Requests are CLOSED- this account is on hiatus/being redone
Important Stuff
★MASTERLIST★
The masterlist is updated whenever I have the time, and desktop formatted.
You might see some of my work on
Quotev- PierrotJester (inactive)
Ao3- PierrotJester
Wattpad- Pierrotkiss (inactive)
my other blogs
- MAIN- @vampire-beloved
- other acc- @pierrotsmoon (inactive), the works from here will also be in my masterlist
General Rules:
I do NOT own the characters I am writing for, nor the original works they come from. I receive NO monetary value from this or any other account i have and I never will.
Please do not post, translate, or otherwise publish my work on any third party applications- I do not wish for my writing to be fed through AI.
Be nice, have manners, be polite
I will not tolerate spoilers
I reserve the right to delete asks I feel I cannot do for you, do not take it personally, it just means I couldn’t come up with anything for your ask
Please don’t ask personal questions
I Will write:
Female reader
Gender Neutral reader
Fluff
Angst
Mild blood
Sickness
I Won't write:
Male reader (i have no experience being male)
Smut
Bigotry
p*do, be@sti@lity, inc3st,non-c0n, morally wrong things like that
character x character
character x OC
Fandoms I will write for/ have written for:
misc:
books/comics:
DC Comics
Frankenstein (only the creature)
Movies:
MCU
Lots more miscellaneous films
tv shows:
One Piece (live action)
Games:
Twisted Wonderland
Characters I will be delighted to write for:
DM me about my preferences for specific characters.
Frankenstein's Creature (original book ver.) x fem! reader
cws/NOT beta-read, a little blood, considerable religious imagery and discussion(author is not personally Christian), female! reader, regency era attitudes towards women/relationships, thoughts of death, the creature's self loathing and chronic pain, thoughts of suicid3 (from the creature, he's suffering),era accurate illiteracy, multichapter with alternating POV, cross-posted on AO3
Author's note: Here's chapter 3! I am aware of the new movie that's come out, and I am trying to spare the time to watch it, though school has really been tough on me lately and I've struggled to find writing time and motivation over the past months. The positive feedback I've received regarding this fic has really made my day, and I've gotten this chapter out as soon as I could. My askbox is open to talk Frankenstein, no spoilers please!
Blood, oh God there was blood all over him.
Running down his chin and over the flexing tendons of his hands, his neck and his lips. His unnatural eyes widened like a deer, for a moment a flicker of pity ran through you at the sheer panic of his expression. That flicker died out with another horrified shriek. The thing was looking at his hands as you yelled something- something that you can’t recall a moment later. He left suddenly, slamming your window shut as you heard angry steps going far from your cabin.
You could feel your heart hammering against your chest as you lowered to the ground, your head felt like it was spinning and it felt as if you were in a trance. The cold sweat that covered you made you shudder, but the idea of returning to your bed felt like tempting fate. There was a strange itch at the back of your mind.
Follow that man.
The idea was so absurd it almost made you laugh. That creature was unlike any human being you’d ever seen before, he seemed as if his very presence could drive fear into the hearts of men much bigger than you. As if he was an abomination against God. Wasn't it that same God, who urged you to be compassionate? To help the injured and shelter the unwanted? It was that same will which pushed you to your feet, slipping on your stockings and shoes and overclothes with a sense of reckless abandon as you stepped forth into the cold. The grass was wet with dew and the scent of blossoming weeds, you forgot your bonnet in the rush, no sense to preserve your modesty when that man saw you in your nightclothes?
The sun was barely out, you wandered as senselessly as he seemed to, trying to understand where he could have gone. His footsteps were easy enough to trace in the mud though they stopped at a steep hill you’d avoided. When you looked down you finally saw him.
He wasn't moving, his head was flat against the mud and the tattered cloak he wore stretched underneath his form. Your feet barreled down, a feeling of guilt filling you as if you’d shoved him there yourself. You braced yourself, hoisting him up by the shoulders. Good God, this man was heavy…he was all corded muscle, and his flesh felt so cold and rough to the touch.
Your arms felt like they’d dislocated, so you dropped him every couple steps to give yourself a moment’s break. He released these soft huffing sounds, reminding you almost of a rabbit- though he was clearly anything but small and cute.
