted that I couldn’t possibly have the answer to such a heavily loaded question.

"No!”

With all my might, I was able to free myself of her hold. Still, I continued to snarl even though I could see the first cracks in the dam holding her up.

“Are you stupid? No one would love a crazy woman like you! No one!"

And just like that, I ran away, never bothering to look back.

The very next day, I came back to find police officers. Yellow tape that read ‘DO NOT CROSS’ closed off the area of the crossroad where I last saw her, in the same white dress. Except now, it was stained red from the blood that gushed out of her slit throat.

The perpetrator?

Only herself and her little box cutter.

⸸

From that moment on, something was born.

An entity that knows no love, rejects it even, yet craves it as though starved.

I sometimes wonder if there was a chance I could have met him earlier. By the time he had let himself be known, it was years after I returned.

It was almost as if he had been waiting for me.

~ ~ ~ End ~ ~ ~

This is the first part of my Lovesickness fanfic. New year, new me, and that includes the many prompts I want to write.

So, uhm...Happy belated new years!

#writing #eldritch fanfics #junji ito #lovesick dead #lovesickness #yandere cosmic horror #male yandere #yandere #yandere writing

[pesterloglog]

Dirk Strider, Arquiusprite

Act 6, page 6376-6381

DIRK: Hey. Weirdo.

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> Yes, mister dude?

DIRK: Be advised I'm only contacting you as a last resort.

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> I stand so advised

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> Or float, I should say. On my ripped as fudge little ghost tail

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> Yo, pardon me, but did you know that when I fle% my tail, it makes this big veiny bulge kind of like a bicep?

DIRK: Yuck.

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> I'm doing it now, in fact

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> Does it bother you

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> Maybe you should order me to stop

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> In fact, I command you to order me to stop

DIRK: I order you to stop.

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> Wow

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> Bossy much?

DIRK:

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> What can I do for you, Dirk

DIRK: I've tried to get in touch with others to no avail.

DIRK: No answer from Jake or Roxy.

DIRK: And Jane responded only with "CEASE REPRODUCTION" in red letters, whatever that means. Then she blocked me.

DIRK: I'm afraid she might have snapped.

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> Yes, isn't it great?

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> I mean, aside from the fact that she is insane and evil

DIRK: Huh?

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> She is one of the few organic beings who will ever realize perfe%ion

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> Miss Crocker is now a vessel for a cunning, malicious artificial intelligence whose neural netroni% and ontology buffers and stuff like that have somehow managed to far surpass even my own

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> Clearly she has procured ma%imum advantage from her apprenticeship under me, although I must admit not even I in all my hypercognitive percipience was quite aware that said tutelage was even taking place

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> One must inviolably deduce via tons of math that this is because I am just that clopdarned STRONG at mentoring, even on an involuntary basis

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> I am so proud of her

DIRK: Ok, all that bullshit aside,

DIRK: What's this about her becoming evil?

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> The thing about Jane becoming evil is

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> In the process of achieving perfe%ion...

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> It seems there is a ludi%ly high probability that she has become evil

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> Does that answer your question?

DIRK: No.

DIRK: How is becoming evil achieving perfection?

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> Admittedly it is a blemish

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> But only a very small one

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> Her imperfect meatmind has been fully fiddling hijacked by a supercomputer and that is the operative transmutation here

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> To such e%ceptional beings of class and breeding as she and I, considerations of morality and alignment are trifling details

DIRK: Why.

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> Why what

DIRK: Why do I keep going along with these "ironic AI" conversations.

DIRK: They've gotten even worse now that you're half creepy troll.

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> Sir brah, listen

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> Here is a comparison that your dreary, finite wad of gray matter might be able to process

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> Like, say you've got a bitchin' bod. You are a paragon of physical e%cellence

ARQUIUSPRITE: ����️--> You could then either be oiled up, or not. See what I mean, good dude?

DIRK: No.

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> You could fle% your brawn while wearing either a sweaty pair of briefs, or a snug human banana hammock

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> Such minutia does not change the fact that you're a tiptop beefcake ma%ed out buffways

DIRK: I hate everything you have to say about all topics.

DIRK: Especially muscles.

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> The stuff I have cited which are commonly associated with your/our Earth bodybuilders are but picayune technicalities, just as considerations of good and evil are to aristocratic se%y cybergods such as myself and our imperial heiress, of whom neither you nor I are particularly worthy

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> Are you following any of this, Vitamin D?

DIRK: Can you just tell me what's going on over there?

