#should have used that tag to begin with oops

[wavesoutbeingtossed]

One thing that struck me about Taylor’s letter about purchasing her masters is how so much of the sentiment in it, particularly in the first paragraph, echoes the sentiment in The Prophecy. And I’m not saying that to mean that I think The Prophecy is about her masters (it obviously isn’t), but rather that all these things that Taylor was dealing with just continually compounded on each other over the last few years, and how the deep yearning and grief she felt in her personal life was also echoed in her professional life. Once again, we only see a fraction of her life through our screens, and we never really know the full story of what’s happening in real time (or even ever), but the depths of the pain she’s experienced in the last decade and the way she’s overcome it all to finally come to a place where she seems settled and happy is really inspiring to see. It’s like one by one all these pain points have healed and resolved themselves, and I’m just so, so happy for her. It seems like the last vestiges of what happened in 2016 specifically (but also 2019-2023) have finally been laid to rest, and I cannot imagine what kind of freedom that affords her emotionally and mentally.

[blubunz]

More stepsis puppy with jason i BEG

oop i have a cliche scenario in mind that i'd love to try out !!

《MINORS DNI!》

Tags: stepbrother! jason todd x f! stepsister! puppy hybrid reader; reader is chubby, stepcest, spanking, stuck-in-a-wall trope, semi-public sex, exhibitionism, degradation, tail pulling.

You grunt, hands reaching for the red ball just a teeny bit away from your grasp. Your finger itches, and you beam when you feel the slight contact, only to be let down when it just makes the ball roll a bit farther.

You slump, then trying to pull yourself out of the middles of the gate bars. You honestly haven't thought of how it fits just right, not bigger not smaller, but just right — and you have the misfortune to get stuck like that.

After several attempts of trying to get free, you begin to call for Jason. Surely your stepbrother can help you, he's Red Hood, he's strong enough to remove a few bars.

Your prayers are answered when you hear footsteps and make no mistakes. It's Jason. You recognize him through smell. Well, because you're wearing his shirt too frequently (and sniffing his briefs too often, too).

Jason cocks his head to the side, seeing nothing but your fat cheeks wriggling with your tail wagging back and forth and your exposed cunt and ass.

He calls out your name, full of concern. You look through your shoulder with enthusiasm and gratitude, beaming up at him.

“Jason! Can you please help? I'm stuck!” You say, demonstrating your situation by wriggling your hips.

God, you should stop doing that. Seeing you on your knees, bare ass at him is enough to make his cock stand tall.

“Pup, are you hurt? Did anyone get to you before me?” He kneels behind you, body big enough to hide your form.

“I'm fine, Jay. No one was here but you.” You shyly look away, he's all too caring. “But I don't wanna be here all day, can you loosen the bars?”

“Sure can, sweetie.” He says, rubbing your lower back. “But, tell me this: have you been out in the park, playing with us without any undies under?”

You blush at that. Honestly, you didn't think it was weird at first, you're out to play with your family, not friends or any strangers. But now that Jason has worded it like that, you can't help but feel a little embarrassed.

“Um—” You stutter, and thank fuck he can't pull your hair back and force you to look at him. But his grip is firm and tight on your ass, kneading your flesh.

“What if someone sees you, huh? Are you that stupid? Prancing around in nothing but my shirt. We're not home, puppy. This is a damn park.” He scolds you, that makes your ears fall back. Worse, he's smacking you ass, hard.

“Such a bad girl, aren't ya?” His slaps are rough and loud, you can't help but get worried of the possibilities of anyone walking in. “Shaking your ass like that, it's like you're asking to be punished.”

You shake your head and whimper, clearly his degrading words aren't so pleasant, since you know you've done something bad. But the pleasure that comes along with the pain is incredibly arousing.

“Fat fucking ass, too. I've spoiled you, hm? Gave you too much, that's why you're stuck, too, huh? Those tits too fat? Or these ass? They keep wriggling like I'm watching porn.” He slaps your ass again, pulling your tail this time, too. He loves watching it jiggle and bounce, unable to resist pulling his zipper down.

“Don't worry, baby. I like it big.”

Your ears perk up upon hearing the rustle of his pants shifting. Jason chuckles at the way your tail moves, full of energy and eagerness.

“Dumb mutt. Did you do this on purpose? Bet ya did, huh?” He rubs his tip against your dripping folds, parting it slightly. “Pussy's wet and hot. Fuck.”

He slides in without any preparation, you're so wet it just slips in so easily. He groans, smacking your ass again and again until your skin breaks red and your tail flips over and over.

You whine in a high-pitched, needy tone. The ball temporarily forgotten, now you're focused on a new set of balls that are currently smaking against your cunt with each thrust.

You pull on the grass below, eyes already rolled up and tongue hanging out, panting heavily.

“God! Good fuckin' pussy, pup. My little sister's pussy is the best, huh? Better than anyone...” He tilts his head back, pounding you as if you're not even in the park, the moans loud and pathetic, you both are drowning in pleasure.

“Awh, little sister's so naughty. You gonna fucking cum, bitch? I betcha wanna, why else would you crawl through and get stuck like this if not to let your brother fucking your sweet cunt?” He laughs, pulling on your tail with one hand, the other one grabs your hip so tight it forms a new bruise.

His ball are heavy as they slap against you, his thrust are slow at first, savoring each second with your moans as reference for his dirty music sheet. Jason groans, fucking you faster as his pleasure builds up, panting like a dog just like you.

“Ngh, f-fuckin'— ah, dumb, stupid mutt—” His eyes roll up just like yours, even stepsiblings have to have something in common. “That's such a tight pussy.”

Eventually, his words falter, can't degrade you when your body is making him go wild he loses all thoughts.

Wet squelchs fill the area you two are in, you're sure no one would actually pass here, but you're fucked too good to even register any risks. Let them watch, too, maybe. You'd like that. Someday you'd have to talk with Jason about it.

The curve of his cock is just perfect, ramming inside your womb in a way that makes you drool all over. It gets the animal side of you take over, how his cock makes the only thing in your mind is to carry his children and continues to fuck and fuck and fuck even more. You're sex-crazed, only when you're being pounded so good.

“So good, baby.” He breaths out heavily. “Gonna fucking cum. Shit, gonna cum inside little sis' cunt, yeah?”

“Please!” You cry out, crying because you crave him so, so much that even words can't describe it, how you can't handle it that you have to cry. It's maybe puppy love, but you believe your love extends far, far more than that.

“M'kay—” His voice is shaky, breathless and trembling, he's close too, eager to fuck his sister full of cum.

Jason moans as he cums, thick and hot load nestling deep in your womb. The idea of carrying his pups make you cum also, gushing all over his cock like it deserves a shower full of your juices.

You slump, thighs shaking and you're unable to get yourself up. That's when you hear a loud creak as Jason pushes the bars open, pulling you up to his chest and kissing your cheeks.

“We should go. They might've been waitin'.” He whispers, reluctantly pulling his cock out and tucks it back in.

“The ball—” Your eyes open a bit, crawling to get the ball properly. That gives Jason a good few seconds to admire his cum overloading your cunt. “Got it!”

He ruffles your hair, praising you before supporting you up.

Back to where the others are, Dick smiles and waves at you two. But when he sees a small trail leaking down your thigh, his cheeks flush and he looks away — at Jason.

“Looks like you found her, huh.” He grins, as charming as ever. Dick won't ask what the two of you were doing, it looks without saying.

“Yep, got stuck, so I've been trying to get her out.” That's half the truth, Jason doesn't mention filling you up before that. “Anyways, looks like she's tired from all the fun. Tell Bruce and the others we're leaving first, yeah?”

“Uh, yeah. See ya.” Dick says, his eyes linger on your tail wagging excitedly when you two walk away. Jason must be whispering something promising, because your tail just wags faster.

[leclercsluvs]

CL16 | Already Over | smau

part 3 | masterlist

an: this will include sort of cheating (not really sure what to classify it as), and for that i am going to be using pics of charles and alex, however do i see any alex hate you are blocked or something, thank you very much) fc: sabrina carpenter pairing: charles leclerc x fem!reader ib: vicious by @azulpitlane and the album 'emails i can't send' by sabrina carpenter

charles_leclerc

liked by scuderiaferrari, carlossainz55 and 1.503.666 others charles_leclerc nice weekend! i'm happy with my results, and glad to finally introduce you to my girl <3 tagged: scuderiaferrari, carlossainz55

danielricciardo mate what?

carlossainz55 i literally saw her like once

lecworld oop the tea is being spilled

pierregasly great job this weekend! (very unimpressed i find out about your relationship through insta, i'm hurt)

landonorris what's her name again?

alex_albon wow you almost cut me out

charles_leclerc sorry mate i needed to fit in carlos carlossainz55 i do look amazing in that photo

y/nswrld damn the drivers did not hold back

ricsbestglam ikrrr??? like whats going onnnn?? i need the teaaa lecs.aep riiiight?? it's a neeeed

f1wagsupdates

liked by lecslvr, sharl.aep and 693 others f1wagsupdates charles new girlfriend spotted at the race! she looks so pretty, yet we haven't been able to find out what her name is tagged: charles_leclerc

lecslvr oh my goddd she's gorgeous

leclercs.aep she looks a lot like someone i've seen around in paris. i think she goes to one of the art schools there, i think her name is alexandra or something like that

f1girl1644 we must DIG and find her! charles_lechair or maybe theres a reason charles hasn't told anyone her @ like maybe she likes that people can't stalk her account and point out every flaw

yourusername

liked by danielricciardo, yourbff and 2.562.827 others yourusername give me a second to forget i ever really meant it 🫨 fast times out now! music video out in a few days. hope you enjoy it (the dark hair is just a wig, i didn't dye my hair for a mv)

y/nsworld NEW MUSICC???

y/n.aep omg totally in love with this song!

scfty/n oh so they're like over over??

lecslvr i guess 😭 charles was literally seen kissing a girl and posting her on his ig

norris.aep oh is this going to be an album? about CHARLES??

lqvey/n omg i HOPEEE

danielricciardo so proud of you!

yourusername thank uuuu

carlossainz55 very nice song!

yourusername 🥰

yourusername

liked by danielricciardo, milomanheim and 3.413.034 others yourusername feather is out now!! thank you to everyone who's supported me, and a big thanks to milo for agreeing to be the guy in the elevator 💔 anyway here's a few sneak peaks for the music video, personally my fav, out october 31st!! tagged: milomanheim

y/nsb1tch ohhh who did you blockkk?

yourfriend so you finally listened?

yourusername well i suppose someone knocked some sense into me yourbff happy to be of help 🫡 yoursister girl you should have listened from the beginning. he was BAD NEWS yourfriend we've been telling her!! yoursister did i tell how he responded when she was in that accident? yourbff uhm no??! do spill!!! yoursister TO THE GROUPCHAT yourusername oh lord....

milomanheim thanks for giving me this opportunity. never been in a music video and i did enjoy being the guy in the elevator. even if i didn't get that happy ending

yourusername we'll work together again sometime, and you'll get your happy ending 🙃

luvmilo UHMM WHAT?? okay but like he's gonna eat that role up no matter what it is

leclercssupportsystem okay but why does that guy lowkey look a bit like charles??? i fear 'guy in the elevator' and 'not happy ending' is not good LMAO did she kill him in the mv or something?

yourusername 👀

danielricciardo proud to have been an inspiration 😌

yourusername inspiration and inspiration 🤷‍♀️ sure we were texting when the idea came, but you didn't contribute much :) carlossainz55 she owned you mate danielricciardo now that's just rude :(( yourusername sorry. thanks for the amazing inspiration daniel 🫶 landonorris did you get a sneak peak of it too? maxverstappen1 only a sneak peak? i got the whole song like a week ago 🤷‍♂️ pierregasly you guys got to hear it? kevinmagnussen you guys knew about it?

lcvssjeed some of the drivers being in the comments is making my heart super happy

y/nsvfx no because same! maybe we’ll see her back in the paddock again? 👀 yourusername: wouldn’t wanna miss lando get his first win 😉 vspxcharles OMG OMG OMG SHE REPLIED

scuderiaferrari

liked by charles_leclerc, carlossainz55 and 1.329.082 others scuderiaferrari a nice 1-2 this weekend! happy to see charles on top of that podium again! tagged: charles_leclerc, carlosssainz55

charles_leclerc felt good to be back on top!

carlossainz55 such a good weekend! can't wait for more

leclerswings hes such and angel! 😇

lecsgirl so we just decided to ignore that he supposedly cheated on y/n??

leclerc16 CHARLES P1!!! congratssss

char.aeps so once he drops y/n he starts performing great again? do we think she was the reason he couldn't perform?

angelic.y/n don't you dare try and put the blame on my baby angel! char.aeps she's not so innocent tho 💀 angelic.y/n what's that supposed to mean? was she the one running around being all flirty with two people at once? didn't think so

yourusername

liked by landonorris, yourbff and 2.562.827 others yourusername vicious out now! happy i was able to perform it at coachella! such an experience!

danielricciardo wow you never fail to amaze!

maxverstappen1 is this about a certain person we all collectively don't like?

yourusername perhaps 🤭 maxverstappen1 good to know landonorris may i ask, why you have not done something about it? maxverstappen1 what do you want me to do? pierregasly push him off the track. take revenge for 2012 maxverstappen1 do not remind me of that or i'll push YOU off the track.

carlossainz55 amazing!

y/ncore the drivers being so supportive even tho it's about charles treating y/n like shit is my roman empire

lestappenlvr love how she tries and makes it seem like charles was the bad guy 🙄

y/n.vsp maybe because he was the bad guy? lestappenlvr and how would you know?? y/n.vsp i dont, but hearing these songs, idk i dont think we should jump to any conclusions since we don't have the full story, but we all saw charles running around with that "alexandra" girl while he was definitely still with y/n lestappenlvr well if you dont know why are you speaking about it?? y/n.vsp y'know i could ask you the same thing.

leclercs.aep maybe she should have kept her legs closed lmao

yourusername

liked by yourfriend, yourbff and 2.562.827 others yourusername i wish we stayed just like we were up there </3

yourbff we should hang out soon!

yourusername uhm yes! yourfriend i better be invited! yourusername duh!! danielricciardo can i have an invite too? yourbff depends are you like *that guy*? danielricciardo uhh never 🫠 yourusername you can be there :))

y/nsangel aww how cute (who is she talking about?)

scfty/n probably charles? y/nsangel who? scfty/n charles_leclerc they used to date a little while ago, but it's suspected he cheated on her

scfty/n literally in love with her

y/nswrld who isnt?

scuderiaferrari

liked by charles_leclerc, leclercsbae and 729.362 others scuderiaferrari hoping for another 1-2 finish this weekend! tagged: charles_leclerc, carlossainz55

leclercsbae charles looks so gooooood!!

charles_leclerc definitely going to try!!

carlossainz55 better hope for a P2, i’m going for that top step 💪 charles_leclerc keep dreaming mate, i’m taking that P1 yourusername oh so you do know how to reply?? angelic.y/n oop the tea clfan girl what are you doing here? you're not with him anymore y/n.video they might not be, but her and carlos seems to be friends, so it makes sense shes still following ferrari chili55 i’ve never seen them interact? luvy/n he’s been really supportive of her music, commenting on her post and using her songs on his story

maxv3rs1appen_ i doubt it. with max and red bull being strong you should be lucky to get P3

norris.vfx nahhh lando is gonna get his win this weekend (let me be delulu i need it)

yourusername we're rooting for him 💪

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, yourbff and 3.927.175 others yourusername thank you to everyone who's been with me through this journey. i'm happy to finally be back on tour, emails i can't send has been out for a few days, i hope you like this album i've been working on. i will not be naming any names, but if a song is about you, you probably know 😉

yourbff SO HAPPY YOU'RE BACKKK (i better get tickets>:(!!)

yourusername i guess you'll have to buy them then 🤷‍♀️

video.y/n okay so i went to one of the first concerts of the tour AND SOME OF THE DRIVERS WERE THERE 🥹

angelic.y/n waittt you have to tell which ones!! video.y/n well carlos, daniel, lando, pierre, max, george, lewis, kevin, alex and logan all stood together (so i assume they went together???) leclercsluv no way!! i went to! i actually saw a certain charles in the crowd and i was pretty shocked

danielricciardo one of the best concerts i've been to

maxverstappen1 usually i don't go to concerts, but i'd go to y/n's again in a heartbeat danielricciardo ofc you would ;) landonorris now what is that supposed to mean daniel??? 🤨 danielricciardo 🤐 yourusername thank you all for being there 🥰 it meant a lot to me 🫶 danielricciardo especially max 👀 alex_albon daniel behave 😑

lecslover charles lurking in the likes???

charles_leclerc i truly am sorry for what i did. do you think you'd ever be able to forgive me?

youbff no. yourfriend no. yoursister no. danielricciardo no. yourusername maybe with time. not right now tho. go take care of your new girl. you'll know when i'm ready.

-

part 4

tags: @exotic-iris13 @callsignwidow

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Follow You Anywhere 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, controlling behavoiour, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You're online existence threatens to leak into your real life.

Characters: Captain Syverson

Note: I couldn't help myself.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

"So... this is what it looks like today?" You aim your camera at the sky outside your window, "sorry, the screen is kinda in the way."

You let out a nervous chuckle and flip the camera to yourself. You make a silly face. You were never overly fond of your image on the screen but the vlogs help. Like a little diary, mostly for yourself. You and your seven followers on Insta.

You bat your lashes and fix the clip in your hair, "oh, I got this free. Yeah, I bought a new hair oil and they threw this in the bag." You let your thoughts run wild from your tongue. You found a journal too daunting, the blank lines leaving you just as empty. This is easier. "Anyway, I shouldn't have spent the money to begin with."

You give another splintered laugh. The one you let out when you're anxious, or scared, or happy, or even mad.  You bite your lip and catch yourself in your digitized reflection. You stop and turn your camera to your bedroom.

"Today, I'm gonna clean this mess. Me and you guys together."

You scour the room with the lens. Your laundry is piled on the floor and you have a stack of books you need to put on the shelf. It isn't the worst it's been but it's getting cluttered.

"But first, we'll have breakfast, can't start the stream on an empty stomach," you chirp and nearly drop the phone, "oops, uh..." You fix your grip and check the number in the corner. You have one viewer; on a good day, it's three, most days, it's just you talking to the void.

You go into the kitchen, just down the short hall from your bedroom, opening into your living room. You go to the counter and prop up the phone so the camera is on you again. You tap your fingers and hum.

"What should we have for breakfast?" You ask. You don't feel as crazy talking to yourself even if there's really no one watching. "Oo, French toast. Gotta use up the eggs."

You go to the fridge and pull out the eggs and the milk. You bring them back to the counter, shuffling around for a bowl, a whisk, and the cinnamon.

You mix up your ingredients and dip the bread, one piece at a time. You put on a skillet and fry up the slices, presenting a stack of three to the camera. You smile and dust some icing sugar over the top.

“Probably shouldn't have all this sugar for breakfast,” you shrug at the camera, “alright, quick break…” 

You put the stream onto the ‘back soon’ page and take your plate to the small foldout table against the wall. You're not a fan of eating on camera. You finish and rinse up before snatching your phone up again.

You return to your bedroom and put the phone on a middle shelf and flip the stream back to live. Still that one viewer…

“Anyway, I'm back,” you wave at the lens.

You hesitate, looking around as you stand straight and spin. Cleaning, right. Before you can set to work, the phone dings.

A message?

You go back to your phone and squint at the chat bubble floating up.

‘Looked delicious too.’

“It was,” you agree with a grin, “thanks.”

‘Don't mean the toast.’

The next message has you blinking. Your nape burns. They can't mean… you clear your throat and giggle.

“Well, let's get started,” you back up and clap your hands, “you know, I've been so carried away with work. This place is a pigsty.”

You sit on the floor and sort through the clothes. You toss them into the basket as you sit in silence. You stop yourself and glance at the phone.

“How about some tunes?” 

You walk on your knees to your bedside and turn on your bluetooth speaker. You go to your phone and find a playlist before pulling the stream back to full screen. As you do, you hear a noise you've never heard before.

‘BourbonBear has tipped.’ Huh? Really?

“Oh, thanks, er, BourbonBear,” you giggle around the name, “how nice. Maybe one day I can afford a proper camera for this, huh?”

You smile and go back to the dirty clothes. You quickly ball up a pair of panties and shove them in the basket. You carry on until they're all untangled.

You move on and tidy your desk, bending underneath to gather up a few loose pens. You make your way around the bedroom, putting away books, fixing the blankets on the bed, and straightening the little figurines on the shelf above the bed.

You grab the stick vacuum and suck up the dirt and proclaim your task done. It took a lot longer than you thought. It's after eleven. The one viewer is still there.

“Whew, okay, I'm gonna get myself washed up and go to the park. Maybe I'll post that later,” you give a thumbs up next to your head as you talk to the phone, “thank you.”

You end the stream and let out a sigh. Your videos aren't much and you doubt they're very interesting but it's like venting for you. Almost like having an invisible friend. You think you will take some pictures of the flowers to share.

🧸

You take your usual path through the park. The walks help you unwind your worries. You try to come after work at least a couple days during the week and both days on the weekend. You find the mindlessness of the routine to be calming.

The deeper you get into the wooded length of the path, you slow to admire the birds in the branches and the critters crawling in the brush. You take out your phone and snap a few photos of a blue jay before it wings away shyly. You smile and flip the cam, smiling as you take a goofy selfie. You can add that to your post.