When you finally reached the cabin, after what felt like several hours, he seemed half awake but unresponsive. You rolled him onto your bed, his body made everything seem so small in your little cabin, if he stood at full height, he’d certainly headbutt the ceiling.
There were startlingly little wounds on him, for a fall that bad, it would have been a lot worse for the average person. You fell back onto a chair, panting as he adjusted himself in your little bed, writhing in pain.
The nettle salve, get him the nettle salve.
Your hands gripped the old tin, shaking as your fingers pressed the salve into his skin, noticing the stitching keeping him together. He looked like the human equivalent of a patchwork quilt, different tones and textures of skin stitched together. It would be horrifying if it wasn’t so completely different from anything you’d ever seen.
The skin of his back felt leathery, with a balmy, artificial warmth. When the salve was applied, it just sat there on the first layer of his skin instead of melting in. He breathed in a ragged fashion, when you sat back down, he flinched hard.
A thousand prayers went through your head, going between begging God for protection and begging for his wellbeing. This man, if he perished, would have perished under your watch, because you were afraid…
Tears fell into your lap, past your clasped hands as your wobbling lips murmured little prayers half finished. His hands twitched slightly. You saw his eyes flicker as you moved back farther to the kitchen. The stew from yesterday was still there, but it wouldn’t be enough to feed the both of you.
There was some spare hardtack in the cabinet, for major emergencies. You could soak it in some tea and eat that for supper. There was nothing you wouldn’t give to repent for the cruelty of your thoughts against this man, who was laying so still and hurt against your bed.
His features could have been caused by injury, plenty of soldiers or accident victims came back looking different. There were fevers and illnesses that left people scarred permanently, people who were shunned from society. As much as you still feared the powerful looking figure, you didn’t want those oppressive laws of society to dictate your home.
You moved to heat up the pot of stew.
—
He’d awoken startled, there was a shaking nausea flooding over him as it took him a great effort to open his eyes. There was a lovely scent, herbs and melting butter against his nose. He felt warm, he was wrapped in a blanket.
There was a light so bright it felt blinding filling his eyes as he brought up a heavy hand to cover his face. As soon as his sight focused, he was staring at the woman holding on to the edge of the side table. She moved to hand him a massive cup full of something, he kept his hand on his face, trying to appear small, trying to appear as small as he could possibly be.
“What…”
She shook in fear at the sound of his voice, her hands shaking harder as she placed the cup down and placed her hands at her sides, moving only to fix her slightly shifted bonnet. He cleared his throat, the sound of his voice was less than sweet when he was still so groggy, he moved to grab the flagon with his empty hand.
“Nettle tea, you had a rough fall…”
Her voice faltered as she spoke, as if she was afraid to move. He moved his hand from his face and she winced, he took a sip of the tea. It was sweet, and he drank the whole flagon in seconds. She looked puzzled, and then her brow furrowed as she spoke in a slightly more accusatory tone.
“You’ve stolen from my garden, you’ve stolen food that could have fed me for a month.”
He sat up, opening his mouth to speak, she continued.
“Who just goes into people’s properties and takes their things? Are you some kind of thief? Don’t you know that’s a sin?”
A strangled sort of sound left his mouth, now he was slowly starting to understand where he was, what kind of blunder he’d gotten himself into.
“Who are you? I’ve never seen you in town before.”
He raised a hand to stop her rambling, taking a moment to think before he spoke, something he now understood this woman didn’t.
“I won’t hurt you, I’m sorry for stealing your crops…there was nothing else I could do…”
His speech stopped only when she leaned against the wall, her eyes seemed to fill with tears, there was a sense of confusion that radiated from her.
“How did you get here?”
Perhaps it was the light tone of her question, like something a bartender would ask a patron, he felt like not responding would be rude. And when he began to tell his tale, he couldn’t help but say everything.
—
“He made you?”
Your voice was quiet, a thousand thoughts in your head wondering what on earth it meant to simply make a man- what it meant to do the things the creature spoke of. His tone was warm, as if it was the first time he’d gotten to tell his tale to anyone, much less someone who seemed more curious than violent.
You moved a bit closer, his eyes were the brightest yellow, like sunlight creeping through a window. The methods of science he spoke of were outside of your understanding entirely, it felt like a story so unbelievable.
“He constructed me just to see if he could.”
