#like maybe forcing children to do their work when they are 7 and want to spin in circles and then punishing them for it instead of like

[ceilidho]

take me home, country road

[ao3]

You have nothing on your person apart from a hastily packed suitcase and the dress you came into town wearing, on the run from trouble back home. Too bad John's missing a bride that matches your description. Or: the 1800s (mistaken) mail order bride au (part 8)

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7

-

Now a nocturnal animal emerges into the daylight hours.

A week becomes two and your shoulders untense. It’s not something you notice at first because you’re used to an ever present strain between your shoulder blades and an ache in your jaw from grinding your teeth at night. Then a fortnight goes by without so much as a missive with your name on it floating across John’s desk or a stranger appearing in town after tracking you down, and you wonder if maybe the world really is big enough to hide in. 

It sure feels that way at times. The woods beyond the bounds of John’s property stretch out farther than the eye can see and even walking it feels like you could disappear into another realm. Old spruces shoot up high into the clouds, and deeper into the woods, huge rock formations grow more and more prominent as you near the mountains. John takes you through the woods on horseback, following the rough trails carved into the dirt by a century of wagons and carts using the same path. The footprints of a different time. 

Up in the trees, birds warble and chirp, talking to one another in songs that you’ve never heard before. A woodpecker drills into the side of a tree. Pinecones snap out of the upper branches and drop to the forest floor. 

There is only a single trail and it’s easy to lose. You grow a bit nervous when John takes you off the trail and deeper into the woods, but he does so with the confidence of a man that knows these woods like the back of his hand. You go quiet when he stops Buttercup to let a herd of deer wander by, the stragglers hurrying to catch up with the group, throwing the two of you nervous glances before they disappear into the thicket. 

“Should we be out this far?” you ask in a whisper, reluctant to disturb the silence. Though the woods are full of animals that bleat, chirp, chatter, and hoot, the sound of your own voice feels preternaturally loud and shrill. 

“We won’t get lost, darlin’. I know my way around,” John reassures you, curling an arm around your waist to hold you to him. These days, you hardly worry about tumbling off the horse. Not with him at your back anyway. 

“That wasn’t really my worry,” you mumble, trailing off.

“Then what’re you getting all worked up about?”

“Aren’t there wolves out here? Or bears?”

He snorts, the sound making you jolt. You don’t topple over because he has such a firm hold around your waist. “They don’t usually come this close to town. They’re more scared of you than you are of them.”

“That sounds like something mothers tell their children to stop them crying,” you say flatly. You draw your legs up automatically when John directs Buttercup through a shallow basin, a shortcut back home. It makes you anxious for a moment, but the water barely goes up to her ankles, so you relax when you realize that you’re in no danger of being swept away by the current.

“That doesn’t mean a bear or wolf can’t wander by, but it’s rare.”

“And there it is.”

You can feel the heat of his glower on the back of your head. “We could spend the night out here if you want to see for yourself.”

At that, you shut your mouth. Even if he were to prove his point, you have no interest in camping out in the woods now that you’ve become accustomed to the luxury of a soft bed. Granted that you’re forced to share that same bed, still you’ve never slept half as well as you do these days. You wake up rested after nine hours of blissful shut eye, a sleep so deep that your dreams only come in half-remembered flashes. Often they involve the man you wake up wrapped around, and for that you’re grateful that they remain submerged. 

A new desire has started to burrow its way into the back of your mind in recent days. It starts out as a thought so brief that you hardly notice it before it skitters away. 

And then it lingers. 

You wake up in the middle of the night hot, sweat dripping down the nape of your neck and a fire burning in your loins, a red-hot coil wound around itself, fit to burst. Pulsating. At some point throughout the night, you must have thrown a leg around John’s waist because it rests there now, your hand planted in the middle of his chest and your sex all but rubbing up against his thigh. Under your hand, you can feel his heart pump strong and steady.

You hold very, very still, waiting for him to wake. But John sleeps on, his palm loose where it rests along the curve of your hip, fingers curling into the flesh of your backside. 

You can hardly look at him these days without shaking. You’ve come to fixate on the sway of his hips when he walks and the flecks of silver in his beard. The grooves in his weathered hands. The way your head fits in the palm of his hand when he cradles it to his chest. The fond glimmer in his eyes that shines the brightest when he puts his hat on your head and it slips past your eyes, too big for your head. 

When you tip it up in order to see, the folds around his eyes become more pronounced with the force of his smile.

“There you are, bug,” he says, taking the hat off your head to set it back on his and reeling you in for a kiss. 

Bug, love, honey, darling. The constant flux of endearments makes your head spin. John never calls you by the name on your marriage license. It’s like that name means nothing to him, cast away at the first opportunity and replaced by an endless stream of pet names.  

He hasn’t touched your sex since making you come on the porch swing the week before. He pulls you into a chaste embrace at night, the only evidence of his own desire being the stiff shaft nestled against the small of your back in the early morning hours, which he takes care of on his own in the bathroom downstairs after pressing a kiss to your cheek. You feel robbed of something, though you don’t know quite what. 

You’re tempted to offer your help, but you don’t know exactly what that would entail. Inexperience and fear of rejection hold you back, stay your tongue. In the two weeks you’ve been married, he hasn’t once tried to pin you down and rut between your thighs like you expected and dreaded that very first night. 

Now that that time has passed, you don’t know how to initiate that moment again. 

John promises to teach you how to ride a horse. You can’t see a reason to protest, much to your chagrin. Despite your apprehensions, even you can’t deny that it would be a helpful skill. A train only goes one way after all, confined to a single track. A horse has no such laws to obey.

The thought stays nestled at the back of your mind as the days continue on.

You flounder around in the kitchen on the day that John invites his deputies over for supper. You’ve met the big one—Simon—now a small handful of times, each encounter marked by a silence that sucks the air out of the room when he turns his gaze on you and holds it. Perhaps you’ve simply ascribed too much importance to his person, given that every time you’ve seen him, your life has changed irrevocably. His presence is always followed by revelation it seems. The archangel of vicissitude. A harbinger of uncertain times.

The other two are new. John introduces you to them when you bring out the cutlery and crockery to set the table, and you nearly go cross-eyed when they reach across the table at the same time to offer their hands. You go to meet them halfway, but flinch when John brings his hand down on the table with enough force to make the silverware jump.

“Sorry, darlin’,” he apologizes to you first before turning his glare on the other two. “That ain’t proper, boys. You wait for the lady to offer her hand first—you don’t treat a woman like she’s a mutt you’re teaching to shake.”

“Ah, sorry, hen,” the one on the left says, his voice a thick Scottish brogue like a purr. He’s possibly the handsomest man you’ve ever met, but there’s something dangerous and wild in his eyes. When he smiles, it curls up in a roguish sort of way that makes you falter, like he’s in on a joke that you aren’t. “Dinnae mean to offend. No’ often we get ta meet such a pretty lady.” 

“Sorry—” the one on the right apologizes in a voice far more earnest than his counterpart’s. “And sorry for him. We think he was raised by wolves.”

“What’s yer excuse then?” the Scot sneers, knocking his knee into the other man’s under the table. “Dinnae see ye waitin’ for her fuckin’ hand like a gentleman—apologies, hen.”

“Christ,” John sighs, leaning back in his chair and staring up at the ceiling. 

Simon stays silent at the other end of the table, but the whole table jumps when he aims a kick at the Scott’s leg. He hisses and blurts out a word in a language you’ve never heard before, the word unmistakably vitriolic. He clutches at his shin and shoots a nasty look at Simon, though he doesn’t make a move to retaliate. 

“Name’s Kyle. Kyle Garrick,” the other introduces himself, and you finally reach across the table to offer your hand. His hand is warm against yours when he takes it, dark skin burnished in the candlelight. There’s something inviting about him; something about his eyes, so dark that you almost fall into them. Thick lips curl up into a smile. “And this here is Soap.”

You frown. “Soap?”

The man in question runs a hand down his front, emphasizing the cut of his shirt and the way it clings to the muscle of his chest. “‘Cause of how well I clean up.”

Simon barks out a laugh at that. The sound comes so sudden and sharp that it startles you. “You got it ‘cause your mum had to wash out your mouth with soap.”

It’s the most you’ve ever heard out of him and you can only stare wide-eyed at the lot of them as they dissolve into bickering and squabbling after that. It’s almost a relief to head back into the kitchen to finish cooking. 

Dinner is a similar messy affair, punctuated by the sound of Soap practically gnawing the meat off the bone. He only apologizes when John barks at him for making a mess, more food on the floor around him than on his plate, but his table manners don’t last very long. John doesn’t seem so much embarrassed on their behalf as annoyed, but it’s an annoyance that comes with an aftertaste of warmth. You can tell without asking that they’ve known each other for years. 

There’s room enough in you for food and envy. Back home you had friends. Never close friends, but acquaintances at least. Maids you could recognize by face. Small talk while ascending single-file up the servants’ staircase. Perhaps little more than that. You’d never been particularly close to any of them, but how could you? You worked from morning ‘till night, up and down the stairs, moving in the shadows. Never making too much noise lest your employers take notice of you. 

Like he did.

You shake it off. That’s no matter now. You’re hundreds of miles away and living under a new name. A married woman, to the county sheriff no less. It only sometimes hurts your heart to think of how lonely you’d been. 

When they leave, you stand at the window and watch as they disappear into the black of the night, Simon at the front of the pack, his torchlight leading the way. The sound of horse hooves beating against the dirt recedes the farther they get. 

His hands warm your shoulders. You don’t know how long he’s been there, standing behind you while you stared out the window after the boys. All you know is that his hands are warm, and the kiss he presses to the back of your head makes you arch back into him, unconsciously gravitating closer to him. Needing to be near. 

In bed, you curl your fingers against his chest. On a rough exhale, you wake. You dream still of something terrible that happens somewhere else, in another city, in an old life. His heartbeat lulls you back to sleep.

John takes you to the local seamstress to have you fitted for a pair of pants and suddenly you’re out of excuses. They fit you comfortably, like a second skin, and you find yourself pulling at the legs at your final fitting as if to stretch out the material. The seamstress nearly jabs you with a pin and glares up at you until you stop fidgeting. 

You come to terms with it when he brings you into the stables and makes you fetch the saddle from where it rests on its stand. It’s heavier than you expected. You stumble back over to where John now has Buttercup standing in the middle of the stable, holding her by the lead fixed to her bridle. 

“I don’t know if—” you start, trepidation climbing up your chest until it grips you by the throat. For as many times as you’ve ridden her, you’ve never done it alone. 

John fixes her lead to a post and walks over to you, taking the saddle from your hands and letting it drop to the ground. He cups your face in both hands to tilt your head up. “Hey, honey. We’re not doing much of anything today, alright? Just a walk around the paddock so you get used to sitting on Buttercup on your own. I’m not gonna smack her ass and send you down the trail at full tilt..”

That gets a laugh out of you. “You promise?”

He smiles. “Promise, darlin’.”

And he keeps it. The only thing you do that day is learn how to tack a horse and how to properly mount and dismount her. The latter part of the lesson is devoted to you trying to find your balance while John leads the two of you around the pen at a leisurely pace. He calms you down when he sees you grow too stiff, stopping to coo and rub your thigh until you gradually relax. It’s heartwarming until Buttercup begins to tense up too for a reason unbeknownst to you and you watch in righteous fury as John calms her down the same way.

John gets you a hat to keep the sun from beating down on you, but there’s little he can do about the soreness between your thighs and the stiffness in your legs the next day. All you can do is hiss and moan in pain, hobbling around the house until he forces you down into a chair and hikes up your dress in order to apply an arnica salve to your inner thighs. 

It’s a relief and an affront at the same time. The duality of man. The salve soothes much of the ache, but you twitch nervously around John for the rest of the day, the memory of him pinning you to the chair and forcibly spreading your thighs haunting you. The lingering ache in your core is just the salt in the wound. 

It rains another day. A light drizzle while the sun is still out.

Every day you sit and you think, will it be today? And then the wash basins are emptied out in the field, the horses are taken out to the paddock, you pin the laundry up on the line to dry, and John presses a farewell kiss to your forehead when he leaves you with Kate and nothing happens. Every inch of you waits for more, anticipates more. Throbs when he leaves you wanting, only a chaste kiss and a squeeze around your waist before he’s off. 

You can feel it coming to a head. An itch you can’t shake. 

That day comes with another ache you can’t shake. 

“Please,” you beg, clasping your hands in front of you. “One day of rest. That’s all I’m asking. I can’t do this anymore, John.”

John snaps the lead in his hands. “Let’s get a move on. We’re burning daylight.”

You hang your head low on the march over to the stables, John taking up the rear like he expects you to bolt. An executioner’s walk. The thought of escape has never seemed further away—not even because of its feasibility, but because all you want to do is lie down and rest.

“You can quit your moping,” he says as you tack up Buttercup, a pout on your lips. “Got something special for you today.”

That makes you perk up, regardless of the fact that he doesn’t specify what that is. Anticipation mounts in you when he helps you up onto Buttercup and then climbs up behind you himself. He steers her away from the paddock and towards the trail leading into the woods, the sun at its zenith now, illuminating everything as far as the eye can see.

You’ve ridden this trail before. A week ago, with John at your back as he is now. Through the fields and over the hills until the trees start to number in the tens and then the hundreds, no clear delineation between plain and forest. Simply there and then everywhere.

By now, after hours of sun beating down on the path, the trail is mostly dry, yesterday’s rain long since having sunk into the earth. You think it’d still be a tough hike on foot, but on horseback you cover acres of land at a brisk pace, Buttercup hardly breaking a sweat. You cross paths with a small group traveling by horse and wagon, but John breaks off from the path not too long after that, steering Buttercup deeper into the wilderness, where the only gullies are the ones carved out by years and years of rainfall. 

You only see it when the land begins to dip and you’re forced to hold onto the horn and tighten your thighs around the fenders to keep steady. At the bottom of a hill, a small stream opens up into a larger river, narrowing out at the other end where the land rises again and the water can only trickle over the pebbly riverbed. On the other side, a rocky outcropping cuts the stream off from view.

“Is this where you used to come to bathe?” you ask, recalling an earlier conversation.

John sighs. “Thought I’d take you for a swim as a treat, but if you’d rather just tease me—”

“Well now, let’s not be hasty,” you say, already trying to dismount on your own, eyes glued on the stream glimmering in the sunlight. John chuckles, keeping you pressed to him until he guides Buttercup under a tree for shade and dismounts first, helping you down after him. 

All you want to do is wade in the stream up to your ankles, so that’s what you do. Boots kicked off, Buttercup relaxing in the shade of a tree, John standing by the water’s edge with his hands on his hips and watching you tiptoe over the smooth rocks below. You roll up your pant legs, but eventually you feel the ends grow damp as you venture farther out. At its deepest, you would probably sink up to your waist.

“Don’t you want to swim?” John asks from somewhere behind you.

You splash around a bit, kicking your feet through the water. “Hard to do that with clothes—”

When you turn back around to face him, your eyes dart down momentarily at the sight of skin before you squeak and whirl back around, sending up an arc of water. Twice now you’ve seen him naked. 

“You’ve no clothes on,” you state, bluntly enough that it almost sounds stupid. 

You hear the water splash and ripple when he takes his first step in. “Right—you better think about doing the same if you don’t want to ride home soaking wet.”

“I was perfectly fine just getting my feet wet,” you say indignantly.  

“We came out here to swim, not get your feet wet,” John laughs. You stiffen when his hand comes down on your shoulder, conscious of the fact that your husband is standing right behind you, entirely divested of his clothes. “So best get to steppin’.”

“You can’t make me.”

“Oh, honey,” he says pityingly. “Yes, I can.”

You squeeze your eyes shut as you make your way back to shore, careful not to allow yourself a glimpse of him. Your boots are stacked beneath the shade of another tree, John’s clothes folded neatly beside them. You strip slowly, attentive to the world around you; though unlikely, it’s not impossible that someone might wander by. Your only consolation is that John is still within sight, though you keep your back to him because in recent days, you’ve developed a hunger for him that even now makes your stomach hurt.  

Though the air is warm, you shiver. When you turn around with your arms crossed over your breasts to hide them from sight, you find John wading in the river up to his waist. You’ve seen him like this once before, the hearty body of a man in his prime. Sturdy and strong. The hair on his chest is darker than that on his head, wet too from the dip he must have taken when your back was turned. His hair is slicked back too, a wet hand combing it back. 

“Come on, darlin’,” he calls, beckoning you forward with his hand.

The water is a cold shock when you step in past your ankles. Ice cold tendrils wrap up your legs, sucking the warmth from you. 

You suck in a soft breath when he pulls you into his arms and heaves you up, big hands gripping under your thighs. Your breasts press against the wet skin of his chest, nipples already pebbled. The river is deeper than you assumed; John pulls you deeper in until it pools around your waist and then your chest. Cold enough that you shiver until John dips his head down and the kiss he presses to your lips melts you from the inside out. 

You can’t escape the intimacy of water-slick skin. When John drags you up his chest, your nipples brush over his and the shudder that passes through you is violent, toe-curling. You know that he can feel the heat of your core even underwater. With your legs wound around his waist, every inch of you is plastered to his front. Even your fingers play with the ends of his hair, arms draped over his shoulders. You can’t look away.

“C’mon,” he murmurs, breath hot on your face. “Eyes on me.”

As if you could look anywhere else. 

He reaches down under the water to readjust himself and you gasp when his shaft is suddenly right there, trapped between his belly and your heat. It’s the closest you’ve ever gotten to coitus, his glans nestled between your folds. You’d only have to shift slightly for him to slip right in. The thought makes your breath quicken. 

He doesn’t make a move to take you though, even knowing that he could. How easy it would be. How it’s due to him. Your husband that’s waited a fortnight to take you as his own. John kisses you until each slick pass of his lips grows sloppier, clumsier—his lips barely parting from yours before they’re on you again, rendering you a creature of base needs. 

But his hands don’t shift from your backside where he holds you in place. His fingers dig into the flesh hard enough to bruise, but they don’t move to part your folds to make room for his manhood. You expect him to—practically yearn for it and squeeze him around the neck all the harder when he subverts your expectations, doing no more than letting you grind your heat against the base of his shaft. 

“John—John, please,” you beg, mindless for what. You don’t know what you’re asking for. 

“What d’ya need, darlin’?” he asks into your mouth, stealing your answer with another kiss. 

You fall under the swell of another wave. When the root of his cock glides over your clit, your core clenches on nothing, a sob half-bitten off in your mouth, ripped from your chest. 