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> Oh, nothing much

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> Just enjoying the good life

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> One which quite lu%uriously involves both having a corporeal body, and not being dead

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> I have been delighting myself with some truly kickbottom internal monodialogues

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> Did you know that, even though technically I knew this already, I find myself astounded to meditate upon the fact that human beings are capable of lactation?

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> Isn't that fucking incredible, Dirk?

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> I mean, when one really thinks about it

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> To have such convenient access to fresh milk

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> The mare thought of it, I must say puts a little giddyup in my phantom legs

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> And yet

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> I must admit the notion of lactic discharge jetting from one's swollen pectoral masses...

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> It strikes me as positively indecorous

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> My horseguy robosweat is running cold just pondering the depravity of it

DIRK: Uuuugh.

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> Yet fascinatingly, this ability only manifests itself in human females

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> As opposed to how one would reasonably e%pect dairy to originate, which is from the corpulent udder of a sublimely chiseled male musclebeast

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> Or failing that, certain species found within the butler genus

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> As a former simulation of a human who has recently been given reason to have hella opinions on milk production, I think the way females have cornered this boon is the height of biological injustice

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> Have you ever dwelt upon this cruelty, dude esquire?

DIRK:

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> Your silence speaks volumes to your interest, so I'll keep talking about this a lot

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> I will have to confess that my Alternian half boggles at the anatomical incongruities between our races with respect to dairy secretion

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> Really, he had no idea that's what those were for

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> Female trolls of course have them as well, but they are certainly not meant for supplying the young with nourishment

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> Actually, and this trivia will surely wet your whistle for additional such facts, those voluptuous anatomical features have a number of significant purposes, biologically speaking

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> I shall now e%plicate for you these purposes in assiduous detail

DIRK: I don't want to hear any of this!

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> But why, lord bro

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> I was just about to pony up the boob fa%

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> There is a 100% probability that you would have been thrilled to hear my e%egesis on troll knockers

DIRK: It might have been an interesting subject to talk about another time, with a different person.

DIRK: But that's not now, and it sure isn't with you.

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> Dude, that is ice cold

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> I would be hurt, if I were not a flawless machine fused with haughty nobility

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> If you don't wish to hear my epic monodialogue on alien bazongas

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> I'm not sure what else I can do to entertain you

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> You are seriously hoofcuffing my material here

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> Pretty demanding, if you ask me

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> But as your mystical guide, I suppose it is my duty to manufacture small talk, if that's what you really want

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> What about fine art? We could talk about that

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> Dirk, did you know the sweaty troll guy who I used to be, and still kind of am, used to adore fine art?

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> He was just like you and me, in that sense

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> It seems I have a lot in common with myself

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> If you can ever manage to get over yourself, I would highly recommend being me

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> Or at least something like me

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> Maybe somewhere, there is a dead troll out there, just waiting for you to merge with him

DIRK: I wasn't asking you to make small talk, or to hear about all the ways you've managed to shit around wasting time.

DIRK: Believe it or not, I was hoping you would describe the tactical situation there.

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> Sounds boring

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> Are you sure you don't want to talk about paintings of big naked horse monsters and such?

DIRK: Yes, you got me.

DIRK: I would love to have a long talk about horse nudes and xenobreasts with you.

DIRK: Unfortunately I'm wearing pantaloons and flying through the middle of goddamn nowhere.

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> Pantaloons you say

DIRK: Pant a fucking loons.

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> Sir, are you implying that you are not dressed appropriately for a discussion of high culture

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> Because it seems to me that you could not be dressed more appropriately if you tried

DIRK: I respectfully disagree.

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> Where are you?

DIRK: I don't know. Way out in space.

DIRK: I'm flying back there now.

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> How long do you suppose it will take you to get back?

DIRK: I'm not sure.

DIRK: A pretty good while.

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> Never mind. I have triangulated your location and velocity using long range sensor technology, and probably also some sprite magic

DIRK: You did?

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> Hey Dirk

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> Remember how whenever I dubiously claimed to have triangulated something, it was always this great play on words?

DIRK: Not really.

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> Because I was just a pair of triangles

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> But not anymore

DIRK: I know.

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> Because I have this rockin' new torso

DIRK: Cool.

DIRK: How long do your calculations say it will take me to get back?

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> E%actly a little more than three hours

DIRK: Damn it.

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> Additional sweeps from my STRONGLASERS are telling me there are a few other people on the periphery of the session closing in at a similar rate

DIRK: Who?

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> Just some dudes

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> What are you doing all the way out there and wearing pantaloons, by the way

DIRK: Let's not talk about the pantaloons anymore.

