It's Maclura pomifera, commonly known as the osage orange or hedge apple. It is known to be native only to a small area of Texas and the edge of Oklahoma and Arkansas. Before the invention of barbed wire, it was pruned repeatedly and shaped to make dense impenetrable hedges to contain animals.
The fruits are inedible—not poison, they're just hard and taste bad.
The wood is super-strong, burns hotter than any other wood, and is ideal for making bows!
Actually I like this idea, we should do that. Here's my fun fact contribution; actual old English, what one could call Anglo-Saxon (as opposed to, for example, Shakespearean English, which a lot of people call old English but is actually antiquated modern English), is a Germanic language, and modern English shares a lot of roots with German because of that. It was also, at one point, written with runes.
The hagfish is a deep-sea fish speculated to be related to lamprey. It exudes a strange goo that is believed to be used to clog the gills of attackers. This goo has been found to be a very good substitute for egg whites in cooking.
Morganite, aquamarine, and emerald all belong to the beryl family. Also in the beryl family are heliodor, which is yellow; goshenite, which is clear; and red beryl, which is relatively rare and has no fun name.
Differences in the trace elements and temperatures of the growing environment determines the color and saturation of the stone. And! You can technically have a green beryl that is not an emerald—emerald is kept distinct by the inclusion of either vanadium or chromium, and iron. Green beryl only contains iron, making it a much paler and more yellow green.
Bonus fact: about 30% of the gemstones you could list off the top of your head are a quartz variant.
Did you know that the way astronomers are able to figure out the chemical components of stars is by using things called emission and absorption spectrums? This is what they look like:
The way this works is that different elements on the periodic table have different energy levels, or “shells.” That’s what those lines around the nucleus are:
When an electron gets hit with a photon, it goes into an excited state and moves up the sublevels within an energy level. Think of it like going up stairs that lead to different floors on a building! That’s what an absorption spectrum represents: it’s the photons, or essentially the light particles, that the electrons absorb.
When an electron goes down a sublevel, it releases that photon, and gives off or emits energy, which is what the emission spectrum shows. It does this at different wavelengths, and the frequencies of these wavelengths can change the color of the light. Each element has a different way of doing this, so when scientists look for the elements in stars, they look at the emission spectrum of those stars, the emission spectrum of certain elements, and see what lines up!
In the model below, you can see what that looks like in practice. By looking at at the lines on each of the elements listed below and comparing it to the observed spectrum of the star, an astronomer can pick out what elements the star has!!
I came to help with spacefodumping!!! And to add another penny to OP’s self care jar!!! ☺️
Did you know that the most wonky planet in our solar system might not be Uranus…
..But Venus?
Thaaaaat’s right!! This absolute beauty, according to certain measurements, has an axis tilt of about 177.3 degrees- she’s almost entirely upside down!! Because of this, our lovely lady actually rotates backwards as compared to the other planets!!
The definition of axal tilts has changed before, and it could definitely change again- take this with as many grains of salt as your shaker has!! ☺️ No matter what, though, she doesn’t display seasons- and we’re still exploring the possibility of life related molecules in her atmosphere!!
Fun fact, Dalmatians and their spots were thought to resemble plum pudding. Another name for plum pudding was spotted dick. So dals were commonly referred to as 'Spotted Dick Dogs'.
whoooo-oh we're half way there, whoooo-oh living on a prayer.
Facts about animals;
Prawns are cannibals, if there's an elephant in the room then you're in the wrong room, cutting an earthworm in half makes you a sadist, I think its worth repeating; that prawns eat their babies, and monkeys eat monkeys, but who gives a monkey's/ [monkeys] and if you squash a wasp, it releases a chemical from the wasp, that attracts people who tell you facts about wasps
--- Mike Wozniak
but for real now the process of creating a catalogue of museum collections is very easy. All you need is a cohesive numbering method most of which modern ones follow this method
xxxx.xxx.xxx where the first set is years [2022], the second set is lot [fiftieth donation of that year] and the final set is the object number in that lot [23rd of 200] making the number needed 2022.050.023.
That's all it takes.
BUT the main thing that this system needs is a person to sit down and assign numbers and then input those into a tracking system. be it card catalogue, digital, cloud-based, whatever.
because of the time needed to do this, and the astounding lack of funds in the sector, there are very few, if any museums with complete catalogues.
It is okay if you don't know how to show yourself the proper love and compassion yet, OP. There are so many people out there who will help while you're learning.
and how there are soooo many different types of bananas than you think!!!
Cavendish Banana
so first of all we got the Cavendish Banana, which is the banana you probably have in your home. They are the most known banana and sold in supermarkets the most.
Pisang Raja
this is the most popular banana in my homeland, Indonesia. it's very thick, very creamy, almost no tartiness, and very sweet! personally i think it tastes slightly like honey. the name literally means banana king (pisang = banana & raja = king)!!! al hail the banana king! this banana is best eaten very ripe and you can even still use them when they are overripe and fry them into this delicious dish called pisang goreng. my mother used to make these when our normal cavendish bananas were overripe. its basically pieces of banana wrapped in a very thin layer of dough and then gets fried. the banana melts and it tastes HEAVENLY!!! best paired with chocolate or cheese or with both (don't knock it till you try it!)
Lady Finger
BABY BANANAS BABY BANANAS LOOK AT THESE BABY BANANAS!!! the bananas are creamy, sweet and as you can see very smol!
Red Banana
BET YOU DIDN'T KNOW THAT RED BANANAS EXISTED???? these bananas can range from having a raspberry flavour, to more tarty. Some of them are smaller and plumper than Cavendish, others are bigger and larger.
Blue Java Banana
AKA my favourite banana!!! It is blue! It tastes like vanilla ice cream!!! what more do you want??? They grow in slightly colder regions than the normal tropical hot of other bananas.