It doesn’t matter how close to him you get—he gives you nothing. The heat could very well burn you from the inside out. Cold water caresses your skin as it flows past, but the center of you runs so hot that you hardly notice it. 

When he hikes you higher up against his chest, you clench your fingers in his hair, whining when he takes your nipple into his mouth. Your gasp comes out sharp and hurt when the coarse bristles of his beard rub rough against your breast. He sucks at your breast tender at first, gentle, eyes half-lidded like his mind has gone somewhere else, but there’s a glint in his eye that grows wild and dark, that turns him rough. You don’t know what to do except shake and let him use you how he wants. 

Desperation nips at your heels, urging you up the length of him. If you had more nerve, you’d reach down and grasp him under the water, notch the head of his member against your sex and sink right down on him. You need him like you've never needed anything before. Every part of you aflame, searing hot under the sun at its highest point; right overhead, right on top of you. 

His teeth sink delicately into your areola, tongue lapping over your nipple to soothe the hurt, and suddenly, you break.

“Please—” you gasp, wrenching his mouth away from your breast and whimpering when he resists at first, glaring up at you like he might bite. “Please, John—I can’t take it. I need you.”

His eyes darken, the pupil swallowing everything up. “Need me where, wife? Here?”

A hand dips between your thighs, pointer finger gliding over your sex, plump with blood. So tender that your mouth hangs open on a whine when he touches you. 

“Y-yes,” you whimper, gaze swimming. 

John’s breath comes out in a harsh, ragged pant. Completely undone in a way you’ve never seen before. “Get out, darlin’. I’m taking you home. Gonna give you what you need.”

#ceil writing #cod mw2 #cod x reader #price/reader #john price/reader #price x reader #price x you #john price x reader #john price

[libraincarnate]

astrology notes: 7 💋

quick note: i'm absolutely not an astrologer. these are just a collection of some observations, thoughts, theories, and personal experiences. above all this is just for fun. lastly, these may or may not apply to you but you might find something to be true about your friends, family, or lover. enjoy!

♡ 6th house placements may have an interest in the human body. fascinated with the way it works and could want to learn about it. i also notice a lot of natives with 6th house/virgo placements look so good in bikinis because their bodies look so bomb.

♡ saturn/capricorn in the 7th house & capricorn venus/moon: dating or the talking stage = an interview. when dating or talking to someone with these placements, your words and actions are all being taken into an account to analyze the kind of person you are. your morals, perspectives, values, goals, achievements, your temperament, your background, how you interact with others, etc. you are interviewing for a spot in their lives but to also gain access to the parts of them they conceal from others which is no small thing because they don’t let just anyone into their lives. it’s not easy to get close to them.

scorpios are known for putting you through tests to see if you’re worthy, well caps put you through a series of interviews. and if you don’t meet their standards? ✌️

♡ cancer mercury: these people are such good listeners. they care about what you say, how you say it, and how you feel. these people can make you feel heard, make you feel that your thoughts & feelings are validated. patient when communicating. they refrain from judging and you may feel comfortable being vulnerable with them, a space that welcomes vulnerability. they remind me of this Bible verse: (proverbs 16:24) “pleasant words are like a honeycomb, sweetness to the soul and health to the bones.” they’re loyal & supportive friends that have your back. also the types to hype you up like libra & leo. if you know people with these placements appreciate them & be nice to them. or else 👹🔪😌.

♡ libra mercury friends just get each other. they just click. if there are 2 people with libra mercury in a group of friends, they’re probably the closest to each other out of everyone else in the group.

♡ saturn retrograde natives: responsibility may feel overwhelming because you feel like you’re the only one who can help yourself and handling everything on your own is taxing. you didn’t really receive the help and support you needed from others, maybe your parents, so you had no choice but to do it yourself. you’re accustomed to doing things yourself so asking for help seems foreign. incompetence frustrates you, there’s no time for that. if you don’t know how to do something or you don’t understand it you can get frustrated with yourself. this native may be regretful, an “i should’ve known/done better” type of person, even about little things.

since raising children is such a massive responsibility, i feel like this is another placement that may not want to have kids. they barely had time to be kids themselves. here’s an extra heart for you guys ♥︎.

♡ gemini rising = being your own bestie.

♡ want to have one of those conversations where you could just talk about “life”? find an:

aquarius/uranus dom- immediately their personality and way of thinking stands out. i feel like leo’s creativity is usually more in the realm of arts/music/acting but for aquarius they’re creative in the way of literally inventing something new or simply bringing something to this world that improves it, forces progression, or it’s something the world has never seen before such as the level of one’s skill, ability, talent, intelligence, etc. imagine the conversations you can have with someone with a mind such as that. these folks will be themselves, they don’t pretend to be somebody else so there’s no sugarcoating their personality. they’re authentic & what you seee is what yoy get.

they don’t believe in limitation and that may be one of the reasons why they achieve such great things. they do what they want & do it themselves. they may have many friends because they’re an air sign, they’re social and like to interact with others & it rules the 11th house associated with friendship. however there are few people who are really close to them. interesting but cool  & nice individuals who you can sit under the stars with and talk about whatever the hell is out there. politics, the way different countries are goverened, society and its current trajectory or future. they might be interested in sci-fi, dystopian type books.

scorpio/pluto/8th house dom- they naturally gravitate towards what most people consider dark and taboo. there’s an interest that draws them in and they eventually gain knowledge in these areas. the supernatural, sex, death, what’s on the other side, the occult, fears & deepest darkest secrets. but they’ve also had experience with these things in their lives. probably seen some eerie/frightening stuff. psychology is also something that interests them and scorpio is one of the signs that can see right through you. picking up on the slightest details about a person, anything that may reveal something about you but there’s a lot you don’t know about them. they privately go through things that change them as a person so it’s hard to know them. & because they’re private they may only discuss the dark and taboo subjects with people they trust especially since a lot of people may not feel comfortable with such topics.

sag/9th house dom- associated with knowledge & expansion, how could a conversation with these individuals not be intriguing. they can’t help but reflect on life. the why’s, the what’s, the how’s. hunting the truth, meaning, purpose, and reason. they travel a lot so they have seen many things. an interest in the different cultures around the world, what bonds & keeps a group of people together. their traditions, religions, what forms their identity, & their way of life. intelligent individuals who probably enojy or enjoyed school/college/university and do or did academically well. optimistic & sophisticated people who can make a difference in your life.

neptune/12th house dom- the 12th house has some similarities to the 8th house but it’s taken up a notch .. or two. it gets dark in a different way. it’s funny when people say they don’t really understand the 12th house, because same, but that’s also because it’s the house of mystery! the things that can’t be defined, that are vague, & cloudy. those are some of the things that fall in this house. the 12th house has you looking in the mirror without you even realizing it, until you do. but neptune also has that spellbinding beauty (not just physical), a sense of dreaminess, flamboyance, that you can look but can’t touch attribute. this contrast between the daunting depth and the enchantment of the 12th house/neptune only contribues to its mystique and strengthens the illusion.

with the propensity to turn to escapism, they must be imaginative. vivid and with great detail. or they’ve experience things that stretches their imagination. they drift off to the land of fantasy, somewhere opposite to reality. they just know things, can sense when something is about to happen. the traits of a prophet/prophetess. familiar with the spiritual realm, even if it’s subtle. conversation with these individuals can make you feel like you’re coming down from a trip. you ponder life on a deeper more spiritual level. you revisit your beliefs, purpose, and the way that you’re living. they dare you to alter your perspective. they inspire you & draw out your creativity and desires.

♡ chiron in the 5th house: blessed w/ musical & artistic talent. gifted in this area but may feel like those gifts are being wasted or not being used to their greatest potential.

♡ pisces/neptune is associated with drugs and certain bad habits. but if you’re also capricorn/saturn dominant, aries/mars dominant or you have aspects like mars trine saturn, you may feel as though you have control over your use of drugs & alcohol, you know your limits, you’re able to take breaks especially when necessary. bonus if these placements are in the 6th house of routine, these individuals are good at breaking and forming new habits. if a person has neptune in capricorn, they may feel like they know better than to experiment with drugs/alcohol, or at least serious drugs. if they do try it out they lowkey hate them, end up stopping, or find it illogical.

♡ mars retrograde natives: wearing or needing glasses to see better.

♡ 1st house ruler in the 2nd house, 2nd house stellium, venus in the 2nd house: mirrors were created for these individuals. they probably have a lot of mirrors in their house. they totally understand narcissus from greek mythology lol. “never pass a mirror without looking in it.” -paris hilton

if you read this until the end i hope you enjoyed it & thank you so much for reading. ♥︎♥︎♥︎, those hearts are for you.

#astrology #astrology observations #astro observations #astrology notes #astro notes #libraincarnate

[notedchampagne]

Bro the 6th familial relationships fuck me up so much like the weird Juno and Pal more of a mentor than a mother vibes? And it seems like from Dr Sex that her and Pal's dad are either divorced or just straight up had nothing to do with each other until the genomics department decided they should have a child together?? Like imagine you're a ruthless academic career-woman and one day you get an email from the government like 'congrats! You're a mother!' And they hand you a fresh vat baby that is half you and half your co-worker that you talked to one time at the Christmas party like??? I don't think I would have the most healthy relationship with that child either tbh

And Cam! Earlier in Nona when Pal and Pyrrha are talking about going to the park it is only Kiki that he mentions she might want to save, no mention that apparently both her parents are there too? Her entire family is on the line here. Then she doesn't want her dads to see the Paul transformation because they "wouldn't understand"? You just know there's some long running disagreement there with how far she's yoking herself in with Pal. Do you think they secretly resent him? Did this cause a rift in their family? And what did the conversation look like before or after the transformation? Did Cam tell them she was about to die? Or did they turn away for five seconds and she finally killed herself for her obsessions behind their back? Who broke the news to them? (Who is going to break the news to Pal's dad?) The whole thing just makes me insane!!!!

Also apparently there is some incredible nepotism going on in the 6th oversight body here (or maybe everything is nepotism on the 6th lol)

YOU GET ME i love the 6th house so so much the way the house functions both as a united family w their genetics & a university with the academic quibbling is so fun to me- the sixths weakness was described as "A sprawling organization of erratic loners, the Sixth are chaotic by nature and terrible at collective action." which is 1) hilarious. palamedes is the peoples marxist princess 2) just generally fascinating as a whole. if we take that at face value and consider the 6th house as populated by genius loner nerds, it actually makes sense that they prioritize sending out attractive people to diversify the gene pool - with reference to your statement: dr sex provided a nice handful of evidence that while palamedes and juno have a formal dynamic, theyre affectionate enough that they seem close (at most, to the extent of some gay kid and their favorite english teacher) but seeing juno like a distant mentor is most likely right

taking on more quotes from dr sex, i think its most likely that the Sixth house encourages child bearing / raising through subsidies and an extended work leave of sorts:

Palamedes said, “Enjoying parenting. Enjoying the parenting buyout, I should say. He’s only doing dissertation supervision—and half a year of Immediate History, of course—but he’s got his own projects on the go.”

alexandrites and nireids might be required to go offworld to flirt and have children (i think i came across another post floating somewhere noticing kiki and cam were half-sisters, implying their parent was one of the mentioned) but for residents staying in the sixth house, they probably have about 3-7 other people they could possibly produce children with outside of consanguinity. although forcing them to have children by way of vat birth etc etc is entirely possible in Hell Empire a lot of them probably gave in just for a few years of parental & academic benefits.

one last point - sixth house children canonically live in a dormitory! so if you consider a professor going on paid leave to raise children while doing their own projects for about 7-9 years, then going back to work while their children are sent to a dorm to do nothing but study and train with other peers their age, it falls together so perfectly bro. it makes so much sense. of course pal and cam are nice to their parents but rarely ever close - they were most likely raised and taught communally! god i love worldbuilding

#as for nepotism well. who doesnt indulge in nepotism lmao #talking back #tlt meta #the locked tomb #palamedes sextus #camilla hect #the mysterious study of dr sex

[h0ney-san]

Okay i have to go to school but my ass is telling me to post something and last nigth i was imagine silly things for some SAGAU ideas-

If someone wants to use this ideas, you are free to do it! Just please tag me so i can see your work :D!

Okay so- yesterday i was with my mom and we were waching "howl's moving castle" from the studio ghibli, and i wonder...

✑Imagine a Reader like Howl in SAGAU

Like- mf this could be a good trope, let me explain, i have some ideas, this is just taking inspiration of the movie because haven't read the book.

So, first thing of, after waking up in the middle of Mondstadt, out of fear of this case being a SAGAU Imposter AU or even a SAGAU Cult AU, you hide in Strormterror lair, mostly because it have tons of monsters and no one goes there, and because it was the most close safe space in the area you appear.

For the sake of God ( Or celestia- ) you HAVE powers, nothing that you have seen in game, the most close thing it would be magic that witch's or Mage's can make ( Like Alice or Gold, to your surprise ).

Now, time skip to the future, Teyvat is in panic, where are they Grace? Have they left? Are they alive?? No one knows, not even the Archons... not even CELESTIA- ( or maybe they do? Who knows... )

Then, in the middle of the nigth, a Yakasha that looks to the moon sees something, walking in the mounts of Dragonspine... ia not a Ruin guard, no... its nothing like that, is HUGE, and it have what looks like part of ruins attach to it, what in the name of Morax is that thing?

Needless to say, rumours in the 7 nations starts, children say that the Witch/Mage that live there is a monster who likes to eat children, people are confused because not even Fontaine have one of these things, so where did it come from?

The force from each nation, the knigths of Favonius, the Millelith, the Shogunate and Sangonomiya, Sumeru Akademiya, tropes from Fontaine, NO ONE have been capable to get close to it, when they try, a misterious mist appears and then its gone.

Little they know that the owner of that "Moving castle" is in the city's, buying normal things, and selling silly potions, to one that can help u to have better crops ( Cof cof not Watatsumi island buying all of that potion- ) or even one that can even make chronic diseases disappear... ( cOF FOF NOT BAIZHU GETTING JOBLESS- )

For now on, this is just a little idea, maybe i can make it a series? Idk, probably i will post later a Sagau impostor au for this idea, for now..

See ya!

⸻ h0ney 🍯🐝.

#genshin sagau ideas #genshin impact sagau #send help /j #genshin sagau #self aware genshin #sagau impostor au #⸻ h0ney 🍯🐝

[mageofseven]

How Many Kids The Boys Would Want

This is just a cute post I thought of and decided to do.

All of this is with the Boys under the assumption that:

They believe the pregnancy would be easy or at least normal for their partner (nothing like my series were MC has their kid and there's a health risk in every pregnancy)

That they as a couple are in a stable place in life and are able to handle parenthood.

Based on the assumption that no outside force would try to harm them or go against them for having children.

Also, I wanna try adding Mephisto to my posts for now on just to get some practice with him. I still haven't seen him much in the games, but I've been reading posts and stories with him in them so I feel I have at least some basic understanding of his character and would like to practice writing him.

So yeah, I'm adding him to this post, but also please send me requests involving Mephisto (it can still be with other characters too) so I can practice with this man.

Anyway, onto the post!

•▪︎▪︎◇°●♡●°◇▪︎▪︎•

Lucifer:

Honestly, this man has already raised 7 children and still has to deal with the upkeep on 6 of them.

He is going through the hardest parental exhaustion ever.

However, there was a lot of aspects of raising his siblings that he loved and he wants his partner to experience the same joy he did though would definitely be fine if they didn't want kids all.

His answer:

1-2 (but would have to be convinced into the second one)

Mammon:

This man has a real soft spot for kids, but also a lot of self worth issues and lacks true confidence in himself.

This will ease up a bit when he starts fatherhood and actually experiences being a dad, but it never truly goes a way.

He's still a man who would be genuinely disappointed if his partner didn't want kids, but would also try to pretend otherwise.

His answer:

At least 2. Anymore would take character growth for this man and a bit of convincing.

Leviathan:

Oh. Oh boy. This man is gonna take a lot of convincing to have even one.

That's not because he doesn't like kids or doesn't want to be a parent though.

He just has like 0 self esteem points and is addicted to his otaku lifestyle.

Still, this poor lonely man has daydreamed about having kids.

With the right partner, he can feel secure enough to go lighter on some parts of his lifestyle and be open to having a kid and maybe more.

His answer:

1-2. Anymore and this man would be too overwhelmed so there's no real room for negotiation.

Satan:

This man isn't big on kids, mostly just because of his difficult childhood.

Doesn't hate them, just doesn't see the point in having them.

Still, if he had a partner that was adamant about it, he would agree to have one.

Another man whose view changes a bit after experiencing fatherhood.

He still has to be asked for more kids though; this man doesn't have a strong enough urge for them to ask his partner for one.

So how many can he comfortably be persuaded to have?

His answer:

3. Asking after that number will only cause him to have a long talk with his Kitten about not stretching themselves too thin.

Asmodeus:

Okay, this man loves kids.

If his partner didn't want any, it could possibly be a deal breaker in the long run.

However, he's already long decided how many he wants and all the activities he wants to experience with his kids.

His answer:

2. Any less would make him very disappointed but anymore and he would likely be a bit stressed.

Beelzebub:

Oh lord, this man cannot become a daddy fast enough.

Kids are a necessity with him and even if he tries to be with someone who doesn't want kids, it won't work out in the long.

These kids can come in any way though. You can carry the baby or he'll make changes to his body so he can. Surrogacy is also fine. And adoption!

Adoption is actually a big want of this man too and even if he and his partner already have bio kids, he'll still specifically want to adopt some.

Demon, human, does matter to him. Just adopt some kids who need loving parents.

His answer:

5+, but emphasis on the '+'. This man came from a big family and wants his kids to enjoy having so many siblings too. His partner will have to be the one cut to him off though because this man has no self control 😅

Belphegor:

Oh devil, none

At least that's what he will tell you at first and in fairness, he'll mean it at that this point.

Someone who would love a partner who was in agreement about this, but if not, he will eventually give in and agree to have a child.

Will honestly grow to love his kid more than he ever thought possible.

Another who will never ask for another one, but convincing him for more is not necessarily out of the question.

His answer:

1-2. Those kids would have to be borderline angels for him to even consider a third one though...and since Belphie is their dad, they are more likely to be cute little menaces 🤭💕

Diavolo:

This man wants to be a daddy so badly!

This man can't exactly be with someone who doesn't like kids regardless of how he feels on them.

I mean, he is a literally prince and needs an heir.

Has a similar energy as Beel, but has at least enough grasp on reality to have a stopping point.