You took a deep breath, taking care to not look at him as if he was a spectacle. Sure the fear was still there, this man wandering into your home, stealing your produce (which was still something you were very upset about) and yet the idea of opening up your home to him didn’t seem so horrible.
“What’s that?”
You pointed at the papers sticking from his coat, and he pulled them out and handed them to you, your eyebrows furrowed as you drew your eyes across the vast sea of letters.
“I can’t read this.”
The words made you feel embarrassed, most women of your social standing couldn’t read, but the way he looked a little shocked before taking back the pages made you feel uneasy.
“Most people here can’t read, the vicar can, and some of the better off households..”
The creature sighed, taking the pages and stuffing them back into his jacket pocket. He seemed a little dumbfounded at your illiteracy, but not to the tune of mockery. He seemed to still in thought for a moment, before looking at you intently, a deep resolute gaze that seeped into your mind. He stood, hunched over, trying to make himself smaller by any means it seemed.
“I can be of use to you…I can teach you to read and write, I can hunt for your supper…”
You stilled back, his eyes were still so unnatural, his skin so waxy, some small prayer fizzled in the back of your head.
“And what will you want from me?”
He paused, taking a step closer to you, picking up your hand in his. The action made your breath still, he was colder than ice itself, and fear rose as the forefront emotion in your heart.
“Sanctuary.”
He took a breath, something rasping and cold- but painfully human. Suddenly, you remembered what the word meant, the significance of it.
“Let me stay here, if not for a little while, then just long enough to regain strength.”
His hand grasped yours tighter, you could feel him shaking a little, could he be as afraid as you were?
“I won’t be a bother to you..”
A million thoughts raced through your mind, a sense of guilt flooding into your heart as you finally found the courage to meet his eyes.
How they comfort an S/O who’s afraid of thunderstorms.
CWs/ a bit OOC, mostly fluff and humor, but clear mentions of fear and crying, Guy being himself, author struggles to write Jimmy but is trying their best, not beta-read
Featuring/ Clark Kent, Lois Lane, Jimmy Olsen, Guy Gardner, Micheal Holt, Kendra Saunders
A.N./ My own fear of thunder is steadily going away, I feel almost comforted by it now. This was based off of a draft I have for another fandom, maybe I’ll post that soon.
Clark
He’d be an angel about your fear, just like he is with everything else.
You had crawled under your shared bed, leaving a very confused Clark to search you out by your heartbeat. When he found you, he huddled himself right next to you.
His hands covered your ears, feet tangling with yours as he wordlessly persuaded you back under the covers. His warm arms wrapped around you, his tone as soft as can be.
“Hey, keep your eyes shut, don’t worry about what's going on outside, you’re in here, you’re with me. I’ll keep you safe.”
By the end of Clark’s little speech, you’re fast asleep, the storm long forgotten in the warmth of his affection.
Lois
You feel bad for waking her up, I mean, this woman lives a life of coffee and noon powernaps. The storm outside is getting too loud for your own comfort though, and your hands reach to shake her shoulders a bit. Lois wakes with a yawn, barely opening her eyes before the thunder strikes again, and she feels your bones practically leap from your body.
One of her hands reaches to pat against your back, pulling you closer to her.
“Come ‘ere, don’t get up…”
You turn to face the wall, as you feel her arms scoop you up and hold you in place, her head against the back of your shoulder. The warmth and gentleness of it all lull you into a calm, dreamless sleep.
Jimmy
This is that emotional part of a relationship he has trouble with, but tries his best at nonetheless. You feel him getting up and checking out the window, he stepped over onto your side of the bed and sat by you.
“Hey, I can go get you some ear plugs…or something…”
After the ear plugs are in, he stays up till you’re asleep, making sure you feel safe until the morning.
Guy
The main reason Guy doesn’t know about your fear yet is because you’re a little afraid deep down that he’ll tease you for it. You’d be right to, of course, but that’s sorta the way he handles everything.
“Fear of thunder? Real cliche, what a great excuse to crawl into my arms, don’t worry babe, I get it.”
You suddenly feel the sound of the thunder dissipating, he’s created a construct resembling ear plugs before slinging one arm casually over your waist. His leg loops over yours and the both of you are fast asleep before you know it.
In the comics, Guy has a degree in Psychology (and education) so he might be the most capable of understanding and navigating the emotion behind a fear. He knows what he’s doing (to an extent.)