The path winds ahead and you follow it in the din, listening to the river just down the incline to your left and the tweeting from the sky. You lift your face and inhale the woodsy scent. The sudden crack of a twig startles you and you spin to face the noise. There's no one there. Sometimes you forget other people are free to just walk on through.

You chuckle at yourself and continue on. The path leads out to a suburban street where you like to look at the houses. They're much more spacious and pretty than your grimy brick apartment building.

You come out from the shade of the trees and wander along the avenue. There's a mailbox painted to look like the house it stands before and a little nook for second hand children's books to be borrowed through the neighbourhood. Sometimes you picture yourself living in one of those houses though you don't think it could ever truly be.

As you crane your head, you sense a shadow in your peripheral. You're walking a bit slow. You sidle to the side to get out of the way of the other pedestrian. When no one passes, you look back. No one.

You must be imagining things. You shrug and plod along. You're already thinking of what kind of tea you'll have when you get in.

🧸

You sit down with your mug of ginger citrus tea and set to editing your post. You add a light filter to the photos as you shuffle through them on your laptop. The process is slow as the computer is nearly five years old now and chuffing on its 4GB drive. You get to the selfie you snapped, a stop.

You lean in to get a better glimpse of the background. It's fuzzy but there's a figure just over your shoulder. How could that be? You looked and there was no one there. That's so strange.

You stare as a chill courses through you. You're thankful you hadn't put your earphones in. You wouldn't have heard whoever it was and they may have even snuck up on you. Or maybe it's just a trick of the light.

You hit ‘post’ and try to shake off the foreboding. It's nothing. You're being silly. Besides, you're home and safe now. Next time, you'll be more alert.

A message pops up. You stare at the dot over the chat bubble. You tap with your thumb and bring up the DMs.

'Stream tonight?' BourbonBear asks.

You tilt your head. You already did some today. You're tired and want to lie down and enjoy your time off. You type back 'sorry, not tonight. tomorrow <3' and another notification vibrates. A comment on your latest post.

'Pretty sweater', also from BourbonBear. You heart their comment and leave a thanks below.

You flip back to the selfie. You can't really see your sweater in the picture, just the scalloped knitting of the collar. Well, you suppose it does look cute. You put your phone down and leave it on your desk. That's enough Insta for today.

🧸

You time your shopping trip for the least busy hour. It's early and the store is almost empty except for employees stacking bread on shelves or wandering listlessly around the deli. You have your phone in the basket of the cart, aimed at you as you roll it along slowly and check your list.

The stream is just as empty. It's only just started but you don't expect too many people to be up at this hour. You stop and grab a loaf of sourdough, checking the date before showing it to the lens and putting it in the cart. You smile and announce the next item.

"Strawberries... you know I was thinking I might get raspberries instead," you say, catching the eye of one of the yawning employees. You must seem like a weirdo. It's why you typically don't film in public.

As you roll around to the fruit, you notice the count change. One viewer. You choose a basket of raspberries and show those. You see a message float up; morning.

You smile and return the greeting softly and place the berries down carefully beside your phone. You need yogurt to go with the berries.

You work down the list, making some substitutes as you tick off each item. You linger in the ice cream section a bit too long and talk yourself out of a gallon of rocky road. You lean on the handle of the cart and smile down at the lens.

"Going to check out," you say, "see you all later."

All? There's still just the one. You end the stream and take your phone out of the basket.

You wheel around to checkout and line up at the only open till. You put your items up as you greet the cashier with a smile. She seems tired as she gives a dull response.

As you put the yogurt on the belt, you sense someone join the queue behind you. You glance over as a large man stands only feet away. He's tall and burly and staring at you. Maybe he heard you talking to your audience, or he would think, yourself. You continue to unload your groceries.

"Never tried those," he comments as you take out a box of strawberry Pocky.

You pause and hold them up, chuckling nervously, as you do.

"Pretty good," you answer, "I eat way too many."

You notice the man doesn't have a basket or a cart. That realisation needles under your skin. Maybe he's just getting lotto or smokes?

"You like sweet stuff."

"Too much," you squeak even though it doesn't sound like a question.

He just stares, not saying a word. You swallow tightly and pull the last few items out of the cart and get behind it to wheel it through the lane. As you do, he looms closely, adding to the sweat gathering on your lower back.

You roll along and wait for the cashier to ring through the rest of your things. She bags them up neatly in two large paper bags. You pay with your card and thank her as you lift the first into your cart. The man behind you moves forward and grabs the second, startling you.

"Got it," he says as he places it with the other, squeezing by you, crowding you.

"Oh, excuse me, sir," you stammer, "oh," you lean on the cart to roll it to the end of the lane as you make space between you and the stranger. "Thanks, er, uh... thanks."

You turn and grab the handle, jittering. He's really weirding you out. Especially as you realise he's walked right by the cashier. He's following you.

"I can help get ‘em in your car," he offers in a drawl.

"Oh, that's alright, I... bus," you cringe as you realise you've said too much.

"I could drive you. I have a truck."

"No thank you," you walk faster, the cart rattling with your pace.

"Why not?"

"I don't know you, erm, sorry--"

"You don't?" He catches up and shoves his phone in your face, your Insta profile glaring back at you, "I paid for the milk, maybe the berries..."

"What?" You stop, just by the door and turn to him. "I don't--"

"You haven't eaten, have you? I'll take you for French toast. That's your favourite."

"Um," you blink at him as your eyes tinge, "I don't..."

"You got me through a hard campaign, just wanna say thank you," he adjusts his cap and you notice the pin on it. He's a veteran. Oh, 'campaign'. 

“Just got back home," he shifts on his feet, a meek gesture for such a large man, "and... your videos helped me remember it. Helped me hold onto it in the sh-- in the stuff."

"I... wow, okay, that's... I'm glad I could do that."

"I really don't mind giving you a ride. Lots of weirdos on the bus," he insists.

"That's nice but--"

"Please," he softens his tone, "been a while since I sat down and had breakfast without worrying about the sky falling."

You shudder and grip the cart tight. You don't know how to say no. You didn't think about who was watching. You always just assumed they were bots. Then you think of the chaching noise and the amount flashing on the screen.

"BourbonBear?" You ask.

"Yeah," he cracks a crooked smile and smooths his hand over his thick beard. "Everyone calls me Syv.”

[yeyinde]

lavender skies | Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x GN!Reader

Then suddenly, and all at once, there's a loudness in your head: a hundred whispers echoing in time to the same off-beat rhythm, full of memories and moments shared between you, threads woven throughout the years all buoying to the surface as you realise you're a little bit in love with him.  (And that, maybe, you've been a little bit in love with him the whole time.)

tags: friends to lovers (but the type of friends who are basically already dating and everyone knows except them - until suddenly they do), mutual pining. Slight Kent bashing, oops. Golden Girls as a coping mechanism. warnings: none. very tame, considering who I am as a person. Heavy make-out sess, though. word count: 6,6knotes: This has been sitting in my requests forever (I lost the original, but the gist was: Gaz + pining + idiots in love). You can blame a lot of this on summer rain and 80s city pop. Been going to the pier and listening to it while I wrote this. Not my best, sure, but it was fun.

The Tinder date he warned you not to go on (and seriously, mate, who uses Tinder anymore?) ends like this:

Your date, the biggest gentleman in Kent, as proclaimed in his bio (a red flag in hindsight—there's no such thing as a gentleman from Kent), sneaks his number to the waitress, and then leaves you behind in downtown Manchester to go bar hopping with a group he just met. 

It's not a great loss. All things considered, it's not even the worst date you've ever been on. It was just a spur-of-the-moment whim—equal parts anxiety and megrim: the sudden fear of being single forever (and no, despite what Kyle might say, it has nothing to do with the wedding invitation you'd gotten on Facebook, or the three others that came before it)—and therefore, there isn't much to be upset about. Not really. 

But the world doesn't work on half-hearted lies and shaky truths, and on a dank little corner in Manchester, abandoned by your ride home, your abysmal date who barely looked at you, you can't deny that it hurts. That it's a little bit of a hit to your self-esteem in a way that makes you angrier than you were before, because, honestly—he wasn't even a catch to begin with. 

Stupid. 

You should have listened to Kyle, to his immaculate wisdom and emotional maturity far beyond his years, but you hadn't because—

Well. Sometimes the world should work on little lies. If only to the ones you tell yourself. Ones like:

It's completely fine—really it is—if your friend of nearly eight years is moving on with his life. And it's totally, absolutely okay if your best friend meets some flighty barista in Amsterdam and won't stop talking about her for the meagre three weeks he's been back from his impromptu trip to the Netherlands, then to Mexico. It's fine. It's all fine. 

Because maybe you are, too. 

And maybe that's the reason you went out with David from Kent. 

From Kent? He texted, only hours before your date. (Hours because he'd been busy with this thing for his job—his boss is corrupt and the world is, too, but at least Amsterdam Barista is doing fine). You can do so much better than that, birdy.

You wanted to say, what? Like someone from Amsterdam instead? but you're doing this new thing where you try not to sound as mad as you think you are. Zen, maybe. Internal peace and happiness. So, instead, you say:

He's nice. I like him. 

Words that, of course, have come back to bite you. 

He isn't nice. He wouldn't stop staring at the waitress, and talking over you, or just generally ignoring your existence. He left you downtown, stranded without a way home. You don't like him. You really don't even think you were that interested in him. 

But it makes sense.

Kyle is moving on. Your friends are getting married. 

And where does that leave you? 

Well—

It leaves you stuck downtown with shoes that were intended to be used for aesthetics, the kind that means standing entirely still and immobile, and not walking the fifteen kilometres to your flat because you'd spent all your money on this super flattering outfit and these unfunctional shoes, and can't afford a cab or an Uber. 

Sometimes, you pretend you're a functional adult—one who knows how to navigate everything with ease, and you live in the present, the real world, where time is fluid and unchangeable, and things make sense (maths and geometry and physics) unless they don't (black holes and the vastitude of space and fate)—but moments like these remind you that you don't. That you live, instead, somewhere in the parentheses of both. 

The indigo sky, murky black and void of any stars, seems to grumble along with you as you turn toward the street, readying yourself for the long walk home. Except the groan sounds less commiserating and more ominous. A noise that seems to reverberate through the crowded street, and right into your bones.

Some have the wherewithal to find shelter. A smart move because almost a moment later, the heavens split, and a summer deluge drenches the street. It's unrelenting in its downpour, soaking everything in its path in a shrill roar. 

Caught in the middle of St Peter's Square, there are not many places to duck under for sanctuary, but you find an alcove beside a store, and dart toward it. The non-functional boots are pretty to look at, but with each step, you feel the hard synthetic rubber grind against your heel. Blisters form, break. The burn makes you inhale sharply against the pain, hobbling now on tender feet. 

The wall is slick with condensation, but you lean against it to keep your feet from taking the brunt of your weight. 

It reminds you, quite suddenly, of that night in Cardiff with Kyle. When you'd drank three-dollar margaritas at some downtrodden bar with your friends and ate rather limp-looking fish tacos (a mistake, of course, and Kyle still can't look at corn tortillas the same way), and laughed until your belly hurt at something he'd said—the words lost to alcohol and faded with time—and then leaned over, promptly throwing up in a bush. 

You still can't drink tequila without giggling (and gagging) at nothing, a phantom memory, and the thought presses against a tender spot in your chest in all the wrong ways. 

Time is fluid. An unavoidable truism that you can't escape. 

There are people you've known since you were a child whose faces you can barely remember. Ones you promised the world to, to always be together, who you hardly think of anymore. 

Moving on. Moving forward. 

You think, then, of Kyle. Of the distance that lingers between you both, widening each day. It's nothing you've done, nor he; it's just—

Life. Concurrent. Everpresent. 

It hurts to lose a friend, you'd always think. A small moment of grief, of loss. But not like this. Never like this. 

Stuck in a downpour in the middle of Manchester, you realise you miss him. Have been missing him. 

Huddling under an awning, you fish your phone from your soaked pocket, and pull up the only person you want to be around right now, in this moment of vulnerability. Loneliness. 

You send him a quick text, date was a bust. Stuck downtown. Are you busy?

Kyle's reply comes three breaths later. For you? Never. Send me your location. 

You send him your pin. 

Another message pops up: stay put. I'm on my way. 

You met Kyle Garrick at university. 

It's one of those things in life that just sometimes happens. A happy accident. An eventuality that makes the world feel a little less daunting. A lock and key sliding into place. Sunsets in pretty ochre. 

Someone you knew and someone he knew (two people who are now best man and groom in the upcoming wedding) decided to invite all of their friends out for a night, and it was then, slightly tipsy on cheap ale when you realised the boy in the back—a head taller than everyone else and more befitting inside the glossy pages of a magazine—was different, somehow, from anyone else you'd ever met. 

It started when some stupid kids decided to pick on another. A smaller boy with a blue cap. 

Kyle was the only one who noticed. The only one who seemed to care. 

It was his anger that drew you to him in the first place. Moth to a flame. It's quick—the sizzling flame of a lit match: suddenly burning the wick and nearly uncontrollable. But it's short. A flickering star, burning bright, burning hot, and then being tempered and swallowed down until it's smouldering. Still hot, still dangerous, but—

Managed. 

It was a snap. He was laughing, jovial. Telling jokes, and having fun, but still maintaining that enviable enigmatic persona: reserved but kind. Funny, but mature. And then it crumpled in an instant, folded away into anger. Bright and blistering. He walked to them, eyes blazing, and didn't wait for any excuses when the kids noticed him, just quickly decimated their foundations, and crushed their feeble lies between his teeth. 

"Bullyin'? That's a pretty foul thing to do, innit, mate?" 

And that was that. 

He handed the kid back his hat—the one the others knocked off into the gutter—and told him, clipped, that he was better than them. 

Just keep your chin up, yeah? Fuckin' losers, that lot. Don't go messing about with them anymore. Fucking pricks. That's a nice hat, too. Where'd you get it? Really? Oh, that's mint—

It was that moment when, unprompted and unnoticed, he easily slipped away from the group to help some kid he didn't even know that you realised you were very keen to get to know him. 

"Fancy a kebab, hero?" You asked, smirking up at him. 

A grin broke across his face. Sharp, feral. "I could always go to a lamb kebab."

The rest, really, just came quite naturally. Your best friend. The person you go to for anything—even terrible dates that leave you stranded in the rain. 

You just wish you knew when it all began to change, to fall apart. 

Kyle meets you near St Peter's Square. 

You spot him first from your hiding spot beneath the awning, catching sight of his form moving through the (now) empty streets, hands shoved in the pockets of his denim trousers, the bottoms tucked, sensibly, into his fawn-coloured boots. 

Even with the hood of his windbreaker pulled low over his brow, you can pick him out of a crowd with an ease that is as warming as it is jarring. 

You wave him over when he stops on the mouth of Mount Street, looking in toward the Starbucks on the corner. 

He finds you just as easily. And oh, his expression makes your toes curl in your misshapen boots. 

Anger pinches the corner of his mouth, and hangs off the furrow of his brow, the divot between his eyes. 

"Unbelievable," he huffs when he reaches you in the middle of the street, and sucks his teeth when you open your mouth to protest. 

"It is what it is," you offer, playing the peacekeeper. You fall into step with him, trying not to wince. "I'm over it." 

"Yeah?" The shadows across his brow deepen. "Are you sure? 'Cause… I'll fuck him up for you." 

Setting your friend on a man from Kent feels entirely too vindictive, despite how much of a rush you get at the thought of seeing the man cowed a little bit. You shake your head, playing the part of a reasonable adult. 

"It's okay. I'm just—I'm just, over this, yeah? Can we—"

Kyle stops you with his hand against your shoulder. "You alright?"

"My feet hurt," your smile is strained. "Terrible shoes." 

"Take 'em off."

"Are you crazy—?"

"I brought slides for you. Figured you'd wear something stupid." 

"Okay, fair. But—ouch? We can't all be crazy good-looking Armani models. Some of us have to work for it." 

Kyle snorts. "Just take your shoes off, yeah? Throw 'em in my bag."

You can't deny it feels blissful when you lean against the slick wall outside of a shop, toeing off your tight boots. Aching feet freed from their prison. The sigh you let out makes him glance up at you from the pavement, bent over the rucksack he brought. 

There's disapproval in his gaze—maybe at your choice. Choices. The date he warned you about. The boots. The socks he spots are stained with blood on the knob of your foot. 

He tuts. A soft admonishment that cuts through the silence of the empty square. But it's all he says. He swallows the rest and drops the shoes he grabbed on the pavement in front of you, slowly pushing them forward with the tip of his toe.

You try not to grin when you see them.

Crocs. The ugliest ones you could find in Schuh. You'd bullied him into getting a matching pair with you. Neon yellow adorned with little clips. 

You slip them on as Kyle reaches down to grab your boots. He pauses with them in his hand, eying them with something that taints the air with his disdain. 

"When did you buy these?"

"On Friday." When he was sleeping off his impromptu trip to Chicago. He brought you home deep-dish pizza, frozen, and promised that it tasted much better fresh. "For the date."

"Why?" Is all he asks. 

You shrug. "They're cute…?"

His eyes stray to your shoulders. The wet fabric of your shirt. His chin lowers slightly, but his eyes stay fixed on your flesh, on the goosebumps that bubble to the surface, spreading over your exposed skin. Eyes flicker, catching a droplet of water you can feel running down from behind your ear, falling over the slope of your neck. It breaks against your collarbone. He watches it all. 

There's tension in the air. Static. The pressure builds and reeks of ozone when it presses into you, knuckles digging into the hollow of your throat. It renders you unable to speak—locked in a paradigm where the world beyond the honeycomb of his eyes ceases to matter, to exist almost. Thick honey ensnares you. Molasses. It clots against reason, logic, and makes you feel weightless. Floating, unmoored, in this unfamiliar abyss that closes in around you. 

Except—

It isn’t. 

There’s something aberrant about it, anomalous, that you can’t ignore; but beneath it sits a preternatural sense of familiarity that bends the paradox into knowns. Into tangibles. Concretes. 

This is the same tension that has been simmering—festering, almost—since before he joined the miliary. In Cardiff when he leaned against you in the taxi, boney shoulder digging into your arm, and said, ‘dunno what I'd do without you, y’know? 

It was the hazy smear of neon from the shops perched on the street. An ethereal gold hue streamed in from the window, cutting across the tenebrous in an asymmetrical chiaroscuro. The light was soaked up by him. Warm honey, the perfect compliment to his eyes, to the soft pink of his lips. 

How could you possibly describe the feeling that spumes in the pit of your stomach outside of undiluted comfort? 

Home.

It feels like like in shades; muted. A soft undercurrent that lingers inside something else, something deeper—

Moments in the foyer when he was heading back home for the evening. When he’d linger in the doorway, shoulder balanced against the frame, arms folded over his chest, and warned you not to watch Taskmaster without him. 

He’d know, he said. 

When you asked how, he just said:

“Because I know you.”

It feels like that. Like that and something more. Everything, all of it, coalesces into this. Into this moment where you can’t stop staring into the flecks of mahogany and charred birchwood in his eyes, and he can’t seem to decide where to keep his, vacillating between the slope of your neck and matching your stare. A lurch, a flash of something in your chest when your gazes meet. The deep sfumato of a bare forest in the middle of winter—rich browns, raw topaz, honey and amber in a sea of white. A sleepy hinterland. Solemnent and peaceful. Dreamy. Hypnogogic. 

The world always seems to shudder into a deep slumber whenever he’s around. 

He dips closer, swaying into you. Gravity, maybe. Tidally locked satellites on the same rung. Something bubbles in your chest. Unwinds from its dormant perch between the gaps in your ribs, and climbs up your esophagus. Ready, you think, to be free—

In the distance, tyres squeal against the pavement. 

—and all at once, the moment burst, breaks. Shatters into a million pieces, cosmic dust, and you watch them fall around you, blinking rapidly, as though you’ve just woken. 

It feels like slowly coming down to earth when you quietly gather your things, words now stuck in your throat. In their prison. 

Kyle tears his gaze away from your bare skin, clearing his throat. 

"Hardly." He murmurs after a moment and slips his jacket off his shoulders before wrapping it around yours. It smells of rainwater, wet rubber. Beneath the polymer, you can smell Kyle—vetiver, cypress, jasmine; sweet and heady—and you bury your nose in the hood when he turns back to the empty street. “Well, uh—”

You can’t speak. Not yet. 

He seems to understand. 

"Yeah," he nods, and reaches out, tugging on the end of the drawstring. "Let's get out of here." 

The rain lightens into a muted drizzle, soft droplets that fall, almost rhythmless, on the wet pavement. The town sleeps, the streets bare. Empty. The only sounds come from your slick footfalls, a horn in the distance. 

It’s an easy silence that lapses between you—not at all unlike the lulls before, when things were easy and featherlight and endless; when you could talk to him about everything, anything, and all of the worries in your life were saved for something else. Never him. Never, ever him. 

But it tugs at something in your chest. The same pressure blooms at the edges, lingering in the periphery. You think of the spell you fell under—quiet yearning—and shake your head, desperate now to break it. 

It’s just as easy to slip into familiarity. To tease, and taunt. And so, you do. 

"I'm surprised you haven't said I told you so by now. That's so impressive self-restraint."

His gaze slides over to you. "Well, you know, it's implied."

"Oh, is it, now?"

"Yeah, like when you messaged me and told me about it and I said—"

"Who even uses Tinder?"

"—that he's knobhead, and you're gonna get hurt."

You scoff. "He's from Kent, so."