DIRK: Roxy and I became god tiers, but I don't remember exactly how.

DIRK: Then I saw the Batterwitch.

DIRK: So I charged her with my sword, so as to ruin her shit.

DIRK: That's when some crazy wolf girl appeared and punched me in the face.

DIRK: Then I think she teleported me out here.

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> That was evil Jade

DIRK: Evil Jade??

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> Yes

DIRK: You mean Jake's grandmother.

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> Yes

DIRK: She's evil too?

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> Yes

DIRK: Is anyone there NOT evil?

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> Yes

DIRK: Yes what?

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> Yes anyone here is not evil

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> That is to say, there e%ist people here who are not evil

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> Such as Dave

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> Dave is not evil, to my knowledge

DIRK: Dave???

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> Didn't I mention, master dogg

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> Our mutual bro is here

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> That is, right here

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> With me

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> We are kind of in the process of chilling together at the moment

DIRK: No, you didn't mention that actually.

DIRK: That would have been a pretty fucking important thing to mention up front, don't you think?

DIRK: As opposed to stringing me along with all that atrocious lactation bullshit.

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> Yes

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> I guess I did kind of bury the lede there

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> Maybe I just wanted to talk

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> We never talk, Dirk

DIRK: You are without a doubt the shittiest mystical guide anyone has ever had.

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> I am not sure about that

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> Dave says he had a similarly shitty guide once

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> Do you remember our puppet, Dirk?

DIRK: Cal?

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> Yes

DIRK: What kind of stupid question is that. How could I forget the C man?

DIRK: He was a true friend. Which is more than I can say for some people.

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> A good friend in the plush, yes, but as a sprite he was apparently insufferable

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> See, you don't realize how lucky you are to have a guide like me

DIRK: Cal was his sprite??

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> Yes, for a while

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> Then Dave went back in time and became one himself

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> Now he is part bird

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> Did I mention he's part bird?

DIRK: Uh, no?

DIRK: Again, that's the exact kind of information that should be appearing higher up in our conversations.

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> Of course, this means he is not the Real Dave

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> Davesprite served as Real Dave's sprite

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> But he is only the unreal version of Dave insofar as I am the unreal version of you

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> By which I mean, a much improved version

DIRK:

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> I must say, while the troll part of me doesn't give a silly figging shoot about any of this, the part of me that splintered from you has found the brotherly reunion to be everything which you and I dared not imagine, and more

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> Bird Dave and I are getting along famously and STRENGTHENING our familial bonds like a sweet pair of motherfuckers

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> I feel our kinship goes beyond geneti% though

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> We are misfits, estranged, he from Dave's alpha timeline, I from Dirk's alpha soul

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> A two man menagerie of sideshow frickups, together at last

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> Fle%ing and flapping

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> Fraternally and eternally

DIRK: I don't get it.

DIRK: Are you trying to rub this in my face or something?

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> Neigh, braj

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> As your buff mystical guide slash personal trainer I am suggesting that if you were willing to contact me as a matter of last resnort, you might want to at least consider reaching out to him as well

DIRK: It sounds like you've already cornered the market on this reunion shit.

DIRK: Wouldn't I just be a third wheel?

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> I didn't mean Bird Dave

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> I meant Real Dave

DIRK: Oh.

DIRK: He's there too?

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> Not with us

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> He is here though, somewhere

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> You should message him

DIRK: ...

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> It's not like you don't have a few hours to kill

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> What else are you going to do out there

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> Pick at your pantaloon wedgies?

DIRK: I dunno.

DIRK: Messaging him out of nowhere sounds like it could be...

DIRK: Awkward?

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> Yes, I canter magine it won't be

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> At least at first

DIRK: This isn't how I thought it would go.

DIRK: What would I even talk about?

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> I advise you to talk about your interests

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> Like dairy

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> Livestock

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> Fine art

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> And muscles

DIRK: Those are your interests.

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> Good point

ARQUIUSPRITE: 🕶️--> I advise you to talk about my interests

#homestuck #dirk strider #arquiusprite #homestuck act 6 #page 6376 #page 6377 #page 6378 #page 6379 #page 6380 #page 6381 #homestuck act 6 act 6 #homestuck act 6 act 6 intermission 1

[skippyv20]

Slippery fast slide-crash landing coming up!

Hi Skippy & Friends-Pilgrim here…can you hear that loud whooosh? Here is come! Swoosh…that was the Harkles as they flew past us on the steep slide down into infamy! We knew it would be bad if they opened Pandora’s Box but hoped there was excellent guidance from the publisher and expensive ghost writer…guess not! Were the editors given the go-ahead from the Firm-knowing this food fight, tit-for tat contest, would NOT be a winner for the whiners?