Michael
He’s already planning to soundproof the house the second he feels you flinch from across the bed. Michael tucks the blanket further up to your chin before getting up to close the windows.
He’s rattling off fun facts about thunder as he’s gently patting you on your back, the gentle pull back into reality calms you down as you feel him laying back down.
“We don’t have to work through this right now if you don’t want to, but I don’t want you to be afraid of anything around me. I’m here to keep you safe.”
Kendra
Asking her to scooch over on that dorm bed feels mean. It’s already so cramped in student housing. Maybe Kendra’s pure presence will remind you of how safe you are.
When you’re curled up again, she’ll pull up some movie on her laptop, blasting the volume up so loud you knew her roommates would be complaining about it in the morning. An impromptu all nighter commences, distracting you from your fears- but leaving you falling asleep at your morning lectures.
“Hey, don’t worry about the storm, focus on the movie.”
I want to write more of Guy, he’s so intriguing to me.
if The the Thick of It is to the 2000’s what Yes Minister was to the 80’s, I can’t wait to see what new messed up political satire british television will come up to complete the trilogy in like a decade
I like how the British sitcom(s) “Yes Minister” & “Yes Prime Minister” are essentially like a PG-rated 1980s version of the British sitcom “The Thick of It”, and vice versa (in which with TTOI it’s the R-rated/18-rated vulgar and sweary 2000s/early 2010s version of YM/YPM)
Frankenstein's Creature (original book ver.) x fem! reader
cws/considerable religious imagery and discussion(author is not personally Christian), female! reader, regency era attitudes towards women/relationships, thoughts of death, the creature's self loathing and chronic pain, thoughts of suicid3 (from the creature, he's suffering), multichapter with alternating POV, cross-posted on AO3
Author's note: Here's chapter 2! With the start of school my posts will be more infrequent, yet I'll try to keep it to one per week. This chapter is from his perspective. I would love feedback and my askbox is open to talk!
He felt horrible, he always did.
Whether it was the near constant emotional struggle between stealing to survive and dying of starvation- or the actual physical ache of his legs and knees. It was everywhere, throughout his back and on his shoulders- in the vertebrae of his stolen fingers and neck. A constant reminder that he was not and would never be considered a man, he’d forever be an amalgamation of corpses- the fantasy of a boy who wanted to be God.
And now that the boy had left, abandoned him once more after their meeting on the ice continent and rebuffed his plan to build a mate. He was a wanderer again, aching and alone. The outskirts of little towns were the best places to be, everyone was too busy surviving to notice a few missing chickens or big footsteps in the muddy ground. He’d arrived in this place in the dead of winter, enchanted by their annual Midnight Mass; he watched from the windows as always. He wondered deep down if God could spare a bit of his love for him, despite not being one of his children. God was all knowing, all seeing, and was probably aware of his plight.
The nameless creature silently begged, begged God to do anything to free him from this.
The town was near this little lake as well, on the mountainside, which was good for his sore legs. He’d wade halfway in and feel the weight of his tremendous form disappear for a moment, and he’d watch the smoke pile from the chimney of the little cabin he’d taken to observing.
The situation with the De Laceys had taught him the way this would end, a scream, a call for his demise, but he’d never gotten close enough to this home to see who it could possibly shelter. He’d stolen vegetables from the garden late at night, a good reprieve from the raw meat he’d gotten used to. Whoever was living in this place wasn’t as educated as the De Laceys clearly, he never saw a book laying about or a written letter on any of the tables in the small space.
Whoever lived here, he’d decided on his own accord, was of the most common peasantry. It was close to this house that he was standing again, wading in the shallow water and feeling himself go weightless for a moment. With great struggle, he stepped out, feeling the dry grass as he meandered tiredly in the setting sun. When he reached the cover of the trees, he saw smoke billowing from the chimney again. In a few hours, or days, if he was lucky, he’d find a moldy loaf of bread left behind for the birds. The creature felt bad, he’d stolen from this person’s garden the day before, and here he was again.
He lurched underneath the windows and went back to the garden, only to see it bare, the sun had set. He moved back into the forest’s cover, watching the shadow behind the curtains fuss around the kitchen. They moved towards the window out of his view and placed down on the ledge something, before shifting back towards the front of the house. He found himself curious again, and traveled a few steps in the direction of the window in question when he was suddenly hit with the scent of something sweet. He moved as stealthily as he could, sneaking past the opposite side of the home, where he saw it resting on the windowsill. An artfully decorated pie, with deep red filling oozing out the sides. His dry mouth began to water at the sight, and he grasped it into his hands before sitting under the window.