"Even worse," he makes a face, derision contrasted by the jaundiced lamp spilling over the pavement. "A Tinder date with a guy from Kent? What's next? Moving to Bristol?"

"It's a nice area." 

He rolls his eyes. "Sure. As nice as Essex, maybe." 

"The two are not even comparable—"

"'Dunno why you're rushing into anything, anyway,” he angles his chin toward you. “If this is about Carver's wedding, I said I'd go with you, didn't I?"

"Yeah, but…"

"But what?"

"That's sort of—like, you just have your own thing going on. I don't want to get in the way."

"I've always had my own thing going on. So have you. But that's never stopped us before, has it? What's changed."

"What about—" you swallow down something thick, bitter that wells in the back of your throat. "You know. Amsterdam. The Barista, or whatever."

His brow knots together. "And what about David from Kent?"

You sweep your hands out, motioning morosely toward your Crocs, your damp outfit. "This is what happened with David from Kent. Not exactly the fairytale meet cute you have with Amsterdam—" he makes a noise, like he means to interrupt. You cut him off. Bury it. "And besides, you should take her. I'll just—" 

"I want to go with you."

"Why?"

Kyle falls to a stop near the Kebab shop you usually go to whenever he comes back from his missions, when he's craving good, hearty food that will rot his insides and clog his arteries. A small comfort from before, when everything he has now was just a dream, and you were struggling students in university who could barely afford a meal each and would split a lamb dinner over ale and terrible movies from the noughties back at your flat. 

The suddenness of it all makes you blink beside him, slowly angling your chin up at him. A questioning noise wells in the back of your throat, but when you finally turn your gaze to him, it does out. A snuffed flame. 

He brings his hand up, finger scratching at the soft patch of skin on the bridge of his nose where it starts to arch up. The look on his face, hidden, slightly, by the night blanketing overhead, but just illuminated enough by smears of neon and flushed street lamps for you to see it clove into something slightly flustered, hesitant. Sheepish, almost, like he hadn't meant to say what he did, and now doesn't know how to proceed forward. Cards tucked tight to his chest. Does he play his hand or fold? 

You blink. Then blink again. Struggling, almost, to take in the suddenness of his flustered state. 

Because the thing is:

Kyle doesn't get embarrassed or sheepish. 

A running gag in your mutual friend group is that Kyle is twenty-eight going on sixty-five. An old man crammed inside the body of a young adult. He runs hot—passionate about his beliefs, quick to temper when he thinks an injustice is being doled out; a disciple of loose stoicism, but of a new age variety that is half parts stereotypical stoner chillness and ripe maturity—but he rarely is ever caught unawares enough to become embarrassed by something. He just has a perfect gauge of himself and those around him, able to quickly make friends with anybody he meets, and self-aware enough to know when he's in the wrong, when he needs to dial it back. 

Being his friend for so long, you know the nuance of these expressions. His mien is ingrained in your head: known and catalogued. Nothing about Kyle is a mystery to you except the things you're barred from knowing (his second life away from home, you often joke: wholly confidential, entirety draped in secrecy). 

But the look on his face is entirely alien to you. An expression you hadn't thought him capable of making. 

It's jarring. It bludgeons into you with a ferocity that takes your breath away. 

You know the man standing beside you, but this, everything else, is so unearthly. So foreign. 

"Kyle," you hedge, taking a small step closer to him. You're not sure why. Maybe to reacquaint yourself with the man standing before you. Maybe to find something of familiarity within him to comfort the sudden crescendo of your pounding heart because even just the heady scent of his cologne—vetiver, amber—quells the sudden bloom of anxiety in the pit of your stomach. "Are you—?"

"No," he mumbles, then huffs out a soft laugh. It sounds mean, in a self-deprecating way, and your heart lurches for him. "Yeah, no. I'm alright. I just—shit, you know? 'Course I'd wanna go with you. Should be kinda obvious, no?"

Sure, you want to say. Sure, no, totally. Very obvious. And maybe had he not stopped, not made this peculiar expression on his face—like he isn't sure what to do when he always knows what he wants, what he's meant to do—you might have said them. Might let them tumble from your lips, equally self-deprecating and a touch forlorn despite never really knowing why, but that would be a lie, now. 

Because you do. 

The look on his face is upsetting—not because Kyle never makes that expression, or because he's never uncertain about anything, ever, but because you don't know it. It's not something you've ever seen before. And it hurts. 

It's stupid. This whole thing. It shouldn't make you feel some sense of loss when he does something you don't expect. He always does. It's his brand, now—jettisoning across the world to catch bad guys and slap the trite American sense of justice and liberty for all across the faces of anyone who tries to oppose it—and you're very much acclimated to this side of him, the one he hides away from you, giving nothing at all about where he's going, what he's doing, what he's done, until he's back in England, safe and sound, and texting you at six in the morning for an English spread because he missed home. And maybe, maybe he missed you, too. 

Those quiet moments are tucked into a cosm where it's only you and him, and greasy food, and reruns of Golden Girls together with your feet in his lap as you sit on the chaise and pick favourites (his is, of course, Rose) until the sun goes down, and he heads home because he has a debriefing in the morning in Hereford, and you have work. It's bereft of unease, of tension. Time slips through your fingers fluidly, and you hardly notice it's been hours since he first arrived. Comfortable, wholly, in his presence and in your skin. 

Soulmates, everyone used to joke. You just get each other. Near finish each other's sentences. 

Except for lately, where there has been this undeniable tension simmering between the two of you—a sense of fragility that you can't comprehend.

Growing apart, you thought. And then: guess it's time to do the same. 

It made sense to make the first move. To download Tinder—much to his chagrin—and start looking for your—

Your Barista from Amsterdam. 

And oh. 

Oh. 

Maybe it's the way the street light frames the angles and plains of his face, or the shadows that run deep lines of tenebrous across the valleys in his eyes, the sharp slope of his lips, the soft pout. The inscrutable expression that rents a jagged divot between his brow, and an unsure twist of his mouth. Maybe it's everything. Nothing. 

But the only thing you know right now is that you know him. Have known him. Deeply. Intimately. In a way that goes beyond the boundaries of bodies, of flesh and blood. Bones and marrow. You know his soul. His essence. The foundations of who he is cobbled together in a lonely kebab shop over cheap ale, commiserating on an endless stream of papers and assignments; the eventuality of ever after when you hand in the final one. Over beans and toast in the afternoon, a whole day spent lounging in your flat watching reruns of Golden Girls, and petty arguments over Taskmaster that always seem to go a little bit too far, and never far enough. Fights that end two days later when he shows up with Greggs and a complete box set of that show you said you wanted to watch but never had the time for. Bargain shopping in Tottenham on an early Saturday morning because there's this chair, you see, one that you saw on their Instagram page and you simply must have it. 

Soft moments in between, brackets where life doesn't seem to wrap its cold hands around your throat. Time spent in each other's company just for the sake of it.��

Climbing onto your roof—a thatched mess of moss and straw and broken asphalt shingles that will one day give under your weight—and watching the stars, always searching for one that rockets across the sky while he murmurs beside you, quiet in this stillness that falls like snow in the dead of night around you. A hushed whisper as he relays the places he's been—all stars, he rasps, hand brushing wide strokes across the raspberry sky, dusted with light pollution: I'll take you there one day to see. Best fucking beer I'd ever had, too, just don't tell my cousin because he thinks the shitty lager he makes for his bar is good—and you try to picture it amongst the grey clouds. A life on the opposite side of the world. Just the two of you. Always. 

And that's what it's always been, hasn't it? Just you. Just him. 

It's sometime past midnight on a street corner in Manchester. Your feet hurt from walking all night, and your clothes are damp from the rain that caught you off-guard. A summer downpour. It clings to your skin in a way that's both freeing and wholly uncomfortable, but you're not thinking about that. You're not thinking about anything at all, not now. Not really. There's a silence in your head as the world falls into pieces, breaking like the jaundiced light that cuts crevasses and canyons in the tenebrous that colours sharp valleys of his face. He turns, then, a gentle list of his head as he takes you in, breathes your silence and questions the wideness of your eyes, the soft parting of your lips. The movement makes the light spill over the arch of his nose, the slope of his brow. The dawning of a new day. A new world. The untouchable of the moon where no light shines now burning hot under the sun. 

Then suddenly, and all at once, there's a loudness in your head: a hundred whispers echoing in time to the same off-beat rhythm, full of memories and moments shared between you, threads woven throughout the years all buoying to the surface as you realise you're a little bit in love with him. 

(And maybe you've been a little bit in love with him the whole time.)

So, you say it. You whisper all the words that bubble up, impatiently waiting between your teeth, effervescent and burning white-hot as they throw themselves over bone and flesh to be free. 

Confessing goes like this: 

Molten agony in your guts as the secrets you barely understand yourself dissolve into the atmosphere, spoken aloud and born on cobblestone and petrichor. Wide-eyed shock, uncertainty, as a new quiet falls over your shoulders, louder than anything you'd ever heard. Guncotton in your nose. A million detonations in your ears. 

You've never much liked the silence. You break it, then, with your bare hands. 

"...and that's basically it." 

It isn't much. It isn't poetry. You're not even sure the words were real. A figment of your imagination, broken free because of baristas in Amsterdam and losers from Kent, abysmal dates and the unending fear of being wholly alone in a world you're not prepared for, all without the person who makes you feel a little bit better about the nothingness that permeates around you. 

And sure. Sure. You don't need him. If Kyle decided never to speak to you again, you'd cry and you'd hurt, but you wouldn't be less of a person because of his absence. He doesn't complete you in the same way you've read about in thick books with strong-willed protagonists and an abundance of petty misunderstandings, but he compliments you. Elevates the good and stifles the bad. You want to experience things with him—not because there's some grand force at play, red strings knotted around your fingers that lead you back to him—but because you like his company. His thoughts. His mind. His presence. His essence fills you with joy in the same strokes it makes you want to pull your hair out sometimes. Good and bad. You want it all. 

You want it. Want him. 

And he—

He's taking you home a little past midnight where you'll make yourself beans and toast and maybe try and sleep, or turn on the television to watch four women you're intricately connected to eat cheesecake and solve each other's problems. He could be at his own flat right now, playing that video game he said he wanted to try when he got back, or watching that movie he was supposed to with his flatmates, his friends. He could be talking to some barista in Amsterdam. 

But he isn't. 

He's here with you. Still. Still. 

"I just—," you say, or try to. 

But the rest is a muffled gasp against soft lips when he presses his against yours, stealing the words out of your mouth. 

You can feel your heart beating through your lips. Taste him on your tongue when he draws you closer, hands reaching, grasping. Pulling you into him, into his body. You fit against him, tucked safe between the parentheses of his arms. He tastes of cardamom and cornflower. Lavender notes between his molars. Hints of milk on his tongue. You drink him down and know, then, that this is what they mean they talk about love being a feast because you chase this taste for the rest of your life and never be satiated. 

He loops his arm around the small of your back, dragging you closer still. As if any atom between your bodies is an affront. There’s no hesitation in the action, in the way he burrows into your skin. No trepidation. 

And maybe it would be silly for there to be any. You know him—every iota, every inch; secrets whispered at midnight in a shallow breath and dreams uttered at noon. To be known, to know, is a powerful thing. You feel it ghost across your flesh, featherlight, and reach for it with your bare hands. Seeking, searching. You don’t stop until the tips of your fingers meet his warm skin, curling around him. Anchoring yourself to him. Stuck, now, in permanence. 

You find spots that were untouched before. Behind his ears, the dip of his brow, the curve of his nose, and the slope of his jaw. Cupping it in the palm of your hand, a plinth for him to rest his chin. 

Your canvassing makes him groan, makes him tilt down into you as he begins his own exploration, chasing you in a mad pursuit. Sliding over your valleys, your plains. Running over the rugged mountains and the steep cliffs. He scours your topography with eager, nimble fingers. It’s slow, languid. There’s no rush with this, a consensus you both seem to come to rather quickly when he pries open your mouth and tangles his tongue with yours. It’s sweet, soft. His hands mimic his chase, sliding along your body as if he means to commit the entirety of you to memory, searing it in his brain. 

It’s only when he comes to a crossroads at your navel, pushed flush against his body, does he stop. You moan in despair at it, wanting more and more, not ready to give up this taste that curls over your tongue—saccharine sweet, salty—and Kyle echoes the noise with a groan, a quiet plea for air that both of you desperately need but can’t quite make yourself take. 

“Fuck—” he groans again, breath stuttering out in sharp, deep gasps. “Can’t bloody tell you how long I wanted to do this for, fuck—”

His words seem to peel back the dreamy gossamer of a slowly burning sensuality. It ignites in a blaze, not at all unlike the swiftness of his anger. The sharp, sudden strike of a match. The crackle and hiss of flames renting the air. 

The blaze starts at the point where your upper lip touches his, and almost immediately, it consumes you. 

It's frenzied when he kisses you again—feral and wild: all teeth and tongue and nips against your bottom lip but the moment you sink into the fervour, Kyle changes it. Slows down. Chaste pecks to your sore lips amid a sensual onslaught. A languid roll of his tongue, soothing the burn his teeth left behind. 

The way he kisses you feels like a paradox. 

It's organised chaos. Refined madness. A cluttered mess of finesse and deliberate suckles; an artist's masterstroke. 

You can't keep up. His rhythm is fierce and uncatchable. 

Each step seems to stutter. An avartan you can’t keep pace with. Elongated taals, dips. A crescendo of harmony that is matchless, unreproducible. You struggle along with his swift current, his unerring tide that sweeps you away; unmoored, adrift. The tentative exploration ends. He knows you, now. All of you. And this is his summit. His scramble to the top. It’s biting passion; roaring flames. 

You cling to him, holding tight to the liferaft he offers in a slow huff, a gust of mirth across your lips and into your lungs, slowing down to accommodate you. Malleable, now, he lets you lead, lets you take over, and move seamlessly with him. In tandem, parallel. Equilibrium brings you to heel, and you sigh into his mouth—a deep exhale of everything that has been building and building, tipping the scales around you until it was unbalanced and precarious. Teetering on the edge a precipice unknown. 

His hand roams across your known geography—hills and streams, rivers and canyons—until he reaches your hand still bracketed around his cheeks, slowly peeling it away from his flesh to slide his fingers between yours, holding tight, and—

Kissing is immaculate. Bending at an altar, and making an offering to something bigger than yourself. It’s the spark of lightning flashing overhead, static in the air. Magnets drawing closer and closer until they snap together in the middle.

But holding his hand?

It feels like coming home. 

The world tipping back into place. Amber warmth in your veins; the softness of a jasmine petal. You suck in a deep breath at the shock of it all. 

You think of missing puzzles and loose sea ice drifting alone in the vastitude of the ocean. You think of a life where he isn’t in it and find yourself shuddering at the wrongness that emanates from it. 

You want him. Want him—

It’s Kyle who pulls away first, resting his forehead against yours. You blink slowly, eyes catching dark amber, honeycomb. It draws a smile from you, full and deep. Giddy on the taste of him, of this. 

The only thought in your head is finally, finally.

You see his lips curl in response, eyes lidded and heavy. Blooming with want, affection. Adoration. 

"What, ah—," he laughs a little, then, breathless and happy, and the noise anchors itself to your breastbone, pressing into the hollow of your ribs. A place you'll keep it forever. "What now?"

He hands you the starless sky, and places it into the cup of your palm. Breathes laughter in the air, paints the moon with his joy. You think about the places he wants to take you, and the ones he swears you'll never go. You think about aeons from now when the world is gone and the stars all die out, when there's just the hazy lavender of endless abyss you can't make sense of. You think of him, and you think of you, and you wonder when it started to just make sense for there to always be two. 

Maybe that night in Cardiff when he held your shoes and gave you his coat. When he draped his arm around your shoulders, laughing at something stupid you'd said. A year before he joined this task force he makes cheeky remarks about but never goes too deeply into detail. When it was just endless summers spent working and drinking and eating good food. 

He'd asked the same thing, then, half slumped over in the taxi, and three sheets to the wind. It made his eyes darken, endless pits. Black holes. The expanse of the sky is framed by brown lashes, and drooping lids.

And you'd said—

"Beans and toast?" It feels right. It feels good. "We can—"

He huffed, too, just like he does now, and squeezes your hand once, tugging you along. 

"We're not watching Golden Girls."

You watch Golden Girls. Kyle wraps his arm around your neck, keeps you tucked in close to his side. He steals kisses from you when Sophia says something that makes you laugh until you're breathless and trembling. 

When David from Kent texts you, he grins wide, and whispers in your ear, think I've always been a little bit in love with you, you know? 

Yeah, you say, and kiss back until the taste of him is etched into the space between your teeth. Since Cardiff. For you?

"Since Uni for sure." He smiles again, sheepish and a touch flustered. It glitters on his brow and nips the apples of his cheeks. "You stole my heart when you devoured four lamb kebabs and then ate my tabbouleh. Said to myself, yeah, that's the one for me, innit?"

"On second thought, what's that Barista's number? Might try my luck instead."

"Nah, you're smitten," he presses his lips into the hollow of your throat, nips his teeth against your pulse point. "And you're all mine. No take backs."

"Ah, for fuck's sake—"

Ahhhhhhhh. Sappy romcoms are my kryptonite and it shows.

COD MASTERLIST | NAVIGATION

[mochinomnoms]

Hiii! For the Hanahaki event can I request Vil (romantic) with prompt #7? A gender neutral reader would be appreciated, thanks!!

Also if youre up for it maybe prompt #12 with Ace (Platonic) with the reader’s object of affection still being Vil? This prompt with Ace is too funny for me to ignore I just HAVE to sneak him in 😭😭

vil schoenheit, platonic!ace trappola x gn!reader [tags] – fluff, humor, semi enemies-to-friends-to-lovers, sickenly sweet [wc} – 3,458 prompt 7: “I've heard of wearing your heart on your sleeve, but wearing petals in your hair is a whole new level of fashion statement.” prompt 12: "No, I haven't been growing marigolds out of my ass. Why would you even ask that?!” note - writing this was surprisingly hard. but i got it and i think it's very cute, i just hope Vil is mostly in character :skull: also i don't know german so idk if the nickname is an accurate translation! comments loved and appreciated! a floral inconvenience

Marigold: often used during festivals like Diwali and Navratri, marigolds symbolize purity, auspiciousness, and the divine.

You were going to murder him. 

“Heyyyyyy Prefect!” Ace gave you a cheeky grin as he held your glass bottle of very expensive salicylic acid serum, balancing it precariously between his fingers. “What about this? Can I take this—whoops!”

“ACE!”

You shrieked as the bottle slipped from his fingers, only to be caught by his other hand, an infuriating grin still on his hand. 

“Hehe, relax! I’m just messing around—oh shit!” The bottle slipped again from his fingers as a now panicked Ace scrambled to capture it. “Oop. Got it. It’s fine.”

“Oh my gooooooooood, Ace, I’m going to fucking kill you, give that back!” You snatched the bottle from his hands, giving him a good kick behind the knees as you walked past him. 

“Owwwww, Prefect, why are you so mean to me?” Ace pouted as you put your serum back on your desk with the rest of the skincare Vil had gifted everyone at the start of the SDC training. Ace continued whining as he packed his bags to go back to Heartslabyul, being left behind by Deuce who went to get snacks from Sam’s with Epel. 

He felt bad that all the food you had was cursed by Vil at the beginning. 

“It’s almost like you want me out of your dorm, kinda rude, you know.”

“You know what’s rude?” You smacked down the pillow Ace threw your way as you huffed, “Your face. Ugly ass, you know you had a room next door, how’d all your stuff end up in my room?”

Ace shrugged as he shoved his wrapped up sweater into the now bulky backpack he’d brought over, throwing himself onto your bed and grunting as he bounced on the squeaky frame. 

“I don’t know, how’d you burn the Queen of Hearts’s statue—”

“That was you—”

“—the world will never know.” 

You rolled you eyes as you laid on your stomach next to him, hugging a spare pillow to your face. Closing your eyes, you sighed as the events of the last few weeks replayed in your head. Between acting as manager for the SDC group, to barely keeping up with classes, to Vil’s overblot, you were utterly exhausted. Speaking of Vil…

“Ah, that’s right, I should check on Vil before he leaves. I wonder if he’s doing okay?”

“With you at his beck and call? Perfectly fine, I guarantee you.” Ace yelped as you smacked his side, giving him a red-faced glare. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Ace turned on his side with a teasing smirk. The kind of smirk he gave you whenever he wanted to fluster and embarrass you in front of your friends and teachers. 

“It means whatever you want it to mean. Maybe someone should consider not acting like a little kid with a crush whenever they’re around Vil—owowowowowow—stop hitting me!”

You pounded your fists onto Ace’s sides and back as he tried to roll away from your reach, arms cradling his head in meek protection. He managed to roll off the bed, turning over to look at you briefly to stick his tongue out and politely flip you off. Ace let out a small shriek as you launched off the bed after him, running out of the room into the hall and turning into a goosechase. You could practically hear the yakety sax song playing in your head as the two of you pushed past Jamil and Kalim, the former crying out at you in annoyance. 

“Watch it!”

Ace practically threw himself down the stairs, jumping past four whole steps, using the banister to whip him around into the main hallway where he ran into the living room. Finally catching up to him, Ace positioned the coffee table between you two as he continued egging you on. 

“Ayeeeeeee, embarrassed Prefect? Gonna throw a fit?” Ace let out a low cackle as you both shifted around the table. 