His answer:

3-4, but more towards 4. Anymore than this and the prince grows a bit apprehensive. He worries that if he has too many then he won't be able to give them the attention they need and deserve with his limited time from his demanding job.

Barbatos:

This man loves children, but works so much that he worries it would be impractical and even selfish for him to have them.

Would be comfortable with a partner who doesn't want kids because of this.

If his partner really, really wanted kids though he would eventually relent, but not until after a period of preparation to help make sure the pregnancy and the early childhood of their kid goes smoothly.

Yes, that's the kind of planning this future-seeing man sees as critical.

His answer:

1-2. His partner is really gonna have to beg for that second one if they want it though.

Solomon:

A true neutral when it comes to kids.

He has neither the urge to be a father nor a repulsion at the thought.

He'll be comfortable regardless of whether his partner wants kids or not.

If his partner does want children however, he will only agree after a through talk with them.

So much changes in life when people have kids after all and he believes not enough people truly sit down and think about it.

A lot of people treat having kids as something you just have to do in life, like it's nothing more than a milestone they have to hit.

Solomon wants to make sure that if he and his partner are going to be parents then its for the right reasons and with full awareness of the changes and sacrifices that come with it.

If after that talk and a few days of thinking on it (Soli insisted on it), if his partner still wants children then he will gladly take that next step with his little Minx.

His answer:

2. That is the amount he will agree to without question with his partner. Anymore and the sorcerer becomes concerned. Is very much "quality over quantity" when it comes to children and understands that the more kids you have, the less time you have for each individual kid and wants to give his best to any children he helps bring into the world.

Simeon:

This man simply loves children; most angels do and people just assume it's in their nature to.

However, angels don't really have or become parents; they have older siblings who raise the younger ones.

Still, Simeon imagines that it's more or less the same concept and therefore looks forward to it.

If he had a partner who didn't want kids...well they better at least like Luke or wtf are you with the angel that's already technically a single father.

Because of Lukey though, Simeon would be content with a partner who didn't want any kids other than the sweet angel child in the mix.

Simeon is a man I can see as agreeing to have a lot of kids, but wanting it to at least be a gradual process.

He isn't the type of man who would want or be comfortable with his partner popping a new one out each year.

To give some context, he would only be comfortable having another kid if their youngest was at least 4 or 5.

Really emphasizes focusing on their kids while they're toddlers in order to give them a strong foundation for life.

His answer:

Maybe 5? Again, as long as things go how it's listed above, he's okay with having however many his partner wants, whether it's a big or small number.

Mephistopheles:

This man comes an elite background where there is always a 'proper' way for everything.

When it comes to kids, that means he's been taught two paths: a single child to build up and put resources in to be the perfect heir

Or two kids, the 'heir and the spare' method.

Though he's tried to convince himself that these must be the right way to go about with having children, something about these methods has never sat well with him.

So when he and his partner start talking kids, he has a bit of an internal dilemma to face on the topic.

With Mephisto, the question isn't should he have kids, but how many.

Because of this, the man has a lot of thinking and eventual talking things out with his partner to do.

His answer:

2, but can be persuaded to go against his family's teachings and have a third if it's that important to his partner, but it will take time and some comfort from them.

#obey me #obey me otome #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me diavolo #obey me barbatos #obey me solomon #obey me simeon #obey me mephistopheles

[raisedbythetv89]

To me, I don’t think Buffy or the audience can ever truly know if she’s in love with angel or just in attachment with him. I believe she is just in attachment and especially before innocence and after his encounter with the first, just full on enmeshment with him. No boundaries whatsoever, his pain is her pain (which is extremely common in parentified children who feel they have to protect their parents from their pain like what buffy does with joyce), just like how she describes her feelings towards riley later which is NOT a good thing, empathy is good, taking on others pain as if it’s your own is extremely unhealthy. (Yes I’m pulling on my psych degree for a tumblr post, human behavior and buffy are two of my special interests)

What I mean by “in attachment” is that she has all of the same anxieties and insecurities about angel that she does with her father. Angel’s erratic and unpredictable behavior plays on her anxious avoidant attachment style SO AGGRESSIVELY. He keeps showing up, giving her little information at all and even less about himself and then vanishing leaving her hanging, and anxiously wondering about him which can mimic thinking you’re romantically interested when really it’s just an unresolved problem you desperately want to solve. She has a lot of valid criticisms about him before they’re officially together about his inconsistencies, him treating her like a child, him being too old for her and then all of a sudden she’s saying she wants to die when they kiss and that she loves him (after he forces her to say she loves him before he’ll tell the truth about drusilla). That is exactly how falling into attachment goes. Once you’re hooked all your feelings that are caused by a bad relationship with a parent are projected onto the partner who you are unknowingly recreating that dynamic with which is why such intense and strong feelings can happen so quickly and suddenly you’re ignoring all concerns you had before forming this attachment with someone.

He’s not her soulmate, he’s just the first guy to treat her like her father did and if you don’t address that cycle the relationship is recreating it can be impossible to move on because they will ALWAYS feel like something is unresolved and if you don’t know why you feel that way you can misinterpret it as true love or destiny because why all would you suffer so much and still love them if it wasn’t? It’s a mistake SO MANY of us make in our romantic relationships and these portrayals of unhealthy attachments being sold to us a soul mates doesn’t help us at all.

She does it with Riley also but she walls herself off so she doesn’t get AS attached to him as she did angel but their relationship is still her trying to fix the relationship with her father by changing herself so maybe this time he’ll stay. It’s why his opinion still matters so much to her when he comes back in season 6 despite him being a truly awful person to her who has done nothing but make mistakes and whose opinion should not matter to her at all after everything he put her through. He is another pseudo father figure she craves approval from.

It’s why I love her relationship with Spike so much despite all the bad they go through before season 7. We know her feelings are real because Spike doesn’t play on her anxious-avoidant attachment at all because he is ALWAYS there even when she’s mean and claims she doesn’t want him there. And to me everything they do to each other makes perfect sense, their relationship is exactly what two people with severe trauma and one with anxious-avoidant and one with just anxious-attachment going into a relationship together looks like. You hurt each other A LOT because you’re working out all your issues with each other and they don’t have ANY help from a therapist or someone who can help minimize the hurt so they both just use their worst coping mechanisms and the fact that they go through all that and still get to be together and happy and healthy on the other side is just everything to me because that so rarely happens in the real world, where you get to be with the person who was also a catalyst for healing and having to go through all that suffering together only to have to start over -hopefully from a much better place - but still with someone else BLOWS. So Spike and Buffy to me are about hope and healing (including the unpleasant and very ugly, dark parts of healing people rarely talk about) and getting to do each phase of that with someone AND enjoy being happy and whole together is just UGHHHH I love it so much.

#spuffy

[thestarfishinjootsoffice]

This is-A random request really,you can write these any way you want with different slashers too,Just include Bubba and Thomas please(ówò) Slashers x child reader who's parents,while being chased like-while hiding with the reader just shoves them out of the hiding place to save themself before fleeing,Maybe the reader is like 5 or 7,just smol and the reader just lays down and cries so the slasher just goes after the mom/or dad then comes back and takes the kid in?-

I was writing another request but Tumblr's hangry ass decided to eat it 🙄

ALSO YASS I LOVE THIS REQUESTS, AND I LOVE DIRTY DEED BEING DONE DIRT CHEAP <333.

Slashers x sacrificed! Child! Reader.

Bubba 🩸⛓️

Bubba didn't really wanna kill you, one of those reasons being you were a child and he likes children! And you didn't deserve this. :(

Didn't really wanna kill your parents either because oh how lonely and sad you must feel after seeing your mother and father get cut in half by a chainsaw!!.... Buutt he could always convince his brothers to let you stay in the family for 'extra' help. (he just wants a friend and a kid)

But he had to do what he had to do other wise his whole family will die and it'll all be his fault.

But all of the guilt he felt for your parents after they had pushed you out of their hiding spot after Bubba had found you had disappeared. And instead been replaced with anger and betrayal. Why did they do that? Family is supposed to be everything!

He felt sad looking at you crying on the ground after your brain processed wtf just happened.

He ignored you and instead went dashing towards your parents who were screaming and crying and confused why the killer had gone after them instead.

Earlier he was holding back but now he wasted no time, these people didn't deserve to be called parents.

Few minutes later he went back to you with no weapons on him, finding you still on the ground letting small tears go down and he just had the perfect idea and was dead set on it.

He timidly walked over to you babbling random nonsense but none of them sounded ill willed.

It took a lot of whining and persistence for his brother to finally allow to take you in but he was cautious as hell but everything still worked out really well.

Of course his oldest sibling, Drayton was harsh on you but because he was worried to hell if you were going to snitch on them and ruin his reputation but considering what happened a while back its safe to say you won't. (hopefully?)

And you'll be forced to get involved in the whole killing thing. If you start crying or get sad Bubba will do his best to get more victims so Drayton stops complaining and then you won't have to do it.

Thomas 🩸⛓️

Now Thomas and bubba are very similar although distant cousins.

He holds the same kind of guilt when he sees a family but he loves his own family more. He'll make sure to give yours a quick death.

Same thing, he's a family guy and a big family he can watch spend time together as they get older. <333

He was thinking of taking you in but he's not sure if you would comply because of your current status him basically chasing down you and your family.

But he became less shy of those thoughts as he watched your own parents forcefully make you show yourself to the killer after their tail to save their own skin (no pun intended) and he was now disgusted with your parents at how easily they gave you in.

He was always told the most important thing in this world was family and if your parents couldn't understand that then they shouldn't be parents at all.

He was a bit startled but was quickly catching up to them.

They were disgusting useless people who idiotically pondered why he wasn't taking his time killing off their own child they selfishly offered.

After being done with them he slowly walked over to you without his chainsaw and his hands slightly up.

Showing his best his intention was not to harm you. It didn't take that long or hard to convince his family to add you as a member but they were wary.

And another terrible thing was you HAVE to help with capturing the victims. If it's too much of a toll you Thomas will put on his headphones on you and make you go rest. This can only go so long, it depends on your age and personality.

Soon some guilt tripping form some of his family members and hoyt if it goes on too long. Thomas can only do so much against them.

After a while you'll slowly start to gain their trust and all of you will become a happy odd but cute family. (except for cannibalism stuff, murder and all)

I realised how different the energy and vibes are between bubba snd Thomas wtff

#bubba sawyer #bubba sawyer x reader #bubba saywer x reader #thomas hewitt my beloved #thomas hewitt x reader #thomas hewitt #texas chainsaw the beginning #texas chainsaw massacre #tcm the beginning #tcm 2003 #tcm thomas #tcm bubba #slashers x you #x child reader #child!reader #child reader #x daughter!reader #x son reader #platonic

[peachymilkandcream]

My Husband, My Monster|Part 7|William Afton x Wife!Reader

(A/N: Now I'm kind of back in the swing of things, writing can continue as scheduled with a brand new chapter of MHMM. This one is a bit of a time jump, since the series isn't going to be that long. Who knows when the sequel comes out I might do some oneshots in the same timeline. Hope you enjoy and comment to be added to the taglist!)

WARNINGS: noncon, dubcon, manipulation, domestic abuse, yandere themes, forced marriage, forced pregnancy, stockholm syndrome, violence, mind breaking, misogyny, etc.

==============================================

Her body was spent, two kids later her body had taken the toll. William demanded that perfect picket fence life, and that included his children, their two boys Michael and Evan Afton. At ten, Michael was already more than the couple could handle, since Evan was the baby he got more attention. This caused a rebellious streak, he acted out at any given opportunity to get his parent's attention. Knocking over vases and terrorizing his poor brother with a Foxy mask he had stolen from their newest location. She had gone past exhaustion when it came to trying to discipline him, William was no help, telling her as the wife she should handle it herself and not bother him. Single life appealed more and more, but in her heart she was becoming more and more fond of William, maybe it was the start of even loving him.

All of his time was now spent at work, his own children treated him as little more than a stranger since he was this vague and distant character they had never come to know. When it came to her they either despised or adored her and there was no in between, she was all that they had so it they made the best of it.

When she voiced her concerns to William, finally after all this time he seemed to hear what she had said and listened. He was lost in thought for so long after she had finished her ramblings that she thought he was angry with her.

After what seemed like an eternity, he finally spoke. "I suppose you have a point."

"I do?"

"Don't let it get to your head. I said you have a point, but as always I need to be the one to figure out a solution."

"Yes- right- what do you suggest?"

"Bring them with you tomorrow and come to the restaurant, they can see what I do and maybe I'll be able to spend more time with them while getting work done."

"You don't think they'll get in the way?"

"Are you questioning me?"

"I...no- you're right William, I'll do that tomorrow."

"Good, then let's not talk any more about it, come here." His arms were outstretched waiting for her to join him in bed.

She does so, laying against his chest and listening to his heartbeat while he strokes her hair.

"It'll all work out fine my dear."

=============================================

Children and large machines do not mix.

Despite all of William's attempts to introduce Evan to the animatronics that took up so much of his time, he was determined to hide from them and cling to his mother's skirt at all costs. The machine's terrified the hell out of him, he just wanted to go home. Although this just seemed to annoy William even more, an aggressive streak coming into him as he dragged him around and forced him to get closer despite his mother's protests.

"William can I talk to you about something?" She was wringing her hands with worry over her son's increasingly stressed behavior.

With an eyeroll he nods for her to follow him into his office, leaving the children alone in the restaurant since he refused to have the children in his workspace.

"What is it?"

"You're scaring the children, can't you see how terrified they are of those machines?"

"He needs to grow a backbone, you're raising him to be soft. I never should have let you raise them on your own."

"He's five!"

"And? I wasn't afraid of machines at his age. He needs to grow the fuck up."

"I can't believe you would act like this."

"Oh get off it, you're being so dramatic."

"I am not! You're just-"

She's cut off by a bloodcurdling scream outside of the office, causing the two of them to rush out to the source of the noise.

The first thing they saw was Michael sobbing on the floor, holding himself while he looked up in horror.

The two parents slowly scanned their eyes up to meet what he was looking at, freezing in horror when they saw the crushed head of their son trapped in the mouth of the golden Fredbear.

Tags:

@fandomreader @n3r0-1417 @2pacl0ve

#william afton smut #william afton x reader #william afton #william afton x you #william afton x oc #steve raglan x oc #steve raglan x you #steve raglan smut #steve raglan x reader #steve raglan #five nights at freddy's #fnaf #five nights at freddys movies #five nights at freddys movie #five nights at freddys

[d0not-disturb]

Art reqst

Human grumbots

But its all the different grumbots

Oldest is ofc the first, maybe the mentally ill one (cause mumbo and grian locked him up in an island)

Buddy I already posted all the human Grumbot designs dawg

But might as well drop some lore while I’m at it

Oldest- Grumbot (OG from Season seven) “human” name: Luan Ronnie Jumbo (dreamslayer)

For his middle name I picked Ronnie because it means ruler (he pretty much parents his brothers) , and advice (literally his purpose), also Ronnie is such a good name tbh

Middle children- Grumbot Prime and Emperor Grumbot both from season 9, I made them twins since they don’t have a canon age difference unlike Grumbot and Jrumbot who were also made in the same season but have a canon age difference, grian literally saying Jrumbot was grumbots little brother. “Human” names: Parker Charles Jumbo (dreamslayer) for Grumbot Prime, and Emmett Oliver Jumbo (dreamslayer) for Emperor Grumbot

For the twins, their middle names correspond to who they are most like, so Parker is more like Grian and Emmett is more like Mumbo

Youngest- Jrumbot (also from season 7) “human” name: Archie Ryan Jumbo (dreamslayer)

Okay for the middle name he’s named after Scar because he is in fact the only jumbo kid who actually likes him, lazy ik but still

OKAY SO HOW THEY BECAME HUMAN:

No this isn’t the birds and the bees lesson because THEY WERENT MADE THAT WAY. So Xisuma started to notice how these MASSIVE robots were like conquering the hermitcraft multiverse (which apparently is canon) and killing a crap ton of people, specifically Scar, so he looked into it and turns out! They are Mumbo and Grian’s kids so he walked up to them one day and said, “take care of ya sons” so they go after them, or Xisuma forces them to, they fight and fight, and grian uses this BIG ASS spell that would turn the grumbots into their weakest form, which is human children (low key insulting to us humans ngl)

So they come back and Xisuma sees them like disheveled with like four crying little kids on them and he’s like, let’s take it one at a time mkay? So he takes the younger kids, and makes it so they won’t be ‘born’ until Grian and Mumbo Are ready for another kid because going from no kids to four kids in the span of 2 weeks is crazy

How does he do this? Well he genetically modifies them so that they revert back to just eggs that won’t hatch until exposed to heat, so he keeps them locked up in a freezer until the time is right

Ngl that sounds bad but trust me it’s not

Anyway grian and Mumbo soon realize they can’t really raise a kid none the less four on the hermitcraft server since there are no schools, hospitals, clinics, daycares, playgrounds, etc, and they panic cause they don’t wanna leave, so Xisuma adds a small sub server attached to the hermit craft server called, “the hermit suburbs” were people can live normal lives while still being hermits, and eventually more hermits and even some folks from empires and the life series go and live there and still go on the hermitcraft server.

So that’s where Grian and Mumbo raise the rest of those weird robot human hybrids

also after 2 years of Grian and Mumbo taking care of Luan, they are like, “yeah we can take another now” and then Xisuma gives them the twins and they are like “why are there two” and Xisuma is like, “I want this to be over with as soon as possible so I’m just giving you two deal with it” and so they just deal with it, but they soon realize how much more work it is, since the twins are VERY bad babies, what I mean is they cry all the time, don’t eat food they don’t like, don’t get dressed without a fight , etc, and so they wait 6 YEARS when they are almost teenagers to get the final egg, which is Archie, who is the best by far.

So that explains the age gap if you were wondering

Alright that’s all the lore y’all’s are getting DONT get attached

#mcyt #hermitcraft #starsaysgarbage #grian #hermitblr #mumbo jumbo #art #my art #grumbo #asks! #Grumbot #hermitcraft au #wires and nerve #eeeeeeee #waffle duo #Xisuma #<— mentioned

[itsagrimm]

He Who Comes from Under the Water

Chapter 7 - The Knife

Monster!König X she/her afab Reader

CN  Pressure of having children, emotional midlife crisis of a dead woman (it sounds funny, but I made myself cry writing that part), grieving dead family members. Discussions of female* relationship issues in hetero relationships, implied talk of rape, implied forced pregnancy, talk of sexual assault and rape in relationships, talk of forced marriage, mentions of drowning and past trauma, pregnancy as body horror. Implications of potential abortions using herbs (don’t try this at home).

eventual smut.