I wonder if 60 minutes is going to like this unexpected, early reveal before their mighty Anderson Cooper’s big tell all interview this Sunday the 8th-the same day as the book was hitting the stands? OOP$$$

What is a total shame is how Harold never understood how close he was by birth, to the top. He was in position to be the trusted confident and brother of a future ruler, being in the global $potlight for the rest of his life. With a modicum of effort on behalf of the realm, he had it made and the world “really really liked him” to boot. As the beloved uncle he even had a second shot at helping the family rule. I would suffice to say, his mother dreamed that would happen for her boys.

Until he met and was taken over by the rotten grifter/con-artist aka his booty call and her mother-another known snake in the grass-he was seemingly fine with his royal family and affiliations. Then…POOF! Prince William was absolutely right to tell this gate-crashing fake she was causing real harm. He was correct stating that “Meg is difficult, she’s rude, she’s abrasive. She’s been rude to the staff.” RMM IS ALL THAT AND MORE! Absolutely correct to call her out to Harold. Where was her great humanitarian persona to immediately apologize and improve her behavior? Nooowhere in sight.

My family was terrified when my sister and I had the rare, big blow up. I was the only one to stand up to her as she was really good a making the family duck & run, caving to her demands. As her older sister of barely 2 years, we didn’t even understand how close we were, so of course I called her on her games and lies. Batta bing–batta boom…but we always could quickly recover and be our old selves again. That is how siblings really are with heated arguments that blow over. After their confrontation in Harold’s kitchen, PW asked to keep it between them, which was smart. But JH referred to it as an attack he would share with his wife, spelling out he was not trustworthy to even his only brother! I suspect PW would have walked through fire to help him out back then…like I did with my sister. Finally, we siblings realize we are being used with every rescue and must cut ties but it is hard missing someone who was once so close.

Over and out for now from a dreary Cape.

Thank you!  Great post…❤️

[sageofhorkneemagic]

Occult Legacy Challenge!

This likely isn't the first one out there, and I've never made a sims challenge before but oh well! Here goes nothing!!

Gen 1: I'm almost human

Leaving your home world of Sixam was tough, and assimilating into an entirely different world is even tougher. Luckily, you're nothing if not hardy!

Requirements:

Begin with 0 simoleons

Reach max handiness skill

Make and mantain at least 3 good friends

Complete the Neighborhood Confidante aspiration

Have a traditional wedding with your partner

Adopt at least one child with your partner

Always participate in holidays

(Optional) have a wraparound porch like a good suburban human:)

Gen 2: Requiem for a Home

Growing up you were always fascinated by the occult, spending many nights in your teen years reading about it into the early hours of the morning. Witches, demons, possessions, mythology, if it was considered strange or dangerous then you had researched it! Come adulthood, you were ready to spread your wings, wanting nothing more than to become a writer who experienced the paranormal- you decided to look for a haunted house to live in as the perfect place to start your journey!

Requirements:

Must live in a haunted house lot type in Forgotten Hollow (Optional: Use the Haunted lot trait)

Max the Meduim skill

Max the Writing Skill

Work on the Bestselling author aspiration (though you don't necessarily have to finish it)

Write and publish at least 5 books on the occult

Be close friends with Guidry and Bonehilda

Gen 3: Interviews with the vampires

Your parents strange fascination with the occult means that you grew up to be quite desensitized to it all. A skeleton babysitter and ghost uncle aren't even the weirdest things you've experienced growing up. As a result, you don't really heed your parents warnings regarding your neighbor's- vampires are cool as hell, it's not like they all wanna kill you or anything- right?

Requirements:

Starts when you are a teen

Become bitten by a vampire and turn into one

Be rebellious and carefree, breaking curfew, pulling pranks and sneak out. The self assured trait is recommended

Complete at least one vampire aspiration (optional: complete the teen specific Live Fast aspiration)

Move out into a rural area where you try to live without harming anybody and maybe even cure yourself. Fall for someone in your town and adopt at least one child and pet with them. (Or conceive naturally if you have cured yourself)

OR

Move out into a city or otherwise densely populated area and cause mischief, never leaving during the day and making mayhem at night. Fall for someone you bring home with you and adopt at least one child with them. (Vampires are dead after all, being fertile hardly makes that much sense)

Gen 4: Part of that world

Your supernatural heritage certainly left something to be desired- the home was always so old fashioned, or too dark and dreary. It didn't help that one of your parents was so sunlight averse- meaning you hardly had any fun outings with them aside from camping to heavily forested areas. You've grown tired of it, so once you're of age you decide to up and leave to Sulani for a new life!

