Harvest Moon: A Wonderful Update

I literally haven’t touched that fuckin’ game since I last wrote about it.

I’ve proposed to Muffy, and we’re about to hit winter, which means 10 more game days until the wedding and chapter 2 and the baby that will grow and abandon me. However, according to what I’ve read (after all the damage has been done, of course, I couldn’t possibly have read it first and then not fucked everything up, that is not how things are done in this house) winter is going to be an absolute mess which is going to result in some not-so-wonderful farm fatalities.

All of my animals are going to die. Starvation. I haven’t made any effort whatsoever to collect grass for fodder, and I have nowhere near the funds to buy “good fodder” for an entire season for a barn full of animals.

The death of all of my animals should irreparably tank my farm. I could start over and actually do things right, but I just… don’t want to. At all. I’ve already started over once because I screwed something up on the first run, but I was just at the end of Spring when that shit went down, so it wasn’t too much of a loss.

I don’t know. I was enjoying it. I want to keep enjoying it. But having to start over from the beginning irritates the shit out of me.

Plus, I want to play “Save the Homeland” at some point.

Excerpts taken from the diary of Angela Pleasant.

Had the dream again.

*                 *                 *

I think I’m running out of air.

My room smells funny. I asked Mom about it, thinking maybe she’d installed some new air freshener or something without my knowledge, but she insists that not only would she never (although she has before, which is why I asked), but she doesn’t know what I’m talking about. She says my room smells “fine”.

But there’s an earthy smell in here, something damp and almost… sweet? Not in a good way.

I’ve searched everything, even the closet, but there was nothing to find. I finally gave up and tried to open my window, but the wind was doing that howling thing again, and I couldn’t stand it. I had to close it again.

*                 *                 *

Still smelling it. Can’t find a source.

I’m afraid it’s in my head somewhere.

Something rotting and meaty inside of me.

I can’t get it out.

*                 *                 *

I take the pills to help me sleep.

I can’t manage without them. Sometimes, I can’t manage with them. But when they work, I burrow so deeply in the darkness that not even the nightmares (and I know they’re looking) can find me.

The Sorrowful Wife

x-posted @ my a03 account

Fandom: Rule of Rose
Pairing: Hoffman/Clara
Summary: Days, and years, and entire lifetimes have passed since Hoffman abandoned his post as the headmaster at the Rose Garden Orphanage, but those little brats are still a constant thorn in his side. But not Clara, his sweet Clara. His refuge, his salvation… his terrible sin. His sorrowful wife.
A/N: This story is part of a 14-part album fic challenge, in which each song from a single album will serve as inspiration for the story. The album I chose is “And No More Shall We Part” by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds.


It has not been easy.

I have not slept well since it happened.

Since I left.

I see it in my dreams, that horrid building. It waits for me, crouched in the corners of my wandering mind, looming in the creases of my eyelids, so that when I lie down at night and close my eyes, it drops heavily into view. I see it plainly, every inch and every detail. The enormous, rusted lock on the gate. The rows of darkened windows punched into the grimy walls. That odd picture they’d drawn of the dog, candy spraying from its screaming mouth.

Stray Dog gives us sweets.

I took Diana by her shoulders and shook her until her head wobbled and her eyes filled with tears. “What is this “stray dog” nonsense?”

Stray Dog kidnaps kids.

“Answer me, damn you!” She cried out when I struck her, but only once. After that, there was only the sharp sound of my hand on her flesh, and the anger in my voice as I demanded an answer that she would not surrender.

The shame bubbles up in me, every memory is a slap to my own face. It is inescapable, what I have done.

Inescapable, yes. The irony of it. I left in the middle of the night like a coward and a monster, but I am still there. I can never go back, but I can never leave.

I am trapped there as surely as they were.

It has not been easy.

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Strangetown Gothic: Part 001

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There’s a nail in the door
And there’s glass on the lawn
Tacks on the floor
And the TV is on
And I always sleep with my guns
When you’re gone (x)

Sand and gravel crunched beneath the tires of her old, beat-to-hell sedan as she turned into the unpaved parking lot of the Deadtree Inn, the only motel she’d seen since she’d passed by the rusted sign that read “Welcome to Strangetown”, population: [ bird shit ].

Even with the windows rolled down, the hot wind of the unfamiliar desert night had her boiling in her own sweat, and she was relieved to have finally found a place where she’d be able to stretch her legs and maybe, if she was lucky, sleep for a couple of hours.

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