There are so much more bananas but my internet is shitty and I am afraid that if my laptop freezes all of my writing will get lost. so i encourage you to look up more bananas! for example, there's the Nanjagud Banana, grown in India and more typically tangy and has a very unique flavour and taste, Praying Hands, who grow in pairs (!!), Fehi Banana who are ORANGE and dont taste as good or as sweet as the other bananas raw, but are excellent when you boil or cook them and the Burro Banana, who have a slight lemon taste to them!!!!
And as last, did you know that bananas are technically berries?
Have a good day op, and practice self care you idiot <3 <3 <3 <3 <3
Info dump, info dump.... did you know that many coders, in order to find flaws in their code, speak the code aloud to rubber ducks as a method to find where the flaws are easier?
The process is appropriately named Rubber Ducking, and the method works - if not a little maddening as you need a little audience to judge you.
A rubber duck is often used because it is hard to break - and difficult to break anything when you throw the rubber duck across the room in frustration.
I as a writer gotta use the trick sometimes - if i write a lot and really late, sometimes i miss typos and grammar errors and such!
That's all from me - remember the rubber duck method! Maybe you'll win jeopardy! And most of all, practice self care, even if just a little bit!
It’s a Japanese horror/comedy movie (great combination) from 1977, directed by Nobuhiko Obayashi. It follows 7 schoolgirls on summer break who travel into the countryside to see the main character’s aunt.
Of course, since this is a horror movie, they all end up dying in strange (i can’t emphasize this enough, strange) ways. One girl’s eaten by a piano while her severed fingers still play a song, one girl is attacked by pillows and blankets and then wound through the gears of a clock, and one girl gets stuck in a lamp attached to the ceiling and is electrocuted to death, but afterwards, her severed legs detach to kick the main antagonist in the face.
Nobuhiko Obayashi was known for directing independent short films before directing TV commercials. (In his words, he directed at least 200 different commercials.) And when he decided to make a movie, he asked his 10 year old daughter what she would want to see him make. Obayashi once said that he always runs his ideas by children, because they’re more likely to accept and be interested in the strange and unexplained than adults. A lot of (if not all) of the ideas for the deaths came from his daughter and the kinds of irrational fears you have as a child.
Obayashi also did all of the special effects himself, despite having the opportunity to have professional special effects artists edit the film. He did this because he wanted the movie to be fantastical and “something a child would make”
If you’ve noticed how much emphasis has been placed on having a childlike view on the world, that’s because this is a central theme of the film. Despite it being so eccentric and fever-dream esque, this movie is about the generational trauma that war brings, one of Obayashi’s main inspirations being his no doubt traumatic experience of living through the atomic bomb that hit Hiroshima.
The main character’s aunt died a long time before the movie starts, but she lives on as a ghost, waiting for her lover to return from the war he died in. She eats the young unmarried girls that visit her house because that’s the only time she can wear her wedding dress.
A very interesting scene to me is when the main character Gorgeous is telling the other girls about her aunt. She tells them about how her lover never returned from the war, and it seems as though the girls are watching the flashback scenes that we are, and giving their commentary. The flashback ends with footage of the atomic bomb, and one of the girls lightheartedly comments that it looks like cotton candy, which really illustrates the divide of these naive girls who were born after the war, compared to the aunt, who would have been completely gone if not for the effects of the war.
With this short infodump, i couldn’t possibly do the movie justice. Even though I’ve told you the basic premise and themes, this is nowhere near the House experience. There’s no way in words that anyone could describe the aesthetic and emotion that you can feel in every minute while watching the film. It’s like no movie I’ve ever seen before, and will possibly ever see in my life and I love it to death.
Hey Faye! First of all, happy one year to your awesome blog!!!
I'm not sure if you know me or not because I'm not much active here anyway, but let me tell you, I'm a big fan. Yk some people write so good that you want to reblog their entire masterlist? You're one of those people.
I'm so glad you're doing the ask game thing because i found some questions I genuinely wanted to ask lol. Can you please answer 43, 77 and 79? Once again, love you and your blog!
Kai! Of course I know who you are! I'm glad to see you around again, I hope you're doing well!
Reading your lovely message made me squeal so thank you, I really appreciate you and all your support <3
43. Is there a trope or idea that you’d really like to write but haven’t yet?
I've been toying with the idea of writing a proper agent AU for Saeyoung for a while, but have never had the time to write it yet! Who knows, maybe it'll one day make it out of the WIPs?
77. Why do you enjoy writing fanfiction?
Besides the wonderful interactions I get from people online who love these characters as much as I do, I think it has a lot to do with my love for writing and furthering my skill as a writer.
Writing fanfic has helped grow my love for both writing and the fandom itself. I am thinking about the characters in ways that I never have before, I'm paying more attention when I read to pick up on things that I can use to improve my own writing.
It's a hobby that fuels my love for fandom, and a fandom that fuels my love for writing, does that make sense?
79. Do you have any writing advice you want to share?
Don't hold yourself back from writing because you're worried of what other people might say or you're worried that it might be 'cringe'. I lost so much time being worried about what people might say about my writing and if my voice even mattered in this space. It's easy to start writing with an invisible audience over your shoulder, judging every word you write. If you let yourself be held back by invisible judgements, you're never going to write at all.
If it's something you really want to do, then do it.
hi. stayed up literally all night (on accident) writing angst :3 [<- August 27th; a month later and I finally finished the ending xD]
it's heavily focused on Squirrel and what can happen in her line of work. this... is probably quite the dramatic read, given i wrote this so late at night and thus without any medicine in me lol. emotions ✨️
it was also inspired by my first drawing(s) of Squirrel, which i will put at the end of this post... because spoilers~ [new note: i never finished the drawings and i'm nervous about the quality, so i won't post them after all :'D]
anyways, i hope it's still enjoyable despite the dramatics, and the possibly-but-hopefully-not-OOC-Saeran ^^;;;
Tags: heavy angst, hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending
Warnings: verbal/emotional manipulation // body horror/visual horror // yandere tendencies // knives (switchblade) // dissociative-esque descriptions // homicidal urges // mild su*cidal speech (1 or 2 mentions) // possessiveness // obsession // mania // heavy swearing // visceral/graphic descriptions of pain (read: body horror) // saeran being terrified (i'm sorry)
Pairing: Squirrel x Saeran
Word Count: 6601
==============================
She was floating; she was formless. Nothingness pressed in on her nonexistence, weightless as a feather, yet suffocating her soul. Her thoughts dangled just past her limp fingertips. She didn't see a reason to try too hard.