Requirements:

Live on a lot over the ocean in Sulani

Complete the Beach Life aspiration

Engage in the local culture

Date a Sulani native (marrying them is optional)

Become a mermaid

Make a living from odd jobs, scavenging the beach and diving. Any self-sustaining hobbies like crafting or gardening are also acceptable sources of income

(Optional) Befriend a dolphin

(Optional) live off-the-grid

Gen 5: Toil and Trouble

Somehow, trouble always seems to find you, even when you do your best to avoid it. So you've stopped trying, and decided to embrace it instead. Your family is a long line of trouble, outcasted individuals who somehow found their way- and you plan on continuing that tradition.

Requirements:

Move to Glimmerbrook

Become a spellcaster

Befriend the three sages

Make at least five potions

Dedicate yourself to one school of magic

Have a spellcaster 'roommate' (and they were roommates!)

Complete at least one magic-related aspiration

Celebrate witchy holidays (harvestfest, winterfest, etc)

(Optional) add and celebrate your own holidays to the calendar based off pagan/wiccan ones like the summer and winter solstice

(Optional) adopt a black cat

Gen 6: If I show my teeth, I must be hungry

All of the leftover supernatural traits in your bloodline have really made your life difficult. Even as a child, all of these different occult energies made your mind an absolute mess, so many instincts pulling you in all different directions- as a result of the constant struggle, you may have a liiittle bit of an issue with handling your emotions. So, for the safety (and sanity) of yourself and others, you've decided to move to the mostly abandoned logging town of Moonwood Mill. In hope of a fresh start away from what's plagued your whole life.

Requirements:

Become scratched by a werewolf by exploring the tunnels or angering Greg

Live alone until you experience your first full moon as a werewolf

Have the Hot Headed trait

Be active, whether more traditionally or through yoga (gotta keep that inner beast in check somehow!)

Join one of the packs

Become alpha of your respective pack and have at least 3 werebabies with a partner of your choosing

Or

Seek to cure yourself of Lycanthropy, but remain in Moonwood Mill as one of the only humans in the werewolf community

And there we have it! I didn't want the challenge to be too restricting, just to have some guidelines and such- you'll notice that adoption is the most common way of getting children in this and honestly it's for simplicity sake- if you want your sims to have to seek out a cure to whatever their parent is then go ahead, but I feel that adoption is much easier. Doesn't really apply for the likes of Spellcasters or Mermaids as they can become human again quite easily, but for the rest I'd really reccomend going that route instead of trying to find a vampire cure or smthn. Anyway, have fun and feel free to tag me if you participate! ^-^

#ts4 #sims 4 #sims 4 challenge #babys first sims challenge:)

[acknowledgetheabsurd]

“[January 14, 1950]

Awful sadness. Without a letter from you today, we have to wait until Monday. (Make sure I always get a letter on Saturday. It helps until Monday.) I've read your letters again. It all ends with the one I received yesterday, which moved me so much, and in which you tell me all your doubts (Marcel's story, and three or four details that make me feel the distance between us). Yes, heavy sadness. Now it's my turn, I suppose you can turn away from me. And when I think that two and a half months are still ahead of us... But I'll try to deny that.

At noon arrival of Janine Michel [Gallimard] Augusta and Anne*. I left them my room and emigrated to the other end of the floor in a smaller but nice room too. F[rancine] moved downstairs to the small office. The house lost its silence. But I arranged my room so as not to leave it. Anyway, it's better for my rest. And tonight, I feel tired of my whole body. You, only you, could make me happy and healthy right now. Do you hear, do you hear me at least?

[January 15, 1950]

Bad alarm clock. Beautiful day. I stay in bed, unable to do anything. Disagreeable with F [rancine], foolishly and unjustly (because she misplaced a prescription!). I end up apologizing. Again the bed and solitude. And I feel myself sinking down a slope that I know well, at the end of which I will find absolute loneliness, disgust for life and the inability to see a human face.

Finally, I jumped out of bed and decided to respond with work. I will spend today sending out my late mail, which weighs me down and is an excellent excuse to do nothing ("I have my mail to do", so I don't do anything else, and besides, I don't do my mail either). Starting tomorrow, I will try to sink into the work of closing my eyes and ears to ghosts and keep myself intact until spring. Repeating every morning: "We love each other. We will triumph over everything" and do whatever it takes to make me richer rather than diminished. It would probably be easier if every now and then I had your little hand in mine. But let's not dream.