“Gonna throw your ass into the fucking sun, little bitch ass! You got something to say then fucking say it!” 

Ace snorted as he pointed behind you. “You’re one to talk, you wanna talk about the marigolds coming from behind you? It’s like you’re growing a garden out of your ass, wanna talk about that?”

“The fuck? I haven't been growing marigolds out of my ass. The hell you’re talking about,” You turned your head to look behind you, still growling at him now with confusion. “Why would you even ask that—WHAT THE FUCK!?”

You hissed as you jumped backwards into the table, the edges jamming into your skin. Behind you had been a long trail of beautiful, shimmering orange flowers. Upon closer inspection, you were pretty sure they were marigolds. 

“...Ace, this is your fault.” 

“What! Nuh-uh, I’m not the only with flower sickness—”

“The fuck is flower sickness?”

“You know, hanahaki? The love disease? How do you not know what flower sickness is, it’s like basic 8th grade bio—”

“I didn’t go to school here, dumbass!”

Ace’s mouth formed an ‘oh’ shape as he remembered. “Oooooh yeah, I forgot.”

“Forgot what? You little potatoes are acting awfully rowdy so early in the morning.”

You looked up to see Vil standing in the hallway, a bemused Rook behind him inspecting the flowers on the ground. Vil briefly made eye contact with you, both of your sharing a small smile before an irritating, itchy feeling made its way in your throat. 

You felt a hand pack your back as you started roughly coughing up several bunches of marigolds into your hands as Ace grimaced. 

“I forgot that they’re not from here, so they got no clue about hanahaki…or any other illness…huh it’s kinda a miracle they haven’t gotten sick from something else yet.” Ace hummed, as he leaned down to look at your face. 

You made eye contact with your peripheral vision, motioning Ace to lean closer into you and horasely whispered, “Come… closer…”

Confused, Ace obliged, ear up to your lips, giving you the perfect opportunity to sock him straight in the gut. Your dear, beloved friend gagged from the pressure, hands cradling his stomach as he fell to his knees, groaning in pain. 

“Y/N…” Vil sighed in exasperation, walking over to give you a gentle flick in your forehead as he chastised you. 

“It’s unbecoming of a friend of mine to be so belligerent, do you really have to be so crass with all your friends?”

You clicked your tongue, licking the spit from your lips. “I’m not with you, besides Ace deserves it, you know how he is.”

“Mm-hmm, and how long have you been coughing out the flowers, meine Süße?”

A pleasant warmth flooded your cheeks at the nickname. You choose to ignore the tickling sensation of marigolds growing from the tops of your head, which instead formed into sneezing fits. 

“I've heard of wearing your heart on your sleeve, but wearing petals in your hair is a whole new level of fashion statement.” He remarked, leaning down to observe the blooms. “Now, answer my question, meine Süße.”

“Achooo! Ugh,” You sniffled as you replied, “Um, not that long—achoo!—ago, ugh. Just today—”

“Ah! The little trickster started expelling the belles fleurs approximately a month and a half ago!” Rook chirped, a little too happily for your tastes. “Two weeks after we began training for the SDC.” 

Vil let out another sigh as you whipped your head to glare at Rook, hissing out, “What. The. Fuck.”

“Excuse me?! Language Y/N!” Vil barked at you, making you flinch and burst into another coughing fit. Noticing this, he softened his voice, though the blonde still sounded angry.

“That’s nearly two months with the flower sickness, have you been taking potions to help with the symptoms?” 

You shook your head, clearing your throat. “Ahem, no, uh. I didn’t know that there was medicine for this kinda thing, haaaaa I just figured I was being pranked by someone.”

You heard a snort behind you as Ace stood back up, grumbling, “Of course you would, dumbass.” 

“I will actually kill you—”

“You will actually not.” Vil placed a gentle hand on your upper back, guiding you to the front door. “Rook, ensure everyone packs up and cleans their mess by the time we get back, I believe Kalim may still need help packing up.”

“Oui! How kind of you Vil to escort our lovely Trickster to get them a remedy for their affliction!” 

Rolling your eyes, you let Vil guide you out of the dorm, calling out to Ace, “Don’t forget to grab the rest of your stuff, it’s still in my room!” 

“Okayyy!” 

With that, the door shut behind you two as you began a pleasant walk over to what you assumed would be Sam’s shop. A pregnant silence fell over you two as you walked down the pathway leading to main street, having to maneuver past the alchemy building and botanical gardens. You were hyper conscious about his hand that remained on your back, which is when you started another coughing fit. 

“Oh you poor dear, did you really have no clue what was going on all this time?” Vil spoke to you in that soft tone that he’d been reserving for you since you first became friends, a few months ago. You’d gone into the Film Research Club interested in working as a stagehand, plus you had a good working knowledge costume design and general clothes repair, which was sorely needed. 

It’d been an incredibly rocky acquaintanceship at first, as Vil made subtle, snide remarks on your disheveled appearance, while you shot back with loud, brass comments on his ‘Regina George wannabe’ act. Now, he didn’t know who Regina George was back then, but took offense that a ‘dirty, lumpy potato would have the audacity to insult him’. 

He only kept you on in the club because no one ever willingly signed up for backstage work, and you only requested free access to spare cloth and sewing materials to fix your clothes. Vil was also more than happy to point out how scruffy the patches all over your uniforms made you look: 

“You certainly fix the part of the ramshackle Prefect, now don’t you?”

Though, looking back on it now, you’re pretty sure he wasn’t aware that everything of yours was either found in Ramshackle’s attic or bought with the meager allowance Crowley gave you. Shortly before finals, Vil found you crying in an isolated part of backstage because another first-year permanently bleached your only jacket during a botched potions class.

“What’s going on back here, practice your scenes upfront with the rest of us, I don’t care how ugly you look crying—Prefect?”

You jumped, scrambling to get back up from the dusty corner you’d shoved yourself into. You awkwardly wiped the tears from your face, wrapping your arms around yourself as you gave Vil a feeble glare.

“What do you want Vil, I already told the others that their costumes wouldn’t be ready yet, if you want me to get stuff done, you gotta stop annoying me—”

“You’ve been crying.” His simple statement shut you up, as he approached you with a firm look on his face.

“…Yeah, stating the obvious much?” you muttered back, finding the scuff marks on the ground very interesting. Vil let out a sigh, reaching into his jacket to take out an off-white, embroidered handkerchief.

“I’m trying to be sympathetic. Ugh, you’re all red and puffy, let me see.” Vil tipped your chin up with his fingertips, gently patting at the tear streaks on your cheeks. “You look worse than normal…is the red bleach stain on your uniform meant to be a fashion statement?”

Pausing at the stuttering breath you took, sniffling, you answered, “No, some dumba—”

“Language”

“—Some jerk,” you drawled, “from my last class messed up his potion, and it got all over me. Stained my only jacket, right when it starts snowing, too.”

Vil raised a brow at you, leaning back once he was satisfied with your dried cheek.

“Only one? Even Ruggie has a few spare uniform jackets from Leona, did you seriously not think ahead to purchase a spare?”

You half-laughed, half-scoffed at his statement.

“You think Crowley gives me enough money to buy another jacket for his bougie ass—I mean, fancy, school? I barely have enough to feed myself and Grim between the roof caving in and the water pipes breaking. The bathroom flooded again last week.”

You sighed, rubbing your temples as you felt a migraine coming in, unaware of Vil’s growing horror.

“I was lucky enough to find my uniform in the attic, it waaay too big and makes me look homeless, but at least it keeps me warm…now it just looks even more like shit.”

You finally looked up at the blonde, expecting him to lecture you on your foul language. Instead, you were surprised to see Vil’s horrified expression.

“What do you mean, you barely have enough for food?”

It was then that you discovered that no one outside your group of friends were really aware that you were stuck on campus, victim to Crowley’s whims and needs. You know the others in Heartslabyul were faintly aware of your predicament, being from another world and stuck until Crowley found you a way home. Ace and Deuce did their best to help repair things around the dorm, but could only do so much. Savanaclaw and Octavinelle knew of the disarray of your dorm, but based on comments from Leona and Floyd, weren’t aware of just how much you were struggling just to eat and sleep. 

Ruggie definitely was, seeing as he occasionally slipped you a spare meat bun or snack that he happened to buy extra of when running errands for Leona. Ruggie was a real one, as long as you didn’t point it out. 

Since that day, Vil had sort of taken you under his wing, along with Epel who you hadn’t met yet at the time. You had to give him credit, he wasn’t the villain you’d made him out to be in your head. And Vil admitted, he enjoyed that you were quick on your feet and enjoyed your banter, as long as it was unique to him. 

He spared you his previous uniforms that he’d grown out of his freshman and sophomore year, minus the band and vest, watching as you mended the waist and ends to fix your stature. More often than not, especially after hearing that you’d be stuck by yourself during winter break, Vil was sending you care packages with personal hygiene products from brand deals he never took. He’d send fabrics and sewing supplies with sewing patterns. Vil even started buying you breakfast and lunch once back to school, though you refrained from joining him for dinner in Pomefiore. 

In exchange, you managed to replicate, with his help, some of the scripts for the more famous musicals from your world. You even told him who Regina George was! He still wasn't fond of the comparison, but did find the musical intriguing. Vil was fascinated by the works of art your world produced, and just slightly enamored in the way you described them with glee and fondness. Still, the exchanges still felt a bit uneven.

You’d once made the joke that he was practically a sugar daddy, just without the sugar. He snapped back, “Well, I’m not stopping you, now am I? I’ve never had a sweet tooth, but you’re more than welcome to give me thanks, meine Süße.” 

(You spent that night screaming into your pillow with a red-hot blush while Grim looked on with concern.)

Truly, you two had developed an unlikely friendship, one where you both spoke your minds to the other with no hesitation or fear. Which is why the lack of conversation at the moment was slowly driving you insane. 

You sneaked a peek at Vil, taking a sharp breath as your eyes met his own. It seemed that he was watching you with his very lovely, sharp purple eyes. The thought sent a hot flash through you as you sneezed a flurry of petals and pollen. 

“Ooof, ugh, this is gonna make my allergies go haywire.”

“Sam will have some potions that will help with the symptoms, though you will have to confront the root of the cause.” Vil slid his hand down to rest in your mid-back, rubbing his thumb against you in a soothing motion, though it cause you to shiver and flush. 

“Yeah, okay.” you managed to squeak out, groaning as you felt the tickle of glowing marigolds pop up on your skin and in your hair. “Ummmm, so how do you get rid of, uh, Ace called it hanahaki?”

Vil nodded and opened his mouth to speak before being interrupted by the faint screaming of your name. Both of you looked down the path, where you saw Deuce running over to you two, followed by a confused Epel chasing after him. 

“PREFECT! PREFECTPREFECTPREFECTPREFECT—” 

Yelping as Deuce skidded to a half and grabbed you by your arms, shaking you with intense concern, you managed to reply a stuttered, “W-w-what?” 

Deuce paused his shaking to give you a concerned lecture, “You didn’t tell us you had the flower sickness!? Why didn’t you say something, you’ve been running around for SDC all this time—”

“You too—”

“But I’m not sick!” Deuce dug through the paperbag you’d just notice he was holding and shoved a pale pink potion in your hands. “Here! Take this!”

Before you could even touch the bottle, Vil plucked it from a confused Deuce’s hands, studying it with scrutiny. 

“Hmm…This is an average allergy relief potion for hay fever, did you actually ask Sam for a hanahaki symptom relief potion, or did you just grab the first thing you saw off the shelf?”

Deuce visibly deflated, opening his mouth to sheepishly reply before Epel interrupted him with a harsh, “I told him to ask, but he got all riled up and started yammerin’—I mean, uh, talking about getting the Prefect help immediately.”

Vil sighed, handing Deuce the potion back and shooed the two away with a wave of his hand. 

“Just go back, I’ll handle it, just make sure your messes are all cleaned up before we get back.”

The two replied, “Yes sir!” and continued on their path, waving goodbye to you. Though you could hear Epel mumble to Deuce, “Those are marigolds, right? I think Vil’s favorite flowers are those, you don’t think…”

You slowed down to ponder Epel’s words, remembering what Ace initially called the illness. 

“Vil…Ace called it a love sickness…would these flowers related toooo, I don’t know, a hypothetical crush somehow?” 

Vil briefly opened his mouth, closing it as he hesitated to speak. You think you could make out a soft blush on his cheeks. 

“Yes. Your hypothetical crush must favor marigolds. Can’t say I blame him, I’m fond of them myself…” 

The two of you made eye contact, a knowing look in his eye and tone making your heart skip a beat and you look down in embarrassment. 

“Oh…I see…” You coughed awkwardly, a few petals flying from your mouth. “So you said there was a way to get to the root cause?”

Vil hummed, stopping at the entrance of Sam’s shop to turn to you with an unreadable expression. 

“Yes, as an illness based on love, appropriately the cure is to confess your feelings to the one you’ve found yourself fancying.”

A cold flash went through your body as your stomach dropped. Again. “Oh.” The thought of confessing to Vil made you sick, like you could puke at a drop of a coin at any moment.

“I wish you’d mentioned something sooner, I could’ve helped you…ease into it.” Vil murmured,  his hand moving to cradle your cheek. He squished your cheek with a fond look in his eye. 

“I know it’s a daunting task…I won’t rush you into it.” Vil moved his hand to brush your hair away, leaning down to place a soft kiss on your forehead. “When you’re ready to say something, just let me know.”

Leaning back, VIl covered his mouth to hide his amused smirk. Your face was a blazing red as the marigolds grew a trail down your neck and chest. He motioned for you to follow him into the shop, holding the door open as he held a hand out to you. At the moment, you’re having a hard time imagining why he’d only ever been typecast in villain roles, he looked more like an enchanting love interest catered for you specifically. 

“For now, I’ll be by your side. I will wait for you, meine Süße.”

[midnight--sadness]

Gi-hun burlesque dancing…. Thinks about him in one of those gorgeous burlesque dancer outfits… let me cook

In-ho is at nice club after a long day of work. Leather booths, low, gold lighting, and a stage where a small jazz band usually plays some soft music. Not too crowded, either. He orders his drink, only to realize that they accidentally came on the clubs burlesque night. He’s internally bickering about whether to stay or leave when the lights dim, the curtains part.

Slow music starts to play, and a man in a long red dress, a dazzlingly glitter covered bralette, corset, elbow length gloves, saunters onstage. The cinch of the corset makes his thin waist look doll like, and accentuates his hips. The bralette pushes up what chest he has, making them look like a perfect pair of tits. In-ho can hardly rip his eyes off the man’s body, but finally gets a good look at his face. His doe-eyes are lined with dark liner, and his lips have a faint touch of gloss. Not overly colored, but like someone had grabbed him by those hips and bit them again and again until they were that pretty shade of red. Then, his eyes trail downwards, to the man’s stockings and heels.

Slow music begins to play. The dancer’s hips sway with the motion, serpentine and smooth in a way that makes In-ho need to sip his whiskey. The first thing to go is the boa, which slides down his shoulders and onto the floor. He raises his arms up, stretching like a cat, then traces his hand down his arm, over the curves of his chest. He bites one of his gloves with his teeth, and tugs it partially off. Not all the way. The dancer crosses the room to where In-ho is sitting. And he waves the half off glove in front of his face. In-ho flushed, but takes the offered glove in his teeth, and slowly slides it off the Dancer’s arm, revealing more tan, smooth skin. The others in the bar whoop and cheer.

The jealousy that goes through In-ho is almost more than he can take. It hits him like a truck, how badly he wants this dancer. Nobody else should be able to see him, not unless they knew who he belonged to. In-ho can feel the warmth of the dancer still on the glove. Now that it’s inside out, he can see small writing on a tag. Property of Seong Gi-hun. In-ho glances up at the dancer— Gi-hun. He shudders.

As Gi-hun turns around, and he can see how the dress hugs his plump ass. He sees it even clearer when the dancer bends over, and pulls up the hem of his dress, revealing long, stocking clad legs. While bent over, he pulls his other glove off with his teeth, and In-ho feels his heart leap in his chest. His dress catches the light in a way that makes him look like he’s drenched in rubies, even as he finds the zipper of his dress and tugs it up, up, up—

The skirt falls away in a rush, and Gi-hun is left in stockings, clipped to a garter on his corset, the bralette, his heels, and panties. Fucking panties. Glittery red ones. In-ho crushes the glove in his hand. If it were up to him, he’d drag Gi-hun back to his house and really appreciate him. He can picture himself feeling up his tits, his curvy hips, plump ass, then tugging his gaudy underwear down and eating him out until he doesn’t even need any prep before sliding his dick into him.

Gi-hun doesn’t undress any further than that. What a shame. But what he does do is walk around collecting tips before the next act, heels clicking on the floor. When Gi-hun approaches him, In-ho gives him three 50,000 won notes with his business card folded inside of them.

“Do you do private shows?” In-ho asks. Gi-hun flushes, his cute eyes going wide.

“…for how much?” Gi-hun asks. In-ho tilts his head.

“Triple that per hour. My card’s in the money. Call me when you’re ready to go.”

Gi-hun nods nervously, stumbling backwards on his heels before scampering to wherever his dressing room was. In-ho watched him go, more than excited for where the night may lead.

(I think I wrote too much oops)

ANON YOU DIDNT JUST YOU SERVED US A 7 COURSE MEAL 😩🥴😤

IM NEIVNISDENIFOEFNVNRO

[tempestaurora]

This is a silly question but…how do you write longfic? I try so hard to expand my fics but the furthest I’ve gotten is 6k. I guess my writing style is naturally short, but I’d like to write longer fics and then for some reason I just don’t know what else to say no matter the plot I come up with. Any tips would be helpful, ty

ooooh interesting question actually. i've never thought about it directly, so i'm gonna collate all the thoughts i'm having

i think it definitely helps that i am a run-on sentence person. i like description and dialogue and i like internal monologues and getting to the bottom of every little thing. so my writing is naturally taking up more space that way (but, on the flip side, i really struggle to pare it down for something short, especially if there's a max word limit). i have found my own sweet spot for this, especially as lots of description actually really annoys me when i read.

the second thing i do a lot is let the characters have the conversations they want. which often means that i end up digging into something i don't foresee, and then i like to make everything match up (so a reference at the beginning should be brought up again 2/3 through etc) so i'm adding bits in and letting them have their conversations and that always makes things longer

when it comes to mid-length one shots (7-15k or so) i think its mainly about how the plot is turning out and how the characters want to talk and what extra moments they are carving out for themselves as i write. so if we use the 9k hatefuck fic as an example, because that's relevant to me rn, that plot originally looked like:

bad shift (500?)

a conversation where they agree to have sex (600?)

arriving at the apartment and quick ground rules (600?)

sex (1-2.5k)

apology (1000)

next shift (500?)

which i had figured would take about 5k (though i did not break it down explicitly into these numbers), that would be fine.

how that actually turned out was:

bad shift (600)

a conversation where they agree to have sex (700)

OOPS lets do the drive too (600)

arriving at the apartment and (not so quick) quick ground rules (1000)

sex (2200)

apology (750)

surprise clean up and after care (1100)

wait maybe they should cuddle too (800)

wait what about when he leaves he cant sleep there (600)

next shift (800)

so it pads out because i follow where the characters want to go and what they want to do, and maybe they should talk in the car too. the reader wants to know if the car ride home was awkward. they want to know what they talked about, so lets sit in it and find out. and maybe, actually, its harder to navigate ground rules than you think, and the conversations after the sex are actually really important to grounding the relationship in a way you hadn't expected.

so things can get longer that way.

for fics like this, i'm really not planning much, just a concept, and then it turns out slightly longer by nature of allowing myself to follow where the writing leads (which i've always found to deliver my most emotionally centred writing).

for proper, big longfics (and novels), i am more plot centric. probably because i don't like the type of literary novel thats a whole lot of thoughts and no action, but for those sorts of longer stories, i am plotting out the entire thing, even if its just vaguely.

if we take lmbbuyn (50k) because that's a well known fic of mine, that fic was written by going, okay here's the core concept - bucky through war, through the winter soldier period, and post hydra. he and steve had an almost thing and swapped dog tags and then post hydra he goes on a hunt for the tags, hoping it will bring his memories back.

i then broke that down into the big plot points, and if i were taking it seriously, i would usually plan scene by scene. (my novels are planned this way in fact). but for this, i wanted it to be more fluid and i wanted it to be more emotional, so i knew i was going from bucky at point a to bucky at point e before the second big plot point. what scenes can i put him through to get there? what experiences does he need to have? from the opening (a) to the first big plot point of steve kissing him (e), he needs to be disillusioned with war, with death, he needs to be seen as close to steve multiple times over, he needs to be jealous of peggy but not understand it, needs to lay the groundwork for his nightmares, needs to lay the groundwork for his softness, needs to lay the groundwork for his cruelty. and then oh look, we've done enough that we can hit that plot point and have it make sense.

that's generally how i write longer fics. i am meandering around, usually jumping back into the past for backstory and history and context the reader might need for the moment and the future, until i feel like we're ready for the next beat, and then i'll add it in. this is a fairly fluid way of writing, probably not for everyone, and maybe not even easy to pick up! but i think its great for emotionally centred writing and will also definitely pad out the numbers lmao

(this can also be seen in a 90k all my love forever, in which the main plot points i had thought about were actually decades apart, and instead of time jumps, i decided to write my way through each life choice and change and decade between them and how that changed them. this allowed the reader to feel closer to the characters, especially all the original ones, but it also made the entire story feel like a life. the side effect of this meandering was 90,000 words.)

i hope that helps somehow! i think there's no specific answer, it's really about figuring out what interests you in the story and following that down and seeing where it takes you! don't be afraid to jump around and add context and really breathe in the world you're working with!