How did I... get here...?
She didn't know. She didn't need to know. Everything was alright now.
But...
She was comfortable here. Unbothered by the world. Drifting off into space. Nothing would hurt her here. The dark emptiness was her shield against the troubles of outside.
...In the back of her mind, an itch blossomed. Within her blank heart, a seed of urgency emerged.
There was no need for urgency, no need for fear. As she sank further into this warm comfort, she had less and less reason to worry. Her worries were behind her, now. Gone forever.
Something... feels off...
Her body ached... maybe. For a moment, it did, but then it didn't.
But then it did: a dull blow to her stomach (her stomach that wasn't there). Her body (she couldn't see it; where was it?) trembled, then stopped, then strained painfully.
I need to...
...I don't know.
Something's off.
Nothing was off. Nothing was wrong. This place, this darkness, was her safe zone. She would be happy here. She could leave everything behind. She could give up control.
Let someone else take the reins.
She jolted. Even with no form, she could feel it. She could feel a rush of movement, of air — of lurching to the side and succumbing to gravity.
Invisible claws dug into her chest, hooked onto these sensations, and tried to drag them away. She imagined her hands clinging to her shirt, clutching these ties to... to... somewhere else.
Give it all up, something hissed, but it felt like a thought, like words being typed into her mind — like her own internal dialogue. And yet... foreign.
Mine, she shot back, trying to move her mouth. But her mouth was elsewhere.
The claws dug in deeper. Her skin (elsewhere) started to burn. I want you.
A comforting message — and yet, it drifted by on an ominous wave. She tightened her imaginative hold on a sense of physicality. No matter how painful it was starting to feel.
It was a connection to something... something...
Real.
Real. Reality. This was wrong. This darkness was wrong.
This darkness is your home.
The claws were slipping. The crushing pressure of nothingness was starting to lift. (How hadn't she noticed how utterly suffocating it felt?)
No. Reality is mine. There's...
There was someone.
Wasn't there?
A face. She couldn't quite grasp it. In her mind, it was blurred. Evading her hands.
But there was someone.
There's nothing for you out there. You belong here.
Reality is mine. There's someone waiting for me.
The pressure lifted more.
You are calamity. You belong here.
Reality awaits me.
You are lost. I have found you. You are safest with me. You must trust me. The world will hurt you. I will take away your pain forever.
This space was not her own. These words in her mind were an imitation of her internal voice.
It had revealed itself — whatever "it" was. There was more to this than escaping the world.
I like pain. It's better than numbness. I'll endure any pain to keep on living.
Reality was hers. She had a path to walk, still. She couldn't identify a single detail, couldn't see what her life was like or who stood beside her.
But she knew she wanted it.
You know nothing. Child of the Other. You have our blood. You are safest here. If you leave, you shall die by this world.
There's someone out there.
No one awaits you. I am your sole comfort.
No. I see... I hear... There's someone. I...
It dripped into her heart, then trickled in. Not their name, not their features. She didn't even know who they were to her. But she could feel, bit by bit, inklings of how they made her feel.
How... he made her feel.
Everything was muffled, distant, far outside of this ugly pool of cold captivity. But the surges of delight, admiration, awe, mirth, and deep-rooted love... — that was unmistakable.
He's waiting for me.
It is a fantasy. It is lies. There is no one. The devil is tempting your heart. What you feel is not real.
He is real.
Her chest tightened; faintly, her fingertips stung. She felt something against her palm, and then it slipped away.
The claws tightened around her, yet she felt them weakening.
It is not real. It is a trap, child.
Words. A liar speaks in many words.
My efforts are to save you. I shall take you someplace better. You are weak. If you leave your safety, you are declaring your own death.
I'd die for him.
It struck her chest. Her head spun for a moment. The feeling— the feelings. They were flooding her now; she could feel her every thought, her daily thoughts, her past thoughts; her every emotion. Like zipping through a movie, it burst her chest with warmth, shattered it with anxieties, and soothed it with peace. She still couldn't quite grasp the dozens of memories associated with each period of emotion, and yet she somehow understood it all.
But what was strongest, was that initial bundle of feeling.
I'd die for him.
Saeran.
Saeran, Saeran, Saeran.
I'd kill for him.
He is mine.
Reality is mine. He is mine.
I have something out there. Let me go.
I'd kill for him. I'll kill you. You are something. I'll end you mercilessly.
There was no passion behind her loud thoughts, not even anger. It was hard to feel her own emotions right now.
But she said it like a fact.
You cannot do that. I am your protector. He will do you no good.
So you admit he is real.
The claws dug in, but she reacted. Claws of her own lashed out, dug furiously into the large talons, tore into them, tore through bone, yanked them from her empty form, dug her shark-like teeth into them. A brand new fury engulfed her; she ripped them to shreds and kicked the remains down into the abyss.
Despite the nothingness, her vision felt clearer.
A shrill, clicking growl consumed the floating cage.
A bad decision, child. He stands outside, clueless. Your vessel is mine to guide. Its abilities are desirable. It has memorized several ways to handle other vessels. His vessel is undesirable to me.
Another series of guttural clicks.
But your connection to that vessel... would make quite the meal.
She couldn't decipher its exact intent.
But that didn't matter.
It sounded like a threat — a threat to Saeran.
To the first and last love of her life.
The man who had suffered undeservingly for his whole existence. The man who came out kind in spite of it all.
Anger surged in her chest again. Her own anger. Real anger.
I'll fucking tear you limb from limb. If you so much as touch his hair, I'll kill you and I'll fucking enjoy it.