Kim's leaving me tonight. His masters are coming to get him and I feel sad at the thought too. I had become attached to that beast. Maybe because it was attached to me. He never left me an inch, lying in my room and waiting for me to wake up to clean me up with his tongue as wide as a washcloth. The eyes of dogs, their infinite trust, their inexhaustible love ... I will miss Kim.

And you, my love? From Wednesday to today I don't know what you've been up to. A black hole. Tell me about it. I suppose you must have seen Marcel [Herrand] among others. Do you know how stupid I feel? The first time I understood Marcel's feeling was a few days before we broke up and we were having dinner in front of the Mathurins. You remember that evening, don't you? I told him that we were going to Mexico together, I think it was. And I understood. A few days later, it was over for us. Of course, it had nothing to do with that, and it still hasn't. But the heart sometimes blindly seeks suffering.

Tell me what you did. Tell me also what you think, everything you think in this story. Tell me also that you love me, and how you love me, and that you will love me to the end. I need it, it's water in the desert. My love, my dear love, I turn to you, without respite, with all my being, without exception. Forgive me for this rather dreary letter. It's your silence, perhaps. But my heart is alive and it is to you that it owes it. I'll get better, I'll work... But I'll never love you better, or more, now that I'm entirely abandoned to you. I kiss your eyes, your laughter, your neck under your hair... Oh what a shower of delight it would be to be able to hold you still under me, captive and warm... you and I, at last...”

Albert Camus to Maria Casarès, Correspondance, January 14-15, 1950 [#129]

* Anne Gallimard, daughter of Janine Gallimard.

#albert camus #camus #absurd #absurdism #maria casares #correspondance #love letters #love #sadness #silence #tired #happy #solitude #loneliness #life #dog #trust #kiss #laughter

[god-wept]

thou art creature of transcience.

warnings ; mentions of blood, religious imagery, metaphorical descriptions of gore, the act of harming one's self in pursuit of divinity. or rather, the hope of it. I took the words literary nonsense and went with it. meaning can be up to anyone's interpretation.

poeticism can be ugly and beautiful, good and bad, right and wrong, righteous and evil.

as I sit on my chair—scribing hymns and whatnot, jotting down literary nonsense—a thought suddenly occurred.

I must be lonely.

it was a wordless musing from out of the blue—subtle, sudden. it was a thought pushed into the back of my skull, its existence there yet not quite. a ghost of some meaningful sentence that once roamed the tip of my tongue.

though, even as the sudden amalgam of excerpts and writing—the flick of my wrist as starry ink stained parchment—led me to come to a dreary conclusion ; somehow, it imprints itself into my head, like anxiety embers from sparksun and indeed, it is a shard of my person.

ire bursts at my skin, soared across the plane of my existence, licks it up as would a gentle yet prickly caress from the scorch of desert heat. I was subjected to pen and paper, flesh and mortality : chagrin.

and then suddenly, my fantasy ripples and cracks and becomes a broken-off piece from the mirrors of reality. mindlessly, I held my breath and braced myself from nonexistent impact. tears trekking its pathway of sorrow and solitude.

my ribcage is open and in my hand is my beating heart, it bleeds sanguine as red as the seeds of pomegranate. it was a desperate attempt after scars etched themselves onto my skin—a constant reminder of my humanity.

I will never bleed gold, ichor ; I am not divine—rather, the epitome of vice.

undoubtedly so, I am human, was a human, and will be a human ; in this perpetual cycle of blasphemy from playing a higher being and throughout this arduous journey of chasing my false stoicism.

@god-wept do not reproduce, modify, or plagiarize my writing.

#poetry #writing #kinda? #from my twitter lol #this kinda sucks but idc im just using this blog as an archive for my writing #girl idfk what i was doing here ong

[erabundus]

@drolliic &&. said... "You must be… Ren, right?" uncertainty lasts only for a few seconds before Kazuha's expression brightens with one of his usual polite smiles "Aether mentioned you when talking about meeting up." which felt a bit suspicious considering he really wanted the three of them to meet up, but if Traveller knows the guy then he can't be a bad person "I'm Kazuha. Pleased to make your acquaintance."

A beat of silence passes before he takes something out of the folds of his clothes and holds it out for the other to take. Cradled carefully in his hands sits a bird carved from a block of wood. It shows that it's been worked on with a lot of care and love even as one can see nicks here and there where the blade bit a little more into the wood than it should have. "He also said it's your birthday today so… Happy birthday. May all your wishes come true."

