VIRALITY - Bad Omens
𝐯𝐢·𝐫𝐚𝐥·𝐢·𝐭𝐲
/ˌ𝐯īˈ𝐫𝐚𝐥ə𝐝ē/
𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐧
𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐚𝐧 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐞, 𝐯𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐨, 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧, 𝐨𝐫 𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐜𝐢𝐫𝐜𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐢𝐝𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐭 𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫; 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐪𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐨𝐫 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐯𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐥. 𝐈𝐧 𝐛𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬, 𝐢𝐭 𝐨𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐮𝐜𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐛𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐟𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲.
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When successful media marketing and publicity manager Valerie Thornhill is offered a unique opportunity to take on an up & coming alternative band, she hesitates. With the entire band against her, she struggles to navigate through managing her newest clients - especially when some warm up to her quicker than others.
Nicholas Ruffilo x fem!oc
Noah Sebastian x fem!oc
18+ only even tho i’m not sure yet if i feel comfortable writing smut for this fandom - the content is still mature regardless
(edit; totally lied, i'm def writing smut, any smut chapters will have a * by the title lol)
01 - Business Offer
02 - Small Venues
03 - Rehearsal
04 - Rained In
05 - Team Building Exercises
06 - Whiplash*
07 - Heartthrob Strategy
08 - Play Along
09 - Lavender Haze*
10 - Maybe Both, Maybe Neither
11 - Peak Fashion
12 - Liar, Liar*
Crossposted:
-> ao3
-> Wattpad
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all's fair (war and peace)
kisses on cheeks and necks and collarbones and fingers / hands on necks pushing me to my best and on my arm pulling me away from the battle and on my face shielding me from my true self / your mouth bruised and bit and divided and conquered while your hands granted me temporary hope and a fucked up nostalgic dissonance from the real world / practice what you preach, i used to tell you / the difference between your preaching and practice never really existed as a discernable distance, but rather a manifestation of fatal hubris staining the cracks of your mantras / love is war and fair, and peace is unrequited and unattainable / the caverns of your love were too enormous for me too even begin to explore the subtleties of it / the vines of my preconceived notions must have wrapped around your throat as you choked out your repeated stories about gratefulness and being sated with the minimum i was given so that i'd never dare hope for more / when you vanished into the humid mist of the mystery that was so inherently you that i never learned to question it, the gasoline left by your presence burned. and it burned bright in the dark and harsh on my skin / your love wasn't fair or unrequited or unattainable. your love wasn't war or peace. your love was elemental / earth, air, fire, wind, water / your love was all-encompassing and destructive, and i drowned in it.
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Unforeseen
finally works on a prompt
this kinda turned more into a bit of a ventfic...ish?
but warning for child death mention
one word prompt
35. Unforeseen
He saw his death coming. Perhaps this was what made him lucky on his last few days of living: to allow himself the preparation for the death to come…or maybe there was more to it than that.
Ion was a kind kid. And a self-aware one. He knew of the people’s views on the Sunchildren — knew that they would not take kindly to him. He knew of the Jibashiri’s reluctance towards him after facing the failures of Risutaiosu and then Surepio after, and it all weighed upon him.
He must have wondered: what could I do better for my people? What could I do that the other Sunchildren failed to do? It was a feat too much for a child like him, but he took it all the same in a way that a child would.
Ion was a skilled fortuneteller, or he claimed to be before his people, and people had their doubts at first — the same way they had doubted Surepio’s capabilities of tending to their wounds.
But Ion insisted, and he’d tell their fortunes, staring into the scry glass he had, waiting and waiting until it felt like time had frozen over him — that was when you knew that their fate had been revealed to him. And he’d take a few seconds more before a smile pushed its way across his face, and he’d gaze at the person and tell them, “There is good fortune ahead of you.”
Ion would say more than just that: he’d sprinkle in how it’d come to them, what to do to curry the fortune all the more, and what to avoid, and at the end of it, he would give the person a handcrafted sigil, made the night prior in his quarters.
People did like good fortunes. People enjoyed hearing good things for themselves, and therefore, they would become piqued by his fortunes. More and more people would come, and more and more fortunes would be told, and Ion would not reject any one person from a good fortune.
Perhaps we should have suspected it sooner, but we had never seen the people so happy when they interacted with the Sunchild. And so the fortunes stayed, and the sigils with them.
But soon enough, fate would bring these fortunes to light — the false fortunes to light, and in the face of these misfortunes, he would become a victim of his own making.
Ion was — that was how he could predict his own death. Whatever he had truly seen in the scry glass, it must not have been good for anyone if he had chosen to lie for their sake — not wanting to tell of their doom or the tragedy that would play out.
Our leader was a liar, but Ion was a kind kid.
The Solar Rite came, and his people couldn’t wait for the start of a new reign. The son returned to his father, and his people built a grave to honor Ion no Mikoto's name.
I wonder: Was he loved in the end?
He couldn’t be worse than those children of the past, gifting things instead of destroying them, giving hope instead of crushing it.
The rejections of these sigils he gifted say otherwise. The anger these adults would unleash against their leader — a child, no less — would say otherwise. They build this shrine to Ion no Mikoto, at the edge of Byakuyakoku, and lay the remnant of their former leader with it like they wash their hands of any relation to him.
But when he offered them these sigils and dreams of a bright future, there was love in the eyes of people — something that no other Sunchild would ever face. When people came to visit, seeking out more fortunetelling and he gave them happier things to hope for, there was love there. Despite the results of his short-acting kindness — despite the cruelty of his final days — wouldn’t these joyful moments be considered love?
Was he loved in the end? No, but I like to think he was, even for a brief moment. And maybe in future generations to come, the brevity of this love will echo in time, and they will see these rejections as gifts to a leader they had once adored.
That is all I could hope for for Ion.
I place my own sigil beside his grave.
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