You fucking entity. You baseless piece of shit.
LET ME GO!
Let me go. LET ME GO.
I want him. I need him. HE'S MINE. LET ME GO.
I'll kill you. I'LL KILL YOU.
Pilot. Pilot. Pilot!!! PILOT!
That dull ache was slowly spreading to the rest of her body, but she didn't care. She wanted it. It was deliciously refreshing amidst this terrible numbness.
You will never escape, blood. You—
If you corrupt him, I'll kill him. I'll kill him, I'll kill you, I'll kill myself.
Your logic is crumbling. That is what the world does to you. Fall back. My darkness is peace.
Peace! Kiss my fucking ass, dipshit. PILOT!!
She jolted, trying to feel her form outside. And— there! She felt a lurch. A streak of pain.
More. More.
She kept going, feeling the latches click into place — more, more.
It is futile. Your efforts are your imagination.
Shut up and speak to the FUCKING MIRROR!
Like releasing a coil, she flung herself into it full force — like shattering glass with her head and enduring the shards ripping through her skin. Fire searing through her veins, consumed her organs, blinded her with unending agony. Like a knife digging into her skin, her muscles, and slicing her into ribbons. Her throat — dry, tight, and actively shredding itself to bits. It burned and stung — a broken glass bottle shoving down her throat with inhuman force.
A constant sound, muffled and watery. Layered. Other noises whispered behind it, nearly drowned out.
Her throat was bleeding. Her lungs had collapsed.
Breathing was a foreign concept.
Her heart pounded in her head.
This really was it. This was her death. It was too late for her.
His name lingered in her mind as everything faded out. Her tongue wished to speak it. Her hands wished to hold his.
Her heart, though it was about to burst into gorey pieces, ached only for him.
She choked on a cry, and that loud (loud, loud, loud), lingering, constant sound stopped.
And air filled her lungs.
Her eyes shot open to colour, to shapes. Like emerging from deep waters, the barrier shattered.
Her heavy, wheezing breaths overwhelmed her ears — but it, and the sounds around her, were clear as day.
The white-hot pain was gone, leaving behind patches of aches, stings, and burns — nothing compared to what she just felt.
I was screaming, I think. That was the sound.
Squirrel was on the ground. On wooden planks. On patches of yellow straw. All she could smell was dust and iron and... and that faint scent of burning metal.
The one only she could smell. The one that only entities carried.
She wasn't out of the waters yet.
On your feet, Agent.
She shifted, grunted against some flaring pain, but pushed it all down. It's not your pain. Get to your feet.
Energy coiled up within her. Her palms tingled. She could feel something. It was nearby.
She rolled onto her stomach, pushed herself up, and leapt to her feet. Her head spun briefly, but she stayed steady.
She glared at the dark corner of the barn, just above the hayloft. Where she could sense it. Where she could smell it. Her hand reached behind her for the incapacitator. Her last resort.
Negotiation was off the table. It nearly killed her, after all.
Besides. The entity threatened Saeran. Her mind was made up.
...It was hiding, still. She could sense it, but it was hiding. Like a fucking coward.
"Show your ugly face," she growled.
She crept closer to the hayloft. She could feel its gaze through the darkness. Yet it stayed still and quiet.
Pilot stepped in suddenly and took over their voice, putting a rougher, deeper quality to it.
"We're not going to hurt you," she sang, her intonation telling a different story. "We just want... a bit of revenge. Is that so much to ask~?" A light, bitter laugh fell from her lips.
The air shifted. A metallic breeze. Like bloody air filling her lungs.
You broke it.
A disembodied voice: hissing, shrill, booming. Coming from everywhere at once. A guttural clicking.
You will be mine. Your vessel is most desirable. A vessel that can break those walls is one of strength.
Squirrel curled her lip in a sneer. "What makes you think, then, that you can have me again?"
Because you are weak now. Your energy is depleted. You cannot fight back.
She scoffed a laugh. "Keep telling yourself that."
You deny out of fear.
The darkness shifted stiffly. A shrill whine rose up, soon accompanied by sharp clicks. The metallic taste and smell grew stronger.
Behind her back, Squirrel tightened her grip around the device.
I see through you. You desire another's control. You wish for a shield from hardships. I am—
"Those statements are so vague, they'll fit anyone," she interrupted flatly. She whipped out the gun-like device and aimed it steadily at the shifting darkness. A slight smirk twitched on her lips. "I'm past negotiations, darling. I just want you dead."
...Your kind is amusing.
"Tch. You face death blankly because you think so highly of yo—"
A shriek of metal air; a dark bullet screaming towards her.
SHIT!
She whipped around and bolted.
Idiot! Pilot snapped, and threw their body to the ground, hitting the wood planks hard. The black mass zipped over their head. Pilot scrambled to her feet and stumbled away from the entity's new spot against the nearby wall.
...The gun was gone. Pilot's eyes swiftly darted around the barn.
It was by the doors.
Too far.
She warily eyed the creature. It was showing itself now. A pale purple thing of odd shape: four long, cylindrical limbs, like that of an octopus without its suction cups. A square-ish center with a hideous face: two dark eyes and a simple, disarming smile.
She narrowed her eyes.
Something cold chilled her neck. The entity's smile grew.
Squirrel's heart dropped. Her hand shot to her neck. The thing was already gone. The coldness spread; and then, a layer of warmth. Buzzing warmth. Like she was absorbing dimensional energy itself in its purest, rawest form.
A grin of sorts crossed her face. Pilot yelled something at her, but her voice was buried underneath all that pleasant buzzing.
Power. She was buzzing with power. This was nothing like all those times she had to absorb the dimensional energy of infused objects. This was a million times better. She felt a bit dizzy from the thrill, the pure giddiness.
It feels so wonderful, does it not?
Its voice was in her head now.
She laughed: rough, uncontrolled, brief. "Wonderful?" she rasped. Her throat was burning again. "It's the best damn thing I've ever fucking felt."