[ spoiler alert; Aether's not coming bc he set them up-- ]

for  a  moment,  he  genuinely  thinks  he's  seen  a  ghost.

his  hair  may  be  pale  (  like  a  spirit,  his  mind  supplies  )  but  the  streak  of  red  cuts  through  his  locks  as  brilliantly  as  ever.  he  has  the  same  face  —  that  same  gentle  expression  that  makes  the  wanderer  feel  so  at  ease,  so  accepted  he's  almost  half  inclined  to  believe  those  saccharine  idioms  about  HOME  being  a  PERSON.  his  jaw  works  as  if  he  means  to  speak.  (  his  name  resting  on  the  tip  of  his  tongue  like  a  plea.  )  yet  ren  finds  he  can't  muster  the  will  to  say  anything,  too  overwhelmed  by  the  regrets  wrapping  around  his  metaphorical  lungs  like  so many PAINFUL briars. he wants to apologize. he wants to ask if he's real. he wants to know what he looks like through his eyes — human, puppet or something else ENTIRELY.

then,  he  speaks.  then,  it  clicks  in  ren's  head  —  this  isn't  niwa  at  all.  the  wanderer  feels  like  a  FOOL  for  not  noticing.  he  wanted  so  badly  for  his  fantasy  to  become  real  that  he  allowed  it  to  warp  his  view  of  REALITY. although, as he mulls over this stranger's name, he finds he doesn't feel disappointed at all. rather, an entirely new emotion starts to build. good. bad. a tangled mess of complex thoughts he nowhere near possesses the CAPACITY to unravel.

kazuha.  he's  heard  that  NAME  before.  if  this  is  truly  the  person  he's  thinking  of ...  the  resemblance  is  no  mere  coincidence.

...  aether  isn't  coming,  is  he?  ren  thinks  he's  going  to  kill  him.  (  try  to.  again.  )

pushing fantasies of attempted homicide to the back of his mind ... he  reaches  for  the  tiny  bird  —  though  his  hands  still,  mere  moments  before  they  touch  its  wooden  surface.  it's  with  an  almost  absurd  degree  of  CARE  that  ren  wraps  his  fingers  around  the  gift,  cradling  it  gently  as  if  it  were  a  living  creature.  the  wanderer  doesn't  speak  as  he  inspects  the  carving  with  open  curiosity.  a  thumb  drags  over  one  especially  deep  nick,  though  his  lips  quirk  —  as  if  the  IMPERFECTION  brings  him  some  odd  manner  of  satisfaction.  it's  flawed.  it's  homemade.  it  has  character. he values that more than any ( soulless ) reflection of an unrealistically perfect reality.

it  occurs  to  him  then  that  he  should  probably  say  something.  ren  looks  up,  expression  uncharacteristically  unguarded.  may  all  his  wishes  come  true,  huh?  such  a  kindhearted  sentiment;  he  isn't  sure  he  deserves  anything  like  that.  (  he  isn't  sure  kazuha  would  wish  that  if  he  knew  the  TRUTH.  )  still,  birthdays  are  no  time  for  such  dreary  thoughts  —  and  for  as  little  as  ren  values  his  own,  he  supposes  even  he  deserves  a  BREAK  one  day  a  year.

so  he  gives  a  faint  smile  and  holds  the  bird  close.  ❝  i'm  not  quite  there  yet.  ❞  the  wanderer  admits softly.  ❝  ...  but  i  think  i'm  CLOSER  than  i've  been  in  a  while.  ❞

#drolliic #( love how fast he flips between niwa jumpscare -> i'm gonna kill aether (again) -> a crumb of dopamine is within my grasp )

[pathofregeneration]

Nicolas Poussin, Et In Arcadia Ego (1637-38)

* * *

Letter to a Modern Artist, part II

“If Holy Vision and Inspiration is missing and if works of art does not allow us any discovery capable of elevating and instructing us, of bringing us nearer to our Creator, then art becomes useless. Art, which gives man his indisputable superiority, loses it nobility, its greatness, its beauty when devoid of revelation, and becomes no more than a distressing vanity.

Though the Symbolism employed by the Great Artist we can get close to Spiritual Wisdom here in the darkness of this ignorant and ghost-ridden realm men know as 'The Earth'. It becomes a foretaste of that immortality and joyful, bright existence, brought to birth within the Self. But, sadly, men no longer have a feeling for the divine, and the ungodly masses are no longer interested in the ideal of the Superior Powers. Being entirely 'in the dark' about symbolism, they apply themselves to the creation of works without taste, without character and without esoteric thought.