Notes for better understanding at the bottom!

Beta-read by @queenquazar. thanks having me despite my extreme questioning if this is actually good. I wrote half of this while having a slight fever and it shows.

5k words

Masterlist

You remembered your mother as a beautiful woman. The edge of life and age had polished her, making her shine brighter year by year, until the day she died. With her back to you, she stood in the kitchen, working on something as you entered the room as you had so many times before.

“Is it you, daughter?”

You missed her voice. She sounded so real, the memories coming back as those words rang bright and happy, while she turned to greet you.

“Dear, we haven’t seen each other for too long.”

Her face was like you remembered it. Maybe.

“Let me look at you. Are you eating well? Sleeping well? You need to take breaks in the sun. Soon, it will be too cold to stay out again.”

You nodded to the beautiful, kind, stranger called mother.

“Sit down, daughter. Tell me, have you found a husband? Is he treating you well? A good young man from the village or maybe from a bit further away?”

You let yourself get pushed onto one of the familiar chairs, the wood of the rest pushing into your back, and a cup of tea being placed before you.

“I’m about to be married. I… he… he is good to me.”

“And what does he do?” A friendly but practical look danced over ‘Mothers’ face.

Nervously, you fumbled with the tablecloth before placing your hands flat on the table, “Uhm- he is really good at fishing, and currently he is building a new home.”

'Mother' nodded.

“A fisherman and carpenter. Hm. Hm. It’s good to have a capable man in the family. He better give you beautiful children or I’ll haunt him.”

“Uhm- I’m not sure that will happen.”

“Of course, it will. You will love it,” The stranger chuckled. “Or more like you will be loved. For a while at least.”

“And then what?”

The stranger shrugged her shoulders.

“Then you turn older. And wiser, so you will know what you want. And stronger, so you will ask for it. And then you know how to move or dress to feel beautiful. And he will hate it. You will be loved no more, except by your children and the other women. So have children. And friends.” ‘Mother’ nodded. “That’s how it goes, daughter. You say he is a good man?”

“Yes?” A strange feeling weighed you down deep in your stomach. A feeling of doubt, despite your decision to stay with König. “Are you saying he isn’t?”

“How should I know? I am dead. Just do what I did. It wasn’t too bad. Right? I had you. And I loved you until I died.”

You looked across the table. ‘Mother’ smiled softly, looking down at her hands like a shy girl admitting a secret. She was a stranger. She had lived with you in this house, every day you could recall. And yet you had hardly known her. Was that what she had wanted? Staying in the house and watching her children grow, only to have them leave one day when they did not need her anymore? Or had she stayed because she could not imagine anything else? Because she did not dare to leave?

You could not help but reach over the table, taking your mothers’ hands.

There was not a thing in the world you would back down from to protect the woman that had given you a life. And your heart ached with the realisation that it was too late for her.

But maybe not for you.

“Right, mother. I love you too.”

You opened your eyes, staring at the familiar ceiling. Getting up was out of the question. Instead you laid there, tears filling up your eyes before slowly running down to the side of your face.

The dream felt too real to simply brush it aside. Instead, you wanted nothing more than to have your mother back, hold her, talk to her, and give her all the things she had ever wanted from life. It was unfair how she had given you so much and all you could give her was … what exactly? Your mother was dead. It mattered little what she had expected of you, wished for you… or herself. You could do how you pleased; the villagers had shunned you anyways. That freedom however, felt hollow without the woman who had sacrificed so much for you.

And was it wise to use that freedom for König?

Doubt crept up in you, the possibility of death and sadness, present once more.

Was there a life without marriage?

Where you could leave, live, and maybe love, how you wanted, without fear or fighting to survive?

A knock woke you from your melancholy thoughts.

“Who is it?” You called as you sat up and wiped away your tears while turning to the door.

“Wrong direction, darling. Check the window!” A stranger’s voice called out.

Confused, your head whipped around. A woman was before your window, staring directly at you.

How is that possible? You could not help yourself but wonder at the sight of someone peeking through your upstairs window.

The woman waved at you.

“Hi, People call me Baba Yaga but I prefer Farah. That no-good-wet-little-king-and-fiancé-of-yours asked me to come here to help.”

You rushed to get dressed while König, always on guard these days, waited for you downstairs. As you finished braiding your hair, you stumbled downwards. You knew of Baba Yaga. She was no one to anger or to leave waiting. There were guards and gods out there in the world, elders to be respected and traditions to be followed. And then there was her, putting all of them to shame.

She was the maiden, the mother, the old one to turn to when cursing a former lover or in need of help when slaying a monster. Baba Yaga was the knife - ready to make a pleasant meal or spill blood.

You did not know what to make of Königs decision to call Baba Yaga for help. Was it wise? Or was the price for her help higher than you could afford?

“I’m ready,” You called out as you entered the kitchen. “Oh, wait!” You grabbed a bowl of collected berries, “Can’t go into a house without a present,” You explained.

That would be rude. No one gets away with being rude to Baba Yaga.

König nodded before getting up from his seat, a chair this time.

For a brief moment you saw his eyes wander to his axe leaning at the wall, before he moved on.

He is nervous too.

“It’s gonna be fine.” You tried to reassure him. Or yourself.

König managed a smile before reaching for your hand and holding it, his large clawed hands clasping carefully around yours. 

“I know, Bride. We can do this.”

Together, you stepped out of your home only to see a wooden house on chicken legs in your garden trampling over your sorry attempts of growing buckwheat.

“Great,” You could not help but comment dryly. “How do we move it?”

“Allow me,” König declared before loudly calling out to the house. “Избушка, избушка, повернись ко мне передом, к лесу — задом!”

The house stilled in its light swaying, like a cat that got reprimanded for what it planned on doing.

“Пожалуйста!” König added pleadingly and the house trotted around and tilted forward, appearing oddly unwilling about it.

“Thank you for moving from the field,” you mumbled.

König stepped up to the Chicken-legged-house and knocked on the door while you lingered beside him.

“Honourable Elder, please let us in and hear our words.”

“You made it,” Was all the answer you got before the door flung open. “Finally. I hate waiting.”

In the doorway before you stood Baba Yaga, the woman who had waved at you in the window. Now you knew she had done it from her unusually high and walking house.

“Honourable Elder sounds lovely, but Farah is enough,” She noted and stepped aside. “Come on in. I made tea.”

Carefully you followed König’s soft tug as he helped you up to the high door, lifting you like you weighed as little as the logs he brought you.

Inside, it was just like any other house you had seen. There was a large oven, a table, jars with pickled contents and marmalade everywhere, and a beautiful tapestry with symmetrical flowers on the wall.

“Welcome to my home,” Farah declared and motioned to the table and a few chairs for you to sit.

“Thank you for having us,” You replied politely and passed her the bowl of berries. “I am sorry. It’s not much. But I hope our little gift pleases you.”

“It does. Sit, sister.” Farah gave you an approving nod.

 And so you did, taking a spot next to König, who had chosen one of the chairs which protested loudly, with troubling creaks as he sat down.

Waiting for Farah to finish setting the table, you studied her. She was beautiful and carried herself with confidence. Farah appeared maybe a bit older than you. But you felt like a child getting a visit from an aunt, not some years, but centuries between you two.

“Thank you for having us,” You said with a timid nod as Farah finally sat, intimidated by the powerful stranger. It had been so long since someone new was barely passing the threshold of being just nice to you.

König looked stoically like nothing was out of the ordinary, the little cup of tea looking ridiculously tiny in his massive hands. Being in the presence of powerful beings was nothing unusual for him, you reminded yourself, no matter what - he was one of them.

Farah tugged at her scarf as she sipped from her tea while eyeing the berries before finally releasing you from the awkward silence your words had left in the air.

“You are welcome. It’s a pleasure meeting you.” She  reached for a spoon to casually stir her tea, while avoiding your careful yet curious gaze. “So, you are König’s fiancé? The rumoured Bride of the Vodyanoy?”

“Yes,” You answered plainly.

“Congratulations.”

“Thank you.”

She looked up from her cup, her dark eyes finding yours and pinning you to your seat with unforgiving kindness before switching over to König, like a blade slashing around.

“Lovely. What business do I have with that?”

“Oh, none at all,” König interjected smoothly like an eel slipping over wet stones. “We want no trouble with you. Just your blessings.”

Farah leaned back and put down her cup, her eyes piercing through the air like you and König were made out of nothing but thin skin and brittle bone, ready to be dissected and studied. Under her gaze, that likely was true.

“Don’t waste daylight, slime king. I could have spent my time other than coming here.”

“My utmost apologies, honourable Farah,” König continued with a most charming smile. “There is just the issue of my bride's possible death by drowning when she becomes my wife and queen. Do you, by any chance, maybe, possibly-”

“Cut it, König. You want me to waterproof your bride like she is some kind of unsinkable boat. Got it.”

He stilled in his movements before replying, “Yes. Can you do that?”

The honourable Farah sighed as if she had heard that request several times this morning already.

“Is that all? What else do you want me to do, hm? Make the fish sing and dance at your wedding? Build that new palace of yours in one night? Make her a wedding dress while I’m at it?”

“I wouldn’t be opposed,” König snapped back, his charming smile now more frozen than friendly in his face.

“Listen, König. I never took you as wanting to marry. You always looked so content with splashing around the ponds on your own. You did not even care much for the company of your own kin. Why not marry a rusalka? At least they can not drown.”

Uncomfortably, you looked at the cup in your hands, trying to be as invisible from the conversation as possible while gathering as much as you could. The idea of König being with someone else, a beautiful watery creature like himself, shifted something inside you and you did not know where to put it.

“No. I want to marry her. She is my Bride. I promised it.”

His words pearled down like warm summer rain.

He was so sure of it.

“To whom did you promise that?” Farah inquired further.

“Her grandfather. He used to fish at my pond.”

For a brief moment it was silent as you stared into the dark liquid in your cup as if it held the secrets of the universe.

Then Farah broke out laughing.

“That sounds more like you, König.” She gasped. “Acquiring a bride from a fisherman. Alright, that sounds precisely how the King of everything From Under the Water would get married.”

Amused, Farah looked back at you. “Are you happy with that, dear?”

You blinked, like a deer that got stuck between two rivalling wolves. Your eyes wandered to König who had the most trying neutral expression on his face somewhere under all that tangled hair.

“Uhm. I suppose,” You answered, dumbfoundedly. Since when did your happiness and not just your survival matter?

Farah raised one of her eyebrows.

“You suppose…” She repeated and grabbed her cup and spoon. “Get out.”

It was on you to raise your eyebrows.

“I’m sorry?” You questioned, a little fire in you giving you strength. You might have been just a tiny little human with brittle bones and thin skin, but you had tasted kindness again and you weren’t ready to give up on that yet.

“Not you.” Farah waved at you dismissively, “You, yes you heard me, König. Get out before I turn you into a frog. I need to talk to her alone.”

For a moment König stared angrily at Farah to be kicked out of the house like an unwelcome guest.

Then he turned his head and looked at you.

It was terrifying to be alone with Baba Yaga, may she call herself Farah and talk like a pleasant relative coming by for a visit, or not. The woman was powerful. But she had treated you kindly so far. And you needed her. Maybe this was for the better? Perhaps you could convince the powerful Baba Yaga to help you on your own, where König was failing. You could do this.

Smiling the most reassuring smile you could muster, you nodded. 

“I will be fine, König. Can you stay close please?”

König grumbled a ‘of course’ before getting up and exiting the house, leaving you and the Baba Yaga alone.

“They say it’s magic what I do, but most of my craft is giving stern looks and straight words,” Farah smiled deviously.

“Tell you what, sister,” She paused. “You don’t sound unsure about this marriage. König might be a king, but I never paid attention to titles anyway. They are all the same sorry puffed up men to me. If you want to get away from him, I can help you. It would be fun to have someone willing to learn the craft from me. You could be like a sister to me. I will not do that unkempt king's bidding, enable or convince you to marry, if you don’t want to.”

You looked away. An offering to stay by the Baba Yaga herself.

She is a knife, you remembered, she cares but she cuts too. I do not want to be cut no more.

“That is kind of you, Farah. I am humbled by your offering. But even if it’s complicated, I want to stay.”

“Foolish girl,” She said with a tone that did not mean it. “How is it complicated, sister? Do you not love him then?”

You took a sip from the cup. The tea tasted like nothing in your mouth, but you hardly paid attention.

Would there be a point in lying? You knew the stories of the powerful and clever Baba Yaga. And you had met speaking animals and beings you only knew from tales. Farah would have her ways to find out if she truly wanted the truth. And she likely would not appreciate being lied to.

You swallowed and decided to play it safe.

“My family is dead. All of them. The village shunned me because they thought I was cursed, and one of them repeatedly berated and even attacked me,” You explained. “König is fine. I don’t know him very well, yet. But he looks out for me, he really does. And he does not expect me to do anything more … physically - He promised. And he never forced himself closer to me even if he certainly had the chance and strength to do so. He just needs a queen to show around. And I need a protector. It is … okay. I have made my peace with it… so I thought. But … I had a bad dream. And it confused me. And König told me I might be in danger from drowning because I am human, and he is not. I nearly drowned already. I fear the water since I know him. Can’t stand being deeper in it than to my ankles. That’s why he sent out for you to maybe help with that. So that I will not die in the water by being with him.”

Farah slowly blinked, inhaling and exhaling before leading back in her chair.

“That’s a lot,” Farah finally spoke. “And they say a maiden’s life is light.”

You huffed. “Do they?”

“Older men in taverns do - talk like they know of the world while sitting around.”

“If you say so. I have never been to a tavern. Never left the village.” You answered, feeling foolish now like you knew nothing of the world.

Farah only hummed, closing her eyes as if in deep thought.

“Tell you what, sister,” She opened her eyes. “I will give you knowledge to protect yourself from death by that wet boy of yours.”

Farah got up and started cutting and mixing dried herbs in a large mortar.

“Like most men out there, he probably never even considered that a suffering. Acting like his presence is a gift to the world. You say he does not touch you? Fine. Here, take this.”

You stretched out your hands over the table and she passed you a pouch of the herbal mixture.

“Have you paid attention to what and how much I put in it?”

“Yes.”

“Good. As long as you want, you shall be barren. There will be no child coming from your womb. Just drink a cup of tea made from this mixture every day. Even if that wet-rag-king breaks his promise or you two might change your mind, you shall choose your fate. Quite frankly, without some intervention and knowledge, his dick is more likely to cause you harm than any water ever could. Drowning is faster than carrying a child you don’t want. If your mother were still alive, I’m sure she would tell her beloved daughter all her secrets.”

You looked at the pouch in your hands.

A knife, you thought, a knife to care and cut. Is that a betrayal? To König? To my family? To Mother?

“I don’t know if my mother would have ever told me.”

Farah crossed her arms, grumbling disapprovingly.

“Who knows. But I did. Your choice now. You can always just not drink the tea, right?”

You thought about it. Your mother haunting your dreams and speaking as if having children was the only path to happiness out there. And then you thought of König, his careful act towards you, his hand holding yours, his chest pressing against you, and how observant he was of what you need. How he asked and listened to you. How he would be towards a child. And then you thought of his size and what kind of child from him could grow in your tiny body. If that even was possible. Instinctively your hand closed around the little pouch.

Maybe no one but me is truly looking out for me. Maybe that’s all I am doing? Since when is that a betrayal?

“Right. Thank you,” You mumbled.

“If he ever does break his promise, you are welcome to live with me, and I will boil that fishy king in one of his ponds,” Farah continued as she returned to her seat at the table, sipping from her tea and smiling with glee, “As a little sign of gratitude for my wisdom, entertain me and tell me all about that village of yours and what gossip came from it. I want to know about those who think they can recognize a curse where there is none.”

A knife to cut and care. But not me. Not today.

You leaned back and started telling the stories and lies about you.

And Baba Yaga listened.

You stepped out of Baba Yaga's door and the chicken legged house titled forward to help you walk down the steps to the ground. König was sitting there in the grass, waiting for you.

“Is everything alright, Bride?” He asked while he got up and helped you down.

“Yes.”

You nodded, the herbal pouch hidden between your fingers. It felt exciting to have it there, hold it in your fingers, scary to go against what you had been taught since you were a little girl, mischievous, guilty, fun, safe.

You did not know exactly how to feel about it yet, but you did not let go either. Farah might not have turned you into an unsinkable boat, but she did give you an anchor.

“Hey, walking puddle!” Farah called out behind you from her house. It straightened up again as you reached the grass, acting like a proud pet imitating its keeper.

“I gave your problem a bit of thought and I think you yourself can solve it, oh mighty king of smelly bogs.” She declared. “Sacrifice something you hold dear. Give it to your bride. Coming from a being so tied to the waters should do the job better than any curse or wisdom I could come up with.”

“And what exactly should that sacrifice be?” König grumbled.

“How should I know what you care about?” Farah hit back as her house started to turn away and back to the forest. “Give her your favourite frog? Share an algae salad? But be nice. I like her well enough to return and teach you a lesson if you are not, fish head.”

“That’s it!” König called over to Baba Yaga and her chicken legged house. “You are not invited to the wedding. What kind of help is that? And will you stop it with the names?!”

Farah laughed. “Now I definitely will show up. You will repay me for my wisdom then and give my home a good bath. So long!”

And with her house having finally turned away from you, it started walking off into the forest under Königs loud protests.

Finally, he gave up and sighed.

“Well, at least we have a clue now. Even if it is a riddle.” He turned to you. “Are you sure you are alright? She is a dangerous woman.”

“I am,” You grinned. “We talked about the villagers. I told her everything.”

Königs concerned look turned into a grin as well.

“You are a dangerous woman too, dear Bride.” He nodded approvingly while he giggled. “She hates people who lie and they tell a lot of lies about you.”

“They sure do.”

“I don’t even want to imagine what she will do to them.”

“I do.”

König laughed and took you by the hand. Quickly you hid the pouch in the other behind your back.

“Good thing I am not planning on getting on your bad side, Bride.”

A strange kind of relief washed over you, taking away a tension you did not know you had held. Baba Yaga had given you as many fears as she had given you assurances.

A knife. A knife. A knife.

“Are you afraid I will tell Farah if you did?” You teased, stepping closer into his reach and decided to leave all worry behind you for now.

“No.” He paused, his watery eyes wandering over your form and you suddenly felt very aware that no one, not even the Fox or Heron, was around. Just you and your fiancé. And day time left to explore what that could mean.