The Creature filled his mouth with handfuls of the stuff, his long fingers coated in deep red matching his now crimson lips and running down his chin. It was an unsightly way to eat, it made him feel like the animal everyone else considered him as. This self pity, this black hole of doubt was one he crawled into the moment he was born, this sick lack of love he found in everyone. He was ashamed again, he felt ashamed just to live in a world where he could recognize beauty- and understand wholeheartedly that he did not possess it.
When that pie was eaten, its grainy sugar crust shoved unflinchingly into his open maw, the creature stood. He was pressed against the cabin’s wood wall, away from the window as he tried to think up a place to go. He flinched when he heard a thump from inside the home, clearly he’d stalled for too long. He tried his best at thinking, he was relatively good at thinking, his plans were clever enough to evade arrest and death at the hands of those mobs that chased him through Europe. He imagined the form behind the cabin’s window from earlier in the night, what did that form look like? A skirt came to mind, the bonnet on the shadow’s head.
If a woman lived in the cabin, a man surely was not far behind her, he needed to get out as soon as possible, before this hypothetical man could come home. It was so late into the night, he peered through the next nearest window after walking as quietly as he could.
It wasn’t quiet enough.
With a sudden shove, the window he was in front of slammed open, he was face to face with a woman. She fell back off her bed as if the wind had been knocked from her lungs, her breathing was erratic- for a moment she looked like she’d die on the spot. Her limbs moved rapidly underneath her shift and she stood, letting out a horrified sound from the back of her throat as he stood in shocked silence.
The Creature examined his berry-covered hands, he must have looked like something right out of hell because in between her strangled cries- she seemed to be praying as she backed herself right up against the wall.
“Dear God…Dear God!”
He tried his best to make no sudden movements, fear had the power to kill- he knew it all too well, and contorted in the throes of fear this woman appeared entirely pitiful.
“Please, please spare me, I haven’t done anything wrong! I promise- I promise-”
He could barely understand her through her blubbering, she thought he was an emissary of evil- a demon coming from the inferno. His movements were jagged as he reached out for the window panes, shutting the rickety wooden structures as she lay flinching on the ground at his every movement. He stood there for another moment, listening as her heavy breathing slowly before turning and haphazardly stomping away through her garden.
It was too bad, the land in these forests seemed abundant. He wandered carelessly through the forest, it was so dark he was relying on the feeling of the trees to navigate, the Creature wasn’t as despondent as he thought he’d be. The woman’s fear was evidence of her own ignorance, human beings were intelligent enough to create monsters like him, yet they feared and resented him when he simply tried to live. His balance was weak in the night, and he moved in jagged, winding steps.
He didn’t notice then, when a thick tree root broke his path, and he fell into a mud covered ditch, his head hitting against a rock, making him black out instantly. It was one of those moments where he thought he’d die, he didn’t know if he was capable of dying, and what awaited him in the afterlife.
He hoped for heaven, he hoped to present his case before God and his archangels. He’d ask for forgiveness for his crimes, the blood spilt in his hands. Obviously death wasn't offered to him though.
—
When he woke, he felt something unfamiliar. His head rested underneath something soft. A sound between a groan and a whine left his throat. He felt something warm brushing against his head, brushing his hair away from his forehead. His eyes opened suddenly as the figure lurched back, when his eyes focused, he looked on in sheer bewilderment at his surroundings.
The Creature was in the cabin, resting on the bed of the young woman he’d frightened in the night.
She moved away suddenly as he sat up, her shaky hands fell to her sides as she looked at him. Her gaze was strange, a mixture of confusion and nausea, but mostly pity. His head and arms were wrapped in old cloth bandages and some type of healing salve. His eyebrows furrowed as he looked at her.
She skittishly moved forward, clearly still afraid but also desperately trying to fight it. Her hands reach to the little dresser table by her bed, which he could only fit half his body on. She grabbed a large steel flagon, handing it off to him tentatively. Her lips moved wordlessly before sound finally came from her lips.
“Hello..”
---
next chapter is gonna be dialogue heavy! so much bickering.