Is it? Well, th—
"No, actually," she said with an exhale, lifting her eyes to the slanted ceiling. "I just remembered." Another uncontrolled laugh. "The best damn thing I've felt is Saeran's—"
The door hinges squealed as the old barn door creaked open. The lamps from outside spilled dull yellow light into the already-dimly-lit barn. She could hear the night critters a little better now.
Then he stepped into view — and froze, his terrified eyes on the hideous creature. His fingers retreated from the door. One foot shifted back.
Squirrel felt herself grinning. "Saeran!" she exclaimed, throat sore and voice breathless.
He jolted and his eyes snapped to her. Relief visibly settled his nerves, but he remained tense with obvious apprehension (eyeing the dark entity).
He opened his mouth to speak.
A metallic taste, a black blur, and an artificial breeze. The creature loomed behind her, now, but she paid it no mind.
Saeran hurried closer, but stopped short several feet back, grave concern and a deep fear etching into the lines of his features. He looked painfully helpless as his eyes locked onto hers. Like he might cry. Like he couldn't move.
Her heart twisted, and for a moment, the veil lifted. Her grin fell, her elation dissipated, and she stepped forward, a hand reaching out. She hated seeing that expression on his face. She was supposed to protect him from this! And yet, here they were; and yet, his jaw was bruising from the entity's earlier blow. He was probably bruising elsewhere, too, depending on how he landed.
A knife to her gut — and it twisted its way deeper.
He was never supposed to get involved in these things. This messy line of work.
(And, maybe, she never should've chased this lead on her own. Maybe she should've just left it to the Western Unit, to the agents based here in America.)
"Saeran..." she choked out. Her throat hurt, still.
His expression shifted — a glimpse of hope, perhaps, within those terrified eyes.
And then they slipped past her, behind her, and widened. He yelled her name in warning, pushing himself into motion, and yet barely got a couple steps in before freezing once more.
Primal terror did funny things to people.
Saeran was doing everything he could to keep his focus on this moment. To not drift away. To not run. To not cower. To not do whatever else his instincts were begging him to do.
Which left him standing perfectly still, able only to watch as the edge of the entity's strange eyes glowed red, and black tendrils snaked up the veins in Squirrel's neck, and that glowing, purple-ish hue overtook her green and gold irises once more.
He was losing her again.
He didn't know how to fight something like this.
Her rasping giggle grabbed his attention. Her expression caught him off guard — a too-large grin, eyes brimming with dark adoration — her hand reaching behind her.
"Saeran...!" she exhaled, and her voice was laced with a familiar tone. But given the context, it felt so, so, so different. This wasn't her occasional moments of sane possessiveness. Even in one word — just his name — he could hear how unhinged her mind was right now.
But, he thought, if she was leveraging her attention on him, and her affection for him remained... maybe he could use that.
"No need to be so wary, darling," Squirrel purred. "It's just me. Do you know how much I fucking love you?"
He flinched, brows furrowing a little. He shifted a step back.
She wasn't one to freely swear, especially in such a bright tone.
Hurt flashed in her eyes. "You... don't, do you?"
His mind scrambled for a response. "I— M-my l—"
"That's okay!" she suddenly chirped, grinning at him. "I can fix that." She stepped closer. "I can fix that fear on your face. I can show you how far my love goes for you." Her hand emerged from her back and rose up. A click, and the blade snapped up. Her other hand pressed to her cheek, and the most terrifying expression of pure, blinded obsession darkened her eyes and creased her face. "You're sure to love me when I'm done," she added, voice deceptively soft.
Saeran swallowed hard. He dared to glimpse the entity behind her, and flinched. It had only gotten more horrifying: dark, vein-y strands criss-crossing its limbs; large, hollow abysses for eyes; an unending flow of thick, sludgy blackness dripping from its wide-open mouth.
And when he looked at her again, her eyes were wide with horror.
"I-I..." she strained. "I— c-c..."
"Squirrel!" He found his voice; it gritted against his throat with intensity. "Fight back! I-I know you can—! I— You-you're strong —" his voice broke — "and- and— Please, my..."
The entity's eyes were rimmed with red once more, and its shrill, throaty clicking echoed around the barn. Squirrel gritted her teeth, groaning in her effort. She held her head with her free hand, fingers tangling in her hair; one eye squeezed shut, but she forced the other open as much as she could.
"The... door!" she hissed out. "Device! Use th—" Her shaking hand dropped the switchblade, then dug into her curls.
His eyes darted over to the door, searching anxiously, desperately, for whatever she was talking about.
He saw it. Yellow light glinting off sleek black.
He glanced at her — If he ran, would it hurt her more? Or would he run out of time if he tried to be subtle?
"Argh! GO!" she forced out, squinting heavily at him.
He swallowed. He eyed the device once more.
He ran.
Her swift footsteps followed not two seconds later, hitting the wooden planks like a terrifying promise. He ran faster, reached the door; stumbled to his knees, swiped the device, whipped around — she was close, too close, just a few meters away. He aimed the gun past her, at the faintly-screeching entity, and desperately searched for any indication of which freaking button was the trigger mechanism.
She was nearing — her hands free of any blade, but he knew her bare hands were skilled enough.
He didn't want her suffering any guilt.
Screw it.
He didn't have time to think anymore. He picked the one that looked right and pushed his thumb into it as hard as he could.
Right as she threw herself at him.
The energy palpably charged up within a mere second — and she was in the air, hands reaching out — and the lights around them were pulsing — and the entity's mouth was dripping red — and Saeran couldn't breathe — and, finally, the build-up of energy burst from the gun in a single, concentrated point.
The kickback threw him off balance, but Squirrel's body collided with his before he could fall. Her hands trapped him in an expert grapple, sending them both rolling to the ground.
Her laugh rang in his ears when the dizzying movement stopped; her manic grin hovered over him.
"I've got y—!"