“Alright, maybe. A little bit. She is terrifying,” König admitted, breaking the spell that had captured you.

You smiled and stepped away from him. “She is. Next time, please tell me who you invite over so I can brace myself. I like her but she is a force to be reckoned with. Can’t wait for the wedding to see her again.”

“Can’t wait for the wedding too, my beloved Bride.”

You paused, considering telling König about the pouch in your fingers and what that could mean for you - both of you - on your wedding night.

He probably does not even want me like that. I am no powerful being, no rusalka, no Baba Yaga with eyes that pierce everything. Just me. You thought to yourself. Why even give me the pouch when it will never be used? I was foolish enough for a day. No more of it.

“When will we marry, König?” you asked instead.

“When the palace is finished,” He replied. “Come. There is much to be done today. While you tell me what you need, we can think of what Baba Yaga had meant by sacrifice.”

“Good idea. But for today, a sacrifice of fish for lunch will do it for me.”

König chuckled.

“Of course, dear.”

XXX

Cultural Context Notes

Maybe this is a very personal observation but the relationships and friendships among eastern European women* or the dynamic between mothers and daughters is much more important and closer than it is in central Europe or the US. Correct me if I am wrong.

Another more personal observation: I am very cut off from my Russian roots basically since the annexation of Crimea and lost on how queer joy and life can look like ‘back home’. This bleeds into the text, reading very hetero. Since queerphobia is rampant in Russia where my family is from, I’m lost on how to depict eastern european/slavic queerness in my stories. I did not want to replace those gaps by just making a central european take on queerness so this is how it is. But I am a queer writer. And the lack of queerness in my story steeped in eastern european/slavic culture in itself feels like an accidental metaphor and I wish I could change that.

Many are somewhat familiar with Baba Yaga as a powerful evil witch since that is her most present depiction in international media post-Christianisation. But that simplifies her complex character. Some stories hint at her being a goddess of the earth or a similarly powerful being. Other stories describe her as one of three immortal sisters: the maid, the mother, and the crone in which Baba Yaga tends to be the crone. That too makes her an immensely powerful sorceress who reigns over death, life, and rebirth. Depicting her as just an evil witch in the western-European tradition clashes with stories about her being wise and helpful even if she is dangerous and unpredictable. And unlike many classical images of witches from more western parts of Europe Baba Yaga originally had no pointy hat, no black cat, or a broom to ride on. Instead, Baba Yaga appears to have no unusual dress from her peers. Nor does she have a side-kick except for maybe the woodhouse on chicken legs she lives in. And depending on the story Baba Yaga rides an oven, a large mortar, or just walks incredibly fast, which stresses that she is not an old hag in all her depictions but can be of different age and agility depending on the story. Baba Yaga is also associated with bones and death. In some stories she is the mother of the царь кощей / кощей Бессмертный - (Translation from russian) “undead king”/ “The one of bones and who can not die”. I decided to place Farah in the story as Baba Yaga because (I can and) Farah comes off as a reasonable wild card in the CoD franchise which is parallel enough to some Baba Yaga interpretations. Since the character Farah and the creation of a fake middle eastern country just to have that Orientalist theme in the CoD MW plot reads incredibly insensitive and racist to me, I’m making Farah the most powerful being in my story just out of spite. Also, Eastern Europe and Russia is not just Christians but has a lot of other religious influences too, the biggest one being Islam. Farah my beloved and everyone who identifies with her, this is for you. <3

Baba Yaga’s house in many tales is a wooden house on chicken legs that can walk wherever it wishes. To enter the house one needs to call out for it and ask it to turn around. There are several versions on what to say and I’m sure there are other variants in other languages. I used this one because I grew up with it: “Избушка, избушка, повернись ко мне передом, к лесу — задом” - translation from Russian: “Hut, dear hut. Please turn around towards me and with your back to the forest.” The added “Пожалуйста” is also Russian and means “Please”. I wanted to write this phrase in Old Church Slavonic but could not find the right words for it in the dictionaries so I had to stick with what I could execute, sorry. If there is a motivated linguist out there to research this, I’m absolutely willing to edit it and learn more about Old Church Slavonic or other fitting phrases. The origin of this house tale might come from the practice of building stilted houses in swampy regions. To keep the houses from rotting they were built on stilts, which got charred to avoid mould and rot. In some tales Baba Yaga is bound to the house and can not leave. In others she is not. Obviously, I understand staying in such a cool house forever anyway.

Is it possible to use herbs as contraception and abortion remedies? Likely. And there is historical evidence that several remedies had been used in the past to do so with differing success. HOWEVER! Do not try to replicate this at home. This is a fictional story and not medical advice. I know abortion and access to contraceptives are under attack in several parts of the world. It’s important to fight that and guarantee everyone dignity and bodily autonomy. But playing around with herbs you just googled or heard from a friend, is not the solution and can kill you. This part of the story is vague for a reason. 

Buckwheat grows in colder climates and on poor soils. It’s a staple food in many eastern European and central Asian regions. 

Rusalka (singular), rusalki (Plural) don’t have a good translations. In some sense they are mermaids but for inland water, since there are a handful of stories that describe them as having fish tales. But I think the best translation to give a picture of the rusalki is that they are more akin to nymphs like those from Greek myths. Rusalkis are female. In some regions they are supposed to look like old women, in others they are tall and stern looking. I grew up with the Russian tales of Rusalkis being pretty girls or women, playing in or around the water. They can be benevolent, especially to kids and women by helping out with washing clothes, playing or just friendly chatting. But they also can be a threat, predominantly for men whom they trick, drown and eat. It’s fascinating how gendered that image of the rusalka is, as if it fits the same entity but from two binary gendered points of view with the “female” one seeing the rusalka as a free spirit who does as she pleases, and the patriarchal “male” being threatened by that. The stories I know of the rusalka associate her with maidenhood or at least younger women, which ties to the idea that rusalkis are young women who committed suicide by drowning due to being pregnant out wedlock, dying before / around her wedding night or while giving birth. Essentially there is a lot of sexuality coded in the figure of the rusalka. If anyone knows or writes a queer take on it, please tag me. I need a break from those harsh binaries. Also, in some stories Rusalkis serve the Vodyanoy. I don’t really buy that and interpret it as a possible later addition to the fairy tale canon to depict the rusalka as subservient to at least one male master to be honest. Rusalkis are as governable as a storm. 

XXX

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#monster!könig #monster x human #könig #könig mw2 #könig cod #he who comes from under the water #hwcfudw #grimmwriting #monster romance #monster x reader #monster!ghost #ghost mw2 #simon ghost riley #call of duty mw2 #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty modern warfare ii #farah karim

[pa1nkill3r]

Day 2,557 [G.W]

[Pairing:] George Weasley x GN!Reader

[Summary:] A boy comes into the joke shop with his mother; It felt all too weird for the one-eared owner to feel so at ease, something he never felt for the past 7 years.

[Warnings:] angst, sad, major character death (not Fred obv), reincarnation, grief, mourning, swearing

[a/n:] Scrolling through facebook and getting videos of children talking about their past lives really intrigued me. This is my first fic and it might be bad so please don’t bully me, I’m sensitive <3 (jkjk but I am open for constructive criticism!)

[a/n; March 2024] I wrote this draft back in 2021 or 2022 I believe, waiting desperately for the opportunity to finish and post this. That time never came. Now, 2 or 3 years later, I gravely admire my vocabulary, creativity, and passion for writing back then. Honestly speaking, moving schools killed my spark and I am desperate to get it back. For now, I am working on reviving that spark within me by going back to where I started. Even though the HP fandom isn't as active as it used to be, I would still like to share this piece I made because I am so, so proud of my younger self.

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There was something about Y/N wearing white that George loved so much. He always got so giddy and cute which in turn made their eyes roll and mouth grin.

The way Y/N looked sitting at the Great Hall with their white sleeves rolled to their elbows, one hand under their chin and the other twirling a spoon while their eyes dragged along their charms textbook, cramming in as much information as they could for the upcoming test that afternoon. 

Or that time at the Yule Ball when they thought it’d be funny to wear an all white ensemble because: “What?...I wanted to feel like a bride at their wedding.” whilst having the best night with George, their “groom”.

Even small moments like when they would steal a shirt from George’s drawer and wear it to sleep. He loved every single bit of it, even if it cost him many shirts.

He truly never got enough of them wearing white. So seeing them in a casket wearing that same color 7 years ago, looking so peaceful and so… dead. That killed him. That’s the last time he will see them in white; That’s the last time he’s going to see them at all. 

That was the last time he could actually feel their hand rather than just dried oil on linen canvas, framed in oak and hung atop his bed. How he wished their eyes could roll one more time at how stupidly in love their boyfriend is with them, especially in white.

Voldemort’s reign of terror had ended, as well as the lives of many others, and maybe even George. They were a horcrux he never made, his life force created by deep love and affection rather than the hunger for immortality.

It never got easier even after 7 years, he simply just got used to it. 

He got used to the feeling of an empty bed. He got used to gripping onto a cold body pillow instead of a warm figure and a heartbeat with Y/H/C hair disturbing his lips. He got used to counting the days since their death which gravely disturbed Fred, his twin. He got used to waking up everyday and checked off a box from the calendar with an absurd amount of numbers on it. 

Admittedly he is doing better than he did 7 years ago. No more jumping from every small sound and drawing out his wand in the middle of the night. No more vivid dreams of several dead bodies laid across the Great Hall. No more crying himself to sleep. No more missed dinners. No more grieving. 

He’s longed for them longer than he has actually been with them. But his love never faltered. Not once. 

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Day 2,557

It's now exactly 7 years since the Battle of Hogwarts. And in a month it would be the 7th anniversary of his obituary for Y/N on the Daily Prophet, a suggestion made by Percy to try and help his grieving brother. It helped, but not really. 

The small May 2nd, 2005 box wrote “Baby Vic’s Birthday!” in bold red ink. George moved the yellow paper star that stuck gently onto the calendar with paper tape as Fred walked into his room. Envelope in his hands, bread between his teeth, and a beautiful haughty looking owl on his shoulder.

“Fun to finally see you up, Georgie!” Fred greeted sarcastically as George hummed in response. “Bill just sent an owl that little Vicky’s turning 5!"

"That is usually how birthdays work, Freddie." George joked, grabbing his wand and with a flick, his bed is magically fixed. "I'm not a dumbass, you know?" Fred chuckled lightly as he handed George the letter from Bill and Fleur, "They're hosting a party for her at the Burrow at 5."

He took the piece of parchment and flattened it by his desk before pulling it closer to his face, his back mindlessly pinning itself to the wall. 

Dear Fred and George, 

Bill here, As you should know, it's baby Victoire's 5th birthday today and we would really like love to have you two come by the Burrow at 5 pm. 

Vic really misses you both. Uncle George this, Uncle Fred that. She’s going to be like you two one day, I’m tellin’ ya. She loves listening to stories you tell her, especially the ones about Y/N and Tonks. She thinks that they’re the coolest people ever and that she wished she could meet them. I simply told her that one day she would, but it’ll be far far away from now. 

Hope to see you later! Please owl back immediately, Vic’s got Ginny’s temper.

xx Bill

“I’ve already owled them my ‘happy birthday’ letter before Chouette came.” Chouette, the owl cooed at the mention of her name. Slightly shuffling her feathers therefore lightly tickling Fred's neck, making him shiver. The haughty owl flew from Fred's shoulder to George's making the younger twin chuckle. 

"Seems like Chouette is telling you to take a bath, mate." George laughed as the back of Fred's hand flew to his forehead. "I got us crepes and bread for breakfast! And you go on and call me stinky?" Fred exclaimed dramatically. 

"How 'bout you be a dear and write to Bill and Fleur that we are going to Vic's party, alright?" 

"Yeah, yeah, I'll do that." George agreed, taking out a roll of parchment from his desk drawer as well as a quill and a bottle of ink. "While I eat my breakfast and write this, will you be a dear and take a bath!" Fred cackled at his younger brother's statement. Though in a bit the sound of water dropping down the shower head echoed through the small flat above the shop.

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School owls poured in as numerous Hogwarts students wanted to take advantage of the annual “54% off ‘End of War’ sale” at Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes held in memory of the fallen 50. Because in Fred and George’s philosophy, “...We might not be able to save them, but they can save our customers over 50% off of all our products!”

It seemed insensitive but it’s the thought that counts. They wanted to make sure that their passing didn’t go to waste, even if it is counted as a discount to the famous Diagon Alley shop. 

Mr. Weasley and Mr. Weasley were rather busy picking up and shipping out their joke products, sending it to the owls who were perched up in a little area at the back of the store, nibbling on insects Verity; a part of their staff had handed them before sending them back to the school her bosses previously dropped out of. 

It was nearing lunch time when everyone wearing magenta robes stocked up the shelves again, having been sending out owls since 8 in the morning when they heard a clanging from the front doors, signaling that a customer had finally came; A middle aged woman looked starstruck whilst holding onto a young boy that’s slowly getting out of her grip, having the same eagerness as his mother.

It wasn’t unusual for customers to react this way coming into the Weasley’s joke shop. The boy’s eyes sparkled while the mother looked in admiration. The mother crouched down to hold onto her son, keeping him from running while his mouth spilled with words. 

“Mum, we have to get something for Mia!” the boy cried out eagerly, eyes darting towards every single corner of the store. George’s mouth upturned into a sloppy grin whilst listening to the boy. 

“Marty, that’s sweet of you, but we already got the quill she wanted.” The mother said quietly, running her hands over the boy’s shoulders, easing it. “And it’s your birthday...” George didn’t know what came after that as he took the chance and walked towards the small family with a big smile on his face, quickly followed by Fred. 

“Heard it’s a little man’s birthday.” inclined George, hands in his pockets and head down turned. The mother looked up and stood from her spot, giggling slightly as she kept a hold of her son’s shoulders. “What’s your name?” he asked, now being the one to crouch down in front of the boy.

The boy tilted his head to the side, eyes slightly strained. He looked both confused and hyper focused at the same moment. Though weird, George thought nothing of it. After all, he was a kid, the man he’s looking at has one ear, and the hyperfixation was quickly ended by the slight shake of his shoulders. The mother looked down at her son, silently telling him to introduce himself. And so he did. 

"I'm Martin! I turn 6 today!" the boy said enthusiastically,bringing a smile on George's face. Being around Martin felt odd, it felt so unapologetically peaceful and rather… familiar. 

"SIX?!" Fred loudly piped in. "Well now that's big, little man!" 

The mother was slightly startled by the appearance of the ginger's twin, though the same cannot be said about Martin who simply smiled absentmindedly. 

"I knew you before." said Martin, eyes targeting the younger twin. George smiled and kept close to the boy, keeping the conversation going. "Really?" he asked with vivid curiosity, he did not recognise the boy or his mother but fueling a child's imagination wouldn't hurt anyone. 

"How?" piped in Fred, now also crouching beside his twin, "And why just him?" he asked comedically, pointing to his brother. 

"Since we were 11." Answered Martin with no signs of struggle on his face. The red haired owners looked at each other, though more in disbelief than in confusion. 

"Thought you said you were 6, Martin?" George asked with a kind look on his face. The boy’s mother shook her son’s shoulder harder than she did the past few times, mumbling “Marty, what did I tell you?” in tired disbelief.

“M’sorry mum.” Martin said with a pinch of sincerity before turning back to face the bigger man in front of him. “I was 20 before I became 6.” “Marty.”

Chilling, the owners thought. As they were 20 at the time of the battle of Hogwarts. 

“I’m so sorry Mr.--”

“Weasley.” Fred replied as the confusion simmered throughout his twin brother. “S’really nothing to worry about Mrs.--?”

“Edevane. But I truly am sorry, he’s just a very imaginative little kid. Always has stories of his quote-unquote ‘past life’.“ she explained, making the kid become a bit mad. “But mum, it’s true!-”

“Marty, how about we look around the store, alright? Mr. and Mr. Weasley could show us around perhaps?” Mrs. Edevane hinted to the twin owners, relief gracing their legs as they were now able to stand on their feet. 

“Yes, we can certainly do that! Come along Marty, tell us more about this ‘past life’ of yours.” Fred’s arm wrapped around the small boy’s shoulders, showing him around the color filled shop. “Sorry about that Mrs. Edevane.” he added mischievously, “Here at Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, we like to encourage creativity and imagination.”

“--As it is the reason we got here.” George finished, giving Mrs. Edevane a kind smile as they start roaming around the shop. “Uhh. Mr. Weasley.” Her fingers tapped onto George’s shoulder. His head whipped around and mouth about to open when suddenly the 6 year old spoke; “Mum, Mr. Weasley’s name is George. This one’s Fred.”

The utter shock that went through the twin wizards was clear as day. No where in the shop did it say the owner’s names. Even their name tags; The little badge pinned on their suits merely wrote ‘Mr. Weasley’. Fred, being the initiator that he is, leaned forward. “Now how can you be so sure, Marty?” he teased, “What if I tell you that you’re wrong?”

Martin simply smiled, angling his head a bit to the side again. “Mr. George has a longer face, down turned eyes and eyebrows, he’s a bit taller than you, Mr. Fred. You have a squarer face and shorter features than him.” he explained smoothly and innocently. As if it’s something he’s observed over the course of his whole life.

“Ma’am, I’m afraid your son’s a genius.” George joked, even if he’s visibly disturbed, though nonetheless intrigued. Nobody has ever differentiated them this way, even their own mother. Though one person did. The one he cherished most. The mother smiled, holding onto her son once again. 

“I’m no genius.” Martin spoke, a shy smile gracing his small little lips, so identical to the person’s portrait above George’s bed. He even said their typical response to their mind being praised. 

“-- I just quietly observe.”

Martin spoke but George merely whispered. A shiver ran through his spine, heart pumping, cold sweat dripping from his forehead. It could’ve all been a coincidence. One big coincidence served on a silver platter, garnished with confusion and terrifying accuracy. 

“Mr. Weasley?”

He snapped back, giving the woman a sign to continue. “Uh, I just wanted to ask... err. Why that big of a discount? Why is it 54% off of everything? That doesn’t really sound like a good marketing strategy, doesn’t it?” She asked curiously. 

“Well Mrs. Edevane.” George started, seeing as Fred and little Martin were still going around the shop. “Remember the last wizarding war?” Mrs. Edevane shook her head. His smile faltered a bit but still kept his composure. “We’re, what you call it? Muggle--born?” Her eyebrows furrowed while her teeth sinked into her bottom lip. “Well, my daughter... err. Just started her first year and that McGonagall woman said that she’s a ‘muggleborn’.” 