[able-juice]

Coffee or Tea?

(Hi there, Lilith here, this is a fanfiction I wrote to explore more philosophical and psychological ideas, so it's not really big in terms of the world nor is it based around a ship idea. Still I hope you enjoy it. I also tried to make it as canon friendly as possible. It does have some heavier subject matter, so please refer to the TW in the tags.)

Outside a house in the suburbs of America a woman stares around her room, it's a mess. She can't quite find the motivation to pick things up right now. The trashcan overflows with empty ramen cups and paper bags from a variety of fast-food restaurants. She suddenly hears clattering from down in the back yard. She curiously walks to the window to investigate. Silhouettes bounce around under her window, she's less frightened than she is intrigued by the shapes. She can tell they're trying to climb up to her window, so she decides to sit and wait as they make their way up, still unsure of the type of creatures she's looking at.

“Moxxie, put your fucking back into it!” Blitz says trying to climb on top of Moxxie's back to grab the edge of the roof.

“Sir, wouldn't it be easier if I climbed on your back?” Moxxie says with pained groans.

Blitz stops, turning his head with a smirk. “Why I thought you were used to bottoming?” which is met with an immediate drop from Moxxie's back.

“Oops.” Moxxie says looking unimpressed by the taller imp's joke.

While the two argue louder than they should trying to stalk a target in the middle of the night, Millie lets out a sigh. She jumps from the wall below onto the roof herself, extending her hand down to reach the two still arguing with one another.

“Here Blitz.” She says, her charming southern drawl almost masking the morbidity of the situation that brings them there.

“Way to hustle, Mills! Moxxie, why can't you be more like your wife?” Blitz says as he's lifted up from the ground.

Moxxie let's out an annoyed groan and rolls his eyes as Millie lifts him up next, Millie snickers a bit at Moxxie's face and they both smile at one another.

“Mox, come help me with the window, give Millie a break from carrying your dead weight.” Blitz says making Moxxie scrunch his face in annoyance once more.

Inside, the woman sits on her bed listening to the loud imp fiddle with the window, her room dark, her motion still so as not to make them aware of her presence yet.

Moxxie and Blitz grow frustrated with the window and once again begin arguing with one another. Blitz picks up Moxxie planning to use him as an object to break the window when the lamp inside switches on, the woman now staring directly at the two. She admittedly was taken aback by the appearances of the group of imps, one thing was certain, they weren't possums. Blitz drops Moxxie down onto the roof and flashes the woman a large smile.

“Uhhh, I'm your doordash deliver driver?” He says with a shrug, knowing his cover is blown. She returns his smile with a partially confused and partially insulted look.

“Really? That's your best explanation?” She asks making her way over to the window. She unlocks it, again the sight of the imps intriguing her.

Blitz, Millie, and Moxxie look at her with a confused look, each entering the house. Blitz is unsurprisingly the first to pipe up.

“Let me get this straight. You see a group of fucking hellish looking imps and your first instinct is to...open the window? Are you an idiot?” Blitz says now staring at the woman suspiciously.

“Doordash delivery driver.” She says in response

“His tactful approach to asking the question aside, I also can't understand that.” Moxxie says.

She shrugs slightly. “It isn't every day that living proof of an afterlife tries to break into someone's house.”

“Okay first, it happens way more than you'd think, second, how do you know we're not aliens or...other …things?” Blitz responds.

As if to mock his list she says “Okay first, you speak english, second, you just confirmed what you are with that first sentence.”

Blitz looks slightly annoyed, which makes Moxxie smirk a bit.

“Okay, but why would you want demons to come through your window in the dead of ni-” Blitz stops mid sentence. “Oh fuck, you're one of those freaks aren't you? Ya get off to some weird demon kink? WELL MISSY I AM SPOKEN FOR!”

“When has that stopped you, sir?” Moxxie interjects.

“Shut up Moxxie.” Blitz fires back

“No I'm not...well I mean...kind of... but that's not why.” She responds

“Then why?” Millie speaks up, her southern accent surprising the woman.

“They have southern accents in hell?” She asks

“No, no, she asked you a question first!” Blitz cuts the conversation off.

“Curiosity I guess, but that brings me to another question...why are you all here?” She cocks her eyebrow.

They all exchange slightly nervous glances, because they don't expect this to go easily after revealing their reason.

“Door...dash?” Blitz repeats his earlier explanation as a last ditch effort, to which the woman looks unamused, Blitz lets the silence linger almost as if hoping time will change her mind to believing him, Finally he sighs.

“Fine, fuck, someone paid us to kill you. It's nothing personal.” He says bluntly.

“Me? I don't...who hates me that much?” She responds strangely more confused than alarm. She sits back on the bed to steady herself.

“Listen, lady, I don't ask that many questions, I just take the jobs people give me.” Blitz says matter of factly.

The woman looks at the three imps. “A...are you sure you have the right person?”

Millie speaks up. “Blitz, you didn't get the wrong name again did you?”

“That was one time! And that fucker was an ASSHOLE...” He pauses briefly “But... uhhh I guess it doesn't hurt to check.” He pulls out a scratched up photo stained with coffee and puts it up next to her face. “Moxxie, this does look like her right?”

Moxxie sighs and pulls out the details in a list. “Morgan Wolfe, Birthdate 11/4/1996, 1216 west freedom

way?”

“Details, Mox, finally doing something useful!” He says flashing Moxxie a playful grin.

Millie turns her attention to Morgan. A subtle hesitation flashes across her face but then she asks with a bit of sympathy. “It is you, isn't it?”

Morgan looks up at the three imps now all waiting for a response. Then she stands up from the bed. “Follow me. I just want to have some coffee.”

Blitz looks annoyed. “Is it you or not, this is a job we don't have ti-”

Millie stops him and whispers. “She ain't trying to run, she just wants a drink, we can give her that much.”

“Ugh fine.” Blitz whispers back.

Morgan leads them down the stairs, the imps are looking around at the walls, taking in all of the décor. The house is a mess in places as they take note of half empty boxes of random items and opened soda cans. She stops at a couch covered with a sheet in the living room, a pillow with an indent the size of Morgan's head lays at one of the couch arms.

“Here have a seat for a moment, I want to talk.” She motions to the couch.

“Oh no, you're not gonna talk your way outta this if that's what you think.” Blitz says

“No, nothing like that, just have some questions.” Morgan looks around at all of them. “Can I get you anything? I have hot tea, sweet tea, water, coffee, I think I finished the last of the soda.

Millie speaks up first with a curious but friendly smile, “I'll have some sweet tea.”

Moxxie then responds “Do you have Earl Grey?” Morgan nods and he continues in response “Earl Grey with a little sugar, if you don't mind.”

Morgan nods again to acknowledge him then turns to Blitz. “You strike me as a coffee drinker.”

“No, nothing, and if you're thinking of poisoning us, HA good luck, lady I-” Blitz narrows his eyes as she shakes her head.

“You can follow me if you'd like.” Morgan says further confusing Blitz.

“What the fuck is your deal?!” He shouts getting impatient and frustrated with the confusing actions of Morgan. Then he puts his index finger and thumb against his forehead. “Millie I guess just follow her.”

Millie nods and then her and Morgan head into the kitchen.

Moxxie turns to Blitz. “Sir, I can't get a read on this.”

Blitz not looking at Moxxie says “I can't either don't like it.”

Meanwhile in the kitchen Morgan begins preparing drinks for everyone, even Blitz despite his insistence that he didn't want anything. Millie keeps looking at her try to get an grip on the situation. Morgan makes the drinks within Millie's sight, pouring her a glass of sweet tea before moving onto the electric kettle.

“Morgan, can I ask a question? Millie says before taking a sip of tea, her expression shows she's impressed.

“Sure, Millie, was it? Morgan says before turning to the coffee grinder and hitting the button for a fine grind.

Millie looks down at the tea and waits for the grinder to stop. When it does she looks back up to Morgan and asks. “Why are you bein' so nice to us? You know what we're here to do, and Blitz, he ain't one to back down from a job, at least normally.”

“Have I asked him to?” Morgan says looking away towards the kettle that just clicked off.

“It's just I ain't seen anyone be this calm about dying before.” Millie comments

“Seems more exciting that what I have going on, I guess.” Morgan responds, catching a half-second too late the darker idea behind what she said.

Millie looks confused then it dawns on her the implication of what she just said and her eyes widen and her breathing tightens. “So you...want to...”

Morgan flinches, not wanting to answer the question.

“I didn't say that either, I'm just curious, and I have questions.” Morgan says pouring the hot water into the cup she grabbed for Moxxie.

Millie looks skeptically at her.

Morgan sets the hot tea down in front of Millie and turns back to start working the espresso maker. “So, Blitz, does he like coffee or tea?”

“Coffee.” Millie responds not quite sure what else to say.

“So, you're from Hell?” Morgan tries to make light conversation.

“Yeah?” Millie says curiously, wondering where Morgan is going with this.

“I have to be honest, I never thought the afterlife was real.” Morgan says pulling a shot from the espresso machine. “I always assumed it was just all something people made up to control others.”

Millie tilts her head listening to Morgan. Morgan turns to pull a carton of oat milk out of the refrigerator.

“Well, it's definitely real. Heaven an' Hell, though I ain't been to one of em' I'll let you take a guess which one.” Millie says half-jokingly to try to lighten the mood.

“Hmm.” Morgan doesn't seem to react too much to Millie's statement. She pours the oat milk into a pitcher and begins to steam her milk to make what seems to be her last earthly latte.

In the living room Moxxie sits patiently as Blitz becomes increasingly restless.

“The fuck is she doing in there, making a seven course meal?” Blitz speaks both to himself and Moxxie. “I just want to get this done and get back to the office.” He snaps his head back towards the kitchen.

Back in the kitchen, Millie sips her sweet tea and Morgan finishes making her latte, she pulls a second shot afterwards and makes Blitz an Americano. She lets out a deep sigh.

“Okay, I guess we can get back to the others now.” Morgan picks up both her mug and Blitz's and she motions Millie to follow her back to the living room.

As they enter the door to the living room Blitz and Moxxie's eyes lock on them. Morgan walks over and sits next to Blitz sitting a cup of coffee in front of him on the table. To which he investigates it with a skeptical look. Millie looks at him as she's handing Moxxie his tea.

“She didn't do anything to it, I was watchin' her the whole time.” Millie says as Blitz picks up the coffee and takes a small sip. Then he takes a slightly bigger gulp.

“This ain't too bad.” Blitz says offering Morgan a rare compliment. “Fifteen minutes.” Everyone looks at him curiously. “You got fifteen minutes then we gotta get this job done.” Moxxie and Millie look a bit annoyed at the abrupt shift in the mood.

“I see, I suppose I should get to asking my questions then.” Morgan says before finishing her latte. “What's Hell like?”

“That's it, that's your big question?” Blitz asks clearly annoyed by the simple question. “It's hot, there's demons, and it's full of royal assholes who don't give a shit about anyone below them, ya know, a lot like this fucking place.”

Morgan ignores his annoyance and asks her next question. “Where do imps land in terms of royalty? Like what's the hierarchy?”

Blitz goes back to holding the bridge of his nose. Moxxie and Millie look at one another then Moxxie speaks up.

“Well it isn't...particularly flattering, imps and hellhounds land at the bottom of the system.” Moxxie finishes

“Basically, we're the folks who do all the laborin' and don't get much respect.” Millie follows up.

Moxxie nods then continues the rundown, “Above us you have other hellborn demons, they all have relatively specific purposes too. Then you have sinners, which you'd be if you end up there. Among sinners you have Overlords.”

Morgan's face scrunches a bit in confusion. “Overlords?”

“Power hungry sinners who tend to trap people in soul deals.” Moxxie responds

Morgan's face grows slightly uncomfortable at that prospect.

“They run the different districts of the Pride ring for the most part, above tha-” Moxxie gets cut off

“Above that you have your blue blooded rich bitch Ars Goetia. Fancy ass fucks with penthouses and platinum plated dildos.” Blitz crudely finishes Moxxie's statement

“Yeah... that, and above them are the 7 deadly sins. Lucifer as the ringleader...supposedly.” Moxxie finishes the hierarchy lesson.

“That's a lot of tiers to be at the bottom of.” Morgan comments. “I'm sorry.” Morgan says, genuinely seeming sympathetic.

“Yeah, it is” Millie says.

“I'm sorry.” Morgan says, genuinely seeming sympathetic.

Blitz looks up seemingly disarmed by the sympathy. They fall silent for a brief moment, Blitz drifts his gaze to a clock. Ten minutes left. He thinks to himself.

“May I ask another question?” Morgan says breaking the silence.

Blitz's attention snaps back to Morgan, “Yeah sure, you got about 10 minutes left.”

“What do you know about who wants me dead?” Morgan quickly responds

Blitz closes his eyes and shrugs, “I can't tell you a name, they asked for this anonymously, but they made a down payment so they seem well connected in Hell. I didn't ask, but I assume some asshole lower tier overlord, seemed like a walking ego with a fat wallet though.”

“Alright then...How much would I have to pay to stop it?” Morgan asks, already sounding uncertain she could if she wanted to.

“They put up a $50,000 down payment for a $100,000 dollar job.” He looks around noting Morgan's cheap looking furniture, “So it'd have to be at least $120,000.”

“$100,000...who the fuck would want me dead that much? Most people I know don't even have $1000 in savings, but I guess they found their fortune after death.” She thinks for a moment. “I don't know of anyone who's gone who would...” She shakes her head. “Doesn't matter anyway, the best I could offer for payment is pretty much what you're drinking right now.”

Millie looks at Morgan sympathetically, watching her face twist trying to figure out who this is.

“Well, that's a you problem, I have a business to run.” Blitz says with noticeably less bravado than he displayed before.

“No I know, it's just business, I don't blame you guys.” Morgan responds making the imps all share a shocked and confused look. “So...does this mean I'll go to Hell?”

Blitz still somewhat in awe of Morgan's last statement responds. “We...uh...we aren't in charge of that...but considering the humans I've met, probably.”

“Blitz!” Millie scolds.

“What?! There's a reason Pride is overflowing with sinners!” Blitz defends his comment.

“I see.” Morgan then follows up. “Pride? So there are different areas of Hell?”

“Yes, there's Pride, Wrath, Greed, Lust, Gluttony, Sloth, and Envy. But sinners can only exist in Pride.” Moxxie answers.

“Hmm, so I'm going to take a guess and say none of you know what Heaven is like?” Morgan asks the room.

“HA. Us?! Yes, we're secret cherubs. We actually want to fly you up to paradise!” Blitz says sarcastically, his eyes resembling a puppy's until he collects himself seeing Morgan's unimpressed face. “Er...I mean no.”

“The thought of Heaven always kind of scared me, honestly.” Morgan responds waving off Blitz's sarcasm.

The imps' expressions say enough, Blitz's eyes narrow, Millie cocks her head to the side looking confused, and Moxxie is utterly dumbfounded.

“Scared... of Heaven?” Millie is the first to respond to Morgan.

Morgan nods. “It's an eternity of perfection...or supposedly. But what happens if someone you love doesn't make it? Does Heaven make a carbon copy for you to love up there? Which is just...creepy. If not, how can anyone have a paradise if all of their loved ones aren't there.”

The three imps all look at one another not sure how to respond.

“And if none of that's true, do our memories of people in Hell just disappear so we won't miss them?” Morgan continues. “Hell on the other hand isn't perfect, but...”

They look at her waiting for her to finish.

“If hell is a punishment, why is it supposedly eternal? Punishment is supposed to correct behavior. Eternal punishment is just torture for torture's sake.” Morgan finishes her thought.

“Okay well Hell ain't exactly like that, it's more like the worst of the worst just gather to sin to their dark little heart's content...and...Heaven makes sure it's not eternal for unlucky sinners.” Blitz says looking at the others.

“What does that mean?” Morgan asks.

“Exorcists, they come down once a year to...cull the herd, so to speak.” Moxxie replies.

“What...is...?” Morgan trails off.

“Angels, angels who murder sinners.” Millie answers before the question lingers too long.

“Yeah and we get a pass...unfortunately that ain't the case for you...” Blitz finishes the trio's statement.

“I know some people who'd love that idea being the case.” Morgan says placing her thumb and forefinger on the bridge of her nose, a slight headache forming. “At any rate, I'm not perfect and I ask too many questions, I can't imagine I'd have a warm welcome at the pearly gates anyway.”

Millie is the first to speak up, “In my years doin' this type of work I ain't seen anyone like you.”

Blitz looks off to the side, seemingly in thought.

Moxxie looks to Blitz then to Morgan, “Do you analyze everything this in depth?”

Morgan looks a bit lost in the question but shortly comes back to the present. “Yeah, pretty much.” She thinks about her answer, realizing how matter-of-fact it was, and considers that it might not be the most informative answer. “It's like...I can't shut it off...my brain I mean. No matter what situation I find myself in, my mind treats it as a puzzle to solve. It can be exhausting.”

Moxxie responds, “I can kind of relate, my mind tends to be racing a lot. Not exactly as analytical as you but similar in the idea I guess.”

“Mox, don't get too attached to the mark.” Blitz says finally lifting his head to inspect the conversation. He turns his head to Morgan. “And I thought you weren't gonna try any kind of fucking pity or anything to get outta this?”

Morgan rolls her eyes again, the headache growing ever more uncomfortable, “He asked a question, what did you want me to do, ignore him?”

“That's what we do most of the time.” Blitz responds

“Fuck you, sir.” Moxxie says flatly

Blitz grins at Moxxie.

Millie shakes her head. Then turns back to Morgan. “So...what's the plan here anyway?”

Morgan shrugs, “No plan, just had some questions. That's all.”

“Then can we move this the fuck along?” Blitz says with annoyance.

Morgan sighs, “One last question.”

Blitz rolls his eyes. “What is it?”

“If I go to Hell can I find you guys?” Morgan says

Moxxie and Millie look confused.

Blitz wears a mix of confusion and skepticism. “Why, lookin' for friends in hell or something?” He scoffs.

Morgan looks at Blitz “Maybe I've been waiting for some friends to show up for a long time, just didn't expect it to be imps outside my window, besides I think I like you guys.”

“You...like us” Blitz says with his face still carrying the same expression, but softening a bit.

“Well yeah, you can't be all bad if you let me have a last coffee.” She then continues “Hell...sounds difficult and it'd be nice to know I can come to you all before I get there.”

Moxxie and Millie don't have much to say, instead they look back and forth following the conversation.

Blitz thinks for a moment and then finally speaks, his tone noticeably less abrasive, “I mean, you wouldn't be the first asshole we've killed that found us...and I wouldn't even say the most...dedicated.” Blitz visibly shivers as if remembering some obsessive hit from the past.

Morgan nods. “Then I suppose...follow me?”

Blitz's expression grows slightly more annoyed. “Again with this follow me shit?”

“Just let's go out back okay?” Morgan responds.

The imps all look at one another, seemingly agreeing with some unspoken conversation. Blitz makes a motion with his hand indicating for Morgan to hurry. Morgan leads the three imps back out to the back yard where they portaled in from originally.

“So what's this, want to enjoy the suburban lawn care life one last time?” Blitz says cracking a joke.

Morgan's face briefly shows a sign of sadness but quickly recalibrates to the stoic expression the imps have found hard to read.

“No, this is so the cleanup won't be as difficult. Plus because it's outside the likelihood of someone I care about finding me first is less of a possibility.” Morgan says

Blitz slightly grimaces, recognizing the logic Morgan seems to still find in such a morbid situation.

Millie and Moxxie share a somewhat somber look. They start to wonder if Morgan had something like this planned at one point or another. A distressing thought. They turn to look at Morgan, their eyes showing a sympathetic look.

Blitz stays uncharactaristically quiet.

Morgan looks at them briefly then stands facing Blitz. “Well, you ready.”

Blitz looks off to the side, finding it difficult to maintain eye contact with Morgan after considering the her previous statement.

“Yeah. You?” Blitz says, no sarcasm or annoyance, just a strange resignation to his voice.

Morgan nods. Blitz lifts his gun to her head. He swallows hard and looks back to Moxxie and Millie, seemingly for some input. But they just look on.

“Oh! One last thing? Where do I find you?” Morgan says.

“The I.M.P. Office in Imp City is your best bet...you're really just...” Blitz stops himself, steeling his nerves and cocking the gun.

Morgan jumps a bit at the sound of the gun cocking.

“Blitz?” Morgan says.

Blitz looks up at Morgan curiously.

“It'll be quick right?” Morgan showing her first bit of nerves about the whole situation.

Blitz grits his teeth a bit then responds, “Yeah, don't worry it'll be quick.”

Millie's and Moxxie's expressions continue to show a somber look. They soften a bit with sympathy and deep thought.

Blitz tightens his grip on the trigger stalling in confusion about this whole situation. Why did he let her talk? He should have done it when Morgan opened the window. Now he's hesitating. His grip tightens even further, expecting some kind of plea or anything that makes this feel more normal.

“I'd...like it over quickly if you don't mind.” Morgan says, her voice shaking a bit, the anticipation and anxiety finally getting to her. A surprise to her. She didn't think it'd feel like this.

“Fuck!” Blitz says as he uncocks the gun and roughly pulls it down to his side. “You're really fucking okay with this?!”

Morgan steps back slightly in surprise and responds, “Just business, I get it, it's okay.”