I'm still thinking about how perfect Nathan Fillion's Guy Gardner was. Like...yes! He and James Gunn get it! Guy Gardner is rude and belligerent and crass but also he's got this rough compassion that shines through his actions sometimes and you have to deal with the fact that sometimes the person doing the right thing isn't gonna be someone you like.
I want Guy to still be a social worker. Like this is how he makes money now Lex Is in prison. He's also shit at it from everyone else perspective. But he's honestly making sure the kids he works with feel not just safe but impowered.
Guy: did you eat?
Some kid: not hungry.
Guy: didn't ask if you were hungry.*puts a bowl of home made hot soup in front of them*
I do head cannon that this Guy would mainly eat "kid food" cereal, sandwiches, fries ,chicken nuggets.
We really needs to talk about how the popularization of fanfiction thanks to Tik Tok has brought into fandoms a kind of "fanfic police" that constantly shames people for reading other things than character x character fanfics. Because why is it suddenly cool to read fanfiction but the moment it’s an x reader or an x oc it automatically becomes cringe?! Let people read x reader or x oc in peace!
Guy Gardner being a social worker and teacher as well as having a degree in Liberal Arts needs to be a more important part of his character. Like it adds so much depth to his character!!!
Frankenstein's Creature (original book ver.) x fem! reader
cws/considerable religious imagery and discussion(author is not personally Christian), female reader, regency era attitudes towards women/relationships, multichapter with alternating POV, cross-posted on AO3
Author's note: I haven't written fic in a while, i might be rusty. Chapter 1 is mostly exposition (the creature haunts the narrative lol). these two do not like each other at first. I would love feedback and my askbox is open to talk!
The air was always too cold in the mornings. So cold, it seeped through the cabin and underneath your thin, old blankets; crawling up your spine and chilling you to the bones. It was early March, the frost had begun to melt from the mountains and stinging nettles had begun sprouting.
The thought of getting up felt impossible, the straw mattress felt like heaven’s clouds, as if you were being held in a warm embrace. Alas, chores had to be done, and working in the quiet before the rest of the world rose was more peaceful. The sun was hardly above the horizon when you stretched out your tired limbs and whispered a quick morning prayer to yourself. As you stood, your shift fell past your knees, but just barely- it was too small for you now, and as often as you begged your mother for another one, it never seemed the right time to spend so frivolously. Now that she was spending more time in town- working as a housekeeper for a middle class family- it was as if you only saw her at sunday mass, giving you the chance to focus on these little annoyances you couldn’t bring up in her presence.
After buttoning up the slip, you tied your stockings to your legs, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you stood and faced the open window, your hair was hidden behind a simple bonnet, laced to your chin with a smooth olive colored ribbon- a little luxury that brought joy to your simple existence. Your corset was tied loosely to ensure easy movement, and over it was a green-ish dress which itched at your sides. This routine was ever present, so was everything else in this simple life, a system of winding cogs and chainlinks.
The brown shawl around your shoulders protected you from the frigid air when you stepped out, holding a wicker basket to pick a few parsnips and beets from your fresh spring garden. The day was going to be slow and easy, after a rough winter, it was a great blessing that the garden had been so bountiful. These joyful thoughts waned a bit when you saw the garden though it seemed like some wild animal had torn through the cobblestone path- ripping through a good amount of the produce.
“That’s a pity…”
Your voice was soft as you spoke to yourself, a habit created to manage the loneliness of the mountainside cabin. The remaining vegetables were scooped up, the stew you could make would feed you for days, though you felt it needed something more.
Trips through the forest were dangerous, but the thought of unseasoned stew for a week seemed even worse. Wild thyme grew in abundance around the trees and added a needed kick to the broth. The Earth felt wet beneath your shoes, you tugged the shawl closer as you knelt down and began placing the spotted pink flowers in your basket. The plants were just in bloom and ripped from the ground easily.
Then, a fine shiver ran up your spine, you would’ve thought it was the cold, but it felt off, as if you weren’t as alone as you thought anymore- as if someone was observing you from afar. Your head turned around so quickly, a sound of surprise leaving your throat as your eyes were met with nothing but sprawling forest.
Well, that was strange.
The amount of thyme and other wild herbs you managed to scrounge would be more than enough for yourself, some you could probably trade in town for bread and milk, enough to have a feast for one. This warm, solitary existence was unordinary for girls your age, most were married off or working for better-off households- but you liked it. The quiet, natural life spent by yourself.