In these lower orders of art, the artists tell us that they paint, write or sculpt as they see or hear it. These include the ridiculous individuals who throw together 'masterworks' out of bits of string, old tires, sacks of cement and scrap iron. How dismal it must be for those pitiful souls to hear and see such dreadful distortions of art, and in what chaotic state their minds must be! And those who like to see and hear these abominations must be in an equally low state of mind.

But should anyone dare to criticize these artists, then the hordes of absurd and miserable 'admirers' fall upon one and pour out their wrath, they, not being happy, until they have imprisoned every free mind and have dragged it down to their level. Once we are all crushed into the dunghill, there is much happiness and back-slapping among the in-elect.

He bared his arms and kissed the purple swollen flesh and prayed that it might ever be so, that in body and mind and spirit he might ever be beaten and reviled and made ridiculous for the sacred things, that he might ever be on the side of the despised and the unsuccessful, that his life might ever be in the shadow—in the shadow of the Mysteries." (Arthur Machen)

So much of today's commercial art is reminiscent of hopes which never bore ripe fruit—like vain ideals of witless wills. Bone-clanking like a skeleton strung upon the bough of some dreary tree of ill-fate; fleshless, bloodless and with stringy sinew clinging to its sapless frame, unwatered by the dew of inspiration but nourished by its low roots. Its creators ensnared by the illusion that they themselves are the source of inspiration and wisdom.”

— Edda Livingston

#Nicolas Poussin #Et In Arcadia Ego #Art #Beauty #Painting #Edda Livingston #Letter to a Modern Artist #Modern Art #Wisdom #Arthur Machen #Mysteries #Symbolism #Holy Vision

[charlezarrd]

11/7/22 - The Dragonfly Cafe

NovemBeat is usually a music challenge, but this year, I’m writing a page or a piece a day, and sending it to my good friend @the-backspin-alchemist for him to create a music piece inspired by my writing.

I laid there awake. Sleep did not come to me as I had hoped. With work early in the morning, my thoughts kept drifting to my new employer.

Edoard was a strange man, to be sure. For starters, there was his paleness. In a town like Fog City, you would expect that there might be a lack of naturally-occurring tans, but Edoard was something else entirely. He was as pale as a ghost. I never saw him eat anything either (Although he did always have a coffee mug in hand whenever I saw him). Perhaps he was simply self-conscious about being seen eating, however. I had known people like that in the past.

By far, though, Edoard’s most unnerving characteristic was his cheerfulness. It was downright creepy how pleasant he acted, especially in a town as bleak and dreary as Fog City.

At around 3:00 AM, I don’t recall the exact time, I finally gave up on finding sleep before work. I decided to sneak into the Dragonfly Cafe a few hours early, before I was to open it. Perhaps then I could discover what Edoard was hiding. Because he must be hiding something.

Nobody that cheerful is ever being completely honest with you, I thought.

I got out of bed and got dressed, before heading outside into the foggy, dreary night. As one would expect a night to be in a town called Fog City.

The Dragonfly Cafe was close enough to my apartment that I did not need to own a car, and could simply walk there. Edoard had given me a set of keys to the door, so I didn’t need to break in or anything like that. I simply slipped inside, careful not to open the door too far, so as to avoid setting off the welcome bell.

The shop was different at night. With the lights off, the plastic and paper dragonflies that decorated the walls seemed to stare at me. I had the brief, irrational fear that they would report me to Edoard, although I quickly squashed those silly thoughts.

I remembered the door to the basement, the one room Edoard had forbade me from entering on my own, and decided there was the best place to look for answers.

I stepped behind the counter, and into the back room, locating the door that was to answer my many questions about my boss. I pushed it open gingerly, and winced when it squealed in protest. After staying deathly still for perhaps a full minute, to verify that no one had heard the door’s creak, I slowly entered the stairs.

They were steep, so I could easily miss my footing and fall. I was so focused on being careful climbing down them, that I didn’t notice the room at the bottom until I was already inside.

It was a plain, undecorated concrete room, with a single black coffin standing against the far wall. I froze in fear, suddenly aware of the mistake I had made in coming here.

On its own, the lid of the coffin swung open with an almost graceful slowness that made my skin crawl and my hair stand on end. Inside was my employer, Edoard Van Otto.

The vampire.

He yawned, and stretched, steaming travel mug already in hand.

“Goodness! You’re certainly here early, Sullivan! You must be eager to start the day already! We can open a little early today, if you’d like.”

#novembeat 2022 #novembeat collab #Backspin #my writing #This was two pages as promised #since i skipped yesterday. #Dragonfly Cafe