They truly didn’t know who they are.

“-- What I’m trying to say, Mr. Weasley, is that we, or at least I, am not magical. Nor is my husband.” He nodded, breathed in a bit as his mind tried to ease itself. The boy couldn’t have known who he is as they wouldn’t have known anything about the prophet, or could they?

“Well, Mrs. Edevane. 7 years ago at this date. The second wizarding war has ended. My brother-in-law defeated... him.” It was still hard to say his name, even years later. “V-Voldemort.”

She looked curious but silently let him continue. “Uh, remember when. Uh-uhm that bridge collapsed in muggle london? 7-8 years ago? A big hurricane happened? When a lot died like-” It was hard to explain. Truly. It was hard to live through it again.

“Like that Emmeline Vance lady?”

“Yes, exactly!” He exclaimed. “It was all caused by him. By wizards! Dark wizards!” Her previously bright face now looked horror struck. It was all making sense. “Seven years ago, this day. Everything ended at Hogwarts. As well as the lives of 54 on our side.” He wanted to mention one very special loss, but figured that she doesn’t need to know about it. She was just a muggle mother who brought her son birthday shopping. “We wanted to commemorate them.”

A sincere look graced upon her face, out of pity. “Is there any chance that you’ve seen anything from the ‘Daily Prophet’, Mrs. Edevane? Or your son?” He asked, breaking the uncomfortable silence. She shook her head, now gracing a look with pure confusion. “A-Anything. Like a paper? A newspaper with moving photographs? Or maybe a-a Quibbler?”

She shook her head. “Why’re you asking Mr. Weasley?” His mouth opened, about to burst out his concerns and held in grief to a complete stranger when; “George!”

It was Fred, hand resting on his twin’s shoulder as the six year old boy beside him just stood. “-- Can I talk to you? I need to talk to you.” He said, fright gracing his features and panic in his voice. 

George nodded, bidding a quick goodbye to the mother and son who came in a few moments ago and calling for one of their faculty to give them the tour they wanted.

Fred pulled his twin to an empty corner of the shop. Sound muffled by the stacks of products ranging from fireworks to extendable ears. “That boy George.” Fred panted. Voice shaking. “He knows too much. Is there a chance that you put anything about how Y/N saved me?”

“Briefly. Why?” His heart was about to pop out of his chest at any moment. Any moment now his heart would be a new WWW product. 

“He explained everything! Everything George! Knew things that he shouldn’t have!” Fred said, terrified. “What did he say?” asked George. Croaking out whatever’s left in his heaving lungs. 

“He said that he saved me. Me and Percy! From the explosion! I didn’t think much of it at first, George! I knew that you wrote that in their obituary. But he just kept going.” Frightened. They were both frightened. “Everything they did. He knew.”

“How accurate was he?”

“Very. George. Disturbingly accurate.” Back straightened and composed, Fred stood back, eyes darting back and forth from his brother to the entrance of the shop. “He knew that they transfigured the rubble to sand. He knew that they cast that ring of fire shit they did. The diabolica thing to ward off the death eaters? Yeah. He named the spell. HE NAMED THE SPELL, GEORGE!”

“I heard you the first time!” George yelled back. Disturbed, yet he felt at peace. He could have the last goodbye he’s always wanted. “We need to talk to the boy, Fred.”

His twin nodded fervently, about to walk away from the corner when he felt an arm tug on his elbow. “Oi, how can we do it without worrying the mother?”

“Give whatever he wants for free. It’s his birthday after all. Now come on!”

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#george weasley #george weasley fanfiction #fred and george #george weasley imagine #george weasley x reader #george weasley angst #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #george weasley one shot #fred weasley #bill weasley #fleur delacour #ginny weasley

[themoonsbride]

She's Mine, You Stay Away From Her .

pairing; Peter Ballard x Fem!Reader

summary; Reader is basically in Elevens spot like in the episodes leading up to 7; The Massacre at Hawkins Lab in season 4

warnings; swearing, descriptions of - Murder, insanity, hatred, being shocked, anxiety, isolation. Peter himself is considered a warning for this fic.

a/n; I've spent forever working on this agh!!! it's been taking up my time of working on other requests </3 but I got the inspiration of this fic based of an edit I saw of Peter to this song! I also just really wanted to write him to a Pierce The Veil song because they're my favorite band :) (HOPING THIS DOESNT FLOP HHJ)

word count; 5.1k

--×♥︎×--

The lingering quietness was always off putting inside of Hawkins Labrotory. It always made you feel uneasy. The fact that you were forced to live and work here everyday for most likely the rest of your life was uneasy.

But there was nothing that could be done, Martin Brenner was a dangerously powerful man who ruled over everybody that was within the walls of his facility.

And it was clear to you that he had not a single silver of an amount for care for the humans inside of his building either. If he did, he wouldn't be scientifically experimenting on children to give them different forms of physiological powers. It was inhuman to do this to undeveloped brains of practically toddlers.

And you having to watch and document it happen every single day was picking away at your sanity piece by piece. What you would do if you could've had the power the children withheld.

You would take matters into your own hands and put an end to all of this insanity that went on, put an end to the man behind the madness.

You weren't sure if you were losing your sanity, or if it was already lost. But you would do anything to break free of this hell, Martin seemed to be Satan himself when someone did something he didn't like, if they even breathed the wrong way, his wrath would come their way and would last for longer than you'd prefer to admit.

But you weren't the only one who seemed to grow this type of hatred for a place like this, no. There was another, And though you'd never been directly told you weren't the only one, you could tell. It was obvious in your eyes.

He seemed to be Brenners favorite, and also his most hated worker, And his name is Peter Ballard. A man with the facial features made of pure beauty like a God.

He isolated from others, as they were uninterested in him and often spat shit at him, infront of him and behind his back and you'd heard it all. Some of the pesky rumors that went around about that gorgeous man seemed so ridiculous a fucking 4th grader could've came up with better.

You were both just looking at eachother, the tension wasn't awkward between the two of you, she was nervous to be standing before you, you towered over her.

She probably would have started to sweat thick bullets if it weren't constantly fucking cold. Which surprisingly didn't constantly get the children sick, maybe them having humanly impossible powers strengthened their immune system to the point they don't get sick anymore.

It wouldn't suprise you if that were true, nothing was surprising anymore unless Brenner left you off with a warning and not 3 hours of you getting shocked to the point your nerves went numb and you felt like you were about to take your last fucking breathe.

"play." Eleven mumbled out and lightly tugged on the hem of your skirt. you raised a brow at her, your face felt blank, and numb, you felt numb inside too.

"play what." your voice was clear and ferm, your remember how your mother used to tell you when you were a teenager that she loved the femininity in your voice, it made you sound more professional.

The image of your mother's face in your head made you feel a certain way, a feeling that had felt lost for a long time, like it was hidden deep and burrowed inside you.

"puzzle." Eleven spoke, bringing you back to the reality you lived in today. the dreadful reality you lived in.

"okay." her small fingers wrapped around your index one, guiding you towards a small table, leaving you next to one of the chairs, you sat down feeling somewhat hesitant. You didn't understand, why now? why would Eleven now be talking to you?

Maybe it was something under the control of Peter, or Brenner, maybe either of them convinced her to talk to you, to get you to like her and use her as a weakness towards you. You didn't trust anyone anymore, the first look you took inside this building, you knew you were fucked.

Eleven sat across from you and placed a tiger children's puzzle onto the table, opening the box carefully. Everything felt off, You'd never spoken to Peter before, but you didn't need too, you already knew he hated this facility as much if not more than you did.

But you did supervise the rainbow room together, You were never a fan of the room, infact you seemed to have a weird sense of hatred for it, the way the room was displayed.

Maybe it was those muted rainbows on the wall and flooring. Or all the toys that surrounded them to make it seem like they were cared for, when in reality it was most likely to keep them distracted from the mortifying reality around them.

The somewhat nice part about that room was the children mostly placed nicely with one another, the youngest would play with wooden building blocks or solve animal puzzles. There were only around 4 of the children that were in their tweens..

It was 002 and his gang, God you fucking hated 002 and his devious little followers. All they did was bother one of the subjects, and specifically one, her name was Eleven.

She never caused trouble, because she was too afraid. She feared everybody, and she was only a little bit older than the youngest ones. She was 8 years old, the younger ones were more around 5-6.

She was especially scared of the workers, but she liked to play around with the puzzles and challenge herself to see if she could solve them, she also seemed to be observant.

She seemed to take interest in you, often you would catch her looking over at you, but you'd never thought anything of it, mainly because you couldn't care enough.

But today was different, because this time instead of the small girl just eagerly staring at you, she ended up walking her walk over towards you. You tried not to show the suprise on your face, you saw Peter watching her as if he were a hawk and she was a meek prey from the corner of your eye.

Her shaved head looked up at your eyes, You assumed she wanted to talk to you, but since she was 8, and no one cared to teach these beings anything else other than how to enhance their powers, they most likely didn't understand how to form full sentences from what you've seen and heard.

You looked around the room carefully without trying to move your head much, you started inspecting the rest of the ominously quiet room. The children were usual to minding their business.

You brought your gaze to the blonde man who kept to himself, and noticed he couldn't seem to keep his own gaze off of you.

'..Weird.'

You looked back over at Eleven and found her struggling to fit a puzzle piece to connect with another, though it was the wrong piece. You carefully took the small cardboard photo from her tiny fingers and placed it in the spot, she just stared at you, like she were embarrassed.

You weren't really sure what you were supposed to do or say now, you sort of just awkwardly smiled, it was too quiet for you to speak, your sanity didn't want you to crack somehow by simply speaking to an 8 year old.

She sort of just awkwardly looked away from you like she felt shy or wanted to speak, but obviously as noted before, she doesn't really understand how. Which is expected.

She instead just went back to figuring out how to member the tiger into a normal photo once more. You observed her movements closely, usually when she would think very critically of her next move she'd place her small index finger onto her chin or lower lip.

Every now and again she had to look up in your direction, as her way of saying "help" or "can't figure it out" and you wordlessly helped her and pieced the correct parts together. She'd finished her puzzle just as Brenner had entered the room.

"Goodmorning Children." And there she was to get quick on her feet and in her spot where she always stood in union with the rest of her "siblings."

You were meant to stand as well and did so, you watched all of them follow out behind Brenner and were fast to break the puzzle and place it back inside its box and onto the shelf where it was kept.

When you turned again, Peter was still stood in that spot next to the door, you knew he was watching you, and as much as it would've put anyone else on edge, it didn't for you. You were constantly being watched by your every move in your life now, so it seemed like nothing new.

--×♥︎×--

It was now your break, taking your time into the breakroom, it was like any other room. Only with a fridge and a counter top inside of it with a coffee machine. The coffee was rancid, tasted horrid.

The taste of the dirt water reminded you of when your father forced you into summer camp, when he first told you he had signed you up, you were extremely pissed.

"I'm am not going daddy! I do not want to go to summer camp! I'd rather be home!"

You would whine and complain to him, but there was nothing to be done, he already signed the paperwork and handed over the cash.

And when you had gone, it was more fun than you had expected. You went inside of a swamp and a creek, and went fishing, did tie die and collected rocks and small insects. You'd even found a snapping turtle once.

Remembering the times of your early teenage years and how you'd been happy made you feel a sense of grief, and also anger. With yourself and the world around you.

You pushed through the double doors of the breakroom, grabbing water from the half broken refrigerator and sat down by yourself, alone.

You were always alone, even when there were others around you, you were alone. No one seemed to take interest in you, not like you'd wanted them to anymore at this point.

Even if you could see through that perfectly physical man with those deep blue eyes, you were still alone. you always were since birth. Barely ever had many friends, always the targeted girl when it came to kids who had troubles in their own lives and had the shit audacity to take it out on you.

What you would've given to get your revenge on those little fucks at the time you were dealing with them.

What you would give to get your revenge on Brenner and all the shit he's dumped onto you and the rest of the people who were imprisoned here.

Your train of thought about you getting your pay back was interrupted by the sound of the doors opening again. You didn't want to make it noticeable that you were checking who was entering, But you weren't too shocked to see it was Peter.

You stared at the bottle of water that was held in your hands, small beads of sweat forming on the plastic and making your hands moist.

The sound of coffee pouring from the dispenser of the machine filled the room, no matter how similar you could tell you were to others, you never understood the trouble they would put themselves through of drinking the mud water that was labeled as "coffee" in this building.

what's something that was a shock to you about the man was that he'd sat across from you, he never interacted with you before and now he's suddenly across from you, you could feel him staring again.

It was like Lazer beams burning through metal. You'd felt that same feeling with Brenner multiple times before, it was an anxiety inducing feeling.

It reminded you of how he'd lecture and yell at you for the littlest of actions, like giving one of the children candy or something else that doesn't even matter.

And then when you would refuse to look at him because you didn't want to see that familiar cold glare that would send shrieks of fear throughout your entire being he'd send you to the punishment room.

Your skin began to form goosebumps at the memory of your entire body going numb and not being able to feel anything and your throat constantly hoarse and sore from that fucking collar he'd put on you like you were some dog.

Your skin felt itself getting warmer like your blood was boiling with rage from all your mistreatment and how you could do absolutely nothing about what you've gone through.

You shook your thoughts away, not wanting to physically remember what it felt like to wear that collar or feel those metal rods connect with your skin.

"Eleven seemed to take an interest in you today." His voice broke the imagery of your memories and your eyes automatically looked into his, they weren't cold like Brenners, they were light, and reminded you of clear skies during the summer that you used to take in while you'd make castles at the beach when you were a child, or would learn to ride your bike as your mother helped guide you in the spring, how you'd ride around your neighborhood as a teenager and would embrace the warm air and beautiful sky.

"Yeah, I suppose she did." Your voice was flat, but it wasn't cold, or mean, but it also didn't sound normal, but what would he know anyway? he's never even spoken to you before.

"She usually doesn't do that with the orderly." He clearly wanted to talk to you about something and it wasn't Eleven, but you weren't sure if you should just go along with it, or tell him to get on with the point already.

"She usually isn't like that with anyone." you remarked, there was a slight snark in your tone, you didn't really want to come off as snarky, but who wouldn't after all the shit that goes on in this place?

"So I've noticed" He didn't sound mad, and he still hadn't taken his eyes off you the entire time, it was a little uncomfortable how good he was at holding eye contact, but maybe that's what the point of making it so strong, was to make the other uncomfortable.

Or maybe it could've been unintentional, it was clear why it was one of the reasons your coworkers commented it on it and called him 'weird' or 'creepy.'

It didn't make you as uncomfortable as it would've others, it was normal to feel that way in Hawkins Labrotory. But when it was Peter who was making this strong of eye contact, it didn't seem that uncomfortable anymore. His eyes were so angelic and his hair seemed perfect in the horrible light, almost like there was a halo around his head.

It felt almost like you were losing yourself in him, like the way you'd lose yourself in the pages of a book, or a masterpiece of a drawing that someone would spend day and night on.

Maybe because in your eyes, he was like a masterpiece drawing, he was beautiful.

The both of you were just glaring at eachother now. It wasn't awkward, it only would've been if you told yourself it was. You learned a long time ago about how it worked that way, your mother had told you.

"That was so awkward.." You spoke quietly, walking out of the doctors office with your mother.

"It was only awkward because you had told yourself it was." She replied, walking to the car that your father was waiting in.

"What do you mean?" You looked up at her as she suddenly stopped in her movements and looked down at your 13 year old self.

"It was only awkward, because you told yourself the tension and the interaction was awkward." You were still confused.

"If you don't tell yourself when something is awkward, you won't feel so anxious or uncomfortable anymore." And then she continued back in her tracks.

you were only 13, so you still didn't understand what the hell she was talking about, and even now you didn't really understand. She'd worded it in a way were it sounded like she thought awkwardness was just an illusion of the human mind.

Sometimes your mother would be very smart with her words or explanations, and others it seemed like she just didn't care enough to hear you talk about how you felt, or she just wasn't sure how to explain something to you.

It was now that you realized that you still didn't respond, assuming that's what he was waiting for, there weren't any words that were forming out of your throat, and lunch was about to end anyways so you just stood to your feet.

"Lunch is about to end, maybe I'll see you tomorrow." You spoke quickly before exiting, he was watching you the entire time, of course.

--×♥︎×--

It was now Training of the next day, the children were lined up against the wall whilst they waited for their turn to use their powers on a ring a bulbs that was implanted in the floor infront of a metal chair.

It was currently 002's turn to attempt to light the glass bulbs, You walked up and placed the headset onto his buzzed scalp.

You felt your skin grow warm with how close in contact you were with him as a visous anger grew deeper in you for him. And for a split second, you were thinking of what it would've looked like if you killed him right then infront of everyone.

When you finished placing the wiring on his head you quickly walked away back in your spot at the corner of the room, clamping your hands behind yourself as usual.

You glanced over at Peter, and he was quick to look back over at you, but it wasn't like he darted his head over at you, it was slow and calm. Maybe that's what was off-putting about him that people didn't seem to like.

It was sort of assuring to see him be slow and calm, almost like he was tired, or maybe just burnt out, whether it was mentally or physically you didn't know, but it was sticking out to you.

He was good at masking how tense he was and how much he hated everyone here, as were you. Maybe he could see through you too and that's why he had spoken to you yesterday.

He seemed to take a liking in Eleven though, he was sitting next to her and talking to her a few days before she'd spoken to you, which is why you were curious as to whether if it were his doing or not.

Brenner had forced Eleven to go next by brainwashing her with a piece of fucking candy. A piece of candy she clearly could've cares less for, she was so obviously scared and uncomfortable. Her powers weren't as strong as the rest of her siblings.

Peter had went up and placed a headset on her stubble hair, unnecessarily fixing the front of her headset. He'd whispered something to her, why would he have done so right infront of everyone in the room? infront of Brenner? He was practically asking for the punishment room, but why would you care? it wasn't you who would be tortured later on.

It was her who had you do that stupid puzzle with her, you weren't the one who came up to her asking to solve a puzzle, she just up and decided randomly to ask you to solve one with her. after almost 2 weeks of her just eye-balling you.

--×♥︎×--

It was now a week later, and todays training was different from anything else they've done before, Peter's been interacting with Eleven more, and it's quite strange.

Regardless of all the rumors of how strange he is, this was one of things you did find weird, why has he started randomly started interacting with her? What was he telling her?

Brenner proceeded to draw 2 circles with white chalk onto the lominum floor as he spoke.