The entity's shrill, agonized shrieking ripped through the air. Squirrel went tense, fingers digging into his shoulders with a painful grip. Saeran's head was throbbing, the entity's awful screams reviving the pain from his earlier hit to the head.
But the mania was absent from Squirrel's tense mien. The inky tendrils on her face and neck were retreating. The glowing purple was fading from her eyes.
Her nails pressed into his skin through his shirt. She began to tremble. Her jaw clenched. Approaching tears dampened her eyes.
She was too paralyzed to express it, but she was suffering absolute agony. The same seering hot fire from her earlier escape purged through her veins, her bones, her muscles, along her skin. Her eyes were melting under the flame; her tongue was boiling; her skin was turning to ash.
All she could do was stare down at her lover, at his pained wince, at his bruised face.
The screeching stopped, the metallic taste left her mouth, its heavy smell cleared from her nose. The entity was gone for good.
Squirrel collapsed.
He felt her limp weight fall onto him, felt her fingers loosen from his shoulders. Instinctively, his arms wrapped around her. It wasn't until the lingering throb in his head passed, though, that he could properly acknowledge her.
He exhaled shakily, fingers digging into the back of her shirt.
"I-it's over, right?" he murmured.
She didn't respond. Not a mumble, not a twitch, not even a sigh.
Icy fingers crept up his spine. His throat felt tight. "Squirrel?" he quavered. He clutched her shirt tighter. He couldn't lift or turn his head to see her face, not with how she had fallen, her cheek on his shoulder, her face turned away. "My l-love?" He could barely raise his voice.
He could barely breathe.
Stay— stay calm. Stay... Just feel. For her breathing. J-just...
His fingers released her shirt; his hands rose higher on her back. He held his own breath, and waited.
A faint rise and fall.
Relief swamped him so immensely that he had to shut his eyes for a moment. "Oh, God," he breathed, wrapping his arms around her tightly. He felt like he might cry. He pulled her a bit higher, buried his face in her hair and— a tear slipped down his cheek. He squeezed his eyes shut.
"Mhn..." She stirred, her hands slowly cupping his upper arms. "S...S...Saer...an?" she rasped, weakly nuzzling his shoulder.
He tried to say her name, but all that came out was a soft sob. Alarmed, she forced herself up (shaking) to look at him. He peered back at her, eyes brimming with quiet tears, and a couple dripping down his face. "S..." Her mouth wasn't cooperating. She lifted her hand to hold his face, but the loss of leverage had her falling again. She caught herself, her palm meeting the hay-strewn boards beside his head, before sinking back down, hiding her face in his neck. He tightened his hold on her again, one hand drifting up to shakily comb through her unkempt hair.
"My love," he whispered finally, sounding choked. "Oh, my love, y-you're okay... you're okay..."
She hummed softly, sinking further into him.
"Y-you're—" Another sob interrupted him as it all settled in. Everything that just happened, everything they had just been through, and everything from the last couple of days. That it was a close call; that it was over now.
That this was the sort of danger she faced regularly.
He didn't like it. He hadn't liked it when she explained it, but he wasn't going to tell her what to do with her life. It was obvious she loved her job, and she handled it all well — and Saeran, more than anyone, understood the importance of freedom in life.
But now that he had faced it himself? Seen the risks? Felt all that fear? Well... he was having second thoughts.
Squirrel shifted again, pushed herself up despite his insistent grip. For a moment, he resisted (wishing she would just hold him back just as tightly; aching for her reassurance that she was alright, that everything was alright), before forcing himself to release her. She moved off him, sat next to him with her legs tucked under her, one knee brushing his flank.
He watched her face closely.
She wasn't looking at him. But her eyes were narrowed, more focused — blanker than ever, and yet that blankness contributed to a hint of irritation. Her jaw was set. Her fingers loosely gripped her thighs.
Her eyes lowered, suddenly, to her lap. To her bruised hands. For the briefest of moments, she paled, a haunted look in her eyes — then it was gone, leaving her looking restrained, closed-off, tense.
...Saeran's hand, resting over her knees, ached to hold her painful-looking hands, or her face, but...
Her eyes glanced over his. She was still silent.
"...Pilot?" he whispered.
She stared at her trembling hands again.
She cleared her throat quietly. "Yeah," she mumbled. "I... don't know what to... do here."
"What do you—?"
"There's no true protocol to follow," she answered hastily. "Everything's... taken care of."
Saeran wasn't sure how to respond. But the fact that he was speaking with Pilot... concerned him.
When he spoke, it was barley above a strained whisper. "She's not okay, is she?"
Pilot's eyes darkened, but she wasn't looking at Saeran. "No. She felt too guilty and overwhelmed. She just... pushed me out here. Am I..." Her eyes flitted over him, over his face. Her hesitant face turned a little pink. "Am I supposed to... comfort you? You look... worried."
"Don't worry about me," Saeran murmured, slowly sitting up and facing her.
"But she is. She's worried. And she pushed me out here, so it's my duty to do something about it."
He cautiously reached his hand out — a gentle request, one she could turn down. "Don't feel forced, Pilot... You suffered through all that, too."
She eyed his hand warily. "I've told you..." Her words died out. She grabbed his hand (in an admittedly uncomfortable grip) and pushed it down quite forcefully — then held it firmly to her lap, her eyes finding his and piercing through his skull. He found his heart in his throat, worrying he had just screwed up.
"My duty is to take over whatever is too much for her. There's no 'feeling forced' here." She leaned back an inch, her grip loosening and her features softening. "...Yeah, of course I was there. I took over here and there, but she kept getting pulled back to the front. I'm used to stuff like that entity... So is she, of course, but it's... different. I'm the one who gets to process everything. She gets to treat it like it happened to someone else."
The compassion and sorrow creasing Saeran's features had her quickly taking her hand off his. "Don't start— d-don't say something nice. I'm supposed to... supposed to comfort you... Argh, what does she do? How do I..." She trailed into mumbles.
"Pilot, please don't ignore your own suffering," Saeran urged. "It was... terrifying to see you go through that..."