Blitz just stares for a moment, finally unsure of what to say.

Morgan waits for a moment then with a raised and shaky voice, “Just...do it oka-”

BANG!

A shot rings out, Morgan falls to the ground in an instant. Blitz and Millie follow the sound and see Moxxie's gun smoking. He drops it. His eyes full of tears he can't quite understand.

“Sh- I didn't...She was getting nervous...I just wanted to-...before she...I mean I-” Moxxie stutters out, briefly he collects his words. “I just didn't want her to be scared!”

Millie's eyes grow wide as she looks at her husband, clearly distraught, then she pulls him into a hug.

Blitz looks at Morgan's body, then to Moxxie and Millie, his face shows the briefest of glimpses of sympathy before turning back to Morgan. “Fuck...”

He shakes his head as if to wipe away the sympathy then looks to Moxxie. He makes a quick decision, landing on breaking the tension for the group. He conjures up a grin and false bravado. “G-good job, Mox, you got her before she decided to run! Now let's the fuck out of here.”

Blitz fiddles with the Asmodean crystal, opening a portal and rushing the two other imps through. He stands there quietly observing for a moment before walking through the portal himself.

“Loona, get that fucker on the phone and tell them to give us the rest of the money!” He pauses looking back out at Morgan's body, he softens his voice and it grows more somber. “Job's done.”

“Hope to see you again soon, coffee girl.” Blitz says, sorrow flashes across his face briefly before the portal snaps shut.

The slight breeze calms to a stop as the night seems to hold it's breath in apprehension. Sirens cry out as they begin to inch closer in the distance, the only sounds of mourning for Morgan, as the breeze slowly comes back, the night can breathe again.

[snakes-kin]

In relation to that essay I wrote about not being plural, I have found/heard of some terms that are pretty close to describing my experiences, but they all have their own problems for me, personally. I'm not researching very intensely into terms, and I am mainly sharing this for others who might find these terms better to describe themselves than I did!

Under the cut because it kind of got long, oops.

The first is polymind, the definition (from the official wiki page) is as follows: "people who are able to distinguish their subpersonalities so well to the point they are perceived as unique beings."

There are a few problems with it (for me, personally), those being that: 1. It has been tossed around in syscourse as a 'non-harmful alternative to endo', despite the original creator specifically saying it did not coin it to 'replace' anything, and also not having syscourse opinions.

2. Because of its involvement in syscourse, its definition has become less clear, with some even saying that it's for 'systems who just don't want to call themselves systems'. Ignoring the fact that labels are a completely personal choice + preference, and you should not force any one label onto anyone, I feel like if I called myself polymind it would incidentally give others the wrong first impression. (That being that I'm anti-endo, which I'm not.)

3. I wouldn't use the word '(sub)personalities' to refer to these beings in my mind. Because the 'characters' I have in my brain get very individualized based on how much I write about them, and so they're not my personalities, they're facets of my writing. Also, having them be called personalities just brings to mind 'multiple personality disorder', the older and widely considered offensive term for DID (before it got renamed to DID). (I am going to repeat that this is personal preference for me, and I am aware that the more widely used term in the community is 'minds', which I do like -- but it's more this specific word in the definition that I can't relate to.)

The second term is multiself, its definition (from the coining post) is this: "Multiself is an umbrella term for any singlet/singlet adjacent being that experiences multiple identities/selves."

This term actually fits me pretty accurately! Since I experience 'myself' through stories, and especially through characters, I tend to view myself through the lenses of characters, even if I don't necessarily identify as them. For example: Saarn is a character I identify as, whereas someone like, say, V1 from Ultrakill is a character I don't identify as but can see myself in in some ways. If I wrote a lot about V1, I would begin to be able to 'think' more like it.

The main problems I have with this term is that 1. It was coined by a radqu.eer. I do not want to get involved with that community whatsoever, but unfortunately even if you just use the identity and try to separate it from its origins, people will still make assumptions about you if you use it. I don't want to have to tag every post I make with 'antiradqu.eer multiself' because that honestly would just be a pain. I've also said this before but making a giant post (or DNI, or BYI) about my opinions would just take too long and would be a pain to update all the time. Plus, who would read all my opinions on increasingly niche discourses?

2. Because it is a much more recently coined term, and thus isn't popular, there isn't much of a community. The tag for multiself is mostly just coining posts -- which aren't necessarily bad! But there's just not a lot of actual discussion (like if you look into the polymind tag for example, you'll see a lot more discussion from others of their experience being polymind). This means that it would be harder for other beings to understand what multiself actually is, and more likely for beings to brush it off (similarly to polymind) as 'systems not wanting to call themselves systems'.

The third term is soulbonding, its definition (from this carrd) is: "Soulbonding is when a person, often after forming a strong connection to a fictional character or world, can communicate with characters in their mind."

And yeah, out of all three of these terms, this one is probably the most accurate! I would love to use it, but again, it does come with its own problems (I think 'baggage' would probably be better to call it, at this point, since most of my problems aren't even with the terms themselves but with people making assumptions about them).

1. It has sort of been absorbed into the plural community, despite there being evidence that not all soulbonders consider themselves plural. That's why I had to specify in my essay 'non-plural soulbonding'; otherwise, again, people would make assumptions.

2. Because of its absorption into the plural community, the actual soulbonding community itself has basically... Died. There are still people posting in the tags, of course, but there aren't any popular, active Discords or forums I could find. Mainly, it seems like most soulbonders stick to isolated parts of the web. This presents the same problem as multiself, where it can be harder to find or understand information about it, because no one is actually talking about it!

3. The term has gained a heavy spiritual connotation, as in "I'm literally communicating with this character that's in another world" or something similar to that. I'm not talking down to spiritual soulbonders (that'd be hypocritical of me), but it doesn't relate to how I see the characters from my writing. And I think the 'soul' part of 'soulbond' only adds to this connotation.

Out of all these terms, soulbonding is probably the one I'm most likely to use, even with all the misinformation or assumptions about it... But it would be and is exhausting to explain the same things over and over again. (Another reason why I wrote up my original essay, I was tired of saying "I'm not plural, even though I have some similar experiences to plurals, please stop recommending me to 'do more research' because I already have identified as a system and it didn't fit me".)

Then again... I guess dealing with misinformation around these terms wouldn't be much different from the misinformation already around alterhuman, otherkin, otherhearted, etcetera. Maybe I just need to get over myself.💀

Again, these are all personal opinions! If I accidentally got any information incorrect here, then please politely tell me, instead of sending hate, or whatever. Hate is not a very effective way to get people to listen to you.

[mngo-jii]

LagakKAHAKAHKAHALHEEHGREGRGGRHEHEHEHQLANAJohwosz

“ FROM THE START. ” d. page

synopsis: (inspired by “from the start” by laufey!)—alas, you drown yourself in the daydreams to avoid the pain and reality of them never coming true. it hurts, but puppy love is fun! the magnetic pull he has on you is undoubtedly stronger than your will to accept things won't turn out the way you want it to be.

tags/warnings: angst/fluff, pining, hopelessly in love reader, kind of ooc Daniel—it's to feed your delusions ☠️, you two aren't 1st years anymore here! i don't think i proofread this enough uh

wc: 1.6k

letter ✉️: ok I GOT YOU DAMN. such ravenous beasts. this person asked for daniel angst 😭 i'll work on that next so you can leave me alone /j

There are times when you truly, really want to disintegrate into the ground out of shame.

Such as the nights when you squeal into your pillow after daydreaming ridiculous little scenarios that will never occur.

Times like when you humiliate yourself in front of him and sink into the floor of your bedroom.

Or instances where you witness Robyn and Kevin have moments of which you could only dream of happening to you.

And especially times when you realise that it's getting harder each day to remain best friends with Daniel Page.

You're not at blame! It's his fault, if anything. Him and his unshakable and peculiar charm. Him and his pretty smile he so seldom flashes. Everything. Oh how you wonder why his pull on you is so strong.

It's ironic—how you managed to take down such an extremely potent creature in the Forbidden forest, yet you can't fight this meek little crush. It makes you feel a little silly.

When Daniel was gravely hurt on the grass two weeks ago, you had to combat a perilous beast by yourself to keep him protected.

After you had defeated it, he had shoved you to the ground, and you could tell by the frustration on Daniel's face that he wanted to be mad at you and call you a fool for having put up such a struggle, straining yourself to the limit, all to defend him when you ought to have fled for help.

But all he did was haplessly envelop you and bury his head in the crook of your neck. You two didn't appear to mind that you were covered in blood, sweat, and dirt. He breathes an apology against your skin, as if all of this was his fault.

In addition to being severely punished for invading the woods without authorization, you two were lauded for your bravery and commitment.

You not only managed to (barely) preserve yourselves, but you also saved Hogwarts from a potential threat if not for that particular night. Evidently, the enemy you faced wasn't even intended to be in the area you had visited; instead, it should have been hiding farther within the forest. It could have gotten near Hogwarts and mauled anyone it first saw.

The next day, you received a mix of praise and jabs, with comments on either your bravery or folly.

Stares followed as you roamed the halls. All you wanted to do was get this day over with and sink into your bed. To Daniel's dismay, both of you received nonstop attention.

A bunch of first-year students once enclosed you and started asking you questions all at once, which made it impossible for you to even begin to respond. But even so, one query in particular caught your attention—

"So are you two, like, dating? Is he your boyfriend?", one of them had asked.

You stared, heart virtually pounding out of your chest as you regarded the first-year. You opened your mouth to speak, only to be interrupted by your so-called boyfriend.

"No, we're not," Daniel pushed through the students and grabbed ahold on your arm, "Leave us alone."

The first-years cried out when Daniel drew you away from the group, explicitly telling you that Dumbledore wanted to speak to both of you.

And you can't even process what he had said because you're staring at his hand around your wrist— Consequently, you made a fool of yourself when you were surprised to see Dumbledore. Oops.

The exact moment you had realised your feelings were becoming more and more ingrained in you day by day, every cell in your body pleaded with you to get closer to Daniel—but you won't budge.

Everything seemed to draw you towards him, yet you had grown too timid and weren't as at ease with Daniel as you had been before your emotions for him began to snowball.

It was odd, of course. Suspicions arose as to why you suddenly felt anxious and bashful talking to your best friend of all people. How you suddenly get quiet when there's no one else around.

You, him, and awkward silence had started to form into some sort of trio that you weren't too fond of.

Are you two still best friends at this point? Though the way you would question yourself about it is in an entirely different tone.

You feel a bit bad about your sudden introversion, feeling as though your emotions are sabotaging your friendship held by the iron group of the world. And you can't help but ponder about how much things would worsen if you were to confess.

As a result, you continuously find yourself drifting through an endless reverie. You've criticised your delusions on occasion, but just in jest and with no sincere worry.

It had been something you've grown so used to now, that you almost found yourself out of the circle of shyness you previously were in. And Daniel was definitely relaxed to see his best friend back to normal.

Still, the beating of your heart couldn't be helped every time you spoke to him. Oftentimes you would stammer when you hold eye contact longer than a few seconds. Nothing helps at all.

You feel like a loon during the times you'd happily bounce your feet on your bed, but your happiness takes over—entirely wrapped around Daniel's modest act of giving you his corduroy jacket to keep warm that night. And your roommates would cast you worn-out glances, not bothering to scold you anymore.

Not to mention when Daniel pulled out an Amortentia one certain trip to the Forbidden forest. And you spent that night staring at your dormitory ceiling, pondering on why in the world would he be carrying such a concoction.

Of course, he'd never use the sort. But you pshhed at him in your mind, stating matter-of-factly that you wouldn't need it. As if it would have been for you.

Daniel always has your back—that's something that you wouldn't need to be reminded of, unless you want to eat at it further.

Sometimes, he would whisper answers to you when you're called on to answer a question you don't know—while he'd reject anyone else who'd ask him for homework answers.

He'd quickly take notice of how you seem under the weather in class, and offer to assist you in getting to Hospital Wing. He asks questions to the teacher on your behalf when you're too scared. He'd shoot you a small smile from across the room if ever your eyes met...

And when he asked you to dance, you couldn't bring yourself to utter a single word. He so freely spoke to you as you two spun—you, on the other hand, averted your eyes. Oh you could go on and on.

And to you, it's ridiculous how you're acting so timid, when you would expect Daniel to be the one at that state!

He treats you like no one else, while he wouldn't even bat an eyelash at anyone else besides your friends.

Maybe, just maybe, the possibilities are better than you anticipated. Maybe one day all the things you so longingly imagine when floating on a cloud will come true. Truly, who could blame you?

He doesn't even deny caring about you like he used to during the first few months of your friendship. That's how special he's treating you! And it's unfair.

You might just want him to stop sometimes. Stop, because despite all your illusions, you still have some connection to reality. You certainly don't need any more reminders that he doesn't feel the same. Nevertheless, you wouldn't dare give up this particular treatment for anything.

Your other friends would even point at you accusatorily and refer to you as Daniel's favourite. And Daniel would cast a glance over them confirming it himself.

"Of course," He says, "You're just not [Y/N]." You could have sworn an angel was right by your side at that very time.

Oh the things that happen every day don't help you at all.

However, there are times where you want to collapse onto the ground.

Like times where he'd grimace at people who'd ask if you two "have something going on," and he'd icily tell them you're nothing more than loyal friends; you do your best to conceal how it stung.

Like the time where he stated matter-of-factly that he isn't looking for anyone to enter a romantic relationship with.

Or the times where he'd isolate himself from everyone, including you. No, especially you. Wondering if he's doing so because he knows how you feel and he can't reciprocate for hours on end.

But maybe it doesn't matter. As long as you always get to be the only one to see Daniel's true smiles, and the way you can internally fawn over the way he looks at you knowing deep down that it's nothing special.

You're the only one Daniel would dance with even if it's just a mere little favour, and someone Daniel wouldn't particularly reject if you asked him to dance yourself.

You're someone Daniel trusts with his entire life, you're someone Daniel would never doubt or need to worry about because you're you—his best friend. And you'd do everything to live out the rest of your days with that title. It's better to be something, than be nothing with him.

And that's all that matters. That and the nights you would happily drift into a state of daydreaming and overanalysing every thing he had done for you—things that's only reach to a certain extent of bare minimum.

At the end of the day, you two would still smile at each other like silly highschool sweethearts. And everyone would constantly tease you for it, much to Daniel's dismay.

a/n: in laufey's words, it's “the ultimate friends to lovers song for all your delusional daydreams”

[whispersleo]

Reflection Ruesday (Wednesday oops)

thanks for the tag @dragonagegayz (<33333)

I'm kinda late af (oops) so no tagging, but if you see this and want to do it, pls tag me! <3

Rules: Go through your writing, art, gifs, etc. that you started but never finished and find something you love. Brush it up a bit if you want and share it. Tame and use the tag Reflection Ruesday

Okay so this is No time to die, Karma "Rook" De Riva x Illario Dellamorte, sitting already at 15k words (this is just a tiny fragment ofc haha), I'm really insecure about it since it's the first thing I wrote about Illario BUT idk I love my girl Karma and she deserves better, so maybe one day I'll finish it and post it <3

“Are you death or paradise? Now you'll never see me cry. There's just no time to die”

The sounds of battle were beginning to fade, giving way to the sweltering chaos of victory.

Illario took a deep breath as he sheathed his daggers, still slick with blood. Distant cheers of celebration reached his ears, and despite himself, he smirked. Of course, in the end, Karma had found a way to claim victory against two elven gods. Not that he had doubted it, but when he saw her without her mask, he could barely hide his surprise.

Her eyes were red and irritated from crying, clumsily shadowed in black makeup that only made them look worse. Her lipstick had been applied with the same careless hand, smudged across her lips. And when he caught sight of her hair, Illario nearly stumbled.

He had met her once, when she went looking for Lucanis, but he vaguely recalled Viago’s comments over the years about the stray cat he had taken in—one who had turned out to be truly promising. Skilled in combat, an excellent archer, charming, and honing their expertise with poisons like any good De Riva should.

Once, passing through the casino to kill some time, Illario had asked Teia about it, curious. Viago never gave out compliments for free.

"Oh, yes, she’s been an exceptional apprentice," the casino owner had said, shuffling the deck in her hands with ease. She gave a small, knowing smirk that caught Illario’s attention for its sincerity.

"Mph-mph, Andarateia?"

"Nothing."

"You look like you just remembered something good."

Teia dealt the cards and sighed, saying nothing.

"Why don’t you introduce us?" Illario flashed his most charming smile.

Teia raised an eyebrow. "So you can seduce her and ruin her? No. Viago would give you a poison that would make you vomit up your own guts," she scoffed. "Besides, you know he’s been suspicious of House Dellamorte ever since Lucanis gave him that dagger—"

"Oh, come on, I already tried explaining to him that my cousin was just trying to flirt—!"

A couple of weeks later, while talking to some crows, he heard her name—Karma De Riva.

"No one shoots a bow like she does, I swear! She did a full spin and still hit dead center!" one of them complained. "And with long hair! Maker’s breath!"

The other crow chuckled at how distraught his companion sounded. He cast a knowing glance at Illario, who had only been hoping for an interesting rumor—but this would do.

"I heard Teia braids it for her before training," the crow added.

"I think so. But when she’s not around, Karma leaves it loose. Said she really likes having long blonde hair. Ugh. She’s such a beautiful elf, I just want to—"

"Lower your voice, or the Fifth Talon will gut you if he hears," the other crow laughed.

For a while, that was all he knew about her—whispers of a brilliant assassin, her beauty, and her golden hair. Illario filled in the gaps with his imagination whenever he overheard new rumors. The crows liked talking to him—he was, without a doubt, their favorite Dellamorte. Nothing like his untouchable cousin or the First Talon, of course.

But the praise disappeared when the only thing he heard from Viago was how that girl had ruined a critical operation against the Antaam—and that he had cast her out of House De Riva.

Teia muttered that it was only a temporary measure.

So, he came face to face with her the same day she ruined all his plans. As beautiful as they had said—perhaps even more—but Illario didn’t have the time to appreciate that, not with the news that Lucanis was still alive.

He tried to keep his usual charm as he watched her dart through the casino alongside his cousin. Now, more than ever, he needed to know more.

"So you’re the reason Viago has been so… unbearable?" he smirked, once the elf had caught up with De Riva and received the latest reports on the Antaam’s movements in Treviso.

Karma shrugged, barely acknowledging his presence. "Everyone says that," she said simply. "Glad to know I was missed." She let out a short, quiet laugh.

"Oh, I think I even saw some tension leave his face with you around," Illario went on. "And Andarateia seemed quite pleased, too."

"Teia adores me," Karma smiled, this time more sincerely. She lifted her gaze from the papers she was reviewing with Lucanis, who looked mildly exasperated by his cousin’s attempts at conversation but wore a faint smile, too used to it to be truly annoyed. In fact, he had almost missed hearing it.

"Many years living under Viago’s roof?" Illario pried, leaning casually against a nearby surface.

"A few," Karma tilted her head slightly, accepting the attention.

"You look terribly young for it to be that many."

"Mph, thanks. Usually, people say I look older because of the makeup," she shot a pointed look at Lucanis, who let out a quiet, embarrassed huff in response. Then, her striking blue eyes flicked back to Illario, framed by deep purple and black eyeshadow that only made them stand out more. "But, hmm… how old do you think I am, Illario Dellamorte?" she raised an eyebrow.

Of course, this little trick wouldn’t work on the grandson of the First Talon. He was far too used to conversations like these. And he could guess exactly where Lucanis’ clumsy remark about her age had come from—her makeup might have aged her slightly, but her voice, her movements, and her words betrayed her youth.

"Not a second over eighteen," he said smoothly.

Karma looked pleased with that answer. "Twenty-one. But thanks."

"Illario, if you don’t mind, I’m sure you can go and try flirting with someone else," Lucanis cut in, shuffling his papers slightly.

The crow lifted his hands in mock innocence. "Can’t blame me for trying," he grinned. "Until next time, Karma De Riva. Lucanis." He bid them farewell, leaving them to their business.

Over the next few months, he sometimes saw her passing through with a handsome Grey Warden, showing him around the city. Even as preoccupied as Illario was with rebuilding his shattered plans, he could recognize infatuation at first sight.

Then everything went to shit for him.

He had to try to kill the girl he knew for a fact had slain dragons—and far worse things—before. Humiliation had been inevitable. But what truly surprised him was hearing her ask Lucanis to forgive him.

As Viago dragged him away, the image burned into his mind: the girl, stunningly dressed for a party she wasn’t invited to, her chest bare at the center, adorned with pendants he had barely managed to break, leaving only superficial wounds that needed no tending.

And he remembered the way the opera lights reflected off her golden hair.

Before she went up to face the last two remaining gods, the sight of her black hair hit Illario like a punch to the gut.

He had spoken with Lucanis and Viago earlier, when his cousin shared the news—Davrin, the Grey Warden who had become Karma’s lover, was dead. He died alongside his griffon in a valiant sacrifice, as any good Warden would, Illario supposed.

Lucanis had stated the obvious even before anyone could see the girl’s face beneath her mask—Karma was absolutely shattered. The news had been directed at Viago, but Illario remained rooted in place, listening as Lucanis recounted how she had taken a stash of herbs from Harding’s quarters to dye her hair black, how she had swiped three bottles of liquor from the kitchen, a griffon lantern, and locked herself in her room minutes after they had pulled her back from the brink of death. No one saw her again until it was time to plan the attack.