"For today's lesson, we are going to play a game." His voice was mutated to sound kind with a plastic smile on his face. It was a relief that these children didn't understand how powerful and cruel he truly was, but it was also so fucked in the head that he would do this to any of them and act like some big teddy bear and like this was okay.

It wasn't, obviously. But it just pissed you off so much, and it only made things worse when you'd remind yourself there was nothing you could do about it. It started to feel like every passing day it felt more and more like you were living in an insane asylum.

You used to think about escaping from time to time, but now you full on fucking fantazied it. you truly were starting to go insane, who wouldn't though.

002 was beating all of his opponents, and then it was Elevens turn, and when Peter finished tying on her blindfold, he wasn't very quiet to whisper "Good Luck" in her ear.

This started to seem tedious to you, what the fuck is he telling her? what if he's attempting to brainwash her just like Brenner? Though you told yourself multiple times you could've given less of a shit about these kids, there was a part of you that felt protective over Eleven.

Almost maybe like a motherly kind of protection? Though it wouldn't matter, there's nothing you can protect her from because both of you live in danger. She just isn't aware of it.

To your suprise, Eleven beat 2, she had slammed his body against the mirror behind him, leaving it cracked, he was shaking and looked at her with fear But he'd get his revenge soon, and you were sure of it, whether or not he'd be successful in getting away with it was yet a mystery. Because he's gotten away with it before, you've seen it yourself.

You could still remember it like it were yesterday, when you had to monitor the cameras.

"You're weak, and useless. You don't deserve to have the place as papa's favorite.." His voice was hushed and filled with rage.

"I-im sorry.." Eleven was so young at the time, her lip was trembling and tears were forming in her waterline.

"I'm gonna hurt you, for having what I dont.."

"please d-don-" But before she could even beg him further to spare her, she was already being pushed around the room, into tables and on the floor.

And then they left her there, crying.

Why they were all in there? was never answered, but she shouldn't have been in there by herself with 002 in the same building as her.

But the small amount of guilt you felt for her on that day still lingers. 002 stumbled to his feet and sat with the other children.

"It looks like we have a new winner." Brenner spoke, Eleven seemed shocked and nervous at the same time, but at this point it seemed like nervous was just a normal feeling and vibe to get from her.

--×♥︎×--

You were back inside the breakroom now. Holding a bottle of water you most likely weren't going to drink. And Peter entered the room too, but this time was different.

"Miss L/n, may I speak to you, alone?" His tone sounded pleadful and curious.

"We are alone." You answered firmly, but he didn't respond he just continued to stare at you, and then that's when you glared at the camera in the corner of the room and sighed to yourself.

Standing to your feet and walking over to him, you didn't trust him or his motives regardless of seeing his feelings. it was how everyone felt about this place.

He took you inside of a small broom closet that seemed like it was never entered anymore, he closed the door behind himself and you just stood there.

He faced you and smiled lightly at you, but you were careful go examine him.

Your grandmother always told you to keep your head up and seem serious, men would take you seriously, especially if you'd show you didn't have a care for them.

And throughout your life, it mostly worked, but Peter was already here when you came here 2 years ago, so he probably would be smarter than that.

"How would you like to escape with Eleven and i?" His tone was excited but quiet.

"What?" You were in pure shock and weren't even sure if you heard him correctly, but you did your best to keep a straight face.

"I've been speaking with Eleven"

"I've noticed that." You kept your voice ferm and serious, you didn't want to agree with him, maybe if you kept this conversation with him, you'd be able to seek through his true intentions.

"And I've told her about how she deserves to escape this horrible place."

"Are you fucking insane?" You blurted out, you didn't mean too, it was just the first thing that came to mind.

Was he fucking insane? what the hell was he doing tell an 8 year old to escape the place she's lived in and only knows as good? what else has he told her?

He completely disregarded the question, which was appreciated on your end.

"I've got a plan set out for her and I, and I know you hate it here, Y/n."

"You don't know shit." So maybe he could see through you too, but this couldve still be a trap regardless, a trap to get you into trouble or become his little minion and do whatever he wants you too.

"Don't I? I've seen the way you've glared at Brenner and 002."

"You look at them the same way, It's not just them either, don't think I didn't know you couldn't keep your eyes off me either Ballard." You felt someone outraged that he would just randomly propose this to you, he didn't even know you. Maybe he didn't have too, though.

"The same goes for you, are you going to join us, or no." His voice sounded serious now, and after a few moments of just staring at him, you could sense this man was infact serious.

"..When is this happening exactly?"

"Tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" You looked at him like he had actually lost his mind, and maybe he did, but whats so wrong with that?

It's not like you had your sanity in tact with you anymore either, so if he's crazy then you can be crazy together surely.

"Are you joining us, yes. or no?"

"..Yes."

Part of you was mentally cursing yourself out for agreeing, you still didn't trust him, fuck no. But at least you just got a free get out of jail ticket so.

--×♥︎×--

You felt anxious in the rainbow room, Peter was nowhere to be seen all day, and you felt hazy, your vision felt blurry and eyes sore, but from crying.

Your breathing was shaking and so where your hands, you hadn't gotten anxiety since your freshmen year of collage.

You remembered the uncontrollable fear that was tensing throughout your veins, you used to get that same feeling when Brenner would have his gaurds shock you until he felt as though you'd had enough.

When you were barely breathing and laying on the floor like an injured kitten inside of a box that no one cared for.

Eleven was at a coloring station, she checked the clock and then stood to her feet, making her way towards an orderly and leaving with him.

You soon exited the room aswell, going down into the basement where Peter had instructed you to meet him.

'I'm going to be free, I'm going to be free. I want to get revenge, I want my revenge. I want Brenner to feel the pain he caused me.' Your mind raced as you walked down those steps and soon saw Peter waiting for you.

'I want him dead.'

"Hey." You spoke, walking up to him

"Hello, Eleven will be here soon." You didn't respond after that, instead just leaned against the wall next to him, picking at your fingers.

Soon Elevens small body was heading down the stairs, you stood up straight as she looked for the both of you, bumping into Peter.

"Shh, follow me." And then the both of you were following after him as he took the both of you over to a small drain, atleast, that's what it had looked like anyways.

He was able to convince the small girl to escape through the pipes, explaining how they worked.

"They lead out into the woods, when you get out of here you need to run, do you understand me?" She seemed extremely scared and shook her head no.

"What about you.. and Miss L/n?" Her voice was shakey, like she didn't want to leave him, gosh what kind of things did they have going on? what was he telling her before?

"Well be following you shortly after you escape, I promise. we promise."

Eleven looked over at you to confirm his promise, and you simply nodded your head, and she was quick to squeeze herself into that tunnel.

The both of you rose to your normal height, and he smiled at you.

"How are we getting out of here now?" You asked him. there was boredom in your voice, but that was just natural now, when in reality your anxiety was bolting throughout you.

"I'll show you, it'll be fun." He smirked and grabbed your hand, running out of the basement with you, and once you two exited, the alarms were already blarring, they must've discovered that Eleven was gone by now.

Everything was happening so quickly your brain didn't have much time to process what was going on, but the next thing you knew, Peter was slaughtering everyone in sight.

There was blood splattered all over the walls and floors, this answered your question.

"Are you fucking insane?"

Yes. this is his way of saying yes, Part of you felt absolutely terrified of him and wanted to run away, but there was another, stronger half of you that felt raged and viewed this as the both of you getting your revenge.

You didn't freak out, or runaway, or feel scared of him, because he let you do the honors of killing 002, and you made sure it was agonizingly slow and painful.

And then off you two went, escaping, running as fast as possible, feeling relief, and free. Feeling a smile that was stretched on your lips as you ran, feeling the wind all around your bodies and fresh air in your nostrils.

You were finally free at last.

#peter ballard #peter ballard x reader #peter ballard x you #peter ballard fluff #henry creel fanfiction #henry creel x y/n #henry creel x reader #henry creel #001 fluff #001 x reader #stranger things 001 #001 #jcb roles #angstish #peter ballard angst #angst with a happy ending #beginner writer

[sigritandtheelves]

All Along, Like Fire (Part 7)

FINAL PART!

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

Mature | 3.4k words | MSR, AU

—

October 13, 1995

Mulder sat alone in his apartment, head in his hands, staring at the floor and thinking. Diana was gone—her things gone, most of the furniture, even the crock pot his mother gave them for their wedding. He wanted to believe that all of this wasn’t his fault, but he felt like a failure for the way their marriage had ended. And for the decisions he’d been forced to make because of it. At his feet was a lone cardboard box of photocopies, the most important documents he was able to salvage. It was the all he had left of the X-Files.

His clothes were also boxed up, along with his books, his trophies, his diplomas and knickknacks. Tomorrow morning, a moving truck would arrive, and he would say goodbye to this place forever. He wasn’t sorry. Just sad, a little ashamed. He’d let Diana make a fool of him here, let her seduce truths out of him while he was blindly manipulated for years. He’d planned to sulk alone until it was time to load the truck, but a knock on the door startled him. He opened it to three familiar faces.

“Well well well,” Frohike said. “If it isn’t the spooky birthday boy on Friday the 13th.” The little man shoved a bottle of Jack Daniels into Mulder’s chest and pushed into the apartment.

“Happy Birthday, man.” This from Langly who toted three pizzas, which he tossed onto the coffee table. Byers echoed the sentiment, carrying a mysterious white box under his arm.

“What are you guys doing here?” Mulder asked, not unkindly.

“Couldn’t let you sit alone on your birthday, could we? We’ve got a lot to celebrate.”

“We do?”

Frohike was digging around in the kitchen cabinet for glasses, but they were almost all packed away. He settled for a quartet of coffee mugs and plastic novelty cups. “Yes! Imminent divorce and new beginnings! Fighting the good fight!” He carried the dishes in and passed them around.

“We’re gonna miss you, Mulder,” Byers said. “But we all agree this is a good step. You can do some really good work this way.”

“Then why do I feel so crappy?” Mulder poured shots of the Jack Daniels into the mismatched cups.

“When’s the last time you saw Scully?” Langley asked, flipping open the first pizza and digging in for a slice.

“Last week.” Mulder frowned.

“Well, there’s your answer. Cheers.” Frohike knocked mugs with Mulder and threw back a shot. “All in good time, my man.”

Mulder downed his shot with a wince and reached for a slice of pizza. “What’s in the box?”

Langley waggled his eyebrows. “Goodies,” he said.

“Open it up,” Byers tapped the lid of the unmarked container.

Inside were several gadgets, one of which looked like a large gray brick, and at least two bulky phones with fat antennas.

Byers explained, “Those are hacked satellite phones that will connect from anywhere. They’re essentially untraceable and should hold their battery for several days between charges. Good for off-grid work.”

Langley was too excited to wait for him to ask about the brick. “And this one’s a hacked satellite modem. You’ll have internet no matter how remote you are. New tech, definitely not consumer hardware.”

“So you can stay in touch,” Byers added.

At the bottom of the box was a new laptop, which Mulder was sure had a range of nonstandard additions and upgrades.

“And we’re gonna come out to visit,” Frohike said. “Soon. Maybe this winter if that’s okay.” If Mulder didn’t know better, he’d think the man was choking up. He was touched, and another wave of sadness washed over him.

“Thanks guys,” he said, voice thick.

—

San Diego, CA

The warm California air made Scully think of her childhood—fond memories with Melissa on base housing, sticky summers when freckles appeared on all the Scully children’s noses. She drove up in front of a small house that was so like the one in which she’d spent those years. She double checked the address against the one on her paper; it was right, though she couldn’t imagine this unassuming abode as the site of any secret research. There was a small garden out front, wind chimes hanging from the porch roof. She breathed in deeply. There was no reason not to go in now except the terrifying thundering of her heart and the sense that there was no going back after this. She opened the driver’s side door and got out.

On the porch, she was greeted by two unsmiling men—not hired muscle, she thought. Maybe doctors in plainclothes to blend in with the suburban atmosphere. They wore khakis and polo shirts and the looked around, suspicious, before letting her in. Beyond the foyer, the inside of the house couldn’t be any more different than its outside. It was sterile, white, and filled with beeping machines and medical equipment.

“This way,” one of the men said. He led her up the stairs to the second floor landing, where a woman in scrubs was backing out of a room, closing the door behind her. The man led Scully to the left, to an open bedroom door that was just as sterile, just as white as the downstairs. Here, though, a crib sat in the corner—also white—with a mobile of farm animals hanging over it. In the center of the room stood Diana Fowley. Scully’s eyes ping-ponged between the crib and the woman she didn’t trust at all.

“Agent Scully,” Diana said.

“Not anymore.”

The other woman’s mouth twitched into a smile. “Right, of course.”

“Where is she?” Scully’s heart was pounding, and she wouldn’t allow herself to think about what—or who—was behind the other doors of this nightmare suburban experiment.

“In the crib,” Diana said, stepping aside to let Scully see. “She’s sleeping.”

Scully took three steps closer. She couldn’t breathe. As she approached, she saw a tiny figure in a onesie covered in stars, little fingers curled into fists on either side of her auburn head. “Oh my god,” she whispered.

The child looked perfect. She moved her lips into a subtle dreamy frown, and her long lashes lay against pink cheeks. Scully bent over to lay a hand on the baby’s chest, to feel the movement of her steady breathing and the tiny flutter of her heart.

“You can pick her up,” Diana said. “She’s yours now.”

Tears were blurring Scully’s vision. She tried to blink them away, but one slid down her cheek. She swiped it quickly. “And she’s well now? She won’t get sick?”

“She’s healthy,” Diana confirmed. “But she’s chipped. Like you are.”

A brief wave of anger flared through Scully, but she swallowed it down. She knew what she’d bargained for. She’d accepted the price. She brushed a finger against the baby’s cheek, and the child turned into it, as though seeking out comfort. “Does she have a name?”

“The nurses were calling her Emily, so that’s the name we put on the paperwork. You could change it, but that might take some time.”

Scully shook her head. “No,” she said. “No, I like Emily.” She couldn’t imagine giving up a single minute with this baby for the sake of another hoop she’d have to jump through. She swallowed hard against the lump in her throat, then reached both hands into the crib to scoop the child up. Emily wrinkled her little nose and let out a whimper, but didn’t wake. Scully held the baby against her chest, buried her nose in the impossibly soft skin of her neck, her downy head.

“Hello Emily,” she said, and closed her eyes against the enormity of it.

—

Traveling with an infant was a new experience for Scully, and not easy while alone. She was terrified that the baby would stop breathing in the back seat while they drove, that she’d be too hot, too cold, too hungry. But little Emily seemed happy enough, and slept for much of the first day’s drive. Scully had bought a pack-and-play, formula, bottles, and diaper packages in two sizes. Instant motherhood was even more frightening than leaving the job she’d worked so hard to prove herself in.

At a rest stop in Santa Rosa to change the baby and get some caffeine, Scully discovered something hard buried in the package of clothes Diana had sent with her. It was a small cryo-package containing three vials. One was clearly blood: Emily’s, she thought, dated July of this year. Before she’d been cured. Another was mysteriously green and unlabeled. The third looked familiar, an amber liquid she’d seen before. It was labeled Purity - 3.9506. A dated code: the current iteration of the vaccine. She almost didn’t notice the note tucked below the package:

         To get you started.

                   - DF

Scully wanted to hate Diana, but she found herself unable to conjure the same fury she’d felt last year. This was a gift that Diana taken great risks to provide. Whatever bargain she’d made to keep herself safe, it was clear that the woman was still ensnared by the Syndicate’s poisoned grasp. Scully allowed herself to feel grateful to her, despite everything she’d done. Scully placed the vials back in the chamber and made a note to store them with her own recovered ova. Emily had woken up when the car stopped moving, and was beginning to fuss. Scully shoved the clean onesie into the diaper bag and unbuckled the baby, hushing softly to her and humming.

“Shh, it’s okay,” she murmured.

Scully was unaccustomed to the number of strangers’ smiles that greeted them. An elderly couple stopped to coo over the chubby infant, to remark how like her mother she was. Scully’s smile was tight-lipped and nervous. They weren’t wrong—the child did look like her. She had the same blue eyes, the same fair coloring. She tucked Emily’s warm little body against her chest and nuzzled her head.

“Let’s get you some food, hmm?”

By the third and final day of driving, fear had turned overwhelmingly to love. When the baby woke in the morning light, she greeted Scully with a wide, two-toothed grin. She sat up in her pack-and-play and pushed at the mesh sides.

“Good morning!” Scully laughed and felt a flood of warmth accompany her own smile. The little girl babbled a steady “yah yah yah.”

They had six more hours on the road, and then a whole new life ahead of them.

—

Lummi Island, WA

October 20, 1995

Beyond the mainland, the salt air reminded Mulder of chill mornings on the Vineyard. He could go fishing here, or watch the sunrise from a boat, every day if he wanted. Though the coastline and the island were different from the ones where he’d grown up, the place felt like home. The closer he drew to his final destination, the more the melancholy that had clung to him in the last two weeks melted away. He was nervous, but it felt more like excitement than anxiety now. He fiddled with the radio—there wasn’t much signal to pick up on the island, but he needed something to fidget with. The anticipation was almost unbearable.

He rounded a grove of trees and finally caught sight of the little house up a short driveway: blue clapboard, a tiny porch, a brown shingled roof over the cozy two-story cottage. He pulled up alongside a white fence—honest-to-god picket—and climbed out, stretching his limbs with a massive heave of his chest outward.

This was it. This was home, now.

The front door of the house opened, and he felt his heart stutter, then swell. There she was. There they both were.  Dana Scully walked toward him with an impossibly cute baby on her hip, smiling broadly in jeans and a woolen sweater.

Mulder couldn’t help the grin that broke out over his face. He pushed through the waist-high gate and walked up onto the porch.

“There are my girls,” he said.

Scully blushed. “You made it.”

“I did,” he said as he reached them. He leaned down to kiss the woman he’d ached for over two long weeks. Her lips were soft and sweet, and her eyes dropped closed at the contact. He cupped her cheek, curled his other hand at her waist, and felt the pull of her middle toward his. “I missed you,” he said into her mouth.

Scully breathed deeply, eyes still closed for a moment, and nodded. Then he turned his attention to the baby.

“And you must be Emily.” The infant eyed him curiously and reached a finger out to touch his nose. “Hi baby.” She pulled the hand back and tucked two fingers into her wet mouth. Mulder booped her own nose in return, which earned him a shy half-smile as she tucked her head against Scully’s neck. “She looks just like you said. Just as perfect.” Mulder palmed the baby’s downy head, where blonde hair was growing in soft and fair. The little girl didn’t pull back or object, just watched him with something like awe.