"See?" She jolted forward, snatching his hands again. "Exactly! I need to comfort you. My words are no good, clearly, but she has other ways, right? Like, like—" She hesitated, then leaned up and quite literally crashed her lips against his. Startled, he let her, but didn't quite reciprocate.
It hardly lasted a few seconds, anyways.
Her narrowed eyes met his. Her face stayed close, just a few inches away.
"Is that not it?" she mumbled, her eyes searching his. "Or does it not work, because I'm not her?"
"No!" Saeran blurted, squeezing her hands. She leaned back a little. "I- I love you like I love Squi—"
"That's not what I meant," she interrupted, averting her eyes. (He swore her cheeks were a little pink.) "She's better at emotions. That's all I meant."
"Pilot," he said with a sigh. "You don't need to cater to me. But... if you want to comfort me right now, I... I would... I would like to hold you. And, ah... for you to hold me..."
She was a little quiet for a moment, then gave a small nod. "She likes that."
He perked up unintentionally. "She's listening?"
"Of course she is," Pilot almost barked, biting her tone down at the last second.
"Um... but are you okay with it?"
"Obviously. Squirrel's okay with it, so I am too. I just might not be as good at it."
"Right..."
"So?" She rose a brow. "Do I... er... hug you?"
"Ah... I'll show you, my love, here."
Her face flushed a little, but she didn't make any comments. She just let him tug her a bit closer, let him wrap his arms around her... She held him back, rested against his chest, her ear to his heartbeat. She knew that usually calmed Squirrel down.
She felt Squirrel creep up like a kicked puppy; she hesitantly took motor control, adjusting and securing their hold on Saeran, pressing closer to him, bringing one hand up to loosely toy with the hair above his neck.
Hesitation. Even as Saeran sunk into their perfect hold, Pilot and Squirrel were at a standoff. Squirrel was considering her return; Pilot was considering slipping away.
But, a few moment later, Squirrel retreated, the burden of guilt weighing heavy on her shoulders. Leaving Pilot to figure out the rest.
Saeran exhaled shakily, somehow sinking even further into her. Pilot's heart was in her throat as she maintained her hold, as she forced her body to relax and stay that way.
And everything that had just happened — now and earlier — flashed through their mind, from start to end.
...Maybe it was kind of... a lot. Even for Pilot. And maybe Saeran's arms around her did feel good. Maybe his heartbeat was comforting to her, too. Maybe her eyes were slipping shut, and relaxing became easier, and she, too, sunk into him.
Or maybe that was just Squirrel's influence. But did it really matter?
One hand left her back, suddenly, and — naturally — she sensed its movement in the air, until it buried into her hair. She began to stiffen a little, until he took a steadying breath and his hand moved again: his fingers combing through her tangled hair.
She squeezed him— No, that was Squirrel, drawn back in a little from his gesture. She still lingered back, nervous, but her presence was stronger than before.
"My love," he murmured hoarsely, and for some reason, chills spread along Pilot's skin. "We should... go back."
We should. This barn lingers with the taste of metal, Pilot thought.
And the fresh memories, added Squirrel.
Pilot exhaled and all the work to get her body relaxed dissipated. She pulled away. Saeran held her tighter, pulling her back — a choked, panic noise escaping him (and Squirrel's yelling echoing in their mind: "DON'T LEAVE HIM.")
Pilot huffed and tugged against his resistance (ignored Squirrel's pleas). Saeran managed, through a small, stuttering voice (so different from the one he had just spoken in), to speak up: "Ple-please, Pilot, please, I—! I-I need t-to, to, to... to—!" His words jumbled up.
And I need you to stop touching me.
Pilot pulled again, and this time his hands gave away. She moved away from him a few inches, ignoring the pitiful expression he sent her, ignoring Squirrel's internal freak out (if Squirrel was so concerned, why didn't she just come out and do something about it?).
"Pilot..." came his soft, pleading whisper, and she could feel his eyes on her, see in her peripheral his hand half-reach out.
But her skin was crawling, and her chest was tight.
The memories lingered here, indeed.
Did they both forget that Pilot was the one left to deal with these sorts of problems? Ones related to entities and mind-bending? Sure, this time was a bit different (Squirrel would have no choice but to face some of the brunt herself), but that didn't change much for Pilot.
Not that Pilot cared, but she needed her space to properly deal with it.
WHY RIGHT NOW?! Squirrel snapped.
A slump of a body and a rustle of clothes. Pilot glanced over to her left. Saeran had laid back onto the old wooden boards, one hand clutching at his chest, his eyes squeezing shut.
There was a sudden, almost audible growl in Pilot's right ear, and then a nearly palpable pressure around her throat. In their mind's eye, Squirrel was now directly in front of her, a fierce snarl on her face, and her hands wrapped tightly around Pilot's neck.
You're lucky I can't actually FUCKING KILL YOU.
Squirrel threw Pilot out of the driver's seat and loomed over her, leaving them empty for a moment (leaving their body to slump forward like a limp doll).
I THOUGHT I COULD ENTRUST HIM TO YOU. Squirrel's thought-shouting rang around the space.
She whipped around and stalked away to the front.
Pilot dusted herself off, unfazed. She wondered how long Squirrel's instability would last — if it would even become Pilot's problem. For now, Pilot put it on the back burner. She had a job to do.
Squirrel jolted as she came-to, realized she was facing the wrong way, and turned to her left. Without a moment's hesitation, she crawled the short distance and grasped the hand over his chest.
Saeran's eyes flew open. He drew in a sharp breath. "Y-you're back," he breathed, and she was about to let him know they had switched, when—
"Squirrel," squeaked from his mouth in a half-sob, and his other hand reached out to cup her cheek. It guided him to sit up, and she helped him — shifting closer all the while.
When his hand was on her cheek and hers were on his upper arms, he still clutched one side of his chest: a grounding method, she knew, but seeing it dropped another inkling of guilt into her soul.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, and tried to say what for, but too many things came to mind. She felt the threat of tears burn her eyes. "...Th-there's so much to... to be s-sorry for... For everything, Saeran. And for Pilot's actions. That wouldn't've happened if I—"
Wasn't such a coward.