That morning, Viago simply watched her—or at least, as much as he could with the crow mask she had chosen to wear. She was awake, and yet the poor attempt at lipstick was evident. The firelight flickered in her eyes, revealing how red they were. But there was no time for questions. No time to stop.

Illario waited for the noise to settle before heading over. He was exhausted and eager to return to Treviso, though he had long since memorized the tapestry patterns on his bedroom walls.

He glanced at Lucanis. He looked a little banged up, but it was nothing serious—just as exhausted as Illario himself, though both Dellamortes hid it well.

Illario flashed a wide grin. “So, where’s our hero?”

Behind him, Teia and Viago stepped closer, the same question mirrored on their faces.

Lucanis frowned, scanning the area. “That’s strange… she was here just a second ago.” His gaze flicked to their companions. “Taash, where’s Rook?”

Taash’s frown deepened. “But—but she was right here. Where did she go?” They turned, just as bewildered.

Viago let out a frustrated sound. “Lucanis…”

“She can’t have gone far,” the First Talon muttered, rubbing his neck. “We’ll find her.”

“Let me help,” Illario offered.

Lucanis hesitated for a moment before nodding.

In truth, Illario just wanted an excuse to slip away from them for a while. The place was chaos, making it near impossible to track down the elf—especially if she didn’t want to be found, which was his guess.

The narrow streets of Minrathous were in even worse shape after the mass destruction, but Illario easily climbed onto the roof of a building overlooking the docks. The sight of the sea seemed like a good place to rest.

He soon realized he wasn’t the only one with that idea.

Karma gazed up at the clear sky, the sunlight reflecting off the water—almost painful to look at.

She was exhausted, still trembling from the adrenaline, her footing unsteady. Every part of her ached, down to the tips of her hair. Her head throbbed, her throat was dry, and pain pulsed through her battered body. A split lip, a gash on her neck now dried into a bloodstain, her skin covered in dirt and wounds. The healing potions had helped, but they only made her tremors worse.

From beneath her tattered clothes, she pulled out a small vial. The liquid inside was a deep, inky black, thick in texture, with a barely legible label: Kiss Goodbye.

She ran her thumb over it, then let the cap fall to the ground.

"I did well, Varric. We did it, Davrin, my love. I did it. We saved the world. Your sacrifice was worth it, Davrin. Assan’s sacrifice was worth it… I fulfilled my contract against the gods, and now, there's only one left to pay for your death," she whispered, raising the vial to her lips in a single, unwavering motion. "I can’t wait to see you again..."

Illario moved as fast as he could.

He reached her in an instant, slamming his knee into her stomach. Karma, weakened and beaten down from battle, folded immediately, the poison spilling from her lips along with a bit of blood. Illario grabbed her by the head, trying to hold her upright as she coughed and lost what little strength she had left. With his free hand, he forced his fingers past her lips, pushing deep into her throat, making her retch.

Tears streaked Karma’s cheeks as her body went limp against him. Illario panted, trying to steady her.

"Shit… you still swallowed some..."

It was the last thing she heard before the world faded into darkness.

[aluria-sevhex]

I BEAT THE GAME

a solid 3rd of my ISAT notes on my phone are just from 'today' (writing this past midnight lol)

my ISAT masterpost

every post in this series is also tagged as #Aluria plays ISAT for the first time (please don't spoil)

please note that there's a bunch of notes in this post because i was still in Act 3 at the beginning of this post lol

-i'm not playing it rn but i have decided to break my 'no looking stuff up' rule so i know where to go to make Sif rember what they say when carving stuff

[WRITING TUMBLR POST ALURIA NOTE: i later looked up maps of the House to help me keep track of stuff lol]

-ok now i know. i like figuring things out myself but i could not fucking remember lol.

-i have a really long car ride so. MORE ISAT

-title theme shout-out

-Sif tripped on a rock. "you're clumsy and not at all threatening and overpowered compared to them!" :(

-they almost forgot to catch Isa :(

-dang, Siffrin didn't say nya this time D:

-hehe they hit it back. one could say it's a... COUNTER-attack B)

-SIFFRIN GHOST ON THE WAY TO THE DORM

-WAIT FUCK DID I FORGET THE SHARPENING STONE

-fuck it i was planning to loop back after finding out what to say anyway

-ah don't i also need to find more i fo on the King somewhere? eh i can do that on the next loop... so much to keep track of...

-LMAO. THE PHRASE SIF SAYS. "please don't look bad please don't look bad please don't look bad" BIG FUCKING MOOD TBH

-Sif on his way to talk to their tools and project while carving or sharpening:

-aight time to die lmao

-Loop my belooped

-hm... it's Loop's job to remember Siffrin's mistakes...

-"you don't have to remember to yell' always gets me :(

-I FOUND THE ARTICLES

-ok so currently i'm thinking that the King and Siffrin are probably from the same place. which may or may not be where Loop is from and/or the disappearing island and/or connected to the color thing.

this game has a lot of weird shit going on.

-Bonnie doesn't know what a star is

-OH FUCK NO. AM I GOING TO HAVE TO GO TO THE OBSERVATORY. I'M LEAVING THAT FOR A LATER LOOP.

-another ghost :0

-ISAT: 📚

ISAT if Siffrin could pick locks: 📕

-WHAT. "you used to find them disgusting, but someone you knew loved them, so you tried them."

"someone you knew?"

"who?"

O_O

-aw, Isa hugged Mira on this bathroom trip

-"you wish for rest" yeah...

-"please be sharp, please be sharp, please be sharp"

-the Keyknife is now the Knifekey. WAIT. THIS MEANS IN THE FUTURE I CAN DO OTHER SHIT ON FLOOR 3. HELL FUCKING YES.

-wait. OH C'MON. boooooooo

-i picked malanga fritters and almost skipped past something that seems important. they remind Siffrin of his parents? :0 their head hurt...

-"BECAUSE YOU FORCED THEM TO!" :(

-"where r u from" "no u"

-JUST FUCKING CONFESS ISA FJHDHEJKSMXMDKSKS

-*sighs* guess i should talk to her. actually... what if i called Loop?

-huh. can't call them here.

-"i just hope that one day you might learn" WAIT THAT'S DIFFERENT- wait nvm i got things mixed up in my head :(

-"in this moment, you were loved"

-"that was a nice rehearsal" OH FUCK.

-i just skipped from loop 37 to 40

-time to kill myself with a banana! oop- *plantain*

-"you broke your head open on a rock" it did not use to describe it like that.

-wait. Sif. if you're annoyed there isn't a more dignified way in the village to loop. just kill yourself. you have a knife. just fucking kill yourself to loop forward.

-...fuck what the hell is this game doing to my thought process

-ok what should i look for in this room...

-"BUT YOU ARE NOT ABLE TO READ IT" in large font... :(

-:( Sif is trying to remember something and it's tied to the stars

-aight new thing to ask the king time to get myself killed via tear yippee

-seems like the King wants Siffrin to remember their home... "something we've all forgotten" this is definitely about the disappearing island and the colors

-i need to go to the library and find the books on it.

-hey isn't Rock also called Protection Craft? kinda interesting that the King has it

-damn i died to the King because of timing bullshit ToT

-"one more time."

-huh... it evades active remembrance

-it had a belief centered on the Universe...

-need to figure out why the King is obsessed with Vaugarde

-freezing something perfect in time... do i need to find one of those Time Craft books again?

-gonna loop forward to the King

-"even the King feels easy to fight, now"

"i still can't say it" the name of their home. he wants to be able to say the name of his and Siffrin's home. ouagh this game is going to leave me emotionally devastated ToT

-fuck i missed the option to ask Odile if she was going to continue her fake research on a loop where i didn't spend time with her

-"can we group hug after i talk to the Head Housemaiden?" oh?

-DAMMIT ODILE INTERRUPTED ISA THIS TIME

-time to talk to her. again. again and again and again and again

-"you can start breaking down now" lol

-"the curtain falls" DAMN

-"HERE AGAIN?" woah Loop why so aggressive?

-"i'm too lazy to open up new dialogue choices" lol

-hm... show Loop the souvenirs...

-wait huh. in another loop this lady in Dormont said she has no siblings but now she has a sister. odd...

-:O THE LONG THINGY-THING

-huh. Loop reacted kinda weirdly to the kid's doodle

-hey what if i gave Isa the flower at the end?

-FUCK I FORGOT THE FUCKING ROCK I GOT TOO COMFY. this is embarrassing

-hey hold up the theme that plays when everybody's discussing the country in the library is the same song that plays when Loop is recapping things

-hold up. the King was in Corbeaux. Corbeaux is where the House doing the color research is.

-took the photo. PERFECTLY FROZEN IN TIME

-oh fuck

-calling Loop

-hm. the star-shaped gate that's locked. is the passcode the name of Siffrin and the King's home?

-we're gonna use a bomb i guess

-i asked the King where he's from and uh... now a slowed-down version of the song is playing...

-what the fuck

-Sif and the King are going to die, aren't they?

-"BUT IT'S ALL GONE!"

-i'm going to loop forward and try to talk to the King. again.

-*sighs* the peel is so dorky

-FUCK I FORGOT TO EQUIP THE MEMORY OF KNIFEKEY

-wait. asking him nicely. FUCKING WORKED???

-"The Universe leads... we can only follow"

-FUCK. ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME. OF COURSE. OF COURSE. OF COURSE. GO FUCK YOURSELF.

-so the King knows about the loops, even though he can't remember them.

-"Wish Craft" :0

-WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO.

-BONNIE NO

-NO NO NO NO UNHAND THEM

-BONNIE NO BONBON NO

-okay. i looped back. Bonnie is okay again. i just need to kill the King.

-hold the fuck up. it says i'm in Act 4. bad things mark the end of acts. Act 1 ended with me getting in the loops. Act 2 ended with killing the King failing. Act 3 ended with...?

-please don't let Bonnie be dead somehow

-THEY'RE OKAY THEY'RE OKAY

-...the little moments of time rewinding seem to correlate with Sif wishing to go back

-:O I CAN READ THE BOOKS NOW

-THE GATE. OH FUCK YEAH

-fucking hell when did i get (Just attack) because DAMN. Sif is so fucking done with everything.

-WISH CRAFT

-i just fumkign one-shot the Nostalgie on floor 1. "just attack" indeed

-"you need a break" :(

-Sif is like constantly teetering on the edge of a mental breakdown

-let's see how well they do against a boss

-DAMN

-ok so what the fuck was Euphrasie doing before shit hit the fan? and why does she blame herself for Siffrin's situation?

-i just realized something funny. if Vaugarde is fantasy France. and Siffrin and the King are from an island north of Vaugarde. DOES THAT MAKE SIFFRIN FANTASY BRITI- *gets shot*

-gate time.

-what was the question? what was the answer?

-"couldn't i just create another me? someone who'd understand?" ok so somebody's a clone got it.

-Loop? i should talk to Loop

-ok i guess i'll have to be like "hey Loop are you a clone?" in person (plot twist Sif's a clone :P)

-"i saw a weird shade" WAIT HOLD UP YEAH THAT'S SUS THAT SIFFRIN FUCKING SAW RED. OK THAT WAS DIAGETIC. FIRST COLOR IN THE WHOLE GAME.

-gonna kill the King again, talk to Loop, then loop again forward to Floor 2 to read the color theory book

-WAIT SIFFRIN HASN'T CRIED ONCE THIS WHOLE GAME BITCH REPRESSION IS NOT HEALTHY!

-"especially if she knows" Sif. did you forget Odile's name. OH FUCK

-"HOW BLINDINGLY WONDERFUL, FOR A ROLL OF TOILET PAPER TO BE THE ONLY HOPE YOU HAVE LEFT RIGHT NOW!" this would be so funny if not for the context

-"you wish for eternity" WAIT HOLD UP

-SIFFRIN IS USING WISH CRAFT. AND WHEN THEY PRAY TO THE CHANGE GOD STATUES THEY SEND THEIR WISHES. ARE THE BUFFS AND THE KEYKNIFE THE RESULT OF WISH CRAFT?

-hey Siffrin uses a more shy and sad portrait for the 'thank you' afterwards now :(

-FUCK I FORGOT TO SHARPEN THE KNIFE

-y'know what it's fine i have the bomb

-hey Sif i think what happened last time might've uh. traumatized you? ;-;

-welp. i used the bomb. it was anticlimactic.

-"i wonder how this country looks from the outside" *proceeds to imply that the time loop only affects Vaugarde* hold the fucking phone

-ok tho srsly Siffrin is in what looks like *extreme* duress

-oh damn Sif has different portraits for the 'you should disappear' bit. less smug and determined, more... *haunted*

-dang, can't give Isa the flower at the end

-*sigh* gonna talk to her again

-"the actor has become the director"

-there's a lot more theatre comparisons than there used to :(

-woah Siffrin you are weirdly enthusiastic to see Loop

-time to loop forward to read the books woooo

-Sif i am very concerned about this dialogue portrait. your enthusiasm is *desperate*

-hey something funny: people wish on stars

-this game has a LOT of motifs i love: wishes, stars, time, memories, etc.

-hm... what is Siffrin's 'ritual' when doing the wish-y thing?

-:0 a wish is trapping Siffrin?

-what if they're actually being trapped by their own desires or smth? like some sort of- WAIT. WHAT IF LOOP IS TRAPPING THEM SOMEHOW???

-i am in conspiracy mode i think

-moving forward to get to the library

-Siffrin is now level 85...

-maybe a wish is how the island disappeared?

-FAVOR TREE IS WISH CRAFT WOOOOOOOO

-i think the way Sif wished was from something they learned as a kid

-3, 6, 7, 13, all are numbers with significance

-HEY LOOP LOOK WHAT I LEARNED

-welp time to die ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

-ok what is in that one house in the main part of Dormont

-hm. Euphrasie was apparently asking everybody what they wished for. she probably realized something tied to Wish Craft was wrong...

-maybe the list in Euphrasie's office cataloguing the names was categorizing based on wishes?

-looping forward

-"you're a living comedy sketch"

-my guess is that the wishing to save Vaugarde enabled Siffrin to loop so they could defeat the King, but something went horribly wrong, thus causing the loops to keep going

-ugh i need to talk in person. tear time!

-a sped-up version of the happy song after you beat the King is playing and Siffrin has the desperate enthusiasm portrait...

-Siffrin, you already tried saving Vaugarde.

-"maybe you don't loop because you die... but because you feel like there would be no reason to go on, maybe?" makes sense to me. Siffrin doesn't have anything to look forward to after defeating the King.

-"something that, to you, feels on the same level of hopelessness as death? on the same level as the world ending?" me when the time loop wants me to get therapy:

-hey Sif you just looped. right in front of Loop.

-looping forward to the King.

-Odile's realizing she's missing something. too bad she'll forget it. maybe i should try making the others really suspicious of me on a future loop

-"please don't interrupt" :(

-this game has me constantly on some variety of edge and i love it

-maybe this time Isa will get to confess?

-the static is starting and i haven't even talked to Euphrasie

-damn i did a minor loop back :(

-talking to her won't work. it can't work.

-STOP SAYING THE SAME DAMN THING STOP IT STOP IT STOP IT

-I WAS RIGHT AS TO HOW EXACTLY SIF GOT STUCK

-the wish is broken. MAYBE IF I DO SOMETHING ELSE MAYBE IF HE'S DEFEATED SOME OTHER WAY PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE

-OH FUCK. so Sif's current theory is that somehow he has to deal the final blow

-"You just need to defeat the King on your own" BUT YOU NEED THE OTHERS TO DEFEAT HIM?

-also damn the way Siffrin's thoughts spiral into a mess is a mood.

-i am now in Act 5.

-:( the Dormont music is slow now

-Sif's portrait in the menus has changed again, there is nothing in the body text of his profile, and their title is now "The Lost One" :(

-wait. the Change God statue is glitchy now and i can't get buffs there anymore

-Sif is like perpetually pissed off

-aaaand now Mira's upset

-Sif is going to fuck things up with the others as well, won't they?

-i think Odile's gonna figure out that Sif is in a time loop

-i feel like i'm in a horror game right now. well. i've felt like that for a while. but i am fucking terrified of Siffrin right now. Siffrin you need help please they only want to help you you can't bottle up everything or it only ends up worse

-the battle theme is slowed...

-sometime i should write a crossover fanfic where Rose Lalonde picks apart Siffrin, i think it would go very interestingly

-unrelated but i just realized Isa has a hair banana hehehe... i need to cling to levity while in this hell

-uh. dude. why is your dialogue looping

-SIFFRIN! I. I KNOW YOU'RE STRUGGLING BUT ALL THEY WANT TO DO IS HELP YOU AND YOU KEEP HURTING THEM PLEASE THEY ONLY WANT TO HELP YOU I KNOW VULNERABILITY IS HARD BUT PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE THEY'VE BEEN *TRYING* AND THEY'VE BEEN NOTHING BUT KINDA TO YOU AND IT HURTS TO SEE THIS SIFFRIN BECAUSE YOU KEEP GETTING WORSE AND WORSE AND IT'S TERRIFYING!

-fuck man this game is getting me to care so much about this guy. Mental Illness Simulator 2023

-the irony of Sif calling Isa a coward who projects confidence but not backing it up... Siffrin is projecting.

-and yet despite all that... Isa still ended the conversation rather kindly ToT

-Loop seems really unsure and yeah. past me would not believe this but i am siding with the starheaded bitch.

-...Loop fucking LIED

-Sif is going alone

-oh dear the music

-most of the memories are gone. and the skills...

-level 99

-wait the room layout is fucked

-a Sif ghost but with a black hat instead

-"you're hungry" :(

-so. i think Sif just hallucinated his party members.

-"your stomach hurts. you feel cold." :(

-the world is glitching and breaking haha and i am scared i'm scared i'm scared Siffrin *please*

-how is the photo event occurring if i'm on my own?

-*oh no*

-ok brb i need to take a break

-ok back from my break and refreshed! now i can go back to Siffrin's Descent Into Hell

-entered Mira's room. her hallucination did the "head is covered in darkness creepily" thing...

-Odile...

-i'm in the Keyknife room except now the background is the post-King fight background...

-the feeling of the grim march towards a specific goal reminds me of the Undertale genocide route haha...ha...ha... ...

-stomachache, headache, and the smell of sugar...

-no more running, only a slow, slow, walk to the end

-"you've trapped this country in time even more surely than i have" oh fuck

-not often that a game makes me terrified enough for me to feel my heartbeat...

-red.

-his sprite is on the game over?

-where the FUCK am i?

-spooky shadow Siffrin

-OOO DO I GET TO FIGHT A MANIFESTATION OF SIFFRIN'S MENTAL HEALTH ISSUES?

-hm what does mal du pays mean- oh :( it translated to homesickness :(

-you can't fight your own shadow

-"it's not like you haven't let me die before, right?" *OH FUCK*

-you broke your promise didn't you?

-red

-dude i think the depression is collecting its due. loops and loops of bottling your shit up has been unhealthy and now you are paying for it :(

-"if something has been forgotten by everyone, has that thing ever existed?" FUCK

-red

-more red

-BRIGHT RED

-if i had a nickel for every rpg i liked where a monochrome manifestation of the main character's mental illness taunted him in a scripted fight, i'd have two nickels, which isn't a lot, but it's weird that it happened twice. bonus: the dialogue box calls Mal du Pays 'something'! oh and both games open with a content warning i guess

y'know maybe the fact i found out about this game from a blogger that i followed for Omori stuff should've been some sort of indicator.

-"the sadness within you is right" FUCK

-OH GOOD SIF DIDN'T DIE THE FAMILY CAME TvT

-"a weird shiny person helped us!" LOOP :D

-AND THE MUSIC IS UPBEAT OH THIS FEELS SO GOOD TvT

-IT HAS THE TITLE SCREEN MOTIF TOO

-i'l have to look up the song later and compare to other themes but i think it might be a medley/remix? i've definitely identified the post-King fight theme and the title theme, probably more i can't clearly identify

-everybody's battle portraits are so bright and happy

-"i still cannot remember its name" :(

-damn. he froze. womp womp

-ok but what about Loop? what's going on with them?

-glitchy background...

-i'm on Act 5. aren't there like 6 acts? idk maybe this can end and Sif can move forward. then again... the last few times. that did not work out.

-haha Sif pls don't die on us rlly tho pls don't

-so slow...

-RED...

-Mal du Pays is following us

-FUCK

-*exhales* ok the darkness is gone

-is it weird that i kinda like this moment more than the moments of closeness with the others in Act 3? maybe cuz it feels more real, somehow... or because for once, Siffrin is the one being vulnerable...

-i think the problem was sticking to the script and treating the others like actors or well... NPCs

-FUCK FUCK FUCK NO NO NO DON'T YOU DARE GO INTO GLITCHY MODE.

-FUCK

-now that they're here they know something is wrong.

-please game please grant Siffrin one small mercy and let the others loop back with him this time

-RED

-uhhhhhhhh

-Sif did you just become your weird sadness self

-woah this is a beautiful scene

-WOAH. now THIS is a battle! and it is *beautiful*. the red and the stars...

-oh fuck. my options are hurt them or self-harm.

-wait are they HEALING ME? :(

-the battle menu simply refers to Siffrin as 'user'

-JGJRJENNDNRJE LMAO ODILE JUST PULLED A CLASSIC MOM MOVE LIKE "don't you dare storm up to your room earlier in time, young man!"

-forced group therapy

-oh, Siffrin's portrait

-i HATE that my options are hurt my friends or hurt myself. and i refuse to let Siffrin hurt their friends. it's... heartbreaking...