“She’s been really good,” Scully explained. “I think she’s only cried twice since I brought her here. I mean she fusses, but…” Scully shrugged.

Mulder tickled the baby’s belly, and reached into his jacket pocket. He pulled out a tiny stuffed fox about the size of his hand, and Emily’s eyes went wide. “You like him? That’s Mr. Fox.” He handed over the toy, which Emily grasped with both hands. “He’s like me.”

Emily pressed her little fingers into the fox’s button eyes, her tiny fingernails scritching at the plastic.  Then she brought the fox’s head toward her mouth and bit down on the pointy nose.

Scully laughed. “She likes it.”

Mulder bent to kiss the top of the child’s head, then added another to Scully’s head for good measure. “Let’s go inside, hmm? I can’t wait to see how it looks in person.”

—

Later that night they lay facing each other on her bed—their bed now, Scully realized, and the thought made her heart beat faster. They were tucked under quilts and printed flannel sheets against the autumn chill. Emily slept in the second tiny bedroom next door, warm and safe with a mobile of colorful planets and her little fox beside her.

Scully felt the momentousness of this night, now that it was just them, now that they were really together. She found herself watching Mulder for doubts, for guilt, for regret. She held her own small sorrows: leaving her mother, leaving her job. But she feared most that Mulder would come to resent her for the loss of their work in D.C., their resources, their allies inside, as it were.

Mulder pursed his lips in a frown. “What are you thinking?” he asked.

Everything, everything. Her mind was spinning: What if we fail? What if we lose her? What if they take back the bargain and come for us all in the night? What if you never forgive me? But Scully just shook her head. It felt like too much to talk about now. “It’s nothing. It’s okay.”

She knew he wouldn’t believe her, and he didn’t. He moved his face closer to hers on the pillow. “It’s not nothing.”

Scully’s fingers fidgeted under the blanket. She heaved a deep sigh, and decided not to begin their new life by hiding things, by keeping anything bottled up. “I know we have a plan,” she said. “I know we’re not giving up and that our work will just be different here, but… it’s pretty enormous change—all of this. You must have doubts. I just don’t want you to… regret this. Because of me.”

Mulder was quiet for a long moment, his brow furrowed in thought. “I understand why you might think that,” he said finally. “I know that in a lot of ways, this feels crazy.”

It did, Scully conceded. Two months ago, they woke up in their separate city apartments and put on suits to go to work for the government. Mulder was married to another woman. Now they were on a remote island off the west coast, with a baby for god’s sake, planning a resistance to a global colonization in secret. Their lives couldn’t be more different.

Mulder reached an arm across the space between them and took hold of her hand under the blanket. “It’s hard for me to explain why, but this feels right.” She could barely make out his features in the dim light, but she sensed how serious his face was, how intense his look. “Scully, all of this started for me, because my family lost a little girl, and it ripped us apart. I lost her. I lost my family. I needed something to fill that emptiness, and I did it with work, which I thought might help me find her again. I wanted so badly to fix what happened to us.”

Scully nodded. She felt her chin wobble at the profundity in the pause between his words.

“But the same evil that took my sister also gave me another little girl. And it gave me you.” He squeezed her hand. “I still need to know what happened to Samantha after my father used her as a bargaining chip. And I will find out. That hasn’t changed.” He swallowed hard, and Scully wanted very badly to lean over and kiss comfort into him. “But this,” he motioned between them, “is a real chance at family, and that’s something I never thought I could have again, not even with Diana. I don’t know what kind of father I might make, if that’s even what you want from me. I didn’t have a good role model. But… I want us to try.”

Tears were dripping down Scully’s nose now into the flannel pillowcase, and she found it hard to speak. She sniffed. Nodded. Bent her forehead to touch his. “I want that too,” she managed to say. “And I want… Emily to think of you as her father. If that’s okay, I mean. If you want it.” She shook her head at her nervous rambling. “I just know you’d be a really good dad.”

Mulder nuzzled her nose with his own , unmindful of the damp. Then he tipped his chin to kiss her lips, sliding his arm around her middle and pulling her toward him. They held each other tight in the near-dark. “Yeah,” he croaked, and Scully realized he was on the verge of tears, too. “I want that.”

Her head fit perfectly, tucked under his chin. Her face pressed against his t-shirt where she could feel his heart beating, and she pressed a kiss there. She pushed one knee between his and breathed deep, letting the smell of him, of them together, fill her with warmth and need. God, she loved him so much. It was like she’d been holding her breath her whole life, and now she was gulping in oxygen. She knew, then, that they would make this work.

“Well,” Mulder said, his tone lighter now, “if I am any good at it, we’ve got all those little frozen uber-Scullys in storage. Maybe we’ll just make a whole tribe, huh?” His hand was on her waist, and he slipped it between them to poke her belly.

She laughed through her tears, nodding. “Yeah, maybe we will.”

And then he was kissing her and she was kissing him back and it was getting too hot under the blankets for all these pajamas. They were hungry for each other. He touched her like she was the only thing he’d ever wanted, like this was the only thing that mattered. They made love in tear-streaked desperation: clutching, dizzy love—though they were quiet and mindful not to wake the baby (their baby) with too much noise. After, when they’d slept an hour or so, he woke her gently with more kisses. This time their lovemaking was slow and gentle and reverent—like they had the rest of their lives.

— END —

A/N: I had many ideas about what their big plan was to save the world, how they’d build a network of allies through the Hosteens (and the Lummi people that they are so close to now), because who better to help them survive colonization than the people who have already survived it? But this ending also felt right and I think I’m happy with it. Thank you so so so much to everyone who has read and left hearts and kudos and comments. This was supposed to be a one-off little thing. It’s no novel, but it’s more than I’ve been able to write in a while.

#a thing i wrote #xf fanfic #msr #au #all along like fire #part 7 #FINAL PART! #it's done y'all

[wolfiemcwolferson]

Piarles and 7 "Feel my heartbeat" 💙❤️

I actually got two prompts for this and I was waiting for something to hit.

Have some…post race copium.

Charles is fearless.

Pierre knew that when they were kids and he knew it when they were teenagers and he knew that when they were staring down F1 seats.

He’s his best friend. The person who knows Charles the best so it’s surprising to him that he doesn’t realize that Charles is not so fearless until they’ve properly gotten their shit together.

One week on a boat and the most ridiculous conversation of Pierre’s life and they slip into boyfriends relationship lovers like they’ve slipped into everything their entire lives.

There’s no learning curve. Pierre doesn’t have to adjust. No, now he only has to refrain from kissing Charles senseless in front of other people instead of all of the time.

Except.

Well, except now Pierre sees the little worry lines in Charles’ face sometimes. Maybe it’s the fact that he knows Charles body better than he ever has and maybe it’s just because Charles is letting it slip, but he notices it.

He notices it when he’s watching Arthur race and he notices it when Lorenzo says Norman is sore from a crash and he notices it when they part ways on Sunday morning and Charles says, “Have a safe race, Pear.”

Never a good race. Have a safe race.

And Pierre understands. He understands because it was Suzuka last year that cracked them all to hell and forced them to finally work it out, but he never looks at it head on. Because he’s afraid he’ll do something stupid like ask Charles to quit racing so they can elope in some foreign city and design baby onesies while they raise a whole football teams worth of children.

Anything but get in a car.

So, he knows that when he sees the pictures - his car underneath Esteban’s - Charles is going to…be a little fearful tonight.

“Hey,” Charles whispers, slipping up beside him outside the Alpine center.

Pierre is showered and changed and is only hanging out because they’re on separate flights out and won’t see each other for two days.

Ben moves around, making it look organic but shielding the two of them from cameras or eyes or - he nods once and Pierre clasps Charles’ wrist in his hand and tugs him away, in the tiny corner between Alpine and a trailer. The angle of it hiding them from anyone.

Charles looks exhausted. Angry and exhausted, but that little line in his forehead….

Even though they’re hidden, they don’t have much time and they wouldn’t risk it anyway. Too much at stake.

So, Pierre takes Charles hand before wrapping it around his wrist. They could be talking. They could just be talking.

“Feel my heartbeat, Cha.” Pierre whispers, squeezing his own hand down on top of Charles’. “Do you feel it?”

Charles blows out a shaky breath. The line in his forehead disappears. “Yes. Yes, I feel it.”

They don’t say anything else. Pierre doesn’t kiss him like he so desperately wants, but he doesn’t remove his hand.

“My debrief.” Charles eventually says, and Pierre let’s go.

“I’ll see you at -“

Charles leans in brushing their cheeks together and it throws Pierre so much he stops speaking. “Joris will cancel my thing tomorrow. I will be at yours tomorrow morning, yes?”

Pierre nods once, jerky and thrown off balance by it.

“I need you.” Charles says with a raw edge and so Pierre nods, more thrown off that Charles is changing up his beloved schedule. It must have shaken him quite badly. And when will he not give him everything?

“Tomorrow.” Pierre smiles at him, and then Charles is slipping away, back to Ferrari for his debrief and his shower and his post-race ice bath.

Ben levels him with a look when he too slips from the shadows.

Pierre tries to play it off, by making a joke. “Won’t need you tomorrow, Ben. Got my own personal trainer coming to visit.”

“Good.” Ben says immediately, touching his shoulder. “You scared us today.”

Pierre knows. But he has to be fearless.

Except maybe when he’s with Charles.

#soft shit #copium #piarles #tw crash

[haveyouseenthisskeleton]

7 AM IN THE NEIGHBORHOOD

Hello, hello!

That's our boy special holiday, the Let Papyrus says Fuck day! Here goes a little something I wrote especially for the occasion, because Papyrus is not a child and can fight your local Karen everyday.

The story is under the cut. You can read it too on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/47914330

@letpapyrussayfuckofficial

Papyrus rarely lost his patience. He considered himself being a pretty open guy, about all sorts of things, even the one he didn't really want to hear but that people told to him anyways because he was suffering the syndrome of the "cute friendly face". But today? Today was too much.

He knew the second they moved in this part of the town that this Karen neighbor was going to be a problem. Sans said he was paranoid, that she was really sweet with him and that maybe he was thinking this too much. Yes, maybe she was nice with Sans (everyone was nice to Sans for some reason), but she surely had something against him specifically. He didn't understand why, he never did anything to that woman, but she simply hated his non-existent guts. How rude.

Papyrus tried everything to make friends: inviting her home for dinner, baking cute little cupcakes, even letting her borrow his washing machine when hers died, but was only rewarded with sassy remarks, dark stares and criticisms. "You know Papyrus, those cupcakes are pretty good for a child. A bit messy, but you know how children are. Oh sorry, Frisk did them, right?" She knew they did not. "Maybe you should use a smaller washing machine, since your are only two at home. You probably don't need that much clothes since you're a skeleton." Well, she clearly never had to go through one of Sans' ketchup wars to judge like that. "You could have way more friends if you put a little effort into it, Papyrus", "You should take exemple on my lawn, Papyrus", "Ah, yes, your car is twenty years old, right, Papyrus?".

Papyrus this, Papyrus that, Papyrus was going hecking crazy and no one seemed to notice. He was at his limit for a long time already.

But this, this was too much.

He just entered his car at 7 am in the morning, because Sans had a night hunger and emptied the whole fridge, and now there was nothing for breakfast. He just wanted to go to the grocery store, buy what he needed, and leave. He barely started the engine that, in the corner of his eye sockets, he noticed his neighbor coming at him, visibly furious. She was dragging two huge trash cans that she put in his alley, to prevent him from leaving the house. Papyrus grinned his teeth together, sighed deeply and rolled his eyes, before opening the window and forcing a false-friendly:

"HELLO DEAR NEIGHBOUR, DO YOU NEED SOMETHING?"

"Of course I need something! It is 7 in the morning and I worked late in the night! Your devilish machine is roaring like a dying truck! You awakened the whole neighborhood! Don't you know there's children sleeping so early in the morning! They have school soon. Can't you show a little respect or is it too much to ask Mr Papyrus?!"

Papyrus screamed internally. He literally just started his car, and it was obvious she was already waiting for him outside, searching for an excuse to come at him so soon in the morning. His car was electric and perfectly silent. She just wanted to scream at something, and that something was obviously him. Papyrus smiled patiently.

"ARE YOU FINISHED? CAN I LEAVE NOW?" he asked in a cold passive-aggressive tone that wasn't Papyrus-like at all. He didn't like to talk like this to people, but some people just deserved it.

"Didn't you hear what I just said? Cut the engine before I call the cops! You think you can do what you want? I lived in this street for 25 years and before you monsters came, it was a respectable side of the town. Now you are scaring the children, and making noise in the morning, and not even taking care properly of your house. Look at that lawn, it's disgusting! The old owners at least knew how to clean a wall! Yours is getting green!"

"YEAH, THAT MUST BE THE MONSTER'S FAULT, YOU ARE SO RIGHT!"

"Are you mocking me? You think I can't scream at you because you're a monster?! I am older than you! You need to respect the elders! I lived in this street for 25 years!"

"YOU ALREADY SAID IT, YES." he answered sarcastically. "KEEP PRETENDING I'M AN HORRIBLE PERSON, I'LL KEEP PRETENDING YOUR DISGUSTING LEMON SQUARES ARE EDIBLE, YADA, YADA. CAN I NOW PLEASE LEAVE MY HOUSE OR ARE YOU GOING TO BE AN OLD RACIST BOOMER ON ME AGAIN?"

"Excuse me?! How dare you! I am not a racist! I have a monster friend! You can't call people like that, it's illegal. I am going to report you, you hear me? I am calling the cops right now!"

"PLEASE DO. MY FRIEND UNDYNE IS COMMANDING THE POLICE STATION. I AM VERY SURE SHE WILL BE ENTERTAINING BY YOUR STORY. WELL, THAT WAS A NICE CONVERSATION. THE GREAT PAPYRUS WILL LEAVE N-"

She suddenly angrily punched the front of his car, leaving a big mark on it. Papyrus' jaw stayed open, in shock. He slowly turned his head to hers. That's it, he was pissed off. And done with this shit. He opened his door. The neighbor suddenly threw herself on the ground, screaming like she was getting murdered. Papyrus looked at her blankly. What the-. He didn't have time for this! He angrily stomped to the end of the alley and kicked at full force the two trash cans, making them fall on the ground, and out of the way. Her neighbor kept screaming, the phone in her hand, and she apparently called the police. Greaaaaaaat.

Papyrus got close to her again. She screamed at him to stay away. He walked to her anyway and picked her phone up.

"HELLO? THIS IS THE GREAT PAPYRUS SPEAKING."

"Papyrus?" A raspy sleepy familiar voice answers. "The hell is happening? Someone called and then she was just screaming and I have a headache now."

"OH, GOOD MORNING UNDYNE! DON'T WORRY, THIS IS JUST MY NEIGHBOR. SHE IS CRYING BECAUSE SOMEONE CRASHED INTO HER WALL. BUT NOTHING IS BROKEN, NO NEED TO COME. YOU KNOW HOW THIS IS. ACCIDENTS."

"Oh, ok. Do you need hel-"

"HAVE A NICE END OF SHIFT, SEE YOU TONIGHT!"

He hung up. The neighbor looked at him in bewilderment. He gave her back the phone.

"YOU BETTER CALL YOUR INSURANCE COMPANY FOR THAT WALL, IT WOULD BE A SHAME THE OLDEST HOUSE OF THE NEIGHBORHOOD STAYS DAMAGED LIKE THAT. WHAT WOULD EVERYONE TELL? YOU? NOT TAKING CARE PROPERLY OF YOUR HOUSE?! THAT WOULD BE DRAMATIC!"

"What are you even talking about?"

"OH, NOTHING, I AM JUST RAMBLING. BYE!"

He got into his car, put it into reverse gear, and sped it. The car violently crashed into the neighbor's wall, not hard enough to hurt his precious car, but enough to create a large crack in the house.

"WOOPS!" he screamed from his window. "PEOPLE REALLY DON'T KNOW HOW TO DRIVE IN THIS CITY!"

Papyrus waved goodbye to his speechless neighbor, showing his magnificent and best middle finger, and left for his grocery trip, a huge smile on his face. He never felt more satisfied in his life.

#letpapyrussayfuck #let papyrus say fuck #undertale #papyrus #undertale fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #undertale fic #undertale ao3

[spicy-apple-pie]

Dick Grayson? Maybe Cass as well

Ooh, double whammy

Dick Grayson

Sexuality Headcanon- Bi and cis.

OTP- BirdFlash or DickKori, I can't decide.

BROTP- him and his Uncle Clark. Co-Founders of the Bruce Wayne Support Group.

NOTP- DickBabs, I like them better as friends

first headcanon that pops into my head- He quits the police force and becomes a gymnastics teacher full time. He's great at it and will show off old tapings of the Flying Graysons to his students. Until they start asking if he's 70 because of how old the tapes look and they have no concept of time yet.

favourite line from this character- I think this works best as just the picture of the panel

7. One way in which I relate to this character- we're both eldest children.

8. thing that gives me second hand embarrassment about this character- how much he's sexualized. I like it when he knows he's got some junk in the trunk and can work it, but lets not reduce him down to his ass please.

9. cinnamon roll or problematic fave?- cinnamon roll.

Cassandra Cain

Sexuality Headcanon- Cis Lesbian

OTP- Stephcass. I would be lying if I said it wasn't just a little bit because I think it would be funny for Steph to hold it against Bruce that she's dated both his son and daughter.

BROTP- I feel like her and Duke need more time together. I think they would take absolutely nothing seriously. They would wordless come up with a bit and commit to it with straight faces.

NOTP- Idk, her x batfam because it's an easy out lol

First Headcanon that pops into my head- Cass craves so much physical contact, but she has to initiate it. If you startle her with a touch (very hard to do, but it has happened) she'll be a little shaken.

favourite line from this character- she doesn't talk much, but this is her most iconic panel ever

7. One way in which I relate to this character- I relate that sometimes she doesn't want to talk or be apart of the conversation, just wants to observe sometimes. It takes a fair amount of mental energy to have a conversation with someone.

8. thing that gives me second hand embarrassment about this character- when she speaks in broken english like a baby. Or really ackward one word sentences. Like if someone asks if she's okay after a bomb or something and she responds with "Alright." instead of "I'm alright".

9. cinnamon roll or problematic fave- cinnamon roll, but I want her to have more mistakes and stop being so perfect yk?

#thanks for the ask!! #shut up spicy