But don't say it. Focus on him right now. Don't fall into self-pity.
"You're here now," he whispered, palm lightly rubbing her cheek — the side without the sting, whatever was causing it (a cut, perhaps, or a bruise). His eyes weren't on hers; rather, they seemed to be taking in all the black-and-blue-and-red additions to her face. "None of that was your fault," he added in a hoarse mutter.
Her heart was pounding and she wasn't sure why. Maybe it was the way he still seemed a little distant — the way his eyes weren't quite focused. A stone of guilt lodged into her throat.
"Saeran," Squirrel choked out. She cleared her throat. "Saeran. Ray. D-duckie, please..." Her hands slid to his chest, one grasping his shirt and the other resting over his hand. "Are you here... with me?" she rasped.
Slowly, his mint blue hues (gorgeous despite the exhaustion evident within them) drifted to her eyes. "...A little," he said, with what looked like a bit of a struggle.
Idiot. Your fault.
Stop. Now is not the time.
She blinked back tears and lifted her hand on his shirt to the one cupping her cheek. "C-can we leave here? Are you... able? If we stay in here, I..." She didn't know how to finish.
...His eyes cleared suddenly, but not in any way that brought her relief. No, they intensified, as did his hold. "D-don't leave me," he demanded — and then it all slipped away into nerves and anxiety.
"I wouldn't dream of it," she whispered, voice breaking a little. "I'll, uh... carry you. How about that? You'll... you'll be closest to me like that."
Again, his reply took longer than usual. But she swore a brief smile crossed his nigh-haunted expression. "I'd like that..."
"Okay." She pulled his hand off her cheek and held it tight; moved her other hand to his other arm, and with some maneuvering, they both got to their feet.
Another mumbled, "okay," escaped her on a breath as she mentally debated whether to carry him in her arms or on her back. Just as she reached her conclusion, however, his hand squeezed hers. She looked up at him curiously — in time for his hand to fall from his chest and reach for hers. She let go of his upper arm to take his hand.
Saeran was smiling gently at her, but she could see the trouble behind his clear eyes. She swallowed tightly.
"Ah, um... I need my hands t-to carry you," she fumbled out. She didn't want to face her guilt right now.
"I know, darling." He sounded more present, now, too. His smile softened further. "But I think I should carry you instead."
She blinked a couple times. "Um... I'm stronger."
A quiet chuckle, yet his happier features strained. "You... collapsed not long ago, my love. Let me have this..."
Her throat tightened again. She nodded quickly and jerked her gaze away. Her skin tingled with unpleasant warmth. Her teeth gritted together against welling emotions.
Saeran's hands left hers, reappeared at her back, and guided her closer to him.
He was holding her. She shakily held him, too; and he held her tighter and tighter. And his fingers combed her hair. And his murmuring voice filled her head.
I don't deserve this comfort right now.
But Squirrel despised the thought of resistance.
...She was getting dangerously close to tears. She was shaking in his arms. Her breathing was far from steady. He gave her a light squeeze and told her it was okay to let out whatever she was feeling.
It nearly broke her. But, ironically, she was a little too nervous and scattered and paranoid to be pushed over the edge.
"Not here," she managed quietly. "N-not right... now."
"That's okay," he told her, and pulled back to kiss her forehead. She couldn't look up at him — not until his hand brushed her hair from her face, thus drawing her attention. His warm smile felt undeserved, but she appreciated it all the more. "Let's go back," he said, echoing his earlier words. "We'll be okay, Squirrel, my love."
he's never gonna give you up never gonna let you down never gonna let you down never gonna run around and desert you never gonna make you cry never gonna say goodbye never gonna tell a lie and hurt you~
Can I request a lucifer x gn! Reader that flinched qhen there touched (bc they where born in a Mexican household (iykyk) )? And can there be some comfort/fluff at the end too??
That's all, I hope u have a wonderful day!
Sure :)
Characters: Lucifer
Genre: angst, comfort, angst to fluff
Pronouns: they/them
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"I would never hurt you. Never again. I promise."
Lucifer was confused. Why had you jumped when he reached for your shoulder? He paused and carefully read your body language before speaking.
"I wouldn't do that to you MC...why would you think I would ever do that to you...?"
You were shocked. You didn't mean to! It was just a force of habit. "Well... I had gotten into some more trouble. And usually I would get disciplined..i just thought you'd do the same is all. I mean with mammon-"
"Oh god no, MC. No. Never. Never to you. I swear. You're different."
He played with a weft of your hair as he looked I to your eyes. He was bending down so you understood that he saw you as equals.
"I know what I've said to you before. What I've done..."
"But MC... That was before I knew how different you were. How special."
Your eyes started getting glossy and you felt your lip quiver. You bit it to keep it still but you're sure that made it even more obvious you were trying not to cry.
He kissed your forehead then pressed his to yours.
"I would never hurt you. Never again. I promise."
He gave you another peck before standing up straight and holding his hand out for you.
Was there really any other choice than to take it?
He led you to his room and locked his door along with cursing it so no one would disturb you two. He put on a record and it started to play.
"This is familiar." You thought.
It was the same song that played your first ball here in the devildom. The ball where Lucifer had been a bit less than gentlemen-ly.
You looked up at him in confusion.
He didn't ask for your hand this time. He took it.
He put your hand on his shoulder and his on your waist. Your other free hands were holding each other's. You began to dance.
But this time, there was no glaring. No warning. No threat. He didn't cut off your hand circulation.
This time was different. This is how you wished that night would have went.
Lucifer gave a genuine smile at seeing your face of realization.
Realization that you would never be hurt in that way ever again. He would make sure of that.
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Sorry that this is shorter than the rest of my comfort one shots, if you want a longer one please don't feel shy or ashamed to ask! It will just take me longer :)
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