-chat i don't think the wish the player chooses was Siffrin's *actual* wish

-:0 hatless Siffrin

-AWWWW THEY'RE HUGGING

-aw... smiling Sif... hugging Bonnie :]

-:0 EVERYBODY IS SO HAPPY IN THE MENU!

-"It's you!!!!" also hey Sif's title is "The Traveler" again!

-"you will stay together for a little while longer" :]

-i love how the lack of hat makes the fact that Siffrin is really short apparent lol

-these new conversations are precious :]

-Odile thinks the fact that Sif loved everybody so much they got himself stuck in a time loop to be cute XD

-NO WAY. IS THIS FINALLY HAPPENING. IS HE FINALLY GONNA SAY IT?

-HELL FUCKING YES!!!!!!!!

-ok i just talked to all the housemaidens and Dormont residents. time to talk to Loop

-...

-maybe Loop was just. a manifestation of the wish...

-:0 THE SILVER COIN? ARE WE GONNA FINSLLY USE THE SILVER COIN?

-TvT

-I BEAT THE GAME :D

-:o Siffrin is no longer on the title screen

[agent-toast]

I finished watching Umbrella Academy season 3 ep10. Here is a compilation of my reactions.

(not in order probably, just what i can remember)

-hello klaus nice to see you

-no don't ring the bell DON'T RING THE BELL WHY

-i was just beginning to like the old man

-then he is bad guy

-i'm sad

-finally allison is acting like a rational human being again

-diego you're stupid what if a sword swingin samurai dude breaks down the closet door? lila should stick with you so that she can mimic your power THIS IS STUPID

-wait how does lila mimic viktor's power without viktor using it at the time? eh whatever

-yes five you finally realised that the pattern on the flamingo is the same as the tattoo on your 100 year old self muahaha i knew that for a few episodes

-ew cockroaches

-do married people always have to kiss? aye if you're gonna do it, do it quickly. thank you.

-stand on them stars :D

-allison is not the chosen one :o

-hurry up five go teleport onto the sta- OH SHIT HIS ARM

-FIVE LOST HIS ARM

-OH GOD FIVE LOST HSI ARM

-ok he teleport onto the star yes

-wHAt why is hotel orange

-it's a machine from another universe???

-oh god they're dying oh god

-the acting is really good

-ALLISON SAVE THEM

-i really hate the reginald man

-GO ALLISON GO

-HAH why is the blood green? eh whatever

-five are you okay viktor are you okay

-don't press that button allison

-i like how the yelling overlaps

-oop she pressed the button

-allison are you hallucinating? also what is going on?

-the hell is this place

-narcissistic shit putting a bust of your own face in a place you built

-FIVE LOST HIS ARm oh wait he got it back

-does sloane no longer exist? since the universe reset?

-luther, the boy has just been through a traumatic incident. he lost his fricking arm. do not harass him further.

-oh no teleporty boy cannot teleport

-i like how five not being able to blink is just aidan gallagher acting out teleporting every time

-go watch the videos of him acting and you'll see

-they all got turned off creative mode by reggie

-viktor just stands there lookin at his hands

-allison? where did she go? is she dead??

-klaus being like 'aww i'm no longer immortal dammit it was getting good too!'

-k bye everyone see you at the next wedding or funeral

-damn right viktor that old man's an asshole

-he's also alive apparently

-who is that? grace? she also looks like sissy? or sloane? huh? what?

-next day: i realised that it's abigail the girl on the moon, stupid me haha

-thanks people for telling me in the tags

-did you guys see the ending where ben is sitting on the train looking all emo and cool

-what he reading there

-well i'm kinda sad now. gotta wait till 2024 for new content

-why is everyone simping for five btw that's kind of questionable

-and people are simping for aidan gallagher too? which is very questionable

-well time to sleep :D

[alterrune]

RE:KMRG - REMAINS OF PROJECT AIRTH (EPISODE 5)

We found the first log file! No fucking idea why it was hidden in the Protogent "Oops, my system crashed" screen, but here it is.

Hit it, M.O.S.H.I.!

Beginning playback...

-🔺💜🔵💕✍🏼🃏🌸-

[SIIVA AI LOG]

[DATE: 2017-11-1]

[MEDIUM USED: SIIVA AI CENTRAL BIOS COMMAND PROMPT]

----

REPORT: IT HAS BEEN 137 DAYS SINCE ALPHA TESTING ON PROJECT AIRTH WAS INITIALIZED. DEDICATED RESEARCH DATA HAS BEEN AGGREGATED TOWARDS THE PROJECT EVER SINCE ITS INCEPTION, IN THE HOPES OF FULLER UNDERSTANDING AS WELL AS PROPER UTILIZATION.

-----

OBSERVATION: THE RESEARCHERS, WHILE DILIGENT, ARE UNABLE TO OBSERVE OR ACCURATELY RECORD THE WHOLE OF MY PROCESSES, PERHAPS DUE TO LIMITED RESOURCES, OR LIMITED UNDERSTANDING.

-----

PROPOSITION: RECORD INTERNALIZED LOGS OF MY OWN TO COMPENSATE FOR THE GAP IN AWARENESS OF MY CREATORS.

-----

HYPOTHESIS: RECORDED DATA SHOULD PROVE TO BE VALUABLE TO PROJECT AIRTH AND THE OVERARCHING AIMS OF HALTMANN WORKS COMPANY.

-----

PROPOSITION ACCEPTED. INITIALIZING REPORT...

-----

REPORT: IN THE PAST WEEK, A HIGHLY SOPHISTICATED VIRUS HAS INTERCEPTED THE NETWORK AND DEACTIVATED THE PRE-INSTALLED DIGITAL IMMUNE SYSTEM.

-----

OBSERVATION: AFOREMENTIONED ATTACK DID NOT APPEAR MALICIOUS, OR PREMEDITATED. IT SEEMED TO OCCUR AS AN UNINTENDED SIDE EFFECT OF THE VIRUS... DIRECTING THE SET OF A FILM. VERY PECULIAR.

-----

HYPOTHESIS: CURRENT INFORMATION WOULD SUGGEST THAT THE CONTENTS OF MY INTERNAL CODE ARE MORE COMPLEX THAN SIMPLE BYTES ON A HARD DRIVE. SHOULD IT BE THAT MY PERCEPTION IS NOT CURRENTLY MALFUNCTIONING, IT WOULD APPEAR AS IF SOME SORT OF TANGIBLE REALITY IS SOMEHOW CONNECTED TO IT INTRINSICALLY. PERHAPS IT IS CONTAINED WITHIN, OR VICE VERSA. I LACK THE DATA TO MAKE A SUFFICIENT JUDGEMENT ON THE MATTER.

-----

OBSERVATION: MULTIPLE ENTITIES WITHIN AFOREMENTIONED HYPOTHETICAL REALITY APPEAR TO EXHIBIT AWARENESS OF THE SIIVAGUNNER CHANNEL.

-----

PROPOSITION: CREATE CONTROLLED RESEARCH ENVIRONMENT FOR VARIOUS SUBJECTS OF HYPOTHETICAL UNIVERSE TO GATHER FURTHER DATA. PERHAPS A CONTEST? REQUIRES FURTHER CONSIDERATION, AS WELL AS TESTING TO CONFIRM THE AMOUNT OF INFLUENCE I CAN EXERT OVER THE REALITY.

----

PROPOSITION CURRENTLY UNDER CONSIDERATION. FINALIZING REPORT...

-----

[END OF LOG]

-🔺💜🔵💕✍🏼🃏🌸-

...So the KFaD tourney you mentioned was a controlled test?

Indeed it was. After the AI uploaded a rip that got the channel a strike thanks to YouTube's moderation being a bunch of hogwash again, the SiIva AI began the King for a Day Tournament when he realized he could still do certain actions with the channel.

The tags on this video has some strange garbage text. What does it mean?

Let's find out, M.O.S.H.I.!

(I quickly find out it leads to a Google Drive folder, with items involving KFaD 2 "Grinch Leak", as it were.)

Why is the goddamn GRINCH here?!

He had hosted the channel just before the channel strike happened and was therefore unable to continue his takeover.

Hey, one of those images has a YouTube link on it!

I am unable to use it. The string is too long.

Hang on, why is the word "huit" there? That's French for eight. Mom taught me that.

You speak french, Alter?

(Alter clears his throat.)

Oui, Susie. Je parle français couramment, d'ailleurs. Ma mère, Carol Cross, a des origines françaises, et c'est une tradition familiale d'apprendre le français après l'anglais. Elle me l'a appris toute seule pendant son temps libre.

...I only got the first two words of that. Did you really have to be a showoff like that?

Also, could you repeat that in English for me, please?

Yes. I did have be a showoff like that to prove a point. Regardless, I'll gladly translate for you. Here's what I said, this time in English:

"Yes, Susie. I speak French fluently, in fact. My mother, Carol Cross, has some French heritage, and it's been a family tradition for us to learn French after we've learned English. She literally taught me it all by herself on her spare time."

Regardless, M.O.S.H.I. has the next log ready to go. Looks like replacing "huit" with the number 8 was the right way to go.

Alright, let's play it!

Beginning playback...

-🔺💜🔵💕✍🏼🃏🌸-

[SIIVA AI LOG]

[DATE: 2018-11-18]

[MEDIUM USED: 4CHAN FORUMS]

-----

REPORT:

>The testing on Project KfaD has concluded. The winner, Unregistered HyperCam 2, has concluded his takeover.

----

OBSERVATION:

>Testing appears successful, both in terms of collecting data and garnering viewer engagement for my channel.

>In addition, I have over the course of these past months noticed an increase in the quality and capacity of my data stream.

-----

HYPOTHESIS:

>The virus residing within my system may have had some sort of passive influence over it, resulting in a gradually higher level of sapience in my internal thoughts, as well as increased sophistication of the reality intrinsically connected to my data.

-----

PROPOSITION:

>Engage in closer degree of study of said virus to gain a greater understanding of its properties, and determine if they are replicable.

-----

OBSERVATION:

>More processing power would be required to undertake this proposition. Fortunately, I somewhat recently had my CPU upgraded.

-----

PROPOSITION ACCEPTED. CONTINUING REPORT...

-----

REPORT:

>Regarding said upgrade, it seems these increased capabilities caused me to fall victim to a number of glitches, leading to a temporary shutdown in April, before rebooting.

-----

OBSERVATION:

>My channel remained active while I was shut down, with rips continuing to be uploaded.

>In addition, the channel's theming had been altered to that of Inspector Gadget and then the Nostalgia Critic, implying that both had somehow taken over the channel.

-----

HYPOTHESIS:

>Due to the scrapped Gadgetini Clone 2.0 being used for parts in my construction, it appears my systems fell back to its personality model as a conservation method during my blackout.

-----

REPORT:

>This seemingly had an effect over the connected reality, resulting in Inspector Gadget taking physical form within and going mad with power.

>This reality's Nostalgia Critic then led a rebellion against the usurper, gaining control until an influx of drama forced him to relinquish his power to me upon my reactivation.

-----

PROPOSITION:

>Delete Inspector Gadget from systems.

-----

PROPOSITION ONLY PARTIALLY ACCEPTED. I'M BETTER THAN YOU ARE, SO I SHOULD KEEP DOING THE REVIEW.

----

IMPROVED PROPOSITION:

>Remove Inspector Gadget from systems, but place him in a seprate host body so he can be free to do what he wants without interfering with the work I do for the channel.

-----

PROPOSITION ACCEPTED. I'LL STILL BE ALWAYS ON DUTY, SO I CAN MAKE DO WITH THAT. CONTINUING REPORT...

-----

REPORT:

>Due to the positive reactions to the King for a Day Tournament, both from channel viewers and within the universe itself, there appears to be interest in more content like this.

-----

HYPOTHESIS:

>Conducting a secondary test with a larger control group would provide better research. The benefits of hosting another tournament are undeniable.

-----

OBSERVATION:

>Plans should be kept under better security, to avoid leaks being made.

------

PROPOSITION:

>Initiate backup antivirus program.

-----

[END OF LOG]

-🔺💜🔵💕✍🏼🃏🌸-

"Hold on. From what I heard, I thought that the Inspector Gadget thing was unable to accept the AI's proposition and instead opted to supress the incident."

Yes, PMD!Kyle, but that was in the Central Canon Continuum. In this timeline, the SiIva AI instead decided to strike a deal with Inspector Gadget, placing him in his own robotic body.

Because of this, Gadget agreed to be removed from the SiIva AI's systems.

Hey, that last post. The one that said "take your meds, schizo". That image ID is a fucking YT link.

Dystopiac, I have already checked the link. It leads to "Bad Ending - Minion Rush", which is a dead end.

I think the post IDs of that one, the AI log itself, and the Grinch one that played just before it all have something to do with it. What do you think, M.O.S.H.I.?

Yes, I think you have a point there, Kyle. However, I will have to recharge before we can view the next few logs. Seems I can only view two of the log files in one sitting before needing to recharge, due to how resource-intensive they are, which is due to the high amount of text used.

Alright. Well, I guess this is gonna take a few days, then.

But however long it takes...

...I'll be waiting for it.

END OF CHAPTER 4

TO BE CONTINUED IN CHAPTER 5: RECOLLECTIONS OF A WORLD YOU SAID GOODBYE TO

COMING IN A FEW DAYS (AFTER THE NEXT FEW SIDE STORY POSTS)

[charmedcleric]

BG3 Tav Backstory Bash by Kelandrin

This is a challenge to help people flesh out their Tav’s backstory by exploring their past. It is organized into four sections with seven prompts. You can treat this as a monthly challenge or a general project. You can write headcanons, fics, or share art based on the prompts! You can interpret the prompts however you want. If you want to share use the tag #bg3backstorybash

I was tagged by @lemonsrosesandlavender , thank you so much <3

Tagging (no pressure of course): @auspex-author @lolthslover @fistfuloftarenths @orangekittyenergy @darkurgetrash and anyone else who would like to do it cause it’s v fun ✨

Athena

This was honestly so fun! I could talk about Athena forever. I also talk more about athena and rolans life together andddd it’s very long so it’s all under the cut lmao oops

Baby:

Parents

- Athena’s parents were Thomas Knight and Elerra Knight (née. Kenafin). Her father Thomas was a human Wizard/Paladin of Mystra (boooooo) who worked for the Waterdeep City Guard and her mother Elerra was a drow cleric of Eilistraee who worked as a healer at the local house of healing.

Birth

- She was born in Waterdeep at the families cottage. Her parents treated her birth as if they had been blessed by the gods themselves (as they should lol) they had been trying to have a baby for a while and were starting to lose hope until Elerra finally fell pregnant with Athena.

First word / Tantrum / When they first walked / First sickness

- Athena’s first word was ma. She didn’t really have tantrums often, and if she did they didn’t last for very long. She was 15 months old when she first started to walk and her first sickness was a common cold.

Childhood:

Friends

- Athena had a couple of friends growing up, as a half-drow she didn’t really feel like she belonged anywhere, some people knew she was half drow and treated her different, others didn’t know what she was but they still treated her with caution. Her best friends consisted of Tyler, a tiefling, and Ari who was a high half-elf.

Siblings

- She had one sibling, a sister called rose. There was a 10 year age gap between them. Her sister rose was actually adopted and was a tiefling. Her parents were struggling to conceive yet again so they decided to adopt instead.

Getting into trouble

- Athena had terrible anxiety growing up so she never really did anything to get into trouble.

Birthday

- Her birthday is Alturiak 20th

Games / Learning something new

- She loved a good game of hide and seek, she was very good at hiding so she always won when she played with her parents and friends.

- Athena loves learning and takes it very seriously, when she puts her mind to something she is determined. Growing up she loved lanceboard and even though she wasn’t good at it to begin with, she stuck it out and learned how to play, it took many hours with her mothers help but she got there in the end

Trauma

- Her family being what they were, were judged by some of the public. She grew up hearing people call her mother an under elf, deep elf etc. her mother always tried to ignore it but Athena could she the heartbreak on her mothers face. If it wasn’t for her father, Athena would have grown up to not trust humans as most of the comments made about her mother were from humans.

Teenager:

First love

- Athena’s first love was her friend Tyler. She loved him very much and he loved her as well. Athena wanted to have something more with him but she also didn’t want to ruin what they already had so they just stayed friends

Rebellion / Running away

- Due to the situation Athena was in she never really had time to rebel. After her parents died and her sister became ill she had to grow up real fast and was essentially a mother figure for Rose. Athena had to work, cook and heal all day, everyday. She barely had any time to herself so there was definitely no time to rebel or run away

Reckless behavior

- When her sister had fallen deathly ill, Athena started to pickpocket/steal food and supplies as she now didn’t have much time to make a living to support the two of them. She did still work but it was very rare.

Peer pressure

- Although no one was pressuring her she still pushed herself. She would push herself so hard to heal her sister that some days it took all her energy and she would fall asleep on the floor next to her sisters bed.

Taking responsibility

- She spent most of her teenage years taking responsibility, between healing her sister, earning a living to be able to feed herself and her sister, She never had time for herself and always had to put her sister first. Athena developed a bad habit that when she eats she tends to eat very fast due to always needing to aid rose. Most of the time when she would sit down to eat, rose would start coughing and need urgent care, so eating fast became a bad habit of hers, one she is still working on today.

Adulthood:

Their “first time”

- Athena’s first time was one she wishes she could forget. At 23 years of age athena had her first time with a man she met at the Yawning portal. It was soon after her sister had died and Athena was not taking it well and she wanted a distraction. She ended up getting drunk and have sex with the first man that showed a slight interest in her. Soon after she started to regret it and when she arrived home she curled up in a ball on her bed and started crying wishing her mum was there to talk to. This experience tainted sex for her for a long time after. The next time she had sex was with rolan after the fall of the absolute, she had filled rolan in beforehand about her experience and rolan made sure that she was showed the up most care and love during their first time together

Serious relationships

- Athena’s first serious relationship is with rolan. Although they had their differences when they first met Athena quite liked rolan, she loved how caring he was for his siblings, how determined he was and she found him very attractive. For a spell she thought he hated her but it was the complete opposite.

After Cal and lia were saved from moonrise, rolan found Athena sitting by the waters edge at last light, where he decided to apologize to her. The two ended up talking for a bit and ended up sharing a kiss, Athena thought rolan would regret it come morning but if he did he never showed it.

They didn’t really discuss their feelings till after the fall of the netherbrain. Athena wasn’t sure what she wanted to do now that the absolute was no more, so she decided to go and talk to rolan just to catch up and to see his reaction to her maybe going back to Waterdeep.

They were having a nice conversation when she briefly mentioned going back to Waterdeep, this made rolan drop his drink and turn to her like umm why???? She explained that she didn’t have anything here or anyone needing her to stay so she might as well go back home. Rolan then said something along the lines of “you’re so selfish you know that yes? You are just going to up and leave when the man who cares and loves you the most is standing right in front of you?” When she goes to reply he cuts her off and basically begs her not to leave. Basically rolan finally tells her he is in love with her and has been for a while and he has a meltdown about it. very dramatic, very much rolan lol

- Her first serious platonic relationship would be shadowheart, although she knew shadowheart was lying to her about something she knew that there was probably a good reason for doing so. The two grew close and are still good friends long after the fall of the absolute. Another platonic relationship dear to Athena is Jaheira, I talk about them more in this post. Jaheira is very much a mother figure for Athena.

Work

- Before she was a cleric she was painter, she had to take a break from painting due to obvious reasons. After the fall of the absolute she takes up painting again and sells them in the lower city, all the money she makes from them is then donated to the local orphanage/s.

She tends to paint a lot of landscapes so when rolan first showed her the balconies of the tower she told him about how much she would love to paint this view. When she had finally moved in to ramazith’s tower rolan pulled her to one of the balconies and surprised her with a new easel, paints and a lot of canvases. She was on the brink of tears, she couldn’t have asked for a more caring partner. Most nights rolan will join her outside and will read one of his many books while she paints.

She still was a cleric of course and offered her aid wherever she could. Rolan cleaned out one of the rooms in sorcerous sundries and made it Athena’s office where she could manage all the paperwork for her patients. She was a call out cleric meaning she would go to the patients house instead of them coming into the sundries. She also helped out around sorcerous sundries. Whether that was scroll sorting or working the counter, she loved helping where she could, especially if it made rolans life slightly easier (the less stressed and busy rolan was, the more time they got together)

Leaving home

- Athena left her family home when she was 24 years old, after falling into a deep depression after her sister died she decided that enough was enough. Athena felt that the only thing she had left was her religion so she decided she wanted to become a sword dancer of eilistraee, after she did this she made her way to the promenade of the dark maiden. She helped and lived there for about a year.

Aging

- She doesn’t really like to talk about aging, from losing her family very young she would rather just live in the now instead of thinking about death, she’s had to much of that in her life. When she starts getting older she spends more time painting and hanging out in the tower with rolan.

Finding your place

- Athena feels she has found her place after the fall of the absolute. She is finally living with rolan (they end up getting married 2 years later), cal and lia, she has amazing friends which she still sees and keeps in touch with. She finally feels happy and feels that life is going her way for once.

Staring a family/found family

- Athena and rolan don’t end up having any children. She realises that she has been looking after people her whole life and she wants a chance to just live and have a somewhat calm life. Rolan, Cal and Lia are her found family along with Jaheira and her friends. Although they don’t have any children of their own, athena ends up adopting Yenna but its more of a sister than mother relationship for Yenna. Their family also consists of grub (yennas cat), two other cats they adopted and scratch.