In moments like these though, you toyed with the idea of keeping a husband- it would make these trips to the forest a lot less nerve wracking if there was someone to rely on to keep you safe. There was humor in the idea as well, what mortal man could defend you against the wolves and bears one can stumble upon in these endless forests? You’d only be doubling the size of their meal.
Well, you’d leave it in the hands of God, like anything else.
—
The trip into town was quick as always, a young woman like yourself was in danger when alone- even in broad daylight. All the little shops in the marketplace were open, and the job of getting the milk and bread were done quickly- though the loaf was a day old and would need to be drenched to chew through. There was a strange quiet throughout the little square, and it made you feel left out, as if everyone knew something you didn’t.
“Pardon, is there something happening today I’m not aware of?”
Your voice broke the eerie silence as your hand landed on the shoulder of a middle aged woman you questioned, her eyes widened in shock before she smiled politely and spoke in a hushed tone.
“Nothing at all, just some animal wandering near the outskirts of town at night. Plenty of chickens and such have been vanishing…”
You hummed in understanding, clever fox perhaps? With a taste for both birds and your vegetables? The woman went back to walking away, as you checked your basket for maybe the fifth time, when a glimmer caught your eye on the muddy ground.
A coin!
Looking around for a little moment, you knelt down to pick it up, options peddling through your head. You could save the money and have something more extravagant in the future, or you could get a small token of self-appreciation right now. The sight of a stall selling sugar skewed your judgement. You made your way back home with a slightly overflowing basket and an evening full of cooking ahead.
–
The air was warm in the cabin, forcing you to open the windows into the chilly evening as you continued with your work. Slowly mixing the milk into the stew, before placing the pot back into the hearth as it bubbles, filling your cozy home with the aroma of spices. With a few scraps of leftover beet along with some wild berries, as well as the sugar from town, you had crafted a pie and left it to cool on the windowsill. When the soup was made, you kept the fire going- it kept the cold from biting at your skin. You felt a bit of sweat starting to form at the nape of your neck, and your hands quickly tugged off your bonnet- it was a bad habit to keep it on all the time, especially because there was no one to see you in the first place.
After placing the pot down on the table to cool, you move to sit down at your bed. You took off your stockings, placing them back in the cabinet before removing your apron. The cold floor felt nice against your tired feet as you moved to open the topmost buttons of your dress and get out a spoon and bowl from the kitchen. The soup was still piping hot and tasted good enough to eat for every meal for the next week, maybe it would be one of those things you made over and over until you got sick of it and never wanted it again.
A slice of pie after the meal sounded wonderful, and as you moved to the windowsill, you looked at the open space with a sense of bewilderment.
It wasn't there anymore.
A thousand possibilities crossed your mind as you moved back from the windowsill in fear, a fear so pure you felt it clouded all other rational thought as you suddenly jolted towards the empty night sky. Your head stuck from the window as you looked side to side, there was nothing there, you looked down and squinted and there wasn't anything on the ground either. As you shut the windows, the fear morphed into anger, you’d crafted that pie with tender love and care, and now you’d never know what it tasted like! It felt blasphemous!
You rushed back into bed with a huff, the night felt like it was ruined.
Thump.
Your head shot up off your pillow, it was a footstep, something right outside the window above your bed. You tugged your shift in place nervously, kneeling on the edge of the old bedframe as you looked up at something staring back at you.
Something in the form of the largest man you’d ever seen, skin pallid and unnaturally stretched against his face, oily black locks sticking against it; and eyes so angry and yellow.
Angry, yellow eyes looking right back into yours.
The scream ripped from your throat before you could stop it, and you felt yourself collapse down onto the ground, hitting your head hard. The last thing you saw before blacking out was the thing making a mad dash for your front door.
conclave the book is like so specifically written too like ... its so crazy. bellini's line about "families having 10 children because mama and papa didn't know any better" & "standing for everything tedesco does not" is like only a few pages apart from the reveal of tedesco's backstory being that he's the youngest of 12 kids and grew up destitutely poor from that (& still eats like he's terrified someone might steal his food). like ohh... tedesco is a product of his environment and the paradigm of the traditional values failing people & still trying to force those values on people despite knowing the firsthand experience of the way it sucks. crab in a bucket style.
